blueberrygiggles

[blueberrygiggles]

can u draw lee! tamaki ? - ohshc :3 🌸☕️

KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE—

ahem, I mean, yeah, why not

Fun fact, this is my first time drawing these characters, although I watched the anime itself about four years ago, if not earlier...

[blueberrygiggles]

hope the us government appreciates my constant searching for tickle fics

[blueberrygiggles]

Tips for writing fics with tickling:

Don't refer to the roles as lee and ler. I think it takes the reader out of the scene, as the community has made these words up. There are better terms to use anyways. Also, by not using these, people from outside the community reading your fics won't be confused.

Every time a new person talks, MAKE A NEW PARAGRAPH. This is for all fics, but I see this a lot with tickle fics as there is a lot of dialogue switching. If I see a block of text that is half one character laughing and the other half is the other person talking, I'm not gonna read your fic.

I dig when some people write people laughing in all caps, but use it sparingly. Reading all caps for longer than a sentence makes the brain disassociate and I can't read anymore. It's a fun technique, but use it when it's needed.

This is a personal pet peeve of mine, but you don't have to follow it if you don't want to. Not everyone needs to do baby talk. If you have a character that is quieter or stoic that is tickling someone, they probably won't do much of baby talk. Make sure your character teases are appropriate and in character, unless you intend for them not to be.

There are so many different forms of laughter, but a lot of them aren't interchangeable. Envision what you think the laughter will sound like, and base your writing on that. But don't forget to have fun with it.

Writing is supposed to be fun. If you're writing fics and it feels like a chore for you, take a break. Write when you feel like it.

Take the prompts you want. If you get a prompt that isn't very descriptive, toss it or get more info. Make sure the person submitting the prompt knows what they want so you know what they want.

That's all I have. I've been in this community as a reader since 2013 and a writer since 2016. This is some of my knowledge in writing and just reading these fics. Feel free to share/reblog this. There are a lot of new writers so I figured I could give some fun advice, but no need to take this seriously if you don't want to!

[blueberrygiggles]

Tell Me More

heyyyyy everyone

so this is a fic i wrote for the movie challengers, which i am. absolutely obsessed with. and have been since it came out. ask @mushiewrites he knows better than anyone.

obviously, no pressure to read if you’re not into challengers, i really just wrote this fic on a whim for my own enjoyment and i figured i would just post it bc why not 🤷 most likely will be the only challengers fic i post here UNLESS the people want to see more, then i would lmao. but for now, here’s the fic, let me know what you think <3

lee!art, ler!patrick, ler!tashi, 3.9k words

enjoy!!

--

“Tell me more,” Tashi said, the three of them sat in a triangle on the hotel room floor, two half empty beers between them. Her eyes were trained on Patrick’s as she reached down to adjust the bunched up socks by her ankles.

“Uh…” Patrick began, looking over at Art, who looked back at him, cheeks still tilted pink with his fingers covering his shy smile, no doubt still flushed warm from the utterly humiliating story about his personal life– a secret that was meant to stay between him and Patrick until the day they died– that had just been aired out in front of Tashi fucking Duncan. He chuckled, always entertained by Art’s embarrassment, and Art pressed the heel of his hand into his eye with a groan. “I dunno, I think Art’s a little embarrassed,” Patrick teased, reaching over and ruffling his friend’s floppy blonde hair, earning himself a smack to the wrist as Art pushed him away.

”Aww, he’s okay, aren’t you?” Tashi asked condescendingly, turning her attention to the boy in question as he tilted his head back against the bed behind him. She watched him swallow harshly, then look over at her with the same smile he hadn’t been able to wipe off the whole night, shaking his head and rolling his eyes fondly. “I think Art loves this,” She theorized, mostly not serious, but her eyebrows quirked up and her smirk stretched when Art didn’t deny it and Patrick sent a knowing wink her way.

”I think Art wants to punch both of you,” Art replied graciously, his smile growing as he heard the other two laugh, biting his bottom lip. He let out a soft breath, changing positions on the floor, bending one leg up to wrap his arms around his shin and resting his cheek against his knee, looking up through his lashes at Patrick as he continued to try and wrack his brain for more stories to tell Tashi.

Patrick glanced over at him, and he gave him a gentle smile, one that formed smile lines by his eyes and showed his teeth just enough for the little lightbulb above Patrick’s head to flick to life. Patrick gasped, eyebrows raised, breaking out into a cheek splitting grin as he turned his attention back to Tashi.

“Oh, I know exactly what you wanna hear,” Patrick said with a smirk, crossing his legs out in front of him and leaning back on his hands.

“Oh, do you?” She asked, a challenge in her words. Patrick nodded, leaning more onto his left hand, his body angled towards Art like a magnetic pull. His smirk grew, his gaze flicking from Tashi, to Art, back to Tashi, and back to Art. Art furrowed his eyebrows, turning his head to press his lips to his own knee instead, just as confused as Tashi was about where Patrick was going with this. Patrick turned his head back to her, keeping his eyes on his friend until the last possible second, before he finally let them in on whatever secret he had in mind.

“Our sweet little Art over here is insanely ticklish,” Patrick said, blunt and teasing and making Art’s breath halt in his chest almost painfully. The room was silent for all of five seconds, the broken air conditioner rattling harshly against the frame of the open window, Art’s heart pounding against the inside of his ribcage at the sudden admission.

“…What?” Tashi said, in disbelief, a smile neither man had seen from her yet that night gracing her features– a smile Patrick recognized from watching her matches. She smiled like that on the court, confident, cocky; she smiled like that when she was playing a good game of tennis, when she was winning.

“What?” Art replied immediately after, eyes wide, lifting his head up from his knee, grip tightening on his shin and back stiffening as he froze in place.

“I’m serious.” His eyes met Art’s for barely a second, just to narrow at him smugly, before they were back on Tashi so he could continue. “He always has been, since we were kids, but a lot of people, y’know… either, like, grow out of it or it at least changes and differs from then as they’re older, right?” He earned a hum from Tashi, who had now looked over at Art, but he had his eyes fixed on his friend who had once again kicked him directly in the balls just for the hell of it.

“Art,” She said, as if she was talking to a scared puppy. He slowly looked over at her, his shocked expression unchanged, and she continued. “Is this true?”

“…I think we need more ice,” was his response, before standing up from his spot on the floor.

“We have an entire bucket,” Patrick pointed out, the smirk on his face smug enough to make Art want to kick it right off him.

“Well, maybe we need two,” He responded, turning towards the door in an attempt to escape, to go out into the hallway and do God knows what until he assumed it was safe to enter the room again– though, knowing Patrick, he would probably have a better chance walking all the way home.

Patrick shot himself up from the floor, his body whizzing past Tashi with a mischievous giggle before any of them could process it, and suddenly Art felt two arms around his waist and he was being lifted a few inches off the ground.

“FUCK–“ Art yelled, his legs instinctively curling before stretching out to try to get his footing back, fingers digging into Patrick’s arms around him. “Patrick!” He scolded, able to get his bare feet back on the floor, planting all his weight down and making it harder for the other to move him.

“Just let it happen!” Patrick yelled as he and Art fought for the upper hand. He shoved Art with his shoulder, able to knock him off balance for a moment, one leg slipping out from under him as he was yanked back towards the beds. Art grunted at the force, lips pressed into a determined line as he fought to hide his smile, twisting his upper body so he could clamp his elbow down on the side of Patrick’s head, pinning it under his arm and completing the headlock with a righteous chuckle. “Oh, you little–“ Patrick grumbled, leaning into the position, folding himself practically in half so he could swing his arm around to take out the back of Art’s knees.

“Shit–!” Art gasped, his knees giving out from the impact and knocking him down enough for Patrick to throw him halfway over his shoulder, just enough to carry him against his will. “Ow, what the hell?!” Art complained, voice strained from how the air was taken from his lungs with the movements. Art squirmed as much as he could, pushing himself off Patrick’s shoulders and falling half down his back, but Patrick remedied this by dropping Art’s legs and immediately hooking his arm under one of his knees instead, making Art yelp in shock and grab onto Patrick’s– his, come to think of it– shirt to keep himself from falling flat onto his back on the floor. “JESUS– fuck, Patrick! What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

“You’re being ridiculous!” Patrick bit through his teeth, making Art chuckle incredulously, hearing the fondness in the words still.

“Oh, I’m being ridicul–OUS!“ Art tried to give a snarky response, but he was cut off as he was unceremoniously launched onto the bed with an undignified squeal. “Hey!” His palms grabbed the sheets instantly, pushing his body up and trying to reorient himself, scrambling up the bed to try and swing his legs over and make another run for it, but Patrick was quick to grab his ankle and yank him back down towards the edge of the bed, his legs hanging off, before jumping on top of him and wrestling him once again. “NO– OW!” He groaned as Patrick’s elbow hit him right in the ribs, grabbing the hurt area, but Patrick was quick to take advantage of the situation to crawl up the bed, above Art’s head, roughly grabbing his arms and manhandling him so he could pin them down. “Get off me!”

“No!” Patrick yelled back, and Art growled angrily as he fought against him, catching a glimpse of his overconfident smirk and growing even more frustrated. “Holy fuck you’re stronger than you look!”

“Fuck off!” In seconds, Art’s wrists were held down by Patrick’s stupidly harsh grip, and his knees pressed into his biceps to keep him down. Art struggled still, twisting and turning, straining his arms and clenching his fists, but his attempts were unsuccessful. Eventually, Art accepted defeat, both men breathing heavily from the adrenaline and the exhaustion.

“Are you finished?” Patrick asked, smug face hovering above Art’s when he looked up.

“Fuck you.”

“Are you two done with your foreplay now or do I have to gouge my own eyes out?” Tashi asked, reminding the other two of her presence that hadn’t been forgotten even slightly, making them both whip their heads around to look at her. Art groaned, closing his eyes and dropping his head back, his face growing pink again from another round of embarrassment.

“C’mon, I’ll show you what to do,” Patrick motioned her over with a flick of his head.

“No, you don’t have to do that, Patrick’s just being an idiot,” Art said, moving his eyes between the two of them, glaring frustratedly up at his friend and yanking on his wrists once more. But, to his dismay, he felt a hand rest on his knee, and he whipped his head around to see Tashi climbing onto the bed to straddle his thighs, a satisfied smile on her face.

If she was only here for entertainment, she sure would be getting what she wanted.

“Tashi,” Art tried, meaning for it to be a warning, though it fell short when his breath stuttered at the way Tashi looked down at him, almost hungry. “Tash– Tashi you don’t have to do this.”

“Does he always beg this fast?” She asked, her gaze fixed on Art’s torso, and he squirmed under the attention.

“Yes, always,” Patrick confirmed, and Art couldn’t help but scoff, and he would’ve rolled his eyes if they weren’t still closed to avoid any kind of eye contact. He was still coming to terms with the fact that this was even happening in the first place.

“That’s cute.” She placed her hands gently on his sides over his gray Stanford t-shirt, smirking when he sucked in his stomach with a sharp breath through his teeth, muscles tightening more than they already were. He let out another sound, less of an intimidating growl and more of a pathetic whine, and he squeezed his eyes shut harder and turned his head away from the open air, pressing his forehead against the inside of Patrick’s knee that pressed his arm down. He heard them both chuckle at him, before Patrick began his explanation.

“So, there’s pretty much a technique that’ll get a reaction out of, like, most normal ticklish spots you can think of, but I’m gonna tell you about a few of my personal favorites,” Patrick started, earning a nod from Tashi. “My go-to is usually just starting with his ribs, just because, like, usually they’re easy to get to and they get a pretty solid reaction no matter what you do.” Tashi hummed in understanding, smirking when Art finally looked up at her, scratching her nails over his ribs on top of his shirt. He gasped immediately, arching his back and throwing his head back against Patrick, pressing his lips together tightly, unable to stop the quiet groan that escaped.

“He’s trying not to laugh,” Tashi observed, her smile growing as she watched Art squirm against his own will.

“Go harder,” Patrick advised, meeting her eyes.

“Don’t,” Art bit through his teeth, voice strained and fists clenched tightly.

“Don’t?” She asked, her nails moving up and down his ribcage as she scratched and clawed at them, keeping her touch light, intentional, methodical.

“Mm-mm,” He grunted as he shook his head.

“Why not? What’s gonna happen if I do?”

“Nothing.” Art gasped when her fingers came a little too close to his underarms, straining his shoulders in an attempt to pull his arms down, his lips forming into a wide smile that he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Well, if nothing’s gonna happen, I might as well do it,” She teased, suddenly digging her fingers into his ribs, making him yell out and arch his back again, his entire body tense underneath her.

“NO–!” He yelped, his mouth staying open for a second as he still held his reactions, but the second she moved her harsh fingers up to drill into the top of his ribs near his underarms, he was a goner. “Fuhuck–!” He groaned, the first giggles slipping out, making both of the others react with excitement that only served to make his stomach turn more.

“Hey! There we go, was that so hard?” Patrick teased, making Art groan through his now constant laughter, only interrupted by gasps and growls at them as he kept up his attitude. Patrick directed his attention back to Tashi, coaching her further. “His ribs get worse the higher up you go, so that was a good find. His armpits aren’t as sensitive as the tops of his ribs but if you’re already up there and getting him worked up it still works wonders.”

“Fuhuck ohoff– AH–!” Art scolded, but he was cut off by a yell when Patrick shot his hands to dig into his underarms for barely a second, before returning them to their place pinning his wrists down, his attention never leaving Tashi as he did so.

“See?”

“Yohohou are an ihidiohot!”

“I know. Anyway,” Patrick adjusted his position, taking his hands off Art’s wrists in favor of leaning over him more, still keeping his arms pinned with his lower body– much to Art’s dismay, as he did immediately try to worm his way free with little success.

He chose to blame the fact that Tashi was still scratching aimlessly at his ribs, down to his sides and even over his stomach a few times, making him tense and his skin jump and flutter at the feeling. Her face remained content, a smile on her lips, and her touch remained confident but turned undisciplined, her fingers gliding wherever they wanted to without much thought, her attention jumping between Art’s reactions and her own actions, almost entranced by what she was doing to cause him to react however he did. She took in every detail– every spot that made him giggle and squirm, that made him gasp and arch his back, that made him whine and lean into her fingers– as if she was studying a new technique on the court.

She was playing with him, determined to win, and that feeling alone drove such a sharp shiver down Art’s spine that he knew she already had. They all knew– she had won before they even started.

“Tashi,” Patrick said, catching her attention and making her look over at him. He smiled at her, fondness for both of them apparent on his face, reaching down to run one hand through Art’s hair to get it out of his eyes, as it had gotten pretty messy from his squirming and head shaking and hiding his face against Patrick. Art groaned, trying to shake his head to throw Patrick’s hand off, but Patrick simply tightened his grip in his hair and settled his head straight back instead, making him swallow harshly through his laughter and roll his eyes before closing them again. “Lean towards me, like, kneel above him instead of sitting, just for a second,” He explained, motioning for her to do so with his free hand, and she did so, sitting up on her knees and shuffling forward a little to keep stability. “Perfect. Now reach behind you and squeeze above his knees–“

“Noho!” Art panicked, squirming more intentionally, pushing himself up further towards Patrick and trying to keep his legs away, even though Tashi hadn’t made a move yet. She raised her eyebrows at his reaction, laughing to herself.

”Okay, now I have to try that,” She said, and Art shook his head as he watched her anxiously, waiting for the inevitable.

”No, nono, Tahashi, Tashihi, don’t–“ He pleaded, still squirming, until Tashi latched her hands onto his thighs and squeezed incessantly at them. He let out another squeal, his mouth falling open as he broke out into bright laughter, his eyes squeezing shut as he kicked out against her hands and grabbed onto the material of Patrick’s shorts. ”Nohohoho!” He whined through his laughter, his squirming causing his shirt to ride up and expose some of his skin, his hip bones poking out as he twisted and turned.

“Oh, yeah, this was so worth it,” She mused, earning an embarrassed groan from Art, one that she had come to expect throughout the endeavor.

“Tahashi, stohohop!”

“Oh!” Patrick interrupted excitedly, and Tashi pulled her hands back and looked over at him, giving the poor boy underneath them a moment to catch his breath, settling herself back over his thighs. He shifted his hips, feeling the warm breeze from the open window of the room pass over his body, reminding him of his exposed stomach and making the ball of nerves he felt there grow again. Still, he couldn’t help his curiosity, and he looked up at Patrick to hear what ridiculous, humiliating detail he was about to reveal next. “He does this thing– like, okay–“ Patrick started, cutting himself off, leaning further forward and shifting his legs back, giving Art the opportunity to yank his arms out from under him. Patrick acted just as quickly though, grabbing his wrists and holding them firmly out to the sides– not pinning them down, but making sure Art couldn’t use his arms to protect himself at all.

”Fuck–“ Art said through gritted teeth, pulling at his arms, his jaw tightly locked shut and a sad pout sitting on his face, trapped once again.

“He does this thing,” Patrick continued, squeezing Art’s wrists, smiling as he spoke. “Where he scrunches up his nose–”

”NO, fuck you, do not–!”

“Shhh, he scrunches up his nose when you trace over his hip bones really lightly and it’s so fucking cute, it’s insane,” He finished, and Tashi couldn’t help but smile at the new information.

”God, Patrick!” Art whined, voice strained still, turning back to hide his face against Patrick’s leg. He sighed heavily, biting his bottom lip to try to keep any stray reactions in, until he felt a hand gently touch his jaw, turning him to look up at Tashi again, her bright smile calming his nerves for a split second, even though he knew exactly what was going to happen.

“Stay like that,” She instructed, voice soft, but Art still rolled his eyes and did as she said. He tilted his head back slightly, closing his eyes again with a sigh, fingers clenching into fists with his nerves. Then, her hands trailed back down, pushing his shirt out of the way and trailing her nails over his hips.

Art could swear he was being tortured.

It felt like electric currents were running through his veins, sending shocks to his spine, down his legs, up the back of his neck, his entire body tense and shaking. He couldn’t stop himself from gasping, biting his lip, before breaking out into the most adorable, high pitched, desperate giggles Tashi and Patrick had ever heard in their lives. Tashi added a second finger to each hip, moving in and out in a jellyfish motion over the jutting bones there, smiling as she watched his tummy jump and flutter at the sensation before looking up to see that Patrick was absolutely right.

His entire face was bright pink, his eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment, his nose scrunched as he giggled freely. He still tried to curl in on himself, his elbows pulled in close to his sides, his wrists still held by Patrick, though he didn’t seem to be trying too hard to get away anymore.

“I hahahate thihihis,” Art complained, whining more than ever, and the other two both laughed at how blatantly untrue the statement seemed. Art didn’t even sound like he believed it too much himself. He groaned, giving up Tashi’s demand and trying to hide his face again, but Patrick scolded him gently and dropped one of his wrists to cup his jaw and hold his head up. “Pahatrihihick!” Art complained, using his now free hand to try to pry his fingers away. He was unsuccessful, and instead decided to reach down to blindly bat Tashi’s hand away, though she was not very happy about this.

“Don’t interrupt me!” She scolded playfully, grabbing his wrist and pinning it under her knee before poking ruthlessly at the area above his hip, making him squeal.

“NOHO– okahahay! Okay, okhaay, okahahahay! Stohohohop, plehehease!” He pleaded, the sudden switch overwhelming, yanking his hand free from her knee and pushing her hand away. She let out an amused laugh, cupping her hands around him and rubbing her thumbs over the front of his hip bones, letting him breathe. Patrick followed suit, removing his hands entirely and letting Art cover his face with his hands immediately. He groaned, clearing his throat and sighing, his body coming down from how tense and out of breath he was.

“You alright?” Tashi asked, pulling Art’s shirt down and pushing herself off him, sitting cross legged on the bed next to the other two.

“No,” He grumbled, his voice hoarse and muffled by his hands over his face. He dropped one hand, rubbing his eyes with the other. “I died.”

“You died, did you?” She said with a raised eyebrow, earning a nod and a hum in response, a smile on his face again. Patrick chuckled, shaking his head fondly.

“He’s fine,” He confirmed, shoving Art’s shoulder. “C’mon. Get up,” He said, earning another groan, but Art sat up nonetheless, and Patrick threw an arm around his shoulders and pressed his lips to the side of his head. “See? He’s fine.”

“Well, I’m very glad,” Tashi said with a smile, all three of them sharing a few giddy giggles. “You guys do that a lot?”

“No, I wouldn’t say–“

“All the time,” Patrick said at the same time, interrupting Art and making him bite his lip again, warmth burning his face once again. The other two chuckled, watching him shake his head and attempt to collapse forward onto the bed to hide his face further, but his plan was stopped by a hand on either shoulder pushing him back up.

Tashi’s hand dropped to his thigh, as he had mirrored her cross legged position, and Patrick’s slid down to rest in the middle of his back. She glanced down at her hand, her thimb rubbing against his bare skin, before she continued.

“You’ll have to show me more sometime,” She said, voice low, looking up at Art through her lashes and making the swarm of butterflies in his stomach spring to life again. He chuckled nervously, glancing over at Patrick, but his eyes were already switching between his own and Tashi’s, as if he had every move already calculated in his head.

After that moment, the rest of the night was history.

[blueberrygiggles]

Could I get lee!dabi and ler!hawks for day 28? <3

TickleTober Day 28 - Spooked

~Ehehe my bois! These two will always be one of my favorite ships to write; it’s so fun with their dialogue! Been a hot sec, so I’m sticking to the character attributes I remember. Dabi’s got his black hair and patchwork chest, and Hawks has his wings. Thank you for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy!~

Lee: Dabi

Ler: Hawks

Summary: Dabi decides to spook his boyfriend with a “harmless” prank. Hawks doesn’t appreciate his sense of humor, teaching the crispy-fried villain a lesson he won’t soon forget.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

“I’m home, Dabs!” Hawks bumped his hip against the janky door of the villain’s apartment, sighing as it stuck once again. He’d really have to get on his ass about moving in with him…

“Uh…why’s it so dark?” The winged hero felt like he was talking to himself as he looked around, fumbling for the light switch. It was in such a weird place; he could never find it, and that was with the lights on.

A thump sounded from Dabi’s room, making Hawks’s eyes narrow. That wasn’t normal…

Two feathers came off his wings, hovering beside him as he slowly approached the door. He was in full hero-mode, the familiar feeling of adrenaline creeping into his veins almost putting him at ease.

When he reached the door, he sent the feathers towards the thumping noise, only to find them…sticking out of the top of a Roomba. A very sad and confused little Roomba that kept bumping into the wall, hence the thumping.

“What the fu-”

“AAAUGH!”

Hawks let out his own scream at the deep-throated howl that came from behind him, whirling around to strike the offender. His wrist was easily caught, though instead of a bullet to the ribs or stab to the heart, he was met by the cheeky grin of his boyfriend.

“Ha! Holy fuckin’ shit, birdy! I didn’t think it’d get you that bad!” Dabi’s teeth were showing in an uncharacteristically gleeful smile, his eyes glowing with amusement. “Thought you hero types were supposed to be brave and all that.”

“You…” The blonde’s brain took a moment to catch up, the adrenaline in his system still addling his thoughts. Dabi had turned out the lights, set the Roomba, and… “You asshole! What if I’d stabbed you?!”

“But you didn’t. Actually, you stabbed the Roomba. Poor lil’ guy.” Dabi nudged the thing with his foot, watching as it shifted back and forth on the carpet. Hawks had definitely damaged it, but hadn’t completely broken it. It was just stuck in a sad little shuffle.

“I didn’t mean to- since when did you have a Roomba?” Hawks asked incredulously, looking around the apartment. The floor was kinda clean for once, save for the random shirt or sock here and there.

“Found it.” Dabi snickered at the look that earned him. “What, the guy was a dick! He was scammin’ people the whole morning.”

“Damn it, Dabi,” Hawks sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. No matter how terrible of a person the guy was, he shouldn’t have been stolen from. Unfortunately, the machine wasn’t exactly in peak condition anymore. “Can’t really return it now…”

“Oh no, so sad.” Dabi’s monotone snark really let Hawks know he regretted his actions. Not. “You should’ve seen your face, Keigo. Adorable~”

“Proud of yourself, are you?” Hawks’s voice dropped an octave, making Dabi’s grin falter slightly. Maybe he’d gone a little far, but…well, he really didn’t regret it. It was fun as hell to spook him.

“Yep. I always knew you were a chicken~”

Oho, that’s it, you shithead!

Hawks lunged at his boyfriend, making the man jump back. He landed on his bed, the bird quickly jumping down on top of him. After a quick tousle, the winged hero had him pinned, a dangerously playful glare on his face.

“Damn! You really are an adrenaline junkie, ain’t ya?” Dabi smirked up at him, puffing his chest out a bit. Even when he was stuck beneath someone, he managed to dominate the situation.

“Shut up.” The tone of his lover’s voice immediately shut him up, leaving the burnt boy blinking in surprise. Hawks shifted, forcing the man’s arms above his head. “You like laughing at me so much? Try laughing at yourself.”

“H-hey, Keigo, wait a min- GRK!” Dabi jolted as the winged hero targeted his navel, immediately attacking the unburned area that he knew damn well was ticklish as hell. The man lasted a grand total of five seconds before he broke.

“FUHUHUCK YOUHUHUHU!” The villain thrashed and tugged on his arms, trying to get free of his boyfriend’s evil grip. He was really regretting wearing such a thin shirt…

“We could’ve just cuddled when I got home, but noooo. Someone had to be a little asshole and scare me.” Hawks didn’t stop the scolding as he tickled him, leaning in so the ravenette could hear him over his own laughter. “You brought this on yourself.”

“SHUHUHUT UHUHUHUP!” His taunt stomach quivered as he laughed, sure to be sore later during training. He really didn’t have a good comeback for the man; he wasn’t wrong, but there was no way Dabi was gonna admit it.

“No thanks. You learn best when you’re forced to.”

A thought popped into Hawks’s mind, making him smirk. Teaching him was a good idea, actually. He lifted his hand from the man’s stomach, instead sending two feathers to trace along his collarbones. Dabi’s unruly laughter slowly died down to airy giggles at the tactic change, brows furrowed in confusion.

“I’m gonna ask you some questions, babe. Try not to get them wrong.” Hawks flexed his fingers menacingly before speaking again, the feathers never stopping their gentle teasing. “Is it okay to steal from someone, even if they’re being a dick?”

“I-ihihin the rihight cihircumstahance, yeheah.” Dabi answered with his honest opinion, knowing it would piss the bird boy off. He was digging his own grave, but he was doing it with style. At least, he felt like he was.

“Bzzzt! Wrong, jackass. The correct answer was ‘No, beautiful, it’s not.’” Hawks dug his fingers back in as he made the buzzer noise, giving Dabi’s navel a good knead.

“C-COHOHOCKY BAHASTAHARD!” Dabi arched his back off the bed, though he was quickly pushed back down by Hawks’s elbow. He really wasn’t playing around…

After a nice two-minute penalty, Hawks tried asking a different question. “Let’s try this one. Is it okay to scare the living daylights out of our boyfriends who take down bad guys for a living?”

Dabi bit his lip as he giggled, panting slightly. It would be in his best interest to answer wisely, but… Well, Hawks didn’t lose control often. He wanted to see what would happen if he pushed that little bit too far.

“Hehell yeah. Ehespecially whehen thehey’re adohohorable lihittle chihicken- GYAAAAHAHAHA!”

The smug retort was cut off by a loud and ridiculous sound. Hawks blew a raspberry – a fucking raspberry – on his navel, nearly sending the burnt man into silent laughter. Curse his damn sensitivity!

Just to really make sure the lesson made it through his boyfriend’s thick head, Hawks blew a few more little ones across his stomach. By the time he was done, the unburned crests of Dabi’s cheeks were practically glowing with a blush, his eyes half-lidded. Hawks thought it was beautiful, taking a mental snapshot.

“One more chance.” The feathers resumed their tracing, swooping across the spent man’s collarbones once again. The sleepy giggles nearly made Hawks melt, but he held strong. “Was it a good idea to scare me like that, especially when you had to steal to do it?”

“N-nohohoho…” Dabi’s resolve had been thoroughly broken, his weary body lying still as the feather grazed across his skin. It was actually sort of relaxing, the soft compared to the rough.

“There ya go. Good job,” Hawks cooed, petting his exhausted boyfriend’s head as he settled down. If he were fully awake, Dabi would no doubt be taking his revenge; he wasn’t, though, his clingy side showing with the grogginess.

Dabi wrapped his arms loosely around Hawks as the man lied down, nuzzling his face into his soft hair. It smelled faintly of his vanilla shampoo, though he was much too tired to tease him about the scent. Instead, he sighed and closed his eyes, letting the warmth of his lover seep into his bones. A moment later, he felt Hawks’s wings extend, draping over them like a weighted blanket. So tired…

“Love you, KFC…”

“Love you too, you burnt chicken nuggie.”

[blueberrygiggles]

can I tell you a secret

[blueberrygiggles]

Hey Magic Makers!

I have now confirmed all registrations received for this year's event. If you haven't received a confirmation about your registration please reach out as I am unsure how many actually got through due to the temporary ban on the account last week.

THERE ARE TWO DAYS UNTIL REGISTRATION CLOSES!

You can still register here until November 3rd AEST

Thanks everyone!

[blueberrygiggles]

signing up for squealing santa is always like "what fandoms do i even enjoy actually, at least besides my huge primary fixation at the time" skjdfhkjsdfh

[blueberrygiggles]

Hey Magic Makers

All registration submissions have been confirmed through DM/Ask as of October 22nd at 3:30pm AEST (now)

YOU CAN STILL REGISTER HERE UNTIL NOVEMBER 3RD AT MIDNIGHT

If you registered before this date/time and haven't received a confirmation message, please reach out through the ask box, as tumblr has deactivated DMs for my main account and the Squealing Santa account.

I am working on opening the DMs again, hopefully tumblr support will get back to me ASAP, but until then please communicate through asks.

Apologies, thank you all for your patience.

[blueberrygiggles]

Training Montage

#AugTickletober2024 Days 13 & 14, Win & Lose

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

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

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

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

-------------

Fandom: DC - Batfam

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

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

Word Count: 4609 words

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

[ao3 link]

-------------

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yeah?” 

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

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

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

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

“Hmm, you never know.”

“B!”

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

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

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

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

_____

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

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

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

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

“I fucking know–”

“Language, Jason.”

“Yeah, Jason, language.”

“I’ll show you language–”

“Boys!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason turned and blinked at him.

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

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

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

“... Right.”

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

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

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

“Bruce!”

Bruce chuckled. “Yes, Jaylad?”

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

“Dick, help me!”

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

“I’ll save you, Jay!”

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

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

“B! You asshole!” Dick shrieked.

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

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

_____

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

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

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

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

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

“Bruce! What are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

Sometimes, it seemed like one of the only things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t let us stop you, old man.”

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

“Hi, Bruce.”

“Father.”

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

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

They blinked at him.

Dick frowned. “No– B, what?”

“Did someone crash the Batmobile?”

Tim cocked his head. “No?”

“Did–”

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

Bruce didn’t answer. Tim snorted.

“Fair.”

“Tt.”

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

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

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

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

“Getting rusty with age, old man?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–Damn it, they brought Alfred into it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bruce broke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Traitor,” he murmured under his breath.

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

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

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

[blueberrygiggles]

anything about criminal minds and tickle, like rossi headcanons, general headcanons, tickle fic

I don't have any fics finished, but I guess I can post some Rossi headcanons!

He's ticklish in a very lowkey way. Like he won't be hysterical, won't thrash, won't beg, but he'll squirm and chuckle and say things such like "okay, okay!" and "woah woah, enough of that" and it's very precious

Not a merciless ler, but rather lowkey there as well. He does it only because it's fun, and he realizes most people will only think it fun for the first few seconds/minutes

He loves observing tickle fights though. He thinks they can tell lots of things about a person. If they flee, fight back, laugh hysterically, giggle quietly etc etc. His favorite thing is leaning back and watching the team break into their usual chaotic tickle fights. He even goes as far as provoking them into happening (while still somehow watching from the sidelines)

His worst spots are the soft spots. Sides and thighs and the hollows of his arms, where most people don't touch anyway. Maybe that's why he's such a calm lee. He's not entirely aware of how sensitive he is

I can't imagine him being pinned and tickled tbh, but for the benefit of the headcanons, if he ever was to be in that position he would realize he's worse than he thought, but it takes a lot to get him to panic. Probably because if he ever was in that position it would be sexy/romantic/fun and therefore he would just be enjoying the moment

The one time Morgan threatens to pull him into their famous tickle fights he surprisingly finds himself walking away, scared without realizing why (it's because Reid shrieks when tickled and Rossi finds himself wondering if the BAU is filled with the most skilled ticklers in the world or something)

[blueberrygiggles]

Death Wish

AN: got fans come get your dinner! Here’s the Brienne x Jamie fic as promised! Idk how y’all survived this long without fluffy fics, this fandom is living off CRUMBS! But I wrote Jamie & Brienne flirting & teasing each other to fix it. Enjoy day 13!

Brienne would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't excited to see Jamie again. In their time together, he had really grown on her, as much as she tried to fight or deny the fact. The man had a decent wit to carry on an interesting conversation, and a dry sense of humor that always seemed to leave a smirk on her face.

But apparently, that wasn't good enough for Jamie Lannister.

They were alone in his room, or rather, his guest room, sharing a couple glasses of wine and nibbling on some cheese he'd brought with him from the south. He had just finished a joke, and when he didn't get the expected reaction, he couldn't help but pout, even if it was slightly for show.

"Am I just not funny to you?" he asked outright, when she merely huffed in amusement at his joke. She furrowed her brows in confusion.

"What do you mean?" she cocked her head to the side curiously.

"You never laugh at anything I say; well, you have, but more at my expense," he clarified, making her pause for thought. He had really been trying to amuse her all this time... She bit back a fond smile.

"If you're concerned I don't find you amusing, you can put your fears to rest," she assured. Jamie sat up a little straighter, leaning across the table.

"So you do like my jokes?" he pressed further, flashing a drunken, but no less charming, grin.

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Yes, alright? Is that what you want to hear?" she caved easily.

"Then would it kill you to just laugh at them every once in a while? I'll even take a chuckle," he bargained.

""You're ridiculous."

"And you act as though humor will be the thing that does you in."

The glare she sent his way shut him up. "I'm simply not as," she paused in thought, "Forthcoming, with my amusement."

He blew her off, tossing his head back in annoyance as he waved a hand. "Excuses, excuses."

"Why do you even care?" she asked incredulously. This wasn't even important, and there were certainly better topics of discussion to focus on. She wasn't used to being the center of attention.

"Curiosity, I suppose," he shrugged. "I've never heard you laugh," he said, sounding surprisingly genuine. He was leaning against the table, chin propped up in his hands as he stared at her with big, green eyes. She quickly adverted her own gaze.

"It's nothing special," she insisted.

"Maybe, but I want to see for myself."

She wasn't expecting it. Honestly, it was the last thing she was expecting, and as such, she had lowered her guard. But his hand snuck under the table, giving her knee a few rapid squeezes, and she froze with a choked off gasp, leg jerking up and banging the table. Their plates clattered and tankards sloshed as she tried to will away the blush spreading across her cheeks.

"I knew it! I mean, I was hopeful, but I knew you just had to be ticklish!" he bragged, despite the fact that the only hand he had left was currently held in a vice grip. The bewildered look on her face was worth it.

"What are you talking about?" she hissed, looking him up and down as though he'd gone mad.

"Well if I can't get you to laugh the traditional way, this'll just have to do!"

"No, Jamie, I swear-" she cut herself off with a bark of laughter when he wiggled free from her grasp and immediately went back to tickling her knees. As hard as she tried, she couldn't contain her mirth, only getting louder as he continued.

"So knees are a good spot. Makes sense, you're all legs," he teased, spidering over her kneecap. She shrieked and doubled over, fist hitting the table as she tried to chase his hand away.

Finally, she caught him.

"Do you hahave a death wish?" she asked, panting as she caught her breath.

Jamie never looked so smug.

"Do you really have to ask?" he cocked his head, arching a brow playfully.

"Alright then. Your turn."

Suddenly, he changed his tune.

"Wait no, we can tahahalk about thihihis!" But it was already too late for that.

"What's there to talk about? I warned you, but you didn't listen," she pointed out. Her hands dug into his sides, and he immediately burst into shrill giggles.

"Thahat was barely ahaha warnIIIIING! Nohoho plehehease, not thehere!”

"I mean, honestly, you're lucky I didn't just take the other hand," she taunted, though she tried to appear annoyed.

"Ihif you dihihid, I'd tehehell everyone about how I- nohoho wahahait!" he cut himself off with bright, cheerful laughter as her hands lowered to knead his hips. He twisted and bucked as he tried in vein to stop her, but he didn't exactly mind the situation he found himself in.

Still, he needed to breathe.

"Ohohokay, I'm sorry, Ihi'm sohohorry!" he pleaded, grateful when he was given a break.

"Yeah?" she questioned, and he nodded frantically, sporting a giddy smile. "You sure?" More nodding. "I don't believe you."

"But- Brienne nohoho! Plehehease!"

"I should've done this ages ago! You would've been so much easier to deal with if I knew this was all it took to take down the dreaded Kingslayer." It was rare for her to show emotion, even more so if those feelings stemmed from affection. Yet here she was, actually teasing him.

Surely that had to count for something.

Her fingers were long and slender, able to work their way into any ticklish spot they could find. Jamie tried to hold out, he really did. Because it was downright embarrassing how right she was; just a few fluttering touches and well placed squeezes, and he was already tapping out.

"You wihihin, YOU WIN!" he blurted when her hands rested on his thighs. She arched a brow, staring down at him quizzically, but a fond smile tugged at her lips.

"Oh really? What do I win?" she asked nonchalantly as he continued to unravel.

"A-ahahanythihihing!" he blurted out, and Brienne had to bite back a laugh of her own. He was truly desperate, wasn't he? He had to be, if he was begging like this.

"Anything?" she questioned, drilling her thumbs against his hipbones. He let out a high pitched shriek before tossing his head back.

"W-within reason!" he quickly stuttered out before cutting himself off with an embarrassing snort. His face flushed a dark pink and he shook his head weakly, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.

"Well then, that's not anything now, is it?" she asked in an even tone, softly pinching her way up his sides, his ribs, slowly traveling higher and higher. Jamie was squirming more the higher she went, babbling pleas pouring from his mouth.

"B-Briehehehenne nohoho! P-plehehease, nohot thehehere! NOHOHOT THEHEHERE!" he screamed when she reached her destination, pressing his arms down to his sides. This only served to trap her hands there, leaving him no other choice but to laugh. Joyful cackling filled the air, and she knew he only had one hand to fight back, but he wasn't even trying.

Wait, did he like this? Then, a worse thought: was she liking this?

The new revelation was sudden and alarming, and she needed to put an end to this stupid little game he had started. But not without taking his offer first.

"Alright, I'll let you go. But you owe me a favor. Any favor, any time I need it, no questions asked no matter what," she had to raise her voice slightly to be heard over his hysterics.

"OHOKAHAHAY! YEHEHES I'LL DO IHIT! SOUNDS GREHEHEAT!"

Okay, at this point she seriously doubted he was even listening, but he agreed, so she tugged her hands free. He giggled and jerked back when her fingers wiggled one last time as she pulled away.

"Do you even know what you agreed to?" she asked, not even bothering to hide her smirk as she watched him recover.

"Something about a favor," he shook his head, dazzling smile still firmly in place. He doubted it would be leaving any time soon.

"Good thing I was bluffing."

Wait, what did he just say?

Brienne looked at him with wide eyes, barely having a second to brace herself before getting body slammed out of her chair.

"You see," he started as he struggled to pin her arms beneath his legs while straddling her waist, "I always win tickle fights." Most of the time. "So I have a reputation to uphold."

"You lying bastard! Now let me go!" she growled, trying to squirm her way to freedom. He was heavier than she expected, and it wasn't so easy to just throw him off. Or so she told herself.

"No, I don't think so. I only found one tickle spot!"

"And that's all you need to find," she said, trying to sound threatening.

"So there's more?" he asked, resting his hand on her waist. She went completely stiff, lips pressed into a thin line.

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

And then he struck, and as hard as she tried, she couldn't contain the laughter that flooded out of her.

"Feel free to yield at any time," he taunted, and Brienne regretted letting him off so easy. No way would she tap out from just a little tickling, she refused. But depending on how ruthless he proved to be, she might not have a choice.

She'll just have to weigh her options when she's desperate enough.

[blueberrygiggles]

One Last Laugh

AN: AAAAAH MY FIRST GOT FIC! I seriously had a blast with this one, Jon Snow deserves to be goofy & playful with his friends & Tormund just likes to be a fun lil menace. The angst really came outta left field with this one, but it’s still very cute & sweet! Hope y’all enjoy day 10!

Jon Snow couldn't possibly be more stressed. He knew they were severely unprepared for what was to come. They didn't have nearly enough men or weapons to defeat the nightwalkers, and he could sense the weight hanging on everyone's shoulders. The look in their eyes told him all he needed to know: every one of them was expecting to die. They'd look at their friends, not knowing which of them would go first. He would catch Sansa staring at him as though he were already gone.

He paced along the wall, grateful to be home, yet unable to truly appreciate the comfort. His mind was a swirling blizzard, clouding out all other thoughts until a voice spoke up from behind, rescuing him from his dark thoughts.

"There's a spider on ya."

Jon rolled his eyes at Tormund's failed attempt to scare him. He humored him and looked down at his clothes.

"Where? I don't see it."

He really didn't like the smile on his face...

"Right here!" Tormund yelled, suddenly reaching up to spider his fingers on the back of his neck. Jon made a strangled sound and whipped around to face him, staring at him with a bewildered expression and a spreading blush.

"The hell was that for?" he growled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"There was a spider, I'm tellin' ya!" he insisted with a playful smirk. "There it is!" he pointed before diving in to scribble against his side. He jerked away with a choked off laugh, leveling him with a harsh stare. Jon was thankful for the thick layers, but even that offered little protection.

"Fuckin' stop!" he snapped, snatching the offending hand by the wrist. He immediately regretted taking his anger out on him and let go, looking away. Tormund was different. He was crass, playful, and extremely bold, but above all else, he wanted to be entertained. He didn't hold it against him, but he had to admit it could grate on the nerves. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply through his nose in an effort to calm down. "Sorry, didn't mean to yell."

Tormund was grinning from ear to ear. "I fuckin' knew it," he said breathlessly before barking out a hearty laugh. "I knew it! You're ticklish!"

"I'm also very busy," he warned, making sure to keep a safe distance between them.

"With what? Standin' around staring at fuckin' trees? You looked downright miserable," he pointed out, stalking closer. Jon's pride refused to let him back away, and he stood a little taller, squaring his shoulders. If he took so much as one step backwards, Tormund wouldn't let him live it down.

"I was just thinking."

"Miserable thoughts, I'm sure."

Okay, that was a good one, Jon had to admit. He ducked his head with a shy smile, allowing a short chuckle to slip out. Tormund grinned wider and pointed a wagging finger at him.

"Aaah, I was right! So tell me Jon Snow, why do you like being so miserable?" he asked, closing the distance and slinging a heavy arm around Jon's shoulder.

"I don't," he balked at him, brows furrowed and body tense where he stood. Tormund sighed.

"Coulda fooled me," he shrugged.

"And I suppose you're happy right now?" Jon countered.

"I'm trying to be," Tormund huffed. He waited a beat, striking when he thought Jon's guard was down. He managed to dig his hand under his arm, drawing out a shocked peal of laughter.

"T-Tohohormund, stohop! Wehehe don't hahave time for thihihis!" Jon hated how quickly he crumbled, but he'd never been able to hold out for very long.

"Don't wanna laugh one last time before the end of the world?" he asked, adding his other hand to the fray.

Well duh, what kind of a question was that?

"Try telling aha johohoke!"

"None of you crows think I'm funny!" Tormund growled playfully, digging his fingers under his arms, fighting against the layers of clothing. "This is easier. And much more fun, don't you agree Snow?"

"Y-you're ahahacting like a chihild!" he half heartedly scolded.

"Oh yeah, because it's such a crime to have fun," he taunted.

Jon managed to twist around, snatching Tormund's wrists with both hands and pushing him away. His hair was tussled and he sported a faint blush, and for once, a genuine smile.

"You're bloody ridiculous, you know that?" he panted, trying to catch his breath.

"I've been told," he bragged in response. "And you're too scared to tickle a wildling," he challenged, yanking a hand free to shove his chest. His words were taunting, but his eyes looked... expectant? Hopeful? Like Ghost when he was begging for scraps.

Jon arched a brow, looking his friend up and down. "What?" he asked in disbelief, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. No way was he actually asking to get tickled. Then again, it was Tormund, and he was unpredictable like that. He's done crazier things. "Wait do you... want me to tickle you?" He just needed some clarification, and he's learned that it's best to be blunt with the free folk.

"Come on Snow, you act like you've never heard of a tickle fight," he teased, barking out a laugh as he bumped their shoulders together roughly.

"You call that a tickle fight?" he scoffed, unable to hold back a smile of disbelief. He remembered back when they were all just kids, how rowdy and rambunctious their playful spats could get. How one by one, they were all dragged into the fray no matter how hard you tried to avoid it. He had always tried to avoid it, unless of course, he had started it. But he normally didn't acted alone. If he struck first, Robb was almost always at his side, instigating and encouraging him every step of the way. Until he inevitably decided to turn on him and help one of their younger siblings. He knew what a real tickle fight was. "That's just tickling."

Tormund almost looked offended. "Because you didn't fuckin' fight back!"

"I didn't know we were playing this game," he hummed, stalking around him like a wolf.

He followed his movements with a skeptical eye, turning around to keep Jon in his sights. "Oho this ain't no game."

"You're right. It's more of a sport." He lunged forward, giving him no time for a counter attack before he swiped his feet out from under him. Tormund landed on his back with the air knocked out of him, still struggling for the upper hand, but that fucking crow was always quicker than he gave him credit for.

He grappled with Jon's hands, a determined look settled on his face despite his growing smile.

"That's more like it," he growled. Tormund grabbed his wrists, shoving them back, but he used his leverage to twist free. He flashed him a proud grin, "Remember, you asked for this." The bastard had the audacity to fuckin' wink at him. Ohoho, he was so in for it.

But Tormund didn't get very far in his retaliation before carefree laughter echoed off the stone walls, loud and unabashed. He threw his head back, writhing and kicking on the ground. One of his flailing arms managed to latch onto Jon's knee, squeezing like his life depended on it. It sure felt like it did.

Jon's leg jerked beneath the touch as he snorted out a laugh, ducking his head. Encouraged, Tormund's other hand shot down to grab his other knee.

"Noho, don't!" Jon barked out, drilling circles under his arms. Tormund yelled out a colorful string of curses, severely diminished by the surprisingly high pitched cackles that escaped him. He scratched blunt nails over Jon's kneecaps, and a choked off squeal filled the air. Jon wobbled on his perch as deep chuckles slowly morphed to frantic giggles. He snorted and fumbled to grab Tormund's hand, falling to the side.

As soon as he was freed, he rolled over to pin Jon to the ground. He put up a hell of a fight, and Tormund gave up on grappling with his hands. What was the point of a tickle fight if he couldn't fight back?

Not that he'd make it easy for him.

He scribbled his fingers over his belly, digging in at random to make his laughter turn to cackles.

Jon threw his head back, allowing himself a second to just let go and enjoy this fun, goofy moment with a good friend. He closed his eyes, and he was a child again, rolling on the floor between his siblings with a forced, yet still completely genuine smile on his face. He was chasing Arya and Rickon through the winding halls, wiggling his fingers and yelling threats. So many memories flooded back. Revenge for the perfect prank, cheering him up when he felt like an outcast, attacking him just for the sake of it...

It had all seemed so mundane back then, and dare he say, stupid at times. But he never realized how cherished those memories actually were to him until he came to The Wall, until he lost half his family. Never again would he see Rickon's sweet smile with shining dimples, or hear Robb's deep, boisterous laugh. He almost envied it.

Robb was loud and unashamed in everything he did, and he never bothered to try masking his laughter. Jon was the complete opposite, quiet and reserved at all times. All of his siblings liked to poke fun at it, begging him to let loose, and he always would brush them off. Even when giggling helplessly, his voice remained a fairly even tone. Only now does he realize all that annoyance and playful torment had been out of love. All they ever wanted for him was to feel free, and happy, and... loved.

He didn't appreciate it the way he should've back then. He wasn't about to do the same now.

Tormund would never say it, not in a million years, but he was scared. He could see it in the way he paced like a caged animal. He was nervous and twitchy, and he spent most of his time following Jon around aimlessly. But the most telling part were his eyes. It's always the eyes.

He was scared, and he needed a friend. He needed a laugh. To throw all his cares and worries away, if only for a moment.

He finally mustered up the strength to reach up and grab his hips, squeezing relentlessly. Tormond swore as he lost his balance and came crashing down on top of Jon. He wheezed as the air was knocked out of him, but he continued with his mission.

The wildling shrieked when fingers spidered their way over his ribs before diving beneath his arms. He snorted, which opened the floodgates for booming hysterics. Jon's smile was tinged with sadness.

Nothing was certain. They weren't guaranteed tomorrow, so they would make good use of the air in their lungs while they were still breathing.

One last laugh at the end of the world... Yeah. He could give him that.

[blueberrygiggles]

Evil Mutants

happy @tickletober! mutant power counts as a “favourite tickle tool” right?

inspired by raven’s ler potential, sibling moments in FC, and the shortcomings of “mutant and proud”

—

“Raven, look, I didn’t mean it like- Wait! Raven, be reasonable! We’re far too old for- No!”

Erik barely processed the words before Charles barreled into his chest, forgoing eye contact and explanation in favor of scrambling behind him. He stood there stunned until Raven followed, poised like a predator mid-pursuit.

“Really, Charles?” she scoffed when she saw them. “You think Erik’s gonna save you?”

Charles didn’t answer, though he did cling, grip tightening on the back of Erik’s shirt. He’d intercepted Erik right at the doorway, effectively using him like a blockade.

“Save him from what?” Erik finally asked, curiosity piqued by the odd exchange.

Mere moments later, Charles’ cufflinks betrayed him, commanded by his equally treacherous friend.

—

“You know you only have yourself to blame,” Erik remarked once Raven recounted his insult. An unintentional insult, to be sure, but an insult to mutants nonetheless. Charles likely would’ve disagreed, had he still been capable of doing so. It was, however, difficult to argue when one was nearly in hysterics.

“NohoHO!” He tried to twist away when Erik pinched along his left side. Unfortunately, it only brought him closer to Raven’s nails clawing at his ribs. “Wait! WAHAHAHA!” he protested when she thought to tug up his shirt, cackling at the raspberry she then blew against his unprotected skin.

“This wouldn’t be so bad if you had scales,” Raven commented, cheerfully petty.

“Thahat’s not fahahair!” Charles countered, once they’d eased up to let him breathe.

“She’s not wrong, though,” Erik chimed in, fingers tracing across Charles’ stomach. He smirked as it trembled beneath his touch. “This is an easily exploitable weakness.”

“Ehehevil! You’re bohoth ehevil!”

“And you’re too ticklish to be running your mouth. But if you really want me to be evil-“

“Raven!” Charles squeaked when her hand shifted.

“Oh, that’s diabolical,” Erik marveled as Raven showed off newly-feathered fingers. It was almost as if she’d put on a glove, scales past her wrist transformed into plumes.

“Don’t!” Charles’ vehemence suggested past experience. “Not in front of-!“ he started, then stopped, face warming.

Thoroughly charmed, Erik tugged his shirt higher. “Well, now I have to see this.” He turned back to Raven.

It was not Charles’ first time enduring the belly rub from tickle hell, but Erik’s presence, even passive, undeniably made it worse. Charles didn’t dare meet his eye, though he could sense the other man observing him. Were his giggles really that high-pitched? Was his face as red as it felt? If Raven tickled him to tears again, would his pride ever recover?

“Isn’t he cute?” Raven teased, grinning conspiratorially at Erik. Her feathered palm tickled across Charles’ torso, frond-like fingertips fluttering lightly.

“Adorable,” Erik agreed, drinking in Charles’ reactions. He held Charles’ cufflinks with ease, feeling him struggle against the metal.

Raven wiggled one feathery finger in Charles’ navel to hear him squeal, then lifted her hand once more, shifting through several different textures. “What do you think? Furry or fuzzy?”

Erik noticed Charles flinch. “Definitely fuzzy,” he replied, gazing straight into pleading blue eyes. Perhaps it was a tad sadistic, but Charles had earned Raven’s wrath on his own… and honestly, Erik was enjoying the sight of Charles helplessly flustered.

Meanwhile, Charles let out a screech when Raven’s hand inevitably returned. She’d only used fuzzy once before, the morning after one of his more drunken exploits. It’d sobered him up like nothing else, the mere threat of it becoming a warning, and now that she was doing it again…

He remembered he absolutely could not stand it.

“EHEEHEEK! R-RAHAVEN PLEASE!” He writhed beneath the maddeningly ticklish fuzz. Further down, his legs kicked, thumping desperately against the floor. “I’M SORREHEHEE!” he frantically apologized.

“That bad, huh?” Erik mused, recognizing the start of tears.

“This isn’t even his worst spot,” Raven revealed, brushing circles on his belly. “Actually… have I ever used my mutation there before?” Her fuzzed hand began drifting higher, up his side, then over his ribs.

“PleheHEASE! YOU DOHON’T HAHAHAVE TO-!”

He felt the fuzz beneath his right arm.

“Oh!” Erik startled when Charles yanked, nearly ripping his own shirtsleeve. He quickly adjusted the corresponding cufflink to re-secure Charles’ right wrist. “He’s fighting me much harder than before.” The ferocity was almost impressive.

As was the intensity of Charles’ laughter, rendering him fully incoherent.

It tickled. He couldn’t speak. It tickled so much. He couldn’t think. The fuzz bordered on itchy, or maybe prickly, terribly ticklish wherever it touched. Charles doubted it could get any worse… until he felt Raven’s other hand.

In that instant, the telepath panicked, finally summoning his own power.

ENOUGH.

Mentally compelled, Raven pulled back, while Erik released his magnetic hold. Erik’s eyes widened when he realized, while Raven tensed, no longer amused.

Charles noticed the new tension. “I… I didn’t… Sorry…” he wheezed. Eyes watering, he looked up at them, something fragile in his expression.

“For what?” Erik questioned before the mood soured. “Defending yourself with your mutation? Really, Charles, it’s about time.” Both siblings stared at him in shock.

“Are you really… not bothered by it?” Charles ventured hesitantly.

“You’re a telepath. It’s natural,” Erik reasoned. “Though I never thought tickling would force your hand.”

Relief and embarrassment warred within Charles as Erik smiled, lighthearted and playful. Raven watched the interaction, re-evaluating, before making herself relax.

“Like I said, he’s ridiculously ticklish.” She reached out to ruffle Charles’ hair. He batted her away with an indignant huff, though he couldn’t maintain his pout. Unease between them usually lingered, yet with Erik’s intervention, it’d dissolved like sugar.

“Yes, well… can’t help my nature.” He wobbled to the couch with Erik’s help.

Charles dropped onto the cushions with a sigh, allowing Erik’s arm to settle over his shoulders. Raven joined on Charles’ other side, leaning close like she’d done since they were children. They weren’t children anymore, and their relationship wasn’t what it’d once been, but he supposed that moments like this proved some things really never changed.

Before Charles could get too wistful, Erik interrupted the peace. “So, is this a common occurrence? Tickling Charles into submission?”

Raven perked up, devious, as Charles’ blush reignited. He thus became a captive audience to her extended recollections.

[blueberrygiggles]

(2024) TickleTober Day 9: Shock - I'm Helping

Fic Descript - Miles tries to use his electricity to help Pav's sore muscles, but when Pav starts giggling after each controlled shock, Miles puts his powers to a much more entertaining use.

~A/N  - SDJKHAKSFJH SORRY I KINDA DROPPED THE BALL FOR A WEEK A FEW DAYS

I'M TRYING TO CATCH UP BUT IN THE MEANTIME HAVE THIS LITTLE ATSV FIC AS A SNACK

<3 much love

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @fullsongphilosopher | @inneedofsupervision

Masterpost Link 

TickleTober Masterpost

Miles might as well open up his own physiotherapy clinic at this point.

After a (completely accidental) discovery that his mildest shocks could be used like a weird TENS unit [that's Transcutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulation if you were curious], a mighty hoard of spider-people swarmed him after every training session, anomaly mission, or particularly awkward sleep to fix their aching muscles.

Pavitr was the most recent to join the patient base.

"I've heard great things Miles, hope you won't disappoint." Pav groaned as he lay on the coach, arms flopped over his face. "I don't what I did yesterday but my abs feel AWFUL."

"Too much flexing in the mirror?" Miles jabbed with a smirk before resting his fingers on Pavitr's stomach.

He elected to ignore the subtle jump his friend made when his fingers made contact, putting it down to nerves. Understandable, it wasn't every day you asked your best friend to use his knockout-level shocking ability to ease some muscle cramps.

But once the current started bubbling into Pavitr's core, something else started bubbling out of it.

"You ok?" Miles raised an eyebrow, attention still focused on controlling how much shock he was administering.

Pav gave a groan in response, which only worried Miles further. Maybe he had started too strong? Pav was one of the smaller spider-people, he should probably ease up.

As Miles reduced his shock level though, Pavitr seemed to struggle even more to contain himself. His arms had moved from comfortably propping his head up to covering his face - with one hand gripping the couch cushions like his life depended on it.

Miles was completely perplexed. "Pav? What's going on?" He asked, shifting his hands higher on the kid's torso as a last ditch attempt to see if a different muscle might be easier for Pav to work with.

Apparently that did it, though.

Pavitr gave a noise somewhere between a screech and TV static, before locking his hands around Miles' wrists and bursting into giggles.

"Okokokokahahay Mihihiles wahahait!" Pav begged, curling in on himself with his hair falling over his face.

Miles grinned, completely abandoning his idea from 30 seconds ago to give up and let Pav leave. "Ohhh...."

"Shuhuhut uhuhup!" Pav cackled. "I cahan't help ihihit!"

"This whole time, you were just too ticklish to handle it?" Miles laughed, moving his hands lower again onto Pavitr's abs.

"I am not!" Pav shrieked at the movement, before straightening himself up to prove his point.

"You sure?"

In a stroke of evil genius, Miles switched tactics. He gripped around Pav's hips and sent pulsing shocks at random intervals through the bone.

The poor spiderman didn't stand a chance. Pav launched himself as far into the couch cushions as possible (so about 10cm from his initial position) with a squeal, hips bucking with every shock.

"NONONO Miles please I cAHAHAN'T HAHAndle ihit wAHAIT!" Pavitr gasped, his face redder than his suit.

"But Pav..." Miles said, mock-sympathy tainting his innocent face. "I'm helping."

[blueberrygiggles]

Heartstopper season 3 headcanons

Warning: potential season 3 spoilers!!

Mostly fluffy ones, and not too many for now since I realized I didn't have that many??

I'm a firm believer that Charlie and Tao tickle Isaac after realizing he's not just excluded due to their relationships (which he doesn't want anyway), but also excluded from all of the couple tickle fights

The tickle scenes between Tao and Elle were so cuuuute, but Elle asked if he's ticklish as if she didn't tickle him in season 2?? So my headcanon is that she always asks just to fluster him

Charlie secretly finds it really endearing that Nick is so into Marvel and is really sad he didn't get to see him in the Captain America costume (so obviously Nick has to wear it again)

Something something Nick tickles Charlie to make him return a sweater he really likes

Darcy's unused to the back of their neck being exposed after they cut their hair and Tara keeps curling her fingers over the skin to make them shudder and laugh

[blueberrygiggles]

From season 3 ep 2 minute 16:50