#wlwdrabbles

One of the first things that Simon, Nick, and her had learned about Abby was that she was very touchy. She loved to hug, link pinkies, poke, and snuggle up to them. With no shame, mind you.

Although Leah never voiced her discomfort, Abby seemed to sense it and backed off, focusing her attention more closely on the boys, which actually just made Leah jealous, though at the time she had no idea why. Watching Abby sit on Nick’s lap, or play with Simon’s hair, or tickle the two of them made her stomach flip upside down. 

Just a year later though, Abby was not focused on Nick or Simon or Garret or Cam or anyone else but Leah. And, like, school and stuff too. But her affection was still prominent towards everyone; just double the amount towards Leah.

And fuck, it felt good. After years of shying away from most touch, it felt so nice to sink into someone’s arms after a long day. To hug, to kiss, to cuddle. Ugh. It was so cheesy she could puke. But it was true.

“You’re the only one I trust to do this,” Leah mumbled softly one evening, curled up beside Abby, a blanket thrown over their laps and Netflix playing softly on the TV, though that had about one percent of their attention.

“Do what?” Abby asked.

“Just…this. To cuddle with, and all this cheesy couple shit. I used to be grossed out by the idea. But you make it nice.”

Abby put a hand over her heart, a smile curling genuinely on her soft, plump lips. “Aw, Leah! That’s so gay.”

“Bi,” Leah corrected with a cheeky grin.

“My apologies. Bi,” she said, poking Leah’s side.

Leah giggled and batted her away. “If you were anyone else, I’d have kicked you in the face for trying that by now.”

“Trying to what? Tickle you?” Abby asked, raising her eyebrows as if being challenged.

“Yeah, that. Don’t push your luck though. I almost broke Simon’s nose in eighth grade.”

“Really?”

Leah nodded.

Abby tilted her head for a moment, as if weighing the pros and cons of the situation. Clearly, the pro of hearing Leah laugh hysterically was worth having her nose broken, because she pounced with a hilarious mock-battle cry.

Leah didn’t break her nose, nor did she kick her in the face. Or punch, hit, elbow, etc. She just laid back and laughed, though with a good amount of squirming.

It was just as romantic to them as candles or fairy lights.

Their kisses were still clumsy, but eager. It was probably the millionth time they’d kissed, but they didn’t seem to be getting much better at it. Maybe it was the overwhelming excitement that made them unable to properly do it.

Was there even a proper way to kiss? Marin wasn’t sure. Even if it wasn’t proper, kissing Mabel was perfect.

Despite the cold, their shirts were pushed up and pants down, if not totally pulled off. There was always the lingering fear they’d be caught, but that only added to the adrenaline rushing through their veins.

Mabel’s fingers were cold as the ran up Marin’s back, unclasping her bra. Marin’s own fingers trailed over Mabel’s rib cage and down her sides. She wasn’t expecting Mabel to pull away with a loud laugh that cut through the quiet of the night like a knife.

“That tickles!” she said, softer now, realizing how it seemed to echo in the quiet. Her cheeks were flushed, a wild grin on her face, her clothes disheveled and half-off. Marin thought she had never looked prettier.

“Sorry,” Marin replied softly. In any other situation, Marin would have tackled her back against the sand and made her laugh until she begged for mercy, but the night was too still, too quiet, too calm.

Mabel slowly made her way back into her arms, their lips connecting once again, Marin’s hands still wandering with a slightly firmer touch, and it seemed to work alright, because there weren’t any more sudden laughs and jerks.

Part of Marin wished it wasn’t so secretive. She wanted to do this in bed, in their own little shoe box apartment in a city, close the blinds, take off their clothes without fear of being seen. She wanted to pin Mabel down and make her laugh without fear of being heard.

“Oops,” Luna said innocently, but she was grinning, purposefully scribbling her fingers over Ginny’s neck this time, abandoning her original task.

Ginny squealed before dissolving into laughter, her shoulders rising to try and protect the sensitive area and failing miserably. Her neck had always been one of her most ticklish spots, which Luna often took advantage of. Ginny wasn’t surprised she’d taken this opportunity to do so.

“Cuhut it out!”

“But you’re cute,” Luna teased, letting one hand move to squeeze her side instead, making her twitch away with a squeak.

“Please!”

“Oh, fine!”

“You’re ticklish?”

“Luna, don’t-”

But her half-hearted plea was ignored as Luna tackled her back against the bed, causing the things on her shelves to tumble to the floor. Thankfully, nothing was fragile or breakable, so damage to her belongings was the last thing on her mind.

Luna wasn’t like her brothers. They would have already dug their fingers into her sides, merciless and playful. But Luna was gentle, pushing the hem of Ginny’s top up, letting her fingers run over her skin, feather-light. 

She couldn’t tell which was more torturous.

“Ginny, is everything alright up there?” Molly’s voice called from down the crooked staircase, likely concerned by all the banging.

“I’m fine!” Ginny managed to yell back, “Everything’s under control!”, before dissolving into fit of giggles that she tried to muffle in her hand. 

Luna’s fingers had switched to running up and down her sides, applying a bit more pressure, and Ginny lost all composure.

“How did I not know you were ticklish?” Luna asked, sounding generally distressed at the fact.

“Never cahame up in conversation I guess!” she replied.

“You’re not fighting back,” the blonde pointed out, causing Ginny’s cheeks to flush.

“I don’t wanna huhurt you!” she defended, though she knew Luna would see right through her lie, as always.

“Sure,” Luna teased. “But I think you like this.”

“Luna, please!”

And then, Ginny’s door swung open, leaving an extremely flustered Mrs Weasley standing in the doorway. 

“Oh! Sorry, I heard all the noise and wanted to- Sorry. I’ll uh- leave you girls alone,” she said, visibly flustered. In her defense, the situation looked a lot worse than it really was. The two of them in Ginny’s bed, Luna straddling her waist, Ginny breathless and blushing…

She all but darted out of the room, leaving an equally embarrassed Ginny and Luna to burst into giggles at their own expense.

As Ginny looked up at Luna, her hair hanging in her face as she giggled, she couldn’t help but sit up and kiss her. And Luna kissed back.

The microwave beeped, and Ginny turned to retrieve her hot pockets, biting into one. She looked like a mess; she had bags under her eyes and a messy bun, standing in the dim light of the kitchen, eating a fucking pizza hot pocket at three am. 

Luna sighed, walking over to her and taking the plate from her hands, placing it on the counter. “Come to bed, you can finish your essay tomorrow. You look exhausted.”

“I just have one more page-”

“Bed.”

“Make me.”

Luna smirked. She was going to regret saying that. Without warning, hands flew to squeeze at Ginny’s hips, squeezing and making the redhead shriek. It was in that moment, they were both extremely thankful they no longer lived on campus, or they would surely be getting noise complaints.

“Luna, dohon’t!”

“I’ll stop if you promise to come to bed.”

“Just one mohore page!”

“Nope!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll come to bed, just no mohore!”

Luna, giggling at her girlfriend, stopped her tickling. “Good.”

“Wait…Can I finish my hot pockets first?”

She sighed. “Fine. Can I have one?”

“Stop hitting me!” Wendla said, turning to frown at her girlfriend, who had thrown a pillow at her, hitting her right in the butt as she bent down to grab a blanket. 

Ilse grinned. “Sorry,” she replied, obviously not sorry at all.

Wendla stuck her tongue out at her before turning to throw the blanket over the back of the couch, only to immediately be hit again with a pillow.

“That’s it!”

This was a familiar scene. Ever since they were little, tickle fights were a common occurrence, even more so when Melchior and Moritz had been involved. The four of them could roll around on the floor, fingers flying and laughter ringing for hours, until they were all red-faced, breathless, teary-eyed, and exhausted.

She pounced at the redhead, pushing her down onto the pile of pillows, fingers digging into her thighs and squeezing rapidly, relishing in the way her legs twitched and kicked and the way her mouth fell open in hysterical laughter that, though Wendla couldn’t hear, she knew was beautiful. She could just tell by the way Ilse’s was thrown back as she smiled, and how her eyes shut and her nose crinkled and her chest heaved, and how she squirmed with no success in escaping. It was all beautiful.

But she didn’t get to relish in it long, because Ilse’s own fingers quickly found her sides, making her shriek and dissolve into her own fit of laughter, her grip on her girlfriend’s thighs faltering. 

Ilse quickly gained the upper hand, flipping their positions so she was straddling Wendla’s waist, fingers slipping under her shirt to scribble over her bare sides, watching how she didn’t even curl up to protect herself. She laid there and took it, and Ilse knew she was loving every second of it. 

Wendla’s laugh was hoarse, and a little weak, but it was the most adorable sound Ilse had ever heard. She couldn’t help but giggle along with it.

Wendla let it go on until she couldn’t breathe, loving the way Ilse’s hands sent sparks through her as they tickled every where they could reach; she was ticklish basically everywhere anyway. 

Finally, she cried out for mercy, her hands too occupied to sign, and Ilse did, leaning down to kiss the residual giggles from her mouth.