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utterlyrandomperson · 26 days ago

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Games Jedi Play

Afraid of losing Anakin to the darkness of his thoughts, Obi-Wan makes an effort to engage him in a harmless competition. It’s a remarkably stupid idea when your former padawan is a known menace, but Obi-Wan isn’t known for good ideas. Sequel to this fic. Do not tag this as obikin I will eat your bones 🔪

Obi-Wan had raised a menace.

Anakin was respectful and attentive when it counted, sure, but he had the narrow-minded focus of a predator. When he locked his jaws on something, he wouldn’t let go. Totality was his nature. It was terrifying, how consumed he could become by his whims. Especially when that unshakeable tunnel vision was focused on publicly embarrassing Obi-Wan.

One would think that Anakin’s appointment to the Jedi Council would give him something to focus his energy on, even with his dismay at being refused an official title. Perhaps even the machinations of Grievous, who continued to evade them. But no, Anakin decided that nothing, not even the galaxy’s safety, took precedence over accosting his master.

Anakin bounded down the hallway towards him, nearly tripping over his robes. Obi-Wan raised a hand and helped him right himself with the Force.

“Good morning, Master.” Anakin’s eyes glittered with mischief. He went in for a hug—really, he’d have to try harder than that.

“You’re chipper today.” Obi-Wan smiled, snatching Anakin’s wrist from its wanderings near his side. He didn’t even have the decency to look put out.

“And you’re ticklish!” Several passing people looked at them curiously. Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Force, grant him patience.

“Most people are.”

“This is a world-shaking discovery.”

“Is it?” Obi-Wan raised his eyebrow and Anakin stepped aside. He swept forward, hardly missing a stride. Anakin scrambled to follow.

“Master, are you…embarrassed?”

“Should I be?” Obi-Wan kept his face impassive.

“You seem shaken, that’s all. Am I getting under your skin?” Anakin smirked, tilting his head. Obi-Wan opened his mouth, closed it, then walked faster. Even an ounce of encouragement of Anakin’s shenanigans was like a spark on ship fuel.

He sensed movement near the back of his neck and whirled on instinct, thus finding Anakin’s hand in his grasp for the second time in five minutes.

“You are biting off far more than you can chew, Anakin.” Obi-Wan loosened his grip on Anakin’s wrist. It did nothing to deter his shit-eating grin.

“I love a challenge.”

Well. Now there’s an idea.

Obi-Wan took in the sparkle in Anakin’s eye, the recently-rare smile, and immediately understood that his pride needed to take a backseat. Some levity could be good for him. For both of them, really.

“If you did manage to coerce a defeat from me—which you won’t—what would you like in exchange?” Obi-Wan crossed his arms.

“No training for the week.”

Obi-Wan barked a laugh.

“No.”

“No training for…five days.”

Obi-Wan pretended to consider it for a while, stroking his beard, and then, as deadpan as possible:

“Nope.”

“Three?”

“No.”

“One day? Just one.” Anakin pouted.

“Absolutely not.”

“Can we skip the evasion drill, at least?” Anakin sighed in defeat.

“…alright. When I win, we double the evasion drills.” Anakin’s head snapped up. Obi-Wan gave a winning smile.

“That’s just cruel.”

“I only want you to improve.” Obi-Wan put a hand over his heart.

“No, you like throwing things at me.” Anakin shook his head.

“That I do. Let’s establish some ground rules.” Obi-Wan wrestled his expression back into neutrality. “No attempts during Council meetings or in front of public figures. We must maintain some semblance of a reputation. I fear Master Windu’s opinion of you may only sour further.”

“Alright, that sounds fair.”

“Your opponent must verbally surrender in order to claim victory.” Anakin seemed to ponder this for a while, then nodded.

“Excellent. May the games begin.”

……

Obi-Wan should have made Anakin agree to a certain frame of time for this challenge. It seemed Anakin had finally taken to heart his lessons on patience—things between them were as if their wager had never existed. Obi-Wan expected deception in every embrace and handshake, but Anakin moved merrily along without another thought.

Anakin always attacked first in combat and in conversation. It was deeply unnerving to now be made….to wait.

The war raged on and the Council required more sessions, but wariness of Anakin’s fondness for the chancellor left tasks piled on Obi-Wan’s plate. He was losing Anakin to Palpatine somehow, he could feel it, so he pushed what duties he could into the hands of capable soldiers and other Jedi. He made time where there was none, and his former padawan, wiser now and full of heart, flourished for all his efforts. It was almost like the old days.

After four weeks of normalcy, Obi-Wan made a crucial mistake. He got comfortable.

“Respectfully, Master, I know you fight far better than this.” Anakin parried his mentor’s blade with ease. He spun his lightsaber idly as they circled each other. Obi-Wan tried not to scowl.

“It’s not about winning, Anakin. It’s about endurance.” Still, Obi-Wan upped the speed and strength of his next strikes. Their sabers sang and blue sparks careened through the training room.

“Funny you should say that.” Anakin grinned. “I agree.”

That should have been a warning. Obi-Wan did not heed it.

They danced around each other with their blades, their fervor steadily climbing with each series of blows. Obi-Wan’s forearms began to ache with the strain. He shifted to a defensive strategy, the very balance he’d been attempting to teach Anakin, but his student still bore down on him like a freight convoy.

Obi-Wan seized a gap in Anakin’s ferocious strikes and parried his saber hard enough to send it flying. He put his hand on his hip and opened his mouth to repeat a well-worn lecture on observing your enemy, but instead found the air knocked free from his chest as Anakin tackled him.

They hit the ground with the grace of a first time pilot and skidded even further. Anakin’s hands were under his arms before they stopped. Obi-Wan gasped before he could stop himself.

“You…” Obi-Wan grit out, refusing even a chuckle.

“You’ve taught me so much about endurance and patience, Master. They say the best way to learn is to teach. Is this a suitable lesson? What do you think?” Anakin had the nerve to look innocent.

Obi-Wan flung him back with a blast of Force. Anakin sailed through the air like a rag doll, tumbling ass over tea kettle but somehow skidding up into a three point landing.

“Well then. I see how it is.” Obi-Wan brushed his hair back into place.

“You see how thoroughly I’m going to defeat you?”

“You forget, Anakin…I have known you for years.” Obi-Wan fought the smirk trying to find purchase on his face.

“So?”

“You’ll see.” Obi-Wan sighed playfully. Then he waited.

It took less than thirty seconds for Anakin to charge him, and even less time for Obi-Wan to have him on the ground. He kicked and squirmed—he even tried to bite—but Obi-Wan shut all of that down with relentless squeezes to his sides. The day he let his former padawan bite him was the day he hung up his robes for good.

“I thought you’d recall the last time I taught you this lesson, but perhaps you need a refresher.” Obi-Wan kept the same even pace, the same even tone, but his lip did twitch up at the sound of Anakin’s giggly panic. He couldn’t help it. Anakin’s laughter was so sweetly contagious.

Anakin reached behind him and tried to thrust Obi-Wan away with the Force, but his master grabbed hold of his belt and they both slid along the floor. Obi-Wan locked his arms around Anakin’s waist, burrowed his fingers into his stomach, and was rewarded with a glorious shriek.

“Obi-Wan!”

“Yes, Anakin?”

“Sssssstopit.” Anakin tried to curl into a ball, but it only guided Obi-Wan’s hands further into his stomach.

“No, I don’t suppose I will.”

“Do you have anything to say to me?” Obi-Wan drawled, slowing his fingers. Anakin shook his head furiously. He puffed up his cheeks like a frog.

“That’s a shame. Let me know when you change your mind.” Obi-Wan latched onto Anakin’s hips and the Chosen One disintegrated in his hands. Boyish laughter fell so freely from his lips that Obi-Wan was tempted to stop and take it in. Thankfully, the Jedi do not give in to temptation.

“O-Okay! I…” Anakin fell into a violent bout of hiccuping giggles, clutching weakly at Obi-Wan’s hands. “I give—“

The sound of someone clearing his throat ricocheted through the room. Obi-Wan and Anakin both froze. Senator Bail Organa waved lightly from the doorway.

“Gentlemen.” Judging by the man’s crossed arms and poorly restrained smile, he’d been standing there a while.

“Senator. To what do we owe the pleasure?” Obi-Wan quickly helped Anakin up. Anakin immediately stumbled back into him. Obi-Wan snorted.

“We’re holding council. I’d hoped that you’d join us…if you’re not busy?”

“Not in the slightest. Anakin?”

“Yes, of course.” Obi-Wan pinched his side and Anakin squeaked like a newborn Ewok. “Of course, Senator. My apologies.”

“None needed. I’ll give you a moment to catch your breath.” Bail’s smirk was nearly audible, even as he turned away and strode towards the door.

“That didn’t count,” Anakin whispered furiously.

“If the senator hadn’t appeared, I would’ve won.”

“Nuh-uh,” Anakin fired back, full of tact and grace as he was. Obi-Wan squeezed his side, Anakin slapped his hand away, and they dissolved into a slapfight for the ages. Only when Bail cleared his throat again did they cease their war.

For now.

….

Obi-Wan trailed behind Yoda and Bail, trying valiantly to pretend as if he cared the least about politics. It was dreadfully important to install good leaders on critical allied planets, he knew, but he couldn’t be arsed to care. People like Bail and Padmé did this part so that he could charge Star Destroyers head on. He listened and he nodded and he gave his most polite smiles, but this wasn’t his place.

As he followed his colleagues down the hall, a weird itch started in his stomach. He extended a bit of the Force to scratch it—Jedi simply did not itch—but that only made it worse. It multiplied until he found his entire face scrunching. He finally gave in and allowed the quickest, most restrained scratch possible.

As soon as he touched it, a flip switched in his brain. Every nerve in his stomach lit up and it tickled, so immediately and with such force that Obi-Wan stopped walking. He swore he felt…were those fingers?

The feeling moved suddenly, honing in on his lower stomach. He managed to choke down his yelp into a cough, but it wasn’t enough to evade attention. His colleagues stopped and turned to regard him curiously. He would have given a good defense—really, he would have—but then he spotted Anakin strolling towards him in the hallway.

“You.” Obi-Wan leveled a threatening finger at Anakin. It didn’t help him look less unhinged, but it did make him feel slightly better.

“Master Yoda. Senator.” Anakin locked eyes with Obi-Wan and there it was again, that burst of Force that made his nervous system attempt to implode.

“Hello Master. It’s good to see you.”

Obi-Wan managed to bite his fist and remain silent. Barely. Still, he couldn’t help but tap his boot on the floor—the echo of which was highly incriminating.

“Master, are you alright?” Anakin blinked innocently, but Obi-Wan could see his minute smirk.

“Just fine, thank you.” Obi-Wan grit his teeth.

“Alright. I’ll see you all later.” Anakin jogged away, his robes swishing behind him. Bail fixed Obi-Wan with such a painfully knowing look that it actually hurt.

“Master Yoda. Senator. If you’ll excuse me.” Obi-Wan smiled primly, took a few steps back, and took off after Anakin. He leapt up onto the wall and ran as far as he could, flipped over the head of a visiting viceroy, and skidded around the corner after his protégé.

“Anakin!” He bellowed, and was rewarded with a giddy cackle and fleeing footsteps at the end of the hallway.

…..

An evening summons from royalty was hardly ever good. Despite Padmé’s attempts to deformalize their relationship, Obi-Wan still felt the cold fingers of dread whenever she sent for him.

“Your majesty? You wished to see me?” Obi-Wan stepped gently onto Padmé’s terrace. She beckoned him forward with a smile. The sunset painted the side of her face, which didn’t hold an ounce of worry despite the urgency of her summons. He gestured for her to sit, hoping she’d forgive the impoliteness for his concern over her pregnancy.

“I did.” Padmé’s gaze flickered past him for a moment.

“What seems to be the matter?” He put his hands on his hips.

“Sorry, but I can’t say no to him,” she winced with a smile. Obi-Wan stopped to ponder her meaning, then was struck by a heavy flying weight. He and his assailant landed bodily on the couch, scrabbling for leverage like two cats in a sack. His saber was in his hand before he mercifully recognized the blond mop above him.

“Wh—Anakin?”

“Hello there.” Anakin grinned, then immediately and unceremoniously started trying to tickle Obi-Wan. He yelped and tried to roll away, sending his saber clattering heavily from his hand.

“I thought we agreed on no important f-figures!” Obi-Wan fought off Anakin’s hands as best as he could, but he was starting to crack.

“Oh, Padmé? She doesn’t count.” He glanced at her over his shoulder.

“I’m not an important figure?” She teased with a grin.

“You’re incredibly important.” Anakin said suddenly, dripping with sincerity. Obi-Wan’s gaze darted between the two of them. Padmé caught his eye and stood quickly.

Interesting.

“You boys have fun. Try not to kill each other…or my furniture.” She hurried into her bedroom with a sweep of fabric. Anakin wistfully watched her go. Yearning shone openly on his face. They’d need to have a conversation about this later, but for now….

Obi-Wan seized the opening, reaching up for Anakin’s sides, but Anakin batted his hands away with the Force without lifting a finger. Obi-Wan’s hands slammed down on the couch on their own.

“It’s over, master. I have the high ground.” Anakin plunged his fingers into Obi-Wan’s stomach and he, regrettably, guffawed. Anakin’s eyes lit up at the sound and he chased it, pushing past layers and layers of robes with ease.

Obi-Wan’s dignity crumbled quicker than the dry biscuits served at Senate meetings. He strained against Anakin, but his lower stomach was really quite terrible. Without his hands, his only options were to drum his heels into the couch and laugh. He tried to hide his face in his sleeve and Anakin cooed at him, which was absolutely unacceptable on so many fronts that Obi-Wan finally managed to bolt upright.

Anakin shoved his hands under Obi-Wan’s arms and he instantly became aware of every nerve in his body—most importantly the ones Anakin was trying to pluck like guitar strings. Ticklish fireworks ignited down his ribs and he collapsed back on the couch with a yelp.

The Force. Certainly creative and infuriatingly effective, but fortunately for him, it was easily combated. He reached out with his mind and grabbed Anakin’s tendril of Force like a writhing snake, holding it at mental-arm’s length from his sparkling nervous system. He couldn’t fight this battle on two fronts, though, and his resolve was already parchment-thin. If his brain hadn’t been sparking like a decommed ship, he might’ve been proud of Anakin’s precision.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this. I didn’t think you knew how to laugh.” Anakin beamed. Obi-Wan rolled over and Anakin easily followed, poking all up and down his exposed side from ribs to hip. Obi-Wan yanked a leg out from under Anakin and planted a boot on his chest. He managed to keep the little devil far enough away to start worming his other leg free. He was staring down the barrel of victory when Anakin reached up and grabbed his knee.

Obi-Wan made a noise that would have alarmed and offended a Wookie. The terrace fell so silent that Obi-Wan could hear the engines of X-Wings down at street level.

“Oh nononono. No. Anakin, don’t you even think about—“

The smile that spread across Anakin’s face convinced Obi-Wan that evil was indeed alive and well in the hearts of man. Obi-Wan tried to throw himself over the back of the couch, but Anakin yanked him back.

Anakin figured out to squeeze the back of his thigh, just above the knee, and Obi-Wan’s long and stupid life flashed before his eyes. He hadn’t been tickled like this in…ever, maybe? Any manner of composure was long lost to him now—Anakin had started experimenting with his calf and he was steadily cackling now. He thought back to his hubris all those weeks ago.

Perhaps handing Anakin the key to his destruction wasn’t his best idea.

Anakin started trying to work off one of Obi-Wan’s boots and that was absolutely where he drew the line. He made to throw himself off the couch again, but he caught a glimpse of Padmé hovering nearby.

Padmé turned and gestured at her back, contorting her wrist to scratch at her shoulderblade. She made very meaningful eye contact with him, then gestured to Anakin.

What…?

Oh.

Obi-Wan shoved his hands under the back of Anakin’s tabard and the man screamed. He fell boneless on top of Obi-Wan, cackling into his shoulder. Obi-Wan had no hope of containing his grin.

“All these years I’ve known you and you didn’t think to share this information?” Obi-Wan sat up, pulling Anakin into a strange ragdoll-like hug. Anakin beat uselessly at Obi-Wan’s chest, but a snort fell from him and he changed tactics—he valiantly tried to disappear into thin air. No Jedi had mastered it yet, but he seemed intent on being the first.

Obi-Wan honed in on where Anakin’s ribs met his armpit, enchanted by the screech it pulled from him. Anakin had a good sense of humor, but Obi-Wan hardly ever got more than a chuckle and an eye roll from him—all of which had everything to do with Anakin, and nothing to do with the quality of his jokes. It was endearing beyond words to have a single spot that completely unraveled him.

“Careful. You might give someone the impression that you’re ticklish.” Obi-Wan fully deserved the anguished, furious wail from the pile of Jedi before him. He still laughed brightly at it.

“Alright. I think we’ve caused enough carnage. Truce?” Obi-Wan stood and offered his hand to shake. Anakin stared at him for a moment, still shaking with residual giggles. Anakin took his hand. Obi-Wan helped him up and clapped his shoulder, but when Anakin tried to pull away, Obi-Wan wouldn’t let him.

“The dark side will use many tricks to sway you, Anakin. Chief among them, the promise of peace.” Obi-Wan smirked, and turned the same trick that Anakin had used against him. He sent a focused burst of Force towards Anakin and he collapsed into Obi-Wan’s shoulder, overcome with snickers. Even with years of training on him, Obi-Wan wasn’t as talented as Anakin. He had to keep a hand planted on his former padawan’s shoulder to maintain the effect, but it was more than worth it.

“The dark side of the Force isn’t funny. Master Windu would be disappointed.” Obi-Wan shook his head. With how Anakin had fallen into him, it did look as if something had tickled him in the comedic sense—except for Anakin punching him in the shoulder, of course.

“Look at how the dark side’s corrupted you! Assaulting your master. A shame to watch you stray from the light.” Obi-Wan couldn’t stop the chuckles that bubbled out of him—Anakin’s face was priceless. He was fighting so hard to glare, bless him, but he simply couldn’t stop giggling long enough to make it stick. It was as if the little Anakins in his brain that controlled those vicious instincts had fled the helm.

Obi-Wan started poking Anakin’s stomach where he could reach, and his protégé’s laughter spiked infectiously. He fell into a cycle of hiccupy laughter and hid his face in his leather gloves.

“Alright! Stop. You wihihin.”

“Good lad.” Obi-Wan gave his shoulder a squeeze and it mysteriously, hilariously, summoned another bout of giggles.

“I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow for evasion drills!” Obi-Wan singsonged, strolling towards the terrace entrance.

“I hate you!” Anakin shouted after him, but his voice splintered into laughter before the venom could stick. Obi-Wan didn’t need the force to know it was Padmé’s doing.

#star wars #star wars tickling

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utterlyrandomperson · 26 days ago

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Patience (and Silence) is a Virtue

Summary: In his commitment to restlessness, Anakin discovers something about Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan can't let him get away with that, of course.

Anon: Hi I don't know if you're taking prompts at the moment but would you consider writing a fic where Obi wan is tickling anakin, maybe where it's during the clone wars and anakin is being restless and teasing Obi wan so he decides to put him in his place?? Or something obviously if you're not taking prompts don't worry! But if you're that would be really cute

Do not tag this as ship. Don't do it.

Anakin had a critical inability to stay still, Obi-Wan noticed. He had become calmer and more focused under his wing, sure, but he was restless to his very core. Other Jedi masters would certainly have found his fidgeting to be a nuisance, something to be expunged--Obi-Wan saw it as human. For the things they’d seen and had to do, a little humanity was very welcome.

Except now, of course.

Anakin paced past Obi-Wan for nearly the twentieth time this hour--he’d been doing laps around the room at a speed that’d put any trooper to shame. Obi-Wan’s attempts at meditation had given him some measure of calm, but inner peace was hard to find with your protégé stomping past you every moment.

“We are wasting time.”

“There’s nothing to be done but wait,” Obi-Wan murmured, unwilling to release his patterned breathing.

“I can’t just sit around.” Anakin switched directions, pacing the other way.

“You are far too eager, Anakin.” Obi-Wan shifted slightly, but did not rise.

“And you are far too boring!” He snapped, but it held no real venom. Obi-Wan sighed deeply, dropping his head, and the relaxation promptly left his bones. He stood, brushing himself off, and Anakin watched him tensely.

“Perhaps a bit of sparring would do you some good.” Obi-Wan drew his lightsaber and beckoned him closer, already assuming a combat position. Anakin drew his, twirling it idly, and they circled each other.

For all of Anakin’s restlessness, he paid rapt attention in the field. Obi-Wan could see the gears turning in his head as they circled one another, waiting for Anakin to inevitably make the first move.

They exchanged a flurry of blows, sending blue sparks flying into the air around them. One of the strikes set Obi-Wan unexpectedly off-balance and Anakin used the opportunity to press his advantage, crowding in closer to force a surrender. Obi-Wan smirked--he could never resist playing dirty when an opportunity arose--and squeezed Anakin’s side. He yelped, lightsaber flying into the air, and Obi-Wan caught it, sheathed it, and clipped it to his belt. He tried not to look too amused at Anakin’s pinkened face.

“Do you yield?”

“Never.” Anakin smirked, rushing forward. He swung at Obi-Wan and he simply leaned to avoid it, hands tucked primly behind his back. A mistimed strike gave him an opening--he sidestepped and shoved Anakin forward and away.

“Your impatience will cost you if you aren’t careful. Again.” Obi-Wan readied himself as Anakin charged. Of course, he could never make things easy, but if he moved a tad slower to let Anakin get a few hits in? Ah, who’s to say.

Anakin locked Obi-Wan’s arm behind his back and started twisting out another forced surrender. It would’ve worked too, if Anakin’s stance didn’t leave his free hand wide open. Another lesson for another day, perhaps.

Obi-Wan reached back and grabbed at Anakin’s side, but he didn’t let up this time. He felt Anakin’s forehead smack into his back and heard the faint laughter floating up, but it took quite a few stubborn seconds for Anakin to actually let go.

“Excellent work.” Obi-Wan held out the captive lightsaber. Anakin took it gratefully.

“You absolutely cheated.” The silly smile on his face was contagious.

“I prefer calling it ‘alternative strategy’. Either way, you did well.” Obi-Wan squeezed his shoulder.

“Thank you, Master.”

“Of course. Now, for my sanity, I implore you to clear your mind. I’m not sure how much more pacing I can take.” Obi-Wan took a seat on the ground, and when his padawan didn’t move, he patted the space next to him until Anakin followed suit.

He could sense Anakin’s mind slowing beside him, falling deeper into the tides of the Force, and the comfort of it enveloped him. Obi-Wan allowed himself to drift inwards. His spirit floated away from his physical form and deeper into his psyche, deeper into peace. Tension left him in droves. He inhaled.

The air punched out of him, though, when Anakin started poking his upper ribs. He tried not to startle so visibly, but it was a little late for that.

“Are you trying to accomplish anything in particular?” He cleared his throat. Anakin could smell weakness, he was certain of it.

“Juuust testing a theory.” Anakin’s prodding fingers marched down his ribs and his fingers twitched minutely.

“You will not find what you’re seeking.” Obi-Wan’s voice strained against his better intentions. It took all of his strength not to move and a little more to appear calm.

“Are you sure?” Anakin reached Obi-Wan’s sides and didn’t let up. He exhaled a little too hard. He couldn’t allow himself even a smile—Anakin would never let him live it down.

“Of course, I’m—“

A lone giggle shattered their dialogue.

“Woah.” Anakin beamed, slow and steady. The dangerous sparkle in his eye was about one of the only things that could make Obi-Wan nervous.

“Anakin, I’m warning you—“ He didn’t get to finish. Anakin’s hands darted through the various folds and layers of his robes, seeking easier purchase, and found a delightful (read: terrible) spot around his waistline that pulled snickers from him like fresh taffy. He folded forward, falling into fuller laughter at curious scribbles upon his stomach, and Anakin gasped in wonder.

This was so alien to him, a relic of a life long gone. He found himself trying and failing to break up a cage match between his human instincts and his Jedi ones. Had what little shred of pride he had not been at stake, he would’ve fallen over under Anakin’s absurdly nimble hands.

“This is the best day of my life.” Anakin laughed, letting his fingers slip beneath Obi-Wan’s arms, and the subsequent bark of laughter surprised them both.

It’s about to be your last. Though he couldn’t possibly stay mad at the way Anakin was lit up. Perhaps it would be alright to let him win. Just once in a while.

Not today, though.

“I wish you hadn’t done that.” He hit Anakin with a gentle pulse of the Force, enough to push him back. Anakin’s face settled into playful terror in real time and he fled, making a hopeless dash for the door. Obi-Wan watched him run--he’d gotten faster lately--before grabbing him by the belt with the Force and throwing him back across the room. He caught Anakin bodily in his arms.

“No, wait—“

“Consider this a lesson in patience, ambition, and sensitivity. Especially the latter.” Obi-Wan locked his arms around Anakin’s waist and lifted him clear off the ground, burying his fingers into as much torso as he could. He burst into squeaky laughter, rife with voice cracks, and threw his head back, narrowly avoiding cracking open Obi-Wan’s nose.

“Oh, looks like you may have a thing or two to teach me!” Obi-Wan grabbed handfuls of Anakin’s sides and he snorted around his next bout of laughter.

“Obi-Wan pleahahase!”

“You know I am not a stickler for rules, but do remember your manners. You could get in some nasty trouble.” He swept Anakin’s feet out from under him, still tickling, and lowered him to the ground, taking great care to avoid the flailing limbs.

“I’m gonna die!” Anakin fruitlessly scrabbled at Obi-Wan’s torso to get the upper hand. Obi-Wan hooked his arm around Anakin’s and pulled it up, exposing the perfect landing strip for pinching fingers.

“Nonsense. You’re so close to being free! Wiggle out from my grip there—oh, you’ve made it worse. Hm.” Obi-Wan clawed at Anakin’s stomach with two hands and an iron grip. Anakin tried to pry the evil hands away, but his strength and coordination had evacuated long ago.

He swung his legs back and forth, kicking wildly, and Obi-Wan was proud of the little momentum he had. It was a clever idea--using momentum to break free of the hold. A fruitless idea, but a clever one nonetheless. Obi-Wan crossed his arms over Anakin’s torso, burying his hands beneath his arms, and the resulting shriek had Obi-Wan chuckling.

“This is wonderfully endearing, Anakin, but not at all effective.” On the next swing, Obi-Wan caught Anakin’s knee and wormed his fingers behind it. Anakin threw his head back and cackled wildly, all bright smiles and nose-scrunched laughter, and Obi-Wan had no qualms with admitting how much the sight lifted his spirits.

“I see the problem. You’re laughing too hard to focus.”

“You thihink?” Anakin squinted at him.

“I do. Try laughing less and see where that gets you.” Obi-Wan rained a hail of pinches down upon his hips and the fight was lost. Anakin made a noise like a ship’s hyperdrive starting up and flailed hard—he caught Obi-Wan in the chest with a stray punch. An endless stream of high-pitched, hysterical giggles bubbled out of Anakin and he did his best to muffle them, but Obi-Wan’s fingers on his neck ensured that he couldn’t.

“You’re turning rather red. Is something the matter?” Gloating was unbecoming, sure, but the two of them had always done things a bit differently. Besides, this was beyond endearing. He’d earned a little teasing.

“I give!” Anakin yelped, scrunching as much as possible. Obi-Wan’s fingers slowed.

“Good. You seemed intent on passing out.” Obi-Wan poked his stomach and Anakin snickered.

“One day,” Anakin wheezed, “I am going to destroy you.”

“I would love to see you try.” Obi-Wan extended a hand towards Anakin, glowing with pride, and he took it.

Did Anakin’s promise send a minute shiver up his spine? Perhaps, but he was never one to turn down an entertaining fight.

#star wars #star wars tickling #cuteeeee

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utterlyrandomperson · 1 month ago

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Get Him Back! (Art/Patrick)

Summary: Patrick embarrasses Art in front of Tashi, so Art gets his revenge. (Happy belated birthday to my dear friend @signinandgetkinky. I adore you so much and I hope you enjoy!)

The thing about being best friends with Patrick Zweig is that while he is many things: Charming, handsome, funny, talented…He’s also fucking annoying.

He doesn’t take anything seriously, always has a cigarette dangling from his lips, and his largest source of joy in life seems to be tormenting his best friend, Art Donaldson.

And Art loves him. He loves him so much, it’s actually a little embarrassing. They’re attached at the hip, codependent on one another in a borderline unhealthy way, and one drunken hook-up away from basically being a couple.

Art loves him. But sometimes he fucking hates him.

Like when he tells Tashi that embarrassing story about his first experience with masturbation, or when he rubs his tennis wins in his face. Last night, they had been with Tashi again, and Art’s face felt hot just at the memory of how Patrick had grinned and said, “Hey, wanna see something funny?”

Tashi, intrigued, had said, “Show me, and I’ll determine if it was funny.”

And before Art could even send a puzzling look his way, Patrick had pounced, pinning him back against the mattress and shoving his hands beneath Art’s arms, tickling him like mad.

Caught off guard, plus having one of his worst spots immediately targeted, Art couldn’t even try to play the tough guy. He burst into these humiliatingly high-pitched giggles, legs kicking and ears going pink.

Patrick had even invited Tashi to join, had instructed her on all the best spots to break him: “Go for his hips, he’ll squeal” and “His knees are really bad, too”.

And, if he’s being honest…Art didn’t hate it. Patrick knows he doesn’t mind being tickled, even though he’d never actually admit it out loud. Patrick is annoying, but he’s not a complete asshole. If Art hated it, he wouldn’t do it so much.

He’s just embarrassed.

Afterwards, Tashi had given them both this dazzling smile and said, “You’re right. That was funny.”

Art’s revenge isn’t going to be equal, because Tashi is busy all weekend and won’t be there to witness the downfall of Patrick Zweig, but Art’s willing to settle for that. Ever since Patrick had the audacity to embarrass him like that, all he’s wanted to do is get his hands on Patrick.

For revenge. Not like the way Tashi had them touch each other. That was a one-time thing. He definitely didn’t want that to happen again. No, he just wanted to hold him down and tickle him breathless. Which was like, a totally normal thing to do with your best friend, and didn’t mean anything deeper.

Anyway.

Patrick comes back to their shared dorm room after doing god knows what, because he definitely wasn’t in class. He was probably grabbing a pack of smokes, or flirting with a group of girls. Some typical Patrick shit.

“Hey,” he says, placing his backpack down. “I got some beer, if you wanna—oof!”

Art wastes no time, wrestling a very surprised Patrick to the floor of their room. His hands are on him in an instant, latching onto his sides and squeezing, and Patrick splutters before dissolving into panicked laughter.

“What the fuhuck, dude?” he gasps out, trying to look betrayed, but the smile pulling on his lips doesn’t make it look very convincing.

“I’m getting my revenge,” Art replies simply, spidering his fingers up to tickle Patrick’s ribs, relishing in the way his face screws up, attempting and failing to conceal his laughter. Patrick’s stubborn, and always tries to pretend that he isn’t ticklish, even though Art knows better.

“Revenge? Oh my god, grow up!”

Art pins one of Patrick’s wrists above his head so he can tickle his armpit, and Patrick starts squirming wildly, trying to yank his arm out of Art’s grip.

“Fuck off, get out of there—”

Art is grinning like mad. “Get out of where? Here?”

He tickles faster. Patrick smacks his head against the floor with a quiet thunk! and lets out a string of threats and curses that just makes Art laugh along with him.

“Not so tough now, are ya, Zweig?” he asks, leaning close to Patrick’s flushed face. He looks so pretty up close like this, long lashes and pink cheeks…Art quickly dismisses the thought and buries his face in the crook of Patrick’s neck, blowing a raspberry against his throat.

“Gross!” Patrick yells, trying to shrug his shoulders up to protect himself. “Art, fuck off, I’m going to kill you—”

His threat is cut off by a deafening shriek as Art blows another raspberry behind his ear, a particularly bad spot that Art had discovered completely by accident when they were younger, and took great pleasure in exploiting.

“Who the fuck has ticklish ears?” he had asked, delighted.

“Coming from the person who’s ticklish every-fuckin’-where else,” Patrick had replied, bright red and glaring.

And okay, he had a point, but Art is still delighted by the ticklish ears thing to this day. The slightest brush of his fingers or a well-placed puff of air would have him breaking out in goosebumps, laughing his ass off.

Art releases his wrist to scribble his fingers over Patrick’s belly, continuing to nuzzle his face into his neck and ears.

Patrick thrashes, but he’s not really trying to shove him off. Like Art, he’ll never admit it, but he’s clearly having fun.

For a moment, Art forgets why he’s doing this. Revenge be damned, he’s having too much fun to chase an apology or even feel particularly vindicated. He’s too busy looking for that spot at Patrick’s hips that made him snort the last time he squeezed it.

Before he gets the chance, there’s a knock at their dorm door.

The two of them freeze, shooting confused glances between them.

Art scrambles to his feet, face red, expecting it to be someone complaining about the noise, but when he cracks open the door, he’s shocked to find Tashi Duncan standing there, her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail and chapstick glinting on her lips.

“My training ended early, and I thought I’d take you guys up on the offer for a movie night,” she says. “But if you two are occupied, I’ll just—”

“No!” Both boys reply in unison, Patrick clumsily getting to his feet. His curls are a mess, and he’s still all red.

Tashi smirks. “What was so funny?” she asks, sitting on Art’s bed.

Art grins. “I can show you something funny,” he says.

In an instant, Patrick’s laughter fills the room once again.

#challengers #fic #challengers tickling

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utterlyrandomperson · 2 months ago

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Laugh Until Our Ribs Get Tough

Pairing: Art Donaldson/ Patrick Zweig

Word count: 1.1k

YAYYYY it's @ticklishraspberries's BIRTHDAY!!! everybody say thank u raspberry for being born. queen bestie I hope u like ur gift & I will forever cherish that we got to watch this movie together <3 (side note: in my head this takes place after the iconic hotel room scene so they're back at school but my girl Tashi didn't want either of them yet lol) (also this image inspired their initial positioning except it's Art's foot/ Patrick's face but we take what we can get & we say thank you Luca Guadagnino)

The dorm room reeked of unspoken tension. It also, as it so happens, reeked of the joint they’d just smoked through the window. The season was over and drug testing wouldn’t commence until August. This, Patrick had noted, was an opportunity only a fool would pass up.

“Pretty sure we’re the foolish ones if you think about it,” Art retorted. Patrick rolled his eyes and gently shoved his knee into Art’s. Their twin beds had been pushed together at the beginning of their first semester and neither wanted that to change.

“And look who’s already nonverbal,” Art teased his lack of response.

A slight grin tugged at the corners of Patrick’s mouth as he turned his head to Art, eyes half-lidded.

“I’m…taking in the moment.”

Art smirked, rolling his eyes.

“Seeing sounds? Hearing colors?”

“Crazy shit. I’m seeing things nobody else can see.”

“What, like you being good at tennis?”

Patrick rolled his eyes and instead of a verbal response, gave Art’s foot a quick swipe. The sensation was enough to make Art jump like a startled cat. His body twitched, eyes wide with exaggerated shock.

“Wait!” Art protested, somewhere between a laugh and a yelp. There was a moment of tense but playful silence; the calm before the storm. And the storm came in the form of a very stoned Patrick seeking revenge. Before Art could remember how to defend himself, he pounced. He used one hand to hold down Art’s foot while the other hand began a relentless, ticklish assault.

Art didn’t even have the strength to resist laughing. Giggles began to flow from Art. Like a river running, all he could do was babble helplessly. He found his words as Patrick found a particularly sensitive spot between his toes.

“PAHAHTRICK!” Was all he could get out before his other foot inadvertently swung. Patrick dodged it, but barely. He gasped in offended shock as he removed his hands. Unfortunately, this pause was only so that he could adjust himself so he was sitting atop Art’s knees.

“You could’ve taken me out right there,” Patrick tried to look as serious as possible, but his eyes gleamed with mischief.

“I highly doubt a dorm room is the right place to take someone out,” Art sassed as if he weren’t at the mercy of Patrick’s fingers. “I’d take you somewhere nicer.”

Patrick, in a hurry to make sure Art didn’t notice the shade of pink he was turning, attacked. He was relieved that Art’s eyes immediately squeezed shut as he attempted to not laugh at the fingers fluttering over his ribs.

“I’m gonnahaha get you BACK!” he tried to sound intimidating as the damn broke and laughter came spilling out. “TENFOLD!”

“Mmhm, I’m sure you will,” Patrick smirked as his unforgiving fingers worked their magic.

“Yohohou assh—“ he was cut short as Patrick found a spot that made him shriek. A shark grin spread over his face and he squeezed his hips again, eliciting another squeal.

“There?”

“NO! Patrick I swear to God—“ the rushed plea for mercy (disguised as a threat) came out sounding more like a single word than individual ones.

“Oh, to God, you say,” he held up his hands as if to surrender.

“Fuck yohohou,” Art gasped for air.

“Code violation! Audible obscenity,” was the only break Art received before Patrick brought his hands down again to attack his hips. Waves of electric tickles coursed through Art. The laughter that exploded from him was boisterous and uncontrollable. Patrick hoped the way his heart sped up was just a side effect of the weed.

Art gasped and giggled as Patrick moved his fingers to claw at his belly. He kicked his legs and tried to grab at Patrick’s hands, but every movement felt like a slow, exaggerated delay.

After what felt like an eternity, Patrick pulled his hands back but stayed seated there. He watched Art regain his breath with a lazy, satisfied smile.

“You’re a dick,” Art breathed heavily. There was no malice behind it, only stunned appreciation for the mercy.

Patrick snorted, clearly pleased with himself.

“Yet you never once told me to stop.”

Art flushed pink at the observation. “You’re such a dick,” he rephrased, trying and failing to squirm out from beneath him.

Patrick looked like a cat that had just discovered the joy of knocking things over. There was that grin again, white teeth flashing.

“That’s not a denial.”

He turned a shade darker and opened his mouth to protest, but the moment he sucked in a breath, Patrick’s fingers found that spot at his hip bones. He shrieked and twisted, half laughing and half wheezing.

“Ahahasshole—“

Patrick leaned in, lips brushing the top of Art’s ear.

“You gonna admit it?”

Art’s face was practically crimson colored, somewhere between being flustered and horrified and delighted. In a moment of weed-induced weakness, Patrick let the impulsive thoughts win. He took a tiny lick and bite of Art’s ear, which made the other shriek bloody murder.

“Wait wait wait, that actually tickles?” He laughed delightedly and backed up as Art put his hands over his face.

“I’m gonna kill you,” his reply was muffled as his hands still covered his face. “And it’s gonna be really slow, and really painful.”

“Choice words towards someone who’s on top of you.”

“And then I’m gonna kick your ass in the next match.”

“Maybe,” Patrick replied in a sing-song voice, “but that doesn’t change the fact that you like it when I tickle the shit outta you,” he added smugly.

“Bold assum–” His retort was cut short as he broke into another helpless burst of laughter due to fingers clawing their way under his arms. Dirty blonde hair flopping, he twisted his face into his pillow to muffle the sound of laughter. Patrick paused long enough to let the silence stretch. He wouldn’t stand for anything other than the boy’s full, unbridled laugh. Art bravely dared to glance up.

Patrick struck again with ruthless precision, but this time he utilized a new weapon. Art’s shirt had ridden up in the squirming process and he’d quickly decided it was unacceptable to finish the onslaught without a raspberry. He blew one as hard as he could onto his belly button and by his reaction, this seemed by far the worst (or best) tactic. Art howled, loud and raw, unfiltered.

“OKAHAHAY!” Art laugh-screamed. “I-I don’t hate it!”

Patrick eased up and beamed like he’d just won Olympic gold. Art lay panting like he’d just finished a marathon.

“I’ll get you to admit to loving it at some point, but I think if I kept going now I’d kill you.”

“Fuck off,” Art retorted playfully as he shoved Patrick off and onto the bed next to him.

“Mmhm, make me.”

It was Art’s turn to give a Cheshire cat smile. “You know what? I think I know exactly how to do that.”

#fic #challengers #challengers tickling

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utterlyrandomperson · 2 months ago

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!! warning for footer tickles !!

help ik i said i was gonna do the other one but i finished this last night and totally forgot abt it cuz i conked out

HFHEHJFSDHJFEFH

my bestie charlie can confirm that i am hopelessly obsessed with ron weasley HELP FDJK

ALSO FRED AND GEORGE ARE LIKE,,,, THE ULTIMATE LERS OMG they give the biggest ler energy im crying

#art

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utterlyrandomperson · 5 months ago

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Oblivious (Ari/Dante)

Summary: Dante has no idea what his gentle signs of affection do to Ari. (My friend borrowed my copy of this book and hasn’t given it back and I’m going crazy. Thanks for the prompt, @nhasablog & I hope y’all enjoy!)

It took a long time for Ari to get used to intimacy, but Dante was patient. They took it slow, and brushing shoulders and knees eventually turned to arms wrapping around shoulders and hands resting on knees. Kisses travelled from simply lips to cheeks and foreheads and necks and hands. Fingers laced together and traced patterns over skin. And they could talk for hours about anything and everything, each topic baring more and more of their souls to each other, slowly and subtly, but surely.

The craziest thing about it all was, Ari wasn’t scared. He’d gotten past shame a long time ago; that wasn’t the issue. But he had been spent so long building strong walls around him, and it was hard to watch them be demolished every time Dante touched him. But he liked it. He liked letting loose and feeling truly…happy for the first time in forever. It was cheesy, sure, but Ari didn’t care.

But Dante was still struggling with reading Ari, something Ari had made sure of in the past and was finding hard to drop. All he wanted was for Dante to see what was right in front of him.

#ari and dante

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utterlyrandomperson · 5 months ago

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Steel Grasp

(lee!Jayce, ler!Viktor)

Word Count : 2710

Summary : Post S2, Viktor realizes he can transform into his Herald form at will. Once he knows just how much Jayce likes it, especially his claw, Viktor uses this to his advantage.

a/n : a shorter fic for u lovely people!! inspired by @home-of-the-squirmle and their lovely hexclaw headcanons hehehe. hope u guys enjoy!!! <3

this is a tickle fic!! not nsfw but a little suggestive, so don’t like don’t read! :D

…

They were…alive. Neither one of them could explain why, but neither one of them cared. They were alive, and together, and after what they’d been through they knew that would never change. Jayce and Viktor were stuck at the hip now, and neither one of them could complain.

They’d ended up somewhere unknown. An alternate dimension, Viktor suggested. Somewhere where no one knew who they were, or what they’d been through, and more importantly to Viktor, what he’d done to get them there.

It’s been almost a year since they’d arrived, and both have settled in quite nicely. They have an apartment, small and dingy but livable for the two of them.

On the plus side, the ceilings were very high, which was good considering Viktor realized when they first got here that he could transform into his Herald form at will.

When he first realized he could transition between forms, it scared Viktor. He had to work up the courage to show Jayce this ability, terrified that he’d get scared off and leave.

But Jayce did no such thing. In fact, he blushed and stuttered over his words the first time Viktor revealed this form to him, staring with wide eyes, unable to keep his hands to himself. He grazed his fingers along the gold that lined Viktor’s new body, marvelling and, frankly, ogling at Viktor’s form.

So, since that day, Viktor’s grown quite comfortable transforming into the Herald around the house. In fact, he’d been using it quite a lot recently.

And why wouldn’t he? That flustered face Jayce makes every time he transforms into his tall, slender, fully-metal masked self was endlessly amusing. Sometimes, Viktor would transform when Jayce was in another room just to see the look of surprise and the blush (ohh that blush) that grew on Jayce’s face when he was greeted with Viktor’s alternate self. Viktor couldn’t get enough of it.

Plus, he could tell just how much the new deep, heavy voice that came with it really got to Jayce, and Viktor just loved using it against him.

“Would you stop that?”

Viktor grinned, though Jayce couldn’t see it. “Stop what, Jayce?”

“You know what. It’s…it’s really distracting.”

“Hm. How so?” Viktor’s voice rumbled low, and he saw Jayce bite his lip.

“Don’t interrogate me.”

“Not interrogating. Just curious,” Viktor loomed over Jayce from behind the couch, who was trying to read a book. But when Viktor started reading the page out loud, it seemed to be a bit too much for Jayce. Good. “I read to you all the time and you never act like this. Why does this form bother you so?”

“It-It doesn’t bother me, it’s just, like…” Jayce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know I think it’s hot, Vik. You’re using it against me, this is, like–this is like warfare or something–”

“How am I using this against you? I am merely reading, Jayce. I think you are overthinking–”

“Ohoh that’s so rich, coming from the guy who transformed the other night to seduce me into bed with him.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” Viktor teased, reaching his claw over Jayce’s shoulder to pinch at his side. Jayce squeaked in surprise, body quickly folding sideways away from the claw that only followed him where he squirmed.

“Oh?” Viktor just chuckled, so smug. “Well what do we have here?”

Jayce bit back his giggles as best he could, embarrassed and excited that Viktor was clearly in such a playful mood. The claw kept pinching, gentle and horribly ticklish against his side, making Jayce squeak and squirm against it in a way that was obviously very amusing to Viktor, if his incessant chuckling wasn’t enough to prove it.

But Jayce felt playful too. He wiggled his way out of the claw’s grasp, standing to attention and ignoring the book that fell to the ground from his lap. He stared Viktor down with a nervous smile, holding his hands out in front of him in defense.

“Viktor,” Jayce warned half-heartedly, unable to keep the nervous smile off his face.

Without a word, Viktor slowly sauntered around the couch towards his target. Jayce moved in time with him, but walked backwards so as to not lose his sight on the giant figure known as His Boyfriend that loomed closer and closer.

Then, Jayce’s back hit the wall.

Oh shit.

Jayce felt his eyes widen when he realized there was nowhere to go, and Viktor was only getting closer. He sauntered steadily towards Jayce like he was in no rush. And why wouldn’t he? They both knew Viktor was going to catch him either way, and getting to watch Jayce squirm in the anticipation of it was always the best part.

“Viktor come on–! This is so unfair!” Jayce complained helplessly, his eyes darted around the room for an escape. Jayce’s heart raced like a rabbit on the run. “You’re huge, I can’t– How am I supposed to–”

“I see you planning an escape,” Viktor said, his voice sending a chill down Jayce’s back. “I’ll save you the time. Don’t move.”

Viktor loved how easy Jayce was to command with this voice. He was an easy man to command without it too, don’t get it twisted, but with this new voice of Viktor’s, there was just something different about the way Jayce obeyed. How much more nervous he looked when he did what was asked of him. How he looked almost conflicted with himself for complying, like at any point the power of this new form would take over and gut him at any second.

And yet, he still did as he was told. Because he’s Jayce, and he loves nothing more than doing whatever Viktor says.

“Very good, Jayce,” Viktor drawled, eating up the way Jayce nearly shivered at the praise. Viktor brought the claw up over his own shoulder, if only to just show Jayce what he had in store. “Do you know what I’m going to use this claw for?”

“Viktor, oh my god–”

“Do you?”

Jayce groaned, throwing his hands over his face when he saw just how close Viktor was at this point. “Yes.”

“Can you tell me?”

“No.”

Viktor couldn’t help but chuckle, and the low sound made Jayce whine behind his palms. “Why not? Should be easy enough.”

“It isn’t, and you know that.”

Viktor clicked the claws together a few times just to see Jayce squirm as the sound got closer, his eyes shut in anticipation. “I do know. I also know that you love it-” He emphasized the word with a pinch to Jayce’s side with the claw, proud when Jayce folded into giggles immediately at the minor touch. Oh, he’d worked him up so nicely. “-when I use my claw against you like this.”

“I don’t.”

Viktor tilted his head. “No? Well that’s a shame.” Suddenly, the claw surged forward and grabbed both of Jayce’s wrists, surging them up and binding them together above his head. Those wide, giddy eyes Jayce gave Viktor were worth everything they went through to get to this wonderful point together.

Viktor brought his masked face down to meet Jayce’s eye-to-eye. “I suppose I’ll have to use it in another way, then. We’ll see if you prefer this method more.”

“Nohoho come on-!” Jayce was giggling before Viktor’s hands even touched down on his torso. They only wiggled inches away, but it was enough to have Jayce squirming in the claw’s hold, near hysterical with anticipation. Jayce made a sound between a whine and a groan as he grit his teeth,“Ohoh you suck!”

“Not the smartest words to say in your position,” Viktor nearly sung the words, his sharp fingertips touching down softly against Jayce’s sides, not even moving. He just sat his fingers there, letting Jayce grow antsier and antsier. Jayce’s chest rose and fell with his giggling, his stomach sucking in under the light barely-there pressure of those fingers. Viktor wanted to see how far he could push him like this. “Are you nervous?”

“Shut up,” Jayce breathed, his head tossing back against the wall in frustration. “Why are you doing this?” His words were laced with nervous, giddy giggling. Viktor was getting antsy himself at the sight.

“Your squirming fills me with such satisfaction. The way you can hardly stand the anticipation. Your face is pained with excitement,” Viktor’s fingers clawed inward lightly at the word, and Jayce arched his back with a giggly gasp. “I love to be a witness to your downfall. I love that you love it.”

Jayce could only whine and turn his head away, feeling exposed in all the right ways. Viktor had this man down to a T, and he knew Jayce knew it too.

“You are…k-killing me,” Jayce stuttered as Viktor’s hands slowly crept upward, his touch remaining light and teasing. Viktor didn’t even bother to wiggle his fingers. Just glided them up Jayce’s flanks, up up up to the very top where his ribs met those oh so sensitive underarms. Jayce gasped hard at the sensation, his squirming increasing tenfold. “Viktor oh my god!” Jayce’s voice pitched up, and the desperation in his voice was music to Viktor’s ears.

“What would you like me to do, Jayce?”

Jayce groaned like he was in pain, “Oh don’t do this…plehehease not like this, I–I cahan’t,” His words were high and breathy, littered with nervous giggling that flowed out of him like it craved to be more than what it was. He needed more. Jayce’s voice dripped with need, and Viktor had every intention of exploiting that.

“You are so easy to work up,” Viktor teased, letting his fingers slowly scribble into both hollows of Jayce’s underarms. Jayce’s breath hitched, now holding in his reactions as if to prove Viktor wrong.

Luckily for Jayce, Viktor knows a challenge when he sees one.

“Such a big, strong man you are,” Viktor’s voice rumbled deeply, letting his fingers tap up and down his flanks just to watch Jayce squirm. Jayce had his lips tightly shut, knowing that if he even tried to retort, he’d fall into desperate giggling just like Viktor wanted.

Viktor brought his fingertips to the edge of Jayce’s shirt, teasing at the skin underneath with featherlight touches. He could feel Jayce’s belly twitch at the touch, and Jayce had to throw his head to the side in fluster at the feeling.

Jayce’s belly was always such a hot spot on him. It wasn’t even that the spot was his worst, that title easily belonged to his underarms. No, his belly was a place that made him whine pitifully. Touching there turned him soft in an instant, made him melt and bend to Viktor’s every beck and call. Especially at the very bottom of it, the spot at his waist below his belly button.

And now Viktor was stroking the spot lightly, so slow, and Jayce’s knees felt weak with it. He was almost tempted to plead with Viktor to just get it over with and tickle him, please god just tickle him already.

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait a second longer, because before Jayce knew what hit him, those cold metal fingertips were scribbling madly at that spot just above the hem of his pants, another hand digging into his exposed underarms in a way that sent Jayce arching off the wall with a shriek.

The duel sensations were overwhelming, and Jayce found himself a hysterical mess before he had the chance to take a breath and prepare himself.

“AhAHAaha nohoho-! Vik– Vihihik plehehease-!” Jayce cackled desperately, squirming this way and that as the mixed signals of such different tickling styles sent him keening. The way the fingers under his arm vibrated the flesh, sometimes dipping lower into his upper ribs just to make him squeal, before inching back up to take advantage of such a sensitive area being so easily exposed.

That tickling compounded with those evil, gentle fingers at his lower belly made him kick uncontrollably. He sucked in his stomach as much as possible, but with his laughing there was nothing he could do. Those cold fingers just kept scribbling, singling in on that awful pocket in his hip that made Jayce nearly cry.

“I cahaha–! Ahaha gahaha-! Plehehe–!” Fuck, he couldn’t even talk anymore. Viktor’s got him right where he wants him, and with that claw gripping his wrists tight to the wall over his head, he was entirely helpless. The realization that if Viktor wanted to, he could keep him here for hours like this, begging and pleading and giggling like a lunatic at his mercy. The thought made Jayce wail through his cackles.

“You poor soul,” Viktor crooned, before taking his hand out of Jayce’s underarm just to tease both hip pockets at the same time with his fingertips. Jayce’s laughter raised in pitch at the sensation, quickly throwing his face into his upper arm and hiding as best he could.

But Viktor could see everything. He saw the tears forming at the corners of Jayce’s eyes, the desperate smile piercing his face, the betraying blush that travelled from the tips of his ears down his chest. Viktor got a view of Jayce’s breaking, and could see nothing but pure, unbridled glee in every movement and sound Jayce made.

“It cannot be so bad, right?” Viktor asked, before digging his thumbs into Jayce’s hips just to conflict his own words. Maybe this form still held some evil inside it after all, because that tickled so much more than it should have. “Oh, this is killing you, Jayce. Why not just break free? Get away if it’s so horrible, no?”

Yeah. This form had to be making Viktor 10x more evil.

“You suhuhuck!” Jayce whined, kicking at Viktor’s steel legs and finding the form not moving an inch. Oh god, the Herald form made Viktor fucking unbreakable. Something coiled inside Jayce’s belly at the realization, and he found himself falling limp in Viktor’s grasp, succumbing completely to his ticklish undoing. Jayce’s brain was falling to mush, unable to think of anything besides, it tickles, it tickles, it fucking tickles, “Shihit! It tihickles Viktohor!”

“Mm, this I can see,” Viktor hummed, before granting Jayce an ounce of mercy.

Viktor unburrowed his thumbs from Jayce’s hips, planting his palms to Jayce’s sides firmly to ground him. Jayce panted through flustered giggling, still twitching under Viktor’s solid touch. He gasped when Viktor’s thumbs started to stroke, but relaxed when the touch was more comforting than ticklish.

“Fuhuck you are evil,” Jayce sniffled, pulling at his arms in the claw. “Agh, I’m gonna be sore.”

“Oh-” Viktor seemed to realize then how much Jayce had been pulling, quickly retracting his claw and catching Jayce when the man found his knees too weak to catch himself. Jayce leaned his forehead against Viktor’s steel torso, letting himself just breathe and soak in his release.

Viktor’s hand found Jayce's upper back, bringing him in closer. Jayce could feel Viktor’s body shifting against him, changing and morphing back into its old self, but Jayce didn’t bother watching. Instead, he reveled in the feeling of the giant, steel being shifting into his soft, warm, bony partner once again.

Jayce’s arms wrapped tightly against Viktor’s now human torso, embracing him deeply.

“Still evil. Even when you’re all soft,” Jayce pinched at his side teasingly, and Viktor hardly flinched away, just giggling into the crook of Jayce’s neck.

“Do not start something you know you can’t finish yourself,” Viktor teased, leading them back to the couch for a good cuddle. As they settled in together, locking their limbs in place like it was muscle memory to know each other’s bodies so precisely, Viktor mumbled into Jayce’s chest, “I didn’t push you too far? That form can sometimes…get the best of me, I suppose. I do not want to hurt you.”

Jayce just chuckled, kissing the top of Viktor’s head. “I trust you more than you know, V. You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

They fell asleep soon after, basking in the warm skin on skin contact that Jayce forgets he misses every time Viktor transforms. He loves the Herald, but nothing could ever replace Viktor’s warmth against his own.

#arcane #arcane tickling

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utterlyrandomperson · 5 months ago

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Cool!

And For fics could I Maybe suggest Something to do with IWBFT, Maybe lee! Jimmy and ler! Rowan and lister? its okay if You don't want too, But I Love your account and i think you have some really good potential <3333

Have a wonderful rest of your day :)

A/N: hey!! thank you so much for your request, i appreciate it sm!! I haven’t read IWBFT in a while so i hope i can live up to your expectations a little haha

Fandom: IWBFT

Word count: 948

We’re here for you…

Touring had been a pretty heavy burden on Jimmy, and though he did his best not to show it, he was struggling now. They only had 4 more cities left on their tour, but having been away from home for almost 2 months, he was starting to get extremely homesick and also quite irritable. At the same time, though, Jimmy also dreaded going home too. He wanted home, but the routine he’d created on tour would be uncomfortable to abandon, and so now each hour that wasn’t spent rehearsing or sound checking or doing press or actually performing, Jimmy was sat in his own world, fidgeting uncomfortably and staring out the window.

“Are you alright?” Rowan asked him one afternoon as they sat on the tour bus, breaking Jimmy’s train of thought. He looked up, suddenly, and nodded.

“M’fine…”

“You don’t look fine,” Lister chimed in, who had just walked out from the bathroom and overheard this snippet of conversation. “Rowan’s right, you’ve been off recently. Is it the tour? We only have a few-“

“I’m fine, Lister. Both of you. And i know we only have a few dates left, i am keeping track,” he snapped back, a little harsher than perhaps either of them were expecting. There was silence for a second, and Rowan stood up, walking over to the sofa where Jimmy was sitting, staring out the tiny little window to his right.

“Hey, bud…” he said softly, sitting down at the end of the sofa and looking at Jimmy, who was purposefully ignoring his gaze. “Listen… i know it’s been hard these last couple months, me and Lister are tired too-“ he was interrupted by Jimmy laughing, quietly and sarcastically, “-and… and I also know that going home will be hard too, for you.” Jimmy hadn’t been expecting this, and for the first time, looked up at him through messy hair. He needed it cut, bad.

“If there’s anything we can do to help when we get home- or even now- please let us know… I mean, obviously we have to get back to our lives a little and chill and all that, but if you want us to come over or just want quiet company, you’re welcome to… just talk to us, okay?” he said softly. Jimmy was smiling now, just a little, and nodded a little. “Thanks,” he mumbled, and though he didn’t say much, he did greatly appreciate his friends’ support. It meant a lot, just to know they were there and supported him.

Rowan grinned and leaned over, ruffling up Jimmy’s hair which he quickly swatted away, hitting his arm gently. When Roman poked his side in retaliation, Jimmy squeaked, quickly arching away from the touch and holding his hand, looking at Rowan warningly and trying to hide his smile. “Don’t-“ he said, breaking into a grin.

Rowan looked over at Lister and smirked, and Lister, who had been standing to the side nervously (he was never much good at advice like Rowan, mostly just hugs and emotional support) smirked back, stepping forward.

“Y’know-“ Lister said slyly, “we haven’t seen you laugh in a very long time… not properly laugh-“

Jimmy was shaking his head, beginning to giggle and scan for escape routes. “Guys, hang on- let’s talk about this-“ he pleaded, but Rowan had already got ahold of his arms and was starting to hold them up. Jimmy slid down through his squirming, half laying down and half leaning on Rowan now as Lister came over, wasting no time in attacking his ribs. Jimmy shrieked, legs kicking wildly as he burst into hysterical laughter. “NOOHOOO!! LIHIHISTEEEEHEHER!!”

Of course, Lister aimed for a death spot first. Typical move.

Lister had to sit on Jimmy’s legs to stop him kicking so much, fingers digging into his sides and lowest ribs. He tugged tremendously at his arms, to the point where Rowan was struggling to keep ahold, and was using almost all his strength. Jimmy squirmed and screamed, cackling loudly and begging through his hysterics, attempting desperately to curl up and failing.

“PLEEHEHEHEASE!!! NOHOHOHOHOT THEHEHEEREEE!!” he wailed, and Rowan nudged Lister with his foot. “Hey, bud… lessen up-“ he said softly, and Lister paused, looking down at Jimmy and realising how there were already tears in his eyes. Stopping for a moment to let him breathe, he went a little red, embarrassed that he went a little too far.

Instead, he switched to scratching at his belly, resulting in a string of high pitched giggles to pour from Jimmy’s mouth. He squirmed less now, wiggling around and trying to hide his face in his outstretched arms with the biggest smile on his face. It was incredibly endearing, seeing that smile, so clearly loving it but denying it every second. “Lihihihisteheherrr… gehehehet ooohohohohoffff!!” he snorted, trying to turn away and escape the tickling. It only lasted a little longer before he did let go, and the second his arms were released he curled up in a ball, hiding his face in a pillow and continuing to giggle for a second. “Youhuhuhu guys are the wohohorst…”

Rowan shook his head and ruffled his hair again. “You love us,” he grinned, and Lister laughed a little.

“Sure you still wanna stay with us after the tour?” he teased, and Jimmy nodded a little as he looked at the others. “Yeah, i’m sure… just don’t be doing that-“ he laughed, trying to rub away the feeling from his ribs that still lingered after.

Lister chuckled and hugged him, and Jimmy instantly relaxed. “Thank you…” he said quietly, and quickly, Rowan nodded. “Of course… y’know we’re always here for you…”

#iwbft tickling

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utterlyrandomperson · 5 months ago

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navigation post (11/22)

masterpost

fandoms

art

oc stuff under #my ocs

pfp picrew

#masterpost

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utterlyrandomperson · 5 months ago

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Tickletober Day 9: Ganged Up On

(yes almost all of my tickletober stuff so far has Fall themes. got a problem with that? shit’s on-brand, mmkay?

this one goes out to my fave who doesn’t get enough love: Ron)

Fandom: Harry Potter

Characters: Ron, Fred, George, Harry

“Piss off!”

“Give it up, Ronnikins!”

“We got you now!”

Stupid legs! Stupid awkward growth! Ron hadn’t bulked up juuust quite yet, but his limbs were all hanging and too long, so he looked and moved odd. They most certainly did not help when he was decidedly not trying to be clumsy while running away from his brothers and an eager Harry behind them.

“Get off–Fred!” Ron almost whined but it came off as more of a surprised crack in his voice when Fred hooked an arm around his waist to keep him from running. He fought Fred off, but as soon as he stumbled into his room, George and Fred tumbled in right after him and threw themselves at him. They collapsed onto the floor in a very messy pile, Ron throwing out protests and curses the whole time.

“He’s quite the fighter,” good old Chosen Boy Harry decided to say from the doorway, smiling.

“Oh, he gets even better!” George chided as he goosed Ron’s lower ribs when Fred basically had their younger brother in a headlock that trapped his hands up, as well.

“No! Don’t! C’mon, just-just bugger off–” a sort-of elephant noise was squeezed out from Ron’s tightly shut lips when he clammed up all of a sudden. It was like a balloon about to let out air. George had started to rub his knuckles right in between Ron’s ribs, harsh and precise. Ron kicked out violently, twisting in a way Harry didn’t think was safe for him to do. And then he laughed. Harry beamed. He’d never been able to get Ron this good before because the guy just didn’t seem to be that ticklish. And Ron would turn it on Harry at a moment’s notice.

“Like a fish on a hook, eh?”

“More like worm on a hook, Freddie.”

“Ahh, you’re right.”

As George moved down towards Ron’s knees, where Harry assumed he was trying to pin his wildly thrashing legs, Fred had maneuvered one free arm out to keep playing Ron’s ribs like a piano, digging in and out of bone. Each new poke sent a piercing shriek from Ron into the air. But Harry noticed that George wasn’t sitting idle. He was taking a simple thumb and forefinger from each hand and pincering the meat of Ron’s kneecaps. Harry shuddered, not imagining how that would be feeling on still developing teenage knees.

“Stohohop! Stop! Frehed–George!” Ron babbled a bit before he laughed some more, frantic and manic. Then he peeked through his teary eyes and yelled out his first, “Harry!”

Hearing his name shook Harry from whatever tickle hell he was picturing in his mind and he looked at Ron’s red face beneath the mop of red hair. He smiled softly now, pitifully.

“Oi, he’s got a point. Harry, why don’t you come and join us?” Fred encouraged.

“We’ve got a doozy for ya, Harry,” George added, leaning back to scribble his digits along Ron’s socked soles. Ron snorted that time.

“What shall I do?” Harry asked the twins, playing into the game, as knelt by Ron’s side.

“Ronnikins quite loves raspberries. Don’t you, Ickle Bickle Wonnikins?” Fred reached around and pinched Ron’s cheek. Ron shook his head, and when that didn’t work, tried to bite at Fred’s fingers.

Harry showed the purest lopsided grin as he looked from twin to twin and then to Ron. Poor Ron. Adorable Ron.

“H-Harry,” Ron’s voice cracked and sounded so airy and high-pitched, “You don’t have to listen to them, you know.”

There was a pause. Neither twin even made a quip.

“I know, Ron,” Harry finally answered, like he was on his friend’s side and repenting all he let the twins do to him, “I want to do this,” and he shoved Ron’s sweater up, Fred hooked Ron’s arms even tighter in his own grip, and Harry blew a very sloppy raspberry onto Ron’s pale belly.

Ron cackled. He was beside himself with laughter. It jumped, it dove, it turned into quick spurts of gasps and splutters. It was a chorus all in one person.

By the end of Harry’s fifth raspberry, he and the twins were laughing right along with Ron. It was all too hilarious not to laugh. And the twins loosened their grip, and Harry politely pulled Ron’s thick sweater back down over his stomach.

Ron was too red and out of breath to even come up with insults. He would murder them, he really bloody would. But seeing and hearing the lot of them laughing, not as much at him as with him, well… it just made him smile.

#harry potter #harry potter tickling

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utterlyrandomperson · 5 months ago

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Reliable Cures

Guess what… another one from the discord. Man, y’all are nuts (with much affection). TW for a smidge of depression at the start.

Title: Reliable Cures

WC: 1183w

Summary: Since being reborn into several different realities, Viktor has a hard time convincing himself that his life holds worth. He asks Jayce to pull him out of a bad stint with one of the only ways he knows of.

———-

There were bits of missing paint on the ceiling. Viktor knew this because he’d spent the past half hour staring at it. Jayce was in the kitchen, but he wasn’t going to go and rain on his parade just because he was feeling a little down. Well, maybe a lot down. The ceiling was interesting though, and it distracted him from the fact he should not be alive.

“V?” Jayce poked his head through the door. “You alright in there?”

Viktor didn’t answer or even move, and that was all Jayce needed. He gave a half smile before coming over to lean back with him on the bed.

“There’s paint missing in that corner.” Viktor said. Jayce hummed.

“There is.”

They lay there in each other's presence for a while until Jayce sat up again.

“I can tell you’re stuck in there.” He tapped on Viktor’s forehead. “What do you need?”

This was a familiar song and dance with them, so Jayce let Viktor silently take his hands and put them on his rib cage. Jayce’s look of concern morphed into a knowing smile at Viktor’s pink tinged cheeks.

“As you wish.”

Jayce leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss to Viktor’s forehead before dragging his hands down to the hem of his shirt. His hands slipped under it and Viktor twitched when Jayce’s hands replaced themselves on his ribs. His touch was warm and comforting, so Viktor let himself relax into it while burying his face in the nearest pillow - no way was he able to look Jayce in the face while asking for this.

Two fingers started delicately tracing feather light patterns over his ribs and Viktor twinged to the side, not making a sound. His arms stayed close to his sides, not pressing down but still defensive. Jayce smiled and kept tracing, noticing the spots that made Viktor twitch or wriggle.

“Can you lift your arms higher?” Jayce asked, and Viktor shuffled downwards so he could wrap his arms around the pillow he was hiding in. They both knew keeping still was a gargantuan task that neither of them could achieve, but arms? Still a hard ask, but that was fair game.

Two more fingers were added to the fray, paired up on each side to keep up the tingly patterns that were as comforting as they were tickly. Jayce was starting to hear muffled snickers coming from the pillow, so he pushed his shirt up fully to reveal the expanse of Viktor’s torso. His brace was off, tossed to the side, so he had full access to all the little marks that made his partners’ body his. Jayce pressed a kiss to a mole on his side and Viktor jerked, still quiet.

He figured it was time to make some noise, so Jayce added the rest of his fingers to the mix. With ten fingers spidering over his ribs, Viktor truly could not hold anything back. Full giggles started making themselves known, and slowly Viktor released his hold on the pillow and let Jayce see his face. His nose was scrunched up and his eyes were closed, but Jayce couldn’t look away from his wide smile.

“J-Jahahyce!”

“Yeah?” He replied, moving his spidering under his arms. Viktor squeaked in response, legs pedalling a little on the sheets before going completely floppy. He was laughing openly now, and Jayce couldn’t help but pepper little kisses all over his face and neck.

“Fuhuhuck, Jahayce!”

“You already said that.” Jayce teased, and Viktor looked him dead in the eyes.

“Amp it up.”

Jayce grinned and cracked his knuckles, laughing at Viktor’s eye roll before wiggling his fingers and burying them in his ribs. Viktor yelped and broke into full laughter, now unable to stop squirming. His ribs were a bad spot and Jayce knew it.

“Yohou fuhucker!” Viktor cried, and Jayce dragged his fingers down his ribs and skittered up his stomach a few times.

“I cannot stress how much you literally asked for this.”

Viktor made a choked noise and tossed his head to the side, almost trying to meld into the pillow behind him.

“Ihit tickles”

“You know what I bet would tickle more? It’s a game I call ‘I wonder how many ribs Viktor has…’”

“Ohoho, nonononO-!”

Jayce’s hands set themselves at the base of his ribs, wiggling between each one leading up to the top and making Viktor’s laughter turn silent. When he reached about halfway, just before a spot he knew would get him screaming, Jayce stopped.

“Ah shit, I lost count. I guess I’ll have to start again, super precise this time.”

Viktor just about lost his mind at that. “I’m gohoing to kihIHILL YOHOU!”

The whole torturous process started again and Viktor thrashed under him, steadfastly keeping his arms out of the way despite how badly his instincts told him to bring them down. This time Jayce kept going up his ribs and ever so gently wiggled his fingers into a particular spot just below the centre. Viktor cackled and just about kneed him in the stomach, yelling gibberish.

“Whoa, who knew that spot was bad?”

“YOHOU FUCKING DIHIHID!” Viktor cried, still laughing uncontrollably.

“This is like a tickle button!” Jayce teased, drilling into his death spot. Viktor was nearly crying and jerking like a fish out of water, but it still wasn’t enough. He needed more.

Jayce moved back to spidering over his ribs and stomach and Viktor narrowed his eyes at him.

“Hahah… that’s the behest you’ve gohohot?”

Jayce raised his eyebrows at the challenge. “Just remember. You signed up for this.”

Hands attached themselves back onto the extremely ticklish spot on his ribs and Viktor had about a second to prepare before Jayce was blowing a huge raspberry on his tummy. That was it - Viktor shrieked. It tickled more than his poor brain could comprehend, but it was perfectly filling the deficit in his soul. Viktor completely let himself go, thinking it couldn’t get any worse, but boy was he wrong.

Jayce pulled one of his hands away and pressed Viktor’s left arm to the bed while blowing a trail of raspberries up to his ribs, his other hand still skittering wildly. Once the raspberries reached that sensitive spot, Viktor lost the will to fight. Jayce was nibbling and tickling over his ribs like it was a five star meal, his scratchy beard wreaking havoc at the same time and Viktor felt like he was simultaneously in heaven and hell. He was pretty sure he was screaming, and there may have been some pointed knocks on the walls but there was no chance he could hold back now.

Once Viktor had been reduced to a gasping, laughing puddle of bones and tickle spots Jayce relented, scooping his hands under Viktor’s shoulders and cuddling close. He couldn’t help leaving a few last tickly kisses on his neck, though.

“I think my brain is sludge.” Viktor managed, coming down from the high. Jayce laughed.

“I’m impressed you can talk.”

“Shhhhut up.”

The next morning, several noise complaints were delivered to their door. Worth it.

#arcane tickling #arcane

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