#squealing Santa

[sleepysheepytea]

Happy Holidays @a-fluffer-nutter !! I'm your squealing santa!! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ

lol i normally have a pretty hard time drawing these two but i def tried my best!!

i hope you have a wonderful holiday and a happy new year!!

[tickle-fight-club]

@dot-the-switch happy holidays! I’m ur squealing santa😋

hope you like it!!🎄

[tiklart]

SQUEALING SANTA GIFT FORRRRR THE ONE AND ONLY: @ticklishraspberries!!!

Six of Crows - Inej/Kaz

Uahhh, I hope you like it 🧎 I literally couldn’t wait to start on this, I was beyond hyped for this pairing

Thank you @hypahticklish for hosting this wonderful event like always 🥲💕💕🫶

[ticklygiggles]

Definitely not ticklish | Wanderer x Lumine x Lyney

A/N: Merry Christmas in advance, @kusuguricafe ! I am your @squealing-santa this year! ❤️ Whoa it had been a hot minute since I participated hehe.

Anyways, I wish you a looovely Christmas, if you celebrate it! I hope you like your little gift ^^ and have a month full of warmth and a good start of the year! Wishing you the best mwah 💕

Summary: Wanderer's face is really pretty.

Words: 2.7k

He never thought his face was particularly extraordinary. He always avoided looking at his own reflection on any surface; his face was just a reminder of his imperfections and he hated it deeply. 

He never paid much attention to it... until recently when he started being hyper aware of it. All because of a certain magician who deliberately enjoyed looking at him. 

Wanderer had never met anyone like Lyney. At first, he seemed like just a goofy boy, outgoing and too smiley for Wanderer's taste, but as time went by, Lyney let his true feelings show and he did not always show that bright smile and flirtatious attitude in front of Wanderer.

It was strange to see him like this. His duality worried and even made Wanderer stay alert all the time around him, but routine made everything change and he soon got used to the magician and all his little traits and stupid jokes and magic tricks that didn't surprise Wanderer at all. 

However, there was one thing Wanderer just couldn't get used to…

“G-Give me some space!” He growled, trying to get away from Lyney. 

“Hehe, sorry sorry,” The wizard apologized, but the huge smile on his face and his flushed cheeks let Wanderer know that he was not sorry at all. 

Lyney was simply obsessed with Wanderer's face. There wasn't a day that went by when Lyney didn't mention how beautiful Wanderer was. It was an everyday occurrence, at any hour. And if his face wasn't being appreciated by Lyney's words, then it was appreciated by his violet eyes fixed on him as he smiled fondly. 

Wanderer never knew what to do when that happened; he felt uncomfortable, embarrassed even, if he needed to name that feeling properly. He wanted to hide from Lyney stares, but also try to act as if it didn't affect him as much as it did.

“I told you to stop!” 

“I can't help it! You're just so beautiful!” 

Wanderer groaned. This was such a terrible feeling. He wished he never agreed to being in a stupid relationship with Lyney and have a date in this stupid Serenitea Pot while he was being stared at!

By the corner of his eye, he could see Lyney was staring at him again and Wanderer rolled his eyes and turned his head away from the magician, who was almost glued to his side to look at him properly. Lyney chuckled and Wanderer jolted a little when he felt him rest his chin against his shoulder.

“Ow, c'mon, Wanderer!” Lyney begged against his ear, his breathing caressing his soft skin, causing him to shiver. “Let me see your pretty face, yes?” 

Wanderer shook his shoulder, but Lyney didn't move away. “You're so annoying! You do this every day! You literally look at my face all the time, you can be without it for a while.” 

“No, I can't!” Lyney pouted, making his voice sound teary and sad. “I will die a very painful death if you don't let me look at your face right now!” 

“Then perish,” Wanderer said, closing his eyes and fighting the urge to rub at his ear as Lyney's breath fanned across the skin. 

Lyney whined, but ultimately stopped talking, although he stayed right where he was, glued to Wanderer's side.

Silence filled the room once more. Wanderer could only hear Lyney's soft breathing in his ear, the sound of running water outside, and the chirping of birds. As much as he said he hated the Serenitea Pot, he actually felt relaxed in it. 

Also, Lyney's body pressed against his was so warm, like a soft blanket. Wanderer felt himself beginning to lose consciousness. Lyney's hands gently touched his waist, startling him slightly before he relaxed under the soft touch. He was definitely going to fall asleep on that small table in the middle of the room. 

But when Lyney's fingers moved too close to his back, Wanderer jumped, his eyes wide as he gasped and stiffened.

“What's the matter?” Lyney asked worriedly, his head tilting slightly to see Wanderer's face, but he quickly turned away. 

“Nothing,” he said hurriedly, his hands quickly finding Lyney's. “Now, move away or I'm gonna– ack!”

A single poke to his waist. That was all it took for Lyney to know what was going on and Wanderer wanted to whine. Why was he so ticklish if he wasn't even human?! 

“Oh?” The teasing in Lyney's tone of voice sent shivers down Wanderer's spine. He could see Lyney's mischievous grin without even looking at his face! 

“Don't you fucking dare,” he warned, pushing at Lyney's hands. “I don't– ungh!” 

“Why didn't anyone tell me you're ticklish?!”

Wanderer gritted his teeth, refusing to let any stupid and embarrassing sound escape his lips. Evil fingers started to squeeze the curve of his waist, making him want to crawl out of his skin. 

He could never get used to this terrible sensation. It made his brain feel like mush and he hated that it made him want to laugh so much. But above all, he hated that Lyney had found out about this! He had tried so hard to hide his stupid sensitivity from Lyney's prying fingers, but he had let his guard down.

“Ow, c'mon! Won't you laugh a bit for me?” Lyney teased with a little giggle, his lips brushing against Wanderer's ear.

Wanderer shook his head, desperately trying to keep his back to Lyney so he couldn't see how his trembling lips started to curve into a silly smile as the tickling continued, his eyes tightly shut.

“Oh? What's going on here?” Wanderer groaned as that sweet voice reached his ears. He straightened his back with a deep gasp when Lyney's fingers moved up towards his ribs.

Great, now the traveler was seeing this mess. 

“Lumine! Why didn't you tell me Wanderer is ticklish?!” Lyney reproached her and Wanderer could hear the pout on his lips. 

Lumine chuckled softly as she approached them, closing the door of her room behind her with one foot as she gracefully held a tray with cups of tea in one of her hands. 

“I didn't? Well, it seems that you know it now. You're doing it all wrong, though.” She said and Wanderer widened his eyes. No, she wouldn't dare! 

“What do you mean I'm doing it wrong?!” Lyney asked, offended. His hands moved away from Wanderer's body, and in a beat, he tried to get up, but was pushed back by Lumine. 

“Going somewhere?” That horrible smirk sent shivers down Wanderer's spine and he tried to scurry back but was met by Lyney's body and the magician giggled happily, hugging his waist from behind as if he was a stuffed animal. 

Wanderer whined, “stay away from me! No! Don't touch me th-thehehere! Ahahahack! I hahahahate you!” 

His body went crazy as he felt Lumine's warm hand gripping that terribly ticklish nerve above his hip. As soon as she began to squeeze that nerve, Wanderers' laughter shot hastily from his lips. He thrashed around, trying to push Lumine's hand away as he laughed uproariously. 

“Oh.” He heard Lyney say and Wanderer shrieked, feeling his other side being under attack too. He threw his head back against Lyney's shoulder, his body going a limp under their maddening touch. 

Wanderer had his eyes tightly shut, but he could hear Lyney and Lumine giggle above him as their fingers mercilessly chased those spots and his hips shook in desperation. 

“You see? He's very ticklish here,” Lumine said, using her free hand to grab one of Wanderer's so he would stop pushing hers.

“I'm n-nohohot!” His laughter was turning a bit frantic as their fingers kept rubbing and massaging those spots as if it was engraved in their minds how to make Wanderer laugh like a mad man.

But even as he laughed like that, he was never going to admit that he was ticklish. Even if Lumine's fingers began to claw up towards his ribs and he felt the desperation growing. His laughter turned more panicky and his flailing intensified, but he couldn't escape Lyney's embrace. 

“Did he just say he isn't ticklish?” Lyney asked and Wanderer wanted to hide when he heard them both laughing at him, still, he laughed the loudest. 

“Then, if he's not ticklish,” Lumine said, her fingers dangerously close to his highest ribs. “I'm sure he doesn't mind us doing this, right? Pin him!” 

“Aaahahack!” 

Their positions changed too quickly, but the tickling didn't stop for even a second. Somehow Lyney was able to push Wanderer onto his back and trap his hands under his knees, tickling him still just above his hip.

Lumine straddled his hips, but ultimately kept her fingers glued to Wanderer's highest ribs, making him nearly choke on his laughter. 

“STAHAHAP! Lehehet me gohoho, dahahammit!” 

“But why?” Lyney sang, moving his hands up to Wanderer's tummy, clawing at the very middle and rubbing his thumbs against the sides of his stomach. “You said you're not even ticklish, didn't he say that, Lumine?” 

Lumine nodded, “yes! I clearly heard him saying so!” 

Wanderer let out a stream of ridiculous giggles and he jerked like a worm, making his lovers giggle, so in love with all his struggling. Those sadists bastar- 

“NAHAHAT THEHERE!” He cackled, shaking his head as if trying to distract himself from the tickles to his armpits. He desperately tried to lower his arms, but Lyney had him pinned right and no matter how hard he bucked his hips and arched his spine, he simply couldn't push Lumine off him. 

The traveler skittered her fingernails up and down his ticklish armpits, making him see stars. She pinched the muscle, making him laugh hysterically, and then rubbed deep circles against the crease where his arm met his torso. 

Tapping, caressing, pinching and vibrating– she did every single technique she knew so well worked wonders on Wanderer and oh, he was laughing out of his head. 

Small tears of laughter began to cling to his long eyelashes, making them shine in the warm light coming through the window. 

“Whoa,” Lyney mumbled breathlessly. “Look how beautiful he is, Lumine.” 

Wanderer whined, but then he shrieked as the tickling to his armpits seemed to increase. Wanderer was so overwhelmed about the tickling there, he could barely feel Lyney's hand moving away from his stomach to his ribs. 

“He really is beautiful. Look how big he can smile, ah but remember he's not ticklish!” They giggled again, relentlessly tickling Wanderer to pieces.

Thankfully for him, Wanderer didn't need to breathe, but it caused his laughter to come out in a smooth, unbroken stream. Uninterrupted and unbroken, it simply didn't stop or pause for breath. His shoulders shook and his lips trembled as the mirthful sound filled the air like a steady hum. 

And that was simply so embarrassing when those two were abusing all of his sensitive spots until he was feeling somehow dizzy and lightheaded. At the verge of fainting, but at the same time, hyper aware of everything that was going on. 

“NOT TIHIHICKLING THEHEHERE!” He begged, his cheeks hurting from smiling so much. 

Lumine giggled. “Why are you even saying so if it doesn't tickle at all, or does it?” 

“NOHOHO! It dohohoesn’t!” He knew perfectly well that his words weren't helping his cause at all, but still he couldn't help but challenge them because… he liked the sensation. 

It was extremely overwhelming, and made him want to scream and run away and cringe out of his skin, but at the same time, he liked that feeling of wanting to run away, he liked that he couldn't think of anything else but those fingers digging into all his weak points. 

He liked to hear how much fun they were having when tickling him; there was no malice in their intentions even if they said the most embarrassing things to make him feel flustered. He knew that the words they said about how beautiful he was or how precious his smile was were true and made him feel warm, loved. A sensation that was still strange to him and made him feel uncomfortable, but good at the same time. 

“Do you want to tickle him here?” He heard Lumine ask as she stopped tickling his armpits for a bit.

Wanderer's laughter stopped dead. His face was still wearing a lingering smile and his eyes were sparkling with tears of mirth as he looked at Lumine. His body went limp, suddenly still as if the laughter had been switched off like a light.

“I'm gonna show the absolute, number one, weakest spot on this not-so-ticklish Wanderer,” she said with a big smile on her lips and Wanderer widened his eyes, pulling at his arms and kicking his legs as he shook his head. 

“Don't you dare! I swear if you- ahahahack! Lyney! Dohohon't!” 

The nerve-ending melody of his laughter filled their ears again when Lyney started tickling his armpits. He had learned so well from that silly traveler, who was spreading Wanderer's legs even though he was trying to resist and she got in between them, laughing mischievously.

“Where on earth are you going to tickle him?!” Lyney asked with a deep blush assaulting his cheeks, his fingers faltering a little, but not enough to stop Wanderer’s laughter.

Lumine laughed, her fingers walking like little legs from Wanderer's knees to the inner part of his thighs, under his shorts. 

“Lehehet go! Lehehehet gohoho! Dohohon't do ihihIHIHIT!” Wanderer shrieked with hysterical laughter as Lumine's fingers found that meaty part so close to his groins. 

His trashing was no joke, he desperately tried to escape, but there was no way. So he could only stay there between them as they absolutely destroyed his ticklish spots and he spiraled into ticklish agony. 

“His inner thighs are so ticklish~” She said to Lyney as she squeezed and squeezed the muscle over and over, making Wanderer howl. “You gotta have him pinned, though, otherwise he'll kill you.”

“... He's not even ticklish though!” More of their giggles and Wanderer wanted the earth to swallow him whole. 

He really doubted that that terrible sound was coming from him. It was desperate, frantic and panicky. It was also loud, boisterous, scraping in his throat and bubbling out of his mouth nonstop, a steady rhythm that didn't falter. 

There was no way a human could resist that amount of tickling, but Wanderer would gladly try it out on these two humans as soon as they stopped! 

“Wanderer, why are you so pretty?” Lyney asked nonchalantly, as if he wasn't tickling Wanderer's armpits as if life depended on it. 

“Why do you have such a beautiful smile?” Lumine asked, massaging his inner thighs in the most ticklish way possible. 

“Why do you keep saying you're not ticklish when you can barely keep yourself together?” 

“Why are you laughing so hard if you're not ticklish?” 

“Why do you keep squirming if you're not ticklish?” 

“Why do you–

Enough! 

“FIHIHINE! FIHIHINE, DAHAHAMMIT! I'm fuhuhucking tihihicklish! PLEHEHEASE, please stohohop!” He begged, unable to keep fighting against them and simply going limp as they tickled and tickled and tickled him. 

He thought they would tickle him forever, but they eventually slowed down enough to make his hysteria turn into soft giggles and then complete sudden silence again. Everything was suddenly quiet, except for the faint echoes of his laughter ringing in their ears. 

“Did that tickle, Wanderer?” He jolted a little when he felt warm hands cleaning his tears. It was Lumine, looking at him with such love in her eyes it made Wanderer want her to tickle him again. 

“Our poor Wanderer. He's so ticklish~” He didn't get to answer as Lyney finally let go of his hands and helped him sit back up, his arms wrapped around his waist again, hugging him tightly. “Wanderer, I won't be able to stop tickling you ever again!” 

He groaned, “that's exactly why I didn't want you to know!” He said, but he didn't even sound annoyed and he really didn't do anything to try and escape the tight hug or the nuzzling and kissing to his neck. Lumine chuckled and she wrapped her arms around Wanderer's neck, placing little kisses to his cheek. 

Ah, he still wasn't sure how he had ended up with these two, but he thought he could never choose anyone better to be his lovers. Of course, that was something he would never dare to say out loud. It didn't matter how much they tickled him or how many times they told him he was beautiful! 

[august-anon]

Brotherly Duties

Hey hey, @rosiesramblings! I cannot tell you how excited I was to be your @squealing-santa this year!! This fic was so fun to write and I love it a lot, so I hope you love it too!

When I saw your 3 prompts, along with your request for ler!Dick and lee!any-of-his-little-brothers, my brain went "Why Not All Three, Though?" So here's your batbrothers fic, featuring all 3 baby brothers and all 3 prompts! I may have gotten a little carried away lol

And also, a huge thank you to @cantsaythetword for hosting this year's @squealing-santa! You are hugely appreciated, Crow! I know hosting this event is no easy feat, especially with tumblr seemingly trying to block all avenues of communication. We all really appreciate you!!

(also obligatory warning to all that my characterizations are still very fanon-based, as I have been too busy to delve much into comics just yet lol)

____________________________

Brotherly Duties

Fandom: Batfamily (no specific source material/continuity)

Ship(s): Gen!!! Platonic!! Familial!! No batcest here

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jason, Damian, and Tim & Ler!Dick

Word Count: 6846 words

Summary: Whether it's to get his siblings to take a break or to stop them from being obnoxious little shits, Dick's patented brother-wrangling techniques are always successful.

[ao3 link]

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Dick didn’t think he’d ever get used to seeing Jason back in the Manor again.

He was used to forcing brotherly bonding by breaking into one of Jason’s safehouses, or cajoling Jason until he agreed to drop by Bludhaven for a movie night, with or without their other siblings. When Jason started dropping by the Batcave every once in a while, even if it was originally just to steal gear and gadgets from Bruce, Dick thought he might cry. Bruce almost did. And Dick finally did cry the first time he entered the Cave to find Jason giving Tim a few pointers on the sparring mats, because despite all the sarcasm and their argumentative tones, they were bonding.

Alfred, the miracle worker, was the first one to get Jason back upstairs, if only for a brief moment to pick up a care package that Alfred had put together for him. And once Jason had gotten through that first hurdle, it slowly got easier and easier to convince him to head upstairs for a bit, until Alfred had convinced him once more to start joining in on family dinners.

So walking into the den and seeing Jason engaged in a Mario Kart tournament with their baby brothers? Dick had to swallow that swell of emotion damned fast before any of them called him out for tearing up. And then he promptly vaulted over the back of the couch to prove who the real Mario Kart champion is.

Except, after (losing) only a couple more races, Damian was called away by a disappointed Bruce – apparently he had some big test coming up that he was meant to be studying for, but he’d snuck away to play video games with Jason and Tim instead. 

Tim himself only lasted one more (lost) race after that before flitting off himself. Dick knew he was sneaking off to do some work, whether it was for their nighttime cases or something to finish up for W.E., despite the fact that he’d practically been ordered to take a break for the day. Dick also knew he was completely taking advantage of the fact of Jason being here, because Dick hated having to walk away when Jason was right there and willing to spend time with them and was unlikely to follow after and make Tim rest.

But Dick decided to let it slide, just this once. It’s not like he could reach his usual state of overworked before Alfred called them all for family dinner, and Dick could always force him to take a break later. Even if he had to sit on the kid so that he couldn’t reach his laptop. It wouldn’t be the first time.

And then it was just Dick, Jason, and the Nintendo Switch.

“You gonna back out, too?” Dick taunted, raising an eyebrow at Jason.

Jason scoffed, settling more firmly against the arm of the couch, bringing his socked feet up to rest on the cushions. It was a position he took up often when they played video games or watched movies here in the den when Jason was still a short, scrawny kid, all curled up like a cat despite being ready to spring up at any moment. It looked a little silly now, someone as large as Jason tucking his feet up like that, but it made Dick’s heart ache anyway.

“As if,” Jason said. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Dick couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, because you’ve been doing such a good job of that so far. Remind me, Jay, how many races have you won since I got here?”

Jason grumbled something that sounded rather like “shut the fuck up, Dickface,” clutching his controller closer to his chest. “Just pick the next race, already.”

Dick chose a track at random and settled in against his arm of the couch, locking into the race. Though it was a close race, Jason staying on his tail the entire time, Dick still won the race. And the next one. And the one after that. Dick couldn’t help but laugh, even as Jason fumed.

Jason chose the next track without a word, refusing to even look in Dick’s direction. Dick couldn’t wipe the grin off his face if he tried, and broke into even more laughter as Jason’s kart failed the startup boost and burst into a cloud of smoke. His laughter was quickly cut off as a foot jabbed into his arm, jostling him and making his own kart almost fly off the track.

“Hey!”

“What?” Jason said, as if he wasn’t stretched across the couch (curse his stupid Lazarus Pit induced growth spurt), and he shoved at Dick’s arm again.

“Cut it out, Jason!”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

Another light kick, this time to Dick’s hands in an attempt to knock the Joycon out of them. Dick cursed, barely keeping the controller from going flying, and Jason crowed as he pulled into the lead.

“Take that, Dickwing!”

“Jason!”

“What?”

Another kick, Dick just barely managing to evade it as he tried to regain first place. Jason’s second foot came into play then, one continuously jostling the arm nearest to Jason while the other tried to knock the controller from Dick’s hands. Dick couldn’t even fight Jason off, because he’d chosen a track with too many twists and turns to take his hands off the controller for too long. When the foot dedicated to shoving at Dick missed his arm and instead jabbed a toe into his ribs (which Dick totally didn’t flinch at, thank you very much), the solution came to Dick all at once.

He just hoped the Lazarus Pit hadn’t made his baby brother any less ticklish.

“That’s it,” Dick snapped at the next kick as he paused the game, grabbing an ankle in the same motion.

“Shit, wait!” Jason’s voice had gone hilariously high pitched, and he started kicking at Dick for a whole new reason. “Dick!”

“I’m not waiting for shit – you deserve this.”

Dick skittered his fingers against the socked sole in his grip and Jason grunted, sealing his lips shut. Unfortunately, Jason was a lot stronger now than he had been at thirteen, and he was easily able to rip his ankle out of Dick’s grip. He spared a moment to shove Dick into the arm of the couch with both feet before rolling over, trying to crawl over the arm of the couch to escape – as if that was somehow a better plan than just standing up from the couch and leaving.

Either way, it gave Dick the perfect opportunity to launch himself forward and sit across the backs of Jason’s thighs. Jason spat out a curse, kicking and twisting and bucking to try and throw Dick off to no avail.

“Get your fat ass off of me!”

Dick tutted, a habit he had slowly started picking up from Damian without realizing. “You’re gonna owe Alfred so much money in the swear jar by the time I’m done with you.”

Jason gave up on squirming, shooting Dick an absolutely lethal glare over his shoulder. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Mhm,” Dick said, absently, cataloguing Jason’s body language and facial expressions. “Sure.”

As skilled as Jason might have been at burying his thoughts and feelings (they were both trained by the Batman, after all), Dick was better at prying them out. Not only was Jason his first baby brother, as fraught as their relationship has been over the years, but he was the first son of the World’s Greatest Detective. Jason couldn’t hide those reactions from him.

The laughably awful escape plan, the lack of tension in Jason’s eyebrows, the twitching at the corners of Jason’s mouth. His nose wasn’t even scrunched up in anticipation of a snarl, which always happened when Jason was starting to get pissed off. Plus, while Dick could certainly take Jason in a fight (he’d been in the vigilante business a lot longer, after all), it’s not like he was extending a lot of effort into their little play tussle. If Jason had really wanted to throw Dick off earlier, he would have.

Jason was having fun.

And who was he to deny his little brother some silly goofing off? God knows Jason needed it.

And so Dick didn’t hesitate a second longer, reaching out to vibrate his fingers into the middle of Jason’s ribcage. Jason didn’t bother clamping his lips shut this time, instead burying his face into the couch as he let out a giggly yelp. His legs kicked out behind Dick, drumming against the couch cushions, and he tried to squeeze his arms against his sides for protection despite how awkward his position made it.

“Aww, Little Wing!” Dick couldn’t help but tease. “I think you’re even more ticklish now than when you were a kid.”

Jason peeled his face up from the cushion just long enough to shout a wobbly “Shut the fuck up!” before planting his face back in the fabric.

Dick laughed, squeezing sporadically up and down Jason’s sides just to watch him wiggle around like a frantic little worm. When they were younger, he used to curl up like a little pill bug whenever Dick or Bruce would tickle him, knees up to his chest and arms wrapped around his torso like it could ever save him from their wiggling fingers. It had never worked, of course – and was even less help to him when they realized just how ticklish Jason’s back was.

Speaking of…

Dick pulled his hands back, giving Jason a half-second of a breather, before delivering a series of sporadic, nibbling pinches traveling up Jason’s back. This time Jason shrieked, his legs scrabbling even harder at the cushions since they couldn’t curl up, and he reached back to try and slap at Dick’s hands. Being all bulky muscle now, he couldn’t quite contort that far anymore, so instead he settled for slapping at Dick’s knee.

“You dick!”

“Well, that is my name, Jay. Don’t wear it out.”

“You’re so fucking stupid!”

“I hope you know I’m keeping track so I can tell Alfred later. You’re up to at least six dollars, and that’s not even counting before I started tickling. You’re gonna get the disappointed grandpa look.”

Jason picked his head up to retort, but Dick chose that moment to start poking just below his shoulderblades, following along the edges of them. Instead of cursing Dick out again, he tumbled into bubbly giggles and shimmied his shoulders to try and throw off the attack. Dick laughed again, switching to prodding at the edges of Jason’s armpits.

“What’s-a-matter, Little Wing? Does that tickle? You regret messing with me yet?”

Jason’s laughter spiked, but it had nothing to do with the tickling. “You kidding me?” He warbled through his laughter. “I died, I’m not gonna break for a little tickling, Dickhead.”

Dick frowned at the death joke (he didn’t think he’d ever feel comfortable with Jason joking about it), but narrowed his eyes as the rest of the sentence hit him. He paused his fingers, but even though his panting giggles, Jason still kept trying to (very obviously half-heartedly) wiggle his way out.

“Oh, yeah?”

Something about his tone made Jason freeze in place. Jason slowly turned to look over his shoulder, making eye contact with Dick (bright, smiling eyes, and so full of life).

“Dick.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Jason.”

“Come on, man.”

Dick’s other eyebrow jumped up. “You wanna be tickled that bad?”

Jason’s eyes went wide and he started wiggling again. “Wait– no!”

Dick chuckled and wormed his fingers under Jason’s body, settling his fingertips into the divots beside Jason’s hip bones.

“Any last words?”

“Um. Sorry?”

“Hmm. I don’t think you are, though.”

And Dick dug his fingers in, squeezing at Jason’s hips mercilessly. The noise Jason let out was almost a scream before he fell into hysterical, hiccuping cackles. His body went limp under Dick, giving up on fighting or even trying to pill-bug for protection as he laughed himself hoarse.

“Are you sorry now, you little shit?”

Jason managed a mangled “swear jar” through his guffaws.

Dick grumbled, but couldn’t help but grin. It had been so long since he’d gotten to goof off with Jason like this. It felt like something inside him was finally clicking back into place, the final piece left to settle his soul ever since getting Jason back.

“Okay!” Jason wheezed, knocking Dick out of his thoughts. “Okay, I’m sorry!”

Dick chuckled, but stopped immediately. He swung a leg over Jason so he was no longer straddling him, but sitting against the back of the couch with his legs tossed over the backs of Jason’s legs. Jason panted and giggled and finally curled up like the little pill bug he was. Dick reached out and rubbed a hand up and down his back to help him calm down.

Jason’s eyes had drifted shut as he recovered, but Dick caught a shadow lurking out of the corner of his eye. Glancing up, he saw Bruce hovering in the doorway to the den, eyebrows drawn in worry. Dick inwardly winced, recalling the frantic scream Jason had let out only a few minutes before. He couldn’t exactly blame Bruce for coming running at the noise – and clearly just back from the office too, based on his attire.

 But Dick just grinned at Bruce, winking and wiggling the fingers of his free hand in explanation. Bruce’s face cleared, his mouth twitching up briefly in amusement (what would likely be a chuckle on anyone normal) as his eyes melted in that fond way they tended to whenever Dick or his siblings did something Bruce found particularly endearing. Dick had to look away, always feeling oddly vulnerable under that gaze, and after a few more moments of staring, Dick saw Bruce’s shadow retreat. The warmth his smile had left in Dick’s chest had not.

“You know, Dickie,” Jason said, having finally caught his breath, “one of these days, one of us is gonna get you back.”

Dick laughed, briefly clawing up Jason’s back just to hear him squeal again before going back to rubbing it soothingly. “Keep telling yourself that, Little Wing.”

Jason scoffed. “You better watch your back. I’m bigger than you now, and I remember all your tickle spots too.”

The warmth still sitting in Dick’s chest turned into a swarm of butterflies. Fuck Bruce, actually, for tickling him in front of Jason often enough for that information to stick.

*    *    *    *    *

Apparently, being benched meant you couldn’t even run comms these days. Dick had to shove down the wave of frustration as Alfred shooed him away from the Batcomputer, as if a shoulder injury somehow meant he couldn’t operate a keyboard and talk into a microphone. He wasn’t an invalid, thank you very much. But Dick knew better than to argue with Alfred, and his tone brokered no room to do so as he told Dick to “go check on your brother.”

Because Dick wasn’t the only vigilante benched that night. 

And as Dick picked his way through the Cave, Alfred kicking him off comms suddenly made a lot more sense. He could hear heavy breathing coming from the training mats, the sound of grunts and fists meeting vinyl. Dick sighed and changed course, heading for the training area instead of the stairs. Of course Damian was frustrated with being benched. He wasn’t even hurt.

Dick watched Damian train for a few minutes. His face was creased with irritation, sweat dripping from his jaw and hairline. Dick could see where the exhaustion pulled at Damian’s limbs, making his form sloppy and imprecise (at least, sloppy and imprecise for a former assassin and a current Bat). He had his fists wrapped properly in tape, but Dick could see his boxing gloves abandoned at the edge of one of the training mats. The velcro strap on one of them was broken, but whether it was from overuse or Damian’s frustration was unclear.

“Shouldn’t baby bats be in bed this time of night?” Dick called out eventually, kicking off his slides to step onto the training mats.

“I should be out on the streets with Batman,” Damian ground out, throwing a particularly vicious punch at the bag.

Dick sighed again, making his way behind the punching bag to brace it for Damian. “You know the rules, kiddo. No patrol before school tests, not even a reduced one. You need your rest.”

“It is a waste of time! My classmates are imbeciles, I could take the exam high on fear toxin and still get the highest grade of them all.”

Dick bit back a reprimand, seeing as Damian would certainly not be receptive to it at the moment. He’d been doing better with his peers recently, anyway – he had even joined the art club and started making a few friends. It was more than likely his anger talking than any real malice.

“I know how smart you are, Dami, we all do. But Robin still has rules, and they’re there to look out for you.”

At least, most of the time. Dick could still easily recall just how stifling a number of Bruce’s rules could get, and Damian wasn’t the only Robin to ever feel held back by them.

But Damian just heaved out a large sigh, briefly resting his forehead against the punching bag. “I know.” He just as quickly pulled back, fixing the scowl back onto his face. “But that does not mean I should neglect my training. Just because I am forced to stay in for the night does not mean there aren't ways to improve myself.”

Dick pursed his lips and glanced at a nearby clock (analog – all the digital clocks had been removed from the cave shortly after Jason started re-integrating. Dick still didn’t know who was responsible). It wasn’t too late yet, and Dick was all too familiar with how vigilantism could screw up one’s sleep schedule. If he tried to force Damian into bed now, he’d just lie there awake for the next couple of hours. 

“Alright, Dami, we can train for a bit. But only for another 45 minutes, then it’s bedtime for baby bats.”

Damian scoffed and looked away, crossing his arms. “Tt. I do not need your assistance with my training. You’re still recovering.”

Dick rolled his eyes, then rolled his injured shoulder. It twinged a bit, but nothing like the pain when he had fumbled his grapple and almost wrenched it from its socket. “I’m fine – almost good as new! I can help you run through some drills, or work on your gymnastics.”

After some more prodding, Damian agreed to let Dick guide him through some new gymnastic and acrobatic moves, provided that Dick did not do anything to strain his arm and only stepped in when Damian needed it. They worked through a few flips and various ways to incorporate such moves into fighting. As always, Damian was a quick study.

And as always, Damian was far too stubborn and far too focused to quit when their time ran out.

“Dami, come on.” Dick rubbed at his eyes, feeling oddly tired himself despite the hours he usually kept. The injury must have taken more out of him than he realized, even as healed as it was. Maybe Bruce and Alfred were right to keep him benched for this long. “Time’s up, we can come back to it tomorrow when we’re fresh.”

Damian let out a frustrated growl. “I almost had it!”

“I know, buddy. And I bet you’ll get it even faster tomorrow, when you’re fresh and well-rested.”

Damian didn’t listen, continuing to try and execute the flip and only succeeding in flopping himself to the plush mats over and over.

“Damian.”

Damian did not budge. He flipped again, his body once again not reaching the rotation it needed to successfully execute the move. Except this time, Dick could track the trajectory – Damian would try to land on his feet, but at that angle… well, he would probably wind up benched for a lot longer than one school night.

Dick launched himself forward, managing to catch Damian around the middle to stop his momentum and halt the bad landing, but wrenched his injured shoulder in the process. He hissed a breath in through his teeth, hoping it was quiet enough that Damian didn’t hear, and lowered them both to the ground.

“I had it, Grayson!”

“No, you didn’t!” Dick snapped, then paused and took a couple deep breaths. Damian stayed quiet while he composed himself. “We’ll talk about what went wrong and how to prevent it tomorrow. Are you tuckered out yet?”

Damian crossed his arms. “If you’re so tired, then you go upstairs to bed. I’m fine to continue on my own.”

“Alright.” Dick took another slow breath to calm himself. “That’s it.”

Dick dug his fingertips into Damian’s sides, squeezing and wiggling away. Damian, clearly not expecting the sudden attack, had no hope for defense or hiding his reactions. He burst into boyish giggles instantly, slapping and shoving at Dick’s hands as he tried to wriggle away.

Dick grinned, the laughter of one of his baby brothers melting away his frustration faster than anything else ever could. “Maybe this’ll finally tire you out, huh?”

“Richard! Wait!”

Dick chuckled. “Why do you guys always tell me to wait? Wait for what, kiddo?” His hands converged on Damian’s belly, laughing along when his giggles got even squeakier. “It’s not like anyone’s gonna come to your rescue.”

Damian grumbled through his laughter, finally managing to wiggle out of Dick’s hold. “I don’t need a rescue, I can take care of myself!”

Dick let Damian retreat a few steps before hauling himself to his feet. He put on a show about it, stumbling around a bit and bringing one hand up to his head. “Uh oh, Baby Bat – better look out. I think I’m being taken over… by the Tickle Monster!”

Damian tried to scowl at him even as a goofy smile tugged at the edges of his lips. He clicked his tongue, watching Dick’s movements carefully. “Tt, the Tickle Monster isn’t real, Richard. I am too old for such childish games.”

Dick stumbled forward a few steps, reaching a jerking hand out to Damian. “Oh, save me, Dami! There’s only one thing that can help me now!”

Damian’s retreat faltered, one eyebrow raising in curiosity. “Which is?”

Dick grinned. Gotcha. “Your giggles!”

“I do not– Richard!!”

Dick laughed as he tackled Damian down to the mats, careful to twist them so he didn’t land on top of the boy or on his injured shoulder. He rolled so his own back was against the mats with Damian’s back flush against his chest, and made sure Damian was secure in one of his patented Octopus Grip hugs before resuming his attack. Damian burst back into silly giggles as one of Dick’s hands attacked his stomach, the other climbing up and down his sides and ribs sporadically. Every few seconds he would switch hands, and Damian squeaked each time without fail.

“What was that about not giggling, Baby Bat? What’s that I hear right now?”

“Shut up!”

Dick laughed, but laid off the teasing. The kid could only take so much playful embarrassment before he got genuinely upset, and Dick didn’t want to push it when he was already having such a frustrating night. He kept his tickling light, silly, and jumping, not wanting to overwhelm Damian on top of everything, but despite his squirming and protestations, there was no strain to his laughter or genuine undercurrent of anger in his threats.

Yeah, maybe Damian needed these giggles just as much as Dick did.

“Tuckered out now, kiddo? Tickle Monster’s happy to stick around if you’ve still got some energy to spend.”

“You’re ridiculous!”

“Well, in that case…”

Dick heaved them both up to a sitting position, barely giving Damian a moment of reprieve before reaching down to squeeze at the muscles just above his knees. Damian shrieked, laughter growing from giggles to guffaws. Though he kicked out to try and dislodge Dick’s hands, tugging at Dick’s fingers with his own, Damian still easily melted back into Dick’s chest as he laughed. Dick couldn’t help the fond smile that rose to his lips as he tapered the tickling off, pressing a kiss to the top of Damian’s sweaty head.

“Hit the showers, bud, then the hay. Got it?”

Damian huffed out a large sigh, clearly swallowing back residual giggles as he leaned even further back into Dick for a few moments. “Yes, Richard.” He hauled himself to his feet before holding out a hand to help Dick up. “Get an ice pack for your shoulder, and perhaps locate some anti-inflammatories before you head to bed as well.”

“I told you buddy, I’m fine–”

Damian shot him an unimpressed look. “I heard you when you saved me from injury, I know you aggravated it. I will tell Pennyworth if you don’t take care of it.”

Dick sighed, pulling Damian into a side hug with a gentle smile. “Always looking out for me, aren’t you, bud?”

Damian rolled his eyes, as if it was a stupid thing to take note of. “Of course. Just because you’re not Batman anymore doesn’t mean that stops.”

Dick pulled him in for a full hug at that. “You’ll always be my Robin, Damian.”

Damian hummed and gave him a quick squeeze before detangling himself from Dick’s limbs. “I’m serious,” he called over his shoulder on his way to the shower. “I’ll tell Alfred if you don’t take care of it.”

Dick grumbled under his breath, but obediently turned to head toward the medbay. If he wanted to help Damian perfect that flip tomorrow, then he needed to make sure his shoulder was as good as he could get it.

*    *    *    *    *

By the time Dick finished up his patrol and returned to the Batcave, Tim was already planted in the Batcomputer’s chair, hard at work despite the cast that now swallowed his left calf. Red Robin had taken a nasty hit on patrol, thrown full-force through an already-crumbling wall by an irate Killer Croc. Dick was just grateful that he hadn’t gotten hurt worse, walking away from that fight with only a broken leg was a near-miracle. Clearly Tim didn’t feel the same way, if his scowl was anything to go by.

Dick sighed and eyed the several Zesti cans littering the desk. Tim hadn’t even been back in the Cave for two hours. “Bruce is going to kill you. You know his rules about food and drink near the Batcomputer.”

Tim shrugged one shoulder, not bothering to turn around. “What B doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I needed the caffeine.”

“You should be resting, kiddo – Croc’s back in custody, it’s okay to take a break.”

“No time.” Tim waved him off. “Jason asked for my help tracking down some murders in Crime Alley, whoever it is is good. And Two-Face escaped last week and we’re no closer to finding him. Ivy’s seemed jittery lately, despite how well she and Harley had been doing, so I need to keep an eye on both of them. And I’ve got this case for the Teen Titans –”

“Whoa, Timmy – take a breath. Not all of that has to get done tonight.”

Tim took a deep breath in, then suddenly finally turned to look at Dick. His face was twisted in disgust, wrinkled button nose and all. 

“You smell like shit.”

“Gee, I wonder why. Who could we possibly know that frequents sewers around here?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Go take a shower, I can’t focus with you stinking up the place.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I’ll just stay right here, then. Drive you out with the smell so you can finally get some sleep.”

“I’m fine – I’m not even tired.”

“Tim, your eyebags have eyebags – just looking at you is making me tired.”

“Then maybe you should go to bed.”

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. Getting Tim to take a break was nearly impossible, and he didn’t know if he had the energy or patience for it tonight after dealing with Croc. He was glad that Batman and Robin were handling things with the GCPD, letting Nightwing head back first.

“Look,” Dick said, keeping his voice light and level. “You have until I’m in civvies to clean up the desk and finish up, and then we’re both heading up to bed – even if I have to carry you up there.”

“Mhm, yeah, Dick. Sure.”

Dick narrowed his eyes at the back of Tim’s head. “I will sit on you.”

“Good luck with that.”

Dick held in another sigh and made for the locker rooms, snatching up some solvent for his mask along the way. He took his time in the shower for once, forcefully scrubbing the sewer stench off his body while letting the hot water ease the aches and pains from getting thrown around like a ragdoll. When he was finished and dried, he pulled on a soft, warm pair of sweatpants and broke into Jason’s locker to steal an oversized sweatshirt (it wasn’t like Jason used the Cave’s locker room often enough to miss his clothes – Alfred always washed and replaced them before Jason even noticed). 

Smelling fresh and feeling cozy, Dick emerged from the steaming locker room and back into the chill of the Batcave. Tim hadn’t moved an inch in the time he was gone, still hunched over the Batcomputer. In fact, Dick could swear there were even more cans of Zesti than when he had left. Where was he even hiding it all? There was no way Alfred allowed that much soda into the Manor, let alone the Batcave.

“Come on,” Dick said, jostling Tim’s chair as he approached. “Let’s take care of these cans and catch some Z’s.”

Tim didn’t dignify him with a response, only throwing him a bloodshot glare. Dick took a careful breath and switched tactics. Flippant sometimes worked with Tim, depending on his mood, but it was more the tactic to use on Jason. Tim, attention-starved little gremlin that he was growing up, historically responded a lot better to affection – so long as it didn’t feel like coddling.

So Dick carefully leaned up against the back of his chair, reaching down to squeeze gently at Tim’s shoulders to try and get him to release some of the tension there. “Alright, bud. Anything I can help with?”

Tim shot him a hesitant look. “Not really. I’m mostly just combing through security footage for Jason, right now.”

Dick hummed, turning his squeezing into more of a shoulder massage. “Two sets of eyes are better than one, right? Let me help – you’ll get it done faster, which means you’ll get some rest sooner.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“Never too tired for you, Baby Bird.”

Some of the tension bled out of Tim and he blinked heavily before turning back to his screens. Instead of pulling up one of the spare office chairs they had tucked away exactly for this purpose, Dick continued to lean up against the back of Tim’s. It left him with easy access to Tim’s neck, shoulders, and upper back – all places he carried immense amounts of tension from hunching over computers and laptops just like this. He kept up the gentle massage as they reviewed Crime Alley’s limited CCTV, and despite Tim’s evident frustration with their lack of progress, his shoulders stayed relaxed under Dick’s ministrations.

After a while, Dick switched up tactics. One of his hands travelled down to rub at the gooseflesh along Tim’s arms, thanks to him only wearing an oversized t-shirt in a literal cave (though, notably, it was one of Dick’s soft old t-shirts, clearly stolen from his locker just like Dick stole from Jason’s, and something about that made his heart melt). The other hand travelled up, combing through Tim’s hair and scratching gently at his scalp. After a few passes, Dick could feel Tim fighting off the urge to go completely boneless. A careful peek over the chair and Tim’s shoulder showed his eyelids fluttering as well, valiantly trying not to close completely.

“I know what you’re doing,” Tim grumbled.

“Oh?” Dick’s voice was low and quiet, as soothing as he could make it. “Do you, now?”

“Yes. And it’s not gonna work.”

Dick hummed. “Seems like it’s working to me.”

Tim frowned, bracing himself for a moment, and pulled away from Dick’s hands, rolling the chair closer to the desk to try and create some space between them. Dick’s blunt fingernails caught on the nape of Tim’s neck as he rolled away, earning him a rather adorable little squeak and a brief turtling of his shoulders.

Well, there was an idea.

Maybe a different method of brother-wrangling was in order.

“Well it’s not,” Tim said, clearing his throat and shaking his head immediately after, clearly trying to wake himself up.

Dick sighed, long and dramatic. “Then I’m afraid you’ve brought this upon yourself, Timmy.”

Tim whipped around to look at him, eyes wide. “Wait– what?”

Dick’s only answer was a mischievous smirk as he rolled the desk chair even further forward, until Tim’s chest was flush with the desk. No squirming away on his watch. He leaned up against the back of the chair (careful not to put too much pressure, lest he crush his baby brother) to prevent Tim from pushing back and set to work, skittering his fingers around Tim’s neck and ears. Tim, tired as he was, immediately burst into bubbly giggles, unable to bury them like usual. His shoulders hunched up as he chased after Dick’s hands with his own.

“Dick! Wait, no!”

“No more waiting, Baby Bird! I tried to be nice, but it looks like now you’re just gonna have to giggle yourself out. Let me know when you’re ready to take a break from working, yeah?”

Tim squealed again, thrashing in his seat as Dick dragged all his nails up the length of his neck, bursting back into giggles as Dick went back to spidering all over the delicate skin.

“That’s not fair!”

“‘Course it’s fair, Timmy! It’s practically Big Brother Law that I tickle you a certain amount per week. I’ve been slacking lately – gotta make up for lost time.”

Finally, Tim managed to latch onto Dick’s wrists, and Dick let him pull them away, if only for a moment. He panted and tried to pout up at Dick, but the expression was rather ineffective when he couldn’t quite wipe the smile off his face.

“Come on, just let me finish? Just thirty more minutes, I swear.”

Dick titled his head, pretending to consider the offer. “Mmmmm-nope!”

At a speed even the Flash would be impressed by, Dick twisted his hands out of Tim’s grip and shot them down between Tim’s body and the armrests of the chair. Expecting the worst, Tim shrieked before Dick had even touched him, plastering his arms down against his ribs.

No matter, Dick could easily come back for those later if Tim kept being stubborn. Dick instead targeted Tim’s hips, readjusting so he was attacking from either side of the chair rather than from above. Tim snorted, which made Dick laugh, which made Tim’s hands shoot up to cover his nose and mouth.

“You’re such an asshole!”

“Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you over all this laughter.” Dick vibrated his hands into Tim’s stomach, making Tim burst out into full-bellied laughter. “Man, it’s so loud in here, huh? That echo really carries.”

“Dick!”

“Hey, could you keep it down? I’m trying to focus on this CCTV here and you’re really distracting me right now.”

“Fuck you!”

Dick laughed again. “Jason would be proud.”

Tim’s hands latched back onto Dick’s wrists. Success. Dick grinned down at the rats nest that was Tim’s hair and put his plan into action, slowly crawling up Tim’s sides. 

The thing was, having not been tickled much growing up, neither by the neglectful Drakes nor his friends, Tim was a bit inexperienced in how to defend himself. Despite Dick’s countless tickle attacks from the moment he named Tim his baby brother (long before the adoption papers came along), Tim had never really grown out of that.

For someone who was always thinking twelve steps ahead and had at least six contingencies for every possible outcome, Tim was on a rather one-track mind when he was tickled. Usually, that one track was simply Oh God, Stop Dick’s Hands. It was a sound line of logic – after all, if Dick’s hands stopped, so did the tickling. However, Tim rarely took into account how laughter weakened even the hardest-earned muscles and leached the coordination from even the most well-trained gymnasts. Dick knew from experience – he flopped around like a fish out of water when he got tickled. All this to say, Tim tended to forget that in trying to capture or push away Dick’s tickling fingers, he left open weak spots that were all-too-easy for Dick to exploit.

Like now, with Dick’s fingers slowly crawling onto his now-exposed lower ribs. Tim cackled and, based on the thumping coming from below the desk, was kicking his legs fiercely. He didn’t seem to realize that the higher Dick tickled, the higher his own arms went too, exposing all his worst tickle spots.

“Last chance, Baby Bird. Taking a break?”

“N-no! I have to finish–!”

Dick let out a fake sigh. “Then you leave me no choice, kiddo.”

Dick latched onto Tim’s upper ribs and Tim’s arms finally crashed back down, trying to launch a defense all too late. Tim wheezed before bursting into the loudest, most hysterical laughter Dick had ever heard anyone make (outside of Harley and the Joker, that was, but they were outliers and should not be counted). He tossed his head back against the chair and shook it, scrubbing his already messy hair into one big knot against the leather.

Even with Tim’s cheeks going an endearing tomato-red from the laughter, Dick didn’t stop. He knew Tim’s bull-headedness all too well for that. He poked and prodded, scribbled and scratched, searching around for those hidden little hyper-ticklish spots across Tim’s upper ribs and armpits with relative ease, despite the arms pressed against them.

“Okay!” Tim eventually shrieked. “Okay, okay!”

Dick didn’t stop his attack, but he did slow his fingers slightly. “‘Okay’ what?”

“I’ll – I’ll take a break!”

Dick blew a stream of air against Tim’s ear and neck, just to hear the squeaky snort he let out, his head jolting sideways for protection. “Hmm, I dunno if I believe that.”

“I promise! Dick, please!”

“Alright, alright.” 

Dick chuckled and pulled back, wheeling the chair away from the desk and turning Tim to face him. His face was flushed, his eyes were teary, and Dick wasn’t even sure if his hair was salvageable at that point or if Alfred would wind up having to cut some mats out. Still, the dopey smile remained plastered to Tim’s lips as he went completely boneless in the chair.

“You, Baby Bird, are sleeping all day tomorrow. Even if I have to sit on you.”

Tim blinked blearily at him. “Don’t you drive back to Blud tomorrow?”

Dick shrugged. “The city can survive another day without Nightwing. Not sure my baby brother can go on another day without Dick Grayson.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but didn’t correct him. Dick fought off a frown. Maybe he needed to make the drive from Bludhaven more often, if Tim was missing him enough to not give him shit. Or maybe Tim was just that tired.

Either way, Dick pushed the thought away for the night. Deciding the cans were a lost cause for the night (which, Tim was totally getting grounded from the Batcomputer for those), he leaned down and swept Tim into his arms, tossing Tim over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Tim squawked in protest.

“What are you doing?!”

“Cashing in on that break you promised – we are having a movie night, all curled up in your bed–”

“It’s covered in W.E. documents.”

“– all curled up in my bed with warm blankets and Alfred’s famous hot cocoa–”

“You’re just trying to get me to fall asleep.”

“You’ll keep beating sleep off with a stick if I leave you alone. If I can get you to rest with some hot cocoa, brother cuddles, and hair pets, then I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”

“Oh no,” Tim snarked. “Dick Grayson being forced to cuddle, what ever will he do?”

Dick grinned and bit back a laugh, tweaking the back of Tim’s knee to make him yelp. “Watch it. Timmy. We can still go for round two.”

Tim grumbled under his breath, something about stupid big brothers and revenge, but Dick decided that could wait for another day. He had a baby brother to tuck into bed, and hopefully his own sleep to catch soon after.

[fluffyweeby]

Merry Christmas @lovelymessybubbly ! I’m your squealing Santa this year!!

I love your art so much and I’m soo happy and honoured I got to be your santa!

I hope you’re gonna like it and have a very merry Christmas and a happy new year!

Stay hydrated! 💜💧

[strawberriesinbloom]

Fairy Light Flurries

Zayne/Gender-Neutral Reader

Summary: You pick Zayne up from work and relax in your apartment together. Unfortunately for Zayne, your mischievous tendencies can be a bit distracting.

Word Count: 4,098

A/N: Hello, @ticklygiggles!! I was your @squealing-santa this year. :) I hope you enjoy this silly little fic.

This is a tickle fic btw!

~🍓~

As you stood near the front entrance of Akso Hospital, you stared at your phone, spamming your favorite doctor with several text messages to announce your presence. You knew Zayne wouldn’t answer your messages for a while, even though his shift ended a few minutes ago. He was a hard worker, which you admired about him.

A cold breeze cut through the air, and you shivered, drawing your coat closer to your body. Tiny snow flurries scattered throughout the air, dusting your wool hat with white snowflakes. Some of them caught onto your eyelashes. You blinked them away.

Downtown was quite pretty during this time of year. Fairy lights were strung along the buildings, emitting a warm, yellow glow. Some were multi-colored, and others had lights that changed color each second. Red, green, and white banners and garlands wrapped around the light poles.

It was quiet out here save for the occasional sound of a car passing through. You supposed most people didn’t want to be outside when it was so cold. Another breeze passed through. You didn’t blame them.

Your phone buzzed.

You didn’t even get to read the notification before a soft, deep voice sighed behind you.

“You could have waited inside of the lobby, you know?” Zayne shook his head as he stepped closer to you. Snow crunched under his shoes. “Or my office.” He wore a large, brown jacket over his outfit. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets.

You laughed. “Yeah, but this is more romantic, isn’t it?” You held out your arms to your sides. “The snow. The lights. It’s so pretty out here. I couldn’t help it.”

Zayne puckered his lips. If you didn’t know better, you would have said it almost looked like he was pouting. “I don’t want you to catch a cold.” He readjusted your hat, making sure it covered your ears. “I can’t believe the Hunters Association is forcing you to work during the holidays.”

“I could say the same thing for you,” you said, pulling at his scarf. Not expecting you to do that, Zayne took an awkward step forward. You evened out the ends before forming a loop and tying it up, so it held closer against his neck. You smiled at his surprised expression and pinched his cheek.

“I chose to work this week,” he said quietly.

“Me too.”

Zayne shot you a quiet smile. You both were workaholics, practically married to your respective jobs. Despite the surface-level differences, you and Zayne were very much alike–at least in that regard.

“Come,” he said, jerking his head to the side. “I’ll drive you home.”

You took his hand as he led you to his car. Zayne always parked in the same spot, so you didn’t need him to lead you, but you just wanted an excuse to hold his hand. He wasn’t wearing gloves, but his hands were still surprisingly warm. How did he manage that?

“Home?” you repeated with a snort. “Do you mean yours or mine?”

Zayne hummed as he opened the passenger side of the door. You sat inside, shivering when your body came in contact with the leather seats. “Your choice,” he said. He closed the door and entered the driver’s side, swiftly starting the car.

You tapped your index finger against your lip. “Mine,” you answered after a while. “I want you to stay the night.”

“Sounds good,” Zayne said as he drove out of the parking lot.

A few minutes into the drive, you rested your chin against your palm. The colorful lights seemed to blur into one as you passed by. You were tempted to press your cheek against the window, but you knew it would be freezing, so you held yourself back.

“How was work?” you asked, simply wanting to fill the air with something. It didn’t matter what you and Zayne talked about. You just liked being with him.

Zayne took a moment to respond, as though he was recalling what happened today. “It was fine,” he finally said.

You waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “That’s it?”

Zayne shrugged. “Not every day can be as interesting as yours.” The hint of a laugh tinged the end of his sentence. “How was work for you?”

“Oh, you know, nothing much,” you said while straightening your posture. “I just saved a mother and daughter from a Wanderer attack.” You flexed your muscles. “No biggie.”

“My hero,” Zayne said. For a second, you thought he was being sarcastic, but his tone sounded strangely sincere.

Unsure what to do with this change in atmosphere, you stared at your lap. “I like waiting for you when you’re done with work,” you said quietly, changing the subject. You knew it was a sudden shift, but you didn’t know what else to say. “It’s the favorite part of my day.”

“Mine too,” Zayne answered.

“Really?” you asked with a slight chuckle.

Zayne spared you a singular glance. Your heart skipped a beat. “Yes, really,” he said. You smiled warmly. You were about to say something else when Zayne interrupted. “We’re here.”

You perked up. “We are?” You looked around and, indeed, you and Zayne were in the parking lot of your apartment complex. “Wow, that was fast.”

Zayne laughed in response. “How time flies.” He stepped out of the car.

Before he could open the passenger door for you, you stepped out and slammed the door shut. Zayne didn’t respond but you did catch him frowning slightly. You stopped his chance to be a gentleman. Hopefully, he didn’t mind too much. You skipped over to him and grabbed his arm as you walked over to your apartment.

There wasn’t any snow or ice on the pavement. The road crew must have come earlier to salt the streets and parking lots. That was good. You wouldn’t have to worry about Zayne slipping and falling. You knew his fancy dress shoes weren’t built for this weather unlike your sturdy boots.

The heat hit you at full blast the second you entered the lobby. It felt comforting–like someone wrapping a large, fluffy blanket around your body.

“I have some spare pajamas in the guest room,” you explained, making your way over to the elevator. “You can take those.” The doors opened with a ding and you stepped inside.

Zayne smiled as he pressed the button to your floor. “They’re my size?”

“Of course,” you said. “It’s always good to be prepared.” You shook your shoulders. “I learned that from a certain doctor.” When the elevator opened, you stepped out and walked over to your room.

The moment you unlocked it and stepped inside, Zayne leaned over and hugged you. You nestled your nose into the crook of his neck, taking in his scent. He smelled like peppermint, and his skin felt smooth to the touch. You kissed his jaw, and Zayne pressed his lips against your cheek. While you wouldn’t call Zayne shy per se, he was definitely the type to be reserved when it came to public displays of affection. It was cute.

“I missed you,” he muttered against your skin.

You giggled and tried to pull away. He pulled you back into his embrace for a few more seconds until he finally let you go. His hands lingered on your upper arms as his thumbs softly caressed you.

“Me too,” you said. With a split second of hesitation, Zayne pulled back to start unbuttoning his jacket. You tugged his sleeve. “Wait, let me get that for you.” He stilled, and you helped him peel off his jacket. You hung it on the coat rack next to the front door with a short flourish.

Taking a quick peek in his pockets, you noticed he had one of those hand-warming packets in there. That sneaky doctor. No wonder his hands were so warm earlier. You wondered if he did that on purpose, knowing you would try to hold his hand. Zayne’s thoughtfulness always made your lips curve into a small, appreciative grin. He tried to be subtle with these things, but you knew how much he truly cared for you.

“Thank you,” Zayne said as he untied his scarf and placed it next to his jacket on the rack.

“Go get changed,” you said. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate.”

Zayne nodded and went to the guest room. You stepped into your bedroom to change into your nightwear before heading to the kitchen and opening the last cabinet on the right. Way in the back was the matching snowman mugs you got for the both of you last year. They were meant to be used for special occasions, and sharing a warm drink in your abode counted, at least, in your opinion.

A part of you wanted to make hot chocolate from scratch, but after the long day of work you had, the mere thought of it made you want to pass out. You had to settle for the instant packet stuff instead.

It didn’t take long for you to prepare the mugs of hot chocolate considering how all you had to do was microwave some milk and stir in the powder. Zayne came up from behind you while you were in the middle of stirring. He had changed fairly quickly. The light blue pajama set suited him. He placed his hands on your shoulders, squeezing them.

“You should add a pinch of sugar in mine,” Zayne said. He pressed the side of his head against your ear. You could hear him swallow at the end of his sentence.

“Sugar?” you repeated. “This is the powder stuff. It’s already sweet,” you clarified, thinking that Zayne would see the error in his ways.

Zayne glanced at the open box of instant hot chocolate on the counter. “I know,” he said. “It’s just a pinch.”

You should have known. Zayne’s proclivity for sweets had no bounds. Just as he asked, you added a spoonful of sugar to his mug (and then another when he gave you puppy dog eyes). He would have denied it if asked directly, but you knew what he was like.

With your mugs of hot chocolate, you and Zayne sat in the living room. “Do you have any preferences?” you asked as you picked up the remote. You turned on the television and scrolled through the wide array of movies.

“Not particularly,” he said, sipping on his drink.

“Alright.”

You played a random holiday movie that was featured on the front page of the streaming platform. From its summary, it seemed like a decent watch: a meet-cute romance between a hunter and a businessman. Apparently, the hunter teaches the businessman about the magic of the holidays. You settled next to Zayne once the music began to play. He lazily laid his arm around your back.

The beginning of the movie was cute, but your mind began to wander halfway through. As the movie droned on, your eyelids started to droop down. All your hours spent awake working and saving the day were beginning to catch up to you. You were almost finished with your drink by now.

Placing your mug on the coffee table, you leaned into Zayne’s side. He hummed and set down his mug next to yours before wrapping his arm around your shoulder and lying down, dragging you down with him.

“What?” you asked as you awkwardly fell over him. You shuffled around until you were lying down on his side, pressed against him and the back pillow of the couch.

Zayne kissed the top of your head. “You’re feeling tired, are you not?” The gentle drum of his heartbeat almost lulled you directly to sleep. He lowered his voice, so it was barely above a whisper. “You can sleep. Don’t worry.”

You turned your head to the side, nuzzling your nose against his chest. “Okay,” you said with a yawn. “Tell me how the movie ends.”

You hugged his side, your arm worming underneath the small of his back. You sighed as the movie became nothing more than background noise. The rise and fall of Zayne’s chest kept you steady. Every so often, his breath tickled your cheeks. You smiled, your fingers flexing against his back.

Zayne stiffened, and you raised your head slightly. “What’s wrong?” you asked.

“Nothing,” Zayne said, petting the top of your head. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered into your ear.

“Are you sure?” you asked. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. You tried to pull your arm from underneath him, but it was stuck–pinned against the couch by his weight.

Zayne squirmed, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s just…” Zayne stopped when he saw your expression. You weren’t going to let this go, and he knew it. Zayne bit his lip, his ears suddenly flushing red. “It just tickles. A bit.”

You propped yourself up on your other arm. “Does it?” Experimentally, you curled your fingers, watching in awe as Zayne arched his back. That allowed you to pry your arm from under him. He gave you a pleading expression–like he was begging you to drop your discovery, but how could you?

“Please–” Zayne said, cutting himself off when you clasped his side and squeezed it. “I’m not th–that ticklish…” He bit his bottom lip as you dragged your nails over his stomach. His abs tensed under your feather-light touch. “…so you caha–!!”

Zayne gasped as you suddenly launched your attack across his stomach just above his belly button. He scrunched up his nose, refusing to laugh. He was always so stubborn. You moved over, so you were now sitting on his lap.

“I think you’re more than ‘a bit’ ticklish,” you said.

His lips were caught in an awkward half-smile that he was desperately trying to keep at bay. Zayne grabbed your wrists, temporarily stopping your pursuits. “Don’t you want to finish the movie?” he asked with the tiniest bit of desperation at the edge of his voice. His fingertips quivered against your skin. Even though you weren’t tickling him anymore, he was still trembling.

“This is much more interesting than some movie.” You pulled your hands out of his grip and latched onto his hips. Zayne bucked up on instinct, and you laughed as he almost bounced you into the air. “Wouldn’t you agree?” You massaged the skin, taking care to dig deeper at the spots that made him jerk especially hard.

His eyebrows furrowed together as he tried to stop himself from succumbing to your touch, but you were far, far too powerful. “I–ehehehmhm…” Zayne giggled breathily. It was satisfying to see him break albeit a little. He seemed to be at a loss for words, his cheeks dusting a light pink. His smile, now much wider, wobbled slightly.

Zayne was still trying to half-heartedly stop your devious hands, but it felt more like a kitten pawing at your arms than anything else. You wondered if that was his way of allowing you to keep going. Surely if he genuinely wanted you to stop, he would have put his foot down by now. Alas, Zayne was putty in your hands. You were one of his few weaknesses.

Your fingers slowly wandered up his torso as they made their way to his ribs. Zayne jumped, clamping his arms to his sides. This seemed to be a much more sensitive area, which you took to your full advantage. “Is this a bad spot, Dr. Zayne?” you asked in a light-hearted tone. “Are you too ticklish for your own good?” You clawed at the soft skin in between the grooves of his ribs.

If you were particularly evil, you might have even tried to tickle him underneath his shirt, but you were feeling a little merciful today.

Zayne squeezed his eyes shut, seemingly no longer able to look at you. “Behehe quiehehet!” he suddenly cackled. “Dohohon’t tickle me there! Eheheh!” He grabbed at your upper arms but didn’t try too much to stop you. Even though you were nowhere near his hips, they still jerked and flinched with every new spot you explored.

“So I can tickle you somewhere else, then?” you teased.

“Nohoho!” he gasped out. Zayne turned his head from side to side as he attempted to wiggle out from underneath you. It was no use, however. You were simply too determined. “Stahahap!”

His laughter was deep and almost husky, peppered with the occasional gasp or winded yelp. It was beautiful. Zayne twitched and jumped with each poke and prod. He was so sensitive. It enamored you. You wished Zayne would laugh like this more often. The sound needed to be captured in a bottle and tossed out to the sea for everyone to have a chance to hear.

“You’re so beautiful, Zayne,” you said softly.

You wondered what Zayne would have said if you weren’t tickling the life out of him. He tossed his head back and cackled when you started digging your fingers deep into the soft fleshy parts of his sides. “Ahahahaha! I–I cahahan’t–!” He squealed, squirming from side to side. “I cahan’t tahahahahake it anymore!” Zayne tried to curl up into a ball, but he couldn’t do that with you sitting on his legs.

“Do that again!” you said, trying to elicit that same squeaky squeal. You dragged your nails up and down his sides, but you weren’t as lucky this time. Oh well.

“This ihihihis too muhuhuch!” Zayne managed to giggle out. He kicked his legs out from underneath you, but you held yourself steady. “Hhh…ehehey!” His shirt rode up a bit, revealing a sliver of rosy pale skin. A slight sheen of sweat glistened against his toned stomach, and you realized that you were, indeed, evil. Very evil.

You targeted his exposed skin. Your fingertips immediately latched onto his bare stomach, tickling him there. His muscles flexed instinctively underneath your touch. You dug your thumbs into his soft warm skin, and he jumped. The way his stomach shuddered with each gasp of breath in between wild laughter made you want him more. You could simply devour him.

Not wanting to go too far, you slowed down. Now, you were lightly dragging your fingers up and down the sides of his stomach. “I like hearing your laughter,” you said quietly, “It’s lovely.” You were barely speaking above a murmur, so you weren’t sure if he could hear you much less understand your words.

“Hehehmmhmm…” Tiny droplets of tears clung to Zayne’s eyelashes, sparkling under the soft overhead light. It took him a moment to realize what you just said, but when he did, Zayne flushed a nice shade of red. His cheeks twitched as residual snickers spilled past his lips. “Thank you,” he mumbled awkwardly. You didn’t blame him. It was an odd compliment considering the circumstances. It was nice seeing him all embarrassed. Zayne shifted slightly, staring off to the side. “I uhahahAHAHA!”

Unfortunately, that little moment of peace had to come to an end because you were once again overcome with the same ruthless mood that started this mess. You began tickling his armpits. He flinched–hard. It didn’t take long for you to find a spot at the very center of his underarms that made him cackle. Your thumbs drilled directly into his armpits, and you snickered at the way he jolted.

“Whoa,” you said in between your own giggles.

“WAHAHAIT!” he practically screamed. “Not thehehehere! Nohot thehereee…!” Zayne managed to flip himself over on his side even though you had been sitting on his legs. Huh. You sat on your knees, hovering over his lower body. He crossed his arms to his chest, effectively blocking you from tickling him. “Ehehehe,” he giggled.

“Come on, please, Zayne?” you asked. “Just five more minutes?” You tried to lift his arm, but he wouldn’t budge.

“No,” Zayne said, slightly out of breath.

You puckered your lips. “What? You can’t handle a little bit of tickling?” You poked down the length of his arm with each word. “Are you too ticklish?”

He shivered. “I’m not–” Zayne began to protest before he thought better of it. He puffed out his cheeks and corrected himself. “I’m not that ticklish.”

You pressed your index finger into his cheek. “I beg to differ.”

“Be quiet.”

You chuckled lightly. “Don’t worry. I think it’s cute.”

“Cute,” Zayne repeated under his breath. “That isn’t a word most people would use to describe me.”

“Well, most people don’t know you the way I do.”

Brushing his bangs out of the way, you leaned down and kissed his temple. His forehead was a bit damp. Probably from sweat. Oops.

Zayne closed his eyes and nodded. Then, to your surprise, he lifted his arm. “Five more minutes,” he said quietly. He glanced at you for a brief second before diverting his attention elsewhere. His ears were redder than you had ever seen them.

You blinked. You blinked again. You were tempted to scoop Zayne in a hug and kiss him repeatedly, but you couldn’t waste this opportunity. Your heart pounded in your chest. Who knew when you would get this chance again?

You reached over and–

Zayne flinched, bringing his arm down before you got close to his underarm. “Sorry, sorry,” he muttered under his breath. He repositioned himself, so he was lying down on his back, again.

“I’m surprised most people don’t call you cute,” you said, pinning his arm above his head. “They’re really missing out on this side of you.”

You lightly dragged the tips of your nails around his underarm, and Zayne’s body went rigid. He bit the inside of his cheek to probably stop himself from breaking into laughter right away, but the way he puckered his lips and scrunched up his face told you everything you needed to know.

Zayne let out an odd, strangled hum, and you knew he was done for. “Aha–ahAHAhaha!” He hiccuped before his laughter softened into sweet giggles.

“Aw, you’re so–”

You weren’t able to finish your sentence because of Zayne’s abrupt cackle when you started clawing at his armpit. “Eeehehahh…HAHA!”

“That was a weird noise,” you said. You prodded at his sensitive skin, wiggling and swirling your thumbs against it as much as you could.

“Shhhehehahaha…shut uhuhuhp!” His free arm lightly batted away at you, but you didn’t let that deter you.

You puckered your lips into a fake pout. “Seriously, Zayne? How rude.” You dug your fingers into his armpit.

You loosened your grip on Zayne’s arm, and it immediately came crashing down, pressing it up against himself. You took this as an opportunity to tickle his other underarm, as well. You quickly spidered your fingers, targeting any spot you could manage.

“AHAHA! Wahahait! Wahait!” The corners of Zayne’s eyes crinkled as he tossed his head to the side, filling the room with the melodious sound of his laughter. “St-stahaHAHAP! I cahahan’t take it! I’m seriOUS! Hahaha!”

Zayne grabbed your hands, prying you off of him. Deciding to be nice, you stopped. You stole a quick kiss from his lips, which was still quirked up in a wide, sappy grin. He sighed as his chest heaved up and down. His chest trembled while he tried to catch his breath.

“You good?” you asked.

Zayne nodded breathlessly. His fingers twitched at his sides. For a moment, you thought he was going to exact his revenge before he grabbed your shoulders. He pulled you down, and you clumsily fell on him with a soft gasp. He liked doing this to you, didn’t he?

“Don’t tease me anymore,” he said into your ear. His voice was slightly weak with just a hint of a pant. He pulled you into a hug, embracing you with two strong arms. “I don’t think I will be able to handle it tonight.” His warm breath brushed against the shell of your ear. You shivered.

You smiled against his collarbone. “I’ll try not to,” you said, cuddling him. “No promises, though.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Hmm…love you, Zayne,” you whispered into his shirt.

“I love you, too.” He kissed your forehead.

You closed your eyes with a small, content sigh. Zayne’s warmth and peppermint fragrance soothed you. His steady breathing slowed down into long, deep exhales. His chest rose and fell against you, bringing your head up and down with him. You hummed. The witty reply in the back of your mind soon dissipated into nothing but flurries and fairy lights.

Somewhere in the background, the movie finished with the two romantic leads caught in a passionate kiss outside in the snow.

[giggly-squiggily]

Rooftop Talks (Wind Breaker)

*Kicks door in* @fanfic-chan! Dessie! It is I! Squiggily- you're Squealing Santa! :D Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas- Wondrous Winter; whatever you celebrate, I hope this year has been kind to you and your loved ones! Thank you for always being so lovely!

Fandom: Windbreaker

Characters: Sakura and Umemiya (platonic)

Prompt: "Any platonic scenarios generally are good with me, I'm not much into romance though. ^^'"

Summary: Umemiya invites Sakura to the roof for a chat. (Word Count: 1.4k)

'“Sakura, come with me.” Umemiya gestured him over, eyes warm and smile inviting. “Let’s chat.”

Said boy stared at him, brows furrowing. “Huh?? What the hell- what kind of request is that?” He raised his fists, automatically assuming Bofurin’s leader was ready to fight.

Umemiya only laughed in response, a loud sound deep from his belly as he slapped Sakura on the back, shaking him from his defensive pose. “Oh my god, you’re amazing! I’m so happy you came to our town!”

Sakura didn’t know what to say to that. His face turned bright pink as he made a series of grumpy sounds, tucking his fist into his pockets. “Whatever. What do you want to talk about, anyway?”

Umemiya didn’t respond, only smiling as he walked them up the stairs leading to the roof. It was chilly today- the warmth of the sun kept them from shivering as they stood side by side on the edge. “Beautiful, isn’t it? You can see all of Furin from up here.”

….Huh? He didn’t seriously bring Sakura up here just to look at the skyline? “It’s fine, I guess.”

“Hah. So poetic. I figured you not the time to write sonnets.” Umemiya patted his shoulder, eyes never leaving the skyline. “Wouldn’t you say however this view makes you feel at peace? I do everything up here- eating, napping, thinking. Oh, you should come plant with me-”

“What exactly are we here for?” Sakura couldn’t take this small talk. Not while his nerves were tight with sudden anxiety. “You said you wanted to chat. I know you didn’t drag he up here just to look at buildings.

Umemiya finally looked at him then, eyes kind. “You’re right. I brought you up here for a reason.”

“Well?” Sakura blurted after a beat of silence. The suspense was killing him!

“I brought you up here…to have coffee.”

…What the hell was that supposed to mean? Sakura gaped at the older man as he walked towards the table, pulling out two cups and a thermos. Once everything was set up, he gestured to him. “I got this from Kotoha’s place. Super fresh batch too. Don’t let her good grace go to waste.

“You’re screwing with me.”

“I’m not. Promise.” Umemiya grinned as he raised his cup. “You’re like a feral cat, you know? All claws and hisses.”

Sakura gritted his teeth, finally coming over and sitting down. He took the offered cup in his hands, welcoming the heat. “I’m no cat. I’m not used to people wanting me around, that’s all.”

“Huh.” Umemiya’s voice softened some. “Their loss, yeah? You make such great company- anyone who can’t see that is blind.”

Sakura blushed and glared in his cup, hating how comforting that felt. Then he got mad all over for letting himself be comforted at all. “Why are you being so nice to me? You know I’m gunning for the number one spot! Shouldn’t you be more-?”

“More?” Umemiya looked amused. Sakura sputtered as he looked for the answer.

“More- I don’t know! Defensive? Guarded? Angry?” Sakura waved his hand about, as if the whole thing should be obvious. “I’m some idiot from who knows where who showed up one day!”

“Given we’re a whole school full of idiots, you fit right in then!”

“I could be evil!”

“You’re not.” Umemiya glared, shutting that down. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“Tch-” Sakura wanted to argue, but the finality made him look away. A hand came to his head, ruffling his hair.

“You’re a good kid, Sakura. A great one. Who else shows up to a town he only knew for an hour and protects it without a second thought?” Umemiya was smiling again, the expression warm. “ If you do take it, I know you’ll carry on the legacy I leave behind.”

Fuck- why did he have to say such things? Sakura blinked rapidly as he ducked his head, glaring at his knuckle white hands. “You say that now, but you don’t know what I’ll do to de-throne you. I could betray you when you least expect it.”

“Oo, look at you thinking you’re some super villain!”  Umemiya poked his side, grinning when Sakura twitched. “Okay, Mr. Bad guy- how are you gonna betray me? Gonna gather all the first years around and pull a Caesar?

“Whahaht? Erk! Whhihihy the hehehell woohohuld I doohohho thahaht?” Sakura yelped, squirming some when that dastardly finger kept poking him. “Stahhap!”

“Yeah, you’re right- I can’t personally see any of you with knives. Pencils maybe? Oo, light sabers! I wouldn’t mind going down to that!  Make sure you stab me here, and here, oh and definitely here!” Umemiya poked all over, jabbing his sides and back with rapid but gentle precision. Sakura batted and swatted at him, giggles bubbling over as he lost the battle. “Are you guys gonna wear little leaf crowns? I want it as biblically accurate as possible!”

“Thahahat’s not eehehehven in stahahahar whahahahrs! Aheahhaha, shihihiht! Knohohck it ohoohohff!” Sakura fumed through his laughter, falling to his side with a gentle push. The pokes turned to flicks and scratches, making him yell out as he shoved at the hands. “Stahahhahap!”

“Your right, your right- Caesar is so dated. Oh! Let’s do the Walking Dead! Come at me like a bunch of cannibals! Roar!” He playfully growled at Sakura as he dug into his belly, relishing the sudden boom of laughter spilling out. “Oo, are you ticklish here? That’s a good spot, huh?”

“Shuhuhuhuhut uhuuhhup! Gehahahahhaha, wehehehhe’re nohohohot cahhahahanahahahbles ehehehehither!” Sakura howled, pushing as hard as he could against the fingers scratching at his belly, kicking his legs like a dog. Much to his annoyance, the visual of them eating Umemiya was funny- further worsening his giggle fits. “I dohohoon’t ehehehven thihihink Suohohoho ehahahhats!”

“Oh yeah- he’s so secretive about that. Okay, new game plan. When it’s time for me to go, I want you guys to go mediival on me! Get some horses and tie me to them!” He raised Sakura’s arm, jabbing him rapidly in the armpit and making him scream. “Tie me up here…and here…”

“GEHAHAH! UHUUHUMEHEHEHMIIHIHIYA!” Sakura was dying- he swore he could feel his soul starting to depart. The Sanzu river was just in sight. “STAHHAAP!”

“Oh? Okay then!” Umemiya did just so, the visions of a river fading with each slow dying giggle. “Well, we can workshop it later. I’m sure when you guys decide how to dethrone me, it’s gonna be spectacular! Wait!” He leaned forward with excited eyes. “I want a parade!”

“Pfft- whihihth plaahhants as the theheme?” He huffed out, the image of Nirei and Suo in tomato outfits suddenly coming to mind. He pictured Sugishita in a potato suit, face glum and all. It was enough to make him wheeze.

“You see my vision!” Umemiya cried in glee, laughing alongside him. “Whoo! Okay, okay- enough of that. We’re both gonna be lightheaded. Come here.” The older boy gently tugged Sakura back up to a sitting position, passing him a bottle of water. Where the hell did he even get that? “How do you feel, Sakura?”

“Like death.” His reply was automatic. His growing smirk died down when he saw the returning seriousness in the older man’s smile. “What? Like- right now?”

“Mhm.”

“.....Uh..I guess not bad?” He winced, blushing fiercely at his lack of description. “I feel okay. Fine, really.” The more he said it, the more true it felt. 

“That’s good. Real good.” Umemiya nodded, squeezing his shoulder. “I hate seeing my brothers and sisters sad. I hate it more hearing them call themselves something so terrible as ‘evil’.” The pointed look made Sakura squirm. “To tell you the truth, the reason I brought you up here was because you seemed so down lately.”

“I wasn’t-”

“I know people, Sakura, don’t deny it.” Umemiya waved off his defenses, smiling gently. “I can tell when someone is unsure of themself. Consider today a reminder that you’re one of us, and you’ll always have your big brother Ume to talk to if you need me.”

“Gee, thanks.” Sakura tried to sound sarcastic, but it was clear to both of them the words meant everything. Umemiya nodded and ruffled his hair, further solidifying his promise.

Maybe having Umemiya as a big brother wasn’t so bad, afterall.

Thanks for reading and Happy Holidays!

[rosiesramblings]

I Can't Help But Wonder

Fandom: EPIC: The Muscial

WC: 1.7k

Characters: Athena, Odysseus, Telemachus

A/N: Season's Greasons @amazingmsme ! I am your Squealing Santa this year! I've never written for EPIC before so please forgive any mistakes. That said, I am OBSESSED with the music so this was a very welcome challenge. I picked Athena, Ody, and Telemachus for your fifth prompt (A&B get into a tickle fight, C makes a teasing comment and then A&B team up to get C). I also ended up trying to see how many of the EPIC song titles I could fit in this fic. I counted ten total that I squeezed in - can you find them all? This was so fun to write - I hope you enjoy it!

Thank you so much to @cantsaythetword for organizing this year's @squealing-santa extravaganza! You did a great job, and I really appreciate you keeping the tradition alive! Now, on to the fic!

Even though it would have been nice, the world didn’t stop spinning just because Odysseus was finally home. There was still court to hold and merchant disputes to resolve, not to mention the job of explaining to the citizens of Ithaca what happened to all 108 of the Palace Suitors. With Odysseus recovering from his 20 year journey under the careful supervision of the palace physicians, Penelope hardly left his side, and that meant much of the work of actually running the country fell to Telemachus. It was a burden that he shouldered gladly - an opportunity to both prove himself as a wise and noble ruler, and to give his parents the time to fall in love with each other once again.

And how they fell. Often. In most of the rooms of the palace. Telemachus had taken to loudly clearing his throat before he entered a room after one unfortunate occasion that scarred him for life. He was tempted to flee to the ocean and beg Poseidon to follow through on the threat to gauge his eyes. 

Athena was unsympathetic to this particular plight of his - when he told her, she did this hideous snort-scream-laugh that made both his father and his mom come running, thinking there was an animal loose in the palace.

However busy Telemachus was during the day, both with his royal duties and the equally important task of not barging in on what seemed to be his parents’ best efforts to revoke his status as an only child, Telemachus always made the time to eat dinner with them. It wasn’t always easy - Telemachus often found himself red-faced and tongue-tied when his father attempted to make conversation, the right words always evading him. Some nights, Telemachus just spent the whole meal drinking in the sight of Odysseus’ face at the table. Having spent so long dreaming of his father’s homecoming, at first Telemachus found it difficult to believe that he was really there. But with each sunrise and sunset, Telemachus slowly convinced himself that his father was really, truly back. To stay.

*****

Telemachus followed the sounds of sparring through the palace halls until he found his father and his goddess. He wasn’t worried, okay, just like - appropriately concerned? It really hadn’t been long since his father had returned, and he still had a long way to go before the palace physicians granted him a clean bill of health. Sparring with a goddess definitely wasn’t on his list of approved physical activities.

Telemachus stopped in the doorway, shrouded in shadows by one of his mother’s tapestries hanging on the wall next to him. He took a breath. No one was bleeding. Both Athena and his father had wooden practice swords rather than real weapons. 

Even though it was clearly just practice, neither Athena nor Odysseus were pulling their punches. Odysseus was doggedly attacking Athena’s blind side, and Athena was swinging hard and fast, knowing that Odysseus’ endurance was shot to Hades.

Eventually, Athena swept Odysseus’ legs out from under him, and he went down hard. She smirked, panting with exertion, before offering her old friend a hand up. But Odysseus clearly wasn’t done yet, and he wasn’t above fighting dirty, either, because he laughed and flung a handful of sand at Athena’s face.

“You cheat!” She shouted, stumbling to her knees next to Odysseus on the ground. She reached for him blindly and he rolled out of the way.

“You’re the one who taught me that trick,” Odysseus laughed, springing toward Athena to grapple while she was still down.

“As a last resort against an enemy,” She said, finally blinking the sand from her eyes as she struggled for the upper hand. “Not against your goddess who is already half-blind!”

Just when it seemed that Odysseus had her in a pin, Athena reached around and drew a finger up his spine. Telemachus looked on in interest as his father let out a yell and dropped the pin immediately, trying to roll away. 

“That’s cheating!” He protested as Athena caught his ankle and dragged him back toward her.

Athena grinned, all teeth. “You’re the one who taught me that trick.”

“Bullshit!” Odysseus laughed as he tried to free his ankle and dodge Athena’s now-wiggling fingers at the same time. “If anything, you learned that from Polites. Wait!”

“I’ve done enough waiting,” Athena said, letting go of Odysseus’ ankle in favor of reaching up to squeeze his thigh, just above his knee.

His reaction was instantaneous. He let out a shriek before collapsing back to the floor, kicking out with his free leg and cackling.

“This is not fahahahAIR!” He cried as Athena pinched up and down his thigh.

“Oh gods, is that a hickey?” Athena asked, bemused. Still behind his tapestry, Telemachus made a face.

“Shuhuhuhut the fuhuhck up! I hahaven’t seen Penehehehelope in twehehenty yehehears!” Odysseus gathered his wits and latched a hand onto Athena’s upper ribs.

“Yohohou’re incohohorrigible!” Athena yelped, twisting away from Odysseus’ grip.

“Gotta mahahake up for lohohost tihihime with my looove,” Odysseus snickered.

Telemachus forgot himself. “Oh, gross,” he whined.

Athena and Odysseus both whirled toward him, and Telemachus got to witness what might best be described as the facial equivalent to a sunrise as his father recognized him, only to turn worryingly playful when the complaint registered. Athena’s face was stern, but the tips of her ears turned red and her eyes glittered with mischief.

“Telemachus of Ithaca. Is that any way to speak about your father?” Athena asked.

Telemachus turned red, both from the attention and the playful reprimand. He started edging toward the doorway to attempt an escape. “I just call it like I see it. And Father? You and mom. Are gross.”

“Odysseus, are you going to let your son speak to you that way?” Athena, the instigator, prodded.

Father cracked his knuckles and grinned. “Clearly my absence has made my son bold. The sass on this boy, ‘Thena!”

“Can’t imagine where it came from,” Athena muttered, shooting a devastating side-eye at Odysseus even as she crept toward Telemachus.

“Hmmmm. No clue,” Odysseus said as he lunged for his son.

Telemachus threw himself toward the door, but felt his father’s hand close around his wrist before he could make it through. He was yanked into his father’s chest with a yelp, and between the literal goddess of battle strategy and the veteran of 20 years, Telemachus found himself outmaneuvered. Before long, Athena held both of his hands above his head in one of her own, and Odysseus had thrown a leg over his son’s. Telemachus was well and truly pinned.

Humiliatingly, as soon as Telemachus realized his predicament, giggles started to pour out of his mouth. He yanked at his hands, not to escape, but in hopes of covering his rapidly reddening face.

“What’s this? We haven’t even started yet,” Odysseus laughed, incredulous.

“This does not bode well for you, young warrior,” Athena smiled, spidering her fingers in the air above Telemachus’ armpit.

Telemachus whined at the teasing, but couldn’t stop the flood of giggles. “Ihihihi cahahan’t hehehelp it!”

“Hm. I can’t help but wonder, if he takes after you in sensitivity,” Athena grinned at his father.

Odysseus smiled, taking the teasing gracefully. “Well, there’s an easy way to find out,” he said, and brought his wiggling fingers down on Telemachus’ tummy.

Telemachus let out a screech of desperate laughter before falling back into frantic giggles. Athena let her fingers descend into his underarm, scratching at the hollow in the most ticklish way. Telemachus shook his head back and forth frantically. He’d never been tickled by two people at once, and he was in ticklish agony.

“You know something? I sailed across the world for twenty years, and I haven’t found a single sound anywhere that is better than my son’s laughter,” his father smiled, tapping Telemachus’ nose and making him go cross-eyed.

“Ohohoho my gohohods, Dahahad, stohohohohop,” Telemachus whined, squirming now from embarrassment as well as ticklishness.

“Never,” Odysseus grinned, lighting up at the less formal slip. He gave his son’s thighs a few squeezes, relishing in the belly laughs that Telemachus gave in response. Athena switched to fluttering her fingers around Telemachus’ neck and ears, and Odysseus used one hand to bunch his son’s shirt up around his ribs.

“Tell you what. If you can tell me which monster I am, I’ll forgive your insolence,” Odysseus teased.

“Whihihihich mohohonster?”

Instead of answering, Odysseus took a comically deep breath before blowing the world’s longest raspberry right over Telemachus’ bare belly button.

Telemachus shrieked before cackling so loudly that Odysseus was shocked Penelope hadn’t come running.

“Come on, son, which monster?”

“AhahahahAHAHA - CHAHAHARYBDIS?” Telemachus could hardly breathe, let alone recall his father’s stories.

“Ooo, good guess but not quite,” Odysseus laughed. He bent down for another raspberry. “I’m a different beast.”

“AHAHAHAHAHA - SAHAHA -SCYLLAAHAHAHA?”

“Zero for two,” Athena shook her head mockingly. “Can you even call yourself a warrior of the mind?”

Tears squeezed out of the corners of Telemachus’ eyes as he gave it one final guess. “CAHAHAHALYPSO!”

“Wrong again, I’m afraid,” Odysseus smirked at his son, scribbling up and down his ribs. “The answer I was looking for was ‘The Tickle Monster.’”

If it was possible, Telemachus turned even redder. “NAHAHAHAHAHAT FAAHAHAHAHAIR!” he wailed.

“I know, I’m so mean,” Odysseus hummed, finally letting up and rubbing a soothing hand on his boy’s tummy to chase away the ghost tickles. “Lucky for you, I’m in a forgiving mood. No more monsters - I’m just a man. That can be the end of your tickly suffering for today.”

Athena let go of Telemachus’ hands and he brought them down to wrap around himself, still giggling. She got up from the floor and brushed herself off. “Don’t worry kid. Your father’s still worse than you on his back and thighs.” She grinned at Odysseus’ spluttering response and ruffled Telemachus’ hair. “Consider this as my goodbye. For today at least. Perhaps we can form an alliance and exact revenge tomorrow.”

Telemachus curled up so that his head was in his father’s lap. Odysseus’ hand began to run through his son’s hair as if he had done so a million times before. Before long, Telemachus’ eyes slipped closed. Odysseus pressed a kiss to his crown and said, “Sleep, Little Wolf. Dad loves you.”

Telemachus smiled.

[gaybananabread]

Squealing Santa 2024 - Gift for @vampiretickles

~Happy Holidays @vampiretickles! I hope this fic finds you well, and that you have a lovely New Year’s. I’ve been seeing this ship everywhere; it’s about time I tried my hand at it. This is loaded with sweet, loving, absolutely disgusting fluff. I had fun with it! Could possibly be ooc, but I think it’s alright. If you celebrate, Happy Holidays! I hope you Enjoy!~

Lee: Stanford Pines

Ler: Fiddleford McGucket

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Summary: As per usual, Ford is refusing to step away from his work and rest. Fiddleford, sick of his partner running himself haggard, decides to take matters into his own hands. Literally.

Word Count: 1,679

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

“Dag blast it- UGH!” Ford tossed his flaming trench coat to the ground, spewing colorful obscenities as he tried to put out the bright green fire. By the time he managed to stomp it out, his poor coat was in charred tatters.

“There goes another one…” He swore, tossing the ruined garment into his disposal bin. The smoking experiment on his table was an even greater let-down. Rubbing his temples, the scientist grabbed his ancient tape recorder and sighed into the device. “Attempt number 57 ends in…failure.”

Ford had been at it for nearly a week, trying test after test in an attempt to get the right combination. It was an experimental weirdness blocker that could—in theory—negate any powers or effects being in their odd town could bring.

The man’s reaction had been less than quiet. Fiddleford, who had come to visit his it’s-complicated-but-we’re-getting-there partner, was drawn to the room by all the noise. “Everythin’ alright in here, Stanford?”

Ford whipped around, eyes narrowed dangerously before he realized who had entered. “Oh…yes. Everything’s fine.”

“Sure doesn’t seem like it.” The old man stepped farther into the room, furrowing his brows. He’d been doing a lot better since Weirdmageddon; his beard was clean (though he preferred long, so it wasn’t cut), his clothes were clean and whole, and he was spewing less nonsense by the day. With his improved mental state, he was able to care for those around him. “You should take a break, Ford. It’d do ya some good.”

“I’m fine, Fiddleford,” Ford huffed, brushing off the advice. He knew the hillbilly was right, but that didn’t mean he had to listen.

“Uh-huh, sure. Gotta be true, what with the fire and screamin’.” Fidds looked over at the remnants of Ford’s trench coat knowingly. That quirked brow made Ford more defensive than it probably should have.

“I just need more time. A few hours, tops.” Ford poked the smoldering remains of his experiment, trying to figure out what went wrong.

The man needed a break, but he wasn’t going to take one willingly. It was up to McGucket to fix that.

“What ya need is to relax.” Closing the distance between them, Fiddleford wrapped his arms around his partner. He squeezed just tight enough so the weary man couldn’t escape.

“Fidds, come on. I’ll be done soon en- mmph!” Ford flinched, jolting in his partner’s grip. The hillbilly’s hands were resting on Ford’s hips. While that would usually be an appreciated gesture, his fingers were wiggling into the divots of the joint; it tickled, and they both knew it.

“What’sa matter, Stanford? Got a tickle in yer throat?” Fiddleford teased, knowing the silliness of it would get to Ford. The man never could handle childish teases. The effects were instantaneous.

“F-Fihidds, no! I dohon’t have time f-for nonsense!” Ford did his best to hold in his reactions, refusing to give up so easily. He didn’t necessarily need to finish his work that day, but it felt wrong to leave anything unfinished.

“Yet you’ve got time fer workin’ yerself to exhaustion, knowin’ ya ain’t got enough energy to do anythin’ actually productive.”

Ford scoffed at the direct call-out, his ears turning pink. Well…shit. Fiddleford had him pegged, and he really didn’t have a comeback for that. After a few seconds of watching the Pines gape like a fish, Fidds chuckled.

“That’s what I thought. Now, hush up ‘n lemme help ya.” Pressing a gentle kiss to one of the man’s pinkened ears, Fidds got back to work. His thin, bony fingers worked their way up Ford’s sides, digging in just enough to make him giggle.

“Fihiddlefohohord!” Rumbling, slightly raspy giggles shook the man’s shoulders as he tried not to squirm. While the tickling wasn’t exactly what he had planned for the afternoon, he couldn’t deny how nice it was to have McGucket pressed against him after feeling so stressed.

“That’s my name, yeah. You sure that experiment didn’ scramble yer brain pan?” Fidds teased him, resting his chin on his partner’s shaky shoulder.

“Behe quihihiet!” Ford couldn’t help but gasp when one of Fidds’s hands went back down to his hips, his fingers wiggling into the ticklish little divot once again.

“You should be a little nicer, darlin’. I got all ‘a my favorite spots right here, just waitin’ for some attention.” His words carried a playful threat, his other hand moving to tease near Ford’s pits. He felt the man shudder against him at the thought.

“No! Nohohoho, cohome on! Thihis is rihidiculous!” Stanford tried using his grumpy old man tone, but the constant giggling ruined the attempt at seriousness. He was forced to just sit there and squirm against his partner.

“That’s the whole point, ya old goof. Yer s’posed to be takin’ it easy; ridiculous fits the bill.” Fidds accentuated his point with a few kisses to Ford’s neck, though he was surprised by the adorably shrill noise the action received.

“KHHHHehehe! Fihidds!” Ford whined—actually whined—at the feeling, scrunching up his shoulders as much as the hold would allow. His neck was ticklish? How had the hillbilly never noticed before?

“I reckon someone’s been hidin’ somethin’ from me, hasn’t he?” With a giddy smirk, Fiddleford began kissing the back of Ford’s neck, purposefully nuzzling his scraggly beard against the flushed skin as well.

Ford gasped at the barrage of tickly kisses and nuzzles, strangled little giggles and incredibly silly noises getting caught in his throat as he scrunched up. It was an utterly adorable sight—one that his partner made sure to enjoy.

“Yer so cute when yer laughin’, Stanford,” McGucket cooed between kisses, putting a bit more of his weight on his partner to keep him still. “Daw, who am I kiddin’? Yer cute in general.”

The silver-haired man could feel his face burning from all the affectionate teasing. He could usually keep his emotions in check; the decades he spent in chaotic and dangerous dimensions taught him to be stoic on command.

When it came to Fiddleford, however, all of that conditioning seemed to disappear. He felt like a flustered teen playing wingman for Stanley again, though the feeling was a lot more intense and a helluva lot more enjoyable.

“Lohohohove, p-plehehehease! Ihi- GYEhehehe! Ihihi cahahan’t!” Ford blushed even harder just from the ludicrous nature of his own words. Gracious, he was pathetic…and he didn’t really mind it. His sides were growing quite sore, however, and he couldn’t take much more of the heavy giggling. “Fihihidds, plehease!”

The bearded man heard the difference in Ford’s tone, easing off to kiss his rosy cheeks instead. “Alright, alright, settle down. I’m done bein’ mean.” Gently, he guided the giggly man over to the small room he’d forced Ford to furnish, getting him settled on the nearly untouched mattress. “Told ya you’d need a nappin’ room down here.”

“Nohot the time toho glohohoat…” Ford huffed, snuggling up against his lanky partner. Fuck, he couldn’t work any more if he wanted to, which…he kind of didn’t. He was exhausted, his thoughts were sluggish, and he was really in the mood for cuddles. “Sneaky bastard.”

“Only fer you, darlin’.” Fidds peppered his face with kisses, running a hand through his fluffy silver hair.

Ford mumbled grievances, but it was obvious the touch was melting him. He was so tired…but he didn’t want the attention to end. “Could you…mmphf.”

“What’s that now? Gotta speak up.” Fiddleford had an idea of what the cuddly man wanted to say, but he was gonna make him ask for it. His flustered voice was just too adorable to resist.

It was absolutely evil, in Ford’s eyes.

“Just…don’t stop? I don’t want you to…you know. Lightly.”

Fidds bit his lip, chuckling softly at the embarrassed, broken request. Ford really was terrible at asking for what he wanted… Still, the attempt was the best he’d gotten yet.

“M’kay, I won’t make ya beg. C’mere.” Snaking a hand up Ford’s shirt, the bearded man began ever so gently tickling his partner’s sides, back, and neck. His hand drifted, the touch just present enough to tickle.

“Mmhmhmhm…” A wobbly smile tugged at Ford’s lips as he pressed his face into Fiddleford’s chest, giggling softly. Each small noise was little more than an exhale, gentle enough for his aching sides to rest while keeping him giddy. Fidds always knew exactly what he needed, and—better yet—exactly how to give it to him.

“Maybe I should start doin’ this every time ya refuse to rest. It’s workin’ pretty well, I reckon.” Fidds felt his heart swell at the sight of him, loving how he just gave in to the giggly affection.

“Shuhush,” Ford huffed lovingly, moving in to kiss him. His stubbly upper lip scratched Fidds’s as he blindly leaned in. Their lips met, each smiling against the other’s as they drifted off wholly into their own little world.

While he would’ve loved to keep kissing Ford for the rest of the night, he could feel how sluggish the man was getting. It was time to rest. He pulled away from the kiss, lovingly stroking Ford’s sides.

“Alright, darlin’. Time to turn in.” Wrapping his thin legs around the man’s waist, Fiddleford gently scratched Ford’s scalp to wind down. As expected, the scientist let out a sleepy sigh, leaning right into the touch. Fidds’s other hand was still stroking his sides, barely tickling. It was sweet, domestic, and made both men feel oh so loved and whole.

“Mhmmm…goodnihight, love.” Ford muttered one last endearment before dozing off, finally giving in to the drowsiness that washed over him. He felt a few light kisses on the crown of his head, reassuring him all the way to unconsciousness.

“G’night, Stanford. I love ya, darlin’.” Fiddleford held Ford close, sighing contentedly as he heard the man’s breathing even out. Finally, he’d gotten his stubborn partner to pass out and rest. The next day would bring the same challenge, but he’d be more than ready to face and overcome it.

He had love on his side, after all. And tickles. With those, he couldn’t possibly lose.

[inneedofsupervision]

An Angels Helping Hands

Happy (late) Holidays @thebest-medicine! I'm your @squealing-santa this year. I hope you enjoy the little fanfic I wrote for you. I wish you all the best for the last remaining days of 2024 and an amazing time for 2025.

(I wasn't sure if you wanted Destiel so I left their relationship kinda ambiguous soo Destiel if you squint?)

Summary: A hunt goes wrong, leaving Castiel with a moody and injured Dean who refuses to get treatment for his injuries. Despite Dean telling him off, Castiel cannot leave his best friend in pain. Dean would have to overcome his bruised ego and accept the angelic help because this Angel of the Lord refuses to ignore the pain and injuries of his favorite human.

Word Count: 4383

“Ugh. When is Sam coming back?"

A hand fumbles uncoordinated across the coffee table inside the semi-lit hotel room. The owner of the almost pitiful crawling limb is shielding himself from the rest of the world, a blanket thrown over him.

“Shitty poltergeist and even shittier winter wonderland.”

Fingertips meet cold plastic, but instead of grabbing the remote and turning down the volume on the TV, they accidentally shove it off the table. The sound of the impact causes the figure under the blanket to jump, his face twisted into a grimace at the noise.

Dean groans, narrowing his eyes as he pushes the blanket aside. He leans over the couch, one arm wrapped around his middle to bear the pain coming from his chest and ribs. Even that little movement had been enough to render the hunter breathless.

He hates hunting in theme parks for a reason, and today’s hunt was another reminder of why.

“Christmas is over anyway,” mutters the man as he sits with his eyes closed, trying to ignore the throbbing sensation inside his skull. He doesn’t want to think about today.

The hunt had been a disaster, and its highlight, the peak of everything going wrong, had been that gigantic candy cane falling over and burying Dean under it. He had been lucky to not get instantly killed, but the embarrassment from having Castiel and Sam finish the ghost on their own sat deep.

“What an unusual time to sleep.”

Dean flinches at the monotone voice next to his ear, grimacing in pain as the movement causes an invisible knife to puncture right between his upper ribs.

“A heads up would have been great, Cas. We talked about it,” grumbles the hunter, turning his head away from the angel.

"And I'm not sleeping."

“You’re in pain.”

Dean snorts.

"What you don't say."

He can feel the angel's disapproving stare into the back of his head.

“When you have undressed me enough with your eyes, then go fulfill some angelic duties or something. I'm not in the mood for holy company tonight."

“You’re in pain.”

Dean rolls his eyes, only to regret it a moment later. The movement doesn't do his headache any good.

"Can I get a refund? I think my angel is broken," he mumbles, his head sinking back into the cushion.

Castiel tilts his head, brows furrowed as he watches the human.

"Hey, what are you doing? Hands off."

Dean cracks an eye open. He tries batting the palm away, but Castiel stops him from interfering, pressing his hand down on his forehead.

"You have severe injuries, Dean. And a concussion."

"What? A concussion is not an injury?"

Castiel ignores the bite in Dean's voice.

“I told you to stop watching those movies, Cas,” teases Dean, trying to overplay the hint of panic as the angel in front of him seems suddenly more than determined to get him out of his clothes. “You watched too much doctor play. Those movies don't actually show you how the real world works.” Castiel stops after getting one of Dean's arms out of the sleeve. Dean takes the chance to warp his hand around Castiels arm, trying to get the angel to stop whatever he is planning to do “Don’t worry, Dean. Sam already explained that to me. I am not planning to touch you like the nurses in the video.” The hand around Castiels wrist loosens as Dean's brain needs a second to process that information. “Hold on. Time out. Sam talked to you about what? What in the world did you watch?" "I believe there are more pressing matters than nurses in unsanitary short uniforms, Dean." The hand grabbing the hem of his shirt stills, the fabric awkwardly shoved up until Dean's chest, showcasing a colorful pattern of bruises. Castiel’s eyes catch Dean’s, the disappointment clear as day. “These have to get treated.” The hunter’s expression turns sour, and an angry hand pushes Castiel away, causing the shirt to fall back down and cover the excessive bruises. “I can do that on my own.” “I would be quicker if I treated them.” “Castiel, seriously. Stop.” Castiel furrows his brows as his hand is shoved away. With a questioning expression, he follows the limping hunter towards his bed, where Dean puts the first aid kit before sitting down.

Pearls of sweat glister on the man's pale forehead. The hunter had never been so adamant about declining treatment for his injuries. “Dean, you are being unreasonable.” “Look at you using your big words,” mutters the man. He opens the kit and roams through its contents while ignoring Castiel's gaze. “Why are you not letting me treat your injuries? I could help you without you being in pain.” Before he can finish his sentence, the angel gets interrupted by Dean shutting the medical kit rather loudly. “Because I don’t want you to see them, damn it!” Dean’s hand twitches as he tries to keep himself from shoving the first aid kit off the bed and storming into the bathroom. He feels trapped inside the stifling motel room, Castiels piercing eyes making his skin crawl in discomfort.

This damn angel just didn't know when to quit, always yapping about him not taking care of himself. His eyes wander upwards, an annoyed groan working its way up his throat as he catches sight of the other's unimpressed expression.

Blue eyes were openly observing him, and if Dean weren't already so used to his friend's unapologetic staring, he would have felt unsettled. Right now, though, the angel's burning gaze fuels Dean’s irritation. "Why are you angry, Dean?" “Why am I angry? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I miscalculated the course of action, used a faulty piece of equipment, and, as a result, endangered my little brother and you? I nearly got us all killed, so excuse me for not being in the mood to show off the marks on my body, literally telling how hard I failed to do my job today." During his verbal lashing out, Dean turned away from Castiel, dropping his head and glaring down at the mint green rug lying before the bed. A hand on his shoulder gave it a short squeeze, but Dean didn’t look up, not wanting to see whatever expression the angel was making. “Dean, what are you?” “What now? We’re playing twenty questions?” “Just answer the question, Dean. What are you?” “What am I? A hunter.” “No, not what you do for a living, but what are you, Dean?” “Human?” “And what am I?” continues Castiel, the hand not leaving its place on his friend's shoulder. “An angel. Although, I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.” Not paying attention to the hunter's words, Castiel keeps staring at the man sitting on the bed. “I’m an angel, and even I wouldn’t have been able to predict the poltergeist’s next move. How would you, a human, be able to do something a servant of the lord was unable to do?” Dean opens his mouth only to close it with a shake of his head, the corner of his lip twitching upwards. God, how low has he fallen for a socially inept angel to give him words of encouragement? “I know what you’re trying to do, but please improve your pep talk, Cas.” “That means your mood has improved, hasn’t it?” Dean is about to tell Castiel off, not feeling like showing off the damage the ghost has managed to achieve when he gets shoved onto the bed. “Fuck, that hurts,” groans the man, another curse for his friend forming on his lips for getting manhandled like that while being injured. “It will get better soon,” comments Castiel, not sounding as apologetic as he should, before taking a fistful of Dean's shirt. “Wow, hold on. What do you think you’re doing?” The angel looks up from the two pieces of fabric in his hands that had once been a shirt. “I’ll ask Sam to get you a new one.” “Because Sam has such a good sense of fashion,” mutters Dean, headache worsening by the thought of his little bro getting him a new shirt. “Did you have to rip it apart? I liked that shirt. I could just have taken it off.” “My apologies. I haven’t thought of that. Now turn on your stomach.” Castiel glances down at the man. Dean is leaning back on his arms and looking up at him with an eyebrow raised at the demand.

The skin on Dean's chest and left side is broken in some places and overall swollen, the impact of today’s events visible through the colorful bruises left all over his body. “You’re going to use your holy touch or something?” “I will use my grace, yes. Your shoulder and upper back are affected too, I will start there.” Knowing he wouldn’t get the angel to stop once he set his mind on something, Dean gives in to the command and turns, giving the older man access to his back. He can hear the angel stepping closer, and Dean would lie if he said he wasn't feeling a slightly bit nervous. A hand is placed at the back of his head. Dean blinks in surprise. “Cas?” he asks warily. “I don’t feel anything.” “It should be like that.” Dean rolls his eyes at the short-bound answer, relaxing slightly as the headache lessens along with the aching and throbbing all over his body.

He feels the grace on his skin, a warm and barely noticeable tingly sensation spreading where Castiels hand hovers over his back. It was almost relaxing, and the man had to fight his eyelids from slipping shut. But just a moment later, he felt wide awake again. “Dean?” “Ah, sorry. Can you be a little careful there?” Dean glances over his shoulder at the angel, who tilts his head, staring at his hand questioningly. The hunter shouldn’t feel any pain, but Dean had clearly jumped under his touch. “I’m a bit sensitive there. Just avoid that part, alright?” He can sense the question, but before Castiel can ask, Dean has turned his head away, hoping the angel would do as said and avoid using his grace so close to his ribs for now. Castiel didn’t avoid the spot. Dean flinches. Hard. Muscles bulge as the man instinctively tightens the hold on the pillow. He presses his flushed face into the cold fabric, hot mortification rolling over him. “Does it hurt?” Castiel is puzzled. Something like this has never happened before. Was the hunter still in pain? It couldn’t be. His grace has never not worked before. “It doesn’t hurt. Stop worrying,” came the muffled reply, but it didn’t help cease the angel's confusion. “But you are uncomfortable when I’m doing this, Dean.” Showing what he meant, Castiel lets his hand hover just over the back of the human’s ribs, using his healing abilities on the bruised skin. Blue eyes observe another full body twitch, brows furrowing at the change of color at the base of Dean’s neck. “You are not feverish, but you appear to be rather flushed. Is something bothering you, Dean?” He steps back when a pillow gets flung at him, a red-faced Dean glaring at him. “You are doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You have spent too much time with Sam. That little bitch told you, am I right?”

Castiel is honestly confused. Has he done something wrong?

Both hunters had never declined before. The injuries had been severe, and most of the time the Winchester brothers had been close to collapsing or were already unconscious. Did he never notice his healing bringing discomfort because the receiver of his abilities had been too out of it to show a reaction before? Castiel is puzzled. What is he supposed to do now? Sam told him to look after his brother while he was getting them something to eat. Dean is hurting and needs medical treatment. “Told me what, Dean?” “Don’t play dumb,” sputters Dean, unaware of the inner turmoil his reaction has caused for his angel friend, grabbing the blanket from the bed. He's suddenly feeling vulnerable without a shirt. While shielding his upper body, he shoots Castiels hands a vary glance. “I believe I am missing something here, Dean,” says Castiel and steps closer, an eyebrow-raising when the hunter moves at the same time he does, crawling backward on the bed while holding onto the blanket. “Stay where you are,” demands Dean, hand up high and palm facing the angel as if that would help keep the holy being from moving, climbing down the bed on the other side, and hurrying towards his bag. “You might not feel pain for the moment, but your injuries still have to be cared for,” comments Castiel as he watches the human pulling a new shirt over his head. “I cannot stop here, Dean.” Dean nearly jumps to the ceiling at the feeling of someone standing behind him. The damn angel and his nonexistent concept of personal space.

He’s about to tell the other off when his wrist is gripped not harshly but firmly enough to not be able to wind out of the hold. He is led back toward the bed and pushed onto his back. Luckily, he didn’t feel any pain this time. “If it bothers you, leave your shirt on this time.” With these words, the angel moves onto the bed, straddling the surprised hunter.

Without further warning, he shoves his hands under Dean’s shirt.

Dean tries shoving the angel off, but Castiel doesn’t budge an inch.

“What the heck, Cas. Get your hands out of there!”

Before Castiel can use his grace, his wrists are grabbed and pulled out of the shirt.

Blue eyes sparkle with confusion.

“Why are you resisting? Tell me, Dean. I want to help you.”

“Nothing is hurting, it’s just uncomfortable. Let's stop here and let it heal on its own.”

“If it’s not hurting, why can I not use my grace to help you? If we don’t treat this, you will be in great pain for several weeks.”

The man under him is visibly struggling to come up with an answer.

Castiel observes Dean, the latter glancing at his hands before a hue of red colors on his face.

“It tickles, okay? It tickles like hell, and I’m embarrassed, you angelic son of a bitch. I can’t believe you made me say that. Now let me go already!”

Dean swears his face has never felt as hot as in this moment, with Castiel straddling his lap, looking down on him with his head tilted towards the side and his blue eyes sparkling with curiosity.

He feels like a mouse in front of a cat. It's like being put on a dining plate with a neon sign above, pointing down at him, saying “Eat me!” while he has a ribbon around his neck, wrapped up like a little present.

“It tickles?”

Having Castiel say it with such innocent curiosity causes another wave of heat to rush from the top of Dean’s head down to his neck.

He swears he must look idiotic, blushing like a high school girl.

“It never had that effect on anyone before. Maybe you are just rather sensitive, Dean,” muses Castiel as he casually grabs the hunter's hands and pulls them over his head.

Dean is about to protest, eyes widening at the sudden action and growing mortified when he cannot pull down his arms.

“You dick, release me!”

“If it’s hard for you to bear the healing, we can secure you. Now that I know you are not hurting, we can go on treating your injuries.”

Dean gapes, inwardly grasping at straws and trying to come up with a counterargument. He racks his brain, searching for anything to make the angel on top of him understand that this is a terrible idea.

“Cas, please. I cannot stand being tickled. I hate it.”

“I will finish as quickly as possible, Dean.”

Dean dislikes how Castiels words and the mischievous glint in his eyes don’t match.

But before he could protest, he finds himself busy biting his lips to prevent from showing any reaction towards Castiel placing a hand on his sides, just below his ribs.If he pretends to be unbothered, he might get the angel to lose interest.

“Since when did you have to touch me directly for your grace to work?"

He barely manages to press the words out between his teeth, concentrating all his willpower on ignoring the tingling sensation.

He swears Castiel's healing has never felt this weird before.

Their eyes meet.Castiel beams.

“I don’t have to.”

Dean narrows his eyes.

“Son of a bitc- ahaha fuck! You dihihck!”

The angel’s mouth curves into a bigger smile as his friend gets surprised by him sending a part of his grace towards the back of his ribs, the body part where all of this had started.

He glances over his shoulder, an amused chuckle joining Dean’s laughter as he catches sight of the wildly kicking legs behind him.

Dean pulls madly at the invisible bonds, holding his arms in place, lips drawn unwillingly into a bright grin as the tingling feeling reappears near his armpits. It was a hard feeling to describe.

The word tingling was not even close to encompassing the sensation he was feeling, but it was the first one he could think of on the top of his head. The touch wasn’t as soft as feathers but more like the feeling of several fingertips constantly fluttering over his skin.

The movements were so unpredictable that it left him on edge, getting caught by surprise and causing his laughter to jump an octave when an especially sensitive spot was being treated.

“The skin and muscle are fairly easy to repair. It seems like your bones have sustained some damage as well.”

“Does that mean you cannot treat them?”

“I can. But I need to increase the amount of grace.”

The hunter pants slightly, regaining his breath.

“It’s not like it could get any worse, does it?”

Castiel only smiles before setting his hands on Dean’s rips, right at the top, but before he lets his grace work, he waits for Dean to meet his eyes.

“I like hearing you laugh, Dean.”

Any smart-ass answer lying on the tip of Dean’s tongue dies as the palms of the angel start glowing, pumping his grace into the human’s body.

“FUHUCK CAHAHAHAS! YOU DAHAHAHAMN ASSHOHOLE!”

The fluttering sensation that had coaxed breathless laughter out of the hunter had been exchanged by the feeling of several hands expertly drilling their fingers into between his ribs, the muscles of his lower back, his upper back, and his shoulders, everywhere where the bruises had been more severe, leaving the man cackling loudly.

Dean was withering under the influence of Castiels powers, trashing as much as he could, but with the man sitting on him and his arms pinned, there wasn’t much he could do.

He was utterly helpless, and the fact that even if he hadn't been pinned, he would still have been under the mercy of the softly smiling angel who was seemingly enjoining himself seeing Dean being reduced into a quaffing and shrieking mess made the sensation tickle even more.

“Cahahas!”

Hearing his name called out with a hint of desperation, the angel reduces the amount of grace, leaving the human twitching from time to time, a bright grin not able to rid of his face but able to catch his breath.

“Hohow lohong doho you nehed? I’m dying hehehere.”

“How could you be dying when smiling so brightly, Dean?”

“I’m better already, I swehahar. You cahahan stohop now.”

“Dean, lying is a sin.”

“NAHAHAHAHA NOHOT AGAIHAHAN! I’M NAHAHAT LYIHIN YOU FUHUCKER!”

“Insulting an angel of the lord is no laughing matter, Dean.”

Castiel gets back to sending grace into the hunter's body, patching up the last few injuries Dean has received during their hunt, but he can’t help himself leaving it by simply laying his flat hands against the other man's skin. He concentrates his powers on the tips of his fingers, as he tickles up and down the hunter's ribs and sides, grinning at the reaction his fingers cause.

His friend trashes around less than before, but his laughter still bounces loudly throughout the small motel room.

“Stahahap tickling mehehe! Nohow you’re juhust beihing a dihick, Cahahas! Ahahaha, wahahit till I geheht my hand ohohn you!”

“Did you know that giggling makes threat sound less… threatening?”

“I’m nahaht gigglihing!”

Castiel merely raises an eyebrow. Without a word, he pulls the grace away and focuses it on a spot he hasn’t paid any attention to before, as it was spared from injuries.

Dean’s eyes widen as all sensations come to a sudden stop. He can finally move his arms again, making him question if he is done receiving this treatment from hell, only for his back to arch upwards and break back down onto the bed when the nearly unbearable tickling sensation focuses solely on his stomach.

He didn’t even notice the angel having moved from on top of him, only registering his newfound freedom of movement as he curled into himself, wrapping his arms protectively around his upper body but having to accept quickly that it did nothing to fight off the sensation.

“My stohomahach didn’t huhuhrt in the fihirrst plahahace. Castiel, make it stahahap!

It didn’t matter how much he trashed, how much he rolled from side to side, or if pressing his head into the pillow, trying to smother his laughing, he couldn’t do anything to fend off the feeling. It wasn’t as bad as when Castiel mended his fractured bones, but it was certainly worse than the light sensation from the beginning.

It was like curious hands kneading and poking all over his stomach, not bothering with any treatment but just acting out of curiosity, searching for the best reactions. It looked for the most sensitive spots only to get back to them with more vigor, with another technique to tickle him silly.

Dean wasn't sure if the angel's grace acted on its own or if it was Castiel noticing his reactions and deliberately sending more grace to those places that tickled more than the others.

The thought alone of the angel knowing and tickling him on purpose made Dean laugh even harder, suddenly feeling more sensitive.

The worst thing about the whole situation was not even the tickling itself. What was driving Dean madder than anything was the presence of the angel. The latter settled down on the edge of the opposite bed, one leg thrown over the other, his eyes never leaving the trashing human.

Embarrassment washes over the younger man as he shoves his face into the pillow.

Castiel was observing him.

While he is dying here, laughing like a little kid, Castiel is just sitting there, unfazed by Dean falling apart from being reduced into an incoherent, babbling, chortling mess.

And he seems to be enjoying it.

“Sadistic son of a bitch,” was all Dean could think before rolling onto his back, feet kicking frantically into nothingness or hitting the mattress, desperately hugging his middle but unable to do anything as the attack moved from his stomach towards his sides and wandering dangerously close towards his hip bones.

Noticing the sound of the human’s laughter growing breathless, Castiel draws back most of his grace, leaving some last traces roaming the hunter's stomach.

“Cahahastiel. Please, stahahap. Thihis is tohoh muhuch. I can't br- breheathe.”

Castiel cocks his head.

Dean is lying on his back, looking somewhat out of it. Still, there is a huge grin plastered on his face.

The past days Dean had been visibly on the edge. He had worried about the hunt and tried playing it cool, but one glance at the younger Winchester told Castiel that Dean was the only one who believed his mask would hide his real emotions.

A hunt not going how planned out isn't out of the norm, but today's events had the already struggling man spiraling.

Maybe it had been one reason why Dean didn't want to accept getting help, having caught onto the idea that he didn't deserve to be treated as some form of misdirected feelings of guilt overcoming him.

Watching his best friend now, Castiel was confident in having done the right thing even though his way of treating Dean and cheering up the older Winchester had been somewhat unconventional.

A movement catches Castiels attention.

The angel's eyes wander towards the hunter's middle.

Dean’s arms twitched, and Castiel watched with an amused grin how the man subconsciously pressed his hands onto the places where the grace tickled him as if he could shake the feeling of that way. The man had his eyes closed, face reddened from all the movement and laughing, and his shirt had ridden up, showing the angel through a slight glimmering of light where his grace was working on the man’s body.

“Your injuries are completely healed, Dean.”

“Great. Then pull your grace back, you feathered son of a – ACK I’m sohohory! I’m so sohhohorry! Pleahahase, Cahahas. Noho mohohore!”

“I’m sorry, what was that Dean? I didn’t understand you between all that giggling.”

“I said I'm sorry! Thahahanks for heahahaling me.”

Castiel opens his mouth only to get interrupted by the sound of the key's turning.

"They had White Cake and even reduced the price 'cause Christmas is over, but it should still taste good and- did something happen?"

Sam places the bags on the small coffee table, turning towards his brother and his angelic friend, eyebrow raised in question.

"Nothing. Just talking," answers Dean, a nervous chuckle leaving him as he looks everywhere but the angel's direction.

The younger Winchester doesn't look convinced and sends Castiel a questioning look, but the latter shrugs his shoulder. Sam shakes his head at their weird behavior before his face lights up and takes in the healthy color on his brother's face.

"I see, you treated his injuries. Thanks, Cas."

He pats the angel on the shoulder, giving it a grateful squeeze before unpacking.

Castiel shoots Dean a glance, the corner of his mouth pulled up.

"I will always treat him. Just say a word."

[intheticklecloset]

Can You See Me In the Dark? (Bungo Stray Dogs)

One Shot

Summary: During a sudden power outage, Atsushi begins to suffer from flashbacks to his time at the orphanage, and Akutagawa makes it his mission bring him out of that dark place.

A/N: This is my Squealing Santa fic for @ticklish-v-93! I was so inspired by the first prompt you sent in! This scenario is perfect for these characters and I had a ton of fun writing it. I hope you enjoy! Happy holidays!! 🎄🎅🎁

Word Count: 1286

~~~

The only reason Akutagawa noticed the power went out was because the soft music from the other room abruptly cut off, and the sudden silence was enough to draw his attention. He glanced out the kitchen window as he finished washing up the mugs he and Atsushi had used for cocoa. The entire area was out. Odd, considering it wasn’t snowing very hard at all out there. Something else must have happened, he figured, idly getting back to work.

There was a clatter from the living room followed by a small gasp. Akutagawa absentmindedly reached for a drying towel, unbothered by the darkness as he called, “You okay out there, weretiger?”

When his partner didn’t answer right away it gave him pause, but when an incredibly shaky, “Y-Yeah, I’m f-fine!” floated from the other room back to him, he knew something was wrong.

He put the mugs in the strainer – they could air dry this time – and moved back to the living room, confused to see Atsushi hunched over on the couch, gripping the coffee table like his life depended on it.

“Weretiger, what’s wrong…?” Akutagawa’s words trailed off as he took in his boyfriend’s face. He looked absolutely terrified, his eyes wide and his chest taking heaving breaths with no kind of rhythm whatsoever. The mafioso blinked. “Atsushi?”

Atsushi tried to sit up and act normal, but it was far too late for that. His hands shook and his voice was small as he whispered, “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“You are obviously not fine.” Akutagawa moved to kneel in front of him, putting his hands over his to stop the shaking. He tried to catch his partner’s gaze, but Atsushi was purposely not looking at him. “Tell me what’s wrong. Communicate. Isn’t that what you’re always trying to get me to do?”

The words seemed to reach the weretiger, because he blinked and finally met Aku’s eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. “It’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” Akutagawa shot back, smirking. “Just tell me.”

“It’s…it’s the dark. It…it makes me think of…” Atsushi squeezed his eyes shut, and Akutagawa gripped his hands tighter to ground him. “I used to be in the dark a lot growing up, before I knew about my tiger, and it…”

Akutagawa could understand the rest without Atsushi having to say another word, which was just as well, since the weretiger seemed to clam up even more after having said what he had. He let out a small breath. Not a sigh, exactly, but something else. He was no good at sentiment; the whole concept was still foreign to him, though he’d been better lately since Atsushi was so open about everything. But he knew he had to take a stab at it here.

“Look at me,” he said gently, taking his boyfriend’s face in his hands, waiting for Atsushi to open his eyes again. “You’re safe. No one is coming to lock you away. You can walk out that door anytime you want. You’re not trapped here.” Then, after a brief pause, he added, “Well…you’re trapped with me, which is dangerous in and of itself, but…”

Atsushi let out a tiny chuckle, lifting his hands to lay atop Akutagawa’s as he took in a deep breath. “I know I’m safe. Sometimes it just hits me, especially when it’s without warning like that.”

Akutagawa nodded. Again, he could understand that. After a brief pause, he offered a knowing smile. “Perhaps you could use a distraction.”

Atsushi’s eyes lit up, a tiny blush visible even in the darkness. “Yeah?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Akutagawa chuckled, dropping his hands from his partner’s face to his ribs, tickling lightly.

The weretiger let out a squeak of surprise, falling back into the cushions even as his boyfriend got to his feet and then straddled him on the couch, trapping him right where he was, giggles spewing from him helplessly the more those unfairly dexterous fingers massaged his ribcage.

“Ehehehehehehehe! Ryuuuuu!” he whined, awkwardly trying to pry his boyfriend’s wrists away.

Akutagawa clicked his tongue, moving up to his armpits instead to force his arms back to his sides. “I’d rather not employ Rashomon for something like this, but if you insist on fighting me, you’ll leave me no choice, weretiger.”

Atsushi squealed and squirmed, giggles flying from his lips faster than he could keep up with. “Yohohohohohou’ve used it fohohohohohor this befohohohohohore!”

“Not when I’m trying to comfort you and make you feel safe,” Akutagawa muttered, the words making him blush a little too. Sentiment, indeed.

“Aww, hohohohohohow sweeheheheheheheet!” Atsushi teased, then spasmed when the tickling suddenly darted down to his sides. “Ah! Nohohohohohoho!”

“I warned you, being trapped here with me is dangerous in and of itself.” The mafioso lowered his voice and murmured right into Atsushi’s ear. “Do you really want to push my buttons when you’re at my mercy?”

“Yehehehehehehes!” Atsushi replied without hesitation, managing to make eye contact with his partner and even go so far as to pinch his cheek with a shaky hand. “It’s cuhuhuhuhuhute to seehehehehehehee you get wohohohohohorked up.”

Akutagawa resisted the urge to call on Rashomon right then and there. Instead, he snatched Atsushi’s wrists and pulled them above his head with one hand while ruthlessly scratching his fingers into his belly with the other.

Atsushi shrieked, giggles morphing into laughter as he kicked the ground helplessly, his fear of the dark long forgotten now that all he could feel was this playfully unbearable sensation and all he could see was the wicked look his beautiful boyfriend was giving him.

“What was that about getting me worked up?” Akutagawa teased, finding his navel through his thin shirt.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

“I believe the only one getting worked up here is you, weretiger.”

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!! NOT THEHEHEHEHEHEHERE, RYU!!”

Akutagawa smirked. “Not so bold now, are you? It’s truly so easy to take you down. All I have to do is find your belly button and you lose your mind.”

Atsushi blushed through his laughter. Hearing Akutagawa use the words ‘belly button’ while in this state did things to him that only made everything tickle worse. He screeched when his boyfriend found it again, wiggling deep, and within seconds he was tapping out. Or he would, if his arms were free.

“AHAHAHAHAHA OKAY, OKAHAHAHAHAHAY!! PLEASE STAHAHAHAHAHAP!! I FEEHEHEHEHEHEHEEL BETTER!!”

The urge to keep going was so strong, Akutagawa had to actively fight himself to bring the tickling to a stop. This wasn’t the time for a full on attack. There would be plenty of opportunity for that later. Right now was about making Atsushi feel safe and secure, bringing him out of that bad headspace he’d been in when the lights went out. He’d done that. It was enough.

For now.

Sliding off of his lap onto the seat next to him, Akutagawa wrapped one arm around Atsushi’s still giggling frame and pulled him in close, pressing a kiss to his burning cheek. “Do you want me to stay with you until the lights come back on?”

After a few more giggles, Atsushi let out a contented sigh. “Yeah, I’d…I’d like that.”

“Very well.” Akutagawa resumed the cuddling position they’d been in before while they were sipping cocoa, allowing the weretiger’s head to rest on his shoulder.

After a bit, Atsushi broke the silence with a teasing, “You know, there are other ways we could distract ourselves since the lights are out anyway~”

Akutagawa’s need to put him in his place rose up again stronger than before. He let out an involuntary gasp, which only made his boyfriend smirk at him.

Screw it. Opportunity had arrived.

He tackled Atsushi onto the couch and picked up right where he’d left off.

[gingerlee-holds]

Even Mandalorians Have Weaknesses

Squealing Santa ding ding ding!!! this is a Star Wars fic for Dchubbz!anon! They requested lee!Din Djarin, so I did my best to make it happen! keep in mind that its really wonky, canonwise- the Razor Crest was destroyed and Bo-Katan doesn't really seem like the playful type but cut me some slack im in college lmao

also it's very difficult to find characters in this show who would be able to tword Mando and also want to so its Ler!Bo-Katan i guess

also LOOK AT THE GIF BELOW THIS DO YOU SEE HIS SIDES DO YOU SEE HOW POKABLE THEY ARE I REALLY REALLY WANNA POKE THE HIRED GUNMAN'S SIDES-

Words: 3017 Characters: Lee!Din, Ler!Bo-Katan

The Razor Crest hummed softly, the familiar vibrations of hyperspace travel filling the cockpit. Din Djarin, helmet securely in place, leaned back in the pilot's seat, his hands resting on the armrests. Across from him, Bo-Katan Kryze sat with her feet propped on the console, arms crossed in mock relaxation as she eyed him with a teasing glint.

"You're always so serious," she mused, tilting her head to study him. Her voice carried an edge of mischief, clearly intended to provoke. "Like a droid that never powers down."

Din gave a low huff, his modulator turning it into a faint growl. "I'm not a droid."

Bo-Katan smirked, tapping a finger against her chin in exaggerated contemplation. "Could've fooled me. Do you even know how to relax? Or laugh?"

"I'm capable of both," Din replied evenly, his voice calm and measured. "But I don't see why that's relevant."

Bo-Katan's grin widened. "You're like a myth, you know. The Mandalorian who never cracks a smile. Never lets his guard down."

Din leaned forward slightly, the reflective T-visor of his helmet turning to her with deliberate precision. "I can be playful."

Bo-Katan raised an eyebrow, her expression a mix of amusement and skepticism. "Oh really? I'll believe it when I see it."

"You won't," he retorted with a note of finality. The silence that followed felt like a small victory on Din's end. Bo-Katan's smirk only widened, her eyes glinting with an unspoken challenge.

For a few moments, the hum of the ship filled the air, but Bo-Katan's curiosity was clearly piqued. "So, what, that's it? Just endless stoicism and no fun? You're wasting a perfectly good hyperspace jump, Mando."

Din's shoulders shifted slightly, a subtle movement Bo-Katan had learned to recognize as either annoyance or amusement. "You're wasting your time."

Her smirk turned into a full grin. "Oh, I don't think so. I've got plenty of time to figure out what makes you crack." She leaned back again, propping her arms behind her head. "Might even make it a personal mission."

The lights in the cockpit cast a dim glow over the pair, with hyperspace streaking past the viewport in mesmerizing patterns. Bo-Katan stretched her legs, her boots brushing against the edge of the console. She made a show of yawning dramatically. "You know, some people might find it relaxing to have a conversation. Share a joke. Maybe even… laugh?"

Din's helmet tilted slightly, suggesting he was either ignoring her or considering her words. "This isn't a cantina."

"No, it's not," she agreed. "But that doesn't mean we have to sit here like statues. Even statues crack eventually."

"I don't crack," Din replied firmly. "And I'm not a statue."

Bo-Katan chuckled softly. "You keep saying that, but you're not helping your case."

Din sighed, leaning back further into his chair. The weight of the mission and her relentless teasing settled on him. "Do you always talk this much?"

"Only when I'm entertained," she shot back. "And you, Mando, are surprisingly entertaining."

"Glad to be of service," he deadpanned, though the slight shift of his helmet hinted at a sliver of amusement.

Bo-Katan tapped her fingers against the armrest of her chair, a mischievous glint still in her eyes. "We'll see how long that stoicism holds up. Everyone has a breaking point, even you."

Din said nothing, allowing the Razor Crest's hum to fill the silence once more. But the slightest shake of his head told Bo-Katan all she wanted to know as he turned back to the controls. Knowing this would not mark the end of her efforts to crack the myth of the uncrackable Mandalorian, Bo-Katan grinned to herself. 

-

Bo-Katan's chance presented itself some hours later as they readied the Razor Crest for dropping out of hyperspace. Din checked the cargo hold to be sure their recent shipment was safe. His motions were deliberate; every object was painstakingly arranged and double-checked as though he were handling explosives rather than standard merchandise. Bo-Katan wandered in, feigning nonchalance, though her sharp eyes were already calculating.

"You're always so focused," she said casually, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. Her tone was light, but a familiar teasing edge was beneath it. "Don't you ever get tired of being a statue?"

Din didn't look up. "What do you want, Kryze?" he asked, his voice flat as he continued working.

She pushed off the wall and stepped closer, letting her boots echo against the metal floor. "I want to see if the myth is true," she replied with a smirk, poking Djarin through a crack in his armor lightly in the side.

The reaction was immediate. Din gasped and jerked away, almost dropping the tablet in his hand. His helmet snapped toward her, the surprise in his body language unmistakable despite the impassive visor. For a moment, he froze as though debating whether to acknowledge what had just happened.

"What was that?" Bo-Katan asked, her tone dripping with mock innocence. She stepped closer, her grin widening.

"Nothing," he said quickly, straightening his posture to reassert control. But when Bo reached out again, his entire torso flinched before she even touched him. It was a subtle movement, but it might as well have been a bright neon sign to her trained eye.

Bo-Katan's eyes lit up like a child discovering treasure. She stepped back, crossing her arms again with a triumphant smile. "Oh, this is too good. You're ticklish."

"No, I'm not," Din said firmly, stepping back as if distance alone could deflect her discovery.

"Sure, and I'm a moisture farmer," she shot back, her grin widening as she advanced slightly. "You flinched like I'd threatened you with a vibroblade."

"Drop it, Kryze," he warned, though a faint edge to his tone betrayed his unease.

Bo-Katan tilted her head, studying him with newfound amusement. "What are you so afraid of, Mando? That someone might discover the great Din Djarin has a weakness?"

He shook his head, turning his attention back to the cargo. "I'm not afraid of anything," he muttered. His hands worked quickly, almost as if trying to distract himself (and her) from the moment.

"Oh, but you are," she countered, leaning against a nearby crate. "I think you're afraid I'll tell everyone that you're… what's the word? Human."

Din's helmet turned toward her briefly, but he said nothing. That silence only encouraged her.

"You know, I was starting to think you were unshakable," she circled slowly. "But now I see it. The legendary Mandalorian has a crack. And it's ticklish."

"I don't have time for this," he said, his voice clipped as he moved to another section of the cargo hold.

"Sure you do," she replied smoothly, following him. "Hyperspace jumps last forever, and we're stuck together. Might as well make the most of it."

Din sighed audibly, the sound distorted through his modulator. "I should throw you from the airlock."

"You're avoiding the truth," she shot back. "Just admit it. You flinched."

He stopped for a split second, then went on working. Bo-Katan's smile never wavered. Instead, she crouched beside him and leaned close enough to cause him to squirm uneasily. 

"Tell me," she said, her voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. "Is this some kind of ancient Mandalorian secret? A hidden vulnerability? Should I add 'tickling' to my arsenal of combat techniques?"

Din finally turned to her, his helmet mere inches from her face. "You're not funny."

"Oh, I'm hilarious," she retorted, standing back up. "And you know it."

As she backed away, still smirking, Din straightened, visibly tense. Though he returned to his task, Bo-Katan didn't miss how his shoulders stayed rigid as if bracing for another poke. It was enough to make her chuckle quietly to herself.

"Don't worry," she said over her shoulder as she left the cargo hold. "I'll save my newfound intel for when it really counts."

Din watched her go, shook his head slightly, then went back to work. But the tension in his motions never really disappeared. Grogu cooed somewhere in the Razor Crest as though he sensed the change in the air. And Bo-Katan's laughter rang softly down the hallways as a promise she wasn't done with him yet.

-

The next opportunity came later that evening. Din was crouched in the engine bay, trying to fix a faulty panel. His armor was partially removed for mobility, so he worked in his cloth tunic. The dim light of the bay cast shadows over his focused expression, and the soft hum of the ship provided a backdrop to his work. He was so absorbed in the work that he didn't hear the approaching footsteps until it was too late.

"Don't even think about it," he warned, his voice low and steady, not looking up.

"Think about what?" Bo-Katan asked innocently, the mockery in her tone unmistakable. She moved closer, her boots clinking lightly against the metal floor. Nearby, Grogu perched on a crate, his big eyes darting between the two adults with growing curiosity. His little green fingers reached out, sensing the tension, and he cooed softly. His eyes flicked to a pair of handcuffs on a nearby crate, and an idea visibly formed.

Din muttered something under his breath, clearly bracing himself for trouble. But before he could move, Grogu raised a tiny hand. With a playful Force burst, one of Din's wrists was cuffed to the ship's support beam. The click of the cuffs echoed in the bay, and Din froze, staring at the child in disbelief.

"Grogu, not now," he said firmly, his voice heavy with exasperation. The little one gurgled in delight, entirely unbothered by the scolding.

Bo-Katan burst out laughing. She declared, "Oh, this is perfect," her grin spreading wide. She stepped closer, and the malevolent glint in her eye gleamed. "Remind me to thank you, lil guy."

"Kryze, don't," Din warned, his tone notably powerless. He squirmed uneasily, trying to tug his hand from restraint, but the cuffs held firm. Bo-Katan wiggled her fingers menacingly as she closed the distance between them.

"You've been asking for this, Mandalorian." Her voice dripped with mock menace. Without hesitation, she tested the waters by poking his ribs lightly.

Din's body betrayed him right away. He almost dropped the wrench in his free hand as he jerked away from her touch. The reaction only fueled her resolve. He used his free arm to swat at her invading fingers, but she was quick, and his limited mobility gave her the advantage.

"S-Stohop," he managed, his voice strained, his body twisting as much as the cuffs allowed.

"Make me," she shot back, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she dug her fingers into his sides more determinedly. The wrench fell from Din's hand. Her confidence was bolstered by the sound that escaped his lips, which resembled a grunt with a hint of choked laughter.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "You're a human after all!"

Close by, Grogu laughed and clapped his tiny hands as if cheering on Bo-Katan. The child's happiness just set her off more. Din squirmed under her relentless assault, his composure cracking with each passing second. He tried desperately to hold onto his stoic demeanor, but his body had other plans.

"Qu-Quihihit ihihit!" he sputtered, his modulated voice warping with each involuntary sound. His free arm flailed uselessly, trying to block her, but she dodged easily, her fingers dancing along his ribs and sides.

"Giggling already? I'm going to cherish this," Bo-Katan declared, her grin turning downright evil. She shifted her tactics, finding a particularly sensitive spot near his hip, and Din's reaction was immediate.

"Bohoho! Nohohoho!" he burst out, the laughter spilling from him despite his efforts to suppress it. His head tilted back slightly, and his torso twisted as he tried to escape her touch.

"Oh, I'm not stopping now," she said gleefully, her voice nearly drowned out by Din's increasingly loud laughter. "You're making this too much fun, Mando."

"Bo-Kahahatahan! Plehehease!" he managed between gasps, his voice hitching with each word. His laughter was rich and deep, sounding almost foreign from someone so perpetually serious.

Grogu let out a delighted squeal, his tiny hands clapping even faster. He leaned forward on his crate as if trying to get a better view of the chaos unfolding before him. Din's struggles grew more frantic, but the cuffs and Bo-Katan's persistence kept him firmly at her mercy.

Bo-Katan grinned triumphantly, her hands slowing down as Din's laughter softened into residual chuckles. "You're lucky I'm merciful," she teased, stepping back with a flourish. "For now."

Din leaned heavily against the support beam, his cuffed wrist still secured. He panted, trying to regain his composure. "You call that merciful?" he muttered, his tone dripping with exasperation.

Grogu gurgled with delight, waddling nearer to examine his obviously flustered guardian. The young child pulled at his shirt, his bright eyes glimmering with playful intent. Din looked down at him, his helmet shifting slightly. "You're not helping, kid."

Bo-Katan watched the scene with a smirk, her arms crossed confidently. "I think he's enjoying himself. You should take notes on how to loosen up."

Din scoffed, once more testing the cuffs on his wrist. "I promise you, Kryze, if you don't unlock this-"

Before he could finish, Bo-Katan darted forward again, her fingers poised menacingly. Din flinched instinctively, his free hand shooting up to block her. "Don't you dare!"

She laughed, stepping back with mock innocence. "Relax, Mando. I'm just keeping you on your toes."

Grogu cooed in agreement, clearly enjoying the dynamic. Din let out a low groan, his helmet tilting back as he muttered something under his breath. Probably 'dank farrik.' 

"This is ridiculous."

"Ridiculous but fun," Bo-Katan corrected, her grin widening. "Admit it. You haven't laughed like that in years."

Din didn't respond, but the slight tilt of his head betrayed his reluctant agreement. He finally sighed, his tone softening. "Just get me out of this."

"Don't try to get all stoic again! We were having fun!" Bo-Katan got an idea. "Okay, Mando. Tell me your worst joke, or this continues."

"I don't know any jokes," he ground out, his voice still shaky from the residual laughter.

She shook her head, her grin widening. "Wrong answer."

Her fingers resumed their assault, this time targeting the particularly sensitive spot under his arm. Din's reaction was immediate and explosive. A deep, unrestrained laugh burst from him, rich and resonant, surprising even himself. He squirmed futilely against the cuffs, his free arm flailing in an attempt to block her relentless attack.

"K-Kryhyhyhyze! Plehehease!" he managed between gasps, his modulated voice barely recognizable through the laughter.

Bo-Katan laughed along with him, her own amusement genuine. "I've never heard anything so satisfying," she teased, her voice light with delight. Grogu giggled from the sideline.

"Al-Alrihihihight! AHAHA! Alrihihihihihihight!" Din gasped desperately. "I'll tell you! Just stohohohohop!"

Bo-Katan finally relented, stepping back with a triumphant grin. Din slumped against the support beam, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Grogu cooed in approval, his ears wiggling with anticipation.

"This better be good," Bo-Katan said, crossing her arms and raising an expectant eyebrow.

Din took another moment to compose himself, his voice still uneven. "Okay. Two stormtroopers are scouting in the jungle. One gets bitten by a snake in a weak spot in his armor and collapses. The other calls into command and says, 'Come in, come in! My partner has collapsed, I think he's dead!' Command replies, 'Stay calm. First, I need you to make sure your partner is actually dead.' The comm goes quiet for a bit, followed by a series of blaster shots. 'Alright,' the scout finally responds, 'I made sure. Now what?'"

There was a brief pause before Bo-Katan burst into laughter, doubling over as the terrible joke sank in. Even Grogu let out an amused squeal, waving his tiny hands in the air. Din groaned, shaking his head as he muttered, "I warned you."

"That was… awful!" Bo-Katan managed between fits of laughter, wiping a tear from her eye. "Absolutely terrible."

"You asked for my worst," Din said dryly, though the faintest hint of a chuckle slipped through.

Bo-Katan straightened, her grin wide and satisfied. "I'll give you points for effort, Mando. But you're not off the hook yet."

Din tensed immediately, his helmet tilting toward her. "What do you mean?"

Without answering, Bo-Katan lunged back toward him, her fingers diving into his ribcage. Din let out a startled bark of laughter, his body twisting in a futile attempt to escape.

"Kryze! I already told you!" he protested, his voice breaking into helpless laughter as she found another sensitive spot.

"That joke was so bad. You deserve this," Bo-Katan teased, her fingers mercilessly skimming along his ribs and sides. Din's laughter echoed through the engine bay, rich and unguarded, a sound that seemed to surprise even Grogu. "This is punishment for that brazen assault on my intelligence you call a joke."

"Bohoho! ThiHiHiS iHIhIIsn't FAhahHAhair! YouHuHu Ahahahaasked FohohOOr a bAHahahd- ACK-!" Din gasped, his voice hitching with every breath. His struggles grew more frantic, but the cuffs and Bo-Katan's persistence kept him firmly at her mercy.

"You're too much fun, Mando," Bo-Katan said, her tone light and teasing. She finally pulled back after a few more moments, letting him slump against the support beam again. His free hand came up to rest on his chest as he panted, his whole body visibly relaxing now that the torment had ceased.

Din sat back, rubbing his wrist once Grogu released the cuff. His helmet turned toward Bo-Katan, and though his face was hidden, she could feel his glare. "You’re insufferable," he muttered.

"And you’re human," she countered, her tone softening. "It’s good to see that side of you."

Grogu waddled over, climbing into Din’s lap with a happy gurgle. Din sighed, placing a hand on the child’s head. "Never again," he said, his voice resolute. But as Din turned away, Bo-Katan couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t need to be Force-sensitive to know he was smiling too, hidden behind the beskar.

[bratbutcute]

A silent pact of silence

Hi! @theanonemu it is I, your secret Santa. I finally revealed myself to gift you… your gift.

Okay I’ll stop it ahah, I hope you have some free time because this fic got LONG.

Just a little reminder: English isn’t my first language, so you might find some grammar mistakes! If so please dm me or comment so I can fix them.

Now let’s dive right in.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Alastor/Lucifer

Prompts: Lovingly wrecking with gentle & light tickles; Character A unknowingly tickling character B who tries to suffer through it but eventually gives way and hijinx ensue;

Disclaimer: other than this is a tickle fic (obviously I’d say) there is nothing more to add to it.

Words count: 4524

Lucifer goes to the library to run away from his worries; he likes being alone there, until Alastor arrives to disrupt his peace. Will they listen to Charlie’s notes and become friends or will their rivalry prevail?

Happy late Christmas, Yule, Hanukkah, Solstice, Kwanzaa, and all the other celebrations happening during these days ❤️

(tagging here you amazing @squealing-santa, thank you so much for your patience and for your amazing organisation. This was my first year participating but I really loved having you as a host)

~~~

“Dear guests I hope you’ll like this library! Read as much as you like but don’t forget to make new friends! -Charlie”

Books or, to be more precise, reading books is something quite unusual in Hell.

Sinners usually enjoy other kinds of activities in their afterlives.

Lucifer has always loved them, since the moment humans came up with the idea of putting words onto paper he's been engrossed by the thought of carrying knowledge in the palm of your hand.

He has read thousands of books, written by humans on Earth - smuggled by those who could go there -, written by sinners in Hell, and he himself has written some of them. Charlie has always loved hearing her father interpret a story by doing different voices and shapeshift to fit the characters.

The Hotel had a rather big library, not the greatest, but it was still a work in progress. A few armchairs and couches were arranged in the center of the room, next to a coffee table with mugs and cute post-its with inspirational quotes on them.

These post-it were scattered everywhere, on the chairs, on the table, between the pages of the books. They were cheesy and sometimes did’t make sense, trying to encourage sinners to discuss about books and share their ideas. Lucifer couldn’t help but smile every time he saw one, thinking about his daughter and her good naive heart.

He found solace in that place.

He went there by chance once, after finding himself wandering around the Hotel trying to run away from the mean words screaming inside his head. After that it had quickly become an habit to go there during the night, past the time when Angeldust or Husker would still be awake, in that limbo halfway between the night and the morning, when the lights of Heaven were still not visible, but they started to peak between the clouds.

It was always quite when he went there.

No thoughts, no worries.

“When you’re feeling lonely, ask for a friend to join you! Having friends is fun! -Charlie”

Night after night Lucifer had been dragging himself into the library, reading books in silence to quite the thoughts screaming into his head. As a result he hadn’t slept in weeks, but on the bright side he also hadn’t had a nightmare in a long while.

Everything was perfect before his little ritual got ruined by none other than Alastor. That bitch.

Alastor was already there when Lucifer arrived. He was standing next to a shelf, hand ready to grab a book when their sights intertwined.

Everything felt static for a second.

Lucifer was about to ask him what the Hell was he doing there, but his mind was too clouded and words felt heavy on his chest. They just proceeded to ignore each other, much to his confusion: that demon was known for loving to mess with him. Why wouldn’t the dear say something?

But he didn’t dwell on it too much though, hoping this would be a once in a lifetime situation

Unfortunately for him he was quickly proven wrong.

The next day Alastor was there, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, and so the following day and the one after.

Every single night Lucifer wanted a bit of peace, a place to recollect his thoughts, Alastor was there to ruin his evening.

He wouldn’t talk, but he would raise his eyebrows at every book Lucifer chose. He would turn his pages quicker than the king, creating an unspoken competition to finish first.

Lucifer came out of these nights even more exhausted than before, crashing onto the bed and waking up a few hours later, after a dreamless sleep.

“Good actions don’t need words! Try doing something good without taking the credit! -Charlie”

Lucifer had to admit something: having Alastor in the same room while dark thoughts stomped on his head was kind of therapeutic - although he would never say it to the other.

He always managed to distract him, even if it was with childish challenges and mischief, such as changing the place his current book was placed or steal the book the other wanted to read.

Words never left their mouths while they were there. They would stare at each other for a few seconds while entering the room, and then proceed to read in their designated spots: Lucifer on the couch, legs stretched on the coushions, his duck slippers on the floor next to him, and Alastor on the armchair, with his old school red nightclothes on and a tea cup in hand.

Lucifer started to think about those nights of theirs during his day, napping during the afternoon so he would be able to actually enjoy his silent time with the man.

Nothing had changed in front of Charlie or the Hotel crew. They would still bicker and fight like they hated each other, but he couldn’t help but thinking that he felt their arguments less animus than before. There were times he would find Alastor staring at him, his usual grin a bit softer on his lips.

He started looking forward to the night, feeling his heart pounding in his chest before opening the door of their secret place, hoping he wouldn’t be alone.

The reason was simple: he had spent the majority of his existence feeling alone, feeling casted out. The one who fell, the one who asked too many questions, the one who couldn’t handle a family. The one nobody really cared about and that frankly was had stopped caring.

But having someone share his worst moments with was… kind of comforting.

Then again, Alastor was still a peace of shit.

“When others choose to wrong you try confronting them with their actions! You might find that it was a misunderstanding! -Charlie”

It started after one of their fights during the day.

Lucifer wasn’t really sure what they were fighting about, but he could proudly remember how the argument ended: with him making fun of the deer. Angel had laughed, chanting a “Poor Bambi”, a nickname that was usually used by the former heavenly creature but was quickly catching up.

When Lucifer arrived at the library Alastor was already there - that wasn’t uncommon - but he wasn’t in his usual standing position, looking for a new book to devour in a few hours. This time he was in his armchair. Waiting.

Lucifer faltered before entering, a weird uneasy feeling slowly creeping behind his neck. He knew something was about to change.

He barely had time to pick a book and sit before shadows in the room started to morph, trembling and deforming the floor. The lights wobbled as if there was a earthquake (a hellquake?) and Lucifer would have probably screamed if only it hadn’t lasted more than just a few seconds.

Terrified and confused Lucifer stared at Alastor, forcing his mouth to remain shut, and found the sinner grinning ear to ear with pure amusement in his eyes.

As Lucifer started reading, one of those weird dark tentacles darted through the air right in front of the angel’s face, making him jump on the couch and drop his book. Needless to say Alastor was beaming in his place on the armchair. His stupid cup still in his hand, held with his pinky finger up.

Lucifer’s eye started to twitch. He wasn’t going to be the one breaking their pact of silence - ironic how that agreement was made… silently.

Alastor’s shadow retreated quickly with a book, only to dart back again, this time taking the most inconvenient road, purposefully knocking Lucifer’s book again the second he picked it up.

This did get a silent sight out of the king of Hell.

But the demon did not care enough to take his eyes off the tome.

This new annoying habit seemed to amuse Alastor a lot since he started to do it every single time they were there: Lucifer would arrive, think that nothing was wrong only to find a dark shadow scaring both Heaven and Hell out of him.

Three nights in a row and Lucifer was done with this.

He was the King of Hell, he was a powerful and fearful being: he was going to show it to that pompous prick.

When the tendril flew in front of him he moved quickly, grabbing the shadow with one hand, his eyes turning red and fire sparkling between his horns.

The movement was so fast that Alastor was caught off guard, but he was definitely impressed.

His cheeks burned bright as his smile trembled.

Since that day he never tried to use his shadows again.

“Hug someone today! Only after they agreed. Consent is important! -Charlie”

After the event nothing really changed, other than a small, but definitely important thing: they started greeting each other with a smile. Which wasn’t unusual for Alastor, since his smile was always shown on his face, but it felt as if that mask was slowly crumbling down.

Not only this, but Lucifer started looking forward to that smile, to that small act of kindness and intimacy the two of them shared.

And then one night came the touching.

Lucifer had seen Alastor touch pretty much every single hotel guest. Squeezing shoulders, pinching cheeks, being affectionate in a mocking kind of way, always using either his hands or his shadows to assert his dominance. And the king of Hell hated that behaviour: Alastor didn’t care if he crossed a boundary, he showed everybody that he could do whatever he wanted with them, regardless of their comfort.

The first time Lucifer and Alastor shook hands the latter cleaned it right after, so you can imagine how surprised and confused Lucifer found himself when Alastor decided to sit next to him, grazing their legs together.

His stomach churned and his head turned immediately to stare at the demon.

Alastor didn’t talk - again, nothing unusual for them in that room - but his smile twitched a bit.

Was he making fun of him? Was he trying to distract him from one of his schemes? Was he trying to get him back from the shadow situation?

The touch lasted a few seconds before Alastor repositioned himself, crossing one leg over the other, one foot making contact with Lucifer’s leg.

The king was so confused he didn’t flip a single page the entire night.

“Be sweet, be kind, be good! -Charlie”

Alastor started being more and more intimate with Lucifer.

He started offering him his tea by preparing two cups before the king arrived. He covered him with a blanket whenever he fell asleep on the couch.

It stopped being subtle when the cuddling started.

It had already been a few nights of sitting one next to the other, thighs or feet touching and eyes wandering over each other. The deer would casually touch him by grazing his hands, or by putting his hand on the king’s tight as a leverage to stand up.

But one evening his hand simply remained on the king’s leg. Fingers slowly moving. Before Lucifer could react Alastor was caressing him, as if they had been friends for their entire lives.

It lasted a few seconds - as soon as Lucifer’s brain registered the warmth it was already gone.

His heart was pounding in his chest, butterflies flapping their wings in his stomach. He felt lightheaded.

Whenever Alastor showed signs of kindness he felt like a young angel again, experiencing emotions for the very first time.

He’d find himself with golden cheeks and shaking hands.

And one night, after thinking about it the entire day, he finally made his move.

Alastor was already in the library, sitting down on the couch, nose buried in a book, his ears twitching every now and then, as if they were part of the action written on the pages.

Lucifer took a couple of breaths, trying to calm his nerves as he found the courage to sit down and take Alastor’s hand.

The action was very… awkward.

They stayed there in silence, staring at each other’s eyes while holding hands as if it was their first interaction since being created.

When he realised the absurdity of the situation his cheeks became golden. He tried to stand up again, ready to leave the room but Alastor tightened his grip.

He tilted his head as the touch morphed.

Alastor intertwined their fingers as nothing weird was happening.

Lucifer felt like falling for perdition all over again.

“Laughter is the best medicine! Laughing with your friends is the best antibiotic! -Charlie”

Six months had passed since the first time the two creatures had found themselves reading together.

Six months and nothing had changed: the hotel members still thought they hated each others - although Angel started whispering about the weird intense looks they sometimes exchanged.

Six months and, at the same time, everything was different.

Alastor and Lucifer had started by pestering each other every day and were now cuddling on the couch, Alastor’s hand scratching the king’s back, as the man had his head on the other’s lap.

They both pretended to read, but they would spend the majority of time plotting the next move, plying a game of chess to become more and more intimate.

Six months and not a single word had really left their lips. Until that day.

Alastor’s fingers were being gentle on the man’s soft pyjamas, soothing the skin underneath.

A bit too delicate for Lucifer’s taste.

Goosebumps were starting to form on his back and a maddening sensation was making him uneasy.

Al’s nails circled around the middle of the back, running up and down, switching between one finger and all four.

Lucifer was holding on, concentrating on not making a sound, focusing entirely on keeping his mouth shut.

He twitched when he felt the sensation move closer to his side. He gulped down some air and the bit his lips.

Alastor was reading, not realising the torture the other man was enduring. He was absentmindedly cuddling him, too focused on the words he was reading to notice the torture his ‘friend’ was enduring.

His fingers found the softness of Lucifer’s sides.

The king lost his battle.

A single uncontrollable giggle. So desperate to leave his lips, so cruel, so… liberating.

It was the first time Lucifer had made an actual sound in that place.

Alastor’s ears turned and his interest peaked.

His mouth opened, as to comment, but then he closed it, an evil grin on his face as soon as he realised what was happening.

This was interesting.

Lucifer’s eyes widened. He wanted to scream but he couldn’t. He tried to sit down but Lucifer’s fingers travelled back to his skin, scratching and caressing teasingly his sides.

Lucifer put his hand on his mouth, feeling the giggles build up in his throat. His legs started shaking, his torso twitching, anything to stop the sensation.

He slowly lowered his hand, his mouth ready to talk for the first time but when the other demon realised what was happening he stopped immediately his attack.

He got a bit closer, breathing Lucifer’s air, and he out a finger on his pale lips.

So this was how it had to be: defeat at first word.

Lucifer gulped loudly.

Alastor’s fingers went back to work, ready to pinch his sides but the only thing they found was air and dust.

In a puff of glitter Lucifer transformed into a snake - he was still Lucifer Morningstar, the most proud being ever created, if he could run away from this humiliation he would - but Alastor reacted quickly and one of his shadows manifested around his tail, snatching him off the floor. He transformed back into his demon form, dangling upside down with his foot held by the tentacle. His face morphed into a “Are you kidding me?” kind of expression.

Alastor left his place from the couch, facing his victim. He looked composed - as always - but a glint of mischief shined in his eyes.

He was going to destroy him. Lucifer shivered as he watched Alastor’s hands caressing the air around his body, not picking a particular spot, but letting him suffer through his indecision. As Lucifer started to thrash around, thinking about how to run away again his shirt rose up and Alastor eyed his midriff with interest. Lucifer’s mind panicked so hard that he transformed into a bird and immediately tried to fly away.

But again, his opponent was very determined.

He reappeared right in front of the door - his only way out other than the very closed window - with a wider and more menacing grin. Lucifer crashed right into him, reappearing as his usual form in a cloud of sparkles.

Alastor didn’t leave him a single second to think this time, trapping his wrists with one of his dark shadows and heading them above his head.

His stomach was again in a very vulnerable position, since his shirt had risen from all the tossing around. He had a trembling smile on his face, giggles almost leaving his lips just because he could feel Alastor stare at his body.

Probably because of this expectation he would have never anticipated fingers gently caressing one of his underarms.

Lucifer gasped and a weak groan left his throat. The touch was gentle, delicate, the fingertips tenderly swirling on his armpit. And it was so, so, devious. He started drumming his feet on the floor.

His mind kept repeating a series of “no no no no” and “okay okay okay” that he would have said out loud to distract himself hadn’t there been that stupid game of silence between them.

Lucifer tried to think of all the way he could turn the tables, tried to think how to attack him but he lost it when Al started tickling his other armpit too.

His giggles started dancing around them, uncontrollable. He couldn’t run away, he couldn’t ask for him to stop: he could only laugh.

Alastor grin widened, but he didn’t change the pace of his attack: he was going to be ruthless and methodical.

As the fingers teased his armpits, two dark shadows descended on his ribs, tracing small circles on the bones, making the fallen angel hiccup with laughter.

Lucifer really lost his battle, twisting his body to run away, too busy laughing to concentrate on shapeshifting. It was unbearable, a slow torture he knew he couldn’t endure by just letting himself laugh.

To confirm his suspicions, the moment Alastor brushed a single finger on his stomach he really gave up.

«Wahahaait!»

The room fell silent again. Alastor stopped moving. Lucifer stopped laughing. The books seemed frozen on their shelves, and the air was eager to listen to words.

«Your majesty,» it wasn’t an insult, but it wasn’t meant as a title. The king’s brain stopped working as a goldish blush dusted his cheeks. He was not expecting those words and he was not expecting to react that way. «we’re in a library. Noise should be kept at a minimum.»

Okay, he was going to kill Alastor.

Sweet golden laughter poured out of the angelic creature as the demon attacked his stomach. His fingers caressed his navel, pinched his sides, walked around his skin.

He was so light that Lucifer felt conflicted about what to feel, as if this wasn’t a kind of torture to him but was a weird act of kindness.

«Alastohohohor-» he got lost in his laughter. Giggles and high pitched squeals echoed in the darkness of the room. He realised his hands were free to move the moment he found them holding onto Alastor’s wrists, not quite pushing him away, not quite remaining still. He wasn’t sure about what he wanted to do.

«Ahahahahl» he put one hand on his mouth only to slam it back again as a tendril attacked him on the armpit. He laughed louder, feeling every part of his being ticklish.

It felt embarrassing. It felt private. But it felt… safe.

They were alone in their personal room where no one could bother them.

He giggled louder: «Ahahahahllll! I- ihihi- I demand you to stohohohop!».

Alastor grinned.

«Why should I? My king didn’t seem to mind my hands on his body before.»

«Ahahahahalasthohohor!»

«What my dear? Isn’t that true?»

Lucifer dissolved in another fit of laughter as Alastor lovely pinched every bit of skin he could find from his sides to the middle of his navel.

As hiccups started to leave the king’s lips the tickling slowed down.

«Have you had enough my dear?»

Lucifer could only nod, titters leaving his throat.

Red lights stared shining through the window.

Lucifer sighed, laughter tinted on his lips. He stared at Alastor: he looked bright, shining of a unique and mischievous light that only he could radiate.

They were very close, Alastor on him, hands holding him still. Lucifer’s skin was still sensitive, at every little movement he felt like starting giggling again.

Their faces were few inches apart, so close they could feel the warmth of each other’s breath.

Lucifer found himself staring at the other’s lips; only to realise he wasn’t the only one.

It felt as if they were getting closer, as if he could taste Alastor’s lips had he only moved a bit.

«I guess I will see you tomorrow my dear.»

And just like that he was gone

“You can find friends everywhere! Even at the library! Ask the person next to you what are they reading! Who knows what might happen! - Charlie”

That night Lucifer arrived at the library before Al.

He arrived before midnight. Angel and Husk were still at the counter, chatting and giggling together. They greeted him, but he was too distracted to care.

He sat on the couch, twisting his hands and waited.

When Alastor arrived the king was so nervous he could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

He immediately stood up, eager to talk right away, but Alastor went straight to the shelves, picking a book up.

Lucifer was confused to say the least.

Alastor sat down and started to flip pages as if nothing had happened between them the day before. When he picked his cup up Lucifer became furious.

«Are you kidding me?»

The sound of the king’s voice made Alastor jump. He probably thought that their pact of silence was back on because he looked confused.

«Is there anything wrong sir?»

Lucifer was fuming.

«I thought-» he shook his head and tried again «We’ve been coming here for six months. You’re the one who started messing with me. I came here just to read in peace and you-» he had to take a moment to recompose.

«I was fine. Then you arrived and disrupted my peace. You started to get closer and at first I thought it was to mock me but then… it seemed like you cared.»

Alastor sat there, staring.

«I thought you were starting to like me. I know in front of everybody you were your usual bitch self but- but here, here you were sweet and kind and.. and you started getting closer, touching me, putting your hand on my shoulder and- and yesterday I thought..» he put his fingers in his hair.

«Yesterday I felt something. And I know you felt it too because you were giving me that weird specific smile you have when you are actually happy and.. and now you just sit there, drinking your stupid tea and reading your stupid book as if nothing happened. And you have the courage to ask me if there is something wrong?»

Lucifer was out of breath, hands shaking.

It took the deer a few seconds to take it all in. Then he slowly closed his book, put his cup down and got up.

«Six months ago I came here to annoy you.» he began «Charlie told me that she was worried about you and asked me to check on you, as if I was some kind of nurse. My original plan was to hide every book you were reading.» he softly smiled avoiding the other’s eyes.

«But then when I saw you the first night you arrived... You looked miserable my dear. Charlie was right, I just couldn’t take advantage of a helpless puppy like that.» he tried to joke around his feelings, but the nickname didn’t feel derogatory as probably intended.

Alastor stood up and turned himself towards the books. He talked slowly, but each word was tinted with honesty.

«I decided to keep you company, to keep an eye on you so that if I helped you you’d be in debt. But then you started being… you again. After a few nights of pestering you I saw your face changing, I saw your smile coming back. And I found myself waiting for those moments.» he sighed facing Lucifer who was so shocked he didn’t know how to react.

«I am- I am sorry for hurting your feelings: that was not my intention.» his sight finally met Lucifer’s «But I wasn’t toying with you. Even if it started like that: adter all it was endearing to see you embarrassed.» Lucifer rolled his eyes at that.

«But I soon realised I wasn’t just having fun though: I was seeking out these meetings. Suddenly I found myself thinking about you during the day. Hoping we would fight so I could spend more time with you.»

Alastor feelings were shining around them now, dancing through the space between their bodies.

«It took me a while to understand and accept what was happening. And then yesterday when you were adorned with the most beautiful smile I felt something I thought I would never feel. Something resembling… more than just affection.» he whispered.

Lucifer felt himself moving without being able to control the motion. His hands brushed Alastor’s hands and their eyes locked just like the first day there.

Their library. Their sacred and demonic place. The only room that saw them as friends.

Everything felt so distant, but so alive, buzzing with energy.

Alastor took his hands, but Lucifer was the one who closed the gap between their lips.

All those days spent bickering, arguing over stupid shit, fighting one against the other, only to be defeated by a small environment full of books.

The kiss was small, soft, more than just brushing their lips, intense but not overwhelming. It was everything Lucifer needed to remind him how to breathe, how to feel, how to live.

It tasted like rivalry and play, like mischief and honesty. It simply tasted like them.

They smiled at each other, Lucifer’s hands shaking.

«Shall we go back to our readings my dear?» Alastor asked. He seemed composed as always but a hint of blush was dusted on his cheeks.

«Yeah, of course.»

Before leaving, Lucifer found a new little note on the table. This time it wasn’t on the usual yellow post-it.

Charlie’s words were written on a heart shaped red card.

He smiled before leaving the room.

“May this library always bring joy and love to whoever needs it.

P.s. love you dad

-Charlie”

~~~

This message is for AnonEmu. I really hope you like this fic, I swear I tried to honour your prompts, and I hope the length of the it didn’t scare you.

When I first read your pairings I thought about writing for a lee!Alastor ler!Vox fic but honestly I’m so happy I changed my mind.

Trying to write a cute, fluffy and lovingly tickle scene between two of the characters that hate each other the most was challenging, but this gave me the opportunity to actually focus on the story and not just the tickling part, which I realise it’s quite short, but I really hope you can still appreciate it.

The characters are probably a bit OOC but I swear I tried to give them at least the right vibes.

Having said that, I really have to thank you AnonEmu, I really want to thank you for your prompts, and I really really really want to thank @cantsaythetword. You’ve been an amazing host, you’ve done so much and you deserve all the love and recognition in the world.

Now you probably wont see or hear from me for a few months, but I wanted to thank all the people who reblog, comment or like my art and writing.

You make me proud of my work.

[a-fluffer-nutter]

Along the River Shore

A/N - Hey @august-anon guess what?? I'm your Squealing Santa this year!! I loved the prompts you gave me and I hope you enjoy what I was able to provide! Have some ticklish Zuko for this holiday season!! And thanks @squealing-santa for organizing it all! Definitely my favorite event each year.

Word Count: 695

            “What are they doing?” Zuko looked over at Aang as he sat on the sandy shore of the river they were lounging around.

            It was a warm day in the Earth Kingdom and the group were traveling around the nations on a diplomatic tour after the defeat of Zuko’s father, Fire Lord Ozai. Now that Zuko had taken his father’s ruling position, Zuko assured the people of Water and Earth nations that peace will prevail and that he and Aang will begin the prospect of reunification. After a few days of meetings and general interaction with the public, the “Gaang” was taking the day off to relax and enjoy themselves. Now that they no longer needed to fear for their lives every moment they took a break, the group could finally have some fun and bond in the usual way typical teenagers would. If anyone were to see them in this moment, without knowing who they were, it would be easy to believe that these are all just local kids having a stress free day, and sometimes it was easy for the group themselves to forget that they were not just a normal group of teens.

            “Having a tickle fight?” Aang replied in a way to seemed more like a question, as if Zuko had asked him a rhetorical one instead.

            “That’s what that is?” brows raised, Aang looked over at his friend, brain stuttering and sputtering at what he had just heard. “I’ve never seen it before.”

            “Really?” Toph perked up from her spot a few feet away from them, having been smacking the ground with different intensities, learning different strategies to bend sand. “I guess I haven’t seen it before either.”

            “This is serious, Toph,” Aang rolled his eyes as Toph waved a hand in front of her face with a wide smile. “Zuko has never been tickled before! This is important!”

            “He what?” Katara and Sokka looked up from their own tickle fight in perfect unison, having been the instigators to Zuko’s question. The siblings looked at each other and before Sokka could make the first move to get out of the river, Katara launched a wave of water at her brother as she pushed herself to land.

            Mouth agape, Zuko looked up at Katara as she now stood over him, hands on her hips. From the river, Sokka sputtered as he splashed his way to shore, entire body drenched. Glaring at Katara as he walked up, his attention quickly switched to Zuko and his body language mirrored his younger sister’s. As the crowd gathered around Zuko, Suki found herself looking up from across the river, having been sunbathing the entire day. With a knowing smile, she gave Zuko a thumbs up before laying back down and closing her eyes, letting the sun’s rays radiate against her fair skin.

            “What’s going on?” Zuko stammered, eyes wide as he looked around at his friends. “Why are you all acting like this is the end of the world?”

            “Because it is, obviously,” Sokka’s voice was loud and teasing. Brows furrowed, Zuko had the sudden thought that maybe he should find a way out of this situation, however, as if Toph had read his mind, grains of sand raised in a fluid way. Like shackles, the sand enveloped Zuko’s legs and kept him in the seated position, trapped from the mid thighs down.

            “Don’t worry, Zuko,” Aang’s voice said happily from behind the young Fire Lord, “it’ll be fun! And if it isn’t, we’ll stop.”

            “Oh-kay,” the hesitancy in Zuko’s voice could not be avoided, but that was to be expected from the generally anxious and uptight teen, and this was certainly not his fault.

            “Let’s see if you’re ticklish here,” Aang began to dance his fingers over Zuko’s ribs, resting his chin on the older teen’s shoulder as he checked his friend’s sensitivity. With much delight, the group let out a collective “aw” as Zuko began to laugh.

            “Looks like he is,” Katara mused before squatting down in front of Zuko. Reaching out, her nimble fingers began to prod around his sides and hips as Aang migrated his hands upward, sneaking under Zuko’s arms.

            “What’s happening?” Zuko’s laugh was loud and frantic, his body twisting around almost against his will. The sensations that shot through his body were odd and made him laugh, a bubbly sensation that wasn’t unpleasant. It made him squint his eyes and smile wide, in a way that he didn’t remember smiling before. This sensation was foreign to him, but maybe not uniquely novel. In the very back of his mind, in his very earliest years with his mother, did this sensation have a memory attached to it. It wasn’t much, just a blur of colors, but the feeling of peace and indescribable joy was the centerpiece of it all. Now, as this memory just barely grazed the corner of his mind, Zuko embraced it and the new memory he was creating in this moment.

            “He’s so ticklish!” Sokka laughed along with his friend, voice near incredulous in tone.

            “He really is,” Katara beamed, skittering her fingers over Zuko’s belly, which elicited an even stronger response. “Oooh, I found a good spot.”

            “He’s not even fighting back,” Toph stated, having released all the sand she had bended so each grain could slip off Zuko’s legs, freeing him. While not completely still, Zuko’s legs were not kicking out in the frantic hysteria they had all been expecting. Instead, his heels were just dug into the sandy earth in order to still and ground himself.

            “Are you having fun?” Aang asked, having moved so now his chin was atop Zuko’s head, with Zuko’s own head against Aang’s chest.

            “Yes?” Zuko attempted to nod, his own answer a question. He didn’t feel weird for enjoying it, but the way they had all acted earlier, specifically Sokka, made it seem that maybe it was a bit odd.

            “That’s great!” Aang nearly sang out, stopping his tickling to hug the Fire Lord from behind. Katara pulled away so she could watch the sappy moment unfold as Aang exclaimed, “Me too! We’re going to have so much fun from now on!”

            “Just don’t kill him, Twinkle Toes,” Toph chided, having a pretty good idea at the ideas forming in Aang’s head.

            “I won’t,” Aang replied quickly, upset at this accusation. “I’m just going to make sure he never has a bad day ever again!”

            “I dare you to tickle him during his next speech,” Sokka grinned which received him a glare that could have been much more intense from Zuko.

            “That could be fun,” Aang pondered, rubbing his chin.

            “I would actually kill you,” Zuko finally spoke, lopsided smile still on his face. “This was fun and all, thank you. Just don’t do it when I’m doing important things.”

            “Speeches in front of a whole nation is hardly important,” Sokka scoffed, then flinched back as Katara elbowed him in the side.

            “If that’s the case, I’ll just have to do it to you when we’re back home,” Katara teased, wiggling her fingers in front of Sokka’s face.

            “I can help,” everyone turned their heads as Suki called from the other side of the river. Lower lip set out in a slight pout, everyone laughed at Sokka’s expression.

            Zuko knew that Aang meant well and frankly, he was looking forward to whatever Aang had planned for him.

[switch-writer]

Giggles in the Wind

A/N: HELLO @tklpilled ! I was your Squealing Santa this year! I’ll be real, I haven’t actually PLAYED genshin impact except for once since Fontaine came out to get Neuvillette, so I was veeeery nervous about putting Genshin into my writing fandoms this year and figured if I did get one of the newer characters, I’d just speed through the game. BUT! I am possibly the biggest Scaramouche/Wanderer fan (other than you) out there! I was so excited when I saw Scara was the character you wanted written for! Ive loved reading your fics, especially with Scara so I was so glad I was able to write something with Scara for all the joy and writing of him you’ve given me and others! I’ve adored writing this fic for you and it was so much fun to come back to after taking a bit of a writing break before this. I hope you enjoy!! Also! Special thanks to our host this year! Our host was very very sweet as all of them tend to be and I want to thank our host for going through all the hard work to get this year of squealing Santa ready, especially with all the issues at first! Our host kept going despite the issues and it’s been an amazing squealing Santa! Thank you again! Enjoy the read!

Word Count: 1610 (before any edits)

Prompts: 1. character genuinely believing they're not ticklish and being proven wrong. 2. character refusing to admit they're ticklish while in the midst of laughter

Summary: After some denial, Traveler helps Scaramouche/Wanderer recall something rather foggy and distant in his memory with giggles and tickles.

Warnings: Tickles

“What—?” The Wanderer sneered upon being asked such a question by this.. silly, stupid… relax. Peaceful thoughts… or whatever the young god of wisdom told him to do… something like that, right?

Scaramouche’s thinking slowly… relaxed. The traveler. Oh the traveler, Aether always seemed to shock him in one way or another, whether it was by perplexing him or just saying something downright ridiculous to him.

“Ticklish.” Aether calmly spoke with a tone as soft as a… feather for lack of a better word.

“…Ticklish. Am I?” Another sneer. “Are you?”

Well… truth be told, Wanderer couldn’t recall if he had ever been tickled, not a memory to connect it with. Ever since he became.. well.. wanderer, some memories were.. foggy. He knew the word, ticklish, yet nothing was clicking with what it actually was. So no way he was ticklish. Whatever it was.

“No.”

The man with ravenette hair chose to deny, surely he wasn’t if he couldn’t remember. Ugh, stupid blurry memories. Sometimes he wished he didn’t just recall those horrible memories of what he’s done and actual positive ones! ..not that there were many.

“…I don’t really believe you.” The traveler spoke rather bluntly, causing Scara’s eyes to widen. “Then why did you even ask?!” He questioned with a rather cold tone, it’s like Aether didn’t think he knew what he was talking about! And… admittedly, Scara didn’t have a clue of what he was talking about, but that only served to fuel his defensive response!

“…I was hoping you’d be honest?” Aether claimed in the form of a unsure statement before adding onto his words. “No way anyone is truly not ticklish…” The traveler seemed to think upon his bold statement.

“…Well maybe I’m the exception. I’m not ticklish.” The anemo user attempted to declare. “Right, right.” Traveler agreed as Scara’s eyes softened as he sighed in relief. “Thank you.” He spoke calmly, his manners taught by Nahida showing through now that he was relaxed. Now he tried to brainstorm again, what was that tickling thing? It couldn’t of been normal, it had to be some weird thing people did that he would probably hate—

“gYAHAA—!” Before the puppet could hesitate or even hold it back, the… rather embarrassing in his opinion, sound left his lips, mixing with some… chuckle? That didn’t feel normal… and memories flew back into his head, no longer blurry or foggy…

Did he really sound like that? Scara cringed upon recalling a few moments back in his past life where he’d be laughing so hard that he couldn’t even think straight! No way he was that t…ticklish—

“EhehAAH—!” His body contours away from the sensation, his neck snapping itself over to face Aether.

No.

He knew that look.

“So you are ticklish.” The multiple element wielding traveler spoke the obvious in a taunting way, although playful. Meanwhile… Wanderer was cringing. Hard. This was so stupid, he thought.. it was so vulnerable, he thought.

“Am not!” He tried to deny adamantly, sticking his nose up. “I’ll have you know that—“ and blah blah blah— yeah yeah yeah… it didn’t go much further than those words before he was tumbling into the grass with the blonde haired boy on top of him, straddling his hips.

“A-Aether!” The ravenette tried to protest as Aether hummed in acknowledgement, lifting his shirt as a wave of dread washed over Scara… oh he recalled that feeling.

“w-wait.” Scaramouche softly spoke, his voice quiet yet gentle. “I-I know what I said… but I.. uh, don’t recall anything about this but that it feels… weird.”

“…Weird?” The traveler repeated as the puppet awkwardly nodded. “Weird..” “pfft— weird, huh?” Aether jokes, but seemed to be considerate of Wanderer. “I’ll start nice, how about that? I’ll let you have a warm up round. Just tell me where to start.” Where to start… he’ll be gentle and kind, what is there to worry about? Aha… erm… where should he start?

“…Hips?” “Oh you don’t want me to start there.” A pant of surprise appeared on Scaramouche’s face as he scrunched his nose. “Wh—?! Fine! You choose then!” And back to the grumpy old Scaramouche from before, he was practically pouting and crossing his arms… perfect!

“Oh Scara, don’t get all moody on me.. I’ll have to tickle all the grumpiness out of you.” Aether smiled softly as his fingers began to spider up his belly. The anemo user practically choked, a loud gasp escaping him as he clamped down his lips, his cheeks puffing.

“…Oh?”

“Mm—! Hmhmhph!”

“Prideful, are we?” The playful words left Aether’s mouth as he shook his head. “You’re gonna get it.”

As much as Scara wanted to say something snarky, he found himself… squirming as the traveler began to wiggle his fingers across his belly again, snifling every giggle bubbling in his throat, his cheeks slowly tinting red in embarrassment and held back giggles.

“Come on, let it out… you know you want tooo…” cooed Aether. “hmm… what would make the big bad grumpy wanderer laugh…” he mused out loud as he drummed his fingers on the ravenette’s belly, causing a wobbly smile to appear on his face.

And suddenly, the blonde gasped. “I know exactly what would!” Inspiration struck… or at least he pretended it did for dramatic effect.

Scara hesitated. “W-Wha? What are you doing—“ he felt the fastest skitters behind his knee he could ever recall, a loud squawk escaping him as he desperately stomped his sandals on the floor, his cheeks puffing as he desperately tried to keep his giggles in. Surely he’d let out a little giggle?

“Darn… I would’ve thought that’d get all the giggles.” Aether loudly sighed in an attempt to get a giggle. Nothing. Sheesh, he was harder to crack than he thought… wait! Aether kept scribbling and teasing behind Wanderer’s knee, as his other hand snuck all the way back up to his ribs… and pounced!

“Pfftkk—!”

Aether looked down in awe, Scara’s eyes squeezed shut before he burst into rather free spirited laughter, soft laughter.

“yOHOhohou’re mehEHEHEAN!” Exclaimed Scara, no better insults than that were coming to mind, giggles overflowing from his throat. “Don’t be so ticklish!” Aether teased as his fingers spidered and skittered around their respective areas, his right hand on his ribs finding those fleshy spots between each bone, digging into them as his left hand would slow down, his touch light as a feather before he’d speed up once again, driving the puppet mad with sensation.

“I’m—! N-nghhh—! N-NOHohot tihihihicklish—!” He fibbed through giggles stubbornly, refusing to admit it.

“You aren’t—?” Aether narrowed his eyes, skeptical and clearly onto his lie… yet, with all his pride, he claimed with his chest.

“I’m nohohot tihihihicklish!” The anemo user spoke through soft giggling, refusing to back down from his fib. Which… opened the door for something even worse.

“You’re not? Fine, fine..” Aether spoke in a dramatic tone, as his body shifted down to sit on his thighs, hands suddenly grabbed onto the wanderer’s hips.. which sparked a brief moment of confusion before… the blonde squeezed his hips once.

“NnnGGHH—!” Scara bit back with everything he could… but Aether squeezed his hip again, causing a burst of giggles. oh no.

Aether finally positioned his hands properly, massaging his fingers into the hipbone as his fingers squeezed and massaged the area, attacking the short(er) man’s nerves, finally getting a fit of that rather sweet and squeaky laughter.

“ehEHE—! Ahaha-! AHA!”

Unfortunately, it also cause Scara to start kicking.. again, but this time, rather uncontrollably, as if trying to buck Aether off his legs.

“Woah!” Aether yelped as he quickly dug into the ravenette’s hips, causing Scaramouche to throw his head back in hysterical laughter, a small snort escaping.

“H-HEHEey! A-AehEHETHER!” Squeaked out Wanderer, his nose scrunching as his smile was brighter than ever as he loosely tried to use his hands to halfheartedly shove the traveler’s tickling fingers away, barely any effort or strength in his push.

“Hm? Yes—“ Aether was cut off as he acknowledged Scara, a frantic giggle escaping from him as his back arched up. Ah, a sensitive spot on his hip… or did his fingers drift back towards his belly? Aether couldn’t tell.

Yet, Scara’s hand on Aether’s wrist never moved as he laughed, his head thrown back with his eyes squeezed shut… red cheeks and those frantic wheezes coming from him before he’d get more air and let out another boyish laugh.

“Wanderer?” Aether softly called as his fingers halted upon hearing the wheeze, tilting his head. “…All good?”

After a few deep breaths… giggles escape again, soft relaxed ones as Scaramouche gave a nod, keeping his head thrown back to just… rest right there… his hands releasing Aether’s wrists as he began to wind down.

“You may be the most ticklish in all of Teyvat—“ Aether teases.

“Sh-Shuhuhut up—! S-Shhh—!” Scara’s cheeks burned red as more breathless giggles escaped, his smile failing to turn downwards into a frown as he laid there…

The breeze blew on their skin, the sun of sumeru shining brightly upon them… adding to the peacefulness of it all.

“…Do you want more?” The traveler teased.

“Ohoho shuhut up!” Scaramouche snickered, shoving the blonde as he finally sat up… and put his hat which had fallen off back on, the small fabric pieces on the back of his hat flowing in the wind as the ravenette stared at the twin from under the hat…

Silence in the wind.

“…So, now that you’ve taught me how it works…” Scara began, his voice mischievous as he cracked a smirk. “…Are you ticklish?”

And came the giggles in the wind once more…