tickleeteases

[tickleeteases]

Crying Wolf

This fic can be read as a standalone, or as a part 2 to Fearless

synopsis: You notice Bucky pulling away from everyone. Steve says the best way to help is be yourself - to not treat him any differently. But now, thanks to Loki, teasing Bucky might come with some consequences.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (flirtatious), Loki x reader (platonic)

cw: swearing, ruthless tickling of the reader, mentions of trauma, inappropriate jokes

word count: ~5700

minors dni: this fic does not contain smut, but contains a suggestive storyline between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

note: I've had quite a few of you in my inbox and replies kindly asking for a sequel to Fearless, and it's been on the prompt list for a very long while. This is both a sequel and a standalone; you don't need to read Fearless to read this, but the story might make more sense if you do. I wrote Fearless several years ago, so please forgive me if this feels like a big departure from the initial tone. I hope you enjoy it all the same.

special thank you to sunflower anon for the plot idea 🌻

Bucky hasn't come to group training in three weeks.

He's quieter than usual, which is really saying something. You’ve seen it before, in the eyes of others who’ve been through the wringer; that distant stare, the haunted look that never quite leaves. You know it well enough to recognise it on him.

But the thing with Bucky is that he doesn’t want help. He doesn’t want to talk about it, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to be seen as a victim or a burden.

So, you're standing there, fists clenched around the worn-out edge of your training gloves, eyes locked on Steve, the only one who might have any insight. You're working through your own sparring drills, but your thoughts keep flickering back to Bucky. His absence from this moment. You can’t get him out of your head.

Steve is sweat-slicked and a little breathless, but still as composed as ever. You throw a quick jab. He easily dodges.

"Hey," you say, standing down, shoulders dropping. "What’s going on with Bucky? Why isn't he here?"

He drops his guard. "He’s been through a lot," Steve says, like that wasn’t the understatement of the century.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head, but Steve keeps going, voice quieter, more measured. "He’s... isolating."

"Yeah, I’ve noticed." You pick at the tape around your hands and then pull your firsts back to fighting stance. Steve is ready for you. You throw a hard punch at him this time, the impact sharp against his arm, but your mind is elsewhere. "Is there anything I can do?"

Steve steps back, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, and looks at you like he's searching for something. You don’t know what, but you can feel the weight of it, the way his gaze lingers. "Just… be yourself. Just show up, treat him like you normally would." He tilts his head to the side, a wry smile pulling into his cheek. "Push his buttons. Y'know, like you usually do."

You let out a humourless laugh, wiping some sweat off your forehead. "I didn't want to push him. Antagonising a super soldier doesn’t seem like the best way to go about it."

He cracks a grin, one of those rare smiles you’ve seen from him, and his eyes soften. "That’s the point. He’s tired of being that guy. The super soldier. He needs to feel normal again. Don't pull back - you won't push him away. He’ll come around."

You stare at him for a second, trying to decide if he’s being serious. He’s got that look in his eyes, the one that says he knows exactly what he’s talking about. But you’re still skeptical.

"If you say so," you mutter, tying your gloves tight.

Steve chuckles, patting you on the shoulder. "Good. Now run drill twenty-two."

.

.

The next morning, you walk into the kitchen expecting the usual chaos of breakfast prep and clinking plates. But it's quiet today. Too quiet. You see Steve and Bucky sitting at the table. Steve’s holding a mug of coffee, but Bucky… Bucky’s got a book in his hands. It’s a small thing, but the fact that he’s holding it, actually reading, is a rare moment of peace.

You pause, leaning against the doorframe, studying them for a second. It’s not often you get to see the two of them like this. Calm, together, in a room bathed in morning light.

Bucky’s got that unreadable expression. He’s focused on his book, but you can tell it’s more out of habit than actual engagement. His eyes keep flickering to the edges of the pages. His mind is elsewhere.

And then, an idea comes to you.

You walk in like you own the place - a quiet confidence that comes from knowing exactly how to mess with someone. You grab the coffee pot, pouring yourself a cup, but you don’t take your eyes off Bucky.

"Hey, Bucky," you call out, cocking an eyebrow, "you want some more coffee with your smut?"

Bucky’s brow furrows, and he looks up from his book, confused. "Smut?" he asks, the word foreign on his tongue. Steve glances up, and they both just look at you, genuinely clueless.

You take a casual sip of your coffee, leaning against the counter like you’ve got all the time in the world. "You know, smut," you say with a smirk. "Spice."

He blinks. "Spice?" He looks back at his book, flipping the page like he’s searching for something.

You chuckle. "Yeah, sex scenes. In books. The dirty stuff."

Bucky’s face flushes a deep red, his eyes darting back to the pages, and his lips start to part as if he’s about to protest.

"No need to lie," you say, giving him a mock look of doubt. "I’ve read it. No judgment."

Bucky’s face looks like he might combust. "There’s nothing like that in here," he says quickly, eyes shifting between you and Steve like he’s about to combust, but Steve’s choking on his coffee, trying not to laugh.

You bite the inside of lip, trying to hide your grin. "Are you sure? Because I swear I saw you flick to the page where it gets real spicy."

He looks between you and Steve, horror creeping into his features. "You’re… you’re joking," he says, half in disbelief.

You smirk, lifting your coffee to your lips. "It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Buck. It's popular. Hell, you’re probably the only one who’s hiding it."

Steve’s snorting into his coffee, clearly enjoying this, and Bucky’s still looking between the two of you like he’s caught in some bizarre fever dream.

You take another sip of your coffee, pretending to be nonchalant, even though you’re holding back a laugh. "Not gonna lie, I’ve read far worse than what's in that book you're holding."

His face flushes deeper, and his gaze snaps between you and Steve, who’s barely holding in a snicker behind his coffee mug. There’s a moment where Bucky just doesn’t know what to say, his lips parting like he’s about to spill something out, but the words don’t come.

And then, like a switch, the realisation hits him.

You watch as the corner of his mouth twitches in that small, tight smile you’ve seen before, the one that doesn’t come around often. But this time, there’s something more in it. A shift. You’ve broken through just a little, and now the teasing, the banter - it feels different. The air between you is charged, in a way you can’t quite put into words. It’s the first time in weeks you’ve seen any kind of genuine expression on Bucky’s face.

"You’re messing with me," he says, voice dropping to something lower, darker. The challenge in his tone makes your heart race just a little faster.

You lean back against the counter, your coffee cup held loosely in one hand, your expression deliberately neutral. "I’d never mess with you, Bucky," you say, a sly grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. "I’m smarter than that. Just trying to start a book club."

He doesn’t respond right away, just watches you with those penetrating steel-blue eyes, and you feel something twist in your chest. He points a finger at you, glaring with a mix of annoyance and amusement. "Tell Steve you’re joking."

There’s a tension in the air now, something that wasn’t there before. Something unspoken. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or maybe it’s the fact that for the first time in a long while, you’re really looking at him.

Steve’s chuckle breaks the moment, and you glance at him, a little relieved for the distraction. But Bucky doesn’t look away. His gaze doesn’t soften, but it’s sharper now - focused, intent. There’s an edge to his stare that makes your pulse quicken, and you can’t decide whether it’s because of the game you’re playing or something else entirely.

"You’re ridiculous," he mutters, his voice warmer than before, though still carrying that familiar edge.

Your breath hitches for a moment, and you can’t tell if it’s the sudden softness of his voice or the way his proximity makes everything seem a little bit… closer than it should be. But you stand your ground, meeting his eyes head-on.

But then, Steve clears his throat loudly, and just like that, the moment snaps back into place. The tension fades, but it doesn’t disappear. Not entirely.

Bucky looks at Steve, then back to you, and finally sighs in defeat. You smile to yourself, trying to hold in the satisfaction as Bucky gives you a glare with an undeniably playful edge. "I’ll let you off the hook. For now."

But as Bucky grabs his book again, his fingers brushing over the pages, you can feel it - the warmth that's simmering. It’s fragile, but it’s real. And for the first time in days, Bucky looks like he’s in the moment, not lost in the past.

He's here.

.

.

You’re mid-sentence, arguing that the protagonist’s internal conflict didn’t pay off, when the quiet creak of the library door pulls both your and Loki’s attention.

Bucky steps inside, the dim lamp light cutting across his face. His jaw’s tight, but his eyes gleam with something unreadable. He’s got the book in hand - the book - and you already know what he’s going to say before the words even leave his mouth.

He lifts the novel slightly, dark gaze flicking from Loki to you. "No smoot."

Your mouth twitches. "You mean smut, Buck."

Loki, of course, is the first to speak. He closes his own book with deliberate flair, settling into the leather wingback like a king on a throne. “What's this?”

Bucky's eyes don't leave you. "Not a single sex scene in here. Not even a kiss."

You exhale slowly, fighting to keep your expression neutral. "Must’ve been reading the wrong edition," you murmur, reaching for your tea.

Loki gives you a look that could be called gleeful if it weren’t laced with such dry malice. "Please, darling," he drawls. "If you’re going to gaslight the poor man, at least try to make it subtle."

Bucky watches you, head tilted slightly, his brow raised in amusement. "So you were joking," he says slowly. "Trying to get a rise outta me."

You lift your brows. "Trying?"

You don’t mean to sound breathless, but you kind of are. Because Bucky isn’t just amused - he’s focused. The kind of focus he gets when he’s squaring up with someone. His weight shifted just forward enough, like he’s waiting for something.

Loki, however, is thriving on the mischief. He conjures another book from thin air, holding it aloft between his fingertips, the cover glinting with gold leaf and something entirely indecent on the front.

"If you're is truly disappointed by the lack of literary debauchery," Loki says to Bucky, tone smooth and unbothered, "you might prefer this. Popular on Midgard, I hear. Something about dukes and corsets."

You cough into your tea, trying to keep it together. "Shit. Not sure I'd take Loki's suggestion for this stuff, Buck."

Loki's glare swings to you. "And why not?"

Bucky huffs a laugh, but it’s short-lived. His attention’s on you, too, gaze narrowing. "You should be careful who you're messing with."

Before you can respond, Loki cuts in, his voice sly and dangerous with the air of someone about to set the room on fire.

"If you’re struggling with her mouth, Barnes..."

You snap your head toward him. "Don’t."

Loki’s smile turns slow and wicked. "Oh? He doesn't know?"

"Know what?" Bucky asks, now looking to Loki.

"Loki," you growl, the warning sharp now.

But he ignores it entirely, already too far gone. He gestures lazily toward you, his tone almost sing-song. "She’s incredibly ticklish, Barnes. Mouthy little thing until you find the right spot. Then it’s all helpless laughter and desperate apologies."

Your heart lurches. "Loki-"

But the trickster’s already leaned back, positively smug. "Writhing, squealing," he continues, voice full of mock nostalgia. "It's delightful, really. Highly effective. I suggest you try it."

Bucky’s attention snaps to you. Sharp. Curious. Dangerous.

And then he moves.

Not fast - not overt. But his steps are steady, and your breath hitches the second he crosses into your space. You sink deeper into your armchair, instinct or gravity, you can't say which.

Bucky follows, slow and calculated, until he’s bracing one hand against the back of your chair, the other resting casually on the armrest, caging you in with practiced ease.

His head dips just slightly as he leans over you.

Your spine locks up. Your pulse is a drum.

You force yourself to tilt your chin up, meet his gaze. But it’s not easy - not with the way he’s looking at you, not entirely amused anymore. This is something else - playful, yes, but edged with something sharp. Something primal.

You don’t dare move.

His voice is low when it hits you. "You ticklish, sweetheart?"

Your skin lights up like static.

You don’t flinch. You can’t. He’s too close. Close enough to see the tendons in his neck, the glint of his dog tags, and the faint smirk pulling at his stubbled mouth.

You swallow, hard. "Bucky, I-"

"One more word about smut," he murmurs, "and I’ll make you regret it."

Your lips twitch.

Because this - this - is good. Bucky, letting loose. Teasing. You could almost cry from the relief of seeing him like this. Not haunted. Not withdrawn. Just a guy giving you hell.

"Understood?" he adds, voice low and rough.

You nod, trying to keep your grin in check. "Cross my heart."

He studies you a second longer. And then, without another word, he straightens and walks away - calm, controlled, leaving the scent of coffee and leather and adrenaline in his wake.

You exhale once he’s gone, sagging into the chair like your bones gave out.

And then, of course, Loki.

The bastard crosses one leg over the other, examining you with a look that says he’s just found his favourite soap opera and you’re the main character.

"Well," he says, smiling like a serpent. "That was electric."

"Don’t," you say quickly, pointing at him.

He raises a brow. "I’m merely observing. Stark’s infrared sensors probably picked up the heat signature."

"You’re such a dick," you mutter, crossing your arms tightly across your chest as you glare at him. You can't keep the edge from your voice. "Seriously, telling Bucky to tickle me? What the hell?"

Loki’s eyes flick up from the book in his hands, his lips twitching like he’s trying to hold back an insufferable grin. He doesn’t even flinch under your stare, too amused by your annoyance. Of course he is.

"Oh no," he says with exaggerated sympathy, looking up just enough to give you that devilish grin of his. "The handsome super soldier might pin you down and place his hands all over you. How ever will you survive?"

You glare harder and pick up your tea. "Whatever. You're still wrong about Hotchins in the third act."

Loki takes the cue and picks up your argument from where it left off as you try, and fail, to suppress the flutter of heat low in your belly.

.

.

It's the very next morning that you walk into the living room with the sort of easy confidence that comes from a good night’s sleep, a hot shower, and no immediate need to duck for cover... and you walk straight into a trap.

Steve and Banner are seated across opposite couches, coffee mugs in hand, data pads in the other, discussing something in quiet tones. Loki lounges like a bored cat - how he manages to drape himself across furniture like it was carved for him, you’ll never know. And Bucky...

Bucky’s seated on the end of another couch, boots planted on the ground, body relaxed but alert in that way of his. His eyes are lowered, reading. The book’s balanced in one hand, and the moment you see the cover, your steps slow.

Because you’ve read that one.

And that one is definitely not PG.

A laugh huffs out of you before you can stop it. "Oh my god. That book?"

Bucky doesn’t look up. But he goes very, very still.

You continue across the room, grin widening, genuinely excited. "How far are you? Wait - don’t answer that. Let me guess. Chapter fourteen?"

Steve chuckles into his mug, glancing over. "We know you were just messing with him the first time."

"I was, the other day," you say, hands up. "That book was clean. But this one..." You giggle, but you're actually kind of excited to discuss it with him- uh, the plot, that is.

But Bucky closes it slowly and tosses it down onto the table like it just insulted him.

He stands.

And something shifts.

It’s subtle. Just the tension in his shoulders, the way his head tips slightly to the side. But your stomach drops all the same.

Because you remember. His voice in your ear.

"One more word about smut, and I’ll make you regret it."

You laugh - nervously, this time. Hands up. "Hey now, hold on. This isn’t a repeat offence. I'm genuinely curious."

"Sure," Banner chuckles from the couch, not looking up from his data pad. "Totally sounds like curiosity. Not at all like a joke at his expense."

"Okay, wow, betrayal from all sides," you mutter, taking a small step back as Bucky starts toward you. "I’m just saying, I didn’t expect you to be reading that book of all books, I-"

He says nothing. Just takes another step.

Measured. Intentional.

You keep backing up. "Seriously, Bucky, I’m innocent this time. Genuinely. I wasn’t teasing you, I swear. I was-"

"Don’t run. Don't make me chase you," he says, voice low. "Just come here and take it."

Your heart spikes so hard it echoes in your ears. "Okay, see - that right there? That’s terrifying."

He takes another step. You bolt.

You turn, trying to whip around the couch-

-and slam full-speed into Loki’s chest.

Your breath leaves your lungs in a hard puff, and before you can untangle yourself, his fingers coil around your wrists. He ensnares you with far too much grace, and far too little resistance.

Then you glance over Loki’s shoulder. See the version of him still seated casually, still sipping tea.

Until it shimmers, and vanishes.

"Oh you son of a-" you gasp, already squirming. "You set me up - this was a trap!"

Loki chuckles, low and serpentine, in a voice only you can hear. "Who, me? Would I truly give Barnes a book I knew would provoke some commentary from you?"

Your stomach drops, you look up at him, breathless and flushed. "No..."

You tug at your arms, but Loki just tuts and holds you in place.

"C’mon," you try, turning to Bucky. "Truce. I didn’t mean anything this time. Just honest commentary."

Bucky smirks as he reaches you, the look in his eye somewhere between wicked and indulgent. "You always talk this much when you’re nervous?"

"I’m not nervous," you lie. "I’m smart. There’s a difference."

The two of them exchange a look, one that sends heat down your spine and makes your hands twitch in Loki’s grip.

"Let’s get her seated," Loki says lightly, dragging you toward an empty couch. "I’d hate for her knees to give out from anticipation."

"Oh fuck," you groan.

They ease you down - not rough, but not exactly gentle either. Before you can sit properly, Bucky swings a leg over your hips and settles, his weight pinning you in place.

"Steve? Bruce!?" You wriggle against your captors to no avail, shooting a desperate look to the bystanders. But they merely toast their mugs, a sign you're on your own. Your heart stutters as you turn back to Bucky and Loki.

You buck a little, instinctive panic fluttering in your stomach. "Guys- wait. Hang on-"

"Reasoning window closed," Bucky says calmly, adjusting his position. "You were warned."

Loki chuckles and pins your wrists above your head. "I believe Barnes has earned this one."

Bucky looks down at you, one eyebrow raised, the picture of mock deliberation. “Well? Where should I start, Loki?”

"Bucky, please-"

Loki smiles. "I’d hate to deny you the delight of discovery."

And then-

Bucky presses his fingers to your stomach.

You jerk violently and screech, the sound raw and high-pitched before devolving into a helpless laugh that rips from your chest like it’s been waiting days to break free.

"Fuck! No- Bucky!"

"Wow. You are so ticklish," he says, incredulous, like he’s just uncovered a national secret. He presses again, harder, and you twist, laughing uncontrollably as he digs into your sides.

Your muscles spasm. Your feet kick the cushions. Loki’s grip on your wrists is annoyingly effective.

"Wait, WAIT! I’m sorry!" you gasp, voice cracking from laughter. "I-I take it back! I take everything back!"

"Too late," Bucky says, smirking now, barely breathless himself from the effort.

Your laughter pitches higher as he shifts lower, targeting your hips, and your brain starts short-circuiting from the overload.

And through it all, even as your cheeks burn and your lungs scream, the warm, sharp heat of it stays with you-

He's laughing with you. Not at you.

He’s open. Present.

Alive.

So you brace to take your medicine.

Bucky's fingers scuttle lightly along your sides, dipping just beneath the hem of your shirt where skin meets air and nerves light up like a damn Christmas tree.

You lose it.

Your laugh is immediate - loud, cracked, breathless - and your entire body lurches like it’s trying to escape its own skin. You twist, squirm, kick, all of it completely fucking useless under the weight of a super soldier and the iron grip of a literal god.

"No- fuuuck, Bucky! I swear- I’m gonna-"

"Going to what?" he challenges, voice calm, maddeningly measured as he drags his fingers up your ribs, slow and deliberate. "Be more careful with your commentary next time?"

You shriek through another peal of laughter, your legs flailing against the couch cushions. "I was genuinely curious!"

Steve snorts from the other side of the room. "Sure you were."

Banner still doesn't even look up from his tablet. "This is what happens when you antagonise assassins with trauma and downtime."

You try to scream something back but all that comes out is a garbled, breathless sob-laugh as Bucky zeroes in on that brutal little spot just beneath your ribs, one hand holding you down by the hip while the other dances back and forth across it in merciless zigzags.

It’s not fair - he’s too strong, too steady, too fucking good at this.

"Buck, I swear-" you gasp between giggles, "-you’re gonna kill me!"

“You’ll live,” Bucky says dryly. But there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth, that rare ghost of a grin that’s less threat and more reward. Like he’s enjoying this more than he’s letting on.

You glare up at Loki, who's still got your wrists pinned above your head, effortlessly casual.

"You traitorous bastard," you wheeze. "Let me go and fight me like a god."

Loki raises a brow. "And risk being thrashed by a ticklish mortal writhing like a fish on a dock? I think not."

Bucky hits a weak spot and you squeal, lashing out at Loki - “You glittery frostbitten motherfucker!”

"Language," Steve calls from behind his coffee cup.

Loki smiles cold and bright. "I wasn't planning to get my hands dirty, but seeing as you insist on dragging me into this..."

He moves your wrists to one hand and slides the other down your arm. You suck air through the giggles, eyes going wide, and shake your head.

"W-w-wait! No! I'm sorry! I didn't- SHIHIT!"

His fingers glide with awful precision into the hollow of your underarm, just a featherlight stroke to start.

You scream.

Your body convulses violently, torn between twisting away from Bucky’s maddening fingers at your lower ribs and Loki’s devastating scrapes along your underarms.

"No - oh my god - fuck, Loki, don’t-!"

"Oh, we’re well past don’t," Loki says smoothly, fingers trailing in tight little circles, never fully lifting, just skating and brushing and tormenting.

It’s like they coordinated this. The way Bucky’s hand shifts lower again, teasing at the crease of your hipbone with just the pads of his fingers - sweeping side to side, unpredictable and effective. The way Loki keeps his strokes light, fluttering, like he's writing a damn poem on your skin in ancient runes.

Your stomach jerks every time Bucky’s touch flirts with your waistband, and the pressure of him straddling your hips pins you in place no matter how hard you buck.

You try to thrown him off, but he just shifts his knees, anchoring you harder. The muscle under his jaw twitches with restrained laughter. He’s trying to look serious. He’s failing.

You gasp, flailing weakly. "I’m gonna die-"

"Can’t die from tickling," Banner says absently. "Elevated heart rate, maybe. Definitely some stress on the diaphragm. Oh, and laughter-induced fatigue is a thing, too."

"I hate science!"

"Noted," Steve says, grinning now. "We’ll put it in your file."

"She might pass out, though," Banner observes mildly, finally looking up.

"She’ll be fine," Steve says, sipping his coffee. "She needs the cardio."

You’re laughing so hard your voice is almost gone, hiccuping now, tears sliding sideways down your cheeks. "I- I swear- I’ll kill you both-"

"Already tried," Loki murmurs, deadpan, still tracing maddening circles under your arm. "Failed spectacularly, if I recall."

"Yeah," Bucky adds with a tilt of his head, "You’re not in much of a position to be making threats."

His fingers walk back up your ribs again, slowly, rhythmically, like he’s feeling each one - tracing the outlines like he's mapping you.

It’s unbearable.

It’s warm and raw and intimate in a way you didn’t expect, in a way that’s short-circuiting your brain and turning your limbs to jelly. It’s playful - but layered under that is a weight you can feel: that he's choosing this. Choosing you. Not mocking. Not hurting. Just being, here, with you, present and real and alive.

And that’s when Bucky leans in, face close to yours, his voice low and rough with amusement. "You bring up smut again," he says, "and next time I’m starting at your feet."

You wheeze. You actually wheeze.

Then he shifts his position just slightly. The movement is barely noticeable - just a subtle shift of weight, a lean forward - but it frees his right hand, which now dips lower.

You feel it coming before it lands. The anticipation alone has you screeching.

"No! No no no- not there-!"

But he does. His hand slips past your waistband, just far enough to press into the soft spot at your lower belly, fingers drumming lightly before grabbing at the hypersensitive nerves beneath.

You go feral.

Your scream dissolves into breathless, chaotic laughter, your entire body spasming under the onslaught. You thrash, but you’re caged by both of them - Bucky pressing you down, Loki above holding your arms in place like a steel-boned statue. You can’t breathe. Can’t think.

You’re just nerves and heat and helpless, writhing laughter.

Steve watches it all unfold, biting back a grin. "You know, this is probably against several peace treaties."

"Oh, absolutely," Banner replies. "But it’s compelling television."

You’d kill them too, if you could.

"Alright-okay-I’m dying," you gasp, choking on laughter, trying to twist away as Bucky’s fingers keep tormenting that same damn spot. "Mercy! Please, fuck - I mean it, I can’t-!"

"You sure?" Bucky cocks a brow. "Sounds like there’s still plenty left in you."

Your eyes close as you try to suck in enough air to speak. You kick the couch cushions blindly, and Loki’s fingers resume teasing your ribs, climbing up toward your armpit again, and your breath fractures.

"OH MY GOD- OKAY! I’M SORRY - FUCK - UNCLE, TRUCE, WHATEVER YOU WANT! I'M SERIOUS!"

Bucky finally stops. Slowly. His fingers ease off, dragging lightly across your stomach once more before retreating, and you melt into the cushions, panting, your body shivering from residual laughter.

Loki releases your wrists and stands, dusting his hands like he’s just completed a satisfying day’s work. “I’d say we’ve done a public service.”

You gasp like you’ve surfaced from underwater, cheeks on fire. You blink up at the ceiling and rasp, "I’m gonna have nightmares about fingers."

"Splendid," Loki says pleasantly.

"I hate you both," you croak.

Steve chuckles. "She’s lying."

Banner taps his tablet. "Endorphins through the roof. She’ll forgive you in five."

"Three," Steve corrects.

You let out a muffled groan, pressing your hands over your face. "I hate this entire team."

You don’t even realise when Bucky shifts - just feel the weight lift off your hips, the heat of him pulling away, the absence of torment like stepping out of a rainstorm.

Then his hand slips under your elbow and he’s tugging you upright, gentle but firm. Your limbs are jelly. Your lungs barely work. Your chest heaving with the aftershocks of too much laughter and too many nerves frayed to the edge.

You try to sit straight, but your body betrays you and you fall - helplessly, gracelessly - against his side where he sits.

Bucky lets out a low, amused huff as you slump against him like a puppet with its strings cut.

You mumble into the shoulder of his t-shirt. "I think I saw the light. Pretty sure it told me to go back to bed."

Steve snorts. "Not a chance."

You peel your face from Bucky’s shoulder just far enough to shoot a bleary glare toward the couch across from you.

Steve’s grinning around a mouthful of coffee. "It’s training time. Get your caffeine, get your gear, let’s go."

You groan and swiped a hand down your face. "I’ve already done my cardio."

Loki smirks faintly, straightening the cuffs of his shirt. "You’re welcome."

Bucky chuckles low, then pushes off the couch, offering you a hand. "C’mon. I’m game for some sparring."

You blink up at him. It takes a second to register what he’s said.

He hasn’t trained with the team in weeks. Not since things got dark again, and he started retreating into the corners of the compound like a ghost in the walls.

But now... he’s standing here, hand out, relaxed in a way you haven’t seen in too long. A flicker of light back in his eyes. Not all the way there. But present. Here.

You slide your hand into his, let him pull you to your feet, your legs still wobbly as hell.

As he turns toward the kitchen, you look past him - catching Steve’s eye across the room.

You don’t say a word. You don’t have to.

Steve gives a small nod.

You let out a slow breath and follow Bucky, faintly buzzed, breathless, nerves still crackling from the aftermath.

But warm.

An involuntary smile etches into your lips, eyes stinging as you blink back tears of relief.

It was worth every second.

[tickleeteases]

This Means War

synopsis: When cabin fever reaches boiling point, your teammates' boredom turns into a test of your stamina. After a bit of tickling sends you crumbling to the mat during training, you're goaded into proving you wouldn't spill state secrets if an enemy found your weak spots... by subjecting yourself to the hands of the God of Mischief.

wc: ~5200

pairing: Loki x female reader (flirtatious). Bucky, Thor, Steve also included platonically.

cw: MINORS DNI, swearing, use of physical restraints, interrogation scenario, tickling (a lot of it. this is a tickle fic)

extra content warning: this story contains a faux-interrogation scene. the reader consented to it and has the ability to stop it at any moment. i do not usually allow the word "stop" to be ignored in a tickle fic - this fic is the exception because the reader has a safe word. The tickling in this feels a lot more intense (to me) than my previous fics so please be warned.

Your fate was sealed before it even started.

It happened too fast to control.

It started so innocuously. You were locked in a spar with Loki. Parrying high, pivoting low, flirting around that usual edge of real violence.

You had been sharp today - precise, clean, dangerous. Steve was nursing a bruise. Bucky’s jaw was red where you’d clocked him. Even Thor looked impressed, his cape torn at the hem where your blade had snagged it mid-spin.

But Loki always had a way of slipping past your guard.

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."

.

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PART TWO (your revenge) coming soon

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[tickleeteases]

Should Have Known

Fandom: Six of Crows

Word Count: 2072

Pairing: Jesper/Wylan pre dating

Summary: Jesper is bored but Wylan has been learning his tricks and turns the tables on him. Jesper tries to take what he usually dishes out and learns a valuable lesson.

This is a tickle fic. Enjoy!

It had been bound to happen really, he should have known. He knew the merchling would grow wise to the teasing eventually, but somehow it still came as a surprise to him.

The rest of the Dregs were all out on a job. Kaz hadn’t allowed Jesper to go, because it would involve going into a few gambling houses and he didn’t trust him not to get sucked in and blow the job. It had stung a bit, but Wylan had insisted on staying behind with Jesper, so that made him feel better, and after some convincing (arguing), Kaz had agreed.

Jesper had to hand it to Wylan, he’d gotten much more confident recently, and convincing Kaz to let him stay at the Slat had been a ballsy move. This increase in confidence should really have been Jesper’s first clue that his rein of one-sided teasing was coming to an end.

The others had only been gone an hour or so, but Jesper’s fingers were already starting to itch. It wasn’t fair that they were getting to gamble and he’d been grounded like a child. He was bored and needed a distraction, and the merchling sitting in the corner of his room was always a fun one.

“One of your buttons is undone, are you trying to seduce me?” Jesper lied with a smirk, flicking Wylan’s nose when he looked down to check.

Wylan rolled his eyes in an attempt to draw attention away from his pink cheeks. He chose not to respond, not wanting to give the Zemeni boy the satisfaction of hearing the inevitable nerves in his voice.

Jesper grinned to himself and moved to sit on the arm of Wylan’s chair. “Aww, come on, Wy. What’s a man got to do around here to get some attention from the cutie in the corner?” he teased softly into Wylan’s ear while his fingers grazed his bicep.

That nearly got him, but Wylan couldn’t help but laugh at that, much to the Fabrikator’s chagrin. “Man?” he snorted. “If you’d just referred to yourself as the boy that you are, you probably would have gotten the reaction you wanted from me, but alas, your big ego got in the way.” he winked.

The older boy scoffed indignantly. “I do not have a big ego! I’m more of a man than you are!”

Wylan snickered. “Well you sound like a whiny toddler right now.”

“I do not!” he huffed, sounding significantly like a whiny toddler. He stood up and crossed his arms, so he could pout at the younger, but dropped them quickly as he realised he was proving his point. Wylan smirked and Jesper felt some heat raising in his cheeks.

This back and forth should have been his second clue that their dynamic was changing.

Jesper rolled his shoulders back and straightened up. “You’re walking a risky line, Merchling.” he told him with as much confidence as he could muster while forcing himself to hold eye contact with Wylan and his smug grin.

“And yet you’re the one who seems nervous. I don’t think it’s me that should be worried, Jes. I think you’ve been playing too many risky games recently, and now you’re worried they’re going to come back and… bite you!” Wylan launched himself out of the chair towards Jesper, but stopped just short of actually touching him. He doubled over laughing at the surprised shriek that left the Zemeni’s mouth.

Jesper shot him a glare. “Stop laughing at me!” he complained, but there was no real annoyance in his voice, he knew they were just playing.

The younger boy calmed his laughter and grinned cheekily at his friend. “But that noise was so cute!”

Jesper blushed properly now. “It was not.”

“It definitely was.” he teased, pinching Jesper’s cheeks and cooing. “Awww, are you blushing? Your cheeks are so hot!”

Jesper pushed his hands away, but Wylan grabbed his wrists to keep him close. Jesper’s breath hitched the tiniest bit at that, and he looked into Wylan’s eyes, feeling his usually cocky demeanour falter.

“Problem?”

“You’re stealing my role.”

The merchant chuckled. “Maybe if you’d teased me less, I wouldn’t have been able to learn all your tricks so quickly.”

“Maybe if you let go of my wrists before I have to force you, I’ll let you feel the touch of my nimble fingers running through your hair, while I whisper sweet nothings in your ear.” He shot back, a last ditch attempt at regaining the upper hand.

“I don’t think you really want me to let you go.” Wylan smirked.

That was when Jesper finally realised his days of getting the younger boy to blush whenever he wanted with no repercussions were over. He should have known Wylan would learn quickly. He should have known that one day all the teasy, flirtatious comments he’d thrown at Wylan would come back and bite him in the ass. He’d given the younger all the tools he needed to knock Jesper down a few pegs, and he’d done it of his own volition.

Wylan could see the realisation written all over Jesper’s face and it only boosted his confidence. “Uh oh, is the little gunslinger in over his head?” he winked, slowly walking Jesper backwards until his back was against the wall. “Can he dish it out but not take it?”

Said gunslinger was doing his best to keep it together, but he’d taught Wylan well, and he suspected some of Nina’s charm and confidence may also have rubbed off on him too. He pulled lightly on his wrists, trying to get them out of Wylan’s grip, but the younger had gotten stronger during his time with the Dregs, which caught him a little by surprise. Jesper was sure if he really wanted to, he could still overpower Wylan, but… he wasn’t sure yet if he really wanted to.

Wylan smirked smugly when he felt the tug of Jesper’s wrists. “What’s wrong? Can’t escape? Honestly Jes, I’m a little offended that you underestimated me.” he teased.

The older boy rolled his eyes, but his expression quickly turned back to a flustered one when Wylan pulled his arms over his head and pinned them with one of his against the wall. He wanted to fight back, to prove that he wasn’t this easy to overpower, but maybe he was. Maybe all it took for him to melt was for Wylan to play him at his own game.

Wylan leaned in and chuckled lowly in his ear. “I’m going to take you apart.”

Jesper was done for. All the feelings towards his merchling that he’d been pushing down came bubbling up, showing themselves in the form of a hitching breath and a deep blush to rival the shade of Wylan’s hair. He gazed deeply into Wylan’s eyes and parted his lips slightly as the younger leaned in towards them. He closed his eyes, ready to finally get to admit his feelings without using teasing as a coverup. He was ready to be vulnerable.

And vulnerable is what he suddenly realised he was as he felt fingers spidering into his belly and laughter being forced from his unsuspecting mouth. “Wha-mehEHEherchling!” he gasped out through his laughter. He opened his eyes and was met by Wylan’s cheeky grin.

The Merchant snickered at the shock on the others face as he tickled his belly lightly. “You thought you were going to get what you wanted that easily, hmm? After the amount of teasing you’ve put me through? Oho no, Jes. I told you I was going to take you apart, and I meant it.”

If Jesper could have blushed darker, he would have. Wylan must have had some pointers from Nina, there was no way he’d gotten this good so fast on his own. He would be having some words with the fellow Grisha.

“I’m gohohohoing to kill yohohohou!” Jesper laughed, not sounding particularly threatening. He could feel himself sliding down the wall in an attempt to escape the tickling, but Wylan followed him down easily.

“Oh I’m so scared.” The younger snickered sarcastically. He moved his fingers up and tried Jesper’s armpits, grinning at the increase in laughter.

All the Dregs knew Jesper was ticklish. None had found out on purpose, and none had really taken things further than the occasional scribble to his sides. But he wasn’t very good at hiding his happiness or excitement, so Wylan had noticed how he lit up on the rare occasions he received a well placed poke or squeeze for a sassy comment or joke.

“I know you like this, Jes.” Wylan smiled fondly, as he slipped a hand up the pinned boy’s shirt and scratched maddeningly at his ribs.

“I do NOHOHOT! NohoHOHOT THEHERE! MEHEHERCHLIHIHING!”

The Merchant smirked a smirk, that looked far too evil for his face, at the reaction he received. “Bad spot? I think I might stay here until you admit that you’re enjoying this.”

Jesper had slid all the way down the wall at this point and was laughing loudly. “I DOHOHO NOHOHOT!”

Wylan let go of his wrists and used both hands to tickle his bare ribs now. Jesper’s arms were too worn out to do much more than grab weakly at his hands. He threw his head back in laughter, practically lying on the floor.

“FIHIHINE! I LIHIHIKE IT! NohoHOHOW STOHOHOP!” he demanded, but the smile on his face said otherwise.

Wylan smirked and stopped. “I know you do.” he winked, before placing a quick peck on the still giggling Zemeni’s cheek and drilling right back in.

The blush that had been beginning to fade from Jesper’s face immediately reappeared before he was thrown back into fits of laughter. “YOHOU ARE DEHEHEAD, YOHOHOU TEHEHEASE!”

Wylan laughed along with him now. “Me? A tease? I’ll take that as a compliment coming from you!” he beamed cheekily. He decided to give his ribs a break and skittered his fingers down his body to his legs. He squeezed up and down his thighs and found a wonderful little spot above Jesper’s knees that made him squeal adorably.

After a few more minutes of the treatment, the usually cocky, older boy’s laughter had gone silent and Wylan finally stopped for real. “Did… did I overdo it?” he asked, suddenly sounding much more like his usual, more reserved self.

Jesper was panting hard, but still had a big grin on his face. He shook his head, but playfully shoved the red haired boy. “Yohou will live to rehehegret this though…” he threatened, residual giggles still escaping his lips.

Wylan chuckled, relaxing again. “Mhm, I’m sure.” he teased. “Just so you know, I’m telling everyone about that spot on your knee that makes you squeal like an adorable little girl.”

Jesper flushed. “You will not.” he glared.

The redhead just shot him a wink. He stood up from where he’d been crouching over Jesper and held a hand out to help him up.

Jesper took it and pulled himself up. He used the momentum to push Wylan backwards onto the bed, earning a whine of protest from him, but it was quickly silenced as Jesper pushed their lips together, kissing him deeply.

Now it was Wylan’s turn to blush as he kissed him back passionately. After a couple of minutes Jesper pulled away and smiled down at the younger boy. “I should have been cruel to you and teased you the way you teased me… but I couldn’t resist your kissable face.”

Wylan chuckled fondly and blushed darker. ���Your face isn’t so bad either.” he smiled back. “Plus I don’t think you should have been cruel, because me teasing you was just revenge for all the times you’ve teased me,” he rambled. “So as far as I’m concerned, we’re even now. Also, I think that now that we are both on the same lev- hey, what are you dohoho- JeheHEHES! Nohohoho! I’m sohohohorry!” He burst into bright giggles as Jesper shut him up with a dose of rib tickles.

Jesper smirked down at him. He shifted so he was straddling Wylan’s waist and used his knees to pin his arms. “Too late for apologies, Merchling. You’ve made your bed, it’s time to lie in it.” he winked. “What was it you said to me? Ahh yes… I’m going to take you apart… You really should have known I wouldn’t let you get away with messing with me.”

[tickleeteases]

Day Sixteen: Cackle

Summary: Steph wants to know if Peter, Ruth, and Richie want to come over to her place, but Ruth and Richie have decided to be pains in the ass so Peter doesn't think they should be allowed to.

They don't exactly take too kindly to that :)

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Guys. GUYS. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!!!!!! I literally went crazy writing this fic why haven't I written them before?????? They're so precious and I just alsdj;kflasjkdsajdp you know?? Anyway, I hope that y'all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it <33

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Peter was hanging out with Ruth and Richie at Richie’s after school.

Well, technically, they were supposed to be studying for the biology test at the end of the week, but it was only Monday, and none of them were that nervous about it.

And, the call of Super Smash Bros was just too strong to resist.

After winning his third game in a row, and subsequently performing his third victory dance, his friends started getting really competitive, which was a little terrifying considering the baseline level of Ruth’s competitiveness on any given day.

“Come on, Peter!” Ruth whined after a Smash Attack sent her flying off the platform, “When the hell did you get good at this? What happened to little Petey Pie who used to jump into the void all the time?”

Peter dodged an attack from Richie, floating up into the air just to slam back down, “He got sick of his friends kicking his ass all the time and decided to do some ass-kicking of his own. HA! Take that, fucker!”

The screen flashed as Ruth and Richie groaned, proclaiming Peter as the victor once more.

“You are not playing as your main next time! You can be, like, Doctor Mario or something.” Richie was already setting up the next game thanks to his eternal claim as player one.

I’m the best of you! And you’re the best of me! And together we are free—

“Hey Steph! What’s up?”

Peter ignored the way Richie gagged at the sound of his ringtone and how Ruth’s eyes lit up at Steph’s name, pressing his phone against his ear with his shoulder in order to select Steve from the collection of avatars before either of his friends could get to it.

“Oh, nothing much!” Steph’s voice came through a little tinny, and Peter wouldn’t be surprised if he was on speaker while she did some chores around the house.

“I was just wondering if you had anything planned tomorrow night.”

As Steph was talking, Ruth was doing her level best to crawl across Peter’s lap and put her ear up to his phone despite his attempts to elbow her away.

“Lemme hear!” Ruth hissed.

Peter just stuck his tongue out and redoubled his efforts.

“Uh, no, not really!” His phone jostled as Richie tried to wedge it out from under his ear and Peter had to snatch it back, “Why do you ask?”

“Are you doing alright over there, Pete?” Steph’s voice was tinged with amusement as though she could see the human pretzel that Ruth and Richie were dragging him into.

“Yeah! Everything’s fine!” Peter swatted Richie’s prying hands while attempting to use his feet to keep Ruth away, “What were you gonna ask?”

He could hear something rustle as Steph picked her phone up, turning it off of speaker mode and holding it up to her ear.

He could also hear the overlapping “Come onnnnnnn,” and “We just wanna say hi!” from his friends as Richie tried once again to worm his fingers around Peter’s phone.

“Ah!” And wriggling right against his neck.

Silence echoed as Ruth and Richie exchanged evil looks.

Aw fuck.

“—if you three would want to hang out at my place?” Peter had missed the first half of that sentence due to the now-sporadic squeezes at his knees and more purposeful scratching at his neck, but he was sure that he could make an educated guess.

“I, uh, I don’t know if they can mAKE ihit.”

He’d nearly gotten through the whole sentence without cracking, but then Ruth had started spidering her fingers in the soft spot behind his knees which she knew was unfair, and a small squeak had broken through.

Peter did his best to seal his lips shut as Steph said, “Aw, are you sure? My dad will be out and I can order all of us pizza.”

“Mhm!”

You see, Peter would feel bad about lying to Steph on a regular day. But, considering that his friends had decided to be conniving assholes today, he figured that she would forgive him just this once.

“Are you sure that you’re alright? You sound kinda…nervous.”

Steph sounded genuinely concerned, so Peter kicked Ruth back into the couch and threw an elbow into Richie’s gut so that he could scramble to his feet, trying to subtly catch his breath.

“Yeah, sorry!” They were both already up and after him, so Peter had to dodge grabbing hands as he said, “It’s just that I think Ruth and Richie are too busy being annoying little brats to hang out tomorrow night!”

Twin gasps echoed through the room as both Ruth and Richie’s jaws dropped in indignation.

“How dare you—”

“Spankoffski get your lying ass over here!”

Peter dove out of the way just in time to hear Steph’s “Ohhhhhhhh,” of realization before she broke out into laughter.

“You really had me worried for a second there, Pete!” Richie caught him around the waist and started the not-so-difficult process of wrestling him to the ground, “Maybe you can come over and they can join when they learn to behave!”

It seemed like Ruth heard that last part as she let out an affronted “HEY!”

“Yeah, I think that would be bEST—Wait! Richie nononono shihihihit!”

Ruth managed to pry his phone out of his hands as Richie went straight for the kill, drawing out frantic cackles with ruthless clawing at his ribs.

“Hey, Steph!” Ruth said cheerfully as a sudden jump to Peter’s upper ribs startled a shriek out of him before falling back into hysterics.

“This is for playing the same overpowered character in Smash Bros! SMASH ATTACK!” Richie cried as he vibrated a hand into his victim’s stomach, prompting him to curl up in hopeless defense.

Meanwhile, Ruth was still talking to Steph, “Oh, we would love to come over to hang out! But,” she added, cutting Peter a sly glance, “we don’t want to intrude if Peter doesn’t want us there!”

She stood there for a moment, nodding to whatever Steph was saying, “Of course! Here, you can ask him yourself!”

And then she hit a button on his phone and Steph’s voice rang out, “Hey Pete! So, I was just talking to Ruth and I wanted to double-check if you were totally sure about them not being able to make it tomorrow night.”

“Steheheheph! Hehehehelp!” Was all he could get out in between fits of laughter.

His friends broke out into giggles as Steph said, “I can’t do much for you right now, but if you bring Ruth and Richie over I could help you out with some well-earned revenge! How does that sound?”

Peter could feel Richie’s fingers falter at the threat and see the faint blush rising on Ruth’s face through the tears that had begun to form in his eyes.

“Okay! Deal! They can come!” He took advantage of Richie’s moment of hesitation to get out his response and quickly rolled away, popping up to snatch his phone back out of Ruth’s hands.

“See you tomorrow! Love you! Bye!” And he hung up the phone to the sound of Steph’s laughter before whirling around to his so-called friends.

Peter flung one choice finger out at Ruth, “Fuck you!”

And then the other at Richie, “Fuck you more!”

They just grinned at him as he slumped back down on the couch and reached for his controller, “I think I deserve to kick your asses for a bit now.”

The groans that they let out were undermined by the way they both picked up their own remotes before sitting on either side of him. Richie leaned against Peter while Ruth dropped her head on his shoulder, and the warmth seeped through to his very core.

Well, Peter thought as Richie hit play, there are definitely worse ways to spend an evening than with my two best friends.

Now to kick. Their. Asses.

[tickleeteases]

Nitrogen, Erbium, Deuterium

Summary:

Richie's had a very long day, and he just wants to go home and relax with the little family he's created. Too bad Paul and Ted are competitive about the WORST things.

This story was prompted by my lovely ☁️ anon on and it grew bigger than I thought it would. I've grown very very attached to this little family they're so important to me. Rip Richie and Peter for real though, I really put them through the younger-sibling ringer. Hope that you guys enjoy!! <33

It’s been a long day. Richie had to stay late after school to work on his chemistry project, something that he really didn’t care about but was worth an upsetting amount of his grade. He’s not totally sure how he got roped into AP chem, just that Pete wanted to take it but he didn’t want to take it alone and Ruth has a longstanding feud with chemistry in any form.

Anyway, Peter had gotten his work done in advance like a smart person, and he’d invited Richie to come over and hang out after he finished up with his project, so he was now on his way to the Spankoffski house. Not like it was much of a house, more like a very cramped apartment space that miraculously housed the most cluttered person Richie’s ever met, and Peter.

It’s weird if he thinks about it too long. Richie and Peter had become friends years ago, and Peter’s always been a little reserved. Sure, he was a total genius and was probably going to win some Nobel prize in the future, but he couldn’t talk to anyone outside of Richie and Ruth to save his life.

And he was related to Ted Spankoffski?!

Richie’s been hearing stories about him ever since he started living with his uncle Paul. It started off as his annoying co-worker, always bothering him about trips to Beanie’s or making inappropriate comments towards every girl they worked with. Then it gradually shifted into his co-worker Ted who actually wasn’t that bad after getting to know him, even though he’s still loud and obnoxious and annoying.

Then, one day Peter brought up this guy Paul that his brother just won’t shut the fuck up about and Richie lost his shit. Sure, he’d known that Pete had an older brother, and distantly he probably remembered that his name was Ted, but connecting his geeky best friend who would rather study for a test than go out to a movie to the well-known ‘town sleazeball’ hadn’t even occurred to him.

That had changed the first time he saw them in a room together.

First off, the resemblance was uncanny. Cut Pete’s hair and stick a fake mustache on him and they could basically be the same person. Richie finally learned where the cutting snark that seemed to appear out of nowhere came from, watching those two have a conversation was one of the most entertaining and also confusing things he’d ever witnessed in his life.

Peter relaxed around Ted in a way that Richie rarely ever saw. He was always tense for one reason or another but, for some reason, one half-compliment and a ruffle to his hair from Ted was all it took for him to finally take a break.

Richie had been jealous when he first saw them. Despite being over a decade apart in age they were brothers, they messed with each other and constantly complained about something the other had done, but they so clearly cared about each other. Ted had known that Peter was trans even before Richie and, when his parents hadn’t taken it well, Ted immediately took his little brother in.

He’s never seen two people so completely different and yet so obviously related in his entire life.

All this is to say, when Richie pushed the door open to shrieking laughter, he wasn’t exactly surprised. He left his shoes by the front door and dropped his bag somewhere, making a mental note to move it somewhere else later as he peeked into the living room.

Ted’s got Peter half-pinned to the couch, rolling his eyes as Peter denies something or other, “Plehehehease Ted! I dihihihidn’t tell him I swear!”

Richie can’t exactly see what’s going on but, if he had to guess, he’d say that Ted was clawing at Pete’s ribs by how red his face is.

Of course, that’s when Pete catches his eye, “Richie! Rihihihichie help mehehehe!”

Before Richie can back away and spend the next however long staying out of this most recent argument, Ted’s head snaps around and his grin widens when his gaze lands on Richie.

“Hey, kid!” He calls, “Come here, maybe you can help us sort this out!”

And Richie really doesn’t like how he says that, so he says, “Uh, I’m good, actually! I think I’m gonna go get some water or something.”

Ted just scoffs at him, “PAUL!” Oh great, apparently his uncle’s here too.

From a couple of rooms over Richie hears a “You don’t have to yell, Ted! What do you need?”

“Tell your punk-ass nephew to get in here and help me out!”

Ted doesn’t even finish his sentence before Paul’s standing at Richie’s side, staring at Pete’s predicament with an amused look on his face. Peter just looks like he’s grateful for the break and starts carefully trying to slide out from under his brother.

When Peter sees that Paul’s made an appearance, he immediately starts calling out to him, “Paul! Paul tell Ted that I didn’t tell you that his favourite movie is Love, Actually!”

Richie can’t help letting out a snort at that because really? And then the more he thinks about it the more it actually kinda makes sense.

Ted points a threatening finger at him before turning to Paul, “Well?”

Silence grows as Paul contemplates. Pete’s looking at him pleadingly, meanwhile, Ted’s just staring at him with this dopey-ass look because they’re in love or some shit.

Look, just because Peter and Richie had been conspiring to get Ted and Paul together for the past few months and finally succeeded, doesn’t mean that they’re not kind of disgusted when they’re gross about it. Richie almost finds himself missing the time before they got together before immediately regretting it because, no, the pining had been way worse.

“Sorry Pete,” Paul shrugs, bringing Richie back to the present, “You know I don’t like to lie.”

Richie turns to see a mischievous smirk on his uncle’s face as Pete’s frantic nonononono’s fade back into laughter.

“Damn, Uncle Paul,” He whispers, “That was cold.”

His uncle just grins before leaning in to say, “Actually, Pete didn’t tell me. I saw it on Ted’s IMDB page that he doesn’t think I know about. It’s the only one with ten full stars and his comment is that it makes him cry every time he watches it.”

That punches a startled laugh out of Richie because he did not expect Paul of all people to play dirty like that. Richie really likes Ted, he’s like the older brother that he’d always wanted growing up, but seeing Paul come out of his shell a little more each day fills him with a sort of gratefulness that he doesn’t really know how to express.

Just then, Peter shrieks and Ted exclaims, “Shit, Petey! You’re worse than Richie is there!”

Richie’s ears are burning because Ted shoots him a wink while squeezing at Pete’s knees and he’s suddenly very aware that he’s only wearing shorts.

At least Ted’s preoccupied at the moment.

“What?” Paul laughs, slinging an arm around his shoulder, “Not a chance, Spankoffski. Richie basically screams if you so much as look at his knees.”

Richie takes back everything he thought about being grateful. Ted sucks. And Paul sucks.

And Paul’s dragging him into the living room before he can slip away, arguing with Ted all the while.

“Look. I guarantee you that Richie’s worse. I mean, I haven’t even gotten started and he’s already smiling!” Shit, he was really hoping that nobody had noticed that.

Ted pulls Pete off to the side a bit so that Paul can push Richie down on the couch. He’s learned that fighting only makes things worse, so he just exchanges nervous glances with his best friend and hopes that this doesn’t get too out of hand.

“No way! Petey has this little spot on the back of his ribs that—”

“Shut the fuck up, Ted!” Peter frantically interrupts him, but they keep talking like he didn’t even speak.

“Oh, yeah? Well I haven’t even told you about Richie’s elbows, I mean—”

“Uncle Paul!” Oh God, Richie’s dead. He looks over at Pete who seems equally as panicked and corrects himself: They’re both dead.

Ted stares down at Richie incredulously, “Really kid? Your elbows?”

“Hey!” Richie presses his arms tight against his sides, “It’s not like I can help it!”

He just gets a scoff in response, “Whatever you say, Richie.” Then, Ted looks at Paul, a competitive fire sparking in his eyes, “Here, I’ll prove it to you that my dork is way worse than your dork.”

Peter’s eyes go wide at that and he immediately starts shoving at Ted’s hands that are trying to worm their way between his body and the couch. “Ted! Stay away from me you fucking asshole!”

It’s a valiant effort, but Ted manages to wrest his brother’s arms away and start poking around, “Alright, now where was it? It’s gotta be here somewhe—”

“NO! Tehehehed plehehehease!” Richie winces in sympathy as Pete crumbles.

And then he also makes a mental note of where Ted’s attacking for later.

Just in case.

Ted crows in triumph, “Aha! See?” He gestures to the frantic, cackling mess that Peter’s become, “Bet you can’t beat that!”

A chill crawls up Richie’s spine as Paul quirks an eyebrow at Ted before looking down at him. “Feel like helping me out here? You don’t want Ted and Peter to win this one, do you?”

Richie’s already shaking his head before his uncle even finishes his sentence, “Actually, I am so okay with them winning this one! It really isn’t that bad—Uncle Paul you don’t have to do this!” Paul manages to pull Richie’s arm away from his body with an ease that would be embarrassing if he wasn’t distracted.

Like, Richie isn’t weak, he just didn’t think that Paul would be strong.

Something touches down on Richie’s arm and he nearly jumps out of his skin, shrinking back as much as the couch will allow.

“Uncle Paul?” He musters up his most pathetic look, “Come on. Please don’t do this to me.”

Paul looks over at Pete, babbling pleas as he desperately tugs at Ted’s arm, and then at Ted, smiling gleefully at his assumed victory. Then he gives Richie a grin that’s half fond, half pure evil, and says “Sorry kiddo, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

As light as can be, Paul starts tracing imaginary paths down Richie’s arm, drawing nonsensical patterns in the crook of his elbow and Richie is gone. He knows it’s a weird spot, and he’s okay with that! It means that nobody’s going to try anything, and Richie can preserve what little dignity he has left.

But Paul knows, and he’s using it against him, and Richie’s dying.

“Uncle Pahahahahaul! PlehehEHEHEASE! Nonononono nohohohot thehehere! SHIT!” Ted and Paul are talking to each other, probably debating who’s worse out of their two victims, but Richie’s not paying much attention to the words as he does his level best to crawl out of his fucking skin.

He’s pretty sure he knows what Pete’s going through next to him, he knows from personal experience that the fastest way to get his best friend to cave is to latch onto a spot and claw into it. Richie’s only been subjected to a Ted Spankoffski tickle attack a few times, but that man is ruthless. He’s got eighteen years of being a big brother under his belt and is using every last one of them to dig in just enough to make Peter screech and flail, but not enough for it to hurt.

Richie’s currently going through his own version of Hell, the half-coherent begging he manages to get out mingling with Peter’s to the point where he’s not sure who’s saying what.

The Lipschitz household had never been particularly affectionate. His dad would occasionally grab his shoulder roughly to jostle him around in what he probably thought was a manly display of some sort of love, so Richie wasn’t exactly used to touch. Definitely nothing gentle.

So when Paul, endlessly awkward and terrified of doing something that would hurt Richie, lightly ran a hand down Richie’s spine in an attempt to comfort him, he might have let out an embarrassing squeak.

And when Ruth, endlessly touch-starved and constantly needing to fidget, had run her nails across his wrist and lit up with glee at the shriek he let out, he’d essentially been doomed.

So now, in the ultimate culmination of the exploitation of his weakness, Richie’s kicking and screeching at what essentially equates to the feeling of a very small spider crawling down his arm.

Over.

And over.

And over.

“Uncle Pahahahaul! I cahahahan’t!” He’s switched to drawing distracted circles in Richie’s elbow, still arguing with Ted, and Richie honestly might explode if he keeps it up. “MEHEHERCY! I gihihihihihive! Nohohoho mohohohore!”

He can hear echoes of his pleas beside him, and Peter’s whipping out the big guns on this one. “Teheheheheddy! Teddy you wihihihihihin! I’m sohohohorry! Plehehehease!”

As nice as this is, the warm, playful atmosphere that settles into him and whispers family into his ear, not that he’d ever actually admit it, Richie’s grateful when Paul heaves himself up, leaving Richie to collapse into Peter as they both try to recover.

There’s a slight wheeze to his breathing, and Peter has a couple of tears running down his face from laughing so hard, but they both manage to suck in slightly dramatic breaths as their family looks down at them.

“You guys,” Peter gasps, “Are evil.”

Richie nods tiredly in agreement, “Yeah. Holy shit.”

Paul just smiles as Ted leans in to ruffle Peter’s hair, then Richie’s. “Yeah, well. Good news for you two, we’ve declared this a tie. Turns out that both you geeks are stupidly ticklish in weird-ass places. Congrats!”

They flip him twin birds, then quickly stumble over apologies when Ted fakes a lunge towards them.

He settles back next to Paul with a satisfied grin, “It’s nice to know I still got it. Why don’t we let the kids take a nap while we order some dinner? Chinese sound good with you two?”

“Not napping,” Richie mutters, eyes already half-shut, “But I like Chinese.”

“Mhm.” Peter falls down onto his back, pulling Richie down with him.

The last thing Richie feels before he drifts off is a hand smoothing down his hair, and then he falls asleep with a smile on his face and a comforting warmth telling him that, no matter what happens, everything’s going to be just fine with his little makeshift family by his side.

[tickleeteases]

if you’re still taking short fic requests

id love to ask for anything with my blorbo richie because i have no self control 💔💔💔

- ☁️ (ALSO HAPPY HOLIDAYS FOR WHATEVER YOU CELEBRATE!!)

Vengeance Shall Be Mine!

Merry belated Christmas!! Consider this my gift to you on this wonderful holiday season. A lovely dose of the Spankoffski-Matthews-Lipschitz family with the spotlight on our favourite anime dweeb, Richie <33 I hope everyone enjoys and Happy Holidays!!

“Richie,” Peter warned, “You’re going to regret this.”

Pete was backed into a corner, quite literally, with two hands held out in front of him as a meagre defense. Despite his words, a nervous grin was creeping across his face and Richie, who had finally gotten the upper hand and now had his best friend trapped said, “Maybe. But I might as well make the most of it, don’t you think?”

Before Peter could respond, Richie had already latched onto his ribs, vibrating his hands into the space between the bones, causing Pete to immediately double over, cackling.

“FUCK!” He cried, holding onto Richie’s wrists like they were the only thing keeping him upright, “Rihihihichie nohohohoho! Not there! Plehehehease!”

Richie hummed thoughtfully, “Man, how many times have I said that? And you never want to listen to me!” His eyes caught on Pete’s glasses slipping down his face and plucked them off in order to set them gently off to the side. “Unless, of course, you want me to switch to your knees instead. ‘Cause I can always do that.”

Loose hair nearly whipped Richie in the face as Pete shook his head frantically. “No! Richie nononono plehehehease! I cahahan’t!”

“I don’t knowwwww,” Richie sang, so high on power that he didn’t hear the front door open or the footsteps moving towards them, “I believe in you, buddy! You totally can!”

Just as Richie moved down, Peter’s eyes snapped up and locked onto something behind him.

“Ted! Tehehehed hehehehelp!”

Oh fuck.

In a split-second defense, Richie gave a couple firm squeezes to the muscle above Pete’s kneecap, just enough to send him crashing to the ground with a screech, before fucking bolting.

He made it all of three steps before a hand wrapped itself around his arm and flung him onto the couch. Ted’s ever-smug face stared down at him, wearing a mildly impressed look.

“I gotta hand it to you, kid. I didn’t expect you to ever be able to beat Petey at his own game considering, you know,” He gestured vaguely at Richie’s person, “all that.”

Ted made quick work of pinning Richie’s hands under his knees, talking all the while, “And even though my brother’s a little bitch for needing to be rescued,” Pete flips him off from his position on the floor which Ted returns without even looking, and, how the fuck??? “He’s still my little brother and I need to avenge him. You know how it is, right?”

The only thing running through Richie’s head was Oh holy shit I am so fucked on loop, so he’s not sure how he managed to squeak out, “We could team up against him! You don’t have to do this, Ted!”

He knew that his fate was sealed when Ted just laughed at him.

“You have balls, Richie. And I respect that! But Spankoffskis gotta stick together, so, any last words?”

Richie looked over at Peter who’d finally stood up and came over to watch his downfall and he said, “I will have my revenge.”

That’s all he managed to get out before Ted dug into his stomach, using his years of experience as a big brother to bring Richie’s defenses to the ground.

“Shihihihihihit!” Richie squinted at Ted, “I’ll gehehet you tohohohohoo—Waitwaitwait nohohohohohoho!”

Ted cut him off by worming his hands under Richie’s arms, causing him to throw his head back as he was lost to his laughter. “Oh, will you? Good luck with that kid, I look forward to the attempt.”

Richie’s last coherent thought before Peter decided to help out his older brother was I wonder if Uncle Paul’s busy right now.

[tickleeteases]

The Measure of A Man's Strength

Notes: Commission for @theultimatelee19. Thank you so much for you patience on this commission. I do enjoy this trio and watching Steve get what's coming to him, so I'm grateful for the opportunity to write this 😌 I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Steve claims that of the three of them, he is the strongest. Robin and Nancy are eager to show just how wrong he is.

Steve had dug himself into a hole of his own making. It had all begun with an innocent competition. The three of them were sitting together in Nancy’s basement (which was a surprisingly comfortable lounge space when it wasn’t occupied by loveable but annoying children), indulging in the first down time they had been allowed following the aftermath of Vecna. Robin had just settled into the couch and was considering taking a nap, when a triumphant whoop broke through her thoughts. Nancy was grinning ear to ear, Steve’s hand pinned under her own on the coffee table in-between them.

“I’ve won! And you were so cocky a second ago!” Nancy was practically glowing, as though something far more significant than an arm wrestle has just been accomplished. She pressed a kiss to the side of Steve’s face, who huffed, but could hardly hide his own soft smile as he listened to her cheer. “I suppose that’ll teach you not to underestimate me again.”

Robin whistled, clapping lazily from her position. “Congrats, Nance! Though I can’t say beating ol’ Stevie here is much of a victory.”

Steve frowned, quickly disentangling his hand from Nancy’s. “Please. I’m clearly the strongest out of any of us. I think the swath of demogorgans I’ve taken down proves that much.”

“I’m positive my kill list is higher than yours,” Nancy said, elbowing him gently in the ribs. “Besides, I think I just showed otherwise moments ago.”

“Please. I was going easy on you. There’s no way you’d be able to take me down if I wasn’t holding back. In fact, I bet I could take you both on at once and still come out victorious.”

Nancy and Robin exchanged a glance. “I don’t think this is the path you want to go down, Harrington,” Robin advised him, swinging up on the couch in one fluid motion. “I’ve seen your girlfriend in action. It is a terrifying sight to behold.”

Steve was, unwisely, not getting the hint, and merely leaned back against the couch with a scoff. “Sure, with a bat, maybe. But hand-to-hand combat? I’m clearly the superior choice.”

“Fine,” Robin warned, a dangerous lilt to her tone that set Steve’s nerves on edge despite his confidence. But just know you asked for this.”

Without warning, Robin jumped up, darting around the coffee table and planting herself directly on his waist. Steve’s arms jerked in protection, but in all the commotion he hadn’t taken note of Nancy climbing onto the couch behind him. Now, her legs curled around his arms, her feet tucked under the couch to anchor them there. Steve grunted, squirming and tugging on his arms in annoyance. It wasn’t a perfect hold, the element of surprise doing most of the work for them thus far, which is why the two had to act fast if they wanted this to work.

Without warning, Robin’s hands plunged under Steve’s shirt, skittering gently over his sides. Steve’s eyes widened, his mouth jerking up into a grin before he had a chance to compose himself. “What are you—?”

“Giving you incentive,” Robin replied simply, her touch deceptively effective for how light she was going. “I think it’s fair to say that Nancy and I on numerous occasions have proven how devastatingly ticklish you are. So, I figured this would prevent you from taking it too easy on us. C’mon, Steve. Use that strength you were talking about earlier and get out of this.”

“That is such—fuck!” Steve jerked violently forward as Robin’s hand darted upward, skittering treacherously under his arms. “S-Shit, Robin, do you ever c-cut yohohour fucking nails, jesus!”

“Why would I when it clearly holds such devastating consequences for you? Now c’mon, you’re not even trying.”

The somewhat disheartening truth was that he was trying. It was difficult to concentrate on that however faced with how unfairly ticklish everything was at the moment. Against his will, something akin to giggles were slipping out. A particularly sensitive spot above his ribs made him jerk down on his arms suddenly, nearly tugging Nancy off the couch. Her eyes widened, but she quickly stabilized herself once more. She intertwined her hands with his this time, adding an extra layer to his entrapment that Steve did not appreciate. Not only this, but she leaned down, peppering ticklish kisses along his neck that were almost worse than everything else that was happening.

Red blossomed across Steve’s features, hating how each kiss drew his strength away from him even further. “N-Nahahanacy!” Steve protested, ducking his shoulders up protectively. “Cut it ohohout!”

“Throw me off and maybe I will,” she whispered sweetly into his ear before returning dutifully to her task. That, combined with Robin’s hands which were wedged now under his arms, Steve was suffering dearly. The neck was worse only by a small margin as Robin was there to witness what he likely wouldn’t have minded if he and Nancy were alone.

“I didn’t know he had a ticklish neck,” Robin commented, eyes lighting up in a way that Steve was not fond of at all. “You been holding out on me, Harrington?”

Nancy glanced up from her task, drawing away from his neck only to say, “Really? Well, if you want to see what really gets to him, go upstairs and grab the electric toothbrush on the side table���not the one in the bathroom, that is mine, and I refuse to have it sullied this way.”

Robin was off, though not before casting a skeptical glance Nancy’s way. For his part, Steve had immediately broken into harried pleas that soon became intermixed with cackles as Nancy attacked his neck once more. “C-C’mon, plehehease! Don’t shohohow her that, I’ll never get a b-breheheheak!”

“As if you would mind,” she murmured into his skin, the vibrations of her voice sending shivers down his spine. It was possible she wasn’t wrong. In fact, it was entirely possible that he didn’t mind what was happening now and that that was contributing a great deal to his not freeing himself. Nancy, of course, already knew this, but he didn’t need Robin finding that information out. He let out a noise that was very close to a whine at the threat, but before he could protest further, Robin was back with the toothbrush in hand. It looked so innocent on its own, and Robin handed it to Nancy with an air of skepticism as she resumed her earlier position.

“Observe,” Nancy instructed sweetly, before switching the tool on and running it teasingly behind Steve’s ears. The latter shrieked, sinking down further against the couch in an effort to get away. “As you can see, it yields such promising reactions.”

Robin had winced at the sudden loud noise, though she quickly recuperated and returned to her own tickling. She reached back to squeeze at his knees, a combination that only served to drive Steve up the wall. “I don’t know if I’m more weirded out that that works or that you guys had to have figured that out organically somehow.”

Nancy shrugged, moving the brush to the back of his neck now. “Some things are best kept secret.”

While the two of them chatted, Steve was going insane. It was the closest he would ever get to being electrocuted (with any luck). His body was a livewire of nerves, twitching and writhing of its own accord. His laughter had dissolved into wheezy giggles. His hands, freed as a consequence of Nancy needing her own, batted uselessly at Nancy’s legs, either as a plea or an escape attempt, he couldn’t say. When the two of them switched off and he was faced with Nancy’s long nails fluttering behind his ears as the toothbrush traced intricate patterns across his stomach, he thought he might actually die.

“F-Fuhuhuck ohohoff both of you!” he complained, yelping when that earned him a pinch to the hip.

"If you really wanted us to stop, you know exactly how to make that happen."

They were right, unfortunately, so instead, Steve convinced himself that he wasn't escaping in order to spare their egos. It was a selfless act on his part, and had nothing to do with how much he may or may not have wanted to stay there being tickled senseless for a while longer. He could free himself whenever he wanted to.

After all, he was the strongest.

[tickleeteases]

Morning Breath

Summary: Nancy is worried for her upcoming job interview, and Steve tries—inadvisably—to lighten the mood.

Notes: Commission for @ultimatelee19. I don't often write for Stranger Things, so I hope this is up to par! I had fun writing it nonetheless. I love these two dorks <3

“You’re up early.”

Nancy stiffened from her position on the couch, her hands immediately flying to her chest. She cursed herself for the involuntary action afterward. She was still in pajamas, after all, thus leaving anything that would have been there thoroughly protected by a thin tank top. Not to mention, it was nothing Steve hadn’t seen before. She still wasn’t quite used to knowing that it was only her and Steve in the apartment. She kept expecting annoying little brothers or overprotective parents to barge in at any moment.

She turned around to find Steve leaning against the railing midway down the stairs, his mouth quirked in a half smile. He was, noticeably, dressed only in some thin shorts. Nancy’s gaze roamed his torso for a moment before she caught herself and smiled in return.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“You’re going to be fine. It’s only one job interview. I'm sure you'll do great, and if you don't, there will be others, I promise."

“A job interview that I only barely secured,” Nancy corrected as Steve made his way down the stairs. “A female reporter is a ridiculous notion according to this society we live in. I mean, they could cancel right now. They hardly need to keep their word, after all. Sure they may think it’s an ‘interesting concept’ now, but—”

“Nancy.”

She broke off mid-rant as two arms wrapped around her from behind. Soft lips pressed into the back of her neck, peppering her shoulders with featherlight kisses so she couldn’t help but shiver. “You’re going to do great. You are incredibly smart, a verified badass, and you can articulate yourself better than half the dying old men in the profession. Not to mention, I’ve never met anyone so skilled at getting into other people’s business as yourself—”

“Hey.” She elbowed him lightly, but turned her head to grin back at him. “I suppose I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

He leaned forward to kiss her and she sighed a little as her lips meant hers. Her and Steve’s relationship had never exactly been a stable one, but five years had passed since the craziness that Hawkins had brought about; things were different between them—calmer. And she often found herself in moments like these realizing how lucky she truly was to have found him.

“Although, Nance, no offense, but if anything is going to throw them off, it’s this bad breath.”

…or not.

“Seriously, I love you babe, but it smells like something gross died in there.”

Nancy’s brows twitched in irritation, and she squirmed out of his embrace, whirling around on him. “For your information, I haven’t had time to brush my teeth just yet. And who are you to judge? Your breath doesn’t exactly smell like roses either.” She opened her mouth, breathing at him and he lurched back. “How does that smell, hmm? Since you’re such an expert.”

Steve held a hand up to his throat, faking a gag as he fell back on the couch. “Gross! Ach, the smell! I may never recover.”

“You—!” Nancy smacked a pillow lightly on his stomach, and he grinned over the top of it.

Steve held up his hands in mock surrender, though the shit-eating grin on his face didn't make him look all that apologetic. “Relax, I’m just trying to lighten the mood. You know, make you less tense.”

“Oh yeah? Why don’t I just make you ‘less tense’?”

“What is that supposed to mean—woah!”

Steve grunted as Nancy tackled him back against the couch, clambering quickly atop his waist.  He opened his mouth to retort something back, perhaps an apology or some further continuance of the bit that had gotten him here in the first place, but a bark of laughter escaped instead as Nancy dug her fingers into his ribs.

“W-Woah, woah, woah, Nance—shit, not thehehere!”

Nancy tried hard to fight back her giddy smirk. Steve’s ticklishness had become apparent not far into their first relationship, though she had forgotten about it for a while once they reopened things. She had made sure to make good use of the information once it had reappeared after cuddling during a movie night had led to its revelation. Nancy was hardly immune to it, but Steve was ticklish enough that it was easy to make him forget that revenge was a possibility. Convenient for her.

“How’s about it, Stevie?” she crooned, gently climbing her way up his ribcage. “Are you feeling the tension leaving yet?”

His hands shot down to latch around her wrists at that, but they didn’t do much to actually shove her off. “This is cruhuhuel!” he whined, yelping the closer her fingers grew to his underarms. His legs kicked against the cushion, attempting to push his body further up the couch to failing results.

“This is payback.” She teased the edges of his armpits, scratching against his top rib without actually leaving the area just yet. Steve shook his head, letting out noises that could only be described as giggles. “Besides, I have to get out my nervous jitters somehow, and you’re the perfect subject to release them on.”

One of her fingers inched ever so slightly higher. Steve yelped. “Don’t."

“Don’t what? Tickle you?”

“D-Don’t go thehehere!”

She raised an eyebrow, this time unable to hide her smirk. “Ahh, just don’t go there? But not, ‘don’t stop tickling’? Interesting bargaining. One could be led to believe that you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Nohohot lihihike thihis!"

“But there’s another way you could enjoy it?”

A flush had begun to creep its way up Steve’s neck and he groaned, glancing away. “S-Stop twisting my wohohords! And—fuck, get ohohout of there!”

Nancy had gone in for the kill, allowing her hands to free roam under his arms now in quick, spidery motions that were quickly destroying his composure. Steve’s arms twitched violently, struggling not to jerk down but to stay up in the air. He had let go of her hands in favor of gripping the back of the couch, his face twisted up in expression of helpless mirth.

Honestly, Nancy thought, Steve had only himself to blame for getting tickled like this so often. She couldn’t be faulted for taking advantage of someone who was so obviously leaving themselves vulnerable on purpose.

He continued to let her tickle him like that for another few minutes before it finally became too much for him. Nancy’s eyes widened as he lurched forward suddenly, grabbing her hands and pushing back until she was lying trapped underneath him on the couch instead.

“Too much for you?” she asked innocently, knowing she was digging her own grave, but unable to help it. And it did have wonderful results as Steve’s flush darkened even as he transferred both her wrists to one hand, leaving his other free to sue.

“How long do you have before your interview again?”

She frowned. “An hour. Why—”

“Ten-minute car ride, fifteen minutes to get ready, fifteen to eat—I believe that leaves us twenty minutes.”

Nancy’s pulse quickened in her chest, from fear or excitement she couldn’t tell. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d consider putting this whole thing behind us?"

“Ask me in another ten minutes.”

Nancy’s laughter rang through the house as Steve followed through on his promise. In reality, he only kept her there for another five minutes before a particularly effective strategy against her hips had her shrieking for mercy in mere seconds, though to Nancy, it felt like much longer. Not that she would learn her lesson for the next time she decided Steve needed to be taken down a peg.

After all, standing down was not within the nature of Nancy Wheeler.

[tickleeteases]

Making The Rooster Crow || 'Top Gun: Maverick' Tickle Fic

Summary: When Maverick lets a little secret about Rooster slip, Hangman makes it his personal mission to break his rival, to outstanding results.

Word Count: 2,890 words.

Ever since Maverick and Rooster returned from their mission, the Daggers had become closer than ever. It seemed nearly losing their mentor and teammate was the final push the group needed to really bond, and they had been spending increasing amounts of time with one another over the past couple of months. From weekend bar hopping to cookouts at Maverick's place, the Daggers had slowly morphed into a real family, with all the bickering and hijinks that comes with one. On this particular Saturday evening, the group had decided that Maverick's bunker was the prime hangout location, showing up at the older man's doorstep around noon with hotdog buns, beer and massive grins. Their visit was unexpected, to say the least, but Maverick just couldn't bring himself to turn them away, ushering the younger pilots into his home with an exasperated sigh and a lopsided grin.

Only an hour had passed when Rooster was sent out to acquire more alcohol (the entire team had the weekend off, so they were going to get PLASTERED), and Maverick seized the opportunity to bust out the photo albums and start recounting tales of his godson's childhood, to the others' great amusement. They gathered around Maverick's ratty sofa, practically clawing for a better look at the blurred polaroid's carefully arranged across the pages. One showed a two year old Rooster sitting on a training potty, beaming up at the camera. Another showcased a seven year old Rooster attempting to ride a bike, his mother holding the bars from behind to keep him from toppling over. They were all very endearing...and amusing, if Hangman and Coyote's howling laughter was any indication.

"Oh my god, these are amazing!" Hangman crowed, whipping out his phone to snap a couple of pictures. "I'm never going to let him live this down!"

Maverick rolled his eyes, turning to the next page. "If he asks, you found these photos while snooping through my bookshelf. He'll kill me if he finds out I showed you guys these."

Phoenix leaned forward, observing a picture of a younger Maverick hoisting Rooster onto his shoulders, both grinning from ear to ear. "There's so many of them." She commented, earning a soft laugh from their mentor.

"Yeah, Carole was a stickler for taking photos; wanted to preserve all the memories, you know?" Maverick shook his head, crows feet forming in the corners of his eyes as he snickered. "If it were up to her, she would have had half of these blown up onto huge canvases to hang around her house, but Rooster begged her not to."

Bob propped his chin on Phoenix's shoulder from behind, leaning forward to point to one of the photos. "What's this one?" The weapons systems officer questioned. Maverick directed his gaze to the picture in question, grin immediately widening as he realized which one it was. It showed a teenaged Rooster at his high school graduation, Maverick standing next to him with one arm slung over his shoulder while his free hand squeezed at the boy's side.

"Oh, that? Rooster wasn't giving Carole a "real smile" for her pictures; said she'd taken enough of them already and we were going to miss our diner reservations. I wasn't having any of that, so I decided to GIVE him a reason to smile."

Hangman, Coyote and Fanboy burst into another round of laughter. "Hold up, you mean to tell me Bradshaw's TICKLISH?" Hangman smirked, lips curling up at the corners in a manner that made him look downright evil. "Oho, this is just too good!"

"Ooh yeah, he's more than just ticklish, he's STUPIDLY ticklish." Maverick replied, a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes. "And he loves it, don't let him tell you otherwise. The kid used to BEG me to wreck him before he got too old and prideful. Now he'll deny it like his life depends on it, but let me tell you, if you manage to get your hands on him, he won't ONCE ask you to stop."

As Maverick continued to speak, Hangman's smirk grew by the second. Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw was ticklish? And not just ticklish, but LIKED it? It was like the world's best Christmas gift had just been dropped in his lap, wrapped up with a big, pretty bow. Phoenix met his gaze as the other Daggers began to barrage Maverick with more questions, immediately recognizing the look he was giving her. "You're totally going to tickle him now, aren't you?" She asked with an amused chuckle.

"Eventually. I'm going to have a little fun first..."

...

When Rooster returned with the beer, the cookout continued as it usually would. Fanboy took charge of the grill, claiming that Coyote couldn't be trusted not to "burn the shit out of the hotdogs," while Phoenix, Bob, Coyote, and Maverick gathered around the other air hockey table Maverick kept in the corner of his kitchen (he claimed he had no need for a kitchen table before the Daggers started barging in every other weekend). That left only Hangman and Rooster, who were currently engaged in a game of checkers at the living room coffee table. Rooster's eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he stared down at the board, contemplating his next move. He was in the lead, for now, but Hangman knew exactly what to do to get the edge over his opponent.

He cleared his throat loudly. The noise pulled Rooster out of his thoughts, the other pilot's gaze flicking up to him in question. Hangman put on an innocent look, raising his fist to cover his mouth as he let out another small cough. "Sorry, tickle in my throat." He said, placing an emphasis on the word. The effect was beautiful, if not subtle. He honestly wouldn't have even noticed it had Maverick not tipped him off to Rooster's little secret. The mustached pilot's breath hitched, eyes widening ever so slightly as a light pink dusted his cheeks and ears. Oho, this was just too good!

Hangman chose to act like nothing had happened, returning his gaze to the board. "So, you going to move or not, Bradshaw?" He snarked, snapping Rooster out of his daze. The blonde grumbled something under his breath, reaching forward and moving a piece forward. The move was careless, putting his piece directly in the line of fire for at least two of Hangman's pieces, proving that even the mention of the dreaded t-word was enough to disrupt the other's train of thought. Hangman shot Rooster a smug grin, immediately jumping the poorly placed piece with a look of satisfaction. "Bad move."

...

After the group had finished their late lunch, Rooster and Maverick had taken up dish duty, to less than stellar effect. Sure, they both washed dishes just fine, but the two couldn't stop bickering and flicking water at one another to get more than a couple of plates done every five minutes.

"Come on, Mav, that's bullshit and you know it!" Rooster stated, wiping down one of the spatulas with the dishrag. "Pepsi is better than Coke by a MILE!"

"Pepsi is disgusting; what's it even supposed to taste like anyways? Cherry? If that's supposed to be cherry, I'm the queen of England."

"You're exaggerating. Besides, COKE tastes like you soaked a bunch of cigarettes in liquid sugar for a month, then put them in a blender." Maverick gave a gasp of indignation, splashing a bit of soapy water at his godson with a halfhearted "oops" and a smug grin.

While the two continued their little debate, Hangman slipped silently into the kitchen, watching to two with a mixture of amusement and mischief. Time to put the next part of his plan into motion. The blonde moved forward, slowly approaching from behind, hand extended towards Rooster's exposed side.

Rooster jumped, letting out a small yelp at the feeling of a prod just beneath his ribs. The dishtowel and spatula clattered onto the counter as he whipped around, eyes narrowing as they landed on the other pilot.

Hangman held his hands up in mock surrender, chuckling. "Woah there, big bird! Just trying to get your attention! What's the matter, I scare you?" He asked, acting like he didn't know good and well what he had just done.

Rooster quickly turned back to the dishes, ignoring the little smirk Maverick shot his way. “I’m fine, just scared me a bit, that's all.” He replied, a little too quickly. He didn’t see the amused look Maverick shot towards Hangman, keeping his eyes fixed on the dish he’d begun scrubbing a bit too enthusiastically. “What did you need?”

…

Hangman decided to get bolder after that, eager to see his rival squirm. He waited until the two were alone again, cornering Rooster outside under the guise of sharing a drink. While a bit wary by the other’s sudden display of friendliness, Rooster had accepted the offer, and was no nursing his third beer of the evening. Hangman could tell the effects were starting to kick in, Rooster’s grin becoming more dopey, his words ever so slightly slurred. The blonde was mid-sip when Hangman determined it was time to go for the kill.

“Hey Rooster, which spot’s more ticklish, you armpits or your ribs?”

Rooster choked, sputtering and coughing as he quickly moved to set his drink on the porch railing. “E-Excuse me?” He croaked, eyes wide with shock and face a delightful shade of red.

“Armpits or ribs, Bradshaw, it’s not a hard question.”

Rooster took a precautious step back, eyebrows furrowing. “Why the hell would you ask something like that?” He questioned. “I’m not-why would you think I’m ticklish?”

Hangman smirked, taking a step towards the other as he set his own beer safely out of the way. “Because you are, and I need to know which spots get you the giggliest before I wreck your shit.” He replied. “I’m nothing if not thorough, after all.”

Oh, the look on Rooster’s face was worth a million bucks. His blush had progressed into a bright crimson shade, reaching all the way to his ears. His eyes were the size of dinner plates, his mouth hanging slightly open at the other’s words. Hangman felt a sense of pride welling up, knowing HE’D been the one to render one of Top Gun’s best pilots speechless.

“I guess I’ll just pick then, when the time comes.”

Now that seemed to snap Rooster out of his daze. “When the time comes?” He asked incredulously, voice a slightly higher pitch than normal.

Now for the killing blow. “Well yeah, I’m not going to tickle you RIGHT NOW. That would be too easy. Naah, I’m going to wait until you let your guard down again. You’ll just be going about your day, having forgotten all of this, and the next thing you know…” Hangman raised a hand, fingers wiggling tauntingly.

With that, he picked up his beer and strode off to rejoin the others, leaving a stammering Rooster in his wake.

...

By the time the Daggers were ready to head home, Rooster was a nervous wreck, and Hangman couldn't have been more thrilled. For the rest of the evening, after their little chat on the porch, he had been a downright MENACE to the mustached pilot. Slipping the word into casual conservation whenever he could, wiggling his fingers ever so subtly in the other's direction, shooting him a look that SCREAMED "I'm going to get you so bad, just you wait" but never actually DOING anything. The only ones who seemed to notice Rooster's plight were Maverick and Phoenix, who shared amused looks every time he wasn't looking.

As everyone began piling into their individual cars, Hangman made his way over to his own vehicle, a smug grin plastered to his face as he heard footsteps rapidly approaching from behind. He turned around, hand still on the handle of his door, mouth already open and ready to make another teasing remark. Before he could utter a syllable, though, he was pushed firmly against his car, back chilled by the cool metal beneath it. Rooster was glaring daggers at him, cheeks tinged a bright pink, hands gripping his shoulders tightly. "What the hell, Seresin?" He hissed lowly. "What was all of THAT? Why are you-did Maverick say something to you? WHY-"

"Nah, you're just that obvious, Bradshaw." Hangman lied smoothy, immensely satisfied at Rooster's blatant display of embarrassment. "I mean, EVERYBODY knows you're ticklish, I'm just the only one who called you out on it." He replied, taking a step forward, Rooster stumbling back in surprise at the movement. "And you know what else? Everyone knows you LIKE it, too. You should consider yourself lucky that I'm kind enough to indulge your cute little quirk...eventually, of course."

As he spoke, Rooster's face got progressively redder, and for a moment Hangman swore he'd had a stroke. "That's not-Maverick DID tell you guys, didn't he? Oh, that old bastard is gonna get it!" He growled, turning to storm back towards the house. Hangman couldn't have that; Maverick had been so kind as to share this deliciously amusing information in the first place, the least the pilot could do is distract Rooster from his little vengeance quest.

Hangman quickly grabbed Rooster's wrist, tugging him backwards and flipping the taller man around, reversing their earlier position as he pinned Rooster against the side of his car. "Hold on now, big bird. We aren't finished here." He crooned, hands rested against Rooster's sides, fingers curling ever so slightly. The other's breath hitched, coming in shallow bursts as his eyes widened, meeting Hangman's piercing gaze with a mixture of fear and excitement.

"Let me go, asshole!"

"Not a chance. I think I've tenderized my prey enough, now it's time for the main course."

Rooster couldn't get a single word in before Hangman struck, fingers digging into the flesh of his sides and vibrating ruthlessly. The mustached pilot jerked, head slammed back against the car as he bit his lip, shaking with barely contained chortles. Now, that just wouldn't do. Hangman had been nice and patient; he was OWED that sweet laughter.

"What's the matter, Bradshaw? Cat got your tongue? Or were you just craving this so badly you can't think of any half-assed protests?" Rooster tried to glare at him, but the effect was completely ruined by the wobbly grin splitting his face in two. Instead, he opted to flip him the bird, earning a bark of laughter from the other. Hangman's fingers scribbled and squeezed skillfully at Rooster's sides, slipping upwards every so often to pluck at his ribs before dancing back down again. "You have no sense of self-preservation, do you? Christ, you're more like Maverick than I thought."

Rooster wheezed as Hangman's hands found purchase just above his hips, fingers squeezing at the tender flesh as his thumbs pressed into his lower stomach, massaging small, ticklish circles into the toned muscle. "Shihihihihit!" He couldn't contain the wave of rapid giggles that came tumbling past his lips, hands fumbling about in an uncoordinated attempt at grabbing his attacker's wrists. "Stahahahap, you ahahahahahass!"

"Uh, HELL no. You're way too cute like this; maybe I should tickle you more often? I certainly prefer this Rooster to the one who is constantly being a huge pain in my ass." Hangman teased, his thumbs vibrating into the little sweet spots he'd stumbled upon on either side of Rooster's navel, sending the other into a fresh wave of laughter. His words earned a sharp, panicked snort from his victim, Rooster's cheeks taking on an unnatural shade of red.

"Ohohohoho, screhehehehehew you! Yohou're sohohoho gonna get it whehehehehen I gehehehet my hahahahahands ohohohohon you!"

Hangman snickered. "Ooh, I'm trembling in my boots. Now, let's see how ticklish you are up here, hm?" His fingers crawled up, scribbling over Rooster's ribs one at one as they inched closer to their destinations. Rooster's arms slammed down immediately, his mirth taking on a downright adorable pitch. "Giving yourself away there, Rooster. Now I HAVE to test those spots out." The shorter pilot sang, jamming his fingers into the hollows before Rooster had the chance to stop him. In an instant, the floodgates had busted open, loud and wheezy laughter filling the air.

"OHOHOHOHO SHIHIHIHIHIT! JAHAHAHAHAKE, NOT THEHEHEHEHERE! NOHOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHEHERE!" Rooster cackled, nose scrunched up and shoulders shaking with laughter. His knees shook, barely supporting his weight as he squirmed, trying desperately to dance away from the ticklish attack.

"Looks like I've hit the jackpot! What's the matter, huh? Can't handle a few tickles? Oh, we both know you're loving this. I mean, despite all your bitching and moaning, you haven’t even TRIED to run away. Sure, you're squirming like a worm on a hook, but I think that's to be expected considering how SENSITIVE you are." Hangman teased, delighting in the way Rooster's laughter began to be punctuated by loud snorts. "Luckily for you, I don't intend on stopping until I make you CROW, Bradshaw..."

...

Maverick watched the playful display silently from his porch, unable to keep a small grin from tugging at his lips as Rooster let out another giggly screech. Was the totally screwed when Rooster got his hands on him? Definitely. Was it watching his godson have the most fun he'd had in ages worth it? Absolutely.

[tickleeteases]

Note

Fandom: MCU

Characters: Peter Parker/MJ, The Avengers + Pepper and Rhodey

Summary: MJ puts a note on Peter’s back that says “tickle me” and the Avengers oblige. Peter, naturally, has no clue what is going on.

A/N: Based on my tags to this lmao

Words: 488

MJ hadn’t meant for it to go this far.

Mostly because she hadn’t expected it to work.

She’d gotten used to being around the Avengers now, several months into her and Peter’s relationship, but, just like Peter and his constant need to impress, she too felt a bit… well, in need of not being in the way, mostly.

But she’d stopped being nervous around them all. At least outwardly.

Peter was still a mess, which was cute, but don’t tell him she thought that.

Tony was the first to do it, eyeing Peter in amusement before his gaze slid to her. She scratched her neck, back straight, head held high, but she couldn’t hold his gaze. He just grinned, so mischievously she was happy not to be the subject of that expression.

“Come here,” he told Peter, who obliged albeit with a question leaving his mouth, another one probably at the tip of his tongue when Tony grabbed his arm. He didn’t have time to utter it. Not when Tony’s fingers under his arm made him squeal as loudly as they did.

Keep reading

[tickleeteases]

Predicament

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Characters: Reid, Morgan + the BAU

Summary: Prentiss accidentally finds out that Reid is ticklish and Morgan stores it away for later.

A/N: Based on two prompts about Reid's long hair bothering him in the heat and Morgan tickling him in secret in front of the others. I hope you like it!

Words: 1k

Reid was approximately five seconds away from going into the kitchen of this small town police station and grabbing the scissors to cut his hair off. Frustrated, he tucked it behind his ear again and ran a hand through it, ultimately making it come untucked again in his search for a moment of relief. Seriously, why didn’t they have a working AC down here when they knew it got this hot in summer?

“You okay?” Prentiss sounded both amused and concerned, most likely having watched him struggle for a while before stepping in. “You need a hair tie?”

He turned toward her. “You have one? Oh my god, yes please.” He accepted it, twirling it around in his fingers for a moment before reaching up to gather all his hair, only once he’d tied it up he realized he’d missed a strand. It was hanging just by his face, mocking him.

He groaned and untied it and tried again, only this time, maybe due to his heat-induced exasperation, he missed an entirely different strand by his neck.

“Jesus Christ,” he growled, ripping the hair tie off again because the strand of hair was grazing his neck and he suddenly felt like ripping his whole hair off.

“Here.” Prentiss took it from him again. “Let me help.”

None of them expected what came next. Not Reid. Not Prentiss. And not Morgan, who was sitting across from them and watched it all go down.

Prentiss grabbed the hair tie out of his hand, grabbed his hair out of his neck, but didn’t make it far enough to do anything with the hair tie or the hair due to Reid jerking away. That would’ve been strange enough, only it was accompanied by a shriek which made all three of them freeze as they tried to comprehend what the hell had just happened.

Prentiss got it first. “You’re ticklish.”

“Am not.”

“You so are.” She slapped his shoulder, much too delighted for Reid’s comfort. “That’s why you dropped the cup.”

“Pardon?”

“Two years ago, when I poked your side and you flung a cup at me.”

“I didn’t fling it-”

“I tickled you. And I tickled your neck just now.” She demonstrated by fluttering her fingers over the nape of his neck again, making him recoil. “See!”

“Stop it,” he whined, rubbing at where she’d touched him. “It’s too hot for this.”

“Right, sorry, I won’t tickle you this time. Just-” She let out a laugh. “Stay still.”

*

It was stupid of Reid to think that Morgan’s silence during that interaction meant he wouldn’t store the information away for later. Later apparently meant when they were on the jet and Reid was trapped between him and the window and couldn’t go away.

He wasn’t sure if he was grateful that Morgan was at the very least trying to be subtle about it, although there was nothing subtle about Reid’s reactions. He knew that. He couldn’t stop.

He tried to push Morgan’s intruding hand away without alerting Hotch, who was sitting right across from them with Rossi, who was talking to JJ and thus less likely to notice what was going on. Hotch, on the other hand, had his nose stuck on the case file even though the case was over. For some reason the thought of him picking up on Reid’s predicament embarrassed him the most.

Morgan was relentless and not very good at pretending not to know what he was doing, if his grin was anything to go by. Reid’s knee jerked away when he squeezed it under the table, but he only followed and squeezed it again. It took everything in him not to cry out now and he let his book fall shut before him, all plans of reading entirely gone.

“Morgan,” he said. He’d like to think he said it calmly and quietly, but it came out as a hiss and made the entire table look at him.

“Yes, Reid?” Morgan all but batted his fucking eyelashes at him. “Something wrong?”

“N-no.”

“You sound a little riled up. Doesn’t he?” He aimed the question at Hotch, who’s slight twitch of the mouth made Reid realize he knew exactly what was going on.

“He seems fine to me,” he said and returned to his file. Reid was grateful for that, at least.

“Well then,” Morgan said, slapping Reid’s shoulder. “No need for me to worry.” He poked his cheek and grinned. “Come on, pretty boy. Smile for me.”

Reid slapped his hand away. “Leave me alone.”

Morgan waved his hand. “Testy. Don’t make me bring out the big guns.” He poked his ribs this time, dropping all pretenses of subtlety.

Reid tried to shield his body. “Please don’t.”

“Why not? You ticklish, Reid?”

“No-”

“Liar.” He squeezed his knee with one hand and curled his fingers under his chin with the other. Let’s just say it was lucky neither of them had any drinks on that table. “Oho! Yeah, you’re a liar all right. Five years I’ve known you. More.” He was tickling Reid in earnest now, and Reid, feeling very sorry for himself, was laughing and not able to stop. “How did I not know about this.”

“Show the kid some mercy,” Rossi said, although he was laughing as he spoke so Reid was sure he was utterly enjoying himself.

“It took Prentiss trying to tie your hair for you to find it out, for crying out loud,” Morgan continued, latching onto his sides and refusing to budge. “Unacceptable.”

“I’m more confused how none of us realized that was the reason he flung the cup,” Prentiss said from somewhere behind them.

“I didn’t fling- oh my god, stop.” Reid slid down his seat, which was a bad idea because it made him feel all the more stuck, with his shit threatening to ride up and expose skin he wouldn’t be able to handle having tickled bare. But Morgan was, despite it all, kind enough to back off and let him breathe.

He huffed and sat up, ignoring his burning face as the whole jet had their eyes on him. He knew there was no judgment there - would only find fondness had he dared to look anyone in the eye - but it was embarrassing still.

Morgan ruffled his hair, which was loose and tucked behind his ears. “I have five years of that to catch up on. Better get used to it.”

Reid sighed and realized he didn’t really mind the notion.

[tickleeteases]

Creeping

Fandom: Stranger Things

Characters: Steve, Robin

Summary: Steve and Robin go camping. Robin turns into a tickle monster.

A/N: Thanks to the person who commissioned this!

Words: 1.3k

Steve felt silly. He knew it was Robin out there, creeping outside of the tent trying to make him nervous. He’d been with her literally five minutes ago, before deciding he needed to get into bed immediately or else he would freeze to death. Robin had stayed to make sure their fire was fully out. He’d never felt like he needed to protect her, and so he didn’t question it. Now he suddenly felt frozen for different reasons. And it was fucking stupid because he knew it was her.

Right?

“Robin.” He tried to not make it sound like a question, to show her he knew what she was up to. “You coming or what?”

No answer. She was doing it on purpose. He could see her rounding the tent in the dying light of the fire. That sound was her stepping on a twig. Her shuffling through the early autumn leaves.

It had been his idea to go camping, to be fair, but she’d been enthusiastic. Both of them needing a break from Hawkins. Never ending conversations about life and their plans. Steve told himself he was just waiting for her to finish high school, then they would move. He told himself a lot of things. Robin usually let him. She was a bigger dreamer than him, after all.

“Our own apartment,” was how her dreams always started. “In a big city with sunlit wooden floors and a bakery on the bottom floor.”

Steve always humored her and never said he dreamed of suburban life, with a big house on a tree-lined street. He didn’t even know if that was his dream or just something he’d once latched on to. A dream he was supposed to have. “Imagine us married,” he’d snorted and Robin had snorted right back and neither of them had mentioned how Robin couldn’t get married to a woman and Steve was kissing boys without talking about it.

“Robin,” he said again, sitting up slightly in his unzipped sleeping bag. “Do you need saving?”

The looming figure suddenly stopped just by the tent’s opening. Steve could see Robin’s coat - a worn, too thin thing she was refusing to part with - and yet he felt his heart skip a beat.

“Robin, you’re not funny.” Did his voice shake? His voice definitely didn’t shake. What a loser.

The figure - Robin - stuck her hand in, and Steve had approximately three seconds of overwhelming panic wash over him before Robin was on top of him, laughing when he screamed. “Got you!”

“Jesus, Robin, you fucking lunatic!”

“Did I scare you?”

“You pounced on me-”

“You’ll live. Won’t you?” She poked his navel of all spots through the sleeping bag, and Steve realized belatedly that it was incredibly hard to stop her when she was straddling him like this. Thankfully his hands were free, not that they helped much. As she poked him again, he found she simply evaded his attempts at pushing her off.

“Earlier,” she said, poking him again, and again. “You told me you weren’t ticklish during truth or dare. You obviously lied.”

“Am I laughing without realizing?” But Steve knew he couldn’t pretend for much longer. Could barely bite back his smile. “Seriously, are we gonna talk about you trying to scare me to death just now?”

“So you were scared? You keep surprising me tonight, Stevie.”

“Don’t call me that- ah!” She had moved towards his hips, somehow making each squeeze through the sleeping bag feel as if it was directly onto skin. He felt his body jerk, and now he was laughing without being able to stop. If Robin was attempting a weird super villain laugh on purpose was beyond him. Much was beyond him now.

“That’s a bad spot, huh?” She did that god awful cackle again and Steve had to remember to tell her not to ever do that shit again once he was out of this situation. He was kinda starting to wonder if she would ever let him go though. Her knees were pressing even tighter around his hips, her hands suddenly moving back to squeeze at his thighs, and his thrashing would surely knock her off only she seemed much stronger than he gave her credit for. He would blame this stupid sleeping bag he was stuck in. It wasn’t even protecting him from the tickles. Useless. Just like his flailing hands.

Robin had asked it so innocently during truth or dare that Steve had heard himself deny it without fully reflecting over it. “Ticklish? Me? Of course not.”

Robin had gone quiet, until Steve had shot the question right back at her and she’d said she hadn’t picked truth yet. Steve should’ve known she wouldn’t have believed him. Steve should’ve been on his guard.

“Rohohobin!”

“Yehehes?”

“I’m going to fucking- god just stop-”

“I haven’t heard a single please or sorry for lying or you’re a goddess come out of that big mouth of yours.”

“And you will hear no such thing- fuck, okay, please! Please stop, Jesus Christ-”

“Hmmm, no.” She returned to his hips. “I don’t think so.”

“You asshole.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

She was suddenly pulling the sleeping bag off of him - it hadn’t been zipped, after all - and the somewhat cool air hit him before she’d shoved her even colder hands up his shirt, latching onto his belly and refusing to move. Whatever she was doing to his belly button, it tickled like hell, and Steve most definitely scared away every monster and murderer with how loudly he screamed. He almost scared himself - he’d never heard that sound leave his mouth before, and he’d fought several monsters in just the past couple of years.

“ROBIN!”

Robin, to her credit, gave him a break, maybe due to how hard she was laughing herself. “Holy shit, what was that sound.”

“I will actually kill you. Get off of me.”

“Uh no, I’m not done.”

Steve shrieked when she latched onto his hips, still beneath his shirt, although luckily for him his pants were somewhat in the way. As she squeezed, over and over, the ticklish shocks going through his body made him jump, over and over. He wasn’t sure which was worse. On one hand, not being able to squirm away at all as she tortured his hips. On the other, the overwhelming panic he’d experienced having his belly button tickled. Maybe his thighs would be best, though he swallowed his words when she reached one hand back to spider over the sensitive skin there. His hands were still useless.

“Was this what you imagined when you were quivering in your boots earlier?” she asked through his laughter.

“I wasn’t quivering- ah!”

She switched her hands quickly, left going from his hips to his thigh, the right one doing the opposite, all the while making a noise as if to scare him with each jolt. A tickle monster, she told him. He would’ve rolled his eyes off had he not been a bit busy.

“You’re the perfect prey,” she said, pausing to let him breathe. “So easy to pin despite being stronger.”

“You’ll have to find your own way home tomorrow,” he replied, panting, smiling all the while without being able to help it. She was smirking down at him, although he could tell she’d not thought that part through. Not that Steve would actually leave her, but now she would have to beg his forgiveness. He was looking forward to it.

The woods around them were quiet - Steve could just imagine what it sounded like had someone walked past their tent. Hearing someone screaming and laughing hysterically in the dark forest was surely spooky. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done, had it been him.

“Have you had enough?”

“I had enough ten fucking minutes ago.”

She snorted and, in a final act of cruelty, pulled up his shirt entirely, pressed her lips to his skin and blew a loud, ridiculous raspberry onto his belly button.

It was safe to say Steve would never go camping with her ever again.

[tickleeteases]

Checkmate

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Characters: Morgan, Hotch, Reid

Anonymous said: so for lee!reid, could it be that he’s constantly bragging abt how good he is at chess, and hotch and morgan tickle him in an attempt to (lovingly) bring down his ego

Words: 630

“Checkmate.”

“Oh, come on.”

Reid seemed to try, to his credit, not to gloat, but Morgan knew this scenario all too well. Had seen it with both himself and other members of the team. The only person who rarely got to see Reid brag about winning chess was Gideon, but Reid probably wouldn’t be gloating at Gideon anyway.

He watched him now, annoyance rising slowly inside of him as Reid bit his lip to keep from smiling, eyes downcast, looking so goddamn smug that Morgan nearly angered, having siblings and all. Maybe it was because he had siblings that he found himself unable to not take the bait. “You cheated.”

“I didn’t,” Reid said matter of factly. When he looked up he seemed earnest, which made Morgan huff. “I swear.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t be so goddamn smug about it.”

Reid turned to Hotch, who was sitting beside him with his gaze stuck on the case file. “Tell him you can’t cheat at chess.”

Keep reading

[tickleeteases]

it’s not so bad here

fandom: criminal minds

w/c: 2155

pairing: platonic BAU (mostly prentiss and morgan), spencer reid

summary: perspective of spencer: on the jet ride home after a long case. The team is so tired they get a lil silly. fluff + minimum angst I mean it is spencer’s brain.

a/n: this is quite literally my first time for everything, my first time using tumblr and my first ever fanfiction. i had a lot of fun so perhaps expect more maybe?? I want to thank the amazing @nhasablogg for being the biggest inspiration and just so cool honestly. they helped a lot with this work and have just been the kindest person ever!!! anyway pls read the following with all this☝️in mind.

~~~~~~

Spencer never really got used to flying. The team was currently thirty-six-thousand-eight-hundred-sixty-four feet above what Spencer assumed (or more accurately, calculated) would be Tennessee based on flight patterns from Dallas to Quantico and the amount of time they’ve been in air for. Which was roughly three hours, forty-five minutes, six seconds. Seven. Eight. They had about three more hours to go.

The pressure was building in Spencer’s ears and he grimaced, swallowing hard in an attempt to pop them. He always felt a pang of anxiety whenever any pain came to his head, as his memory would replay his mother’s cries for relief during bad episodes.

There was one night when Spencer was eleven, experiencing his first true migraine after finishing his college applications. It was one of the few times Spencer remembered his mother taking care of him instead of the other way around, she was almost completely lucid. His fear was much stronger then, and while he was a boy-genius, his brain was still biologically too immature to handle it.

“I’m dying, mom.” The corners of his eyes wet with tears. His mother smiled at him. It wasn’t often that Spencer behaved his age like this.

“No baby, your head is just too full, and your skull is too small to contain it. The pain is just your head expanding, working to grow and stay ahead of your thoughts.”

“Actually, your brain can’t be too big for your skull. There’s just a blood vessel swelling, and that’s putting pressure on the surrounding nerves which is making the muscles around my skull tighten and causing…” he groaned in frustrated pain. His mother stroked his hair soothingly.

“Would you listen to your mother for once, Spencer? Just go to sleep, you can’t feel the world in your sleep, you know. Go somewhere other than this reality, where your head isn’t constantly working. Relieve some of that pressure... It’s too stressful here, isn’t it?” A far too familiar distant look crossed her eyes for a moment. He rushed to retrieve her.

“Mom.. would you stay with me tonight?”

She returned her son’s gaze. “Of course, I’m not going anywhere.”

His pain seeped out with every stroke, as if his mother’s fingers were magically sucking it out from his skin. As he fell asleep, he found that she was right. He didn’t feel anything. It was like traveling through time.

—————

The case in Texas was particularly rough. Over the past five days, the team got maybe a total of eight hours of rest each. And as far as successes go, they’ve gotten better wins. As a headache creeped up on Spencer, he kicked off his shoes and curled up on the jet couch for a nap. He fell asleep pretty quickly, ready to skip through the headache until he was in Virginia again.

But a funny sensation on his right foot caused his leg to jerk in. I thought I couldn’t feel the world in my sleep. He stirred to see Prentiss standing at the end of the couch.

“I like your socks, Reid.” She said, before wiggling her fingers over his left pink-and-purple striped sock.

“Hey!” He pulled his other leg in and smushed it against the cushion to smother the feeling. He checked his watch, the jet couldn’t be landing already? “What’d you wake me up for?”

“I couldn’t help myself. Purple’s my favorite color.” She grinned at his reaction, before it faded into a frown. “Hang on, now that you’re up though, how come you always get the full couch to sleep on?” Morgan leaned over from his seat, invested in the conversation.

“Thank you. I’ve been meaning to say something about that bull.” He craned his neck, exaggerating the pain of sleeping upright.

“Reid is the youngest,” Hotch said from out of nowhere, neither against him nor in his defense. Spencer hadn’t even noticed him watching. Had they all been watching him sleep? Rossi continued for Hotch, “I suppose he assumed he got first rights to the couch for being born last. And you all let him.”

Hotch went back to the paperwork in his lap, diligent even while running on no sleep. “No, what about Ashley Seaver? She was younger than Reid,” he said. Definitely against him.

“And he still took the couch. Like a gentleman,” said Rossi.

Suddenly, Spencer felt very ganged up on.

“Is that right?” Morgan squinted at Spencer as if he stole something precious from him.

“I don’t think that’s fair,” Prentiss said. “We can’t let him get away with this anymore.”

At first, he was confused by the rare playfulness of his coworkers, especially from Hotch adding to the banter after the crazy, long week. Then he realized; everyone was sleep deprived and filled with a goofy, delirious energy. And while they weren’t able to catch the unsub, they were able to return a young girl back to her family - traumatized, but albeit unharmed - something they saw far too little of. The feeling left everyone more fuzzy than anything, it outweighed the disappointment of losing the unsub. Reuniting a family always strengthened his own, Spencer thought. Perhaps that fuzziness and fatigue was expunging all the professionalism they maintained while the case was ongoing.

And now Spencer - who was just sleeping soundly on the couch that everyone was hungry for - was beginning to feel that fuzziness himself. He faced his back towards his team as he pulled his cover up to his chin and closed his eyes.

“If you wanted it, you should’ve gotten to it first.”

At that, he heard Morgan rise and make his way toward the couch. The blanket was ripped off him dramatically. He kept his eyes closed and opened his mouth to snore lightly. His snore lasted half a second before the sound was abruptly cut off, immediately snapping his mouth shut in a toothy grimace and slamming his elbow down to his side.

“Get your ass up, Reid,”

“No.” He buried his face into the back of the couch, trying to hide his smile as if the way his elbow followed each of Morgan’s delivered pokes didn’t give him away. Reid stiffened a bit more, he focused on schooling his reactions and moving less. If he started laughing, there was no way they would stop, probably even after he gave up what they wanted.

“C‘mon, it’s time to wake up.” His resolve began to crumble when Morgan tasered both sides of his ribs. “Share with the rest of us.”

“Ahhh-ha! Stop!” He huffed out a laugh before holding his breath to stop himself. His face quickly flushed as he wiggled on the couch.

“You know, everyone else sits during the whole flight. As a courtesy to the rest of the team. Except for you-” He accentuated by digging into his ribs again, causing another yelp and laugh to slip. “-who’s just sleeping here like a baby. What’s up with that?”

“Derek-“

“Hmm?”

He couldn’t speak.

“Aww, what’s the matter, Reid? You’re not ticklish, are you?” Prentiss cooed as if nobody could tell he would be just by looking at him.

That’s all it took to crack him. Once the hysterical laughter began he couldn’t stop it. Like a defense mechanism, his brain started working in overdrive to apply logic to best overcome this assault. It took no time to figure out he could never physically stop Morgan; in terms of strength he was far outmatched.

Well, tickling is essentially the body’s response to unpredictable stimuli, so theoretically he could dull the sensations by predicting the attacks. He could trick his brain into believing he was tickling himself. He applied it in a fraction of a second.

All he did was swat at Morgan’s hands in an awkwardly gentle manner, unable to take hold of them. It really did absolutely nothing. Spencer wondered if he were one of the few who could tickle himself.

Before he could think of another solution, Prentiss grabbed one of his arms and hoisted it up above his head.

“No no no, wait wait doN’T-“

Being able to predict was proven a completely worthless tactic. Morgan tickled under his arm and he screamed. His ears finally popped and he could hear the sounds of his own bright laughter at its true pitch. His defense mechanism was shot, as if Morgan’s fingers were sucking out any ability to form a useful thought.

“Oh my god, how’d an eagle get so high up here?” Prentiss teased before breaking down herself.

Spencer wailed and curled his legs in protectively. When that did nothing, he kicked and pulled down at his arm. When that did nothing, he fell back in a whiny giggle in an attempt to garner their sympathy. That did nothing but encourage them.

“Hotch!”

Hotch finished his note, glanced very briefly at his team before returning to his work with the slightest of smiles. Spencer felt betrayed. Supervisory special agent my AAHHAA-

“Oh oh, what’s going on? It sounds like fun, let me see,” JJ turned the laptop over to show Garcia what was happening: Spencer flopping red in the face with Morgan practically sitting on him, Prentiss crouching - legs wobbly from her own laughter - behind Spencer’s head, still holding onto his arm.

“Oh geez, Spencer. How did I not know you were ticklish! Because of course you are. What did he do to deserve this? Did he cheat at Go Fish again?”

Upon seeing Garcia’s grin and his own disheveled form mirrored back at him, Spencer felt embarrassed. If anyone was going to make this a recurring experience, it would be her. He wasn’t totally against the idea, which made him blush furiously harder.

“Okay, okayokay! Y-you can have the couch. I don’t want it. I don’t want it!” Prentiss let go and Spencer squirmed out of Morgan’s grasp, falling to the floor of the jet. He stayed there catching his breath in high-pitched giggles, bewildered by what just happened. He wiped his eyes and looked up at Hotch and Rossi, who stared down at him with immense amusement.

“Thanks for the help guys,” he exhaled, exhausted. They both shook their heads with fond smiles.

“I trusted my agents could handle an internal conflict on their own,” Hotch said.

“You mean manhandle..”

He looked to Morgan, who was settling comfortably on the couch with Reid’s blanket, Prentiss cuddling next to him. He rubbed his sides and looked down at the ground, defeated.

“There’s plenty of room for all of us, big guy,” Prentiss offered her hand, inviting him to the couch. Spencer took it with a smile and sat down awkwardly with his hands resting on his thighs. She draped the blanket over the three of them.

“I’m sorry for being a couch hog.”

“I’m sure you are,” Prentiss snickered.

“It’s alright, Reid, you seem like you always need the sleep. We were just having fun. Did we go too far?” Morgan asked sincerely, arm around Emily and hand on Reid’s shoulder.

“Nah.. I-I had fun too. I mean, I haven’t laughed that hard in a while. I don’t think you guys have either actually.”

“Yeah, well, you did look really funny.” Prentiss said.

Spencer nudged her with a smile, earning him a poke which he quickly followed with a soft noooo don’t.

Morgan scratched the side of his head, mostly to teasingly get his attention. But it felt nice. “Start preparing for a lot more of that.”

“Hmm.. my mom used to do this for me.”

“Tickle you?”

“Uh, no. Stroke my hair. Whenever I got a bad headache, she would tell me to sleep, and then she would pet me until I did.”

“Do you have a headache now?”

“Earlier, a little.”

Without saying any more, Morgan patted down his (now) short hair before stroking up and down soothingly.

“Like that?”

Spencer slumped over and began fake-snoring. Morgan withdrew his hand and sat up a little straighter, which immediately woke him back up “I’m kidding I’m kidding I’m kidding please just- keep doing what you were doing.” They returned to their original positions after Morgan shot him a warning look.

Prentiss rested her head on his shoulder. He leaned his own head back against the couch and allowed himself to relax. The reality of Emily being there with all of them suddenly hit him. Countless nights he begged for her death to be reversed, to be a hoax. To be replaced even. Back then he wished to go to another reality, somewhere without the pressure and the stress, somewhere he couldn’t feel the world. But now, how lucky was he for her to be returned, for her to be truly safe and sound and laughing with them again? He would rather be nowhere else.

He checked his watch, there was two hours left of the flight. The three of them fell asleep very quickly, but rather than try to skip through time, Spencer savored the moment.

[tickleeteases]

Take Care

Title: Take Care

Rating: G/SFW

Warnings: Mentions of death and abuse (non-explicit)

Word Count: 1857

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Ship: N/A

Summary: Reid won’t stop working on a case to eat or sleep, so the team takes matters into their own hands.

Notes: Another birthday fic for @funficsandstories because she deserves them all :)

“Son of a bitch!” Spencer screamed into the void that was the empty office he had been given within the Las Vegas police department’s station. In an angry haze he pushed a pile of his papers of the desk, hastily rising from his seat to pace the small office.

Today’s case was tough, their unsub was murdering fathers who had abandoned their families to start new lives, leaving letters left in code for law enforcement to discover. The case hit a little too close to home for the young doctor, both literally and figuratively, clouding his mind slightly even though he wouldn’t admit it. For some reason he couldn’t find a basis for the unsub’s mysterious code, despite his profile and info from Garcia. Usually, when he was faced with a code, he would be able to solve it within an hour, but he had been stuck in the office for 6 at this point.

They didn’t have the time to sleep or eat in Virginia, having just got back from a case only an hour before they left for Vegas. The rush was largely due to the fact that the murder seemed to occur at the same time every time, but the spacing between murders was sporadic.

Keep reading

[tickleeteases]

Flower power pall mall

A/N: Benedict’s flower waist coat made me do it… I mean look at it, don’t you just want to poke the embroidery? Set during season 2, episode 3. The Sharmas are visiting the Bridgertons and while everyone is set to win in a family with eight brothers and sisters, (Y/N) and Benedict are especially ruthless. (In my mind, (Y/N) is called Fleur which might give further context for the flower references.)

“Miss Edwina, you must know,” Benedict felt compelled to say with the typical crooked smirk on his lips, “that you should never place your ball anywhere near the one of (Y/N). Eloise is eager to win, but (Y/N) doesn’t even take notice of any one ball that is not her own.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at your brother’s comment. “Oh, please!”

“She’s already managed to make balls disappear on the roof,” Benedict continued, while he was circling you lazily. “And through certain windows.” The way you rolled your eyes at him merely made him pinch your nose.

“Once,” Colin added, “she even cracked mine in half with the force of her mallet.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” A slight blush crept over your cheeks as you glared at your two smirking brothers, quite embarrassed by them displaying your ruthless pall mall side in front of the Sharma sisters. To your surprise, they did not seem shocked in the least. Kate even nodded approvingly. “Then I shall manoeuvre your eldest brother’s ball quite close to yours at all times.”

You bit your lip to keep from barking out a laugh at Anthony’s expanse, but he was too busy glaring holes in your guest anyway. Benedict’s grin grew wide enough to reveal his “vampyre teeth” as Hyacinth tended to call them – quite the fitting description in your opinion, but one that had also incited your brother to attack his younger sisters in a fittingly vampiric manner. You had to smile at the memory of Hyacinth’s squeals whenever Benedict managed to blow a raspberry under her chin.

A mallet pushing against your shoulder blade brought you out of balance and made you stumble two steps forward, right into Benedict’s back. Exasperatedly you turned around to see Daphne put on an angelic smile. She merely raised her brows at your burning glare and put her mallet back down by her feet. “Would you make some space for Miss Edwina, sister! She gets to open the game.”

Grumbling, you made two extra big steps away from the field – and from Daphne – and pulled a disobedient strand of brown hair behind your ear. “You’ve definitely gotten meaner ever since you moved out!”

“Well, she no longer gets to tease you as often as we do,” Benedict pointed out, stepping closer to you and looking on as Miss Edwina Sharma got into position, exceedingly supported by Anthony.

“That must be really hard on her!” You said in a mocking tone, grabbing some of your dresses’ fabric to pull it out from underneath your shoes which almost led to you falling over had it not been for your brother’s stabilizing hand.

“I know it would be for me,” Benedict replied earnestly enough to make your lips twitch as you turned your head to look at the younger Sharma sister opening the game. He pulled you back slightly when the noise of mallet on ball rang over the grass and Miss Edwina’s ball got rather close to where you were standing.

“Are you holding her back?” Eloise chuckled, when she saw his hand on your arm. “Too scared she might run straight after the ball?”

With a disbelieving face you look looked up at him. “Are you??”

The laughing sound your brother made almost sounded a little scared. He let go off your arm immediately and raised his hands next to his head to show how innocent his intentions had been. “Of course not, I was trying to pull you out of harm’s way – the one you always somehow end up in! But by all means, get yourself knocked out by a pall mall ball next time!”

Benedict quickly moved away when you had to laugh at his words and tried to reach for him to restore the peace between you two. You chased after him for two steps, before you gave up, simply letting him jump back to Colin’s side, shaking your head at his antics and moving yourself to Eloise’s side.

The game had begun. And what a game it was. Daphne was too good to not earn her the conjoint mocking of you and Eloise, while Anthony was precise and focused as always, making everyone shake their heads at him. Benedict was too busy daydreaming and fooling around to have any real chance at winning, which was never truly his goal anyway. Colin was good enough at the game, but never gloated like Eloise did. You were getting on everyone’s nerves since you continuously held up your thumb for way too long to calculate the forces of the wind. You weren’t sure whether Edwina was having a lot of fun, while Kate seemed to be having the time of her life – especially, when Anthony was failing.

When you had the audacity to stretch out your thumb again the next time it was your turn, Benedict leaned over to blow air on your hand. You sent him an unimpressed look over your shoulder.

“Strong wind today,” he concluded with a shrug, making you extend your arm and push him against the chest.

“Remove yourself!”

Colin let out a surprised laugh. “That’s a bit harsh!”

“Are they always like this?” You heard Kate laugh, when Benedict tried to disturb your sight by holding a strand of your own hair in your face.

Anthony let out a long humming noise of agreement that managed to express not only many years of frustration caused by having you as his siblings, but also the deep affection that went with it. Kate sent him a curious glance.

“Stop it,” you protested and extended your hand to defend yourself, managing to brush a soft spot on Benedict’s stomach. He reacted with a little huff and quickly turned his upper body to the side, raising your attention. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I hit one of your flowers?”

The many flowers that were embroidered on Benedict’s waist coat had already given enough reason to ridicule him all morning, but they came especially in handy now that he was getting on your nerves. Actually, you thought them to be quite beautiful, but there was no reason to feed your brother’s ego all too much by telling him that. Instead you extended your hand again and aimed for another one of them, hitting your target and poking it with precision. Benedict’s “vampyre grin” expanded on his features as he couldn’t help but chuckle at the ticklish sensation your little attack provoked on his torso.

“(Y/N)!” He giggled, slapping your hand away, but immediately seeing himself forced to bend over again, as your fingers continued to single out every single flower available on his waist coat to subdue him to a continuous attack of pokes all over his middle. It made your heart feel warm inside your chest to hear cheerful cackles pour out of him like leaking water. “Stop it, that tickles!!”

“Aww, does it?” You taunted, fully aware of how ticklish your brother was and not exactly eager to stop your attack on his huge body that shrunk in on itself more and more. Besides, he didn’t seem particularly set on escaping himself; more like he was seconds away from falling over and curling up into a ball on the grass. Benedict was truly just a playful child, no matter his actual age.

Anthony looked on fondly, but cleared his throat meaningfully. “May we get on with the game then, dear sister?”

Your eldest brother’s voice kicked you out of the meditative state Benedict’s giggles had put you in. “Oh, uhm, sure!” You called out, noticing how everyone was looking at you expectantly. Of course, it was your turn and they couldn’t simply continue the game without you having done your shot. Benedict was shaken by a few more giggles after your hand had ceased its attack and slowly unbent himself to stand back up to his full size. To be safe, you took advantage of him still being tickle-wobbly on his knees and pushed him once more to make him stumble a few steps away from you, before you took your mallet into both hands and quickly aimed at your ball.

Kate chuckled good heartedly and called to you. “Make haste, (Y/N)! I think your brother seeks revenge!”

That didn’t exactly help you focus on your shot; and it got worse, when you recognized a very familiar growling noise behind you. A hysterical sound left your lungs, when you dared a quick look over your shoulder and saw Benedict roll up his sleeves and come closer to you again. “That demands satisfaction!”

“No, no, no!” You laughed, inching forward ever so slightly to get some distance between you two, without losing the control over your ball.

“Ugh, just hit it, (Y/N)!” Eloise sighed loudly, knowing exactly how this would play out.

But her advice actually made you act. You did as she said, you hit the ball. But in the wrong direction – towards your brother. Anthony and Colin burst out laughing, when Benedict got hit by your shot and took to wailing loudly. His mouth agape, he held his arm where your ball had stricken him and stared at you disbelievingly. “I cannot believe you just hit me!!”

Eloise had to hold on to Daphne’s arm to keep from falling over with laughter and Benedict’s glare in her direction promised certain retribution in the aftermath of this game. But for the time being, his gaze fell back on you. You, who were wise enough to having taken off over the field, before he could realize it.

“Oh ho ho, I see how it is!” Benedict yelled after you, a chuckle colouring his voice. Rubbing his arm, he turned around to the guests as formally as his playful soul allowed. “Excuse me, Myladies, I must quickly go after my sister and … retrieve her.” Anthony and Kate both raised a brow with amused expressions on their faces, as your brother turned around and immediately started chasing after you with a fear inducing sound.

You were already laughing too much to make wise steps on the grass with a dress that was constantly getting between your legs and underneath your shoes. The race that looked more like a stumbling newborn – you – being chased by a feral leopard – Benedict – could only have one possible outcome. The wind blew your hair in your face when you turned around to hold out your mallet and protect yourself against him. You saw Kate grinning at you two, while your siblings were getting on with the game, well acquainted with situations like these, where one brother would chase a sister.

Benedict’s blue eyes were glowing playfully as he extended his own mallet in your direction. “En garde!” Knowing full well that all that mattered was to keep him at a distance, you stumbled further backwards and threw your mallet at him to make him stay where he was. But he merely blocked the projectile with one arm and chuckled darkly at the attempt. “Now what?

You held up your hands and tried to form a normal sentence through your breathless laughter. “Now, let’s just talk about this!” But your brother preferred to snarl and bend over in a predatory way, before he ran right into you with his shoulder knocking against your middle to lift you off the grass. You squealed when you felt your feet leave the ground, your body slung over his shoulder.

“Aren’t you a sneaky little flower,” He chuckled as he turned around himself a few times, making your hands grab for the fabric of his jacket as the world whirled around you. Then he made himself fall on the grass on purpose, dropping you before him and rolling over you. “Let’s see how she likes being tickled!”

You kicked, hit, smacked, pushed and twisted as hard as you could, hysterical laughter taking your breath away, but Benedict managed to jab his fingers into your sides nevertheless. He knew exactly where it tickled the most, having put you in a similar position many times in your life. It was truly not fair, how you were already wheezing with laughter after two seconds. “NO PLEASE NO!”

“I protect you from pall mall ball attacks and this is the thanks I get?” He shouted over your bubbly laughter, smirking down at you, as his hands danced over your sides.

“You’re a – BABY!!” You exclaimed through your helpless laughter and tried to pull his hands away from your sides, which only led to Benedict searching for more ticklish spots on your ribs.

“You really don’t know what’s good for you, do you?” He gasped, quite impressed by your willingness to provoke him even further while he was in the perfect position to make you pay for it. You threw your head back and tried more frantically to push his hands away, when they started crawling over your belly, hitting mean spots that made you shriek with laughter.

“StOOOHP!!”

“Oh no, I don’t think my little flower has already had enough!” He taunted, trying push his head past your flailing arms to make his teeth’s nickname proud yet again. You protected your neck at all costs, but the fingers that wiggled into your weak spots distracted you too much to be successful. The laughter seemed to come straight from your heart when his lips made contact with your neck.

“BEN PLEASE NO!!” You squeaked with mirth, your feet hitting the ground behind your brother. He was ruthless with his raspberries, while your hands were pushing helplessly against his immobile chest. Benedict used that to his full advantage and let his hands wander to poke your sides untethered alongside the ticklish treatment of your neck. You were lost to helpless laughter. Benedict’s head moved up and away from your neck, a smug, tickle-drunk smile on his face. “Do you give up?”

You tried to free your hands from where they were pinned between the two of you, tossing your head from left to right to negate his question, but regretting it immediately when he shrugged good-naturedly and blew another raspberry under your ear. “OKAY!” You squealed. “PLEASE, I GIVE UP, I DOO!!”

You gasped in relief when your brother’s fingers finally slipped away from your sides and his weight shifted off you. Groaning he rolled over on his back and squinted his eyes against the sun to smirk at you wheezing next to him.

“Flowers,” he mused, “they are so delicate and sweet!”

You turned your head to glare at him and proceeded to hit his shoulder with your fist, but you had to laugh nevertheless. “If that were true, you could have never tickled me that hard!”

“Oh,” Benedict scoffed, tilting his head meaningfully, “that wasn’t hard. I was being gentle!” He poked your side again, making you yelp and grab for his wrist. You were about to protest, but then you recalled the times Anthony had tickled Benedict and you had to agree that Benedict had in fact been gentle with you…

Huffing about the two of you, you kept his wrist in your grip and put his hand on your stomach, wrapping both of yours around his. “What would I do without you?” You sighed, inching closer to his side and pulling at his arm to get it to move around you. He chuckled softly and did as you wished, pulling you close to him and keeping you there with his arm wrapped around your shoulder.

“You would probably do just fine, (Y/N).”

“Yes,” you replied, before resuming the poking of the embroidered flowers on his waist coat, “but I would miss you terribly!”

Benedict twitched and threw his head back against the ticklish sensations that you were spreading over his middle again, little titters of laughter shaking him as he tried to get a hold of your hand. “No no, I can’t! Truce, truce!!”

Anthony’s voice rang through to you from the other end of the field. “Ben, (Y/N), are you giving up, or what?”

You stilled your hand and found your brother’s gleaming blue eyes.

“Never!!” You exclaimed simultaneously and stumbled to your feet, grabbing your mallets and returning to the others to resume the game. You would show him how delicate a flower you were.

But the way Benedict looked at you with fondness actually made you understand quite clearly: you would always be his little flower.

[tickleeteases]

Dark words and warm hugs

A/N: Benedict steals a poem from underneath your nose to get on your nerves, willing to read it out to the entire family. But he does not expect the poem to be as sad as it turns out to be. Hurt/Comfort fanfic with mostly Benedict and (Y/N), but Colin, Eloise, Hyacinth and Gregory also play a role in it. (I have left open what exactly the poem is about so that everyone can put a spark of themselves into this! I hug you all!)

“Benedict! Give. It. BACK!”

Decisively you stomped after your brother who was scurrying into the living-room like a giddy cookie thief, holding a folded sheet of paper in his hand. Hyacinth looked up in wonder from the pianoforte, while Gregory and Colin stopped swinging wooden swords at each other. Eloise didn’t even bother raising her eyes from her book, quite contrary to your mother who dropped the newspaper onto the table before her so suddenly that the paper got wrinkled. Sighing loudly, she followed her second youngest daughter and her second eldest son with attentive eyes to make sense of the sudden commotion.

Benedict quickly took shelter behind one of the sofas and teasingly waved the paper in his hand, when you came to a halt on the other side of the piece of furniture.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he taunted, the smugness making his smirk seem almost devilish, “now be a good sister and stay right where you are! We are civilized people after all!”

“So civilized,” you fired back at him with a force that made your mother flinch and Colin blink, “that you come into my room and steal poems from under my nose! It is not ready, give it back to me!”

“Now, now, that is a very serious accusation, dearest sister! I did not steal a single thing, I simply picked it up to- HGH!” The unexpected manoeuvre to jump on the sofa and attempt to grab your brother behind it failed, when Benedict circled it fast enough to end up behind the backrest of the one standing on the other side of the room. Next to it, your mother was sitting at a small table, watching you both with growing surprise.

“(Y/N), would you please refrain from climbing on the furniture with your shoes on!” She chastised half-heartedly, too enraptured in the quick changing of positions you and your brother were engaged in at the very moment to think of ending it all with one simple order.

Your shoulders slumped down and your voice was tinted by utter disappointment when you directed your complaint at your mother. “Mamma, how can you tell me off when my so called brother is the one who is acting like a complete child-“

“Oh, scarry moon, oh splendid field-“

“NOO!!” You screamed so loud that Gregory actually yelped in pain and proceeded to cover his ears. Benedict giggled like a three year old as he interrupted his aloud reading of your verses to escape yet another one of your attempts to get your hands on him. You ended up on opposite sides of the sofa, Eloise was reading on, and she did not seem happy about the disruption.

“Can’t you take your shenanigans outside?” She groaned, when you had circled her sofa twice, Benedict still giggling and you still huffing in frustration.

“Why is not one of my beloved siblings considering to help me??” You called out in frustration, glaring daggers at your smirking brother who thought himself invincible in that very moment.

“Perhaps they are all as excited as I am to hear what our dear sister puts onto paper on this lovely, lovely morning!” Benedict declared, as he tried to peek another glance at the dark lines covering the page.

“Well, perhaps it is not meant for either of your eyes to see nor ears to hear!!” You extended your hand meaningfully to demand your poem back from your brother, but he merely made a pitiful grimace and sucked in the air through his teeth apologetically.

“Ah, see, (Y/N), the problem is that that only intrigues me even more.”

And with that he resumed his reading – silently at the very least – as he continued to stumble away from your attempts to get him to stop. Until he did actually stop. His expression changed entirely, from humorous to serious, and he looked up from the paper with blue eyes full of remorse. That only made it worse for you.

“(Y/N), I…”

“Are you happy now??” You shouted, feeling anger put its feeble hands around your throat and suffocate your voice with tears and shame. “You think everything is so funny! Well, sometimes it’s not!” Deeply hurt, you ripped the paper out of his hands and threw your fists against his chest once with force. He barely moved from the impact, but shrunk in on himself nevertheless, his eyes dripping with regret and his lips growing hard.

You didn’t wait for another word from anyone of your shocked family, turned on your heels and hurried out of the grand room to find solace and shelter in your own space. You heard Benedict shout your name again, but did not look back. With the back of your hand you brushed away the tears that threatened to fall, as you ran up the stairs, far away from the shame that was left in the room with everyone else. You shut the door behind you, turned the key in the lock and hid yourself in your bed to cry and to forget about it all – the shame, Benedict’s look of horror when he realized what you had written, but mostly the thing itself. You promised yourself never to write about such matters again, if the only outcome was the incomprehension of everyone you cared about.  

It hurt you especially that it had been Benedict who had reacted that way. Anthony, alright, Daphne, sure. But Benedict? You’d always considered him to be the most empathetic Bridgerton, the softest and sweetest. But apparently his understanding knew its limits as well. You wanted him to come to your room and make it all better again, but at the same time you didn’t want him anywhere near you in that moment. You were not sure, you’d be able to take it if you brother were to treat this matter as if it disgusted him, as if you disgusted him.

No, for now, all that was left for you was your pillow and the safe warmth of your blanket.

It did not take long for Benedict to come to your door and knock as carefully as if he was knocking on a wound he did not mean to worsen any further.

“(Y/N)?”

You put a pillow over your head and tried to sink deeper into your sheets to disappear from the face of the earth forever.

“(Y/N), can I please talk to you? Please?”

As always, your brother’s gentle voice made you feel weak and defenceless and stirred the need to be held and cradled by him for many hours until nothing hurt anymore. But this time, his voice also carried a needle with it that stung you in the lungs and made it harder to breathe.

“Go away,” you called weakly, your own words making you sad enough to bring tears to your eyes. You did not actually want him to go, but you were also scared to face his judgement on your words.

You could hear your brother let out a shuddered breath before your door – he was not used to you telling him to ‘go away’ in a serious manner and it hurt him like an actual weapon. His pain only worsened your own, since it all seemed to come from you; you were the source of all the pain that circulated in the Bridgerton mansion that very day and you did not know how to make it stop.

“(Y/N), please,” Benedict asked again, his voice shaking ever so slightly. “Can I please be there for you right now? Please. Please.”

The pauses between his words made your tears roll down your cheeks big and hot and painful. Why did your brother have to use lines that made your insides feel weaker than pie filling? Of course, you wanted him to be there for you. You did not want him to think less of you. You did not want to see an ounce of wariness in his eyes. All you wanted was for him to forget you’d ever written the lines of that day. Perhaps, he would grant you that wish…

“Wait,” you sniffed out shakily and got up from your bed. With a thumping heart in your chest, you walked to the door and unlocked it, only to then make a run for your bed again in order to hide your tear stained face from Benedict’s curious eyes.

You heard the door creak as it opened and the gentle click when it closed again. Footsteps approached the bed carefully and came to a halt right next to you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, when you felt the mattress move beneath his weight and turned you face away, when your brother lifted the light blanket you were hiding beneath to slip underneath it as well. He let it fall around the two of you, the light of the day bright enough to make everything perfectly visible under the textile’s protection.

“Hey,” he breathed out in a consoling tone, his hand gently curling around your shoulder. Your lips turned into a thin line to keep quiet, but a sob shook your body so violently that nothing could have contained or concealed it. “Oh, (Y/N), it’s alright. It’s going to be alright. I am here!” You wanted to stay turned away from your brother, but he repeated such nice calming words while rubbing over your back that you would have needed a heart of stone to remain indifferent. Violently, you turned around and threw your arms around him, your following sobs muffled by his white shirt. He wrapped his arms around you as tightly as possible and carded his fingers through your hair, repeating a calming noise until your sobs turned from earthquakes into human noises again that allowed you to speak.

“I am sorry I hit you!” You stuttered into your brother’s arm, holding on to his shoulders for dear life to un-hug the way you’d pushed him earlier. Benedict made a disregarding noise and rubbed your back a few times to convince you of how little it meant to him.

“Please, (Y/N), you had every right to be angry with me. There is nothing you need to feel sorry for. I should never have read that poem. You did not want me to do it and I did not respect that. It is I who is sorry. Truly sorry!” It was his turn to bury his face in your shoulder and hold on to your shoulders, asking for forgiveness with every fragile breath that blew against your ear. It saddened you so much that fresh tears sprang to your eyes. You copied his movement from earlier and started rubbing up and down his back to soothe him. Apparently he had been just as scared as you had been that you might treat him coldly or with little understanding. The thought seemed ridiculous to you now – as if that could ever have truly happened with you or Benedict.

“At the same time, I am glad I read it, (Y/N). I am glad I got to see the fears you are apparently dealing with all by yourself. They are very substantial and best not shouldered alone.” For the first time since he’d entered your room, you moved your face in front of his, letting him see the wreckage of your puffy eyes and witnessing the red-rimmed ones of his. You gently pushed your ever-cold fingers against his cheeks and felt your lips twitch, when his eye-lids closed in relief.

“I was scared you might think them weird. Or rather … me!” You admitted, breathing out calmly when your brother’s hands moved up to cup your face. He opened his blue eyes and looked at you fondly.

“Nothing could ever make me think you weird,” he stated with emotion in his voice. “You are my sister and I will tease you for the rest of your days, but unless you drink exotic tea from Greece, I will never ever think you weird!”

That actually made you laugh despite the tear-heavy weight on your voice. His features immediately grew lighter again and his lips curled upwards.

“And I must say,” he continued, “the dark issue aside – it was a really good poem.”

“You think so?” You asked surprised, your eyes growing wider.

He nodded meaningfully. “Yes! You have a way with words, (Y/N). It is a talent you should pursue further! Don’t be scared of the dark parts it might reveal within you. But never forget to talk to me about it…”

“In fact,” you looked him in the eyes, lifting the blanket a little with your hand to be able to look at them directly, without any fabric getting in the way, “I was going to ask you to forget you’ve ever read the one from this morning… I don’t wish to remember it myself!”

Benedict narrowed his eyes for a moment, before he made a quick gesture next to his head, accompanied by a grimace. “Done!” He exclaimed. “I have successfully forgotten everything about it.”

You were about to roll your eyes, when he gasped loudly. “In fact I seem to have forgotten everything else as well. How did I get here? Why are we under this blanket? Who are you??”

Biting your tongue usually helped, when you wanted to keep from laughing, but not when it came to Benedict. A grin worked its way on your face as you tried to grab a hold of his gesticulating hands. “Ben, stop!”

“Where am I? Who am I??” He threw the blanket off the two of you, allowing for you both to breathe fresh air again and get blinded by daylight, as you tried to get a hold on your exaggerating brother.

“Ben!!” You chuckled, fighting to keep him on the mattress as he moved into a sitting position.

“I am not even sure of what I am anymore! A cat, a man, a weasel??”

“You are so silly!” You groaned through your laughter, sitting up as well and placing your hands on his shoulders.

Benedict squinted his eyes at you insecurely and stopped his little act, a blush creeping over his cheeks. “Not too silly, I hope.”

You remembered the words you had fired at him earlier, about how everything seemed to be funny to him. Apparently you had scratched at his core with that statement. Regret came over you again and you slumped in on yourself slightly. To make up for it, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pushed your head against his, humming when you felt one of his arms warm on your own.

“No, brother, you are not too silly for me!”

He gently rubbed his hand over your arm for a while, indulging in the hug for a few moments, before he suddenly made his upper body fall back on the sheets, taking you down with him. With a quiet shriek, you fell on his chest, laughing brightly, when his hands grabbed for you and pulled you entirely on top of him. His glinting blue eyes promised schemes of mischief and fun.

“How about we make you fly again, like when you were little?”

You scoffed meaningfully and pushed yourself up slightly, you fingers digging into his collarbone making him flinch – something you noted with a little smirk. “I am way too heavy for that now, brother!”

“Says who?”

“Says I!” You squeezed his sides playfully, making him yelp and bark out a breathy laugh. You waggled your eyebrows at him.

“I think there are better ways to entertain ourselves now!”

“Don’t even think about it!” He threatened with a determined look in his eyes. But your position gave you quite the advantage, so there was little he could do, when your hands decided to find their way past his arms and into his armpits, forcing him to throw his head back with deep, hearty laughter.

“NO PLEASE!” He giggled instantly, turning his head from left to right and trying to push you off, which included getting his hands on your knees and squeezing them rapidly. That was unfortunately a counter attack that worked quite well on you and so you found yourself pinned underneath him way too quickly, doomed to suffer at the hands of the ingenious tickler your brother was, always had been and always would be.

“Oh how the turn tables,” he laughed, as his hands wandered up and down your shaking sides, reducing you to a giggling mess and leaving you no chance to wiggle out from underneath him.

You were laughing so hard, you barely heard your door opening a crack with Colin peering inside, the younger siblings and Eloise by his side. Benedict only noticed it, when Colin whispered something to Hyacinth and Gregory and they came storming in with a war cry, jumping on top of their older brother and trying to push him off of you. Benedict’s exaggerated wails of terror and your younger siblings rather quirky attempts to overpower him made your laughter only increase. Benedict felt compelled to raise his arms and shout “I am not touching her!” to prove himself innocent of your hysterics, but that only made matters easier for the legacy of siblings at your service now. Hyacinth used the opening to start tickling underneath Benedict’s arms, while Gregory pushed at your brother to make him fall over. Benedict couldn’t keep from chuckling at Hyacinth’ technique, but grabbed Gregory, your knight in shining armour to subdue him to some tickling of his own. This was when Colin emerged into the room, with Eloise following suit, both of them pointing fingers at Benedict.

“We see the advance-guard has been overpowered. But we will not be such easy targets!”

Eloise cackled smugly, when she saw Benedict’s expression turn quite horrified at the outlook of such a team fighting against him and immediately let go off the giggling Gregoy. You wrapped your arms around your youngest brother and bit your lip in anticipation of what was to come next. It moved you that the other four had come to help you. It moved you that Benedict had come up to make things alright again, but things would look even brighter, in your opinion, if your second oldest brother would have to fight off an entire Bridgerton army at your service.

Benedict seemed to reconsider his options and huffed out a scared little chuckle, raising his hands. “Now… we’re all good friends here, are we not?”

Eloise, Colin, Hyacinth and Gregory all looked at you with expectant brows and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “I’d say… on him!”

Benedict made a choked noise in his throat and grabbed his chest to convey the amount of betrayal he felt. “You too, Brutus?” But he winked at you and he was already laughing at his siblings’ antics before anyone of the others had come near to touching him. With a loud war cry they wrestled him onto the sheets and proceeded to tickle him wherever they could reach. Eloise was expertly subduing his knees to spidery tickles, while Hyacinth squeezed his legs and Gregory and Colin dug their hands into all the open spots on his upper body. Benedict had probably not known how hard he could laugh, but it was highly infectious and forced you all to chuckle alongside him. You put an end to their attack rather quickly and tried to wrap your arms around them all at the same time to pull them all into a big hug.

No matter what fears sometimes kept you gnawing at the end of your pencil as you wrote into your books, nothing was greater a remedy to your anxiety than the family you had. And when Benedict pulled you into his arms, still warm from laughing, you weren’t scared of a thing in the world.