#ticklish!twice

[gaybananabread]

Could we get headcanons for the LOV +Hawks? They're a nightmare found family and must have violent tickle fights...

⋋🕯️LoV Tkl Headcanons🕯️⋌

~Alright, got these in! I love doing these hcs, it's fun just splatting ideas down on here! I've already done KFC and Crispy Boi, so I'll link them below. These maniacs would absolutely get into some wild fights, especially when tensions are high. Warning, this is super long, so be prepared (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠). Thank you for requesting!~

(Hawks and Dabi hcs)

🎮Shigaraki⊰⁠⊹

General:

Neutral on tickling. Doesn't hate it, not super crazy about it.

He's just gotta be in the right mood at the right time.

Will kill anyone who tries to get him to admit it, but he doesn't totally hate it.

I'd say he's a lee. Besides the obvious risk of disintegrating someone, I just feel that he wouldn't want to touch another person like that for that long. Again, certain mood, certain time.

Lee:

On the semi-rare occasion that he does get into a lee mood, he tries his best to ignore it.

He's the leader of the League! “Leaders don't indulge in childish things, it's below me!”

Yeah, that fails after about twenty minutes of denial.

This touch-starved boyo can not fight off a mood like that for long.

He'll try to subtly provoke one of the other members into doing it. Wearing one of his more beat-up shirts, crop top, maybe a tank top. Sitting with his arms behind his head, sassing them, everything he can think of.

The only one who ever really gets him is Mr. Compress. Someone else might pick up on the hints, but are too scared for their lives to do anything about it.

Lighter stuff works best on him, though in certain spots, some good digging will be rewarded.

His worst spots are his palms and thighs.

It feels like his quirk would make those boys really sensitive, though you have to be careful around his fingers. Maybe some special gloves with the palm cut out? Eh, they'll get creative.

Melt spot would be his back. Light tracing, maybe feathers or something along those lines. Either way, he loves it.

Raspy, restrained little giggles at first. Boy refuses to laugh.

You get him good, though, and it'll be ear-splitting cackles and old-door-level squeaks.

📏Twice🎭

General:

Switchy-switch, depending on what side of him is leading.

His calmer, more rational side typically means lee mood.

His angrier, more violent side normally means ler mood.

Twice thinks tickling is a fun way to bond with his fellow members, as well as just relaxing and enjoying it.

Lee:

When he gets lee moods, they're often in-his-face and hard to ignore. Big, obtrusive need to get his shit wrecked.

The observant among the members can point it out. Extra giddiness, little jokes he wouldn't normally tell, and random giggles. Coin toss on who ends up giving a fuck, but still.

Hawks is usually his ler, though Toga is next in line. It's easy to get Hawks annoyed enough to send a feather after him. Toga is sadistic enough to wreck him whenever; it's asking her that's hard.

Worst spots are his ribs and armpits. Pitchy, boisterous cackles when you go for them.

Melt spot is his back. He loves back rubs that slowly become tickly, or just straight-up scribbles.

Ler:

Evil little shit about it. The harsher personality has a field day.

If he's having a decent day and is feeling cruel enough, he’ll make a clone or two to help him.

Big squeezes, drilling into worst-spots, raspberries, you name it. He wants to see his lee cackling before he's done.

The kind of mf to say “Citchie citchie coo~” without a hint of shame.

Most of the time, he'll give revenge tickles. Occasionally, though, there'll be a softer ler that pokes out just for comfort purposes.

Aftercare really depends on who it is. Most of the time, his nicer side comes out.

He'll do anything from smug comments to back rubs and a fluffy blanket.

🔪Toga🩸

General:

First off: girlie loves tickling

Can and will bring it up confidently. She's already kinda crazy—who cares what they think about this?

Gives ler-leaning switch vibes, methinks. Always ready to destroy someone, but wouldn't mind some pokes along the way~

Lee:

While they're less frequent, she definitely gets lee moods.

Knowing he'll almost always provide, she typically goes to Twice for tickly aid. If he's unavailable, though, it's skillfully tricking other members into giving her what she wants.

Very squirmy, can and will break your nose if you're not careful.

Worst spots are her hips. A few squeezes there and she's down for the count.

Melt spot would have to be her palms. She kinda gives off attention whore vibes, so she'd love any light, affectionate traces on them.

Got a bright and bubbly laughter that descends into cackles if you get her good. Blushes very easily, though she'll always have some blood-related excuse.

Ler:

Run for the hills, my friend.

Ruthless little ler, doesn't like to stop until her lee is a teary, tickle-drunk mess.

She loves building up anticipation, big on tickle games and hide-and-seek chases

Light tracing up and down a lee's midriff, stopping just shy of their worst spots before digging in.

Most teasing bitch to ever roam the Earth-

“Oooooh, your cheeks are so red! I love that color on you, cutie~” “Laugh for me! You know you wanna~”

“Oh, I'm sorry, does that word make it worse? A-tickle tickle tickle!”

Most frequent lee is Twice, though she's gotten everyone at least once before.

Not much aftercare unless you ask. Maybe a glass of water or some rubs. If requested, though, she'll cling to you for hours.

🎩Mr. Compress🔮

General:

So we can all agree he's the group dad-friend, right?

Tell me you don't see it. That's right, you can't-(/hj)

Sees tickling as a fun way to bond and de-stress. Often used by him as a cheer-up method.

I'd say switch on this one. He doesn't really seem to lean either way—only that his friends are enjoying themselves!

Lee:

Doesn't really get lee moods, though he's always open to a playful session with one of the League members.

Kinda like a human stress-toy volunteer

He doesn't mind it at all—it’s fun! What's the harm if it's doing somebody some good?

Worst spots are his belly and upper back. Get him there and he's a goner.

For melt spot, I'd say his tops of his thighs/calves. Man seems like he'd enjoy some leg tickles.

Deep, rich laughter. Kinda like Santa, but less ho-ho-hoey, ya know?

Ler:

Paternal tickle monster, no discussion.

He's got the “mental anguish” radar that good dads just seem to magically have.

He'll ask if they're okay and talk it out before starting his “special treatment” for their problem.

As said before, tickle monster gimmick is his thing.

“Is somebody stressed out? You know, tired minds are a special monster's favorite prey…”

“You'd better be careful with that frown around here. You don't wanna wake up…the Tickle Monster!”

“I can't hear you, dear! The Monster's taken over, and he's hungry for laughter!”

Seems like they'd kill him for it, but when they're upset, his silly antics are just what they need.

Tickles Twice and Toga the most, mainly to help with episodes or get Toga to wind down.

Shigaraki occasionally gets it, either for lee-mood help or pressure alleviation.

🗡️Spinner🦎

General:

He seems like a ler, ya know?

Like, he wouldn't hate being tickled, but he much prefers doing it to others.

Is a little too prideful to say it, but finds tickling people to be a fun way to wind down. Also, laughter is just adorable.

Ler:

He'd be kinda in the middle on the roughness-scale. He's not gonna go feather-light, but his goal isn't to kill you. Just enough to get some good belly laughter.

But like bro…have you seen those claws?

Ajhdbhwhs-

Ista-death, no matter how he uses them. Gentle traces? Butterflies swarming. And if he decides to be cruel? Kiss your diaphragm goodbye-

Also, the snooty-snout? Besides being cute, I'm betting tickle nibbles would be double-evil.

Teasing bastard, but affectionately. He can't help but be a jerk, but it's all in good fun.

“Man, you're so ticklish! I've got no idea how you've survived this long.”

“I didn't even know it was possible to blush that hard! You're teaching me new things every day, giggles.”

“Wouldn't it suck if I went for your worst spot? What's that? Hmm, guess I'll do it now if you're gonna be like that…”

Favorite lee would probably be Shigaraki

Picture it: fanboy getting to tickle his obsession-boy and hearing his laugh. And if Shiggy’s in a lee mood? It's a trillion times better for him.

After crusty-man, he'd go for Mr. Compress. Tickling the dad-man could make any one of the members smile, and Spinner is no exception.

Teasy aftercare. Besides the snide comments and little remarks, he's nice with it. Glass of water, potential couch-cuddles afterwards with a video game or movie.

[guppygiggles]

Someone needs to wreck that cloud asap/aff

Hehe… 💙

[kanene-yaaay]

He started it!

Kanene's notes: I think my brain is no longer able to grasp what a 'quick, small fic' is kjhgfdfghjjhgvjhgf somebody this was supposed to be just a small drabble but the cuteness broke me. Somebody save me from the Dogday brain rot please somebody save me...

But anyway! Can't say when I will be able to post again, college just started and so my days are going to be very full :') Still! Hope you all like this!

Warnings: Plenty of raspberries, nibbles and teasy nicknames. Around 3,500 words. Ticklish!Dogday and Ler!Reader. Other than that, nothing, this is pure tooth-rooting fluff. Rip da boi. Also! Once again, I'm obsessed w Felix's writing style where the dialogues and narration are mingled together so all the hugs and thank you's to her :D

[~*~]

Dogday had started it.

Of course it was him. Just like a ray of sunshine, your own personal star, shining and chasing the dark shadows away, he did and now there was no other way this could’ve played out. 

“A-angel, please!” His voice glitched, getting lower at the end of his plea, however immediately growing higher again as giggles began filling the space, crackling and buzzing in both despair and delight. “Think about what you’re about to do!”

You hummed and smiled at his squeal, fond and sweet and absolutely devilishly as you remembered how this entire game began.

Every single corner of this factory was dangerous. Even so, there were hostile places where any kind of sound, whisper or even a poorly suppressed gasp could attract the worst kind of attention and immediately break in pieces the fragile peace that warily followed you and Dogday in your path. At the time, you both had been walking through one of these areas for far too long, bathed by complete silence, careful to keep your steps silent and with an alerted kind of tension clinging to your form with each passing second. 

That was when, for some reason, Dogday decided that enough was enough. It was his moment to shine.

Where even did the idea come from? Has he been bored?  

“You just seemed so stressed!” His tail was wagging so much you could feel the wind it created hitting your legs. An involuntary coo left your mouth at the playful, a tad proud glint in his eyes, which only made his smile bigger and loopier. He tried to tug his hands away to hide his face. Needless to say, it was an unsuccessful attempt. “No, no, no! Don’t!”

Anyway, it had been confusing at first. When the giant sentient toy turned in your direction, making fingerguns with his paws and pretending to be firing at something, you immediately spun around in a quick and swift movement, grabpack and firing hand ready to attack pointing in the same direction as him, eyes searching for the danger he was gesturing. 

… Stopping to think, he did almost laugh at you that moment, didn’t he? You bet that if you both didn’t have to conceal any and every sound his crackles would’ve rang free and joyfully across the whole factory. 

You took an exaggerated deep breath and blew slowly in a faux disappointment, feeling his muscles under you tense and shake with barely concealed titters, a tiny protesting half whine and half plea flying around, his torso squirming.

(Away or closer to the sensations? Both of you knew the answer very well.)

Tsk. You hummed again, only to hear that adorable squeal once more. It took everything to not let him go and dig, to listen those high pitched squeals over and over again and see how many of them you could collect, letting them dance in harmony with his glitching laughter and rumbling chuckles until happiness and joy were the only thing filling his mind and actions, until his smile were wide enough to light up the dark pathway ahead and each tiny, almost imperceptive wiggle, scribble or twitch of your fingers was followed by the lovely, lovely melody of his tickly delight, prompting more and more expectant titters and pleas without you even having to lay a single finger on him.

But the game couldn’t be over so soon. And it was quite fun to see how much giggles you could get even though you weren’t actually doing anything.

(Yet.)

So you pushed down the adoring smile that tried (again) to take over your features and let it morph into a sad expression, slowly shaking your head in a fake disappointment.

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Such a good friend and he almost laughed at you like that… After everything you both have been through, after all the fights and the talks, the hugs and the vents… You see how that is.

“P-please! Angel, just, please!”

No. Nuh-uh. You went back to your previous position, shoving your face in that soft fur. Don’t start with the sugarily sweet nicknames. You were brooding. Moping. Sad. Devastated. Betrayed. In absolute and total pain. There was no angel available right now, please return later.

His only answer was a series of even more glitched squeaks and titters growing stronger and giddier at any second with your silliness, especially when his body involuntarily jumped, already in alert for any attack and still not doing anything to scramble away. 

That could be your fault, but in your humble opinion, it wasn’t very clear. Okay, maybe he couldn’t just bring himself to stop and stand still when you kept using every opportunity to nuzzle and mumble on his belly non stop, easily following his torso and quivering stomach around as he wiggled and squirmed in the same place, trying with all his might to not lose himself already with all the ticklish shocks that bolted across his entire midriff with such a simple action. Words (and teases) continue to fall like waves from your lips.

Maybe he just had been bitten by an awful ticklybug! Who would know?

“There is no tick-” Dogday gasped and snickered when you blew air against his fur again, freezing for a second in preparation for a raspberry that didn’t come. Realizing that, he let his head fall on the floor and trashed even more. He tugged his arms again, playfully growling when you kept your hold firm on them and wiggling even more as he turned to stare back at you, a funny kind of energy and antecipation racing each other in his nerves. “There is no ticklebug! It’s you!!”

Oh well. 

A pity.

Anyway. Back to the story. That had been how everything began. He later explained his idea for the game, when you were able to exchange words again. From that moment, in total random occasions, one of you would make a gesture in the other’s direction and they would have to quickly react to it. In the most silly and unexpected way, preferentially, as long as you didn’t make any sound while at that.

See, Dogday? No sound.

He yapped in protest, letting out a single surprised, an offended yelp at the accusation. “We don’t need to be quiet here. You’re just teasing me!” Dogday’s hands fell to his sides, no longer trying to pry you away, shoulders shaking with every giggle and eyes watching your every action with joy and expectation. 

You keep going.

The playful exchange became a habit between you two at this point, even filling the moments you didn’t exactly need to be quiet. It was a nice way to interact when there were no more words, memories or promises to be exchanged. That is why Dogday didn’t even bat an eye at you when you called his attention by innocently offering both of your hands in his direction, tail lightly wagging as he immediately placed his own paws on yours, a fun, tiny grin appearing on his previously serious and protective expression when you intertwined your fingers.

Which quickly morphed to a wide stare when you locked your grip and jumped on him, bringing both of you to the ground.

So, yeah, Dogday was the one who started it. And now he was trying to shoot his shot again, pulling out the saddest, sweetest puppy eyes in your direction. 

“Angeel, please. Mercy!”

Awww.

(That was a bit adorable, you couldn’t lie. It kind of melted your heart. Just a tiny, little bit.)

(Ok. A lot.)

But that was the thing, Dogday, you were being merciful already. Because if your hands were free, you would give him the entire special attack. You would just claw and knead on that cute, truly adorable tummy, taking some precious time to give your attention to his sides and all the scribbles and scratches to his ribs, being sure to go and tickle aaaall of his favorite, ticklish spots over and over and over again, for as long as he wanted. 

Wouldn’t that be nice? And, of course, during this your hands would be very, very busy, so he would have to keep his arms nice and snug out of the way. But he could do this for you, right? Even if he was laughing and squirming and crackling his heart out, not even pretending to not love every single moment of this game, or that he wanted it to be over any moment soon. 

“Eek! Wait, wait!” 

You grinned. See? That was what not being merciful would be. But, stopping to think, those are not bad ideas at all. He really couldn’t stop getting any more adorable, could he?

“Sweetheart!” He squeaked and shook his head, partially in a way to disperse all the restless energy taking over his body and partially in a hopeless attempt to make his big ears cover his flaming face.

Oh. 

(It was quite endearing, actually, how he didn’t exactly blush. His smile would get wobblier and the light in his eyes fuzzy and lightly trembling all while he couldn’t decided if he tried to hide his face or kept staring at you with a gaze so full of complete trust, an excited desperation conquering all his features… Honestly it was just as crystal clear as if his face got completely taken over by a strong shade of red, truly.)

Your entire demeanor softened. That nickname was a new one.

(You wouldn’t mind listening to it being giggled out like this again in the future.)

You decided to return the favor.

Yes, gigglebug?

For a piece of time, Dogday froze with wide eyes and a slight ‘bzzz’ sound escaped from his voicebox. Then his squirming grew anew, no longer being able to look at your soft gaze and trying to press his dazzling, gigantic smile on his shoulders, now with his entire body bouncing with barely suppressed snickers.

His tail hit the floor with an endless and quick pace of ‘thump thumpthumpthump’. The confusion in your expression immediately gave place to a wicked smirk.

Hm.

Gigglebug?

He jolted with a yelp.

Silly giggly gigglebug?

Dogday snorts and tries to pry his hands away from yours with a bit more energy than before. Still, his efforts were still half heartedly at best. In turn you just hold them a bit tighter, thumbs lightly rubbing the back of his paws as your tipped your head to the side, - not unlike he himself watched you from time to time - chasing his gaze and maybe or maybe not giving his belly a tiny - so quick and small that it was over in less a blink - nibble until he turned back to watch you with wide fuzzy eyes.

Nope. No hiding that beautiful smile, huh?

His ears perked a little bit and his wide eyes captured yours for a moment, then jumped to your kind hands, your amused, playful glare, his defenseless belly, his captured paws, your suspecting eyes and, eventually, your eyes again.

Then, without breaking contant, he shut his mouth, firmly pressing his lips in a tight line as he lowered his head to his shoulder, successfully hiding, indeed, that beautiful smile.

Ah.

You see how that is.

Dogdayy ~

He let out a muffled giggle, only pressing his face even more on his shoulder, turning away from you.

Well, since he was insisting so much…

You discreetly adjusted your position, took a deep breath and immediately attacked his lower belly.

His entire torso spasmed, almost throwing you out of him with the sudden move, a loud peal of laughter instantly filling the air as the horrible, awfully ticklish vibrations fuelled his trashing, the raspberry spreading across every single of his nerves, leaving each and every one of them tingling and buzzing.

Another deep breath. Another long, long raspberry and a crackling squeal was ripped from his voicebox, more and more following suit as you chased every sensitive path of fur non stop, not losing a single opportunity to shake your head to increase the sensations, giggling a bit at how that never failed to glitch his words and bring more squeaks to the lovely melody of his laughter.

You spared a couple of tiny raspberries for his sides, literally feeling how they made him arch his back. That only gave you even more access to plenty of sensitive, ticklish spots that you were more than happy to latch on and tickle as if the future safety of the entire world depended on sending him to a total madness and increasing your collection of “cute-sounds-that-Dogday-does”.

You experimentally began nibbling that spot that connected his back and side, right below his belt, if you were not mistaken this would…

Snorts took over the giant toy and in a blink his back immediately clued back on the floor, torso trying and failing in curling into a defensive ball. The new round of raspberries vibrated across his side and teased his entire ribcage, tickling each bone and nerve. 

Dogday tried to muffle his reactions on his shoulder, but with each nibble, each raspberry, tease and nuzzle he felt his mind getting more and more overpowered by the realization that it tickled. It tickled so, so, so much and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not when his face seemed to be set aflame and his entire body kept getting closer and closer from giving up completely from his squirms and wiggles to let himself succumb to the joyful, insane, funny and fun sensation. Not when his angel kept looking at him with so much amusement and fondness that only succeeded to make him feel even more ticklish and the fact that his giggles weren’t the only ones filling the room made him feel extra silly and made his heart melt with delight. When he was able to just laugh and squeal his heart out, carefree and loud and happy.

How could anyone blame him, then, when he saw with the corner of his eyes you lift your head and so he decided to push his luck more, continuing to hide his big, gigantic, loopy smile.

Ohoho.

So, your dear gigglebug was trying to keep all those sweet reactions away from you, even after you worked so hard for every single one of them? Now, that really wasn’t fair, was it?

You gave him a break, no longer tickling him. Still, having your voice so close made his torso instinctively try to wiggle away, which in itself seemed to only re-alight all the reminiscent tingling on his skin, making the tickly sensation it go back to buzz and dance on his nerves, increasing the phantom tickles, each passing second and taunting word making them feel worse than before. All of this only kept Dogday stuck into an infinite sea of unstoppable, hysterical titters and snickers.

Do you think this is fair at all, gigglebug? 

He shook his head and stopped, then nodded and then shook it again, giving you a glimpse of shiny eyes for a second before it disappeared once more on his fur.

Well, you think this isn’t fair at all. But that is fine. You both can stay here all day long if needed, as long it takes until you get to see that beautiful blushy face and dazzling smile. Yep. That sounds like a good, no, perfect idea! He would love this, right? To keep giggling and laughing and squealing here while being tickled silly forever and ever? 

“Sweheheart!”

Oh! You wonder who said that! It sounded like your dear friend Dogday, but it couldn’t be him, right? No, not really. He was too busy hiding away from his best friend, as it seems.

Aw, that was a pity, truly. He was such a kind, awesome presence in your life. With a personality able to brighten everyone’s life and a trustful companion that was incredibly kind and strong. Always ready to help without a second thought or a blink of an eye, to give a hand, a comforting hug or a remark that would bring you straight to reality. 

Besides, he was kind of cute, too. Like a sweet, excited puppy. He had this loud, booming laughter that, when you got him laughing for long enough, started to descend into a series of crackles that never failed to make him snort and bounce around in joy until his voice box began to glitch in the most endearing and funny way. 

“No more teasing! No more!” Dogday’s titters grew to hysterical high pitched giggles and he scrunched up his neck, trying to best to curl up and disappear as more and more heat spread across his face. His tail would make a hole into the factory’s ground at this rate.

See? It was the most adorably adorable thing, honestly. 

Actually…

You adjusted yourself again and his bubbly giggles developed to chuckles, paws tugging from your grip once again. He knew very well what that tune of yours meant.

You kind of missed listening to his laughter…

And so, with a swift move you freed your hands, fastly shoving them on Dogday’s armpits before he could even react. 

Without wasting a single second, you digged.

A shriek took over every other sound in the place. And then other as you pushed your face right in the middle of his tummy, nibbling and pressing raspberries on it without mercy all while your fingers scratched, scribbled and drummed on his pits with no abandon, nimble fingers dancing on the spot for a few minutes before jumping to other one, to prevent him to get used to the sensation.

Dogday just fell limply on the floor, his shoulders, torso and belly shook with the force of his laughter, and his arms kept jumping from hiding his face to cluing on his sides in a futile attempt to stop the wiggling from worming their way, once more, to his ribs or neck. Each snort, squeal, yelp, snicker, crackle and every other sound swirled freely in the air, especially when a raspberry found a new sensitive spot that even he didn’t know about - since when his collarbone was so ticklish? - and focused all their attention there until all his cute and fun reactions slowed to a string of bubbly, hysterical giggles and his friend went on the look for another sweet tickle spot.

His neck, ribs, armpits, stomach, even his own ears had not been safe from the playful attack. A few pieces of time passed until it slowed to an incredible, horrible kind of soft tickling that led to a series of tittering sniggers to spill from his lips and to a beginning of tears to gather in the corner of his eyes.

At this point, his paws came and gently rested on your hands, engulfing them completely, glimmering eyes finding yours as the light scribbling instinctively squirm lazily from one side to other.

You stopped, entire form melting, the playful smirk plastered on your features losing the sharpness of its corners as a proud fondness took over. You freed one hand to caress the fur of his head, chuckling with drops of amusement and care when he closed his eyes and all his muscles relaxed completely at that, his tail now going back and forth in a tired but content wag. He nuzzled your hand. 

There is it. My beautiful smile.

He groaned, pulling his ears until they covered his face. “Angel… You’re ruthless.”

Hey, it’s not teasing if it’s true!

Another groan. He muttered something under his breath but didn’t shy away from your touch.

The silence fell like a soft blanket on you, bringing to that dark, horrible place a feeling of safety and care that used to be just a pointless, futile dream, before.

(This was nice. Safe.)

Suddenly, two paws flew like a blur of movement in your direction and you felt your entire world tumble and turn upside down. 

You blinked and as your eyes focused, only to find a giant sentient toy who resembled a dog and slowly became your trustful companionship on the last days (hours?) in this factory. Someone you knew that would be right by your side and fight for your safety almost as much as you fought for his.

Although, by the way his mischievous gaze found yours and big arms embraced you in a firm, but still gentle, hug, you must admit you weren’t feeling that safe anymore.

…Dogday?

“No. You’re in friend hug jail. Paying for your friend crimes. You can’t get out.”

You snorted. Glad that you had the sense to start that playful game in the safe area you and Dogday had been clearing and taking care for some time since the ‘You Got To Be a Human and Rest’ episode.

Getting comfortable, you let out a relaxed sigh, snuggling closer, letting your hand softly run on his back in a soft, nice rhythm, not taking too long to feel him melting under the caring touch. 

Well, you may be in jail, but your consciousness was clear.

Dogday had started it.

[thelavendersquid]

Nine Eyes to Feel With

Tickletober Day 5: "I'm not ticklish"

Summary: Lucien hears laughter echoing through the caverns and goes to investigate. The Nein weren't planning on springing a ticklish ambush today, but they're certainly not about to turn down the opportunity when it shows up on their doorstep.

Or, local all-seeing tiefling finds himself more ticklish than he expected.

Set right after Weak Spots

Fandom: Critical Role (The Mighty Nein)

Words: 2.7K

AO3 Link

A/N: This idea lodged itself in my brain as soon as I finished yesterday’s fic and would not leave until I brought it to life. I have a lot of feelings about Lucien, including the firm opinion that he is just as deathly ticklish as we all know Molly was. So here we are.

~~~~

The sound of laughter echoing through the caverns is not something Lucien hears often on his trips to Aeor. His head jerks up as he hears it and he turns to Cree, sitting across from him, with a frown. She looks off into the distance, Tabaxi ears twitching as she processes the sound, then back up at Lucien. “It’s not far away.”

Lucien pushes himself up, pulling out a scimitar as he does so. He hesitates a moment, debating internally whether this is a trap, and then glances over at Cree again. “Be on your guard.” Cree gives a nod and follows after him down the tunnel.

A few short minutes later, Lucien’s eyes - all of them - fall on the source of the sound. The opaque, grayish-colored dome that signals the temporary home of The Mighty Nein. And coming from within, the sound of hysterical laughter. Ah. But of course.

Cree hangs back as Lucien approaches the dome. His eyes flash as he attempts to see inside, but he can only make out a few moving shapes. They seem to all be piled on top of one of the shapes, which looks like it’s…wiggling?

Lucien takes a step back and tilts his head at the dome, observing it with silent confusion. The laughter is still coming through - occasionally it becomes stifled or muffled, only for another peal of unrestrained laughter to break through seconds later. This is very strange, even for this group of adventurers.

“What is it?” Cree whispers from behind him.

Lucien takes another step back towards her, but his eyes never leave the dome. “I’m not exactly sure.” He backs away until he reaches a rock off to the side, and sits down. Finally he tears his gaze away just long enough to give a quick glance in Cree’s direction. “Get some rest. We’ll be staying here for now.”

Cree makes her way over towards the rock and sits down on the ground. Lucien’s focus snaps right back to the dome and his head tilts the other direction as he stares at it, confused and yet transfixed.

It’s only a minute or so later that the laughter stops. Lucien blinks and sits back, crossing his arms and still staring at the dome.

There’s a sudden shuffling from inside the dome as, Lucien assumes, its occupants realize he’s sitting there staring at them. A long minute goes by. Lucien can hear whispers from inside - along with muffled giggles that seem to still be trailing off. He tilts his head again, picking at his nails.

A head pops through the dome, followed quickly by several others. And then there they are - all seven of The Mighty Nein stepping out of the dome in front of him. He raises his eyebrows at them, still cleaning dirt out from under his nails.

The group looks like they’re preparing for a fight, putting hands on weapons and generally looking antsy. Lucien supposes he’d better smooth things over. That’s not what he came here for, not tonight at least. He stands up nonchalantly and holds his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Ah-ah-ah, no need for all that. I was merely confused by the sound of laughter coming from within these tunnels. I tracked you all the way from another cavern - you were being quite loud. You’re lucky it was us who heard you and not any number of other creatures.”

To Lucien’s surprise, a few of the group actually break into grins at this. Jester, who is grinning brightly, says, “Oh, we were just tickling Essek!” She gestures over her shoulder - and ah, there’s the honorary eighth member of the group, that drow elf. Lucien had almost forgotten they brought him along.

The elf - Essek - is a lovely shade of magenta and looks mortified, even as he is currently bent over, coughing, and seems to be stifling…is that more laughter? Lucien tilts his head again as a hint of a smirk twists onto his own face.

“I see. Well, lovely to know the path you all are on, I wouldn’t want to run into any more nasty traps you’ve so rudely set for us. Although if you keep on at this volume, it doesn’t seem like we’ll need to worry about that.” He catches Essek’s eye and flashes him a smirk - it works wonders at making the elf look like he’d rather the ground swallow him here and now. The grins begin to fade from the others’ faces too.

Lucien reaches his hands above his head lazily, arching his back and stretching. “We’ll be on our way then. See you soon.” He flashes them another wicked smile and turns away, back towards the tunnel.

A voice cuts him off. Beauregard, suddenly emboldened, steps forward. “Are you ticklish, Lucien?”

Lucien stops in place. He turns slowly back to face them and meets the monk’s gaze. She’s staring him, something determined in her eyes. Lucien raises his eyebrows again.

“I’m afraid not. No trace of that in my blood.”

“Are you sure?” Beauregard presses forward, taking another step closer.

“Aye, quite sure.” Lucien gives a shrug and holds his arms out to the sides. “Go on, give it a try, far be it from me to deprive you of satisfying your curiosity.”

Beauregard steps forward. Behind her, Caleb, Essek, Fjord and Caduceus look worried. “Beau, wait, it’s probably a trap-“

Beau ignores them and walks confidently up to Lucien. He stares at her, calm as can be. Beau studies him for a moment. Then, never breaking eye contact, she reaches out, latches onto his side, and gives it a squeeze.

And Lucien doesn’t catch himself fast enough to stop the involuntary jump away from the sensation he did not expect.

Beau’s eyebrow twitches up. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Lucien says, voice carefully smooth. “Your hands are cold.”

“We’re in an ice cavern.” Beau’s tone is blunt. Her hand is still on his side. She squeezes it again.

Lucien jumps again. He quickly grabs Beau’s hand and pushes it away. He looks rattled for the first time since the group has met him. A wicked grin slides onto Beau’s face.

Lucien takes a careful breath, composing himself. Okay, so that felt strange. But it’s nothing he can’t handle. Back away, say something intimidating, walk off head held high, never deal with it again-AH!

Lucien jumps almost a foot and spins around, indignantly - to find Jester, grinning, from where she snuck around behind him. And apparently stuck her claws under his coat to poke his ribs.

This is not going well.

There’s a tense pause as Lucien stares at the group and they stare back at him. Grins matching Jester and Beau’s are growing on the others’ faces. One of Lucien’s eyes slides over to glance at Cree - who is watching this from afar with a hand over her mouth, clearly smiling. Lucien starts to say something to her. He’s interrupted before he gets very far.

As Jester, Beauregard, and Veth all spring towards him as one.

Lucien dodges sideways and throws his hands out to block them. He manages to deflect Jester, but Beauregard has deadly aim and Veth slips right underneath his arms. Their fingers slide underneath his coat and find purchase on his sides and stomach, squeezing, wiggling, poking. A startled laugh slips out of Lucien as he stumbles backwards.

Fjord, Caleb and Essek exchange a horrified glance behind the others. Caduceus chuckles and steps forward - just as Beau call over her shoulder, “Yasha! Come help me hold him babe, he’s a squirmy one!”

Squirmy is an understatement for what Lucien is currently doing. He’s flailing around like a cat being given a bath, limbs everywhere, fingernails raking down any patch of skin he can manage to reach, tail whipping behind him like a baton, practically hissing. And fighting a desperate - losing - battle to keep the laughter that’s bubbling up his throat at bay.

Yasha pushes forward to join the others in the fray. Lucien hisses at her arrival and reaches frantically behind him - whether to grab for her or for his sword, Yasha can’t tell. She doesn’t give him a chance - as Beau grabs his arm to keep him from successfully reaching her, Yasha grabs him firmly around the midsection and holds on tight - sending her fingers crawling up to scratch just below his armpits, right in the spot she knows used to make Molly howl.

It has a similar effect. Lucien yells out and throws himself forward - but is stopped by both Yasha’s arms and Beauregard and Jester in front of him. Instead he opts to curl up as tight as he can, trying to block their access - as the laughter finally pours out of him. It starts off scratchy, rusty from disuse, but warms up quick as Yasha’s fingers keep wiggling in that stupid fucking spot - until he’s laughing too hard for words in a way that is all too familiar to the Nein.

Cree can’t hold back her own laughter at the sight. This is the best thing she’s seen in months.

Fjord glances over at Caleb again. “Well shit, I guess we’re doing this.”

“We have a death wish,” Caleb agrees. But there’s a hint of a grin on his face and he steps forward all the same. Fjord and Caduceus follow.

Lucien’s struggle to get away renews with great force as Fjord, Caleb and Caduceus descend towards him. He flails again, beating against Yasha with his tail and lashing out with his claws towards Jester, Veth and the approaching trio. To no avail, as they hold him tight. Instead he resorts to death threats, spitting out, “I will kill you! Don’t test me!” It’s not particularly menacing through his laughter.

Jester laughs along. “You were already going to kill us! I’m not stopping just because of that!”

Veth, currently squeezing at his knees, laughs too. “How’s that anti-magic cone working for you now? I bet you’re wishing for an anti-fingers cone!”

Lucien is going to kill her first. As soon as he manages to stop laughing.

Caleb and Fjord have slid their way into the little group surrounding Lucien by this point, and their fingers make contact with his sides and stomach - as Caduceus reaches in between Yasha to pinch up and down his back. Lucien is lost in laughter again. He arches away from Caduceus’ desperately - only to bring himself closer to everyone else, which makes him flail wildly without any plan. He hisses at them through his laughter - which only serves to make everyone laugh at him again.

Jester grabs his tail as it goes whipping past her. She giggles and signals for the others to slow their assault a bit. Which they do, allowing Lucien a moment to pant for breath - but careful to still keep their fingers twitching enough to prevent him recollecting his strength and shoving them off. Jester holds up Lucien’s tail where he can see it. “Hey Lucien, check this out!” She brings her claws down onto his tail, right where the tip connects, and scratches.

Lucien shrieks, there’s no other word that could be used for the sound that leaves his mouth. Every sense he possesses is on overload. There’s nothing but a swirling of colors behind his eyes - all of them. He can’t see, he can’t hear, he can’t feel anything except that torturous feeling on his tail that he needs to stop right now. His arms flail and reach desperately for Jester, trying to grab something, anything to make her stop that scratching. He pitches forward with such force that he slips right out of the hold Beau and Yasha have on him and heads straight for the ground.

Jester, unfortunately, expected this reaction and maintains her grip on his tail as she eagerly follows him to the ground. Lucien resigns himself to his fate and to the sea of mirth that has swallowed him. He’s laughing too hard to even think coherently anymore. He can barely register Jester laughing along with him - and behind her, the rest of the group appears to be laughing at him again.

“Bad spot?” Fjord calls after him. He glances over, grinning, at Cree - who is openly laughing at this sight too, though she looks horrified at the same time.

Jester is giggling. “Wow, Lucien, looks like you are ticklish after all! Did you lie to us?” Lucien does not respond, still thrashing side to side and trying to yank his tail out of her hands even as he’s lost in laughter.

Jester slowly eases off his tail, letting him pull it away. She grins down at him. “Or did you not know?”

There’s no response of course. Instead, Lucien curls up in a ball on the ground. It takes him a beat to realize the tickling has stopped - and no one is holding onto him anymore. They’re all just staring at him on the ground.

Lucien launches himself to his feet, and for a split-second the little group sees their life flash before their eyes as he spins towards them. But as Lucien lunges forward, he realizes in horror that all that laughter has done something to him - he can’t quite coordinate his limbs, he’s been weakened. And before he can react to counter-balance…he stumbles forward and lands back on the marble floor.

Beauregard, laughing, is on him in a flash, pinning him down. She looks over at Jester. “Of course he didn’t know, he thought he didn’t have a single weakness. Too bad he’s ticklish as fuck and we know all his worst spots.” She punctuates this with a sudden scribbling of fingers under Lucien’s arms, making him yell out - and to his dismay, he’s laughing again.

“You could have told me!” Lucien yells from underneath Beau’s nimble fingers. “What happened to telling people things you know about them!”

Beau glances down in surprise, even as Veth - who has appeared next to them to re-join the attack - says, with a smirk, “So much more fun to show you though.” Beau tilts her head, watching Lucien as he dissolves back into laughter. There was something almost playful in his tone just then - and now, as she watches, there’s something she can just catch in his eyes and the grin that splits his face that looks almost…genuine. No longer as forced. In fact, he almost seems to be leaning into the touch instead of fighting to get away. Beau blinks in surprise. That’s unexpected.

Beau backs off slightly, fingers slowing as she pulls back into a seated position. Lucien’s eyes meet hers for a split second. There’s a pause, just for a beat. And just like that, whatever she saw is gone. Lucien is back to flailing around like an angry cat, hissing and spitting and thrashing and desperate to get away. He’s shoved whatever that was away.

Interesting. Beau will file that away for later. For now, she turns and gestures to the others. And the little group goes back to extracting every bit of laughter they can manage to get out of the flailing purple tiefling - very aware this will be their only chance to do anything remotely like this ever again.

It’s only a minute or so later that Lucien finally manages to coordinate his limbs enough to wrestle himself out from underneath them again. This time he’s prepared - he yanks his scimitars out, draws himself up to his full height, and stares them down.

No one follows him this time. They hold their hands up in peace - still grinning at him. Lucien gives them all a ferocious scowl, shoves the scimitars back away, and draws his coat around him without a word - looking for all the world like a disgruntled cat. He opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. Instead he gives them another glare, spins on his heel, and stalks off down the tunnel without a word.

Cree stands up to follow after him. She gives a glance over to the Nein, a mixture of horrified and very, very amused. They flash her bright grins in return. Cree looks away quickly and follows Lucien down the tunnel.

A moment later, Lucien’s ice-cold voice comes from down the tunnel - “What are you grinning about?!”

There’s Cree’s purring voice in return - too soft for the group to make out what she said, but with a teasing enough tone for them to have a pretty good idea. Lucien is silent.

The Nein catch each other’s eyes and burst out laughing.

[toadallytickles]

Hello this is the police (borrowing J's account) u are under arrest for bullying innocent lees

[tickle-bugs]

For the warmup prompts can you do Beetlejuice and Lydia (platonic! I do not ship them romantically in any way whatsoever) with the dialogue of “I bet I can get you to say my name.” If not, I totally understand!

So for people who haven’t seen/listened to the musical the vibe is completely different from the movie LMAO less “this is our weird uncle beetlejuice the family won’t talk to him he’s wanted by the feds and can’t come within 500 feet of the house” and more “cool but still weird cousin beetlejuice who collects strange rocks, is always in danger of being actively actively on fire, and is wayyy too into dark humor”. It’s a good show! If you like comedy musicals with a rock lean to the soundtrack, you’ll probably like it. It’s got a Little Shop of Horrors sensibility to it, I think. 

If anyone tags this as ship w/ Lydia and Beetlejuice I will crawl out of your screen like the girl from the ring and gnaw on your bones I’m so serious

AU where the plot of this show doesn’t take like. A week LMAO. Basically Lydia hasn’t said BJ’s name yet but she also hasn’t decided what to do with her dad yet. So they’re at an impasse. Lydia regularly goes to hang out in her haunted attic and lament because Delia won’t go up there, thus making it safe. Beetlejuice keeps doing Say My Name-style ad pitches to get Lydia to summon him properly but he’s not very good at it. 

EDIT: FORGOT THE BODY HORROR WARNING OOPS!! It’s very mild but just in case anyone needs it <;3

Full-Time Spectres

Lydia’s life is far from conventional, perfectly so, but she’s started to adapt to the strangeness in the walls of her house. She doesn’t have the one ghost she wants most of all, but she’s got three that do just fine for entertainment and scheming purposes. She’s gotten used to the cold spots, the occasional flicker of the lights, and Adam’s habit of walking through walls rather than doors--he figured out that he could and never wanted to stop. 

Some things she’ll never adjust to, though, like her attic being strewn with scraps of brutalized board games.

Monopoly’s been pinned to the wall with a knife, Ludo sits perfectly still on a shelf with suspicious-looking green liquid in the shot glasses, and a chess board hovers in the air, eternally aflame. It’s a massacre and she doesn’t know where half of these things came from. 

“What’s, uh…what’s happening here?” Lydia kicks the door shut behind her. The door creaks open. She kicks it closed again with a frown.

Adam looks up and squints at the door. His eyes dart around as if he can see the schematics of it and diagnose the problem from halfway across the room. Lydia allows herself a tiny smile. 

“Adam’s teaching me to play checkers.” Beetlejuice beams, which is unsettling in itself. 

“Well, I tried to reach him to play chess, then a few other things…it didn’t go well.” Adam pushes his glasses up his nose and surveys the board in front of them. He captures one of Beetlejuice’s pieces with a triumphant little ‘aha!’.

Beetlejuice takes a long, pensive look at the board. Very thin tendrils of smoke curl out of his ears as he tries to decide which piece to play. Adam, sweet Adam, goes to help him make an advantageous move, but Beetlejuice shushes him. 

“What are you doing?” Lydia sidles over to Barbara, who fumbles with an old lamp. She sets it down before she can shatter it. 

“Well, it was going to be a surprise but…” Barbara gestures excitedly to a small nook in the attic. She’s rearranged various boxes of her former belongings to build a shoddy sort of booth. A heavy, ugly floral curtain hangs precariously over the doorway. 

“It’s a dark corner!” Lydia gasps sarcastically. 

“No—well, yes, but it’s supposed to be a kind of mini dark room? I don’t know much about them but I know you’re always taking pictures.” Barbara shifts awkwardly.

Oh. Oh. 

Lydia cradles her camera in her hands, running her thumb along the outside. The pebbled texture is a kiss to her fingertips. If she concentrated hard enough, she can remember the feeling of her mom’s warm hands over her own, showing her how to hold the camera. 

“If you don’t like it—“ 

“You made this for me?” She whispers. She tries to swallow the lump in her throat. 

“Still workin’ on it, but yes.” Barbara gestures lamely. 

“You…didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got nothing but time. Might as well use it right.” Barbara shrugs. Lydia bounces on her toes.

“I’ve still, um, gotta clear out all of our junk. Adam and I don’t need it anymore, not really, and you need room to breathe. I know it’s not much, but--”

Lydia crashes into Barbara for a hug. She’s icy to the touch, but her touch is the most comforting thing Lydia can imagine. Barbara pulls her in close, cradling the back of her head with her cool hands. There is no heartbeat in her chest, but Lydia can feel that it’s not empty.  

A memory of her mother prickles at the back of her mind. She pushes it down. 

“Do you want help?” Lydia pulls away and looks towards the dark room, ignoring the twinge of grief in her gut. She can see its potential around the edges.

“It’s your surprise! You can’t help with that!” Barbara gasps, affronted. 

The curtain falls heavily from the hooks and thumps into the ground. A plume of dust kicks up and Lydia coughs. 

“Okay. Maybe you can.” Barbara scratches her head. Together, she and Lydia hoist the heavy curtain back into precarious-looking hooks embedded in the wall. As they back away from it, silently begging it to stay in place, Beetlejuice sits up ramrod straight. 

“Adam, Barbara’s throwing away your coin collection,” Beetlejuice gasps and points over Adam’s shoulder.

“What? They’re vintage!” Adam whirls around. Beetlejuice moves a bunch of pieces around, making a bunch of captures, and eats a piece for good measure. He winks at Lydia. She fondly rolls her eyes. 

“You know I would never.” Barbara says. Adam deflates. She kisses his forehead. He grumbles a little but accepts it.

When Adam turns back to the board, Lydia has the express joy of watching him go through the five stages of grief in real time. He looks from Beetlejuice to the board in sheer despair. 

“Why do you keep eating the pieces?” Adam puts his head in his hands. 

“Because, Adam dearest, it makes you mad.” Beetlejuice pats his shoulder solemnly. Lydia snorts.

“Well, I’m officially out of games.” Adam pats his thighs and stands. He ambles over to Barbara and appraises the curtain. He puts his hands on his hips and starts muttering about supports and tracks. Lydia tries to follow along but her eyes near-instantly glaze over. 

“Sooooo, Lydia.” Beetlejuice slides over to her. “Have you given my offer any more thought?”

“You still haven’t given me a convincing argument. Calling yourself ‘the worst of the best’ isn’t exactly a glowing review.” Lydia wrinkles her nose. 

“These two like me!” Beetlejuice points at the Maitlands. Barbara gives a teasing ‘meh’ gesture just to see him splutter in offense. She laughs softly. 

“I’ll admit, I’m coming around on him.” Adam chuckles. 

“Thank you, Adam. Mwah.” Beetlejuice blows a kiss in his direction. Adam turns a little pink and goes back to working on the curtain. Barbara whispers something in his ear that makes him turn even pinker. 

“They like anyone. I’ve met cardboard with stronger opinions than them.” Lydia scoffs, then turns. “No offense.” 

Adam and Barbara both shrug. 

“Fair point. Counteroffer: you hate your dad, I hate your dad, let’s kill him.” Beetlejuice gives his most enthusiastic jazz hands. Lydia stares at him blankly. 

“Denied.” She pushes his hands out of the way. 

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that you suck. Your fate hinges on me and you can’t even get me to say your name. You spend all your time cheating at board games because you need me more than I need you. That’s pretty lame for a big, scary demon,” Lydia says mockingly, curling her fingers into claws. When Beetlejuice gives her the finger, she gives two right back with a smirk. 

“Lydia, be nice,” Barbara chides, goosing Lydia’s side. She yelps and smacks her hand away. 

Beetlejuice gasps. Lydia slowly meets his sparkling eyes. 

“No.” Lydia points at him. Beetlejuice smiles slowly, wicked and full of mischief. 

“I’ll kill you. I’ll bring you back to life just to kill you--”

Lydia steps back, Beetlejuice steps forward, and all hell breaks loose. Lydia springs over a pile of Maitland junk and ducks under Adam’s arm. She shoves him into Beetlejuice’s path.

Beetlejuice simply picks Adam up and deposits him elsewhere like a Maitland mannequin. He squeaks and leaps out of the way of their chase.  

The two of them circle each other around an unbuilt dining room table kit, Lydia just barely keeping out of arm’s reach. She bolts past a dilapidated spin-your-own-yarn kit and dives through Barbara’s legs to hide behind her. 

Beetlejuice stops and visibly considers the consequences of doing the same. Barbara gives him a withering look. He tries to circle around her, but Lydia’s excellent at moving her around like a meat shield. Beetlejuice visibly starts scheming. 

Barbara looks at Lydia, looks back at him, and slides out of the way. 

“Barbara!” Lydia screeches in outrage but there’s not enough time to screech and run. He grabs her and pulls her into a bear hug. 

“Thank youuuu, Babs!” Beetlejuice grins at her. She shakes her head fondly and honorably discharges herself from the battlefield. 

“Hey Lydia…I bet I can get you to say my name.” He cackles evilly. Lydia hisses at him, but damn it, she’s already giggling nervously. He swoops his hands over her stomach, wiggling his fingers but not quite touching. 

“B-Beetlejuice!” She squeaks and rocks up onto her toes in lieu of running. 

“That’s one!” He singsongs, finally touching down on her stomach. She folds into his hands—unwise, really—and curses Beetlejuice to the high heavens and below. 

“Think we should help her?” Adam leans over to Barbara. They both watch Lydia worm around in Beetlejuice’s arms, not making much of an escape attempt despite the volume of her threats. 

“Nah.” Barbara moves a crate of nearly-unused embroidery hoops out of the way with tender care. The curtain collapses again. Both Maitlands sigh. 

“Beetlejuice, you fucker!” Lydia growls, but quickly loses it to laughter. He’s doing this infuriating little pinchy-thing to her sides, one that makes her leap clear off the ground each time. She tosses her head back and cackles, her whole face scrunched with the force of it. 

God, she hasn’t laughed like this since…well, it’s been a while. She’d forgotten that she could. 

“Eh, that probably counts. One more!” Beetlejuice finds a deathly spot on her lower ribs and decides not to leave it alone. 

“Beeeeeeeeeeeee--AHHH!” 

“Hm, yeah. See, now we’re gonna have to start over.” Beetlejuice tasers her sides, right at that spot, and feigns disapproval. Lydia makes a noise at a pitch audible only to dogs and demons. 

Crunch. 

Lydia’s foot connects directly with his face in a frankly-stunning high kick. He drops her roughly. Something goes flying across the room and hits the wall with a quiet thump. Barbara gasps sharply and covers her mouth in shock. 

Beetlejuice touches his nose—or rather, the space where it used to be, and a thick hush falls over the attic. Everyone’s eyes drift to the nose, now fallen among jars of the most rancid-looking kombucha on the face of the earth. It twitches plaintively. 

He laughs, loud and boisterous. His lack-of-nose whistles as he does. Adam picks up the fallen nose and gags before tossing it to Lydia and wiping his hands on his shirt. 

“Got your nose,” Lydia giggles weakly, depositing it into Beetlejuice’s hand. 

“Nice shot.” Beetlejuice chuckles, uncomfortably nasally, and shoves his nose back into place with an awful crack. He takes a long, wheezing inhale and gives her a thumbs up. 

“So…” He sidles close to her, bringing back the jazz hands. 

“No.” 

“Yeah, that’s fair.” He sighs. 

“Lydia, are you alright?” Delia’s voice curls faintly up the rickety staircase. She climbs up, but not all the way—Lydia can tell by the shuffling of her awful shoes. 

Everyone freezes.

“Lydia?” 

She opens her mouth to answer Delia and Beetlejuice squeezes her sides. She yelps and whirls around, but he doesn’t even have the decency to feign innocence. He just does it again, waiting for the precise moment she goes to speak. 

“Y-Yeah, I’m o-okay.” Lydia wrestles with Beetlejuice’s hands, her voice shaking with barely-restrained giggles. 

“Oh god, please don’t make me come up there.” Delia’s ‘whisper’ is anything but. Beetlejuice snorts. 

“I’m fine! Just, uhm, doing spring cleaning.” Lydia calls back, stomping on Beetlejuice’s foot. He doesn’t even flinch. 

“Okay.” A long, heavy pause from Delia. 

“You can go now!” Lydia yells. Delia’s heels click quickly down the stairs, back towards the dreary living. 

“You’re insufferable,” Lydia hisses at Beetlejuice, punching his shoulder. He holds his hand over his heart and gives a grand, sweeping bow. When he stands up, he smacks his head against the dagger in the wall. Lydia snickers at him.

He turns around like a penguin, never one to do things normally, and makes a delighted noise at the pierced Monopoly board. He pulls the knife out of the wall and pokes his finger with it a few too many times, fascinated with the sharpness of it. 

He stretches, makes a bunch of vague measurement and aiming gestures, then lobs the knife straight upwards. It lodges into the ceiling with an enthusiastic ping! The blade warbles with the force of it.

Beetlejuice slaps the Monopoly board down on the floor and plops down in front of it. Adam bemoans the state of the attic ceiling as Barbara consoles him. 

“Wanna play?” Beetlejuice snaps his fingers and the board changes, shifting into black, whites, purples, and greens. Graveyard moss creeps along the edges of the board. Monopoly components spawn into existence on the board, appearing in puffs of fog and comically-quiet wails of the damned. 

“Sure.” Lydia sits opposite him. She pokes at some of the moss. It sprouts to meet her touch. 

“If you get stabbed, you lose?” Beetlejuice casts a cursory glance to the still-wobbling knife. The blade shifts slightly out of the ceiling. 

“Deal.” Lydia sticks her hand out to shake. Beetlejuice takes it with gusto. 

“You guys wanna play?” Lydia turns to the Maitlands. Barbara and Adam look at each other, communicating in that telepathic way of theirs. Barbara grins and leads Adam over to the board to sit. 

“I call thimble!” Adam reaches for it. Beetlejuice swats his hand. Adam reaches again. Beetlejuice swats him a little harder. 

“You can’t have the thimble. I’m the thimble.” Beetlejuice pinches it between his fingers. 

“Can I have the thimble?” Barbara leans close to Beetlejuice and looks up at him through her lashes. Lydia never would’ve guessed that a demon could blush, but sure enough, Beetlejuice’s face takes on the slightest bit of color. 

“I sense that I’m being manipulated.” He narrows his eyes. 

“Is it working?” Barbara smiles. 

“Yep.” He slaps the thimble into her hand. She passes it to Adam. He beams. Beetlejuice rolls his eyes but his gaze lingers on them for just a bit too long. 

“Well played, Babs. Well played.” Beetlejuice scoops up the racecar piece and frowns at it. Its tiny metal form melts and reconfigures into a small hearse. Satisfied, he places it right next to the cat piece—Lydia’s, of course. Barbara takes the top hat with pride. 

When Beetlejuice jumps Adam for his extra get out of jail free card—of which there are a suspicious amount in Beetlejuice’s version of the game—Lydia laughs and swipes a bit of Beetlejuice’s money. Adam’s hiccupy cackles are the backdrop for Barbara robbing the bank in broad daylight, taking as many bills from the tray as her heart desires. 

Lydia’s life is certainly very strange and painfully unusual, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world. She can only hope that her mom will love being part of the attic’s menagerie of ghosts and ghouls as much as she does. 

[doopn00p]

Pina and Tem getting their nails hooves done 💅

[soft-beams]

halloooo can I request a short fic of modern au college vi x reader, reader is vi's room mate and a nursing student that needs to review for her exams and memorize human anatomy and what the muscles are called. Since Vi is pretty fit she comes up with this joke that she can write the muscle names on Vi's body, and Vi surprisingly agrees to it and I'll leave the rest up to u :3

this was so much fun to write! thank you, anon, i'm buzzing.

college roommates!vi x reader, modern au, nursing student!reader, rated m

You knew this would be a bad idea.

You were highly aware of it when you thought of it, and even more so when you asked. But you didn't know what else to do, and honestly, you had always been a visual learner.

Plus Vi was your roommate and was always talking about if you needed any help, you should never hesitate to ask her.

But asking for help like this was...bold...and brave...and maybe a little bit stupid.

Even if you did initially joke about it because this was never supposed to come to fruition.

There was no turning back now, though.

"So you just want me to take off my shirt?" Vi asks, both of you stood in the middle of your living room. She's looking at you, inquisitive, and you manage a nod while trying to find your voice.

Which is hard, considering you're so close to seeing Vi with her shirt off. Which isn't new because Vi walks around shirtless all the time. She basically lives in her sports bra when she's at home, but this is different.

You'll be getting up close and personal with a shirtless Vi. Running your fingers over her defined muscles as you memorise them. Feeling the heat of her skin against yours because she always runs hot. It's tricky territory that you're falling into, especially considering your preexisting feelings for the woman in front of you.

Damn you and your stupid jokes.

Damn Vi for entertaining your stupid jokes and making them real.

You watch as Vi takes her shirt off in that infuriatingly attractive way. Both of her hands crossed at the hem of her shirt before pulling it over her head. Your eyes are instantly drawn to her abs and the flex of her arms and you may not survive this.

Vi smiles at you, pretty and gorgeous, and so beautiful it hurts and spreads her arms open as if saying come at me.

The gesture makes you snort but also has you feeling a little warm. Especially with how her muscles shift beneath her skin at every move she makes. It's so hypotising.

"Okay, so I'm gonna write on you, and I'm gonna get real close because anatomy," you explain lamely, but Vi nods, listening seriously. "If you get uncomfortable or it's too much, then just tell me, and we'll stop."

Vi nods again, smiling. "Thanks, sweetheart. But I highly doubt that will be a problem." She says and you hum, curious.

"And why's that?" You asks, uncapping a washable marker and nearing Vi's left bicep.

Vi shrugs, turns her head away for a second, and when you glance at her face, you swear you see a hint of pink across her cheeks.

"Because it's you," she murmurs, quiet but loud enough for you to hear and oh.

"I see," you mumble, all warm on the inside and without an answer to give.

You take your time memorising Vi's body, writing down scientific names over the correct parts, and changing up the marker's colour to add fun to it.

Vi seems genuinely interested in what you're doing, even asking questions that help with your memorisation. The once tender atmosphere is light with your chatter and laughter, both of you smiling as you go through anatomy together.

Running the tip of the marker over Vi's collarbone has her squirming because she's ticklish, and you can't help but write over the bone again. You do it twice more, grinning as Vi tells you to knock it off. You tell her you won't, and she makes you swear, but that lasts for about ten seconds before you're back to it.

"You're such a jerk!" Vi exclaims, laughing as she tries to snatch the marker from you. But you're fast, and you end up dancing away from her as she attempts to grab at it.

"How can you not grab this from me?" You tease as you dodge another one of her reaches. "And you work out way more than me. This is an embarrassing moment for you."

Vi growls (oh, that's an interesting noise), and you squeal as she lunges with a speed she hadn't bothered to showcase until now. Your attempt at dodging is pathetic, and Vi has an arm around your waist as she presses you against the living room wall. Her other arm has its hand wrapped around your marker-wielding wrist and trapped above your head.

"You were saying how this was embarrassing for me?" Vi murmurs, sounding triumphant, and you'd hit back with a snarky retort but you can't because your tongue is tied.

Vi's pressed up against you, chest to chest, skin to skin, and she's so warm. Her face is mere inches away from yours, the tip of her nose almost touching yours, and you can see just how blue her eyes are. Just how red her lips are and how plump they look.

Your eyes dart up from her lips, and you catch Vi doing the same. That has your head spinning, seeing that she's also looking at you like that.

Like she wants to...

"Vi," you whisper for no reason you can decipher. You don't know why you're calling her name, but all you know is that you're burning up, and your heart is beating too loudly in your ears.

But then Vi takes that leap, lets loose a soft whimper before whispering, "Can I...? Please can I...?"

You're nodding your head faster than you can speak, but Vi's on your lips before you can even say yes.

The way she kisses you has your knees weakening. Her lips are surprisingly soft and taste like the strawberries she ate with her lunch. The inside of her mouth is even sweeter, and she echoes your moan as her arm around your waist tigthens. Her hand holding yours against the wall comes down to grasp your chin, tilting your head to the side to deepen the kiss and ah.

You pull away for air, cheeks flushed, and vision hazy as Vi trails open-mouth kisses down your neck. Your hands slide into her hair, nails grazing over her scalp, and you gasp as her deep groan sinks to your skin.

Then she's making her way back to your mouth, and you pull her in greedily, allowing her to lift you up so your legs wrap around her waist.

"Sweetheart," Vi rasps, managing to pull away for a moment. She barely resists you drawing her in for another kiss, your hands cradling her cheeks. "Sweetheart, what about your exams? I wouldn't—wouldn't want you to fail and—?"

"Vi," you say breathlessly, resting your index finger over her lips. "Pretty girl, what's another way for one to learn about anatomy?"

Vi looks at you before the blues of her eyes darken further, and she's nipping at your jaw.

"I can think of one way."

[gaybananabread]

Hello, beautiful soul!! For the fruit shop, could we have lee!Hawks and ler!LoV? With banana, orange, and watermelon? Maybe some of those tickle bites/kisses land on those extra sensitive wings...lord knows how he'd handle a raspberry. He's canonically vibration sensitive.

Fruit(s): Bananas, Oranges, Watermelon

Aww hi Anon! I’ve never written for the LoV besides Dabi, so new experience! I do have the character limit capped at four for these fics, so I just picked the league members that I thought would be most fun. Love writing for KFC, definitely one of my MHA favorites to get got (). This is gonna be pre-PLF because it’s just easier for me that way. Thank you for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy!

Lee: Hawks

Lers: Dabi, Twice, Toga

Summary: Hawks is sassing his fellow LoV members, collectively pissing everyone off. While some more violent methods are suggested, the most interested trio finds a way to get back at the birdie without injuring their “asset.” 

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

The League of Villains were gathered in their “meeting room,” though only two members were really paying attention to Shigaraki’s spiel. Kurogiri was…probably listening? It was hard to tell with him. Mr. Compress seemed to be engaged, nodding along and occasionally humming. Then again, he almost always indulged Shigi’s rants; it was just the kind of man he was.

Dabi was practically laying on the table, his head resting on his folded arms; he couldn’t care less about the precautions. If heroes ever found them, he’d burn them all to a nice crisp. Twice and Toga were trading a piece of paper back-and-forth, writing little notes and doodles to pass the time. Spinner idly twirled one of his blades, sharing most of his teammates’ boredom.

Right as Shigaraki got to the extra repetitive part of his speech, a smug yet smooth voice spoke up. “Don’cha think you should talk about something new, Shigaraki? This is getting kinda old.” 

Six pairs of eyes shot over to Hawks, though most were more excited than shocked; it was something other than the same “we’re the ultimate fighters” speech. Shigaraki, however, seemed less than amused. “Really, hero? And what would you say, since you’re so amazing at speeches?” The word “hero” was said very bitterly; his way of reminding Hawks that he was still on thinner ice.

“Well, ya really haven’t gone over the next moves for the League. We’ve tossed ideas around, but do we have a clear idea? Seems kinda important ta me.” The Decay user frowned, though he couldn’t say Hawks was wrong. He had been laying the hero slander on a little thick, but he was getting angry. Besides, he had a clear idea of what was to come next. He just wasn’t ready to share that big a plan with the bird yet.

“That…isn’t ready for sharing. I do have plans, you just… don’t get to know them.” That wasn’t a lie, either. He wasn’t telling them more than the bare minimum until the day grew closer. Upon hearing this, a few league members huffed and chuckled under their breaths. Even though they knew their leader did have plans, it was funny to see someone make him squirm. 

Hawks normally wouldn’t act like that; his main goal was to blend in and find out the League’s big plans without getting caught. That day, however, he was bored of the same unhelpful information, his casual attitude and snark slipping out without him realizing it.

That week, it had slipped out a lot. Everyone’s patience was wearing thin, to the point of them discussing various torture methods and violent solutions. A few were particularly pissy, having a group discussion about what the hell to do with their newest member.

“I’m gonna kill that ungrateful newbie.” Shigaraki growled in a scratchy, annoyed tone. “Who does he think he is, hijacking my fine meeting?!” Toga giggled, though didn’t make any comments.

Dabi spoke next, huffing. “Told you lunatics he was trouble. But no, none‘a you listened to me. Reap what you sow, assholes.” He really didn’t care about minding his language; everyone was a bit pissed, giving him an excuse. Twice decided to put his two cents in, quite literally.

“C’mon, it’s probably just an off week for him or something. Let’s main him; I’m sure nobody would mind!” Toga giggled again, catching the attention of the hothead. Dabi glared at her, crossing his arms as his snarl somehow deepened. “What’s got you all giggly, psycho? Maiming get you going or somethin’?”

The blonde just shook her head, a shit-eating yet lax smile on her face. “You boys are going about this all wrong~! If he’s making jokes, you gotta make him laugh for it to stop! Izuku-kun does it all the time~” She sounded oddly reminiscent at the end… Still, Dabi just scoffed.

“Make him laugh? And you’re still stalking that hero kid? Seriously?” She disregarded that second part, nodding and smiling widely. “Yeah! He’s looking for a giggle or snicker when he sasses you guys; why not return the favor~?” The answer was cryptic, as things usually were with Toga, but it got a certain man interested. 

“Return the favor? How do we do that, jokes? That’s idiotic, let’s just do it my way!” His first statement sounded intrigued, so Toga went with it and explained. “Well, that’s one way, but Izuku’s friends make it a lot more fun!”

Dabi interjected, sick of the short back-and-forth. “Fuckin’ hell, just say it, you nutjob! Sick of this!” She rolled her eyes, pouting. “So grumpy, Dabi! Well, I say…we tickle him!”

Every man in the room paused, looking at her with varying degrees of “what now?” for her statement. 

“Tickle him? What is this, fuckin’ preschool?”

“Toga, we’re respectable villains, not children.”

“Oh…I mean, uhm, why. What the hell?!”

“C’mon boys, you’re no fun! It would teach him a lesson, and he’d probably stop interrupting your meetings~” Toga said the last bit in a sing-songy voice, making Shigaraki huff. She had won. “Whatever, I don’t care. If it doesn’t work, though, I’m putting chicken wings on the menu.” Their leader left, done with that entire conversation; Toga had his permission, though.

“Are you really not gonna take the opportunity to get back at Hawks? Even after he called you crispy?” The flame user’s nostrils flared; she knew how to play her cards. “FINE! Fine, ya shit, I’ll help! You’re lucky I need revenge…  Twice, c’mon.”

The multi-opinionated villain jumped up, seeming mostly curious and a bit excited to carry out their plan. Well, if you could call the vague outline of “tickle Hawks until he stops being an ass” a plan. Still, they were ready.

-

Hawks was sitting at the bar counter, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. He was bored, and the news was rather unhelpful in keeping him up-to-date. He was in a sort of daze, so much so that he didn’t notice the three villains sneaking up behind him. 

Twice took one more step, though that seemed to be a wrong move; the floorboard squeaked, alerting Hawks of their presence. He whipped his head around, seeing the three of them “sneaking” towards him. Oh hell no…

He immediately tried to fly away before realizing that he couldn’t; he had depleted his wings in a fight a few days prior. He was stuck with running. The hero took off, zipping into the back room of the bar. 

The villain trio followed, though Dabi wasn’t putting his full effort into it. Twice ducked through one of the roundabout doors, running through the back halls. Right as Hawks flung another door open to try and escape, he was greeted by two wide cloth eyes. Not good!

Twice tackled him, calling out to Dabi for the taller man to restrict the winged hero. Dabi grabbed Hawks, keeping his hands pinned behind his back as he practically marched the other man back into the main bar. The flame user forced Hawks to sit, using Toga’s red scarf thing to bind his hands together. “Let me go! When I get loose, you guys are-”

Toga pretty much cut him off, too eager to wait any longer. She bent her fingers into claws, running them down both sides of him. He squeaked, biting his lip to restrain the giggles bubbling in his throat. He failed pretty quickly.

The blood enthusiast cooed, speeding up her tickling fingers. “Heya birdie~! You’ve been trying to get us to laugh aaall week! Figured we could give you your turn!” Hawks thrashed a bit, realizing two things: one, dabi was behind him and very close to his wings, and two, he was completely stuck. Shit. “G-gehet off mehehehe!”

Dabi spun the stool a bit, exposing more of Hawks’ front and giving the two other villains more access. His own fingers wormed their ways between his wing bases and his back, tickling furiously; man was wasting no time. The duality of Toga’s gentler teasing and Dabi’s ruthless scribbles drew deep, panicky belly laughter from him. “H-HEHEHEY! DAHABI, NAHAT- GYAAHAHA!”

“Ooooh, bad spot~ Get ‘im, Dabi!” Toga cooed close to Hawks’ ear, her fingers teasing along his ribcage and sides. Now that the man was more exposed, Twice joined in, his hands as split as his personality. The left was lightly clawing at his stomach while the other was digging into the back of his knee. The most wonderful noise Toga had ever heard left his lips; a snorty squeal.

“Awwwww, Hawks~! That’s soooo cute! Twice, make him do it again!” The man continued to torment Hawks’ knee, pulling more loud laughter and a few snorts from him. “TWIHIHI- *snrk* FUHUHAHACK OHOFF!” “Wow, you’re ticklish! He’s like a human squeak toy!” Toga giggled, absolutely delighted; it was like a deranged kid in a candy store.

While those boisterous reactions were great and all, Dabi was out for revenge, not playtime. Looking over the bird man’s wings, he noticed just how much they were twitching from the scribbling on the bases. The most they would move, though, was when Dabi got closer, his breath slightly ruffling a few feathers. Oh…oh that’s perfect.

Leaning in closer, Dabi whispered in the hero’s ear, the smirk clear in his voice. “Get ready to sing for me, birdie~” Hawks squeaked at the buzz on his ear, his eyes widening when he realized just where Dabi was. Toga and Twice were still going to town, giving him no reprieve. It wasn’t as bad as when Dabi was on his wings, but that would soon change. “Dahahabi noho! Ihi- I’ll kihihill youhuhuhu!”

Completely ignoring the other man’s pleas, Dabi lowered his mouth to the depleted wings, gently nibbling on the very top of the frame. 

Hawks practically shrieked, his back arching as he tried to get away. Toga grabbed his waist, both wanting to continue and help out her fellow tickler. “DAHAHAHAHA! *snrk* NAHAHAT THEHERE!”

Dabi just chuckled against his wings, sneaking small kisses in with the nibbles. The other man’s reactions, while adorable, were fulfilling his need for revenge quite nicely. It was also hilarious to see a pro hero absolutely destroyed by something so simple. “What’s wrong, bird brain? Does it tickle?”

At that point, what Twice and Toga were doing was nothing; his wings were horrid, especially with bites and the like. If he could, he’d send his feathers after Dabi to get him off. His wings were left with only smaller feathers, however, and he couldn’t focus enough to control them if he tried.

As much as the man hated to do it, he was really close to his breaking point. Throwing in the white flag, Hawks tried to call the mercy plea, though he had no idea which one to use. “S-STAHAHAP! REHED, UHUNCLE, C’MOHOHON!”

Dabi snickered, taking a quick break from the nibbles and kisses to tease Hawks’ ear once again. “You gotta promise to behave, songbird~ No more sass.” Then, without giving the winged hero a chance to speak, he blew a raspberry right on the base of one of Hawks’ wings. 

That man lost his shit.

“NYAAAAHAHA! *srk* DAHAHA-” The man’s laughter went silent as Dabi blew another raspberry, the killer vibrations spreading all throughout his wings and flooding his senses. The vibration sensitivity in his wings was amazing for flight combat, but it was like an Achillies heel in that moment. Tears of mirth gathered in the corners of his eyes, his thrashing almost tripling.

Toga, of all people, felt a bit bad for Hawks. She liked the bird a bit and had already gotten her fill of his laughter. Plus, the silent stuff was no fun. “Awe, Dabi, give him a break. We don’t wanna kill him; he won’t be able to laugh anymore!”

Rolling his eyes, he pulled his head away; it was almost cute how quickly the man slumped back onto his chest. He was exhausted. 

Panting and trying to regain his composure, Hawks giggled off the residual tickles. Both of his wings were buzzing with ticklish energy, his face red and his mind reeling. “Hoho- hohohoholy shihit…” Looking around, he noticed the expectant looks he was getting. He’d rather not risk that happening again so soon. “Ihi prohohomise to…to stohop sassing youhu guhuhuhuys. Hahappy?”

A small sound came from behind him; something strangely close to an amused snort as Dabi chuckled. “Ecstatic. You’re a mess, bird brain.” Toga leaped forwards, getting very into Hawks’ personal space and smiling. “Oh my, that was adorable! You look so cute when you beg~!” Twice chuckled behind her, both sides of him amused with what happened.

The moment Dabi untied his hands, Hawks stormed off, shutting and locking the door to his temporary room in the bar. Having achieved their goal, the three villains split ways, each going to do their respective business. Dabi went to stalk the city’s nighttime scene, Twice decided to play video games, and Toga updated her tabs on poor Midoriya. While they all did their own thing, all three of them were thinking about what had just happened. 

Even Hawks, who would have preferred to forget it ever happened, laid on his bed with the event running through his mind. He’d definitely be watching his mouth from then on…

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

academic rivals part 2! viktor x fem!reader

(part 1)

author’s note: this is my humble, poorly proof-read new year’s present. banter, smutty smut and all that. what is this with me and semi-public vehicle (train) sex scenes. anyways. this was highly requested so i delivered. enjoy!

word count: 5,3k~

—

His mouth arcs into a sardonic smirk under your thumb, front teeth nipping ever so sternly—all fucked-out glimpses of insolence gnawing at your composure. So much for paying homage to the proper aftermath. It’s his penchant for prideful gestures that always gets in the way—a ticklish kiss that’s more self-pleased than it’ll ever be tender, lingering below your ear in a slick little trace and basking in the rigid sequence of breaths. Sinewy hands curl around your thighs and slide a ticklish trail home—a finishing touch to your undoing by his hands. A stunt he’s allowed to pull only when you sit astride him. 

“Fuck.” It comes out in a rasp—a trembling, gulping thing that you spit above his clavicle, fingers tearing at his shirt in the very same fashion he’d disposed of yours mere minutes prior. Gaze down and stubborn, even in its bleariness. “Lose the grin. I can’t stand it.”

“Am I not allowed to indulge in some self... acclaim?” Viktor holds a breath and lurches forward with a sloppy bob of his head, catching hold of your wrist just in time to brush your knuckles with the corner of his smiling lips. 

“You and your redundant swank. You might as well write it on your forehead. ‘Look, I made a woman cum for once!’”

That scores you an incredulous chuckle. And it’s a sweet taunt when he leans backward, watching you crawl out of his lap through weak-kneed splendor. Dizzy and struggling to find your shirt, but neither of you mind a little voyeurism—Viktor almost looks upset when you finally swing the thing on your shoulders, popping the buttons closed—so watchfully sluggish. Dragging it out until the side of your breast is finally out of his reach. The opposite of a striptease. 

“For once?” He chides with a huff. 

His lean on the desk is heavy when he gets up—has you frowning as he groans, straightening his back, and your shaky, helpful hands rush to put his cane back into his palm. You definitely ought to consider doing it on softer surfaces. 

And there goes your taciturn gratitude. Intermittent tenderness at its best—wrapping around his shoulders and kissing him on the mouth, swirling inside your chest in that one terrifying, anything-but-casual tingle. 

Too bad you’d rather drink his promised periodic table-flavored coffee than confirm your affection verbally, though.

“Maybe twice,” you concede, but that little mercy doesn’t please him. It’s a prickly antic when he trades the lovely squeeze of your hip for a warning pinch, and you have no choice but to sigh, clinging off his frame with a defeated, “Fine. Thrice at best.” 

“Try quadrupling that,” Viktor bites back, earning himself a scoff. “Although, I’m sure the received sum will noticeably deviate from the accurate amount.”

“That’s not plausible. We’re not fucking nearly long enough for you to even dream of that.”

“Ah, but you do admit that ‘thrice at best’ doesn’t do my accomplishments enough justice.”

“God, you’re so flippant. Remind me why I’m sleeping with you again?”

Truly, though, why do you keep doing it? Your rivalry is not exactly a fugitive—it was still there, jagged and swollen inside your gut, piercing through your temples whenever he dared to challenge you. And his contempt never left, either—all tense veins threatening to snap out of his neck every time he towered above you with a new complaint. An ouroboros of aching vocal cords and heated profanities—mostly on your part. Mostly during those tedious hours of assembling the exoskeleton. 

Oh, but what a twist it gained.

A titillating, filthy thing that both of you couldn’t get enough of. Shamefully lucrative, too—both for the Inventor’s Competition and for your sanities—biting, bruising, binding your limbs together in whatever hate-fucking fashion he did it to you the first time. And the second one. And the third. You couldn’t exactly make out when it got diluted into something palpably softer, though. 

When the need to pound you senseless just to make the cooperation bearable was replaced with a mere ‘Would you like a distraction?’ When his name—once urging you to wash your mouth with soap for every shameful time you had to call out for him—became your favorite disyllabic moan, sultry and choked up beneath or atop him (and invariably followed by a sweetly sadistic tug on his tousled hair). When there isn't a single logical reason left for you to keep it up—because the prototype finally lies before you, complete and stunning, outstripping the deadline by two days, and the presentation is already approved by your mentors. Not without a plethora of mutual insults, but that part could never be avoided. And the job was done. Flawlessly so. That’s the only thing that matters. 

Except it isn’t.

Your temporary partnership was over. Sure, there’s still the main event waiting to be dealt with, but that affair is of a strictly professional nature. No twisted, romantic business allowed. Maybe you could still arrange a few superfluous recitings—more so to come up with another excuse to undress him and gently pull the device over that prominent spine, then to hastily get him out of it when one of you inevitably starts questioning the other’s intelligence (or decency). A maniacal urge to find something—anything to claim one more chaotic evening before it’s over. Before you lose every preposterous explanation for lusting after him. 

How very counterproductive of you.

Even tonight. Barely any science talk, yet so much redundant touching. Nonsensical anecdotes. Laughter. Insult-framed, jagged heart-to-hearts. Anything but a decent, last-adjustments-related workshop. And there was definitely no reason to finish as late as you did. 

And yet, it’s quarter to midnight when you’re finally packing up. His hand keeps slipping off the handle when he holds the door for you. And he stands there so tellingly disheveled, with his hair a mess like a screaming proof of your entanglement: he could never fight the allegation if someone were to walk in on you one of these nights. Certainly not looking like that. 

Knowing, astute eyes followed your languorous tease of a walk. He failed to swallow a scoff when you attempted to run out of the lab (the audacity of you to even consider leaving without kissing him goodbye!), and that stunt cost you a graceful penalty. 

Viktor’s scrawny frame found support in a quick recline on the wall. Had you squealing when something hard tugged on your waist. His cane, you realized, turning to address the bastard. But he exceeded. Weaved his arm around you and pressed your chest flush with his, grinning down when your fingers reached for his corduroy vest. And that smile—gummy and ostentatious—almost tore his mouth when you gave him a nasty glare from beneath tired lids. An oblivious passer-by would definitely mistake this for a lovely embrace in the doorway—if not for the way you pulled his tie and clashed agape mouths in a harsh nip of a kiss. 

“Asshole,” you grumble, going in for another toothy collision. His laugh bounces off your tongue and rolls down your throat in a vibrating little shake—and you giggle back, awkwardly waltzing him out of that dim room, face still clinging to his in a vile attempt to distract while he fumbles with the key. 

“Mmm,” Viktor hums, watching your tangled legs trip over his cane. “You should amend this obsolete dirty talk. Your semantics have become tolerably pleasant.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t have to endure them any more.” 

He drops the keys with an awkward clang. 

And it’s a first for you—to face the taciturn side of him, smug face unscathed with usual complacency as he watches you bend over to pick up the dangling bunch—sharp shoulders hunching when he reaches to take it from your hands, praying that you miss the subtle shake of his fingers. 

“Any more?” He clarifies. His voice echoes through the hall, so oddly strained—and for a moment you simply stare, unsure of how to pussyfoot your way out of this calamity. 

You shudder through it, sharply gnawing at your cuticle. Looking up at him with eyes full of puzzled radiance. Come what may. 

How does one confess to holding a sentiment? To a semi-former rival, no less? Is he even fond of you? He has to be. His sweet, yearning-ridden eyes tell you that much—so glassy under those shabby chestnut strands. So astutely askance. Surely, you can soften them. You just have to word it right. I want to keep doing this. You can make my eyes roll. Both in bed and because you’re so awfully irritating. Well, not in bed. In… chair. On the desk. The floor, too. In fact, why don’t we move this to our bedrooms? You’ve been promoted. I’d like to date you. Are you available to discuss the details? Right this instant?

“Yes. We finished the prototype, did we not? There’s no need for us to keep working nor sleeping together.” What the fuck. No! Shove that concise shit back into your throat and choke on it. Kiss him senseless. Redeem yourself while you still can—

But Viktor nods. Swipes his tongue over his freshly wounded bottom lip (thank you very much), and averts his eyes to ponder his shoes. So that’s how it is. 

“I thought…” He struggles to pronounce it. Stumbles over a digraph and hisses it in a most foreign way—and you’re sorry to have reduced him to shitty pronunciation, watching a hard gulp slowly bob down his throat. Why, just why did you have to blurt that out?

Viktor retaliates, though. Scratches his nape. Shuffles from foot to foot and coughs. A nervous tic you bear witness to for the first time, and, in a way, you gobble up his vulnerability—quiet and almost sacred, in the ambiance of this dark, long hall. 

“I thought…” He tries again but trails off to sigh. “Well…We’d already established that we shouldn’t limit our arrangement to, eh… strictly professional benefits. We may not have a reason to proceed, but wouldn’t ending it altogether be a… sunk cost fallacy?” 

Oh fuck. You do not take that well. In fact, it ignites a scoff—arms crossed over your chest and pressing hard enough to bruise your sternum. Heels clacking intimidation as you step closer, raising a brow.

“Ah, so that’s what you’re most concerned about? You simply regret investing time in me, is that it?” 

“What?” He huffs. His words—so delectable, you just want to eat them right up, especially when they gain that slightly baffled edge, all his vowels so sweetly round and pushy. “What gave you the impression?” Oh yes. Yell at me some more. Let's fight one last time and maybe I won’t feel bad about prioritizing my pride over keeping you. Bravo. How mature.

“Sunk cost fallacy?” You deride. “Seriously?” So close—almost mouth to mouth again, and you’re sure some of your spit must’ve landed on his cheek with the way you seethed it through gritted teeth—not that he minds, of course. That much was determined a long time ago. 

“Oh, since when are you so picky with your phrasings?” Viktor jeers. Pretty eyes already bleary with anger—there’s no turning back, and you know it’s a lost cause when his hand digs into his cane, twisting hard enough to strain a wrist.

Tremendous.

“I thought you wanted to keep doing this because you liked it!” You rant. Let him hover over your head (dejavu), hot breaths compounding. Scorching. 

“You’re ridiculous. I never claimed not to like it!” He concedes, hitching an exhale.

“Why won’t you admit it, then?” You pry again—nose bumping against his. There goes your decorum—straight into canines and itching to bite—right at that insufferable tongue of his. 

But he doesn’t retreat. Two can play that game.

“Why won’t you admit it? I haven’t heard a single verbal sign of appreciation from you, either.”

“Why would I spell it out for you?”

“Why wouldn’t you spell it out for me?” 

“Because the implication is there. I don’t like stating the obvious!”

“So you don’t deem me worthy of your confessions? That’s a shame. Am I to believe I’m not as special as you paint me to be?”

“Oh, you’re special all right! A special prick, that’s what you are!”

You don’t bother with confining that insult. In fact, you hope it lands precisely where you aimed—always his ego, that enormous entity you seek to tame at all cost.

But alas. That strikes a different nerve. Viktor’s teeth gnash when he takes a step back, his nasal, disappointed exhale tickling your face at last. And you don’t get to bask in the triumph. Because seeing him scowl feels anything but good—more so when he turns around, his head wagging in disbelief, eyes rushing to avert like he’ll throw up if they linger on you any longer. 

“I tried being patient with you,” he mumbles over his shoulder, “but if you prefer useless insults over admitting your feelings… I shall not waste any more time on your immature antics.” 

And when he tops it off with a sad Goodnight, followed by a spiteful hiss of your last name, you don’t mutter anything back. 

You let the silent hall consume you, chewing your lip off to the faint thumps of his cane. Foretasting a sleepless night full of awkward agony and an even more insufferable trip to the competition. With Viktor. Side by side. In one tiny compartment. 

Come what may, huh? Well, how do you feel about that mindset now? 

—

Walks of shame have enough flavours to conduct a small study. You’ve tried every single one in a span of one day—first dragging your feet as you trudged to your dorm with hunched shoulders, guilt dissolving remnants of your vigour. And then—a more potent one, crumbling you completely on your way to the lab as you mourned the sweet reminiscence in the morning—stumbling upon the things he did to you on those very surfaces, every corner marked lovely with your shared achievements. Reminding you of exactly what you’d fucked up the night before. A slap, but not on the ass.

There’s nothing left for you but to sigh, gently retrieve the prototype and see yourself out. Staying there even for a minute longer would have you tumbling head in hands. And you were already almost late for the train. Running to the station with ragged breath and bumbling over your own feet—always a hot mess no matter where you go. Nearly slipping down to the rails when you finally arrive, your skirt all hiked up. Pulling hair out of your face and mouth, hasty and inelegant. Gagging on a strand when someone (Viktor, of course) coughs behind your back and huma a reluctant greeting as you turn around, startled. Stern, ochre eyes meet spooked ones. They darken, when you ogle him—a guilty pleasure, really—and almost curse out loud, noticing his shirt (the shirt!): the thin linen thing he wore the very first night you spite-fucked him. Did he do it on purpose? Smooth enhancer. How dare he. 

“You’re late,” Viktor states. Casts a quick eye on his wrist—he’s wearing a watch today, the professional bastard—and gets back to judgmental peeking, scolding you from beneath arched brows. The embodiment of a harsh peer review. 

“I’m not late,” you argue, shaky arms wrapping around the exoskeleton almost possessively. “I’m just in time.” 

He looks at his watch again. Clicks his tongue—a meticulous, petulant tsk—and shakes his head, hair fluffing all around him as the train approaches with a peevish screech, all windy streams hitting you in the face. 

Just in time indeed.

You follow him into the cart. Trip over the last stair and all but leap inside, face bumping into his back with a harsh squeal. “Sorry,” you mutter, skittishly holding onto the prototype. Not as fierce today, are we?

“Watch your step,” Viktor warns. Not even a tactful glare. Hell, not even an over-the-shoulder one. He simply leads you to the compartment, so painfully casual. And you grudgingly tag along, staring at his nape with a choked up whine—so blatantly obvious in your pining.

Oh to brush your nose against those knotty little hairs. To taste the skin and smirk when he arches into the nip, whispering some indistinct Czech nothing. But you’re not allowed to. Not anymore. You did this to yourself, remember? 

He opens the door for you, nodding to your seats. Waits for you to squeeze inside (the invention is a bit chunky, after all), leaning on his cane with a tranquil grunt. He must’ve gotten to the station by foot—you can tell by the way he’s stretching out his leg, sitting down. 

You wonder if this morning would’ve turned out any different had you decided not to be a cunt last night—had you told him how you really feel, no filthy words involved (except for those he likes to drag out of you, if he felt like indulging in that to celebrate).

Would you go to his dorm or yours? Would you fight over what to have for breakfast? Would you catch a cab here together? 

But the conductor helpfully ruins your bitter daydream. You awkwardly fumble inside your pocket, searching for the ticket, eyes still set on Viktor and his polite little exchanges. Good morning. Yes, of course. Here you go. Have a nice day. 

But when you finally hand that lovely lady your crumpled ticket—she drops the smile and offers you a dry thank you. The hypocrisy. 

The conductor retaliates, leaving you alone with Viktor’s ambiguous silence. So captivating when he sits in front of you, staring out the window, piney shadows running over his face in all kinds of prickly shapes. You join in on the pondering, but the remorse doesn’t let you admire the woods. The view simply blurs into vertigo-like heaps of green. 

“Ahem.” Great. Resorting to fake coughs now. So much for getting him to talk to you. Watching the glide of his tongue behind a hollow cheek and resenting that cruel show-off. Sure, you do deserve a punishment, but the drollery is hardly necessary. Some heavy artillery is in order.

Your shoe invades his pants. Just the toe, but it’s a tight fit nonetheless—forcing its way inside the leg opening and pressing hard. Scratching him precisely above the sock and gobbling up the huff he draws out, angry pupils flaring at your audacity. 

His fingers flinch down and wrap around your ankle. So belligerently erotic. More so when he forces your foot out of his pants and yanks it in its place. All gritted teeth and confused pouts. Seething intimidation and something you can’t quite make out. Has your heart dropping straight into your underwear. So the spark is still there, you note. Good to know.

“Don’t,” he alerts. “I don’t feel like indulging in another quarrel.”

“That’s not what I’m after.”

“I don’t care what you’re after. I’m fed up with your aggravating drivel.”

“It’s a good thing I’m offering you an apology, then.”

That grounds him. Tempts him treacherously enough to fail at hiding his commotion, curious mouth dropping open. But you interrupt that speechless. Leaning closer and prying his fist lax, hands twining firm through sweaty reluctance. Thumbs circling each other skittishly. 

“I’m sorry.” You mean it. He knows you do—harsh decorum tumbling right that instant, no matter how convincingly he’s shaking his head. “I’m sorry,” you proceed, “for being so arrogant. I always expect vulnerability from you. But it goes both ways. Well, it should. At least I know that much. I should’ve never adhered to… whatever that was. It’s just that… I get so tongue-tied when feelings are on my agenda.”

Viktor smiles, albeit still curtly. “That outburst didn’t seem tongue-tied to me at all.” 

“May I please finish before you start with all the nitpicking?” You frown, shooting him a tumultuous stare. He chortles. So insufferable. But you love him for it, don’t you?

“Back to my apology, though.” You solemnly clear your throat. “Where was I? Oh yes, vulnerability. Well, perhaps it’s already too late to address it, but I do respect you. And I do like you. In every capacity. I’m sorry for insulting you when you were clearly expecting sweetness. And if you want nothing… unprofessional to do with me after I treated you the way I did—I totally understand it. Just no more of this stonewalling bullshit, please. I want to win that damned competition and maintain a decent relationship with you afterwards. No… how did you put it? Aggravating…?”

“Drivel.”

“Right. Aggravating drivel.” 

You both nod. So it’s settled, then? A flimsy truce? Just a quick, respectful split (too quick, even)—and you almost feel underwhelmed when he slowly slips away from your touch, bashfully averting his eyes at last. It’s over, you think. Or is it? 

And then—a change of heart, so sudden and so demanding—crawling back into your palm and prying shaky fingers loose, pushing himself right back where he’d just left you empty. Ignoring your incredulous Oh? and staring at you from the altitude of his seat, thin mouth quivering into an arc. Still so insistent on running his tongue over the very wound your teeth sliced into his bottom lip. You allege to kiss him gently henceforth. If only he returns you this perk, that is. 

“Do you truly seek a decent relationship with me? Nothing more, nothing less?” He asks carefully. 

“It’s not about what I seek, Viktor. It’s about what you’re willing to give me. The decision is yours.”

“No.” He winces. “Quit it. You’re an atrocious liar. Where’s that volatile stubbornness I admire about you?” 

You grin. Admire. What a revelation. 

And you can show him stubborn if that’s what he wants—hands already swiftly sliding up his thighs and shackling them to the seat. 

Tenacious it is, then. Hovering over his lap and tacitly asking permission to slide in. Savouring the best of answers when he pulls you towards him, long fingers curling low on your hips. Shaking just from having you on top of him again. It’s where you belong, after all. 

“Is that stubborn enough for you?” You chide. He smiles up at you in the very way that always makes you weep for him. Well, not you, per se. Just the needy thing between your ribs. And between your legs. But you’re not sure if the ambiance is appropriate for those kinds of tears yet. You do have a relationship to establish, after all. 

“You can do better than that,” Viktor whispers. Avid lips curl against your shoulder and fumble up, puckering a sparsely chaste kiss into your cheek. A tender overture ante-inevitable. 

“Do you want me to do better?” You hitch, slurring the question. Fingers already lost in fistfuls of his hair and struggling not to pull—so unvirtuous when it comes to patience. But you’re willing to wait for him. Especially when he’s staring at you this closely, all clenched jaw and tense shoulders. 

“I do,” Viktor concedes. “Of course I do. And I owe you an apology, too. I should’ve never accused you of childishness when I was hardly sophisticated myself. If anything, I should’ve told you how I feel first.”

“Mmm, are we competing in confessions now? What is this with you always trying to outstrip me?”

“Lose the prefix. I only want to strip you. But that’s besides the point. I regret my hesitation. I simply wish I’d told you sooner. All competition aside.”

Oh well. 

If the man has spoken, all while looking at you so devotedly—surely you can give him what he wants? It’s not like you don’t want to hear it, either. It’s a dream come true, to have Viktor half a beat from spilling his heart out into your hands. Figuratively, literally and however else he prefers. 

You finally indulge in a sneaky pull on his hair. Keeping his head thrown back when you drawl a raspy, “Lucky for you, I feel very charitable today.” But the cheekiness vanishes when you bashfully add, “You can tell me now. If the offer still stands.” Handing him the stubborn baton through a kiss so soft that he shudders beneath you, treacherous tachycardia tangible in his very temples. But it’s a necessary risk. Conversation is a relay sport, after all. 

Viktor peers at the door. Suddenly, you’re reminded of your predicament, rocking sideways and adding to the delight of your giddiness—the compartment (which tininess you had to thank for pushing you back into his vicinity) was providing you barely any flimsy privacy. 

Come to think of it, the lovely conductor may barge in to offer you tea any time soon. And god, the thought of her turning rouge to the sight of you gnawing at him shouldn’t excite you this much. It shouldn’t excite you, period. 

And yet it does. Heartbeat rolling back into your underwear and all that. You can see Viktor's pulse follow suit. You could even cup it through his pants—if you felt like it. Both of you have half a mind to get into it right that perverse instant, but, thankfully, his share of decorum proves bigger. And so he reaches behind your back, sliding the lock shut. Sharp eyes return to your lips, seeking resumption. 

You lick into him with the vigour of a farewell kiss. And a farewell it is—to whatever undefined mess you’d started in that lab two weeks ago. You’re changed people now. A tad clumsy with your gentle tongues colliding and tickling each-other’s palates unskillfully. But nothing is unmanageable to Viktor. He quickly gets the hang of it, figuring out a way around your mouth. Grinning against your tongue like a fool. And you humm, clinging to his hair with trembling fingers. Arching under his own when he crumples your shirt, finding a grabby hold of your waist. So greedy. 

It’s hard to fight the force of habit. To put your teeth out of the way. His content moan only riles you up, more so when you suck at his bottom lip, tasting dried iron where he still wears your crimes of passion. You shower those little wounds in guilty kisses, smiling. He pulls away, panting through a wheezy chuckle. Tributing the next moment to an enthralled staring contest before forcing your mouth open again, one hand besetting your neck, mindful not to choke, another daring to slip under your shirt and follow a shivering path to the underside of your breast. Nimble fingers outlining an aureole while his tongue traces your lip. Beautiful contingency. 

“I adore you,” he rasps. Licks up the thick saliva string connecting your mouths and marvels at you, contorted with horny desperation. Bedroom eyes glimmering under dark lashes. Bedroom. You really ought to take him there. Eventually. For now, he lovingly wrecks you on a train, bodies moulded together in a tiny seat. You laugh, pushing his tousled hair back.

“Do you?” 

“I do.” He nods. Kisses your temple and presses his thumb into your nipple, fondling it hard. “You and your superfluous, unwavering pride. The nasty things you call me with such genuine fervour.” 

“But you’re into that.”

“Oh yes. To a concerning extent, I might add.” And he places your hand on his crotch, knowing that you prefer physical evidence.

“Back to my adoration, though,” he proceeds. Gently nudges you off his lap, using your puzzled reverence to his advantage—legs bending as he slides to the floor, lurking between your thighs. Hunching over them to steal one more peck—it’s hard to resist, really—and pushing your knees apart, hardly even insistent. 

His cunning, unmerciful fingers engulf bashful shivers when he reaches beneath your skirt and hooks his thumbs into your underwear, swiftly gliding the soaked thing down. You wish you’d chosen a fancier pair, but alas: one doesn’t exactly plan ahead to have make-up sex on a train. 

“Viktor,” you whine a choked up warning. But he doesn’t just leave the lacey garment to dangle off your ankles. He folds it into his pocket with a grin so wide that it might just rip his mouth. Back to his bastard roots. No amount of gentleness could ever cure a perpetual asshole. 

“What?” He huffs. Feigned innocence slumping when you push your legs further apart, arching into the seat. Filthily inviting him to have a taste. He settles on having a look for now, hitching a whistling breath as his eyes roam—every inch of you swollen and ready just for him. More so when his lips brush your skin, leaving a wet kiss above your knee. Moving up, up, up and faltering when you grab him by the nape, shoving his face where you need him most. 

But he doesn’t oblige. Simply smiles at you and snakes a cruel finger between your folds, teasing the slit sloppy. 

“You—ah, stole my underwear,” you moan, nails sharply stinging Viktor’s neck. His finger curls inside you, trembling when you clench at the contact, every nerve taut and ready to snap. Especially when the heel of his palm flattens your clit, dull pressure like a sweet tingle making your legs feel numb. His free hand grabs your calf and pushes it in the air, and the stretch stings so deliciously that you have to bite your fist to muffle a moan. Oh the detriments of fucking in public. 

“I did,” Viktor concurs, bottoming out inside you. His thrusts are languid, as if intending to feel every crevice, that smart-mouth of his smiling wider with every dirty, sticky sound. You look away just in time to hide your embarrassment. 

“Will you give it back to me?” You ask, teeth almost slicing your cheek when he bends to steal a careful taste of your clit, tongue poking you almost too gently. 

“No,” he hums against you, staring up. Eyes hazy with awe at just how wet and pliant you are for him.

At how his fingers are always welcome inside you, no matter mouth or cunt. Perhaps other… orifices, too, but you’re yet to explore that. For now, he can only think of the needy task at hand. 

“You expect me to attend the competition with no underwear?” You mumble, clenching your jaw, but it’s hard to be mad at him when his tongue feels so good. More so when he does that little thing you like, tending to your clit in a circling lick, all while pumping his finger deep to the knuckle. Has you tilting your head back with your hand thrown over your damp forehead, mouth stretching in an O that could’ve been so debauched if not for your reticent calamity. What a loss.

“Precisely,” he answers when you almost forget about the question, his voice a raspy vibration against your skin. “I’d like to see you deal with that inconvenience.” 

“It’s rude to speak with your mouth full,” you hiss, grabbing him by the collar. And being womanhandled suits him well—he meets your eyes with playful compliance, chin proudly tilted up. 

“I never claimed to be polite.” He shrugs. Smartass.

“Right. Is that why you’re putting me in that predicament or are you just a pervert?” 

“Both, really. But if you want me to elaborate—“ he sighs, leaning back to admire your face, “I want to be the reason for your predicaments and undoings. I want to have you as my partner—in life, science, crime, bed or this very compartment. I want to make your eyes roll, both when you cum for me and when I say something you find ridiculous—which, I must admit, is objectively implausible because I’m hardly ever wrong, but we’ll have enough time to fight over that later.” 

“Viktor—” You blush, letting go of his collar, heart stammering out of your ribs when he pulls away, promptly fixing his tie. 

“For now, though,” he interrupts you, stealing a quick glance at his watch, “I’d simply like to go down on you before we have to get off this train. So if you’re still feeling scandalous,” he teases, letting you kiss your own sour taste off the corner of his mouth, “relaxing and letting me take the lead would be most helpful.”

[kitkatscabinet]

Eat your heart out Patrick Swayze

Summary: Helping your boyfriend with a new hobby (inspired by this ask)

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader

Word count: 539

“Fuck!” Your boyfriend yells in frustration, and you can’t help but laugh a little as you notice the way Jason is scowling at the lump of clay.

Splotches of wet clay litter his arms and clothes, hands covered in a paste-like consistency that’s started to crust on his skin.

This was supposed to be a calming activity. Something that Dinah had suggested might be beneficial. Jason always seemed so sure that all he was capable of was violence, his hands made for destruction. Pottery was supposed to prove he was capable of more than what he believed.

You don’t know why she couldn’t have suggested something like gardening, because this was proving to be anything but calming.

You really shouldn’t laugh, you can tell Jason’s about to snap, but he’s just so cute.

“Jay, babe, you gotta relax.” You cajole, moving to stand behind him.

“You relax.” He replies petulantly, all the wit of a second grader.

It’s a testament to how much he loves and trusts you that Jason doesn’t think twice about sinking back to rest against your chest.

Jason’s built like a brick shit house, a fact which is more apparent to you now than ever. It’s awkward, wrapping your arms around him, your hands atop his as you guide his movements on the pottery wheel.

Your breath comes out in concentrated, even puffs against the skin of his neck.

Jason almost makes a flirty remark, after all, how’s he supposed to concentrate when he can feel the planes of your chest pressed so snugly against his back.

Still, it’s calming, and relaxing to be so close to you. Closing his eyes, Jason allows himself to concentrate on nothing but the feel of you against him, the reassuring thud of your heartbeat pulsing in through him. 

“Jason!” You laugh suddenly, snapping him out of his trance, head tilting back against your shoulder to make eye contact with your mirth-filled ones. “You’re supposed to be focusing on the clay not falling asleep!” You playfully hit him on the side. 

“Hate to break it to you babe, but there’s no focusing on anything else when you’re pressed up against me like that,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

This time you push him off the stool, laughing uproariously at the undignified shriek of surprise. 

“See if I ever help you again you little perv!” Playfully you flip him the bird as you sashay back to your shared bedroom. 

By the time you make it a few feet away, Jason’s recovered from his impromptu fall and is running towards you at a frankly terrifying speed for a man his size. Despite his bulk, your boyfriend is trained to be stealthy and it’s only for your benefit that he lets you hear him coming. 

Another peal of laughter escapes your lips as his strong arms wrap around your middle, tackling you onto the bed as Jason leaves ticklish kisses along the column of your neck. 

Instinctively one of your hands moves to tug at the hair on the back of his neck, pottery long forgotten for the day now that Jason had his hands on you. 

(You’d yell at him for getting clay all over one of your favourite shirts later.)

[kanene-yaaay]

The Shine in My Eyes (Can Someone Turn Off The Lights?)

Kanene’s notes: Heya heyaaa! I received that request AGES ago and thank you very much for your patience, bean! I hope you like the story, even tho I strayed from the original prompt.

I didn’t proofread it because I really wanted to post it as soon as I could sdfghjjhgfd so maybe some parts are confusing or repetitive, pls just hmu if that is the case ^.^)

Warnings: Light angst and hurt/comfort. Light and rough tickles. Ticklish!Reader and Ler!Moon. Around 4.000 words. Can be platonic or romantic. Sun is mentioned.

[~*~]

“Sleep?” The raspy voice questioned, so quiet that you would almost believe that it was part of your imagination if it wasn’t the amount of times you heard that same question in the last months. It spiked a warm feeling on your chest.

You would almost smile if it wasn’t the mild headache taking over your entire brain. 

“No.”

Cold, metallic hands touched your elbow, leading to an involuntary flinch that quickly disappeared when your mind catched up to whom the hand was. Moon continued, traveling his hands upwards your arm with careful, light and slow touches, telegraphing his movements enough that you could perfectly picture his form slouched next to you on the couch, head tilted, attentive eyes watching your body language and scans looking for signals of distress. It was good that you didn’t even need to open your own eyes to see that, knowing pretty well that doing so would only aggravate your pain.

Frustration ran hot on your throat, making you clench your jaw in response. Your eyes itched, still aching after hours staring at the computer’s screen after an entire morning of going out to do chores and shopping. There was an uncomfortable pressure on the back of your head. Yesterday it all wasn’t good either. This sucked. This really sucked.

Moon pulled you up from the urge to give up to the darkest thoughts peeking on the corner of your mind by taking the light fabric over your eyes and changing it for another one, damp from being recently bathed in cold water. A relieved sigh flees through your lips, your fists unclenching (when did you start pressing your nails in your palms again?) and being lifted to clean a couple of stray tears that now ran across your cheeks.

Two bigger hands overlapped yours, silicone digits wiping the water away before a humming began filling the air. You could almost picture the way the animatronic’s body was swaying from one side to another in the rhythm of the lullaby.

“Fuzzy, fuzzy.” The touch quickly changed directions so it would be playing with your hair, massaging and scratching your scalp with the skill of an animatronic that passed weeks fixated on human hairs and would spend another plentiful of weeks being amazed by their softness, form and type, waiting for you to lower your guards so he could try to convince you to let him try another hairstyle. Maybe you should consider buying them a wing. Sun would love it. You could almost hear the uncontrollably, excited rambling already. A small grin grazed your lips. A finger booped your nose. “You’re fuzzy because you’re tired. Sleep. Go to sleep.”

“Contrary to your belief, sleep doesn’t solve all the problems in the world.” Moon huffed at the lightheaded poke of fun, instead choosing to pinch your poor nose in retaliation. You swatted at his general direction, knowing very well it wouldn’t hit the target nevertheless. It was the thought that counts. “Besides, if I take a nap now it will destroy my sleep schedule for today. I am at least trying to keep it healthy.”

More like, you had now two animatronics that would either began to fuzz over your bad habits, nervously twisting his fingers and anxiously spinning his sunrays, hovering and doing his best to make you feel better while trying to not overstep any boundaries and respect your (bad) choices or follow you at night with light steps and clicking sounds, calmly and happily accompanying you through your chosen night activities while also attempting to subtly nudge you to the direction of your room (and, consequently, your bed).

Of course, every now and then all of you would have your missteps. Some days Sun would tremble uncontrollably and hug you tightly when you tried to go out, chatting non stop over your and Moon’s attempts to comfort him. Another nights you would move too quickly or suddenly and Moon’s eyelights would go to a bright red and he would tackle you on the floor, body frozen on a security code he no longer had, but that still affected him. Other weeks everything would feel too much and you would push them far and away and wonder when it all came to this. Why did all came to this.

But… 

But then there were also be days where Sun would skip around the house, a happy humming that made his entire circuits vibrate - and kind of reminded you of a cat - on the tip of his tongue, a batch of homemade cookies or a new colored drawing waiting for you after a long day. There would be moments when your presence and Moon’s comforting, teasy banter would be able to make his sunrays twitch less anxiously and for him to smile brighter, every shoulder bump, every poke, every half hug and every lingering touch would be a promise and a confession (I am here I am here I care I am here).

There would be moments when Moon would come at your room with his hands once again tangled in a mess of yarn’s strands and he would grumble at your light pokes of fun and refuse to tell about his new project so he could catch you and Sun by surprise and tease you both about your reactions afterwards. There would be nights when he would be frozen and twitchy and feel the worst because he can’t get his body to move and you would start telling him about your day, about a funny meme you saw on internet and and interesting something he maybe didn’t know yet about humans or the world that exists around them, and then, bit by bit, he would be able to move (his entire systems blastring friend friend my friend my dear friend over and over above the instinct of threat catch eliminate) and you would watch a movie.

And there would be moments when you gave them surprise gifts because it seems like their wonder about the world, the universe and humanity would never disappear no matter how much time they spent out of that mall. There would be days they would leave warm dishes and hot drinks on your desk, when they would hug and hold you close when you were ready to face them, when they would listen to you and sing soft lullabies or distract you with games and banter until a smile and a soft feeling took over the sadness and red eyes.

There would be days that you spent looking for new activities or experiences the animatronics hadn’t tried yet, preparing another good memory for them to have. There would be afternoons when Sun would dance with you across the living room because he knew how much you loved that song. There would be evenings when Moon would wipe your tears and distract you from your aching eyes because he knew that bad thoughts are easier to fight when you’re not alone.

Evenings just like this one.

“Thinking too hard.” Moon pressed his thumb firmly on your forehead, pulling you out of your thoughts (again). “Too hard. Must rest. Sush.”

You snorted. “Wow. Thank you, man. I have no idea how I lived until now without your rich life advices.”

“Cheeky brat.” A playful poke was jabbed on your side, fishing a surprised yelp from your lips. 

Silence.

“Let’s play a game.”

A jumpy ‘zing!’ ran across your spine at the dangerous and incredibly joyful tune that took over his raspy voice, and you immediately knew that there wouldn’t be another ending for this day other than you becoming a mess of laughter on the couch. Still, even when a wobbly smile stretched on your face you tried to sound firm.

“No.” It didn’t work very well. There was no heat in it, titters already bubbling in the back of your throat. Your arms began moving and flailing in the general direction of his snickers.  “Moon, no. Give me your hands. Give me your hands right no-o-ow, come on!” Your words began fading and twinkling in between stubborn giggles and squeaks as a wave of pokes and squeezes began attacking your entire torso from seemingly everywhere. 

"Sorrrrry, Moonlight. Can you repeat that?" He was prodding your ribs now, tapping his fingers on each one of them, escaping from your grabbing hands with ease, not taking long before his attack changed to a light pinching of that absurdly vulnerable spot that connected your belly with your sides. His delighted tune showed that he was not sorry at all. "Can't hear you over all of those wiggly giggly giggles. Care to repeat what you just said? Hm?"

His attacks were getting even harder to predict, the cloth on your eyes helping in nothing your current state, actually, the fact that you couldn’t see where he would strike next only made butterflies fly excitedly on your nerves.

Before a reply could leave your mouth, however, his hands began spidering all across your midsection, digits fluttering and dancing on your stomach, barely scratching the sensitive skin next to your bellybutton, teasing and worming their way up and down, from a side to another on your stomach, exploring and tickling every available space until it could calmly rest on your hips, still softly scribbling the ticklish spot with no worries in his heart.

It was hard to not squirm with the tickles, even more so to control the yelps and chuckles that kept falling from your mouth like a waterfall. Especially with Moon's taunting squeezes that never failed to appear when you never expected and fish a squeaky snort.

You tried to talk once again.

He digged his fingers just the slightly bit on the flesh of your hips.

Your hands flew to hold his wrists, lips pressed firmly shut with the willpower that he, the evil jester, the mean clown wouldn't get not even a single more yelp from you.

"I think someone wants to laugh. ~" The whispering wasn't even that close, the animatronic not even having a breath to make it so taunting but you still felt the urge to scrunch your neck and protect your sensitive ears, knowing very well they were one of their favorite places to attack. "Someone here, a very ticklish, very giggly and silly-silly-silly someone wants to laugh sooo much right now… isn’t that right, starlight?"

His hands (still being held but not pushed away by yours) calmly crawled across your sides, drumming on your ribs and still going up until both of them laid on your shoulders, scribbles and scratches leading their way up to your chin, leading your squirms even worse with all the giddy anticipation that traveled across your nerves and made it hard to stay still in the same place.

"Such precious, beautiful laughter and giggles trapped right here." He tsked, one of his hands traveling slowly - all his movements now were surprisingly and still slow, as if he was telegraphing his moves for you - to tease the underline of your jaw. "Greedy, greedy. Wanting to keep all of your adorable reactions all for yourself. You need to learn to share."

His voice was closer. Much closer than before. Danger sirens blasted on your brain but the effort to not laugh and succumb to the ticklish scratches now focusing on unfairly attacking the shell of your ears and the spot right behind them distracted you too much to realize what was about to happen. Why was his voice closer? 

A low, half filled with joy and half with mischief chuckle filled the air. And suddenly you knew the answer. 

“Moon, don’t you dare-!” But it was too late, the unbearable buzzing already taking over your senses, the raspberry spreading like electricity across every single inch of ticklish skin on your neck, pulling all the laughter, all the squeaks, snorts and titters from their hiding spots, making a smile stretch from a side to another on your face.

It didn’t last more than one or two minutes, however. And soon enough Moon was changing and re-adjusting the cloth over your eyes since the last one was already dry and it had fallen from its place with all the struggles. It was dark and your vision was still slightly blurry, but the smirk over the other’s faceplate was crystal clear, his head spinning twice before it bobbed in your direction. 

You mentioned for him to come closer, giggles still running away from your mouth uncontrollably. When he did as asked, your hands held his face with care, thumbs caressing the metal of his cheeks, red eyes watching your expression with adoration and wariness.

“I…” You took a good gulp of oxygen, letting your voice in a sweet, lovely tune, giant smile still plastered on your features. “Will destroy you once I’m free.”

The wheezing sound that came out of his system was loud and uncontrollable, a few parts of his exoskeleton clicking non stop in a kind of amusement that only happened when his guard was down and he was caught by surprise.

You probably just made it even worse to yourself. It was clear for the way that Moon’s eyes squinted until they looked like a crooked smile.

But the promise was worth it. Maybe you could even ask for Sun’s help. His teases were basically unbearable to endure.

“Lay down, lay down, troublemaker.” Careful touches pushed your shoulders so they would go back to a laying position, the piece of fabric being again put over your eyes and bringing a sense of cold relief. It almost made up for the fact that you were walking to a trap.

Well, at least it was a comfortable one.

“Perrrrrfect.” You felt Moon lifting your legs, sitting on the free space on the couch and then laying said ones on his lap. “You laughed, now it means you have to play my game.~”

You wondered if you would be able to get to your room and lock yourself before the animatronic could catch you.

As if reading your thoughts, two hands locked on the spot right above your knees, not squeezing (not yet) but being close enough that a wobbly tune began painting your grin and the need to wiggle away started itching on your nerves.

“Alright.” You acquiesced, the grumpy pout being quickly erased when a single finger skittered on the ticklish skin under your knees. Cheater. “Alright. What is the game?” 

“Say the word.” Confusion must have shown on your face, because Moon continued his sentence. “I write and you say the word, right, squeaky mouse?” As if to confirm his words, he clawed your kneecap, fishing a squeal.

You didn’t answer right away, the squeezes became more and more quicker.

“Ok, ok!!” Kicks did nothing to dislodge the attack, and by the way Moon snickered, he knew very well that. Laughter began bubbling once again on your throat. “I agree! I already agrehehehed, stohohop!”

Satisfied, the animatronic relented his tickling, hands not more touching anything.

Strangely enough that only made you feel even more ticklish, tingles and shivers running and spreading everywhere.

“Guess.”

And then they were back.

The tip of his index finger touches your thigh in a straight line, goosebumps following the scribbling as it changed to lay in the middle of the previous straight line only to make another, tiny, tickly, horribly tickly bolts of electricity teasing the nerves as he repeated the sign, over and over again.

“Guess.”

An only finger dancing and tracing your thigh. It shouldn’t be able to tickle so much. It shouldn’t affect you this much. But it was so light. It was so unbearably light and soft. It was…

It was a letter.

“Ihihihi! It’s an ‘I’!”

“Yesss.” Moon seemed delighted at the snickers, more than happy to see you playing along the silly game and forgetting the reason for your earlier tears. “Second one. Four letters” He got closer to your knee, but instead of one, now two fingers danced and scratched the sensitive skin, going up - once again in a straight line - before going down and to the right - another line, - repeating the movements thrice before moving to the kneecap, softly tracing circles on it again and again and again and again and-

“Move on!” You could feel the heat creeping on your neck and face, the airy giggles becoming more and more frenetic and uncontrollable as the previous daycare attendant refused to focus his attention elsewhere. He did, however, continue after a few more seconds, not wanting to scramble your thoughts so much. 

Moon lifted your leg just a little bit, just enough for him to reach with no problem behind your knee, pulling his touch downwards before going right up, as if his touch was doing little jumps on the spot, zings and more zings of tickly electricity pulling hints of snorts on your reactions.

Lowering his tracing a bit more he arrived to your calf. One straight line up. One to the right. Go a tad downwards the first line. Another line. More downwards. One more line.

He began repeating the tracing. You felt like all of your other tickle spots were tingling in empathy for the calve’s struggles.

“Lohohove! It’s ‘I love’!” A wheeze escaped from your lips and filled the air. Was he really writing I love you? “That is so chehehesy.”

“Sush, sush, sush, cute teapot.” A couple of squeezes. More kicks in protest. “Third word. Five letters.”

Wait. Five?

Now, Moon moved closer to your ankles, three fingers scribbling and drawing the letters, slipping way too close to your soles for it to be only a mistake. It took him having to ‘write’ the word more three times since your brain simply erased any and every knowledge as soon as he felt those nails scraping the skin of  your ankles.

“Being!” You shouted, once again descending in breathless laughter and squirms when the animatronic confirmed that your guess was right, firmly rubbing and massaging the sensitive skin so that you could get a break and breathe more steadily. 

It took a while before snorts and quiet squeals stopped taking over your voice and your legs stopped tingling and sending shivers across your body. You didn’t even was usually that ticklish on your legs, but the mix of light and soft teases and not being able to see what he would do next making your sensitivity spike to the sky.

The game had a logic, however. Thighs, knees, calves, ankles… If you weren’t mistaken, then the next one would be…

Another ‘zing!’ ran down your spine.

“Last word. Seven letters.”

Seven letters.

I love being…

“Wait, wait, wait!” You tried pulling your legs away, but the hands were keeping them nice and cozy in his firm grip. The cloth fell from your eyes and you looked for his, an unstable, pleading grin on your face. “Moon, wait, you know I can’t!” His eyes only squinted more in mischief, smirk growing on his mouth unashamedly. That son of a- “I can’t say it, Moon, please! I swear Moon, I cahahan’t!”

He lifted his hands, fingers wiggling in the air. For a moment you thought that the sentient robot was waving you goodbye since he was about to absolutely kill you dead. But then you heard it.

A faint buzzing, dancing and filling the room.

“No!”

The clawing hand slowly began moving to your feet.

“Last word. Five letters.”

“Don’t you dare!” You had no idea how your voice didn’t break any windows with how high pitched and loud it was, the hysterical, belly laughter already bubbling in the back of your throat as pleas fell like flocks from your lips. “Moon, don’t you dare! No! Come on! Do NOT-”

The buzzing, still discharging small ticklish sparks of electricity touched your sole.

Everything, for a blissful moment, froze.

Then it all came crashing down.

The buzzing filled every single inch of your nerves, tickling in ways that should be illegal, especially as the animatronic - the traitor - began moving to trace the spot as if you could concentrate in the letters being written over all the incoherent babbles and pleas that generously painted the laughter taking over your senses.

You already knew the word that was being written, and was very aware that said one didn’t need all the scratches being delivered to the arch of your feet, or the scribbles that attacked without mercy the balls of your feet and digged under and in between your toes, wiggling and tickling and tickling there without a care in the word.

“I will write it again.” Moon basically purred, sounding too much like the perfect personification of a very smug cat. “Pay attention, gigglebug.”

Before you could protest the fingers were once again traveling across your soles, repeating the attacks and now focusing on all the weak spots they found in their way, fishing plentiful of squeals, squeals, yelps, giggles, titters and snorts in their way.

Everything stayed like that for a few pieces of time. Laughing filling the air, buzzing and tickling taking over every sense. The melodious symphony fulfilling hearts.

And then it stopped.

Moon chuckled, once again rubbing the spot so the ghost tickle feeling would disappear faster, even if your remanent tittering laughter still stretched between you both.

“Did you discover the word?” 

You opened your eyes, wiping a few tears that escaped and trying to look chastising at the robot in front of you, although your burrowed frown didn’t hold any heat, especially with the wide smile still blossoming on your face, shining eyes staring directly at him.

Moon only chuckled more.

“Alright, alright. Troublemaker. But one day you’ll have to admit that you love it.~” 

Before you could answer with a snarky remark, the animatronic surprised you by picking you up and laying down on the couch, letting you rest on his chest.

“Game is not over. One more sentence.” It was an affirmation, but you lived enough with him to recognize the questioning tune in his words.

“No more.” You established.

He grumbled. You were pretty sure that if he could pout, he would.

Silence.

“Gentle tickles…?” 

A sigh left your lungs at the hopeful feeling in his voice.

“… Sssstarlight?”

And how could you ever say no to that?

“Ok. But only light ones.” You agreed. Because when it came to Sun and Moon you had a piece of butter in the place that should be your heart, as it seems.

Moon began carelessly grazing the tip of his fingers on your back, the tickles just light enough to make one or two giggles jump here and there, a pleasant feeling of comfort and softness spreading and relaxing your muscles, making them melt and a warmth to blossom on your chest.

So caring. So comfortable. So soft…

Your mind began drifting away, breaths coming out more steadily, thoughts becoming less and less coherent as the minutes passed by.

You only realized Moon’s plan too late, when your conscience was already slipping away and the tiredness of the day was already catching up.

That freaking cheater.

Well, at least it was probably already late enough that a quick nap wouldn’t hurt.

[spideyhexx]

1 am thoughts with kit;

nsfw

also inspired by some talks with @goosita <3

The entire build up to your orgasm, Eddie’s lips are at your ear, kissing and nipping at your skin, his breath hot. His hair tickles you, but your hands find purchase in it, playing with it just the way he likes.

The way that makes him hold your hips tighter and push his dick deeper into you as he slowly thrusts, muttering, “there you go, sweetheart, almost here yeah? Almost there, god you’re so…you’re so beautiful.”

You let out a more strained moan that you muffle by humming through it and he shushes you gently, “I know, gotta tell me, sweetheart, you’re there?”

With a nod and slight buck of your hips to his, you tell him, “yeah…right there, Eddie…just a little more.”

He bites back a groan of his own and picks up the pace, his little nips to your earlobe still so gentle, never truly biting down on you. The harshest thing you feel is his lips moving beneath your ear and sucking on the skin there because he knows that’s your spot.

“Always so pretty like this,” he says, smiling against your skin, helping you move your hips to meet his. His mattress is off slightly on his bed frame, and you can both hear the slight noise of it creaking on the floor but he distracts you from it quick, “oh there you go squeezing me, kills me, sweetheart,” and gives your hip an affectionate squeeze.

It makes you smile, and he doesn’t even need to lift his head to know that’s your reaction to his words. Eddie’s hand sneaks down to rub your clit, relishing in the way your body arches to him at the feeling. His calloused fingers rubbing deft circles nice and quick to time with his thrusts picking up, “come on, baby,” he whispers, “you’re so pretty when you come, lemme see it, just for me, c’mon.”

He has the right of mind to move his hand to your mouth when your orgasm washes over you, burying himself in you to help you ride it out as good as it can be before he pulls out. Eddie moves his hand from your mouth and you watch, panting as he jerks his cock twice before painting your stomach in his cum, a breathy sound leaving his lips, forehead to your chest.

You rake your fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp in a soothing manner, focusing on his breaths against you.

“Babe. I think that’s a new record. Four minutes,” he mumbles, glancing at the clock near his bed. You scoff and hit his shoulder playfully, and he just shoots you a cute grin before moving down the bed.

“Eddie, no, im too sensitive,” you whine at him and he smiles even wider.

“While I love to taste you, that wasn’t my intention.”

Eddie flicks out his tongue to lick some of his cum off of your tummy. You don’t know whether to roll your eyes at it or moan. His eyes stay on you, big and dazed still from his orgasm, but also stuck on your beauty, not wanting to waste any second from looking away. The taste of himself isn’t something he cares or thinks about, only focused on the way you look at him, amused and still full of desire for him.

His tongue makes you ticklish the more he licks up his cum, and he knows it. “Eddie, I think you got it all,” and you flick his ear, to which he scoffs.

“No, I think I gotta keep licking, babe,” to which he purposely licks a stripe agaisnt your side where he knows you’re gonna get ticklish.

You squirm and chuckle, and it only makes him lick you again, his hands tight on your hips to keep you still. And his nose presses into your side, he stills like he’s done, but then he makes a growling noise, biting gently all over your skin from your one side to the other.

All the while, he can’t contain his smile over your laughs.

[gilverrwrites]

More details about Jason reaction having for the first time having a toy put on him ? He definitely wasn’t expecting THAT much of a sensation.

The post in reference for anyone unaware.

(Kinda) subby Jason twice in as many days? Who am I? Will I be getting my sub card revoked for this?

CWs: Swearing, spit, and brief sub-drop.

You’re right, no he fucking wasn’t.

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to be honest but it’s not this, and you’re so damn coy with it, keeping him on edge, teasing that poor 6’2 of raging muscles boy.

When you press the vibrating head of it against the base his whole-body tenses, fighting off the ticklish sensation; all his muscles stiffen, toes curling, balls tight, and his shaft twitches. When he relaxes again, he thinks that’s it. He laughs as you slowly, gently drag it up his length, deliberately lingering on the pronounced veins you know are extra perceptive.

“Ahh.” He can’t help giggling, voice strained and unusually but endearingly boyish as he tells you; “That tickles.”  

You respond with a mischievously cocked brow, and he’s suddenly struck with feelings of dread and excitement. He knows you’re up to something when your fingers lock onto the base of his cock.

The moment he feels the vibrations on his tip, his whole boy involuntarily jerks until he’s gone from confidently splayed atop the bed to suddenly being slouched, legs wide and in the air, head thrown back. He has a death grip on what he hopes isn’t you, otherwise you’ll be bruised in the morning. Right now he’s too overwhelmed to check.

“Fuck.” His throat feels tight as he stammers out a mantra of hoarse curses. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck.”

It just feels so fucking good, the shaking and the way you’re jerking the shaft with your spit-slicked hand. Fuck. He’s throbbing. Fuck. He didn’t know he could even get this hard.

“Does that feel good baby?” You ask.

“Fuck. Yes.” He answers through gritted teeth. “God yes, please don’t stop dontstopdontstop.”

“How about this?”

Suddenly the tempo changes, increases, and his body jolts again. This time though he lets out a wicked spurt of precum that drips down, mixing with your saliva and spiting droplets across the bed in time with the strongest pulses.  

You could watch him like this all day, red-faced and gleaning under a layer of sweat. Every time you make a sudden move or switch up settings his jaw clenches and his eyes shoot to the back of his head. Quite the opposite of the cool and brooding front he puts on the world; for you, he’s open, and soft and whimpering.

Then, not long after you start driving the wand up and down his cock, fast this time, he’s cumming. Rope after rope of it shooting into the air, most of it landing on his hard stomach. Fuck, there’s so much of it, he’s never cum so much in his goddamn life and he’s suddenly feeling sheepish. He knows you've watched him through every whining, toe-curling step, you've already seen his burning cheeks, but he's not used to being on this end of the stick, not used to being the one feeling timid and exposed when it's all over.

Attempting to comfort himself, he conceals his face in the nearest pillow and focuses on breathing until he feels his dick cease its convulsing and the shame begin to wash off of him.

You’re lightly dabbing at his spillage with a tissue when he peeks out at you. You smile back at him all kind and patient when you see him. It makes him feel like an ass for hiding from you. Next time he won’t do that, next time he’ll look you in the eye, he’ll say your name like a prayer and thank you for making him feel so fucking good.

[goosita]

they absolutely do.

he’s got you pinned down to the mattress, hips rolling into you slow and hard. he can feel you dragging your nails down his back hard enough to make him bleed, but scratches heal just as rapidly as you give them to him.

“fuck, sweetheart,” he growls, lips right at your ear. his beard brushes against your cheek, soft and ticklish in stark contrast to the way he’s fucking you slow and hard.

“m’so fuckin’ close,” he rumbles, trying his best not to tremble. he’s already made you cum 4 times, twice on his tongue, once on his fingers, and one more time on his cock. he can feel that you can’t take much more. “hold onto me, babydoll. gonna fuckin’ cum inside you.”

his hands quickly release your hips, bracing himself on his palms on either side of your head. You hear the soft snikt! of his claws coming out, piercing into the pillows. the sound he makes is enough to make your tummy do flips, rough and low and deep. his voice is an animalistic rasp as he keeps rambling towards the edge of his orgasm.

“so fuckin’ perfect for me, i’m so close.”