barely existing

tickling is so cute pls i’m an adult

[mystey-here]

hey! i’m back! i used to have an account named @mystey-writes where i wrote tickle fanfic, but i deleted it. now i’m back with a fresh start, but i don’t think i’ll be writing as much. i might write the occasional fic, but now i’m more or less here to just interact and repost!

so yeah, hi again!! if we were mutuals before, or if you want to be mutuals now, please feel free to hit me up!!! :)))

[quillsandtypos]

A Ploy For Play

Request: “the reader is playing country songs to piss off ryland and he tickles them to get them to stop (it’s what they wanted anyways LOL)” from @mystey-here who somehow managed to give me a prompt that was so up my lane that it felt like it had been plucked directly out of my brain. Thank you!

Characters: Ler!Ryland Grace, Lee!Reader (gn), Ft. Rocky

Warnings: Tickling

Words: 5.8k

A/N: No shade to country music, I come in peace. If you have a prompt in, I will be working on it soon!

It had started off unintentionally, perhaps innocent even. It was a few songs to remind you of home, and the fun times that you’d all shared in the compound before the Hail Mary had taken off. 

Ryland, Rocky, and you always listened to music in the lab. Stratt had outdone herself in terms of how much media had been sent with the four of you. The catalogue went back as far as the 1860’s, and up until the very day that the ship had taken off. If you were to play through all of it, you would probably never hear the same song twice for the entire journey from Tauceti to Erid. If you combined that with Rocky’s ability to literally create notes that your and Ryland’s human ears couldn’t hear, then you truly had nearly endless possibilities. 

That morning, when you and Ryland had woken up, you were the first in the lab, so you were the one who got to pick the music for the day. By the time that Ryland climbed the ladder after you, the classic tunes of Johnny Cash filled his ears. 

He looked up at you with his brows raised. 

You held his stare across the stark white lab. “What?”

“Country music?” he asked, looking tired. 

You shrugged. You hadn’t even realized that you’d never played any songs in that genre before, and you couldn’t tell if Ryland was just confused or annoyed. Once you all had gotten into the habit of listening to stuff while you worked, the three of you established the rule that none of you could complain about what music was picked. You were a perfectly good spacemate, never saying anything, even when Ryland played all sorts of questionable things. You’d even let it slide when he’d played baby shark once when he was drunk, saying it was because his kids would make him listen to it ‘ironically.’ 

“It’s my turn for controls, is it not?” you said, arching a brow. 

“My students would’ve called this old people music,” he said with a chortle, almost in disbelief. 

“That's because we’re,” you gestured between the two of you, “old to them.”

He shrugged and moved out of the doorway and Rocky came rolling up after him. “No. Humans very young. Eridians grow old, humans are babies.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryland shrugged him off, heading to his work station. “Hopefully, you have better music tastes than us to show for it.”

You narrowed your eyes, catching his not so subtle insult. “Ryland, are you complaining about my music choices?”  

He held one of his hands up in mock surrender, the other one still holding his coffee. “Of course not, I know the classroom rules,” he said, leaving you to continue fidgeting with your devices, but your mind was elsewhere now, a sneaky smile beginning to play on your lips. You had been working on a gadget, it was a special musical device that would allow you to press the buttons like a piano in order to make Eridian noises and communicate in their language. Since you were now bounding through the depths of space towards Erid instead of Earth, you figured it was probably best to start working on your communication skills, however, it seemed that perhaps the tool could wait a little while for you to try a different sort of experiment. 

Rocky rolled by you, heading for the station that was on your right side, and you took that moment to hiss at him. “Rock-” you whispered. 

Sensing that you needed him for something more urgent than usual, he rolled over quickly towards your side. “Friend whispering, why? Question?”

“I have a joke we can play on Ryland.”

“Tell Rocky. Rocky will determine if idea is good.”

You fondly rolled your eyes. Of course the engineer was going to want to inspect your plan first.  “Well, you know how our music rule works, right?”

Rocky’s carapace shifted up and down like he was nodding at you. “Yes. You are in control. Grace is not. Rocky does not understand why any of this is important so assume is human thing.” 

You clucked your tongue, forgetting that Rocky focused so much on what he was doing in the lab that he often zoned all other noise out. You supposed it made sense. Their language was basically composed of melodies and vibrations, so human music probably just sounded like weird overlapping conversations to him. “Right, so, if Ryland complains about the music then he’s in violation of the rule.” 

Rocky spoke softer, as if Ryland was suddenly listening in. “What happen if rule broken? Question?” 

You frowned, considering his words. “We actually didn’t decide.” You looked over at Ryland, who was now immersed in what he was doing. “I guess that means that I get to decide what sort of prize I want, right?”

“This makes sense to Rocky,” he agreed, tapping his foot on the floor. “But how does friend get Grace to break?”

At this, your brows furrowed. It would be difficult, but you were sure you could push his buttons far enough for this to work. “Even a teacher’s patience can only go so far, right?” 

Rocky rolled away slightly, even his computer voice sounding slightly shaky. “Friend is evil. Rocky see now why they put humans to sleep for journey.”

You brushed off his concerns with a short huff of air through your nose. “Relax, he’s not going to kill me.”

Rocky was already moving away, back towards his station, like he didn’t want to be infected by the energy in yours. “Rocky will watch. Rocky will see.” 

His words almost made you reconsider your plan, but then you looked over at Ryland peacefully putting the Taumoeba boxes away and decided you simply couldn’t allow him any peace. Later, you could blame it on the boredom of space, or how you had hit a wall with your language device, but for now all of your attention turned towards irritating your friend. 

You switched from Johnny Cash to Tim McGraw, another American country classic, and nothing that would throw Ryland off too much. You saw him bite his lip for a second as you made the switch, but he made no other movements, not even so much as an ill contented sigh. It was odd, how Ryland knew this was out of character for you, but he was still choosing not to comment on it. You gnawed on your lip, wondering how long it could truly take to irritate him. It was no doubt that he was the most patient one on the Hail Mary but his inaction was making you question how far he would go.

You pulled out a drawer in your station and grabbed a notebook and a pen. You flipped it open and scribbled at the top, “Ryland’s annoyance capacity, Test One.” You wrote about your first change in music and his barely visible reaction and then went back to sort of paying attention to your actual project. You needed to wait a little bit in order to up the ante. Ryland was patient, but he wasn’t an idiot. If you kept changing the song every five minutes, he would start to grow suspicious and then your experiment would be rendered null and void. 

You waited a solid ten minutes to walk back to the main computer in your setup, adjusting the music to that of Florida Georgia Line, a more modern country group with funny nods to their redneck roots but nothing too obscure. You picked one of their more popular songs to start with and cued up a few more before going back to your ‘work’. 

You quietly uncapped your blue pen and tucked your hair behind your ear. Ryland stopped his work for a moment when the song came on. You couldn’t see his face, but he went completely still, just staring at the wall in front of him. It took everything in you to push your laugh down, picturing him with his face screwed up in confusion. Then, as if the matter were settled, he went back to his work. You waited a minute to see if he would do anything else, but after another five more minutes, the boredom started to gnaw at you and you wanted to work on something. You wrote down his reactions in your notes, then turned towards Rocky, giving him one of your keys to test out. The Eridian piano would only prove to be useful if the Eridians could understand it so you ran everything by Rocky before it was implemented. You began to become so engaged in the work, that you almost didn’t notice Ryland calling your name. 

“What?” you said, breaking your intense gaze away from Rocky’s fidgeting with your other experiment and turned back towards your human subject. 

“I asked who made this song,” he said with a warm smile and a look in his eyes that felt almost too knowing.

“Oh,” you said, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. You rolled towards your computer in order to have time to recover. “The music station says this is Florida Georgia Line.”

“Oh, okay,” Ryland said with a shrug. 

Ryland quickly turned back around, getting back to his work like he had never even asked the question in the first place. You couldn’t help but pester him a little more, just to see if you could get to him. “Is that all you wanted?”

“Yep!” he said cheerily, even popping the P emphatically. 

You spun around on your stool to widen your eyes at Rocky and he just shook his head at you. He was becoming more accustomed to human tendencies by the day, and you were pretty sure that you had just been given the disapproving stare of a parent without him having eyes. 

Still, you wouldn’t be deterred so easily. Ryland had to have a breaking point, you and Rocky did, so he had to have one too. You just needed to find it. You marked his question in your notebook as well as the time and then set to finding more impossibly silly country music in the database. 

You quickly switched to one of Luke Bryan’s earlier albums, moving further into the newer and more unhinged country songs. In your defense, the songs were catchy, and they had a good beat, even if they were mostly about trucks, beer, and women in jean shorts. 

You played the album out of order, starting Ryland off a little lighter and then progressively seeing how much he would take. The first song he had no reaction to, you weren’t even sure he’d noticed if you’d switched artists, the second and third song he continued working through, and by the fourth you knew you needed to pull out the lead single. 

You pressed play on the opening track, and watched as Ryland furrowed his brows. He placed his hands down on the counter, abandoning the test tube that had been in his hand in the sink. You saw him look up at the speakers then look over at you. 

“Isn’t this heavily sexualizing women?”

“Huh?” you asked, looking up from your notebook like you hadn’t just been staring at him just a second ago. 

Ryland waved his hands around. “This song and the way he talks about women, I mean I know it’s probably at least a decade old, but isn’t it all a bit misogynistic?”

“Oh,” you said, looking up at the speakers as if you’d just noticed they were playing. “I guess I hadn’t really been listening to the lyrics, I just like the beat,” you lied, knowing that this particular song would set Ryland off. He wasn’t wrong, most country songs were that way when you’d left Earth, but at least they were giving you something to annoy him with. You bit your pen, sensing your opening. “Do you want me to change it?”

Ryland was already turning back towards his vile in the sink. “Nope, was just asking,” he said calmly, but you could see the tightness in his shoulders. You were starting to get to him. 

You pivoted slightly, shifting back to the classics and putting on Margaritaville, and watched as Ryland slumped as if he had gotten hit by a middle school insult. You laughed to yourself at the sight of Ryland putting his head in his hands, very clearly fighting to keep his thoughts to himself. 

You decided to up your game, adding any songs that included anything close to the words honky tonk or used tractor and sexy in the same metaphor. It was at this point that Ryland fully abandoned his work, instead just sitting on his stool, looking completely dumbfounded. Luckily for you, he seemed to be refusing to look up at you, making it much easier to cover the way you were snickering at him. 

With him already down, you decided to go for the kill and you put on Parked Out By The Lake, and waited for Ryland to realize what you’d done. For a moment, he seemed to almost recover what you’d put him through. At first, it seemed to him like the song wasn’t that bad, but by the fourth or fifth line he started to catch on. The song was repeating the same five words over and over again, just in slightly different ways. 

You watched as the usually fidgety man grew more and more still, and you furiously scribbled in your notebook, looking over at your stopwatch every few seconds. Halfway through the song, Ryland finally looked up at you. 

“This is the worst song I have ever heard,” he said, deadpanning.

Your jaw dropped far more dramatically than what was necessary. “Did you just insult my music?”

You managed to hold back your laughter but Ryland’s eyes narrowed on you. The lab suddenly felt hotter than it had a minute ago and you felt yourself flush at his intense eye contact. It felt as though he was looking right through you, like he could see to the very deepest point of your soul, and knew exactly what you were doing. You jerked your head away and slowly inhaled through your nose, willing your face to cool.  

“What?” you asked, praying to any nearby stars that you were keeping your face intact. 

He held a finger up. “Wait a second.”

He stood up from his stool and began to walk through his station. Your breath caught in your throat as he drew closer to you, stopping just at the edge of your table and placing his hands on his hips.

He leaned in towards you. “You’re trying to do this.”

You shrugged, your heart hammering in your chest. “Do what?”

Suddenly Ryland was moving towards you, hands reaching out to grab, and you no longer cared for keeping your little act in play. You didn’t know what he was planning on doing when he caught you, but you weren’t going to stick around to find out. 

You scrambled to somehow move away, scurrying towards Rocky’s station as if he would protect you. Unfortunately, with you out of the way, Ryland reached out and grabbed your notebook instead of grabbing you.  

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath. His eyes flicked down to the notepad and you stood frozen as he silently read the words that would no doubt seal your doomed fate. He looked over the top of his glasses at you as he dropped the paper back on the table and you instinctively took a step back. 

“I was your science experiment?” He asked, and if the look he was giving you wasn’t scaring you then the way that he sounded nearly amused certainly was.

You held your hands up in surrender. “Observation is the sincerest form of flattery?”

Ryland dropped the notebook and took after you. You yelped and jumped over Rocky. “Ryland wahahahait!” you laughed, nervous laughter being pulled from you as you realized he was just behind you. You didn’t even know where you were headed. You were technically going in the direction of the bedroom, though you truthfully had no idea how this was going to help you. 

Your feet pounded across the ship, and you willed your socked feet not to slip against the ground. A bubbly feeling of anxious tension was rising in your stomach, making you feel as though you were already caught despite the fact that you were still running away from him. 

You grabbed a hold of the bedroom door just as Ryland’s arms snaked around your middle. “No!!” you yelled, smacking at his arms, a random assortment of words tumbling out of your lips. “You are the one in violation of the music rules! I should not be the one in trouble here!”

Ryland clucked his tongue. “Oh, you negated your music rule the moment you started using me as a little experiment.” 

Ryan gently threw you onto the small makeshift couch that the three of you had set up for when one of you got too tired to climb down from the lab to the bedroom. You squeaked with surprise as you bounced on top of the plush pillows, surprised with the ease that he tossed you with. 

“Now,” he said, standing over top of you and essentially cornering you in with his body. “What are we going to do with you?” 

You pushed yourself backwards as if you could fade into the wall. “Nothing,” you pleaded, your voice wobbling with uncontained giggles. You weren’t used to seeing him like this and the smarmy way he was looking down at you was making you all too nervous. “You’re gonna let me go.”

Rocky rolled over with a speed that you’d never seen him use outside of dire situations. He pulled at Ryland’s shirt. “𝀌᭴᭵♮᭢᭨᭫᭮” 

“Ohhhhhhh,” Ryland said, and then looked at you with the biggest smirk. You looked between him and Rocky trying to determine what was going on. The translator hadn’t turned on, but Ryland clearly knew what Rocky was saying. You started to feel more nervous laughter bubbling up in your throat. 

 “Will it work on them?” he asked, holding his hand over his mouth as if you couldn’t hear what he was saying. 

Rocky nodded his head. “It worked day before last. Rocky tried just like Grace asked. Friend made big noise. Was very cute. Statement.” 

You frowned, trying to figure out what Rocky was talking about, but coming up blank. The days on the Hail Mary started to blend together at certain points, but this seemed big enough to Rocky that you felt like you should be able to recall it too. Then, all of sudden you remembered when Rocky had accidentally jabbed you in the side as you had just barely been waking up. You had screeched and giggled as he continued digging his claw into your side for a few more moments, your mind not even awake enough to try fighting him. 

Now, however, you were awake and suddenly aware that that moment had been significantly less spontaneous than you’d realized. As you looked up at Ryland leering above you with a smile, you realized that you hadn’t needed to push his buttons to provide yourself with entertainment. He was bored too, and now you’d just given him the perfect excuse to screw with you. 

Ryland already knew you were ticklish, thanks to Rocky the traitor, but you couldn’t just let him win.

 You sprung from your position against the wall, and slipped around Ryland’s legs, attempting to crawl towards the edge of the makeshift couch. Already giggling furiously, you managed to place a steady foot back on the ground before two hands jabbed your sides, just above your hip bones, and your legs involuntarily gave out. 

You fell backwards onto the plush pillows, and looked up to find Ryland who was smiling down at you like he’d just discovered a new star. As you scrambled towards the wall a second time, it started to dawn on you that you might’ve finally found the point that your mild mannered friend turned into a mischievous planner, and your heart started to hammer in your chest.

“No, no,” you said, as Ryland came to sit down beside you. “Hold on, we can talk about this. We’re all very reasonable people.”

“Correct. We’re all scientists, and now I want to run an experiment of my own.”

You swallowed hard, wrapping your arms around your middle and pulling your knees up. This didn’t seem like this could possibly end well for you or your overly sensitive skin. “Which is?”

He cocked his head. “We’re going to see how much of the tickle monster you can take till you apologize.” 

He started to wiggle his fingers towards your stomach and you jolted on instinct. “NO!” you yelled. 

“Ohhh, very interesting, a ticklish stomach it seems.” Ryland turned around. “Rocky, can you keep notes for me since my hands are a little busy right now?”

Rocky chirped and ran to grab your notebook and pen. “Of course. Friend very ticklish. Make very squeaky noise even when fake tickles.”

“Rocky! Be quiet!” you yelled, somehow feeling even warmer. 

“What?” Ryland said, cooing sweetly at you. “Are you feeling too perceived right now?”

“Shut up,” you whined, but then his hands were shooting towards your neck and you screeched without him even touching you. 

“Rocky, can you please add that our test subject seems to somehow get even more sensitive when teased?”

You covered your face with your hands in favor of protecting your middle. “I don’t know how to deal with you like this.”

Ryland laughed. “Like what?”

“Like,” you risked a glance outside of your hands, only to find him looking at you like he was prepared to lovingly destroy you within an inch of your life. “Like that!” you said, unable to find anything else. 

“Oh, can someone dish it out, but they can’t take it?” he asked, raising a brow. 

You frowned at this, sensing that he was very close to feeling like he was winning. “No, I’m just not used to it.” 

“Oh, well I suppose we better test that theory then, huh?” Ryland said, shooting a hand out to your side that you effectively blocked. 

“Uh uh, none of that.” He hooked his arms under your legs, and pulled them out, sending you sprawling across the cushions. 

“No, NO, give them back!” you yelled, trying to scurry back into your curled up position, but Ryland was already climbing on top of your hips, pinning you in place. 

“No.” Ryland gently trailed his hands across your arms, it didn’t tickle, but it was enough to send goosebumps across your skin. “We have to finish my experiment.” 

He leaned in close to you and whispered. “And the tickle monster can’t conclude his hypothesis without some giggles to prove it.” Ryland then began to wiggle his fingers into your neck and you screeched as your shoulders practically came up to your ears. 

“Ryland!” you yelled, squeezing your eyes shut against the horribly ticklish sensation. 

“Nope. Tickle monster needs laughter, not your friend's name.”

Indignation hit you like a ton of bricks despite the fact that your unpinned hands were doing very little to fight him off. “You are NOT the tickle monster. We are too old for this!” 

“Ooh, tickle monster did not like that answer,” Ryland reached down and squeezed your hips and a bright burst of laughter exploded through you. His thumbs found the divot point in the bone, and you threw yourself forward in shock, only to have Ryland gently push you back down. “Are you trying to invalidate my experiment?”

“Fuhuuhhuhuhuck yohohohohu!” you yelled, your body twisting around wildly in an attempt to dislodge that ticklish feeling from your skin. 

“You are so lucky that the tickle monster is here instead of your amazing friend Ryland because he’d probably do this for saying that word,” he said, before grabbing a hold of your wrists and pushing them up to leave your middle unprotected. Before you could process what he was doing or scream, he was bending down to blow a raspberry on your stomach. You screeched as the vibration travelled through you like magic. His scraggly beard was like tiny individual feathers across your sensitive skin and you swore he was moving it around as much as possible. 

He sat back up and swiped his fingers across your tummy. 

“Rocky, please note that our subject is especially susceptible to raspberries, though we’ll have to try it other places to confirm this theory.”

Rocky chirped and you heaved in enough of a breath to speak. “We are NOT doing that.”

Ryland looked down at you, looking as innocent as the devil. “Why not?”

Your jaw dropped at his audacity for even asking you that. “Because, because- YOU are the one who broke the music complaint rule.”

Ryland threw his hands up with a laugh. “You don’t care about the music rule.” 

“You don’t know that,” you breathed out heavily.

Ryland cocked his head. “I have a different hypothesis, do you want to hear it?”

“What?” you said, raising your brows.

He poked your shoulder. “I think you would’ve picked this as your compensation for me breaking the rule.”

You weren’t aware that your face could get any warmer. “I would NOT” 

Ryland leaned back, looking smug. “Okay, then apologize for your experiment and I’ll let you go right now.” 

You glared at him. It wasn’t like you were craving the feeling of his fingers sending that zappy tingly feeling through your nerves, or the playful energy that was currently buzzing around the inside of the Hail Mary, but you simply couldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him win that easily. “I won’t apologize for being a thorough scientist.”

Ryland twisted around to yell over his shoulder. “Rocky, please note down that its possible our test subject likes being tickled but we need more proof before our conclusion.”

You would’ve pushed him if you still had your hands. “Ryland, stop teasing!” 

“Sorry, I can't help you. Ryland isn’t here, if you need something you’ll have to address the tickle monster,” he said, before clawing his fingers into your armpits. You yelped and kicked, and then descended back into laughter as your skin twitched underneath his careful hands. 

He was nearly methodical in his methods, alternating between softly stroking the skin, spidering his fingernails, and scratching at your hollows. “Subject seems to be more susceptible to lighter softer touches, but we will have to try elsewhere to be sure it isn’t a fluke,” he said, and you heard Rocky chirping behind him before his words started to make sense to you. 

“Try ribs, usually ticklish for humans,” Rocky suggested, and you tried to pull your arms down to no avail. 

“Good idea Rock, I almost forgot about those.”

“Bad idea, no bAD IDEA!” you tried to say, but then Ryland’s hands were softly scritching across your sides again, taking his sweet time in wiggling his fingers across each bone. He alternated between each side, making you lean into one of his hands, only to change which hand was doing the tickling. 

“Grace!” you pleaded, descending into the madness of your giggles. 

“I might listen if you call me by my real name, you know,” he said, letting his hands trail down to your stomach. You nearly shot up out of your skin, but all Ryland had to do was squeeze your sides again, and you went right back down. 

His hands went right back to your stomach and it felt like your nerves and your face was on fire. His hands twitched just above your belly button making your laughter turn deeper as you tried to suck your stomach in to no avail and you squeezed your eyes shut. The sensation ran deep, like the feeling of his hands was spreading hazy warm waves through your body and the laughter was all heading straight to your brain. 

“Switch spohohohohts!” you begged, needing him to be anywhere else other than your stomach. 

“Hey Rock, can you write down that it appears that our test subject would rather deal with what appears to be their worst spot being picked apart than say the word tickle?”

You opened your eyes to gape at him, but promptly wished you hadn’t as he looked down at you in mock sympathy. 

“Yes. Does appear to be stubborn when solution is so obvious. Rocky think friend too flustered to say word.”

“You bohohohohoth SUCK!” you yelled, wishing you could give both of your mischievous crewmates a withering glare, but laughing too much to even be able to speak properly. 

Ryland smiled down at you. “If you want me to switch spots then you’ll have to ask the tickle monster.” 

You were never going to live this down, but you were going to explode if he kept raking his fingers against the soft skin of your middle. “Tihihi- tihihih,” you started, then got too flustered to finish. Ryland squeezed your sides again and you yelped loudly. “Tihihihckle mohohohonster, please!”

“Interesting that you said that and not the words that stop this,” Ryland murmured plenty loud enough for you and Rocky to hear it as his hands fluttered at the sides of your neck once more. 

“Rocky, do you think we have enough information to present our conclusion?” 

“Not enough data. Friend is fine. Must keep going.” 

“Friend is NOT fine,” you yelped, as Ryland accidentally brushed his fingers across the shell of your ear. 

“Your ears are ticklish too?” Ryland all but yelled. 

“Yours are wOHOHOHORSE!” you laugh screeched as he swirled his fingers around your ear and his nails scuttled across your neck. You tried to push your ear into the pillows but that just left the other side exposed, leaving you in a never ending search for a place where Ryland’s tickles could not reach you. 

“Maybe so,” Ryland said, flushing a little red, but smirking too much for your liking. “But I’m not the one screaming.”

“I’m not screa-NO!” you had started to say into a pillow only to have a pair of lips press into the sensitive skin of your neck and blow as hard as possible. You shrieked loudly enough that it would’ve been embarrassing if you were with anyone else, but instead you just happily giggled yourself silly. 

Ryland pulled back and you heaved in air as he gently brushed your hair out of the way. “Anytime you want to admit that you shouldn’t have experimented on Ryland I’m happy to hear it.”

You did your best to glare up at him. “You are so mean!”  

Ryland shrugged and blew another raspberry on your neck, wiggling his face around and pressing that horribly ticklish stubble into your skin. “FINE!” you shrieked. “Ryland, I’m sohohohohry!”

He raised his head from your neck. “And what do you have to say to me?”

You inhaled a breath, willing yourself to be able to say the word again. You opened your mouth to say it right as Ryland bent down again, his lips connected with your neck and a gutteral scream came out instead. The vibrations were toying with your nerves and it broke down any walls you had left. 

“Tickle monster PLEASE! I give!” you yelled, and Ryland pulled back, 

“That’ll work,” he smiled, and you inhaled air like you chugged water on a hot day. 

“You’re evil,” you looked up at him through your eyelashes. “I always thought you were too nice, but underneath those sweaters and kindness is an evil, evil man.”

Rocky scittered towards you. “Ryland not evil. Friend is lying. Had fun. Statement.”

You looked at Rocky in horror but Ryland only laughed and got off of your legs. He curled his hand under your knee and you jolted, but he only moved you around so your back was against his chest, his arms pulling the two of you close. You settled into him easily and Rocky pressed in beside you, tucking into Ryland’s side, “Rocky has a point you know, you never told me to stop.” he whispered in your ear. 

“Shut up,” you hissed, resituating yourself overtop of his legs. 

He laughed good naturedly, but Rocky shifted beside him. “Grace also seems happier now. Less bored.”

At these words Grace actually blushed, and his reaction hit you like a ton of bricks. He had said all of those things about how easily you were teased and yet he was being just as bashful about what had just happened. You smiled, realizing you weren’t the only one who had fun but wouldn’t admit it.  

Rocky made a clicking noise. “We did two tests. What are conclusions? Question?”

You looked up at Ryland as he tilted his head side to side. “Subject is clearly unbearably ticklish-” you tried to reach your hand up to cover Ryland’s mouth, but he only grabbed a hold of your hands and held them to your chest like he was hugging you. 

“The tester had a little bit too much fun tormenting me I think!” you pointed out, and though Ryland’s blush deepened, he pressed on. 

“But between a combination of sheer obstinance and holding a secret enjoyment for the game, was able to hold out for a long time.” You wiggled around, trying to break out of Ryland’s hold but between his strength and your exhaustion you were stuck being forced to listen to his teasing words or come up with your own.

“You had more fun than me,” you said, your voice rising in pitch.

Ryland raised a brow, the look you were sure he’d given dozens of students before. “Is this you admitting you had fun?” 

You let your head slump forward. “Shush-” you groan. 

Ryland laughs and Rocky chirps. 

“You look sleepy,” Ryland coos, looking down at you. 

You nuzzle your head into Ryland’s side. “I’m gonna get you back so bad.”

Ryland begins to stroke your hair, and if it was possible, you can almost feel the heat of his smile on you. “I have no doubts.”

Your eyes began to flutter shut. “Rocky and I are gonna team up and it’ll be over for you.”

As if in response, Rocky curls around you, the warmth of his carapace making you feel so cozy and safe and Ryland murmurs contentedly.  “Mhmm, I’m sure.”

You yawn loudly and curl your fingers into Ryland’s soft sweater. 

“Friend sleep. I watch. We attack Grace later.” 

You nod and you begin to drift off as you listen to the Hail Mary quietly humming around you, as if the sounds of your laughter are still echoing through the air. The journey to Erid still felt long and unending as it was laid out ahead of you but with the presence of your two best friends beside you, even the vastness of space felt warm. 

[mystey-here]

THIS IS SO AMAZING YOU WRITE THEM SO WELL AND RHIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED LOLLL

ALSO I LITERALLT HAD TO PAUSE AND STARE AT THE CEILING WHEN HE YELLED TO ROCKY THAT THEY MIGHT LIKE IT. THIS IS SOOOO GOOD

[twiggy-boy]

"what is this BABY doing in space!???"

-Rocky, probably

[nebulations]

[ID copied from alt:

Grace looking into a poorly drawn microscope, a yellow text bubble is under it "Y'know, I wasn't even born yet when you set off for your mission. isn't that crazy?.... Rocky?", a poorly drawn Rocky is next to him.

A closer image of the poorly drawn Rocky, with a yellow text bubble next to it: "... Rocky?"

a much more detailed and much closer drawing of Rocky, with the words "Grace say sike right fucking now" in front of him. End ID]

[a-simple-lee]

You're still under my skin

Project hail mary (tickle fic: Ler!Ryland Grace, Lee!Reader)

🌌 summary: Affection is really important to you. Over time, you've learned to initiate hugs, and pats on the shoulder. You never thought you'd be able to ask Ryland to tickle you - but desperate times call for desperate measures. 🪐 tags: ryland grace & reader, tickling, fluff, 2.4k words 💫 prompt: "i have this thought but i’m too scared to consider it further on my own - imagine actually working up the courage to go up to ryland and ask him to tickle you. he’d be insufferable and would never let you live it down" -@/Kitkatfingers 🛰️ author's note: Heyyy I have no idea whether this is shit or not but it took me 1.5 weeks and a lot of sitting with my head on the desk so I hope yall enjoy <33 🌌credits: (thank you to @//harringtonsslvt for the post layout inspo! Space dividers by @//strangergraphics)

It was back again.

The wanting.

You had been keeping it controlled so far - after all, there were more important matters at hand. But things had been slow lately on the hail mary, and Ryland had not been helping.

You'd been close, in the way two people condemned to spend the rest of their lives in a metal box would be. You hugged. You bumped shoulders. You slept side by side. And you had stupid playfights.

Your thoughts float back to your most recent scuffle; how Grace had grabbed you by the shoulders, messed up your hair - how you'd tossed half-hearted punches at his shoulder, and he'd acted all offended. How he'd adjusted his grip where you'd slid down. How his hand had accidentally landed under your arm, and it had...well, tickled. You'd yelped, flailed, practically jumping out of Grace's headlock. The reaction had only prompted him to scramble after you, and the wrestling match, as it occasionally did, devolved into a tickle fight.

There seemed to be a mutual understanding that neither of you minded these too much, given how often they happened - humans needed touch, and...it was nice to make each other smile. Even it was incredibly silly.

If Grace had a problem with it, he'd never said - and besides, he never pushed your hands away, despite being more than capable.

...He probably had an inkling you had no issues with it either.

There was a look you shared, sometimes, whenever you successfully provoked him into tickling you - although you didn't always need to provoke him. Sometimes, you'd just look at him pleadingly, and he'd know. And after, you'd wipe tears of laughter from your eyes, and he'd adjust his glasses, and it would be there on his face. A knowing.

It was why you felt comfortable asking without asking, when the wanting arrived - you’d hide Ryland’s things, act extra snarky, squeeze his knee under the table - and if he didn’t tickle you, he still usually gave you some similar form of playful affection. It nearly always worked. 

Nearly.

This time, though, was different. Despite your best efforts to drop hints all week, it appeared Grace was too engrossed in his work to pick up on any. You’d prodded his ribs, thrown in plenty of sarcastic jibes - and, though you were loathe to admit it, deliberately stretched for high shelves a few times within tickling distance. All that, and Dr. PhD still hadn’t gotten the message.

So…no, he wasn’t helping at all. 

You'd looked into the science of it, once. Hugs released plenty of endorphins. It stood to reason touch-starved individuals might feel drawn to affection that caused laughter, which would release an extra kick of dopamine. It wasn't unfathomable that some people enjoyed being tickled.

So you knew you wanted it. And you could take a reasonable guess at why.

Didn’t make it any less humiliating to think about, though.

And now, after hours trying and failing to shut it out, there's a stubborn, giddy flutter settled between your heart and stomach. Your brain runs circles around the recent lack of touch, helpfully providing you with visions of hugs, playfights, cuddles, tickles, tickles, tickles-

This is bad.

You tap your pen furiously against your notepad, berating yourself for getting distracted again. A simple dilution calculation sits unfinished, abandoned in favour of your oddly specific yearnings.

C₁V₁ = C₂V₂.

The formula stares at you. It's simple: just plug in the values, make the needed solution. You’ve done it a million times by now.

Across the room, Ryland drums his fingers on the bench, his glasses habitually crooked as he contemplates his own data. It's only in your peripheral, but it's enough to scatter any possibility of concentrating. Your eyes linger a nanosecond too long on his hand, and you absolutely, totally do not contemplate his fingers tapping one-by-one like that against your ribs, so it's fine. You're fine.

Fuck.

Perhaps something more visual will help. You nudge the chair back, and grab a sample for the confocal microscope.

It's a more complex setup than the little desktop ones. Takes an eternity to switch the thing on - a million buttons, and loading screens, and safety checks.

You pass the time gazing intently at the desk.

Finally, it's ready. Taking a seat, you slot the sample in, and your hand drifts to the coarse focus dial, the sample shifting up and down with each movement. You will your eyes to stay locked on the viewport.

Your elbows bump against the desk as you hunch over the eyepiece. It's not comfortable, but you're used to it at this point, and it leaves your torso rather open to - nope. stop it.

Too late. The thought of hands, squeezing suddenly at your sides, flashes through your mind. Kneading. Poking. Teasing. A person, no one in particular, crowding closer to trap you against the bench, laughing low near your ear, his glasses bumping your neck-

God.

The fine focus does not make things any clearer.

"I can hear you thinking." A voice nearby. You nearly fall out your chair. Grace is stood over his laptop, hands propped against the table, glasses slid down his nose. Just…watching, apparently.

You steady your breathing. “Uh- what?”

“You’re distracted.” He steps closer.

“No, I’m not.”

“So…you meant to do that?” He points to the sample, which you have elegantly smushed against the microscope lens during your adjustments. Great. You rest your brow against the eyepiece in defeat.

“How many cover slips are we gonna lose to you, hm?” Ryland mutters, guiding you off the chair with a hand on your shoulder. 

You nudge him. “Shut up.”

He nudges you back. “Hey, I’m looking out for our equipment, here.”

You reach over, adjusting his glasses for him. “You’re dragging me away from my work.”

He grins. “Work? What work?”

“Rude.” It’s too easy, really, to swipe your fingers over his neck – your hands are already there, and your brain has been screaming affection affection affection for hours now. 

Grace, of course, leaps back with a squeak, half a giggle escaping before he regains his composure, hand held to his neck.

Mischief flashes through his features, for a moment. But he doesn’t take the bait. 

“Alright, alright, sorry.” He folds his arms. “What’s going on?”

You huff. “Nothing, just…”

“Bored? Tired?” Ryland supplies. Your gaze drifts inexorably to his hands, which trace idle patterns over his own arms. 

You are not going to get any work done like this.

“Kinda.”

You stride over, placing your hands on his shoulders, expression dour.

He tilts his head, frowning slightly.

“What, you need a hug?” His arms open wide, and you take the offer, even if it’s not quite what you’re after. It helps.

You spend a moment gathering your thoughts, Ryland giving you a brief but tight squeeze. It gives you the confidence to draw back and face him again.

“All good now?”

Heat crawls up your neck. For the fifth time in as many days, you give him The Look - the one that usually says everything you need it to. 

He raises his eyebrows, uncertain.

“Okay, so…not all good, then?”

“Grace.” Your voice nearly cracks. Delirious, you wonder if he’s doing it on purpose - but…no, there’s not a glint of malice in his eyes.

“What, what do you need?” He’s completely oblivious.

 “I want-” The rest of the words won’t come out. You give him one last pleading stare, hoping he’ll know the look in your eyes this time.

“What, what is it?”

Shit. You’re going to have to spell it out for him. 

“Um- it’s been a while since- uh.” The next few seconds are filled with your various stutters. Grace sits through it all patiently.

Okay, deep breath. You place your hands together, and brute-force the words out.

“I, um. I want you to tickle me.”

Silence. 

He leans back against the counter, eyes narrowing in the way they do when he finds something interesting.

And then, slowly…he smiles.

“...So you can ask for it.” His voice carries that familiar teasing lilt.

“You-You knew?”

“You are not subtle.” Grace doesn’t give you time to process the betrayal - just lunges forwards, scooping you into a hug from behind like it's nothing. His hands latch onto your hips, squeezing rapidly, and he laughs at the way you instantly start sinking downwards. 

“That was so hard for you, wasn’t it?” He muses, spidering his fingers over your stomach, following you towards the floor. “You were thinking about it for days!” 

That fluttering, hopeful thing from earlier does somersaults inside your chest, revelling at the familiar electricity running through your veins. The giddiness and joy at being held this way, despite Grace’s teasing, puts a silly grin on your face. You put your head in your hands, legs flailing wildly as you reach the ground. But Ryland’s not having it - he grabs your wrists, and slots out from behind you, choosing instead to sit over your legs. He pins your hands over your head, leaning closer.

You refuse to meet his gaze - and in your defence, it would be hard to - Grace’s free hand walks two fingers along the inside of your bicep, moving steadily towards your underarm. It’s rather distracting.

“Grahace-”

You risk a glance at him.

Bad idea. That grin is evil.

“You really missed this, didn’t you?” His hand swirls a tiny circle over your tricep, and your giggling stops being anticipatory. You frantically shake your head. 

“Yea, you did.” He laughs, a sing-song tone to his voice. His fingers creep lower, slowly tracing around your navel. Your breath hitches in your chest, delicate laughter stuttering out.

“You missed being tickled.”

The heat rising to your cheeks is mortifying - you let out a noise somewhere between a giggle and a whine. 

“Aw. Sorry, am I embarrassing you?”

“Yes-!” His hand abruptly claws at your side, and you tip your head back, lost in laughter. “No! Nonono-”

“Yes? No? Which is it?” Grace laughs. It’s a wicked noise. Horrible, even. You vow to yourself that you’ll tickle that laugh out of him once you’re free.

“FUCK you-” 

“Tsk. That’s rude.” He stills his fingers, leaning in to look you in the eye. “I won’t tickle you then.”

…If the ship’s hull somehow breached, right now, and you fell through the laboratory floor into the frigid vacuum of space, you would spend your last moments grateful for the feeling of the cold against your raging blush. 

Grace is attentively watching your reaction - which consists mostly of hiding your face against your pinned arms, and giggling through residual laughter. There may have been a very embarrassing flustered groan, but you don’t dwell on it.

“...Well?” He hovers a clawed hand over your tummy. “You owe me an apology.”

“Sorry, sorry-” You manage to squeak out, eyes closed tight once you see what he’s doing.

“...And?”

“And what?”

“And, what would you like me to do?” Grace looks at you expectantly. 

Oh no.

He’s waiting for you to ask him again.

“Absolutely not.” You open your eyes. His hand is closer. 

“...I just think it would help to practice asking, is all.”

“Ryland.”

“Ryland, now, huh? Must be bad.” He wriggles his fingers in the air, just a bit. Just an inch away. You can’t help it - you laugh a little.

“Plehease!”

He considers this - observes the shade of red your ears have turned - and snorts.

“...Alright, fine, be dramatic.” 

His hand makes contact with your torso, sliding your shirt out the way as he spiders a pattern across your skin. Then, hand still poking along your side, he leans down, and blows a raspberry.

You forget most of the English language for a moment, back arching in a useless attempt to throw him off, your focus completely consumed by the playful, buzzy feeling under your skin. At one point, you make either a snort or a hiccup, you’re not sure, and Ryland laughs against your belly, which tickles even more. Once he runs out of air, he pulls back, and pays attention to your ribs, his fingers climbing up each one with horrible, ticklish accuracy.

“...Two…” he mutters. You furrow your eyebrows between giggles, confused by the lack of context.

“GRACE-!” You manage to shout, unable to form a sentence through the combination of laughter and utter mortification. Pulling at your arms does nothing.

“Shush, now, you’ll make me lose count.”

His hand shifts to the next rib, one finger positioned above and the other below as he digs lightly into the space between the bones, and keeps counting.

“Three-”

Ok, now you actively wish there was a hull breach. 

“Four-” He continues, picking up his pace slightly to observe how your legs kick out more in response. “Only twenty ribs to go, you’re doing great.”

“Screhew you-!” You’re careful to leave the profanities out this time.

Grace smiles. “On second thought, this is going too slow. Fivesixseven-” 

His hand crawls rapidly upwards, slightly trailing towards your spine as it does so. At long last, he lets your hands go, so he can have both of his back. The freedom doesn’t do you much good - you feel like a puddle. Your limbs can barely move from the laughter. You hold onto Grace’s wrists loosely - but don’t push them away.

“You gonna let me go?” By now, he’s got both hands jammed under your arms, barely moving. He doesn’t need to move them, really - you keep squirming and laughing yourself into an infinite feedback loop with them stuck there like that.

“Plehease-” You can’t think through the giggles.

“I’m not doing anything! I’m not moving!” Grace is laughing along with you at this point, apparently highly entertained by your predicament. “Oho, you’re adorable.”

By some miracle, you finally manage to lift your arms enough for him to draw back. He doesn’t touch you again - just sits back, watching as you flop your arms over your face and ride out the tsunami of residual giggles he’s caused. 

After ten seconds of this, he leans forwards again, poking at your wrist. 

“You ok under there? Did I break you?”

If you hadn’t just been tickled to pieces, you probably wouldn’t have grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into a hug. But you have, so that’s what you do.

“Hey,” He laughs, stroking your hair. “Happy now?”

And despite the mischief in his tone - despite the stomach-flipping embarrassment you feel - despite the fact he’d known what you wanted the whole time - you nod. 

Ryland grins wider. “Good.”

Then, he leans over to catch your eye, his voice a tad smug. 

“...Next time, all you need to do is ask.”

[mystey-here]

AHHHHHH

[mystey-here]

i know the irondad fandom has like died because so has he, but i’m CRAVING some soft ler!irondad lee!reader fics rn

[nhasablogg]

Till your bones feel embarrassed from all the attention

Fandom: Heated Rivalry

Characters: Shane/Ilya

Summary: A video of Shane being tickled during a night out goes viral. Ilya becomes obsessed with it.

A/N: Warning for sexual themes.

Words: 4.5k

Part 2 here.

[Read it on AO3]

Lily: I can tickle you better.

Shane nearly flung his phone onto the table from how quickly he turned away in an attempt to shield it. His team wasn’t paying attention to him anyway, all hungover, all exhausted and not looking forward to the flight out of Toronto, though it was mercifully not until late in the afternoon. The brunch situation at the hotel was the last thing they were doing before the bus was due to pick them up to take them to the airport, a drive which could either be loud due to their win the previous night, or eerily quiet due to their celebration of said win. Shane wasn’t usually that careless about his time, but even he had been pulled into it, meaning he was all but dreading the thankfully relatively short flight into Boston. Boston where Ilya was currently texting Shane.

Jane: Excuse me?

He typed it out quickly, a panic settling in his stomach because he didn’t usually text him like this, out in the open. The closest thing to it was their dressing room and its guise of privacy. On his left was Hayden, who looked much worse for wear than Shane, which was probably due to all the shots he’d taken. Shane had, despite his team’s nagging, stayed entirely sober, but that didn’t mean he had a clear memory of the night either.

Lily: He doesn’t know your body like I know it.

Shane slammed the phone face down on the table, then thought better of it and grabbed it again. “What’s wrong with you?” Hayden asked, reaching for his own phone as if it would give him all the answers.

Shane ignored him and typed another response.

Jane: What the fuck do you mean?

Lily: You know.

Jane: I really don’t??

He could picture Ilya’s stupid smirk. Riling Shane up was his favorite thing.

Lily: You thought you could keep it secret from me.

Shane exhaled slowly.

Jane: That I’m ticklish? How did you even find that out?

Lily: Ah. You don’t know.

Last night came back in flashes. He remembered wanting to text Ilya. Remembered Hayden drunkenly urging him to text “that girl he was hiding”. But mostly he remembered flashing lights and people being drunk, and Shane feeling equally gone due to the lights and the sounds, stuck between awareness and a blur.

“Oh my god,” Hayden said to his left, just as Shane attempted to type back anything more coherent than a bunch of question marks. “Shane, we’ve gone viral.”

“What-”

Hayden pressed his phone into his face with a laugh, alerting most of the table. “You gotta see this.”

The video was on twitter, though it wasn’t posted by any of them but seemed to be a screengrab from Olsson’s instagram account. In it were Shane and Hayden with people dancing all around them. Really it was nothing special. Nothing to go viral over. Hayden was mostly swaying, while Shane was bopping his head awkwardly upon noticing the camera. Through the music you could hear Olsson prompting them to smile.

“He said smile!” Hayden yelled, seemingly not impressed by Shane’s initial attempt, which to be fair looked more like he was in pain than enjoying himself.

Present Shane shook his head. “Why would we go viral over this?”

“Oh, just you wait.”

In the video, Hayden grabbed for him, and Shane doubled over as if trying to escape. It really still didn’t make it any more interesting, until he realized with a flush that he was laughing.

‘They are so cute’ the tweet said, and when Shane would scroll down later in the privacy of his hotel room, people, seemingly fans of him and the team, would gush about their “bromance” and about him being ticklish, and it still didn’t really make any sense that this would get that many views, but Shane felt embarrassed about it anyway.

So much for letting loose.

In the end, it spread because Shane supposedly gained super strength and threw Hayden off of him - “That’s why I have this huge ass bruise on my side!” - and while he knew his way on the ice, Shane really wasn’t an aggressive person off of it.

The team laughed at the video and Shane slipped out of his seat, phone in hand.

Jane: What the fuck.

Lily: You have never thrown me around like that.

Jane: I will if you don’t stop.

Lily: You must be really ticklish.

Lily: Exciting for me.

Jane: Stop.

Lily: Hmm. I will if you are nice.

Jane: Asshole.

Lily: See you in two days :)

*

Ilya watched the video at least a dozen times before he texted Shane. He wished to say he did so in a composed manner, but he had hit the keys in a dazed rage. He wasn’t used to seeing Shane with his guard down, if you could even call it that. He didn’t seem like he belonged in that club, not really, but he seemed more relaxed than Ilya had seen him with his team. He always had a shield up. They were alike in that way.

It amused him to see him like that, slightly out of place but evidently enjoying himself. And then Pike put his hands on him and he saw red for much longer than he was willing to admit, and by the time he realized that Shane was bending over because he was being tickled, because he was ticklish and his best friend was using that knowledge to his advantage, knowledge he probably possessed beforehand, Ilya was already typing out the text without allowing himself time to think too much about it.

Jane: Excuse me?

The reply came quickly and Ilya didn’t let himself stall, didn’t let himself overthink this. He was teasing him, as he often did. Shane was always more practical over text, almost monotonous, but Ilya could sense his emotions behind the typed words. His spluttering. His blushing and stuttering and arousal, if the conversation asked for it.

He seemed confused now though, and Ilya swiftly realized he had no idea what he was talking about. Could imagine him scouring the internet for clues and putting up his usual front when he found it. Ilya only texted him because he wanted to reestablish something, maybe mostly to himself, and not necessarily because he cared about Shane being ticklish. That had just been a bonus.

But as the text conversation progressed, and as he imagined him blushing throughout it, he found he couldn’t let the idea of him squirming under his hands for different reasons go. It all but consumed him, in fact.

*

Montreal beat Boston and Ilya was in a frustrated mood. It was always worse losing when you played at home. Shane knew that all too well. He also knew that the best remedy was always taking your frustration out on each other’s bodies, which was why he wasn’t surprised when Ilya shoved him into the room the very moment Shane opened the door to his hotel room.

“Hey,” he said, though there was no heat to it.

“No talking,” Ilya said and grabbed his face to smash his mouth into his.

Shane was familiar with this dance. Had both led it and been led many times. He let Ilya steer him now, let him bite his lower lip and slide his mouth down his collarbone. Let him press him against the wall and dig his thumbs into his hip bones, as if there was any world where Shane would be pulling away. He moaned and Ilya moaned back in return, both of them relishing in how frustration always made the body desperate. How willing they both were to give into that desperation.

The bed was suddenly right there - when had they moved through the room? - and Shane didn’t protest when he was thrown onto it. The sheets were soft and freshly washed. Not that he really had the time to acknowledge it. Not with Ilya looming over him like that, head tilted in a way that made him feel self conscious.

“What is it?” he asked, feeling dizzy and needing him closer again.

A fingertip on his chest, which was slowly moving downward. It was very like Ilya to tease. He liked watching him squirm, he’d said, but this felt different. Shane suddenly felt on edge.

“I’ve been nice,” he said, remembering the text conversation.

Ilya hummed. “Not very nice to embarrass me in my own city.”

“That’s hockey, Rozanov.” He jutted his chin out. He was on thin ice, he knew. “We were simply better.”

“Were you?” Something flickered across Ilya’s face. Something kind of terrifying.

So Shane had been nervous about tonight. He hadn’t exactly been able to pinpoint why until now, when Ilya’s grin turned mischievous and he realized he had him pinned to the mattress, something he usually liked. Still liked, if he was being honest.

“Tell me, Hollander.” His finger had stilled on his ribs, the touch unbearably light. “How did you keep your sensitivity a secret from me for so long?”

Shane flushed, which was fucking ridiculous. “I’m not that bad. Hayden surprised me.”

“So if I tickle you now-” He used his other hand to wiggle his fingers in the air. ”-you won’t laugh? You will keep still and let me keep tickling?”

“What? I don’t know.”

“You are tense.” Ilya’s smile softened. “And blushing.”

“Shut up.”

He suddenly removed his finger. “I think I will let you be. Better to keep you tense. Means we will win next game.”

“What- you can’t text me before the game, Rozanov,” Shane said weakly, but it fell on deaf ears and he kind of forgot to reestablish that boundary once Ilya’s mouth was on him again.

*

Ilya felt lucky. Lucky that the next game against Montreal was only a few weeks after their loss, and lucky because he knew Shane was expecting him to text and therefore would be thrown off when he ended up not doing so at all. He looked at his phone and grinned, knowing Shane was probably doing the same in his own dressing room. It was almost better, forcing him to think of him. It would be more fun later, because of course there would be a later. He would take a cab to Shane’s creepy apartment and Shane would be angry because they would inevitably beat them, and Ilya would just laugh and let him do whatever he wanted to him, though not without doing things right back. It was part of it, their tumbling and battling.

“You waiting for a call or somethin’?” Cliff asked, appearing beside him suddenly.

Ilya slipped the phone into his bag. “No.”

“We have to win tonight, you know.”

“We will.”

“Price better keep Montreal in check.”

“You think I can’t do that myself?” he asked, which he knew was unfair. It was Price’s job to make sure he had as much of a free range as possible. It was Ilya’s job to score. Ilya would score and wink right in Shane’s face just to drive the point home and possibly drive him a bit crazy while he was at it.

Cliff slapped him on the back. “We got this.”

Ilya huffed and finished getting ready. His phone buzzed just before they were about to go out on the ice.

Jane: I didn’t peg you as someone who listens.

He snorted out a laugh and didn’t reply.

*

“Now you’re texting me before the game, huh?” was the first thing Ilya said when Shane entered his hotel room.

“You’re an asshole,” Shane replied. He looked angry, but there was no heat to it. You learned to live with losses when you played. Mostly they worked as motivation to keep getting better.

Ilya felt equally tired that night. The game had been an ongoing battle of score after score from both teams, which meant overtime and suspense which was both his favorite thing about the game and the thing which drained him the most. He had hoped that Shane would be fired up enough to take charge that night, but they stood staring at each other for slightly too long and Ilya grabbed for his waist when he realized Shane wasn’t moving.

“Wait-” Shane recoiled, which was unlike him, and Ilya had a terrifying moment of wondering if he’d finally crossed a line, if Shane was finally tired of this thing they were doing, and while he was certain his fear was visible on his face Shane seemed too busy blushing to notice.

“Ah,” Ilya said, realization dawning on him. “You think I will tickle you.”

He didn’t mean to say it to embarrass him, but Shane’s blush turned redder, turned angrier and defensive. “I thought you said you could do it better.” It was so evident that it took everything in him to say it. Ilya felt merciful because of it and didn’t tease. “Pardon me for thinking you were a man of your word.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to do it?”

“Well, no.”

“Then I won’t.” He reached out again, though without touching him. “Come here. I won’t do it,” he added when Shane eyed him warily. “But I really really want to.” He wasn’t sure why he admitted it, but the image of Shane squirming beneath him still hadn’t left his mind.

Shane whined. A beautiful, arousing whine, and Ilya wasted no more time before undressing them both and throwing him onto the bed.

*

Shane couldn’t figure out why it bothered him. Why the promise of such a pure, innocent thing wasn’t being held. Why he even cared about it in the first place.

The rain was plummeting down outside. Too early in the season for rain, but even winters in Canada seemed to have suffered from climate change. Not good. He watched it for a moment. The rain Ilya was probably driving in, this night after their game. The usual. This familiar dance.

It didn’t help that they hadn’t seen each other for like two months either. He felt restless. Horny. Really fucking lonely, actually.

“What took you so long?”

“Hello to you too, Hollander.” Despite their loss, Ilya seemed to be in a good mood. Much more cheery than Shane, weirdly enough.

“Yes. Hi. Come in.”

Ilya’s jacket was dripping just from the short walk to the door. Shane tried to not care that he was getting it on the wooden floors.

This was a new thing they had been doing recently. Not crashing into each other the very moment they were alone. They never had any reason for the stalling. They spoke very rarely, and when they did it was never anything that took up too much time. Ilya lingered by the door, took his time removing his jacket and shoes, and when he did he just looked around the apartment as if he hadn’t been here too many times to count by then.

“I have a confession,” he said, his hands in his pockets.

Shane’s heart skipped a beat. “That can’t be good.”

Ilya let out a laugh, though he seemed on edge. Nervous. That wasn’t common. “Is nothing bad.”

“Says you.”

Ilya shifted his weight from foot to foot. Not good at all, Shane didn’t say, though the obvious display of uncertainty fascinated him.

“You’re making me nervous.”

Ilya looked up at him, with a smile so unlike his usual one. “I confess,” he started, dragging the word out surely just to mess with him. “that I have been thinking of that video.”

“What video?” Shane knew what video.

“You know what video.”

“I really don’t.” He really did.

“Will you force me to use it against you, Hollander?”

“Use what- okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He held up his hands when Ilya stepped closer, a rare playfulness gripping them both. “You have been thinking of the video. Got it. What about it?”

Ilya took another step. “It makes me curious.”

“Curious of what?”

“You see, the video was loud.” Ilya waved a hand around. “You can only hear music.”

“It was a club, after all.”

“I can see you laughing, but I cannot hear it.” He shrugged. “Is unfair, don’t you think? That I have touched every part of your body, but have never heard you laugh like that?”

Shane exhaled. “You’re the one who has decided you’re not allowed to tickle me for some reason.”

Another step. If Shane reached out he would be able to touch him easily.

He stayed rooted to his spot even when Ilya grinned. “I change my mind.”

It surprised him that he kissed him when he grabbed for him. That his hands were holding onto Shane’s jaw and nothing else, nothing more soft and vulnerable and sensitive. But it didn’t surprise him when his hands started roaming once they got into the bed, once he had Shane trapped between his body and the mattress, and it didn’t surprise him that he started giggling immediately, though it did embarrass him.

“Oh my god,” Ilya mumbled into his mouth.

“What?” Shane snapped, which sounded a lot less demanding when you were laughing.

“Your laugh. Is cute.”

“It’s not.”

“Oh, but it is.”

Ilya left his mouth alone much to Shane’s chagrin and watched him instead, head tilted, something amused and fond on his face. It made this worse, so much worse, but Shane couldn’t concentrate on looking away. Not when Ilya seemed to lay all his focus on tickling him now. Fingers gentle on his ribcage, moving up and down until Shane was nothing but a twitchy mess. This was very different from how Hayden tickled him, those few times he’d done so. Hayden was always rough about it, and always quick. Ilya was gentle. Ilya took his time.

Shane wasn’t entirely sure if he could handle that, though. “Fuck, okay, you’ve heard my laugh, now cut it out!”

“Hmm, don’t think so. Have more spots to try.” True to his word, Ilya’s hands moved upward to curl beneath Shane’s chin, causing his laughter to go up in pitch. He probably loved that, that bastard.

Shane tried to grab him, tried to push him off, and the fact that he couldn’t, the fact that he was pinned just enough so that he couldn’t budge, did things to him which had nothing to do with the tickling, not really. Maybe Ilya noticed, because he suddenly leaned down again, his lips on the left side of Shane’s neck while his fingers kept tickling the right.

That was the start of something strange and bodily and tickly, which had Shane moaning and giggling in tandem. “I watched that stupid video over and over,” Ilya admitted into his skin, maybe in a moment of weakness. “I tried to figure out where exactly Pike was tickling you, but turns out it did not matter. You are ticklish all over.”

“Oh my god, shut up!” Shane choked out through his laughter. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Ilya laughed and went for his thigh, proving his own point.

*

Lily: If we win you have to stay still while I tickle you.

Ilya wasn’t sure why he felt his pulse quicken when his phone buzzed with Shane’s reply a moment later. Too long for what he typed, which could mean he was busy but more likely meant he was flustered. Good. Ilya liked him flustered.

Jane: And if we win?

He shook his head, not stopping his grin from spreading. No one was here. He was safe to smile.

Lily: Oh, the same :)

Having admitted that he thought about the video had been a risky move, but oh the reward had been sweet. It took Shane longer to reply now. Had they been the types who called each other, Ilya would’ve done so. Longed to hear his voice rise in pitch as Ilya teased him.

Jane: I feel like this is cheating.

Lily: You are easy to distract.

Lily: Not my fault.

Jane: You are just as easy to distract.

Lily: Is that so?

Lily: What if I pinned you down and tickled that spot on your lower back? Pinned you facedown so you couldn’t stop me.

Lily: What then?

Jane: Stop texting me.

Lily: You love it.

Jane: I’m with my PARENTS.

Lily: Better keep a straight face while imagining my hands on you then.

Jane: I will block your number.

Lily: Is your ass ticklish? I never tried.

Jane: !!!!!!

Ilya burst into laughter. Shane was just too easy. And too fun. He feared he might get addicted. Probably already had, ages ago. He could imagine Shane shoving him on the bed in indignation only for the tables to turn and him not doing anything to stop it. Ilya liked that he didn’t try to stop it. Ilya liked making him squirm and laugh. Ilya liked that he let him.

*

Lily: Do me a favor.

The text came late, but Shane was wide awake somewhere in San Jose.

Jane: Why are you awake?

Lily: Big boy.

Shane’s stomach flipped until he realized he meant himself, which made him roll his eyes.

Jane: I am rolling my eyes.

Jane: What’s the favor?

Lily: Touch yourself and imagine it’s me.

Shane’s breath hitched, and it didn’t help when a second text came through.

Lily: Make it ticklish too.

Shane hated that he sometimes still felt like he was doing something wrong when they did this, but he didn’t allow himself to strain his ears to see if he could hear anyone else in this hotel. It was pitch dark. He was a grown ass man.

He barely had time to make himself comfortable on the bed when Ilya texted again.

Lily: Are you doing it?

Jane: Shut up.

Lily: Does it feel good?

Jane: I’ve not started yet.

Lily: Call me.

“What?” Shane said it out loud, and yet he called him anyway without a second thought. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Ilya sounded so close through the speaker phone. Maybe Shane could pretend his breath was in his ear for real. “Are you in bed?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Start with your stomach. I like the way it twitches under my touch.”

Shane inhaled sharply. “You can’t just tickle me over the phone.”

“How do you know? We’ve not tried yet.” The sound of rustling sheets could be heard. Shane imagined he was sliding down the bed. “If phone sex works then this could work.”

Shane shook his head. “That only works because you can touch yourself. You can’t tickle yourself.”

“So do both. Will make you more sensitive.”

“Jesus.”

“Not bad idea, right?”

“I guess not.”

“I am waiting.”

“You’re just gonna listen?”

“I can tease. You want me to tease?”

Shane ran a hand over his face. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“What is happening to you? Describe it.”

“A fucking Russian menace is happening to me.”

Ilya laughed and Shane found he couldn’t help his smile. “Hollander,” he sang, as if he wasn’t ruining Shane’s whole life. “If I was there I would tickle under your arm. So start there.”

“Why there?”

“Because you make funny noises when I do.”

“I do not-”

“Hollander.”

Shane wasn’t sure why he was complying. It wasn’t as if Ilya could see him.

“Are you gripping the headboard like you always do with me?”

Yes. “No.”

“Be gentle at first. I only dig when I want you to be laughing. I only want you squirming now.”

Why the hell was Shane listening to him, he wondered as he dragged his nails over his armpit. It kind of tickled, but not enough for him to want to pull away or laugh. He felt silly, but something warm had settled in his chest. Something which was tied to the voice in his ear.

“Are you doing it?”

“Yes.”

“Good boy.”

Shane let out a strangled sound. “I can’t touch myself if I tickle there.”

“Be patient.”

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Not yet.”

Shane mostly said it as a joke, but he could tell from Ilya’s tone that he was entirely serious. That he was planning on joining Shane while directing him.

It made him incredibly turned on to think about.

“Can I please switch spots?” Can I touch myself?

Ilya made a sound he couldn’t interpret. “You can. Go for stomach now. Gently.” He waited while Shane did as he was told, then added, “Does it tickle?”

“A little.” Why was he entertaining this?

“Good. Imagine it is me.”

Shane did. Fuck, he did. Ilya leaning over him. Ilya being so gentle while also still keeping him in place. One hand on his sensitive skin, another on his sensitive groin.

“Fuck.”

Ilya laughed softly in his ear. “You like that? You like the thought of my hands on you?”

Boston was suddenly too fucking far, their next joint game even farther. He exhaled and circled his belly button again, moved further to the side where he knew the skin twitched if he went gently enough. It was funny how well Ilya knew his body, even though this particular part was new to him. Something about his fixation on it, for Shane had seen right through his attempt at initial nonchalance, made him feel things he still hadn’t baptized.

He leaned his head back. Even though the hand was his own and he could remove it any time, the touch was still leaning on unbearable. If Ilya was here he would tell him to take it. Shane tried to take it each time, though he was always allowed to fight back. Was always allowed to squirm and curse and beg, not that he begged of course. He leaned his head back and curled his fingers over his skin and gripped himself tightly as Ilya told him exactly what to do. Their first phone call. How strange that it was this. How unsurprising all the same.

*

“Did you come?” Ilya had, several seconds before the inevitable sound of Shane’s own orgasm filled his ear. His question was redundant. He knew Shane’s noises well. Could imagine the way his eyes slipped shut.

“I did,” he replied, voice hoarse. “That was-”

“It was.” Ilya smirked. “I made you come without even being in the same state.”

Shane barked out a laugh. “I made myself come.”

“Hmm, not without my help.”

“Shut up.” But he sounded lighter than Ilya had heard him in a while.

“Tell me,” he said, rolling over to his side to reach for the tissues he kept at his bedside table. “Did you keep tickling the entire time?”

Shane was quiet for so long he thought he’d hung up. “I did.”

“Did you like it?”

No response at all this time. Ilya decided to be merciful.

“I was being serious, by the way,” he said while cleaning himself up. “If we win I will tickle you and you will be still.”

“And if we win you will do the same?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds fair.”

“I’m only fair on the ice.”

“An asshole both on and off it though.”

“An asshole who knows your body much better than Hayden Pike.”

“Oh my god, Rozanov.”

Ilya laughed. “See you in two weeks.”

[mystey-here]

THEYRE SO CUTE FUCK

[mystey-here]

personal rant and advice needed below the cut

how do you know when it’s time to leave a long term relationship? especially when you still have love for the person but don’t know if it’s like IN love anymore, and you feel like you’re starting to grow in separate directions? especially when you live together

[hailmarysuggest]

I just want a fic where everyone is all ‘why is Dr Grace so grumpy today? He’s normally so sweet’ and Stratt goes to inspect him for like 5 minutes before grabbing scissors, snipping the tag out of the back of his shirt carefully enough not to leave one of those itchy lines behind, and then he’s a freaking sweetheart again for the rest of the day. Like the princess and the pea. And for some reason only her people watching abilities could figure out why.

Carl probably could have figured it out too, but he can’t be glued to Grace’s side 100% of the time lol.

[nhasablogg]

The head is only a dangerous dead weight

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Characters: Morgan/Reid (pre-slash) + the BAU

Summary: When Morgan realizes their latest case involves a man he saw at a tickle club a few days prior, he is quickly thrown into his worst nightmare (which might be a blessing in disguise). Ler!Morgan

Warnings: tickle kinks, kink club, murder

Words: 5.9k

[Read it on ao3]

It took Morgan several years to get properly back into it. At first it was about adjusting to being in the BAU, then the problem with time. Then it was just about daring. Kink scenes weren’t new to him, but seeing as they spent a big chunk of time profiling sexual sadists, he’d started feeling somewhat weird about his own proclivities. He feared they could smell it on him. This strangeness he couldn’t help.

He never would’ve returned had he not spent most of his life up until that point accepting it and, once he’d done so, exploring it. He didn’t have to dig very deep to realize he missed it, and so, on a particularly dreary Saturday night when his bones were no longer exhausted after their latest case, he went back.

Tea Quells - a funny name when you thought of it - didn’t serve tea, but they had great non-alcoholic options. Morgan felt slightly too tense to enjoy the thought of drinking, so he ordered a soda. Which was one of the less great non-alcoholic options but he wasn’t in the mood for a substitute. Felt he needed the sugar rush to make it through tonight.

He leaned against the bar and pondered that notion. He’d once been comfortable enough there that he didn’t need anything in particular. Just the right mood and some time. The hope he wouldn’t get called in for a case in the middle of it all, like that one Denver case. As he’d sat on the jet, nose all but stuck in the case file, he’d wondered if they could tell where he’d been. He’d been agitated those days, teetering the line of returning and never fully daring. He’d not been doing anything that night. Had only decided a drink at Tea Quells couldn’t hurt. He’d been two down when Hotch had called, and he’d realized with a sinking heart he wouldn’t have been able to drive.

“I need someone to pick me up,” he’d said, fighting off an all familiar panic. Feeling like a loser for being so ashamed.

“Where are you?”

And Morgan had run out, afraid Hotch would somehow locate him by thought alone. “Downtown. Not sure. I can take a cab.”

“I’m sure someone’s going your way. I’ll call you back.”

In the end, it had been Reid who’d picked him up. Reid, who always rode the metro unless they needed them to come in late and quickly. Reid, who wasn’t rubbing sleep out of his eyes but still looked like he was weeks behind on rest.

Morgan knew that incident was what made it all the more difficult to return. Why he opted for a soda rather than a beer. He could pretend he’d forgotten it, only that was nowhere near the truth. He couldn’t get Reid’s eyes out of his mind, the eyes he rested on him as he slammed the car door with barely a word. The way he hadn’t asked him what was wrong, probably assuming Morgan had been in the middle of something sexual, and how he’d wanted so badly to correct him but hadn’t wanted to have to explain.

That last part had caught him off guard, which hadn’t improved his mood whatsoever.

He ran a hand over his head now, already slightly too hot beneath the lights. The music was loud enough that you couldn’t hear the laughter, though he could see it all around him. People bending over as fingers prodded at their most sensitive spots. People leaning against each other rather than fighting it off. That part had always interested him the most, how people would go against bare human instinct for a moment of pleasure. He’d always been the one to tickle others, and so he’d never felt what they did, which made him enjoy it all the more. Watching them, trying to profile them, in the least serious sense of the word of course. But he couldn’t help it. He enjoyed trying to guess their reactions before he even touched them. Who would giggle, who would fight. It was thrilling, especially when the result was so different to how they acted otherwise.

He took another sip. While he’d been out of the scene, he’d occasionally engaged in tickle fights. Normal people did that. Normal people didn’t overthink things like that. Only Morgan was never able to fully relax. Was always wondering if he’d crossed a line. And so he’d tried to not think about it, which also meant he rarely tickled anyone at this point.

No one noticed. Why would they? It wasn’t as if that was a regular part of the days of BAU agents.

It should be, he thought as the song changed. It might make them feel a little human.

“Hey you.” He turned toward Mary, who he used to tickle a lot back in the day. She was fun. Great reactions. Into bondage. Never made it weird afterward. That was one of Morgan’s boundaries. A session was never more than a session. If either of them wanted it to turn into something more they had to discuss it beforehand. But as a general rule he never slept with his lees, even if the session could occasionally turn sexual, with prediscussed consent. He also never dated his lees, unless he’d been dating them before they became his lees. That had never happened, because Morgan didn’t really date anyone for long enough to share this.

“Hey.” He grinned as he accepted her hug. “Long time no see.”

“And whose fault is that, hmm?”

He laughed. He’d forgotten she was sassy. He could never tickle that out of her, which always made their sessions extra fun. “Sorry. Life got in the way.”

“Anything serious?” Concern flickered across her face, but he waved her off.

“No, no, just haven’t really had the time.”

“Well, let me fill you in then.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the all familiar room, which had looked pretty much the same since Morgan had come here the first time. “Ashley and Lara got together after their hundredth session or something.”

Morgan laughed. Leave it to Mary to share all the gossip. “That doesn’t surprise me at all.”

“In that vein, Greg and Amanda broke up.”

“No.”

“But here’s the thing. They still do sessions together!” She shook her head as Morgan laughed at her incredulousness. “They claim no one tickles them like they tickle each other, but hello toxic codependency.”

“What about you then?” he asked as they entered the “cave” as the locals called it, with its neon red lights to indicate raunchier behavior.

“What about me?”

“Do you still switch?”

“I’m mostly a ler now, actually.”

“Is that so?” His teasing tone came mostly out of habit, and she slapped him on the arm also out of habit.

“Shut up. I’ve come to really enjoy it.”

“Well, that’s good. I’d been hoping to do my comeback debut with you, but I guess not.”

She put her hand on her chest. “I’m honored, but you have plenty of old lees and also lots of new ones here. Do you still mostly do both?”

Morgan nodded. He mostly tickled women, but would occasionally tickle men, which he also refused to think too hard about. Laughter was laughter, and he enjoyed a good hysteric laugh. Men were fun to pull apart, seeing as they usually had a lot more pride and spent way too long trying to keep their composure. He took another sip of his soda and scanned the room, realizing that maybe he needed that. Needed to know he could still turn a man into a pleading, giggling mess, after all this time. Needed to know not all men killed and raped and hurt. Some of them laughed and were listened to when they begged for mercy.

“That one-” Mary pointed very un-discreetly toward a man Morgan vaguely recognized. “-has been experimenting with being a lee recently. That’s fun, right?”

“It is.” He looked at him, took in the masculinity. The muscles. Morgan bet he could make him giggle, but something was off. It wasn’t that he couldn’t imagine him throwing his head back with laughter, or that he would let Morgan overpower him at all (maybe after a struggle, maybe immediately). Hell, he’d never been one to care for people’s looks when it came to this, but the muscles suddenly bothered him. Insecure, some might call him, but it wasn’t that. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Not interested?” Mary had a way of always seeing through him. That was why he felt so comfortable playing around with her. Full transparency, she always told him and let him pull her apart until she was satisfied.

Damn, he’d missed her.

“No.” He shook his head and kept scanning the room, trying to pinpoint his mood. “I’m not even sure I wanna do a session tonight, but- oh.”

Mary turned toward the room. “Oh? Oh who?”

“Oh no one.”

“Derek.” She poked him in the ribs only because she knew she was allowed to, but it caught him off guard and he jerked away with a laugh that surprised him. Loud. Carefree. “Tell me this instant.”

“Okay, okay, Jesus, stop.” He grabbed her wrists, squeezed them once. “Fuck, you’re a good ler.”

“Oh, I know. Now spill.”

“It’s just- that guy. Over by the bar.”

“That one? He’s cute. I think he’s new, I don’t recognize him.”

“So you can’t tell me anything about him.”

She grimaced. “Unfortunately. But hey, if you like ‘em scrawnier-”

Morgan suddenly realized he did. Realized he longed for boyish timidness and the huge amount of trust you had to display to let someone much bigger than you pin you down like that. And maybe, if he hadn’t been so panicked at the idea that maybe he was just like them, just like the bad men they chased who enjoyed the idea of overpowering others much weaker than them, he might’ve realized who he actually couldn’t stop thinking about was Reid.

“I think I’m gonna leave,” he said, suddenly feeling as if he couldn’t breathe. Whatever Mary saw on his face, she didn’t ask any questions. Simply led him out of Tea Quells and hugged him for a moment too long before they parted.

*

Morgan felt hungover, which was crazy considering it had been two days since he’d been to the club and also hadn’t had a single drop of alcohol anyway. Maybe it was a blessing that they walked into Quantico to find a new case waiting for them, though they swiftly realized it was a local case that wouldn’t require them to fly anywhere. Maybe that was a blessing, too.

“A young man was found just this morning,” Hotch said, sliding the files across the table. “Tied up in his own bedroom with his throat slashed. No sign of forced entry. His roommate found him after coming back from visiting home during the weekend to their door being unlocked.”

“Holy shit,” Prentiss cried as she opened the file. “His face-”

“Entirely slashed too, yes. We were only able to identify him from a birthmark on his arm, and the fact that it was his address.”

“Is this a one off thing?” Morgan asked, trying not to look too closely at the picture in front of him. He would do plenty of that later.

“So far no crime similar to this has been called in, but this is an unusual and cruel killing, so they decided to get us on the case immediately. It helps that it’s local. He was found downtown.” Hotch grabbed the remote. “21-year-old student Ted Jones was studying to become a nurse. Roommate described him as quiet and hardworking. Said she kept urging him to go out and have fun once in a while, too.”

“So do we think he listened?” Morgan looked up and nearly bit his tongue off.

On the screen before him, the man he’d seen at Tea Quells only two days earlier. The man who had been leaning against the bar while speaking with the bartender. A quiet timidness to him, though he’d been speaking with excitement. Morgan had been able to pinpoint his type immediately. Young. Inexperienced. Finally taking a step toward a more authentic life.

He felt sick. He felt sick.

“Morgan, are you okay?”

It was Reid. Fuck, it was Reid. Reid who looked so much like him, too. The glasses, he had thought, but it hadn’t only been the glasses. It was the sharpness of their jaws and the leanness of their build. Most of all he had reminded him of Reid way back when, a young 23-year-old who had just started at the FBI of all places. Who was certain of his capabilities but not of much else.

He blinked at him. How many times had he not told him that he needed to let loose? How many times had he almost gotten Reid killed because of it?

“I’ve seen him,” he said, not voluntarily, but he couldn't lie, not about this. “I saw him on Saturday.”

The room turned toward him. “Where did you see him?” Hotch asked, already grabbing for a pen.

“At a club. It’s, uh, a kink club. Don’t ask. Don’t-” He ran a hand over his face. “Just don’t ask. It’s called Tea Quells. I saw him for only a second. Thought he kind of looked like Reid, that’s why I remember him.”

“Tea- what was that? Tea Quells?”

“Yes. It’s down by the port.” If Reid remembered having picked him up from that area, Morgan didn’t know. Refused to think too hard about it right now.

“Did he look like he belonged?”

“He looked- giddy.” Morgan shut his eyes. “Like it was his first time there and he was excited. God, that’s messed up.” He opened his eyes again. Looked straight at Hotch. “I left soon after, so I don’t know if he went home with anyone from there.”

“Well, if it’s a kink club,” Rossi started, but Morgan shook his head.

“It’s the type of club where… you don’t have to go home in order to participate. They have, well, resources. But if there was no sign of forced entry.”

“It means anything could’ve happened between you seeing him and him ending up dead.” Hotch closed the file. “We need to go visit this club. And talk to his roommate again. Morgan, Reid, Prentiss, you take the club. Me and Dave will go to the crime scene. JJ, you talk to the press. Apparently word has spread rather quickly.”

She shook her head. “People always get ecstatic whenever something happens locally to the bureau. I’m on it.”

*

“So.” Prentiss dragged out the word as they settled in the car. “Have you been to this club before?”

Morgan huffed. “I have the right to a lawyer.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not a strange thing to wonder.”

“I guess not.”

“But you’re not gonna answer?”

“But I’m not gonna answer.”

She nodded in the passenger seat as Morgan started the car. “Noted. Respected, even.

“I’m surprised.”

“So am I, actually. I figured this is uncomfortable enough as it is.”

“Well, that’s kind of you.”

They spoke so casually, but he bet Prentiss could tell his heart was about to beat out of his chest. He was grateful for her discretion. Grateful that Reid, who was sitting in the backseat, didn’t say anything at all.

“So this club,” she continued. “Is it based around a specific type of kink, or is it a standard, like, BDSM-club or something?”

“It’s a specific type of kink. Which ties into BDSM in some ways.” He took a turn. Kept his eyes on the road.

“Interesting.”

“Is it a tickle club?” Reid suddenly asked from the back and Morgan nearly crashed the car.

“Uh.”

Prentiss looked back at him. “Wait, is it?”

“From the name to the way Morgan vaguely describes it, my guess is yes.”

“Wait, Tea Quells-”

“Tickles.”

She laughed. “Oh my god, that’s amazing.”

“I think this is the worst day of my life.”

Prentiss patted his arm. “Hey, no judgment from me. To each their own and all that.”

“I wish I had been murdered instead.”

“Woah, too far.”

“Sorry.” Morgan exhaled. “Yeah, too far.”

They drove in silence the rest of the way, though Morgan couldn’t determine whether that was better or worse.

“I need to tell you something,” he said as they stepped out. “I mean, since you kind of already know now. They do know me here. Or well, many of them do. I haven’t been here in a minute, but since it’s the only club of its kind here-” He shrugged. “Not many more places to go, so it tends to be the same crowd. Anyway, the thing is. No one knows I’m a cop and I kind of would prefer to keep it that way. I just didn’t know how to tell Hotch that.”

Prentiss was nodding. “We’ll use that to our advantage. You go in as a concerned customer and we go in as the BAU. We’ll get different perspectives that way.”

“I could kiss you, Emily Prentiss.”

“I would prefer you didn’t, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Morgan laughed, suddenly feeling slightly hysterical. “Okay. All right. Should I go in first?”

“Whatever you think is less suspicious.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in like five minutes. But don’t talk to me in there.”

Prentiss saluted. “Got it, boss.”

He caught Reid smiling, ever so slightly, and that made him feel lighter. Which was messed up considering the circumstances.

Tea Quells in the daytime, for it was open during the day too but was mostly a regular bar, was jarring. People were spread out throughout the premises, nursing a drink or watching the TV screens or both. Some were playing pool - were those pool tables always there? - and most alarming of all, no one was laughing.

Morgan realized in slight horror that he didn’t recognize a single face. Not even the bartender’s.

“Hey, uh,” he started, frowning at the disinterest he was displaying as he met Morgan’s gaze.

“What can I get for you?”

“Nothing. I mean. I came because I heard about Ted.”

The bartender blinked. “Who.”

Jesus Christ. He didn’t know. Did anyone know?

“Nevermind,” he said and backed away, wondering, suddenly, if the killer was in there, picking his next prey, or laying low, or both.

He had to call Mary, he suddenly realized. Holy shit, was Mary okay? What if the next one would be one of his own? His lees. His people. But he didn't have Mary’s number. He was too paranoid to get anyone’s number.

He met Prentiss and Reid at the door. “I don’t recognize anyone and no one knows about Ted. We’d have better luck coming back tonight to the regular crowd.”

“Would they be here on a Monday?”

Fuck, he hadn’t thought about that. “Well, we can try, right?”

And so they did. Morgan with his clubbing clothes, riding toward the tickle club with his coworkers. What was his life, truly. And why was something that was once his nightmare something he was handling rather well, all things considered? He had only had like three panic attacks about it.

They didn’t talk about it, of course. He probably would’ve died if they did. And he was too good of a profiler for them to kill him off like that.

“I’ll go in first,” Prentiss said and unbuckled her seatbelt. “I think I’d like to get an independent feel of the place. Give me like ten minutes.”

Morgan leaned back in his seat and watched her enter Tea Quells. “You wanna come sit up here while we wait, pretty boy?”

Reid’s presence beside him was different to him simply being in the car. Morgan could feel him almost everywhere. Could feel the heat of his skin and the way he was looking at him even though Morgan refused to return the gaze. He was embarrassed, he suddenly realized, because guys who looked like Reid had caught his attention before, though he had never acted on the instinct to go up to them and ask to tickle them. Because none of them were Reid.

That thought alone made him feel like a fucking creep.

“I’m sure you have questions,” he said, knowing Reid would never ask.

“I do,” he admitted. “I wasn’t sure whether you would appreciate my asking though.”

“I’m sure I can handle one or two.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Morgan shrugged. “I mean, it’s just the two of us anyway, so.”

Reid didn’t say anything immediately, which prompted Morgan to look at him. He’d pulled his gaze toward the club, so obviously choosing his words. “Do you go here because of what it offers?”

“Do I participate, you mean?”

“In more direct terms, yes.”

“I, uh, do, yes. Though I was honest about not having been here in a while.”

“What a welcome.”

“Tell me about it.”

He could sense Reid wasn’t finished, and so he waited him out, pretending all the while as if his face wasn’t on fire.

“Do you do the tickling?” he finally asked. Morgan appreciated the lack of tact this time.

“I do. I don’t really do the receiving. Or well, I never have. I like being in control.” He turned toward him, suddenly desperate for him to understand. “Of myself, I mean. Not because I crave control of others, really, but there’s trust to this, right? People trust I will respect their boundaries and be a safe person for them to let go around.”

Reid was nodding. “I never suspected otherwise, Morgan.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’m this freak. Like our killer, or our other unsubs.”

“I would never think that.” Reid was frowning. “I- I know you see me as this inexperienced nerd or whatever, but I’m aware of kink scenes and I think they tend to be the most respectful places for sexual activities. And I don’t judge you for being involved with one. Sure, it surprised me that it’s this, but it’s not like I have thought about it, so any one would probably surprise me. In fact, now that I think about it I think it makes sense.”

“You do?”

“You’re caring and playful and like to push people’s buttons, but only if they respond well to it. This seems right up your alley.”

Morgan exhaled. “Okay.”

“Has this been bothering you a lot?”

“Yes.” No point in lying now. “I haven’t come back in a while because I struggle with it. In relation to this job, mostly, because I accepted my inclination years ago. But this job makes me feel predatory, you know?”

Reid shook his head. “I hate that you feel that.”

“But you understand why I do?”

“I do. I just want you to know it’s not true, but-”

“But?”

“I’m sure many of us have felt that way.”

“Have you?”

Reid hummed. Had Morgan not been so close, the car not so quiet, he might’ve missed it.

He leaned back. “This job sure messed us up, huh. Too bad we’re so good at it.” He opened the car door, the coward’s way out. “Let’s go. I think ten minutes are up.”

*

The way it played out was simple. Someone had seen Ted leave with a man around his own size at midnight, and neither of them ever returned. The other man was called Jacob, and Jacob was a regular switch who wasn’t too selective about who he did sessions with and wasn’t shy about inviting people home too. Upon further digging, it turned out that Ted and Jacob were actually friends, and Jacob had convinced Ted to come and check out the scene. Apparently Ted wasn’t even into this whole thing, as far as Jacob was aware, but he’d been curious about it. Curious enough that he’d arrived when Jacob was still sessioning with someone, and so he’d gotten himself a drink when Morgan had caught sight of him. He’d decided he’d seen enough by the time Jacob was done, and so they’d left. And at some point during their walk to and from the subway, Stanley Larson had started following them.

Jacob’s body was found Tuesday morning. They caught Stanley by Thursday.

“So he had nothing to do with the club,” Prentiss said as she closed the case file. “Just happened to stumble upon them that very same night. What are the odds of that?”

“Well, statistically speaking-”

“That was a hypothetical question, Reid.”

Reid closed his mouth.

Morgan was kind of mad that the club just happened to be the last place Ted and Jacob were seen at and had absolutely nothing else to do with their deaths. Then he felt like a fucking asshole for thinking that when two people were dead.

He ran a hand over his head where he was sitting hunched over the file. He had no reason to keep looking at it, really, only he felt he hadn’t really been able to meet anyone’s eye that day.

Thank god it was Friday.

After he had spent approximately twenty minutes just staring at the file, he felt a figure looming over him. “Hi.”

“Pretty boy, hey.” He straightened. Reid was fiddling with the straps of his satchel, which was how Morgan realized it was time to head home. “You’re leaving?”

“You should too.”

“I will.” He closed the case file and stood. “Right now, actually.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?”

“Could I catch a ride with you?”

“No subway today?”

Reid pulled a face. “I’m not really feeling it.”

“That’s fair. Yeah, of course I’ll drive you, come on.”

He knew what Reid was doing, but neither of them said a thing. Not during the elevator ride. Not during the walk to the garage. And certainly not during the drive to Reid’s apartment, which wasn’t too far away from Morgan’s anyway. They only spoke once he’d parked and Reid asked if he wanted to come inside.

They didn’t usually do this, though they had before. Teetering the line of something they never fully acknowledged. They had been doing that for years.

“Do you want something to drink?”

Morgan settled on his couch. “You got any sodas?”

Reid handed him a can. “Your favorite.”

“You stock up on these in case I come over?” He meant it as a joke, but the way Reid flushed was very interesting. “Wait, really?” He felt a grin tug at his lips. He’d spent the past few days in a constant state of shame, so it felt good to be the one to finally do the teasing again. “That’s sweet.”

Reid sat down beside him. “I’m just a considerate host.”

“Right, right.”

Reid crossed his legs where he sat. In another life Morgan would’ve paired his teasing up with a squeeze to his knee, but felt too self conscious about it now.

He cleared his throat. “I’m assuming you didn’t invite me over because you wanted my company.”

“Well, not purely.”

“Go on, then.” He ran a finger over the edge of his can. “Ask.”

“I-” Reid cut himself off. “I’m- curious.”

“About?”

“About trying it out.”

“You- wait, what?”

Reid was blushing, which wasn’t surprising. What was however, was the fact that he wasn’t averting his eyes despite that. Seemed to be entirely serious when he said, “I’d like to see what it’s all about.”

“We’re talking about tickling, right? You are aware that that means you will have to be tickled, right? Unless you want to try it out on me, which, I mean, while it’s not usually my thing I guess I can make an exception-”

“I want you to tickle me.”

“Ah.” Whatthefuck. “But- why?”

Reid shrugged. “Like I said.”

*

Reid did his research, because that was what he always did. The very moment Morgan mentioned the “kink club” he was off, looking it up and looking up what it meant to have a tickle kink and trying to pinpoint where exactly Derek Morgan fit into all of this. He didn’t tell him. Of course he didn’t tell him. Morgan was embarrassed enough as it was by the case, and for him to do research ahead of time was probably crossing a line.

He didn’t know how he would’ve reacted had he not done it. Not that he judged, but initial reactions to surprising revelations couldn’t always be controlled, and the last thing he wanted was to scare Morgan off.

The part that surprised him came later, when they entered the club at night after their conversation in the car. Reid didn’t like clubs. They were always too loud and too crowded, and the flashing lights didn’t help. But something washed over him at Tea Quells. Some sort of sudden understanding which made it all click for him. Morgan in that club. He looked anxious, which Reid didn’t blame him for, but beneath that, seen only in glimpses, was a tranquility he rarely saw in his friend and coworker. He looked like he truly belonged there.

Of course Reid got curious.

*

“I’m curious.”

Morgan shifted in his seat. Reid’s gaze made him feel timid. The whole goddamn situation, the whole goddamn case and the whole goddamn week had made him feel timid, and he never knew what to do with it. But Reid’s sincerity almost touched him. It didn’t seem fake whatsoever.

“Elaborate.”

“Well.” Reid seemed to hesitate. “I have done some- research.”

“Of course you have.”

“So I know the very basics of it.”

“Surprised you don’t know all of it.”

“I can’t read my way into people’s deepest thoughts and desires.” He paused. “Or, well, it depends on how much research there’s been done. This is a quite unexplored topic, believe it or not.”

Morgan breathed out a laugh. “Oh, I believe it. So I guess this is your way of doing boots on the ground research.”

Reid smiled. “Something like that.”

*

Reid had done more research than Morgan probably suspected, but, he now realized, you really couldn’t read your way into an understanding of what it was like actually being in this situation. He approached it as an outsider, he understood that, but the skip of a heartbeat was real, and the giggly nervousness which gripped him was real, and the way Morgan moved closer, so carefully and slowly as to not scare him off, that was so fucking real that Reid didn’t really know what to do with it.

“Just-” Morgan paused, fingers in the air and all. “Please say the safe word if you don’t like it. Please.”

“I promise.”

“I mean it, pretty boy.”

“Yes, Morgan- heh.” Whatever that sound was, a giggle of some sort, came without his consent and he all but slapped a hand over his own mouth at the shock of it. But Morgan finally melting into a playful smile, which he was certain to be normally sporting during his tickly encounters, made him less self conscious about it.

“Already giggling, huh? So I’m assuming your neck’s a sweet spot?” He wiggled his fingers in the air again, which was what he’d been doing to get Reid to initially react. Far enough that he wasn’t touching him at all, but just at the right height that had Reid all nervous.

Reid put a hand over his throat. “I guess.”

“I can’t really tickle you if you’re covering the spot, you know.” He dropped his hand. “Unless you want me to start at a different spot?”

Reid thought about it. The neck was a vulnerable spot. Easy to catch unguarded, but difficult to stay at unless you had your opponent fully restrained in some way. Reid was sure to struggle if targeted there. He was sure to squirm and flail and scrunch. But letting Morgan go there first, even for only a moment, was an act of intimacy. Of trust. So of course he had to let Morgan go there first. Even for only a moment.

“No, it’s okay.” He uncovered the spot, though his hands remained hovering in the air. There was only so much he could do to stifle his natural instincts.

“If you’re sure?”

“If you stall any longer I might freak out from the anticipation.”

And Morgan laughed. Morgan laughed so suddenly and beautifully and Reid was so fully captivated by it that he let his guard down completely, which meant he was entirely unprepared for the tickle attack and wasn’t able to try to rein in any ounce of his reaction.

Apparently he was more ticklish than he remembered. And somehow, despite not having believed it at all, it wasn’t so bad being on the receiving end either. Not when he was the one technically in control. Not when Morgan tickled him purely because he asked him to.

*

Reid was so fucking ticklish that Morgan wondered if he was faking it to humor him. But no, Morgan was a connoisseur in the art of tickling, and while he had encountered many people who for some reason both held back and exaggerated their reactions to the best of their abilities, there was no way Reid could be doing that. No, the way he threw back his head was real. The way he grabbed for Morgan’s hands and panicked when he at first couldn’t only for the eventual grip of them to be weakened and useless was real. And his laugh. Oh, his laugh. Morgan had not heard anything more real in his life. Choppy and giddy and slightly high pitched, as if he wasn’t sure how to do it. Had probably not laughed like this in years. Morgan had certainly never heard him laugh like this before.

“Okay, okay, I’ll have mercy on you,” he said, because he was afraid that this would be too much and Reid would want to stop, and Morgan wasn’t ready for it to be over. He switched from his neck to his ribs, poking and prodding and finding it less effective than a simple swipe of the finger over his neck, and so he changed tactics. Grabbing one of Reid’s wrists, because both would be overkill, he held it just tightly enough to grant himself ten uninterrupted seconds of gentle curls of his fingers at the spot where his ribcage met his side. Let’s just say it worked much better.

“See, I like this,” he said, trying to be heard over Reid’s laughter. “because you trust me enough to do this. And because you’re having fun enough that you’re not asking me to stop. It’s different for someone who enjoys being on the receiving end. They want me to be doing this.”

Reid managed to grab his wrist when he switched to clawing at his belly. “But why are you enjoying this?”

Morgan freed his hand and gave his knee a squeeze. “Because I’m the one who makes this fun for you.”

*

Reid understood it now. Understood that you could never fully understand unless you were in the person’s shoes, but he understood enough now, as he tried to keep himself from fighting Morgan off too much. Understood because it tickled like crazy and yet he didn’t want it to stop, not yet.

“You do know I didn’t just do this for research, right?” Reid said quietly once it was over, once Morgan had found that spot on his thigh which had him finally cave and ask for mercy.

“I know, Reid.”

He nodded. “Good. Just checking.”

They didn’t say more about it. They both knew why he’d done it. They both knew why Morgan had accepted. Later. They would talk about it later, when they both felt brave again.

[mystey-here]

AHHHH

[assiraphales]

I feel like grace was in such a rush to turn that ship around and hightail it back to rocky that he was indiscriminate about what data he sent back. just shoved it all into the beetle probes, just to realize ‘ok so 20% of that data is scientific breakthroughs to save the world……..80% me and rocky’s movie reviews. and I def forgot to delete the fifteen minute long dance off. hm.’

[fluffygiggles]

Day 20 Relax

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Summary: Peter stresses himself to much with learning for an exam so Tony finds a way to relax him.

Peter was exhausted, he has been studying for hours and he still wasn't done. He had an exam in two days and he had to make sure he was as prepared as can be, even if he was sacrificing sleep and breaks.

After another agonizing 30 minutes Tony came into the living room, having obviously spent the past hours in the lab.

Tony walked over to him watching him intently. Peter looked pretty done and stressed hunched over his study material.

"Hey Pete, you good?"

"I'm fine Mr.Stark, just studying for an exam."

"Mhm, and how long have you been at it?"

"Probably eight hours."

"Eight hours?! That's definitely enough, you need to take a break and relax kiddo."

"But I have to study!"

Tony sat himself next to Peter on the couch and draped an arm around his shoulder.

"I know kiddo, but you need a break first"

Peter pouted at him.

"Don't give me the look kid" Tony said poking him in the side, making Peter flinch.

"What was that?" He asked curiously

Peter started blushing "Eh, nothing." he said nervously

"Didn't seem like nothing" Tony stated, an evil smirk forming on his face. He moved his hand to Peter's side again, but this time squeezing it gently, making Peter squeak and jump.

"Is this nothing too?" he asked while continuing to squeeze at his side.

"Tohohony" Peter whined in between giggles. He tried squirming away, but Tony grabbed one of his arms and yanked him down onto his lap. Now having the perfect opportunity to drill into Peter's belly, making him squeal and laugh wildly. He flailed his arms and kicked his legs, but was unable to escape Tony's torturous digits.

Tony smiled down at the adorable, laughing and squirming teen on his lap. His head was thrown back in laughter, his cheeks painted red and he looked much more relaxed and carefree. Now this was the Peter Parker he knew and loved.

"You feeling relaxed Petey Pie?" he teased

Peter just shook his head unable to speak through his laughter.

"Well, I better up my game then" with that he shoved his hands under Peter's arms making him shriek and cackle.

He laughed and laughed, the evil fingers clawing at the sensitive armpits driving him insane. He had completely forgotten about having to study, only being able to think about how much it tickled.

When Tony eventually noticed that he was running out of breath he let up and ruffled his now messy hair.

Peter curled into himself, but made no move to get of Tony's lap.

"Thanks Tony" Peter said yawning.

"Always kiddo" he leaned down and placed a kiss on his head. Peter looked wiped out and like he was ready to dose of right there. Not that he would stop him.

"Get some rest bambino, I'll be right here"

with that Peter drifted of to sleep, warm and comfy with his father watching over him.

[kitkatfingers]

the kind that makes your lungs swell up

pairing: ryland grace x reader (intended as platonic)

summary: you show rocky the human concept of a prank, on ryland. turns out he doesn't appreciate being the butt of the joke.

warnings: no use of y/n, gn reader, lee!reader, ler!ryland, conspiracy theories, pranks and ragebaiting, scary ler grace like i got a bit nervous writing this, light swearing

word count: 1.9k

authors notes: bc i think ragebaiting grace would be ssoooo funny. title: bodybag by wind walkers

///

It was interesting how humans could be bored in any circumstance.

It's not like there wasn't plenty to do on the Hail Mary. Research was constant and - astrophage and taumoeba aside - even just hanging out with Rocky was enough to keep things interesting. First alien contact, and all.

And yet, you were bored. Not just kind-of-bored where you could maybe occupy your mind with something or other, but the painful bone-deep kind of boredom where - no matter how much you wanted to - you could not get yourself to even move.

Briefly, you thought of the full access database of…well, everything, that you and Ryland were given with your laptops. But even a Wikipedia deep dive didn't sound engaging.

Rocky rolled over to where you were sprawled on the floor, feet propped up against the bed.

"Why not working, question?" He asked, no preamble. You heaved a sigh.

"Don't want to." You said blankly.

"Something wrong, question?"

"No." You said. "I'm just bored."

"What 🎶 mean, question?"

It hadn't occured to you that Rocky didn't know the word 'bored'. You thought for a moment.

"It's a feeling you get," you explained, staring up at the ceiling. "When you really want to do something, but nothing seems interesting enough to do it."

Rocky was silent for an extended few seconds.

"That sound stupid." He said.

You turned your head against the floor to look at him. "Do Eridians not get bored?"

"No." He managed to sound judgemental, somehow. "Everything interesting, always. Many things to do and learn, always."

"Huh." You mused, turning your head back towards the ceiling. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"How stop 🎶 feeling, question?" Rocky asked. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, thinking.

"I guess the best way is to force yourself to do something." You admitted, knowing Rocky would find this whole concept ridiculous. "It's easier when you can do it with someone else."

An idea sparked in your mind.

"Hey, Rocky." You said, lifting yourself up onto one elbow, turning to him. "Do you know what a 'prank' is?"

"No."

"How about 'joke'?"

He perked up. "Yes, Rocky know joke. Grace say joke is to make others laugh."

"Yes!" You said, smiling. "So a prank is similar. It's when someone tricks another person to make a joke. But it has to be harmless. If it hurts the other person then it's just mean."

"Trick not lie, question?"

"Sort of." You agreed. "But it's about something small. And the other person finds out about it in the end, so they can laugh about it too."

"Understand."

You grinned. "Want me to show you how a prank works?"

"Yes, yes, yes! Show Rocky human prank!" He wiggled happily.

"Okay, but you have to promise to not say anything about this to Grace." You told him firmly. "If he knows we're doing it, it won't work."

"Yes, yes, yes, promise, promise, promise!"

You pressed your fist against his dome. Rocky mirrored you.

@

You glanced to your right from your perch on the stool. Ryland was busy scribbling on the whiteboard he had moved into the lab room.

You looked down. Rocky was a few paces away from Ryland, soldering something or other.

It was a good time to strike. A few hours had passed since the three of you settled into your work, and the silence had stretched and streched until it became taught with stress and tiredness. But for some reason your heart rate picked up.

You fiddled with your laptop for a moment, trying to gather your will.

Ryland huffed sharply, and wiped half of the board clean. You watched as he restarted his calculations.

Well, no time like the present.

"So you know how the earth is flat?" You asked, trying to keep your voice light and casual. The marker stopped squeaking against the board.

"Excuse me?" Ryland frowned, looking over his shoulder at you.

You kept your eyes glued to the laptop. No going back now.

"I was just thinking." You continued, clicking to another tab. "Do the windmills act as propellers?"

"What are you talking about?" Ryland sounded like he didn't know if he should be concerned or confused. He set the marker down with a click, turning to face you fully.

"You know!" You waved your hand vaguely. "They're propellers so they're bringing us closer to the sun? I figure that's where global warming comes from."

There was a long pause.

You fought not to look at him. If you did you'd start laughing and give the whole plan away.

"The earth isn't-" Ryland started, then cut himself off. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah?" You feigned confusion, risking a quick glance at him. He looked comical - eyes huge, brows pinched together, hands hanging limply by his sides. "Anyway, what do you think? It's a good theory."

"That is not a good theory." Ryland said, incredulous. "It's not even a theory - it's madness!"

"Why?" You clicked through more tabs, then lifted your hands to make quotation marks gestures with your fingers. "Because 'the earth isn't flat'?"

"The earth isn't flat!" He sounded distressed. "It's round! It's an orb!"

"Oh yeah? And how do you know?"

"We're literally in space!"

"Sure." You allowed. "But I didn't get to see earth. So, who's to say?"

Ryland narrowed his eyes and looked down at your feet where you were bouncing your heel nervously against the leg of the stool.

"How Grace know earth round, question?" Rocky piped up from his spot.

"Huh?"

"Grace say always test yourself. If Grace not test, how Grace know earth round, question?"

Thank god for Rocky, you thought in relief.

"Alright." Ryland placed his hands on his hips. "What's going on with you two?"

Before you could reply, Rocky spoke. "Nothing, lie."

You closed your eyes in silent anguish. It hadn't even occurred to you that Rocky wouldn't be able to lie out loud because of his syntax.

"Oh, 'nothing', huh?" Ryland demanded, looking back and forth between you and the Eridian. "'Lie', huh?"

"Grace, listen-" You started, turning on your stool to face him. Seeing his expression - shocked, offended, miffed - a snort burst out of you. You pulled your lips into your teeth to stop yourself from grinning.

"So the two of you just thought it would be funny to spew lies and conspiracy theories?" Ryland continued, aiming the question at both you and Rocky although his eyes were locked on you.

"Rocky was curious about how pranks work." You shrugged, still fighting back a smile.

"Oh yeah? And who told him about them, I wonder."

You rolled your eyes. "God, you sound like such a teacher right now."

"We're supposed to teach him correct concepts." Ryland said. "Not about underground lizard people."

"I never said anything about lizard people!" You objected. "Come on, Grace, we just wanted a laugh."

He looked at you silently for a moment.

"Okay." He said, folding his arms. "C'mere then."

You faltered. "I feel like I shouldn't."

Ryland didn't speak. Only waved his fingers in a beckoning motion and pointed at the floor in front of him.

Shit, you thought concisely.

Slowly, reluctantly, you slid off your stool and walked towards him.

"Hmm." Ryland hummed, scanning you up and down.

"What?" You demanded, flapping your arms out.

"If you wanted to have a laugh," he said, voice lilting. "There's a much faster way to get it."

Your heart skipped. Double shit. "Grace. That wasn't my inten-"

"Your intention?" He raised his eyebrows teasingly. "As if you don't know how to get exactly what you want out of me."

"I'm not having this conversation." You said with finality. "I'm leaving now."

Ryland's arm wrapped securely around your middle, pulling you backwards into his chest, as soon as you turned to walk away.

"Grace - wait -" You stuttered "-this isn't fair - ack!"

"What isn't fair?" Ryland asked calmly, squeezing at your waist. His other hand came up to scribble on the back of your neck, where you had dropped your head forward to hide your reaction from him.

"What about Rohocky?!" You hated how your voice pitched up into a whine.

"Rocky is innocent." Ryland said. "He was coerced into this scheme by your evil little mind."

"Yohou're the evil one!" You kicked your leg out, hoping to create enough momentum to break free.

"How so?" He asked, pulling you back to him as if it were an afterthought. His hand veered to scratch around your ear.

"You know how!" You accused, reaching up to pull Ryland's hand away from your ear by the wrist.

"The same way I know that earth is round?" Ryland teased, letting you pull his hand away. "Who's to say?"

With that, he pulled against your grip on his wrist, and took hold of your jaw.

"Grace, I swear to god, I will-" You intensified your pulling and kicking.

"You're not gonna do anything." He said easily, and blew a raspberry on your neck.

You laughed desperately, legs nearly giving out under you. Ryland broke off from the raspberry, cutting it short by his own chuckling at your reaction.

"Oh man." He said through his laugh. "That was adorable."

"No it wasn't." You gritted out, jerking your head out of Ryland's grip. He let you, instead using that arm to wrap it around your middle along with the other.

"No?" He pressed his cheek to your hair. "You're right, it wasn't just adorable. It was also very cute."

You growled, feeling your face flush. You angled your head further away from him to hide it.

"You're sweet, and silly." Ryland continued, squeezing both hands against your waist gently. Just enough to get you giggling. "And you had to come up with this elaborate plan when you could have just come and asked me to tickle you."

Through the haze, you thought: I'm going to die here.

"That wasn't the plan." Your objected, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

Ryland hummed in faux sympathy. It made your stomach do a flip.

"Let me goho." You whined. You actually whined. The realisation made you flush hotter.

"Awh." Ryland clicked his teeth. "Hard to get away when you're giggling so hard, huh?"

"Whahat do you want from me?" You were not above begging at this point.

"There is one thing." He mused, shifting one hand higher to your ribs. "But I'm not sure if you'll be able to do it."

"I'll doho it!"

"Will you behave?"

"Yehes!" You nodded your head. Pretended not to hear his wheezy laugh at how quickly you complied.

"Will you stop telling Rocky conspiracy theories?"

"Thahat's more than one thihing!"

Ryland increased the speed of his hands. "Will you?"

"Yesyesyes!" You yelped, pulling at his arms.

"Alright." He chuckled lightly, stopping his ticklish attack on you, but held firm as you tried to catch your breath. "Good."

You let your head drop back against Ryland's shoulder, your chest heaving. He rubbed his cheek on the side of your head softly, letting you get your bearings.

"Rocky have question, statement."

You jolted, shocked by his voice. You had forgotten he was even there.

"Yeah, bud?" Ryland asked, maneouvering both your bodies slightly so he could look at him.

"What mean lizard people, question?"

"Oh noooo…" You groaned, flopping your head forward.

"This is your doing, squirmy." Ryland informed you.

"I plead the fifth."

"I guess I did make you promise not to tell him about conspiracy theories." He mused, releasing his hold on you, but keeping both palms pressed to your shoulders. "I'll handle this one."

"I'm just gonna -" You made the mistake of looking at Ryland's face. His expression told you he knew exactly what you were going to say. "- I'll be back."

With that, you fled from the lab room, Ryland's wheezy chuckling following you like a ghost.

[mystey-here]

I LAUGHED SO LOUD AT “NOTHING, LIE” THIS IS SOOOO GOOD

[kitkatfingers]

bursting colours when you laugh

pairing: ryland grace x reader (intended as platonic)

summary: it really wasn't your fault that ryland's reactions were so entertaining. what else were you supposed to do.

warnings: no use of y/n, gn reader, ler!reader, lee!grace - but also switch!reader and switch!grace, reader is a fiend and a menace, ryland is cutieful (until he isn't)

word count: 2.3k

authors notes: sickos at window meme yess ha ha ha YESS!

///

Ryland had that look in his eyes.

You've started calling it The Hopeful Fear, on account of how it made his ears pink and his shoulders tense.

You glanced at him sideways from your spot by the taumoeba samples.

He was hunched over the microscope, seemingly focused on the slide, but his hand had a slight tremor to it. You've seen it enough times to not be worried. It wasn't anxiety, but excitement.

As if sensing you looking, Ryland lifted his head away from the miscroscope by a fraction. The look he gave you was quick, and very telling.

Well, you supposed, you could help with that.

You pushed away from your samples and walked over to where Ryland was sitting. Casual, relaxed, hands in your pockets. You stopped at his shoulder, just slightly behind him, and leaned in a little.

"How's it going?" You asked, keeping your voice light and unassuming.

"Well," Ryland said, fiddling with the slide under the microscope nervously. "It hates nitrogen. But we already knew that."

"Nothing new, then?" You leaned in a little closer, still. Ryland shot you a quick look at the proximity.

"No. I'm afraid not." He sighed, hand drifting to fiddle with a stray pen on the lab table.

"Hm." You hummed idly.

Ryland kept still, not leaning away, but not coming closer either.

With a swift movement, you connected your mouth to the side of his neck and blew a quick, sharp raspberry against his skin.

The yelp that left him - loud and undignified - had you grinning.

He tumbled off his stool, to his feet, tripping in his hurry to get away from you. He turned to look at you, hand braced against the table, the other raised halfway up in front of him. Just in case you meant to follow him.

You straightened, and stayed put.

"Why-" He stuttered. His ears were getting pink.

"Hm?" You raised your eyebrows, feinging ignorance.

"Wh-" His eyes flickered back and forth between your face and your hands, which were still in your pockets. "What was that for?"

You shrugged. "You looked like you needed it."

Ryland's ears turned redder.

He was just starting to stutter out denials and accusations - something like: "you couldn't possibly know such a thing", and: "what does that even mean, that makes no sense!" - when your taumoeba samples chirped from their analysis machine. You turned your head to look at the blinking yellow light. You turned back to Ryland. He had stood up straight, but still had The Hopeful Fear flittering about his face.

"Duty calls." You said simply, turning on your heel to get to your samples.

You snapped a pair of gloves on, and got to work, carefully extracting the taumoeba samples from the machine. After a moment, you heard Ryland shuffle back to his seat.

You pretended not to notice him watching you.

@

Ryland and Rocky were bickering.

Ryland stood in front of Rocky's tunnel, the one that led through the corridor and was at about Ryland's head-height. He had his hands planted firmly on his hips, assuming his full Teacher Persona.

"Rocky, I just don't think it's a good idea." He said.

"Is good idea." Rocky replied, simply.

"Rock, buddy-"

"Grace stupid, statement."

"Hey!" Ryland's voice shifted into Scolding A Middle Schooler tone. "You can't call someone stupid just because they have a different opinion than you."

"Why, question?"

"Because it's rude."

"But is true. Grace stupid."

"I should put you in time out." Ryland threatened.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid."

You curled your fist in front of your mouth to cover up your laughter. You must not have been very successful, because Ryland whirled onto you with a pointed finger.

"Don't make me put you in time out, too." He said firmly. "Don't encourage him."

"You need to lighten up." You said, crossing your arms and leaning against the edge of the doorway.

"I'll 'lighten up' when he-" Ryland pointed upwards at Rocky "- comes to his senses."

"No, no, no Rocky senses, all correct," Rocky immediately argued, shaking his body in emphasis. "Grace senses stupid, leaky space blob no understand, stupid, stupid, stupid."

"I'm done here." Ryland threw his hands up and made his way to the doorway. "I'm not dealing with this."

You wrapped your arm around the front of his middle as he walked past you. He stopped, even though he could have easily kept on walking, and looked at you. He was frustrated, you could see that, but underneath that frustration was something more fragile.

"You need to lighten up." You repeated, maintaining eye contact.

He huffed. "That's not really helpf-UL-AGH!"

He folded in half, grunting, hands wrapping around your forearms. You kept squeezing at his wasit.

"I'll let you go if you laugh." You said, taking a step closer to get better leverage.

"Hhmmgh." Ryland responded, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Yes, yes, yes, make Grace laugh, statement." Rocky chimed in from his perch. "Make less stupid, statement."

"Hear that?" You turned to Ryland. "It'll do you good."

"No, it - hrrgh - won't!" He choked out, twitching against your hands, but making no other moves to escape.

"Come on!" You drawled, shifting your hands up to his ribs. "Laughter is the best medicine."

"That's pseudosciehehence!" Ryland gave in to giggling, high and hiccup-y.

"Actually," You said, digging further up under Ryland's arms to get at his underarms. "It's been proven that laughter helps relieve stress and boost immunity."

Ryland ducked his head close to his chest and let out a desparate whine.

You smirked. "But you already knew that."

"Okay, okahay!" Ryland's hands tighened on your arms, pinning them to your sides, effectively stopping your attack.

You watched him try to compose himself, smiling. He took a few deep breaths, and when he lifted his head, it wasn't with a glare, but another look of The Hopeful Fear.

You grinned knowingly.

"Quiet." He mumbled, pink all over, and released you. You turned to look at him over your shoulder as he stalked further through the Hail Mary.

@

You were in the pilot's seat, checking your trajectory, when you heard him.

"What the fudging - fudger -!"

You frowned, and whipped your head around to look behind you. Of course, you wouldn't have been able to see him, but you narrowed your eyes anyway, listening in closely.

There was a dull thump. Then another.

"What the heck is wrong with this - piece of - poop - !"

Okay.

If Ryland was PG-swearing at this intensity, something was not right.

You swivelled the pilot chair and climbed out. It took a few moments to locate him, given that he had suddenly fallen deathly silent, and no more thumping emerged from the depths of the ship. In the end, you found him in the lab.

There were two packs scattered near his feet, and Ryland himself was standing by an open hatch in the wall, his back to you. He was straining, reaching up as high as he could. He was even standing on tiptoes.

You paused. He hadn't noticed you.

"You okay over there?"

He startled, arms shooting down, torso twisting around to look behind him. Once he realised it was you, he let out a soft breath.

"There's extra test tubes in there." He explained, pointing up to the hatch. "I can't reach it."

You stepped fully into the room, a few paces away from where he stood. "You're, like, six feet tall." You observed. "How can you not reach something?"

"Oh, ha-ha." He made a face at you, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You waved your hand at him. "Don't let me interrupt."

He scoffed, but turned back to the hatch, reaching his arms up as far as they could go. The hem of his tshirt rose with the movement, exposing a sliver of skin on his abdomen. You looked at it, then glanced up at his face to confirm his focus on the task at hand.

Silently as possible, you side-stepped until you were behind Ryland, and wrapped your arms securely around his waist.

"Oh? What's going on-HEY!"

You scribbled your nails over the exposed skin of his navel. His arms shot down immediately in an attempt to shield himself. High pitched, wheezy laughter shook his body.

"Why do you dohoho thihis?" He complained, fingers scrabbling at your hands. His back pressed into your face slightly as he bent forward. You rested your cheek fully against his shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of his skin through his tshirt.

"Well, I like to do it." You shrugged a little. "I enjoy it."

Ryland twisted sharply, successfully disentangling himself from your embrace. You stumbled a little at his sudden movement.

Ryland had pressed his back tightly against the wall.

"Not a step closer." He ordered around a lingering smile and the ghost of a giggle.

You grinned, but stayed put at his request, even though the distance between you was that of only a few steps.

The Hopeful Fear was back in his eyes.

"I'm not sure you mean that." You said and, yeah, maybe you added a bit of a teasing lilt to your voice. It was worth it for the blush that rose in Ryland's face.

"Your days are numbered." He declared, raising his finger in warning.

You watched him with a grin as he shuffled sideways, back still pressed to the wall, watching you carefully, until he was far enough away to bolt.

@

It had been a hard day that had you and Ryland nearly spiralling into a full blown fight. Stress, close proximity, the weight of responsibility, being stuck in space. Sometimes the two of you got emotional.

Thankfully, you had figured out a protocol for days like these.

So, after wrapping up work as soon as voices became raised, the two of you settled into the routine.

Step one, go to the opposite ends of the ship to cool off.

Step two, talk it out.

Step three, food.

Step four, sleep.

Here you were, yours and Ryland's mattresses shoved together on the floor to make more space, tangled in every spare blanket, bodies close. Your feet tangled together loosely. You lay on your side, arm draped over Ryland's stomach. He was stretched out on his back, hand curled loosely around your knee where he had pulled your leg up over his. His breathing was deep and even.

You couldn't sleep.

Ryland's fingers curled lightly against the underside of your knee, tracing a delicate line over the skin there. Suddenly, you regretted wearing shorts to bed.

You stayed still, giving no indication that you felt his movement. Or that you were awake.

After a moment, the movement repeated.

You opened your eyes to look at him. His face was turned slightly towards you, eyes closed, expression relaxed. You closed your eyes again, burying your face deeper against your pillow.

Ryland was always a little twitchy, and that didn't stop when he was asleep. You had gotten used to his movements during sleep. For the most part. This was new.

Tap.

You frowned.

Tap, tap.

Was he tapping his finger into the curve of your knee?

Carefully - in case he really was asleep - you tilted your head back to look at him again.

His eyes were still closed, but now there was a smirk on his face.

"You-!" Your accusation got cut short, because the moment you spoke, Ryland was rolling himself on top of you, face burying into your neck to blow a long, drawn-out raspberry.

You would never admit to the sound you made at the sensation.

Ryland pulled back to look at you. "Vengeance."

"Oh, come on." You complained. "You needed that tickling and you know it."

"Did I?" He challenged, fingers resuming their tracing under your knee. Instinctively, you bent your leg, trapping his fingers. You didn't like the look on his face.

"Don't you know that when you seek revenge, you're only really hurting yourself?" You tried to reason. Ryland pursed his lips in mock sympathy.

He pulled his fingers from where they were trapped by your leg, and brought his hand up to your face. He took your jaw into his hand with a firm grip, maneouvering your head so that more of your neck was exposed.

He started leaning down.

"No, no, no- wait- Ryland-" Your pleading fell on deaf ears. You felt his stubble first, then cool air as he inhaled deeply. You grabbed hold of his wrist, your other hand gripping at the back of his hair.

He blew another long raspberry into your neck.

You scream-laughed. You were human enough to admit it.

But then he didn't pull back. Only started inhaling again. You closed your eyes, already feeling phantom tickling, laughter bubbling out of you.

This time, he blew three short raspberries one right after another.

Your legs kicked out against the mattress, one kicking him in the shin. You let go of his hair in favour of slapping your palm against his back repeatedly.

Ryland backed off only a fraction, still close enough that you felt his stubble. The breath of his laughter against your neck tickled nearly as bad. He released his grip on your jaw, instead using that hand to gently scratch behind your ear comfortingly.

You panted, dazed, staring up at the ceiling in the low light.

With one last, split-second of a raspberry that had you squawking, Ryland rolled off you.

"Remember this next time you hunt me down with tickling." He said.

"Next time," you informed him. "I'm making you admit you wanted me to do it."

You both turned your heads against your pillows, challenging each other with a look.

In the end, it was Ryland who caved, scoffing to cover up his blush and throwing an arm around you. You let him pull you in, hiding your own blush by tucking your head underneath his chin.

There would be no winners tonight.

[mystey-here]

IM LOSING MY MIND

[a-simple-lee]

Procrastinators (Project Hail Mary)

Lee!Ryland Grace, Ler!Reader

Synopsis: There are many things infinitely more interesting than troubleshooting DNA purification. It's no wonder you take the first opportunity to do something else when Grace provides you with a convenient distraction. Based on this request and this headcanon

A/n: heyyy sorry this took so long, I'm having an exhausting week, but trust I am writing these as fast as I can, love you all dearly <3 hope this is alright, I really struggled to conclude it gracefully (haha).

"Augh- Ryland!" You scrunch up your shoulders, and glare at Grace, who has snuck up behind you and run his finger up the back of your neck as a greeting. He's recently discovered you're ticklish, and thus has thus been treating you like some kind of giggly stress ball.

Grace ignores your protest, and pulls up a chair next to you, glancing at the lab notebooks strewn everywhere.

"How's it going over here?"

"Not bad, thanks to your amazing work." You motion to the many calculations he's helped you with on the whiteboard - predictions for various aspects of the Taumoeba's metabolism. It involves a lot of diagrams and balancing a lot of equations. He flushes a little, muttering something about it being "just undergrad level". One of these days, you'll get him to just take a fucking compliment. Alas, today is not that day.

You turn to face the workbench, where several test tube racks are shoved behind your laptop, which in turn holds a lot of depressing readouts from the spectrophotometer.

"Having a little trouble with some stubborn protein contaminants. Look at this."

You point at your screen. Ryland squints, clearly unable to parse the tiny font from his lab stool. You roll your eyes.

"Ugh. Come here-" You grab his glasses from where they're hanging by his chin, and start sliding them into place. It's such a thoughtless gesture that you're already turning to continue your explanation before they're fully on.

Except you're interrupted by a giggle.

You turn back around, glancing at your hands, which still hold his glasses...but Ryland is no longer attached to them. He's shrunk back, a small grin tugging at his lips, one hand covering his ear.

"Surely not..." You mutter. "Don't tell me your ears are ticklish."

"I...won't tell you that, then." He murmers, which is a confession in itself.

He knows this. You can see him thinking it through, the same way you are. A second passes, and the two of you lock eyes.

...He bolts. Predictable.

You give chase, scrambling after him down the corridor as he starts shouting platitudes over his shoulder.

"Listen, hey, we don't have to do this-"

"We absolutely do!"

"Nope! Not happening!" He careens around a corner, nearly tripping over his own feet. By the time you catch up, the corridor appears empty. Perhaps he's gone into a side room.

Of course. The door to the wellness room is slightly open. You hold your breath, and sneak towards the entrance, pulling yourself against the wall so he can't see you coming.

One...two...three.

You throw open the door, and sure enough, Ryland is hiding on the other side. He shrieks, but it's too late. He's backed himself into a corner.

"uh oh."

"Hiding was a silly idea."

"Worth a try, though-"

"You aren't very good at it."

"Ok, let me try again, then?" Grace gives you his best puppy eyes. You almost cave, but think back to the number of times he's ignored your own pleading looks in these situations.

"Hm," you grin, swiftly tackling him to the floor. "Nah."

"Waitwaitwait-" He tries to shuffle backwards on his elbows, but you sit over his legs. knees pinning his hands in place. You've wasted enough time; you reach out as fast as you can, and swipe one finger over the shell of his ear.

It's immediately obvious why Ryland ran across the ship to avoid this.

"AHA- Nooooo! nonoNO-" He screeches, shoulders hunching up. His hands break free; they come up and try to block you, but you pin them out of the way again.

"I can't believe you kept this from me. After everything you put me through!" You convey your utter betrayal by fanning your fingers out behind his ear, swirling random patterns over the skin. Grace breaks into frantic giggles, his neck rapidly turning an adorable shade of red.

"Pleasepleaseplease-ahaha-It tickles!"

"Good."

"I'll- I'll do anythihing! Whatever you wahant! Just, please- MERCY" Grace cackles, snorting when you lean in to blow a gentle breeze onto his ear.

"Hm," you mutter, giving him a break so he can hear you talking. "...Anything? Let me think."

He's still giggling, the blush having spread up his neck to his face. Of course, he could have fought you off if he wanted to - you're acutely aware of the fact he's stronger than you. Something to tease him about later, perhaps. Your fingers trail over his sides as you keep thinking.

"I need something you'll hate..."

"I'll promise not to tickle you anymore- that's -aha- that's what this is about, right?"

You pause. This is dangerous territory. You'd never minded it, but he'd never stop teasing you if you openly admitted that. The best tactic is probably to change the subject.

"Excuse me, I'm the one deciding here." You return to his ear again, ever-so-lightly scratching around the helix, and he falls back into hysterics. "I could...make you do all the laundry for a month."

"Yehes- sure, fine!"

"...Nah, you agreed to that too quick."

You decide to give his ears a break, instead snaking your hands under his shirt to squeeze at his tummy. It sends him into absolute fits. A wide, carefree smile lights up his face, and his hands, having broken free a second time, clutch at his hair like he can't decide what to do with them. It puts a smile on your face too, seeing him like this. He doesn't laugh often enough - not genuinely, anyway. Neither of you do.

And then the idea hits you.

"Oh, I know what you'll hate."

Ryland goes still despite the fact you haven't stopped tickling - like he knows what's coming next.

"I want you..." You grin, drumming your fingers over his sides in a way that makes his breath catch, "...to tell me what a great scientist you are."

Grace gives you a look of utter dread.

"That's ridiculous," He huffs. "No one says that about themselves."

"And you won't accept it coming from someone else. So this will be a great step forward."

"When I get out, I'm going to tickle you so much-"

You don't let him finish; you immediately squeeze at his hips and watch the way he instinctively grabs at your wrists, never quite pushing you away.

"Are you gonna say it?"

"Noho!"

You scribble up his sides, and the pitch of his laughter slides higher again.

"Are you gonna say it?"

"NO!"

An evil idea occurs to you. "You have a nice laugh. You could admit that instead, if you'd prefer?"

"aha- screhew you!"

Your hands have reached his ribs, now. They poke gently at each one, and Ryland completely melts, covering his face and making a flustered sort of noise that's swiftly overtaken by helpless chuckles.

You slowly creep your fingers up higher and higher, watching as Grace gets increasingly embarrassed.

"Plehease, oh no, nono, that really tickles!"

He brings his arms down once you reach the top of his ribcage, head thrown back in near-silent laughter. Feeling a little sorry for him, you ease up, holding yourself still. However, it quickly becomes apparent that he's trapped your hands under his arms, and can't seem to stop making himself laugh, even though you've stopped moving.

"Oho- jeez-"

You give him an expectant look, flexing your fingers ever so slightly, sending him into more giggles.

"Ok, ok ok ok-" He babbles, adjusting his glasses. There's a moment of hesitation. "Uh...I'm... "

"...Yes?"

"I'm...a good scientist."

You retract your hands, satisfied. "Yes. You are."

Part of you wants to get him to say 'great' instead of 'good' - wants to keep that smile on his face for as long as possible. But, looking at him, you know he's giving you his best effort. You can see in his eyes that he's not ready for anything more than 'good'.

Something swirls uncomfortably in your chest with that knowledge.

If Grace notices the slight waver in your smile, he doesn't mention it. He's too busy propping himself up by the elbows, trying to wipe the silly grin off of his face.

You get up, and extend your hand towards his, trying to shake off the feeling. "Come on, you."

He swats your hand away with a pout. "No, I'm not talking to you right now."

There's absolutely no venom behind it.

"Ok, I guess the first ever Taumoeba WGS can wait, then. I'll make sure it's just my name on the paper."

He grins. "Oh, will you now?"

You lean against the wall. "Well, maybe I'll put you in the acknowledgements. Moral support, or whatever."

A moment of silence. He considers this. You consider the mischief creeping onto his face, and the way his fingers twitch ever so slightly; a barely noticeable motion that is definitely intended as a threat. He sees you notice, sees the cogs turning in your head.

The two of you lock eyes.

...You bolt. Predictable.

[mystey-here]

sO GOOD

[greatleekate]

Well, Fudge

This is a Project Hail Mary tickle fic!! (Yes, I’ve done it)

lee!Reader (reader’s POV) and ler!Grace (with mentions of a meddlesome Rocky).

This fic is meant to be entirely platonic. Enjoy!!

___________

“Ah, fuck,” I mumble to myself after stubbing my toe lightly on the corner of a lab bench. It’s the third time I’d cursed in the last hour. I glance at Grace’s reflection in Mary’s small, circular window. Predictably, he looks up from his work at my expletive, a frown already forming, before he realizes I’m not one of his middle school students and he can’t police my language. I suppress a chuckle and watch him try to find his place on the page he was reading before my outburst. 

It’s all part of the plan, really. I’d been bored on our seemingly endless journey to Erid, and after chatting with Rocky—who, by the way, has an absolutely foul mouth and taught me many Eridian curse words (but what can you really expect from an engineer?)—we came to the conclusion that Grace has never cursed in front of us. I tried to remember a time where he’d said a more severe version of ‘fudge’ or ‘heck’ or even ‘shiitake mushrooms’ and I came up empty. 

So, naturally, after a lengthy explanation to Rocky about Pavlov’s dog experiment, we decided that it was time to see if the one and only Dr. Ryland Grace’s brain could be conditioned into cursing out loud after repeated exposure. Genius idea, really. 

It’s not going so well. 

I mean, seriously! That man is made of, like, pure sunshine and rainbows or something. The only time I’ve ever seen him get mad or annoyed is, well, at himself. Jeez. That’s a sad thought. Anyway. I have an idea. 

I crack my knuckles, pop my neck, and get ready for Plan B. 

How many curse words can I fit in a sentence before Grace notices and comments?

“Hey, do you remember where I put the, uh,” I pretend to be looking for a word, “the fucking… the coffee packets?” I ask. 

He glances up. I see a small crease appear between his eyebrows and bite back a grin. 

“Y’know, the good shit you drink in the morning,” I say. 

“I- I think Armando keeps them somewhere…” Grace says cautiously. “I thought you don’t drink coffee.”

“I don’t, I was just wondering what the fuck Stratt put in that shit,” I say. “Makes you so hyper every morning.”

I see Grace pause, a small smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “Are you messing with me?” he asks. “I feel like you’re messing with me.”

I have to work hard to keep a straight face. “What do you mean? I’m just being normal and shit.” Okay, that last one might’ve been a little too cheeky—wait, what’s he doing?

Grace gets up and circles around the table. “W-what’s happening?” I ask, trying not to seem nervous.

Grace’s smile spreads across his face. It’s at this moment that I realize maybe my “sunshine and rainbows” crewmate isn’t so innocent after all. “I don’t know,” he replies coolly. “You tell me.”

“What?” I ask, but it’s the last thing I say before I’m tackled to the floor of Mary’s lab. “Oof- Grace?! What the fuck, man—“

“Language,” he says, his voice sing-songy. “Or are you gonna admit you’ve been trying to annoy me on purpose?” His hands find my wrists and pin them next to my head. 

I try to squirm out of his grip and fail. “Grace…” I whine, wincing at the nasal pitch of my voice in embarrassment. “I didn’t even do anything.” 

He grins down at me. “I had a memory the other day,” he says suddenly. “Been waiting for an opportunity to use it. Apparently, you’re veeeery ticklish.”

“What?” I squirm harder. “Let me go— th-that’s not true. Must be the- the amnesia- GRACE!!” I’m cut off with a squeal as he jabs a few fingers roughly into my side. “Fuck!”

“What did I say about language?” he tuts. He’s using his teacher voice on me, damn it. I make a grumbly noise. “No. Fu- Screw you,” I retort, intelligently as ever. 

He hovers a wiggling hand over my face. I squirm on instinct. “Admit you were trying to annoy me,” he says with a stupid, dumb smirk on his face. “No,” I say stubbornly. 

Then, all hell breaks loose. 

Well, not really. His hand gets gradually closer to my tricep, as if giving me time to admit my wrongs and avoid punishment. But damn it, I’ve dug my own grave here and I’m too stubborn to back down now. 

When he finally makes contact with the skin of my inner arm along my tricep, I let out a squeaky string of giggles. “Dohohon’t-“ I protest. He chuckles at my reaction. “I’m barely touching you,” Grace says. “You must be more ticklish than I remember.”

“Shuhut up…” I whine, squirming more and more in his grip as his hand scratches and scribbles gently down my arm, getting closer to my armpit every second. “Wait- I’m sorry!! Don’t do ihihit-“ 

I burst into giggles as he finally reaches my armpit. He actually coos at me, which is so unacceptable on so many levels that I actually try to sit up and get away. This fails miserably because somehow the string-bean of a scientist I knew back on Stratt’s Vat turned into a fucking superhero during coma because of the electrode treatment. “Oh, this seems like a good spot, huh?” he teases, his fingers lingering under my arm. “I think you like this one.”

I’m so lost in laughter from the feeling of his short fingernails ever-so-gently scratching and playing with the sensitive skin under my arm that I can’t respond to defend my dignity (because no, no way in hell, I do NOT like it!!). Mercifully, he lets up, giving me a second to breathe.

“I’m sohohorry for cuhuhursing- nohoho!!” Despite his name, he doesn’t give me mercy for long. His hands are suddenly all over my middle, releasing my wrists to poke all over my ribs and belly and sides without reprieve. 

“SHIT!! Grahahace- please!! Stohohop…” I protest, giggling my head off. “You look like a little kid right now,” he comments nonchalantly, increasing the speed of his fingers every time I curse. 

“Tickle tickle tickle…” he says in that same singsongy voice from earlier.

“Fuck OHOHOFF- NO WAIT I’M SOHOHORRY!!” My voice cracks as he sticks one finger in my bellybutton and wiggles it around. 

My vision blurs with tears of laughter. He goes for the kill, pushing up my shirt so he can nuzzle his stubbly face into my soft tummy. My laughter turns silent and wheezing. Then he pulls back, grinning, to watch my flushed face as I return to resting heart rate. Trust me, it takes a sec. 

“Fine… fine,” I pant. “I was… I was trying to make you… react…” I take a deep breath. “Rocky and I were trying to…see if you’d curse…”

“Impossible,” Grace replies. “I’m too hardwired to be PG-13.” 

I make a grumbling noise. “That attack was definitely NOT PG-13. More like- more like rated R for emotional, uh, emotional damage or something.” I hear him snort at my dorky and flustered reply and feel my cheeks heat up more. 

Eventually he lets me up. “What did we learn?” he asks in that dumb teacher voice again. “Aside from the fact that you’re very ticklish and you didn’t even try to stop me,” he adds with a smug smirk. 

I smooth my hair down and fix my shirt, ignoring the way my stomach flips at his comment. “I learned that I gotta get more creative to get you to curse,” I say with a smirk of my own. I roll my wrists and then wiggle my fingers in his direction. 

“So you should definitely run.”

[mystey-here]

AHHHH INLOVE

[edgebug]

"grace. grace! grace give attention. rocky perform human ritual of escape closet now. statement."

"come again?"

"i learn more from thinking machine. human gender preference. attraction to same gender, means word 'gay.' all eridian same gender." rocky stands straight up. "rocky come out to grace now. all rocky plural gay, statement."

"...wow, that's... rock, i'm not sure it makes much sense to apply human ideas of sexual orientation to a monogendered species."

a long and judgmental pause. then:

"grace HOMOPHOBIC, question????"

[murfelk-deactivated20191105]

Reblog if it’s okay for your mutuals to tag you in random stuff they think you’ll like

[mystey-here]

pls