That very anxious lee writer

You were resting quietly against Sam on the couch, the glow of the bunker’s lamp painting everything in a soft light. His arms were wrapped around you in a warm embrace, steady and comforting.

He whispered, “You seem a little tense. Mind if I try something?”

You gave a shy nod, heart fluttering.

Sam’s fingers pressed gently — not sweeping or brushing, just a slow, deliberate, light touch right along your ribs.

You bit your lip and couldn’t help but let out a soft, startled giggle.

Sam’s eyes sparkled with surprise and delight. “Oh, wow. You’re definitely ticklish.”

You buried your face against his chest, cheeks hot. “I— I didn’t mean to laugh…”

He chuckled softly. “It’s okay. It’s kind of adorable.”

Without rushing, he continued, carefully tracing tiny circles with just his fingertips, making sure to keep it feather-light and non-teasing. You squirmed a little, your giggles shy and breathy, muffled against him.

“See? Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he murmured, brushing his lips against your temple.

You tilted your head slightly, a quiet squeak escaping as his fingers wandered a little further up, toward the curve just below your arm. Your shoulders tensed, and you tried to curl in on yourself with a sheepish whimper.

“Right there, huh?” Sam said gently, his voice soft and amused. “Okay, I’ll stay here.”

He kept the touches slow and sweet, fingertips dancing with care as you giggled softly into the fabric of his shirt.

“Sammm,” you whined, your voice still wrapped in laughter, “th-that’s not fair…”

“I’m not trying to be mean,” he whispered, nuzzling your hair. “You’re just so cute when you laugh like that.”

You let out another sweet giggle as he circled back to your tummy, hands resting there with warm affection. Then, after a pause, his fingers twitched gently — just enough to make you wiggle and squeak again.

Sam smiled into your hair. “I could get used to this.”

You peeked up at him with flushed cheeks and wide, fluttery eyes. “You’re being so gentle…”

“I don’t want to overwhelm you,” he said softly. “But I want to keep hearing that sound. That little giggle of yours.”

Your lips tugged into a bashful smile, your head tucked under his chin. “It’s… kinda nice.”

That was all the permission Sam needed. He resumed his soft tickles with patience and warmth, thumbs brushing your sides, occasionally grazing just under your ribs — never too much, never fast. Just enough to make you melt and giggle quietly as he held you close.

And every time your breath hitched in a sweet little laugh, he held you tighter and smiled wider.