interrogation.
disclaimer: although this is mostly fluff, the author is an adult & this is their kink. minors dni, do not like, do not reblog, do not follow.
cw: tickling, playful interrogation, verbal teasing, slight yandere/overprotective vibes because caleb is caleb
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Your heartbeat quickens as he stares down at you with a gentle, yet eerie smile. You shift in place, rustling the bed sheets beneath you as you try to break free of the hands pinning your wrists down. Despite your best efforts, there’s little you can do now to escape. Caleb has always been stronger than you, and now he’s got you trapped, he won’t let you go so easily.
“So, pipsqueak,” he leers down at you, smirking. “You gonna tell me where you were last night?”
You pout and shake your head, earning a small chuckle from your childhood friend.
“Not budgin’, eh? That’s alright. I have ways of making you talk.”
His playful tone makes it hard to take him seriously. But when his free hand drifts to your side, right above the curve of your waist, a strike of terror shoots through you as the implications of his words finally sink in.
No! Not again! Anything but that!
“Begging already?” he scoffs, his amethyst eyes focused on yours. “But I haven’t even started my interrogation yet.”
Long fingers wrap themselves around your ribcage, tapping them gently and causing you to jump slightly. He’s barely touching you, but it’s the anticipation of what’s to come that makes you squirm. His cocky smirk grows as he watches the panic overtake you.
Isn’t this what always happened? Childhood memories flash through your mind, scenes that played out countless times when you were kids.
“Heeeey, did you eat the rest of grandma’s cookies?!”
“Where’s my black hoodie? Did you take it again?”
“You better give back the missing parts of my model plane, or else!”
Caleb would pin you down, ask a seemingly innocent question about something silly, then tickle you until you came clean with the truth. Back then, it was one of your favorite games to play with him. Sometimes, you’d be extra troublesome on purpose just to get him to do this to you. Other times you did it just to get his attention. He always played along with it back then, so it was no surprise that he was playing along with it now.
“If I remember correctly… your ribs are pretty ticklish.”
Caleb’s voice brings you back to reality, along with light clawing of your ribs. You howl with laughter and try to twist away, but are unable to break free of his grasp. He alternates between poking, prodding, and pinching, all of which make you giggle wildly. His face lights up with amusement as he watches you struggle.
“Aha! I was right. You always went crazy when I did this to you. Now, what about your underarms? Are they still super ticklish, too?”
His hand suddenly climbs upwards, scribbling the sensitive area that is your armpit. He laughs when you let out a loud shriek and stays there for a few seconds longer than you can handle, enjoying the pitiful little sounds he’s eliciting from your lips.
“Oh, man, this must reeeeeally suck for you. You know, this will all end if you just tell me what I wanna know.”
You splutter out something provocative that’s somewhere between a “fuck you!” and a cackle, which only spurs him on more. His nails tickle a path from your bicep back down to your pit, then back up again until you feel like you’re losing your mind. All while his voice coos in your ear, whispering playful threats with a gentle breath that tickles you even more. You can barely get out a word now, you’re practically screaming.
He stops for a moment and lets you catch your breath. You’re totally worn out and weak from all the struggling, so trying to break free is useless. But your few seconds of mercy ends quickly as his interrogation continues.
“You ready to talk now, pipsqueak?” he grins. “Or am I gonna have to get a little meaner?”
He doesn’t wait for you to respond. You feel his long fingers brush across your stomach, circling your belly button. Your giggles reignite, although they’re a bit more subdued since he’s taken a lighter approach. His nails trace your skin in random patterns, barely grazing you yet eliciting flurries of giggles with every touch. He hits a particularly sensitive patch of skin on your lower belly and lingers there for a bit, savoring the way you squeeze your eyes shut and bite your lip.
“If I knew any better, I’d say you were enjoying this,” he teases, slipping a finger into your navel. You arch your back and squeal, and he laughs at your expense.
“Yeah, you definitely are. Looks like I gotta up the ante a little bit.”
His light caresses turn to purposeful strokes, quickening in pace as he tickles every part of you he can reach. The way he moves from one spot to another is so fast you can’t brace yourself and end up shrieking each time he switches things up. The worst comes when he squeezes your hips, with his thumb in your thigh crease and the rest of his fingers digging into your plump skin. The squeal that escapes is so loud that it’s downright embarrassing.
“Aw, is this the spot? Riiiight… here?”
He tickles that damn spot over and over again, never slowing down, never granting mercy. Your begging is renewed, and you’re unable to hold out any longer. You finally relent and tell him that you’ll talk, that you’ll tell him anything, just please stop! You can’t take it anymore!
“Alright then,” he clamps his hand on the top of your thigh and gives it several firm squeezes. “Talk.”
You try your best to answer him through your frantic laughter, but you can’t get the words out with the way he’s kneading into you.
“Hmm? What was that? Sorry, can’t hear you through all this noise.”
Asshole! You try to hurl insults at him, but your words turn into incoherent babbling. He torments you like this for a while longer, then finally lets up and gives you some respite. Breathlessly, you explain your whereabouts the night before in detail, knowing he’d probe you for them if you kept things too vague. You leave no room for further questions, desperate for release. When you’re finished, you lay there with bated breath praying that he’ll accept it. Then finally, after a few seconds of deliberation, he lets go of your wrists and gazes down at you with pure affection in his eyes.
“Really? That’s all? And here I thought you were out doing something you weren’t supposed to. Why didn’t you just tell me, pipsqueak?”
He smiles wide, cupping your cheek for a moment before tickling under your chin. You laugh and smack his hand away, and he responds by ruffling your already messy hair.
“Still just as bratty as ever. Listen, if you want my attention that badly, just ask. I’m always happy to oblige.”
He flicks your nose with his finger, then flashes a smile at you. A warm, familiar that you have always loved, and always will.
