Oh, hi!

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. It’s been a week since I tickled you to pieces for trying to get a rise out of me by cursing nonstop. Gosh, it really doesn’t get easier typing that word. Normally I wouldn’t have a problem saying it, but with the torture you’ve been inflicting on me…and Rocky’s been poking me randomly all week. I’m not sure he knows he’s tickling me. Normally, I’d be like, “Hey, stop, that tickles,” but I can’t, y’know, say the dang word!!

After you told me to run, I did. Well, to the other end of the ship. When I turned around, you hadn’t followed me. Instead I only found Rocky, who did not refrain from telling me that I was a “silly human” and that I “can’t handle what I dish out.” Yes, I regret teaching him that turn of phrase. And yes, Rocky saw (heard?) the whole thing from his favorite nook in the ship. Dang echolocation.

So there I was, wondering what kind of game you were playing at. I ambled back in your direction after a while to find you humming innocently while tinkering with a microscope I had broken a few circadian cycles ago (long story). You reached over to grab a tool and gave me a stupid little smirk when I jumped at the sudden movement. Smug bastar— nope. Not gonna curse. Won’t give you the satisfaction.

This went on for a week. A WEEK! I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen when you finally got your hands on me. One time you reached past me to grab your mug of tea and I honest-to-God squeaked. Came pretty close to actually cursing, which is weird. I don’t usually get that flustered. 

This experience has made me reflect a lot. I’ve been thinking more about the short flashes of memories I’d had of us having tickle fights on Stratt’s Vat. Once, we were fooling around on the top deck where we thought no one could see us. You’d said something snarky about how I wear my glasses hanging off my face and I decided it was a perfect excuse to tickle you silly. I remember I had you pinned (as it usually seemed to be in my memories, hehe), and I was absolutely wrecking you. Like, you were laughing so hard it was silent. It was pretty adorable. Oh, I remember now which spot it was. The little soft dips next to your hip bones. Hip sockets? Whatever those are called. Nice, I gotta remember that for later. Gosh, I just realized I’m smiling while writing this. 

Anyway, you’d managed to turn the tables on me at some point. I don’t remember much, and now that I think about it I don’t really remember where I’m ticklish. But recently I haven’t been able to lift my arms or expose my armpits around you without fear of tickles, so, I guess that’s a hint from my subconscious. 

So, in the memory, Stratt kind of…appeared behind us. While you were tickling me. Talk about embarrassing. She sort of cleared her throat and smirked at me. She said something to you that made the humiliation even worse — I think she said “He’s ticklish?” and you managed to get past your own embarrassment enough to say “Very” and demonstrate. Gah.

Okay, I can hear you playfighting with Rocky. Or something. There’s a lot of banging going on. Be back soon.

~~~~~

Rocky is a traitor. A liar and a cheat. 

It’s been about an hour. Well, at least I’m not in suspense anymore. I think you tickled me so hard I saw stars.

I’ll back up and write the whole thing out. Well, I’ll try to. I might give up and decide the details are too embarrassing to immortalize in writing.

So, I went to check out what you and Rocky were doing to make all that noise. Turns out Rocky was just having a hard time containing his excitement and was tumbling around so eagerly that he crashed in a few walls.

Why was he excited, you ask? Let me illuminate you.

Turns out that Rocky has been poking me all week on purpose. Testing for tickle spots. Can you believe this? That conniving little alien.

When I walked in, you two were hatching a plan to finally get me back for what I did to you last time. Swapping notes, or something. Almost as soon as I walked in, Rocky barreled me over in his ball. He weighs like 400 pounds. I couldn’t move. After that, you proceeded to sit on my hips to hold me down (the indignity!). Rocky wouldn’t stop making fun of me. There was a lot of “weak human” and even a cheeky “I can see how the bad humans forced you to go on the ship.” Yeah, he’s been getting a little more comfortable joking about that stuff now that he knows I’ll have a happy ending of sorts with him on Erid. I’m pretty sure you taught him dark humor behind my back.

I tried to be as cool and collected as possible. But dang, it was hard. You kept wiggling your fingers in front of my face and laughing at me when I giggled—wow, this is hard to type without cringing. Okay. I’ll try to write a re-enactment.

You: “I wonder how long it’ll take you to start cursing when I actually tickle you.”

Me: “C’mon, don’t do it—it won’t work, y’know…”

You [grinning smugly]: “No, I think it will.”

Me: “This is stupid—“ Here I get cut off by a shriek (that I will continue to deny if you bring it up again) because you’d started clawing at my tummy with no warning. 

It was pretty embarrassing, actually. I’ve always been a little self-conscious about my belly. It’s never been quite as toned as I wanted it to be. Well, you kept saying things like—

You: “Aww, what a cute tummy.”

Me: “Stop— no, it’s not! Leave me alone—“ [I’m editing out all the giggling, because gosh, that’s embarrassing. Also it might be worth mentioning that my cheeks were about as red as apples by now.]

Rocky: “What makes Grace’s stomach cute, question?”

Me: “Shut up, Rocky!!”

You: “Hey, that’s not very nice.” [You started poking and scratching at my ribs as a punishment. I absolutely lost it.] 

You: “It’s cute because it’s soft. And ticklish. But also kinda muscley. It’s perfect. Come see.”

At this point I was too lost in giggles to talk back. But if I could’ve, I’d have probably yelled at you to stop talking.

Rocky: “Interesting. I agree. Grace has cute stomach, statement.”

It was silent for a sec (well, except for my hysterical laughter), and then Rocky says: “Observation. Grace’s arms are very tense. I think Grace is protecting something.” 

You: “Ooh. Wait. I bet his armpits are ticklish.”

I tried to deny it, but it was no use. It took a lot of your strength to pry an arm away from my side and pin it, but you got there. And then I was so far gone. 

You: “Grace, is this why you went for my armpits first the other time? Sneaky.” You kept wiggling your fingers over my armpit and I was squirming like crazy. 

And then it happened. You made contact. And what did I scream? 

Me: “SHIT!!!”

Yup. 

You: “Oh my god, he actually cursed. This must be a good spot.”

Rocky was extremely entertained. Wouldn’t stop doing jazz hands. Kept saying “Tickle more!” and even “Get him!” His voice was an octave higher than usual so I could tell he was excited. Little sadist.

Your nails, by the way, are actual torture devices. Is this what it felt like when I did this to you? No way it was this bad. You stayed in that spot for what felt like hours. I think I screamed my voice hoarse. 

You: “Aww, Ry, your giggles are so cute. Right here? Yeah? Tickle tickle…”

I’m pretty sure my face burned 10 degrees hotter hearing my own teases thrown back at me. 

Somehow you knew exactly when I’d had enough. You were merciful enough to not comment on my lack of protest, or how I’m definitely strong enough to throw you off of me. And you petted my hair and scalp until I calmed down, which was nice. I guess your long nails are good for something nice too, not just for torturing me.

Oh, yeah, and then you said something that made me want to curl up into a ball and hide. “It’s so cute that our most ticklish spot is in the same place.” Ahhhhh. Instant blush. Why do I blush so much?? I swear I hadn’t before today. I’m blushing just writing this. 

Oh, and remember how I said you didn’t comment on my obvious enjoyment? Well, Rocky’s not that nice. As soon as I could hear myself think again, his first comment was, “Grace not say ‘stop.’ Grace not fight back. Grace like tickling. Statement.” I actually hid my face in your lap. And then Rocky made this cooing noise at me—okay I really gotta stop writing now. I’ll give myself a heart attack or something.

I really hope no one reads this entry. So embarrassing.

“You know, Rock, you don’t have to say that every time,” Grace says, grunting slightly at the stretch. I turn around to see him braced against one of the tall cabinets with his arms above his head. His shirt is ridden up, exposing an expanse of pale skin. I trace down his belly with my eyes, following his happy trail to an abrupt dead end at the waistband of his tied-off jumpsuit. 

I realize my mouth is open a second too late. I shut it quickly, my teeth clacking together as Grace notices my staring. “What?” He asks. 

I shake my head. “Nothing.” Too quick. Damn. 

Grace wanders out of the lab, an amused half-smile on his face. “Okay. Come find me when you’re done being weird,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Neither Rocky nor I move for a second. I cover my face. “Why flustered, question?” Rocky asks. His voice is slightly lower pitched than usual—the I’m-Making-Fun-Of-You tone. I shake my head dismissively. Rocky lets out a series of amused notes and returns to his work. 

I try to focus on what I was doing before, but I just can’t. It’s like my hands are itching and restless. Thank God Grace isn’t in the room or I’d be getting the worst cuteness aggression right now— damn it. Spoke too soon. 

Grace trips on his own feet walking back into the lab. I watch him laugh it off, toss up a breezy “I’m fine!”, and promptly walk into a table with an “oof.” He stumbles around Rocky’s ball, grabs his favorite pen, and leaves. Jesus. I take a slow breath as I try to will away the urge to squeeze that man until he pops (affectionately). 

Rocky chitters with amusement. “No understand why you think is cute when Grace is dumb, statement,” he says. I scoff lightly at the hypocrisy—I once woke up in the middle of the night and realized Rocky was doing the Eridian equivalent of babytalking (pebble-talking?) us while we slept because he thought Grace’s snoring was cute. “Pot, meet kettle,” I say sarcastically. 

“Don’t like this human expression. Makes no sense,” Rocky replies calmly. I huff in flustered frustration. 

•••

God, this is driving me crazy. I just can’t do it anymore. 

It’s been a few hours, but this feeling just keeps getting worse. We’ve been cuddling, because I was hoping it would tame the urge a little. He’s got no clue. Probably. At least, judging by the way he’s sitting—totally relaxed, arms above his head, shirt rucked up—he doesn’t know what’s going through my head. 

My thoughts are pretty much: Tickle him. Tickle him! Don’t you see how his spots are wide open? I wonder if he’d squeal if I just did it without warning—nope. 

“Grace,” I finally say after another half hour of agony. 

“Hmm?” He hums, idly scrolling through one of the books Stratt pirated. He’s reading Percy Jackson, like one of his middle school students. Damn, that makes me want to tickle him more somehow. 

“I… there’s something I need,” I say haltingly. 

“What’s up?” He sets the laptop aside. 

I angle my face away, pushing my cheek against his chest a little more. It makes the next part easier. “I… I really want… I need to, um—“ I take a shaky breath in. “Can I tickle you?”

He’s quiet. I hear his breathing catch in his lungs beneath my ear. “What?” He asks. I hear his heart rate increase. 

“I’m not saying it again,” I mutter in embarrassment.

“I— you want to do that? To me?” He asks. He sounds shocked. I look up and he’s got a flattered expression on his face (and a bright red blush to match it). 

Oh, great. We’re both embarrassed. Tweedle Dee and Twiddle Dum over here. 

“W- me? Why?” 

“Because, I- well, you stretched, and, and you’re just so cute, it makes me want to—“

I cut off, hiding my face. I peek out after a few seconds of silence. “Can I?”

His mouth is slightly open. A nervous smile starts to spread across his face. “Uh, y-yeah.”

I sit up. “Okay,” I say with a shy smile of my own. 

I place my hands gently on his tummy. He hisses at the contact of my icy fingers. “Sorry, sorry,” I murmur. “Poor circulation.”

“Yeah,” he says with a nervous chuckle as he watches me blow hot air on my hands to warm them up. “Just go easy, okay?”

I smile. I’m sure it’s wobbly and undermined by the blush on my face, but I try to tease him anyway: “Why, are you scared?”

This seems to have been more effective than I anticipated, based on the choked noise from his mouth and the quickly spreading blush. There’s a variable  I hadn’t thought of before: anticipation. Seeing me warm up my hands and watching them creep closer to his tickle spots apparently has a profound effect on Dr. Ryland Grace. There’s already a few nervous giggles slipping out: “N-nohoho…”

I poke his tummy gently in a few random spots. “I’m barely touching you,” I say, wiggling my fingers along the soft hairs of his happy trail that had captivated my attention earlier.

Grace’s hands shoot down to defend himself. “H-hehehey, give a guy some wahaharning…”

I wiggle my fingers up his sides. These light, random tickles seem to be working very nicely. He’s so giggly, it’s adorable. 

“Wahahahait- hold ohohon!” He squeals. 

“I was waiting before, but you didn’t like that very much,” I tease. I pull my hands back, wiggling them over his torso. 

“Noho- that’s not what I meheheant- stop, wait, no, don’t—“ he babbles. I smile wider at the obvious dilemma in his voice. 

“Ohh, I know,” I say faux-sympathetically, in a patronizing tone. “Poor thing. Can’t decide what you want, huh?”

He shakes his head desperately, cheeks beyond red at my teasing. I watch as his arms flop above his head, completely surrendering to the tickles. My fingers slow as a blush creeps onto my cheeks again at the sight.  My mouth falls open slightly. 

“Wh-whahat?” He asks through residual giggles. 

“No, I just… you’re so…” I rub my face, embarrassed. He’s looking up at me with that silly grin, exposing all his tickle spots, completely relaxed and willing to be tickled—by me—and he’s asking me what’s wrong?

We stare at each other in flustered bewilderment for a few seconds, like a sort of stalemate. I’m gripped with a rush of giddy need to tickle him again and let my hands fall back to his sides. 

He starts to giggle for me again as I knead his ribs gently. “I cahan’t believe you’re sohoho— affehehected by me,” he giggles out, staying mostly still but twitching a little as I hit sensitive spots. 

“Yeah, don’t let it go to your head,” I murmur back, deflecting by poking at his underarms. He squeals a little and wiggles happily under me. 

I hide my red face in his neck, which seems to tickle him more. “You’re so fucking cute, it’s not fair,” I mutter. 

“Lahaha-language,” he says lightly. 

I reward him for that comment with a particularly mean dig into his pectoralis major. He shrieks in my ear. I laugh slightly, the sound vibrating into his neck in a way I know tickles like hell. From experience. 

I sit up to look at his face and he’s got the most pleased grin I’ve ever seen on him. I admire it for a few seconds, my fingers still scratching gently under his arms, drawing a constant stream of soft chuckles. Then I realize something.

“Holy shit, you’ve been doing it on purpose,” I say in flustered awe. 

“Whahahat?” He asks, his arms coming down a little defensively. 

“Yeah, you are. Oh my God. You’re provoking me. Scolding me for cursing. Literally taking it lying down. Wait- was the stretching on purpose too?”

He shakes his head, a guilty grin spreading across his cheeks. 

“Liar,” I growl, moving my thumbs to the crease of his hips and massaging as deep as I can. He nearly screams with laughter, hips bucking against mine. 

He taps the floor twice with his hand and I stop immediately, breathing faster than normal. An incredulous smile makes a permanent home on my face, right next to my vibrant blush. “You were doing it on purpose,” I repeat, shocked. 

He shakes his head desperately, covering his face through residual giggles. I peel his hands away. “Y’know, you can just ask me,” I say lightly. I chuckle at the groan of embarrassment that ensues. I watch his smile silently. 

“Y- you really wanted me to tickle you that bad?” I ask, flustered. “I- wow.”

“Could say the same to you,” he mumbles. 

We both laugh. I settle back down to cuddle with him again. 

“Mm. Rocky probably thinks we’re idiots,” I hear Grace murmur as he picks up his laptop again. 

I watch him scroll back to Percy Jackson. I settle in more comfortably against his chest. “Has he gotten to Camp Half-Blood yet?” I mumble.

“No. Didn’t get very far,” Grace admits. “I was thinking about—you know.”

“Everything is different on camera, dear,” Asmo explained, fluffing a brush across his cheek. Beel’s stomach growled. “Asmo- when can I go back to the green room for some of those scream puffs?” He pouted, his lip drooping. His brother huffed, shaking his head. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can snack, I promise, Beel! Now pull your shirt up, I have to do some work on your abs.”

Asmodeus pulled a contour palette out of his giant cheetah print makeup bag, the same size as Beel’s exercise duffel. “Why? Is something wrong with them?” Beel pulled his shirt up and glanced at his stomach curiously.

Asmo giggled and poked his side, “No, silly, we just have to do some contour for some of the photos they’re doing this shoot.” Beel flinched, his mouth quirking up at the poke. “Fine, just hurry up please, I’m starving-”

Another loud grumble came from his stomach, it was complaining just as much as Beel. Asmo dipped into the palette and tapped the brush on the side. “I’ll be fast, I promise,” he held his pinky out for Beel’s to grasp. A pinky promise between the demon brothers was very common, something they had done many times over the years. It meant different things with different people, but Asmo’s usually came with a smile and success. Beel nodded, holding his tank top up with his chin as Asmo started applying the makeup to the grooves of his abs. What he did not expect, was the extremely ticklish sensation that followed. He jumped, almost kicking his brother across from him, a deep giggle bubbling out. 

“Asmo- that tihihickles! Slow dohohown!” Beel was trying his best to stay still, he knew that Asmo had an important job to do, but he couldn’t help squirming in his seat. Asmo clicked his tongue and brought out a makeup wipe, erasing the stray powder. “You just told me to hurry up, now you want me to go slower? Make up your mind!” Asmo exclaimed playfully, looking up at his brother with a raised eyebrow. After he calmed down, he grumbled under his breath before sighing. “Just do it, I can deal with it,” Beel replied, looking away from Asmo. “Alllllright then, if you say so!” Asmo chirped, swiping the brush under his bellybutton to define the muscles. Beel tried. He really did. After holding his breath for what seemed like eons, he finally broke, spluttering into quiet snickers and hiding his face in his hands as Asmo continued to work. 

He could hear some of the magazine staff cooing behind him, which made his ears turn pink in embarrassment. “How are you still so ticklish after all this time? Guess you never grew out of it hmmm, little brother?” Asmo teased, moving up to the next set, making sure to get the sides and in between them. “Oh shuhuhut ihihit! You’re just as bAhAHahAd!” Beel scoffed, planting his feet firmly into the floor so he wouldn’t move too much. Asmo hummed, grinning wide as he moved up to the top, “I’m almost done, you’re doing good,” he reassured, going in for more powder. It was getting more difficult to keep still as Asmo blended out the contour, the small light circles sending Beel into another bout of belly laughter. It echoed through the room, and he wasn’t trying to hide it anymore, just attempting to let Asmo finish with no complications. After a few more unbearable seconds, Asmo let up and blew a stream of air over his stomach, making Beel yelp. “All done! Now, go to the stylist and change into your Fangol uniform,” he shooed a very giggly Beel out of the chair and over to a demon manning a rack of clothes. “I’ll go save you some scream puffs for when you finish,” Asmo whispered with a smile, watching Beel’s eyes go big and his face light up. He muttered a small thanks before hustling over to the stylist, ready to continue the shoot. 

A week later, Beel found MC and Asmo on the couch, gushing over the newest issue of Devil Style. And there he was on the front cover! The hard work of the staff paid off, and he had to admit that the photos had come out looking pretty good. “Oh, MC guess what! I found out that our precious Beel here is still ticklish, isn’t that soooo cute?” Asmo purred, shooting Beel a mischievous glance. The human’s eyes perked up with interest, a playful glint in their eyes. “Is that so, Beel?”

Mammon was very grateful for the stuff you lent him and promised to pay you back tenfold once get got a hold of the money. And you knew he was good for it because occasionally, you would find little gifts on your desk with a gold embellishment that could only belong to him. However, it had been three weeks since and he had been pestering you and the brothers more than usual. So the logical solution was to mess with him.

You waited until that night, it was an hour before dinner and you had just finished studying with Beel and Asmo. After you deposited the books in your room, you made your way to Mammon’s hearing some jazz playing through the door.

You knocked before swinging it open to see Mammon with his feet propped up on his desk, scrolling through stocks on the DDSE. He tipped his head back from where he was in his chair, almost leaning too far and falling backward before he caught himself, scrambling for purchase on his desk.

“-*cough*- What’s up, MC? Ya need somethin’?” he brushed off casually, red staining his cheeks.

“Mammon, I-I..” you stammered as you made your way over to his desk. “Something came over me, I don’t know what’s happening,” You slumped into his arms, leaning on him with your hands gripped on his shoulders.

“MC?!? Here, let's sit down,” he led you over to the couch waving his arms like a panicked mother hen.

You groaned and held your hand to your head, “I feel weird all of a sudden, its almost like I’m… changing!” He let out an exasperated noise, shaking you by your shoulders lightly. “W-we need to get you to Solomon, he might know what’s going on!”

He reached for his DDD, only to have his wrist grabbed and pinned to the side of the couch. “I can’t hold it back! I’m turning into my final form!” You bit your lip trying not to laugh, as you swung your legs over his, pushing Mammon back into the couch pillows.

“M-MC, what are yaAHAhA!” Mammon’s face went from incredulous to bewildered as he wrapped his arms around his torso, trapping your wiggling fingers from advancing further up into his armpits. “I’m not MC, I’m the tickle monster! RAHHH!”

You could see the panic melt off his face, but nervous excitement replaced it. His laugh was composed of bright cackles that bounced all over the room, assorted squeaks slipping out when you scratched lightly between the bones of his upper ribs. “YouhoHOU’re nahAHat a mohohoNSthEher, Luhucifer is wahahay wohorse than you!” he taunted, his teasing nature shining through his squirming.

Your eyebrows furrowed and you lean in front of his nose, mouth quirking up in a smirk. “Oh, really? Is that so?” You chuckled darkly and began to knead into his tummy, making him arch his back up into your hand with renewed titters.

A loud squeal followed by frantic giggles escaped his lips as you found a soft spot just below his belly button. Digging into the pudge and vibrating your fingers made him thrash, while gently skittering your nails there made him curl up to meet you before crashing back down on the couch. “You’ll learn, not to underestimate me Mammon!”

He howled when you dug circles into his hips, eyes shutting tight and hands coming to grip your wrists, though surprisingly, not trying to push you away. “MC, NAHAHAT THEHEHERE -snrk- WHAHAHAHAT DIHID I DOHOHO?” You tapped your fingertips over his hipbones to give him a bit of a break and answer his question.

“Well, you owe me some Grimm, so you’re paying me back. With your laughter!” You watched as Mammon’s face went ten shades of red and he covered his face before dragging his hands down his cheeks indignantly. “Laughs ain’t a valid Devildom currency! I should know, human, they aren’t even crypto- HEY!”

Mammon squawked as you started up again on his tummy, making him throw his head back in a flurry of cackles. “They are in my book! Plus, you need to lighten up, I can tell you’ve been stressed lately,” you voiced, enunciating your statement with pokes around his sides and upper thighs. He squeaked and squirmed around with uncontrollable giggles when you got to his thighs, making you coo affectionately when he halfheartedly came down to bat at your hands. “Did I find a giggle spot, Mams?”

“Shuhuhut uhuhup! You found nahahathing!” He slapped one hand over his mouth and grabbed your poking fingers with the other. You smirked, intertwining your hand with his, pinning it above his head. Mammon’s eyes went wide and his breath hitched at his mistake, small giggles tumbling out of his mouth at what was to come.

You chuckled down at him, tracing around his forearm and bicep to make him melt under your touch with breathy laughter. He was practically a puddle by this point. A wide smile formed uncontrollably on your lips when you saw how still he was trying to be for you, his eyes crinkling at the corners, hair unkempt, cheeks rosy, and still trying to hide his adorable laughter. He could have pushed you off a long time ago without trouble, but you were both having fun, evident by the happiness in both your eyes, the occasional laugh mixing in with Mammon’s.

“Okay, one last thing, and your quota will be met for the day,” you chirped, giving a quick scribble to his bare tummy where his shirt had ridden up. “EEhehehe- gehehet ohohon wihith ihihit- WAIT NAHAHAHAHAO!”

You shuffled further down to sit on his knees and bent over in front of his hips, lowering your chin to rest on his lower tummy. Just this simple action was enough to get him cackling, and he peeked out from behind his fingers to watch what you were going to do next. You decided the best course of action was to nibble on Mammon’s exposed hipbones, barely grazing your teeth across that horrendously ticklish spot. “MC PLEHEHEHEAHSE *snrk!* DOHOHONT!”

You finished by scratching over both hips with your blunt nails and blowing raspberries on his lower tummy which made Mammon screech and almost buck you off. When his cackles went silent, you rubbed the flat of your palms on his hips to dull the sensations, yelping as he pulled you down beside him. His tired laughter sounded like music, you could feel the joy rumbling through his chest as he pulled you into him, sandwiching you comfortably between the couch.

“You happy now?” He looked down at you from above, wrapping his arms around you. “Very! Although, I gotta say, Lucifer’s got some competition. I’m gonna be the ultimate tickle monster in the Devildom by the end of this year,” you boasted, making him fake pout and scoff.

“I really am sorry about the Grimm though, I’ll pay you back soon,” he said quietly, scratching the back of his neck. You popped up and shook your head. “It’s okay! Seeing you smiling and happy is more than enough payback, especially if I’m the one doing it,” you hugged him back, tucking your head into his warm chest.

“You know, that goes both ways, MC,” he whispered with a teasing lilt in his voice, sneakily bringing his hands to skitter up your sides. “Wait- Mammohohon!”