#graveyard watch

[nether-demon-warthog]

Who (besides Martin) do you ship Jon with?

Tim

Sasha / NotSasha

Elias

Michael

Mike

Georgie

Gerry

Melanie

Daisy

Oliver

Other (not including Martin)

No one

Voting ended onJan 27

[glupblorbo]

checking to see which of these are red (doing market research for the homies)

[leincendiaire]

we need to talk about them more

[dcartcorner]

i should be doing chores

[the-lantern-lights]

Commission of some Graveyard Watch (Jon/Oliver) for @dancingacrossthemilkyway !

(The Oliver design was provided by them as I don’t have one of my own)

((Also I might have gone overboard a bit))

[anotheraccountonthisapp]

Best TMA ship names?

[shipping-nexus]

Ship names for Jonathan Sims x Oliver Banks

JonOliver

Graveyard Watch

These characters are from horror fiction podcast, The Magnus Archives

[dancingacrossthemilkyway]

cupping their cheeks and giving them a peck on the nose or lips - graveyard watch

It’s still a relatively new thing, whatever it is that is happening between them. Jon’s not stupid; he knows what’s going on, even if he doesn’t know if he’s ready to label it quite yet. The thing is…

It seems too convenient. Too good to be true. Jon doesn’t get nice things. No, Jon gets Leitners and burns, scars and worms and promotions that don’t make sense. Jon gets accused of murder, of manipulation, of having power that he doesn’t understand. Jon gets talked over and ignored and treated like garbage.

So how is he to believe that this man - this handsome, patient, laid-back man - has an actual interest in him?

“You’re thinking too much.” The voice is a baritone, speaking slowly but firmly as Oliver finishes his rounds with the plants decorating his flat. Jon furrows his brows and opens his mouth to protest, only to have Oliver raise an eyebrow and smirk at him. “You’re making the face again.”

“I- wha,” Jon sputters, scrubbing a hand over his face as Oliver chuckles and heads into the kitchen where the coffee is brewing. “I do not make a face.”

“You do. It looks something like this.” Oliver leans his hip against the counter and rests an elbow lazily on the old top as looks at Jon. He wrinkles his nose slightly and purses his lips, almost tilting them down, and scrunching his eyebrows just so to get a small crease between them. “It’s cute. I’d like it, if it didn’t usually mean you’re talking yourself out of something.”

“I, you - I’m not cute!” Another thing Jon doesn’t know quite how to accept is how casual Oliver is with compliments. They appear to be sincere ones, too, without any strings or expectations attached. Wrong, because Jon is hardly the cute type, but sincere nonetheless. 

“Yes, you are.” Oliver reaches into a cupboard to pull down two old mugs from the top shelf with an ease Jon envies. “But that’s not the point right now. What’re you thinking about?”

Jon immediately looks away. How does one admit they’re stuck struggling to believe that they’re worthy of someone’s attention? That the affection bestowed upon them makes them fearful that they’re somehow tricking someone into loving a version of them that doesn’t exist? He knows that it’s easy to tell he has poor self-esteem and even worse self-worth; Oliver had said as much when they’d first met in person. That should, in theory, make it easier to bring this up, shouldn’t it? 

But if he admits that he’s struggling, then he admits that he’s failing. Failing to be what Oliver needs him to be, failing to be a halfway decent partner in this relationship. And Oliver deserves so much more.

Warm hands cup Jon’s face suddenly, bringing him out of his mind to find Oliver crouching in front of him. “Hey,” Oliver says, nearly a whisper with how close they are. Concern is etched among the wrinkles of his face, affection laced in the words he speaks. “What’s wrong?”

Jon swallows. “What if…” he starts and god, he wants to duck his face to avoid seeing how Oliver reacts to him. He won’t. Oliver’s grasp is loose to allow him the freedom to do so, but he won’t. Even if he’s failing at every other aspect of this relationship, he will at least give Oliver this. “What if I’m not… good enough?”

Oliver’s eyes search his face for a long moment. “Good enough for?” he prompts after a second, even though Jon’s fairly certain he knows what Jon’s referring to.

Jon sighs, long and sad. “You.”

“Mmm.” Oliver rocks forward and places a soft kiss on Jon’s forehead, lingering long enough to ensure the skin continues to tingle after he pulls away. “It’s that kind of day, huh. Let me get the coffee and then why don’t we curl up under a blanket. Are there any documentaries you’d like to watch, or should I put on whatever catches my attention?”

Jon can’t explain it, can’t put into words why this reaction calms him more than if Oliver were to attempt to reassure him that he is good enough. He can’t put a lot of things into words, actually, about his turbulent emotions and how Oliver somehow manages to be a steady anchor through it. It doesn’t need to be verbalized, he supposes; that’s no what matters. Oliver reaches behind Jon to tug down the blanket he owns that is sinfully soft (one that Jon became obsessed with the first time he touched it) and drapes it over Jon’s shoulders. 

Clearing his throat, Jon pulls it tighter around himself. “A, uh. A documentary would be lovely.”

Oliver nods and hands him the remote. “Here. I’ll be right back out with drinks. Stay out of that head for me for a few minutes, okay?”

Jon chuckles. “Yeah. I’ll try.”

———

Prompt list