#kon x reader

↠ dick grayson. he adores it so much. the moment he sees it, he's picking it up and holding it next to his face with a bright smile. "oh, you even have the little escrima sticks.. this is so cute. i'm honored you have a little me watching over your place." he doesn't put it down until he leaves, seemingly absorbed in the idea that you went out and bought a tiny him.

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↠ jason todd. he blinks at it, confused at first, before a little laugh sounds when you tell him it's customized. "you really keep this where people can see it?" you only nod, smiling, like it's completely normal. "okay, yeah. thanks?" he's not entirely sure how to respond but every time he glances over to the tiny figure, he feels that content warmth in his gut.

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↠ tim drake. it's been on your shelf for a month, you're honestly surprised it's taken him this long to see it, and he only notices mid turn during a rant. "is that...?" the rant is forgotten because he's too busy turning it over in his hand, mumbling about how the staff is wrong. "they at least-" he only stops because you're staring, eyes narrowed. "it's incredibly cool," he finally says, setting it back down.

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↠ damian wayne. "this is..." he turns it once or twice, thumb plucking the end of the plastic sword, "inaccurate." he glances at you and sets it back on the shelf, not really having much else to say. you assume he doesn't think about it, until two days later, there's a new one - you - next to it. he, surprisingly, didn't change any of the inaccuracies.

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↠ ted kord. oh, he's in love right off the bat and absolutely everything else being talked about is now on the backburner for the next thirty minutes. "we could build a whole set up for him.. we could make it look like a little enclosure. i can sketch up the design and you could find the pieces."

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↠ michael carter. the moment he sees it, he lights up and gasps like it's the biggest honor of all. "is that me?" it's in his hand before you even register what he's talking about. "i'm really your favorite person, huh?" you don't have to look to know he's grinning like he won the lottery.

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↠ roy harper. "look, i'm fun sized" he says, leaning close to inspect it, purposely not reaching to pick it up. "i knew you liked me, just didn't know it was this much." he is, of course, grinning when he nudges you with his shoulder. "when are we getting a tiny you for him?"

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↠ wally west. "please tell me you bought this on purpose and it wasn't just in a pack with others-" he's suddenly beside you, wiggling the lego in your face as if you weren't the one who owned it. "look at him- me? i'm so tiny. it's so cool."

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↠ barbara gordon. you notice the moment she sees it because the conversation dies and her attention is on your desk. "you keep this next to your work stuff?" she picks it up, turning one of the wheels of the little wheelchair. "can't believe you did this.." you mumble that she already looks over every other aspect of your life and she sets it back down. "smart then."

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↠ bart allen. "no waaaaay.." he's on the floor, inspecting the figure, moving it's little limbs, turning the head, playing with the goggles. "the goggles are so cool.. and the colors are right." he's pretty much in his own world until the idea hits. "c'mon, we gotta build it a house and stuff. you can't just let me freeze out in the open."

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↠ kon-el. he's staring at it from the couch, arms crossed. "you always had that?" you shake your head, saying it's only been a few months. "man, they really went all out, huh?" his head tips to you, "you know, the real one is right here.. you didn't need to get a tiny one for company."

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↠ cole cash. "that is the worst- is this me?" he's already plucking it up to turn it in his hand, looking at it as if it's existence somehow offended him. "willingly letting the world know you associate with me is terrible." he puts it back, nudging your hip. "like it, though."

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↠ terry mcginnis. he's definitely not snooping like he does every time he's at your place. "is this.. supposed to be me?" he picks up the little cowl sitting next to the figure, taking note of the customization. "so.. you keep batman.. next to your bed. that's, uh.. something."

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↠ hal jordan. "you own a lego of me?" you don't get the chance to reply before he's enveloped in playing with the green plastic constructs that had been lined up beside it. "this is kinda awesome.." by the time he's done, your shelf looks completely different because he's made a whole scene for it.

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↠ kyle rayner. you hold it out to him after digging it out of the package that had been waiting by your door. "they made.. me?" it's out of your hold and in his own, mumbling something incoherent as he inspects the lantern ring.

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↠ guy gardner. you could have guessed his reaction before he ever saw it. "of course they made one of me." he's grinning, resituating the shelf entirely so that his figure stands out from the rest. "there we go, much better. front and center right where it belongs."

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↠ cassandra cain. "this is.. me?" she looks at you then picks it up, thumb brushing over the flat line that would be the seam of her cowl. "you picked it?" she brightens when you nod, setting it back on the shelf, changing the positioning of the arms. "i like it."

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↠ bernard dowd. he doesn't even knock when he visits, barely getting a word out when he sees the new figure on your shelf; how he noticed it from the door, you have no idea. "oh my god, you made a lego of me?" he's already across the room, bag on the floor. "this is so cute. i look so... nerdy."

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↠ jay nakamura. he notices it, turns to talk to you, then spins back around. "what is that?" he's already in front of the shelf when you say 'you', his thumb brushing along where the lego goes from solid plastic to clear blue. "it's custom.. it's kind of sweet you have it on display like this."

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↠ thaddeus thawne. "this is what you consider good decoration?" you're about to comment on how that's self deprecating towards himself when he plucks it up. "you wasted your time painting this?" he looks over at you, holding it to the side between his first and second fingers. he just makes a sound of acknowledgment before putting it back.

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↠ cissie king-jones. "wow, someone really bought this? or was it part of some lot?" she's examining the little bow, flicking the plastic string. "you know this is, like... an informal, legally binding proposal, right?" she looks over with a grin, waving the tiny arrow.

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N = No (something he wouldn’t do, turn offs)

will not allow anyone else to touch you. even knowing in your past you've laid down with others, he refuses to share. will not let anyone else see you either (only under his preferred circumstance — see later under w = wild card).

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving)

Receiving

no doubt, Kon is a huge fan of receiving. big ego — in the way that he is fully aware of what he has and how much you love it, want it, and need it. he doesn't think he's a gift from god, however he knows that he can shut you up with it, fuck you dumb until you're dizzy, and you keep coming back for more. beyond ego though, he does genuinely love how you're insistent on focusing on his pleasure as much as he dotes on yours (he'd never willingly admit it, as he's always got to have the air of the cheeky yet aloof medicine seller). but, at the end of the day: he's more than happy to oblige when you insist he sit down in a chair — for you to get on your knees, gently pry his legs open, lay your cheek on his inner thigh, and look up at him with syrupy-sweet sinful half-lidded eyes. he'll grab a fist full of your hair to hold it back for you before he says:

"you want to make me feel good? mm, you always do. though, i have missed you...like this. very well, i am yours to use. i am at your mercy, dear."

Giving

oof, big ego because loves to please and knows he's good at it — his preference is giving. a giver of heart and mind — as well as hands, tongue, and other things. he loves to watch your eyes roll back, you beg him to stop, and grab a fistful of his hair to ride his face properly. he takes pride in his "humble work" as a medicine seller and as your pleasurer.

P = Pace (Is he fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

both. he is hyper focused on giving the best experience and performance possible. whatever he knows you like and can tell in the moment in your micro-expressions or vocalizations that you're liking or want - he's on it, tenfold.

Q = Quickie (his opinions on quickies)

YES — there is no way you could convince me that he cares that much about waiting to get home/"better place" (though there is an appeal to it, see u=unfair/w=wild card). being impatient and impulsive is a treat he loves to indulge in because he doesn't really get to do so when he's out after mononoke where he has to understand the form, truth, and reason — meaning he has to be reserved, patient, and strategic. however, when he's with you — all bets are off (and the fact that you love it only encourages him more — like that one time you wore that new summer silk he got for you, see y=yearning)

R = Risk (Is he game to experiment?)

definitely - in terms of new positions, he's inventing new ones constantly. given his abilities he's bending you in shapes and fucking you at angles you never thought possible. he's unfortunately (fortunately) very creative and always excited to share with you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?)

at least 3-5 orgasms or 3 hours minimum. Kon will pull out all the stops every time he can and when he has a bit of unlimited time with you — you'll both be seeing the stars and seeing the sunrise, all in the same night, if you catch my drift. he will split an elixir with you that heightens your senses for stimulation and extends your human stamina to keep up with him (he drinks it for the taste and solidarity, he doesn't need a damn thing to keep going).

T = Toys (does he own toys? does he use them?)

ofc. some toys are hidden in the medicine box (that he can hide/bring forth at will, as to not accidentally pull out nipple clamps during an exorcism, not that that wouldn't get a laugh out of him though), as well as some with you at home — the only catch is he would only tolerate himself being inside of you — toys are exclusively external for you. when he's away, your fingers can play. when he's home, he is the only thing you need (and want) for pleasuring purposes — he makes sure of this and lives up to it very highly.

U = Unfair (how much does he tease?)

Kon loves to tease a terribly, terribly mean amount. he will hover his mouth over yours as his fingers float above your core or most sensitive spot begging for his touch, his curling of fingers, his hard length. he will laugh in your ear as you begin to physically burn from the inside with desire. he will lick a stripe up your neck, nipping at your jaw, and placing a quick kiss under your ear to then walk out of the room like he didn't do anything with a shit-eating grin on his face — but the payoff when it finally comes? bliss.

V = Volume (how loud is he, what sounds does he make)

he's hitting the 3 g's at whatever volume best suits the mood: grunt, groan, growl (with a delicious surprise: whimpering) of course, the most important g he hits is — ...you know it's the g-spot. (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for him)

back to his loving the teasing and denying and himself being teased and denied (see m=motivation from pt.1), he may or may not have a little fucked up enjoyment watching you do so to strangers (translation: he enjoys watching you tease someone and hates being jealous but loves what it turns him into. extra translation: he will swing in, snaking his hand around your waist, running his hand up your throat, catching your jaw between his fingers to pull you into a deep, messy kiss in front of someone who never had a chance. he for sure is rearranging your guts extra later, even though he asked for this (you're not complaining).

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes…)

slender build with an ethereal air about him. that being said, how Kon has Shingi, there is a duality about him. He is above average but average width. do not let the use of the word average put any preconceived notions in your brain — he is going to rearrange your guts based on skill alone — the additional length beyond the "average" is used to your pleasured detriment and his entertainment. i cannot say i have ever seen him eat anything throughout the duration of the mononoke (movie) series and i think it's because he's feeding himself off your soul leaving your body every time he comes home or stops by to visit (he definitely makes jokes about how "dinner is ready" every time he comes home, no matter the time of day).

Y = Yearning (how high is his sex drive?)

Kon is a yearner — high desire for you in all aspects. knowing that the safest place for you is back at home, he always has you in his mind when he's away. he's always thinking of how you somehow manage to wake up before him and have his favorite morning tea ready for you both, as well as the few times he's woken up before you (that he'd never spoil his secret treasure) where he watches the ups and downs of your chest as you breathe slowly, surely, and safely under his watch. alternatively, he is always thinking of new ways that he can equally: frustrate, turn you on, and impress you — all at the same time, of course. beyond his creativity, he's constantly traveling and seeing fashion trends across the country. he's constantly finding new outfits he knows that you would look divine in and that he is already imagining tearing off of your body with his hands or likely, his teeth, no matter where you are — like that time in the store room of your favorite tea house.

"i found this summer silk for you in the West. they're quite popular, it seems...and it looks lovely on you, i knew it would." "however, i'm afraid that i'm now missing your skin underneath this lovely silk. oh, don't fret at the torn fabric, dear — i'll buy as many as needed to see you in and out of each dress. i believe there is a storeroom that could cast shadows beautifully over your lovely silhouette, would you care to follow me?"

Z = Zzz (how quickly he falls asleep afterwards)

Kon hardly sleeps — it's just how he's built. you could say it has to do with being aware of the danger of mononoke and potentially horrid humans, but i would argue that he's just a night owl. the rare moments of actual rest are only when he's with you. despite wanting to stay awake to keep a watchful eye on you, knowing the world you live in, your warmth and way that you relax your body, melting into him, brings him the peace that he doesn't even realize he needs to fall asleep. in terms of sex, you will likely fall asleep first but he wouldn't be far behind. you are his peace, as well as what gives him a run for his money and endurance.

nsfw alphabet // kon — medicine seller (PITR) pt.1

definitely want to do more content with kon — but also ri! perhaps expect some ri content (and definitely more kon) in the future hehehe (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

i'm BACK,,, the ao3 curse is NOT exclusive to ao3, i'm going THRU IT but writing helps :3 love you ttyl xxx

As time goes on, however, and the sun blares high, you find yourself staying over more often than not. Things are organized by your design and are likewise maintained by your preference. Kon thinks it's kind of a pain to not fling everything everywhere, but he gets it. Tim...just don't touch his stuff, and he doesn't care what you do with it. Perfect for you.

Summer break doesn't last forever, though, and for your peace of mind, you pack your bags and head back home. "You have your own place? Seriously? Why is this the first I'm hearing about it?" Kon will scoff, earnestly a little hurt at the notion. "Rob, did you know about this?"

"Of course I did."

"Of course you did." Kon sighs, rubbing his temple. "Let's all keep secrets from Kon-El; it's everyone's favorite game." He shrugs his shimmering irritation off, instead choosing to help you with your bags. Unlike someone glued to his phone on the couch. "Let's see it then."

Compared to Tim's...your flat is small, tiny, really. Teeny tiny. You seem comfortable enough? It's a place in Gotham, at least; those are few and far between. Expensive too; Kon wonders why you bother with it to begin with. Tim makes it work; maybe it's in the fine print of the contract to be a bat, being able to squeeze into small places and all. Kon...worries he'll knock something over by just turning around.

Somehow, the three of you squeeze into your twin-sized bed that's pushed into the far corner. Kons curled around where your head normally lies like a mother bird protecting her babies from falling out of the nest. His massive bicep props him up, leather jacket having long been peeled off and laid aside. You're in the middle, scrolling, while Tim's resting his chin on your knee, curled up at your feet, doing the same.

"It's so hot." The man behind you sighs, casually resting his palm alongside your breastbone. His stub for nails drum against the fabric of your shirt. Seeking, picking, heavy. "You wanna take this off, huh, babe?"

"Oh yeah, real smooth." Tim snorts, not even bothering to glance up.

"Always so prickly." Kon scoffs, being more obvious in how he fondles you. "Come on, don't you wanna fool around in a new place?"

"New to you."

"What, you've been here before then?" Kon purses his lips into a pout.

"Sure," Tim shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Now it's your turn to frown. No way, he's never been invited. Then again, it's Tim. Practically the last person on earth to respect things like boundaries and social norms.

“Ignore him, baby; let me love on you instead.” Kon huffs, gently knuckling your jaw into facing hun. His lips are always chapped, even with the taste of cherry chapstick always coating them. Even clones aren’t perfect. Go figure someone obsessed with power would overlook something so small.

You don’t dwell on that, though, allowing Kon to work you up into the mood. Wordlessly, he places your phone off to the side, dipping further down to let your hands slide into his hair. Not gelled, for once. “Mh…s’gonna be weird havin’ you somewhere else.” He murmurs down the side of your neck.

“Doors always open if you change your mind.” Tim hums, pretending to not watch the two of you locking lips. He’s easily satisfied by just that, but it seems the resident voyeur wants in on the action tonight. He tucks his own device between his thighs before working your pants down just enough to slip your cock out. Quickly getting to work.

Against your lips, Kon scoffs, but enjoys the show regardless. Continuing to palm here and there while you tug this way and that at your leisure. Tim's mouth is hot and lazy around your cock, he's having fun dragging his tongue back and forth against it.

Tim says stuff like, “Yeah, there was a mugging near my school once,” or “I learned to tail people pretty young,” or “My parents were out of the country a lot.”

And Kon is like, “Okay, that’s sad and mildly insane, but it’s Tim. He makes everything sound like a chess move anyway.”

Tim’s Gotham trauma is polished. Organised. Alphabetised. It comes with contingency plans and a little PowerPoint in his brain.

So Kon assumes Gotham childhoods are bad in a rich-kid-detective-sad-eyes kind of way.

Then he meets you. And you are not polished about it.

You are casual. Way too casual. You say things in the same tone someone else would use to complain about a bad dentist appointment.

The first time it happens, you and Kon are hanging out with Tim at the Tower. Tim is working on his laptop. Kon is pretending not to hover over your shoulder while you make instant noodles because he likes watching you do normal things. It makes his chest feel warm and weird.

Tim mentions Gotham traffic.

You snort and say, “At least it’s not as bad as when the city shuts down for a rogue attack and everyone panic-buys bottled water.”

Kon laughs at first.

Then he realises Tim does not. Tim has stopped typing.

Kon looks between you two. “Sorry, panic-buys what now?”

You glance up. “Water. Batteries. Canned food. Sometimes gas masks if Scarecrow was out.”

Kon blinks. “Gas masks?”

“Yeah. They sold out fast, though. You had to know which corner stores had emergency stock.”

Kon slowly turns to Tim.

Tim is staring at you with the expression of someone hearing a familiar song in a much darker key.

Kon points weakly. “Did you guys have gas mask corner stores?”

Tim says, “Not in my neighbourhood.”

And that’s when Kon realises something important.

Tim’s Gotham and your Gotham were not the same Gotham.

Tim’s Gotham had distance. Manor walls. Boarding schools. Wealth. Alfred. Bruce. Eventually Batman-adjacent protection, even if Tim would never frame it that way.

Your Gotham had bus routes during Arkham breakouts.

Your Gotham had apartment buildings with broken locks.

Your Gotham had neighbours who taught kids which alleys to avoid.

Your Gotham had sirens as background noise.

Your Gotham had survival skills disguised as common sense.

Kon’s brain just kind of… pauses.

Because he thought he knew Gotham trauma.

He did not know Gotham trauma: civilian edition.

And he is immediately unwell about it.

You don’t notice at first.

That makes it worse.

You just stir your noodles and add, “It wasn’t always that dramatic. Sometimes it was just regular crime.”

Kon makes a sound.

Tim closes his laptop.

You look up. “What?”

Kon says, “Regular crime?”

“Yeah.”

“Babe, what is regular crime?”

You shrug. “Non-themed.”

Tim puts his face in his hands.

Kon stares at you like you have just revealed Gotham had a loyalty rewards program for childhood trauma.

“Non-themed,” he repeats.

“Like, not Joker or Riddler or Two-Face. Just normal gang stuff.”

Kon looks physically pained.

“Just normal gang stuff,” he says.

You nod.

Tim mutters, “That is, unfortunately, a Gotham distinction.”

Kon points at him. “Do not normalise this, Rob.”

Tim lifts both hands. “I’m not. I’m contextualising.”

“You’re both insane.”

You and Tim, at the same time: “It was Gotham.”

Kon throws his hands up. “That is not an explanation! That is a cry for help with gargoyles!”

After that, Kon becomes weirdly obsessed with comparing notes.

Not because he wants to make you relive anything. He just cannot wrap his head around the idea that Tim’s childhood, which he already considered bleak as hell, was apparently the premium subscription version of Gotham.

He asks Tim about it later, when you’re not there.

Kon tries to be casual. Fails immediately. “So, uh… was Gotham always like that?”

Tim doesn’t look up from his tablet. “Like what?”

“Like—” Kon gestures helplessly. “Like your city was trying to speedrun traumatising every kid in it.”

Tim is quiet for a second.

Then he says, “Depends where you lived.”

Kon hates that answer. He hates how calm Tim is when he says it.

Tim continues, “My childhood wasn’t great, but I had resources. Security systems. Money. Escape routes. Adults who were absent, but not usually physically dangerous. That’s different.”

Kon sits with that. It makes him feel sick.

Because he knows Tim’s childhood hurt him. He’s seen it in the way Tim overworks, overthinks, overprepares, and acts like needing affection is a security flaw.

But then there’s you.

You, casually mentioning that your school had “rogue drills.” You, knowing how to identify fear toxin symptoms. You, laughing about how Gotham kids had playground rumours about which villains were “better” to be near during an attack.

Kon does not know what to do with that. He is a clone. He has his own complicated origin. He was made, not born. He knows what it’s like to have your early life shaped by other people’s choices and experiments and expectations.

But he was not a little kid in Gotham. He did not have to learn that an ice cream truck playing music too slowly might be suspicious. He did not have to know which siren meant fire and which siren meant chemical exposure. He did not have to pack emergency snacks in case a villain shut down the bridge again.

And you say it all like it was annoying, not terrifying.

That is the part that destroys him.

Because Kon is loud. Emotional. Heart-first. He feels things in bright colours.

So when your past starts unfolding in front of him, he cannot just file it away.

He feels it. All of it. Hard.

The second big casual drop happens when you’re alone together.

You’re in his room, lying upside down on his bed, scrolling through your phone. Kon is floating three feet off the floor because he says it helps him think, but really he just likes making you roll your eyes.

A video plays on your phone with a carnival laugh track.

Your smile disappears for half a second.

Kon notices instantly. “You good?”

You wave it off. “Yeah. Just don’t love carnival music.”

He lowers himself to the floor. “Because Gotham?”

You snort. “Everything weird about me is not because of Gotham.”

Kon raises an eyebrow.

You pause. “Okay, a lot of it is because of Gotham.”

He sits beside you. “Carnival music?”

You shrug. “Joker thing. Not directly. I wasn’t, like, front row for anything. But there was an incident near my neighbourhood when I was a kid. For weeks after, everyone got weird about circus stuff.”

Kon’s expression goes blank. That is his processing face.

Then he says, very carefully, “How old were you?”

“I don’t know. Eight?”

“Eight.”

“Maybe nine.”

“Oh, yeah, nine is famously the emotionally mature age for clown-based domestic terrorism.”

You blink.

Kon looks upset enough that you immediately try to soften it.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

Kon’s face changes.

He looks wounded by the sentence itself.

“Don’t do that.”

You frown. “Do what?”

“Make it smaller because I reacted.”

That shuts you up.

Kon’s voice gets softer. “I’m not mad at you. I just… I don’t know what to do when you say something like that and then look at me like I’m the weird one for being horrified.”

You look away.

He leans closer, not touching yet.

“I knew Tim had Gotham stuff,” he says. “But Tim talks about it like he’s reading a case file. You talk about it like you’re telling me the weather was bad.”

You laugh weakly. “Sometimes the weather was bad too.”

“Babe.”

“What?”

“Focus.”

You sigh.

Kon waits. He is not always patient. In fact, he is famously not always patient. But with you, he tries so hard.

Eventually, you say, “It was normal there.”

Kon’s eyes soften.

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s what’s messing me up.”

Because Kon understands being built for something you didn’t choose. He understands having people look at you and see the result instead of the damage. He understands being called strong when what they mean is you survived something you shouldn’t have had to survive.

And suddenly, he sees that in you.

Not as a concept. Not as a sad backstory.

As real.

You were a kid. A civilian kid. No powers. No cape. No Robin training. No alien DNA. No super-hearing. No tactile telekinesis. No team.

Just you. In Gotham. Trying to get through the day.

Kon lies down beside you, staring at the ceiling.

After a while, he says, “I hate that city.”

You turn your head. “You barely know that city.”

“I know enough.”

“You know Tim.”

“Exactly. I thought Tim was the worst-case Gotham childhood.”

You laugh despite yourself. “Tim?”

Kon looks at you, dead serious. “Tim became Robin because Batman was sad and somebody had to fix it. That’s insane.”

“Okay, true.”

“And somehow you’re making his childhood sound like the deluxe edition.”

You laugh harder.

Kon smiles, but it’s soft around the edges.

“I’m serious,” he says. “Tim had it bad. You had it bad differently.”

That lands.

Because people usually compare pain like there’s a scoreboard. Like someone has to win most damaged, which is the worst prize ever. Gotham loves that. Gotham practically runs on “someone had it worse.”

Kon does not do that. He just says differently.

And somehow that makes it easier to breathe.

After that, he starts noticing the differences between you and Tim.

Tim prepares like a strategist. You prepare like someone who once had no backup.

Tim has contingency plans labeled by scenario. You have emergency cash hidden in three places and never let your phone drop below 40%.

Tim distrusts people because he has analysed their motives. You distrust crowds because crowds in Gotham could turn into hostages in under ninety seconds.

Tim sits with his back to the wall because Batman training. You sit with your back to the wall because civilian survival.

Tim knows fear intellectually, tactically. You know it bodily.

Kon starts clocking how your body reacts before your brain explains.

A loud bang, and your eyes go to exits. A sudden laugh, and your shoulders tighten. Fog rolling in low over the street, and your hand finds his sleeve.

You always say you’re fine.

Kon starts understanding that “fine” is a Gotham word meaning not currently bleeding.

He hates it.

He starts gently challenging it.

You say, “I’m fine.”

He says, “Gotham fine or actual fine?”

You stare at him.

He smiles a little. “Yeah, I made categories.”

“That’s annoying.”

“Accurate, though.”

You sigh. “Gotham fine.”

“Cool. Want to get out of here?”

You blink. “You don’t mind?”

Kon looks genuinely confused. “Why would I mind?”

“I don’t know. It’s inconvenient.”

His expression shifts into something soft and almost hurt. “You’re not inconvenient.”

You look away.

Kon ducks into your line of sight. “Hey. You’re not.”

And because he’s Kon, because he is earnest enough to be embarrassing and sweet enough to get away with it, he adds, “I can fly. Literally nothing is inconvenient to me except emotional repression and waiting in lines.”

You laugh.

He beams, relieved.

Kon becomes incredibly focused on giving you control.

That is one of the first things Tim advises him on.

Not in a patronising way. More like Tim sees Kon spiraling and takes pity.

Kon says, “I don’t know what to do when they talk about it.”

Tim says, “Ask what they need.”

Kon frowns. “What if they don’t know?”

“Offer options.”

“Like what?”

“Listen. Distract. Leave. Stay. Physical comfort. No physical comfort.”

Kon absorbs this like holy scripture.

The next time you casually mention that you hate blackout curtains because they remind you of city lockdowns, Kon visibly glitches for half a second, then takes a breath.

“Do you want me to listen, distract you, or threaten Gotham as a concept?”

You blink. “What was the third one?”

“I’m workshopping it.”

You smile. “Threaten Gotham as a concept.”

Kon nods solemnly. “Gotham, count your days. You creepy little gargoyle swamp.”

You burst out laughing.

He lights up.

From then on, that becomes his thing.

He does not always know the perfect response, but he always tries to give you a choice.

“Do you want comfort or jokes?”

“Do you want me close or over there?”

“Do you want to talk about it or should I tell you what Bart did today?”

“Do you want me to call Tim and ask him if this is normal so we can both yell at him when he says yes?”

That last one is used often.

Tim gets dragged into it more than he deserves.

You: “One time my school bus got held up because Two-Face’s gang blocked the bridge.” Kon, already pulling out his phone: “Tim.” Tim, answering: “No.” Kon: “You don’t even know what I’m asking.” Tim: “Is it Gotham-related?” Kon: “Yes.” Tim: “Then no.” Kon: “Was bridge gang stuff normal?” Tim: “Define normal.” Kon: “I hate you.” Tim: “Valid.”

You find this hilarious.

Tim does not, but he tolerates it because he secretly likes that Kon cares enough to be annoying.

Kon’s protectiveness is raw. He is young in some ways. Not immature exactly, but new to so many kinds of love. New to building a life that wasn’t assigned to him. New to the terror of realising someone you love was hurt before you ever knew them.

He wants to go back in time and save you. He cannot.

He wants to punch every villain who ever scared you. He could, maybe, but that is apparently “not productive” and “legally complicated.”

He wants to wrap you in his jacket and fly you somewhere sunny where cities don’t have cursed vibes. That one he can actually do.

So he does.

The first time you mention that Gotham winters were the worst because cold weather plus city-wide emergencies meant people got trapped without heat, Kon gets quiet.

Then he asks, “Have you ever been somewhere warm just because?”

You blink. “Just because?”

“Yeah.”

“Not really.”

Kon is on his feet immediately. “Pack a bag.”

“What?”

“We’re going to the beach.”

“Kon, it’s almost midnight.”

“So? Beaches don’t close emotionally.”

“That sentence makes no sense.”

“It does if you’re romantic.”

He takes you somewhere warm. Not crowded. Not fancy. Just a quiet stretch of sand where the air smells like salt instead of smoke and the sky is huge.

You stand there barefoot, wind pulling at your clothes, and for a while you don’t say anything.

Kon watches you carefully.

Not like you’re fragile.

Like this matters.

You finally whisper, “Gotham didn’t have skies like this.”

Kon looks up. “What were they like?”

“Low,” you say. “Heavy. Like they were waiting for something bad, too.”

Kon’s chest hurts.

So he reaches for your hand.

You let him take it.

He squeezes gently. “This one isn’t waiting for anything.”

You look at him.

He smiles, a little shy. “It’s just sky.”

That becomes one of the safest things anyone has ever said to you.

Just sky.

No signal lights. No smoke. No bat-shaped shadow against the clouds. No sirens below.

Just sky.

Just Kon’s hand in yours.

Just warmth.

Kon starts collecting those moments for you.

Not in a “fixing you” way. In a “Gotham does not get to be your only archive” way.

He gives you memories Gotham can’t touch.

Beach at midnight. Flying above clouds. Eating greasy diner food at 3 a.m. because neither of you could sleep. Watching stupid movies where the villains are too ridiculous to be scary. Farm visits with Ma Kent, where the quiet is soft instead of threatening.

That last one really gets him.

He takes you to Smallville eventually.

At first, you’re tense. 

Too open. Too quiet. Too few places to hide.

Kon notices. “Too much?”

You shake your head. “Just different.”

Ma Kent, because she is Ma Kent, takes one look at you and seems to understand more than anyone should. She doesn’t fuss. She doesn’t ask invasive questions. She just gives you warm food and tells Kon to stop hovering because he’s “about as subtle as a flying tractor.”

Kon blushes.

You laugh.

Later, you sit on the porch with him, watching the fields move under the wind.

You say, “It’s weird.”

“What is?”

“No sirens.”

Kon leans back beside you. “Good weird or bad weird?”

You think about it. “Suspicious weird.”

He nods gravely. “We can work with suspicious weird.”

You huff. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but I’m emotionally supportive.”

“You are.”

He goes pink at the ears.

Kon gets flustered when you acknowledge his care. Like, badly.

He can lift cars, fight monsters, and stare down world-ending threats, but you saying, “I feel safe with you,” makes his brain turn into dial-up noise.

The first time you say it, he freezes.

You’re half-asleep against him after a long day. He thinks you’re already out, but then you mumble, “I feel safe here.”

Kon stops breathing.

Not because he needs to breathe that much.

Because his whole body forgets how.

“You do?” he whispers.

You hum. “With you.”

Kon stares at the ceiling like he’s just been entrusted with the nuclear codes to your heart.

He does not move for the next two hours. His arm goes numb. He does not care.

Tim finds him later, still sitting in the same position, looking emotionally devastated.

Tim whispers, “Are they asleep?”

Kon nods solemnly.

Tim eyes him. “Are you crying?”

“No.”

“You are.”

“Shut up.”

Tim’s mouth twitches.

Kon whispers, “They said they feel safe with me.”

Tim’s expression softens. “That’s big.”

“I know.”

“No, Kon. For someone from Gotham? That’s big.”

Kon looks down at you, tucked against him, relaxed in a way he rarely sees.

His voice is tiny. “I know.”

And he does.

By then, he really does.

He understands that trust from you is not casual. It is not automatic. It is not easy.

It is something built from proof. Again and again.

Kon showing up when he says he will. Kon telling you before he touches you. Kon not laughing at your emergency habits. Kon keeping snacks in his jacket because you once mentioned Gotham lockdowns could last hours. Kon learning the difference between your normal quiet and your danger quiet.

Kon asking, not assuming.

Kon staying.

He is so proud when you let him stay.

Not in a smug way. In an awed way. Like he knows he has been handed something precious and slightly dangerous, like a tiny star.

The funniest part is that Kon starts getting personally offended on your behalf by Tim’s “that’s just Gotham” energy.

You’ll say something alarming.

Tim will, from across the room, say, “Yeah, that tracks.”

Kon will whip around. “Stop saying that!”

Tim looks up. “What?”

“That tracks? That tracks? They just said their elementary school had a no-ransom-note-without-calling-an-adult policy.”

Tim pauses. “That one’s weird.”

You point at him. “Thank you.”

Kon gestures wildly. “That one? That one is weird? What’s the baseline here?”

Tim opens his mouth.

Kon points harder. “No. Don’t answer. I’ll get mad.”

Tim closes his mouth.

You are laughing so hard you’re crying.

Kon looks betrayed. “This is not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“It is Gotham funny, which I’m learning means horrifying.”

You wipe your eyes. “You’re catching on.”

Tim mutters, “He’s adapting.”

Kon groans. “I don’t want to adapt. I want Gotham to stop sounding like a child-endangerment theme park.”

Tim says, “Good luck with that.”

Kon throws a pillow at him. Tim dodges without looking.

That becomes a running theme.

Kon vs. Gotham normalisation.

He loses often. But he fights valiantly.

You: “It was only a minor evacuation.” Kon: “No evacuation involving children is minor.” Tim: “In Gotham—” Kon: “You are on thin ice, Drake.”

Or:

You: “I learned to pick locks because sometimes landlords chained emergency exits.” Kon: “I’m sorry, what?” Tim: “That is extremely illegal.” Kon: “Oh, NOW you know normal.” Tim: “I didn’t say it was surprising.” Kon: “I’m going to scream.”

He talks to Cassie about it once, because he needs someone outside the Gotham ecosystem to confirm he is not overreacting.

Kon says, “They told me their school had a Scarecrow protocol.”

Cassie stares. “A what?”

“THANK YOU.”

Bart, overhearing, says, “Oh, Gotham kids are built different.”

Kon points at him. “Not helping.”

But even through the jokes, Kon struggles with the helplessness of it.

One night, you wake from a nightmare at the Tower.

It’s bad.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

You just sit up, breathing too carefully, eyes scanning the room like you’re looking for smoke.

Kon wakes immediately.

He can hear your heartbeat.

Too fast. Way too fast.

His instinct is to grab you, to pull you close, to shield you with his body.

But he remembers.

Choice. Control.

So he sits up slowly.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft. “It’s me. Kon.”

You don’t answer.

He keeps his hands visible. “You’re at the Tower. My room. Door’s locked. Window’s closed. No alarms.”

Your eyes flick toward him.

He adds, “No gas.”

That does it.

Your face crumples just a little.

Kon hates Scarecrow with a clarity that surprises even him.

Not in the abstract superhero way. In the deeply personal, you scared someone I love when they were small and now I want to throw you into the sun way.

But he keeps his voice gentle. “Can I come closer?”

You nod.

He moves slowly, like he is approaching something sacred.

When he sits beside you, you lean into him immediately.

His arms come around you, careful and warm.

You whisper, “Sorry.”

Kon’s throat tightens. “Nope.”

“I woke you up.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m being stupid.”

“No.”

He says it so firmly you blink.

Kon pulls back just enough to look at you. “You’re not stupid. Your brain is trying to protect you because Gotham taught it too much weird information.”

Despite everything, you laugh. A tiny, broken sound.

Kon smiles softly. “There you are.”

You press your face into his shirt.

He holds you until your breathing slows.

Then, very quietly, he says, “Was it one of the old things?”

You nod.

“Do you want to tell me?”

A pause.

Then: “Not yet.”

“Okay.”

“You’re not going to ask?”

“Not yet means not yet.”

Your fingers tighten in his shirt.

That matters more than he knows. Or maybe he does know. Kon has had so much of his life defined by other people deciding what he is ready for. What he is made for. What he owes. What he should become.

He will never do that to you.

If you say not yet, he respects it. If you say stop, he stops. If you say stay, he stays like it is the easiest thing in the world.

Eventually, you tell him pieces.

That’s how it happens.

Not one big tragic monologue.

Pieces.

You tell him about the time the Narrows flooded and emergency services took too long.

You tell him about learning which adults in your building were safe.

You tell him about city-wide curfews.

You tell him about the smell of smoke after rogue attacks.

You tell him about keeping your shoes by the bed in case you had to run.

That one ruins him.

He tries not to show it too much.

Fails.

“You kept your shoes by the bed?”

“Yeah.”

“How old were you?”

You shrug.

Kon closes his eyes. “I hate that question now.”

“What question?”

“How old were you. Because the answer is always too young.”

You go quiet.

He looks at you. “You were always too young.”

It hits like a bell.

Clean. Brutal. True.

You whisper, “Everyone was.”

Kon’s face hardens, not at you but for you. “Then everyone was too young.”

And that’s Kon.

He refuses the Gotham logic. He refuses the scale where pain only matters if it was the worst version possible. He refuses the idea that survival makes it okay.

You half expect him to get used to it, eventually.

He doesn’t.

He learns how to respond better, but he never becomes numb.

That is strangely healing.

Every time you say something terrible, part of him still reacts like, What the hell? And oddly, that helps.

Because it reminds you that it was terrible. That Gotham was terrible. That maybe the things you filed under “normal” were never normal at all.

Kon becomes a mirror that doesn’t distort.

Not pitying. Not horrified by you.

Horrified for you.

And he loves you loudly enough that you slowly start believing some of it.

He tells you, “You’re allowed to hate what happened.”

He tells you, “You’re allowed to miss parts of Gotham and still hate it.”

He tells you, “You’re allowed to be scared.”

He tells you, “You don’t have to be chill about your own trauma to make me comfortable.”

That last one comes after you apologise for “dumping too much” on him.

Kon looks genuinely offended. “You’re not dumping.”

“I kind of am.”

“No. You’re telling me your life.”

You look down.

He ducks his head to catch your eyes. “I want to know your life.”

“You say that now.”

“I’ll say it again tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. That’s why it counts.”

Kon’s relationship with Tim also shifts because of you.

Not badly. Just… deeper.

He starts understanding that Tim’s Gotham stories were also bad, even if Tim frames them like “mildly inconvenient origin lore.”

But now Kon can see the layers.

Tim had privilege, yes. Tim had neglect, yes. Tim had resources, yes.

Tim was still a kid in Gotham.

Kon gets softer with him too.

He notices when Tim minimises things. He calls him out more gently.

Tim says, “It was fine.”

Kon says, “Actual fine or Gotham fine?”

Tim freezes.

Then glares. “Did they teach you that?”

Kon smiles. “Maybe.”

Tim mutters, “Traitor.”

But he answers.

“Gotham fine.”

Kon nods. “Yeah. Thought so.”

You have accidentally made Kon emotionally smarter about the entire Bat ecosystem.

Terrifying. Beautiful. 

He still loses it when you and Tim compare experiences.

You: “Our lockdown room had emergency crackers.” Tim: “Ours had bottled water and first-aid kits.” Kon: “Why are you both saying this like you went to rival summer camps?” You: “Did yours have gas masks?” Tim: “Only after the second Scarecrow incident.” Kon: “THE SECOND?” Tim: “Different school.” Kon stands up. “I need air.” You say, “We’re outside.” “I need different air.”

He flies straight up for thirty seconds, comes back, and says, “Okay. Continue. I’m emotionally prepared.”

He is not.

But he tries. That’s what makes him good for you.

Kon tries. Messily. Loudly. With his whole chest and zero chill.

He does not always get it right. Sometimes he overreacts. Sometimes he looks too sad and you feel exposed. Sometimes he asks a question too quickly and then immediately apologises.

But he learns. He listens. He lets you correct him. He never makes his discomfort bigger than your history.

And when he does get overwhelmed, he tells you honestly.

Not in a way that blames you.

He’ll say, “I’m not upset with you. I’m upset because I love you and I wish none of that happened.”

That is hard to argue with.

So you stop trying.

Eventually, you start telling him things before they slip out.

Not always. Not everything.

But sometimes.

One night, you say, “I want to tell you something, but I don’t want you to make the sad face.”

Kon immediately rearranges his face into something absurdly blank. “This face?”

You laugh. “That’s worse.”

He tries another expression. “This?”

“Now you look constipated.”

“I’m doing my best.”

You’re laughing before you even start.

And somehow, that makes it easier.

You tell him about a bad memory.

He listens. His eyes get sad anyway, because of course they do. But he also smiles when you need him to. He holds your hand.

He says, “Thank you for telling me.”

Not I’m sorry first. Not that’s awful first.

Thank you. Like your trust is a gift.

Because to him, it is.

Kon’s love becomes a place where Gotham logic slowly loses power.

In Gotham, fear was practical. With Kon, fear is something you can name.

In Gotham, silence meant danger. With Kon, silence can mean his heartbeat under your ear.

In Gotham, looking up meant checking rooftops. With Kon, looking up means sky.

In Gotham, “fine” meant alive. With Kon, fine starts meaning fine.

Actually fine.

Not perfect. Not magically healed. But warm. Safe. Loved.

There is one moment that seals it.

You’re with Kon and Tim, walking through a city that is not Gotham. There’s a street performer nearby making balloon animals. A kid laughs. Someone drops something metal behind you.

You flinch.

Not badly. But enough.

Kon notices. Tim notices too.

For a second, you brace for the usual embarrassment.

But Kon just shifts closer, shoulder brushing yours.

Tim, very casually, steps to your other side.

Neither of them makes a scene. Neither of them asks if you’re okay in that heavy public voice.

Kon just says, “Hey, I think there’s a bakery down the block.”

Tim says, “There is. Good reviews.”

You look between them.

Kon smiles. “What?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

But it isn’t nothing. It is being understood without being exposed. It is Gotham kids and almost-Gotham kids and clone boys with too much heart making a tiny protective formation on a sunny street.

It is ridiculous. It is sweet. It is yours.

Later, Kon asks, “Was that okay? Back there?”

You nod. “Yeah. It was.”

He looks relieved.

Then you add, “You and Tim flanked me like bodyguards.”

Kon grins. “We looked cool.”

“You looked obvious.”

“Cool and obvious.”

“You looked like emotionally constipated meerkats.”

Kon gasps. “I am telling Tim you said that.”

“Please do.”

He does.

Tim just sighs and says, “I’ve been called worse.”

Kon points at him. “Gotham fine.”

Tim groans.

You laugh. And Kon watches you laugh with this soft, impossible look on his face.

Because he knows now. He knows Gotham hurt you. He knows you might always carry pieces of it. He knows there are stories you haven’t told him yet. He knows some jokes are shields. He knows some silences are old alarms.

But he also knows Gotham did not get the final word.

Because you are here. With him. Laughing. Letting yourself be loved by someone who once thought Tim Drake was the baseline for Gotham trauma and then met you and immediately had to mentally redesign the whole scale.

Kon still thinks Tim’s childhood was bad. He thinks yours was bad too. He thinks comparing them is useless unless the comparison helps someone understand where the wounds are.

Mostly, he thinks both of you deserved better.

But you are the one he gets to hold at night.

You are the one who curls into his chest and slowly, slowly stops listening for sirens. You are the one who taught him that some people survive haunted cities and still become kind.

And Kon? Kon loves you like sunlight with a heartbeat.

Warm. Earnest. A little blinding.

Always reaching for you. Always reminding you, with every touch and every terrible joke and every flight into open sky: You got out. You’re here.

But when he comes to you... favoritism plays. Words kinder, eyes lingering a bit too much

He knows how to flirtatious, how to charm someone so he probably did his shenanigans and you two were mostly side by side the whole time before mononoke was gone.

That mononoke couldn't even get close to you lol, ri was always there

Might kiss your hand like a gentleman again if it weren't for the old lady screaming "inappropriate!!" To his ear

Kon

Ngl i think he might kicked down your door when you two first met.

IN HIS DEFENCE he was chasing a mononoke!!! He didn't know he would fell to heaven~

He was serious and glaring around for a second, and the next when his eyes landed on you, he was like a proper gentleman, charming smile, putting up on his best flirts before he waved back at you right before he was back to running after the mononoke

He comes back to apologise later, and manages to get you two talking for HOURS.

He is very respectable though, looking genuinely curious and enthusiastic when you speak. He is smiling genuinely lol

He especially checks up on where you are everytime he senses the mononoke. Sending it away with no fail everytime it's too close for comfort.

You can't prove it but there's a tail wagging behind him whenever you say he could stay to talk

Trust me on this... both of them does little dances to offer you being their mate– you don't understand it but both of them so proud of their little declaration before going on about their day like nothing happened!