#tickle fic
otomiya-tickles · 2 days ago
Lee!Loid and Ler!Yor. For spot how about feet?? Have fun :))
[Drabble Event 🎉 - Requests closed!]
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Yor stepped out of the bathroom and sighed. Alright! That was a refreshing shower. She placed the towel around her neck and decided to dry her hair later, feeling curious to check on Loid and Anya.
She did hear their voices after all. "No - Agent Papa, you must stay. It is dangerous. You... are backup! Agent Penguinman will do it."
Yor smiled. Sounded fun! She entered Anya's bedroom and greeted them merrily. "Agent Mama has arrived too!" Ahh would you look at that! Anya sat on the floor with her plush toy, and on her bed sat her father Loid Forger with the enormous penguin in his lap.
"Agent Mama! Great timing. We are in an urgent meeting with Director Chimera. Come, sit here," Anya invited her formally. Yor giggled and walked over to where they were and sat down next to them, on her knees on the floor.
"I have arrived! Please explain the situation to me," she said, and cute little Anya exploded in a detailed monologue which sounded very inspired by her favorite spy TV show.
A little distracted, Yor glanced sideways at Loid who was hardly visible with this huge toy on top of him. His socked feet faced Yor awkwardly and she giggled at the thought of Loid's face behind that penguin.
".....So that's why we have to keep Agent Papa hidden. Agent Penguinman has offered to sacrifice himself and willー" Anya's story still continued, and Yor hummed with interest while continuing to glance at Loid. Hmmm. His feet were wiggling a little. And wiggling more.
What if he had an itch? She saw him move his feet together, and she admired his persistence to stay still so Anya could continue her little spy roleplay. Yor reached out and freely offered to scratch Loid's foot for him, reaching for the spot he was rubbing against, and she scritched it with her finger.
"HNGH!" She saw him twitch and heard a faint noise. Anya was so into her story that she didn't seem to notice, but Yor looked at Loid and wondered. She scratched his foot again and heard another soft strangled noise from him.
She grinned. Ah! He was ticklish! Just like Yuri! How cute. She couldn't help herself and started to tickle his foot playfully. She scribbled her fingers across his sole, and indeed, a loud giggle could be heard.
"This is no laughing matter, Agent Papa!" Anya scolded.
"Thahaha- Ahahanya! S-stop thahat!" Loid laughed. Ah right, he couldn't really see well with the penguin blocking his view. Did he think Anya was doing this to play with him?
At that moment, Anya noticed what Yor was doing and she stared at her. While continuing to tickle his foot, Yor brought her other hand up and held her finger to her lips to signal Anya should keep this quiet: "Shhh!" she said. Anya grinned and nodded.
"Agent Papa, you have to concentrate!" she continued to keep up the act deliberately this time, and meanwhile Yor sat before Loid and tickled both his feet with rapidly scribbling fingers.
"AHhHAh! Anyahahaha that's ehehenough!" At last Loid lost his patience and he shoved the penguin aside (Anya came to catch him: "Agent Penguinman!!!"), and he looked at Yor in surprise when he saw it had been her all along.
"Hehe, Agent Papa, you wouldn't happen to be... ticklish? That would be an inconvenient trait for an agent," Yor said, playing along with Anya and teasing Loid while continuing to tickle his feet. With one arm she reached out and captured his ankles, with the other she tickled him a bit mercilessly.
"Yohohoor-san! Whahahat! Ahaha dohohon't!" Who could blame her? When could they ever hear Loid Forger laugh like this? What a pure melody.
"Agent Papa! This is not funny!" Anya continued to act as well, and it made the situation only funnier.
Eventually Anya even joined in and helped Yor tickle Loid's feet, and one thing was certain: this would conclude the 'urgent meeting'!
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ticklygiggles · 2 days ago
Easing the shy boyfriend | MafuYama [n$fw-ish]
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A/N: Part 3/6 of Max's (@wertzunge) commissions ☕, hehe. Aaaa it's been a hot minute since I read Given, so I hope this is not too ooc! It also looks a bit like Ritsuka is the bottom, but he's not hehe~ there's nothing too explicit, buuut there are mentions huhu
Summary: When it comes to problems in bed, your friends have the best advice, or at least that's what Mafuyu has discovered!
Words: 2495
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"So, what did you want to tell-
"Uenoyama-kun is scared of sex."
There was no emotion on his face or in his voice. He had said so as naturally as when someone says 'it rained a lot last night, eh?', not really expecting an answer and just trying to make small talk while waiting for the bus or something. 
Mafuyu wasn't trying to start small talk, he wasn't waiting for the bus and he, definitely, was expecting an answer.
But Hiiragi just couldn't. "W-What?!"
Mafuyu barely blinked, and if there was any expression on his face, it was probably annoyance because he disliked repeating himself. 
"Uenoyama-kun," he said slower, "is scared of sex," he finished, but this time, wanting to make things clearer, he continued. "Everytime we're just about to do it, he pushes me off and says that we shouldn't… what should I do?"
"W-Why are you telling me this?!" Hiiragi looked around the little coffee shop they were at and Mafuyu wondered if he was waiting for someone. 
"Well, because I need advice. What should I do?" 
Hiiragi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as his cheeks started to turn pink, for some reason. Was it too hot here?
"Mafuyu, why do you think I would know?!"
Mafuyu shrugged. "You are smart and observant. I thought you could help me think of something." 
Hiiragi didn't say anything, but he sighed one more time and Mafuyu stared at him. Why was Hiiragi acting like this? He could simply think of something Mafuyu could do to help Uenoyama… he really was different from Yuuki.
Yuuki was direct all the time, unlike Uenoyama who felt shy even if Mafuyu brushed his fingers against his. However, Mafuyu just couldn't compare them. He loved the way Uenoyama was, he liked to see him blush and stutter. It was a touch of fresh air that Mafuyu would never have known that he needed if Uenoyama had never appeared in his life. 
Now they had been together for a while and the happiness Mafuyu felt every single day he spent with Ritsuka, was honestly one of the best feelings he had ever had in his life. 
Mafuyu couldn't help but smile fondly at the thought of his shocked and very blushing boyfriend, but his reverie was interrupted by hearing his companion pretend to throw up. 
"Why are you smiling like that?" Mafuyu shrugged his shoulders, feigning ignorance and Hiiragi could only sigh for the umpteenth time. "Mafuyu, knowing you, you probably just pounce on him, expecting him to embrace you right away."
Mafuyu tilted his head like a confused puppy. " Is it not supposed to be done like that?"
Hiiragi shook his head. "If Uenoyama is shy like that, then you should try approaching him slowly and try to coax him into doing that with you."
"Huh, slowly?"
"You know!" Hiiragi barked, his cheeks turning red again. "Tr-Try to help him relax! K-Kisses, cuddles, t-t-tickling! Stuff like that!"
Mafuyu beamed. "Tickling?" Was Uenoyama-kun ticklish?! "That's actually a good idea! I might try it tonight!"
Hiiragi stared at him and he took a sip of his coffee. "I have a feeling that maybe I got Uenoyama in trouble."
Mafuyu could barely hold his excitement. The hours didn't go by fast enough, his outing with Hiiragi to the mall and then to eat something light seemed eternal. His feet and hands itched to get home, the keys in his back pocket were heavy and, once he was on his way home, he seemed to walk on sand, making his steps slow and heavy. 
After all, he got home and his heart fluttered when he saw Uenoyama's shoes arranged in the doorway. 
"I'm back!" He said, stepping off his shoes and taking his jacket off. 
"Ah, welcome back, Mafuyu," Uenoyama said from the living room.
As usual, he found him latched to his guitar with a small notebook in front of him. Mafuyu loved seeing him like this, concentrating with his hair almost covering his pretty eyes and his pencil drumming against the notebook, creating a rhythm that he later recreated with his guitar. 
Uenoyama looked so hot. 
"Did you eat?" 
Ritsuka nodded. "I had something on my way back," he answered, his attention diverted between Mafuyu and the song he was writing. "Since you were going to eat outside," he said and after a heartbeat, he raised his head, a notch of concern in his eyes. "Why? You didn't eat?" 
Mafuyu chuckled and nodded, making his way towards Uenoyama and taking a seat beside him on the couch. "I did eat, don't worry."
Uenoyama hummed and with slightly flushed cheeks, he leaned to press a tender kiss against Mafuyu temple before turning his attention back to his guitar. 
Mafuyu hummed happily, moving even closer to Uenoyama, wanting to feel his body as he carefully and skillfully strummed the strings, creating a lovely melody that Mafuyu hadn't heard before. 
"I like it," Mafuyu mumbled and Uenoyama chuckled, nodding his head once in a little 'thank you' or perhaps a 'I'm glad you do'. 
They stayed like that for a bit… until Mafuyu felt his lips and his hands itching to touch Uenoyama. It wasn't entirely his fault, how could he resist when Uenoyama looked so, so good frowning like that?
He started slowly, just as Hiiragi had said: he sneaked his arms around Uenoyama's middle, hugging him from behind. Ritsuka leaned back against him and Mafuyu felt encouraged, this time pressing a tender kiss on the back of Uenoyama's neck, the latter shuddered, his skin covering I'm goosebumps, but he let Mafuyu be. 
Another kiss and another and one more were pressed on Uenoyama's nape, his skin felt hot against Mafuyu's lips and he saw in delight how it started to turn red, Ritsuka was blushing. 
"Is it nice?" Mafuyu asked and Uenoyama cleared his throat. 
"It feels good," he admitted solemnly. "Though, it's a little ticklish th-ehehehere."
Oh, that sound. That was a sound Mafuyu didn't hear often and he immediately became obsessed with it, his ears wanting to hear it one more time, even though it still echoed inside his head.
"Here?" He mumbled, kissing the spot repeatedly and Uenoyama shrugged his shoulders up.
"Yehehehes!" He giggled brightly as the kitten kisses continued, one after another. "Wahahait!"
Mafuyu hummed and he actually stopped to press a kiss on Uenoyama's pulse, the latter seemed pleased as he relaxed again, even tilting his head to the side to expose more of his tender and heated skin. 
Oh Lord, this was the first time Mafuyu had seen Uenoyama so willing to let him touch it like this. It wasn't like he did things against Ritsuka's will, on the contrary, Mafuyu respected Uenoyama's space very much, but, even if Uenoyama himself wanted to kiss and hug him back, he was always doubtful and nervous, but right now he felt different. 
Different good. 
"Stohohop with thahahat," Uenoyama giggled when Mafuyu nibbled at the tickly spot on his neck. He said stop, but his body barely flinched away. 
"I didn't know you were ticklish, Ritsuka."
Uenoyama flushed and he shrugged a little. "You didn't ask." 
Mafuyu hummed. Wow, this tickling thingy was actually working! It was surprising and so endearing and Mafuyu beat himself mentally for not trying it before! 
"Leave this, yeah?" He whispered against Uenoyama's ear, making him gasp and shudder. He gently touched the instrument and Uenoyama nodded softly, moving forward a little to place the guitar on its stand. 
Mafuyu nearly collapsed in the spot when Uenoyama leaned back against him, exposing his neck again. Mafuyu would probably die that night, he really would, but meanwhile, he was going to enjoy it to the fullest. 
Kissing a tender spot behind Uenoyama's ear, -making him gasp and cover his mouth-, Mafuyu started to move his hands, his palms gently rubbing against Uenoyama's torso: from his stomach to his chest and down his sides and waist and even gripping at his hips. 
Uenoyama arched his back, "Ma-Mafuyu, this- ah! Ahahaha!" Sweet, surprised laughter escaped from Uenoyama's pretty lips when Mafuyu's fingertips tickled his ribs. 
The touch was gentle, barely a trace against each bone, but it was enough to have Uenoyama squirming between his arms and make him giggle like a little kid. 
"Thahahat tihihickles!" 
"Does it now?" Mafuyu mumbled as he started to pepper open mouthed kisses to Uenoyama's neck. 
Uenoyama whined, his hand coming back to cover his mouth, trying to prevent more of those giggles to pour out and also that certain sound that sounded dangerously close to a moan as he melted under those kisses to his neck. 
Mafuyu started to feel heated up. He didn't know exactly where this was going to lead them, but he liked it and it seemed like Uenoyama was also enjoying it, so feeling brave, he walked his fingers up, sneaking under Uenoyama's arms. 
"Mahahahahafuyu!" Uenoyama laughed, tilting his head back and clamping his arms to his sides. "Whahahat ahahare y-you dohohoing?!" 
Mafuyu chuckled, sucking underneath Uenoyama's jaw, finally pulling out a giggly moan that made Mafuyu blush softly.
His fingers were wiggling against the hollows under Uenoyama's arms, tickling him gently, but vigorously, stealing not only giggles from Ritsuka's lips, but also loud laughs, squeaks and more of those sweet sounds that made Mafuyu shiver. 
"I wonder," Mafuyu said, kissing the shell of Uenoyama's ear and stopping the tickling. "Are you… getting turned on?"
Uenoyama moaned again, his legs closing and only then Mafuyu noticed he was getting hard inside his pants. Mafuyu licked his lips. 
"I am…," he answered sincerely, tilting his head back to look at Mafuyu. "Is that… bad?" 
Mafuyu gasped and in a second, he had Uenoyama with his back pressed against the surface of the couch; one knee gently pressed against Uenoyama's crotch, arms pinned above his head. 
"Ngh! M-Mafuyu," Ritsuka whined, grinding against Mafuyu's leg. "Wait, this is-"
"Should I stop?"
"N-No, I just… you're not like this," Uenoyama mumbled, his cheeks were beyond red and to Mafuyu's eyes, he looked adorable and so out of character.
"You're not like this either," he replied and when Uenoyama didn't say anything back, Mafuyu leaned in.
Noses gently nuzzling together and lips meeting right after in a soft and shy kiss that soon turned into a heated one when Uenoyama opened his mouth to gasp as he felt one of Mafuyu's hands sneaking under his shirt. 
Mafuyu touched the smooth skin softly; fingers tracing the shapes of Uenoyama's toned muscles, feeling them tremble and jump under the attention. Mafuyu sighed as his mouth was being filled with Uenoyama's whines and soft cries, he could feel him grinding almost desperately against his thigh and Mafuyu wanted to dive in, but damn, he didn't want to scare Uenoyama. 
"N-Nohohoho!" Uenoyama giggled, letting out a surprised squeak and jerking heavily to the side when the back of Mafuyu's fingers traced his waist. "No mohohore tihihickling, it's distrahahacting ahand- ahahaha!"
Best option was to keep easing Uenoyama into it and tickling seemed to do the trick, so Mafuyu started to gently rub circles against Uenoyama's ribs with his thumb. Ritsuka arched his back and laughed heavily as his hips moved a little faster, rubbing his crotch harder against Mafuyu's leg. 
Ah, this was also doing things to Mafuyu. He hid his face against Uenoyama's neck when he felt his cheeks heating up and started to suck on the tender skin, stealing lovely moans from Ritsuka. 
"Mahahafuyu! It- ah! It tihihickles!" Uenoyama laughed, and Mafuyu thought that his words came out a bit slow, as if his tongue was heavy and he couldn't articulate the words well. "Plehehease!"
Mafuyu hummed, too busy sucking on Uenoyama's earlobe as his hand tickled up each rib, following the path back to Uenoyama's armpit. Ritsuka's laugh became more hysterical and erratic as Mafuyu's fingers got closer to that spot and by the time he was tickling his highest rib, Uenoyama's head was already thrown back and, in addition to moans of pleasure, small pleas of mercy were also escaping from his mouth.
"Plehehease, Mahahafuyu! Nohohot there!" He said, over and over until Mafuyu finally touched the sensitive skin. 
Uenoyama arched up and started to yank his arms desperately, but Mafuyu was holding him firmly and he smirked against Uenoyama's ear. "Does it tickle?" He asked with playful malice as his fingers vibrated against the center of Uenoyama's armpit, making him laugh like crazy and move against Mafuyu's leg as if his life depended on it. 
Uenoyama nodded and that was pretty much all he could do as Mafuyu tickled him to pieces. Mafuyu finally looked up and fell in love with Uenoyama all over again. He had never seen him laugh like that, his smile almost split his face in half and little tears of mirth escaped from the corner of his eyes and why was his nose wrinkled like that? It made him look three thousand times more adorable!
"Hmm, should I stop?" Uenoyama nodded quickly, shrieking when Mafuyu changed from digging to scribbling against the hypersensitive skin. "Really?"
"Yehehehes, plehehease!" He howled, twisting his body to the side, trying to escape from the madding sensations.
Mafuyu chuckled, "very well," he said and he stopped, also letting go of Uenoyama's wrists to hold his waist with both hands. Uenoyama lowered his arms and wrapped them around his torso to prevent any surprise attack.
If Mafuyu looked at him with a little more love, maybe one of them would explode, but he couldn't stop watching him try to catch his breath and stifle those residual giggles that made Mafuyu's heart flutter. 
"Are you okay, Ritsuka?" Mafuyu asked, lovingly nuzzling Uenoyama's cheek.
Uenoyama nodded, opening his teary eyes to look at Mafuyu, "St-Stohohop with the tihickling," he begged breathlessly, his hips jolting up. "I can't take it anymore, please." 
Mafuyu understood that Uenoyama didn't mean that he couldn't take any more tickling, but that he couldn't take what was growing and warming between his legs. So with a heavy gasp, he leaned down to kiss Uenoyama again.
"I'll ride you," he stated decisively, his cheeks rosy. 
Uenoyama widened his eyes. "W-What?! Don't say that and-
"I'll ride you," Mafuyu repeated, holding Uenoyama's gaze. "I'll ride you so don't run away. We'll have fun together," he said with a warm smile and his heart swelled as Uenoyama smiled back at him, nodding. 
"I won't," he promised, kissing Mafuyu's lips. "Let's finish what you started."
Their giggles were stifled between their kisses and their hands were lost in each other's clothes, undressing, touching and stealing sounds of pleasure that seemed to have no end. 
Not only had he discovered that Uenoyama seemed to be really ticklish, but he had also found a way to convince him to have sex with him - wow, next time maybe it would be good to treat Hiiragi to lunch to thank him for the great advice! 
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sleepyemoxd · 2 days ago
Why in the Flippity Heck Would I be Scared of You?
Summary: Moon still has trouble believing that his brother isn't scared of him
Warnings light angst, fluff, light bondage, tickling
Ler Sun and lee Moon
(madcatderpydrawer gave me permission to use their idea thanks btw)
"......Y-You're not at all scared of me?..."
The sun animatronic was stunned by his brother's words,
(Why in the flippity heck would I be scared of my own brother???) He thought. He put on an almost completely emotionless face, staring at his brother blankly.
"Moon, I just tackled you to the ground, I'm sitting on your legs with full intent of tickling you into oblivion." He deadpanned.
Moon could feel his inner fans kick in as a blue blush spread across his face.
"I.. I didn't r-realize you were serious a-about that....." He stammered, surprised by his older brother's tone.
Sun grinned happily, giggling at his brother's response.
"Hehe I wasn't!" He chirped, before moving his hands to the other's ribs gently squeezing and spidering the sensitive metal, earning adorable squeaky hiccupy laughter in return.
"Kiiitchy kitchy cooo, does that tickle Moony? Oh I bet it does, just look at you, all squeaky and giggly." He teased, his voice dripping like warm honey as he tickled his little brother to pieces.
"EHEHEHEHEK! N-Nohohoho *hic* S-suhuhunny g-get *hic* ohohoff! NAHAHA Y-You're gohohonna get huhuhurt!" He cried, squirming and wiggling trying to get away from the wiggling fingers.
Sun tilted his head in confusion, (Why is he so worried about hurting me??) Then it struck him, Moon was so worried because he still felt like he was a monster.
Ever since that dumb virus had surfaced and infected his brother's systems Moon had never been the same, even months after the infection he was still terrified of hurting him.
But he decided to play along, switching to his brother's hips gently squishing them.
"Oooh and such lovely little hips you have too.." He crooned.
"EHEHEHEHEK ! S-suhuhunny N-Nahahahao G-GYAHAHA n-nahahaht myhyhy hihips PLEHEHEHEHEASE OHOHO STAHAHAHARS!" He squealed, immediately trying to curl in on himself
"Hehe, my goodness aren't you just the scariest little monster in the whole wide world? Oho yes you are. "
His brother's teasing was making the sensation all the more unbearable.
"NOHOHOHOHO DOHON'T TEHEHEHEASE!" He whined, trying to cover his face out of sheer embarrassment.
"Awwww but Moony, teasing is the the best part, and also....." He gently grabbed his brother's hands, pulling them away from his face before tying the ribbons around his wrists and carefully pulling them back behind his head.
"There! Now you can't hide that adorable lil face of yours. " He giggled, dusting his hands off for dramatic effect.
Moon felt a mix of dread and excitement pool in his stomach, he was now completely at his brother's mercy.
"Hmm, let's see now..." Sun pretended to be in deep thought. "If I recall correctly there was reeeeally itchy spot riiiiiiight...... here." He emphasized 'here' by ever so gently scritching the spot right where his ribs and tummy met.
Moon lost it, practically screaming from the sensation, it tickled SO BAD.
He screamed, squirming and thrashing desperately to get away, but everywhere his torso went those darned fingers followed.
"Oho goodness, you're just soooo scary I might have to stay here for a little while, to tire you out of course." He purred as he lightened up his attack a bit, not wanting to completely overwhelm his ticklish little monster.... yet.
"Eheheheh, S-suhuhunny plehehehehehehease.."
Sun giggled at his brother's suffering. "Please what gigglemonster?"
"S-sohohomewhere ehelse." He whimpered.
"Ohokay okay, I'll quit being mean, for now at least." He knew Moon had little to no endurance for tickling, but that didn't stop him from absolutely loving it.
Sun slowly walked his fingers down to his brother's tummy and softly traced the sensitive plating in a circular motion, drawing closer and closer to his brother's tummy indent.
"Nnngh ehehe w-wait wahahahahahahait! Ihi thought you said yohou would quit being mehehehehehehean!!" He cried, shaking his head rapidly in panic.
Sun knew how sensitive that spot was!
The yellow bot couldn't help but laugh with him, but pretended to fein innocence.
"I did? Oh, my bad!" He exclaimed before an evil grin decorated his faceplate as he slowly pulled out a few fluffy feathers from a nearby pillow. "I guess I'll have to use some feathers instead!" He twirled them between his fingers in a teasing manner, taking in the horrified expression on his brother's face.
"Oho no, S-sunny don't you dare, Sundrop I-I'm warning you I'll EEK Nohohohohoho Sunehehehehehhe!" Moon tried to threaten him but was immediately cut off by his own laughter, he squirmed and wiggled as he felt a soft fluffy feather circle his dent, brushing closer and closer to that hypersensitive spot.
"Hehe, awhww poor wittle Moony. Just faaar too tickwish for his own good huh?" Sun teased in a baby voice as he continued to circle his brother's tummy indent with that unbearably tickly feather.
Moon squealed and giggled uncontrollably, that dumb feather was barely touching him and yet it was driving him crazy! It tickled so badly!
Sun couldn't help but giggle with him.
"Ooh Mooonnyyy, I'm gonna get your lil tummy dent, I'm goooonnnaaa geeetchaaa." He sang, causing Moon to let out a flustered giggly whine of anticipation.
"N-nohononononohohohoho goho awahahahay! L-lehet me gohohohoho!" He cried as he desperately tried to wriggle away, but Sun was sitting on his legs and his wrists were bound behind his back so his attempts were futile.
"Hehe heeerrree it cooommees!" He wiggled the feather teasingly as it drew dangerously close to the dent in question. The feather finally touched down, swirling endlessly in his little brother's tummy indent.
"Aaa tickle tickle tiiickleee! Cooochie coochie coochie cooo! Awwahawww just look at that smileee, I could just tickle your adorable lil dent aaaaall night! Hmmm, that actually sounds super fun, would ya like that Moony? Would ya like having your cute lil tummy dent tickled all night? Oh I bet you would!"
Moon. Lost. His. Mind.
He practically screamed to high heavens, bucking and thrashing in a desperate attempt to get away as his hysterical laughter echoed throughout their shared room, all the while a low rumbling noise amited from his chest, his tail thrashing like it was on a sugar rush.
The rumbling could only mean one thing....... he was purring.
Of course Sun took notice of this.
"Oh my STARS, Moony are you PURRING?!?!! That is so CUTE! My goodness look at that tail go! Whose my ticklish little monster, that's right, you are!" Sun couldn't help the excited tone in his voice, his brother was just TOO FLIPPING CUTE!
Moon tried to plead, though it was more laughter than speech. Despite this, Sun continued to torment his brother's dent, spiraling the feather endlessly around and inside it.
"Hmm, I dunno Moony I could, but gosh you're just soooo intimidating I might consider using two feathers instead." Okay now he was just being mean. One feather was bad enough but TWO?
Buuut much to his dismay Sun pulled out a second feather and dragged it back and forth inside the gap just below his dent, where there were several hypersensitive exposed wires.
"Cooochie coochie cooo Moonyyy, does this tickle?" Sun teased knowing good and well how ticklish his brother's waist was.
Moon probably screeched loud enough to wake the dead. Tears of mirth streamed down his faceplate from laughing so hard.
The poor thing couldn't even form words, let alone a proper sentence, all he could do was laugh.
"Thaaat's right, you just laugh you're cute little heart out. Hehe, I guess that's really the only thing you can do at the moment, huh?" He cooed.
Sun kept this up for another minute or two before finally pulling away to give his brother some time to calm down from the merciless attack.
He slowly massaged his little brother's tummy to rid all the ghost tickles before getting off of the other's legs, admiring his flustered, giggly brother.
"Heheh, you still alive Moonpie? I didn't go too far, did I?" He asked in a playful tone, lightly patting his brother's quivering tummy.
The smaller bot panted and wheezed weakly as he tried to calm down.
"Ehehe mehean, y-youhu're soho mean..." He whimpered, still a giggling mess.
Sun gasped dramatically at his brother's comment. "Mean!? Oho now you're gonna get it..." He growled playfully before flipping his brother onto his tummy. "I'll show you mean."
He sat on his brother's ankles and veeerryyy slowly started pulling his slippers off. Moon's eyes widened in horror when he felt cool air hit his feet, immediately trying to pull his feet out of his brother's grasp.
"Oho no, nononono S-suhunny wait! L-let's talk about thiHIS Sunny plehehehehehehease nohot thehehehere!" He cried, looking at his brother with pleading eyes.
Sun only giggled at his brother's plea. "Hehe less talking more laughing Moonycake." With that the sun themed animatronic started gently scribbling up and down his brother's defenseless soles. "Tiiickle tickle tiiickleee little gigglebot~"
I think it's safe to say that Moon absolutely lost his frigging mind.
He cried, shaking his head rapidly all the while screaming out that adorably addictive laughter that Sun could never seem to get enough of.
It tickled so badly! Moon silently cursed his brother for being so good at absolutely decimating him with tickles.
"Awhawwww hehe, theeere you go! Goodness you look like you're having soooo much fuuunn~ I could just tickle these adorable little tootsies aaaall night long."
He teased, relentlessly tormenting the smaller robot's hypersensitive arches before moving downwards to gently scratch and squeeze the glittery pawpads on the balls of his feet.
"Awwwwww, just listen to that laugh, so squeaky and happy. Gosh aren't you just precious oh, and so terribly, horribly ticklish too." He cooed, laughing along with his hysterical brother.
Sun paused for a moment and rubbed his chin, pretending to think.
"Hmmmmm, maybe, BUT only if tell me that you're not a monster." He purred, slowly drawing random shapes on his brother's soles, throwing the other bot into another fit of uncontrollable giggles. "Well....?"
"N-nnnngh heheheh, o-ohohokay okay I-i'm nohohot a monster..." He giggled out breathlessly.
Sun simply grinned at the other mischievously, causing a sudden feeling of dread to wash over Moon.
"Thank you Moony, now admit that you absolutely love it when I tickle you into oblivion like this." He purred.
Moon let out a flustered squeak, praying that his brother wasn't serious.
"W-wha no S-sunny I-I can't.. I...." The night themed animatronic stumbled over his words, trying to find a way to negotiate with his brother, but it was pointless.
"You don't wanna? Hehe, that's okay, I'll just use these tickly feathers on your little tootsies and toe beans."
Sun turned to look at his brother, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he twirled a couple of feathers between his fingers teasingly.
Moon felt his heart drop, surely Sun wouldn't be THAT mean..... Right?
"Y-you wouldn't!" Sun simply smirked at the other. "You wanna bet?"
With that, Sun started gently tickling his brother's feet with those dastardly soft tools all the while cooing and teasing him endlessly.
"Cooochie coochie coochie coochie cooo, what ticklish wittle feetsies you have Moony!"
The poor thing squeaked and wheezed through his howling laughter as his hypersensitive pawpads were mercilessly attacked. He bucked and thrashed, desperately trying to get away, but it was no use. He was trapped...
Sun couldn't help but feel bad for him, he put the feathers down and gently massaged the ghost tickles out of his little brother's feet.
"You okay Moony?" He asked, sincerely this time. Moon gave him a weak nod, too exhausted to do anything else.
The day themed animatronic grinned at the smaller bot, "Good! That means we can keep going! He chirped, before pulling his giggling wreck of a brother onto his lap.
Moon gave him a confused look, "S-suhunny? W-whahat are - What are you doing?" He asked nervously.
Sun's grin morphed into a smirk, "Moony, I said I would stop ONLY if you admitted how much you looovve being tickled!" He chirped happily, while playfully wiggling his fingers just above his brother's tummy.
"Moooonnyyy, Mr.Spider wants to plaayyy!" He sang.
Moon let out a embarrassingly high pitched squeal before burying his faceplate into the other's chest, giggling up a storm.
"Eheheheheyahahaha! N-nahahahahaho no! N-noho spihihidersss!" He whined, shaking his head frantically.
Sun giggled at this, "Hehe yeeesss spiders," He paused for a moment before activating his built in music box. "Hmm, how about a little music? Mr.Spider loooovvess listening to music while he plays~!" He grinned evilly at his brother before continuing. "Can ya guess what his favorite song is?" He purred as the smaller bot in his arms grew increasingly nervous. He knew exactly where this was going.
"S-suhuhunny plehehease nahahat thahaHAT!" He tried to protest as his brother started singing.
"The iiitsy bitsy spiiiider crawled up the water spout~" He began while crawling his fingers up his giggling brother's tummy. When he reached Moon's upper ribs he slowly dragged his fingertips down his whole torso in a zig-zag motion while continuing to sing. "Down came the rain aaand washed the spider out~!"
This caused the smaller bot's laughter to go up an octave as he kicked his legs weakly. (much like a puppy would when getting tummy tickles )
Sun couldn't help but giggle with him. I mean, who wouldn't? He looked so cute when squeaking and giggling like that!
"Hehe oout came the sun and dried up all the rain..." He traced his finger along the middle of his brother's tummy, as if pretending to draw a picture of the sun on his tummy before continuing to crawl his fingers back up his brother's tummy. "Soho the itsy bitsy spiiiider went up spout.... AGAIN!!"
He immediately went for the kill, drilling his thumbs into his brother's boney hips while bombarding him with raspberry after raspberry on his tummy.
Sun paused his attack for a moment upon hearing this, though still tracing his fingertips up and down the smaller bot's quivering tummy.... waiting.
"Say it Moonstone~!" He crooned softly.
"Eheheehee, ohohokay okay I-I lihike it..." Sun giggled. "You're gonna have to be more specific than that Moonpie~" He purred, continuing to softly trace his tummy. Moon let out a giggly groan in response. Sun was really pushing it.
"Nnngghh I lihihike it when you tihickle mehe...." He whimpered tiredly.
Sun grinned triumphantly, finally untieing his brother's wrists. He gently wrapped his brother in one of the many blankets that were strewn across their shared room.
"See Moony? That wasn't so hard now was it?" Moon only shot a tired glare at him in response. "Awww, c'mon Moony you know I couldn't have you believing that you're still a monster!" Sun pouted, gently grabbing the edge of his brother's faceplate, forcing Moon to look at him. "Because you're not, so you shouldn't think otherwise, okay?"
Moon softened at his brother's words. "Okay." He finally muttered before resting his head on his brother's shoulder. The sun animatronic smiled warmly at this, wrapping his arms around the smaller bot as they both drifted off to sleep.
Note: please let me know if you guys would like to see more fics from me
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tickling-giggles · a day ago
Oh how about a fanfic of lee kirishima getting attack by Kaminari and Sero. Then bakugou comes in later.
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Summary: Denki, Sero and Kiri had gotten bored they all decided a little fun competition kirishima getting a little to cocky Denki and Sero decided to punish him for his cocky little attitude but they accidentally woken up bakugou who will not take any apologies.
A/N: I’m so sorry I took so long to get to your request.😭😭
Warning: Swearing not too much though
“Guys I’m soooooooo bored” Denki dramatically whined. It was just the three of them in the common room everyone else was out or in bed Mina and jirous had a girls night with the class 1-B girls. And old fart Bakugou went to sleep early on a FREAKING FRIDAY NIGHT.
“Same but you don’t see me whining about it”Sero scoffed as he ate his popsicle.“Come on guys im sure there’s something we can do” Kiri tried helping out “likeeeeeee what?” Kaminari listening waiting for an answer.“How ‘bout a small competition likeeee a handstand competition” Sero suggested.
“Ohhh yeah! Whoever has the longest time is the winner and the loser has too…” kiri blanked out trying to think of an punishment.
“has too?”
“I don’t know what the loser should do we’ll come up with something later” Kiri rubbed the back of his head. “I’ll go first!” Denki excitingly offered. “of course you will” Sero snickered. “y’ready”kiri asked Denki nodded before he stood on his hands.
“Dang I kept moving around too much what was my time” Denki criticized him self as he asked.
“42 seconds”
“bruh your joking” Denki disappointed and unsatisfied with his time result.
“Nope now Denki sit back and watch how it’s done” Sero cracked his fingers and elbows.
“Damn alright what’s my time” Sero asked as he fell on his knees.
“That’s not too shabby” Sero somewhat satisfied with his time. “My turn I’m ready”Kiri alerted them that he was about to get on his hands.
“Alright show off you won” Sero rolled his eyes after he stopped the timer once it hit 3 minutes. “That was light work man” kiri smiled.
“NOOOO best to three rounds the one with the longest time is the winner and the loser has to buy us lunch tomorrow” Denki whined. “Fine you’re gonna end up paying Denki” Kiri teased a bit.
“What ever”
Second round Denki had gotten 1:28. Sero got 2:12 and Kiri gotten 3:00 again.
“Wow once again I went to 3 minutes you guys need some more training”kiri bragged.
”Okay hot shot you’re being hella cocky” Sero playfully pinched his side causing kiri to flinch away. Due to Kiri’s reaction given the black and yellow duo an idea.
“Hey kiri how about you go first this time” Denki insisted. “Yeah I mean you might aswell get your Win over with ya’know” Sero added on. “Um yeah sure why not it’ll be fun watching Denki lose” kiri smiled falling for their plan.
Denki looked at Sero smiling “you ready”. Kirishima nodded as he stood on his hands. “Wow dude your 1:21 in keep it up and you might win this with 9 minutes” Sero acted surprised.
“What do you mean I might tch I got this in the bag” kiri still confuse and not aware on what’s about to happen. “Like hopefully you don’t get distracted” Sero tried give him a clue.
“Um what?”
“And you all say I’m the slow one in the group” Denki looked at Sero. “You are sometimes Kiri is just lost is all anyways” Sero laughed a bit before he started poking a kirishima’s sides.
“Wait I’m confusehehehed oho you guhuys are playing dirtehe” kiri started giggling as he figured what they meant. Kiri almost lost his balance “Woah is this distracting you kiri”Denki teased.
“N-noho not at ahall” kiri claimed as he lightly shifting side to side. “Ahahaha nohohoho nahahat thehehe pihihits” kiri’s giggles turn into laughter. “Yohohou guhuys suhuhuck ahat tihickling“ kirishima laughing more at his insult than the tickling.
“oho really”
“nononoHOHO NAHAHAAH RASPBERRIES” Kirishima folded himself which caused him to fall to the ground.
“GYAHAHAahaha thahahat wahahas nohAHAAAHHAAHAHAT AHAHAHAAGH I TOTALLEEHEHE MEANT*snort*IHIHIT” “whahahaha WAIT YOHOHOHU BIHIHITCH AHAHAAHA” Kiri cursed at them Denki for teasing his stomach specifically near his pudge.
“Woah kiri profanity” Denki chucked. “See you hang around Bakugou too much he’s rubbing off on ya” Sero jokingly scolded even though it’s a little bit true.
“Dehehenki ihis soho hahaha soho unmanlehehe” Kiri provokes Denki. “Man that was sooo hurtful if ya wanted me to tickle your pudge you could’ve just ask” Denki exaggerated.
“Dude make up your mind you literally just asked him to tickle you there” Sero instagated
“Exactly what I’m saying bro”
Denki and Sero both immediately stopped when they ‘plus ultra’.
“You okay Ei” Denki comforted. “Yeah we didn’t over do it right?” Sero asked. “Nahaha thahat was fun mahan yohou guhuys are an evil tickle duhuo” kirishima breathlessly giggled.
“WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU IDIOTS SO LOUD” bakugou growled as he walk out of the elevator with his arms crossed. “We’re sohorry bakubroho” kirishima giggled as he slowly be tan to recover.
“Nah fuck your apologies I got better things in mind you guys still bored?” bakugou grinned evilly before he started walking towards them. “B-bakubro wehe didn’t mean ihit” Kirishima tried to persuade him. “ yeah kacchan no need for any harm” Denki chuckled.
“Take a chill pill bakugou” Sero teased which provoked bakugou even more. “That’s it! YOUR GETTING IT SOY SAUCE FACE” bakugou yelled as he tackled Sero to the ground pinning him scribbling under his arms ruthlessly. “GYAAAHAHAHAHA DEHEHENKI KIREHEHEHE HALPEHEE” Sero shriek. “You better not help him nor run away or I’ll tickle you to tears dunce face” bakugou looked up at him grinning. “What the fuck man I-I didn’t even” Denki stuttered. Kiri is just glad it’s not him.
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iluvchanniesposts · a day ago
Things you do that make them feel like a lee.
pairings - skz x reader
genre - tickle fluff, fluff, fan fiction.
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simply tracing your fingers along his skin. whether it be along his stomach, his back, or even along his veins. he will squirm, giggle lightly and retract himself away from your hands. sometimes it’s a habit you don’t even notice you’re doing, you just love tracing his soft skin but he’s way too sensitive.
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massaging him. you could sit on his back, but he’d claim you’re straying too close to his sides. needs his legs massaging? don’t go near his thighs, he’ll almost kick you in the face. he apologises straight after laughing and let you carry on, but will still giggle and squirm under your touch even if you’re not trying to tickle him.
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feeling his muscles after a workout. you like to feel the progress on his abs or pecs, but you also can’t touch them without him shoving your hands away. poking and prodding does it for him, since his pecs are too close to his armpits, he tends to shoot his arms down and defend himself. it’s not like it’s meant to tickle, but the way his muscles are so defined makes you want to grab them.
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painting on him. you share the same love for art; painting especially. he says he can be your blank canvas, taking his shirt off and letting you paint pictures on his stomach and back. if you hit a certain spot with the brush though, he’ll be sucking his stomach in and laughing loudly. it’s all fun and games until there’s paint everywhere.
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helping him get dressed. if he’s feeling lazy or sore after practice, either you offer or he asks you to dress him. you don’t mind at all, apart from the fact he’s crazy ticklish. you’ll be sliding his sock on, accidentally grazing your nail along his foot and he almost breaks your jaw. he apologises even if he doesn’t touch you, but it startles you sometimes.
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washing his hair. he loves the way you massage his scalp and take your time with him. but he hates it when shampoo gets in his ear, because it means you have to wash it out. you’ll put your index finger in there and quickly wipe it out, earning a few light screams and giggles from your boyfriend leaning over the tub.
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whispering to him. if you’re in a movie theatre, or in public but need to tell him something private, you’ll cup a hand around his ear and whisper gently. he scrunches his head into his shoulder and apologises for cutting you off, but the sensation is far too much for his ears.
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laying on him. especially when you nuzzle into his neck. everyone knows this boys neck is the most sensitive thing to grace this ears, so if it be your nose or hair touching his skin, he’d be giggling and pushing you off him. you end up seeing it as a game, usually breaking out into a full blown tickle fight.
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lestickles · 2 days ago
What You Need
Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (Potential S3 spoilers under the cut, so please read at your own risk!)
Summary: Viktor has sequestered himself in his hotel room after a nasty fight with Allison. Diego decides he's had enough family drama and resorts to an age-old tactic to raise his smaller brother's spirits.
Wordcount: 1,798
Diego was… worried, to say the least. The fights between his siblings only seemed to be getting crueler and more vicious. Rather than resolving the conflict, or even throwing punches and then making up like he and Luther used to, Allison and Viktor were all too keen to dig into each other's most sensitive vulnerabilities.
Three days had passed since their last argument and no one had seen nor heard from Viktor since then. What was worse was that Allison didn't even care; making a snide comment about letting him rot where he was before she left the hotel lounge, bloody mary in hand.
"Alright," Luther announced, lowering himself into a seat at the bar. "The good news is Viktor's in his room. The bad news is…" He grimaced, meaty fingers tapping on the countertop. "… I don't think he's coming out anytime soon."
Diego sighed and clapped his brother on the back. "I'll go talk to him."
"You sure that'll help?" Luther frowned, the tension between their siblings clearly making him anxious.
But Diego had never been more sure of anything in his life. Allison had said some pretty nasty things; no doubt reopened wounds that were still trying to heal after years of Viktor being on the outs. While Diego had tried to help his sister find peace the best way he knew how he recognized that his approach toward his brother had to be quite different. Viktor wasn't angry like Allison. He was mostly just… lost and downcast. And Diego knew how that felt too, to an extent.
"Trust me," Diego said, giving Luther's shoulder a squeeze. "He'll be down here with us in no time."
Having placated the bigger man's worries, at least for the time being, Diego downed his drink and made his way over to the elevators. He hadn't actually been to Allison and Viktor's hotel room, but he'd memorized the number on the off-chance of an emergency. Which, in his opinion, this was.
Rather than knocking, Diego simply entered the room unannounced, dark eyes immediately drawn to the small figure curled up on the bed by the window. He was struck—not for the first time—by just how tiny Viktor was. He was even smaller than Five now that the kid had practically started gaining an inch with every martini. Viktor Hargreeves; Diego's little brother, regardless of their age.
When Viktor didn't turn to acknowledge someone else's presence, Diego frowned. It was obvious that he wasn't asleep because he was staring out the window. And even through one's peripherals, Diego looked nothing like Allison. What if he hadn't even been Diego?
The knife-slinger made a silent resolution to brush all of his siblings up on the importance of spatial awareness and a locked door before he carefully sat on the edge of the bed.
Viktor didn't spare so much as a glance in his direction.
Diego sighed, scratching at his bearded chin. "Look, man. People say a lot of stupid shit when they're angry. It doesn't mean—"
"No," Viktor interrupted, voice raspy from disuse and clogged with something Diego couldn't quite place. "She meant it. She meant every word of it."
"I was going to say that it doesn't mean those words are true. We all love you, dude. And Allison shouldn't have said what she said. She isn't… speaking for herself right now, much less for everyone else." Diego reached over, giving the smaller man's knee a comforting squeeze.
Viktor flinched a little, placing his smaller hand over Diego's (God, his brother was so fucking tiny). "No, she's—"
"Uh uh." Diego shook his head, eyeing their locked hands. "She was wrong. You're not some burden that causes us problems. You're our brother and… we love you. No amount of apocalypses is going to change that." To emphasize his point, he gave another gentle squeeze to Viktor's knee.
Once again, Viktor flinched. It wasn't an overly dramatic gesture, but Diego caught it; eyes as sharp as an eagle's from all of his previous police training (Not to mention the entire adolescence of Umbrella Academy training before that).
"I know you do," Viktor murmured, using both hands to gingerly turn Diego's over and inspect his fingers. "I love you guys too. I just… need some time to myself, I think. I feel… Well, I don't know how I feel."
Diego frowned, quietly taking note of his brother's mannerisms. "I get that. Trust me, I do. But I also haven't seen you eat anything in a good three days. You're wasting away." Using his free hand, he reached over and gave his brother's bony ribs a gentle prod.
What resulted was definitely another flinch. This time, however, it was accompanied by the subtlest twitch of Viktor's lips, even as he shook his head at the prospect of eating. It ignited the recollection of a long-forgotten childhood memory within Diego—incredibly brief but still clear as crystal. He had been passing by Viktor's bedroom when he caught sight of the commotion; Allison straddling their brother's waist as she delivered a series of rapid-fire pokes to a giggling Viktor's ribs, demanding that he tell her who touched her Teddy Ruxpin bear.
At the time, nine-year-old Diego had merely rolled his eyes and kept walking to his own bedroom. Adult Diego was a little more intrigued, especially after all the years of fraternal playfulness they missed together (Some of which were, admittedly his own fault). It was also a temporary solution to helping Viktor feel slightly better, and maybe, possibly, coerce him out of this godforsaken hotel room. Even if Diego wasn't sure how he came to be the soft one in this family, he was sure that some good old-fashioned brotherly bullying would serve as a comfort.
His solution in mind, Diego pretended like he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary for the time being, much less his brother's subtle reactions.
"Seriously, man. You need to eat something. I mean, just look at you." He gave another light jab to Viktor's ribs—or more accurately, the smooth curve right beneath his ribs. Again, purely to emphasize a point and certainly no other reason whatsoever.
Viktor jerked back at the poke, a soft, startled giggle bubbling up the back of his throat. He held his hands up as if he was giving a peace offering. "I'll eat later. Promise."
"Mmmmm... Now works better for me." Diego narrowed his eyes, but any sense of proper intimidation was contradicted by the upward curve of his lips.
"But I'm… not hungry now?" Viktor responded slowly as if he was asking a question while still on the horns of a dilemma.
Diego sputtered in response. "Dude, it's been three days! Do you know how unhealthy that is?!"
Rather than giving a verbal response, Viktor reached toward the nightstand that separated his and Allison's beds. He opened the top drawer, revealing bags of honey-roasted peanuts, granola bars, and potato chips. His eyebrows rose, silently saying "I have been eating and you're an idiot." Or at least, that's how Diego interpreted the expression.
"But that's not real food!" Diego protested. "You need real food!"
Frowning, Viktor grabbed a bag of peanuts from his stash and carefully ran his fingers over it. He inspected the cartoon peanut on the label, felt along the outer ridges of the bag, and opened it to peer inside. When his inspection was done, he looked utterly confused, to the point where Diego was about to ask what was wrong. But then Viktor had the audacity to turn to him with that bewildered expression, pour the peanuts out onto the nightstand, and say—"I don't know, Dee. They look pretty real to me."
Diego was thoroughly gobsmacked for a good thirty seconds, completely unacquainted with this particular variation of this particular brother. But then he bounced back and, with lightning-fast reflexes, pulled Viktor into a headlock.
"So what, you're a little shit now too? Dealing with Klaus and Five wasn't enough?" Diego growled, using his free hand to claw at Viktor's unprotected side.
The reaction was instantaneous—bright, bubbly giggles spilling from Viktor's mouth as he wriggled like a fish on a hook, struggling to break free from Diego's hold. But Diego wouldn't let him go that easily, his arm locked around Viktor's neck.
"Dieg-O!" Viktor protested, voice pitching as Diego's fingers danced their way up toward his ribcage. Almost immediately, he ceased flailing in favor of pinning his arm firmly down to his side, trying to protect the vulnerable area from the other man.
"What?" His brother demanded. "No witty remarks all of a sudden?"
Diego snatched Viktor's wrist and tugged his arm up, readjusting the two of them so that Viktor's arm was caught in the crook of Diego's elbow. It was no doubt an awkward position for the smaller brother, but it gave Diego free range to play Viktor's ribs like a fiddle, blunt fingernails scritching in between the bones.
"Noohohoh!" Viktor giggled, half-muffled by his own arm and the forward bend Diego's headlock had forced his body into. "Stop!"
Diego didn't bother responding, instead digging into the spot he remembered Allison and Five tormenting on occasion when they were kids; right between Viktor's exposed armpit and topmost rib.
Viktor squealed and jerked at the initial brush of contact, his movements becoming much more frantic. But this only encouraged Diego to keep going, kneading the sensitive flesh with his thumb and forefinger and marveling at how pitchy Viktor's giggles got in response.
He only stopped when the ceiling light exploded with a sudden POP!, shards of the glass bulb cascading down around them.
"Alright, alright," Diego relented, releasing Viktor from his headlock. "No need to destroy the room."
Struck by lighter residual giggles, Viktor rubbed a hand over his side to chase away the sensation of phantom tickles and joked, "I don't know, you were pretty ruthless."
"Ruthless? That was me being tame. I can show you ruthless," Diego challenged with a raise of his eyebrows.
"Nono, that's okay."
Their gazes met for a long moment of silence, neither brother daring to make a move at first. But rather than launching another attack like Viktor no doubt suspected, Diego simply offered him a crooked smirk, and reached out to ruffle his hair.
"C'mon, shortstack. The buffet is on me."
"… The complimentary buffet is on you?"
"Shut up." The demand was accompanied by a warning prod to the ribs, which was quickly followed by a squeak, and then, a deep rumbling chuckle from Diego.
As the two brothers walked side by side toward the elevators, the taller couldn't help but note, "I can't believe you almost ended the world twice, and all we had to do to stop it was poke you in the ribs."
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bennyzblog · 2 days ago
The "All Time" Weakness of Mike Wheeler
Byler ficlet <3 - Lee!Mike, Ler!Will (takes place in S2)
Warnings : swearing and tickles
It was a Friday night at the byler house, since it was planned for a week, Mike and Will were allowed to have a sleepover as long as they stayed quiet. But tonight Joyce said she had an extra shift at work, and Jonathan would have to look after both the boys while she was gone, Will seemed annoyed but Mike just seemed to not really care. It was about 9 am and there was no sleeping tonight for both, so with enough convincing, Will and Mike were asking eachother questions.. like about secrets they have or something. But the thing is, they couldn't like about it. Will was like a human lie detector, his gut told him whenever someone lied to him and he trusted it!
"Okay so do you have a crush?" Mike asked, turning his head so it portrayed a curious tilt. Will seemed to think about this question, a small tone of pink gracing his cheeks.
"..not so sure actually, I haven't thought about anyone like that in a bit since im being called zombie boy n shit." Will laughed nervously while Mike gave him a sympathetic smile, Will waved his hand in a 'its fine I'm used to it' kind of way, he didn't really wanna talk about what happened at school anyway.
"Hmm. Okay I have one!" Will has been curious about something for awhile, he thought it was a bit weird but.. here goes nothing!
"Are you ticklish?" The brunette asked, his eyebrows raising as soon as Mike's face turned a bright red. Mike.. personally didn't mind getting tickled unless it was by his family, he thought it was a way to bond but!! Nobody in the friend group even knew about this weakness, even if he craved for it after 3 years of not receiving it. He didn't like the idea of anyone but him and his family knowing, but he also did want other people to know?? He wasn't so sure.
"N.. No??" Crap he stuttered, and the answer sounded more like a question. A big grin came over his face to cover his nervousness even though it was horribly obvious that he was lying. You didn't even need Will to tell you that. He tensed once he saw the look Will gave him.
"Remember Mike, I said to only tell the truthhh." Will reminded him, and Mike grinned and nodded, fidgeting with his pajama shorts.
"Okay maybe a little b—"
"You know for lying I think you deserve some penalty, my paladin." Will's demenour changed from his regular timid one to a very evil looking one, he switched his sitting position to a knealing one and wiggled his fingers at Mike. Who gulped and started to get up. Of course Will wasn't gonna pass up an opportunity like this. Mike BOLTED out the room, and right after came Will. Soft music could be heard from Jonathan's room, so as long as his music was loud enough they wouldn't be heard. He soon caught up to Mike and grabbed him with a big bear hug and dragged him down onto the couch, a long string of giggles came from both of the young boys as they collapsed onto the couch laughing.
"Nonono, willllll.... we can talk about this right buddy?" Mike nervously asked, while the other gave him a disgusted look for calling him buddy.
"You know just for that I'm tickling you for longer." As he finished that statement a whiney no came from Mike, but it was too late to beg. The brunette scribbled his nimble fingers up and down the ravenette's sides, the other bursted into childlike giggles a gentle shake of his head in response.
"Wihill! Nohot fair!" Mike whined, squirming in the grip of the shorter boy. Even being short, Will was actually stronger than Mike, everyone found that actually amusing. Will chuckled and he kept his arm over Mike so he stayed bound, his other hand drifted to his stomach, and he poked and prodded, and sometimes scribbled randomly. A string of goofy sounds and snorts mixed in his giggles floated through the air.
"Jeez why did you never tell me about this? This is way too good!" Will exclaimed, giving a few more pokes before going to find another spot.
"Behecausuehe of THIHI—" Mike was about to finish his sentence when will squeezed his knee, He kinda had to lean into him to reach but it did wonders! Because he made his best friend squeal before eventually releasing him from his grip, Mike playfully collapsed onto will making them both shriek with giggles while Will light heartedly tried to push the other off of him.
"Jeez will, you're evil!" Mike chuckled, and a breathy giggle came from Will.
"Not evil, just wise." Will gave a dorkish grin as Mike got off of him, He paused once he looked at him though.
"Now will... I'll have you know im a man of.. revenge!" And with that he pounced on Will, instead of Mike's laughter it was Will's, soon after it dissolved into a tickle fight leaving them both breathless and giggly once they finished.
Anyways byler <3
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gaysinla · 2 days ago
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tickly-trashcan · a day ago
Tummyaches {Chongyun, Xiangling, Xingqiu}
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A/N: thank you for the request!! I had a lot of fun with this hehe, I like this trio quite a bit~ I think this one turned out a little silly urghhh i’m not super happy with it even though it was fun to write. That said, I still hope you enjoy! Have a lovely day and remember to stay hydrated! :D
Summary: After eating some spicy food, Xiangling and Xingqiu try to help Chongyun’s tummy.
Word Count: 1.2k (under the cut)
“Xiangling… Does this have Jueyun Chilis in it?”
“Yep! I put in plenty, don’t worry! Er… Do you not want any?”
Chongyun shifted hesitantly in his seat, glancing at Xingqiu. Chongyun immediately furrowed his brows when he noticed the smug grin on Xingqiu’s face that he didn’t even bother to try hiding as he looked at Chongyun.
He and Xingqiu had promised Xiangling they would try a new dish of hers, but Xingqiu had gotten to the Wanmin Restaurant before Chongyun, therefore being the one to put in the order.
“Yours also has extra carrots. I just need some feedback on whether or not it’s tasty!” Xiangling said, her eyes nervous despite the smile she was forcing. Chongyun looked at Xingqiu, who chuckled softly now. Xingqiu hated carrots, but Chongyun didn’t mind them. He probably just wanted to show Chongyun that he was behind it.
Chongyun sighed, taking the plate from Xiangling as he sniffed it. Just the scent burned due to its spiciness. Chongyun took a deep breath and took a bite, Xiangling and Xingqiu both looking at him in shock.
Xiangling exchanged a look with Xingqiu, her eyes wide. “I thought he wouldn’t eat it, Xingqiu!”
“I didn’t either! Does he have his popsicles?”
Chongyun’s face was quickly transitioning to a bright red color as his eyes watered. He dropped his utensil and gasped after swallowing the spicy food, patting himself down quickly as he looked for a popsicle. Xiangling ran back into the kitchen, wailing about needing some popsicles from her dad as Xingqiu began to laugh.
“Chongyun, why would you eat it?? Oh goodness,” He chuckled, and Chongyun glared at him.
“This isn’t funny! It’s so… spicy!” Chongyun wailed. “Where are my popsicles?”
“I have some milk! We don’t have any extra popsicles, sorry Chongyun!” Xiangling said as she ran back into the room, holding a glass of milk. Chongyun was grateful for anything that could stop the spiciness and grabbed the glass from Xiangling. He chugged nearly the whole glass in one gulp, setting the cup down as his head fell on the table.
“Xingqiu!! We killed him!” Xiangling shrieked, shaking Chongyun’s shoulders as Xingqiu nearly fell out of his chair. 
“We-We didn’t kill him! We just… I think it was too spicy.”
“You think? Oh, I shouldn’t have given him the spicy one! Now I’ll never know if my dish was tasty or not!”
Chongyun groaned as he sat up, rubbing his head as Xiangling gasped in relief. “He’s alive!”
“My yang energy almost took over… I think the milk helped…” Chongyun said slowly, Xiangling nodding frantically as Xingqiu came down from his laughing fit.
“It’s not funny, Xingqiu!” Xiangling said. She began to rub Chongyun’s stomach, making him flinch. “You hurt his tummy!”
“Xiangling – Xiangling, please dohon’t,” Chongyun started, a small giggle escaping his lips as Xiangling continued to rub his stomach. Xingqiu raised an eyebrow, noticing Chongyun’s reaction, and grinned.
“I did? Oh no, I’m so sorry dear Chongyun. I didn’t mean to hurt your tummy,” Xingqiu said, his tone teasing. Xingqiu began to rub Chongyun’s stomach as well from where he sat, making Chongyun squeak.
“Xingqiu! Don’t!” Chongyun said, swatting at Xingqiu’s hand. Xingqiu pulled back in offense, putting his hand to his chest.
“Chongyun, I’m simply trying to help your tummy! Xiangling, you’ve made noodles before, right?”
“Of course I have!”
“Well…” Xingqiu started, smiling at Chongyun. “I think we might need to make some noodles with Chongyun.”
Chongyun didn’t know how to make noodles. His auntie always helped him, but she would make the noodles while he made the sauce. He had seen glimpses sometimes, seeing Shenhe punch the dough until it was soft enough to make noodles with. His eyes widened and he pulled himself away from Xingqiu and Xiangling. “You guys are not going to beat me up!”
Xiangling laughed. “I think I know what Xingqiu means. We’re not gonna beat you up, we’re gonna knead you!”
Chongyun raised an eyebrow. “Knead…?”
“It’ll help your tummy!” Xingqiu insisted. Before Chongyun could protest or ask any more questions, Xiangling’s hands were back on his stomach, squeezing.
Chongyun almost immediately flailed backwards, falling out of his chair as Xiangling and Xingqiu followed, kneading his tummy and sides as Chongyun laughed.
“Nohoho! This isn’t hehehehelping! This is just tihickling!” Chongyun shrieked, shoving at Xiangling and Xingqiu, trying to push them away. Xingqiu shook his head, grinning as he pinched near Chongyun’s hips.
“It might tickle, but it’s going to make you feel better!”
“Let us know when you feel better, Chongyun!”
Chongyun couldn’t tell whether Xiangling was in on it or fully believed Xingqiu. Either way, her tickles were driving him mad. She had very precise fingers, being a chef, and her squeezes and pinches were very ticklish. Xingqiu was less dextrous, but he knew how to tickle Chongyun better than anyone else and took full advantage of it.
“Wahahait! Xiahahangling, not thehehere!”
“Why not? Oh, are you feeling better here? I’ll try somewhere else then!”
Xiangling shifted upwards, now skittering her fingers across Chongyun’s ribs. Chongyun squealed, realizing that Xiangling was totally in on it when she abandoned the kneading method. He threw his head back and cackled as Xiangling and Xingqiu laughed along with him, causing a loud ruckus in the Wanmin Restaurant.
Chongyun’s face was getting pink again, and his giggles were escalating as Xingqiu squeezed his hips. Xiangling had deserted his ribs in search of his underarms, scratching her nails lightly under them as Chongyun hollered.
“Yohohohou guhuys! I – I cahahan’t take anymohohore!”
Xiangling glanced at Xingqiu nervously as Chongyun’s laughter became more squeaky and snorty, slowing her fingers.
“Xingqiu, do you think he’s had enough?”
Xingqiu glanced at Chongyun’s face, noticing the heavy blush and his teary eyes. Xingqiu blushed himself at the sight, looking at Xiangling quickly to try and suppress it. “I think we should at least give him a break. Y’know… so that we can determine whether his tummy is feeling better or not.”
Xiangling beamed suddenly in realization as she nodded. “Oh right! His tummy!”
Chongyun wailed in annoyance. The two of them weren’t even pretending anymore, they were just messing with him because they thought it was funny. He pouted when they relented, crossing his arms and turning his back to them. Xiangling whined.
“Chongyun~! We were only trying to make you feel better! Come on, you know we love you!”
Chongyun mumbled something that neither of them heard and the two of them exchanged a glance. Xingqiu smirked, then threw himself on Chongyun, hugging him tightly.
“If tickles didn’t make you feel better, then we’ll just have to hug you until you smile!”
“No, wait–”
“Yup! Hugs all around!” Xiangling piped in, wrapping her arms around the two of them.
“You guys,” Chongyun whined, but a smile was growing on his face. “You guys are too much.”
They laughed, and Chongyun laughed with them. They ruffled his hair and Xiangling trotted off to the kitchen, promising to make Chongyun some cold noodles as he thanked her profusely. Xingqiu teased Chongyun lightly about the spicy food before laughing, the two of them sitting down as they waited for Xiangling to serve them.
“Here we are! Two cold noodles, one with extra carrots!” Xiangling said, putting the extra carroty one in front of Xingqiu as he grimaced. Chongyun laughed, pushing it closer to Xingqiu.
“Go on, Xingqiu! Take a bite.”
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ticklish-lilavenger · 3 months ago
Mrs. Evans (Chris Evans fic)
Hi all! I know it’s been FOREVER and I am so sorry about that. As you know, I’m in nursing school (which is why I selfishly make the reader a nurse in my writing sometimes lol) and it’s always crazy. I had spring break this week though, so after recovering all week, I decided to write a lil somethin’
Summery: You catch Chris calling prospective colleagues out for not giving you the full respect that you deserve. But Chris can’t stay scary for long when its just the two of you… or can he?
Word Count: 1213
Warnings: fluff! I think it says f*** once or twice
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“I’m really sorry that you feel that way, but I cannot be a part of this project.” Chris said simply, sitting in his office in front of his computer on a zoom call.
“Mr. Evans,” the voice on the other side of the call tried to explain, “it’s his choice whether or not to get vaccinated.”
“And it’s my choice whether or not to put myself, my family and my team at risk of getting and spreading COVID. I cannot work this closely and unmasked with someone who refuses to be vaccinated.” Chris explained. You watched from the doorway, assuming he didn’t see you.
“Aren’t you more at risk getting it from your wife than from your costars?” another voice said. “Y/N is a nurse, isn’t she?”
Chris’s face suddenly went cold, “Don’t bring my wife or her profession into this.”
“Oh— Mr. Evans, I mean no disrespect, I was merely making a point.” the man stammered.
“Yes, well, if you’re going to refer to my wife, you will refer to her the same way you refer to me, with respect. She is Mrs. Evans to you.” The look in Chris’s eyes as he spoke was one that you rarely see, he was in full protection mode, “And my wife is a nurse and she’s a damn good one, who always puts her patients' needs before her own. That’s why she worked overtime throughout the peaks of the pandemic. She has put more bodies in bags this past year than past nurses have in their entire careers. She risked her life to keep people alive, I will not use my name recognition to help some anti-vax fucker make money off of a feature film. That would be a slap in the face to my wife, her colleagues, and most importantly, her patients.”
“Yes, Mr. Evans. Understood.” the voice gulped.
“Good luck finding someone else.” Chris said and promptly ended the call, letting out an exasperated sigh, “How much of that did you hear, baby?”
“‘That is Mrs. Evans to you.’” you quoted his words right back at him.
He chuckled, “Damn straight. Get over here, Mrs. Evans.”
You sauntered over to his desk, Chris turned his chair and pulled close to him by your hips. You stood between his legs, running your fingers through his hair.
He purred at the sensation, reaching around and grabbing a handful of ass, “How did I get so lucky?”
“You?” you questioned, “How did I get so lucky?! I love how you defend me and my work.”
Chris looked up at you, “Always, baby. I’ll defend and protect you to the ends of the earth.”
“You know I’ll do the same for you, right?” you asked.
“Oh trust me, I know. I’ve seen you in action after a few drinks.” he playfully squeezed your back side, causing you to yelp with surprise.
“Chris!” you scolded.
He smirked up at you, “What? Ticklish?”
Your cheeks grew hot, “… you know the answer to that question…”
“Do I?” he asked, playfully raising an eyebrow and wiggling his fingers at you.
“Oh hell no.” you grumbled, taking his hands in yours.
Chris chuckled to himself, “I’ll getcha at some point.”
You walked by the laundry room to see Chris bent over, switching the clothes from the washer to the dryer. This was the perfect opportunity to scare your husband with a little tickle attack, payback for all times he’s done the same to you. You didn’t even take a moment to weigh out the consequences, you just went straight for his sides, squeezing them just above the waist band of his sweats.
“AUGHHH!” he yelled out, standing straight up and turning to stare you down.
Now you were finally weighing the consequences of your behavior. “Ummm… hi, baby.” you smiled weakly, backing away slowly.
“Are we gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?” he asked simply, mischief sparkled in his blue eyes.
You quickly turned and started sprinting, “Dodger! HELP ME!”
This was your last lifeline, when you and Chris wrestled and play fought, Dodger would often throw himself in the middle and growl at Chris to protect his mommy. Maybe your furry son would come to your rescue.
Chris quickly caught you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest, “Nice try, babe. Dodge is at the groomers until 4.”
“FUCK!” you cried out.
Your husband clicked his tongue and walked towards the living room with you still in his arms and started lighting prying at your sides, “Such hideous language from such a beautiful woman.”
“Chrihihissss!” you squeaked through your giggles and sunk down on to the carpet, barely able to hold your own weight from being flustered AND tickled.
Chris easily wrestled you to lay down on your back, he instantly went for your inner thighs, pinching and squeezing lightly.
You cried out and laughter bubbled over, “Nohohoho!” You were expecting him to target your tummy or ribs first, you were not prepared.
“Mmmm,” Chris growled playfully, continuing his attack, “Gimme them thighs!”
You tried your best to grab hold of his wrists to get his hands away.
“Y/N Evans, you’re about to lose your arm privileges.” he taunted.
But you grabbed one of his wrists and before pushing his hand away, he used his strength to get your arm up and your armpits exposed.
“That’s it!” he grabbed hold of your other arm, pulled it above your head, held your wrists there with one hand, and wiggled his fingers above your armpits with the other, “Arm privileges revoked!”
You winced, braced yourself, and tried to hold in the nervous giggles as Chris’s wiggling fingers slowly grew closer and closer.
“I’m not even tickling you yet!” he chuckled, “Are you just THAT ticklish?”
“Stop acting like this is new information!” you cried out.
The tickling claw finally made contact with your armpits, the scream the exited your body was so high pitched that it could’ve cracked the windows.
“Who is the cutest, most ticklish wife in the world?” Chris asked teasingly.
You thrashed your body trying to dodge his fingers but it was no use, you were completely pinned, “I HATE YOU!”
“No you don’t.” He corrected you with a smirk and the tickles traveled down from your armpits to your ribs.
Your squeals went up and octave but you managed to cry out, “Yehehehes I doooo.”
“You love me and you love when I tickle torture you just like this,” he teased as he prodded and tickled you between each rib, “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have started this whole ordeal, hm?”
You squeezed your eyes shut and turned your head away from him with embarrassment.
“Just agree and I’ll stooooooop…” he sang.
“FINE! YEHEHES!” you croaked through horse laughter and screeches.
Chris released your wrists and the tickling ceased, “There. Now was that so hard, Mrs. Evans?”
You couldn’t answer, you just curled up in a ball and rolled on your side.
“Aww, poor thing.” he gushed then laid down on the floor next to you and pulled you in for a cuddle, “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” you grumbled into his cotton t-shirt.
Your husband chuckled and kissed your head sweetly, “You’re right, I’m not.”
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writingfics-passingtime · 4 months ago
Off the Record (Part 1/3)
Synopsis: Lawyers and journalists can have contentious relationships, as proven by your brief history with Foggy Nelson and Matt Murdock. But their client is innocent, and you may be the only chance they have to prove it.
Word count: ~20,700
Pairing: Matt Murdock x female reader
CWs: swearing, overt mentions of sex, implied sex, mentions of violence, alcohol, making out, creepy pushy men (no sexual assault), sexism, some ruthless tickling
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It was a cloudy Thursday afternoon in New York City. As the sky threatened thunderous rain, the citizens and frequenters of Hell’s Kitchen scurried about their business on the pavement, overlooked by a small law practise where two attorneys and their sharp-as-iron secretary were brainstorming how to help their client out of a seemingly impossible situation. Yes, Nelson and Murdock certainly had their work cut out for them.
Inside, Matt Murdock spoke up from where he was leaning against a table in the corner. He tapped his walking stick once or twice, weighing up whether or not the suggestion was worth the reaction it was sure to draw from his best friend. Desperate, and out of options, he said “I think I might know who can help.”
Karen lifted an eyebrow. She was perched against a different table with her arms crossed. “Who?”
As expected, the second Matt spoke your name Foggy was full of objections. “No. No. No way in hell, Matt!”
“Why not?”
“The Succubus, of all people-”
Karen scoffed. “Um, that’s kind of harsh, Foggy.”
“No, that’s a pretty…” Matt ducked his head to the side and fished in his pocket for his phone. “… apt description. She can be difficult.”
“Difficult?” Foggy stood, his chair scraping along the floor as he slammed his hands on the table for dramatic effect, perhaps forgetting it had no sway on his business partner. “Difficult?! She gutted us like fish in her story on the Petrenko trial!”
“She also praised our performance last month on the Harvey acquittal- Foggy…” Matt held up a hand to pacify his friend. The same hand that held the phone ready to dial your number. “She might have a press pass to the gala. It’ll be a high-profile case so if we offer her an exclusive interview-”
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Foggy muttered, sniffing and stewing as Matt listened to him slowly come to terms with the reality that it was a good idea to call you. While this exchange was happening, Karen had been clicking and typing away at the computer she’d shifted to stand behind.
“If one were to use a phrase to describe the closing statement made by Mr Nelson, ‘nail in the coffin’ would be most appropriate- wow, I forgot that she did not pull any punches on this article.”
“It wasn’t our best work,” Matt winced, still remembering the ferocity with which Foggy had slammed down his empty beer glasses, adding to the dents on the thick wooden table at Josie’s Bar after he’d read the piece. In between gulps he’d muttered about the ethics of journalism until Matt managed to convince Foggy putting some carbs in him, and then him in a taxi, would probably be for the best. People were staring. Matt didn’t need sight to know that.
“I don’t like this, Matt. She’ll turn on us the second we mess up.”
“The gala is tomorrow night and we don’t have any other options,” Matt reasoned, holding up his phone as if it were a weapon he was declaring. “I’m going to call her.” He held the phone close to his mouth, activated the voice-command mic, and told his device to dial your number.
It was perhaps the call you least expected to receive that day. After years of reporting on the strange, the scandalous and the scathing underbelly of Hell’s Kitchen, you took pride in the fact that not much surprised you anymore. Though, you had to admit, seeing Matt Murdock’s name on an incoming call certainly made you stop in your tracks - which was a problem, considering this was New York. Someone clocked your shoulder as you were about to hit the answer button, then gave you a dirty glare for stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Yeah, humans don’t come with brake lights,” you sneered back. “Watch where you’re going!” Rolling your eyes, you stepped off to the side of the pavement and held the phone to your ear. “Murdock,” you greeted, and didn’t try to hide the curious smile in your diction. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Seriously, not much surprised you. You’d uncovered countless schemes, reported on the strangest crimes (who knew the balloon industry was built on so much money-laundering?!), met supposedly terrifying people who crumbled at the simplest well-placed question, been propositioned for affairs by numerous elite, their wives, their husbands, with both of them… but for the second time today, you were stopped in your tracks. Nothing could have prepared you for what Matt Murdock was about to say:
“We need your help.”
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The wooden hallway creaked and shifted with the sound of your shoes in search of the sign for the modest legal firm. A wooden door, painted white, charmingly worn, had a frosted pane adorned with words which informed you you’d found the offices of ‘Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law.’ Curious as anything about the latter lawyer’s ambiguous phone call, you pushed the door open and entered. As you shut it behind you, you took the chance to take in the sight of their practise.
A small smirk tugged at your lips, as with a shake of your head you wondered if any other setting would’ve suited the two renegades so well. There was something homegrown and authentic about the men that you had to admire as a fellow human. They were certainly ambitious in the clientele they took on, so you wondered if the whole vintage office aesthetic was a means to be less intimidating to the blue-collar workers who preferred law firms like this. They didn’t put a lot of effort into looking modern. In fact, the only Big Law type feature they had was the stereotypical beautiful woman behind the front desk.
You approached her with a polite smile. “I’m here to see Matt Murdock. He’s expecting me.”
She returned your polite smile, albeit hesitantly, and flipped her strawberry-blonde hair behind her slender shoulders as she stood and smoothed out her pencil-skirt. “Just one moment,” she sounded a little breathless, which made you fight a smirk. God, what Nelson must have said to her about you. “Have a seat,” she gestured to a series of metal-framed chairs with cream tweed cushions, then walked over to an office with the internal blinds drawn. Her heels clicked loudly against the wooden floor all the way from her leaving the desk to when she entered the room and shut the door behind her.
You didn’t heed her suggestion, dubious of one of the stains that someone evidently couldn’t quite eradicate from the fabric. A small laugh escaped through your nose when you spied a forgotten swing tag just peaking out from underneath one of the seats, telling you they’d bought these chairs for seven dollars each from some kind of charity shop. Good on them, you supposed, for not wasting money to impress people with stuff.
A few minutes passed as you took in the details of their workplace. How long did it take to say you were here? Murdock was the more open-minded of the two. They were probably still trying to calm Nelson down. Maybe you should-
“Sorry for the wait,” a familiar lower voice, with just a hint of gravel, pulled you from examining the view outside the window behind the secretary’s desk. When you turned, you saw Matt Murdock in his charcoal grey suit and dark crimson-tinted glasses gesturing for you to enter the office. “Please, come in.”
You didn’t respond with words, just by walking past him and into a slightly darker room. As soon as you entered, the secretary pulled the blinds up and let more light in. “Nelson,” you sang with a smile, trying to not make it look too unenthused. He gave a sarcastic smile back, which made you scoff a laugh. “Still mad about the Petrenko article?”
“Just doubting you’ll be willing to help us.”
“Then why’d you call?”
“Because,” Murdock’s voice snapped your attention towards him and his commanding demeanour. He stood up straighter. “We don’t really have another choice.”
He explained as best he could. Their client, Harold Avery, owned a shopfront on the corner of 4th and 19th - up-and-coming prime real estate in Hell’s Kitchen. An apartment block built by Hanlon Developments had recently gone up across the street selling units for $400,000 at minimum. Avery said even the rich people in those fancy new apartments seemed to appreciate the convenience of having his store there. They were mostly nice. He’d inherited the shop from his mother, who’d come to New York with less than fifteen dollars in her pocket. She’d worked hard at the store as a clerk, eventually buying it from the owner who’d expressed interest in moving on to a slower-paced state.
It was easy to see why Nelson and Murdock took this guy on - they were real suckers for salt-of-the-earth people, grassroots, tragic backstories, the like. Or maybe they were trying to convince you why it would make a good story. Fighting the urge to interject, you found yourself settling a little more on the arm of the couch, also a cream tweed, listening as Murdock did his bit.
“A separate developer, Mercury Holdings, recently purchased the block across from the new apartments, having seen the success of how all the original units were snapped up.”
There you cut in. “Let me guess: that developer has offered your client more than fair compensation to give up his storefront in order for them to purchase another entire block, and he’s refused. Now they’re playing legal hardball, trying some kind of hostile takeover.”
“Yes and no,” Nelson chimed in, sounding a little too smug that you’d gotten at least half of it wrong. He swivelled around his desktop computer to show a charred and destroyed lower corner of a city block.
“Oh, shit,” you breathed out, bumped your eyebrows and leaned towards the screen to watch the photos as he clicked through. With the context of the conversation, it was obvious this destroyed piece of real estate belonged to Harold Avery. “Hope he had insurance.”
“He did. That’s part of the problem. Police found clear signs of sabotage at the scene,” Karen piped up, and you again fought the urge to interrupt and ask her what the hell her job description even was. Still, you accepted the manila envelope she held out to you. When you opened it, you caught a glance at some twisted gas valve before noticing the NYPD watermark. Looking up at Nelson, you narrowed your eyes. “Is this discovery?” He nodded. You slapped it closed. “I do have ethics, Nelson. You can’t show third-parties discovery before a civil case is settled-”
“It’s not a civil case,” he shot back with another smug smile.
You quickly put the pieces together. Furrowing your brow, you opened the files again. “They think he torched his own bodega to commit insurance fraud.”
“Yeah,” Murdock said in his low near-whisper, shifting as he perched against the window dividing the two offices. “He‘s facing a litany of charges. Fraud, arson, reckless endangerment of the other tenants in the block, animal cruelty-”
“Animal cruelty?”
“His cat was in the store,” Nelson told you. “She got out alright.”
You sighed and flicked through the pages. “So… what? You want me to whistleblow on some faceless developer? Do you even have any evidence that he didn’t do this?”
“Insurance would’ve paid him less than a quarter of what the developers were offering. He had no motive.”
“The police certainly think he had motive,” you pointed out. “Or else they wouldn’t have arrested him.”
The room was quiet for several long seconds before Karen, the secretary who was apparently in on meetings, spoke up. “The store had been running at a deficit for a while.”
You turned your head slowly to look at her, “Define a while.”
She fidgeted with her fingers in her lap before shooting an apologetic glance to Nelson. “About three years.”
“Three years?!” You stood out of shock. She rushed to explain, to placate you.
“But- but, he said that since the development had gone up he’d been experiencing record sales-”
“He’s been losing money for three years and refuses to sell his store for, what, five or six times its market value?” You scoffed, tossing the file down on the desk next to Nelson. “If you think my readers are going to sympathise with this guy, much less believe some property tycoon orchestrated the arson of a convenience store that was on the verge of bankruptcy, you’ve got another thing coming. All Hanlon, or Mercury, or Fireside, or any of these developers had to do was wait six months to a year and then duke it out with the bank.”
“There’s evidence he didn’t do it,” Murdock spoke up again, and you felt yourself losing patience.
“Then why was he arrested, hmm?”
“Because the police say the evidence implicates him. But unless our guy spent money hiring some street-level crony to burn it down for him, a few guys with Slavic accents didn’t anticipate the CCTV cameras they blacked out would also record sound.”
You bit your tongue to stop yourself from saying something you’d regret. Giving yourself a second or two to calm down, you carefully said, “Murdock, I’m running out of patience and I’ve got some prep to do before a huge charity gala tomorrow evening-”
“This ties in to that,” he nodded sincerely. “Just a minute more and you’ll see. Foggy,” he turned to his partner. “The tape.”
You let them hear your sigh as you once again perched against the couch arm, lingering your eyes on Murdock before lazing them back to the blackened screen.
“Now there’s black spray paint on the lens,” Nelson clicked the mouse and the video started. “But if you listen closely…”
There was shuffling of shoes, of coats, people sniffing and moving carefully around the store. “Back here,” a thick accent, yes, Slavic, was heard in the background. “There are too many people outside,” another voice, different, more anxious, spoke. The first voice said again, “The boss wants this done now. I cannot be with him on Friday night without this being completed. He wants to tell the others of his plans.” The more anxious voice spoke, “Get on with it then. And be quiet.”
There were a few more minutes of tinkering, the sound of the two people leaving the store, and then several moments of silence before the hissing, crackling blaze began. After another minute, the fire alarm started sounding just before the tape cut off.
You pondered for a few seconds. “So the police think this implicates Avery.”
Murdock ducked his head to the side. “It’s pretty vague.”
“You got that right,” you stuck your tongue against the inside of your cheek, trying to figure out how to let them down easy. “Why am I here?”
“Because if this was in fact one of the developers who orchestrated the arson, then what the men on the tape are referring to is most likely the charity gala being held at the Swanson Gallery tomorrow night. At least one of these men will be there with their boss,” Murdock pointed to the screen. “If we can find them and link them to a developer-”
“Then whahat?” You laughed, holding up your hands in frustration. “And how are you even planning on finding someone when you have no idea what they look like?”
“I’m good with voices,” Murdock said.
You sighed again.
“All we’re asking is that you get Matt in as a plus-one,” Karen said with a hint of desperation.
You looked between the three of them in their tiny office, thinking about the cases they’ve taken on, their cheap old computer monitor, their earnest desire to help and their seven dollar waiting-room chairs. You thought about the story of it - the exclusive they were sure to offer you since they couldn’t really offer you anything else - and knew if some real estate developer was burning down mom-and-pop stores in Hell’s Kitchen to create high-end appartments for the wealthy… well, that kind of outrage was sure to sell papers. Everyone loved a David taking down a greedy Goliath.
“I have to go to the Starlight Gala to try and convince Arthur Reynolds to give me an interview, or at the very least a quote. So… yeah, I think I can get Murdock in but we’ll have to be sneaky about it. I don’t get a plus-one on a press pass.”
“So then-”
“I have an idea that might work but it’s going to require you to be able to act like you’re not blind. Can you do that?”
Matt opened his mouth to speak, thick silence filling the room once again. Nelson tried his best to not look suspicious but he’d always worn his heart on his sleeve, and it was then that you knew you were out of the loop on something big. So was Karen, apparently, since she gave her bosses a curious glance. However, no way in hell were they about to trust you with that kind of information, whatever it was.
He cleared his throat and nodded. “I can.”
“Good,” you nodded back, then ignoring the moment of stupidity you felt for nodding at a man who couldn’t see it.
“What’s in it for you?” Nelson snipped. “No way you’re doing this for nothing.”
You rolled your eyes and hiked your bag a little higher on your shoulder. “Eighth-page exposé on a desperate store-owner, or front-page jaw-dropper on developers committing arson… this’ll be a story regardless. I’ll expect an exclusive from the attorneys who took it on,” you said, then turned back to Murdock. “Text me your address. Wear a black suit, white shirt, black tie. I’ll pick you up at nine.”
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The rain fell in a rough steady onslaught outside his corner loft as Matt Murdock picked out the correct clothing to follow your instructions. He knew his pieces by touch, knowing which colour was associated with each unique feel and thread count. As he did up the buttons on his sleeve and the watch on his wrist clicked in its unique way to inform him it was quarter to the next hour, the next hour being nine in the evening, he tried to forget the conversation that’d occurred the second you’d left their offices the day before.
Foggy damn near threw a fit at the idea that trusting you was a good idea, and Karen seemed shaken to have come face-to-face with you for the first time. She’d heard your name, of course, having been around for the past year or so. You’d written stories on a few on their more public trails, taken quotes from them a handful of times, you were a name that was certainly known amongst media circles, though Matt got the impression Karen had never seen what you looked like. You certainly had the confidence in your effortless commanding demeanour of a woman who knew she was beautiful, and knew how to use it to her advantage. Women like you never quite seemed to know how to interact with him, given their usual tricks couldn’t work. He couldn’t be disarmed with a perfect smile or a flirty gaze, which is perhaps why he was the only person in the room you seemed to be talking to as an equal. Or as someone you trusted.
Interesting, it was, that the only person you trusted was the one you couldn’t easily manipulate.
He was downstairs at exactly the correct time, umbrella in hand as he heard the car roll up outside his building. The driver got out and opened the back door for Matt to slide into. So, not a standard taxi. The luxe leather seats in the back and the pristine atmosphere of the car was the second sign. Your perfume, the rose-tinted scent of your lipstick, the way the silk you wore shifted against the leather as you turned to him and the car continued on its journey - that was the third sigh.
“Corporate car,” Matt smirked. “Who knew journalism paid so well.”
“When your name sells papers the boss likes to keep you happy.”
Matt nodded and stuck his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “Right. And the three-hundred dollar bottle of perfume - was that to keep you happy too?”
“It was business expense, actually.” He could hear the way your lips were curled into a sly smile. “The fact you noticed it is case and point. It ranked number two for most seductive fragrance on a poll in GQ.”
“Why not go for number one?”
“Can’t smell like every other woman, can I? Men like to feel like they’ve found something special.”
“Right,” Matt chuckled, then turned to you. “What’s the plan?”
The raucous city rain was unrelenting as the car’s driver drew his expert path over the slick roads. He was level-headed enough to not blare his horn in chorus with his impatient neighbours, but assertive enough to swear under his breath and place the wheels in the very space someone was seeking to cut into. All in all, a pretty standard ride in New York.
Hell’s Kitchen was a stone’s throw from the Upper West Side. Matt had spent some time there for meetings and depositions and the occasional back-alley punching match, though the nights were usually far too alive for him to slink around unnoticed. He was more likely to find young people and the Class C drugs they took to feel more interesting and slip out of the grips of Daddy’s Money for just one night, than he was to find the gritty underbelly of crime. That’s not to say it didn’t happen, but he was called the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen for a reason.
You’d never written about him. About The Devil. The Nut in the Mask. Daredevil, as some had recently started calling him. Part of Matt wanted to ask you what you thought of the vigilante but the second he had the desire he was gripped with the uncomfortable idea that he just might care what you thought, and that was dangerous. Because that was stepping into pride’s territory. You may have no idea you sat side-by-side with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen but if there was one thing Matt knew, it’s that you could sniff out a prideful man from a block away. For what other reason would you be wearing the second most seductive perfume, as rated by men.
The car pulled up to the back of the gallery where there was, thankfully, an overhang. On the way, you’d explained the press entrance to him. You’d explained how you’d try to sneak him inside and you’d made him swap his glasses for ones you brought that were darker and thicker and felt more official. As per the plan, he exited the car first and rounded the back to open the door for you. He offered you a hand as you stepped out. Your touch was softer than he expected it to be. He took half a second to wonder if he’d been expecting a vice grip because of your tenacity, or because he was so used to the nights belonging to tussles with enemies. Either way, you didn’t thank him for his help.
He matched your pace a step or two behind as you approached the entrance and fished in your bag for your press pass. Then, you faltered in your step and he heard you grin and laugh through your nose.
“Richie,” you greeted the guard like an old friend.
“Hey, Mama,” he chuckled back. You two exchange a quick kiss on the cheek and you said you hadn’t seen him work these things in a while. He told you his wife gave birth to twin boys three months ago. You sounded… genuinely interested. Happy for him. Aware there was somewhat of a line building, you promised to catch him later and that you wanted to see photos of his sons. Matt stood dutifully behind you the whole time, giving the impression that he was looking around as you flashed the press pass Richie already knew you had and you turned to gesture towards the black-suited man you brought along.
“This is Murdock. Private security.” There was something unimpressed in your voice, though this time it was forced. You wanted Richie to think Matt was an annoyance.
“Hey now, you know your pass doesn’t cover-”
“I know, I know,” you lowered your voice. “Look, I’m working this story on someone big and I got a teeny little death threat so now the paper’s paying this guy a hundred bucks an hour to follow me around.” Richie sighed, Matt tensed his lips into a polite smile and nodded. “Richie… this place can only be safer with him here. What’s the problem?”
“Yeah,” he sighed again, waving you on through. “Yeah, yeah, go.”
“Thank you,” you smiled sweetly. As he passed him, Matt heard Richie do the small disappointed scoff of someone who knew he was yet another man giving into a beautiful woman, but didn’t really seem to mind.
“Flirting with married men?” Matt clicked his tongue as you two walked down a hallway. You stopped in place and turned to him, perhaps a little surprised that he didn’t walk into you. A small wave of rage surged in your chest. Or, rage wasn’t the correct word. Injustice, more like.
“If you think that was flirting, you are sorely unprepared for the real world, Murdock.” Your words were quiet, but precise, and dripping with venom. “So help me, if you pull some stupid shit here that gets Richie in trouble for letting you in I will eviscerate you, and Nelson, and your secretary who somehow sits within the bounds of Attorney-Client privilege. Have I made myself clear?”
Good one, you scolded yourself. Now he‘ll know you’re nothing but another bitchy journalist.
Good one, asshole, Matt stuck his tongue to the inside of his cheek. That wasn’t a fair call.
Instead of apologising, he said: ���Crystal.”
“Good,” you responded instantly, then dropped the matter all together. You weren’t one for grudges anyway.
As you turned and started walking down the hallway again, the sounds of the party swelled and reverberated until the clicking of your heels against the wooden floor was nearly drowned out completely. But not to Matthew, who was using it as one of the many ways to track your movements. That, and the lingering trail of your perfume.
“Arthur Reynolds is my priority tonight,” turning your head to remind him, you felt pleasantly surprised to see he was playing his part to perfection. Some kind of comment died at your lips. Maybe you were going to ask why he bothered with the stick at all, or accuse him of something much more villainous like faking his blindness, but the ramifications of that assumption were clearly something you’d never explore. Still, he liked to feel the curiosity building in your stance. Why wasn’t this perfume number one?
You scanned the crowd for the man who matched the various press conferences and interviews you’d watched. You’d never seen Reynolds in person, much less met him. He was a hard man to pin down but he was recently divorced so he may be more willing to mingle with the masses.
In your experience, nothing pissed a rich man off more than feeling duped. Even a man like Reynolds, who dedicated most of his life and his funds to humanitarian work, would react badly to a woman flirting with him for ten minutes and then revealing she wanted something. It wasn’t about being taken advantage of - no, he would be used to that. Being tricked, however? Unacceptable. It was a pride thing, and you could smell pride from a block away.
“There’s a silent auction at our ten o’clock,” you told Murdock. “Reynolds might be there. Your man might be too.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Who, me?” You put on a voice of mock outrage. “I’m a nice business man who purchases art for charity. I wouldn’t order an arson attack.”
He chuckled behind you, and a satisfied smile pulled into one side of your lips. Something about cracking his brooding shield made you relax and sink into the confidence of wearing a black pure silk dress at a party.
As you made your ways through the crowd, Matt found himself unwittingly picking up on conversations he was sure you couldn’t hear. He was glad you couldn’t hear. There were comments, some lewd, turnings of heads, whispers about what they’d like to do to you. Claims of what they’d already done. He could hear their heartbeats and knew they were all liars. Then, someone stepped into your path.
“Jack,” you greeted, not hiding how unenthusiastic you were to see him.
“You look gorgeous.”
Matt recognised his voice from the news reels, from the court recordings of him paying yet another fine for some stupid frat-boy-maturity offence. John Alexander McBride III. Jack, as he went by, was your standard Upper East Side playboy with too much money and too much time to kill before he was slated to take over his father’s company. Yachts, casinos, private islands and the like were his entire personality.
“I’m working,” you quickly shut down.
“Who are you here to see? I’ll introduce you.”
“Jack, I’m not-”
“No strings attached. I swear.”
Fucking liar. Matt felt his fist clench. You were fast out of the gate to express your doubt. He could hear the way you jaw was tensed as you let out of a puff of air through your nose. Still, you were obviously uncomfortable here with him. With his senses, Matt had a pretty good picture of Jack. He was tall, used way too much cologne, Matt had heard people fawn over his piercing blue eyes. You seemed completely aware of Jack’s halo effect and you were, not completely but still sufficiently, immune to it.
“There are always strings with you.”
As you moved to step around him, Matt heard Jack’s suit jacket shift, he heard a hand close around your upper arm, and before you could react Matt’s own hand snatched rough around Jack’s wrist. The shock of the strength of his grip put Jack on the back foot, and he released you in an instant. Matt held on for a second longer to make a point, feeling the metal cufflink dig into the skin of his palm, before gruffly releasing him and making to step in between you two.
“It’s okay, Murdock.” Your voice was firm, but still thankful. “He won’t make a scene when he’s on the verge of losing the company to his little sister.” Jack scoffed and looked at you for several moments before he walked away, making sure to shoulder-check Matt as he took his exit.
Matt didn’t know whether or not to ask you if you were alright. He could risk coming off as uncaring when you were clearly trying to cover up some mountain of negative experiences with the future billionaire, or else the risk lay in assuming you couldn’t handle yourself when you clearly could.
He kept his mouth shut.
You let out a silent release of relief when Murdock didn’t pry into asking about your history with Jack. It would’ve been undeniable that there was a whole pile of unresolved conflict that, like every problem in his life, Jack liked to throw charm and money and influence at, but you’d dealt with enough hot rich assholes in your life to stop letting them get away with it. They wouldn’t get away with it with you, at least.
“I don’t see Reynolds,” you said, still scanning the crowd as the two of you approached one of the silent auction tables. Matt heard you laugh under your breath as you inspected whatever was hanging behind the table. “A painting,” you told him. He walked up to stand beside you as you took apart the canvas with your eyes.
Splashes of royal blue and a warm chocolate brown encircled and ensnared each other, striking across the white canvas in a remarkably unremarkable way. Something about it, though, was unsettling.
Art didn’t bore you, not at all. Not even modern art. You weren’t a cynic but you were a realist, and so you knew the modern art industry from start to finish was built on a system of washing dirty funds for dirty businessmen. “I don’t need to explain the money-laundering that’s rife in the modern art industry to you, do I, Murdock?” It was a rhetorical question, one that made him smirk and take a step back to regain his illusion of being a bodyguard. He caught a linger of your fragrance on the way, and it nearly drew him back in. Before he could, a strong presence began approaching you. The man found his place near you, taking on a demeanour of casual analysis.
“Earth Whip,” he spoke the title of the painting in a British accent so charming, you nearly didn’t clock who it belonged to. “I’ve adored having this piece in my collection for years. Alas, time for it to move on.”
“Why donate it if you love it?” You turned to him, being very careful to not fawn or show any sort of overtly flirtatious signals as you smiled at Arthur Reynolds.
“Well,” he took a confident step closer with his hands in his pockets, still looking mostly at the painting. “All things in life are temporary, I suppose. We mustn’t hold too tightly to things. I also heard my good friend Johnson would be here and the bugger has been pestering me to sell to him since I bought it. Figured I‘d make him bleed a little in the name of a good cause,” he joked, shooting an amused glance down to you. You smiled back and tilted your head to signal you were impressed by his cheekiness. “Arthur Reynolds,” he greeted with an outstretched hand, turning to face you.
You smiled shyly and took his hand, making sure to maintain a confident eye contact as you were honest with him. “I know who you are, Mr. Reynolds. It’s nice to finally meet you.” You flashed him your press pass in the interest of full transparency. “I’ve been following your work in Haiti for some time.”
“I see,” he looked only somewhat disappointed. You played it off, turning back to the painting, only now seeing the flecks of black in the brown’s wake. Scorched earth.
“It seems unfair to liken Earth’s power to a whip.”
Matt’s ear pricked with your choice of comment, curious as anything to see where you were going with this. He also clocked that Reynolds had security close by. Not as close as Matt was to you, so he took a step or two back. Of the three men watching Reynolds, not one was without a weapon. He could hear the thick plastic of the 9mm handguns hitting against their sides and belts with every turn of their heads to clock threats.
“She is a mighty force,” Reynolds explained, with somewhat of an edge to his voice. He wasn’t insulted, more intrigued.
“Mighty, yes. But an aggressor? Whip feels like a conscious choice to imply nature is intentionally subjugating those she hurts.”
“We are in her domain. She can do with us what she pleases, whether the cruelty is intentional is up for debate. A lawless beast, she can be.”
Matt heard you shift, he heard your desire to argue with this man. You didn’t trust him. Based on this painting, based on his comments, your heart was pounding. You wanted to get away. Instead, you lied. “Very true, Mr Reynolds.”
You turned your head to smile shyly again. Checkmate.
You knew after ten more minutes of conversation he’d be offering you an interview. That interview would probably take place in his apartment overlooking Central Park, and he’d probably cook you dinner to prove he did things himself, that he wasn’t a useless wealthy man. The steak would be two hundred dollars a cut and the wine would be hand-chosen by him, but he’d bring you to his wine cellar and entertain the idea of letting you choose a different one. You’d agree with his first choice and laugh and say you trusted his judgement, and he’d fight his urge to kiss you right there and then. Because you needed to think he was a gentleman. You knew his game. These men were all the same.
Some kind of scuffle in the crowd drew Matt’s attention. He turned, still with half an ear on Reynolds’ charmed accent working to undo your resolve. The incident ended up being someone who was already a little too drunk, but the unknown factor caused Reynolds’ security team to move closer to him and whisper among each other to enquire what was happening across the room.
It was him.
Matt licked his drying lips, listening intently to make damn sure he was hearing this correctly and not just letting his mind trick him into believing what he wanted to believe: that this charming humanitarian who was chatting you up was far too good to be true. But it was him. The man from the shop fire was in this room, and he was watching Arthur Reynold’s six. His boss’s six.
Matt needed to alert you. To get you away. But you were working Reynolds so well. He held his breath, hating how he seemed to be inconveniently conflicted when it came to you more than a few times now.
His named rolled off your tongue in a quiet whisper as Reynolds spoke to you. You’d called out to him with nothing louder than a breath. Matt’s stomach tightened when he heard the fear you were failing to conceal, and also with the realisation that you had somehow clocked that he’d be able to hear your near-silent plea in a sea of voices. The more important matter at hand was the fact that Reynolds had moved closer, and your heartbeat had altered its cadence from skepticism, to discomfort, to anxiety.
Alarm bells rang in your head as Arthur’s striking hazel eyes bored into your own. The painting. Never mind the implications of money-laundering - why did he adore this painting? Why did he refuse to sell it to his friend, just to give it away? There were too many questions you wanted to ask him with his collar clenched in your fists while you called him a bastard and told him you could see right through him, but there were too many pieces you hadn’t yet put together. Damn your brain for moving slower than your intuition. A crooked chord rose up in your nerves and rang in your head like two side-by-side piano keys being struck over and over and over again.
You and Murdock weren’t exactly friends, but he was the only person in this room you trusted right now and so you’d said his name in the most subtle way you could risk. Your brain did move slower than what you could feel in your bones so even though you didn’t know how, some subconscious part of you made it known that he would hear, he would understand, and he would get you away without a second thought.
Just as you started doubting yourself and wondering if you should take another stab at trying to get his attention, you felt yourself ease with the arrival of his presence just behind your shoulder. You turned to him, looking up to the glasses you’d provided, vaguely seeing yourself reflected. His features were stoic, professional, playing the part to perfection. “A person of interest has arrived. I’d like to remove you from this location.”
You casted a glance towards the front entrance in case Reynolds had heard what Murdock said to you.
“Private security for a journalist?” He chuckled. He did hear.
Your gaze shot to his, and you gave a wry smile. “Some people will go to great lengths to stop the truth from getting out.”
“Am I to believe you’re in your business for truth, and not simply the sensationalist headlines?” He teased with a wink. It was good-natured. Flirty. He was trying to get you to engage in a playful verbal spar. You smiled again, fighting the urge to grimace.
“I’m an honest person, Arthur.”
“Are you, now?”
“Mhmm. I’ll prove it,” you turned to take your leave, to follow Murdock as he led you away. Before the billionaire could stop you, you left him with a little piece of honesty: “I don’t like your painting.”
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“Bad. News. He’s bad news,” your chest heaved with your deep breaths as you tried to collect your thoughts, now having the space off in an abandoned hallway.
“I know, he’s-”
“No, you don’t get it,” you took a step forward, and Matt could hear the urgency in your voice. “That painting. That fucking painting...”
“What about it?”
“He “adored” it,” you seethed, getting frustrated that you hadn’t been afforded the time to put down your thoughts on paper and proofread them. “I‘m sorry, I know you can’t see it but you have to trust me. This makes no sense- I… I need to go talk to him again.”
As you, in your flurry, went to move past Matt he placed a hand on your shoulder and told you what he’d heard.
“His bodyguard started the bodega fire.”
You spluttered incredulously, and shook your head in outrage. “Well now I’m definitely gonna talk to him.” You kept walking and Matt turned, gripping your arm with more urgency.
“Hey!” He whispered loudly. You stopped and turned back to him with impatience dripping from your tensed shoulders. “Don’t be stupid.”
“He’s on the verge of asking me to dinner. I can get more information-”
“Or you could get yourself hurt.”
“I’ve dealt with far more dangerous people, Murdock. You don’t need to-”
“Let’s just-” he sighed, exasperated, and let go of your arm, holding his hands out as if to calm a charging army because, by god, you were on a war path. “Let’s be smart about this. Right now, he doesn’t know what we know. We can use this information, go over the offers from the developers to Avery for the purchase of the store, maybe link one to Reynolds, maybe there’s dirty money involved. Hell, maybe he bought the fucking painting with it- hey-” he moved to catch your attention as you let out a breath through gritted teeth. “We’ll do this the right way. Take him down with the law. Just like Fisk.”
You were silent for several long moments before Matt felt your resolve break. He felt a sense of relief wash over you when you realised you wouldn’t have to face Reynolds again that night, and he also got the sense that you weren’t letting this go for the time being.
“Do you have a copy of the Avery files at your place?”
“I do.”
“We’re starting now.”
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The entire ride back to his loft, Matt toyed with the idea of calling Karen and Foggy to come over and help with the research, but there were too many things stopping him from sending the message. The bickering, for one - whether or not he could stand the way you and Foggy would inevitably get under each other’s skin or the way you would probably unintentionally hurt Karen’s feelings by dismissing an idea that wasn’t worth your time. There was the weather, of course - the rain had substantially increased and now peals of thunder were once again filling the sky. There was some kind of electricity tangible in the air too, which Matt noticed on the short outside journey from the gallery back to the car. Those were two very good reasons. They made sense. Surely he didn’t have to worry that not calling Karen and Foggy had anything to do with him wanting to be alone with you. Even though you were the one who suggested going back to his place, he felt discomfort at the notion you might assume he was in any way trying to weasel you into a situation where you were by yourself with him. Not after two of the three men you’d spoken at the gala had made you vastly uncomfortable, and that you seemed used to being treated like that. Not okay with it, but used to it.
Perhaps it was risky, you thought, being so brazen in inviting yourself back to his apartment. After all, you didn’t know him that well. But you had good instincts and you trusted your gut. For all his quips and the insulting assumptions he’d ever thrown you way, there was no doubt in your mind that Matt Murdock was a good man. Intelligent, strong, far more capable than what could be assumed on the surface. And he looked damn good in a suit.
“You play a convincing seeing person,” you commented as you emailed yourself a reminder to send Richie and his wife a gift for their new babies.
Matt shrugged. “It’s easy in a crowded room when everyone bumps into each other anyway.”
“You hardly bumped into anyone. And you were on Jack the second he touched me.” Matt was silent for a few moments. You looked up from your phone and assured, “I’m not… I’m not accusing you of anything.”
“Didn’t think you were.”
You turned more towards him as the car slowed. “What’s your deal?”
Matt unbuckled his seatbelt and put his hand on the door handle, “On or off the record?” Before you could respond, he’d opened the door and drawn his umbrella. You scoffed after he closed the door, sitting back in your seat, wondering if he was hoping you’d take a hint and drive away and come back to bother him during business hours. There wasn’t much chance to make the decision. He’d rounded the car, like earlier in the evening, and opened the door for you as he held the umbrella over the gap. The gesture surprised you, but not as much as his willingness to have you in his home. You didn’t question it, instead going along for the ride.
You two rushed into the front door of the apartment building just as the wind picked up and sent the rain on a diagonal course. Catching your breath from the small jog, you wiped the droplets from your bare arm and inspected your dress as you began following Murdock up the dimly-lit staircase. There wasn’t much chance to take in your surroundings, just an elevator that he didn’t need or didn’t trust, and a row of mail locker boxes.
Matt didn’t say anything as he led you up the stairs to his home. He felt his stomach rumble with a lack of food and so asked, “You eaten dinner?”
“There’s good Thai place close by that delivers to the door.”
“In this weather?”
“Especially in this weather,” Matt fished in his pocket for his keys as you two approached his door. “Don’t worry,” he inserted the key and opened the door. “I tip them well.”
You stepped into what looked like another hallway, the space only being betrayed as a home with the coat hooks on the wall and some small wooden entrance furniture. He tossed his keys into a large bowl on one of those tables and then rested the umbrella against it. The lightening of the wood on the edge of the table told you wet umbrellas were strewn against it frequently, and that he didn’t really care about it. Usually that would tip you off that you were dealing with someone who didn’t really care about their space in general, but following him through the entrance and stepping fully into Matt Murdock’s apartment reminded you he was a very eligible bachelor in the city. Men like him kept their spaces clean and nice because he might be bringing someone home with him on any given day. At least, that’s what the minimalist but homely furniture, the rugs, the few throw cushions and the clean kitchen told you. Those things, and that Murdock had the subtle effortless confidence of a man who knew he was attractive.
“Call Thai House,” he spoke into his phone as he gestured towards the kitchen table. “Files are there. Any allergies?”
“I don’t eat red meat.”
“Water’s fine.”
“Hi, it’s Matt Murdock. Yeah, yeah good-” He talked like an old friend to the person on the other end of the line before rattling off an order. You watched as he loosened his tie to the point it came undone, and the memories of that move in your experience brought a very unprofessional blush to your cheeks. An undone top button and a discarded tie could look sloppy, but Murdock really had a rugged quality that made it work better than you’d seen on any other man. Reminding yourself you were not here for that, you cleared your throat as quietly as possible and pulled out a chair to sit in front of the files stacked on the small round dining table.
Your host hung up his call and poured you a glass of water from a jug out of the fridge just as you opened a folder to see stacks of blank pages. Upon closer inspection, your face fell into a disgruntled frown. “These are all in braille.”
“What’d you expect?” He set the glass in front of you, then pulled out the other chair. Before you could ask him if he was having you on, or wasting your time as some kind of power-play, he shifted some papers aside and revealed a laptop. He opened the lid, typed in a password and then traded it to you for the files. “I’ll find the offers, you can look them up on the Business Entity Database.”
You set the laptop in front of you. “Nice place you got here,” you muttered as you pulled up the database online. “I’m guessing that giant neon billboard across the alleyway got you this corner loft at very nice price.” You glanced out the window as a bright pink advertisement for an energy drink sent rain-filtered colours spilling into the large picture windows lining the wall which overlooked the side alley.
You looked to him and saw him smirk and bump his eyebrows as his finger scanned over the page faster than you could’ve hoped to read. “You’re very observant.”
“Force of habit.” You looked back to the database and waited for him to give you a name. “Readers like it when you build the scene. It adds depth. You’d know.”
“How would I know?”
“Opening statements,” you chuckled through your nose, your lips twisting into a wry grin. Come on, it was obvious. “You’re inviting the jury into your world. Setting the scene. Giving them context to help understand reality… Our jobs aren’t so different.”
“Mercury Holdings.”
Once he gave you that first name and you typed it in, you were off like a rocket. You scanned the publicly available information as he gave you name after name of companies who’d placed offers on the now-burned bodega.
Matt couldn’t help it. He found himself keenly analysing the way you worked. Your lips silently formed the words you were reading, which he only knew because the silence was betrayed by the smallest amount of breath slipping through. You didn’t use your thumbs at all when typing, which he found somewhat intriguing considering how fast you typed. You hit the backspace a lot though, which was unsurprising - it was no secret that your brain worked faster than what you could consciously keep up with. That was a human thing. Or, a thing that afflicted most humans. Not him.
He heard you shift in your seat. It was unrelated to the work. Then, he kicked himself for not realising sooner that it was cold, and for not remembering that when he’d placed his hand on your arm, and on your shoulder, much earlier that night, he’d been met with bare skin. Impossibly soft, if he cared to recall how it felt. The internal debate mounted as to whether he should offer you a blanket or go so far as to offer you a change of clothes, then your phone went off.
“Shit,” you hissed as you got the news notification that the mayor was issuing a stay-at-home advisement for the entirety of New York City. You fumbled for your bag to start making moves and looked through your phone to see if there were already any road closures.
“What’s wrong?”
“This storm’s getting bad. I should try getting home before they shut the streets.”
As if on cue, a large flash of lightning cut across the sky, followed by a loud thunderclap after only a few seconds. It was right on top of you. The whole building rumbled with its force. Murdock raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think you’re getting home tonight.”
“At least your couch looks comfortable,” you half-joked, setting your phone back down. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he stood and beckoned you to follow. “I should have some clothes that’ll fit you.” You opened your mouth to say it wasn’t necessary, then immediately resigned yourself to actually really wanting to change into something more comfortable. It was kind of chilly.
You kicked off your heels before following him over the cool hardwood floor, past the living area furniture, through a large industrial barn sliding door and into his sparse bedroom. If you’d told yourself when he called yesterday that you’d end up in his room the very next evening, you’d never have believed it. But here he was, not at all treating you like an inconvenience.
He had a large, cozy-looking bed with a steel coloured comforter set. A small beside table sat next to it. Light from the billboard, now blue-green, painted the bedspread with waterlogged light and shadows from yet another picture window. There was a dresser next to his-
“Here,” he stepped closer and you drew in a breath when his hands met your hips. You tried not to flinch at the surprise of his touch, or as you felt the gentle pressure of his thumbs against your hipbones through the thin silk, teetering on the edge of bearable. Though, in less than a second, he’d removed them and turned back to the dresser before pulling out a pair of red basketball shorts with a drawstring. “These should fit.” He tossed them to you, along with a soft white t-shirt, and gestured to a sweatshirt and some white tube socks he’d put on his bed.
“Did you just measure me?” You narrowed your eyes as your fingers found the zipper in the centre of your back.
He ducked his head to the side as you pulled the zipper down. God, that sound. Matt had to very consciously not think about the memories he associated with the sound of a dress being unzipped and billowing to his bedroom floor moments later. He cleared his throat and conceded, “It’s not exact, but I got a pretty good idea.”
“You could’ve just asked me my size,” you said flatly. Matt could hear your smile, how you were strangely impressed. He could practically feel your blush and that’s when he knew he was in more trouble than he realised.
He slipped his tongue out to wet his lips before shrugging. “You were busy observing.”
He heard you pull the shorts on as he found himself a pair of sweatpants. “They do fit. That’s a nice flirty trick you’ve got there, Murdock.”
No, flirting would be teasing you for being ticklish. I hardly touched you and you practically jumped out of your skin.
But Matt didn’t say that out loud.
There was a knock at the door just after you pulled on the too-big socks. Matt went to answer it but you stood and placed a hand on his upper arm. “I’ve got it.”
“There’s cash in the-”
“I said I’ve got it,” you called as you exited his room, leaving him to change. He found himself smiling at the carefulness of your steps as you nearly faltered in the big socks over the slippery floors. There was something in the way you walked that always sounded so sure. It was nice to have you a little off-guard. He changed quickly and made a mental note to make sure your dress got thrown over a chair in the living room before he went to bed; the perfume may as well have been wafting off of it, and he shuddered to think he may dream of you if the scent was allowed near his slumber.
By the time he exited the room he heard you shuffling around the papers on the dining room table. “Don’t bother,” he waved a hand. “We can eat on the couch.”
“I didn’t forget the big tip.”
You saw him half-grin as he settled himself on one end of the leather sofa and you brought the food over. You passed him one of the meals and unceremoniously plopped yourself on the other end because, well, the jig was up. As much as you tried to come across as sharp and put-together, here you were on the couch of one of the most eligible men in Hell’s Kitchen, and you were in basketball shorts and a baggy t-shirt. It was kind of freeing, though, to not feel insecure about how you looked. To not feel the pressure to be immaculate, lest you be picked apart or over-analysed based on the way you presented yourself.
But the more you thought about it, something about the old faded clothes and your host’s inability to see you brought a pang of longing to your chest. Because maybe… if Murdock tried something… maybe there was some element of desirability in you that superseded how you looked. You’d never really been given the chance to figure that out before.
Shooting a glance over to where he folded his leg underneath himself, you found yourself blushing at the sight of his hand pushing the hair away from his face. He’d taken off the glasses. It was nice to see him without them.
You nearly scoffed at yourself, and at the very stupid idea this man would want anything to do with you. Sure, he was hospitable, but this obviously wasn’t the first choice for either of you when it came to Friday night plans. The last thing you needed was your insecurity clawing its way from the depths of your stomach to seduce Matt Murdock in some desperate attempt to prove to yourself that you were more than “That Pretty Reporter Chick.” Because that’s all it would be… right?
Bringing yourself back to the moment at hand, “This is gonna be huge,” you said, snapping your chopsticks apart and cracking open your container. “Reynolds has never been publicly associated with the real-estate industry in the United States, much less a development company.”
“There must be a reason he keeps it under wraps.”
“An illegal reason,” you agreed. “Heads are gonna roll.”
“I’m sure this’ll be a front-page feature.” Matt bumped his eyebrows, his voice laced with cynicism. “Secure you those corporate cars for years to come.”
You paused mid-grab with your chopsticks, holding in a scoff, quite literally biting your tongue. Of course. Of course that’s what he thought. That’s what everyone thinks. It’s all for the story. You’d only ever responded badly to that assumption, or you shrugged it off - hell, let people think what they want - but something about Matt Murdock not seeing the best in you irked you more than it had with anyone else. Keeping your gaze on your chopsticks, sifting around for a piece of chicken in the meal, you tried to not think too deeply about it. He’s a defence attorney. He’s supposed to believe the best in people. It probably wasn’t any deeper than that... right?
Regardless, you couldn’t shake the discomfort of having him think you were only in your line of work for the story. “It’s not about the headline,” you replied in a voice that sounded too meek for your liking. “It’s about the truth, Murdock.”
Matt was silent as he chewed over the food in his mouth. He could feel the sting of his words in your voice. A nagging guilt built up in him now that he’d made two somewhat unfair assumptions about you on a night you’d only been helpful. You’d even paid for dinner. And you didn’t forget the big tip.
“The painting,” he broke the silence, then heard you scoff through your nose. “The fucking painting,” he clarified, trying his hand at easing the tension. This time, the puff of air through your nose was almost a laugh.
“You’d never guess a man who builds schools for girls to get educated in third-world countries would hate women so much…” You twirled some noodles around your chopsticks. “But the painting gave him away.”
“How so?”
“It’s some sick commentary on the aggressive destructive capability of feminine power. He sees women a-as threats. But threats he can control.”
“The painting told you that?”
“‘Earth Whip’ itself, and that he mentioned a “good friend” had been wanting to buy it from him for years but he refused, only to turn around and give it away.” Murdock as silent, so you elaborated. “He wouldn’t let someone else act on its value. Instead, he passed it on when he was done with it.”
“That’s a lot to infer from a fucking painting.”
You laughed and bumped your eyebrows, eyes still trained on your food. “Sure. But it alerted me to the fact that he’s a piece of shit. So call it the hysterical overanalysing of a feminist if you want-”
“I never said that,” he interjected. “You were right.”
Nodding to yourself, you stole another glance over at him and noticed that his knuckles had a purple hue blooming up from under the skin. The skin, being covered in healed scars, toughened from what looked like seasons upon seasons of fighting. Maybe he was like his dad. God, you wanted to know, but you weren’t about to bring up his dead father.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to relax until I find out what he’s up to,” you admitted, still looking at his hands. Remembering the dull clamp of his right hand around Jack’s wrist, remembering his firm request for you to not go back and talk to Reynolds. His hands were rough. They held great power. This entire man held a power simmering beneath his surface. Though, when his hand was on you, there was a protectiveness to his touch. Not unlike when someone would pull a person out of the way of oncoming traffic, and not unlike when someone would place a kind hand on your shoulder to ask if you were okay.
Matt heard the hunger dripping from your teeth as your whole body surged with the idea of bringing Reynolds to justice for what he’d done. The bodega, of course, and everything else that you were soon to uncover. That hunger was dangerous. He knew because it felt all too familiar. How it would churn and simmer just below overflow. He knew you’d do something reckless, so he said, “Don’t get dinner with him.”
“Somewhere public. I’ll be fine.”
Matt felt his jaw set. “Don’t.”
“If I can handle Fisk, I can handle Reynolds.”
“Hold on- you had dinner with Fisk?”
“Nothing to call home about. We mostly talked about art.”
“Why do you know so much about art?”
“The same reason I know a lot about real-estate, and law, and yachts and how the private jet industry works: because I have to talk to a lot of insanely rich people for a living.”
“And you care about those things?”
“The readers care.”
“But what do you care about?”
There were a lot of ways to answer that question. You had the urge to defend the way you so fiercely pursued a story, or to maybe drop into conversation that your father hadn’t talked to you since you wrote an article picking apart the US Military’s response to the Battle of New York - just so Murdock could truly understand the lengths you’d go to do stand up for what you believe.
You could tell him about the gruesome death threats you’d received, or the way the wheels of your cab were once shot out after a second-page story on a real-estate tycoon’s daughter and the dangers of nepotism. You could snark that that was the reason you got corporate cars with armed drivers, and not because you were some stuck up brat the boss was trying to bribe with shiny pretty things. Because as much as you hated to finally admit it to yourself, you really did care about what he thought of you.
“I care about the truth. Whatever form it comes in.”
“Yet you lied to get me into the gala. To a friend, no less.”
“For a greater good,” you said firmly. “You’re welcome, by the way.” Sensing that hot anger creep into your ears, you very consciously tried to level your voice. That anger wasn’t anger - it was hurt. You were at least self-aware enough to know that. “Besides, this city runs on compromises in the name of the greater good.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Devil,” you said as if it were obvious.
Matt felt his throat constrict at your first mention of his other self. It wasn’t unexpected - you were a journalist after all - but something about having you talk about him while sitting on his couch in his old clothes felt precarious.
“Sure, he may be taking the law into his own hands and I’m not exactly a big fan of vigilantes,” you elaborated. “But New York needs him.”
“So you’re not trying to be the one to finally unmask the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?” He kept his tone teasing, probing.
You laughed once or twice. “Noho,” you sniffed. “No way.” You paused, mulling something over, sifted around your food. “Honestly, I think anyone who tries has checked their morals at the door.”
“But what about the truth?”
“The truth… is the NYPD can’t tell their hats from their asses,” you scoffed. “There’s no way they brought down Fisk without the Devil. So the person who exposes his identity is gonna have his blood on their hands. His blood, and the blood of his family and friends. Hell, with Fisk, it could be anyone he’s ever met.” You turned back to your food and Matt could sense a small morsel of vulnerability unfurling itself in you.
“So it’s not just truth,” Matt offered. You lifted your head. “It’s integrity.”
Touched by the warmth of his sentiment, you spun over his words in your mind before a wry smile made its way to your lips. “Murdock, was that a compliment?”
He laughed, smirked, and teased, “It was an attempt at helping you out with the inconsistencies in your statement.”
“Don’t talk to me about inconsistencies,” you teased back. “You’re Catholic.”
“Ahalright,” he conceded with a chuckle, still wearing that damn smirky grin. Then, he mulled over your answer for a second or two. “How did you know I’m Catholic?”
“You really think I haven’t done my research on you and Nelson?” You deadpanned, finding a piece of chicken. “Summa cum laude from Columbia… very impressive.”
Matt felt a small indignant pulse rise in his chest as he so longed to wipe away that smirk he could hear in your voice. So he braved his hand at teasing you a little bit. “Do you look up all the lawyers you write stories on, or just the good-looking ones?”
“All of them.” Your reply was instant, and there was a cheeky smile in your diction.
“So where did Charles Frankston go?”
You paused, let out a single laugh, and felt your smirk grow into a grin. “You keep up with my work.”
“Answer the question.”
“Harvard,” you drew out, leaning back into your seat.
Matt chuckled and held up a hand. “Alright, I stand corrected.”
“In the interest of full disclosure, Charlie is really hot. But, you do… you read my work.”
“Well, I listen to it, but yes. It’s good work.”
The compliment was so sincere, and so out of left-field, that it kind of shook you. “Even the piece on the Petrenko trail?” You stood by everything you said, of course, because it was the truth, but it had been rather harsh.
“I still hold a grudge for the Petrenko article,” he joked. “Where did you go to college?”
“NYU,” you leaned to the side and placed your almost-finished dinner on the coffee table. “Good school, but way too many rich kids who don’t want to leave the safety of New York affluence.”
“Like Jack McBride.”
“Like Jack,” you confirmed. “He’s always been an dumbass.”
Matt clicked his tongue. “What does that say about you?”
“That I used to be a dumbass too,” you laughed and laced your fingers through your own hair before propping your elbow on the back of the couch. “But come on, Murdock. You’re telling me you never had a reckless college fling with a borderline-sociopathic billionaire’s kid?”
Matt choked on his food. He knew it was a joke because no way in hell did your research go that deep, but now he’d definitely given it away.
“Oh, no wahay,” you laughed. More than he’d heard you laugh before. It was sweeter, too. He cleared his throat and tried to rid it of the chilli flakes that’d found a home in his trachea. “There’s no way you’re not telling me this story. What was her name?”
Matt coughed a bit more and stood to go get a drink of water, or maybe some hard liquor now that he was thinking about her again. He decided on something in-between. Something that felt fair. Appropriate. You called over to the kitchen and asked him if he was okay and he spluttered a laugh and said yes, picking up two wine glasses and an unopened bottle of red.
He sat back down and opened the bottle of wine, then poured near-perfect amounts into both of them. You saw a familiar look on his face as you took the wine from him - a look you were sure you made when thinking about your history with Jack.
“I can’t think about Elektra sober.”
“That bad?”
“Yes and no,” he ran his finger around the rim of his glass, and his mind went elsewhere for a few moments.
“Off the record, I swear,” you comment with a sly blush, trying to not sound nosy. “… What was she like?”
“Pure chaos,” he breathed out and took a very large swig of wine as he remembered the bar, the boxing ring, the mansion, the broken glasses on the ground. “She was intense and sharp… passionate. But life was just a game to her. She only ever wanted me to see it the same way. And I couldn’t.”
There was a genuine loss in the way he carried his voice. A heaviness he bore, buried beneath the words. “I’m sorry.”
“I‘m better off,” he tried shrugging it away, but his voice caught just that little bit to let you know it still stung.
“Sounds like you lost something real,” you said. “That must be hard.”
“It wasn’t real with Jack?”
“Nothing’s ever real with Jack.” The words tumbled through your lips in a whispered scoff as a knee-jerk reaction. Your real answer then came: “No. It was a dumb fling he tries to rekindle once or twice a year. He only ever wanted one thing, but I’m used to that by now.” You sipped your wine, and wondered where the bottle had been hiding. You hadn’t seen it in your search for the silverware. “What you and Elektra had… was it worth it?”
Matt thought about it, and thought about how to answer it honestly. There wasn’t a way to let you into the truth of Elektra’s violence and how screwed up she made him feel, and almost be. How the clashing of their skin in a fight was akin to foreplay, and how she craved pain as a form of pleasure. Not the sexy, fun pain. The gritty, real pain. So much of Elektra was tied up in the Matt Murdock who put on a bulletproof suit and brought down gangs in the dead of night, not the Matt Murdock who gave you too-big socks so your feet wouldn’t get cold. But he cared that you cared about the truth, whatever form it came in, so perhaps you’d accept it in a tiny fragment.
“Yeah,” he answered in an honest whisper, suddenly becoming aware of a cut on the inside of his lip from a fight last week. “It was worth it.” Thinking about Elektra always made him remember the taste of blood. That metallic bitterness she liked to mix with top-shelf whiskey before pulling him for an intoxicating kiss. Elektra never wanted to kiss away the pain, she only ever wanted him to feel the fullness of everything all at once.
There was an intensity in you that reminded him of her. An unrelenting pursuit of what you wanted in a world that longed to confine you to being one thing, to being good for one thing. But there was a confession in your question. One he couldn’t let go. He softened his demeanour. “You’ve never had anything real.”
You shook your head from instinct, then remembered to verbally answer, “No. It’s… complicated, I guess. I have a good gut instinct but intuition isn’t instant. I need time to figure out what someone really wants.”
“You don’t have time?”
“No one’s tried.”
Embarrassed and weirded out that you were even having this conversation with Matt Murdock of all people, you didn’t quite know how to respond. Strangely, you felt tears threatening to well up as the loneliness you covered with busyness was being pulled to the forefront. Even more strangely, this felt safe.
“To actually get to know me.” It felt unbearably cheesy to say that, so you threw in a dash of self-deprecating humour for good measure. “I mean, maybe there’s not a lot to know. What you see is all you get,” you chuckled.
“That is one advantage to not having sight,” Matt, again, toyed with the rim of his glass. “No distractions.”
“Maybe that’s why I get the uneasy feeling you know a lot more about me than I realise,” you laughed a bit, rubbing the back of your neck to self-soothe. “Come on, what did Karen dig up about me? All the cities I’ve lived in? Old high school photos? Writing competition submissions?”
He smiled kindly, “I wouldn’t know. I don’t need any of that.”
“Then how do you do it?”
There it was. The opportunity. The explicit permission for him to figure you out. And Matt had no idea what to make of it.
An unusual self-doubt creeped in as he wondered if you were playing him better than he could sniff out. Maybe you were gathering experiences and conversations to pad your story, to set the scene in a loft on a rainy night where two hyper-aware people unravelled a so-called humanitarian’s evil scheme. He hated that he wished, for a second, that Foggy was right about you.
But Foggy wasn’t right. You were no Succubus, nor a sleazy reporter without ethics or morals. Right now, you were just a person who’d never been truly understood, and you were aching to be known.
He stood, slowly, and placed his wine on his coffee table before giving a gentle beckon for you to stand with him. “I’ll show you.”
You stood in front of him, crimson light from the billboard spilled around the edges of his strong stance as he lifted his hands to show you his intent. “May I?”
“Sure.” There was hesitation in your tone even though you tried to hide it.
You uncrossed your arms when his palms met the bare skin below the t-shirt sleeves which skimmed just above your elbows. He stayed against your skin as his hands travelled upwards, sliding underneath the baggy sleeves. His thumb brushed over your tricep on one side, and then the other, before his hands left your sleeves and found your shoulders. You could’ve melted under his touch. Thank goodness he couldn’t see your eyes, because they didn’t leave his except to flit down when his tongue would slip out subconsciously and wet his lips.
The gentle pressure of his hands gliding from your shoulders to the sides of the base of your neck made you feel more calm than it should have. Safe. You felt your brow furrow, and you were hit with a wave of loneliness. In the wake of his hands, where your skin was untouched again, lay a melancholic empty graveyard. You couldn’t recall a time in your life that anyone had ever touched you just to know you. Not your body - you.
“You played volleyball.”
His first deduction pulled you from your trance. His hands were still on you. Thank goodness, because you didn’t know how you’d cope when he would eventually pull away. What if this was the only time this ever happened?
“I-I got into NYU on a scholarship,” you fumbled to answer. “I was good. How did you know?”
“Here,” he pressed two fingers gently into the space between your shoulder blade and the muscle beside it. It hit your nerves in such a way that brought a gasp through your lips, but not necessarily one of pain. “Common repetitive injury in volleyball players.”
“What’re you a doctor now too?” You blushed at the noise you’d just made, and at the smirk it’d pulled into his cheek.
He could hear your heartbeat. He could feel the way you anxiously wiggled your toes in his socks. He could feel the changes in you, your stance, the way you probably didn’t realise you were rising to meet his touch and had leaned in a fraction closer to him. If he didn’t know you’d never lied to him, he wouldn’t believe it, not one bit, that your perfume hadn’t been ranked number one.
Shit. You’d asked him a question.
“The same reason you learn about private jets. I had to argue a health insurance claim about this particular injury.”
He took a half-step closer and you suddenly became very conscious of your breath. Did it smell? Was it too loud? His hands met just behind your neck before you saw his mouth twitch into a knowing smile. You narrowed your eyes.
“Was it your mother or your father who was in the military?”
“Okay,” you laughed nervously and took a step back. Matt let his hands be pulled over the front of your shoulders with your movement. They landed by his sides as his grin rose. “You’re messing with me.”
“I’m not.”
“What did Karen find?” You crossed your arms but he just laughed, which made you scoff and roll your eyes.
You couldn’t fight that smile though. That charming smile he could hear in your protest. The protest you didn’t really mean because you were more curious than nervous - about what he could discover about you.
“Your posture is impeccable,” Matt told you. “But it’s not forced or strained. You must’ve stood like that your whole life. It’s natural.”
You relaxed, but also didn’t. You shifted from one foot to the other and then confirmed his suspicions. “My father.” You stuck your tongue against the inside of your cheek and sized him up, wondering how much you could know if you didn’t have the curse of first impressions. The smile pulling at his lips told you he knew you were thinking about it, so you tried to distract him with something other than a smile. “What else?”
He stepped forwards again, his hands finding your forearms, and then your hands. Calloused fingertips told him you spent a lot of time typing, your nails were short but painted; you were practical, but cared about looking tidy. Looking the part. Another callous halfway up the middle finger on your right hand betrayed you as someone who valued the process of hand-written notes.
Most importantly, the way your hands relaxed into his told him you felt safe.
You looked at this hands up close and wondered more about the bruises. You knew all about Battlin’ Jack Murdock and wondered if it would ever be the right time to say, ‘my father taught me how to fight too.’ In a different way, of course, and Matt Murdock clearly faced battles you’d never understand as someone who could see only with their eyes. You felt disarmed. You felt nervous. Because what if he went through all of this and confirmed your worst fears: that there was nothing worth knowing about you.
He felt your breath hitch, heard you swallow thickly, and wondered if he’d gone too far. But the way you’d drawn in closer, and the way your thumb brushed his knuckles and drew a subtle dull attention to his fresh bruises, made him understand you were seeking to know him the way he was knowing you. You could feel there was a carefully concealed cavern of truth just ready for you to uncover. For you, that would be a temptation too great to resist. What’s more, you probably didn’t find it fair that here you were in his house under his hands and he could figure out that you had a killer overhand serve that tore your rotator cuff and you didn’t even know where he kept the wine.
“That bad, huh?”
He grinned with the realisation he hadn’t said anything for over a minute.
“No,” he assured you in that low gravelly whisper that made you look at his lips again. Damn it. Maybe you should close your eyes.
He rattled off a string of facts about you, your work, the way you wrote, that you didn’t use your thumbs to type - that one made you wear a sheepish smile, don a shrug, and excuse it as an unnecessary rule.
“My hands say a lot,” you said. He nodded. “Yours do too.”
“Hmm,” his smile faltered as you once again brushed your thumbs over his knuckles.
“Do you box?”
You furrowed your brow and drew the inside of your lower lip in between your teeth. God, you so desperately wanted to ask him more but you didn’t want to make him lie to you.
Feeling curiosity close its vice grip around your breath, Matt knew he had to throw you off with something good. His fingertips found the place on the underside of your wrist and grazed over the soft skin. “You never grew out of being ticklish.”
Your head twitched in surprised confusion. “My hands told you that?”
“No,” he smirked, “but I thought it was interesting.“
“Get out,” you scoffed a laugh. “You’re guessing.”
“I’m not guessing-”
“Is that was this whole thing is? Guessing?”
He laughed a genuine, amused laugh that lit up his eyes and pulled an endeared smile into your blushing cheeks. He had to be guessing. He tried to bite back his grin as he released your hands. “I’ll prove it.”
“Hohold on a second,” you stepped back and held a hand out in defence. He held his own up in surrender, grin out in full force. If he didn’t know for sure, he certainly knew now.
“I’m just showing you how I know,” he whispered loudly.
Your cheeks were on fire at this point as you looked back at the strong and steady hands he sought to put back on your body. “Fine,” you whispered loudly back and stepped back into his reach. Surprisingly, his left hand met your jaw. You nearly asked him why, then decided to see what he was playing at. Then, his other hand met your waist and slid several inches down, passing over the waistband of the faded red shorts. While you were distracted by his hand finding your hip, his thumb swiped over the soft skin on your cheek until it found a resting place over the corner of your mouth. No sooner had it settled than his other thumb ever so gently brushed over your hipbone through the smooth red fabric. You tensed for a half-second, your mouth twitching into a ticklish smile. His own smile took on an air of self-satisfaction as he experienced you realising you’d just smiled against his thumb.
“Uh-huh… so the flirty shorts trick wasn’t without purpose.”
He laughed again and shook his head, letting his hand at your face fall to your other hip. “Not necessarily. I don’t make a habit of trying to discover whether or not my guests are ticklish.”
“But you did with me?”
“Oh no, I wasn’t trying,” he smirked. Under his hands, you held a shallow breath and flitted your eyes to where his thumbs lay on the susceptible pressure points beside your hipbones. It would’ve been hard to articulate why it felt so normal, so natural, like the way you’ve stood your entire life. His hands on you didn’t feel exploitative or hungry or dishonest. And you cared about the truth.
“Of course you don’t have to try,” you rolled your eyes and looked to the ceiling. “You know, you’d be a hell of a journalist, Murdock. What I’d give to be able to weed out people’s biggest weaknesses by accident.”
“This is your biggest weakness?” He grinned, brushing his thumbs once up over your hipbones. You jolted in place, hands instinctively clamping around his wrists. His grin turned half into a smirk as he lifted his hands off you. “Good to know.”
You looked at him incredulously, slack-jawed, still with your fingers clasped around his wrists. Oh, what you’d give to wipe that grin from his cheeks. So as you let go of his hands you decided turning the tables would be more than fair. Faster than you could considering there may be consequences, you shot your hands out towards his ribcage.
The air shifted, you took a sharp breath in to wind up, Matt heard your intentions before you’d acted on them, and he caught one wrist in each hand before they’d even come within inches of his body. He used a tilt of his head to convey his disappointment in your lack of foresight, and he was sure to flash you a smirk that would make you- ah, yes - he could feel that your knees had gone a little weak.
The confusion you felt was trapped in your throat, released in small spluttering breaths through blushing lips as you scoffed and tugged on your hands. The man was unwaveringly strong. “W-what the…” you breathed out, giving a nervous laugh or two. “How did you-”
Your jaw dropped at the word, the insult, but you didn’t have much chance to verbally spar with him before he slowly tugged you closer. The socks failed to gain any sort of traction on the hardwood floor, and you were now nearly chest-to-chest with Matt Murdock. “How did you catch my hands?” You asked just above a whisper, as a distraction, now hyper-aware that this man was clearly able to read people in ways you never could’ve imagined. “And how dare you call me predictable.”
“You care about justice-”
“As do you-”
“You weren’t going to let me get away with that-”
“Is that why you did it?”
He titled his head, licking his damn lips again. “Maybe it’s just fun having you on the back foot.” With that, he released your wrists and turned away to pick up the half-finished bottle of wine, leaving you to linger your stare after him.
“Who knew you were such an unbearable flirt, Murdock?”
He uncorked the bottle and sassed, “Your research didn’t tell you that?”
“Oh, fuck you,” you laughed and picked up your own glass, holding it out to him. But maybe you over-estimated his abilities, because he cleanly missed your glass and sent wine spilling all over the centre cushion of the couch.
“Whoops,” he grimaced and swiftly pulled the bottle back upright. “Uh, there should be a towel in the kitchen-”
“Yeah- got it!” You rushed to the oven as quickly as you could without slipping over the floor, having spied the dish rag hanging over the handle. Still with the glass in your hand, you filled it with water at the sink in some hopes the red wine wouldn’t stain his nice leather couch.
After five minutes and a lot of furious dabbing, the centre cushion was free of any potential stain but it was absolutely soaking. You propped it up to dry next to his kitchen sink then made sure none had got on the carpet next to the couch. There was a small exposed gap of wood so the rug was unsullied. He thanked you for taking care of it and apologised for being clumsy.
“You’re not clumsy,” you assured him, stifling a yawn. “You can’t see.”
“Take the bed. I insist.”
“No way,” you scoffed. “I’ll be fine on the floor.”
“No, you’re my guest and I-”
“-You didn’t even invite me here and the storm-”
“-really can’t have you sleeping on the floor, it’s-it’s-”
“-it’s not your fault that you couldn’t- woah…”
You bickered back and forth until there was a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Matt felt the change a second or two before you’d audibly reacted. That low buzzing, the one that was always there, the sparks that were sometimes tangible on his tongue, the power in the air, all gone.
“Power cut?”
“Yeah,” you breathed out. He heard you shift and look around, now in some way finally wearing his experience in his own home. Except it was unfamiliar territory to you, and now it was pitch-black.
So here you finally were, truly in his world. Surrounded by the things he chose to have close, except for you of course, under his roof, behind his windows, between his walls. You could vaguely make out the shapes of the furniture around. There was something about his presence that was more that the feeling of not being alone. As your brain whirred to unravel the pieces of instinct your subconscious sent to you in feelings, you understood that Matt Murdock was a protector by nature. He’d probably been that way his whole life. Still, it was disorienting being here in the pitch black. After perhaps a few too many seconds of silence and sympathy, you had to ask: “How do you stand it?”
Your question was laced with sympathy, but more a desire to understand. He felt tongue-tied. He felt his brow lower in conflict.
“You learn a new way of doing things.”
“But the world-”
“Is so much more than what you can see,” he finished and changed your sentence. “Try. Build the world without sight. What do you hear?”
“Rain. Sirens. You.”
“What about the door in the alley swinging open? It’s rusty hinge?”
You looked through the pitch back in search of the sound, trying to pick it out amongst the obvious. And there it was. Subtle, but there. “Yeah, and… the dumpster lid. It’s banging in the wind.”
“What else?”
You swallowed thickly and focused your senses on what was around you. “Neighbours?”
“Mrs Gonzales might be distraught that the power cut interrupted her reruns.”
And there it was. The muffled noise of a woman grunting and- wait, did she just whack the TV? You brought a hand to your mouth as you giggled at the thought of it, and the airy noise spilled through your fingers. You heard Murdock chuckle through his nose, and as your eyes adjusted to the dark you could see him taking a vague step closer.
His hand met the fingers you’d whipped over your mouth, his other hand finding the one you’d wrapped over your middle. He pulled them between you and rested your palms on top of his. “What do you feel?”
You certainly felt your heart pounding in your throat and the way your mouth went a little dry. And for the first time, more than you heard it, you felt the low gentle rumble of his voice. He somehow always sounded like he’d recently woken up. His voice had a rasp, a growling gravel quality, that struck your ears and perhaps vibrated through your hands.
“You box sometimes,” you sniffed, running your hands over his while being careful to not press too hard on his bruised knuckles. You let your fingertips trail over his palms, down the length of his fingers, back up to his wrists, before stopping and letting out a huffy sigh. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be looking for.”
“You’re not supposed to be looking,” he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. The sound of his grin conjured the image of the dimple in his right cheek, somehow more memorable now that you couldn’t see it. “Just tell me what you feel.”
“Your hands.”
“What about them?”
“They’re strong. Rough, but… controlled. They don’t shake, which is strange for a boxer. Whatever you hit, you‘re careful to protect your fists.”
“Keep going,” he encouraged. You drew a look up to see if your eyes had adjusted anymore, then let your hands smooth up the insides of his forearms. To prevent yourself from awkwardly stretching over to him you had to take a small step closer. As he’d done, your hands went up under his sleeves on the outside of his upper arm. You were met with a surprisingly large and firm biceps.
“You’re… strong.”
“Thank you?”
“How am I supposed to know what biceps mean?” You argued defensively. “Am I supposed to know exactly how many days a week you work out- hey, stop laughing at me!” You retracted your hands to hit at his chest as he laughed at your offence. You really hated not knowing something.
“You’re doing a great job,” he teased, taking control of your forearms and holding them away from where your hands had been shoving at him.
“You’re an ahasshole,” you struggled for a second before he loosened his hold and dropped his hands to yours. A yawn unfurled from within you and you turned your head to try muffling it against your own shoulder. He went quiet and released only one of your hands.
“You’re tired. I’ll guide you to the bed.” He started leading you away from the couch on the path that’d been forged in his memory. Your step didn’t falter and you didn’t place your feet cautiously; you trusted him. He surged with victory, knowing there weren’t many men you would trust like this. The only resistance was in your half-hearted words.
“Seriously, I‘m not letting you sleep on the floor.”
A loud clap of thunder outside the window was then mirrored by a pounding of your heart. Matt felt you instinctively hold his hand tighter and he knew then - the trust was undeniable.
“You’re not winning this fight.”
“Then I’ll sleep on the floor too.”
“You’re that desperate to spend the night with me?” He teased and you scoffed. Again, he could practically hear your blush.
“No, no,” you snapped back. “You’re not tricking me into stealing your bed.” You stopped in your tracks, holding tighter to his hand to make him stop too.
He sighed and turned to you, both of you now being two steps inside his bedroom. “Are you always this difficult?”
“You’re not sleeping on the floor.”
“Well, neither are you.”
The way your breath all but stopped told Matt you hadn’t quite thought that one through, so he started chuckling as you moved to pull your hand away. Instead of making some big deal about your suggestion, he skipped right over the explicit ‘we’re agreeing to share the bed as two mature adults and we’ll totally keep our hands to ourselves’ conversation that would just waste time and breath.
“I can build a pillow wall between us if that’ll ease the temptation,” he teased, knowing your splutter was pure flustered energy instead of anything uneasy. His comment broke the tension, and you ripped your hand away from his.
“I’m a big girl, Murdock. I don’t need a pillow barrier. But I don‘t suppose you have an extra toothbrush?”
“I do.”
His answer surprised you, and you laughed at him as his hands met your upper arms and he spun you around to lead you towards the bathroom.
“If you’re prepared for impromptu overnight guests, why am I wearing your old sports clothes?” You were suddenly in a smaller space, the feeling underneath your socks now a cool, slick tile.
“Impromptu overnight guests aren’t usually putting clothes on.”
You smirked and blushed, biting your lip as you heard him open a cabinet, close it, then press a small cardboard box into your hand. You fumbled with it for a second before a plastic toothbrush slid out, and he then handed you some toothpaste. Around the time your teeth were all clean and sorted, some kind of streetlight backup generator must had kicked in because a very small amount of warm lamplight was now creeping into the bathroom window that was being battered and pounded by the rain. You peered into his bedroom and could now sufficiently see enough to make your way over to it. He followed close behind. You shook your head once more in disbelief as you pulled back the covers and slipped in on the side that had nothing on the bedside table. Murdock threw off his t-shirt, climbed in the other side, and you both lay in silence for several long seconds as the storm raged outside.
“We’ll find out what Reynolds is up to,” he promised, not turning his head towards you. “He won’t get away with this.”
He heard you fidget your fingers atop the covers. He heard you take a deep breath in and release it. “I know.”
“Then you should rest.”
He’d forgotten to put your dress in the living room but it didn’t matter - there was no way he wouldn’t be dreaming of you. There you were, right next to him, smelling like fresh mint and that damn perfume. He was keenly aware of the power he held in this situation, and he didn’t want to betray your trust. Because you weren’t just in his home and in his bed, you were in his world.
“Wake me if you need anything,” was all he said before turning on his side, turning away from you. It was a lame goodnight but he’d just taught you to listen, and he wasn’t too keen on the idea of you deciphering his desire.
“Night,” you whispered, and then you lay there wondering if you’d really sleep at all.
Storms didn‘t scare you, but this one was closer that any had ever been. As close as Reynolds had been. Not as close as Murdock had. You didn’t dare steal a glance at the shadowy outline of his bare back as it raised and lowered in a steady rhythm, as his breathing became deep and peaceful, as whatever turmoil he so heavily carried was finally leaving him be. You wanted to ask about what you could see beneath the surface. That strength. What he used it for. Why his fists were bruised. How you so longed to grip the wrists of the demons that had sunk their claws in. Then, maybe, one day he’d trust you enough to whisper your name in a crowded room and know you’d be there too.
You bit your lip at the thought of his hands around yours. At how easy it was for him to predict your moves. It was exposing, having someone with that much innate knowledge of how you worked. His keen awareness wasn’t something you’d experienced before. You were used to having the upper hand in the realm of anything flirty, anything that required a sly smile and a twinkle in your eye, but those things couldn’t work on him. He was impervious, and he didn’t hide how much he liked that. Strangely enough… he seemed to like you. Even without the repertoire of tricks you usually used to get someone to like you. Surely he wouldn’t be sharing his bed with you if he dislike you. At the very least, he would’ve built a pillow barrier.
No, he wasn’t shy about his delight in having you on the back foot. However, he was asleep now. He couldn’t read you when his subconscious was hard at work creating angelic dreams. If he couldn’t read you, he couldn’t predict you. Now was your chance for some justice. He was a Catholic lawyer - he’d understand the pursuit of atonement and justice. Especially since he stole the chance from you earlier and, hey, stealing is a sin. There were too many reasons to take advantage of this moment and get a little cheeky revenge, so you didn’t have to worry that doing so would be in any way trying to provoke him into retaliating... right?
So you held your breath and let you hand lift from the pillow beside your face. Your fingers creeped through the air towards the exposed skin on his side, just above where the comforter lay draped over his waist. A foot away…
Eight inches…
Two… and-
A sharp gasp was forced from your lips as his steadfast hand once again closed around your wrist. You struggled to free your other arm from underneath yourself to use it to shove at his back. “You were asleep! How did you do that?!”
With your hand still straining against his, he turned to face you, hovering on his side and listening intently for your next moves. He heard your chest rise and fall, he heard the smile in your voice, he felt the strength you held back from your fight and the way your breath caught in your throat. He smirked, then swiftly got to his knees beside you. Another gasp bubbled from your throat, accompanied by a nervous giggle or two, as he reached out and caught your other wrist as it freed when you turned more onto your back.
“Perhaps I gave you the wrong idea earlier,” he wrestled with you for control of your arms, expertly dodging the knees you hurled towards his side through the top sheet, though it wasn’t much of a fight. In less than five seconds he’d ripped the sheet away from you, swung his leg over your hips and had your wrists pinned beside your head. “Because you seem to think I have reservations about using your “biggest weakness” against you.”
“Okay, okahay,” you breathed, swallowed nervously and tugged on your wrists. “H-how did you do that?”
“Better question is,” he grunted with the shift of sliding your hands higher above your head as you strained against him. “Did you really think I’d let you get away with it?”
You strained and stuttered, tugging on your wrists in vain as he pinned them across each other and stuck them against the pillow with one firm hand. “C’mohon. Y-you cahan’t-”
“Observe,” he interjected.
With the limited light of the backup streetlights, you saw his free hand lift and then meet your side. You sucked in and shifted away as his palm came to rest on your lower rib cage but you found yourself hesitantly relaxing when he didn’t make any effort to exploit the way he’d trapped you. His hand smoothed down your side, pausing to slide underneath you at the groove of your waist, before travelling back towards the centre of your stomach.
“What are you-”
“Shh,” he hushed you, and turning his right ear ever so slightly towards you. You grumbled at being shushed and gave another yank on your wrists, finding them well and truly trapped above you as his hand moved calmly to your lower stomach. Your heart pounded a little harder as his hand slowed, his palm lifting and leaving his fingers sparsely grouped over the space below your navel. Curse your instincts, your fingers fidgeted and flexed. The silhouette of him tilted his head and without another word, his palm firmly flattened against your shirt and pushed it upwards. You gasped as your lower stomach was exposed to the night air, then clamped your mouth shut to stop from bursting into loud giggles when his fingertips met the bare skin above your waistband.
“Mmhm-Murdock!” You scolded in a loud whisper, lifting your head as you did your damned best to keep the laughter in your throat as you watched his fingers graze the soft skin just above the shorts.
He chuckled through his nose as he lifted his four fingers, allowing him thumb full dominion over your reactions. That was enough, it seemed. At least for now.
“The way you fight. The way you move,” he started, skimming his thumb upward to barely miss your navel by a millimetre. “Your words. Your breath. Your heartbeat…” his voice trailed off as he let his touch wander further from the centre. Despite yourself, your arms tensed, braced, pulled just a smidge harder against his hands. “Like that,” he chuckled again.
“Like what?” You huffed, tense with the exertion of trying to measure your reactions.
“You’re an open book.”
You scoffed. “Like hell I am!”
He tilted his face towards you and you could’ve sworn you saw him raise his eyebrows at your challenge. Then, his five fingers started tickling at the bare skin halfway between your stomach and your side, still just above your waistband.
Damn you, you yelped and instinctively yanked on your hands as the frantic giggles burst through your lips. From past experiences, you knew you were done for; once the floodgate had been breached, there was no chance to hide your laughing. Your head fell back against the pillow as you struggled underneath the lawyer, every ticklish shock twitching through your arms and legs, pulling sweet laughter from your lips.
Matt didn’t hold back his grin as he let his fingers explore this sensitive part of you. He knew it would do you good - to not feel in control for once in your life - to not so easily gain the upper hand in this interaction. When one finger trailed a little higher, and your knees tensed for half a second, he let his tickling touch travel up several inches to dance at the skin just below your lowest ribs. Your giggles hitched up to laughter, which made him laugh through his nose, through his grin, and helped him understand that your reaction wasn’t just about his current place of attack. He wagered a guess that if he were to move his hand further outward and change his touch to lightly dig into the sides of your ribs, he’d be greatly rewarded with a desperate reaction. But, of course, this was about fun. It wasn’t about putting you in your place. Not yet, anyway.
“Okahay!” You whimpered between giggles as he undid you with the lightest touch, pulling hard on your arms to no avail as he relentlessly scratched his fingers along that godforsaken spot. It wasn’t too unbearable, but the nervous part of you wondered if he was planning to take his search outwards, maybe find the more sensitive places along the side of your rib cage.
“Like I said… open book,” he taunted, slowing his hand.
You huffed, blowing some hair away from your face. “I am not,” you gritted your teeth, tightening your fingers into fists before attempting to twist your hands from under his grasp. God, you felt so transparent. The worst part about it was that you’d always found the whole tickling thing to be a very effective method for flirting. A favourite, in fact. Sure, as time had gone on you’d most been involved with people who’d grown out of it, but Matt Murdock’s uncanny ability to delve into your psyche made it dawn on you that he understood this whole game. And fuck, was he playing it well.
“Now, do we need a pillow barrier?” He smoothed his palm down your side to chase away the ticklish feeling, to let you feel the strength of his touch, and to accept the chance to drink in the feeling of your skin you’d so tauntingly offered to him. “Or are you going to behave?”
“Fuhuck you,” you scoffed a laugh to hide your blush and the way he was making your toes curl with nerves. Just as you were about to make some snarky comment about assembling a pillow barrier he squeezed his hand where it lay just above your hip.
Matt felt the ticklish shockwave shoot down your leg to make your foot twitch as it simultaneously travelled to the depths of your lungs to be released it a quick burst of laughter. He laughed as he felt the surge of energy travel through your body and disperse quickly as his hand stilled once again, still at the ready should you choose to continue this game. Because as long as you were prepared to provoke him, he was prepared to retaliate. “Well?”
“Yohou’re ridiculous,” you let out a small cough and assessed how stuck you were. Yeah… there wasn’t any getting out of this. “This whole thing is ridiculous,” you laughed and let your head fall back against the pillow. “Is this how you flirt? I mean, it’s kinda cute, I guess.”
Matt stuck his tongue against the inside of his cheek and chuckled at the pure gall of you. This was the pot calling the kettle black if he’d ever heard it. Deflection to the highest degree. Perhaps he shouldn’t give in and indulge. At the very least he should draw it out, make you admit your game. But the intoxicating promise of you laughing and willingly struggling against him was too good to refuse. So he tightened his grip on your wrists and pulled his hand away from your waist before leaning in and leering with a slack-jawed smirk.
“Oh no, sweetheart. This is me flirting back.”
Several things happened in the immediate seconds following Matt digging his four fingers into the sliver of your rib cage where your back became your side. Your gasp was accompanied by a reactionary arching of your back, which sent your hips bucking under his seat. Your heels scrambled for a second before digging in just a millisecond before you gave a valiant effort in pulling your wrists from his grasp. Futile, of course, but valiant nonetheless. Surprisingly, the last thing to happen was the laughter bursting through the grin pulled deep into your cheeks. That laughter, as to be expected, had been preceded by a loud expletive when you first registered where he’d chosen to attack.
The struggle continued as you exploded in laughter. Your head tilted back further into the pillow, the occasional youthful shriek being mixed in with your laughter. The squeaks too - they were adorable. So was the way your feet kicked behind his back, and how your knees occasionally pressed into his lower back, or how you tried so hard (but not as hard as you could’ve) to twist your wrists out of his grasp.
You tossed and struggled underneath him as he took you to pieces with only one hand. Even over your own shrieks and belly-laughter you could hear him chuckle, even more so when he added his thumb to drill into the front of your lowest ribs and you let out a yelp before shaking your head and dissolving into a snivelling breathless mess.
As abruptly as he’d started, he stopped all together and even released your wrists. Worn down from the exertion, you didn’t even make a move to bring your arms down immediately. After you’d caught your breath for a few seconds you brought your hands to your face and groaned. “Youhou’ve gotta be kidding me,” you sniffed, then tried another slapdash chance at getting some revenge.
Your hands barely got half a foot away from your face before Matt grabbed them again. You growled in frustration as he pushed himself further up your waist and wrestled your wrists to be pinned under his knees. “Tell me, what’s the definition of insanity?”
Knowing he was trying to make some cute remark about you doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result, you decided to double down on being difficult.
“A mental defect or disease that makes it impossible for a defendant to understand their actions,” you snarked between giving tugs at the new way he’d trapped you. “So much for summa cum laude.”
“Cute,” he scoffed, pinching at one of your hips behind his seat. With your lips shut tight, your laughs spluttered through your mouth as the leg below his attack bent in reaction. Which, you learned, is what he was looking for. He shot his hand behind his back and caught your knee, forcing it bend out to the side as he brought his other hand behind your back to handle your leg in his grasp. After only a few seconds, he had a firm grasp around your ankle and the fingers of his other hand at the ready to attack your foot, terrifyingly close. Close enough that you could feel the shadow of their presence.
You stuttered, “Uh-um, okay. M-Matt, wait.”
“Ah, Matt now? No more last name basis?” He flitted his fingers once over the baggy sock and you jolted. “Had enough?”
How in the hell did you answer that? Had enough of what? Of his playful torture, of the way he teased you in that voice of his, of the strength with which he held you? Of being difficult? You certainly hadn’t had enough of the feeling of his body pressed into yours, or the way he seemed to so easily find the things that made you tick. It was complicated, it was incriminating, it was a yes and a no. So you gave the only sufficient answer.
“I plead the fifth.”
Matt laughed a genuine, amused, surprised laugh, and before it was over he’d started dusting his fingers against the sole of your trapped foot. You drew in a sharp breath before pressing your lips together to in some way try to hide the evidence of your hyper-sensitivity, even though you knew it was futile.
“Th-this is cruel aha-and unUSUAL punishment,” you struggled to say as you forced the giggles down with all the will you had.
“Oh, I think it’s more than fair.” Then, his fingers fluttered a little firmer at the space below the ball of your foot and he felt a strong search for freedom. He grinned. “As the saying goes, the best defence is a good offence. However, as Nelson and Murdock proved over the course of the four-day trial…” Your eyes widened as your recognised the words you’d written about them. He tightened his grip. “The best offence is an incompetence defence.”
With that, he effortlessly returned to that particularly sensitive patch of skin just above the centre of your foot and scratched his tickling fingers at it without giving you time to respond. Your reaction was instant and explosive, high-pitched giggles welled up in your stomach and burst up through your lips as you thrashed as much as you could - which wasn’t much, considering he’d rendered you near-immobile.
“Perhaps Nelson should consider a career jump to prosecution,” Matt quoted as he felt your belly shake with laughter and your leg attempting to pull itself out of his grasp. “Considering he’s so adept at proving defendants guilty.” Matt smirked as a shriek burst through your laughter and took it as a chance to back off for a second. “You have to admit that line was rather harsh,” he chuckled as you pulled air into your lungs and gave another test at kicking your foot out of his grasp. But he wasn’t quite finished with you yet.
“It… it was a shoddy defence,” you panted. “But it’s nice you took the time to m-memorise my writing.” There was a satisfied laugh in your breathlessness, and so Matt scoffed.
“Petrenko was innocent.”
“You really believe that?”
You laughed hard. Not because he was tickling you, because he wasn’t in that moment, but because you’d immediately come up with something hilarious to say that just may be the nail in your coffin. “Wehell you hahad me fooled,” you taunted through cackling giggles. The switch from amusement to mirth was evident with your little scream when Matt’s fingers reunited with the bottom of your foot, this time with far less mercy. Hell, you hadn’t even clocked that he’d been showing you mercy until he went straight in for the kill and scratched his fingers harshly against the outer edge of your foot.
Your free foot planted against the bed in some desperate attempt to gain traction as you were soon overrun by squealing belly-laughter. You pushed, pulled, twisted, yanked on the ankle trapped in his grip but he held it fast as he sent you reeling with every sweep of his fingers. One semi-successful attempt yielded a bittersweet result when you twisted in a way that made his grip slide down with the sock. It wasn’t much, but at least the sock going limp over your foot was a bit more protection that it had been. That is, until he paused his tickling to give it a swift tug and pull it clean off.
“OKAHAY ENOUGH!” You squeaked, trying to sit up underneath him with your forearms still pinned under his knees. With your eyes better adjusted to the dark, you could see his damn satisfied smirk as he let your ankle fall to the sheets behind him. You fell back to the pillow and caught your breath, then successfully pulling your arms out from underneath his knees. But that was impossible, so he must have let you. Ugh, turning the tables is more than fair if you could just-
“Don’t even think about it.”
With a growl of frustration and an indignant slap at his knee, you then propped yourself up on your elbows as his smirk turned into a grin. “That’s not fair.”
“Cry me a river.”
“Isn’t your whole career about the pursuit of justice?” You challenged, then taking the chance to move your hand back to his knee. The second your fingers closed around the muscle above his kneecap his grasp was once again around your wrist, then your other, as he slowly pushed you back down to be laying against his sheets with him hovered over you.
“You just don’t give up, do you?”
“That wasn’t obvious?”
He scoffed with a sly smirk. “You’re so fucking difficult.”
“You deserve it.”
“You started it.”
“You spilt the wine on purpose.”
The room would’ve fallen dead silent if the storm hadn’t still been howling and rearing its head. If Earth in all her power had decided to cease her impressive show. But she kept on with her demonstration of beauty and might as Matt listened to the sound of your beating heart, how it danced with desire and drummed with the downpour. He removed his hands from around your wrists and planted them strong either side of you, just above your shoulders. Your heartbeat quickened with the rain, with his closeness.
You’d intended to call him out in the morning and make some kind of joke about it. About how his trick didn’t work and he’d need to try harder to fool you. Then it occurred to you that maybe he didn’t want to fool you. That maybe, like before, he was trying to help you with your inconsistencies. Because there you were wanting him close but doing not a damn thing about it. Because if he could sense Jack’s hand around you arm he would‘ve felt your peace in his presence. If he could hear your cry for help in a room louder than this storm, louder than Earth’s powerful performance, he could surely hear your breath beckoning him closer.
“I offered to take the floor,” he said, his voice a low rumbling that was closer than it had been before.
“So did I.”
He leaned in closer, just by a few inches. “So we’re agreed then?”
You took a shaken breath in, eyes fixed on his slightly parted lips. Damn him, he licked them again. You smiled softly at his question. How he made sure you were fine here, in his world, under his hands. What a beautiful world he had in the dark.
“I’m in if you are,” is all you managed to breathe out before he wasted no time lacing his fingers through the hair below your ear with firm palm against your jaw. You barely had time to take another breath in before he stole it again, capturing your lips in an eager and fiery kiss.
The movement of the sheets beneath your colliding bodies fit so naturally within the orchestra of the storm, your hungry breaths hit each other’s lips as warm and whispered declarations of desire. As his body met yours a small noise of satisfaction was sighed out through your nose as you kissed him passionately, fervidly. Your hands so naturally found their places laced behind his neck and running over his firm shoulders. He tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck and tightened his fist, pulling just intentionally enough to keep you in place as he ducked his head to kiss at your jawline.
He heard you hum to show your pleasure at his touch, as his stubble-framed lips sought out the parts of your neck and collarbone that would make you shiver beneath him. The place your neck became your shoulder, he found, sent you pressing harder into his craving touch. He chuckled into the space below your ear, which made you scoff between your deep and satisfied breaths. Your hands wandered over his upper back, his shoulders, gripped at his hair like he had yours, as you pressed yourself further into him. Your disheveled shirt allowed a part of your skin to clash with his, and Matt knew it was at the back of your mind while his lips were at the forefront - that soon his old t-shirt and basketball shorts would lay where your dress had not an hour before. He felt you tug, so he let you win and pull him back in to kiss him like you meant it. Of course you meant it; you cared about the truth.
These next few weeks and months would be interesting. You were stubborn and unrelenting and harsh and fiercely good. You wouldn’t let Reynolds get away with whatever he was doing. Matt wondered how he’d navigate you and Foggy and Karen. He wondered whether his other self would soon step in from the shadows, and how long it would take you to know it was him. Certainly longer than it took with the wine, maybe longer than it took for you to trust him fully, but both of those things happened in the end.
So as the sidewalk lamps stayed dim and the streets flooded with torrential rainfall, as his leather couch cushion dried by the sink and your dress sat folded on his dresser with that damn perfume wafting off of it, and as you kissed each other delirious and placed your hands anywhere you both could find, Matt made a silent promise to himself.
He was going to find that fucking painting, and burn it to the ground.
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otomiya-tickles · a day ago
lee itadori and ler Sukuna ? i can imagine him tickling him because since they share a body I can imagine a scenario where Sukuna discovers humans can be ticklish ?
[Drabble Event 🎉 - Requests closed!]
Ty! I love their dynamic but am still figuring out my headcanons about these two. Meanwhile I did give this an attempt ^^
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Sukuna was intrigued. It was not that he was entirely unfamiliar with tickling - as disgusting and eternal the silly human thing was, having known humans long enough. Dreadfully long.
But for the first time he got the front-row seat and it was just.... he didn't know what to call it. Weird? Amazing? Funny?
"That was sick," he said. That too. Yuuji was panting, recovering from the tickle attack from that Aoi Todo person. Some people said 'goodbye' when parting ways, and maybe they would give a handshake or just a casual bow. It appeared that Aoi Todo liked to tickle a person to death as a sayonara greeting. Heh.
Sukuna took the liberty to nestle himself for a part into Itadori Yuuji's face as he spoke to the recovering teen.
"Sick? What do you mean?" Yuuji panted.
"All he did was poke your little body and you were screaming like a cursed woman. It was sick," Sukuna commented.
"Tch." Yuuji rolled his eyes and merely continued his day. But Sukuna wouldn't forget. No. It was some time later right after a mission while he had control over their body, when he remembered this tickling thing and thought this was his chance.
"TAKE THAT!" He must've looked idiotic but it was all for good cause when he stood there and wiggled his own fingers up and down his own torso to tickle himself- or well, the possessed body. Yuuji should be the one to feel it. But nothing happened.
"....What are you doing?" Yuuji asked.
"Tickling you."
"....Ha. Ha. A human can't tickle himself," Yuuji said smugly. How fucked up was that? Sukuna wasn't a human. He should be able to tickle Yuuji.
Surely that didn't stop him from outing his frustration the moment he had the chance to, when facing Yuuji in his innate domain. Or well, he just took that chance.
"HAHAH! W-whahahat are you dohohoing!" Yuuji cackled as Sukuna tickled his various spots, poking at his defenseless midriff, his tummy, sides, his ribs. All would result in a yelp here or a squeak there. How weak. How interesting...
Without saying a word, Sukuna wrecked Yuuji before yeeting him out of his domain again. For the first time in his existence he thought tickling was fun. Yuuji made it fun, and he smirked. Oh he would love to drag him here a few times more, just for a tickly appointment.
However that soon wasn't really necessary anymore when he discovered he could just possess Yuuji's arm, only his arm, while Yuuji took control over the rest of the body.
In that case, it also worked and he could tickle him successfully and make him howl.
"....What is happening?" Megumi asked when Sukuna liked to possess Yuuji's arm out of the blue so he could claw at his sensitive middle, tickling him to pieces and making him scream in front of his friend.
"NAHAHA- nothhihihiing!" Yuuji cried, struggling with the arm that was out of his control while cursing his head off at the curse inside him that was causing all this.
Yes, this nothing was definitely something, and that something could be called a tickle curse. Heh. Or just a curse. Sukuna shrugged. Also fine.
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tickleprincesa · a month ago
ticklish men
ticklish men are literally so adorable, I just want to tie them up, straddle them with my legs on either side of their waist and run my fingers teasingly around their ribcage, prodding and spidering for sensitive spots while all he can do is thrash his head and plead for mercy; then grabbing him quickly yet gingerly by the throat, tipping his chin up with my pointer finger, my eyes locking with his as I bend my waist to whisper in his ear "I want to hear you beg your adorable head off. I want you to lose your mind for me" before pulling back, smiling, taking off my sock and placing it in his mouth before attacking his most sensitive spots with torturous finesse with my foot on his face until he breaks like the tickle toy he is.
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ticklishraspberries · a month ago
Payback (Charlie/Nick)
Summary: Nick keeps messing with Charlie throughout the day, so after school, Charlie decides to get revenge. (Based on a prompt from @writingwitharlo. This is officially my first Heartstopper fic, yay!! I hope y’all enjoy it.)
It seemed that Nick was in a particularly playful, romantic mood. Normally, Charlie wouldn’t mind it one bit. The only problem was that they were in school, and while they weren’t hiding their relationship, it was incredibly distracting.
Sitting in form, flying through a sheet of mathematical equations, Charlie was so focused that he didn’t notice Nick’s hand creeping closer beneath the table. It wasn’t until the hand had latched onto his kneecap that Charlie gave a startled twitch, and it was too late to stop the surprised giggle that escaped him as Nick squeezed.
Quickly covering the giggle up with a very non-convincing cough, Charlie shot Nick a glare which held no actual disdain. “What was that for?” he asked. His homework now sported a very messy answer to the fourth question, however it was still legible.
Nick shrugged, a mischievous smile curled on his lips. “You’re just cute,” he replied simply.
Charlie felt his face flush. “Stop,” he said, but the shy smile he sported proved he wasn’t annoyed at all.
Nick had retracted his hand from Charlie’s knee, but now he reached to poke at his side. Thankfully, through his blazer it wasn’t too unbearable of a sensation, but Charlie still had to choke down another giggle.
“Knock it off, you’re gonna get us in trouble,” he said.
With a joking pout, Nick backed off and returned to his own assignment.
For the rest of the period, Charlie felt giddy and on edge from the tickling, not sure where this boldness had come from in Nick, but he wasn’t complaining. It was nice to have a boyfriend who wasn’t afraid to touch him in public, even if that touch was of the ticklish variety.
After form, Charlie put the moment out of his mind as he went through his other classes. It wasn’t until lunchtime that he saw Nick again, out at the tables and joined by Tao and Isaac.
Charlie sat at the table beside Nick, giving his friends a smile. As the four of them ate and chatted, Nick snuck his arm around Charlie’s waist.
Stuttering on his words, Charlie felt himself turning pink again, and his friends exchanged amused smiles at how easy it was for Nick to distract him.
“What book are you reading now, Isaac?” Nick asked. “I swear, you fly through those so fast, I never see you with the same one twice.”
“Oh, it’s by this great lesbian author, Nina LaCour, and it’s—”
Charlie was interested in learning about the book his friend was reading, but any opportunity to listen to Isaac was completely demolished by the fact that Nick started wiggling fingers over his side, making him bite his lip as he tried to not laugh over Isacc’s answer.
Nick pretended like nothing was happening, just listening intently to Isaac and nodding like he wasn’t tormenting his boyfriend at the same time. “That sounds like a good one,” Nick said casually as he tweaked the bottom of Charlie’s ribs.
That gained a little laugh from Charlie, causing his friends to look at him in confusion.
“What’s got you so amused?” Tao asked.
Charlie shot Nick an accusatory glare, making Nick grin.
“I was just tickling him,” he replied simply.
Tao and Isaac both smiled at their friend’s embarrassment.
“Just so you know, his neck is extremely ticklish,” Tao said, shooting Nick an overexaggerated wink.
“And his ears,” Isaac supplied.
Charlie groaned, putting his face in his hands. “You are both the worst,” he mumbled.
Tao reached across the table to ruffle Charlie’s curls. “Oh, you love us,” he cooed, sneaking a quick tickle to the back of his neck, making Charlie squeal.
When lunch ended, the day went back to normal, but he knew it wouldn’t last. As soon as school ended, Nick was coming over to his house, meaning that the pattern of getting tickled by his boyfriend would likely continue the moment they got to Charlie’s bedroom.
Unless…Well, Charlie supposed that he could always strike first, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold his own in a tickle fight against big, tough rugby lad Nick Nelson. It was worth a shot though, right?
When the last bell rang, Charlie rushed to the front gate where he always met Nick. When Nick joined him, the two of them joined hands and began walking in the direction of Charlie’s bus stop, chatting about their days and plans for the evening. Just the feeling of Nick’s thumb brushing against the back of his hand set Charlie’s nerves alight, remembering the previous attacks and making his stomach do flips.
On the bus, Nick didn’t try anything, which he was grateful for. They still weren’t comfortable being too touchy feely in public. School bullies were tolerable, but random strangers were a different story. It felt like the trip home took twice as long as usual, the anticipation that Charlie felt was manipulating time and making him jittery.
At one point, Nick noticed. “You okay?” he whispered.
Charlie nodded. “Just excited to get home,” he answered. “I can’t wait to kiss you.”
That shut Nick up quickly, making his freckled face blush.
Front door unlocked, shoes toed off at the door, and the two teenagers quickly made their way up the stairs to Charlie’s bedroom. The moment the door was closed (not all the way, per request of his parents), they sat on Charlie’s bed and their lips locked hungrily, having missed out on the chance to kiss while at school.
As they kissed, Charlie decided to seek his revenge. His hands rested on Nick’s hips, and he slowly pressed the tips of his fingers into the flesh and wiggled them.
Nick’s lips twisted into a smile against Charlie’s before he pulled away, giggling.
“It’s my turn to have some fun now,” Charlie said, grinning, and latched onto Nick’s sides to squeeze them.
Their combined fits of laughter quickly filled the small room, Nick falling back against the mattress and leaving him even more defenseless. “This is nohot fair,” the older boy insisted.
“Not fair? You’ve been tickling me all day!” Charlie replied.
Attempting to grab at Charlie’s hands, Nick gave a little whine. “It’s only fair when I do it to you,” he replied.
“Oh, of course. That logic makes perfect sense.”
Charlie moved to scribble over Nick’s stomach, making his boyfriend burst into a renewed bout of laughter, squirming wildly against the bedsheets.
“Cut it out!”
“Only if you call it a truce,” Charlie replied. “You’ve been bugging me all day, I think this is some well-deserved payback.”
“Okay, okay, truce! I won’t tickle you anymore,” Nick promised, struggling to speak as he was breathless and still giggling hard.
Charlie backed off with a smug smile before laying down beside Nick, snuggling up to his chest. As he caught his breath, Nick cuddled right back, pulling the smaller teen close and pressing a small kiss to his forehead.
“You’re evil,” he said.
“Me? You started it!” Charlie replied, feigning offense at the accusation.
“Yeah, well, I like making you laugh,” Nick said. “Your laugh is cute.”
Charlie blushed for what felt like the millionth time that day, burying his face in Nick’s neck. “Shut up,” he muttered.
“If I hadn’t promised, I would totally test out those spots that Tao and Isaac told me about, just to prove how cute your laugh is,” Nick said.
Slowly, Charlie peeked up at him. “I mean, if you insist.”
Nick’s face split into a grin once again, and he wasted no time in running his fingers over Charlie’s neck, gentle and teasing. And so, the room was filled with laughter yet again.
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supermarvel-fics · a month ago
word count: 3,500
pairing: loki x gn!reader (established relationship)
cw: mild swearing
summary: you spend your one day off with your boyfriend, Loki, and you come to find that he has a cute little quirk when he reads.
this little story is really tickles with no plot, I just really loved the idea of the reader receiving feather light tickles because that's what I crave. hope you enjoy!
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Sundays were your favorite days. It was the one day you got to relax after a long week of training and going out to complete missions. You loved those days, too, of course. Living out your dream alongside your very best friends was something you’d never take for granted, but there were times that all you wanted to do was watch a movie or read a book and not be interrupted.
On most days, attempting to find a quiet place in the tower was next to impossible with all of the heroes, scientists, and other employees working and/or living there. The only room that was subject to solitude was your own, and even then, you often got a knock at your door when someone needed your assistance with something.
But on Sundays, most everyone was out and about doing their own things. Nat spent her day with Clint and his family, teaching Lila how to defend herself should she need it. Thor traveled to New Asgard to help in any way he can. Peter went back home to Queens, having dinner with his Aunt and spending time with his friends.
The compound was your home. You didn’t have a family to go home to for the holidays nor did you have friends outside of work. Not that you would complain—the Avengers were your family and your friends. You loved them with all of your heart.
Some a little more than others.
You strolled through the halls of the tower, relishing in the way you could hear the echo of your own footsteps. A small smile rose to your face as you came upon the entrance to the common room, spotting the back of one very familiar God’s head. You could see that he had a book in his hand which meant he was in his own little world, paying very little attention to what was happening around him. Perfect.
You and Loki had taken a fancy to each other fairly quickly after you’d moved into the compound. It started off with glances across the room; Loki would watch as you smiled and laughed with your other teammates. And though he’d never admit it, Loki’s heart melted at the sight.
Truthfully, you knew he was staring at you, so each time the two of you were in the same room, you would do things to deliberately grab his attention. It was a little game to you—one that he didn’t catch on to for close to a week.
“You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you?” the God voiced from behind you once everyone else had left the conference room. You smirked as you gathered the information given to you into a blue folder.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Loki. Could you be more specific?” You jested back. Loki narrowed his eyes at the back of your head and for a moment, you swore you could feel it as if he were shooting lasers from them.
“If you think I didn’t notice your little tactic to try and get my focus onto you, then you’d be sorely mistaken,” Loki crossed his arms over his chest, clearly offput by your feigned ignorance. You silently chuckled, scooping up your belongings before swiveling around to face the brooding man.
“I can’t believe it took you until today to finally figure it out,” You blinked up at him. Your gaze locked onto his and Gods his eyes were beautiful. The way they sparkled like the sea when the light hit them just right was enough to make you fall weak. Loki raised an eyebrow, snapping you out of your trance.
“Beg pardon?”
“Loki, I’ve been trying to get your attention for a week,” You giggled. “I saw you staring at me at my first mission briefing.”
Loki’s expression fostered confusion, then slowly morphed into recognition. “So, yesterday in the kitchen?”
“Yep,” you said, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. You let a smug grin come to your face and Loki followed suit.
“Honestly, agent, if you’d taking a liking to me, all you had to do was say so,” He took a step closer, towering over your small physique. You didn’t back down or cower away; you simply lifted your chin and tilted your head.
“Says the 1,000-year-old God who caught feelings for me, a weak mortal, the second I walked through the door of the compound,” You winked at him cheekily before swerving around his stance to exit the room. You rotated again, walking backwards away from him. “If you wanted to get to know me, all you had to do was ask.”
And with that, you left Loki standing there wondering how you had the gall to be so forward. He found that he liked that about you—how you didn’t shy away from him or ignore him completely. It fueled him, really. It was why the next day, he asked you out on a date.
Loki never said it was a date, but what else would you call a trip out of the tower to eat brunch so you could learn more about one another?
5 more outings, 3 nights where you stayed up until the sun was due to rise, and a mission gone awry later, Loki held you close and kissed you until there wasn’t a breath left in your body. He wrapped his arms around you and whispered that he could never bear to lose you. Over and over, he reminded you that you stole his heart in a way he never thought possible.
It had been half a year since then and every day, you fell deeper in love with the handsome prince. He cared for you in ways you’d never been privy to before and perhaps it had to do with the fact that he was not of Earth, but that didn’t matter to you. Loki was treasure and you found him when you needed him most.
But what you loved more than your intimate moments together, were the playful moods the two of you would get into.
It was no secret that Loki had a specialty in creating mischief—often playing a harmless prank on you just to make you laugh. He just hadn’t expected you to retaliate. From then on, it became war; shoelaces tied together, disorganizing a bookshelf, changing bedsheets and pillowcases to a bright pink color.
Upon seeing your dazed and distracted partner, you tiptoed up to the back of the couch, planning to scare him senseless. As quietly as you could, you sucked in a deep breath prior to leaning close to Loki’s ear and—
“You should never try and sneak up on a God, you know,” a rich baritone voice stated from behind you. You let out a shriek, turning around while clutching your chest to see Loki looming over you. Your widened eyes shot from him back over to the couch where the Loki you had attempted to scare had vanished. You twisted your head back to the real Loki, glaring at him not-so-menacingly.
“You and your damn clones. I thought we agreed that you weren’t allowed to use your Seidr,” You growled. Loki stepped forward, gathering up your hands in his and swiping his thumb along the backs of them.
“That was before you decided to play dirty. Don’t think I forgot about you tampering with my shampoo,” He scolded half-heartedly. He leaned closer, pressing his soft lips to your forehead.
“You and I both know that you needed to be brought down a peg after you rearranged all of my bedroom furniture.” Loki hummed and shrugged, with a satisfying smirk plastered on his face. You chuckled before rising on your toes to kiss him firmly on the lips. “I thought you were going with your brother to New Asgard today. What gives?”
Loki furrowed his brows. “My, my, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you despised my presence here in the tower.” He released your hands and began walking out of the common area. “No matter. I’m sure I can find something to do elsewhere.”
“Loki, you know that’s not what I meant!” You giggled, marching towards him to pull him back. He reluctantly let you, knowing it was all fun and games. “I just meant I wasn’t planning on seeing you today. I’m glad you’re here.”
You wrapped your arms around Loki’s waist, squeezing him into a tight hug. He reciprocated it, lowly laughing in response. “Yes, well, I was going to accompany him today, but we got into an argument and he is quite unbearable when he believes that he is right, so I resorted to staying here.” He kissed the top of your head. “I’d much rather be here with you anyway.”
You sighed in contentment, tilting your head up to look at him. Loki wasted no time in giving you another peck, this time on the lips.
“So, what were your plans for the day?” Loki continued.
“I was coming in here to watch a movie, but you’re reading, so I think I’ll just sit with you, if that’s okay,” You smiled shyly at him. He brushed a piece of hair out of your face, placing it behind your ear.
“Nonsense, darling. You can still watch your movie. You know I’m dead to the world once I have a book in front of me. It won’t bother me a bit.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive,” Loki grinned. He walked around the couch with you in tow, then sat down, pulling you into his side. He passed you the television remote as you snuggled into him. Once you were comfortable, he conjured up his book out of thin air, flipping it open with his Seidr.
You stayed just like that, in a state of pure bliss, for close to an hour before you got tugged out of it by the faintest tingling sensation on your ribs. You looked down to see Loki’s index finger drawing circles over your shirt.
You smiled, not entirely sure if it was because of the feeling or the act itself, as you slowly peered up at him. He didn’t notice, of course, because he was well into the climax of his story, so you just shifted a bit in his hold and attempted to turn your attention back to the movie.
Your repositioning caused him to cease his finger for a moment, but once you settled back down, you felt it again. You bit the inside of your cheek, willing yourself not to laugh or move.
You had somehow gone this entire 6-month span without letting Loki know that you were ticklish. Insufferably so, since his one finger drawing shapes on your ribs was making you want to crawl out of your skin.
It’s not that you didn’t want him to know. You weren’t keeping it from him, per se, but you knew that once he figured it out, you’d never be able to go another day without him trying to tickle you. Not that it would be a bad thing considering how much you cherished how playful he was with you.
It’s also not as if his touch was unwelcome. If you weren’t so damn ticklish, you could probably melt right into it. But the way his fingernail was lightly dragging across one of your most ticklish spots was enough to force you to release a breath you’d been holding and move your arm so it covered your ribs.
Loki’s hand relocated farther down, resting on that place where your belly met your side. You took a quick glance back up at him, seeing that he was still emersed in his book.
How cute is that?
You realized that he most likely had no idea what he was doing—almost as if his hand wasn’t attached to his body. You’d always loved that about Loki; how when he became so engrossed in a story, that it was close to impossible to pull him out of his lulled state.
So, when his hand started up again, this time at your belly and with an added middle finger, you didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop no matter how much it tickled.
You pressed your lips together into a tight smile, balling your hands into fists and burying your face into Loki’s chest. You gave up on watching the movie because all you could think about was keeping your squirming at bay so you didn’t disturb him.
Your abdomen tensed under his touch when his nails travelled too close to your waistline and your breathing hitched in your throat. You had to move. You had to. There was no way you could keep up this façade for much longer.
You played it off as a yawn—stretching your arms and legs out, then snuggling into his side a bit more.
“Are you alright?” Loki asked you, breaking away from his book. Shit. You gazed up at him, an apologetic smile on your face.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I just wanted to get more comfortable,” You placed your hand on his chest. “I’m good, now.”
He pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead before turning back to his copy of Macbeth. You let out a sigh of relief once you realized his fingers had stopped brushing against your side. You took the time to relax, finally putting your concentration back on the movie. Luckily it was one you’d seen plenty of times because you’d missed a small portion of it when you were struggling to control your reactions.
A minute or two went by, then you let out a small squeak when Loki’s fingers proceeded to make lazy shapes across your belly again. You had to hold yourself back from audibly groaning because this time, all 5 of his fingers had joined in.
You subtly covered your mouth with your hand and shut your eyes, praying to any God that could hear that he’d quit before it became too much and you gave yourself away with your laughter.
Sure, you could tell him to stop or reach out and cover his hand with your own, but Loki’s adorable absentminded ministrations outweighed your ticklish predicament. Plus, you knew better than to outwardly tell the God of Mischief that he was tickling you.
Again and again, he swirled his fingertips across your tummy, agonizingly slow and painfully gentle. Unfortunately, you jolted particularly hard when his pinky grazed your hipbone, pulling him away from his Shakespearean play once more.
“Darling, are you positive you’re alright?” He placed a steady hand on your hip and rubbed up and down.
“I swear I’m okay! I just had a muscle spasm,” You lied. Loki scrunched his eyebrows together and hummed. You gave him another polite smile prior to releasing a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding and turning your eyes back to the movie.
This time, Loki refrained from continuing his story. He kept turning the pages magically, as he had been the past hour, but only to make you believe he’d gone back to reading. Instead, his eyes watched you. He kept a firm hand on your side, noticing how you visibly relaxed into his touch. Then, experimentally, he lifted his palm and stroked his nails across your belly, smirking when you grimaced aloud and bit on one of your knuckles to stop yourself from laughing.
He kept his fingers moving, savoring the way you hid behind your hands every time he brushed over a sensitive spot. After a few minutes of watching you make an effort to hold in your reactions, Loki decided that he’d much rather hear you laugh.
Without warning, the God slid his hand down to your hip and fluttered his fingers there, honing in on the spot that made you twitch in the first place. You couldn’t help the melodic giggle that rose from your throat, your hand instinctively shooting down to grab Loki’s.
“All this time getting to know each other and you never once mentioned that you were ticklish,” Loki stated as he flicked his wrist, making his book disappear. He snatched his hand out of your grasp and shot it up to your ribs, wiggling his torturous digits over the fabric of your shirt.
You squealed and clamped your arm down to your side. “Ihihit nehever came uhuhup!”
Loki reached over with his right arm now that his book was gone and gathered your wrists together, holding them to your chest. Then, he lightened his touch, scratching his first two fingers back and forth across a terribly sensitive rib, chuckling darkly at how that seemed to almost incapacitate you.
You squirmed into him, attempting to evade his nails, but it only egged him on.
“Really, darling, this is quite adorable. Almost as adorable as you trying not to laugh earlier,” Loki taunted. You let out a strangled gasp which quickly turned into a shriek and a bout of laughter as he moved his hand closer to the front of your ribs, directly above your navel.
“Yohou- you- AH! You were dohoing it ohohon puhurpose?” You stammered out through giggles. Loki flitted his two fingers even lower, now dancing above the waistline of your shorts. You jolted again, leaning your head back onto your lover’s shoulder and cackled hysterically as you accepted your fate.
“Not at first, no. I was unaware that I was tickling you, but it was this spot riiiigghhtt here,” Loki sang as he sped up his fingers, adding the other three to cover more skin, “that gave you away.”
“Oh, my. If this is your reaction to such a light touch, then I shudder to think about what this might do,” Loki punctuated the word with a couple of harsh squeezes to your hipbone. Your laughter pitched up an octave, then you pulled your knees into your chest as far as they’d go, blocking him from tickling you further.
Loki retracted his hand from your hip and let go of your bound wrists, having a quick laugh at your expense. He lovingly stroked your leg and placed a peck to the top of your head. “That was endearing.”
You heaved out a few breaths before responding. “You’re never going to let me know peace, are you?”
“Of course I will, love,” Loki chuckled. “At least once a week.”
You whirled your upper body around as much as you could to face him, eyes widened in panic. “Once a week?!”
“Relax, my dear, I’m only joking,” he replied, placing a ticklish pinch to your side. “How about twice a week? By the looks of it, you seemed to have enjoyed it considering how long you held out.”
You giggled, not quite sure if it was because of his small quip or the squeeze. Probably both. Still, you rolled your eyes playfully and settled back into his side. Loki let silence overcome the two of you for a moment before speaking up.
“Why did you hold out so long? I could tell towards the end that it was becoming a bit much for you,” He noted. Your face burned red and it was almost as if Loki could feel it through his usual Asgardian outerwear because he had to clarify. “Do you like it?”
“N-no! I- well, I mean I don’t hate it, but- I like- UGH!” You stuttered, hiding your face into his chest again. Loki didn’t tease you for your extremely flustered state. Instead, he waited for you to calm down. “I like it when we get into playful moods like this. I like being close to you,” you said, muffled into his shirt.
Loki ran his fingers through your hair, smiling fondly even though you weren’t able to see him. “That’s completely understandable. I only ask because I’d never want to push your boundaries. I love having you close, too.”
You glanced up at him, finally seeing the grin overtaking his face and gave him one back. “That’s not the real reason I let you keep going, though.”
“It’s not?” Loki raised an eyebrow. You shook your head. “Then, why, pray tell, would you subject yourself to such ‘torture’ as you Midgardians call it?”
You giggled softly, bringing a hand up to rub your thumb across his jaw. “Because you’re really cute when you’re off in your own little world.”
Loki’s eyes dilated, then. He was caught off guard by your compliment and mistakenly let a faint blush grace his cheeks. You, of course, noticed immediately.
“Aw, you’re blushing!” You teased the God, kissing his left cheekbone. Loki scowled at you, though there was no meaning in it, then it hurriedly transformed into a smirk.
“And you look cute when you’re laughing!” He jested back before wrapping his arms around your torso and digging his fingers into your belly. You instantly roared in loud laughter, trying not to squirm or push him away to let him know that this kind of playfulness was always welcome.
Loki eventually relented when he noticed you started hiccupping through your giggles to get more oxygen into your lungs. He rubbed the residual tingling feeling away from your belly and once your breathing steadied, you melted into his side, falling asleep to the beat of Loki’s heart.
Yeah, you wouldn’t mind spending every Sunday just like this.
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just-another-blog-of-fluff · 5 months ago
Refuse to Lose
Word count: 12,800
Pairings: Loki x reader (pre-dating romantic), Wanda x Vision (romantic)
Warnings: HOLY HELL the sexual tension 🚨🚨🔥🔥 (but still nothing explicit)
OK, OK - this is my first time incorporating FOUR prompts (I think) in one fic, and it was a TON of fun to write this one!! And I'm super excited there was so much hype for this - I hope it lives up to your expectations 😊
I kind of took the prompts and ran with them... like... sprinted is more like it 😂😂 I hope this isn't too far off from what you lovely anons were looking for! The main difference versus the prompts is there's not a current secret relationship going on between reader and Loki (although there may as well be...) but I think I'll use that in another fic at some point because I love the idea! Pre-dating just felt right for this one!
A reminder of the prompts included:
Prompt - Loki knows he can fluster the reader with ease, and frequently exploits it. Reader is determined to get him back
Prompt - reader likes to fluster Loki with pick up lines in front of the others. He won’t be having that.
prompt where Loki notices reader can’t figure out what to do when others are talking about tickling
prompt with Vision and Wanda
And as promised, tagging @quillsandtypos 😊 (And also @writingfics-passingtime for helping me work through intermittent writer's block 💚)
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"Ooh, hang on- stop channel surfing, I want to watch that!" Wanda grabbed hold of your outstretched wrist where you were holding the remote pointed at the television, snagging the device from your hand.
"Oh, stop. It's not like you were going to pick anything to watch in the next ten minutes anyway," she tutted, flipping the channel back to her favorite show.
"Wanda, this is a rerun," you groaned.
"I don't care! It's such a good show!"
"No it's not!"
She shot you an appalled look. "What makes you think it's so terrible?!"
"It's completely overdramatized!" You gesticulated to the screen where one of the lead female characters was stammering like a fool while talking to some guy. "I mean, honestly!"
"Wh- no it isn't!"
You scoffed. "Wanda, honestly. You can watch this and tell me it's realistic? I mean, look at this girl! She's completely lost the ability to form a coherent thought, and the guy literally just said hi to her!"
"Pshh. You can't tell me that you've never gotten flustered over someone like that."
"Have you?" you retorted.
"Uh, yeah. Before Vision and I started dating." Her expression softened as she reminisced. "God, he was just so adorable."
"Well, maybe you have fallen victim to that sort of thing, but I haven't."
"Not once?" she asked skeptically.
"Not once."
"Oh, I seriously doubt that."
The baritone voice could only belong to a certain God of Mischief. Sure enough, you turned your head toward the sound to see a smirking Loki standing behind the sofa.
"Do you make it a habit to eavesdrop on other people's conversations?" you chastised.
"Not usually. But the pair of you aren't exactly quiet." You narrowed your eyes at his comment. "In any case - I don't believe you when you say you're immune to something that is engrained within your mortal nature."
"Is not!"
Loki chuckled. "Alright. Whatever you say." Without another word, he turned and left the room. Rolling your eyes, you turned to Wanda.
"He thinks he's a gift from the gods, I swear," you muttered. She smirked.
"Does he think that? Or do you?"
"Excuse me??"
Wanda shrugged, returning her attention to the television. "I'm just saying - he didn't say a word to suggest that you might get that way around him. You jumped to that conclusion."
"Oh-ho, I don't think so." Huffing, you stood from the sofa and left the room, leaving Wanda to watch the awful show she had insisted on.
The whole interaction did have you a bit rattled, though you'd never admit it to your friend. If anyone were capable of getting you worked up over nothing like that woman in the show - not that you were saying it was possible, but if it were - it was Loki. You weren't sure what to call your relationship with him, in all honesty. It seemed to vary based on the situation. You seemed to kind of flirt the line between friends and... well, more than friends. And the tension had really started to build over the last few months, like a shaken bottle of soda just waiting to explode the moment the cap untwisted.
You were on your guard for a couple weeks after that, expecting that at any moment Loki might try to do or say something to make you stutter. But when those weeks went by without so much as an attempt from the trickster, you started to think that maybe he'd just forgotten the whole conversation had ever happened. Or, maybe Wanda was right, and you were projecting your own feelings onto his reaction.
But you should have known better. Loki didn't forget, he only bided his time. And he loved an excuse to cause mischief.
The day you first fell into the crosshairs of his chaotic ways started fairly uneventfully. It was a Saturday morning, and you were making groggy conversation with Nat, Steve, and Bucky as the four of you lazily drank coffee at the small table in the kitchen. Eventually, the growling in your stomach was audible even to your friends over the sound of your idle chatter, and so you shuffled over to the fridge and began to prepare yourself some breakfast.
"Wait - are you making pancakes?" Bucky asked, a glazed look in his eyes as he observed you hopefully. You laughed at his lack of subtlety.
"Are you asking me to make some for you too?"
"Ooh, hang on, if he's getting some then I want some," Steve interjected. Rolling your eyes, you couldn't help but grin at their obvious love of your pancake prowess.
"Oh... alright. Nat, you want some too?" you asked.
"Hey - if you're offering, I'm not saying no," she replied.
"Fine, but you guys have to keep me company while I cook."
You busied yourself mixing the pancake batter and getting the pan heated on the stovetop. The three hungry Avengers waiting for you to finish at least kept their word and made conversation with you while you cooked. As you finished the first stack of pancakes, Bucky snuck up to the counter and snagged the plate, swapping it for an empty one and bringing the fresh pancakes to the table to eat them while they were still warm. The moment you noticed, you turned around and scolded the soldier, wagging the spatula at him threateningly.
"Bucky! You could at least wait until I'm finished making the pancakes before scarfing them down like some animal!"
"Did you say you're making pancakes?"
Thor's booming voice echoed from the doorway, drawing your attention. The first thing you noticed when you glanced over was not Thor, but his younger brother, who was standing beside him with his eyes fixed on you. It made your heart rate tick up ever so slightly to feel his gaze, as it often did. You never allowed your nervousness to show on your face, despite the fact that your crush on the tall, dark, and handsome Asgardian god only grew with the passage of time. Because unlike the woman in that show, you had some self control over your reactions.
You shot him a half grin, which he returned with one of his own, his eyes flashing in the way they always did when he smiled at you.
"Are you gonna ask me to make more for you?" you groaned at Thor, glancing at the dwindling bowl of pancake batter and trying to eyeball whether you had enough left to satiate the hulking God of Thunder's appetite. Unlikely, you thought.
"That would be wonderful!" Thor strode over to join Bucky, Steve and Nat, scooping up a fork from the table and stabbing the top pancake to steal for himself.
With a heaving sigh, you moved to the fridge to pull out more ingredients for another batch of pancake batter. Loki strolled over to you, a poorly disguised pleading look in his eyes. You narrowed yours, fighting the amused grin threatening to spread across your face in favor of trying to look annoyed.
"Do you want me to make you some too, Loki?" you groaned, pulling the carton of eggs out of the fridge.
"Would you? That would be wonderful, pet."
The egg carton slipped from your grasp and dropped to the floor with a crunch.
Loki 's eyebrows shot up his forehead, a smug smirk suddenly tugging at the corners of his mouth as your cheeks slowly began to grow warm. What had he just called you? And in front of four other people, no less?
The thought of the others led you to the realization that there was no longer casual chatter sounding from the table. Your gaze flitted over to the four hungry Avengers awaiting their breakfast, who were now staring at you in confusion having witnessed you drop half a dozen eggs on the floor. Clearing your throat awkwardly, you collected the fragments of your composure as you reached for the roll of paper towels.
"Sorry, slipped," you mumbled, turning your gaze to the floor as you stooped to wipe up the egg mess. You felt a slight breeze as Loki knelt down beside you, holding his hand out expectantly for the paper towels so he could assist.
"What was that?" he whispered, the tone of amusement evident even in his hushed voice. You glanced swiftly at the table, confirming the others had returned to their own conversation before whipping your head back to glare at the mischievous and maddeningly pleased-looking god.
"Loki! You can't do that in front of everyone!" you hissed.
"Do what?"
"You know what. Calling me that."
"Calling you my pet?"
You had to fight to withhold a flustered squeak. "YES."
"Why not?"
You knew based on the self-satisfied expression gracing his features that he knew exactly why not - he simply wanted to make you say it.
"It's... ugh just... just..."
"You're quite flustered." His smirk grew impossibly wider. You turned your gaze away from him because you simply couldn't keep looking at the damned smug look on his face anymore.
"I hate you." You wiped up the last of the egg yolk from the floor, tossing the paper towels into the messy egg carton.
"So if I can't do it 'in front of everyone,' does that mean I can call you that behind closed doors?"
You weren't sure your face could get any hotter.
"I'm done having this conversation." You scooped the egg carton off the floor, rising to your feet and ducking your head to hide your flushed face as you tossed the mess in the trash and returned to the fridge in search of more eggs.
You couldn't look at Loki the rest of the morning without thinking about the little nickname he'd chosen for you. And you knew without a doubt he'd be continuing to hold this ability to fluster you with a word over your head. You simply had to mentally prepare yourself before he tried again. Block it out of your mind.
It was only hours later when he tried again.
You were in the training room getting some target practice in with the throwing knives you'd been training with for the past couple of months. Loki had been the one to show you how to hold the hilt properly and how to release at the right time to send the blade sailing toward the target. It had only been an added bonus that he had to hold your hand and place his hands on your waist to help you position yourself correctly the first few times. It certainly wasn't the reason you'd decided to practice with the knives in the first place.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Loki hovering a few feet away as you prepared your stance to throw the first blade. With a steadying breath, you blocked out the buzz of the other Avengers completing their own workouts around the room, honing your focus on the target. With a skilled flick of your wrist, you sent the blade across the room, sinking it into the third ring from the center of the target.
"Very good, pet," Loki hummed, drawing your attention. Having noticed him observing you, you'd mentally prepared yourself this time for the nickname. With a smirk, you folded your arms haughtily across your chest.
"Thanks. One of these days I'll give you a run for your money."
Loki looked slightly disappointed at your lack of reaction, but you could see the gears turning in his head. He wasn't going to let it drop that easily.
As you continued to practice, Wanda came over to join you. Despite the fact that she vehemently denied it, you were convinced she used magic when she practiced with the throwing knives. Hers nearly always hit the dead center of the target.
"Why can't I ever get a bullseye?" you groaned in frustration after your last blade hit the second ring from the center. In all honesty, you'd forgotten Loki had been intermittently watching you practice, and so you were startled by the proximity of his voice in your ear.
"You'll just need to keep practicing, princess."
You were glad you didn't have any more knives in your hand because they'd have surely clattered to the floor. Perhaps that's why he waited until you'd thrown the last one to say it.
In any case, you were caught so off-guard by this even more flustering pet name that you felt your face catch fire. You whipped your head around to stare wide-eyed at Loki, trying to ignore the confused but entertained look on Wanda's face beside you. With a huff, you strode off to collect your knives from the target, mostly to give yourself an excuse to walk away.
"What's got you so flustered, princess?" Loki teased, following you toward the targets.
"Nope!" you called back to him, refusing to turn around.
"How am I to understand if you won't tell me?"
You grasped the hilt of one of your blades, tugging it free from the wooden target and shooting Loki a silent glare. Everything in you wanted to wipe that smug smirk off his face. He merely shrugged at you, leaning close and reaching over your shoulder to pull one of your other blades free from the target, holding it out toward you.
"Thank you, my prince," you sang with a grin. Loki chuckled, shaking his head.
"You'll have to try harder than that, princess."
With that, he sauntered on his way, leaving you standing there with two of your blades in your hands and your jaw hanging slightly agape. Oh, he was infuriating. But you were bound and determined to get him back. No way was he immune to blushing. You just had to tease out what flustered the God of Mischief.
Clearly it didn't bother him in the slightest when you called him a pet name with a sassy bite to your voice. You supposed that was understandable. Perhaps the key was in how you said it. It was certainly worth a try.
Your opportunity came that evening when you happened across Loki and Thor seated on the sofa playing some sort of card game you didn't recognize. From the surfaces of the few cards you could see from the doorway, it appeared it was a game from Asgard - they were adorned with a completely foreign language to you. In any case, the two of them seemed heavily invested in the game - so much so that you actually might stand a chance at sneaking up on the trickster, who prided himself on being impervious to surprises.
Silently, you crept up behind the sofa, hovering over the two brothers as they played cards from their hands, interlaced with shouts and gripes at one another. With the tiniest of smirks, you leaned close to Loki, gently brushing his hair away from his ear as you growled seductively.
"What are you up to, my prince?"
The effect was immediate. He stiffened, his mouth falling slightly open with his eyes wide. There was a dusting of pink coating his usually pale complexion that you doubted you'd ever seen there before. Regaining his composure slightly, Loki turned his head gradually to glower at you.
Meanwhile, Thor - who had clearly heard what you said - looked positively delighted and amused at his brother's reaction. His blue eyes lifted to meet yours, a huge grin on his face.
"Have I missed something? Are the two of you romantic partners?"
"Oh, no. I just discovered how very flustered our dear prince becomes when I call him such," you explained, winking at Loki before turning on your heel and waltzing proudly out of the room. The bewildered trickster god was left to come up with some further form of an explanation to his brother for what in Valhalla was going on between the two of you.
Take that, God of Mischief, you thought.
* * *
Loki had to admit - he was taken aback by the ease with which you managed to find a way to make him blush. He certainly expected you would try. Perhaps he had underestimated the degree of power you held over him.
But, if there was one thing he'd learned in this little game the two of you had unknowingly entered into, it was that he, too, held a significant advantage over you. And the God of Mischief does not back down from a challenge. He simply had to up his game a bit - find something that wiped the smirk right off your face and replaced it with a heated blush.
He began to do what he did best - observing you perceptively to determine what it was that could get under your skin. Those little nicknames he used on you still worked well enough if he caught you off guard, but he suspected he could do better. Not to mention, every time he managed to get you flustered with a cutesy name, you turned around and got your revenge within hours. You and your damned sultry voice in his ear, calling him your prince. Oh, if you knew what you were doing to him.
A week later he stumbled upon his answer.
The team had been drinking socially and hanging out in the tower lounge during a night of down time. Tony, of course, had reached a pleasant state of tipsiness that had him reminiscing about the past, back when ‘everything was simpler’ and ‘there were no boogey men coming to destroy the world.’ Loki rolled his eyes at that, remaining seated in his corner away from the others lest Tony decide to bring up his run in with the chitauri years ago.
Engrossed in his book, Loki missed a solid portion of the conversation going on amongst the slightly inebriated heroes. He did sneak a glance at you from time to time, not certain if he was more proud or disappointed that you had switched to drinking water after only a couple glasses. The part of him that cared for you respected that you were being the responsible one - after all, someone had to take care of Tony if he got completely sloshed, and given the fact that Thor had just begun passing around Asgardian mead to the more alcohol tolerant superhuman beings of the group, the possible candidates for the job were becoming limited. But his mischievous nature told him a tipsier you might have been easier to pull a blush out of.
Loki missed whatever sequence of events led up to what happened next, but suddenly Stark was setting up some sort of audio device with microphones and a holographic screen.
“Man, I haven’t done karaoke in years,” Stark lamented. He pointed over at Steve and Bucky. “You guys are gonna love it, just watch.”
Nat snorted at the idea. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“What, you don’t think I can sing?” Steve retorted. Nat held her hands up in defense.
“Hey, you’re welcome to prove me wrong.”
Steve snatched the microphone from Tony, grabbing Bucky by the arm and dragging the protesting super soldier to his feet. “Oh, we will. Don’t worry.”
If it weren’t for the infernal Midgardian music, the singing wouldn’t have been all that bad. The super soldiers were certainly not crooners, but they could at least hold a tune pretty well. Wanda and Vision admittedly sounded great together during a duet, and even Bruce, fueled by a bit of liquid courage, was a decent singer. Loki was disappointed to see you politely decline when Tony held the microphone out to you. He would have been quite curious to hear your singing voice.
“Brother!” Thor shouted, stomping over to where Loki sat. “Come! Sing with me!”
Loki rolled his eyes. “Why would I-”
“Oh come on, Thor. Loki can’t sing.”
It was your voice he heard, cutting him off mid sentence. His eyes darted to you, where you stood leaning against the back of one of the sofas looking somewhat amused by the idea. He was going to decline, tell Thor he wouldn’t be caught dead singing that Midgardian trash they call music, but now he wasn’t about to back down. You challenged him, and he was stepping up to it.
He rose to his feet, his eyes fixated on you as he slowly paced over to the group.
“Oh, can’t I?” he asked, smirking at you.
“I doubt it.”
Loki cleared his throat once, and then he began to sing an Asgardian hymn. It had a melody that was languid and melancholy, the lyrics alluding to a scorned lover pining for his beloved. Not that you could ever know that - you didn't speak a word of his native tongue.
When he'd begun to sing, his intention was to prove to you he could, given you seemed so convinced that he couldn't (or perhaps that he wouldn't). He kept his gaze firmly affixed on you as he sang the lyrics in his usual velvety rich baritone timbre. After only a moment, your expression began to twist before his eyes, color blossoming in your cheeks.
He'd never considered this before. Mortals had such an aversion to singing in front of others, which was not a sentiment shared by Asgardians. It had never occurred to him that you might become pleasantly flustered if he were to sing to you. For you. And yet, the nervous energy quelling in your chest was plainly evident on your face. Quite frankly, it was adorable.
When he'd finished his song, he shot you a knowing smirk while the others began chattering amongst themselves. He was pleased to see that the glare you shot him had much less malice behind it than usual, buried beneath the shy smile pulling at the corners of your mouth. He said nothing - merely winked before returning to his own seat.
Clearly he'd taken the lead once again.
It only fueled the fire in your belly to get back at him. Loki was deadly curious to know what lengths you would go to next to up the ante. Of course, he had his doubts that you'd find another way to get under his skin, but it was intriguing to see you try at the very least.
The only problem was, your method of revenge came completely by accident.
He hadn't even known you were still in the room, honestly. He was seated in his usual spot in the common room, reading and tolerating the company of the others just long enough so that Thor would get off his case about his lack of desire to socialize. Loki might not be actively participating in whatever discussion was going on, but he was physically present, and that was his method of compromise with his overzealous brother.
Someone suddenly tugged gently on the hair at the back of Loki's head where it hung close to his shoulders. His gaze whipped up from his novel the moment he felt it, turning in surprise to find you standing behind him with a piece of lint pinched between your thumb and forefinger. A seemingly benign gesture, and yet you had a startled look on your face.
"Loki - holy hell, how is your hair that soft??" you exclaimed, loudly enough to turn heads in your direction. Before he could consider responding, you had begun running your fingers through his hair, your fingers brushing against the back of his neck.
It had been literal centuries since anyone had touched Loki's hair. So long, in fact, that he couldn't remember the last person who had. Likely his mother, he suspected. But the simple, gentle threading of your fingers through his dark locks sent a wave of chills down his spine. He was trapped between the complete shell shock that you would even consider touching his hair and the innate desire to melt back into his chair in contented bliss.
And you - you damned perceptive mortal - you noticed.
"I've gotta say, Loki - I'm actually kind of jealous," you continued, a sudden teasing edge to your tone as you continued to twirl his hair around your fingers. "Maybe one of these days you'll need to share your hair care regimen with me. Or is that a well-kept secret?"
"Hmmph." Gods you had him unfathomably flustered, his silver tongue tied in a knot weighing heavy in his throat while he tried desperately to come up with a coherent thought. The moment he managed to collect a sentence-worth of words in his mind, they were completely scattered as your fingers brushed against the hair just behind his ear, eliciting a visible shiver.
"Wow. She managed to silence him," Barton observed in shock from across the room.
"If I'd known that was all it took, I'd have tried it myself," Stark quipped.
With that, Loki finally snapped out of the hypnotic trance you'd had him under, rising swiftly to his feet and whirling around to look at you. The grin on your face appeared so innocent, and yet your eyes told a different story. They sparkled with the amusement of seeing that dusting of color that was surely adorning his heated cheeks at that moment. Holding up one finger, he opened his mouth to say something, quickly closing it again when he realized he had no words queued up in his throat. Instead, he swiped his book up off the arm of the chair, striding regally out of the room in a failed attempt to try to appear less flustered than he actually was.
Oh... she may have won the battle, but she's yet to win the war, he thought to himself, as he sought refuge in his own room.
* * *
Loki left you alone for days after that incident.
You weren't daft enough to believe he'd given up. If there was one thing you'd learned about your mischievous friend, it was that he refused to lose. It was more likely that he was, yet again, biding his time until he could come up with something that would completely set your face on fire.
Meanwhile, you continued brainstorming, yourself. The only way to beat Loki was going to be to find something that absolutely floored him. It had to be something so overwhelmingly flustering that he wouldn't dare to try to fight back for fear of a repeat incident. You were probably just as stubborn as he was. No way were you losing this little game without a fight.
What happened next made you reconsider your resiliency.
You'd woken up a couple hours earlier than usual that morning. Bucky had been hounding you for weeks about going for an early morning run with him, and you'd finally promised the night before that you'd go the next day, just to get him to stop asking. You knew he meant well - he was just trying to be a good mentor, getting you to step out of your comfort zone and work at things you weren't good at. And running... well, that was definitely not your strong suit. It made sense for you to train with him - you just wished it weren't so damned early in the morning.
Groggily, you threw on a tank top and a set of jogging pants, draping your sweatshirt over your shoulder and lacing up your sneakers. You threw your hair up in a messy pony tail high on your head just to keep it off your neck when you inevitably began to sweat bullets. Slipping in your headphones, you began sleepily scrolling through the music on your phone as you exited your bedroom and shut the door behind you, gazing at the screen as you began to pace down the hallway.
You didn't make it very far.
Barely one step, and you collided with something... someone... very solid. Your eyes flitted up from your phone screen as slurred apologies started to spill from your lips, until you realized who was standing in front of you.
Of course it was Loki. Normally you'd have started making a snide comment about the fact that he should watch where he was going, but your grumblings were cut off by your own flustered squeak of surprise as the sight of Loki wearing nothing but a towel around his hips registered in your sleep-deprived brain.
"Loki!" you squealed, throwing your hands up to cover your eyes.
"Yes?" His tone was even, calm, as though this were a totally normal thing for you to be seeing.
"W-why... what..." You couldn't help but peer at him through your fingers, your curiosity beating out your mortified embarrassment.
Gods, have mercy.
You weren't certain you'd even seen him wearing short sleeves before. It was only natural that the sight of his toned bare chest set alarm bells off in your brain. He wasn't the brawniest of beings, but it suited you just fine - those rippling abdominal muscles were more than enough.
"You're staring."
The teasing tone of his voice brought back your flustered agitation. Your hands dropped from your face, a scowl forming on your features as you took the slightest step backward.
"You... you... ugh. Loki, this is low even for you!" you hissed, glancing around frantically to make sure no one else was wandering about this early in the morning. His eyebrows shot up his forehead.
"You think I ran into you like this on purpose?"
"Oh, don't you try to tell me otherwise, you liar! Gods, Loki..." You slid your fingers over your hair to try to calm yourself, unable to avert your eyes from the scene in front of you. "Don't you think standing outside my door nearly nude is a bit too much?"
"I wasn't trying to get back at you," he insisted. "My shower is broken, Stark told me it would be three days before he could get it fixed, and I decided to use Thor's."
"So you wander around almost naked in the hallway afterward??"
"I wasn't aware anyone else would be up at this hour." A smirk crossed his lips. "And you seem to be quite focused on the amount of clothing I have on."
"Ugh! Loki, you ass!" you hissed, swatting at him and realizing too late that you were striking his bare chest. You pulled your hand back to your body as if you'd burned it, blazing heat rising in your cheeks. This only served to fuel Loki's mischievous mood.
"You appear flustered, princess." He took a step toward you, and you took a matching step backward toward your room. "Why might that be?"
"Are you simply not accustomed to seeing this much of a god?" he continued, gesturing to his bare torso as he stepped even closer. You'd forgotten you shut your bedroom door until your back met the wood, heart beating rapidly in your chest as Loki trapped you against the door. He placed one palm against the wall beside the doorframe on one side, leaning in closer while his other hand held tight to the towel to keep it from falling from his hips.
"I understand, darling. It can be overwhelming."
He stepped back, removing his hand from the wall and shooting you a seductive wink before heading on his way to his room. You stood motionless against the door for a moment, waiting for the buzzing in your ears to vanish.
And you most definitely didn't watch his bare, muscle-clad back as he retreated down the hallway.
“Did you do a warmup workout or something?” Bucky asked as you arrived in the lobby of the tower to meet him ten minutes late. “You look sweaty already.”
“Shut up and let’s go,” you mumbled, striding past him to walk out the door. You were not about to explain to him what just happened.
The image of Loki half-nude was hot-ironed in your brain for the entire run. Luckily, Bucky wasn’t much of a talker while he exercised, so you didn’t have to fumble through idle small talk while trying to rid yourself of the image. The one benefit, you supposed, was that you weren’t focused on the burning in your lungs as you ran through the city.
When you returned home, you had finally managed to quell the intense embarrassment in your mind. You headed to the kitchen with Bucky to grab a bite of breakfast, stopping short in the doorway when your gaze met Loki’s where he sat at the table drinking tea. Fully clothed, at least.
“Good morning,” he hummed, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as the internal turmoil in your brain began to manifest on your face. That image that you’d worked so hard to file away in the back of your mind (because lord knew you weren’t going to forget it completely anytime soon) popped right back up in your head as Loki shot you a wink across the room.
Without thinking much about what Bucky might think, you spun on your heel and walked right back out without a word. You needed a cold shower more than you needed breakfast right now.
It was a solid week before you could be in the same room as the trickster god without completely losing your cool. He reveled in the fact that he could make your face burn and your heart race with just a look from across the room. There was no need to say anything - he knew you were thinking about exactly what he wanted you to think.
This whole back-and-forth between you and the God of Mischief was starting to become rather heated. Granted, a part of you deep down felt privileged to have seen his impressive physique that he normally kept hidden under layers of leather armor. But damn him for making a scene out of teasing you for your obvious appreciation for the view.
No question about it - you simply had to step up your game.
Which is how you found yourself willingly watching that cursed show Wanda loved so much, pretending to be giving it a shot but in reality simply seeking pointers for how you might be able to fluster your impish opponent into oblivion.
As much as you hated this show, you had to admit it was giving you an excuse to ask Wanda for advice without actually asking her. You just had to complain about the show enough to argue her points with you. For example, in this particular episode, Maria, the lead female character, was flirting shamelessly with Daniel ("hot guy," as Wanda referred to him) in the break room of the office they worked in together. It was no secret they had a thing for each other, but Daniel was unwilling to admit it and Maria was sick of waiting. So, she took it upon herself to try to force his hand.
"Honestly, Wanda - do you think someone could get a guy that nervous just by touching the side of their head?" you groaned.
"You say it like she's just patting his head like a dog," she retorted. "In my experience, the placement is key. Vis is a sucker for when I brush my fingers along the skin behind his ear."
You glanced at her in surprise. "Really? I didn't realize he could even feel it."
"He's a very sophisticated android," she boasted with a grin. "Anyway, if you're trying to prove your theory that this show is overdramatic, you're going to have to keep trying. I could easily drag Vision in here and prove it to you."
"No way! He'll do whatever you tell him to do. That's basically cheating."
As if on cue, Loki suddenly appeared in the common room, seemingly planning to cut through to the opposite hallway. You made a split second decision and leapt to your feet.
"Loki! Come here for a second." Your fingers closed around his forearm as he walked past, startling him.
"Wanda and I need to settle something, and we need your help."
Loki's head tilted in bewildered confusion at your sudden willingness - and not only that, but your sudden desire - to get his attention. You'd spent the last week and a half avoiding him almost entirely, waiting for him to become bored with shooting you subtle winks across the room in an effort to remind you of the hallway incident. Surely he would deduce quickly that you had a trick planned for him. You had to act fast.
You reached out and grasped his other forearm, positioning him directly in front of you with a gentle twisting motion.
“Wanda thinks guys get worked up about this, but I disagree.”
His brows lifted from his eyes. “About what, exactly?”
“This.” You lifted your hand and slid it up along the side of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, thumb resting just along the tip of his ear. For good measure, you stepped closer so your body was only inches from his, tilting your chin upward to gaze into his eyes.
Oh, it worked like a charm.
You heard Loki’s breath hitch in his chest, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. For a moment, his gaze flitted down to your lips. That lovely rosy shade graced his pale cheekbones as his own lips parted slightly. Possibly trying to come up with something to say. Or, perhaps he was considering the real possibility of actually kissing you.
In any case, you smirked up at him and pulled away, your eyes still locked on his as you took a step back.
"Alright, I'll give you that one, Wanda. It works."
The range of emotions that passed over Loki's face in a matter of seconds was astounding. His mouth curled into a somewhat disappointed-looking frown, his brow furrowed. Quickly, that dark brow of his became heavier as a scowl clouded his features. Almost as swiftly as it had appeared, it was replaced once again by a sly, cunning smirk that made your stomach flip.
"Perhaps," he hummed. "But, I would argue there are better ways to drive someone mad with desire."
"Quite simple, really." He stepped closer, closing the distance you'd put between the pair of you, as his hand raised to brush along the skin under your jaw, coming to rest just below your ear. "To touch a lover with one hand along the jaw, around the ear, behind the neck, is innocent. But, add a second point of control..." His free hand suddenly gripped your waist, fingers wrapping around to the small of your back to tug your hips closer to himself, nearly making you squeak in surprise. "... and you'll find that you can assert a sense of power over them."
You could slice the tension between you with a knife as he leaned his head down closer, pausing just inches away from your own face. Your tongue slid out subconsciously to wet your lips, and you found yourself transfixed on the kaleidoscopic blue-green eyes in front of you. Those soft-looking lips of his curled up into a self-assured smirk, and he suddenly ducked down so his mouth was directly beside your ear.
"Two can play at this game, princess."
Leaning back, his hands fell from your waist and your jaw to his sides before backing away from you. The sense of loss you felt without his touch was both startling and devastating. And, worst of all, you knew he knew what he'd done to you. Not just because you could light a match right now if you touched it to your cheek, but because his eyes danced with mischievous pride.
"What are your thoughts, Maximoff?" he asked, adding insult to injury by engaging your friend in this tête-à-tête.
"I mean, both seemed pretty effective... either way, I feel like I win," she responded with a grin. Loki rolled his eyes.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I was in the middle of something before you so rudely interrupted." He turned and continued on his way, leaving you standing there like a statue etched in marble, unmoving.
"I still think it's you that believes he's a gift from the gods," she teased, nudging you with her elbow as she returned to her seat on the sofa. "You still gonna watch the show with me?"
Grunting in frustration, you plunked yourself down on the sofa beside Wanda. There was no trying to pay attention to the terrible show now that your mind had wandered elsewhere.
* * *
Despite the fact that Loki had gotten the last laugh, he was still irked by your most recent ploy to get under his skin.
No mortal had succeeded in making him feel the way you did. Making him freeze up like that, and in front of another mortal, no less. You were getting dangerously close to realizing the degree of power you held over him, and he couldn’t allow it.
He had to find a way to claim victory in this little blushing war once and for all.
Loki observed you closely over the following days, seeking out any sort of behavior that might lead him to discover your weakness. Surely there was something that he could tease out about you that would suffice as leverage to end this little charade. He just had to determine what it was.
It was a few nights later that he learned of your ultimate weakness.
That evening, there were no specific plans to gather together as a team, but many of the tower inhabitants were lazing in the common room involved in various conversations or activities. Loki, as usual, kept to himself with a novel spread open in his hands, although he wasn’t really paying much attention to it. It was merely a ruse, a decoy to make himself look busy while he observed you making casual conversation with Clint and Vision.
A heavy sigh drew the attention of the room as Wanda entered. The witch looked exhausted as she shuffled in and sat down on the sofa next to Vision, leaning on his shoulder. He slid his arm around her, pulling her gently into his side.
"What's the matter, dear?" he asked gently.
"I made the mistake of asking Nat to train with me today," she groaned. A chorus of 'ah' and 'ouch' filled the room after that. The team was well acquainted with Nat's training style. Lacking superhuman powers, she more than made up for it with her dedication and hard work. Even some of the guys on the team had trouble keeping up with her during her workouts.
"See, now, I stopped making that mistake years ago," Clint noted, grimacing at the memory. "It was well worth the months of teasing after I told her no more workouts together."
"Might be a little more spry if you stuck with it though, Legolas," Tony quipped, earning a glare from the archer.
"No, I can see where he's coming from after today... My back is already aching, and it's only been an hour since we finished." Wanda reached behind her and grasped what must have been a sore spot on her back.
"Would it help if I gave you a massage, darling?" Vision asked. Her eyes lit up.
"Would you? That would be amazing."
Most of the others in the room had gone back to their own conversations by this point. Loki had ultimately returned to reading when he realized he wasn’t getting anything of use from your interactions, though he had the ability to observe and listen while he simultaneously skimmed the pages of his book. He noted that your attention was divided between watching Thor, Peter, Tony, and Bruce playing some video game on the television (rather rambunctiously, of course) and glancing at Wanda and Vision as he kneaded the tension from her shoulders. He couldn't be certain, but he thought maybe he detected a hint of jealousy in your expression. It had been quite some time since he'd seen you interact with anyone physically in such a manner... come to think of it, he'd never actually seen you allowing someone to rub your back like Vision was doing for Wanda at this moment. Perhaps that would be the key to getting you back, but he would need to observe a bit longer first.
Vision's hands slid lower down to massage the muscles in Wanda's lower back. She suddenly made an odd squeaking sound, arching forward away from his touch.
"Did I hurt you, darling?"
"No..." Wanda suddenly appeared sheepish. "You just tickled me, is all."
"I see. Are you feeling better?" Vision asked.
"Much better, thank you."
"I'm glad to hear it." A small smirk formed on Vision's face, just before he started kneading his fingers into Wanda's sides where his hands rested. Wanda burst into giggles, squirming as he tickled her more intentionally.
"Vis! Wh-whahat are you dohoing?"
"As I understand it, the appropriate response when someone tells you they are ticklish is to try to tickle them," he explained casually.
"Who-haha-whoho told you thahat??"
"Mr. Stark, of course."
Wanda shot Tony a look, which he only barely acknowledged as he briefly glanced up from his game and shrugged.
"You can't tell me I'm wrong," Tony called from his seat across the room. Wanda groaned.
"I quite enjoy listening to you laugh," Vision stated, his hands crawling up her ribs as her giggles increased in volume. "I suppose I should have tried this sooner."
"Noho, I don't thihink so - VIS dohon't you dahare!!" Wanda moved to stand as Vision attempted to slip his fingers under her arms, but he caught her around the waist and pulled her back down onto the sofa beside him, trapping her against his chest.
"Now I have to, Wanda dear - I'm far too curious." There was a teasing air to his tone, which was quite unusual coming from the usually serious android. Holding her close, he slotted his hands up under her arms quite easily and wriggled his fingers into the spaces, throwing her into hysterics.
At this point, Loki finally glanced up from the pages of his book, hearing the sudden loud burst of laughter from across the room. His eyes strayed from Vision and Wanda over to where you sat in a nearby armchair. He was more than a bit surprised to see that your face had changed color completely, and you appeared to be fidgeting in your seat as you stared at the scene unfolding in front of you. Notably, your arms were stiff and pressed tightly to your sides, and you were somewhat curled into yourself as though trying to protect your own vulnerable areas.
What an interesting observation this was.
Wanda had stopped protesting, having succumbed to her own laughter. Vision must have recognized she was tiring, as he eased up and eventually stopped tickling her in favor of holding her close while she caught her breath.
"You... I... ugh. Damn you for being so innocent," she groaned, leaning her head back against Vision's shoulder. He leaned forward so he could catch her attention, pressing his lips to hers when she turned to look at him.
"Now, it's not really fair that you're an android and she's a human - clearly she's never going to be able to get you back," Clint griped in Wanda's defense. "Last I checked, robots aren't ticklish."
"Yes, this is true. However, Wanda does tease me quite often about other things. I am still learning quite a bit about everyday human life," he countered logically.
"Yeah, it doesn't have to go both ways, Katniss Everdeen," Tony called, having finished the current round of their game. "Just because she can't tickle him doesn't mean he can't tickle her."
"How is that fair??" Peter demanded.
"Oh, you're only on her side because you're ticklish too, kid," Tony argued, poking Peter's side.
"Hehey! Mr. Stark!"
As the team continued to banter about the subject, Loki kept subtly glancing at you to assess your reaction. It seemed that even conversing about tickling was making you squirm in your seat, the corner of your mouth twitching upward every so often as you obviously fought back a grin. Notably, you were silent throughout the entirety of the conversation. Normally, you would interject frequently in these team arguments, but it seemed you were biting your tongue in this case.
Oh, this was absolute gold.
Eventually, the conversation progressed to another topic, and you visibly relaxed in your seat. Suddenly, Loki noted you were much more willing to participate in the discussion. That confirmed his suspicions: you were exceedingly flustered by even the mention of tickling. He could only imagine how flustered you'd be if he threatened to tickle you in front of the others.
He left you alone that evening, mulling over the best method of approach. It would be best if he caught you unawares - you didn’t seem to have noticed his watching you, and so you likely had no idea that he had come to this conclusion. Perhaps he would file this fantastic little piece of information about you into the back of his mind, ready to pull it out the next time you attempted to fluster him. It was only a matter of time, after all.
The opportunity fell into his lap - quite literally - a few days later.
Stark had just recently renovated the recreation room to add a fancy table and plush chairs for board games or card games. He was hoping to play a game of poker, but Peter asked to join and Stark insisted the kid was too young to be gambling despite his protests. So instead, he allowed Peter to choose a game. By this point, Thor had already roped Loki into playing, and so he had no opportunity to back out when Peter decided to play Monopoly, of all things.
This was going to be a long evening.
Seven people joined in, but only six chairs were present. Wanda simply took a seat in Vision’s lap, offering to play as a team. Peter began laying out the board and passing out the money to get ready to start the game.
“Room for one more?”
Loki turned to find you standing in the doorway. Stark responded to you before anyone else could.
“Good luck finding a seat.”
“Tony! Why would you only get six chairs? There’s more than double that many people living in the tower.”
“Hey! It’s a work in progress, alright? Besides, I didn’t anticipate playing team Monopoly in here with more than six players,” he retorted, rolling his eyes.
Your eyes fell on Wanda, seated comfortably in Vision’s lap, then skimmed along the table until your gaze rested on Loki. A flash of mischief sparked in your eyes, which normally would make him proud to see he was succeeding in corrupting you with his ways, but he was well aware that mischievous smirk was directed at him.
Sure enough, you strode into the room, heading directly to where Loki sat and parking yourself unceremoniously in his lap.
“It’s alright. I’ll just play on Loki’s team.”
Eyebrows raised around the table, but no one said a word. Despite that Loki had anticipated this the moment you walked in, he couldn’t help but feel a bit sheepish with you seated on top of him. You damned, cunning mortal, knowing exactly how to get to him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he muttered in your ear. You turned your head to look at him, your face unnervingly close to his.
“I needed a seat. This was the best I could do.”
He didn’t bother with a retort, as Thor started the game with a roll of the dice. Participants chattered animatedly between their turns as they sipped their adult beverages (except Peter, of course, who was perfectly content with his soda). Even you participated casually in conversation with the others, as if it was having absolutely no effect on you whatsoever that you were seated on the God of Mischief's thighs. He had no idea what to do with his hands, so they rested beside his legs against the seat of the chair in the narrow space available on each side. Each time he thought he was getting past the flustering feeling of having you seated in his lap, you shifted your weight a bit, or turned and shot him a sly look out of the corner of your eye, and a fresh wave of heat rose in his face.
Suddenly, across the table, Wanda had begun giggling and squirming in Vision's arms as he skittered his fingers along her sides. It was unclear what provoked the android - perhaps he simply wanted to hear her laugh - but in any case there she was, half-heartedly shoving at his hands as they crawled up her ribs.
And you immediately stiffened.
What wonderful timing this is, Loki thought to himself. He had you trapped, and it was all your own doing. You had nowhere else to sit unless you wanted to perch yourself on someone else's lap, and you had declared that you were on Loki's 'team' from the start of the game anyhow. If you got up now, you'd cause a scene.
He was definitely going to have his fun with this.
Leaning forward slightly, he began to whisper in a low voice in your ear, quietly enough that no one else could hear him speak.
"What's the matter, darling?"
You said nothing, simply turning your head to glance at him with what you probably hoped was a casually curious look on your face, but instead appeared more like a grimace. He tilted his head, urging you silently to provide an explanation without context for his question.
"Yo - mischief and mayhem - you're up," Tony urged, prompting you to whip your head back around to look at him. Loki was silent as you took the dice and made your roll, landing on a property that Clint already owned and handing over your fee without saying much of anything. In the meantime, Vision had stopped tickling Wanda, but she continued to squeak at random intervals when he'd poke or pinch her side teasingly. One particular poke to her lower ribs made you actually squirm a bit, which you tried unsuccessfully to disguise as shifting yourself to become more comfortable as you passed off the dice to Thor on your left.
"Something seems to be bothering you," Loki continued in your ear, making you stiffen the moment you heard his voice. "I might even go as far as to say... flustering you."
You turned enough to look at him, your own voice in a low whisper. "I don't know what you're talking about."
At that same moment, Wanda began giggling once again for a brief moment, and you swiftly rotated your head back to witness Vision scribbling at her belly. Loki took advantage of your renewed flustered state to lean a bit closer to your ear.
"I'm not a fool, darling. I know exactly what's got you blushing."
Again, your head swiveled to look at the god you'd chosen as your seat, but this time your eyes were ever so slightly wider than they normally appeared. He allowed a devilish smirk to spread across his face, knowing it would only serve to unnerve you.
"You do not."
Loki shrugged. "Believe what you want, princess."
Slowly, your head turned back to face the rest of the table. The tension you were feeling was plainly obvious - you were sitting as though a metal rod had been threaded through your spine, and your shoulders were pinned back and squared stiffly below your ears. Chuckling to himself, he decided to drop the bomb on you at last.
"You're ticklish, aren't you?"
If it were even possible, your muscles became more rigid at his confirmation that he knew exactly what was getting to you. Subtly, your arms moved to rest closer to your sides protectively. Notably, you didn't turn around to look at him this time.
"It's obvious, really," he continued, undeterred by the fact that you were no longer responding to him. "I suspected it the other day, when Vision learned of Wanda's ticklishness and decided to exploit it." He wasn't even touching you, and yet each time he said the word, you shifted a bit in your seat atop his lap. "You were acting exactly like this. Stiff as a board, arms lowered to cover your vulnerable spots, unwilling smile tugging at your lips." Loki let out a low, ominous laugh from deep in his throat. "Based on all of this, I've deduced you must be devastatingly ticklish. And the thought of someone exploiting it is making you incredibly flustered, isn't it?"
You were pointedly ignoring him now, taking a long sip of your wine and refusing not to respond to his teasing. It only egged him on further, knowing he was getting to you. If he'd provoked you into giving him the silent treatment already, he'd have you a blushing mess by the end of the evening.
By this point, the dice had been passed back around, and you silently took your turn. A quick purchase of a railroad, and the dice were passed on to Thor. Still, you remained facing forward, carefully avoiding leaning back against his chest with your arms pinned at your sides.
"You can't ignore me forever, darling," he hummed, slipping his hand up underneath the loose hooded sweatshirt you had chosen to wear this evening and resting his hand against your side just above your hip. The moment his hand made contact with the thin T-shirt you wore beneath your sweatshirt, your own hand shot down and grabbed hold of his through the heavier fabric of your outerwear. "Now, now, darling. You wouldn't want to cause a scene, would you?"
"You're the one causing a scene," you hissed, your head pivoting to give him the side-eye.
"Might I remind you that you selected your own seat. Regretting it now, I'm certain."
Huffing through your nose, you turned to look at the others. He could sense what was going through your mind at this moment. You were weighing your options - trying to decide if creating a scene now about finding another chair to sit in (likely from another room in the tower at this point) was worth the avoidance of the inevitable torment Loki was about to inflict upon you. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place. No matter what choice you made, there would be a scene. Unless, of course, you managed to contain your reactions.
With a nearly inaudible sigh, you adjusted yourself to sit more comfortably, leaning back a bit against Loki's chest and resigning yourself to your fate. Chuckling, he lifted some of the weight from his hand at your waist, still hidden from view of the others under your sweatshirt.
"Let's test my theory then, shall we?"
The gasp that came from your chest when he pinched at your side ever so gently was, fortunately for you, buried by the annoyed groaning of Peter as he landed on Thor's property.
"It seems I was correct. Devastatingly ticklish."
The dice were passed on to Wanda, who rolled for her turn as Loki began gently kneading into the pliant skin of your side where his hand rested. It amused him, the way your muscles tensed under his ticklish touch almost immediately, and yet you refused to turn around and scold him for fear of the others figuring out what was going on. You couldn't squirm, you couldn't laugh... you couldn't even allow the sensation to affect your facial expression if you truly wanted to keep this a secret.
Loki gave you a reprieve when the dice were passed over to you for your turn. You nearly missed the fact that Tony was holding them out for you to take, despite the fact that you were staring straight at his hand. Loki laughed under his breath, and you reached down with your free hand and pinched a small spot on his knee to let him know you didn't appreciate his laughing at you. In retaliation, he slid his hand down just a bit to scratch at your hip as you shook the dice in your hand. You threw them down against the board with more force than necessary, arching the slightest bit sideways away from his tickling fingers.
"Wow. Not even losing and you're being a sore loser already?" Tony quipped.
"N-no, it's not th- ahem - it's not that." It was clearly straining you to withhold your laughter, one of your hands dropping down to squeeze his hand through your sweatshirt in a feeble attempt to make him stop while you quickly moved your piece the allotted number of spaces on the dice. Your sigh of relief was audible this time when you landed on your own property, handing the dice off to Thor.
"You seem twitchy, there, mayhem. You alright?"
"Yep! Just- er, trying to d-decide if I want to get up and get another drink."
Loki was finding this quite entertaining, keeping you guessing by allowing his fingers to still against your T-shirt before suddenly starting up again, squeezing his way agonizingly slowly up your side toward your lower ribs. The moment his fingers reached the solid bone at the bottom of your ribcage, you suddenly slid off his lap and announced that you were going to refill your wine glass, scurrying out of the room.
"Er... she forgot her glass," Peter observed with a puzzled look. Grinning, Loki picked it up off the table and rose to his feet.
"She's rather frazzled tonight, I'm afraid. I'll bring it to her." With that, he stepped out of the room and followed the path you'd taken down the hall to the lounge.
He found you standing there alone, your fingers laced through your hair atop your head as you released a slow breath, your brightly colored cheeks puffed out. The moment you became aware of his presence, you shot him a frantic, wide-eyed glare.
"Loki!" you hissed, slamming your hands down onto your hips in an attempt to look condescending. "You absolute scoundrel!! What the hell?!"
"What's the matter, princess? Can't handle being flustered like this?" With a smirk, he added, "By the way - you forgot this."
You scowled, stepping forward to swipe the wine glass from his hand. "I'm finding another place to sit when we go back in there."
"Oh, but that would be a poor decision. The others would wonder why you suddenly want your own seat. After all, you were quite content with stealing my lap without asking."
With a groan, you stepped over to the bar, ripping the cork out of the half-emptied wine bottle sitting on the countertop. "What is it going to take for me to get you to stop?"
"Admit to me that I've won this little game. That I've succeeded in flustering you more than you ever could dream of flustering me in return. And then cease your attempts."
"No way!" you exclaimed, tilting the wine bottle over your glass to fill it with the burgundy-colored liquid. "You haven't won this yet!"
"Then I'm afraid I can't promise you anything." His smirk broadened as he observed your face cloud over with frustration. "It would be simple to just admit defeat. Though, perhaps you're enjoying this more than you're letting on."
"Wh- what?? I- I don't-"
"Save it, darling. I won't believe a word anyway." With that, he turned and began walking back to the recreation room. Once he reached the doorway, he called over his shoulder to you, "Don't take too much longer. The others are already wondering what's gotten into you this evening."
He could feel the stinging burn of your glare as he left the room.
When you'd returned with your full glass a few moments later, you hesitantly stepped over to stand beside the table, placing your glass on the surface. You made no move to sit down in Loki's lap again. He looked up at you with a sickly sweet smile, holding out an arm to offer you space to sit down.
"I'm going to stand for a bit," you mumbled.
"No need to be shy, darling - you've been sitting on me this entire evening." Without waiting for you to move, he reached up and grasped your hips, tugging to bring you crashing down into his lap once again with a squeak.
"You ass," you whispered, reluctantly shifting to face forward as you had been before.
"I offered you an out. You chose not to take it." He grinned. "You must know there are consequences. Or, perhaps you were hoping there would be?”
You couldn’t respond without drawing the other’s attention, as it was your turn once again. As quickly as possible, you rolled and moved your piece before sliding the dice over to Thor, folding your arms across your belly and trying to appear nonchalant despite your obvious frantic desire to be done with your turn. With a snicker, Loki slipped his hand up beneath your sweatshirt once again, the contact making you flinch and then relax a bit when you realized he wasn't tickling you yet. He allowed his hand to slide slowly up toward your ribs, reveling in the obvious nervous energy radiating off of you as his palm glided up your side.
"Suppose I seek out your weakest spot and exploit it... right... here," he breathed in your ear, scratching lightly along your lowest rib with just two fingers. You folded sideways the slightest bit in reaction to his touch, stopping yourself with obvious difficulty and straightening your back. While Loki couldn't see your face, he could see the subtle twitch of your jaw as you grappled with your internal instinct to react. "I wonder how long it would take to break your resolve once I find it. I'm sure the others would find it quite entertaining, watching me tickle you senseless."
"You're up again, mayhem," Stark sang, passing you the dice. The startled jerk of your head told Loki you again weren't paying any attention to the game, taking the dice and rolling for your turn. Cautious not to lift your arm too far from your side, you picked up your piece to move around the board. Still, Loki took advantage of the sudden reduction in protection of your ribs, spidering his fingers up to the middle of your ribcage beneath your sweatshirt. He felt your ribs expand outward as you sucked in a sharp breath, quickly moving your piece to the designated space and lowering your arm to your side as casually as you could muster.
"You passed go! Aren't you going to grab your two hundred dollars?" Peter asked excitedly.
"Yes, darling - don't leave money on the table, now. Go on and take the two hundred dollars," Loki concurred, eyeing the bank money sitting across the table. Your hand wrapped around his knee and squeezed harshly, acutely aware of what he was plotting. A few rapid squeezes to your ribcage were enough to let you know he wasn't backing down on this.
And you, you clever little minx, you reached out with your other hand to grab the money, keeping the arm that was blocking his access to your upper ribs firmly pressed to your side.
Oh, he wasn't having that.
While the others were distracted with their own conversations and with watching Thor take his turn, Loki swiftly slid his other hand up beneath your sweatshirt on the other side, bracing his thumb against your shoulder blade while his four fingers tickled the soft skin beneath your arm just below the hem of your short sleeve. There was a clearly audible squeak this time as your arm clamped down to your side, your Monopoly money crumpled in your fist. The squirming you'd done so well to hide was beginning to overcome you as you reacted to his fingers still wriggling into your underarm.
"Ah... might I have found it?" Loki whispered teasingly. You were starting to actually tremble with the effort of withholding your laughter. The small part of your face that Loki could see was vivid, the corner of your mouth twitching upward of its own accord. "This must be unbearable, darling. I have you completely at my mercy, and there's nothing you can do but submit to it." He punctuated his taunt by sliding his other hand around to your belly, scratching firmly with all five fingers just above your waistline. Whether it was this spot or the combination of the two that broke you, he wasn't certain, but you suddenly broke out in a desperate stream of giggles.
"What's so funny?" Thor asked quizzically.
"H-he... ahah... he tohold me a johoke!" you fibbed, doubling over as he increased the pressure of his scratching at your belly.
"Mm, yes, it was hilarious," Loki stated sarcastically, pausing his tickling fingers under your arm in an attempt to determine whether he'd discovered a weaker spot on your belly.
"Really? What was it?" Thor asked enthusiastically, gazing expectantly at you. Loki allowed his fingers to rest, unmoving, against your belly, endlessly entertained by the fact that you now had to come up with a joke to maintain your lie.
"It... it was..."
"Go on, darling, tell them the joke," Loki urged, prodding his fingers into the soft spot below your navel.
"HA! I... Sorry, it's just... it's fuhuhunny!!" You burst into giggles once again as he clawed at the center of your belly for just a moment.
"Are you sure you're ok? You're acting really weird," Clint observed, frowning with his brow furrowed in confusion. You nodded rapidly, your hands shifting to grasp what would look like your belly to the others, but really was Loki's hand in an attempt to keep it still for just a minute so you could think straight.
"Too much wine, I suspect," Loki tutted, shifting a bit so he could sneak his other hand down from under your arm to tickle the taut skin directly below your ribcage.
"I-hi dihid NOHOT have too muhuch wine!!" you scolded through louder laughter. Smirking, he started up again with his other hand. And finally, he broke you. "PSHH-AH-HA-HE'S TICKLING MEHEHE!!"
"I knew it!!" Wanda exclaimed triumphantly.
Now that you weren't attempting to hide it anymore, you were suddenly writhing in Loki's arms to try to evade his fingers. The abrupt change in your effort to fight for freedom allowed you to slip out of his grasp, sliding off his lap and stumbling to put distance between the pair of you. There was a bright, ticklish grin spread wide across your face that made his heart skip unexpectedly.
"You think I'm finished with you just because you've told them the truth?" he asked ominously, rising to his feet. With a squeak, you held your hands out in front of you protectively, taking a step backward.
"Loki - that's not... how is this fahair??"
"Darling, you can drop the act. You and I both know you don't mind this as much as you pretend you do."
"Shut up," you grumbled.
"That's cute," Tony teased, earning a sharp glare. Your attention quickly snapped back to Loki as he took a powerful stride toward you.
"Are you going to run? Or shall we do this here?" he queried. With a whine, you pivoted on your heel and sprinted out of the room. Sighing, Loki began pacing after you at a non-urgent speed.
"Brother! Don't kill the poor mortal," Thor called after him.
It didn't take Loki very much time to catch up to you. Predictably, you'd sprinted back to the lounge, glancing around wildly for a place to hide. Without a word, Loki wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, eliciting a startled squeak that was rapidly replaced by hysterical laughter when his fingers dug into your ribs.
"Preparing to threaten me, now? That would be unwise," he warned, his fingers working their way up toward your underarms. You clamped your arms down hard to your sides, stumbling forward as your struggle for freedom tipped you off-balance. Loki followed along with you, gradually marching you toward the wall on one side of the room. When he'd walked you close enough, he relented in his attack on your ribs in favor of grappling for your wrists, managing to catch hold of one of them and roughly spinning you around with a hand on your opposite shoulder. His other hand closed on your free wrist, jerking your arms above your head and slamming your wrists against the wall, one overlapping the other.
"L-Loki..." Your eyes were wide as saucers as you met his gaze, his face only inches from yours as he pinned your arms over your head.
"Tell me, darling - do I make you nervous?" he asked, passing one wrist to his other hand to pin them both in one of his larger hands, freeing the other to wriggle his fingers in your field of vision. You giggled anxiously, shutting your eyes tight.
"I-hi hate yohou, you know thahat?" you groaned, the color in your cheeks intensifying.
"Mm, but you don't mean it."
As your mouth flew open to retort, his free hand slipped up beneath your sweatshirt and shot up to the now taut skin under your arms. A shrill shriek escaped your lips before you began to let out desperate laughter, twisting and thrashing to try to free your wrists from the wall, from his grasp. Loki was far stronger than you, and so it was simple for him to maintain his grip, even as his tickling fingers lightened to a barely-there touch against the bare skin just above the hem of your t-shirt sleeve that drove you into silent laughter. Only then did he let his fingers still against your skin, pausing a moment to simply gaze at you as you came down from your state of ticklish euphoria.
"You're quite ticklish, even for a mortal," Loki teased, feeling a sense of endearment as your giggles gradually faded.
"Y-you can let go now," you breathed, glaring through your impossibly wide smile.
"Suppose I don't want to?" he asked, leaning into his hold on your wrists. "Suppose I like you this way?"
"Oh-ho-ho is that right?" you giggled. His free hand slid firmly down your side, enough weight to avoid tickling you, before landing on your waist just above your hip. His grip on your wrists finally loosened in favor of sliding his hand around the back of your neck, tugging you away from the wall. "L-eheh-Loki, there's no one around for you to be trying to fluster me in front of," you observed, your voice suddenly quieter, as though becoming uncertain of yourself. That beautiful smile still hadn't left your lips.
"I think..." he breathed, leaning his head down to close the distance between your faces. "... I think it's time we end this little charade, once and for all, hmm?"
"What are you-"
"I'm tired of the games, darling." He was so close now that he could feel your soft breath on his lips. "We both know there's something more to us than just this little game of ours."
You remained silent for a moment, your lips slightly parted as your tongue slipped out to wet them, your eyes glazed. Then, you surged forward, capturing Loki's lips with yours.
Your lips were soft, a hint of wine on your tongue as you kissed him hungrily. Loki growled low in his throat when your fingers slid up into his hair, tugging gently at the nape of his neck. Your other arm wrapped tight around his waist, and he pulled you closer with a powerful tug at your hip to feel your body against his. It was frantic and passionate, and it was everything he hadn't realized he wanted so badly these past few months.
As he pulled away, he drew your bottom lip between his teeth gently before separating his mouth from yours. There was a hazy look in your eyes that made his heart swell, knowing he was the cause. They flitted down to gaze at the floor for a moment, an almost shy expression on your face.
"That... that thing you do? The, the... 'two points of control?' Yeah, that's pretty damn effective," you breathed, drawing a laugh from Loki's chest.
"I'm certain I can come up with a number of ways to fluster you, if you'll allow it," he growled, pressing his lips to yours once again for just a moment. You grinned at him, a sly look in your eyes.
"Do your worst, my prince."
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theshelbyclan · a month ago
Summary: You’ve accidentally snitched on your brothers and now that Polly is furious, you have to deal with the consequences
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(gif by @mistress-gif​)
A/N: For my 4k celebration I finally got round to this request. My previous fic Family Secrets was such fun to write, all fluff, and now a sweet anon requested: Hi, if I could request a fic, could you do one similar tickle Shelby sister one like family secrets? Maybe the sister could snitch or do something to John/Tommy and she gets tickled? If not it’s fine xx I could never turn down something this wholesome and I hope you like it!! This is nothing but fluff and childish brothers, entirely based on my own annoying siblings  Words: 4301
On one bright sunny morning down in Small Heath, you were watching your brothers work in the betting shop. Being their sister of sixteen now, you were no longer the family baby, though they often still treated you this way. So many times you’d longed to grow up quicker, just so they would allow you a bit more freedom, but now you often missed those old days. The days of sleeping outside together or piled together on a narrowboat. You often dreamed of how the boys were before the war, back when they still played and laughed. But those days were long gone now. 
Tommy beckoned you over and handed you some papers to look over. He asked, “Have you heard of this one?”
“The foal?” It wasn’t unusual for him to ask your advice on horses. You spend more time over at Charlie’s yard than any of the siblings and you’d grown up riding. So, you frowned and asked, “What do we need a foal for?” “I want to train her,” Tommy said pensively, “But I need to know if you know the stallion?” “Oh yeah, I’ve heard of him. Fucking hell, Tommy, what does this foal cost?” He pointed at a figure on the paper. “Fuck,” you breathed, and then, “Did you discuss this with Aunt Polly, because she’ll never let you spend this much money on the mere possibility of a racing horse.” “I’m not telling Polly just yet.” You eyed him but decided to move on, “Wait a second, isn’t this the horse that made all the headlines? This heiress of some kind who was left the stallion in some will, but it was attested or something?” “Yes.” You fixed him with a gaze once again, waiting for him to explain. “I know the heiress,” he finally said, with a wave of his hand. “You know the heiress…” “I know the heiress, yes.” “Oh,” and you rolled your eyes, “So, she’s selling you the horse.” “Not quite, I’ll need to steal it first.” “What, the horse or the woman?” you joked, but he didn’t seem to share in the fun. So, you said, “Fine, but this is bound to end in tears.” “Just let me do the thinking, eh Y/N? Me and John have got it all worked out.”   You sighed again, “Whatever happened to family meetings, Thomas?” He shrugged and gathered up the papers, “You sound just like your aunt.” “Thank you. I’ll tell her.” “Wait,” Tommy stopped you as you turned to leave, “Don’t tell her about this. Not yet.” “Fine,” you sulked, already bored with this day.
*** Polly Gray’s voice boomed through the house the very next day. You’d been asleep, but you sat bolt-right up in bed at the sound. Only then you realised she wasn’t calling for you; she was calling for your brothers.
You listened intently as they dragged their feet towards the kitchen. The truth was, you always enjoyed it when they got scolded, it was a sibling thing, so you silently crept down the stairs and watched through the banister. “What the hell is this I’ve heard?” your aunt sounded incredibly angry, “Why the fuck did the two of you think you could pull a stunt like this without informing me!” John whimpered and becameshorter on the spot, but protested with, “It’s not like we took the foal yet. We’ve only just made contact.” This earned him a smack around the head and Aunt Polly bit, “No, you only let your brother fuck for the cause.” “Well, he’s good at that…” John whispered, rubbing his sore head. “Polly,” Tommy held up a hand in an attempt to soothe things, “It’s a good plan. We just need you to agree to…” Tommy was on the receiving end of the next slap, and you smirked in the dark. “There’s no point in me agreeing now, is there!” she snapped, “It’s done. If we back out now, we’ll have half of the lords and ladies of fucking England on our backs! And unless you plan to fuck them all, Thomas, we’ve no choice.” And out of pure irritation, she smacked him again. You, meanwhile, held a hand to your mouth to stop the giggles from pouring out. It really was good fun to be just the spectator for once. “Pol, we didn’t plan on hiding it from you…” “No?” she had her hands on her hips now, which was never a good sign. Polly was like a mother to you: she’d raised you, praised you and scolded you all your life. And if you weren’t at least a little afraid of her when she was angry, you had no sense at all. She continued, “So why did I have to hear about the foal from Y/N?” You froze. And then you realised, you’d completely forgotten. Memories flooded back from breakfast when you sat at the table, chatting away with Ada about the races, and you may indeed have mentioned this foal in passing. You suddenly remembered Ada asking about the heiress and you calling Tommy a ‘man-whore’. Apparently, Polly had listened in, but not only that, she’d added two and two together.
As the scolding went on and a few more smacks were administered, you slowly made your way up the stairs again, deciding that would be in your best interest. You were almost at the top, when you heard Aunt Polly stomp away. For a few moments, you only listened. “How did she know?” you heard John ask. “I told fucking Y/N,” Tommy replied, darkly. You’d meant to sprint the last few steps back up to your room, but unfortunately, you tripped and slammed down into the stairs. Within seconds, your brothers were at the bottom of the stairs, looking menacingly up at you. “Hello,” you said, praying for some manner of escape. Much to your good fortune, Polly crashed back into the kitchen, glaring daggers at the boys as she walked on by. In those short moments, you fled, but behind you, Tommy called out, “Oh, you better run, Y/N!” *** The next few days, you tried your best not to be alone with either John or Tommy. Not quite sure just how mad they really were, you decided not to risk it. Still, you couldn’t help but think back to the both of them at the bottom of the stairs, where you’d been certain you’d seen a smile playing about Tommy’s lips. John was a lot easier in that sense; his mischievous nature was never far behind, but if Tommy really was angry, there’d be no chance. Either way, better not to be at their mercy. One afternoon, you were sitting in the front room with your Aunt Polly. When John and Tommy entered, you quickly looked away. Polly noticed at once however and immediately asked, “What’s going on?” “Nothing,” Tommy put on his best angelic face “Just need to have a word with Y/N, that’s all.” Aunt Polly got up to leave, but you tried to run after her, calling out, “No! I’ll come with you, Aunt Pol!” Again, she eyes the room suspiciously, “If there’s anything going on behind my back again, I’ll have all three of you. Don’t think just because you’re grown now, I won’t.” None of you even dared to think so, so all three Shelby siblings nodded obediently. And before there was anything you could do, you were left alone with John and Tommy in the front room.
Frantically, you let your eyes flit back and forth between both brothers. This was not a good situation to be in.
“I think we should punish the snitch,” Tommy growled, unusually playful. For a moment, you felt relief wash over you, recognizing the old Tommy again, but then you weren’t so sure if this really was in your favour.  
“What?’ you asked, with big eyes, “Why?” “You told Aunt Polly about the horse, didn’t you,” John continued, “You got us in trouble.” “What are you?” you joked, “Five?”
John stood leaning against the door, making sure you had nowhere to go if you planned on escaping, “Remember when we were kids,” he mused, “When she used to hide our caps and we used to chase her around the camp?” “Oh, I remember, she used to be a little devil.” “Yeah, but that was before,” you tried, “before you all got caught up in business and became boring.” “Boring, eh?” Tommy said sarcastically, “We became fucking boring, do you hear that, John? We became boring. Well, I’m guessing that’s the worst charge, eh?” “It is,” you said, decidedly. “Remember when we caught her and threw her into the canal, Tommy?” John grinned, “Polly beat us both.” “Yeah, but she always tried to run off,” he took one menacing step towards you, “Just like now,” because Tommy had most certainly noticed you eyeing all the exits. “If this is about the horse…” you started, but you didn’t get to finish your sentence.
You fell to the ground as John launched himself at you. Luckily, the rug provided for a soft drop. But the air was knocked from your lungs, having John and his full weight on top of you. As you clawed at your brother to no avail, John was giggling like a small child and you threw your head back in defeat, catching a glimpse of Tommy who had apparently decided not to do a thing about the situation. “Now what?” you asked him, as you fell still, because quite obviously, resistance was futile.
Tommy lifted one eyebrow and said, “Well, you’re the clever one, aren’t you? Little miss know-it-all? Get yourself out of this one.” Straining every muscle you had in you, you managed to wiggle your legs out from under John’s torso and tried to buck him off. For a second, your brother was lifted up into the air, but he was too heavy and immediately dropped back down again, managing to make you wheeze for a second time. So, you tried to pinch John, hard, and that worked. He called out and tried to move away, which gave you the opportunity to extract your arms and grab a chair. Using the chair, you then tried to pull yourself out from under him. Tommy, however, calmly picked up the chair and moved it out of the way. So, you stuck out your tongue at him and ground out, “Spoil sport.” “Am I?” he nodded, “Oh right, I’m the boring one.” “You could,” you groaned under the weight of one very childish brother, “you know, help?” “Help? Alright, I’ll help.” For a moment you saw the flicker of mischief in his eyes and then he jumped on top of you as well. You shouted out theatrically at the weight of a second, “Get ooooooooff!” “You said we were boring.” “You’re not boring, you’re behaving like fucking children!” you scolded. Full of satisfaction, John said from somewhere in the pile, “So maybe it’s you, Y/N, who’s the boring one? You’ve forgotten how we used to do this all the time.” You hadn’t forgotten. And you certainly hadn’t forgotten what would follow next, which made it all the more frustrating you couldn’t move an inch. “John, are you ready?” Tommy informed casually. “Ready!” “Nooooooo,” you protested in advance. John shouted out another battle cry by way of an answer. Seconds later, they both started tickling you and you actually screeched. It felt like a hundred hands were attacking you, instead of only four, and this indeed brought back all kinds of memories. You’d forgotten just how annoying they could be when they were in a playful mood, and on the one hand you enjoyed this immensely, on the other hand you regretted this immensely.
“Still think we’re boring, eh?” But you couldn’t answer, only giggle like an absolute maniac. At some point, you were quite sure you wouldn’t survive. John’s face was close to yours and a massive grin was plastered all over his face. He demanded, “Apologize for getting us in trouble!” Now that really took you back to all of you as kids. It had happened so many times that one, or all, of you had done something they weren’t allowed to do and, as good siblings do, tried to drag down the others with them. This would always have consequences, however. But there was no way you were apologizing. It was a matter of honour now. You managed to pull out a hand from the pile and grabbed the first tuft of hair you could find. The groaning that followed told you, you’d gotten hold of Tommy’s rogue locks. “Get her fucking hand, John,” he ordered his little brother, and at once John started tickling you more under your arms. You dissolved into another pit of laughter. The squirming pile of siblings managed to knock over quite a bit of furniture in the front room, but no one seemed to care. Suddenly, all three of you froze, when you heard Polly call out from the kitchen, “John!” John’s head shot up like a deer in headlights and he looked at Tommy, legs sticking up into the air, for advice.
Tommy called back, “John’s busy, Pol!” But his aunt wasn’t done yet, “Have you seen Y/N?” she called out. This time John replied, “She went out, Aunt Polly!” None of you dared to move and looked at each other one by one. Like a live painting, limbs all over the place, you’d been frozen in time and waited for what your aunt would do next. Then you heard footsteps and she was evidently approaching the front room. Tommy hissed at John, “Why the fuck did you tell her Y/N was out?” You all now knew you were going to have to explain this to an already aggravated matriarch. Unless, “Quick, hide her!” came John’s solution. Before you knew what was happening, two brothers lifted you up and stuffed you into the fancy cabinet against the wall. Sitting there, with the expensive plates and cutlery all around you, you watched through a crack as Aunt Polly marched into the room. John had quickly grabbed a book, holding it upside down, but pretended earnestly to read it. Tommy leaned up against the mantlepiece, smoking solemnly. The only thing that gave him away was a slight dishevelled look and bits of hair sticking in every direction imaginable. Tasting the atmosphere, she demanded, “What in the hell is going on here?” Tommy lifted one eyebrow and shrugged, “Working, Pol.” She didn’t believe him for a second, that much was obvious, and she looked around the room where none of the furniture was in their proper place anymore. Finally, she said, “Well, if you do see Y/N, tell her to come to me.” “Why?” John asked, always the one to ask question. “Because I told you so.”
After Aunt Polly had left again, Tommy told the cabinet, “You’re in trouble too now, Y/N.” “Why?” you sounded a little muffled coming from inside. You’d recognized her tone as well and it was quite clear you were in for a scolding, but you had honestly no idea what you’d done to deserve it this time. It had been so much more fun watching your brothers being on the receiving end of her temper. But that was concern for later, because judging by the silence on the other side of the door, your brothers weren’t done with you either. “Can’t stay in there forever,” Tommy commented dryly.
Can’t I? You thought about it for a second and looked around for some food in there, but there was nothing to be found. John seemed to sense your thoughts, “Ada’s eaten everything in there, Y/N, nothing but rats for you.” “Great, rats on both sides of the door,” you snapped. You surmised you had no other option but to run. So, you crouched down in the dark, suddenly slammed the door op and bolted. You managed to slip through John’s hands and sprinted towards the kitchen, hoping to God Polly wouldn’t be in there. Tommy called out behind you, “Go left, John-boy!” and you understood at once they planned to cut you off from both sides. There was only one thing left to do really, which was to gain the upper hand somehow. You scanned the kitchen for a weapon of some kind. There wasn’t much to work with, but you did find the infamous wooden spoon. Throwing it at Tommy, who dodged it calmly, you were now once again without any protection. For you second attempt, you held up an egg as a warning. “Put the egg down,” your brother held up a hand, “I’m warning you, Y/N, do not throw the fucking egg.” John didn’t even try to be scary anymore, he had too much fun playing, but he did say, “Polly will actually kill you if you throw the egg, you know that, right?” And then he made another dive at you, which made you throw the egg, which then hit him perfectly on the forehead. With a shout of glee, you tried to make another run for it. While John was wiping the egg of his face, Tommy was quicker this time and he grabbed you around your waist and threw you over his shoulder. The younger brother then proceeded pummelling you with all the eggs that were left. You tried to wiggle your way off the older brother’s shoulder, made a grab for some flower and covered Tommy with it. He spluttered a little, but his grip remained firm. The kitchen was in an absolute state within seconds.
Somehow, you’d worked yourself up and were now sort of balancing up top of Tommy. Then you caught a glimpse of his face, covered in flower, but you noticed the sheer joy that you saw in his eyes. And you stopped, and felt a warm sensations inside you hadn’t felt in years: happiness. This was it, you thought, we can still be like we were before the war. It’s rare and it’ll only last a few moments, but those amazing precious moments could still exist. Maybe they did too, but you had needed this so much the last couple of years. John interrupted your happy thoughts when he tried to lift you off of Tommy’s shoulder, but somehow underestimated how easy that would be, so the both of you landed on top of the kitchen table. It broke. Tommy sighed, “Polly’s not going to be happy when she hears you broke her table, Y/N.” “Oh, you wouldn’t dare,” you breathed, “there’s no way she’d believe it was just me, by the way, why would I break an actual table?” “Why should we?” you brother returned the question, “You’re the only child around here.”
“If you tell Polly I broke the table, I’ll tell John.” “Tell me what?” John’s head shot up, as he kicked away some pieces of wood from what was once your kitchen table. “Remember that wagon that burned down at the Lee camp?” you asked, sweetly. Tommy glared daggers at you, but John said, “Yeah, me and Arthur got the blame.” “Tommy burned it down,” and you quickly added, “And don’t think Polly’s forgotten about that either!” John turned to Tommy, “That was you? I thought it was bloody Arthur.” “Because I told her it was bloody Arthur,” Tommy replied. Then he turned to you, pointing finger and all, “Now, quite obviously you haven’t learned your lesson yet about being a snitch. Whatever happened to family loyalties, eh?” You shrugged, “Maybe I’m just loyal to Arthur.” Tommy Shelby, man feared by all, tried his most intimidating look on you. When it didn’t seem to do much, he called out, “Right! Into the canal, it is. John, take her legs.” You screamed again as you were being hoisted up into the air, though it was practically drowned out by John’s laughter. Chaos ensued once again and, in the end, Tommy had one of your legs, while John sort of carried your torso about. Your free leg you pulled back and you kicked Tommy hard in the chest. At once, he flew back and landed right on his arse. Both you and John burst out laughing. “Tommy, we’re never getting her to the canal like this,” your brother commented, while whipping the tears from his eyes. Tommy got up and he looked genuinely angry now. Any other person would be shitting themselves out of fear for what he might do. Any other person would start praying out loud. Any other person would quickly apologize and try to make a run for it. You were not any other person, you were his little sister, so you just continued laughing at him. It really was a funny sight, to see Tommy so dishevelled, but still trying to salvage some of his dignity. Within seconds, he was on top of you. He sat on your waist and took both of your hands in his, so much quicker than you had expected, and placing you in a hold you had no chance to get out of. You’d forgotten he could do that. Wide eyes, he ground out, “Respect, little sister. You need to learn some fucking respect.” “I’m sorry,” you said, cocky now, “Respect for what exactly? The brother covered in egg or the brother covered in flower?” Tommy sighed deeply, took both of your hands in one of his much bigger hands and dug his free hand into your stomach. For the second time, you were quickly screaming with laughter. He lowered down his face and whispered, “Apologize.” “For what?” you managed to get out in between giggles, “For being the only Shelby with a brain?” This didn’t help you much, as it only seemed to spur Tommy on. He started scribbling all over your ribs and soon, you weren’t able to say anything anymore, sassy or not. Then he paused for a second, mirth still visible in his eyes, and asked, “Want to try this again?” You sighed, exhausted already, and said, “I am sorry… I am sorry that you both are absolutely terrified of Aunt PolLY AND HER NOOOO!” He continued and left you with very little air. “John,” Tommy was now grinning broadly, “Take her arms,” and Tommy shot his evil fingers under your arms, which made your laughter go almost silent and you kicked your legs about, but to no avail. Tommy’s teeth blinked as he laughed with you, “Oh, little sister, you think you can be cocky with us, eh? With fucking us?”
Finally, feeling slightly desperate by your own ticklishness, you gave in, “Okay! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!!” But still, they wouldn’t let you go. He demanded, “Sorry for what?” “I’m sorry I told Aunt Polly about the horse,” you panted, “I didn’t mean to but it sort of slipped out? Either way, I’m sorry.” “And,” Tommy cracked his fingers as if to say: I can do this all day. You believed him too. You rolled your eyes, “I’m sorry I kicked you and made you fall on your arse. And I’m sorry I laughed at you because you looked hilarious, while falling on your arse. My bad.” “Still think I’m boring?” John asked, which made you wonder if you’d genuinely offended him by saying that. “No,” you spat, “but I do think you’re a mad bastard.” “I can live with that.” “What about me, eh?” the other one asked, still straddling your waist. John had let go of your arms and you smiled up at Tommy, deciding to be completely honest, “Nah, but I wish you could be like this more often.” “Maybe I should be,” he thought out loud. When you saw his deep thoughts were taking him back to whatever dark place he inhabited now, you decided you didn’t quite want this lightness to disappear yet. So, you started poking Tommy’s ribs, which was never a good idea, especially in the position you were in. Tommy flinched and even squirmed a little, trying to protect himself from your hands, which gave you the chance to crawl out from under him. “Don’t fucking tickle me,” he huffed, “Tickle John!” For the second umpteenth time that day, the kitchen had turned into a battlefield of wrestling and tickling siblings. From a distance, it looked far too rough and like you were really hurting each other, but that was just the Shelby way. This was all just good fun, or so you thought. Polly watched the three of you and smiled, because to her, a Shelby, this was nothing but pure Shelby sibling love. After a while, she decided to put a stop to it, by banging a pot down onto the stove. The effect was immediate, as all three siblings practically jumped up to salute. For a moment, Polly just glared darkly at all three of you, as you bowed their heads in shame. Then she said, calmly but sternly, “You have two hours and then I want this entire kitchen spotless. And that includes a new table. I want you in clean clothes and faces scrubbed before dinner and I don’t want to find a single speck of flower on anything. Do you hear me?” “Yes, Aunt Polly,” you mumbled, trying desperately not to make eyes-contact with your brothers for fear of bursting out in laughter. “I’ll keep this to myself, if you can swear you’ll get it done,” she emphasized and waited for all three of you to agree.
When she walked away, head held high and sure of her parental duties well done, she heard the fight continuing. But she smiled and decided not to hear. Let them have their fun, she thought, let them have their fun while they still can. *** Masterlist
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iluvchanniesposts · 29 days ago
minho is ticklish, but i think the members are scared to tickle him a lot because he will get his revenge or resort to violence hahaha! he’s definitely much more ticklish than he makes out though!
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head-empty-only-sunshine · 4 months ago
Hide N Tickles
Moon X Reader
A/N: Me, flat out writing this at work cause my heart do be goin doki doki and I n e e d to get it out. Plz enjoy the fluff uwu. I know this idea has been done a million times over but I jjust couldn't help myself. It's been in the drafts too long ;w;
Description: You work too hard for Moon's liking. He decides he will remedy that problem my playing a game with you! Albeit one sided, and he cheats. What a rule breaker.
Tags: fluff, established relationship, tickling, one shot, programmer!reader, gn!reader
Word Count: 2007
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After a while, you had taken to doing your work in Sun and Moon’s room instead of any of the offices. It was comfier, cozier, and made you a hell of a lot more relaxed than usual. Your Fizzy Faz supply was never at risk thanks to Sun’s addiction to the stuff, and he was more than happy to share with you. Moon wasn’t as enthused because it kept you up, but he couldn’t really object whenever you were on the clock. Tonight was no different as you worked away at some lines of code up in his room, laser focused on your work as always.
Moon wasn’t particularly a fan of how hard you were working tonight. You always worked hard of course, being the head programmer and all, but the way you had your brows furrowed at the screen made him desire to take that edge off of you. There was such a thing as working too hard for him, and he’d prefer it if his partner wasn’t stressed beyond repair.
It was an intended late night for you, a scheduled server maintenance being the thing keeping you from going home. Moon could tell you hated it regardless of how good you were at your job, so when he came back from a quick lap around Rockstar Row, he made it his mission to lessen the stress on you. He crept up behind you in the usual manner he always did while you were distracted by your work and poked you in your side to get your attention. He sure got it, a yelp escaping you as you lifted your hands from your keyboard and whipped around to face him, momentary shock on your face before you let out a deep sigh.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” You asked him, your profile lit up by only your screen.
“Trying to get you to stop working so hard.” He replied nonchalantly.
“Well it worked. Meanie.” You pouted, rubbing your side.
“What. You can’t be that ticklish, can you?” He laughed, watching the way your fingers gripped at your side protectively.
“And what if I am? Shouldn’t you know that by now?” You scoffed.
You were right. He did know by now. You were so incredibly ticklish it was almost comical, and with that realization fresh in his mind, a wide grin spread across his face. An anxious sweat broke out on you upon seeing a grin as mischievous as his, and you chuckled nervously.
“You’re right, moonbeam~. Tell you what, you have one minute to find a really good hiding place.” He offered.
“Because when that minute is up, you’d better hope I never find you~. You might end up tickled to death~” He replied, wiggling his fingers at you.
“Oh shit.” You muttered.
He didn’t need to tell you twice. You slammed your laptop closed faster than you could blink and booked it for the window, your heart rate having skyrocketed through the roof. It was a shot in the dark, but you hoped to god the fly line was left out in front of the window where it originally was. Thankfully, it actually was, and you leapt from the platform with all your strength and grabbed the line, swinging across the daycare and down to the floor thanks to your weight. You had made it a fair distance across the entire daycare thanks to the line, sprinting for your life once you hit the floor as you darted under the play structures in hopes you could find a good spot to escape your menacing partner.
Hiding inside the play structure would be too obvious. The only sensible option would be to dive under the entire thing and isolate yourself behind some walls, hoping he would check there at all. It was exhilarating almost, running from your partner in a hilarious game of chase. Praying to whatever force you could, you jumped behind a couple of walls and pressed yourself into a corner, hoping that he wouldn’t come under the structure and find you. It was your only choice, and soon your timer was up, meaning he was on the hunt.
Your breathing had slowed, practically silent as you heard Moon jump down into the ball pit. You pressed yourself even closer to the walls to keep yourself out of the line of sight. There were still some spots where the play structure was made of rope and plastic bars that could be seen through, but you were behind enough hard plastic walls that you could stay hidden and check up on how safe you were. In this moment, you truly saw how scary Moon could really be, red eyes scanning over the daycare while he crept around in search of you.
He started off searching the entire inside of the play structures, which made your hiding place a very good call. He spent every bit of ten minutes inspecting the whole place before he came out, and now the game really began. He didn’t check the slides, behind any bridges, or the lighthouse. He instead went straight for the back corner of the daycare, under the play structures, directly towards where you were hiding. Your heart began to beat harder and faster as you heard him get closer, and you started to wonder if he actually knew where you were and only searched the play structure to give you a false sense of security.
“My, what a rapid heartbeat you have~. Are you nervous, or excited~?” Moon’s voice purred out a lot closer than you thought, confirming your suspicions.
“CHEATER! YOU CAN’T SCAN FOR ME!” You wailed, knowing you’ve been caught.
You tried your best to make a break for it, but as soon as you rounded the first corner Moon already towered over you. He clotheslined you with his arm and scooped you up, dragging you over to a portion of the play structure made from those silly plastic bars. Despite your greatest efforts to flee from him, he had you right where he wanted you and removed one of the ribbons on his wrist.
“You can’t escape me, starlight~” He teased, dangling the jingling ribbon above you.
“Cheater!” You cried out again.
He did not bat an eye at your protests or obvious call out of him cheating. He knew what he did, and knew what he was going to do. Moon neatly gathered up your wrists in one hand and tied them together with his ribbon, using its surprising length to also secure your wrists to the play structure.
“You should’ve hid better~”
“Don’t you daAARE! NAHA!” You shrieked, kicking your leg out the moment his fingers touched your waist.
It was a damn good kick too. The top of your foot made a clean connection with his side and caught him off guard for a moment, which gave you a few more seconds of peace at least. He now had a motive to sit on your legs though, ruining your only defenses.
“You’ve got a good kick, starlight. Too bad it won’t help you~” He teased, pushing your legs down so he could gently sit on them to prevent any more kicks. “You’re gonna get punished for kicking me like that.”
“Moon c’mon throw me a bone! You cheateEED! NOHOHOHO!”
There was no mercy for you now. After that kick he went right back to that spot at your waist and went all out, pinching and squeezing until all your words melted into laughter. No matter how hard you tried to free yourself, he was too heavy, and those ribbons were far stronger than you expected them to be. The bells on them jingled mockingly every time you tried to bring your hands back down, almost laughing at you as you became a puddle of giggles.
“You really do work too hard, starlight. You need to relax more. Laugh more! I’m just helping you is all~” He hummed, dancing his fingers over your sides and ribs.
“Bullshihihit! You just wanna tihihickle me!” You argued back, jumping at every poke.
“Then maybe you should stop acting like you wanna be tickled.” He teased. “That was an awful hiding spot.”
“S-shut uhuhup!”
Your words were lost again as he dug his nails into your hips, heavy breaths and broken laughter pouring out of you. He was definitely enjoying this more than he let on, adoring the way your cheeks went bright pink while you tried to hide behind your secured arms. Eventually you had laughed all the fight out of you, just lying there and taking it with weak little twists and strings of giggles whenever he worked his nails into the sensitive grooves at your hips. Only when you started to hiccup with unsteady breaths did he grant you some grace, not wanting you to pass out.
Moon started to lightly trace his fingers over your tummy instead, allowing you to catch your breath as your laughter died down to quiet giggles. He had to sneak in a little squeeze here and there just because, but soon let you breathe and watched you with a smirk on his face.
“I win~”
“By cheating!” You huffed, your chest still heaving. “You broke the rules, nerd.”
“Rules are meant to be broken, starlight~”
“Why you- ooo I’m gonna get you back one day. Mark my words Moon. Now untie me you hooligan.” You said.
He laughed at your threat but agreed to untying you, freeing your wrists and replacing the ribbon on his own. Now that you were free, you reached up and gave him a firm but gentle smack on his forehead. He would’ve been offended if you didn’t immediately slide your hand down to caress his cheek, looking at him with loving eyes that said ‘thank you’ with brows that were no longer furrowed.
“Thanks for the break. I really needed that. You have no idea how many misplaced semicolons there were that I had to fix.” You sighed, rubbing your thumb on his cheek.
“Ooooh, changed your mind on being afraid of me now huh?” He hummed, pulling you up into his lap.
“I was never afraid of you, bozo. I was simply indulging in your game of hide and seek.”
You had softened completely, leaning into the warm padding on his palms while he held you close. You could’ve stayed like this forever really, but there was still maintenance to be done on the server. The break was very much appreciated, and at least now you could get back on it with a clearer mind.
“As much as I like sitting here with you, I do have to keep watch and fix things on the server. You’re gonna have to let me go, Moony.” You sighed.
“Give me a kiss and I’ll take you back up~” He requested.
“As you wish, your highness.”
He was cheeky, but you were a sucker for him anyway. You gave his head a little tug and brought him in a little closer to plant a kiss on his lips. The hybrid material still buzzed with static, your kisses always affecting him so dramatically no matter how hard he tried to play it off. With hearts in his eyes he leaned into you, ever grateful that you were the one to weasel your way into his circuits.
“Will that suffice, moonpie?” You asked once you leaned back.
“It will indeed.” He nodded, a little glitch in his lovestruck voice.
He finished by picking you up with him off the floor and walking you back out of the play structure’s underside. The fly line was still where you left it, and he used it to bring you back up to work while holding you tightly. He was a lot mushier when he knew he’d have to give you up for work duties, but neither of you minded at all. These sides of yourselves were more than welcome within the privacy of the daycare when he was yours, and you were his.
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sheerxfiction · a month ago
Whore (Affectionate)
Gojo Satoru X Reader
A/N: Back from con means i have time to give silly fluffy fics again uwu
Description: Gojo is such a softie for you, so weak for you. He still likes to complain though, especially when he finds out what you have set for his name in your phone.
Tags: fluff, tickling, cuddling, established relationship
Word Count: 1453
Weekends where you were actually free and not concerned with fighting a plethora of curses were far and few between. This weekend was one such weekend, and you gratefully spent all that free time at home on your couch with your goofy partner Gojo Satoru. Since neither of you had any pressing matters to take care of, he made himself right at home in your living room, insisting you spend some alone time together. Just you, him, and the caved in cushions of your couch.
Today though, Gojo was in an unusually cuddly mood. Yes he was affectionate by nature, but today was a whole new level of closeness and snuggling. He sat next to you on your couch, but had both of his arms around you with his cheek smushed into your shoulder while the two of you watched mindless videos on your phone. He had even left off his blindfold, wanting nothing in the way of him smothering his body into yours. You had honestly thought you’d seen all sides of him by now, but this was an unmatched level of affection from him that you couldn’t help but laugh at a little. It was cute. 
“Satoru, if you keep jamming your cheek into my shoulder you’re gonna have an indent there.” You chuckled, pausing the video you had both been watching. 
“Mmmnh, but if I move I won’t be close enough to you.” He whined.
“Now what the hell has gotten into you hun? I’ve never known you to be such a sap!” 
“What? Don’t like it~ Cause if you say no, I know you’ll be lying~” He hummed, nuzzling you like a cat. 
“My god, you’re such a turd.” You grinned, admittedly loving all this sudden cuddly affection from him. 
While you were busy admiring your cuddly boyfriend, your phone buzzed with a text message. Your attention was caught, so you redirected it to open the message and respond. Gojo didn’t like your attention not being focused on him at the moment, so he got nosey and groaned, following your gaze to see who you were texting. It wasn’t anything serious, just a friend checking in on you, but when you backed out into the rest of your ongoing conversations in the app, Gojo caught sight of his picture next to a rather unconventional name for someone in a phone. He gasped, immediately intrigued as to what the name was. 
“Hey! That name next to my picture! What do you have my name set as in your phone?!” He demanded playfully, snatching your phone from you. 
“Hey! I would’ve answered Mr. Grabby Hands!” You huffed. 
Gojo immediately went into the contact information saved with his image to see the name you ahd set, and gasped in offense when he read the full thing. Right under what he would consider a rather dazzling photo of himself was the name ‘Whore (Affectionate)’ like a mean name for an art piece. He scoffed, and whipped his head around to look over at you with said dazzling blue eyes intensely. 
“This is my name?! How dare you!” He huffed, feigning distress. 
“What?! Am I wrong?” You challenged. 
“Hmmm… Nah, you’re a pretty big whore for me and my kisses.” You teased. “You’re my whore~”
“You’re so mean to me!” Gojo whined, shoving himself into you again. 
“Yeah, sure I am you big baby.”
You turned yourself to lean on the arm of the couch so you could mess with Gojo a little. If he was so insistent on smushing himself into you like that while whining, you’d give him a reason to be noisy. He was already so close so it was easy to start poking at his sides, morphing his groaning into muffled chuckles. He buried his face into your neck and chest, barely even trying to fight back.
“Geez, are you really that ticklish? I’m barely touching you!” You teased, dancing your fingers over his sides.
“Leave me alohohone!” 
“Just use your infinity to stop me then! C’mon, aren’t you supposed to be untouchable?” 
“I c-can’t focus m-meanie!” He snorted, burrowing even further into your neck. 
“You’re such a bad liar.” 
Chuckling to yourself, you carried on with your gentle tickling and poked down to his hips, turning your hands to scratch at the little dips that had revealed themselves from all his squirming. He yelped and snorted, still making no effort to push you away while he curled up against you and held your phone close to his chest, enduring your ticklish assault like the adorable fool he was. He really was weak for you, a giggling mess at your hands until he started to hiccup. That was when you stopped, slowly dragging your fingers up his body until your hands settled at his face where you lifted his head up to look at you. 
“The world’s strongest sorcerer, taken down by tickles. Oh how far you’ve fallen~” You hummed in jest, stroking your thumb across his cheek.
“It’s not my fault you’re so perfect to love.” He mumbled, cheek squished by your hand. 
“My you are sappy. All because of my name for you in my phone.” You huffed. 
“Which I want changed by the way. Let me pick something.” He complained. 
“Hmm, only if you let me see what my name in your phone is.” You bargained. 
Gojo hesitated, and looked almost embarrassed. After a few seconds of contemplation, he let out a soft groan and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone for you. He then unlocked it and offered it to you with a pouty look and an obvious blush. 
“Fine.” He mumbled. 
Chuckling, you took his phone and opened his contacts up. You scrolled for a bit to find your photo, and when you did, the name adjacent to it brought a warm little smile to your face. In a stylized font was the name “Sweet Dove <3” with several sparkle and heart emojis following before and after the name, and you chuckled breathily while he worked on changing his name in your phone. 
“My god, I’m softening you up~! This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” You huffed, a light blush dusting over your cheeks. 
“Ugh, I really am a whore for you.” He whined, nuzzling his cheek against yours.
“Soooo, what did you change your name to? Lemme see!” 
“Here.” He huffed, handing your phone back to you before averting his eyes. 
He left his contact information open, and the name he changed himself to was ‘Perfection’ with nearly every heart emoji following after his name. You snorted in amusement and leaned your head down to get in line with his vision, grinning at him. 
“I like this name you chose. You are, in fact, perfect; so it’s fitting.”
You nuzzled into his cheek and pushed his head aside a little to connect your lips with his in an appreciative kiss. He truly was an adorable dork, softened right down to his core because of how in love with you he was. He practically melted against your lips, humming as his eyes slowly closed, lost in the feeling of you. He would never be like this in front of anyone else. That was just the effect you had on him. 
When you parted, he looked up at you with a tiny smile and sighed, resting his head on your chest. 
“You can change your name in my phone too… if you want…” He then offered.
“Oh heavens no. I like the name you have set for me. You’re way better at coming up with good names for contacts.” You insisted.
“I mean… the name you had set for me was ‘whore’ so… I guess I am better than you in that department.” He chuckled.
“Hey, I think at least one of my contact names is a little funny though! It’s Nanami’s.” You argued. 
“Show me then.”
You backed out and scrolled down to Nanami’s contact information to show him, turning your phone for him to see. In place of his regular name, you had the name ‘work slut’ instead. It was indeed funny, and Gojo couldn’t stop himself from snorting and snickering with laughter when he saw the name. 
“Alright, nevermind that’s golden!” He laughed.
“See, I’m witty sometimes!”
The two of you laughed together as you exchanged goofy contact names between each other, happy to have such a goofy little moment together. It was nice to experience the soft little moments like this with him. You were honoured to be the only one who saw this side of him, your affectionate whore of a boyfriend splayed out across your body while you cuddled and laughed together on your couch. 
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