heartsywritesthethings

[heartsywritesthethings]

Ruthlessness in Other Ways

AN: day 14, the day we’ve all been waiting for!!! I wanna give a huge thanks to 😈 anon for helping with the title, it couldn’t be more perfect! Poseidon really puts Odysseus through the wringer with this one! I let myself get mean with it, lol. Took a lot of inspiration from the manwhore au, so that explains the sexual tension. Slight warnings in the beginning for mild violence & descriptions of drowning. Other than that, there’s nothing you need to look out for. Hope y’all enjoy, this one was super fun & flustering! Sorry this was later than I planned, I’ve been super busy!

Odysseus was thrown into the water from the force of the lightning bolt, and he plunged deep below the surface with splinters and debris from his ship. He sank deeper and deeper until Odysseus regained consciousness. He opened his eyes and gasped for air, gulping in sea water. He  desperately tried to preserve what air remained in his lungs. He frantically swam towards the surface, but felt himself sinking further. He was caught in a rip current, and he was yanked further below the waves.

His lungs ached, his vision was fading, he was starting to panic as he fought to get to the surface. His head was throbbing, ears popping, lungs about to burst, and finally, they filled with water.

The last thing he saw was dark shadow swimming towards him. It can't end like this...

~~~

Odysseus awoke with a splitting headache, but he had no time to take in his surroundings before he was coughing up sea water. He wretched and gasped for breath, only then realizing he could only lean forward so far. He felt stone pressed against his back, his arms chained to the wall.

"That's it, hack it up," a cold voice spoke from behind, slapping an even colder hand on his back. Odysseus went stiff, eyes shooting wide open.

"No..."

A deep, sly chuckle sounded too close to his ear for comfort.

"Hello again."

Poseidon grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back to look him in the eye. He smiled at the pained hiss that escaped his victim, relishing in the fear etched on his face.

"Poseidon! I-" he was cut off with a sharp slap across the face.

"I'm not interested in conversation. I'd much rather make you beg for mercy," he growled, grabbing Odysseus by the jaw.

"Really? I thought mercy wasn't exactly your thing," Odysseus tried to remain defiant and cocky, refusing to give the God what he wants. He should've known better.

"I never said I'd show you any," he sneered, allowing himself to get closer. He grazed his claws over his throat as he let go of his jaw, brushing off the shudder and twitch as fear. What else would it be?

"Please, if this is about your son-"

"You think I still care about that?" Poseidon let out a low, snide chuckle. 

"What?"

"I just don't like you, Odysseus. And your suffering is just so fun to watch," he spoke casually, but wore a downright sinister grin. He pressed his trident against his chest, not enough to pierce his skin, but the threat was there. He drug the weapon down his body ever so slowly, slightly digging into the soft flesh.

He jerked back with a gasp, sucking in his stomach as he turned away, closing his eyes for good measure. Poseidon yanked him around by the hair once more.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," he ordered. Odysseus forced his eyes open, meeting the God's piercing gaze. His eyes were full of fear and uncertainty, yet he had the gall to smile at him.

He gripped his hair tighter, pulling at the roots until he heard him yelp in pain.

"Wanna tell me what's so funny?" he asked in a low, threatening tone. Odysseus shook his head frantically.

"N-nothing!" he stammered, pressing himself against the wall of the cave.

"Then wipe that fucking smirk off your face before I slap it off," he threatened. Before Odysseus had the chance to answer, a swift backhand was delivered to his cheek. He could swear the webbing between his fingers made it sting even more.

"It would be so easy to just split you open," Poseidon mused, drawing a line down the center of his belly with the blunt tips of the trident. He really needed to learn how to sharpen his weapons better, because all Odysseus could focus on was how bad it tickled.

"Just get on with it then," Odysseus sighed, admitting defeat, squirming against the wall. Regardless of how blunt it was, it was still sharp enough to get the job done.

"No. You don't get the peace of a quick death," Poseidon said, pulling the trident back.

"Lucky me," he mumbled to himself. Poseidon sneered and lurched forward, metal clanging on the ground as he tossed the weapon aside. He slammed Odysseus against the wall, one hand gripping the base of his jaw while the other held him back by the shoulder.

"What was that?" he growled in his ear, warm breath ghosting over his skin. Odysseus gasped and tried to twist away, scrunching his neck. Poseidon's thumb rested on the edge of his armpit from where he gripped his shoulder.

Odysseus bit his lip and tried to turn away, but the hand on his jaw didn't allow it. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his breath came out in quick huffs through his nose. His arms were straining at their restraints as he tried to lean away, but... not in the way Poseidon expected.

He studied his expression, ready to scold him once more, until he noticed where his hand was.

Oh. Ooooh.

He looked back at his captive, a sadistic smile stretching across his face. He moved his hand down, raking his claws over his ribs, noticing the way Odysseus struggled to mask his reactions and pass off his smile as a pained grimace.

Things just got a lot more interesting.

Odysseus felt a chill run up his spine when he heard a slow, deep chuckle.

"Oh this is rich," he heard him say, and the hand around his throat forced him to look up. There was a sick, gleeful kind of curiosity shining in the God's eyes that hadn't been there before.

"What do you want from me?" he managed to ask. Poseidon only smirked.

"At first, I thought I wanted to hurt you. I had every intention of killing you slowly and leaving you to drown. But now, I'm second guessing myself," he said, leaning into the captain's personal space. Odysseus tried to lean away as much as he could.

"W-why the change of heart?"

Poseidon laughed, a contorted, garbled sound. "Humiliation is a far better punishment for you. Wouldn't you agree?"

"What?" Odysseus shook his head, brows knit together in confusion. No. There was no way he meant that.

"Tell me, king of Ithica. You wouldn't happen to be ticklish, would you?" he asked, curling his fingers ever so slightly so they dug into his ribs.

Odysseus choked on a gasp, jerking away from the touch as a blush quickly spread across his cheeks.

"And don't lie to a God," Poseidon added. He relished in the mix of fear, confusion and embarrassment on his face as he shook his head.

"Don't, please! Why that?" Odysseus stammered, pressing himself against the wall and staring him up and down. He barked out a quick laugh when both hands grabbed his ribcage before clamping his mouth shut to prevent anymore unwanted sounds from escaping.

"Because someone needs to break that fragile little ego of yours, and I look forward to watching you scream and writhe," he taunted as he began tapping his fingers against his ribs.

His breath hitched in his chest, and he instinctively twitched away. Poseidon smirked and scratched between each bone with sharp claws, and the first muffled giggles started to slip out. Odysseus tried to hold in his laughter as long as he could, but it was a futile effort.

"Trying to tough it out? Go ahead, it just makes it all the more fun when you finally break." Poseidon raked his claws up and down his ribs relentlessly, pausing to trace and scratch the spades in between. Odysseus yelped, twisting side to side in his bonds. His breath was labored from the effort it took to maintain composure, and he had to bite down on his lip to stop the giggles from spilling out. Poseidon wrapped both hands around his entire ribcage and dug in with vibrating claws. The reaction was instant.

Odysseus finally cracked with a snort, releasing all the laughter that had been trapped in his chest. It was a rich, full sound, rare to those even among his inner circle, but now it took on a more desperate tone. He leaned away as far as the chains would allow, twisting uselessly.

"Really? That's all it took? I was honestly hoping you'd struggle a little longer," he teased in a purring, almost sultry tone. "But you mortals are so fragile, so sensitive," he slowly walked his fingers up his torso like they were climbing stairs. Odysseus shook his head as breathless giggled poured freely. "So easy to break."

Poseidon's hands jumped up to drill in his exposed hollows, kneading the muscles and scratching delicate skin. He threw his head back, cackling loudly as he desperately yanked on his arms.

"NOHOHO! J-just gohoho bahack to hitting mehehe!" Odysseus bargained, trying to appeal to his violent nature. Poseidon hummed in thought.

"I don't think so. Pain is an old friend of yours, isn't she? You've come to expect it around every turn. At some point, pain stops being effective at getting the point across," his voice was cold and emotionless, yet the sadistic glimmer in his eyes was proof that he was enjoying every second of this. He rubbed circles with his thumbs in the center of his underarms, sending Odysseus into wild hysterics. The chains rattled as he thrashed around, tugging on his arms with all the strength he had. His mouth hung open in a wide smile, nose scrunching as he snorted. His laughter was loud and deep, with a beautifully frantic undertone.

"But I doubt you were expecting this," to emphasize his point, he scratched up and down his exposed hollows, lightening his touch ever so slightly, but compensating by speeding up. Odysseus threw his head back with a giggly shriek, arching his back and jerking away.

"Confusion and utter humiliation are rather powerful tools of persuasion, wouldn't you agree?" he purred in his ear, making Odysseus squeal and scrunch his neck. Poseidon chuckled at the sound, reaching a hand up to flutter under his chin.

"N-nohoho!" Odysseus giggled and shook his head, slamming his chin down for protection. Poseidon smirked and cocked his head.

"Oh? You don't agree?" he asked as he began tracing up and down the length of his arms, from his pits all the way to his wrists. He watched the way Odysseus giggled and twitched as he lightly grazed the skin. His arms shook, muscles flexing as gentle fingers passed over. "It's not eating you alive that I'm doing this to you? That you're crumbling at the hands of a God, able to do nothing but laugh and scream? Your thoughts aren't racing, wondering why I'm not ripping you to shreds?" he taunted directly in his ear, lips ghosting over the skin.

Odysseus hated how true his words were. He clenched his jaw and growled through his laughter, "Shut uhup! Just shuhut uhuhup!"

"You think you're in any position to make demands of a God?" Poseidon questioned, and even his breath tickled.

"NO! Nohoho, I wahasn't-" he cut himself off with a scream that morphed into helpless laughter when the hands moved down to knead at his belly and sides. He twisted side to side, trying to hide his face behind a restrained arm. His hair was a mess, wet and matted to his forehead. Rosy cheeks were carved with dimples, and crows feet wrinkled at the corners of his eyes. He almost looked cute, in an endearing, pathetic sort of way.

"Let me make one thing clear: I'm in control," he taunted, gripping Odysseus by the hips roughly. He yelped and instinctively bucked his hips to get away, snorting and doubling over as much as he could when he gave another squeeze.

Poseidon arched a brow and smirked down at him. "What's wrong, did I find a bad spot?" he taunted, squeezing up his sides and drilling his thumbs in the divots of his hips.

"Nohoho plehease!" he shrieked and writhed in his binding, unable to escape the relentless touch.

"What did I say about lying?" Poseidon chuckled sadistically at his own joke.

"Plehehease, just lehehet me gohoho! Ihihi'm sorRYYYY!" His voice jumped an octave when sharp claws pricked and tapped against his hips. Full belly laughs gave way to shrill giggles, and the sounds he was making amused Poseidon to no end.

"Awww, what a sweet sentiment. Almost as sweet as those giggles of yours," he teased with a sly smirk, sharp teeth peaking out from under his lip. Of course he wasn't actually complimenting him, he only said it to get under his skin. "Too bad I don't care."

Odysseus flushed and stared at him in shock. "I-I dohohon't giggle!" he tried to sound defiant, but the giggles pouring from his mouth negated the effect.

"Denial's a good look on you. Next, I bet you'll try and say you're not ticklish," Poseidon snickered, reaching a hand up to tease his neck and ears. Odysseus snorted and scrunched his shoulders.

"Nohoho!" he tried to deny, shrieking when a claw traced the shell of his ear. "Stohohop! Plehehease, juhust stohohop!" he pleaded, shaking his head.

"That's right, keep begging. Not that it'll help," he let out a raspy chuckle, cupping his face with both hands. Odysseus was forced to look up at Poseidon as he squirmed helplessly, giggling himself silly as he scribbled around his ears and neck. No matter which way he twisted, the tickling never stopped.

"You humans are so sensitive; so fun to toy with," the God mused as his hands trailed back down his body. "So easy to break," he squeezed his hips again just to watch him buck and snort. "And yet, you all think you can win."

"Ihihi'm sohohohorry! I-it wohohon't hahappen again, I swehehear!" Odysseus bargained futilely.

"Oh, but it will. That's just the way it works," Poseidon explained, digging his claws into his thighs. Odysseus gasped and jerked beneath the threatening touch. "You'll get yourself into trouble and try to work your way around it, but you'll always lose." He slowly scratched down strong thighs, earning a ticklish scream and a violent twitch.

"Fuck! Noho, you cahahan't! N-not thehehere!" he begged through growing hysterics. His words only made Poseidon more curious as he began squeezing up and down his legs.

Odysseus squealed and jumped away from the touch, pressing against the wall of the cave and kicking out futilely. Poseidon looked him up and down with a hungry, scrutinizing gaze, evil smirk twisting into a sharp, dangerous smile.

"Awww, what's the matter? Too ticklish here?" he asked, raking his claws down the captain's thighs as he knelt before him. That alone drew out a panicked bark of laughter as he twitched away.

"N-no! Ihihi mehean- shihihit, stohohop!" he cut himself off with a snort as sharp claws delicately traced his inner thighs. Breathy giggles became hysterical laughter as the soft scribbling got faster and added more pressure. He threw his head back, practically dancing in place as he tried to escape the unending torture.

"Just look at you, barely able to speak. How pathetic," he taunted, scratching higher up his legs, enjoying the way his voice changed pitched. He pinched back down the muscle, drawing out a few giggly snorts. Poseidon couldn't help but comment on it.

"Those are some pretty funny noises you're making. I think I'll stay right here," he kneaded deep into his thighs, and Odysseus practically screamed.

"NOHOHO PLEHEHEASE! IHIHI'M SOHOHORRYYYY!" he threw his head back, cackling wildly. His legs gave out, but he was still held upright by his chains. His legs kicked and writhed in Poseidon's grip, his sanity slipping away with each passing second.

"Good," he growled, raking his nails down his inner thighs just to make his squeal. "But I'm not stopping any time soon. By all means, whine and beg, but don't expect it to help much." From this position, his bare, squirming stomach was right in front of his face. He grabbed Odysseus from behind, making sure he couldn't move away before biting his hip.

He let out a piercing shriek, followed quickly by frantic hysterics. He writhed and twisted in his hold, tugging on his arms with all his might. His vision went blurry as tears streamed down his cheeks, and he closed his eyes so he didn't have to watch his own torment.

Poseidon grazed his teeth across delicate skin, stretched taught over the bone. He nipped and nibbled at his hips, allowing his tongue to flick and trace the contours of his waist. That really seemed to drive him mad, so he continued nibbling along his hips and belly while his hands returned to his thighs.

Odysseus wailed in ticklish agony, babbling incoherently for mercy. He couldn't form a single coherent thought, legs trembling from the relentless onslaught.

"Ohoho shihihit- NOHOHO! FUCK- NOHOT THAHAHAT!" his arms strained to hold him up, leaning against the wall for support. Poseidon drilled circles where his hips and legs met, scribbling along the backs of his thighs. His back arched and he tried to jerk away, only for his leg to be trapped under a strong arm.

"Why, is this a bad spot?" he cooed, scribbling behind his knee all the way up the back of his thigh. His muscles quivered with every pinch and stroke, and his voice periodically cut out.

Poseidon slowed his touches to give him the chance to breathe. Odysseus gasped for air between helpless giggles, legs writhing in his grip as his claws scribbled against the sensitive skin. He hiccuped and snorted when he'd zero in on a particularly sensitive spot.

"I asked you a question," he growled, going back to clawing mercilessly, just to remind him how much worse it could be. Odysseus screamed and thrashed.

"YEHEHES OHOHOKAHAHAY? STOHOHOP!"

Poseidon smirked as he slowed back down, focusing on his right leg. Odysseus whined and snickered as the feather light touches clouded his brain. It was almost worse than when he just dug in. At least then his voice didn't sound so shrill and broken.

"Plehehe- staha- stohohohop! I-I cahahan't!" he pleaded through breathless giggles.

"You humans are hilariously pathetic. So weak and soft, unable to hold out against even the softest of touches," he taunted. Odysseus was limp and pliable, yet still struggled, providing a map of his most ticklish spots.

He continued the light scribbling, spidering his way to the tops of his knees. Odysseus snorted and kicked, laughter jumping up an octave. Poseidon smirked, meeting his eyes to flash him a smug wink before digging in. He clawed ruthlessly at his knees and the tops of his thighs, relishing in the resulting shriek.

He leaned in to whisper in a deep, threatening tone, "I hope you didn't think we were done. There's so many places I haven't even tried. And I plan on keeping you here as long as I like."

"What? N-nohoho y-you cahahan't just do thahat!" Odysseus insisted, eyes wide with fear as he frantically shook his head.

"Actually, I can. And there's nothing you can do about it." He grabbed his feet, wiggling his fingers dangerously close to the soles. "Nothing but laugh."

Odysseus was once again sent spiraling into hysterics, forced to accept his fate.

[heartsywritesthethings]

How're ya doing? I just read your newest fic and I am BAWLING- IT WAS SO LOVELYYYYY! I don't usually request, but this is a special case XD.

If you want, can you write a revenge fic with lee! Dazai and ler! Fyodor? The anon who originally requested 'You Make Me Weak.' requested it with a Fyodor hc so I think imma do the same. I have a headcanon that Dazai adores being tickled due to the playful nature of it, however, rough tickles don't work on him. He's only affected by gentle tickles like tracing, gentle scratching, poking etc. Also, because he loves it, he never begs for it to stop, his body has no limit. The ONLY thing that can break him is anticipation. You know how Dazai never cracks under pressure? Yeah, I don't think that's the case for tickles. I think anticipation gets him the worst. Just touch one of his tickle spots and threaten him and he'll be a giggly mess until you start actually tickling him. Fyodor's evil, he WILL use this to his advantage and will taunt Dazai about it too because what kind of genius mastermind explodes into a ball of giggles when he hasn't even been touched yet?

I know you just wrote for them, so feel free to decline, I completely understand! Stay safe, buddyyyy!

hello anon! thank you for your request!! i apologize for how long this took- i ended up rewriting it three times because i wasn't satisfied with how it turned out. so without further ado i present your request!

you’ll fall at my hand.

pairings: lee!Dazai, ler!Fyodor

word count: 4.1k.

warnings: swearing. this is a tickle fic! if that's not your cup of tea, then just scroll or block me<3

a/n: i tried to write this as a standalone and i'm decently sure that it can be read as a standalone, but it is a sequel to this!

(did i accidentally fluster myself like 10 times while editing and writing this? yes. yes i did.)

~

Dazai doesn’t remember exactly how he got there. But what he did know was that Fyodor had been silently reading—on Dazai's bed—in the prison cell that they shared for the past ten minutes. 

He hadn’t brought it up, the only tell being a strange look and a quirk of his eyebrow, but Fyodor was quiet and otherwise ignorable, so he kept his mouth shut. Perhaps he wasn't willing to give his fellow prodigy any form of satisfaction. Was Fyodor trying to bother Dazai? Or was he just as bored as Dazai was?

Still, more questions Dazai could only consider the answers to.

Also considering what happened yesterday, any form of closeness with Fyodor, whom he'd previously tickled senseless, was a bit nerve-wracking. Just a tad.

He catches himself stealing glances at Fyodor as he tries to keep his concentration on his book, but little by little his attention span dwindles, till he’s so bored he's flipping the pages of his book back and forth, just to hear the sounds of the paper. 

Flip. Flip again. Flip. Flip again. Ruffle the papers. Smack the book together-

“Have you no respect for those around you?”

Dazai looks up, and an unamused Fyodor Dostoevsky stared directly at him.

“Hey, your hearing's pretty good, Fyo,” Dazai giggles then sighs, dipping forwards. “Did you forget? You’re kinda on my bed. I can do what I want.”

“Is that so?” Fyodor snaps his book shut, and the resounding echo hollows the silence. “You seemed to have no problem doing what you wanted on my bed.”

Of course, Fyodor could hold a petty grudge like that, Dazai's mind antagonizes, itching to poke fun at him again. And, ignoring the potential consequences, Dazai rolls his eyes. “You’re still going on about that?”

Fyodor's eyes slowly narrow, and then he's leaning back against his hands, mattress creaking with each movement. "But if it had been me who'd gotten you first, you would've had all the right in the world to complain."

"You're absolutely right!" Dazai tilts his head at the sarcasm, a sickly-sweet smile on his face. He knows just how much that pisses Fyodor off. "Now... can you get off of my bed, Fyodor?"

Unamused, Fyodor stares, and his posture stiffens—but Dazai tries not to let it affect him. Something in the brunette's torso jolts at the particular look in the Russian's eyes, but he ignores it. 

"I'd suggest not antagonizing me, Dazai." 

"Or what? Please, Fyodor," Dazai giggles again, pretending to wipe tears from his eyes. "You're not strong enough to pin me down."

The bed creaks. Suddenly, Fyodor's much closer to Dazai than he was a few seconds ago, and Dazai tries to hide his shock by leaning back.

"You're still using that as your bluff? If I knew better..." Fyodor muses, every movement slow and controlled. "I'd say you actually want me to find out by tickling you, don't you?"

"Eh??" Dazai squeaks, shaking his head, but in the moment he was distracted, Fyodor pounces. His movements just sang with the intention of revenge.

Oh, oh no. This could be very bad.

Dazai shrieks as he tries to kick Fyodor off of him, but with the lithe of a ballerina, Fyodor avoids the sharp motions, grabs Dazai's wrists, and somehow shoves his hands through the metal of the bedpost.

"Fyodor- What the hell??" Dazai hisses as his wrists bang against the makeshift bonds, cold metal sending a small shiver up his spine. And in a millisecond, he quickly realizes that with Fyodor on top of him, he couldn't arch his back enough to free himself. "Get me out!! Get off!"

"I said the same thing to you, I remember..." Fyodor speaks, hand curling to rest just on top of Dazai's midriff. "And yet you showed no mercy."

"You- You liked it! That's different, Fyodor, I swear-" Dazai seethes, desperately writhing around.

An amused laugh tumbles out of Fyodor's throat, the sound melodic, airy, and utterly evil. "You never know when to stop making things worse for yourself, Dazai."

And Dazai realizes how screwed he was, and curses the fact that Fyodor always managed to bend the odds in his favor. The color in his face drains to a pale white, and then the blood rushes back, painting him crimson.

"Oh, it seems I'm affecting you already, Dazai," Fyodor drawls lazily. Offended, Dazai growls, still trying to buck Fyodor off of him. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"But revenge is in order, is it not?" Fyodor smirks, and without warning he drags his claw-shaped hand up Dazai's stomach.

The sensation shoots through Dazai's nerves, and suddenly he's on the edge of breaking—and he did not want to break this early.

Fyodor so clearly relishes the embarrassed shriek that he drags from Dazai, and chuckles at the fluster that follows. "What, where'd your bite go, Dazai? Cat got your tongue?"

"Fuck off," Dazai whines while fist-fighting a smile, searching for some semblance of his composure—but the cruel Fyodor tsks at him, demeanor cold and sordid, and Dazai's grimace turns to a grin and spreads across his face.

He'd forgotten how mean Fyodor could really be, how candid his teases could get. And Dazai had been dousing him with gasoline, dancing carelessly with a match.

"How rude of you." Fyodor sighs, all ten fingertips suddenly jolting to life on Dazai's torso. Considerately humming, he teases at the skin, his intelligent mind piecing together where Dazai was most sensitive.

He does this in just a few seconds. It was all too easy to forget Fyodor's intelligence—at least, for someone like Dazai.

And then Dazai's squirming helplessly beneath Fyodor's touches, broken gasps escaping his lips. God, he's so close to laughing- he can't- he has to but he can't. And he flops like a fish but tries to keep his mouth shut. "Pl- Please!!"

"Please what? Please... keep tickling you? Well, if you insist," Fyodor manages a shrug through his traces, and his use of the word has Dazai's stomach doing cartwheels. Eyebrows furrowing, Dazai opens his mouth to protest, and then Fyodor drags his teasing touches up to Dazai's neck.

It went completely downhill from there as the sensation tripled. His strangled laughter echoes through the room. 

"No- Nohohoho, Fyodohohohor!!" Dazai shatters instantly, scrunching back and forth as Fyodor's soft fingertips flutter against the sensitive tendons. And the gentle ticklish sensations shoot straight up to his head, enveloping his thoughts in a feathery warmth.

Now this was where Dazai had the upper hand, embarrassing as it was... 

He didn't mind this at all. And as he desperately tries to keep up affairs, he catches himself genuinely hoping that Fyodor would keep this up for a long while. 

It was embarrassing. Yes, Dazai knew.

Unfortunately, Fyodor quirks an eyebrow, observant as ever. And he traces the skin of his collarbone before pinching at it in short bursts. "You're not fighting me anymore, Dazai." 

A short gasp mingling with his laughter, Dazai tries in vain to kick Fyodor off, again, but he only smacks his wrists against the metal and hisses out a curse between giggles. In between all that, Fyodor doesn't stop.

"Yohohou're sohoho mehehean!!!" Dazai screeches, shaking his head back and forth.

"How cute," Fyodor scoffs with a blank roll of his eyes, then he tilts his head. Dazai can't even look at him to see what he was planning, lost in his giggly mirth. "Well, now I wonder..."

Fyodor withdraws his hands for a split second, but before Dazai finds it in himself to enjoy the break, his fingers twitch and abruptly he's drilling into Dazai's underarms.

Out of habit, Dazai arches his back—

But then he gasps in a relieved breath, for the first time devoid of any laughter at all. Wow, wow, he just learned something new about himself. 

Fyodor's eyes narrow and experimentally he vibrates his fingertips harshly across the whole stretch of skin, but Dazai sighs mockingly, feeling close to nothing.

"Interesting," The Russian muses, and despite his assumed annoyance, he smirks. Dazai rolls his eyes. And Fyodor gives Dazai a look that could mean one of two things—I've figured you out, or, you're done for. "What a contrast."

"Are you done yet, Fyodor?" Dazai growls, doing his best to act unaffected—but it wasn't working, thanks to the glowing blush on his face. "Haven't you had enough-"

"No," Fyodor sighs slowly, and suddenly he seems much more sadistic than he did a second ago. He considers Dazai like a spider its prey, and Dazai swallows, tingly anticipation shooting up his spine. 

"Please?" Dazai whispers, attempting puppy-dog eyes, though he wasn't sure what he was asking for.

The bed creaks again. Fyodor adjusts where he sat to put his arms on opposite sides of Dazai's head and lean forwards. Dazai breathes in a slow gasp, Fyodor shading him from the light. "What do you take me for, Dazai?" The Russian's words hit slowly. "Cruel?"

"Yes, actually," Dazai's eyes twitch, and he feels a wobbly smile tug at his lips. A dangerous response... But was he not known for his boldness?

And Fyodor, taking the snark better than Dazai would've expected, tsks down at him. "You and I are both aware of our shared inability to be truly honest, Dazai. It would be much, much easier if we... found someone competent with the ability to read us like we can others."

Dazai nods, immediately intrigued, but grateful for the brief moment to catch his breath. "Never thought I'd agree with you." And he fidgets with the metal bed frame. Where was Fyodor going with that??

"So then I say this." Fyodor folds his hands together, cold gaze burning holes through the brunette beneath him. "When you admit to me just how much you adore this, I'll stop. But until then..." He laves his fingers over one another, gaze flickering from Dazai to the digits.

Oh. Oh, so that was Fyodor's plan. Intentional humiliation.

Instantly Dazai recoils, wincing. His face quickly warms as he considers it—maybe admitting to that would, actually, kill him.

"You know I can't-!!" He whines, turning away from Fyodor. "Why not just stop now?"

"Da-zai." Fyodor stares down at him, something bordering amusement teasing at his words. His eye twitched, but whether it was from a scowl, a smile, or somehow both, the bound prodigy had no idea.

That thought was deviously flustering.

"I gave you mercy, Fyodor!!" Dazai complains with a huff, dropping his head into the mattress. He's stalling. He knows he's stalling, and Fyodor does too.

"It was only after you'd gotten what you'd wanted. Besides..." Fyodor shakes his head, preparing to deliver the final blow. Dazai waits on bated breath.

"You don't want me to show you any mercy. No, you want me to be ruthless."

A cold shiver runs down Dazai's spine but instantly goosebumps follow it as Fyodor drops his hands again to wiggle both under and on top of his ribcage.

Dazai shrieks and bursts into laughter, feeling like the sensation came from inside of him. And no matter where he shoved and moved his torso, Fyodor didn't budge. This was awful!! Awful, awful!!

"Do you like it, Dazai? I figured you would. Does being helpless for once in your life interest you?" Fyodor hums, casually taking Dazai to pieces as he traces each inch of his sensitive skin.

Dazai can't even answer, the gentle touches affecting him so much more than they should. "NOHO- HAHAh- Fyo- FYODOHOHOR!!!"

"Hmm."

"SahAHAY SOhohomethihiHIng!!!"

"No."

"FYODOHOHOR!!"

"Have your fellow agency members ever seen you, the great Dazai, like this? So... giggly, so broken?"

"Stohohop tahahalkihihing!!!"

Fyodor coughs out an indignant scoff, an amused smile twitching on his lips. "Make up your mind, Dazai." He leans backward to tease at the tops of Dazai's thighs, off-hand poking at the soft part of Dazai's knee, and Dazai yelps before dissolving into incorrigible laughter, somehow harsher than before.

Oh, he thinks he's so high and mighty, Dazai's thoughts stitch together with what little mental capacity he has. Making me laugh because of how stupidly ticklish I am.

Yet, Dazai wasn't complaining.

"Ready to admit it?" Fyodor asks, raising his voice to be heard over Dazai's screeching.

"NOHOHOHO!!"

If Dazai was honest, he was somehow approaching his limits, despite how deliciously electric he felt in every curve and flex of his body. It was slow. But the movement was there. And he wouldn't tell Fyodor that, of course.

"Alright," Fyodor mutters under his breath. "Then I'll break you myself." His gaze drifts, still absentmindedly toying with Dazai's soft skin as he appears to consider something.

Dazai tries not to blush at the infectious smugness on Fyodor's face.

Fyodor pulls his hands away, Dazai attempting to act like the absence of touch didn't bother him. And he purses his lips. "You're prepared to be physically tickled. That much is... painfully obvious, even for you."

"What?" Dazai challenges, ignoring the way his stomach cartwheels. "Giving up already?"

"Mmmm... No," Fyodor sighs softly, shaking his head like a leaf fluttering to the ground. "I wonder how much of this you can take, then?"

Dazai tries to think of an appropriate way to phrase his question, but then Fyodor's hands curl into claws and hover above his belly, just above, right there, not moving at all.

And Dazai rolls his eyes, unamused. He voices the thought. "Really, Fyodor? Do you honestly think that that can get me to-"

Then Fyodor drops his hands and Dazai tenses, sucking in his stomach for a sensation that—

Never came. He'd withdrawn his hands faster than Dazai could blink.

"What are you doing?" Dazai scoffs, but couldn't tear his eyes away from Fyodor's wrists, which were too still, right there.

 "You're trying not to think about it, but be honest, Dazai... it's not working."

Fyodor's words mix into Dazai's confused hurricane of thoughts, and suddenly Dazai is thinking about it- tickling. He's really thinking about it, despite how he tries not to—what could happen.

At any moment, which Dazai couldn't control at all, Fyodor had the power to drop his hands and draw out the intense sensation. He'd be helpless, and Fyodor could do whatever he wanted, and Dazai would be forced to lay there, take it, do nothing else-

Dazai hisses out a curse as his vision refocuses—Fyodor had gotten into his head.

"Oh?" The melodic sound dances into Dazai's mind, and when he looks up, Fyodor's fingers were fucking wiggling, twitching, then they lower, so close, too close to his skin-

Dazai's face warms as Fyodor pulls away, again, and he turns away, scrunching his eyes shut. He swallows a squeak. If he couldn't see it, it wouldn't affect him. If he couldn't-

"At any moment, Dazai," Fyodor hums, words breaking the silence, "I could reach down and gently, every so gently, drag my ticklish fingers up and down and all around your sensitive ribs."

Fuck.

And Dazai's breath hitches. He snaps his eyes open, looking directly up at Fyodor, who was- who was so mean.

Then Fyodor smirks at him, and his fingers join Dazai's line of vision, wiggling in tandem, and god he wants to crawl out of his skin.

The scene was surreal. Dazai could hardly think, hardly move, hardly-

"Hmm," Fyodor hums, and he's leaning forwards, letting his hands delicately fall to rest on each hollow of Dazai's underarms. Dazai's breath hitches—he wasn't ti- sensitive to rougher stuff...

But if Fyodor moved even one of his ten fingertips just an inch, ugh, Dazai might fall apart. He'd break. It would feel awful. He'd die laughing-

Fyodor lifts his pointer finger, just his pointer finger, and brushes the skin ever so lightly.

Completely shocked at the intensity of the small sensation, Dazai clenches his teeth as it shoots through him—whatever Fyodor had done was amplifying everything right now.

"Feeling ticklish, Dazai?" Fyodor says, tone sugary-sweet, something that already had the brunette squirming. "I can see it on your face- you're trying not to smile. But soon enough, Dazai, soon enough, you'll find that you just can't help it."

A strangled noise escapes from Dazai's throat. This was torture. Absolute torture.

Then Fyodor lifts his hands again but moves them to loom next to both sides of his waist. The evil smile he wore tied things together, and it had a lump forming in Dazai's gut.

If he just- if he moved an inch to either the left or the right, he'd touch Fyodor's fingers!

"Nervous?" Fyodor chuckles drily, in a way only he could manage. "You should be. Because, if I feel like it, I can just start..."

Dazai gasps in a startled breath as Fyodor's fingers begin to wiggle again, but slower, teasingly, and immediately they're creeping towards his side. Inch by inch, little by little-

Then suddenly, an anticipatory smile breaks his defenses, slowly creeping up his face while Fyodor watches. 

And then the dam for the rest of his physical reactions ruptures. A hot blush floods his face, coloring him a burning cinnabar red. His eyes twitch. His fingers curl.

Goosebumps shoot up his spine as Fyodor's finger brushes—just brushes!! Again!!—the small dip in his waist, and Dazai scrunches his shoulders, holding back a strangely intense peal of laughter.

"Just- Just get on with it!!" He whimpers quietly while Fyodor draws his hands back again.

Fyodor smiles back. "My, so impatient, Dazai. Wouldn't you love it if I just kept you here for hours? Just teasing, but never anything more... Oh, you'd be all tingly and desperately cute, just like you are now."

Like the first crack in a frozen lake that predicts its demise, Dazai tenses completely. His smile threatens to break into something more. His thoughts whirl wildly.

Completely bent over his anticipation.

And Fyodor, ever cruel, decides to push even further. He hums into a smile, quirks an eyebrow down at the extremely flustered prodigy, and then brushes his fluttering fingers over the taut skin of Dazai's stomach.

It was less of a touch than anything he'd used before. It was too weak to be anything.

But Dazai crumbles.

Immediately he feels the first laugh slip from his throat, even after Fyodor's fingers had long since left his torso's vicinity, and the rest follow. Fyodor wasn't even touching him, he chastizes angrily, but the thoughts are long swept away in the burst of giggles that swarm him. It was like he couldn't do anything but laugh.

Tickles, tickle, ticklish, Dazai's mind says loopily, only fanning the flames. He snaps his eyes shut, desperately trying to hold them back, but he does not succeed.

Damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it!!

Lost in bubbly giggles, with little to no explanation why, Dazai opens an eye and sees the expression on Fyodor's face. God, it was a mix of amusement, shock, and intrigue. A mixture that Dazai hated, and it only made the tingles feel worse.

"Stohohop lohohohooking at mehehe lihihike thahahat!!" Dazai spits through gritted teeth, though his words don't exactly reach their desired goal.

"Dazai, I'm not even touching you," Fyodor says incredulously, accent only adding to the intrigue. 

"Shuhuhut- shuhuhut uhuhup!!" Dazai groans, further curling into himself as best he could. As soon as he tries and almost succeeds to cut off the stream of laughter, thoughts of tickling overwhelm him and suddenly he's shivering, sinking back into mirth again.

"If I'd known it was this easy to shut you up, Dazai, I would've done this sooner." Fyodor breaks his teasy facade for a moment, considering Dazai, and then he begins again. "Alright, now that you're thoroughly worked up..."

"You- You're so mean!!" Dazai manages, before slipping into giggles again. He misses the way Fyodor shifts, clearly setting up for something.

"Now that you're all flustered and ready, Dazai, I can really be—as you call it—mean." 

No more buildup needed, Fyodor plunges his hands to rest just on top of Dazai's belly, and suddenly they're pinching delicately, harshly at the skin, destroying the tension in one fell swoop.

Mind short-circuiting, Dazai howls, the feeling so much more than anything else, and he bursts into a maniacal fit of laughter, unable to form any thoughts at all.

Fyodor quirks an eyebrow, kneading down into the dip of his waist. "Interesting."

"SHUHUHUT- SHUHUT UHUHUP!!" Dazai screeches, clenching his fists before desperately trying to curl into himself. Fyodor's monotone was so damn embarrassing. 

So Fyodor tilts his head, somehow not startled by Dazai's fierce thrashing. "I don't think I will. But..."  

He tweaks his left hand over the space just below Dazai's underarm, delighting in the shriek he draws out, before moving up to his ribcage, tracing the divots with consideration. Dazai jerks his head back and forth.

"I'll be nice and tell you what I'm planning," Fyodor says kindly and sighs, fingers drumming against the skin. "First... here."

His hands drift fully up to Dazai's underarms, and he swirls his fingers lazily around the hollows. "First, I'll circle here- oh, you're certainly worked up about that. Does it tickle, Dazai? Does this tickle your fancy?"

The feeling shot straight up to Dazai's head, lighting his nerves on fire. "NooHOHOHOHO!!"

"No? It doesn't?" Fyodor hums, faking consideration. "What about here, then?" Giving the prodigy no time to adjust, he leans to rub his thumbs tenderly inside the bone of Dazai's hips.

And Dazai bucks as best he can through a yelp, the sensations shifting from fluttery and light to stern and impending. Fyodor takes note of how his reactions shift- of course, he does.

Fyodor, still tickling him, leans forward to whisper in Dazai's ear. "You know how to make it stop, Dazai~... Just tell me what I want to hear."

Dazai's fuzzy thoughts finally remember—oh, that was what this was about.

He settles for arching his back instead, pushing into Fyodor's hands, and he refuses to admit that Fyodor's teases were finally working him to a limit he didn't know he had. "NEHEVEHEHER!!" 

"Alright. Alright then, Dazai," Fyodor says, pulling back, and he decides he's going to steal a page from Nikolai's book. "I can't deny, this might make you actually lose whatever sanity you have left... Just don't say I didn't warn you."

What?

What??

Eyebrows quickly furrowing, Dazai tries to form words, but then, as Fyodor said, his mind goes completely silent. Completely blank.

And Dazai instantaneously realizes why—Fyodor was blowing a gentle fucking raspberry on his stomach, just above his belly button, while his hands drew circles on his sides. Everything at once.

It felt amazing, but it was— too much. Too much, in a split second, and all Dazai feels was the intense sensation, electrifying his nerves, ruining his ability to think, but it felt so good, but it was too much, and dazed, loopy, and shrieking out mid-fits of raucous laughter, he calls out for Fyodor, and he gives in.

"FIHIHIHI- FINE! FIHIHNE, IHIHI'LL TAHAHALK!! FYO- FYODOR! PLEHEHEASE!!" Dazai screeches as he's pushed to the brink, shaking his head back and forth, a wide smile on his face.

And Fyodor pulls away, wearing a smug grin that shows— he'd won. 

"You kihihillehehed mehehe- heh, Fyodor," Dazai feels the words tumble out of his mouth He takes another precious few seconds to breathe, ignoring how Fyodor stared at him, and then he swallows, peeking open one eye.

Wow, he felt exhausted. And Fyodor was still expectant, waiting for Dazai to say the one thing he knew would embarrass him most.

"Do I haaave to?" Dazai whines, stray giggles slipping out as he stares at Fyodor, but he knows the answer already. The minute he freed himself, he'd be kicking the Russian off of his bed and curling into a ball.

Menacingly, all too silent, Fyodor blinks at him, raising an eyebrow. And Dazai sighs, succumbing to his fate.

"Fine... I-" He swallows, lips pursing. "I like when-" And his face heats up, the look Fyodor's giving him not helping at all.

"Ughh. I like it when you... tickle me, whatever. I like the way it feels," Dazai gags as he finally says it, cursing himself, and Fyodor, and the giddy feeling in his stomach, "and I'm not reeeeally sure why, but... yeah."

Fyodor doesn't even give the words a chance to marinate before he speaks.

"Very good, Dazai!" Fyodor smiles, mockingly petting the brunette on the head. Dazai rolls his eyes, gaze shifting anywhere but to try and keep his composure.

"I hate you," Dazai grumbles as Fyodor slides off of him, and in one swift movement, he frees his arms.

Fyodor laughs once more, retrieving his book from where it had landed on the floor. "I believe you."

"I'm serious." Dazai rolls his eyes, rubbing his sore wrists in his hand.

Fyodor nods. "I trust you wholeheartedly."

"Hey, will you stop it with that??"

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dazai groans. Fyodor casts him one last knowing glance, and then they're both relaxing on their respective sides of the room, Dazai hiding a blush into his pillow as he reflects on the thorough tickling he'd just experienced.

Damn, Fyodor. Damn.

~

[heartsywritesthethings]

Smile

For the anon that requested the ler flags fic!! I had so much fun writing this (i also finished stormbringer today and i’m not doing well!)

warnings: Teaming up, swearing!!

‼️‼️THIS IS A TICKLE FIC. IF YOURE NOT INTO THAT THEN SCROLL‼️‼️

Keep reading

[heartsywritesthethings]

day 2 - "accidental"

Submitted by GA!anon

The first time was an accident. Truly. Reki had only been trying to help Langa get better footing on his board and placed both of his hands on Langa’s sides to keep him stable. 

And he felt his friend tense up in a way that he was all too familiar with. 

Being outrageously ticklish himself, Reki knew the tell-tale signs of someone who knows just how much danger they’re in if they let out so much as a squeak. 

The second time, Reki felt like he was trying a tad bit too hard to make it seem like an accident. They were hanging out with Joe, Cherry, Shadow, and Miya, all of them sitting around and eating before their big race. Cherry and Joe were arguing as per usual and Reki wanted to get Langa’s attention to get him to focus on a cool new skateboard trick he’d found online. So he poked his friend in the side and watched Langa jump almost a mile into the sky and choke on his half-eaten sandwich. It all very quickly dissolved into chaos as everyone in the group just watched Langa sputter and gasp for air without really knowing the cause of it. 

And Reki definitely noticed just how red Langa’s pale face had gotten too. 

And now…now he was alone with Langa in the middle of the store as they waited for their manager to return and give them a break to go to S. It was just the two of them on the most boring Saturday that Reki had ever experienced. They’d already tried listening to music, watching videos, but nothing  was…well, stimulating enough. And Reki just kept staring at Langa, knowing exactly how to entertain himself, but not sure how to begin. 

“Hey, Langa,” Reki started, trying to force himself to sound casual. He even leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. Super casually. 

“Reki,” Langa responded, not even looking up from his phone. 

“We’ve been friends a while, right?” Reki continued and pulled out his phone as if he too were looking at something far more important. 

“Yes,” Came Langa’s neutral response. 

“But we don’t really know a whole lot about each other aside from skating,” Reki sighed. “But there is a game that we could play to learn more about each other,”

Langa looked up from his phone finally and raised an eyebrow, obviously interested at this point. 

“It’s twenty questions. You have to answer yes or no and you have to tell the truth,” Reki demanded and leaned in closer to Langa excitedly. The Canadian, looking as unpreterbed as usual, just shrugged. 

“Do I get to ask you questions too?” Langa asked, tilting his head to the side in an annoyingly cute way. Reiki thought about it for a moment and nodded. 

“Yeah, sure, why not.” He said dismissively. “Okay, I go first. Um…” 

Can’t start off too strong.

“Do you wish your skateboard was another color?” Reki asked. 

“No. Are you bored, Reki?” Langa asked. Again, something about Langa saying his name sent a shock of electricity down Reki’s spine that he had to willfully ignore. 

“Yeah, duh. Do you have a favorite memory of moving here?” 

A smile tugged on the edges of Langa’s lips. 

“Yes. Are you good at keeping secrets?” Langa asked. Reki did actually have to think about that one. Of course, he wanted to immediately say yes, but sometimes…well, the only person he would ever tell would be Langa. 

“Yeah, I would say so,” Reki shifted a little, “Are you ticklish?”

The smile got a little strained on Langa’s face and his friend suddenly was very interested in his own ratty sneakers. 

“Is there another game that we can play? Maybe we can watch more trick videos,” Langa said evasively. 

Now, Reki watches cartoons and right now he felt as if two devilish cartoon horns forming on the top of his head. This was an in. 

“We were playing a game! Just answer the question!” Reki insisted and moved closer to his friend. Langa crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the floor with more intensity. Reki ducked down and tried to catch his friend’s gaze. 

“Are you ticklish, Langa?” Reki asked, a teasing sing-song added to his voice. Langa’s lips pressed together. 

“Can I skip that question?” Langa grumbled. Reki smirked. 

“Sure,” He shrugged, “Where are you the most ticklish?” 

“Reki.”

“It’s a simple question, Langa,”

“I already told you that I don’t want to play this–” 

It was already too late. Reki lunged and grappled with his friend for only a moment before they were both on the hard floor of the skating store and Reki’s fingers wriggled over Langa’s sides. Langa tensed at first, his big blue eyes going wide, and then he dissolved into just the cutest fit of giggles that Reki had ever seen. Immediately, Langa curled up in on himself, trying weakly to bat away at Reki’s hands as he giggled away. 

“You should have answered the question Langa!” Reki laughed along with him. Those pesky hands fighting back were making it hard for him to target any spot in particular. That was tad annoying, but it was definitely fun trying to evade them as well. Instead of wiggling his fingers, he shifted gears into just poking randomly at different spots on Langa’s upper body to see what got the best reaction out of him. 

“Reheheheki!” Langa giggled and squeaked as a few key pokes found spots on his ribs that made him twitch. 

“And since you’re skipping out on answering my least question…where’s your most ticklish spot?” Reki said smugly as he continued to poke around Langa’s upper ribs. He wanted more squeaks, that was for sure. “Is it around here?” 

“Nohohoho!” Langa squeaked as Reki’s prodding fingers poked around his ribs some more. 

“No as in ‘please don’t tickle me there’ or ‘that’s not my most ticklish spot’?” Reki teased. He shifted gears again, this time making his hands into claws and digging around Langa’s sides and stomach since he couldn’t get good purchase around the rib area. That would have to wait for another time. Maybe if he told Shadow and some of the other older (and stronger) people in his group, he could get some help in taking Langa down. 

The claws seemed to be doing the trick though as laughter poured out of Langa’s mouth with abandon. His whole body went limp, his face scrunched up with laughter, and his nose doing just the cutest little thing as it crinkled up. 

“Cute,” Reki muttered, mostly to himself. He turned back and noticed how Langa’s legs were kicking out as he continued to tickle him. Interesting. 

“Hey, I think I may have a plan to find your most–” Reki started, leaning back and placing a hand on Langa’s leg to try and shift himself around. 

In the blink of an eye, the tables were turned. Langa had not only shoved Reki off of him, but had also pinned him to the ground. This time though, Reki was on his stomach and Langa sat comfortably on his legs, granting him zero protection. 

“Hey wait–” Reki squeaked. 

“Reki, are you ticklish?” Langa asked innocently. “Yes or no,”

  To....be.....continued....... 

[heartsywritesthethings]

Day 1: Anticipation

y’all get a treat from GA!anon this October!Thanks for the submission love!

lol it's literally been forever since I've written a fic like this, but here we go. First pairing for Tickletober is Miguel and Lyla from Across the Spiderverse! 

~ ~ ~ 

"Did you find anything yet?" Miguel snapped at his virtual assistant. Sometimes, he really hated the fact that Lyla had her own personality. Things were so much easier when artificial intelligence was just something that helped along with missions instead of getting in the way of progress. 

"Someone didn't drink their spider coffee this morning," Lyla's voice answered through the speakers on his desk, but she was nowhere to be seen. Miguel clenched and unclenched his fists as he attempted to stay calm. It'd been days since the last canon disrupting event and Miguel was starting to get...well...antsy. He was always bad at sitting still, even before he'd decided the world of superheroes was his calling. 

"Did you find anything yet?" Miguel repeated with a fair amount of venom in his voice. 

Then Lyla appeared in her usual and preferred avatar, white puffy jacket, heart shaped glasses, and black boot heels. Why she felt the need to look this ridiculous as his avatar assistant, he'd never understood. Some of the other spider-men suggested that she had to overcompensate for his constant grumpiness, but Miguel ignored them. 

"Nothing. Still." Lyla replied, looking up at Miguel with the audacity to also look annoyed. 

"Keep looking," Miguel spat and turned his attention back to the multiple screens in front of him. Lyla stuck out her tongue at him and then fizzed away. 

Miguel tapped his foot. He drummed his fingers on the desk. He idly pulled out his fangs and then allowed them to shrink back to normal. 

The waiting was always the worst part. The anticipation. He knew something was about to go wrong, like a storm gathering in the sky, but he just couldn't figure out where. No one could. It was driving him insane. All universes seemed relatively peaceful. 

Well, as peaceful as a Spider-Man's New York could be. There were fights happening, sure, but nothing that would involve Miguel having to step in and interfere. He watched other spider-people jump into action in their canon, his body itching to join the fight. 

Wait, no his body was actually itching. It had felt just like his restless energy at first, but it had intensified, all over his body like little bugs crawling up and down his spine. Was his suit malfunctioning? It was digitized as well, but it never malfunctioned. 

"Lyla do you--?!" Miguel started when he felt the buzzing stopped suddenly. His body relaxed. Lyla popped into view on his shoulder, leaning back and filing her nails. 

"What now?" She sighed. Miguel fought the urge to swat at her like a fly. Despite her being artificial, she was still very intelligent. 

"There was--" 

"Something wrong with your suit?" Lyla finished for him. He swore he could see her smirk ever so slightly. "Nonsense. Your suit never malfunctions,"

She disappeared. 

Miguel frowned at the empty space she occupied before. That was...strange. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the screens in front of him. He'd look at his suit later, there were more important things at-- 

"¡Mierda!" Miguel stumbled back from the screens as the something in his suit drilled into his armpits. As quickly as the sensations had started, they ceased, leaving Miguel with his heart hammering hard in his chest and his mind reeling. 

"What was that?" Lyla's voice asked and this time Miguel caught onto the fake innocence in her tone. She appeared right in front of him, leaning forward and putting a hand up to her ear. "I didn't quite catch what you said there,"

"What did you do to my suit?" Miguel growled, lunging forward. Lyla easily disappeared the moment his claws would have gone through her. Not that it would have done much damage to him anyway. 

"Your suit?" Lyla asked from behind him curiously. The buzzing returned, this time as something lightly crawling along his spine up to his shoulder blades. 

"ACK!" Miguel cried out, reaching behind him to no avail. "Lyla! Quit it!¿Qué está pasando?" 

"Everything alright?" 

A familiar voice asked from below Miguel's desk. The vampiric leader of the spider-men carefully leaned over the edge to see Peter B. Parker standing awkwardly below him, this time without his baby in tow. The buzzing in his suit had stopped at least, but that didn't exactly help Miguel's mood. Whatever Lyla was doing, he didn't exactly appreciate it. 

"Yes," Miguel growled, "it's fine. Do you have something to report?" 

Peter looked uncomfortable, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his bright pink bathrobe. Miguel had honestly gotten sick of seeing it, but even he knew how stubborn his fellow spider-people could be and that was not a hill he was willing to die on. Besides, there was a spider-horse around here somewhere. 

"Well, I wanted to talk to you about Miles again," Peter started. Always the same with him. Miguel rolled his eyes, not bothering to bring the platform down. 

"I've given you my answer. It's still no," Miguel said. The buzzing started again, this time around the back of his knees. It felt like light feathers lightly drifting up and down the backs of his kneecaps. He almost buckled entirely as the tickly sensations raced up his nerves and threatened to take him under. 

"I just want to check on the kid," Peter continued, completely oblivious to the struggle that Miguel was going through right now, "It's been a while and I'm just...I know he wanted to be a part of something bigger, you know? He'd do really well here and you'd like him. Well, as much as you can like anyone. You're like the only Spider-man who isn't sociable. Or funny." 

Would this guy ever shut up? It was like this every damn time this Peter Parker walked into this side of the base. Wah wah wah, my baby. Miles. Canon. 

"I-hihi--" Miguel quickly clamped his mouth shut as a giggle threatened to escape his lips. It felt like a finger was dragging up and down his armpits, just teasing him. Miguel could feel his whole body shake with the effort of keeping the laughter at bay. Even when he clamped his arms down tight against his sides, it didn't matter. 

"Is this a bad time?" Peter asked. 

"He's listening," Lyla answered for him though her voice sounded far away, as if she was right in front of Peter and completely ignoring Miguel. "He's just being a little grumpy right now,"

"Come...back...later...¡Dios mío, deja de hacerme cosquillas!" Miguel managed through gritted teeth. Something fluttered around his midsection and he fought to stay upright. 

"Is everything alright?" Peter asked and suddenly the tickling stopped. Miguel took a deep breath and cleared his throat. This was absolutely ridiculous. 

"Yes. I'm fine. I've made my position on visiting Miles Morales clear." Miguel said and peered over the edge of the platform at Peter. The Spider-Man frowned at him, looking like he wanted to say more, but then Lyla appeared by his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Miguel bristled, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment though he knew that Peter couldn't see it through the mask. 

Suddenly Peter smiled and chuckled to himself as Lyla disappeared. 

"Well, obviously you're busy, so I'll talk to you later about it," He said, turning on his heel and heading towards the exit. Miguel reached for the platform controls. 

"What did she say to you?!" Miguel growled, "Lyla?! What are you up to?"

The platform lowered, but as it did, the tickling began again. All across his stomach, his sides, his underarms and even the bottoms of his feet. Miguel couldn't help it this time. He collapsed pitifully in a fit of snickers, giggles, and huffed Spanish curses. 

"¡No ahí! Noahahahaa!" Miguel laughed on the floor of the platform, feeling the tickling buzzing around his thighs now. It was completely overwhelming though Miguel wasn't even quite sure how Lyla even knew how ticklish he was. How did she manage to get into his suit like this?! 

"¡Maldita sea, mujer! ¡Deja de hacerme cosquillas! ¡Por favor!" Miguel begged in Spanish. It seemed that his ability to speak english completely went out the window once he'd been tickled silly. 

"Say you're sorry," Lyla sighed as she floated casually above him. She smiled at him innocently. "And I'll fix your suit."

"¿Por qué carajo debería disculparme?" Miguel snapped. Apparently she could translate that as the tickling feelings drilled into his armpits again and Miguel positively squealed. He kicked his feet as the buzzing somehow managed to slide in between his toes. He was losing his mind right now. 

"¡B-bien! ¡Lo lamento! ¡Por favor deje de! AHAHAHA NO!" Miguel cackled. Lyla yawned and then shrugged her shoulders. 

"Good enough for now I guess," She said and flicked her wrist. The intense tickling stopped and Miguel gasped for breath on the floor. 

Slowly, he pulled himself together and glared at his screens now as if they were the cause of his discomfort. He waited, pulling the platform back to where it needed to be. He waited for another canon disruption or for Lyla to mess with his suit again. 

His skin crawling...with anticipation as to what would come first. 

[heartsywritesthethings]

Like Riding a Bike

Fandom: Ted Lasso

WC: 1.4k

A/N: Hello!! It's been a minute!! Sorry about that. Turns out my new job is actually insane. On the plus side, I am getting a ton of overtime lol. ANYWAY, thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this fic, prompted by anon :) Can be read as platonic or pre-relationship.

“For grandad!”

Jamie’s shout echoed across the shadows of the park, and before he knew it Jamie had Roy balanced carefully on a perfectly-legal, not-at-all-stolen, authentic Amsterdam bike.

“Alright, now head up, hips square, aaaaand… pedal!” To his credit, Jamie did not laugh when Roy seemed to fall to the side in slow motion. He didn’t. Okay, maybe his lips twitched a little bit, but Jamie could easily blame that on a muscle spasm after all the exercise he’d done that day.

“It’s alright, good lad, good lad, right back on,” Jamie cheered, channeling his Mummy when she taught him to ride a bike as a sexy little baby. Roy did not seem to appreciate the encouragement the same way baby Jamie had, pushing grown-up Jamie back with a growl as he swung his leg back over the seat.

Clearly, Roy needed some extra help. This time, Jamie planted one hand on the back of Roy’s neck, and the other steady on Roy’s waist. Roy was tense underneath his fingers, but, Jamie figured, he was entitled to a little tension when he’s facing shit from his past. Losing his Grandad really fucked him up, and Jamie wasn’t going to begrudge the man his feelings, no matter how Roy tried to choke them into submission.

“Don’t need my fucking hand held,” Roy growled, undercutting his statement when Jamie let go and Roy immediately toppled sideways. “Fuck!”

“Alright, keep your trousers on, old man,” Jamie put his hands up in the universal ‘do no harm’ gesture. “Let’s try again, come on.” 

Roy gave a long suffering sigh, rolled his eyes so far back that Jamie was pretty sure he got a good look at his own brain, and swung his leg back over.

Jamie, trying to be a good friend, lightened his touch since Roy clearly wasn’t a fan of Jamie touching him in the first place. 

If possible, Roy got even more tense. “Oi!” He barked at Jamie. “I said don’t fucking need you for balance!” He claimed, scrunching his shoulders like Jamie always did when Sam wiggled his fingers under Jamie’s chin.

Now, Jamie wasn’t what anyone would call a genius. He wasn’t really book smart; the letters moved around too much for him to want to unscramble them. Because of this, people were constantly underestimating him, at least in the brains department. Look, Jamie might not be winning the Know Bell Prize or some shit any time soon, but that didn’t mean he was stupid. He knew what it looked like when a poor sod was ticklish and doing his damned best to hide it.

Jamie bit down on his tongue to hide a mischievous smile. “Look, mate, you don’t have to like it, but you need me until you can at least get a few meters on your own, yeah? C’mon, let’s do this, old man.”

Roy grumbled what Jamie figured was an assent, and Jamie placed his hands just firm enough that it could reasonably be interpreted as keeping Roy balanced, and not as a quest to get Roy Kent to laugh. Holy shit, did Roy giggle? This was going to be so damn fun.

Under Jamie’s light touch, Roy instantly tensed back up. Jamie risked a tease. “C’mon, mate, you’re never gonna keep your balance when you’re this stiff. You gotta loosen up a little,” Jamie squeezed Roy’s neck, and was rewarded with a growl that Jamie would bet his entire trainer closet was covering up a chuckle.

“You can fuck right off if you’re gonna keep talking instead of teaching,” Roy bit out.

“Right-o, Roy-o,” Jamie said cheerfully. “Look straight ahead, not at your toes, just like football, yeah? Otherwise the only place you’re going is down.” Jamie subtly moved his hand a little higher so that it was resting on Roy’s ribs. Roy made a sound like all the air had been punched out of him.

Jamie took his hand from Roy’s neck and used it to cover his smile. God, this made all the four am training sessions more than worth it. 

Instead of putting his hand back on Roy’s neck, Jamie decided to up the ante, and wormed his fingers under Roy’s armpit.

This seemed to be the last straw for Roy, who gave a shout and buckled to the side. Jamie went down with him, figuring the jig was up, and started playing Roy’s ribs like a goddamn piano.

“Shit - fuck - you shihihiitfucker - dahahahahahammit Tahahartt!” Roy broke, low, growly giggles (giggles! This was the best day of Jamie’s life.) and tried to curl away from Jamie’s fingers.

“Awww, what’s the matter, mate? Could it be the the big, bad, Roy fucking Kent is as ticklish as a little lad?” Jamie goaded, sneaking a hand underneath Roy’s hoodie and scribbling at his stomach.

Roy tossed his head back, a forced grin on his lips. Jamie was sure if his eyes were open there would be murder in them.  “Ihihihi’m gonna fuhuhucking KIHIHILL YOU!” Roy roared, his back arching.

“Roy, mate, this is fucking golden,” Jamie crowed, his smile splitting his face. Roy thrashed hard, harder than Jame was expecting. 

Jamie knew he was on borrowed time, so he wormed both of his hands into Roy’s underarms, and he was not disappointed.

Roy Kent. Fucking. Howled.

Jamie couldn’t help but laugh along with him. “Oh my god, this is worse than I thought - mate, this is a fucking liability! How are you supposed to be ‘here, there, and every-fucking - woah!”

Quicker than Jamie could blink, Roy flipped their positions, and was looming about Jamie like a fucking werewolf. And looking at Jamie like he was a fucking steak.

“Roy, mate, it’s all in good fun, yeah? We don’t really have to -”

“Oh no, we abso-fucking-lutely have to,” Roy growled, a smile still in his voice despite the eyebrows he was giving Jamie.

That was all the warning Jamie got before Roy wrecked his shit. 

One hand went to Jamie’s hips, kneading like he was baking fucking bread or some shit. The other hand spidered over Jamie’s tummy, which was arguably worse.

“ROHOHOHOHOHOHOY,” Jamie screeched, tossing his head back, a smile splitting his face.

“Fucking what?”

“TIHIHIHIHIHICKLES.”

“I’d fucking well hope so,” Roy said, ruching up Jamie’s shirt in one smooth motion and scribbling across bare skin. “You’d better get used to this, cause we’re gonna be here for a while.”

“SHIHIHIHIHIHIHIT,” Jamie cursed, shaking his head back and forth.

“No? No, we’re not going to be here for a while? Or no, you can’t handle any more tickles? Cause I’m about to prove you wrong on both accounts,” Roy said as the hand squeezing Jamie’s hip moved down to torture his thigh instead.

Somehow, Roy’s growly voice saying ‘tickles’ made it tickle infinitely more. Jamie was no stranger to being tickled - since it was no longer ok to hit him, his teammates had to find other ways to get him to shut his mouth. But Roy was on another fucking level. And Jamie was losing his goddamn mind.

“PLEHEHEHEHEASE,” Jamie was not above begging.

“You want to see something that always gets Phoebe?”

“NOHOHOHOHOHO!”

“Too bad,” Roy said, and leaned down to blow a fucking raspberry above Jamie’s belly button.

In the tiny part of his brain that wasn’t going insane from the tortuous sensations, Jamie imagined telling his 10 year old self that one day he’d be lying down in a park in fucking Amsterdam, getting the absolute shit tickled out of him by his childhood hero. If Jamie could have laughed any harder, he would have.

“ROHOHOHOHOY,” Jamie wailed.

“You ever gonna try that shit again?”

“PROHOHOHOBABLY,” Jamie answered.

“Yeah, knew that was probably too much to ask,” Roy grumbled. “You gonna try that shit in front of anybody else?”

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO,” Jamie promised.

“Fucking sure?”

“YEHEHEHEHEHEHEHES! PLEHEHEHEASE ROHOHOY!” Jamie begged, on the verge of insanity.

“Alright,” Roy said, and finally ceased his tickling.

Jamie curled up in a ball, tugging his shirt back down. He wiped the tears from his face, still giggling.

Roy ruffled Jamie’s hair. “Come on. I’m going to ride a bike tonight even if I blow out my other fucking knee.”

All Jamie could do was groan through his giggles.

[heartsywritesthethings]

Tell the Fucking Truth

Fandom: Ted Lasso

WC: 700ish

A/N: Ok, anon requested 9 and G from this obscure media prompt list, and I KNOW that Ted Lasso isn't obscure in the slightest but nobody in this community writes for it so I am bending the rules. Enjoy!

TW for gratuitous use of the word 'fuck' and all its derivatives. Cause it's Roy fucking Kent. :)

If you made a list called, “Things About Jamie Tartt That Annoy Roy Kent,”, typed it up in Times New Roman 10 pt. font, and ordered each item of the list on top of the other, the resulting stack of paper required to contain that list would be taller than Roy himself. Probably.

The point is, there was a metric fuckton of reasons Jamie annoyed him. But the loudest, giggliest reason was currently the issue Roy was focused on.

Since the team had found out Jamie was ticklish, and since anyone with eyes could see that the arsehole was starved for physical affection, there was barely a day that went by that Jamie’s laughter didn’t echo across the pitch or the locker room. That was not Roy’s issue. Frankly, Tartt was much more palatable when he couldn’t speak for laughing. No, his issue was with the blatant, infuriating way that Tartt would deny the obvious.

“Nahahahahat even tihihihicklish!” Jamie would shriek when someone would scribble across his ribs or jam their fingers into his underarms. Like clockwork. There wasn’t a single person on the team who had gotten him to admit the truth. And, for some entirely irrational reason, it pissed Roy off.

Today was the last straw.

Tartt was literally rolling on the grass, cackling as he tried to avoid Sam’s wiggling fingers. Even though it looked like he could barely breathe, Tartt still somehow found the strength to bellow those words that made Roy want to rip his hair out.

“OI! OBISANYA!” Roy yelled as he stalked toward the two.

“Yes, Coach?” Sam asked.

“If he can still deny he’s fucking ticklish, then you obviously aren’t FUCKING doing it right!” Roy shouted, swiftly pushing Sam off Jamie and taking his place. Roy watched as panic and excitement battled for dominance in Jamie’s eyes.

“Oi, I dunno what you’re on ahabout, Coach,” Jamie declared cheekily. “Cause I’m really not even - FUHUHUHUHUHUHUCK!” Jamie threw his head back and screamed as Roy placed his hands on Jamie’s hips and squeezed.

“What was that? You got something to say?” Roy asked, teeth bared in a terrifying smile-adjacent expression.

“I’m NAHAHAHAHAT – NAHAHAHAHAT – SHIHIHIHIHIHIT!” Jamie’s smile was splitting his face so wide, and his eyes were squeezed shut. Roy scoffed. This was too fucking easy.

“You gonna admit it yet, or do I have to actually start fucking tickling you?” Roy asked.

Even as Jamie’s eyes bugged open at the threat, and even as one of Roy’s hands rose threateningly towards Jamie’s ribs, Jamie still didn’t back down. Instead, he stuck out his fucking tongue, and, well. Roy wasn’t going to stand for any disrespect.

Roy raked his blunt nails down the left side of Jamie’s rib cage as his other hand clawed at Jamie’s hip bones with renewed vigor. With both of his worst spots under attack, Jamie let out a hysterical scream-laugh that had Sam giggling from where he was still seated next to Jamie’s side.

“Admit it, and this stops,” Roy called gruffly over Jamie’s laughter.

“COHAHAHAHAHA – COAHAHA – ROHOHOHOHOHOY!” Was all Jamie could get out, but Roy knew that meant he was ready to talk. Jamie never called him by his first name.

Roy stilled his hands, but didn’t move them from Jamie’s body. “Well?”

“IHIHIHIihihihihi’m – ihihihihihi’m a lihihittle fuhuhuhuckin’ tihihihihihicklish, alrihihihght?” Jamie gasped out.

“Fucking finally,” Roy growled, heaving himself up off of the striker. Before he could think better of it, he reached out and ruffled a hand through Jamie’s hair. There. Tartt would be fine.

Sam ran a hand up and down Jamie’s arm soothingly as Roy heaved himself to his feet, satisfied. He looked around and saw that the rest of the team had apparently seen the whole thing. Which just wouldn’t do.

“What are you lot FUCKING looking at?” Roy roared, channeling some rage by picturing his sister’s ex. They all jumped and hurriedly went back to whatever bullshit drills they had been doing before the spectacle.

As Roy stalked away, he heard Sam ask, “Did you get what you wanted, my friend?”

All he got in response was a giggly hum of affirmation.

[heartsywritesthethings]

Team Bonding

Fandom: Ted Lasso; Jamie and AFC Richmond

WC: 1.5k

A/N: Here it is! I'm actually pretty proud of this one. This is a fic based on my Ted Lasso headcannons. I have such a soft spot for Jamie, I stg. Any other ted lasso prompts are welcome!

It was a few weeks after the Dubai Air protest, and Jamie was balanced on a strange tightrope of ‘not-friends-with-anyone-but-nobody-seems-to-hate-his-guts-either.’ Privately, he mused to himself that it took way less effort to just be a prick and let everyone hate him. At least then he could do and say whatever, without having to worry about how it would come across to his teammates. But since the Dubai Debacle, as Jan Maas had taken to calling it, Jamie was hyper aware of the teaspoon of goodwill he had earned with the team and was desperately trying not to lose it. 

He felt jittery and on edge, constantly keeping his body moving during training because if he was out of breath he would have to take a minute before speaking, and then he was less likely to say something stupid and mean. His face muscles were sore from all the smiling he was doing; he would be damned before he let his RBF push away the team. 

That’s why, when Roy screamed, “WHISTLE!” and Sam grabbed Jamie’s knee to hoist himself to his feet, Jamie didn’t have the energy or the presence of mind to hold back a yelp.

“Oi, you alright, boyo?” Colin asked, brows furrowed.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m fine,” Jamie said, rubbing at his knee absently. “Startled me, didn't he?”

“Really?” Sam asked, cocking his head to the side. “When you are scared, you have a tendency to lash out, my friend. Not… whatever sound you just made.”

Jamie pulled himself to his feet, hoping his blush wasn’t obvious. “Haven’t you heard, Sam? I’ve turned over a new leaf. One of eleven, an’ all that.”

Sam just hummed, looking contemplative as he, Colin, and Jamie ran towards the dulcet roars of Roy Kent.

Jamie threw himself into training, trying to run from the phantom feeling of Sam squeezing his knee. Or, more accurately, trying to run from the realization that that was the first time in a long time that someone had touched him without the intent to cause pain.

When Roy had finally screamed, “WHISTLE!” for the last time and told them to get out of his sight (Jamie personally thought the old man was going soft. That was barely a threat.), the team hit the showers. Jamie thought he felt someone’s eyes on him, so he smiled a little bigger, laughed a little louder, determined to prove that he had changed. Jamie was so focused on proving himself that he almost didn’t notice Sam until the man was right in front of him.

“Feeling ok, Jamie?” Sam asked, and Jamie was suddenly quite jealous of how niceness seemed to come so easily to him.

“Fine,” Jamie said, before realizing how curt he sounded. He cleared his throat, forcing his mouth into what he hoped was a friendly grin. “What’s up, Sam?”

“I wanted to apologize for startling you earlier,” Sam said. Jamie’s hand absently went to rub at his knee. “I did not mean to cross a boundary.”

“Don’t worry about it mate,” Jamie said, squirming. He never really knew what to do when someone apologized to him. “Didn’t cross no boundary.”

“That’s good to hear. I also wanted to ask,” Sam began, reaching down to squeeze Jamie’s knee. “Have you always been this ticklish?”

Jamie’s surprised yelp echoed around the locker room, which fell quiet. The only sound Jamie heard was the blood rushing in his ears, watching as Sam’s smile morphed into a more devious smirk. Jamie’s eyes widened as he leapt up from the bench as if he’d been electrocuted, his fight or flight kicking in with a vengeance. He didn’t get far.

“Where you going, bruv?” Isaac asked as he snagged Jamie by the elbow, bringing him into a crushing bear hug.

“L-let go, McAdoo, I swear to - shit, nohohohohohoho,” Jamie had no hope of holding in his giggles when Sam spidered over his defenseless tummy. 

“Jamie, this is quite cute,” Sam said sincerely.

Jamie felt his ears burn as he heard various sounds of teasing agreement from the rest of the team. He tried to curl in on himself to hide his blush, but Colin was suddenly at his side. “Oi, none of that, boyo,” he said as he fluttered his fingers over Jamie’s exposed neck and ears. “We want to hear you laugh.”

“Nonononono, Col, plehehehehease,” Jamie begged, squirming as much as Isaac’s iron grip allowed.

“Oh, such nice manners,” Sam teased. “Too bad they’re no help today.” Jamie’s laugh pitched higher the closer Sam’s fingers got to his belly button.

“Where else are you ticklish, Jay?” Colin asked.

“Nohohot tihihicklish!” Jamie cackled.

“Oh, really?” Sam asked, deeply amused. “What do you call this then?” He said as he squeezed Jamie’s sides mercilessly.

“AH! Cruhuhuhuel an’ unuhuhusual punihihishment,” Jamie gasped out amid giggles.

“OI!” Roy’s voice echoed in the small space. “What the actual fuck is going on in here?”

Colin and Sam stilled their fingers. “We have made a most exciting discovery about our ex- ex- teammate,” Sam explained, smiling.

“They’re killin’ me, Coach,” Jamie panted as he blinked the tears out of his eyes, unable to tamp down his smile.

Roy studied them for a long moment. “Obsianya,” he finally barked.

“Yes, Coach?”

“Try his knees.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Wait, Coach, wait, no please oh my GAHAHAHAD,” Jamie belly laughed as Sam knelt down and squeezed the muscle just above Jamie’s kneecap. Jamie took back every thought he ever had about Roy going soft - the man was a menace. Jamie couldn’t really tell, but he could have sworn he saw Roy duck his head to hide a smile.

“Your smile is very lovely, Jamie,” Sam said. “It is a pity we haven’t seen it more.”

“St-stop teasING, SAHAHAHAHAHAM,” Jamie wailed, pressing his head back onto Isaac’s shoulder as Sam found that horrible patch of skin behind his knee.

“I am quite serious,” Sam promised.

“Yeah, boyo, it’s downright adorable,” Colin grinned, crooking his fingers under Jamie’s chin to make him jerk his head back down. 

“Hey there, fellas, what’s goin’ on?” a familiar Kansian twang called out. Sam and Colin paused once again.

“Just a bit of team bonding, Coach,” Colin grinned at Lasso, who was observing the scene with a bemused expression.

“Huh,” Ted said. “Well, don’t be too long. We got a match in a few days. Need everybody in top shape, can’t have our striker be a giggly puddle of goo.”

Jamie let out a (admittedly giggly) whine of embarrassment. Lasso zeroed in on him with a smile. 

“You know, there’s one thing I do to Henry that always has him laughing like a hyena,” the coach mused. 

Jamie’s eyes widened, and he shook his head back and forth frantically, certain he wouldn’t be able to handle whatever tickly Dad tricks Lasso had up his sleeve. 

Coach clocked Jamie’s panic and chuckled to himself. “I s’pose I’ll save that for another day. Have fun, fellas,” he said as he turned back to his office.

Sam grinned wickedly, “Now, Jamie. There’s one more spot I was to try, but you’re going to have to cooperate.” He nodded to Isaac who finagled Jamie’s arms behind his back, which, Jamie realized suddenly, left his ribs perilously exposed.

“Saham, Sam, c’mon, you’ve had your fun, plehehease dohohon’t,” Jamie giggled, wide eyes glued to Sam’s fingers, which began wiggling in the air. “Aw, c’mon, mate that’s not fahahahair.”

“Why? I am not even touching you yet, Jamie. Why are you giggling? Especially if you aren’t ticklish?” Sam smiled.

“Yohohou’re - yohohohohohou’re gonnahahaha!” Jamie whined, writhing as Sam’s fingers crept closer and closer. Colin stepped behind Jamie to help Isaac hold him securely.

“Yes. I am,” Sam said, and promptly latched his fingers onto Jamie’s rib cage.

Jamie shrieked, arching his back like he’d been shocked, before going limp and cackling madly. He couldn’t form words, just shook his head back and forth as tears ran down his face. It tickled, it tickled, it tickled, and Jamie couldn’t focus on anything but the electric sensation shooting across his ribs.

After what felt like hours (but was really only moments), Sam let up, chuckling as Isaac and Colin gently lowered Jamie to the ground. With his hands free, Jamie wrapped his arms around himself, still laughing as he caught his breath. The locker room chatter resumed since the show was over. Sam sat down next to him and threw an arm around Jamie’s shoulders, giving a comforting squeeze as Jamie calmed down.

“Fuck, mate,” Jamie breathed. “That was brutal.”

“And yet,” Sam lowered his voice so that only Jamie could hear him, “You never told me to stop.”

Jamie felt his face heat back up with another blush as Sam gave him a final squeeze before standing and pulling Jamie to his feet. “Come on, Jamie Tartt. I will buy you lunch, as an apology.”

Jamie shook his head bashfully. “No apologies necessary, mate. I’m all good.”

“Fine then. I will buy you lunch, because sometimes friends buy each other lunch.”

A smile dawned across Jamie’s face as he took in Sam’s words, and he felt a weight lift off his chest. “Oh, well. That’s alright, then.”

Jamie threw an arm across Sam’s shoulders, practically skipping out to the parking lot. He made a friend! And really, it hadn’t been that hard. Just took a little team bonding.

[heartsywritesthethings]

hi bestie!!!! can you do 1 with ler!jake and lee!marc?? i feel like that might be kinda hard tho, so if it is could you do 8 or 11 with ler!jake and lee!steven??? thank you SO much i love you!!!! mwah

I’m gonna do the first one ‘cause, as you know, I’m a sucker for Lee!Marc 😈 (and I also gave you a bit of ler!Steven cause, why not?)

Ily too soooooooo much, and everybody should check their account bc *chefs kisses* they are amazing 😘😘😘

This is much longer than I intended and I don’t think the other prompts are going to be so long because I’m slowly realising it takes me a TREMENDOUS amount of time to write and I’d like all your requests to be filled as soon as possible.

Also, Marc and the concept of winning is slowly becoming a trend in these requests 😅

Warning: very very intense tickling.

1. “I’d like to see you try.”

Marc liked winning. Actually, Marc was used to winning. Having spent so much time with Steven he had the physical but also strategical advantage and he was never one to shy away from using them to get whatever he wanted or to prove his superiority.

Steven was used to this but still tried to assert himself the way he could. In fact, even if he looked very insecure, Steven knew how smart he was and liked bragging about it. He both loved seeking Marc’s approval and correcting him all the time, especially in front of Layla and, for obvious reasons, Marc hated when this occurred.

So it wasn’t unusual to see the two of them bickering, but in the end they knew Marc would be the winner since, even if he was wrong, all it took was a pinch on Steven’s sides to make him squeal and admit defeat.

That was until Jake entered the picture.

To be honest nobody was used to this new dynamic; the three of them were still a bit unfamiliar with each other and Jake was visibly uncomfortable with sentimental talks and communication in general. But they were starting to loose a bit, and very soon they all realised how stubborn and proud the man was, even more than Marc, but for some reason he decided to use this to help Steven, rather than joining forces with Marc.

Steven soon found out that there could be something more satisfying than seeing Marc struggling in front of Layla, and that was seeing him embarrassed in front of Jake.

He really felt like the youngest sibling of the three. And, Gods, he knew how to play his role.

«Marc I have no clue what you’re talking about.» he faked innocence, hiding his grin by turning around the dining table, walking towards the couch.

He actually knew what he had done. He told Marc a bunch of incorrect facts about a book he promised Layla he would read, but didn’t. Layla let him speak all the way through barely hiding her amusement until Marc started talking about aliens and she burst out laughing so loud that the entire restaurant stopped talking. Marc was so embarrassed that blush could still be seen on his cheeks when he came back home.

«You fucking know what you did man.» he knew that Steven was just having some fun and no harm was really done, but he still made him look bad in front of Layla and that was something he couldn’t stand, and so Steven needed to be taught a lesson.

«If you really wanted your facts straight than you should have read the book.» grinned him matter of factly, sitting on the couch and crossing his feet on the coffee table.

«You little shit.» when Steven opened his eyes Marc was standing right in front of him, a murderous expression on his face. «You better run man, ‘cause when I catch you you’re gonna pay for this.»

Steven was already on his feet when a low voice startled both of them.

«I don’t think so.» Jake materialised from the hall, staring Marc with a straight face.

«This doesn’t concern you, this is between me and Steven.»

«You are wrong.» when Marc turned Jake was much closer than before, standing just a few inches away from him. He winced, not expecting the proximity.

«He made me look like an idiot in front of Layla, and he was full aware of that.» facing Steven he could now see his satisfied smile.

«From what I hear.» he circled the man, watching him like a hunter would if they were standing in front of their prey. Marc suddenly felt nervous, as his heart pounded a bit faster in his chest. «You’re the one who messed up. If Steven outsmarted you, that’s your fault.»

«Ah! You hear him Marc? I outsmarted you! How does it feel to be outsmarted?» Steven gloated, thrilled with the way things were going. Jake glanced at him reproachfully.

«Don’t push it.»

«Sorry.»

«He didn’t outsmart me. He just enjoys it when Layla makes fun of me.»

Steven widely grinned, hiding behind Jake while a small giggle left his mouth.

Marc tensed. «That’s it! I’m gonna kill you.» but before he could attack, Jake tackled him on the floor, face on the carpet and hands trapped under his knees. From what he could see Steven was beaming with amusement.

«Now now.» Marc squirmed, starting to realise what was going to happen «Is that how we talk to Steven?» said man crouched in front of them and tilted his head.

«Is it?» he asked with his innocent accent that was making Marc boil with anger.

«The instant you let me go you’re a dead man.» Jake grinned at the threat, his idea of going “easy” - as easy as he could go with someone - fading in front of his face.

«I’d like to see you try» he positioned his hands on Marc’s ribs, causing him to jump, and leaned next to his ear. His whispering words made the man shiver «Are you going to apologise?»

Marc pondered his choice but, as previously said, he wasn’t used to lose a fight, so instead of backing off he spitted: «Fuck off.»

«Mejor así.»

And Jake attacked.

Marc was tough, it wasn’t as easy as Steven to break, you really had to work your way to extort laughter out of him. But Jake loved a challenge. This wasn’t the first time he tickled Marc, but it usually were just the two of them in a weird and not well defined moment between midnight and the sunrise. A secret moment of bonding where words - something so hard for both of them - felt useless and the two of them sat silently together. But when words did occur, they poured out of their mouth as quickly as alcohol poured in. That’s when tickling would happen, usually as a form of relaxation after realising how much they had shared and wanted to lose tension. Or to be more precise, when Jake could see Marc uncomfortable and did not know any other way to distract him.

Marc’s ribs were very ticklish, they were one of his worst spots and Jake was full aware of that, that’s why they were his first target.

He pinched every rib from the bottom to the top, feeling the muscles tremble under his skin as a grin graced the man’s lips. But Marc was stubborn and he would probably pass out rather than start laughing.

Unless.

«Steven. Tease him.»

Steven blushed at the straightforward question. He knew that Jake did not like to go around and asked exactly what he wanted, but still he didn’t expect it.

«What?»

«You want him to apologise? You have to break him. You want to break him? Tease him.»

«Man what t- the fu-» he gasped as Jake pressed his highest rib, squeezing his eyes and focusing all his attention on his self control.

Steven grinned, accepting Jake’s assignment.

«You don’t look so tough now Mark uh? You’re looking pretty tickled pink» Jake rolled his eyes at the terrible pun and massaged Marc’s top ribs more fiercely now, sure that he would break soon. They all knew that he couldn’t handle Steven’s teases, since they were much more wholesome than Jake could ever think of.

Marc’s smile trembled. He wanted to tell Steven how stupid it was, but he was sure laughter would pour out of his mouth as soon as he opened it so opted for a stern look.

«Oh do not look at me like that. You liked it. Juuuust as much as you like all of this.»

«S-shuh-» he gasped feeling Jake’s hands on his lowest ribs now.

«What do you mean Steve?»

«What I mean is» Steven giggled and sat cross legger in front of Marc’s head, fluttering his fingers on his ears, making him finally break in a fit of loud and boisterous laughter «that Marc enjoys all this love and attention he’s receiving.»

«SHUHUHUT UHUHUHUP DOHOHOHOHONT SAAHHAHAHAHY IHIHIHIHIHIT»

Jake grinned. Now that Marc was laughing he could be a little gentler, so not to get him tired right away and torment him longer.

He readjusted his position on Marc and raised his arms, asking Steven to keep them still.

«I’d like to hear more about this.»

«Nohohoho yohohohu dohohohon’t I sweehehehahahahr Stehehehveehehehn» but Steven was safe - for now - and loved embarrass him.

«Marc loooves when being tickled. Aww look at you soo blushy and cutey.» he cooed strengthening his hold on Marc’s wrists when he felt him struggle more.

«Nohohot trueheheeh»

Jake stared at his victim, analysing his next move. Than he put his hands on Marc’s forearms, happy he was wearing a t-shirt so his skin was very well exposed.

He let his nails scratch the tender skin of his arms, travelling slowly towards his underarms.

Marc exploded in a fit of giggles, drumming his feet on the floor, the sensation of helplessness making him going crazy. Tingles ran across his arms making him shiver.

When Jake reached his elbows he squealed «OHOHOHOH MYHYHYYY GOHOHOHOD» he hiccuped squeezing his eyes. The worst part was that he really was loving this. He wasn’t even trying hard to escape, he was just letting the feeling of Jake’s finger sink in his skin. He knew that soon he would reach his underarms and he could already feel him there.

«Ohoho my Gohohod Marc are you okay?» Steven checked him with a loving expression on his face.

«You look like a red balloon ready to pop.»

«SUHUHUUUT UHUHUHUHUP» he yelled in embarrassment.

Jake sighed at Marc’s bad behaviour and decided to hit his worst spot right away, bored by the building up.

When his fingers touched Marc’s underarms he screamed, startling Steven who lost his grip. It took Marc a minute to realise he could lower his arms, but when he tried to, Steven’s hands were again on his wrists, now struggling to keep him still.

«LEHEHEHEHEHEHT MEHEHEHEHEH GOHOHOHO» he snorted and pulled his hands again, making Steven huff.

«Stop moving so much we’re truing to tickle you here.» Marc bursted out laughing again, stronger, squirming under them both.

Jake got an idea. He gestured at Steven to let him go and gave him more space to move.

Marc immediately curled up in a fetal position giggling and hiding himself, gasping air very similarly to Gus in his fish tank.

«Now, you can choose to apologise to Steven. Or we can keep going. The choice is on you.»

Jake despite what it might look like was a very calm person, almost meticulous in everything he did. He had strategies forming in his head every second of his life and knew his opponent’s weaknesses. And Marc was a proud man.

«Nehehehvehehehehr.» a proud man who was actually enjoying this. He made a note in his head to use this newfound information.

«Well Marc, than I think you’re leaving us no choice other than continue tickling you.» he grabbed his sides and, while squeezing them, he made Marc sit between his legs.

«Nohoho»

«Aww, but you like it so much!» Marc tried launching himself towards Steven, but was quickly stopped by Jakes hands that travelled from his sides to his underarms.

«Please behave. You don’t want to know what happens if you don’t.» even Steven shivered at his words.

«Now, Steven could you please have the honour?»

Marc shook his head and tried curling himself, but Steven sat on his legs, exposing his upper body in a very vulnerable way. Jake caught his hands and held them behind Marc’s back, making him completely helpless.

«Stehehevehehehn. Dohohont dohohoho thihis.» Steven tilted his head and grinned.

«You could have read that stupid book.» and he scribbled his fingers on his belly, making Marc giggle so softly that even Jake’s heart melted a bit.

Only a bit though. He still had a mission. «Steven you have to do more than that if you want him to learn his lesson.»

Steven thought about it and then he lit up, making Marc nervous. «I know what to do!»

He grinned and pulled Marc’s body a little closer, so that he was leaning a bit and his belly was stretched. His t-shirt rose up a bit and Marc realised what was about to happen.

«DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE STEVEN IHIHIHIHIHIHI-» Jake scribbled his ribs with one hand.

«Steven show me please.»

Steven exposed Marc’s stomach removing the fabric from his skin and grinned. «You alway do this to me. I wonder how it will work against you.»

And he blew a raspberry on his navel, making Marc laugh again, loud and freely. The feeling so strong he was loosing his breath.

After a couple of raspberries Jake could feel Marc ‘s laughter tired, but he knew he needed just something else to finally make him admit defeat.

«You know what Steven? I think Marc does this to you because your belly is very ticklish.» Steven blushed and squirmed a bit in his place.

«But I think Marc is more ticklish somewhere else.»

«Nohohoho guhuhuys.» he chuckled low, his voice a bit hoarse by all the laughing.

«I’m gonna take it from here.» he raised one of Marc’s hands, letting go of the other: he knew Marc couldn’t escape him anyway. He then made him lean a bit more on one side, exposing the other.

While raising his shirt to expose his ribs Marc started shouting incoherent words between fits of laughter.

«NONONO IHIHI- LEHEHET MEHEHE GOHO.»

«Are you apologising?» Marc only stared at him. Jake could see his eyes watery and shining. He guessed this would be the moment he’d apologise, but Steven was right, this was something he liked and enjoyed.

Well better give him what he wanted then.

«Okay»

Steven screamed under his hold, as he blew a massive raspberry on his ribs, right on his highest one, very close to his underarm. He squirmed and tried to push him away with his other arm but he could not escape. So he threw his head back and let a steam of tired and happy laugh leave his body.

Jake blew another one and then nibbled at the place - something he had never done but soon realised he was very good at since Marc started snorting. And not just once. Every few seconds a snort would escape Marc’s control making him blush even harder.

Marc lost all his strength and collapsed on Jake’s body, letting himself be tickled without trying to stop it. Jake soon realised that he was finally exhausted and retreated, leaving only one hand on his exposed side. The touch made Marc jerk.

«Are you sorry?»

Marc nodded «Yehehehes» he whispered between giggles.

«Now tell us who the winner of this argument is.»

«Yohoh-youhu, yohou ahahareheh thehe winnehehr.»

«Wrong answer. I wasn’t part of your argument amigo.» he scribbled on the exposed underarm and Marc was now sure he was going mad. He snorted again.

«WhahahAHAHAHAT.»

«He’s talking about me mate.» Steven sweetly said, a bit concernedabout Marc’s state as Jake’s fingers scratched at his armpit without relenting.

«OHOHOHMYHY GOHOAHAHAD PLEHEHEHAHAHAHSEHEHE IM SOHOHORRYHYHYHY STEHEHEHEEHEVEHEHEHEN YOHOHOHU WHEHEHEHRHEHEHE RIGHT YOHOHOUHUHU WIHIHIHIN JUHUHUHUST STOHOHOPSTOHOHP.»

Jake grinned and let Marc go. The man curled up again and wheezed, trying to shake away the feeling, so overwhelmed that when Steven caressed his head he squealed.

«Mate that was brutal.»

Jake raised his eyebrows «You think so?»

Steven decided that it was better to shut up and to take care of Marc, whose condition were very poor.

«Ihihihim nehehehev ahahaskihihihing yohohou ahahanything ahahagahahaihin.»

Both Jake and Steven laughed at that.

«Next time read.» Steven declared chortling.

«And don’t be a sore loser.» Jake intimidatingly said, wiggling his fingers in the air.

Marc could not stop giggling for the next fifteen minutes.

[heartsywritesthethings]

OH MY GOSH

GUYS-

I’M FUCKING SCREAMING

OSCAR HAS TICKLISH EARS IDJDIDBDISJDIS

Y’ALL I AM UNWELL I AM IN LOVE

[heartsywritesthethings]

Since headcanon requests are open, Imma be a bit bold.

What are your thoughts for the Upper Moon demons?

*rolls up sleeves* The time has come! I've gotcha covered, friend! :3

(I hope it's okay I added a few lower moons in the mix- some of the upper moons I just couldn't think of headcanons for!)

~Spoilers Under The Cut For Nagamoto Mountain Arc (Ch. 28-44/Eps. 15-21), Mugan Train Arc (Ch. 54-69/Movie/Ep. 27-34), District Arc (Ch. 70-99/Ep. 34-44) , and the Infinity Castle Arc (Ch.137-183)~

(Also: Trigger warning for Blood/Gore regarding one of the demon’s gifs!)

~Lower Moons~

Rui (Lower Moon 5)

- My favorite demon- I can't deny it! So Rui doesn't really get tickled- even before he was a demon he rarely got tickles due to his parents worrying over his frail health. It's not until Douma randomly decides to be a reckless idiot during a group meeting where he realizes he's actually rather ticklish! His belly, neck, back and hands are all good spots to tickle! His laugh is rather sweet sounding and childlike- bubbly and soft, with a hint of hiccups at the end of each note! If he trusts you enough, he'll crawl into your lap demanding tickles. They make him feel closer to his "family". That said, if your not someone on the "can tickle" list- prepare to be ripped apart by his threads. So far the only one who dares to try is Douma (and by extension- Daki) but he lets his older sister do it from time to time.

Enmu (Lower Moon 1)

- Dream demon! Like Rui, Enmu doesn't get tickles alot. They don't really participate in tickle fights when they break out, and if one (Douma) tries to tickle them, they'll put them under a dream state. In the rare instances that Enmu does decide to participate, they're dangerous! Between enveloping their target in a dream of feathers to releasing their hands to cause mayhem, Enmu's got a rather devious set of ler skills! As for themself, they're ticklish under their arms and hips! They also have ticklish legs, so thats another good spot to go for! Their laugh is really dreamy and giggly, full of poetic dialogue as they tease their tickler back through the laughs!

~Upper Moons~

Daki (Upper Moon 6)

-Queen! I loved her in the District arc! Unlike the previous demons, I feel like Daki gets into plenty of tickle fights- mainly with Gyutaro, Douma and Rui. She's really fast on her feet, not holding back when she discovers a new tickle spot on her victims. She's a mean teaser, using everything from baby talk to fake out tickles to drive them mad with giggles, playfully cooing about how cute they are and how she could do this all day! Her own tickle spot his her neck and ears- it's incredibly sensitive from the amount of times she gets it cut off. Her laugh is witchy and shriek like- but also oddly endearing. She'll break your wrists if you try to tickle her though- so keep that in mind.

Gyutaro (Upper Moon 6)

- Like Daki, Gyutaro tends to get into alot of tickle fights. However, unlike his sister: he's more often the target of them. His ribs and stomach are rather ticklish, and are more sensitive to lighter tickles. (Rough ones tend to hurt) Like his sister, he also has a witchy, shrieky laugh, but his is deeper and full of curses and swears of death upon the tickler (Douma- he's a regular in these kinds of things). He'll fight you tooth and nail, so be careful if you choose to tickle this man! As a ler, he only ever tickles Daki, giving her neck a few quick scribbles if she's crying or upset. His touch is surprisingly gentle compared to his fighting style. If it's someone else being tickled, he'll pin them down so Daki can do her thing.

Akaza (Upper Moon 3)

- I shouldn’t like him as much as I do grr! The most ticklish of the demons, change my mind. His reactions to tickles are too funny not to try! Akaza is the type that if you start tickling him, he’ll break out every move he knows in battle as a reflex. He has a loud, bursting laugh that dances through the air when tickled, and- like Gyutaro: He’ll curse you out and swear vengeance on you if you dare tickle him. His worst spots are his chest and stomach, so ribs, abs, hips- his entire torso will send him flailing. He’s also got ticklish arms- gentle squeezes on his biceps make him giggle like a baby! As a ler, he only tickles back if he likes you, otherwise you’ll get chopped. When returning the favor he’ll gather up his victims in his arms and poke at every spot he can reach until their on the floor giggling like mad. Be prepared to go to war with him.

Douma (Upper Moon 2)

- Trash. Jokes aside- Douma’s the resident tickle demon within the Kizuki. He loves chaos, and if he can bring just a smidge of it to the demons around him, why not? He makes it his life mission to find everyone’s tickle spots, and for the most part has been successful! His favorite victims are Akaza and Rui, but he’ll target Kokushibo if he’s feeling extra bold that day. (Most times when he does tickle the others, he gets torn to pieces- literally. Koku’s the only one he can safely get away from- for now.) Like Daki, he’s quick on his feet and has a rather devious set of fingers for maximum tickling! He’s mastered the poke and go technique, getting the maximum amount of giggles from his targets before darting away. He himself isn’t very ticklish- his only bad spots are his feet and waist, but he can easily fake a reaction if someone tries to tickle him and he’s in a good mood. His laugh is airy yet deep, and rather charming to listen to!

Kokushibo (Upper Moon 1)

- Ah, Koku! He makes my head dizzy with all those eyes When he was human, he and Yoriichi would get into tickle fights alot before his brother was sent away. Since then the only one who tickles him occasionally is Douma. He’s not very ticklish- most times he can power through and ignore the familiar feeling, but if he’s feeling nostalgic in that point of time, he’ll give in. He’s ticklish in the usual places: along his ribs, under his arms, even his knees are sensitive. He also has ticklish shoulder blades! His laugh is breathy and soft, almost inaudible to the human ears. He never fights back in tickle attacks- opting to just let it happen. If he does choose to tickle back, he keeps it incredibly soft and gentle, finding your most ticklish spots in seconds but never going overboard with it. He’s surprisingly comforting with them!

I hope these were good!

[heartsywritesthethings]

everyone needs their birthday tickles

“why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?!”

“behehecause i-i dihidn’t wahahant attention- rehehengoku, plehehease!”

giyuu let out an embarrassing squeal when rengoku’s fingers suddenly began kneading at his sides. he kicked his legs up, wiggling his body as best as he could but the taller hashira had him pinned as he comfortably sat on the back of his thighs, tickling away at his sensitive spots.

“didn’t want attention?!” rengoku laughed, pinching at giyuu’s bottom set of ribs and earning a cackle. “you’re supposed to get attention on your birthday! how else are people supposed to give you your birthday tickles, anyway?”

“thehehey dohohon’t!” giyuu protested, pressing his elbows against his sides. “rehehengohoku!”

giyuu whined when he realized rengoku was going to continue tickling him. this was almost entirely why he didn’t tell rengoku it was his birthday - he knew he would tickle him exactly like this. he already did it to sanemi and obanai. there was no reason that rengoku would spare giyuu if he already went after those two on their birthdays.

it wasn’t like he hated being tickled… it was just never something he could get used to even if he was tickled a lot in the past. it was embarrassing how ticklish he was. and rengoku was oddly really good at tickling people and loved to do it. so when the flame hashira found out it was his birthday and immediately went to pin him down claiming he must give him his birthday tickles, giyuu knew his struggling would be futile.

“no birthday tickles?” rengoku laughed, climbing higher and higher up giyuu’s ribcage. “nonsense. everyone needs their birthday tickles! even you, giyuu!”

“ihit’s fihihine if i dohon’t- wahaha!”

giyuu’s protests were cut off when he felt rengoku’s fingers suddenly plunge under his arms. in his attempt to pull himself out from under the tickle monster, he had brought his arms away from his body, giving rengoku the opportunity to get at his underarms. and it tickled way more than he was expecting it to. has he always been this ticklish here?

“why dohoes it tihihickle sohoho much?!” giyuu cackled, trying to curl into himself, no longer concerned about how embarrassing it was.

“maybe because you’re really ticklish, giyuu,” rengoku laughed again. “you know people are more ticklish on their birthday, right?”

“thahahat’s nohohot true!” giyuu squealed, feeling his face begin to burn.

“are you calling me a liar?” rengoku asked playfully. “you know i could always go for your neck.”

“nohoho! i’m sohohohorry!” giyuu apologized. “ohoho, my gohod, plehehease!”

“alright, alright. i guess you deserve a little break,” rengoku said, pulling his hands away and getting off of giyuu.

giyuu didn’t even bother questioning the “break” comment, choosing instead to focus on his breathing and wrapping his arms around himself. the ghostly tickles still licking at his body as he tried to stop his leftover giggles. rengoku rubbed his back as he calmed himself down, laughing at the mess in front of him.

giyuu could still feel his embarrassment burning at his cheeks but with how jolly rengoku was about it, he figured it wasn’t that bad if rengoku was the one tickling him. though… that idea was short lived when the door opened.

“oh, what happened here?” mitsuri asked with a smile.

before giyuu could try to come up with a quick excuse, rengoku boomed, causing giyuu to nearly shriek in embarrassment.

“we’re giving giyuu his birthday tickles!”

“oh, we are?!” mitsuri gasped in excitement, quickly making her way to the duo.

“wait! no- wahahait!”

a/n: maybe it’s a little biased and ooc but i want him to be babied okay let me live and give him his birthday tickles !!

[heartsywritesthethings]

Hmmm am I considering writing something for the first time in 5 years purely because I wanna write about akaza and rengoku???

Yeah. Yeah I am

[heartsywritesthethings]

Pups At Heart

AN: FINALLY after months of this sitting around in my wips, I finished it! I just need all the witcher bros to be a lil goofy & silly, they have earned the right. Please enjoy this funny lil fic where our favorite wolves have a drunk tickle fight.

Winter on the continent was harsh and bitter, offering little reprieve for any poor soul stuck in its grasp. Contracts were few and far between, the monsters having enough sense to bed down for the time being. And towns were already none too keen on the prospect of a witcher staying at their inn, much less for an extended amount of time. Camping was absolutely out of the question. There really was no other option than to head to their old keep.

The trek to Kaer Morhen was difficult and tiring at best and cruel and unforgiving at worst. But the warm fire and homemade liquor made it worth it.

These cold months weren't easy for any of them. They had to constantly keep up with the maintenance of the old castle and train near daily to ensure they would be ready for their next hunt, whenever that may be. Witchers were restless. They were used to being on the move, and could be irritable when forced to stay in one place. Especially when they all intentionally got on each other's nerves. But Geralt wouldn't have it any other way, and he knew they wouldn't either.

They were sitting in the dining hall, merrily drinking and exchanging stories. Vesemir had retired earlier that evening, leaving the three wolves alone to their shenanigans.

"I'm too old to watch all the dumb shit I know you're gonna get into," he had claimed. "So get it all out while I'm not there to witness it." He didn't have to tell them twice. As soon as the coast was clear, Lambert's grin turned absolutely feral.

"Now that he's gone, the real Vesemir can come out!" he exclaimed and dashed out of the room. Eskel cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled after him.

"Damnit not that bullshit again! It's not even funny!"

From down the hall they heard the echoing reply. "It's hilarious and you know it!" Geralt chuckled while Eskel shook his head in defeat. He grabbed his mug and pulled it closer to himself.

"Ugh, I'm not drunk enough to laugh at his dumb jokes," he said, taking a gulp.

"Drink up then, he'll be back soon."

"Unfortunately." But the small turn of his lips said differently. When he returned, Lambert stood in the doorway with a flourish. The hat sat atop his head a bit crooked, and for some damn reason, he had a fur blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.

"Behold! The one and only Vesemir!" he slurred out, leaning against the doorframe. Eskel looked over his shoulder, and upon seeing him spewed out his ale.

"You look fucking ridiculous," he said, wiping his mouth. Lambert didn't walk, he sauntered over to them. Geralt raised a brow and Eskel had to look away, shoulders shaking with repressed laughter. Lambert leaned in over the table, fixing him with a glare from beneath the brim of his hat.

"Now is that any way to talk to your elders?" he asked.

"I don't know. Seeing as your the youngest I think you should answer that," Geralt said smugly. Lambert flipped him off.

"Birds don't fly indoors," Geralt replied with a smirk. Lambert's face scrunched in confusion, looked at his hand, then a wave of realization washed over him.

"Oooh. Hehe, that's funny, I'll have to remember that. Birds don't fly indoors. You're so funny Geralt," he rambled as he shrugged off the blanket. He then threw it over both of their heads, earning himself a few yelled out curses and protests. Eskel ripped off the blanket and chucked it on the floor. Geralt snatched the hat from his head, and Lambert whined as he reached for it. Geralt held him at bay with a hand at his chest, the other arm outstretched and gripping the hat. Eskel plucked it from his hands and plopped it on his own head.

"There, now I'm Vesemir. And Vesemir says no more Vesemirs. So pft," he finished by blowing a raspberry at Lambert. Said man stuck his tongue out and blew one back. Not wanting to feel left out, Geralt stuck his own tongue out and blew. They kept this up for a full minute before dissolving into laughter. Eskel tried to continue, but he was smiling so much that his lips couldn't form the sound. This only made him laugh harder and he rested his head on his arm.

"This is fun. I'm glad we still know how to have fun like this," Geralt mused. He got two cheers of drunken agreement.

"Hell yeah we're still fun! We stay young for like, ever. That means we're always gonna have fun like this!" Lambert reasoned. "But I will say you two have really mellowed out in old age. I mean, where's that spark of mischief from when we were kids?"

"It's called growing up," Geralt said.

"Well that's stupid," Lambert deadpanned.

"Well you clearly haven't done it," Eskel quipped, downing his ale. Lambert had just finished his own pint and was pouring himself some more.

"Hey! I have tOo!" he yelled, voice cracking ever so slightly at the end. He prayed they hadn't noticed. Like he would be so lucky.

"TOo?" Eskel mocked as he and Geralt both laughed at his expense. Yeah that was about right. Lambert slammed a hand on the table.

"QuIt damnit!" he ordered, but the drunker he got, the less control he had over his voice.

"He did it again!" Geralt cheered and raised his glass in victory. Eskel raised his own and clinked it against his.

"Oh you assholes." Eskel grabbed Lambert's arm that held his tankard and forced him to join the cheers. Lamber yanked his arm back, the ale sloshing in the cup.

"Don't fucking- make me cheers at my own expense."

"I can and I did," Eskel bragged.

"That's it. Fight me!" Lambert demanded. Eskel rolled his eyes. "I'm not gonna fight you, just get over it."

"Nooooo," Lambert whined. "I need to fight you. Or Geralt. Just someone. I'm all, what's that word? Oh, hyper! I'm hyper and I'm gonna fight you!" he exclaimed.

"You gonna cheat like when you were little?" he asked, taking another drink. Geralt and Lambert did the same.

"Hey I didn't cheat, I used different strategies!" Lambert defended.

"Whatever, I'm still not gonna fight you."

"I bet I can make you fight me without even having to talk," he wagered. Geralt shifted in his seat, tilting his head.

"That I'd like to see," he mused. "Maybe then you'll finally shut up."

"Oh ha ha."

Eskel shrugged, "Sorry, but it won't work. I'm too mature to fall for your childish provocations." He was only half joking. Or so he thought.

Lambert made a show of dredging up a loogie before spitting directly in Eskel's face. Geralt burst out laughing as Eskel wiped it off before immediately pouncing. They tussled on the ground for a bit, slapping and punching. Lambert tugged on his hair and Eskel held him in a headlock, scrubbing his knuckles into his scalp. Lambert managed to bite his hand, making him recoil with a small yelp.

"Oh you dirty ass cheater. Well two can play at that game!" He jumped on him, wrapping his legs around his waist so he couldn't escape as he hugged him to his chest. His fingers dug into Lambert's ribs, wiggling between the bones.

"FUCK DON'T!" Lambert cried, trying and failing to hold back his laughter. He curled in on himself as much as he could in his hold, "Youhuhu bihihitch!"

"Oh so it wasn't cheating when you'd do this to us, but as soon as the tables are turned you can't take it?" Eskel asked, not letting up. Lambert squirmed and thrashed in his arms, desperate for any sort of relief. "If I remember correctly your stomach was pretty bad."

"Dohohon't you dahahare!" Lambert cried.

"Hey Eskel, I dare you," Geralt piped up from his seat. That was all the incentive he needed. He started out light and teasing, delivering fast pokes all over his belly. Lambert's laugh went up a few octaves and his face scrunched adorably. His hands swatted at the offending appendages weakly. His laughter melted into hiccupy giggles as Eskel began tracing a spiral leading to his bellybutton.

"Plehehehease nohoho," he pleaded. Eskel smirked down at him.

"Why not? Is your tummy too ticklish?" he teased. Lambert smacked a hand over his face as his giggles ramped up in intensity.

"Dohohohon't fuhucking say thahat!"

"Why? 'Cause it's true?" Geralt asked around his mug, taking another drink. He was very much enjoying the show.

"SHUHUT UP DIHIHICK!" he yelled out just as he drilled into his bellybutton. Eskel chuckled as he removed Lambert's hand from his face and shifted so that his arms were now pinned at his sides.

"Hey Lambert, remember this?" he asked, forming his hand into a claw. He stretched his fingers out before bending them back in, repeating the motion as his hand got closer to his stomach. Lambert's eyes went wide and his struggling doubled. He giggled in anticipation, legs kicking out and scrambling for purchase but only succeeded in pushing him closer to his captor.

"Fuck fuck fuck Eskel not the claw! You cahahan't do this to mehehe!" He tried to suck in his stomach, but that wretched hand kept moving closer.

"Gotcha!" Eskel exclaimed as he made contact, vibrating his whole hand on his stomach as his fingers scratched and dug into the soft muscle. Lambert literally screamed before falling into hysterics; the sensation along with the build up was too much. He turned limp in Eskel's arms, losing the strength to fight him off. Not that he had been trying very hard before.

Lambert had a funny laugh. It was high pitched and full of joy, something you wouldn't expect from the hot headed witcher. It was just a happy sound, one you couldn't help but to smile when hearing it. Loud, frantic, and infectious. Full of squeals and hiccups that embarrassed him to no end. Perhaps a bit on the squeaky side, and could even be shrill at times. Geralt and Eskel always commented on just how cute it was just to see him get all huffy and defensive. Lambert hated it.

Lambert looked at Geralt with pleading eyes.

"Geheheralt! Hehehelp please!"

"Less talking more laughing," Eskel said with a pinch to his side, drawing out another squeak. Geralt smirked to himself, standing up and stretched before stumbling over to the two of them. He plopped on the floor heavily, sitting by their side. He rested his chin in his hands, watching with a lazy drunken smile.

"I'll help, but I want some fun first," he admitted.

"Oh you bahahastard traitor!" he yelled. Geralt scooted down by his thrashing legs, grabbing them in a headlock. Lambert knew where this was going and tried to kick out with all his might. Geralt managed to slip off his boots and skittered his fingers along the socked souls.

"You ahahassholes! You'll regrehet thihihis!" he threatened, though he didn't sound too scary. Geralt smirked as he raked his nails down his soles. Eskel made eye contact with him before rolling his eyes. "Sure we will, Squeaky."

"Yeah I'm really shaking in my boots," Geralt teased, wiggling a few of his toes gently. Lambert threw his head back, practically howling. They kept it up for about another minute or two before finally releasing him.

"Oh you bastards are so in for it," he growled as he began to regain his breath. Eskel only smirked.

"Whatever you say," he said, making to stand. Lambert recovered surprisingly quick, jolting up right so he could swipe Eskel's feet out from over him with his legs. He tripped with a short yell, landing right in Lambert's lap. Geralt blinked in shock at how fast it happened, an impressed snort huffing out of his nose.

Lambert chuckled evilly as Eskel tried to fight his way out of his grip. He pushed at the arms around his waist, legs kicking out for purchase against something. "Let's see how you like it, shall we?" he teased, squeezing at the spot at the back of his neck that made him howl. And howl he did.

Eskel had a deep, almost calm laugh but his reactions let you know just how frantic he was. It was such a bright sound, one that filled you with warmth. The scar on his right side curled his lip upward, making his smile seem wider and a bit lopsided. Goofy wasn't how you'd typically describe Eskel, but then again, he wasn't usually laughing underneath his brothers' hands.

"Ihihi'll fuckin' kihihill you!" he threatened through his laughter. His neck was scrunched, trying to block Lambert's fingers. The other rolled his eyes.

"I'd like to see you try in this state," he teased. Out of the three of them, Eskel was the worst about thrashing. His elbows flew out every which way as Lambert moved down to his sides. He looked at Geralt expectantly. "Little help here?" Geralt shook his head fondly, a few chuckles slipping out.

"How could I resist an offer like that?" As much as he tried to act tough and like he was above it all, they both knew that Eskel loved this as much as them. It was all in his eyes, a spark of excitement that only came out when they played like this. But he had to play along, had to keep up his image as the respectable, composed older brother, so his feet kicked out at Geralt.

"Dohohon't!" he cried out. Lambert's eyes flashed with evil mischief.

"Don't what?" he asked, setting the trap. Waiting for him to take the bait.

"Tihihickle mehehe!" Eskel was smart, but he could really be stupid. His eyes widened as he realized he fell right into his trap. Lambert leaned in, grin wider than it's ever been, at least to Eskel's recollection. "If you insist," he said, squeezing his hips to make him buck more. "Fuhuck you, you knohohow I dihihidn't mean thahat!"

"If you didn't mean it why'd you say it?" Geralt joined in on the teasing. He leaned in closer, wearing a cocky, smug ass grin on his face, head tilted to the side. His hair was disheveled in his drunken state and hung over his shoulders as he looked down at him. Even while laughing his head off, Eskel noticed how he was more playful than usual, even when he wasn't drunk. He joined in on their teasing and jokes, and wasn't afraid to get involved in their brotherly antics. It had to be because of that bard of his, he decided. He's more like he was before Blaviken. If he wasn't completely losing his mind, he would've commented on it. Oh well, he would just have to wait for Geralt's turn.

Despite what rumors said, witchers actually can blush, it just takes a lot more embarrassment before it shows. It was like how some ignorant people believed they couldn't get drunk. It just requires a bit more effort before it becomes noticeable. And Eskel always had the misfortune of being the most easily flustered out of the three of them.

"Aw there's those adorable cherry cheeks," Lambert teased, pinching his cheek with one hand before moving to let his fingers scratch at the spot just behind his ear.

"Shuhuhut uhuhup!" he retorted, scrunching his neck and trying to protect his ear. Geralt chuckled at him, squeezing up his calves. Eskel snorted loudly, tugging on his trapped legs.

"That's right, you always were a snorter, weren't you?" Geralt taunted, hands clawing closer to the backs of his knees. His legs immediately curled in on themselves as a weak form of protection. Eskel shoved at Lambert's other hand that scratched over his ribs, allowing Geralt to uncurl his legs. He squirmed in their grasp, reduced to a giggly heap.

"I-I ahaham nohot!" he denied. Geralt arched a brow skeptically, raking blunt nails down the backs of his knees to draw out another snort. Eskel turned a shade darker, bringing one hand up to hide his face.

"Oh but you are," Lambert cooed condescendingly. He leaned in to scratch his beard against his neck, making him shriek. He fell into a stream of deep chuckles, reaching up to shove him away by the face.

"You're ahahan ahahass," he giggled, slumping away from Lambert's hold and onto the ground in an attempt to scramble away. He would've made it too, if Geralt hadn't drug him back by the ankles. They both grabbed his arms, keeping them pinned at his sides. Geralt immediately started scribbling his fingers over his knees.

Eskel snorted as his legs jerked out, kicking around aimlessly. Lambert stared down at him with an evil grin, holding his own hand in the form of that dreaded claw.

"Hey Eskel, remember this?" he asked, lowering his hand and flexing his fingers in and out.

"Fuck you!" he barked out between fits of laughter. Lambert shook his head and tsked.

"And here I thought you were the one with manners," he teased. His hand dove down, vibrating and wiggling into his abs.

"Knock ihihit ohohoff! Plehease!" he pleaded through hysterics. Geralt cocked his head and hummed in consideration, but continued to knead his thighs. "What do you think? Should he get mercy?" Despite the taunt, his voice was softer and he started to slow down to let him catch his breath.

"Yeah, he did say please," Lambert said, coming to a stop and let him go. As Eskel recovered from such an ordeal, Geralt stood and headed towards his seat... As if he thought he could just get away with turning on both of them in a tickle fight and leave scott free.

"Where do you think you're going?" Eskel asked from his spot on the floor, sitting upright. Lambert smirked, reaching out to tug Geralt back by his wrist.

"Yeah, it's your turn now, pal," he growled, grabbing him in a headlock as he took him down to the floor. Geralt barely had time to breathe out, "What the fuck?" before Eskel pinned his legs. Lambert grabbed up his wrists and tucked them under his own knees, leaving Geralt stretched out.

"Would... apologizing help my case at all?" he asked with a thin veil of hope. He offered a fleeting, nervous grin and golden begging eyes.

Nope."

"Absolutely not." And they dug in. Eskel scribbled over his bare feet, thanks to Geralt having discarded his boots early in the night. Lambert dove straight for his pits, drilling his thumbs in the center of his hallows. Geralt bit his lip to keep the sounds of his mirth from escaping. He threw his head back with a loud grunt, legs jerking and arms tensing as he tried to pull them down. Eskel scratched along the arch of his foot and he broke, a loud stream of laughter breaking free from his sealed lips.

"There you go chuckles! Y'know, I'm honestly surprised you even remember how to laugh," Lambert teased, raking his fingers up and down his ribs. That really drove him up the wall, his rumbly giggling picking up the pace.

"I guess that bard has really helped loosen you back up," Eskel mused. He scratched at his heels with blunt nails, making Geralt snort. He smirked, repeating the motion to invoke the same reaction. "That's right, you always were a snorter, weren't you?" he teased, throwing Geralt's own words back in his face.

His pale face showed the faintest tinge of pink, which for a witcher meant he probably wanted to curl up and die.

"Shuhuhut up, Ihihi'll kihihill you!" he threatened through his laughter. When Geralt gets tickled, he's all curses and weak threats and no bones: as in he basically has no control over his limbs. He flails about and curls into a ball simultaneously. Which is why it's so beneficial to pin him all stretched out like this.

"Sure you will," Eskel rolled his eyes, turning around to target his knees. Geralt barked out a yelp before deep yet bubbly giggles filled the air.

Lambert reaches down to knead into his sides, making him twist back and forth. "Say, does Jaskier know about this lil weakness of yours? I bet he does," he taunted with a feral grin.

"Fuck ohohoff! Lambert NOHOHO!" he screamed when he latched onto his hips, rubbing circles with his thumbs. He bucked like mad, eyes squeezed shut. When  Geralt laughed, his eyes would squint closed and if you got him really going, his nose would scrunch up and you'd see his dimples shining. A rare and welcomed sight. His laugh was the deepest out of all of them; even when giggling his head off his voice is a tad gruff. His more frantic laugh was slightly higher pitched with a rich tenor to it. And when you really got him going, it would be these rich bellows of mirth that you could feel resonate in your own chest. And with how little he'd been laughing lately, it was a treat to hear.

Eskel's hands crawled up to dig into his thighs, squeezing and kneading the muscle. Booming cackles flew into the air, filling the room with the vibrant sound.

"I forgot that you're almost cute when you laugh like this," Lambert taunted, reaching up to pinch his cheeks. Even through his laughter, he tried to bite the offending hand. Lambert reared back and gave him a quick slap in warning.

"Oi, watch it! Or else I'll encourage that little bard of yours to turn this into a song," he threatened.

"No!" Geralt immediately barked out a protest. Eskel fixed Lambert with a look, brows raised.

"You do know that song would include us right?"

His eyes widened as realization dawned on him. "Oh shit, yeah. I guess I didn't think that one through. That little bastard would probably do it too," Lambert said with a snort.

"Dohohon't cahahall him thahahat!" he scolded through growing hysterics. Lambert's grin was absolutely feral by now, as was Eskel's. Lambert spidered his blunt nails over his armpits, drawing out a shriek that dissolved into deep cackles. He leaned in, letting his breath ghost over his ear as he spoke, which added a giggly note to his laughter. He scrunched his shoulder up to his neck, shaking it back and forth as snickers poured from his mouth.

"Why ever not? You call him that all the time," he taunted, a sly smirk firmly in place. Eskel decided to join in.

"Why so defensive of him, hm?" he asked, hovering his hand in the shape of his signature claw. Geralt's eyes widened and he pressed into the floor, legs scrambling against the stone floor for purchase. When he didn't answer, Eskel dropped his hand closer to his stomach, wiggling his fingers menacingly. This caused Geralt to jolt with a preemptive, giggly yelp. Both his brothers burst into their own small laughing fit.

"You're both horrible," he grumbled, cheeks a decent shade of pink for a witcher. Lambert scratched his blunt nails up and down his arms and Geralt snorted, tugging on his arms furiously. His laugh was more high pitched, desperate and filled with snorts.

"You'd be sad if we were actually nice," Lambert shrugged smugly. "Look at you, all red like that. Y'know, with your hair it makes you look like a strawberry short cake," he taunted, barking out a laugh of his own.

Eskel looked up, lips quirking in a lopsided grin as he huffed out a laugh. "Heh, it kinda does." He finally let his hand drop all the way to his stomach, shaking into the muscle. Geralt bucked with a loud shriek, deep belly laughs practically shaking the room.

When his hysterics turned silent, they finally backed off. Geralt laid on the cool ground, panting for breath. They both rolled off of him, sprawling out next to him on the floor. A calm silence stretched between the three of them.

Eskel let out a loud breath, running a hand over his face. He still seemed rather flustered. "God did we really just have a tickle fight?" he groaned.

"If I recall, you started it," Geralt pointed out, a sly yet tired smile on his face. Eskel shook his head fondly and shoved him. "We all know Lambert was asking for it."

"Lambert's always asking for it."

"I am not! You assholes just love hanging up on me for no reason!" he shot back, point a finger at them.

"Oh there are many reasons," Geralt teased, earning a harsh tug on his hair that jerked his head down. He returned the favor, except Lambert was much whinier about it.

Lambert swatted his hand away, swaying a bit as he did so. "Welp, I'm piss drunk and I know neither of you have the balls to admit it, but that was fun. Let's do it again next year!" he declared, slowly pumping his fist in the air. He reached up, fumbling around on the table before he pulled down their drinks. Geralt and Eskel stared at him, expressions a mix of extreme amusement and disbelief as Lambert did a solo toast and downed the rest of his ale.

"I hope you know that even if you're too drunk to remember this tomorrow, I'll remind you of every word you just said," Eskel declared. "And that's a promise."

"Y'know what? I only mildly regret that. That's tomorrow me's problem now."

"Mm. I'll send your regards to future you," Geralt hummed.

Lambert mock glared, shooting him the bird. "There. Those are my regards."

Geralt smirked and cocked his head. "How lovely."

They grew quiet once more, all tired from their roughhousing. Eskel was the one to gather up enough blankets and furs to cushion the floor and keep them all warm. They piled in, using each other as pillows and quickly dozed off. They've never looked more like a pack of wolves in their den than in that moment. Loud snores shook the keep, echoing down the empty halls.

The winter is cold and harsh, and the trek to the keep is an utter misery. But Geralt wouldn't trade this time with his fellow wolves for anything in the world. At the end of the day, he supposed they were all just pups at heart.

[heartsywritesthethings]

A Playful Streak

Ok so I’ve been having a serious Sakuastu brain rot and so became of this fic (drabble?). I seriously love them so much tho oml… 😭❤️

(Also as you can see I tried implementing Atsumus kansai dielect a bit by adding some ya/yer. I tried not to over so it and add some normal ‘you’s but if anything needs to be corrected lmk lol).

Warnings: None, tickling!!

Summery: Atsumu decides to mess with Sakusa a little…

“Omi-Omi!!” Atsumu shouted from the door of the locker room. They were all on break from practice and Atsumu decided to mess with Sakusa to pass the time. Sakusa decided to just ignore, he found that usually helped when the abnormally childish player kept trying to bother him.

Unfortunately for him, Atsumu knew exactly what he was trying to do. “Omi kunnn don’t ignore me” he said with a playful pout and jabbed him in the side teasingly. He backed away from the contact, as expected, but what the Miya twin didn’t expect, was a snort.

“Omi what was that..” Atsumu asked curiously and poked the ace spiker again, causing a small sound that he thought was a suppressed giggle. He had way too many ‘fights’ with Osamu to know what that sound could mean.

“Omi kun are you ticklish?” Atsumu asked with a knowing grin growing on his face. “Go away.” Sakusa said simply, knowing what could happen if he didn’t do something about it sooner. The thought of Atsumu even touching him made him shudder.

He was trying to work out the best way to get out of this situation but his thoughts got interrupted by another poke this time to his ribs, making him jump away again from the blonde headed menace.

“Come back here Omi kun” Atsumu said with a small giggle of his own and began to advance on him. Sakusa got up from the bench he had been sitting on but before he could do anything, Atsumu had jumped him and within two seconds, was pinned to the floor.

“Oh this is gonna be fun” Atsumu said with a smirk. Sakusa struggled underneath him “Atsumu let me go- nohoho stohop.”

“What’s the matter Omi kun? Does this tickle?” Atsumu had began his attack on the poor boys sides, digging into the flesh. “Ahahatsuhumu lehehet mehehe GOHOHOHAHAHA!” His struggles became more frantic as Atsumu hit a particularly sensitive area in his ribs. “Aw bad spot Omi-Omi?” Atsumu teased again. Sakusa was desperately trying to get his torso away from the offending fingers but he found he was completely helpless.

“AHAHATSUHUMUHU LEHEHET MEHEHE GOHOHO YOHOHOU AHAHASS!!!”

Atsumu chuckled “I didn’t think you would be this ticklish Omi…”

“IHIHI DOHOHONT CAHAHARE JUHUHUAT STAHAHAP!!!”

“Fine fine…” Atsumu said finally, remembering his dislike for physical contact and immediately got off of him.

“I’m sorry Omi kun, are ya ok? I forgot you don’t like physical contact, germs and all…”

However there was no answer. “Omi? Are ya okahAHAYHY NOHAHAHA STOAHAHAP-“

While he was busy worrying about him, Sakusa had made a surprise attack onto him and before Atsumu knew it, he was being tickled shitless.

In the end it was clear that Atsumu was way more ticklish. But the fact still stood that Sakusa seemed to have a playful streak, and Atsumu was loving it.

[heartsywritesthethings]

Hii, i just want to ask if You are into jjba.

hey there friend!!

I am! I am! I’ve never written for it but I’ve seen it all and read plenty for it. Part 5 is easily my favorite. Checks a lotta boxes for me. what part is your fave?

[heartsywritesthethings]

every time I manage to get some writing motivation back, I get rude people who immediately tank it. I don’t want guilt trips and I don’t want demands. I don’t think that’s asking much. you don’t say “do this” and magically get a fic, my guy. no. that’s the fastest way for my brain to decide absolutely not.

(note: this is not directed at the nice jjk anon, you’re wonderful and appreciated. in fact, I love you, friend. I’m just hoarding your ask on the off chance I do get motivation to write again. because it’s requests and nice people like yours that make me want to write.)