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stevebabey · 1 year

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Steve hates to ask this of Eddie.

Really, it’s a last resort sort of thing. Robin’s gone for the week, some trip upstate with her family. And it’s fine, they’re close but Steve’s a big boy. He can handle a week without his best friend.

But, well, it’s just unfortunate for it to creep up on Steve when Robin’s gone. It being… shit, how did Robin explain it? She was so much better at keeping track of all those things than he was, all the terms filed away nicely in her head to be recalled as needed. Steve’s much messier— in his head, in his life.

Touch aversion, that’s what she called it. A by-product of the severe lack of touch in his childhood she had said; not enough hugs, hand holding, the works and now Steve’s grown to find it too strange. Something prickles under his skin, pulls in his gut all the wrong way, when someone’s too touchy-feely with him. Robin’s said it’s normal, and he believes her.

It just makes it harder when this comes by. That completely strange backward want that carves into his chest, creating a chasm that just aches. Suddenly, Steve wants to be touched, needs to be touched — like something behind his ribs is just begging for comfort in the form of touch, any way he can have it. Like some young part of him can still remember the hunger he had for it and it comes back in full force, a tender wound between his lungs.

It doesn’t happen that often — though, it’s more frequent than ever recently — but usually, Robin’s here. She can almost always tell before Steve works up the courage to ask. Twitchy fingers give him away. He hovers closer than normal, shoulders brushing more often.

She always gives him a smile, softer than her usual snark and says, “C’mere, dingus.” and stands on her tip-toes to envelope him in a hug. Steve can’t help but sink into it, gripping her close around the waist for as long as he needs until the hole in his chest feels a step closer to patching up.

Robin also tells him he can have as many hugs as he’d like but Steve is firm with himself; he only needs one, then he’ll be back to fine.

It what’s he needs now. One really fucking good hug. Still, he hates to ask, least of all from Eddie, because, well— okay, Steve has no reason to assume Eddie wouldn’t give him a hug.

He’s seen Eddie’s hugs before. Like everything he does, Eddie puts his everything into it- he hugs Robin til she wheezes, loves to lift Nancy off the ground, and the hug he gives Dustin is sweetest of all, a hand on the back of the littler’s head while he does some strange little sway. Dustin always laughs, playfully shoving him away by the end but Steve knows he loves them, that it helps in more than one way.

Steve is glad that Dustin has someone, besides his Mom of course, who can hug him, because Steve can’t give that to him. Maybe one day, but for now, hugs from Steve are a rarity — few and far in between. Maybe, he thinks, he doesn’t want to ask Eddie specifically because of that niggling feeling that comes up around Eddie, all gooey and soft. A feeling the swings too close to a crush that Steve has no fucking clue what to do about.

So, he hates to ask. Really. On the drive over to Eddie’s, a hangout organised before Steve started to feel the lack of touch creep in, he runs through any other options. Wait til Robin gets back? Steve’s not sure he’ll make it another 4 days. When left alone, it seems to consume him and make everything harder, everything heavier to deal with.

He’s still tossing it when he climbs the steps to Eddie’s trailer. Steve decides that he’ll see how it goes, see if there’s an opening to ask…semi-naturally or something. He’s not gonna spring it on the guy.

Eddie is wonderful company as always, devilish grins and god-awful comments about the film he picked. Steve feeds off it, drinking in the infectious energy. He tries to let it be enough; their shoulders pressed together, Eddie’s knee knocking his when he laughs, the way Eddie leans into his space to whisper even though it’s just them here tonight. Steve wants it to be enough. But even then, he can see the way his hands twitch in his lap, desperate for more.

Steve closes his eyes. Curls his hands up so tightly his nails bite into the skin. He tries to use it to wane off the feeling, the ache that sings out for Eddie beside him and it nearly works. Until—

“Steve? Y’okay?” Eddie’s voice pipes up, making Steve open his eyes in an instant.

“Hm?” Steve hums, hoping that his casualness will be enough for Eddie to skip over his peculiar behaviour. He blinks, tilting his head just a bit to show he was confused why Eddie was asking.

Eddie chuckles lightly, gesturing towards Steve’s lap, where his hands sit still clenched, white knuckled with his self-restraint. “You seem a bit stiff, that’s all.” Eddie rechecks. “You good?”

Steve opens his mouth and then closes it, forcing his hands to unclench in his lap. “I-“ he begins, then stops, unsure of what he was going to say. He did say he would look for an opening tonight. The way Eddie’s regarding him, open faced with his concern, is as good as he might get.

“This might sound a bit weird,” Steve starts, defensiveness already tingeing the words, his shoulders curling in just a bit. Eddie could say no. He’s allowed to say no. Steve really doesn’t want him to. “Like, if you think it’s weird, that’s totally fine and we can just, like, forget I said anything and—”

“Steve.” Eddie cuts him off, a linger of an amused smile on his lips. “I don’t think I’m going to find anything you say weird, sweetheart. Shoot. What’s on your mind? What troubles the great mind of Steve Harrington?”

God, it’s like a whole bunch of words designed to set Steve’s head spinning. ‘The great mind of Steve Harrington’ makes him want to scoff. ‘Sweetheart’ makes him want to swoon. He can’t decide which one he wants to do more.

“Can I-” Steve stammers, the words halting automatically. It’s too much of a habit to swallow them down. Coercing them out takes more work. He stares up at the ceiling as he grits his teeth, releases a harsh sigh, pulling himself together. “Can I… have a hug?”

There a moment of silence and Steve holds his breath.

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, and Steve takes his eyes off the ceiling to see just what that Oh means. Eddie’s smiling, a soft one gracing his pretty mouth, and Steve thinks, maybe, one day he’ll have the courage to ask for a kiss as well. Relief moves sluggishly through his veins— Eddie’s smiling, this is good.

“Well, of course,” Eddie grins widely and opens his arms, inviting Steve in. Steve hesitates for only a moment before he leans in gratefully, his arms tucking around Eddie’s midriff tightly. Eddie’s arms curl around Steve’s neck, pulling him in close. It’s the easiest thing in the world, sinking into it, so much that Steve tries his best not to immediately slump against Eddie. It feels a bit too pathetic, so Steve reels himself in. He can’t make his arms relax, trying too hard to take only what he needs and not a moment more.

“C’mon, Stevie.” Eddie’s voice teases beside his ear, his breath warm. “You call that a hug?”

He squeezes Steve a little tighter, pulling him even closer and Steve can’t help the way he melts into it— he slumps, leaning against Eddie properly and burying his quiet whine of relief into the juncture between Eddie's neck and shoulder.

“There we go,” Eddie murmurs comfortingly.

Eddie takes him wholly, gives a damn good Munson hug, all warmth and comfort. He smells like, well, Eddie — a lingering scent of weed, something musky, something Eddie. His arms around Steve’s neck shuffle and Steve worries he’s trying to pull away so soon, only for one of his hands to tangle in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. He combs through, light fingernails scratching at Steve’s scalp and shit, Steve really can’t control the noise of contentment that slips out his throat.

“Can’t believe you got so worked up just to ask for a hug,” Eddie tsks, tone coloured in disbelief. Steve makes a noise of protest, trying for a moment to wind it all back in but, like Eddie can sense it, he’s squeezing him tighter again. He begins to rock them, a soft sway side to side that lets Steve lean on him even more. He hums a tune Steve doesn’t know, low and soft.

“M’sorry,” Steve mumbles in reply, though he’s not entirely sure what he’s apologising for. For having to ask, for taking so much, for enjoying Eddie’s arms around him just a little too much.

“What the fuck for?” Eddie laughs lightly, one of his hands beginning to drum against the divots of Steve’s spin. It feels like he’s tapping pure delirium with each fingertip, shivers that make Steve’s chest glow terribly warm. It feels good, so good to be held and honestly, Steve could stay here all night if Eddie let him. Knowing Eddie, he would, because he’s that fucking nice.

That knowledge alone forces Steve to sit himself up, extracting him limbs even though so much of him mourns the warmth, the touch, that goes with it. He wants the touch but he’s had enough. Some scorned part of him burns bitterly to think Eddie would give him more just to be nice. Steve doesn’t want that— Steve wants Eddie to touch him because he wants to.

“Sorry, man, I just, uh, get like that sometimes.” Steve feels the need to explain, bringing a hand up to rub at one of his eyes. He does it half so can hide his embarrassed expression from Eddie— who’s looking at him so gently and still so so close.

“Just, aha—“ Christ, it wasn’t this awkward telling Robin. Steve’s hand moves to rub the back of his neck. “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile since,” He gnaws on his bottom lip, something alike to humiliation curling in his gut. “Since I’ve had some touch. Usually, Robin’s around but y’know.”

He waves a hand, huffing another awkward laugh. Eddie hasn’t moved much, just listening intently, his brows ever so slightly inching closer together. He looks outright concerned at Steve’s next words.

“It’s okay, I’ve— I’ll be good now.” Steve nods along, like the motion will help him convince himself as well as Eddie. He’ll be okay now. Usually, one hug is all it takes. He ignores the surging tidal-wave want that is still going, still aching to be held by Eddie again. It would be selfish to ask for more. Eddie didn’t invite him around to hug— it’s weird, and Steve shouldn’t- can’t ask for more.

“Sooooo,” Eddie draws out the word, an impish smile beginning to play at the corners of his lips. He opens his arms wide again. “You don’t want another hug?”

In his lap, Steve’s fingers twitch. Eddie’s eyes dart to them for a second, before fixing back on Steve. He does, he really fucking does want another hug. He can’t. He’s had enough, really, it would greedy to have more.

Steve shakes his head, forces himself to huff another laugh that accidentally comes out as a strained sigh. He smiles weakly, “No, no, I’m good, dude. It’s… I’m okay, swear.”

For a moment, Steve thinks he’s convinced him. Eddie studies his face, his mischief slipping away as he deliberates Steve’s words. His eyes narrow, arms dropping just an inch before he smiles brightly and says, “Okay, can I have a hug then?”

Which, okay, right, Steve didn’t think of that. People don’t ask him for hugs. He blinks, a bit dumbly. Eddie is waiting, face eager and for a second there’s an expression of almost smugness on his face — like he’s about to get exactly what he wants. Because he knows Steve would never be rude and say no.

“I mean,” Steve breathes, voice a bit tighter than he’s expecting. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah, you can have a hug.”

“Great!” Eddie replies and he wastes no time. He’s all up in Steve’s space, arms around Steve’s waist this time. The motion takes Steve by surprise, enough that because he’s not expecting it Eddie’s weight pushes him back so he’s lying on the couch.

If Eddie cares, he pays no mind, his head curling up into the crook of Steve’s neck as he hugs him closer. His hair gets in Steve’s mouth, making him splutter for a second, but Eddie just grins, wriggling closer until they’re pressed firmly against each other. Steve would go as far as to say this is closer to cuddling than a hug, with Eddie squishing him from above, his arms around Steve’s middle.

“Just so you know,” Eddie’s voice rumbles from where their chests are touching, his breath sweeping across Steve’s neck. Steve shivers without meaning to, feels Eddie’s responding grin even as he continues. “All hugs requested by me are automatically 10 minutes long. Hope you’re okay with that, sweetheart.”

Steve isn’t stupid — he knows Eddie is doing it for him, doing it because he could see right through Steve’s stupid facade, had peered his yawning hunger for touch right in the face and hadn’t blanched. Instead of feeling tricked or fooled, Steve just feels…warm. Comfortable. He works his arms around Eddie’s neck til their more comfortable and find the courage in him scrape his fingers through Eddie’s hair— like he had done to Steve. Eddie’s sighs sweetly and Steve thinks he could listen to that noise forever.

“I’m… I’m okay with that.” Steve murmurs lowly, yet he knows Eddie can hear him. Eddie noses closer, a borderline nuzzle against his neck, and further down, one his hands starts to stroke softly up and down Steve’s ribs.

Steve can’t help the way it makes him freeze, the breath in his lungs holding tight as he tries to relax, tries to ignore the prickly feeling under his skin. It’s a lot. A lot of touch that Steve just isn’t used to just yet, even if he desperately craves it.

“Relax,” Eddie whispers into his skin, a soft instruction paired with the motion, one soothing stroke up and down his ribs. Steve pushes the breath in his lungs out, forces the tension out of his body, trusts that Eddie wouldn’t be offering— wouldn’t tell him to relax if he wasn’t allowed to.

“That’s it.” Eddie praises, feeling the body beneath him settle and sink a little lower into the couch. “Now, watch the movie.” Eddie instructs, jutting at the still playing screen with his chin. Steve laughs a bit, but obeys, turning his head to see what part they’d gotten up to. They’d missed a big chunk in their hug. Steve nearly apologises for it, the words on the tip of his tongue, before he decides Eddie might smack him for it.

So, he doesn’t. He watches the film, let’s the gentle touch of Eddie on his skin relax him til sleepiness starts to fill each of his limbs, heavy like lead. Eddie’s hand stops moving eventually, when his breath gets heavier, lulled by Steve’s scratch in his hair. A snore starts up, loud and quite frankly, annoying, and yet, Steve finds that with Eddie’s arms around him, he has no trouble finding sleep.

It’s the first time in years Steve’s fallen asleep in someone else’s arms. And even if he doesn't know it yet, it’s certainly not the last.

now with a part two!

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smithsparker · 11 months

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family dinner

Sokka had been so excited for today, and he was convinced everything would be fine. But it was not fine. Actually, it was horrible. And the worst part was that it wasn’t even that bad. No, Sokka realised, his father and his boyfriend were just extremely stupid.

or, zuko thinks hakoda hates him. hakoda thinks zuko hates him. sokka is so tired.

[read on ao3]

written for @zukkaweek day one: modern au | family drama

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fatuismooches · 8 months

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hii, its 💌 anon coming reallll late but happy anniversary :)) i was gone for so long bc i had school and so much other things but i am back‼️ with pantalone thoughts….and dottore thoughts ofc teehee.

akademiya zandik writing reader letters but then he was like “okay no, im not that whipped (he is) i’m gonna toss it somewhere else” but he ends up keeping it in a box. fragile reader on the other hand used to always write him letters :(( and ofcourse he kept them all. they were always well decorated and had the most beautiful wiring but after reader got sick, he didnt get them anymore. the younger clones would probably make little get well soon cards while the older ones write letters and all :(. (also fits reader literally writing him a letter in the case,, yk,, they die)

meanwhile, in pantaloneland, reader and him watched barbie together!!! he wore pink and the entire shebang, probably even rented….bought an entire theater for the private viewing for the both of you. (its actually js a theater version of the barbie movie. no movies back then so…play! arlie would love it too). BUT!! he js hates ken in the middle of it. “i would never ever get rid of your barbie dream house, darling :(“ because honestly? it makes him sad. how can someone just strip things that their lover likes away just to be better? it reminded him a bit of his own bitter childhood, and because of that, he buys you even more things after <3

“pantalone, i dont need that many outfits-“

“just indulge me darling :) you’ve been with me since i was young, its only fair i return the favor”

- 💌

HI 💌 ANON! Welcome back ❤️ I hope you've been doing good and taking care of yourself!! AND AGHHH THANKS FOR YOU FOR THOUGHTS 😭🤲

ZANDIK WRITING LETTERS 😔💖 He thinks that instead of verbalizing his feelings, he can water them down and make them all professional like he does in his notes/research reports... WRONG. Within the first sentence, he looks at it and stops because wtf there's no way he's gonna continue writing this sappy shit (it wasn't even sappy he was showing that he cared about you a bit more than the average person) But you on the other hand? You don't care if you sound too emotional or sappy or in love or not. You just write what you wanna write. Zandik will scoff and make fun of you but you know he keeps all of them. Where? You don't know, but you just know.

But it's only after it's too late that he realizes how much he likes the little letters he used to receive from you. (UR EVIL FOR THAT LAST PART.) Stop now I'm thinking about bb Zandy giving you a card... he drew you two with crayons 💖

NOT PANTALONE AND YOU WATCHING BARBIE... I haven't seen it yet but I'm beyond excited to go and watch it whenever I'm able to!! Psh, he doesn't even need to buy a theater because you know he been had one for years!! But OUCH not the angst at the end ;( Ugh he literally loves and respects you so much, he can't fathom the thought of ever hurting you on purpose.

In your closet, there are two types of outfits. The ones you wear regularly, and the ones you wore only once because Pantalone makes you try on everything he buys you. Oftentimes you have to enlist your husband for help choosing outfits and accessories because you probably get overwhelmed by your closet being the size of a big bedroom 😭

#smooches talks #💌 anon #fragile reader <3 #i rlly need to write a fic with fragile reader being healed #pantaloneland <3 #ive been wanting to watch barbie all summer 😭 i hope i can go see it soon #everytime i see pantalone spoil his partner it makes me an unhealthy amount of happy #like sir u should not spend that much on me but I'm flattered at the same time #man if someone ever disrespected u #pantalone would be more pissed thAN YOU #need me a man like that fr

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ladytauria · 6 months

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i read this fic (you want more and you want it fast - runespoor) some time ago and, uh

it would not leave my head <3

eventually i had to write down all the thoughts it gave me & then i cleaned those up into something resembling a not-fic. & then it was just a matter of, ah. convincing myself to share~

anyway!

warnings: unrequited bru/jay

edits: fixed some formatting issues, removed some brackets, and a sentence i had meant to fix before posting, lol

a hunger that grows, and grows

Jason’s feelings for Bruce are… complicated, to say the least. Mentor. Oldest/longest crush. Betrayal. Anger. Grief. Nothing easy or simple to deal with, and so Jason just… doesn’t. He does his own thing up until Bruce gets involved, has knockdown drag-out fights with him that leave him more frustrated than anything, and then usually heads to a bar, working his frustrations out with tall, dark haired, light eyed men before getting up the next day to start the cycle all over again.

It works. Or he does a good enough job pretending it does, anyway.

And then Bruce dies. (“Dies.”)

His usual methods of coping don’t work. He needs something more to scratch the itch; fill up the strange hollowness inside of him. And somehow… he ends up settling on Tim.

Half the reason the pretender is so fucking annoying is all the ways he reminds Jason of Bruce—both the parts he finds attractive and those he finds aggravating. (There’s a lot of overlap between the two, but Jason doesn’t like to think about that.)

So he tracks down Tim.

It works. Or he does a good enough job pretending it does, anyway.

And then Bruce dies. (“Dies.”)

His usual methods of coping don’t work. He needs something more to scratch the itch; fill up the strange hollowness inside of him. And somehow… he ends up settling on Tim.

So he tracks down Tim.

It actually takes a hot second—Tim is right on the edge of dropping off radar, which should probably concern Jason a little. But—honestly, whatever Tim is up to is someone else’s problem. He’s booked a ticket overseas, set to leave sometime around when patrol would usually end. Which means Jason has to move quick.

He’s not about to go asking for something for nothing, and since he’s looking to use Tim as a stand-in for Bruce, it only seems fair to offer him a similar opportunity. So. When he comes knocking at Tim’s door, he does it dressed as Nightwing. [Personally picturing the discowing suit bc of the deep vee, but, go with your heart.]

Tim lets him in; the annoyance on his face and in his voice bleeding very quickly into confusion as he processes what Jason is wearing.

Jason’s brand of flirting is a little taunting, a little aggressive, and utterly unsubtle. Tim—short circuits. It’s not necessarily that he isn’t used to being flirted with, or that he doesn’t know how to flirt back. It’s just… This is Jason. He’s had a crush on him since he was still Robin, and… Maybe all the violence and bitterness between them should have changed that, but it didn’t. If anything, it only made him burn hotter. So having all of that directed at him, especially right now? It’s a lot.

But Tim’s made a career out of thinking on his feet, and it’s not long before he reboots. It takes even less time for him to break the situation down.

He knows about Jason’s thing for Bruce. Knows Bruce didn’t reciprocate, or even really notice. Knows about Jason’s habits of seeking out Bruce lookalikes to fuck, especially after a big fight. And—well. Jason’s made enough derogatory remarks about Tim’s similarities to Bruce over the years. It’s not hard to figure out that this time, Tim is the one being used as proxy.

It hurts.

A lot.

But Tim also recognizes an opportunity when he sees one. If this is the only way he can have him… so be it. “I’ve got a plane to catch in the morning,” he warns, even as he slips into his best imitation of Bruce.

“Still got all night,” Jason says, flippant tone belied by the hunger in his eyes.

It’s a night they make very good use of.

Jason doesn’t even stir when Tim slips out before dawn—figuring, this is it. He got his on night, and now it’ll never happen again. He doesn’t end up having to try hard not to think on it; too busy just trying to keep his head above water.

Jason wakes alone and satisfied. And maybe… a little bereft, somewhere deep, deep down and unacknowledged. He lets himself bask for a bit, and then it’s back to business as usual.

The itch builds back up again. Normally, if his path hadn’t crossed with Bruce’s naturally, this is when he’d go looking for reasons to pick a fight. He thinks, idly, about reaching out to Tim again. Maybe even looks him up, just to see what he’s doing, only to learn he’s nowhere to be found. Jason tells himself that’s not concerning at all, and anyway, he wouldn’t want to make a habit of fucking the pretender. Tim’s too crafty for that.

Things go back to something resembling normal.

Of course, then Tim does finally show back up again, and brings with him a shitload of chaos…

…and, eventually, Bruce.

It’s— Jason doesn’t know how to feel about it. Things are—different. Bruce has a new Robin. Tim’s struck out on his own, claiming his own territory in Gotham. Jason doesn’t need to show up for family dinners to see the tension there. Even Jason’s relationship with him is different. They circle each other, almost awkwardly. There’s this… almost-want of a reconciliation; a tentative truce building between them.

Until it blows up in their faces, of course.

Jason leaves the fight angry and frustrated and seething—but also hot under the collar. Before, he would just find a bar and look for someone who could almost, in the right lighting (or lack of), pass for Bruce—or who looked like they could fuck Jason hard enough he wouldn’t care.

But…

Well. It hadn’t been enough when Bruce had first “died,” and ever since his night with Tim… He’s not sure it ever will be again. So he finds himself on Tim’s doorstep again—possibly in the same outfit? Or maybe a different era costume? Or something totally different. He figures, well. Last time Tim had him out of the suit pretty quick, so he must’ve been into it.

Tim’s surprised—but again, doesn’t turn Jason down. He does tell him to ditch the costume next time. Nightwing doesn’t do it for him.

Again, Jason leaves satisfied.

After that, it keeps happening. Jason abandons the costume idea entirely; just shows up at Tim’s door in or climbs through his window. Sometimes he brings food, usually he doesn’t. They fuck. Sometimes they even stay together until its time to get up, becoming—almost friendly, in those small windows of time.

The time between visits starts to decrease, until Jason isn’t really seeking him out because Bruce pissed him off anymore. Tim is still putting on a Bruce-esque persona, though. He’s also never the one to initiate, which Jason notes idly but isn’t concerned about… yet.

And then one day, when Jason seeks him out, Tim is… tired. He’s fighting with Bruce. He’s still got the primary role in the company. He’s pretending to be injured. He’s not on good terms with Dick (though they’re mending). Damian hasn’t tried to kill him in a few weeks but there’s still animosity. Things with Steph are… weird. Strained. Awkward. He’s glad she’s back. He’s angry at her for lying. She’s pissed he’s not talking about his disappearance, and the thing with Pru, and. You know. Everything. The Titans are back but he’s not leaning on them like he used to. He’s still managing everything that happened with the League, the missing spleen, and now Boomerang…

He’s tired.

He wants.

His persona cracks, and a little more Tim shines through. Jason… likes it. He doesn’t know what’s different; he’s really only encountered fake-Bruce Tim and Red Robin Tim. Everything else has been glancing. Brief.

But by the next time they meet, Tim’s rebuilt his defenses, and… it’s the same as before. Except now, the formerly mind-blowing sex is— Still good, but. There’s something lacking, a missing mysterious thing that Jason has no idea how to ask for. It’s… frustrating. The itch comes back, more fierce than before.

He ends up talking to someone—probably Dick, but maybe Steph, or Babs. He doesn’t mean to turn the subject to Tim, isn’t even intending to ask about him, but. The others have noticed Tim & Jason’s new… closeness, if not the reason for it. Whoever it is he talks to happens to mention that Tim used to really look up to him—idolize him, even. Probably in the context of a warning, but not necessarily.

A few things click into place. He keeps his distance from Tim for a bit; turning thing over in his head. Certain misinterpretations are cleared up, but… Jason also has new questions. Questions he doesn’t intend to just ask outright—he knows Tim wouldn’t answer him. Or, if he did, it wouldn’t be true.

So he decides to do something a little—reckless. Or, maybe not reckless, so much as embarrassing. Painstakingly, he assembles an accurate (well, mostly) Robin costume. The same one he wore, during his tenure. He barely manages to swallow his embarrassment enough to assemble it, let alone put it on, and covers quickly with a long coat.

The trip to the Nest is agony. He finds himself flushing every time he’s reminded of it. And when he gets there— He hasn’t knocked on the door in ages, but this time… He can’t do anything but, and waits anxiously for Tim to show up.

Tim lets him in, eyeing the coat with strong suspicion.

When the door is shut, Tim takes in his appearance with an impressively neutral expression, considering Jason is sure he looks ridiculous, wearing a long overcoat despite the mild weather and his face, ears, and neck blotchy with embarrassment. “I thought we agreed no more costumes,” Tim says, finally. Jason swallows hard. His face grows hotter. He resists the urge to tug at his collar; instead undoing the buttons of his coat with trembling fingers. “I— We did. But…” He takes a breath. He’s too off-kilter to make his words sound seductive, but he continues anyway—“I think you’ll make an exception for this one.” And then, before he can lose his nerve, he shrugs out of the overcoat. The Robin costume—sans cape, and pixie boots. And gloves. But he was wearing the red tunic, and the scaly green panties. And they are panties, unlike the original. But he’d thought a two piece might be more… practical. It’s the closest thing he’s worn to the original suit in… years. Since the Tower, and that had been far less faithful. He feels… ridiculous. Overgrown. Out of place. But… There’s still a little bit of magic, too. He keeps his eyes on Tim despite his nerves. Watches the almost imperceptible way his eyes widen. The way his hands still. The way all of him stills so completely Jason worries, for a moment, that he isn’t even breathing. It stretches long enough Jason feels himself starting still; ice creeping through his veins. This was a bad idea. He fucked up. At best—Tim laughs at him. At worst… At worst he’s dismissed, derided, humiliated, and never to make things right, or see if they can’t, maybe, be something more. Then there’s a short, sharp intake of breath—and Tim moves, so suddenly Jason might wonder about latent speedster genes, if he wasn’t otherwise occupied. Tim kisses him feverishly, licking into Jason’s mouth like he’s starved. One hand tangles in his curls; the other wanders. Over his chest, teasing his nipples through the tunic before tracing the Robin emblem. (Jason isn’t going to examine the way that makes him shiver.) Then down over his rib cage, his stomach. Teasing the hem of the panties before palming him through them. Squeezing, as Jason gasps into his mouth; rocking his hips forward. Tim smiles, smug and satisfied. “Feel good, does it, Robin?” The name— the tone— His moan is torn from his chest, so hard it’s almost painful. He whimpers, after, the heat spreading down his chest. His whole body prickles, skin tight and sensitive. Fuck.

They don’t even make it to the bedroom. Tim, well. He tries, but god, he cannot keep the Bruce-persona going, and Jason watches the mask fall in real time. It’s one of the hottest things he’s ever seen.

Later, when they’ve both finished at least once, they lay next to each other, and Tim asks quietly, “What gave me away?” The question is so mild, so innocuous. He could be talking about his thing for the Robin costume, or any number of things. But Jason knows. So he tells him, “Nothing I would have noticed for a long time.” Because it’s true. He prides himself on being observant, but.. he wasn’t looking for it. Didn’t know to, and never would have expected it, from Tim of all people. He feels… guilty. “Dick brought up some stuff, though, and… Well. All the things I’d missed were… obvious.”

Then Jason admits that he’s enjoyed the times they’ve gotten to hang out, and the longer this has been going on, the more he’s been disappointed when they don’t get to. And… the times that Tim has been more himself, less Bruce… they’ve always been his favorite.

He doesn’t want to jump into something before he’s ready, rush it, and end up hurting Tim when it doesn’t work out but— He thinks, if they go slow, that they could have something. If Tim is willing to give him that chance, to know him.

And, well. What does Tim have to lose? His heart is already on the line. So he says yes.

(It happens, bit by bit, so slowly he doesn’t even notice, until, one day, Jason looks at Tim and— He can’t. He can’t picture anyone else at his side, can’t imagine wanting anyone else. He’s happy, here, with Tim, and so, utterly in love.)

-> AO3 <-

#jaytim #timjay #not fic #tauriawritesfanfic #taurisnotfic #i'm not entirely sold on the title but #its been living in my documents as 'name later' so i cant even give u a placeholder name #anyway <3 #i have another not-fic i want to share but i need to conclude it #the other one is VERY firmly in the 'i will probs never write this' folder #this one...#i dunno maybe #i don't rlly feel qualified tho lmao

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