fickle-tiction

[fickle-tiction]

you are the only person I can share these cute observations with so sorry if this is random. but I noticed that Rhett is more sensitive to lighter tickles and kinda has a soft rumbling laugh and reaction to them, while Link is more susceptible to harder tickles and is extremely squirmy. It is so fitting for them both and very cute.

this made my day. I feel SEEN thank you anon I love you

[fickle-tiction]

“So, what’s this I hear about you being deathly ticklish?”

Years of training was the only thing that kept Bruce from freezing in his tracks at the voice suddenly inches from his ear. He continued tightening the small screw on his grappling hook, ignoring the sudden pounding of his heart.

"Deathly is a stretch." Maybe if he didn't turn around Diana would get bored and walk away.

"But the 'ticklish' part is not?" Naturally, Diana reached over and goosed Bruce's side when she said 'ticklish'.

Despite the fact that he was expecting the touch, Bruce still flinched away from the nimble fingers gently pinching in just the right spot to make him squirm. He sighed, knowing she wouldn't drop this any time soon. "Who have you been talking to?" He asked, setting his tools down and turning so he was face-to-face with his assailant.

Bruce never failed to surprise Diana. She was expecting him to lie, or threaten to kill Clark. She did not think he would accept defeat so easily. "Is this common knowledge?" Diana asked, wearing a sly smile. "Why am I just now finding out about it?"

"It's on a need-to-know basis." Bruce was too experienced to dart his eyes around in his search for escape. He already knew Diana would be able to read his next move before he even decided on one. Now his only goal was to mitigate the damage she was sure to inflict upon his ego.

"And Clark needs to know, but I do not?" Uh oh. That was a dangerous tone. Bruce did not like being on the receiving end of that one bit.

"Clark doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself."

"Unfortunately for you, we share that trait."

Bruce was too dignified to try to run away, but that didn't mean he had to just lay down and take it. When Diana reached out a hand, presumably to latch onto his sides, Bruce seized her by the wrist. He was in the process of throwing her over his shoulder when Diana's free hand found it's way to his topmost ribs.

Bruce bit his tongue in his haste to stifle his laughter, but he could not hide the full body flinch from Diana's keen gaze.

"So it's true!" She laughed with delight. She easily pulled her hand free and crowded Bruce against his workbench, hands roaming over his torso in search of a better spot that might draw his laughter out.

"Why--are you both--so--fascinated by this?" Bruce was trying to shield as much of his body from Diana's wandering fingers as he could. Unfortunately for him, Diana was faster. When he drew his arms in to protect his ribs, she tickled at his stomach. When he pushed her hand away to shield his stomach, she wiggled quick fingers under his chin. When he shrieked and slammed his chin down towards his chest...well, her eyes lit up and she chased after that sound.

"This is why." Diana laughed as she gently tickled at the thin skin of Bruce's neck. His shoulders had come up to try and protect his neck, and he had both hands latched around Diana's wrists. Diana didn't seem to mind, ignoring his attempts to stop her and testing to see if his ears were as bad as his neck.

They were worse.

"Diana!" Bruce gasped, jerking away from the nails gently scratching the shell of both ears. The laughter she had been so desperate to hear finally came out, and Bruce was helpless to stop the onslaught of giggles pouring out of him.

"Clark did not mention this." Batman was not only giggling, but blushing. His cheeks had taken on a soft pink glow, and the hapless smile stretched across his face seemed to take 10 years off him.

"Dihihihihi come o-hahaha-on!"

Diana decided to take pity on him, and move on. She quickly tickled down his neck, across his collar bones, down his ribs, ending at his stomach.

"Jehehehe-Jesus Chri-hihihihihi-st!" Bruce cackled, practically folding in two at the onslaught of sensations.

"Clark only spoke of your stomach being sensitive." Diana was deftly avoiding Bruce's hands once again. "We will have to compare notes later."

Bruce shook his head, not confident that he could form any words between his near-constant laughter. He couldn't slip past Diana, though not for lack of trying, and he couldn't catch her hands long enough to gather his sanity. There was only one other tactic he could think of. Bruce darted his own hands out, latched onto Diana's sides, and squeezed as fast as he could.

"Bruce!" Diana gasped, hands finally leaving his body as she drew her arms inwards to protect her sides.

"Does Clark know about this?" Bruce was panting as he caught his breath, but he did not slow down his attack. When Diana brought her arms in to block her sides, Bruce went for her stomach. When she laughed and gently pushed him away, his hands darted up to her neck. When that didn't get a response beyond her pushing his hands away, Bruce seized his opportunity and buried his hands into her armpits, fingers wiggling furiously.

"Ohohohoh my!" Diana laughed, jerking away from Bruce to try and protect herself. Bruce followed after her, using her distraction and his bulk to his advantage and wrapping Diana in a bear-hug from behind.

"Not so fast, Princess." Bruce had his left arm wrapped around Diana's waist, and was squeezing her hip. His right arm was stretched across her torso, and his hand was buried in her left armpit.

"You--are--terrible!" Diana laughed, hands loosely wrapped around Bruce's wrists as she let her laughter flow freely. It was not lost on him that she was allowing him to get his so-called revenge.

"You started it!" Bruce pointed out, walking his left hand up Diana's side, gently digging into her ribs at random.

"Actually," A voice said in Bruce's ear, causing him to let go of Diana and whirl around, a batarang appearing in his hand from seemingly thin air. "I did." Clark smirked, unphased as the sharp blade was held to his throat.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Bruce grouched, the batarang disappearing just as fast as it had appeared.

"Clark, you must see this." Was all the warning Bruce got before those damn nails were back to dancing across the shells of his ears.

"Son of a bihihihihihihitch!" The laughter was once again pouring freely from Bruce. He knocked Diana's hands away and clamped his hands over his ears to keep them safe. "I thought that was going to be our little secret?" He had to turn to say this to Diana, and that's when he realized just how close the two of them were standing. One look at their faces, and he knew it was not an accident that they were crowding him between them. "....now wait a minute."

"I call his stomach." Diana's snaked around him as she drew his back against her chest.

"Clark, if we work together we can take her down." Clark looked like he might be considering it, but Bruce couldn't be sure because Diana's fingers were suddenly wriggling into his armpits as soon as he finished speaking.

"Tempting, but I've never seen you laugh before." Diana eased up, not wanting to overwhelm Bruce. Tickling him would not be any fun if it was overstimulating. "I call his neck." If Diana's smile had been scary, Clark's was downright terrifying.

"Di, we can definitely take him down together." Bruce's eyes stayed fixed on Clark's hands, and when he reached out for him Bruce did his best to flatten himself against Diana to get as far away as he could.

"Oh, so you're ticklish and a traitor." Clark didn't seem at all bothered by the hands gripping his wrists. "That calls for drastic measures."

"I hate both of you." Was the last coherent thing Bruce said for quite a while. It turns out deathly ticklish was a fitting description after all.

[fickle-tiction]

66+67 Superbat if thats not too greedy lol (if it is chef plz feel free to take the food from my plate)

So I combined all the prompts I got so far and wrote a fic. Thank you for sending some in!!!

[fickle-tiction]

42? Superbat?

I combined all of my prompts and wrote a fic!! Thank you!

[fickle-tiction]

The Scientific Method

“Don’t tell me you’re ticklish?!” “Well now, that seems like wishful thinking.” "No way, are you crying/begging?"

"Clark!" Bruce barked, his body jerking away without his consent and sending his hips crashing into the workbench in front of him. Everything in him was screaming at him to try to sink through the floor, even as he turned to face Clark with a glare that has sent plenty of men running. He kept his blush at bay through sheer stubbornness. He would not help Clark by embarrassing himself any further.

"Bruce." Clark breathed, a Cheshire cat grin slowly stretching over his face. His hand was still hovering midair, where moments ago he bad reached out a hand to steady Bruce as he prepared to slip by him. He was utterly caught off guard by the gasp and flinch combo that it caused. "Don't tell me you're ticklish..?!" He said slowly, as new pathways formed in his brain, mapping out all the possibilities this discovery just opened up.

"Okay, I won't." Bruce huffed, making sure to knock shoulders with Clark as he stalked past him. Well. That had been the plan, anyway. Unsurprisingly, he was stopped by the solid wall of muscle that was Clark Kent's chest.

"Not so fast." Clark was meeting Bruce's every attempt to get around him with a simple side-step to keep him backed up to the table. "I have a hypothesis. What kind of scientist would I be if I didn't run some tests?"

Bruce glared at the cocky smirk Clark was throwing his way. He was suddenly regretting his earlier refusal to come upstairs for dinner, informing Clark that he was running an experiment and it would be a waste if he didn't run his labs and test out his hypothesis. Of course, Bruce being Bruce, he spoke to Clark like he was 4 years old when he said all of this, and now it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

"One that doesn't get a chunk of kryptonite shoved into a very painful orifice."

"B, I love it when you talk dirty to me."

The indignity of Clark getting the last word was almost worse than the utter humiliation Bruce felt when a shriek left his mouth without his permission. It sounded somewhat like "Clark" and somewhat like a banshee.

"My hypothesis is that Bruce Wayne, The Dark Knight, Terror of Gotham, is secretly a ticklish softy." Clark had to raise his voice to be heard over the strangled laughter pouring out of Bruce, and the clatter of equipment on the table that was being jostled by his violent squirming.

"i'm go-hohoho-ing to fucking ki-hihihihihi-ll you." Bruce was doing his best to growl through what seemed like endless waves of laughter. Clark's arms were wrapped around his middle, one hand squeezing up and down his flank as the fingers on his other hand gently scratched any surface they could reach.

"Test number one: complete." Clark eased up on his tickling, allowing Bruce to catch his breath. It did nothing to slow the wild hammering of his heart, but he wasn't struggling against Clark's loose hold, so he figured it was more out of embarrassment than it was fear or discomfort. "Your sides are ticklish." He informed Bruce, smirking at the growl rumbling in his chest.

"Great. Are we done here?"

"What's the rush? You seemed to want to take your time earlier."

"That was important-"

"So is this. Diana's going to want to know if you have a human side after-all."

Bruce's response was once again cut off as one of Clark's hands migrated to stomach, fingers gently prodding into the muscles there.

"Test number Two: Does the Batman have a ticklish tummy?" Clark laughed in delight when Bruce's ears instantly burned red.

"This. Is. So. Childish." Bruce said through gritted teeth, refusing to let the laughter flow as he struggled against the arm wrapped around his torso and holding him in place.

"Maybe if I introduce a new variable." Clark pretended like he was talking to himself, but it was very much said to mess with Bruce. He yanked Bruce's shirt out of the waistband of his pants, smirking when Bruce cursed lowly and flexed his stomach muscles as Clark's hand made contact with his bare skin. "Yes, this should do." Clark mused, reveling in the muffled laughter already coming from Bruce before he even began moving his fingers.

"You're such a di-hihihihihihi-ck." Bruce laughed, trying a new tactic by burrowing his body backwards into Clark's chest. Naturally, that just made it easier for Clark's fingers to roam across his stomach, making a quick detour into the caverns of his bellybutton and spending some time there when Bruce squeaked.

"Wow." Clark laughed, mercifully giving Bruce a break after a few seconds of that treatment. "I didn't know you could make that noise, B."

"I am going to drown you in a pool of liquified kryptonite." The fact that he was practically boneless as he leaned back against Clark's chest when there was nothing keeping him there took some of the heat out of his words.

"Test number Two: Complete. The Batman does indeed have a ticklish tummy." Clark's laugh was cut short by the elbow jabbing sharply into his gut. "If you wanted to do a third test, you just had to ask. No need to get violent." Clark's arms once again wrapped around Bruce's torso so he couldn't leave, and Bruce was kicking himself for not pulling away when he had the chance.

"Now where to perform a third test." Clark hummed, resting his chin on Bruce's shoulder as he scanned his friend's body. His feet would be the obvious next choice, but he was enjoying having Bruce pulled flush to his chest, and more than that it seemed like Bruce didn't mind the position either. He didn't want to go and spoil it by laying him out on the floor to torment his feet. That just seemed cruel.

"How about I run a test on you, so we can compare data?" Bruce suggested, testing the strength of Clark's deceivingly loose hold. Unsurprinsingly the arms around him did not budge.

"Well now, that seems like wishful thinking." Clark huffed out a laugh, breath tickling over Bruce's neck and sending the taller man lurching away with a gasp. "Oh?" He asked, chest filled with glee as a blush quickly appeared on Bruce's neck and continued onto his cheeks.

"No." This was the first time Bruce sounded serious, which Clark deduced meant it was a well-known spot. "Clark." He already sounded like he was trying to hold his laughter at bay, and Clark had yet to do anything but tighten his arms around Bruce's waist so he couldn't slip away.

"Bruce? Anything you want to tell me before I run my final test?" This was said into the side of Bruce's neck, setting off an immediate bout of squirming and high-pitch sounds that the dark knight could not keep in despite his closed mouth.

"I will give you a million dollars to forget this ever happened."

"Well now my curiosity is piqued." Bruce was doing his best to knock Clark's face away using his own head, his body squirming at the feeling of Clark's lips just barely ghosting over the delicate skin of his neck. "How does the whole playboy thing work, if people can't even touch your neck?" This was emphasized by Clark suddenly freeing up one of his hands to drag a single finger down the other side of Bruce's neck. Bruce shouted, nervous laughter bursting out of him for a second before he got it somewhat under control.

"They usually take the money." He was still too proud to admit he didn't let his guard down like this in front of most people, thus they never got a chance to see this side of him. (The rare times someone did tickle him, whether on purpose or by accident, they didn't have the ability to hold him down and make him take it. And, wow, he would be exploring his feelings about this later. Alone.)

Clark purposefully laughed into Bruce's neck, and then laughed some more at the giggles Bruce had no choice but to let out. "You know I have to do this, right?" He was still speaking directly into Bruce's neck, and Bruce's sanity was hanging on by a thread.

"Do wh-hahahaha-what?" Bruce asked, knowing he probably would not like the answer. Or, even worse, he would like it and would have to address those feelings, at least to himself.

"Something tells me no one has ever done this to you before." And if Clark was right then he was in for a real treat. "I'm so happy I could be your first, B."

This whole thing with Clark getting the last word was really starting to grate on Bruce's nerves. He could not dwell on it though, because Clark's lips were suddenly on his neck and he was blowing hard, lips vibrating against his sensitive nerve endings. This was it. After 20+ years of being Batman, Bruce was finally going to die in the line of battle (because this meant war, Clark.)

"StopStopStopStopStopStopStop" Bruce chanted, wild laughter bursting out of him. He was trying to fold in half to escape the endless raspberry, but Clark's arms were stubbornly holding him up. Bruce's eyes were squeezed shut, and he could feel something wet running down his face. He shrieked when he felt fingers dancing along his collarbone on the opposite side of his neck, and it felt like the nervous laughter bubbling out of him would never end. "Cla-hahahaha-rk ple-hehe-please please!"

Clark had paused to draw a breath he didn't need, knowing the anticipation of it would mess with Bruce even more. He stopped when he noticed the tears gathering in the corners of Bruce's eyes, a few having leaked down across his cheeks. "Are you crying?" He asked, arms immediately letting go of their hold on Bruce's torso.

"Shut up." Bruce muttered, no real heat in his words as he wiped at his eyes, staring at the salty liquid on his fingers. He felt his face grow impossibly hotter at the realization that he had in fact been crying, albeit unknowingly.

"Did I go too far?" Clark seemed to shrink in on himself, no part of his body touching Bruce's as the other man quickly gained control over his breathing again. "It was just..so unexpected. I didn't mean to.." He trailed off, suddenly embarrassed at the state he left Bruce in.

Bruce's cheeks were still dusted with pink, there were tears still gathering in the corners of his eyes, the front of his shirt had been unceremoniously yanked out of his pants and left untucked, and his hair had fallen out of it's carefully tousled style. He looked wrecked, for lack of a better term. He also looked confused at the sudden loss of arms around his torso. And why did Clark look like a kicked puppy?

Bruce stared at Clark in silence, taking in the nervous expression on the other man's face. His arms were drawn in close to his sides, back slightly hunched as though he were trying to make himself appear smaller. The uncertainty and guilt were written clearly on his face. It was clear that the "no-touching" signals Bruce usually threw off were causing him to think he overstepped. The embarrassing accidental tears and begging probably didn't help.

"Have you drawn your conclusion?" Bruce asked, voice a bit scratchy due to the unexpected and unusual amount of laughter.

"I--look, I'm sorry. I got carried away, but I can forget this ever happened."

Bruce raised a single eyebrow at that. "It's too late for that." Clark seemed to hunch in on himself even more. Bruce ran a hand through his hair to attempt a quick fix before sticking his hands in his pockets and leaning casually against the workbench. "The money's off the table. You blew it." An easy smile appeared on his face as Clark uncurled himself at the playful tone.

"You're not...mad?"

"Oh, if you ever touch my neck again I will find a way to kill you." Bruce said it so matter-of-fact that Clark couldn't help the surprised laugh that slipped out.

"Noted." Clark would definitely be tickling his neck again, and they both knew it. Bruce all but gave him permission to do so. "Stomach and sides are fine, though?" He teased, taking a step closer with his hand outstretched.

Bruce's muscles tensed up, but he remained leaning against the desk for appearances sake. "Not if you want to keep that hand."

Clark let it drop...for now. "To answer your question; yes. I did reach my conclusion. I have to amend my hypothesis, though." Clark smirked at Bruce's enquiring sound. "You are extremely ticklish." Bruce grunted at that, his trademark scowling making a reappearance. "And a big softy."

"I think you're the first person to ever call me that." Bruce mused, slapping Clark's hand away when he stretched a finger out towards his neck.

"I made you cry from tickling and you forgave me a minute later." Clark was delighted to see a pink dusting gracing Bruce's ears and cheeks again.

"I wasn't crying." Bruce scoffed. "My eyes were watering from the unexpected sensation of...whatever that was."

"The raspberry?" Clark asked, amusement written clear on his face.

"The--" Bruce stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry, partly to explain it, but mostly to make Clark laugh.

"Oh, this is the start of something special, B." Clark sighed, clapping Bruce on the shoulder. "I take back my earlier statement." Bruce resisted the urge to shrug Clark's hand off his shoulder. "I have not yet reached a conclusion. This question requires further research."

That got Bruce moving. He stood up straight, hands coming out of his pockets as he put a few feet of space between them. "Alfred will kill us if we're late for dinner."

"Dinner was 2 hours ago." Clark informed a genuinely surprised-looking Bruce. He really did lose all track of time when he was working. "Anyway, my research was incomplete. I can't determine if you're ticklish without testing all available variables."

"I could just tell you." Bruce offered, hastily taking a few steps back when Clark slowly started advancing on him.

"That would be corrupted data. You're biased. I need to run my own experiments." Clark put on a small burst of speed to deposit Bruce onto the couch he and Diana bullied him into putting into the cave.

"What are you--CLark! Leave my shoes alone!" Clark was sitting on Bruce's shins, slowly untying his laces and slipping his shoes off his feet.

"It's for Science, B! Now tell me, on a scale of your sides to your neck, where does this land."

Bruce's cursing and muffled laughter echoed off the walls of the cave.

[fickle-tiction]

What fandoms are you writing for for the drabble ask thingy?

Preferably anything to do with Bruce Wayne, but I'm open to suggestions. I used to write for Star Trek and McKirk a bit.

[fickle-tiction]

Maybe if people send some in my Brain will start functioning again

Or maybe I'll be consumed by guilt because I can't get myself to respond and I'll up and die.

Only one way to find out.

TheBest-Medicine’s Spectacular Summer

Sentence Starter TickleFic Prompts:

Please feel free to send in ideas / fandoms / pairings / prompts including these or use them yourself as some inspiration for some writing or art! honestly I wanted an excuse and some guidance to write out some more tickle fic ideas I’ve been having lately. So anyway here’s 105 fic starters / prompts (somebody stop me).

“Was that a giggle just now?”

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?

“Come any closer and I will end you.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have done that..” / “Oh, you shouldn’t have said that..”

“No, I’m just- uh- sensitive.”

“You think you’re real tough, huh?”

“No way, you’re ticklish here too?”

“I’ll have you know, I was the reigning tickle fight champion in my house growing up.”

“Did you just… laugh?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Why are you so nervous all of the sudden?”

“So, what’s this I hear about you being deathly ticklish?”

“I don’t / can’t believe it.”

“Well, well, well… Look what we have here.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Come on, stop it - I’m serious, that really tickles!”

“What’s there to be embarrassed about?”

“I swear on my life, I will kill you.”

“Wait, are you stuck?”

“I will never forgive you for this, you bastard / jerk / dick / asshole / expletive.”

“Big talk for someone so ticklish.”

“Don’t make me make you.”

“Wait a minute, you’re not ticklish, are you?”

“Sounds like someone needs a visit from the tickle monster.”

“Well now you’re just asking for it.”

“Wow. You’re bold.”

“I hope you know that this means war.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be ticklish, would you?”

“Be careful, I’m ticklish (there).”

“Uh oh, someone’s in trouble.”

“Come on, it’s not that bad, is it?”

“Who would have thought a few tickles would be your doom?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You’re in for it as soon as we’re alone.”

“What? Me? Ticklish? As if!”

“A little birdie told me someone has ticklish feet / sides / knees / etc.”

“Wait - no, not that, anything but that!”

“You can’t be serious…”

“What did you just say?”

“I’ve never heard you laugh like that before, it’s nice.”

“I never thought I’d see the day…”

“No way, are you crying / begging?”

“Lighten up, have a laugh!”

“You wouldn’t take advantage (of that knowledge) when I’m stuck like this, right? …Right?!”

“Heh. That all you’ve got?”

“I’m not letting you off that easy.”

“Make me.”

“You would think you’d get less ticklish as you got older, but you’re the opposite!”

“It’s not your fault you’re so ticklish.”

“Please, I can’t take it anymore!”

“Oh you’d like / love that, wouldn’t you?”

“What about (name), (are they) ticklish?” “Huh? What - me?!”

“Hmm, looks like the tables have turned…”

“Oh man, is this a bad spot?”

“Please! I’ll do whatever you want!”

“I never would’ve pegged you as the ticklish type.”

“You better not tell anyone about this.”

“I can think of a few ways to make you talk.”

“Why so nervous?”

“Don’t- don’t you dare! Don’t even t-think about it!”

“You’d better keep quiet.”

“I haven’t seen you smile all day / week!”

“Too bad there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Relax, I’m not gonna kill ya. But I am gonna make you wish you were dead.”

“I just wanna be close to you.”

“Don’t tell me you’re ticklish?!”

“Well now, that seems like wishful thinking.”

“What’s that? Stop saying tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle?”

“You have five seconds to run.”

“Wait, not there - anywhere but there!”

“This isn’t cuddling! This is an attack!”

“As soon as I get out of this I hope you know I’m going to murder you.”

“I hope you’re not too ticklish.”

“Oh man, that looks bad.”

“Uh, oh. Someone’s ticklish.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve been hiding this all this time?!”

“There’s nowhere to hide.”

“Aww, are you blushing? That’s adorable.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“You should know better than to try to keep secrets from me.”

“What did I just say!?”

“You’re not really gonna tickle me, are you?”

“I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“You’d better give up now or this is about to get a lot worse.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Crap. Wait. I didn’t mean that.”

“…That was brutal.”

“We don’t have time for such childish— hey! Stop it!”

“Wait no- Not here- Not now!”

“Just wait until I get you back.”

“Have mercy!”

“Hey are you guys okay? I heard yelling (from the hall / outside) and— oh.”

“Oh? And what if I did?”

“Revenge is so, so sweet.”

“You can’t be serious!?”

“What are you so scared of? It’s just a feather / brush / etc.”

“Oh, sorry, did that tickle?”

“There it is! That laugh is music to my ears.”

“Don’t make me get your (worst spot).”

“Would you just shut up and tickle me already?”

“You’re in for it now!”

“You are so going to regret that.”

“Let’s make it interesting.”

“What, did you think you were just going to get away with that?”

“Hey, a bet’s a bet.”

[fickle-tiction]

Cutest smosh clip ever question mark?

[fickle-tiction]

Smosh

soooo I stumbled across some Smosh videos and it's like all I want to watch now. Imagine my surprise when MUTIPLE INSTANCES of them tickling each other popped up randomly in the tiktoks on my fyp.

If anyone can think of any videos where it happens, and you Want to share so we can yell about it together, I Am Here.

[fickle-tiction]

I second this notion

I fell down a hole of Smosh videos for the first time and was shocked by the sheer amount of tickling that goes on.

please send links

[fickle-tiction]

Training Montage

#AugTickletober2024 Days 13 & 14, Win & Lose

My first tickletober fic of the year, and my first time exploring writing with DC characters! I have been. Hyperfixating on the batfamily (which has broadened to a far larger amount of DC characters now and continues to grow, i will never escape DC lol) since like. June. So this has been a long time coming skjdfhdf

Also this fic features FULLY PLATONIC AND NOT WEIRD parent-child tickles so if that's not your thing this is not your fic!

You can blame this fic on that one quick scene in BTAS episodes Robin's Reckoning where Dick and Bruce are fencing and then start goofing off, and also the part with Bruce and Jason in @/fickle-tiction's fic For Old Time's Sake.

Also, disclaimer: i have only consumed so much canon media, very little of it so far being comics and most of it being DCAU, so my current knowledge of a LOT of these characters is very fanon-based, so the characterization will also be very fanon-based

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Fandom: DC - Batfam

Ship(s): NONE/GEN/PLATONIC - under no circumstances is this Batcest

Characters (lee/ler): Switch!Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian

Word Count: 4609 words

Summary: Snippets of Bruce training with his sons over the years.

[ao3 link]

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Dick’s training was progressing exceptionally well. He had always been fast and agile thanks to his acrobatic upbringing, but he was quick to pick up the offensive and defensive maneuvers Bruce was trying to impart. Still, he was so young. Sometimes Bruce couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing, bringing a child into this life.

It became all too apparent in moments like these, where training suddenly switched from work into play with just a few of Dick’s childish giggles. Bruce couldn’t help the grin they brought to his own face, laughing a little himself as Dick dove into the open space between Bruce’s legs to evade a grapple.

“Okay, now you’re gonna get it,” he said.

Dick kept giggling, the laughter melting into a yelp as Bruce grabbed the edge of the training mat and yanked, sending Dick crashing down onto the plush surface. Bruce launched after him, wiggling fingers outstretched like weapons.

“No fair!” Dick shouted, his giggling bubbling up into full laughter as he tried to squirm away from the hands squeezing his sides. “You cheated!”

“Oh, yeah?” 

He tripped his fingers up to Dick’s ribs, laughing along as Dick flopped around like a fish out of water. It was adorable how uncoordinated Dick became when he was tickled, all that acrobatic control flying out the window. 

“Cheating cheater!” Dick screeched, kicking his legs and rolling onto his back to dislodge Bruce. All he accomplished was opening up his stomach for Bruce to target.

“You’ve got to learn to fight dirty, Dick,” Bruce said, trying to adopt the tone he often used to give corrections in training but falling closer to amused than anything. “A mugger on the street isn’t going to fight fair.”

“A mugger isn’t gonna tickle me, B!” He squealed as Bruce’s hands tried to sneak into his armpits, clamping his arms down tight as if it would do anything to keep Bruce out.

“Hmm, you never know.”

“B!”

Bruce’s own fond laughter was cut short as a small foot caught him in the jaw, sending him down to the floor. Dick really was improving, that kick packed way more punch than any ten year old should. That was definitely going to bruise.

“That’s what you get,” Dick said through his giggles. He sat up as they slowly petered out, eyeing Bruce’s prone form. “Uh, B? You good?”

Quick as lightning, Bruce shot a hand out to wrap around a tiny ankle. He shot Dick his best evil grin. “Not bad. But you’re going to regret that.”

Dick’s squeaky, childish laughter echoed throughout the Cave once more. 

_____

Training with Jason was tricky. When he’d first brought Jason to the Manor, they could hardly share a room without Jason bristling. If he made any sudden movements or showed any signs of anger, Jason tensed and shied away as if preparing for a strike, even if he kept up his hissing and spitting and posturing all the while.

It made sparring quite the issue when preparing Jason to take up the Robin mantle. Initially, Bruce thought it might’ve helped if Dick were around more often – Jason always seemed less wary of him, whether it was the fact that they were closer in age or something else, Bruce had no idea – but these days their arguments were explosive and often had Dick not speaking to him for weeks at a time. 

Unfortunately, as it turned out, Dick being present for training only added to the tension. 

“You need to tuck your legs more for that flip.”

“I fucking know–”

“Language, Jason.”

“Yeah, Jason, language.”

“I’ll show you language–”

“Boys!”

The two snapped their mouths shut, glaring at Bruce, and he had to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh. Maybe Bruce should’ve thought through giving Jason the Robin mantle a little more carefully. Maybe it would’ve minimized the sniping by at least some amount.

“Perhaps we should switch to sparring, for now,” Bruce said. “Who wants to go first?”

Jason’s shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. Unfortunately, due to Dick focusing more on his phone than training, Bruce was the only one to notice.

Dick scoffed. “Yeah, I don’t think so, you big fat cheater.”

Bruce shot Dick a look, but his eyes were still glued to his phone as he lounged across one of the benches. He forced himself to swallow his frustration. He promised Alfred that he’d try his best not to start a fight today – Alfred wanted a family dinner tonight, and Bruce couldn’t deny that the prospect sounded nice.

Bruce led Jason into a spar, both of them tight with tension. Dick split his attention between furiously texting – probably the Teen Titan’s group chat, if Bruce had to guess – and lazily watching their spar. Eventually they managed to settle into a sort of rhythm despite the tension thrumming through them, at least until Bruce brought attention to an open window in Jason’s defense. Of course, he would never hit his children, sparring or not, but instead of the usual controlled tap he would use on Jason, Bruce forgot himself for a moment and delivered a sneaky pinch to Jason’s side.

The squeal that echoed through the Cave’s training grounds got even Dick’s attention, his phone falling smack onto his nose as he fumbled it in surprise. Everyone froze, eyes wide. Jason blinked in Bruce’s direction for a moment before his cheeks flushed bright red, completely detracting from the scowl he twisted his face into.

“I’m not ticklish,” Jason stated, his voice as close to a growl as a pre-pubescent child could get.

It took all of Bruce’s Batman training to fight down his smile. “Of course not. No one said you were.”

Jason crossed his arms over his chest, shuffling his feet. “Good. Because I’m not.”

Dick leaned forward, almost rolling off the bench, a smug smile on his face. Bruce shot him a warning look, and the teasing expression melted into a pout. It seemed as though Bruce wasn’t the only one who got a lecture from Alfred.

“Bruce has always been a dirty cheat,” Dick said instead of whatever taunt he’d cut off. 

Jason turned and blinked at him.

Dick raised his eyebrows. “He’s always been a massive tickle monster.”

“Hey,” Bruce said. “From what I remember, there was a rambunctious little boy who often asked for the tickle monster.”

Dick scowled at him, his own cheeks turning red to match Jason’s. “I did no such thing.” He turned to Jason and shrugged. “He used to do it all the time, he hated pretending to hit me so he always tickled me instead.” His eyes flickered to Bruce for a moment, a smirk growing on his face. “Good thing you’re not ticklish then, huh, Jay?”

“... Right.”

Bruce guided Jason back into the spar. This time, Jason was noticeably looser and more focused. His body still carried some amount of that wary tension, but he was no longer eyeing Bruce like he was a cornered animal. When Jason’s guard slipped again, leaving the same window open, Bruce didn’t hesitate in his attack.

“You need to watch your left,” he instructed, reaching out and squeezing at Jason’s side once more.

Jason let out another loud squeal, making Dick laugh and Bruce fail to shove down another smile. Jason tripped over his own feet as he tried to scramble away and landed on the mat. Bruce followed him down, careful to kneel next to him and leave plenty of openings for Jason to escape if he felt trapped. He wiggled his fingers against Jason’s sides, breaking into a grin at the giggles it produced.

“Bruce!”

Bruce chuckled. “Yes, Jaylad?”

Jason kicked his feet out and curled into a ball as best as he could, but he didn’t roll away from Bruce’s hands or shout at him to stop. Bruce allowed his hands to converge on Jason’s stomach as he uncurled with another kick, earning himself a bout of loud laughter that he’d never heard Jason make before. Jason struggled to thrust a hand out, reaching in Dick’s direction.

“Dick, help me!”

Behind him, Bruce heard the bench shift and the unconscious hums Dick would make when he stretched out his muscles. Then, there was a battle cry and the thudding sound of feet against the training mats.

“I’ll save you, Jay!”

Bruce braced as Dick launched onto his back – DIck definitely wasn’t twelve anymore, and Bruce worried that he’d be feeling that one in the morning – and locked his arms around Bruce’s neck. Jason got a brief reprieve as Bruce flipped Dick over his shoulder, both of them laughing all the while. Dick smacked into the mats next to Jason with a wheeze, and Bruce waited a moment for him to get a breath in before he attacked once more, a set of wiggling fingers for each son.

Dick’s thrashing was chaotic as ever as he cackled, Bruce deciding to be a bit mean and sneak his fingers directly into Dick’s underarm. Jason curled into a giggling little ball once more, jolting as Bruce gently pinched up and down his ribcage.

“B! You asshole!” Dick shrieked.

Bruce laughed. “You brought this on yourself, chum.”

Training with Jason went a lot smoother from then on, and Dick even started coming by more often again – even if it was just to see Jason and avoid Bruce. They never did manage to perfect that double-team attack to get their revenge on Bruce.

_____

Bruce didn’t think he’d ever escape the guilt he felt over how Tim’s training began. He didn’t think he deserved to either, especially when he would find Tim training on his own, working himself to the point of exhaustion or injury in order to achieve perfection. Now that Bruce was in his right mind and would end their joint training sessions at a more reasonable point, Tim would get frustrated with him and slink off to bury himself in cases instead.

When they sparred, there were no taunting remarks, no dirty tactics designed to draw a laugh out of the Batman, no playfulness as they both began to tire out and call an unofficial end to training. Tim took it all so seriously, and it was all Bruce’s fault. He did this to the boy, and now he had to fix it. He couldn’t rely on Dick to fix all the issues his “emotional constipation” caused, no matter how appealing the idea seemed. 

Unfortunately, Bruce was not good with words, and it’s not like Tim would have been likely to listen to them anyways. Fortunately, he has another idea – it’s what made Jason eventually relax in regards to training, at least. Not that Tim was Jason. He was getting better at not making those comparisons anymore.

Though it was a bit hypocritical for him to condemn, Tim had arrived at training that day already noticeably overworked. His moves were sloppy (though sloppy for a Bat was not the same as sloppy for anyone else) and he was clearly frustrated with own mistakes and shortcomings. Tim was good at keeping a lid on his temper, but Bruce could see the tension in his jaw, the furrow in his brow, the tightness in his lips. They had only been training for a fraction of their normal time before Bruce decided to put his plan into motion, unwilling to let Tim drive himself any further into the ground.

Bruce lunged forward, ducking under a sloppy block, and managed to tackle Tim to the mat, taking extra care to protect Tim’s head and neck. Tim grunted as they hit the mat, but immediately set to squirming away instead of tapping out just as Bruce predicted. Instead of grappling him and letting him get in some practice with breaking holds, Bruce levered himself up and immediately set to vibrating his fingers into Tim’s ribs. Tim yelped and and his squirming increased tenfold, his eyes going wide and shocked.

“Bruce! What are you doing?”

Bruce’s lips quirked up. “Your block was sloppy. I’m just showing you where you need to defend.” Bruce let one hand wriggle into his armpit while the other scurried down to his stomach.

“What are you– Why– What is– Bruce!” Tim’s voice went all high-pitched and warbly as he smacked uselessly at Bruce’s hands, clearly unsure how to even defend himself.

Bruce chuckled, even as his heart ached at Tim’s confusion with affection as simple as tickling. “A little laughter never hurt anyone, Tim. No reason why training needs to hurt.”

Before he could respond, Bruce’s hands jumped up to flutter around his neck and ears, just to see him scrunch up. And scrunch up Tim did, his shoulders jumping up as high as they could while Tim scrabbled for Bruce’s wrists and shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the fingers. Finally, the dam broke and Tim burst into boyish giggles, finally looking and sounding his age for the first time since he showed up and insisted that Batman needed a Robin.

And Tim had been right, Batman had needed a Robin. But it looked like maybe Tim needed a new family. Bruce made a mental note to look into the Drake’s parenting while keeping Tim in his newfound state of giggles. Hopefully after this they could convince Tim to take a nap. And if not, well, Dick had been dying for a movie night. If anyone could get Tim to take a break, it would be him.

_____

Bruce hadn’t overseen the start of Damian’s Robin training. Instead, that responsibility had fallen to Dick, though he had been wracked with grief and presumed Bruce dead at the time. Now that Bruce was back and prepared to take on the burden of Batman once again, he could see Dick’s teachings in almost every move Damian made, melding carefully with his training from the League of Assassins. But even still, he tackled his training with a single-minded determination that could put Tim or even Bruce himself to shame – that was one thing that had not changed while Bruce was lost in the timestream.

Sometimes, it seemed like one of the only things.

Still, that didn’t mean Bruce was prepared to let Damian overwork himself. He clearly had some hangups from his life in the League, and it didn’t seem as though anyone had worked it through his head that overtraining would only harm him in the long run. Up until now, during their spars, Bruce had used the same gentle taps that he’d used to train all his boys. When the next opening in Damian’s defenses came, Bruce didn’t stop to think about his actions, so used to the years of training with his other sons. He pinched gently at Damian’s exposed ribs, both to bring attention to his weak defense and to start the process of winding training down.

Damian made a startled, choked-off noise and went tense for a brief moment, but he recovered well, swiftly disengaging from Bruce’s attack. He eyed Bruce from the other end of the mat, still balanced on his toes and ready to fight despite the sweat dripping down his brow and the exhaustion Bruce could see pulling at his limbs.

“I expect this sort of behavior from someone as frivolous as Grayson,” Damian said. “But you, Father?”

Bruce allowed the corner of his mouth to tick up. “Who do you think taught it to him?”

“Tt.” Damian sneered. “As I’ve told Grayson numerous times – games such as these have no business on the training mats.” He sniffed. “Plus, I am not a child.”

Bruce stared Damian down, in all his four-and-a-half foot, ten-year-old glory. “Of course not.”

“So we may continue training without any more of this nonsense?”

Bruce allowed a full, broad smirk to cross his face. “If you don’t want to get tickled, don’t get caught.”

Damian’s eyes went wide, and for a moment he truly looked like the young and innocent boy he should have been, but they just as swiftly narrowed in determination as he lowered himself back into a fighting stance. Even as tired as he was, Damian was able to hold his own very well – clearly a skill born of necessity. Hopefully they could convince him to pace himself eventually.

But as skilled as he was, Damian was still just a child. Eventually, he slipped up and Bruce was able to slip under his defenses. A few pokes, prods, and pinches later, Damian was on the ground, red-faced as he tried not to laugh under Bruce’s tickling fingers.

“You know,” Bruce said. “I’m told it’s much better if you just let it out.”

Damian shook his head with a jerk, trying valiantly to escape Bruce’s clutches. Unfortunately for him, Bruce was well-versed in the pinning and tickling of trained child vigilantes. Damian finally broke, kicking out with a childish shriek, when Bruce started pinching the muscles just above his knees. If it were Dick or even Tim, Bruce might’ve started teasing to get into his head and make it tickle that much more. As it was, Bruce thought Damian might bite his head off if he tried. Instead he just grinned wide, chuckling along with Damian’s surprisingly shrill laughter, and kept his cooing about how adorable his son was in his own mind.

Bruce’s attack didn’t last long. He didn’t want to push Damian too far with how exhausted he already was. Not to mention, their relationship was tentative and hesitant enough already, with Damian trying to figure out how he fit with Bruce now after the relationship he had built with Dick. Bruce only kept Damian laughing for a few minutes before releasing him and giving his hair a suitable ruffle, much to Damian’s disdain.

Maybe they’d be able to figure this out after all

_____

It was rare these days for Bruce’s sons to all be in the Manor at the same time. Rarer still for them to have gathered together on the training mats, what with how many fratricide attempts had passed between the four of them. Bruce had been planning on doing some solo exercise before patrol, but now he found himself on edge as he cautiously approached the Cave’s training area.

Bruce set aside the tape he had grabbed for his knuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Boys.”

“Hey, B!” Dick chirped, grinning from where he hung upside down on one of the pullup bars. “Getting some training in?”

He raised an eyebrow, scanning over the four of them for injuries. “I was intending to.”

Jason scoffed from where he was stretching out on the training mats. He was in nothing but a t-shirt and sweats, the most dressed down Bruce had seen him since he’d come back to them. He wore his leather jacket like a shield these days, especially on the rare occasions he visited the Manor.

“Don’t let us stop you, old man.”

Bruce hummed, turning his gaze to his two youngest. “Tim. Damian.”

“Hi, Bruce.”

“Father.”

Dick flipped off the pushup bar with a flourish. “Up for a spar, Bruce? It’s been a while.”

Bruce scanned over the four boys again, eyes narrowing. “Did you break something?”

They blinked at him.

Dick frowned. “No– B, what?”

“Did someone crash the Batmobile?”

Tim cocked his head. “No?”

“Did–”

“Jesus Christ, B,” Jason groaned. “Is it so hard to believe we can get along for one hour?”

Bruce didn’t answer. Tim snorted.

“Fair.”

“Tt.”

Bruce looked them over for any hidden injuries one last time before he relented, turning back to Dick. “As long as your brothers don’t mind us taking up the space.”

Bruce’s sons vacated the mats, leaving just him and Dick behind. As usual, Dick was a skilled opponent. They hadn’t had much chance to spar recently, the only chance Bruce had to see him fight being out in the field, and he had certainly improved. He’d been doing this almost as long as Bruce after all, it only made sense that he’d be a formidable opponent. 

Eventually, Bruce went in for a grapple. Dick was shorter than he was, and his build much smaller due to his background in acrobatics. It was good for him to practice escaping the grip of someone larger and stronger than he was. Only, Dick’s returning grapple was much sloppier than Bruce remembered it being. He frowned, easily tackling Dick down to the mats.

Like second nature, Bruce’s fingers immediately tickled near one of the openings Dick had left in his defenses. He got little more than a squeaky yelp out of Dick before he was tackled from behind with a roar. It was a move that Jason and Dick had used often in training to mess with him, back when Jason was Robin. Back then, it wound up with both boys on the mats being tickled to pieces. Unfortunately for Bruce, Jason was now much larger and had the benefits of League training making his steps far quieter. Bruce rolled with the attack with a grunt, trying not to crush Dick under their combined weight, and started grappling with Jason instead.

“Getting rusty with age, old man?”

Bruce scoffed, trying not to smile lest he scare Jason off. He couldn’t help but feel like this was progress between the two of them. “Not likely.”

Jason was almost as large as Bruce now and matched him well in strength too, but in the end, Bruce’s experience won out. Just as he started gaining the upper hand, however, Dick launched on top of the both of them. Then Tim. Then Damian. Somewhere along the way, Jason had managed to slip out from under him, adding himself to the top of the pile. Bruce collapsed down to the training mats, pinned under their collective weight.

“That was kind of a sloppy block, Bruce,” Tim said from where he was perched on one of Bruce’s legs.

“Yeah, B, come on,” Dick said. “A mugger isn’t gonna fight fair, you’re gonna have to do better than that.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at his children. “Boys–”

Jason clucked his tongue. “And no one to save the big, bad Batman.”

Bruce knew where this was going. He probably should’ve expected it honestly, after all those years of tickling his kids to the ground. It certainly wasn’t the first time any of them had sought revenge either, simply the first time they had decided to work together as a group since Bruce was able to take them down easily on their own (or even in duos, he recalled Jason’s Robin days fondly). He was their father, of course he knew what tickle spots would have them cackling on the mats in seconds, tears in their eyes. 

Unfortunately for them, though, Bruce had trained himself out of such reactions long ago – at least to an extent. He was well-versed in burying the sensation, blocking it out until it went away, and he could hold out for quite some time. Probably more than long enough for them to get bored. There was only one weak spot that he’d never been able to block out, but they would never–

Dick gave an evil grin from where he sat on one of Bruce’s arms, reaching out and fluttering fingers behind one of Bruce’s ears. On his other side, Jason chuckled under his breath and did the same.

–Damn it, they brought Alfred into it.

Bruce let out a strangled, high-pitched noise before clamping his lips shut. He shook his head violently, trying to dislodge the tormenting fingers, but his children were nothing if not tenacious.

“Come on, Bruce,” Dick goaded. “It’s so much better if you just let yourself laugh!”

“Yeah, B,” Tim said, his fingers resting on Bruce’s side, seemingly waiting for a signal. “A little laughter never hurt anyone, right?”

“Boys,” Bruce bit out, swallowing around the snickers trying to burst out of his throat. “Cut it out.”

“If you did not want to get tickled, Father, then you should not have gotten caught.”

He raised such little shits. His own revenge for this would be swift and ruthless. The boys didn’t stand a chance. But first, he had to free himself.

Bruce tried to twist his arms out from under Dick and Jason’s weight, the tickling not having weakened him yet thanks to him holding back his laughter. Jason scoffed and added another hand to his tickling against the side of Bruce’s neck, Dick quickly following suit. And unfortunately, with the fingers behind his ears already driving him insane, Bruce had little brainpower left to block out the sensation on his neck.

Bruce broke.

His laughter came out quick, sporadic, and embarrassingly high-pitched. He tried to jerk his head away from the tickling fingers, but with Dick and Jason on either side of him, it was impossible to escape. Not to mention, apparently his laughter was the signal his youngest were waiting for, as after a few moments they both dug into their own respective spots. Tim’s hands spidered and squiggled and dug in around his side and stomach, while Damian began squeezing the muscles just above his knee, tickling around and behind it. It took all of Bruce’s self control to not kick out and throw him off – Damian was still so small, Bruce didn’t want to accidentally hurt him.

His laughter turned loud and booming as his kids switched around their spots, tickling anywhere they could reach. It echoed throughout the training area and into the Cave proper, the bats screeching in discontent as the noise disturbed their slumber.

“Damn, old man, how did none of us know you were this ticklish?”

“There you go, B! Does that tickle? That’s what you get!”

“Sorry, Bruce, but you do kinda deserve this.”

Unsurprisingly, Damian did not add into the teasing. His tickling was vicious enough to make up for it – he clearly paid far too much attention to tactics whenever Bruce or Dick tickled him to the ground. Bruce was oddly proud.

To Bruce, it felt like years before the tickling finally tapered off, though in reality he knew it hadn’t been more than several minutes. His laughter had gone hoarse, his throat and vocal chords far more used to his fake Brucie laugh than anything this genuine for this long. There was sweat dripping down his face and neck, and his muscles ached – his upper body from trying to free himself from his eldest boys, and his legs from keeping himself tense enough that he wouldn’t kick out and injure his youngest two. And embarrassingly enough, tears had gathered in his eyes, though none had managed to fall free just yet. As his boys climbed off him, Bruce could do little more than lay there and gasp for air, pushing down any residual laughter as he tried to compose himself.

“I see the revenge was a success,” Alfred said from the edge of the training mats. There was a water bottle in his hand, chilled and dripping with condensation. Bruce reached for it gratefully.

“Traitor,” he murmured under his breath.

Alfred heard it anyway, based on the unimpressed eyebrow he raised at Bruce. “If I remember correctly, Master Bruce, Master Dick was not the only little boy who ran around asking to play Tickle Monster.”

Heat flooded Bruce’s face as his children burst into laughter around him. He chugged down the water he had been given to hide the fact that he had no retort for that. Still, there was no mistaking the fond smile on Alfred’s face.

After all, a father always knew what tickle spots would take down his kid in seconds.

[fickle-tiction]

Crying screaming throwing up because Mish is writing superbat again

Do y'all remember that nearly 100k superbat fic I wrote 84 years ago called the cost of being a good dad? Well, here's a fun little continuation of that :D

For my boo @fickle-tiction <3

Summary: They've finally started dating, for real this time. No more secrets, no more misunderstandings. Just a handful of rules that Clark loves shoving in Bruce's face just to see him roll his eyes but ultimately comply. They're just excuses for Clark to touch, tickle or be a general menace to his loving boyfriend. At least until Bruce finds a way to use them for his own good.

Or: The 5 relationship rules Clark comes up with and the 1 he begs Bruce to please accept

[fickle-tiction]

(2024) TickleTober Day 1: Harvest - Going against the Grain

Fic Descript - Bruce agrees to help out on the Kent farm and, after an off-handed comment from Clark, he decides to see how ticklish superman actually is.

~A/N  - Welcome to ticklecrowber2024!!!! (forgive the corny title hehehehehe)

We're starting off this month with a super cute superbat fic requested by an anon. While writing it I'm realising this is gonna be a pre-relationship romantic fic, so hopefully that floats your boat.

Like I mentioned on a post ages ago, I'm not aiming to write full fics for all the prompts this year to hopefully avoid burnout so I'm going into this aiming for a few hundred words - we'll see how that goes.

Hope you like it!

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @fullsongphilosopher

Masterpost Link 

TickleTober Masterpost

One of the (few) things Bruce hated about being in love with someone was the way it made him do things.

And not in a suggestive or psychological way, literally he felt compelled to gain some sort of relationship 'brownie points' to subtly prove his worth as a potential partner.

Which was how he had ended up here, about to knock on the door of Clark's farm home.

When superman mentioned needing to do some hard labour around the fields up in Kansas, Bruce found himself offering to help before he could even blink. It wasn't until Clark enthusiastically accepted that the batman fully realised what he had gotten himself into.

Mixing their work and personal lives? At Clark's house no less? Doing something that probably was effortless for Clark, but would be a significant physical strain for Bruce? What was he thinking?! He'll look like a fool...

But, as much as his brain loved to insist on how much of a bad idea this was, Bruce had resisted the temptation to cancel.

And so, he now found himself raising his fist and tapping the wooden door-frame.

"Bruce!" Clark grinned, opening the door fully.

The man was dressed so stereotypically farm-y, Bruce thought to himself. Brown leather boots half-covered by a pair of old denim jeans, topped with a plain white tee and - god he looked good in that red flannel...

"-are you... did you want to come in?" Clark chuckled.

Shit, had Clark invited him in already? Was he that distracted by the superhero in front of him that he fully disregarded any input other than the sight- wait it's happening again-

"Yes!" Bruce blurted out, interrupting his own thoughts. "Sorry, yes. Thanks."

Ugh love made him a mess.

As Clark narrated and explained his way through his humble abode, Bruce couldn't help but get stuck in his own head - again. He barely registered that they had left the house and were now walking through the wheat fields. He knew Clark was giving some really important information as to what exactly they needed to do and where they would need to do it, but it was almost as if his brain was more focused on the sound of Clark's voice than what it was actually saying.

Until Clark giggled.

Like a gunshot, Bruce locked onto the sound with unbridled curiosity. What had caused it? Would it happen again? Whatever it was clearly didn't phase Clark, as he was back to talking about whatever farmyard jargon that was interrupted earlier.

A few more moments passed, and Bruce had never been more focused on Clark's surroundings. What could possibly have made superman laugh like that? And how common of an occurrence was it if Clark didn't even acknowledged it?

Thankfully, it happened again - with Bruce watching the whole thing.

As Clark walked, a few stray spikes of wheat brushed against his bare lower forearms (where he had rolled up the aforementioned flannel). His hand twitched reflexively, and he once again let out a soft giggle at the sensation.

And, once again. Bruce's mouth moved before his brain could catch up.

"What was that?"

Clark half-turned his torso to face Bruce. "Oh, it just tickles."

Bruce flushed at the casualness of Clark's response.

"It's actually one of my favourite parts of walking through here..." Clark continued with a genuine smile. "Something so small being so intense, makes me feel soft.... alive... human..."

Only Clark could make getting tickled by a plant sound so endearing, it was almost enough to make Bruce forget the huge tidbit of Clark lore that had just been revealed to him.

Superman's ticklish??

He didn't have much time to feel the full shock of that information, as Clark was already several paces ahead of him. Bruce half-skipped to catch up, and as he did, something in his mind convinced him to snap off a piece of wheat from beside him.

As they continued their walk towards the edge of the field where they were about to begin work, and Clark continued yapping, Bruce ran his fingers over the wheat piece in his hand. Was he seriously about to try to tickle superman? Would Clark be alright with it? Would he find it weird and repulsive and never speak to Bruce again cause how could he possibly think that was a normal thing to-

stop - Bruce interrupted himself.

no overthinking

Bruce took a breath, slightly sped up his footsteps to bring himself right behind Clark, and ran the wheat stalk along the side of Clark's neck.

Clark folded with a shriek and a giggle, his smile never fading as he gave Bruce a quizzical look.

That smile was all the invitation Batman needed.

With a smirk, Bruce tackled Clark into the wheat next to them and climbed on top of his chest before frantically twiddling the wheat stem against any potentially ticklish bare skin he could find. Clark's neck, ears, collarbones - even the small patch on his tummy that was exposed from his shirt riding up as they fell - nothing was safe.

And Clark's laughter was like birdsong - it was the most free, happy, genuine giggling Bruce had ever heard. So much so, the billionaire opted to snatch another piece of wheat to use in his free hand against Clark's forearms - which were currently doing fuck-all to fight against the tickly attacks (aside from clinging to and breaking some nearby wheat stems, but Bruce theorised that was mostly for Clark to resist fighting back... cute).

After a sufficient tickling, Bruce paused - mentally checking for any signs of annoyance on Clark's face and letting the man calm down for a few moments.

"Why'd you stop?" Clark asked breathily without missing a beat, and now looking slightly disappointed.

Once again caught aback by Clark's openness, Bruce stuttered and floundered for an answer. "I... I was just... I wanted to... make sure... you..."

Clark laughed. "No need to panic, it was just a question."

Bruce chuckled, still a little embarrassed.

"You always worry so much." Superman smiled, poking Bruce's neck with one of the wheat stalks he had snatched during the tickle-attack to emphasise his point.

Bruce squeaked (though he would later insist this wasn't true), his face flushing a deep red.

"Oh?" Clark grinned menacingly, rolling himself and Bruce over to flip their positions with clearly little-to-no effort. "The dark, scary batman is ticklish too?"

oh god

And, after being thoroughly tickled, Bruce spent the entire time they worked on the farm trying to convince himself the look on his own face before Clark tickled him definitely wasn't nervous excitement, and that he definitely wouldn't give anything do it all again.

Definitely not.

[fickle-tiction]

Okay but Bruce is minding his business at some bouji gala that Clark and Diana are also attending for fanfic purposes. And Diana has a gorgeous black feather Boa on as part of her outfit because that woman can pull off any look. And this woman can't go a single day without messing with Bruce in some way, so she slinks up to him while he's fake flirting with someone else and she slides the Boa over his neck to get his attention. She is NOT expecting his shoulders to shoot up to his ears, nor is she ready for the strangled squeal he let's out when the feathers unexpectedly drag across his skin.

Diana's smirk is terrifying when she shoves her way into Bruce's space, casually bumping the man he was flirting with aside as all her attention is focused on the blush crawling up Bruce's neck and into his cheeks.

"Do not." Bruce warns, eyes wide as Diana uses to Boa still laying around his neck to pull him closer. "Not here." He pleads ammends when she raises an eyebrow at his harsh tone.

"Clark." Diana murmers, even as she continues to lock eyes with an increasingly worried-looking Bruce. "I think it's time we make our exit." Clark must say something back, because Diana grins and Bruce has to fight the urge to take a step back. Not that it would do him any good with Diana loosely holding onto either end of the Boa still draped over the back of his neck.

[fickle-tiction]

i just got pissed that ears can be so ticklish because what is that??

there’s NO way to protect them and it’s not fair at ALL!!!

[fickle-tiction]

But You Were Mine

Summary: Still hung up on the fit of Bruce’s body against his, Clark attempts the oldest possible ritual: getting to know his pseudo-sweetheart. Too bad Bruce Wayne is the most unknowable man on Earth. Sequel to Chase the Memory of it Still.

Yet again, blame @fickle-tiction for this. Doing a midnight post and run so I don’t have to look at this in the morning lol. Also warning for mild barely even lukewarm makeouts. Probably tamer than Part 1 lol. 

Also also: the beginning scene with Clark and Lois works best if you imagine that Lois doesn’t know that Bruce is Batman but suspects him, all while thinking Clark doesn’t know that Bruce is Batman. So she’s trying to protect him from being lied to and Clark is like ‘but Lois I love him’

“Clark Joseph Kent, you’re a grade-A idiot.” Lois thwaps the back of his head with a rolled-up newspaper. 

“I know,” Clark groans into the surface of Lois’s desk. She thwaps him again. 

“So, let me get this straight.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “You somehow conned your way into a fake relationship with Bruce Wayne of all people, and now you have feelings for him?” 

“I’ve always had feelings for him,” He mumbles, suddenly feeling very small in his seat. When he looks up at her, she’s glaring at him. Ah, he’s in trouble. 

“You don’t know him.” She spreads her hands on the surface of her desk, knocking aside a few Daily Planet pens. He picks them up and puts them back. 

“Yes I do.” Clark frowns. 

Keep reading

[fickle-tiction]

✦༻Spoilers༺✦

~This has been in the back of my mind since the movie came out; the time has come. I’m making progress with TickleTober, so enjoy this meal in the meantime! There’s probably more than a hint of shipping in here, but you don’t have to read it like that if you don’t want to. I hope you Enjoy!~

Lee: Wade Wilson

Ler: Logan Howlett

Summary: Logan is struggling to get used to living with Wade; he has a limit for Wade’s bullshit. The merc loves pushing him to that limit regularly. Logan uses an unconventional method to shut his smartass roommate up.

Warnings: canon-typical language and jokes, spoilers for Deadpool & Wolverine and Golden Girls (you’ll see). This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

I’ve finally done it: the ultimate team-up turned homo-erotic-roommates-story. And, ya know, saving my entire timeline; mainly the Logan stuff, though.

Wade had been incredibly happy since they’d saved the existence of his timeline. He was showering regularly, disposed of that horrid “toupee,” and started actually talking to the people in his life about how he felt. It kinda sucked, but hey – character development isn’t always sexy.

Things were going splendidly for the merc with a mouth.

Logan, on the other hand, was slowly going insane.

The Wolverine was grateful for the place to stay, of course; hell, he felt more at home than he had in years. The problem was how…Wade Wade had been acting.

Logan secretly admired how openly true to himself Wade could be; I mean, the guy literally said whatever came to his mind, no matter what. Then again, the guy literally said whatever came to his mind. No matter what.

Even if that thought completely spoiled something for Logan.

“Hey, Peanut! As much as I love that juicy ass, I’m gonna need you to get outta my spot.” Wade flicked his wrist at the eX-Man, beckoning for him to get up. Logan had been there for about twenty minutes, and there was no way he was moving; the episode of Golden Girls he was watching wasn’t finished yet. The man rarely got time to rest like that, savoring every half hour he got with the television like it was holy.

“I’ve been here, bub. Wait your turn.” Logan didn’t even blink, leaning to the side so he could still see the screen. He was gonna finish that episode, damn it.

“Ooo, is that ‘End of the Curse’?” Wade hums, taking a closer look at the screen. Logan wasn’t very far into the episode. “Turns out it’s just menopause, not pregnancy. Man, nothing wakes you up like an existential crisis and skinned minks.”

A low growl rumbled in Logan’s throat, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Ooooo, Wade fucked uuup…

“Did you just spoil the ending to my Golden Girls episode?” The livid tone of his roommate’s voice made Wade’s smile grow nervous.

It’s cool, it’s fine. All I gotta do is nail this recovery. Read and learn, people.

“At least I didn’t tell you that the whole Rose and Miles Webber thing doesn’t work out.”

Fuck. This is why you don’t stare at your roommate’s moobs while trying to save yourself, kids.

“You motherf- WADE !” Logan bolted up from his chair, charging at the blemish-skinned man. Wade made his first smart decision that entire morning:

He ran for his fucking life.

But, of course, luck refused to be on the red-suited man’s side. Wade tripped over one of Mary Puppin’s toys outside his room, Logan’s large hands quickly hoisting him up by the waist. Before he could fantasize anything, he was slammed down on his bed. Which, of course, opened up a whole new realm to dig his own grave in.

“Damn, Peanut! It’s customary to take me to dinner first, but you know I don’t mind gettin’ sloppy~” Okay, that was a little cliché. Wasted opportunity, Wilson.

Logan seemed pissed regardless. “You fucking ruined the one relaxing thing I get to do a week when Al’s out. Do you know how hard it is to enjoy a show when you know what’s gonna happen?!”

As entertaining as seeing Wade squirm beneath him was, Logan wanted revenge. He normally would’ve skewered the smartass, but Al was getting sick of smelling Wade’s blood whenever she left for a few hours. That, and he may or may not have gotten some blood on the couch (don’t tell her).

What else could he do? He wanted Wade to suffer, to regret his actions, to shut up for one in his god-forsaken existence. The only times he could remember that happened was when he was asleep, and when he was…oh. Ohoho, fuck yes.

“You’re gonna learn to shut that gaping, bottomless shithole you call a mouth, Wade, and you’re gonna learn it the hard way.”

“I do everything the hard way, Peanu- yeEEAHAHA! THEHE FUHAHAHACK?!” Before Wade could finish proving Logan’s point yet again, he felt ten muscular fingers knead into his thighs. It was – ironic, he knew – his death spot.

Now, imagine trying to explain why you’re smiling so much when someone’s grabbing at your thighs without stuttering. Spoiler alert: it’s torture.

“You can’t mouth off if you’re too busy laughing, fuckhead. Now shut up and scream for me.” Logan squeezed and squished at the merc's thighs, doing his best to tickle the shit out of him.

“Y-YOUHU CAHAN'T- FUHUHUHUCK! NOHOHO!” Wade tried and failed to speak through his laughter, his head reeling from the intense feeling. For the first time in many moons, the Merc with a Mouth was rendered speechless.

“I can’t fuck? Really? Bold ass statement to make when you’re at my mercy.” Logan’s more playful side was slipping out; how could it not with Wade’s goofy-ass laughter egging him on? Seriously, how could anyone expect him to act like a hard-ass with the man making such purposefully adorable noises?

“NOHOHOT WHAHAHAT IHI MEHEHEANT!” Kicking and squirming, the scarred man was quickly realizing he couldn’t talk his way out of the situation. They were matched in strength, but the tickling quickly un-evened the playing field. Maybe pleading for his life?

“COHOHOME OHOHON! I-IHI’LL QUIHIHIT!”

Logan paused for just a moment, his hands still resting on Wade’s hips. He was…actually gonna stop being a loudmouth? While he didn’t believe a word of that, he still wanted to take things a bit easier on the man; damn feelings…

Slowing down, the Wolverine moved his wiggling fingers to Wade’s stomach. Compared to his thighs, it was a decently tolerable spot; still, it fucking tickled.

“Wohoholvie, thihis is nuhuhuts! Ahand not thehe hohot kihihind!” Okay, maybe he immediately proved himself a liar, but Logan didn’t exactly quit! He was sort of justified, in that sense.

“You never learn, do ya?” There’s an air of amusement and affection in his voice that shocks the both of them. Logan immediately tries to correct it, clearing his throat with a glare. “Stubborn asshole. It’s a bad idea to taunt me when you’re this fucking ticklish.”

“Th-thihihis ihihisn’t fahahahair! Youhuhu’re thehe Tumblr bahahabygirl, nohot mehehe! Youhu shouhuhuld be gehehtting ihit!”

“The fuck is a Tumblr babygirl?” Logan snorted at the silly-sounding words, once again trying to figure out what the hell his roommate was talking about.

“Thehehey knohohow!” Wade pointed towards some unseeable audience, making the hairy man roll his eyes. He seriously needed to get Wade tested for something; it would probably explain so much.

“Do you want me to go back to your thighs?” Logan jerked his hands down threateningly, reveling in the squeal the motion causes. He didn’t even touch the other man that time; it was kinda cute.

“NOOOHOhohooo! Dihickhead!” Without thinking, Wade thrusted his arms out and shoved at Logan’s shoulders. Obviously, the brick wall of a man didn’t move, but his attention was drawn to a specific nuisance: the merc’s arms. Specifically, the fact that he hadn’t explored beneath them yet.

Gathering the mouthy man’s wrists in one hand, Logan forced Wade’s arms up and pinned them to the mattress. Once again, Wade was faced with a tough decision: smart off and completely fuck himself, or grovel and hope for some mercy.

Eh, smart choices are plot killers. This one’s for you, dear reader.

“Y-youhuhu’re really ehembracing your dark side, Peanut~ Next thing ya knowhow, I’m gonna be getting fitted for thohose fuzzy cuffs and a harn- FFFAAHAHAHAAA! OHO- OHOHOKAHAHAY! IHI’M SOHOHORRY! IHIT WAS THEHEHERE!”

Logan showed zero mercy, digging into Wade’s underarm with renewed vigor. He switched back and forth every few seconds, right to left, wrecking the man as thoroughly as possible. The man’s thighs were definitely still his death spot, but his armpits were a close second.

“You don’t act like you’re sorry, ya shithead.” There was a lot less contempt in Logan’s tone than Wade was expecting; he couldn’t exactly comment on it, but the Wolverine seemed almost happy that he had chosen to prolong his torment by being a smartass.

Wade, on the other hand, was going through it; a vibrant blush had taken residence on his cheeks, little tears of mirth showing up for the housewarming party. Worst of all, his exhaustion forced his muscles to relax, allowing snorts to catch in his throat.

“Damn, Wilson. Goin’ hog wild down there, huh?” Wade’s heart would’ve stopped right then if it were possible. Logan “Go Fuck Yourself” Howlett…made a dad joke?!

“Y-YOUHUHU MAHAHDE A JOHOHOHOKE! IHI’M SOHOHO PROUHUHUD!”

“Fuckin’ Christ, just shut up already!” Embarrassed from both the acknowledgement and praise, Logan dug back into Wade’s thigh to silence him; well, keep him from talking by means of hysterical laughter.

About two minutes into getting his thighs attacked by the kitty man, Wade was rethinking all his life choices that led him there. I mean, he obviously wouldn’t do anything different if he actually had the chance to, but there were some regrets. His laugh was growing raspy, a few wheezes slipping in with the snorts as he struggled to catch his breath.

Logan noticed how tired Wade was getting almost instantly. The man hadn’t smarted off in a hot second, so he figured it was time to stop; definitely not because he was taking it easy on Wade or something stupid like that…

The moment the tickles stopped, Wade drew in deep, giggle-ridden breaths as he tried to calm down. He barely noticed his wrists’ release, too tired to lower his arms anyway. It was, admittedly, an utterly adorable sight.

Noticing he was still literally straddling the anti-hero, Logan climbed off and went to grab Wade some water. When he got back to the bedroom, the merc had curled up on his side, a blanket hap-hazardly tugged over him. The eX-man rolled his eyes at the sight, turning the man to face him.

“Here, drink this.”

Despite sticking his tongue out, Wade greedily gulped down the water. His textured cheeks were still a healthy red from the tickling, the ice water both soothing his throat and cooling him off.

“Thanks, Kitty.”

“Just take a nap or somethin’, bub.” Rolling his eyes at the statement, Logan turned and trudged out of the room; neither missed the light blush on his cheeks from the nickname.

Wade settled back into his bed, sighing at the ceiling. Despite everything, he was actually going to try and improve on his spoiling restraint; he kinda deserved what came to him, even if it was totally overkill.

As for the tickling…well, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Logan could’ve cut his vocal chords or sliced his head off in the tub, but he didn’t; the man just did something silly and lighthearted to drill the lesson into his brain. It was curious, in a sense; why would he choose to be lenient with the loudmouth?

It definitely deserved some looking at, to say the least.

Maybe I’ll insult his mutton chops tomorrow. Ya know, for research purposes…