good cop bad cop except it’s a ler couple where one partner is super sweet and coos at you with gentle teases and praise as they lightly explore what spots make you giggle while the other partner mocks you and targets any spot that makes you scream
ler tip: get your nails done in your lee’s favorite color ahead of your session and then remind them that those same nails they think are so pretty are going to be their downfall in a few days 🥰
Poll for the tickling community: What kind of lee are you?
Level 1 - The Tease
You desire the softer, more sensual side of tickling, with gentle teasing and tender touch being your tickle love languages. Tickle fights are always on the table, as is just laying back onto your ler as you dissolve into light laughter underneath their fingers playfully exploring your body. No bondage is needed, but may be an option, whatever keeps you still enough to handle the tickles, as long as you have room to wriggle away if things get too intense.
Level 2 - The Cathartic
You enjoy the release that tickling provides, with the pent-up emotions from everyday frustrations being freely expunged through laughter. Tickling is all about you, letting yourself be made to laugh, forced to feel joy as your ler hones in on your most ticklish spots. Medium bondage is fine, even being gagged if you tend to get too loud or need something to bite down on, but eventually it gets to a point when all your energy has been released and you are satisfied (for now).
Level 3 - The Thrill Seeker
You use tickling as a way to push your limits, seeing how much your body and mind can take. Being unable to escape, having your ler use all your most ticklish spots against you, you see how long you can hold out until being pushed to the brink. Moderate to heavy bondage is preferred to keep you put, as you will struggle to get free despite loving to hate and hating to love every moment of it. Eventually, being pushed a little further than you though possible, you will fall back to the safe word, knowing your limits.
Level 4 - The Masochist
You desire the feeling of merciless tickling, of being made to suffer at the hands of a sadistic ler without hope of it ever ending. Your body exists to be broken, and if you mind is not trying to dig its way out of your skull by the end, then you are not being pushed far enough. Heavy bondage is a must, with gags, sensory deprivation, and optional safe words being the only ways of getting through to you, having all control being taken away from you until your ler is satisfied.
One of our lee friends once told us that the worst part of being tickled by us wasn't the tickling itself.
It was the commentary.
Apparently, being pinned there while we casually chat with each other is far more devastating. Comparing notes. Pointing out reactions. Discovering which spots make her squirm, which ones make her squeak, and which techniques make her practically melt into helpless laughter.
"Oh, did you see that jump?"
"Try that spot again."
"No, no, use your fingertips. Watch what happens."
Meanwhile, she's desperately trying to remind us that she's a person and not some fascinating little experiment.
The problem is that in moments like that, it's hard to remember.
We're too busy enjoying ourselves.
After all, when a toy is making such adorable noises, sometimes you just have to keep playing.
prompt for eve fletcher x reader: reader is the one that eve meets in class who won’t stop staring at her and eve decides to invite reader over for dinner and tickly shenanigans ensue (bonus points for both lee and ler eve)
exploration
thank you for the req! i kind of combined this with another super similar prompt in my inbox ●ᴥ●
pairing: eve fletcher x f!reader (mrs. fletcher)
wc: 3.1k
content & warnings: nsfw implied but not explicit, tickle fic, reader with tickle kink, switch!eve, switch!reader, foot tickling, knee/thigh tickling, making out like horny teenagers
Approaching Eve at her desk near the end of the day and offering to bring over takeout for dinner had apparently been the right move. You'd only gone out a couple of times, keeping it relaxed and casual given the fact that you were in class together, but you'd been dying for a slightly more private one-on-one than the restaurant dinner and drinks from your previous outings.
You both retire to the couch after you finish eating, the atmosphere in the house turning warm and cozy as it grew darker outside. Even on opposite ends of the couch, your finger itch with the need to reach out and touch her. Fleeting passing touches in the classroom when it's appropriate or brushing against one another while plating the food weren't nearly enough to satiate you through the day.
You tug her feet up into your lap, rubbing her ankles softly. When she relaxes a little under the touch, you sweep your fingers up over the small section of the top of her foot visible out of her slipper, but don't dare venture underneath yet.
"Can I give you a foot rub?" You offer.
She chuckles softly, glancing over at you properly.
"Am I supposed to say 'no' to that?"
"Some people don't like having their feet touched," you reason, looking over at her to briefly catch her eye. "Worth asking permission, first."
Her eyes dance curiously but she seems to decide not to ask her questions, and instead uses one slippered foot to knock the other slipper off of the other foot. It clatters quietly to the floor beside the couch as you chuckle and remove the second one for her, then readjust to pull one foot into both hands and begin gently kneading at the sole of it.
She stiffens and you worry that you might have hit a sore spot but when your eyes flick to her face, you see her chewing her lip and then exhaling slowly, clearing biting back a moan.
"Good?" You ask teasingly, squeezing one thumb into her instep carefully and smiling when her head tips back blissfully for a moment.
"I'm not on my feet during the day enough for this to feel so good," She tells you, and you note the lower timbre her voice has taken on.
"Maybe you need better shoes," you reply, focusing a little lower near her heel and lightening your pressure when she lets out a real gasp. She makes a small sound of agreement but doesn't otherwise respond - you guess she's probably focused on biting back more noises.
You slide your hand up slowly and work your thumb into the ball of her foot, trying to break up the tension there, and she tilts her head back to rest it against the arm of the couch with a trilling sigh of enjoyment. Your remaining fingers carefully cup the back of her toes to keep them still as your thumb glides up to the very top of the ball of her foot, just shy of the stems of her toes, and her foot jerks in your hand, its mate still in your lap mirroring the movement.
Your mouth goes slightly dry and your eyes flick to her again but she's still laid back, eyes closed. You repeat the movement and her foot slips up in your grip a little, forcing your thumb back to the ball of her foot. She lets out a tiny pleased noise at the pressure there, so you continue until her leg is relaxed in your lap again and then turn your attention to the other foot.
"Still with me?" You ask.
She groans in approval with a little laugh as you begin working on the second heel, and lifts her head to see you again.
"You shouldn't have played this card so early on, I'm going to be expecting this every day now," she warns.
"I'm sure I can handle it," You say with a grin, the implication of her considering this the early stages of something filling your stomach with butterflies.
She watches you curiously for a few moments until your fingers return to the spot that had made her twitch on the previous foot. You smirk to yourself and cup the back of her toes again in gesture to stay still, eyes down.
"You're a little ticklish, huh?"
When you lift your eyes to her again she's already watching you, a nervous smile pulling at her mouth that makes you want to kiss her until she's breathless, or tickle her senseless, or both at the same time.
"I'm gonna need you to give me that foot back before I admit to anything," she tells you, by way of admission.
You laugh quietly at that and shift your hand from the back of the foot to hold her ankle down to your lap, then wiggle your fingers on the other hand warningly in the air above her foot.
She giggles immediately as if you're really tickling her, and twists her hips inward toward the back of the couch as she pulls at her leg.
"Don't!"
You relent, grinning uncontrollably and returning to your massage before she can pull away completely.
"I won't," you promise. "Not right now, at least. That's good to know, though."
She groans in playful frustration, burying her face in one hand and shaking her head.
It doesn't leave your mind once for the rest of the massage; her nervous smile, the panicked squirming. You're desperate for more of it.
She leaves her slippers abandoned on the floor as she heads to the kitchen and returns with the remaining bottle of wine and your glasses from earlier, and when she gets back onto the couch this time she tucks her feet beneath herself and settles back into the corner.
You take it upon yourself to scoot just a little closer to her, and then pinch at the toe of your sock to adjust it a little while you wait for her to speak.
She tracks the movement and purses her lips before finally offering, "I could return the favor. Put all those physical therapy stand-ins to good use."
You hum innocently and sip your wine as you lay your bait.
"Mm-mm." Shaking your head, you wave her off with one hand and swallow, then set your glass aside.
"Are you one of those aforementioned people who don't like having their feet touched?" She asks, a tiny smirk pulling at her lips.
"No. Well, yes, in a way, but -" You try to calm your excited, pounding heartrate. It's impossible not to excitedly picture her tickling you; soft squeezing side-hugs on dates or her fingers brushing yours when she hands you things always draw your mind to her hands and how it would feel to have them all over you.
She watches you, playful curiosity growing more and more evident on her face.
"You're ticklish," she accuses.
"Very," you admit, already feeling a little lightheaded.
She shifts, sitting up straighter, and you let out a quick, loud, involuntary laugh, jerking away from her direction a little. She laughs outright at that and grabs her own wine glass.
"Relax," she chuckles, "It's nice to know we have an even battlefield, now, though."
You shiver at the implication before you can help it.
"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to dish out what you can't take?" You ask pointedly. She laughs softly into her glass and then boldly plops her feet back into your lap, leaning aside to set her glass down safely on the table.
"Have at it, then," she tells you. You're convinced you're dreaming, mouth going dry again just like earlier.
You stare her down and she raises her eyebrows, gesturing at her feet resting innocently on your thigh.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you slide one hand under her ankle and lift one foot slightly, then trace three fingers down the entire arch of her foot, ball to heel.
She purses her lips and doesn't otherwise immediately react. You're almost a little impressed, since she'd been so giggly earlier from a little air-tickling, but you figure the anticipation has to count for something.
You tighten your grip on her heel and run your fingers back down the opposite way and can't help but giggle at her when she jerks like she's going to pull away, sitting up straighter and flattening her mouth into a hard line. Her hand shoots out like it's going to reach out and grab you but she clutches it into a fist and lowers it back to her side as your grin widens.
Not one to back down from a challenge, you curl your fingers and start scribbling, spidering along her entire arch and paying special attention to the ball of her foot when that draws the most desperate squirming out of her.
She cracks a moment later, one giggle escaping and then another, before she's really trying to writhe away from you and laughing genuinely, punctuated by the occasional squeal or snort.
You adjust your grip to make sure you're not going to hurt her as you keep her as still as you can, seeking out each weak spot and smirking smugly to yourself as she seems genuinely startled by her own sensitivity.
"Okay, okay!" She pulls at her leg in earnest, her free foot pressing hard against your knee to try to pry you away.
"Okay what?" You ask, snatching up her other foot and letting the first one go, clutching her ankle and tickling the sole of it with sadistic precision. Her laughter renews and she snorts again, nearly kicking you in her haste to get free.
"Oh my god, [Y/N]! Uncle, please!"
You giggle even more, letting her go and grinning at the sight of her, curled up on her side and giggling helplessly.
"Not bad," you admit, softly tugging her closest foot back and squeezing it reassuringly before continuing your earlier massage up her ankle and calf a little.
She hums happily at the sudden switch and tucks an arm behind herself to watch you for a beat, then picks up her wine again when shes sure you're really done tickling her:
"Should've been keeping time," she says quietly, looking amused. You try not to blush too hard at how long this conversation and game has managed to drag on.
"It wasn't as long as it probably felt," you say.
"I didn't think it would be that bad," she breathes, still trying to catch her breath as she straightens herself up, blushing and trying to finger-comb her mussed up waves into something more manageable. She clears her throat, a little more dignified now that you're not tickling her half to death, and then pats her lap. "Okay. Gimme."
You give her an amused look and shake your head.
"That was so not the deal."
Her jaw drops in mock-outrage and she sits up straighter, holding a hand out even more impatiently.
"Absolutely not. Gimme your foot."
You giggle at her and shake your head defiantly, shifting a little to begin tucking your legs under yourself.
"I didn't agree to that!"
"It was implied!" she laughs, grabbing your knee to try to pry your legs apart and bring one up onto the couch. You squeal in surprise and grasp her forearm with both hands.
"Dohohon't do that!"
Her eyes narrow playfully as she pauses, then she squeezes down just above your knee more deliberately, earning another yelp of laughter from you.
"You could just - give me your foot-" Her words are punctuated with laughter of her own, more amused than your tortured giggles. You squirm around, stretching out a little to both escape and lay back against the couch all at once, both feigning escape and trying to tempt her closer all at once.
"Nohoho, I - Eve!" You writhe until you're nearly under her as she looms over, shirt riding up your waist and drawing her eyes down your torso. Her squeezing pauses and for a single hungry moment you hope she'll be tempted to tickle elsewhere, but instead she tugs her hands away entirely and licks her lips.
Taking the hint and pushing it further, you lift your hands to her, grabbing the material of her shirt and pulling her down. She crashes her lips to yours but the urgency stops there, the kiss coming out slow and exploratory.
Your previous kisses had been just as sweet - a goodnight on her doorstep or yours, often with the unspoken temptation to come inside following, but this was different - you were inside. In her house, on her couch, dopamine-high and both breathless and-- you gasp when her fingers slip under the hem of your top softly, brushing your waist with ghostly gentleness.
She pauses there, not pushing the material up further, and her touch grows a little more firm when you kiss her again and deepen it. Encouraged, she rucks the material up slightly, only breaking away from your mouth when you squirm back. She looks at you questioningly, like she's worried she overstepped, but you just tug your top up over your head and let it fall off the side of the couch, cupping her face and pulling her down again to slip your tongue hungrily into her mouth.
She moans quietly into the kiss and you return the sound, feeling yourself growing even more turned on by the sound of her enjoyment.
"Is this okay?" She asks softly when she breaks away for air. Your eyes land on her lips, swollen, shining, and you surge forward to catch them with your own again instead of answering her for a moment. You feel her smile into it and pull back again. "That isn't exactly a 'yes'."
"Yes it is," you assure her, reaching for her waist again. "Please don't stop."
You'd only broached the topic of sex together once before, after a few too many drinks with dinner made you both feel a little bolder. But the decision you'd come to was to move slow — and to plan it ahead of time to avoid any mixed signals or pressure — and this was decidedly not a planned night.
When you're both growing a little too breathless, and you can't tell if its your own arousal or hers in your senses (or maybe your imagination), she breaks away and rests her forehead to yours with a little laugh.
"Sorry," she says softly.
"Don't be," you reply, nudging her hip and taking the blame off of her by adding on, "I could do that all night if I thought I'd be able to control myself. I knew I was being reckless when I offered the massage."
She shifts off of you and returns to her own side of the couch as you awkwardly reach for your shirt.
"Speaking of..." she hums, reaching down for your unguarded foot near her and plucking at your toes.
You squeak and twitch your foot back a little, then grin at her breathlessly. She doesn't need to know yet just how much more your speed that kind of foreplay is. You're perfectly happy to indulge her, except—
"Nooooo, Eve, I-" You flatten your feet to the couch to protect the soles of them, toes wiggling nervously.
"What was it you were saying about dishing it out?" She reminds you, one hand wrapping around your ankle threateningly but not lifting your foot yet.
"I know, I know," you giggle, tensing up as you straighten your shirt into place. "I just... my feet are like... sensitive."
"That's the point," she teases, before taking you in properly: your nervous smile, shifty giggling and squirmy movements. Her expression shifts and she chuckles darkly at the realization, turning away and covering her face with one hand to keep giggling.
"Don't laugh at me!" you exclaim, even though you're smiling.
"I'm sorry," she says, getting herself under control. Another rogue giggle escapes but she stifles it and shakes her head. "Sorry. Okay. Note taken, I'll be careful."
You exhale; a little disappointed but you know it's for the best given how you'll react.
"Anywhere else I should avoid?" she asks. Her tone is teasing but you can hear the genuine question in it. You shake your head and her smile turns devious. "Oh, good."
She shifts between your legs a little, forcing one behind her back against the couch and the other in her lap and suddenly squeezes your one knee and thigh with both hands.
You nearly jump vertically straight off the couch like a levitation. The first sound out of you is a scream and she shushes you through a laugh of her own as she continues.
You do the only thing you can and thrash, writhing this way and that, not going anywhere productive but managing to muffle a few of your surprised shrieks into the couch cushions and your pillow once in a while.
She'd been a sucker for your legs since the first time she'd seen you wear shorts in class - which had been an intentional tease on your part. You'd been just as distracted as she was watching her watch you, tracing the lines of your muscles with her eyes and lingering up near the hem when you'd spread your legs under your desk almost lewdly.
Now, that attention was your downfall. She found every muscle and tendon with terrifying precision, strong fingers kneading in just right at each different spot. Your jeans were no help on the defensive side, if anything the stiff material of them just made it more difficult for you to squirm to freedom.
"Pleeheheease, please!" You didn't realize you had tears in your eyes until you could hear the sob in your voice. She glances at you and you feel a sharp bolt of arousal shoot through you at the expression on her face: teasing, challenging, endeared. "Okay, UNCLE!"
The tickling stops abruptly and she smoothes her hands down your leg, though that too tickles enough to keep you softly giggling and twitching in the weird scissor-hold you have her in.
"I think I lasted longer," she tells you.
You let out a soft growl as you catch your breath.
"You cheated. We have to go spot for spot to make it fair," you insist, closing your eyes as you take deep breaths.
"Yeah, that might be a little difficult given your... condition," she teases. You sit up abruptly and reach for her knee, but she grabs your hand and wrestles it away with a nervous laugh punctuated by a snort. "Ah ah, we're even. Truce."
You narrow your eyes.
"For now," you amend.
She gives you a thoughtful but amused look and for a moment you worry you've been found out. But then, the expression softens, and she leans over to kiss you gently.
"For now," she agrees. "Finish your wine, I'll take you home."
