#lee!reader

it strikes you as intriguing, the way ryland grace is undoubtedly a night owl. his ability to stay up for hours past midnight, pondering over his scientific discoveries is both admirable and incomprehensible to you.

late in the night, you're up for a cup of water, and a quick trip to the bathroom. light radiates from ryland's workspace, constant in the way the earth circles the sun. gentle clinks and clatters echo where he researches deep into the night.

he tries not to wake you. you wake anyway.

you don't mind. not even a little. you like watching him work through your bleary, half-awake eyes. it's silent, and peaceful. therapeutic, even.

he doesn't notice when you peek through the gap, the lights of the hail mary illuminating his silhouette with a golden glow. the blonde strands sit on top of his head, shimmering like a halo.

it becomes something akin to a ritual: you'll pull on a pair of cotton socks so your feet don't snag on the floor. gliding along the surface, the occasional beep from machinery causes your heart to jump.

you do find it hard to make up new excuses for the growing dark circles under your eyes, however, and though you know ryland wouldn't mind having a late-night lab partner, it's obvious that he would usher you to bed immediately, caring for your well-being far more than his own.

sometimes, the sound of ryland's soft snoring drifts into your ears.

you'd grab a blanket, sneaking into the laboratory, skipping past the part of the floor that always creaks, and place a blanket on top of ryland's rising and falling breaths. you'd always take his crooked glasses off of his face, stifling a giggle when you see the trail of transparent drool at the corner of his mouth.

you don't do it every day. not at first, at least.

but these visits become increasingly common, until you spend hours sitting cross-legged outside ryland's door, drowsy and fatigued and still, unable to look away.

you spend half the time thinking about how nicely his glasses frame his face, and the other half wondering how his ears never seem to hurt from the temple tip digging deep into his flesh.

when he glances up, you duck. your presence probably doesn't go unnoticed, though: you can tell by the way he's smiling at the now empty crack of the door.

you feel ashamed, somehow. like you're intruding, cutting through the quiet, cool atmosphere of the ship and the matchless bond between ryland, and his beloved molecular biology.

tonight is no different. you're on one of your late night treks when a shadow hovering in the hallway stops you dead in the tracks.

"i've seen you. watching." it says. scrutinising, but not commenting on the way your throat lumps nervously when you swallow.

"sorry," you say. "did i bother you?"

"no, no." ryland steps forward into the light, and his face is illuminated- he's smiling, like the thought of you having the ability to pester him in the middle of the night is laughable.

"so- um." you fidget with the ends of your hair, messy and tangled from slumber. "i guess i'll go back-"

"wait!" ryland says quickly. too quickly. "do you want to... maybe stay up with me?"

you realise that he's given this some thought, the spark of eagerness in his eyes giving him away. he's scared, nervous. like the thought of you rejecting him and going back to sleep would kill him.

"yeah." you laugh before he's consumed by his own anxious thoughts. "i'd like that."

"okay." he whispers, a promise splashing in the cold air.

"okay." you echo as his hand circles your waist, thumb brushing over your hipbone, guiding you to his seat like a fiery lantern in the darkness.

ryland's lap acts as your seat, his right arm draped over your waist. barely there, but pulling you gently backwards so you ease into him.

you can sense his heart beating at the back of your spine. you're too exhausted to watch whatever he's doing, but your fingers tinker with the small hairs on his arm, trailing where his blueish veins are visible.

you move down to his fingers. they're smooth. heavy. you trace the warm lines of his palms down a path and the the body behind you suddenly goes very still.

you can hear ryland's pulse patter faster, and faster, until his heart is racing. you keep going, painting paths along his hand and he flinches. you feel a shaky inhale travel from his stomach across his torso.

he's ticklish.

suddenly, you're wide awake. but you don't want to inconvenience him any more than you already have, so you muffle a giggle into the soft sleeve of your pajama top.

"what's so funny?" ryland looks at you. you don't miss the traces of pink at the tip of his ears.

"nothing." you attempt to school your facial expressions into neutrality.

he knows that you know. he lands a soft squeeze at the side of your stomach where his hand rests, making you yelp. you're too drained to retaliate, so you let it go, and he lets it go.

you drift off, soon after, to the gentle rhythm of ryland's steady heart, and the incessant growling of the spaceship.

you don't notice when a blanket is wrapped around you, nor when a certain scientist presses a soft kiss on the top of your head.

it's a shame ryland never wakes up in the morning, though.

despite how understanding you are to his tendency to work into the small hours, you can't bear his insistence to stay in bed for "five more minutes". it's gone on for a full hour.

you can't imagine how he finds such comfort in the bumpy mattress, and the endearing silence from the night before has eviscerated in response to his unintelligible grumbles and protests, causing you to descend into a type of indescribable rage.

"ryland." your patience is long gone. "i need help with the centrifuge setting."

he doesn't respond.

you swear under your breath.

and now, the fucker decides to look you dead in the eye, awake and all, and utter the patronizing word.

"language."

"are you- oh my god- you're kidding." it's hard to put into words the kind of aggressive frustration that overcomes you at the moment.

you take his unacceptable behaviour into account when you climb onto the lump of ryland on the bed, perching on his hips.

he blatantly ignores you.

"last chance," you say.

silence from the other end.

you shove your hands into ryland's ribcage through the blanket and he jolts, stuttering giggles bursting out of him. it's so cute, and uncharacteristically ryland, that you can't help but coo at him. he blushes at the sound, writhing under your touch.

his movements are slow and clumsy, and lethargic, and his lack of sleep does nothing to help. he squeezes his eyes shut like he can shut out the feeling, but pries his eyelids open the second your fingers travel to the middle of his stomach.

"noho," he sniffles, a persistent smile tugging at his lips. "nohot thehere, plehease."

"and why should i listen to you?" your fingers dart under the blankets, then under his shirt, stopping for anticipation. a pair of blue eyes widen in response. "you never listen to me."

ryland pouts- pouts and your heart melts at the sight. it only intensifies the need that gnaws at you, though- the need to tickle him within an inch of his life.

you begin to trace patterns over the soft skin of his stomach and his laughter hitches when you hit a particularly sensitive spot. he's giggling now, really giggling, a wheezy, choked sound that erupts out of him.

"yohu arhe soho dehead." the words come out stuttering and slurred through hiccups and it's mean, you know that, but you can't help it- you giggle at his ridiculous state. the redness on ryland's ears migrates to the apple of his cheeks, swirling patches of pink living on the surface of his skin.

"are you gonna get up?"

ryland doesn't respond. wow, he's persistent.

"you really want me to tickle you, don't you?"

ryland stares at the ceiling, an unwilling giggle bubbling up his throat. you take the bottom of his chin between your fingers and tilt his face so he's looking at you.

he flushes a crimson shade, and you pinch his cheek. he's so fucking cute. you press sloppy kisses over the soft skin of his neck, and he shrieks right into your ear.

"ryland!" you scold. "are you trying to make me deaf?"

"sohorry- i'hm sohorry- noho, DOHON'T!" his rambling apologies do nothing to deter you when your thumbs latch onto the crease of his hipbone, rubbing tiny circles and he squeals. he's batting at your fingers uselessly, and his usual strength has somehow evaporated.

"and what have we learnt today?" you smile as you emerge victorious.

"ih'll gehet uhp nehext tihme!" ryland's trying to speak through his broken giggles, and the sight is so amusing to you that you land a few extra pokes on his torso. he twitches at each one, his face crinkling in mirth.

all your effort's gone to waste, though. you're still sleepy from the night before, and when ryland reaches up to hug you, your back tightly pressed against his chest on the bed, you fall into unconsciousness almost immediately. the centrifuge lies on the bench, long forgotten, and it beeps in protest.

this, too, becomes a ritual after your late nights: ryland's refusal to rise, your half-hearted attempts to wake him, and the way you inevitably end up fast asleep with him anyway.

neither of you acknowledge that this is a weak excuse to feel close to each other; nor when you’re pressed up against the warmth of ryland's arms, it finally feels like home.

That’s what got you in this predicament in the first place. The whining.

That’s not your fault though. How could it be?

You’d been in a mood all day, eyeing his hands, watching the way they worked so efficiently with such delicate precision. You of course couldn’t help but think about his hands on you, that was only natural, and you knew he’d love to get his hands on you just as much, so why were you still here, frustrated and un-tickled?

You’ve done literally everything you know to do when it comes to getting what you want from him. Whining and pouting and batting your pretty eyes at him and… that’s.. well, that’s about it.

But that usually works!

Oh how very well it usually works. Just looking up at him with big puppy dog eyes and tilting your head so slightly to the side. It makes him weak. His knees buckle just slightly and his stomach twists, and how can anyone say no to a face like that?

So, when you found him on the beach tinkering with some Eridian device, and you looked up at him, your eyes wide and glazed over, bottom lip poked out just a bit, you had expected him to give in to you nearly immediately. Drag you into the little house, pull you into his lap, find all of your favorite sensitive spots, coo over how sweet your laugh is. You certainly don’t expect him to tilt his head and furrow his eyebrows just a bit, confusion evident in his expression.

But, of course, that’s exactly what he did. He even went as far as to ask you if everything was okay.

You had just huffed out of your nose, eyes narrowing slightly for just a moment. You first thought he maybe just wasn’t picking it up. Yeah, that must be it. He’s just too engrossed in his work to properly comprehend the pressing matters at hand. But, when you batted your eyelashes at him, leaning in just a little closer to him, he just gave you a quizzical look before turning back to whatever he was working on.

You were taken aback to say the least. He’d never had any problem putting two and two together before, so it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was doing it on purpose. Though you couldn’t quite land on a reason when you wracked your brain.

You pouted, an honest to god pout. Your eyebrows knit together, lips pursed, and your arms crossed over your chest, as you stared right at him. He didn’t notice- or at least he pretended not to for the moment. You didn’t notice the way he bit his lip or turned his head so that his face was just out of your view. Though, after several seconds of you burning holes into the back of his skull, he turned back to you, eyebrows raised a bit.

“Can I help you with something?”

His expression was unreadable, along with his tone. You huffed through your nose, glaring as you turned away from him and stomped through the sand back inside.

You missed the way he watched you when you turned your back to him, and the breath he let out when you got out of ear shot.

‘This is going to be much more difficult than I thought’, he thought to himself as he shook his head.

————————

It’s about an hour later when he makes his way into the house. You’ve had time to wallow in self pity, which included curling up in bed, and pouting, and thinking more and more about what you want. You just don’t get it. He’s usually jumping at the opportunity to tickle you out of your mind. Why would this be any different.

You sigh, chewing on the inside of your lip as so many different things run through your mind. The way he’d looked at you outside, especially compared to how he’d usually look at you. He usually looks at you like he wants to eat you alive— you’re not always unconvinced that he actually does.

You think about how he’d watch you, the way you’d watch his eyes narrow and his lips curl into a smirk. The way he’d approach, slow and stalking just to tower over you and look down at you with that grin. Your mind races as you think about how he'd hold you, how he’d wrap you in his arms, keep you in his lap, his hands exploring every ticklish spot they can reach— god, his hands.

You don’t realize how lost you are in your own pitiful yearning until the sound of the door opening and closing startles you out of your daze, your face and neck hot.

You perk up almost immediately, and you start to unwrap yourself from the blanket to find your way to his heels again, but your mind jumps back to what he’d done to you on the beach, and you make a snap decision.

If he’s got a point to prove, you’ll prove one of your own.

He walks into the small kitchen, whistling as he pours himself a glass a water. The house is only so big, you can hear him shuffling around, the clinking of the glass against the counter, and if you were to peer around the doorway, you could watch him. You stay right where you are, back to the doorway of the little bedroom as you lay in bed. You say nothing, but you sigh loud enough for him to hear it. He stops, and you can hear the sudden halt of the water trickling. Everything is still, including him, aside from the way his lip twitches upward at the corner. He waits for a moment, listening out for anything from you, but when you don't say anything, he starts meandering around the kitchen again. You furrow your eyebrows, huffing out of your nose before letting out another exaggeratedly loud sigh.

When he stops this time, he laughs, and you light up as he makes his way into the bedroom.

“Alright”, he sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. Your back is to him as you lay completely cocooned in the soft blanket. His hand snakes around your waist and you tense, inhaling sharply. You’re sure this is it- he’s had enough of watching you sulk, and he intends to do something about it.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

He pulls you closer, and you shift just a bit to look at him. He can see it all over your face, in the way your eyes shine with something hopeful, and how you chew anxiously on in the inside of your lip, even as you try to glare at him. He stares for just a moment, considering his options.

He’d planned to keep this up much longer. He has a point to prove after all. What kind of lesson is he teaching by giving in to you every time you so much as look at him a certain way? He has to hold his ground, put his foot down.

It’s just… that spark behind your eyes, and you had been asking for it all day, and would it even be fair to deny you something that you want so badly? Something he needs just as much? And… yeah, okay. Whatever. Maybe he had overestimated his own willpower, but that doesn’t mean you need to know that.

He just huffs. He’s not ready to give in to you yet, at least not completely.

“I know what you want”, he says simply as he pulls the blanket down, his hands trailing and resting on your hips. He holds you firm, and you can’t help but squirm beneath him, your face flushed red as your heart flutters in your chest. It’s almost embarrassing, how quickly he broke your little grumpy facade.

To him, it’s an absolutely breathtaking sight, the way you get so visibly needy. His jaw drops just slightly and his chest heaves as he takes a deep breath to ground himself. His skin is absolutely crawling as he watches you writhe underneath him, his fingers twitching instinctively at your sides.

He takes you in entirely, just watching, and he has to bite back a smile of his own.

“You’ve been just beggin’ for it all day, huh?”.

You deny it of course, shaking your head, but this is what you’ve wanted all day. You feel a nervous smile playing at your lips, and you bring your hands up to cover your face.

“No?”, he repeats, quirking an eyebrow as he reaches up and pulls your hands away from your face, gently pinning them to the mattress beside your head.

You turn your head, trying to hide your face as much as you possibly can- something he corrects almost instantly. “Hey, eyes up here. On me please”.

His tone is low and steady, and certainly not unkind, but still stern. Your stomach twists just a bit and you find yourself turning your head, your eyes meeting his.

“Good. Thank you.” Your lips part just slightly as your breath catches in your throat. You just nod, any argument you could have posed faltering on the tip of your tongue.

“Now”, he starts, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face. His tone is low, just above a whisper. “Just because I know what you want doesn’t mean I’m gonna give it to you.”

You start to whine, but he cuts you off with a chuckle, rolling his eyes.

“What, you think just because you whine and give me those big puppy dog eyes, I’ll give you whatever you want?”

You’re quiet for a moment, chewing on your lip.

“Umm… yes?”

In your defense, it usually does.

He’s quiet for a second, lips pursed. “Okay, you know what? That’s fair, but, this time,” his thumb rubs soothing circles against your wrist, “that’s not gonna work.”

You whine again, and again he cuts you off.

“Ah-ah, what did I just say, hm?”

He tilts his head down, eyebrows raised as he gives you a pointed look.

“Use your words.”

Your eyes widen. Those words in that tone out of his mouth… it’s the last thing you expect to hear from him. He’s never done this to you, denied you like this. Honestly, you didn’t even know he had the self restraint to tell you no. About anything.

Truth be told, he doesn’t. With every passing moment, he’s starting to regret this little game more and more.

He had done this as a means of toying with you. He wanted to watch you squirm, to see that desire build inside of you until you were too desperate for it to think about anything else. He hadnt considered his own need hindering that, and he tries to push it down, but instinct is gnawing at him. Everything in him is telling him to just give you what you want, draw out all those pretty giggles and squeals.

Still, he just waits, watching you, but you feel his grip on your wrists get just slightly firmer. You don't know what to do. He's never put you in a position like this before- at least not that you can remember. You open your mouth, trying to find the right words before closing it again almost immediately. You've never... asked for it before. You're honestly not sure that you can even fix your mouth to form the proper sentence to do so. You think and think, taking a breath every now and then as if you've thought of something before going quiet again. He watches the way your eyes shift. You keep looking at him, like you're hoping he'll help you out, but you don't look at him long enough to meet his eyes or hold his gaze. He can see the frustration build, your eyebrows furrowing and your face burning as you realize you can't force it out.

He’s silent for the entirety of the battle you’re having with your own brain, and that only makes it worse. He’s just waiting. Waiting for you to do as he’s told you, no exceptions, no easy way out. His fingers tap idly at your pinned wrist, which isn't helping you at all. You think he's teasing you, just the lightest tapping of his fingertips against your skin as if he's giving you just the slightest bit of what you want, making you want more, and god it's working, but that's not his intention. He's getting just as restless as you are, eager to touch and to tickle, but who would he be if he didn't uphold his own rules? It feels like the words are stuck in your chest, like you know what you need to say, but you can't make yourself. 'Please tickle me'. It's just three little words. A simple request. Something you know you both want. And still, your tongue feels like cement. You take a deep shaky breath, your face contorting into a small wince as you start to force something out. "I-", you clear your throat, rolling your eyes with a huff, "Ryland- just, please-" Before you can even get out the rest of it- or at least try to- he's got both of your hands in one wrist, moving shockingly quickly to pin them above your head and straddle your hips. "Yeah, okay, that's good enough for me". It comes out rushed, so much so that you almost don't fully comprehend what he's saying, but it certainly doesn't take you long to register the feeling of his free hand squeezing rapidly up and down your side. It all happens so fast, it feels like a jolt of electricity trailing down your spine, and suddenly, what was a plea for him to get on with it turns into a desperate for him to just wait. He shakes his head, his hand suddenly jumping from your side to your ribs, clawing against the sensitive skin and worming his fingers into the spaces between the bones. "I’ve done enough waiting. I will literally never do that again. Don't ever make me wait that long again." You squeal when his hand jumps again, this time under your arm before he scribbles back down to your ribs. You don’t believe what you’re hearing.

After all of that, he has the audacity to blame you for the delay, and for what? Because he got impatient? How can that possibly be fair? "ME?", you ask through loud cackles, in utter disbelief. "I dihihidn't! I-", He cuts you off, clicking his tongue at you before he brings his hand to your belly, clawing around your navel before scribbling across your lower belly from one hip to the other. It's so sporadic, fingertips jumping from one spot to the other and swapping between clawing and spidering and scratching. "Excuses, excuses...", he sighs, but you don’t miss the small smirk on his face. You know arguing with him about it will only dig you into a deeper hole, but you just can't help it. You're already so worked up. I mean, he was the one that demanded you ask for it anyway. He had intentionally denied you earlier just to prove a point, and then he got too impatient to even enforce it properly. And now he blames you? You just can't believe it. You start to tell him that you're not making excuses, that the whole ordeal is his fault, but his thumb finds that sensitive spot in the dip of your hip, and any rebuttal you might have had is immediately lost. Your head falls back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut us as you twist your hips as much as possible.

You’re so focused on trying to get away from the unbearable sensation of his relentless squeezing that the argument falls further and further into the back of your mind, but you just can’t seem to worm free even in the slightest.

You whine, a mess of flustered, frustrated giggles as his unpredictable movements finally turn into a steady kneading in one spot.

You’re honestly not sure at this point which is worse.

“There ya go”, he draws out, his tone softer, higher, almost patronizing. “Isn’t this so much better than laying around and pouting all day? And all you had to do was say please! I didn’t even make you say tickle.”

He watches the way your nose scrunches at the sound of the word, and the way you shake your head in response to his question. You try to say no, but you’re not sure it comes out too coherently through squeals and giggles.

He laughs. “Ohhh, that’s right! You can’t say tickle.”

He already knew that.

“We’ll work on that. I’m sure I could help you.”

A whimper slips out through frantic giggles as he reaches up to hold your wrist in his other hand before pushing the soft fabric of your tshirt up just enough to slip his hand underneath it.

You arch your back when his fingertips swirl in a smooth motion around your navel, but they don’t linger. He traces all the way up your side, just to wiggle his fingers into the soft skin under your arm.

You shake your head, trying to pull your arm down. You feel like you’re putting up such a hard fight, but he doesn’t budge.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He barely manages the question out before you’re squealing for him to let you go, but he just shakes his head.

“No,” he says, drawing out the ‘o’, “You wanted me to tickle you, didn’t you?”

You whine again, squirming and twisting as much as you can, but not only are you stuck beneath him, you can feel your muscles giving out on you.

You’re so incredibly conflicted, just as you usually are, and he knows it, and loves taking advantage of it. This is exactly what you wanted, but you- you poor thing, you’re just so ticklish, and he’s so very mean.

It’s his favorite thing, to watch that little bit of panic flare behind your eyes when you realize that you’ve gotten exactly what you want, and ,despite the fact that you craved it all day, it’s still just as unbearable as it always in.

You nod, but then you shake your head, and it turns into some weird combination of both.

“I-I don’t knohohow!”

He laughs again, this time genuine. He almost feels bad hearing how frantic your responses are.

Almost.

Not nearly enough to stop.

His fingers stay in motion as they crawl upwards, over your bicep and to your elbow before trailing back down, spidering and scratching lightly in your armpit and down to your ribs. It’s such a repetitive motion, up and down, up and down, but you can’t adjust to the sensation at all.

“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll stop teasing.”

Liar.

Though, his hand does slow. It doesn’t stop, but it slows at your ribs.

Desperate cackles turn to something lighter, but his fingertips are still trailing gently over the spots he’d already assaulted. You can’t fight it anymore, aside from twitching and squirming out of pure instinct.

“Why are you still giggling?”, he asks, feigning confusion as his nails keep tracing against your ribs in a slow circular motion. You can feel his hand traveling higher and higher, inch by inch, devastatingly close to that oh so sensitive spot under your arm again.

“Becahahuse! It-“, you cut yourself off, biting your tongue with a frustrated whine as you throw your head back against the pillow in defeat.

“Because it what?”, he asks, eyebrows raised. “Because it tickles?”

He annunciates the word by kneading, rougher and quicker, into the soft flesh of your ribs, but only for a second before he’s back to slow teasing.

“Yehehes!”, you squeak, planting your feet against the mattress and trying to buck him off.

You don’t knock him off, but you definitely throw him off of his balance as he falls forward. He almost loses his grip on your wrists, but he holds tight using his other hand to steady himself against the headboard.

Everything’s quiet for just a moment, aside from the quick, shallow huffs you let out as you try to settle down.

He doesn’t say anything, not for a minute anyway. He’s just looking down at you, his jaw slack, and eyes narrowed, almost offended.

When you finally do look up to meet his gaze, your heart sinks.

You’re fucked.

You are so completely and utterly and extremely fucked.

“W-Wait— Ryland, hold on-“

He just shakes his head, cutting you off before you can even get started.

“You…”, he chuckles, a grin that can only be described as shit-eating playing at his lips.

“You are so screwed.”

——————

What’s this? More Ler Ryland? Who could have thunk. This isn’t my absolute favorite of my ler Ryland concepts but fret not because I already have another one bubbling and brewing in my drafts.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the stickiness on your arms and legs. It’s slightly soft, not gooey or greasy, but strong in its grip. You try to wriggle and are met with firm resistance. Panic begins to creep in through the haziness of your still sleepy mind and you take a few quick, deep breaths, trying to keep yourself calm as you survey exactly what sort of trouble you’ve landed in. 

You aren’t hurt, which is good. The last thing you could remember from before losing consciousness was falling for what felt like–– well, not that long, actually. Time had stilled for seemingly a moment or two and then there was nothing. You must have passed out before you’d landed in…. what exactly did you land in? You shift your head from side to side as much as you can in order to get a better view of your surroundings. 

At the far edges of your vision, you can see the dark grey rock walls of a cavern. You aren’t sure how big it is because you can’t quite see the cave room floor, the little bit of sunlight trickling in from above quickly being swallowed up by shadow. Around you, intricately braided ropes of white stretch from wall to wall, forming a spindly basket of shapes and patterns that glisten like crystal shards.

It’s a web. A gigantic spiderweb. 

All the warnings you’d been given about the humongous arachnids local to the area start flooding back to you. ‘Avoid the deeper parts of the forest,’ your neighbor had told you when you’d first been moving into your new cottage. ‘The underbrush is so dense, it makes the entrance to underground caves— spider holes, we call ‘em— almost invisible. If you’re not careful, you’ll fall right in!’

Internally you curse yourself for not heeding their advice. If you had listened more seriously to their rambling, maybe you’d have some idea of how to get out of this situation, but as it stands, you’re stuck. Which is not ideal. 

You spend a few minutes attempting to tug yourself free, practically thrashing in your efforts, but the web holds you tight, merely bouncing back and forth with your movement. You go until you’re panting hard before finally relenting and relaxing again. It’s probably best to conserve your energy. You take a few minutes to catch your breath, feeling the web slowly return to its previous stillness beneath you. 

And then it wobbles again. 

You freeze. The dip you feel can only be caused by something very large and very heavy. Your eyes jump from shadowy crevice to shadowy crevice, searching frantically for whatever had just made its presence so purposefully known, and then your gaze flits upwards and your stomach drops. 

Eight eyes, black and glittering, stare down at you from the dark. Despite not being able to see its full form, you can tell the spider is monstrously huge. It keeps itself hidden, tucked away from the sunbeam peaking in through the canopy. You’re frozen in place, both literally and figuratively. There is a long moment where nothing moves but the web, still swaying slightly under the spider’s weight, before something suddenly crawls out from the shadows beneath the giant arachnid. It takes a second for you to register what exactly it is. 

Another spider: much, much smaller than the first, so small its presence doesn’t disturb the web at all. It creeps down towards you in graceful, careful strides, its movement slow, almost hesitant. You feel like you should be trying to get away from it, but instead you just watch, stiff as a board, as the little thing stops an inch from your face, its multiple tiny eyes surveying you with what seems like curiosity. 

It shifts a bit closer, and you can almost picture it cocking its head to the side like a puppy. One minuscule leg reaches out, brushing against your cheek, so light it almost feels like the tip of a feather. You’re so baffled by the sensation that you don’t even realize the spider has moved until you register it crawling onto your head. 

Your face screws up in discomfort and you go even more still, as though maybe if you just didn’t move, the spider would grow bored of you and scurry away. It doesn’t. You clench your fists tight as you feel it move from your hair, to your forehead, to your temple, down your cheek, under your chin… 

Oh. That tickles. 

Your expression scrunches for a very different reason now. The spider’s little legs slowly making their way across your throat feel like someone is brushing a miniature feather duster across your skin. You try very hard not to react, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your lips together in a stubborn attempt to supress the wobbly smile spreading across your face. It’ll move away from your neck eventually. You can handle this. It’s not that bad. 

Something tiny and soft rubs up against your wrist and your eyes shoot open. 

It seems you’d been so focused on that one baby spider’s actions, you’d failed to notice the arrival of many, many more, none of them larger than your fist, some of them smaller than a coin. They surround you almost completely, blinking at you with the same curiosity as their sibling. You and the army of little spiders stare at each other for a long second… and then you jolt when the one by your wrist begins to crawl up your arm, a handful of its brethren following suit. 

The sensation of them on your forearm isn’t too horribly ticklish, but you can feel your sensitivity rising as their feathery feet move towards your shoulder. You squish your lips together in a tight line to try and fight off the inevitable as one spider meanders across your collarbone, another lingers in the crease of your elbow, another slips beneath your sleeve, and very quickly all your defenses collapse. Your upper body jerks, making the web twinge yet again, and the remaining spiders shift and scurry around you, drawn in by the sudden motion.

“Ah–– eehee––! Wait!” You squeak a little as more tiny tormentors start to close in. “W–– Wait! Wait!”

Your protests fall on deaf ears, the spiders seemingly only encouraged by the sound of your voice. One wiggles its way under the fabric of your tunic and you can feel it taking slow, exploratory steps across your lower stomach. When it reaches your naval, it stumbles, surprised by the sudden dip in terrain, its fuzzy leg falling into the depths of your bellybutton. This earns another squeak from you. 

“Ack––! Get–– get out ohohof there–!” 

You wiggle your hips in a fruitless attempt to dislodge the spider, and you can hear it softly clicking in distress as you do. Unfortunately this does little more than bring more of its concerned siblings beneath your shirt to investigate the commotion, their downy feather bodies brushing like teasing fingertips over the sensitive stretch of your tummy. 

Crap, crap, crap. The little spiders aren’t stopping. They’re also not attacking you, or trying to eat you, which you suppose is a good thing, though it’s hard to appreciate your luck when you’re busy trying not to dissolve into helpless laughter. Your eyes frantically jump from side to side before landing on where the giant mama spider is still skulking in its shadowy corner. Its multitude of eyes haven’t left your squirming form for a single moment. 

What is the purpose of this? Is this what giant arachnids are known for? Are they tenderizing you, preparing your body for consumption in some weird, horribly ticklish way? Or maybe they’re just genuinely curious about your warm squishy flesh and the way it writhes when touched. Your neighbor had spoken like people falling into spider holes was commonplace, but maybe they were exaggerating and this is the first time these creatures have ever seen a human. Gods, you wish you’d taken the time to learn more about the stupid magic forest surrounding your town. If you had, maybe you wouldn’t have— 

“Aha–– eeheehee––!” Breathless laughter interrupts your thoughts. “Nn––nnnahahaha!”

One of the baby spiders moves up your side and your giggles jump as it softly crawls over your right ribcage. There are a lot of them on you now. Thankfully only a select few have figured out how to access the soft, sensitive skin beneath your clothes, but the ones that had are quickly proving to be your biggest concern, finding tickle spots even you were unaware of. 

A particularly small spider nestles itself into your navel. When it reaches the bottom, it keeps crawling, trying to move deeper and supposedly very confused by the warm little tunnel ending so abruptly. The sensation makes you squeal and thrash. A separate but equally effective spider skitters around your ear, barely a whisper against the cartilage. The waistband of your trousers are— thank the gods— too tight for any of the little pests to wiggle past, but your relief at this quickly morphs into even gigglier distress as one of the ones by your left boot finds it way under your pant leg. You try your hardest to kick your feet in instinctive protest as you feel it crawl from your ankle, to your calf, to the back of your knee, where it seems to settle itself comfortably into that sensitive concavity. 

“Ahaahaha! Oh–– Ohoho gohohods–– stop ihihit!” 

Your voice pitches up into a squeaky hiccup. There’s so many of them and they’re everywhere, only a few precious stretches of your skin left untouched by the spiders’ ticklish skittering. It’s overwhelming, it’s all-encompassing, it feels like it will never end, and then, out of nowhere, all movement stops. The tiny creatures on your body come to an abrupt halt and everything around you stills. 

Almost everything around you stills. 

The web is wobbling yet again. It moves in deep, dipping shudders as something very large and very purposeful makes its way down towards your trapped, helpless form. You want to run; you want to tear yourself from the sticky prison encasing you and hightail it all the way back to your little cottage, but your limbs are too tired from squirming to even attempt an escape. You pant, skin prickling under the frozen touch of the baby spiders covering it, and wait for the inevitable with your eyes shut tight. 

But the inevitable doesn’t come. A gargantuan shadow is cast behind your eyelids and you tense yourself in preparation for the sting of a bite, yet in place of white hot pain you instead feel a small, careful tug at your tunic. As your mind races to grapple with the lack of fangs sinking into you, the fabric of your blouse is gently but unceremoniously ripped open. Goosebumps erupt as the cool air of the cavern hits your torso and your eyes shoot open. 

Those eight glittering eyes stare down at you, each one as large as your head with a color akin to polished obsidian, your own terrified face reflected back at you from within their inky black depths. The spider shifts its giant maw downwards, fangs speckled with saliva, inching closer and closer to your now very exposed and very vulnerable stomach. 

I’m gonna die, you think. I’m going to get eaten by a giant spider and I’m gonna die. And I just paid off the mortgage on my stupid cottage. 

Except the giant spider does not eat you. The feeling of its jaws pressing into your skin is not followed by white-hot pain; in fact you don’t think it even broke the skin. For a moment you’re completely baffled as to its motivation, the reason behind its apparent mercy, and then everything clicks into place when its mandibles twitch, gently tweaking the sensitive bit of tummy beneath your bellybutton.

“Wh–– wha––ahahAHA––!”

You can’t even properly react to the new stimulation before the various baby spiders dotting your body start to chirp and shift, almost vibrating with contentment, seemingly very happy that their mother is joining in on this new experimentation of theirs. You’re instantly overcome by squealing laughter as your trapped form is riddled once again with soft, quick, horribly ticklish sensations, now with the added torment of the giant spider’s gentle mandibles squeezing and pinching your stomach. 

If the little spiders’ fuzzy bodies were akin to feather dusters, their mother’s rounded fangs are like deft, nimble fingers. It’s an absolutely torturous combination. You aren’t quite sure what tickles more: the ghosting of barely there plumage all over your skin or the pointed, concentrated teasing above your waistline, practically digging into your sensitive flesh. 

“AhahAHAHA! St–– stohoHOHOP–– EEHEEP––!” Your noises hit their crescendo. The giant spider, silent and stoic in the face of your helpless hysterics, stares down at you as it pokes and prods and pinches endlessly. “I–– I cahahAHAHA–– I cahahan’t–– pleaHEEHEEHEASE––!!”

Every inch of you is thrashing against torturously ticklish touches both light and forceful; it’s all you can feel. Even the stickiness of the web entrapping you has long since faded into the background. In the deepest recesses of your mind you suppose you should probably still be worried about being eaten, but currently all you can think about is the sensation of little eight-legged menaces scurrying over your overly sensitive body and how their mother’s mandibles are so, so horribly effective at tickling that you almost wonder if they were designed specifically for tormenting you in this way. 

Your vision blurs; your insides hurt from laughter. You aren’t quite sure where you are anymore. Is this your life now? Are the spiders going to tickle you until you pass out, or explode, or die? Any or all of those options feel equally likely with the way your brain is starting to melt, lost in the overwhelming experience of being utterly and completely overcome with tickles. You think you might not be able to take a single second more…..

And finally, finally, it stops. 

It takes you a moment to realize the spiders are retreating. The feeling of them slipping off of you is so similar to the earlier tickling, you don’t notice your torment has been paused until suddenly your skin is a lot more bare than before. Your ears are ringing. All you can hear is your own ragged breath as you take in gulps of cool cavern air. When your eyelids crack open slightly, you just barely register the gigantic blurry shape of the mother spider and its hundreds of children backing away from your exhausted form. God, are you exhausted. You’ve never felt so tired in your life. You can’t fall asleep here, you absolutely should not fall asleep here, but despite your best efforts you can feel yourself slipping into the oh-so tempting arms of unconsciousness.

You wake up, much to your surprise, in the infirmary. As your village’s healer feeds you a foul-tasting concoction, you learn that apparently unsuspecting townsfolk falling into spider holes is a regular occurrence, even more so than your anxious neighbor had implied. It’s so regular, in fact, that there are nightly patrols of the forest and underground caves to check for any unfortunate victims. You want very much to ask if every person who finds themself stuck in a giant spider’s web winds up being tickled to tears, but you can’t quite force the words out. Perhaps you really were just particularly unlucky. 

///

This was ridiculous.

You huffed in frustration, digging harder inside your pack, trying to go by feel alone. Were there really no more shirts in your supplies? How did they even decide to ration outfits for this mission, surely they'd give you more than the six or so shirts you've already gone through. Did they just not think of body odour in space?

You yanked your hand out and settled for a different aproach. Grabbing the underside of your pack, you lifted it up-side-down as high above your head as your arms could reach, and shook.

Various pieces of clothing tumbled out onto the floor.

Tossing the pack to the side unceremoniously, you dug your hands through socks, underwear, shorts, until your eyes spotted a rectangular piece of white fabric.

"Aha!" You said triumphantly and snatched the shirt up. You fumbled with it for a moment before turning it right side up, noticing the print on the front.

Your blood ran cold.

Both you and Ryland had been given tshirts with funny images, puns, and quirky designs. While his usually stuck to the theme of science puns, yours tended to be a little more on-the-nose-milennial with things like 'don't talk to me before I've had my coffee' printed on them. This one had bright pink text right in the middle, in large print that was impossible to miss. Just three simple words.

'TICKLE ME PINK'

You slammed your hands down, concealing the front of the shirt, and shot a panicked behind you to the latch leading to the lab. It was open, as you'd left it, but Ryland was nowhere to be seen. Turning back around, you lifted the shirt up just a little bit, as if to confirm the print was still there.

It was.

You buried your face in the fabric and leaned forward over your criss-crossed legs, groaning desperately.

Incoming rattling alerted you enough to straighten out your back.

"Human okay question?" Came Rocky's voice as he paused next to you.

"I'm fine, Rocky." You said with a slight sigh.

"Human make distressed noise. Why question?"

"I just realised I have one clean shirt left, is all." You deflected.

Rocky raised himself up a little. "Grace say he clean shirts. Ask Grace to teach how clean shirts!"

"Yeah, okay." You said, dread rising in your chest. "I will."

Making sure the front of the shirt is firmly hidden in your lap, you began gathering the rest of your clothing from the floor and shoving it back into your pack. You didn't have to hide the shirt with just Rocky here, it's not like he'd see what's on it. Or be able to read it. Would he? Suddenly you weren't so sure. He might ask to explain what the text says, knowing his curious nature. Yeah, better safe than sorry.

Ryland's voice carried through the Hail Mary, calling for Rocky, who quickly scampered to find him.

God. Ryland.

What the hell were you going to do about Ryland?

You knew for a fact that he would make a big deal out of it. He'd already been known to attack you, claiming it helped him destress, and he wasn't shy about how much he liked tickling. Not like you were. He'd never let you live it down. But what other choice did you have? Your other shirts were too dirty, and you didn't want to go around stinking up the place. For your own sake and Ryland's.

So how were you going to solve this?

You cast one more nervous look to the hatch behind you, then turned back around and peeled your dirty shirt off. Then, slowly, you pulled the clean one on, trying to ignore the heat rising up your neck. Clearing your throat nervously, you grabbed the sleeves of your jumpsuit that you had tied around your waist and tugged them tighter.

Wait.

The jumpsuit!

You just had to put the whole suit on, and the shirt would be concealed.

You untied the sleeves, and slipped your arms in, buttoning the front until the text was out of sight. Then buttoned extra two. Just to be safe.

You smoothed your palms over the front of your jumpsuit, taking a steadying breath, just as Ryland called your name across the ship.

"Coming!" You called back, kicking your pack into a corner to deal with later.

Things will be just fine, you reassured yourself.

@

Your plan worked perfectly. Ryland made no comment on your attire, and the two of you quickly settled into your familiar work routine.

Except it was hot on the Hail Mary, and your layers and long sleeves were not helping.

Ryland had dragged his stool next to you to look at the screen you had been working on. His leg pressed against yours, and his arm stretched in front of you to scroll through your notes and charts. This was normal. You've both abandoned any awkwardness around physical touch long ago. Being stuck in space on a one way mission will do that to you. Boundaries shift and warp when both people need comfort in sight of terror.

You tugged at the collar of your jumpsuit, then dug your fingers underneath that to reach the tshirt. You willed air to flow through your clothes but, of course, there was no breeze on a space ship. Ryland shot you a quick look.

"You okay?" He asked, eyes settling back on the screen in front of him.

"Peachy." You keep your eyes steady on the screen. Ryland lowered his hand and leaned it on the counter, but didn't move his arm away from you. He gave you a once-over.

"You're not too hot in that?" He didn't look suspicious. Just curious. Maybe a little worried. You shrugged noncomitally.

"Hey, does this look weird to you?" You asked, pointing to a particular number. Ryland's eyes snapped back to the screen, and he frowned.

"Could have sworn that was…" He muttered to himself, and clicked through the screen to bring up a spreadsheet. His attention successfully diverted, you let yourself exhale quietly in relief. You stayed sitting for a long few minutes, watching carefully as Ryland clicked through notes and spreadsheets, trying to figure out his train of thought. When he shifted away from you to grab a spare piece of paper and pen, you took it as an opening to escape for a few moments. It was better to leave Ryland to do his equations in peace. Let him come to you when he figured everything out.

You climbed back through the hatch leading from the lab to the sleeping quarters, and immediately unbuttoned your jumpsuit. You peeled the long sleeves off your body and waved your arms back and forth to cool off. You could have sworn it didn't used to be this hot on the ship. Maybe you were just freaking yourself out, and it was making you overheat.

Yeah, that sounded about right.

You sat heavily on one of the beds, resting your elbows on your knees and placing your head in your hands. You just had to make it till dinner. When you're both out of work mode, and eating, guards down, you can ask Ryland to show you how he cleaned his clothes. And then you will clean your shirts and hide this one somewhere no one will ever find it. Or better yet, throw it out the airlock. You drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, controlled. This was a good plan. You could avoid embarrassment.

"So, you were right, those numbers are weird, so I ran through some equations and it looks like there's some kind of an anomaly within the Petrova Line-" Your head snapped up at Ryland's voice entering the sleeping quarters and - to your unfortunate luck - he looked up from his sheet of paper at the exact same time.

There was a beat.

Then your brain caught up to you and you crossed your arms over your torso in a frail attempt to conceal the writing from Ryland.

His eyes flickered to your arms, then snapped back to your face, but he remained where he was in the doorway. Your heartbeat thudded in your ears.

"Whatcha got there?" Ryland asked lightly. You didn't trust his tone.

"Hm? No, nothing- " you cleared your throat nervously, trying to play it cool "- what about the Petrova Line?"

"Yeah," Ryland said after a moment. "There's been a sudden change in how the astrophage is behaving- what's up with your shirt?"

"My shirt?" Heat crawled up your neck. "Nothing's wrong with my shirt - why would anything be wrong with my shirt?" Yeah, real cool and suave. You winced internally.

"…uh-huh." Ryland watched you for a moment longer. He lowered his hand, papers rustling loudly against his thigh. "And you're hiding, why?"

"I'm not hiding! This is just…comfortable." You trailed off lamely.

"Yeah, and you're not a bad liar, either." Ryland was grinning now, which made you even more nervous. He stepped fully into the room and up to the bed you were sitting on. He placed his papers on the mattress next to you, then turned his full attention on you.

That was not a good thing.

"Come on, out with it." He placed his hands on his hips.

"The shirt is…" You trailed your eyes off to the side, looking directly through the diamond shape that Ryland's arm made as it rested on his hip. You could just barely see a sock spilling from your pack where you had disgarded it earlier. "…stupid."

"That clears it up." Ryland said, not unkindly. You huffed and closed your eyes.

"It's embarrassing."

"You know I won't judge you." Ryland's voice softened.

"No, you won't." You said. "That's not what I'm worried about."

"What are you worried about?"

You kept your eyes closed. Not looking at him made it easier to speak. "Don't make me say it."

"Okay, now I'm actually worried." Ryland's hands came to rest on your shoulders, solid, warm, and steady. You let your head drop back.

"This is so duuumb." You groaned pathetically.

"I can't help if I don't know what's going on."

You opened your eyes. Ryland looked worried. That made you feel worse.

"Fine." You said. "But you're not allowed to laugh." Ryland nodded easily, still watching you carefully. Ignoring the heat in your face and your racing heart, you dropped your arms from the front of the shirt. Ryland looked down and his expression immediately changed. You only caught a glimpse of it before you turned your head away.

"Oh, I see." He was choking back laughter.

"You're not supposed to laugh." You complained.

"Sorry, sorry." He rubbed your shoulders comfortingly. "Your ears are really red, by the way."

"Rylaaaaand." You groaned, folding in on yourself. The top of your head pressed against Ryland's stomach where he stood in front of you. His hands shifted easily to accommodate your movements, one moving to the back of your head. He sounded entirely too happy, still attempting to hold in his laughter.

"Are you going to come out from there?" He asked once he composed himself.

"Depends." You muttered into your lap. "Are you done making fun of me?"

"Hey." Ryland gave a few pats on your head, signalling you to sit up. You did so, begrudgingly. "I'd never make fun of you." You nodded, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

"I'm surprised you didn't just take one of Ilyukhina's shirts." Ryland added, grinning impishly.

"Oh my god." You rubbed at your eyebrow, mortified. "I can't believe I didn't think of that."

"Better for me that you didn't." He said, scribbling his fingers on the back of your neck. You scrunched your shoulders up instinctively, hand shooting out to grasp his wrist.

"Hey, wait!" You pulled his hand away. He let you, watching you with exaggerated patience. "We have an anomaly in the Petrova Line, we don't have time for-Hey!"

Ryland's hands found purchase on your upper ribs, fingers wriggling in between the spaces of your bones.

"Oh yeah," He said as you started giggling. "This is a good spot, I think I'll hang out here for a while."

You tried to pry his hands off, and when that didn't work, you moved to pushing at his shoulders.

"Tell me something," Ryland continued, unphased by your shoving. "Did you ask for this shirt to be put on the Hail Mary?"

"What- no!" You choked out.

"It's just interesting, don't you think? That you'd get a shirt with tickling on it, I mean - given that you love this. Interesting coincidence."

"Grace, please."

"Oh, it's 'Grace' now, is it?"

"Stop - talking -" You forced yourself to say, attempting to twist away from his offending hands. Ryland was on you in a flash, pushing your body until your side was pressed into the mattress. He braced a leg on the bed, crowding you in.

"Shit shit shit!" You hissed when his hand started squeezing along your side.

"Language!" Ryland scolded, his voice taking on that specific Teacher Tone he undoubtedly used on rowdy teenagers. His other hand came up to the side of your neck and ear, scribling lightly. Your laughter kicked up a notch.

"I-" You struggled to speak. "I bet that-"

"What is it?" You could hear the grin in Ryland's voice, but he didn't slow his hands. You curled in on yourself and turned towards the mattress in an attempt to protect your stomach, and wrapped your arms around your middle.

"I can't hear what you're saying if you're trying to crawl inside the mattress." Ryland chuckled somewhere above you. He slowed his hands to gentle tracing, and you took in a gulp of air. You moved your head to rest your cheek against the mattress, trying to catch your breath.

"I bet that Rocky swears all the time." You shot Ryland a look. "We just can't tell because it's all in Eridian."

"Huh." Ryland paused. Clearly the thought hadn't occured to him before. You watched him for a moment longer, calculating the precise moment his brain kicked into theory high gear. When you spotted it, you launched yourself off the bed.

"Hey!"

You didn't wait to see if Ryland followed you. If you ran fast enough you could make it to the comms and lock the door behind you. Hopefully. You'd need to override Ryland's access first. But you were better at the controls than him.

Rocky startled away from his work as you stumbled into the lab.

"What wrong, question?" He asked, tone rising in alarm.

"Can't talk, gotta run!" You called to him, barrelling through the lab to the next hatch. You were almost there, you just had to make it up the deck.

A pair of arms caught you just as your hands brushed against the doorway. Ryland hauled you back, one arm over the front of your shoulders, the other wrapping around your middle and immediately back to squeezing at your side.

"Where are you off in a rush to?" Ryland asked. Instinctively, you tried to bend foward to protect yourself, but his arm held you up against his chest.

"Nohowhere!" You clutched at his forearm.

"Nowhere? You sure you weren't going to lock me out of the comms?" He asked.

Damn it.

"How did you knohow?" You tried kicking your leg to get out of his grip. You were unsuccessful.

"Human having fun time, question?" Rocky's voice interrupted whatever Ryland was going to say next. For better or worse, Rocky was used to the two of you behaving like this. Ryland had made sure to be very thorough in explaining tickling to Rocky, the first time the Eridian had witnessed this scenario.

"Oh yeah, you bet they are." Ryland answered for you. You tried another kick. Ryland adjusted his hold on you and lowered his hand to squeeze your hip. You yelped, and felt Ryland laugh against your back.

"Why human run if this is fun time, question?" Right, yeah, Rocky didn't understand everything.

"It's part of the fun." Ryland was speaking, ignoring your protests. "It raises excitement and anticipation, and that in turn makes the person more sensitive."

Okay. You couldn't listen to this.

"Truce, truce, truce!" You gasped out, smacking Ryland in the forearm repeatedly. He stopped, loosening his arms just enough to make sure you had your footing. You lowered yourself to the ground, bracing your palms against the floor.

"You okay?" Ryland asked from above. You shot him a look, making him chuckle. "Yeah, you're fine." He reached down to ruffle your hair lightly, and wandered off to the lab table.

Rocky rolled over to you.

"Can breathe okay, question?"

"Yeah," You were still a little breathless. "I can breathe, don't worry."

"Had fun, question?"

You hesitated, then nodded your head. Rocky gave a thumbs up at your affirmative. You did a thumbs up back.

When you looked over at Ryland sitting at the lab table, he seemed to be smiling a little too widely. You ignored the flip in your stomach.

"Are you finally going to tell me about that anomaly?" You asked, trying to play it cool, as you got to your feet. Ryland waved you over, and tilted the screen towards you when you got to the lab table. You leaned forward a little, focused on absorbing as much of the information as possible. Your maths was solid, but not as quick as Ryland's. The web had just begun to untangle in your brain when Ryland spoke up.

"You should wear that tshirt more often."

Your brain stuttered to a stop, head snapping to the side. He was looking at you over his glasses from his perch on the stool. A smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Uh." You cleared your throat. Looked back at the screen. "I'll think about it."

You got the sense that he'd figured out the softest spots of you - mentally and otherwise - long ago. That he'd... catalogued them. That he took great delight in silently holding the knowledge of where to press. And how. He could get under your skin like no one else could. Burrowing deeper with heated looks at unpredictable moments, then ebbing back with pure professionalism at others.

It kept you humble when it came to facing him on the mats.

Usually.

Today... you didn't know what it was. Maybe the thrill of landing solid hits on two super soldiers and a Norse god. Maybe you got cocky.

Maybe the curl falling loose from the hair knotted low at his nape was just too distracting.

But you tried a move too risky, and he slipped past your guard. You caught his brow raising brow as he evaded your fist. The micro-second comment in the gesture went something like:

You really thought that would work?

Yes. It would've worked against a lesser fighter. The fact that you thought it might work against him... well, that was paramount to insult. Not something he'd let slide. Not when you made clear, time and time again, to all of these super-people: going easy on you wouldn't help be better.

So they didn't go easy - but that didn't mean they'd meet your mistake with a punch that could shatter your sternum. Usually, you'd just get pushed off balance, or pinned to the mat, or locked in some uncomfortable position until you could explain what you'd done wrong. Which was fine. It all helped.

Today, however, it seemed Loki wanted to teach you an extra little lesson.

His palm swept up, thumb hooking into the soft space under your arm. You slammed your bicep down on reflex, wincing, trapping his thumb as his fingers wrapped around and pressed into the sensitive muscle under your scapula.

His fingers didn't stop at pressing. A choked gasp was forced from your mouth, your body jolting before your mind realising that his fingers were wiggling, you were squirming, he was tickling you.

Your knees buckled, eyes wild and flying to his calculated stare.

He watch you as you slowly sunk lower, his head cocked, his smirk spreading when the first startled, hapless giggle bubbled over your lips.

Get away get away get away- every single base animal instinct flooded into flight. You pushed back on your heels, dislodging his hand from under your arm as your backside hit the floor. You were spluttering, panting, giggling - fucking giggling, of all things - and you felt yourself moving to scoot back, eyes fixed on the god standing above you.

He didn't press his advantage. He didn't have to. He just stood over you, that same brow arched, blue eyes glinting with something cold and curious and satisfied. "Well," he murmured. "That's new."

You clenched your jaw, regaining composure, forcing yourself back up to stand. "Dick," you grumbled, straightening your clothes as warmth crept up your neck.

"Fascinating, really," his smirk grew, eyes scanning over you. "Have you always been so-"

"Shut it," you warned, glare cutting to him.

"Oh no," he gave a single shake of his head. "You're not getting out of this one."

Not after what you just tried to pull, was the unspoken subtext.

Shit. You should've known better than to try such a cheap trick on a god with an ego the size of the fucking continental United States.

Loki locked his fingers behind his back, started pacing around you, appraising. “Battle-hardened Avenger felled by a few seconds of tickling…" He swung his gaze to the others. More specifically, Steve. "You didn't think to train this out of her?"

Steve had straightened, fists gripping the ends of the towel slung around his neck, eyebrows raised. "Train?"

Bucky tilted his head, watching you like a hawk. "Huh."

"Oh, come on," you started, rolling your eyes, hands on your hips, trying to brush it off. "This is not something that requires training."

“You squealed,” Bucky said, grin now forming.

“I did not.”

"You crumbled," Steve grimaced with a playful edge behind it.

“Like wet paper,” Loki added. "It was rather... adorable, actually."

"This could be a problem," Thor hummed in thought. "Could it not? If your enemies learn of this."

Your head snapped to him. Then your eyes back to the others.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

The team had been without mission for almost two weeks; the boys were bored. And you'd just handed them some free entertainment.

You took a measured breath through your nose, and assured Thor: "They won’t."

"But if they did..." Steve started, slowly.

You turned. He was looking at you - not mocking, not smug. Just… calculating. Thoughtful.

You frowned. "Then what?"

"They’d have leverage," Bucky said.

"I wear full body armour."

"Armour can be compromised."

You could feel the shift happening.

The slow, creeping change in the air.

Loki was already grinning again, full teeth. "Pressure point training, perhaps?"

You scoffed. "Absolutely not."

Thor crossed his arms, ducking his head as if weighing the option. "It may be wise."

You crossed your own, arguing, "There's no proven method of desensitisation; you can't train someone out of being ticklish, Loki's just stirring mischief."

But Steve was quiet, eyes shifting to Bucky. Bucky’s arms were crossed too now, mouth twitching, his eyes finding Steve's.

You clocked the exits.

Three of them. One closest, but Thor stood near. The second was by Steve, and Loki, in his pacing, had subtly moved to block the third.

Fucking shit.

"Let’s just say," Bucky started, shrugging one shoulder, "we’re in the field. You’re caught. Someone finds a sweet spot-"

"-and they want to know where some files are hidden," Steve adds.

Loki hums in agreement, faux-consideration painted across him. "Security codes... contingency plans..."

You shifted from one foot to the other, hackles raising. "This is not a realistic scenario. On what planet would I ever be tickled for information?"

"Several," Thor nodded thoughtfully, looking to Loki. "At least four in this universe alone."

"Hmm, yes," Loki confirmed. "And I do believe in some factions on Sakaar."

You rubbed your temples. "This is not happening," you said. Mostly to yourself.

"There’s no harm in proving you’d withstand it," Steve said, voice calm. It almost sounded reasonable.

Your eyes flicked to him. You scoffed again. "Don't use your Captain America voice on me like you actually-"

He met your gaze evenly. And you stopped talking.

Because suddenly... you knew.

He wasn’t joking.

He was serious.

Not cruel. Not cold. Just… decisive. Like an older brother about to teach you a hard lesson for your own good.

You felt the breath stick in your chest.

"Steve. C'mon."

He straightened up, slow.

Bucky’s grin widened.

Thor stretched his arms with a lazy flex.

Loki turned toward you, smirking.

Your stomach dropped clean through the floor. Bucky took a step forward and you flinched, body readying to bolt.

"Hey," Bucky said, lifting his hands like he was trying to ease the tension. "You don’t have to prove anything."

You glared. "That’s exactly what this is."

"No," he corrected, smile just shy of cruel. "This is about making sure you don’t give up state secrets just to make it stop."

Your face burned. "I would never-"

"Good," Loki cut in, eyes glittering. "You're confident. You'll have no issue proving it, then."

You blinked. "What?"

Steve’s voice was low. Final. "We should put it to the test."

And just like that, the temperature in the room dropped. Your heart slammed into your ribs.

You were boxed in. Outnumbered. Outplayed.

"Steve. You’re not seriously suggesting simulating an interrogation where I'm..." you winced at the mere thought - betraying your nerves.

He shrugged in that infuriatingly calm, Captain America way. “Look, I trust you. But you always say training should cover every angle. This is just... one of them.” He tried not to smile.

You hated how much they were enjoying this. Bucky wasn’t even hiding his grin. Thor was scratching his beard thoughtfully, nodding like this was all so fucking reasonable.

Your jaw hung slack, you glared at Steve. "You're seriously gonna make me do this?"

Steve's head went to the side in thought. "No. It's your choice."

Loki didn’t even pretend. His smirk stayed plastered across his face like he had been waiting its whole life for this moment. "Of course, we'd never force you to prove it..." Loki raised his hands in surrender. "Not if it would be too much for you."

Okay. Now your pride was involved.

Loki continued. "If you're afraid... you just can say so."

He knew exactly how to bait you. It was so obvious.

But it still fucking worked. And that was on you.

You sucked your teeth, arms still crossed, jaw tense, looking between the varying degrees of smug in your teammates.

And a thought passed over you. About Steve. His leadership, his honour, and the way you trusted him so intrinsically with your life you knew he'd never let something like this go too far. So your eyes met his.

“Well?” He asked, calm and expectant.

You let out a tense breath through your nose.

"I'll follow your orders, Cap," you said, dropping your arms, squaring your shoulders. "What'll it be?"

.

.

This was one of those freeze-frame record-scratch moments where the narrator says 'Yep - that’s me. You're probably wondering how I ended up in this position.'

You flexed your fingers before gripping the edge of the armrest. The cuffs were snug but not uncomfortable. The chair itself - fetched by Bucky while the terms of the test were set - wasn't too bad, either. Cushioned seat and back, padded cuffs securing the wrists to the armrests and ankles to the front legs. It wouldn't hold any of the men around you, but you didn't have lightening or serum in your veins.

One small test proved no give, no rattling, was enough for that little molten thread of helplessness to start curling down your spine. All part of the mind games.

Trying to relax into the chair, your eyes landed on Loki, who was approaching you with all the slow, deliberate lethality of a black panther.

Of course, he was the one chosen to... do this.

His hand reached out and tested one cuff. "You seem tense."

"Bite me."

He chuckled, beginning to circle the chair slowly, trying to get in your head. Trying to build tension. It was working.

"The objective is simple. Don't give up the code word." His eyes flicked to Steve and Bucky. "Have you decided on what that word will be?"

Bucky nodded once, calling out, "cucumber."

You groaned. "That is the stupidest-"

"Exactly," Steve said. "You won't say it by accident. You try to hold out. You say it - that's surrender."

You felt Loki's fingers rest against the back of the chair. "Do you understand the rules, agent?"

You sniffed, jaw tight. "Don’t say the fucking vegetable."

"You ready?" Steve crossed his arms, failing to hide his amused smile.

No one in this room was under the impression that this was anything other than an exercise in the folly of boredom and pride. But here you were, about to hit play on that that freeze-frame record-scratch moment, and you wondered why the hell you ever agreed to this.

You did have an out - whenever you wanted it, you could say the word - but that steady fire inside you was stoked. White hot. You'd be damned if Loki snuffed it.

You'd be damned if he won.

"Ready," you confirmed.

He began.

Loki's touch was feather-light at first. Deceptively gentle. Fingers trailing over your sides like whispers.

They wanted a show? You'd give them a show. You'd show them exactly what you'd do if this was an enemy situation.

You flinched. "What the fuck are you doing?" Your head swung around, wearing a mask of confusion, fear, and pure innocence.

Loki's eyes narrowed. Ah. He seemed to say. This is how you want to play.

His voice was ice. Frostbitten. Severe. "What's the code word, Agent?"

"Wha-" you jerked again, eyes darting down to see his fingers at your sides, pressing a little firmer. Seeking. "I don't- what are you doing?"

He didn’t fumble or poke randomly. No, he searched.

"I'm under strict orders to not leave a mark, Agent," Loki's cold voice sounded vaguely distracted. "You have a code word I need..."

Then he found a spot. Just under the lower edge of your ribs, to the side. Your breath caught. Muscles locked. He paused.

"And I think I've just found a way to get it from you."

He wasn't clumsy. Not even a little.

"What code word? What are you even talking about? What-"

You stopped, looked down, watched as his middle finger and ring finger readied. You felt his other palm flatten against the opposite side of your waist in preparation to keep you in place.

You opened your mouth to say something, but then his fingers moved.

Sensation exploded like a switch had been flipped. Your hips jolted in the chair, a strangled sound caught in your throat as he pressed into that cluster of nerves with terrifying precision. Not a scratch or a dig - no, he hooked and circled slowly, keeping a maddening pressure on just the right spot. You were squirming violently in seconds, laughter ripping out of you against your will.

"Shit- Loki, fuck-" you broke your character, gasping between fits of laughter, voice hoarse and breaking. You tried twisting away, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.

"Code word," he demanded.

You scrambled to collect your thoughts. Okay - okay - you could work with this. Fortify your mind. Let your body react. You tried to get a grip. Tried to find his rhythm and tell your brain it was no grave threat.

But half a minute later and he hadn't eased off. And it was only tickling more with every passing second.

"Please!" You gasped out, shaking your head. "I don't know what you're-"

He doubled - the palm against your other side began mirroring the same pattern with eerie symmetry. Pinpoint accuracy into that soft spot. Every movement surgical. Like he’d done this a thousand times.

Somewhere in the haze you sense him leaning down, felt his breath hot against your ear. "I know you have what I'm looking for."

"I don't!" you squealed, head hitting back against his shoulder as you twisted helplessly, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. "Fuck- please stop!"

"I can't stop this. Only you can. Say the word," he said softly.

You whimpered through breathless giggles as you tried to collect yourself enough to respond. "I don't- fuck- I don't know what you're talking about."

"I don't believe you."

His pointer finger joined the fray and your body convulsed with laughter, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. He hadn’t even moved from that godforsaken spot on your ribs. And he hadn’t lost rhythm once.

"Fuck!" You thrashed, as much as the chair would let you. "I- this is- this is inhumane!"

A low hum by your other ear. The other devil on the other shoulder. "You're in control, Agent. You can make this stop any time."

He didn’t move fast. He didn’t need to. It was the control that was killing you. The way he’d learned your body in seconds. That single spot already made your arms jerk, your breath hitch, your laughter take on a desperate edge.

"Make no mistake," he murmured. "I'm going to win. You really think this is the worst it can be? Give me the word. Now."

"I don't have the fucking word!" you shrieked between wheezes, before falling into a new spout of laughter. You gave a sound that might’ve been a laugh or a sob, it was hard to tell. Loki’s wicked hands hadn't stopped.

"She's doin' good," Bucky observed, tilting his head. "Holding out. The denial is still convincing."

"Stubborn," Thor nodded with a proud smile. "Like a goat."

"She’s trembling," Loki noted, sounding pleased. You were - your thighs tensed, stomach quaking with every new ripple of sensation.

Without warning, he shot his hands downward.

You practically launched out of the chair when he reached the top of your hip, just above your belt line. Another pressure point. The nerves there sent shocks across your pelvis, up your spine. It was like your body didn’t belong to you anymore.

"No- no, no, no-!" you laughed, voice wild now, cracked from overuse.

"You’re strong," Loki said quietly, voice still near your ear, breath warm on your neck. "But not unbreakable. I’m going to find where you crack."

You turned your face away, blinking tears of mirth from your lashes. "I’m going to kill you when this is over."

"I look forward to it," he said, moving inward to the sliver of skin on your lower stomach, scratching with feather-light precision.

You jolted again, high-pitched laughter tearing out of your lungs, knees bucking instinctively as he zeroed in.

Cucumber. It was on the tip of your fucking tongue. So you bit down on it. Sealed your lips as best you could.

Loki leaned in. "What's this? Trying to keep quiet now?"

You swallowed it. Shook your head.

A particularly cruel and precise tickle along the dips of your hips pulled a shrieking laugh from the loud place in your throat, wrists pulling against the cuffs.

He chuckled, knowing he was closer to winning.

So he went back to your ribs.

Your laughter returned in full, broken and helpless, your face hot with fury and embarrassment.

But still, you didn’t say cucumber.

You'd be damned to let him win after all of this.

Loki’s voice dropped, barely audible now. "You’re going to lose," he whispered, "So be a good girl, and surrender. Just say the word."

Your mouth opened. Then closed. You shook your head violently.

Your pride was still stronger, even as your breath was now ragged, chest rising and falling as you jerked against the cuffs, muscles locked and twitching from the relentless tickling, even as your laughter had taken on a half-wheezing, half-growling edge.

Loki hadn’t let up for a second, his hands maddeningly precise, but then...

He stopped. Pulled his hands away.

You gulped air. Relished in the reprieve. Wondering if-

"Don't think for a second I'm done with you," his voice curled around the base of your neck. "Tell me the code word."

You panted, head lolling. It had only been a few minutes, you knew that, but it had felt like a fucking lifetime. Shit.

"You're not listening," you let defeat permeate your tone. "You got the wrong person. I don't... I don't have what you want." You gave a weak tug at the cuffs, acting the part.

"Oh, you're very good," Loki praised in a dark chuckle.

You felt him grip the back of your chair. And you knew what he was planning.

"Wait-"

He pulled. The chair tipped backward as he lowered it slowly, until the rear legs landed on the floor and you were laying on your back, head against the mat.

You thrashed instantly. "Wait. Wait- fuck," you winced.

He moved with a maddening slowness, shooting an amused glance to the chuckling onlookers.

"Don't you fucking dare."

But he stopped in front of where your ankles were cuffed, your boots perfectly level with where his hands naturally rested at his sides.

"Uh oh," Bucky laughed outright. You shot him a pissed off yet wary glance.

Steve laughed. "You can say the word," he reminded you, but there was a teasing note behind it.

That smugness nudged you to get back in the zone. To prove them all wrong. Make them all pay.

Loki tugged. The first boot came off with a soft pull. And then the second. The cold air hit your socked feet like a ominous wind, curling in the atmosphere like dread.

You winced again. You weren't prepared. You weren't prepared. Feet were always protected, armoured, out of reach. You can't remember the last time someone touched your feet, much less-

"I've seen that look before," Bucky clicked his tongue. You shot him a nervous glance. His eyes met yours but he spoke to the others: "That's the look of someone who knows they're in trouble."

You weren’t wearing thick standard-issue tactical socks. No, of course not. You’d thrown on some stupid breathable pair. They were thin - too thin.

You shot an indiscernible look to the Captain.

He shrugged. Giving you that gleam in his eye that said: You can make this stop any time you want. All it'll cost you is pride.

You licked your drying lips, turning back to Loki. His hands hadn't touched you yet. Still, he was studying your reactions.

You kicked, knees jolting, but your ankles didn't move. He smirked.

"You've gone quiet," he said, cool and detached. "Is that fear?"

"Fury," you seethed. "Pure. Fucking. F-fffrrmm-!"

You bit off the noise as his fingers barely stroked across the arch of your right foot. It was a featherlight graze, and it'd already sent pressure prickling behind your eyes. You swallowed a whimper, sealing your lips, squeezing your eyes shut.

He hummed. "Interesting."

Then he began in earnest.

His fingertips pressed into your arches with a kind of maddening detachment. Methodical. Exploring. Not scratching or scribbling like some fumbling kid; no, he pressed, kneaded lightly, then circled. You shrieked. His thumbs dragged slowly under the balls of your feet. Your entire body bucked against the restraints.

"NO!"

Laughter then burst out of you, unfiltered and broken. It was worse than your ribs - infinitely worse. You weren’t used to touch here, weren’t braced for it. It was raw, vulnerable. Your laughter turned desperate in seconds.

"NO! LOKI! PLEASE NOT THERE!"

But that wasn't the code word. So his hands didn’t stop. If anything, they moved slower. More precise. He was watching your face the entire time - his eyes locked onto every flicker of reaction, every twitch of your mouth or squint of your eyes.

"PLEASE! PLEASE - ANYWHERE ELSE!"

"Well, shit," Bucky snorted. "That worked way too fast."

"What’s the code word?" Loki asked, voice low and flat.

"Fuck YOU-AHH! NO- SHIT!"

His fingers slid to your toes, tracing beneath them with deliberate purpose. You howled with laughter, head flinging back, toes curling as if that could protect you. The nerves in your feet were shot. You couldn’t even pretend composure anymore. He’d hit a level of sensitivity that was obscene.

"Code word," Loki said again, unblinking.

You shook your head, thrashing wildly.

"Don’t know it!" you yelled, tears streaking down your cheeks from the force of it. "I swear - I don’t know it!"

"Oh?" Loki tilted his head. "I think you're lying to me, Agent. Do you know what happens to liars?" His thumbs returned to the spot right beneath your toes and began that horrible circular pressure again.

You screamed - an actual, ragged scream laced with helpless mirth. Your back arched, every muscle straining against the cuffs. Your following laughter was high and unrelenting, like bursting open a dam and letting everything flood out.

"PLEASE!" you cried, playing it up now, blending real helplessness with theatrics. "I don’t know anything! I swear! I’m just a grunt. I’m just a - I’m not fucking built for this!"

The bystanders erupted in laughter.

"Good use of the helpless act," Steve noted, chuckling. "Classic withholding tactic."

Loki paused his movement, fingers still poised. "Code word. Now."

"Lemme go. Please," you begged, shaking your head and bracing as his fingers resumed. Your laughter trembling as your whole body quaked with it. "I don't know what you want!"

Loki’s face didn’t change. Cool, unaffected. His fingers danced under your toes, targeting the very edge of skin at the base where nerves lit up like a live wire.

"You’re lying."

"No I'm not!"

"You are. And I’m going to get the truth out of you."

He found another pocket just under your toes and lingered.

Your laughter cracked apart. Your lungs burned.

"This is going to get much, much worse for you, Agent," Loki's cold voice dropped a weight in your stomach.

"I’ll- I’ll kill you I SWEAR-" you gasped, words broken by high-pitched giggles.

"Threats, now?" Loki's brow lifted. "How quaint."

Bucky whistled low. "You gotta hand it to her. She hasn't cracked."

"I like this training," Thor declared.

Loki ignored the audience, dragging his blunt nails along the length of your arches. Back and forth, up and down. Face calm and unbothered as you went silent, laughter trapped in your upper chest, body tensing and twitching as the energy built and built and... he... he wasn't stopping. Gods, he wasn't moving from that godforsaken spot.

It tickled so fucking much.

There were no words for it. It shouldn't be possible for such a simple action to trap the breath in your chest, to send buzzes of energy through your whole body, it tickled so. fucking. much.

But the worst part? You knew this was building. Priming you for some grande finale. Readying to decimate your willpower.

"Can she breathe?" Steve's voice floated across the edge of your clouded attention.

It must've been almost fifteen seconds since you last made a sound.

Back and forth. Up and down.

Pressure building and building and...

"Hey." Bucky's wary voice was in the mix.

"Wait for it..." Loki hushed them. Your eyes were shut but you could feel his gaze on you.

Back. Forth. Up. Down.

"Loki," Thor's stern voice came. "She's mortal."

"I know, almost there..." Loki cooed.

It was coming. Cucumber. You could feel it coming. Feel the scream coiling in your chest. Almost there...

And then-

The doors hissed open.

"FRIDAY alerted me to a potential HR violation in progress," came Tony’s dry voice as he entered the room

The moment froze like a frame in a cartoon. You, a wreck, cuffed to a tipped chair, flat on your back. Boots off. Loki with stilled hands at your feet. The rest of them standing around like this was some clinical procedure and not your personal nightmare.

Tony looked around. Blinked.

"Well," he said, "this is… deeply unsettling."

The trapped laughter whooshed out of you as air flooded your lungs in deep and gratifying breaths. Loki had paused. Assessing the atmosphere. And for that, you thanked every god in this universe and beyond. You had been so close to surrender.

"She agreed to it," Steve said, unbothered.

"She volunteered," Bucky added, nudging Thor, who nodded solemnly.

"Oh, yes. She may stop the trial at any moment," Thor assured. "She need only speak the sacred word."

Tony blinked again. "And the sacred word is...?"

"Cucumber," they all said in unison.

You wanted to die.

Tony stared at them, then at you - now breathless, sweat-slick, and still twitching from residual sensation. He sighed. "Y'alright, giggles?"

You attempted to speak. But it came out as several coughs, so you just gave a weak thumbs-up.

"Okay, okay," he said, waving a hand. "As much as I’d love to see where this is going - and I mean that purely as an academic curiosity - we cannot shackle an Avenger to a chair and administer tickle torture in our down time. It’s literally in the handbook. Somewhere. It must be."

Loki had the audacity to look disappointed.

But he sighed, then reach down with maddening ease, lifting your chair upright with one smooth motion - like it weighed nothing. You slumped against it, head tilted back still gasping for breath, socked feet twitching, toes curling, body still shaking with aftershocks of laughter, a thin sheen of sweat glowing your skin.

"I hate you," you croaked at Loki.

"How tragically untrue," he chuckled.

Then the cuffs popped open with a click.

You didn’t hesitate.

The second your hands were free, shaky legs be damned, you launched yourself at Steve.

"Rogers!"

He didn’t even flinch. Just accepted his fate.

Your weight hit him square in the chest, and he let himself fall back onto the mat with a loud whump, arms catching you automatically.

"You star-spangled shithead!" you growled, rising to straddle his waist and grab his collar, jolting some sense into him. "You sanctioned that shit!?"

“I did,” Steve said evenly.

"You let Loki-... you- I'm gonna- ugh!" You grabbed a fistful of his hair and mussed it like a feral cat, gritting your teeth and growling.

"Alright, alright!" He laughed, trying to block you. "I deserved that!"

"You’re damn right you do - fucking cucumber - I’m gonna shove one straight down your- hey!"

Bucky's hands wrapped around your waist and casually hauled you off Steve like a disobedient dog. "Alright. Down, girl." You kicked the air on the way up.

"Let me at 'em. I'm not done!"

"Oh, you’re done," Bucky set you on your feet while Steve still lay disheveled on the mat.

"I’m gonna get all of you," you vowed as you straightened your clothes. "You’re all complicit."

Tony raised a finger. "Um, I actually-"

"Obviously not you, Tony!"

"Hey. You could've said the word at any time," Bucky smirked, shrugging, pulling Steve to his feet by the metal hand he offered.

You glared murder at all of them. Until your eyes landed on Loki.

He hadn’t moved.

That’s when you saw it.

The glint behind the calm. A flicker of something low and heated, still burning from the intensity of before.

Your stomach turned when you realised; you never surrendered... so he never won.

He looked at you, head tilted, mouth curved ever-so-slightly at the corner. Not smug. No. This wasn’t arrogance.

It was unfinished business.

You glared, pointing a shaky finger. "There will be retribution."

He inclined his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours. "I’ll be waiting."

You turned slowly to the rest of them, accusing finger sweeping.

"You’re all going down for this."

Bucky raised his hands. "Worth it."

Thor clapped a hand on your back that nearly knocked you over. "You lasted valiantly, dear friend."

You ignored him. "FRIDAY," you barked, steadying yourself. "Mark these bastards for revenge."

"Noted," she replied helpfully.

Tony rubbed his eyes, muttering, "You people have too much time on your hands. I should start charging rent."

But rest of them laughed at your threat. As if they weren't the slightest bit afraid.

You clenched your fists.

And then you smiled.

Sharp. Dangerous.

"You’re all gonna wish I’d said cucumber."

.

.

PART TWO (your revenge) coming soon

.

it came to a head after the work party that night. after going back and forth with him for hours in front of all your exasperated colleagues, you decided that you were done being social and had retreated to your room at headquarters. you wanted to change into something more comfortable, slip off your heels and evening dress in exchange for comfortable pajamas and slippers.

but then, just as you were about to hit the showers and call it a night, you heard a loud knock at your door.

to your disdain, you discovered that it was gojo on the other side of the door, staring you down with his dark glasses hanging over the bridge of his nose, revealing the ravenous look in his cerulean blue eyes. which led to the heated exchange you were having now.

"what the hell do you want?" you frown. "i'm sure there's some poor naive girl out there somewhere, just waiting for a text back from the 'world's strongest sorcerer'. why don't you go bother her?"

you say it mockingly, but he just laughs it off. per usual.

"the other ladies can wait," he smiles. "i'm all yours tonight."

"ew. please go away."

you try to close the door on him, but he easily pushes it back open and lets himself inside. the knob hits the wall, leaving a small dent as the door slams shut behind him. you're now alone with gojo satoru, alone where no one can save you.

your heart skips a beat as you stare up at this giant, handsome, behemoth of a man who's eyeing you up like tender meat.

"don't you ever get tired of being an insufferable brat all the time?" he asks in an airy voice, piercing blue eyes fixated upon your own. "there's no way you actually hate me this much."

"leave me the fuck alone!" you snap, backing up as he intrudes on your personal space. with every step you take backwards, he takes a long stride forward, always close enough for your breath to mingle. soon your find yourself at your bedroom doorway, just a few feet away from the bed. and you know if he makes it there, it'll be the end for you.

"you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you sick."

you finally stumble and fall onto the bed, and he takes the opportunity to crawl over you. he grins down with glee. you glare up at him with contempt.

"not even in your wildest dreams."

he leers at you from his massive height with a terrifying, threatening look. as if he'll pounce at any second.

"i'll do it," he growls, his dropping to a low, deep whisper. "if it means you'll finally shut the fuck up."

"don't fucking touch me."

"or else what?" his playfulness returns in the form of a devious smirk. "you'll scream? cry? moan?"

you fight to stand back up, but he grabs your wrists and pins them besides your head, trapping you in place. and try as you might, you're unable to push him off or gain any leverage.

"i wonder what kinda freaky shit you're into," he ponders while eyeing you up, taking in the sight of your tank top straps sliding off your shoulders and the hem of your shirt riding up. "come on, be a good girl and tell daddy all about your sick, twisted fantasies."

"fuck off!!"

"that's it, keep fighting. just like that," he giggles, a deranged smile spread across his handsome face. "i like when you put up a fight."

you curl your legs into your chest and try kneeing him in the gut, but it does little to deter him. instead, he simply climbs on top of you and straddles your waist, leaving you even more exposed and vulnerable. jolts of panic strike through your heart, instilling a strange mix of fear and anticipation within.

you've never seen him this way. so unhinged, out of control, and borderline feral. it's like something inside of him finally snapped, and he could no longer hold himself back. you find yourself struggling to keep up the tough girl act as well.

but you're not quite ready to back down. not yet.

"let go of me," you warn, tugging at your wrists.

"you're not really in a position to make demands, don't you think?" he smiles, leaning down to whisper threats in your ear. "there's no escape now. i can do whatever i want."

his words frighten you, no longer containing the same lightheartedness they usually do. he's serious. he's really going to try something.

so why do you suddenly feel so turned on?

"go to hell."

"only if you're there too, sweetie."

the feeling of his breath against the shell of your ear makes you shudder. of course he notices, his smile widening as he makes his observation.

"oh? are your ears a little sensitive?" he doesn't wait for an answer. his teeth gently sink into your lobe, lips pressed against the delicate skin. you're not prepared for how intense the sensation is and cry out, a mix between a gasp and a moan.

shit.

"ahh," he purrs, soft lips pressing a kiss on the tips of your ears as he speaks. "so this is where you're weak."

before you can spit out a sharp-tongued comeback, he bites down again and elicits more embarrassing sounds out of you. you're desperate not to react too much, biting your lip and holding back the tittered noises emerging from your throat, but it's no use. his slick tongue, the deep baritone of his voice, the feeling of his silky smooth lips on a very sensitive part of you. it's enough to break down the last remnants of your walls. and when he starts to kiss a path down your neck, that's when you finally shatter.

"ahhhh!"

the first little giggle bubbles out. the sound makes him freeze in place, gears turning in his head as he grins down at you hungrily.

"you're ticklish."

you want to die. gojo satoru was the LAST person you wanted to find out about this. your life will never again know peace. but more pressing matters were at hand, such as how quickly he maneuvers his hands and yours to successfully pin them above your head with only one of his own. with his right hand now free, he immediately clamps down on your ribs before you even have a chance to protest. you burst into laughter, unable to even try and hold it back any longer. his nails dance across the dip in your waist, pinching every now and then to throw you off.

"damn, you're really ticklish," he taunts, skittering long fingers from hips to ribs. "you really can't take it at all, can you?"

"fuck you!" you manage to splurt out through panicked laughter, desperately trying to twist your way out of his grip. but it's no use. his immense strength keeps you in place, unable to do much except laugh and squirm. he pokes and prods your underarms, making you scream in an entirely different way from how ticklish the sensation is. now it's impossible to get any words out, with the way you're shrieking and gasping for air.

and he's mocking you. with little tittering noises and a playful giggle. it only makes everything worse. you've never been so humiliated, forced to laugh and struggle at the hands of the guy you hated most in the world while he was having the fucking time of his life.

"what an embarrassing weakness to have," he teases, pausing only to push his hands under the hem of your shirt. "i'll have to remember this."

"let me go!" you growl, gasping against when you feel his calloused fingertips glide across your nipples. they get hard almost instantly, extra sensitive now that your nerve endings are electrified from the tickling.

"not until you get rid of that rotten attitude of yours."

he teases your nipples for some time, stroking the sensitive patches underneath your breasts as well before sliding his hands down your stomach. he ghosts his fingers across your skin, barely touching you yet causing you to squirm and whimper. that evil ass grin returns as he plots his next attack.

"i'm barely doing anything, and you're already such a mess," his relentless taunting continues as he softly tickles your belly, tracing light paths along the waistband of your shorts and circles around your navel. it's almost worse than how he was tickling you before. it's maddeningly gentle, too much for you to handle in your weakened state. you giggle uncontrollably, feeling silly about how easily he's taking you down.

"if i knew it was this easy to break you, i would've done it a lot sooner," he hums cheerfully, tormenting you further by spidering your lower belly.

"f... fuck..." you barely have the energy to talk back.

but then things take a turn for the worse. he slips his hand down your shorts and discovers...

"...oh?"

shit. SHIT. you're soaking wet. there's no hiding it now. he looks back at you, smirking like a devil.

"you actually like this? adorable."

the tickling begins anew, but this time he lets go of his vice grip and uses both hands. even with your wrists free, there's little you can do to stop him from tickling every inch of you. his hands clamp around your sides, fingers drilling into the back of your ribs until you scream. they sneak into your pits, still tickling even after you yank your arms down in a futile attempt to protect your weak spots. you're laughing harder than ever, unable to do so much as beg or plead. it feels like it goes on forever, until you feel one of his hands brush against your mound again. the feeling of him gently rubbing your swollen bud melts your laughter into moans. the sounds mix together as his hands work their magic.

"that's right, baby," he coos, circling his thumb on your bud and pushing two long fingers inside your wet hole. "keep making those pretty little noises for me."

you can't hold yourself back. he's curling his fingers against your walls, massaging that spot until you're singing like a bird. it's not long until you cum hard, squirting all over his hand and onto the bed sheets beneath you. he's grinning victoriously, yet another conquest that'll go straight to his head.

your eyes roll back into your head, and you sigh in defeat.

but he's not done yet. the sound of rustling clothes bring your attention back to him, and in a few moments he's huddled over you again, this time shirtless, clad only his black boxers. he soon yanks them down, freeing his dick from its confines. and damn, is he big. you finally understand where the cockiness comes from. he's a good 8 or 9 inches, with a thick girth and pale skin a full shade lighter than the rest of his skin. it's curved to one side, and you see the tip already leaking precum. he tears off your shorts next, then your shirt, faster than you can blink.

and then, he presses the tip against your hole.

you cry out loudly, the feeling of him inside you sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your body. he goes slowly, taking his time to enjoy the feeling of your tight walls clenched around his massive dick, groaning as it pulses within. after a few slow strokes to get you warmed up, he finally starts pumping in and out at a steady pace.

"fuck..." he groans. "you feel so fucking good, baby..."

your lips part, and moans falling from your lips like quiet dewdrops. his hands rest on your waist, holding you in place and tickling you slowly to turn you on even more. you let out airy giggles, involuntarily clenching around his dick. realizing this, he tickles harder, leaning forward and digging into your underarms to make you struggle and thrash even more. he gets creative and lifts your ankles, resting them on his shoulders and granting him easy access. he tickles your feet too, alternating between kissing and licking and stroking his nails down your soles while thrusting into you.

it's too much stimulation. you cackle, moan, and whimper, feeling overwhelmed at how intense everything feels. it's like your entire body is electrified.

when he gets close, he suddenly pulls out, droplets of sweat falling onto your skin and mixing with your own. then, in a flash, he flips you onto your stomach, pulling your hips against his so he can fuck you from the back. you let out gasp after gasp as he hits you deep, the sound of skin smacking together and moans harmonizing filling the room. and once again, he tickles as he fucks you, dancing his fingers up and down your sides while you're completely helpless. you collapse forward, succumbing to the sensations, too weak to even struggle.

he pumps into you harder, faster, until he finally bursts and cums inside you. his warm cum fills you up, so much that it leaks from your hole when he pulls out. sweaty, exhausted, and out of breath, you lay there limp with messy hair strewn about your face and mouth agape, desperate for air. he collapses beside you, not nearly as winded as you but still just as flushed and damp.

"well?" he turns towards you, wrapping his long arms around your body. "is the snotty princess finally satisfied?"

you let him pull you into his embrace, finding comfort in its large expanse. you press your butt up against his dick, which throbs a little as he grinds back into you. a million thoughts swirl through your mind, nerve endings still on fire from all the stimulation. you just fucked the guy you hate most. and it was amazing. and now you were cuddling. how the hell did this happen?

and were you truly satisfied with just one round?

you mull it over for a few moments before responding to him with two little words, closing the casket on your own tomb.

"eat me."

a wide, sadistic smirk curls the corners of his lips upward. he bites down on your ear, locks his hands around your waist once more, and chuckles when he hears your giggles renewed.