[riisada]

TARTE ✧ she/her ✧ young adult ✧ a total lee and a sucker for light tickles n scratches ✧

sometimes i write but it's mostly reblogs mostly sfw but im exploring lately. not interested in tickle talks or rps <3

FANDOMS OF INTEREST AS OF RN

✧ my hero academia ✧ blue lock ✧ haikyuu ✧ genshin impact ✧ sasaki to miyano but more specifically hirano to kagiura!!

FAVS

✧ katsuki, kirishima, hawks ✧ chigiri, nagi, reo, bachira ✧ sugawara, suna, osamu, kenma ✧ tighnari, cyno, kaveh, venti, albedo, kaeya ✧ hirano, ichinose, sasaki, miyano

pleased to meet you!

[tiredleekaz]

How to fix a bad mood

ler!ryland grace x ticklish!reader

synopsis: you were in a bad mood. ryland and rocky do their best in hopes of making you feel better. they’ll do anything to turn that frown upside down.

warnings: tickle fic—swearing. back tickles masked as a massage. ler!ryland grace. very slight ler!rocky. no use of y/n. few mentions of they/them pronouns. you’re lowkey a dick towards ryland and rocky but all is well.

author’s note: i was so mad earlier today i wrote this to cope. it’s just one fic after another, i’m on a roll. now if only i can focus on chapter three…

word count: 3.2k

You were in a bad mood. It wasn’t anything Ryland or Rocky did to make you that way. At least not them specifically. You had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed and every little minor inconvenience was building up like a bomb inside of you.

Perhaps it was the stress of trying to figure out why the ship’s spin drives were acting up, leading to them being stuck in the middle of their journey towards Tau Ceti-E. You had gone out multiple times to survey the ship’s exterior, examining every little spin drive connected to the thrusts. You silently cursed Dimitri for making a thousand and nine spin drives. This was the same as counting every blade of grass on a lawn.

Nothing was visibly wrong with them, it had to be an internal mechanical issue then. Maybe it was shut down for a system update or something?

With this present issue making you wrack your brain for solutions, Ryland and Rocky’s duo idiocy made it hard to stay focused. You could hear their bantering every time you walked through the lab, their stupid little tangents about time dilation and relativity were getting mixed up in your head.

Rocky had accidentally bumped into you at one point with his ball while you were writing down notes and equations on the white board, causing you to streak a line through some of it. Rocky hadn’t seemed to notice his little mishap until he was sent rolling across the lab by a sudden kick from you.

He called out your name in a panic, confused by what had happened but you were already stomping out of the room. Ryland wasn’t safe from your foul attitude either. He was slurping up a cup of ramen while walking down the corridor and you just happened to be right around the corner when you collided.

“Oh shoot! Sorry— I didn’t see you there,” he swiftly apologized.

Ramen broth had spilled on the front of your jumpsuit and your face twisted in a scowl. “Fucking hell,” you spat, trying to wipe off the stain.

You shoved past Ryland, knocking shoulders and he watched you retreat in bewilderment. He’d never seen you act like that before. Sure you could get a bit snippy here and there, especially when you hadn’t eaten all day, but that was a bit over the top. He soon found Rocky still stuck upside down in his ball when he entered the lab and realized he wasn’t the only victim of your strange behavior. The two came to the conclusion that you were in a very bad mood today.

“Need do something. Need talk,” Rocky said, stomping one of his legs.

“I’m not sure talking is the right solution here, buddy. It could end very badly,” Ryland replied. His hands wrung themselves in a nervous habit, pulling at the joints as he tried to think of ways to clear the misunderstanding.

“Well, what happened, not nice.”

Rocky seemed rather upset about being treated poorly like some elder mad at the young generation for being disrespectful. It was a little funny how adamant he was about it but Ryland agreed that you needed a way to blow off some steam before you blew up and everything else on the ship.

“I know, I know. But I think we need to go with a different approach. Find a way to help them relieve some stress,” Ryland explained. “They’re working very hard to try and fix the ship’s issue, we should offer some help of our own.”

Rocky hummed in thought, his head tilted down slightly. “Relieve stress. Make happy? Question.”

Ryland nodded. “It is beneficial for humans to find ways to cope and relieve stress. Or else it could affect their mental psyche and even lead to bodily injury.” That made Rocky less mad about the recent incident and more worried about your wellbeing.

The two began to concoct a plan in order to help you feel better and turn that foul mood around. It wasn’t easy. Ryland was a simple guy and was happy with almost anything, while Rocky still struggled to understand human emotions and why they were so finicky.

So they decided to work their way up.

Plan A: a compliment.

“I like your shirt.” Ryland pointed out the new clothing you branded after changing out of the ramen stained jumpsuit.

You just gave him a sideways glance. “Had to change because of someone.”

His smile dropped. Awkward. “Oh. Right.”

Plan Failed.

Plan B: a present made with love.

Rocky slowly rolled himself over to you at the table, being careful this time not to run into you.

“Rocky have gift.”

You looked up from the laptop, raising an eyebrow at the Eridian. He shifted from leg to leg nervously before pushing forward a medium sized model made of xenonite. You leaned down to pick it up. It was a model of the Hail Mary, very detail-oriented with almost all of its exteriors crafted to a t.

You were impressed to say the least. “Thanks, Rocky.” You turned the ship around and examined all its parts. And then you stopped to stare at the engines where the spin drives were. Rocky managed to even capture every little detail of the spin drives. This would’ve made any lego or diorama nerd ecstatic. But for you—you just got pissed off by the reminder that you still had no idea what was wrong with them.

You slammed the model on the table and went back to aggressively typing on the computer. Rocky flinched at the loud clatter, his legs trembling as he rolled out of the room.

Plan Failed.

Plan C: a little bit of pampering and special treatment.

You were sitting on the pulled out bunk with a bag of Milano cookies between your legs. You were just staring at the wall in thought while munching on the cookies one after another.

The sound of footsteps and the rumbling of Rocky’s ball entered the dormitory. You didn’t bother to look over at them.

“We brought more snacks.”

“Have special treatment!”

They crowded around you on the cot, a pile of chips and candies dropped on the padded flooring. Ryland stood behind you while Rocky rolled back and forth in front of your dangling legs.

“We decided to offer you a little massage, y’know, to help you relax,” Ryland said, rubbing his hands together.

“Rest legs on Rocky ball,” the Eridian jigged up and down cheerily and you wondered if he was that excited to be used as a foot stool.

You felt Ryland’s hands clamp over your shoulders and his thumbs began pressing between your shoulder blades. Rocky situated himself underneath your legs, but he was quite bad at staying still. The octagonal shape of his xenonite ball rolled against the muscles of your legs like one of those foam rollers.

“Does it feel good? Is it relaxing?”

“Rocky ball feel good? Question.”

God these two never knew when to shut up. You sighed quietly, attempting to tune them out. The massage wasn’t too bad, Ryland surprisingly knew all the right spots to press. His thumbs shifted a little high, digging into the base of your neck.

You tensed. Ryland took that as a sign for muscle tightness and rubbed deeper into the tissue. Shit. It tickled. Rocky’s ball even nudged against the back of your knees and you jerked them up out of reflex. No way, you were not going through with this.

You pushed yourself off the bed and stumbled away. “I just remembered something—thanks for the massage.”

Ryland watched as you scurried out of the dormitory, eyeing the way you cupped a hand over the back of your neck. Rocky seemed to deflate at your escape, dropping to his knees as he whined.

“No work.”

“I guess not.”

Plan Failed(?).

You sat in the pilot's chair in the cockpit and stared at the multitude of screens around you. The answer to your problem had to be here. Though, if you were honest, that wasn’t the only problem you were facing. Ryland and Rocky were acting very weird, like more weird than usual. Maybe they thought you were mad at them and were trying to make it up to you. Which wasn’t the case at all. You weren’t mad at them.

But thinking back, you realized you weren’t exactly the nicest towards them. You had kicked Rocky and shoved Ryland after they had both bumped into you by accident. You knew they didn’t mean it. You were just so frustrated with the ship that you let your emotions cloud your judgement.

Cupping your hands over your face you finally understood how rude you had been. You acted like such an asshole all because you couldn’t keep yourself in check. God, you had to apologize before you ruined your only source of friendship in this vacuum of space.

As you chewed on your finger contemplating how to approach them, a timid voice called out your name. You spun around in the pilot’s chair.

Ryland stood at the entrance of the cockpit, bracing against the edge of it. “Hey, can we talk?”

Your stomach plummeted. “Oh—um, sure, I guess.” Fuck you were not ready for this. You hated to admit it but you were bad at confrontation, especially admitting when you were wrong. But so was Ryland, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Ryland walked closer and you saw Rocky behind his legs, crawling cautiously. He stopped about a foot away and you fidgeted in the chair.

“I— we, noticed you’ve been really stressed out about the whole spin drive thing and we realized we haven’t really been much help. We’re sorry. If there’s anything you need us to do, please tell us. Even if it’s something small, anything to lift the weight off your shoulders,” Ryland spoke softly, gesturing to both him and Rocky.

The Eridian nodded in agreement. “Rocky help. Need make friend happy, less stressed, else bad things.”

Oh. They were worried about you. And here you were acting like a complete piece of shit because you couldn’t ask for help. You lowered your head in shame. “You don’t have to apologize. I shouldn’t have taken out my frustrations on you.” You scrubbed your hands over your face. “I acted like a total dick because I wanted to solve the problem myself and not drag you into it.”

A pair of hands wrapped around your wrists and pulled yours away from your face. You felt a gentle pat on your knee and looked up. “Don’t be silly. We know you didn’t mean it. We’re glad you at least recognized your faults as we did ours. That’s all that matters. We can work out the problem together.” Ryland flashed you an empathetic smile, his expression soft and full of understanding.

Your eyes flickered between Ryland and Rocky before letting out a sigh of relief. “Yeah, thanks. I’m sorry about earlier,” you murmured. “I’ll make it up to you guys.”

Ryland and Rocky looked back at each other then faced back at you. “How about we just continue that massage. You really look like you need it.” You swallowed. You didn’t want to turn them down but…

“Uh— okay.” If making it up to them meant kissing your dignity goodbye, then so be it.

All three of you headed back to the dormitory. Your bed was made and prepped prior, the snacks still stationed on the floor. Ryland gestured for you to lie down. You hesitated. You can do this. You took a deep breath, and then laid face down. You curled your arms around the pillow, propping your chin up.

“You really don’t have to. I swear I’m feeling better,” you said as a last ditch effort to avoid future embarrassment.

Ryland waved a hand in dismissal and climbed on top of you, sitting on the back of your thighs. “Massages are the best way to relieve tension both in your mind and body. Just let us do all the work and you just lay there.”

“Yes, Rocky give best massage!” You saw Rocky out of your peripheral standing next to your legs.

“Okay…”

You braced yourself, squeezing the pillow tight as you pressed your face into it. Ryland hands went to work, kneading and rubbing along your shoulder blades. It would’ve felt great, had it not tickled unbearably so. You had to hold your breath from the way his thumbs dug into that small part of your lower back. He slowly continued the circling motions upwards, making sure to rub into the spaces between your ribs. Even the gentle prodding at your thigh from Rocky’s claw through his xenonite ball sent ticklish jolts through you.

“You okay?” Ryland’s voice rang in your ears.

“Hm?” You managed to mumble out without your voice cracking.

“You’re pretty tense. Does it hurt?” His fingers lightened the pressure and you’re not sure if that made it better or worse.

“Friend okay? Question. Heart rate elevated.” Rocky pointed out.

“I—hic!—fine!” Shoot.

Ryland’s hands paused and you started to sweat.

“Um—on second thought, I don’t think it’s working. Let’s stop hERE—!” A squeal ripped from your throat at the sudden fingers digging into your sides. “WAhait!!”

Ryland had the biggest grin on his face as he watched you flop around. “I knew it. This is why you ran away so fast earlier. You’re ticklish.”

Your face burned red. “N-not truhue!”

“Oh really? Then I guess you won’t mind if I continue.”

“Nonono don’t you dare— GRAHACE!!”

You flailed helplessly under his weight as he resumed his attack. His hands clawed up down your torso, his thumbs pressing deep into the bottom of your ribs while the rest of his fingers dug into your sides. You twisted and tried to push yourself up but Ryland was too heavy for you to be able to buck off.

“Grace? Man, you’re still grumpy. It’s okay, we can fix that.” You could practically hear that shiteating grin of his.

Every time you lifted off the mattress, his hands would sneak to your stomach, scribble along the plush skin around your waist and you would drop right back down. He even tugged the back of your shirt up and would skitter his nails from your hips all the way to your armpits.

You squealed and cackled and wailed, making the most inhumane noises Ryland had ever heard. “If anyone heard you they’d think there was some kind of space monster wrecking havoc on the galaxy.”

“Friend sound like thing that eat Eridians,” Rocky’s voice chimed in through your laughter. You had forgotten about him for a second.

“ROHockyhy!! H-hehelp!” You pleaded, twisting on the bed.

“Yeah, buddy, you should help. The legs and feet are good tickle spots on people too. Just watch.” Ryland demonstrated it by reaching behind him and rapidly squeezing along the back of your thigh. You screeched, almost kicking him in the face when he scratched at the back of your knees.

Rocky chirped excitedly at the newfound information. “Rocky tickle!”

“Rohocky nOho!”

“Rocky yes!” Ryland laughed. He turned around to hold down your legs for Rocky to get a chance at tickling you, pinning your ankles against the mattress.

Rocky couldn’t do much but gently wiggle his claws through the xenonite barrier against your sole. It didn’t tickle that much but the featherlight touch was enough to make you giggle into the pillow, your toes scrunching up. It only lasted a couple seconds before Ryland decided to tickle the back of your knees causing you to shriek.

“GRACE!”

“What? I’m helping.”

“Stohop hehelpihing!”

Ryland gasped. “You don’t want me to help? That’s not very nice! And here I am trying my very best to make sure you’re relaxed and at ease!” Despite the fact he was doing the complete opposite.

“Ihi don’t nehehed ihit!!” You barked out through gritted teeth.

You heard him click his tongue and the tickling on your legs stopped. You wheezed in relief, panting heavily to catch your breath. And then you felt the shift of weight back on your thighs, large hands settling flat on your back. Fuck, fuck, shit.

“N-no, no, wait— Ryland—Ry, cmon! I-I’m relaxed! Please!” You begged, clawing at the mattress desperately. Sadly for you, your pleading words went straight over his head.

His thumbs rubbed deep circles on both sides of your spine, just below your shoulder blades. His other fingers curled into the spaces between your ribs, alternating between massaging and wiggling. You just about lost it. Loud, hysterical cackles resonated from your lungs at the electrifying tissue massage that set your nerves on fire. You couldn’t think about anything else but how badly it tickled.

What felt like an hour was only a two minutes of pure tickle torture. You couldn’t move, your whole body went rigid, stuck in a perpetual state of silent laughter. Your eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide open with no sound coming out.

Eventually Ryland gave mercy and lightened his touch. The pads of his fingers now tracing small circles over your sides. You almost forgot how to breathe when you gasped for air, greedily gulping it down.

“What do we say now?” His voice murmured right into your ear.

You snickered and scrunched your shoulder. “Ihi’m sohorryyy…!”

He chuckled in response. “And?” He lightly dug his thumb into your back.

“THAhank yohou!!” You squealed.

The tickling stopped and you finally—finallyyy were given relief. Your nerves buzzed from the aftermath, tingling and trembling at the phantom tickles. You giggled tiredly, face squished against the mattress. You didn’t even notice your pillow had fallen off the edge of the cot.

“Feeling better?” Ryland asked, his tone softer and genuine.

You nodded, still giggling. He laughed at your delirious state and helped roll you over onto your back. You couldn’t stop the smile permanently stretched across your face and swung an arm to hide your flushed expression.

“That was ahawful…” You breathed out.

“You say that, but I know you enjoyed yourself. You needed that laugh.”

You peeked beneath your arm to see Ryland’s dazzling smile, his eyes filled with so much warmth you couldn’t help but feel shy from his attention. Your hands flew down to your face, feeling the heat radiate off your cheeks. “… it helped.”

“Humans done playing? Question. Rocky fix ship.”

Ryland and you looked up at Rocky now standing by the hatch of the dormitory. You lifted your head, propping yourself up on your elbows. “What do you mean?”

“Rocky fix spin drives. Statement. Works.”

You nearly shoved Ryland off of you as you sat up fully. “What?! How?!”

Rocky shimmied in his ball and straightened his legs like he was showing off. “Rocky read manual!”

You just stared at him. He squeaked happily before rolling away. Ryland and you looked at each other. You flopped back down on the mattress with a groan, pulling down at your face.

“A rock figured it out before me.” You glanced up at Ryland. “… sorry again.” Now you felt worse about how you acted when there was such a simple solution.

Ryland huffed. “You’ve already been forgiven. Don’t get all depresso on me.” He tweaked your side with a pinch and you let out your own little squeak, swatting at his hand. He grinned. “Besides, now I know exactly what to do to turn that frown upside down.”

A blush rose to your cheeks and you shoved weakly at his chest. “You’re never letting me live this down.”

“Nope.”

[sometimesthingsgowrongokayy]

HI. OR SOMETHING. WHATEVER. inspired by this fic because it made me really ill

[sometimesthingsgowrongokayy]

really scared to do this but uhmmmm hi @amazingmsme i made fanart of your bloodymary fic it was super awesome amazing and cool and im totally super normal about it

[amazingmsme]

This art got me like

IT’S SO FUCKING GOOD OMGGGGG THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU I LOVE IT SO MUCH YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW

I’m so happy you liked my fic enough to make this beautiful art, I’m gonna cherish it forever!

[nusharkteeth]

"KaruKaru, you are all red like a tomato! How cute!"

[ticklishpupboy]

Lil doodle for you guys cause I’m in a huuuuge Lee mood hwhwhwh

[writingfics-passingtime]

Endorphins

synopsis: you're working yourself to the bone in preparation for a big event, unwilling to take a break or de-stress, so Loki takes matters into his own hands.

pairing: Loki x female reader

wc: ~3400

cw: mostly a whole lotta fluff! but some swearing, tickling, and mentions of stress/burnout

minors DNI: this fic does not contain smut, but includes an adult-aged character experiencing attraction towards the reader; I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. thank you for your understanding and respect.

note: a little fluff-bomb palette-cleanser after the intensity of my last couple of Loki fics. if you'd like to read more fics like this i'd love for you to let me know!

The common room of the residential wing of the Avengers Compound wasn’t empty, but it was quiet. The kind of lived-in calm that came after half a morning’s worth of coffee and sleep-laced banter.

A newscast flickered on the television with the volume mostly down, just enough for background noise. Steve was reading something on a tablet with that technology-induced furrowed brow. Bruce sat nearest the windows, flipping through a medical journal with one socked foot tucked under the other knee, looking up only when Natasha approached, all too quietly, and wordlessly refilled his coffee with a small, satisfied smile.

Others were scattered amongst it, all were uncharacteristically peaceful.

Except for you.

You were perched on the edge of the sectional with a stack of reports beside you, laptop open on the coffee table, pen cap clenched between your teeth. Your eyes were sharp, shoulders high with tension, jaw visibly set. You’d been like this for days - edgy, overworked, quiet, insular. Everyone knew why.

There was a summit in two weeks. A UN delegation. An avalanche of new diplomatic threads to untangle, several of which involved countries you’d gone on missions in recently. Your name was on every page of briefing notes and draft statements, and now you’d been snowed under.

"Hey. You good over there?" Sam broke the calm, directing his attention pointedly to the way your leg was bouncing.

You didn’t look up, but some kind of awareness flashed across your face and your leg fell still.

"Yeah. Good. Just focused."

Curt. Efficient. Not unkind, but final.

Loki, from his armchair, eyes appearing focused on the book in his lap, quirked a brow.

Bruce glanced up. "You've been at it for a while. You should really take a break."

"I was at the punching bag this morning."

Steve chimed in, not looking away from his tablet. "That’s training. Not a break."

"Feels like a break; I like training."

"You need to do something that isn’t work," Sam offered gently from his couch, falling easily into counsellor mode. "Take a beat. Do you have a hobby? A creative outlet would help."

You didn't look up. Just exhaled slowly through your nose. It was the kind of breath that meant I’m trying to be polite.

"I appreciate the concern," you said, very diplomatically, "but I have a pile of actual responsibilities in front of me, and knitting or bouldering is not going to rewrite the second paragraph of this response to the Wakandan delegation. If you'll excuse me."

You stood, gathering your laptop and papers, and exited the room with a measured grace that only barely masked how tense you were.

There was a moment of quiet as everyone waited for you to be out of earshot.

"She’s gonna snap," Bruce said, setting his mug down.

Sam sighed, arms crossed. "She’s in pressure mode. Doesn’t mean she’s angry. Just means she thinks stopping will make it worse. But we let it sit too long and it’ll turn into the wrong kind of burnout."

Steve sipped his coffee. "I’m watching it."

"She has been boxing," Natasha pointed out.

"She doesn't need more cortisol," Bruce muttered, "She needs a damn serotonin drip. Or something. Or someone. Honestly, just- someone make her laugh."

Natasha shrugged. "I could try."

Bruce winced. An unspoken: maybe it's best you don't.

"Wilson," Loki said aloud, not looking up from his book.

Sam turned. "Yeah?"

"You fancy yourself a comedian."

Sam's brow furrowed. "I mean... I am funny-"

"Then for Norns’ sake," Loki said, flipping a page with precise disdain, "do your job."

Natasha choked on a laugh.

Steve chuckled under his breath.

Loki felt his chest tighten.

The discussion annoyed him more than he expected. Not because of the concern - no, that part made sense. It was how they discussed it. They were talking in circles, wringing their hands, musing about serotonin and yoga, all while you were in the next room slowly grinding yourself down to the bone doing work that, if Loki wasn’t mistaken, concerned all of them.

Yet... you wouldn't allow a single report to be taken.

"Rogers." Loki snapped the book shut and settled back into his chair, perching his elbows on the upholstered arms. "Might I ask," he drawled, "are you the leader of this team or not?"

Steve’s brow furrowed slowly. "Excuse me?"

"You," Loki said plainly. "Stars and stripes. Human embodiment of a rousing inspirational speech. Are you in charge, or do you all simply loiter in proximity to each other?"

Sam raised his brows.

Loki didn't wait for an answer. "Delegate."

Steve sighed, long and deep.

"I’ve offered. But she’s protective of it; she cares a lot about the work, and her name is all over it. I can't just take it from her."

"Then order her to accept help."

"That's not how we do things," Steve said firmly.

Loki hummed under his breath as the others went back to their own little worlds.

Fascinating.

A room full of soldiers, spies, and scientists...

And yet none of them, not one, had the teeth to intervene.

The following morning, Loki found himself happening across an tiresomely similar scene, this time in the kitchen. The room smelled like toast and bacon and freshly ground coffee and the underlying tension of one person trying very hard to pretend they didn’t have basic human needs.

You sat at the island, dressed in your running tank and leggings, one foot planted on the stool, knee tucked to your chest. The thin veil of control you were clinging to was starting to crack, but you kept working, stubborn and relentless.

Sam leaned against the counter, nursing his coffee like it was a tactical manoeuvre.

"Just saying," he offered gently, "summit’s a couple weeks out. You could afford a break."

"I'll take a break," you said without looking up. "Once this section’s clean. It’s almost there."

Sam glanced over his mug, still trying to be gentle. "You said that yesterday. And the day before that."

"And when you said it Monday, it was 'just a few more paragraphs.'" Steve was crouched by the oven, checking on the bacon.

"I finally got a response I've been waiting for just before I was about to go for a run," you muttered, tapping a line of text and deleting it without mercy. "I'll go outside once I edit this section with this new info."

"Running is training. Training is work," Sam said. "You need something that’s not work. Something for you."

You sighed, long-suffering. "Something for me - something that'll make me feel better - is having this done."

"You know this is how burnout starts, right?" Sam’s voice was calm, but not soft. The therapist was peeking through. "You run hot for too long, you crash hard. You'll think better when your brain’s had room to breathe."

You gave him a look. It wasn’t angry. Just tired.

"And you think a watercolour landscape will clear my head?"

"You need fun. Your body needs endorphins."

"Exercise gives me endorphins."

"And cortisol. Which you've been running high on for almost a week. You need to let loose. Laugh. Give your body a break from the tension."

"I laugh," you said, with the driest tone possible. "You’re all very funny."

"Nope," Sam shook his head. "That’s not real laughter. That’s the social ‘ha.’"

"My ha is perfectly adequate," you snapped, deadpan, looking back to the screen.

Steve snorted.

From the other side of the kitchen, as his coffee trickled through the filter, Loki’s gaze narrowed on you, his eyes sharp as he observed the exchange. It didn’t escape him - your composure had cracks in it, the way your shoulders were wound tight, the way you barely breathed between sentences. His lips curled into a faint, knowing, endeared smile.

So stubborn.

Sam leaned his elbows on the island across from you, clasping his hands together. "What can I do?"

You raised a brow. "I’m not your responsibility, Sam."

"You’re my teammate."

You looked up. And to your credit, there was no venom in your eyes. Just that same brittle exhaustion that’d been following you like a shadow for days. You blew out a breath.

"I’m fine."

"You’ll think better with food," Sam coaxed.

Your jaw tensed. "I know. I'll eat in a bit."

"C'mon," Sam pressed, his voice light but serious. "Sit with us for half an hour, eat something, then you can get back to your 'almost done' report, and we'll all leave you alone."

You looked back at your screen. "I can’t tell if that’s a bribe or a threat."

"Bruce says the stress will kill you," Sam said, half-joking.

"Your jokes might beat it to the punch," you muttered back.

"Wow."

You resumed typing. "I promise, once this summit is over, I'll watch a Netflix special of your choosing and get more than my fill of endorphins."

Loki uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, smooth and deliberate. Unhurried, but with the weight of purpose behind them. He could feel the tension rolling off you, and for reasons he wouldn’t fully admit - couldn’t fully understand... he couldn’t stand it.

"Why," he began, his voice calm but with undeniable mischief laced beneath, "do you all insist on doing this the hard way?"

He rounded the island and approached you from the side, calm, not rushed, but without delay.

He had nothing to do with this - he told himself. This wasn’t about you or your exhaustion. This was just him solving a problem. A problem they were clearly too inept to fix.

Your shoulders didn’t move. You didn’t acknowledge him. You kept typing as he stood behind you.

His hands were on you before you registered the intent.

Loki’s fingers dug into your ribs, pressing and wiggling into the soft spots just beneath your arms with an expert precision.

You jerked, hands flying off the keys with a sharp sound of protest, an involuntary giggle bursting from your throat as you half-twisted, elbows snapping protectively to your sides.

Loki dropped his tickling hands, looming behind you like an impending storm, and let out a sharp and satisfied puff of air. "Thank the Norns."

And then, before you could gather your wits and react, he grabbed you around the waist and hauled you effortlessly off the stool.

You kicked and cursed in wild shock, flailing against the solid vice of his arm around your middle. "HEY!"

Loki looked to the others - their faces painted in quiet hesitance.

"Oh, don’t look at me like that," the god said with cool amusement, adjusting his grip as you writhed in his arms. “You’re all too bloody soft. Someone has to be the villain, and I rather enjoy the role." He then shot a sharp glance to Rogers. "You’re welcome."

He turned and started walking towards the living room.

"LOKI!" You snarled through gritted teeth, pushing at his forearm.

You were squirming like a snared hellcat in his arms, but your body gave you away. You were tired. Overextended. Tied in so many knots you couldn't tell where your own edges begin anymore.

"Let me go!"

"Yes, yes…" he sighed, striding into the large common room. "Once this matter is dealt with."

Bruce glanced up from his usual armchair, blinking behind his glasses. He took in the scene - you writhing in Loki’s arms, Loki’s expression impassive and focused, the faint storm in his stride.

From the threshold, Sam and Steve peered out with matching expressions of amused disbelief.

"Uh…" Bruce looked to the others, eyes wary and uncertain, coffee half-raised to his lips. "So we’re all just cool with whatever this is?"

Loki looked at the doctor briefly. "You said she needed endorphins. Laughter. Yes?"

"Well yeah but-"

"Lovely."

And then he threw you onto the couch.

It wasn't a gentle toss, but not cruel either. It was precise. Designed to disorient, and it did a hell of a job.

You landed on your side with a sharp bounce, half-seething, pushing yourself up with both murder and a giddy sort of nervousness in your eyes. You twisted and moved to scramble away, but he was already there - moving fast and smooth, settling down beside you.

He sat side-on, one knee on the cushion, the other foot braced on the floor. His hip pressed flush to yours, caging you in where you lay half-twisted against the backrest of the couch. His torso leaned across your waist, the angle perfect for blocking your every attempt to curl or wriggle away.

"You son of a-"

You reached up, maybe to push, maybe to slap, maybe to claw his face off - but it didn't matter. He caught your wrist easily, trapping it in mid-air.

"Easy," he said, voice low and warm. "Let’s not make a scene."

"Don’t you dare."

You didn't stand a chance.

He released your wrist and his hands darted fast - intentional, no wasted movement - his fingers dragging and digging into the sensitive space between your ribs and waist, thumbs pressing with precision.

You slapped at his hands, trying to hold back your giggles, still trying to fight, but he already had you.

Fingers spidered across your sides, precise and ticklish, pressing into the spaces between your ribs, the grooves of your waist. You jolted like a live wire. And then-

"Nnn-shit!"

You broke.

Giggling laughter exploded out of you, bright and helpless, like it had been waiting days to claw its way free. You bucked against him, hands slapping at his chest, knees curling up against his back.

He smirked, not even looking up at you, just watching his own hands move, thumbs circling, working the lines of your waist like a musician playing a their attuned instrument.

"Gods above," he muttered with an exhale, actually smiling. "You’re so ticklish."

"Asshole," you managed an adorable little snarl between breaths, but the laughter didn't stop. You were so consumed by the giggles that your protest didn’t sound as defiant as it should. "I ha-hate you!"

He chuckled, low and dark, his voice so teasing. "Oh, you’re going to have to try harder than that."

You let out a squeal when his fingers dug under your arms for half a second - then lower, finding the softest edge of your waist. You shrieked, bucking again, and Loki's grin deepened. His hands settled there with ominous precision.

Oh, he’d found something.

The spot just under your ribs, where nerves tangled and skin jumped at the slightest pressure. He focused there, thumbs pressing maddening circles, fingertips dragging with infuriating care.

You gasped, laughed, cursed - tried to twist, tried to curl - but it was useless. Your muscles had gone soft with the laughing. Your hands pushed at his chest, but there was no strength in them anymore. You were melting under him. And gods, he liked it.

"That’s it," he murmured, low and amused.

You didn't respond. You couldn't. Instead, you started going boneless beneath him.

He tilted his head, fascinated.

So expressive, mortals. All heat and breath and sudden collapse.

You could be a fury incarnate at any waking moment - sharp-tongued, iron-willed, as comfortable with a combat knife as you were in geopolitical briefings. And just as precise.

You’d spent the last week grinding yourself into steel and silence, undereyes shadowed with exhaustion, soaked in irritation, swatting away gentle jokes and light-hearted concern.

And now - reduced to this. Caught somewhere between defiance and surrender. Giggling, shaking, flushed and boneless beneath his hands.

Adorable.

He narrowed his eyes.

When had that word started surfacing in his brain so often?

God of Mischief, he reminded himself. This was simply the application of chaos toward emotional regulation. A necessary correction. Nothing more.

And yet, he could not look away.

He was a trickster, schemer, a thousand-year-old weapon of mass destruction. He had absolutely no business finding a mortal this... this charming.

And yet, he did not want to look away.

What a ruinous little thing you were becoming.

Your slaps were weaker now, your kicks barely jostled him. Your body had given up trying to fight and was just reacting, all frantic little spasms and helpless gasps. Your hands swatted for a second more- then simply curled around his wrists.

Not to push him away.

Just… to hold.

Your knuckles pressed into his sleeves, clinging without purpose, your palms warm against his skin. You were laughing, really laughing now - wild and breathless and beautiful, the sound pouring out of you with no control, like your body had finally found a way to purge the stress.

He watched you unravel under his hands, and it did something to him. Bended something inside him.

The laughter had knocked the fight out of your limbs. You were still squirming, yes, but without aim now. Pure reflex. He could feel the tension in you - the pressure that had been building for days - finally start to release.

He slowed his fingers, letting them glide lightly now, teasing, drawing out that helpless warmth until your laughter turned soft. Sweet. Still squirming, but relaxed.

When you went completely pliant, Loki stilled.

He watched your chest rise and fall, fast but looser. He'd felt the fight seep out of your shoulders, the weight in your brow gone. Your laughter trailed off into a breathless smile, your lips parted, eyes dazed with that post-laughter glow.

"There you are," he murmured, low and quiet, brushing his thumbs gently over your sides, not tickling anymore.

Something knotted tight in his chest as he looked at you - you, who could break bones and weaponise words. You, who had glared at the others like you wanted to bite them for suggesting a break. You, who hadn’t smiled in days, eyes heavy and sleepless with the unbearable weight of caring so very much.

Now a flushed, giggling heap on the couch. Under him. His body curved over yours, his hands still warm at your waist. Your fingers still wrapped loose around his wrists like you didn’t even realise it.

He swallowed.

This had been about endorphins. About tricking your nervous system into resetting. That was all.

Just… good strategy.

Right?

He kept his weight over you, hands still in place, but his voice dipped - lower, closer, with that subtle edge.

"I think your teammates are perfectly capable of helping you finish off those reports," he said. "Wouldn’t you agree?"

You nod without thinking, eyes unfocused. "Yeah."

Loki glanced up. Met Rogers’ gaze. Held it.

Steve was standing there in the kitchen archway, arms crossed, brow lifted. Loki didn't say a word - but the look was pointed.

"Captain Rogers will have Sergeant Barnes review the response to the Wakandan delegation," Loki continued, speaking to you but keeping his eyes on the one apparently in charge. "The others can proofread the rest, and deliver you notes... tomorrow."

"Yeah okay," you sniffed, still dazed, still sputtering residual giggles, but fully aware of your defeat.

Steve's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.

Loki turned towards the good doctor.

Bruce was still watching from his chair, coffee in hand, one brow raised. Loki cocked his head, gesturing to your giggling form.

"Well, Bruce? What’s your diagnosis?"

Bruce watched you for a long second - your loose limbs, your lazy grin, the visible ease now where tightness had controlled your frame just minutes before. The corners of his mouth turned down in an analytical frown.

"Tension’s down. Endorphins kicked in. She looks lighter. I’d say she could use... another minute or so."

Loki’s smirk turned feral.

You didn't even protest.

You barely registered it, not until his fingers at to your sides started tickling with that same precision, but just a little gentler now, and your body danced with a squealing giggle you didn’t know you had in you.

The couch shook with your laughter again, the sound of your heels thudding against the cushion. You were completely wrecked. And you let it happen. You let him ruin you with laughter, your body betraying you, all your sharpness and strength replaced by unguarded sound and colour and heat.

And Loki...

He was half-smiling down at you like you were dangerous.

Like he was just realising you might be the only thing on this wretched planet that could bring him to heel. That could... soften him. That could make him enjoy softening.

And that, in itself, was terrifying.

But your laughter hit that beautiful, breathless pitch - and he knew he’d be doing this again.

.

.

.

end note:

i need to be clear that the tickle fluff in this fic is not meant to present as the solution to the reader's stress; the delegation of work is. tickling can be fun and sweet and help with relaxation, but it does not fix systemic issues or mental health concerns. this may seem like a weirdly intense note to end on for a fun and fluffy fic, but it wouldn't sit right with me to leave this up to interpretation. lots of love xo

[riisada]

how life feels when my shidou and sae miis have a baby tg

[kanene-yaaay]

Don't Move (Reader x Daisuke)

Kanene's Notes: Aaaaa I need to write more tickle fics w Date Everything <3 they are so magnificent fr fr

Warnings: None! Ticklish Reader x Ler Daisuke. Around 1.000 words.

[~*~]

“Lay down,” he said, his voice calm and firm as ever, his lips warm and caring as he kissed the back of your neck. You shuddered, wincing as it pulled some tight muscles on your shoulders. This week really did a number on you.

“You don’t need to give me a massage, Daisuke. It’s fine.”

“I’ve already talked with Amir.” He answered absently, staring at your back with a furrowed brow, concentrated. Looking up, he found your eyes and let out a tiny smile, soft. “Turn around and lay down. I will take over from here.”

A huff of amusement left your lips, the seriousness of which each word was said, mingled with his obvious care, it was truly heartwarming. There was nothing else you could do, of course, then to comply to his request. Lifting your blouse just enough so he could worm his hands under it, Daisuke set himself to work.

His hands circled the length of your shoulders. One side, then other, travelling to the space of your neck, slowly crawling upwards to scratch at your nape and then going back down to trace the expanse of your shoulder blades. Not a single knot or inch of your muscles was forgotten.

Your breath hitched.

Except.

His touch was too much light.

You pressed your face a bit more firmly on the bed under you, feeling the light rumbles of Betty’s amused chuckles around your uncontrollable smile, fingers gripping the mattress as another ticklish sparkle teased the lovely spot under your shoulder blades, too close of your ribs. 

How could you say to be surprised? Years and years of taking care of your ceramics, of course even Daisuke’s firmer touch would still be light enough to not even chip the most delicate of the plates. 

Noticing your shudder of reaction, and mistaking it for pain, Daisuke softened even more his massage, only his fingertips pressing “firmly” on the edge of the back of your ribs, drawing circles across the muscles just like Amir told him to do.

“Relax.” 

Somehow, this words only seemed to make your ticklishness grow stronger, fishing a squeak from your lips. He stopped.

“Does it hurt?”

Turning your face to the side, you tittered, reactions only getting louder when Daisuke pressed once more on the spot, digging just a bit in search of the horrible knot that was making you squirm around in pain, high pitched sounds of protests leaving your mouth over and over again. 

“Ack! Nohohoho! Please!” More yelping, bubbling titters filled the room, each sound and each touch only teasing your senses further, making tiny, ticklish sparkles travel the entirety of your back, filling each one of your weak spots on it with buzzing, anticipatory tingles. “Tihihihickles! It tihihihickles-”

Ah. Daisuke thought, fond, melted, sweet, looking at your adorable face shining in a beautiful smile, hearing that melodious laughter and realizing that he wouldn’t mind at all to keep listening to it over and over again. I see.

“Please, I ask for you to stop giggling yourself silly, I am trying to help you to relax.” There was a hint of smile in his voice, and a playful glint on his eyes that made you only squeal louder, especially as his hands spread in claws and began gently vibrate on your higher ribs, taking their sweet time to crawl downwards to your sides. 

Each touch of his was precise and, with the same single-minded focus he was previously searching for every tense knot or aching muscle of yours, now his curious, prodding and wiggling fingers were searching for every sweet spot, every weak, ticklish place that had you jolting under his hands, laughing adorably, squirming from one side to another, letting out the most mesmerizing, precious sounds, clinging to the mattress in a lovely way, not even trying to push his tickles away.

Daisuke pinched lightly at your sides, softening with how it sneaked crackles in your laughter, swiped his fingertips again and again across your lower back, scratching softly along it as you chuckled wheezes and kicked your legs. He prodded your spine, up and down and up and down, watching hypnotized as you snorted, squeaked and let out a string of half baked words, then spread his hands on your shoulder blades, taking turns in digging on every ticklish spot around it and drumming, amazed at how uncontrollable, how loud and mirthful your laughter could go. 

He took his time, just like he did polishing every plate to the brightest, sharpening his every knife, cooking every dish and organizing every self with his most loved ceramics. With patience, attention and care he found every single one of your ticklish spots, he grazed lightly at them and then vibrated on each one unmercifully, he caressed then squeezed and brushed and poked and tickled, tickled, tickled, again and again until your arms finally came down and held (as best as you could) his playful fingers.

Even so, his chuckles, amused and endeared and everything else in between, still danced with your remanent, looping giggles, a grin fixed permanently on your face, a light, relaxed feeling taking over and melting the tension on your muscles, leaving a good, happy feeling behind.

“Hm, good. Now, truly, do not move, I will start your massage.”

It didn’t take long before unstoppable, ticklish laughter was once more ringing in the air.

[as-the-crows-feather-falls]

New Xenonite spacesuit means better snuggles with your best friend, this new thing he calls ‘skritches,’ and a secret third thing…

[riisada]

genuinely what is the psychology behind many of us being unable to say THE WORD™? like i dont even wanna type it rn let alone say it out loud.

[harringtonsslvt]

୨ৎ if you choose to run away with me (i will tickle you eternally)

⤷ tags: ryland grace x reader tickle fluff, 1.2k words ⤷ summary: the two times ryland notices that you like it, that you want more: the one time he confronts you. ⤷ author's note: courtesy of my favorite line in mary on a cross

"so you agree then."

"what?" your voice comes out squeakier than intended.

"you want," ryland whispers tauntingly. "to be tickled by me."

the first time ryland notices, it's subtle.

you're reaching for something on the shelves. out of the corner of his eye, a silver of skin peeks out at him under your shirt. he can't help it: it's right there, all smooth and soft and ticklish.

you were basically begging for it.

that's what justifies the frankly, quite cruel action in ryland's head. he simply couldn't resist- the thought of your body squirming and bright laughter pouring out of you is more than enough to sway his judgement. his hands creep towards you and land a series of rapid squeezes over your bare sides.

"a-ahAHA," you burst into giggles, horrified to find that the element of surprise has made the sensation ten times worse. ryland picks up on it- of course he does. he makes a mental note to sneak up on you more often. his fingers follow you, tickling as you slowly go limp, curling up on the floor.

evidenced by his crinkling smile, ryland finds this ordeal immensely hilarious. he reaches up, easily grabbing the jumpsuit off the locker shelf and handing it to you.

you glare at him, pouting petulantly on the floor, refusing to accept his olive branch. ryland's eyebrow twitches upward. you want more? he seems to question. his hands form claws, opening and closing.

you blush and grab the jumpsuit from his hands, refusing to meet his eyes.

ryland doesn't miss the way you stare at his teasing hands for far too long, nor the ghost of a crestfallen face as you leave to change into your jumpsuit.

the second time ryland notices.

there is something about ryland's hands. they are mesmerizing in a way that makes you stare.

your eyes can't help but trace the outlines of his soft fingers as they shuffle with paperwork, the crevices folding and unfolding. his left hand runs across his blonde hair, carving a path of runes.

his fingers tap, tap, tap across the surface of the table as he ponders over something, and you squirm, almost imperceptible. your brain envisions unholy things- his digits running across your skin. scratching. scribbling. tickling.

what the hell.

ryland's head turns in your direction, ever so slightly. you panic, and occupy yourself with stacking random papers on your desk. out of your peripheral, you can sense the corner of ryland's lip twitch in amusement.

it doesn't help your case at all when your trembling hands knock pieces of paper away from your messy pile, floating and cascading across the room. one lands directly next to ryland. he quirks an eyebrow.

"fuck." you murmur under your breath as you scoot down to pick it up. ryland raises his other brow.

"language.” he emphasises with a quick, gentle scribble at the back of your neck and you fold with a yelp, clutching the floorboards as though you could melt through them if you tried hard enough.

you pick up your piece of paper. the white gleams at you. pointedly. the fluttering traces of ryland’s fingers linger on your neck, teasing but not quite there.

ryland's already turned back to his work: you gawk at him. then back at the piece of paper- a desperate manifestation of your need.

"please tickle me. more." the words are slipping off the tip of your tongue, but your embarrassment swallows them down, down, down your throat and into your stomach until nothing remains.

you miss the entertained spark present in ryland's eye in your tickle-less misery.

the third time, ryland doesn't notice. he confronts.

"you like it."

"hmm?" you can't recall what you're doing, but something in his tone makes you glance up, curious.

"the tickling."

it's abrupt, the splutter that explodes out of you. your insides churn. you open your mouth to protest. then close it. you're half-convinced you look like a gaping fish.

ryland's scrutinising you like he's watching a puppy chase her tail in circles. his eyes are all wide and doting, catching your every miniscule movement.

"that- that wasn't a question." you manage to say.

"that wasn't an answer."

a pause. one that you don't trust. if it were anyone else, you would've thought that they had already let it go. but ryland grace doesn't just let things go. he starts intrigued: then he pushes, and he shoves, until every single one of his hypotheses are proved.

and you've just become his newest experiment.

"noho, look at me."

your eyes flicker hesitantly to meet his lens-covered ones, and to his delight, your cheeks tint a rosy pink.

"so you agree then."

"what?" your voice comes out squeakier than intended.

"you want," ryland whispers tauntingly. "to be tickled by me."

a string of stutters and protests pour out of your mouth. that doesn't deter ryland in the slightest. the way he looks at you, all fond and teasing, is too much to bear.

"okay,” his voice is factual. serious. “i won't tickle you, then."

and you know him well enough- ryland will follow through. a whine of frustration builds up in your throat.

"ryland." you clear your throat. you attempt to bargain with your pleading gaze.

"yes?"

you sigh.

"please." the walls suddenly look very interesting to you.

"please what?" you can practically feel the mischief radiating off of him.

"...please tickle me."

it comes out as a garble of syllables, the dreaded word spreading heat across your face. but despite the incoherency, this just about satisfies ryland. in a split second, he’s already making his way towards you.

oh, fuck.

you scamper across the room, ryland and his smirk swiftly following.

"w-wahait!" your hands are held in front of you as a weak means of defence.

"wait for what?" ryland laughs at the absurdity.

you struggle to find a proper response. instead, you dance around the room, evading his every step. ryland's circling you like prey and you can't help it- an anticipatory giggle bubbles up your throat.

"noho, back off!"

"but if i back off," the cocky grin on ryland's face is contagious. "how will i tickle you?"

he reaches for you and a gasp erupts from your mouth.

"bad grace!" you must be picking up rocky's vocabulary.

"did you just scold me," ryland snorts. "like a dog? you are so dead."

you whimper when ryland lunges for you, managing to duck past his arm. but when he grabs a handful of your shirt and reels you into his chest, a pair of strong arms wrapping around your stomach, you realise that ryland is always right- you are so dead.

"hi," he whispers into your ear for dramatic effect, laughing at your whimper as you glance back at him.

ryland drums his fingers, gently against your waistline. your hands circle his wrists, tugging them away but they don't budge an inch. even now, you can't help but stare at his fingers. intoxicating. calculating. tickling.

ryland notices, flexing them intentionally.

"where should i tickle, baby?"

oh god.

"noho- nohowhehre," your voice breaks off into helpless giggles when he claws gently around your stomach.

"i thought you wanted this!" ryland has the audacity to pout at you.

"shuhut uhp!"

"did you just shush me? hmm?" he vibrates his hands into your ribcage and a squeal escapes from you. "that was pretty rude of you."

you try and fail to pry his wrists away from your torso. ryland conveniently decides to ignore the way you're slowly going limp in his arms, landing stray scribbles over your sides as he holds you upright.

"had enough?"

you look back, mirth-coated eyes meeting his.

"oh my god." ryland laughs, a loud, genuine sound. like this is the funniest fuckin' sight he's ever come across. "oh my god, you really like this."

you forget how to talk.

in your embarrassed state, you spin in his grasp to face him, before your own hands skitter up his sides and into the hollows of his armpits. the result is instantaneous- ryland folds, breaking into tiny, wheezy giggles. you can't help but laugh along with him.

he grabs your wrists in a panicked frenzy and now, you're panicking.

you're pretty sure they could've heard you back down on earth.

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[tiredleekaz]

I was just freezing cold getting into bed and now I’m combusting into flames, I know for a fact—this man would make it his life goal to remind us every single day how much we like it

[ppyspsps]

Thank you so much for commissioning me @msbrqrsmjq 💝

It's always a pleasure!

timelapse here

[drinkingtheglowstickliquid]

a thousand tiny legs

in which you fall victim to a giant spider and its many, many, many children

aaa hello,,! pls enjoy another drabble type thing feat another scenario i think abt sometimes and have. very normal feelings abt i. promise

~2.6k words, cw: tickling (sfw but with kink in mind + slightly intense), lee!reader, inhuman/monster!ler, multiple lers, teeny tiny lers, stuck in place, spiders, nearly full body tickling (stomach, bellybutton, chest, neck, ears, back of knees, etc)

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the stickiness on your arms and legs. It’s slightly soft, not gooey or greasy, but strong in its grip. You try to wriggle and are met with firm resistance. Panic begins to creep in through the haziness of your still sleepy mind and you take a few quick, deep breaths, trying to keep yourself calm as you survey exactly what sort of trouble you’ve landed in. 

You aren’t hurt, which is good. The last thing you could remember from before losing consciousness was falling for what felt like–– well, not that long, actually. Time had stilled for seemingly a moment or two and then there was nothing. You must have passed out before you’d landed in…. what exactly did you land in? You shift your head from side to side as much as you can in order to get a better view of your surroundings. 

At the far edges of your vision, you can see the dark grey rock walls of a cavern. You aren’t sure how big it is because you can’t quite see the cave room floor, the little bit of sunlight trickling in from above quickly being swallowed up by shadow. Around you, intricately braided ropes of white stretch from wall to wall, forming a spindly basket of shapes and patterns that glisten like crystal shards.

It’s a web. A gigantic spiderweb. 

All the warnings you’d been given about the humongous arachnids local to the area start flooding back to you. ‘Avoid the deeper parts of the forest,’ your neighbor had told you when you’d first been moving into your new cottage. ‘The underbrush is so dense, it makes the entrance to underground caves— spider holes, we call ‘em— almost invisible. If you’re not careful, you’ll fall right in!’

Internally you curse yourself for not heeding their advice. If you had listened more seriously to their rambling, maybe you’d have some idea of how to get out of this situation, but as it stands, you’re stuck. Which is not ideal. 

You spend a few minutes attempting to tug yourself free, practically thrashing in your efforts, but the web holds you tight, merely bouncing back and forth with your movement. You go until you’re panting hard before finally relenting and relaxing again. It’s probably best to conserve your energy. You take a few minutes to catch your breath, feeling the web slowly return to its previous stillness beneath you. 

And then it wobbles again. 

You freeze. The dip you feel can only be caused by something very large and very heavy. Your eyes jump from shadowy crevice to shadowy crevice, searching frantically for whatever had just made its presence so purposefully known, and then your gaze flits upwards and your stomach drops. 

Eight eyes, black and glittering, stare down at you from the dark. Despite not being able to see its full form, you can tell the spider is monstrously huge. It keeps itself hidden, tucked away from the sunbeam peaking in through the canopy. You’re frozen in place, both literally and figuratively. There is a long moment where nothing moves but the web, still swaying slightly under the spider’s weight, before something suddenly crawls out from the shadows beneath the giant arachnid. It takes a second for you to register what exactly it is. 

Another spider: much, much smaller than the first, so small its presence doesn’t disturb the web at all. It creeps down towards you in graceful, careful strides, its movement slow, almost hesitant. You feel like you should be trying to get away from it, but instead you just watch, stiff as a board, as the little thing stops an inch from your face, its multiple tiny eyes surveying you with what seems like curiosity. 

It shifts a bit closer, and you can almost picture it cocking its head to the side like a puppy. One minuscule leg reaches out, brushing against your cheek, so light it almost feels like the tip of a feather. You’re so baffled by the sensation that you don’t even realize the spider has moved until you register it crawling onto your head. 

Your face screws up in discomfort and you go even more still, as though maybe if you just didn’t move, the spider would grow bored of you and scurry away. It doesn’t. You clench your fists tight as you feel it move from your hair, to your forehead, to your temple, down your cheek, under your chin… 

Oh. That tickles. 

Your expression scrunches for a very different reason now. The spider’s little legs slowly making their way across your throat feel like someone is brushing a miniature feather duster across your skin. You try very hard not to react, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your lips together in a stubborn attempt to supress the wobbly smile spreading across your face. It’ll move away from your neck eventually. You can handle this. It’s not that bad. 

Something tiny and soft rubs up against your wrist and your eyes shoot open. 

It seems you’d been so focused on that one baby spider’s actions, you’d failed to notice the arrival of many, many more, none of them larger than your fist, some of them smaller than a coin. They surround you almost completely, blinking at you with the same curiosity as their sibling. You and the army of little spiders stare at each other for a long second… and then you jolt when the one by your wrist begins to crawl up your arm, a handful of its brethren following suit. 

The sensation of them on your forearm isn’t too horribly ticklish, but you can feel your sensitivity rising as their feathery feet move towards your shoulder. You squish your lips together in a tight line to try and fight off the inevitable as one spider meanders across your collarbone, another lingers in the crease of your elbow, another slips beneath your sleeve, and very quickly all your defenses collapse. Your upper body jerks, making the web twinge yet again, and the remaining spiders shift and scurry around you, drawn in by the sudden motion.

“Ah–– eehee––! Wait!” You squeak a little as more tiny tormentors start to close in. “W–– Wait! Wait!”

Your protests fall on deaf ears, the spiders seemingly only encouraged by the sound of your voice. One wiggles its way under the fabric of your tunic and you can feel it taking slow, exploratory steps across your lower stomach. When it reaches your naval, it stumbles, surprised by the sudden dip in terrain, its fuzzy leg falling into the depths of your bellybutton. This earns another squeak from you. 

“Ack––! Get–– get out ohohof there–!” 

You wiggle your hips in a fruitless attempt to dislodge the spider, and you can hear it softly clicking in distress as you do. Unfortunately this does little more than bring more of its concerned siblings beneath your shirt to investigate the commotion, their downy feather bodies brushing like teasing fingertips over the sensitive stretch of your tummy. 

Crap, crap, crap. The little spiders aren’t stopping. They’re also not attacking you, or trying to eat you, which you suppose is a good thing, though it’s hard to appreciate your luck when you’re busy trying not to dissolve into helpless laughter. Your eyes frantically jump from side to side before landing on where the giant mama spider is still skulking in its shadowy corner. Its multitude of eyes haven’t left your squirming form for a single moment. 

What is the purpose of this? Is this what giant arachnids are known for? Are they tenderizing you, preparing your body for consumption in some weird, horribly ticklish way? Or maybe they’re just genuinely curious about your warm squishy flesh and the way it writhes when touched. Your neighbor had spoken like people falling into spider holes was commonplace, but maybe they were exaggerating and this is the first time these creatures have ever seen a human. Gods, you wish you’d taken the time to learn more about the stupid magic forest surrounding your town. If you had, maybe you wouldn’t have— 

“Aha–– eeheehee––!” Breathless laughter interrupts your thoughts. “Nn––nnnahahaha!”

One of the baby spiders moves up your side and your giggles jump as it softly crawls over your right ribcage. There are a lot of them on you now. Thankfully only a select few have figured out how to access the soft, sensitive skin beneath your clothes, but the ones that had are quickly proving to be your biggest concern, finding tickle spots even you were unaware of. 

A particularly small spider nestles itself into your navel. When it reaches the bottom, it keeps crawling, trying to move deeper and supposedly very confused by the warm little tunnel ending so abruptly. The sensation makes you squeal and thrash. A separate but equally effective spider skitters around your ear, barely a whisper against the cartilage. The waistband of your trousers are— thank the gods— too tight for any of the little pests to wiggle past, but your relief at this quickly morphs into even gigglier distress as one of the ones by your left boot finds it way under your pant leg. You try your hardest to kick your feet in instinctive protest as you feel it crawl from your ankle, to your calf, to the back of your knee, where it seems to settle itself comfortably into that sensitive concavity. 

“Ahaahaha! Oh–– Ohoho gohohods–– stop ihihit!” 

Your voice pitches up into a squeaky hiccup. There’s so many of them and they’re everywhere, only a few precious stretches of your skin left untouched by the spiders’ ticklish skittering. It’s overwhelming, it’s all-encompassing, it feels like it will never end, and then, out of nowhere, all movement stops. The tiny creatures on your body come to an abrupt halt and everything around you stills. 

Almost everything around you stills. 

The web is wobbling yet again. It moves in deep, dipping shudders as something very large and very purposeful makes its way down towards your trapped, helpless form. You want to run; you want to tear yourself from the sticky prison encasing you and hightail it all the way back to your little cottage, but your limbs are too tired from squirming to even attempt an escape. You pant, skin prickling under the frozen touch of the baby spiders covering it, and wait for the inevitable with your eyes shut tight. 

But the inevitable doesn’t come. A gargantuan shadow is cast behind your eyelids and you tense yourself in preparation for the sting of a bite, yet in place of white hot pain you instead feel a small, careful tug at your tunic. As your mind races to grapple with the lack of fangs sinking into you, the fabric of your blouse is gently but unceremoniously ripped open. Goosebumps erupt as the cool air of the cavern hits your torso and your eyes shoot open. 

Those eight glittering eyes stare down at you, each one as large as your head with a color akin to polished obsidian, your own terrified face reflected back at you from within their inky black depths. The spider shifts its giant maw downwards, fangs speckled with saliva, inching closer and closer to your now very exposed and very vulnerable stomach. 

I’m gonna die, you think. I’m going to get eaten by a giant spider and I’m gonna die. And I just paid off the mortgage on my stupid cottage. 

Except the giant spider does not eat you. The feeling of its jaws pressing into your skin is not followed by white-hot pain; in fact you don’t think it even broke the skin. For a moment you’re completely baffled as to its motivation, the reason behind its apparent mercy, and then everything clicks into place when its mandibles twitch, gently tweaking the sensitive bit of tummy beneath your bellybutton.

“Wh–– wha––ahahAHA––!”

You can’t even properly react to the new stimulation before the various baby spiders dotting your body start to chirp and shift, almost vibrating with contentment, seemingly very happy that their mother is joining in on this new experimentation of theirs. You’re instantly overcome by squealing laughter as your trapped form is riddled once again with soft, quick, horribly ticklish sensations, now with the added torment of the giant spider’s gentle mandibles squeezing and pinching your stomach. 

If the little spiders’ fuzzy bodies were akin to feather dusters, their mother’s rounded fangs are like deft, nimble fingers. It’s an absolutely torturous combination. You aren’t quite sure what tickles more: the ghosting of barely there plumage all over your skin or the pointed, concentrated teasing above your waistline, practically digging into your sensitive flesh. 

“AhahAHAHA! St–– stohoHOHOP–– EEHEEP––!” Your noises hit their crescendo. The giant spider, silent and stoic in the face of your helpless hysterics, stares down at you as it pokes and prods and pinches endlessly. “I–– I cahahAHAHA–– I cahahan’t–– pleaHEEHEEHEASE––!!”

Every inch of you is thrashing against torturously ticklish touches both light and forceful; it’s all you can feel. Even the stickiness of the web entrapping you has long since faded into the background. In the deepest recesses of your mind you suppose you should probably still be worried about being eaten, but currently all you can think about is the sensation of little eight-legged menaces scurrying over your overly sensitive body and how their mother’s mandibles are so, so horribly effective at tickling that you almost wonder if they were designed specifically for tormenting you in this way. 

Your vision blurs; your insides hurt from laughter. You aren’t quite sure where you are anymore. Is this your life now? Are the spiders going to tickle you until you pass out, or explode, or die? Any or all of those options feel equally likely with the way your brain is starting to melt, lost in the overwhelming experience of being utterly and completely overcome with tickles. You think you might not be able to take a single second more…..

And finally, finally, it stops. 

It takes you a moment to realize the spiders are retreating. The feeling of them slipping off of you is so similar to the earlier tickling, you don’t notice your torment has been paused until suddenly your skin is a lot more bare than before. Your ears are ringing. All you can hear is your own ragged breath as you take in gulps of cool cavern air. When your eyelids crack open slightly, you just barely register the gigantic blurry shape of the mother spider and its hundreds of children backing away from your exhausted form. God, are you exhausted. You’ve never felt so tired in your life. You can’t fall asleep here, you absolutely should not fall asleep here, but despite your best efforts you can feel yourself slipping into the oh-so tempting arms of unconsciousness.

You wake up, much to your surprise, in the infirmary. As your village’s healer feeds you a foul-tasting concoction, you learn that apparently unsuspecting townsfolk falling into spider holes is a regular occurrence, even more so than your anxious neighbor had implied. It’s so regular, in fact, that there are nightly patrols of the forest and underground caves to check for any unfortunate victims. You want very much to ask if every person who finds themself stuck in a giant spider’s web winds up being tickled to tears, but you can’t quite force the words out. Perhaps you really were just particularly unlucky. 

You decide to pointedly ignore the part of yourself–– the incredibly stupid, deeply embarrassing, morbidly curious part of yourself–– that kind of wants to go trekking back into the woods to see if the experience can be replicated. If only for the sake of science. 

[harringtonsslvt]

♡ and we fall asleep to the scent (of long-stemmed roses)

ryland grace x reader, 1k words

a/n: not even halfway through finals and i caved to ryland grace propaganda. enjoy.

"rylahand, i'm sohorry-" your own hysterical giggling cut you off, and he laughs, very pointedly at you.

"i'm so doing this every time you're being a little twerp." his nails are still trailing around your ears and your shoulders shrug up, despite not deterring him at all.

this was equilibrium.

the hem of your burgundy sweater fell in between ryland grace's fingers, where they rubbed numbly across the twisting patterns of the fabric, his prints leaving behind a shade of pink on your cheeks.

he was doing it mindlessly, of course, blue pupils swimming across his work. you observed, almost shamelessly. you knew him well enough to revel in his incredible work ethic, knowing he was too focused to notice.

his biceps twitched beneath his loose white tee with every molecular movement; thickened fingers wrapped around the knob of a microscope while the other brushed ever so slightly against the soft skin of your wrist.

you swallowed.

he withdrew his hand from you, adjusting the microscope further and you exhaled, ever so slightly. dirty blonde hair cascaded across his chiseled face and-

why the fuck is he looking at you like that?

"i can see you staring, you know."

a scoff escaped your mouth.

"i wasn't staring." you don't recognise your voice, high-pitched and defensive.

"uh-huh."

"i wasn't."

"right."

"i think you're losing it," you laugh.

something in your tone makes him spin around, wide eyes now penetrating you through his glasses. you see your timid reflection through the lenses, smaller than you would prefer.

"what did you just say to me?"

"can't hear?" you chortle at your own joke. "can't see? what's next, can't breathe? get it? 'cause we're in space?"

"very funny." sarcasm coats his voice. an unamused huff leaves his nose.

"are you sure you get it? i know it might be a bit confusing for you. maybe i should elaborate a little-"

one second you're hovering over his chair, all smug and teasing. the next, you find yourself backing away towards the wall as ryland towers over you, inching closer and closer.

"w-wait, what are you-"

he doesn't say a word, but his eyes hold a mischievous gleam that made you feel like hunted prey. his face widens into a teasing smile and you feel your cheeks burning.

"y'know, we haven't done this in a while," he states, running a hand through his locks.

your eyes flicks to his lifted bicep, just once, so fast that you don't think he even saw-

he laughs, the sound echoing across the room and you think, how the hell did you find yourself stuck in space with this asshole?

"shut up!" that comes out more a whine than an order.

your hands find themselves on your face, putting a stop to the intensely flustering eye contact. it also conceals your blushing, which somehow seems to have become a daily occurrence with ryland grace.

"aww, come on, don't hide!" he laments, his voice gravelly.

his hands find their usual spot on the sides of your stomach, squeezing and you shrink, uncoordinated, while your hands struggle to cover your face.

even after so many times, you never seem to get used to the unbearable feeling of fingers prodding up and down your torso, and you grab his large hands, already laughing.

"ry-rylahand!" the sound escapes from you like a deflating balloon.

"y-yehes?" he mocks, his fingers finding the divots of your hips and drilling.

you squeal, a string of incoherent syllables running out of your lips. your hands circle his wrists but he doesn't relent, experienced fingers seeking out every ticklish spot on your body.

"rylahand!"

"what's wrong, baby?" the teasing tilt in his voice sends shivers down your spine. you almost missed the pet name in your mirth. baby. maybe if you could process something other than the fingers pressing into the crevices of your ribs, scribbling up and down your sides, you would've screamed into a pillow.

"you're such an asASHHOHOLE!" your voice pitches up an octave when ryland wisps his nails across your ears, his face ducking down to meet your eyes.

"noho-" you've been in this scenario enough times to know what he's about to do. "noho, rylahand. plehehease."

the fluttery, soft feelings of his fingers across your neck left you giggling and confused, but it didn't do anything to stop the sense of impending doom.

"rylahand, i'm sohorry-" your own hysterical giggling cut you off, and he laughs, very pointedly at you.

"i'm so doing this every time you're being a little twerp." his nails are still trailing around your ears and your shoulders shrug up, despite not deterring him at all.

"you're so-" he stares down at you, and through your laughter-stained eyes, you see something more than pure evilness in his eyes.

"you're so pretty," he whispers and the blush once again coating your being is the last thing you feel before ryland grace's lips catches yours in a kiss.

you sigh into his mouth, his hand cradling the back of your head like a lifeline. his lips are gentle, soft. nothing short of passion and love in which they brush against yours haphazardly. his mouth trails kisses down your jaw to the skin of your neck and that's when- oh shit. oh shit.

your eyes widen.

you quickly realise you've made a grave mistake. you make an oath to never, ever let your guard down again but it's too late. you feel a soft hand cradle your head and you close your eyes in defeat, lips already twitching into a uncontrollable smile.

ryland shoves his face into your neck, the wrinkles of his lips and the slight blonde stubble coating his chin brushing against the hypersensitive skin of your neck.

and it tickles, it tickles so bad and you don't think anything has ever tickled so bad in your life until his other hand trails down your ribs and his thumb wrenches itself into the flesh.

whiny pleas and desperate laughter tumble out of you and you grip his hair, his hands, curling into a ball, anything, anything to get this son of a bitch to stop, but you're not sure if you really want him to. it felt nice, for once. to be touched by him. not by accident. with intention, despite how malicious it might be.

ryland eventually slows, his face nearing your vision before he places a gentle kiss on your forehead. you smile, albeit shyly, before meeting his eyes with a smirk.

"y'know, if you wanted to kiss me that badly, you could've just asked."

"why, you little shit-"

something in his eyes told you to run.

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[giggly-squiggily]

hi🤭 you know me, i love suna :3

so could i request a ler suna lee reader fic? gn ofc^^

EE TYSM I LITERALLY LOVE WHEN YOU WRITE FOR HIM ITS SO GOOD

SUNA!!! :D Oh my god the boy! Mr. Bendy straw himself! YES! What are the words to describe how much I love this guy? Friend, I've gotcha covered!

This was supposed to be in combination of another fic request with the Miya twins; but I'm pretty sure Tumblr ate that one 😅 So eh; whomever asked for that; here you are! :D I hope y'all like it!

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@thatbigbisexual29 @duckymcdoorknob @rachi-roo @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @sevenincubistolemyheart @riisada @sp1racle

“Ready…?” Atsumu waved a hand between the three of you, shaking with barely restrained mirth. You were no better, cheeks hurting from how hard you were smiling. Only Osamu seemed sane- cool as a cucumber.

“Wait-” Suna stopped you, adjusting his phone. “Okay.”

“...Go!” Atsumu cried, the three of you shaking your fists. After three thumps, the results were in.

“YES!” You cried, jumping up and down with glee as the twins groaned- your scissors beating both their paper. “Come here!”

“Wait- wait we have to go agahahain!” Atsumu all but squealed when you charged him, grabbing his sides and squeezing rapidly. Beside you, Osamu joined in. “Nohohohohoho whhihihy mehehehe?”

“Winner gets to pick the target!” You cried back, stopping after a few seconds. The three of you returned to the circle, Atsumu rubbing his sides with a laugh. “Ready?”

“Steady…” Osamu added, dragging it out as Atsumu giggled. “Go!”

Another three thumps.

“DAMN!” Atsumu cried as his brother whooped, his cries of frustration turning into laughter when he was tickled once more. “Thihihis isn’t fahhahir! Y’lahahall have an ahahahliance!”

“Please- like we’d ever team up.” Osamu rolled his eyes, shooting you a quick wink that made you grin. Nearby, Suna gestured to Aran, handing him his phone.

“I want in.” He decided, joining your game.

“Yay! Suna’s gonna play! Suna’s gonna play!” You cheered, clapping. Atsumu whooped, and Osamu groaned.

“That’s right! You’ve got your alliance, I’ve got mine!” Atsumu ran over, throwing an arm around the blocker’s shoulders. “Isn’t that right, Suna?”

“I’m not aligning with anyone.” He prodded the blonde, making him spasm and giggle. “I’m just here to make things interesting for the video.”

“Sure sure. Y’all ready?” Osamu asked, putting his fist in. Four fists entered- only one could win. Ready…GO!”

Three thumps. Then..

“AHH!” You squealed when Suna’s fingers dug into your ribs from behind, the loss barely registering as you fell back into him. “Nohohohoho, dohohon’t!”

“Winner picks the target.” He growled playfully, going a second longer before releasing you. “Get ready, you’re the only one I’m aiming for.”

You blushed, the twins cooing at you both from their spots. Aran coughed over his laugh.

“Oh it is ON!” You declared back, more determined than ever to win. You were gonna wipe that smug look off his face.

The game went on, and as he promised; every win Suna gained he used on you. It was almost unfair, given how good of a tickler he was.

“Dahahhang it!” You cried when he won again, already laughing before he could touch you. “Yohohohu’re chehhahahting!”

“No way- I’m just good at this game.” Suna snickered, playfully clawing at your belly as you doubled over with  a squeal. “Say- next round’s winner should get a full minute to tickle someone.”

“Wahhat?” You cried. The twins gasped in glee.

“Yeah! Yeah! I’m gonna tickle ‘Samu so bad he’ll pee!” Atsumu cried in triumph, earning a kick from his brother.

“Shut up! I’m gonna win! You’ll be seeing stars when I’m done with you!” Osamu barked back, glaring. Seconds later the twins were having their own battle; their pushes and shoves quickly dissolved into a tickle war of their own. You leaned back into Suna as you watched them roll around in laughter.

“I think they forgot about the game.” You smiled as Aran carried on filming them, making commentary here and there.

“Good. They’re annoying.” You tsked as you looked back at him, but his smile snatched away the scolding on your lips. “Besides, I much rather play with you and you alone.”

“Is that so?” You turned in his arms, wrapping them around his waist as you stepped closer. “Well, in that case…game on.”

Suna blinked, confused. Then…

“AH!” He yelped out when you scratched into his back, clawing at the back of his ribs rapidly. Once he was down on his knees you ran for the hills- laughing the entire time. “(Y/N)!”

“Snooze you loose, Tarou~” You called back with a wink, flying out the gym doors with a howl of mirth as he gave chase.

You didn’t make it very far.

Worth it.

Thanks for reading!

[ariisoo]

🤣💕!!!!

[tastybluesprite]

OMG???

[vqler]

Are you accepting asks? If so... Lee!Flins with ler!Illuga or Lee!Illuga with ler!Flins? Thanks for your attention anyway, your drawings are very beautiful!

thank you! decided to practice animation a bit