Notes: Commission for anonymous. Thank you so much for commissioning! I had such a fun time working on this and writing Bolin as a ruthless ler. I hope you enjoy ^^
Summary: Korra asks to be tied up and tickled, and Bolin is happy to help test her limits.
“Comfy?”
The avatar snorted, rolling her shoulders. “Exceedingly. I don’t know if you applied these correctly, I feel like I could get out of this easily if I wanted to.”
“I suppose it’s a good thing you don’t want to then.”
Korra flushed, averting her gaze. “You don’t have to point it out like that.”
Despite her grumbling, Korra only had herself to blame for the current situation she found herself in. Not that she really minded her circumstances, as Bolin had been so quick to point out to her. The conversation had come a week beforehand, somewhere late into the night when reason had left her side and her inhibitions were lost under the relaxing gaze of the stars. Bolin and she had been wrestling up on the roof. They had a tournament the next day and so the two of them stayed up practicing long after Mako had bid them goodnight.
“You’ll need your sleep too, you know,” he’d said, casting them both disapproving looks. They’d only rolled their eyes in response.
Mako was correct, as always, and their practice quickly lost all form as sleep tugged at them, turning into playful jabs and giggle fits as they lazily fumbled around, any actual bending done for the night in favor of the friendly tussling. At one point, Bolin had her pinned under him with one hand, her legs struggling futilely to curl around his waist and throw him off. She managed to dig her heel hard into his hip and he grunted, squeezing her side in retaliation. Which was, really, just entirely unfair. Korra had squealed, tugging harder at her arms now, but it was too late. A flurry of pokes rained down on her sides for several minutes while she giggled and pleaded for a break to no avail.
Bolin was no stranger to her love for tickling. He’d gotten that confession out of her a while ago. Ever since then, he’d made sure to sneak tickling in whenever he could: tasing her from behind while she was getting ready, poking her side to get her attention, scribbling fingers over her neck when she and Mako were being gross with each other.
But all those times, as with this time, were over in a flash. Bolin let her go, flopping down by her side and closing his eyes as he laid back on the roof, unaware of the roiling in her gut.
“Bolin,” she said slowly after she’d sat back up. She picked at her nails, grateful that the moonlight was faint tonight and her features were hidden in the darkness. “W-Would you ever want to tickle me more?”
There was a snort. “Korra, I tickle you every day. I mean, I’m willing, but I’m afraid you’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”
“Like…” Korra waved her hand ambiguously. “Like for longer, I guess.”
She could feel Bolin staring at her, but she didn’t dare glance his way. “I mean, I would, but I can barely hold you still for the bit that I do.”
Korra inhaled sharply. It was now or never.
“I bet you could if I was tied up.”
That moment seemed so long ago now, with Bolin straddling her waist and her arms and legs restrained around the edges of their futon. It had seemed so exciting then, her mind racing with the possibilities when he’d agreed to a full hour of this. Now, exposed, restrained, and helpless, she began to worry that maybe she might have bitten off more than she could chew.
She tugged on her restraints, staring unflinchingly at Bolin even though everything in her screamed to look away and hide. They didn’t budge. She tried again, this time truly exerting effort. They didn’t move so much as an inch. Her breathing quickened.
“Someone feeling a bit stuck?” he teased, cocking a brow as reached over to grab the bottle of lotion Korra had let him borrow for this. He set it on the table beside them. Its very presence was ominous. “What’s wrong? Worried you’re a bit too ticklish for something like this?”
Korra blushed, just the mention of the word ticklish making her stomach squirm. “No. I’ll be fine. You’ve tickled me tons of times before.”
“I have,” he agreed, and the look he gave her then sent a shiver down her spine. “But I think you’ve forgotten that all those times mean that I know exactly where you’re ticklish. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me this time.”
Before Korra could get any retort out, Bolin started. She flinched sharply as both hands landed on her stomach, his fingers curled forward into giant spiders. Then they began to move. Her eyes widened. She bit her lip, concentrating, but it took mere seconds before she was bursting into giggles, struggling to shift her hips away from his hands. Instinctively, she pulled on her arms before being reminded once more that she couldn’t move them. She inhaled sharply. Fuck. Fuck.
“Wow,” Bolin said lightly, appraising her. “You don’t normally get so reactive so quickly.”
Korra was absolutely not about to admit how the restraints were making it worse, that being so vulnerable was making it impossibly more ticklish, so instead she stuck her tongue out in an admittedly childish gesture.
Bolin’s brows shot up. “Woah-hoh, someone’s asking for it now. Get ready to squeal, Korra.”
Ten fingers buzzed into her stomach all at once and Korra twitched violently before throwing her head back in a cackling fit. “B-Bohoholin! Thahahat tihihickles!”
“Good. That must mean I’m doing something right.”
“Stahahap s-stop plehehease!”
“Mmm, I’ll think about it and get back to you, if that’s okay.”
That cheeky…! Korra attempted to glare at him, but her wide, helpless grin ruined the effect somewhat. Going for her stomach right away was cheating! The thin fabric of her top barely helped at all, and if anything, it made his fingers glide easier over the ticklish spot. She shook her head, trying to block out the sensations as best as she could, but Bolin was too good at this.
After several minutes of giggling her head off like a maniac, Korra tried to negotiate. “Okahay, okay, okay, j-just gohoho somewhere else for a biHIHIT!”
Bolin slipped his hands under her shirt and nope, she was wrong, the shirt had been doing so much for her. She squeaked, her stomach trembling under the assault. “What’s in it for me? Or better yet, what’s in it for you? You wanted to be tickled, right?”
“Ihihi—”
“Right?”
She nodded, blushing to her ears. He was never this teasy when she was free, why was he being like this now, when she just had to take it?
“So, if that’s the case,” he reasoned, as casually as though they were discussing strategies for their next tournament. “Then if this really tickles as bad as you say it does, maybe I should just stay here.”
Korra gaped at him before bursting into laughter anew as his fingers scribbled mercilessly under her naval. She kicked as much as she could, the ticklish sensations bursting chaotically through her system. How was she supposed to take an hour of this??
Sensing her distress, Bolin slowed down just a bit—not enough that Korra could quite get ahold of her laughter, though. “Here, I’ll cut you a deal. We want to make this tickle, right? So, if you can offer me a more ticklish spot, I’ll go there and leave your poor stomach alone. Sound fair?”
“Nohohoho!” Korra squawked indignantly, but Bolin only laughed, continuing to torment her ruthlessly.
“Fine then. But I’m not stopping until you do.”
It was a stupidly unfair deal. More than that, it barely made any sense at all. Strategically, it made sense to just let him keep tickling her stomach and spare herself from anything worse. But there was something about the unending nature of the tickling that was driving her up the wall. There was no change of pace or technique, just the same, relentless spidering that made her stomach tremble and her resolve crumble.
“M-my thihihighs!” she blurted, inspiration coming to her, but Bolin just shook his head.
“Nope, I said more ticklish. I know all your spots, remember? It has to be a real answer or I’m not going for it.”
Curse him. Korra scrunched her face up in a tough resolve that lasted all of five seconds as the ticklish feeling wheedled into her brain once more. Fuck it. Besides, a part of her was somewhat excited at the idea that it was going to get more ticklish than this, even as it filled her stomach with dread.
“My rihihihibs!”
“Heard.”
So. Much. Worse. Korra yelped as he dug into her ribs, his fingers vibrating in between the slots of each bone so that the tickling reverberated through her core and down her spine. She arched her back, letting out a slew of curses. Bolin chuckled, shaking his head fondly as he continued. “I’m impressed. I would have thought you’d gone for a smaller jump up, like your sides or something. But now that we’re here, you know the rules: we stay here until you suggest somewhere else.”
“S-Shuhuhut up with your ahaa p-patronizing vohohoice!” she wailed, grinning ear-to-ear as she squirmed all around the futon. He was right. She should have picked somewhere else. She always forgot how ticklish this spot was. It was as though he’d gotten his fingers inside of her and was playing with her nerves themselves. It was an intensely vulnerable and hyper ticklish feeling that forced her into wild cackles and begging, all of which was ignored, of course.
The rest of their time was spent with Korra constantly shifting between feeling happier than she’d felt in weeks and like she wanted to kill Bolin. She managed her ribs for longer than she had thought she’d be able to but could only feel proud of it for a moment before she stupidly suggested her feet and spent her time squeaking and attempting to cover them up with one another to save herself. Eventually, Bolin sat on top of her left foot, isolating it from the other’s protection. He grabbed the lotion, squirting some onto his hands and rubbing it in. For a moment, Korra thought he was possibly switching to a welcome massage. Instead, she felt something so intensely ticklish that a burst of air smashed into a table behind them, knocking it over entirely.
Bolin’s eyes widened, though to his credit he didn’t slow down at all. “Woah, calm down. Mako’s gonna get suspicious if this place is a wreck when he gets back.”
“Gehehehehet ohohoff! Get off get off get ohohoff!” Korra was too forgone to engage in teasing, only able to laugh and tug frantically at her trapped foot. “Plehehehease!”
The feeling was hundreds of blunt pinpricks running over her soles, frazzling the nerves in her feet so that she couldn’t ever adjust to the feeling. Later, she would discover it was one of the grooming gloves she used for Naga.
When he went for the ball of her foot, she let out a sound that could only be described as a shriek before losing it all over again.
“Stahahap ihihit!” she begged, true sincerity in her voice, though the lack of a safeword said everything about how much she actually meant it. “Ihihit tihihihickles! Ihihi cahahan’t p-please!”
“You know the rules~”
She did. She hated that she did, but she did. There was only one spot left—under her arms. Her feet had been such a dramatic leap that it was the only spot more ticklish. She considered whether it was truly worth it to stop this, but when Bolin started wiggling his fingers under her toes at the same time, she couldn’t stop it.
“Fuhuhucking ahaharmpits, juhuhust stahahap!”
She would learn quickly what a mistake that was.
Seconds later, Bolin was straddling her once more, the lotion in his hands. He squeezed some onto his hands once more, rubbing it under her arms. It tickled a little but was mostly soothing after everything she’d been through. Korra hummed softly, knowing it was a bad idea to relax now and not being able to help it.
Bolin shot her a grin. “Ready?”
Korra tensed, giggling nervously already. “No.”
“Too bad.”
She squealed as he began scribbling under her arms, tugging frantically at her restraints. Why had they made these things so sturdy?? The lotion was making it so much worse. Unlike with her stomach, she had no cloth to protect her, and his nails skittered like evil little spiders over the spot. She threw her head back, whining at the helplessness of the situation, that she had put herself there, that this tickled so much.
“Are you ready for me to pull out my ultimate move?” Bolin asked, arching a brow.
Korra’s eyes shot open. “No. No nohohoho no, whahahatever it ihis no—ahahaha BOHOHOLIN!”
Bolin held one finger under each arm and wiggled them into the spot right above her ribs, in the divot under her arms that really drove her crazy. She couldn’t speak for laughing, could only thrash about it and hope for a mercy that wasn’t about to come. He’d never done this before. She had no idea something could tickle so much. She certainly wouldn’t have agreed to be tied down for this if she had known.
Air burst chaotically around the room once more, knocking over chairs and tugging down curtains. Bolin burst into laughter alongside her, shaking his head. “Get it together, holy shit! If only your enemies knew this was your weakness. You’d never catch a break.”
Korra didn’t want to think about that, even if it made her stomach squirm and flutter not unpleasantly. The safeword danced on the tip of her tongue. Even just holding his fingers there tickled but actually moving them made her want to squirm out of her own skin. The indecision must have shown on her face, because Bolin slowed down briefly.
“Got something you want to say? A certain word, perhaps?”
With the tickling gone and that condescending smirk glittering on his features, Korra’s pride flared up unwisely. Turning her head to the side, she shrugged, ignoring how breathless she sounded. “Please. I could have easily bucked you off. That barely even tickled.”
Bolin blinked in surprise. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you’re asking for it, miss avatar. I’m about to make you scream. Better hope you remember the safeword then.”
Korra had only a moment to regret her words before she was bursting into laughter anew, flopping like a fish out of water to escape. Bolin was even more ruthless now, and she had to fight not to safeword immediately as the sensations overtook her.
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There's no better vengeance than learning to enjoy again
Fandom: Heated Rivalry
Characters: Ilya/Shane
Summary: Ilya won't do anything to Shane without explicit consent, which includes tickling him.
A/N: Inspired by this anon's ask about Ilya being the #consentking. Because he SO is. This is also the fic I've been posting these sneak peeks for hehe.
Words: 2.1k
[Read it on AO3]
Ilya didn’t enjoy being tickled.
The lack of control was part of it. Having grown up in a household where any emotion other than anger was seen as a weakness, he had slowly armored himself in a way to ensure he was nothing but ego and pride to the outside eye. Being tickled just didn’t mesh with that image, and would certainly not bode well if the wrong person caught sight of it. And being out of control like that was dangerous for someone like him. The world wasn’t safe enough for that.
The sensation was another part. Though he wasn’t overly sensitive, he simply didn’t enjoy the feeling of light unwanted touch or, as was usually the case, hard pokes and kneading hands intruding on his person. His body didn’t know what to do with it, and so he ventured into the lack of control territory once more. Pulling knees out of squeezes. Slapping away insisting fingertips. Gritting his teeth all the while.
The fact that the only person who ever tickled him in a way that made him feel safe was his mother - his dead, long gone, wonderful mother - was probably the biggest part of it, though he buried it deep down. It was easier to blame everything else. Easier to pretend it couldn’t be fun in the right circumstances.
Shane never tickled him. Not on purpose, anyway. Ilya had discovered his sensitivity early on, tucked between roaming hands and moans laced with a laugh which could mean anything, really, had Ilya not slowly gotten to know every inch of that body. He knew to steer clear of Shane’s feet, to use more pressure on his inner thighs, to not nuzzle into his neck for too long. He wondered if he showed him the same consideration, or if Ilya had just gotten so good at reigning in his reactions that he had no idea.
He had been tickled by him though, accidentally, when he grabbed his knees to adjust himself, or dug his fingers into Ilya’s sides when something felt good. Innocent actions. Certainly not ticklish enough for Ilya to laugh, though he did remember himself twitching in surprise. If Shane had noticed, he never brought it up. Most importantly he never used it against him.
Ilya tried not to use it against him either, only it became harder once they got closer, once they were boyfriends, and their life was littered with playfulness and domesticity and not just sex. Wrestling Shane to the bed with a deeply ingrained instinct to jam his fingers into his ribs. He was already laughing. Already relaxed and happy and trusting him fully. And the trust was the reason he didn’t. Was the reason he simply pinned his arms to the side and leaned down to kiss him. Mornings of wrapping his arms around his waist in the kitchen, with the sudden urge to curl his fingers over his belly just to make him giggle and squirm into him. A moment of safety, which Ilya could ruin in the disguise of play.
That morning was different. Shane was sprawled out on the bed, sleepy after Ilya had gone down on him twice, and each time he made a sudden movement Shane would twitch and laugh, untouched and yet.
“What is it?” Ilya finally asked, relishing in that smile. All giddiness. All because of him.
Shane pushed his hand away, even though he still hadn’t touched him. “Tickles.”
“What?”
A blush was coloring his cheeks, but Shane wasn’t clinging onto denial or pretence. “I feel really ticklish right now, so I keep thinking you’ll tickle me.”
“I have never tickled you.” Ilya crossed his arms to show he was keeping them to himself. “Wait, how do you feel ticklish?”
Shane shrugged. “Extra sensitive. Giggly. Tired. Safe. I don’t know.”
“Safe?”
He averted his gaze. “I mean, yeah.”
“But you keep thinking I will tickle you?”
He shrugged again.
“So in that case you don’t feel safe.”
“But I do.”
Ilya wet his lips. “Explain.”
“I mean, it’s fun, right? And I trust you would stop when I needed you to.” He was bright red now, but he spoke in earnest.
Ilya hummed.
Another part of why he didn’t like being tickled: it was almost always done without his consent. Ilya didn’t like not giving his consent. Didn’t like that people thought they could just take and take in the guise of fun.
He tilted his head at Shane. Maybe not everyone thought the same way as him. “Do you want me to tickle you?”
Shane let out a strangled laugh. “That sounds stupid when you put it like that.”
“I won’t do it unless you want me to.” Ilya didn’t mean to tease, but he did enjoy the way Shane’s embarrassment shifted form and turned into something sweet. Something shy.
He reached out slowly and allowed himself to touch now, cradling Shane’s cheek in the palm of his hand. He leaned into the touch and said, “We’ve never had any tickle fights.”
Ilya shifted. “We haven’t.”
“Why is that?”
He didn’t have to explain to him that much of their relationship had been a constant tiptoeing of lines they were afraid to cross, and once they did, a quick retreat. For much too long it had been that, until suddenly it wasn’t. It was true that most people would be eager to explore the other side, and it wasn’t that they were afraid, not more than they had to be.
But Ilya didn’t know how to approach this. How something this silly could be so serious to him. “I didn’t know you were ticklish.”
“You could’ve found out.”
“Would you have wanted me to? On my own, I mean?”
“It’s weird to have to tell you about it.”
“Hmm, I lied, actually. I knew about it.”
Shane’s head snapped to the side. “Wait, you did?”
“Yes. For a long time.” He grinned at Shane’s look. “What can I say? I am a gentleman.”
“Ilya,” he whined, giving his chest a light slap. “Why would you not have taken advantage of that?”
Ilya laughed. “It really sounds like you want me to tickle you, Hollander.”
“Don’t Hollander me, Rozanov.”
“You think you can provoke it out of me, huh?”
“That’s usually how it works.”
“I need you to ask for it.” He moved his hand from his cheek to his jaw. “I need you to tell me you will enjoy it, or at the least not mind me doing it.”
Shane’s breath caught. “Why?”
“Because-” He stroked his chin with his thumb. “-I do not want to do something to you that you don’t want me to do.”
“Oh my god, you’re serious.”
“Of course.”
“Most people don’t want to be tickled.”
“Are you most people?”
He exhaled slowly. “Some people think it’s fun.”
“And are you some people?” He smiled at him, attempting to keep it light, but Shane looked away anyway. It was cute. It was so cute Ilya nearly crossed his own boundary then and there.
“I don’t know,” he finally mumbled. “It’s been years, and it’s never been like this.”
“Like how?”
“With someone I love. Like this.”
Ilya’s heart was about to burst out of his chest.
He leaned in to press his lips to Shane’s temple. “I love you too much to do something you don’t want me to do. I am not trying to be difficult.”
Shane’s gaze softened. “I know you’re not.”
“And I don’t mean to embarrass you when I tell you I need you to ask for it.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Though I do enjoy your blush.”
“Ilya.”
Ilya hummed as he stroked Shane’s cheek with his knuckles. “Tell me.”
“I’m- not sure I would like it, but- I mean, I would like us to be like that, you know?”
“I know.”
“So.” He seemed to brace himself. Ilya found it unbearably adorable. “Could you tickle me? Please?”
Ilya grabbed his wrist. “Say it again.”
“Ilya-”
“Okay, okay.” He laughed at his impatience. “I need you to tell me when to stop, okay?”
“Jesus Christ-”
“Say ‘hockey’, okay?”
“Yes, yes, fine, hockey it is. Now can you get on with it? I hate the anticipation.”
Ilya grinned. “You love the anticipation,” and he pounced, before Shane had time to protest. Neither of them really expected it, that Ilya would straddle him, that he would take his task so seriously. He wasn’t being merciless about it, though. He didn’t pin Shane’s hands, or dig his fingers into spots that would make him twitch with laughter, twitch and jerk and lose control of his limbs. He kept it light, which, when he thought about it, which he would, many times, probably drove Shane all the more crazy.
“Wahahait,” was all he managed to say at first, a constant begging for Ilya to cut it out, to leave him alone, to stop taking advantage of his sensitivity like this. Only Ilya knew his protests didn’t mean anything, at the very least weren’t a proper call for this to end. He cradled the consent in his bare hands, holding it close as he listened to Shane’s begging, listened to him slowly falling apart without feeling like a monster for it.
“You’re so-” He wasn’t even sure what he meant to say, only knew that Shane’s laughter, which was filling the room almost entirely now, made him feel both excited and strangely powerful for being allowed this. “-fucking cute.”
“Shut up!” Shane spat back, but he had his head thrown back, his hands constantly chasing Ilya’s which skirted over his torso, side, rib, armpit, neck, and back. A chase which could drive anyone mad, but was still simply- fun. For them both.
“I didn’t know you would be so easy to break,” he said, treading somewhat unknown water. But he liked riling Shane up, and Shane and his biting mouth always enjoyed the challenge of having to deal with him.
He all but growled now, all giggly giddiness from before enveloped in something else, something determined. He dug his feet into the mattress and Ilya realized belatedly that he was trying to buck him off, that he was probably aiming to turn the tables, and while that didn’t mean he wanted this to stop, because the safe word was still nowhere near his tongue, it did mean Shane enjoyed the idea of this being mutual. Of this being bodily and competitive, and Ilya wasn’t certain if he wanted that. Ilya was about to ruin a perfectly good consensual thing because he hadn’t thought to bring himself into the equation.
Only when he found himself hesitating and Shane had the perfect opportunity to turn this around, he still remained glued to his back, knees which he had pulled up to Ilya’s sides relaxing, visibly forcing himself to take this with nothing but his shielding hands. Ilya realized it then. That Shane would never do something to him which he hadn’t consented to. That this meant as much to Shane as it did to him.
God knew how Ilya didn’t cry right there and then.
He leaned down and wrapped his arms around him, taking in his surprised exhale and relishing in how he started squirming the minute he realized that Ilya was still tickling him even now. Fingers curling over his upper ribs, with Shane trapped between him and the bed and giggling into his neck, which tickled him a bit and he found that he didn’t care. He was safe here.
“You’re so ticklish,” he mumbled into Shane’s hair, which had Shane slapping his back and laughingly telling him to shut up. “What? Is true. You cannot deny it.”
“You don’t have to be so mean about it,” he said, whining when Ilya hit a particularly bad spot. “Fuck, this tickles so much, Ilya, get off.”
“Hmm, do you really want me to?”
“I- ah! I need you to allow me to squirm.”
Ilya sat up reluctantly. “Fine. Thank you for telling me. I can continue, yes?”
Shane covered his face with his hands. “Yes, god, please continue.”
“Can I tickle your knees?”
“This is gonna be the death of me- yes, you can tickle my knees.”
“Good. I think they will be very bad.”
“I will kick you.”
“Ah, maybe, but as long as you don’t say hockey I will continue.” He poked his belly. “Until we are both satisfied.”
“Domestic life is so weird,” Shane said, very obviously trying to redirect his embarrassment.
Ilya decided to bite. “This can’t be normal domestic life, though, can it?”
“Maybe not.”
“We’re so much less boring. Even you.”
“Oh, ha ha, please tickle me so I will laugh.”
“Oh, I will.” Ilya beamed at him. “Until you ask me to stop.”
Notes: Commission for anonymous. You are really fueling my lee Zoey obsession, and for that, I am very grateful <3 As someone who is also terrified of people knowing I want to be tickled despite everyone being cool with it, I can relate to this. I hope you enjoy!
Summary: Zoey's been messing with Mira and Rumi lately, and once the two catch onto her game, they decide to get revenge.
Though Rumi and Mira hadn’t said anything about it at first, it wasn’t as though they hadn’t known. In truth, they’d known far longer than even Zoey knew, but there was never any need to say anything. It was a mutual understanding between the two of them, a truth they acknowledged and protected carefully, unwilling to say it out loud for fear of embarrassing the third hunter.
A secret can only be kept secret for so long, however, when it was as obvious as this.
The first instance happened during rehearsals.
The three were workshopping a new single, a release for their upcoming album they’d been working on that they’d just barely managed to contain from the fans—despite Rumi’s not-so-subtle excitement in every interview about a ‘new project’ of theirs nearly ruining everything. Rumi and Mira were lounging lazily on the bed, Mira’s legs kicked up on the wall as she stared up at the ceiling in contemplation. Zoey paced their bedroom, a pen stuck between her teeth as she stared down at a page full of rewritten and slashed out lyrics.
“It’s fine, Zoey,” Mira grumbled. She scrubbed a hand over her face. It was approaching midnight and they had a last-minute interview that Bobby had signed them up for in the morning. Sometimes that man had no sense of timing, even if it usually turned out for their benefit. “We’ve been at this for hours, I don’t see why you can’t just let this go.”
“Let it go?” Zoey whipped around, her eyes looking a little bug-eyed. Rumi stifled a snort. “Oh, sure, I’ll just ‘let it go’ and then you can listen to the complaints of fans when they realize Huntrix has lost their touch.”
“We haven’t lost our touch, it’s one lyric—”
“That could be the difference between a new hit single and a failed meme compilation! C’mon, Rumi, back me up.”
Glancing between the two of them, Rumi chewed on her lower lip for a moment. Gently, she said, “We should definitely workshop it later, first thing tomorrow morning when we get back. But it is getting pretty late…”
“Just five more minutes!”
Zoey glanced up at them, eyes shining with all the hope and eagerness of a small puppy believing it had convinced you to stay home just this once. It was an argument that was incredibly difficult to resist, and Mira rubbed the back of her neck as she said, “Look, we’ll come at it better if we’re a bit more rested.”
A quick head shake from Rumi confirmed she felt the same way. Zoey pouted a little, and then grinned, setting down her pen and paper on the desk and jumping into the bed. Mira grunted, eyes widening a little as Zoey clambering over her, trapping her torso under her legs. “What the hell are you—Z-Zoey!”
This last part was half-gasp as Zoey had latched onto Mira’s hip, lightly spidering her nails over the strip of exposed skin from her shirt riding up. Mira’s face scrunched into an odd grimace as she fought the urge to laugh, her hands scrambling to push Zoey off. But with how Zoey’s legs in the way, it was impossible to reach over to grab at her hands or having any hope of protecting what was one of the few ticklish spots on her body (the other being her knees, a treasured secret that only Rumi knew of and had sworn not to take advantage of). Finally, she couldn’t hold it any longer and a small giggle slipped out, and then another, high-pitched and silly and distinctly un-Mira-like.
“Zohohoey!” she protested, her legs kicking and pushing up the covers. She had taken to trying to cover her smile instead, as stopping the tickling was proving futile. “C-Cuhut ihihit ohohout!”
“Only if you agree to five more minutes of workshop—with your willing participation,” Zoey negotiated smugly. “Otherwise, I’ll be forced to keep ti—taking advantage of you!”
The slip-up was small, and Mira missed it, too busy cackling away as she tried to fold in like an armadillo. But Rumi noticed, and her head tilted slightly—considering. She let it go for now, though. “I can’t believe you’re being taken down by a bit of tickling,” she teased, catching the way both Mira and Zoey flushed. Interesting.
“Shut up!” Mira crowed as Zoey added, “You’ll be next if you don’t join my cause!”
Rumi held up her hands innocently. “Hey, I want none of that. Sorry, Mira. I have no choice here, you understand.”
“Traitor!”
The night dissolved into silly laughter and ticklish negotiations that ultimately ended up going nowhere as they were all so exhausted by the end of it that they decided to simply go to bed in the end—which had been the right call, Zoey had to reluctantly admit the next day when the lyric finally came to her after some caffeine and pancakes.
After that, however, Rumi became more aware of Zoey, and a pattern had begun to emerge for her. Usually it came as a surprise, Zoey sneaking up behind one of them on-set or in the bathroom to dig fingers into unexpecting sides. The behavior had gone on all week now, often multiple times a day. At first, Rumi was somewhat flustered and annoyed by the activity, being incredibly ticklish herself and embarrassed that she was always so caught off guard by it. There had been one movie night where Zoey had curled a leg around Rumi’s ankles, trapping them so that she could tickle her feet on-and-off for nearly the entirety of the movie—a spot that was much too ticklish to endure such treatment.
Mira was a tougher cookie to crack, as she really only had the one spot and would usually turn the table on Zoey pretty quickly—not hard as Zoey was much more ticklish than the rest of them, giving in almost immediately and giggling along to the attack.
That was when Rumi put the pieces together. Whenever either of them did retaliate, Zoey would quickly acquiesce and give into her punishment much more willingly than either Mira or Rumi. Rumi couldn’t remember her protesting once, in fact, outside of an insistence here and there that it was too much. When they didn’t fight back or simply went back to what they were doing, there was this look that Zoey got, her shoulders drawn in like a wilting flower.
The fact that Zoey enjoyed being tickled was not one that Rumi had ever assumed was a secret. It seemed so obvious in her demeanor that she couldn’t imagine she was trying to hide it. But something about the way that Zoey so clearly had been trying to get them to tickle her and yet staunchly refused to say anything about it suggested that perhaps this went beyond a normal enjoyment of tickling.
So, Rumi devised a plan with the help of Mira—a plan that would allow them to get to the root of the matter.
“Oh Zoey~” Rumi called out, knocking on the hunter’s door with a deceptively innocent smile. “You in there?”
“We had something we wanted to talk to you about,” Mira added, leaning against the doorframe with all the nonchalance of a panther about to strike.
There was a rustling sound—likely putting away her writing materials—and then a cheery, blissfully naïve voice called out, “Come in!”
Rumi and Mira exchanged glances. They had her.
Zoey was lying on her stomach in her bed when they entered, clad in sweatpants and a baggy hoodie with her legs kicked up in the air and swinging behind her, headphones slung about her neck. She did not look back at them when they entered. It was an incredibly relaxed and comfy position, which, to Mira and Rumi, translated as a very vulnerable position.
The two slunk towards her slowly while she hummed, the tune of something they had been fiddling with, Rumi recognized, though Zoey had changed a bit of the composition. It was a nice change, and Rumi catalogued it as something to compliment her on later. For now, though, they had business.
Before the younger hunter knew what was happening, Mira had jumped on the bed, swinging her leg around so that she sat on Zoey’s butt, effectively straddling her. Zoey squawked, partly in annoyance, mostly in amusement, shooting back a playful glare as she decisively closed her notebook. “Hey! What are you doing? I’m trying to get some work done here—eep!”
Her sentence was cut off by two hands clamping down onto her ribs. Mira’s fingers drummed in a not-so-casual manner that wasn’t quite ticklish but held its promise poised and ready. In the meantime, Rumi had taken a seat by her legs, leaning against the wall and trapping Zoey’s ankles in her legs in a manner very similar to what Zoey had been doing to her all week.
Breath hitching, Zoey forced some element of nonchalance into her voice as she asked, “W-What’s going on? I really need to work n-nohohow!” The word sputtered into giggles as Rumi playfully spidered over her left foot, which twitched and wagged in protest.
“Work can come later,” Mira said decisively. And then her fingers began to move and Zoey yelped, her arms coming crashing down to clamp against Mira’s hands. Unfortunately, this only trapped them there, leaving Zoey stuck in a ticklish prison of her own making. “Rumi and I come here on business.”
“Whahahat buhuhusiness?” Zoey squeaked incredulously. Rumi had joined back in, so now she was also dealing with a constant fluttering of fingers over her soles. The combination of two incredibly ticklish spots at once was serving to make her brain fuzzy and slow at comprehending things, too focused on the sudden and intense stimulation.
“C’mon Zoey.” Rumi arched a brow, though the other didn’t see it. “You’re not as slick as you think you are.”
“Yeah,” Mira agreed, vibrating her fingers in pulsing shocks. Zoey scrambled to push her off, her laughter tumbling into a series of frantic, high-pitched giggling. “I mean, there’s only so many times you can ambush us before we get suspicious.”
Suddenly, Zoey felt her stomach pitch for much different reasons, and she began struggling more earnestly now, training in vain to wiggle her legs out of Rumi’s grasp. Her face was hot and flushed, embarrassment and nerves fighting for a place inside of her. “Guhuhuys w-wahahait!”
Assuming it was merely because of the tickling, Mira plowed on. “You know you can just ask us if you want to be tickled, right? You don’t have to provoke us every time. I mean, I don’t think Rumi could take that.” She shot a smirk back at the other hunter who narrowed her eyes at her.
“You’re not as funny as you think you are.”
“You’re right—more, probably.”
But Zoey wasn’t listening to their bickering. Her hands had tightened the moment Mira had started speaking, her heart racing in her chest. You know you can just ask us if you want to be tickled, right? The words echoed over and over again in her mind, causing her cheeks to grow redder by the second. Trying to force a nonchalance into her voice that was incredibly difficult when laughing and squirming like a maniac under your friends, Zoey scoffed. “Y-Yeah right! I dohohon’t w-want to be, umm—” Like before, she wasn’t able to get the word out, and it sat heavy on her tongue, her insides twisting pleasantly at the thought of it.
Tickled. It was such a simple word, so why did it make her feel so discombobulated?
“Tickled?” Rumi filled in for her, raising a brow. Her expression was more curious than teasing, which was almost worse. “Are you not able to say it?”
Zoey huffed, rolling her eyes, and finally managed to flip herself over at least. Which turned out to be a huge mistake as now she could see both Mira and Rumi staring down at her, their unwavering, intense eye contact only making this situation so much more unbearable than it was before. They had both, mercifully, paused their tickling for a moment, and Zoey felt a small pang at its absence. “Please, don’t be ridiculous, Rumi, of course I can say it!”
“Okay.” Mira crossed her arms in expectation. “So say it.”
Several seconds ticked by in silence as Zoey struggled to try to find a way to say a word that always twisted and tangled on her tongue until if it did finally come out, it was gibberish by that point. Finally, she simply averted her gaze, her lip jutting out in the tiniest of pouts. “Well, now I don’t want to, since you’ve made it into some weird demand! Geez!”
But her blustering wasn’t working, much to her chagrin. It was clear that neither Mira nor Rumi believed her, but they didn’t look judgmental or grossed out or annoyed as she had always feared. They looked a bit amused, maybe, but mostly Zoey would have categorized the expression on their face as endeared.
“It’s okay to want to be tickled, you know,” Mira said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “We didn’t do this to humiliate you. We didn’t think it was this big of a deal.”
There was a hand on her knee, and though Zoey jumped, it was only comforting, not tickly—for now, anyway. “Yeah,” Rumi agreed. “We’ve always sort of known that you liked it. You never fought us off whenever we tried.”
“I don’t think I can even recall you asking us to stop, most times,” Mira chimed in.
“It just seemed like you’d been wanting it more than usual this week, so we wanted to sort of surprise you with it.” Rumi’s shoulders slumped slightly, sheepishly. “I’m sorry if it seemed like some weird trick.”
Zoey stared between the two of them, searching their eyes to find some measure of disgust or dishonesty, but all she came up with was love and acceptance. Her heart tugged and she felt oddly like crying, though she pushed the feeling down, not wanting to ruin the moment. “O-Oh. You don’t think it’s weird?”
“A little,” Mira admitted, ever honest, and Zoey couldn’t help but wince. Mira noticed and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “But only as weird as we all are, and definitely not weirder than living a secret, underground life where you kill demons.” This prompted a small but real laugh out of Zoey. “Besides, it’s a part of you, which means it’s just as great as the rest of you. We just want you to be able to ask if you want it, instead of feeling like you have to force it.”
“Not to mention,” Rumi added, her serious expression turning slightly mischievous. “It’s easy to indulge you. You’re so ticklish sometimes that it’s hard not to tickle you. Especially when it gets you all flustered like this.”
“Rumi!” Zoey croaked, though the admonishment was accompanied by a shy smile.
“Rumi’s right,” Mira agreed with a shit-eating grin that sent a shiver down Zoey’s back. “We might even be having more fun tickling you than you do being tickled.”
The earlier nerves were returning, though this time they were tinged by acceptance and were far more pleasant in nature now that she knew she had nothing to fear from her friends—except, perhaps, the very real possibility of being tickled within an inch of her life. She knew neither of them would jump back into tickling her until they knew she was okay, but she could tell they were both poised and ready for it if Zoey said the word. And Zoey did want to say the word.
“W-Well,” Zoey started, unsure how to proceed—how to ask for something she had been too embarrassed to ask for all her life. “You can—if you want—could you maybe—”
“Could we maybe?” Mira tilted her head with a smirk and Rumi smacked her lightly.
“Oh, lay off her. She’s nervous enough as is, no need to drag it out.”
“You’re right,” Mira conceded with faux innocence. “We can make her ask for it next time.”
Before Zoey could squeak out “next time??” or protest the idea of being made to say the word in any capacity—though the thought made butterflies erupt in her stomach—Mira’s hands were on her again, kneading into her hips and causing Zoey to squeal, shoving at her hands frantically.
“Woah, dramatic much?” Mira snorted. “Relax, it’s just tickling. Nothing to get so worked up about.”
“Mihihihira!”
“What, it’s the truth! This is what you wanted, remember?”
“What you’ve been wanting for weeks,” Rumi added, holding her foot taut so she could scribble under her toes—an utterly unfair move that Zoey greatly resented and loved being used against her in equal measure. Rumi smiled pleasantly. There was something softer, more innocent about Rumi’s teasing, that was somehow much worse than Mira’s devious approach. “Surely you did realize that getting tickled would tickle… right?”
The nerve of the two of them! Zoey squeaked and giggled helplessly, choosing to hide her face behind her hands instead of trying to fight them off. Her legs twitched and strained against their hold, wanting more than anything to kick and thrash about.
“Oh, hell no, none of that!”
Quick as a flash, Mira had snatched both of her hands, tugging them over her head and leaving her pinned in a matter of seconds. Zoey’s breath abandoned her in one quick whoosh as her eyes widened, flushing under this new vulnerable position. Mira just stared at her for a moment while Zoey struggled to come up with a defense, distracted by the horribly ticklish scribbles against her feet.
“M-Mira!”
“Zoey."
“N-Not thehehehere seheheriously! It’ll tihihickle!” In her haste to save herself, Zoey was able to get the word out without even realizing what she had done. Mira noticed but decided not to comment on it at that moment.
“Oh really?” Mira drawled, raising her free hand to wiggle her fingers threateningly over her armpits. Zoey whimpered and squirmed and pressed herself as far into the mattress as she possibly could. “So you’re saying it would tickle?”
“Yehehes!”
“Tickling this spot, right here, would tickle?”
“Yehehehes!” Zoey cried, more insistently, growing more and more giggly every time she said it. She could feel the anticipatory tickles racing through her, almost too much all on their own.
Mira pretended to think about it for a moment. “Well in that case, I should definitely do it, right? After all, you do want to be tickled. I’d hate to disappoint.”
The room was filled with the sounds of shrieking laughter as Mira finally descended, causing Zoey to arch off the bed and nearly scramble out of their hold. She wasn’t lying about the ticklishness of the spot, that was for sure. But Mira and Rumi managed to wrangle her back down and continued to torment her for a while longer, much to Zoey’s chagrin and delight.
Twenty minutes later, the three of them lay in an exhausted, giggly heap, Zoey flopped down on the bed while Mira played with her hair and Rumi rubbed her back soothingly.
Zoey mumbled something incoherent into her pillow that might have been, “That was so mean.”
Rumi and Mira chuckled at their friend, shaking their heads. “Right,” Mira agreed, sarcasm heavy in her tone. “So mean of us to do exactly what you wanted.”
The three sat in silence for a while. Rumi stared musingly at the wall as they sat there, before at last saying, “You know you can ask, right? In the future? I know it’s hard for you to say it, and I won’t pretend to know why it’s so hard, but if it’s something you want, you could always… I don’t know, write it out or something, or use a synonym. But you’re always allowed to ask.”
Zoey didn’t respond to that, much too embarrassed from earlier events to form words or any kind of tangible language. But her ears flushed, and she reached back a hand, which Rumi squeezed gently.
“Though, tickling Rumi is a fairly effective way of getting this too, though, if you want to keep that method,” Mira added with a sly grin, only to grunt as she was smacked in the face with a pillow by a disgruntled and flustered Rumi.
“Hey no fair! I’m not the one who likes it.”
“Well, actually, if you want to look at the evidence—”
As the two of them continued to bicker, Zoey curled her arms under her chin, resting her cheek against her hand as she smiled, content.
Summary: Vox's obsession with Alastor is no secret, but the true extent and nature of said obsession is an entirely different story. As his thoughts grow increasingly consumed by his rival, Vox finds it harder and harder to think about anything else, ultimately coming to a head with a very interesting discovery.
Content Warnings: Canon-typical language, brief mild violence, use of restraints, a lil' bit of blackmail, and Vox being a thirsty bitch for Alastor (because we love a good dose of one-sided attraction). Also, not really a warning, but any scenes that take place in somebody's head are in blue and italics (you'll see what I mean as you read).
Word Count: 3,669 words.
Vox couldn't fucking stand Alastor.
His stupid smile, his stupid voice, those stupid powers that allowed him to crush anyone in his way like an insect. The man was infuriating, always acting so calm and in control, even after Vox managed to get the drop on him that fateful day seven years ago. It was like nothing could touch him in any MEANINGFUL way, a fact that frustrated Vox to no end.
Yes, Alastor was nothing but a big pain in the ass, constantly doing anything in his power to screw with Vox, oftentimes broadcasting it for the entirety of Pride to witness.
Worst of all was the way that he infiltrated Vox's processor, filling his head with fantasies he had no way of controlling without shutting himself down completely. And it wasn't even intentional! That bastard had no idea what he was doing, or if he did, he gave no indication of it! No, he just kept on smiling that stupid grin, making those passive aggressive remarks, acting like he wasn't the thing consuming Vox's mind nearly twenty-four hours a day.
Vox watched the surveillance footage captured earlier that morning, feeling his breath hitch at the staticky image being displayed. He could just barely make out Alastor's form through the distortion (another thing that Vox hated about him; the bastard made it damn near impossible to get a clear image of him), standing outside the doors of little Princess Morningstar's hotel discussing something unintelligible with that winged cat sinner who often hung around him.
Through the grainy audio, he could just make out Alastor barking out a laugh, the sound itself laced with static and radio interference. The deer demon's shoulders shook, his ears pinning back slightly as he chortled, his companion letting out an irritated huff in response.
How many times had Vox watched the clip now? He had honestly lost count. He didn't know why he kept returning to that particular moment of footage; nothing particularly useful or interesting was occurring. Just a regular conversation, from what he could tell. There was just...something in the other overlord's moment of mirth that captured his full attention, setting something ablaze within the TV demon.
More; he wanted to hear more.
The lights flickered, the sound of screeching radio filling the air, accompanied by something entirely different.
Giggling, pure and hysterical.
Alastor lurched forwards, hands latched onto Vox's wrists as he tried to lean forward and away from the other demon, who held him firmly against his chest. "Rehehehehelease me at ohohohohonce!" The usually composed overlord was a mess, face tinted a bright shade of red, eyes crinkled with mirth as another wave of snickers shook his frame. "Shihihihihihihit!"
Vox chuckled, leaning forward to croon into Alastor's ear, which immediately flicked at the feeling of the other's warm breath. "What's the matter, old man? Too ticklish?" He sang, smirk widening. "What would the public think, knowing the famed Radio Demon is so...sensitive..." He growled the last part, low and teasing, resulting in a shriek of microphone feedback from Alastor. "Perhaps I should turn on some of my cameras, hm? I doubt you could focus on messing with them while your giggling so hard. I could let all of Hell know just how much of a ticklish little-"
Vox blinked, pulled from his daydream by a raised brow from Velvette. "Vox, are you listening to me? This is important shit! I need to make sure you're on top of the advertisements for my new collection if we are going to see any substantial sales!"
Vox cleared his throat, trying to urge his screen to COOL THE FUCK DOWN before his flusteredness became obvious. "Apologies, I seem to have gotten distracted. You were saying, my sweet?"
Vox chuckled, watching his rival's squirming form, bound to the chair with the purest grade of angelic steel money could buy.
Only the best for this occasion.
"Well, well! Look what the cat dragged in!" Vox laughed, walking in circles around Alastor, taking in every detail of the scene before him. He was going to relish thing; savor it. He had waited so long to have the other at his mercy, and now he was going to take his sweet time and ENJOY the fruits of his labor. "You've lost your touch, old timer! It was far too easy to catch you in my little trap."
Alastor's eyes narrowed, grin tightening in a clear show of displeasure. "You would do well to remember who you are speaking to." He retorted, chin raising defiantly as Vox finally stopped in front of him.
"Oho, I remember good and well. I'm talking to the prick who has done nothing but make my life harder ever since he arrived here, and I'm going to see to it you feel every second of what's coming next." He leaned forward, locking eyes with the other overlord as he gave a grin of his own, his far more devious. "Little buck."
Vox's hand's shot out, latching onto Alastor's ribcage and beginning to claw at the boney torso. Alastor's breath hitched, his eyes widening with alarm. His grin became more strained as he jerked forward, trying to curl inwards on himself. His breathing became sporadic, lips sealed shot as a wobbly, genuine smile began to curl at the corners of his mouth. "F-Fuhuhuck!"
The TV demon laughed lowly. "Trying to hold out, are we? We'll see how long that lasts..."
Vox awoke with a start, his screen turning on as he bolted up in bed. His eyes were wide, immediately flicking over to Valentino, who lay beside him. Thankfully, the moth was still sound asleep, snoring loudly without a care in the world. Vox sighed, running a hand across his face and feeling the heat of a blush under his palm.
Damn it, this was starting to get out of control!
Vox was going mad! No matter how hard he tried to clear his thoughts, they always returned back to those deep, hidden desires playing out over and over in his processor. He found himself constantly thinking about Alastor's smile, his laugh, the prospect of taking him down with a few well placed squeezes or prods. To make matters worse, Vox was having a hard time FUNCTIONING at work because of this, and he could tell the other Vees were starting to catch on that something was up.
The TV demon rung his hands together, pacing back and forth in his private office. He had to find a solution FAST or he was royally screwed!
'Damn you, Alastor!’ Vox thought, a small growl slipping out as he rubbed his forehead, flopping into his chair and turning to face one of the many spying monitors plastered to the wall. "Pull up what we have on the Hazbin Hotel." He grumbled, giving in to his urge to spy on his rival once more. Inside, he secretly hoped to catch another fleeting moment of mirth from Alastor, even if it was just a chuckle.
Three monitors came to life, showing the hotel from various angles, with one focused directly on the front entrance. Aside from his...ongoing interest in the Radio Demon, Vox liked to keep tabs on who was going in and out of the hotel, just to make sure the princess wasn't gaining any more powerful allies he needed to know about. The scene was serene, or at least as serene as a live feed of Hell COULD be, nothing out of place. It seemed luck wasn't on Vox's side, as Alastor was nowhere to be seen. The TV host felt his eye twitch in irritation, disappointment stirring within him.
"You motherfucker! This is a brand new suit!" Vox yelled angrily as Alastor dodged another of his attempts to strike him.
The Radio Demon let out an amused chuckle (though unfortunately not the kind of laugh Vox had been secretly craving), one flick of his microphone sending three tentacles darting at Vox from different directions, which the other barely managed to avoid. "Really? Could have fooled me with how tacky and outdated it looks." The redhead retorted smugly.
"Oh, fuck you! I'll wipe that shit-eating grin off your face!" Vox retorted, giving up on using his powers in favor of lunging for the deer demon himself.
Alastor took a step back, Vox's claws just barely grazing the sides of his neck. The radio host opened his mouth, as if to make another snide remark, but whatever he said died in his throat and was replaced by a startled crack of microphone feedback. The two demons froze, eyes widened as they stared at each other wordless for a moment.
"What the fuck was-" Vox started, but in the blink of an eye, Alastor was gone and their fight was seemingly over.
"I mean, seriously?! What the fuck WAS that?!" Vox asked himself, finding himself pacing around his private surveillance room once more. "He never runs from a fight with me! Shit, he only ran from Adam because he was about to fucking die! He was nowhere near that point today!"
Did Vox somehow managed to hurt him? No, he had thrown far worse at the Radio Demon before without leaving so much as a scratch. He had BARELY touched him, and even with his claws, it couldn't have possibly hurt. So what...
The TV demon stopped, eyes shooting wide open as his breath quickened. No...no fucking way...
Alastor was ticklish. Not just in Vox's mind's eye, not just in his secret fantasies. He was actually, tangibly ticklish, and going from the reaction one brief touch had garnered, horrifically so.
Vox's processor raced at the prospect. He had been daydreaming about turning the other overlord into a cackling puddle, wheezing for mercy through a cracked voice, but he had never actually imagined it was possible! Vox got the feeling this discover was only going to make his daydreaming problem worse, but at the moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.
Alastor was TICKLISH...
'There has to be some way I can...some trick I can pull to...' Vox's mind raced, barely able to finish a sentence. He HAD to have the other now, even if just for a brief instance. Vox NEEDED to feel that high of reducing his mortal enemy to giggling shambles; to know what it felt like to be the one to finally BREAK the feared Radio Demon. But how?
Obviously the heat of battle wasn't the best place, though it would ensure a public audience to witness his victory. He doubted Alastor would agree to a private meeting, especially after their most recent fight. And there was CERTAINLY no way Vox was going to lower himself enough to go crawling to Princess Morningstar's little hotel. No, Vox was going to have to come up with another solution.
"Something on your mind?" A voice purred from behind him, low and dangerous. Vox yelped, whipping around with widened eyes. From one of the darkened corners of the room, Alastor seeped out of the shadows, grin ever present but appearing more strained than usual. Vox felt a nervous lump form in his throat.
"What the fuck?! How did you even get in here?!" He yelled, immediately moving to hit the alarm button on his control console, only to find his wrist being suddenly restrained by a shadowy tentacle sprouting from the floor.
"Ah, ah!" Alastor tutted, taking a few steps forward. "None of that. I just want to talk." He cocked his head to the side. "And as for how I got in, let's just say your security is shockingly terrible for a demon of your status."
Vox's eyes narrowed. "If you're going to kill me, at least make it quick." He growled, attempting to put on a brave face and save a bit of his pride.
"Kill you? Why, I'm planning to do no such thing, at least not today! After all, to defeat one's rival in such a disgraceful, sneaky manner would not be becoming of either of us, would it?" Alastor chuckled, moving closer to Vox as another tentacle grabbed ahold of his other wrist, keeping the TV demon rooted firmly in place. A flash of green magic briefly passed over Alastor's eyes as he chuckled. "Though it would be quite easy for me to do so with you sooo defenseless."
Vox's brows furrowed in confusion. "Then why the hell are you here?"
"Like I said, I just want to talk." Alastor leaned forward, maintain eye contact with the shorter demon. "To ensure that you keep your trap shut about matters which do not concern you."
"What are you going on about?" Vox sighed, clearly irritated by the other's continued vagueness. He continued to stare at the other demon, who merely continued to watch him wordlessly, before it dawned on him. "You're worried I'm gonna tell somebody you're fucking ticklish?"
Alastor's eye gave the slightest twitch. "Sensitive." He corrected.
"I'm pretty sure you're ticklish." Vox retorted, taking some delight in his rival's clear displeasure. "And what makes you think holding me hostage in my own office would stop me from mentioning it during my next broadcast? You can't keep me like this forever."
The sound of microphone feedback briefly overtook the air around him, making Vox wince at the volume and pitch. "No, I can't keep you here indefinitely, but I can provide you with a little incentive to keep your trap shut." One of the tentacles coiled further down Vox's arm, the end gently brushing over the trapped overlord's armpit. Vox tensed, breath hitching as his eyes grew wide as saucers. "You see, don't think I haven't noticed your own sensitivity, Vox. In fact, I've known about it for some time."
Shit.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about! Get the fuck away from me!" Vox stammered, eyes locked onto the other's devious smirk.
"Oh, come now, don't be shy! It's not as if it was especially hard to find out about! We have fought so often, categorizing your little weak points was easy enough to accomplish!" Alastor took a step closer as the shadowy tentacle began to stroke Vox's armpit more firmly, slowly moving up and down in an agonizingly teasy motion. "I will admit, it took me some time to figure out why you often flinched at the slightest of touches during battle. However, all it took was witnessing one little tickle fight at the hotel to make everything fall into place."
Another of Alastor's tentacle slipped up, beginning to tweak at Vox's side, causing him to bite down on his lip in a desperate attempt to hold back snickers. "Those weren't the reactions of a man barely avoiding a fatal blow, those were the reactions of a man trying oh so hard to keep from giggling."
Vox felt his screen heating more and more by the second, both from embarrassment and the effort to keep his laughter bottled up. What the fuck was happening?! How was this real life?! The TV demon lurched forward, straining against the restrains as a particularly well-placed prod to his hipbone pulled a soft snort out of him. "Shuhuhut the fuck up!"
"Being stubborn, are we? I expected nothing less." Alastor chuckled, clearly amused. "Perhaps I should take a page from Angel Dust's playbook then, hm?" The other overlord suddenly materialized behind Vox, melting from the shadows and resting a clawed hand on the back of Vox's head. His grip tightened, pulling Vox's head backwards as he crooned into his ear. "Coochie coochie coo..."
Vox just about short circuited at that, the sound of loud television static filling the air. As Alastor's free hand suddenly dug into his stomach, he couldn't hold back any longer, bursting into a wave of panicked giggles. "Ohohohoho shihihihihihit!" The flood gates had opened, and Vox had no hope of closing them again, no matter how hard he tried.
"Lovely." Alastor seemed quite pleased with himself, clawed fingers scribbling across his rival's exposed midriff as the tentacles (thankfully) stopped their own attacks, now focusing on holding the TV demon nice and still.
"Fuhuhuhuhuck you! Lehehehehet mehehehe go!" Vox tried to sound threatening, he really did, but that was impossible when every word was laced with titters. He squirmed desperately, attempting to curl inwards and protect his sensitive torso, but the restraints held firm. His voice raised in pitch as Alastor zeroed in on his upper stomach, just below the ribs, refusing to acknowledge the borderline squeal he made.
"And why would I do that? I have you right where I want you; nice and helpless..." There was a low growl to Alastor's words, both threatening and teasing in the most awful of ways, sending Vox further spiraling into flusteredness. His claws began to slowly inch upwards, like a spider slowly climbing towards prey trapped in its web. "From what I have gathered, your ribs seem to be an area you're quite desperate to defend during our little fights. I wonder why that could be, hm?"
The TV host began shaking his head furiously. "Dooohohon't yohohohou fucking dahahahahare! I'll kihihihihihihill you!" He snorted, the sound of television static increasing ever so slightly.
"Oops, too late!" Alastor's claws dug in, beginning to rake across Vox's rib cage slowly, moving up to just below the armpits before cascading back down to just above the stomach.
Vox screeched, thrashing becoming downright desperate as he threw his head back with laughter. "NOHOHOHOHOHOOO! OHOHOHOHOHO MY GAHAHAHAHAHAD, STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!" His cooling systems had kicked in, the fans whirling loudly as they attempted to cool down his quickly heating form. "NAHAHAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHEHERE!"
Alastor chuckled devilishly. "Why Vox, you should know better! Everyone knows that saying "not there" only makes the attack want to exploit that spot even more." He hummed, mockingly pretending to think. "Perhaps you DID know, and you're just enjoying this so much you want me to keep going? Is that it?"
The other overlord let out a startled squeal at the feeling of something fiddling with his antenna; when had ANOTHER tentacle popped up?!
Vox face felt like it was on fire from the teasing, his laughter pitching up with flustered desperation. "SHUHUHUHUT THE FUHUHUHUHUHUHUCK UP! THAHAHAHAT'S NOHOHOHOHOT TRUE!" He denied vehemently, knees starting to go weak. After a moment, his legs gave out, but instead of slumping to the floor, Vox found himself being held up by Alastor's sentient shadow. The creature's grin widened, becoming downright feral as it let out an amused cackle at his plight.
"Whatever you say, old pal! Now, if you REALLY want this to stop, you will agree to keep what you discovered today between us alone." Alastor rested his chin on Vox's shoulder, the touch shooting a bigger shock through his nervous system than any tickling ever could. "Do we have a deal?"
Vox's processor was racing a thousand miles a minute. Fuck, why was this actually fucking fun?! What was wrong with him?! He knew he should have hated it; the powerlessness, the teasing, the terror of being so utterly defenseless in front of his greatest rival. Yet...he didn't hate it, a fact he found more flustering than any tease Alastor could have pulled out of his ass.
No, Vox did NOT want it to stop.
Still, if Vox DIDN'T give in, it would only confirm the assumption deer demon had so accurately deduced, and he wasn't sure his heart would be able to take the cruel, crooning teases Alastor would no doubt come up with upon such a revelation. When weighing the humiliation of yielding to Alastor to the humiliation of admitting that he was ENJOYING getting tickled to the brink of his sanity, Vox would take the former any day.
"FIHIHIHIHINE, HOHOHOHOHOLY SHIHIHIHIHIT! DEAL, DEHEHEHEHEEEEAL!" He screeched, a little wheeze slipping out as one of the tentacles tugged on his sensitive antenna. "JUHUHUST STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP, YOU BAHAHAHAHASTARD!"
As soon as those words were uttered, all touch disappeared, and Alastor reappeared a few feet in front of Vox. The overlord collapsed against his surveillance console, panting as his fans worked overtime to cool his body down. He shook with residual titters, his sharp-toothed grin nearly slipping his screen in two.
"There, was that so hard?" Alastor purred, sharing a smug grin with his shadow. "Now, I expect you to hold to our deal, otherwise I will have to take this little audio recording and make it the center of my next broadcast!" The deer demon twirled his cane, gazing at it and humming as Vox's eyes shot open.
"What now?"
Alastor scoffed. "Oh, please! Did you really think I would take you on your word alone that you would stay silent? I knew you would not make a soul deal with me over it, so I took matters into my own hands." The other sinner explained. "See, my microphone was recording our little interaction the whole time, minus the parts about my own...shortcomings. Think of it as insurance; it will not be released to the public as long as you behave yourself!"
Vox's face exploded into a bright blush blush. "Wait, that wasn't part of the fucking-"
"Oops, I'm afraid I have another engagement to attend to! Until we meet again!" Alastor cut him off, melting back into the shadows and disappearing from sight before Vox could finish his sentence. The TV host growled, flopping into his chair. His claws dug into the armrests, slicing into the slight padding. That prick! He couldn't just-
The overlord sighed in defeat after a moment, eyes closing as his breathing slowly returned to normal and his fans kicked off. He could still feel those claws scratching at his ribs, setting his nervous system alight with ticklish fire. He could still hear that voice, singing those awful, teasing words into his ear. He could still feel his limbs strain against the tentacle's hold, preventing him from squirming away no matter how hard he tried. Vox swallowed, feeling his blush returning full force.
He might have a different daydream to worry about now...
A/N: Just saw the fantastic Bottoms (2023), and wanted to write something with it, have this drabble! (Contains some spoilers)
Fandom: Bottoms
Words: 1,392
It was colder out than Josie thought. She could feel her fingers numbing on the steering wheel as she waited outside PJ's house, leaving the engine on so as to not cool the car down too much. Her eyes wandered over PJ's front windows, partially trying to determine if her friend was close to being ready, but mostly to avoid looking at the woman in her passenger seat.
Isabel. Josie still couldn't really believe the two of them were an item after so many years pining after her from the back of math class. Part of her - well, most of her - wanted to turn around and just kiss her, maybe more if they had the time - but she didn't know when PJ would be here, and she still wasn't sure if Isabel was, like, okay with that, and didn't she hear somewhere that being all aloof and indifferent made you ten times hotter than being needy or whatever?
"Hey." Josie felt a tap on her shoulder and pulled back from the window. "You seemed a little spaced out there. Watcha thinking about?"
Isabel was looking at her with a slight smile on her face, and a note of - was that worry? Anxiety, even? Shit, maybe she was being too aloof. Josie quickly found Isabel's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Nah, I'm fine. Just a long day, you know?" She summoned up an awkward smile of her own.
Her girlfriend's expression didn't change, but she seemed satisfied with Josie's answer, squeezing her hand back. "Wait a minute" - she gestured towards Josie's head - "Your hairtie's coming undone, I can get that if you want?"
Josie nodded, feeling Isabel take a loose strand of hair between her fingers, hearing Isabel murmuring about conditioner brands - though she was suddenly finding it hard to focus on the details, as she felt Isabel's nails barely graze the side of her neck. She shifted in her seat, trying to discreetly get away from her girlfriend's hand, but those fingers wouldn't leave her alone. Isabel's touch wasn't firm enough to hurt, but there was just enough pressure for it to really, really-
Before Josie knew it, Isabel was stroking under her chin, and she'd grabbed her hand and pushed it away, other hand clamped over her mouth to suppress any loose giggles.
"Woah, are you okay? Did I scratch you or something?"
"I'm good, I'm good. I'd just prefer doing it myself, that's all."
"Josie, are you sure? Because you kinda- Oh my God."
"What?"
"Oh my God, are you ticklish?
Josie blinked, momentarily at a loss for words.
"You're super ticklish, aren't you? Is that why you were moving around so much? Back there?"
She knew from past experience that outright denial was not the way to go, though admitting the truth didn't seem like a great plan either.
"Uhhh... yeah, I am. Ticklish, uh, I mean, I'm a little ticklish, yeah..."
"Oh m- How did I not know about this?"
Josie tried to answer, she really did, but when you have your crush of several years looming over you with a massive grin, after discovering your biggest weakness, without even being able to move from your chair, coherent thought becomes a little tricky.
"Um, well, you didn't know because I didn't tell you, and I didn't- I didn't tell you because I didn't think it would be information that you would be-"
She was literally at the edge of her seat, pressed up against the car door, but that somehow still wasn't far enough to escape Isabel's roving fingers.
"That you would be- ah! Interehested in! And I didn't think you'd be interested in it because - ohh, your hands are cold - because it doesn't benehehehefit either of us to know- okahehehey, okay that's a tickle spot, okay you founehehehed ihtahahaha! So we can just let this go, we don't need to do anything else related to- tickling, or me being tickled, or-ohmygod not there. That's really BAHAHAHAHAD!"
It wasn't simply being ticklish that embarrassed Josie. It was that she had no resistance whatsoever - one little tickle and the floodgates burst wide open. If she wasn't being tickled within an inch of her life, she might've realised that this is the loudest and hardest she's laughed in a long time, and certainly the most she's laughed in front of Isabel. Right now, though, all she could think of was how Isabel's fingers seemed to be all over her at once - her hip pokes, side squeezes, belly flutters, and rib tweaks felt like they happened seconds after each other. Curled up tightly on the car seat, her eyes tightly shut, she couldn't see Isabel reaching over her, theoretically giving her views she would've killed for in years past.
"This is so cute! I've never been with someone who is, like, this ticklish, you know?"
"Hmmmm, I disagree~" Isabel swooped down to nibble on Josie's neck, prompting a round of wild cackles, before darting over to scribble on her knees, making Josie kick under the steering wheel so hard she thought the airbag would go off.
"WHAHAHAHT THE fuck, how did you know abouahAHAHAT THE KNEEHEHEHES, STAHAHAHP!"
"Oh, the knees? I guessed it. I can tell you're ticklish everywhere."
Josie squirmed like mad, slapping helplessly at the air, trying not to reveal how much her girlfriend's comments were getting to her. She was sure Isabel could talk to her like this and she'd be giggling without any physical contact.
"YOHOHOU'RE FUAHAHACKING KILLING MEHEHEHE!"
"Aw, but you're tough, you're the leader of the fight club! Wait... maybe our next session should be all about tickle fights! Only if I get paired with you, though, this is way too fun to pass up."
Why exactly was this so much worse than the last time she was tickled? Was it Isabel's nails, which had just enough purchase to find devilishly ticklish areas hitherto neglected? Was it Isabel jumping from spot to spot, not content until she'd wrung every kind of laughter out of poor Josie? Or was it the rush of being like this under Isabel, becoming a puddle of hysterics thanks to someone you'd known, feared, lusted after, and then finally loved, for the entirety of high school? Of finding yourself so vulnerable in her presence, just you and her, and the dizzying mix of emotions that came with that?
She felt Isabel's hands leave her body, her head still spinning as she panted like mad and gripped the sides of the driver's seat. She vaguely heard the back doors open, and a couple of voices paired with a blast of winter air from outside.
"Yeah, the dog took Hazel's notebook, we had to turn the house upside down looking for it, then I had to redo my makeup... Jesus, Jodie! You look like you've run a marathon, what the fuck's happened?"
"Hi, PJ! Oh, she told me she was ticklish, so I tried it out on her. She wasn't lying!"
"You told her?! Josie, I know you're fucking head-over-heels for her already, but why-"
"Wait, she's ticklish?" Hazel piped up from the back seat.
"Like, incredibly, and she made me swear to never tell anyone, under pain of death, but now she's just giving it away-"
Josie gripped the steering wheel as her friends settled in the car. She looked over to Isabel, whose smile had still not left her face, even growing when she wiggled her fingers towards Jodie and saw the other woman flinch.
Isabel reached over to Josie, the loud chatter in the back masking their conversation? "Are you okay? I didn't... go too hard? Or anything?"
"You're fine, it's cool. Gimme some warning next time?"
"Next time?"
"Uh, wait, I mean-"
Before she had time to think of an excuse, PJ poked her head between the front seats. "So, Isabel, did you know that if you put your lips on Josie's belly and blow real hard, she yells loud enough to wake up a whole slumber party?" She gestured to the cheerleader, who brought her hand to her mouth and giggled.
"What the fuck, PJ?"
"You're the one with no secrets anymore, pal. And between her shoulder blades-"
PJ was pulled into the back seat as Josie pulled away from the sidewalk as fast as she could, and drove off into the night.
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Summary: Tim has a Thing for tickling that he's not keen on bringing up with his partners. Doing his best to ignore it works, until it really doesn't. Polychives, light angst with a happy ending.
Words: 5.3k
If Tim refused to think about it, it wasn’t a problem. So he was refusing to think about it.
He was refusing to think about The Tickling Thing, a Thing which he kinda wished was not a Thing for him in the first place. For some reason, his brain had always seemed to shine some kind of spotlight on the act — replaying moments he saw it happen over and over, getting stuck on the sound of particularly endearing laughter, dispatching unreasonable amounts of butterflies to his stomach at the thought of being loomed over with wiggly fingers, and so on. Tim had never managed to figure out why he had this Thing (if there even was a reason apart from his default settings) but he was very conscious about it being unusual. The more he dwelled on it, the more of a Thing it became, so he tried to box it up in a corner of his brain and focus on the more standard types of affection he liked. Simpler that way.
That worked great, until he found himself in a relationship that defied his previous understanding of how relationships could work at all, with not one but three partners, and there were suddenly a lot of cute laughs and smirks and playful moments to be tempted by. Ignoring it was impossible, what with Sasha making jokes until Jon’s stubbornness crumbled and he couldn’t help but break into a smile, and Martin looking away with a blush when one of them complimented him, and Sasha reaching up to tie her hair into a ponytail with nimble fingers, Jon giving Tim those fond-exasperated looks at his every wisecrack, Martin getting that light in his eyes when he made a playful remark, Sash—
No. Nope. He was going to be chill about this. And the more he thought about it, the more he wanted it all, taking them apart with his fingers alone, them doing the same back to him, huge chaotic tickle fights… He was left with no choice but to ignore and endure the best he could.
Though, he figured it fit well enough with his general nature for him to give into the urge to tickle his partners every once in awhile without being suspicious. And he’d been doing it since before he really identified how deep the Thing really went for him, so he’d already established that enjoyed doing it to others. At least it could be passed off as, y’know, a typical level of enjoyment despite the blazing spotlights in his mind. Indulging occasionally was better than nothing.
Letting himself receive it was a very different story. He knew himself, or at least knew how he’d been with previous lovers. He could stand it at first, but as it went on he would get gigglier and deeper into that delicious floaty headspace until he lost the ability to do anything but give in and hope for more. In, like, a super obvious way. Or at least obvious enough that his partners would surely pick up on it, because they knew him too damn well (not to mention Jon’s supernatural shit) for him to get away with things like that. He’d melt, flop over, bury his face in something instead of fighting back, forget to protest, leave spots open for attack, something that would expose him. And he didn’t want to deal with the aftermath of that.
He was— he was fuckin’ embarrassed about it, okay? Embarrassed over how easy it was to incapacitate him and how much he loved it. And, on the other end, embarrassed over how fixated he could get on one of their reactions. There was an extra little worry that it’d come off as creepy or something, but at least Jon could use his Eye stuff to confirm he meant what he’d tell them about his intentions and concern with their comfort vastly outweighing his impulses. But as long as Tim kept The Tickling Thing to himself, there would be no awkward conversations and potential weirding out in the first place, so he resolved not to let himself slip into the headspace that risked exposing it.
Going after the others, naturally, meant they sometimes tried to turn it around on him. More than okay in theory, but he had an image to maintain and a Thing to keep to himself. Luckily, he prided himself on being a slippery bastard (Sasha’s words), and that plus his tickle monster prowess meant he only ever got tickled for a few seconds at a time before he got away or regained control. Never long enough to get him to that point of giddy delirium that would expose him. Nothing like the delightfully drawn out sessions of him dishing it out on them. God he loved doing that. He really should do it more oft—
Nope. Ignoring it.
Frankly, he was proud of his impulse control. He wasn’t overdoing it.
Or so he thought. Until the afternoon they decided to team up on him.
It wasn’t out of nowhere, to be fair. He’d gone after each of them at least once in the past few days, and had just made some cheeky comment or other when Sasha clicked her tongue disapprovingly.
“Okay, that’s it. Martin, Jon?”
Jon sighed and put down his book. Martin stepped closer to Tim and gave a look of almost-regret.
“Sorry, Tim, but this has to be done.”
And all of a sudden he started wrestling Tim down onto the carpet of their living room. Tim could’ve slipped away without any trouble like he had so many times if Martin was working alone, but this time, Sasha and Jon weren’t far behind. Three against one? He didn’t stand a chance.
He was pinned and winded in short order. Jon was above his head looking at him from upside down, keeping Tim’s wrists pinned so his arms were raised. Martin sat on his thighs. And Sasha made herself smugly comfortable laying down on her side next to Tim like lounging royalty waiting to be fed grapes. But he knew her, and knew she was also very ready to jump into action again if he made an escape attempt. Basically, he was fucked. Completely at their mercy.
Tim’s heart pounded frantically, and he knew it wasn’t just from exertion.
“Alright Tim. We want answers,” Sasha said. “Specifically about why you’re always such a little shit.” Thankfully, he recognized the light in her eyes that meant it was playful irritation at worst.
“You do have a lot to answer for,” Jon said.
“Especially all the tickling,” Martin added. He had been the most recent victim of a prolonged attack, and even as nervous as Tim was right now, the memory was a hit of proud delight. The way Martin had snorted—
Sasha poked Tim in the side, jolting him out of the memory and back to the present. “Right. So we figured you deserved a taste of your own medicine.”
Shit.
(Not that it was at all surprising. But a guy can hope.)
“Are you going to cooperate? Or do we have to do this the hard way?”
Tim glared defiantly at her and kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t sure if he could get words out in a steady voice, and he didn’t intend to find out. He pulled at his arms hard and twisted his hips as best as he could to try to throw Jon and Martin off, but he’d only gotten Martin halfway unseated and one arm free when Sasha scribbled fingers on his stomach and he was useless. In a moment, Tim was right back where he was before pinned under his partners… and now in much deeper trouble.
Well, no one could say he went down without a fight.
Martin was smirking. “I was hoping you’d pick the hard way.”
Sasha gave Jon a you’re up gesture, and he met Tim’s eyes with sharp, supernatural focus.
“Timothy Stoker. Where… are you… most……. ticklish?”
Oh no. “Generally my ribs and sides, but if you do this one particular thing to my ankles I want to crawl out of my skin. Hips are a solid runner up. Also, no one’s ever t-tickled me on my back before,” (the stumble on the word, though subtle, was missed by none), “so that might be something, I really don’t know.”
For a long second, no one spoke. Then Tim, voice back under his control, broke the silence. “Using your spooky Eye powers is entirely unfair.” His indignation did nothing to hide the mortification in his eyes over all the information he’d just spilled.
“You know what else isn’t fair?” Jon said. (“Ankles?” Martin whispered disbelievingly to Sasha.) “Sneaking up on someone while they’re recording a statement.”
“Or tickling someone while they’re tangled up in blankets and not awake enough to get away,” Sasha chimed in.
“Or standing in the only doorway out so someone can’t leave without getting within reach,” Martin added.
“Or doing it in a library.”
“Taking someone’s favorite mug and putting it up too high so they have to stretch to reach it, then ambushing…”
“Replacing someone’s bookmark with a feather?”
Tim couldn’t help a grin at the affronted look on Martin’s face. “Okay, maybe that one was a bit much.”
“You think?”
“So if we’re talking ‘fair,’” Sasha concluded, “this is long overdue, babe.”
Unable to argue, Tim settled for something put-out and definitely not a pout.
“So. That was a very detailed list of your tickle spots,” Jon said.
“Thanks for that, by the way,” Martin said, soft, less teasing than the others. A hint of a smirk snuck onto his face anyway. “Even though you didn’t have much choice.”
“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” Sasha was fully grinning.
“No- shut up!”
“You sure don’t let us get you back much though. What’s that about?”
Tim’s jaw clenched, and Martin looked to Jon, worried they might be going too far.
Jon caught on and delivered his question with his truth compelling powers. “Tim, how do you feel about all of this right now?”
“Having to say this stuff is probably the most embarrassing thing in the world,” Tim said, cursing himself as he did, “but I don’t think I’d ever be able to get it out otherwise. If— when you guys do it, I won’t be able to hold out long, and that’s… a lot.”
He was grateful Jon hadn’t done the thing that squeezed every ounce of truth out of a person — that was a hard limit in their relationship, one that Jon himself had set when checking how comfortable the others were with him using the less forceful version in situations like this. Tim had to be honest, but was left with enough agency to phrase it ambiguously. ‘Hold out’ didn’t refer to his ability to withstand the tickling he was surely about to receive; it referred to his ability to maintain a façade of normalcy about it after the first few seconds. His pride was already hurting from it.
“‘A lot’… in a bad way? Should we stop?” Martin asked.
It was Martin. Tim could answer however he wanted. But… he was already in this deep. The truth was bound to come out eventually, might as well see this to the end rather than have to start the whole process over again later. Screw it.
He hoped a scoff would cover his embarrassment. “I suppose I do deserve it.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.” Sasha sat up, and Tim knew all too well what that meant— she was getting in position to strike. Butterflies swarmed inside him. He couldn’t find it in himself to dread it entirely; that craving for this kind of thing, after all the effort he’d put into it, could no longer be ignored.
She raised her eyebrows. “You’re really worked up over this, aren’t you?”
Tim felt himself flush. “Sasha!” he protested.
“I mean, I’ve never seen you do this before.” She leaned over past Martin and tapped his socked foot which was jiggling incessantly from pent up energy.
Fuck, he hadn’t even realized he was doing it until she pointed it out. He reflexively went to shove Sasha away, or cover his face, or something, but Jon’s hold was secure.
“Can we start already?” Martin said, fingers hovering over Tim’s hips. “I want my revenge.”
“Of course, darling.” And, always a supportive partner, Sasha dove into tickling Tim just as enthusiastically as Martin. Jon was content to just watch and put his efforts into keeping him still while Martin dug his thumbs into the dips of his hips and Sasha went for his stomach again. Tim cried out in surprise. There was zero build up, and he’d never been tickled by multiple people at once like this before, let alone while securely pinned down, unable to do a thing about it. He was right: it was a lot.
Not in a bad way. Very much not.
Before he knew it, he was dissolving into laughter. His body demanded to curl up, push their hands off, get away, but he could do none of those. Whatever the hell Martin was doing to his hips was especially bad, and yeah, maybe he deserved it or whatever, but holy shit he didn’t think Martin was going to be that mean.
“So this is why you never let us get back at you,” Sasha said. “You’re, like, ridiculously ticklish.”
A whine ripped out of Tim. That wasn’t fair, he was being teamed up on! If he could conscript them to turn against one another later, he’d show them how hard it was to handle.
He wished he could say as much, but it was hard to do anything except laugh. Sasha raked nails up and down his ribs, while Martin stayed at his hips, and Tim was utterly gone. Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him — he was rapidly approaching that headspace, the dangerous one that would reveal how much he loved this, and the only way to save himself was to get free right now.
It sparked one final burst of desperate defiance, and he pulled and bucked and twisted and thrashed as hard as he could. To no avail. He was stuck there for as long as they wanted, lost to laughter until they had their fill.
He hoped they’d make the most of it.
————————
They certainly were, and by the time they gave him a break, he was heaving for air. Even as he recovered, he couldn’t stop giggling — it didn’t help that Sasha was keeping him jumping with the quickest erratic scritches to spots that had proven to be effective so far.
He was well and truly in that floaty, happy zone. Far too deep to school his reaction at all when Martin said, terribly affectionate for someone supposedly getting revenge, “Having fun down there?”
Normal Tim would’ve shaken his head, growled out some complaint or insult or denial, use the reprieve to make another escape attempt. But Floaty Tim tipped his head back to giggle a little harder — it was as if the words were compounding on the physical sensation, increasing the potency of both.
“There’s still something I wanna know,” Sasha said, hand continuing to bounce from spot to spot. She looked Tim in the eyes, a wicked (beautiful) smile decorating her face. “You said your ankles were really bad. Tell us more about that.”
But the thought of it alone just made him even gigglier. There was no way he was going to be able to answer on his own. It wasn’t even a matter of embarrassment or trying to hide something or provoke a reaction anymore. He couldn’t answer because his head was spinning too much and he couldn’t formulate the words even in theory, let alone get them out coherently. Telling was hard. Being known would be worth it.
“Jonnn,” he whined, flapping his hands to get Jon’s attention.
Jon smirked down at him. “Need help saying it?”
Sasha’s fingers found a spot on Tim’s ribs and he twitched, scrunching his eyes closed as he nodded giddily.
“Alright. Tim, when you said your ankles drove you crazy if someone tickled them a certain way, what did you mean? What is that way?”
It was still punctuated by giggles (Sasha wasn’t stopping!), but the answer was clear enough for all three to understand:
“Super light tracing and spidering and scritching. Especially behind the bone that sticks out a bit. Makes me kick really bad so you have to be careful.”
“Noted.” Jon gave the other two a gesture to say go ahead, and Sasha relented as Martin turned around to face Tim’s feet.
The first touch of fingertips on his right ankle was whisper-soft, but even so made Tim flinch and his smile widen a fraction. As soon as they started to leisurely trace a twirling, spiraling pattern, he broke into helpless snickers, his leg trying to kick to get away despite how much he wanted to welcome the affection.
“Woah, he wasn’t kidding,” Martin said, scootching further down to put his weight on Tim’s calves instead.
“Nooooo,” Tim whined.
“‘No’ don’t do it or ‘no’ you weren’t kidding?” Jon asked, well aware of the answer but wanting to tease anyway. Tim just shook his head as residual laughter trickled out.
Martin went right back to work on Tim’s ankles, this time both of them, a single finger trailing a tickly path on the outside of each. Tim squeaked and broke down into giggles, feet flinching uselessly.
“He’s cute like this, huh?” Sasha said to Jon as she repositioned to get close to Tim’s feet too, obviously meaning to be heard by Tim himself, and it worked. He whined in complaint yet again, but at this point everyone knew he didn’t really mean it.
After an entertaining minute or two of Martin and Sasha exploring his ankles and the tops of his feet, Jon told them to pause and let Tim think enough to answer a question.
“It’s been very fun watching you like this, but I haven’t gotten to tickle you at all myself yet and I think I’m still owed some revenge. Do you think, if I let your arms go, you can keep them up for us?”
“Uh-hummm…” For them, for more of this, anything. “Y-yeah, I’ll try.”
“That’s all I can ask for.” Jon kissed him on the forehead, and that alone felt like reward enough for agreeing. Jon gave a final squeeze to Tim’s wrists then let go, leaving Tim with only his own willpower to help him ride the wave of endorphins and mind-scrambling affection for all it was worth. He put his arms more behind his head and grabbed his own wrists to brace himself for the fight against his reflexes — this was much more doable than trying to keep them straight up.
After a moment to see if Tim would stay put — he very much did — Jon repositioned to be to by Tim’s side at shoulder level. “I think you deserve a big finale, don’t you?” Jon said, and whereas before he seemed to be acting the moderator, now he was teasing too.
(Later, Tim would wonder whether Jon meant he “deserved it” as punishment or “deserved it” as an indulgence. Either worked.)
Tim didn’t have a hope of answering aloud. But he shakily pressed his elbows back in solicitation. His partners looked between themselves, mischief ready to boil over.
Then six hands descended at once, and everything else vacated his brain except the rush of ticklishness and that it was Jon and Sasha and Martin attacking him with affection and he loved it. He was lost in laughter immediately. God, what he wouldn’t give to return the favor(to all three at once if he somehow had enough arms) right now, they were so endearing each in their own way, but there was zero chance of Tim doing anything now except curl up and shriek, and fuck, not like he was complaining about that either.
If Martin kept doing that to his ankles, he was going to go fucking delirious.
Or Jon doing that to his ribs.
Or Sasha doing that to his kneecaps.
Tim kinda hoped they would.
———————————
“Meeting in the big bedroom,” Tim announced to the rest of the house from within it, then flopped face down onto it their king sized bed (one of their best investments). His partners found him there laying motionless, and they hesitated.
“Tim?” Martin said, as if approaching a spooked animal.
“Get comfy, this might be a bit,” Tim mumbled, just intelligible enough for the others to catch.
Sasha came over and sat on the edge of the mattress up by his head. “If you say so.”
Jon and Martin followed suit, and Tim felt someone’s hand bury itself in his hair comfortingly. They were too good to him. He hoped he wasn’t about to fuck it all up.
“So. Meeting?” Jon said.
“Wanted to talk about yesterday. When you…”
“Pinned you down and wrecked your shit?” Sasha’s proud grin was oh so audible.
“Sasha,” Martin scolded, “be nice. He’s having a hard enough time as it is.”
If Tim haven’t been flushed before, he certainly was now. Even Martin taking his side like that was embarrassing! They were probably going to end him with teases once they knew he was more than down.
Which they would very soon.
Fuck.
“We’re listening,” Jon said, which coming from him wasn’t always the most comforting thing, but Tim knew how he meant it.
“I—” Tim tried. His voice got caught in his throat. “So there’s this— Um, so I…” Nope. This wasn’t going to work, despite all the times he practiced this in his head. Dammit, he didn’t want to have to resort to this, but— “Jon?”
“Mmhm?”
“Can you… help?”
“Are you asking me to use my powers and make you talk?” It was a rare occurrence in their relationship for someone to request it, especially as they’d grown comfortable to speak openly with one another, but not unheard of. This was the first time Tim had, though (apart from yesterday when he was… rather loopy).
Tim chucked sheepishly into the blankets, then turned his head enough to look at Jon. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Jon raised his eyebrows — are you sure?
Tim nodded.
“Alright, Tim.” Jon took a deep breath and channeled his powers. “What were you meaning to tell us regarding the other day?”
The flow of the truth, as embarrassing as it was, was a relief. He’d never shared this with anyone, nothing beyond reassuring a lover he didn’t mind receiving it. Even if this went bad, at least he wasn’t keeping it bottled up anymore.
“I’ve always had this… Thing for tickling. It just kind of sticks in my head, and I wanna do it all the time. Both sides. And I wish we could do it more together, it’s my favorite type of affection and intimacy, but I don’t want to overdo it on you guys or make you think I was weird if I wanted you to do it to me.”
There was a long pause. Sasha broke it. “Well for one thing, I don’t think any of us would complain about being allowed to tickle you, it’s pretty fun.”
“Hey!” He didn’t know why he was so immediately defensive when what she’d said wasn’t actually one of the many bad reactions he’d feared. But he was. Force of habit.
“What? Thought we were sharing here.” Sasha said.
“Okay, but that isn’t the point.”
“What is the point then?” Martin said.
“I’ve been holding this in for a long time. After yesterday, though…”
Jon softly laughed. “Yeah. It was pretty apparent you were enjoying yourself.” Tim’s face scrunched in an embarrassed scowl. Jon’s smile grew a little more, but his voice softened. “Sorry, guess I shouldn’t be teasing you right now, should I?”
Though Jon clearly meant it rhetorically, some combination of the spooky shit’s need for information and Tim’s conflicting want/fear to be known dragged the words out of him anyway. He managed to muffle them into the bedspread, but the message got through regardless. “No, it’s good. It’s one of my favorite parts.”
“Really?” By Sasha’s tone, you’d think Christmas had come early. “Tim, if you don’t take that back right now I’m never letting you live that down.”
Of course she wouldn’t. “I take it back,” Tim groaned.
“Do you really mean that?” Jon said.
“No.” Betrayed, Tim shoved Jon. “Oh, fuck you.”
“Do you mean that?”
“No.” So unfair.
Martin’s hand — Tim had figured out it was his — found Tim’s scalp again after all the sudden head motions stopped. “What do you find fun about it? The tickling, the teasing, everything.”
After yet another bout of stammering, Tim gave up and nudged Jon.
“What’s fun about it all?” Jon repeated.
“A million things. Laughs are cute, especially when it’s from someone you love and you’re the one causing it. It’s fun messing around, play-fighting, using up some extra energy in way that isn’t destructive. When I’m getting one of you really good, it’s the biggest power trip. And when I’m being —” Tim faltered, made an awkward hand motion. “—yeah. …I like the attention. Sorta fun to be put in my place sometimes. Feels good to just be super present with another person and lose your shit laughing until you’re all floaty.”
Tim’s face burned, but the truth kept flowing. “And the teasing makes it all so much more. I get butterflies like mad, and if you do both at the same time for some reason it makes it t-tickle more, and… I dunno. Affection. And if you’re saying stuff like that I know you’re having fun too, which is good because I’d feel bad if it was a chore.”
The supernatural powers apparently sated, Tim found himself able to stop baring his soul, and he yanked the nearest pillow toward him to bury his face in. He thought briefly of a bird sticking its head in the sand.
“Well first off,” came Jon’s voice, “thank you for sharing. Especially with it being so hard.”
Though Jon was being genuine, not a hint of tease in his delivery, Tim groaned into the pillow anyway. “Would you stop pointing it out?”
“What was that?” Martin asked with a light chuckle, not having made it out.
“He said to stop pointing it out,” Jon said. “But, well, he doesn’t seem to mean it all the way. Do you, Tim?”
“It’s more complicated than that.” He managed to turn his head enough to un-muffle himself, embarrassed as he was. “Depends if you’re pointing it out cuz you think it’s stupid and you’re mocking me, or cuz you still like me and are trying to have fun with it.”
(It was weird. He was starting to lose track of what information he was volunteering and what was being pulled from him. That was a good thing, he supposed? A sign that he was getting more comfortable opening up? Or at least desensitized to the mortification.)
“The second one, definitely,” Jon said quickly. “None of us are weirded out or anything, I promise.”
“You could let us speak for ourselves, y’know,” Martin said. Despite the irritation towards Jon, Tim felt the hand in his hair give a little affirming scritch that made his toes curl.
“I usually would, but I was trying to be efficient.”
“Appreciate it,” Tim said.
He felt a shifting of weight, then the tiniest kiss on the shell of his ear that made him twitch away. “To elaborate on what Jon said,” Sasha murmured, most definitely teasing but still so warm that it made Tim’s insides flutter, “I think this may be the best thing I’ve ever learned about you.”
Tim choked on a breath. That was simultaneously the most embarrassing and reassuring thing he’d ever heard.
“I mean, come on, tickling? I haven’t thought about it as much as you, clearly, but you’re right, it’s fun. And you’re asking for more? That is the cutest, most you thing ever.”
“It’s— what’s that supposed to mean!?” Tim protested.
“She’s kinda right,” Martin said, mischief creeping into his voice too. “You like being a little shit. You like laughing at stuff and making other people laugh. You like bullying us. You like being the center of attention. You like being in our space. You like—“
“Okay, I get it!” Yeah, he was already kinda aware it fit his personality, but the detailed callout was rude. Even though he’d asked.
“Did we get to everything you wanted to talk about?” Jon said, evenness diffusing the tension.
Tim could feel he was no longer being compelled, but answered truthfully anyway. “Wanted to know what each of you thinks about it, knowing it’s a… Thing for me. What you’re comfortable with doing and stuff.”
Martin began, running fingers through Tim’s hair as he did. “Full steam ahead for me. If I get to get back at you, I’m okay with being tickled. I mean… as long as you don’t actually murder me, you’re mean sometimes.”
Tim found himself grinning from the affection, the feedback, and the prospect. “No promises.”
Sasha went next, back upright instead of right by Tim’s ear, thankfully. “I already said I think it’s fun. You should be more worried about all the rest of the revenge I need to get on you, cuz you’re in for it now.”
A thrill shot up Tim’s spine. There was a lot for her to get revenge for, and he had no doubt she meant to follow through on that threat. He hadn’t let himself entertain the idea before, but now that he could allow himself to go there…
“If you start to overdo it, I’ll let you know,” Jon said, refocusing him once again. Then, quieter, almost wry: “Don’t think that’ll happen though.”
“You haven’t seen me at full force.”
“I’m sure I will soon. As for me tickling you, I’m sure you’ll give me plenty of reasons to and I’d never say no to that.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“God, is he about to get more annoying?” Martin playfully complained to the others.
“We’ll see,” Tim said, his self-assuredness settling back into place inside him. They didn’t hate him, didn’t think he was weird, didn’t find it uncomfortable; they saw it as a good thing, and were open to more. And he didn’t have to avoid being the recipient anymore. He could fly.
But he was also exhausted. The emotional toll of confessing after years worried about how it might go really took a lot out of him. “Okay, I’m done. We can be done talking about it now.”
“Good,” said Sasha. “Is this the part where we tickle the rest of the stress out of you then? Is this the right time?”
Tim flinched, not expecting that. He’d figured they might want a bit to process before anything more happened. On one hand, he very much would not complain if they skipped straight to the fun part. But on the other…
“You don’t have to do it all my benefit. Just because you know now doesn’t mean you ever have to—”
“Oh, Tim,” Jon interrupted, seeping Tim’s name in play-pity.
“Sasha’s literally been sitting on her hands ever since you said you want us to tickle you,” Martin said.
“I was trying to be mature!” Sasha sounded betrayed.
Tim risked a peek, and indeed, Sasha was sitting on her hands, eyes raking over his still face-down body eagerly. Fuck, she wanted to get him that bad? He had never felt anything like this, such an overwhelming cocktail of embarrassment, excitement, nerves, affection, relief, and giddiness that it made his head spin.
“Tim, please can I?” Sasha said. How someone could manage puppy dog eyes and metaphorical devil horns at the same time like that was beyond him. Damn if he wasn’t a fan though. He took a deep, decisive breath.
“…Well, since you said ‘please’…”
And that was the last fully coherent thing to come out of Tim’s mouth for a good while.
a/n: pls spam me with comments and thoughts, i need reassurance! inspired by part of a prompt I got and kinda ran with it. I don't think it's perfect, I tend to be more descriptive than anything and my writing does not feel very strong but it's still a story I very much enjoyed
prompt: (...)Then Charlie asks Nick if he’s ticklish, and nick says it’s been such a long time he’s not even sure! (...)
Summary: Charlie wants to know if Nick is ticklish but Nick doesn't really know, so they find out together.
(Heartstopper; Nick/Charlie)
3525 words
"Char, you know I can't."
"What?! Don't you love me?"
"Of course I do-"
"Then say it."
"-just not more than my dogs."
"Wrong answer."
Laughter and dramatic cries overlapped each other as the two boys wrestled across the bed, pillows thwapping and grunts of strain intermingling with the giddiness of their playful fight.
A hand darted forward, ambitiously aimed at the older boy's hip- but froze. Charlie's fingertips barely grazed the fabric of Nick's hoody. There was a noticeable pause.
Using the moment's hesitation, Nick vaulted forward. A pillow collided with Charlie's chest, throwing him off balance, quickly followed by the weight of his excitable rugby boyfriend. There was a light-hearted groan as he fell to his back, shaking his head at Nick's face beaming down at him.
"Hah!" Nick exclaimed, clearly counting this defeat as a victory over the argument. Not wanting to crush his boyfriend completely, he graciously rolled off Charlie and flopped down beside him, gazing up at the ceiling as they both caught their breaths.
Charlie hugged the pillow to his chest, chewing on his lip thoughtfully as his fingers subconsciously flexed and retracted against the soft fabric. He must have gotten too lost in his own thoughts, caught somewhat off-guard when Nick nudged him with his elbow.
"Hm?"
Nick's previous grin was now replaced by a furrowed brow of concern, having picked up on Charlie's sudden change. "Where'd you go?"
A smile quickly returned to Charlie's face as he shook his head. "Oh, it's nothing- Nowhere. It's fine."
But Nick was wearing that look, all worried and unconvinced but ready to let it slide if Charlie truly didn't want to talk about it.
Charlie sighed. "I mean, it's-" He sat up, the pillow falling to his lap where he continued to fumble with it absentmindedly. Anything to not look at that face right now. "I was just-... thinking..." Feeling those watchful brown eyes on him certainly didn't help and then Nick propped himself onto his elbow.
Charlie thought for another moment, then shook his head with an airy laugh and met Nick's questioning eyes. "It's- I don't even know if-" He couldn't help but chuckle at the ridiculousness of his own brain. "Are you ticklish?"
"Oh, um..." Nick shifted a bit, although not in discomfort but rather simply to prop himself up a little straighter as he considered the answer. "I'm not sure."
Charlie's eyebrows flew up in surprise. "Really? No one's ever tried to tickle you?" Maybe that was a silly thing to ask, seeing that neither had he, for some reason. But his fingers suddenly itched to find out the answers all on their own, yet he held back, not wanting to cross any potential lines.
Nick gave a small shrug and brought his hand up to sheepishly run through his hair. "Not really... I mean, mum has, I guess, but only ever for like a second, so I don't think that actually counts." Nick's nose scrunched up a little as he thought. "And David did when I was, like, really little, but he was always pretty rough and would go overboard, so it just kinda hurt more than anything else."
Charlie listened closely, giving an understanding nod by the end. "So, you never-... Not even your friends?"
Nick couldn't help the chuckle as he shook his head. "You've met them. They're not really the, you know, touchy-feely sort of bunch."
Charlie let out a warm laugh and nodded again. "No, yeah, I guess you're right. Not even during rugby, though? I mean, it's so hands-on..."
But the look Nick gave him already seemed to answer the question. "Right, of course." Charlie lowered his gaze back down to his lap where he was fumbling with a little hole in the pillowcase.
Nick's head tilted to the side some as he observed his boyfriend, something he always did when trying to understand what was going on in his head. "Why?"
The question seemed to come as a surprise and Charlie struggled with a response. "Oh, well- I don't know." He shrugged. "It's... I guess it's just something people do, isn't it? And couples, especially..." He thought about all the times he had gotten into silly tickle fights with his friends, where nobody ever remembered how or why it started to begin with, and a fond smile came to his lips. "...I suppose to bond, cause it's kinda intimate but also silly and fun and harmless, or something." He finished with a shrug.
The corner of Nick's mouth pulled up into a smirk as he wiggled his eyebrows. "Oh, so you want to be intimate with me, is that it?"
"Shut uup," Charlie whined with a laugh, rising to his knees just to clobber Nick over the head with the pillow, making the older boy collapse onto his back with a soft, muffled 'Oof'. "So, what, if I do?" he added as he settled back down onto his heels, pillow back in his lap.
Nick gave a quiet snicker. "I think it can't be any more intimate than non-stop snogging, can it?"
Charlie rolled his eyes but smiled regardless. "I guess not."
A comfortable silence settled between them with Nick sprawled on his back, eyes closed and Charlie letting his eyes wander all over the oblivious body, thinking to himself.
"Do you want to find out if you are?" Charlie asked eventually, giving the other's leg a small nudge with his own.
Nick's eyes opened and he met Charlie's curious gaze. "I don't know... But you look rather keen to find out yourself."
The heat rose in Charlie's cheeks, a feeling of betrayal for his own face rising within him but before he could open his mouth to defend himself, Nick gave a half-hearted sigh of exasperation, his arms stretching outwards on either side. "Fine, because you asked so nicely. What do you need me to do?"
A grin quickly took over Charlie's demeanour as he moved in closer, slowly straddling Nick's thighs but unable to hide any of the eagerness radiating off him. "Oh, nothing really, this is perfect." A pause. "Well, at least tell me when you're hating it or are uncomfortable and I'll stop."
Nick nodded.
The weight on his thighs shifted around a little as Charlie got himself comfortable. "Where do you want me to start?" he asked, a hint of hesitation and indecisiveness in his voice as he eyed the body beneath him.
"Uhm, I don't know." Nick lifted his head a tiny bit to better see Charlie. "I guess we can try all of your top spots, see if I'm any worse than you."
Charlie's face lit up with a smirk, his posture straightening up. "I like the sound of that. Okay. Well, in that case, that means..." He narrowed his eyes in concentration as his weight tipped back slightly, slender fingers finding the bare skin of Nick's knees, thanks to the shorts.
Nick's leg gave a small twitch, fingers swiping across his kneecaps or occasionally fanning over them. Not much more of a reaction came.
"Hm." Charlie changed tactics, hands reaching round to scribble against the back of the joints, finding much softer skin in the hollows of his knees.
This did seem somewhat more effective. A few chuckled breaths came from Nick's nose, the corners of his mouth twitching into that iconic lopsided smile.
"Alright, I guess we can rule out knees," Charlie decided, placing a few experimental squeezes to the muscle just above the kneecaps. "Oh. Or maybe not?"
The longer he continued squeezing away, interchanging speeds on either side, the more Nick's legs jerked and wiggled as if trying to dislodge him. There was still no laughter though, not even chuckles or giggles, only that wonky smile growing wider.
"That's definitely the worst so far," Nick commented, their eyes meeting. "But nowhere near as bad as you." His hands shot down, copying Charlie's move on the knees currently residing on either side of his hips.
"Hey. Hey!" Charlie jolted forward with a yelp as tickly sparks shot up his legs, quickly grabbing ahold of Nick's wrists and tugging his devious hands away. "This is not an interactive experience. No audience participation permitted, thank you."
They both laughed at his reply and Nick obeyed, moving his arms back to where they were before. Charlie gave a disapproving shake of his head, reminiscent of an old man just having shooed away some rowdy kids off his lawn.
"So, on a scale of one to ten, where would you rate your knees?" Charlie's hands returned to their previous position.
"Uh, I don't know. I don't really have a sense of what a ten would be, but probably... I guess, a one, maybe a two."
"Alright, one to two, noted. Moving on."
The squeezing fingers continued up the top of Nick's thighs, climbing higher until obstructed by Charlie's butt where he swiftly brought them to the front and continued uninterrupted.
Charlie looked away from his own hands for just a few seconds, observing the boy underneath him, determined to catch even the smallest reaction.
Nick did seem to twitch more, the higher Charlie's hands got. Until-
A violent jolt wrenched through Nick's body. There was a sharp gasp and the older boy bolted upright with such a force, he would have easily headbutted Charlie right in the nose had the latter not been completely thrown off balance by the sudden movement.
Now positioned in-between Nick's legs, rather than on top of them, a tight grip for dear life on the other's shorts, Charlie hesitantly tilted his head up.
They stared at each other, both wide-eyed, open-mouthed, wearing equal looks of surprise and shock.
"What was that?"
"I-... I'm not sure."
"Are you okay?"
"Y-Yeah, I'm-... That really tickled."
"It did? Oh, man, I wasn't even paying attention to where my hands were. Your stupid, smiley face distracted me."
"Sorry." Nick rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, freckles disappearing in the flush of his cheeks.
"Don't be. Do you want to keep going?"
There was a short moment of hesitation but Nick nodded and lay back down, giving Charlie his hands to pull him back onto his thighs.
Nick's brows, still furrowed in bafflement, raised questioningly once he saw Charlie's amused face beaming down at him.
"At least now we know that you are, in fact, still ticklish," he pointed out, answering the question before it could pass Nick's lips.
"Can you try that again? Just-... go easy this time."
Charlie grinned brightly and gave a nod, his hands coming back down to the tops of his thighs. "Of course, let's see. It was somewhere around here."
He repeated the same motions, albeit with a lighter touch and immediately felt the body beneath him tense up in anticipation. A couple more squeezed and there it was. Thumbs slotting into place in the shallow dip of Nick's groin, where thigh met torso.
"Ah-." Nick jerked and attempted to pull his knees in but the manoeuvre only made it easier for Charlie to zero in on the sensitive muscle, kneading tiny circles into the tissue.
"There it is," Charlie cheered, unable to hold back a laugh of his own as Nick's face scrunched up, random sounds of surprise intermingled with gasps and bursts of varying laughter.
The sensation was indescribable. Electric surges running all through his leg. And then, suddenly, like sparklers set alight just beneath his skin as Charlie switched to using his blunt nails through the thin fabric.
Back arched, hips bucking, Nick let out a scream of laughter, the sort that came from somewhere deep inside and could hoarsen one's voice if bellowed long enough.
Nick's brain, an overstimulated pile of goop, needed a few moments to kick in its defences. Grabbing onto the attacker's wrists blindly, he shook his head and the moment Charlie noticed the silently mouthed 'Stop', he relented.
Charlie retracted his hands, resting them against his own thighs as he watched Nick recover with a fond smile.
"Didn't I say... to go easy?"
"Maybe... On a scale of one to-"
"Ten."
"Let me finish the question-"
"Without a doubt, ten."
"Alright, ten, noted."
Nick lifted his head. "Oi, stop looking so smug." He nudged Charlie with a buck of his leg.
"Me, smug? What gives you that idea?" But Charlie made no attempt to stifle the pleased grin plastered to his face. "Are you okay to keep going?"
Nick groaned, head plopping back against the mattress. "Only if you leave that spot alone."
Charlie smirked, unable to help himself and gave a single, pointed pinch. "This spot?"
"AH! Charlie!"
Charlie brought his hands up as a sign of surrender. "Leaving it alone, I promise."
Their eyes locked and eventually, Nick rolled his, giving a complying nod.
Now that Nick did have a sense of what a ten on the scale felt like, he was much more on edge, anticipatory giggles slipping out easily.
The hips were the nearest target for Charlie's adventurous touches and still seemed rather sensitive but mostly because they were so close to the death spot, Nick couldn't help but be wary of Charlie's hands darting back down out of nowhere. But instead, they slipped beneath the hoodie, making contact with warm skin. Nails grazing against his lower belly and up, over his stomach had Nick in stitches. The giggles flowed out in a continuous stream, leaving him bright red and breathless by the time Charlie moved on to his sides. Light touches brought on occasional shivers, while calculated pinches and squeezes slowly climbing to his ribs had Nick cackling. Charlie also noted an increase in squirming, the higher his hands seemed to move, which was tauntingly slow.
"You okay there?" Charlie quipped lightly when Nick's hands came up to cover his burning face and grinned when he got a nod in return. "Lovely. Would hate for you to miss out on this."
"Wha-AAahHH!" Fuzzy sparkles spread from the centre of his abdomen, fizzling out somewhere around his waist. A single finger had dipped into the somewhat shallow belly button, rubbing back and forth against its base with barely any pressure. Still, Nick's back arched upwards, idiotically pushing himself further into the maddening touch.
"Eight?" Charlie asked with a tilt of his head, not even trying to hide his delight about this discovery.
"Get out!" Nick pleaded, his pelvis twisting from side to side.
"Alright, alright." Charlie's hands disappeared completely and it took Nick's frazzled brain a few seconds to understand that it wasn't because they were aiming for a different spot. Instead, the younger boy used the short breather break to move himself a little higher up Nick's body, giving him easy access to the upper half of his torso.
"God, I'm sweating," Nick groaned, fanning his hot face a little.
"It suits you, though," Charlie retorted with a hint of playfulness in his tone but he felt gracious, so he pushed Nick's hoodie up, letting it bunch together against his chest.
"Oh, zip it."
If anyone had asked, Charlie would have argued that it was an act of altruistic love, just wanting the alleviate the overheating boy's discomfort. In reality, all he was after was his exposed ribs. And it didn't take long for Nick to catch onto that fact.
Taking advantage of the growing anticipation, Charlie let his fingers trail downwards again, drawing light circles and spirals over Nick's sides, his sternum, pecs and upper chest, before-
With a surprised 'Jesus', Nick quickly dissolved into hysterics. For the first time, his arms made a move to protect himself, only to find that Charlie's knees were now blocking the way.
"I didn't know you were religious."
Nick was amazed how Charlie could sound so casual while he was taking practically every individual rib of his apart so meticulously, it was flustering.
"Charles," he tried to growl out through gritted teeth but failed to sound even the tiniest bit threatening, only receiving a warm laugh from the other boy in return.
Once again, Charlie became aware of the increased squirming and a thought occurred that would potentially clear some things up. The howling laughter Nick let out a moment later was answer enough.
Nick's entire body felt like it was made from lightning. His head tilted back, unable to focus on anything other than the fingers swirling in the hollows of his armpits.
Luckily, Charlie had other plans which would grant some distraction. Tempted by the now fully exposed neck, one hand darted upwards. A squeal intermingled with the previous howls and Charlie could feel the warmth of Nick's blush radiating against his hand.
Not wanting to overstimulate him too quickly with two such sensitive spots, Charlie's hand worked in an alternating pattern. Grazes against the neck then scraping at the hollow, light pinches at the nape then scribbling in the pit.
It seemed to hold up for a while too, keeping Nick on edge, even though it was a repetitive pattern, never quite knowing which shoulder to scrunch or what hand to grab for. The sudden kiss to his cheek came as even more of a surprise since he didn't even notice the weight at his waist shift at all.
"This is the cutest thing I've ever seen," Charlie remarked, the low voice so close to his ear sending goosebumps down Nick's arms.
"Stop," Nick whined out lightly, referring more to the teasing words than the teasing touches. But Charlie had been paying close attention all along and it was becoming noticeable that Nick was wearing out, his voice a little raspy, laughter mostly breathless.
Charlie pressed another kiss to his cheek. "I wanna try something."
Fluttering kisses trailed down the length of his neck and across under his chin, while both of Charlie's hands, one still on the other side of the neck, the other still under his arm, found a matching rhythm.
"Shiht!"
Nick was lost. The room around them disappeared and he found himself on a cloud, carrying him through a shower of fireworks, and sparks, and lightning, making his skin prickle in a way, he didn't even know was possible. Time lost all meaning, every little touch registering somewhere in his foggy brain and a dread of eternity crept up somewhere in the back of his mind.
"Stop," Nick choked out, tears beginning to prick at his eyes. "I can't-"
Charlie kept his word, immediately pulling back. Straightening up, his eyes scanned Nick's face for any signs of discomfort but he was still beaming with residual giggles bubbling out.
Before Charlie could ask if he was okay, Nick brought his hands up to wipe at his eyes. "Please, no more."
"Of course," Charlie responded earnestly with a nod. He clasped either side of Nick's face, leaving one last kiss at the corner of his mouth before climbing off. He lay down beside Nick, who took the first opportunity to curl up on himself, and pulled the older boy into a comforting embrace.
Nick groaned against his chest quietly, arms wrapped around his middle. He was sure his abs were going to be sore by the next morning. But the fingers entangling in his hair and the gentle scrapes against his scalp made him forget about that with ease.
"You lasted so long." There was a genuine tone of admiration in Charlie's voice, coaxing a sheepish grumble out of the older boy.
They lay like that for some time, only the sound of their breaths between them. Charlie was convinced that Nick had dozed off in his arms, but surprisingly, Nick lifted his head, gazing up at him with a face of playful curiosity. "So, what's your expert opinion? You think I'm more ticklish than you?"
A quiet laugh overcame Charlie and he bit his lip as he gave a small nod. "Yeah, you might be. My knees are definitely worse but you have so many spots that seem to get to you more. But at least our necks seem to be equally as sensitive."
He felt tempted to let his fingers flutter against Nick's for emphasis but the older boy already scrunched his shoulders up slightly, without Charlie having to move an inch. Phantom tickles passed by briefly at the mere mention of the spot.
"Hm."
"How do you feel about that?"
Nick thought for a moment. "I think it means that I get to have a fair share of revenge tickles."
Charlie felt that familiar drop of anticipation in his stomach which, like always, was soon followed by a surge of giddiness spreading through his body.
To his surprise, Nick only shifted to make himself more comfortable, cuddling closer to Charlie's body. "Nap first, though."
A warm smile spread across Charlie's face as he adjusted his embrace slightly, fingers entangling with the other's hair once again. His chest felt like it was going to burst open with the adoration he felt at that very moment, and he closed his eyes.
Although he knew that sleep was not going to come for him, he was happy enough to watch over Nick as he rested and recharged. "I'm not going anywhere."
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Okay, it’s been a while since I posted a fic on here, but inspiration and motivation hit me so hard and I had to write this! So, I recently saw Spiderman: Across the Spider-Verse and it was truly a spectacular movie, so that what this fic is gonna be about!
I was inspired to write this fic because of the fics and HCs made by @orchid-fics @tickling-giggles and @parker-fluff! Hope you guys enjoy!
Summary: Here’s a thought: If you have someone who is similar to you in every way, do you have the same weak spots? That’s what Pavitr wants to find out, and thanks to Miles’ and Hobie’s reluctant participation, Pavitr is able to collect all the data he needs to answer this burning question.
i feel like jess has a thing of sneaking up on lupe when she’s mid-convo with someone else and giving her sides/hips a squeeze and it happens commonly enough that everyone goes into a conversation with lupe knowing full well it’ll probably be interrupted cause even though Jess does it to literally every teammate lupe is the only one to end the conversation by chasing after jess looking for payback right then and there.
OML YES. lupe always gives the best reactions so jess takes advantage of that. but somehow, lupe still never sees it coming and is surprised every single time, as if this isn’t jess’ thing.
also, jess giving everyone the same treatment but lupe getting personally offended and chasing after them is so fucking good lmao
For your consideration: Carson was never really tickled growing up and Charlie never tried anything because he knows Carson isn’t much of a touchy-feely person (with him anyway) and so she thinks she’s not even ticklish. That is until her and Greta are goofing around one day and Greta jokingly threatens to tickle Carson.
Carson tells her to go ahead, eggs her on even, since she’s obviously not ticklish, only to be in for a rude awakening when Greta takes her up on it.
Carson can’t figure out if it tickles so bad because she’s already always so smiley and giddy around Greta anyway or if it’s just those damn nails but Carson immediately realizes just how insanely ticklish she actually is and how much of a mistake she has just made by letting Greta find out.
you know how ticklishness can sometimes depend on who you’re with? yeah. that’s what’s happening here. charlie tried like once when they were kids and it didn’t do much so he never tried again. and carson was just happy that she had something to hold over his head. but then, enter greta!!
just the fact that it’s greta makes her curl up a little bit because this beautiful woman actually wants to pay personal attention to her? and see her smile? holy shit there goes carson. also the nails factor in to how hard she’s pleading juuust a little bit.
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Lupe with ticklish shoulders and tummy! You're so correct for that! Tough guys have to have the cutest tickle spots, it's in the constitution 😤
i can just imagine her being offered a massage and accidentally scrunching up her shoulders because “she’s just a little tense there”, which makes the masseuse lighten up their touches until lupe starts squealing and squirming away ! and her instantly curling up and shrieking at tummy pokes no matter how light or rough or intentional the ler is being !!
