Incredibly Self Indulgent Tickle Art For Tonight

Incredibly self indulgent tickle art for tonight

Looking Good

Summary: Peter 1 hates himself and MJ reminds him just how amazing he is ❤️

(First fic with Michelle Jones! ❤️ Zendaya characters still terrify me to write because I don't think I can do her characters the justice they deserve, but it doesn't hurt to try ❤️ This is for the one Anon who asked about Peter 1's MJ :) Also, I had to play on the fact Zendaya is 5'10 while Tom is only 5'7 😁 Enjoy!)

Peter studied himself in the mirror. He had always been grateful for the spider bite muscles and worked hard to maintain them, but he still felt self conscious about his looks. He was skinny but didn't have the height to pull it off. He had the muscle build but the wrong facial structure to go with it.

He was just forever a skinny, awkward teenager.

As he continued to study his body, another figure stepped into the doorway of his bedroom. "Peter?"

The young teen whirled around. "MJ!"

The taller teen smiled at her boyfriend before her eyes trailed down to his bare upper half.

Peter blushed as he wrapped the shirt in his hands around his body like a towel. "Hey! Hey. W-what's up?"

MJ furrowed her eyebrows as she studied her boyfriend's face. "Peter, everything okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?"

"Because that's not how you wear a shirt."

"What do you mean?"

MJ raised one eyebrow.

Peter cleared his throat as he turned away. "Yeah I-I guess you're right."

While he moved to pull the shirt on over his head, MJ stepped further into the room. "Sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?"

One whirled back around to his girlfriend. "No way! You could never make me feel uncomfortable."

"Are you sure? You seem really tense."

"It has nothing to do with you MJ. I promise."

The taller female wasn't ready to let the subject go just yet. "Did something happen?"

Peter scoffed. "Absolutely nothing."

"Peter."

One looked up at his girlfriend with no vocal response.

"Peter, please?"

After a moment of silence, Peter finally responded. "I don't know. I just wish . . . I was better looking."

"What are you going on about?" MJ wrapped her arms around her boyfriend's shoulders.

"I wish I was taller."

MJ smiled. "No you don't. You'd have a higher chance of hitting your face more than you already do."

This managed to pull a smile out of the teen. "I wish my face looked better."

"What?" The taller teen couldn't resist smushing her boyfriend's face with one hand. "This adorable little face right here?"

Peter playfully pulled away. "Ihim serious."

"Pete, listen to me." MJ pressed her forehead against his. "I don't care if there were a million different versions of Peter out there. You will always be my favorite. Looks have nothing to do with it by the way. Those are just an added bonus."

Although MJ wanted to boost her boyfriend's self-esteem, he still seemed unsure of her compliments. The taller of the two wracked her brain for a cheerup when a wonderful idea suddenly made her grin. She knew something that was sure to put a smile on her boyfriend's face.

MJ led Peter over to his bed and sat down. "If you won't believe my words then I'll just have to show you how amazing you are."

"What are you up to?" Peter asked suspiciously.

"You'll see." MJ pulled her boyfriend toward her. "Come here."

Although he was still suspicious, Peter let his girlfriend pull him between her legs and rest his back against her chest. "If you wanted to cuddle you could have just asked."

"Where's the fun in that?" The taller teen wrapped Peter in a hug. "Plus I didn't think you'd willingly be the little spoon."

Peter's blush reappeared. "I like being the little spoon."

"I'll remember that." MJ snuggled closer to her boyfriend. "But now you need to listen to me compliment you on how amazing you are."

The smaller teen groaned. "I could get free."

"But you won't. I know you won't."

"You're such a jerk Michelle Jones."

While Peter was distracted, MJ slipped a hand under his shirt. "No. I just know how to put a smile on your face."

The smaller male's eyes widened. "What are you---?"

MJ started spidering her hand across One's tummy. "Nothing."

Peter squeaked before dissolving into giggles. "Ehem Jahay."

"What was this negative talk you were saying about yourself? About your looks?" The taller teen let her finger lazily trace her boyfriend's abs. "Because I could trace these abs all day."

"Nohoho! Dohont yohou dahare!"

"Just think, if you were any taller, you wouldn't fit so perfectly in my lap."

Peter didn't respond. He was too busy giggling from the finger gliding around and around his hyper ticklish stomach. However, he had yet to move her hand or squim away from her either.

MJ lifted her other hand to scratch under his chin. "And if your face was any different, your smile wouldn't look right."

Peter's giggles became higher pitched from the affection.

Now the taller teen's finger circled her boyfriend's belly button. "You know, you and your belly button have a lot in common."

"Nohoho!"

"Yeeees," MJ teased as she ran her nail around the rim of his belly button. "You're both tiny and cute, you went through a lot to get here, and you're both so very important."

"Whahat?"

"Well, your belly button gave you a lot of nutrients in the womb. Now your torso looks incomplete without it." MJ finally paused her tracing. "And now my life would look incomplete without my tiny and cute little boyfriend."

Peter collapsed into a puddle of giggles, but the grin never left his face.

"Yeah, my life wouldn't be the same without you Peter Benjamin Parker."

With two of her fingers, MJ gently lifted her boyfriend's chin so she could give him a kiss on the lips. Both of them stayed quiet as the kiss lingered on, MJ's hand laying still on Peter's tummy.

Once the two pulled away, the taller of the two brought her hand up to run her fingers through her boyfriend's hair. "Feeling better about yourself?"

"Aha littlehel." The blush on Peter's cheeks darkened. "Think Ihi mihight neheed some extraha persuahasihion?"

"Oh absolutely." MJ immediately started dragging her nails across Peter's tummy with the lightest touch ever just to drive him up in pitch. "You're too stubborn to give up right away."

And for several minutes, MJ 'persuaded' her boyfriend to see just how amazing he really was.

reblog if you're a sfw tickle blog

i want to follow every single one of you cuties because I want my dashboard to be absolutely flooded in word content

Omg i just saw ur drabble post and i was wondering if you would wanna do a ler miguel lee lyla fic? Maybe he installs a program where if he taps on his screens in a certain way it can make her feel all tickly :3 if that doesnt interest you though no worries and i hope you get some other inspiring prompts!! Have a good one!

-nep

Annoyance Failsafe

A/N: OMG IT FEELS GOOD TO BE BACK!! Also can I say how fun this this idea is?? I didn’t even consider lee!Lyla! I’m excited to take this on! Thanks for being my first prompt back! Summary is above basically!

———

“Can you stop playing that for one second?”

“Playing what?” The tiny warm hologram of a woman taunted, fiddling with her phone. Lyla was on round three of her song, smirking up at the disgruntled scowl of Miguel.

“You’re doing it on purpose now.” He said, mindlessly swatting her like a bug on his shoulder. His hand phased through her harmlessly. “You know I need to focus.”

He gestured to the report he was typing out, something about another Doc Ock, accompanied with a multiverse map. “Another anomaly and I’m not even close to pinpointing his universe location.”

“Sucks to be you, then.”

Miguel inhaled sharply, “You know, I built you for this kinda stuff, right? But no, now you’re just being annoying, and I don’t know why.”

“Hey!” Lyla stood up. She glitched to his other shoulder. “From what I remember, you programmed this sass in me, and this outfit, and my annoying-ness. So ultimately, this is just the consequences of your actions, Miggy.”

Miguel scoffed at that.

Lyla only took it as ammo. She huffed, swiping open a tablet and tapping a few buttons on the blue screen.

The speakers in the room squeaked, then blasted the music from before:

“♫ AH AH BARBIE YOU’RE SO FINE! YOU’RE SO FINE YOU BLOW MY MIND! ♫”

All muscle in his body tensed. Miguel remained frozen, slowly craning his neck over. Lyla just sat there, a shit eating grin spread across her staticky appearance. She turned up the volume.

“♫ JUMP INTO THE DRIVER’S SEAT AND PUT IT INTO SPEED DRIVE! ♫”

Miguel didn’t budge, glaring daggers. “You’re pushing it.”

“What’re you gonna do? Unplug me?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“You’re no fun!”

“Lyla, shut it off. Please.”

“Sorry,” she was bopping her head to the beat, “can’t hear you over my amazing music taste.”

“Lyla!” The man bared his fangs. She only giggled. “Easy, tiger! Ok, fine.”

“♫ AH AH BARBIE YOU’RE SO FINE! YOU’RE SO FINE YOU BLOW MY MIND! ♫”

“I said ‘off,’ not quieter.”

Lyla shrugged, glitching over to sit at the motherboard. “I couldn’t hear you.”

The older man could have thrown his chair into her little smug 7 inch tall body. He could’ve raked his claws through the motherboard, taking up keys and wires and probably ruining his hard work in a blind rage. Hell, he could’ve stormed off like a big baby.

But no. He held his tongue.

Lyla’s smile faded when Miguel turned to a new screen. “Ohhh come on, Mig, I was being fun.”

He didn’t pay mind, mumbling as his hands worked tirelessly with some coding.

“You know I can overwrite that, right?”

Miguel hummed doubtfully, sliding the code into another window.

“Dude, silent treatment from you doesn’t work on me anymore.”

His eyes darted between functions and numbers, focusing on an error he made in the input. “Damn.”

“Are you trying to put me to sleep again? You can’t, like, literally can’t.”

Miguel seemed to fix the error, exporting it into yet again another window. His hand reached towards another file: Lyla.

“Hey. I dunno what you’re attaching to me but I can reject it.” Lyla tapped a button on her phone. All it gave her was a giant ERROR. “Oh come on!”

A loading bar swiped through swimmingly on Miguel’s screen. Up came a “ATTACHMENT COMPLETE” window.

Lyla stood up. She may have not been programmed with fear but this was pretty close. “I know you wouldn’t get rid of me.”

“And I won’t,” Miguel finally spoke, clearing out all the extra windows he had up. His eyes were stuck on one. His hands pinched it so it would maximize. “You just need a failsafe.”

“Why? You installed like six of them so I don’t corrupt.”

“I’m talking about an annoyance failsafe, not a corruption one.” O’Hara’s tone remained cool and to the point, maybe a bit too cold. But Lyla, Lyla saw something in his eyes. She loaded various facial expression scans through her system. All that came up was mischief. Lyla giggled, taking her heart-shaped glasses off. “You’re trying to act scary. It’s not working. You’re gonna get me back, aren’t ya?”

Miguel had formed the window in his hands, molding it into a sphere, softball size. “You know that update you put in my suit for April Fool’s?”

“Oh, this one?”

Miguel jolted and clutched his sides. A buzz of electric tingles ran through his suit, sending tickly sensations to his torso for a second. He didn’t buckle, but let Lyla get her dose of giggles out.. “That one… yes.”

“Y-Yohohou could use a tickle belt on you, and now you have one,” Lyla tittered.

The older man sighed, regaining his composure. He crept a little closer, about a few feet away from Lyla, playing with the digital ball in his hand.

“That gave me an idea. Because, well, in my opinion…”

He wiggled an index finger into the ball for just a few seconds.

An AI is not programmed to feel, at least not at first. Someone must input the proper code and information if an AI were to emote like a human. Miguel had given her a great deal of emotions to learn and replicate, but never had she felt.

So imagine Lyla’s surprise when she felt a tingly electrical surge go through her stomach. She dropped her holographic phone and yelped.

“…you could use one too.”

“MIGUEL?!”

The spider society leader had never heard Lyla sound so surprised. He raised his eyebrows, and wiggled again.

“Wh-h-hehe!” Lyla had been programmed to laugh and find humor, but this, this she had no control over. Her programming kept short circuiting to a laughing sequence. “Wahahahait! Mihiguel ahahare you serious?!”

“You know how serious I am.” Not anymore. Lyla picked up his small smirk, admittedly making her giggle more. This she couldn’t have predicted. Not at all.

“Now, what I’m curious about is if your AI system has assigned… sensitive spots to you, when I attached the annoyance failsafe.” Miguel readjusted the ball in his hand, scritching the side of it haphazardly. “So we need to do some tests now, okay?”

Lyla’s display glitched out. Her laughter doubled in volume as she glitched to different spots around the motherboard. “Mihihiggy yohohoHOU AhARE CRAhahazy!!”

“I don’t know about that,” he huffed out a half-assed chuckle, adjusting his gaze at her, “but you’re laughing more. Very interesting.”

Lyla replicated a feeling she hadn’t used in her system often: embarrassment. Or was it a fluster? It was hard to pinpoint the proper definition when she felt not just one tickly sensation on her side, but two. Miguel had changed his hold so he could tickle with both index fingers. “MIGUEL OKAhAY Okay I get it!! NOHOhoho more loud music!!!”

“No, I don’t think you do.” A tinge of playfulness flew from his lips. “I’ve dealt with enough of your shenanigans. You don’t learn, even though that’s what an artificial intelligence is supposed to do.”

“THAHA-“ Lyla hiccuped, glitching, “THahahat’s because you l-lihihIKE IT!”

Miguel treated her fact as a lie, rolling his eyes. “You think you know everything?”

“YES!”

“Really?”

Lyla nodded, attempting to swat at her tingling ribs.

“Then maybe you know where you’re most sensitive.” Miguel returned to holding the ball, rolling it from one hand to the other. Its blue pixels trailed back and forth.

Lyla wasn’t sure if she ever panted, but that sequence was running now. She collapsed to the “floor” of her hologram. “I-Ihi haven’t had time to scan th-the new data.”

“You got time now.” O’Hara said, matter-of-factly. “But of course, we could just do it the fun way.”

“Miggyyyyyyyy!” The lady sat up, limbs drooped.

“Alright, we’ll do it the fun way.”

Lyla could hear the smile in his voice. Not just that, but she heard the familiar sound of something unsheathing. “Wait! M-Miguel- EEK!!”

It was pretty much too late. Miguel had taken out his claws, lightly scratching the top of the ball. Holy shit did that tickle.

Lyla was back on the floor, producing squeakier laughter, clutching her knees. “NAHAT THERE! HEHEY!”

“Knees bad?”

“SHUHUHUT UP!”

Miguel nodded, “I’ll make note of it.”

That son of a bitch. An angry Miguel was a threat no one would wanna be near, but what’s even worse is a mischievous Miguel, a smirking conniving lil shit Miguel. More like big shit, ya know… since he’s almost seven feet tall.

However, this kind of Miguel is the one that Lyla wouldn’t mind seeing more of.

Maybe she’d play the Barbie soundtrack more.

Cool Guy

Anon: Heya! If you're still doing them, could you make a tickle fic on Luke and Han but js Han getting Luke? I love the whole Luke being like Hans lil bro 😭 An idea being maybe Luke is embarrassing Han in front of Leia and Han gets him back, Leia maybe helping Han a bit? I like your fics a lot haha! It's alr if not ofc, js have a good day! :D <3

Summary: Han is cool, suave, and absolutely irresistible. Luke vehemently disagrees.

Han knows logically that he cannot not squish the galaxy’s last hope like a bug. That would be unwise. There is, however, zero question of if he deserves it.

Luke is almost better at being a little shit than he is at being a Jedi.

“Princess!” Han leans against the wall. The Falcon’s internals hum behind it. Leia looks up at him blankly. 

“Pest.” She takes a bite of a sandwich. “What do you want?”

Nothing. Not a thing. He just loves the irritated curve of her eyebrow, the sharpness of her gaze, the curl of her lips--

“I’d love it if you’d stop taking what’s not yours.” He nods towards the sandwich. Leia regards it, then makes deep eye contact on her next bite. Han chuckles in something like disbelief, but he knows her. Knows how she likes to provoke. 

“Nice boys share their food.” She takes another bite.

“Well, I ain’t nice. Keep your thieving little hands to yourself.” Han considers wrapping up the sandwich, just to be petty, but he knows she hardly takes interest in his things unless she needs something. He could find something else to eat. 

“Or else what?” She plays with the crust of the bread. Eye contact. God, he loves this game of theirs. She leaves him breathless too often for his liking, though. As he flounders for a comeback, he hears a high-pitched noise from the other side of the room. 

Luke. Great. 

“What are you wearing?” Luke laughs incredulously. Han looks down at himself. He’d put on a fur vest today instead of his usual cargo one. It was something he’d snatched off some mook that’d tried to set him up with a dishonest deal. It’s old and it smells a little funny, but he likes it. It’s his now. 

“Wh—it’s a vest. It’s cold.” Han frowns. 

“You look like Chewie shed on you.” Luke leans his hip against the doorway as he settles in to mock. There’s a Wookiee outcry of indignation from the cockpit that goes unanswered.

“It’s a fashion statement.” Han adjusts his posture, gives them a new angle. Luke snorts. Han scowls.

“What exactly are you stating?” Leia rests her chin in her hands. She’s got a crumb on her cheek. He does not think about brushing it away. 

“You’re both terrible.” Han stomps off to change. 

“Right back atcha!” Leia calls after him. Her laughter is sweet, even at his expense. 

….

Run-ins with Empire patrols always put Han on a fine edge--he’s a well-oiled machine with Chewie at his back, but recent additions to the Falcon have proven…distracting. As he slams them into a hyperspace jump, the twins’ noise somehow drowns out the noise of the engine. Leia’s complaining that he took too many risks, Luke’s insisting he took too little, and Han’s half tempted to spin send the Falcon into a barrel roll just to hear a different sound.

Chewie won’t let him. The honorable bastard.

The moment they finish the jump, Han swivels out of his chair and goes…well, he’s not sure where he’s going, but he knows he needs to see and hear something besides Luke crunching angrily on crackers. 

Leia follows on Han’s heels, Luke follows on hers, and Han considers just ejecting himself from the airlock and being done with it. 

“If you want to die, be my guest, but don’t put us at risk for your ego.” Leia smacks his chest. Han can’t tell if he’s imagining the lingering touch of her fingers. 

“No, you’d miss me too much.” He fires back, pulling out of her grasp. He takes long strides, taking a petty sort of joy in hearing significantly shorter legs scramble after him. 

“Not a chance in hell,” Leia snarls, snatching the back of his vest. He whirls around. 

“Yes, you would, because things are boring without me. You like having me around.” He leans into her space. She stands her ground. 

“The fate of the galaxy is boring?” She conveniently ignores that last part. Han doesn’t miss it. 

“It is without me. Face it, princess. You’re attached.” He puts his hands on his hips. Leia’s face turns an interesting color.

“Ha! See? Attached!” Han points triumphantly. Leia smacks his hand away. 

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t need to. The truth’s all over your face.” He circles that pointer finger in her face. She smacks it hard enough to bruise this time. 

“The truth that I can’t stand you, more like. You’re arrogant, reckless, irresponsible—“

“And exactly your type.” Han grins. “You like having me around. Meanwhile, I’m cool, casual, and unattached.” Han clicks his tongue. Leia attempts to burn a hole through his forehead with her gaze. He worries for a moment that she might. 

“Really?” Luke crunches loudly. “I heard you telling Chewie that you like having us around. That you wouldn’t know what you’d do without us. Didn’t sound very cool and casual.” 

“I was drunk.” Han’s face burns. Leia snorts. Han scowls. 

“Drunk mind, sober thoughts.” Luke grins teasingly, waving a chip in his face. Han tries to snatch the bag, but Luke twirls effortlessly out of the way. Damn Jedi. 

“Sounds like you’re attached, laser brain.” Leia circles her finger in his face, and Han wonders if turning himself in to the Empire might be better for his ego.

…

Han’s not sure when his game with Leia stopped being a game and started being this, but he’s not complaining. He’s made out in worse storage rooms than the ones on the Falcon. They’d started with fetching a rations restock, devolved into bickering, and, well…their arguments usually end in violence or the threat of it, so Leia trying to climb him like a tree is a much-welcomed departure from form.

Normally Han’s great at keeping his emotions in a cold, dark little box where he never has to deal with them, but Leia looked so pretty yelling at him that he just…had to kiss her. He knew at that moment he’d die if he didn’t. It’s not the first time they’ve kissed and he hopes it won’t be the last, but each touch with Leia is like drifting closer to the beautiful terror of the sun. The best part, the overwhelming part, is that she wants him too. 

All of that would’ve been well and good, great even, if Luke hadn’t been standing in the doorway. 

Luke and Leia have some kind of stare-off that Han suspects involves their twinness--there’s lots of flustered, offended noises without words being uttered. Luke raises his eyebrow in a way that really seems to get to Leia, because she splutters, which she expressly does not do. 

“Don’t you start! I tolerate him!” She glares at Luke, her cheeks turning red. 

“Aww.” Han smirks. She elbows him in the ribs.

“With your mouth?” Luke’s near hysterical. 

“Among other things.” Han smirks wider. Luke’s face twists in sheer disgust. 

“Shut up,” Leia hisses, blushing and hitting him harder. He grins.

Luke levels a finger at Han, a habit he picked up from him in the first place, and then stalks off. 

“Chances he knifes me in my sleep?” 

“Lower than me doing it myself.” Leia swats his arm once more for good measure, but she’s still glowing, and Han thinks he might want to see that smile of hers for the rest of his life.

“I’ll take those odds.” 

The difference between Luke and his sister, in Han’s opinion, is that Luke’s noise goes inwards. Leia will scream at Han until she’s red in the face and then she’ll miraculously find more air. Luke gets quiet and vengeful, which is why Han starts to suspect foul play the third time he trips over thin air. 

Han really wants to fight back, but every time he opens his mouth, Leia’s lurking around some dark corner. 

On hour three of Luke’s temper tantrum, Han’s eye begins to twitch. He’s probably bruised every inch of his shins by now, he’s tired, and he thinks if he can close his eyes for an hour he might remember how to function. Just a sweet, Skywalkerless hour. 

Han drags his hand over his face as he walks off to his cabin. He finds Luke standing in the hall like an omen. He doesn’t move when Han approaches. The little furrow in his brow is probably meant to be intimidating, and maybe one day it will be, but Han can’t bring himself to care. 

The desire to lay down overcomes his rational thought, and he does to Luke what he often does to Leia: jams his hands under Luke’s arms and lifts him out of the way.

Except, unlike Leia, Luke doesn’t try to kick him. He lets out a giggle at a pitch Han didn’t know he was capable of. 

Han pauses, raising an eyebrow at the rapidly-reddening Jedi in his arms. He twitches his fingers. Luke chokes out a surprised laugh. 

Han’s suddenly not tired anymore. Funny, that. 

“Han, don’t you dare, c’mon--”

Han sets Luke down but doesn’t release him--he viciously wiggles his fingers where they’re trapped under Luke’s arms. He goes down like a sack of droid components, filling the Falcon with bright, bouncy laughter it so desperately needs. 

“You get a minute for every bruise, and my shins are looking mighty purple.” Han whistles lowly, pressing into the gaps between Luke’s ribs. Luke lets out a giggly hiccup and kicks his legs. 

“That’s not f-fair!” Luke clutches Han’s arms desperately. Han twitches his fingers and he curls up, shaking his head. Han distantly wonders when Luke last laughed like this. If he ever has. 

“Yeah? Tell me about it. Pick on someone your own size and maybe life will be fairer.” Han tries to keep his stare blank, but his mouth quirks up at the corners. Luke lets out an indignant gasp, but he quickly tumbles right back down into laughter.

“Let go,” Luke growls, his whole face scrunching around his smile. 

“Kid, I can’t let you go if you’ve got my hands.” Han gives a dramatic tug. He stops, raising his eyebrow expectantly. Luke pouts--pouts!--at him and lifts his arms at glacial pace. Han pulls away…

…and goes right for Luke’s exposed stomach. His shout of betrayal mixes beautifully with his laughter.

“Rookie mistake,” Leia tuts, snickering at Luke’s misfortune. Han jumps at her appearance--man, he should put a bell on these two--and Luke takes that as a signal to start wriggling away. Han reels him back in with a hearty laugh.

“Leia, fetch your--” Han cuts Luke off with a squeeze to the side before he can say anything embarrassing. 

“You gonna help, Your Worship? Or are you above getting your hands dirty?” Han casts a glance at Leia. 

“Never.” Leia smirks, kneeling beside Luke. They stare at each other for a long, tense while. Leia’s gaze drifts over him the same way she sifts through a plan for holes, until she stops at his knees. 

Luke’s eyes widen. Leia grins.

She latches on like a viper and Luke squeals, drumming his feet on the ground. He throws his head back and cackles himself into silence, flopping around uselessly. 

“Remind me to stay on your good side,” Han chuckles, a little nervous.

“You’re notoriously bad at it,” she smirks. Han swears he feels the ghost of her fingers on his own legs. He shudders.

Luke’s surrender is less of a cry and more of a wheeze, but they let him go quickly all the same. He tosses his arm over his glowing face with a great, heaving sigh.

“You alright over there?” Han chuckles, nudging Luke’s boot. He lifts his arm to glare.

“I hate you.”

“I know.” Han pats his ankle. Luke kicks him. Han squeezes his knee and he immediately blurts out a tired, giggly apology. 

“Stop being a little shit and trying to trip me up. It’s not gonna work. Too cool for that.” Han pats Luke’s stomach. 

Warm hands wrap around his waist and he leans back, scaring himself with how easily he fits into Leia’s arms. She hooks her chin over his shoulder.

“Are you ready?” She murmurs, brushing her fingers over the fabric of his shirt. 

“Ready for what?” His hand finds hers. He’s more than ready, if he’s reading this right. She’s rarely like this beyond closed doors, and it sends a thrill through him. Her lips brushing his ear drives him just a little crazy. He starts to stand, but she pulls him back down. 

“To be tripped up.” She smirks. He feels it. 

“Wh—“ 

Leia’s fingers dig in with deadly accuracy. Han crumples and his bravado goes with him. Loud, hearty laughter bursts from him as he slides to the floor, boneless in her arms.

“Aw, look at you cool guy.” Luke sidles up next to him with a shit eating grin. He tickles mockingly under Han’s chin and he, mortifyingly, giggles. Luke chases the sound, having way too much fun for Han’s liking. 

Han growls and tries to kick him. Leia’s fingers find his hips—cruel and unusual—and he’s toast. He resigns himself to die in her lap, which isn’t the overall worst way to go, and makes a mental note to write Luke out of his will. 

As long as Chewie thinks he’s cool, he supposes it’s still a net win.