Summary: Lucien hears laughter echoing through the caverns and goes to investigate. The Nein weren't planning on springing a ticklish ambush today, but they're certainly not about to turn down the opportunity when it shows up on their doorstep.
Or, local all-seeing tiefling finds himself more ticklish than he expected.
Set right after Weak Spots
Fandom: Critical Role (The Mighty Nein)
Words: 2.7K
AO3 Link
A/N: This idea lodged itself in my brain as soon as I finished yesterday’s fic and would not leave until I brought it to life. I have a lot of feelings about Lucien, including the firm opinion that he is just as deathly ticklish as we all know Molly was. So here we are.
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The sound of laughter echoing through the caverns is not something Lucien hears often on his trips to Aeor. His head jerks up as he hears it and he turns to Cree, sitting across from him, with a frown. She looks off into the distance, Tabaxi ears twitching as she processes the sound, then back up at Lucien. “It’s not far away.”
Lucien pushes himself up, pulling out a scimitar as he does so. He hesitates a moment, debating internally whether this is a trap, and then glances over at Cree again. “Be on your guard.” Cree gives a nod and follows after him down the tunnel.
A few short minutes later, Lucien’s eyes - all of them - fall on the source of the sound. The opaque, grayish-colored dome that signals the temporary home of The Mighty Nein. And coming from within, the sound of hysterical laughter. Ah. But of course.
Cree hangs back as Lucien approaches the dome. His eyes flash as he attempts to see inside, but he can only make out a few moving shapes. They seem to all be piled on top of one of the shapes, which looks like it’s…wiggling?
Lucien takes a step back and tilts his head at the dome, observing it with silent confusion. The laughter is still coming through - occasionally it becomes stifled or muffled, only for another peal of unrestrained laughter to break through seconds later. This is very strange, even for this group of adventurers.
“What is it?” Cree whispers from behind him.
Lucien takes another step back towards her, but his eyes never leave the dome. “I’m not exactly sure.” He backs away until he reaches a rock off to the side, and sits down. Finally he tears his gaze away just long enough to give a quick glance in Cree’s direction. “Get some rest. We’ll be staying here for now.”
Cree makes her way over towards the rock and sits down on the ground. Lucien’s focus snaps right back to the dome and his head tilts the other direction as he stares at it, confused and yet transfixed.
It’s only a minute or so later that the laughter stops. Lucien blinks and sits back, crossing his arms and still staring at the dome.
There’s a sudden shuffling from inside the dome as, Lucien assumes, its occupants realize he’s sitting there staring at them. A long minute goes by. Lucien can hear whispers from inside - along with muffled giggles that seem to still be trailing off. He tilts his head again, picking at his nails.
A head pops through the dome, followed quickly by several others. And then there they are - all seven of The Mighty Nein stepping out of the dome in front of him. He raises his eyebrows at them, still cleaning dirt out from under his nails.
The group looks like they’re preparing for a fight, putting hands on weapons and generally looking antsy. Lucien supposes he’d better smooth things over. That’s not what he came here for, not tonight at least. He stands up nonchalantly and holds his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Ah-ah-ah, no need for all that. I was merely confused by the sound of laughter coming from within these tunnels. I tracked you all the way from another cavern - you were being quite loud. You’re lucky it was us who heard you and not any number of other creatures.”
To Lucien’s surprise, a few of the group actually break into grins at this. Jester, who is grinning brightly, says, “Oh, we were just tickling Essek!” She gestures over her shoulder - and ah, there’s the honorary eighth member of the group, that drow elf. Lucien had almost forgotten they brought him along.
The elf - Essek - is a lovely shade of magenta and looks mortified, even as he is currently bent over, coughing, and seems to be stifling…is that more laughter? Lucien tilts his head again as a hint of a smirk twists onto his own face.
“I see. Well, lovely to know the path you all are on, I wouldn’t want to run into any more nasty traps you’ve so rudely set for us. Although if you keep on at this volume, it doesn’t seem like we’ll need to worry about that.” He catches Essek’s eye and flashes him a smirk - it works wonders at making the elf look like he’d rather the ground swallow him here and now. The grins begin to fade from the others’ faces too.
Lucien reaches his hands above his head lazily, arching his back and stretching. “We’ll be on our way then. See you soon.” He flashes them another wicked smile and turns away, back towards the tunnel.
A voice cuts him off. Beauregard, suddenly emboldened, steps forward. “Are you ticklish, Lucien?”
Lucien stops in place. He turns slowly back to face them and meets the monk’s gaze. She’s staring him, something determined in her eyes. Lucien raises his eyebrows again.
“I’m afraid not. No trace of that in my blood.”
“Are you sure?” Beauregard presses forward, taking another step closer.
“Aye, quite sure.” Lucien gives a shrug and holds his arms out to the sides. “Go on, give it a try, far be it from me to deprive you of satisfying your curiosity.”
Beauregard steps forward. Behind her, Caleb, Essek, Fjord and Caduceus look worried. “Beau, wait, it’s probably a trap-“
Beau ignores them and walks confidently up to Lucien. He stares at her, calm as can be. Beau studies him for a moment. Then, never breaking eye contact, she reaches out, latches onto his side, and gives it a squeeze.
And Lucien doesn’t catch himself fast enough to stop the involuntary jump away from the sensation he did not expect.
Beau’s eyebrow twitches up. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Lucien says, voice carefully smooth. “Your hands are cold.”
“We’re in an ice cavern.” Beau’s tone is blunt. Her hand is still on his side. She squeezes it again.
Lucien jumps again. He quickly grabs Beau’s hand and pushes it away. He looks rattled for the first time since the group has met him. A wicked grin slides onto Beau’s face.
Lucien takes a careful breath, composing himself. Okay, so that felt strange. But it’s nothing he can’t handle. Back away, say something intimidating, walk off head held high, never deal with it again-AH!
Lucien jumps almost a foot and spins around, indignantly - to find Jester, grinning, from where she snuck around behind him. And apparently stuck her claws under his coat to poke his ribs.
This is not going well.
There’s a tense pause as Lucien stares at the group and they stare back at him. Grins matching Jester and Beau’s are growing on the others’ faces. One of Lucien’s eyes slides over to glance at Cree - who is watching this from afar with a hand over her mouth, clearly smiling. Lucien starts to say something to her. He’s interrupted before he gets very far.
As Jester, Beauregard, and Veth all spring towards him as one.
Lucien dodges sideways and throws his hands out to block them. He manages to deflect Jester, but Beauregard has deadly aim and Veth slips right underneath his arms. Their fingers slide underneath his coat and find purchase on his sides and stomach, squeezing, wiggling, poking. A startled laugh slips out of Lucien as he stumbles backwards.
Fjord, Caleb and Essek exchange a horrified glance behind the others. Caduceus chuckles and steps forward - just as Beau call over her shoulder, “Yasha! Come help me hold him babe, he’s a squirmy one!”
Squirmy is an understatement for what Lucien is currently doing. He’s flailing around like a cat being given a bath, limbs everywhere, fingernails raking down any patch of skin he can manage to reach, tail whipping behind him like a baton, practically hissing. And fighting a desperate - losing - battle to keep the laughter that’s bubbling up his throat at bay.
Yasha pushes forward to join the others in the fray. Lucien hisses at her arrival and reaches frantically behind him - whether to grab for her or for his sword, Yasha can’t tell. She doesn’t give him a chance - as Beau grabs his arm to keep him from successfully reaching her, Yasha grabs him firmly around the midsection and holds on tight - sending her fingers crawling up to scratch just below his armpits, right in the spot she knows used to make Molly howl.
It has a similar effect. Lucien yells out and throws himself forward - but is stopped by both Yasha’s arms and Beauregard and Jester in front of him. Instead he opts to curl up as tight as he can, trying to block their access - as the laughter finally pours out of him. It starts off scratchy, rusty from disuse, but warms up quick as Yasha’s fingers keep wiggling in that stupid fucking spot - until he’s laughing too hard for words in a way that is all too familiar to the Nein.
Cree can’t hold back her own laughter at the sight. This is the best thing she’s seen in months.
Fjord glances over at Caleb again. “Well shit, I guess we’re doing this.”
“We have a death wish,” Caleb agrees. But there’s a hint of a grin on his face and he steps forward all the same. Fjord and Caduceus follow.
Lucien’s struggle to get away renews with great force as Fjord, Caleb and Caduceus descend towards him. He flails again, beating against Yasha with his tail and lashing out with his claws towards Jester, Veth and the approaching trio. To no avail, as they hold him tight. Instead he resorts to death threats, spitting out, “I will kill you! Don’t test me!” It’s not particularly menacing through his laughter.
Jester laughs along. “You were already going to kill us! I’m not stopping just because of that!”
Veth, currently squeezing at his knees, laughs too. “How’s that anti-magic cone working for you now? I bet you’re wishing for an anti-fingers cone!”
Lucien is going to kill her first. As soon as he manages to stop laughing.
Caleb and Fjord have slid their way into the little group surrounding Lucien by this point, and their fingers make contact with his sides and stomach - as Caduceus reaches in between Yasha to pinch up and down his back. Lucien is lost in laughter again. He arches away from Caduceus’ desperately - only to bring himself closer to everyone else, which makes him flail wildly without any plan. He hisses at them through his laughter - which only serves to make everyone laugh at him again.
Jester grabs his tail as it goes whipping past her. She giggles and signals for the others to slow their assault a bit. Which they do, allowing Lucien a moment to pant for breath - but careful to still keep their fingers twitching enough to prevent him recollecting his strength and shoving them off. Jester holds up Lucien’s tail where he can see it. “Hey Lucien, check this out!” She brings her claws down onto his tail, right where the tip connects, and scratches.
Lucien shrieks, there’s no other word that could be used for the sound that leaves his mouth. Every sense he possesses is on overload. There’s nothing but a swirling of colors behind his eyes - all of them. He can’t see, he can’t hear, he can’t feel anything except that torturous feeling on his tail that he needs to stop right now. His arms flail and reach desperately for Jester, trying to grab something, anything to make her stop that scratching. He pitches forward with such force that he slips right out of the hold Beau and Yasha have on him and heads straight for the ground.
Jester, unfortunately, expected this reaction and maintains her grip on his tail as she eagerly follows him to the ground. Lucien resigns himself to his fate and to the sea of mirth that has swallowed him. He’s laughing too hard to even think coherently anymore. He can barely register Jester laughing along with him - and behind her, the rest of the group appears to be laughing at him again.
“Bad spot?” Fjord calls after him. He glances over, grinning, at Cree - who is openly laughing at this sight too, though she looks horrified at the same time.
Jester is giggling. “Wow, Lucien, looks like you are ticklish after all! Did you lie to us?” Lucien does not respond, still thrashing side to side and trying to yank his tail out of her hands even as he’s lost in laughter.
Jester slowly eases off his tail, letting him pull it away. She grins down at him. “Or did you not know?”
There’s no response of course. Instead, Lucien curls up in a ball on the ground. It takes him a beat to realize the tickling has stopped - and no one is holding onto him anymore. They’re all just staring at him on the ground.
Lucien launches himself to his feet, and for a split-second the little group sees their life flash before their eyes as he spins towards them. But as Lucien lunges forward, he realizes in horror that all that laughter has done something to him - he can’t quite coordinate his limbs, he’s been weakened. And before he can react to counter-balance…he stumbles forward and lands back on the marble floor.
Beauregard, laughing, is on him in a flash, pinning him down. She looks over at Jester. “Of course he didn’t know, he thought he didn’t have a single weakness. Too bad he’s ticklish as fuck and we know all his worst spots.” She punctuates this with a sudden scribbling of fingers under Lucien’s arms, making him yell out - and to his dismay, he’s laughing again.
“You could have told me!” Lucien yells from underneath Beau’s nimble fingers. “What happened to telling people things you know about them!”
Beau glances down in surprise, even as Veth - who has appeared next to them to re-join the attack - says, with a smirk, “So much more fun to show you though.” Beau tilts her head, watching Lucien as he dissolves back into laughter. There was something almost playful in his tone just then - and now, as she watches, there’s something she can just catch in his eyes and the grin that splits his face that looks almost…genuine. No longer as forced. In fact, he almost seems to be leaning into the touch instead of fighting to get away. Beau blinks in surprise. That’s unexpected.
Beau backs off slightly, fingers slowing as she pulls back into a seated position. Lucien’s eyes meet hers for a split second. There’s a pause, just for a beat. And just like that, whatever she saw is gone. Lucien is back to flailing around like an angry cat, hissing and spitting and thrashing and desperate to get away. He’s shoved whatever that was away.
Interesting. Beau will file that away for later. For now, she turns and gestures to the others. And the little group goes back to extracting every bit of laughter they can manage to get out of the flailing purple tiefling - very aware this will be their only chance to do anything remotely like this ever again.
It’s only a minute or so later that Lucien finally manages to coordinate his limbs enough to wrestle himself out from underneath them again. This time he’s prepared - he yanks his scimitars out, draws himself up to his full height, and stares them down.
No one follows him this time. They hold their hands up in peace - still grinning at him. Lucien gives them all a ferocious scowl, shoves the scimitars back away, and draws his coat around him without a word - looking for all the world like a disgruntled cat. He opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. Instead he gives them another glare, spins on his heel, and stalks off down the tunnel without a word.
Cree stands up to follow after him. She gives a glance over to the Nein, a mixture of horrified and very, very amused. They flash her bright grins in return. Cree looks away quickly and follows Lucien down the tunnel.
A moment later, Lucien’s ice-cold voice comes from down the tunnel - “What are you grinning about?!”
There’s Cree’s purring voice in return - too soft for the group to make out what she said, but with a teasing enough tone for them to have a pretty good idea. Lucien is silent.
The Nein catch each other’s eyes and burst out laughing.
Can I get a Caleb Lee gang tickle? It's what I need in these trying post finale times! -Poe
Ooops, got this prompt A WHILE GO and apparently needed almost a whole year to finish it. Sorry, my love. For you, anything <3
(ao3 link!)
fire wine and flustered wizards
rating: teen
characters: the Mighty Nein (Nott’s only there for a second WHOOPS)
wordcount: 3502
“Now really, darling, you think it’s smart to insult me like that?”
Despite the alcohol-fueled warmth coursing through him, Caleb feels a shiver slide down his spine at Mollymauk’s words. Which is infinitely silly considering Molly was talking to Jester and not him. But there was something dangerous and playful tangled up in the tiefling’s tone and the wizard might be steadily on his way to entirely drunk off his ass but he still has functioning ears.
A yelp and sudden rush of giggles tugs Caleb’s attention back before he can get too deeply caught up in his thoughts.
Across the small fire at the center of their makeshift campsite, Molly has Jester crowded in his lap, her back to his chest, his fingers fluttering with impressive speed up and down the young woman’s ribs. Jester’s head is tilted back and rests on Molly’s shoulder, her mouth open and light laughter falling freely from it. She squirms weakly and her tail jerks wildly from where it pokes out from between the two tieflings.
“Anything you want to say to me, Jester?” Molly raises his voice enough to be heard over Jester’s bubbly giggles and Caleb can’t tear his eyes away from the pile of tiefling softly illuminated by the firelight.
“Y-you’re a d-iiick!” Jester squeals before being overcome with laughter. Her giggles were quickly turning into deeper cackles as Molly’s tickling moved to her stomach. If his brain were working properly and not fogged with spirits, Caleb would be impressed with the purple tiefling’s dexterity considering the amount of fire wine he’d consumed thus far. As it is, Caleb can only stare.
“Hmm, no, that’s not quite what I want to hear,” Molly says, a wide grin already growing on his face. At this, he changes tactics, one hand drawing rapid circles at Jester’s naval while the other climbs to her upper ribs, poking and skittering with deadly precision. To her credit, Jester doesn’t quite scream, but her squeals are loud enough to leave Caleb’s ears ringing just a tad.
“Molly,” Fjord suddenly cuts in, “Knock it off already, leave Jester alone.”
The rest of the group had apparently been content to watch the tieflings tussle from their respective spots around the fire, but Caleb isn’t all that surprised by the half-orc’s attempt at peacekeeping. They are, after all, in the middle of the gods-forsaken woods after sundown.
(Add in some consideration of Fjord’s fairly obvious little crush on Jester and it’s really not that surprising he’d want to play the hero.)
What does surprise Caleb is the squeaky sound of Jester’s voice forcing its way through her unbridled laughter.
“Fjord, it’s fii-ihine!”
That’s apparently all that Jester can manage before being overcome by another bout of heavy laughter pouring out of her like a fountain. Molly, claws tracing swirls across her stomach, grins widely over at their resident warlock.
“Yes, Fjord, it’s fine! I’m not doing anything this one dislikes, am I, darling?”
Jester just shakes her head and continues to squirm from her place in Molly’s lap. Caleb thinks he can see a hint of a flush creep onto Fjord’s face, though it could be a trick of the firelight—or, more likely, the firewine finally hitting.
“Can you at least take it down a notch?” Fjord relies, voice softer—embarrassed, maybe, Caleb’s mind sluggishly supplies.
“Nooo, Moll-hehe-y, don’t stop yet!”
Jester squirms as Molly slows his fingers despite her protest, the other tiefling tracing across her stomach lightly enough to get her laughter to calm down to soft, squeaky giggling.
“No, dear, Fjord’s right, we shouldn’t be making too much noise this late. You’ll put a target on us with all that laughing. Shame you’re just that ticklish, hmm?”
Caleb feels a rush of heat sweep through him as Molly’s light accent curls around that word. The human feels the distinct need to hide his face behind his hands, but powers through and lifts his cup instead. The firewine burns almost as brightly as the blush on his cheeks.
Jester, apparently entirely unbothered by the idea of making enough noise to attract attention from miles away, just whines and wiggles in Molly’s hold. Across the fire, Beau cackles while Fjord mutters something to himself that Caleb can’t make out.
“So, I guess the whole thing about tieflings and tickling is true then?” The monk’s voice is rough in the way Caleb knows comes from a combination of drink and proximity to Yasha. Their barbarian compatriot had once again returned, just as mysteriously as always, and her sudden appearance had done a number on Beau’s ability to function.
“Of course!” Jester replies enthusiastically, momentarily pausing in her attempts to grab Molly’s wrists and press his hands more firmly to her body. “It’s soooo much fun!”
“You should try it sometime, might make you a little more fun to be around,” Molly adds, quickly tweaking Jester’s sides to pull a yelp and another stream of giggles from her.
Caleb finally peels his eyes away from the tiefling pile to look at Beau. She’s leaning against one of the wheels of their cart, Yasha’s hulking form close enough to her Caleb can tell it’s probably affecting her higher brain function even more than the booze. She’s glaring at Molly rather intensely.
“Uh, pass, but thanks anyway.”
Jester makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a giggle—probably thanks to Molly’s claws briefly digging into her sides again—before finally sliding out of the other tiefling’s lap and crawling over to her human best friend.
“But Beau, it feels reeeeeally good!”
Beau gives Jester an unimpressed look, her posture growing a little more guarded the closer the blue tiefling gets to her. Jester huffs, pouting in a way that Caleb would assume is exaggerated if it were anyone other than their bubbly cleric. Beau groans loudly.
“Aw, come on, Jes, quit it with the face.”
Jester, somehow, manages to pout harder. Then, like someone’s flipped a switch, the blue tiefling’s face lights up as an idea seems to hit her.
“Maybe if I just—”
“Don’t you dare, no t—” Beau stumbles over her words, frantically crossing her arms across her chest, “No touching!”
“I will never understand you humans and your hangups about tickling,” Molly pipes up. Caleb shifts his gaze away from the now exceedingly disappointed-looking Jester and back to the purple tiefling.
He’s somehow found another bottle of firewire, uncorking it with one of his claws. Probably grabbed it out of their particularly sticky-fingered rogue’s pack. Caleb spares a moment to glance at Nott, still sound asleep on her bedroll next to him. She’d taken more damage than anyone else during a brief battle against a few blights earlier in the afternoon and passed out after downing little more than a single cup of wine.
Molly’s own laughter catches the wizard’s attention once more. The purple tiefling is pointing at Beau, cork still pierced by a claw.
“Like that, you can’t even hear someone say the word without getting embarrassed!”
Beau makes a noise of protest, but the deep flush on her cheeks can only be partially blamed on the alcohol.
“Because it is embarrassing, jackass!”
“And isn’t it a joy to exploit embarrassment, just a little bit?” Molly shoots back with the kind of smirk that makes it feel like Caleb’s stomach is doing somersaults. Gods, he should stop drinking.
“Besides,” Molly continues, taking a long pull from the bottle of firewine, “It’s not just being on the receiving end that’s fun and all. You like taking advantage of people’s senses, don’t you?”
Beau opens her mouth to reply but seems to think for a moment before closing it and, probably unconsciously, nods.
“Well, I like it. Uh, both sides, that is.”
Yasha’s voice cuts through the night air like a blade, and Caleb watches as Beau nearly breaks her neck as she hurries to look back at the barbarian. Molly makes an excited noise of approval that’s almost instantly drowned down by Jester’s dramatic gasp.
“You do?”
“It’s nice, like you said,” Yasha replies with a shrug, face placid and earnest as ever. Their cleric makes a sort of chirping noise, one that Caleb is only kind of sure is a tiefling thing rather than a Jester thing, as she all but throws herself toward their monochromatic companion.
“Yasha! Why didn’t you tell us sooner? There could have been soooo much more tickling happening!”
A choking noise from Fjord’s direction manages to distract Jester from her complaining. Molly laughs again.
“What was that, dear?” Molly calls, a contented purr blending with his accent and Caleb really needs to stop focusing on things like that when he’s drunk.
“Er,” Fjord attempts, face aflame behind his waterskin.
“Oh, Fjord, please say you like tickling too!” Jester whines from her new spot smooshed against Yasha’s side, tail wavering in the air just like Frumpkin when the familiar’s cosied up with someone for the night.
“I, uh,” Fjord tries again, eyes pointedly looking toward Molly, “I’m with Beau on this, I think.”
“So a preference towards giving rather than receiving?” The gleam in Molly’s eyes, twinkling in the firelight, send another cascade of sparks down Caleb’s spine.
“Sure?” Fjord nearly squeaks before taking a deep drink from his waterskin, clearly trying to shift the tieflings’ attention to someone, anyone else.
“You’ve been awfully quiet, Mr. Caleb.”
Molly’s words hang in the night air and Caleb nearly doesn’t realize he’s being addressed for the first time in almost an hour. He feels a bit like a prey animal when the rest of the group turn to face him. The tieflings’ eyes are twinkling even in the low light—and, based on recent revelations, this probably doesn’t bode well. He feels his face grow warmer under the combined gazes of his companions, but steadfastly moves his gaze back to the embers fluttering off of the campfire, resisting another ridiculous urge to hide behind his hands.
“Ah, well, there is not… much to say, I don’t think,” Caleb finally manages, and as soon as the words leave his mouth he knows he’s said the wrong thing. A devilish smile fully fitting of his heritage forms on Molly’s face, and Caleb feels like his stomach is full of fireflies.
“Nonsense, darling, go on. You’re the only one awake who hasn’t shared an opinion on the topic at hand, seems to me it’d be a bit rude to not say anything now.”
Caleb suddenly wishes he didn’t actually care if the others thought of him as rude—but, tragically, these idiots have wormed their way past all of his walls. So he has to say something. Perhaps if he were less inebriated, he would have better control over exactly what he says.
“I… do not recall the last time I was actually—I’m not sure I am even, uh…”
“Ticklish?” Molly supplies the barest hint of a teasing purr in his voice. Caleb feels the tiniest of shudders roll through him.
“Ah, ja, that.”
A brief bit of a memory flashes across his mind, of being trapped between two bodies, Wulf keeping his wrists pinned firmly to the bed, Astrid perched on his hips, laughter and light and warmth filling the miniscule bedroom as the two other pieces of his heart take him apart with fluttering fingers and teasing words—
Caleb chokes down another mouthful of firewine and heaves his consciousness back to the present.
“Well, there’s a fairly simple way to find out, and I’m sure with a mind as keen as yours you would know that already.”
“Mollymauk, I do not—”
Caleb looks toward the rest of the group in hope of some sort of aid, but, surprisingly, everyone else is starting to get a look similar to Molly’s. His stomach flips again.
With the lithe grace he’s come to associate with the blood hunter, Molly is crawling over to him and suddenly, the tiefling is crowded into his personal space. His eyes are almost brighter than the fire when he says,
“Let’s get to it, then.”
Before Caleb can even attempt to scramble away, Molly latches onto his stomach and gently curls his claws inward. The wizard can’t help but gasp and jerk backwards in response.
“Molly—”
“Now hold on, Widogast, we’ve barely begun,” Molly cuts him off with a laugh, repeating the motion a bit more quickly, over and over. Caleb grits his teeth, because gods above, yes, it tickles like hell and it would spell disaster if that particular truth was cemented as fact. But he knows that Molly can feel the muscles of his stomach twitching, and the head rush of the alcohol is making the giggles bubbling up in his throat extremely hard to keep tamped down, and after only a few seconds, Caleb feels his head loll back as his laughter escapes anyway.
“There now, you see?” Caleb catches Molly saying, “Perfectly ticklish, it seems to me. And somehow, I think you already knew that, you tricky bastard.”
Caleb’s brain is too fried to be able to string words together, and instead hopes the increasingly desperate tone of his laughter convey whatever Molly might want to hear from him. He brings his hands up, perhaps to try to pull Molly’s away from his abdomen, but instead just clings to the tiefling’s forearms instead.
“Cay-leb, you’re so cute when you’re getting tickled!” Jester’s voice is suddenly much closer than it was before, and then there’s warmth pressed to Caleb’s back and another set of claws wiggling up into his partially exposed armpits. Stuck between two gleeful tieflings, Caleb whines between bouts of laughter and makes a valiant effort to keep from melting into a puddle on the ground.
“She’s right, those giggles are downright precious,” Molly teases, claws now spiraling across his stomach, making a quick detour to his sides before drawing back and repeating the pattern again.
Caught in the double onslaught, Caleb feels his face flushing redder than could be explained away as alcohol flush. Jester’s fingers wiggle cruelly at his underarms, her claws moving with the careful precision of someone who’s been doing this for years. Their bright zings of tickly sensation are enough to make him release Molly’s arms and pull his elbows down to try and protect at least one point of attack. Behind him, Jester makes a noise of complaint before seemingly slipping away, the usual cold of her presence disappearing—though Caleb barely registers it, as Molly skates a single claw up and down his sides, throwing the wizard into slightly more desperate laughter. Molly chuckles too, leaning close enough that Caleb has to close his eyes for fear of imploding out of embarrassment.
“Uh oh, looks like you’re in trouble,” the tiefling purrs into his ear, sending a violent shiver down Caleb’s back, “Seems like Jester’s gone to recruit some accomplices. Though—”
Molly’s claws hit Caleb’s lowest rib on either side and Caleb wriggles like a fish on a hook, but not making any actual move away from the torture currently being inflicted.
“It seems like you might not mind this much at all, dear.”
The other man’s words curl through Caleb’s mind like silk gliding across his skin and the human’s laughter ratchets up to what could reasonably be called hysterical. Another low laugh purrs into his ear.
“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it? You like hearing about how obvious it is you like me tickling you, hmm?”
Caleb shakes his head back and forth as vigorously as he can, trying to form any sort of protest, but his efforts evaporate when he feels two large hands wrapping around him from the back and grasping his wrists.
“You have to hold him suuuuper well, Yasha, make sure he can’t his fingers for somatics!” Jester crows from somewhere to his side. The barbarian hums deeply, and then Caleb’s entire world tilts as his trapped wrists are lifted above his head and used to pull him straight onto his back. Jester cheers, causing both Yasha and Molly to laugh, and then the tiefling woman is back on him, claws scrabbling under his shirt to reach the bottom edge of his book holsters. Loud laughter punches its way out of Caleb’s chest and oh gods, he’s going to die, he’s going to absolutely lose it, please don’t let them stop for anything—
“Fuck, do you think this much laughter is going to kill him?” Beau’s voice comes from somewhere near Yasha and the imminent threat of someone who so recently admitted to “taking advantage of someone’s senses” is enough to distract Caleb from ruminating even a little on the things his mind seems to think is okay to ponder.
“Laughter’s good for you!” Jester happily supplies as she seemingly tries to slip underneath the leather currently keeping the last of Caleb’s sanity tethered to this plane.
“I believe they say it’s the best medicine,” Molly adds, and Caleb can picture the smug grin that is no doubt plastered on the tiefling’s cruel, horrible, wonderfully torturous face.
“You should help them.”
The human still had enough higher brain function left to pick out the soft, teasing affection in Yasha’s voice, and of everything that had happened in the last few minutes, that sent a twin sunburst of warmth and dread spiraling through him.
And then, because Beauregard is entirely incapable of not doing exactly what Yasha says at any point in time, a third set of wriggling fingers touch down on his hyper-sensitive skin. Though not as precisely skilled as those of Jester and Molly, Beau’s fingertips are nimble and quickly zero in on the currently exposed undersides of his upper arms. It’s surprising and terribly ticklish and enough to make Caleb’s hiccuping laughter turn deep and frantic.
“Oh, Caleb, you must reeeally like this, you’re not even telling us to stop!”
Caleb can only laugh desperately.
After what could have been millenia, Caleb feels Molly straighten up from where he’d been draped over the wizard’s currently prone body—though his fingers continue to mercilessly tease at the point where his lowest ribs meet his back.
“Hold on, we’re missing someone—Fjord, get your ass over here and help us destroy the wizard!”
“Uhh, I don’t know—”
“Get over here before we decide to go after you next.”
“Ooooh, yes!” Jester excitedly squeaks. Fjord coughs loudly, like he’s choking on his own spit, before Caleb feels the deep thump of footsteps approaching from across the camp.
“Well don’t just stand there,” Molly drawls, shifting to sit on Caleb’s left side and dig into his ribs like a particularly overzealous pianist. An agonizing moment passes as the squealing human waits for three sets of hands to become four before large, calloused hands touch down on his knees and start squeezing in short bursts and that’s it. Caleb’s brain goes temporarily offline as the world hazes into ten points of contact and an impossible symphony of electric, ticklish sensation and he missed this so much, gods.
“Seems to me like this needs to turn into a more regular occurrence,” Molly says over Caleb’s laughter, “Provided we don’t wake everyone in the next town over.”
“Wha—what’s happening?”
A groggy voice suddenly cuts through the night air, and everyone freezes, everything quiet—well, everything except his own damn laughter, which just turns into wheezy giggling. Through the fog that had descended over his mind, Caleb recognizes the concern in Nott’s tone despite her own sleep-addled state.
“Oh, nothing to worry about, just tickling Caleb to bits,” Molly says casually. No one says anything immediately following that, and the silence is a little bit suffocating. Caleb slowly blinks his eyes open, only partially remembering closing them, and turns his head to the side.
Nott, sitting up on her bedroll, is regarding the scene in front of her with a mix of confusion, curiosity, and caution. Caleb would say something, <i>anything</i>, except he’s pretty sure if he opens his mouth, the only thing that would slip out would be more laughter.
The goblin must see something in Caleb’s eyes that even he doesn’t know how to put to words, because after another beat of silent contemplation, a sharp-toothed grin spreads widely across her face.
“Huh. Well, alright. Night!” With that, Nott flops back down, rolls to her side, and closes her eyes. Caleb can hardly process her words before claws—Molly’s, definitely Molly’s—touch back down on his ribs and once again he’s lost in his own laughter.
Have any lee! Scott hcs? I feel ler towards the skrunkly~
(Just imagine my own Phone Guy OC for this. He's short, 37, has floofy blond hair, blue eyes, kind of chubby, and is a sweet cinnamon roll. )
Scott Rogers
- This man had a wife and daughter, of course he's going to be tickled by them! :3 A lot of times he'd start the tickle monster game, but the girls would finish it! Hehe!
- His coworkers love tickling him! Mike, Jeremy, and Fritz will get him before/after a shift and he'll giggle happily before pushing them away. He can't handle a lot, so they just get him one at a time so he has fun!
- If they could get away with it, they'd sneak into his office and tickle him while he's recording calls! Of course, when they do that, he just wipes the tape and starts over! Too bad, cause his laugh is really precious! :3
- Imagine fnaf as a cartoon for a second. Alright, now imagine Scotty being poked by a trusted friend (maybe your OC). He squeaks and jumps!! Yeah!! Let me tell you, this man dances when tickled! And I mean the cute hopping up and down you see in those old cartoons!
- William doesn't tickle him. For one, Scott doesn't laugh when he pokes him, it just hurts. :( For another, the other nightguards know Scott feels uncomfy with William, so they always shield him if William tries anything.
- His worst spots are his tummy/navel! Also his back/spine is really bad!
- Soft poking is the most ticklish for him, but he prefers "hard" tickles (yknow just a little more pressure applied, like a massage. not too hard)
- Has the most adorable post-tickle smile! Yes, he has some wrinkles, but the laugh lines are accentuated in a beautiful way.
