I'm Dreamy & this is my tickle blog. I usually only reblog cute content that I enjoy. Talking to people is hard for me & takes lots of energy, but I'll try. If a miracle happens, I might even write something on here. It's said to have happened before xx
A/N: might contain spoilers because it’s based after the last episode (of season 1).
- - - - - - -
A couple of days have passed since Miyos life has turned 180 degrees - again.
So many things have happened, she still couldn’t believe it: she gained her abilities back, has a grandfather now, rescued Lord Kudou with her dream sight and survived her first official party in that pretty white western-style dress, side by side with her soon-to-be sister-in-law Hazuki and her fiancé, Lord Kudou.
Some routines in their household have changed too. Miss Yurie would normally arrive after the young master has left the house, so Miyo could prepare, serve and enjoy the breakfast next to her fiancé. In comparison to her first morning at the Kudou's, when Kiyoka accused Miyo to have poisoned his food - they have moved on a lot.
After they ate and Lord Kudou left the dining room to get ready for work, Miyo finished the dishes. The young woman knew, this house was her home now too, but she couldn’t step across the line to call her fiancé Kiyoka or his house, well, hers. Time would tell, she guessed and sighed.
„What is it now?“, his voice, raspy and filled with concern, startled her.
„Oh, Lord Kudou“, she whispered: „it’s nothing. I don’t want to concern you.“
Kiyoka Kudou, already dressed in his white button-up shirt (last two buttons of his collar open) and dark, tailored pants, stepped inside their kitchen, pulling the dark-haired woman into a gentle hug: „Miyo?“
„Yes?“, she gasped.
„Do you remember our first date?“
„Yes?“, she looked up, peeking through her dark lashes.
„Remember, I’ve told you, to always be honest with each other? Not to hesitate if something is bothering one of us?“
She bowed her head down again, her forehead rested on his chest: „Yes.“
„There is something, that concerns me.“
„Oh?“
„It’s the way you address me.“
Oh, not this again, she thought. Lord Kudou and his sister were more alike than it seemed: „…“
„How often do I have to ask you to address me as Kiyoka?“, his breath stroked her hairline, soft and caring, like his arms around her.
„I am sorry, Lord K…“
„Hmm?“
„Sosorry, Lo…Ki…Kiyoka“
The sound of her velvety whisper touched his heart and soul - it was the first time, since they met, that she called him by his first name. The young gift-user gasped, blushing.
„Oh, Miyo“, he sighed, grasping her more, hugging her tight to his own body.
The young woman in his arms blushed likewise, honored and astonished, that she finally said his first name out loud. She had whispered it, in her mind and dreams before, too shy in her former reality.
„Kiyoka?“
„Yes, Miyo?“
„I don’t want to be the reason, you’re late for work.“
He chuckled, pulling her even closer to his chest: „Oh-ha. Don’t worry. I am still the head of the grotesquerie unit - I enjoy certain advantages. But yes, I should leave now. Would you do me a favor?“
„Of course. What can I do for you?“
„Would you tie my hair for me again?“
Kiyoka kneeled, while Miyo sat at his side, also on her knees, while her fingers stroking over his head and through his hair. A shiver ran down his spine, her touch was so gentle and kind. When she tied the handmade hair accessory, she admired the contrast between the bright purple and his moonshine-colored hair. It suited him so well.
„All done“, she said, while she moved his low ponytail around his neck, so it could rest over his shoulder - like always. Today was a little different though.
„Huh“, the young man gasped, startled by a certain touch, his shoulder went up a little to protect his skin.
„I am so sorry, Lor… Kiyoka. Did I hurt you?“, Miyo replied, unsure if her nails were a little too long or if the hair tie itself had scratched his neck. She couldn’t see any bruises.
„No, um…“, he blushed: „It’s… you…“
„Yes?“
„It’s nothing, really. You just tickled me, that’s all.“, he whispered shyly.
„Oh… OH!“, Miyo’s eyes went wide, her cheeks blushed under his gaze even more and her hands covered her mouth: „I am so sorry!“
He chuckled, putting one hand onto her head, like he’d done it at their first date: „Don’t be sorry. It was unintentional, correct?“
„Yes?!“, she whispered into her palms.
„So, nothing to be sorry about.“
„I am so sorry, Lord Kud… Kiyka. I-ah…“
„If you do try to tickle me, you won’t get away with it.“, he grumbled, unable to hide the smirk, that tucked at the corners of his mouth. Her own eyes widened even more, her cheeks were burning red now, while she tried to become invisible. Had he teased her? Had he threatened her, if she ever tries to tickle him on purpose, he’d do the same to her? She couldn’t remember, if she was ticklish herself at all, or if anyone had ever tried to tickle her. Or mother maybe, when she was still alive? Or Hana? But no one else, ever. With all those open questions running through her mind in chaotic order, her fiancé stroked a loose strand of her midnight-black hair behind her ear, now with a full grin on his face: „Unfortunately, I have to leave now, but…“
„Yes?“, she squeaked, still flustered from all that.
Summary: Henry starts sending Alex discreet tickle notes and it's driving him insane.
Warnings: Tickle kinks, bondage, nsfw undertones
Words: 4k
(Read it on AO3)
The first note comes when Alex is in a meeting, irate and exhausted and wishing he was on a plane going to see Henry already. Cash hands him the envelope once he steps outside the office, grinning at the delirious way he blinks at the name of the sender - something so posh he knows it to be Henry’s pseudonym - before falling in stride with him to the elevator. Alex is impatient. Alex is tired and a little horny and missing Henry and is therefore impatient, and so he tears the letter open as soon as the doors close and nearly has a fucking heart attack right there, in front of Cash who pointedly does not look at him out of pure politeness.
A,
Wishing you were here right now. I need to kiss down your waist, your thighs, stop just where I know it’s sensitive and then focus just there, making you scream for mercy or release, depending on the day.
See you Tuesday,
H
Alex cannot wait until fucking Tuesday, if only because he needs to kill Henry as soon as he can for daring to send something like this to him where anyone could get a hold of it.
“I thought I was the reckless one,” he says into the phone minutes later. “What are you doing.”
He can practically hear Henry’s smirk when he says, “Since emails are too risky I decided to send you a little something.” He laughs at whatever sound manages to escape from Alex’s lips. “Did you see how expertly I avoided calling it ticklishness? I figured if someone did find it and did figure out it was us then you’d probably be more embarrassed about that leaking out than anything else.”
Alex, for the first time in his life, nearly hangs up on him, but Henry is laughing, Henry is pleased, and he can’t be mad about that even though he is somewhat embarrassed.
“I’ll get you back,” he says, picturing Henry beneath him, Henry giggling as he goes for his sides. “I’ll get you back so good.”
“Mmm, only after I’ve wrecked you in more than one way, right?”
“Sleep with one eye open, your majesty.”
*
The second note comes before Alex has even had time to draft his first, neatly stacked with his usual post as if it was any other letter. He’s almost scared to open it, but at least he’s alone this time. Cash practically laughed at him as he rushed out of the elevator two days prior (“Unprofessional!” he called back). He won’t make the same mistake twice.
He fingers the envelope, wondering if he should finish his own note first, before ripping it open, scanning it quickly as if it would personally offend him before reading it again, taking in each word.
A,
I lay awake thinking of how wonderful your expression probably was while reading my last letter. I can imagine you gasping, as dramatic as you are, while that blush that I adore so much spread over your face. It’s nothing like the sounds you make when I touch your body, my fingers trailing over your hips. Nothing like the blush when I ask you about the sounds.
My hands long for you.
Yours,
H
That fucking bastard. From someone else’s point of view the note sounds sexual, sensual, all exploring hands and passionate kisses. And while that is the case there’s something else, something hidden and only theirs beneath it all, behind the way Henry describes it.
Alex hates how he’s blushing from fucking written words, although he knows that Henry’s done this to him before, in other ways. He hates how he can feel Henry’s hands on him, fingers digging into his hip bones ever so slightly, just enough to make him squirm. He refuses to acknowledge the sounds Henry talks of, even though he knows exactly what those are. He hates how he knows Henry was smiling fondly while writing both letters, but maybe especially this second one, knowing Alex would already be on edge.
That is to say, he doesn’t hate it at all. He simply hates the distance and that he can’t do anything about it.
“How does one send letters to the Prince of Wales?” he asks Zahra half an hour later, his own letter with his own pseudonym steady in his hands.
*
“Alex.” Henry’s voice is somewhat high pitched when Alex answers the call.
“Yes, baby?”
“I had Bea in the room with me!”
“I said I was gonna get revenge, didn’t I?”
“You’re a menace.” But behind the words Alex can hear that he’s smiling, flustered, pleased. “Maybe we have to make use of those handcuffs you wrote of. On you, of course.”
“Nuh uh. You brought that on yourself, mister.”
“You’re the one who owns them.”
Alex hates that he blushes at that and that Henry probably knows it.
The next day, when Henry is literally in the air on his way to him, he receives a third letter, opening it immediately and doing his best not to show a single emotion even though he’s alone. It doesn’t work.
A,
I’m bringing an extra pair of ‘cuffs for your lower half too.
Love,
H
Alex is still blushing when Henry arrives at his door.
*
The thing is, even when they’ve been shut in Alex’s room for half a day, touching and kissing and laughing and talking without mentioning the handcuffs (which Alex swears is purely to put him on edge), Henry still slips him a note at the end of the day. Alex had watched him write it, too curious to stop him when Henry had asked for pen and paper and had been perched on his desk for much longer than Alex had expected he would. The note is folded and envelopeless, given to him in between kisses and an episode of Bake Off. He watches Henry, who looks so innocent Alex knows he’s doomed, before opening it.
Alex,
I can call you that now, in the privacy of this room that’s seen so much of both you and I that it nearly makes me blush if I think of it too much. But then again it was a random hotel in Berlin which saw how we put my necktie to good use. It was my room in Kensington which saw me destroy you with raspberries to your belly of all things. You’re so ticklish and it’s driving me crazy.
It’s a strange thing to be so fixated on, isn’t it? But the world doesn’t see how you get shy when I tease your ribs. How you giggle if I go for your knees, or how you never beg me to stop until you have to. The world doesn’t see what I see when you laugh, unguarded, ticklish and happy. It’s too lovely not to obsess over. It’s too beautiful not to love.
Don’t get me wrong. I know you adore getting revenge and I’m expecting it any moment now, but just to see your face flush while reading this will be worth it.
Yours forever, in giddy laughter,
Henry
“Did I finally render you speechless?” Henry asks when Alex stares at the note for too long, eyes unmoving.
Alex rounds up on him. “You’re a piece of shit,” he says and Henry laughs when he tackles him onto the bed, getting that aforementioned revenge in by prodding at his sides. Truth is, Henry is probably more ticklish than Alex and enjoys it much more, but his enjoyment seems to also span into tormenting Alex, and Alex is always too flustered to tease him back in the moment for some inexplicable reason he might figure out one day.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says when he’s finished tickling him and tries to sit up, only for Henry to grab a hold of his wrist.
“Wait,” he says, smirking even though he was breathless a second ago. “How ‘bout we make some of the things in my letters come true, hmm?”
And Alex laughs and squirms and doesn’t protest when he finally goes for his hips.
*
He leaves the handcuffs in the White House, which stresses Alex out because now he feels as if he should bring a pair with him when he flies over in a few weeks, unwilling to admit why he would bring them in the first place. “You forgot these,” he could say, and Henry would grin in a way that would have his knees buckling.
The fifth letter is left on his pillow. He pretends not to see when Henry puts it there and doesn’t open it until much later, when he knows Henry’s landed and that he can call him if he needs to yell at him.
Sweetheart,
Keep them safe until we meet again. I will keep my promise this time.
Yours,
H
And Alex nearly wants to scream because he wishes he’d kept his promise the first time and this is not something he’s willing to suddenly have to figure out on his own.
“How did you know?” he asks, voice low, frantic, his feet pacing a hole in his carpet.
“That you want me to tie you up and tickle you like you did to me?” comes the reply and Alex does scream now.
“My god, Henry, why didn’t you force this upon me yesterday?”
“I’d missed you too much. And you didn’t seem ready yet.”
Alex thinks of the ways he’s tied Henry up before, usually using anything but handcuffs until he decided to invest in them. How he kissed vulnerable skin and made sure it tickled just because he likes hearing him giggle. How Henry asked him not to stop and how Alex got curious. How Alex keeps provoking him but being too scared to let him restrain him fully, opting instead for being pinned.
Of fucking course Henry figured it out. They’re not very different, after all. Alex is just more obtuse about it.
“I’m bringing them both,” he’s saying now, used to blushing whenever Henry laughs now, although this time it’s sweet, fond, soft, as if he’s telling Alex it’s okay to be curious and it’s okay to have it affect him.
“Please do hurry.”
*
Alex opens the sixth letter on the plane, a stupid mistake he’s well aware of before he even pulls it out of his pocket, but he does it anyway and Cash doesn’t ask any questions but Zahra does send him a glare which Alex interprets as rare curiosity.
A,
While my mouth and hands are anticipating you I hope you do realize I’m simply teasing and you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready to do. I can make you squirm anyway.
Love,
H
It’s the first note to not make him sputter in embarrassment, which is highly convenient since both Cash and Zahra are watching him. He knows Henry won’t do anything he’s not ready for, that he will stop if Alex decides he’s changed his mind. It’s not what’s making the knot in his stomach tighten, but the idea of trying it and realizing it’s not as great as it seems when he does it to Henry. That Henry won’t get to return the favor even though he so obviously wants to according to all the notes. That Alex will disappoint him by simply being too ticklish, or maybe not ticklish enough, not laughing as much as Henry wishes he would, thrashing so wildly he accidentally dislocates something. They’re all stupid things to worry about, he knows, but they keep his mind occupied throughout the whole flight.
The White House Letters. It’s what he calls the notes in his head, a play on the whole Waterloo Letters. Because of it, it somehow feels wrong to not be at the White House while doing this, but Alex simply cannot wait a moment longer. When he practically runs toward the door, Henry manages to open it just in time, accompanied by Shaan, and pulls him into his arms.
*
They talk about it almost immediately this time, as Alex pulls both handcuffs out of his bag the moment they enter Henry’s room. “I figured we could tie you up too,” he says, because the idea of it only being him is slightly too much for him to handle.
Henry’s ears pinken. As much as he teases him, he’s just as receptive to this topic as he is. “Okay.”
“If you want.”
“Of course I do, but- If you’ve changed your mind-”
“I haven’t.”
“Okay.” Henry nods, smiling now. “Good, because I’ve not been able to think of anything else.”
Alex laughs, something hysterical. “That makes two of us.”
“Do you want a note before we start?” Henry asks, pulling the seventh letter out of his pocket. “I wrote it with care.”
“You and your notes are gonna be the end of me,” he says and takes it, finding it blissfully short.
Alex,
Feel free to let go. It’s very freeing to laugh uncontrollably.
Love,
Henry
Alex looks at him from over the paper. “No other piece of advice?”
“No, I think that’s it.”
“All right then. It was very live, laugh, love of you.”
When Henry laughs Alex realizes he’s not the only one who’s nervous.
When Alex tied Henry up in a drunken stupor many weeks ago only to realize the way he ran his hands over his vulnerable body made him giggle, he’d been swaying between two choices. Apologize and kiss him and turn his hands rougher, or keep his touch light just to see when Henry would ask him to stop. Just to see him squirm and giggle and blush. But when he didn’t do either of those things but simply hovered over him with that playful smile from the realization that he was ticklish still lingering, Henry asked him not to stop. Henry, who was tied but not necessarily secured, held onto the bedpost in that hotel in Berlin and let Alex curl his fingers over his underarms. Let him press ticklish kisses to his neck and stomach and inner thighs, and something had awoken in him which he’d never been familiar with before.
“Have you done that before?” he asked Henry who shook his head. He didn’t ask if he’d dreamt of doing it. Somehow it felt too intimate at that point in their relationship.
Now is different. Now Henry is teasing him over something Alex has rarely thought of before, and he finds he doesn’t mind it, despite how embarrassed he can get. Finds he wants to know what it is that Henry finds so comforting about this.
When Alex is lying on the bed and finds he can’t move his arms at all, Henry pulls out the eighth note.
“You and your notes,” Alex says for the hundredth time, but he’s been Pavloved into blushing at the mere sight of them and he can’t hide his face now.
Henry grins at him about it, or maybe due to his exasperated tone. “I was thinking I’d read it to you, since you’re a little preoccupied.” He clears his throat, all soft smugness. “Alex. I can’t wait to tickle you to pieces. Yes, I’m saying it plainly now because what’s the point in pretending? I’m going to tickle you and you’re going to squirm and laugh and not be able to do anything about it- This isn’t in the note, but of course that’s hyperbole and we’ll have a safe word.”
“Right.” Alex’s voice is high pitched.
“Right. Continuing. I’m going to ever so gently tickle your hips and belly and neck, relishing in how you try and fail to pull your hands down to stop me.”
“When did you even have time to write this.”
“Do be quiet, sweetheart, I’m not done.”
Alex huffs and shifts, the padded handcuffs soft against his wrists.
“I’ll destroy you in such a gentle way you won’t know what to do with yourself, and when I’m done you’ll still be giggling, because despite what you say you do giggle.” He emphasizes his words with a tilt of his head. “Just make sure to do one thing for me, okay?” He folds the note up. “Have fun.”
“What, no ‘love, Henry’?”
“It’s so cute how you think that mouth of yours can hide the way you’re blushing right now.” Henry runs his fingertips over Alex’s cheek, most likely burning them because, yes, Alex is totally blushing his fucking head off. “Are you ready, love?”
“I don’t know.” He feels his heartbeat quicken, his palms suddenly sweating. “What if I don’t like it?”
“Then we’ll stop and never do it again.”
“Okay.” He tries for a smile. “I’ll at the very least get to wreck you back.”
Henry laughs. “We’ll see if you have enough energy for that, granted that we’re at it for a while.”
Alex huffs. “I’ll get you eventually. I mean, you’re practically doing this to get me to get you back, right?”
Henry nods mock-solemnly. “Of course, of course.”
“Such an elaborate ruse for some tickles.”
“Alex, are you stalling on purpose? We don’t have to do it.”
“No, no, I want to.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay, go for it.”
Henry’s smile is gentle. “What’s your safe word?”
“Uh. Cornbread?” When Henry bursts into laughter Alex feels himself finally relaxing. “I panicked, okay?”
“Cornbread will do fine,” Henry says and leans in, kissing the corner of Alex’s mouth. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
When Henry smiles and moves his lips downward Alex finds himself surprised, not having realized Henry would be using his mouth immediately and loving him for it. He starts giggling the moment Henry finds his neck, even though he’s not really doing anything but softly graze the skin under his ear. Alex tries to scrunch up his shoulder, and while it’s probably the one and only movement that grants him any sort of mercy he finds it’s not really enough to fully shut the sensation out.
“So sensitive,” Henry mumbles into his skin and Alex has an insult at the tip of his tongue but then Henry’s hand joins in before he has a chance to say it, quick fingers on his armpit.
He screams, which surprises them both, pulling at his hands in desperation without being able to stop Henry at all. It’s not even necessarily unbearable yet, simply different, a sensation he’s never felt in this way before. Ticklish shocks of some kind are shooting through his nervous system and his body is struggling without his consent. When his screaming turns into hysterical laughter Henry stops, although he doesn’t remove his hand.
“Remember your safe word?”
“Y-yes, don’t worry.” Alex is grateful for the opportunity to breathe though. “This is- so much so suddenly. You’re barely doing anything.”
Henry breathes out a laugh into his neck which makes him flinch involuntarily. “It’s weird, right?”
“Very.”
“Do you like it?”
“I can’t tell yet. I mean, I don’t dislike it.”
“That’s a start.”
Henry’s fingers are slowly circling his pit again, making him arch his back as he tries to scoot away from them. “Fuck.” He’s toying with his armpit hair and Alex briefly wonders if it’s making it tickle less. If it will be torture once Henry properly goes for a spot which is hairless. He presses a kiss to the shell of Alex’s ear and moves his mouth downward, skipping his neck and stopping where his ribs start just below his other armpit. His other hand is still swirling around, and Alex is giggling again, but not yet hysterical.
“You smell so good,” Henry says into his skin and Alex laughs because each word tickles but also because he gets so easily flustered nowadays whenever Henry pays him a compliment. “I bet you’d taste even better.”
His tongue is on Alex’s ribs before he can protest and what the fuck, how can a fucking tongue tickle this much? He finds his own screaming ridiculous, but he can’t stop, his system on overload as he pulls and pulls and tries to twist away without being able to make it stop, heels digging into the mattress since they realized it would be better to use the second pair of cuffs to tie his arms far apart for less movement. Henry’s straddling his hips to keep him in place, knees squeezing him once as if to tell him it’s okay.
“W-wait,” he manages to choke out, hands gripping the bedpost so tightly he’s afraid he might actually damage it. “C-cornbread!”
Henry stops immediately, this time removing his hands and mouth entirely. “You’re doing so good, love. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I just- fuck, your tongue is gonna kill me.”
“Oh?”
“Could you- just use your hands for a bit?”
“Of course.” He touches Alex’s cheek again, and this time Alex leans into the touch. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked.”
“Oh my god, don’t apologize, it was great. Fucking unbearable and freaky, but great.”
Henry laughs. “Freaky?”
“It’s wet and slimy and ticklish.”
“Noted- slimy? Now you’re just being rude.” He pokes Alex’s ribs once, visibly wondering if he would cross a line if he tickled him after Alex safe worded, but Alex rolls his eyes and indicates that it’s fine, and so Henry’s vibrating both his hands over his ribs and making his hips buck in surprise before laughter fills the room again, bouncing off the royal walls.
In the midst of it all he makes a list:
1. Henry knows exactly how to tickle each different part of him, from digging into his hips to featherlight touches to his thighs (as opposed to the stereotypical squeezes).
2. Henry has a thing for using his mouth to tickle him and Alex really doesn’t mind as long as his tongue isn’t involved too much.
3. If he’s tickled for long enough Alex surpasses his need to yell and laughs silently.
Henry stops once the room goes silent, afraid Alex is trying to say the safe word without being able to, and Alex has to swallow his pride and ask him to keep doing exactly what he’s doing.
When they switch places, after Alex has had more than one moment to collect himself again, he spends some time simply watching Henry squirm under his gaze, under him, unable to move away.
“I don’t have a note for this,” Henry admits and Alex laughs. “But I just want you to thank you for doing this. For not judging.”
Alex’s hand finds his hair. “Baby,” he coos. “You don’t have to thank me at all.”
Henry turns his head to kiss Alex’s wrist. “You know my safe word.”
“That I do.”
And Alex does exactly what Henry did to him, relishing in how he falls apart.
*
“Can I ask you something?” he says much later, when they’ve been curled up in bed for hours and their bodies have stopped being hypersensitive. “Have you… have you been teasing me about it because you wished I would tease you back?”
Henry’s ears pinken, but he doesn’t look away. “At first maybe. I found I didn’t know how to ask for it, but I saw that it affected you too and figured you’d want to get revenge either way.” He is stroking up and down Alex’s arm, his touch just firm enough to not be ticklish. “But then I noticed how you responded to it. How you tried to act indignant, but wouldn’t look me in the eye each time we saw each other after the notes started. How you would squirm when we facetimed. And it was too intriguing and lovely to not want to keep seeing it.”
Alex’s face is on fire, but he’s trying to be brave about it too. “It’s weird. I never even knew I was into this.”
“Sometimes a kink gets formed because someone you love enjoys it so much that you start associating it with pleasure and love and fun.”
“A kink, huh.” Alex doesn’t mind the thought of it. “I can understand if I would be into tickling you, but- well, me?”
Henry’s hand cups his face. “I’m sure you find it fun and safe and that’s why you’re willing to be on the receiving end too.”
“Maybe.”
Henry strokes his cheek. “We don’t always have to fully understand it. Sometimes just exploring is enough.”
And Alex, who is already wishing Henry would curl his fingers under his chin already, nods.
Summary: After a fight, Usagi is overly apologetic and Misaki is beginning to feel guilty. But then Usagi gives him a coupon book for personal favors, and he gets an idea...
A/N: This is a fic I wrote for the one and only @otomiya-tickles several months ago. It was originally going to be part of the 12 Days of Ficmas last year, but when that didn't happen I decided to write it just as a special gift. I've finally decided to share it with the rest of you as well. (This was also the first fic I wrote after...certain events.) Hope you enjoy. <3
Word Count: 2,642
~~~
This coupon book was ridiculous, but it had been given to him with good intentions and a sincere apology behind it, so Misaki sighed resignedly and flipped open to the first ticket, beginning to read.
One free massage. One day without interruption. Wow, really? One fancy dinner of choice. One shopping trip. One…
The list went on and on, each page more intriguing and confusing than the last. Misaki felt his heart warming. He appreciated that Usagi seemed genuinely remorseful for what he’d done the other night – forcing himself on him so much the younger boy cried for an hour straight, feeling violated and unsafe in their shared home – but this almost felt…too much.
Then he flipped to the last five pages of the small coupon book, wrinkling his brow when he saw that they were blank. It took him a few moments to notice the small text at the bottom of the page:
Write-in. Whatever you want, I’ll do it for you, Misaki. I love you.
Misaki’s heart officially melted.
It was almost too bad that Usagi was out of the apartment right now. He felt as though he could go to the man this instant, wrap him in a hug, whisper that he’d been forgiven. Really, he’d been forgiven before the coupon book was even handed to him – his partner’s profuse apologies upon seeing his tears had been enough, even if they hadn’t felt enough in the moment. But now he felt their roles had been reversed, that he needed to go and comfort his boyfriend this time.
Well, he could cook them a nice dinner and they could have that conversation later. For now, Misaki put the coupon book back in his pocket and flopped sideways on the couch, curling up comfortably, mind swimming with possibilities.
Of course he would use the write-in space – it was too good to pass up. But what could he ask for that hadn’t already been offered to him in a different coupon? He could always ask for another full day of no interruptions if he wanted. That was truly beneficial to him on several levels and appealed to him the most out of everything he saw. An opportunity to get his work done without being snatched away for a spontaneous makeout session or tickling? That would be amazing.
Wait.
Misaki’s eyes flew wide open. No. No way. I get enough of that already – I can’t ask him to—
But he was already searching for a pen, heart hammering in his chest.
After all the apologies and all the thoughtful coupons, truly, this was the least he could do to meet Usagi halfway. Pen now in hand, he clicked it open and shakily began to write in his first request.
*
The door to their apartment clicked open. Misaki glanced up from where he was making dinner at the stove and smiled shyly. “Welcome back.”
Usagi hung up his coat and removed his gloves, maintaining uncertain eye contact with him the entire time. “Thank you.”
Things hadn’t felt this awkward between them in a long time, and Misaki was determined not to let it last. “Did you have a good day?”
“I did.” The older man approached the kitchen cautiously, like he was afraid of spooking his partner. “Did you?”
Misaki smiled genuinely then, remembering the coupons, thinking of the one in his pocket he intended to hand his boyfriend after dinner. “Yes.”
Usagi nodded. “Good.”
There was a beat of silence, then the younger man couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “Aren’t you going to kiss me hello?”
Usagi blinked, then seemed to relax, sauntering around the counter to meet him and pull him gently into his arms, kissing his lips tenderly, with none of the harsh determination he usually exhibited. “Hello, my love.”
“Mmn.” Misaki groaned, pulling away when he heard the contents of his pot about to boil over. “All right, that’s enough. Go sit down; I’ll bring you a plate.”
The older man opened his mouth – probably to protest that he could do it himself – then seemed to think better of it and did as he was told for a change. Misaki smiled to himself, turning off the burner and stirring up the last of their dinner before reaching for two plates out of the cupboards overhead. Usagi was kind of cute when he was being docile, though he knew that once that coupon was out of his pocket and in his boyfriend’s hands, that would end quickly.
Dinner was uneventful, if a bit strained on Usagi’s part. Clearly he was still feeling badly for how he’d behaved before; his conversations were empty of their usual teasing cadence and flirting comments. He was polite, interested, and tame.
Misaki couldn’t wait to get him back on track.
When they’d finished eating, Misaki glanced at the clock. Half an hour, he decided. That’s what they say for swimming, right? I’ll wait half an hour and then give him the coupon.
In the meantime they migrated to the living room after putting the leftovers away for tomorrow. Usagi seemed relieved when his boyfriend sat beside him on the sofa, cuddling into his side like he did when he wanted comfort or affection.
“How did you like your coupons?” Usagi asked him after a while, voice soft.
Misaki tensed at first – thinking of the one in his pocket – then remembered that wasn’t one of those that Usagi offered and relaxed again, humming contentedly. “They were really thoughtful. I appreciate it, Usagi-san.”
“Any that caught your eye?”
“One day without interruption?” Misaki said, voice teasing. “Can you really do that?”
“For you, I can do anything.”
At this, the younger boy lifted his head and looked at his boyfriend, surprised to see how serious Usagi was about this. He felt himself melt again, though this time it came with a pang of guilt. He was definitely feeling too badly about what had happened for too long. He glanced at the clock. Forget the half hour – he had to do this now.
Misaki shifted, throwing a leg over Usagi’s lap. The older man looked surprised in the split second it took the brunette to lean down and kiss him. After a long moment strong hands wrapped around him, pulling him closer, holding him almost reverently.
“I’m sorry, Misaki,” he murmured for what felt like the hundredth time since that night a few days ago. “I know I can be pushy, but I never meant to hurt you—”
“I forgive you, Usagi-san,” Misaki whispered into another kiss, reaching into his back pocket. “In fact, I’d…I’d like to redeem one of those coupons now, if I can.”
Usagi pulled back, eyes darting to the paper in his boyfriend’s hands. “Of course. Whatever you want, my love. My Misaki.”
Misaki whimpered at the endearment, blushing as he held out the coupon. Usagi took it and angled it until he could read it.
“Oh, one of the write-ins?” he mused, then fully took in what the words said and what they meant. He blinked. He glanced at his partner. “Oh?”
“Don’t ‘oh’ me!” Misaki protested, shoving at his chest lightly, feeling heat rising in his cheeks.
“Are you trying to tell me something?”
“N-No! I mean…” The brunette hesitated, certain he wouldn’t even be allowed an explanation before he was attacked, but surprisingly, Usagi was sitting there patiently, watching him, waiting for him to speak. Misaki whimpered again, averting his eyes. “I don’t…don’t entirely hate it, you know? Just…maybe we can have a safe word this time?”
Usagi’s curious look gradually shifted into a sly grin that made Misaki’s heart race. He tossed the coupon aside and pulled him in closer, earning a squeak in response. “What word would that be, my little tickle toy?”
That did it. Misaki covered his face with both hands and flopped into Usagi’s chest, groaning. “Don’t call me that! It’s embarrassing!”
“Answer me, Misaki.”
He whined. “I-I don’t know…why not the same one we use in the bedroom?”
“Because I want a different one for this.”
Of course he did! “Fine! You pick one, then.”
At this, Usagi gripped his waist tightly and got to his feet, hoisting him over his shoulder and beginning to trek upstairs. “You’re the one who will be laughing himself silly. You decide.”
Misaki’s eyes widened. He knew – he knew they’d be doing this now, but still! He gripped Usagi’s sweater and yelped, “W-Wait!”
“You wrote it,” the older man said matter-of-factly, swinging their bedroom door shut behind them, plunging them into darkness without bothering to turn on the light. “You wanted this.” He tossed Misaki onto the bed, making the smaller boy squeal and start giggling already even though he hadn’t been touched yet. Usagi loomed over him, and the brunette could tell he was smirking even though he couldn’t see him perfectly. “Choose a safe word, Misaki.”
“P-Purple,” Misaki stammered, not at all sure why that was the only word that came to mind in the heat of this moment. He shrank back on the bed, arms glued to his sides preemptively.
Usagi chuckled. “Purple it is.”
“Eeek!” Misaki cried when his boyfriend pried his legs open to sit between them, leaving his thighs vulnerable to the first tickles, which came swiftly once their word had been established. “Ehehehehehe wahahahahahait! Wait, I d-dihihihihidn’t have tihihihime to gehehehehet reheheheheady!”
“Did you need time?” Usagi teased, amused by his partner’s weak attempts to swat at his hands. “Would it really have helped you?”
“Shuhuhuhuhuhut up!”
“So, tell me, my love. What inspired you to use one of your write-in coupons for this?”
Misaki desperately wanted to cover his face despite it already being dark in here. “I tohohohold you alreheheheheady!”
“Explain it to me again.”
“Jeheheheheherk!” Misaki whined, bucking his hips with a near scream when Usagi moved up to pinch his hipbones in warning. “Okahahahahay, okay! I l-lihihihihike it, kihihihihind of! A lihihihihittle bit!”
Usagi hummed. “Like it how?”
It took a moment for the younger man to process what the question meant in his ticklish haze, though thankfully his partner had moved up to his sides instead of his death spot. “Nohohohohot like thahahahat, you pehehehervert! Just for fuhuhuhuhuhun!”
“All right,” Usagi chuckled, shoving his hands under Misaki’s clothes to get to the bare skin beneath. “But don’t think that means I won’t try this in the bedroom, too. Just to experiment.”
Misaki couldn’t even bring himself to protest or fight back; he was too lost to his giggles already. It had only been a few days, but he didn’t realize until now how much he’d desperately missed Usagi being on top of him, making him squirm and let out involuntary noises that embarrassed him beyond belief.
And really, after how tense and awkward things had been between them since that night, seeing the outline of his boyfriend’s happy grin made all of this worth it.
“Tickle, tickle, tickle,” Usagi teased, fingers scribbling and scratching at his sides and tummy. “Look at you squirm, Misaki~ Does it tickle here? What about here?” He darted up to his underarms without warning, earning a loud shriek and even harder giggles, legs kicking the air but doing him no good with the way they were positioned. “I’ve missed your laugh, my love. It’s been a while since I’ve tickled you, hasn’t it? Were you missing it, Misaki?”
“Stahahahahahahap!” Misaki pleaded, tossing his body this way and that, going nowhere fast and feeling a little thrill from the knowledge. “Quit teheheheheheasing me!”
Usagi leaned down to bite his earlobe playfully, fingers digging harder into his armpits while his body pinned the smaller boy to the bed so he could hardly move at all. “Never.”
“Ahahahahahahahaha! Usahahahahahagi-sahahahahahan!” Misaki cackled, throwing his head back with waves of mirth, the reality of his situation sinking in more and more the longer he felt those strong, singing, unbearable sensations wrack his body. “Plehehehehehehease!”
“Please what? Use your words.”
“Jeheheheherk! It tihihihihihihickles! Please, it tihihihickles so bahahahahad!”
“Does it?~”
“Mohohohohove somewhere ehehehehehelse!” Misaki begged, frantically trying to dislodge his boyfriend’s fingers from his underarms. “Plehehehehease, new spohohohohohot!”
“Oh? Would you prefer if I tickled you…here?” Usagi’s fingers moved down to his ribs, pressing and digging into each one, clawing and raking and drilling in rapid succession that left Misaki near breathless with hysterical giggling. “You do seem to like it here, don’t you, tickle toy?”
Misaki cursed, surprising and pleasing Usagi immensely. “Stahahahahahap with that crahahahap! Don’t call me thahahahahahat!”
“Tickle toy,” Usagi chuckled darkly, still pinning him in place with his body. “You just want to laugh so loud for me, don’t you? Laugh and squirm and kick and beg me to stop? Hmm, tickle toy?”
Misaki dissolved into silent laughter at the incessant teasing, shaking his head, mirthful tears springing to his eyes. “Plehehehehehease!” he wheezed, barely able to catch his breath. “Dohohohohon’t!”
Usagi seemed to sense he needed a moment, so he sat back up and slowed his tickling to a light tracing along his body, up and down his chest, digging in randomly just to watch the brunette jolt and giggle helplessly.
“You’re mehehehean, Usagi-sahahan.”
“I rather think you like it.” The older man went back down to his thighs, pinching in tandem with his teasing intonation of, “Mi-sa-ki.”
Misaki tossed his head back, spewing even more giggles, wiping a tear from his cheek. “Mehehehean.”
Usagi grinned at him, gently pushing his legs down flat on the mattress so he could straddle them, unbuttoning his boyfriend’s jeans. “Relax,” he said when he got a wide-eyed, horrified look from the younger man. “I’m not doing anything like that. Just getting easier access.”
Misaki’s eyes only went wider at that comment. He smiled wobbily, knowing full well what was coming next. “Wait!”
“Nope.”
“But it tickles so bad—!”
“I know.”
“No! Wahahahahahait!” Misaki squealed, then screamed full-on when Usagi’s thumbs pressed into those super sensitive spots along his hips where they met his thighs. He arched his back and yelled his ticklish agony into the air, and not for the first time he wished he had a way to cover himself up, this time to muffle what had to sound like him being murdered horrifically. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!! NOT THAHAHAHAHAHAHAT, USAGI-SAHAHAHAHAHAN!!”
“But I love hearing you scream and laugh like this,” Usagi replied reasonably, drilling his thumbs in deep, adoring the way Misaki’s body thrashed beneath him at the simple touch, shrieks and curses and loud, desperate laughter filling the air around them.
“STOPSTOPSTOHOHOHOHOHOHOP IT PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!! PLEASE USAGI-SAHAHAHAHAHAN!! NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”
Usagi chuckled, shifting just slightly downward toward the ultimate prize, smirking when Misaki’s laughter when silent a second time, wheezes and gasps for breath replacing the ear-piercing noises he’d been letting out moments before. He didn’t stay there long, thankfully, lightening his touch and scribbling gently over his belly, swirling into his navel a few times as Misaki panted for air, his giggles having turned whiny and exhausted.
“Purple?” the older man asked, checking in. It was clear he was trying not to go too far again, and for that reason alone, Misaki felt like he could withstand a little more, his love for his partner swelling up inside him twice as much as usual.
“No,” he replied breathlessly, even going so far as to pull his own shirt up further, exposing more of his bare torso for Usagi to tickle. “Not yet.”
Usagi looked both elated and touched. He leaned over him again, kissing him so hard Misaki saw stars. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Misaki replied just before being sent back into a world of ticklish bliss, giggling and squirming uselessly on their shared mattress, loving the feeling of Usagi’s hands on him, making him melt, making him submit as he always did.
Crowley makes up something special for a certain angel someone. So season two is a thing. I made a thing about Crowley making a thing because I needed more things. I hope you like the thing! :) No spoilers for new season, no worries
SFW. Potential warnings: none. Good Omens/Ineffable Husbands tickle fic.
Word count: 6,003
~*~
It took Crowley a while to want to fly again. To be expected, really; falling, cast from the heavens and plummeting to the depths amid a cacophony of agonized screaming and terrified wailing of the damned all plunging downward into jagged rock and sizzling sulfur–it wasn’t an experience he was eager to repeat. He kept to the ground for a while. Crawling, slithering, was much calmer. But one day, he caught a breeze. Sitting on a crag, sunning himself, the downy feathers of his large dark wings felt a cool gust and began to fluff up. He stretched out the limbs, welcoming the wind, and his long gossamer flight wings began to shiver as well. The wind whistled through him, beckoning him to stretch further, to go faster, to fall. And, with a deep breath and golden eyes wide, he fell. Tucked his wings tight against his back, feeling the wind batter him, rocketing down the mountainside–and then threw them open wide, like floodgates accepting rain, like garden gates accepting fire. He caught the wind, the wind caught him, and he was no longer falling but flying. The wind, the sky, embraced him, surrounded him, whipping through his long crimson hair and tousling it a thousand directions, pinning a hysterical smile to his cheeks, drying tears before they could fall from his eyes. Flapping, swooping, diving, soaring, Crowley shrieked in whooping laughter, utterly free. He wasn’t doomed to the depths; he was up, left, right, down, and everywhere. The sky was his to ride, the earth his to explore. He was alone, and he was free.
He did a lot of flying after that. Still walked often, sure; humans and their antics were much easier to see from the ground. But his heart pounded loudest and brightest up in the atmosphere.
Speaking of heart pounding.
One day, as Crowley flew, he spotted a large white shape in a tree below him. He couldn’t say offhand where he was–it wasn’t like he often flew with a destination; as much of the world as there was, humans hadn’t filled it with all the fun stuff they would one day–but he could see plenty of empty open desert to catch him when he landed. So, he angled his flight downward, and, just for fun, somersaulted into the dry scrubland, loving the feeling of sand freckling his grinning cheeks and grass adorning his mussed hair. A hop, skip, and a jump, and he’d crossed the distance to the curious tree and was perched on a branch beside its familiar inhabitant.
“Hey, angel.”
“Hello, Crawly,” said Aziraphale. Prim and polite as ever, albeit looking painfully bored. The angel’s eyes were wandering the fuzzy desert horizon, hands folded in the lap of his obscenely white robes which billowed gently around his crossed ankles, which swayed subconsciously back and forth. His wings were folded at his back, appearing tight and stiff from disuse. Crowley counted back in his head how long it had been since their paths had crossed and wondered how much of that time Aziraphale had been made to spend as a tree ornament.
“Crowley,” the demon corrected, feeling antsy just watching Aziraphale sit so still and so standing up on his branch, which creaked protestingly against the first real new movement in a while, and reaching up to ruffle the foliage with his fingers.
“Right,” Aziraphale said, furrowing his brow and shaking his head with an embarrassed smile. “Crowley. I wasn’t expecting to see you. What brings you here?”
Crowley’s fingers found purchase on a higher branch, and he gripped it tight, using it to swing himself up and around and hang upside down from the taller vantage point by his knees. His long curls hung down like a red willow, but his own black robes hugged dutifully to his corporal form. (Even if he didn’t have the human habit of shame, he wasn’t keen to let gravity have his clothes; the wind could get cold even in the desert). The blood rushing to his head made Aziraphale’s question not quite register right away, and Crowley blinked. What had brought him? He stretched out his onyx wings and flexed them demonstratively.
“Ah,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I mean, what are you doing?”
The demon stuck out his lower lip thoughtfully and narrowed his eyes. “Nothing?”
The angel tipped his head, brow furrowed. “What do you mean, nothing?”
“Just that, I guess. Flying quite a bit, having fun. Not like demons really have anything we’re meant to be doing, so.” Crowley curled forward, reaching up to his hanging branch and pulling himself upright before laying down on his stomach, resting his head on his arms to look down at the angel. “Yeah, whatever I want. Nothing.”
Aziraphale sputtered, and Crowley chuckled.
“’We have no time to waste, the Almighty has much work for us to do,’” said the demon in so impressive an impression of the head archangel that Aziraphale held a hand to his lips when a titter startled him by escaping. Crowley grinned. “Even if I’m not on God’s payroll anymore, time’s hardly wasted for us, is it? We’re not mortal; we don’t have a limited amount of time to get done all the things we should.” Crowley closed his eyes with a deep sigh. “So I’m doing none of them. Too much earth to enjoy to get busy with work.”
When Crowley slowly opened one eye, he saw Aziraphale turning his ring over on his little finger, white wings twitching and puffing out, subconsciously agitated.
"Could show you, if you want. Come fly with me, I'll take you on a tour."
"What!" In an instant, Aziraphale's wings went from anxiously fidgeting to defensively spread, puffed up and rigid and making him look much bigger and more threatening. Or, it would have, if he hadn't whipped his head around to look at Crowley with the biggest eyes and flapping mouth and reddening cheeks. He looked positively scandalized.
Crowley couldn't help it--he laughed, a hissing snickering sound that he buried in his arms. He noted Aziraphale's flush looked even darker when he lifted his head, but the thought didn't even occur that it could have been from something other than the words from his mouth.
"I- I- I-! I couldn't possibly--!!"
Couldn't possibly, Crowley sighed, hiding the way his smile began to fade by pressing his cheek into his forearm. Couldn't possibly be seen flittering about with a demon!
Aziraphale settled himself, clearing his throat and smoothing his ruffled feathers. "Couldn't possibly. Far too busy."
"With what?" Crowley scoffed, smiling again when Aziraphale's blush rebloomed. "Looked to me like you were doing as much nothing as I was." He pushed himself up, looking through the verdure to an empty desert. "Unless I'm mistaken, not much of a garden here for you to guard."
"Precisely, there isn't," said Aziraphale, visibly brightening, more confident, when Crowley furrowed his brow and opened his mouth in confusion. "Humans are free to roam about wherever they like now," Aziraphale explained, "even if they're harder to keep track of. And angels are tasked to give them inspiration and blessings."
"Yeah, but," Crowley said, reluctant to disagree when the angel had given so content and cute a wiggle in his seat, "doesn't look like there's many humans around for inspiring or blessing."
"No," Aziraphale relented, casting his gaze downward and fidgeting with his fingers. "Actually, there aren't many yet at all, certainly not enough for all us angels to keep busy, so I- I'm waiting for them to do their whole--" he scrunched up his nose and flapped his hands in front of him, “’go forth and multiply’ing… thing…”
“Uh-huh.” Crowley leaned to once side and then the other before tipping off his branch, catching himself one the perch with one elbow and swinging one leg up to hang from his knee. “And, while you’re waiting for that,” he said, tipping his head back to look at Aziraphale, “you could come fly with me to–”
“I most certainly could not.”
“You should,” Crowley countered. “If for nothing else, because you’ll get stiff just sitting there.”
Aziraphale gave his head a quick and resolute shake. “But I won’t.”
Crowley narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “You won’t get stiff?”
“No,” Aziraphale huffed with an exasperated smile, “I won’t go flittering about. Angels aren’t meant to…” He trailed off, brow furrowed as he sought for words. Instead, he gave a shaky wave with his hands, as though that gesture wasn’t equally vague.
“Fly?” Crowley guessed.
Aziraphale gave another huff, part impatient and part amused. “Obviously. We, no, um… There’s a certain level of professionalism to…” He’d run out of words again. Crowley wondered if the Lord’s precious humans would be so kind as to one day make up a way for someone to communicate with their hands for beings like poor Aziraphale. (Probably would, clever things.) As it was, the angel said no more, but his inability to articulate in concert with his anxious hands and wide eyes spoke bounds.
Professionalism, hm? Ah. Crowley guessed again, words slow and eyebrows rising. “You’re not meant to have fun?”
At that, Aziraphale nodded, the tension in his shoulders and wings dropping, and a relieved smile gracing his cheeks. An answer, even one delivered so astonishedly as Crowley’s had been, evidently was enough to settle him. “Yes. Far too busy.”
“Let me get this straight.” Crowley unbent the two limbs suspending him from his branch, languidly loosing them so he could drop down sit beside Aziraphale on his lower branch. “Lord of all light and goodness,” he wiggled his fingers upward, “made all this world for you to serve and forbade you to enjoy any of it?”
“Not forbade, but serving does come first” Aziraphale replied, seeming only have just realized Crowley was now beside him. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands in his lap. Crowley cocked his head curiously; no more hand-flapping or chin-wagging, then. The angel had let himself out of his box enough for one day.
“Well,” said Crowley, clapping his palms to his thighs and pushing off until he tipped backwards and into freefall. His wings caught him with practiced ease just beneath the tree’s canopy, but he definitely delighted in the angel’s startled jolting and almost reaching to try and catch him. “Have fun sitting in your nest.” He gave the angel a salute, then touched a finger to his head. “Or don’t have fun, I guess, whichever. I’ll be up there.” Crowley pointed upward, then snorted. “I mean, ‘up there’ like the sky, not ‘up there’ like– you know what I mean.”
The last he saw of Aziraphale before flying off was cherub cheeks glowing an embarrassed pink and hands all but anchored to his robed lap. Crowley’s wings beat fast and hard, arms thrown wide, and soon he was back amongst the cloud. Which way he’d been intending to go, he had no idea, so he hailed the first wind gale and let himself float along it. His thoughts, which usually wandered just as aimlessly as the winds, were stubbornly pointed downward and behind him.
Oh, an angel didn’t want to have fun, what a shocker. Let him sit in his tree, bored, all he wanted. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.
Crowley’s wind carried him to an ocean that would one day be called the Red Sea, passing him off to an air distinctly cooler and tasting of salt. Beneath him, the blue vastness stretched on toward the horizon, in no time at all swallowing up the desert he’d come from until he was flying over only sea. Ocean above, ocean below, even from so high up, he could see no end to either. Beautiful. Peaceful. Lonely.
The sighed Crowley exhaled was ocean-deep. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.
Banking hard, Crowley dove under and out of his wind current, flying lower and closer to the sea as he trekked back toward land. A spray-laden breeze spurred him on, carrying him like a leaf riding the rolling waves.
He couldn’t just pull the angel from his tree. Well. He could, of course, literally. But he couldn’t pull him from where he’d metaphorically rooted himself. Maybe there was a figurative middle ground at which to meet him.
Literal ground came into view, and Crowley slowed until he’d lighted on a beach. He stood there a moment, hands on his hips and lips pursed and wings stretching, thinking. Stewing. Any other angel, Crowley probably wouldn’t have been so stuck on. But Aziraphale wasn’t any other angel. He had a little devil in him, or he wouldn’t have talked with a devil in the first place. An angel’s stuffiness didn’t suit him; even if he was prim, it wasn’t like he’d had much chance to be anything else. To try anything else. He wanted to have fun; Crowley knew he did. Crowley watched the waves tumble onto the sands with thunderous yawns, listened to the gulls’ distant disgruntled cries as they squabbled over dinner. The ocean was just as vast from below. If only he could have Aziraphale standing next to him, get him to see all there was to see.
Something scuttled over his foot, and he brought his gaze down. A small crab, no bigger than his thumb, had elected that the risk of invading a demon’s personal space was worth the few seconds it’d safe on its journey. Crowley stepped back–obligingly, not because the creature had startled him; he was far scarier than a crab, thank you–and crouched down to watch the crab scurry on. The sand beneath them both was warm and deep, too, shifting beneath Crowley’s feet in miniscule landslides of grains too many to count. Crowley snickered; some poor angel had to have been saddled with the task to count sand and pour it out on the earth, he was sure. There were shells atop the sandy scape, too, and stones already being smoothed down from the waves’ crashing. Crowley picked up one of each, a pretty little brown spiral and a slate rock hewn quite flat. After a second of consideration, he reeled back his arm and tossed the stone out across the ocean, grinning when it jumped four times across the surface before sinking into the water. Like it was skipping. Snickering proudly, he scooped up another such stone and tucked it safely alongside the shell into one of the many folds of his robe. (Like gravity, the robe was willing to ignore space and mass to allow Crowley to carry more things. Very considerate.) He walked a few paces further, gathering up a small piece of driftwood, another rock with an interesting texture, and, deciding the risk of getting pinched was worth it, the crab. Then, back into the air, he went.
Time was still funny. After the big seven days at the beginning had been counted, the calendar had gotten a little messy. Humans would probably benefit from it, get a few more weeks or years or centuries in change from days not counted for the sun having forgotten to have been set. Maybe some angel would be appointed to sort that out eventually and keep time organized. As it was, Crowley didn’t know how long he’d been gone from Aziraphale’s tree. A few hours? A few days? It was easy to get lost up in the air and up in one’s thoughts. What he did know was that it had been long enough for Aziraphale to fall asleep.
Angels didn’t need to sleep. It had been a design feature. Too much to do. But, as Crowley clambered into the tree once more, he saw a blonde head tipped back, eyes closed and jaw relaxed.
“Hey, angel!” Crowley crowed and jabbed a finger into Aziraphale’s side, already grinning.
Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open, and he jolted forward with a yelp, floundering with his wings to get his balance back while one hand gripped his branch and the other was pressed affrontedly to his heaving chest. When was no longer in danger of falling, Aziraphale’s focus shifted squarely to Crowley, all dagger-glares and flushed cheeks. Crowley couldn’t help laughing, which, he realized, was all too easy to do around Aziraphale. “Crowley! That was–! You startled me!”
With a shrug and lingering snickers, Crowley moved to Aziraphale’s perch, sitting down beside him. “Just helping you out, angel. You were working so hard before; would hate to see your higher-ups find you dozing.”
Whatever retort or further scolding Aziraphale had intended to give fizzled away in his flapping mouth. He pressed his lips tight together and turned his pink face away slightly, and Crowley wondered if he was trying to keep himself from coming up with an excuse or, God forbid, breathing a lie.
With a chuckle, Crowley reached into his robes, elbowing Aziraphale’s side as he did. “I’m just teasing. I wouldn’t want to see your higher-ups at all.” At that, the line of Aziraphale’s lip wobbled, the muscle of his cheek twitching like it ached to pull upward. Crowley’s grin was unabashed. “Anyway, hopefully this will make up for it.”
Aziraphale jumped when he found himself with hands full of small silly objects. “What’s this?” he asked, juggling them for a moment before laying the treasures in his lap. The offended crab stayed determinedly pinched to the hem of his sleeve, but the other trinkets spread out nicely upon the fabric his white robe in a flattering little display.
“Figured,” explained Crowley, holding a hand out to catch the crab when it eventually tired, “since angels are allergic to having fun and going to new places, it’d be a shame for you to not even see things from those places.” Moreso, it was its own temptation, but nothing Crowley had been instructed to do. He hoped that, if Aziraphale saw pretty little things from somewhere else, maybe he’d want to go there more than he’d want to do his nothing job. Maybe want to do nothing together. Maybe.
“Oh.” The angel’s gaze hadn’t left the little exhibit. His eyes wandered between the objects, and, slowly, he let his hand–the one not currently being clambered up by a crustacean–trail over them, tentative and featherlight. Gentle. Reverent. Crowley tore his own gaze from Aziraphale’s hands back to his face. The flustered blush had faded, and his eyes were as bright as Crowley had ever seen them, positively shining. “Thank you. I suppose.”
The verbal response was so detached from the visual one that Crowley snorted. Right, so, angels didn’t know how to receive gifts (albeit, admittedly, they were as new to the concept as any other earthling). Maybe that was enough of an excuse to give him more gifts.
"No one's ever given me-- ow." Aziraphale looked up from his treasures to the crab that had scaled his sleeve and delivered a disgruntled pinch to his arm. He smiled, regarding the little creature with eyes still bright. "No one's ever given me a crab. Excuse me, my fine little fellow?"
"Well, I wasn't planning repeats anyway, but definitely no crabs next time." Crowley jabbed at the crab with his finger. "Oi."
The crab promptly let go of Aziraphale to brandish both pincers at Crowley.
"Ow," he said when the crab latched onto his nail. "Fine, read you loud and clear, I'll give you a lift home." He tucked the little devil into his pockets and looked back to Aziraphale, who'd gone red again. "Don't look so terrified, angel. He's safe in there, you're safe out here."
Aziraphale's response was quiet. "Next time?"
"'Next--'?" Crowley's eyebrows furrowed, then rose to his hairline. 'Next time' that he brought the angel a gift. Well, he hadn't meant to speak that implication into the universe. Whoops. "Ahm, s-- so. You want to come with me to escort the little thing home?"
"I can't," Aziraphale sighed, but he was cradling the smooth stone and tracing it with his fingertips.
"Busy, right." Crowley scooted forward and off the branch, into the air. "Well, sleep tight."
Maybe not the best time to tease when the angel had a stone in his hand, but Crowley could get used to seeing Aziraphale blush before flying off.
He was still seeing red, and is was just as adorable, while he lay on his belly on the warm beach sand, fending off the little crab from pinching his nose with one hand.
"You were no help back there," Crowley told his tiny bloodthirsty foe, parrying away a jab with his index finger. Only after delivering a few nasty blows to Crowley’s knuckles and fingertips was the vengeful crab, at last, satisfied, scuttling off into the surf. Crowley mussed his hair with both hands before letting his head loll forward, resting his forehead on the sand and mindlessly scratching lines into the sand with his fingers.
Not a total failure of a plan, but not a complete success, either, with or without the aid of Captain Stabby. He hadn’t gotten the angel out of his nest, but at least he now had something to keep from being bored to sleep. Crowley wasn’t usually averse to giving up, but he could be pretty stubborn. And maybe he had a pretty big crush. But that wasn’t the point! Aziraphale was perhaps the only angel to speak to, let alone be kind to Crowley after his fall. He was too sweet a soul to deserve being benched from all of Earth’s joys for a few centuries just because he didn’t technically have work to do. Crowley couldn’t let him be stuck like that.
Resolved, Crowley lifted his head and determined to come up with another plan. Watching the waves crash and turn over, so he shuffled through the thoughts and ideas in his mind. Giving Aziraphale things hadn’t swayed him enough to move from his perch, even if those things had obviously delighted him. (More than obviously, but Crowley didn’t yet know how Aziraphale had carefully tucked all of the little beach treasures safely into his own pockets.) Perhaps, instead of showing the angel how much fun could be had somewhere else by collecting things from that somewhere, Crowley could make him feel that right where he was. Hard to replicate the feeling of being on a warm beach, soaking in the sun and listening to the sea, while in reality sitting in a gnarled old tree. A different feeling, perhaps. A different place. Crowley’s most favorite place was the sky; as an angel, Aziraphale would be well acquainted with how good flying could be. But how to make him feel that way from the ground? It wasn’t like he could collect bits of cloud and wind.
Crowley looked up at the clouds, following the bright white hilltops and grey flat plains with his eyes. No angel designed them or upkept them; the wind pulled and pushed and shaped them, taking them and making them to its whim. Like it took Crowley. From in their midst, clouds looked mostly like great pale curtains. From below, Crowley could almost see fluffy sheep and snowy mountaintops in their formless shapes. Chaos, random chance, channeled to make something substantial. Collecting hadn’t work to replicate feelings; why wouldn’t making something?
Demons loved making stuff. Creativity had been made to be a human trait, but demons, by principal, had the bad habit of doing things they weren’t supposed to. It was fun in so many ways. To come up with and then make something overcomplicated, accidentally brilliant, or absolute bullshit nonsense–and then to see what humans did with it. It was invigorating, cathartic, and hilarious.
What, what, what could Crowley make for his angel? It actually wasn’t too hard yet, to think up something unique, occupying such an early chapter of history. Still, he wanted it to be special. Moving. Figuratively and literally. What did he feel when flying, and how could he make that happen down here? How to ruffle an angel’s feathers without wind?
Crowley looked at the squiggling furrows his fingers had left in the sand. They had been made without intention, for the satisfying scraping sounds and gritty shifting texture as he thought. But, now, they gave him an idea. Hands could ruffle feathers, sure. He looked over his shoulder and reached back to give his own feathers an experimental ruffle. Yup, that could work. Like the waves crashing over one another, Crowley’s thoughts started to race, spurred as he looked backward. Hands ruffling feathers, fingers buried in sand, feet bare in soft grass. He thought of one human he’d seen poke another in the side and how the second had recoiled with a smile before they’d both gone back to fishing. He thought of how it felt when an itchy leave wriggled its way down his robe. He thought of how it felt when an angry little crab scittered across his skin. He thought of an angel’s beaming smile and bright eyes. He had many thoughts, but he had one idea. One idea for something absolutely nonsensical and extremely silly, and, when he eventually workshopped a name for it, he’d call it tickling.
But, one unnamed idea in hand, Crowley flew up from his sandy sunning spot and back in the direction of a now very familiar tree.
“I saw you coming this time,” Aziraphale declared when Crowley all but crashed into the tree with how fast he’d been flying.
Crowley scoffed, picking twigs from his crimson hair. “I would hope so, between how many eyes you have and how much noise I was made landing.”
Aziraphale set his eyes heavenward, as close as he seemed to get to rolling them.
“Why?” Crowley said as he sat down next to the angel. “Were you watching for me?”
“I wasn’t sure you’d come again,” Aziraphale admitted, cheeks going rosy and fingers worrying a small brown shell.
For a moment, Crowley’s heart beat loud and eager in his ears. He kept it. No time to be swept up in that thought, though; he was far too busy with the task at hand. Crowley cleared his throat and shrugged, moving to sit close enough to Aziraphale that their knees touched. “Had to. I had another gift for you.”
“Oh?” The angel’s eyes lit up excitedly, even as he tried to look professional. “From where this time?”
“From me. I made it up. For you.” Crowley stuck out his tongue and cursed his own ears for burning. “Ngk– I’ll show you.”
Before the angel could offer any turnabout teasing for Crowley being the one flushed and at a loss for words (because, Crowley just knew, there was enough devil in Aziraphale to absolutely turn the tables given the opportunity), Crowley thrust his hands beneath Aziraphale’s folded wings, wiggling his fingers to muss the feathers and scribble at the muscle beneath.
“Ah–!” Aziraphale yelped, his wings swinging out wide to escape the surely strange feeling. Crowley only targeted the space closer to Aziraphale’s shoulders instead. “What are you–?” Aziraphale tried to ask through laughter that seemed to be building and bubbling quite irresistibly from his chest, “What are you doing?”
“I’m tickling you,” Crowley explained, crawling his wiggling fingers from Aziraphale’s wings, down his shoulder blades and under his arms. “Not sure about the name yet, but I figured vessel nerves usual react for preservation. Why not make them react to something fun?”
Perhaps for preservation against this new attack, Aziraphale tried to lean back and away from Crowley, flapping his wings and batting at his hands. The tickling under his arms, though, had him curling up and laughing enough to mostly rob him of words once again. “This isn’t–!”
“This isn’t fun?” Crowley guessed, puffing out his lower lip. “Now, is that because it’s actually not fun, or because you, as an angel, could not possibly be having fun?”
“Crowley!” Aziraphale squealed, and Crowley grinned, downright devilish.
“I mean, if it’s not fun, why are you laughing? Laughing means you’re happy, yeah?” he teased, slipping his hands from under Aziraphale’s arms to set his dancing fingers loose upon his stomach.
Aziraphale was nearly horizontal, leaned so far away from Crowley and wings and hands flapping weakly. When Crowley’s next attack targeted his stomach, Aziraphale loosed a merry wail before tumbling into bright laughter that made the lines by his eyes crinkle happily and the breath in his throat catch wheezily. And oh, his laugh was perfect. All the pristine stuffy angel was gone, drowned out by the loud, head-thrown-back, wrinkled nose, toothy, shoulder-scrunching, belly-shaking laughter. It suited him.
Crowley had some mercy, switching from digging and scratching to poking and wiggling. “It is supposed to mean you’re happy, right?” he asked, for a moment concerned he might accidentally kill the angel. He certainly looked happy, and he hadn’t been doing much to push Crowley away, but… “I came up with tickling, but I’m not yet fully clear on…”
A still-giggling Aziraphale blinked through laughter-induced tears–tears were sad; had he become so happy, he was sad?–to look at Crowley, his gaze an odd but warm mix of fond and sympathetic and sweet and teasing and just losing the edge of hysterical. Just that look nearly bowled Crowley onto his back.
“Oh well!” Crowley exclaimed, a little too loudly. “I’ve got to perfect my new little game for you. And you,” he grinned as Aziraphale grew all the redder and scrunched his neck, “you just stop laughing if you stop being happy.”
Aziraphale didn’t stop laughing, but he didn’t stop squirming either. In fact, when Crowley set out to practice until perfect by testing other techniques to see what would tickle and started squeezing the soft spots of Aziraphale’s stomach and sides, the angel thrashed so exuberantly that he rolled right off the branch. Crowley followed, and, in a mess of feathers and flapping wings, the two tumbled from the tree and into the desert scrub grass.
With how much of a reaction squeezing had gotten, Crowley continued doing it, chasing Aziraphale’s laughter down along his thighs and behind his knees. With more ground on which to metaphorically stand, Aziraphale did put up a bit more of a fight, and Crowley was sure no one who pictured wrestling an angel would conjure that image. Of the angel with a wide smile beaming like the sun, of the demon getting the upper hand by jamming his thumbs into the angel’s hips until the later collapsed backward with a snorting cackle, of the adoration in the demon’s eyes as he tickled the angel apart piece by piece. Crowley rounded back, at last able to get one of Aziraphale’s wings pinned under his knee and burrowing the fingers of one hand into the wing pit and the fingers of the other into the soft stomach and vibrating both sets until the angel was wheezing.
Crowley had had about a dozen other ideas for this tickling thing once Aziraphale had actually been under his hands, but he had actually succeeded in getting Aziraphale from his tree, and he didn’t want to overwhelm with too much of his brilliant new idea. He pulled his hands back to a featherlight crawl, tracing the fair hair of Aziraphale’s forearms with the tips of his fingers and the tops of his feet with the tips of his black wings. The angel, thoroughly spent and thoroughly happy, lay giggling and content, hands twitching and stomach jumping but otherwise still. Eventually, all Crowley’s movement stopped as well, transfixed by the sight beneath him.
Here lay Aziraphale, opalescent wings thrown wide and with feathers mussed, perfect curled hair a tousled mess, hysterically happy smile stuck to his cheeks, tears drying on his cheeks, chest heaving from a belly full of screaming laughter. Crowley fell from on top of him, laying beside Aziraphale with a smile of his own. Perfect.
“That was fun,” Aziraphale said, eyes closed and smiling so gently that Crowley simply couldn’t bear to gloat just then. (He would eventually gloat. A lot. But not just then.)
“Yeah, it was.” Crowley lay beside Aziraphale, reveling in the validation of a successful plan and good idea, as well as the echoing angelic laughter still gracing his ears. He turned his head when Aziraphale pushed himself to sit up.
“Well, it will be a bit before humans fully populate the earth anyway.” Aziraphale stood, brushing off a bit of sand from his robes and producing the shell and a rock from them to make sure they had survived the fall, and holding out a hand to Crowley. “You can lead the way to that ocean you were so keen about, and you can tell me more about your creation. I haven’t ever laughed like that, have you?”
Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and stood, shaking his head. “Just when I catch a really good breeze, but even then…”
“Ah. Well, I liked your gifts. Can I share this one?”
The demon was struck with the absurd image of angels dropping like flies around the old garden under the menace that would be Aziraphale the tickle angel. He snorted. “Sure, if you want.”
“Thank you.” Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders happily and stretched out his wings. “I’d like to tickle you then, so you can laugh like that, and I can see it.”
Something in Crowley’s mind popped. Full of ideas as it had been minutes earlier, it was amazingly empty at Aziraphale’s proposal. With all the excitement the demon had had coming up with the idea and developing it, he had not once considered it being turned against him. Regifted. He was struck with another image, this time of himself, pinned under Aziraphale, at his mercy, laughing like flying. That image actually struck him as quite lovely, but it did also make his ears burn like hellfire. “Well!” Crowley said, kicking up off the ground and hovering a few feet above it. “One fun thing at a time. Ocean?”
Aziraphale nodded, smiled, and shot up into the air like a feathery stone shot by a sling. “Race you!”
“Hey!” Crowley laughed, chasing after him.
~*~
Crowley had come up with it, but Aziraphale had made it his own. And had inspired Crowley to coin the term ‘tickle monster.’
Such inspiration came to Crowley in an instance much like the one he found himself in at present: head tipped back against the cottage bedroom door, cheeks and chest aching from laughing, knees wobbly, so high and happy that the only thing keeping him from floating away was Aziraphale holding him (quite nicely after so evilly pinning him there earlier), stroking his fingertips along Crowley’s hips and sides, slow, featherlight, gentle, reverent.
“This may have been the best gift ever given,” Aziraphale chuckled, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s neck and leaning back with a proud wiggle.
Crowley lifted his arms, still a bit jelly-like, to wrap around Aziraphale’s shoulders, holding him close and keeping himself upright. “And it got me a hefty promotion way back when.”
Aziraphale laughed, “What?!”
“Yeah,” Crowley grinned, crooked and dizzy. “’Oh, Crowley, what an ingenious torture method, all the fun of hysteria with no marks left behind!’”
He let his head fall onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, giggling, as Aziraphale smothered his own laughter in his hand.
“But,” Crowley said, lifting his head but still too boneless to actually hold it up and so letting it thump back against the door, “you are by far more evil with it, so I may have taken credit where I was not due.”
“How rude,” Aziraphale tutted, giving Crowley a little scratch to one hip that had him crumpling sideways and squeaking. The angel caught him easily, supporting him around the waist and gently tickling his back to get him to purr and slump further into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Well, whatever the offices took it for, I am very grateful.” He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead and smiled. “Very happy with it.”
“Good,” Crowley mumbled, “because I didn’t keep the receipt.”
A/N: Thank you @wertzunge for the request☕💖! Yay this will be my first Genshin Impact fic so of course it’s filled with lots of fluff. I love this trope, it’s one I’ve written many times before so I hope I could keep it a bit original. I’ll go back to playing the game now, hahaha!
Summary: Being raised by wolves, Razor doesn’t really know what tickling is, so the afternoon takes an unexpected turn when he unintentionally tickles Aether and the blond has to show him what this means and how it works. (Also on Ao3)
Word Count: 2332
The sun felt warm, even when the leaves of the trees were blocking its rays from touching the skin. Recovering from an active afternoon, Aether sat with Razor against a rock in the forest of Wolvendom. They were still sweaty and recovering, content smiles on their faces.
Spending the days with Razor this way were ten times better than a simple dinner or date in Mondstadt. Aether enjoyed that. Fighting slimes, training together, climbing trees, gathering ingredients and wood, cooking and enjoying meals. Then resting together like this, maybe some kissing, cuddling. Hmm, to him this was the best definition of peace. It was his favorite thing in the world.
“You’ve got a little cut in your neck…” Aether looked up at Razor. “Ah, yes,” he replied. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Maybe a branch had scratched his neck, it couldn’t have been Razor since he was always quite gentle when they sparred together.
It didn’t hurt, so he just smiled at his sweet lover’s concern. What was remarkable though, was the feeling that followed.
“AHh!” A surge of tingles was sent through all of his body and he jumped up in shock: Razor had leaned in to study the wound - was what Aether thought - but no, he leaned further and licked it. He looked at him in horror, his hand covering his neck.
It hadn’t been that long since they had started dating, and every once in a while the wolf-boy could still surprise him like this.
“Ah, yes. Sorry, humans don’t do that,” Razor corrected his mistake. Sighing, Aether lowered his hand.
“It is fine, you just startled me,” he admitted. Razor then leaned in again. Instead of licking him, he let his thumb carefully stroke the wound to clean the blood off in a ‘normal’ way, but instead of anything but painful, it felt as ticklish as that random little lick. Aether spazzed and cackled again.
“Ahhe- Razor!” he warned, giggling. Razor cocked his head.
“It hurts?” he asked, but he looked genuinely confused to see Aether smile, let alone hear him giggle like this.
“It just tickles hehehe. It’ll be fine. It’s just a little cut, it will heal,” he said, brushing at his ticklish neck to shake off the tingling feeling. When Razor gave him a long intense stare, he swallowed. “It really will heal. Don’t worry,” he reassured, but it seemed Razor was looking at him like this for other reasons.
CONGRATS ON SUCH AN AMAZING MILESTONE! MANY BLESSINGS FOR THE ROAD AHEAD!
Ler(s)! Rengoku and Tengen
Lee(s)! Giyu and Muichiro
Belly and knees
[Drabble Event 🎉 - Requests closed!] Cute combination! It's been a hot minute since I saw this anime so I apologize if it gets too weird lol.
"...Hehehe. Hehe. Hehehe."
Uzui followed the mysterious sound of weird chuckles, and though knowing what the source should be, he was curious about the reason.
"What are you laughing about, all by yourself?" He had seen Rengoku sneak out during a lively get-together with the other hashira, but was actually surprised to find him here, not looking like he planned on moving further or turning back.
"Hehe," Rengoku chuckled and pointed at two figures in the distance. "Look."
Oh. Giyuu and Muichiro. So that's where those guys were. Tengen thought they had been too loud for them to enjoy the gathering.
"What do you think they're talking about? It looks funny, seeing them together like that. Such a gloomy vibe," Rengoku said. Tengen cocked his head and watched the two.
"I'm not sure but it doesn't look like a lot of fun. Why linger here? Come back inside, the drinks are waiting," Tengen said, but when he pulled Rengoku's arm, the blond didn't budge and continued to peek at the duo in the distance.
"I want to do something funny, you know? Like.. see if they would laugh," Rengoku said, scratching his head. Tengen sighed.
"I don't think they would," he disagreed, but Rengoku smirked.
"Like a funny prank. It would make at least one of them laugh for sure. And before you know it, the other follows. There's just no reason to look so sad!" he said, waving frantically at their two dark haired fellow hashira.
Tengen didn't think they looked sad. Bored would be a better way to express their vibe, but he did enjoy Rengoku's dramatic description.
He hummed. "So.. once you see them laugh, you're coming back inside?" Rengoku nodded with a distant look on his face, probably thinking about his prank.
"Alright then," Tengen said, cracking his fingers and walking up to them, startling Rengoku who had been subtly hiding himself behind the trees.
"Hey," Tengen said to announce his arrival, and the two looked at him.
"What is it?" Muichiro said, but he was the first to get pounced on. Tengen literally jumped on him, tackled him down and started to tickle his belly.
"W-what are you..?! H-hehe... Hehehe, oh no, hehe," were the dry sounds Muichiro made, but they were definitely some giggles, and Tengen let out a snort of his own, amused by this.
"What's the meaning of..." Giyuu said, staring at them in surprise, but he then paused and looked at something which had to be Rengoku advancing on him since he suddenly gulped and backed away.
"Don't start the fun without me!" Rengoku cried, leaping after Giyuu who spun around and tried to run, but Rengoku already caught him around the middle and together they fell onto the ground right next to where Tengen still playfully tickled Muichiro.
"Take... this!" Due to their fall together, Rengoku wasn't really in an ideal position, but that didn't stop him from tickling the spot he could reach easily: Giyuu's knees.
"Hey! Whahahat - quihihit that! Nohoho!" Giyuu laughed. Although it had been Rengoku's idea, Tengen felt himself tingle with amusement. These two males who usually had soft and delicate voices were now laughing and giggling thanks to their unplanned teamwork.
Rengoku's clumsy tickles on Giyuu's knees ended pretty soon again when the guy managed to kick him in the face - something Uzui could witness thankfully when he turned his head just at the right moment.
"HAHA!" he let out a laugh of his own at Rengoku's startled expression, but his buddy wasn't disheartened at all and instead left Giyuu alone so he could join Tengen in tickling Muichiro.
"Yes, get him!" he sang as he grabbed Muichiro's arms and pinned them down so Tengen could freely claw at his exposed tummy.
"Hahahaha wahahait ahaha!" Strong as he was, Muichiro didn't seem to do anything to escape their claws, nor did Giyuu offer a helping hand. He simply sat there, catching his breath and rubbing his knees, glaring at them.
"Haa - haa.. W-what was that for?" Muichiro muttered when they finally released him. Rengoku giggled and helped him up again.
"Just a little prank! Thought you both could use some cheering up. Right?" Rengoku said, and Tengen nodded although it wasn't entirely true. It was just funny.
Muichiro sighed, blushing a little while muttering: "We were totally fine though...."
Giyuu didn't say anything but simply got up and already walked back to the others.
"I think he's mad at us," Rengoku said, watching him go. Tengen wrapped an arm around him and chuckled.
"Nah, he'll forgive us. You too, hmm?" he said, poking Muichiro's belly again and making him squeak.
"...Yes," he said with a sweet smile on his face.
"Hehehe, alright then. Let's go back!" And so he finally took Rengoku and Muichiro back inside where drinks, games, and fun chats with the other hashira awaited them, and to his surprise, sometimes when he would sneak a glance at Giyuu, he could see a very subtle smile lingering on his lips.
dani-chan will you please provide me with some ler satoru-kun (jjk) hcs (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ
if you wanna throw a few lee mahito-kun thoughts in there too i would not be opposed (but no worries either way i know you hate that insufferable prick)
let’s fuvking gooooo bless u tama ily
ler gojo hcs ;
honestly ??? kinda sucks LMAO
i’m kidding
maybe
i feel like he’s got really reallyyy good methods down like scritching ?? a pro . raking his blunt nails ?? master’s degree . poking around to keep his lee in stitches ?? easy shit .
and his teasing is actually out of this world and i’m not even just trying to stereotype him bruh
he’s naturally teasy and can’t help but poke fun at people harmless or not
so naturally he’s going to be like that when he tickles people except he’s not mean usually unless it’s with nanamin
he’s super observant too even if he isn’t tickling you so he’ll figure out your sides are ticklish just by seeing you press your arms in slightly when someone touches your waist lmao
like he seems like the guy who would know your worst spots without ever tickling you in the first place ough
and he knows what works best on which people and that goes for teases too !
he’s usually mean in a sense that he’s almost always tickling you to pieces he doesn’t normally do the soft comfort stuff bc he just wants to play around owksowkd so if that’s what you want don’t go to him
everything else tho ? he’s down . you wanna be wrecked he’s got you you want a fun tickle fight ? he’ll turn off infinity just to let you tickle him
he’s got nimble and fast fingers so he can easily keep you in stitches it’s unfair
he calls you cute all the time too bc he thinks tickling is super fun and he genuinely loves seeing people laugh esp his students like his number one goal is to shape a new world for the youth and honestly i feel like he wants them to feel a sense of childhood and tickling is one way to let them experience that
I’M SORRY THESE AREN’T THAT GREAT I JUST HAVE LOTS OF THOUGHTS ABOUT LER GOJO THAT I’M HAVING TROUBLE PUTTING INTO HC FORM
also yes i’m sorry i didn’t do mahito bc i black him out of my mind so much i genuinely have no thoughts akzkakxkskkx
TodoBaku ❤️🧡 I 100% think Todoroki has ticklish palms, and while he doesn't mind it he does think it's kind of silly and/or weird. So when Bakugou finds out he makes it his life's mission to find every opportunity to tickle him there just to watch him get all blushy and also to do his trademark "why are you embarrassed, you idiot? this is fucking adorable!" while Todoroki is stuck between being totally embarrassed and loving the heck out of it at the same time 🥰
Only if you're up for it, of course! Take care of yourself and have a great day!! 💖
Headcanons To Dabbles: Officially CLOSED!
NYM! *squeals and flails about* This headcanon oh my goodness!!! We've been getting quite a few tickly hands this event, lols! Not that I'm complaining of course- tickly palms deserve all the love! And Todoroki having them while Bakugou calling him cute is just- GAH! *cries* I've gotcha covered!
CW: Swearing
“Give me your hand, Icy Hot.”
“So romantic.” Todoroki rolled his eyes as he felt Bakugou take the offered limb. “I’m swooning.”
“Careful not to hit your head on the way down.” The explosive blonde grinned, giving their arms a little swing. He was in a good mood this morning. “Actually no- I’ll catch ya.”
A really good mood, it seemed. “My hero.” Todoroki looked away, fighting down a smile. That battle grew more difficult suddenly when Bakugou’s fingers curled against his palm, making him twitch. “Stop.”
“Stop what? I’m just walking here.” Bakugou kept his face forward as they walked, lips twitching as he continued curling his fingers against his boyfriend’s hand. “You’re so ticklish here, aren’t you?”
“Dohohon’t say it ouhuhuhutloud!” Todoroki giggled out, covering his mouth with his free hand. “It’s embaahhahahaharrasing?”
“Why? It’s fucking adorable.” Bakugou pulled them aside so they were in a more reclusive spot, gently tugging Todoroki’s arm up until he was holding his wrist, increasing his tickles. “How many people do you know who have ticklish hands?”
“Yohoohhohou do!”
“That’s right- OI!” Bakugou growled, going for a spot he knew would get Todoroki cackling. “Don’t change the subject!”
“Gheahhahahahhahaha! Nohoohohoo stahhahahahp!” Todoroki squealed, cheeks bright red as he doubled over. He grasped Bakugou’s wrist, pushing enough so there was an inch of space between their hands. “Wahahhait, wahhaait…tihihime out.”
“Heh, see what I mean? Fucking adorable.” Bakugou laughed, letting Todoroki go so he could have a proper break. “You don’t need to be embarrassed by it. I think it’s stupid cute.”
“Hhehhe..hehehe…yohoohu mean it?” The half and half hero peeked up at him, cheeks reddening more.
“Why would I lie?” Bakugou shrugged, reaching out and tugging his boyfriend into him, arm around his waist. “It’s cute as hell, so don’t be embarrassed, kay?”
“Heh…you’re especially loving today.” Todoroki pointed out, unable to hide his smile. “What’s got you in this good of a mood anyway?”
“What? Can’t a guy love his boyfriend?” Bakugou shrugged as they carried on their walk. Todoroki waited.
Finally, the blonde sighed, giving in. “That one anime might be getting a season two soon.”
“The romance one?”
“.....yes.”
“Knew it.” Todoroki laughed, yelping when Bakugou pinched his side.
of course! I hope you like it! ler alhaitham is so nghggkfkfkdk
Ler!Alhaitham x lee!reader
"Why are you sulking like that?"
You flinched at the sudden question and turned towards Alhaitham, who had suddenly appeared behind you. He must've been taking a stroll through Sumeru and noticed you sitting on a bench. He was right, you were in fact in a bad mood, having gone out to take a breather and clear your head.
"Oh, hi Alhaitham, didn't expect to see you here. And I'm not sulking, everything's fine."
He stared into your eyes intensely, as if analyzing you. You gulped and broke the eye contact, looking at the floor awkwardly.
"I can tell something is wrong. You know you can talk to me, right?"
Alhaitham said while taking a seat next to you. You rubbed the back of your neck in hesitation, not wanting to bother him with your problems, and spoke up after a few seconds.
"I'm fine, really. You don't need to worry about me. How are you?"
Instead of replying he stared at you again and the silence was making you feel antsy, your eyes darting around to avoid looking at the scholar. While you were busy scrutinizing a Sumeru rose, you felt a poke to your side and yelped.
"Hey! Why'd you poke me??"
You asked in disdain and Alhaitham simply replied:
"To test something out. Did you know that laughing relieves stress?"
Suddenly, his hands grabbed onto your sides again and you realized he was going to tickle you. Before he could do anything you jumped off the bench and covered your midriff with your arms.
"D-don't you dare!"
"Why? Are you too sensitive? Can't handle a little tickling? It'll cheer you up for sure."
He said matter-of-factly and your face turned red. Before you could process it, he had gotten up and darted behind you, slipping both hands under your shirt and scribbling his fingers over your stomach, causing you to double over and break into laughter.
"NAHAHA! HEHEY! STAHAHAP-"
"I'll stop when you've cheered up enough. Gosh, you're as sensitive as I thought. Good to know that my assumptions were correct."
He spoke with his usual serious voice as if he wasn't wrecking you to bits right now, and that made it all the more flustering. You couldn't squirm out of his grasp even if you tried.
"WHY WEHEHERE YOU EVEN THINKING OF THAHAHAT?"
"Reasons. Now, do you feel happy, or should I keep going?"
"I- I'M- KYAHAHA!"
Before you could respond, he suddenly moved up to your underarms, making you squeal and your legs give out. Alhaitham couldn't help a small smile at the sight of you all cute like this. He hoisted you back onto your feet and let go of you, allowing you to flop onto the bench.
Alhaitham sat down next to you and you shot him a playful glare.
"That was mean."
"Maybe a little, but you're smiling now."
You giggled and rested your head on his shoulder with a happy sigh.
"Thanks, I really needed this."
"Always. Come to me if ever you feel down, I'm always happy to help."
He draped his arm around your shoulders and you two sat peacefully, enjoying each other's company.
Notes: Commission for @ticklystuff! This is coincidentally an idea I’ve had in mind for Chili for a while now, so I’m grateful for the chance to expound upon and finally write it! Sorry it’s a bit late, I had finals and then my work schedule picked up for the summer and my time got a bit hectic ;-; I hope you enjoy ^^
Summary: Childe wants to be tickled, but it seems like no matter what he does, Zhongli just isn’t getting the hint.
Childe wasn’t used to asking. He had long ago learned the lesson that if you wanted something, you took it. Asking required subjecting oneself to the unpredictable will of others. It was a dangerous game of carefully calculated risk, where you bet on goodwill, a trait that Childe often found lacking in people. No, it was far better to take than to risk the potential for embarrassing failure that came with asking.
Usually, this was simple, in terms of money, power, lives—easy goals, quickly achieved without a second thought. Ever since meeting Zhongli, however, he had learned that some things couldn’t be taken.
