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#hey-- i missed dinner! better eat a bunch of cookies
sciderman · 1 year
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web of spider-man #33
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elsfairy · 1 year
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COOKING with Sevika;
I'd love to cook with her, what the fuck?
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• At any given point, she will try distracting you. Either that being playing with your hair when you're mixing the ingredients for your cookies. Or taking, and hiding the things you needed.
• Will laugh watching you struggle to find whatever she tries to hide on the top shelf. Not your fault you're short as shit.
• Eventually she will help you.
• Can't help but find it amusing and adorable when you get excited about those stupid cookie cutters she bought you. (you were eyeing them up for weeks)
• Sevika loved cooking with you, but ask that woman to crack an egg she will walk away. She didn't like the feeling of it. The texture made her skin crawl. For you though? she would do it, somehow.
• Has a serious habit of hitting you on the ass with that stupid spatula. You weren't sure why, but she loved doing it. You didn't mind though.
• Secretly enjoys making cupcakes with you more than cookies, but just seeing how happy you are, makes her happy. So she is down to make anything with you. Again, but no touching eggs.
• Has a HUGE habit of rubbing the cookie/cake batter over your face. Literally anywhere she can find space, she is right there with it, waiting. She was indeed a brat when it involved cooking with you.
• "Hey, you look pretty hot with that stuff on your face sweetheart"
• Sometimes it didn't even have to be baking. Sevika was actually a really good cook, so some nights you would just be in the silent kitchen in each others presence, cooking your dinner.
• You can guarantee whatever plays on the radio, Sevika will hum along while adding those stupid (yet cute) sparkles on her cookies. She loved it secretly.
• Cooking and baking always made you miss your family, so she would be right there wrapping her arms around you, reassuring you that it's okay.
• The days you didn't feel like cooking because you weren't feeling okay, Sevika would do everything in her power to at least get you into the kitchen, just to be there with her. She loved when you were around. You always agreed because well, you loved her and loved seeing her happy.
• She was always the one to accidently burn herself when using the stove or oven. Literally every single time.
• "Most scariest woman in Zaun, and you can't handle this?" You always teased her with no doubt.
• She is the type to admire you from afar when you're zoned out in your own world.
• Holds you, even after you're both done with making food.
• Steals more cookies from the tray for later when you're not looking. You aren't that blind though. You know her antics, in & out.
• Tells you over and over that you always make the best food/treats, even though you tell Sevika that she was in fact the better cook between the two of you guys.
• The rest of the night is just spent cuddled up together, eating your cookies and listening to the rain against the window.
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Note; I'll be honest. Im slowly losing my shit. As much as i would love to be able to, i cannot fathom on how to write a full 3/4k word fucking Sevika x Reader imagine. For the ever loving Christ, i cannot get into doing one. It starts off fine, then my ADHD will come out, and i will end up writing a bunch of random words and end up stressing myself out. Head canons for me, are easier because this way i can somehow make it make sense? i think, idk. The small imagines are fine but when it comes to actually writing one with a full plot, adding more characters, set fucking scenes? i panic because i am very insecure with my writing, how it looks and sounds. I also fucking suck at writing smut. So there is that :/ Last night i deleted like 5 drafts because it just downright sucked ass. I've been staring at my cooking with Sevika head canon for 3 hours (This one) and im just loosing my fucking mind, because i feel like it's just not good enough but oh well, enjoy it. Sorry for the rant.
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queenrileyrose · 3 years
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Human Contact: Cursed Day
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Human Contact Universe. This falls in the timeline of Max and Liam being back in Cordonia. Drake is in LA. Riley and Leo have been together a few months.
I am participating in @wackydrabbles This week’s prompt is “This is a lot harder than it looks” It will be in bold.
Summary: Riley acts out of character on Valentine’s Day. Leo gets to the bottom of it.
Thank you @alyssalauren for the awesome Leo pic! 💛💛🥰
A/N: This is still cute HC Leo and Riley, just a little messy and emo. I have complicated feelings about V Day, so I am all kinds of projecting it in this.
If you like Valentine’s Day, maybe don’t read this.
TW: Mention of past affair, discussion of character death, language, unhealthy alcohol consumption, smoking, angst. Titanic.
Word Count: 1876
Music Inspo: No One cover—Cold War Kids
Thank you so much for the likes, reblogs, and comments. I appreciate it so much. ❤️
Valentine’s Day Night
Leo walked in the front door after checking on the bar. It was Valentine’s Day, and he’d gotten Riley a Gucci heart bracelet with a date engraved. Now, he had to wait to give it to her and pretend he hadn’t gotten it for today.
His girlfriend hated Valentine's Day. It had never occurred to him that Riley, patron saint of hopeless romantics, would hate a day about love.
Good thing Wassa Bae was more than happy to cancel the reservation he made weeks ago. He really should have asked Riley, but he thought he knew her well enough to think she’d like today.
Guess he had to just keep getting to know her. Leo grinned. He was okay with that.
Leo held the large bag of food and vodka, walking toward the sound of a boat sinking.
———
Earlier that day
“I hate today.” Riley fumed. She was at the kitchen table, stabbing a spoon into a container of strawberry yogurt.
Leo studied her. She was in a white sweatshirt and his blue sweats. She always stole those even though they were huge and she had to roll the waistband a bunch of times to fit. Her hair was messier than usual, her bun haphazard. Something was definitely up.
Leo furrowed his brow, turning back to refrigerator. “I thought only single people hated today.”
“That’s...something with an ist on the end.” Riley groused. “I’m just doing what I normally do. I miss Max.” Max used to spend the day with her. It was their thing.
“What do you normally do?” Leo twisted open the orange juice and took a long gulp.
“Stuff my face and cry. And watch Titanic.”
“You’re gonna watch Titanic and cry?”
Riley nodded. “Will you bring me the food?”
“Bomb sandwich or garlic naan and kofta?” Leo figured he couldn’t go wrong with her favorites.
“Put those together.” Riley sighed. “Oh, plus the giant cookie thing.”
“The plain one or the one with the whipped chocolate stuff in between two cookies?”
“Second one. And vodka please. All the vodka.”
“Noted.” Leo added it to the list. “Why do you hate today so much?”
Riley grimaced. “I just do.” She stood and threw the yogurt away, wiping the glob that landed on her hand on her sweatshirt.
Leo stared at the pink stain. He’d never seen Riley this way and goddammit, he found it endearing. Even if she was teetering between sadness and anger.
“Riley. You love love. You’re sappy as fuck.”
“Usually.” Riley agreed. “Not today.”
“You’re not going to give me a hint as to why?”
“It’s a stupid made up holiday.” Riley rolled her eyes. “Patriarchal bullshit.”
Riley was hiding something. Leo knew it. He also knew he wouldn’t get it out of her now.
Riley needed to work through whatever was going on and tell him. Leo just had to wait.
“Can I still make a big deal out of it?” Leo asked, trying to figure out where her emotions were.
Riley shook her head vigorously. “No. I’ll always associate it with crap, and I don’t want any of your wonderfulness to be tainted.”
Leo dropped a kiss on her crown. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Riley shuffled to the living room.
————-
Valentine’s Day Night
“Baby, why do you do this to yourself? You know he’s not going to-“
“Shhh!” Riley said loudly. “He might make it this time!!”
Leo slipped off his shoes and settled on the couch next to his girlfriend. Riley moved into his lap automatically, leaning back into his chest as his arms came around her.
Leo tried to gauge how long the movie had left. They were still on the boat. Rose was telling Jack this was where they first met. How was this movie so long?
Riley sniffed. “They’re literally on a sinking ship and she remembers that was where they met.”
“That’s love, baby.” Leo kissed the shell of her ear.
“Love is sharing a door.” Riley mumbled.
Riley pulled the sandwich out of the bag next to Leo and took a huge bite.
“Want some?” She said, mouth full, crumbs falling onto the couch. She pointed it at Leo, who bit off a small chunk. He finished the portion, then nibbled on Riley’s neck.
“What are you doing?” Riley set the sandwich back in the bag.
“Dessert.”
“No. Not today. No sex.”
Leo hit pause. “Now I know something is wrong.”
“Cursed day! Let me eat my food and drink myself into oblivion in peace.”
“There’s more to it.” Leo met her eyes. “You are never like this. I’m usually the one telling you I need to recharge. You’re crying and using your shirt as a napkin.”
Riley burst into tears. “Why are you being so mean?”
Leo put his arms around her. “I’m just trying to understand. You are kind and beautiful and selfless. Just tell me what’s going on.”
Riley stood, leaving Leo’s arms. “I just hate it, Leo! It’s bullshit and it makes me feel like crap.”
“Why, baby?”
“My parents died on Valentine’s Day. Liam started the thing with Olivia on Valentine’s Day. What’s next? You leave me on this fucking awful day?”
“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.” Leo reached for her hand. “I didn’t know that was when your parents died.”
Riley nodded. “It used to make me happy, a little. Bittersweet is a better word. They were so in love and had a great night. They went out on a high note together.”
“So Liam and Olivia-.”
“Yep. Phone records, Leo. I use to pore over them right after I found out.”
“Was it a big deal before-.”
“He’d get me flowers, we’d have dinner.” Riley left out that he always got her roses and she never told him she hated them. “He tried to keep it going after Olivia, I put the flowers down the garbage disposal while he watched.”
Leo’s eyes widened. Riley was savage and he loved it. “I am never leaving you. Why didn’t you say that before?”
“I just wanted to avoid this.” She gestured to her tears.
“Am I allowed to hug you and tell you I love you?”
“Fine.” Riley sat back down. “I love you too.”
She let Leo hold her for a few minutes before unpausing the movie.
A man hit the propellor and Leo clamped his lips together. This part always got him and he was definitely going to hell for it. Unable to hold it in, Leo laughed.
Riley glared and paused again. “Really? Drake does the same damn thing. This is why Max and I watch it with no one else.”
“Blame the movie! They didn’t have to make him spin like that!” Leo protested.
Riley stomped up the stairs and slammed the door. She sat on the bed, wishing she’d brought the sandwich. She fell back, starfishing across the blankets. She knew she was being a lot. No one ever asked her why before. It made her raw and she felt even worse.
—————
Leo counted to 30, then went up the stairs. This was the closest to a fight they’d ever had and he hated it.
“Baby.” He saw Riley sprawled across the bed. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Leo saw a black dot on her shirt. “You have an olive on you.”
Riley looked down, picked it up and popped it into her mouth.
Leo could get on board with eating food off her shirt Riley. Just the version that wasn’t so sad.
“Do you want to call Max?”
“I did earlier. I wish he lived here.”
“He will soon.” Leo patted her leg. “Do you want to invite Drake over?”
“Why, so you can laugh together?”
“No, baby. Nevermind. Come on. Let’s get you a drink.”
“I just need the bottle. I’ll be fine.”
Riley rolled off the bed.
Leo rubbed her back soothingly as they walked back downstairs.
Riley struggled to unscrew the lid. Leo waited, not wanting to make her sad or angry by offering.
She admitted defeat and handed him the bottle. Leo pretended the lid was hard to unscrew. “Damn. This is a lot harder than it looks.”
Riley saw right through it, but didn’t say anything. He was so cute. Too bad they couldn’t have sex.
—————
Leo woke up on the couch. He looked over, Riley nowhere in sight.
He heard her cough and lurched toward the kitchen. He’d gotten two bottles of vodka and Riley had drunk most of one. He’d had a few too many shots.
Leo sniffed. Something was burning. He rushed around, finally seeing Riley next to an open window, looking guiltily at him, a cigarette between her fingers.
“Riley Rose Brooks. What the fuck are you doing?”
“Don’t you full name me.” She drank some water out of a large bottle.
Leo came over and took the cigarette, somewhat unsteadily. “Baby. Since when do you smoke?” He took a drag, then ran it under the tap.
“I only stopped cause Bert called it unseemly.” Riley chortled. “Joke’s on him. Who had to put up with my cold turkey ass? Bertrand.”
Leo laughed and rubbed his neck, trying to loosen the muscles. He needed water and ibuprofen. “Where’d that even come from?”
Riley grinned sheepishly. “I have an in case of emergency stash in my dresser.”
“What time is it?” Leo looked blearily at the stove. 5am.
“Hey, the day is over!” Leo looked to Riley.
Riley nodded, shrugging dismissively.
“You don’t seem better.” Leo wanted to be sober for this talk, at least not have a hangover, but he wanted Riley to feel better more.
“I’ve never told anyone why.” Riley met his eyes. “You asked. Max, god bless him, isn’t one to pry.”
“No one else asked?”
Riley shook her head no.
Leo swallowed the pain killers and drank a glass of water. He walked to Riley.
“You’re a goddamn gorgeous human being. Inside and out.”
“Even when I’m a mess?”
Leo smirked. “Keep eating food off your shirt. That was fucking hot.”
Riley burst out laughing. “Wait til I tell you about floor candy.”
Riley draped her arms over his shoulders. “I’m still drunks. I know I was a pain. Thank you.”
Leo brushed his lips against her forehead. “You are never a pain. Thank you for telling me.”
Leo traced her jawline with his forefinger and kissed her gently.
“Let’s make our own day.” Leo announced.
“Meaning?” Riley gave him a wary look.
“July 21st. Love day.”
Riley grinned. “I have no problem with that date. But why that one?”
“That was the day I picked you up at the airport.” It was on the bracelet she’d get in a week or so.
Leo tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We can go back, I can be all “Riles! This is where we first met.”
“That’s sweet, but lies.”
Leo shrugged. “Not really. I met the real Riley that day.”
Riley shook her head and grinned. “Fucking dreamboat.”
“Let’s go to bed, baby.” Leo winked. “I’ll rock your world in about 12 hours.”
“Mmm. Can’t wait.”
Riley let Leo piggyback her up the stairs and put her to bed; finally falling asleep in his comforting embrace.
————
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thatsdemko · 4 years
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Home-K.Dach
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Requested: yes|no
“Your son asking Kirby if he can with him in a roadie and Kirby’s heartbroken so you comfort him and then when he gets back....”
A/N: was supposed to be a blurb lol I decided to expand! (I’m clearing imagines out of my drafts this has been in there for a hot minute)
Let me know your thoughts if you have any!
“Daddy, why can’t I go with you?” Every time Kirby had to leave your son had to ask the question that always broke his heart. He’d be back in a day or two usually, but this time he would be gone for a couple of days, so Kirby and him spent extra time together before his departure.
“Bud, I wish but this is daddy’s job, and daddy has to go alone.” Kirby didn’t dare to look up from his tie not wanting to see his sons upset hurt look he had every time he had to go.
“It’s not fair, why can’t I go? I’m a good boy!” His lip quivering and Kirby was quick to act sitting down on the bed with his son wrapping him in a hug, “I know, you are a very good boy and daddy knows that, but daddy’s job requires him to travel. Sometimes family has to stay home.” He pushed his sons brown hair out of his face wiping the tears from his eyes with a tissue from your bed side.
“I don’t want you to go!” He sobbed, hugging Kirby one last time before you came up the stairs to break the news that he had to leave soon or he’d miss the teams flight.
“Bud, I’ll be back soon, okay? I promise I’ll call you every night I can, okay? Will you be good for mommy?” He got up off the bed handing him to you, “daddy, don’t go!”
“Honey, daddy has to go okay? He’s going to be back real soon I promise.” You squeezed your son tight against your chest pressing a kiss to your husbands lips quickly before he slipped out leaving you alone with your son.
“Daddy will be home before we know it, do you want to make cookies with mommy for when he comes back? Will that make you feel better?” You asked hearing the front door shut quietly meaning Kirby had made his way out successfully without any dramatic scenes from your son.
Kirby hated leaving, but it was his job and he had too. It wasn’t as much of a big deal when it was just you, but having a child who wanted both of his parents constant love and presence, was hard. He didn’t know how guys could do it.
“I want o make cookies, mommy.”
Your phone started ringing in the middle of making dinner, and you sent your son to bring it over to you when he saw who’s name lit up the screen, “daddy!” He shouted when the screen opened up to Kirby sitting in his hotel room.
“Hi, bud!” You heard Kirby from the other line and you turned the stove on low motioning for your son to sit down at the table setting your phone against his school binder.
“Hi!” You cheered waving to your husband, he waved back to you, “I just wanted to check in on you guys, I miss you both so much.”
“I miss you too!” Your son leaned up against the table taking up the screen getting closer to see Kirby, he had missed him like crazy, constantly asking Kirby’s whereabouts since you texted your husband on an hourly basis so you always had the details.
“I know, bud, mommy tells me all about school. Happy for you about that science project! You worked really hard on it!”
“I did! Mommy says I get to see you play on a weekday because of it!” He leaned back in the chair, you had gotten up to check on dinner leaving the two boys alone like you had been for the past couple of calls.
“A weekday? Mommy and I will have to discuss that.”
“Please! I’ve been so good! Mommy will tell you!” He begged, you brought a plate in front of your son with silverware sliding back into your seat, “he has been very good.”
“That’s amazing, hey can we talk?” He pointed at you, you got up with the phone pressing a kiss to your sons head while he devoured his meal and you went into the family room.
“Has he really been okay?”
“Yes, I swear he has. You have nothing to worry about, Kirby. He misses you though, we are going to watch you tonight.”
He smiled, you heard the feet padding against the hardwood floor, “mommy, can you help me?” You heard your son from the kitchen, you looked at your phone, “I guess I better be off, see you on television, dach. I love you.”
“I love you both so much. We will talk to more, have a goodnight.”
Those long days had gone by, Kirby kept his promise of calling every chance he could get it making his sons nights better, you watched his games too which made him feel better, but nothing better than you two wearing matching pajamas and eating the food you both would make together. You saved a bunch for Kirby when he would come back. Your sons requests.
entering the house for the first time in days Kirby closed the door quietly setting his things by the front door down making his way up the stairs to see his son opening the door slowly trying not to wake him up, but the hallway light was enough to wake him up. He heard him muttered for you, but when he opened his eyes seeing a bigger and bulkier figure than you standing in his room he knew who it was.
“Daddy!” Your son launched himself out of bed wrapping his legs around Kirby’s torso and his arms around his neck, you woke up to the excitement of your son getting up out of bed to see Kirby was home.
“Hi,” he bent down pressing a kiss to your lips, feeling his sons grip around him get tighter, “I missed you so much, buddy, you been good for mommy, yeah?”
“So good! Daddy we made you cookies, brownies, chicken, oh and mommy even made an extra fruit smoothie for you!” He rambled on while the three of you wandered into your shared room, you checked the clock seeing it was five in the morning and that’s when you decided to call off work and decide to call your son out of school for the day. You wanted to be with them since you barely ever got to see your husband and you always saw your son, but you never did family things.
“Oh wow, I’m so excited to have all the food you guys made me! I am a little hungry right now, what should I eat first?”
“Definitely the smoothie, it’s going to get bad if you don’t.” You said laying down in bed, your son snuggling close to you while Kirby got changed into his sweats not caring to put on a shirt.
“I will start with that. I will be right back, can you wait to sleep for me?” Kirby asked and without even a split second of thinking he nodded his head, your son would lie awake waiting for Kirby to get home after home games, it shouldn’t surprise you he would say yes to waiting even longer.
When you woke up it was because your son was shaking you awake to get up, “mommy, mommy,” he whispered trying not to wake his dad up but trying to grab your attention, “go back to sleep, bud, we aren’t going to school today.” You whispered those words woke Kirby up.
“Not going to school?” Your husband shot up out of bed, you giggled pulling the sheets closer to your face, when Kirby pulled them down, “no school! Let’s go!” Kirby shouted like he was still a child, his eyes lighting up excited to hear the news.
You laughed watching your son and Kirby race down the stairs while you got out of bed slowly following their loud thuds into the kitchen.
“Are you staying home from work?”
“I am.” You smiled, Kirby did too pulling out some of the leftover food you had made for him over the couple of days, Kirby smirked looking down at your son handing him a cookie for breakfast.
You rolled your eyes opening up the fridge deciding to make yourself an actual breakfast, “babe, come on, can you just eat a cookie for breakfast?” Kirby asked with a mouthful, your hand under his mouth catching the chocolate chip about to fall, “no, you freak.”
“A freak you married,” Kirby picked up his son, “and a freak you created, dach.”
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bouwrites · 4 years
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Even Heroes Have the Right to Dream: Chapter 10
You and me can make it anywhere, but for now we could stay here for a while.
First, Previous, Next. Ao3.
Story under read-more.
Jon is, quite frankly, surprised that his friends know Marinette well enough to pinpoint her as his roommate when her name starts blowing up in the late summer. David and Tamias have met her, and Mason’s seen her, but to his knowledge Jesse has never even come close to her.
It’s weird, to suddenly get messages from them all freaking out about how his roommate is Jagged Stone’s all-purpose designer, and, according to one article he reads, honorary niece. Especially since Jesse is the one who starts it.
Maybe having a flimsy pair of glasses and regular clothes as his disguise for the better part of ten years has given him less faith in people than they deserve. They can be surprisingly astute, sometimes.
He fends them off by giving them the basics. “Marinette didn’t even tell me until she had to work on those outfits in our apartment.” Jon tells them. “But yeah, she’s pretty cool, right?”
“Cool?!” Jesse exclaims. “Dude, she’s my hero right now!”
Jon has to fight off the urge to cringe at Jesse’s unfortunate choice of words. Marinette would not appreciate being called that. “Uh, don’t you think that’s a bit much?”
“No! Jagged Stone is my favorite, man! And now I know someone who’s roommates with someone who knows him! Personally! I’m like, two steps away from touching him!”
Mason clears his throat. “Maybe don’t touch him.” He says.
“You know what I mean, dude!” Jesse says, practically climbing on Mason as he throws his arm over his shoulder. Jon wonders briefly why they’re even together, until he remembers the both of them are from New York and probably see each other often during the summer. “She makes his clothes! That’s so stinking rad!”
“Definitely!” David says eagerly from another window. “I still can’t believe I know someone who actually knows the Jagged Stone! Like, dude! Why didn’t you mention that?!”
Jon rolls his eyes. “Why should I? I told you, I didn’t even know until she started her last commission for him, and until now she’s been keeping the fact that she designs for him under wraps. She asked me to keep it secret.”
“Aww.” Tamias says. “You’re cute with her.”
David immediately jumps up in his seat. “Yeah! That! You’re adorable, dude. Never change.”
Jon furrows his brow. “For… not telling you someone else’s secret?”
“Ignore them.” Mason says. “We get why you didn’t say anything, is what they mean.”
Doesn’t sound like it. Jon just shrugs and moves on. As Jesse goes on and on about Jagged Stone, Jon gets another call. He hesitates when he sees the name. “Hey, guys? I got to go. I’ll see you later.”
The boys chorus their goodbyes, and Jon hangs up on them so he can accept the incoming call. “Hey, Damian. What’s up?”
“I assume you already know,” Damian says curtly, “but I first want to confirm that you’ve seen the news about your roommate.”
“Uh, yeah, dude.”
“Good. This is your warning. That news has caught my father’s eye. As well as my brothers’. They already know, of course, of your relation to her. I don’t know what they plan or when they plan to carry it out, but you and she should both be prepared.”
Jon wants to joke, “What’re they going to do, commission her?” But then he realizes that yes, with the Wayne family, that is something warranting a warning. Especially since they know she’s his friend. “Ah,” He says instead, intelligently. “Good to know. If you get any more information, let me know and I’ll try to give Marinette a heads up.”
“I’ll keep an eye on the situation. And Jon?”
“Yeah?”
“I know she has navigated fame before but do be careful. Keep an eye on her.”
“Always, dude. She’s my friend.”
He hears the sharp, distinctive click of Damian’s tongue before the call ends. Jon can’t be sure with Damian, but he suspects that second thing is what the call was really about. Damian wouldn’t just call if he doesn’t have any solid information to share. So… he must just be concerned. About Marinette? About Jon? It’s hard to tell. The guy is so cryptic even now.
Jon just sighs and shakes his head. Yes, Marinette is a small celebrity at the moment. That’ll wear off soon enough, but in the meantime, and even in the future, she has to take care to avoid celebrity pitfalls. Things people like Damian deal with every day. People only interested in them for power or fame themselves, scrutiny from the media, Jon isn’t totally unfamiliar with it all himself. After all, Damian is one of his very oldest friends, and Superboy gets his own fame. (That’s different, of course, since he has his identity to hide behind, but the principles are the same. It’s just more pervasive when it’s your regular name that’s famous.)
But Jon isn’t worried. Apparently, Marinette’s old boyfriend was a celebrity in Paris (and, to Jon’s understanding, has both the good and bad kind of fame respectively before and after Hawk Moth was revealed), not to mention she has practice from being Ladybug. Marinette is fine.
And when he sees her in New York again, in their little apartment, and she’s positively buzzing with excitement about the future, Jon knows his instinct is right. Marinette is better than fine. She’s so much brighter than she’s ever been until now. She’s soaring like she’s Kryptonian, glowing with her own sun. Jon jokingly worries to himself that she’ll superpower him. She’s better than fine.
A week passes, school starts, and then one more week flies by before Marinette grins cheekily at him and drags him out of the apartment on their shared short day. Both of them are done with classes by noon, so it’s a rare day that they figure they might be able to switch things up and have lunch together instead of dinner. A little late lunch, given when they get themselves used to eating the rest of the week, but it’s an appealing idea. They like having that down time together, so eating together for lunch means they’ll have more opportunities for other plans later in the evening.
Not that they have to eat together every day, it’s just… after they made that promise last semester to double down on their studies, they both neglected going out for a lot of that. Even during the summer, it feels weird eating without her. It makes him miss her.
But Marinette drags him somewhere he never honestly expects to find himself. To the Fashion Institute of Technology. “Sorry about this,” Marinette says. “I was going to do this at home, but since we have so much time today, I thought you might find it interesting to come over and check out the place. Plus, the equipment here is better. I mean, I’m only fitting, but still.”
Jon just chuckles as he follows her through the building. “No, this is cool. What, uh, are we doing, exactly, though?”
Marinette snickers mischievously. “I made a bunch of mock-ups for you. I’ve never made anything for you before, and I kind of just guessed your measurements, so I want to make sure everything fits. It’s just basic stuff. A shirt, a jacket, and some pants, there’s no real design to them, because they’re just the base so that, when I do make stuff for you, I know they’ll fit.”
Jon feels her pull on his arm to get him moving. The elevator door opens, but he’s still processing what she says. “Wait, you’re planning on making me things?”
With a wink, Marinette says, “It’s a surprise! That’s why you’re going to be trying on everything. You never know what I might give you, or when.”
Jon feels his cheeks warm. “Th- That’s real nice of you, Marinette, but you, like- you have celebrity clients. You shouldn’t be wasting time making clothes for me. Plus, isn’t that expensive?”
“I have a celebrity client, remember?” Marinette says. “He pays me more than enough to afford the occasional gift for a friend. That’s supplies and time included. Don’t worry, I’d make you cookies if making you clothes actually hurt me at all.” Quieter, she adds, “No sacrificing, right?”
Jon nods. “Right.” He says quietly, still unsure. “And, uh, why are you planning on making me anything in the first place?”
“I never said it was for right now. It could be for Christmas, or your birthday, or… I don’t know. Whatever reason I might have to give you a gift. Don’t think of this as a promise, alright? Though, I absolutely am going to make you some better clothes.”
“Better?” Jon mumbles, slightly taken aback as he clutches his flannel shirt protectively.
“It’s just insurance, so that if I do, I can do it right. Okay?”
“…Okay.” Jon says. He still isn’t entirely sure what is spurring this on, but Marinette is happy and excited, so he decides not to make a big deal out of it.
“Okay! In here.” She pulls him into a large workroom and leads him to a table. “Wait here for a moment.” She rushes off and comes back with a large box that clatters when it hits the table. “Alright, here we go. First off, I’d like to actually take your measurements. You ever had that done before?”
Jon nods. “A few times.” He says. He’s never gotten fitted for a tailored suit or anything, but his costume as Superboy really needs to fit. He’s had his measurements taken a few times as he grew up and had to get new suits.
“Great. Stand right here.” Jon watches dumbly as she ducks and dances around him, measuring tape flying this way and that. One moment he has his arms out, the next he’s feeling the tape on his shoulders, the next it’s around him completely, and the next Marinette has her hand uncomfortably close to his crotch. It’s a brief, surreal moment that he thinks should really be a collection of moments, but flashes by so fast that it all blurs together and she’s writing down the last number with a satisfied smile before he even registers what’s going on.
Weirdly enough, the only coherent thought he has is, How often does she do this?
“I think I got close enough.” Marinette says, looking between the measurements and the pile of tan fabric in her box. “I added a little bit more than I guessed, just because it’s a lot easier to take out fabric than add, so these should probably be just a tad big on you.” She goes over to her box and starts digging, laying out on the table three separate items. “As I said, these are all just mock-ups for fit. There’s not much design to them, and they’re just made of muslin. When I do make things for you, I can take the measurements from the pattern for these and make something actually stylish with them. Here, try this on.”
Jon accept the shirt from her. It’s just a simple, tan, cotton shirt. If he is honest, it’s something he wouldn’t have any problem wearing on its own. He thinks it’s probably best not to say that aloud here, though.
There’s a brief moment where Jon hesitates, and looks around the room at everyone else present and working on their own things. There’s no real… privacy. Only a little screen in the corner, that several other people are already crowded behind.
“Jon?” Marinette asks softly. “Are you not comfortable changing here?” She frowns. “This is why I was going to do this at home. Would that be better?”
Jon glances over to the lady across the room who… honestly may as well be naked, and decides to suck it up. This is a fashion school, in a workroom with models who regularly walk around in a lot less. Jon can change his shirt. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s lost his clothes in public, anyway. Part of the reason he switched to a proper suit like his dad’s instead of jeans and a shirt. Hero work, when one’s outfit isn’t designed for it, tears up clothes fast.
It’s just the first time he’s doing it willingly and doesn’t have much more important things to think about. It’s fine.
And when he does take off his shirt and realizes barely anyone so much as glances at him (there are a few looks, but they’re fairly clearly more interested in Marinette and what she’s doing than him, though there is one small group of girls that giggle at him), the tension eases out of him a bit.
He slips Marinette’s shirt on quickly. It’s loose and comfortable. Jon thinks it fits just fine. I’d definitely just wear this. He has shirts in his closet he knows are bigger on him.
Regardless of his assessment, though, Marinette quickly gets to work picking at the fabric. No thread evades her scrutiny, and Jon laughs at how she pulls at the shirt every which way as she decides how she wants to approach what, if he’s reading her face correctly, must be some sort of monstrosity. Clearly, I have no fashion sense, so it’s all up to you, Marinette.
“Okay.” She says quietly, to herself. “As I thought, it’s big. I think I added too much to my estimates. Hold still for a moment.” She slips a pincushion around her wrist and gets to work molding the fabric to her will.
It’s strangely entertaining, when Jon thinks of the shirt as some despicable villain that she’s conquering. Inappropriate, given their histories, but a funny image regardless.
“How does that feel?” She asks, stepping back from him for a moment.
Jon lifts his arms and moves around a bit. It’s certainly more fitted than… well, all of his clothes. In a way, it reminds him of his super suit. Just no cape. He’s surprised at how okay with that he is. Though, the super suit is specifically made to be comfortable and to not restrict movement, so he supposes it only makes sense that well-fitting clothes serve the same purpose. “I like it.” Jon says.
“Oh, good. Jacket next, then. Here, let me help you take that off. I don’t want you messing up the pins.” As she helps gently pull the shirt over his head, she mumbles, “And normally, I’d be worried about them poking you, too, but I guess we don’t have to worry about that.”
Jon just giggles. “Nope. I’m good.”
“Alright, I’m going to baste this into place real quick so we don’t steal so many pins.” Marinette says, already threading a needle. At Jon’s hopeless look, she explains, “It’s a real quick, temporary stitch just to hold everything in place. Don’t worry about it. It’ll just be a minute or two.” Marinette quickly makes her new stitch, replacing the pins in the shirt as he puts his own shirt back on. “You can go ahead and put the jacket on while I’m doing this.”
Jon does as asked. “So, is this like an everyday thing for you?”
Marinette shrugs. “Not every day. Most of my classes aren’t much different than yours, I imagine. They’re mostly academic. But a few of them do involve this kind of thing, yeah.”
“Sounds like fun. I guess that’s what you get when you go to a specialized college.”
“What do you not do fun things at NYU?”
Jon thinks for a moment. “I mean, I’ve had fun classes. This is just really different than anything I’ve seen is all.”
Marinette giggles softly and sets the shirt down so she can focus on the jacket. “Maybe one of these days you’ll have to show me around your school. We can invite your boys, too.”
Jon groans. “Be ready to meet Jesse. He found out about the Jagged Stone thing and has been fangirling ever since.”
Marinette spares a moment to cover her face. “Oh, them, too?” She sighs. “Oh, well. I suppose it was inevitable. How does this feel?”
She steps back from her last pin to let Jon move around a bit. “Perfect.” He says honestly. “Ah, wait, maybe just a little tight around the elbow?”
Marinette clicks her tongue and makes a face that reminds Jon a little too much of Damian. Regardless, she pulls some of the pins out of the sleeve and adjusts them without comment.
“So, it is you!” A girl approaches them, grinning broadly. She’s cute, in a sort of cliché, pink, valley girl kind of way. If not for her vibrating in excitement reminding him of Jesse, he’d peg her immediately as a Regina George lookalike. Or, maybe that’s mean. Elle Woods works just as well, and fits her personality better, from what Jon can see.
She’s also one the small group of girls he caught gawking at him when he took his shirt off. Both times.
“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, right? I’m Kasey, we have Intro to Knitwear together! And we had a few classes together last year, too.”
Marinette furrows her brow for a moment as the looks the girl up and down, but the light of recognition appears quickly. That makes Jon relax a little. Enough, at least, to think, Intro to Knitwear? Is that the kind of classes they take here? I’m sure it’s more difficult than it sounds, but… “Oh, yeah, I’ve seen you around!” Marinette says with a smile. “Did you need something?”
Kasey rubs her arms awkwardly, “Oh, well, I just- I saw the news over the summer. I wasn’t sure it was you you until I heard you two mention it. That’s so cool that you get to dress Jagged Stone! I just- I wanted to say congratulations!”
Marinette smiles politely. “Thank you. I was really lucky to get that opportunity.”
Kasey nods enthusiastically. “Can I ask what you’re working on now?” She looks over to Jon.
“Oh, nothing in particular.” Marinette says. “This is my friend, Jon. I’m just making sure I have his size right so I can make stuff for him later.”
“Oh, that’s clever!” Kasey exclaims. “This way, all your designs will still be a surprise when you give them to him, right?”
“That’s the idea.” Marinette smirks.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jon! How do you know Marinette?”
Jon politely shakes her hand. “I’m, uh, her roommate, actually.”
“Really? That’s cool! What’s your major?”
“Anthropology. I actually go to NYU.”
Kasey giggles. “Anthropology? You must be so smart!”
“Not as smart as Marinette.” Jon chuckle. “This girl could outwit me any day.”
Marinette glares playfully at him, but rather than commenting on his compliment, she just asks, “Is the sleeve better?”
“Oh, much.”
“Good. You can take that off, then. I’ll baste that, and you can put the pants on. Uh, er… if you’re comfortable with that?”
Jon looks nervously between Marinette, Kasey, the other two girls Kasey was with before, who are now on their way over to them, and the rest of the workroom doing their own things. With a heavy sigh, he says, “Yeah, whatever. I don’t care.”
Cheeks burning, he sheds his jeans and replaces them as quickly as possible without resorting to his powers. He’s positive he doesn’t imagine the looks from Kasey and the other two girls, though Marinette kindly doesn’t so much as glance up from her stitching on the jacket. With his shirt, he is awkward just because they’re in public. He lives with Marinette. He doesn’t care if she sees him shirtless. It’s hardly the first time. He’s seen her in nightclothes, too. More modest than him without a shirt, to be sure, but the principle of the matter is the same. That said, he does endeavor to always wear pants. This is awkward for every reason, so he’s thankful that Marinette respects that enough to not ogle him.
“Oh! Sam, Louise!” Kasey exclaims, waving at the two new girls. “Meet Marinette and Jon! Guys, these are my friends.”
Marinette nods politely again to the girls. “Good to see you, Sam. Nice to meet you, Louise. Oh, Jon, uh, apologies in advance.”
Jon chuckles. “No worries, Marinette.” He understands that she’s going to have to be a little handsy with him. When she’s working on a shirt or jacket, that’s a lot less awkward than pants, but it’s just what she has to do to make sure they fit properly. Jon knows this has to happen. It would probably be more awkward if they were alone in their apartment than in a studio surrounded by other designers and models doing similar things. So, he just sends his own greetings to the girls and lets Marinette get to work.
Sam is a striking lady, with sharp features and a general aura of power that would intimidate lesser people than Jon and Marinette. She prowls around them, and pokes at the shirt and jacket on the table. “So, what are you working on, Marinette?”
“Nothing special.” She answers. “Yet. Just sizing.”
Sam hums and her eyes travel to Jon. “You must be something special, for such an accomplished designer to be planning something like this for you.”
Jon shrugs. “Nah, not really. She’s a good friend. And she likes to give gifts to friends. Even when they insist they’re not necessary.”
Marinette rolls her eyes at him. “I told you, you don’t know that I’m doing it for nothing. That’s the point of a surprise! Maybe it’s for your birthday.”
Jon chuckles and leans a little towards Kasey. “That’s like the third time she’s mentioned my birthday, so it can’t be for my birthday.”
“Or maybe that’s what I want you to think.” Marinette says through some pins in her mouth.
“As I said.” Jon says. “She’s so much smarter than me.”
Louise, a stocky, kind-looking girl gives them all a toothy grin. “Aw, you’re so cute! Marinette’s really lucky to have a boyfriend like you!”
“Boyfriend?” Jon blinks dumbly, then shares a look with Marinette. “Aha, oh, no, we’re just friends. We’ve been rooming together for a couple years now, so we’re pretty close. Not dating, though.”
“O-oh!” Kasey says. “So, you’re single?”
“Mhmm.”
Louise grimaces and fiddles with her mousy hair. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“Nah, don’t worry.” Jon says airily. “No harm done.”
“Speaking of boyfriends,” Sam says suddenly, “I heard you’re dating Adrien Agreste.”
Marinette’s face scrunches up like she’s eaten a lemon. “I am? What about it?”
“Oh, nothing.” Sam says. “It just must have been a blessing to you to have been with such an accomplished model for so long as you were starting out.”
Marinette tenses, Jon can feel from the pull of the fabric, though she doesn’t show it outwardly beyond that. “His advice was helpful, yes, though I was never lucky enough to get his father’s critique except for one contest before we ever got together.”
“Hm. I’d consider that lucky, considering what he was up to behind the scenes.”
Marinette takes a deep breath. “Gabriel is a horrible man, but he does have an eye for fashion. Unbiased, his critique would still have been valuable.”
“I’m sure.” Sam says.
“And for your information, Adrien and I broke up almost two years ago. How does this feel, Jon?”
Jon moves a little again to get a feel for it. They’re more fitted than any pants he usually wears, tapered all the way down to the ankle. “Huh. Not a fit I’m used to, but it’s comfortable.”
“I wouldn’t expect it to be.” Marinette teases. “I’ve seen what you wear. I’m just making sure I’ve got my bases covered, this won’t necessarily be the fit of anything I do make you. Anyway, if they’re good for you, you can go ahead and change back.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jon chirps, shedding the pants as quickly as he can while not messing up the pins and slipping his jeans back on before he gets too self-conscious.
“I’m so sorry to hear about your breakup.” Sam says earnestly. “That’s such a shame.”
“It just didn’t work out.” Marinette shrugs. “It’s in the past.” She seems casual about it, almost dismissive, but Jon knows how much she loves Adrien. He puts his hand on her shoulder, just as a small gesture of support. Marinette smiles at him and quietly shrugs him off.
“Wait, you dated Adrien Agreste?” Kasey gasps. “What happened? Oh, no, was it because of everything around him after his dad was…”
“No.” Marinette says. “We just drifted apart, is all. We’re still friends.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
Sam eyes Jon up and down. “You don’t think he was jealous, do you? I mean, in another country, with you rooming with a cute guy… I wouldn’t blame him.”
“I broke up with him, actually.” Marinette says. “And no, he wasn’t jealous of Jon.” She sighs. “Look, no offense, but I really don’t want to talk about a relationship that’s been over for two years. It’s ancient history. Adrien and I are friends. That’s all there is to say.”
“I didn’t mean to offend.” Sam says sweetly. “It’s just with all this news about Jagged Stone, you’re a pretty hot topic right now.”
Marinette rolls her eyes. “Sure.”
“Hm.” Sam returns her gaze to Jon. “You’re single, though? How’s a guy like you still single?”
Jon nervously looks over to Marinette. “Uh… no reason, I guess.”
“Oh, come on. You must have people throwing themselves at you. You could pick anyone you want.”
Jon sees Marinette narrow her eyes at Sam, Kasey duck her head and turn to Louise, who pats her back consolingly, and Sam herself step in close to him. Not close enough to be weird, weird, but close enough. Jon chuckles sheepishly. “Nah, that’s not true. I’m nothing special.”
Marinette silently arches her brow at him, as if to say, “Really?”
“Honestly, I haven’t given much thought to relationships. I suppose my not looking for one is probably why I never had one.”
Sam’s eyes go wide. “Never?”
“Nope!”
“Oh, you poor thing. You’ve never had a girlfriend?”
“Nah, but I don’t really care.” Jon says honestly. “I mean, I’ve never even had a serious crush.” He pauses, then cringes. “Well, except for that one really embarrassing one on Damian.”
Marinette makes a strange, strangled sound that distracts him from how Sam and Kasey recoil. “Damian?!” Marinette exclaims. “Seriously? The Damian I’m thinking about?”
Jon can feel his cheeks burning. Should not have said that. Marinette still hasn’t met Damian, aside from the time he showed up in their apartment in hero uniform, but it isn’t that hard for her to piece together that Jon’s childhood friend Damian is the hero that Superboy was partnered up with for so long. She’s not a fan, since he’s notoriously unfriendly especially when they were younger. She trusts Jon that he’s a good guy, she says, but she also says he’s “a real piece of work” which Jon… can’t exactly disagree with. According to her, she likes him well enough, but he understands why the thought of having a crush on him is startling to her. “Hey,” He says. “I said it was embarrassing.”
“You’re gay, then?” Sam asks carefully.
“Bi, actually.” Jon says. “And in my defense, Marinette, Damian can be pretty cool.”
She snorts. “Big can be.”
“Aw, come on. Don’t be so hard on him. You haven’t even had the chance to meet him properly yet.”
“From your stories about him, do I want to?”
“Don’t judge a book by its cover. We were kids, back then. He’s better now.”
“And yet now isn’t when you have the crush on him, is it?”
Jon blushes despite himself. “…Touché, Marinette.”
She giggles. “Seriously, though, when am I going to meet him?”
Jon recalls Damian’s call just a few weeks ago and sighs. “Probably sooner than you think. I don’t even see him all that much these days, but I was on the phone with him earlier. I’ll tell you more about it later.”
Marinette nods, knowing not to push for information in public. It’s Louise that interjects with, “Wow, it’s super cool how confident you are about it! I wish I could be as casual as you.”
Jon smiles at her. “What, being bi? Honestly, I just got really lucky. I’ve got some of the best parents in the world, so I never really had to worry. Plus, it’s thankfully rare now that you find someone our age that has a problem with it. I know, um…” The memories press down on him as always. There are worse tragedies he’s seen, but that doesn’t erase the very personal nature of those. Or the pain that they cause. “I know a lot of people in bad situations. So, I’ve always been thankful for mine.”
Louise nods sympathetically. “I know what you mean. My parents ended up being okay with me, but I have friends who weren’t so lucky.”
Jon understands, and true to form for him immediately takes to Louise. She’s a mousy little girl, shy-looking and fidgety, and by the nature of queer solidarity, she’s already his new best friend. “What do you do? You a fashion designer, too?”
“Oh, no.” Louise shakes her head vehemently, as if frightened by the very idea. “I’m studying textile development and marketing.”
“Really? That’s sounds interesting.”
“It is! Though, I admit I’m more interested in making textiles than I am the marketing side of it all.”
Jon hums in agreement. “Oh, I feel you. I’m in anthropology, but I’m mostly interested in culture. I still have to take biology classes, though.”
Louise actually perks up. “That’s really cool! One of the things I really want to do is figure out more sustainable ways to make textiles. With materials and processes that don’t harm the environment so much. I’d love to take some biology classes, through that lens.”
“You know, that would be pretty cool. It’d be fun to study history and see if we could learn anything from how they used to do it. I know fabric was really expensive for a long time because it was all made by hand, but there might be some neat little tricks people used to use that could help today.”
“Yes!” Louise bounces with excitement. “We can learn so much from history! What do you think abou-”
“Hey, Louise?” Sam interrupts her, tapping on her phone. “It’s about time for class, isn’t it? We should probably get going.”
“O-oh! Right!” Louise ducks her head. “It was nice to meet you, Jon! I hope we meet again soon!”
“Yeah, you too!” Jon waves eagerly as she turns away. “Don’t let me keep you from class. Bye, Kasey, Sam.”
“Bye, bye, Jon! It was so nice to meet you! See you later, Marinette!” Kasey grins ear to ear as she waves back.
“I’ll see you later, Jon.” Sam says calmly. “Marinette.”
The three girls take off, leaving Jon alone with Marinette again. Marinette shakes her head and starts leading the way out of the building. “Sorry about that.” She says. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to join us.”
“I don’t mind.” Jon says. “They seem nice!”
Marinette chuckles. “Yeah, I guess so. You seemed to get along with them.”
“Yeah.” Jon agrees. “Sam is kind of… forward, though. She kind of grilled me on my love life, didn’t she?”
Marinette stares at him for a second, and then laughs loudly. “Oh, Jon, she was flirting with you. Kasey was, too. Didn’t you notice?”
“…No?”
She snickers. “No wonder you’ve never had a girlfriend. Though, I suppose if teenage Damian was your type, that might be an indicator, too.”
“Okay, lay off Damian at least until you meet him.” Jon rolls his eyes. “He’s a cool guy. And we were partners. I think you can relate to that.”
“My partner was a homeschooled dork who didn’t know smooth if it hit him in the face. Yours was tween wrath embodied in a traumatized emo. I think I get to tease you a little.”
Jon tries not to laugh. He really does. If he laughs, she wins, and he is trying his best to defend his best friend. But still. It’s more justified than her wording makes it sound, but it is true.
He can’t help cackling nearly all the way home.
——-=——-
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all-things-skam · 4 years
Text
Jens’ Season: Chapter seven
Saturday, February 15th
Freshly woken up, Jens stared at his ceiling, deep in his thoughts. He had slept for over twelve hours, but somehow still felt exhausted.
Now that the Xanax had worn off, he was left to face his thoughts, the same ones he tried to escape last night - with the addition of guilt.
The bag of pills sat louder than usual in his drawer, a reminder of yesterday’s moment of weakness. Jens wasn’t proud of himself for having taken a Xanax. But, sometimes, when your brain gets too loud and all you want is for it to stop, you make impulsive choices, bad choices. The severity of your choice only hits you the following morning, when you come back to your senses.
It’s not like he could go back in time though. What was done was done. But, he still felt remorse.
Even though it felt good.
Jens closed his eyes, turning over, about to fall back asleep when he saw that Lucas was trying to FaceTime.
He smiled, seeing his boyfriend's pouty face on his phone screen and answered. ‘’Hey, beautiful.’’
Lucas reciprocated the smile, but not fully. ‘’Hey… You never returned my messages last night. Everything okay?’’ he asked, pushing his fringe away from his face, voice a little worried.
Shit.
‘’Erm, yeah...sorry. I fell asleep super early.’’
Although it wasn’t a lie, Jens felt bad for omitting the truth to Lucas about his evening. But he couldn’t tell him about the Xanax, not after he promised he wasn’t taking any, not over Facetime. If the cat were to be out of the bag, it would be in person. It’s too easy to hang up on someone instead of listening to them.
‘’Oh. It’s okay,’’ Lucas said. The screen joistled, becoming a little blurry from the movements as Lucas adjusted his position on the couch, the bright yellow wall of his living room peeking in the background. ‘’I spent all night binge watching your Broerrrs vlogs.’’
Jens raised an eyebrow. ‘’All of them?’’
He had never counted how many vlogs they’ve posted on YouTube, but there was at least a dozen - if not more. They weren’t very long vlogs, but it was a commitment to binge them all. Jens found it cute that Lucas had spent his evening watching the vlogs - regardless how cringe-y some were.
Lucas hummed proudly. ‘’I missed your pretty face. And, you weren’t responding to my messages.’’
Jens scoffed. ‘’My face, uh?’’
‘’Yeah…’’ A light blush spread on Lucas’ cheeks and ears, biting back a grin. ‘’I’ll admit, you looked mighty fine in that wetsuit. Zero points for the wakeboarding skills, though...but it's not really what I was interested in.'' The brunet smirked, holding the camera closer. ''I was in the mood for something else. Too bad you were sleeping, I had to take matters into my own hands - literally. Wasn’t as good as the real thing though.’’
‘’No?’’ Jens said, faking innocence. ‘’You like my hand better?’’
‘’Your mouth, actually,’’ Lucas corrected, blunt. ‘’Those full lips aren’t just good for talking,’’ he added, capturing his bottom lip between his teeth.
Heat rushed to Jens’ cheeks, but he wasn't embarrassed. He was pretty smug about it. Judging by the appreciative noises Lucas made whenever he went down on him, Jens had nothing to be embarrassed about.
Someone called Lucas’ name and he looked behind him, the screen going black as the phone fell on his chest. Jens could hear some voices, but it was hushed by Lucas’ hoodie material.
‘’Gotta go,’’ Lucas announced, returning to Jens.
‘’You’re kidding me?!’’
‘’My mom needs me to go grocery shopping. And then, I’m meeting up with Kes and Jayden.’’
The fucking tease.
Blood had started rushing down, feeling himself growing hard under his boxers. ‘’You can’t say shit like that and then...leave. Luc, come on! Don’t leave me hanging-’’
Lucas shrugged. ‘’Payback’s a bitch.’’ He blew a kiss and winked at the camera before ending the call.
The screen went black as Lucas hung up, disconnecting the call. Jens stared at his phone, mouth open slightly, having been cut off before he could protest any more. He felt his dick twitch and groaned in frustration, a reminder of his growing problem. What was he supposed to do now? Jerk off to the stains on his ceiling? He doubted it would work.
Lucas: Here’s something to help with your...problem. Took it last night with the thought of you 😏🍆✨
[Image attached]
Jens' mouth went dry as he stared at the photo.
Fuck.
A bare stomach, shirt bunched up near the lens and a hand sliding underneath sweatpants, mid-tone trail of hair vanishing into the darkness. The grey sweatpants had a significant tent and Jens knew it wasn't only Lucas' hand that was hidden under.
He clicked on the photo, making it fill his phone screen, gaze lingering on Lucas' smooth stomach, moles scattered here and there in various sizes. He recognized the fading hickey right on his hip bone, a memory from when Jens slept over at Lucas’. The bad lighting of what he assumed was Lucas' bedroom highlighted just enough to make Jens take a breath and reach into his boxers, mimicking Lucas' last night activities.
.
Monday, February 17th
Picking up his sister at school wasn’t Jens’ initial Monday plan. After spending a weekend apart, Lucas and him had planned to go to Lucas’ place after school to...hangout. While jerking off to Lucas’ explicit picture had done the job, it wasn’t as good as the real thing.
But their plan had been cut short when Jens’ mom couldn’t join their dad and his sister had no one to pick her up from school.
‘’Is this okay?’’ Lucas asked as they walked to Lotte’s school. He hadn't met any member of Jens’ family yet, he wanted to check with Jens first - even if Jens was the one who asked to come along.
Jens furrowed his eyebrows, confused. ‘’Why would it not be?’’
Lucas shrugged. ‘’I don’t know. She’s never met me. Won’t it be weird for her?’’
‘’No. She might pester you with tons of questions, but I don’t think she’ll catch on for us.’’
‘’Do you not want to tell her?’’
‘’It’s not that. I don’t even think she knows what bisexual means.’’
Even though Lotte was smart for her age, Jens doubted she had learned those big terms. The vastness of sexuality wasn't something they taught kids at school.
They stopped as they reached the school’ gate and Jens checked the time on his phone. Seven minutes left until class ends.
Jens leaned his back against the fence and listened as Lucas was telling him about his weekend. He told him about Isa getting drunk and singing karaoke, missing all the notes to this super cheesy love song. It was horrible - and hilarious. Lucas’ ears were still bleeding from the screeching and how off key she sounded. Jayden had made a video, but sadly Lucas didn’t have it.
As Jens was listening to Lucas’ other anecdotes from his weekend in Utrecht, both boys started getting dirty looks from other parents from simply holding hands. Lucas noticed first, his smile falling as he became very self-conscious of his surroundings, and let go of Jens’ hand. Jens didn’t comment on it, narrowing his eyes at the close minded, homophobic moms.
The final bell rang and kids poured out the front doors like a giant tidal wave. Lotte saw her brother and ran up to him giving him a hug from behind. “Where’s Mama? She was supposed to pick me up today.”
‘’Mom had to replace someone at work. She sent me instead,’’ he responded, reaching behind himself and putting a hand on her shoulder to hug her back.
‘’Where’s your jacket? Mama said to wear it this morning or you’re gonna get sick,’’ Lotte’ voice asked, standing behind her brother, noticing his absence of outwear.
‘’Someone stole it,’’ Jens defended, turning around to face her.
‘’Liar.’’ Jens made a face at her - very mature - and she glanced at Lucas, not recognizing him. ‘’Who are you?’’ she asked, giving him a look.
Her tone was a bit rude, but Lucas smiled at her. She’s a kid, he reminded himself. ‘’I’m Lucas. You must be Lotte? Jens told me about you.’’
She pulled her eyebrows together. ‘’He did?’’ Lucas hummed. ‘’Well, I never heard of you. How long have you and Jens been friends for? You’ve never come around before with Robbe or the other guys?”
Lucas laughed and gave Jens a look, not knowing what to say. Lucky for him, Jens came to his rescue.
‘’Lucas is coming home with us. We...we have a school project to work on,’’ he lied. ‘’And...he’s not just my friend, Lotte. Lucas is my boyfriend.’’
‘’Your boyfriend?’’ she repeated, a bit confused. ‘’Don’t you mean girlfriend? Where did Jana go?’’
The thing with children was that they have no filters - and always asked tons of questions. Lucky for him, Lotte loved Jana and liked to constantly ask about her absence.
‘’We are not together anymore.’’
‘’Why?’’
‘’Because we're just not.’’ Jens sighed, getting impatient and irritated by his sister’s questions. ‘’Now, let’s go.’’ He took her hand and they were on their way.
Lotte didn’t notice Jens irritation and proceeded to ramble on as they made their way home. Kids had a lot of things to say at this age.
Jens pulled out his keys to unlock the door when Lotte reminded him about her dance recital.
‘’I have a dance spectacle on Thursday, will you be there? Dad said he’ll be there,’’ she said, excitedly. ‘’He said he’ll bring me flowers.’’
‘’I’ll be in the front row.’’
‘’You’ll be coming too, right?’’ she asked Lucas, taking the brunet by surprise.
He hadn't expected Lotte to invite him, given how haughty she acted to him minutes ago, but kids can be surprising.
‘’If that’s alright with Jens,’’ Lucas responded, glancing at his boyfriend for approval.
Jens looked between his sister and his boyfriend. ‘’I should be asking you the same. My parents will be there. You ready to meet them?’’
.
Tuesday, February 18th
Taking a break from his homework, Jens decided to get something to eat. He had eaten dinner less than an hour ago, but was still hungry. This paper was due tomorrow and he wasn't half-way done. Maybe he was stress eating? Who knows.
Jens was almost at the end of the stairs, thinking whether he should take cookies or chips when he saw his father’s laptop and dress shoes in the entrance, next to his sister’s pink rain boots. He furrowed his eyebrows. It was possible that his dad didn’t need his laptop, that they had computers at his job, but why would he leave work without his shoes? And why was he not home yet? It was way past 5pm.
Should he call his mom? What was his dad’s work’s company name? Maybe he can make a call and ask if he’s at his desk or if someone named Mohamed Stoffels works for them? If he wasn’t at work, where was he? His car wasn’t in the driveway, he had to be somewhere.
.
Wednesday, February 19th
Aaron: Is tomorrow alright with everyone?
Robbe: Good for me!
Moyo: Me too!
Aaron: Jens?
Jens’ phone buzzed on his bed, lost under his textbooks. The History test that had been reported was happening tomorrow and Jens had completely forgotten until he heard some girl mention it in class. He and Lucas’ studying attempt hadn’t been a success in terms of real studying so Jens had to power through and learn everything in less than 24h.
Why is he so last minute?
Jens: Can’t
Jens: I’m going to my sister’s dance spectacle. Can’t miss it
Moyo: We need to film a Broerrrs vlog soon though. I know we posted on Valentine’s Day, but we filmed that almost a month ago. We need new content
Robbe: I’m going to lunch with Sander and his mom on Saturday and visiting my mom on Sunday
Jens: Why don’t we just plan something for next week? Like on Wednesday? We can do something at the skatepark?
Aaron: That sounds good to me. I’m free that day
Moyo: So, Amber finally let you off your leash 😂
Aaron: 🖕🏻
Robbe: That works for me as well
Jens: Cool. See everybody on Wednesday after school
.
Thursday, February 20th
Jens waited for Lucas outside the auditorium Lotte’s dance spectacle was held at. He checked his phone, waiting for an update from Lucas about his journey. He said he was close to the venue, but that was ten minutes ago. Where was he?
From here, he could hear the group of hostile parents ranting about their children' talent and how their child was better than everyone else and tearing others down. Jens hated this kind of parents. They were showing toxic behavior to their kids and teaching them the wrong way of being competitive.
A head of curls turned the corner and Jens smiled, seeing Lucas had dressed up a bit for the occasion, having switched his blue jeans for black ones and a less wrinkly tee shirt. It was cute that he put effort and wanted to look good, make a good impression when meeting his boyfriend's parents.
''Am I late?'' he asked, seeing a few parents getting inside and a lot of cars in the parking lot. ''I was on the phone with Kes and didn't see time pass.''
Jens put his phone in his pocket and shook his head. ''No. You're good.'' He stole a kiss from Lucas, lingering as if they hadn't seen each other at school two hours ago. Did he put cologne on? ''Ready to meet my mom?''
Lucas made a quiet noise but smiled, nodding. He hadn’t said anything, but his stomach was knotted with a small stress from meeting Jens’ parents. Jens said his parents would like him, but Lucas couldn’t help but think: ‘what if they don’t?’. After all, he was the first boy Jens would introduce to them.
''Mom.''
Fenna stopped her conversation with the woman next to her and glanced at her son. She smiled, seeing that he wasn't alone. ''You must be Lucas. My daughter told me about you. 'Jens' new ‘girlfriend'.''
Lucas chuckled at Lotte's word mixing and nodded. ''Yeah. That's me.''
“It’s very nice to meet you, Lucas. You must like Jens very much to come to an 8 years old’s dance recital.”
Jens face turned bright red as his mom teased him, fulfilling her motherly duty to embarrass her son.
Lucas grinned, leaning back against Jens. ‘’Actually, Lotte invited me. I hope I'm not intruding.’’
Fenna shook her head. ''Not at all. I’m glad she invited you. Otherwise, I don’t know when nor if Jens would’ve told me about you.’’
Jens rolled his eyes. ‘’Of course I would've. It’s just very recent, Mom.’’
‘’Don’t just stand there. Have a seat.'' She took her purse from the chair beside her and Jens sat down, Lucas doing the same next to him. ''Get ready to be amazed at the amount of glitter and squealing that is about to happen.”
.
‘’Where were you?’’ Jens asked the second his dad came home, turning on the small lamp.
He had been waiting for him in the living room, lights turned off, like parents do in movies when their kids miss curfew. Jens knew his mom wouldn’t confront him about missing Lotte’s dance spectacle, but seeing how upset his sister was, his dad needed to be questioned.
‘’You missed Lotte’s dance spectacle.’’
‘’It was tonight?’’ He removed his jacket, hanging it on the hooks in the entrance. ‘’I got held back at work. I’m sorry-’’
‘’I’m not the one you should apologize to. You promised her you’d be there. Do you know how heartbroken she was when she came on stage and didn’t see you in the front row?’’
‘’I’ll be there next time.’’
Bullshit. Jens scoffed. ‘’Don't make promises you know you can’t keep. Everyone might buy your lies, but I don’t.’’
Mohamed frowned, confused. ‘’What is this about?’’
‘’I’m the one who had to hold her while she cried after her dance performance because you weren’t there. I’m the one who picked her up on Monday because you weren’t answering your phone. I’m the one who took you to bed the night you got so drunk you couldn’t take off your shoes on your own. I’m the one who is helping mom around the house because you’re never there. We’re about to lose the house because of you. Because instead of picking yourself back up, you pile on the lies and assume we’re all blind enough to not notice.’’
‘’I’m tired of always having to cover for you every time you fuck up. You’re the father figure in this family, not me.’’
‘’I’m doing better now, I have a job and-’’
‘’Do you even have a job? Or is it another one of your lies? Because I saw your work shoes and laptop at the bottom of the stairs on Tuesday and I’m 99% certain you left the house with them in the morning.’’
Mohamed’s face tightened and Jens’ eyes grew wide, realizing that he had just confronted his father and was right about him lying.
“Go to your room. It’s late and you have school tomorrow.”
‘’Are you sending me to my room because I’m out of line or because I’m right?’’
Jens didn’t wait for his dad’s response, walking over to the stairs and going to his room, like he was ordered to.
He closed his bedroom door behind him and locked it. His heart was beating fast behind his chest, reeled up from the argument with his dad. He hadn’t meant to get this heated nor to confront him about everything, but once he started talking, he just word-vomited the rest.
Jens wished their conversation hadn’t gone like that, but he couldn’t keep everything in anymore. He had enough.
He wondered if his mom had heard them? They didn’t yell, but it was pretty intense. Jens didn't care though. If anything, it was a good thing that his mom heard. Now, she knew about her husband's lies.
He felt a tightening pain in his chest and his mind was racing. Running his hands over his face, Jens needed to calm down or else he wouldn't be able to sleep. He went to his dresser, pulled it open, and groaned, remembering that he was still out of weed. He needs to see Michiel and ask for more soon.
The bag of Xanax stared at him in the drawer, a couple white pills left in it, right next to his rolling paper. He had told himself he wouldn’t take Xanax again, but it was - again - his only option tonight.
Once the pill swallowed, Jens went to lay on his bed and curled up on himself, waiting for the medication to kick in.
.
Friday, February 21st
‘’Where are we meeting them?’’
‘’The bar in front of the café. You know, the one you met Sander and Robbe at?’’ Jens explained, pulling on his shoes and fishing his keys from his jacket to lock the door on his way out.
Lucas hummed.
The bar that they usually go to was having a half off drink special, so they decided that they should all go out and have a guys night. Robbe had invited Sander and suggested that Jens ask Lucas to come as well. Moyo and Aaron had already met Lucas so him tagging along wouldn’t cause too much suspicion. And, it’s not like they would all stay together inside the bar - at least, not all night.
‘’I was hoping it would be just the two of us tonight,’’ Lucas said with a pout, looking too cute for his own good.
Jens sighed, stepping forward where Lucas was standing. ‘’Me too, but I can’t always blow my friends off. We can always sneak into the bathroom or something? I’m sure we’ll find a place to make out.’’
Lucas smirked. ‘’I like this idea very very much.’’ He leaned his head against Jens’ and brought their lips together, winding his arms around Jens neck, and snaking a hand in his hair.
Their kiss was short as Jens pulled back, suddenly reminded of something.
‘’I forgot something upstairs. I’ll be quick.’’
Sighing, Lucas let go of him and Jens hurried upstairs, climbing the stairs two by two to save time.
He opened his top drawer and reached for the bag of pills, fully aware that Lucas was waiting downstairs and that he was doing this behind his back. Jens contemplated if he should take one, knowing Moyo would have weed on him and would share a blunt with them and he’d feel the same. But, he wanted the high now and knew the effects of Xanax were much faster and more efficient than weed.
Just as he was about to pop it into his mouth, Lucas opened his bedroom door and came up behind him.
‘’Jens, Robbe asked if we were on our way- What are you doing?!’’
Whirling around, Jens saw Lucas standing in his doorway, blue eyes wide and staring right at the Xanax he was about to take. Fuck.
‘’You said you weren’t taking any. You lied to me.’’ Lucas shook his head, stepping back.
Jens tried to reach out and explain what was happening, but Lucas was backing away from him, completely disconcerted. He didn’t know what hurt more; that his boyfriend had lied to him or that he had snuck upstairs to take this shit.
‘’Sorry, I..I have to go home,’’ Lucas said, voice shaky as he turned on his heels and raced down the stairs.
Cursing under his breath, Jens dropped the pill and went after him. ‘’Luc, wait!’’
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lemonlushff-iy · 4 years
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Read parts 1-4 here
One Last Ride - Part Five
Kagome drove down the long, winding dirt path to her mother's house, the events of the day playing over and over again in her head. She had so many questions for her mother, starting with "what the hell was going on?", followed by "why is Inuyasha helping out around the ranch?".
As her childhood home came into view, she felt the familiar bitter sweetness of nostalgia wash over her. This was the home she had grown up in. This house was the background for most of her childhood memories…both good and bad.
The wooden rocking chairs were still out on the porch. She had spent hours there as a child with her grandfather, listening to his stories about her father as a child. It's where she had plucked her fingers raw as his leathery hands covered hers, teaching her to play his guitar.
The front yard was cleaner now. It still had a soccer ball near the side, but the bikes were gone. Stored in the shed around back, like they were supposed to be. She supposed her brother drove to school now instead of biking the long distance.
She used to hate biking to school too. Only she didn't…Because Inuyasha would stop by first and go with her. He would race with her...letting her win almost every single time, because they both knew that he could pedal a lot faster.
Their fathers had taught them how to ride the bike at the same time...on this very long, winding road. Inuyasha would put on a brave face whenever he fell and skinned himself, but her father would swoop in, look at his wounds, and give him a hug. Her father would call him a champ when he stood back up, ready to keep going.
That's the kind of man her father was.
The kind of man who would wake up at four in the morning to take her fishing and just listen to her talk about all of her problems, no matter how big or small they were. He'd listen to her complain and vent over school work, excitedly talk about the latest article she was working on for the school paper, and confess her ideas for that newest short story.
It was their special time together. Where they could just be and bond...Where he had told her that he believed in her dreams. Where he told her that she was a talented writer and should keep pursuing it. Where he had told her that he was happy she was happy with Inuyasha...but if he hurt her, he wouldn't hesitate to break out his shotgun.
She had groaned at that...but having his blessing? For all if it?
It had meant the world to her.
Now...the rocking chairs stood empty, and the fishing rods lay coated in dust.
A light had been extinguished in her heart with each of their passing...and it had taken a long time to find a small flashlight for the void within.
She put her car into park, coming around to the trunk to pop it and remove her suitcase as the door to the house opened.
"Kagome!" her younger brother, Souta, called as he ran over to her, leaping into her arms so suddenly she had to drop the suitcase to catch him. "Trust fall!" he yelled as she staggered backwards from the force, the car catching her in her back. If it hadn't been there, she would have landed on her ass, but she didn't care.
"Souta," she laughed, her heart feeling a bit lighter. This was why she had come home. For him. For his graduation.
"Hey sis," he grinned, his eyes happily dancing before he bent over and tucked his head under her chin, squeezing the air out of her lungs.
"S-Sout-ta...C-can't...breathe…"
"That's ok."
"S-Souta!"
"Alright," he grumbled, pulling away from her and she gasped for air, bending over to rest her hands on her knees. "I'm so glad you made it! We were a bit worried that you wouldn't when your flight got delayed...and then we heard your car broke down…"
"I wasn't going to let that stop me! It's your big day buddy...I couldn't miss that," she grinned, righting herself and grabbing him around the shoulders to muss up his hair. "God...I think you grew another inch since Christmas...would you stop growing already? You're already taller than me."
"Just trying to catch up to Inuy-ah...LeBron James. You know. So I can have a better shot at the NBA," he smiled weakly.
"You can say his name, Souta," she replied, pulling away to push her hair behind her ears as he picked up her suitcase. "He's a good man. Not Voldemort...we don't have to pretend he doesn't exist, ok?"
"Are we pretending that Zach doesn't exist?" he asked, leading her into the house.
"Yes. Yes we are," she laughed, closing the door. It smelled like home...or at least of her mother's fried chicken. And if that wasn't home, she wasn't sure what was.
"Oh! My Sweet Baby Girl!" She heard her mother's sweet, melodic timbre instantly washed away any lingering pain from her hellish day. It was all worth it. The delayed flight. The broken down car. The horrible dinner. All of it was worth it so that she could be here. With her family.
She'd brave it all again just for this.
Her mother swept her up into her arms, rocking her from side to side, and she inhaled deeply. Underneath the scent of fried chicken she smelled of her, and of the fancy rose scented perfume she only wore on special occasions.
"Hi Mama," she sighed, pulling away to look closely at her mother. She was the same, but not. She was a bit thinner than she remembered her being...her cheeks only slightly more sunken in than she recalled as being "normal" for her mother. She wore concealer, under her eyes...something she normally avoided doing. Perhaps it was to hide the dark circles she was certain was under it? Her hair, while still short and wavy, was a bit frizzier than she remembered it being as well. Sure it was summer and all, but her mother had always taken pride in her hair.
If Inuyasha hadn't already tipped her off that something might be wrong here, she would have known the second she saw her mother.
"Let me get a look at you! Oh it's been too long, Kagome!" Her mother sighed, holding her out at an arm's length as she examined her. "Good! You're eating well."
"Mother! Did you just call me fat?"
"I said nothing of the sort - I'm just glad living in California hasn't gotten to you yet and I don't have a twig daughter."
God! Everyone and their hatred of California!
"I'm fine Mama," she growsed. "Maybe a little tired and emotionally worn down from dinner...but I'm fine."
"Yeah how'd that go?" Souta called, running down the stairs from her room. He sounded like a bull in a china cabinet, with the way his feet pounded on each step. "I was shocked when Mama told me. Of all the places for your car to break down…"
"Trust me - I know," she replied rolling her eyes as she followed her mother and brother into the kitchen. "It was...well, I would have liked it if it had gone better, but it could have been a hell of a lot worse. Inuyasha helped me fix the car up as soon as dinner was over."
"Did you two talk about anything?" her mother pried lightly, placing an open tupperware of chocolate chip cookies in the center of the table.
She snorted and plucked a cookie out from the pile within, taking a bite and asking, "about what specifically?"
"I don't know, anything noteworthy," she shrugged, reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out the milk, pouring it into two glasses.
"She's asking if you and Inuyasha talked about...things," her brother helpfully supplied.
"We talked about a bunch of things."
"Such as?" her mother tried again, placing the milk in front of them and crossing her arms on the table.
"Such as my favorite color," she replied dryly, taking a sip from her milk.
"No...really..." her mother said, cocking her head to the side.
"Really," Kagome confirmed, taking another bite from her cookie. "He asked me what it was. He wasn't sure if it was still green. Shouldn't we be talking about something more exciting than my run in with Inuyasha? Like Souta's graduation?"
"I dunno sis," he teased. "You've been avoiding him for seven years. This feels pretty exciting to me…"
She threw her cookie at him.
"The two of you! We're fine. Everything's fine. Can we just...move on from him?" she groaned, and they reluctantly changed the conversation to Souta's graduation plans.
The ceremony was the day after next, and Souta had requested that they go to Ottwell's, one of only two diners in town, afterwards followed by bowling. Apparently he had plans with some friends that night, so he was graciously gracing them with his presence in the afternoon.
After that, they spent the next two hours talking about everything and nothing. Kagome filled them in on how work at the magazine and was going, and confirmed that no...she hadn't seriously started dating anyone new yet. She had set up Tinder on her phone again though.
Buyo her cat was fine. A little older and more crotchety, but her roommate Ayame was looking after him while she was gone. She had met Ayame in college and the two had become fast friends, supporting each other on all of life's ups and downs on the west coast.
Souta, she was surprised to hear, had decided to delay attending a college for a year. When she had pressed him on why, he had simply shrugged and told her that he wasn't sure what he wanted to do beyond this...and if there even was something he wanted to do beyond this. Besides. It's not like it ever hurt anyone to take a year off. He would use the time to help around the ranch and do some soul searching.
She would have liked to argue with him, but she couldn't. It was important that he forge his own path, and if this was what he needed to do…well...she might not like it, but she could support it. Just as they had when she left home for UCLA.
When he began to fake yawn to excuse himself to go to sleep, but really play video games in his room, Kagome stood up and snapped the lid back onto the tupperware of cookies.
"You know, I had been hoping that perhaps you had patched things up with Inuyasha," her mother began casually, watching her daughter wash her hands in the kitchen sink.
Kagome could sense her mother had been waiting until he was out of earshot before starting this conversation, and she sighed.
"Mama…"
"He didn't want to upset you, but Souta would really like it if Inuyasha would join us. The bond he shares with him...you know he's always been like an older brother to him."
"And you're both asking me for permission to invite him along?" she smiled wryly, coming to slump down in a chair at the kitchen table again.
"He's not. He didn't want to hurt you...but he's mentioned it in passing, quite a bit. I am, though. It would mean the world to him, Sweetheart."
Kagome worried her fingers and bit the inside of her lip, her chest slightly pained that they were afraid to invite him along because it would upset her. She knew that the two had always shared a special bond. Inuyasha was the older brother Souta had never had...and he was the brother Inuyasha had always wished he had.
It hurt that her family didn't believe in her ability to keep it together with him for one day for her brother's sake...yet what reason did they have to believe that they could?
Every single time she had ever come in, they had carefully asked just once if she planned to see him. And every time her answer had been no.
She avoided him like the plague.
But...if today was any indication, fate really was forcing him back into her life.
Besides. Souta deserved to have his male role model there. Their grandfather and father died when he was so young...Inuyasha was all he had to look up to. She couldn't take that from him.
"He should be there. We can be civil for an afternoon, if today was any indication," she finally whispered, and her mother reached out to take her hangs, giving them a light squeeze.
"Thank you Sweetie," she grinned warmly. "Why don't you tell him in the morning? It will make his day and I don't think he'd be able to go to sleep now if we told him."
"Sounds good," she nodded. "I...Mama...I want to ask you something. About something Inuyasha said earlier."
Her mother instantly froze and her back straightened. She was apprehensive.
"Oh? What did he say?"
"He implied that things aren't going so well here. That he's been helping out around here a lot? At least enough to know I was dating Zach, and that's not exactly a casual conversation topic…"
Her mother's eyes flashed with slight agitation before she schooled her expression again into casual nonchalance.
"Nothing is wrong, Sweetie. He's offered to help out, and I appreciate his assistance."
"But why did he offer? Mama...come on. You can tell me. I know something is going on. The Takahashi's have a large enough ranch that Inuyasha wouldn't offer help unless there was a good reason...And you look stressed, Mama. You aren't eating right...getting enough sleep...your hair is a mess…"
"Kagome Higurashi, you bite your tongue! I raised you better than to insult your mother!"
"I'm not insulting you, I'm trying to figure out what is going on! Please Mama...I'm not a child. You can confide in me. What's going on here?"
Her mother gave her a long, hard look before sighing and rising to her feet, retrieving two of her father's whisky glasses and a bottle of Jim Beam. She deftly poured two fingers worth into each glass, adding a few ice cubes before setting the drinks down on the old, wooden table.
She sat down, picking up one of the glasses and giving the amber liquid a swirl, trying to chill it a bit faster before taking a sip.
"Kagome...the ranch isn't doing so well. We haven't been for the last year."
"What?" she gasped, pulling her glass closer to her and gripping it tightly between white-knuckled fingers. "What happened?"
"It was just...one thing after another. First we had a rodent infestation in the feed...then Bullseye died of old age, and Bill got sick...we only had Benny left," her mother began, shaking her head as she began to list their tragedies. Bullseye, Bill, and Benny were all of their bulls. And if they were only down to one breeding male, that would make breeding seasons difficult and affect profits. The rodent infestation would have killed off most of their feed...and both replacing the feed and their bulls was expensive.
"Then we had a bout of coyote attacks picking off the calves," her mother continued. "Money got so tight that I had to make some hard decisions. I had to let go of Matthew, Jim, and Kenny. They've found work elsewhere, but it's been hard maintaining this place without their help and with the loan shark breathing down our neck—"
"—Loan shark?!" She squealed. "You went to a loan shark?"
"Kagome, Honey, I was desperate. It's expensive replacing all of that feed...and I was only able to replace one of the bulls to try and keep us going, but it hasn't been digging us out of the hole yet," her mother sighed, taking another long swig from her glass. "The mortgage was due and I didn't have the money, so I did the only thing I could."
Kagome took a few, deep gulps of her drink and ran her fingers through her hair.
"Oh my God," she whispered, leaning forward onto the table. How could her mother have kept this from her? She could have helped! Would have helped! She would have sent back some of her paycheck, would have looked for alternative solutions that didn't involve turning to a loan shark...She would have...she would have done something!
"We will be fine, Sweetheart," her mother soothed, taking another sip from her glass. "Things will be tight, but we've made due before. We will again. I'm...I'm thankful to Inuyasha, though. If it weren't for him...I don't know how we'd be doing if it weren't for him."
"I'm confused. You let go of Matthew, Jim, and Kenny, and hired Inuyasha?"
Her mother shot her a sad smile, tilting her head to the side.
"We didn't hire him, Kagome. He's just been doing. Showed up one day before dawn and had already fed the livestock and collected all the eggs before I even had breakfast made. I insisted on giving him something for his time, but he didn't want anything other than…" She trailed off and closed her eyes sighing.
"Other than what?" Kagome swallowed.
"Other than the occasional update on how you're doing. I think...I think a part of him still loves you, Sweetie."
She couldn't have stopped the bitter laugh from bubbling out of her throat even if she had tried to.
Him? Still in love with her?
Hardly.
Though he had kissed her…She could still feel his lips pressed against hers...
But that was a goodbye.
Wasn't it?
Yes. It was. And she wasn't going to start thinking differently. It would be a mistake if she did.
Sure they had a few moments of...comradery? Civility? Nostalgia? But it wasn't anything more than that. There was enough hostility and thinly veiled barbs to be construed as something more than two people trying to get along for the evening.
"I think you're sorely mistaken, Mama."
Her mother gave her a knowing look, but didn't say more on the subject. "Regardless," she continued, "he's been coming by every morning, helping for as long as he can until he has to go back home and work for his father. I've been making him breakfast, so there's a chance you'll run into him again before Souta's graduation."
Perfect.
There really wasn't any hiding this trip, huh?
"Well...thanks for letting me know," she sighed. "At least I have a head's up this time, right?"
____________________
Had a rough morning (my dog tripped my coming down the stairs and I have a sprained ankle now) so I said FUCK IT and am posting early. I’ll still have stuff for white day.
Wall of tags! Let me know if you want in or out!
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slippinmickeys · 4 years
Text
Fairies, Skip Hence
This is my pic for the 2019 X-Files Secret Santa fic exchange. It was written for @msrafterdark, who’s prompt was “Soft early MSR, maybe a small gathering at the Scullys in which Mulder is invited. I'm a sucker for where Mulder and Scully are trying to find equlibrium in their new relationship.” 
Observing her from the passenger seat, she looked nervous, tense, eyes focused on the road like high beams. Her sharp little bob was perfectly coiffed, and she was wearing the bra and panty set (he’d been there when she put them on) that made her walk more upright. He thought of them as her Confidence Boosters, though it wouldn’t do to tell her that--she’d roll her eyes at the double meaning and never wear them again.
Hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, knuckles almost white.
He’d loved her for years, and knew she felt the same. They’d been Pyramus and Thisbe, speaking words of love through walls of their own making. It was only recently that those walls had come down, and he knew she felt unsteady, was still finding her footing. He didn’t know how the next few days would go, but he did know one thing: she still wasn’t sure about this.  
XxXxXxXxXxX
She still wasn’t sure about this. Mulder was coming to Christmas at her mother’s house.
She wouldn’t even be dealing with it if they’d been slightly more discreet and a lot more awake--he’d accidentally answered her phone at 8am on Thanksgiving when Maggie had called to asked Dana to bring an ingredient she’d forgotten. When Mulder had handed her the phone (they really needed to figure out what side of the bed they were each going to take, and leave phones ONLY on their own side), he’d looked both chagrined and pleased, and her irritation had given way to mortification when she’d heard the tone of her mother’s voice.
“Good morning, Dana. Was that… Fox?” she’d asked, her voice full of hope and barely concealed delight.
For all his foibles and for as much as her older brother hated him, her mother had
always had a soft spot for Mulder. “Fox and I have been through a lot together, Dana,” she would always say.
One grandchild was all Margaret Scully had, and the prospect of more--however they might come into the world--would sustain her. A man--any man, really, but this one in particular (Scully had reluctantly told her mother about the IVF failure earlier in the summer)--answering her daughter’s phone at dawn on a holiday was surely cause for celebration and hope.
Scully had steadfastly refused to bring him along that day, their relationship being so new, so she really ought not to have been surprised when Mulder told her a week or two later that Maggie Scully had called him herself to invite him to join the family at Christmas.
She’d pinched the bridge of her nose when he’d asked her what she thought he should bring.
And that was how they’d found themselves bright and early on Christmas Eve, driving north through quickly accumulating snow with a backseat full of gifts, a half case of wine and increasingly jangly nerves.
“We do stockings on Christmas Eve,” Scully said out of nowhere, her fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel.
“Okay,” Mulder said, clearly wondering where she was going with this.
“Just a warning,” she went on.
“Okay,” Mulder repeated.
“Bill is going to be there.”
“You’ve mentioned that several times.”
“And Tara and Matthew, and Charlie is home on leave,” she went on.
“Right.”
“I’m not sure where Mom will want us to sleep. She might put us in separate rooms.”
“So sex only clandestinely in the bathroom,” Mulder joked.
“Mulder!”
“Scully, I’m kidding. Relax, it’s going to be fine.”
She gave him an extremely skeptical look.
“Please no sex jokes in front of my family.”
“Noted,” he said, and then, “I grew up with a full Emily Post upbringing, Scully, I promise I can comport myself.”
Her mother knew she and Mulder were together now, which meant that so did everyone else. She worried she’d be treated differently. She worried Mulder would be treated differently. She and Mulder weren’t exactly “public,” so she worried she’d treat him differently. Everything was so new. God, would he kiss her in front of her family? Would she want him to? What if she wanted him to? Seven years of saying we’re just friends to her family was a hard habit to break. She’d rather do Christmas with the Gunmen, she thought, as she took her mother’s exit off 95. She’d rather see Frohike in nothing but a Santa hat.
She sighed dramatically.
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” she said.
She thought, it’s everyone else. It’s Bill. It’s me.  
Mulder reached over the console and tried to rub the tension out of her neck.
His touch fortified her as it always did. Maybe it would all be okay. Maybe.
XxXxXxXxXxX
They made it through the lekking ground of the entryway, Bill and Charlie gathered to alternately dole out hugs and stiff handshakes laced with polite menace. Charlie winked at her as he shook Mulder’s hand.
Tara met them at the threshold with glasses of spiked eggnog, which Scully downed half of instantly, gratefully.
They made small talk in the kitchen with Tara and her mother, while Matthew scooted around on the floor, running a Brio train over everyone’s shoes. Mulder offered to make his legs a tunnel for the boy, and she saw both other Scully women’s eyes crinkle at the corners, charmed.
The man could charm anything but bees, she thought.
Scully couldn’t help but be thrown by his presence amongst her family, his dark minky hair and his Fortean job, all out of context amidst the buttoned up Naval fortitude of the Scullys, with their fair hair and their strict adherence to protocol.
He looked and sounded relaxed, as did the rest of her family, but she couldn’t unclench. He reached for her several times and she didn’t reach back.
Her mom caught her eye from across the room and gave her a questioning look.
She ducked into her mother’s quiet den not long after that, pulling Mulder rather reluctantly behind her. The room was much the same as it had been when it had been her dad’s office: still smelled of leather and old books. Naval charts hung on the walls. She took a moment to center herself.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asked her.
She turned to him.
“I was going to ask you the same,” she said.
He cocked her a half-grin.
“This is not my first too-hard handshake, Scully. I can handle myself.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said.
“I’m the prince of subtlety,” he said, “I plan to challenge Bill to a game of one-on-one and throw an elbow.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose again. She’d been doing it a lot lately.
“The guy plays like Bill Lambeer, Scully,” he said, continuing to push her, “you can just tell. It’ll be completely justified.”
She didn’t rise to the bait and instead stepped into him, close.
“Everything is different now,” she said, nervously, and he sobered.
“Nothing is different now,” he replied as he moved in to kiss her forehead, then leaned down to catch her eye, “absolutely nothing is.”
She knew he meant that they had always had love between them, fierce and unconditional.
She nodded at him, her face softening, “but everything is all out of context here and it’s already throwing me for a loop.”
It was probably as honest and forthright as she had ever been with him. He decided right then to be on his best behavior.
“It’s going to be fine,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose as he backed out of the room, “come on, let’s go be social.”
She glanced at her watch as she followed him. It was not yet noon.
XxXxXxXxXxX
Lunch was a simple spread of cheeses and meats, laid out on the dining room table for casual grazing -- Mrs. Scully had a big dinner planned.
Mulder helped himself, but Scully seemed too preoccupied to eat, and he watched her interact with her family as he sat on the couch in Maggie’s living room, a paper plate perched on his knee.
It was fascinating watching her comportment shift from Agent Scully to Dana, to watch how she joked with her brothers, slouched like a teenager against her mom in the kitchen. The Scullys were a tactile, affectionate bunch, prone to sarcastic comments about one another, but always with the understanding of love under each gentle jibe. Hers had been a very different upbringing from his own. He was held rapt.
The star of the show of course was Matthew, who was happy to be the center of attention, taking time to engage with each adult to gauge their suitability as playmate and co-star. Mulder appeared to pass muster with his ability to realistically die when poked with a small plastic lightsaber.
Mulder caught Scully staring during one such encounter with the boy, her expression guarded and unreadable.
XxXxXxXxXxX
Scully watched Charlie watch Mulder surreptitiously from where he sat in the living room. Her brother was obviously intrigued by him, having heard the stories from other members of her family, having never met the man himself.
Each of the Scully children had very different personalities. Charlie had always been the prankster, the lighthearted sarcastic kid that could bring a smile to anyone’s face. He’d also been the kindest, and Scully thought, behind his extroverted, jovial exterior, the most observant. He never missed a moment.
As if on cue, he shifted his gaze to her and smiled. Pointed to Mulder and gave her an exaggerated thumbs up.  
Charlie’s approval was almost antithetical to high spirits and she found her mood turning sour, which she knew was ridiculous. She operated better when it was just her and Mulder against the world, when her love for him was a closely guarded secret. They had only just started sleeping together, and she was afraid of how much she already needed him. She found she wanted to go to a corner and lick at nonexistent wounds, to snarl at anyone who came near. She was mad at herself for getting mad.
When her mother asked if anyone wanted to decorate the Christmas cookies she and Matthew had made the day before, Scully surprised everyone by volunteering and drifting off toward the kitchen with Tara and Bill, leaving the room with an apologetic glance at Mulder. She could feel his eyes on her back as she walked away.
XxXxXxXxXxX
“Enjoying ‘The Very Best Sacred Christmas Carols?’” Charlie said, handing Mulder a cold bottle of beer and dropping heavily onto the couch beside him.
“Of course,” Mulder said, nodding his thanks.
Charlie took a swig from the bottle he was holding. “You don’t have to lie,” he said, “there’s only so many times a man can hear a choir singing the word ‘holy’ before he wants to get hung from a yardarm.”
“Depends on the choir, I guess,” Mulder said, smiling.
A stiff, staid chorus sang from the speakers in Maggie’s entertainment center.
“I think this one is from King’s College, Cambridge,” Charlie said thoughtfully, “I’ve only heard it every Christmas since 1979. Mom is militant that the Christmas music be as Jesus-y as possible, and Bill is militant about Mom being militant.”
Mulder took another swig. “Always been more of an Oxford guy, myself,” he said, noncommittally.  
Charlie regarded him for a long moment.
“Bill isn’t a big fan of yours,” he said levelly. Mulder quirked a shoulder—a ‘what are you gonna do?’ gesture. “But you seem to make my sister happy,” the man went on.
Mulder sat up straighter and chuffed a self-conscious laugh.
“I wouldn’t have drawn that conclusion by the way she’s been today, myself,” he said, still smiling, catching his thumbnail on the edge of the beer label.
Charlie laughed brightly.
“That’s actually how I can tell,” he said. “She cares so much about making a good impression, she’s getting in her own way. And you haven’t seen the way she’s been looking at you when you’re not looking at her.”
Mulder looked to the younger man.
“You do the same thing, by the way,” Charlie went on, laughing. “My aunt Mabel would have used the word ‘besotted.’”
Mulder flashed on something he’d said a year or so before, I do not gaze at Scully.
“You guys are hopeless,” Charlie laughed. “But… I’m not my brother,” Charlie went on, “and to be honest, I’d like you on the off chance it would piss Bill off-“ Mulder quirked a grin at that “-but couple that with Dana’s obvious and utter devotion to you, and I’ve decided to like you because she does.”
Mulder felt he’d just earned something hard-given. He looked at the youngest Scully with gratitude.
“Now cover me,” Charlie said, and suddenly stood, the earnest moment forgotten as the young redhead pulled a CD case out of his back pocket. He handed Mulder his beer.
“What?” Mulder said, confused.
Charlie nodded towards the room’s entrance.
“Cover me,” he said, and Mulder stood, holding a cold beer in each hand, moving to the edge of the room, a precipitate look-out man. “Nobody fucks with Mom’s carols,” Charlie went on, kneeling in front of the CD player in the middle of the room. He pushed a button and the music suddenly stopped, the changer slowly giving up the ghost and ejecting the disc that had been in the player. “So let’s see what happens, shall we?” He pressed a mischievous grin in Mulder’s direction and pushed a new CD in.
It took about ten seconds before a new song started playing, more loudly than the carols had been, a drum beat followed by piano—Elton John’s bizarre holiday song ‘Who’d Be A Turkey At Christmas.’
From the direction of the kitchen, Bill’s voice came with an approaching “Now what the hell?” and Charlie ran toward Mulder, a roguish smile on his face.
“Run,” he said, coming right at Mulder, who braced himself.
“What?!” Mulder said, amused, but unnerved.
“Run!” Charlie said, darting past Mulder and grabbing his beer out of Mulder’s hand in the process.
Mulder felt he had no choice but to run up the stairs after him, laughing—a sudden but willing accomplice—while Elton drawled on drunkenly about having ‘a few too many,’ loudly from the speakers just as Bill barged into the room on a wind of blustering confusion.
XxXxXxXxXxX
Scully narrowed her eyes at Mulder, as they deposited overnight bags in the corner of her adolescent bedroom.
“What?” Mulder asked.
“Charlie took full responsibility for the music kerfuffle,” she said, and Mulder looked at her innocently. He would not implicate himself. Charlie had hit a setting on the CD player, whether on purpose or not remained to be seen, but Bill couldn’t get the player to stop until it was halfway through ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.’
Peace had been restored and the choir of Cambridge was once again singing its way through the Wassail Song though Scully had used the temporary chaos to steal out to the car and grab their luggage. She still wasn’t entirely sure Mulder wouldn’t be relegated to the foldout couch in the basement, being both the other half of an unmarried couple and now party to the playing of non-sanctioned Christmas music.
He sat on her childhood bed, bouncing on it experimentally.
“Not too creaky,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.
She ignored him, hands on her hips.
“You seem to be getting along with everyone okay,” she said, half questioning.
“I’m not without my charms,” he shrugged. She seemed tense and still hadn’t sat down. “Your family is great, Scully,” he said, “even the ones who don’t like me have been very polite.”
That at least elicited a reluctant smile, and she finally sat down next to him.
“We’re halfway through,” she said.
“Halfway through what?” he asked.
“The day,” she said, and he shot her a sympathetic smile. “Next up we’ve got stockings, dinner, then midnight mass…”  
“And then?” he said, swaying into her.
“And then we take a Benadryl with the family Sauterne and wait for sleep to save us,” she said, standing and offering a hand up.
He laughed as she had meant him to and took her proffered hand.
“You okay with going to mass?” she asked him soberly as she pulled him up.
“If you go, I go,” he said, and gave her hand a quick peck before dropping it. “Tara’s been trying to get me alone for the last three hours, I’m going to go give her a chance.”
She smiled at him.
“Want some backup?” she said.
“Always,” he said, backing out of the room.
XxXxXxXxXxX
Bill started coming up the steps as Mulder was headed down, and Scully waited on the landing so as not to crowd him.
He passed her and started to head down the hallway, but as he walked by, he gave her a look which brought her up short.
“Something you want to say, Bill?” she said to his back. He stopped and turned toward her slowly.
“He’s staying in your room, I see,” he said.
“And Tara is staying in yours,” she said, a statement of fact.
He gave her a long look.
“Why him, Dana?” he finally asked.
“Because he loves me,” she said, feeling as though she really needn’t justify herself.
“Any man would love you,” he said, “look at you. You could have anyone you wanted.”
“But I want him.” She didn’t need to convolute it any. When it came right down to it, it really was as simple as that.
Bill looked at her for another long moment and then, seeming to come to some kind of internal decision, nodded at her and turned away.
XxXxXxXxXxX
After a few minutes he watched as Scully came into the living room to find him perched casually on the couch next to her sister in law. She sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room and picked up a nearby paperback. Good old Scully, watching his back as always. The music in the room was still extolling the glory of the season and it afforded he and Tara a fair bit of privacy.
“Have you done Yankee Swap before, Fox?” Tara asked him brightly.
“Don’t know. Sounds vaguely punitive.”
She smiled at him.
“It’s a fun gifting thing we started doing a few years back where you can take someone else’s present or swap it out for a new one.”
“That’s a relief,” he said, deadpan, “I was afraid you were coming onto me.”
Tara laughed as he had hoped she would, then leaned into him confidentially, her breath smelling sweetly of pinot grigio. She had a smudge of flour on the left side of her chin.
“You know, Dana has never brought over a boyfriend before,” she said, probably a bit louder than she meant to.
Scully looked up sharply from where she sat curled up in her chair, and Mulder gave her a significant look which was completely lost on Tara as he leaned in to talk to her.
“We’ve been worried about her,” Tara said, “with that job of yours. It seems dangerous and all-consuming. We didn’t think she’d ever meet anyone.”
“I, for one, am glad she didn’t,” Mulder said and darted a look at Scully who was pretending not to eavesdrop.
Tara giggled good naturedly.
“Maggie’s been telling us about the change in her these last few weeks. How happy she seems. I guess falling in love with each other was inevitable,” she said wistfully.
Mulder nodded softly.
“Fate,” he said, and Scully’s eyes bobbed to his.
“Sweet,” Tara sighed girlishly, “well, we’re glad you’re here, Fox.” She patted his knee. “You’ll make Dana a wonderful husband, I’m sure,” she went on, clearly meaning it as the highest of compliments.
“Well,” Mulder said, holding Scully’s eyes across the room, “it’s an honor just to be nominated.”
XxXxXxXxXxX
Afternoon rolled into evening, and the weak sun laid long shadows through Margaret Scully’s neighborhood before it was blotted out completely in a blast of swirling snow.
He had drifted into the den and had been looking at the Naval map of the Carribean when Scully found him.
“Please tell me you’re not considering another trip to the Bermuda Triangle,” she said.
He turned to her and smiled, reached out to her. He saw her look at his outstretched hand and she walked around it, moving to look out the window.
“Looks like you’re getting out of midnight mass,” she said, one finger pulling down a slat on the room’s Venetian blinds, “it’s really coming down out there.”
The wind was gusting, pushing snow and ice past the glass; visibility was limited to about ten feet. The family had agreed to keep an eye on the weather and bow out of attending the midnight service if driving conditions became too dangerous.
Mulder came up behind her and bent down to look outside as well, her back pressed into him. When she straightened, he didn’t move, and he felt a frisson of energy run along the skin where he was pressed to her. He brought his hand to her hip and pressed his lips to her ear.
“Don’t,” she said, stepping away, and Mulder looked at her, hurt and confused. Immediately, she reached out a conciliatory hand and looked to the heavens as if for help. “I’m sorry,” she said.
He gave her a long look.
“If you didn’t want me to come, you should have told me,” he said gently.
“That’s not it.”
“Then what is it? Because honestly, Scully, you are the only one making things weird. Even Bill is acting like an adult, which is, frankly, almost as surprising as your attitude.”
She sighed.
She was prickly and self-conscious, beautiful and unapproachable. Even when she was pissed off with him--even when he was pissed off with her too--he felt like the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.
“We’re still trying to figure out what this is, Mulder,” she said a little desperately, gesturing between the two of them,  “I still don’t know how to be with you. How to work with you. How any of this is going to play out. And having to figure that out while surrounded by my family of all people is just… a lot.”
He sighed himself and stepped back into her space, reaching out to rub a hand up and down her back.
She was tense under his hand.
“Tara keeps staring at my ring finger,” she said, and Mulder couldn’t help but chuckle.
“It’s not funny,” she said.
“It’s kind of funny,” he said.
“Mulder-”
He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him, pressed his lips to her neck. One of his hands started creeping under the hem of her blouse.
“Scully—“ he started, when Matthew toddled into the room on a delighted shriek, the only one in the house who wouldn’t have picked up on the blatant frottage before him.
Scully took a step away from Mulder as Bill popped his head through the door.
“I think we’re going to to do stockings now,” Bill said, nodding toward his son, “some of us are getting a little antsy.”
“Sure,” Scully said to him, and then knelt down in front of the boy. “Matty, will you show me where the stockings are?” she asked him, and he happily took her by the hand and pulled her out of the room. She glanced behind her at Mulder as she left, who was still standing by the window, backlit by the snow.
XxXxXxXxXxX
Her mother found her outside just before dinner, wrapped in a tatty old afghan and leaning over the railing on the back porch, watching chickadees dart in and out of the feeder in the day’s fading light. The wind had stopped blowing, but the snow was still coming down, fat white flakes drifting down out of the silent heavens.
“Everything all right?” Margaret Scully asked from the doorway. She turned to look at her mother, who was hugging her sweater around herself tightly, her feet shoved into an old pair of fleecy slippers.
“Mm,” she hummed, smiling at her.
Her mother closed the door behind her and walked out slowly to join her daughter, the snow squeaking under her feet as she moved.
Scully had gone outside to get a little fresh air, and, she hoped, a clearer head. She was avoiding Mulder’s touch like he was some secret teenaged boyfriend she wasn’t allowed to see and her head was running in such circles about the whole damn weekend, she was wound up in her own thoughts and likely to fall face first.
“Is my absence conspicuous?” Scully asked her mother lightly, reaching out an arm and wrapping a corner of the afghan over Margaret’s shoulder.
“Only to me,” her mom said, leaning into her. Her mother’s intuition was flawless, and sometimes all it took was Maggie flashing her a compassionate look for Scully to crumple back into a pre-teen mess and spill all her fears and secrets. “And to Fox.”
She turned to look at her mother. She’d inherited her insubstantial height, and being eye to eye with her always seemed to buck up Scully’s morale.
“Is he okay?” she asked.
“He’s fine,” her mother answered with a small smile, “currently building a fairly intricate train track with your nephew.” Then, after a long moment, “how long?” Have you been together didn’t need to be said.
Scully breathed out, a column of vapor dissipating into the air.
“Not very,” she answered.
Maggie Scully smiled and looked out onto her small white yard.
“I’m glad,” she said.
“Bill’s not,” Scully said softly.
“Bill doesn’t understand what you have,” her mother said, looking at her significantly. “I don’t know if anyone really can, other than the two of you,” she went on. Scully tucked her chin to her chest, not able to meet her mother’s eye. “That man loves you, Dana. With the kind of unquestionable, forever love any of my kids would be lucky to see in the world, much less experience. I’m glad Fox is here with us for the holiday,” she reached out and ran a hand up and down her daughter’s arm, “I hope you are, too.”
She looked up and saw her mother’s wistful expression, the way she rubbed her thumb over her wedding ring like a talisman. Maggie smiled at her and headed back into the house.
XxXxXxXxXxX
“You feeling any better?” Mulder asked her. He had volunteered to do dishes after the meal, so she volunteered to help him, drying as he washed and putting the dishes away.
He had one of her mother’s aprons on and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, suds halfway up his forearms.
“A bit,” she said.
He’d been the consummate guest at dinner, regaling the table with stories from his college days at Oxford, full of vulpine charm and Vineyard decorum. At one point she’d even seen Bill chuckling at one of his stories.
She felt guilty for laying her own discomfort at his feet when he was the outsider, the guest at her mother’s table. She told him so, while she wiped a casserole dish dry.
“Hey,” he said, bumping her gently with his hip, “you know I know you, right?”
She smiled at him.
A siren approached outside the house and they both stilled, a Pavlovian anticipation building until the emergency vehicle passed, the siren fading into the night. Water dripped from Mulder’s hands and they both slowly unclenched.
“Go be with your family, Scully, I’ll finish up here.”
She regarded him, took the glass he was holding and dried it slowly.
A round of laughter came in from the dining room, where the rest of the Scully clan were sipping Sauterne, Matthew playing troll under the table.
“You don’t know where anything goes,” she said.
“I’ll figure it out.”
She kissed his cheek, lingering there for a moment, and hooked the damp dishtowel over his shoulder, then left to join her family.
XxXxXxXxXxX
She offered to help Matthew put out cookies and milk for Santa, and Mulder followed them into the living room, charmed by the boy’s enthusiasm.
Once the goodies had been strategically placed just-so, she let Matthew talk her into reading him a small Christmas book he’d gotten in his stocking. She barely made it halfway through before Matthew ran out of steam and slumped against Scully’s leg, half a cookie clutched loosely in his damp hand, leaving a trail of crumbs on her knee. His eyes slid closed.
Scully ducked her head down to look at him, sweeping soft curls from his forehead. She closed the book and set it down next to her.
Mulder cocked his chin toward the boy.
“I had a roommate once, was the same way,” he said quietly.
Scully smiled and resisted the urge to smell the boy’s head. His little body had pinned her arm to her side.
Another round of cheerful laughter came in from the direction of the kitchen, the rest of the adults in the house all loosened up from a good meal and a round of wassail, the proximity of family.
Mulder rose from where he sat, and kneeled down in front of Scully, scooping the child up in his arms from where he’d been pressed to her. Her side felt suddenly cold.
“Where does he sleep?” Mulder whispered, and Scully rose, silently beckoning him to follow her.
Up the stairs and down the hallway they crept like thieves, Mulder and the child behind her a sleepy votary.
She opened the door to Missy’s old bedroom, which her mom had converted to a sewing room. It had a large crib set up in one corner and a Fisher Price nightlight projecting a jungle scene onto the ceiling. The door creaked as it swung open, but the boy didn’t awaken, and Mulder crept to the crib and deposited the child gently onto the mattress. He snuffled once and turned onto his side.
“Should we change him into PJ’s or anything?” Mulder whispered, keeping his eyes on the boy’s sleeping form.
She shook her head and took in the scene before her, Mulder watching over a sleeping Scully child. Whatever emotion threatened then, she refused it.
“I’ll go let Tara know we put him down,” she whispered back and turned from the room, drifting down the hallway like Marley’s ghost.
XxXxXxXxXxX
When it was confirmed that Matthew was finally asleep, Bill and Charlie set about bringing in gifts from the trunks of various cars, and Mulder had to jump in and help when they tumbled in through the front door, overloaded with gifts and stamping snow onto the mat.
Several toys needed assembling and the unlikely trio headed into the garage and went about it in the usual male fashion; with several strong opinions and more tools than necessary.
When they finished, they found that Tara and Maggie had gone up to bed, and Bill and Charlie followed suit.
Mulder searched the house until he found Scully.
Bubbles floated like dust motes silently through the living room, catching the color from the lights on the Christmas tree and turning the room kaleidoscopic. She sat in front of the fireplace amongst Matthew’s scattered stocking stuffers, looking young and small. She held a small Santa-shaped bottle, blowing bubbles quietly into the room from a wand protruding from Santa’s hat. She looked like a fairy in the festive space, and his heart clutched at the sight of her.
“Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania,” he said softly.
She looked up with a smile.
“What, jealous Oberon?” she said.
“Never,” he said, and lowered himself cross-legged next to her. The fire gave off a radiating heat that pushed into one side of his face.  
“I’m sorry--” she started, but he cut her off with a finger to her lips.
“Don’t,” he said, “this is a lot for you--all of it--I get it. You don’t have to apologize.” She smiled at him in relief. “So long as you don’t forswear my bed and company,” he went on.
She looked at him, her eyes watery, but bright.
“Never,” she whispered.
A bubble landed on her hair and refused to pop. He could hardly blame it.
XxXxXxXxXxX
A log gave a sharp snap in the fireplace and she turned her head to look at it.
She had realized she was in love with him when she was sick, writing to him in a journal she didn’t want him to read. Back then it was too late to do anything about it. Then she was granted a reprieve, death’s scythe pulled back, and regret was replaced with cowardice.
She looked back at him, the glow of the fire turing his face chimeric, and thought of Matthew’s crumby, damp hand, the glint of Charlie’s hair by the light of the sun. Her mother’s worn, papery skin, Bill linking his hand with Tara’s under the dining room table at dinner. She thought of the thump and swish of Mulder’s heart when her ear was pressed to his chest. It all felt like family. It all felt like home.
He was her partner, her fidus Achates, the love of her life.
“Take me to bed,” she said softly, reaching out for him.
“Look, I don’t know what the secretarial pool has been saying, but I’m not that kind of g-“
Scully silenced him with a kiss to the lips.
“I’m sorry I’ve been such a basket case today,” she said, catching his eyes in the warm light of the fire. “Take me to bed, Mulder,” she said again, coyly arching an eyebrow at him.
He nodded at her earnestly and took her by the hand.
They padded lightly up the steps as Handel’s “Messiah” began to play on the stereo in the living room behind them.
XxXxXxXxXxX
She closed the door after he followed her in and the room took on a sudden quiet, the music from downstairs pushing gently at the outside of the door.
It was an odd contrast to see Mulder, an adult man, standing in her adolescent bedroom looking at her in anticipation, his eyes hooded with lust. She stepped into him, her toes on the tops of his--he flexed them even as he reached out and pulled her to him by the hips.
Sex between them had been surprising, incredible, but it was still new, and they had not yet settled on an easy rhythm, a give and take on the act’s initiation.
“Come here,” he said softly, though she couldn’t get much closer, and he pulled her flush up against him, his breath fanning her face.
He slowly took her arms one at a time and propped them up over his shoulders until they were encircling his neck, then he grabbed her firmly by the ass and lifted until her face was more or less even with his. She wrapped her legs around his waist reflexively.
“Better?” she whispered, smiling at him, their faces only an inch or so apart.
“Better,” he answered, and then leaned in slowly to kiss her.
His lips were framed by the rasp of his five o’clock shadow, which scraped against her skin, her teeth, as she opened her mouth to him. She hummed into him, relaxing into his embrace.
The stresses of the day seemed to peel back--her fears, expectations, pressures from her family whether real or merely perceived, all seemed to coalesce into one sharp feeling that melded somewhere in her chest and slowly sunk until it was an exquisite yearning pressure in her womb.
She threaded her fingers through his silky hair and she felt him turn and start walking them to the small double bed of her youth. Mulder sank slowly until he was sitting on it, Scully perched earnestly on his lap. He finally broke the kiss and leaned back to look at her.
“So I’m the first boyfriend you’ve brought home, huh?” he said, an obnoxious grin spreading across his face.
“Shut up, Mulder,” she said on a smile of her own, and reached down to grab the hem of his sweater, pulling it up and over his head, effectively erasing his insufferable expression.
She brought her hands to the spongy hair on his chest, running light fingers over his pectoral muscles, then slowly lower down over his abdominals, naming his anatomy in her head as her fingers explored. Rectus abdominis, external oblique, transversus abdominis. When her fingers reached the area of the linea alba, he hissed in a breath and she felt his body react to her touch, swelling under her right thigh.
He grabbed her hands and pulled them gently away from his body, leaning in to whisper in her ear.
“Turnabout is fair play, Ms. Scully,” he said, lifting up the shirt she was wearing and pulling it up and over her head.
She leaned in as his hands once again found her waist, and darted her tongue into his ear.
“That’s Dr. Scully to you,” she said, and clamped her mouth around the delicate flesh of his earlobe.
His hips responded to her, surging up as his hands held her steady--the pressure where their bodies met sharpening to an exquisite point.
The alarm clock next to the bed was an hour ahead, passed over when Daylight Savings ended. It glowed cherry red over Mulder’s left shoulder. Her mouth drifted down his neck, her tongue following the long line of tendon as his hands migrated toward her front, cupping her breasts over her bra.
The wind had once again picked up, blowing snow in soft tinks against the glass of the window. He pinched her nipple gently through the fabric and she let out an involuntary moan. She heard him laugh quietly and then he pressed his lips into her ear.
“Shhh” he shushed, and her skin broke out in gooseflesh even as sweet wine sloshed in her stomach. She felt warm and concupiscent, lusty and clear. She wanted to feel his skin on hers.
She leaned back, stood, stepped out of her pants and rid herself of her underthings. Mulder did the same, standing before her--his skin a golden bronze, his gaze intense--ithyphallic and unashamed. She laid on the bed and reached out a hand for him.
He joined her, kneeling onto the bed above her, knees pressed into the mattress between her legs. He took a moment to run his tongue slowly from beneath her navel to the point of her chin, painting her skin with his cooling breath.
His skin felt fevered on hers, but his eyes were clear and bright. He pushed into her slowly and her own eyes slammed shut, her teeth digging into her lip. He stretched her out, filled her up, and she took a moment to adjust, to enjoy.
Time seemed to stretch out, sand in the hourglass slowed to a honey drip. The bed was silent beneath them, for which she was thankful.
Seven years she had waited for this—a hymnal in the air, his overbite on her skin. What time she had wasted, what pleasure they had denied themselves. She pulled him to her, bit his shoulder, licked the teeth marks she had left. She wanted to consume him, take everything he was and absorb it like light.
She felt love-drunk, parched, caught up in chasing the high of their frenzy. He had his arms bracketed on either side of her face, and the hollow of his throat was at eye level. She darted her tongue out to taste it.
Suddenly, he reached down, grabbed her by the hips and flipped them and she found herself perched atop him, wild and wanton, his own Lady Godiva. Time caught back up to them and she gave him a wicked smile.
XxXxXxXxXxX
He still had trouble believing he had unlimited access to her compact, tight little body; she seemed all angles and edges these days with the exception of her center which was all soft, lush, wet heat--the sweet brine of her anointing him like a sacrament.
A car turned somewhere on the street, its headlights sweeping once over her, catching a freeze frame of her above him, back arched, head thrown back, mouth open.
He licked his thumb, reached between them and swept it over the tight bud at her center; she made a breathy noise in the back of her throat.
When they had finally gotten together there had never even been talk of a condom; the only thing left between them was for one of them to say “now, no more waiting.” He thought of his seed inside of her, thought of putting a baby there, an impossible gift he almost believed he could give her from sheer wanting. He’d read once that it was theorized female orgasm--unnecessary from a scientific, purely reproductive standpoint--helped by perhaps moving sperm further up into the womb, and he thought of it as he applied himself to her with a renewed vigor.
She started breathing that quick, shimmery breath that he’d only recently come to understand meant she was close, and he drove up into her as he pressed her with his thumb, encouraging her in a quiet, whispering voice. She clutched at him, fingernails digging into his hips on a hiss.
He followed her into oblivion, cresting just as the Hallelujah chorus reached the height of its crescendo in the living room below them, the sound both tinny and muffled. Mulder would associate the song with sex for the rest of his life.
The French call orgasm “the little death” and that felt right to him, proper and precise; he felt struck down and reborn in the cradle of her hips.  
She rolled off of him, to the scant empty space on the bed, and laid face down, a small smile cracking slowly up her cheek from the pillow below.
He propped himself up on an elbow and considered her naked back, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat in the dim light, her hot slip cooling on his thighs. He leaned over to kiss the dimple above her ass cheek, and he heard her chuff a laugh.
Emboldened, he ran his tongue along the ouroboros upon her back, dared not tell her that it was an ancient symbol of alchemy. Dared not tell her how fitting it was that it was branded upon her skin, that he believed she was the elixir of his immortality, that she alone gave him life.
Outside, the world was cold, tilted away from the sun. Dust collected on the nicotine tainted pages of their files, and monsters walked the earth.
Inside, she was dreamy hot skin pressed to his side. She was his cover--the alert, sharp eyes that watched his six, the love of his life.
“Merry Christmas, Scully,” he said quietly, could already tell she was on the edge of sleep.
“Merry Christmas, Mulder,” she mumbled back, and he reached for the blanket, pulled it up and over them both.
XxXxXxXxXxX
When he woke, her head was near him on the pillow, she had a crease in her cheek and she smelled of sleep. Unable to help it, he reached out and tucked a feather of hair behind her ear. Her eyes fluttered open.
“Hey,” she said on a breathy smile.
“Hey,” he lobbed back.
The bed dipped in the middle under their weight and had pitched them together; her whole side was pressed to his, his own personal hot water bottle. He threw a leg over her.
The house had come to life below them, he heard cabinet doors swung closed, the soft chunk of coffee mugs on granite, gentle murmuring.
He could stay in this little bed with her all day, he thought, reading books pulled from her childhood shelves—Black Beauty, Moby Dick, A Brief History of Time. They would lock the door, make love, take sustenance only from each other.
She had an eye cracked on the pillow next to him, regarded him warmly with her cool blue stare.
“I love you,” he said, apropos of nothing.
She smiled, slowly blinked.
“They say ‘if you love something, let it go,’” she said, her voice rough from a night’s disuse.
He considered her, the peach fuzz of her skin in the early morning light.
“I don’t want to let you go. I want to hold on forever.”
To prove his point, he reached out and looped a pinky through one of her own, her hand lying close to her face on the pillow. He felt her breath puff against the hairs on the backs of his fingers, humid and warm, a humectant tropic in the tiny bed.
“It’s supposed to be a test, to see if what you love comes back to you.”
He squeezed her finger with his.
“You do always come back,” he said.
“So do you.”
They were thinking of the same things—her abduction, him lying in a hogan in New Mexico, her cancer.
It was Christmas morning, he remembered. The day already felt like a gift.
“I suppose we should get up,” Scully said, “put Matthew out of his misery.”
Mulder let go of her and stretched in the tiny bed, his feet lopping out over the end.
“How long do you think he’s been awake?” he asked, then reached for a pair of jeans.
“Oh, hours,” Scully said with a smile, and she pulled on the pair of pajama bottoms she’d brought with her. After a moment’s hesitation, she swiped the undershirt he’d worn the day before out of the sweater she’d tossed to the floor and pulled it up and over her head.
“Your family’s going to start getting ideas about us, Scully,” he joked, pleased.
“Let them,” she said, and went for the door.
They padded down the steps hand in hand, and when they reached the bottom, instead of letting go, her grip on his hand became more firm.
He followed her into the kitchen where they found everyone else milling about, all the adults wearing the pre-caffeinated shell-shocked look of a pre-dawn awakening.
Matthew cheered gleefully at their arrival, which had clearly been a pre-negotiated stipulation of gift-opening.
Bill, after giving their joined hands a long look, thrust his chin towards the counter and said “Coffee’s in the pot.”
Maggie caught her daughter’s eye before smiling into her own steaming mug like Emma of Hartfield. Charlie and Tara shared a knowing look and an arch smile.
Breakfast was eschewed in lieu of gift-opening, and Matthew ran to the tree, the adults a slow shuffling procession behind him. Gifts were passed out, opened, fawned over, played with. Thanks were shared and coffee was drunk.
There amongst her family, he felt content, happy, accepted. Scully looked at him warmly over her shoulder, and separated as they were by mounds of torn wrapping paper, he felt connected to her in a way he’d never felt connected to anyone.
She was his favorite gift. Sent to the basement to punish and dissuade him, she’d done the opposite. She was everything they hadn’t planned, antipodal to their strategy of turmoil and distrust.
She was the dawn in the night of his life.
He was glad he’d come. And so was she.
149 notes · View notes
puckinghell · 5 years
Text
Wanna Bet | Travis Konecny
Summary Request: Omg Lou can you write something with the ”am I just a bet to you” storyline?! Word count: 4.2k Note: You guys asked for something with TK so here we are!
----
It’s kinda funny, how just being in the wrong place at the wrong time, hearing the wrong thing, can cause your entire world to fall to pieces. 
You weren’t meant to walk past the locker rooms. Being in the analytics department, you don’t have to actually be in the arena much, and when you do, you’re in the stands, watching players on the ice to access if the data you have on them is correct. 
A guy’s plus minus really only makes sense when you’ve seen the way he carries the puck, seen the way his legs pump as he skates. 
No, you never have to be in the locker rooms for your job, but today you decided to take the long way from your office to the ice. Just so you could walk past him. Just so maybe, you could accidentally bump into him, sneak a kiss before the game, wish him good luck.
Now all you wish is to disappear. 
The voices are a little far away but not muffled, as the door is slightly opened. It’s Ghost’s voice, that you hear first.
“I can’t believe you’re actually dating her, TK. And all because of some stupid bet!” 
Dating her. You. Travis is dating you, so they must be talking about you. Laughter fills the hallways; laughing about you. 
“I never lose a bet.” The voice is familiar, too familiar. Just last night that voice was soft in your ear, whispering all kinds of things he clearly had not meant.
A bet. 
There’s a heavy feeling in your stomach, like a rock settled in your intestines. The thing is, well, you’d known it was too good to be true. Why would a guy like Travis Konecny be interested in you? 
You weren’t WAG material. Weren’t even puck bunny material, really. You work in the analytics department, for God’s sake; you’re as nerdy as they get, love math and numbers, you even wear glasses, just to completely fit the stereotype. 
And you’re not skinny. Never have been; no matter how many times you used to skip dessert, there has always been a little soft pudge on your stomach, your thighs have always rubbed together when you walk. You don’t do that anymore, now, skip dessert; you deserve some chocolate every now and then, and you deserve a guy who doesn’t care.
You hadn’t expected to find that guy in the Philadelphia Flyers locker room, but then Travis had shown up and you’d thought, stupidly, maybe...
The very first time you’d shown up at practice, when someone was showing you around after having just been hired, it had been Claude who first said hi. Captain’s duty, and all that. But it had been Travis that made you feel a little less nervous about all these big, bulky dudes, who seemed to slide on the dangerous knife shoes like they’d never walked before; he skated up to you, softly bumped into your shoulder and said: “Don’t let my numbers fool you. I’m an important locker room guy” before dumping his water bottle over Oskar Lindblom’s head.
Ever since then, he’d always been sure to make a little small talk when you were around. Sometimes, his comments had been borderline flirty: “Saw that goal? That was for you” and “Can you believe I missed that pass? Totally your fault for distracting me” but most of the time you talked about mundane things like the never ending snow and what restaurants were good for steak. 
You never expected anything to come of it, though. Perhaps Travis was just one of those kinda guys that couldn’t talk to anyone without flirting. Or maybe he was just taking pity on you. He couldn’t mean it; not when you were you, and he was him. You might as well be from a different planet. 
But then, one day, he’d skated over to the boards where you were standing, sent you a wide grin and asked; “Will you go to dinner with me? On a date?” 
You’d nearly dropped your clipboard and you’d definitely dropped your jaw, but then you’d stumbled a “yes” and stared after him as he skated away. For a solid hour, you figured it must’ve been a joke or maybe Travis had taken a puck to the head and was so concussed he mistook you for someone else, but then he’d texted you a time and date and suddenly it was all very real.
It was so easy, then, to fall in love with him. Between lame jokes and broad grins and the way his hand was always resting on your back, you couldn’t stop yourself from falling for him, even though you tried to convince yourself that was a bad idea. It was so easy to forget it was doomed to end badly when all Travis ever did was say the right thing.
It was a bit like walking on a bridge you know is gonna collapse, and now, it’s collapsed. 
I never lose a bet.
“I’m just a bet.” You don’t mean to say the words out loud but they fall from your lips before you can stop them, and apparently they’re louder than they sound to your own ears because suddenly the locker room goes very quiet.
You don’t get drunk a lot, but you know what it’s like to be very, very drunk; it’s like the world is a bit fuzzy, sounds are a bit muffled, and all you can focus on is the feeling of your heart beating, the way your tongue lays in your mouth, how heavy your feet feel against the earth. 
All you’ve had to drink today is coffee but you feel like that, now.
“Y/N?” The voice is familiar but it’s not Travis; you’re met with Carter, a worried look on his face as he sticks his head out the door. 
Beside Travis, Carter is the only guy on the team who really ever takes the time to talk to you. At first it was all just polite small talk, but then you found out you both liked the same TV shows and now you talk all the time. Carter is a complete sweetheart, would never hurt a fly, and that’s why it’s so hard for you to believe he knew this.
But you know, when you catch his eyes and there’s nothing but pity in them. He knew it was all a lie. 
Carter steps aside, then, and Travis comes flying out the door, his eyes wide and mouth slightly slack. 
“I’m just a bet.” You say it more forcefully because that’s the only way you can think of to make this make more sense. It doesn’t feel true, especially when Travis looks at you with clear panic written across his features.
If he didn’t care, why would he panic?
“Babe,” he starts, his voice a little scratchy, but he doesn’t say anything else and so you do the only thing you can think of doing. 
“Are we dating cause you want to win a bet?” 
Travis stares at you, swallows heavily. 
Please say no. Please don’t let these last three months of my life be a waste of time. Please don’t make a fool out of me. Please say no. 
“Yes, but...” 
That’s all you need to hear; you need to get out of here before the tears that are threatening to well up in your eyes find their way out, before you lose that last sliver of dignity you might still have left. 
“I don’t ever want to see you again,” you choke out, and then you’re pushing past Carter and out of the hallway, out of the arena, until the cold wind hits you in the face as you fumble with the lock of your car. 
You should’ve known better. Should’ve learned from the last time.
---
You were 14 years old, an awkward teenager with few friends and no sense of self-preservation. You were sitting in the canteen on your own, eating lunch, because your only friend at the time had called in sick that day. 
If she was there, you don’t think David would’ve approached you.
David was the cutest guy in school, and not just because he was the tallest. He had nice dark curls and sharp green eyes, and he was the captain of the football team. He always walked around with a bunch of guys following him around like lost puppies, and he was endlessly cool.
You, were not. You were part of the drama club, you excelled in math and the braces you had hadn’t managed to make your teeth look any smaller so far, and you were used to people snickering behind your back when you walked past. 
Of course you had a crush on David. Everyone had a crush on David. And the fact that he’d never actually made fun of you made that you allowed yourself that crush; it was just to look, just from afar. 
Until he came up to you, that day, his posse of friends in tow, and smiled.
“Hey, Y/N, you wanna maybe go watch a movie with me on Friday?” 
Everything inside you screamed ‘danger’, wanted to say no and run away. But something, just a little sliver of hope, stopped you from doing that. The part of you that watched too many romcoms and read too many Nicolas Sparks books wondered if maybe miracles still happened. That part of you said yes.
As soon as you said the word, David’s friends had started laughing.
“Dude, she actually believed you!” one of them laughed. “I guess I owe you 20 bucks, man.” 
“Thanks, Y/N,” David said, shrugging his shoulders. “Matt said you wouldn’t believe me if I asked, he thought you would know that guys like me don’t date girls like you. Guess he’s even dumber than he looks and you just made me 20 bucks!” 
He left and you ran off to cry in the bathroom, but you learned one thing that day.
Guys like that didn’t date girls like you. And that part of you that still believed in fairytales needed to be locked up in a box somewhere and never let out, because that part of you would kill you, if you let it.
---
You tried, to lock that part away, and you’d managed. Until Travis had looked at you with honest brown eyes and a little smile and you’d thrown away everything you had worked so hard for.
What good had that done. 
When you were 14 you locked yourself up in the bathroom until your mom came to pick you up from school. This time you lock yourself in your apartment and eat an entire box of cookies while you watch Property Brothers and cry yourself to sleep at night. The next day, you call in sick to work and watch Gilmore Girls and order Chinese.
It’s maybe not the healthiest way to deal with things but it’s a way, and it works. Well, not really; you still feel like shit, but it works enough that you find the strength to ignore your phone buzzing and eventually shut it off without looking at it.
You turn it back on in the evening and don’t respond to all the missed messages and calls - mostly from Travis, but a few from Carter too - and fall asleep listening to Adele. 
It’s not easy but you’ve gone through a lot in your life and you won’t let yourself be miserable over something like this for too long. If anything, this has just taught you that same lesson you learned when you were 14.
Guys like that, girls like you, etcetera etcetera. This time, you’re gonna remember. This time, you’re gonna know better. 
Every now and then you think of Travis, wonder what he got out of this bet and what exactly he bet on.
Did he bet on getting you to believe a guy like him could be interested in you, like David? Or was it more? How many dates was he obliged to go on to win the bet? Was the sex part of the bet or was that just because you were there and it was easy? Why had he been so nice, if it was part of the bet?
You try not to think about it. It gets easier when Travis stops texting and calling you. You haven’t read any of his texts, or listened to his voicemails. In fact, you barely touch your phone, nowadays. 
When you go to work, you avoid the guys on the team at all costs, and it’s easier than you thought it would be. You sit high in the stands and write in your notebook and try to not feel your heart sink in your chest when you see Konecny on your paper. 
It’s fine, you can manage. You’re an adult and you will move on with life and forget about these three months ever happening. You promise yourself you will and you seem to do okay.
Until one day you come home and you find Nolan Patrick sitting on the floor in front of your apartment door, two take away cups in his hands.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, crossing your arms. You know Nolan hasn’t technically done anything to you but he’s Travis’ best friend and therefor he is guilty by association. Also, he’s always been nice to you and that was clearly all fake, so fuck him for that, too. 
“Oh, hi!” Nolan scrambles up when he spots you, extends one cup towards you. “I brought coffee. Hazelnut latte, one sugar and some cinnamon.” 
You frown, and he seems to understand your question, cause he shrugs.
“Teeks remembered your coffee order.” 
You almost ask him why; why would Travis remember your coffee order if he clearly didn’t care about you at all, but you don’t ask him that because why would he tell you the truth? Instead you take the coffee, open your apartment door and step inside without saying anything.
You let the door fall behind you, but before it can click into the lock Nolan has put his foot in front of it, and then he slips into your apartment.
“Nice place,” he says, as if it’s not super weird that he’s here, and then he flops down onto the couch.
“Right, sit down, make yourself at home,” you snap sarcastically; you grab your mail and start sorting through it, more because you don’t know what else to do than because you actually wanna know what mail you have.
Why is Nolan here?
“You must wanna know why I’m here,” Nolan speaks, as if he can read your mind.
You don’t remind him that’s the first question you asked. 
“I’m here,” Nolan continues, seemingly unbothered by your cold shoulder, “because you deserve to know the truth, and you won’t answer the phone so Teeks can tell you himself. Which I don’t blame you for, cause, you know, if he did what you think he did I would’ve kicked his ass myself.”
What you think he did?
“But,” Nolan crosses his arms now, seems genuinely offended, “you’re mad at Hartsy, really? You can’t be mad at Hartsy. That’s like being mad at a puppy. Or a bunny. Or anything else that’s super cute and impossible to be mad at.” 
“He knew and he didn’t tell me.” You didn’t mean to break your silence but you’ve got a soft spot for Carter and, to be honest, it’s almost been harder to ignore him than it has been to ignore Travis.
At least with Travis, you know what happened. He thought you were pathetic and it would be funny to turn you into a joke.
With Carter, it’s not so clear. Did he actually like you? Did he think Travis’ bet was funny? Or did he secretly disapprove but just not find it important enough to stand up for you? Or, maybe, did he try to stand up for you, but Travis didn’t listen?
You know you shouldn’t allow yourself to hope for that last option but you can’t help it.
Nolan rolls his eyes. “Hartsy didn’t know shit, all he knows is that Teeks is stupidly in love with you and that you’re good for him. He said that once, you know. That Teeks should never let you go because you’re good for him.” Nolan looks a bit sad as he said it, his face pulled into a pained expression.
It might be because of the way your face drops at his words.
Teeks is stupidly in love with you.
“He’s not,” you manage to bring out. “In... into me. It was all just a joke.” 
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Nolan shakes his head, then takes a sip of his coffee. “Y/N, can I be honest? I don’t know you very well. I think you’re a great girl, but I don’t know you enough to care about your feelings.” 
Well, ouch. The truth hurts.
“I have no reason to be here and lie to you.” 
You have to admit he has a point there. If Travis genuinely doesn’t care, why would Nolan be here? It’s not like you’ve ever even held a proper conversation with Nolan. He’s always just been Travis’ roommate, Travis’ best friend, Travis’ teammate.
“So why are you here?” you dare ask him, and he smiles, a little smugly.
“Cause I have a story about a bet, and I think you’d like to hear it.” 
---
It’s weird, to be back at Travis’ apartment. Nolan’s footsteps are heavy in the empty hallway; he’s walking a good meter in front of you and you don’t try to catch up to him because with every step you take it’s like you sink deeper into the floor.
“Come on,” Nolan says, impatiently. He takes his keys out of his pocket and opens the door to their apartment.
Your heart is beating so fast you can feel it all the way in your throat.
“Ooooh Teeks!” he calls out, annoyingly chipper. “TK! I have a surprise for you!” 
“Is it Thai? If it’s not Thai I don’t want it.” 
Travis sounds tired but he sounds so familiar, so like Travis, and it washes over you like a comfort blanket, fills you with warmth from the inside out. 
“You’re really gonna regret saying that,” Nolan answers, and then he suddenly steps behind you and pushes you into the living room.
The second Travis’ eyes meet yours, all the blood drains from his face and his eyes widen almost comically. Within a second he’s standing up, the xBox controller falling onto the floor; his hands are in the air like he’s going to reach out for you, but then they drop to his sides and his jaw clenches.
“Y/N,” he says softly. “Are you here to get your stuff?” 
Nolan has made himself scarce very discreetly and now that it’s just you and Travis, you suddenly don’t remember how to talk. 
It’s silent, for a solid five seconds - but it feels like 50 years - before your brain starts working again. It’s Nolan’s voice, that you hear in the back of your head, and then your own, as if one voice is fighting with the other. 
Teeks is stupidly in love with you. 
I’m just a bet.
Stupidly in love with you.
Just a bet. 
“What was the bet?” you burst out. It might not be the right way, might be too sudden or too harsh, and there’s not really a reason for you to ask; Nolan has already told you.
But you wanna hear Travis say it. You need to hear Travis say it. 
Travis’ face crumples, his eyebrows knot together and his eyes drop to the floor. It looks as if it pains him to speak, but he speaks.
“It was so dumb, Y/N. You have to believe me, I never meant... I didn’t want this to happen. I’m sorry.” 
You swallow; there’s a lump in your throat that seems to be stuck there, that’s in the way of your vocal chords, but you just manage to repeat the words.
“What was the bet you made, Travis?” 
Travis inhales sharply, and then looks up. His eyes are staring intently into yours when he answers. 
“Ghosty bet me I wouldn’t dare to ask you out.” 
“Why?” you ask. “Why would he think that?” 
There’s a lot of answers you’re expecting, all of which allude to the same thing; you’re not good enough for him. 
You’re not pretty enough. Not fun enough. Not thin enough. Not charming enough. 
“Because you’re way out of my league and I would’ve looked stupid if I asked and you said no.” 
It’s like everything inside you deflates, at that point; your shoulders sag and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 
“Oh.” 
“Yeah,” says Travis. “Oh.” He sighs and then takes a step closer, a little one, very tentatively; as if he’s afraid you’re gonna turn around and run, if he moves too much. “I know it’s stupid, but I hate losing bets and the boys know that, so whenever they want me to do something I don’t wanna do, or in this case, am too afraid to do, they tell me that I can’t and I bet them that I can. They were all getting a bit sick of me pining after you so Ghosty thought, if he just said I couldn’t ask you out...” 
“Then you would bet that you could,” you finish his sentence.
Oh God. You’d gotten it so wrong.
“So,” you continue, softly, “they didn’t bet you to ask me out as a joke. Because they thought it would be funny if a guy like you asked out a girl like me.” 
The skin around Travis’ eyes crinkles as he frowns. “What does that even mean?” he asks. 
“Because you’re really hot, and really great, and I’m really nerdy, and not very pretty. And I’m not good enough for you.” 
Travis’ breath stutters as he hears you speak. “That’s.... insane,” he brings out, stammering. “Y/N, if anything, I’m not good enough for you. You’re so gorgeous, and so smart, and you look at numbers and see a Stanley Cup winning team and I struggle to hit a piece of rubber with a big stick. I couldn’t keep up with you even if I tried.” 
He takes a bigger step towards you, now, your words seemingly giving him a bit of courage. 
“I’m sorry for making you think all of this was based on a lie,” he mumbles, and he carefully takes your hand in his, lacing his fingers through yours as his thumb traces lines across your knuckles. “But I promise you, it’s not like that. None of this was fake to me. I wanted to ask you out long before I got the guts to do it and I’ve been happy about taking that bet ever since.” He takes a deep breath. “I love you. And that has nothing to do with any dumb bet.” 
Your heart leaps; he’s never said that before, and neither have you. You’ve felt it, sure, but there was always something inside you wondering if it was too soon, if you were just asking for trouble by saying it. 
But there’s nothing but honest truth in Travis’ brown eyes, now, and suddenly you’re not afraid anymore. 
“I love you too,” you say, and the words aren’t out of your mouth yet or Travis’ lips are on yours.
His hands are firm on your waist as he tugs you closer, and it’s like you can’t feel anything but him, everywhere, and it’s like everything that happened before has been forgotten.
Until he pulls away, both of you gasping for air, and you remember something else.
“Oh my God, I have to call Carter back,” you mumble against Travis’ shirt; he’s pulled you flat against him and nestled his face in your shoulder, meaning you’re now being smothered by his chest.
There are worse ways to go.
Travis laughs lightly, his breath hot against your neck. 
“Really?” he says. “I kiss you for the first time in two weeks and you think of Hartsy?” 
“I’ve been ignoring him, and that’s not fair, cause he, oh...” you break off as Travis presses a kiss to the sensitive skin on your neck, “cause he’s a great friend and... Trav!” The last part comes out as more of a whine and Travis chuckles.
“Hartsy can wait another hour, babe.” He starts pressing kisses along your jaw and you groan, lightly shoving against his shoulder.
“Trav, I gotta call Carter and...” You bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning as his teeth scrape across your skin “and I don’t know what you think you’re doing but you’re not getting me naked within the first hour of getting back together!” 
“No?” Travis pulls away, one eyebrow raised, and there’s a smug look on his face. His hands slowly travel to your back, fingers sliding below your shirt, and despite your best efforts, you can’t stop yourself from shivering. 
“Hmm,” Travis hums, right before he kisses you again. 
“Wanna bet?” 
776 notes · View notes
malcyon · 4 years
Text
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.
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bedbellyandbeyond · 4 years
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Christmas
(Story Post; ART AT END)
Christmas day, Köbi convinced Sydryn that they should visit Aoife and Reid. Aoife had gifted the dragon a batch of homemade pink cupcakes at work the week before so it was only fair to return the favour. They showed up to the apartment with gifts and wine, and they gathered in the living room for merriment. Syd didn't personally enjoy the idea of Christmas: too many people, too much noise, too much gingerbread. But in Aoife's apartment, it was just the five of them (Aoife, Reid, Samara, Syd and Köbi), they weren't a rowdy bunch, and no one had thought to get gingerbread. “Nathan sent you a gift,” Aoife was saying to Reid, placing a gift bag in his lap. “You should open it.”
Reid blinked and then focused on Aoife before looking down at the present in his lap. “Oh. Aye.” He straightened up in the chair and took the tissue paper out, rooting around. “Card first, right? Did he send one... Here we are.” Aoife sighed and sat back in her chair. Samara came around from the kitchen and handed her girlfriend a mug of hot chocolate with a kiss on the crown of her head. “Oh, look at that...” Reid said holding up the card. “It's got the twins on it in little red and green onesies. Um... Their names...” “Probably inside the card if you can't remember,” Samara suggested. “Right...” He opened the card. “‘Wishing you a relaxing holiday and a quick recovery. It's the season of miracles and I couldn't have had mine without you. Merry Christmas, Dr. Gardi, and a Happy New Year! Love Nathan, Dax, Grace and Gabriel’.” “There you go. That's really sweet of him,” Aoife said. “It is...” Reid said, placing the car back in its envelope and leaving it on the coffee table. “I still feel bad that I missed the birth.” “Wish I had,” Sydryn admitted. “You've never had to calm and sedate a labouring werewolf...” “I guess so...” Reid sighed. “Syd. Did you get my gift?” “Yes.” “And?” “I put it in my hoard.” “On display?” “Yes. It's with the other dragon statuettes I own.” “Nice. Is it the biggest one?” “No. Eat a cookie Reid.” Reid leaned forward and took one from the plate. “Samara, these are amazing.” “I already told you, Aoife made them,” Samara groaned. “Oh. Sorry...” Reid looked down and started nibbling at his cookie. “You can't just get mad at him for not remembering...” Köbi interjected. “It's part of the dissociation.” “It's okay, Köbi,” Reid said. “Samara has every right to be upset.” Samara frowned. “No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be condescending...” “Reid's getting better,” Sydryn said. “You should only have to put up with it for a short while longer, hopefully. And you don't even live here, so technically the one who should be complaining is Aoife.” “I'm a nurse. I'm just doing my job,” Aoife said. “You say that like we're not even roommates,” Reid complained. “We hardly are. You haven't been home in months,” Aoife said. “I paid my share though.” “You did.” “Well, you say it like we're not even friends.” “We are, but now I have to see you 24/7. If I don't treat you as a patient, I might go mad too, and end up like you.” “I didn't go mad, I had a breakthrough,” Reid countered. “Well, you can't even tell us what the breakthrough is, so...” “I can! I um...” Reid tried to think hard. “...That's not really a nice way to talk to your patient. Learn some bedside manner.” Aoife sighed. “Do we want to watch a movie or something?” “I should head out...” Sydryn said, getting up from the couch. “Reid's doing well. I came to drop off gifts and check on him.” “You don't want to stay for dinner?” Köbi asked. “Not really, no.” “What if I want to stay for dinner?” “You can find your own way home.” Aoife crossed her arms. “Syd, you gotta stay for dinner. It's Christmas.” “You act like that means something to me.” “You brought gifts, didn't you? It must mean something to you.” “I brought gifts because I knew I'd be receiving gifts and I didn't want the guilt.” The dragon put their hands on their hips. “Köbi, you can stay. I have other places to visit so I'll pick you up after...” “Oh, okay. Thanks, Syd.” Köbi smiled. “Where are you off to?” “I have to go visit Camilo and Rheni. I have news for them.” “Not bad news. You can't deliver bad news on Christmas.” “It's just news. How they receive the information is up to them.” “Okay...” Köbi got up to see them out. “Drive safe. Yeah?” “Oh, Syd. Hold on.” Aoife grabbed some cookies and went to the kitchen for a baggie before heading back. “Give these to Camilo and Rheni. And, um, before he says anything, yes, I did tell Camilo you'd sit in on his pregnancy group.” “Are you mad?” Sydryn said, lowering their voice as Samara wasn't supposed to be privy to the knowledge of their pregnancy. “I'm not going to a pregnancy group. My condition is private.” “I only told him you could be beneficial as a doctor,” Aoife said. “You know how worried pregnant people can be. They'll spread home remedies and false information.” “Thank you for letting me know so I can tell Camilo myself that you were mistaken and I will not be attending.” “Syd. You should go.” “In what way would that benefit me?” Sydryn asked. “You’ll be able to learn to care,” Aoife said. “And I’ll stop nagging you about it.” Sydryn clenched their jaw. “I don’t want to.” “If you don’t, I’ll make you take Reid. He can live with you. His hair’s basically pink now. He’ll fit in. Köbi can be his nurse.” “Absolutely not.” “Then go to the group. Think about it. Sleep on it.” Sydryn groaned and just pulled on their coat. “You're a bully.” “If I have to be. Happy Christmas.” Sydryn rolled their eyes and just left.
A quick text to Camilo placed him at Fay's house as the dragon expected. He hadn't yet arranged for Rheni to move back in with him and while they were getting along, Camilo still didn't feel like he could forgive so easily. Sydryn supported Camilo's decision so long as he had the necessary support at home to help him navigate the world as a pregnant man. With Marcita around, it helped a lot. Pulling up, Sydryn immediately noticed a big bundled coat sitting out on the porch. When they approached, it became clear that the figure was Fay and he didn’t look too comfortable. Frowning, Sydryn feeling safe enough in this rural forested area, blew a flame into their palm and wrapped it into a ball, offering it to Fay. The merman took the ball of flame hesitantly, but it floated an inch off his fingers and only warmed, not burned. “Thanks…” “What are you doing out here?” the dragon asked. “Escaping Christmas…” “Ah.” “I don’t do Christmas. I don’t like Christmas. I’m not Christian. My religion is the sea and I’m barely practicing that…” “I’m not fond of it either. Christmas that is,” Sydryn stated. “Yeah. I assume it’s the people?” “Precisely.” “Dari’s not even a practicing Christian.” “It’s these North Americans… They’ve made it part of their culture, whether everyone likes it or not.” “I wish I’d banned TV as soon as Arianne was old enough to understand. Right now, it’s the only way any of them would’ve learned about Christmas, other than from Dari.” “Mm… Yes, perhaps that would’ve worked.” “I assume you’re here on business?” Fay suggested. “I came to speak to Camilo, yes.” “Well, good luck in there.” “Fay, you can’t stay out here. You’re not a cold-water fish.” “I know. Give me a bit more time.” “Alright.” Sydryn headed inside. Immediately commercial Christmas music blared throughout the house and there were lights and decorations everywhere. Siv was the first to appear and weaved between the dragon’s legs to hide behind them, but at the same time Arianne jumped into the hall and pointed right at him. “I see you!” she yelled. “You can’t hide!” “No!” Siv yelled. “Can’t see me!” “I can! You have to help me find Otter!” she yelled back. “Nooo!” Siv yelled again. Sydryn just moved on, removing their coat and boots and walking into the living room. The living room had a live white fir in the corner and stockings hanging over the fireplace as well as snacks on the table. A big garbage bag full of used wrapping paper and opened toy packaging was beside the tree and various toys, clothes and candy were strewn across the floor. Among it, Milo was sitting playing with Katia who looked to have received a new stuffed dolphin for Christmas. Not seeing who he was looking for, Sydryn moved into the kitchen. Dari was in the kitchen mashing potatoes with Zoe strapped to his back. He heard Sydryn come in. “Fay, I need your help with the—Oh, Jesus Christ! Syd!” Dari nearly jumped when he looked back. “Don't scare me... When did you get here?” “Just now,” Sydryn said. “I'm looking for Camilo.” “Upstairs with Rheni I think,” Dari reported. “You haven't seen my husband, have you? I can’t do this without him.” “Porch.” “Of course...” Dari sighed. “I don't know why he has to be such a scrooge. We agreed we'd do Christmas a long time ago.” “I bet that was before your numbers tripled.” “Still. He can't just mope about. I need help.” “I'm sure he'll be back in shortly,” Sydryn stated. “I only gave him a two minute flame.” “A what?” “Don't worry about it.” Syd headed towards the stairs. “Merry Christmas.” “Merry Christmas!” Upstairs, Sydryn found the light on in a room down the hall and figured it was their destination. As they drew near, they could hear chuckling and wet noises from the room with its door slightly ajar. They shivered in disgust and just reached out to knock without looking. “Hello?” “Ah, dios mio!” Camilo was heard startled. “Rheni, stop! Come in.” “I don’t think I want to,” the dragon hypothesised. “Syd?” Camilo came to the door, pulling a shirt down over his stomach which had purple kiss marks all over it. “Hey! You came over fast.” “You seem light spirited,” Sydryn observed. “Well, uh... Es Navidad,” he said blushing. Rheni appeared behind him, passing a hand over Camilo's back. “Hey, Syd! What's up dude?” I'm sorry this took so long, but I've had a lot of work to do in Gardi's wake, and your issue wasn't of high urgency. Anyway, I have your results for you,” they stated. Camilo blinked then looked at Rheni. “Wait... So is the baby Rheni's?” “I never doubted that he was the one to impregnate you,” Sydryn said. “It's the process that I find more interesting. But technically, no the child isn't Rheni's.” “What?” Rheni said, his arms dropping to his sides. “I'm not the father?” “You two don't seem to be listening. Go sit down,” Sydryn said. Camilo went back into the room and sat down on the bed. Rheni sat next to him but didn't touch him. “Good. Now...” Sydryn pulled out their rose-coloured work tablet. “I analysed the sample that you collected from Arrhenius. As I suspected, when performing sexual acts, Rheni's body is capable of producing human DNA completely different from the DNA in the cells that make up Rheni's body. Instead of simple slime gametes like your first pregnancy which were incompatible with Camilo's egg, human male gametes are produced with human DNA which successfully impregnated you with a human child.” “So, I am the father?” Rheni asked. “Well, the thing is, your body had to get the human DNA from somewhere,” Sydryn stated. “Your body is learning from it's environment. It wouldn't just create human DNA from nowhere. It would need to replicate DNA it has access too. But it has access to every human around you: Camilo, Marcita, Dari, etc. But we have record of their DNA and—” “You do?” Camilo interrupted. “Yes, of course,” Sydryn said. “Have to make sure the humans really are human. Also if you were wondering, you're very much human, Camilo.” “I mean, I figured.” “Anyway, the gametes provided to me did not match any of those records of those around you. But...” Sydryn turned over the tablet and showed them a picture. “It does match his.” The pair blinked and stared at the picture. It was an ID portrait of a young man with black hair, a soft face with a defined jaw. “Who's that?” Camilo asked. “That's missing person Michael Zhao,” Sydryn said. “He was attending post secondary school in BC when he was reported missing seven years ago.” They continued to stare at the picture then Rheni moved a hand up to his own face and touched his cheek. “...Is that...Is that me?” “It would be very difficult to conclude otherwise,” Sydryn said. “He is the father of Camilo's baby.” Camilo covered his mouth and tears started rolling down his face. “Oh god, Camilo...” Rheni started rubbing his back. “Are you okay?” “Am I okay?” Camilo sobbed. He pointed to the picture. “It's you!” He sniffled and wiped his eyes. “We found you!” Rheni started nodding quickly, tears coming to his eyes as well. “It is... I know it is...”
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ticklish-lilavenger · 4 years
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Famous Cookies (Steve Rogers fic)
So this fic talks about weed. So content warning... I guess? If you don’t like me writing about weed... sorry. But Imma still post it.
Title: Famous Cookies 
Summery: Steve accidentally eats one of your edibles and things get weird.
Word Count: 1,285
It’s well known that Steve is pretty buttoned up and straight edge but you… you’re a bit more of a free spirit. And that’s what made you and Steve great together, you balanced each other out and forced each other to compromise. But there were somethings that Steve just wouldn’t budge on. One of those things was your good friend Mary Jane. Understandably, he hated smoking in the house since it stunk the place up and inhaling any kind of smoke can’t be the best thing for anyone. But weed was actually very helpful for you, it helped with your anxiety, some nights you’d be so anxious that you couldn’t sleep and a couple of hits was an easy thing to help mellow you out. Even your doctor said it was okay! But it was one of those things where Steve’s head was still stuck in the 40s. So you made yourself a little compromise, you just used edibles every once and a while when you needed to take the edge off. It tasted great and Steve would have no idea.
“Oh Y/N, I’ve got a present for you from Pepper’s mom.” Tony winked at you and pulled a Tupperware container out of his large briefcase. Pepper’s mom was your code name for Tony’s plug.
Your face lit up as he handed you the box of goodies, “Ugh she’s such a dear. She knows how much I loved her snickerdoodles!”
“Why does she always make snickerdoodles?” Steve groaned, “Have you told her I don’t like cinnamon?”
Unknown to Steve, that’s exactly why the goodies are always snickerdoodles.
Tony shrugged, “I’ve tried. Don’t get mad at me, I’m just the delivery boy.”
You rolled your eyes, “Give Pepper and Morgan my love, okay?”
“Will do.” Tony reached for the door, “Are you guys still good for Morgan’s birthday dinner?”
Steve wrapped his arm around your shoulder and gave you a squeeze, “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
You nodded, “Turning six is a big deal.”
“I’ll let her know you RSVPed.” Tony gave a small wave and slipped out the door, closing it gently behind him.
“I’m pretty sure Grandma Potts hates me.” Steve chuckled.
You took a cookie from your Tupperware and took a bite, “What would make you think that?”
He sighed, “She always makes snickerdoodles even though she knows I hate cinnamon.”
You rolled your eyes and put the rest of the cookies away in the pantry, “Or maybe, Morgan or Pepper really like snickerdoodles and when she makes a batch for them, she’s kind enough to double the recipe and give it to us. Not everything is about you, Captain America.”
He narrowed his eyes, “You are such a smart ass, you know that?
You came home late from work a few nights later, you were stressed the hell out and you dreamt of something to take the edge off… like a snickerdoodle. Upon entering the wing you and Steve shared in the Avengers compound, you found Steve sprawled out on the couch giggling like a maniac. This was incredibly out of character for him… and he was watching Rick and Morty?! He hated that show. He always said it was a bunch of crude nonsense.
“Hey babe…” you walked over and greeted him sweetly.
Steve turned to look up at you, “Hello Y/N!” Something was not right here.
“Whatcha doin’? You asked stroking his hair lovingly.
Steve smiled as if your touching his hair was the greatest feeling in the world, “Watching TV. Oh, and I tried one of your cookies… even with the stupid cinnamon, they’re quite good.”
Your eyes widened, “you… you ate one of Grandma Potts’s cookies?”
Steve nodded with a cheesin’ grin.
You almost choked on your own breath, he was high as a kite. “How long ago did you have it?”
Steve looked at his watch, “Wow, it’s been an hour! Time goes by so fast, doesn’t it?”
You couldn’t help but giggle, this was so funny… but also so bad. You had to tell him. You had to tell him he ate a weed cookie. It would probably be better tell him while he was smacked rather than after.
“So… babe…” you started stroking his hair again and let him melt in your hands, “that cookie you ate… it had weed in it.”
Steve’s face dropped, he looked up at you, then suddenly started to laugh hysterically, “I ate a funny cookie?!?!”
You nodded, “Yes, that’s why you’re acting all funny.”
Steve continued to laugh then suddenly stopped and looked up at you with big puppy dog eyes, “Can we order pizza?”
All you could do was smile, “Do you really need pizza or is it just the munchies talking?”
He sat up and pulled you into his lap, “I NEED pizza! I’m starving!”
“Starving, huh?” You reached back and wrapped your arms around his neck lovingly.
Steve growled softly in your ear, “I’m so hungry I could eat a Y/N!”
“A me?” You cried out
He suddenly dug into your exposed armpits with tickles. You yanked your arms down to try and protect your armpits from his playful tickles.
“I’m gonna eat you!” Steve pulled you close to him and started nibbling and kissing on your neck.
“NOOOOOO!” You screamed through your giggles.
“I’ll only stop if you let me order pizza!” Steve threatened you as he poked and prodded at your tummy.
“Steeeeeeve!” You wiggled like a worm in his arms.
“Order. Me. Pizza.” Steve blew a raspberry in your neck between each word. God, he was even more evil when he was stoned.
“Okay! Okay!” You yelled, “We can get pizza!”
Steve’s attack paused, “With cheesy bread?”
“If you stop tickling me, you can have all the cheesy bread your heart desires.” You said through your slowing laughter.
“Yay!” Steve squealed like a little boy and pulled you into a big squeezing hug.
Steve had eaten himself into a coma. He ate a whole pizza and a box of cheesy bread all by himself. So you tucked him in on the couch and let him sleep there peacefully. Steve rarely ate junk food and when he did, it was definitely not in binges like that. So you found him groaning on the couch with a tummy ache the next morning, you were not surprised at all.
“You okay?” You asked walking into your living room to see him curled up on the couch.
“Is this what a weed hangover feels like?” He looked up at you with pure misery in his eyes.
You laughed lightly, “That’s not the weed you’re feeling, that’s the large pizza and box of cheesy bread…”
He clutched his stomach and groaned, “Why did you let me eat all that pizza?”
You scoffed, “Ummm, there is no way you forgot how you brutally tickled me into submission!”
Steve chuckled to himself and smirked, “How could I? It’s my secret weapon.”
“It’s not so secret when you do it all the time!” You poked at his tummy.
Steve groaned and whined, “ugh! I’m too full for you to do that!”
You continued your poke attack, “it’s not my fault you ate so much!”
He grabbed your wrists and pushed them away, “But it is your fault I accidentally got stoned! Why didn’t you tell me there were edibles in the house?”
“Because you’d get judgy wudgy!” You cried out, “Remember the last time I got high with Tony.”
Steve paused for a moment, realizing that he was quite judgmental, “... Well now that I’ve tried it… I get it… it’s kinda fun.”
“Kinda fun?” You raised a questioning eyebrow.
He chuckled quietly, “okay, really fun… when used responsibly.”
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soft-stormcloud · 4 years
Text
Falling in Love [Royality]
They met outside of a dress shop.
Roman and his friends were passing it when Patton came out, arms full of shopping bags. He was a little flushed, barely noticing them as he started past.
And, of course, Roman had to ask, “Those for a girlfriend?”
Patton had stopped, looking back nervously. He knew he could lie, he knew he should tell the truth; He didn’t say anything.
Roman smiled as his friends rolled their eyes behind him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his breath fogging against the cold. “They’re for you?” Patton nodded shakily. “Cool. I’m Roman. Want to get a hot chocolate?”
It was like this a lot, and Logan and Virgil never minded. Roman fell easily, and they liked watching it. So when Patton nervously asked about his friends, Virgil had laughed and said he planned on ditching him anyway.
Roman smiled as Patton whined over his burnt tongue in the café. He was so cute, golden hair sticking out in tufts under a white beanie, face still red from the cold. They spent a while talking and laughing, much after they’d finished their drinks, and made plans for lunch later than week. That night, Roman flopped back on the couch, groaning with his head in Logan’s lap, and giddily recalled every moment.
For their lunch date, Patton wore one of the dresses he’d bought- A white one, with black polka dots. He was practically shaking with nervousness as they walked into the restaurant, but Roman slipped his hand into Patton’s and grinned. Patton’s face flushed bright red.
They talked for a while; They talked about Patton’s brothers, and how he hadn’t visited his family in a while and he missed them; About Roman trying to turn his writing into a career, and he worked at a Barnes & Noble for now to keep things together; About their first boyfriends, and a few of Patton’s girlfriends; About Patton being gender fluid and that for him it meant he felt like a boy almost all the time but he still loved conventionally feminine clothes; About how handsome Roman looked; About No, Patton, you’re prettier.
They talked as long as they could, but eventually Roman had to go back to work.
Patton had groaned and complained, “I don’t want to wait another few days to talk to you! Can I have your phone number?”
What had started out as a text every half hour during work quickly turned into four every minute; Over a week, they evolved into phone calls on speaker because they couldn’t stop talking to clean or make food; Over a month, they sent regular videos and Roman spent half his time at Patton’s apartment.
One night, Roman wanted to spend a night in, so he invited Patton over to his apartment for dinner and a few movies. Roman had made a home-cooked meal that Patton adored, gushing over him the entire time, and they cleaned the kitchen together. Patton got soapy water everywhere and Roman kept slipping. Afterwards, they moved to the living room, where Patton begged for them to watch a horror movie Patton hadn’t gotten the chance to watch yet. Roman had been nervous, but agreed. He was never good with horror movies, but Patton had looked so excited.
Patton grinned proudly and made grabby hands until Roman settled on the couch next to him. As the movie played on, Roman got progressively nervous, until he was pressed right against Patton’s side. Patton cooed over him, kissing over his face and hugging him.
Roman ended up with his face pressed into Patton’s neck, giggling every time Patton kissed his head. When the movie was over, Roman peeked his head up and blinked around, disorientated. Patton couldn’t help but grin.
“Roman?” He mumbled, resting his hands on the sides of his neck. “Is it alright if I kiss you?”
Roman’s face had turned bright red, smiling uncontrollably. He nodded happily, and Patton leaned in, pressing their lips together softly. Roman let out a little whine and pulled Patton closer. Patton spent the night, Roman too afraid from the movie to be left alone, and they slept happily cuddled together.
When Roman woke up to the sun sneaking through the windows, Patton tucked against his chest and dressed in one of Roman’s shirts, Roman’s chest filled with glowing happiness.
The next weekend, Roman felt like he would explode if he didn’t dispose of some of his festering emotions- Both good and bad -so he threw a party. He invited Virgil, Logan, and Patton, told them he could invite whoever they wanted, and invited some of his artist and theatre friends. Patton was the first to show up, dressed in a pastel blue flare skirt and a pretty black sweater. He insisted on helping set up the party, and greeted Virgil and Logan when they later arrived with giddy happiness, bouncing on his toes and offering both of them hugs. He squealed in delight when Virgil accepted, tucking his head to his shoulder.
People began arriving fairly quickly; This wasn’t the first of Roman’s parties and people always tended to have fun. For the most part, Virgil and Logan would stick together, while Roman flitted around the room like an excitable butterfly, but Patton managed to keep them all together without anyone getting bored or uncomfortable.
Logan rolled his eyes as Roman set up the karaoke machine, a bunch of people cheering and rushing to get their place. Roman started them off, of course, but instead of flaunting in his usual spotlight for his newest boyfriend, he offered a duet, to which Patton happily agreed. Sometimes Patton was off pitch and Roman did tend to project just a bit too loud, but they were smiling the entire time and they occasionally blended flawlessly.
Logan, Virgil, Patton, and a few others stayed behind after to help clean up, and when Patton stepped out to take out the trash, Virgil and Logan immediately jumped on Roman. They gushed and gushed over how much they loved Patton; Logan pointed out precise actions, words, and characteristics that he found ideal; Virgil rambled and talked himself into corners, constantly using the word “perfect.” By the time they stopped, Patton was back, standing there with a huge smile and tears in his eyes.
Virgil flushed crimson and Logan stuttered a bunch, but Patton just rushed forward and planted a kiss on Roman’s lips. They laughed, and went back to cleaning.
It was a month later, in the thick of January, when they started leaving notes around. Roman had been having a rough day; He’d bombed an audition, run into a massive case of writer’s block, got an awful review on a short story he’d posted, and everything he tried to create turned out like crap. Patton came over, worried when Roman ignored all of his texts, to find him hunched over his laptop, on the verge of a panic attack.
Patton made him something to eat and dragged him practically kicking and screaming away from the laptop to cuddle and nap. Patton woke him up after an hour and had him tell Patton about his day, what was wrong, and how could he help? Patton stuck around for a little bit longer after Roman went back to work, in case he started to get overwhelmed again, but inevitably went home. Roman was about to make dinner when he found the note stuck to the fridge.
Hello, my prince! You better be about to make something to eat! I know today was hard but you’re still the bravest, smartest, most creative person I know and I love you! If you come over tomorrow, we can take a day off and watch movies and stuff. Please don’t work too late! Get some sleep!
<3 Patton
The next day, after hours of Disney movies and cookies, Roman went to hug Patton, only to stuff a note in his back pocket. Patton yelped, squeaking out, “Hey!” Roman had chuckled and kissed him softly, and Patton melted into it.
Patton texted Roman a few hours later,
Oh, I see! It’s on! >:D <3
From then on, notes were scattered everywhere. They sometimes found notes weeks old, but every time they got huge, giddy smiles and didn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.
On Valentine’s Day, Patton woke up before Roman and slipped out of bed to sneak down to his car and retrieve Roman’s present. He hid it in the kitchen and got back into bed. Later, when Roman was fixing his hair and getting ready for their date, Patton presented the flower crown. It was made of deep, rich red roses. Roman lit up when he saw it; He changed his whole outfit to coordinate with it.
They spent all day out; Roman took him to the park to feed the birds, to lunch at a quiet restaurant, to an outdoor concert where they picked dandelions, and back to the park to stargaze with a picnic they packed together. Patton introduced Roman to everyone they talked to as his prince.
Patton slowly became more and more a part of the group. He lasted as Roman’s longest relationship and longer. He was able to give Logan attention on subjects the other two didn’t understand or weren’t interested in, and could comfort Virgil with anxieties the others couldn’t relate to. He made them all ridiculously happy, and he loved them just as much.
Roman fell easily; Logan and Virgil were both aware of this, and adored him for it. There was nothing sweeter than watching Roman fall in love.
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yourstreetserenade · 4 years
Text
So as I mentioned I do have a holiday fic which I’ll be posting in December, until then though I thought I’d share the details on another holiday fic idea I had. I had two ideas and I debated on which story to write and in the end, I decided that the following idea would be more time consuming and I just didn’t have it in me. So the following is my nixed holiday fic idea.
It was a future fic in which Brittana were celebrating their first holiday season as a married couple. The gist of it was this...as a newly married pair Santana would introduce Brittany to a long standing tradition in the Lopez household: Black Friday shopping. 
Santana would explain that she and her mother, Maribel, take their Black Friday shopping very seriously. Every year, no matter what, Santana and Maribel would meticulously map out their plans weeks in advance, scouting ads for the best deals at the best stores. Even though Santana lives in NY with Brittany and there are better shops in the city, it’s a very important mother-daughter tradition that they do their shopping in Lima at the one huge outlet mall. It’s their turf. So Brittana fly back home to enjoy Thanksgiving with both of their families and it’s over dinner that Whitney learns that Brittany is going to join Santana and Maribel for Black Friday shopping. Feeling as if they should include her as well, the Lopez ladies extend an invitation to Whitney. Later that evening, after filling their bellies with food they prepare for retail war.
Whitney and Brittany are a little taken back by how serious Santana and Maribel are about this. They have laminated maps of the mall, food rations in their bags, mace (in case they encounter any unruly shoppers), perhaps Santana even has a set of brass knuckles (which Maribel confiscates from her daughter). Santana and Maribel approach Black Friday with as much intensity and detail as a military maneuver. Whitney and Brittany side eye how ridiculous they are but they overlook it, Brittany loves Santana and Whitney is just jazzed to be included.
So at midnight, Thanksgiving night, the four women set out on their mission and head to the Lima mall. There’s a few very specific deals they have their eyes on but Maribel has her eyes on a very expensive, very rare handbag. I don’t know handbags, it can be whatever. Hermes, Gucci, whatever. The ladies all agree, the fancy handbag is the priority. 
Our characters walk into Lima Mall to utter chaos. Their friends and neighbors have turned savage, Santana and Maribel are nonchalant about this, after all, they’ve done this all their lives. Brittany and Whitney are a little out of their element however, perhaps a little bit overwhelmed and maybe even slightly amused to see the usually calm, professional and articulate Maribel Lopez go absolutely apeshit on someone over an air-fryer. The four ladies navigate the mall without incident and manage to bag some sweet swag. Eventually they take a break, refueling with protein bars between stores, it’s then that Santana and Maribel break it down for the Pierce women. Santana explains that everyone in town - everyone in the mall - knows the Lopez women run that mall each and every Black Friday. The name Lopez strikes fear in most people so for the most part all soccer moms and dads know not to mess with them when they’re after a deal but there’s a couple of families in town that like to play and butt against them in a bid to win more power.
‘’The Cohen-Changs and the Fabrays,’’ Santana identifies the two other mother-daughter pairs she and Maribel have been warring with for decades.
‘’You mean our friends?’’ Brittany would ask. 
To which Santana would reply, ‘’They’re not our friends, at least not on Black Friday.’’
Because what happens in the Lima Mall stays in the Lima Mall and it turns out that outside of Mckinely and outside of the Glee club the Lopez’s, Cohen-Changs and the Fabrays have been in competition to be the best, most badass Black Friday deal shoppers. Years of sabotaging each other, one-upping each other and so on. Brittany laughs, but Santana is straight-faced.
‘’Babe, this isn’t a joke,’’ Santana declares. ‘’Our three families have had bad blood for years, okay? You’re an official Lopez now which means you’re a part of this. This is important information that you need to know. Now I haven’t seen the Fabrays or the Cohen Changs today but that doesn’t mean they’re not here. This handbag is the holy grail - the it item of the season. My moms wants it but word is the department store has a very limited stock. We gotta make sure we get our hands on one before either of those bitch ass families do!’’
Meanwhile! Interspersed with all of the action scenes in the mall there will be a handful of cutaway scenes that take place in the parking lot as Brittany’s dad and Santana’s dad wait for the women in the Pierce family’s old minivan. Lots of silly banter, with Santana’s dad being the serious straight laced one and Pierce being...Pierce. 
The four ladies gear up at the mall, arming themselves with walkies and essentials before storming the department store in question. They wade through the mass of people, elbowing and kicking and screaming and through team work they manage to get their hand on the very last handbag - the handbag of Maribel’s dreams. There’s a moment of celebration between them all until they realize - where’s Brittany?
It seems in the kerfuffle to get their hands on the bag Brittany has vanished, swallowed up into the crowds.
The three women are confused but don’t panic until they hear a message over their walkies. It seems someone has ‘’intercepted’’ Brittany. 
‘’You hand over the bag, we hand over your wife,’’ says the person who has taken Brittany and is using Britt’s walkie to make demands on the Lopez-Pierce women.
Santana doesn’t need to be told who it is, she already knows. ‘’Fabray,’’ Santana seethes.
Insert a FaceTime call. Santana and Quinn glare at each other down via their devices. ‘’What do you want, Quinn?’’
‘’I think I’ve made my demands fairly clear, Santana. I want the bag. The choice is yours, you can either trade the bag for your wife or you can keep the bag and suffer the consequences. Who knows what horrible things will be inflicted upon Brittany in the meantime.’’
‘’Hey, babe,’’ Brittany would greet Santana, pushing up against Quinn in order to be in the video frame. ‘’Quinn just bought me a bunch of churros!’’ 
‘’Brittany, go sit down!’’ Quinn shoves a perfectly safe, perfectly intact Brittany away because obviously this is more of a mind game than a lethal game, but Quinn and Santana are both playing up the intensity for all it’s worth, cause comedy. ‘’As I was saying, Lopez, if you want to see your wife again, you’ll hand over the bag. She’s being held captive at an undisclosed location. You have two hours to make your decision. I’ll contact you again with the location of the trade off, if you dare contact mall security, well...I can’t promise Brittany’s safe return.’’
‘’Quinn, can we go get some Panda Express?’’
‘’Yes, Brittany, we can go get some Panda Express.’’
End call. 
Insert some crazed primal scream from Santana. Because of course! 
Of course Fabray would play it like this. Of course Quinn would be after this hot bag and of course she would play dirty. This was Quinn’s plan all along, Santana concludes, Quinn would let Santana, Maribel, Whitney and Brittany do the dirty work of actually going through the great unwashed crowds, only to ‘kidnap’ Brittany for the trade off. Quinn would get the bag without having to do any of the work. Evil genius! Santana is mildly impressed but she isn’t about to submit. Maribel is worried and Whitney is on edge so Santana takes the lead in this.
‘’Here’s what we’re going to do - we’re going to play along,’’ she tells her mother and mother in law. ‘’We’re going to make Quinn think we’re going to meet for a trade off but it’ll be trap. We’re going to walk away with Brittany and the bag. They’re somewhere in the mall and we just have to find them.’’
Then insert lots of little scenes as the ladies make their way through the mall, perhaps even bumping into other Glee characters (because everyone is home for Thanksgiving and there’s literally nothing else to do in town). Maybe there’s a short montage as they travel from level to level, occasionally stopping to buy and eat a hot cookie as they search for Quinn’s makeshift lair in the mall. 
Eventually all of their running around and clue collecting leads them to believe that Quinn is keeping Brittany in the back stockroom of a Claire’s (which is really sort of a nod to the fact that Claire’s used to sell a lot of silly Glee merch back in the day, like there were Rachel and Quinn themed makeup ‘’palettes’’ lol - also does anyone wish they could go back in time and actually buy all of the dumb Glee merch just to have for shits and giggles and nostaglia, sometimes I do, I remember once going into a Barnes and Noble and seeing a backpack with Finn’s face on it, god, 2009 was a simpler, stupider time and I miss it). Anyway! They make their way to the Claire’s in the mall, bust into the back stock room to find Brittany - again perfectly safe and totally nonchalant. And because they outnumber Quinn they’re able to take back Brittany...briefly.
Once they defeat Quinn (who is left beneath a huge pile of headbands or something) they make their way out back into the main walkway of the mall only to find some giant dance mob demonstration happening with carollers and all kinds of nonsense. It’s there that Brittany gets ‘intercepted’ once again!
They may have just defeated Quinn but they forgot about their other bitter rival: one Tina Cohen Chang. 
‘’I’m gonna kick your sneaky ninja ass when I see you Tina,’’ Santana declares over FaceTime.
Tina isn’t amused. ‘’First of all, racist, second of all, how does it feel to lose your wife not once, but twice, Santana?’’ 
‘’You should know by how I handled Fabray that I don’t negotiate with terrorists, Chang.’’
Thus begins another mission through the mall to find Brittany and again Santana, Whitney and Maribel have to navigate through several stores which have turned into complete war zones. Soccer moms fighting over big screen tvs and people punching each other out over shoes, etc. As they move through stores, kiosks and the food court Santana is in a rage. This wasn’t how their first joint Black Friday as a married couple was supposed to go, she should’ve known once she brought Brittany into the fold others would use her as pawn to gain more power and knock the Lopez family down. Revenge for all those years of the Lopez family tricking, manipulating and fighting dirty on every Black Friday for the past ten years.
Maribel honestly doesn’t care at this point. ‘’Look if they want the bag we can just give them the bag, I’m tired, I just want to get Brittany so we can all go home.’’
But Santana isn’t having it. ‘’No, we’re getting Brittany but we’re not handing over that bag, mom. This mall is our turf - we run it. Retaliation must be swift and brutal. Gangland rules. We figured out where Quinn’s hideout was, we can find Tina’s too and then I’m going to bust a metaphorical cap in her metaphorical ass!’’
After some brief brainstorming Santana decides to make some calls. Insert Face Time with Mercedes, who’s bleary eyed because unlike her idiot friends, she’s at her family home in Lima in bed where all the normal people are Thanksgiving night at 2am.
‘’If Tina were to set up a secret ninja liar in any store at a mall, what store would it be?’’ Santana would ask in greeting.
‘’What the hell are you talking about?’’ Mercedes would scramble to look at the time. ‘’What, it’s 2am, what’s going on - oh wait. Black Friday. Let me guess.’’
‘’Tina has Brittany and she’s holding her hostage somewhere in the mall unless I hand over a Hermes bag!’’
‘’It’s too damn early for any of this nonsense, I’m hanging up.’’
‘’Wait, no, Mercedes, I need your help.’’
‘’Well, junior year whenever Tina and I would hang out at the mall, her favorite store was always Hot Topic.’’
‘’Of course, goth phase era Tina. Why didn’t I think of that?’’
And this of course would be a nod to the Hot Topic tour the cast did when the show first started. They surround the corner Hot Topic to find Tina holding Brittany captive among a bunch of emo shit. Then begins a brief but hilarious tussle between Santana and Tina who is eventually restrained and tied up using like, tattered emo black lace tights.
The gang of ladies walks out of the Hot Topic, again to madness going on all around them within the mall. There’s fist fights, there’s screaming, maybe even a small fire, the residents of Lima have mad this Black Friday and the mall is a warzone. People have gone straight up gorilla and now the mission is to escape the front doors but before they can there’s another interception!
Except this time it’s Maribel and Whitney who are whisked away, vanished into the crazy crowds. Brittany and Santana are confused but once Quinn and Tina join them in their spot, our pair realizes neither Quinn nor Tina are responsible for their moms going MIA. One, they’re standing right in front of them so they couldn’t have and two, they’re not that organized or powerful.
Who could it be this time? And why take their mothers?
The answer comes when they get a FaceTime call from someone from their past. The only person who could and would hire henchmen and go to crazy lengths to get her way. Sue. On screen Sue is sitting in a chair, petting a cat, full villian mode.
‘’Let me guess, you want the handbag?’’ Santana huffs. ‘’Why, it isn’t even your style, what the hell would you want with it?’’
Sue shrugs. ‘’When I travel by plane I tend to get sick in the air and I’d like to use it as my primary vomit bag. If I’m flying first class I’d prefer to vomit in style. I’ve been watching you, your friends and family run around the mall all night, sandbags. Quinn and Tina are amateurs but you know that unlike those two boobs, I can do serious damage if I so chose. So hand over the bag and I’ll hand over your mothers.’’
End call. Brittany and Santana, as well as Tina and Quinn converge to discuss. Yes, Tina and Quinn kidnapped Brittany earlier but those were harmless power plays, but Sue? Who the hell knows what she’s capable of, Quinn reminds them, after all, she almost shot Brittany out a cannon junior year. Sue could ship their moms off to some deserted island or frame them for tax fraud or waterboard them or all kinds of crazy shit.
‘’I’m not handing over this Hermes bag so Sue can puke in it during plane rides,’’ Santana declares.
‘’She has our moms, Santana,’’ Brittany urges.
‘’Look, I got you back twice, didn’t I? I’ll get our moms back.’’
‘’Yeah but what were you up against? Tina? Quinn? No offense, ladies, but you never stood a chance. But Sue? She’s like a legit Disney villian, Santana.’’
Thus begins ANOTHER trek through the mall, this one takes them through employees only section, security camera rooms and air vents. Like all of the action movie tropes, but in this instance played for laughs and all taking place in a shopping mall. Eventually it all leads to a big showdown on the mall rooftop where Sue is leaning into the villian role, even going so far as to tie up Maribel and Whitney to chairs and putting bags over their heads.
‘’Tweedledee, Tweedle fakeboobs, you’ve arrived,’’ Sue greets them.
‘’Here’s the damn bag now let our moms go.’’ Santana tosses the bag in Sue’s direction like this is some kind of mob pay off or drug deal.
Sue inspects the bag and then nudges the moms up and our of their chairs, the moms blindly walk towards their daughters. Lots of hugging and embracing as they work to release Maribel and Whitney of their blindfolds and hand restraints. All the while Sue stands tall, observing the tiny dots of people exiting the building with shopping bags in tow. She has a long and ridiculous spiel about consumerism, american greed, materialism and such. ‘’Look at those unwashed idiots, screaming and trampling and stabbing each other and for what? Big screen TVs and seventy five percent off of mom jeans at Old Navy. Have they no sanctity for the holiday? Then again this holiday is based on a false narrative to erase the very real pillaging and destruction of a native culture so perhaps this…’’ she makes a wave to the barbiac acts and people below them. ‘’...is very much in line with what the holiday represents. Either way, I’m off to spend the next two weeks on my private island so I have a plane to catch and a bag to vomit into. Always a pleasure, Lopez, Pierce.’’
And with that Sue zooms off - taken away by some helicopter that swoops in and scoops her up and all of them are like ‘what the hell’ cause where the hell did the helicopter come from. It’s no matter because they start their way back down off the roof and into the mall. Their all a little worse for wear, some have limps or bruises or small injuries from the evening’s events but they all survived Black Friday at least. Wearily they go down and collect their belongings from where they had hidden/stored them earlier before all the action went down and slowly they FINALLY make their way out of the mall after several hours inside.
The four women enter the Pierce minivan, injured and disheveled. Santana’s father and Brittany’s father jointly turn in their seats.
‘’You girls have fun with your shopping? You get any good deals?’’ Pierce Pierce asks.
‘’I think my ear is broken. Can ears be broken? I got punched in the ear earlier and it feels broken to me,’’ Santana states dryly and to no one in particular.
‘’Honey,’’ Maribel sighs to her husband in the driver’s seat. ‘’Just get us home.’’
Cut to later that night (or technically it’d be the wee hours of the morning, since they start Black Friday shopping at midnight, so when they arrive home it’d be 3 or 4am). Whitney and Pierce have retired to their home. Maribel and Santana’s father have gone to bed as well. Santana and Brittany are in Santana’s old bedroom. Brittany has stitched Santana’s little scraps and bruises up as they prepare for bed.
‘’I’m sorry we all got kidnapped so much tonight,’’ Brittany says.
‘’Babe, it’s not your fault.’’
‘’I know but I feel like me being there got in the way of you and your mom doing your thing, you know?’’
‘’I mean, Black Friday shopping has been a mother-daughter tradition for us since forever, but you’re my family, Britt, that means you’re a part of all the traditions now too, if you want to take part. Although I’m guessing after tonight you’ll never want to go Black Friday shopping with us again.’’
‘’What, are you kidding? If you ask me tonight was a blast! I mean yeah I was a little worried when Sue took our moms for a second but it was also kind of cool, the four of us being a family and doing family things. Like battling the crowds and all of the insanity was a lot but it was also kind of fun. Plus, it was super hot how you got all take chargey and came to rescue me.’’
‘’Hot huh?’’
‘’Totally hot. All that smoldering and chest-heaving…’’ Brittany makes a show of fanning her face.
Santana does her bashful thing but relishes the attention and the kisses and affection Brittany lays on her.
‘’But it also meant a lot to see that you would go to the end of the earth for each of us, all of us and that’s really what this season is all about,’’ Brittany continues, hugging and smooching on Santana. ‘’Family.’’
Cut to a month later. Thanksgiving and Black Friday have passed. Brittany and Santana are once again back in Lima with their families to celebrate Christmas. Everyone is happy and enjoying themselves but Santana’s a little sad she couldn’t give her mother the beautiful rare handbag she had wanted. Maribel waves her daughter off, yes they lost the bag but it doesn’t matter. They still have their tradition and their bond, and now they get to share the experience every single year with Brittany and Whitney now too.
‘’As wild as it was that night, it’s also felt like an adventure with those two along for the ride. I may not have a purse or any material thing to show for the experience but that doesn’t matter. The experience was a gift in itself. Now I have another daughter, now you have another mother, that makes this mother-daughter tradition we have even more wonderful. Plus it means we have an extra two pairs of hands so it’s easier to loot stores.’’
Insert some sweet brief exchanges between Brittany, Santana, Whitney and Maribel who have bonded over the hell that was the first annual Lopez-Pierce Black Friday Shopping Extravaganza.
...
There would be lots of little details and kinks to work out, not to mention a ton of interaction between Santana-Whitney, Whitney-Maribel, Maribel-Brittany in between all of the running around. The characters would have to be moving through the mall constantly and, it would be a lot. Also I don’t know if anyone has noticed but I tend to write things that are very contained. Bachelorette takes place in the span of one night, so does You Instead, IWLTM takes place over the course of one summer. I have this habit of containing the characters either within a space of time or in a specific physical area or both and making that work is always a tricky thing. I just didn’t feel like creating another sprawling fic like that so, I opted for something a little more simple.
I doubt I’ll ever use this Black Friday fic idea but I feel like if I ever had the time to devote to it, it would be a fun and hilarious ride. I wish I could take you readers on it, but, I hope you got a chuckle out of this maybe?
Anyways, if you go Black Friday shopping, be safe and don’t get kidnapped! :)
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