#squealing Santa

[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 🥲💕💕🫶

[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! 💜💧

[squealing-santa]

PAIRINGS ARE BEING SENT!

I'm sending out pairings as we speak! (or.. as I type this and as you read it...)

Currently, I've finished all participants whos usernames start with A, B, or C [EDIT: A-L are confirmed].

I'm giving tumblr a little break so it doesn't freak out and mark the blog as spam again before continuing.

If you don't receive an assignment message in the next 24 hours (i.e. before Wednesday 11am AEST) please send the blog a DM!!!

Thanks everyone!

[august-anon]

Dancing Away

Hello hello! Here is my @squealing-santa gift for the very cool @/wrestling!anon!!

I tried to pick out two of your prompts and did my best to hit them both, so I hope you enjoy! I also only went with two of the characters listed (Astarion and Wyll) because I feel like I can't quite grasp Gale's characterization yet, and I'm still only in Act 2 of my playthrough thanks to work so I have no idea what Halsin's deal is yet lol. I figured I'd write best with my own game's romance (Wyll) and the character I get the most spoilers for online (Astarion) lol. I hope my characterization works out well enough, and once again, I hope you (and other readers) enjoy!!

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Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3

Ship(s): Astarion/Wyll

Characters (lee/ler): Switch!Astarion/Switch!Wyll

Word Count: 2250 words

Summary: When Wyll asked Astarion to dance, he did not expect it to end in such a ticklish situation. He had no intentions of letting this go without a bit of revenge.

[ao3 link]

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Dancing, Astarion thought. How sickeningly sweet.

But of course, it was Wyll. Astarion wasn’t sure what else he had expected. He was rather the fairytale prince type, not really the kind you take for a quick romp in the forest. In fact, Astarion doubted Wyll would agree even if he suggested it. A younger man may have found it romantic, but Astarion only found it to be a hindrance. It tended to be much harder to manipulate people without sex involved, in his experience.

That is, if Astarion even wanted to keep going through with that plan. It was all so much easier before feelings got involved.

Of course, none of his plans meant that Astarion was willing to drop his snark entirely. “Tell me, does this actually work for you?”

Wyll raised an eyebrow at him and, of course being the cheeky little thing he was, suddenly pushed Astarion out into a wide spin before pulling him close once more. “You tell me. You’re the one who accepted the offer to dance.”

“Come now, darling. You can’t tell me that you don’t crave a bit more… physicality, hm? Intimacy?” He pulled Wyll even closer, adjusting his grip to be just this side of innocent.

Wyll laughed, his eyes cutting to the side to avoid Astarion’s. Astarion could hear his pulse quicken, could smell the blood rush beneath his skin.

“I’d say this is rather physical already,” Wyll said, “wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, you know what I meant.” 

Astarion snuck a few fingers beneath the hem of Wyll’s tempting little cropped shirt, sliding them up his side – only, he didn’t get very far. Wyll made a strange, strangled noise in the back of his throat as he buckled in on that side, now dancing away from Astarion instead of alongside him. Astarion froze in his tracks.

“Too far?”

Wyll stood up straight, rubbing at the back of his neck with that horribly endearing self-conscious chuckle of his. “No, no, sorry. You did nothing wrong.” He chuckled again. “Just a bit ticklish there, is all.”

A predatory grin spread across Astarion’s lips and he swept in close to Wyll once more, wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him flush. He watched Wyll’s throat bob. “So open with such sensitive information, my dear.” He tsked. “Seems a bit unwise, doesn’t it?”

Wyll rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Everyone’s at least a little ticklish somewhere – would do me no use in hiding it, now would it?” 

As he spoke, Wyll’s fingers snuck up Astarion’s own side, repeating the same motion that had Wyll dancing out of his arms. Astarion gasped at the sensation, wrenching himself from their embrace entirely on instinct. The sensation was unfamiliar and familiar all at once – something he knew he had to have felt before, but had no recollection of experiencing. He couldn’t help but stare down at his body as if it had betrayed him.

“See? Everyone’s ticklish somewhere.” Wyll paused, stepping closer. “Did– did you not know you were?”

“Trapped under control of my vampire master the past two hundred years – would you?” Astarion scoffed, refusing to meet his eyes. “Not exactly the time for warm fuzzies.”

“No. No, I suppose not.” After a moment, Wyll stepped closer again, lightly resting his hands against Astarion’s hips. “Never too late to find out, you know?”

Astarion couldn’t help but gape at him. “Are you suggesting I willingly allow you to exploit a weakness of mine for, what, your own enjoyment?” He smirked. “Why, Wyll, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Wyll laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Of course not – it’s just, you ought to know your own vulnerabilities, should you not?”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. Wyll’s grin turned sheepish – but only slightly.

“Alright. I am known to have a bit of a mischievous side.” His thumbs rubbed circles into the divots of Astarion’s hips, just the right amount of pressure to avoid a tickle. “But I would never take advantage of you in that way if you didn’t wish it.”

Astarion rolled his eyes, a fond smile spreading across his lips without his permission. “Gods, don’t be such a hero.”

The words were barely out of Astarion’s mouth before the soothing circles at Astarion’s hips became gentle squeezing. An undignified noise escaped him before he was able to seal his lips shut. He doubled over and scrabbled for Wyll’s wrists.

“I’m not hearing a ‘no,’” Wyll said, his voice filled with so much humor and fondness that it might’ve made Astarion feel ill if he hadn’t already been preoccupied.

“You ass,” Astarion replied instead.

Wyll clicked his tongue. “Maybe this will help teach you some manners.”

Astarion opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a rush of air as Wyll started wiggling his fingers up Astarion’s sides. While the squeezing had been gentle enough, the skittering of Wyll’s fingers was absurdly soft. The light touch was maddening in a way that Astarion couldn’t place, sending him squirming and lost to mortified giggles in mere moments. All of Cazadors horrible tortures, with his cold hands and rough grip, all of the people he’d lured back with his body, with their hungry touches and grasping hands, none of them could have prepared him for this – the delicate fingers of someone who cared for him (albeit through his own manipulation) picking him apart with such ease.

And the worst part was, Astarion found that he didn’t quite mind it. In fact, he actually rather liked it, as horribly embarrassing as it was. It was a kind of intimacy that he had never considered before, and one that wasn’t tainted with nearly so much history. And of course, the handsome smile spreading across Wyll’s face at Astarion’s ridiculous reactions was quite the bonus, even if it was at his expense.

Of course, it became much harder to think the longer Wyll took advantage of his sensitivities. Astarion had no idea that tickling could be so distracting, so consuming. He doubled over as those skittering fingers reached his ribcage, his hands coming up to try and muffle the laughter now escaping him. Wyll laughed along, and they both laughed harder when he managed to maneuver his hands up into Astarion’s underarms, causing him to stumble to the ground.

“Get out of there!” Astarion said, half-heartedly trying to shove Wyll away with one hand, while trying his hardest to shield his reactions with the other.

“If that’s really what you want!”

Astarion quickly learned that was the wrong choice, as Wyll shimmied his fingers out of Astarion’s underarms and swiftly set to poking and prodding around Astarion’s stomach. Through squinted eyes, Astarion could see Wyll watching his every jump and flinch, trying to catch his reactions through his fingers, no doubt cataloguing them to use exploit later.

“See, this isn’t quite so effective.” Wyll punctuated the sentence with a few playful squeezes to his sides.

“Seems plenty effective to me!” Astarion griped, trying to grasp for his hands.

Wyll cocked his head with a grin. “Oh, it certainly works, but you seem to do better with a… softer touch.”

With that, the skittering fingers were back, and a mortifyingly high-pitched noise burst from Astarion’s lips. It was absurd how much the method could change the intensity of the tickle, and even more absurd how badly a touch so soft could affect him. And of course, he was proved right in his previous hypothesis when Wyll seemed to focus particularly on the places he had made note of previously. All Astarion could do was roll around in the dirt and dead leaves, too uncoordinated to do anything to save himself even if he wanted to.

And then Wyll started jumping between certain areas of his upper body at random. His stomach, his ribs, his stomach again, his underarms, his hips, his sides – Astarion could barely keep track of the sensation. All he could do was laugh, no matter where it showed up next. His hips seemed to be particularly weak to this type of touch, and Wyll certainly enjoyed his time taking advantage of that. Even still, though all the playful torment, Astarion couldn’t say he exactly minded, though he would never let Wyll know.

And then Wyll’s fingers jumped up to Astarion’s neck, no warning at all. The tickle was still there, and certainly still effective, but Astarion’s breath caught in his throat. For the first time in all his squirming, he finally lurched away from the touch. One hand flew down to support himself as he tried to sit up, the other flying up to pry Wyll’s fingers away. 

Ever so attentive, Wyll pulled his hands away immediately. Instead, he moved to help Astarion sit up, rubbing his back as if to help him catch his breath despite the fact that Astarion didn’t really need to breathe anyways. It was a sweet gesture. Wyll was a fool. 

“No neck,” Wyll said. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

Astarion scoffed. “Please, as if there would be a next time in the first place. No, you’ve had your fun now, darling.”

Wyll only shook his head, a twinkle in his eyes. “Whatever you say, Astarion.”

“Speaking of fun–” Astarion ran a hand through his hair, trying to ruffle his curls back into place “– I believe it’s my turn.”

Wyll’s eyes went wide, but Astarion pulled him down to be flush with Astarion’s chest before he could make any moves. Though Wyll put up some semblance of a struggle, Astarion was easily able to roll them over, allowing him to loom over Wyll. It was almost endearing how little he was trying to actually fight back. Not to mention, few people would trust a vampire to put them on their back like this. If Astarion’s heart had still had a beat, he was worried it might’ve skipped one or two. As it was, he could hear Wyll’s heart give a stutter of its own.

Wyll gave him another one of those charming nervous chuckles. “Now Astarion, I’m sure we can talk about this.”

Astarion grinned, lowering his voice into a purr. “Oh my dear, you can talk all you wish. In fact, why don’t we start with whichever patch of skin is most likely to make you scream.”

“I’m no fool, Astarion. No man in his right mind would give up such sensitive information so willingly.”

Astarion leaned in closer, so his lips were brushing against Wyll’s ear. “Sensitive information indeed, hm?”

Wyll shivered, but at this point, Astarion was unable to tell if it was from pleasure or from ticklishness. Either way worked in his favor, so instead he set about his revenge. He started at Wyll’s hips, just as Wyll had begun with him, and started wiggling his fingers up Wyll’s sides and ribs. His giggles were music to Astarion’s ears as he shimmied back and forth beneath Astarion’s form. He tossed his head back with his giggling, baring his neck so temptingly, and Astarion couldn’t help but watch the way his throat bobbed with his laughter.

Still, Astarion wasn’t quite getting the reactions he desired. The giggles he garnered between Wyll’s hips and underarms were adorable, but it wasn’t what he was looking for. Astarion jumped down to Wyll’s sides again, giving them a few quick squeezes. He may have taken more than a few pointers from Wyll’s own attack, but it wasn’t as though he had much experience of his own to draw upon. Astarion felt his lips bloom into a devious grin at the flinch the touch garnered him and the louder laughter that followed.

“I see – you’re a bit opposite to me, then.”

Astarion could practically smell the blood as it rushed to Wyll’s cheeks, even if the blush didn’t show on his complexion. For the first time since Astarion began, Wyll started shoving at Astarion’s hands, though the laughter had clearly weakened him.

“Shut up!”

Astarion tsked. “Who knew the Blade of Frontiers was so easily embarrassed.”

He moved his prodding and squeezing inward, and finally Wyll shouted out a frantic, “Shit!” through his laughter. Wyll lurched up and tried to double over, not making it very far thanks to Astarion still looming over him. He scrambled for Astarion’s hands, fumbling blindly and ultimately making no difference to his torment.

“Ah – have I truly found my target so easily?”

“Yes!” Wyll shouted as he collapsed back into the dirt, his head thrown back once more as laughter wracked his body. “Yes, Astarion, please!”

Astarion slowed his fingers to a creeping spider, keeping Wyll in near-frantic giggles even with the light touch. He hummed thoughtfully. “But darling, how can I really be sure without completing my exploration? After all, most people would admit anything under torture.”

Wyll’s head tipped up and he stared at Astarion with wide eyes. Even still, he didn’t tell Astarion to stop. His blood may have been rushing, but it certainly wasn’t due to fear.

“Wait–” His voice was giggly and bright, his eyes clear from any distress.

Astarion hummed. “Condolences, but I believe I’m obligated to investigate further.” He leaned in close, their noses brushing. Astarion could almost taste Wyll’s giggles on his own lips, but he didn’t dare close the distance himself – he had to play this game at Wyll’s pace, after all. “Best prepare yourself for a long evening, my sweet.”

He certainly didn’t imagine the way Wyll’s heart sped up at those words.

[lopsicle]

Hi, @fictitious-fluff I’m your Squealing Santa!’I’m sorry this came out in the latter end of December, the holiday season was busy for me and this was my first tickletober!!

This was really fun to write, the prompts you left helped a ton as well!! Hope you enjoy it!!

It’s Not Like I Don’t Like It

Summary: During one of Caine’s adventures, the group splits off into pairs which leads to some very interesting discoveries between Jax and Ragatha.

Characters: Ler! Jax, Ler! Ragatha, rest of the TADC cast

Warnings: Tickle Fic

In The Amazing Digital Circus™, it’s residents could only be sure of one thing. Life would never be dull, whether they liked it or not. It took Pomni some getting used to, much like the rest of the circus members and just like everyone else, she still had no idea what to expect. Whether it was being strapped to a target and having knives thrown at you, being pulled out of a hat, having your limbs played around with like they were apart of a mix and match set, the possibilities were endlessly terrifying. Caine just couldn’t understand how to please them.

He’d set them off on another adventure today, lazily dubbed ‘Sticky Situations’, chosen from a list of hundreds and hundreds of repeated activities for them to be forced into enjoy. The adventure was simple enough though, everyone would be split into pairs and forced to stay with their partner until they found a key that would allow them to separate. And because Caine’s adventures could never be simple, if someone stepped too far away from their partner, they’d be shocked.

The pairings were odd, but fun. Pomni and Kinger, Gangle and Zooble and Jax and Ragatha. Surprisingly, Ragatha was the one to be outraged first.

‘Him?!’ She cried, stomping her foot against the ground and making an over-exaggerated gesture towards Jax. The rabbit looked offended for a moment, his ears growing stiff at the top of his head before he smirked, his beady eyes getting a little wider.

‘Aw, don’t you wanna spent time with me, Dollface?’ He teased, not caring for her answer, just wanting to agitate her. Zooble shot the man a look which he just shrugged off while Pomni looked sympathetically towards Ragatha. She took a step towards the woman, wanting to comfort her but as she was finding the words, another voice overpowered the room.

‘Now that the pairs have been selected, you all have FIVE SECONDS,’ Caine screeched energetically, his eyes popping out of his head for a moment, ‘to stand next to your partner!’

Almost immediately, a pair of hands scooped the small jester up from behind, pulling her away from the red haired woman.

‘Phew, Pomni, I was worried you were gonna get electrocuted!’ Kinger fretted, totally oblivious to what she was trying to do. Pomni nodded along awkwardly, deciding to go along with it.

Begrudgingly, Ragatha made her way other to Jax who decided to stay put, not caring enough to move and knowing his partner wouldn’t risk getting shocked. She had a face like a slapped bulldog though, frowning with her arms crossed over her chest, staring away from the taller man.

‘Alrighty then, enjoy the games and have a spectacular time!’ Caine announced, waving goodbye to the circus crew before disappearing to who knows where. Most of them dissipated fairly quickly, some of them even looking forward to their new pairings. Neither of those were applicable to Jax or Ragatha.

‘Are you gonna move anytime soon?’

Ragatha asked impatiently, Caine’s explanation wasn’t the best; she didn’t know how far she could get from Jax and she didn’t feel like getting shocked.

‘Mmm,’ Jax looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think before staring back down at Ragatha, ‘nah.’

Ragatha’s eye twitched in annoyance, looking about ready to explode in anger at him already. While that would normally be amusing, Jax didn’t have the luxury of retreating as he got an earful of frustrated rants, instead opting to grab Ragatha’s arm and yank her along as he walked.

‘Come on then, let’s get this over with before you throw a tantrum,’ Jax teased her but Ragatha decided not to fight it this time. At least he was actually doing something.

It goes without saying that so far, this was one of their worst adventures yet. They didn’t know how that was possible after going through what felt like an eternity of them, but this easily my took the cake. Their bodies awkwardly bashed into each other to other being shocked, they hadn’t said a word to each other since they started walking and they had no idea where to find the key to free themselves from this God awful social prison. It felt like they were running around in circles inside the circus, and the silence was not doing good for Ragatha’s mental state. The worrying woman was just staring at the floor, questioning if they’d ever find this key. It wasn’t abstracting levels of bad, but it was easy to see that it was taking a toll on her. Even for someone like Jax.

He thought of what to do for a bit, it would be so easy to just ignore it, and Ragatha would deserve it for how she’d treated him today…but this trip was boring enough as it was, the last thing he needed was for them to just not talk.

‘Hey, redhead,’ the rabbit called out abruptly, poking her where her ribs would be with a gloved hand. It took all of her willpower to not jump back and get the both of them electrocuted, though her eyes did widen as a loud squeak exited her mouth. Ragatha covered her mouth afterwards, like she was trying to force the reaction back in before looking down at Jax, whose grin had grown ten times wider. Her eyes narrowed at him, almost like a warning to not say anything. And he didn’t say anything, he just burst out laughing.

‘Pffthahaha, oh my Gahahd, dolly, your ticklish! That’s fuckin’ priceless!’ Jax nearly doubled over laughing, clutching his sides while Ragatha just looked around worriedly, her face getting redder and redder as she hoped no one was hearing him.

‘Shut up, Jax, it’s not that big of a deal!’ Ragatha exclaimed, but her words were honestly true. She doubted anyone else in the circus would care about the grand reveal of her being ticklish of all things, it may be a little interesting to Pomni who was still getting the hang of things here, the only person reacting to it were the two of them. Even then, she should’ve expected something like this from Jax, but being teased about being ticklish was especially flustering to her. Mainly because she…liked it. It was hard not to like to her, it was all warm and fuzzy and made her all squirmy, how could she not enjoy being tickled? Plus, it was like having her real, non-rag doll body again, it reminded her of being a real person outside the circus.

‘Oh, this is a huge deal! I can’t believe it took me this long to find this out…hey, whatcha say we make up for lost time?’ Jax said, his yellow smile getting even wider, taking a soft step closer to Ragatha. The doll in turn, looked up near him, not having the confidence to face Jax directly, especially with her face being so red. She opened her mouth but it was like her insides were completely empty, she couldn’t get anything out of her mouth. Not waiting for an answer, Jax’s hands shot down to Ragatha’s sensitive sides, immediately squeezing at them.

‘Jahahahahahahax!!’ Ragatha shouted from the touch, her hands clasping right over her mouth as her eyes went wide. The woman’s feet tapped against the floor repeatedly, doing her best to not move away. This really was the best worst possible scenario for her.

‘Yeeessss, Dolly?’ The man asked, acting like nothing was wrong here. His dexterous fingers crawled over to Ragatha’s tummy, scratching against the fabric of her dress. Curiously, he was starting to notice how she wasn’t really trying to squirm away from his fingers, it looked like she was bucking into them actually.

‘C-cahahahahan you nanahahahat?!’ The redhead ruffed, struggling to get her words out properly through all her laughter.

‘Well, Raggedy, I don’t think you want me to not,’ Jax mimicked her fractured speech just to tick her off more, but the woman seemed far more preoccupied with the fact that Jax was catching on so easily that she enjoyed this. Of course Jax of all people had to find out, this would be the worst for her! Though, it wasn’t like he stopped tickling her yet…maybe she could enjoy this for a little longer.

‘Juhuhust, shuhuhuhut up!’ Ragatha pouted, tilting her face away from Jax who pulled his hands away for a second, earning a disappointed look for a second. His eyes looked wider and intense, yet somehow had a playful shine in them.

‘Oh, no, no, no, you do not get to tell me to shut up and get away with it!’ Jax called her out before shooting his hands right under her armpits. And that was when Ragatha started screaming.

‘WAIAHAHAHAT, NAHAHAT THEHERE!!’ The woman’s arms clung to her sides instantly, squirming about on the spot with a desperate expression taking over her blushing face. Jax had gotten really lucky just now and landed on her death spot, though she wasn’t complaining. It was sort of relieving in a way, she’d be anxious of him finding this out ever since this tickling attack started so it felt like a weight was lifted now that this was out of the way.

Though, Jax was absolutely loving this. He wouldn’t admit that now that he knew Ragatha actually enjoyed getting tickled, well he didn’t know but it was pretty obvious, but being able to make her screech and laugh was definitely going to be a way for him to kill the time. He messily grabbed at her wrists, clumping them up to hold them with one hand. Then, he raised her arms above her head, leaving that precious death spot of hers on display.

Ragatha tried to wiggle her way out of his grip but it was pretty useless, a couple loose giggles of anticipation slipped out of her mouth, staring over at the rabbit to see when he was going to strike.

‘Alright, let’s see if you can handle this!’ He announced, treating it like it was some game. His fingers began messily poking around the hollows of her armpits to start with, but it quickly morphed into fast, deep scratching against her sensitive skin which drove the woman insane.

‘NAHAHAHAHAHA, I CAHAHHAAHHAN’T!!’ Ragatha admitted instantly, dropping all sense of embarrassment or shame about getting tickled by Jax. Bouncing around on her feet, Ragatha felt like if she was tickled for another second was going to die, or at least get the two electrocuted. While Jax may not care about the first one, he didn’t want to get shocked too and decided to take some pity on the woman.

His hands left her armpits, leaving them with a slight tingling sensation but for the most part, Ragatha recovered pretty quickly. Her face still had a red sheen to it but the shock and horror of the tickling session was passing her now. Until Jax spoke up.

‘Oh, I am so telling everyone about this.’

‘Don’t you dare!’

[13phantom13angel13]

Thief

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A/N: Hello! It is I! Your Squealing Santa! Surprise! You really gave me some damn good prompts and pairings. I had such a hard time choosing! Anyways, this was my first time writing for JJK. I hope you enjoy it! It was fun to write! Happy holidays! @giggly-squiggily

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The christmas season had rolled around at Jujutsu High. The pleasing aroma of gingerbread, peppermint, and chocolate filled the air of the dorms’ kitchen. Anyone who entered the building would be smacked in the face by the sweet scent…the sound of bickering.

Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto stood in the kitchen bickering with each other. Geto, wearing an apron with some flour and chocolate smudged on him; Gojo wearing a shit eating grin as he held up one of the fresh gingerbread men that was just pulled out of the oven.

“Dammit, Satoru! Would you quit eating the cookies!? You’re going to eat them all before we can even decorate them!” Geto snarled at him, swatting him away with the spatula he wielded.

“I will do no such thing!” Gojo argued back, dodge by him with ease as he took another bite of the cookie. “I can’t eat all of them in one sitting.” He smirked as Geto’s jaw clenched.

“That’s literally the third one you just ate. If you eat one more, there will be consequences.” He growled out in annoyance. Gojo chuckled deviously at the threat.

“I would like to see you try, my dear Suguru.”

Geto’s eye twitched as Gojo took another bite of the sweet delicacy he stole.

“Get your thieving ass out of the kitchen, you menace.”

The challenging grin that spread across Gojo’s face made Geto want to punch him. Then he spoke the famous last words.

“Make me.”

It was Geto’s turn to smirk as he set the spatula down on the counter, taking the apron off from around his neck as he approached the cocky pale haired man with cracking knuckles. Gojo’s grin fell as he recognized the mischievous twinkle in his boyfriend’s eyes. He gulped as he took a couple of steps back.

“Now, Suguru. Think about this.”

“Oh, I have thought about it,” Geto stated as he boxed Gojo in against the adjacent counter. “And I think this is a suiting punishment for your crime, cookie thief!”

Gojo squealed as Geto’s fingers descended upon his sides. Bubbly giggles came spilling past his lips as he squirmed in place.

“Suhuhuhuguruhuhuhu! Nohohoho fahahahahair!”

“It’s plenty fair! I told you to stop eating the damn cookies but you didn’t want to listen. Suffer the consequences!” He scolded as his fingers traveled across his stomach. Gojo giggled harder.

“Tihihihihickling is agahahahahainst the ruhuhules!”

“Pfft! According to whom, exactly? Not you, that’s for sure!” Geto’s fingers traveled up his ribs, his giggles turning into laughter.

“AH! NONONONOHOHOHO!”

Geto laughed with him.

“You sounded like Santa! That’s how you get into the holiday spirit. Not by stealing cookies. Now, are you ready to apologize?” Geto asked the near hysterical man in front of him. Gojo shook his head as wiggling fingers traveled higher on his rib cage. Geto clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

“Suit yourself.” With one hand, Geto attacked Gojo’s armpit. With the other, he grabbed his hip and squeezed in such a torturous fashion that Gojo actually screamed.

“FUHUHUHUHUCK!!! SUGURU NOHOHOHOHO!! NOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHERE!!”

Loud, boisterous laughter exploded from him as his knees buckled, sending him to the floor. Geto followed him down with tickling fingers still attached to their targets.

“Give it up, Satoru. We both know you’re too ticklish to keep this up much longer.” Geto said with a fond chuckle. Listening to his boyfriend laugh was one of his favorite things in the world.

By this point, Gojo’s cheeks had turned a pretty decent shade of red. Not enough to be alarming, but enough to know he was reaching his limits. Tears of mirth glistened in the corners of his eyes as he weakly batted at Geto’s hands.

“OKAHAHAHAY!! OKAHAHAHAHAY!! I’M SOHOHOHORRY!! YOU WIHIHIHIN!!” Gojo screeched in hysterics.

“Are you going to stop stealing cookies and leave me alone to bake in peace?”

“YEHEHEHEHES!! JUST STAHAHAHAHAHAP!! SUGURU PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!” Gojo begged as the first tear trickled down his cheek. That was his signal to stop.

Geto withdrew his hands and sat beside Gojo, rubbing his back gently as he caught his breath. Gojo peered up at him as he wiped his eyes.

“That was rude and uncalled for…” He panted softly. Geto gave him a flat stare.

“What’s rude and uncalled for is stealing my cookies. Now shoo. I have to finish up these cookies so they’re cooler enough to decorate this evening.”

“Yeah yeah. I’m going.” Gojo got to his feet, exchanging as gentle kiss with Geto as he walked out of the kitchen to leave his boyfriend in peace.

Lesson learned, Gojo. Don’t be a cookie thief.

[amazingmsme]

With a Bow on Top

AN: Happy holidays to all who celebrate, & especially to @tickles-tea I’m your squealing santa! I loved writing this, & I hope you enjoy! Added a lil festive flare to this one. HUGE thanks to @hypahticklish for hosting! & be sure to follow @squealing-santa so you don’t miss out on all the winter fluff!

Miguel sat on the floor of Peter and MJ's living room, half-used rolls of wrapping paper scattered about the floor around him. Peter himself was sitting next to him, completely transfixed on the movie playing "for background noise."

That lying rat bastard.

"You know, I only said I'd bring my universe's Grinch because you promised you wouldn't get distracted and actually help out. Which, you're not doing," Miguel said bluntly. Peter snapped out of his Christmas movie haze to defend himself.

"Sorry, but I've just never seen it before!" He reached down and grabbed one of Mayday's unwrapped gifts. Folding the paper around the box, he finished by sealing it up with a web. Miguel rolled his eyes.

"What? My gift looks way cooler than yours, you're just jealous of my artistic flare," he said smugly.

"Don't get me wrong, it looks great, but how's she gonna open it?" Miguel asked with a smirk. Peter's brow's nearly kissed his hairline as he came to the realization.

"Shit! Well, hopefully by Christmas it'll be weak enough to tear through," he finished with a shrug, slapping a bow on top and sliding it under the tree. As Peter reached for another present, he noticed a scrap piece of ribbon, much too short to fit around a box. Then, his gaze trailed over to his unassuming friend. Perfect.

He picked it up, fluttering it along the back of Miguel's neck. Peter can hear him gasp, and isn't that a lovely sound. He rolls his broad shoulders, arching his back and scrunching his neck ever so slightly. By the time he whipped around to glare at the perpetrator, he had already retracted his hands, hiding them innocently in his pockets.

Miguel looked him up and down before returning to his work. To his credit, Peter waited a few seconds before striking once more. Miguel sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, rubbing his ear against his shoulder to rid himself of the lingering tingles.

"Peter?"

"Hm?"

"I know you're not really working," he deadpanned. Peter sputtered in shock.

"I am too! Look, a perfectly wrapped gift!" he said proudly, holding out Mayday's present. Miguel looked it over, only half amused.

"You're right, a gift. So why not pick up the pace?" he challenged, tossing a Spider-Man themed basketball his way that Peter had planned on giving Miles. Peter caught it with one hand, and Miguel rolled his eyes. Showoff.

"How the hell am I supposed to wrap a ball?"

"I don't know wise guy, you're the one who got it for him." Okay, Peter wasn't sorry for what he was about to do.

He grabbed a marker off the floor and uncapped it with his teeth, making a satisfying pop sound. He barely bit back a snicker as he leaned in, quickly scribbling at the back of his neck. A strangled squeal caught in his throat at he snatched Peter's wrist in one hand, the other rubbing at his neck.

"You think you're funny or somethin'?" he asked with a cold glare.

"Hilarious, actually," Peter corrected with a shrug. Miguel scoffed and let him go.

"Go back to watching the damn movie if you're just gonna bother me," he suggested, grabbing a new tube of wrapping paper to switch things up. Can't have them all looking the same, now can we?

Why not both? Peter thought to himself, an evil grin growing on his face that rivaled the Grinch onscreen. He grabbed two pieces of ribbon discarded on the floor holding them poised to strike between his fingers. Miguel had his back turned, busy wrapping another present and allowing himself to get sucked into the movie. He was practically serving himself up on a silver platter. He really ought to know better by now...

Or maybe he didn't totally mind Peter's shenanigans. But that was a silly, fleeting thought.

Or was it? Only one way to find out.

Ever so quietly, he scooted closer to Miguel, snatching the marker off the floor. The grumpy Spider-Man was sporting a pair of ripped jeans. (He constantly made sure people knew he didn't buy them like that and that he earned those holes and rips.) A particularly large hole left his knee exposed and vulnerable for an attack... Perfect.

He let out a surprised snort, jerking his leg away before a chuckle could follow. They were locked in an intense staring contest, or glaring contest, on Miguel's part. Peter wore an innocent grin, though his next words were anything but.

"What's wrong big guy? Ticklish?"

If it were anyone else, they wouldn't have noticed the way he flinched at the question.

"No."

"Really? You're sticking to that lie?"

Miguel huffed, angrily slapping a bow on top of a present. "It's not a lie."

"Well in that case, I'm not ticklish either," Peter boldly proclaimed. Miguel looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Since we're being honest and all." Miguel grabbed a tube of wrapping paper, bonking Peter on the head in one swift motion before he even knew what happened.

"Don't forget I'm the one helping you," he reminded pointedly.

"Noted," Peter said, grabbing the tube from him and setting it beside MJ's new boots. For good measure, he started wrapping the gift until Miguel turned away. Then it was back to scheming.

He scanned the pile of unwrapped gifts for inspiration, smiling to himself when he spotted a handheld massager he got as a stocking stuffer.

"Hey Miguel?" he elected to ignore the annoyed groan he was met with, "Can you do me a favor?"

"No."

"Perfect! Just tell me if this massager is any good, okay? I don't want it to be too weak or painful, or not have enough settings." He heard Miguel sigh in defeat.

"Whatever."

"Thanks!" He scooted closer to him, turning on the X-shaped massager. At first he decided to play nice and actually work out the tension in his friend's shoulders before setting his plan into motion. He had to rebuild some trust, after all.

"Not bad, I think she'll like this," Miguel hummed, letting his head fall to one side as he began to relax. He was really watching the movie now, allowing himself a moment to enjoy it. It was one of the more heartfelt scenes of the film, and one of his favorites. He found he tended to like the more subtle, meaningful holiday movies rather than the over the top comedies and rom coms that dominated the season.

The last thing he was expecting was a dreadfully ticklish buzzing on his side.

His resolve gave way as he fell onto one side, loud surprised cackles spilling out into the room and drowned out the sound of the TV.

"Peheheter! Quit ihihit!"

"I'm sorry, what was that? I couldn't hear you through all that laughing. Which is weird, considering how not ticklish you are," he taunted, running the massager over his abs. Miguel curled in on himself, a giggly groan slipping out in response to the teasing.

"You're hohohorrible, you know thahat?" he asked, weakly swatting at Peter's hands, but to no avail.

Peter snorted. "Maybe to you."

The gentle vibrations traveled from his belly up his sides and to his ribs, causing the deep rumbling chuckles to build up momentum. Encouraged by this, Peter grabbed his wrist and wrestled his arm above his head, pinning it in place.

"Wahait!" he cried, trying to fend him off with his other hand. Peter grinned down at him, the textbook definition of smug.

"Okay. Well? What am I waiting for?" he asked, hovering the tool above his armpit menacingly. Miguel slammed his head against the ground in frustration.

"Gehehet off of me, you asshole!" he demanded through giggles.

"Why should I?" Peter challenged.

He just won't quit, will he? Miguel had no choice but to surrender, if they ever wanted to get done wrapping, that is.

"Fihihine, okay? You wihihin!" he conceded, rolling around on the ground. ,!"

"Wow, okay, so what do I win?" he asked, pulling his hands away to give him a breather. Miguel panted and glared up at him.

"I'm fuckin' ticklish, okay? There, happy?" he growled through residual giggles.

"Over the moon," Peter confirmed. He patted Miguel's chest as he let him go, crawling over to the pile of unwrapped presents. "No more funny business, I promise!" he assured. Miguel only rolled his eyes, a fond smile still lingering on his face.

"Yeah yeah, I'll believe it when I see it."

[carnivorous-parasite]

YIPPEEEEE JOYOUS KRIMAHHHHH !!!!!! :3

@ticklystarz IM UR SECRET SANTA JUMPSCARE!!!!! I HOPE U LIKE IT JEHDJDHDJDHJSJS :DDDDDD

(PROMPT WAS LER SOLDIER/LEE SNIPER, CHEER UP TICKLES!!! HOPE I DID OKAY I HAD LOTS OF FUN MAKING IT :3) LUV U POOKUMS /P

[lovelynim]

2 centimeters

Squealing Santa 2023 Genshin Impact - Kaeya & Diluc

A/N: Merry Christmas, Mango-anon! That's right, I'm your @squealing-santa this year!

Heheh, isn't it funny that we changed the roles? After getting a gift from you in last year's SS, I tried to come up with something just as special - hopefully I made it up to your expectations!

Also, I couldn't find any canon info about the characters' height, so let's just go along with this one, yeah?

I just want to wish you a happy holiday season and thank @hypahticklish for hosting the event again!

Summary: When you are decorating the place, 2 cm can make a lot of difference.

Word count: 1338 words

“I think I remember this one, brother,” Kaeya chirped happily as he gently pulled another decoration from inside that old chest. Pinching the string that was attached to the toy to hold it up to his line of sight, Kaeya admired the golden, star-shaped object as it brought him some old memories from his childhood. “Hah, last time I saw this one, we still-”

“Care to do something other than reminiscing?” Diluc interrupted, with a frown on his face. Letting out an audible grunt, the redheaded dropped another box on top of the counter - also full of decorations.

By the end of the year, the people of Mondstadt had the tradition of decorating their houses to celebrate the arrival of winter and to cherish the moments they had together throughout that year. At least, most of the people did it.

Diluc wasn’t sure when it was the last time he had bothered to do something like this. He was even more clueless about why he decided to do it this time. Maybe his change of heart had something to do with the traveler or the latest events? Maybe after spending so much time with that spoiled bard was, at last, affecting him? Maybe was he sick? Diluc didn’t know - and did it really matter at this point? He looked to the side, spotting Kaeya’s smug, amused glance at him. Diluc rolled his eyes.

“My, of course, brother. I just couldn’t help myself… All the sweet memories coming back to my mind,” Kaeya mused poetically - mostly to annoy his brother even further. “I’m sure the winery will look just as lovely when we are done decorating it.”

Kaeya quickly got back to his feet, starting to hang a few garlands near the entrance, adding the ones that resembled small berries and snow flakes to enhance the composition even further. The captain smiled, proud of his work. “What do you think, Diluc?” Kaeya sighed proudly, placing his hands over his hips as he admired the results of his efforts.

However, as more seconds passed by and there was no sign of answers from his dear brother, Kaeya repeated himself, this time also looking back. “Diluc? What do you… think…”

“Just- agh, just a second,” Diluc grunted, gritting his teeth and stretching his arm as high as he could. Standing on the tip of his toes and leaning against the shelves, Diluc tried to place a bright, golden star on top of a tree - a spot that was clearly out of his reach.

Kaeya scoffed quietly, surprised that his brother would find such difficulties in such a simple task. “Do you need a hand? I could lift you if you want-”

“Shut it,” Diluc groaned, planting his heels back into the ground - and if looks could kill, Kaeya would’ve been sent to Celestia right at that moment. Diluc, already having his patience running short, looked at Kaeya’s work.

His eyes, despite all the charming decorations, focused on a garland that hung right in the middle of the composition. Diluc did the math inside his head and that thing was standing almost as high as the tip of the tree and, with no stairs or chairs around, it seemed that Kaeya managed to reach that spot effortlessly. Diluc felt that sight leaving a scratch on his ego. “Yeah, it’s decent I think,” Diluc huffed.

“Decent? Well, it’s still a compliment from you, I suppose, so I’ll assume I did a good job,” Kaeya crossed his arms, with a smug look on his face. The captain looked around and, after a few hours of work, they were almost done with the winery’s decoration: all that was left was the golden star in Diluc’s hand. “Let me finish that for you, brother.”

“What?” Diluc arched his eyebrow, turning his attention back to Kaeya.

“I said: let me finish that for you,” Kaeya repeated while approaching Diluc, reaching out his hand, waiting for the star to be handed to him.

“There is no need, I can do it myself,” Diluc narrowed his eyes and Kaeya chuckled. “What’s so funny?” The winery’s master muttered, getting back on the tip of his toes as he tried to reach the top of the tree.

“How tall are you?”

“W-what?” Diluc gasped, feeling a faint heat taking place in his hands. “What’s with this all of the sudden?” The reddish tones began to take a brighter shade around the tip of Diluc’s ears, almost matching his hairtone.

“Just curiosity,” Kaeya giggled, standing by Diluc’s side. Kaeya placed a hand over the top of his own head and moved it, hovering it just a couple of centimeters above Diluc’s. “Oh, I’m taller, indeed. I never noticed you were the smaller one…”

“S-so?” Diluc sighed annoyed, getting even angrier when he saw the way Kaeya looked at him. “It’s just… what? 2 centimeters? It’s not that much of a difference, it might even be thanks to the heels of your boots.”

“Well, brother, you see, 2 centimeters can make a lot of difference,” Kaeya teased, looking up to the tip of the tree. “Come on, let me help you ~”

“I don’t need your help,” Diluc insisted, determined to shut his brother by placing that damned star on top of the tree.

“Suit yourself.”

Kaeya watched carefully as Diluc tried to reach that spot again, holding the golden star with the tip of his fingers, barely keeping a hold on it. Almost there… so close… 

“G-gah!” Diluc squeaked when he felt a pair of hands holding him by his waist. He felt another electric shock spread across his body when fingers dug into the spot - with just enough pressure so they could get a grip on his body.

“Q-quit squirming, you’re kind of heavy, you know?” Kaeya grunted, nearly getting hit by a flailing limb. With some effort, Kaeya managed to lift Diluc, getting him high enough so he could reach the top of the tree. “Hurry up..!”

“I- agh, aham tr-tryihihing!” Diluc choked on a laugh, struggling to reach out and place the star when all the nerves on his body were telling him to press his arms down his body. His brother being Kaeya, Diluc couldn’t be sure if that… feeling was a mere accident or something planned. “S-stohop squeehezing me lihihike t-that, you- ahah- ack!!”

“H-hoh?” Kaeya gasped, still managing to pull a tease in a situation like this. Diluc’s squirming was making it harder to keep him high up, but Kaeya would rather have them both falling to the ground than lose a chance to provoke Diluc like this. “H-how can you be… heh, this ticklish being this… short?”

“I’m nohot!” Diluc groaned, hitting Kaeya’s leg with his heel (mostly because of how his leg flailed than because he wanted to). 

“You’re not what? Short or ticklish? Because it looks like you’re both” Kaeya squeezed Diluc’s waist again and a strangled laugh escaped his brother’s lips. Kaeya smirked. “J-just put the star over there, my arms are getting tired.”

“If you- ahah, f-fine!” Diluc groaned in defeat, grabbing the tree with one hand and pulling it closer. Finding it more difficult than it should be, at last, Diluc managed to place the golden star in place, quickly tapping his brother’s hand. “D-done! Put me down! Puhuhut me down!”

“As you wish, brother,” Kaeya said, lowering his brother back down until he could place his feet on the ground - safe and sound. “See? It wasn’t that hard, was it?”

Diluc breathed deeply, telling himself mentally this wasn’t the time to call Kaeya names and deciding that, just this once, he would let it slide… that, of course, under one condition. “One word about it…,” he threatened Kaeya - so brotherly-like of him.

“Huh? Or what?” Kaeya provoked him again, poking Diluc’s side and making him jerk away with a sharp gasp. “Come on, asking your big brother for help it’s nothing to be ashamed of…”

“Kaeya, no.” Diluc warned, wrapping his arms around his torso, “I’m serious. Kaeya, nohOHOH!! KahAHAHayea!”

[forsssnaken]

Aziraphale's Literary Discovery

Important note: I am no longer writing stuff like this. It was a nice way for me to be happy while in a rather precarious mental state, but I no longer enjoy it all the same way I once did. I'm keeping it up as it was a gift, and there are still people who may enjoy it, but I am unhappy with my writing how it was in this fic, and I don't enjoy writing this stuff anymore. I still write good omens fanfics now, if you want to give me a chance there.

THIS. IS. A. TICKLING. FIC. COMPLETELY. SFW.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS @practickles!!! I am your squealing santa this year :)) I hope this is everything you hoped for and more!! (and now i can follow you without being worried that i'll blow my cover lol)

@squealing-santa

screw canon(/j), they are happy together and have tickles.

switch!aziraphale, switch!crowley.

cw: light mentions of alcohol/sobering up magically, cursing (because it's Crowley), using a miracle to pin someone that could be read as invisible bondage.

Aziraphale turned a page in his book, but wasn't really reading anymore. This had been happening more and more often: he would stop reading just to think about the demon who was currently asleep on his couch.

Aziraphale and Crowley had finished off some good wine last night, and instead of sobering up, Crowley had decided to sleep it off on the bookshop's couch. The angel had sobered up, reading all through the night with the occasional glance to the demon's sleeping form.

Honestly, Aziraphale prefers Crowley awake. He loves the demon's antics and being able to spend time together (although the serenity and calmness radiating off the demon's lanky form was delightful). He didn't technically need to breathe, but he did -- soft deep breaths that were almost soft snores.

Aziraphale quickly snapped himself out of the trance he had been in, staring at his friend(?), and glancing back at the book. It was a sweet romcom, one that left Aziraphale feeling giddy and with butterflies in his stomach. The couple in his book were playful, and in the current scene, were poking each other and giggling. This was a fascinating idea that humans called "tickling", which led to supposedly uncontrollable laughter and seemed like a sweet bonding exercise.

Something clicked in his mind and he looked back at Crowley asleep on the couch, limbs splayed out haphazardly. His tight-fitting shirt had risen a little, leaving a sliver of the pale skin of his lower stomach on display. Aziraphale gasped excitedly, looking back at his book where the tickle fight was happening. Supposedly, even small touches could lead to ticklish sensations!

He stood up, beginning to creep over to the sleeping figure, before realizing that Crowley could sleep through almost anything and walking over normally. The angel stared at him with wide eyes, glancing back and forth between his calm face and the sliver of exposed stomach. He tentatively reached out a finger, poking Crowley's abdomen.

There was a faint reaction, a small breath hitching in between small snores and Crowley squirmed a bit. Was Crowley ticklish?! How silly! How human! What a delightful discovery! He giddily clapped, then began tracing the sliver of exposed skin. Crowley huffed, squirmed, and scrunched up his nose a bit, before rolling over and crossing his arms over his stomach.

Aziraphale was ecstatic at his findings, and couldn't wait to enact something rather devious (by his standards)!

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A few days later, he woke a grumpy Crowley up from his nap (and if Crowley became less grumpy when he noticed that he was covered in a cozy blanket, the angel didn't need to know). Aziraphale had a mission: go on a date -- a Friend Date (he told himself, at least) -- and bring up tickling to him! The angel had an innate need to tickle Crowley now, see his presumably adorable reactions, and have the physical contact that the angel began to crave.

"Come on, Crowley!" Aziraphale grinned, pulling the demon into a seated position by his hand.

Crowley grumbled, "For what?"

Crowley seemed entirely uninterested, but in truth, he loved spending time with Aziraphale and would do anything if Aziraphale truly wanted to spend time with him.

"A picnic!" Aziraphale gestured to a wicker basket stocked full of goodies.

Crowley rolled his eyes (but was truly content with this plan), put his shoes on, and drove them to a gorgeous woodsy park. When they had found their own spot, Aziraphale spread out a blanket on the grass, sat down, and began unpacking some small sandwiches and poured them both a glass of wine.

"Not so much now, my dear boy," He handed Crowley the wine, "I'd like you awake for a little while. It's dreadfully boring being all alone and reading by myself!"

He got nothing but a grunt in return, but everything was perfect, so Aziraphale continued on with his ramblings.

In between bites of his sandwiches, he told Crowley all about the books he had been reading, but especially about the lovely rom-com he had just read.

"They had such a lovely relationship! Human love just excites me so much! They do so many sweet things together, not unlike us!"

"Ngk-" Crowley choked slightly on his wine and turned a bit pink, but Aziraphale didn't seem to notice.

"They certainly touched a lot more than we do, though, Crowley!" The angel pouted.

Crowley shrugged, "We're not having sex."

"Crowley!" Aziraphale's mouth gaped as he gasped, smacking the demon softly on his leg, "Don't say that! They touched plenty without sexual implications!"

Crowley sipped his wine, not needing to respond.

"They cuddled, and kissed, and even- well," Aziraphale cut himself off, suddenly a bit embarrassed.

This now intrigued Crowley, who sat up a bit, and looked at Aziraphale, scooting closer so they were side by side.

He teased Aziraphale, "Oh? Was it sexual then? You realized I was right and you were wrong?"

Aziraphale huffed indignantly, "No! I'm just not sure if you even know what it is!"

Oh, Crowley was so up for a challenge. "I'm sure I would! I know much more about humans than you do."

Aziraphale leaned closer, grinning and placing a hand on the blanket behind Crowley, so they were almost touching. "Oh really?"

Crowley smirked and nodded, taking his sunglasses off and stowing them safely in the picnic basket, so he could look at Aziraphale in the eyes to show him how serious he was.

"Yes, they were tickling each other!" Aziraphale grinned, hoping that Crowley wouldn't know about tickling, so he could teach him.

"Oh, that? How would I not know about that?" Crowley didn't let anything slip, so Aziraphale thought it might be possible that he just didn't know.

"Yes, I think that's quite intimate," Aziraphale reached out and placed a hand on Crowley's knee, "it seems sweet to me!"

Crowley grumbled, avoiding eye contact awkwardly. "What, is this your way of asking me to tickle you?"

Aziraphale stammered, protesting quickly, "Why would I want that?!"

Now it was Crowley's turn to look offended, "There's nothing wrong with wanting that!"

Aziraphale was now slightly grumpy; this wasn't how it was supposed to go!

Crowley had that devilish (albeit attractive) grin across his face, placing a hand on Aziraphale's side.

"This wasn't how this was supposed to goHO-" Aziraphale smacked a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

Crowley, that evil, evil demon, had squeezed Aziraphale's side! What a terrible thing for his corperal form to feel! Aziraphale, in all his planning, could not have anticipated this!

A small smirk crept across Crowley's face as he put the other hand on Aziraphale's clothed side and squeezed a few times in a row.

Aziraphale's hands flew down from his mouth to his sides, weakly pushing at Crowley's hands as he laughed heartily. His smile was beautiful. It was, well, angelic.

Crowley was right. Aziraphale thought this was quite nice. He hadn't laughed this hard in a while, and seeing Crowley's enjoyment of his reactions was amazing!

Crowley smiled widely, skittering his nimble fingers along Aziraphale's gorgeous plush stomach, before refocusing his attention on Aziraphale's thighs. Aziraphale's magnificently scrumptious thighs, currently busy with Aziraphale's frantically kicking feet. Crowley stopped, giving Aziraphale a small break, before placing his hands on those delightful thighs.

Aziraphale was not worried in the slightest; he had never heard of someone's thighs being ticklish, just the usual suspects like the upper body, feet, neck, and hips. But thighs? That seemed silly... until Crowley started squeezing them.

Aziraphale barked out a laugh, falling gently on his back as he was unable to hold himself sitting up. He made noises that were so embarrassing: he even squealed! Crowley was unwavering in his ticklish squeezing, grinning broadly. Aziraphale was laughing harder than he ever had, his head shaking back and forth as he laughed frantically, beginning to push at Crowley's hands again. This was Crowley's cue to slow down, and he moved his hands back up to the angel's stomach to gently trace shapes as Aziraphale recovered.

"Y- you're evil!" Aziraphale gasped, still giggling.

"I'm a demon, that's kind of the whole point," Crowley deadpanned, although unable to wipe the smile off his face.

Aziraphale caught his breath, then grabbed Crowley's hands. Crowley's eyes widened slightly, but he tried to play it off, scoffing.

Aziraphale sat up quickly, pushing Crowley onto his back and pinning him there with shocking strength. Crowley looked at him confused and began squirming awkwardly. Aziraphale had fully sat on his hips, pinning his arms above his head as he leaned over the demon, their faces quite close together.

"What? How did you-" Crowley stammered, baffled by Aziraphale's strength, "What are you doing?"

Aziraphale grinned, excited to give Crowley all the exposition of his plan. "When I was reading that book, I tried tickling you, when you were asleep. I poked you, and you reacted! I have to try it again!"

Crowley blushed a bit, before retorting, "Angel, anyone would react to being poked. I'm not ticklish, I'm a demon. Being ticklish is all- cute and innocent. I'm neither of those things."

"I beg to differ," Aziraphale grinned, slipping his warm hand under Crowley's tight shirt, beginning to trace circles on Crowley's stomach.

Crowley's brain short circuted. Not only was the angel on top of him, but he was touching Crowley more intimately than they'd ever touched. And Crowley did feel something -- was that being ticklish?

Crowley squirmed, averting his eyes from Aziraphale's as he clamped his mouth shut.

Aziraphale, ever so oblivious, was slightly upset that it didn't really effect Crowley like it did when he was asleep. Maybe he was controlling his reactions? Maybe he truly was right and wasn't ticklish!

Aziraphale huffed, "You really reacted the other day, I promise!"

Crowley was trying his best to not react, his serpentine eyes flicking towards Aziraphale's well-manicured hand, still tracing under his shirt.

"Ngk- just give it a rest, angel!" Crowley sputtered, feeling giggles (Yes, giggles! Demons aren't supposed to giggle!) bubbling up in his chest.

Aziraphale was starting to feel a bit hopeless; he thought it would have been incredibly endearing if Crowley was ticklish. The demon barely smiled (not counting his mischievous smirks), and Aziraphale would love to hear him laugh, truly laugh, for the first time in years. Aziraphale pouted and decided to give it one last go.

He poked Crowley in the side.

Crowley gasped, jumped, and made awkward eye contact with the angel on top of him.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, was ecstatic! A giddy smile broke across his face.

"No, angel, no. I was just startled-" Crowley said quickly, squirming.

"Oh my dear Crowley, my dear silly demon..." Aziraphale grinned.

"No angel I-" Crowley couldn't focus on being called Aziraphale's, due to the imminent danger of him being tickled.

Much to his dismay, Aziraphale began ruthlessly skittering his fingers over Crowley's stomach and sides. Damn his fashionable outfits! The shirt he was wearing was incredibly thin and did nothing to protect him from the angel's attack.

Crowley tried to keep his mouth shut and hide his reactions, but his attempts were futile. He burst out into loud laughter and squirmed as much as he could (which wasn't much). It made sense why tickling was used as a torture method in the past; he would have given up any secret that Aziraphale could ask for in this moment! Although, there was something nice about it: the intimacy, the giddy feeling, and Aziraphale's touch gave him a rush of happiness.

"Why are you laughing, my dear boy? Thought of something devious? Scheming?" Aziraphale laughed along with Crowley -- for such a supposedly evil being, he sure had a contagious laugh -- and scribbled his fingers even faster. "Or are you just... ticklish?"

And if Crowley's cheeks turned an even deeper shade of pink, he hoped Aziraphale didn't notice.

"You're- teasing- me!" He sputtered indignantly, through bright, happy laughter.

Aziraphale paused, pretending to look offended, "No I'm not! I'm simply asking questions to figure out why you're laughing so much!"

In the midst of talking, he wasn't paying attention to what his hands were doing. His hands moved down to the hem of Crowley's shirt, causing the demon to jump, eyes wide.

Aziraphale's eyebrow raised quickly, "Oh?"

Crowley shook his head, stammering "No," and tugging on his hands.

As both of them knew, although the angel's corporeal form was strong, Crowley could easily have gotten his arms free by non-human means. Maybe he just didn't want to.

The most devilish grin to ever cross an angels face suddenly appeared on Aziraphale's. He let go of Crowley's arms, but not before preforming a miracle that kept his arms trapped in place, taut above his head.

Crowley's snake-like eyes grew wider as he tugged frantically on his arms, beginning to giggle nervously. His whole 'bad boy' persona was completely gone now, and he was quite enjoying this (though he'd never admit such a silly thing).

"Oh Crowley," Aziraphale teased, wiggling his fingers at the squirming demon, "are you prepared for your demise?"

That shut Crowley up.

Until Aziraphale did something truly evil. Something so evil that even the higher-ups in Hell couldn't dream of. He repeatedly squeezed Crowley's hips.

Crowley made the most embarrassing noise possible -- he squealed.

"AAAAZiraphale!!!" He laughed, wiggling as much as possible, "YOU BASSSSTARD!!"

Curse that stupid hissing. Usually he was able to disguise it, whenever Aziraphale caught him off guard with accidental(?) flirting or made a silly joke that a big bad demon like himself shouldn't laugh at. Speaking of laughing, Crowley was laughing more than he ever had in his life.

And it felt amazing. Having his angel so close to him in such an intimate way, literally on top of him. He was able to let his guard down.

The angel gasped, "What did you just call me, my dear boy?!"

Aziraphale skittered his fingers around Crowley's stomach and sides, relishing in the rare and genuine laughter.

Luckily, although neither of them could be sure if it was intentional or not, Aziraphale's miracle that pinned Crowley's hand was slowly faltering. Crowley didn't realize (he was laughing too hard to think about much) until his arms subconsciously snapped down to grab at Aziraphale's hands.

Aziraphale paused his attack, concerned about his friend(?). Crowley looked at him, as his leftover giggles became slightly more devious.

Crowley latched his clawed hands onto Aziraphale's clothed sides and rapidly squeezed, disrupting the power that Aziraphale had held over him, and toppling them both over onto their sides, facing each other.

Aziraphale tickled Crowley back, angelic giggles pouring out of his mouth.

"You- you're such a demon!" He exclaimed through loud laughter.

Crowley nodded, squirming closer to Aziraphale as they tickled each other.

They were practically cuddling as their fingers slowed to tracing each other's abdomens, softly giggling.

Aziraphale stared into Crowley's gorgeous auburn eyes and was struck with a sense of overwhelming love.

Crowley's smile was wider than it should have been from leftover giggles as he watched the angel and his smile and gorgeous face. As if God Herself had heard his thoughts, sunlight struck the angel's face in a certain way where he looked like he was glowing (although he may have been radiating an otherworldly glow from overwhelming happiness).

They stayed there for a while, in each others arms, staring lovingly into each other's eyes.

If you made it this far, thank you. Reblogs help writers and artists on tumblr a lot, so consider reblogging if you enjoyed <3. If you'd like, send me an ask if you want to talk about anything (related or unrelated to this fic), as it motivates me to write more.

[supermarvel-fics]

You Say Embarrassing, I Say Cute

merry (early) christmas @galacticlee3 !! I was your squealing santa this year <3 i was so happy to be writing this for you since I love writing ler!spencer and I know you enjoy my work. hope you enjoy!!! special thanks to @squealing-santa for putting this together ❤️

word count: 1,400

pairing: spencer reid x reader (romantic)

summary: reader needs a massage and Spencer tries helping

“God, my neck is killing me,” You sighed, rubbing it gently as you rolled your head from side to side. “Next time, remind me to stretch before taking down a 250-pound killer.”

Spencer laughed quietly, his head down as he read the files, but his eyes flitted up to you. He watched as you attempted to massage your own neck, noticing how it was alleviating your pain. “I don’t think stretching would help. He slammed you against a wall. What you’re experiencing is mild whiplash.”

“Well, it hurts,” You groaned, leaning forward in your seat to rest your elbows on your knees, hands cradling your heavy head. Spencer shut the file, his attention now fully onto you. He had been watching you a lot recently. You caught his attention early on; a giggle Spencer had never heard before had him asking JJ who you were. She explained that you were an internal transfer to the BAU. You’d been working in domestic terrorism before.

He was smitten with you since then, but wouldn’t dare say that out loud. Though, he had an inkling that Penelope already knew. She was good at reading people romantically.

He longed to be the one to care for you; holding your hand when things got scary, hugging you when you were down, making you hot tea when you were sick. He battled with his own thoughts as he observed you sighing in defeat.

His hands were nimble and mildly cold, but maybe he could help.

“I—” Spencer started, cutting himself off before he could finish. His stomach churned with a nervousness he’d never experienced before. Your head slowly lifted to catch Spencer swiveling his chair back to face his desk.

“What, Spence?”

Spence. He loved it when you called him that. Before you joined the team, JJ and Emily had been the only 2 to ever coin that nickname and while he never minded it, he wouldn’t say he loved the way it made him feel when it spilled from their lips. With you, it made a fire ignite in his chest.

Spencer cleared his throat and anxiously fiddled with his fingers. “I was just—um, well… I could try and h-help if you want. With your neck, you know…”

You smiled, more at Spencer’s stuttering than at the offering he gave you. He was normally timid in social conversations—a sharp turn from when he’s authoritative on a case—but it was endearing. You knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Spencer had taking a liking to you. Flattered wasn’t the right word to describe how you felt about it. Possibly enchanted or ‘mutual’.

“You really wouldn’t mind?” You asked him, already knowing his answer. Spencer perked up and gave you a tight-lipped smile, shaking his head. “Because that would be very helpful.”

“I’m not saying I’d be particularly good at it, but I can try,” He replied, voice shaking slightly. He was nervous, but looked terrified. You giggled and shrugged the best you could without putting yourself in discomfort.

“It’ll be fine, Spence. Anything at all would probably help,” You said, turning your desk chair around so that your back was now facing him. You heard the squeak of his as he made to stand up, then the pitter of his feet as he sauntered to stand directly behind you. He let out a breath and you shivered slightly as the cold air of it just barely grazed your skin, sending goosebumps down your spine.

“Where is the center of your pain?” He asked you. Lifting your right hand, you pointed to the base of your neck.

“Here, mostly. And a little near my shoulder blades,” You answered, suddenly shy about the situation. It’s just Spencer—no reason to be nervous. Holding your breath, you awaited Spencer’s touch and once he finally made contact, you flinched.

“Sorry!” He said, immediately retracting his hand.

“No, no, Spence, it’s fine! I just can’t see, so I didn’t know when you were about to touch me,” You assured him, chuckling under your breath. “I’m ready now.”

“You’re sure?”

You smiled, even though he couldn’t see. “I’m sure.”

Still, you held your breath and tensed out of instinct as you felt Spencer’s hand rest on the back of your neck. He gently pressed into the place where your neck and back met with his thumb, easily becoming more confident as he felt you relax under his fingertips.

“Right here?” Spencer questioned you. You hummed a short and quiet response and he grinned wider at you. “Just tell me if anything hurts.”

Spencer worked his fingers in that spot until your skin began turning red from the continuous rubbing, then slid his hand over to the crook of your neck on the right side. You squealed and shrugged your shoulder up, trapping his hand.

Realizing what you’d done, you released him, swiveling around in panic. “Oh, God! I’m sorry! I just… well, I’m a little…”

“Ticklish,” Spencer smiled, finishing your sentence for you. You blushed as your head fell, eyes looking into your lap.

“Yeah. I thought I’d gotten over that… It’s so embarrassing,” You mumbled, bringing your hand up to your neck to cover up the ticklish spot.

Spencer, on the inside, felt like he’d just won the lottery. What better way to get close to someone than to tickle them? On the outside, though, he kept his composure. He reached out, placing his hand on your arm, prompting you to look up at him.

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s a normal response. Everyone is at least a little ticklish and anyone who says they aren’t, are lying. It has to do with nerve endings. And you can’t just get over being ticklish,” Spencer explained, sneakily reaching down with his free hand to pinch your side gently. You yelped and looked up at him, unaware that a smile was creeping onto your face as well. “Now, turn back around. I’ll be careful.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, obeying his words. Your chair squeaked at it pivoted back to its previous position. Spencer’s eyes shifted to where your hand was still covering your neck and smirked to himself before wiggling his finger into your armpit.

“AHA!” You whipped your elbow down and leaned forward. “Spence!”

“Your hand was still on your neck,” Spencer shrugged, an uncharacteristic shit-eating grin on his lips. You grunted and situated yourself back against the chair, sighing dramatically.

Spencer went back to massaging, putting enough pressure not to tickle you, but as he moved to that spot between your shoulder blades and he braced his other fingers onto your ribs, you giggled again, arching away from him.

“Spencer! You said you’d be careful!” You chastised him.

“I was trying to help you!” He replied, going to squeeze at your ribs again. “It’s not my fault you’re too ticklish to handle it.”

“WAHAHA! Noho!” You laughed, squirming in your seat. “Ihit’s embaharrassing!”

Spencer began tickling every exposed spot he could find, watching as you attempted to block each and every one from him. He clicked his tongue. “There’s nothing wrong with being ticklish! Everyone is.”

“Spehehence!”

“Now, repeat after me: ‘it’s okay to be ticklish’,” Spencer ordered, contracting his fingers into your sides with vigor. Had you had any control over your body, you might have stood up to get away from his attack, but you knew that you weren’t strong enough to stand. Plus, you didn’t actually mind TOO much.

“I’m nohohot saying thahat!” You yelled back through your giggles.

Spencer tickled up your torso, forcing his hands under your arms and vibrating his fingers as best as he could. That really got you laughing. “I’m not stopping until you admit it.”

“OKAY, OKAY, OKAHAHAY! IT’S OKAY TO BEHEHE TICKLIHISH!” You belly-laughed, a snort sneaking out at the last second. You instantly covered your mouth, whining and cradling your head in your free hand. “I can’t believe yohou made me snort.”

“It was cute,” Spencer responded quietly, surprisingly confident in his tone. He shuffled to stand in front of you, squatting down so that he was face to face with you. “I think everything you do is cute.”

In shock, your head whipped up, smiling at his confession and that the pain in your neck was basically gone. “You… you mean that?”

“Y-yeah,” He stuttered. “I do.”

Your eyes roamed his face, taking in every inch, and you bit your lip. “Well, I feel the same.” You reached out and grabbed his forearm, rubbing your thumb against his sleeve. “But I have a question.”

His eyes shot up to meet yours. “Anything.”

“You said that everyone is ticklish…”

“Yeah…”

“So, that means you are too, then?”

And with the fear in Spencer’s eyes, you already knew you had your answer.

[helloitsghost]

Pest in the Side

Merry New Year and Happy Squealing Santa 2023 for @alexielve :D sorry it’s so late😭

Image ID:

A digital illustration depicting Miles Morales, Peter B Parker, and Mayday Parker from Into The SpiderVerse. Miles is suspended upside down from his webs. Peter is on the right, and Mayday is strapped to Peter by a baby carrier. Peter is tickling Miles on the armpit and Mayday on her foot while calling a friend explaining how he is tickling them to “teach them a lesson”. (Not shown) Miles and Mayday were bothering Peter repeatedly for attention so Peter retaliated. Miles is suspended in the air in hysterics trying to apologize to Peter through his laughter. And Mayday is giggling as her father tickles her foot.

Image Caption:

Peter: “Oh yeah don’t mix the kids, had to teach em a lesson.”

Miles: “EEEK- P-PETER I-IM SOREHEHEEHHEE AHAHAAH!”

I prob will reblog with a color update as I’m super happy with how it looks and it’s my first time drawing spiderverse :3

Special thanks to @squealing-santa and @hypahticklish for hosting!

[squealing-santa]

Hey Magic Makers!

With about 5 days until posting begins, I wanted to check in with everyone 😊

[alexielve]

HELLO EVERYONE!! This is a bit late but Merry Christmas! This year, I got @woollymutt for the squealing santa event, sooo I hope you enjoy your gift! Thank you for hosting this event again Hypah! @squealing-santa

Pairing: Miles x Hobie (PLATONIC !!)

Warnings: This is a tickle fic, if it's not your cup of tea keep scrolling!!

Being spiderman was never easy, whether it was saving whole dimensions from collapse or being shoved against a train violently and being told you were a mistake. Miles definitely could say he wasn't fond of his job, but hey, it's what had to be done. In between all that, there was definitely an added bonus to having the abilities he did, like having to run from a very annoyed Hobie who was chasing after him.

"MILES. GET BACK HERE YOU BRAT"

"WAIT- Wait Hobie let's talk about this yea?"

If you're wondering what got Miles into this situation, let me enlighten you. Earlier that day, Miles and Hobie were hanging out in his Hobie's dimension (It's the perfect place for crashing, can you blame him?) and unbeknownst to him, he had eaten something Hobie was waiting on eating all day.

"YOU ATE MY BLOODY FOOD MAN, GET BACK HERE."

"I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS YOURS I SWEAR! I'M SORRY!"

The chase had started at least ten minutes ago, but no matter what Miles did and no matter how many sharp corners he bent, he could never seem to get Hobie off his tail.

"MAN CMON I'M SORRY I'LL GET YOU MORE- Wait huh?"

Miles paused mid swing, and landed on a roof, with no sign of Hobie at all. Sighing with relief, he took a seat and laid back, closing his eyes.

"Finally, not being chased by that annoying, angry brit."

"What was that mate?"

Miles jumped and opened his eyes, screaming slightly as Hobie immediately pinned him down before he could escape.

"How did-"

"I was here the whole time, don't question it. Now what were you saying about me being an annoying, angry brit?"

Miles squirmed and smiled nervously, seeing how Hobie's face had a mischievous but still mildly annoyed grin on it.

"Wait- Wait Hobie I swear- I'm sorry man cmohon-"

Hobie huffed at Miles' frantic squirming and pleading, but in response, he only switched their positions so that he held Miles in his lap, lowering his hands closer and closer to the younger spider's tummy.

"Your sorries won't get it back, and I think I deserve some revenge for you calling me annoying yea?"

With that, Hobie dropped his hands, drilling deep into the muscle of Miles' tummy.

"sHIHIHIT- HOHOBIHIE IHIM SOHOHORRY-"

"Yes yes I know, I want to see you laugh as well so you're stuck until I get bored. Who's a ticklish little spider Miles? I think you are with how much you're laughing~"

Miles went red at the teases and laughed harder, thrashing in Hobie's hold, but no matter how much he squirmed, Hobie had a solid hold on him.

"Stop squirming mate jeez, you're more like a wiggly snake than a spider."

Hobie chuckled and switched to squeezing and pinching at Miles' sides, drawing out sweet giggles from the younger.

"IhIhI proHohOmiHihise- IhIhi wohOhon't stEheheaL yOhour foHoHOod-"

"Yea? Good~ Now onee last thing~"

"WAIT NOHO- NO- HOBIHIHIHIE-"

Miles threw his head back as he burst into loud cackles, caused by the continous onslaught of raspberries that were being blown on his neck.

"Okay okay I'll stop now, you're so ticklish."

Hobie chuckled as he paused, allowing Miles to curl up into a ball, still giggling from the residual tingles.

"So have you learnt your lesson?"

"Don't steal food unless I really need it."

Miles laughed as he ran off again, jumping and swinging away from where they were.

"OH YOU BRAT COME BACK HERE."

[sunstone-smiles]

The Crying Game, With a Twist

Author’s note: Merry Christmas / Happy Holidays everyone! And happy holidays to @cutesmokes! I’m your Secret Squealing Santa! 🎁 It was a pleasure writing this fic for you and writing for the characters of Elemental for the first time! Naturally, I rewatched the movie for research purposes, so I hope did them justice! I hope you enjoy!

Once again, a big thank you to @hypahticklish / @squealing-santa for hosting the event! Now on to the fic!

Series: Elemental

Characters: Wade and Ember

Word count: 2,700

Provided prompt: [Elemental: Ember and Wade (More of tactics but yeah -) kisses/ raspberries/cheer up/games]

Summary: After a slight baking incident involving an attempt at making fire food, Wade becomes disappointed that he didn’t make kol-nuts properly, despite his efforts. However, Ember finds a way to cheer him up with a round of the crying game that has a few different rules than how he remembers it. 

_ _ _

A surprising wave of heat engulfs Ember as she walks through the apartment door. Smokey air, yet with a pleasant aroma like the burning logs of a fireplace, fuels her senses. She closes the door behind her and moves further into the apartment, following with her eyes an airborne trail of smoke coming from the kitchen. A familiar figure stands behind the counter.

Ember places her bag on a nearby table, her gaze fixated on the kitchen. “Wade?”

“Ember!” Wade jumps and juggles a tray between his hands to keep it from falling. He regains control of the tray and slides it on the burners of the stove. “Sorry, I didn’t see you come in.”

“You seem to be busy,” she says cheerfully. She then catches a glimpse of a second tray on the counter. Charred spheres, stacked in the shape of a small pyramid, are on the tray. On closer inspection, many of the balls are lopsided, but Ember recognizes the look of the rounded snacks anywhere.

Ember points to the tray. “Are you making kol-nuts?” a smile grows as she asks.

“Yep! Or…trying to anyway,” Wade replies with a bashful shrug. He positions himself in front of the stove, where a pile of logs awaits him. “That last batch came out a little toasty,” he says over his shoulder, “but don’t worry! This next one should be perfect.” 

Wade picks up a pair of metal tongs. He grabs both ends of a log with the tool, dips the log into the open flame of the stove’s burner, then begins the attempt of crushing the log into a rounded shape with the cooking utensil. 

Usually, kol-nuts are made with the bare hands of those that can control their own flames. However, for a water person like Wade who’s missing those elemental expertise, he needs assistance from tools that can help him handle the flames and the compression process of the logs, hence the use of the tongs. 

“I think I’ve got the technique down,” Wade mentions. Everything moves smoothly as he starts to crush the log between the grip of the tongs, but the closer he compresses the log towards the desired shape, the more difficult it becomes. His momentum begins to stall. He squeezes the handle of the utensil as far as it’ll move together, even adding his second hand to gain more force. Despite his efforts, the kol-nut does not compress into a perfect ball.

Wade nervously laughs over his shoulder and releases the lopsided kol-nut on the nearby tray. He grabs another log with the tongs, dips it into the fire, and tries again. He clearly struggles.

Ember tries to peek over at his work, “Wade-”

“All good here!” Wade reveals a second nervous laugh and misshapes another kol-nut. He places it on the tray then picks up the pace with the other logs, partially in a panic. He squeezes each of the logs one by one, distorting their shape and placing them on the tray like a well-oiled machine with a malfunction in its production.

“Wade-” 

“Everything’s fine! Totally fine!” He drops the last kol-nut on the tray, picks up the sheet, then spins around to show Ember the finished product. 

“See!” he breathes heavily, “Kol-nuts!” his face shows a false smile. His facade of an expression falters the more he looks at the charred piles of failure in front of him. The corners of his mouth finally drop in defeat. 

“Burnt…hard…and completely the wrong shape,” he slides the tray on the counter and his head droops. He shuffles his way to the sink to throw the tongs in with a metal clang. As he does this, Wade’s mouth quivers and he starts to cry. Ember quickly goes around the kitchen counter.

“Oh, Wade. Don’t cry,” she grabs his hands. She reaches up and tilts his face towards her, showing him a soft smile to say that it’s going to be alright. 

Wade sniffles. He wipes away tears with the back of his hand. “I know, I’m sorry.” Another stream of tears replaces the ones he had wiped away. “It’s just that, I wanted this to be special.” 

Ember reassures him, “Wade, you even making the effort to bake them is special.”

“But I wanted the kol-nuts to be perfect,” Wade stares at her with tear-filled eyes before another stream of his sorrows runs across both of his cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Ember takes his arm and leads him to the couch. She gently plops him down on the (fireproof) cushions and sits next to him. “Take it from me, making kol-nuts for the first time is hard, not to mention how difficult it can be to control the consistency of the flame. Sure, they might be a little lopsided, but they didn’t come out so bad.” She pauses to smile. “Plus, I don’t mind them well-done with a bit of extra char.”

Wade lets out a chuckle at that. 

“See,” Ember wipes another tear from his eye. She wraps her hands around his neck to soothingly rub across the back of it. “So there’s nothing to be upset about.” 

Wade chuckles again.

“What?” Ember giggles too, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Wade says with a third chuckle and squishes his neck to his shoulders. He gently grabs one of Ember’s wrists that was rubbing the back of his neck. “Your fingers are tickling me.”

“Oh, sorry,” Ember releases a soft laugh of her own. She pulls back her hands, but notices that Wade’s face still has a hint of a crestfallen expression. A mischievous idea pops into Ember’s thoughts.

“Hey, I know what will cheer you right up,” Ember switches the subject. “How about a round of the crying game?” 

“Really?” Wade tilts his head at her. “But I was just crying a minute ago,” he gestures to the kitchen as if to provide context to his statement. “Any mention of my attempted kol-nuts and you would easily win.” His back slumps forward.

“Ah, but I’m talking about a different version of the crying game.”

Wade straightens up a bit. “A different version?”

“Yep. Instead of trying to make someone cry tears that are sad, the other player’s goal is to make their opponent cry tears of joy.”

Wade laughs. “Where did you come up with this?”

“Just now,” Ember replies with a grin. “So what do you say? Want to play?”

Wade perks up a little more. He shows Ember a soft smile. “Okay.” His eyes scan around the room in search of something. “But don’t we still need a timer?”

“Nope!” Ember leaps for him and tackles him into the cushions.

“E-Ember!?” Wade exclaims. “This isn’t part of the ga-ahahame!” Wade’s sentence suddenly overflows with giggles when Ember starts tickling the upper half of his torso, where his ribs would be if he had them. 

“It is now,” she says with a smug look. 

“Ohoho, I see how you’re trying to win!” Wade squirms backwards to reach the arm of the couch. “Well, game ohohon!”

Ember grins. With the game in full swing, Ember darts her hands to his sides, causing Wade to bark out a laugh. He quickly slaps both of his hands over his mouth, letting out a snort. Through the clear water of his hands, Ember watches as the corners of Wade’s mouth twitch upwards the longer he attempts to contain his laughter, nearly boiling over with giggles like a tea kettle. 

“Trying to hold in your laughter, huh?” Ember smirks from above him. “Not on my watch!” She dives her hands into Wade’s underarms, resulting in him clamping his arms down with another jolt of laughter.

“Ehehehember!” He successfully eases his laughter down to a giggle, purposely controlling himself from exploding into tears of joy. 

“Yes Wade? Is there a problem?” Ember says with a smirk laced in her words.

“P-Prohohoblem? Nohohope! No problem at ahahall!” Wade snickers through his sentence. He kicks himself back further on the arm of the couch and tries to curl himself up. Any attempt to keep himself from bursting into a tsunami of laughter. He can feel the drop of a single joyful tear start to form.

“Really? Because it looks to me like you’re about to lose the crying game,” Ember teases, seeing that she’s reaching closer to victory. The playful, yet competitive spirit burns up inside her.

Wade tries his best to feign an unfazed demeanor. “Noho way! I’m nowhere close to cryi–ING!” Wade leaps like a large wave crashing into the ocean when Ember scribbles at the center of his belly. The dam containing Wade’s laughter finally crumbles and a flood of the joyous sound pours from Wade.

“Gotcha now, Wade!” Ember exclaims, clawing at his tummy with one hand while the other lies on his chest to pin him down. “Caught you by surprise didn’t I?”

“Surprihihihise is an understatement! Hahahaha!” Wade wiggles. He takes some lighthearted shoves at Ember and her hands.

“Well, I don’t see those happy tears yet! So time for a second surprise!” In less than a second, Ember takes a deep breath and presses her lips to Wade’s stomach to give him a big, tickly raspberry.

The squeal that comes from Wade is nearly high enough to shatter glass. The combination of heated air from Ember’s fire sends an extra tickly reaction across Wade’s entire stomach of water, like the bubbles of carbonation surging across his entire torso.

“Ehehehehember!!!” Wade screeches with laughter, kicking his legs in front of her. His expression lights up with a smile even wider than before, one that nearly takes up his entire face. Tears of mirth finally spill across his face like two waterfalls. Ember smiles with success, and for good measure, provides him with a few more raspberries across his tummy.

“Nohohohot ag-AIN!” Wade arcs his back and pushes at Ember’s head.

“Again?” Ember teases. “If you insist!” she says and delivers another raspberry on his stomach, making Wade squeal.

“I GIHIHIHIVE! Yohohohou win!” Wade squirms from side to side to protect his tummy, until he rolls right off the couch. 

Ember perches herself on the cushions, looking down at her partner with a giggle. “You good, Wade?”

The man of water flips himself over like a seashell being turned over in the sand. Giggles still trickle from his system, even as he sits himself up.

“That was evil,” Wade jokes as he wipes a leftover tear of joy from his eye.

“Sorry Wade, but I had to cheer you up somehow and those are the rules of the game,” she shrugs with a smile. Ember turns to lift herself off the couch, “You also got me fired up with the competition–Whoa!” Ember falls back to the couch from Wade wrapping his arms around her in a hug.

“Hold on a second,” Wade says as he pulls Ember tighter into his arms. “You had your turn at the crying game,” his voice rings with innocent mischief. “Now it’s my turn.”

Ember gasps. She tries to pull herself out of his hug, only to realize that her arms are pinned to her sides. She nervously giggles, “Uh sorry! But that version of the crying game only has one round so–Eeek!” 

Ember cuts herself off with a squeak when Wade plants tickly kisses to the back of her neck. An abundance of giggles and squeaks from Ember follow as Wade continues providing her neck with kisses.

“Wahahade!” Ember giggles and squirms in his hug. She lets out another high squeak when Wade blows a raspberry into the side of her neck, returning the favor. Ember tries to twist her head and squeeze her neck to her shoulders as squeaky laughter pours from her like melted glass. With another effective raspberry to her neck, Ember attempts to pull herself from his grasp. 

“Not so fast, Ember!” Wade tightens his hug, now changing tactics and using his hands wrapped around her to scribble at her sides. 

Ember unleashes a squeal and tugs herself forward to escape. Wade loosens his hold and the forward momentum causes Ember to plop face first into the cushions. With her arms free, Ember quickly tries to launch herself over the side of the couch, but Wade catches her by her sides and squeezes her torso. 

Ember releases another adorable squeal and sinks her head into the cushions to hide her face. Wade chuckles, skittering his fingers up and down Ember’s sides. “Aww, that squeak was so cute.”

Ember lifts up her head to throw her voice behind her. “Quiet yohohohou! It was nohohot cute!” she attempts to deny it. Feeling fingers nearing her underarms, Ember curls herself up into a ball and rolls over onto her back, now facing Wade. She grabs at Wade’s hands and flails her limbs while a bright smile lights up her already illuminated face of fire. Her eyes are squeezed shut and an eruption of laughter flows from her like lava. An amber-colored tear forms at the corner of her eye, like dew about to drip from a flower.

Wade notices the liquid gem below her eye. “Aha! A tear of joy! I win!” Wade pulls away in victory, allowing Ember the chance to relax. She lies flat on the cushions with a hand on her middle, taking heavy breaths like a train burning coal to keep pushing up a steep mountain. But instead of stream releasing from an engine, residual giggles release from Ember with each exhale. 

Wade lends her a gentle hand to help her sit up. “Are you alright?”

“Hehe, yeah,” Ember wipes away the tear of fire from her eye. “Looks like we’re both winners of the crying game this time.”

Wade giggles. His eyes catch sight of his baked snacks still sitting on the counter. “At least one thing ended in a win today,” he mentions. “What are we going to do with the kol-nuts? Throw them out? Ah, but that would be such a waste.”

Ember places a hand to her chin, thinking. An idea clicks, and she speaks up before Wade can start crying sad tears again. “I’ve got an idea. Watch this.” 

Ember lifts herself up to go to the kitchen. She grabs two mugs from the cabinet, milk from the fridge, and a box of chocolate powder from the pantry. With the same effortless speed she uses to make her glass art, Ember pours some milk into the mugs, heats them up quick by grabbing the bottom of the cup with her fiery hands to skip using the stove, drops a spoonful of cocoa powder into each, stirs, then places two of Wade’s homemade kol-nuts into both.

“Ta-da,” Ember grabs the mugs and heads to the couch to hand one to Wade. “Kol-nut hot chocolate. Try it.”

Ember passes a mug to him. Cautiously, Wade takes it. He looks at the liquid, then takes a sip. He smacks his lips together. “Hey, this is really good.”

“And it was made with your kol-nuts.” Ember soaks the kol-nut in her own drink like a cookie dunked in milk. She plucks the treat from her mug and takes a bite, now that the rock-hard form has become softer, then finishes her mouthful. “The flavor isn’t bad! Not as good as mine of course, but not bad!”

Wade bounces with an airy laugh. “Thanks Ember.”

“What are you thanking me for?” she takes a seat next to him. “You made them. So, thank you for making them.”

“No, not about that. About you cheering me up.”

“Oh,” Ember smiles as she hears his words. “Of course Wade. You’re welcome.”

Wade takes another sip of his hot chocolate. “Things are better when we work together, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ember nods. “Meaning next time, I’ll help you with making kol-nuts to get the batch just right.”

Wade chuckles. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He returns a softened expression and holds out his glass towards her. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Ember repeats and clinks her glass to his. She leans forward to give him a kiss. For the rest of the night, the two sit and enjoy their hot chocolate—made specially with the combined elements of each other's assistance.

[rosileeduckie]

Mean, but Sweet

After all this, I don't know, the naughty list doesn't seem so bad...

Patton can be very mean, if it makes someone else happy 😈💙

Potential warnings: none. Sanders Sides, Janus/Patton tickle fic.

A Squealing Santa Christmas gift for @trashyswitch! Hoping it's worth the wait, and wishing you the happiest new year! 😊😘 Thanks so so so much @squealing-santa Hypah our hero for hosting this year!! Lots of love for everyone who participated; congrats everybody!! ❤❄

Word count: 6,406

~*~

There’s something very attractive about winter. The season is uniquely deep and dark, and Janus can’t help but thrive when there are shadows aplenty, easy to hide in and hide things in. A societal expectation to make nice with everyone also leads to the hilarious sight of people performing their “best life” routine by lying through smiling teeth and juggling a million more responsibilities that, no, they definitely don’t need help with. What could he say, it all made Janus feel very at ease, in the presence of deceit wrapped in pretty paper.

But, then, he wasn’t so cynical this year. He blamed his cohorts for melting his too-small heart over the course of the year to the point where he could now appreciate the whimsy that twinkling fairy lights give to a chilly winter evening. Still dark, but warm, too.

Metaphorically and literally warm–it was not quite a winter wonderland outside the house. Still, the lower temperature and earlier sunset and merry decorations and seasonal flavors in Janus’ mug and the obnoxiously patterned and colored sweater on his body really did make it feel like Christmas. Certainly, the Mind Palace could have been nestled in a snow globe setting if the Sides so desired, but they were partial to their host’s house in Florida. It wasn’t a white Christmas, but it was cozy and homey and–Janus could begrudgingly admit–nice.

Janus was skillfully juggling two mugs as he walked into the living room. In one hand, he carried a peppermint mocha in a plain red vessel, simple and hot. In the other hand, he held a mug covered with scenes of snowmen decorating a pine tree with little birds. The contents of that mug were just as extravagant and sweet: gingerbread spiced hot cocoa completely obscured beneath a layer of marshmallows, whipped cream, and sprinkles.

When Janus set the dessert in a cup on the coffee table, Patton looked up and smiled, his eyes really sparkling under the lights of the room’s opulent tree beside which he sat. The mug was just the newest addition to Patton’s station at the coffee table. Before him were a few sheets of notebook paper, a quill and ink, and a desk lamp and extension cord, which Janus stepped carefully over to sit on the couch just behind Patton.

“Aw, Janus!” Patton beamed, setting down his quill to reach for the mug. “Thank you!”

Even if the gap was seeming to narrow these days, Janus couldn’t help but marvel at how different he and Patton were sometimes. What an easy but incredible show of trust; any of the other Sides would have asked Janus what he wanted in return for such a thoughtful and good deed. (He would have answered “nothing,” but whether or not that was true, who could say?) “Not a problem,” Janus replied, taking a sip of his own drink. “How’s the naughty list looking this year?”

Patton giggled. He had a mustache of sweet fluff on his lip as he set down his mug and drew his quill. “Oh, I can’t say about that. But I do know Santa will have lots of ideas as to what to get you kids if you DO stay on the nice list.” He dipped the quill tip in his inkwell, humming with an audible grin. “Of course, I can’t imagine why you WOULDN’T be on the nice list…”

Janus crossed one leg over his knee and tapped his foot in a subtle but delighted rhythm. “Patton, lying at this time of year?” he tutted. “That nice list is slippery, you know. And lying around me, no less.” Janus leaned forward enough that the hissing chuckle that spread his lips into a smile could tickle Patton’s ear. “Is that my Christmas present?”

Ducking out of reach with a snort, Patton replied, “It’s not lying if I believe you all deserve the best gifts.” He turned to give Janus a boop on the nose with the fluffy end of his quill. “And it’s NOT the gift I have written down, I’ll have you know.”

For a moment, Janus’ eyes caught on the feather–a beautiful thing of blue and iridescent greens and purples that felt as soft as it looked–but curiosity shook him free, and he looked past the writing tool, blurring the beautiful colors as he focused his gaze on the page of just-dry ink. “It’s not?”

“Hey now!” Patton threw out his arm and leaned to one side so as to block Janus’ view. “No peeking!”

Undeterred, Janus didn’t fall back, just snickered and looked at Patton levelly. “What? I hardly need to know what you think I need for gifts.” He rested his chin in his hand, batting his eyelashes and tapping his cheek with his index finger. “But, say, what if I need ideas for our gift swap with the others? You know how hard Logan is to buy for.” (Untrue; Logan wasn’t hard to buy for, just irritatingly specific, which took out all the fun of surprising someone with their gift. Janus did love a good surprise.)

Eyes narrowed, Patton considered this before shaking his head and turning back to his makeshift desk. “No peeking,” he reiterated firmly. “Sensitive information here, for no one’s eyes but Mr Claus himself.” He paused, musing, then smiled. “Or his secretary. He is a busy guy.”

Janus nodded with a humoring hum. He sipped his coffee, nonchalantly scooting on the couch to be closer to Patton. If the scribe noted the movement, he didn’t mind, even leaning back against Janus’ calf and continuing to write. Janus waited a moment, then another, letting Patton’s guard slowly fall. The snake was hardly invested in letters to Santa Claus, but he did enjoy teasing and getting a rise out of Patton. And, who knows, maybe Janus would end up with someone with a scant wish-list and need a gift idea or two to fall back on. When the air felt calm enough to chance it, Janus leaned forward to peek over Patton’s shoulder.

Quick as a cobra, Patton had whirled around, brandishing his feather quill at Janus. “AH!” he admonished, tipping his head to one side and flashing a warning smile. “You better watch out.”

“You better not cry,” Janus replied with a smirk, leaning back a bit with his hands and mug raised placatingly. “Or what, Patton dear?”

Patton’s lower lip puffed out thoughtfully, and he hummed, clicking his tongue a few times. Janus waited, eyebrows raised and lips crookedly elevated. Then, Patton’s scrunched up thinking face relaxed before brightening into a big smile. He didn’t answer Janus’ question, just turned back to his list. Moreover, he didn’t move away but stayed close enough to be leaned up against Janus’ leg and, potentially, surely, observed by Janus’ looming eyes. The risk was worth the reward, and it would have been punishment to both of them to move apart. (It was nature for a Side, however deeply buried; even the prickliest of them liked company and a cuddle. And pushing their luck.)

Janus took a long sip from his drink and sighed, opening his mouth exaggeratedly wide both because it felt nice and because it tended to freak out any Sides who saw. He leaned forward, reaching purposely past Patton to set down his mug on the far side of the coffee table, securing for himself the perfect view of Patton’s cursive scrawl as well as the ideal perch to view it from, his chin resting upon the soft sweater fabric of Patton’s shoulder. Actually, it was cozy enough there, warm and soothing to the tune of Patton’s breathing and humming, and hard enough to read Patton’s handwriting from that distance, that Janus was content to close his eyes and not even try to peek. So he jumped a little, blinking in confusion, when Patton spoke again, but not quite to his current companion.

“‘And what do I ask of you dear Janus? Well, Santa, that’s quite simple. For my dear Janus, I want him to get the biggest and best–’” Patton paused, striking through the last word of his dictation with a flourish. “‘–the WORSE lee mood for Christmas.’”

Patton glanced sideways at him and smiled when Janus snickered. His head bobbed a bit atop the pleased wiggle that shook Patton’s shoulders. It wasn’t exactly a difficult thing to ask for for Christmas. The Sides, different as they could be, could all find fun in being tickled or making someone else laugh, so moods longing for one or the other were not uncommon. Sure, Virgil was more likely to be yearning for an onslaught of gentle belly tickles, whereas Remus would be more often found with fingers twitching in hopes of digging up screams from between someone’s ribs, and Logan could slide back and forth along that scale in a second. But still, it was a safe bet that someone in the Mind Palace was hoping to be or happy to be tickled. Because even if, somehow, no one was actively in a lee mood, one could pretty easily be teased out. Janus fell in the middle of the chaos, fluid like Logan in the part he was ready to play–tickle monster or squealing victim–and not one to be easily teased into a mood–not to be knocked over with a feather, so to say. Sure, seeing Patton twirl his feather quill thoughtfully and being actively threatened with a lee mood–not even being tickled, just infected with the desire to be–may have flustered Janus well enough, but he was cozy enough where he sat to weather the attack. So he only smiled, smug, closing his eyes and staying cuddled up, however awkwardly leaning, up against Patton’s shoulder.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so trusting.

“‘The kind of lee mood that makes you feel so warm and giddy and fuzzy,’” Patton went on, and Janus could hear the big smile around his words, “‘like just thinking about being tickled makes you feel tinsel between your toes and snowflake soft feathers on your belly. I want him to be so happy and flustered that he can only giggle and hiss and do that cute thing where he shakes his legs and taps his feet.’”

They didn’t live in a place with snowy winters, but Janus felt a phrase often used in that region come to mind: deceptively sunny. It was the scenario when one looked out the window to marvel at a beautiful winter landscape, blanketed in crystalline snow and brilliant beneath a crisp blue sky and bright sun, only to step outside and take in a breath that felt like a crackling snap in the lungs. Sunny, but cold. That was Patton. Warm, friendly, happy, but, just beneath, positively wicked. Freezing cold and sharp under a pretty sun, a hot spiced drink under sweet white fluff. Janus felt his stomach turn, swoop like at the drop in a roller-coaster, and burst with a blizzard of butterflies. He couldn’t look away from Patton’s quill as it bobbed, scrawling teases into paper that Janus was suddenly jealous of. Okay, maybe he was easier to tease a mood from than he cared to admit.

And perhaps Patton could read his mind, because he conveniently exclaimed, “‘Oh, and teases! Yes! He needs to get all the teases that make his cheeks go red and his scales change color!’”

Janus’ scales were certainly not doing anything of the sort when Patton paused in writing. He pursed his lips, smiled, and jumped back into his letter.

“‘And, you know, I think this mood’s gotta last until Christmas day, so maybe you can send him some tickly dreams in the meantime, too! Maybe twelve days of them would be fitting?’” Patton’s tongue poked between his top and bottom teeth as he giggled. He cleared his throat, donning a more serious face for continuing his letter to Santa. “‘If that’s too much, don’t worry about it; I’d be happy to take some of the work off your hands. I’m actually writing this letter to you with a beautiful feather quill I got for my birthday–Roman said he just knew I’d get a kick out of being fancy while writing letters. But it’s a beautiful plume, my favorite kind of teal blue and so soft to the touch.’”

‘Writing’ was a stretch; Patton wasn’t even touching the pen to the paper anymore, just twirling the pretty thing between his fingers. It was as long as a hand, with the non-writing end fanning out into a subtle fluffy curl. Its fibers seemed to float lazily as Patton waved the quill around, and Janus imagined they were so delicate as to not even be felt–until they found a place so sensitive on the body that they wouldn’t be ignored. Janus’ usually dark eyes and slitted pupils were bright and dilated, focused so on the gossamer feather that he took little note of Patton looking sideways at him, watching his reactions, with a grin.

Patton sighed dreamily. “‘I bet it would feel so nice tracing down Janus’ neck or around his belly or along his hips. Or circling every scale he has.’” When he smirked at Janus, he would have seen the scales on his face flushed a dark brown-gold. “‘Maybe what I should actually ask you to bring is a good tickle session for Janus on Christmas, and I can do the teasing the twelve days before. Whatever you decide, please know that I am a very good judge of character, and I know that Janus has been SO good this year–’”

Janus’ stomach did another giddy loop-de-loop when Patton chuckled and adjusted his glasses.

“I suppose you’re right, Jan; I should be honest, shouldn’t I?” Patton winked, and Janus’ face may have been warm enough to toast marshmallows on. “‘I know that Janus has been VERY naughty this year, and, so, deserves only the sweetest, meanest, most thorough lee mood, teasing, and wrecking that he’s had all year. And, if your present to me is that I get to deliver this for Janus, I certainly wouldn’t complain. Sincerely yours, Patton.’”

Patton’s smile didn’t falter when Janus stood abruptly from his seat, but his eyebrows did rise expectantly. “I’ve finished my coffee,” Janus answered before Patton could ask. “If you’ll excuse me.” Clutching his half-full mug tightly in his hand, Janus skirted widely around the coffee table and death sentence of a Christmas list. He stopped short at the bottom of the stairs, turning to give Patton a forcibly cool nod. “Thank you for your company.”

After a few startled blinks, Patton snorted and held a hand to his rosy freckled cheek. “Signed, sealed, delivered,” he said to Janus with a grin and a shake of his head. “It’s a little too late to try and get on the nice list now~”

Janus fled calmly up the stairs, ears flushed at the last sight of Patton waving the feather quill to him in farewell.

~*~

The teal fluffy feather was all Janus could see, later–minutes? hours? days? he really couldn’t say–when he lay buried beneath his duvet, trying to pat the heat and smile from his cheeks. The trick really was not to think about it, all the lovely teases Patton had wished for him, but how could he do that when that damn feather was running rampant in his brain, dusting all his thoughts to make them tickly. He had just finished his coffee, too, so he couldn’t even hope to drift off for a cozy little nap. It’d be just his luck though; he’d probably get a dream that would fluster him awake or the second he awoke.

With a huff of a sigh, Janus threw off the covers. If the call was coming from inside the house, there was no point in hiding; if his mind was the monster, a blanket wasn’t going to save him. Besides that, the heat of his sweater and flushing cheeks was beginning to make the bubble of space between his blanket and his bed feel like an oven. He sat up enough to free himself from his sweater and dropped it off the side of the bed and onto the discarded blankets before falling onto his back. If his mind was going to torture him, at least, his body could be comfortable.

But, Janus’ mind sang unhelpfully, now he bore even less protection if some lovely monster slithered down the chimney to leave tickly stardust in his socks and pin him to his bed and–

The pillow previously behind Janus’ head was wailed frustratedly into before it, too, was thrown off the bed. Janus forced himself to take a long, slow breath, burying his fingers in the fabric of his sheets. Okay. Clearly, the lee mood was too grand already to try and wall completely off. Trying to ignore it (and ultimately failing to do so) was just making him irritated. But then, he was too worked up and embarrassed to act on his wants, to ask for it. The very thought was mortifying. Maybe there was a safe middle ground. Maybe he could let the dam leak a little, let the thoughts trickle in. He could handle that, he wouldn’t drown. (He would be dramatic, but he wouldn’t drown.) Surely, he could let himself think about it, a little. Patton had already infected him with the feather fever, after all. Janus figured he might as well try to enjoy it.

Breathing came slower and easier when Janus brought himself to that compromise. He could close his eyes, rein in his agitated leg twitching, wade gently into the pool of his mind.

The image of the quill came back to his mind, and he welcomed it, accompanied it with soft touch from his own hand. As the cerulean feather twirled about, dancing amid the sugarplum visions it had made of his thoughts, Janus traced his fingertips over his belly. With his eyes shut, he could almost pretend the feather to be the perpetrator of the feeling, the gentle swishing back and forth along the border between skin and scales. It was a lovely feeling that made his stomach--just beneath the light show of beautiful sensation--ache with longing.

What else could he imagine? Patton had given him a few cheesy seasonal teasing suggestions, which was kind since Janus wasn't the most creative of the Sides--not the least, but not the most. Janus pictured tinsel, silver and shimmery and soft, threaded between his toes and sawed delicately. His breath caught for a moment, and his toes scrunched against the imaginary sensation. How tauntingly on the edge of feeling.

What else could he imagine? Through his closed eyes, he could see the feather swirling gentle but relentless loops around his belly and scales. He could see the tinsel under his toes. He could see Patton’s smile, his fingers curling and uncurling above Janus’ quivering abdomen. Just a little closer…

Janus sat up, burying his flushed face in his hands. Twelve days of anticipation like this would be its own torture.

A knock to the rhythm of ‘Jingle Bells’ sounded from his door. Janus gave his red cheeks one last chastising pat, floundered for a moment on where to lay his limbs to act natural, and settled on resting his hands on his knees. “Come in.”

When the door opened, the first thing to enter was the bright red and white of a Santa hat, followed by Patton’s merry smile. “Hey, kiddo! You busy?”

“Depends,” said Janus with a hollow scoff. “Did you need more help planning holiday torment, or did you want to bake cookies or something?”

Patton snorted, wiggling his shoulders proudly as he fully entered the room and shut the door. He clasped his hands behind his back, swaying his hips forward and back. “Mm, a bit in between,” Patton decided. “Mean, but still sweet.”

Janus swallowed, trying very hard to bar the dam of his thoughts to keep his hopes from running away from him. “Oh?”

“Well, Santa got back to me,” said Patton, leaning back against the door and crossing his arms with a big sigh. “I know, no time wasted; he is a professional, after all.” He shook his head and smiled sadly, but his eyes were sparkling. “But he said that even he couldn’t make a lee mood and wrecking as wonderful as I asked for in such a short turnaround. So!” Patton adjusted his hat and stood tall, beaming. “He said I should most certainly fill in!”

For someone whose thoughts had just been flooded with elated relief, Janus’ mouth was quite dry. He wouldn’t have to wither away the winter waiting. Patton’s hands and feathers and tinsel and smile were near and real. Janus felt a funny mix of gratefulness and annoyance, seeing as how Patton had been the one to drop him into such a state in the first place. But then, he was too excited already to be annoyed. “Oh,” he said again.

“If you’re not busy.” Patton took a step further into the room.

“Well–” Janus started to say.

“You don’t look busy,” said Patton. Two more steps took him to the edge of Janus’ bed, where he stood, head cocked and smile crooked. “You look like you were expecting me.”

Such rare smugness from Patton was enough to snap Janus from flustered to–well, he was certainly still flustered, but also–indignant. His mouth hung open, and, when no words miraculously filled the empty space, Janus stuck out his forked tongue.

“Don’t be naughty,” Patton chastised with a giggle. “I wrote you a song. May I sit with you and sing it for you?”

Janus nodded, pushing himself up with his hands so as to scoot back and make room for Patton on the bed, but Patton stopped with a gentle hand on his knee.

“Lie back and get comfy,” Patton instructed with a grin. “It’s not a short song.”

His sweater and blankets had already been tossed to the floor; Janus had neither protection nor a saving excuse when the heat in his face spread to his ears and down his neck. He lay back, resting his hands on either side of his head, and, mercifully, Patton commented on neither Janus’ flush nor his eagerness. Instead, Patton whistled a little yuletide carol, climbing onto the bed and kneeling over Janus’ legs. He didn’t settle yet, but turned his torso toward the foot of the bed and tugged off his Santa hat, holding it behind his back and out of Janus’ sight. But Janus could still hear as the hat was held open and its previously unseen contents came tumbling out, rattling like cartoon pots and pans fell onto the sheets. Janus had a guess as to what the hidden pile may have included, but he couldn’t fathom how Patton had managed to hide such a trove so impossibly under his hat. Said hat was placed on Janus’ head as soon as Patton had turned to face forward again, the puff of it being booped on Janus’ nose. Janus' face scrunched up in feigned distaste and fruitless effort to keep from smiling anticipatorily.

Patton adjusted himself to kneel fully and comfortably on Janus’ legs, reaching behind him for a moment to neaten up the mystery gifts from Santa’s hat, then faced Janus once more with a smile. “Alright.” Leaning forward a bit to hunch his shoulders and flex his fingers, Patton began to softly sing. “On the first day of Christmas, I count on my merry lee~”

Janus let out a groaning chuckle. Of course, Patton would come up with the silliest teasing twist on a seasonal song. A song which–Janus realized, derision turning to giddy panic–often had twelve verses that only got longer. He yelped, startled from his thoughts by a sudden whispering soft sensation swirling over his lower belly, and came face to face with the evil feather that had started the whole ordeal. Patton circled the teal feather around Janus’ navel, grinning at the smile straining to be free from Janus’ bitten lower lip.

“A giggle button on his belly~” Patton set the feather by his knee and reached behind him with both hands. “On the second day of Christmas, I count on my darling lee…” And, instead of grabbing a new tool, Patton scribbled his fingers up and down Janus’ soles, prompting a squeal and buck from the man. “Two wiggling feet,” Patton sang, before swinging his hands back in front of himself to dance upon Janus’ stomach once more, “and a giggle button on his belly~”

Second verse cleared, ten more to go. It was too late for Janus to curb his smile–the thing had taken off and spread its wingspan across his cheeks–but he could keep from laughing, he could. He had to. Because, of course, it wasn’t just ten more verses in single phrases; it was ten verses consecutive to all the verses that came before. Janus’ mind was too scrambled to do the math on how many teases in total he was about to endure–he was excited to endure.

“On the third day of Christmas, I count on my dashing lee…” Patton fell forward, hovering above Janus nose-to-nose and grinning. The heels of his hands came to rest on Janus’, his fingers sliding up Janus’ palms until their digits were parallel and easily intertwinable. Janus didn’t know whether this move was a moment of mercy early on or of false security, and he tried to hold Patton’s hands and take as deep of breaths as his cantering heart would allow. Patton squeezed his hands once before curling his own fingers inward. Janus’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion before shooting up in realization, just in time for Patton’s nails to scratch delicately along the palms of Janus’ hands. “Three pairs of twitchy palms~”

Janus snorted, and he would have blamed the tickling, if anyone had asked. No way, no way, was Patton going to get him to unfurl his other two sets of arms into a visible and tangible state. Even if doing so would gain Janus four more terribly ticklish spots to be doted upon… No. He would not so willfully participate in his own demise.

Most all his resistance dissipated into delighted terror when Patton drew back, aiming his wiggling fingers behind him until they touched down to rake Janus’ heels. “Two wiggling feet~”

Janus held his breath and clenched his jaw. He’d already let a little laughter sound loose; even if it was a relief to do so, it was too early in the marathon to let himself go. Wasn’t it?

“And a giggle button on his belly~”

Poor Janus arched his back and threw his head into the mattress as Patton’s fingers danced around his stomach, trailing long slow paths from the bottom of his ribcage to the top of his hips and back up again. On the second trip, Patton changed techniques, using one hand for featherlight skating down Janus’ sensitive skin and using the other for just a bit rougher scratching down his scales. At last, the giggly dam crumbled, and, albeit through his grinning teeth and scrunched nose, Janus began to laugh, a hissing breathy happy sound.

Patton hummed, pleased, and sung on. “On the fourth day of Christmas, I count on my cutie lee…”  From where his hands splayed on Janus’ waist, it was easy as fruit cake for Patton to slide them around until he was holding Janus in a hug, warm but made menacing by his nails sudden scurrying into Janus’ lower back. “Four spine-y squeezes~”

Grabbing at his hat to hold himself still, Janus cackled, shoving his back down into the mattress in attempt to make the spot inaccessible for Patton, but to no avail. Still, he didn’t even have time to get used to the sensation before the song went marching on. Patton gently pried Janus’ hands free to scribble into his palms, fell back onto his legs to skitter down his soles, and bowed forward to dig into the soft flesh of his stomach.

“On the fifth day of Christmas, I count on my love-a-lee…” The flurry of movement from the last verse had paused, and Patton lay, for a moment, his cheek still on Janus’ panting midsection. Janus kept his guard up, though. Haggard as he was, he felt vindicated when he saw the mischievous twinkle in Patton’s eyes immediately before he took a big breath and blew a vibrating raspberry in Janus’ belly. The hilarious and heinous weapon was matched in volume by Janus’ wail of laughter. “Five raspberries!” Patton lifted his head, beaming. Janus shook his head, too breathless to form words and soon swept up once more in a tidal wave of howling humor as Patton planted one, two, three, four more raspberries on Janus’ tummy. It certainly didn’t help that all the Sides had slight stubble growing recently; the scratch of Patton’s peach fuzz, especially on Janus’ scales, made for the most awful raspberries he’d probably ever felt.

No rest for the wicked; Patton’s song carried on. Janus, through quite brutal a memorization process, was starting to get used to the pattern mentally, but not physically. The jumping from spot to spot was too sudden and speedy for him to get used to anything, so all he could do was brace for what he knew was coming next. Four scribbles down his spine (and shoulders, which Patton did not need to be so mean as to target), three pairs of palms subject to little but effective scratches, two feet menaced this time by that damn blue feather, and one belly button turning pink from aching laughter and attention.

“On the sixth day of Christmas, I count on my dearie lee… six ticklish armpits~” 

Another pause, during which Janus gulped giggly breaths before cracking an eye open. Like spiders cut loose from their webs, Patton’s hands descended, diving into Janus’ uppermost armpits with clawing fingers.

It was good that Janus had already let his laughter loose, because, when the newest bout of cachinnation rocked his frame, he needed all his resolve to hold his arms still. His grasp was white-knuckle tight on his arms and hair, and his laughing grin was wide enough to make his cheeks burn from the ache of exertion as well as the heat of elation. And then Patton took the elevator down to the next floor of terribly ticklish underarms. Janus’ elbows strained to flap, and his head whipped back and forth, shoving one chortling cheek and then the other into the bedspread. How long could this verse possibly be?

Another brutal raspberry to his belly amidst the armpit assault prompted a shriek from Janus. He couldn’t verbalize how unfair it was to double up on spots, and Patton’s explanation was hardly sympathetic. “Five!” Patton crowed, burying his face in Janus’ stomach to deliver vibrating lips and nuzzling stubble with each syllable. “Rasp! Ber! Ries!” For as much effort as Janus was using to keep still (aside from his thrashing laughing head and heaving stomach), he was startled at how easy a time Patton had muscling him halfway onto his side. That was definitely why he squealed, and not because Patton had finally moved down to scribbling into his lowest armpits with one jumping hand and feathering his lower back with the other.

“Four spiney squeezes~”

It was small but a mercy still that Patton didn’t make Janus release his ironclad grip on his own arms for the next stanza, settling instead on brushing that evil plume along his forearms and into the crooks of his elbows. (The song’s alignment to Patton’s actions had been askew from the start anyway, but Janus was having too much fun to nitpick.)

“Three pairs of twitchy palms~”

Perhaps unintentional, but there was another brief respite for Janus in the few seconds between Patton pulling back from his upper body to reach back for his feet. Very brief, maybe long enough for one guffaw to have a longer inhale than the rest before tumbling once more into wailing laughter as Patton’s fingers scribbled into his arches.

“Two wiggling feet~”

Patton pounced forward and giggled when Janus snorted amid his laughter, only to place a teasing kiss on his stomach.

“And a giggle button on his belly~”

If Janus wasn’t half-past loopy already, he would have marveled at Patton’s masterminding. This session was pure psychological evil. Janus was all heightened nerves and anticipation; after the reveal of what spot would start the new verse, he technically knew what was coming next, but he was still awash in thrill and terror, like he was experiencing each spot anew.

He also would have applauded six ticklish hands for Patton’s composition skills. Once they’d gotten to the tenth verse, it was a very smooth and terrible line up from Janus’ toes to his knees to his thighs to his hips. The next, eleven, was not so limited in its geography but its choreography, but Patton performed it wickedly. That beautiful quill was the star of it, and Patton made use of his ‘eleven feather swishes’ to waltz up Janus’ tummy, across his chest, dipping into his armpits, to his neck and ears–eleven was so many swishes. If he’d had the wherewithal and malice for it, Janus would have thrown Patton six calling birds for his villainy.

The echoes of the last verse and laughter lingering in the corners of the room, Janus lay, limp and gulping air through lingering giggles, eyes shut and an utterly relaxed smile upon his lips. Patton lay as well, still and content, his cheek resting on Janus’ stomach and his index fingers tracing the scales on his sides.

“How ya doin’, kiddo?” Patton asked with a sigh, chuckling when he received only a happy hissing exhale in reply. “I’m glad.” He sat up, tapping a little tune on Janus’ tummy and biting his lip. “You think you got it in you for one more verse?”

Janus’ eyes scrunched further shut, and he giggled at the mere thought of Patton’s proposal. He peeked through one eye and nodded.

“Okay.” Patton’s soft, fond smile sharpened into something sinister. “But, you know, darn it, I think I’ve forgotten the words. Do you remember them? Think you can sing it for me?”

Janus snorted at that. Yes, an excellent idea, let the snake whose brain had been reduced to happy goopy goofy mush come up with the words to the teasing song that had been his detriment. Don’t let him sink fully into elated sleepiness, make him force himself to stay awake enough to bear a bit more, draw out the session a little longer to make it truly the best Christmas gift… Upon deliberation, Janus could see the appeal. Mean but sweet, indeed. Janus pulled himself up, physically and mentally, assuming the familiar position of bracing his own arms and coaxing his mind from the edge of sleep. He’d certainly heard the verses enough times to know the words. He cleared his throat, voice hoarse and happy from laughing so long. “On the twelfth day of Christmas, the tickle monster gave to me: twelve heaving ribs– PATTON!”

The newest rendition of the song had been softer, wavering a bit, compared to Patton’s more confident and lilting tone. Well. It had been quieter, until Patton had unleashed hell upon Janus’ ribs. Vibrating, scratching fingers followed the furrows of the bones, left to right, and then raked down them like a washboard. Rinse, repeat.

Oh, Patton had been going easy on him all this time. That whole marathon thing had just been a prelude to the real event: the sprint.

“Yes, Janus dear?” Patton grinned. “Go on, just waiting for you to sing the next bit and tell me where to tickle!”

OH, not even a sprint–a sprint implied pushing it to the limit for a short time. This pseudo-sprint’s pace was to be determined by the man whose legs had been jelly for the past ten minutes. So it could have been a short time, if Janus let his shrieking, snorting laughter overtake him, or it could take as long as it took him to think coherently while being tickle tortured. A very, very long time. He really must have been on the naughty list.

Like with the previous, Janus had barely crowed out the next verse before Patton had that damn feather darting everywhere it could reach, his neck and ears and stomach mostly, until it could fly back to saw between his toes for the tenth day of Christmas. The feather flipped to scribble the quill end under Janus’ toes as Patton’s other hand squeezed up until it reached his knee. Nine. Both hands dove in to spider and scratch his thighs. Eight. Then to massage their thumbs into his hips bones. Seven.

Janus was a gay mess of exhausted but elated guffawing and kicking feet and flapping elbows. He could barely get out the words to direct Patton where to tickle next. If he’d been asked to lead a verse earlier in the session, he might have mucked up the order a bit on purpose to make it easier on himself. That option was out the window now, as he could hardly keep up with calling out spots as Patton was actively tickling them. He was swept up in the speed and brutality of the menacing of different spots, all scribbling nails and stubbly kisses. Patton was laughing with him, cheeks red from the upped pace of the activity and smile wide and beaming from getting to make Janus feel so happy and safe. He was jumping and falling between spots on the final countdown, half leading and half following Janus’ howling hymnal. With one final raspberry to Janus’ navel, the both of them collapsed in a cuddly heap, Patton rolling off Janus' body to hug him properly.

Eyes heavy and chest heaving as he took slow, deep, relaxing breaths, Janus gave Patton a boop on the nose with the Santa hat that sat crooked on his head. “Merry Christmas, meanie.”

“And a sweet New Year,” Patton giggled, reaching over the side of the bed to grab the duvet and wrap them both up in it for a well-earned snuggle.