Please, cuddling, and TimKon?
. . . I am sorry but also I am NOT sorry for what I have done with this reply, but hey, why don't we all enjoy this one being the only prompt fill from this meme that got a read-more cut??
“Please,” Kon tries, trying not to look–he doesn’t know, weird and needy and like an embarrassment, or whatever. It feels like such a stupid thing to ask for. He knows Tim’s not really a hugger or a touchy-feely guy or whatever and that he likes having his own space and basically always hops out of bed right after sex to go write down all the shit his post-nut clarity made him think of, and the idea of, like, just staying still and actually cuddling or whatever is probably basically literal torture to him, assuming it’s ever even occurred to him at all, just . . .
Just he’d kind of like to sometimes, maybe? Like–not regularly or whatever, he’s not trying to drive Tim nuts or cut into either his worktime or downtime here, just . . .
Just he’d like to do it sometimes, that’s all.
Tim’s not the tactile type. Tim isn’t even the eye contact type, unless he’s lying to somebody or at work or just faking it for Robin-mode or whatever. Kon gets that. He’s been, like–careful about that. Not trying to take up too much space or ask for too much attention or mind when Tim doesn’t even look up at him when he–
He’s been careful about it.
But he is . . . well. The tactile type. Like . . . kind of, anyway.
Like–it’s kinda unavoidable, honestly.
“Oh,” Tim says, blinking at him in just enough bemusement to make him feel even more self-conscious about bringing this shit up to begin with, and Kon tries to keep his expression casual and noncommittal and–and just normal about this. Because he is totally normal about this. He is so normal about this. He is.
He’s also normal about the fact that when he asked Tim if he could talk to him about something, Tim didn’t even put down his tablet. Didn’t even put it to sleep, or actually even look up from it until . . .
Kon’s normal about that. About all of this.
(and he definitely never feels kind of weird or a little bit abandoned because Tim can’t EVER just bring his stupid laptop back to bed or at least work on whatever he’s thinking about IN the bedroom at the untouched desk he's got set up in there or even just, like . . . stick around and hang out on the couch with him, or anything like that. he definitely totally ENTIRELY doesn’t ever just feel like a casual fuckbuddy or an easy hookup or a gala-night accessory or just the most immediately convenient option and not actually–not actually any kind of a–not actually something that–
he doesn’t.
definitely.)
“Uh,” Kon says, and backpedals awkwardly, because clearly this conversation is not going the way he’d wanted it to and Tim just looks so surprised by it all, like–like it never even occurred to him or something, that maybe . . . that maybe Kon would want anything like that, or like he literally just hasn’t noticed how hard Kon’s been trying to be normal about it, or . . .
It doesn’t feel very good, the idea he’s been trying so hard to respect Tim’s space and preferences and comfort levels and Tim hasn’t even noticed that he was doing anything at all.
Especially because Tim usually notices just about everything.
Maybe Tim’s just never thinking about it. Maybe he gets out of bed so quick because he’s spent the whole time in it thinking about other shit and just putting up with–just–
“Kon,” Tim says, his voice going a little tight, and Kon just tries not to wince. He didn’t mention any of the complicated stuff he’s been trying not to feel, he just asked if Tim could–if Tim would–
He didn’t even mention any of the complicated stuff, so it’s, like–not a great sign that Tim’s looking at him like that right now, like he’s said something really serious or upsetting or . . .
He really shouldn’t have said anything, yeah.
“Sorry,” he tries stiffly, glancing away and wrapping his hand around his own wrist and digging his fingers into the inside of it. It’s–tactile. Just . . . something tactile. “I know you don’t–sorry. Uh. Just forget it.”
“Fuck,” Tim mutters for some reason, and Kon feels like such an idiot for saying anything at all, and a worse one for apparently doing it in a way that’s got Tim making that face at him. That face is Robin’s “my utility belt is empty, comms are fried, and the mission just went to shit” face.
He really fucked this up. It was fine. Everything was fine, and now he’s wrecked it and Tim’s about to say it’s not even that serious, it’s not like it’s even–not like they’re even–and that Kon’s clearly gotten the wrong idea and they should just–just–
“How long have you felt this way?” Tim asks very, very carefully, like the question’s something fragile, and Kon thinks from literally the first fucking time you left me alone in bed all night so you could go recalibrate some stupid useless specialty sensor that wasn’t even part of your primary gear, like, a WEEK into us sleeping together and says, “I dunno. It’s not–I told you. Forget it. It’s not a big deal.”
He’s being weird about this. He’s being an asshole about this, actually, because being prepared for literally every single possible contingency ever is the Bats’ whole thing and he got into this knowing Tim wasn’t the touchy-feely type or all that expressive and emotive about–about his feelings, or whatever, and–and it’s not like he even–not like he–
(he just wants a fucking HUG he didn't have to FUCK him for every now and then, or for Tim to at least exist in the same space as him for longer than the time it takes for the next email from Oracle to come in or next alert from Batman to go off or next self-assigned project to finish processing or–
but that’s not something Tim does, and Kon knew that going in, so–so it’s his own stupid fault if he feels SMALL sometimes, when . . . when there’s always something else, always another problem to solve or place to be or thing to think about, always . . . always something more important than just . . . staying, just for a little bit, and just BEING with–with him. just him. not the team, or either of their families, or . . .)
He knew all this going in, Kon reminds himself. He knew it. If he were this bad at being with literally anyone else, he’d just–he’d just–
But something about it being Tim means he just . . . can’t.
Tim’s jaw tightens, and he finally sets down his stupid tablet.
Only now, though, Kon thinks bitterly, and digs his fingers a little deeper into the inside of his wrist.
“Kon,” Tim says again, says too carefully again. Like something’s fragile, again. “I–”
“I said forget it, for fuck’s sake!” Kon snaps too hotly, and maybe hates himself for both doing it and for the stricken look that doing it puts on Tim’s face, and also maybe cheats a bit by super-speeding straight out the balcony door into the night air and not taking his cell or his communicator with him. Or–definitely does, in fact. Definitely that’s cheating. He knows it is.
He just really can’t stand to hear Tim tell him how he’s fucked up this time right now, though. He just–he tried so fucking hard not to fuck up this time.
He really, really tried.
He should’ve known it wouldn’t work, but . . . but he really did try.
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doctor daddy
[image ID: a behind the scenes photo of Sebastian Stan as Lee Bodecker from The Devil All The Time. He is standing with his hands in his pockets and looking off into the distance. /.end ID]
masterlist
18+
wc: ~980 words
warnings: Lee wants to beat someone up(no one in particular, he’s just frustrated), reader is in physical pain, mentions of painkillers, written on my phone, sappy and needy reader as usual. Lee carries reader.
a/n: this picture makes me giggle, I wonder what he’s thinking about.
pairing: lee bodecker x gn!little!reader
summary: Lee’s baby is hurting
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
Pain and suffering: that’s all you knew. The sun never seemed so dull and the nights never seemed so cold. You wondered if you’d survive the ne-
“Baby?”
Oh! Daddy’s home!
Lee quickly toed off his shoes and met you at the couch, setting down his paper grocery bag along the way. You looked adorable swaddled up in a blanket with your stuffed bunny, but Lee’s heart couldn’t help but ache for you.
You’d been stuck on the couch all day. Standing or even sitting up required too much energy, not to mention that shifting positions could mean upsetting your body further.
Earlier today Lee wanted to call in sick and tend to you, but you assured him that you would be okay as he went on with his shift at the station. He lovingly carried you to the couch where he’d set up everything you could’ve possibly needed while he was gone. Blankets, painkillers, snacks, water, books, and the TV remote were all within reach. Your daddy left you with a kiss on the forehead and strict instructions to rest up, drink water, eat a snack, and call him if you needed help.
You obliged with a yes, daddy and made it through the next seven hours still in pain, bored, and missing your daddy. You were so happy when he came home, but your state meant you had to wait for him to come to you instead of running to meet him at the door as usual. Luckily, Lee wasted no time getting to your side. He’d missed you just as much as you’d missed him.
He held your smaller hand in his and gave you three gentle kisses on your forehead, the tip of your nose, and your puffed out lip. Lee normally loved your pouty face but knowing that this one was caused by your state of pain rather than an adorable neediness made it less enjoyable. He almost wished there was a single person responsible for your pain so he could take it out on them, but he knew all he could do now was be here for you.
“How ya feelin’ sweetie?”
“Hurts, Daddy.”
Lee muttered a curse under his breath and gently massaged the hand he was holding. “My poor baby. ‘ wish there was somethin’ I could do to help. I could beat up someone right now, makes me so mad seein’ my baby hurt like this.”
You shook your head and pulled his hand closer. “Just need Daddy.”
Lee smiled for the first time that day. “And you’ll get him, sweetheart. Just let me help ya out a little first, yeah? I stopped by the store and got somethin’.”
You raised your eyebrows in curiosity. Lee normally just bought the essentials, and you technically had everything you could need to recover at home already. He tucked your arm back under the blanket and began pulling stuff out of the bag.
“I gotcha a different kinda pain medicine, this one’s a cream. There’s a new thermometer, in case the old one wasn’ workin’ right and my baby really is sick. This here’s a new pair of socks to keep yer feet warm and protected. And this is a lollipop for being my good ‘n brave little baby.”
You admired your new socks and treat with a soft thank you daddy and let Lee fuss over you with his new supplies. He cleaned the new thermometer and let out a sigh of relief when it confirmed that you were at a safe temperature. He swapped out your old, worn-out socks with the new, softer ones. And then he carefully peeled back the blanket and your clothing to rub in the pain-relief cream.
After Lee washed his hands, he climbed in behind you on the couch, replacing the numerous pillows and blankets with his solid body. His round belly fit perfectly into the curve of your back, and his strong arms acted like a weighted blanket. He knew just how to support you to keep you comfortable and ease your pain.
In this position, he could also speak to you in a hushed tone and feel butterflies in his chest whenever you whispered back or snuggled closer to him.
You asked him about his day. He kept it brief, mostly talking about how much he missed you. He only shared the details of his work with you when you were at your big age; Lee was very diligent about preserving the safety of your little mind.
He turned the question on you, listening to you describe the episodes of Bugs Bunny you watched and what antics your stuffies got into today. He loved hearing about your inner world. Lee never got to explore his imagination too much. His responsibilities kept him tied to the real world, so he admired that you were able to keep that part of you alive while still dealing with your own issues.
The two of you fell into a comfortable silence before you were overcome with the need to tell your daddy how much you appreciate him.
“Thank you for takin’ care of me, Daddy.”
Lee kissed the back of your head. “It’s no problem, sweetheart. That’s what daddies are for. You feelin’ any better? That pain medicine doin’ its job yet?”
“Mhm.” You nodded and then turned your head to muffle your next sentence, shy about the sappy words about to leave your mouth. “Daddy’s the best medicine though.”
Lee chuckled and pulled you closer if that was possible. “Oh yeah? What makes ya say that?”
You squeezed his arms wrapped around you and wiggled against his belly, proving your point. “Daddy’s soft and cozy and strong. And Daddy gives the best cuddles.”
Lee shook his head, not believing how lucky he was to have you in his life. “Daddy loves you, baby. And I’ll never stop cuddling you.”
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