Ticklish Horrors

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

You panted for air as you fled in horror through the labyrinth of the police station. It was supposed to be an easy mission, as Easterman had reassured you in the shuttle; your only task was to reach the security room and free the convicts. You were stealthy on your feet, able to evade the lurking police officer and the other ex-pops that wandered the halls.

What you hadn't expected was another prime asset to assist in the hunt for your life. Why the hell was Gooseberry here?! You had the unfortunate luck of encountering her presence, if the exasperated scream when she caught sight of you was anything to go by, which resulted in the alertness of the cop, who practically sprinted down the hall with hypervigilance.

And now you were here, bolting down the corridor in search of an exit for your freedom.

You heard enraged shouts and heavy footsteps following behind you. This place was like a labyrinth, doors hinged to each wall and leading to other rooms, rooms you definitely had no business being in. Surely you could lose them with just a few left and right turns.

Some rooms were pitch black with a deafening silence, so, careful not to step on any glass as to alert the prime assets, you slowly crouched your way through the rooms and evaded any outside light. The only sound that could be heard was your own beating heart and labored breathing.

You were so caught up in your own stealth that you failed to notice Mother Gooseberry lurching right towards you from behind. The sound of a drill broke you out of your furtiveness, along with a hand that grabbed the back of your bicep. A gasp and a scream ripped out of you, your arm struggling to break free from the woman's strong hold.

Stumbling on your feet, you were dragged out of the dark room and into the hallway, where you saw the officer standing with his hands on his belt, a sinister grin on his face. Gooseberry threw you to the floor and you landed on the cold tile with a grunt, immediately getting on your back and trying to crawl backwards. Fear struck your heart and you felt nauseous as the prime assets crept towards your figure, like two foxes cornering a rabbit.

"Well shit, look at you." Coyle chuckled, inching a hand towards his shock baton.

"There's a good child. Daddy, would you like to operate?"

Your palms grew clammy as you clumsily tried to back away, hands slipping against the tile and rendering you incapacitated. It was like you couldn't move all of a sudden, even though your brain was screaming at you to run. Fight back. Anything.

You stared up at the bloodthirsty killers above you, eyes wide and chest heaving when they closed in on both sides of your small frame. Coyle grabbed your leg and pulled it so you fell on your back, dark aviators staring down at you, with a smirk that verged sadism. Your hands came up in front of you defensively, a feeble attempt at protecting yourself.

"Aww, poor child. Don't worry, it'll all be over in a moment."

Gooseberry leaned over your cowering frame and put a hand on your waist to hold you in place, her other hand replaced with her Doctor Futterman puppet drill inching closer to your face. You squirmed away, feet scuffing the floor for any kind of movement to evade the drill. Gooseberry's hold on your waist tightened, a harsh squeeze delivering a ticklish sensation to your side, which made you shout with a yelp and jerk to the side.

Gooseberry's dark stance faltered and a coy smile replaced her sinister one. She kept the hand on your side, sending it another quick pinch and watching as your reaction showed one short of a squeak and another jerk. Coyle watched the whole thing with a raised eyebrow, glancing between you on the floor and Gooseberry. He narrowed his eyes at her, a frustrated scowl taking over as he spat at her between the cigarette on his lips.

"Why the hell did you stop?!"

Gooseberry gave him a warm smile and a little giggle, looking up at him with a sly, yet also innocent expression.

"It seems to me that the child is ticklish! Tell me officer, wouldn't you like to have some fun first?"

Coyle gaped at her, his cigarette threatening to fall out of his mouth if it opened any more. He was slack jawed at her question, eyeing suspiciously between her and you. You stared back at him, face pale and lips in a thin line.

"What kinda baby shit is that?! Let me just cook the fucker."

"Oh, sir," Gooseberry shook her head disapprovingly, "don't use such foul language around our guest." She looked back at you with a cheery smile, reaching down and giving your side another squeeze. You yelped with an involuntary laugh, hand rushing to cover the spot she had prodded. "See, just listen to that giggle! When was the last time you had any fun around here, officer?"

Coyle kept a hand on his belt buckle and brought the other one up to throw his cigarette on the ground. "I got plenty of fun 'round here. Chasing scum and fryin' em whole."

"Aw, but not like this!" she sang, prodding your other side this time in the endeavor for your laughter.

Coyle grumbled, shaking his head and contemplating for a moment. He peered down at your frame on the ground, debating whether or not his ego would let him do this. You did look scared on the ground, like a prey about to be eaten by its' predator. Ultimately, and reluctantly, he nodded his head with a sigh.

"Alright, but I want this shitbird screaming by the end of it. Don't seem like they talk much."

Mother Gooseberry giggled, nodding her head in agreement, before turning towards you again. "Oh, certainly! Don't look so scared, child. We only want to play!"

You weren't entirely sure what was going on; your mind was hazy just from the fear of being right in front of the two most psychopathic people you know of. This situation seemed so unreal, was this really about to happen? You thought you'd get the drill and the baton, but instead you were about to be tickled?

There wasn't much time given for you to really process your situation, as the two crouched down on either side of you. Your eyes flittered between them both, voice unable to protest as Coyle lifted one of your arms up with a tight grip, keeping it on the ground above your head. Gooseberry used her puppet drill to hold down your other arm, the weight of it (and your pure anxiety) stopping it from moving.

It wasn't until Gooseberry's fingers were back on your side and skittering above your thin shirt did you make noise. Small titters and gasps came out of you, your back arching off the ground at the unexpected sensations.

"W-wahahait! N-noho!"

"Ah, so you can speak." Coyle muttered.

Gooseberry beamed. "Aww, does this tickle?"

She focused her gaze on the officer, who was only holding your arm down while the other stayed dormant on his knee, unsure if he wanted to participate in this odd situation. "Won't you join in on the entertainment, sir? I think they're extra sensitive here."

She brought her hand to your upper side, giving it a strong tweak. You yelped and bucked your hips, a wobbly smile growing on your face. Feet kicked out on the floor as your arms pulled against the hands that held them down. Gooseberry giggled, delightfully, turning her head back to Coyle.

"See! Just look at the child squirm. We might need to restrict these little legs here though..."

Coyle chucked with a small shake of his head. "No, let them writhe. They ain't gonna get away."

You watched as Coyle inched his hand towards the spot Gooseberry prodded and your squirming increased, back shuffling away from his creeping hand. You didn't make it an inch though, as Gooseberry stopped you with a tut and poked your side. You involuntarily jerked back into Coyle, whose hand landed on your side and provided it with yet another squeeze.

He seemed content with your shout and spew of airy giggles, just the tiniest line of a smile up turned on his face. He seemed yet to be convinced this was something other than childish and embarrassing. But he supposes childish behavior would be found with this strange woman nearby.

Gooseberry continued with the spidering on your other side, gliding her blunt nails over your shirt and towards the center of your stomach. You sucked in a breath, trying to evade her fingers, but it was fruitless. Higher pitched giggles poured out of you, legs kicking out to find friction on the tile.

"Oh, you sweet child." Gooseberry praised, "tickle, tickle, tickle!"

Coyle scoffed at her ridiculous teasing, finding all of this to be just completely absurd. He rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, unbeknownst to Gooseberry, who was thriving with glee in reducing you to a pile of giggles, and you, who had your eyes shut tight with a wavering smile.

"Fuckin' ridiculous I tell you."

"Don't worry, officer. We'll have them begging eventually!"

Coyle grumbled something you couldn't pick up over the sound of your own giggles. They spiked again when Gooseberry skimmed her fingers over your navel and dipped a finger in, making your stomach vibrate with a fluttery sensation.

You threw your head back at the intense feeling, back arching and falling back down against the cold floor.

Gooseberry's eyes widened at your reaction, the giddy smile never leaving her face. "Ooh! A giggle button!"

She swirled her finger around before digging it in further, relishing in the way you squealed and scrunched up your nose, feet kicking out at the air.

Coyle appeared to gain an interest in your loud reactions to Gooseberry's single finger, so he snaked a hand towards your hip and gave it a harsh squeeze. Your eyes shot open, hips bucking in the air with a yelp, as you pulled on your arms at the sudden feeling shooting through your nerves.

"Well," he smirked, "I suppose I can oblige just a bit."

You shook your head, bringing your eyes up to plead with him. "Noho! P-plehehease!"

He smirked back down at you, eyes glinting with a sudden mischievousness that you couldn't see. Another pinch to your hip had you bucking out against his hand again with a cry short of a cackle. He snickered, giving your restrained wrist a squeeze before taking on a mock-sympathetic frown.

"Oh, what are you gonna do? Call the police?

Mother Gooseberry giggled at his tease. "There's the enthusiasm!"

Now at the same time, Gooseberry and Coyle littered their fingers over your torso. The woman crawled her fingers viciously slow over your stomach, making it tremble from the soft touch. Coyle kept his hand on your hip, throwing random squeezes to it and making your voice teeter on giggles and full on laughter.

"Aww, who's a ticklish little plaything?" Gooseberry sang.

"Ahaha-nohoho!"

A pink hue of blush dusted over your cheeks, which didn't go unnoticed by the two as Gooseberry cooed at your reddened face.

"Look at them blushing! What a pretty little face!"

Your giggles only increased at her teasing. While this was definitely an unusual punishment, you supposed it was better than death. But her teases were going to kill you, if she kept flustering you like this.

Gooseberry's fingers crawled up to your ribs, earning her a high pitched squeal and a scrunched up nose. She wiggled her fingers all over, ranging from slow and gentle to rough and dangerously ticklish. You arched your back again with a whine when she dug into your lower ribs.

A surprised gasp emitted from her. "Oh! Is someone a little extra sensitive here?"

Coyle chuckled at your whine, a shit-eating smirk plastered on his face. He redirected his hand from your hip to your other side of ribs, digging his fingers in just like the woman did, observing your reactions.

With the two of them indulging in your ribs, you let out a shriek and threw your head back, mouth wide with uncontrollable laughter. Your restricted hands splayed out and contracted, trying to grab at the floor or, god, anything to hold onto.

"Easy there, sweetness. You gonna get yerself hurt."

"NAHAnoho! Oho GOHOD!"

"Awful spot, huh? That's too damn bad."

Gooseberry snickered. "Yehes, that is too bad. But those laughs!"

You shook your head, unable to get anything out other than cries of laughter as they tore you apart with just their fingers. Gooseberry moved her hand back to your middle, wiggling her nails in such a deliberately gentle way it made your stomach quiver and shake.

Coyle kept his hand on your ribs, shaking all five of his fingers into the center of them and causing another scream to rip from your throat. He stared at your scrunched and blushing face, sniggering at the screams that emitted from you.

"God almighty. Noisy little thing."

The two of them kept on with their tickling in their respected spots, very clearly driving you up the wall. Gooseberry soft touches and extremely flustering teases had permitted you with a giddy smile, while Coyle's rough fingers and sadistic smirk made your stomach churn with anticipation.

You were rigid with your movements, the two opposite feelings causing you to kick and buck and grab at nothing, all while your throat was running dry with squeals and cackles and yelps.

Coyle suddenly changed his tactics, bringing his hand further and placing it on your underarm. The absolute screech you let out caused the two prime assets to stop dead in their tracks. Gooseberry had concern laced in her features, while Coyle just stared down at you with wicked glee.

"Officer, did you hurt the child?! What did I say about fun first?"

Coyle let out an ugly cackle, shaking his head and peering up at the woman. "Nah, but they 'bout to be screaming like I did."

You whined at that, glancing between the two of them frantically with an askew smile. Coyle suddenly shifted his position, lifting his knee up and replacing it with the hand that kept your arm restrained. The weight of his knee on your arm sustained it in place, and you looked up at him with wide eyes, quivering lips silent at your new predicament.

"Oho, you a little shy now, ain't ya?"

It was like a rush of giggles broke through the dam you had built up; they flowed out of you as Coyle's now two hands crept towards your exposed underarms. You pulled on your arms, fighting with the little strength you had left for any opportunity to break free. They were just too strong though.

"Hey! Why do you get to use two hands? That's not very fair." Gooseberry cried.

Coyle paused his descent to look up at her, furrowing his brows with an annoyed expression. "Get creative, lady."

You had no time to prepare as Coyle's fingers landed in both of your underarms, ten fingers digging in and relishing in the way your back arched and your mouth opened with a cry and roar of boisterous laughter. Your howls didn't deter Coyle this time though; he snickered and pressed into your skin further.

"F-FUHUCK! PLEHEHEASE!"

Gooseberry gasped, narrowing her eyes towards you with a tut. "Language child!"

"FUCK OHOHOFF! AH! GOHOHOD DAMMIT!"

Your head was thrown back in ticklish agony, so you failed to notice the scowl that appeared on Gooseberry's face, her demeanor suddenly changing at your foul words.

"That is no way to talk to Mother."

Her hand found your hip, pinching the bone with a sudden and new intensity that you hadn't felt from her before. You instantly regretted your choice of words as the combined feeling of Coyle's digs and her pinches sent shocks of electrifying and ticklish and god awful sensations through your entire body. You hadn't felt Coyle's baton before, but it was sure to rival with this.

"Ooh, you gonna pay for that mouth." Coyle snickered.

Even Coyle seemed taken aback by her shift in attitude, sparing a glance in her direction and wondering if he should tread warily around her now.

He was quickly brought back by your scream though, as you kicked out and slammed your feet on the tile, the force of it echoing throughout the thin walls of the station. His cold-blooded smirk reestablished on his face, aviators staring at your laughter-drunk appearance.

"Mother is gonna have to teach you manners!"

The two of them continued with their torture until you were within reach of silent hysterics. Tears threatened to spill over your eyes and your squirming was coming to a near halt, the rigidness getting slower by the second.

It wasn't until your voice was silent and you were spitting out gasps did they finally, albeit reluctantly, stop. The two of them stood up, towering over your shaky figure on the tile. You curled in on yourself and shifted to lay on your side, chest heaving for air with small giggles filtering out past your lips.

Coyle smirked with a chuckle. "Now we can get to the real fun." He reached for the baton on his belt.

Gooseberry, who seemed to calm down from her earlier rage, put a hand out in front of him. "Aw, but just look at the poor child. Shouldn't we give them a rest first?"

Coyle's brow twitched, dark sunglasses staring at her before leering down at you. You looked up at the two of them with a panicked expression, anxiously biting on your lower lip.

He gave a few moments hesitation before ultimately sighing with a grumble. He held his head up proudly and lingered his gaze on your fearful expression, the tiny smirk coming back on his face.

"Fine. They'll come crawling back. No one ever really loses a taste for the glove."

Gooseberry giggled. "Mother will see you again my little lamb!"

The prime assets grinned, turning on their heels to go do god knows what, and left you on the floor. You eventually caught your breath and recovered some of your strength, getting off the tile with weak and shaky knees.

Unsure of whether to continue your search for the security room, you waited until you heard them go back in the insertion gates before making a move.

"Ooh, what's a pretty thing like yerself doin' in here?"

A thick, southern drawl sounded from the man, and as you stepped closer, you recognized him as Leland Coyle, the corrupt officer the other employees at Sinyala Facility had warned you of. He dressed in a midnight blue police jacket and khaki pants, wearing a military crush cap and dark aviators that hid his eyes. You noticed the burn scars that started from half of his face and down his neck.

He didn't intimidate you though, not in the slightest. You'd heard of his past; all the murders and violence and pain he'd caused. But here, in this facility, he was to be used as a toy in the trials. Nothing but a puppet, his strings being pulled by Easterman. And here, right now, strapped limb from limb to this table, you knew he could cause no chaos. So, you strode towards him, standing tall with a folder in your arms.

"Leland Coyle," you started, voice unnerved, "I'm here to perform a simple examination on you, a small check up for wounds or other injuries from your transportation here. It won't take but just a few minutes."

The man smirked with a growly chuckle, the smell of smoke emanating from his breath, making your nose burn. "Aw, you jus' couldn't resist getting yer hands on me, huh?"

You said nothing as you turned towards the small, metal cart next to him, placing the folder on top of it. You noticed a black box that resembled a car battery, blue and yellow wires tangled within each other and protruding from the back of the box. Did this belong to him? Sitting next to it was a larger item, a long baton with metal prongs at the end of them. You weren't entirely sure what it did, but you decided it was best to just leave it out of the picture.

Turning back to him, you stepped forward until you were about a foot in front of his figure. You eyed his frame, catching sight of the same blue and yellow wires wrapped around his torso and arm. Ah, so it was his. What the hell does a car battery do for him? You shook yourself out of your thoughts and looked up into his sunglasses.

"Alright, I'll begin the exam now. If anything hurts, I need you to tell me."

Coyle grinned, not taking his eyes off you as your arms inched towards his shoulders, hands landing on his leather jacket and gently patting down his arms. You remained expressionless as you examined his arms for any tears or lacerations through his clothing, but you eyed him warily as you noticed his dark glasses always stayed gazing at you. You narrowed your eyes at him for a quick second before looking back down at his torso.

A filthy smirk overtook his grin, and he angled his head to the side.

"C'mon, sweetness, what's yer name?"

You remained silent, not even giving him the satisfaction of a glance as you nodded to yourself and turned to the folder, opening it up and writing a couple words down. "No injuries to either of your arms. I'm going to examine your chest now. Please remain still."

"Mmh, you go wherever you want, honey. I ain't complaining."

Inwardly, you rolled your eyes at his incessant and ribald comments. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Paying it no more than a second thought, you centered your hands to the zipper of his jacket, gently pulling it down and opening it to reveal a dirty white button up and a halfway undone red tie.

"Ooh, careful now." His southern accent lingered with a teasing tone.

You kept your lips in a thin line as you moved his jacket out of the way, bringing your hands up to lightly touch near his collarbones. Feeling no tenderness or abrasions, you slowly shifted your hands down towards his chest. Gently prodding at his muscles, Coyle uttered a snicker.

"Ya like what you feel?"

You scoffed at that, not sparing him a look.

"Please remain quiet, too."

He let out a deep laugh, tilting his head back against the table and staring up at the tiled ceiling. You continued with your prodding, hands feeling down the center of his stomach. You pressed down on his abdomen, hard enough to feel for aches, but careful enough to not cause them. You glanced at Coyle's expression, examining for any looks of pain, but all you saw was a shit-eating smirk. Taking it as a sign, you moved towards his sides, giving them a small prod.

Coyle's body tensed under your fingers and the smallest hitch of a breath caught in his throat. Thankfully, your sense were sharp enough to notice it. You stilled your hands and surveyed his face with curiosity.

"Did that cause any pain?"

Coyle breathed in, playing it off as just a twitch with a sickening grin.

"You can keep feelin' me up, sweetness."

You shook your head, an annoyed expression overtaking your concerned one. Focusing back on his frame, you lightened the touch on his sides just barely, prodding once more. This had the opposite effect of what you thought it would, as he twitched again and choked on a cough, so with a huff, you glanced back at him.

"Sir, I need to know if there are any injuries on you."

You noticed Coyle didn't meet your gaze as he spoke, instead turning his head off to the side and speaking in a rather sheepish manner. "Nothin' hurts, just sensitive is all."

"Sensitive how? Does it ache?"

"Not exactly..." he trailed off, the smallest of a redness showing on his face. He quickly redirected his manner though, that stupid smirk playing on his lips.

You stared at him for a moment, lifting an eyebrow at his vagueness, before the realization hit you. It tickled him. You said nothing as you peered back at his sides, a tiny smirk of your own replacing your confused expression. You knew this was supposed to be a quick procedure, no longer than five minutes, but perhaps you could show some unprofessionalism for a bit.

Without speaking, you pretended like you were moving on to a new region to exam, but once you saw the smallest breath of relief roll off his chest, you struck your at his sides again, giving them both a harsh squeeze.

A choked laugh ripped from his throat and he jerked, hands struggling against the straps that held them down. His head snapped towards you, his eyes staring daggers into you through his aviators.

"WHAT in the he-hell was that?!"

"Coyle, sir, it's very crucial that you stay as still as possible."

You prodded his sides again with the same amount of force, lips curling up into a bigger grin as you watched his face twist into a crooked smile. He barked out another laugh, but his expression quickly became very angry, his fists banging against the metal.

"Juhust what the f-fuck do ya think yer' doing?"

You made no move to hide your amused expression, keeping your hands latched on his torso. "I'm performing the examination, sir. Please keep the foul language to a minimum."

"Oho, you fuhuckin'- HA!"

Another squeeze higher up on his sides made him buck his hips against the leather straps at his waist, deep voice raising an octave with a laughter-mixed shout. He stared down at you with furrowed eyebrows, a growl seething through his teeth, but not without the wobbly grin. You paid him no mind, narrowing your own eyebrows in mock concern, giving a small hum. "It seems like this area here needs to be looked at further. Let me know how it feels."

"YOU MOTHERFU-"

Any further profanities were drowned out by the sound of rough laughter and the clanking of metal, the tasers on his upper sides producing heavy cackles and pulling at restraints. Your quick fingers gave him no break, squeezing up and down in a way that was absolutely unbearable for the officer.

"Ohh, I'm sorry, sir," you began, amusement clear as day in your tone, "does this tickle?"

He snarled through his teeth, shaking his head against the table, his hands balled up into tight fists. "N-NO! God dammit-"

"You're telling me it doesn't tickle here?" You prodded at his lower sides, fingers curling towards the round of his back. Another buck of his hips and an ugly cackle betrayed his words. You stared up and into his glasses, giving him an expectant look.

"YOHOU JUST WAIT TIL' IM OUTTA HERE!"

A cocky smile crept to your lips and you pinched at him again. "I'm not sure you're in the position to be throwing threats towards me." Another pinch. Coyle's body shook, half with laughter and half with frustration, an embarrassment that could practically be seen glowing from the redness on his face.

You paused your pinching to turn to your folder again, picking up the pen and speaking aloud as you wrote. "Subject shows extreme sensitivity to the left and right upper quadrant." Coyle growled at your words, chest heaving up and down. You turned back to look at him with a small, innocent smile before writing down some more. "Further examination needs to be brought to the lower quadrants."

Coyle chuckled, disbelief and cockiness intermixed with a dirty grin. "Ohoho, I just knew ya wanted yer' hands on me."

You sighed, sitting down the pen and stepping in front of him once more. "Cops just never learn, I guess."

Coyle titled his head and furrowed his brows in confusion, wondering what the hell you meant by that. Before he could retort with another snarky comment, your hands landed on his hips. He tensed up, head leaning against the cold metal and hands turning white from the ball he had them in.

"Don't you fuckin' dare."

"Aww, is the big, bad officer too ticklish?"

He banged his fists against the table, the sound echoing through the room.

"Shut yer' fuckin- MOUTHAHA!"

Without a word, you launched a rough squeeze to his hips, smirking and having to contain a laugh from the cry that sounded from his lips. He bucked his hips repeatedly, the straps giving him little room to squirm around. They slammed back into the table, your hands following and giving another squeeze.

His reactions were very amusing. How could someone as evil as him be so sensitive? Another cackle was followed with a suck of the air through gritted teeth. You peeked up at him, seeing that hue of red slowly making its way down his neck and onto his ears. Shooting him a grin, you switched tactics and slowly walked your nails around his hips.

Coyle's breath hitched and out came a spew of giggles, which made you quite surprised. He kicked his feet out, or as much as he could, and shook his head with an askew smile.

"Sohon of a bihihitch! Fuhuhuckin' enough!"

"Aww, just listen to those giggles."

Your fingers trailed in circles in his hips and up to his sides again, then traced onto the middle of his stomach. He tittered, trying to seal his giggles and small noises of sensitivity. His nose scrunched up and he stared at the wall, too embarrassed to look you in the eyes.

"Ihih'm gonna fuhucking KIHILL YOU!"

You laughed in his face, sparing him a mock pitiful glance with a sly grin. "Hmm, that's not very nice. Did you forget you're the one strapped to a table?" You gave a quick scribble to his stomach. You felt him suck in with an added giggle, driving you to spider your fingers over his abdomen further.

"I think we need to do a further inspection, sir. I need to physically see there's no bruises or cuts on your torso."

Coyle could hear the devilish grin on your face with the teasing tone you spoke in. Slowly, you untucked his button up shirt from his pants and lifted it up, revealing his somewhat toned muscles and happy trail. He shivered when the air hit his skin, quickly growling and shaking his fists.

"WHA- YOU CAN'T DO THAT! You just can't!"

"Actually," you started, lightly skimming your nails on his warm middle. He twitched, sucking in another breath and playing a tiny giggle off as a cough. "I legally am allowed to give a further examination if deemed necessary. And by all your squriming," you poked his side, "I think it's highly required."

Another growl, another threat. "Get yer' filthy hands oHOFF ME!"

Another scribble.

Maybe his evil, sick, and twisted demeaner had finally crashed down by the boyish giggles that sounded from his throat. You let out a tiny giggle yourself, excuse your improperness, and trailed your fingers maddeningly slow all around his stomach.

"Hmm," you quipped, "I don't see any scratches or grazes so far."

"Hah-How the fuhuck is this, aha, required?!"

"Well, sir," you dug your fingers in fast, no longer than a second, making him yelp and arch his back, "it seems to me this region is making you squeal, so proper testing is due before I conclude your examination"

Coyle coughed, angrily barking out at you. "Squeal?! I'm gonna make you fucking squeal, sweetness!"

You gave him an innocent smile that contradicted your guilty fingers, which were back to gliding over his twitching skin. You inched your way down his stomach, fingers grazing the hair in the lower middle of his abdomen. The lower you got, the higher his giggles increased in pitch. You stopped your fingers when you hit a particularly sensitive spot right above his pant line, making him gasp. You looked up at him with mock concern.

"Ah, is it sensitive right here? I think I need to check."

Coyle shook his head, aviators staring down and into your mischievous eyes. Oh, if he could just get his hands on you. Coyle's restrained hands reached out for you, making you puff out a short laugh at his failure.

"You don't need to c-check shit!"

"Oh, but it would be very unprofessional of me if I didn't."

With just one finger, you drifted it teasingly unhurried on his lower stomach, making his skin quiver underneath the delicate touch. His airy giggles came back, resonating through the area between you two. Back and forth, you continued your slow pace that drove him up the wall with giggly madness.

"Fuhuhuck yohou, quihihit that!"

"I'm sorry, Coyle, but it's not my fault you're so ticklish. This is an ongoing examination still."

His giggles rose in speed, along with the warmth on his face from your teases. The trembling of his stomach only increased when you added another finger into the mix, slow and deliberate tracing making a bead of sweat roll down his chest. You kept up with this until you figured it was time to find another spot. You eyed his torso curiously before glancing up at him.

"Do your ribs hurt?"

Coyle jerked and reached out to grab at you again, a snarl pouring from his mouth. You took this as a sign he was exceedingly sensitive there, so of course, as a professional, you had to check there.

You prodded at his lower ribs, earning a sharp hyena-like laugh and a twitch. You grinned, giving another well placed prod. "Ah, I thought so. Let's make sure nothing is broken."

"NOHO! FUHUCK- fuhuhucking hell!"

Your hands found both sets of his ribs, thumbs wrapping around the center of them and fingers poised at his back. Wasting no time, you dug your fingers in, giving them a small shake to really make Coyle yell. He arched his back again with another cackle, slamming it back down onto the table. He shook tremendously in the straps. You were honestly surprised he hadn't broken out of them.

"YOU P-PIECE OHOHOF SHIHIHIT!"

"Now, now," you tutted, giving a disapproving shake of your head, "that's no way to speak to a professional."

"THIHIHIS IS-AH! THIS IS ASSAULT OF AHAN OFFICEHER!"

You chuckled, bringing a hand up to tweak at his uppermost rib. "Oh please, you are far from an officer now."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his hand was trying to reach for the baton on the small side table. Ah, that must also be his. You stopped your prodding and glanced between his sunglasses and the weapon that lied dormant on the metal cart.

"What exactly does that do?"

He greedily sucked in deep breaths of air, chest rising and falling in swift motions. With a coughed-out chuckle, he shook his head.

"Yer' gonna find out soon enough if ya don't fuckin' stop."

You stared at the baton, wondering if it was worth the risk of potentially losing your job. You glanced up towards the camera in the corner of the room. You knew Easterman was watching the whole situation unfold. Figuring he would've already sent someone in to stop you if this whole thing was unethical, you picked up the baton.

"HEY!" Coyle barked, "you put that down immediately!"

Paying him no attention, you inspected the weapon and saw a dial at the end of the stick. Curiosity getting the best of you, you turned the dial up, resulting in blue sparks lighting up the metal prongs. Coyle stared daggers into the back of your head, growling deeply at the sight of you messing with what was his toy.

You shot a look towards him before staring back at the baton. He noticed your curious face and the way you eyed him, so he shook his head and spoke in a low, menacing tone.

"Don't you even fucking think about it."

"I wonder," you uttered, turning the dial to the lowest setting, noticing how the sparks shrunk smaller and less intense, "how the body would react to a quick spark?"

Coyle grimaced, tilting his head down at you intimidatingly. "You get me outta this and I'll show ya myself."

You chuckled, turning your body back towards him with the weapon crackling in your hand. "Nice try, sir."

Without a moments hesitation, you drew the baton near his left side. Before the sparks even hit his skin, Coyle started thrashing around, whole body rattling against the restraints. His yell bounced off the walls of the small room.

"FUCKER! I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD-"

Any further words were shut down by the absolute scream that rushed out of him, followed by intense and boisterous laughter as you lightly pressed the prongs against his bare skin. The electricity sent powerful shocks through his side, spreading throughout his torso and heightening his nerves. Coyle's entire body thrashed, back arching and hips bucking out. He threw his head back against the metal, mouth shaped in a wide and open smile. His skin burned with mirth and embarrassment, a bit of sweat dripping from underneath his cap.

"Ooh," you teased, switching the baton to his other side, "such a bad reaction. I can't imagine how much it tickles."

Coyle's laughter went silent, hands extending out and contracting with each shake of his shoulders. A sharp intake of breath and he howled again before wheezing out laughs. You took great joy in reducing him to nothing but a convulsing heap of laughter; giving the officer what he deserves, albeit a bit childishly. You smirked up at him, cockily staring into the depths of his dark sunglasses, wondering if he was even looking at you in his mirth.

"You better hope I'm not the one to give you an examination next time."

"FUHUHUCK YOHOHOU! AGH!"

He screeched when he suddenly felt the baton right above his navel, lightly pressing down and lighting up his nerves even more. Instantly, he was driven to silent laughter, uncontrollably shaking from the intensity of how much it fucking tickled. You kept it there, relishing in the way you were breaking him.

"I think that's enough now, Doctor."

Easterman's voice rang out from the overhead speakers. While you could hear the amusement in his voice, you knew he meant it. You supposed they needed him alive still. So, reluctantly, you lifted the baton off his bare stomach and turned it off, gently sitting back on the cart.

Coyle coughed out in wheezes, small puffs of laughs still lingering and forcing themselves out of his throat. His sweat-glistening chest heaved up and down, grateful for the termination. While allowing him to regain his breath, you wrote down a few more notes. You turned back to him when he drawled out in a deep voice.

"You got a lotta nerve doin' what you just did. Jus' wait until we meet again."

You gave him a sympathetic smile, reaching out to give his side a small poke. "Aw, you'll be in this same position when I see you again."

He jerked, puffing out an aggravated laugh. "Oho, no, sweetness, I'll find ya and pay you back tenfold."

You patted his chest with a chuckle. "I'm going to conclude this examination now, sir. I believe you're well enough to go."

You brought his button up back down and loosely tucked it into his pants, making sure to take a few more swipes at his stomach to make him squirm. You grabbed the sides of his leather jacket and zipped it up neatly. Through his glasses, he stared at you with a dark and looming aura, a menacing smirk on his face.

"You go on, honey. I'll get ya into my hands one way or 'nother real soon."

"That's a lot of threatening from someone so ticklish." You grinned and picked up the folder, shooting him a look of amusement and watching the grimace twist up on his face. You turned your back to him and made your way towards the door, hearing him mumble under his breath and giving it no thought.

Simon sat at the dining table, resting his head in his hands, patiently waiting for whatever was so important for Rowan to have him see. Rowan was always so vague when it came to his plans, and the gang had learned to just trust, no matter how vague or strange they may be. Simon had a sneaking suspicion it was about the day before, with changing his nerves around for some playful mischeif.

Rowan came back with an armful of dishes, stacked like how waiters would balance hot dishes on their arms with precision and poise as he made his way down to the dining table. A feast of food for the two of them. It included delectable dishes like angel hair spaghetti with creamy vodka sauce with a side of chicken thighs, and a bottle of sparkling white wine for the main course. Rowan set down a freshly baked raspberry pie over a trivet before taking off his gloves.

Simon scoffed. Leave it to Rowan to always go out of his way to make something extravagant. "What's all this?'

Rowan smiled, setting down two plates, forks, knives, fabric napkins, and two glasses of ice water. "It's dinner."

Simon rolled his eyes, "I see that smart ass. What's the dinner for exactly?" How dare Rowan just treat him to something like this and expect it to be casual?!

Rowan chuckled at Simon's suspicion as he brought out a shaker of parmesean cheese to the center of the table, along with a salt and pepper grinder. "Can't a guy make dinner for a companion in appreciation. After all, it was around this time when you joined us for our adventures. Isn't that worth celebrating?"

Simon narrowed his eyes in deeper suspicion, something wasn't right, but he couldn't quite place it. Then again, Rowan did have a nack for going above and beyond with his homemade gifts. He would never forget the time during Christmas where he gifted him a whole set of homemade tea cups, or that other time he went out of his way to fix his favorite mug through the art of kintsugi. The jester leaned back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest. "Is this about yesterday? You're salty aren't you? The big bad Rowan, taken down from a few feather's over his ears~"

Rowan gazed over Simon's smug grin, twitching a pointed ear in annoyance as he kept his small, polite smile, sitting down on his side of the table and pour them a glass of sparkling wine. "Do you really think I'm that immature to hold a grudge over something like that? You've done plenty worse to me, Raen, and especially Chel. I had already had this dinner planned for a few weeks. Just because this is happening after that, does not mean you have any reason for concern, Simon." Whille that was mostly true, yesterday did give him an idea of adding something to the dinner.

Simon's gazed softened, just a little, but he was still suspicious of the red-headed fairy. While they couldn't lie, he had a feeling he wasn't getting everything. However, he had no real reason to doubt Rowan. He leaned over the table, smelling the aroma of the food he made, "So, what's in it?"

"Just a homemade recipe made from scratch with a few secret ingredients Shea taught me when I was younger." Rowan hummed as he twirled his fork around the pasta and brought it to his mouth. Rowan always enjoyed making things from scratch: the pasta, the flour to make the pasta, growing the wheat in order to make the flour, etc.

Simon grinned as he leaned in with interest, gazing between Rowan and the food, "Aw, is the secret ingredient love~?" He flirted watching Rowan's reaction.

Rowan chuckled as he took a bite of the food he made, showing there was nothing wrong with it, "Something like that."

The two dined together, sharing stories and chatting about their adventures and what the future held for them and how they were getting along with the others. Whenever one would finish a plate, they'd both get up for more from the pot that held the food and it would start all over.

Simon leaned back in his chair comfortably, dapping the napkin to his lips, making sure not to smear his make-up as Rowan sat across from him with a look in his eye with interest. Simon's stomach was comfortable as he gazed over at the untouched pie calling his name.

"Why don't we hold off the pie for now until we're a little more comfortable. Don't wanna get too full until we can't move." Rowan chuckled, standing up to clear off the table and tend to the dishes.

"Oh fine, I guess." Simon pouted playfully. He was about to stand up until he started to feel something else in his stomach, a flutter. Now, Simon knew the familiar feeling of fluttering love in his stomach, and this wasn't it. His ears started feeling the same fluttery feeling and his feet started to tingle. "Hey Row boat?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you do?" Simon glared up at him as Rowan came back over leaning against the wall with that same, patient smile as before.

Rowan shrugged, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You pOISONED ME!" Simon growled as he stood up, about to fight the ginger before the fluttery tingles turned to prickles all over his body. Simon realized that the prickles were starting to feel very... tickly. Shit.

"Oh?" Rowan stepped over, watching Simon stumble and begin to lose his balance. "I suppose you never needed a leap potion before since you usually float around."

"L-lhehehehap potion?" Simon sputtered out a giggle as he held his stomach, the buzzing all over his body was becoming harder to ignore as his body naturally reacted to it. "Why the hell would you need a leap potion in spaghetti?!"

"Well, when Raen and I were younger, Shea always used a leap potion in the sauce so that we got familiar with falling, so that transitioning to flying when we got our wings was a lot easier, eventually it just became a staple." Rowan rambled on with his story, his smile turning into a grin. "And I wanted to use the highest ingredients for you, so I stopped by the market dimension for one made out of the best material you could make a leap potion for, angel feathers!"

Simon's eyes widened, that's why Rowan was so confident to eat from the same pot, cause it was a leap potion! The demon snarled, or at least attempted to through his giggles as he fell to the ground, curling up into a ball to block out the growing tingling sensation all around him. It felt like millions of feathers were stuffed and swirling around under his clothes. "YOhuhuhuh ahahahss! Thihihihs is about yesterday!"

Rowan hummed as he stood over Simon, leaning over his chair. "Who knew a leap potion could be so ticklish for you?" Rowan knew that angel feathers were very affective against demons, especially ticklish ones. He watched with a grin at Simon writhing and kicking his feet as the ticklish feeling waved over his soles. "By now those fluttery little feathers must be aiming for those ribs of yours, my friend."

Simon threw his head back in laughter as the tingling feeling spread over his ribs, scratching lightly enough to make him howl. Feathers swirled around his ears and neck, scratching his underarms and ribs, quills writing essays over his stomach and pinches to his thighs, and feathers sawed between his pinky toes. He was in absolute ticklish hell, ironic for his predicament right now.

"IHIHIH'M GOHOHOHING TO KIHIHIHLL YOHHUHUHUH!"

Rowan crouched over, monitoring over him to make sure he doesn't hurt himself from flopping around. "No you won't. Just a little more and it'll all be over, like it never happened. I made sure I got one that only lasts for 10 minutes. Im not a complete cruel monster."'

Simon cackled as he grabbed Rowan and clung to him, laughing his heart out. Over the course of a few minutes after the peak ticklishness, the feeling began to go away. Starting from the top of his head to down to his pinky toes, relief washed over until Simon was giggling residually.

A hand ran through his hair affectionately as Simon looked up to find Rowan smiling down at him, a much more sympathetic one as he picked him up. "How are you doing, Si?"

Simon panted as he leaned into Rowan's chest, greedily taking in air like there was none left in the world. "That was awful, you dick." He listened to Rowan's soft chuckle rumble through his chest and mumbled with a smile, "Never knew you had it in you, goody-two-shoes"

Rowan kept playing with his hair as Simon recovered, carrying him over to a couch to relax. "Well, I may have had some inspiration. Really, it was a last minute addition, believe it or not."

Simon chuckled, "I'm surprised you came up with that so quickly, wonder what else I haven't learned about you yet, Row boat~" Simon flirted as Rowan came over with two plates of raspberry pie. Simon raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

Rowan laughed as he sat down next to Simon, "Don't worry, no leap potion in here. I figured you'd like some dessert after that ordeal."

"I appreciate it," Simon took his plate and bit into the pie, sighing happily at the rewarding flavors on his tongue. "Damn, how'd you get so good at food?"

Rowan chuckled as he also took a bite, "Mom taught Raen and I a lot about food. She was always open with our interests, so if I wanted to make a pie, she taught us how to make the crust, helping if we needed it instead of hovering over us about every detail. She allowed us to make mistakes, which in the end, made it more fun and a reason for us to try again."

"Wouldn't it just be easier to just, magic it into existence? Don't you and Raen also know a spell to just 'Poof! Food!'?"

Rowan shrugged, "if we absolutely have to, yes. But there is just something so...nice about taking the time and attention to make something yourself, especially out of scratch."

"You're telling me! This pie is awesome!"

Rowan laughed, throwing his head back with a toothy grin, "Would you say it's heavenly?"

Small wheels with rows of spikes rolled up and down his sides, accompanied by a third at his back, following the curve of his spine. Prickly little metal claws skittered like spiders across his belly, with one dedicated pair scratching relentlessly under his arms. None of it was sharp enough to hurt, intended instead to electrify the nerves. The onslaught was maddeningly ticklish, and Charles might’ve screeched if he hadn’t been gagged.

The layer of metal over Charles’ mouth was the only piece Magneto held personally. The throne itself was automated, though he could still feel the pieces in motion. Charming as Charles’ helpless grin might’ve been, his muffled mirth was currently more appealing. The silver complemented his eyes as well, desperate and teary when they weren’t squeezed shut.

“Is there something you’d like to say?” Magneto taunted when Charles whined for his attention. “Are the claws and wheels too much to bear? I suppose you’re due for a reprieve.” He waved his hand, and the throne withdrew its implements from Charles’ body. His flustered foe sagged with relief… until the next toolset emerged.

An array of brushes poised to scrub and spin, all awaiting a single command. Charles whimpered before he could stop himself. A shiver wracked his vulnerable frame.

“Perhaps you’ll enjoy this more,” Magneto suggested, utterly shameless. He reached out to lift Charles’ chin, meeting his fearful, imploring gaze. “You’ll get your chance to beg for mercy once I believe you’ve been suitably humbled.“

And if Magneto chose not to grant mercy even then… Well, Charles was simply reaping what he’d sown.

Were you always such a sadist?

The thought resonated from somewhere beyond. The scene itself began to blur, details gradually clouding over.

I expected theatrics, but why a throne specifically?

The question didn’t wait for an answer. Magnus could only drift along as the fantasy faded away.

—

Still Asteroid M, but an older iteration, back when he’d aimed for diplomacy. A haven for mutants away from humans, until it was undermined from within. Though Charles inevitably had his doubts, Magnus had instantly welcomed him aboard, hoping that a private tour would be enough to change the telepath’s mind.

The moment had migrated to his bedroom, and naturally, he wasn’t alone in bed. While he hadn’t the chance to steal the real Charles away, he occasionally reimagined that time. Leaning sideways on one arm, he slipped into the scenario with ease.

“There’s no need to be stubborn, Charles. Surely even you can be persuaded.”

This version of Charles laughed openly, the sound landing somewhere between glee and hysteria. Shaking his head in disbelief, he tried once again to roll off the bed. Magnus, however, had arranged him with care, the pillows around him a comforting trap. The one beneath his head completed the illusion, concealing the metal around his forearms.

It was a self-indulgent sight, as was the change to Charles’ attire. While not as revealing as Magnus’ open robe, the loungewear he’d provided was noticeably loose. The sleeves and neckline were a bit too wide. Charles had raised a brow at the choice.

Then Magnus had slipped a feather duster down the armhole, and Charles promptly lost the ability to judge.

“I suggest you reconsider.” A twin duster twirled down the opposite side.

“Must you always disagree with me?” A blush brush swept along his neck.

“Have I not proven myself an accommodating host?” A paintbrush dipped into his navel.

The softness compounded into a torrent of ticklishness, each metallic handle moving with meticulous intent.

“P-Plehehease!”

“Really, Charles? Pleading already?“ Beside him, Magnus stretched out like a cat, unhurried by his frantic giggles. “And what precisely are you pleading for?” Tickling could be a torment or pleasure. Its present purpose was two-fold. “Do you want me to stop… or convince you to stay?”

Charles blushed but didn’t clarify, and Magnus suspected he didn’t truly know. His mind was always at odds with his heart. It was as infuriating as it was endearing. That, too, was part of the fantasy… choosing for Charles, and finally keeping him.

Well, aren’t you sweet? A thoughtful pause. Though I suppose it’s the same for me.

And then that moment, too, melted back into his mind.

—

With one hand braced against each armrest, Magneto loomed over the Professor. Half-bent to bridge the gap in their heights, he leaned his weight on the latter’s wheelchair. Eye-to-eye with the Master of Magnetism, Xavier wore his most even expression… until he smiled, tilting forward just enough to steal a kiss.

Internally, Charles sensed Magnus’ desire to move closer… to cradle Charles’ head and deepen their kiss. Externally, however, Magnus held his position, shifting nothing beyond his face.

“This is… strange,” he admitted when they parted.

“But not unpleasant?” Charles gathered from his mind. Physically, Magnus couldn’t shake his head, though Charles still felt the attempt. “Good. Now, regarding this evening’s plans… I’ve decided to take inspiration from you.”

Magnus parsed their mental link for meaning, eyes growing wide as understanding dawned.

“When did you-“ he began, but the knowledge was present in their connection. “I project that strongly in my sleep?”

“Only on occasion,“ Charles clarified. “I try not to look too much, but these dreams were… especially vivid.” Magnus flushed, as expected, which made his next question all the more surprising.

“Did you feel it?”

Charles faltered, hesitating a beat too long. “No more than echoes,” he insisted once he managed to right himself.

Magnus suddenly recalled the odd morning he’d awoken to find Charles tensed in his arms. He opened his mouth to remark on it-

Then shut it when hands landed on his hips.

Magnus’ body didn’t tense. Not even when Charles began to squeeze. He just stood there, perfectly relaxed, as thumbs kneaded into the dips. It was uncanny… the way his muscles simply ignored what he was feeling. The dissonance worsened the ticklishness, and almost instantly, he was laughing.

“Enough distraction,” Charles announced. “Returning to my original point… You dreamed up quite the assortment of tools. I’d like to borrow a few.” Magnus barely heard the words before Charles’ fingers zipped up his sides. The touch itself was negligible… the overlaid sensation of spikes less so.

“Wha- No!” Magnus jolted within as tingles continued to roll across his nerves. Charles had already withdrawn his hands, folding them together in his lap. The physical gesture had been purely for show. The tickling persisted at Charles’ behest.

“The Wartenberg wheel is such a devilish instrument… I’ll be kind and spare you the gag, at least.”

Charles’ next move was certainly not kind. Magnus was inclined to call it bullying. Blatantly telegraphing the movement, Charles hovered a hand over Magnus’ stomach. The spidering touch that followed tickled… but not nearly as much as the mimicry of claws. They scribbled all over and even through him in a manner real metal could never replicate.

Magnus would’ve crumpled if he’d been allowed. Instead, he stayed standing for Charles’ viewing pleasure. The former villain could only cackle as his ex-nemesis tucked his hair back from his face.

“You really do have the loveliest smile,” Charles said, as if he weren’t eroding Magnus’ sanity. Then in a move surely meant to kill him, Charles traced light spirals under both his arms.

What happened next just didn’t seem fair. After all, Magnus’ dream had ended prematurely. Yes, he’d threatened another round, but it hadn’t actually come to fruition. Charles must have disagreed, though, much to Magnus’ personal misfortune. The projection of brushes spinning into his hollows had him making sounds he’d never made before.

They spun and spun and spun without end, alongside the mirage of claws and wheels. Magnus’ body should’ve shook with the force of it all, yet while his senses screamed, his muscles noticed nothing. The lack of tension was unnatural, like a missing dam against the flood of feeling. It tickled with a depth he hadn’t known possible. It tickled in a way only Charles could inflict.

‘Can’tMoveItTicklesNotRealEvenWorse,’ had been the gist of Magnus’ thoughts since the very first touch. Coherent communication had fallen off the table early, prompting Charles to monitor the mood more closely. As soon as he caught a thread of ‘NotThereTooMuch,’ the telepath dropped everything, then guided Magnus to his knees. For a full minute, Magnus laid in Charles’ lap, recovering his breath and a semblance of composure.

‘So powerful, but so softhearted,’ Charles eventually heard, assuaging his concerns. Magnus’ cheek was still pressed against his thigh, but it didn’t stop the man from being bold in his mind.

“Excuse me for erring on the side of caution when you lose your capacity to think.”

‘Your personal wellbeing was the least of my concerns in that same dream,’ Magnus challenged.

Charles could’ve rolled his eyes. Instead, he accepted the obvious bait. “Fine. On the floor.” The order was telepathic. Magnus obeyed immediately. It soon became clear that Charles was posing him, laying him down with his legs half-spread. His knees were bent, feet flat on the floor, while he propped himself up on his elbows.

Magnus found most of his control returned, though he couldn’t change the position of his legs. He suspected he was being held there for display. Charles’ gaze upon him was intent.

“Are you done puppeteering me?” Magnus finally managed with his real voice. “I’m not a toy, Xavier.”

Charles put on his most pleasant smile.

“Puppeteering? Yes. As for toying…” He intentionally let the sentence to trail off. “Now, regarding your other dream, I’d like to take a slightly different approach.”

“Different how?” Magnus dared to ask when Charles paused for dramatic effect. That was when the feathers cascaded downwards, concentrated on his lower body.

“NAHAHAH!” He fell back against the carpet, laughing wildly as he tried to scoot away. His legs trembled helplessly in place as an all-consuming softness seemed to embrace them. Real feathers missed spots, but the projected feathers didn’t miss a single inch around his thighs. Not even the creases were safe, as lines of fluff seemed to floss straight through them.

“I couldn’t possibly neglect the area,” Charles commented over his frenzied hysterics. It was a well established weakness of his… along with his heightened sensitivity to feathers. Charles exploited this knowledge further as the tickling crept even lower. Behind his knees… over his calves… until their inevitable destination.

It was like his boots were suddenly made of feathers, as countless teased at the soles of his feet. It was like each toe was wrapped in fluff, looping around the stems, gliding through the gaps. Trying to curl them was entirely futile, as no amount of clenching could relieve such tickling. Magnus fought to get away from the feeling… though it wouldn’t have stopped even outside the room.

“Is it better or worse than the brushes?” Charles asked as if he didn’t already know. “Personally, I would’ve found the brushes most torturous,” he offered as if it were an afterthought. The admission would likely bring consequences later, but for the time being, Magnus was at his mercy. “You know, I could make this go on forever. Perception of time is in the mind, after all.”

Laid back on the floor with his hair fanned out, Magnus was an alluring sight. The tears in his eyes and heat in his cheeks perfectly complemented his quivering grin. While he mentally scrambled to convey anything beyond a mantra of ‘TicklesCharlesPlease,’ he’d physically accepted defeat, resigned to laughing himself silly.

To Charles, Magnus’ fantasies made perfect sense, as he undeniably had his own. However, not a single one could compare to the reality of having Magnus right there with him. To possess him fully, willingly, eagerly… Charles had dreamt of it often.

— LAST WEEK —

One poke was all it’d taken. One well-aimed jab at his gut, lower than Robert had expected. If only Flambae had made it hurt, Robert could’ve moved on with a quick wince. Instead, he’d startled with a gasp, immediately piquing the other's interest.

“What was that?”

“Just a bruise,” Robert answered immediately. But Flambae must’ve caught the lie in his voice, stepping closer, unconvinced.

“Why so nervous?” His gaze was intent. “Hiding something again, Bob-Bob? I thought you were done keeping secrets from us.”

“And I think you’ve gotten paranoid.”

Nonchalantly, Robert bent down to retrieve his twinkies from the vending machine. Then, as if the snack cakes could shield him, he held them very subtly in front of his stomach. Flambae’s eyes flicked from the twinkies back to Robert, amused by the frankly pitiful defense. To Robert’s relief, though, he seemed to let it go, redirecting his attention towards the fridge.

“Fine, be like that,” Flambae said as he reached for the tupperware emblazoned with his name. “But this isn’t over, Robert Robertson.”

The tongue-in-cheek delivery didn’t undercut the menace.

—

For once, Flambae managed to be patient, allowing Robert to work himself up. The dispatcher instinctively stiffened whenever Flambae stepped too close. Ironically, Robert seemed more on edge now than he’d ever been about the threat of burns, and though Flambae’s lingering hatred was more act than fact, how could he not relish in the power?

Of course, a few Z-Teamers noticed. Coupé observed, while Malevola and Prism bet. The latter would’ve interrogated Flambae personally, had it not meant instant disqualification. Flambae himself acted as if nothing was amiss, which unbalanced Robert more than anything. Robert could almost believe he’d forgotten, if it weren’t for his persistent smirk.

It was a wordless taunt, and Robert should’ve ignored it… yet his nerves kept reacting before his mind. It was ridiculous. He was a seasoned hero who’d already kicked Flambae’s ass. He handled pain like an everyday nuisance. He'd literally been tortured that same year.

Tickling, though?

He had no tolerance.

Flambae was going to destroy him.

———

“Not so tough without the armor and attitude, are you?" Flambae's hand roamed beneath Robert's gym hoodie. "What, no witty comeback? Don't leave me hanging, Robbo. How is Mecha Man going to win this time?"

The questions were all mocking, of course, since Robert clearly couldn't answer. He could barely breathe with how hard he was giggling, while Flambae was only just getting started. His left hand skittered across Robert's bare belly, nimble like an evil, tickly spider. Robert yearned to curl up like a shrimp, but there was no breaking the super's grip.

Flambae drilled under Robert's ribcage next, earning a delightfully embarrassing squeal. “Oh? Maybe it’s time for a rebrand. Have you ever considered Mecha Mouse?”

Normally, Robert would’ve sighed, but Flambae left him no choice but to laugh. With just one hand, he took Robert apart, clawing at his ribs, scratching under each arm. Robert jolted extra violently when Flambae suddenly squeezed his hip. Amidst all the writhing, his pants had managed to slip down lower on one side.

"Shit! Nonono- DoHOHON'T!" Robert cackled as Flambae massaged the spot with his thumb. Just when he thought Flambae might get bold, though, the superhero managed to surprise him.

"Do you giggle your way through sex, too?" Flambae mused, unfiltered as always. "How is anyone supposed to hold onto you, if your hips make you wiggle like a worm?" While he said this, Flambae casually pulled Robert's pants all the way back up. It was an oddly considerate gesture for someone actively humiliating him.

The mercy didn't last, however, as Flambae returned to Robert's stomach. By then, he'd explored enough to know it was the most ticklish part of Robert's torso. "Remember when I said I'd punch you once a month, until you weren't such a bitch to me? Even better idea," Flambae declared. "I'll just do this when my hatred builds up."

With that, he hiked Robert's hoodie up, then swooped down to deal the killing blow. Robert screeched, arching and bucking, as a raspberry shot vibrations through his belly. Flambae's facial hair made it even worse, scrubbing relentlessly at his skin.

And then Flambae blew another, and another, and another, until finally-

"FLA- I CAHAH- I CAHAHAN'T-! PLEASE!"

Robert gasped for air as Flambae pulled back, nerves still trembling with ticklish aftershocks. He could tell Flambae was evaluating him… and probably drinking in his embarrassment.

"Aww, too much tickling for your poor, Normie body? You look ready to burst into flames." Flambae touched his hand to Robert's burning cheek, warmer than his own heightened temperature. "You're not crying for real, are you?" he asked, uncertain as he caught a rolling tear.

"Just mourning my dignity," Robert replied, still winded, but more himself. He was surprised to see Flambae relax, as if he'd been genuinely concerned. He was even more surprised when Flambae scooped him up, princess-carrying him towards the locker room.

"Wh- Flambae- Wait, hold on!"

Flambae stopped where he stood, but notably did not put Robert back down.

"What? Were you still planning to use the gym? That would be idiotic," he retorted. "We need you conscious for today's shifts. Besides, you just got a full-body workout. You're welcome, by the way," Flambae added just to make Robert pout.

"I can still walk myself to the lockers."

Flambae considered the light weight in his arms.

"Hm… Nah." He shrugged as Robert sputtered, resuming his stride out of the gym. Fortunately for Robert, no one else was around that morning to witness his plight. Privately, Flambae was pleased when Robert didn't fight him further.

Myung-gi was hardly what you could call a good boyfriend.

He was an even worse father-to-be.

The excuse of Dalmatian was his favourite get out of jail card. Within days of the coin revealing itself as a scam, Myung-gi was immediately clearing his phone of all contacts and passwords and any connection at all- including to that of his ex-girlfriend, Jun-hee. His pregnant ex-girlfriend Jun-hee.

Left alone, no family or friends, the only social interaction Jun-hee would get was from store clerks or the monthly doctor check-ups. Myung-gi’s betrayal had hurt- especially because they had mutually agreed a child wasn’t compatible for them and an abortion had been settled on. Deep down she didn’t want to- the idea of growing her own family with the man she loved was an idealistic dream and it hurt that he didn’t seem to feel the same way…but she agreed anyway in hopes that one day, that dream would come true. But even the fact she was prepared to make such a sacrifice wasn’t enough to keep him around, clearly.

Not only that, but she had listened to his ranting and raving over how Dalmatian would make them both rich, succumbed to the pressure and invested herself… and look where that got her. Broke, alone, invisible.

But she was still strong.

With Myung-gi out of the picture, Jun-hee decided she wasn’t going to give up the only family she had- her unborn child. Whatever it took, she’d scrape by and create a wonderful life for the two of them. It didn’t matter if there was no father in the picture- she was resilient, smart- she’d find a way regardless of the cost.

It was hard, at first. No direction, no focus other than her scheduled appointments and shitty part-time job. Saving and saving, every Won beyond precious, using only the bare minimum on herself as to try and rebuild all that she had lost from Dalmatian. If she could make even a fraction of what the scam took from her before the baby arrived, she’d be comfortable, and that was enough.

Months stretched on. Each one got slightly easier but were by no means easy. After month four, the sting of Myung-gi having vanished off the face of the Earth was nothing but a dull ache. The tears for him stopped. The sleepless nights wondering how he could’ve abandoned her became few and far between. Nothing mattered except her and her baby, and she filled her days pondering her future family- Myung-gi or not, things were going to be okay.

That was until Month 9 of her pregnancy…when the dream of building a family was quickly becoming a reality, the due date barrelling toward her at breakneck speed. She was nowhere near prepared enough, what little Won she had left running out before she could refill the pot. In desperation she tried contacting Myung-gi, setting her pride aside for the sake of her child. She began thinking he had died, because how could someone be so heartless as to ignore the mother of their unborn baby?

Salvation came in the form of a small card, beige with a phone number inscribed on the back and promises of enough Won to not only be comfortable, but rich. Abundantly so.

As she sat on the edge of her bed, looking around at her shitty apartment, trying to ignore the hunger pangs- she knew she had to join. This was a ticket to a better life and a fresh start.

She became used to the thought of never seeing Lee Myung-gi ever again.

Until the games themselves.

456 players, presumably recruited from all over Korea, and one of them just had to be her deadbeat ex. The shock and surprise of seeing his face on that screen (and just a tad bit of satisfaction from watching him be slapped, not that she’d ever admit that…) was almost enough to make her forget the bizarreness of it all- waking up in this huge room full of so many people and no knowledge of how she got here, the coordinated tracksuits they were all wearing, the weird guards who wouldn’t show their faces for some reason.

After the first game, seeing him being beaten by those two manic crackhead players, Jun-hee decided to make herself known. To rub in his face that she was still with child and going to raise it all by herself, that he missed his chance and she didn’t need him. And, also, to get a better look at the nasty bruise spreading across his face- serves him right.

Safe to say, that was a mistake.

Now? She could hardly get an hour alone without him pestering her, trying to convince her they should get out and start fresh. Cornering her when she was alone, trying to explain how he didn’t ghost her out of malice, it was just to ‘keep her safe’. Yeah, right. She wasn’t going to fall for that.

After the second and third game it eased up a little. He didn’t try to talk to her when she was sitting with her new team- but that didn’t stop him from trying when she’d be walking alone to the bathroom, or the odd moments she just wanted to sit on her bunk and think.

If anything it had doubled down during these quieter moments, like he knew that he only had a limited window to try and persuade her before she was sitting back with her teammates.

‘Please, Jun-hee, be reasonable’

‘Please, Jun-hee, let’s start again’

‘Please, Jun-hee, we’ll merge our winnings and I’ll never touch a Coin again’ (She almost laughed in his face at this one).

She sat down wearily after another one of his pitiful attempts, watching from her spot on the steps as he trudged back to his bunk. She sighed and rubbed her stomach, trying to distract herself with the little one. Behind her, her new-found friends were talking amongst themselves. Not ignoring her, no, but just deep in discussion. She looked back out across the dorm and sighed.

So it was only natural that a voice from beside her made her jump.

‘Woah, sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you’

Dae-ho had shuffled down from the step above and seated himself next to her, holding his hands up and smiling embarrassedly.

Jun-hee smiled softly back.

‘It’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting you’

There was a stretch of silence that was admittedly a little awkward. Jun-hee could tell the men had a soft spot for her, given she was so heavily pregnant and also a young woman stuck in this place, but Dae-ho especially. He had worried about her throughout the pentathlon, making sure to stand close by and stop any players jostling her whenever they celebrated a team winning. Glancing down at her every now and then like he was worried she’d hurt herself, even if just sitting quietly.

Dae-ho fiddled with his hands, looking around the dorm and trying to think of something to say. He nodded his head toward her stomach.

‘How are you? How’s the baby?’

Jun-hee felt a warmth bloom in her chest that he was asking. It seemed already she’d gotten more care from him within a day than Myung-gi had ever shown. It was kind, genuine. Her smile grew a little.

‘I’m okay, thank you. And so are they’ she rubbed a hand over the bump, looking down at the little miracle growing inside her.

Dae-ho leant forward with something akin to a bow, hands resting on his knees. ‘Ah, I’m so glad! It must be so stressful being in a place like this when you’re that pregnant’ His face went red immediately as he realised how blunt his wording was and he straightened up, putting his hands on his chest and bowing properly this time.

‘O-oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rude!’

Jun-hee flushed slightly and let out a small giggle. ‘It’s okay, Dae-ho. I know what you meant’

‘Sometimes my mouth moves faster than my brain and I just say things!’

‘It’s okay, really! You don’t need to apologise’

The silence between them was slightly less awkward now, Dae-ho resting on his knees, both of them just enjoying the rare moment of peace. Behind them, the others were still lost in their own conversation. Having one on one time felt…nice. Like she was less alone- sure, it was reassuring to sit within the group, but she often felt she couldn’t really relate to them much.

Gi-hun, Jung-bae and In-ho were all around the same age. They had things in common, shared similar goals, had experience under their belt. She had never once felt unwanted- they treated her like their own- but the age difference certainly showed.

Dae-ho choosing to pull away from the trio and sit with her made the fear and uncertainty of the games lift a little. He had a few more years on her, sure, but he was more ‘boyish’, and she felt less like a kid at the dinner table trying to fit in with the adults.

‘…so, how are you?’ She asked, turning to face him.

‘Ah, you know…scared for my life. Other than that, just peachy’ Dae-ho huffed a small laugh at his own half-joke. He seemed different now from the usual extroverted marine front he put on, eager to please, loud; like he felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with Jun-hee, away from the others. Especially Jung-bae, who he’d seemed to bond particularly hard with and wanted nothing more than his praise.

‘I know how you feel’ she murmured. ‘I just wanted a good life for my baby, but…what if I don’t even get to meet them?’ She felt herself tear up and quickly wiped her eyes. She wasn’t looking for pity…it was her own choice to be here after all.

Dae-ho put a large hand tentatively on the young woman’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘Hey, hey- it’s okay! We’re gonna get outta here, yeah?’ he looked back at the older men and raised his eyebrows. ‘Mr Seong there will help you on the outside. In fact, I’d bet every Won in that piggybank that they all will’

Before Jun-hee could express her gratitude, Dae-ho began shadow-boxing the air playfully.

‘Especially me- gotta teach the little guy how to fight, right?’ He gave a few more ‘punches’, laughing breathily. ‘Me and Jung-bae can take him out, show him the ropes!’

Jun-hee laughed. ‘It could also be a girl, Dae-ho’

‘Even better! Who needs self-defence more than women, huh?’ He leant back on the upper step with his elbows. ‘Trust me, my four older sisters were tough as nails- hey! They’d love to be aunties!’

Dae-ho was clearly getting ahead of himself, rambling on about how he’d be the ‘fun uncle’ and take the kid on mountain retreats and teach it how to hold its breath for over a minute and even how one day Jun-hee’s baby would be friends with his baby and-

‘Dae-ho, Dae-ho!’ Jun-hee held his big hand in both her small ones, smiling broadly now, fear of the games temporarily at the back of her mind.

Dae-ho went red and brushed a loose hair from his face, smiling sheepishly. ‘Sorry, I got ahead of myself again’

‘…no, no it’s…it’s sweet’. The woman lowered his hand. ‘I really hope you’re right’ she tapered off quietly.

Player 388’s face became serious as he leant in and said ‘I know I am’.

Jun-hee’s heart felt full and she felt tears pricking at her eyes again, when Dae-ho straightened up and pointed a finger across the dorm.

‘Anyway, what’s up with you and him?’

Jun-hee’s eyes went wide. He was clearly referencing Myung-gi…of course he was. It was obvious something was going on between them what with 333 constantly badgering her any chance he could. She hadn’t wanted her new friends to pick up on it, to acknowledge him at all, so she played dumb.

‘I…I don’t know who you mean. There’s nobody else here that I know apart from you guys and Mrs Jang’ she shook her head and looked down, highlights falling round her cheeks.

‘Really? But I see him talking to you all the time- that guy there’ he jerked his wrist. ‘The one being harassed by those two nasty bullies. Y’know, we tried to help him out in the bathroom earlier’

Jun-hee bristled with a mixture of emotions. She didn’t like that Myung-gi was being bullied- two against one wasn’t fair. But also she hated that one of her team had unknowingly offered to help the reason she had joined the games in the first place.

Dae-ho noticed her shoulders stiffening.

‘Ah, you do know him, don’t you?’ he broke into a playful grin and nudged her with an arm. ‘So, who is he? Failed talking stage? Disgraced family member?’

Jun-hee sighed. There was no getting out of this. She wasn’t going to get into the whole dirty detail of it all- she wanted a semblance of privacy at least, and not only that- it was humiliating. Ghosted by an ex-crypto trader, pregnant with his child and now being haunted by him when he was still alive.

‘He’s…my ex’

Dae-ho gasped theatrically, clearly trying to keep things lighthearted. He leant in closer.

‘An ex?’

‘Yeah’

‘If you don’t mind me asking, is he…’ he looked pointedly down at Jun-hee’s bump.

She gave a tiny nod.

‘I thought he was…was gone. I’d prepared to do everything on my own, raise our-I mean, my- baby myself. And now he’s here. And I’m stuck with him trying to get back with me’

Dae-ho pondered. He had to tread carefully, even he knew that.

‘Well, do you want to get back with him? Make amends?’

Jun-hee crossed her arms over her belly protectively.

‘No. I did, at first. But not anymore. I tried reaching out to him so many times- I started to believe he was dead. He keeps telling me he cut contact for my own safety, but if he cared about me at all, he’d never have done it in the first place’

The older man nodded. Thought for a second, and then grinned.

‘You want him off your back?’

Another tiny nod.

‘I know just what to do’

Jun-hee looked up at him and frowned.

‘What?’ and then a hasty ‘You won’t hurt him, will you?’. She couldn’t tell if it was because she didn’t want to see Dae-ho as violent, or…something deeper.

Dae-ho recoiled. ‘No, no! Nothing like that’

He scooted closer to her so that their arms were pressed together and then lowered his head like he was about to tell her a juicy secret. She instinctively lowered her head too, eyebrows raised, and they both looked like two kids planning mischief.

‘We…tickle him!’ He whispered, voice strained like speaking quietly was some great effortful feat. His hands formed into claws and flexed at the air. His eyes sparkled and his boyish grin grew so wide it showed all his teeth.

Jun-hee stared at him for a second, heads so close they were almost brushing ears, and then burst into giggles.

‘Hehehe- what??’

Dae-ho’s grin somehow got wider. Both from the playful absurdity of it, and also the relief of knowing Jun-hee was comfortable enough with the whole topic that she was actually laughing. He felt like he was with his sisters again, plotting silly pranks. Almost nostalgic.

‘I’m serious! Look-’ he shifted and took a breath like he was about to spiel off into some grand scheme. His hands gestured sharply in front of him. ‘My sisters used to do it to me when I was annoying. It’d be funny at first but after a while? I was promising anything to get them to stop. I left them alone for days afterwards!’

Jun-hee covered her bright smile with a hand. Tickling…she’d expected anything but that!

She thought back to when things were still good between her and Myung-gi- they’d do the usual couple-y things, dates on the beach and flowers at valentines. But also…tickle fights. Despite her small stature she’d usually end up winning because Myung-gi was so ridiculously ticklish.

‘Well…I guess it could work’ She sounded unsure but the smile was still plastered on her face. It was, in truth, a very funny sounding plan. Not only that, but a very effective plan too, because going off how ticklish Myung-gi was? He probably would leave her alone.

Dae-ho clasped his hands together.

‘Great! Okay, we’ll set a trap’ He had long since given up trying to whisper, the opportunity to be a harmless menace making him giddy- Jun-hee thought it was honestly pretty sweet how much he was throwing himself into helping her, but with how excitable he was being, it might as well have been simply for himself! She chuckled at the thought of him just…going around, tickling annoying people for fun.

He continued on, almost vibrating with hardly contained energy. ‘So, Jun-hee, all you have to do is walk yourself to the bathroom- or even just hang around on your own for a while- and he’ll come running. That’s how it’s been so far, right?’

‘Yes’ she replied fondly.

‘Right, so he’ll come up to you with his ‘My beautiful princess, please run away into the sunset with me’’ he mimicked Myung-gi in a silly higher pitched tone- not cruel, just…committing to the bit. He pretended not to notice how good it felt when Jun-hee hid her face and giggled at the impersonation. ‘And I’ll be waiting nearby, keeping an eye out- so when he tries something, I’ll sneak up behind him, and BAM!’ He clapped his hands once, making Jun-hee jump and collapse into more soft giggles. ‘We get him! Good plan, right?’

‘Dae-ho, you are such a bad influence!’

They both continued chatting, discussing ‘techniques’ and what tickle spots Myung-gi would fold at the most. For a while, it felt like they were just two friends swapping stories and laughing together.

‘His ribs were always a pretty bad spot. He hated when I’d pretend to count them’

‘What, like this?’

Dae-ho gave her the most gentle of tickles, rubbing his fingerpads over two upper ribs, delighting in how her eyes went wide and she twisted around into his shoulder, trying to push his wrist away.

‘AHAhaha! Ye-yehehes!’

He withdrew his hand, chuckling warmly. Behind them, the others had stilled and were watching- they knew they were up to something by the way they were huddled into each other, whispering and giggling.

‘Hey, what do you think those two are up to?’ Jung-bae spoke lowly so that they couldn’t hear, gesturing toward them. ‘Plotting something? Should we be worried?’ he said light-heartedly.

Gi-hun, Jung-bae and In-ho watched as their two younger teammates leant in closer to each other, hunched, shoulders shaking with mirth- it was obvious they were coming up with something, but the trio would never have guessed what in a million years.

‘From what I know of Dae-ho, probably plotting a raid on the kitchen or something’ Replied Young-il.

‘Ha, yeah! If we escaped this place, he’d go back for more bean buns before getting on the boat’.

Gi-hun didn’t say anything, thoughts of real escape taking up space in his brain, but he couldn’t deny it was somewhat sweet seeing Dae-ho and Jun-hee bond. Stress was particularly bad for pregnant ladies, so it was nice seeing the younger woman relaxed enough to laugh.

Below, Jun-hee and Dae-ho tittered away together like a couple of schoolkids, eagerly awaiting the moment they’d put the ‘plan’ into action.

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

‘Jun-hee, Jun-hee!’

Jun-hee came to a stop inches away from the bathroom door. She’d walked purposefully slowly across the dorm, making sure Myung-gi had seen her. Alone, away from her team, perfect for another ‘we’ll start over!’ speech.

And, just like clockwork, Myung-gi had come running. Jun-hee turned to face him, and where there’d be usual annoyance boiling in her gut, there was…excitement. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling at the thought of what was to come, and Myung-gi, not knowing about the plan- thought it was directed at him.

He felt pleasantly surprised at the fact she seemed happy to see him for once- maybe he’d won her over?

‘Jun-hee’ he returned the smile. ‘Look, please don’t walk away this time- we really need to discuss us’

Jun-hee felt a pang of revulsion that he thought there was still an ‘us’ between them- but it quickly faded away into giddy anticipation as behind Myung-gi crept Dae-ho, biting his lip like he was trying hard not to laugh. Getting closer and closer…

‘I promise, once we get out, I’ll be better- we’ll start again, everything will be different and-’

‘GOTCHA!’

‘HEY!’

In a flash, Dae-ho wrapped his arms around Myung-gi and had picked him clean off the floor. He carried the squirming man to a nearby bunk just a few feet away, not even breaking a sweat, Jun-hee giggling alongside them.

‘Wh-?! PUT ME DOWN!’ Myung-gi swung his head to the side and looked down at Jun-hee. ‘JUN-HEE! Help!’

Before he was given an answer he was thrown onto the bunk (thankfully empty, it would’ve been awkward having to explain the following events to a disgruntled player) and his wrists were hoisted above his head.

‘What are you doing? What the fuck is going on?!’ He tried kicking out, tried pulling at his wrists, but Dae-ho was a lot stronger.

Player 388 grinned down at him, then up at Jun-hee. ‘Go on Jun-hee! Get him!!’

Jun-hee sat on the edge of the bed by Myung-gi’s waist, still not quite believing something as silly as this was happening amidst literal death games, grinning widely.

Myung-gi was in bits, clearly thinking he was about to be killed or beaten (again). ‘Get the fuck off! Seriously, what are you doing?!’ he snarled at Dae-ho, trying his wrists one more time.

‘Relax, Myung-gi’ purred Jun-hee. ‘This won’t hurt’

Myung-gi was about to snap something again when the older man gave his wrists a playful jostle.

‘Yeah dude! Won’t hurt a bit! It’ll just really…really…tickle!’

‘It’ll whahahAHAHAHA!? AH! HEY!’ The scammer broke into surprised giggles when he felt long nails skitter under his shirt and on his sides, light as anything but infuriatingly ticklish. Yeah, Dae-ho was kinda making sense now.

‘JUHUHUN-HEE!’

Jun-hee was thrilled (and, evidently, so was Dae-ho from the way he was smirking). The plan was going better than expected and it’d only been about fifteen seconds.

‘I thought you wanted my attention, huh?’ Jun-hee teased in a voice that surprised even her. The teasing came naturally, so of course, she carried on. ‘What, is this not enough for you?’ Her nails moved to the centre of his stomach, gliding around his bellybutton in swoops and arcs. ‘How about now?’

‘AhahahahahaAHAHA! STAHAhaaHAP IHIT!’ He wanted to kick, wanted to flail, but…he was terrified of accidentally catching Jun-hee in the madness. He wouldn’t exactly increase his chances of winning her back if he hurt her.

But those thoughts went through the window when Jun-hee kneaded into his stomach with her fingertips, massaging into the muscle in tiny ticklish vibrating bursts, and he had to angle his lower half away from her as his legs cycled uselessly off the opposite side of the bed.

‘NOHOhohOHOHO!! NOHOHOT THAHAHAHAT!’

Jun-hee’s nose crinkled with how hard she was smiling, eyes narrow with focus when she looked up at Dae-ho. ‘He always hated this’

‘Yeah, I bet. Look at him go!’ Dae-ho remarked, cocking his head. ‘Where else is he ticklish?’

‘Oh, everywhere’

‘STAAHHAHAHAP!’

‘What, even here?’ The ex-marine took both Myung-gi’s wrists in one large hand and scribbled into their victim’s underarms, giving each an equal amount of torment.

Myung-gi squealed and his laughter went silent for just a second before breaking out into high-pitched giggles, thrashing his head side to side.

‘Oh, especially there’ 222 said whilst Myung-gi lost his mind below her, clear evidence that yes, he was very ticklish there.

‘WHYYY!!’ He wailed, hardly eligible through his cackling. Dae-ho’s hand reached down to his upper ribs and scribbled rapidly, making the younger man screech. ‘WHY- WAHAHAHA!’

‘Why?’ Jun-hee echoed. ‘Because you won’t leave me alone!’

‘Yeah man, this is your own fault!’ came the deeper voice from above. ‘Poor guy…tickled into solitary confinement!’

Both ticklers laughed at this. Myung-gi laughed too, but not exactly for the same reason.

‘BUHUhuhut- heheHEH- I WAHAHAHAS JUHU-JUST- AGH! STOHOHOP IHIHIT!!’ Myung-gi’s laughter cracked as his frustration grew, the electric sensations from his stomach and ribs robbing his ability to talk properly. He hated it. Not even the tickling (although that was pretty awful), but not being able to hold himself together. His usual cool and collected attitude, his rational way of thinking- all this completely dissolved under Jun-hee and Dae-ho’s fingers.

‘Awhh, Jun-hee! Listen to him! He’s so sorry that he can’t even talk!’ The fingers at his ribs switched sides, digging inbetween the bones and making him howl. ‘This is a real bad spot. Think I should just stay right here?’

‘NOHOHOHO! PLEAHAHahaha-PLEASEEHEHEHE!’

‘Oh yeah, definitely staying here’

Jun-hee started to walk her fingers up Myung-gi’s waist, intentionally slowly so he knew what was coming.

‘JUN-HEEHEHE NO! NOHOhohOHO!’

‘Promise you’ll leave me alone’ she purred, fingers stopping just beneath the dip of his ribcage ‘and I’ll leave your ribs alone’. At this, Dae-ho snorted with a ‘I won’t’.

Myung-gi thought about it as best he could- he didn’t think he could handle both ticklers assaulting his ribs…if he promised to lay off, maybe Jun-hee would go easier on him? But…was he really going to give up on a possible future with her because of this? Tickling??

‘WAIHIHIHIT! I- IHIHIHI!’

‘Oohhh he’s still trying! Get him, Jun-hee!’

Jun-hee chuckled delightedly and her hands suddenly dove upwards, burying themselves in his lower ribs and scrunching, going up until they met Dae-ho’s hand on his upper ribs and then back down again. ‘Honestly, you deserve this. If only you hadn’t ghosted me right? I wouldn’t have to be doing this!’

The double assault sent Myung-gi into hysterics, twisting this way and that as he tried to get the hell away from the tickles. His brain turned to nothing but static white noise and it was a wonder he hadn’t somehow thrown himself off the bunk. The sheets tangled around his ankles, trapping him further, taking away even the simple relief of flailing properly.

‘FUHUHUHUCK! FUCKFUCKFUCK!!’ He arched off the bunk which just forced his ribs further into their fingers.

Dae-ho’s eyes went wide. ‘Pffff oh my god! Listen to him! What’s wrong, champ? That tickle or something?’

‘MOHOHOHOVE! MOHOHOHOVE SPO-SPOhohohHOTS! PLEASE!’

‘Why should I listen to you, Myung-gi? You don’t listen to me when I tell you to go away’ 222 tapped her fingers rapidly against his ribs, giggling at how such gentle tickles made him squeak and twist.

‘Dae-ho, use your other hand too!’

‘You sure? I don’t want him to hit you or anything. Doesn’t look like he has too much self-control right now’

‘Oh, he wouldn’t hurt me! Would you, Myung-gi?’ To which the only reply was incoherent garbled nonsense.

Dae-ho shrugged. ‘That sounded like a ‘no’ to me!’ and suddenly there were four hands on his ribs, not a single inch left un-tickled. His wrists were free now, sure, but his mind was so scrambled and body so hijacked with laughter all Myung-gi could manage was pathetic little slaps. He tried to aim them primarily at Dae-ho’s wrists opposed to Jun-hee’s, though- even now, he was still terrified of striking her.

‘AGGHHAHAHAHAHA!!’ His voice was wrecked, nothing but broken laughter and failed attempts of pleading as he tried to curl up.

‘Ah ah, none of that! Come on, open uuup~’ Sang Jun-hee and scritched at his neck, fluttering up the sides and around the shell of his ears, making him snap flat onto his back to get away- and those hands went right back to his ribs. His feet kicked uselessly within the sheets.

‘Dae-ho, curl your fingers more- like this’ 222 nodded down at her hands, flexing and clawing into the muscles between the bones, like she was giving a presentation. ‘This really gets him’

‘Got it!’ came the cheerful reply. He followed suit, and then-

‘Hey, y’know what my sisters would do that got me real bad?’

‘Hm?’

‘Okay, go down to his hips, where it dips- yeah, there. Now pinch, but lightly- don’t wanna hurt him!’

More hysterics, tapering into silent laughter every now and then, Myung-gi’s arms shooting down to try and push Jun-hee’s away from pinching the sides of his hip divots and then filing her nails into the dips themselves. His slender fingers wrapped around her wrists but he could hardly focus enough to use any real strength- and of course, there was still the instinctual urge not to be too rough with her.

Player 333 had no idea how it had even gotten to this. Being used as some kind of fucked up class project on ‘how to tickle’ by his ex and her weird new friend. He wouldn’t have even known the guys name if it weren’t for Jun-hee saying it. The whole thing was surreal, reduced to hysterics by the hands of them both- especially because he didn’t even know Dae-ho. This was their first time interacting and it didn’t start off with a ‘Hey, my name is’ like any normal person would- it was just strong arms round his middle, being dumped on a bunk, and then fingers in his ribs and pits. What the hell was his life right now?!

To make matters worse- he knew how loud he was being. He couldn’t exactly help it, but that didn’t make it any less mortifying. He could only imagine how many other players were watching, laughing, maybe wondering who smuggled a dog toy into the dorm.

And then there were them.

Not Jun-hee or…or…Dae-hun? Dae-won?? Something like that- he couldn’t quite remember the name of the man through the effort of not going insane- but those two junkies he supposedly ruined the lives of.

He knew they were watching, smirking in disbelief that ‘The amazing Myung-gi of MG coin’ was deathly ticklish, howling and crying with laughter. Just what he needed. Handing them more ammunition.

He couldn’t think too much about it though- not when he felt Jun-hee’s fingers scribble patterns on his thighs and the tops of his knees. The skin was thinner there, more sensitive, and it didn’t help that she kept randomly throwing in squeezes too.

‘C’mon man! Just say you’ll leave her alone and we’ll stop!’

Myung-gi wanted to fight it- he really did- but the squeezes to his knees and inner thighs had become more frequent, relentless, and he still had those damn fingers shaking into his ribs and-

‘OKAY! OKAHAHAHAY! SHIHIHIT!’

‘Okay what?’ Jun-hee squeezed harder, eliciting an unmanly squeak.

‘ALONE! I’LL LEAHAHAHAVE YOU ALOOHOHONE!’

And finally, the tickling stopped. He was left half on his side, feet still caught up in blanket, huffing and panting like his life depended on it. Dae-ho gave his cheek a friendly pat.

‘There ya go! Got there in the end!’ he smiled broadly and stood up straight, shaking himself out and brushing the loose strands of hair out his face with both hands. ‘Whew. What a workout huh, Jun-hee?’

Jun-hee had straightened out Myung-gi’s shirt and was trying to stand up herself now, one hand braced on her bump. Myung-gi, despite being completely annihilated, used one shaky hand to support her lower back to help her up. Jun-hee let him.

Dae-ho walked round the edge of the bunk and asked a ‘Are you okay?’. She nodded and then looked down at Myung-gi, who was rubbing tears from his eyes and letting out tiny aftershock giggles.

‘Myung-gi’

He blinked and looked up.

‘If you really need- you can talk to me. But just stop with all the promises. Stop trying to force a future with me. It’s exhausting’

Myung-gi looked away. He felt the shame in the pit of his stomach, the embarrassment coiling in his chest…maybe he had been too pushy.

‘Yeah man, ladies don’t find desperation attractive’ Dae-ho chimed in very unhelpfully.

‘…Sorry. Everything is just uncertain right now, Jun-hee. I’m just worried’

‘I’m worried too, but you have to stop. Or we’ll just do this over again and this time I’ll invite the rest of my team to help’. It was only a half-threat because Jun-hee was sure Jung-bae at the very least would love to get in on this, but the main point was: she wanted it to just stop.

‘Yeah, okay. I’ll uh- I’ll give you some space’

‘Thank you’ Jun-hee nodded her head gratefully, relieved. ‘See you around’.

Dae-ho gave another playful wiggle of his fingers toward Myung-gi, making him flinch and glare. And then? The two were off, walking back to their team.

‘That went well, huh?’ Player 388 gave Jun-hee a light nudge. Despite it all, she returned the nudge with a cheerful smile, feeling lighter that ‘amends’ had been made without the use of violence or arguing. ‘Yeah, as well as it could’ve, I suppose’

Just as they got to the steps, the older men staring at them dumbfounded but amused, Dae-ho stretched out and said-

‘…Was fun though, right?’

‘Ha, definitley’