#k writes.

“and i’m starving. you always get fussy if i start eating our food without you, but then you take a million years to do something as simple as washing your face.” 

lance huffs, annoyance clouding his expression ( which keith is almost surprised he can detect considering the new mask that lance pasted on ) as he switches his attention to the oil and lotion combination he utilizes for his body. 

“it takes time to look and feel this good! don’t be dramatic just because you can’t appreciate proper skin and self care, babe.” lance lifts one of his legs to stroke the concoction along his skin, making certain to get every inch before he shifts to the other leg. keith observes him for all of thirty seconds, features painted with slight apathy as one of his hands reaches out to slowly grab an eggroll, because if he has to wait any longer for his boyfriend to finish this ridiculously religious routine he has, keith’s obviously going to waste away into nothing. 

lance catches him in the act however and swats at his shoulder in protest. a resounding groan seeps from the swordsman, but an angry lance is a lance he doesn’t want to deal with, so he sets the now lukewarm eggroll back into its spot with the others. he almost pouts truly, thinking about how they’re going to have to microwave the food now, and it just never tastes the same when you do that. 

“are you done now?” keith inquires at the next five minute mark, his stomach growling its ravenous wrath as lance washes off the clay on his face & neck. 

“your stomach sounds like a wild animal.” is the brunet’s response, a little chuckle in his tone, patting his face dry with a small towel. 

“damn, i wonder why that could be.” the sarcasm drips from his words like a leaky faucet, amethyst eyes rolling so hard he nearly gets a headache from it. 

“oh, hush, i’m done already, alright? let’s just warm up the food so we can eat.” lance takes it upon himself to perform that action, considering he’s the reason why their dinner became cold in the first place. 

keith can appreciate that, watching as lance walks away to the open kitchen, donned in nothing but his robe and pajama pants underneath, food in hand. curiosity settles in the forefront of his mind, because lance always makes such a big deal about his skin care routine, and keith can’t help but ponder if the results of it are that good. now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t ever pay much attention to the difference between lance before the act and lance after it. 

his thoughts are interrupted by the smell of renewed food, and even though its not going to taste as fresh as it would have had they eaten it earlier, keith’s hunger is strong enough that anything designated as a human grade consumable would have been good enough for him. once their dinner is set back on the table in front of them, lance turns on a bluetooth speaker he keeps on the counter for background music, to play songs from a playlist that he’s so appropriately named “dinner time.” 

“ya’ have a playlist for literally everything you do, is that normal?” keith quips with a small, half-cocked smile, already having devoured two out of his four egg rolls. 

“yes, it’s normal. people have background music going for all sorts of activities. you’re just a weirdo who likes to sit in silence. i’m showing you the beauty of dual stimulation.”

keith’s brow raises, his smile sharpening into a bit of smirk. “dual stimulation? did’ja learn those words from pidge?”

lance’s own brow twitches, pointing his fork towards his boyfriend and accidentally flinging some rice in his direction. “first of all, i KNOW big words, alright? pidge doesn’t know everything! i know things. i know tons of things!”

keith nearly chokes on his rice when a laugh breaches his throat. “okay, okay, relax babe. look, you’re wasting food, throwing rice around like that.” 

“oh yeah? how’s this for wasting food?” on that cue, lance tosses a piece of orange chicken right at keith, who just barely moves out of the way with a mouth full of sushi. the chicken flies unceremoniously to the floor behind the warrior, and once keith gets the sushi down, his sights train back on lance, who’s looking a little more sheepish. 

“really?” 

“⎯⎯ maybe if you hadn’t dodged it, it wouldn’t have ended up on the floor.” 

“maybe if you hadn’t thrown it, it wouldn’t have ended up on the floor.” 

lance scoffs, but rises from his seat to walk past keith and pick up the poor piece of food. keith, however, decides lance needs a bit more punishment and quickly shoots out a hand to pinch his thigh, hard enough to startle him but not hard enough to seriously hurt. lance squeaks and almost jumps five feet into the air, swatting at his boyfriend once again before he grabs the chicken and tosses it into the trash. 

he tries to walk past keith for the second time, but has to expertly dodge another pinch attack, his lips wavering as the gunner tries to fight off a budding grin. keith, meanwhile, grins openly, a playfulness shimmering in his eyes as lance makes his way back to his seat. they finish the rest of their food with the occasional banter back and forth, until keith takes it upon himself to clear the table and toss empty trays into the trash.

“you’re insufferable, y’know that?”

“you like it.”

“like being pinched? absolutely not, that crap hurts. like a papercut.”

“didn’t know you were that sensitive.” 

“i’m not sensitive, i’m soft. i’m soft and smooth thanks to that unbearable skin routine you can’t stand.”

“soft and smooth huh?” 

“yeah, duh. that’s what skin care happens to do. i’m super soft, actually. can’t believe it’s taken me telling you that for you to realize it.” lance tsks, shaking his head as though he were disappointed in his boyfriend. 

“but not sensitive?” keith slowly brings his body up from the chair, taking just as slow strides closer to lance on the other side of the table. 

there’s a sudden shiver that dances up lance’s spine. he’s prey with a predator nearby, locked onto him and ready to pounce. 

“no — not at all.” lance settles his vision on keith, watching him closely as he stops moving to stare back at lance. it’s silence between them, until something clicks, and then

lance bolts.

lance bolts, in his fluffy robe and even fluffier slippers, bounding towards the stairs where the sanctity of their bedroom lay in waiting. 

keith chases after him, wondering when lance got this fast in his reaction time. he makes certain that lance doesn’t trip on the stairs ( even if he’s the reason why lance is scrambling away in the first place ), and follows him all of the way into the bedroom. unfortunately, the gunslinger doesn’t stand a chance against keith when it comes to raw strength, so when keith tackles lance onto the bed, there isn’t much he can do to fight back against him. 

not that he honestly wants to. 

because the space between keith’s arms is right where he fits perfectly. so perfectly, in fact, that if he didn’t know exactly what his love’s sinister plans were, he would’ve just melted right into his embrace without any hesitation. 

“what’s the problem, lance? i’m just holding you.” keith’s sneaky arms dive to coil around lance’s waist, equally sneaky hands settling right over his stomach. even though he has yet to really move any of his fingers, lance is already having difficulty fighting off the toothy grin that wobbles onto his lips. 

“k - keith, wait, wahahait, hold on ⎯⎯”

“what’re you laughing for, lance? i’m not even doing anything.”

yet. 

he doesn’t have to say the word, but lance can hear it within his mind. he doesn’t have to move his fingers, but lance can sense those ticklish sensations beginning to surge across the surface of his skin, even from on top of his robe. it only grows worse once keith slithers those hands inside of the garment ⎯⎯ the only thing keeping him at least somewhat safe ⎯⎯ and lance has a visceral reaction that forces him to bite down on his bottom lip. 

“keheith! your hands are cohohold! stoppit!” lance attempts to pull his love’s hands off of his chest and belly, but the action is half-hearted, not enough strength behind it to really mean it.

“oh ⎯? oh, holy shit lance, you really are soft.” keith’s eyes widen and his jaw slacks some, as though he’s transcended to a new level above mortal knowledge. 

“i ⎯⎯ i tohold you! it’s called personal hygiene!” lance bites back without any venom, but anything else he might have said gets swallowed up by the full-on giggles that flutter from his lips as keith’s fingers finally begin to explore. 

he skitters those trained digits all over the expanse of lance’s stomach, gently squeezing the softer parts of lance’s lower waist with a bright grin that he couldn’t dare to hide. 

“dude, what in the hell goes on when you shower? it’s fuckin’ insane how soft you feel.” one of keith’s hands leaves lance’s stomach in favor of continuing his exploration, fingers smoothing down one of his hips to scritch lightly at his boyfriend’s thighs, which earns him a proper squeal. 

“keith ⎯⎯! st - stop, it tickles too muhuhuch!” 

“too much? i’m barely touching you, what happened to not bein’ sensitive?” 

every swipe and stroke and squeeze sends ticklish electricity all over the gunman’s body, squirming underneath keith with another weak push in an attempt to make him stop. his giggling evolves into belly laughter when keith leans down to plant gentle kisses on any exposed skin he can find, relishing in the warmth of each spot where his lips touch down. lance feels so damn delicate, keith swears every touch feels like he’s caressing the petals of rose. 

a shriek rips from the hollows of lance’s throat when keith bends down to nuzzle and kiss at the spaces between neck and collarbone. a dusting of cherry paints over lance’s cheeks as his laughter heightens in octave and volume, leaving keith absolutely charmed. he can be so fucking cute, how could keith justify stopping when his boyfriend looks like this? flustered, and gleeful, and enjoying every bit of this, even if he tries to protest otherwise. 

“keeeith! no more!” the brunet chokes out, gasping when kisses shift into mischievous nips and fingers spider up from his thighs to his sides. lance’s breath hitches before another squeal pops out of his lips, attempting to curl over and deter keith’s fingers from their onslaught on his sides. 

the rival with a bite that’s much scarier than his bark.

the rival with a great sense of ambition, who has never allowed anything to step in the way of achieving his goals.

the rival who was the first person of his age group that midoriya looked upon and thought ⎯⎯ now he’s going to be a hero who wins. midoriya’s got a handful of notes about him to prove how much he believes that.

his mind wanders with the saturday morning breeze that filters in through the cracked window of his dorm, waning as soon as it reaches the two bodies sharing the extra large twin bed. a smile blooms along midoriya’s lips, ever as a delicate as the draft, as emerald gaze watches the rising sunlight capture a piece of katsuki’s shoulder. the skin under the sun’s attention glows as though made from the illumination itself, and midoriya doesn’t manage to catch himself before the apexes of his fingers discover themselves in contact with where the sun touches.

bakugo doesn’t shift, but he sighs softly through his nostrils and remains in slumber, unbothered by the caress simply because even in his dreams, he recognizes who those fingers belong to.

his boyfriend’s skin has always been of great interest to midoriya and sometimes he catches himself wondering if that fact could come off as creepy. it’s directly related to the blond’s quirk ( is what he and every other person who makes a big deal out of bakugo’s skin tells themselves ) and somehow, that makes it feel a little more okay, but then you reach into the category of research and studying, and the ofa user draws back again because they’re intimate now. he’s not as keen on using his boyfriend as an intellectual expedition for a better understanding of his quirk.

he’d get an earful from bakugo for sure, like he has in the past.

right now, however, with the freedom of the beginning of the weekend giving way to allow the students some idea of rest, bakugo is taking the opportunity to sleep in and midoriya is taking advantage of that. his fingers travel the broadness of his shoulder, sweeping along the pronounced collar bone until he finally feels a stir from the fellow student. he mimics the action and bakugo’s body responds again. amusement builds within the hollow of his stomach, bubbling like a bath, and his fingers bring attention elsewhere.

down the middle of his chest, he compares the skin of his fingers to the skin underneath them. both scarred, in some ways that are different and other ways that are similar. the stark contrast is bakugo’s inherent softness as a result of half of his quirk coming from his mother. glycerin is such an interesting substance ⎯⎯ bakugo’s scars heal faster and better, he’s never had acne for more than a day or a two, and there’s always a subtle, lingering sweetness in his scent. hell, midoriya’s even tasted it in their kisses. in his mind, it’s another aspect that keeps bakugo ahead of the game in their generation.

“nh ⎯⎯.. i oughta beat yer’ ass…”

midoriya’s still getting used to the way his heart races a mile a minute when he’s blessed with bakugo’s morning voice. it’s gruff and raspy, but the grogginess of it makes him sound subdued, tame.

“for?”

“wakin’ me up this fuckin’.. early on a goddamn saturday, nerd…”

“oh⎯⎯” he realizes the touches may have altered from soothing into more ticklish territory, but honestly, that only refreshes the smile upon midoriya’s features, “heh… my bad, kacchan. i wasn’t trying to wake you up, i got distracted by…” he goes silent for a second, debates on what words to use, “.. how cool your quirk is.”

sleepily, bakugo raises an eyebrow at him, and midoriya can tell how confused he is even when half of his face is concealed by the pillows he’s buried himself in.

“the hell are you talkin’ about, huh..?”

“your quirk..! like, um.. well, for example, these scars you got from training last week are already healed.”

midoriya’s index and middle finger trace the jagged, slight discoloration of the aforementioned scar, right next to the front of his ribs. his eyes widen when bakugo’s stomach sucks in and he shoves his face further into the pillow to refrain the puff of laughter on the edge of his tongue from escaping. when he glances up again, midoriya’s entire visage is alight with mild glee and bakugo finds it rather disconcerting.

“or ⎯⎯” his boyfriend continues on, moving that hand to lay all five fingers against his sides, “the fact that you’re really soft when you compare my skin to yours. i can guess that that’s because glycerin is a natural moisturizer and since you make it naturally, of course it stands to reason that you’d have smoother skin.” before bakugo has a chance to make a rebuttal, midoriya starts to squeeze at his sides, slowly sliding up and down the length of him.

“ah..! hey! w-wahait! wait a dahahamn sehehecond⎯!” tiredness has sapped his self control, leaving bakugo a victim to his gentle giggles. he squirms against midoriya’s touch, trying to push himself away from the assaulter’s body, only to be dismally reminded that he slept against the wall.

“but you’re so adorable right now! i missed this smile!” the shorter protests, placing his other hand in the action and using it to scribble along bakugo’s ribs. he keeps the sensations light though, never applying much more pressure than soft spidering, squeezing, or poking, and already, bakugo’s been reduced to a wiggle worm drowning in pitchy cackles.

“st⎯stahahap! dohohon’t, don’t , nohoho..!”

“y’know, i think you’re even more ticklish than you were when you were a child.. i wonder if it’s because of you developing your quirk and using it so much that the glycerin is put to work more than before..”

“stAHap deheku! stahahap ohover-ahahanalyzihihing my⎯⎯! m-myhy quIHIrk, baHAHastard!”

midoriya pretends to become cross, brows furrowing over eyelids and a faux frown at the corners of his lips.

“deku? what happened to izuku? have i been demoted again? that’s not very plus ultra of you, kacchan!” bastard is a regular occurrence, at this point it may as well be considered a mild moniker when coming out of bakugo’s mouth. but he’s cemented on teasing the blond about using deku on him again outside of the field, especially with the way their journey has led them beyond mending their friendship.

“fu⎯! FUHUhuck yohohou..!” he manages to cry out between his laughter, but there isn’t a shred of malice to insult, and how could midoriya take him seriously with a grin that wide splitting his face in half?

“tsk, tsk. that’s tough talk for someone as ticklish as you , katsuki.” rarely does midoriya ever use bakugo’s first name over his aged nickname, unless he wants to incite another rarity ⎯⎯ that being the blossoming of red across his cheeks, nearly the same striking shade as his eyes.

until the day bakugo dies, he refuses to acknowledge his fluster when midoriya makes use of his first name. midoriya hasn’t given up reaching the answer as to why, but in the meantime, he’ll take the opportunity to weaponize that fact against his boyfriend whenever he deems fitting.

and, as if to prove his point, digits scribble up bakugo’s ribs to settle right on top of the area where his top rib and armpit meet. bakugo’s laughter grows shaky and his eyes widen, recognizing the spot where his boyfriend’s got his fingers stationed, like a spider’s fangs ready to strike on its prey. he’s halted his tickling for now, and allowed the explosion user a bit of respite, but his body is still vibrating with the sensations of thirty seconds ago, which is still keeping his giggles flowing, quieter and calmer than they were prior.

“de⎯⎯ izuku, stohop.. cut me some slahack, it’s too muhuhuch, too ehearly..” bakugo’s realized that yelling expletives while being tickled does nothing but amuse his boyfriend and all but eliminates the chance of him stopping, so, he’ll play this card instead. unfortunately for him, when midoriya woke up, he apparently decided to choose chaos.

“too much? aw, kacchan, is the tickling too much for you?” midoriya coos, and to his obvious delight, he observes bakugo’s blush darken in hue.

“i⎯⎯! shut⎯⎯shut up idiot, that’s not what i meANT, NOHO⎯!” the latter of his words evolved into a small shriek when midoriya drilled his fingers into the spot they’d been sitting at, but only for a moment until he stopped his actions once more.

bakugo’s entire body buzzed like he’d just touched an electric prank toy. he has no clue what midoriya’s playing at, stopping the attack almost as soon as it had commenced. crimson gazes watches him, attempting to see past that innocent grin he wears, but midoriya leaves no room for guessing games when his fingers animate again and glide all too softly over his ribs and down to his stomach.

“whahat are yohohou doihihing..?! just gehehet on wihith it ahalrehehehady!”

“just get on with it? oh, you want me to tickle you more, kacchan? is that it? i bet even this tickles pretty bad, huh?”

“fuhuck⎯⎯ dahahamnmit, izuku! qUIHIT teheheasin’ mehehe!”

“but when i tease you, i get to see more of that blush i love so much. how can i not want to talk about how ticklish you are? or how cute your sleepy laughter is? that’s like asking me not to take hero notes, kacchan!”

and as if on cue, the flush on bakugo’s cheeks seems to grow, spreading now to his ears and nearly to his neck, much to midoriya’s utter joy. midoriya’s hands find themselves skirting down to bakugo’s lower waist, tracing shapes and aimless patterns into the skin, which in turn elicit a bigger reaction from his boyfriend. he’s still trapped against the wall, much to his dismay, so despite the now louder laughter and heightened wiggling, bakugo still has very little means of escape.

in all of this motion, his pajama bottoms have wriggled just a small bit off of his hips, and midoriya, curious as ever, sneaks over to the area, wraps his fingers over just above where the waist and hips meet and delivers a few consecutive squeezes.

the way bakugo bucks so hard he nearly shoves midoriya off of the bed that’s truly too small for two guys with their body types to share, has midoriya momentarily stunned. albeit, not shocked enough to miss the squeal that tore from bakugo’s lips ( and may get them in some trouble later by their peers ). once midoriya gathers his bearings, he glues his fingers to that newly discovered gold mine of a spot, an eyebrow risen and his grin a little sharp.

“oh? don’t tell me i found another tickle spot? and such a reactive one! death spot number 2, huh kacchan?”

“don’t you even fuckin’⎯⎯!!”

but it was much too late. midoriya realizes that if he doesn’t take the chance now, it would be a fight to have it again later. immediately, he digs into that same area, squeezing or rubbing nonsense into the sensitive flesh and bakugo melts into howling laughter, with little to no safeguard except his own limbs. he kicks against the bed, completely dishelving the blankets and even the sheets, which bunch up and wrinkle underneath them.

as much as midoriya would love to continue reducing his usually antagonistic and abrasive boyfriend into a flustered, squirmy, belly - laughing puddle of jello, bakugo’s been loud for awhile now and has probably woken up most, if not all of the other students on the same floor, and he’s certain that they’re going to be receiving some noise complaints. so, he slows his fingers down to their final complete stop and instead opts to smooth his hand up bakugo’s chest to soothe him down. he’s so much warmer than he was before, even with the cracked window inviting in more cool morning air.

“you’re… so fuckin’ lucky that i’m still tired.. cheeky lil’ shit..” he warns between soft pants, his lips still quirking on a wobbly smile as midoriya scoots closer to him again to snuggle up into his tickle - induced warmth.

“we can’t stay in bed all day, kacchan.. remember that we have things to do later..” his words end on a yawn, seems his body enjoys the notion of sleeping in a little longer too.

“shut up nerd, i remember.. you just better wake up before me, or i’ll be gettin’ my revenge.. a lot sooner than ya’ think..” he can feel bakugo’s chest begin to rise and fall with the sound of his breathing, and eventually the mellow, almost inaudible snores follow right behind.

“Seriously! On top of that, the group chat’s also full of you guys just being hilarious.” Sero chimes in, flashing a pearly white grin at his friends while he takes a drink out of his tumbler, “You gotta tell me where you find those memes.”

Kaminari delivers a simper of his own in return, shrugging his shoulders as if the answer were a mystery to him as well. “It all comes right off the dome! We’re just talented like that.”

Kirishima nods in full agreement, hitting Kaminari with a fist bump that explodes once they pull apart. “Yup! Couple of grade A comedy masterminds.”

There’s a huff of a scoff that tugs the attention to Bakugou, who’s settled next to Kirishima with an unimpressed scowl painting over his features. “You two aren’t that funny; you barely pass for clowns.”

A pout crawls onto Kaminari’s lips, golden gaze rolling at Bakugou’s attitude, as common as it is. Kirishima refuses to let his sour boyfriend rain on their parade however, and the brilliant grin he wears doesn’t dampen in the slightest. No, instead, his sight sways from Bakugou to Kaminari, and with a small jab to Bakugou’s side that only Kirishima could possibly get away with ( he won’t ), he immediately recoils on the small yelp that breaks free from the blond, along with the hand that nearly instantaneously grabs hold of his collar.

“What the fuck are yo⎯⎯?!” Bakugou begins on a growl, before he’s interrupted by Kirishima gasping, as if he didn’t just coerce this outcome on himself.

“Somebody! Somebody, oh no⎯⎯!”

And as if on a practiced cue, Kaminari slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle & distort his cry of, “He needs some milk!”

Within moments, the entirety of their table bursts into a fit of giggles, Kaminari and Kirishima included. Bakugou is the sole body left not only unamused, but particularly pissed off, releasing his boyfriend with a light shove and a grunt of displeasure.

“Pfft⎯ahahah, you need some milk Blasty? Help ya’ cool down, huh?” Sero teases, though he scoots a short distance away when he hears the crackles of combustion tolling a warning for him. The only reason Bakugou hasn’t blown this entire table into Timbuktu already is because he knows there’s teachers nearby and he’s not entirely keen on dealing with detention on top of these idiots.

“Shut the fuck up already! Like I said, you two aren’t funny, and neither are you .” He gestures menacingly towards Sero with his fork, who simply shrugs, unfazed by Bakugou’s aggression, much to his disdain. He’s definitely been spending too many hours around them, that’s it.

“ Ugh, whatever dude, you just have no humor.” Kaminari waves him off dismissively, his smile making a reappearance as the explosive youth calms down a tad.

A small chuckle leaks from Kirishima’s lips, migrating closer to Bakugou to plant his hand over the blond’s under the table, giving him a squeeze in lieu. “Yeah, he’s just missing his funny bone right now, that’s all.”

A subtle flush of pink colors Bakugou’s cheeks at Kirishima’s tease in addition to the warmth of his boyfriend’s hand gently clutching his own. It’s incredible, the amount of power Kirishima possesses with something as simple as a touch. It’s what guides him into a more placid state of being, where his growls become dry and his eyes soften, even just the slightest bit. Another scoff voices from the hero-in-training, decidedly departing from the conversation to focus on finishing the rest of his food.

The rest of the school day carries about normally and ends with Kirishima and Bakugou spending time together in Bakugou’s room. After a ( grueling, according to Kirishima ) study session, the redhead is rewarded with his boyfriend lying between his legs with his back to his chest, attention halved between the manga in his hands and Kirishima’s talented fingers combing through spiky tresses. There’s a comfortable silence lulling around them, the type of air that Bakugou considers a safe space, and that’s thanks to Kirishima, who’s done nothing but prove to him time and time again, the judgement-free love that there is his intimacy. In his presence, Bakugou can permit himself to loosen up, even if little by little, and there’s never a rush for more.

Just as Bakugou was about to nearly drift off into a nap with the book in his lap, the sound of Kirishima’s voice inquiring something of him stirs him back into full consciousness.

“⎯⎯You really don’t think I’m funny?”

“Oh my god⎯⎯,” Bakugou releases an exasperated groan before continuing, “It’s not that deep.”

“I think it is.” Kirishima huffs, the contours of his expression shifting into a pout, complete with the furrowed brows and slightly puckered bottom lip, “I mean, don’t you think it’d kinda suck if your boyfriend didn’t think you were funny?”

A pang of guilt strikes his heart. Bakugou had never really meant what he’d said and he figured Kirishima would’ve guessed that, considering how often Bakugou simply thrived on being a brat. Truth be revealed, he did actually believe that Kirishima and Kaminari were pretty funny, but of course, he allowed his pride to reign supreme over simply being authentic about his feelings. Unfortunately, that poisonous dignity still maintains the reins, despite the regret.

“. . . Maybe if you told different jokes, or whatever, I don’t know.” Bakugou finally mutters, as if attempting to grant Kirishima a way to better place himself in a comedic light.

He hums at the suggestion, mulling it over in his thoughts until a lightbulb burns bright within his head. “Different jokes huh… Alright, listen to this: why don’t ants get sick? Because they have anty-bodies! Get it?”

Almost as soon as Bakugou hears the punch line, he points towards the door with an index finger, refusing to meet eyes with his boyfriend. “Alright, get out, I’m going to bed early.”

“Nooooo,” Kirishima whines, but there’s a glint twinkling within cherry gaze and a grin spreading along his lips. “Here, how about this one: what did the mayonnaise say when the fridge door was opened? Close the door, I’m dressing.” And before Bakugou could sling some more contempt his way for the joke, Kirishima’s hands migrate from the mop of flaxen spikes atop his head to his sides and sneak a few squeezes against the clothed skin.

“Ah⎯! Whahat are yohohou doihihing⎯?!” Bakugou squirms in his position between the other’s legs, already fighting back the giggles that dare to bubble up the hollow of his throat.

“Oh, hey, you’re laughing! I guess I must be getting funnier, huh?” To prove his point, Kirishima’s squeezes alter into light spidering that stretches up and down the length of Bakugou’s sides, earning him an increase in volume and amount of giggles dripping from clenched lips.

“N⎯Nohoho! You⎯⎯ahaha, you’re nohohot funny! Cheheheater!”

“Aw, that joke didn’t do it for you? But I’m listenin’ to your cute giggles, so something’s gotta be funny, right?” Slender digits don’t let up on their assault as Kirishima hums again, thinking up another dumb joke. “Okay, check this one out: What do you call a fake noodle? An impasta!”

Kirishima even took the liberty of utilizing a very horrible and not at all accurate Italian accent for the punchline, and was pleasantly surprised when he realized the slight jump in octave of Bakugou’s laughter when he did so. His heart sings with the melody of his boyfriend’s mirth, all too endeared by the fact that these exceptionally silly puns were actually beginning to affect the usually discontented teen. Even if a large portion of that effect is due to the tickling, Kirishima will still take the win in stride.

“Sto⎯ahahap! Fuh⎯⎯Fuhuhuck ohohoff with⎯⎯ y-yohohou’re lAHAme joHOHokes!” A squeal tears through the latter of Bakugou’s giggly words, induced by those goddamn fingers finding home on his ribs. The way they poke and prod between the bones, enacting little vibrations with each dig into the sensitive flesh, has Bakugou in stitches, evidenced by the wheezing cackles splitting his visage with a wide and brilliantly unabashed grin.

“If they’re so lame, then whyyyy are you laughing, huh~? Lying isn’t a very nice thing to do, Bakugou.” In punishment, Kirishima travels dangerously close to that particular spot, scribbling in circles with slightly increased pressure, all of which drive his boyfriend near mad. Much to Bakugou’s dismay, he is definitely being untruthful by continuing to deny the fact that those stupid jokes were influencing his hilarity, even if most of it is due to Kirishima’s tickle attack.

“NohoHOHO! Dohohon’t⎯⎯NoHOHOT theHEHERE⎯!”

“There’s an easy way to get me to stop, babe. Just admit I’m hilarious, and we can go back to cuddling and you can go back to reading your love story .”

“⎯⎯ShuHUHUT UHUHup, BahAHAHAstard!”

Kirishima tsks, but remains just centimeters away from Bakugou’s doom, more than amused by the entirety of the situation and at how absolutely adorable his boyfriend is when he’s being tickled.

“Pfft, okay, okay, last one, I know this one’ll getcha’. What did the cow say to the farmhand when he tickled her? I’m not in the MOOOOood !” On that drawled mimic of a cow’s call, Kirishima finally goes in for the kill, drilling the tips of his fingers into the area on top of the other’s ribs, right below his armpits.

Bakugou bucks so hard he actually forces Kirishima’s body to shift, already drowning in explosive, full belly laughter accompanied by flailing legs and twisting his torso. Despite the way his physique moves on its own, Bakugou isn’t truly fighting to escape, not when he’s reveling in the fun he’s having. This is decidedly better than reading any manga; he gets to luxuriate in his own real time love story with his silly Kirishima.

Kirishima knows his hysterics aren’t just from the assault on his death spot. This reaction is even more intense than usual, which tells the redhead that he did find that joke funny to some degree. The simper he wears is just as wide as Bakugou’s, toothy and dazzling with an air of pride about it. His heart swells in his chest when Bakugou attempts to wheeze out coherency between the cracks of his laughter, but he falls short with each new peal.

His fingers begin to slow, enough to reduce his ticklish frenzy, but still preserve those sweet, gasping giggles. “Go on.” He urges, all too satisfied with the paint of cherry that flushes against the surface of Bakugou’s cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“Yo⎯⎯Yohohou’re fuhuhunny…! You’re fuhuhuckin’ hihihilarious, now stahahap⎯⎯!” He finally manages to choke out, and breathes a heavy sigh of relief when Kirishima’s fingers completely halt their movements.

With an expression that’s still much too self-satisifed for Bakugou’s liking, Kirishima leans over him gently and gifts his love with a butterfly kiss to the tip of his nose. Bakugou scrunches the bridge of it in lieu of the slightly ticklish feeling and Kirishima swears his heart’s a second from bursting.

“See? Told ya’ I’m funny. And you are super cute.”

Bakugou’s floating on a cloud of tickle euphoria, surrounded still by the warmth that Kirishima exudes like an aura. A sleepy grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he lays there with his arms hugging across his ribs, pliant and jelly-bodied and quietly thriving.

“You suck..” He returns softly, lying once again with his usual growly vocals mildly above a whisper. He’s tired and Kirishima acknowledges it, scooting so that he’s laying up against Bakugou, an arm snaking around his middle. He chuckles a little at the sensation of Bakugou tensing.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna tickle you again. For now.”

“You got a death wish, huh?” Bakugou stirs at that, both apprehensive and excited by the foreboding statement from his boyfriend.

So when Bakugou and his squad managed to get ahold of some nerd guns and decided to hold a nerf gun fight in the common room ( furniture was moved , both for protection of them and of it ) for their Saturday game night, nobody, absolutely no one was surprised that Bakugou was in the lead with points. Since these were foam bullets and would have to be used extremely hard and aggressively to inflict any pain, nobody donned armor and every available inch of flesh was an open target. If you were shot on any non vital areas twice, then you were out; on the flip side, if you got hit on the chest, the groin, the neck, or anywhere on your face just once, you were automatically dead and out of the game.

It’s been about thirty minutes into the game’s commencement, and everyone was doing their best to avoid being shot by the bullets from their friends. Some utilized their agility and skills in speed to evade the shots, while others relied on the furniture around them as shields. Even Bakugou, overconfident in everything he does, is taking the necessary precautions to sidestep bullets slung his way, having pinpointed that Kaminari was specifically targeting him. The realization blooms a smirk across his lips, his gun rising swiftly to launch two of the soft projectiles at his aforementioned classmate.

"Crap!" He yelps, just barely escaping from the attack by leaping behind one of the couches.

Bakugou tsks, ducking to the floor to grab more ammo before Kaminari can take advantage of the opening he's accidentally produced for him.

"Ah ha! Gotcha now, Kacchan!" Kaminari cries, pointing the barrel of his gun right at Bakugou's head.

Bakugou has every intention to move out of the way before those bullets can reach him, but the way Kaminari suddenly releases a small shriek and clasps the side of his neck halts any motion. Both blonds shift their sights to see Ashido, posing with her weapon and pretending to blow smoke from the hole of it. Amusement litters Bakugou's expression, but Kaminari doesn't share in his friend's subtle delight.

"Mina, what the heck?! I was about to cap the most powerful player!"

She shrugs, shaking those fluffy pink tresses of hers. "I saw an opening and I took it, sorry not sorry Kami. We're not playing as teams ya' know; every person for themself!"

Kaminari huffed at her words, golden eyes rolling as he set his gun on the table in front of him, hands up, and migrated over to the other side of the room where he wasn't still in the line of fire. "Fine. But just so you know, I'm rooting for you to lose." His pettiness knows no bounds as he plops into a loveseat, squinting at his so-called friend.

Ashido's own eyes roll in return and just as she circulates on a heel to continue the game, a squeak breaks free from her when she feels two tiny smacks against her knees. Shock etches itself into her features, staring hard at Bakugou who ascends from his position on the floor, wolfish smirk stretching his lips.

"You both talk too damn much; you distracted yourself." He chides, already scanning the area for the remaining two soldiers still at large.

Ashido whines, rubbing at the spots where her poor knees were assaulted. "So not cool Bakugou! I saved your butt from Kami!"

"Yeah, that was your first mistake." Honed instincts bring his body into a squat, narrowly missing another foam bullet. Kirishima had been the culprit this time and on the realization that Bakugou escaped his attack, a nervous grin grew on the redhead’s lips.

“Uh oh⎯⎯”

“Damn right uh oh , shitty hair!” As if all in the same moment , Bakugou swooped up a spare bullet, loaded it in, and shot his best friend twice; one in the stomach and one on the thigh.

“Aww, man!” Kirishima groans, but his grin never leaves his face, even as he surrenders his gun to the same place Kaminari had set his own down, joining the blond in taking a seat across the room to watch the finale of this little game play out. It was just Sero and Bakugou now, and the audience of three were on the edge of their seats. Bakugou probably didn’t know this, but Sero was an older brother of three back home, and they had playful fights like these on the constant. It’s safe to say that the tape hero is a pro at this sort of activity and with Bakugou being an only child, has a glaring disadvantage, even if he is the current reigning champion.

The air is quiet. The tension is high, as cardinal eyes scan the area for all objects that Sero could be hiding behind. Either of the other couches, the second loveseat, the counters ⎯⎯ damn, this kid was being quiet as hell! Bakugou couldn’t even detect any breathing, let alone noise of motion. A low growl rumbles from within his chest, taking a few steps towards the empty couches.

“Come out already, Tape face! Show up like a man! You know as soon as you do, I’m gonna kill you!” Even for something as silly as a nerf gun battle, Bakugou manages to take it all way too seriously. Kirishima nudges Kaminari with a hidden snicker and points towards the ceiling with a subtle finger. When Kaminari glances in the direction he’s told, he ( unfortunately for Sero ) lets loose a pleased gasp loud enough to draw Bakugou’s attention. Sight migrates from the two on the couch, to the ceiling where Kirishima had been pointing, and was faced with none other than the student he was searching for , hanging upside down by a length of tape.

“Aw, Denki , come ON, man⎯!” Sero grouses as his ambush is rendered totally useless. He shoots on instinct once Bakugou raises his own gun, and manages to smack Bakugou’s arm with a pellet, but he isn’t quick enough to launch the second before a shot of Bakugou’s reaches him and impact is made with his forehead, sealing an automatic win for the blond.

Bakugou’s lips curl into a smirk, wide and toothy, as he throws the gun to the ground and turns to fully face Kirishima and Kaminari, smug as ever. “You all really thought you could beat me. Ha!”

Kaminari huffs, crossing his arms over the width of his chest and rolling his eyes at Bakugou’s normal display of arrogance. “I would’ve had a shot if MINA didn’t knock me out so early.”

Ashido shoves her tongue out at him in response, before a grin replaces her scowl. “All’s fair in love and nerf gun war. Besides, I got killed right after you did, so it’s not like I got to play much either!”

“Y’know, I noticed something..” Sero begins, leveling himself closer to the floor before disengaging from his tape. “Bakugou shot almost everyone in non-vital spots, even with the handicap of having to shoot the other players twice to get them out.”

A silence draws them all in as they recall the events that have just occurred, and after acknowledging that Sero was indeed correct, all eyes now lay on the winner of their game. Abruptly, Bakugou feels like he’s shrunk a little. What the hell did it matter that he didn’t go for vital areas?

“And? So fucking what? I just managed to prove that I don’t need to take the easy route to win, that’s all.” But there’s a new sensation in the air around the five of them, something that has Bakugou a smidge nervous, and it’s starting to activate his fight or flight.

“I dunno..” Kirishima chimes in, a little too sing-song in the tonality of his words. “It seemed like you didn’t want to hit us in our vital spots. We all know this is a game and these aren’t anything close to real bullets, but you still took at least a little bit of time to hit us in places we didn’t mark as insta-deaths.”

The hair on the nape of Bakugou’s neck begins to stand on edge. What the hell is going on here? He growls again, louder this time, as if that would pose any threat to the individuals who know him the best in the entire school. “Shut the hell up Kirishima, whatever you idiots are thinking isn’t true. The game is over now anyway, so can we fuckin’ drop it?”

“But are you suuuure?” Great, now Ashido’s involving herself too. “‘Cause, to this idiot , it seems like you’re a big ol’ softie , Bakugou!”

Her claim brings an unwelcome, faint flush of crimson to his cheeks. Disdain and embarrassment mix and etch into the contours of his expression, pearly whites gritting against each other as he snarls out, “ Get . Bent . Pinky . I just MURDERED YOU ALL IN COLD BLOOD, how the FUCK is that me being soft?!”

“That probably isn’t something a hero-in-training should be shouting at the top of his lungs,” Kaminari finally steps in with something to say, his own smirk blooming along his lips. “We all know the truth, Kacchan. You’re sweet on us! That’s why you actually thought about where and how you were going to attack us.”

With each teasing statement from the squad, Bakugou’s blush darkens in hue and his chagrin intensifies to the point where crackles and little sizzling can be heard from the center of his palms. “You’re all fuckin’ delusional! I don’t know WHY I even hang around you losers⎯⎯!”

He spins on his heels, turning his back on the four of them with the intention to leave them to their devices, until he feels a hand grab at his wrist and tug him right back. “Hold on a sec there, Bakubro!”

“Wh⎯ Let me go, moron!” He struggles against Kirishima’s grip, noting that the redhead’s hardened his hand just enough to avoid hurting Bakugou, but enough that he can’t just break free.

“Not until you admit you’re a total softie!” He grins, all large and wide and warm, it makes Bakugou’s heart speed a little at the sight, but he’ll be damned if he gives in that easily.

“Drop dead! I’ve got other shit to do, so fuck off!” Another few tugs solidify that he isn’t going anywhere, at least not until he works up to blasting Kirishima’s damn hand off.

“C’mon man, don’t be like that! We just wanna hear you say it!” Kaminari slides off of the couch, taking stride to where Kirishima has Bakugou captured and delivering a few pokes to his fellow blond’s side. “All you gotta do is say I’m totally soft for my friends and you can go off and do your other important stuff.”

Damnmit. Damn Kirishima and damn Kaminari! Those little pokes jolt the skin where they touch down and Bakugou can’t control the way he slightly jerks away from the other student. The movement goes noticed, however, much to Bakugou’s dismay. Their grins turn from mellow and amused, to curious and devious, and Bakugou knows he’s about to regret even agreeing to that stupid game.

“I ⎯ I sahaid fuhuhuck ohohoff!” He chokes out on a giggle that he attempted to strangle down within his throat, but once Kaminari saw his initial reaction to his poking, the asshole just continued doing it.

“What’sa matter, Bakugou? Little bit ticklish?”

“Shuhu⎯! Shuhut uhuhup!”

He bounces when Kaminari’s pokes evolve into light scribbles against his stomach, and tries to tug himself away from Kirishima’s grip even harder, but to no avail. To make matters worse, the spiky haired bastard is using his free hand to mimic Kaminari’s light tickling against his other side.

“NohOHO⎯⎯shit! ShihiHIHIt, gehet awahahAY!” His giggles are flowing more freely every second that the two of them keep up their ticklish assault. The daintiness of the touch is already driving Bakugou up a wall, every light scrape and squiggle of those fingers brings itchy little sensations under the skin that he just couldn’t escape from. His squirming’s amplified as well, to the point where his knees buckle and Kirishima has to exert more strength in order to keep him upright.

“Whoa there, Bakubro. So ticklish you can barely stand, huh? Heheh, let’s move you to the couch so you don’t fall.” Kirishima teases with a giggle of his own, halting his tickling for just long enough to lead Bakugou to sit against the cushions, but he grants him no warning when he dives back in, squeezing up and down his sides. Kaminari had followed and went right back to it the moment Bakugou was settled on the couch. Without an opportunity to catch his breath, laughter shot out of Bakugou’s grinning mouth once again, the back of his free hand concealing part of his merriment and muffling the sound.

“Aw, isn’t he so cute? Thinking that we were just gonna let him walk like that. ~” Ashido’s voice is sweet as a confection, striking a chord of renewed embarrassment within Bakugou that has him attempting to curl up and suppress himself further. Ashido’s having absolutely none of that though, and takes it upon herself to shove her hands to where his waist would bend, squeezing at the back area of it. She’s rewarded with a squeak from the volatile blond, his hand promptly departing from disguising his visage to weakly shove at her hands.

“DohOHOHON’t⎯⎯! StAHAH⎯ahahp!” Suffering through tickling from Kaminari, Kirishima, AND Ashido is a certain kind of torture that Bakugou wasn’t at all prepared for. He’s endured through his fair share of tickle fights with one or two of them prior, but three on one is maddening . As if his boisterous cackling and wriggling like an unearthed worm wasn’t enough for them, Sero’s now positioned himself by Bakugou’s legs with an evil glint sparkling in his dark eyes.

“Don’t stop, huh? Don’t you worry Blasty, I don’t think we had those intentions right now!” Is the last thing he says before slender digits curl around the tops of Bakugou’s thighs, squeezing and scribbling over the skin there. Ashido continues her work on his hips, Kaminari at his stomach and Kirishima dares to scooch his ministrations up to his ribs, just shy of where his death spot was, but the visceral reaction that Bakugou gives proves that Kirishima didn’t need to travel there yet.  

Bakugou squeals, louder than he probably ever has before, no longer capable of internalizing how sensitive he is to everything they’re doing. His squirming evolves into thrashing and damnmit , he feels the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes. Every touch courses along his skin like an electric current, fed into by the hypersensitivity that he couldn’t shake off even if he tried. His cheeks grew even rosier, warmth radiating off of his face like a small space heater.

“ Damn , Bakugou,” Sero’s more than charmed by Bakugou’s display of hilarity, his grin tells that much. “Who knew you were this ticklish? It’s pretty funny! Tough guy like you, fallin’ to pieces ‘cause of a little tickling .”

“Pfft, I’d say this is a bit more than a little, dude.” Kirishima snorts, observing Bakugou closely as he laughs his literal heart out to make certain that he isn’t on the verge of passing out. When he’s deemed fine enough, Kirishima does, finally, move into that cursed little area where he knows Bakugou can’t handle.

And right he is.

As soon as those nimble, horrible fingers make tickly contact with that death spot, Bakugou arches forward so hard, he nearly knocks both Kirishima and Kamnari to the floor. Spiky, blond tresses fall against the couch as he throws his head back, screaming laughter flooding within the space of the common room. He has no strength to camouflage his glee now; eyes scrunched close, the bridge of his nose wrinkled and his mouth splitting his face in a wide open, delighted grin that spreads a feeling of pride and joy into each of his friends’ hearts. Damn. He really needs to laugh like this more often.

“OHOHKAY⎯⎯! fUHck⎯! fUHUHUCK, STOP ! STO⎯AHAHAP! I⎯I’M SOHOHOFT, AHAHALRIGHT?!” The surrender arrives strangled and choked around his laughter, but they all heard him clear enough to finally, finally , cease their ticklish assault on him. With fingers and hands removed from his frame, Bakugou’s body instinctively curls up and against the couch, protecting his long abused sensitive areas from any further touching.

He takes in deep gulps, releasing stray, lingering giggles with each breath. His eyes are still closed and he’s still trembling just a small bit, and even though he isn’t giving any of them the time of day right now while he recovers, he can admit only to himself that that was… so much fun. A variety of fun that he hasn’t experienced in years and didn’t ever believe he’d have the chance to indulge in again.

“See? Not so hard, right buddy?” Kaminari pats at Bakugou’s shoulder, who flinches just slightly at the contact ( in case he got any funny ideas about tickling him again ) and shoots him a glare that doesn’t retain any of its usual bite to it. How could he possibly be threatening, when he’s all relaxed and pliant, still coiled up and gently giggling into the pillows of the couch? Honestly, he couldn’t get any cuter than this.

“Fuck you guys..” Bakugou sighs out, obviously growing tired by the way his words break off at the end and his eyes go half-lidded.

“Yeah, yeah. You love us.” Kirishima rises to reach for the remote to the television, turning it on and settling for an easygoing comedy movie that they’ve all seen before.

“I’ll get snacks!” Kaminari exclaims, trekking to the kitchen to find something delicious, with Sero trailing behind him, mentioning something about how Kaminari never grabs the chips that he likes.

A roll of tempest eyes ensues, Keith’s own frame moving to settle into a proper stance that was ready to strike. “You’re already our cool, resident sharpshooter. Where did you get the idea to learn how to use a sword?” On the edge of those words lies an obviously teasing tone, one coupled with a gesture of his hand that told Lance to make the first move. 

Anticipation flares within the pit of his gut, but he does as instructed, lunging forward with a swing of the steel in his grip. Keith easily blocks the attack and counters with a parry, one that further impairs his posture and makes it all that much harder to make a comeback. Lance grunts and dips at the hips to dodge an oncoming slash, stretching backwards in a lean that narrowly avoids the side of the blade. What Lance doesn’t realize is how much closer Keith’s gotten to him and with a launch of his arm, gloved digits press into, squeeze at and push at his opponent’s stomach, forcing him to collapse right on his ass. The strange thing that occurs, however, is the fact that right before Lance took a dive, Keith heard his boyfriend giggle.

“Wait,” Keith begins, a thick brow ascending along the surface of his temple, the corners of his lips perking into a budding smirk, “⎯That tickled?” 

Lance’s eyes widened at Keith’s realization of accidentally hitting at a sensitive spot, but his pride refuses to permit him to give in. He releases a defiant huff through flared nostrils, scrambling to rise back up to his feet and attempting to will the spread of blossom-pink heat away from his cheeks. 

“N-No! It did not! That was a cheap trick you just did Keith, take me seriously!” Yet when the aforementioned moves to sheath his sword as he advances, Lance knows right then and there that he’s fucked. There’s an immediate squeak from the amateur swordsman when Keith closes in, hands up in the air with fingers wriggling slightly at Lance.

“Cheap trick? I’m offended. All I did was knock you down, you’re the one who’s so ticklish that merely touching your stomach was enough to get you giggling.” 

And Keith is rewarded with yet another giggle, observing with a smugness now sewn into his smirk as Lance backs away from him. “H-Hey, c’mon, Keith, nohoho⎯”

“No, what?” The tonality of his words feign an innocence that even Lance knows is fake, but it doesn’t help the anticipation and butterflies swirling about in his stomach, “I’m not even touching you, babe.” 

“Not yehehet!” A small oof leaks from Lance’s lips when he notices something hard behind him, denying him further space to continue his fleeing from Keith. He’d backed right into a wall, and now was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Keith was quick to diminish the distance between the two of them, Lance leaning as much into the wall as possible with the hopes that he would just sink into the surface of it and escape his impending doom. 

But he just wasn’t that lucky. 

“Not yet,” Keith mimics, yet not even a moment later, digits settle on Lance’s sides and stroke at the cloth covered skin, “Now I am.”

“Keeeheheheheith!” Giggles burst from the sharpshooter’s chest, immediately squirming against the wall as his hands grip onto Keith’s wrists, with all the good that’ll do him. “N⎯Nonononohohohoho!”

“Think of it as stamina training, Lance.” That’s an excuse Keith has utilized before to justify tickling the shit out of the other male and it’s grown tired, especially to Lance, but it works as a tease all the same. 

“I⎯⎯I dohohon’t neheheheed sta⎯hahahamina trainihihihihihing!” Lance had indulged in a minuscule break from the throes of battle and missions as the new Altean ambassador, but he was more than ready to dip his toes back into the water and wash off the rust of complacency. Keith, on the other hand, is more than ready to test out his current progress. 

“I dunno.. It seems like you kinda do. I mean, look at how much you’re already sinking to the floor, just from a little tickling. You’ve gotta get sturdier than this, babe. Especially if you want to get on missions with me.” The Blade of Marmora has gifted Keith an exception to their rule regarding non-members attending missions with members, so long as Lance is personally trained by and vouched for by Keith himself before setting foot out in association to them. It's a blessing, yet also something of a curse as well, to the both of them. 

“Okay! Okahahahay, I geheheht it! I’ll do beheh⎯betteheheher! Plehehehease, stahahap!” Lance’s pleas huff out in short breaths, his giggling reigning over every other verbal function of his body and his wiggling growing worse by the second. 

Considering they still had hours of training left to achieve, and Keith could always continue this playfulness later when the situation was a bit less serious, his fingers slow to a halt and remove themselves from his boyfriend’s physique. He leaps back a bit, cautious, as though Lance may try to enact a vendetta right there, despite the slightly taller male indulging in the opportunity to suck up some air. 

“Alright then. Pick up your sword and let’s go again,” In tandem with his words, Keith unsheathes his own sword once more, legs shifting to return to his prior battle stance, “I want to see improvement on your stances and more power in your swings. If I manage to knock you down again, I’m gonna tickle you again. Got it?”

“So you can say ticklish when you’re tickling me, or trying to tickle Gladio or Ignis, but you can’t say it in normal conversation?” Comes the prince’s teasing words, a smirk riding along the edges of his lips and tugging them high. Prompto puffs up, obviously a little offended at the word trying, and it only helps to boost Noctis’ already wide smirk. 

“C’mooon, it’s not that easy, even for you. I see the way you kinda fidget when you say it in regular convo.” Prompto rebuttals, but Noctis only rolls those stormy eyes of his.

“I do not. I can say it fine. But you, you start squirming and wigglin’ around like a worm if someone says tickle at you.” And just like that, the blond proves Noctis’ claim by the minute jitter of his shoulders and the pout that’s blooming along his visage. “You get worse if I add this ⎯⎯” On that pause, gloved digits wiggle towards the other, specifically directed at his stomach. 

Prompto fully squirms in his seat, unable to fight off the wobbly grin that diminishes and replaces his pout, a few stray giggles leaking from between his lips. Curse his pale skin, which dutifully exposes how saturated the flush of red is on him. He half-heartedly smacks at Noctis’ hands, but that does nothing to cease his teasing; if anything, Prompto’s just sealed his fate. Those hands launch forward and tug Prompto’s chair closer to his own, and without warning, begin to squeeze at the other’s sides. 

“So we’re hitting now?” He feigns hurt within his tone, but his grin betrays the lie, observing with building glee as his boyfriend squeals and curls in himself. 

“I ⎯ ahahah⎯ d-didn’t eheheven hit you hahahahard!” Prompto manages through his laughter, shoving at Noctis’ arms with little fight. “Nooohoho!”

“No? You basically started this, talking about who of us is more ticklish. It’s obviously you.” Digits alter from squeezing to sidering up and down the length of his sides, earning himself a squeak. 

“Aaahaha⎯! You⎯⎯Yohohou’re just as sehehensitive as mehehehe!” Now, to prove a point of his own, Prompto lunges a limb towards Noctis and accomplishes to settle against his stomach, delivering quick squeezes and skitters along the covered skin. Having been caught off guard, Noctis lurches back his own squeak, obviously not having predicted that Prompto would actually challenge him in return. 

“Nohohoho! Shihihit⎯⎯!” Shit is right. With the opportunity shining like the sun above them, Prompto jumps on the opening to dish back what he’s been taking. Slender fingers explore as much of Noctis’ torso as they can, from stomach to sides to ribs, and it’s more than enough to cause the prince to double over in laughter. 

“Heheh, see? Look at you, all curled up and giggly! I haven’t even done much to you yet! So then, Noct, who’s the most ticklish again? Hmmm??” Prompto exclaims, giddiness painted all over every syllable. Despite their playful battle merely beginning, it’s short lived when the two of them hear the crinkling of bags and footsteps stop behind them. Prompto halts his actions, circulating to glance back at the older duo, and once Noctis catches his breath, he joins him. 

“So, this is what you’re sat here doing whilst Gladio and I run important errands?” Ignis chides, but the taunt and sarcasm are more than noted in his words. He’s restraining the smile that dares to peak at the corners of his lips from the silliness he’s just witnessed. 

“You two looked like you were having fun.” The larger of the four men muses, shifting to set the bags down near the side of the tent. “And without us? I’m hurt.”

“Prom’s delusional,” It seems Noctis still maintains some bite, even after the revenge attack, “He thinks I’m more ticklish than he is, which is definitely not true. Right, Gladio?” 

A cheap tactic, calling for Gladio’s opinion while knowing damn well that it’s often the aforementioned shield that wrecks Prompto time and time again. He answers the prince with a smirk of his own, a smug glint twinkling within cocoa eyes. 

“I dunno ⎯⎯ Ignis has told me some pretty funny stuff about you, Noct. Not to mention, the times that I’ve tickled you, and how easily I had you begging for mercy.” In an instant, Noctis’ impish and self - satisfied demeanor completely vanished, swiftly replaced by a flush of startled pink. It was Prompto’s turn to act a little pompous, leaning to the side to deliver a quick poke to the other’s side and relish in the squeak he’s given. 

“Yeah, your highness, Gladio’s not gonna lie for you!”

“Nor will I,” Ignis finally chimes in, “But, Prompto, the same goes for you, my dear. You have minimal shame when it comes to what you want, don’t you? And it seems as though your ticklishness heightens with each little fight.” 

The blush returns to spread along the bridge of Prompto’s nose and darken his cheeks once again. He releases an audible whine, his hands ascending to conceal the abashment that’s so very clear across his face. “Mmnn, who’s side are you guys on anyway?!”

A pause comes. The two in question exchange glances, silent but somehow intense at the same time, as if they were communicating telepathically. After a few more moments, they both return their sights to their loves, and the expressions they wear are enough to make Noctis and Prompto gulp in fear. Neither of them dared to break their gazes with Ignis and Gladio; it very much felt as though they were watching a couple of lions about to pounce on their prey and they were the prey. 

“Y’know, we could help with this little issue you’re having.” Gladio finally speaks again, the teasing within his voice strong as ever. 

“Quite true. Tickling one another would prove ineffectual and leave you both unable to properly score the other’s sensitivity.” As the words come, Ignis discovers himself now situated behind Noctis, a single, gloved finger slithering down the skin of the nape of his skin and Noctis nearly launched himself out of his body. “I believe you need a third and fourth party.”

Gladio had made his way over to Prompto, granting them all a display of strength and lifting the blond almost entirely too easily. Another squeak leaks from the smallest of the four, his fluster strengthening once their positions shift and he’s now seated upon Gladio’s lap. Gladio rests his hands on Prompto’s thighs and smirks at the way he’s already squirming under his touch. Ignis simply requests Noctis to stand so they could mimic the other two, and gods, there’s something so powerful about the manner in which Ignis can utilize his unfair voice and embarrassing in the way Noctis does whatever he’s told when it comes from the advisor ( almost every time ).

Once everyone is comfortable and situated, Ignis goes to the trouble of removing his gloves and makes certain that Noctis can witness him do it. It’s the anticipation of the act that truly wounds him, makes him all the more sensitive to his impending doom, and truthfully, may even be a little bit cheating. Gladio gives motion to his fingers in the slightest brush against the top of Prompto’s thighs, and already the gunman is fighting back a minuscule barrage of giggles; he may lose this little competition before it really commences. 

“Alright. Gladio, where do you feel would be the best to begin? I’ll allow you to decide.”

“Oh, what an honor. Y’know Iggy, I’m pretty partial to starting slow and steady, and then building up the reactions by going to more ticklish spots.” As he explains his process, Gladio can feel Prompto wiggle softly, acknowledging full well that doing so is only darkening Prompto’s blossoming fluster. 

“Ah, I see. So, we’ll start at the sides then.” With not a beat missed, both of the older males attached their fingers to the sides of the one in their laps, the apexes digging in softly with little vibrations.

Despite how gentle the tickling’s began, both Noctis and Prompto have been thrown into soft fits of giggles, squirming in their seats. Neither can really escape from the attack because of the positions they were in, but neither truly desired to; Ignis and Gladio retained full control over their predicament and you wouldn’t hear them complaining about it. At least, not truthfully. 

“M-Mmhmhp! Noho⎯ohaha!” Noctis at least attempted to restrain the flow of his giggling, biting down on his bottom lip or the inside of his cheek to quell the sound. 

“Eehehe! Glahadiohoho!” Prompto, on the other hand, couldn’t help but to release his merriment freely, his grin toothy and wide and eliciting a mimic of that joy in the form of a smile from his larger boyfriend. 

“You ask me why I target you so much, but then you go and act like this. You’re way too damn cute for your own good, Prom.” The compliment rewards Gladio with a deeper flush blossoming over Prompto’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose, contrasting with those adorable freckles splattered across his features like a sea of stars. His giggling intensifies with it and almost as if in tandem, Noctis’ own laughter raises in volume. 

“Your laughter is so powerful, Prompto; you’ve got Noct turning into a giggle bug right along with you.” Ignis teases, bolstering his current attack with light scratches and scribbles into the crevices between Noctis’ ribs. The prince squeals at the contact upon the new spot, his arms moving against his will and locking Ignis’ fingers in place, which as he knows, has done nothing but aid him. 

“Plehehease⎯! I-Ignihihis!” Noctis manages off of a squeak, hesitantly forcing his limbs to release their grip in hopes that it would make the tickling a little more bearable ⎯ it sure as hell didn’t work like that. 

“Please what, your highness?” Those evil digits never let up on their assault, nor do they press in any harder than need be, resulting in those feather light sensations that easily drive the prince up a wall. “You’re going to have to speak up; all of this laughter is making it quite difficult to hear you.” He spares a pointed, taunting glance to the blond that’s still being tickled silly by Gladio, lips morphing into a smirk when aforementioned blond conceals his face with his hands and muffles the soft mirth that still exudes from him. 

Gladio was having none of that. With a display of his strength, he scoops both of Prompto’s wrists into one hand, raising his arms just enough to be granted better exposure of his ribs and stomach. Even utilizing only a single hand, Gladio continues to do just as much tickly damage as he did before. A squeal breaks free from the gunman, somehow even more sensitive than prior ⎯ he blames it on his poor stretched and unprotected torso. 

“GlahAHa⎯Glahahdiooo! Th-Thihihis ihisn’t FAHA⎯ahahair!” Those words come choked out on a long giggle, his frame wiggling about like an earthworm that’s been picked up by a child. Gladio doesn’t let up whatsoever, but his gaze moves from Prompto to Noctis and Ignis, and with a nod, he gestures towards Noctis with a point of his chin. 

“Prom’s got a point, Iggy. He’s been stripped of the use of his arms, and since this is technically a little competition, Noctis should be in a similar, if not the same circumstance as him.” As if he’s got any say in the matter, Prompto nods rapidly, obviously in full agreement, causing an amused chuckle from the taller. 

“Whahaht?! Pr⎯ohohompto, yohohou’re dEAHAd l⎯lahahater!” Noctis cries, offended that he’s been singled out. That’s gotta count as cheating right?! 

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making threats to anyone, my little prince.” That pet name churns Noctis’ stomach and sets forth a barrage of butterflies within him, enough to make him squirm harder because dammit, even that tickles a little bit too. As if his sensitivity couldn’t get any worse, Ignis grabs hold of his both of his wrists, same as Gladio did to Prompto, but instead of holding his arms higher above his head, he tugs them behind Noctis and presses them taut between the royal’s back and his stomach. Now, one may think that such a position leaves Ignis in a vulnerable state for revenge, but Noctis knows more than well enough the consequences that would lie in waiting should he try to tickle Ignis right now; especially since he’s got him restrained. 

With his free hand, the advisor returns to Noctis’ ribs and digs back between the bones, swapping from spidery to scratchy tickles, but the actual pressure of it all remains just as agitatedly soft as before. It seems Gladio hasn’t gotten any rougher with his tickling either, considering Prompto’s still dropping gleeful little giggles that haven’t increased much since this all commenced. The anticipation of when the two would truly go to town on them was both terrifying and exhilarating; they knew exactly how to play this out. 

Finally, after what seemed like a year, Gladio decides to kick it up a notch. He shares a nod with Ignis, who seems to fathom what to do simply from the action, and without uttering a single word, the duo settle their fingers on untouched spots and continue their devilish work there. Gladio’s taken reign over the skin just underneath Prompto’s armpits, migrating from one to the other with light scribbling from just the apexes of his nails. Unable to restrain the shriek that tears from his lips, Prompto nearly jumps out of Gladio’s lap, his legs kicking out a bit. Laughter bursts from him like a broken faucet, that particular area where Gladio’s focused on is definitely a much more effective spot than his sides or ribs. 

Observing Prompto’s new ticklish plight brings forth a new apprehension to Noctis, knowing damn well that Ignis doesn’t plan on gifting him any mercy, especially since this has developed into some sort of game between the advisor and the shield. Despite being the only one of royal blood, Noctis is merely a tickly pawn of the game right now, alongside Prompto. Taking in the sight of Gladio wrecking the shit out of the blond is nothing short of embarrassing and Noctis has to force himself to look elsewhere, a blush creeping its way onto his features. Ignis notices this, and with a smirk drawn across his visage, he elects to grant his prince the same predicament. 

“Oh, tsk. Are you feeling left out, love? Here, let’s remedy that for you.” The way Ignis’ voice dispenses from his lips in this silky, smooth tone leaves Noctis a little breathless, nearly wanting more of it, but acknowledging the price at which that would come. Ignis’ teasing is always on another level and he only seems to get better at it with each go, and that always spells trouble for whoever its’ targeted at ( usually, Noctis ). Regardless, Ignis makes good on his word, his fingers discovering home upon his hips and drilling the tips of his fingers into the flesh there. The motions are a little bit harder this time, enough to force a loud squeal from Noctis, but still not quite enough to bolster his giggling into full blown laughter. 

“StohohahAHAP⎯⎯beheheing so sohoHOHOFT!” Noctis pleads, attempting to shimmy his hips enough to deter Ignis’ fingers from obtaining a steady rhythm. The gentle tickles were killing him, actually killing him, he swears it! While he’s secretly ( it’s not a secret ) an avid lover of the more tender, gentler tickles like he and Prompto are receiving right now, he prefers those to occur in private, intimate settings where he’s cuddled up against whoever and can simply allow himself to let loose and freely enjoy them with the other person. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t having the time of his life, but the abashment that’s cemented in the pit of his gut would tell him otherwise. 

“What’s the matter, Noct? Too ticklish for even soft touches? Does that mean that you’re gonna lose before we’ve even really begun?” Gladio shoots a tease at the prince, grinning wide and all too pleased with himself. He’s lucky that he’s a behemoth of a man and that it takes all three of them to pin him down to make him eat his own words. 

“Come now Gladio, don’t be too mean,” Ignis replies, but the tonality of his words is much too cheeky for Noctis’ liking, “You’ve got a very ticklish little birdie right there on your lap. He’s barely managed a coherent sentence since you went for that new spot, hm?” 

At that taunt, Prompto lets out an adorable whine, which prompts Gladio to speed up his fingers a bit and earn a sharp squeal from him too. His grin couldn’t possibly become any brighter. 

“I’ll give you that, he’s a seriously ticklish little bird. A ticklish little bird with no feathers to be seen. Let’s see, maybe I can find them.” And with that, calloused digits start to perform clawing search motions up and down the entire plane of Prompto’s torso. The touches aren’t as gentle as they once were since he’s squeezing and scrawling at the flesh where fingers dive down, and the reaction that erupts from the smallest of the four has even Ignis’ lips twitching at the corners in mirth. 

“⎯⎯WaAAH-ahahAIT! WAIT! NohohOHOHO⎯⎯!” Another shriek breaches from the gunslinger, followed by a volley of high-pitched, giggly hysterics. Gladio still hasn’t enacted his worst yet, and already, Prompto was crumbling to pieces. “I haAHA-AHave nohoho⎯⎯feHEHEHeatherrrrs!”

“You don’t? That can’t be right. I could’ve SWORN you had some feathers somewhere. You’re our own little golden chocobo, how could you not have feathers?” To further prove his imaginary point, Gladio begins to search and squeeze at the sides of Prompto’s waist, right above the death spot of his hips, yet still way too close for comfort. 

“AAH⎯! B-BaHAbe, please⎯! Nohohot tHEHEHRE⎯!” Prompto certainly knows how to soften Gladio right up, that’s for certain. But even so, Gladio isn’t finished with him quite yet. And Noctis’ situation isn’t much better. 

“Ig⎯Igghehehe! Wa-ahait! NohOHO⎯! ShihiHIHIT⎯⎯!” Ignis’ hand got to busying itself with Noctis’ stomach, squeezing and clawing at the skin there, alternating between that and tracing the contours of his abdomen. Now, Noctis knows that Ignis can utilize magic just as well as he can, and though he knows that the other isn’t using it on him at this moment, it sure damn felt like it; every touch sent a shockwave of sensations under his flesh like an electric current and jolted higher pitched laughs like they were being punched out of him. Ignis knew from plenty of experience that his stomach was his second to worst spot, and gods he feared for when they would end this with the worst. 

Unfortunately, for both Noctis and Prompto, that time was sneaking up on them faster than they would be able to handle. While his fingers were still at work on Prompto, Gladio raises to lock sights with Ignis and the smirk he wears has bloomed into something wolfish, gluttonous even. There’s an evil glint in both of their eyes that the ticklish duo recognized all too well, and before they can even mutter an iota of protest, Gladio speaks first. 

“Iggy, let’s talk for a sec, give these two a little break. Tell me, what’s Noctis’ worst spot?” 

The absolute shock and horror that registers into every nook and cranny of Noctis’ expression is so damn priceless, Gladio almost wants to let Prompto go so he can snap a picture. Almost. 

Ignis hums, pretending to contemplate whether or not he’ll grant Gladio such important information. Noctis, on the other hand, knows he’s completely screwed. 

“It’s the area at the back of his waist, where his sides meet his hips. It’s a sneaky little spot, I wouldn’t have ever guessed it had I not found it by accident weeks ago.” 

Gladio nods, storing that information for later use. “Prom’s is a little easier to get to, but it’s funny that his and Noct’s most ticklish areas are near each other’s. It’s his hips. Poor thing goes ballistic every time he’s tickled there, don’t you baby?” 

Gladio’s response is a long, drawn out whine from the blond that has him chuckling once again. “H-How is this a break?! Teasing is just as baaaad you guys!” 

“Yeahahah⎯⎯what Prompto said..!” Noctis grumbles in agreement, still shaking out the last of his giggles.

“Oh? If that’s the case, shall we go ahead and finish this off, Gladio? Our little tickle bugs seem to be getting impatient.” Oh no. 

“Sounds like a plan to me. Who’re we to keep them waiting to see who wins this thing?” This was the moment that Noctis and Prompto realized they had resigned to their demise. 

Ignis and Gladio released their arms, only to dig both hands right into their respective lee’s most ticklish spots. Gentle tickles were thrown out the window; these two displayed not an ounce of mercy. They both would rotate between different tactics, from scribbling and scratching to drilling and squeezing with vibrations added into the mix. Thank the gods they were in the middle of the wilderness, because the sheer force and volume of the screams that came from Noctis and Prompto would’ve been enough to alert anyone within the immediate vicinity into thinking there was some sort of trouble afoot. 

Their individual laughter was uproarious enough, but the combination of their mirth together was something extraordinary, really. Boasting heavy grins wide enough that it split their faces in two from ear to ear. Eyelids squeezed shut tight over their gazes, but it wasn’t enough to deter the tears that were pooling at the corners of their lashes, threatening to spill over. The squirming builds up to slight thrashing; not enough to injure or escape, but certainly enough to show that yes, for fuck’s sake, it tickles so damn bad. 

It isn’t until Prompto’s laughter turns completely silent, those tears now streaming down cherry red cheeks, that a winner is finally declared. Noctis still managed to produce sound, as squeaky and broken as it may be, thus concluding that he could handle the tickling a little bit better than Prompto could. Still, this victory was gained by the skin of his teeth, and even Noctis recognized that. He wasn’t sure he could have stood his ground much longer. 

“Well, there you have it.” Gladio muses, his and Ignis’ fingers coming to a slow halt, before removing themselves completely from the males’ physiques. 

“This is the outcome I expected. As much as Prompto enjoys tickling, he’s always much more reactive and easier to bring to the brink than you, Noct. At least, in my experience.” 

Despite his win, Noctis can scarcely catch his breath, let alone let it show on his expression how satisfied he is. Right now, he’s just tired. Tired, and pliant, and happy, and he doesn’t want to move for a little while. 

Prompto seems to be in a similar state as him. The only reply he gives to Ignis’ statements is a little grunt and hmph sound, shrugging slender shoulders and shifting so that he’s leaning against the large mass of Gladio’s chest. “I’ll take this L with pride… but you’re gonna let me nap on you in return, big guy..” His soft demand ends on a breaching yawn, snuggling closer into the warmth that Gladio exudes. 

“Yeah..” Noctis nods, mimicking Prompto’s movements to find a comfortable position to lay against Ignis, “You too, Iggy…”