“Nah, nah, nah, I’m tellin’ ya, V, ‘s not what you think it was.”

“Yeah? You remember a second of it? You got so shitfaced-…”

“Oh shut it, merc.”

Kerry chuckles and gives his man a proper nudge, which turns out to be barely a poke for a chromed merc, only making him smirk wider. The boys are chilling on one of Kerry’s couches, empty beer cans on V’s side and a few finished martini glasses on the other — Kerry’s always had a thing for drinking the same type of cocktails out of different glasses if that was an option instead of simply refilling them. There’s a fond, almost goofy smile on the older man’s face as he can finally spend some proper time with his precious cutie patootie input, and despite it being nothing special, just an ordinary date, he can’t help beaming at the man. The more they see each other, the more pleasure their conversations bring him, which is a breath of fresh air by itself, not to mention an uncharted territory since usually he’d rather not engage too much in the emotional, touchy-feely stuff outside of his own rambling and concerns. Yet every time they meet, V’s got a new story to tell, and Kerry actually finds himself eager to listen. Somehow so intimate yet so trivial.

Not just casual humping (at least not every time), no basic mutual complaining or boring how-are-you-doing type of exchanges, but a raw, utterly human experience.

Nibbles is sitting near V’s leg, casually cleaning her paw with a disinterested look, though the purring she emits makes the couch vibrate slightly, the corners of V’s mouth twitching upwards at the display. His hand moves to give her a few gentle pets, the expression on his face making Kerry chuckle.

“What, don’t I get any gushing over? Not good enough for ya?”

“More like not stinky enough. Don’ worry, you’re gettin’ there,” V leans down for a moment, sniffing the top of Nibbles’s head, his nose wrinkling, “d’ya know if we should give ‘er a shower..? Or is she supposed to smell like that?..”

The sight of the notorious V being a doted feline caretaker is utterly amusing, yet Kerry decides not to comment on it, not wishing to spook the moment — the merc’s cute in this state, he’d rather enjoy it while it lasts.

“Nah, don’t worry about it, this type of stink is natural for them. Trust me, you’ll know when it’s time to take action. Cats are more, eh… hygienic like that I guess. Self-cleaning and shit. So yeah, our lady here is doing marvelous, don’t you worry, single dad.”

“Single?..”

“…Well, technically, we’re not married yet.”

“…yet, huh?” That's when Kerry actually cracks up a notch and gives his man an unimpressed look, though it’s mostly in jest.

“Stop it.”

The expression on V’s face is usually hard to read as he has that trademark merc glare most of the time, seemingly out of habit, but at the moment it’s surprisingly serene, happy even, definitely a positive influence on the both of them. Kerry’s hand reaches out to caress his cheek, eyes squinting in a sly, somewhat mischievous manner.

“Shit. I love your gruff looks and attitude, but seeing you relaxed on a downtime, chillin’ here and all… it’s cute. Nice change o’ pace. It suits ya.”

V doesn’t mind the affectionate gesture, on the contrary, he leans into it, and even though he doesn’t like it when something’s close to his eyes, he’s enjoying the warmth of his man’s hand. Rough fingertips tracing the pieces of his cyberware.

“Never thought I’d hear that word about myself. But eh… heheh, thanks. Still not used to… y’know. Relaxin’ an’ all that.”

“No shit. Years of busting your ass would do that to ya. Don’ worry, you can always drop everything and become my boytoy, I got ‘nough eddies for the both of us~”

At first, V gives him the look, but it softens in mere seconds as he’s well aware it’s a joke. He even crosses his arms on his chest, somehow both entertained and annoyed.

“You already paid for my trauma team premium, Ker. Even though I specifically told you no-…”

“Guilty,” Kerry raises his arms in the air in a defeated gesture, a bit more serious this time around, “but for real, V, can you blame me? I got the eddies to provide my input with extra protection so he doesn’t bleed out somewhere nasty, and I’m supposed to just not do it? Nah, man, this won’t do. B’sides, not like it’s makin’ a hole in my pocket, I could buy you a whole ass AV, shit, a battalion of ‘em! So don’ ya go pout ‘bout it, it’s a gift! Don’t look a gift horse in the eyes or some shit!”

V chuckles at that, finding Kerry’s attempts to defend himself amusing, but after all, he is grateful for it, especially considering that Kerry’s stubborn enough to not listen to him when it’s a safety matter. It could be infuriating at times, and even hot when the mood is right, but overall it’s appreciated. Kerry’s own well-being? Eh, he’s already spoiled rotten, he’ll live one way or another. V’s health and safety? Top priority.

Kerry snickers as if he can read minds, and though at the moment V’s emotions are written all over his face, it’s hard not to tease him further:

“I could always buy ya some fancy lingerie to walk around all pretty, like a present to be unwrapped~ You could wear it as a thank you for my kindness”

V gives him the most skeptical, disappointed and straight up annoyed look he can muster at the moment, which only spurs Kerry on further.

“Or I could buy you a whole fuckin’ set o’ things. Leather harness, lacy sets, fishnet stockings… All ganic! Some fancy-shiny collar with a leash to take you on walks. What d’ya think? Anythin’ tinglin’?~”

“Kerry.”

“‘Lright, ‘lright, don’ get your panties in a twist, I’m just messin’ with ya~”

Kerry’s cheeks are slightly flushed with alcohol, creating more contrast between his actual skin tone and his freckles, and he chuckles under his breath, seemingly pondering something.

“Y’know, you’re the first person that actually survived a year with me without incidents. I know, shocking, ‘cause I’m so easy to deal with, but yeah, I usually get bored of people pretty quickly.”

Translating from Kerry language it means “I love you, and I appreciate having you in my life”, so that alone brings a little smile back to V’s face. His arm wraps around his input’s shoulders, giving him a proper, affectionate squeeze, and his hand moves to caress his upper arm, enjoying the skin texture. All while Kerry’s head rests on his shoulder, “Guess that means I’m not boring. I’ll take it as a compliment, especially coming from the great Kerry Eurodyne himself~”

The Kerry in question smiles at that, his eyes twinkling with amusement, which makes them look oddly scheming, like he’s up to no good. But it all quickly disappears once he relaxes, now simply observing his man with a soft, somewhat condescending demeanour.

“Damn right you’re not boring, in fact, you’re anythin’ but,” his hand carefully slides up into V’s short hair, stroking them, rubbing the scalp with his fingertips as he admires his man’s handsome face, savouring the sight, while also feeling proud of himself for having landed such a hot guy, and it gives him an idea, “bet ya only fell for my looks and money, didn’t ya?~”

They both know it’s just another one of Kerry’s quips, but V can’t help “indulging” him: “Naturally. Your ass is flat as fuck though, you better work on that if ya want me t’stay. No offence, just sayin’.”

The way Kerry’s face immediately changes almost makes V crack up right there on the spot.

“Wha-… Not like yours is much better!”

That’s when the merc finally gives in and actually laughs, his smile turning into a grin. The thing is, just a couple of days ago they were exchanging their workout routines with Kerry complaining he can’t get a proper six pack no matter how hard he tries, genetics be damned, and that includes his rockerbum — gaining muscle mass is a true challenge for him, and V’s well aware of that fact. All while V is a walking Greek god at this point, having installed plenty of implants, along with his occupation working in his favour when it comes to maintaining an athletic body. The overall banter amuses him nonetheless.

“We both know that’s not true, Ker. Face reality~”

“Okay, you know what? I got my other assets, you dumb merc, so save it!”

V does his best to feign surprise at that, going so far as to widen his eyes and open his mouth, making sure it’s right in between exaggeratedly theatrical and genuine, “You do?!”

Kerry’s hand swats at his shoulder.

“You’ve had your hands all over my freakin’ assets this past year, you gonk, I know you can’t get enough of ‘em!”

“Y’sure ‘bout it? I don’ really remember anythin’ like that.”

“I’ve got receipts, merc. Lots of ‘em.”

“Hm… You might be onto something, yeah. I remember my hands touching something really… flat. Y’know, so flat ya could play pool on it. Yeah, really… really flat.”

One of Kerry’s hands instantly darts towards his side, aiming for the ribs, and nimble fingers give it a few well-deserved scribbles. Of course, V was expecting something like that, and he easily grabs Kerry’s hand, but at what cost — the can of beer he’s been holding slips out of his grasp and falls straight onto his thigh, slightly splashing some of it in the process. The sound alerts Nibbles, and she proceeds to run away, startled by the whole ordeal, while V has that devious smirk on his face that speaks trouble. He was just given a perfect excuse.

“…Good job, Ker. Now it’s my turn.”

“Gonna hafta catch me first, gonkface,” a shit-eating grin on Kerry’s mug as he yanks his arm out of the grip, the man’s absolute definition of smug as he jolts up to his feet before V can even process what he’s up to, the invitation clear in his eyes. For a few seconds the rockerboy waits there to see if V would follow along with his initiative, and the moment the merc chuckles and starts moving, Kerry darts away, running around the couch to instantly bolt towards the other end of the villa.

“You’re so gonna get it,” after giving his man a couple seconds headstart, V jumps up to his feet, racing after him, a matching grin of his own making him look almost giddy with excitement.

Kerry straight up laughs, cutting corners, veering around furniture, occasionally tripping over stuff scattered on the floor — he can even hear a sound of something falling and breaking behind him, but it only makes him laugh even more. The sound of V’s rapid footsteps is getting closer, riling up the thrill of the chase, and he’s tempted to glance back at the merc, but he knows better, his heart is racing at the thought of his input being not far behind.

“Piss off, ya gohohonk!!”

“Fat chance!”

After sprinting upstairs, he quickly runs around the billiard table, trying to fool V and pretend that he’s changing direction, but yelps when he finds the man smirking at him from its other side, now both of them staring at each other with matching amusement. Kerry darts one way — V follows, Kerry darts the other — V’s already there, the rockerboy ends up barking out a laugh and turning around, huffing a bit from so much action, now aiming to go back down to the ground floor.

A surprised scream escapes him as two strong arms wrap around his midriff from behind, the sound he makes instantly bringing a barely noticeable flush to his face while he laughs, struggling in his man’s hold — all for shits and giggles of course. His vicious assailant is grinning from ear to ear, definitely proud of himself, and leans down a notch, easily throwing Kerry over his shoulder, the superior merc strength getting the best of the squirming singer, carrying him with ease.

“Put me down!! V!” His words are filled with shameless laughter, and all he gets in response to his plea is a playful smack on the ass, making him twitch and gasp in surprise, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he’s lazily wriggling around, “Ya dickhead!!”

“Yeah, go on, flail some more so I can drop ya and pretend it was an accident~”

He laughs, giving Kerry's rear another slap, rather gentle by his standards, the silly grin not leaving his face even for a second.

“Oops!” V suddenly flinches, pretending to be about to drop his dork of a man, but quickly straightens back up, smug as ever.

“ACK! Vincent!!” Kerry yelps, holding onto the merc’s hips for dear life, and smacks him on the shoulders with a playful glare, “You bastard! You better not drop me!”

The next thing Kerry knows is that he’s tossed onto his own bed, landing on his back with a loud “oof”, some air getting knocked out of his lungs, and even though he gives V another disapproving glare, it lacks any actual menace as here he is — lying down about to get fucked straight into the bedding by his resilient, steaming hot input. Tomorrow his lower back is going to be sore as hell, but it’s so worth it, therefore a bit of roughhousing is appreciated in this context. That’s until he meets V’s eyes full of sly cheerfulness — definitely not the look he has when he’s about to pound Kerry’s brains out. The slight panic appearing on the rockerboy’s face only entertains the merc further.

“W-Wait, V, what are ya-…” In a matter of seconds Kerry feels a whole ass barrage of wiggling fingers on his sides, and a loud, obnoxious laugh bursts out of his throat — he wasn’t expecting it at all. The man gives his input the most baffled, indignant diva look he can possibly achieve while his hands dart up to grab V’s wrists, pushing them away for mere moments before they return, continuing the outrageous act.

“V!! You know I hate that shit!! Oh you fuckin’ asshole, when I get away I’ll-… Pffft-hahaha!! You’re dehehead!!”

He is kind of disappointed that the whole thing wasn’t about sex, but he’s laughing so much he can’t spare a second to think about it. The Kerry Eurodyne is kicking his feet against the mattress nonstop in a laughing fit, his cackles filling the area to the brim while he’s thrashing around, his cheeks already flushing once again. V’s sitting near, a big, kind of goofy smirk on his face, both hands busy forcing all kinds of noises out of his input for his own entertainment, but he can tell that Kerry doesn’t actually mind it either — otherwise he would’ve been way less reactive and definitely grouchier than he is now. Of course, he’s always been ridiculously ticklish, so his laughing fit is a predictable reaction, but V knows him well enough to read his moods, so, strangely, Kerry seems to be having fun as well. Probably because he’s in his natural habitat — bottoming. Not to mention that the sight is way too sweet for V to stop his merciless assault.

Unable to resist the temptation to tease him further, V snickers, speaking in a taunting, borderline cooing voice, the one he absolutely loves using to ruffle Kerry’s feathers, “Caught myself a ticklish input, didn’t I? Wonder what should I do with him~”

Kerry snarls and hisses, trying to hold back his giggles at least for a while, but soon enough realises that it’s no use — the merc’s hands are cold as hell, fingers digging into his sides and now also stomach, making him writhe and squirm like a fish out of water, hearty laughter pouring out of him nonstop, yet he’s still trying to speak:

“Shuhuhut it!! You diIICK!! Ahaha!! Stahahp it already!! It fuckin’ tickles!!”

“That’s strange, considerin’ I’m ticklin’ ya.” He chuckles at his own retort, voice oozing with sarcasm and filled with obvious pride at having managed to reduce his poor man to such a state. Any attempts of getting away are prosecuted by extra tickles, making Kerry roll onto his side and curl up into a ball — the last potential resort to get away from the impending torture. The dopey grin on his face is gradually getting wider, making him look even more ridiculous, and by extension adorable in V’s eyes, he can’t get enough of it.

To his surprise, one of Kerry’s hands manages to weasel itself towards his side, now actively clawing and squeezing it with all his strength, clearly trying to get him back for the atrocious acts, but unfortunately for him, the badass, stolid merc seems to be barely ticklish. He does let out a couple of chuckles, twitching here and there, but that’s about it, and judging by the way he squints his eyes, after that little stunt Kerry’s done for it. V’s hands slide up, now mercilessly drilling his fingertips into his input’s ribs, knowing well enough that he absolutely can’t take it at that spot, though he’s being careful not to hurt or bruise his giggly man.

“GAHAHA NO!!” Kerry’s laughter is getting hoarser by the seconds, and he throws his head back, the corners of his eyes watering from so much guffawing, he’s a mess — dishevelled hair, sweaty forehead, signature tank top rumpled like never before, and ready to sign over his villa to V just so he’d stop, so it’s time to bring out the big guns, “V!! STOP! I’M GONNA PISS MYSELF!!”

The merc chortles, amused to no extent, not pausing his attack for a millisecond, “No yer not. Not on yer fancy blankies anyway~”

“I MEAN IT! YOU SEEN HOW MANY MARTINIS I HAD?! I’M GONNA BURST!” This remark actually gets V’s attention. At the end of the day, if it’s not a joke, and the accident does happen, Kerry’s going to have his head, rightfully so. And that’s when all of a sudden in his cackling spree Kerry lets out a loud sound, which can be described as a mix of snoring and choking.

Both of them pause, looking at each other in confusion at first, as it takes them some time to process what it was, even for Kerry, since he was too busy laughing to watch his own reactions. For V it’s particularly concerning since he’s worried that he might have accidentally hurt his man or made him laugh so much that he’s now actually having trouble breathing, but soon enough the realisation hits him — it was a snort. And when that realisation settles, the merc barks out a laugh of his own, his shoulders trembling as he leans over, shaking his head at the hilarity of it all, while Kerry flushes even more than before, the silly grin stays on his face as he can’t help enjoying himself, even despite the lingering embarrassment. V’s hands start slowly sliding off him.

“‘Iright, Ker, here ya go, ya pisshead, free as a-…” The moment V relaxes enough to let his guard down, Kerry pounces, pulling him down onto his stomach, now straddling his hips, despite still panting from all the tickling and squirming. He knows V’s stronger than him, not only naturally, but also thanks to a shitload of implants, including the famous strength enhancers, so he wastes no time. Both of his hands slide under his input’s arms, aiming to get his armpits — since V’s hardly ever ticklish, he has to go all out to get his revenge. Fingers begin scribbling against the tender skin, and Kerry lets out a joyous “Ha!”, already gloating like a little kid.

“That’s what ya get!! Who’s ticklish now, huh?! Tickle-tickle-tickle, V! Not so fun being on the receiving end, is it?!” Yet the moment he leans down to gauge his man’s reaction, his smile falters a smidge, the damn merc seems to be almost immune to his ministrations. Sure, he’s smiling, body shaking with silent giggles, but it seems like Kerry could be as well massaging or scratching his back, the reaction would’ve been the same, and he can’t help feeling just a tad bit frustrated over inability to get his well-deserved vendetta. There’s even a barely noticeable pout on his face, and he doubles down on his efforts, now fully digging his fingers into the skin, but once again — barely any reaction. By the looks of it, V’s cracking up at his failed attempts instead of the tickling itself, so in a spur of the moment Kerry lets out a displeased groan, turns around, and starts smacking V’s ass again and again, not that hard, more like playing bongo with too much enthusiasm.

“Of course you’re not ticklish, probably got some implant shoved up your ass for that too ya ‘borg!! Or what, you’re too “tough” for us mere mortals, hm? A broodin’ fuckin’ street Batman — no weaknesses, no anything, so very alpha!!”

To punctuate his words he pokes V right in the butt through his pants, and the man gasps in surprise, clearly not having expected that kind of retribution. He laughs though, and, propping himself on his hands, pushes himself up, making a very much startled Kerry slide off and flop down onto the bed with a look of surprise — his beast of an input has just easily committed a push-up with the extra weight of an entire man on top of him. Kerry can’t help feeling a slight flutter in his chest at that. But it evaporates as quickly as it appeared once V sits up, now looming over him, and Kerry instantly starts backing off before even realising it.

“C’mon, V, enough already, I’m dying here. Have some mercy, would ya? Y’know I love our tussles, but at this point I might as well cough my lungs out from laughin’ so much.”

A moment later Kerry’s on his back, once again pressed against the bedsheets by his beloved tough boy, and he’s about to glare at him, not appreciating having his requests ignored, yet a soft, lingering kiss stops him from grumbling. V’s lips are a little dry due to all the drinking and action, but they feel so warm and inviting, Kerry can’t help reciprocating, and at some point their teeth lightly clink against each other as they’re both smiling, unable to hold themselves back. They’re panting, but it’s all gradually coming down to a peaceful, relaxed moment, the bond they share making V melt on top of Kerry, though he still has to distribute his weight not to crush his diva. It feels like several weighted blankets have been stacked on the rockerboy, but he doesn’t mind, in fact, he’s all up for it, and his arms wrap around the bigger man, scratching his back and caressing the edges of his cyberware.

The shared warmth brings a smile to V’s face once again, and he can’t help himself — leaning down, he begins thoroughly planting light, tender kisses on Kerry’s face, mainly targeting his cheeks and lips. God he’s absolutely smitten with Kerry’s cheeks. The most adorable set of kissable, freckled treasures. If tonight they’re being cheesy, might as well go all out.

These little pecks continue one after another, now also targeting the tip of Kerry’s nose, taking a break to give it a careful nip, the process of spoiling a certain rockerboy and showering him with affection is going at full force. At first, Kerry’s smiling, relishing in the rare moment of tenderness, but god knows he’s not used to that at all, so soon enough he starts turning his head from one side to another, trying to avoid the barrage of love shamelessly attacking his face. All while he can’t get the smile off his face no matter how much he tries.

“Hey now, I asked you for mercy!! What’s up with you today, hm? Mistook me for a body pillow or somethin’?”

V chuckles at that, planting a softer kiss on his temple, the besotted look on his face says it all — the man is way too in love right now to actually care about a thing except his cherished babygirl.

“Nah-nah, you asked for mercy from the tickles. So no tickles for ye. Maybe. There was nothin’ ‘bout kisses an’ such. So suck it up, Eurodyne,” his words are laced with affectionate teasing, and of course it’s all in jest, yet the kisses continue, and he keeps his input pinned down underneath him, eyes glimmering with somewhat childish giddiness. He sporadically switches spots like suddenly veering from pecking Kerry’s chin to nipping his cheek, despite all the squirming and feigned complaining. His kisses become more sluggish, as if he’s either getting sleepy or way too lazy to put in a smidge of effort, and that’s when the relentlessly smothered rockerboy realises — V’s now doing it all just to annoy him further, and the thought alone is enough to make him grin. He stoically takes such unbearable torment for a few more minutes before slipping one of his arms out and covering V’s mouth with his hand, lightly pushing his head away.

“Alright, Night City legend, you’ve had your fun. Now shoo. I need some space,” the statement alone is so surprising that merc’s eyes widen, and he shakes the hand off, not bothering to hide a mix of curiosity and confusion on his face.

“Some space? You sure about that?”

Kerry lets out a little “tsk” sound and even rolls his eyes halfway through, not like he acts that way often, but his input’s perception is spot on, and the mere fact that V knows him that well makes him feel things. Mostly irritation, but other stuff too.

“Shit. I need a break from all the kissing action, got it? You can… eh… stay where you are. But yeah, gimme a breather, would ya? I’m overstimulated as fuck. Thanks to all that tickling by the way, mostly at least. Oh and I am gettin’ you back for it. ‘Cause you gotta be ticklish somewhere, I just know it. Gonk ass merc.”

The tirade only serves to amuse V further, and he clumsily sits up, rolling his shoulders just to get rid of some leftover stiffness. The alcohol seems to have worn off for now, and he blinks a few times, as if seeing the world in new colours. When his eyes meet Kerry’s he snickers, voice laced with disbelief once he speaks up.

“Why are you so eager to get me back?”

“‘Cause that would be fair. Oh and so I can get you fucking squealing that’s why, you smug ass bastard. You deserve getting taken down a peg, and I’m gonna deliver, pretty boy. You’re getting tickled.”

V actually splutters with laughter at that as Kerry looks so determined and confident that it only adds up to the ridiculousness of it all, like he’s on some dire conquest against him. It’s actually hard to say whether he’s joking or being one hundred percent serious due to a mix of petulance and stubbornness on his face, so V chooses to take it in jest and opens his mouth to say something, but that’s when he hears Nibbles’s claws pitter-pattering across the floor, and freezes for a moment.

“Oh shit,” he hastily stands up, awkwardly fixing his clothes while noticing Kerry’s confused look, “you knocked over an empty whiskey bottle while running, better clean it up before Nibbles steps on it and hurts herself. Or you do, for that matter.”

The last comment actually brings a fond smile to Kerry’s face, the care in V’s voice is palpable and appreciated, plus he’s kind of glad that he’s not going to be the one to deal with the mess. Before he leaves, V leans down, planting a soft kiss on top of Kerry’s head — just the right spot not to overstimulate further and to show affection.

“And for the record, yeah, I am ticklish, but squealing? No fuckin’ way. That’s your department~”

“Eat shit.”

“Love ya too, Ker~”

Carl huffed, staggering to keep his footing as the last mob collapsed to the ground.

The smell of burned flesh and poison stung in his nose as he looked around, making sure they hadn't missed any stragglers. Donut growled as she did the same, surveying from Carl's shoulder.

The third floor continued to test their limits, the clock to level collapse ticking down faster than the days had felt.

Each day was riddled with unseen obstacles or unplanned battles to get dragged into. This was good for their levels and audience, but not great for their sanity.

The group had been walking between settlements, sent to the next one over for better supplies, when they had been ambushed. A swarm of small goblin creatures charged out of the brush, surrounding them quickly. While individually they wouldn’t have been much of a threat, the pack of 100 of them were.

Sensing the danger was gone, Donut hopped down, the cat trotting to Mongo and rubbing up against him.

"Good boy, Mongo! Mommy is so proud of you!" She fussed, cooing at the dinosaur lovingly. He clicked his beak, waving his little arms happily at the praise.

He was getting big, already about waist height on Carl. Donut had to crane her neck to look up at him. It wouldn't be long before she'd have to hop up onto his back to call commands.

Mongo cheerfully began to dig into the corpses, Donut yelping as she hurried to loot the bodies as fast as she could while he ate. It was a grotesque scene, but Carl couldn't help but chuckle at the pair.

Carl gazed at the carnage, evaluating. They only had a few hours until the sun would start to go down. If they wanted to get to the safe room before then, they'd have to hurry.

"Hey," he called over to them, watching as Mongo swallowed an arm whole before looking to him.

"We should split up, cover more ground before the janitor mobs show up. Will you and Mongo be okay on your own for a bit?"

Donut made a face, clearly about to protest.

"It won't be for long. I'll be right over there, and if you need me I'll be in earshot." He said, walking over and leaning down to scratch behind her ears. She sighed, nodding.

"Very well, but don't go wandering off." She said. Carl couldn't get his reassurance out before Donut bounded away, scolding Mongo for eating the bodies faster than she can search them.

Carl sighed, making his way to the far side of the circle of fallen mobs.

Usually, if a large group of low level mobs attacked, most of them wouldn't have anything good on them. A few things here and there, but nothing special. Though, not knowing when you might need something mundane, it was always good to pick up what you can anyways.

Carl was maybe thirty or so goblin-things into his search before he saw it. A glowing ring around the gnarled finger of a fallen mob.

The band was golden, inlaid with three equally spaced, small stones. Each stone was a different color; red, pink, and purple, with silver filigree surrounding each one. It was surrounded by a faintly lavender halo, a strange contrast against the green skin of the creature.

Kneeling, he tried to inspect it, frowning when a message popped up onto the screen in front of him.

ITEM DESCRIPTION LOCKED! TO UNLOCK THIS ITEM DESCRIPTION, ADD THE ITEM TO YOUR INVENTORY.

Carl hummed, he'd never seen this before. Sitting on the ground next to the mob, he opened his chat screen.

Carl: Hey, Mordecai, do you know anything about items you can't inspect without touching?

Mordecai: Yes and no. Can you be more specific?

Carl: Its a ring with three gemstones in the band, purple glow.

Mordecai: Its definitely a magic item, but not one I've seen before, sorry.

Carl sighed, rolling his eyes.

Carl: I gathered that much. Should I pick it up?

Mordecai didn’t reply for a moment, long enough to be concerning.

Mordecai: If it doesn't seem immediately dangerous, I'd say it's probably alright. Keep a healing potion ready just in case.

Carl: Will do. Thanks.

Carl leaned side to side, trying to get a good look at the ring for anything obvious. Putting his hand up to it, it wasn't warm or cold enough to feel it in the air, it didn't feel dangerous viscerally either.

Should I tell Donut first? He thought.

How much damage can one ring do?

Wait, shit. Lord of the Rings. We have a whole epic about what one ring can do.

Carl: Hey, found something over here.

Carl typed, decidedly.

Donut: WHAT IS IT? IS IT DANGEROUS? IS IT SPARKLY?

Carl: Sparkly, kind of. Not sure yet if it’s dangerous. I can't examine it unless I add it to my inventory.

Donut: WELL, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?

Carl rolled his eyes.

Carl: What if it's dangerous or bad or something?

Donut: WHAT IF ITS REALLY GOOD AND NOT TAKING IT MEANS LIFE OR DEATH

He paused. She had a point.

Carl: Okay, hang on. Listen for screaming just in case.

He rolled his shoulders, hopping up to crouch next to the ring. He added a healing potion to his hot bar, mentally hovering over it as he carefully slipped the ring off of the goblins finger.

The ring came off easily.

Then it forcefully ripped itself from his grasp and slid onto the middle finger of his right hand.

Gasping in surprise, Carl stood, trying to pry it off. The ring didn't budge, staying at the base of his finger as if glued there. He shook his hand, trying with his teeth to pull it off, twisting it and growling in frustration as it spun freely but wouldn't move upwards.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!!!: MOUSE TRAP!

You stuck your hand somewhere it didn't belong, or took something that wasn't yours. Now you're stuck with it!

Either way, enjoy the instant karma, you nosey piece of shit.

REWARD… You probably won't do that ever again, and hard-earned lessons are the best reward of them all!

Carl scoffed, continuing to pry until his fingers ached. The ring shined bright against his skin tone, almost mockingly unbothered by his attempts. At least it hadn't killed him yet.

Sighing, Carl examined it.

Hovering over the ring, which had made itself at home in the equipped gear section of his inventory, he read the name of the item.

Carl: Good news is, I'm not dead. Bad news is, it self-equipped to me and I can't get it off. Something called "The Enchanted Ring of Hubris, The Wizard."

There was a long pause, long enough to be unsettling.

Mordecai: I've heard the name, but not the item. What does the description say?

Clicking into it, the description sprawled open for him to read.

The Enchanted Ring of Hubris, The Wizard:

This item was created by the one and only Hubris, a wizard of world renown. Not for his wisdom or skill, but for his constant fuck ups and mishaps. In an attempt to keep himself out of harms way, though he probably deserved it, he conjured a ring to give the wearer divine immunity from all forms of damage...

Carls eyes went wide, messaging Mordecai as he read. Such a thing existed? He was surprised this was allowed, considering the universes blatant adoration for bloodsport.

... Unfortunately for him, he fucked up. Yet again. Whoopty-fucking-doo. Who would have guessed?

Carls face fell. Of course.

Upon equipping this item, it cannot be removed for 24 hours. This item has a pacifying effect on any mob within 15 feet of the wearer. That's right, their anger and bloodlust will dissipate, only to be replaced by enthralling, playful, mischievous urges! All attacks against you will be made with intent to tickle.

His blood ran cold. What the hell...?

I hope you're not ticklish, crawler! Once those mobs get their hands on you, who knows if they'll ever let go!

The voice of the AI was laced with a grin, as if punctuating the description with wiggling fingers. Carl cleared his throat, slowly looking to the chat screen.

Mordecai: Well... At least it's not dangerous?

Carl closed the screen with as much animosity as he could. His heart pounded in his throat while he fought the urge to wrap his arms around his middle.

Suddenly he felt much more exposed than he already had, still in nothing but a shirt, vest, and boxers.

He shook his head. That was stupid. He was more afraid of this than he was of pain?

Carl yelped as a new achievement popped up, his face immediately flushing red.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!!!: Monkey Paw!

You have received an item that has both a positive and a negative effect! You lucky bastard, you!

REWARD… You can take solice in the fact I can't point and laugh at you. Oh wait! I can!

Carls lips tightened into a line as he clicked the achievement away, suffering the AI's amused cackling. Checking the timer, he had about 23 hours and 45 minutes left to go with this stupid ring on.

If they booked it to the settlement, maybe they could avoid running into anything on the way.

Donut: CARL I HEARD A SCREAM. WHAT HAPPENED? ARE YOU ALIVE?

Carl sighed, relieved she had been listening.

Carl: Yeah, I'm good. Sorry.

If she found out about this, he wouldn't hear the end of it. He supposed it could be an advantage though, going into a fight as a distraction while she attacks-

No!

Absolutely not.

Millions of people across the universe were watching. Billions. Trillions. He wouldn't let them see him like that.

Carl shuddered thinking about it, anxiety slicing his soul in two at the possibility of getting pulled for an interview afterwards. Asked to explain the reasoning behind the tactic...

Fuck no.

He remembered when Bea had learned about his sensitivity, cooing at his reactions as he flailed and fought to keep from kicking her to the floor.

She had just gotten her nails done, showing them off with gentle scratches up his back when one of the points grazed a little too far to the side.

Carl had laughed himself hoarse that night, begging and pleading with her while she justified that she was "just getting him back".

In hindsight he supposed it was fair, he would often tickle the snot out of her to get her to loosen up a little. Bea always had a controlled, measured laugh, so it was nice to hear her fall apart with snorting giggles.

Carl could feel his ears burning as he thought about it. Those sharp nails fluttering over his skin, sending lightning through his nerves. Wringing laughter from him with every drag, scribble, squeeze, and poke.

He did wrap his arms around himself then, unable to suppress the phantom tingling.

This could be a big problem.

Carl: I need to tell you something and I need you to not laugh at me, can you do that?

Donut: I MEAN, IF ITS FUNNY I CAN'T PROMISE ANYTHING.

Carl sighed, psyching himself up.

Carl: The item I found was an enchanted ring. I can't take it off, so you need to know what it does. I might need your help if we run into anything else

Donut was still laughing by the time Carl got to her and Mongo.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up." He said, crossing his arms. She rolled around on her back, paws pressed to her eyes. He could feel his face warming up again with embarrassment.

Gasping, she rolled to her side, staring up at him with gleeful eyes.

"You're telling me," she said, mockingly. "That little piece of costume jewelry is going to bewitch our enemies into tickle torturing you?"

She broke into another peel of laughter as Carl's blush deepened. He looked away, clenching his fists to quell some of the nervous energy.

"Ranged attacks outside of the radius should still be dangerous. I have no idea if it's limited to regular mobs or if it extends to bosses too." He said, almost inaudible over her mirth.

Donut calmed, clearing her throat.

"Well, we don't have much choice but to account for it." She said, standing and stretching.

She noticed his expression, face falling. Clearing her throat, she added “If you get pinned, Mongo and I will handle it. We have your back."

The dinosaur screeched as if agreeing.

That was comforting to hear. At least they wouldn't let him laugh to death or leave him to suffer.

He shivered, shaking the thought away.

They finished their looting quickly, getting back on the road. Donut insisted on leading the way as Carl was "compromised", Mongo taking up the rear. Carl walked between the two, hoping this display wouldn't lose too many viewers. For Donut's sake.

Carl jumped.

He heard something...

Mongo, though usually a reliable proximity alarm, didn't react. Carl began sweeping their surroundings, checking the map as well, and was stupefied when he didn't see anything directly around them.

He heard it again.

Whipping his head towards the sound, Donut was marching on calmly. He watched her for a moment, catching her frame rattle as the sound reached his ears.

She was stifling laughter.

With that odd timing between huffs though...

Oh no.

It wasn't long until a message popped up on his HUD.

Zev: Carl, Donut instructed me to tell you she did not inform me of the ring situation. I watched it happen on my own and reached out to her first.

Carl: Well, tell Donut I could hear her snickering and I'm *very* glad she finds my "ring situation" amusing.

Zev: I understand your concern, but sarcastic remarks are unnecessary. Look at it this way, you can’t get hurt at all right now! You could go on a murder-hobo spree and you would walk away without a scratch!

Carl scowled, shoving the idea out of his mind.

Donut: I'M SURE THE SYSTEM AI WOULD LOVE IT TOO. ARE YOUR FEET STILL SENSITIVE AFTER ALL THOSE BUFFS IT GAVE YOU?

Carl glared at Donut as she looked over her shoulder, shit eating grin plastered onto her feline face. He resisted the urge to remind her which finger the ring was on.

Carl: This better not come up in any interviews.

Zev: It probably won't, so long as nothing too interesting happens. While the system AI will explain to viewers what it is, ticklishness is pretty unique to only a handful of human-seeded worlds. Not everyone evolved with it, so only a handful will understand it on the same level as you.

Carl: Meaning...?

Zev: Likely, anyone you interview with will write it off as an eccentricity of this world. Novelty doesn't sell as well as you think it does. If it's not violent, flashy, or odd, it won't get much screentime.

Donut: SEE? NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT.

Carl looked up to see Donut shooting him another look. This time, a genuine, comforting one. He nodded in return.

Zev: All of us here know of the phenomenon from Earth media, so it's not very enticing for us either. While I'll admit, watching your expressions is entertaining, I'm looking at your viewer count right now and it hasn't moved much. Most of the comments right now are about the fight, not the ring.

Carl nodded, taking a breath. While he wasn't completely out of the woods yet, that was a bit of a relief. Donut and Zev kept chatting for awhile before Zev had to log off, giving Carl time to calm himself.

As they walked, he kept checking the timer, almost trying to will it to move faster.

22 hours, 58 minutes.

22 hours, 43 minutes.

22 hours, 31 minutes.

22 hours, 28 minutes.

Damn it all.

After an hour and some change, the trio crested a hill, spotting the settlement up ahead. Easily a little more than a mile away, they would reach the safe room just in time. The sky had begun to turn different shades of yellow and orange as the sun began to set.

All they had to do was cut through a patch of woods.

Dense, dark looking woods.

Carl paused, making Mongo chitter impatiently as he went around him. Donut looked back at him, confused.

He looked from her, to the waning light, then to the woods. They wouldn't have time to go around, and even if they did, going off the trail was more dangerous than staying on.

He swallowed, feeling tingly anticipation start to stir in his stomach again.

"Oh, come on. Don't be a baby." Donut said, teasing in a lighthearted tone. She moved to him, rubbing up against his leg and purring before clambering to his shoulder.

"I'll be right here, nothing is going to get you." She headbutted his cheek, snuggling in close and continuing to purr soothingly like she would when they went to sleep. She commanded Mongo to take the lead, nodding Carl forward when the dinosaur began to move.

Carl, remembering how his legs worked, scurried after him. He had handled explosives, killed goblins, clowns, and lemurs, and has escaped certain death on a daily basis.

The ring he hid in his tightly crossed arms still made his knees shake as he walked.

Donut's warmth kept him grounded as they broke the tree line. Scattered, dimming sunlight and fireflies lit the spaces between shadows, though Donut still used her Torch spell. Mongo would pause to sniff the air, occasionally checking for danger. The woods was quiet save for the rustling of the trees and the calls of birds.

Objects began to appear on the sides of the trail.

They started small. Ratty shoes, a rusted sword, forgotten items slowly graduating to bicycle tires and old, broken appliances.

Carl's stomach sank, he knew what was happening before they even saw it.

Ahead, the objects began to clutter closer together. The junk was arranged into a funnel that opened up into a circle of abandoned household items and cars. The structure was piled high into walls that barely kissed the canopy.

In the middle, a person sat cross-legged, facing away from the entryway.

Donut felt Carl stiffen, freezing as he stared at the arena. Red crept across his face, arms tightening around his middle, and he bit his lip hard. Mongo turned back just before the entryway, tilting his head.

"Carl, it's the only way through." Donut said matter-of-factly.

Carl didn't move.

She nudged him, pointing with one paw. "Listen, I doubt you'll let me go in alone with Mongo, so you'll have to suck it up and get in there."

A message popped up.

Zev: Viewers are confused why you aren't going in. Any more stalling and they might figure out why, and that's a guarantee that people will take it and run with it. I'm sorry, but the easiest way is to get it over with.

God damn it.

Heartbeat pounding in his throat, Carl began to walk with a similar gait to a death row inmate on execution day. He heard Donut wheeze.

"So melodramatic! You'll be fine." She teased, jumping down to join the dinosaur and waving him over.

"Whatever happens, relax and try to stay near me.”

Before Donut could step in, Carl spoke.

“Take these, you’ll need them more than I will.” He said, opening his inventory.

He handed off anything that could heal, save for one healing potion. She took the potions and scrolls gratefully, Carl adding his remaining potion to his hot bar.

Just in case.

All together, they stepped in.

Oddly, the system AI didn’t announce the battle. Looking around, the arena was fairly empty aside from the person in the middle. Large holes in the arena walls were scattered throughout, seemingly chewed through the piles.

“Hey!” Carl called to the figure, watching closely. He hadn’t reacted when they came in, still seated cross-legged on the ground.

It was small, but it looked like he tilted his head in their direction. More of a twitch than an intentional movement.

Carl stepped forward, anxiety making way for confusion.

He immediately stepped into something sticky. Making a face, he peeled his foot off the ground.

The persons shoulder cranked upwards quickly, leaving him sitting in an unnatural posture. His head lolled to the side, hanging awkwardly.

“Uh… you alright, bud?” Carl called again, wincing as he stepped in another sticky patch. He looked to Donut, who hopped along the wall. She waved a paw encouragingly.

Oh, right. He was meant to be a distraction.

“Are you… alive?” He tried again, peeling his foot from the floor again. This time, something came with it.

Balancing, he looked at his sole before peeling off a sheet of what looked like tangled up, translucent thread. Each strand was as thick as a fishing line.

What the hell?

The person jolted as if yanked by puppet strings, violently raised to hover a couple inches off the ground. His limbs were twisted at odd angles, joints and bones clearly broken. He swayed in the breeze, beginning to turn.

As sunlight glinted faintly off of the strings, the man spun until his torso was on full display. Two deep, circular punctures pierced through the man’s shirt and into his belly.

The holes were blackened, a brownish-red sludge oozing from the edges of the wounds. His face was sunken in as if all of the blood and moisture had been drained from his body.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

Carl stepped back in shock, landing in another patch of webbing. It was deeper than the others, wrapping his foot and ankle completely in a thick, tangled sheet.

The corpse was quickly towed upwards. Carl followed it with his eyes, swallowing fear as it traveled into the grasp of a massive black spider.

The spider was nearly twelve feet long from leg tip to leg tip. Its abdomen was the size of a Volkswagen Beetle and twice as bulbous. Light glinted off of its shiny carapace as it dragged the corpse into its clutches and swiftly wrapped it in webbing.

It placed the bundle to the side, dangling in its web. The spider slowly turned to lock its eyes on Carl.

B-B-B-BOSS BATTLE!!!

There he fucking goes.

As usual, the AI hammed up the announcement, giving them a nice view of their mugshots and a not so nice closeup of the spider on the VS screen. Music blared and lights flashed around them as they were trapped in place, in slow motion.

Years ago, this grove was peaceful and pristine. As people began illegally dumping their unwanted possessions, they began to attract some unwanted pests. The practice only stopped once the Giant, Man-eating Widow (lovingly named “Big Bertha” by local environmentalists, most of which she ate) moved in. Now anyone who dares to enter her domain becomes her lunch. Are you crawlers ready for this creepy?

Here… we… go!

Once allowed to move, Carl dropped to try and free his leg. He clawed at the webs, only managing to scrape off a handful and accidentally sticking his fingers together. An ear splitting shriek sounded from above, followed by the rustling of something very big moving very fast.

Carl braved a look up.

Big Bertha barreled right for him.

Death from above, she dropped, streaming from freshly spun silk with her front legs outstretched. Her mandibles chattered, fangs grinding together with hunger. Her eight massive eyes were soulless and black, a mirror to show her prey what she saw as she devoured them.

Carl screamed, collapsing in a heap when he tried to run. She landed above him with a crash, spear-like legs spiking into the ground around him as her face came within inches of his body. She reeked of rot, her frenzied breath washing over him as her unblinking eyes sized up her meal.

She quieted, pausing. Carl held his breath as she raised slightly, fangs tucking back. Big Bertha’s mandibles fidgeted thoughtfully.

“Carl! Are you alright?!” Donut cried. Carl couldn’t see her, but she sounded close by.

Slowly, he raised a hand from under the spider, giving a thumbs up. Too shaken up to speak, it was all he could muster.

“Okay! I don’t know what’s going on, but keep her distracted. I hear backup incoming!”

He never once took his eyes off of Big Bertha, unnerved by the hesitation. Not wanting to startle her, he kept the hand up in the air, though the thumbs up relaxed.

He didn’t notice as a set of her lower legs began to move upwards, slowly reaching for him.

Carl shrieked as the pinchers of the legs grabbed him by his shirt, swiftly pulling him down. As his hands raised, both from surprise and the drag, she pinned them at the sides of his head with two upper legs before gathering some webbing. She firmly pressed it over his wrists and into the ground.

It was still warm. Carl gagged.

He froze, watching as Bertha began to back up until her mouth hovered over his torso. Panic coursed through him, breath quickening.

“Donut!” Carl yelled, pulling at his wrists and scraping his heals.

“Donut, the ring didn’t work! She’s going to eat me!”

Was this it?

Was this really how he was going to die?

One botched magic ring was all it took?

“Hang on! I’m coming!” Donut called back from somewhere behind him, the sounds of a fight overwhelming her voice.

The spider reeled back, stretching her mandibles and fangs. A hiss rumbled through her, front legs rearing up.

He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth.

Carl braced as he felt her lunge, a scream ripping through him as she made contact.

But no pain came.

His scream broke into shrill, surprised giggles as her mandibles dug into his sides.

Relief washed through him, the feeling immediately overwhelmed by giddy panic. He threw his knees against the underside of the arachnid, pulling at his wrists again. Heat rose to his cheeks when the polished sides of her fangs dug into the soft flesh of his belly, kneading gently to coax laughter from him.

Carls laugh was a happy thing. The pitch would fluctuate wildly, laced with hiccups and gasps, the joyful sound garnished by a silly smile.

He threw his head side to side, bright laughter stealing his breath. A wide grin dominated his features as he thrashed, ears burning red. Carl knew he had to be blushing from his hairline to his chest, feeling silly and exposed.

It’s like the game knew he’d think he was a goner and waited for him to cry for help.

It probably did.

Big Bertha nuzzled into Carl’s torso, scribbling over his ribs wherever her mandibles could reach. He lurched as she grazed over a spot a few inches below his armpits, letting out a mournful whine when she paused her exploration and crept back to it.

“No! No, hey, I just have bruises there. You can’t hurt me, remember? It’s a bruise! Leave it alone!”

She couldn’t understand him.

Carl threw his head back as she massaged circles into the spot, wheezing until all the air left his lungs. Gasping, frantic laughter tore from him, shaking his frame.

She didn’t let up.

While he writhed, beginning to beg between gasps, the spider gathered his hands. She pressed the bindings together in the middle, weaving a rope between them and sticking the loose end to the floor. Ripping the boot of webbing from his foot, she wrapped the dense sheet around both ankles and tied another rope between them, but leaving the end in one of her pincers at the ends of her skinny legs

Carl giggled, loopy, barely registering she had stopped. She climbed up into her web, towing the line attached to his ankles after her.

“Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, words slurring slightly. It had been ages since his brain was flooded with this strong of an endorphin cocktail.

His legs rose into the air, followed by his butt, then torso, pulling him taut as his arms extended straight down to the ground. The stretch wasn’t painful, but his movement was very restricted.

From this position, though upside down, Carl could see Donut and Mongo across the arena from him. They were fighting a group of rats, all the size of large dogs. The rats seemed to be afraid of Bertha, keeping them away from her and her new toy. Donut and Mongo seemed to be holding their own.

Big Bertha lowered into view a few feet in front of Carl, spindly legs moving almost leisurely. Carl pulled at his limbs, not even getting an inch to move. The attempt caused him to bounce a little in the webbing, making her scramble towards him with frightening speed, predatory instinct still strong under the spell.

He yelped, flinching in his restraints again, mentally cursing himself. She shot out with fearsome arms, threatening to lock onto him to hold him still.

Even with her terrifying features, Carl fought to suppress the playful energy in his chest.

She paused, as if daring him to do it again. Unable to help himself, an anticipatory smile pulled at his lips. She darted again, scrambling closer. Carl jolted, the scare enough to make him giggle wildly. Again, she lurched, moving as if to bite him. He squealed, squeezing his eyes shut again and pressing his cheek into his bicep.

“That won’t work on me again!” He said, a machine-gun-like laugh breaking through the words. “You can’t trick me twice! Just do it you dick!”

Four legs latched on, their sets of pincers finding his torso, obligingly.

Carl guffawed, thrashing in his bonds. All that achieved was more bouncing, the movement shaking him and making him a more annoying target. Swiftly, Big Bertha moved out of sight before coming up behind him and pressing her underside flat against his back. He didn’t have time to react before the pincers found him again, this time two legs crossing over his waist to press him into her carapace, completely preventing him from squirming.

“Not fair! Not fair! Not fair!” He cried, trying to pry himself out of her grasp.

As his inability to escape set in, the sensations seeped into his bones. Belly laughter poured from him freely as the pincers explored, pinching up and down his ribs, circling in his hips and underarms, skittering over his collarbones, chest, stomach, and sides. He let his head hang, only tensing up to shake in protest or to press back into the spider.

Unfortunately, his shaking enticed her.

Warm breath on the back of his neck alerted him to her lowering, silently lining up with his nape.

The mandibles returned, clutching around his neck to hold his head still. He froze, willing his body to stop struggling as laughter continued to pour from him.

Each of her fangs raised, extending over his shoulders and hooking down, locking him in like the shoulder restraints of a roller coaster. The points of her fangs just barely grazed his upper ribs, dragging back and forth intentionally. The mandibles began to trace around his neck, his jaw, and the shells of his ears, tickling with a feather light touch to contrast the rapid scribbling of her legs.

Any shred of dignity he had left in that moment did the sensible thing and died.

Carl went limp, surrendering to the overwhelming feeling. His strength was shot, pathetic squirming taking the place of his attempts to escape.

The careful touches around his neck raised goosebumps along his back, making him scrunch up his face in ticklish agony. He resisted the urge to scrunch his shoulders too, knowing the fangs would likely keep them from moving and end up provoking her again.

He trembled as he struggled to stay still. He switched between loud, deep, happy mirth and shrill giggling as the spider hopped from spot to spot.

When his stomach would shake as he laughed, pincers darted in to vibrate into the sensitive flesh, forcing it all out. When the laughter jumped to his chest, she would flutter over his ears and under his chin, pulling the frantic sounds from him as if they were on a thread of her webbing. She did all this deftly, as if tickling her prey was natural and well practiced.

Suddenly, he felt movement towards his legs.

“No! Not there!” He screeched.

“Anywhere but there!”

Carl tried to protest. Tried to kick. Tried to beg.

The spider dug into that spot in his ribcage again, subduing him. His panic rose, unable get more than one syllable out at a time as he felt her back legs creeping towards his feet.

Unable to contain himself, he tried to shake his head. The mandibles grasped the sides of his face, hooking under his jaw, holding him in place and zoning in on the pressure point hidden on the inside crest of the jaw bone, making him bark out a high pitched laugh. By the time the pincers dragged across his soles, tears had begun to streak down, flowing past his temples and dripping to the floor.

Big Bertha scratched at his soles. Her pincers scribbled over his arches, ball, and under his toes, adding the maddening feeling to the barrage of sensations already abusing his nervous system.

Carl, eyes widening with a gasp before slamming them shut, let out a primal scream.

Wild cackling erupted from him, caught somewhere between throaty and shrill, like a goblins laugh. He wheezed and snorted, hiccups punching at the walls of his chest.

Once it started, the avalanche wouldn’t stop.

When Bea had tickled him to pieces that night, so long ago, she uncovered this reaction too. Painfully loud to listen to, too contagious not to, and it never ended. Slowing down or letting up only reduced the volume, this laugh was permanent proof he had been broken.

His “witch cackle”, Bea had called it.

Through his mirth, he heard a snicker from below.

Managing to open his eyes a slit, he glanced towards the ground. Donut sat underneath them, shaking with barely controlled amusement.

Struggling, he tried to cover one foot with the other, switching back and forth as the scratchy legs would switch in response. A frustrated wail broke through, cut off by a squeak as the spider skittered over his ear again.

Donut grinned.

“Your new friend seems to really like you!” Donut said, voice dripping with mischief.

He tried to spit a “fuck you” back, but couldn’t get the words out. Donut giggled as he gave up and flipped her off instead.

“Maybe we should let her play with you for a while. It would teach you a lesson to not be rude to your rescuer.” She chided, giggling when a stream of “no”s exploded from him in pitchy wheezes.

“Hmm… I don’t know…” the cat paced in a circle, side-eyeing the line tethering his wrists to the ground.

“I’m sorry! I-I’m sorry!” Carl cried, barely able to speak. The witch cackle had grown hoarse and breathless.

“Sorry for what?”

“Donut, please!” He begged, pressing his palms together in their cuffs as if praying.

She sighed dramatically, as if asked to do massive chore, before extending a claw and slicing the web.

Arms freed, Carl slammed his arms down to cover himself. Elbows pressing hard into the spiders legs that still held him to her, he attempted to curl up, fighting gravity and her fangs to do so.

There was a sickening rip, then a bloodcurdling scream right behind his head as he was suddenly able to move. Big Bertha scurried up into her web, high over the arena as her fangs dropped to the ground with a thud.

The victory music blasted in Carl’s ears, though he barely registered it as he caught his breath. He let himself hang as the system AI listed the loot boxes they received from the fight, residual giggles escaping tiredly.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!!!: KNEE-CAPPER!

You have defeated a boss by disabling it rather than killing it! Now it will have to die slowly, either unable to hunt or unable to protect itself. Now, that is fucked up.

REWARD… You can rest easy knowing that as it suffers, it will probably be thinking of you.

Carl glanced towards the fangs, guilt creeping in. She hadn’t so much as left a bruise on him and he had given her a life ending injury.

He felt like an asshole.

“Brace yourself!” Donut called.

Carl whipped his head to the left, seeing Donut had scaled the wall. A magic missile shot from her, destroying the line that strung him to the web above.

He yelped as he dropped, tucking just before he hit. Sitting up, he began to tear away his wrist restraints while Donut sliced at the thick sheets of webbing around his ankles.

As they worked, another achievement popped up.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!!!: HERE COMES THE TICKLE MONSTER!

The AI said it in a playful tone, making Carl unconsciously wrap his arms around himself again.

You were intentionally tickled by a normally aggressive mob! How cute! Hopefully it wasn’t a terrifying one, that way your nightmares will stay scary instead of filled with mischievous phantom fingers.

REWARD… You have received a first level monster tamer skill!

Carl rolled his eyes, stumbling as he stood. Donut looked up at him, smiling sweetly.

“You need to wear that ring again sometime, that was fun to watch” she said, tail waving teasingly.

He scoffed, moving to leave the arena.

“Yeah, fuck no. Once was enough.”

“Come on, please?” She said, drawing out the end like a begging child.

“No.”

A message notification popped up, making him jump.

Zev: Oh. My. God. Carl, that was adorable!

Carl flushed, crossing his arms and putting on a glare.

Carl: No, it wasn’t. That was torture. And terrifying.

Donut: IT WAS CUTE. YOU’RE OUTVOTED.

Carl: I can’t be outvoted because there was no vote.

Zev: Actually… you kind of are.

Carl froze, frowning. Clicking out of the chat, he saw the viewer count. It was in the trillions.

Fuck.

Zev: When Big Bertha dropped on you and you thought she would eat you, your panicking drew the attention of a lot of viewers.

Carl: God damn it.

Zev: People are absolutely buzzing from the encounter! They’re calling it cute, funny, and specifically calling you and your laugh adorable. <3

Carl groaned, leaning against the arena wall before sliding down to sit, knees to his chest. He thunked his skull against the metal door of an old car.

Zev: I know you’re embarrassed, but this is a good thing! You’re reaching a new audience and getting traffic from all over the place. People have already posted clips, there’s a really good one that I think would be great for promo material!

Carl: Don’t you fucking dare.

Zev: But you have such a great smile! You look very happy. Relaxed, even! I already have a program begging to have you on!

Donut: WHAT PROGRAM?

Zev: It’s a smaller one called “Crawler Crush”. Basically, it’s a show for fans that fawn over their favorite crawlers. They have Crawlers on for interviews, Q&A, games, fan mail, stuff like that. Easy, fluffy television.

Carl shot Donut a glare, shaking his head. She flicked her tail back and forth as she kept eye contact.

Donut: SIGN US UP.

Zev: Wonderful!

Carl: NO! WHAT THE HELL?!

Zev: I agree with Donut, you should wear that ring any chance you get. It can be a good strategic advantage, but your viewers love it too and it could be a fun treat for them.

Carl groaned, rubbing his face. His cheeks still ached from smiling.

Carl: This better not show up in the highlight reel tonight.

Later, after a long and tiring trudge, they entered one of the local pubs of the settlement. Today’s recap episode was just starting, the pub filled with the idle chatter of patrons.

Mordecai spotted them and waved them over to his table, snickering as Carl took his seat. Carl was about to snap at him, but was cut off as the incubus slid a glass of something strong towards him. He huffed, nodding his thanks.

“I’m glad you’re alright.” Mordecai said, tinking the rim of his own glass against Carl’s. He smirked, taking a sip.

“Thanks.”

The recap churned through clip after clip of other crawlers and their battles, each one as brutal as usual. Every time the clip changed, Carl felt a spike of fear that he’d be shown on screen, pinned under a nightmarish beast and losing his shit.

Those bastards saved it for the end.

He froze as he heard himself scream, black screen opening to the horrific image of him pinned underneath a giant spider as he called to Donut that the ring wasn’t working.

They zoomed in on the spiders massive fangs, drool dripping from her open mouth, rearing up to bite-

Then they smash cut to him hanging upside down in her grasp, struggling weakly as ticklish laughter poured from his goofy grin.

Nose scrunched and bright red from his chest to his ears, he gasped, hiccuped, squeaked, and wailed for everyone to see.

Carl sunk down in his chair as eyes fell on him, staring into his glass. He knocked back the rest of his drink, folding his arms on the table and laying his face into them.

The pub erupted in laughter.

“Sorry, kid.” Mordecai said, patting his back.

Carl groaned.

Then jolted up, ramrod straight, as the incubus swiftly dragged a pointed claw up his spine. Mordecai laughed, a snort slipping through as Carl looked around the room to make sure no one saw.

Everyone had turned back to watch the episode, no longer paying them any attention.

“I swear to god, if you do that again I will end you.” Carl growled under his breath.

“No, you won’t. You’d miss me.” Mordecai said with a wink.

Donut hopped into Carls lap, looking up at him curiously.

“What if you got him back instead? Like Miss Beatrice did when you would tickle her all the time?”

Carl chuckled, sending a taunting look to Mordecai. He didn’t seem threatened.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” He said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs.

Carl quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Incubi have perks towards anything that could be considered a fetish.” He said, shrugging. The incubus huffed a laugh, a wicked desire crossing his features.

“You could probably get a laugh out of me, but you wouldn’t win in a tickle fight with an entity that knows your nerves just by looking at you.” Mordecai grinned as he fluttered the claws of one hand towards Carl, letting them click together in a rhythmic pattern.

He swallowed, staring at them.

Zev: That could be good for views. If it happens, make sure you’re not in a safe room so it can be watched.

Carl shook his head, thunking his forehead into the table.

This was going to be a long floor.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!!!: FANFICTION FREAK!

You read a fanfiction for a niche book AND niche subject at the same time!!