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hexalianrebel-blackfeathers · 1 year ago

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Never Let 'Em Know Your Next Move

Panda's Notes: Hobie is the most Switch Spider there is. I don't take notes; I don't debate; I have decided. >w< Feel free to send all thanks/blame to @rosileeduckie for the ending, which was inspired by the very lovely art they made. >w< Special thanx also to @ssnicker-doodless for helping with beta reading.

[Ao3] || [Commissions] || [Ko-fi]

Gwen peered over the back of the long couch, resting her chin on her arms as she pouted a bit. Hobie was snoring faintly, one arm flopped across his face as he slept. It was just after ten o’clock, and, frankly, Gwen was getting a little impatient.

She slipped quietly around the couch, and, being as careful as possible, she lifted his head and climbed onto the couch, setting his head down on her crossed legs. He huffed softly, shifting slightly in his sleep and yawning.

Gwen smiled slightly, poking gently at his nose a few times to watch his face scrunch up before leaning over to wiggle her fingers against his ribcage.

Hobie huffed again and squirmed, a smile sneaking across his face as steady chuckles rolled out of him. Gwen snickered to herself, letting her hands crawl over his stomach and out to his sides. He started to laugh softly, rough bass-sounding giggles shaking his body as he started to move. His hands stretched out into the air before he pressed his palms against the arm of the couch on either side of Gwen’s body. He yawned softly before one of his eyes opened groggily.

“Oi, Gwenny…” He grumbled, glancing curiously at her hands for a moment.

“Geez, I thought you’d never wake up.” She chuckled, starting to tickle him a bit more earnestly. She was shocked when he didn’t yell or push himself away from her. Instead, he let himself laugh, his voice tangled up in those giggles as her nails scribbled against his midriff.

“You’re not moving much, are you, tough guy?” She teased, sneakily tugging his shirt up a little. “You got a giggle bug in there or something?”

“You’re not funny—Gwen!” He barked out a louder laugh when she scribbled around his navel, one of his legs kicking at the other end of the couch.

“Yeah, that's my name; you need something?” She taunted, poking quickly up his torso and resting her hands on his elbows. She walked her fingers along his sleeves toward his armpits, grinning brighter at the way he shivered while keeping his hands in place. “Yeah…I’m starting to think that gigglebug is just you~”

Hobie snickered, smirking as he narrowed his eyes up at her. “Call me that again; see what ha—Ack!” He cried out as her fingers dug and scribbled into his armpits, his fingers curling slightly against the couch as he burst into cackles.

“Call you what, Hobie~? A cute, ticklish, wittle Giggleb—Ah! Wait, wait, wait!”

Like a trap snapping shut, Hobie’s hands suddenly attached themselves to Gwen’s sides, his thumbs pressing around her flanks while his long fingers wiggled over her sides toward her back. “What’s the matter, Gwenny? Always trying to start stuff you can’t finish with me, aren’t ya?” The smirk on his face shifted to a more genuine grin as he shoved his hands up into her armpits, chuckling as she squealed and tried to lean away from him. He let her go as she leaned back, dropping his hands to sneak scribbles at the soles of her feet and snickering as she nearly kicked him.

“That’s for stealing my Chucks, by the way.” He chuckled. “If you ain’t wearin’ ‘em, you ain’t safe.”

Gwen rolled her eyes and giggled, starting to pull her legs back when Hobie’s hands returned to their position on the arm of the couch.

“Ah, no, sorry, love; you’re not leaving yet.” He shrugged, smirking up at her.

“Aw, what?” She asked with a fake pout, returning her own hands to gently tickling along his arms. “Your gigglebug still hungry or something?”

Hobie somehow seemed to stifle an emotional response to that one, despite the giggles shaking him. “Oi, tell me: What’d I tell you about waking me up in the morning when I let you crash here?”

Gwen’s hands went still. Hobie kept laughing. She tried to scramble away from him, but he grabbed onto the jacket she was wearing as he sat up, dragging her into his lap and digging his hands back into her waist.

“The rule is NOT TO WAKE ME UP!” He barked over her laughter, grinning a bit deviously as he watched her flail.

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

“Hey, little man.” Hobie called, lightly tugging Miles’ headphones.

He had perched himself upside down on the ceiling, head buried in the sketchbook in his hand. He tipped his head, acknowledging him with a glance.

Hobie hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “You wanna grab some couch time with me real quick, mate?”

Miles hesitated a bit, but he closed the pencil into his sketchbook before placing his hand on the ceiling to swing himself down. Within a minute he was lying across Hobie’s lap, his headphones wrapped around his neck and Hobie tapping casually on his stomach.

Miles grinned warily. “Am I in trouble?”

“Only if you want to be.” Hobie teased, shrugging as he dragged Miles’ shirt up with one finger while his other hand pulled Miles’ hood over his face. “Count to three for me?”

“Shouldn’t you be the one to—Naah! I wasn’t ready!” His voice came out in a loud cackle as Hobie blew a raspberry against his stomach, and he grabbed at the arm holding his hood down.

“I heard ‘one, two’, mate; simple as.” Hobie said, the smirk clear in his voice while one of his fingers traced circles around Miles’ bellybutton.

“You know what I said.” He giggled helplessly. “I didn’t even say three—Hobie!” Another raspberry; another giggly screech as Miles’ legs flailed against the couch cushions.

“…You said three.” Hobie snickered, watching Miles try to wrestle his arm away before reaching one of his hands toward the floor and— “Hey, n-no, quit that!”

Miles had reached out, mostly blind, and tickled along the edge of his foot and up the back of his leg. Hobie quickly grabbed his arm, pinning it beside his head and scribbling under his arm with his free hand. Miles shrieked, cackling loudly and pawing at Hobie’s shoulder where he could.

“You tapping out already, Miles? Here I thought I trained you tougher than that.” Hobie gave an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head with a grin. “Or is it just because you got too many Squeak Spots?” His voice pitched hilariously toward the end, and he snatched the hand that was trying to crawl under his own arm to pin it over Miles’ head.

“Squeak Spots like that one?” Miles tried to tease as he caught his breath.

Hobie chuckled, maintaining a calm smirk and pulling Miles’ hood over his face again. “Nah, man. Squeak Spots are like this—” Miles squeaked and flinched at a quick poke to his bellybutton. “—Or this—” A screech at two fingers being jabbed under both of his arms. “Definitely this one.” While Miles’ arms were clamped at his sides, Hobie’s hands slipped under his hood, fingers crawling along his neck and scratching behind his ears. His face shifted to a bit of a sneer as Miles cracked into noisy giggles, snorts and squeaks escaping between them as he grabbed loosely at Hobie’s sleeves and kicked against the couch.

“You sound like Mayday, bruv; this’ll get you done out.” He teased. “Some mook is gonna get hands ‘round your throat, and you’ll be bustin’ up like who knows what.”

“I-I don’t understand—” Miles was barely able to form words through the giggles, only to get cut off by Hobie pushing his head to one side and blowing a loud raspberry into his neck. The resulting squeal put all the others to shame.

“Understand that well enough, Smiles~?” Hobie smirked and lifted Miles enough to slip out from under his full—now basically dead—weight. He let the teen’s legs rest across his lap, tapping a rhythm as he caught his breath.

“Nooo, don’t call me that.” Miles practically whined, little giggles still slipping into his voice. “I couldn’t get my family to shake that off until I was, like, thirteen.”

“’S pretty recent. Bet I could bring it back.” Hobie lightly poked a few lines across Miles’ foot.

“Hobie…” Miles kicked gently, pushing himself to sit up.

“What? Your parents like me; I could slip some suggestion, easy. I’m magic like that.”

“My parents don’t even like the friends who live in my dimension.” He gave a bit of a stretch, pulling his arms across his chest. “And I would have to actually kill you.”

“Pfft, like you even could.”

“I dunno.” Miles eyed him for a moment before putting his hands up, and the tiniest sparks of electricity jumped between his fingers. “I think I could.”

Hobie’s face might have twitched a bit, and he crossed his arms as he stared the kid down. “Square up then.”

Miles visibly brightened, shifting quickly out of Hobie’s lap and grabbing at his side with tingly hands. Hobie prickled at the shock, but he hardly bothered holding back. He curled up slightly, laughing softly and trying to keep his arms still.

“No fair; this worked on you last time!” Miles giggled, poking small shocks up and down Hobie’s side and ribs.

“Wasn’t expecting it last time; not my fault if you turn yourself into a one-trick—pfft, HA!”

Miles had shoved Hobie over onto the couch, one hand switching between quick squeezes and scribbles on the softest part of his hip while the other crawled along his leg to scratch his knee.

“Oh, ticklish legs? Figures you’d have Tall People Problems.” Miles teased, kneading along the back of Hobie’s calf and under his knee.

“S-Shut up!” Hobie demanded through loud giggles, crossing his arms over his face. “You little brat!”

“Hey, uncalled for!” Miles smirked at him, fingers crawling down around his ankles and up his socked soles. “You talk awfully big for someone who likes being tickled so m—”

Miles yelped as Hobie suddenly kicked him in the ribs. It hardly even hurt, but it easily threw him over the arm of the couch, leaving him slightly breathless on the floor. He let out a sort of giggle, his head spinning a little from the fall.

Hobie chuckled, having caught his breath almost instantly. He loosely held Miles’ ankle where it remained from him falling over, leaning his weight on his leg and smirking down at him. “See, now you’re in trouble, mate.”

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

It was actually a little rare for Pavitr to come to Hobie’s dimension. Something about the near-constant, raging anarchy made Pavitr kinda nervous. Hobie could admit that the comparatively chill vibe of Mumbatten was cozy in a way, not even mentioning how pretty a city it was.

But sometimes, you just don’t want to leave your own couch; and thankfully, the area seemed chill enough lately. So, Pavitr sat cross-legged on Hobie’s couch, wildly hitting buttons on a game controller as he tried to fight a boss. Hobie leaned backwards over the back of the couch, glancing between the upside-down views of the television and Pavitr’s determined look. He smirked to himself, reaching to run his hand obnoxiously over the side of his face.

“Oi, Pavi.” He said in a whisper, poking Pavitr’s cheek. “Pav, hey.” He poked his neck, grinning as he flinched. So began a series of mixed whispers and pokes and pinches around Pavitr’s head, escalating quickly to lightly ruffling his hair and tickling purposefully under his chin.

“Hobie!” He finally caved to giggles and paused the game, flailing one hand at Hobie’s and curling slightly away from him. “What do you want?”

Hobie shrugged with a smirk, and Pavitr groaned, shaking his head with a smile and refocusing on the game. Hobie yawned and stretched his back over the couch, feeling his shoulders and spine pop after a second. He watched Pavitr kite and jab at the boss for at least a couple of minutes before he finally rolled over. He rested his chin on his arms, his elbow nudging against Pavitr’s shoulder.

“Oi, Pavi…” He barely kept a straight face when Pavitr slowly cringed away from him. Boss was at, maybe, ten percent health. “What’d you say if I asked you to tickle me, eh?”

A look of visible confusion cut through Pavitr’s ‘focused gamer’ face, which was a shame, because that crit he just got put the boss at five percent health. “You—Wait, what?” He glanced up for half a second, panicking a little when he almost got hit.

Hobie had already moved though, now leaning over the couch directly behind his guest-turned-prey. “Ooh, too slow, mate.” He sighed as if he were disappointed, and his hands suddenly appeared at Pavitr’s sides, squeezing up and down his flanks. He pressed his thumbs firmly into his hipbones, and he sneered as Pavitr practically fell to pieces with bright laughter.

“W-Wait, no; not now, Hobie, please!” He just barely managed to hit the pause button again, and Hobie lifted his hands away.

“What’d you pause it for? You’re close.” Hobie was grinning like a fiend, letting his hands hover tauntingly.

“I know what you’re doing.” Pavitr couldn’t keep the nervous giggles out of his voice, and he didn’t dare look back. “Not my first time around the block with you.”

“Aw, c’mon now; I’ll be nice.”

“No, you won’t…”

“Nah, I won’t.” He leaned and rested his hands on Pavitr’s legs. “I think you just need one more hit though. How about it?”

The pause lasted a bit longer; Pavitr whined, and Hobie smirked at the pout he could picture on his face. Without warning, the game started up again, and so, with equal warning, Hobie’s hands scribbled along Pavitr’s thighs and knees.

“Tricky little bastard.” Hobie teased, resting his chin on Pavitr’s shoulder as he giggled loudly. “Yeah, maybe stop missing the guy.”

“Shut up!” Pavitr giggled, and the game paused again. Hobie pat his thighs, chuckling softly. “Hobie…”

“It’s just one more hit, mate. Pretty sure, anyway.” He let his fingers walk, slowly, almost politely toward his knees again. “Waitin’ on you.”

Pavitr flicked through the pause menus, using a few items before, once again, dropping back into the game when he thought it was safest. Hobie let him have that one second of thinking he wasn’t paying attention before his hands scratched and scribbled at both of his feet, ripping an adorable shriek out of his mouth that was quickly followed by cackles.

“Oof, maybe someone should consider a costume that doesn’t go around barefoot.” He hummed, poking his fingers between Pavitr’s toes.

Suddenly: an explosion appeared on the screen, the boss keeled over with a roar before suddenly bursting in a cloud of smoke and random drops.

“Well, damn, Pav. Look at you!” Hobie chuckled, nuzzling playfully against his face, and giving a few more gentle scribbles at his feet. “Respect, really.”

Pavitr stonewalled him—Well, almost, scratching between his toes still made him squeak like a mouse—and he clicked through the menus to save the game without looking back at Hobie once. He leaned to slide the controller onto the table before sitting up; he rolled his shoulders for a moment and cracked his neck as he uncrossed his legs. Finally, he took a deep breath and let it back out.

And then he grabbed Hobie by his arm and the back of his shirt, heaving him over the couch and slamming him against the cushions harder than necessary. Hobie didn’t put up much of a fight, laughing softly as the wind was knocked out of him on impact. By the time he looked up, Pavitr had moved to perch on the couch arm, crossing his arms as he tried to glare down at him.

“Pavi?” Hobie asked casually, mimicking his crossed arms. Pavitr held up one finger, cringing a little as he stood up and stepped onto the back of the couch.

He crouched down again, smirking this time. “Every boss has a second phase, Hobie.” He quipped, snapping his fingers.

Hobie snorted, shaking his head. “Took ya a minute cookin’ that one up, eh?” He grinned as Pavitr sat on his legs and glared at him again. He grabbed Hobie’s wrist in one hand, drawing his fingers down his forearm and tracing the edge of his hand.

Hobie prickled, biting at his tongue and the piercing on his lip as his whole arm tingled under that touch. “Y-Y’know anything about palm readin’ yet, bruv?”

Pavitr gave him that look he kept specifically for people who tease him about the same old stereotypes. “I do actually!” He said brightly, the sarcasm probably indecipherable to someone who didn’t know him as well as Hobie did. “Like, this line right here tells me you’re super ticklish!” He scratched gingerly along the largest visible line on his hand.

“This line shows you’re prone to being really bratty if you don’t get enough tickles.” He traced the muscle around Hobie’s thumb.

“Each of these lines—” He traced up each of Hobie's fingers, the smile on his face still genuinely sweet. “—Represents every little tickle spot you like. And, yeah, there are a lot of them.”

Hobie was…well, “struggling” was a fitting word. His free hand hadn’t really moved from where his arms had been crossed, but he gripped at his sleeve as Pavitr started teasing his palm. It tickled so badly, but at the same time, it wasn’t enough to really break him. His breath left him in shaky giggles that he had already given up on trying to stop, and his arm twitched as if every muscle inside was a tightening spring.

“Easy to forget, but this spot here—” He traced gentle circles on the back of Hobie’s hand, smiling brighter as his fingers clenched. “—keeps track of all your tickly energy. Even when you’re tickling someone else. And this last one…” He paused, staring as if he was confused. “Here, let me just—”

He suddenly blew a raspberry on the palm of his hand, and Hobie fell apart, his giggles bursting into loud laughter as his fingers tried to scratch Pavitr’s neck. The speed at which Pavitr shut that down made him flinch.

“Yeah, sorry; I couldn’t read it.” Pavitr shrugged, removing his grip from around Hobie’s fingers. “But, it pretty much just says ‘Tickletickletickletic—’"

“Pavi!” Hobie practically snorted, finally yanking his hand away when Pavitr scribbled at his palm. He let out a few tired laughs as he slowly caught his breath, flexing his hand in an effort to get rid of those tingles.

“Not gonna work, Hobie~ I thought you wanted me to tickle you!”

“Shut up…” Hobie rested his arms over his face, still giggling quietly and twitching a little as Pavitr started to poke him again.

“Poor, poor Gigglebug.”

“Do not call me that when you’re in throttling range.”

“Oh? Why? Would it be like this?” He moved his hands quickly up to Hobie’s neck, fingers scribbling at his collarbones and under his chin.

Despite the new wave of loud giggles, Hobie shoved himself to sit upright, wrapping his arms tight around Pavitr and leaning into his shoulder. Pavitr giggled quietly, getting one of his own arms free and tracing gently on Hobie’s back.

“I win.” He teased sweetly.

“I am going to kill you.” Hobie’s threat came on shuddering breath, and he snickered as nails dragged over his spine.

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

“Ooh, he’s taking the vest off!” Gwen called teasingly, snatching it out of the air when it was thrown at her head. “So serious all of a sudden.”

“Fuck you.” Hobie smirked; it felt good to be able to say that again. “‘less you want to go first, Gwenny.” He pulled his arm across his chest before rolling his shoulder.

“No, no; do your macho thing.” She taunted, slipping the vest on almost automatically. “So, Miles? Explain.”

The little gang was gathered in one of the training rooms at Spider Society HQ, sharing a few stories of feats from each of their dimensions, when Miles brought up the night he and Gwen had shut down Kingpin’s collider. Mostly, how he had barely survived the aftermath of doing that.

“Okay, so, like I said, the collider’s collapsing in on itself; implosions, explosions, it’s just crazy.” He began, twirling the strings on his hood between his fingers. “And I’m just there holding a string of web, and well…” He shrugged, lying across Pavitr’s lap. “Didn’t let go.”

“Pretty sure we’ve all done the lifeline before, bruv.” Hobie huffed. “Don’t see why ya wanted to bet on it so bad.”

“I never said it was a bet! You’re the one who—” Miles stopped himself when he caught sight of the smug look on Hobie’s face. “Look, just hold the thing, and don’t let go. Three minutes. Sound good?”

Hobie mulled it over, letting himself sink back to the floor. “Make it five. I’m showin’ you brats up today.” He smirked, setting a timer on his watch.

Pavitr chuckled, playing with Miles’ hair and glancing at Gwen. “He’s asking for it again.”

“Is he?” Gwen placed a hand on her chest, filling her eyes with as much shock as she could manage. “I never would have guessed.”

They giggled; Miles didn’t catch on until a few seconds later; and Hobie went a bit still.

He rested his arm across his knee and set his chin on his hand, levelling his eyes at the three of them with a stern sort of look. “Oi...”

His tone shut them up instantly, and he couldn’t resist smirking.

“Since you all like laughing so much, I suggest usin’ your five minutes wisely. Because when they’re up, well…” He shrugged casually, firing a small amount of webbing onto the floor and taking the strand in both hands as he laid back on the floor.

The trio glanced warily at each other before moving to line up beside him.

“Hm… Let’s try—” Gwen lifted Hobie up onto his side, and she and the boys crowded against his back. “Thoughts? Arguments?”

Pavitr leaned against Hobie’s thigh, smiling brightly. “Good here.”

Miles pat gently along Hobie’s arm, reaching to start the timer on Hobie’s watch. “Ready when you are.”

“Let’s go then!” Gwen declared, and the second Miles pressed the button, thirty fingers promptly set to crawling anywhere they could reach. Barely ten seconds passed before Hobie was struggling to keep his mouth shut. His hands clenched and pulled at the piece of web as snickers shook his frame.

“Sooo, five minutes, huh?” Miles snickered, scribbling gently along his armpit and ribs with both hands. “How’s everyone been? Hobie?”

“Shut up.” Hobie snapped at him, biting his lip on a few giggles.

“I’ve been great, personally!” Pavitr called, leaning slightly as he squeezed Hobie’s knee and around his hip. “Projects at school are going well; Margo said she might have a web shooter design for me; ooh, and I got to hang out with our favorite Gigglebug just recently.”

Hobie’s legs kicked slightly, and he barely managed to keep his mouth shut.

Gwen giggled as she watched Hobie’s face, scratching quickly across his stomach and up his side. “Ooh, our favorite Gigglebug? Maybe your favorite, Pavi.” She teased, sneaking one of her hands to pinch Miles’ waist and grinning as he elbowed her back. “I can’t blame you though; he does have this cute tickle button.” Her fingers managed to track down his navel through his suit, finally dragging out some unfiltered giggles.

“So do you!” All three boys said suddenly, eyes on her, and she was taken aback. They all fell into laughter, hands faltering enough to give Hobie a chance to breathe.

Miles snickered and leaned on Gwen for a moment, one hand digging fingers under Hobie’s arm while the other crawled along his neck. “I love that you didn’t tell me about your little nickname, by the way, Hobie; it’s awfully cute.”

“Why the fuck would I—No!” A choked laugh cut through his threatening tone when both of Miles’ hands moved back under his arm.

Miles shrugged, smirking down at him. “Well, if you’re going to beg for us to tickle you, it’d be a lot easier if we had a name for your little moods.”

Hobie just laughed and tried to curl up, his boots squeaking against the floor as he kicked.

“You still holding on, Hobie~?” Gwen called playfully, goosing his side and hip. “You know you can just admit you’re having fun.”

“F-Fuck off already.” Hobie’s voice was teetering on breathless with how he was straining to stop his giggles. “You brats wish you were as strong as I am taking this.”

Miles rolled his eyes and scratched at his ribs, but he blinked as Gwen leaned close to him.

“On my signal, we need to bolt.” She whispered; he practically had to read her lips.

“Wha—?”

“I play drums, Miles; keeping time is the least of what I can do. And he’s definitely jumping you first, so…”

She tapped his knee sharply, and he stammered for a second before turning invisible. Pavitr did a double-take, and as he was pushing himself off the floor, Hobie’s watch started beeping loudly.

The room was suddenly quiet as Hobie’s hands finally came off of the web, and he shut his watch off before running the heel of his palm under his eye.

“Ya always thinkin’ you’re so damn smart.” He murmured, pushing himself to stand up. “I was actually always planning on getting’ you first—” He fired off a shot of web fluid, catching Gwen by the back shoulder of his vest and yanking hard before she could just shrug it off. “Gwenny, I’m sick of you takin’ my shit!”

The sneer on his face said otherwise, especially at her indignant whine when he caught her against his chest. “You threw this at me!” She hardly even put up a fight as he scooped her under his arm, giggling excitedly even before he tickled the back of her neck.

“Yeah, and you sure fuckin’ caught it. Look where that got ya, sis. Oi, losers! The longer I wait for you, the longer I destroy both of ya.”

It was easy to keep Pavitr in his peripheral; his costume didn’t blend at all with the shadows here. Miles, though, Hobie could easily hear him hopping around nearby, inching closer with each landing.

It was hilarious being the only truly unpredictable one in a room, and Hobie loved showing these kids up.

#tickling #a panda writes a thing #atsv tickle #hobie brown #miles morales #gwen stacy #pavitr prabhakar

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happyandticklish · 1 year ago

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Fic Recommendations Because I Feel Like It~

Sometimes y'all write fics and it makes me incapable of existing due to the chaotically intense lee mood it has just bitch slapped me with that makes me have to put my fucking phone down and genuinely pace the room because certain lines keep running through my head and I can't help but think about them being used on me, and there is simply no good way of expressing that in a compelling manner.

So I've made a list of fics that have made me have to face away from my roommate while reading them so she doesn't see me blushing like a goddamn looney tune, in order to express what my tags couldn't, as well as give a generous thank you for being in this community and writing these masterpieces and an even more generous fuck you for doing that to me <3

Haunted Safehouse by @rosileeduckie

Itinerary by @rosileeduckie

Heartography by @rosileeduckie

Liar by @poesparakeet

Tickletober Day Seven Drabble by @wordstrings

You Got My Devotion by @nhasablogg

Self-Tickle Session by @nhasablogg

This Steddie Drabble by @nhasablogg

Anticipation by @nhasablogg

This Random DRRR Ficlet by @ caffeinekitty who I can’t tag for some reason, so maybe they’ve deactivated, but this fic lived in my head rent free for years

Slain by @wigglywormy

Remind Me Of The Babe by @stray-tickles

Closet Cases by @spritewrites

Tenderness and Ties by @tickles-tea

The Truth Will Set You Free by @sapphicquill

I’m So Down by @tickle-bugs

Visions of Visions by @ssnicker-doodless

A Gentleman’s Torture by @august-anon

Bamboozled by @august-anon

Mind Melt by @august-anon

Pray For Mercy by @august-anon

This Teal Oranges Drabble by @august-anon

Intention by @achilleean

Piece(s) of Cake by @achilleean

One To Talk by @achilleean

This Teal Oranges Drabble by @achilleean

Waking Up With A Smile by @achilleean

Fun by @achilleean

New Discoveries by @achilleean

Chase by @achilleean

Apples & Oranges 1 & 2 & 3 by @achilleean

Lightness for a Stormy Morning by @achilleean

Ticket, Ticket, Ticket! by @achilleean

Invisible Ink by @achilleean

Freaky Friday’d by @achilleean

The Pynch drabble by @ticklygiggles

Not Quite Marco Polo by @silviesilviesilvie

Blackbeard’s Best by @silviesilviesilvie

Unsaid by @anasticklefics

So if you’re in a mood and you want to make things infinitely worse for yourself, read these and suffer~

#tickling #tickle fic #recommendations #personal #if you notice that a large majority of these are teal oranges no you dont #achilleean sorry for the thousand tags but your fics having a fucking Effect on me your writing style is too powerful #i will probably periodically come back to this as time goes on

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kanene-yaaay · 1 year ago

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The Time

Heya heyaaa

Oof, thing feel really serious when I put a title javagcwwuvwdodj but! It's a proper moment to use a title here, I think. After all, I came to say goodbye.

Yeah, who would think ahfwtwcev

I have been thinking and pondering about this for some months now, since June when That Stuff happened and I had to jump away from here and uhhh it feels corny to say that but a lot of things changed to me and I changed a lot together with everything too.

So, I think it's my time to let this blog go. Not because I feel bad about it now or anything but... I am no longer that attached to tickling to maintain it. It's still cute, playful and comforting, but it is now a part of a lot of other things that are just as cute, playful and comforting to me.

This blog had a good run and I'm incredibly grateful because of it. Six entire years, if I am not mistaken, and I won't delete it anytime soon so the numbers will keep going! For as long as it wants or it is allowed to. All my fics, my headcanons, my rambles and reblogs will stay here because I don't want nor have the heart to delete it. There are such amazing, wonderful and well created arts and stories in this community that deserve all the attention and all the screams.

And! Talking about that! The people! I would like to say the biggest and most heartful thank you that you could ever imagine. Full of big hugs and smiles. I've met awesome people here that I will forever hold dear in my heart. Thank you for the company and the fun and for being so lovely and inspiring to me, all of you. It doesn't matter if we talked for years or minutes, thank you very much. It was so cool! @oliviaischillin1204, @august-anon, @flames-tstuff, @soft--valentine, @honeydew-sillies, @carrie-tate, @trashyswitch, @rosileeduckie, @squeaky-n-blushy, @why-not-a-tickle-blog, @thetickleeraven, @a-fluffer-nutter, @fluffyskies, @just-open-the-fridge-yo, @fluffystuffies, @ijustliketickling, @veryblushyswitch also everyone that is no longer in the community. If you see this, I remember you! Big hug!

And thank you so much for all of you that supported my blog and my work in any and every way. Commenting, reblogging, liking, sending askys about it... It really meant (and means!) a whole lot to me and Def is one of the reasons that kept me creating for so so long and so so much. It was the reason I stopped feeling so self conscious about my English and helped me to try new things and scenarios. Please accept this cookie as a token of my appreciation 🍪 I love to see all of your rambles or just your icon appearing on my notifs.

Also, how could I ever forget the artists and writers that make this community such a fun and colorful space? All the thanks and all the screams and rambles to all of you. Creating is so hard and yet you just come here and do such a wonderful job! How dare! I still think about your creations in my daily life, believe me ahcwgwxwhwcwfcw @ticklepinions, @intheticklecloset, @jettorii, @ssnicker-doodles, @giggly-squiggily, @simplysmilingdrew, @tiklart, @otomiyaa, @verynickelpizzarascal, @fbpanimations and much much more, tbh all the beans that I got shy to tag kjhgfdefghj

Hmmm, I think that this is what I wanted to say. To be honest, writing fics w tickling in it still feels comfortable and cool, so I will probably appear from one year or other to post something and vanish again ahfwtwxwowyq but yeah, can't really say that there will be much interaction besides that. I had that Big Post full of arts and fics that I love that I wanted to post before going but no energy dfghjhgf maybe one day I will finish it and post oh well

Anyway. One of the things that I always tried to bring here was that every creator should have at least one nice comment soooo if ! You think about me or this blog! Consider giving a comment or a quick rb to some artist/creator/blog that you really like, bet it will bring a smile to the bean's face! :D

Okay, okay, enough of rambling. It was incredible. Thank you! Hope you have a lovely week and don't forget to be kind, take care and drink water. Byee <3 <3

#See ya beans <3 #BIg hugs and spinning hugs all around #Kanene being Kanene #More than 3000 posts gosh that is crazyyy

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ticklish-n-stuff · 1 year ago

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🌸~My fave fics:

🌸Blue Lock🌸

The elephant in the room @/giggly-squiggly

Sore spot @/giggly-squiggily

A game of whodunnit @/giggly-squiggily

Heroes always save the day @/giggly-squiggily

Doodle boy @/giggly-squiggily

Of ogres and princesses @/giggly-squiggily

I think we can work this out @/giggly-squiggily

The most ticklish @/giggly-squiggily

Provocation and motivation @/tastybluesprite

Time to get up! @/lee-lucius

🌸Bungo stray dogs🌸

Delightfully indulgent @/helleboretks

Chu chu chuuya-san @/ticklygiggles

Liar @/intheticklecloset

Tell me what you want @/intheticklecloset

🌸DC🌸

Say it with me now... sleep! @/kourtniwritesagain

Time to wake up @/theritingraven

Near the wood fire @/nataliewritez

Lee!Tim & ler!Kon @/tickletastic

Call for help @/tickletastic

Okay, but who do you main in mario kart? @/tickletastic

Angsty @/13phantom13angel13

🌸Demon slayer🌸

Tktober day #6: chase @/duckymcdoorknob

I'm (not) ticklish @/mystwrites

🌸Dr. Stone🌸

Love your laugh @/intheticklecloset

🌸Enstars🌸

Comfort @/sunlit-tickles

Curiosity kills Arashi @/sunlit-tickles

🌸Genshin impact🌸

Lee! Aether & lers! Xiao and Kazuha @/italeean

Sakura x Kazuha @/italeean

Relax, it's just a massage @/lilianlay

A quiet new years @/fanfic-chan

Ticklish kiss @/fanfic-chan

Down bad for Wanderer @/silentprincesstickles

Tan lines @/keru0

You are loved @/keru0

Wake up~ @/keru0

Wonderous ways @/nataliewritez

Bubbles @/lovelynim

Nature's embrace @/lovelynim

Drunken love @/lovelynim

Jealous hound @/lovelynim

A poor bastard @/lovelynim

(Un)wanted company @/lovelynim

Backfire @/lovelynim

May the best one win @/lovelynim

Thomato tickle fight @/xsezzie

The table @/xsezzie

Scaramouche x reader @/ticklygiggles

Wild instincts @/ticklygiggles

A baton and a magic wand @/aticklishpercivalwriter

My honey ♡ my bee @/aticklishpercivalwriter

Ticklish interrogation @/wertzunge

Relaxing time @/wertzunge

An Adeptus' way to make you smile @/wertzunge

Nari's bakery @/ticklystuff

To scare a samurai @/ticklystuff

Bad luck @/anon-giggles

Ler!Scara x reader @/blue-little-angel

Sensitive paws @/kusuguricafe

A helpful Cyno @/featherlight-touches

🌸Haikyuu!🌸

Manhandling @/itslittlegiggle

🌸Honkai Star Rail🌸

Fox and the crow @/xsezzie

🌸Jujutsu Kaisen🌸

A simple question @/mystwrites

Just trust me @/giggly-squiggily

🌸My hero academia🌸

Love language @/ticklishfiend

Rest day @/wigglywormy

Meanwhile, at the Fatgum agency @/rosileeduckie

Perfect three @/rosileeduckie

🌸Obey me!🌸

Tickletober day #1: Anticipation @/giggle-bee

🌸Tokyo revengers🌸

Taught a lesson @/infrequent-creator

#my absolute faves #im doing this for my own convenience lmao #ill add more as they keep coming back to me

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wreckingtickles · 4 months ago

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heyy!! sending a prompt/idea for you. honestly it's just something I've thought about and can't find any fics on lol

so ler kaminari. i never see enough of him being a ler :(

but also you know how small little volts of electricity can be slightly ticklish/staticky? i feel like a fic where kami used his quirk to tickle you with electricity would be so good. i feel like he'd eat that uppp lolll

thanks sm for reading, have a good day!

heyy!! That sounds like a lee Kiri story to me! I don't have anything planned with ler Kaminari, but the upcoming (NSFW) lees Kiri and Baku story does have a ler with a static electricity Quirk.

Also, I can recommend a few stories where Kaminari uses his Quirk in a ticklish setting: @intheticklecloset's Versatile and The Sleepover, @rosileeduckie's You Gotta Feel It!, and @hexalianrebel-blackfeathers' Get Tased.

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giggly-squiggily · 2 years ago

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Hideaway (Hades)

Happy Squealing Santa! Hello @rosileeduckie! It is I, Squiggily, your Secret Santa this year! I hope you're having a fantastic winter and holiday! Hades was such a great game, and even though I don’t always write about it- this was an absolute blast to make! :D I hope you like it! (Made an extra gift too~)

Summary: Zagreus and Thanatos share a stolen moment alone from the festivities.

The cool air around him was a blessing as Zagreus pushed through the balcony doors, breathing it in. Behind him, ghosts and demons alike laughed and cheered, clinking drinks and singing drunkenly to whatever a tispy Ophellio played for them.

Winter in the Underworld had a profound effect on the residents that lived there- even his father- Hades himself. He was smiling as he chatted away with Achilles and Patrocles- the topic most likely not something Zagreus would be interested in.

Judging by the growing dulled expression Patrocles was starting to wear, it wasn’t something he was into either. It made the Prince smile knowing he wasn’t alone.

“Running away from the party? Can’t say I’m too surprised.” Thananto’s voice was smooth as the shadows he hid in, seeming to appear out of nowhere from his spot against the balcony fence. In his hand was a glass of ambrosia, barely touched. He twirled it slowly in his fingers as his careful eyes watched the prince, taking him all in. “You’ve never been one to stay in the palace- literally.”

“Good evening to you too, Than.” Zagreus brushed off the pointed comments, leaning back on his own end of the fence. “Funny you say that, but here you are- hiding away just like me.”

“I’m not-” He started, but thought better of it. Instead, Thanatos turned his gaze back to his glass, swishing the fluid within the crystal cup once more. “I’m not a fan of…this. There are too many souls in the room. It’s…overwhelming.”

“Hm.” Zagreus nodded. He understood that feeling all too well. The palace, while not nearly as packed as it was tonight- always felt like the air was thin. There was so much going on- so many unanswered questions about his birthright, so many tasks to do and jobs he had no interest in partaking in.

Sometimes he attempted to run to learn about his mother.

Other times he ran because it was the only way he could breathe.

The mood felt too heavy. Reaching out, he snatched the glass from the other’s hand, draining it in one clean gulp. “Can’t let it go to waste- that’s the good stuff.” Zagreus nodded with a grin, laughing at the shock on Thanatos’ expression.

“I was drinking that.” A lie and they both knew it.

“And now I did.” Zagreus stuck the tip of his tongue out at him. He was feeling silly- the wine was hitting him harder than he thought. “Take that.”

“You’re such a- I don’t even know what to describe you as right now.” Thanatos shook his head with a small smile, turning back to the night sky as Zagreus shook with chuckles. “I’m glad you're having fun tonight.”

“With you, I’m always having fun.” He meant it in a kind light, but the comment seemed to make Thanatos droop, his smile fading for a more somber expression as he stared out across the horizon. “What’s wrong? Was it something I said?”

“This won’t last.” Thanatos didn’t even try to soften the blow. “By morning, you’ll be gone again- off to Olympus in an attempt to get out once more.”

That was true- he would be back at it again. “I’m sorry-”

“Don’t.” Thanatos cut him off, voice tight. “Don’t you dare.”

Zagreus remained quiet, letting the sounds of the party fill the silence between them. This wasn’t a new thing; Thanatos made it clear his opposition to the prince’s various escapades. He didn’t try to stop him- he respected him too much to try and hold him back these days- or perhaps he was just too tired to try anymore.

Zagreus didn’t know how to feel about either.

The air began to grow flavorful- Dusa’s famous stew was near ready. Dinner will be served soon.

“Can’t keep them waiting.” Thanatos stood, stretching his arms out as he turned to the onslaught of partygoers. “We’ll be missed if we don’t show up.”

“You’re going like that?” Zagreus asked, brows furrowing at the grimness of Thanatos’ features.

“You have to at least fake a smile for family holiday dinner.” Thanatos turned his lips upward in a hollow curve, eyes sad as they met Zagreus’. “You and I both know that by heart now.”

He did, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“Why fake it?” Zagreus asked, a new idea coming to mind as he straightened out. “When I can easily bring a real one out of you?”

“I highly doubt you could toni- What are you doing?” Thanatos backed up then, unprepared for how close the prince got. They were the same height, but this close in all his flaming glory, he seemed much bigger. “Zagreus-”

“Smile for me, Than.” His lips were curved into a wicked grin, eyes dancing. It wasn’t long before hands grabbed his waist, wiggling their fingers into his ribs.

“Ah!! No! Nohohoho, you bahahhahahstahhahard!” Thanatos yelped, squirming as he clung to the pale hands on him. “Gehehheet ohohohohoff you bruuhuuhute! Noohohoht hehehehehere!”

“Why not? Everyone’s either too drunk or too distracted to notice.” Zagreus’ tone was teasing, his mismatched eyes gleaming with satisfaction at the shaky smile forcing itself upon Thanatos’ lips. “And who are you calling a brute?” He moved his hands further in, grazing the back of Death’s ribs so gently it made him arch with a squeaky yelp. “I’d say I’m quite gentle. Can’t you tell?”

“Shuuhuhuhuhuhsh, you fiehehehhehend!” Thanatos tried to swat at him, but his attacks were weak- just barely swatting at his arms. Zagreus had him cornered, back against the balcony railing while his fingers flew up and down his torso, pushing past the thin material of his robes to get the warm skin there. “Ihihihihiihiht’s toohohohoho coohohohohld out heheheehheere for thhiihhiihs!”

“I know- that’s why I need to warm you up.” The prince leaned in close, his voice sending shivers down the other’s spine. “If you’d like though, we can move this somewhere else-”

The offer was enticing and embarrassing. Thanatos had no time to process either before they heard the thump of footsteps coming towards the Balcony doors. “Zag-”

“Hey, what’s up?” The prince’s back was to him now, his wide shoulders shielding a now exhausted Thanatos from their guest. “How can I help you, Hypnos?”

“Your father is looking for you. It’s time for the feast.” The sleepy being rubbed his arms as he looked around, brows furrowing. “Is Thanatos with you? I swear I heard him just now.”

“Nope- haven’t seen him all night. Must have passed out drunk somewhere.” That earned him a pinch to the bicep. It took everything in Zagreus not to grin. “I’m sure he’ll find his way back once the feast is on. You know how he is.”

“That I do. Okay; come in when you're done- before all the roasted duck is gone.” Hypnos waved as he reentered the party, leaving the two alone once more.

“Passing out drunk? What do you take me for?” Thanatos grumbled as he glared at the prince, a faint blush still painting his cheeks.

“What? It’s believable, right? Well- probably not for you.” Zagreus shrugged, just barely avoiding another pinch. “We could absolutely go out and get drunk if you’d like to validate our story?”

“You’re terrible.” There it was again, that small but warm smile he only wore for him. “We should really head back. I’m sure you’re craving that roasted duck Hypno’s mentioned.”

The prince’s stomach growled in response, earning a snort. “Knew it.”

“Heh, what can I say? It’s famously good.” Zagreus offered an arm, waiting patiently while the other stared. “Shall we?”

“...Fine, I suppose.” He took the other’s arm, letting him bring him back into the warmth of the room. A thank you was on the tip of his tongue, but for what he didn’t know. “Zag-”

“Yes?” He turned to look back, mismatched eyes kind. Something like understanding lingered in them.

“Nevermind.” Thanatos decided, squeezing his arm. “Come on- before we miss out.”

I hope this was good! Happy Squealing Santa!

#hades #zagreus #thanatos #zagnatos #tickle #tickle fic #squealing santa 2k22 #ss2k22 #it's been awhile since I've written for these guys #I hope I did them good!#thanks for reading :)

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bratbutcute · 10 months ago

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If you’re looking for me, you’ll find me in a corner, crying for the beauty that is this fic.

Thank you @rosileeduckie for gifting this fic to the world.

I believe the demon Crowley invented it

Which he does, on occasion, do on purpose.

Crowley makes up something special for a certain angel someone. So season two is a thing. I made a thing about Crowley making a thing because I needed more things. I hope you like the thing! :) No spoilers for new season, no worries

SFW. Potential warnings: none. Good Omens/Ineffable Husbands tickle fic.

Word count: 6,003

~*~

It took Crowley a while to want to fly again. To be expected, really; falling, cast from the heavens and plummeting to the depths amid a cacophony of agonized screaming and terrified wailing of the damned all plunging downward into jagged rock and sizzling sulfur–it wasn’t an experience he was eager to repeat. He kept to the ground for a while. Crawling, slithering, was much calmer. But one day, he caught a breeze. Sitting on a crag, sunning himself, the downy feathers of his large dark wings felt a cool gust and began to fluff up. He stretched out the limbs, welcoming the wind, and his long gossamer flight wings began to shiver as well. The wind whistled through him, beckoning him to stretch further, to go faster, to fall. And, with a deep breath and golden eyes wide, he fell. Tucked his wings tight against his back, feeling the wind batter him, rocketing down the mountainside–and then threw them open wide, like floodgates accepting rain, like garden gates accepting fire. He caught the wind, the wind caught him, and he was no longer falling but flying. The wind, the sky, embraced him, surrounded him, whipping through his long crimson hair and tousling it a thousand directions, pinning a hysterical smile to his cheeks, drying tears before they could fall from his eyes. Flapping, swooping, diving, soaring, Crowley shrieked in whooping laughter, utterly free. He wasn’t doomed to the depths; he was up, left, right, down, and everywhere. The sky was his to ride, the earth his to explore. He was alone, and he was free.

He did a lot of flying after that. Still walked often, sure; humans and their antics were much easier to see from the ground. But his heart pounded loudest and brightest up in the atmosphere.

Speaking of heart pounding.

One day, as Crowley flew, he spotted a large white shape in a tree below him. He couldn’t say offhand where he was–it wasn’t like he often flew with a destination; as much of the world as there was, humans hadn’t filled it with all the fun stuff they would one day–but he could see plenty of empty open desert to catch him when he landed. So, he angled his flight downward, and, just for fun, somersaulted into the dry scrubland, loving the feeling of sand freckling his grinning cheeks and grass adorning his mussed hair. A hop, skip, and a jump, and he’d crossed the distance to the curious tree and was perched on a branch beside its familiar inhabitant.

“Hey, angel.”

“Hello, Crawly,” said Aziraphale. Prim and polite as ever, albeit looking painfully bored. The angel’s eyes were wandering the fuzzy desert horizon, hands folded in the lap of his obscenely white robes which billowed gently around his crossed ankles, which swayed subconsciously back and forth. His wings were folded at his back, appearing tight and stiff from disuse. Crowley counted back in his head how long it had been since their paths had crossed and wondered how much of that time Aziraphale had been made to spend as a tree ornament.

“Crowley,” the demon corrected, feeling antsy just watching Aziraphale sit so still and so standing up on his branch, which creaked protestingly against the first real new movement in a while, and reaching up to ruffle the foliage with his fingers.

“Right,” Aziraphale said, furrowing his brow and shaking his head with an embarrassed smile. “Crowley. I wasn’t expecting to see you. What brings you here?”

Crowley’s fingers found purchase on a higher branch, and he gripped it tight, using it to swing himself up and around and hang upside down from the taller vantage point by his knees. His long curls hung down like a red willow, but his own black robes hugged dutifully to his corporal form. (Even if he didn’t have the human habit of shame, he wasn’t keen to let gravity have his clothes; the wind could get cold even in the desert). The blood rushing to his head made Aziraphale’s question not quite register right away, and Crowley blinked. What had brought him? He stretched out his onyx wings and flexed them demonstratively.

“Ah,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I mean, what are you doing?”

The demon stuck out his lower lip thoughtfully and narrowed his eyes. “Nothing?”

The angel tipped his head, brow furrowed. “What do you mean, nothing?”

“Just that, I guess. Flying quite a bit, having fun. Not like demons really have anything we’re meant to be doing, so.” Crowley curled forward, reaching up to his hanging branch and pulling himself upright before laying down on his stomach, resting his head on his arms to look down at the angel. “Yeah, whatever I want. Nothing.”

Aziraphale sputtered, and Crowley chuckled.

“’We have no time to waste, the Almighty has much work for us to do,’” said the demon in so impressive an impression of the head archangel that Aziraphale held a hand to his lips when a titter startled him by escaping. Crowley grinned. “Even if I’m not on God’s payroll anymore, time’s hardly wasted for us, is it? We’re not mortal; we don’t have a limited amount of time to get done all the things we should.” Crowley closed his eyes with a deep sigh. “So I’m doing none of them. Too much earth to enjoy to get busy with work.”

When Crowley slowly opened one eye, he saw Aziraphale turning his ring over on his little finger, white wings twitching and puffing out, subconsciously agitated.

"Could show you, if you want. Come fly with me, I'll take you on a tour."

"What!" In an instant, Aziraphale's wings went from anxiously fidgeting to defensively spread, puffed up and rigid and making him look much bigger and more threatening. Or, it would have, if he hadn't whipped his head around to look at Crowley with the biggest eyes and flapping mouth and reddening cheeks. He looked positively scandalized.

Crowley couldn't help it--he laughed, a hissing snickering sound that he buried in his arms. He noted Aziraphale's flush looked even darker when he lifted his head, but the thought didn't even occur that it could have been from something other than the words from his mouth.

"I- I- I-! I couldn't possibly--!!"

Couldn't possibly, Crowley sighed, hiding the way his smile began to fade by pressing his cheek into his forearm. Couldn't possibly be seen flittering about with a demon!

Aziraphale settled himself, clearing his throat and smoothing his ruffled feathers. "Couldn't possibly. Far too busy."

"With what?" Crowley scoffed, smiling again when Aziraphale's blush rebloomed. "Looked to me like you were doing as much nothing as I was." He pushed himself up, looking through the verdure to an empty desert. "Unless I'm mistaken, not much of a garden here for you to guard."

"Precisely, there isn't," said Aziraphale, visibly brightening, more confident, when Crowley furrowed his brow and opened his mouth in confusion. "Humans are free to roam about wherever they like now," Aziraphale explained, "even if they're harder to keep track of. And angels are tasked to give them inspiration and blessings."

"Yeah, but," Crowley said, reluctant to disagree when the angel had given so content and cute a wiggle in his seat, "doesn't look like there's many humans around for inspiring or blessing."

"No," Aziraphale relented, casting his gaze downward and fidgeting with his fingers. "Actually, there aren't many yet at all, certainly not enough for all us angels to keep busy, so I- I'm waiting for them to do their whole--" he scrunched up his nose and flapped his hands in front of him, “’go forth and multiply’ing… thing…”

“Uh-huh.” Crowley leaned to once side and then the other before tipping off his branch, catching himself one the perch with one elbow and swinging one leg up to hang from his knee. “And, while you’re waiting for that,” he said, tipping his head back to look at Aziraphale, “you could come fly with me to–”

“I most certainly could not.”

“You should,” Crowley countered. “If for nothing else, because you’ll get stiff just sitting there.”

Aziraphale gave his head a quick and resolute shake. “But I won’t.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “You won’t get stiff?”

“No,” Aziraphale huffed with an exasperated smile, “I won’t go flittering about. Angels aren’t meant to…” He trailed off, brow furrowed as he sought for words. Instead, he gave a shaky wave with his hands, as though that gesture wasn’t equally vague.

“Fly?” Crowley guessed.

Aziraphale gave another huff, part impatient and part amused. “Obviously. We, no, um… There’s a certain level of professionalism to…” He’d run out of words again. Crowley wondered if the Lord’s precious humans would be so kind as to one day make up a way for someone to communicate with their hands for beings like poor Aziraphale. (Probably would, clever things.) As it was, the angel said no more, but his inability to articulate in concert with his anxious hands and wide eyes spoke bounds.

Professionalism, hm? Ah. Crowley guessed again, words slow and eyebrows rising. “You’re not meant to have fun?”

At that, Aziraphale nodded, the tension in his shoulders and wings dropping, and a relieved smile gracing his cheeks. An answer, even one delivered so astonishedly as Crowley’s had been, evidently was enough to settle him. “Yes. Far too busy.”

“Let me get this straight.” Crowley unbent the two limbs suspending him from his branch, languidly loosing them so he could drop down sit beside Aziraphale on his lower branch. “Lord of all light and goodness,” he wiggled his fingers upward, “made all this world for you to serve and forbade you to enjoy any of it?”

“Not forbade, but serving does come first” Aziraphale replied, seeming only have just realized Crowley was now beside him. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands in his lap. Crowley cocked his head curiously; no more hand-flapping or chin-wagging, then. The angel had let himself out of his box enough for one day.

“Well,” said Crowley, clapping his palms to his thighs and pushing off until he tipped backwards and into freefall. His wings caught him with practiced ease just beneath the tree’s canopy, but he definitely delighted in the angel’s startled jolting and almost reaching to try and catch him. “Have fun sitting in your nest.” He gave the angel a salute, then touched a finger to his head. “Or don’t have fun, I guess, whichever. I’ll be up there.” Crowley pointed upward, then snorted. “I mean, ‘up there’ like the sky, not ‘up there’ like– you know what I mean.”

The last he saw of Aziraphale before flying off was cherub cheeks glowing an embarrassed pink and hands all but anchored to his robed lap. Crowley’s wings beat fast and hard, arms thrown wide, and soon he was back amongst the cloud. Which way he’d been intending to go, he had no idea, so he hailed the first wind gale and let himself float along it. His thoughts, which usually wandered just as aimlessly as the winds, were stubbornly pointed downward and behind him.

Oh, an angel didn’t want to have fun, what a shocker. Let him sit in his tree, bored, all he wanted. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Crowley’s wind carried him to an ocean that would one day be called the Red Sea, passing him off to an air distinctly cooler and tasting of salt. Beneath him, the blue vastness stretched on toward the horizon, in no time at all swallowing up the desert he’d come from until he was flying over only sea. Ocean above, ocean below, even from so high up, he could see no end to either. Beautiful. Peaceful. Lonely.

The sighed Crowley exhaled was ocean-deep. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Banking hard, Crowley dove under and out of his wind current, flying lower and closer to the sea as he trekked back toward land. A spray-laden breeze spurred him on, carrying him like a leaf riding the rolling waves.

He couldn’t just pull the angel from his tree. Well. He could, of course, literally. But he couldn’t pull him from where he’d metaphorically rooted himself. Maybe there was a figurative middle ground at which to meet him.

Literal ground came into view, and Crowley slowed until he’d lighted on a beach. He stood there a moment, hands on his hips and lips pursed and wings stretching, thinking. Stewing. Any other angel, Crowley probably wouldn’t have been so stuck on. But Aziraphale wasn’t any other angel. He had a little devil in him, or he wouldn’t have talked with a devil in the first place. An angel’s stuffiness didn’t suit him; even if he was prim, it wasn’t like he’d had much chance to be anything else. To try anything else. He wanted to have fun; Crowley knew he did. Crowley watched the waves tumble onto the sands with thunderous yawns, listened to the gulls’ distant disgruntled cries as they squabbled over dinner. The ocean was just as vast from below. If only he could have Aziraphale standing next to him, get him to see all there was to see.

Something scuttled over his foot, and he brought his gaze down. A small crab, no bigger than his thumb, had elected that the risk of invading a demon’s personal space was worth the few seconds it’d safe on its journey. Crowley stepped back–obligingly, not because the creature had startled him; he was far scarier than a crab, thank you–and crouched down to watch the crab scurry on. The sand beneath them both was warm and deep, too, shifting beneath Crowley’s feet in miniscule landslides of grains too many to count. Crowley snickered; some poor angel had to have been saddled with the task to count sand and pour it out on the earth, he was sure. There were shells atop the sandy scape, too, and stones already being smoothed down from the waves’ crashing. Crowley picked up one of each, a pretty little brown spiral and a slate rock hewn quite flat. After a second of consideration, he reeled back his arm and tossed the stone out across the ocean, grinning when it jumped four times across the surface before sinking into the water. Like it was skipping. Snickering proudly, he scooped up another such stone and tucked it safely alongside the shell into one of the many folds of his robe. (Like gravity, the robe was willing to ignore space and mass to allow Crowley to carry more things. Very considerate.) He walked a few paces further, gathering up a small piece of driftwood, another rock with an interesting texture, and, deciding the risk of getting pinched was worth it, the crab. Then, back into the air, he went.

Time was still funny. After the big seven days at the beginning had been counted, the calendar had gotten a little messy. Humans would probably benefit from it, get a few more weeks or years or centuries in change from days not counted for the sun having forgotten to have been set. Maybe some angel would be appointed to sort that out eventually and keep time organized. As it was, Crowley didn’t know how long he’d been gone from Aziraphale’s tree. A few hours? A few days? It was easy to get lost up in the air and up in one’s thoughts. What he did know was that it had been long enough for Aziraphale to fall asleep.

Angels didn’t need to sleep. It had been a design feature. Too much to do. But, as Crowley clambered into the tree once more, he saw a blonde head tipped back, eyes closed and jaw relaxed.

“Hey, angel!” Crowley crowed and jabbed a finger into Aziraphale’s side, already grinning.

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open, and he jolted forward with a yelp, floundering with his wings to get his balance back while one hand gripped his branch and the other was pressed affrontedly to his heaving chest. When was no longer in danger of falling, Aziraphale’s focus shifted squarely to Crowley, all dagger-glares and flushed cheeks. Crowley couldn’t help laughing, which, he realized, was all too easy to do around Aziraphale. “Crowley! That was–! You startled me!”

With a shrug and lingering snickers, Crowley moved to Aziraphale’s perch, sitting down beside him. “Just helping you out, angel. You were working so hard before; would hate to see your higher-ups find you dozing.”

Whatever retort or further scolding Aziraphale had intended to give fizzled away in his flapping mouth. He pressed his lips tight together and turned his pink face away slightly, and Crowley wondered if he was trying to keep himself from coming up with an excuse or, God forbid, breathing a lie.

With a chuckle, Crowley reached into his robes, elbowing Aziraphale’s side as he did. “I’m just teasing. I wouldn’t want to see your higher-ups at all.” At that, the line of Aziraphale’s lip wobbled, the muscle of his cheek twitching like it ached to pull upward. Crowley’s grin was unabashed. “Anyway, hopefully this will make up for it.”

Aziraphale jumped when he found himself with hands full of small silly objects. “What’s this?” he asked, juggling them for a moment before laying the treasures in his lap. The offended crab stayed determinedly pinched to the hem of his sleeve, but the other trinkets spread out nicely upon the fabric his white robe in a flattering little display.

“Figured,” explained Crowley, holding a hand out to catch the crab when it eventually tired, “since angels are allergic to having fun and going to new places, it’d be a shame for you to not even see things from those places.” Moreso, it was its own temptation, but nothing Crowley had been instructed to do. He hoped that, if Aziraphale saw pretty little things from somewhere else, maybe he’d want to go there more than he’d want to do his nothing job. Maybe want to do nothing together. Maybe.

“Oh.” The angel’s gaze hadn’t left the little exhibit. His eyes wandered between the objects, and, slowly, he let his hand–the one not currently being clambered up by a crustacean–trail over them, tentative and featherlight. Gentle. Reverent. Crowley tore his own gaze from Aziraphale’s hands back to his face. The flustered blush had faded, and his eyes were as bright as Crowley had ever seen them, positively shining. “Thank you. I suppose.”

The verbal response was so detached from the visual one that Crowley snorted. Right, so, angels didn’t know how to receive gifts (albeit, admittedly, they were as new to the concept as any other earthling). Maybe that was enough of an excuse to give him more gifts.

"No one's ever given me-- ow." Aziraphale looked up from his treasures to the crab that had scaled his sleeve and delivered a disgruntled pinch to his arm. He smiled, regarding the little creature with eyes still bright. "No one's ever given me a crab. Excuse me, my fine little fellow?"

"Well, I wasn't planning repeats anyway, but definitely no crabs next time." Crowley jabbed at the crab with his finger. "Oi."

The crab promptly let go of Aziraphale to brandish both pincers at Crowley.

"Ow," he said when the crab latched onto his nail. "Fine, read you loud and clear, I'll give you a lift home." He tucked the little devil into his pockets and looked back to Aziraphale, who'd gone red again. "Don't look so terrified, angel. He's safe in there, you're safe out here."

Aziraphale's response was quiet. "Next time?"

"'Next--'?" Crowley's eyebrows furrowed, then rose to his hairline. 'Next time' that he brought the angel a gift. Well, he hadn't meant to speak that implication into the universe. Whoops. "Ahm, s-- so. You want to come with me to escort the little thing home?"

"I can't," Aziraphale sighed, but he was cradling the smooth stone and tracing it with his fingertips.

"Busy, right." Crowley scooted forward and off the branch, into the air. "Well, sleep tight."

Maybe not the best time to tease when the angel had a stone in his hand, but Crowley could get used to seeing Aziraphale blush before flying off.

He was still seeing red, and is was just as adorable, while he lay on his belly on the warm beach sand, fending off the little crab from pinching his nose with one hand.

"You were no help back there," Crowley told his tiny bloodthirsty foe, parrying away a jab with his index finger. Only after delivering a few nasty blows to Crowley’s knuckles and fingertips was the vengeful crab, at last, satisfied, scuttling off into the surf. Crowley mussed his hair with both hands before letting his head loll forward, resting his forehead on the sand and mindlessly scratching lines into the sand with his fingers.

Not a total failure of a plan, but not a complete success, either, with or without the aid of Captain Stabby. He hadn’t gotten the angel out of his nest, but at least he now had something to keep from being bored to sleep. Crowley wasn’t usually averse to giving up, but he could be pretty stubborn. And maybe he had a pretty big crush. But that wasn’t the point! Aziraphale was perhaps the only angel to speak to, let alone be kind to Crowley after his fall. He was too sweet a soul to deserve being benched from all of Earth’s joys for a few centuries just because he didn’t technically have work to do. Crowley couldn’t let him be stuck like that.

Resolved, Crowley lifted his head and determined to come up with another plan. Watching the waves crash and turn over, so he shuffled through the thoughts and ideas in his mind. Giving Aziraphale things hadn’t swayed him enough to move from his perch, even if those things had obviously delighted him. (More than obviously, but Crowley didn’t yet know how Aziraphale had carefully tucked all of the little beach treasures safely into his own pockets.) Perhaps, instead of showing the angel how much fun could be had somewhere else by collecting things from that somewhere, Crowley could make him feel that right where he was. Hard to replicate the feeling of being on a warm beach, soaking in the sun and listening to the sea, while in reality sitting in a gnarled old tree. A different feeling, perhaps. A different place. Crowley’s most favorite place was the sky; as an angel, Aziraphale would be well acquainted with how good flying could be. But how to make him feel that way from the ground? It wasn’t like he could collect bits of cloud and wind.

Crowley looked up at the clouds, following the bright white hilltops and grey flat plains with his eyes. No angel designed them or upkept them; the wind pulled and pushed and shaped them, taking them and making them to its whim. Like it took Crowley. From in their midst, clouds looked mostly like great pale curtains. From below, Crowley could almost see fluffy sheep and snowy mountaintops in their formless shapes. Chaos, random chance, channeled to make something substantial. Collecting hadn’t work to replicate feelings; why wouldn’t making something?

Demons loved making stuff. Creativity had been made to be a human trait, but demons, by principal, had the bad habit of doing things they weren’t supposed to. It was fun in so many ways. To come up with and then make something overcomplicated, accidentally brilliant, or absolute bullshit nonsense–and then to see what humans did with it. It was invigorating, cathartic, and hilarious.

What, what, what could Crowley make for his angel? It actually wasn’t too hard yet, to think up something unique, occupying such an early chapter of history. Still, he wanted it to be special. Moving. Figuratively and literally. What did he feel when flying, and how could he make that happen down here? How to ruffle an angel’s feathers without wind?

Crowley looked at the squiggling furrows his fingers had left in the sand. They had been made without intention, for the satisfying scraping sounds and gritty shifting texture as he thought. But, now, they gave him an idea. Hands could ruffle feathers, sure. He looked over his shoulder and reached back to give his own feathers an experimental ruffle. Yup, that could work. Like the waves crashing over one another, Crowley’s thoughts started to race, spurred as he looked backward. Hands ruffling feathers, fingers buried in sand, feet bare in soft grass. He thought of one human he’d seen poke another in the side and how the second had recoiled with a smile before they’d both gone back to fishing. He thought of how it felt when an itchy leave wriggled its way down his robe. He thought of how it felt when an angry little crab scittered across his skin. He thought of an angel’s beaming smile and bright eyes. He had many thoughts, but he had one idea. One idea for something absolutely nonsensical and extremely silly, and, when he eventually workshopped a name for it, he’d call it tickling.

But, one unnamed idea in hand, Crowley flew up from his sandy sunning spot and back in the direction of a now very familiar tree.

“I saw you coming this time,” Aziraphale declared when Crowley all but crashed into the tree with how fast he’d been flying.

Crowley scoffed, picking twigs from his crimson hair. “I would hope so, between how many eyes you have and how much noise I was made landing.”

Aziraphale set his eyes heavenward, as close as he seemed to get to rolling them.

“Why?” Crowley said as he sat down next to the angel. “Were you watching for me?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d come again,” Aziraphale admitted, cheeks going rosy and fingers worrying a small brown shell.

For a moment, Crowley’s heart beat loud and eager in his ears. He kept it. No time to be swept up in that thought, though; he was far too busy with the task at hand. Crowley cleared his throat and shrugged, moving to sit close enough to Aziraphale that their knees touched. “Had to. I had another gift for you.”

“Oh?” The angel’s eyes lit up excitedly, even as he tried to look professional. “From where this time?”

“From me. I made it up. For you.” Crowley stuck out his tongue and cursed his own ears for burning. “Ngk– I’ll show you.”

Before the angel could offer any turnabout teasing for Crowley being the one flushed and at a loss for words (because, Crowley just knew, there was enough devil in Aziraphale to absolutely turn the tables given the opportunity), Crowley thrust his hands beneath Aziraphale’s folded wings, wiggling his fingers to muss the feathers and scribble at the muscle beneath.

“Ah–!” Aziraphale yelped, his wings swinging out wide to escape the surely strange feeling. Crowley only targeted the space closer to Aziraphale’s shoulders instead. “What are you–?” Aziraphale tried to ask through laughter that seemed to be building and bubbling quite irresistibly from his chest, “What are you doing?”

“I’m tickling you,” Crowley explained, crawling his wiggling fingers from Aziraphale’s wings, down his shoulder blades and under his arms. “Not sure about the name yet, but I figured vessel nerves usual react for preservation. Why not make them react to something fun?”

Perhaps for preservation against this new attack, Aziraphale tried to lean back and away from Crowley, flapping his wings and batting at his hands. The tickling under his arms, though, had him curling up and laughing enough to mostly rob him of words once again. “This isn’t–!”

“This isn’t fun?” Crowley guessed, puffing out his lower lip. “Now, is that because it’s actually not fun, or because you, as an angel, could not possibly be having fun?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale squealed, and Crowley grinned, downright devilish.

“I mean, if it’s not fun, why are you laughing? Laughing means you’re happy, yeah?” he teased, slipping his hands from under Aziraphale’s arms to set his dancing fingers loose upon his stomach.

Aziraphale was nearly horizontal, leaned so far away from Crowley and wings and hands flapping weakly. When Crowley’s next attack targeted his stomach, Aziraphale loosed a merry wail before tumbling into bright laughter that made the lines by his eyes crinkle happily and the breath in his throat catch wheezily. And oh, his laugh was perfect. All the pristine stuffy angel was gone, drowned out by the loud, head-thrown-back, wrinkled nose, toothy, shoulder-scrunching, belly-shaking laughter. It suited him.

Crowley had some mercy, switching from digging and scratching to poking and wiggling. “It is supposed to mean you’re happy, right?” he asked, for a moment concerned he might accidentally kill the angel. He certainly looked happy, and he hadn’t been doing much to push Crowley away, but… “I came up with tickling, but I’m not yet fully clear on…”

A still-giggling Aziraphale blinked through laughter-induced tears–tears were sad; had he become so happy, he was sad?–to look at Crowley, his gaze an odd but warm mix of fond and sympathetic and sweet and teasing and just losing the edge of hysterical. Just that look nearly bowled Crowley onto his back.

“Oh well!” Crowley exclaimed, a little too loudly. “I’ve got to perfect my new little game for you. And you,” he grinned as Aziraphale grew all the redder and scrunched his neck, “you just stop laughing if you stop being happy.”

Aziraphale didn’t stop laughing, but he didn’t stop squirming either. In fact, when Crowley set out to practice until perfect by testing other techniques to see what would tickle and started squeezing the soft spots of Aziraphale’s stomach and sides, the angel thrashed so exuberantly that he rolled right off the branch. Crowley followed, and, in a mess of feathers and flapping wings, the two tumbled from the tree and into the desert scrub grass.

With how much of a reaction squeezing had gotten, Crowley continued doing it, chasing Aziraphale’s laughter down along his thighs and behind his knees. With more ground on which to metaphorically stand, Aziraphale did put up a bit more of a fight, and Crowley was sure no one who pictured wrestling an angel would conjure that image. Of the angel with a wide smile beaming like the sun, of the demon getting the upper hand by jamming his thumbs into the angel’s hips until the later collapsed backward with a snorting cackle, of the adoration in the demon’s eyes as he tickled the angel apart piece by piece. Crowley rounded back, at last able to get one of Aziraphale’s wings pinned under his knee and burrowing the fingers of one hand into the wing pit and the fingers of the other into the soft stomach and vibrating both sets until the angel was wheezing.

Crowley had had about a dozen other ideas for this tickling thing once Aziraphale had actually been under his hands, but he had actually succeeded in getting Aziraphale from his tree, and he didn’t want to overwhelm with too much of his brilliant new idea. He pulled his hands back to a featherlight crawl, tracing the fair hair of Aziraphale’s forearms with the tips of his fingers and the tops of his feet with the tips of his black wings. The angel, thoroughly spent and thoroughly happy, lay giggling and content, hands twitching and stomach jumping but otherwise still. Eventually, all Crowley’s movement stopped as well, transfixed by the sight beneath him.

Here lay Aziraphale, opalescent wings thrown wide and with feathers mussed, perfect curled hair a tousled mess, hysterically happy smile stuck to his cheeks, tears drying on his cheeks, chest heaving from a belly full of screaming laughter. Crowley fell from on top of him, laying beside Aziraphale with a smile of his own. Perfect.

“That was fun,” Aziraphale said, eyes closed and smiling so gently that Crowley simply couldn’t bear to gloat just then. (He would eventually gloat. A lot. But not just then.)

“Yeah, it was.” Crowley lay beside Aziraphale, reveling in the validation of a successful plan and good idea, as well as the echoing angelic laughter still gracing his ears. He turned his head when Aziraphale pushed himself to sit up.

“Well, it will be a bit before humans fully populate the earth anyway.” Aziraphale stood, brushing off a bit of sand from his robes and producing the shell and a rock from them to make sure they had survived the fall, and holding out a hand to Crowley. “You can lead the way to that ocean you were so keen about, and you can tell me more about your creation. I haven’t ever laughed like that, have you?”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and stood, shaking his head. “Just when I catch a really good breeze, but even then…”

“Ah. Well, I liked your gifts. Can I share this one?”

The demon was struck with the absurd image of angels dropping like flies around the old garden under the menace that would be Aziraphale the tickle angel. He snorted. “Sure, if you want.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders happily and stretched out his wings. “I’d like to tickle you then, so you can laugh like that, and I can see it.”

Something in Crowley’s mind popped. Full of ideas as it had been minutes earlier, it was amazingly empty at Aziraphale’s proposal. With all the excitement the demon had had coming up with the idea and developing it, he had not once considered it being turned against him. Regifted. He was struck with another image, this time of himself, pinned under Aziraphale, at his mercy, laughing like flying. That image actually struck him as quite lovely, but it did also make his ears burn like hellfire. “Well!” Crowley said, kicking up off the ground and hovering a few feet above it. “One fun thing at a time. Ocean?”

Aziraphale nodded, smiled, and shot up into the air like a feathery stone shot by a sling. “Race you!”

“Hey!” Crowley laughed, chasing after him.

~*~

Crowley had come up with it, but Aziraphale had made it his own. And had inspired Crowley to coin the term ‘tickle monster.’

Such inspiration came to Crowley in an instance much like the one he found himself in at present: head tipped back against the cottage bedroom door, cheeks and chest aching from laughing, knees wobbly, so high and happy that the only thing keeping him from floating away was Aziraphale holding him (quite nicely after so evilly pinning him there earlier), stroking his fingertips along Crowley’s hips and sides, slow, featherlight, gentle, reverent.

“This may have been the best gift ever given,” Aziraphale chuckled, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s neck and leaning back with a proud wiggle.

Crowley lifted his arms, still a bit jelly-like, to wrap around Aziraphale’s shoulders, holding him close and keeping himself upright. “And it got me a hefty promotion way back when.”

Aziraphale laughed, “What?!”

“Yeah,” Crowley grinned, crooked and dizzy. “’Oh, Crowley, what an ingenious torture method, all the fun of hysteria with no marks left behind!’”

He let his head fall onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, giggling, as Aziraphale smothered his own laughter in his hand.

“But,” Crowley said, lifting his head but still too boneless to actually hold it up and so letting it thump back against the door, “you are by far more evil with it, so I may have taken credit where I was not due.”

“How rude,” Aziraphale tutted, giving Crowley a little scratch to one hip that had him crumpling sideways and squeaking. The angel caught him easily, supporting him around the waist and gently tickling his back to get him to purr and slump further into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Well, whatever the offices took it for, I am very grateful.” He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead and smiled. “Very happy with it.”

“Good,” Crowley mumbled, “because I didn’t keep the receipt.”

#tickle fic rec #good omens tickle #okay but seriously #it’s so well written #the way you described Crowley and flying at the beginning #i honestly forgot this was a tickle fic #because in a sense it wasn’t #this was a story magnificently told #that also happens to have tickling in it #it’s meant to be a compliment i hope you understand what i mean #i love your writing so much #if i ever start writing again i swear you’ll be an inspiration ♥️

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hexalianrebel-blackfeathers · 1 year ago

Text

(Tickle) Fight Club

Panda's Notes: Hello, hi, yes, I have been slightly obsessing over this AU for the past few months, and I finally finished...a part. >w< Buckle in, kids, this is a lot longer than I first thought it would be. You can once again thank the lovely @rosileeduckie for facilitating my nonsense.

...What? No, I totally don't have recent commitments that have an encroaching deadline. What are you talking about?!

[Ao3] || [Commissions] || [Ko-fi]

[1] || [2]

Warning: ~10K words about Miles brutalizing some folks. Enjoy. >w<

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Miles had a terrible habit of getting drawn in by Ganke’s nonsense.

“Hey, that character looks sick; you make that?” turned into binging episodes of an anime every night through junior year. He wasn’t complaining, but somewhere between the third movie and the 700th episode, it was a miracle his grades hadn’t completely tanked.

“Dude, nice shirt! Do those, like, spell something, or…?” became an entirely different binge through half of senior year. And Miles maybe fudged the truth a bit with one of his art teachers when he submitted a project that was only loosely inspired. Again, not complaining!

“Oh, nice mash-up, man; I loved that song when I was a kid, but I don’t know where it’s from.” You’ll never guess what happened after that. Those games were fire, though, and at least this time, he could move at his own pace, even if Ganke was nagging him over text every few days while he was away at college to geek out.

When Freshman year ended—finally, thank the gods—and Miles returned to New York, he was met at the train station by Ganke and immediately dragged to the apartment he was sharing with—

“You moved in with my brother?!” He asked in disbelief. “Wait, I didn’t even know he left home!”

“Well, technically… Your parents don’t entirely know yet—”

“What?!”

“—And he hasn’t actually moved out. I did. We just split rent here. Both of us have jobs and projects going pretty well, and he kinda just tells them he’s hanging out at my place, which is technically still true; they just don’t know my parents aren’t here—”

“Hold up, wait—” Miles flailed a bit to interrupt Ganke’s rambling. “Gross; is this like ya’ll’s love nest or something?”

Ganke’s arms dropped to his sides, a bright blush coloring his pouting face as he glared at Miles. Miles just snickered and crossed his arms tauntingly. “I’m not hearing a no, Mr. Lee~”

“Y’know, when he tossed out the idea of letting you borrow his room while he’s at school—just, like, use it as an extra little art room or whatever—I thought ‘wow, just like when we were roommates at Visions; how funny!’. But now, I’m gonna tell him you’re banned.”

“Pfft, what?!” Miles giggled, following Ganke toward the back of the apartment.

“Yep, calling him right now…” Ganke pulled his phone out of his pocket all dramatically, pretending to scroll through it.

“Ooh, I bet you have him saved under something dorky~” Miles had lunged forward, hands squeezing playfully at Ganke’s sides as he made obviously fake efforts to peek at his phone. He had a sort of squawking-type laugh whenever he was caught off guard, and Miles loved it. Even when they first met back in high school, Miles had made a habit of sneaking up and prodding him. They liked to get into little fights, usually ending in Miles wrestling Ganke into an easy pin while sneaking scribbles up his sides.

This is important information, because today, and today alone, Ganke suddenly wrenched his arm out from under his own weight, hooking Miles by the arm and rolling both of them into a reversed position. He sat heavily on Miles’ waist, his hands quickly moving to try and worm fingers into his armpits. Miles’ legs kicked as he hugged his arms tight to his sides, and his voice was tangled in nervous squeaks and giggles.

“Someone’s awfully squeaky for starting a fight with the one who knows your weak spots.” Ganke sneered, pressing lightly along the edges of Miles’ ribs to try and slip through his defenses.

“W-When did you get good at wrestling?” He asked through clenched teeth, trying to twist to one side.

“Hm, probably around the time you started sucking at it.” Ganke taunted, raising his hands slightly and wiggling his fingers.

“I do not!” Miles argued with a laugh, his leg kicking out when a few fingers traced along his neck. There was a jarring thump, and despite Miles apparently not feeling pain all of a sudden, both of them were concerned when a few things fell off of the dresser he’d kicked.

“Goddamn, you have been here for ten minutes, and you’re destroying the place!” Ganke teased, pushing himself up off of his poor guest.

“That was not my fault, and you know it.” Miles giggled as he sat up, picking up the picture frame that had fallen beside him. He glanced at it as he stood up, curiosity taking over his face as he realized something.

“Hey, wait a second; I’ve never seen you wear this!” He noted with a laugh as he got to his feet. Ganke peeked over his shoulder, and a chuckle slipped out as he remembered the photo. He was in some costume, mostly purple and some bright green. Looked like a cut-off t-shirt under a biker jacket. There was a paw print drawn on his stomach and whiskers drawn on his cheeks, and he was grinning like a champion as he held up what looked like a gold medal. If it was the same medal dangling from a hook next to the mirror, it was definitely plastic.

“Haven’t worn it in a while either.” Ganke shrugged, taking the frame and setting it just so under where the medal hung. “I should probably bring it home and wash it, actually.” He reached up and pulled the medal off the hook, smiling fondly as he ran his thumb over the feathers embossed in the plastic. He smirked slightly as he caught Miles staring at it in that all-too-familiar way.

“You wanna know how I got it~?” He asked almost tauntingly, and he laughed as Miles slapped his arm and pouted.

He seemed to be physically struggling with himself, crossing his arms as he kicked childishly at the carpet. “…Yeah.” He admitted, smiling in defeat.

-----------

“Okay, so, final checklist: the safe word is Blackout.” Ganke explained as he led Miles down the hall from the changing room. “It’s the real deal though; we basically shut the whole thing down. Very different from tapping out. Do not confuse the two. What’s the safe word?”

“Blackout.” Miles said firmly, wrapping the last loop of tape around his hand and cracking his knuckles softly.

“Nice.”

Miles was wearing a slightly loose t-shirt—kindly loaned by Ganke—and some old basketball shorts. Ganke had been pretty coy about what all this was supposed to be. He seemed to struggle with what to tell Miles without giving the whole thing away. He eventually settled on saying it was somewhere between wrestling and improv club. And, coincidentally, there was an “open tournament” coming up. It was one of the ways they invited new members; the “hands-on” way, so to speak.

“Let me see your nails…” Ganke murmured, taking each of Miles’ hands for a moment as they walked. “Okay, so, we have a little side room you’ll be waiting in. You’ll know the signal when you hear it. You’re still cool with the audience, right? It’s just the theater dorks from the other side of the building; twenty people, max.”

“I’m fine with a little crowd.” Miles chuckled, shifting closer to elbow him gently. “You still haven’t told me what’s going to happen though.”

Ganke laughed lightly and shrugged. “What’s to know? You either pin your opponent for ten seconds or you tap out if you can’t handle it. Nothing else at all~”

“You are awful.”

They chuckled with each other for a moment before quick footsteps suddenly approached from behind them. Two people jogged past them with hoods up, laughing casually as they waved at Ganke and kept running.

“Hey, you guys are late!” Ganke scolded playfully as they disappeared through a door.

“Oh, we’re late?” Miles almost flinched at the sound of a third, heavily accented voice, and someone purposefully shouldered past him. More like elbowed past him, really, which Miles realized when he turned to see a man at least a head taller than him sauntering by. “Shouldn’t you be in the booth then, mate?” His hair was done up in thick locs, and those were tied back behind his head. The man’s dark eyes fell on Miles like a weight, but he smirked as he lifted a hand from his pocket and lightly tapped Miles’ shoulder with the back of it. “Ey, you brought a new fish. Looks like he won’t last a minute.”

Miles scoffed silently, managing to contain his offended face as the man sneered and stepped away. “What’s his problem?” He asked Ganke, trying not to smile.

Ganke shrugged and snickered. “We wonder that every day, man.”

“He thinks he’s the final boss or something?” Miles asked just a bit louder than necessary, a grin pulling his lips as the man stopped and looked pointedly back at them.

Ganke looked between them for a moment, grinning a bit himself as he moved to block them. “Okay, I see where this is going. Save it for the ring, you nerds!” He teased, pressing his palm to Miles’ chest and shooing the other man away. “On ya bike, then!”

The tall man snorted, throwing his hands up as he turned and went through the door the others had used. Ganke smirked as he nudged Miles to a different door.

“You go in through here. There’s an exit on the other side. Like I said: you’ll know the signal when you hear it.” He instructed, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Good luck! You know I’m rooting for you—Oh! Real quick, uh…” He pulled his hand back with an apologetic wince after grabbing Miles’ arm. “Since this is just a trial thing, we usually don’t use challengers’ real names. Privacy; just in case. You, uh, got a name in mind?”

“Geez, put me on the spot, why don’t you?” Miles wrung his hands a bit, looking away as he itched the side of his head. “I…I kinda like New Fish…” He admitted a bit hesitantly.

Ganke snorted, almost giggling. “Seriously?”

“Shut up…”

“Hey, I’m not judging~ Much.” He taunted, shoving Miles playfully before starting to pull the door closed. “What’s your safeword?”

“Blackout.” Miles spoke with an audible pout as Ganke still smirked at him.

“This is going to be great.” He snickered, motioning to Miles with one hand. “No shoes in the ring, man. See you out there.”

Miles rolled his eyes, pulling his sneakers off as he sat on a bench to wait for this supposedly obvious signal.

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

There was always something about the ring. Okay, look, it’s not actually a real fighting ring or anything, but just—Here, try to imagine:

There’s the timbre of the crowd: the rhythm of applause and little echoes of folks calling out their favorite cheers. When Ganke jogged into the room and the cheers redoubled, he couldn’t stop himself from basking with a grin before continuing his rush to the “Commentators’ Booth”. Frankly, they owed the theater club a lot for being such good sports; it almost felt like it was grander than eighteen chairs situated around a large square arrangement of blue gym mats.

“Little late, aren’t we, Mr. Lee~?” The young lady in the chair beside him taunted as Ganke slid into the booth. “I almost wanted to start without you.”

“Very funny, Margo.” He chuckled, leaning under their table to fiddle with the volume knob on the boombox their microphones were plugged into. “I wouldn’t miss tonight for the world; not with this turnout either!”

The audience cheered in response. They knew their roles well for not being around in a while.

“Ooh, I do love a good crowd.” Margo readjusted the cat ears clipped into her braids. “More importantly, though, we finally have a challenger again. Feels like it’s been forever.”

“Hasn’t it been, though?” Ganke sighed dramatically, resting the back of his hand on his forehead. “Reminds me of our time in the ring; those were the days.”

“Ganke, that was only, like, four months ago.”

He leaned back in his chair, draping his whole arm across his face as he pulled his microphone closer with the other hand. “An eternity in my heart, Margie.”

Margo rolled her eyes and snuck a poke at his exposed side. “Anyway, I hear this one’s a friend of yours. Any details you can sneak us?”

Ganke snickered and bat her hand away. “Nah, you’re not getting anything out of me that easily. Just know I’m betting on him. Honestly, I can’t believe he didn’t join sooner.”

“Only thing I can’t believe is that he actually let himself be called New Fish.” Margo murmured intentionally into the microphone, earning chuckles from the crowd. She blinked as her watch buzzed against her wrist. “Ooh, the gang is getting restless. Make noise; make noise!” She hit the table with open palms, signaling the audience to clap and stomp while she stood from her chair. “Yeah, get hype! And let’s welcome our newest challenger!”

Right on cue, the “challengers’” locker room door opened, and the audience cheered as Miles walked out into the small gym. He seemed just a bit nervous, but he smiled as he walked, fidgeting with his hands while he approached the mat.

“Ooh, you didn’t tell me he was cute!” Margo giggled as she sat back down. “Looks a bit familiar though, doesn’t he~?” She’d placed her hand slightly over the microphone, sneering at Ganke as she elbowed his side.

“You shut up.” He shot back, looking away as he blushed. “Absolutely irrelevant. Although, actually, I don’t really know why he never came until now.”

“Did you tell him what we’re all about?” She glanced between him and their guest waving shyly at some audience members.

Ganke leaned back in the chair, unable to keep the mischief out of his grin. “Oh…I told him enough.”

She laughed softly, giving him a little kick under the table. “Terrible.”

He smirked, letting his chair’s legs thump on the floor as he hopped to his feet. “Alright, Fish!” He called, motioning Miles over to the so-called ring. “Let’s get you in the tank, because we’re bringing out your first opponent!”

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

The second locker room door was pushed open, and the small crowd cheered excitedly. Miles watched warily as one of the robed figures they’d passed in the hallway casually walked out. Halfway to the mat, they finally lifted their hood off, revealing a young man just about Miles’ height with light brown skin, the brightest, most joyful eyes, and some amazing shiny hair that he started to tie under a gold headband after handing his robe over to Ganke.

He was dressed almost identically to Miles in terms of shirt and shorts style—which he was quick to point out as he stepped onto the mat—but he had several different spider shapes tattooed—or maybe just drawn—up and down his arms in glittery gold ink.

“If I had known we were going to dress the same, I’d have asked Claw to give you a color to match, machhalee.” He spoke with an Indian accent, and he took a few steps slowly to hint Miles to do the same. His eyes seemed to light up as Miles matched his circular movement, but he schooled his expression and casually set his hands behind his back. “Sooo, New Fish, since you’re new, Fish, we’ll be using our names too. They call me Sona here. Well, they call me a lot of things, but Sona’s the one I picked out.”

Miles chuckled softly, resting his hands in his pockets as they circled each other. “Sounds nice. Kinda like it means something when you say it like that.”

“Oh, it does.” Sona grinned playfully. “If you survive, I’ll tell you what it means.”

“Survive?” Miles brought a hand on his chest, letting his face act shocked. “Oh, it’s a death match, eh? I see you.”

Sona paused, giggling as he started to walk again. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

Miles shrugged with a grin. “Well, I’ve known…Claw?” He glanced over at Ganke, who nodded smugly. “I’ve known him a while. ‘No Spoilers’ is one of his Nerd Laws.”

“Hey!” Ganke called as the audience chuckled. “Pretty sure I didn’t drag you out here to insult me!”

Sona snickered. “Ah, I don’t really know how I feel about them hiding stuff from challengers, buuut, I admit I like a little surprise. So, I guess I’ll give you a hint.” He stopped, and Miles grew wary as he closed a bit of distance with slow steps. “…Tickle fight!” He laughed as he lunged.

Miles flinched, nervous excitement shooting through him at the call before he really processed what had just been said. He planted his feet firmly, catching Sona’s hands in his own and holding him back. “W-Wait; what?!” He asked in disbelief.

“Ooh, subtlety be damned; let’s go!” Ganke called as the audience cheered them on.

“Shine bright, Golden Boy!” The girl beside him—Margo, he was pretty sure—laughed, picking up her microphone.

“You’ve got some reflexes on you, huh?” Sona teased, curling his fingers where they were caught between Miles’.

“Were you actually serious?” He felt like he’d been blindsided, and, well, he had been. “It’s a tickle fight?!”

“Well~ We try not to be too serious around here.” Sona giggled. “But I wasn’t kidding.” He leaned suddenly to one side, and Miles stumbled as he yanked his hands back and shoved them against Miles’ sides. Sona followed him as he fell to the mat, kneeling beside Miles and scribbling across his stomach.

“Little early in the game to be floundering, isn’t it, Fish?” Sona teased, grabbing at Miles’ wrist as he giggled loudly. The audience groaned around sparse snickers, and Sona nearly giggled too.

Miles let out a harder laugh of his own, trying to pull his hand back. “Oho, he’s got jokes, huh? I—Hey!” He squeaked and twisted as Sona’s hand moved to squeeze up and down his flank.

“You what?” Sona smirked a bit as Miles’ free hand caught his wrist, letting his fingers scratch insistently at his hipbone as he squirmed. “You’re ticklish? You still seem a little shellshocked.” Sona walked his hand up Miles’ side, clawing quickly into his ribcage.

Miles tried to glare up at his opponent, but he couldn't fight the grin on his face. Sona was goofy and gentle; he didn’t seem to weigh much—Miles tested with weak pulls on his wrist. Oh, this was definitely going to be fun. In a quick, fluid motion, he let go of Sona’s hand and grabbed ahold of his shirt, pushing off the mat with one foot as he pulled Sona down. The audience cheered excitedly when Miles managed to roll them over, and he boxed his knees firmly against Sona’s shins.

Sona’s eyes were lit up with panic, and his cheeks ran a bit red as he laughed nervously. “Hi…” He giggled, holding his hands close to his chest.

Miles smirked, resting his hands on Sona’s wrists. “Hey.” He pulled the other man up suddenly, wrapping him in a hug and squeezing tight to pin his arms against his ribs.

“Oh, my God.” Ganke snorted, holding the mic away from his face for a moment. “I know this one.”

His cohost sat up straighter, leaning to nudge him with her shoulder. “Yeah? You want to clue us in?”

He started to say something when Sona let out a loud squeak and writhed.

“Aw, seriously?” Miles chuckled just a bit overdramatically, drawing one finger slowly back down Sona’s spine. “You totally seem like the type to have Angel Wings. Hm, maybe…” He shifted both of his hands, scribbling his nails across his shoulder blades and grinning as Sona giggled brightly and seemed to try more not to move.

“Ohh, I see now~” Miles teased right in Sona’s ear, smiling brighter at the way his giggles escalated. “That’s almost a shame.”

“N-No talking!” He whined halfheartedly, just barely managing to twist his hands enough to scribble at Miles’ waist. This quickly backfired when Miles’ flinch made him squeeze Sona closer.

“But if I don’t talk…” Miles nearly bit his tongue as he stifled a squeak. “How am I going to count these ribs of yours?” He pressed circles against the highest bone on his ribcage, sneaking his hand to that spot right under his armpit.

Sona let out a loud laugh, wrenching his arms out of Miles’ hold—almost as if he wasn’t holding him at all, actually—and shoving against Miles’ shoulders. The effort wound up pushing Sona’s back against the mat, and Miles was happy to reward him with all ten fingers digging into his ribs without a hint of mercy. This time, he didn’t even bother to grab at Miles’ hands, his arms wrapping loosely around himself as he laughed loudly.

Miles chuckled and shook his head, kneading along his lowest ribs and smirking when he squealed. “Shine bright, Golden Boy~!” He taunted, grinning brightly at the incredulous noise he heard Margo make behind him.

Sona blushed and put one arm over his face, the other flailing light slaps on Miles’ shoulder.

“That’s a tap!” Ganke called excitedly, standing up as the crowd applauded. “Sona is out!”

Miles blinked, letting his fingers go still as he glanced around the room. They were cheering for him—for both of them, really. Sona smiled up at him as he giggled and caught his breath.

“Don’t clap too hard now,” Margo snarked a bit teasingly while Miles was pulling his opponent to his feet. “Literally everyone beats Sona.”

Ganke scoffed, clearly in disbelief. “Oh, yeah?! Where was that energy when he had you on the mat last week?”

They took their time with their playful argument, and Miles took the opportunity to shake Sona’s hand, which he returned excitedly.

“You were amazing.” He said in a near whisper, his eyes bright as giggles still lined his voice.

“Yeah?” Miles said coolly, leaning a bit closer to him. “Well, next time, I want a real fight.”

Sona visibly prickled, his face running a bit redder before he just…smirked. His eyes had gone from playful to almost devious. “Oh, I don’t know if you’re ready for all that, Fish.”

It gave Miles a bit of pause. He might have just been hooked. Sona grinned again, bright as the sun, and caught Miles in a hug before taking his walk of shame. He grabbed his robe off of Ganke’s chair as he passed it and slung it across his shoulders, speeding up to a jog as he went back through the locker room door he’d originally come from. Miles stood just a bit awkwardly alone on the mat, a slight smirk pulling his lips as he fidgeted with his hands.

“Someone looks proud of himself~” Miles shot a slight glare at Margo, and she sneered back tauntingly. “Hey, keep that attitude, tough guy. Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together; because we’re giving up the Ghost!”

The audience was suddenly loud and talkative; Miles could hear playful teases and jabs—particularly some coos about Ghost being adorable—under the clapping as the door opened again. Sure enough, it was the second character he remembered passing in the hallway. Pale-skinned hands came up to pull the hood back and…Miles was definitely not going to survive today unscathed.

“Ghost” was a blonde with bright blue eyes and one side of her head shaved down, and when she grinned over at Miles, he caught the piercing on her eyebrow. He gave an internal pout as he remembered his studs were with his jacket. She seemed to whisper something to Margo before letting the robe drop from her shoulders and handing it off. She was wearing a cropped t-shirt, cut just above her stomach, a loose long-sleeved jacket that stopped under her chest, and, frankly, Miles was pretty sure those were just pajama pants. Something that quickly caught his eye was the spider drawn on one side of her stomach in blue and pink. He couldn’t help but grin as she stepped onto the mat, stepping back slightly as she took a mark and rested her hands in her pants pockets.

“Eyes are up here, thanks.” She teased with a little wave; he could tell she couldn’t resist.

Miles almost laughed too, resting his hand slightly over his mouth as he tore his gaze from her little tattoo. “I’ll have you know I’m actually terrible at eye contact.”

She snickered, shaking her head as they started to circle each other, and Miles already knew he had to hear her laugh.

“Ooh, she’s hooked him.” Miles had a feeling he and Margo would get along.

“That quick? No way.” Ganke snickered.

“That’s Ghost; she’s a cutie!” Margo laughed. “It’s why everyone loves her.”

Miles pouted as he felt his face heat up, and Ghost chuckled, twirling casually as they continued to walk.

“Don’t worry, Li’l Fish,” She called playfully. “You learn to ignore the peanut gallery.”

“Excuse the hell outta you?” Ganke said firmly, causing Ghost to freeze, and Margo and the audience “Ooh~”-ed teasingly.

Ghost cringed and blushed, covering her face with both hands as she giggled.

Miles had kept walking, and he let his shoulder nudge against hers as he spoke. “So…how’s that ignoring thing workin’ out for you?”

She gave him a playful shove as the audience snickered, putting the distance between them again and smirking. “You hush.”

Miles smirked back, resting his hands on his hips. “So, why Ghost? You don’t seem so scary.”

“You think that now, sure.” She fished under her sleeve and pulled a hair tie off of her wrist, pulling her hair up into a ponytail before putting one hand back in her pocket. “But I’m told I can be haunting.” She wiggled her fingers teasingly, showing off brightly painted nails, and Miles chuckled.

“Okay, okay; you’re cute. Is that what you want to hear?”

She nearly froze up again, hints of red filling her cheeks as she smiled shyly. “Am not.”

“You so are, though. And besides, between the two of us, I’m not the one with their weak spot all exposed.”

She eyed him warily, giggles lining her voice. “You’re asking for it, huh?”

“Why don’t you come over and give it to me, then?” Miles was glad his back was to the crowd by now, but he found himself smirking as they shouted playfully. Margo and Ganke watched him with shocked smiles, and she pawed at his shoulder.

“Where were you hiding this guy?! Definitely my new favorite.” She laughed.

Ghost, similarly, had laughed in disbelief, and Miles almost sneered as he shrugged.

“Hey, if she giggles herself half to death before I even get my hands on her, do I still win?” He snickered as Ghost looked absolutely offended.

“I’m gonna say yes!” Ganke said quickly, grinning as Ghost glared at him.

“You guys can’t just change the rules!”

Ganke looked to Margo. “I think we can.”

Margo nodded with a shrug. “I think we should.”

He smirked back at Ghost. “Just for you. Since we love you so much.”

As they spoke, Miles had inched forward, lifting one hand to aim a poke at her very exposed stomach.

And she sidestepped him easily, her hand clutching tightly on his wrist. She grinned toothily as he looked up at her, and she yanked him off balance as she swept his legs with one foot. Well, this felt familiar. He managed to keep his chin from hitting the mat, and he felt Ghost’s hand press on his back as she leaned over him. He glanced up at her, but as he made eye contact, she smirked and pushed herself away.

He felt her weight settle on his thighs, and before he could try to twist, he burst into loud laughter as her nails snuck under his shirt to scribble against his lower back. He pulled his hands in close to his chest to keep himself from flailing before reaching to grab at one of her wrists. She seemed perfectly fine to let him, and her other hand was quick to zip up his spine and pinch gingerly at the back of his neck. Miles would definitely deny the shriek he let out, but he laughed and tried to push himself over. Ghost chuckled, twisting her wrist to get ahold of his while she stood up again. She pulled him quickly onto his back, straddling his waist this time as she slipped her wrist suddenly out of his hand by pulling it back through her sleeve. She snatched his wrist with her free hand when he tried for her stomach again, and she grinned nervously as he sneered up at her.

“I’m so gonna get you~” He taunted, laughing lightly as her face went red again.

There was a hint of a stalemate, with Miles trying to read her eyes while she watched his face. All of a sudden, her sleeve was yanked out of his grip, and her hand was shooting to scribble her nails against his neck. Instantly, he cracked, laughing loudly and flailing to grab ahold of her wrists. Even when she let go of his wrist to get both hands against his neck, he couldn’t help but focus on trying to block her, and, dammit, she was much stronger than she looked.

He could hear the audience going wild as he tried to struggle, and Ghost giggled softly as she leaned closer to him. “What happened to all that big talk, Li’l Fish~?” She whispered into his ear. “Not so tough now, are we?” She took a breath before blowing gently into his ear, and Miles kicked against the mat as he practically shrieked again. The audience got a bit louder as Ghost looked expectantly at the judges.

“Aw, he kicks; that’s so cute!” Margo laughed, only for a bit of panic to shoot through her expression when Ghost turned to them. “Wait, does kicking count?! We didn’t talk about that.”

Ganke had bit his lip, glancing between the two women and the audience, and he realized he wasn’t containing his smirk very well. “I’m gonna say kicking doesn’t count today!��

“Wha—Since when?!” Ghost’s voice was pretty close to real outrage as her hands suddenly stopped, and a select few audience members backed her up with jeers.

“Since I said so!” He said more firmly, chuckling. “Consider it a perk of being in the peanut gallery.”

The audience laughed, and Ghost rolled her eyes before looking back down at Miles. As she did, he’d moved his hands, managing to land them on her waist and pressing his thumbs into her hips. She squeaked and shoved herself back, stumbling slightly as she scrambled out of his reach.

“Now she wants to run, huh?” Miles snorted, his hand catching around her ankle only for her to slip his hold before he had a full grip. She was quick to return the gesture, yanking his ankles before he could try to get up and kneeling on one of them. He struggled to push himself up onto his hands, only to nearly fall again when she dug all ten fingers into his socked sole. Keeping his hands still now was definitely nearing impossible, but he tried to also keep in mind to not kick her off of him. But, wow, she was merciless.

“So, toes are bad, huh?” She teased over his laughter, scratching under his toes as they curled tightly. “Not your weak spot, but you might get along with—Eek!”

Miles couldn’t tell if she actually didn’t expect it or she just got cocky, but she didn’t duck away this time. He’d pushed himself forward, snatching the back of her hoodie and pulling her into his arms before falling backwards. The audience was loud again as she tried to flail out of his grip, her voice already tangling itself in giggly protests as he fought to wrestle both of her arms against her sides without losing his grip on her.

“Quit that!” He giggled along with her when she kept trying to shove his face. “And what are you laughing about? I haven’t done anything yet!”

“Shut up!” She squeaked, laughing softly as she tried to catch her breath.

“You tired now, li’l fish? Flopping all over the damn place like that.” Miles taunted into her ear, smirking as she cringed and giggled. He spoke a bit louder as he heaved them both upright while keeping her square in his lap. “I’ve figured you out, by the way, they call you Ghost ‘cause you’re slippery, right? You ‘phase through’ grabs like that a lot?”

Ghost turned her head, not that she could really look at him from this angle, but he saw her grin as she shrugged casually. “Well, y’know, it’s what stuck.”

Miles scoffed, squeezing her a bit tighter. “Stuck like you, huh? I’d love to see you slip this one.” Without any more hesitation, he let one of his hands drop to her stomach and skitter across her bare skin, and he was definitely not disappointed. She squealed and immediately started to struggle again, giggles jumping to loud laughter within a fraction of a second.

“No, no; I wasn’t ready!” She whined through her squeals.

“Oh, she’s not ready…” Miles huffed with a roll of his eyes, letting his fingers go still as he dragged his hand slowly.

“You bastard…” She spat in a giggly half-whisper.

“Ghost, be nice!” Margo called down to them.

Miles teasingly blew into her ear again, dragging his nails softly before sneaking a few squeezes on her side. “Tell me when you’re ready for tummy tickles, okay?”

She blushed, shaking her head as she whined and squeaked at each little pinch. “You’re terrible! N-No…”

“Mm-hm?” He curled his fingers and tapped them against her stomach before tracing one slowly around her bellybutton. “If I press this button, will you be ready then?”

She’d had a full-body flinch at the tracing alone, kicking against the floor as she giggled loudly. “Don’t you dare!”

“Aw, c’mon~ You have to work with me here.” Miles poked her a few more times. “You ready now~?”

“Stop teasing!” Her head tipped back on his shoulder, and she yelped when he blew across the side of her neck.

He laughed, smirking softly. “You said you weren’t ready! I do have to tell you, though…” He let his fingers walk to about where he remembered that little drawing on her skin. “You’ve had this spider on you this entire time and it hasn’t moved at—” He suddenly started scribbling his fingers, absolutely relishing in the surprised shriek it got out of her. She kicked hard, knocking them both over, but he didn’t dare let her go. She barely got a chance to protest between her squealy laughs, and Miles could hear her feet flailing against the mat under the cheers of the crowd.

“Think she’s happy we let them keep the kicks now?” Ganke asked playfully, leaning on one hand.

“Yeah, she looks like she’s having fun.” Margo snickered. Both of them flinched a little when Ghost squealed again.

“Hey, do you think he can get one?” Ganke asked with a smirk.

Margo let out a cackle. “If he gets her that bad in his initiation, she will hate him.”

Miles, meanwhile, was starting to have a little bit of pity on the poor Ghost. She seemed to have tired herself out again, having stopped kicking in favor of trying futilely to curl up. She was tough; he could admit that in a heartbeat, but, frankly, his arm was getting tired.

“I’m still wondering what this does, you know.” He mused, and the only bit of mercy he offered her was slowing his fingers down just a little as he finally focused his tickling on her bellybutton.

She absolutely lost it, breaking into loud cackles as she struggled to move her arms. “N-Not there! Please, I-I can’t—!” She squealed, snorts breaking through her laughter as her cheeks ran red. The crowd went wild with cheers and teases, and Miles was pretty sure his heart was melting.

“Tap! I tap! Let go…” She cried out through squeaks, and Miles lifted his hand away and let her go. She curled up beside him, pulling her hood up to hide her face as a few more snorts slipped into her giggles.

“Ghost is out! Make some noise!” Ganke shouted, grinning as they already clapped excitedly. Miles smirked back at him, softly rubbing one hand on Ghost’s back while she caught her breath.

“You good?” He asked quietly, trying not to tease too much. “Need a hand?”

“You’re a natural.” She whispered back, smiling a bit tiredly as she looked up at him. “But you’re not ready for Spider-Punk.”

“Wha—?” He was about to ask, but she started to get up, and he stood quickly to help her.

“And anyway,” She spoke up this time, for the others to hear. “You wouldn’t have won if you weren’t pals with the judges.”

“No, honey,” Margo called back. “You might not have lost if you didn’t run your mouth off.”

Ghost pouted, crossing her arms as she levelled a glare. “Fuck you both.” She huffed, rolling her eyes and smirking.

“Ooh, Swear Jar. Five seconds.” Ganke said quickly. Without being told, Miles grabbed at her sides. He made sure to be gentle this time, barely scribbling with his nails, but she still burst into giggly squeals as she tried to push away from him. It was definitely more like three seconds, but Miles didn’t mind giving her some grace, except for the poke he landed on her bellybutton before pulling his hands back. She didn’t snort this time, but she did punch him in the arm while she grinned at him, and he could settle for that.

“Make nice, you two, let’s get moving.” Margo insisted. Miles offered his hand to Ghost, smirking broadly when she actually hesitated to take it. He might have itched the palm of her hand with one finger when he went to shake it, and she snickered and shook her head.

“You might want to think about whether you want to stick around, because I’m getting you back.” She said softly, grinning.

“Yeah, alright, Tickle Button.” He taunted playfully, laughing as she punched his shoulder again. She squeezed his hand as she turned to do the walk, snatching her robe off of Margo’s chair and flicking the side of Ganke’s glasses.

“I’ll see you in the ring next week, asshole.” She growled with a sneer, and Ganke smirked back at her.

“That’s ten seconds, Ghost.” He chuckled, covering the microphone. “I’ll see you too.”

Her face nearly faltered, but she ruffled his hair, and the audience cheered as she walked back to the locker room.

Margo stretched her arms over her head—Ganke smirked knowingly toward Miles and the audience, but he didn’t do anything—and she shook her hands out with a sigh. “My, oh my, Mr. Lee. Our first challenger in months, and he’s tearing through us. Maybe we should have gotten back in the ring instead of letting these cute little bugs handle it.”

There were claps and murmurs from the crowd, and Miles couldn’t help but be curious about that story.

“At this rate, I think you might be right, Kitty.” Ganke sighed dramatically. “But, then again, if we destroyed him first try, we wouldn’t have anything for this great crowd!” The audience cheered, and Miles couldn’t help but clap along. “And you all really have been wonderful tonight; thank you all so much for coming out—”

“You do know we’re not done, right?” Margo asked playfully.

Ganke pulled a face and pretended to wince. “Are you sure we can’t be done now?” He groaned, resting an arm over his eyes. “You know how he gets.”

Margo smirked, thumping a rhythm on the table that the audience was quick to copy with their hands. “Ladies and Gentlemen—and, of course, our dear New Fish—I want you to give me your best!” The volume grew louder, and Miles felt tingly with the energy swelling. “It’s down to the wire; the last roundup; this one’s for all the marbles! Let’s hear it for Spider-Punk!”

The audience roared—as much as, like, twenty people could compare to a roar—and a good number of them stomped as they clapped. The locker room door opened, and, predictably, Miles saw the tall British man that had inspired his dumb stage name. He bounced a bit on his toes, smiling excitedly as he watched his approach.

Spider-Punk walked confidently, with his robe already thrown over his shoulder instead of being worn. He was also wearing a cropped shirt, funny enough, but it was underneath a battle vest covered in cool patches. He wore a pair of pajama pants too—much more obvious than Ghost’s just by the pattern—and they were cut off just below his knees. He was wearing black lipstick, which he definitely hadn’t been the first time Miles had passed him. He motioned to the crowd with one hand as he purposefully draped the robe over Margo’s head, encouraging them to get louder before he stepped onto the mat.

“Well, well, well…” He practically purred, and Miles felt like a shock ran through him. “Big fish in a small pond, aren’t ya?”

Miles’ eyes lit up, and his hands flapped a bit as his brain failed to process a response.

“You’re doing the thing.” His opponent half-whispered to him, gesturing to his hands, and Miles flinched just a bit nervously. Spider-Punk grinned, chuckling. “Not sayin’ you should stop, love. Ghost’ll get you wound up like that, she’s pretty fun.”

Miles let himself giggle at that and nodded. “I mean, yeah, she’s pretty cool for a ghost.” He said coolly. “Shrieks like one, too.”

Spider-Punk snorted, shaking his head as he smirked. “Fair play, fair play.”

Miles crossed his arms as they started to circle each other. “So, turns out you actually were the final boss, huh? What was that about me not lasting a minute?”

“Oh, you remember that, eh?” He laughed just a bit mockingly, his eyes scanning over Miles before his grin somehow grew even more smug. “I still stand by it.” He asserted with a shrug, resting his hands on his hips.

Miles scoffed, mimicking his little pose and rolling his eyes. “You really want to say that when you know I just wrecked two of your friends?”

Spider-Punk suddenly broke from his path, walking straight toward Miles and spooking him into a half stumble. “Do you really want to ask that when you don't know why they saved me for last?” He reached out quickly to grab Miles by his shirt to stop him from falling, pulling him sharply into a tight hug. Miles flailed slightly, bringing his hands to rest on his opponent’s arms where they squeezed softly around his neck. His own arms were completely free, but his brain also might have been overheating. He could hear the sneer in Spider-Punk’s voice when it tickled his ear. “Your freckles pop up when you blush~”

Miles fell into squeaky giggles, pulling at Spider-Punk’s arms as best he could, and his opponent only hummed casually at the effort, rolling his eyes as he rested his chin on Miles’ head and scribbled gently at his shoulders. Miles quickly switched tactics, digging his fingers into the punk’s armpits. The taller man flinched pretty hard, half a snort slipping out as he let himself laugh. Or, actually, he kind of giggled. It was rough and bass-sounding, almost scratchy, like he was just barely resisting. The crowd behind him murmured softly.

“Oh, not this again.” Miles chuckled teasingly, keeping his voice mostly low this time. “You just want to get tickles, tough guy?” He squirmed just a bit when long fingers trailed down the center of his back.

“Wouldn’t you like to kn—” Spider-Punk’s voice hitched on a louder laugh when Miles dropped his hands to scribble on bare skin and squeeze his sides, and he flinched backwards when Miles pressed his thumbs against his hipbones. Miles grinned a bit smugly as the punk stepped back, and he crossed his arms as he stepped forward.

“I wouldn’t have thought someone so cool would be so cute when he gets a few little scratches.” He taunted before faking a pout. “I expected more fight out of you though, punk.”

Spider-Punk chuckled lightly, making a bit of a show in slightly covering his sides. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you?” He teased right back, setting his chin on one hand and batting his eyes. His nail polish matched his lipstick perfectly. “You should watch yourself though~ Could be in bigger trouble than you think.”

Miles laughed, cracking his knuckles. “Well, the bigger they are…”

“That doesn’t even work for—” Spider-Punk didn’t put up much resistance when Miles hooked his arm and more or less dragged him to the floor, and he laughed brightly Miles tickled across his stomach.

“Ooh, he’s got him on the ropes, huh~?” Margo asked playfully, nudging Ganke with her elbow.

Ganke shot her a sideways glance, pout set on his lips. “Shut up.” He huffed with a chuckle, and she laughed.

Miles’ focus was stuck on Spider-Punk, his grin turning more playful as he let his fingers skitter lightly on his opponent’s back and relished the giggles it brought out of him. He had pulled Spider-Punk’s arm across his shoulders, clutching his wrist in his left hand while he tickled along his back and opposite side.

“Y’know, ‘Spider-Punk’…” Miles mused softly. “If Claw had told me that I’d just be thrown into a fake tournament to tease a bunch of adorable lees to death, I probably wouldn’t have even believed him. I’d say I’m disappointed, but it’s been pretty fun.”

The punk huffed out a laugh, sounding much more derisive than ticklish all of a sudden. “Is that what you think?”

Without any warning, Spider-Punk shifted the hand in Miles’ grip, his fingers managing to scratch along his ribcage and chip some startled giggles out of him. His other hand shot to dig into Miles’ side, completely exposed with how his arm was wrapped around the punk’s back. Miles yelped, immediately letting go of the wrist he held to flee; his opponent snickered, keeping his arm hooked across Miles’ shoulders and holding him close as he pulled some squeaky laughs from his side.

“And there it is.” Ganke fake-pouted as the audience started to get riled up. “Every time with this one.”

Margo was absolutely ecstatic, giggling brightly as she leaned on his shoulder. “If it ain’t broke, y’know? Maybe you should have warned him~”

Miles laughed and tried to flail, but the tickles he landed on the punk’s ribs were hardly distracting him. Instead, Spider-Punk leaned back, pulling his arm from around Miles’ shoulder while his other hand shoved him down to the mat. He was strong. Like, way stronger than Miles expected. When Miles tried to grab at his arm and pull, he couldn’t move an inch, and he wasn’t even sure if Spider-Punk was using his full weight. The giddy sort of panic must have shown in his eyes, because the taller man sneered as he loomed over him.

“Caught in a web, poor thing.” He taunted as he locked his knees around Miles’ legs, ruffling his hair with his free hand before leaning close. “You got a lot to learn, New Fish. For example…” He took a deep breath, and Miles didn’t even get time to panic before he was squealing with laughter as a loud raspberry was blown into the crook of his neck. His legs tried to kick, but his opponent gave him zero leeway. It didn’t help at all when he tried to push him away, only to get scribbling fingers in both of his armpits as another raspberry hit him.

Miles might have broken a little under all that; sue him.

“Oh, yeah, he’s dead.” Margo snickered as their challenger shrieked and writhed under Spider-Punk’s hold.

“Yeah…” Ganke admitted, but he glanced at Margo with a smirk. “You would know though, wouldn’t you? You have a thing or two in common with him.” He snuck a poke just under her arm, and she nearly whacked him with her microphone with how hard she flinched.

Miles, meanwhile, was trying his best to be tough, his hands gripping Spider-Punk’s sleeves to keep from flailing. Those long fingers drilled right into the center of his hollows, and his head fell back against the mat as he cackled. Spider-Punk chuckled over him, finally pulling away from his neck to whisper in his ear again.

“So, who’s the adorable little lee here again, bruv~? You talk so big, but I break brats like you.”

Miles tried to shove the punk’s face, earning some faster scribbles whenever his arms moved an inch. Spider-Punk sneered and pulled one of his hands back, catching Miles’ wrist and blowing another raspberry against his palm. His reaction was much squeakier than attacks on his weak spots, but Miles more or less collapsed in a slight daze. The punk slowly lifted his hands, chuckling a bit deviously as the poor fish tried to catch his breath.

“I’ll give it to ya, mate; you’re a tough one.” Spider-Punk taunted, slipping his hand into his pocket. “Or you’re a hypocrite. Hopin’ it’s the former, since a funny thing happens to hypocrites around here~” He drew his hand back up, and it was covered by a strange-looking glove.

“Oh, Murder Claw!” Margo shouted, and the audience went wild.

“You actual cheating bastard!” Ganke scolded with a grin. “I told you not to bring that!”

“Murder Claw! Murder Claw!” Half of the audience chanted with Margo leading on her mic.

“Margo, don’t encourage this!”

She elbowed him teasingly before playfully punching his side. “Aw, c’mon, Tiger, where’s that Panther blood?!”

“We're supposed to be behaving!” Ganke couldn't help but laugh as the energy swelled.

Miles watched nervously as Spider-Punk wound a little dial on the wrist of the glove. Something about the sound of the mechanism clicking felt…familiar. Coiling springs? It all happened within a few seconds; Miles tried to grab Spider-Punk’s sleeve, only for him to snatch his wrist and pin it firmly over his head. The pure mischief on his face was going to kill Miles before his hands did.

“Go on and give ‘em a show, lovely.” He whispered, showing off the glove on his hand before pressing one of the fingers to the side of Miles’ neck. He felt a sort of click, instantly followed by rapid vibrations that had him nearly screeching. It was barely more than two seconds, but it was almost worse than the raspberries. When the four other fingers pressed into his armpit all at the same time, Miles knew it was over. Quick as it was, that buzzing sensation had him hysterical, and his free hand flailed against the mat as he tried to writhe.

“The Fish is cooked! It’s all over!” Margo shouted over the roar of the crowd.

Spider-Punk gave him another smirk and a cheeky-bastard wink before pushing himself onto his feet, except Miles caught him gently by his wrist.

“That…was definitely more than a minute.” Miles said softly through quiet breaths.

Spider-Punk seemed to light up, barely stifling an incredulous laugh. “You don’t quit! I like it.” He said softly, taking Miles’ hand in a quick handshake before letting it fall. He grinned smugly as Margo ran to his side and hugged him with one arm.

“Your reigning champion, folks!” She called out to the audience. “Give it up for Spider-Punk!” The tall man raised his hands dramatically as the crowd clapped excitedly, seeming to relish in the attention as they started to get up and talk to him and each other.

Miles was content to stay on the mat for a moment with his tired giggles, and Ganke approached to offer him a hand. He might have gotten a little dizzy when he was heaved to stand up, but he played it off with a smirk. Ganke ruffled his hair and snuck a tickle behind his ear, and Miles shouldered him playfully as he went to do his walk of shame. But Ganke grabbed him by his shirt, pointing him toward the locker room door that his opponents had been entering from. Miles glanced at him for confirmation, getting a quick nod and a shooing motion before Ganke went to stand beside Spider-Punk.

“What a freakin’ upset, huh?” Margo said teasingly, leaning to look at Ganke.

“Yeah, I’m upset!” He insisted exaggeratedly, shaking his head as Spider-Punk hugged him to his side. “Should have known you’d let him cheat again.”

Margo laughed right back. “Well, since you want to be boring all of a sudden, and the crew’s on leave, someone has to keep up the Panther vibe, yeah?!”

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

Miles let them and the crowd’s chatter fade behind him as he entered the locker room. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. It wasn’t even any different from the first one. Except, well, this one had a ghost leaning in from the door leading to the hallway. She quickly motioned him to follow her, holding the door open before jogging away.

They wound up at a meeting room upstairs, where Sona opened the door after they knocked.

“Told you so.” Ghost said playfully as they entered the room, and Miles rolled his eyes as Sona laughed. There were six pizza boxes on the tables in the back and a cooler stashed underneath next to what he assumed were their bags and things.

“He cheated, didn’t he?” Sona asked once the door was closed, playfully nudging Miles with his elbow.

“Is it really cheating when we know he’s going to do it though?” Ghost rummaged in the cooler for a juice pouch before also snatching a half-finished water bottle from the edge of the table.

“I feel kind of cheated.” Miles said with a shrug, crossing his arms.

The pair of them looked at him with wary expectation, seemingly worried about him.

“I mean, I had a whole fight with you—” He looked pointedly as Ghost. “—And I didn’t even know raspberries were legal. Seems unfair to me.”

He let a taunting grin spread across his lips as Ghost glared at him with a rising blush. Sona had burst out laughing, patting him on his shoulder.

“I really hope you stick around, Fish; you’re hilarious.” He giggled.

“Yeah, you’ll be laughing, all right.” Ghost pouted for a moment, but she started to laugh along with Sona.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Sona stood in front of him, resting his hands on his hips as if he was a superhero or something. “My name is Pavitr. Forgive me if it’s forward, but you’re Miles, right? It’s so cool to finally meet you!”

Miles was a little surprised, but he quickly realized what had happened. “I take it Ganke talks about me a lot?” He asked with a chuckle.

“Oh, definitely.” Ghost nodded, smiling as she leaned slightly on the circular table in the middle of the room. “And somehow, he neglected to mention that you’re a five-alarm tease.”

“Well, time and place, y’know.” He shrugged, chuckling. “Although, I guess I haven’t teased him in a while~”

“You are something else.” Ghost said, playfully flinging the now empty water bottle at Miles’ head before offering a handshake. “I’m Gwen, by the way.”

Miles accepted it without any mischief this time, and she smiled much more genuinely this time. Pavitr approached him from the side, pressing a cold bottle of water against his arm and giggling as he snatched it from him.

“You can grab a plate, by the way.” He offered, opening his own water bottle to take a drink. “We kind of got them for you. Oh, except those two big ones on the end.”

“Oh, yeah?” Miles chuckled, as if he hadn’t been eying the table since he’d walked in. Of course, he had to have been raised to never take the first plate.

Gwen nodded, pushing herself up to sit on the table. “We haven’t had a tournament in a long time, and it’s been even longer since we had a new challenger. We’re celebrating a little, and since somebody didn’t win, it’s more a little party for all of us.”

“You really do snark a lot for someone in a crop top.” Miles grinned and shook his head.

“Maybe, but at least I’m not the one with spider bites on my neck.” She taunted, and Miles could feel his face heating up as he realized what she meant. She laughed teasingly as he covered the side of his neck with one hand.

The door opened suddenly, and a very loud Spider-Punk burst in with Ganke, Margo, and a couple of faces from the audience in tow. “Oi, oi, what’s up, losers?!”

Gwen sighed loudly. “There goes the neighborhood.” She rolled her eyes and smirked as he approached her first.

“Love you too, Gwendy~” He said playfully, ruffling her hair as he leaned to kiss her forehead. His smile widened as he spotted Miles, and he strode up to him like he could definitely tell Miles’ head was spinning. “You stuck around, huh?” He offered his hand and that stupid wink. “Hobie Brown, at ya service, love.”

Accepting the handshake was apparently the wrong decision, because it ended in Miles being yanked into a tight hug as Hobie laughed a bit mockingly. He wasn’t even doing anything, but Miles couldn’t help laughing with him and trying to squirm away, only for Pavitr and Gwen to pile on the two of them.

Ganke had placed Miles’ shoes and things under the table with the others’ stuff, and Margo had done the same with their boombox and microphones. She grabbed the two set-aside pizza boxes, handing them over to the theater club members along with heaps of gratitude for their presence. They happily accepted both before waving to all of them as they left. As soon as they did, the pair of former hosts turned to the interesting little hug-fight their four friends had gotten into.

“Guys!” Margo called, managing to get their attention. “You were all fantastic out there! Miles, they loved you! Hell, we loved you!” She stepped forward, and Hobie let Miles go so she could grab onto his hands excitedly as she spoke. “I wasn’t even kidding, Ganke, where on Earth were you hiding this one?!”

Ganke shrugged, crossing his arms. “What can I say? I like to have an ace or two up my sleeve.” He said with a smirk. “It has been a while since I’ve seen you go all out like that though, hasn’t it?”

Miles grinned a bit proudly. “You know I like to make a good first impression.”

“I have literally never heard that about you, but go off, I guess.”

Miles pouted a bit as the others laughed.

Within minutes, they were all around the circular table, plates piled with pizza slices and cracking soda cans. Miles leaned on his hand to look Ganke in the eye.

“So, how long has this been going on anyway?” He asked, just a bit incredulously. “You never mentioned it while I was gone.”

Ganke nearly glared at him halfway through a bite of pizza. “I told you I made some new friends after you left! And I definitely remember telling you I joined a club.”

“Yeah, and I thought you meant a robotics club or something, not, like, tickle tournaments! You didn’t think I’d be interested in that part?”

Ganke chuckled. “It’s not that I didn’t think you'd be interested.” He set down the slice and leveled a sneer at him. “I just know you get weak around too many cute people.”

Miles nearly choked on the sip of water he’d taken, and he could feel eyes on him as the table got quiet. They were all smiling, some more smugly than others, and Miles buried his face in his hands.

“Asshole…” He groaned, only to flinch a little when Gwen poked his cheek. He glanced at her, and she giggled, and Hobie smirked, and Pavitr grinned.

“Especially cute lees~” Ganke whispered, blowing across the side of his neck, and he barely stopped himself from jumping out of the chair. The others stifled laughter as Miles felt like he was going to melt from the heat rushing to his face, which he promptly dropped into his arms on the table.

“You’re all rosy, mate.” Yeah, like Hobie really needed to tell him that.

He recognized Ganke’s hand patting him on the back. “Sooo~?”

“’M free on Friday…?” He offered.

“We’ve got an Initiation Day!” Ganke shook him by the shoulder as the whole table cheered, and Miles felt himself smiling as hands ruffled his hair and pat his back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Panda's Extra Notes: Some minor things for consideration.

*I might go back and retcon it, but I'm considering using one of Hobie's beta designs for this AU. Specifically the one with his long braids.

*Miles falls under the Ace umbrella here, hence the joke Ganke makes toward the end. He is very vulnerable to "tickle-crushes", though. And actual crushes, obviously, but we'll get to that later. >w<

#tickling #a panda writes a thing #hobie brown #atsv tickle #miles morales #across the spiderverse #gwen stacy #pavitr prabhakar #ganke lee #margo kess #atsv tickling #spiderverse tickle

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happyandticklish · 2 years ago

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Tag 9 people you’d like to get to know better

Thanks for the tag @anxious-lee ^^

3 Ships: (1) Rodansey (2) Shizaya (3) Damien x Mark

First Ship: Anne and Gilbert from Anne of Green Gables when I was 8, I was on that shipping game early lol

Last Song: ALSO I Ain't Got Nuttin for Christmas

Last Movie: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets as stated earlier

Currently Reading: Call Me By Your Name, but technically also The First To Die At The End

Currently Watching: Gilmore Girls and Wednesday

Currently Consuming: A chestnut praline iced latte, which tastes even better due to its impracticality in winter

Currently Craving: …..I think we all know the answer to this question AHEM

Tagging @ticklygiggles @vqler @ticklishfanart @dokidoki-muffin @lovelymessybubbly @achilleean @nhasablogg @tiklart @rosileeduckie you guys are all cool as fuck and there’s no pressure to do this ask game but know that you guys are some of my idols on here and you rock

#non tickling #ask game #personal

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wordstrings · 3 years ago

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Glories Streaming

Post-canon Supernatural (finale-denialist version). Written for @rosileeduckie for the Squealing Santa 2k21 fic exchange, for prompts having to do with stargazing, light, warmth, and laughter. Words: 2,900

—

It’s freezing.

Thirty-one point eight degrees Fahrenheit, in fact, Castiel knows. On the Celsius scale, negative zero point one one one, repeating, on and on into the infinite blackness of space above, out beyond the unfathomably distant boundaries of the universe that is still now rocketing outward from the explosion that began it all.

But “freezing” will do, as Dean’s occasional mutters keep reminding him.

Castiel is perfectly comfortable with the temperature. He always is. What is surface temperature or wind chill to a celestial wavelength? But Dean is merely human, and the dark black cold of sky above and car hood below can wreak discomfort on his mortal body. Castiel resists the urge to melt the chill away, to create a small bubble of room-temperature comfort surrounding their prone, parallel forms. Dean would complain.

(Yes, he complains about the cold, but he’d complain inexplicably louder if he were comfortable. “Freezing our asses off is half the point, Cas,” apparently. Castiel has long since learned not to question the logic.)

The two of them stare quietly up at the winter stars.

“So, you remember that one?” Dean asks out of the silence.

Castiel turns his head to look at him. The blanket providing a thin sliver of cushion on the hood of the Impala wrinkles between them.

“Which one?”

“That one.” Dean nods vaguely upward. The gesture indicates nothing more specific than his initial question.

Castiel turns back to the sky. The stars are all unchanged, pricking their lights out across the vast distance of eons.

“Yes,” he says, because it doesn’t really matter which one Dean is asking about.

“Really?”

Castiel turns to him again. This time, Dean meets his gaze. Dean’s eyes would be just as comforting to spend this time staring at, though Castiel doesn’t say so. It would make Dean look away.

“I remember them all,” Castiel says. “At least, all the ones born before this planet formed. They lost most of their interest after that.”

“Sap,” Dean accuses.

Maintaining their eye contact, Castiel scoots his body closer to the line of Dean’s, until they’re pressed together, side to side. Dean’s face softens. It could be because of Castiel’s warmth against his chilled body, or because Dean isn’t as immune to “sap” as he projects himself to be.

“I’d much rather be here with you than wandering the stars,” Castiel says.

Dean gets that slightly lost look he often does when confronted with Castiel’s affection. Castiel kisses him to bring him home.

It’s only a moment before Dean’s body shudders against him. Castiel feels it from his knees up to his lips. He breaks the kiss with a final few pecks to Dean’s chasing lips and the tip of his reddened nose.

“You’re cold. Come, I’ll warm you up inside.”

Castiel ignores the suggestive waggle of Dean’s brows and levers himself up from the hood of the car, careful not to put too much pressure on the points of his elbows. Dean has fussed at him often enough about putting dimples into the car’s body. Dean relents to reason and follows, balling up the blanket in his arms. As they walk back toward their home, Castiel doesn’t comment on how Dean seeks the heat of his side again, or how a tiny smile brightens his face in the starlight when Castiel wraps the warm, open edge of his coat around Dean’s back.

–

“You know I’m not gonna sleep if you pump me full of caffeine right now,” Dean says, while Castiel pulls two mugs from the cabinet. It’s a minor inconvenience, trying to lift his arms that high without fully dislodging Dean’s chin from his shoulder. Dean remains stubbornly in contact against his back as Castiel sets the mugs down and shuffles sideways to the hot water kettle.

“You won’t be full of caffeine,” Castiel says. He shuffles back the way he came, with this barnacle of Dean on his back, to fill the kettle at the sink – then back again to the kettle’s base, where he sets it to boil. Dean’s feet scuff along with his own, step for step. “Cacao beans have very little caffeine when compared to coffee beans.”

He can hear the wrinkled nose in Dean’s voice: “You’re doing your fancy hippie thing, brewing cacao instead of coffee? Just make a packet of cocoa, jeez. It’s so much faster.”

“You know perfectly well that faster isn’t always better,” Castiel chides.

Dean smirks against his ear while Castiel reaches for the French press. “Don’t we both.”

Castiel, again, doesn’t comment on Dean’s clinging – at least, until the grounds are measured, the kettle boiling, and the press filled. He drapes a tea towel over it to keep the heat in for the ten minutes it needs to steep, then turns in Dean’s octopus-grasp and regards him.

“You’re still cold,” he observes. He lifts Dean’s arms from his shoulders and holds both their hands in front of his chest. All it takes is a thought, a moment of intent, but as with the brewing, a little time and ritual has its own kind of worth.

He begins with Dean’s fingers, which are still stiff with the chill of the winter night. He cups them in his own hands and brings them to his lips so he can breathe warmth over them as his grace seeps unseen into Dean’s hands. He warms the still-strong tendons, the joints showing the first internal signs of arthritis, the bones with old healed fractures. He moves slowly, gently within Dean’s flesh. Experiencing him from the inside is just as familiar to Castiel as from the outside, though that’s another thing Castiel doesn’t say aloud. He’d know Dean by the shape of his thumb knuckles, by the density of his fingertips, by the cartilage wear patterns in his wrists, by the antibody blend circulating his veins. These are no less precious to Castiel than the laugh lines on Dean’s face.

Castiel pushes his grace further, tracing along the radius and ulna of Dean’s forearm, spiraling up the bicep muscle to tired shoulders. He witnesses from both sides of Dean’s skin the tension of cold melting away.

Dean inhales. His lashes flutter down as his brows knit up in one of Castiel’s favorite outward expressions of pleasurable overwhelm. At the moment of exhale, when Dean’s practiced defenses are at their lowest, Castiel moves in and sweeps Dean up into his arms.

The kicks of alarm are predictable and Castiel counterbalances appropriately until Dean stops swearing. There’s new tension in Dean’s body now, both of ingrained resistance and of the desperate cling of a man who prefers being connected to the ground.

“Fuckin’ cardiac arrest,” Dean grumbles in the vicinity of Castiel’s neck. The grip of forced trust around Castiel’s shoulders loosens only slightly. “Hate it when you do that.”

That is not true, but Castiel doesn’t point it out. It will take time to finish the brew of their chocolate drinks, and there is more of Dean’s body to warm.

Dean’s weight is easy to bear as Castiel carries him out of the kitchen to their cozy living space, where an oversized armchair awaits under the soft, colorful glow of the string lights they hung together over the door frame. Castiel sinks into the chair, angling into the corner so Dean’s legs have room to relax over his lap. He keeps one arm curled around the back of Dean’s shoulders to hold him close.

Dean gruntingly snuggles in. “You really are a romantic sap.”

Castiel kisses the top of his head in response.

For as serene as their stargazing had been, and as truthful as Castiel was about interest lost, Castiel finds himself thinking of the glories he hasn’t turned his attention to since ages past. The darkness of the sky outside is deceiving; it appears all the fainter to human eyes for the competing light of the towns nearby, with so many of the stars obscured. There had been times past, on those long trips across middle America, where Castiel would notice Dean snatching glances at the unobstructed night sky. In those days, there were always more important, more difficult, things to be doing than staring up at the stars. But they were so much more striking out there, away from the cities that overwhelmed their light. The dark was deeper, the light more nuanced. Rippled bands of space dust and starlight would wheel magnificently overhead as the planet turned, ever-watching.

Castiel lifts his eyes and reaches with his awareness beyond the ceiling, the attic rafters above, the roof shingles and the light pollution of civilization. There, distant, are Procyon and Sirius, Castor and Pollux – according to the names humanity has given them, different from their true names, but Shakespeare had gotten it right about naming roses. Rigel, Betelgeuse, and Aldebaran mark the shapes called Orion the Hunter and Taurus the Bull. Fainter, more far-flung, beyond the bright points strong enough for most human eyes, are the stars named less creatively as technology aided in their discovery: CVSO 30, 66 Orionis. The dust of nebulae and long-exploded gasses refracts their light across a spectrum that is so much wider than what a limited biological system of rods and cones can detect.

Castiel can’t make Dean see them this way. But he can bring their representation into something reachable.

Keeping his own face upturned, he runs his fingertips up the stubbled curve of Dean’s cheek and rests them on his temple.

“I’d like to show you something,” he murmurs, and gently feeds in the visual information in a way Dean’s mind can understand.

—

Dean gasps as the living room ceiling whirls into light.

The massive Milky Way groans on its axis with the music of the spheres. Blue-white infernos reduced to the size of pinpricks glitter their way through the ocean-deep darkness that extends immeasurably beyond the eight-foot ceiling canvas they dance on. Cosmic dust and star debris glow as black rainbows swirling through the depths.

It’s the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen. And he’s inside his own damn house.

“Showoff,” he mutters, for lack of any other suitable words.

Cas smiles, probably. Dean doesn’t look away from the galaxies above to check.

He knows Cas isn’t trying to actually show him up. This isn’t an answer to the pitifully human experience of icing one’s nuts on Baby’s hood while squinting up at dots in the sky. That had been Dean sharing an experience with Cas. This is Cas sharing an experience back with Dean.

Dean never really knows how to respond, though, when Cas does this. Does anything, really, that forcefully reminds of the immensity of his experiences, the divine and the celestial. The strength in his body. The patience of his care. It’ll send Dean into a coma if he thinks about it for too long. So he just… doesn’t, and opts to bitch about inconsequential things instead. Like the rudeness of being literally swept off his feet. He really is gonna flatline one of these days, though whether it’s from shock or fluster overload will remain undiscussed.

He sinks more heavily into Cas’ chest and watches the stars sing out their light. His head finds a comfy spot by Cas’ collarbone, where he nuzzles in and releases the last of his tension with an exhale.

Cas makes a noise.

It’s a very particular noise, a hum-grunt that Dean recognizes as involuntary, because for all the multi-dimensional capacities and compressed divinity, Cas, the angel, is ticklish.

Dean fucking loves this about him.

It’s one of the only equalizers that at least kind-of balances the two of them, physically. Sex does, too – at least, once they get toward the end, where Cas is so tangled up in his own body that he can’t really focus on anything else. But here, this spot at the crook of his neck, where Dean’s hair is brushing? Yeah, that’s just mundane ticklishness at work.

Dean sighs again, not-quite-theatrically, and rubs his head there as he wriggles to a more comfortable position on Cas’ lap.

Cas’ chin comes down this time and bumps the side of Dean’s forehead. The noise, slightly closer to a huff now, repeats.

“Dean,” Cas says.

“Cas,” Dean says back. Still watching the astral display above, he hugs around Cas’ chest and starts gently tracing his fingertips up and down Cas’ side. “Real nice show you’re putting on here.”

The way Cas says, “Thank you,” is about as reflexive as the twitch Dean feels in his body.

“I’m really enjoying it.” Down, up, down with a little finger wiggle.

Cas’ breath puffs out with a flinch of movement that threatens to break the touch on Dean’s temple. Cas seems to gather himself then, steeling against further reaction.

“I’m glad,” he answers stiffly.

Oh, this is where it gets fun. “Break the Angel” is one of Dean’s favorite games.

“Sure would be a shame if you had to shut it off early,” Dean sighs. His fingers walk slowly up Cas’ side, until they’re under the arm that’s raised to maintain the touch-illusion with his head. “I’d like to watch until our deluxe, not-at-all-unnecessary hot cocoa alternative is ready.”

Cas swallows. “There’s still some brew time left, don’t worry.”

A little tickle in Cas’ armpit, then Dean’s fingertips slide further back to tease behind his shoulder. However invisible and intangible, the base of Cas’ wing is sensitive. It’s a bonus in all sorts of circumstances. Right now, the upside is a special, angels-only tickle spot.

Despite what Dean knows is Cas’ best effort, Cas’ spine curves away from the touch as he squirms in the armchair. The fingers on Dean’s temple slip; the Milky Way warps into a ripple like disturbed water for a brief moment.

“Dean,” Cas begins again, but no amount of super-human strength can stop the chuckle that wobbles his words. “Only a few moments, please…”

“Yep, only a few,” Dean agrees cheerily. “You got this.”

It is so damn satisfying, making unshakeable Cas shake with laughter. The stars overhead wink and glitch. Dean’s hand finds what he’s privately dubbed the “wingpit” by Cas’ shoulder blade and tickles it mercilessly while he clings to the squirming torso beneath him. Cas scrunches up, buries his nose in Dean’s hair, and snickers until he snorts. But he’s stubborn – the night sky flickers, blares into nonsense colors, browns out until Dean actually catches a glimpse of the ceiling’s plaster, but keeps reforming as Cas struggles to keep contact with Dean’s temple.

“The – hah! – the cacao should be ready,” Cas stutters after a moment more.

Clearly, Cas is expecting this to be the white flag of truce. But Dean has already decided there will be no survivors.

He pivots suddenly in Cas’ lap to claw at his ribs with both hands. He burrows his face into Cas’ neck with a growling assault of nibbles and raspberries for good measure.

Cas dissolves into laughter and finally breaks the connection. He grabs desperately at Dean’s tickling hands and twists to dislodge Dean from his neck.

Dean sits back with a grin, now straddling Cas’ lap. The only glow in the room is from the string lights; the ceiling is bland once again. Cas is smiling and catching his breath, the sight of which rivals the splendor of the absent sky, so it’s no great loss.

“Are you all warmed up now?” Cas asks, faux-exasperation and all.

“Yep.” Dean holds up limber, wriggling fingers demonstratively. Cas catches them before they get any ideas of their own.

—

The unfortunate truth is, brewed cacao smells so much better than cheap packet cocoa. Dean begrudgingly gives it that. He’s wrapped himself around Cas’ back again as the two of them putter through the kitchen once more. Cas seems on-edge this time, especially whenever Dean’s hands drift to his ribs. But Dean only pecks a few ticklish kisses to the side of his neck, and smiles when Cas shivers with goosebumps. Will Cas try to get him back for it later? Yeah, probably. Likely right when they’re getting into bed, when Dean’s too tired to fight back. Afterward, when he’s trying to stop giggling, Cas will kiss him quiet again. None too terrible, as far as divine retribution goes.

The mugs catch Dean’s eye when Cas pours a bit of milk into each. The dark liquid inside swirls slowly with pale clouds and ribbons, reminiscent of the galactic show. It’s not nearly as spectacular, of course, but Dean thinks he’ll look a little more fondly at his morning coffee from now on.

Back in the living room, they snuggle up once again. Dean cradles the hot mug in both hands and smiles when Cas noses his ear and kisses his cheek before taking the first sip of his own drink.

The ceiling looks so blank.

“Do you think you could, uh,” Dean starts, hesitantly, “do that sky thing again? That was pretty awesome.”

Cas looks consideringly at him, the kind of look that warns of consequences if pushed, which… isn’t really an effective deterrent, if Dean’s honest.

“Are you planning on interfering again?” Cas asks.

He’s already had his fun – for now. Dean holds up his mug. “My hands are occupied,” he says, making sure to top it off with a disarming grin.

Cas’ look relents. He wraps an arm around Dean and pulls him in until Dean’s head leans on his shoulder. He lays one more kiss on Dean’s hair before brushing fingertips over his temple.

Together, they bask in the light of the stars.

#Supernatural #Destiel #Squealing Santa 2k21 #rosileeduckie #stringswork #Castiel #Dean Winchester #tickle fic #ticklish!Cas #ler!Dean #Glories Streaming #happy new year y'all

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