[cacoonedmoonworm]

Odd Spots

I head canon Grace being ticklish at least to some extent pretty much everywhere and Rocky loves to find all the little weird spots to drive him up a wall palm/arm tickling needs some more love imo

sorry it’s so sketchy looking, running out of ideas and motivation😔 (feel free to give any ideas you would want to see no promises I’ll draw them tho!) but I hope you all still like it🩷

[cacoonedmoonworm]

New Experience

Hey all! I wrote this based off of this drawing I did with the pebbles! I’m gonna try and draw a bit some more even if I just post some doodles for you guys! I hope you like and enjoy!

Slight spoilers for movie and book!

Summary: Grace gets to see pebbles for the first time while Rocky and Adrian babysit.

Lee!Grace / Ler!Pebbles

Word count: 2,367

“Grace want help Rocky Adrian babysit pebbles today, question?” I perk up from my spot on the couch.

“You guys are babysitting? I didn’t know Eridians did that.” I look over at the two cuddling on the floor. Rocky has perched himself on top of Adrian, soaking in their heat.

“Obvious. Other Eridians get busy. Need help watching over pebbles.” Rocky clicks out. Two of his legs hang off the side of Adrian’s carapace and I notice they swing back and forth a bit.

“Well my bad.” I roll my eyes with a smile. “I would love to. I haven’t been given the chance to see baby Eridians yet.” I’ve only taught more adolescent Eridians in my class, not toddler and below age. I’m actually a little nervous at the thought.

“Grace must be gentle.” Adrian adds a bit sternly, shifting to stand. Rocky climbs off and stretches a bit, kinda like a cat.

I scoff “Of course I’ll be gentle! Who do you think I am?” I fake a shocked expression, hand over my chest.

“Grace is…clumsy.” Gee thanks. “Grace be more careful than usual.” Rocky adds as they both head towards the door.

“I promise to be more careful than usual.” I hold my right hand up like I’m giving an oath though I don’t think either one of them actually knows what that means.

I lean over the couch to watch them head out. Adrian lets out a low giggle. “Adrian Rocky be back soon with pebbles.”

They shut the door behind them as I slump back into the couch. I feel a bit giddy, my first time seeing little baby Eridians! I hope they’re as cute as I imagine them to be.

——————

Around an hour later I hear a very soft knock at the door.

“Coming!” I scramble over to let them in. As I open the door Rocky pushes himself in and then herds me out of the way.

“Grace move out of Adrian way.” He lightly taps at my shins. I stagger back a bit, trying not to step on Rocky in the process. Adrian walks in holding six little rocks in one arm, little sounds of random notes coming from them. They are all buzzing with life, little legs and claws moving and squirming about.

I let out a little coo as Adrian walked up in front of me, letting me get a good look, “They're so tiny! They look adorable!” They look like they would fit in the palm of my hand! A few are thick and stubby while others are thin. So thin it’s a little scary. I desperately want to reach out and touch them but decide not until I get an okay at the very least.

Adrian hums “Yes. They are.” They stop for a moment, letting me bask in their adorableness. “Pebbles will love you Grace.”

“Why me?” I smile a bit, leaning my face closer to the little babies in their arms. I see their claws reach up at me, their claws making grabbing motions.

“Grace is new. New sounds and new species. Grace is whole new experience.” They shift to move past me to settle on the floor in the house. “Also…Grace is cute and nice.” They add, making me a bit flustered. Me and Rocky quickly follow and Rocky curls up next to Adrian while I stand awkwardly. I’m not sure where I should sit.

Adrian makes a circle on the floor using their arms as a little fence to keep them in. They carefully lower the pebbles into the circle and they all immediately start moving. Adrian lifts a claw in my direction and I take it in my hand. They guide me back to the circle as Rocky shoos the little baby’s away from me so I can sit in the circle too. I lean my back against Adrian as I feel my excitement and anxiety rise.

”Pebbles not communicate well yet but still very curious. Can understand most of language.” Rocky explains but pauses “…Grace heart beat fast. Calm. You will do great.” He reassures as the pebbles make their way over to me. They are careful and cautious but their curiosity seems to be winning.

“O-okay…can I, um, touch them? Like, pet them?” I ask as they move closer and closer. Little legs scuttling in my direction.

“Of course.” Rocky takes my hand and places it out in front of me, low to the ground. It’s like if I were to meet a new dog for the first time. Letting them sniff my hand to make sure I’m not a threat. They seem to stop their advance towards me at the movement, keeping a distance.

“Aw! Hey little guys! My name is Grace—“

I suddenly realize I have absolutely no idea if they can understand me. Heat creeps up my cheeks as Adrian gently repeats what I said beside me. Right. Of course they can’t speak English.

Not my brightest moment.

I keep my hand as still as possible, hoping one comes up to me. I feel my anxiety rise even more as the thought of them hating or being scared of me crosses my mind.

I tense at a feeling on my head and I glance up. Adrian has started petting me softly, I think to calm my nerves but also to show the pebbles I mean no harm.

One brave pebble scuttle up and places a single claw on one of my fingers. It squeezes softly and chirps excitedly. God, there so cute!

That seems to be enough to convince the others and they all rush towards my hand. Little claws grab at my fingers, squishing and pulling. I giggle a bit, clenching my fingers ever so slightly. They seem to like it and they all let out little squeaks and trills.

I hear Rocky and Adrian giggle from somewhere above me.

“I think they like me!” I whisper excitedly grinning with a goofy smile. I carefully tip my hand over letting them explore. Tiny claws rub over my knuckles curiously, feeling the difference between my soft palm and the bonier top of my hand.

One pebble wanders past my wrist and grabs onto my pant leg. I tense instinctively, fighting the urge to pull away and accidentally shake them off.

Apparently, once again, one brave pebble is all the encouragement the others needed. They swarm my leg almost immediately. I let out a startled laugh as claws climb up my jeans and into my lap, forcing me to lean back against Adrian for support.

“See. Grace is natural.” Rocky teases a bit, chittering in my direction.

One pebble climbs up the front of my shirt, surprisingly quickly. It grabs at my collar and hoists itself on my shoulder, two arms grabbing my neck for support. I gasp slightly and the tickly feeling and hold as still as possible, my body going ridged.

“A-ah wahait! That tihickles!” I fight every bone in my body to not scrunch up my shoulders but my hands to fly up to grab at the air around my neck. I realize the other little ones go still. I carefully glance down and they are all sitting, like they are waiting. Then I suddenly feel the claws at my neck slowly trace and squeeze experimentally and I jump.

“Noho dohont doho thahat!” I giggle softly and a symphony of chirps and trills follow my laughter as the pebbles start moving again with vigor. They all start trying to climb up my shirt now.

Fudge.

“Adrain think they like Grace laugh.” Adrain chuckles out, still softly rubbing at my scalp. Little legs claw at my stomach as they try to reach the baby perched on my shoulder that is still clawing at my neck.

“AH—guys wahait!”

I squirm helplessly, unsure of what to even do with my hands. Instinctively I curl forward trying to protect my stomach while I laugh which is a huge mistake.

My shirt rides up in the process and the pebbles immediately notice the new exposed skin. Apparently they decide this is a much better route to my neck than climbing over my arms. Tiny claws hook into the fabric before several scuttle below.

“NANOHO NOhohot underNEHEATH—!”

I slowly slide down Adrian’s carapace, forcing my arms up and out. I don’t want to hurt them but I don’t know what else to do. They go still again for a moment and suddenly they're digging into the pudge on my stomach with purpose now, trying to force out loud laughter from me. I squeal as I feel Adrian let out a laugh against me.

“H-Hehelp meheHEHE ADRIAHAHAN! ROHOCKY!” I yelp, my arms slowly lowering back to my stomach against my will. I can’t help it, it’s their little legs, the way they vibrate with sound and excitement against my skin tickles more than I can handle.

“Adrain help Grace.” I silently thank them but I don’t hear Adrian or Rocky tell them to stop or even any action to grab at the little guys. Then I feel a large claw scoop up my hands and stretch me up and out against my will with my back half on the ground and half leaving against Adrian. The pebbles slow a bit at my sudden movement, balancing themselves.

“Adriahan w-whahat are yohou dohOHOING—NO WAhahAIT!” I hear happy trills from under my shirt as they dig in more. Some pinch, some claw, some vibrate, all experimenting to see what can bring the best noises from me. A few have travelled up towards my ribs, feelings round the bones with their legs while other push into my hip making me arch up with a squeak.

“Adrain make sure Grace not hurt pebbles on accident. Still let pebbles play and experience Grace.” The playful trill in their voice tells me I’m doomed. I tug helplessly against their grip but Adrian doesn’t budge.

I turn my head towards Rocky in a last desperate plea for mercy only to find him sitting comfortably beside us, cooing at my distress.

I feel my face burn bright red.

I squeeze my eyes shut trying to block out any tickly feelings. One pebble makes its way up to my collar and carefully starts tracing my clavicle making my chin shoot down to my chest with a squeak. I fidget at the new sensation as the other pebble still stationed on my shoulder traces the shell of my ear.

“This is human version of tickle.” I hear Rocky explain over my cackles. “Hunan touch sensitive. Have common ‘tickle spot’ but Grace very sensitive human. Tickle spot everywhere.” I feel the tips of my ears go red at Rocky’s very helpful commentary.

I’m about to say something dumb probably when a certain curious baby decides to explore my belly button. I shoot up as straight as I can, feeling a small claw reach in and scratch at sensitive skin hiding there.

“AHAHA—NAHOHOHO *SNRK* NAHAHAT THEHEHEHEREAHAH—!” I screech out and flail hard.

I’m actually worried the noise that ripped from my throat would scare the little pebbles but it only seemed to make them more determined. The other three little Eridians on my stomach and ribs immediately went to investigate this new very sensitive spot.

I kick my feet as I feel twenty little arms claw and trace at my bellybutton, making tears quickly well up in my eyes. I buck my hips up, I can’t help it anymore. My erratic movements do nothing to stop them.

“PEHEHEBBLES *SNRK* P-PLEHEHASE!” I beg, kinda forgetting they can’t understand me anyway. They trace around the sensitive spot, reaching in a poking making me laugh hard, my face hurts from the smile.

I squeal, “ROHOHCKYEHE PLEAHAHASE! ADRIAHAHANONO—!” I feel my body get increasingly more exhausted, my arms going slack against Adrian as I slump down, hunching into myself, shaking my head softly.

“Okay. Enough.” I hear Adrian say rather firmly. The pebbles slow their torment to a stop but don’t move off of me. There are little movements to balance and hang on, still making me squirm with giggles.

“Give Grace room.” Rocky adds, getting up to pluck a few pebbles off of me while the other skitter off.

“Heheha thahank yohouhehe.” I wheeze, my eyes closing in relief.

Once they're all off Adrian finally lets go of my arms and I immediately pull them close, sliding all the way to the floor. I rub at the skin of my tummy, trying to get the tingles out of my skin.

As I huff to get my breath back, the baby’s crawl up and watch closely around my head. I feel a small movement and I jump. But then I feel more and more. The pebbles start petting me, mimicking what Adrian was doing earlier. Not sure if they're doing it to be soothing on purpose or if they're just curious about what hair is but I don’t care. They let out purring and cooing noises as the continue. Little claws scratch at my scalp making me melt a bit under the touch, relaxing my tense muscles.

“Told Grace. Pebbles love you.” Adrian shifts closer to me, pulling my shirt back over my stomach and fixing my glasses, pushing them up the bridge of my nose. They take a digit and carefully wipe at the tears on my cheeks making me giggle and scrunch up softly, pushed at their arm.

I sigh, “Well they could at least express it in a different way.” A smirk makes its way to my face as a pebble climbs on my forehead, feeling my eyebrows then reaching under my glasses to graze the tear soaked eyelashes of my one eye.

Anxiously Rocky trills “Careful! Human eyes very important and delicate!” I see him shift to quickly grab at the baby but I hold my arm up.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” I peek out with my other eye and hear Rocky give an annoyed huff as Adrian lets out a soft laugh. Sometimes I forget I’m just as fragile as a pebble to them, always needing to be looked after and new things to be added to the dome. It makes me feel loved but the thought of them seeing me like a pebble embarrasses me a little bit more.

[greatleekate]

Pilot Detected

this is gonna be multiple parts!! potentially a series or something idk

kid!reader

ler!Grace, lee!reader

summary: reader has been alive in coma since Grace woke up. He didn’t know how to wake them, so when they finally wake up, he can’t wait to have another human around.

———

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Grace says to the panicked teen in the coma bed. “You’re- you’re waking up from a coma. Try to stay calm.” 

You splutter and cough, immediately starting to hyperventilate. Grace is about to intervene when your breathing pattern changes into steady, controlled counts of four. Interesting, Grace thinks. You must be good at self-regulation. That only manages to make him more curious about you. 

After a few hours of talking you through the uncomfortable medical aspects of waking up from a coma, giving you privacy to put some real clothes on, and figuring out if you have amnesia like he does (you don’t), he finally explains his side of the story. 

You’re wide-eyed as Grace explain how he was sent on the mission against his will. You don’t believe him when he explains how he met Rocky, and you nearly have a heart attack when he peeks around the corner. You’re relieved to hear about how Rocky and Grace managed to identify a predator of astrophage. 

“I- I have so many questions,” you say. “I remember you. I remember everything. But- why was I in coma for so long? I was supposed to wake up in time to help—Where are we going? Do we have to- do we have to kill ourselves now?”

“No, we’re going to Erid,” he explains. “Rocky’s planet.” He explains how Rocky donated fuel, the Taumoeba leak, and how Grace had gone back to save him.  

“Listen, I- I have a lot of questions too. I remember very little about you. Why would they send a kid?” Grace asks.

“I’m a pilot,” you explain. “I was… I went to a special trade school as a teenager. I was some sort of prodigy. At least that’s what they called me. I volunteered. You and Stratt didn’t want to put a kid on the mission initially. But then the rest of the crew were struggling to adapt to the demands of flying the Hail Mary in simulations, so Stratt convinced you I was the right person.”

“But I’m a teacher, why would I ever send a kid to their death?”

You shrug. “I’m 18. So I could consent. And you got to know me, and… I guess you thought I was good.”

He chews on his lip. “Okay. Well… definitely could’ve been helpful when we were flying in Adrian’s low orbit.”

A swell of guilt crawls up your throat. It must show on your face, because he immediately backtracks. “No- no, I didn’t mean that, I- don’t feel bad. We managed fine.”

•••

A few weeks pass. You get your strength up, and also learn how to talk to Rocky. You rely heavily on the laptop translation program, but Rocky takes to you immediately. You’re so quiet and curious—exactly the type of student Grace used to like as a teacher. “A pleasure to have in class,” as he would say in parent-teacher conferences. Rocky sees it too—he’s got some kind of protective instinct for you. He’s much nicer to you than he is to Grace, at least. Much less teasing. When you smile at his jokes, he’ll repeat them until they’re worn into the ground.  

Grace doesn’t tell you about the weeks of anxiety he’d had over your sleeping body, the way he’d prayed to gods he previously didn’t believe in for you to wake up so he’d  have human company. The way he’d worried when Adrian’s gravity had started to pull the ship apart during the Taumoeba sample collection, threatening your dormancy in the crew quarters. He couldn’t believe you were finally awake. 

Your personality is hard for them to figure out. You want to trust them, but you’re struggling. You’re much more comfortable with Grace than with Rocky but you are still very quiet. You find their friendship, their shorthand and ease, intimidating. You feel a deep guilt that you weren’t able to help with the actual mission—you make up for it by stealing Grace’s chores and ship maintenance tasks. You barely tell them anything about yourself, afraid to get close to them just to have them taken away from you. You don’t unpack that. You’re good at not unpacking things.  

You bury those feelings under your apprehension about going to Erid, which is easier to deal with. You don’t remember everything about your life before Stratt recruited you—it must be the lingering effects of the coma—but you do know that you don’t really want to go back to Earth. Something about it unsettles you. So you try to look forward to Erid. 

You pretend not to notice all the ways in which Grace is trying to break you out of your shell. 

•••

Rocky and Grace are in a party sort of mood today. Grace had figured out that the two of you could eat Taumoeba once the food (and eventually the coma slurry from your two dead crewmates) ran out. The starvation-before-reaching-Erid problem had been weighing on your minds and it was good to know that you’d at least survive until Erid where the scientists there could synthesize the things you need. 

You’d managed a relieved smile and celebrated with them for a bit but Grace caught you trying to slink off just as he brought out the last of the vodka. “Hey, come on,” he calls out to you as you try to leave the Don’t Go Crazy Room. “Stay with us?”

“Oh, I don’t drink,” you say. There’s a crease between your eyebrows. 

Grace laughs. “Not what I meant, kiddo, I wouldn’t give alcohol to an underage—well, we’re in space, so maybe it doesn’t matter…” You watch him ramble, the crease on your forehead deepening into a line. 

“Please stay, question?” Rocky asks beseechingly. He taps his front-facing legs on the floor gently. Something in your face melts—he sure knows how to weaponize cuteness. You reluctantly sit down a few feet away from Grace.

After a few swigs of vodka Grace turns on the karaoke machine. He and Rocky are goofing around. They try to get you to sing but you refuse. Grace pouts. He’s a little tipsy. “Why not?” He whines. “C’mon, kid…”

You shake your head, tight-lipped. You’re stressed again. Grace chews his lip, frustrated. He’d been doing everything he could possibly think of to make you more comfortable around them. 

Grace stops drinking and grab some water, thinking maybe the drinking was stressing you out. After half an hour he’s a little more sober. You do seem to relax a bit more. You make a joke about his singing that makes Rocky laugh, one of his non-dominant legs thumping on the ground. The teasing makes Grace grin so wide he’s afraid he’ll put you off. It feels like a victory—he doesn’t even care that much for his dignity. 

The room goes quieter after a while, the three of you basking in each other’s presence and the success of having another problem solved. 

“Hey,” Grace says after a while. “Why don’t you behave like a kid?”

Your body language stiffens slightly despite your best efforts to remain relaxed, to remain easy to be around. You shrug. “No time.”

Grace scoffs. “Not true. We have all the time in the world now.” But you know he knows what you mean. If you’re that age and already such a good pilot, you probably didn’t have much of a childhood.

Rocky pipes up: “You can relax. Grace will not hurt. Rocky will not hurt.”

You nod slightly. Grace smiles. “C’mon, kid, you gotta relax,” he says, reaching for you. 

You stiffen further, cursing your own reflexes. You want to relax so badly. You’re not used to any sort of physical contact. Grace has been trying you with pats on the shoulder, ruffling your hair, and high fives the past few weeks to get you more comfortable with him. You look at him like a deer in headlights. You don’t run away. You quietly congratulate yourself for managing to be okay with how his hands get close, hesitate, and grab you. 

He scoops you up and pulls you into his lap. Never mind, you think. Now I’m panicking. In for four—“Grace, what are you doing?” You ask, your voice a bit breathy and anxious. You grab firmly onto his forearms and try to pry him off. He doesn’t budge. 

“Chill out, not gonna hurt you,” he says in your ear. You suppress a shiver at the gust of air over your sensitive skin. “Just trying to get you to be a kid.” With that, he digs into your sides. 

You yelp, trying to twist out of his grip. “No-nonono Grace don’t do it—stop—Grace, no—“ You grit your teeth to muffle any laughter. 

“You can laugh, I know you wanna,” Grace teases, crawling his big hands up a little higher onto your ribs. Rocky’s alert by now, watching carefully. He can tell Grace is not hurting you, despite the almost pained noises you’re making to avoid laughing. 

You kick out against the floor, grunting in frustration. “Lehet me go!” you growl. 

“Why are you so afraid to laugh?” He asks. “It’s not gonna kill ya.” 

“What Grace doing, question?” Rocky finally asks. 

“Torturing me!” You shriek. It’s the most emotion they’ve gotten out of you yet. 

“Not torturing,” Grace corrects in his teacher voice. “Tickling. If you touch certain human body parts it causes a nervous system reaction of this, uh, funny feeling and it makes humans laugh. If they’re sensitive to it—ticklish, that is.”

“Why doing this, question?”

“Because he’s evil—“ you grumble, a choked laugh escaping as Grace squeezes a little harder. 

“Because grumpy pants over here needs to lighten up,” he says, blowing a puff of air into your neck. “And it’s fun. And I’m in the mood for some fun today.”

You change tactics, curling up in his lap as much as possible to block the tickles out. Doesn’t manage to deter him, though. There’s always a spot wide open, no matter how much you defend. Grace skitters his fingers along your neck so you reach up to swat him away, letting out a few squeaky giggles, and he takes the opening to claw at that junction between your sides and ribs. Instant squirming. When he’s able to crack you open, you laugh a lot.

“Ahahaha- GRAHAHACE! It’s not FAHAHAIR- Lemme gohoho!!” 

“Life’s not fair, kiddo,” Grace teases. He pokes and prods at where your arms are clamped down to protect your armpits, which gets you giddy and giggling almost as much as if he could actually get under your arms. “Especially not for people this ticklish,” Grace adds. 

“Cute,” Rocky trills. “Is supposed to be cute, question?”

“Ohhh, hear that?” Grace murmurs in your ear, rubbing his stubble there while he’s at it. He earns a squeal for his efforts. “Yes, Rocky, it’s supposed to be cute. Veeeery cute. Aren’t you?” 

Your face is so red. You definitely can’t handle compliments. “I’ll let you go if you promise to be a little more relaxed,” Grace says calmly, chuckling a little at the shrill shriek he hears when he claws gently at your tummy over your shirt. 

“PLEHEHEASE PLEASE I’ll be MOHOHORE relahahahaxed…” Your laughter dies down as his fingers slow.

Rocky chirps happily. “Good,” Grace says. 

He loosen his hold on you, but you don’t move. He rubs gently up and down your side. Your body is limp in Grace’s lap. “You okay?” He asks softly after a bit.

“Mm,” you hum noncommittally. Your eyes are closed.

Oh. You trust me, he realizes. Grace smiles to himself and he feels his eyes sting slightly with wetness. Rocky notices and mutters something about leaky humans before settling down in his ball. But Grace can tell Rocky’s happy.

You actually fall asleep like that. On Grace. He’s so touched that he has to get himself together before picking you up bridal-style and bringing you to bed. He tucks you in gently and goes off to get ready for bed as Rocky watches you sleep. Grace climbs into his bunk, wishing the ship a quiet goodnight. 

He falls asleep more at ease than he has in months. 

[sunstone-smiles]

Prototypes Require Testing

Author’s note: More PHM content COMIN’ AT YA! I knew I wanted to do a fic with Rocky in his upgraded suit from the start, and I remember hearing that Grace uses Rocky like a backpack in the book, and from that one image an idea was sparked! (The backpack thing is like in one description and has nothing else to do with the fic but for some reason I remember that being one of the main inspirations for this 😭 Lol) Thank you for all the kind words on my previous PHM fic by the way! 💕 I hope you enjoy this one too! 

(Also available to read on AO3!)

Series: Project Hail Mary

Characters: Ryland Grace and Rocky

Word Count: 4,121

Summary: Rocky and Grace are testing the Eridian’s new xenonite suit to see how well it holds up in different activities. The pair is having trouble coming up with what they should test next with the suit, until Rocky comes up with an idea thanks to a little reminder about Grace’s laughter-inducing reflexes.

---

When Rocky first proposed the idea of a “skin-tight” xenonite suit for himself on the way back to Erid, Grace was thrilled along with Rocky. “With a new suit, Rocky can be closer to Grace!” the Eridian stated, and Grace gladly welcomed the idea of his friend being able to interact with him more outside of a giant sphere. However, once the excitement of the idea was out of the way, now came the question of practicality. Both of them certainly knew it wasn’t impossible, but how they were actually going to execute it was still in the air.

With two scientific minds on the case though, the odds of pulling it off increased significantly.

On the way back to Erid, Rocky created multiple prototypes with help from Grace with some calculations and adjustments. Some of them were too thick and bulky where Rocky could barely walk, some were way too tight like Rocky was encased in cement, and one just straight up exploded. How, they still have no idea. 

It took the entire trip back to Erid before they finally found a base model prototype that functioned well enough, but it still needed tweaking. Plus, once Grace’s dome was built so he could live on Erid, Rocky’s new xenonite suit had to be tested under brand new, human conditions instead of a spaceship. 

They broke their tests down into three categories: dexterity (how efficient could Rocky move his limbs), speed (how fast Rocky could maneuver), and durability (how well Rocky’s suit could handle the test without sustaining damage like cracks or scratches). They also added a fourth category for comfort. It started off as how comfortable Rocky was in his suit, but it quickly transformed into how comfortable the suit is for Grace when Rocky gives him hugs or snuggles up to him. So far, it’s excelled in that category.

Grace sits on the floor of his Eridian-made house with his legs crossed. In his hands, he has a notepad and a pen.

“Okay, so we’ve already checked the suit against atmospheric pressures; activities like swimming and running; elements like water, sand, grass… doors,” Grace lets out a little chuckle at that last one.

The rock alien across from Grace pipes up, wearing the newest version of his tight, but comfortable xenonite suit. 

“Yes, Rocky learned that suit can handle door if Grace hits Rocky with it,” the alien’s computer voice from Grace’s laptop translates. Grace is starting to get a little bit of a grasp on the Eridian language, and Rocky his, but it's always nice to have the translator in the room.

“I didn’t hit you with the door! You ran into it while I was opening it!” Grace points the pen at his friend and smiles.

“How Rocky tested suit against door is irrelevant, statement,” Rocky waves his claw.

Grace huffs out another laugh. “So, what do you want to test next?”

Thinking it over, Rocky taps his rock face like where a chin would be located. “Rocky is not sure. What does Grace want to test next, question?”

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second,” Rocky responds like it’s a game.

“Hey, are you copying me?” Grace jokes, “What are you, a parrot?”

Grace thought Rocky would continue throwing quips at him, but instead, Rocky tilts his body to the side. If Rocky could blink in confusion, he would. “Do not understand Grace,” Rocky replies, “Grace say new word.”

“Oh. Did I never explain what a parrot is?” Grace is a little surprised himself. Out of all of their conversations, he’s surprised something humans usually learn in kindergarten never came up. He puts his pen and paper down and pushes to the side. “It’s an animal back on Earth. I mentioned to you what a bird is, right?”

“Yes, yes!” the alien perks up, “Rocky recognizes bird.”

“Well, a parrot is a type of bird. Some humans have them as pets. They’re able to mimic speech or sounds that a human teaches them, or that they pick up from their environment. They usually perch on a human’s shoulder as a companion,” Grace taps at his own shoulder.

Rocky seems intrigued at this, wiggling his body. “Rocky understand! Rocky repeated Grace, so Rocky sounded like parrot.”

“Exactly.”

The alien still has an exciting thought on his mind. “Can Rocky be Grace’s companion?”

“What do you mean? You already are, buddy,” Grace smiles.

“No, no. Like bird!”

“What?” Grace chuckles.

“With new suit, Rocky can be Grace’s bird companion on shoulder!” Rocky skitters over to Grace, sliding behind his back before the human can respond. He drapes his stony arms over Grace’s shoulders like a backpack and tries to hop on top of the human.

Grace playfully tries to elbow him off, “What?! No way! You’ll crush me, you big boulder!”

“Grace will be fine. Rocky want to try! Grace, lower shoulder!” Rocky takes another attempt at climbing on Grace, his scrambling back claws grabbing and swiping across the sides of his torso to gain a foothold like a ladder.

The human continues to ‘fight’ off the curious alien. “Rocky–! AH! Wahahait wait! You’re tickling me!” the squishy human compacts his arms to himself and giggles.

Rocky stops his skittering, but keeps his arms over Grace’s shoulders. The alien learned about what tickling was back on the ship when Rocky had poked Grace’s fleshy side one day. Rocky tickled Grace all the time to pass the boring moments in space, and to mess with the human (Rocky thinks it’s a nice bonding experience too), but Rocky was slightly limited to the pokes and prods he could do through the mesh of his big, clunky ball. But now…

Rocky gets a smug idea. A low purr takes the place of a smirk. 

Grace recovers, still on the parrot thing, “I don’t think this is going to work, bud.” 

“Rocky knows what he wants to test next with the suit,” the alien pipes up from behind.

Grace glances over his shoulder. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?” Grace asks right before a yelp rockets out of his throat; without a moment to waste, Rocky skitters his claws into Grace’s sides.

“AH! Hehehehey!” bouts of laughter already spill out of the human.

“Rocky want to tickle Grace!” The alien chirps. “For science!”

Grace clamps his arms to his sides and squirms in place. “Yeheheah, I figured thahahat part out! Whoa-!” 

Rocky tackles Grace from the back like a big dog, sending the human belly-flopping to the floor as if he is a drawbridge. Grace stretches himself out like a cat flattening itself to the floor as Rocky stands above him experimenting with his claws on Grace’s torso.

“So! First test: dexterity!” Rocky announces. “With new suit, Rocky can flex claws much easier to scratch and squeeze at squishy flesh of Grace. Rocky will demonstrate.”

And the alien does, kneading at Grace’s side like dough and skittering his claws over the back of his ribs. Grace barks out a laugh on top of his other booming laughter and pulls his arms closer to his sides. Grace wiggles around, but Rocky holds one leg on Grace's back to weigh down the scientist so he stays lying on his belly.

The alien lets out a pleased chirp. “Surprised! New suit is working much more effectively for tickling already, statement. That, or Grace has become much more ticklish.”

Oh, now Rocky is just teasing him, huh? 

“Reheheheally? I think it’s the sahahame!” Grace uses sarcasm to try and keep a sliver of his pride, but Rocky squashes that immediately with a well-placed squeeze to his side that causes him to snort. Grace face-plants into the floor, his chest bouncing with uncontrollable giggles.

“Grace serious, question? Can Grace hear self? Grace is laughing so much more,” Rocky counters the scientist’s claim. Grace can feel the blush creeping under his glasses.

“New suit can also tickle harder to reach spots, like here,” Rocky slips his claws into Grace’s armpits, to which Grace folds his arms down even tighter to himself and shoots his head up with giggles. He kicks his legs behind him. Rocky sees this and knows he has to take advantage of it, naturally. The alien turns and catches one of the human’s kicking legs. “And back of knees,” Rocky punctuates with a scribble to the pocket of skin.

Grace completely dissolves into a giggly puddle. “I see-hehehehe-ee that–AHA! Rohohohocky!!!” Grace swipes at the air when Rocky sneaks in an extra third claw to test a few tickles at the foot beneath his sock. The human presses his face back into the floor, slamming his fist to the ground next to the side of his head.

Even past his own overflow of giggles, Grace can hear Rocky letting out a squeaky chuckle as he scratches at Grace’s toes. “Still shocked how human's walking appendages can be so ticklish.”

Grace lifts his face off the floor. “Rohohocky! Stahahay focused ohohon the experiment!” he shouts at his friend, knowing that Rocky deviated from the task at hand to mess around a little.

Rocky hums out chuckles and lets go of Grace’s leg, giving the scientist a short breather. “Okay, okay. Dexterity has been checked for efficiency. Rocky will test speed now.”

Before Grace can even get out a word, Rocky leaps back to Grace’s top-half, now changing tactics to quickly scribble and scratch at his friend’s torso like he was flipping a bunch of buttons on a control panel. 

Grace laughter returns in full force. “Rohohohocky!” Grace shifts so he can turn over on his side, and Rocky steps off of Grace’s back to allow the human to roll off his stomach. The scientist curls up and wiggles around on his side, trying to defend against Rocky’s swift claws attacking him from the front. 

“Speed in new suit appears effective for tickling as well, statement. Can keep up with the movement of squirmy human. Squirmy like Earth worm,” Rocky throws in. “Does Grace agree, question?”

“Whahahat do you thihihihink?” Grace sasses, only getting two claws digging into his belly in response. He yelps and flops onto his back with a wheezy cackle. Rocky hops over the human like a hurdle to his other side, positioning himself there to continue the tickles.

“Grace did not answer question,” Rocky hums, knowing fully well that he’s teasing his friend.

“Ohohohokay yes!” Grace covers his face, leans his head back, and kicks out his legs. “I agree! I agree!” he quickly amends his statement before throwing his arms back down to his torso and swatting at Rocky’s claws. 

Rocky’s suit certainly makes him faster, but Grace’s reflexes swinging around his middle like a shield is making it difficult.

Rocky almost lets out a little squawk of frustration. “Grace. Hands are in the way of experiment.” As soon as the alien says this, it clicks for Rocky that his new suit has the solution. He beams, “Rocky will move them!”

When Grace takes another swat at Rocky, the alien pauses his tickling to gently grab one of Grace’s wrists and hold his hand up by Grace’s head. The scientist appreciates the breather, but he also hasn’t fully processed his position. It isn’t until he sees Rocky’s claws preparing to come at him that he shoots back into a giggly frenzy.

“Wahahait! Wait, Rocky! Time out!” Grace waves his free hand, already turning his head into his shoulder with a smile and trying to lean away from Rocky’s hovering claw. 

The alien seems surprised at this. Rocky tilts his body again. “Why is Grace laughing already if Rocky is not touching yet, question?”

Grace sinks his head into his shoulders, realizing his slip up. He flushes under his glasses. “Because! Because it’s funny!” Grace replies.

“It is funny, but not the reason why Grace is laughing,” Rocky doesn’t buy Grace’s explanation in the slightest.

With one of Grace’s arms held up beside his head and Rocky’s claw dangerously close, the scientist wagers he’s better off explaining the truth. Though, that doesn’t prevent the butterflies fluttering in his belly at the concept of trying to teach Rocky the cause of his outburst while in a precarious position.

He takes a breather to get his frazzled thoughts in order. He adjusts his glasses. “Um… okay… So you know how you’re going to tickle me, r-right? Well, even if you’re not actually tickling me, my brain is expecting it, so the anticipation is already activating my ‘flight or fight’ response, which in this case is causing me to laugh already. It’s kind of like our brain is tricking us that we’re being tickled before it even happens.” After he finished his explanation, Grace thinks he’s about to short circuit from embarrassment, right then and there. 

There’s a moment of silence as the alien processes the new human quirk. Then, he responds, “That’s dumb.”

Grace lets out a flustered scoff, “Well excuse you!” 

“How can the human brain be so easily tricked, question?”

Grace counters, “Well, I seem to remember YOU being tricked when I pretended to throw you a ball and you went after it when I didn’t actually throw it.” Grace snickers at the memory of fooling around with Rocky while they were on the ship, like his alien friend was a dog playing fetch with his little stress ball of Earth.

Rocky does not seem as amused. “Oh, yes. Rocky remember. Made Rocky feel foolish.” Rocky pauses. He hums and shakes his body; if he could smirk, this would be his way of showing he’s doing just that.

“But now, with new suit, Rocky can now trick Grace,” the alien brings up two of his claws and wiggles them closer to the scientist, whose arm is still snugly in the Eridian’s grip.

Grace squeaks, already letting out giggles against his control. “Rohocky! That’s so mean!” 

“Take this! And that!” Rocky pretends to aim for spots across his torso where his claws can hover. The first few times get Grace to flinch and giggle, but Grace stops reacting as Rocky repeats his movements, like a cycle.

Grace blinks at the alien, “Well, it’s not going to work now since I know you’re just tricking me—HEHEY!” Grace is interrupted by one of Rocky’s teasing claws officially plunging itself into Grace’s outstretched armpit. Rocky’s second free claw joins in, scratching at his ribs, earning the happy sound of Grace’s loud laughter he was waiting for. 

Rocky squeaks out a snicker. “Rocky likes tricking Grace, statement. Rocky got an even bigger reaction. Did not think that was possible.”

Grace cackles, “NOHOHOT fair!!! Yohohohou hahahave five arms!” 

“Seems like a human problem,” Rocky shrugs.

“Ohohohokay! That’s it!” Grace declares. In a burst of instinctive playfulness, not even considering the possibility if this will work or not, Grace launches his free hand towards Rocky and squeezes his leg, wrapping his fingers into the back of his joint. Rocky squeals.

He instantly topples off of the human, hitting the floor backwards with a clunk like he was just shoved by an invisible force. Rocky scrambles to get back on his legs.

Grace quickly sits up, a slight pant leftover to his words. “Rocky! Are you okay! I’m sorry I was just playing! I didn’t mean to hurt you!” Grace says frantically.

Rocky waves his claws to reassure him. “Rocky okay. Rocky was not hurt. It was, however, a strange… funny feeling.”

At first, Grace is still worried, but the second he thinks about Rocky’s word choice, it hits him.

Grace starts to smile. “Wait a minute… a funny feeling you said? Rocky, you wouldn’t happen to be ticklish, now would you?” Grace’s grin grows wider.

Rocky stomps his foot. “N-No! It was just a funny feeling that made Rocky want to laugh!”

“Yeah, that’s called being ticklish, buddy. Ha! I can’t believe this!”

Rocky’s computer voice sputters. “No! No! Human tickling does not work on Rocky! Only Eridian tickling!” 

“Wait, hold on-” Oh, this just got even better. “There’s an Eridian version of tickling, and you never told me?” Grace points an accusing finger at his friend.

Rocky freezes, realizing the gravity of the information he just spilt. He turns around to face away from Grace and crosses his arms.

“Rocky thought it was unnecessary to tell. Rocky was also in xenonite ball, so Grace could not touch. Grace’s attempts to try would have been futile.”

As much as Grace wants to ask about Eridian tickling, that’ll have to wait. Right now, he’s interested in testing a theory about Rocky’s new suit.

“But you’re not in that ball anymore, are you?” Grace smirks at him. Rocky whips around to face Grace; his rock face doesn’t show it, but the way he’s standing stiff shows he’s mortified.

Grace revels in Rocky’s reaction. “I think I know how we can perform the durability test of your suit,” Grace wiggles his fingers in the air. 

With a squeak, Rocky tries to scatter, but Grace practically pounces towards him like a panther. The human lands on top of him and a well placed scratch to the side of the alien’s rock face makes Rocky squeal and his legs collapse from under him like a ton of bricks. The mesh of the xenonite suit under his fingers feels like the gel of an unfrozen ice pack, but he can also feel the hard surface of Rocky’s shell beneath. Grace quickly theorizes that his scribbling fingers are causing seismic-like waves to course through Rocky’s shell. In other words, it’s like Grace is creating a mini earthquake vibrating through the Eridian, resulting in the tickly feeling for Rocky, but he’ll have to confirm that theory later. First, revenge!

While his fingers skitter across Rocky, already earning sputters of high-pitched trills and gurgles from his friend, Grace swiftly sits back and drags Rocky into his lap like an extra heavy bowling ball, using his criss-crossed legs like a nest to hold the alien.

“Gr-Grahahahahace!” Rocky’s chirps become melodic, as if his laughter is performing a tune. He flails his limbs like he’s trying to regain his footing, but catching nothing but air. Grace knows Rocky is so much stronger than him, but the tickling seems to have the alien malfunctioning like a robot that just got a bucket of water thrown on them. Even his computer voice has trouble translating the increase of giggly garbles and squeaks that spew from the Eridian.

“Wow,” Grace has to giggle at the sight. “It looks like your suit is holding up so far. How about you, Rocky? You look really ticklish,” Grace emphasizes.

“Rohohocky is ticklish a nohohohormal amount!” Rocky tries to squeak with pride. “Human is mohohore ticklish! Abnormally so!”

“Oh no, I don’t think you’re in any position to be talking back to me, mister. I’m not going to take any sass from someone who looks like a jellyfish flopping out of water,” Grace smirks.

“Rohohocky does not know what that is! Buhuhut knows Grace is trying to fluster Rocky!” Rocky shoves at Grace’s legs to put up some kind of a fight, but the human knows that’s not the alien’s full strength. Rocky starts to heats up as if he is an electric blanket splayed out across Grace’s lap. Grace guesses this is the Eridian version of a blush when their surface becomes warmer.

“And it’s working, huh?” Grace observes, “Hey, does this work on you too?” Grace stills his fingers to give Rocky a quick breather. When the alien turns to face the human, he lets out a squeal and presses himself to the pocket of Grace’s criss-crossed leg as he notices Grace wiggling his fingers in his face. 

The alien already releases chirpy giggles while watching the wiggling appendages he’s trying to get far away from move closer.

“Grahahace!” Rocky squeaks, his computer voice frantic with anticipation.

“Ha! It does work!” The scientist rejoices and plunges his fingers back towards Rocky for real this time, not wasting a second. Rocky shrieks again, and bats gently at Grace’s hands that are exploring around the small pockets of holes at the front of his rock face. “Who’s brain is getting tricked now!” Grace throws in for good measure. 

“Shuhuhuhut your human face hole!” Rocky then shrieks when Grace grabs one of his legs and tickles around the center of his joint, very similar to when Rocky tickled the back of his knees.

“Excuse you! And it’s called a ‘mouth,’ Rocky. Did our anatomy lessons teach you nothing?”

“Rohohohocky knows human hahahave five fingers, ahahahand it is SO unfair fohohohor tickling!” Rocky states through his abundance of joyful chirps.

Grace scoffs, “Oh, well now you know how I feel!” 

The alien shouts, “Nohohohot the same!”

“Oh yeah?” Grace lets go of Rocky’s leg and utilizes all ten of his fingers to the fullest, one hand at Rocky’s side, scratching like he was giving a big dog belly rubs, while his other hand skitters up and down his carapace like a spider. Rocky practically squeals, nearly falling out of Grace’s legs and onto the floor again.

“What were you saying again, Rocky?” Grace grins.

“EEP! 𝅘𝅥𝅮♬♪♬ !” Rocky chirps out a harmony with how much he’s giggling, “Ohohokay! Okay! Grahahahace has made point! Nohoho more tickle! Plehehease!”

As soon as he hears this, Grace promptly lets go of Rocky. The alien takes a few deep breaths then flops over Grace’s legs to relax.

Grace softly chuckles. He starts to feel Rocky’s heat return to its normal, warm temperature.

“You good, Rocky?” the human gives the alien a gentle pat. Rocky jumps from the touch at first, but he leans into Grace’s hand, knowing his friend has had his fun with him for today.

“Rocky is okay.” After a few breaths, Rocky crawls off of Grace’s legs so he can face his friend.

The alien stomps his foot to the floor. “Grace was evil, statement,” Rocky says, jokingly.

“Me? You started it! And I didn’t see you trying to fight me," Grace points out with a smile.

The Eridian ignores that second half. “Rocky started it for science! Grace for fun.”

“Hey, if you were doing it for ‘science,’ then I was doing it for science too! I was testing my theory to see if human tickling works on Eridians. The answer is yes,” Grace answers smugly, but scientifically speaking, he is curious to explore more about his discovery, another day though. “Plus, your suit stayed in tack, didn’t it?”

Rocky grumbles. “Rocky suppose suit did stay strong while being tickled by Grace…”

“Yep! That means it passed the dexterity, speed, and durability test. So this is one more thing we can add to the list,” Grace grabs his pen and paper that was pushed to the side and writes down ‘tickling’ as another activity they tested.

“Maybe Rocky should make the suit tickle proof…” the alien mumbles.

“If you do, I’ll just find a way to get you through your suit,” Grace banters back at him with a grin. Rocky rattles his body, which Grace knows is like the human equivalent of rolling his eyes. 

A moment passes. Rocky speaks, “You know what Rocky just thought of?”

“What?”

Rocky steps forward. “When new suit is finalized, Rocky and Grace can use what was learned to make a suit for Grace.”

Grace’s focus shifts fully to the alien. “Really?” he asks, his heart touched simply by the offer. “A suit… for me?”

“Yes! So Grace can come visit Eridian home sometime!”

The scientist glows. “You would do that for me?”

“Yes, yes! Rocky is able to visit human home, so it’s only fair if Grace can visit Eridian home,” Rocky wiggles his body.

Grace’s big smile lights up all of his features. “Well, then we better start getting ahead on these tests then. We’ve got to make your suit the best it can be first,” Grace declares.

“Agree! Agree!” Rocky cheers. “So…what should be the next test, question?”

“Right…” Grace leans his head in his hand. “That’s what we were trying to discuss,” Grace realizes they’re back to square one. “Hmm…”

Rocky taps one of his claws to the floor as he thinks. Suddenly, he straightens himself on his legs like an idea has been shocked into his system. “Oh! Oh! Maybe Adrian has idea! Rocky and Grace can ask them!”

“Hey, good idea Rocky!” Grace shares in the alien’s enthusiasm.

“Then what are Grace and Rocky waiting for! Go let’s!” Rocky chirps.

“Heh, the phrase is ‘let’s go,’ buddy,” Grace replies. “But yeah, let’s go!” Grace hops up from his spot and Rocky skitters by his feet as the duo prepares to run off in search of their next round of experiments. 

[as-the-crows-feather-falls]

New Xenonite spacesuit means better snuggles with your best friend, this new thing he calls ‘skritches,’ and a secret third thing…

[hyacinthanon]

Dad Time, pt. 5

a/n: hyacinthanon reporting live from the airport posting fic

summary: this picks up right after Dad Time, pt. 4! The following morning, Tim and Damian make the bold and questionable choice to try and do what their older brothers never could: find out for themselves if Bruce is ticklish. Shockingly, this experiment has consequences.

lee!Bruce Wayne, lee!Tim Drake, lee!Damian Wayne // ler!Tim Drake, ler!Damian Wayne, ler!Bruce Wayne

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In the end, it was the twinge in his left shoulder that ultimately woke Bruce up for good, rather than his children. Of course, said twinge was mostly because Damian had conked out on top of it – and, by all accounts, was still asleep – so perhaps the boys did get some of the blame. But they’d quieted down after the earlier lighthearted encouragement, so that was their half of the deal sorted. It wasn’t their fault that Bruce was now, against his will, in the ‘needing a business month to recover from sleeping weirdly’ phase of his life. 

As he adjusted his posture a fraction to look at the nightstand clock, Damian made a disgruntled sound and pressed himself closer. Bruce froze, instinctively cupping the back of Damian’s head to soothe him. The gesture settled his youngest child again, just like – well, truthfully, Bruce couldn’t remember the last time Damian had actually fallen asleep on top of him and stayed, rather than slipping away before Bruce woke up. 

The likely reason for Damian’s continued presence stirred on Bruce’s other side, and a pointy elbow caught him in the ribcage. 

“S’ry,” Tim muttered, voice hoarse. “Forgot you were there.” He pushed himself up on one arm and ran a hand through his wild hair, wincing at the snarls. The dark circles that had taken up permanent residence beneath his eyes were considerably less noticeable now. 

“What time is it?” Bruce asked. 

Tim leaned over him to squint at the clock, jostling Damian in the process. “Little after 8. Dick’s gonna be here around 9.”

“Hn.” Like every morning, Bruce began mentally running through the set of tasks that would immediately confront him upon getting up. If almost two decades as Dick's father had taught Bruce anything, it was that his eldest would be running about fifteen minutes late. He'd always struggled to get himself moving in the mornings…maybe that was an inheritable trait, lack of shared genetics notwithstanding. So, Dick would probably arrive any time between 9:15 and 9:30. That left plenty of time to wake up, shower, stretch, have coffee…or, plenty of time to appreciate the fact that his youngest two sons were currently too groggy to be crashing around the Manor like a pair of ferrets. 

Damian shifted with a soft snrk-ing noise and peered up at Bruce, who could practically see the gears turning in his brain as he worked to reorient himself upon waking up. 

“Hey, sleepy bat,” Tim said, stretching his arm across Bruce to poke Damian’s forehead. “Someone was tired.”

Damian’s sleepy features morphed into a scowl. “It’s Father’s fault.”

When Tim turned an inquisitive look at Bruce, he shrugged as best he could with Damian still on his left shoulder. “I’m sure I don’t know what he means, Tim.”

Tim snorted. “Yeah, right.” 

Temporarily mollified, Damian rolled onto his side and yawned. “You cheat.”

“Oh,” Tim said with a Cheshire grin that was much too similar to Dick’s. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and leaned forward against Bruce’s other arm. “Dad would never.”

Bruce barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Unfortunately for all of them, Tim had mastered the smarmy innocent voice back when he hit puberty. That was another thing he’d gotten from Dick.

“I was perfectly able to stay up,” Damian said, then yawned and undercut his own point. “He employed underhanded methods to constrain me here.” 

Tim sighed with fake sympathy. “Yeah, I was also kidnapped.” 

“You invited yourself in,” Bruce said, but he knew a lost cause when he saw one. 

The smile Tim gave him was sparkling, borderline angelic. “Tehnically, you invited me. I just stayed.” 

Bruce shook his head, ruffling Tim’s already-tangled hair into even more of a mess as Tim squawked and tried to smack his hand away. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

“Ssh,” Damian hissed. He adjusted his posture to put more of his weight on Bruce’s arm. “If you are going to imprison me, at least let me sleep.”

“I dunno, Dames,” Tim said. “Looks like you’re the one who’s got him stuck.”

“Tt.”

When Bruce started to say that he did actually need to get up and start the morning, Tim cut him off by digging a single hand into his side, squeezing. Bruce was – well, unprepared didn’t begin to describe it – and instinct took over, making him wince away with a short laugh.

Well, shit. 

“Hah!” Tim looked much too pleased with himself, delight sparkling behind his bright eyes. “Take that, cheater. Damian, stay where you are.” 

“Ti-Timothy,” Bruce said, his voice actually hitching when Tim poked him in the ribs. He'd been trying for something in the neighborhood of Batman's authoritative timber, not that Tim had ever been dissuaded from much by the Batman Voice. 

At his shoulder, Damian rolled over, and suddenly Bruce found himself with his youngest kid halfway sprawled across his chest, and – well, Damian certainly wasn’t bulky, but he’d started coming into his fair share of lean muscle. He was dense. Plus, he was apparently pretending that he wasn’t doing anything unusual, as if Damian voluntarily choosing to cuddle wasn’t a bonafide miracle, so he just pressed his face into the crook of Bruce’s shoulder and made himself into a compact weight. 

Bruce ruffled his hair even as he cringed away from the incessant prodding and wriggling at his ribs, while Tim just kept grinning like he’d won the lottery. “Now you start listening to your brot-heher.”  

“Surely I don’t know what you speak of,” Damian muttered, and the vibrations of his voice tickled. Damn it.

Bruce felt his lips twitching despite his best efforts to keep his face still. 

“He’s gonna crack,” Tim said. He probably wasn’t intentionally referencing how Bruce had teased Damian the previous evening, but still. “Y’know, not even Dick or Jason actually managed to –” 

His fingers wandered across that particularly sensitive spot right towards the front of Bruce’s middle ribs, and the jolting sensation had Bruce snorting out a bark of laughter. 

“There!” Tim focused in on that spot, smirking as he worried at it with the tips of his fingers, mapping out the whole little area. “Wow, B, you’re worse than I thought you’d be.”

“You’re–” Now unable to pretend that he wasn’t grinning, Bruce pressed his free hand over his mouth to hide the strained laughter that wanted to escape. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had tickled him, really tickled him, since he was at least a decade younger. Even Jason and Dick’s attempts back when they’d been teenagers had felt like tiny minnows trying to gnaw on a barracuda, and Bruce had been able to brush them off. It had irritated his oldest two to no end, but eventually they’d given up. The younger ones, however…

Well, maybe Bruce was softening up a little. But in his defense, Dick and Jason would’ve never thought to ambush him like this. 

“Hey,” Tim scolded, darting one hand up to scrabble under Bruce’s arm. “You never let me hide, so you don’t get to either. It isn’t fair.” He tried to scowl, but that giddy smile broke through his efforts. 

The scratching in his armpit made Bruce jerk, a full-body flinch, as he instinctively clamped his elbow to his side. It was reflex, and a poor one at that – Tim just wiggled his trapped fingers and snickered as Bruce’s face spasmed. 

“You’re literally so ticklish.” The snarky, teasing tone from Tim – who would really need all that smugness exorcised in the near future – did, unfortunately, make the ticking feel worse. 

Bruce began to say something, to tell Tim that he was only digging his own grave, but then smaller, slightly clumsier fingers started prodding around his waistline, and whatever he had intended to say was replaced with a burst of laughter. 

“Yeah, Dames, get him!” Tim encouraged. 

God, it was bad. Squeezing his eyes shut, Bruce pressed his head back into the pillows beneath him and resigned himself to his fate as his two youngest, his babies, his children scritched and scrabbled and poked over every inch of his torso that they could reach. 

Despite the fact that his brain was crashing in about twelve different ways trying to process the long-forgotten ticklish feelings, Bruce was deeply, secretly overjoyed that his kids were goofing off like this. Apparently a full night’s sleep was all it took to put Damian in the right mood to join in on the more playful moments without being dragged kicking and screaming – or maybe it was Tim, whose mischievous grins and laughs were always contagious. Either way, Bruce delighted in his children, always, but times like these made all that delight, affection, and love coalesce into a burning little kernel inside his chest that blazed like warm whiskey in the dead of winter’s cold. 

“Damian,” he said, laughter making his voice shake. “Not you too!” 

“I am simply exploring new possibilities,” Damian replied, but he turned his head just enough to give Bruce a smirk. “Just like you taught me, Father.” 

“He’s been around Jason a lot,” Tim said in a tone that suggested he was confiding something, because he was absolutely ridiculous and Bruce wanted to kiss his forehead about it. “It’s showing.” 

“Bo-” Bruce gritted his teeth and used all his strength and focus to beat back the laughter that kept bubbling up in his throat. “Both of you are going to be in so much trouble.” 

Tim just laughed and went back to scratching over that spot on Bruce’s ribs that made him want to crawl out of his skin. “Sure, B. Sure.” 

Okay, that was it. 

In a single, fluid move that was made less elegant by the layers of bedsheet and comforter, Bruce hooked his arm around Tim’s waist as he pushed himself up and twisted sharply to the side, using the momentum to send Tim tumbling underneath him beside Damian. Bruce straightened up, one of his knees pinning Tim’s right leg to the mattress, while his other hand pressed firmly on Damian’s chest. His sons both stared at him with wide eyes and shocked expressions. 

“....Oh yeah,” Tim said faintly after a few seconds had elapsed. “That’s why you’re Batman.” 

That made Damian snort, even as he lay there with a faint thread of uncertainty creasing his brow. “Tt.” 

“It is,” Bruce agreed. The residual ticklish feelings skated down his sides even as he raised the hand that wasn’t busy holding Damian to hover threateningly over Tim’s own ribs, and Tim inhaled, trying to wriggle away. He hadn’t lost the giddy, goofy smile, though. 

“It’s also why –” Without warning, Bruce darted that hand over to squeeze one of Damian’s knees, earning an ear-splitting shriek of surprise and desperate ticklishness from his youngest. Damian thrashed and tried to kick out but Bruce held firm, rubbing his thumb and index fingers in small circles where they dug into either side of his kneecap. “Your brothers never got this far.” 

“Baba!” Damian screeched, frantic cackles spilling out of him as he balled his hands in the sheets, frantically shaking his head. “Dohohon’t!” Whatever hesitation had clouded his expression vanished, presumably as he realized he wasn’t actually in real trouble. “You–you’re–nohohoh!” 

Hearing his little brother’s panicked laughter, Tim tried to slide out from under Bruce’s own knee. Unfortunately – or, knowing him, fortunately – he didn’t get very far in his escape attempts. 

“Are you going somewhere?” Bruce asked, smiling as Tim blushed down his neck and froze. 

“No?” 

“Sure, Tim. Sure.” 

When Damian’s laughing stuttered off into gulps of air, Bruce switched to scribbling around behind his knee, scratching his nails over the thin skin there. Rather than cackles, Damian wheezed, then fell into high-pitched, screechy giggles that made his nose wrinkle from the width of his grin. 

Bruce kept up the tickles there until Damian stilled his flailing limbs, too tired out from his laughter to keep thrashing about, then eased up. As he leaned back, removing the hand that had kept Damian pinned, Damian folded that leg up and crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself. A few residual giggles escaped as he whined, trying to pout up at Bruce. 

“There you are, habibi,” Bruce murmured, leaning down just enough to kiss his forehead. He straightened back up and turned his attention to Tim, who’d apparently been attempting to remain as still as possible in hopes of somehow becoming invisible. “Now, let’s see to your brother.” 

Immediately Tim burst into anticipatory snickers – something that hardly happened anymore and, god, if that didn’t make Bruce’s heart just squeeze – as he held up his hands in a facsimile of a defensive posture. 

“Hey,” he said. “It’s – it’s proportional! I just – it was an experiment, B, I promise – I – he-EY!” 

The moment Tim had started to veer towards flustered rambling, Bruce latched on to his lower ribs and squeezed, making sure to pay particular attention to the twin weak spots near the back of his lowest ones. Instinctively, Tim arched forwards, his whole face lighting up as he laughed. 

“Be–hee!” he shrieked. “It– it–” 

When Bruce let his fingers start crawling further up his ribcage, Tim squeaked as his squirming intensified. 

“What, sweetheart?” Bruce asked in the low, teasing murmur that he only deployed when he really wanted to fluster Tim. It also worked on his other kids, but Tim had always been uniquely susceptible. “What’s wrong?” 

Tim tried to get out something else, but Bruce suddenly vibrated his index fingers into his middle ribs and pinched up and down the ridges. A wave of helpless, high-pitched laughter made Tim convulse as he grabbed Bruce’s wrists and held on tight. 

“Oh,” Bruce said, still in that soft cadence. He couldn’t not smile as his kid clung on, not even trying to push him away. “Does it tickle? Are you ticklish, Timothy? Is that it?” 

Lobsters couldn’t match the shade of crimson that bloomed across Tim’s face as he shut his eyes. “Yehehes!” 

“You should’ve just said something.” Instead of continuing up his ribs, Bruce gently wiggled his fingers into Tim’s stomach just to hear the hiccuping, squeaky giggles that poured out of him. 

“Dad,” Tim gasped. His voice hitched in between giggles. “Ticklesticklestickles!” 

“Mm, it appears to.”

Bruce had already decided that Tim had served an acceptable sentence for the morning when Damian prodded him in the ribs, blinking lazily at him like a cat in a sunbeam from his half-curled posture. 

Smiling at him, Bruce nodded to acknowledge Damian’s silent intercession on behalf of his older brother, and slowed his tickling until he was simply patting Tim’s stomach to help ease the leftover ticklish prickles. Tim still hadn’t let go of his wrists.  

“Shit,” Dick’s voice rang out from the doorway. Of course he’d been early just in time to see his younger brothers get tickled silly, he had some kind of sixth sense about it. “What’d they do this time, B?” 

Dick was leaning against the doorframe with a bright, cheerful smile, which was expected. Seeing that his feet were braced against Jason’s knees – or, rather, that Jason was sitting on the threshold facing him – was unexpected. How long had they both been there? 

“Oh, you know,” Bruce replied, his sore shoulder twinging when he extricated himself from the labyrinthine mess of bedding. “The usual.” 

“He’s ticklish!” Tim shouted from behind him. “Torso!” 

Dick’s smile turned positively vulpine, and he shared a meaningful look with Jason. “Oh, is he?” 

[hyacinthanon]

Early Birds

a/n: takes place right after Snuggle Bird. Some light angst - Jason's having unexpected feelings about Robin running off by himself without telling anyone for No Particular Reason Whatsoever, of course, but they are quickly assuaged.

summary: Bruce hears about Tim's self-experimenting cuddle pollen extravaganza from Jason, and has a rather giggly conversation with Tim about it.

lee!Jason Todd, lee!Tim Drake // ler!Bruce Wayne, ler!Dick Grayson

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Steam rose from the coffee as Bruce raised his mug for another sip. He blinked hard as lines of newsprint blurred in front of his eyes. He hadn’t been awake very long, and the liquid warmth was the only thing keeping him upright at the kitchen table.  

So he was utterly unprepared when Jason, wide awake and seemingly in good health, stormed into the kitchen and yanked out the chair next to Bruce’s hard enough to make the legs screech against the floor. 

“Did Dick tell you about last night?” Jason demanded. The lines of his posture were all tense edges and corners. “About Tim?”

Well, that certainly had Bruce feeling much more awake. “What happened?” 

“Your Robin got blasted with pollen and ditched his patrol route to come back here and experiment on himself in his bedroom instead of telling anyone. Dick finally tracked him down but Christ, B.” Jason leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, staring at him intently. “You’ve gotta tell him he can’t be doing that shit.” 

Bruce blinked. Then he blinked again, because – Tim? Really? That was…hm. He thought about it for a moment. Actually, that did sound exactly like the kind of thing Tim would do. “Okay.” 

Jason’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Okay? You’re just–”

Bruce held up his hand to cut him off and continued speaking. “I trust that if there were any immediate problems, Dick would’ve alerted me. But, thank you for telling me, Jason, I’ll speak to Tim about this immediately.” He sighed. The telltale prickles of a tension headache gnawed at his temples. What a way to start the day. 

“So, what, you’re not upset? Dickhead also just let him keep going, he didn’t even bring Tim down to the Cave.” One of Jason’s fists pounded against the table for emphasis as his expression drew tight. “It’s not safe for him to just – to just run off like that, just because he thinks he’s right.” 

Ah. Had Bruce been more awake, he might have picked up on what was really going on as soon as Jason had come in. Tracking Jason’s body language, he reached out and cupped his distressed son’s face with one hand, gently stroking his thumb over the furrowed creases in Jason’s brow. Jason took in a stuttering breath and shut his eyes. 

“It’s alright, Jaylad. Your brother is safe, he’s right upstairs. He didn’t go far.” 

The table creaked as Jason pressed the heels of his palms against his eyelids. 

“Jason.” Bruce paused as he saw Jason consciously trying to regulate his breathing, shoulders shuddering. “Okay, okay. Come here.” He slid his hand to the back of Jason’s head to guide him forwards, pulling him into a hug. Jason’s fingers dug into his biceps and he shoved his face against Bruce’s shoulder. 

“It didn’t even bother me until this morning,” Jason sniffed, his words muffled in the thick weave of Bruce’s WE sweatshirt. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Oh, honey.” Bruce pressed a quick kiss to the side of Jason’s head, squeezing him closer. The curls near the nape of his neck were, as per usual, tangled into a stubborn matt. “It’s the first time something like this has happened with Tim.”

“I just–” A very tiny, choked noise interrupted Jason’s sentence, and it took him a couple seconds to recover before he continued. “God, what if something went wrong and – and no one was there –” 

It was dangerously easy, sometimes, to forget that Jason was only nineteen, until something like this happened. The hurt in his voice came straight from his fifteen-year-old self, and Bruce suddenly had to swallow hard against the lump in his throat. 

“Tim came right back here,” Bruce murmured into his son’s hair, gently rocking him back and forth. “If something happened, we would’ve known. Dick would’ve helped him right away. And Tim’s had all the routes back here from the city memorized since he was ten, so I’m sure he went fast. But you’re right, honey, that in different circumstances, this could have been very unsafe. Which is why I’m going to talk to him about it, just to be sure he’s aware.”

Jason sniffed again and nodded into his chest. There wasn’t much else Bruce could do except hold him while he weathered his tangled-up feelings, but he was more than happy to do that. After all, there’d been a time not too long ago when he thought he’d never hold Jason ever again. 

Eventually, Jason’s distressed shudders slowed and he slumped forward, going mostly limp. Bruce rubbed soothing circles over his shoulders, keeping his palm flat so he wouldn’t accidentally trigger Jason’s…sensitivities. 

“Jason,” he said. “Did grounding you from the Cave ever successfully keep you out?” 

“God, no,” Jason replied with a wet-sounding laugh. “I was down there all the time.” 

Bruce felt a smile stretching across his face. “You were. That was by design, you know.” 

“It was?” 

“Absolutely. I grounded you from the Cave, a fairly controlled environment that you were familiar with, so that when you inevitably pushed back, you’d be doing so within the bounds of where you could operate safely.” 

It took Jason a couple seconds to digest that, but when he did, he tilted his head back to squint up at Bruce. “Why?” 

“Well,” Bruce chuckled. “I’d rather you disobey me and end up downstairs, then disobey me and end up punch drunk at a high school house party when the cops show up.” 

“Because I was…so likely to do that.” Ah, there was that signature Jason snark that Bruce knew and loved. 

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

Snorting, Jason muttered, “Maybe it’s about the illusion of control, old man.” 

In answer, Bruce briefly dug his fingers into the edge of one of Jason’s shoulder blades, earning a startled noise and some wriggling for his troubles until he stilled. 

Jason flipped him off, but he had a small grin as he did. “It’s not rude if I’m right.”

“The point,” Bruce said, allowing himself to roll his eyes at his ridiculous middle child even though he was also smiling. “Is that it sounds like Dick is doing a similar thing. He’s giving Tim some leeway in a situation that’s otherwise very familiar and easily ameliorated, so that Tim can push some boundaries while still having a safety net.” 

The furrow reappeared in Jason’s brow as he thought that over for a few moments. Finally, he grunted. “Okay.” 

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Tim eventually wandered into Dick’s room anyway and Dickhead latched onto him like a giant squid.” 

Bruce had to hold back a sigh. If Jason had mentioned that earlier…. But he’d been keyed up, no one could blame him. “I can picture that.” 

“And the pollen made him more ticklish,” Jason said, wiping his eyes with his forearm. “That’s what woke me up.” 

“I can picture that, too.”  

Jason took a deep breath, then let it out in a rush without making a move to actually lean back. “So, are you gonna go talk to the dumbass and the Dickface upstairs?”

“Don’t call your brothers names,” Bruce murmured on pure parental reflex, only realizing when Jason snickered at him. 

“Seriously, B, we call each other so much worse–”

Instead of indulging that line of thought, Bruce just adjusted his hand to scribble a ticklish trail right down Jason’s spine, which sent him into a fit of startled titters as he twitched. 

“You know the house rules,” he teased as he traced the same path back up to flutter around his kid’s neck. “If you don’t have money for the swear jar, this can be your forfeit.” 

Snickering, Jason tried to hunch his shoulders up to his ears. It wasn't a very effective evasion technique. He yelped when Bruce suddenly scrabbled over a particularly ticklish spot under his jaw. “Fuhuhu– fuck ohhahaff!” 

“That’s another dollar, Jaylad. Or I can just….” Bruce walked his fingers over to one of the tiny, ridiculously ticklish spots on the upper edge of Jason’s shoulder blades, right next to his armpit, and scrabbled his nails over the threadbare t-shirt fabric that protected it. 

Wheezing, Jason let out a stream of surprisingly high-pitched giggles and lurched forwards like he was trying to curl up in his chair. “I–I hahave a dollar–hehehey!” 

"Well," Bruce said, smiling even though Jason couldn't see him. "If you can pay, you don't have to keep giggling."

When Jason groaned in giggly despair at the teasing, Bruce released him and pressed another kiss to the side of his head. "Alright, Jaylad. I'll go speak with your brothers."

Jason leaned away and got to his feet, wandering towards the pantry. "Take coffee up for Tim, or he won't be able to think. I'm gonna tell Alf that I'm making pancakes for breakfast."

Of all the ways that Jason could work through his stress, cooking and baking were two of the better ones. Bruce certainly wasn't going to stand in the way of healthy coping mechanisms. He thanked Jason, filled a travel mug with coffee, and braced himself for the imminent conversation.

━━━━━━━━━━━

It seemed that growing up had done nothing to dampen Dick’s tendency to sprawl out across whatever flat surface was available when he slept. As usual, he was facedown in a pile of pillows. He had one arm shoved under the pillow beneath his head, the other was entirely tangled in the comforter so only his fingers were visible. One of his legs stuck out at a right angle, bent at the knee so his calf and foot dangled off the side of the bed. 

That…couldn’t be comfortable. Just observing his son’s contorted posture sent a dull throb through Bruce’s hip. But Dick was still young, so he’d probably bounce out of bed and go right on about his day instead of needing a week to recover from a less-than-optimal sleeping position. 

As for Tim, well. Bruce decided to work off the assumption that his youngest child was probably concealed beneath the lump of bright blue sweatshirt posted up next to Dick. Tim had always tended to curl in on himself when he slept. The barely-visible tufts of fuzzy black hair that stuck out from somewhere near the top confirmed his suspicions. 

The blankets rustled as Dick got his arms underneath himself and pushed up onto his elbows. He rolled onto one side and offered Bruce a feeble wave. 

“Mornin’, B.” 

“Good morning, chum.” Being mindful of Tim's slumber, Bruce kept his voice to a low murmur as he eased his way further into the room, being sure to keep his footsteps silent. He sat on the mattress further down beside the bright blue ball of sleeping Robin. “How is he?”

Dick yawned, then twisted his hips to the side and flipped onto his back, far too limber for someone who'd just woken up. 

“Perfectly fine,” he said, right before a yawn interrupted him. “Did Jay tell you?”

Bruce decided against mentioning Jason's distress, since any conversation about that shouldn't happen without his middle son present. “He did.”

“I checked his vitals.” Dick's voice sounded a little clearer, now, as the worry lines near his eyes deepened. “He was fine to just be under observation, I swear.”

His legs stirred with restless nerves, and Bruce gently placed his palm on one of Dick's knees to still him. “Dick. I'm not upset. I fully trust that you used your judgement well and made a perfectly acceptable call for what the situation demanded.”

The whirring from Dick's thoughts was practically audible as he processed through that amid his newly-awoken haze. “Oh.” 

“I'm just checking on you,” Bruce said, wanting to reassure his eldest. “Both of you.”

Dick's bright eyes flickered to his own for an instant before he looked down, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks.” 

“You should probably wake him up soon, or he'll sleep too late and get all grouchy.” 

Dick's mouth quirked up in a grin. “Worried about being in kicking range, huh?”

“Yes,” Bruce replied with absolutely zero shame. 

His youngest was a notoriously grouchy waker, and had been ever since he hit his teenage years. Dick had the dubious though consistent honor of being the only person in the family who’d ever returned unscathed from having to get Tim out of bed. For Bruce, Jason, even Alfred, venturing into Tim's room while he was sleeping meant dodging a stuffed animal or plastic water bottle thrown at them while whatever gremlin that possessed Tim during sleeping hours hissed from under the covers. 

With a playfully resigned sigh, Dick gingerly tugged the sweatshirt hood away from Tim’s head and shot Bruce a quick wink. “Watch and learn, then.” 

It was almost impressive, really, how much Tim’s hair looked like it was trying to escape his scalp. The amount of static electricity there could probably power the Batsignal. His face was mostly obscured by the angle of his arms, so Bruce couldn’t see if he twitched when Dick started running his fingers through the untamed tufts of hair. 

“You’ve just gotta wake him up slowly,” Dick whispered, keeping a slow, predictable rhythm of carding through the tiny knots and snarls in his younger brother’s hair. At first, it didn’t seem to be doing much, but after a few minutes Tim let out a quiet noise and nuzzled into his hand like a sleepy kitten. 

“M’rn, Dee.” 

Dick leaned down to kiss the top of his head, murmuring, “Hey there, bub.” 

Instead of replying, Tim turned his head so his entire face pressed into the pillow, which was a very him thing to do. It almost made Bruce chuckle but he held back, not wanting to jar either of his sons out of the peaceful bubble of early morning stillness. 

“C’mon, Timmy,” Dick spoke in a lilting, singsong voice. He gently smoothed Tim’s hair out of his face and switched to the light head scritches that all of Bruce’s kids seemed to appreciate. “It’s time to wake up.”

One of Tim’s hands disentangled from his sweatshirt cocoon and clumsily patted at the sheets nearby. Dick offered his free arm, and Bruce watched as Tim grabbed the proffered limb and tried to curl around it. 

“D’nt wan’.” 

Dick’s entire expression melted into a mushy, fond smile like it always did whenever he saw his brothers do something sweet – and god, he’d grown into an incredible young adult, Bruce was so insufferably proud – and he tugged on his arm. Whatever he did got a sleepy giggle out of Tim, whose eyes finally cracked open. 

“There he is,” Dick cooed. “Welcome back, Baby Bird.” 

With a soft, sleepy sound, Tim blinked hard, then tucked his head closer to Dick’s shoulder. 

Bruce had his phone in hand with the camera swiped open and snapped a picture before he consciously realized he was doing it, which made Dick roll his eyes despite the fact that he was still grinning down at Tim. He wanted to save proof of this moment forever, he loved that Tim felt safe enough to be this soft, unguarded version of himself with his oldest brother. 

Dick nudged Tim just enough to barely jostle him. “Someone brought you coffee.”

Taking that as his cue, Bruce held out the travel mug towards Tim, who was now making grabby hands in his general direction. 

“It’s not an addiction,” Dick said as they both watched Tim drain the entire thing. 

“We’re well past that,” Bruce agreed, but he was smiling. It was a fact universally acknowledged that Tim’s preferred caffeinated fix was Zesti, but Bruce – well, Alfred, really – drew the line at energy drinks with breakfast, so Tim had acquiesced to the demands of the coffee pot.

Tim cleared his throat a couple times and blinked again. “Hi, B.” His voice sounded a little raspy. “Morning.” 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Bruce replied. “How are you feeling?” 

The question had Tim chewing on his lower lip before Bruce had finished speaking, and he knew he’d misphrased something when Tim’s shoulders hunched inwards. 

“He’s not mad, Timmy,” said Dick, winding an arm around Tim’s waist and tugging him closer. “Just worried.” 

“I feel fine,” Tim said quietly. He fidgeted with the sleeves of the sweatshirt and tugged them down over his hands. “I’m sorry for worrying you.” 

“Tim,” Bruce started, about to ask him what he'd been doing, but Dick caught his gaze and, with a nearly microscopic twitch, shook his head. It was easy enough to pivot, so at the last second he switched to, “how are your symptoms?”

From the way Tim's eyebrows flew up, he'd been expecting a lecture too. Bruce could practically see the blue screen flash in his son's mind as Tim scrambled to adjust his own train of thought.

“Gone, I think,” he said at last. “I don't feel warm, my clothes don't itch–” 

“Hey,” Dick said, smirking, and dug his fingers into Tim’s stomach in a single, solitary squeeze. “How's the extra sensitivity, hm?” 

Tim flinched and twisted up his expression to hold back the laughter that was undoubtedly bubbling up inside him. “It's fine.” 

“I dunno, Timmy, we should replicate the experiment to check.”  

“Dick,” Tim whined, uncurling his legs and shifting restlessly. 

Bruce placed a steadying hand on Tim’s shin and offered him a soothing smile that probably didn’t hide his growing amusement very well. “Those are all good things. What’s this about extra sensitivity?” 

The look Tim gave him was full of exasperation and betrayal when Dick took that as permission to keep poking and squeezing all over his stomach. 

“It’s – B – it’s nahat a big deheaheal!” 

“Every symptom is important to log,” Bruce replied while Tim squirmed out a losing battle with the grin that he’d been trying to hold back. “Dick?” 

“He was so tickly ticklish, B,” Dick said immediately, punctuating each word with a pinch to Tim’s sides. “And really, really squeaky. Like a Robin-shaped rubber duck.” 

Few people had the knack for going instantly red like Tim did, and he flushed all the way to his ears. 

Bruce had to tease him. “Well, that’s only a symptom if it’s different than normal, chum.”

“Dad!” Tim squawked indignantly as Dick laughed, happily digging into his lower ribs. Even with the thick barrier from his sweatshirt, Tim still couldn’t keep in his squeaky laughter or the instinctive wriggling.  

“Standard cuddle pollen symptoms, then,” Bruce said, relenting in his teasing. “No anomalies?” 

“Nope,” Dick replied, perfectly casual like he wasn’t tickling his little brother speechless while they spoke. “When I got back here – freaked out, I might add – he was buried beneath weighted and heated blankets on a video call with his friends.” 

It was easy enough to guess why Tim had gone for those particular implements instead of down to the Cave for the antidote. “Trying to replicate the temperature and weight of skin contact?” 

“That’s how he explained it. Said it worked, too – oh, sorry, Timmy, something to add?” Dick paused in his tickling so Tim could catch his breath. 

“It worked,” Tim said, a little wheezy. 

Dick just grinned at Bruce and promptly went back to crawling his fingers up Tim’s ribs. “Oh, yeah, it did.”

Tim’s next words disappeared behind a surprised screech that dissolved into cackles and incoherent sounds. Bruce couldn’t help the twinge of pride at Tim’s ability to find an elegantly simple stopgap for cuddle pollen – perfect if someone was stuck in a safehouse after mild exposure. He made a mental note to pay particular attention to the report that Tim would inevitably write, probably with extensive amounts of details. That was his usual approach to field work, after all. It was one of the things that made Tim a fantastic partner. 

And, speaking of which. 

“Alright,” Bruce said, his mouth twitching as Tim’s attempts to slide down the bed away from Dick’s fingers just made his sweatshirt ruck up. “Tim, I expect a report from you about last night’s … activities. You may write it today, but after that, you’re benched for two weeks.”

“Hehey!” Tim protested, but he was clearly distracted by the fact that Dick was wiggling his fingers just above Tim’s now-exposed stomach. “It– it worked –ack!” 

Dick dove his hand down right over Tim’s belly button so his thumb could dig into one of the wildly ticklish spots next to it while the rest of his fingers tormented the mirroring spot. 

“For what it’s worth,” Dick said, winking in Bruce’s direction. “He said the real thing was better. But he might’ve just been after some tummy tickles, we’ll never know.” 

“Dick,” Tim shrieked through bubbling peals of giggles that gave Bruce that warm, melty feeling in his own chest. He’d scrunched his eyes shut and was trying to hide his face in his hands. “Shutupshutupshutuhuhup!” 

Dick just looked down at him and shook his head with a smirk that didn’t hide his fondness in the least. “That just means I’m right.” 

Bruce patted Tim’s leg. “I don’t doubt that it worked, sweetheart, but you may not leave your patrol without informing anyone, only to run unsupervised tests on yourself, without telling anyone. This situation was fairly mild, with known variables, but others will become incredibly unsafe if you repeat this behavior. We need to be able to trust that you’ll follow proper protocol in the event you become compromised, or get hit with a contaminant.”  

He was pretty sure that Tim could still hear over his own laughter because he nodded more times than necessary. 

“This is a serious conversation, Timothy,” Bruce said, but his mouth twitched. “I can’t imagine what about it you find amusing.”

That just made Tim let out a giggly whine and pull the hood of his sweatshirt down over his face to hide. 

“I can keep an eye on him,” Dick offered. “I don’t mind Timmy duty. Especially when he’s all sweet and squishy like this.” 

Bruce hummed, considering the proposition, but ultimately rejected it. Two weeks of no patrol coupled with the double-heaping of affectionate, but still embarrassing, teasing, and some admonishment would probably be sufficient. It was normal for Tim’s age to make some well-intentioned, poorly-thought-out choices, and the stakes were decently low in this particular case. The key would be ensuring that Tim didn’t make similar choices in more sensitive situations, but training and time would help with that. 

“He should be fine on his own,” Bruce said at last, giving Dick a meaningful look. “He seems to have learned his lesson.”

Easing up on the tickling, Dick nodded. “If it happens again I’m siccing Jason on him.” 

“If it happens again,” Bruce warned, and squeezed Tim’s shin again for emphasis, “He’s benched for a month.” 

“I won’t,” Tim said, the words eeking out around some leftover giggles. “I won’t, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” He sat forward and reached out, gripping Bruce’s forearm. The hood fell back to reveal his flushed face and wide, watery eyes. 

He let out a surprised squeak when Bruce snagged him by the arms and hauled him over into a hug. 

“I know you won’t, baby,” Bruce murmured. “I’m not mad, promise.” 

Dick stretched his arms above his head, causing something in his shoulders to pop. “Where’s Jay?” 

“He’s making breakfast,” Bruce said. “Pancakes.” 

Tim perked up and shifted in his arms. “I’ll go see if he needs help.” 

That would give them a chance to talk, which Jason would probably appreciate. If Bruce’s suspicions were correct, his middle kid was probably going to hang around the Manor for the rest of the day – not something he’d ever complain about – to keep eyes on Tim.

“Good idea,” Dick said, grinning. “You can be in charge of mine.” 

Tim gave him an imperious sniff as he slid to his feet and padded towards the door. “I’m not making pancakes with protein powder in them, Dick, that’s disgusting.” 

“It is not!” 

“Is so!” 

Dick suddenly turned one of his more mischievous smirks on Tim. “Hey, I’m supposed to be at the Tower next week, helping with the system overhaul. Maybe I can tell Bart and Kon why we call you Squeakers.” 

Tim gaped at him. “You wouldn’t.” 

Bruce huffed out a quiet laugh through his nose because Dick absolutely would. “Alright,” he said, before this bickering could get any further. “Breakfast, Tim, go.”  

“You’re going soft in your advancing age,” Dick observed after Tim left. He stretched out on the mattress and gave Bruce a lazy grin. “I would’ve been benched for a month right away.” 

Shaking his head, Bruce reached out to pinch Dick’s lower ribs, getting a shout for his troubles. “You brought down a chandelier at the Mayoral ball when you were his age.”

“It was–it was a distraction!” Dick’s words came out strangled because Bruce hadn’t stopped prodding at that particular tickle spot. “That’s different.”

“Sure it is, chum. Sure it is.”

[august-anon]

Fic Submission: Have It Your Way by Hyacinth Anon

Hi I come bearing gifts! That headcanon I sent in like a month ago has been living in my mind rent-free, and I didn't want to write my next assignment, so...here we are, I guess? I hope all is well for you!  I also wrote the sequel where Tim gets lethally wrecked in return but didn't want to inundate you 

________ 

“Stop interrupting me,” Tim growled in frustration. The temptation to snatch up one of the couch pillows and beat Jason over the head with it was one of biblical proportions.

“Hey,” Jason snarked right back, “I’m just doing what you do all the fucking time, Replacement.” 

“You never let it get this far,” Tim muttered. Usually, if their roles were reversed, Jason’s little-brother-annoyance meter would have long-since filled up and boiled over into Tim getting grappled or wrestled or tickled within an inch of his life. 

The sigh Jason let out was infuriating. “Yeah, well, tough shit, younger sibling.” 

Tim took a restrained, meditative breath as he stared at the TV, not really registering anything on the screen. Jason is being an asshole. Jason is injured. It hurts. He’s being a big baby about it. He’s on drugs for it – oh, hell. Okay, maybe there was something there. Now that Tim thought about it, Jason had always refused the heavier pain medications he’d been offered for other similar-grade injuries. He tended to steer clear of any opioid-based pain management, and would indulge in non-opioid analgesics rarely, if ever. It was one of the many sticking points between Jason and Bruce, and the arguments about it had occurred enough times for Tim to memorize both sides. Lately, he’d just been tuning them out. 

As Tim processed those connected thoughts, the first bit of guilt poked at his conscience. Okay, yeah, maybe he could have been a little more patient with Jason, who’d put in stupid amounts of work to control himself, to learn to wrangle the Pit, to be able to trust himself around the people he wanted to protect – which included Tim, even though he still wasn’t sure he completely understood why. They shared a family, but plenty of people were estranged from their siblings. Having the same dad on paper didn’t obligate Jason to care about him, or – 

Nope, found-family existential crisis later, analyzing Jason now. Tim blinked hard, refocused his eyes on the TV, then flicked a sideways glance at Jason. His older brother had one of his arms flung up over his face and the other tucked beneath his head for a pillow, but the lines of his posture were too rigid to be at ease. Jason often gave off a sense of restless energy, like there was something itching in his veins that drove him to prowl around Crime Alley every night – not like Dick, whose perpetual motion was so inborn that it suited him like breathing. Ever since the Pit, Jason had always seemed more … unsettled, maybe. Like a tuning fork vibrating on the wrong frequency. 

And, for Jason, after spending so much time, effort, and energy trying to control the parts of him that constantly fought to break free and wreak havoc, being injured probably sucked. Being injured, immobilized, and forced by the agonies of muscular surgery to take narcotic painkillers of the same class that killed his mother was probably a whole new form of psychological torment that Tim wasn’t going to touch with a ten-foot pole. 

Except that Jason was Tim’s big brother, who called him ridiculous nicknames and remembered his birthday and occasionally tossed snacks at him when their paths crossed on patrol. 

So…there had to be something Tim could do for him, right? 

But his brain was moving a little too fast, and all the sudden connections and realizations felt more overwhelming than usual. 

Tim shifted to pull his knees up to his chest, accidentally jostling Jason’s foot in the process. “Sorry!” 

Jason lifted his head just enough to send Tim an incredulous look. “What are you on about, now?”

“I, uh.” Tim cleared his throat, fighting the sudden urge to hide his face behind his knees. “I whacked your foot. ‘S’all.”

“Oh.” Jason’s voice was flat, unimpressed. “Didn’t notice. Now, shut up and put on Buffy, bitch.” 

Oh, God save him. Tim couldn’t keep doing this. Uncertainties about how to help Jason aside, Tim had gotten there first. By all internationally-recognized sibling charters of conduct, that made the TV his.  Jason could deal. “No. Once this episode is done.” 

“There’s forty minutes left!” 

“Longer, if you keep whining.” 

“I’m injured!” 

“You’re annoying.”

“Tim.” 

Tim whirled sideways to face Jason’s stubborn glare, which under normal circumstances might have been enough to cow Tim into capitulating, but this time was different. Tim had planned. For once in his short, ridiculous life he’d tried to do what everyone around him was always telling him to do, which was take a break and do something you enjoy, Tim, or you’re gonna collapse. He’d completed the reports from a mugging and an attempted armed robbery a couple nights ago, labeled and saved the photographed evidence from an ongoing missing person’s case, and finished his schoolwork. All before noon. And he’d stopped himself from doing more! And he’d gone to the kitchen to get popcorn and to his room for Zesti. 

So, no. Tim was going to sit there and enjoy himself, goddamn it, Jason could haul his limping ass into a different room if he had a problem with it. But instead of explaining this to Jason, who was high on whatever cocktail of painkillers the doctors at Gotham General had given him, Tim just snatched up the remote and pressed play. He ignored Jason’s groan of despair with the disdain it deserved, and tried to focus on the TV.

The brace on Jason’s right leg clicked as he tried to shift himself around, maybe to sit up. He was cursing under his breath, clearly frustrated at the medication-induced hazyness, and it was hard not to feel a little bad for him. Tim wracked his memories for something that might make Jason feel better – that wasn’t giving up the rest of this episode because Tim did have principles, damn it – and came up short. Usually, their spats over the TV ended with Tim weaponizing the Dick Grayson Certified PuppyDogEyes™, and Jason either capitulating amid fake grumbles of annoyance or tickling Tim until he caved. 

Oh, hold on.

Now there was an idea. 

While Jason continued clanking around like a droid from Star Wars, Tim snagged his Zesti to drain the remaining third of the can, then crumpled it up and tossed it aside. He briefly debated summoning Dick for aid then decided against it, suddenly seized with a childish urge to do it himself. Maybe he should have been embarrassed about that, but instead of dwelling on that too much, Tim just heaved out an exaggerated sigh and hauled himself to his feet. 

“Fine, Jason, have it your way.” 

Jason froze mid-clank. His teal eyes tracked Tim as he crossed between Jason and the TV. “Are you leaving?” There was something odd in his voice that Tim noted for later examination as he pushed his own hair out of his eyes and shook his head. 

“No, I’m not leaving.” 

“Then wha–”

Tim cut his older brother off by slipping between the coffee table and the couch armrest and yanking Jason’s wrists up over his head, pinning them to the armrest with one hand. Before Jason had a chance to protest – or maybe his reflexes were dulled from sleeplessness and meds – Tim was already using his free hand to dig into Jason’s underarm.

“Fuck!” Jason yelped, then flushed. He fixed Tim with an absolutely vicious scowl and growled, “Timothy Robin Replacement Drake-Wayne, do not fucking goddamn dare–” 

“Hey,” Tim breezily interrupted him, pretending that Jason’s I’m-Going-To-Kill-You stare didn’t send the teeniest, tiniest shiver down his spine. “You said you were giving me payback, so I’m just doing what you’d normally do, Jay.” Then he gave Jason his most obnoxiously angelic smile. 

Grunting, Jason strained to pull his arms back down, but Tim had the leverage (and the advantage of being fully lucid). 

“So,” Tim continued on as if Jason wasn’t hissing and swearing at him like a feral dumpster raccoon. “I’ve seen Dick tickle you. I’ve helped Dick tickle you. But normally I can’t go up against you on my own, ‘cause you’re, y’know, huge.”  He touched his fingers to the inside of Jason’s bicep, slowly walking them back in towards his underarm. Jason made a choked sound and tried to curl onto his side for protection, but his leg brace made that an impossible task, so he sealed his mouth shut instead. 

Tim detoured to let him know that, “It’s okay to laugh, by the way,” then continued his original line of thought, heedless of Jason’s thunderous stare, “But this is my chance! Besides, you’ve been annoying, like, the entire afternoon, so.” 

The next glare Jason leveled on him would have burned a hole in most glaciers, but it was ruined as his lips twitched when Tim scribbled featherlight fingers on the inside of his bicep, close to his armpit. 

“C’mon, Jason,” Tim cajoled him, shaking his own bangs out of his eyes. “I’ve heard letting out the laughter helps.” He’d heard that multiple times from Jason himself, actually, so the turnabout was fair play. 

Maybe it was the painkillers, or maybe Jason really was that tired, but the instant Tim poked under his arm he threw his head back against the couch with another yelp. “No – nohohot thehere!” His voice broke into light laughter that made Tim grin, too. It was good to hear Jason laugh – it had been too long, and even zombified crime lords shouldn’t scowl all the time. 

Tim kept his tickling light so Jason hopefully wouldn’t thrash around too much and damage his healing leg. Even so, Jason’s face screwed up like he was putting every ounce of energy into fighting the ticklish grin that pulled at his mouth. Jason flung his head back as much as he could, pressing it into the couch. Rocking his upper body, he tried to flinch away, but Tim followed the movement easily enough. “I’m –” he sucked in a quick breath as Tim changed course, fluttering his fingers around Jason’s neck and chin. “ – I will kill you – Tim!”

“Been there, tried that,” Tim shot back as he let his tickling hand crawl to Jason’s other side, pressing in on the space between his upper ribs and his underarm. When that made Jason jolt, Tim lightened up to skittering scratches that had Jason full-on snorting through his laughter. “Didn’t work, waste of time trying again.”

“Christ, you’re obnoxious,” Jason bit out, but his eyes glinted with amusement. 

Tim knew that even though Jason was a little slower and a lot out of it, he could break free from Tim’s hold if he really wanted to, or tap out. Taking the lack of serious escape attempts as silent permission, Tim just leaned down to press his forehead against his brother’s, then growled in a purposefully bad imitation of Jason’s own teasing, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, then.”

And with that, he clawed his fingers into Jason’s tummy. 

Jason let out a strangled laugh halfway between a squawk and a yelp, reflexively trying to draw his knees up to protect the vulnerable spot, then kicking his good leg out in frustration when the brace stopped him from being able to pill-bug into the fetal position. “Fuck! T-Tihihimmy!” 

Tim quickly found the patch of skin right above his belly button that made Jason twist wildly before dissolving into – into reluctant giggles, and it was like Christmas had come early and twice, because Jason Todd, the big scary Red Hood, was dissolving into a heap of oversized limbs and giggles on the couch. It was bubbly, happy laughter that was definitely the product of some inhibition-reducing painkillers. Surely, Jason would normally rather get shot in the face with his own gun then let those kinds of giggles out around anyone. 

Affection welled up in Tim’s chest. His face ached from how much he was smiling as he stayed in that spot, readjusting his grip on Jason’s wrists, to make a methodical and systematic log of every tactic he could think of and the reactions they got. Light scritches there made Jason shriek, whipping his head back and forth until his curls fell into his eyes. When Tim dug his fingers in and vibrated them, Jason cackled. Normal scribbling got the bright, giddy giggles that Tim still couldn’t believe were actually coming from his grumpy, grumbly older brother. 

“Is this – okay, your tickle spot is your hips,” Tim said, musing aloud because he knew it would get under Jason’s skin. “Is this your giggle spot, then?” It certainty was for himself, and he’d endured countless bouts of dignity-destroying teasing from Dick about Timmy Tummy Tickles (and, God, even thinking about that made Tim’s face burn, but he pushed past the urge to cringe that tried to well up with the memories. He had an older brother to tickle and by God was he going to make the most of this chance).

“I’m –” Jason ground out around a pile of giggles. “‘M gonna make you cry.”

A glance down confirmed that Jason had gone entirely red, even up to the tips of his ears. He’d scrunched his eyes shut from ticklish mirth, and despite all variety of threats and swearing, he was smiling in a way that Tim hadn’t seen since Jason’s Robin days.  His hair was a mess from being smashed against the couch, strands from the white streak plastered to his forehead. After a couple seconds, Jason blinked up with watery eyes.

“Aw, you’re so adorable,” Tim teased, but he paused for a moment to brush Jason’s hair out of his face. He relished in watching Jason somehow turn even redder and try to hide behind one of his arms. “So do your ears always turn red like that, or just when you’re being tickled?” 

That got him a one-eyed glare. “Fuck off–wait, wahahait!” 

As soon as Jason started talking Tim went back to poking and tweaking his ribs in quick, nibbling pinches, alternating sides at random, which kept Jason in frantic throes of bubbly laughter. 

Tim shook his head, his chest fizzing with gleeful disbelief. “I can’t believe this.” He skittered his fingers back down over Jason’s stomach, prodding into and around his abs.

Jason sucked in enough breath to shriek out a mangled protest. His right leg twitched again like it reflexively wanted to come up and crush Tim’s hand, smashing the tormenting fingers away.

“Man, Jay, you’re so shrieky and giggly. How did you ever train? Is it worse now? Oh my God, wait, does Bruce know? Of course he does, right?” Tim punctuated the last question with a quick pass over Jason’s sides, sending him into a fit of squeaky giggles that made Tim laugh along with him. “And you say I’m bad.” 

“I– I’m –” The rest of Jason’s threat dissolved into a shriek. 

Tim just scoffed. “Gonna what, keep giggling at me? I’m terrified. Where was this in Titan’s Tower? I would’ve been shaking in my boots.” 

Jason tried to growl at him but wasn’t half as intimidating as usual. Grinning helplessly and trying to pull his elbows down to hide his face was counterproductive to the whole concept of an intimidation attempt. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re a walking tickle spot disguised as a vigilante.”  On tickle spot, Tim tasered his fingers into Jason’s upper ribs. The couch creaked as Jason jolted in response, barking out a louder belly laugh. 

“Tim!” 

“Sorry, sorry, antihero, my bad.” Tim went back to Jason’s neck, fluttering his fingers up on either side, making Jason hunch his shoulders up and wriggle around as he cackled. 

“You’re deheh–eagh! DEAD!”  

“Okay, okay.” As much as Tim was reveling in having the upper hand against Jason for the first (and probably only) time in his life, pushing too far would just make Jason recoil afterwards. By not dragging Tim down and knocking him unconscious for this, Jason was showing enough of his crime lord underbelly for Tim to know he had to be careful to not make Jason regret it. This was already, like, three hundred percent more vulnerability than Jason usually allowed. 

So Tim breathed out an obnoxiously loud, put-upon sigh. “I guess I can show mercy this time.” He squeezed Jason’s wrists before letting them go. Jason immediately yanked his arms down and rolled onto his right side, knees facing the couch’s back, and wrapped his arms around his head. 

This was unfamiliar territory. Usually Tim was the one receiving calming back rubs or water after being subjected to a brotherly tickle attack. He wasn’t sure what to do for Jason – and what if he messed up? 

Well, time to worry about that later. Time for action now. 

Tim hesitated for a couple more seconds, then reached out to place his palm firmly in the middle of Jason’s shoulders. Jason immediately leaned into the touch, and the brief anxious knot in Tim’s stomach dissolved again. While Jason’s heavy breathing slowly came down to a normal rhythm, Tim rubbed gentle circles on his back. The bulky muscles relaxed under his touch as Jason’s breaths evened out. 

For a second Tim thought about going to get water for Jason, but remembered that quick flicker in his eyes from earlier, when he thought Tim was leaving. Though Jason wasn’t going to admit it, he seemed like he didn’t want to be alone, and Tim wasn’t sure if ducking out was going to trigger some kind of anxiety or panic attack. 

So instead, Tim poked at the back of Jason’s head until he craned his neck up with a mumbled, “whaazit?” 

“Hey, Jay. Sit up for a second.” 

And Jason must’ve been wiped, because he did. Without protesting. 

Tim promptly sat down in the space where Jason’s head and shoulders had been. When Jason glared at him and started to grumble something, Tim just yanked him back down so his head rested against Tim’s leg. Tim started combing his fingers through Jason’s tangled, matted curls, and Jason made an obligatory mutter of protest before shutting his eyes. 

It took a little maneuvering, but Tim managed to fish his phone out and text Dick for water and another dose of Jason’s pain meds. Within minutes, Dick skidded into the doorway, clearly expecting to see Jason writhing in distress or some related disaster.  The plastic water bottle fell out of his hand when he saw them on the couch. Dick blinked, his face utterly bewildered

“He’s tired,” Tim whispered as he made grabby hands for the water bottle. 

Dick scooped the bottle off the floor and came closer to hand it to Tim, who set it on the coffee table alongside the orange bottle of Percoset. “Everything okay?” he asked, a hint of caution to the question. 

Tim nodded enthusiastically, he couldn’t help feeling a little proud of himself. “He was being really annoying about what I was watching, so I tickled him.” 

Dick’s smile was so wide it nearly split his face. “Aww, Baby Bird, look at you. I’m proud.”  

Jason mumbled something unintelligible and raised his hand just enough to flip Dick off. 

Dick retaliated by jabbing Jason’s exposed side, earning a yelp and a flinch for his troubles. “It’s okay, Little Wing, I’m sure you’re as cute and shrieky as always.”

“He’s so giggly,” Tim said, agreeing. He watched Jason feel around for a couch pillow to drag over his head and hide beneath, growling something that sounded like Shut the fuck up, Replacement. 

Dick just cooed, probably overwhelmed with older brother feelings that Tim didn’t understand but wasn’t going to complain about as long as he got hugs from them. (Not that he’d ever admit that to Dick; The man was enough of an octopus already.) And now, he was giving them both a giant, sappy smile that made Tim feel a little too perceived. Suddenly he saw the appeal of Jason’s pillow shield. 

“He is, isn’t he?” Dick teased. “Especially on his tummy – hey! Just like you, Timmy. Must be the family resemblance kicking in.” 

His face blazing, Tim snatched at Jason’s pillow and frantically yanked on it while Dick laughed, shaking his head. “Hey, Jay, leggo, I want in.” 

“Serves you right,” Jason’s muffled voice rejoined. “You’re a gremlin. A menace. A–” 

“Another very ticklish baby brother,” Dick said, and Tim squeaked when his fingers briefly tasered into either side of his middle ribs. He smacked Dick’s hands away in protest, then successfully yanked the pillow off Jason’s head. He threw it at Dick, who just caught it, shooting Tim a mischievous wink. 

Tim settled back into place and resumed combing his fingers through Jason’s hair. 

“We’re going to watch Buffy,” he told Dick, nodding towards the TV. “If you wanna join.” 

The mention of his deeply-desired TV show got Jason’s attention, and he raised his head again. This time, he turned an intense stare on Dick. “Ya need to go get snacks,” he stated, pronouncing each word carefully. “‘M not limping to the kitchen.” 

“What, and you can’t send Timmy?” Dick jokingly complained as if he wasn’t already backing towards the door to do just that. 

The suggestion made Jason growl and press his head deeper into Tim’s leg. “No. My Timmy.”  

That made Dick grin again. He shook his head, chuckling. “Jay, you’re spaced out as hell.”

Tim giggled as Jason hummed in what sounded like agreement. Dick shot him an affectionate grin, tossing the pillow back at them as he ducked back through the door. 

“You can finish your episode ‘f you want,” Jason said, as if he was offering Tim something of incalculable value. “I s’pose I c’n be generous.” 

“Oh, thanks,” Tim replied, pausing to pat the top of Jason’s head. “I’m good, though, I got my share of vintage entertainment for the day.” 

Jason hummed in response, his eyelids sliding shut again as Tim continued gently tugging his curls free of their snarls. Then, suddenly, they flew open again, blazing teal. “Wait – who the fuck are you callin’ vintage, brat?” 

--------------------

August's Thoughts: DUUUUUUUUUUUUUDE -- 1) i am so sorry it took me so long to post this my dude, and 2) omggggg this is SO GOOD im OBSESSED!!!!! 3) INUNDATE ME (though i know i take 18 years to empty my askbox 😭) I WILL NEVER BE UPSET ABOUT IT

THIS IS SO SWEET!!!! sdjfsdjfh Tim being concerned for Jason's mental and physical health but also Sibling Laws Must Be Respected, as the middle kid of 5 myself, its so real. If I got to the TV first, I am not giving it up lol

and OF COURSE -- If Jason is giving Tim payback for being obnoxious about the TV in times where it was reversed, there's no punishment more fitting than the one Jason always imposed on him!!

The constant attempts to curl up or pill-bug in defense but always being thwarted by his brace are Completely adorable lol, and also diabolical on Tim's part because he no-doubt KNOWS that that's Jason's primary defense and that he can't do it. And the teasing is SO CUTE, Jason going all red and giggly and smiling like he's a kid again... The painkillers are no doubt a contributor in this level of vulnerability but omgggg its adorable and Jason needs more moments where he gets to just be silly and let loose like this and be BROTHERS

and Dick coming in and being all sappy omggg so sweet

AND THEN TIM CALLING HIM VINTAGE SDKJFDSFHJ BETTER LOOK OUT TIMMY i'm sure Jason can absolutely take you even high on painkillers and in a brace from surgery lol

Dude, if/when you feel like submitting the sequel, i will DEVOUR IT GLUTTONOUSLY -- you are such a phenomenal, i am eating this fic several times over, thank you so much for sharing it with us lol

[august-anon]

-Bruce pinning his kids down when they were robin and blowing raspberries on their stomachs and ONLY that, as a way for them to build up “cardio.” Well, that’s the excuse anyways. The kids would kick their legs, push his head (sometimes even accidentally hit, to which sometimes they’d feel so bad Bruce would have to stop and reassure them it’s fine.)Thought when they’re closer, Bruce would just playfully growl “oh you wanna play it like that? Hm, your cardio is good. But how is… your resistance to me eating your tummy?” And then he’s nibbling on their stomach while pinning their arms and the kids go insane

-Dick can’t handle anything on his belly button. There’s a finger wiggling in there? He’s flopping around like a fish spasming. When he (very rarely) makes a too risky choice for himself, something that breaks the usual “oh that is very bad” Bruce meter, his dad liked to pin him and blow raspberries on his belly button until he was a melting, twitchy puddle of giggles.

(Had more but it is very late here I apologise for the eventual typos I’m on browser)

RASPBERRY CARDIO bestie i love it. the kids absolutely die, its too ticklish. and then the nibbling???? alfred learns quickly how to discern between "screams of real torture" and "screams of fatherly tickle torture disguised as training" lol. bruce tells any of his adult kids, offhand, "you need to work on your cardio" and they have war flashbacks (/lh, they had fun too) and instantly go on guard thinking theyre about to get tickled. usually? bruce just means it straight up. but then he picks up on the reactions and he's like "well, it might make them work on their cardio" and starts doing it again lol

and the second one dskjfhdf

baby dick robin, somehow coming out of a wildly risky, life-or-death situation unscathed: didja see that b??? (all proud of himself)

bruce, having just had six heart attacks and running on pure fear-induced adrenaline: oh yeah chum, i sure did see that. come here. let's talk about it.

(girl i didnt even notice any typos even if there were any, you never have to apologize for typos lol. i hope you got some good rest after sending this in the other night!)

[august-anon]

guys me and @inkedloveandlostpromises went feral in the replies of this post earlier, so if you need some more batfam tickle headcanons just check the 25+ replies on this post KJDSHFJKDFH

[hyacinthanon]

Squeakers

a/n: shorter fic! this is one of two fics that will be related to the events of Snuggle Bird. the other one is somehow turning into a dad time help

summary: Kon and Bart take advantage of Dick's presence to ask him about one of his nicknames for Tim, which they learned about in this fic, and Dick's always been a fan of hands-on learning.

lee!Tim Drake // ler!Dick Grayson

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Dick!” Tim snapped as he nearly banged his chin onto the keyboard in his efforts to evade yet another incoming hair ruffle from his oldest brother. “I am working.” 

“Sorry, Robin.” Dick sure didn’t sound sorry. In fact, he sounded like he had one of those mischievous smirks on his face that always foreshadowed some kind of impending shenanigans. “I know you’re working hard.” 

Tim didn’t believe that was going to be the end of it, but he hmphed and tried to get back to his typing. He was in the middle of working out a particularly tricky line of code in the automated file backup system, which had been bugging out for weeks. This was the first chance he’d had to actually sit down and address it, and he had been hoping to do so uninterrupted. 

“Go talk to Kon and Bart,” Tim suggested. “Or Cassie, if she’ll put up with you.” He chewed on his lower lip and tried to trace the chain of stacked functions back to the initial command. 

His chair creaked as Dick rested his elbows against the back and leaned forward to peer over Tim’s shoulder. “What if I wanna spend some time with my baby brother?” 

“You literally see me all the time.” 

“Heartless, Timmy. Heartless.” 

Tim’s mouth twitched but he bit back his grin. “You can watch, but you have to be quiet. Unless you have an idea that could be useful.” 

Dick lightly smacked the back of his head, making Tim snicker, but he stayed put. “Fine.” 

Surprisingly, the work went faster than Tim had anticipated, even with an older-brother-shaped shadow looming over his shoulder. Dick actually even had a few good pointers – he’d clearly done his share of wrangling this system back in the days when he’d spent more time at the Tower. It was easy for Tim to get lost in the flow of his work, so he had no idea how much time had passed until someone tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Hey, Rob.” 

Kon. 

Tim’s yawn made his jaw pop as he craned his head back towards his teammate. “Hey, what’s up?” 

Kon and Bart were standing a couple paces away, clearly having just finished a round of sparring or conditioning. Dick, of course, was still leaning over the chair at an angle that would’ve caused most other people some lumbar discomfort by now. 

“Food,” Bart said like he was repeating himself, drumming his fingers so fast against his thighs that they blurred. “Gotta refuel.” 

“Go ahead,” Tim replied. He jerked his head at the computer screen. “I’m almost done, and I really wanna finish this tonight.”

“You should eat,” Dick unhelpfully added. “I can work on this while you do.”

That was a tempting offer…but if Tim let him finish the work, then he wouldn’t know what finally ended up fixing the problem, kind of like writing most of a murder mystery then handing the manuscript off for another author to write the reveal. Besides, he’d already put in the bulk of the work. Might as well rip the whole bandaid off. 

“I’m close,” he said. “Really, I’ll catch up to you guys soon.”

Dick tapped him on the head. “Sunk cost fallacy, Squeakers. Get up.”

With a shower of electric sparks, Bart was suddenly right there next to Dick. “Why d’ya call him that?”

Tim went completely, utterly still in his chair like a rabbit who’d felt the gaze of a fox. 

“Did Tim never tell you?” Oh, Dick may have seemed innocent to the untrained ear, but Tim knew better. He fought the urge to slide down the chair and fold himself under the desk. 

“We asked,” Kon said, now also taking a couple steps closer. “But he just brushed it off. There’s gotta be a story there, right?” 

“Is it embarrassing?” Bart asked. He didn’t need to sound so damn eager. 

Okay, Tim could salvage this. Weren’t his teammates supposed to be hungry, anyways? He took a steadying breath, then exhaled it in what was supposed to sound like a tired sigh, leaning all the way back to look up at them. 

“It’s for the way I laughed when I was little,” he admitted. And, since that was technically true, he could feel his face heating up.  

“Aaaawwwwwww!” Bart crooned, and Tim bravely restrained himself from hiding his face behind his hands, or tackling his friend to the floor. 

Dick just chuckled and reached down to ruffle his hair again. “That’s part of it, definitely.” 

Tim scowled at him. “Dick–”

“What’s the other part?” Kon asked, mischief glinting in his grin. “What’d Robbie leave out?” 

“Kon-El Kent, shut up,” Tim hissed. Honestly, he got no respect these days. 

Ignoring him, Dick answered, “Oh, see, he left out the part where it’s still the way he laughs –” He paused for a few seconds so Tim could really contemplate crawling under the desk and barricading himself in with the chair legs, since he knew exactly what was coming. 

“ – When you tickle him.”

Kon and Bart responded in perfect unison. “What?” 

“I swear,” Dick said, and the grin he turned on Tim was blindingly fond. “Here, listen.” 

“No – do not –” Tim tried to protest, but it was too late. Dick’s hands had already shot down to his sides and squeezed, kneading in uneven patterns that instantly made Tim try to slam himself against the chair’s back in his efforts to escape. 

“Dihihick!” he whined as strangled snickers tore out of his throat. “Heyheyhehehey!” 

“What the fuck,” Kon breathed. 

“Oh, we’re not even having real fun yet,” Dick said. He switched from digging into Tim’s sides to scattering individual pokes to his stomach. “He has all kinds of laughs, of course, but the squeaks are his cutest. Don’t know how I would’ve survived the tense times between me ‘n’ Batman without ‘em.”  

The unpredictability coupled with the teasing made Tim jerk and shove his hands over his face to hide. 

“It’s like Christmas came early and twice,” Bart muttered, but Tim was sure that he’d see a gleeful grin from the Speedster if he ever came out of his hiding place again.

“For the good squeaks, you gotta tickle his tummy.” Dick demonstrated that point by making claws out of his hands and shaking them into Tim’s stomach on either side of his navel. 

Tim couldn’t help the flood of squeaking laughter even as he felt his face burn redder than a lobster’s shell. As much as he wanted to save face in front of his friends, he was Dick’s little brother, and he soaked up every second he got of Dick’s undivided attention. Even if it came with tickles. 

Okay, especially when it came with tickles. 

It had been their thing back when Tim was small and new to life as a little brother, part of the bedtime routine that added some consistency into Tim’s uprooted world. The memories of those evenings when Dick would grab him up in a giant hug and wiggle his fingers into Tim’s stomach and ribs as he whisked him off to bed were memories of being safesafesafe. Some instinctive part of his brain had decided to hold onto that knowledge, even when Dick decided to do something like tickle him to death in front of his teammates. 

“See?” Dick was saying. “And  when you –” Suddenly, just the pads of Dick’s fingers were scribbling over the soft giggle spots right next to Tim’s bellybutton, and Tim almost lost his mind. The softer tickles were almost worse because they seemed to settle in his skin like a sunburn, quietly driving him crazy. 

“Tickles,” he gasped out, thunking his head against the chair. “You – you’re – it’snotfair!” 

Surely he was imagining the endeared noises from everyone. Surely. 

“Not fair?” asked Dick, teasing him. “What isn’t fair, Timmy? C’mon, I’m giving you your favorite tickles–”

Tim was about to become the first case of spontaneous human combustion. “Dick!”

“What is going on?” 

A blessedly familiar voice rang out from the other side of the room. Cassie. Her arrival gave Tim enough energy to push down the giggles and shout, 

“Cassie, you gotta–yougottahelpme!” 

In retaliation, Dick blew a raspberry on the back of his neck while digging into the twin giggle spots on his stomach and Tim’s breath left him again in peals of squeaky giggles. 

“He’s ticklish,” Bart was saying. “Insanely so.” 

“Hmm.” Cassie’s footsteps scuffed against the metal flooring as she wandered closer. “It sounds like he’s dying.” When she came into view, she wedged herself between Bart and Dick to lean down over Tim. 

He blinked up at her and tried for an innocent grin, even though he couldn’t stop giggling because Dick was still tickling him. 

“Does Spoiler know?” 

“Oh, of course,” Dick said, with an affected tone of offense. “What kind of brother do you take me for?” 

Cassie grinned sideways at him. “Well, for all I know, Tim gets his ticklishness from you, so. Gotta check on these things, y’know?” 

“Hey, now.” One of Dick’s hands vanished and a second later, Cassie let out a startled giggle and abruptly dropped out of sight as she presumably tried to evade whatever Dick was doing. “Don’t think that Donna hasn’t told me all kinds of things about you, Wonder Girl.”

“He is,” Tim gasped out, then shrieked when Dick clawed into his ribs in retaliation.

“Oh, really.” 

Tim was absolutely mentally bookmarking that one for later. He already knew Bart was ticklish, but they’d kept that secret for each other in a kind of mutually-assured-destruction pact. Now, though…now he just had to figure out Kon. In the name of defending himself, of course. Not to get revenge. 

He wrapped both his hands around the wrist of Dick’s remaining hand and tugged weakly on it. His abdominal muscles were starting to ache from how much he’d been laughing.

The tugging was enough to get Dick’s attention back, and the overwhelming affection in his expression did make Tim want to burrow out of sight, even though he couldn’t actually go anywhere. 

“Yeah, Baby Bird?” 

Tim pulled out his trump card and blinked one more time, letting his face relax into a hazy, giggly grin. “Dee, I’m hu–heek!–hungry!” 

For a second, Dick just stared at him. Then he laughed, letting his head tilt back for a second, and brought both his hands to rest on Tim’s shoulders. “You’re getting good at that.”

“Thanks,” Tim said, still working out a few residual titters as his older brother rubbed his shoulders. “I am, though. Hungry.” 

“And you’re coming up now? You’re taking a break?” Kon asked. “Damn. We’ll have to start using this on you more often.” 

Tim blushed and flipped him off, then let out a startled squeak when Dick scooped him out of the chair and plopped his feet down on the ground. 

“You should,” Dick said to Kon, stepping back and pretending to dust his hands off. “It has a hundred percent success rate of enforcing Robin Break Time.” 

Tim groaned, cupping his face in his hands again as Dick ruffled his hair and pulled him into a sideways hug. “Alright, Squeakers, let’s get food.” 

[hyacinthanon]

Soft Underbelly

a/n: this was my emotional-support project to balance out everything else I had to do this week :) inspiration from this anon, who first suggested the possibility of Tim gifting Jason a pillbug plushie. The image of Tim just standing over Jason's bed until Jason feels The Eyes on him and wakes up comes from @august-anon 's fic Know Your Weaknesses. The image made me laugh outloud because it's such a younger sibling thing to do.

summary: one part brotherly payback, one part trust exercise, three parts Tim practicing his teasing on poor unsuspecting Jason who, for some reason, totally isn't fighting back right now.

or: Tim gifts Jason a pillbug plushie for Christmas, then later, thanks to Dick, discovers that Jason's been using it as a pillow when he sleeps. This presents many possible options, and Tim slams the 'select all' button.

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After a particularly memorable incident involving a gigantic Christmas tree, dozens of fragile glass ornaments, and young Jason’s overzealous faith in his own climbing abilities, Christmas Day had been declared neutral ground in any and all brotherly prank scuffles. The rule had held throughout the years. It was one of the few house rules that was consistently respected and enforced. 

And technically, Tim wasn’t breaking it now. Really! He’d gotten Jason several gifts aside from this one, and the note attached to the bag that read this reminded me of you! was true. Just because Jason might perceive it as a prank or some other way of teasing, didn’t mean that was Tim’s intent. Sure, having Jason open it in front of Bruce, Dick, and Alfred – who would all instantly get the joke there – would probably be hilarious, but it was still a sincere gift! 

As Jason used two fingers to lift the garishly red gift bag, Tim had to look away, balling his hands into fists against his legs so he wouldn’t grin and give up the whole game. “From you, Timberlina?”

“Yup,” Tim managed, and he thought he sounded normal enough. Then Dick glanced at him, tilting his head in a silent all good? so maybe Tim wasn’t as subtle as he thought. He couldn’t help it, though, he’d been looking forward to this for weeks. The moment he’d happened to glance at the stuffed animals in a downtown store window, he’d known he had to get this for Jason. It was too perfect. 

Tissue paper rustled as Jason pawed through the bag’s contents. Tim kept his eyes focused on the carpet. It took most of his willpower to hold back the excited energy that made him want to grin and pace back and forth. 

Jason made a confused-sounding noise. “What the hell is this – oh, you little shit. Timothy fucking Drake-Wayne, you fucking did not –” 

At that, Tim finally looked over at him and instantly grinned when he saw the mixture of bafflement and embarrassment making Jason’s mouth twist up like that. Jason was sitting there, red-faced, trying to glare at Tim even though it kind of looked like he wanted to smile instead. In his hands, had a red, oblong stuffed toy that had a banana-like curve to it. 

“Wait,” Dick said suddenly, reaching out and making grabby hands for Jason’s gift. “No way. Is that a red pillbug plushie?” 

“It is,” Tim said, and he let himself laugh as Jason flipped him off. “And it’s not a prank! It’s true, it made me think of him, and his room here’s so boring now that he’s old and took down his posters–”

“Oh, I’ll show you boring, kid,” Jason growled as he lunged off the couch towards Tim’s perch on the coffee table. 

Tim let Jason tackle him into a headlock that came with enough hair ruffling to rattle his teeth. He squirmed and snickered and squeaked when Jason poked at some of his more ticklish ribs, and overall happily settled into the role of little brother who knows he’s being annoying and enjoys it. When Jason was satisfied with his vengeance, he hauled Tim up with him and plodded back over to the couch. 

Instead of going back to his spot on the table, Tim crawled onto the couch next to him and shoved his head under Jason’s arm, snuggling up against him. 

“You’re annoying,” Jason said with absolutely no heat in his voice. 

“You’re a plushie,” Tim retorted. He grinned, and his cheeks ached. It was going to be a great Christmas. 

━━━━━━━━━━

The first time it happened, Tim’s phone nearly vibrated off the nightstand when six texts from Dick came through at once. Ugh. Tim was barely awake, but he swiped his phone open just to be sure nothing horrible had happened.

DeeG: tim!! j’s roomNOW

DeeG: Tim. Tiiiiiiiiim!!! 

DeeG: image.png

DeeG: he’s sleeping w it

DeeG: im DYING

DeeG: timmy wake up u have to come see. 

The photo attachment – Tim squinted and had to hold his phone right up to his face to make out the blurry image without his glasses – oh, it was Jason. 

Jason who’d evidently crashed hard last night because he was sprawled over his comforter, the side of his face smashed into a pillow, one of his legs half-curled up towards his stomach. There was something red in his arms that looked like it was partially wedged under his head. 

Oh, it was the pillbug. 

Funnily enough, with that realization, Tim was much, much more awake. He scrambled out of bed and just barely avoided getting his feet stuck in his sheets, then scurried across the hall to where Dick was standing in Jason’s doorway. 

“Is it real?” he asked, then yawned. 

Dick turned sideways so Tim could see past him. “Sure is, Baby Bird. See for yourself.” 

Just like in the picture, Jason was indeed sleeping with the stuffed pillbug Tim had gifted him for Christmas. He was practically curled up around it. 

Thinking about Jason and sweet in the same sentence didn’t feel entirely natural, even though Tim had had plenty of opportunities to see the softer, mushier side of Jason’s personality bleed through here and there. Maybe it was because Jason was built out like a fridge and an NFL linebacker had a baby that spawned fully-formed. Yeah, that was probably it. 

“Aww,” Tim whispered, leaning against Dick’s arm. 

Dick adjusted his stance to wrap said arm around Tim’s shoulders and pull him into a sideways hug. “Yeah. I got a picture to send to Wally, it’ll put me at least ten points up.” 

Ah, yes. Dick and Wally had been embattled in a contest over who had the cutest little siblings for over a month. The scoring system made absolutely no sense, but they stuck to it fastidiously. All that Tim and Bart had learned was that the instant those two started bickering, the topic would eventually come around to that, and it was best to not be in the room unless they wanted a double-barreled helping of older brother teasing. 

Tim hummed in acknowledgement.

Dick pocketed his phone. “Think we should wake him up?” 

“No!” To make sure Dick understood that this was important, Tim looked up at him with the best wide-eyed, earnest expression he could muster while still waking up. “If he knows you saw, he’ll stop.”

The way Dick’s mouth twitched at the corners was eerily similar to Bruce, but instead of saying anything, he just leaned down to plant a soft kiss on Tim’s forehead. When he leaned back, it was to give Tim the mushiest, sappiest smile in his repertoire, and it was too early for Tim to know what to do with that so he just turned to his long-reliable move of hiding his face in Dick’s shoulder. 

“Alright, Tim, let’s let him sleep.” 

“Yeah,” Tim mumbled. “If you stare at him for too long he senses it and wakes up.”

Dick’s answering chuckle rumbled through his chest. He steered Tim backwards into the hallway, then closed Jason’s door. By then, Tim had shifted away, ready to be perceived again. 

“Is that what all the yelling and squeaking was on Christmas?” 

Or maybe being perceived was a bad idea. The heat spreading up Tim’s cheeks certainly thought so. 

“Maybe,” he said, hedging. On Christmas, he’d originally gone into Jason’s room to wake him up but ended up wondering if Jason could sense eyes on him, even in his sleep. The answer had turned out to be yes, but the price for that knowledge was being dragged down into a headlock and tickled silly.

For once, Dick didn’t press. He just ruffled Tim’s hair and started for the stairs, motioning for Tim to follow. “You’re probably right that he should sleep,” the casual lilt to the words immediately set Tim’s teeth on edge, “but I was going to tickle him. Sleeping with the pillbug is basically an open invitation. Plus I’m heading back to Blud today, so I need another hit for the road.” 

Since Tim was still a little tired and a lot out of it, he didn’t sense the trap. Instead, he just stifled a yawn and asked, “Hit of what?” 

“Little brother giggles, obviously,” Dick replied, shooting him a smirk. He jumped the last six stairs and pivoted midair so he landed facing Tim and spread his arms out like he wanted a hug. “Luckily, you’re right here.” 

Tim couldn’t halt his momentum in time to keep out of reach, so he just yelped when Dick grabbed him in a bear hug and threw him over his shoulder as he marched towards the kitchen. 

“Dick!” he cried, cut off by a wave of uncontrollable giggles when Dick wormed one hand free to dig into his stomach. “He-hehey, it’s too earlyhehe!”  

He could hear the smile in Dick’s voice when his older brother replied with, “Sorry, Timmy, can’t hear you. Could you try not to giggle? Unless you’re super tickly ticklish, I guess – oh, sounds like it.” Dick, evil genius that he was, followed that statement up by spidering his fingers across one of those soft spots next to Tim’s navel that sent him into peal after peal of helpless giggles, no matter how much he kicked and thrashed. 

Oh, Jason was going to owe him big, huge, gigantic for this one. 

“Tim,” Jason growled, but he didn’t seem too intimidating as he jabbed his elbow back to knock Tim’s hand away from his side. 

“Hey, I convinced Dick to let you sleep,” Tim said.  He clumsily patted the top of Jason’s head. “And he got me instead. Ergo, you owe me.” 

Once Dick was safely off to Bludhaven, Tim had gone right back upstairs and threw himself onto Jason’s bed, working off of the rickety logic that since Tim had spared Jason from Dick’s mischief, Jason had to put up with some of Tim’s own shenanigans. 

The bedframe cracked as Jason shifted on his side to smirk at him over his shoulder. “So that’s what all the racket was earlier. I could hear you from up here, giggle brat.”

Heat exploded in Tim’s cheeks as he tried to glare at his dumb older brother. “I took one for team little brother, okay? I’m entitled to some recompense.” 

“You’re entitled to jack-fuckin’-shit, you little – hey.” Jason’s voice carried a warning note as Tim poked him in the side again, but he didn’t actually move to uncurl. 

“Besides, you’ve been all growly and boring lately.” Tim poked him another time, grinning as Jason’s attempt at a growl came out more like a strangled shriek. “You should lighten up a bit.” 

This time, instead of going for Jason’s side, Tim decided to try something he’d caught Bruce doing a couple times – only Bruce, though, never Dick, which made it seem like Dick might not even know… 

Tim prodded into the edge of Jason’s shoulderblade, right next to his armpit, and Jason jerked like a wild horse. 

“Timmy!” 

Oh god, his voice cracked. Tim almost cackled, but restrained himself at the last minute. 

“I’ve only seen B do that,” he said, and he thought he managed to keep most of the laughter out of his voice. “Does Dick even know about this spot?” 

Jason – Jason tightened his grip on the pillbug, pressing his forehead against it with a muffled, “I will end your life.” 

“Nah. I’m your perfect baby brother,” Tim said as he used his thumb and index finger to make a light series of pinches in that spot, right at the top of the crease where Jason was trying to keep his arm clamped to his side. “You don’t want to kill me, you – oh, that bad, huh? In this teeny tiny spot? No wonder Dick has no clue.” 

One of Jason’s legs had spasmed outwards as he started giggling, sounding almost hysterical. “Cu-cuhut it out!” 

“Oh.” Tim pulled out his best impression of Jason’s own sarcastic deadpan. “Oh no. I’m terrified.” 

He switched from pinches to wriggling, vibrating pokes, switching fingers. As that kept Jason in a fit of hiccupy giggles, Tim used his other hand to worm down to Jason’s stomach and dig in. 

“Aww, you’ve got a soft pillbug underbelly.” 

Jason shrieked something unintelligible into the stuffed pillbug. His ears had gone bright red, and he tried to curl up tighter – as if pinning Tim’s hand there would actually stop him. Nice try, Red Hood. 

“Ohh, I see why Dick does this all the time. I think you’re actually, like, adorable? Damn. Surprises every day, I guess.”  

Jason’s shoulders shook as he tried to muffle his laughter in his pillow. It was an unsuccessful effort, but it’s not like Tim had any ground to judge him for it. 

“I’m–I–fuhuck off!” Jason finally managed to get a couple words out around his snickering. 

Tim smirked down at him. The rush of having the upper hand – and yes, he was fully aware that he was being delusional about it, since Jason never let anyone make him do anything he didn’t already want to – gave him some extra confidence, since he was usually on the other side of this particular equation. 

“Why would I do that, Jase? I’m learning so many new things about you.” He used the hand that was currently digging into Jason’s abdominals to skitter up over his side, then reached over to squeeze at his kneecap. 

Jason’s whole body jerked as he snorted, still giggling as Tim kept poking around the edge of his shoulder blade, too. Most of his face was hidden between the stuffed pillbug and his pillows, but what Tim could see of his face and neck were flushed crimson. For a hardened, League-trained vigilante, it was surprisingly easy to make Jason blush if you knew how to get under his skin. 

“Just be glad it’s me, not Dick,” Tim teased, snickering at Jason’s resulting groan. “You know it’d be so much worse for you, right?” 

The next part of his plan required taking advantage of his older brother’s spastic reflexes, so Tim jammed his hand between Jason’s other side and the mattress to prod at that hip. As he’d predicted during his long strategy session (read: blearily eating a bowl of cereal after Dick finished tickling him into a puddle), Jason swore and tried to flip onto his front. That actually made it easier for Tim to lean forward and wrap his arms around Jason’s torso so he could use both hands to tickle his stomach. 

“Shit!” Jason yelped, and he was starting to sound a little hoarse from all the giggling and whining he’d been doing. “You goddamn brat–heyheyhehehey!” 

Tim just grinned and kept pulsing his fingers into the lower part of Jason’s stomach, focusing on the section near his bellybutton that drew some reluctant giggles from his big brother. 

“Do you pillbug to hide this? Or is that what all your kevlar’s really for? Gotta protect the squishy, tickly parts, I guess.” Tim’s face muscles were starting to ache from how much he’d been smiling, but he couldn’t help it. He so so so rarely got to be the one tickling either of his older brothers, and he had to make the most of it. And, sure, he was practically digging his own grave and jumping in feet-first, but it was worth it.

 “Literally no one would take you seriously if they knew how easy it was to make you giggle, like, even though I know you’re gonna kill me for doing this, I physically can’t be intimidated by you right now.” 

Instead of flipping over and tackling Tim off the bed to show him just how intimidated he should be, Jason just kicked one foot out against the mattress with an embarrassed-sounding groan. And more giggles, of course. 

Since this whole thing was still a trust exercise – Jason willingly letting Tim at his softer underbelly…literally and metaphorically…, Tim pushing back but not too far – it shouldn’t go on for too much longer. 

With that thought in mind, Tim stopped tickling. Since Jason was still shaking with residual sniggers, Tim patted his stomach – his brothers usually did that whenever the leftover prickles kept setting Tim off into rounds of wheezy giggles, even after all the actual tickles had stopped. It seemed to help Jason, too. Eventually he heaved out a shuddering sigh and rolled back onto his side, clutching the pillbug plushie close to his chest. All the laughing and hiding had plastered some of his hair to his forehead. Tim smoothed those curls back, then patted his forehead. 

Jason’s nose wrinkled and he rolled his eyes, but smiled the whole time. A faint blush still colored most of his face, but he seemed plenty relaxed as he sighed again. 

Tim took that as his cue to give into his more obnoxious impulses. He let himself fall forward, sprawling across Jason’s form. “Hi.” 

He felt Jason’s laugh rumble through his whole body. “Hey, Timbers.”

“Move your elbow, it’s digging into my skull.”

Jason chuckled again, but obliged, draping his arm across Tim’s back instead. “You come into my room, jump on my bed, attack me, then collapse on me like rebar, and still have demands? Shit, kiddo, you’ve gotta stop hanging out with Dick. He’s a bad influence.” 

Tim snickered. “I’m glad you like Icey.” 

“Who the fuck is Icey?” 

It took some effort, but Tim flailed out one of his hands and smacked the stuffed pillbug. “Icey the Isopod. Oh, that’s the scientific name for pillbu–”

“I know that–”

“Okay, okay. Just wanted to check. You can name him whatever, though.” 

“...his name’s RedPod.”

Any other time or place, Tim would’ve teased him about that, but Jason was already being vulnerable, so… 

“I can make him a matching helmet.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“I know you’re not.” Jason stretched his arms up over his head, groaning a little as something in his shoulders popped, then knocked on Tim’s head. “Alright, up. I’m starving.”

Groaning, mostly for dramatic effect, Tim rolled off of Jason and hauled himself to his feet. “I won’t tell Dick about your shoulder.”

After digging around in a pile of clothes, Jason withdrew a well-worn Wonder Woman t-shirt and tugged it over his head. He snagged Tim with an arm draped over his shoulders on his way out the door, tugging him close and lightly jostling him. 

“Oh, I believe you,” Jason said at last. “You’ll have bigger priorities soon enough, anyways.” He winked as he steered them both towards the kitchen. 

Tim rolled his eyes even as butterflies started wriggling around in his stomach at Jason’s sort-of threat. When one of the muscles near his jaw twinged, he realized he was smiling again and probably looked like a dork. It was going to be a good day.

[hyacinthanon]

have some more ler!dad!bruce and lee!batboys hcs because I am lying in bed waiting to feel sleepy

Each of the boys had their own way of asking for tickles when they were younger. Dick would just sprawl down across Bruce's legs when he'd be sitting on the couch or in his bed and grin up at him, wriggling like a puppy searching for a belly rub. Jason preferred to sit on Bruce's desk when he was in the middle of something or wedge his way between Bruce and the Batcomputer to provoke him. Tim usually teased him about something and managed to pull off a decently innocent smile until it cracked under the weight of incoming mischief. Damian would never admit to asking or wanting, ever, but he'd be extra huffy and snappy and snarky until Bruce dragged him down for a hard mood reset.

Bruce is, of course, aware of all this.

Surprisingly, Damian doesn't tickle Tim that often. When he does, he has a surgically-precise strike that involves pinching Tim's lowest ribs between his thumb and index finger and vibrating them, which has Tim instantly screeching as if he's actually going to die. Damian is very proud of this. That knowledge flusters Tim to no end.

Whenever Jason doth protest too much Bruce hits him with the "oh is that what you're after" while lightly tickling over his back or stomach to make Jason sputter unconvincing protests through his resulting giggles. If Jason's tickled-out enough, he'll just whine and giggle and curl in on himself with his arms over his head. It's Bruce's way of saying "i know you're trying to brat your way into tickles".

Sometimes Dick laughs so hard he snorts but it doesn't happen very often, so the others have a running tally of how many times they've gotten it out of him

Sometimes Bruce will wrap Dick in a backwards hug to pinch up and down the soft spots on his lower ribs while gently teasing him about how he's so bright and full of laughter, because Dick tries to dismiss him but always ends up flustered and snickery

Bruce can and will use his stubble to his advantage for raspberries and om-nom-nomming. Tim is particularly suseptible to this and his higher brain functions dissolve immediately.

Tim often flops down on his brothers for physical contact and sensory reasons. The first time he does it to Bruce gets him tickled silly since it's one of his totally more sophisticated teenager ways of asking for some tickly attention

[august-anon]

i would KILL for some lee!jason ler!dick where jason sees one of the other brothers getting tickled (ideally thatd be lee!tim and ler!dick but anythings fine) and is internally like hhhh god i wish that were me but ofc hes too stubborn to say anything about it. but dick notices and absolutely wrecks his shit <3 i hope thats not Too specific 😭

ANON BLESS YOUR PATIENCE (this prompt is from January 2025 ☠️) And also??? Not too specific at all!! Perfectly specific!!! I hope you enjoy this fic!!

Also, i did a single editing pass of this Weeks ago but its time to just Yeet it ive been hoarding it for too long, so hopefully its not too clunky/overly verbose/mistaken-ridden lol

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Niggling Nostalgia

Fandom: Batfamily (no specific source material/continuity)

Ship(s): Gen!!! Platonic!! Familial!! No batcest here

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jason & Ler!Dick (plus a couple brief instances of Lee!Tim)

Word Count: 7894 words

Summary: Jason is intimately familiar with jealousy, which is why he's certain this horrible, sticky feeling in his chest isn't anything of the sort. Still, he would appreciate it if Dick would leave him alone to bottle it up, instead of ripping it out of his ribcage. The brotherly attention he gets in return might make it a little worth it, though.

[ao3 link]

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Jason shouldn’t have even fucking been there. He should’ve been in one of his safehouses, shoveling shredded cheese into his mouth directly out of the bag after sewing himself up. He didn’t have any injuries that needed the Batcave’s extensive medical equipment, and he sure as hell didn’t need any monitoring.

Of course, no one had believed him when he said that. As per fucking usual.

Bruce had sent the little bird upstairs as soon as his uniform was off, and followed immediately once the Batsuit was off, neither of them showering downstairs or even sparing him a glance after transporting him from the Batmobile to the Medbay. Dickhead, down from Bludhaven for the weekend, took his sweet time, his shower singing echoing out from the locker room and into the Cave proper as Alfred sent him through completely unnecessary X-rays and stitched him up. Alfred was cleaning up by the time Dick practically skipped out of the locker room in an old sweatshirt from his single year at Gotham U and a pair of garish pajama pants.

“How we feeling, Little Wing?”

Jason swatted Dick away as he tried to wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Like I’m ready to go fu— freaking home already.” 

Alfred glanced over his shoulder with a Look. At first, Jason assumed it was from the near-swear, but then Alfred opened his mouth. “I’m afraid you won’t be leaving just yet, lad.”

“Wha—Alfred!”

“We’ll review your symptoms tomorrow, to ensure they haven’t become more severe.”

“So what if my helmet broke? It did its job! You can’t keep me here!”

Dick, having chosen to casually lean against the foot of his bed, snorted. There was no humor in the sound. “Jason, the thing practically shattered while it was still on your head. You have ten stitches on your forehead alone. I’m with Alfie on this one.”

“Thank you, Master Dick. Master Jason, you are quite lucky it is only the concussion and a few stitched wounds. Had your leg been broken as we had worried, you would not be leaving this Manor for the foreseeable future.”

And thank fucking god for that. Being forced to stay up in the Manor for weeks on end? Jason could handle a few hours here and there, finally relenting to invites for family dinners or Sunday brunches within the past few months, but if he was trapped there for days at a time, Jason was sure blood would spill. And certainly not his own.

Jason fumed, but decided it was wiser to stay silent now. A disappointed or testy Alfred could be soul-crushing, and he’d dealt with enough bullshit emotions for one night. Alfred nodded decidedly at his silence.

“Go get some rest, Master Dick. Master Jason, sleep well.”

Jason sighed, long and loud. “Yeah, you too, Alfie.”

Despite the warning tone in Alfred’s instructions, Dick didn’t follow him to the exit. Instead, he decided to push his luck again, approaching the head of the bed. Jason should’ve kicked him when he had the chance, but damn, despite not being broken, his leg sure was fucking sore.

“You doing okay?” He asked, his tone so gentle that Jason could physically feel his hackles raising. “Really?”

“Fucking fine, Dickhead. Get the fuck out of here and let me sleep.”

Dick huffed, an uncomfortable mix of amusement and bitterness that Jason refused to squirm at, and nodded. “Alright, Jay. I’ll let you rest.”

And then, because god forbid the asshole stop playing jovial big brother for even a second, Dick darted in close with a mischievous smile. Jason tried to fight him off, whatever his game was, but somehow Dick managed to dodge around his arms and into his personal bubble. Chapped lips connected with his hairline, carefully away from his stitches and bruising, startling Jason into stillness for a split second. By the time he went to fight again, Dick was already backing out of his space, jogging for the stairs.

“Sweet dreams, Little Wing!”

“Fuck you!”

Dick’s laughter echoed off the stone long after he was gone. Between that and the weirdly gooey feeling in his chest, it took a long time for Jason to finally sleep.

*     *     *     *     *

The next day was no better. Jason woke up feeling like death warmed over; his head pounding, his stitches itching, and every muscle in his body aching from the previous night’s abuse. Bitterly, he wished he could blame the medbay cot for some of it, but Bruce spared no expense on his setup, and the thing was unfortunately pretty comfortable.

Alfred, despite having checked his symptoms upon waking up and tending to his needs since then (god, had he missed Alfred’s cooking. A meal or two a month only satisfied his cravings so much), refused to release him until at least the late afternoon. After a series of complaints, Alfred told Jason he was lucky that he wasn’t being kept for a full 24 hours of observation, and that quickly shut him up.

Still, there was only so much he could do to entertain himself while stuck in the medbay. He did some stretches for his sore muscles, careful of the second set of stitches in his side lest he risk Alfred’s wrath. He snacked on whatever Alfred brought him, even after his hunger was satiated, just to beat back the boredom. He even asked Alfred to bring him down a few book options, and even though they were to his taste, he struggled to read around the headache squeezing at his skull.

Okay, fine. Maybe the concussion was a little beyond mild — but if Jason wasn’t throwing up and seeing stars, he didn’t care. He was fit for the field.

Eventually, Dick and the twerp made their way downstairs. Dick tried to check on him, dragging the mouthy little bird with him, but Jason was quick to chase them out. Just because he was stuck here did not mean he was going to play happy little family. Thankfully they got the message — though not without an eyeroll from Tim and a kicked-puppy pout from Dick — and headed off to the training mats. If Jason eventually wandered out to watch them train, it was just to stretch his legs. Alfred only said he had to stay at the Cave (or Manor, but Jason was still avoiding Bruce as much as possible), not in the medbay itself. He was bored and his legs were stiff – he absolutely was not looking to spend time with those chucklefucks that called themselves his brothers.

While neither of them were going easy on the other, it was clear to Jason that his spar was more play than work. Dancing around each other, hopping out of grasps, taunting and teasing (which, granted, was a trait embedded in any Robin, even in work mode, but still) – they were just toying with each other, winding each other up. And then Dick lunged, quick and graceful as a panther, a move more intent than any Jason had seen so far. Things were livening up. Jason stood a little straighter, ready to see where this would go.

And then Tim started screaming.

Jason started for the mats before he even processed what was happening, every nerve on high alert at the noise. He’d fought the kid on several occasions and never heard that sound. He’d rescued the brat from torture and never heard him scream like that before. What in the fuck had happened for Tim to throw all that stoicism out the window?

A shrill cackle stopped Jason in his tracks. Dick hadn’t even bothered to pin the kid, just wrapped his noodly limbs around him like an octopus as he dug his fingers into every inch of ticklish torso he could reach. Tim was spitting and cursing and writhing through his laughter, and though Jason saw at least three different ways he could escape Dick’s hold, Tim didn’t take any of them. Even being tomato red and wheezing, Jason didn’t think he’d ever seen Tim alight with so much joy. And, honestly? Despite how humiliating it no doubt was, Jason couldn’t exactly blame him. 

A lifetime ago, Jason was the one writhing beneath those hands. He and Dick had a rocky start, and a rough relationship overall, but even Jason couldn’t keep lying to himself that things were all bad. They had their good moments; train-hopping, ice cream hangouts, a meager handful of patrols together. 

And Dick absolutely taking Jason to pieces on those very training mats. Or in the theater room. Or the family room, one of their bedrooms, trapped in the car — really anywhere Dick thought he could get away with it.

Jason hadn’t reached for those memories since he’d gotten back. Everything from before often felt so bitter and tainted, bruised and aching, so he tended to leave well enough alone. He wasn’t that scrawny little kid anymore after all, beaming bright and spouting bullshit about how “Robin is magic!” He’d never be that kid again, so what was the point of dwelling on it? His so-called family already had that handled for him.

Even still, a feeling bubbled up in Jason’s chest. It wasn’t warm and melty, like whatever Dick had left him with last night. It was oozing and sticky and sharp, like an open wound congealed in blood. Jason huffed a sharp breath through his nose and turned tail, settling himself back in the medbay. He roughly snatched up one of the books, flipping it open and trying to focus on it around Tim’s howling. He spent most of the time staring blankly at the first page, fighting off the memories trying to creep up on him. He was so lost in his own head that he almost missed when the laughter finally stopped echoing off the Cave walls. He cursed under his breath, flipped about a quarter of the way through the book, and pretended to be lost in the novel. 

“Good book, Little Wing?”

“Sure,” Jason grumbled, skimming the random page he opened. It seemed vaguely familiar — he must’ve read it when he was a kid.

“Dick and I were gonna raid the secret junk food stash,” Tim piped up. “If you wanna come.”

Alfred totally knew about that, nothing stayed secret from him. Still, it was remarkable that he’d let them pretend for this long. Jason remembered the days where he helped Dick, and even Bruce, stock the stash behind Alfred’s back. But as much as Jason could really go for some chalky Donettes or double-stuf Oreos, that nasty fucking feeling in his chest did not leave him much room for brotherly bonding.

“I’m good,” Jason said, tone snappy. “Alfred’ll be down soon to give me the all-clear. Knock yourselves out.”

“Jay, are you sure?”

“I said, I’m good.”

Dick raised his hands in surrender, backing out of the medbay with a bitter smile and dragging Tim with him. He heard them muttering to each other as they made for the stairs.

“What’s his problem?”

“He’s got a concussion, kiddo. Can’t blame him for being grumpy.”

“I’ve seen him get shot and be less grumpy than that.”

Dick’s sigh followed them out of the Cave, bleeding into Jason’s own sigh as he let the book fall onto the bed next to him. Jesus Christ. What was wrong with him?

*     *     *     *     *

After the concussion incident, Jason turned back to his good friend avoidance. Unfortunately, it was a tactic that could only work for so long. With word of Red Hood’s new penchant for antiheroism spreading, he could only get himself so far these days. Usually, he could fend for himself – he had Bat and League training, after all – but sometimes he had to swallow his pride and call in backup. Hence why he was crouched on an old warehouse catwalk with Nightwing and Robin, of all people.

The up-and-coming drug lord he was after this time was no joke. He was clearly bringing power in from somewhere else, probably an out-of-towner thinking he could make easy moves in such a crime-ridden city. He’d even outright taunted the Red Hood, bragging around the Alley about his impending takeover. Hood would’ve had a bullet through his head weeks ago, but unfortunately, the asshole had the skill to back up his bravado

Hood had only caved when the first bodies showed up, done in by whatever the shithead had laced the drugs with.

The second he got wind of this meeting, he’d reached out to Nightwing for backup. Most stakeouts Hood would handle on his own, whether he was getting help with the case or not, but this time he wasn’t taking any risks. He even bit his tongue on any snide comments when Nightwing showed up with Robin, insisting that three sets of eyes were better than two.

Of course, that only mattered if the fuckers actually showed up.

Three hours in without a sign of movement and Hood was ready to admit he’d been played. Whatever Drug-Fucker was doing that night, he’d wanted Hood out of the way, and he’d gotten more than he’d bargained with half the Bats detained at the same time. Hood wasn’t looking forward to the news that came in tomorrow, haunted by visions of bodies in the streets even as Nightwing and Robin practically dragged him from the warehouse. Still, he made sure his pity party was over by the time they reached a nearby BatBurger.

“I’m getting my fries jokerized,” Robin said as they settled on the roof, trying to decide their order, “and I don’t care what you have to say about it.”

Hood shrugged, unlatching his helmet. “It’s the only decent way to eat them.”

Nightwing looked at both of them like they were insane. 

“You can’t give me that look,” Hood said. “I’ve seen you eat your cereal with orange juice before.”

“I was eighteen! You can’t still hold that against me!”

Robin cocked his head to the side, his domino wrinkling with the furrow in his brow. “What’s wrong with orange juice?”

Hood shook his head. “Not drinking it, little bird. He full-on drenched his Wheatie-O’s in orange juice.”

The kid’s face quickly twisted in horror as he turned back to Nightwing. “That’s disgusting.”

“Okay, one, they were not Wheatie-O’s, those sound disgusting. Two, I was a teenager–”

“So? I’m a teenager now.”

“And you have more Zesti in your body than blood, you don’t count.”

“He’s got you there, kid.”

“Hey, I’m on your side!”

“You’re right. It’s a perfectly respectable amount of Zesti, I’m sure.”

Nightwing flicked Hood on the forehead. “Look– my questionable teenage diet has nothing to do with the fact that you two want fries named after a murderous psychopath–”

Robin tilted his head to the side – not exactly beating back the bird allegations there. “Doesn’t it though? I mean, orange juice cereal soup kind of makes you a psychopath too–”

“That’s it!”

Hood’s chuckling at the ridiculous argument was quickly drowned out by the shrieky giggles of a far-too-ticklish mini-vigilante. Nightwing was a flurry of quick jabs and wiggling fingers, digging into all the less-armored areas of Robin’s uniform he could reach – places that required mobility that didn’t allow for bulk, like knees and elbows and armpits. Robin squirmed like a feral alleycat, almost slipping off the edge of the roof if not for Nightwing’s quick reflexes.

That sick, slimy feeling returned to Jason’s chest, and Jason couldn’t help but poke at it with a metaphorical stick. It certainly wasn’t jealousy — no, he remembered the cloying, bitter tang of jealousy well, and this oozing stickiness didn’t quite fit the bill. Plus, why would he be jealous in the first place? It was pretty fucking funny to watch the newest Robin squirm around and squeak like a ferret shoved into a plastic tub of dry pasta.

… He really needed to tell Dick to stop sending him TikToks.

Whatever the itching in his chest, though, it was fucking obnoxious. Not even the muffled cheeps from the little bird could pull him out of it, as hilarious as watching the kid try to muffle his laughter was. It was a pretty useless endeavor, from what Hood remembered; Nightwing had gotten him like that once or twice, the few times they’d patrolled together before his world exploded (literally). Batman armored up the Robin suit more and more with each model, but there was no stopping the soft spots around joints for mobility — especially for a kid meant to be so flippy. He learned to never underestimate how ticklish knees and armpits and even fucking elbows could be when they were the only things accessible.

“Hood, help!” Robin called out, stupidly reaching an arm in his direction. Nightwing took swift advantage.

Hood scoffed, polishing an invisible smudge off his helmet. “You’re on your own, kid.” 

It came out a lot more sullen than he intended. The play fight paused next to him, an awkward silence filling the space instead. Nightwing cleared his throat.

“I guess I’ll go order for you little rebels. I’ll be right back.”

He flipped off the roof before they could say anything. So much for emotional intelligence. Robin fiddled with his gloves for a moment as Hood finally set aside his helmet, then piped up.

“It’s not your fault.”

Hood’s head snapped toward him. “What?”

“The stakeout. It’s not your fault, he tricked you.”

The back of Hood’s throat itched with the desire to snark back, tell the kid that he didn’t know shit about Hood, to quit making assumptions… But it was the perfect out. Plus, it wasn’t like the kid was totally off base, just tugging at the wrong sulky string.

“Supposed to be better than that — who knows what the asshole was actually up to tonight.”

Robin shrugged. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it sucks and there’s definitely gonna be consequences, but like — even Batman gets tricked sometimes.”

Hood went to rub at his eyes, only to stop short when he made contact with his domino mask. “Kid–”

“Plus, you weren’t the only one who missed it. Nightwing and I looked over the entire case file you sent over – twice – and missed it, too. Even Oracle went over it and didn’t catch it.”

“He’s good.”

“So? We’re better.”

Ah, the classic Robin confidence. Hood remembered it well. “What would you suggest then, smartass?”

He got a classic feral grin in return – almost the spitting image of Nightwing’s when he was in the traffic light colors. 

Alright, maybe Hood would hear the kid out.

*     *     *     *     *

The living room window slid open with a quiet hiss. Jason woke instantly, hand already reaching for the gun tucked underneath his pillows. He tossed off the threadbare sheets, rolling silently to his feet even as he heard the window hiss a second time. He hadn’t heard the intruder land – they were either smart, trained, or both. He lowered his center of gravity and slipped through his bedroom door, readying his gun as he steadied his breath, and–

“Little Wing? I know you’re home!”

Jason instantly lowered the gun, flicking the safety back on, and rose to his full height, just in time for Dick to saunter into view of the hallway.

“Goddammit, Dick. I almost shot you.”

Dick gave him a lopsided grin. “Aww, come on, Jay! You could never shoot me.”

“I literally have.”

Dick just shrugged, turning back to the living room and flopping onto the couch.

“Sure,” Jason scoffed, “make yourself at home.”

“Thanks! I think I will.”

Jason heaved a sigh and set his gun on the counter separating the living room and kitchen. “Seriously, man. What are you doing here? Aside from interrupting my evening nap.”

Dick shrugged again. “I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d stop in.”

“Yeah, cut the shit. No one just happens to be in Crime Alley.”

“Alright, alright, fine. I wanted to hang out with my baby brother, is that so wrong?”

“Well, you’re in the wrong place for that. Timmy-boy should be back at the Manor, shouldn’t he? Or are Mommy and Daddy Dearest back in town? Maybe check the Drake property.”

“He’s with his team, actually.” Dick rolled his eyes. “And I can have more than one baby brother, you know.”

Jason glanced around the room, making a show of peeking into the dark corners of the apartment. “I dunno, man. I’m not seeing any babies here.”

“Jay, come on.”

“You first.”

Dick pursed his lips, crossed his arms. They had a brief stare-off, but Dick relented faster than he expected, slumping into the lumpy old couch with a sigh.

“I wanted to check on you.”

Jason wrinkled his nose, his shoulders raising. “Why?”

“You just – you seemed sort of off last night, at the BatBurger.”

Jason scoffed, slipping into the kitchen proper. Doing something with his hands meant he didn’t have to look at Dick and his manipulative ass. “My stakeout went to shit, what do you want with me?”

Thankfully, Dick stayed on the couch. “You and Tim were joking around before you shut down.”

“Maybe it didn’t hit me right away.”

“And before that? You’ve been avoiding us since your concussion.”

Water. That was something to do with his hands. Jason grabbed a glass from the cupboard and debated for a moment whether he should fill it from the tap. Then again, if he intentionally poisoned himself with shitty Gotham water to escape this conversation, Dick would know immediately that he was right. He sighed, going for the jug in the fridge.

“I’ve been busy.”

“And before that? When you were acting weird?”

Jason turned toward him, looking at him like he was insane. “I had a concussion. What are you trying to get at here, Dick?”

Dick shrugged – god, Jason was getting sick of that – and leaned back into the couch. “You tell me.”

“You’re as paranoid as Bruce is.”

Dick hefted himself up from the couch, making his way toward Jason and leaning on the counter with crossed arms. The kitchen island was the only thing separating them.

“Your shoulders are squared and tensed, like you’re preparing for a blow–”

“Don’t.”

“–You’re trying to look busy, so you don’t have to look at me. You’re putting up literal walls between us, using the physical barriers of the counter and even your glass of water–”

“Dick, seriously. I’m warning you.”

“–You’ve got that tension around your eyes, that scrunch in your eyebrows, that happens when you’re upset about something–” 

“Fucking, stop! Just shut up!”

“Pretend you’re mad all you want, Jay. That look means you’re upset. Not mad, not angry or pissed off or full of fucking rage like you love to pretend you always are. Something’s bothering you – I don’t understand why it has to be like pulling teeth just to get you to admit it! Let alone talk about it, god forbid.”

“Jesus Christ, Dick! Can’t you mind your own business for once in your life? You’re not my keeper!”

“I’m not trying to control you, Jason! I’m just trying to help–”

“By studying me like– like a fucking bug under a microscope? Like one of the fucking Rogues?”

Dick took a deep breath, pushing himself up onto his palms and hanging his head. His hair flopped down around his face. “You’re right. I’m sorry, you’re right. I shouldn’t have… analyzed you like that.”

Jason took a shuddering breath, setting aside his glass and leaning his own palms on the counter.

“I was worried about you. That doesn’t mean I should start treating you like a case. Acting like Bruce.”

Jason was silent for a few moments, their unsteady breathing becoming the only sound filling the apartment. He closed his eyes. “It’s hard to turn off.”

Dick ran a hand through his hair, letting out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, it really is. Let me tell you, man, romantic partners? They really hate it when you pull that.”

Jason huffed. “Duly noted.”

Another stretch of silence. The sound of their breathing, slowing evening out. A thread of sirens blew past on the street below.

“... So?”

Jason slumped over, elbows on the counter as he ground the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. “Fuck, man, I don’t even know.”

Dick stayed silent, doing that obnoxious thing where he let Jason work through it on his own.

“I just, feel weird.”

“Weird how?”

Jason rubbed at his chest. “It’s sticky and oozing and uncomfortable.”

Dick stood up straight. “All the time?”

Jason shook his head.

“When?”

Jason pursed his lips. What was he even supposed to tell Dick? Oh, often when you’re giving the kid attention and not me – but it’s not jealousy, I promise! Yeah, Dick would believe that. Instead he took a page out of Dick’s book. He shrugged.

“Okay.” And Jason had no idea when Dick shifted, but suddenly he was halfway around the island, moving slowly like Jason was some kind of cornered animal. “It happened when you had the concussion and were stuck in the Cave. It happened again last night. Did it happen at all between then?”

Jason shrugged again.

Admittedly, yes, it had. He’d had way too much time to himself during his concussion, too much time to think and lose himself to memories – and it wasn’t like he immediately escaped his own mind once he got back in the field. Sometimes the feeling was caused by memories of Bruce (though those came with the bite of bitterness and anger) or Alfred, but it was mostly from his memories with Dick, few as they were. With the state of Bruce and Dick’s relationship when Jason was a snot-nosed little brat like Tim, Dick hadn’t been around often. They’d had a pretty rocky start, too – though not as rough as his and Tim’s vigilant equivalent of a fistfight behind the Waffle House at 3 a.m. Still, after Dick got his head out of his ass, he’d tried his best. The best an exhausted eighteen year old could after being replaced, and Jason couldn’t help but clutch onto those memories. 

Days where Dick would pick Jason up from school on his motorcycle and they’d go out for ice cream. Weekends when Bruce was on League missions or W.E. trips and Dick would come by and actually stay – movie nights, meals, training, anything they wanted to do (within reason – per Alfred, of course). Patrols, even when Dick and Bruce were barely talking, where Jason got to flit off with his predecessor and truly learn how to be Robin – things Batman couldn’t teach him, things only Dick knew. Goofing around like brothers, tussling and play-arguing and (though Jason would never admit fondness for the memories under pain of death) getting the shit tickled out of him.

There weren’t as many as Jason wished he had. And that was the problem.

“You know,” Dick started, and they’d been silent for so long that Jason almost jumped when he spoke, “this safehouse is pretty shit.”

The comment was such a non-sequiter that Jason actually sputtered a laugh. “It’s not an apartment, Dickhead. It’s a place to shower and crash before diving out and doing it again the next night.”

“I actually still keep some safehouses here in Gotham, just in case. Not Bat ones, my own. They’re pretty cushy.”

“What are you getting at?”

Dick gave him that innocent, puppy-eyed look. “Movie night? Batman-free?”

“And, what, skip patrol?”

Dick patted the counter with his palm before pushing off it and moving towards the door. “Timmy’s plan needs some time to set in motion – not much we can do about your guy tonight. Batman and the Birds of Prey should have the basic crime handled, I think.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You coming?”

Jason glanced around his pitiful safehouse, barely containing the bare essentials.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, palming his phone and following Dick out.

He ducked his head to hide his grin when Dick let out a whoop of victory.

*     *     *     *     *

Alright, fine. Maybe Dick was onto something with Jason’s safehouse being a piece of shit. Full up on greasy takeout with some mindless action movie on the TV, Jason was all but melted into the remarkably non-lumpy couch cushions. He wasn’t necessarily sleepy, but he could feel his eyes drooping with lazy contentment. Through his haze, he could hear Dick let out a quiet huff of a laugh right before a set of toes jabbed into his thigh.

“Someone’s comfortable.”

Jason shoved at Dick’s feet “Fuck off, man,” he said, though there was no heat in his voice. “You’ll ruin it.”

Dick laughed again, twisting his legs away from Jason’s swatting to poke at his legs again. “Come on, you can’t sleep yet! Movie night!”

“I’m not sleeping,” he groaned. “Quit kicking.”

Dick didn’t listen. In fact, he got even worse. Jason’s lax torso shook with the force of the constant prodding, mismatch-socked toes digging into his thigh and ribs and arm. He had fully slumped down the couch to reach, but even as stretched out as he was, he was too nimble for Jason to catch — especially when Jason’s limbs were still weighed down by drowsiness.

Well, two could play at that game — and Jason was taller and bulkier. He had this shit in the bag.

Jason swung his own legs up onto the couch, sitting with his back against the armrest. Dick’s eyes lit up with that mischievous twinkle of his, immediately engaging in this weird leg-war without giving Jason a moment to adjust. He didn’t even know what they were doing — just that he needed to be the one victorious and out-obnoxious Dick. Before too long, it turned into a fight over who could keep their legs on the inside, closest to the back of the couch — coveted for its defensibility. Jason was certain he was going to wake up with shins covered in bruises the next morning, but it didn’t matter. It still couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. Especially not when he finally got his legs tucked up against the back of the couch. 

“Take that, Dickface!” He crowed, and promptly used his new leverage to fully kick Dick off the couch.

“Ow, hey! You’re such a sore winner!”

Jason grinned at him over the edge of the couch, his chest lighting up at the playful scowl on Dick’s face. Somewhere, deep inside where he hadn’t even known he’d locked it away, some small fragment of the boy he’d once been was practically singing with joy. Maybe not every piece of that kid was lost.

“Shut up, you big baby,” he said. “That didn’t even hurt.”

Dick flipped him the bird. “I’ll show you hurt!”

He snatched up Jason by the ankles, yanking and managing to tug Jason about a foot down the couch. Jason yelped and reached up and behind himself to grab at the arm of the couch. When Dick just pulled harder, Jason started trying to kick him off.

“Such a cheater!” Dick said.

“Literally how in the fuck am I even cheating?”

“Come on, let go!”

Jason held on tighter. He tried to pull himself higher back onto the couch, but despite having the upper hand when it came to brute strength, Dick had the better leverage. They just got stuck in some fucked-up game of tug-of-war, Jason being the rope.

Dick suddenly started scratching at the bottom of his socked foot with his fingers. Despite what his initial, instinctive flinch suggested, Jason actually didn’t feel much of the sensation. He was more grateful than ever that he refused Steph’s constant invites to get pedicures with her and Dick (and sometimes Tim, when she forced him) – those were his callouses and dead skin, thank you very much, and they clearly left him well-armored.

“Come on,” Dick whined. “You used to be ticklish here!”

“Tough shit, Dickface. Some of us grow out of that.”

Dick narrowed his eyes and a thrill went down Jason’s spine. Then, like he had fucking telepathy or some shit, Dick grinned. Big and evil and full of big-brother-malice, the likes of which Jason hadn’t seen directed at himself in so many years.

“You’re such a shit liar.”

“I’m a fucking phenomenal liar, thank you very— Dick!”

Dick wasted no time in launching himself back onto the couch, fully on top of Jason, hands aiming for his torso. Jason barely managed to catch him by the wrists, grunting at the impact even as he tried to twist Dick’s arms to the side at a weird enough angle that he’d be forced to follow and fall off the couch. Unfortunately, Dick was made of overcooked noodles and silly string, so he could easily contort his body with Jason’s manipulations. Jason did the next best thing he could think of: he rolled them off the couch, fighting to land on top. If he could get Dick pinned under him, that was it, he would be safe. Hell, he might even be able to get revenge for all the tickle attacks from when he was a kid.

Dick laughed as they fell. “Nice try, Jay!”

They landed on the carpet with a loud thud, probably about to win the award for World’s Worst Upstairs Neighbors, and Jason was instantly confronted with the next fault in his plan.

Noodles and fucking silly string.

As much as Jason scrambled for the upper hand, twisting and shoving and grappling, Dick was too slippery. His years of experience, both in the circus and in the suit, outpaced Jason’s brute strength at every turn. No matter how Jason tried to pin him, Dick managed to slither out of his grip like a greased eel, laughing like a motherfucker all the while. It was almost like he was playing with Jason — which he confirmed when he twisted in some complicated, incomprehensible maneuver and pinned Jason on his stomach, wrists pressed into the carpet on either side of his head.

“Get your fat ass off of me!”

“My ass is a perfectly normal size, thank you very much!”

“Tell that to Twitter!” 

Dick tutted. “You’re only making this worse for yourself, baby brother.”

Jason glared at Dick over his shoulder. “Who are you calling a fucking baby, asshole?” 

“Overcompensating with swearing doesn’t make you not my baby brother, Jay.”

“Fuck you!”

“Alright, alright!” Dick laughed, settling himself more firmly over Jason’s thighs. “I’ll put you out of your misery.”

Jason’s wrists were freed, but before he could do anything about it, there were fingers prodding up under his arms, searching around his upper ribs and the soft spots in his armpits. He yelped, pinning his arms down against his sides in a classically futile defense, and prayed to any deity with their ears open that the Lazarus Pit fixed whatever part of his brain that made him completely useless when he was tickled.

“See! A liar!”

Jason grit his teeth, trying not to smile at the experimental prodding. “Cut it out, Dick!”

“No, no — see, I think you deserve this. You’ve been getting off way too easy since you got back. I mean, when’s the last time I even tickled the absolute snot out of you?”

Jason growled, ducking his head as his struggles continued to try and hide the heat gathering in his cheeks.

“Exactly! And see, I could just go right for your hips, quick and ruthless as the Red Hood himself, but where would the fun in that be?”

A wobbly grin started to form despite Jason’s best efforts. “I’ll make sure your death is slow.”

“So you can spend more time with me? Aww, Jay! That’s so sweet!”

Suddenly, the poking and prodding fingers wrapped around Jason’s upper ribs, some stretching up into his armpit. Then, they started pulsing. Jason’s nerves lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, the sensation shockingly nostalgic and starkly unfamiliar all at once. He wheezed once into the carpet, failing to hold back his laughter anymore, and cracked into low, raspy chuckles.

“Liar.” Dick said again, smug as hell.

Jason didn’t dare try to reply. He could feel the higher-pitched laughter filling his chest, and it was all he could do to keep the noises escaping him low and rough. If he tried to talk, he had no doubt he’d lose his grip on that control. 

Except — Dick’s hands started moving. The pulsing turned into wiggly squeezes as Dick’s hands started making their way down his ribs and sides. A giddy sort of panic filled Jason’s chest. Dick just said going right for his hips was too easy, but was that a fakeout? He started squirming even more, trying to wriggle his way out from under Dick’s weight.

“Ge-get away!” 

Dick laughed. “Why? Do my hands right here—“ he tazed his fingers into the meat of Jason’s sides, just above the hypersensitivity of his hips “—make you nervous?” 

Growling through laughter was a bit of a moot point, Jason quickly found out. It was all wavering and jittery and stuttering. Dick only cooed at him even more, the absolute asshole.

“Don’t worry, baby bro — I’ll save the best for last.”

The hands vanished from his sides, letting Jason gasp in a full breath, before materializing around his nape and ears. Jason squeaked — fucking squeaked, goddamnit — and nearly slammed his forehead against the ground as he flinched away. The fingers gave a particularly devastating scratch at the curves of his neck and shoulders for that.

“Careful!” Dick didn’t even have the decency to sound sorry. “Knocking yourself out just delays the tickles — and then they build up and up and up, and they’ll be even worse when they finally catch you again!”

“That doesn’t—“ dammit, there was the high-pitched, warbling voice, “doesn’t even make any sense!”

He sniggered into the carpet, shaking his head as he tried to dodge the finger tips and nails wreaking havoc on his skin, and if he got rug burn on his face, Dick was going to pay. His shoulders shrugged and shimmied around like some kind of deranged turtle tearing it up on the dance floor, and Jason couldn’t even dedicate the brain cells he needed to be properly embarrassed about that. Every cylinder was too busy firing on it tickles, it tickles, it tickles!! Well, all except the one sneaky little cylinder betraying Jason’s hard-earned image, giddy and happy and full of mushy-little-brother feelings that he didn’t want to touch with a fifteen foot pole.

For a split second, Dick’s fingers jumped down and wiggled at the edges of his shoulderblades before returning to his neck. Jason jolted like he’d been electrocuted, his shriek so ear-piercing that it hurt even his own hearing. Fuck — did that always tickle that bad? Dick cackled above him. 

“Careful, Little Wing! Those shoulders keep dancing and my fingers just might be tempted to join them.”

Oh, fuck no. No way. If that’s just how a quick tickle felt, his entire body lighting up with the sparks of it, there was no way that was happening again. And that was just his back! If Dick got to his hips? It was game over for Jason. His pride (and his vocal cords) would never recover. As much as that small little part of him was having fun, had made it so maybe he wasn’t trying to get away as best as he could, it was time Jason called it quits. He had a reputation to maintain, even if Dick had already shredded half of it to ribbons.

As unbearable as the tickles around his neck and ears were, it was far from being one of Jason’s worst spots. That meant, although he had to fight hard for those dregs of composure, he still had some control over his faculties. All he needed to do was to throw Dick off, and once the tingly tickles stopped, he could whip his metaphorical mask back on and be all surly and pissed and keep Dick from doing it again.

No matter how much this stupid torment felt like coming home.

Slow and trembling, Jason was able to get his arms braced against the floor. Still chuckling endlessly and swallowing back the giggles that wanted to burst forth, Jason counted to three in his head before finally pushing off the ground, his forearms grounded as his torso lifted.

“Oh — thanks, Jason!” Dick’s hands darted into the space between the floor and his body. “I was wondering how I was gonna get in there!”

The second Dick’s fingers touched down on his stomach, pinching and kneading and scratching and really just doing all of the most evil things possible to his nerves, Jason was a goner. The ticklish shock sent Jason right back to the ground, only pressing Dick’s hands deeper into his muscles. Though Jason’s initial squawk was in his usual deep register, the laughter that jumped out of him was nowhere close. It wasn’t giggles, thank fucking god, but the bright, bubbly laughter being forced out of him might’ve been just as bad.

“You— asshole!”

“Aww, listen to you! Did I find a good tickle spot?”

Fuck Dick, he knew that — and he knew rubbing it in only made it worse, too. The urge to curl up in a protective ball was all-consuming, but with Dick pinning him on his stomach, his legs could only scrabble uselessly at the floor as they tried to draw up to his chest. Jason’s arms, at the very least, still had freedom of movement. He glued his elbows to his sides while his forearms tucked up under his chest, his hands curled into fists. That bright, boyish laughter continued to tumble from his lips, and not even shoving his face into the carpet could muffle it.

“You always had the cutest reaction to tummy tickles, huh? I mean, Timmy does too, so you guys are tied now, but still! Maybe it’s just a baby brother thing.”

Dropping Tim’s ticklish secrets wouldn’t save Dick from getting murdered later, but Jason definitely tucked that one into the back of his mind. Well, he tried to. Hoped he did. It was kind of hard to think around the tickles and Dick’s teasing.

“You sound just like you did when you were a kiddie, though! All cute and bubbly and bright – I didn’t even know your voice could go this high anymore.”

Yeah, neither did Jason. “Shut the fuck up!”

Dick chuckled. “Really, Jay? Have you been reduced to nothing but curse words and posturing anger already? We need to get your tolerance back up!”

Oh god, Dick was going to do this again? His chest did that mortifyingly melty, gooey thing again and Jason shoved his face further into the carpet. He’d undoubtedly been pink since Dick had started, had probably blushed darker when his laughter turned all bubbly and borderline fucking sweet, but now? Jason could feel the heat flush down his neck and up into his ears – even the back of his neck burned. Based on the way he cooed above Jason, Dick had definitely noticed.

“Don’t worry – I’ll make sure you get plenty of tickles going forward. We have so many missed tickles to make up for, too! Say, when are you free next?”

“Never!”

Dick blew a sudden raspberry on the back of his neck. Jason squeaked and giggled and hunched his shoulders, drumming his feet against the carpet. 

“Don’t be a brat. I can always just break into your safehouses, Tickle Monster style.”

Motherfucker. Jason hadn’t thought about that in years – not even on his trips during memory lane the past weeks. Sometimes, on Dick’s rare Manor visits, he’d come by without letting anyone know and hide himself away. Usually, it was an area Jason frequented, like the library or den or even kitchen. Hallways weren’t off-limits, either. Hell, he even hid in Bruce’s study once, when the old man had already been downstairs. And then, when Jason would pass through the space, he’d get a surprise tickle attack from none other than Dick Grayson. He’d learned to check the front hall upon arriving home eventually, looking for Dick’s jacket or shoes or keys, but knowing the dumbass was there and avoiding his attacks were two very different things. It had led to some absolutely legendary chases through the Manor, though. Even if Alfred nearly had their hides for it a few times.

“Try it,” Jason hissed, miserably failing to sound as threatening as he wanted to. Laughing like a little kid tended to do that.

“Challenge accepted, JayJay.”

“Stop fucking babying me, you– NO!”

Jason was given absolutely no warning as Dick’s hands shot from his stomach down to his hips. He all but screamed before going limp against the floor, cackling madly. A thumb to the divot of his hip was bad enough, but being pinned face down meant Dick had four whole fingers to dig into the spot. 

“I think we oughta ease you back into the swing of things, huh Lil’ Wing? Figured I’d give you your grand finale now, before you got too tuckered out.”

“Dickie, no no nonono!”

Dick’s weight shifted, but he didn’t lift himself from Jason’s body. His voice was mortifyingly fond and thick when he spoke next. “Wanna know something, baby brother?” He leaned down again, putting his voice right next to Jason’s ear. “I missed spending time and playing around with you, too. You could’ve just asked.”

Jason scrubbed his head against the floor, only giving a fraction of his attention to trying not to rug burn himself. The rest of his mind was all warm fuzzies and ticklish screams.

Dick’s voice turned playful again, though the fondness remained. “I guess this is more fun though, huh?  Good thing you invited me over to do it again and again and again!”

“Dick– Dick, please!”

Jason can’t remember the last time he begged from tickles. Even as a kid, he was stubborn as all hell, but – the fondness, the emotions, the teasing dialing everything up to eleven? It was a lot. Jason’s pride would have to take the hit this time. Thankfully, Dick immediately drew his hands away and reseated himself next to Jason on the floor. Jason curled up his protective little ball, knees tucked up toward his chest and arms wrapped around them. It was more difficult than the last time he’d done it, his new bulk and musculature getting in the way, but he hadn’t lost all of his Robin-hood flexibility.

Dick snorted softly. “You always were a little pillbug.”

“Sh’dd’p.”

Dick chuckled again. His hand landed on Jason’s back, but even palm-flat, Jason instinctively flinched and yipped. Another laugh, and Dick’s hand was removed. Despite the assumption of tickles, Jason had to hold back a whine from the loss of contact.

“Alright, alright, sorry. Too ticklish, I know.”

Dick’s hand reappeared in his hair instead, dragging through the tangled curls, slow and steady. Jason hummed, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Just take some time to recover. Then we’ll get back to the movie, all cuddled up on the couch now that you can’t pretend that you’re a big grump anymore, and you’ll get some good sleep. All snug as a bug in a rug.”

“Not a lil’ kid.”

“I know, Jason. But you’ll always be my little brother.”

And maybe, just for tonight, Jason could be okay with that.

[thatbigbisexual29]

We’ve Had Better Days (Hades)

Ok, so! This is a fic I had written a while ago when I bought the Hades game. I fell in love with it and I loved the parts with Achilles and Zagreus because I loved the story of Patroclus and Achilles. But this is about Achilles and Zagreus when Zag was in his youth. Lots of angst at first but it turns into squishy fluff :) Also I know the Hades tickle community is not many, but imma post this anyways so enjoy my lovelies!

Keep reading

[gigglepuppy-keke]

If you have a ticklish face I'm here to tell you that is the CUTEST THING EVER! What do you mean cheek kisses get you giggly and squirmy?! Feathers swiping your nose can make you squeak?! YOU'RE SO CUTEEE FOR THAT

[beat-lee]

I SECOND THIS 🥺🥺🥺

like what do you mean your nose scrunches up like a little bunny whenever your face gets peppered in kisses?!?!

[turbulentjester]

How dare you make my lee mood worse posting like this its cruel and unfair smh

[turbulentjester]

The idea of younger zanka being so obnoxiously self deprecating that Riyo starts attacking him with tickles every time he insults himself to make him ditch the bad habit. Enjin being delighted to join the cause, and he's a menace. Gris being somewhat sympathetic, but finding it too cute and funny to stop or resist participating in. It happening around others enough that the majority of HQ is in on it.

Just imagining Zanka getting tickled by Arkha because hes being too harsh on himself and like,,, I feel Arkha would be a fucking EVIL ler and give such good paternal tickles to a lot of the cleaners

And the worst part is that it would work. Like, it would get to the point where he gets distracted from spiralling in negative thoughts because what if he gets caught sulking and gets tickled? And then it would remind him of all the positive affirmation and stuff he would prolly get while being tickled and augjfjg yknow?

I'm thinking in a similar vein to like this batfam fic where Dick tries to get Jason to quit smoking. Its,, so good BTW heres a link:

https://www.tumblr.com/august-anon/786075913540583424/fic-submission-nasty-habit-by-moodyanon?source=share

I need to write this at some point but college is a thing and I have like no time 😭😭 but I'll get around to it someday I hope lol

[giggly-squiggily]

WELP WELL WELL

Smells like my favorite time of year >;)

This duck would like to order a candy heart with Lee Zanka and Ler Enjin.

Adore + Me and You please!

I think Mr. Bad attitude deserves a good laugh, don’t ya think?

💞Candy Hearts are OPEN!💞

Welly well well- look who came! I knew I sensed a legend among my prompts! I got you Ducky! In all serious though- GAHHHHHHHH!!! I freaking LOVE Zanka! TwT He is my BABY! This was absolute perfection- I've got you covered!

Adore: "I haven't even touched you yet!" + Me and You: "No way! Since when where you THIS ticklish?"

“Damn runt- that was so disgusting! And he didn’t even- Gah, that son of a-” Zanka was cursing beneath his breath; no doubt about Rudo. It seemed to Enjin he hadn’t let go of the plunger event.

Just recalling how he found them had the older cleaner holding down laughter. Well- that was a strong word…

“Why are you laughing, Enjin-oh my god you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Zanka cried, cheeks pinkening with despair as Enjin threw his head back with a mirthful howl. “Stop, that’s so embarrassing!”

“Ohhoohho my god, cohoohme on Zanka- you gohohot to laugh! It was soohohoho fuuhuhunny-phihihihihifft!” Enjin sputtered as he held his gut, helplessly giggly. Zanka shot him a rude gesture before turning away, ears red. “Oohohoh, what was that? Somehoohohne’s got an ahahattitude today!”

“You would too if you were being made fun of.” Zanka grumbled, jumping away when Enjin fake poked at him. “Nohoho!”

“I haven’t even touched you yet!” The blonde grinned, delighted. “Lighten up, kiddo- it’s not good for you to be this grumpy!”

“No thahahanks- Enjin stahahap!” Zanka backed away with more nervous giggles, holding his hands up as Enjin stood. “Leheheave me allhohohone to be mahahad!”

“No way- not when you’re already giggly! Can’t leave anyone hanging, can I?” Closing in, Enjin made short work of Zanka. He grabbed him by his long sleeves, pulling him into his chest from behind as he spidered his fingers along his ribs. In response, the shorter man let out a loud squeak before doubling over. “Oh my god! Since when were you this ticklish?”

“I dohoohon’t knohohohohw! Eheahhahhaha! AHH! EHhahahahhaaha, Enhehehenjin! EHEHENJIN!” Zanka tried standing up to run, but Enjin was ready. He wrapped one of his long arms around his waist to keep him still, his other hand digging into his armpit. The brunette kicked at the air with a high pitched squeal, squeezing his eyes shut as he laughed. “NOHOHOT FAHHAHIR!”

“Ooo, bad spot found! Better not let Riyo find out!” Enjin teased, the hand holding Zanka’s waist worming into it. He swayed them about as he carried on tickling him, relishing the various laughs and giggles his younger friend seemed to let out. Clearly his armpits were a terrible spot, but the spot where his ribs met his waist was equally sensitive. “Hey, your tummy ticklish?”

“Nohoho it is no-HHAHAHHAHHAT!”

“So it actually is.” Enjin snorted, digging all ten fingers into the sensitive flesh. “Hey, you’re getting abs! How many have you got so far?” He poked randomly at his belly, feeling muscle along the soft bits. “Let’s see…one, two..three…?”

“Eheheheheheehehe! Ehehehehenjihihihihihn! Ehehehenjin pleahahhahahase! Pleahahhse, pleahhahahse, plehehahAHAHHAHAHSE!” Zanka whined, tears lining his lashes as he begged for freedom. Feeling merciful, Enjin let him go.

Zanka stumbled and fell flat to the ground, making the blonde hoot with renowned laughter. “Jeehehheez! Yohohou good?” He cried through his laughter, bending down and offering a hand.

“Hehehehe..hehe, yehahaha..I’m fihihihine.” Zanka groaned, taking it and letting Enjin pull him back to his feet. “Fihihine, complehehetely fine…heh…just- don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Hm? Yeah, sure-” Enjin began, then paused. When Zanka followed his gaze, he found Rudo gaping at them both.

“No way- Zanka’s ticklish?” He cried, jaw to the floor. Mentioned man flushed bright red before gritting his teeth.

“You son of a- COME HERE!” Zanka chased after him, Rudo taking off like his ass was on fire. Enjin guffawed so hard he fell on his ass, holding his forehead with a happy sigh.

It was great to see his kids getting along.

Thanks for reading!