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rose-tinted-kalopsia · 7 months ago

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≡;-꒰ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝑴𝒖𝒔𝒆

╰┈➤ ❝ rafayel x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : pwp (without plot), softdom!rafayel, but also kiiind of switch!rafayel, kissing and making out, teasing, guided masturbation, inappropriate use of a paintbrush, clit play, nipple play, slight overstimulation, slight edging if you squint, thigh riding, praise, cursing, dirty talk, use of pet names "my muse" "princess" "baby", lmk if i missed any tags !! ((unedited))

wc : 3.2k

taglist : @zaynesaurora @darlingdummycassandra (+ @seaofgoldensand mwah) | sign up here!

an : guys bc ,,,,,, i swear you never truly realize how daunting it can be to act as an impromptu live model for someone.. until you try it...

You underestimate the intimacy of eye-contact.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

There was nothing but silence in the air, only occasionally interrupted by a tap of his shoe on the floor, or a squeaking of the chair when he moved. There was the tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall, and the faint, hushed sound of delicste brushstrokes on the canvas...

These were the only things you could focus on, if not at the way that he looked at you.

Rafayel's stare was intense.

Anytime he would shift his gaze from the canvas and back to you; anytime you'd catch the way his eyes would take in the shape of your figure...

You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt; this was just part of the process. He was only being professional, after all—of course an artist needed to look at his model!

...But it was less about what he felt; this was something that you, yourself couldn't take.

"Eyes up here, princess," came his voice, the familiar sing-songy tone to it triggering a bout of butterflies.

You were torn, somewhat.

You wished you could wipe that knowing smile right off of his face, but simultaneously felt that you could cave underneath even just that stupid, stupid gaze of his.

...And you knew that you had brought this upon yourself.

Whatever bickering had started with his whine about a "lack of inspiration" and a roll of your eyes in response, had settled with you offering to be his model.

You even recalled how surprised he was, the concern that etched on his features—

"Hm? But it could take a while, you know. Might be uncomfortable for you to sit for so long."

You figured it couldn't hurt. You were willing to get through it if it meant finally bringing your partner out of his rut, and in turn, his willingness to paint you—when he had sworn that portraits were never even his thing—felt like a little treat.

However, as much as you believed you'd have the upper hand in this situation, you severely underestimated it.

Now, you sat atop a cushioned chair, assuming a position you were comfortable with holding for a time unspecified. You donned normal, unnassuming clothing, just your everyday top and jeans. And in front of you sat a painter and his canvas, his hands moving tastefully over the piece he crafted, a certain twinkle in his eye that already had you reeling.

Rafayel was painting you, and by all means did nothing about this set up look the least bit intimate to either of you—

But you felt like it was.

It was a private moment, just the two if you in this room, gazes meeting with an intensity that made you want to squeeze something.

You didn't know if you had to owe it to how attractive he was, but staying like this, with nothing else to focus your attention on, you could only notice how pretty he was. Soft, layered hair so perfectly styled into place, his signature low-cut shirt framing his figure so nicely...

And his eyes.

God, his eyes.

Rafayel had the most captivating eyes you'd ever seen—A mix of a deep magenta and cerise, of mulberry and wine... So unrelenting in their allure that though the intensity had your heart beating wildly in your chest, you could never, for the life of you, ever tear your gaze away.

It was visceral.

It sent a tingle down your spine.

You could curse all the memories that would flood to your head just because of it, those images and sensations of your nights together. The way he'd look at you, with lust, and love, such passion imbued with every roll of his hips against yours... This wasn't the time to be thinking of such things, you knew that. They brought an obvious hue of pink to your cheeks that you knew he'd notice, but you almost couldn't help it—

Was a siren's allure truly so confining?

You had nowhere to run.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you could almost think this was...

Intentional.

"Little muse, you're blushing."

If you thought it couldn't get any worse, you were clearly wrong.

Rafayel's brushstrokes had paused, and the mirth that danced in his eyes set off all the warning bells that your brain could manage.

"...Shut up, you're imagining things," you mumbled, willing youself to turn your head away from him.

"Ah ah ah~ I'm not done yet, don't move, princess."

And to think that when you'd started, he'd been concerned for you.

Despite yourself, you fidgeted in your seat.

You couldn't take any more of this.

You'd been at it for close to an hour by now, the silence, the staring, the butterflies—

A slight shift in your position made you painfully aware of the wetness that had pooled between your thighs, and you wanted to crawl into a cave.

"Hey. You tired?"

Rafayel was searching your expression, reading you.

It wasn't helping.

"N-no," you managed to nearly choke out, your obvious fluster making your cheeks feel warmer.

And in all this time that you've known him, been with him—you knew that he could put two and two together.

A smirk spread over his features.

You were in for it.

"I'll allow some movement," he hummed, setting his brush down momentarily, "but it looks like you want something a little more... specific..."

"Rafayel, if you don't shut up—"

He grinned.

"Why? We can take a break, yeah? I'm just giving you free space to do as you want."

You watched his eyes rake over your figure, lingering over the way your legs were pressed more tightly together than you'd started with.

"Don't tell me you need me to guide you, princess..."

You wished you could slap that smile off his face.

Rafayel folded his arms, leaning back a little. The shine in his eyes didn't budge even a millimeter; his gaze remained steely on you.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, my muse, I'd say you've gotten a little needy."

You didn't know why you bothered to stay put in your seat, when the paintbrush was not even in his hands anymore.

And he noticed.

"Yeah? I'm right, aren't I?" he chuckled. "So why don't you release some of your stress before we continue? Since you're not getting up, you might as well do something for my motivation..."

The way he gestured towards the canvas, wearing that infuriating little smirk of his, had the heat rushing to your face.

"As if you could take watching me touch myself," you shot back, mirroring his pose and crossing your arms.

You cheered in silent victory at the momentary lapse in his expression, though it settled back into his smile within seconds.

"Mmn... Then we'll have to do something about that later, if it comes to it," he shrugged. "But this is about you, princess."

For a while there was no response from either of you, just staring silently at each other, daring one to make a move—

Until his gaze made you squirm, and he let out a snort.

"Oh, princess..." he started, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm not going to touch you when I still intend to get back to finishing this piece. So if you want to use our little break to do something about this... You'll have to do it yourself. Come on, now. Undress for me, yeah?"

He was infuriating.

A menace.

This was karma for all the times you've rendered him speechless, and he was enjoying it.

You clicked your tongue, the challenge in your eyes winning over the embarrassment that stirred in the pit of your stomach.

"Fine! Don't blame me if you'll never finish that painting..."

Frustrated though you might have been, and perhaps, ever determined to pay back his teasing, the look in his eyes remained bewitching.

It was foul play.

Your fingers trembled as you deftly pushed your panties to the side, your jeans kicked down to your ankles, your legs spread. Rafayel had seen you—used you—many times before... But there was something unnervingly intimate about doing this for him, when he was a number of laces away from you, watching, observing.

It was as if you were... a show.

"You're dripping," he commented, voice quiet and low, unable to keep himself from leaning forward as if to get a better look at you.

His words sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. You could only shoot him a glare, your blush betraying otherwise the effect that his heated gaze on you had.

"Go ahead, princess... I bet you're aching to be touched."

You almost didn't want to admit it, the way his voice played in your ear so sweetly that your heart could simply burst out of your chest. He made you weak, and you could barely think straight, and he could... see it all.

You chewed on your lip, shakily dipping a finger just barely into your heat, sliding up between your folds with a trail of obvious slick left in its wake.

"Shit..." you cursed under your breath.

You were almost scared to look back up at him, knowing you'd see those god-foresaken eyes again, so heated as they took in your every movement, your every action—

"That's it, princess," Rafayel murmured. "Play with yourself. Rub your clit for me, yeah?"

Your eyes closed as you found yourself doing exactly as you were told.

Soft pants fell from your lips, your middle finger drawing upwards to circle your sensitive nub. Just slow, gentle rubs, easing you into a rhythm of pleasure... You dared to open your eyes, catching the way his gaze remained fixated on your movements, his own eyes darkening, his lips parted slightly.

"You're so wet, baby..." His voice was hoarse now, clearly just as affected by the situation as you were. "Can you put a finger in? Please?"

Your features schooled into a small smile; victorious, in a way, despite your own obvious display of need. "But, why, Rafa?" you teased. "I don't wanna rush..."

The groan that he let out was delicious, and your eyes narrowed in satisfaction.

"C'mon, princess... I wanna see. Do it for me? Just one finger, yeah?"

"You're so easy to get all worked up, Rafa~" you found yourself cooing at him, taking note of his flushed cheeks, the heat in his eyes mirroring your own.You were the one touching yourself, and yet, he was the one begging. It was amusing, in a sense—how just the simplest things reduced him to this sort of mess.

"Just a little taste of your own medicine," you quipped.

But you did as he said, anyway.

The first push of a finger into your cunt had you moaning. The glide was easy, smooth, your walls accepting of your own intrusion, almost aching for even more.

"Fuck... that's it, baby, in and out, just like that."

It was almost amusing to hear him speak that way, so enraptured by the way you pleasured yourself, lost in the thought of you coming undone right in front of him. You didn't need his words of guidance; you knew exactly which spots had you keening, how to gradually bring yourself over the edge. Yet, he would still offer up words of such praise to you anyway, guiding you, telling you what to do, how to please yourself.

And there was something, just something, about the rawness in his voice that got to you.

Your eyes met as you began to buck your hips into your hand, sliding against the cushion, willing to give yourself more stimulation. Your breath fell out in puffs of quick pants, your heart rate accelerating, the pierce in his gaze so daunting and intimidating, yet so... arousing.

"R-Rafayel..."

Your eyes went hazy, unable to bring yourself to turn away from the hypnotic quality of his gaze.

"Keep going, princess, I'm here."

Your fingers moved faster, curling into your heat, emphasizing the obscene sounds of wetness that filled the studio. Your thumb moveed over to brush your clit, your other hand gripping the seat impossibly tighter, and then—

"R-Rafa!" You threw your head back, hips stuttering. "I-I'm close!"

In your peripheral vision you could see him lick his lips, his voice coming out hoarse, full of want. "Yeah? You are, huh? Come on, princess, just a little more. Work those fingers for me."

His words proved enough.

"Shit—fuck—!" A string of curses left your lips. You felt it as the pleasure rolled through your body, eliciting a gasp, causing you to nearly double over.

"There we go. Such a pretty little muse. That expression on your face is beautiful."

His words soothed you from your high, a gentle coo of praise as you took your fingers from out of your wetness. When you looked up at him, he was smiling, hand outstretched as if to beckon you. "C'mere, princess. You did so well for me, let me taste those pretty fingers of yours."

You almost clapped back at him, as if the urge to bicker—to one-up him—rose up just by instinct. Yet, there were those eyes again. That particular look that was magnetizing. It was more than a beckon. It felt like an allure. You were almost certain you'd moved on your own, slow steps into his arms, gently allowing yourself to be pulled onto his lap, the glisten from your earlier orgasm immediately coating the fabric of his pants.

He did as he promised, guiding your fingers into his mouth, looking straight at you with eyes full of lust. His tongue swirled over the pads of your fingers, and you twisted them for him. Watching him suck on your digits, slowly moving them in and out, promising him the taste he so desperately wanted... before you pulled them away with a wet pop.

"Give me one more," he whispered immediately, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "One more, before I finish this painting. Think you can do that?"

You'd nearly forgotten about the painting. It was behind you, your back turned towards it, your eyes only focused on the man before you. You didn't look back—didn't need to, not now. Not when his offer was so... tempting.

"'Kay," you mumbled. Your response was just as instant, your hips moving to glide over his thigh.

But he smirked.

A hand went to your back to support you, hold you in place, and your eyes widened when a clean, unused paintbrush found its way into his other hand.

"R- Rafayel...?"

"Just want to have a little bit of fun," he said breezily, gently trailing the brush from your jawline, all the way down over your collarbone. The sensation made you shiver. "Go on, princess. Don't mind me..."

Don't mind me.

He had the audacity to say that as he let you move all over his thigh, the bristles of his brush leaving a trail of goosebumps with every little stroke on your skin. Just light, feathery, teasing flicks, enough to add to your stimulation... It felt nice, and you'd never admit it to his face, but you could fold.

"You'd be so lovely to paint, look at you," he murmured. And he enjoyed the way your body jolted at his words, the chuckle enough of a testament. "Yeah? You like that idea, don't you, princess? Next time, maybe, I can have even more fun with you..."

The paintbrush began to venture lower, flicking against your nipples.

Your eyes went wide.

"W-wait—!" You gasped, gripping his shoulders, feeling him repeat the motions. Again, and again—the brush circled around your pert, sensitive nub, his gaze turning thoughtful, his little tool giving you more sensations than you knew were even possible.

"Hm? What's wrong?"

It acted like a soft caress, one so foreign to you that it made your head spin.

And he didn't dare stop there.

He must have gotten incredibly worked up, you thought, as he stilled your hips and leaned you back. You could guess where things were going; the way his hand supported your back from toppling into the canvas was firm and determined, your position already having your dripping cunt a little bit more on display for him.

"Look at me, princess," he whispered.

And you felt it—the paintbrush gliding lower and lower, gentle strokes over the skin of your abdomen, pausing just above your clit.

Your breath hitched.

Anticipation hung in the air, your eyes barely managing to stay locked onto his as your face seemed to fume with embarrassment.

"Rafayel," you huffed. "Seriously, you...!"

He circled the brush, a smirk tugging on his features. Feathery bristles brushed against you clit, and you let out a cry. There was a pattern, almost: he'd move the brush gently down the side of your folds, fluttering back up to your nub, pressing against it with a certain kind pressure he knew you always loved... Teasing, always teasing, never lingering for too long in a single spot.

It had you moaning almost immediately.

"What was that, my muse?" he grinned.

You'd never wanted to slap that expression off of his face any more than you did now, yet he had you helpless. You felt like putty in his hands, melting with every movement of his little brush, your thighs tensing over his. You didn't even need to move, anymore; the sensitivity from your previous orgasm had your senses heightening scarily quick, the coil steadily beginning to tighten in your stomach.

It felt as if he'd barely been doing anything.

Just that goddamned brush teasing you in all the right places, flicking against your clit, as he watched you clench around nothing.

"Please!" you swallowed your pride down deep enough to beg, the look in your eyes harboring a frustrated glare of want. "Stop teasing, Rafa, I need...!"

"Yeah? Need what, hm?"

Oh, he was having fun.

"N-need to cum! Need... Need something, Rafa, c'mon—!"

The brush set back aside, and he kissed you.

All tongue, even teeth, just messy, and deep, a pure display of the lust that had taken both of you hostage. His hands were in your hair, your body pressed so close against him, hips beginning to move again over his thigh. A few more soft, hushed, groans, and wet noises of passion, and you were gone.

You felt it snap, pulling back from the kiss only to fall forward onto his shoulder, muffling your moans into his shirt. It was insane, you thought, how he could rip out such a visceral reaction from you, a pleasure so overwhelming as you squeeze your legs over his thigh.

Easing you down, he rubbed soothing circles into your back, hushed words of praise tumbling from his lips.

Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

"My perfect little muse, so pretty, so beautiful," he sighed, hugging you close. "I can't wait to paint all your greedy desires onto my canvas."

⁺₊ / an: phew!! overdue and i feel like this isn't my best best work, but it doesss represent the chokehold this fish has on me 🙄 a girl's just gotta satisfy her rafayel cravings i guess!!

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

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ticklishshenanigansau · 1 month ago

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LaughterLand - Chapter 20: Witch

(story by Mod Secret, art by Mod Secret)

The old woman was plump and round. Her skin was a bright lime green with darker green freckles and liver spots dotting along her face and hands. She was slightly hunched over, like the top of her spine had been purposefully curved. Yet she moved with such an energy that didn't at all match her aged appearance. She wore a classic witch's attire with the pointed hat and dress, but the colors were the farthest thing from typical. Both her dress and hat were a warm pink color. The bottom half of her dress, as well as her pointed hat, were decked out in dark green stripes. The dark purple belt that was wrapped around her hat and her waist matched her curly elf shoes. Even her ears were elf-like as they curled up into a point.

She had the typical witch nose that was extra big and protruded far out from where her face began. But in place of the big wart that usually decorated the end of a witch's nose was a tiny little pale pink flower. Two more of the same kind of flower sat in the middle of the purple belts on her hat and waist. She had bright cherry-red hair that was kept as an unruly mess on top of her large head. Her nails were a shimmering dark lavender color, they were long and perfectly tipped, making them ideal for tickling. While it was clear that she couldn't have cared less about her hair or her toothy yellow smile, it was obvious that she valued her nails.

Her large and striking golden eyes sparkled with delight upon seeing the skeletons trapped within the coils of the Magenta and Lilac Snakes. She clapped her hands with utter delight before holding open the door to her cottage.

"Oh-ho-ho-ho!! Come in, come in, my precious pets! Please see to it that our new guests are nice and comfortable!" She giggled like a child that had just been given a new toy.

The brothers struggled uselessly as the snakes dragged them into the old cottage, they blinked as the warm glow of the lights stung their sockets. Once their vision had adjusted, they saw where the warm glow had been coming from.

Directly in the middle of the cottage floor was an enormous bubbling cauldron sitting in a makeshift fireplace, which looked to be a large hole in the ground. Flames wisped around the bottom of the giant pot, heating the strange violet liquid inside to a boil. The smell that engulfed the cottage was sweet, almost too sweet. Like someone had added gallons upon gallons of sugar to an already saccharine syrup.

On the right side of the cauldron was a large wooden table. A tall, slightly crooked black wand rested right next to a large pile of feathers. The feathers were bright pastel colors, large and exuberantly fluffy. Sans knew that they had to have come from the Squeal Owls, along with several other types of bird-like creatures from this place. But feathers weren’t the only terrible tools that this table was carrying. Off to the side there were hairbrushes, paintbrushes, toothbrushes, feather dusters, scratchers, and even a small vial looked to be carrying baby oil. Clearly she was well-versed in the subject of tickle torture. The brothers’ anxiety nearly hit the roof upon seeing her devious collection.

Laying against the wall on the other side of the room, were large wooden shelves that contained a multitude of glass bottles and vials. The liquid inside the little containers were a mixture of different colors and substances, some even glowing and sparkling with fire. Standing right next to the shelves were two large wooden stakes that were sticking straight out of the wooden floor. The snakes dragged the squirming brothers over to the stakes and roughly pinned them down against them.

Sans pushed and clawed at the Magenta Snake as he felt it shoving his spine against the thick wooden stake. He fought with all of his might, even threatening to bite down on its tail again if it dared to venture anywhere near his face. The Magenta Snake let out a sharp warning hiss that immediately got the attention of the witch.

“Tsk, tsk. Now this kind of behavior won’t do at all,” she tutted.

The witch grabbed the wand off of the wooden table. Light sparked out of the end as she gave it a swift flick towards the wooden stakes. A long strand of rope that had been hidden in the corner of the room came to life and started slithering towards the brothers. In a flash, the rope coiled around Sans's wrists, pulling itself into a tight knot.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Hey! Stop it! OW!!"

Sans panicked and struggled but it was too late. With a swift yank, the rope pulled Sans's wrists upwards, securing his hands over his head and tying him to the wooden stake.

"Can't have you giving my precious pets a hard time, can I?" The Witch beamed at her handiwork. With another flick of the twisted black wand, she summoned three more hidden ropes. One to tie Papyrus's wrists in the same position as Sans’s, and the other two to tie around their waists like makeshift seat belts securing them even tighter to the stakes. The skeletons squirmed and struggled against their new bonds, much to the witch's entertainment.

"Relax, Bone-Boys," she teased after an outburst of amused cackling. "Enjoy your stay at the Old Dropwart cottage."

"D-Dropwart?" Papyrus stammered nervously.

"That's me, deary!" She approached him with a burst of energy that startled him into shaking. "They call me Old Witch Dropwart, now doesn't THAT have a nice ring to it?" She cackled again, her high-pitched laughter echoing off the cottage walls.

"Um … it's … v-very um...." Papyrus stuttered and trembled, unsure of what to say and terrified of saying the wrong thing.

"Nasty," Sans finished for him with a blunt and bitter tone. "Nasty? Gross? Disgusting? Appalling? Do I have it about right?"

To his surprise, with every unfavorable word he used to describe what he thought of her name, her smile grew wider and prouder.

"Oh, why thank you, my deary!" She gave Sans a playful little curtsey with her striped skirt. "It's a family name you know, passed down from generations. Why … have you ever heard of the Hemlock Water Dropwort?"

She looked eagerly at the brothers, as if hopeful for an answer. Sans just stood there silently glaring at her while Papyrus timidly shook his head.

"Why! It's one of the most deadliest flowers in the whole world!" she eagerly explained. "Consuming such a plant has led to such countless gruesome deaths!"

She let out another shrieking cackle, one that caused the skeletons an even greater deal of anxiety. She just seemed so unnaturally cheerful talking about such a grim subject.

"But what was the most fascinating thing about these victims … was that they were all found with such adorable ear-to-ear smiles." She demonstrated with her own rotting toothy grin. "It was as if it had caused them all to DIE LAUGHING!!"

She doubled over in hysterics, recalling the terrifying tale. Sans and Papyrus observed her, utterly horrified, she was truly crazy. Was this what she had planned for them? Was she going to force them to die laughing, true to her namesake? The brothers pulled even harder against the magical ropes.

"Please...!" Papyrus strained. "Please no!! Y-Your snakes have already attempted to tickle us to death!! We can't take anymore!!"

"What?!"

Dropwart's demeanor suddenly changed to one of annoyance. She turned back to her serpents who seemed to have a look of guilt upon their faces.

"Oh you naughty little worms!" she scolded, bopping them both on the snout with her wand, causing them to recoil. "You know better than to snack on my fresh ingredients! You get your own food at dinnertime!"

The snakes looked at her with sorry eyes, reminiscent of a puppy getting yelled at for not listening to its owner. They both slinked away back into the corner of the room while Dropwart turned her attention back to the brothers.

"I am dreadfully sorry about them, my dears." She gave them both an insincere look of concern. "Sometimes they just can't resist…." She approached the brothers with a devious grin as she very purposefully eyed their exposed tickle spots. "You two must be particularly delectable sources of food!"

She made a show of greedily licking her lips before turning towards her shelf. She grabbed a handful of empty glass vials and placed them across the wooden table before turning towards her bubbling cauldron. She gave the bright violet liquid a steady stir causing the overly saturated sweet smell to engulf the air with renewed life.

"You stay away from us!"

Sans growled once she stopped stirring to give the cauldron a deep inhalation. She looked back at him, her toothy grin turned halfway up in amusement.

“Oh, not to worry, my deary!” she smirked. “I’m not about to spoil my new source of ingredients!”

“You keep calling us that,” Sans retorted bluntly. “What are you even talking about?”

“S-Sans…,” Papyrus stammered in a hushed tone. “Don’t make her mad! You know what it means, she’s going to devour our laughter just like everybody else!”

Sans wasn’t entirely convinced. If she was as tickle-crazy as their previous adversaries, she would have been on top of them by now. Why all this prep work? Why the cauldron? Why the empty vials? She was planning something else.

Sans squinted his eyes to get a closer look at the glass vials, he noticed that they were all labeled … now if he could just see what was scribbled on the parchment. The larger vial that was closest to the edge of the table was the only one Sans could read clearly. It read; ‘Hysterical’. The one next to it was a lot smaller, Sans lurched his neck forward to try and read it. It looked like it spelled out the word; ‘Tittering’.

As she went back to the table to fumble around with the order in which she wanted the vials placed, Sans could make out one that she had grabbed in her hand. It read; ‘Belly Laughter’. Finally it dawned on him, the prep work and the strangely labeled vials started to make sense. She wasn’t about to consume their laughter … she was about to collect it!

“There we go!” she said once she had organized the vials on the table to her liking. She grabbed the smaller one at the end of the line and approached the brothers eagerly. “Let’s start off with this one, shall we?”

Anxiety flooded Sans’s chest, he tried to read the label, but it was clutched deeply into her green speckled hand. Papyrus whimpered and tugged at the ropes as he panicked.

“Wh-What are you gonna do with us?!” he practically shrieked.

“Well isn’t it obvious my dear?” Dropwart replied in a playful manner. “Why I’m going to tickle you, of course! Now where did I put that wand?”

"Oh no! No! No! Please don't!! I'm begging you!!"

Papyrus shrieked as he strained against the ropes. Sans gritted his teeth scowling at the giggling witch as she reached for her wand.

"Don't you EVEN dare!" he spat angrily. "Don't touch him or I swear I'll—"

Sans was cut off by the craziness he saw unfolding in front of him. With another flick of the twisted black wand, the pile of pastel feathers stood up on the wooden table before proceeding to levitate into the air. They hovered together in a colorful cluster just above Dropwart's head as she grinned maliciously at the skeletons.

“Now here’s a fun little game I want to play with you boys.” She pointed the wand at the brothers, her toothy grin growing wider with mischief. The feathers, in turn, aimed themselves in the same direction causing Sans and Papyrus to tense up with anxiety.

“Just try and keep your laughter in!”

She let out another shrieking cackle as she directed the horde of levitating feathers to swarm after the skeletons. Sans shut his eyes tightly as he felt the bristles of the soft Squeal Owl feathers starting to brush against the back of his knees. He moved to kick his leg out, but the rope bound him too tightly to the stake. He stood there helplessly as two more feathers brushed against the sides of his skull, tickling at his ears, cheeks and jawbone.

He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, trying his best to hold back the laughter. The soft tickling on his gentler spots would have otherwise elicited a lot of giggling out of him, he began to wonder why she wasn’t immediately going for the dangerous spots. As grateful as he was that the soft tickling wasn’t completely unbearable right off the bat, it was still irritating. He tried his best to scrunch up his neck and toss his head around, but whichever way his skull moved, the feathers followed.

Sans peeked open one eye to notice that the same thing was happening to Papyrus. His ears, cheeks, and neck were all being targeted. He didn’t even have to look down to know that there was a group of feathers also aiming behind his knees. Much like him, Papyrus was also trying to hold it in and squirm away. It wasn’t until an extra fluffy feather moved to the front of his throat to start swishing around that Papyrus let out a strained giggle.

“Nyehee…! Heeheeheehee…!” He still tried so hard to hold back, Sans could feel his toes thumping against the wooden floor. It didn’t make too much of a difference. Many more feathers moved to brush against his neck and collarbone, Papyrus, in response, choked back a squeal.

“Agh…!! Nyahaha…!! N-Nohoho! Eeek!! Heeheeheehee!!”

The feathers on Sans’s side also began fluffing along his throat and collarbone. Sans felt the laughter starting to bubble up in his chest, but he swallowed hard, refusing to immediately be undone by such soft and gentle tickling. He barely released small spurts of breath as his bones jerked around from the buildup of pressure.

“Ohhh! Look at that!” Dropwart began bouncing on her toes excitedly. She held the vial close to Papyrus’s face, a look of anticipation in her eyes.

Sans kept his sockets locked on Papyrus, making sure she didn’t do anything more to him. That’s when he realized something had changed. A stream of what looked like red smoke was pouring out of Papyrus’s mouth as he continued to snicker. It was phosphorescent and moved like it was purposefully trying to escape from him. Suddenly, it turned to the direction of Dropwart’s bottle. The direction of the strange red smoke dove straight into the glass vial, filling it up in an instant.

“Excellent!” she exclaimed as she fastened the cork onto the vial’s opening, quickly trapping the red smoke inside. “I just knew you’d be the first to break!”

She gave Papyrus a playful wink before giving the wand another flick of her wrist. The feathers around them stopped tickling and fell lifeless to the floor. Both brothers immediately gasped for air, though it didn’t take them long to once again regulate their breathing. After everything they had been through, the soft feather tickles were basically nothing more than a gentle warm-up.

“Pap! Are you okay?” Sans asked worriedly. He didn’t know what that smoke meant, or how it would affect him. But to his relief, Papyrus seemed perfectly fine.

“I…. I think so,” Papyrus replied quietly.

He too was terrified to know just what they were dealing with. The brothers watched as Dropwart placed the now glowing red vial onto the table before grabbing another one.

“What did you do to him?” Sans demanded boldly.

“Oh, you mean this?”

Dropwart gave the older skeleton a cheeky smile before reaching for the red vial again to give them a better view of it. As she approached with the little glass bottle in hand, Sans could finally read the label, it said; ‘Tittering’.

“This kind of brew requires a total of seven different kinds of laughter,” Dropwart explained as she dangled the vial of Papyrus’s tittering laughter in front of them. “And you boys are gonna help me get every last drop!”

She hurriedly placed the red vial back onto the table before proceeding to remove the cork from the next vial in line. Both brothers stood there, terrified and utterly dumbfounded. In this world, laughter wasn’t just a main food source, it could be used as a physical ingredient like any other piece of food. The idea that she was milking their laughter out of them like a dairy farmer did to a cow was terrifying enough, but what wouldn’t stop ringing in the brothers’ skulls was the fact that she had said she needed ‘seven different kinds of laughter’. What did that even mean? It was seven different kinds of crazy that was unfolding right before them, and all they knew was that they didn’t want to be here for any of it.

“No! Please! Please don’t do this!!” Papyrus started panicking once he got a good look at the other vials on the table. “Please! W-We don’t taste good, it’s not worth it!! We’ll give you indigestion! Let us go!!”

While Papyrus struggled and pleaded, Sans could only glare. He knew it was of no use now. The way she was clutching the empty vial and looking at them, one way or another she was going to drain the laughter out of them, and there was nothing they could do to stop her.

“Oh, such nonsense dearies!” Dropwart chuckled. “Even your simple snickers are worth their weight in gold. You two have just what I’m looking for!”

She suddenly placed the empty vial on the shelf next to them. She held up both of her hands, the mischievous look on her face never faltering.

“But … if you need a little more energy … I bet I can give you a hand!”

With two distinct popping sounds, Dropwart’s hands completely disconnected from her wrists and jumped down to the floor crawling around like two giant lime green spiders.

Sans and Papyrus practically jolted out of their bonds in surprise. Being skeletons, they too could disconnect their hands and feet when necessary. But this was the very last thing they had expected from a being of flesh and blood. Her wrists didn’t appear hurt by this at all, they were just left as two green stumps at the end of her arms. Clearly, she had done this before.

The two disconnected hands immediately scurried towards Papyrus, quickly crawling up his legs and heading towards his upper body with intense speed. Papyrus shrieked and cringed with disgust at the sight, but as the perfectly-tipped nails made contact with his ribs, he found that he couldn’t stop himself from giggling.

“EEK!! Ahaha! No! Nyahahahaha!! N-Nohoho! Get them off meheeheehee!!”

The hands stopped just under opposite sides of his underarms. One hand began crawling across the entirety of his ribcage with lightning speed. The other one stayed put, scratching under his right underarm.

Papyrus giggled frantically and tugged at the restraints. The idea of being tickled by uncontrollable disembodied hands made him horribly uncomfortable, and to make matters worse, they were both highly skilled when it came to tickling.

“Nyahahahahaha!! Pl-Plehehease!! Hahahaha!! Please stahahahap!! Ahahahaha!!” he pleaded, squealing every time a nail would graze a sensitive spot on his ribs. “Plehehehehehease!! This—ahaha!! Th-This is ahahahahawful!! Nyahahahahaha!!”

Sans looked on in horror as the hands tickled mercilessly at Papyrus’s upper body. He pulled at his own restraints, a newfound resolve taking hold of him in wanting to rescue his brother. But no matter how hard he pulled, the ropes wouldn’t budge an inch. He looked back at Papyrus, expecting to find the same smoke trailing out of his mouth for Dropwart to collect. But to his surprise, nothing was happening. She didn’t even have a vial ready, her hands were too busy tickling Papyrus.

Sans sharply turned as he heard a subtle hissing sound. The Magenta Snake was looking at him, a look of greed dancing in the light of its piercing eyes. Sans felt himself starting to squirm as the snake began slithering towards him. He kept his sockets locked on the serpent, wishing with all of his might that he could kick at it, lunge at it, do anything that would scare it away, but it continued to creep towards him, feathery tongue flicking away teasingly.

“St-Stay back!” Sans timidly snapped. The snake continued moving forward, completely ignoring his warning. “I mean it! You stay away!”

At last, the Magenta Snake lay in front of him, only a few inches away. If Sans wasn’t bound to the wooden stake, he would have been able to reach out and touch it. Or more specifically, reach out and punch it in the nose. For what felt like an eternity, he and the brightly colored serpent just stared at each other, the reptile refused to blink or look away for even a second. That’s when Sans realized … it was quiet. Papyrus’s laughter had ceased, and the younger skeleton was now taking deep inhalations.

In the heat of the moment, Sans suddenly felt two very distinct hands start digging into his underarms, tickling away with reckless abandon.

“WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! AHAHAHAHAHA!! NO—NAHAHAHAHA!!”

The older skeleton erupted with laughter as the disembodied hands scribbled mercilessly at his defenseless underarms. He wasn’t even aware that a bright blue smoke was trailing out of his mouth until he felt the hands lifting away from his sensitive tickle spot and start crawling down the sides of his body.

As the hands reconnected with Dropwart’s wrists, she giggled to herself as she reached for the vial to collect the second type of laughter from Sans.

“Ohoho! The old ‘distract ‘em, attack ‘em’! I just love that one!” she beamed proudly at the Magenta Snake as it nuzzled its broad snout into the side of her dress. “Nicely done, my pet!”

The blue smoke emitting from Sans’s mouth immediately funneled into the glass vial before Dropwart sealed it up with another cork. Sans read the label just before she was able to take the glass bottle back to the table. It read: ‘Outburst’. Sans growled bitterly at the old witch, he felt so played. If only he could tell which kind of laughter she was going for next, maybe he could find a way to predict what she was going to pull next to drag it out of them. But she was clearly experienced with this kind of thing, he knew she wasn’t going to simply let slip what her next move was.

“That’s two!” she cheered as she placed the glowing blue vial next to the red one. “Now, I think I’ll need something special for this one.”

The brothers watched in helpless anticipation as she pondered over the various tools laid across the wooden table. They held their breath, wincing with fear whenever her fingers would graze across a particularly deadly-looking instrument.

“Ah-ha! That’s the ticket!” She held up a large paintbrush, twirling it around in her fingers before staring intently back at Papyrus. “I think this will work nicely on you.”

To an extent, the skeletons were relieved that it hadn’t been something worse like the hairbrush or the toothbrush. But still, the bristles on the end of the paintbrush looked to be incredibly soft, and not knowing what she was planning still left them in a state of panic. Papyrus whimpered and squirmed as she approached him, still twirling the paintbrush between her fingers.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, deary,” she said in a soft tone, motioning for the Lilac Snake to come slithering next to her. “I’m afraid these old bones of mine are too tired to be bending over.”

POP!

Papyrus gasped, his eyes wide with a look of complete shock and horror. At first, Sans didn’t know what had happened. He just stood there watching Papyrus’s expression suddenly change, his Soul nearly froze not knowing what was going on. Then he noticed the tail of the Lilac Snake slithering away with something wrapped up in its coils. Sans, in turn, let out a shocked gasp when he realized what it had … it was Papyrus’s left foot.

With little effort or risk, both brothers are able to physically remove parts of their bodies. Once their chosen appendage is disconnected, however, they are unable to move them around until they are properly reconnected with the rest of them. They can still feel everything that happens, which meant that Papyrus’s foot was now totally helpless and in the clutches of a tickle-hungry witch.

“Oh no … no!” Papyrus whimpered as he watched the Lilac Snake drop his foot into Dropwart’s open palm. “No! You can’t!” He started uselessly pulling at the restraints again, panic engulfing his bones.

“Give him his foot back, right now!” Sans growled, also struggling hopelessly against the ropes.

“Oh, I’ll give it back … after I do this of course!” She gave the underside of Papyrus’s toes a quick swipe of the paintbrush. As expected, the bristles were incredibly soft, and unbearably ticklish.

“EEK!!” Papyrus shrieked.

“Pap! Hold your breath!” Sans instructed.

Papyrus did as he was told, inhaling a deep breath into his cheekbones. Both of them knew that it wasn’t going to last, and it most certainly wasn’t going to deter Dropwart from trying. But it was the only thing either of them could think of in the heat of the moment.

“Oh no you don’t!”

Dropwart eagerly swiped the paintbrush under Papyrus’s toes again. The younger skeleton’s eyes bugged out as a tiny whimper snuck out of him. She continued the motion of dragging the paintbrush back and forth under his toes, greedily eating up every single one of Papyrus’s muffled reactions.

“My, my, my!” she cruelly teased as she began wriggling the bristles between his toes. “You can’t move at all, can you?”

More than anything Papyrus wanted to curl and wiggle his toes. Even though it would do nothing to alleviate the horrid tickling sensations, the physical venting would at least help a little. But to his dismay, his toes remained still and practically lifeless. Helpless to every swipe and bristle the tickling paintbrush had to offer.

Papyrus threw his head back with his sockets shut tight. He lightly banged the back of his skull against the wooden stake as he trembled. The paintbrush wasn’t the worst tickle tool in the world, and his feet weren’t as ticklish as places like his spine or upper body. But more than anything, he just didn’t want to give Dropwart any more of the ‘ingredients’ that she needed.

“Just hang on, Pap,” Sans quietly encouraged him, though he knew the worst was yet to come.

“Well, if you’re gonna be stubborn, then I’ll just have to get you up here, then!” Dropwart pulled the paintbrush out, and proceeded to brush along the tops of Papyrus’s toes. “Tickle tickle tickle!” she teased.

“Nyaaaaaaah!! Ahahahahahahaha!! Ohohoh nooo!! Hahahaha!! Nonononononohoho!! Nahahat thehehere!! Heeheeheeheehee!!”

If Dropwart’s teasing coos weren’t enough, the tops of Papyrus’s toes were even worse than the underside. Although he wasn’t in a position where he could freely bend his toes anyway, he knew that even if he could, he wouldn’t have been able to use them to protect the tops of his toes.

“Ha! I knew that would getcha!” Dropwart cackled. “But that’s a little bit much for me, deary. I’m afraid I’m gonna need something a little bit lighter.”

To their surprise, Dropwart moved the paintbrush back down to the underside of Papyrus’s toes. She swirled and swiped the bristles under and between them, causing Papyrus’s laughter to soften as he released frantic spurts of giggles.

“Eeeeheeheeheehee!! Nohohohoho!! Quihihihihit it!! Nyahahaha!! It-It stihihihill tickles!! Heeheeheeheehee!!” Papyrus chuckled as his upper body squirmed.

It didn’t make any sense to either of them. Clearly the tops of Papyrus’s toes were more ticklish than the bottom side, so why switch it up after finally getting him to break? Sans figured it out once he started seeing the red smoke pouring from Papyrus’s mouth again. She wasn’t yet after the boisterous laughter like for the vial that read ‘Belly Laughter’. She was still warming them up for that by collecting softer chuckles. Sure enough, the vial that collected Papyrus’s red smoke read; ‘Giggling’.

Then Sans got to thinking. His own toes were a lot more ticklish than Papyrus’s, what would have happened had she gone after him instead? She wouldn’t have been able to get any of his giggling, that was for sure. She seemed to know the exact spot that would elicit the perfect giggle from his brother, but the question was how?

“Now let’s see…,” she pondered after placing the full vial of smoke next to the others. She turned to look back and forth between the two skeletons before settling her eyes on Sans. Grinning deviously, she grabbed the next empty bottle in one hand before handing Papyrus’s foot back to the Lilac Snake.

“Please see to it that this gets returned my dear,” she said slyly, never taking her gaze off of the older skeleton. “I do believe I need something from this one now.”

Sans couldn’t help but squirm, she hated the way she was staring at him. Such greedy hunger in those piercing golden eyes. Her toothy grin ensuring nothing but mischief and mayhem. He could just tell, she was going to have way too much fun with whatever she was planning to do with him.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, I’m not interested,” Sans retorted boldly, still glaring at the old woman with utter disdain.

“Oh, you don’t have to be, deary. All I need from you is your precious laughter!” She stopped in front of him, teasingly wiggling her fingers directly over his body.

Sans tensed up, the physical teasing affecting him more than he cared to admit. He half-expected her hands to pop off again, or for the levitating feathers to come back to life. But to his surprise, she lunged for him, tickling at his ribs with her hands still attached.

“AAGH!! Ahahahahaha!! Nohohohohoho!! Hahahahahaha!! Get ahahahahaff!! Hahaha!! Get off of meheeheeheehee!! Ahahahaha!!”

There was no hope of holding back for this one. Sans’s ribs were horribly sensitive, and Dropwart’s perfect nails were well-practiced and skilled in the tickling technique. It was a dangerous combination for the poor laughing skeleton.

“Aww, does that tickle, deary?” Dropwart teased as she skittered her nails along the different parts of Sans’s ribcage. “Well, what about here? Yeah? And here? Oh, that must tickle a LOT, huh?”

Dropwart’s verbal teasing was already causing Sans’s sockets to tear up, he was so caught up in the unbearable laughing fit that he didn’t even notice. He hated how sensitive his rib bones were, they never failed to throw him into a blind panic.

“Stahahahahahap ihihihihit!!” Sans screeched. “Dohohohohon’t—ahahahaha!! Don’t—Dohohohon’t tehehehehease!! Ahahahahahaha!!”

“Leave him alone!” Papyrus shouted, still trying his best to break free.

“Oh, don’t worry, deary, we’ll get to you later.” Dropwart smirked at the younger skeleton. “Now where is that spot, huh?”

Although it was clear that she was having a blast tickling at Sans’s ribs with her own two hands, it became clear that Dropwart was in search of something. Papyrus would notice how much time she would spend on one particular spot before turning to another spot giving it that same vigorous treatment. He wasn’t sure what it was she wanted out of Sans, but she wouldn’t stop teasing and tickling him until she would get it.

“Plehehehehehehease!!”

Sans laughter started trailing off into desperate-sounding wheezes. He didn’t know if that’s what she wanted out of him, but at this point he would have done anything to give her the next missing ingredient. Just to make the torture on his ribs stop.

“Plehehehehease!! Please stahahahahahap!! Ahahahahaha!! I-I cahahahan’t…!”

Dropwart finally let her hands up as Sans fell into silent laughter. Her giddy expression of enjoyment was replaced by one of confusion.

“I just don’t get it,” she replied, looking the older skeleton up and down. “I just know that was supposed to get you snorting.”

Sans inhaled sharply, suddenly it made sense. She was after his snorting spot. He felt the spaces in between his ribs starting to tingle just at the thought of it. He silently prayed that his subtle reaction hadn’t immediately tipped her off to where the spot was located. His mind buzzed with confusion. How could she possibly know that his snorting spot was located around the ribcage?

The sharp hissing sound of the Lilac Snake jostled Sans out of his racing thoughts. It eagerly slithered towards Sans without silencing its hissing dialogue. Sans glanced over at Dropwart, who had turned her head towards the serpent listening intently. A sinking feeling of dread began forming in Sans’s bones as he remembered what the serpent had done to him before dragging him to the cottage.

“Well, you don’t say!” Dropwart exclaimed, turning back towards Sans with a knowing smirk on her face. “Alright my pet. Proceed.”

Before Sans had a chance to protest, the Lilac Snake once again shoved its enormous head under Sans’s shirt.

“Oh no! No! No—AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Sans shrieked with renewed laughter as he felt the familiar feeling of the snake’s feathery tongue slipping between his ribs. “NAHAHAHAHAHA!! STAHAHAHAP!! N-NAHAHAT AGAHAHAHAHAIN!!”

Sans erupted with a fit of snorting laughter. Every sharp inhale was met with a louder and louder burst from his nasal cavity, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to control it

Dropwart eagerly collected the blue smoke that poured out of his mouth in little bursts. It was a slightly larger vial than the rest, so she cruelly took her time filling it up to the brim. She fastened the cork onto the glass container firmly before giving the Lilac Snake a steady pat on the back.

“Thank you, my pet. I believe that will do.”

The Lilac Snake gave Sans one last harsh little hiss against his ribs before slinking out of his shirt to return to its owner’s side. Sans shrieked in response before falling limp against the wooden stake. His body greedily swallowing huge gulps of air, as he tried to blink away fresh tears.

“H…. How…?” he breathed out, his question causing Dropwart to pause. “How … did you … know … about … my ribs…?”

“Well … why don’t you take in a deep breath and hold it?” Dropwart replied with a coy smile. Sans responded with an unamused scowl, obviously not in the mood for any more tricks. “Go on,” Dropwart insisted “Take a big breath and hold it until it feels as though you could burst.”

Sans was hesitant, almost certain that this was another one of her schemes to get more laughter out of him. But still … he wanted answers, and it wasn’t like there was anything they could do to stop her. So he inhaled sharply, holding the air within his cheekbones. At first nothing happened, he could feel the pressure starting to rise in his chest, so he clenched his fists together in an attempt to ignore it. He suddenly heard Papyrus take in a sharp inhalation of his own.

“Sans…,” his brother said, shakily. “You’re … glowing.”

Sans’s sockets flew open, he looked down at his body. Sure enough various areas of his body were glowing that same violet color as the sweet-smelling liquid in the cauldron. Some spots were showing up more intensely than others. His underarms, which was one of his most sensitive areas, was glowing brightly. Meanwhile, less ticklish spots like his hips were much more dull in terms of light.

Sans looked up to see Dropwart proudly patting her cauldron, and it all made sense. Ever since stepping into this cursed cottage, Sans and his brother had been inhaling the overly-saturated sweetness of that bubbling potion. Now with the aroma firmly planted into their system, Dropwart could see clearly which spots of their bodies were the most ticklish.

In a total panic, Sans looked down to where the grooves of his back were located. Sure enough, his most ticklish secret spot was the most illuminated part of his body.

“It’s my most favorite spell.” Dropwart beamed down at the bubbling potion. “I never do anything without it. Now … shall we continue?” She picked up another vial from the wooden table, along with her twisted black wand.

As she approached the struggling skeletons, Dropwart looked back and forth between the brothers and the vial. Her expression pondering and perplexed.

“Hmm…,” she hummed in thought. “This will require some belly laughter, but … it looks like we don’t have bellies to work with, my dearies.”

“See?” Papyrus immediately spoke up. “I told you we didn’t have what you needed! Now let us go!”

“Right!” Sans added. “No bellies, no belly laughter, nothing you can do about it!”

“Oh no?” Dropwart’s smile returned slyly. “I can see those spines of yours aren’t too ticklish on their own … so maybe we can just fix that.”

She swiftly grabbed a hefty burlap bag off of the top shelf. Holding it open, Sans could see a sparkling pink substance on the inside. Immediately it reminded him of the fairies’ Tickle Dust and he started to panic.

“What…. What is that? What is that?! What are you doing?!” He pulled and pulled at his restraints. Despite knowing full well that he wasn’t going anywhere, fear completely overtook him and all of his actions.

Dropwart dipped the twisted black wand into the bag of sparkling powder and steadily swirled it around. When she pulled it back out, the wand was coated in the pink glittering powder. There was no doubt in the skeleton’s minds, she had her own special supply of the dangerous dust, and she was going to use it at full force.

She aimed the now sparkling wand at the brother’s midsections and gave it a gentle flick. The pink glittering substance flew from the tip of the wand and landed with an audible ‘POOF’ onto both of their spines.

Laughter exploded out of the skeletons, they could physically feel their bodies shake and jolt with every powerful inhale and exhale that pounded out of them. It was the strangest sensation feeling how immensely ticklish their spines had become, and with nothing there to even be tickling them no less.

While Papyrus had always struggled with how sensitive his spine was, as it was closest to his sweet spot, the sensation was all too new to Sans. Now it was on the same playing field as his underarms, and he absolutely hated it.

As the skeletons flopped around hysterically laughing in their bonds, Dropwart immediately grabbed the larger vial to collect the red and blue smoke that was practically flooding out of the brothers’ mouths. They opened their jaws to let out tearful screams of protest, but all that came out of them was more helpless laughter and more phosphorescent smoke. Dropwart took her sweet time filling up the vial, clearly relishing every moment of watching the poor skeletons writhe in ticklish agony. A look of sickening satisfaction spread across her face each time she heard one of them let out a strained squeal or a breathy cackle.

She loved this, being the cause of their delicious misery, and ultimately being the one that could put an end to it whenever it suited her. Such power looked to be just as intoxicating as the laughter she was forcing out of her victims. The red and blue smoke swirled around in the glass vial, mixing into a bright purple color. It was almost identical to the violet bubbling potion in the cauldron, though not quite exact.

Dropwart secured the cork onto the nearly overflowing vial of laughter, but didn't yet stop her spell on the brothers. Instead, she leaned forward, taking a deep and satisfying breath. The red and blue smoke traveled effortlessly up the nostrils of her long, lime green nose, and left her with an expression of unadulterated bliss. At last, she gave the wand another gentle flick, causing the Tickle Dust and all of its aftereffects to disappear with a 'POOF’!

Sans and Papyrus panted so hard they both started coughing due to the rapid inhales hitting the back of their throats. They wheezed and spluttered, desperately trying to regain their normal breathing again. Exhausted and anxious, they looked up to see Dropwart placing the purple vial next to the others, wasting no time grabbing the next one in line. There were only two left, and neither of them wanted to know what it took to extract the last two forms of laughter.

“These last two are most definitely my favorite part of the job,” she mused, playing with the second-to-last bottle in her hand.

By the devilish look in her eyes, the brothers could just tell that this was going to be very bad. She stood between the two of them, carefully looking each one up and down. Sans felt so exposed and vulnerable, knowing full well that she could see every inch of their tickle spots on full display. Finally, she stepped in front of Papyrus, causing the younger skeleton to shake with anxiety.

“I’ve had such fun watching you giggle and wriggle around!” Dropwart cooed, teasing Papyrus by tenderly tracing a finger down his skull and neck.

Papyrus whined and tried squirming away from her touch. Fury flashed in Sans’s gaze, watching his brother be toyed with this way. He knew better than to waste his energy struggling, but he couldn’t seem to help himself whenever Papyrus was at risk.

With another twirl of the wand, the pastel feathers that were still resting on the floor around them came back to life. They purposefully hovered over Papyrus as the younger skeleton let out a quiet whimper of fear. He flashed a desperate look at Dropwart as the witch spoke with a teasing tone again.

“That spot right there, is it? Where the hips meet the spine?”

Papyrus’s jaw dropped in horror, immediately he began to panic and fight against the ropes with everything he had. Dropwart grinned evilly, her suspicions confirmed by his reaction.

“NOOOOOO!! PLEASE!! PLEASE DON’T!!” Papyrus pleaded, tears already falling down his cheeks. “I’LL DO ANYTHING!! JUST PLEASE NOT THAT!!”

Sans in turn pulled even harder against the ropes, growling and grunting with frustration.

“Don’t you dare!” he threatened. “Don’t lay a single finger on him!!”

Dropwart only chuckled in reply. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that, deary … that’s what these are for!”

With another flick of the wand, the large group of feathers danced and swirled and twirled around Papyrus’s secret sweet spot. The younger skeleton was immediately lost in a spasming fit of laughter, screaming, crying and thrashing. Completely hysterical and unable to utter a single cohesive word.

“NYAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!! N-N-NAHAHAHAHA!!! AGH!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! STAHAHAHA…!! PL-PLE-AHAHAHAHAHA!!”

It didn’t take long for the red smoke to immediately start pouring out of his open mouth. Dropwart wasted no time funneling it into the large vial, Sans could see the label on the glass container read; ‘Hysterical’. The look of utter delight spread across Dropwart’s wicked expression, as she watched Papyrus struggle and suffer.

Sans pulled so hard, he could feel the rope burning into his bones. But he didn’t care, he had hoped with all of his might that witnessing Papyrus being tortured like this would be the motivation he finally needed to break out of the restraints. But even with his growing resentment towards their new kidnapper, it wasn’t enough to break free. Exhausted and hanging limp against the stake, he watched his brother hopelessly laugh and scream in unbearable ticklish agony.

“Let him GO!!” Sans growled over the sound of his brother’s hysteria.

“All in due time, deary.” Dropwart giggled, watching the vial fill up with Papyrus’s glowing laughter.

“Come … on!” Sans grunted, still struggling against the ropes. “Get off of him!! Don’t touch him, you ugly old crone!!”

In an instant, Dropwart’s face changed. The giddy smile across her face dropped to one of shock as she turned to give Sans a wide-eyed expression. At first, her change in demeanor startled the older skeleton, but he kept his gaze on her spiteful and steaming with hatred. He finally said something that got under her skin, he wasn’t about to take it back now.

As the vial filled to the brim, Dropwart kept her gaze on Sans as she placed the cork on top. Before giving her wand another wave and commanding the feathers to stop, her eyes narrowed to a disdainful expression towards Sans. She glared at him with an intensity that almost matched the one he had for her. As the feathers dropped to the ground again and the room was filled with the sound of Papyrus gasping and coughing for air, Dropwart faced Sans, her voice suddenly low and menacing.

“I think you will be the one to fill the last vial, then.”

Ordinarily, this would be the part where Dropwart would turn away to place the full vial on the table and retrieve another. But this time, as she gripped the glowing red container in her hands, she brought the feathers to life again with another flick of the wand.

In an instant, the pastel cluster of fluffy feathers dived under the back of Sans’s shirt, intruding in from the top of his collar. Just as he had feared, the intense group of feathers headed straight for the grooves of his back. They swished and twirled and brushed and dragged along his ultra-sensitive spot, tickling like mad.

“AAAAAAAGGHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! AHAHAHAHAHA!! NAHAHAHAHA!!! AAAGH!!”

Sans didn’t even try to beg for mercy this time, he knew that this was just her petty revenge for calling her ugly. Bucking and thrashing his body around did nothing to deter the feathers from attacking his vulnerable spot. Tears flew in every direction as he cackled and screeched in total anguish.

To make matters worse, Dropwart didn’t even move to grab ahold of the final vial. She just stood there, evilly watching Sans writhe in ticklish agony with a glaring smirk across her face.

“This is what you get for being rude to your hostess, deary!” she cruelly taunted.

It took a solid minute before Papyrus regained enough breath to properly hold his head up straight. His breathing was still ragged and strained but was steadily returning to normal, at least until he saw Sans. Although he couldn’t see the feathers as they were perfectly hidden down his shirt, the way Sans was struggling combined with the look on his face told him everything.

“What…. What are you … doing?!” Papyrus tried to scream, but his body was too weak from breathing so hard. “You…. You already got … the worst spot … out of me!! L-Let him … go!”

“Oh yes, deary, I got the hysterical laughter from you,” Dropwart replied in a patronizing tone. “But from him, I think I’m gonna need something just a bit more pungent.”

She finally turned back towards the table to replace the full vial with an empty one, leaving poor Sans a laughing, screaming, crying mess. Tears flung in every direction as he rapidly shook his head. Nothing alleviated the flaring tingles that left his body absolutely wracked with laughter.

“Oh Sans….” Papyrus felt so helpless, standing there watching him suffer. More than anything he wanted to break out of the bonds to rescue his brother. Exactly how Sans had always tried to do for him.

It seemed to take forever before Dropwart returned with the empty vial. The minutes went by like hours for poor Sans. His throat was positively worn down and on fire from the shrieking laughter that tore from him. Surprisingly, it hadn’t yet manifested into smoke for Dropwart to collect. A horrified thought raced through the skeleton’s already dizzy mind. What if she needed to do even more to tickle him in addition to getting after his worst spot? If she aimed for any other spots like his feet or underarms, there was no way he could take it! This was already pushing him past the brink of insanity.

He tried to let out a terrified scream, but to his horror, nothing came out but a barely audible squeak. Dropwart looked on eagerly as Sans dissolved into silent laughter. It was so strained and so quiet, they could hear the dripping sound of Sans’s tears hitting the wooden floor.

“There it is,” Dropwart eagerly whispered.

Eventually something finally did spill out of Sans’s mouth, the phosphorescent blue smoke. This time it seemed to glow brighter than any form of laughter that had come out of the brothers before. Sans could only take short little inhalations before practically choking to cough out the quiet chortling.

Thankfully, once the vial was filled to the top with the glowing blue smoke, Dropwart waved her wand to finally put an end to the tickling feathers. Sans inhaled so deeply his bones began to shake. The lingering tingles of the feathers dropping from the back of his shirt caused leftover laughter to come pouring freely from his mouth. His body wracked with quiet sobs and still-bubbling chuckles that threatened to torture him even further.

“Shh, it’s okay Sans,” Papyrus gently comforted. “It’s over, everything’s gonna be okay.”

He wished more than anything that he could reach out to physically comfort him. Poor Sans was so exhausted and weak. Even the act of crying was too strenuous for him to take. Before Dropwart turned back to the table to complete her collection, Papyrus got a good look at the label of the last vial. It read; ‘Silent Laughter’.

With all seven glass vials filled to the brim with the glowing laughter, Dropwart giddily reached for the wooden spoon still resting in the cauldron of bubbling potion. One by one she added each container of laughter, watching the potion hiss and bubble with each new change to its formula. The echoes of the skeleton’s laughter reverberated off the walls of the cottage with every ingredient that was added.

Papyrus watched on in horror, fearful for what she was planning to do with that deadly-looking brew. Sans’s head still hung limply in place, though he was too exhausted to look up, he could still hear the sounds of the contained laughter as Dropwart added them to the mixture. The overly sweet smell of the potion once again overtook the cottage, the aroma was so strong that it almost made Sans sick to his nonexistent stomach.

After what felt like forever, Sans finally had enough strength to lift his head, his breathing slow and steady. He blinked the tears and blurriness from his sockets to see Dropwart pulling out the large wooden spoon from the cauldron. She had scooped up a small amount of the still steaming potion in the spoon. She gently blew cool air over it that immediately extinguished the steam. She gave the violet liquid a satisfied sniff before turning back to the exhausted skeletons.

“It’s ready,” she said eagerly. “Now who wants a taste?”

#Tickletober #Tickletober2024 #Undertale #LaughterLand Story #Sans #Papyrus

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