#tklfics

[tklpilled]

it was only days after their contract had been made that kinich asked the question.

"why did you choose that form?" the cave is silent, almost, aside from the crackling flames they're using for light. if not for such quiet, ajaw probably wouldn't have been able to even hear the question, the younger kinich's voice so timid.

"huh?" ajaw pauses, turns from where he's busily munching on a quenepa berry.

kinich isn't eating, knees to his chest as he stares at the ground. he's too damn thin; his body will be of no use to ajaw if it's going to be so weak. "i know you can't go back to your real form, but why this?" he draws aimless shapes in the dirt with his finger. "a human form would be more convenient, wouldn't it?"

"stop with the questions," ajaw grumbles, taking another bite. kinich obeys.

a minute later, ajaw breaks the silence again. "it's more convenient. uses less phlogiston." he sighs. "to think the great k'uhul ajaw has been reduced to this..."

kinich says nothing for a moment. "so, you could change forms if you want?" he finally looks up. "what does your human form look like?"

ajaw scoffs at that. "ha! like i'd show you. maybe one day, if you're not dead yet."

that day came one rainy night when kinich was stuck in bed, burning with a fever, and it was much easier to care for him with real hands. though maybe care isn't accurate, because ajaw doesn't care about kinich's wellbeing. he just doesn't want his future body to be so frail.

similar situations remain the only times kinich has seen ajaw's human form. he never says anything, but ajaw can always feel him staring. it doesn't come as a huge surprise when kinich, one day, specifically asks for ajaw's human body.

ajaw sprawls out on kinich's bed, closing his eyes with a sigh. this form feels more comfortable than his usual one, but at the cost of more of his strength. he flexes his fingers, runs them through his messy blond hair. kinich sits on the edge of the bed, watching silently. then, suddenly, he reaches out.

"what the hell are you doing?!" ajaw jumps away, sitting up, rubbing his arm where kinich had just touched. kinich's hand is frozen in the air, and he blinks.

"your skin feels real."

"huh?" ajaw rolls his eyes. "of course it does. what were you expecting?"

kinich crawls closer, reaching his hand out again, but this time, ajaw lets him. "more...synthetic?" he runs his fingers along the green marking's on ajaw's skin, up the insides of his arms until ajaw slaps him away.

"cut that out," he demands, not liking the oddly tingling feeling that follows kinich's touch.

but when has kinich ever listened to him?

ajaw discovered long ago the unfortunate reality; that with a human body comes human weakness. his sharp fangs have pierced the inside of his lip a few too many times. human bodies are so damn fragile. this, though? it's new. it's uncomfortably foreign, and suddenly he understands why kinich never lets ajaw touch his neck.

"agh! what the fuck!" he tries to escape from the hands squeezing the sides of his waist, but kinich has always been faster.

"if only you could stay in this form all the time," kinich muses to himself, making quick work of turning ajaw into a shrieking, laughing wreck. "this seems effective at reigning you in."

"k-kihinich!" ajaw screeches, head tossed back, electric shocks shooting up his body. "stohohop this ahat ohohonce!"

but, as usual, kinich doesn't listen.

[tklpilled]

mualani tilts her head, bouncing on her toes. "so, ajaw..." she has that look of faux innocence, one that lets kinich know that she's up to something—something he decidedly wants no part of. "you know a lot about kinich, don't you?"

ajaw groans. "unwillingly. i try not to pay attention to him." it shoots him a glare, as though trying to rile him up, but as usual, it has no effect.

mualani giggles. "well, i actually wanted to know about his weaknesses."

this gets ajaw's attention. it perks up instantly, hurrying closer to mualani. "what, you want a list? i could come up with one for you. he doesn't like water, to start."

she waves her hands in front of her. "no, no, i meant—huh?" she turns to kinich, who is trying to act like he's not associated with either of them; which doesn't fool anyone, considering there's no one else around. "you don't like water?"

kinich crosses his arms, turning his head away. "only when it comes to drinking it. it's bland and tasteless."

mualani giggles. "well, let's trade then. i'll drink your water if you drink my milk, how's that?" she returns her attention to ajaw. "but, anyway, i meant more like..." she taps her fingers together, thinking. "he's always so composed, you know? i want something that'll make him break, i guess."

kinich really doesn't like this now. he's not sure what ajaw will say, but whatever it is, it can't be good. "don't—"

"hmmmm..." ajaw flits around kinich, studying him with narrowed eyes. "that's a hard one. sometimes i wonder if he even has emotions."

mualani walks over to join it. with two pairs of eyes boring into him, kinich squirms uncomfortably, his skin prickling.

"break his legs," ajaw suggests, "that's gotta make him cry. let me watch."

"i'd...rather not hurt him," mualani rubs the back of her neck.

"boring!" cries ajaw, rolling its eyes. "what's the point, then?"

kinich shuffles away, trying to escape from the two of them, but it's not easy when they're both focused entirely on him. "this is stupid. let's go."

"i know!" exclaims ajaw, almost excited, and an uneasy feeling churns in kinich's gut. he really doesn't like where this is heading. "if you don't wanna hurt him, just tickle him."

kinich's eyes widen and he swats ajaw away. "i'm not ticklish. that's pointless."

ajaw flickers away from his hand. "nuh uh! hey, mualani, just go for his—"

"go to hell," hisses kinich, cheeks colouring despite his attempts to repress it. he manages to finally get rid of ajaw, for now, at least. he turns back to mualani, who has a terrifyingly mischievous glint in her eyes.

"you're ticklish?"

"no." he tries to back away, but she only follows him.

she reaches for him, then, latching on to his sides just above his hips. he wants to struggle, to jump away and never show his face again, but he likes her and she looks so damn excited about this. too happy for someone who's about to torment him.

and he laughs. he can't help it, with the way her thumbs are kneading at the clusters of nerves at his hipbones. he tries, briefly, to hold it in, but it all comes rushing out faster than he can do anything about it. he tries to push her hands away as his knees buckle, but his strength is being sapped away from him, so instead he just grabs at handfuls of grass, getting dirt under his nails. all his senses are screaming at him to make it stop.

but, even though kinich is the one being tickled, mualani's smile rivals his. she fawns over him and teases him and every word from her mouth is making him feel like he's on fire.

an irritatingly familiar voice chimes in from above. "eh, cute's not the word i'd use to describe him. but if you make him laugh until he dies, i can't complain."

"f-fuhuhuck ohohoff!" kinich cries, desperate and overwhelmed, but mualani keeps tickling and she keeps teasing and it's all so much, way too much.

but if it keeps mualani grinning like that, he thinks he can grow to like it.

[tklpilled]

cannibal

asking ochako what she and toga are would be like asking if tomatoes are fruits or vegetables. there’s the logical answer, the one that’s objectively correct: tomatoes are fruits, and she and toga are enemies. an undeniable fact. but there's another answer, the one that isn’t technically true but that feels right, like it would be true if circumstances were different: that a tomato is a vegetable. that ochako and toga are lovers.

ochako doesn’t think either answer is entirely right. she thinks they’re too gentle to be enemies. she thinks they’re too violent to be lovers.

toga pins her to the ground, blade in hand, sharp smile on her face. her love is an obsessive kind, one that acts like it wants to consume ochako whole. 

“ochako-chan,” she says, eyes glistening with bloodlust. “won’t you give me a taste?”

ochako squirms beneath her, some mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through her. “you’ll have to work for it.”

toga tosses her head back with a laugh and ochako thinks it may just be the prettiest sound in the world, a high-pitched giggle that makes her sound just like the schoolgirl she is. “you can never make it easy for me, can you?”

ochako grins, and in an instant she’s wriggled her way out and begins to run.

she’s not trying, really. she could easily run much faster, and she thinks toga knows that. it’s like this every time; ochako doesn’t run fast, or she doesn’t go very far, allowing toga to catch her every single time. she lives for the thrill of it.

she feels toga’s arms wrap around her waist before she’s on the ground again in quite a similar position as before, only this time she’s face-down in the grass. she turns her head to look up at the villain, a smug look on her face even though she’s lost this little game of theirs. in a way, she’s still winning.

toga leans in, her breath brushing against ochako’s ear. “caught you~!” she giggles, pressing most of her weight against ochako’s back. she taps her fingers against the hero’s arm. “you’re not going easy on me, are you, ochako-chan?”

ochako smiles up at her. “of course not,” she lies smoothly. “you caught me fair and square.”

toga sighs, her head drooping a bit. “you do look cute when you’re all bloodied,” she says, twirling her knife between her fingers. “but i don’t know…i’m thinking of switching things up!” she picks her head back up, grinning. “are you ticklish, ochako?”

“h-huh?” ochako squeaks out, eyes widening. 

toga continues, an almost disappointed expression on her face. “i see how you always laugh around izuku,” she complains. “i’m getting jealous of him, you know? why don’t you ever laugh like that with me?”

ochako stares in shock for a second before she snorts. “is that it?”

toga hisses, cheeks pinkening. there’s a clattering sound as she tosses her blade aside, manicured nails crawling up ochako’s sides before she can react.

“himiko!” she squeaks, her hands grabbing at toga’s. she tries activating her quirk, but toga is faster than her in this state. she grabs ochako’s wrists and pins them over her head with one hand, her other continuing her merciless assault.

“you’re so cute, ochako!” toga practically squeals, giggling along. “just laugh and i’ll stop, ‘kay? after a while, anyway.”

ochako tries to hold out, but among her list of weaknesses, both tickling and himiko toga are at the top. she falls into laughter, kicking her feet behind her, the only part of her body that she can freely move. she never wears her hero costume when she goes to meet toga, never seeing a reason to, but right now she wishes she had it to protect her.

or, well, a part of her does. the other part of her is undeniably happy, even despite her situation. because toga is smiling with her, and being playful and acting like a regular girl instead of a wanted criminal. ochako’s heart nearly bursts with want, to take her back to u.a. and kiss her and give her every last drop of her blood.

but all she can do is shove the thought away and enjoy the moment while it lasts.

toga lets go of her arms suddenly, grabbing her body and flipping her over to face her. she cups ochako’s cheek with her hand. it’s warm.

“stop frowning like that, ochako,” she says. her voice is always so gentle when she talks to her. “i’m trying to make you laugh. you’re ruining it, you know.”

“i love you,” says ochako before she can stop herself.

“i know,” replies himiko.

ochako looks down at himiko’s hand, still resting against her side. her nails are sharp, pointed. she once thought those nails would rip her apart. she wouldn’t care much if they did.

but they don’t, because himiko has killed and hurt and tortured but ochako is like a goddess to her. so, yes, they claw at her stomach and make her shriek, but no blood is shed and all ochako feels is love. 

“h-hihimikoho!” she squeaks, one hand flying up to her mouth to muffle herself, but himiko pulls it away just as quickly.

“don’t hide from me, ochako-chan,” she coos, lacing their fingers together. “let me see your pretty face!”

ochako falls practically limp, letting himiko toy with her as she wishes. “st-stohohop, stop, tihihickles,” she manages to piece together through endless giggles. the only thing racing through her mind is that it tickles.

it makes himiko laugh. “ha! because i’m tickling you, silly. it’s supposed to.” the tone of her voice makes ochako squirm, butterflies fluttering in her stomach and her face heating up.

there are tears in her eyes when himiko finally relents, brushing messy strands of hair out of ochako’s face. “you’re so cute,” she hums, leaning to place a kiss on ochako’s forehead. it’s one of the gentlest acts that she’ll ever perform.

and when ochako inevitably has to leave, to keep whatever this is a secret, she will give her a kiss in return as a farewell. and himiko will smile and blush in the way ochako loves, and she will place a hand to her lips as if to preserve the feeling forever.

and later, they will meet, and do the same thing again, and ochako does not hurt people and himiko does not save people, but somehow they still fit together perfectly.

[tklpilled]

boothill clenches then unclenches his fist. then again, and again, and again. he squeezes tight, trying to remember the feeling of nails pressed into his palm.

a pale hand covers his, spreading his fingers out and resting flat in his palm. "what do you need?" asks a gentle voice, robin's face smiling up at him.

boothill sighs. "i dunno. just—" he takes her hand, pulling it up to his cheek. he closes his eyes, relishing in the soft feel of her skin on his, the only form of contact he gets these days. she rubs her thumb along his cheekbone, tracing the moles under his eye.

"f—udge," boothill grumbles to himself, tightening his hold on her wrist. "i hate this."

"i know," robin says, her soothing voice washing over him. "it's okay."

she moves to brush a lock of hair from his face, trailing her fingers around the shell of his ear. he twitches, turning his head slightly.

"too much?" she asks, ready to pull her hand away, but boothill grabs her and keeps her there.

"no," he says, clenching his jaw. "'s fine. please."

so she continues, her fingertips brushing around his ear, along his jawline, and she pieces it together once he huffs out a tiny laugh.

"you're ticklish," she giggles, repeating her actions, and despite himself boothill smiles, leans into her touch, lets himself giggle once or twice.

it will never be the same again, but for right now he thinks he'll be okay.

[tklpilled]

aventurine is far from a stranger to risk. he's used to gambling, with fate, karma, and death on the other end of the table. it's second nature to him, his hands always looking to flip a card, roll a die, take a chip. he feels nothing anymore — either he wins or he dies, and he's long decided he's content with either outcome.

this is, by far, the riskiest gamble he's ever made.

sneaking up on someone is easy. his steps are silent, his movements swift. no one ever notices him coming.

sneaking up on veritas ratio is a much, much different story.

and yet here he is, mere feet away, unseen — at least, unacknowledged. he's not used to his heart pumping so fast. it's exhilarating.

he strikes, hands reaching out towards the scholar's torso, fingers curled in preparation, and then —

"gambler."

aventurine chuckles, his wrists now trapped in ratio's tight grip. he had expected something like this to happen, anyway. "yes, doctor?"

"care to explain what you're doing?" ratio doesn't turn around, not even to look at him.

"you're smart, aren't you?" a lazy grin finds its way to aventurine's face. "you don't need me to tell you."

ratio squeezes his wrists tighter, making aventurine wince silently. he's released immediately after, and although his reflexes are sharp, they're certainly not on par with ratio's. the scholar has spun around, his hands now on aventurine's waist, and before aventurine can tease him, he squeezes.

aventurine will deny the squeal that leaves his mouth, his eyes widening as he jolts and stiffens up. "s-stohohop ihit!"

"you started this," ratio says, and if aventurine didn't know any better, he'd say there's a hint of amusement in that tone. "i'm merely finishing it."

aventurine doesn't respond, busy delving into frantic laughter as ratio somehow finds each of his sensitive spots with calculated accuracy. it's torturous and awful and so damn ticklish, but he loves the surge of adrenaline that it shoots through his body.

he lost his bet, but truthfully, he doesn't mind.

[tklpilled]

HELLO Venti is sooo the cute..

Can you pretty please write something with him in it? Preferably as a lee, but whatever you'd like to do is fine!!

If not, just ignore this haha ❤️

"how interesting," zhongli muses, "that you'd choose such a sensitive vessel."

"y-yohou're one to tahalk!" whines venti, curling up around zhongli's hand clawing at his tummy.

"i'm not an archon anymore," clarifies zhongli. "it makes sense that i have a fully human form. you, however…"

venti digs his heels into the ground. "enohohough! shut uhup, stohohop it, plehease!"

"it makes me think," zhongli continues, as though there isn't a cackling, desperate bard in front of him, "that you enjoy this. why else would you simply let yourself be so ticklish?"

"d-dohon't say that!" venti wails, blushing up to his ears. "it's nohohot like thahat!"

"oh?" there's a hint of teasing to his tone. "is it the word ticklish that gets to you?"

"mohohorax!"

"is it any variant of the word tickle? perhaps if i point out how much this is tickling you—"

venti shoves his friend's hands away suddenly, scrambling out of reach. "don't be ridiculous," he laughs, though he's blushing even more than before. "a simple word doesn't fluster me."

"…tickle."

"zhongli."

[tklpilled]

kurapika rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm before laying his head on his desk with a thunk. his back is sore. he's been sitting in one place too long. he's been feeling lighter lately, though, and he tries not to think about it as a burst of energy before he completely falls apart. although...energy might be a strong word for how he's feeling now.

he closes his eyes, swearing he's only resting them, that he won't fall asleep, but he knows it's a lie. he doesn't want to move anywhere more comfortable, though. if he did, it would mean giving in to his exhaustion.

there's a sudden feeling at his waist, soft and fuzzy, almost like a stray hair or bug. he picks his head up, looking down to brush it off, when the sensation suddenly multiplies.

and it fucking tickles.

it's stupid. he hates how helpless he is to stop the giggles erupting from his lips, despite his attempts to clamp his mouth shut. kurapika curls in on himself as best he can at his tiny desk. he doesn't know what's causing it, but he needs it to stop.

it seems to target all his weak spots, places even he hadn't known were so ticklish. he can't even remember the last time he was tickled, though he knows it's been at least a few years, before—

there's a feeling like a jolt down his spine and he snaps up straight with an embarrassing eep! sound. he squirms in his chair to deter this weird, invisible force. his cheeks hurt from smiling so much. it's awful.

he actually snorts when he feels something at the backs of his knees, doubling over and cackling into his sleeves. he doesn't think he's ever laughed this much in his life.

"i—ehe, stohop," he pleads to the empty room, squeezing his eyes shut like that will make it stop. there are invisible nails crawling over all his sensitive spots and it's driving him insane and he hates it and...

it's fun.

childish and stupid and humiliating, yes, but fun. he feels his tiredness slipping away just a little with each swipe of a non-existent finger. there's something almost freeing about this, the way he's openly laughing without worry. he can barely think about anything but the electrical sensations wracking his body, and he likes that.

so, since he can't sense any malicious intent...he'll let it be.

[tklpilled]

scaramouche isn't ticklish.

he doesn't have any actual proof of it, but it's practically a no-brainer. it's such an unbearably human trait, after all, and despite his deepest desires, there's still no heart to beat in his chest. how could he ever feel ticklish, of all things?

besides, it's not like anyone would want to tickle him. he's brash and blunt and rude and so distant. the only person he could consider himself close to anymore would be lesser lord kusanali, and even then, she only keeps him just within arm's reach.

a part of him thinks about it more often than he'd like to admit, but he's resigned himself to the facts. he's not ticklish, and no one will ever try. end of story.

kazuha is, in every way, different from anyone he's ever met. it's only a little shocking when he asks if he could tickle scaramouche.

"i'm not ticklish," he responds without thinking, as if it's an instinct. "have you forgotten i'm not human?"

but kazuha only smiles at him, and it makes his chest tighten. if he had a heart, he's sure it would skip a beat, as they say.

"but you can still feel, can't you?" kazuha asks, and for the first time in hundreds of years, scaramouche begins to rethink. because if he can feel pain and cold and heat like humans do, then why wouldn't he be ticklish? it seems like such an obvious answer that scaramouche wants to punch himself.

he sighs, annoyed — at himself or kazuha, he can't tell. "if you want to try, be my guest." kazuha's delighted expression almost makes it all worth it.

as kazuha reaches out to him, a sudden, strange feeling washes over him. it's almost like he's nervous, but for what? tickling? how ridiculous. he's not afraid of something so harmless. he spent his fatui years poked and prodded and absolutely tortured by dottore. touch doesn't affect him anymore.

and then kazuha's fingers make contact, and. oh.

scaramouche knows what a shock of electricity feels like — it hurts. somehow, this is different.

he clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut, trying desperately not to move away, because he is not giving in so easily. "kaedehara!" he chokes out, all four syllables through gritted teeth. the more he tries holding back, the more he can feel his face growing hotter. it's unbearable.

kazuha laughs, the most gorgeous sound in the world, as he pulls his hands back. "you are ticklish, then. that's good to know."

scaramouche grumbles to himself, turning away. "what, do you not think i can take more than that?"

"is that a challenge, scaramouche?"

kazuha's hands reach out to rest on his hips, causing him to tense. "this tends to be a very sensitive spot on people. are you sure?"

scaramouche rolls his eyes. "whatever."

this time, it takes practically nothing to break him. he finds he doesn't mind all that much.

[tklpilled]

iris

“i went to windrise to paint today,” albedo muses. he thinks back to earlier that day, trying to recall the details. “that big tree with a statue in front of it. it’s really quite beautiful, and you get an amazing view of mondstadt from there. i’m not sure how to explain it, but something about it feels almost spiritual.”

albedo has traveled across mondstadt, and other parts of teyvat as well, and he’s never found an area that feels quite like windrise. not only is the view unmatched, but he always feels as if someone is watching him—not to threaten him, but rather, to protect him.

“the bard was there—venti, I believe? he kept me company. his songs are incredible, and i noticed many more crystalflies than usual. i think they were drawn to his music.”

he glances over to his stand, where a painting of the area sits. while sitting under the tree would be relaxing, he wanted to capture it in the painting. so, instead, he sat facing mondstadt, and painted the tree on the side with its branches stretching across the canvas, almost blocking the sky entirely. the walls of mondstadt are in the distance, across the lake sparkling in the sun. If albedo had to judge it, he’d say that the painting is rather accurate; but of course, it can never compare to the real thing.

“i do wish you had been there, though,” he says, continuing on with his one-sided conversation. “i could use some practice painting people, but then again, i don't think i could do you justice. not even a kamera captures your beauty.”

he looks down at his lap, unable to hide his fond tone. “what do you think?”

a wail is the only response he gets.

albedo sighs, drumming his fingers impatiently. “it’s rude to ignore someone when they’re talking to you, you know.”

scaramouche lets out another squeal, his head thrown back in helpless laughter. “i c-cahahan’t!”

albedo swirls his fingertip around the center of scaramouche’s stomach, just circling the rim of his navel. it’s sending the poor puppet into hysterics—but as long as he still has the energy to kick his legs so frantically, albedo is sure he can last a little longer.

“but you’re talking to me now, aren’t you?” albedo asks, tilting his head. “i’m just trying to tell you how pretty you are, and you won’t even listen. i’m hurt.”

scaramouche bats weakly at albedo’s hand, though he’s clearly not trying hard. “shuhuhut uhup!” he squeaks, arching his back, and although his face is already red with laughter, albedo swears it gets worse.

he wishes he had his art materials with him. he’d love to paint scaramouche’s laughing face, capturing it in time for him to look at whenever. he can already imagine the colours he’d use, the pink hues contrasting so sharply with the cool, earthy background, the freckles scattered across his face, the way his eyes squint shut. the one problem is that sounds can’t be transferred to visuals—if he could, albedo would gladly paint scaramouche’s laughter onto a canvas forever. or maybe he could use scaramouche’s body itself as a surface; it’s a work of art on its own, after all. albedo often imagines himself drawing on it, creating constellations with his scars.

he’s abruptly yanked from his thoughts by a sudden loud whine. he glances down, realising the problem. his finger has dipped into scaramouche’s navel, a spot he hadn’t even known was so sensitive.

he chuckles. “i always discover new spots every time. i’m convinced you’re ticklish everywhere.”

scaramouche snorts, grabbing albedo’s wrist and holding on tightly. “sh-shuhut the fuhuhuck uhup! i swehehear, i’ll…!” whatever else he was going to say is lost to frantic giggling.

ah, well. albedo knows it wouldn’t have been a genuine threat anyway.

[tklpilled]

adeuce please hugs and kisses

- meow

deuce groans. "i can't believe you scored higher than me."

ace laughs, walking with his hands behind his head. "guess that just means i'm better than you."

deuce snorts and rolls his eyes. "one grade means nothing." he pokes at ace's exposed side, eliciting a squeal.

"hey!" ace complains, arms shooting down to his sides. "you're the one who was complaining about it!"

"if you were better than me, you would've been able to beat me in a fight at least once—"

ace smacks his arm. "shut up! strength and brains are two different things! and i can totally beat you, by the way."

"yeah?" deuce cocks an eyebrow. "go on. show me."

"what? we can't fight here! the headmage will kill us!" ace shudders. "not to mention riddle."

"who said anything about magic?"

ace is on the ground before he can react, deuce's fingers clawing at his stomach. he shrieks, shoving him away. "cuhuhut it ohout! thehere are people arohohound!"

"they don't care," says deuce, grinning, finding all of the spots that make ace scream. "if anything, it's good to have witnesses. that way there's no question you lost."

"ahahasshohole!"

[tklpilled]

okay COOL

on that note if you wanted to write a lee!furina drabble u totally should!

the knave, on first glance, is not one to be interested in childish activities like tickling. those who know her well will confirm — she is not that type of person.

so, then, furina finds herself wondering — how did she end up here?

"p-please," she gasps, pressing her back against the wall, her mind occupied by nothing but get away, get away, get away.

arlecchino makes a hm, hands crawling up furina's sides, calculated and so horribly ticklish. "please what, my lady?"

furina wails, turning her head to the side so she won't have to see just how calm arlecchino looks. "stohohop!"

"oh, i would," says arlecchino, lying through her teeth. "but, see, i'm actually rather enjoying this. and you are too, aren't you, lady furina?"

"a-ahabsurd!" furina cries, knees buckling as she slides down the wall to the ground, arlecchino following her the whole way. her cheeks grow redder than they already were, and she uselessly hopes that it will go unnoticed, though she knows full well that it won't. "thihis is ahahawful! st-stohop it, i demahahand ihit—!"

the last part of her sentence merges with a squeal, embarrassingly high-pitched. her back arches, desperate to escape the torturous nails clawing at her upper ribs.

"perhaps," arlecchino says, "if you beg a little more."

[tklpilled]

saltines

part two of a commission from @rand0m-s1nner ft their sona!! aaaand thanks to @thornoisdono pitching in, there's an extra 1k words! surprise!!

Childe stretches, glancing over at his opponent. It’s nothing but a regular spar; no Visions, no weapons, no weird Foul Legacy transformations. Simple hand-to-hand combat. Childe is strong, sure, but he finds he often relies on the elements or his weapons. It’s good training for him, he figures, because if he asked any other Harbingers he’s sure they’d kick his ass instantly. He knows he's strong, but he knows also that he's eleventh place out of ten. Sometimes he wonders if they only let him join out of pity; a bloodied and beaten down teenager itching for a fight he knew he couldn't win was surely a sad sight. He's fought the others before, on occasion. He knows they don't exactly like sparring with him, but Arlecchino and Scaramouche tend to jump at the opportunity to beat him up, so he's picked up plenty of moves from them.

“Hey!” calls Sinner, arms crossed, tapping their foot impatiently. “Are you ready?”

Childe nods, gives them a wave, and the fight begins.

Officially, it does, anyway. Neither of them make a move, giving Childe some time to think. He thinks about how the other Harbingers would open. Scaramouche would rush in, a crazed smirk upon his lips as he toys with the enemy. He knows from watching her train one of her favourites eldest that Arlecchino wouldn’t make the first move. Neither would Dottore, though he's more of an evader than an attacker. Columbina would leap forward, her steps so quick and soft that it's like she teleports behind her opponents. He hasn’t gotten the chance to see Capitano fight yet, but he gets the impression that he’d jump in and end the fight in an instant. All of them seem like fair options.

But he is Tartaglia, not anyone else, and none of those sound appealing to him.

He lunges forward instantly, ready to shove them to the ground, but he knows it won’t be that easy. They quickly evade him, moving to the side and rushing to get behind him. They grab for his arm, intending to yank him off-balance, but he spins around just in time and smacks their hand away. Sinner jumps back, holding their arms out defensively, and Childe can see their eyes scanning his every move.

See, Childe has plenty of experience with all sorts of weapons; swords, spears, he’s even fired a gun once or twice. Hand-to-hand combat isn’t his specialty, exactly, but that doesn’t mean he’s bad at it—far from it. Years of catching fish with his bare hands, sparring with his master, fending off horrifying Abyss creatures, it’s all taught him well. So, while it's not his best subject, he's confident he can win.

That is, until Sinner throws their fist into his stomach and sends him to the ground.

He cries out, eyes widening as he’s suddenly staring at the sky. He's shocked for a brief moment, not giving himself the time to breathe before he's back on his feet. He dodges their attempts at hitting him again, backing away. They don't follow him.

The two of them stare at each other for a few seconds, then they both move forward at the same time. They’re heading directly towards each other, but right before they crash, Childe jumps into the air and out of the way. Sinner skids to a halt, whipping their head around in time to dodge his next attack.

Sinner springs forward, fist outstretched, and Childe ducks just before they can make contact. Before they get away, though, he gives their leg a little kick to send them falling to the ground, then quickly grabs their arms and pins them behind their back.

They kick a little for a moment before slumping to the ground in defeat. “Ugh. You win.”

Childe stands up and offers a hand to them. “You did good. Thanks for helping.”

Fifteen minutes and a couple bottles of cold water later, Sinner rolls their shoulders, groaning. “That’s definitely gonna bruise.” They stretch their arms out in front of them, joints popping as they do so.

Childe winces, rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish chuckle. “Heh, sorry about that. Don’t think you’d have wanted me to go easy, though.”

“Of course not,” they say, stretching their arms. “That defeats the point of training, doesn’t it?”

He sets his water to the side, walking over to them. “Here, turn around.” He sits behind them, tentatively placing his hands on their back. He’s not sure which spots are sore and he doesn’t want to make anything worse. “I’ll give you a massage. I’m really good at it, y’know.”

Sinner nods, putting their water away as well. “Yeah, thanks.” They still sit up straight, letting him have better access, but their shoulders noticeably slump in relaxation.

Childe puts his hands on their shoulders, his thumbs pressing just above their shoulder blades. He’s being firm, but careful to not cause any more pain than they’re already in. He rubs his thumbs in a tiny circle, squeezing their shoulders a little as he does so.

He thinks back to doing this with his siblings. While they never sparred with him, he would still give them massages from time to time, the way his older brother did to him. Tonia would often beg for him to do it even if she wasn’t sore, and she’d fall asleep in the middle of it almost every time. Teucer would manage to stay awake, though Childe always noticed him holding back his yawns and the way his eyes would flutter closed. It’s how he got so good at it; plenty of practice on his younger siblings.

“Lay down,” he instructs Sinner, and they comply. They fold their arms under their head, laying down comfortably. Childe doesn’t want to climb atop them to get a better angle, but he doesn’t want to stand either, so he settles for sitting at their side.

His movements are muscle memory at this point, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he rubs his palms along their back to loosen Sinner’s muscles. He notices them getting a little tired, too, but decides not to mention it.

He focuses on their shoulders, mostly, knowing that their limbs are likely aching the most. He’s sure they would greatly benefit from a leg massage, too, but he doesn’t want to suddenly spring it upon them, so he sticks to their back. He takes some time to focus on their lower back, too, and he’s about to return to their shoulder area when he feels them spasm beneath his hand.

He blinks in surprise, pulling his hands away. “Ticklish?”

“No,” they reply, muffled from the way their face is pressed into the cushion.

Massages-turned-tickle fights aren’t something he’s a stranger to; because, again, siblings. Antony always liked to tease him with a pinch to his sides, and in turn he’d do it to his siblings as well. Tonia’s spine, he remembers, was always sensitive to light touches, and it made him laugh how desperate she was for his massages despite the fact.

The nostalgia is tugging at his big brother urges.

“No?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. He skitters a few fingers up their back and bites back a laugh at the way they squirm.

“Cut it out!” Sinner whines, reaching behind themself to swat at his hand. He can’t see their face, but from their tone, he can tell they’re smiling.

“Why?” Childe says, poking and prodding, moving his hand around faster than they can push him away. “You’re not ticklish, right? This is part of the experience.”

His siblings would, by now, be giggling their heads off (though he’s sure a big reason is simply the fact that little kids laugh at everything), but Sinner’s mouth stays firmly shut. Oh well. He can work with this.

“Come on,” he coos, shoving his hands under their arms, but rather than thoroughly tickle them, he slowly moves his fingers, just enough to tease.

They make a whining sound, their hands stuck between covering their face and protecting themself. Ultimately, the latter wins, and they press their arms firmly against their sides as though it will somehow force him away.

This doesn’t deter him, though, not at all. In fact, it only encourages him to keep going, more and more and more until a giggle finally slips out, and then another, and then the entire dam falls apart.

Childe bites back a laugh of his own. “You’re not laughing at me, are you? Don’t be rude.”

“Y-yohohou knohow what Ihi’m laughing ahahat!” Sinner cries, squirming so strongly that Childe almost thinks he’s going to be overpowered.

“Why?” he grins, and although they can’t see it, he knows it’s evident in his tone. “Am I tickling you? I thought you said you weren’t ticklish—”

“Shut uhuhup!” they squeal, and suddenly Childe is on the floor, staring up at Sinner’s red cheeks and messy hair as they look over at him from the couch.

He bursts out laughing. “Ha! Is that what it takes to make you stronger? If I’d tickled you during our spar, would you have—”

Sinner throws a pillow at him with a glare. “I s-said shut up!” Still, as angry as they’re trying to act, there’s an unmistakably genuine smile still etched on their face.

Childe lifts his hand, wiggles his fingers playfully. “Hey, careful, I know your weakness now! I’ll just tickle you again.”

He means it as a joke, but there’s something about the way their blush intensifies and their eyes widen that makes him curious. It’s not as though the reaction is abnormal or anything, not in the slightest. He just has a hunch.

“Do you…” he’s almost nervous to ask, “want me to tickle you?”

Sinner freezes, their hands midway to grabbing at another pillow as if to throw it at him again. “No! O-of course not, why would I want th-that?!”

Childe has gotten better at reading people over the years, and he can tell that, while their mouth says no, everything else screams at him, yes, please.

Liking tickling isn’t a new concept to him. He himself thinks it’s fun, so the idea of craving it isn’t such a far-fetched idea. He could tease them more; act like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, just walk away and return to daily life.

But Childe lives for the thrill, and where’s the fun in doing that?

He pounces again, his hands quickly finding the sides of their ribs despite their attempts to fight back.

“Ack, nohot thehehere—!” Sinner almost instantly begins to beg, but there’s an undeniable happiness to their laughter. They’re grinning even when he pulls his hands away to find somewhere else to tickle.

“Not here, huh?” Childe hums to himself, poking down their sides as he thinks aloud. “I don’t think that’s your worst spot, though, is it? Come on, don’t give up so early.”

They make a shaky sound of protest, almost like a squeak. It makes him laugh himself. He tests out their legs, squeezing their thigh right above the knee. They yelp, eyes widening as they kick their leg out and nearly hit him. He ducks, then grins.

“Now you’re trying to hit me?” He grabs at their ankle, pinning it in place while he focuses his attack on their knee. “Sore loser,” he teases. “If you want a rematch, just say so.”

“D-dihihie,” they threaten him, and he wouldn’t be intimidated anyway, but with the way they're giggling the whole way through, it’s less scary than a kitten.

Speaking of which.

He moves up, lightly scratching at their ears, and they freeze up. They’re stiff for a moment, but as he continues, they practically melt into his touch.

He chuckles. “You like that?”

Sinner mumbles something, still giggling but not nearly as intensely. It’s kind of cute.

“I’m g-gohonna kill you…” they grumble at him, sending him a tiny glare, but they still don’t move away from him.

Childe smiles at him. “Can’t wait.”

[tklpilled]

u said i could so im ALSO going to ask for azujami. ur writing eats so hard im gonna eat u. thanks pookie stay … sometbjng i cant thjnk rn STAY COOL😁

azul is trembling.

"i'm not getting on that," he deadpans. with anyone else, this would leave zero room for argument. azul ashengrotto is not a man to be defied.

but jamil is not anyone else, and so he rolls his eyes. "stop being a baby. get on."

kalim's magic carpet sits beside them, waiting patiently for its passengers. it tilts a little to the side, as though asking what's taking so long.

azul adamantly refuses. "i would rather use a broom. i'm leaving."

jamil grumbles. he is sick and tired of him. he grabs azul's arm, a bit firmer than necessary, and shoves him onto the carpet. azul yelps, wobbling and gripping at the edges of the carpet, eyes wide. he peers over the side as jamil sits in front of him, then winces and shrinks in on himself. "you're flying one way or another," jamil hisses. "i'm tired of teaching you." azul seems too frozen to say anything.

and they're off. azul wraps his arms tightly around jamil's waist, clinging on for dear life. the frames of his glasses press painfully into his back as azul hides his face, and jamil can feel him shaking. it's almost enough to make him feel bad.

"azul," he huffs after a few minutes. he puts his hands over azul's, carefully prying him away, at least to loosen his suffocating hold. "it's fine. look at the view."

slowly, hesitantly, azul lifts his head. he turns up to the sky, pointedly refusing to look downward, and the obvious anxiety in his eyes is washed away by awe. it's kind of endearing.

jamil struggles to take his eyes off the housewarden. "see? it's not that bad."

azul blinks, as though realising where he is. he turns back to jamil, a little less stiff than before. "it's...fine." he coughs, straightening his glasses. "i don't appreciate being forced into this, though."

jamil snorts, looking ahead. "you'd never have done it willingly." azul's hands are still around him.

they both seem to notice this at the same time, but azul doesn't move and jamil doesn't tell him to. instead, azul's fingers press into the soft flesh of jamil's stomach, making him go rigid with a choked sort of gasp.

the carpet, being kalim's property, has long grown used to all sorts of antics, and can stay perfectly stable even while jamil squirms. he finds himself, not for the first time, being extremely grateful for that.

"i really don't like being tricked, jamil," comes azul's voice, suddenly low and sending shivers down jamil's spine. "you should pay one way or another, don't you think?"

"no, i d-dohon't," jamil growls, though he's sure any intimidation is thrown away by his poorly hidden laughter. "stohop this."

azul rests his chin on jamil's shoulder, even his hair tickling jamil's neck as his nails crawl along his torso. jamil giggles and grabs azul's hands, desperately holding himself back lest he falls off. "what, is this your weakness? don't worry, i won't tell anyone...without reason, of course."

"gah, stop ihihit!" jamil cries, curling his body around azul's hands as he succumbs to the sensation. he's giggling freely now, high-pitched and happy, and he hates it. he hates the way azul can so easily draw this kind of reaction from him, hates the feeling of fingers teasingly poking up his sides to find every sensitive spot, hates how damn ticklish he is.

he hates it all, so why doesn't he want it to stop?

[tklpilled]

aether’s never been on a proper date before. honestly, he’s never even had a partner before, or…whatever he and xiao are. he thinks it’s normal to be nervous, but he doesn’t want to be. he knows xiao. it’s not like this is a first meeting or anything, right? just a normal dinner together. with romantic feelings attached.

after kicking paimon out and leaving her for itto to babysit (which really just means shinobu is babysitting them both), he began cooking. he spent the entire day before stressing over the decorations in his teapot home, wondering whether xiao would like them, and while he’s still uncertain, there’s not much more he can do. he prepares practically an entire feast—grilled tiger fish, adeptus’ temptation, jade parcels, stir fry, and of course he tries his hand at almond tofu—anything he can think of that xiao might like. so, maybe it’s a bit of an overkill, but at least paimon will eat all the leftovers.

xiao arrives at their planned meeting spot exactly on time, not a second early, not a second late. aether perks up as soon as the familiar dark mist appears in front of him.

“you’re here!” he exclaims, jumping to his feet.

“did you think i wouldn’t be?” asks xiao, quirking an eyebrow.

aether invites him into his teapot, where the sun sets over a table for two, surrounded by a variety of trees and flowers. he’s lit candles around the area, giving it a welcoming ambience.

“oh, unless you’d rather be inside!” aether quickly adds, gestures towards the mansion.

he thinks he sees a tiny smile appear on xiao’s face. “this is fine.”

…so.

ugh, aether should have practiced for this.

they eat without saying much, aside from xiao thanking him for the food with the occasional compliment, in his own xiao-like way. it's somehow not overwhelmingly awkward—which isn't to say it's not awkward, but it's tolerable.

as he finishes his food, aether's mind starts to wander. he hasn't planned anything aside from this. will xiao leave right away? will he stay to talk? probably not, he's not exactly social, but aether can't think of anything to say and he absolutely can not have them sitting in complete silence for the rest of the night.

there's a squeeze on his knee and he yelps, kicking his leg out and accidentally banging it on the underside of the table. he looks up, embarrassed.

xiao keeps his hand where it is. “stop doing that,” he says, nodding at aether's leg. it's only then that aether notices just how violently he's been bouncing it.

“o-oh,” he stammers, nodding. “sorry.”

he expects that to be the end of it, but xiao gives him a curious look. he doesn't have time to question what it means before he feels another squeeze. his reaction this time isn't as dramatic, but it's still noticeable; he makes a surprised sound, his leg jerking once more.

“what’s wrong?” asks xiao, leaning in close, which makes aether squeak and nearly fall off his chair. “you aren’t injured, are you?”

aether shakes his head frantically. “n-no, not that, it’s just ticklish! nothing bad, you don’t have to—ack?!”

“i’m familiar with the term, i believe,” says xiao, looking down at his hand, which has just squeezed again. “it’s something humans do with those they’re fond of, yes?”

“um.” aether can’t do much but stare at him, cheeks growing hotter by the second. he thinks he knows where this is going. finally, he nods. “y-yes, that’s right.”

“then, traveler,” xiao looks up, locking eyes with him, “why don’t we do it?”

well, aether has a hard time saying no to that face.

they end up inside the mansion, in the farthest room from the entrance. no one else is around, but xiao locks the door behind them anyway. aether almost feels trapped, but he doesn’t hate it.

“so,” xiao starts, once he’s straddling aether’s waist on the bed. “i simply…squeeze?” he accompanies his words with a pinch to aether’s side.

the blond flinches. “w-well, it’s hard to explain…certain spots are more sensitive to certain methods.” he feels uncomfortable and embarrassed explaining tickling of all things, but xiao listens intently and nods.

“i see,” he says. “such as what?”

“um, well,” aether starts, shifting a little. “like this?” he reaches out and places a hand on xiao’s side, skittering his fingers up to his ribs.

xiao stiffens, eyes widening slightly. “right,” he says, his voice a little shaky.

“or like this.” aether starts to poke his fingers in the spaces between ribs, but his wrist is pulled away.

“i understand,” xiao insists, cheeks flushed a little. aether can’t help but laugh at the sight of someone so composed in such a state.

xiao, to be frank, isn’t great at tickling. he’s inexperienced and hesitant, but aether is ticklish enough to make up for it. 

“if you’re so ticklish, why do you leave your stomach exposed?” xiao asks, tracing his fingers along the bare skin. he’s getting better as he goes, seemingly fuelled by aether’s reactions.

“i-it’s nohohot like i’m ahasking for ihihit!” aether protests, trying his hardest to keep his hands out of the way. xiao hasn’t restrained them, but he doesn’t want to make it stop just yet. maybe he’s having a little bit of fun. sue him.

“you clearly enjoy it, at least.” xiao isn’t looking at aether’s face, more focused on what his hands are doing. “you’re letting me do this.”

“th-thahahat—xiahahahao!” aether squeals as a finger pokes his navel experimentally, before going back to dancing along his tummy. “thahat’s because ihihit’s yohou!” he feels himself blushing as he admits it. he’s glad that at least xiao doesn’t have much shame.

“i think it’s…rather cute,” xiao admits. “i enjoy hearing you laugh.”

aether makes an embarrassed whining sound. “l-lehehet me tickle yohou next tihihime! it’s ohonly fahair!” he's not sure what it is — a threat? a challenge? either way, he plans to tickle xiao one way or another, no matter how much the adeptus insists that he's not ticklish.

he can't worry about it now, though, because xiao has just figured out that light touches work wonders, and it's absolutely awful. with anyone else, it's torture — but with xiao, somehow, it feels like love.

[tklpilled]

at this point, aether is used to being a test subject. he came to teyvat to find his sister, yet now he’s going to leave an unwilling hero and guinea pig—and, by the looks of it, still sisterless.

he can’t count how many times he’s gone through lisa asking him to try a new spell, or charlotte telling him to stand still so she can work on her photography, or lyney practicing a magic trick he’s just come up with. he doesn’t mind it, really, not that much—it’s better than trying to fix all the archons’ problems for them.

(he’s still hoping for diluc to join the ‘ask-aether-to-try-every-new-thing’ club, but considering everyone thinks he’s a teenager and not thousands of years old, he doesn’t think he’ll be doing a wine tasting any time soon.)

point is, this whole thing isn’t just because of his own stupidity. he made a very understandable assumption, alright?

“come here,” albedo says, writing down some notes. “i want you to try this elixir out for me, if you wouldn’t mind.”

aether nods, although albedo can’t see it with his head bent down. he walks over to the table and sees two bottles, both filled about halfway. on the right is a pale green, glistening substance, and the bottle on the left contains a much more appetising blue-purple liquid. albedo doesn’t look up from his notes, so aether takes a fifty-fifty chance and picks up the left bottle. he downs it in one go.

albedo looks up, then tilts his head. “that wasn’t the right one.”

oh.

if paimon were here, she’d panic and begin asking every question she could think of—but she’s not here, and aether doesn’t know how to panic for himself. so, all he says is, “am i going to die?”

“no,” albedo says, sounding a little amused at how flat his voice is. “but—”

“will i be in pain?”

“no.”

aether shrugs. “alright then. i don’t see a prob—lehem!”

his hands shoot up to cover his mouth, his eyes widening as a sudden sensation washes over him. albedo looks on with a mixture of pity and curiosity as he sinks to his knees. “maybe i should have warned you better…”

aether curls in on himself, arms wrapped around his middle now instead of his mouth. “m-mahahake it stohohop!” he pleads, scrunching up his shoulders to protect from invisible, non-existent hands.

albedo kneels down beside him, admiring the grin adorning his face. he’s never heard aether laugh quite so freely before, and it’s very endearing. he finds himself staring for longer than he had intended. aether is the one being tickled, yet albedo is the one blushing—that doesn’t make any sense.

“in my experience, it stops after a short while,” albedo finally says, blinking away from aether’s incredibly pretty face, “although i took a much smaller dose than you. i’d estimate ten minutes at most.”

“t-tehehen?” aether squeaks. “i cahan’t—too muhuhuch!”

albedo can’t help but smile. aether’s laugh is far too contagious. “calm down, you’ll get used to it soon enough. it won’t feel nearly as bad in a couple minutes.”

despite his words, aether whines through helpless laughter, although he keeps any more complaints he may have to himself. from what albedo had experienced, the tickling wasn’t intense at all; merely a step beyond tingling, just enough to make one laugh. for someone as ticklish as aether, he supposes it might be a bit worse, but the overall outcome should be mostly the same.

“it was supposed to be a strength enhancer,” albedo says, carrying the conversation while aether is too busy cackling beside him. “it still is, technically. it just has some…very strong side effects. i’m sure if you could manage to stand, you’d find yourself a bit better with that sword of yours.”

“plehehease,” aether begs. “mahahake it stohohohop…!”

“hm.” albedo reaches around him to scratch at his side, sending him scrambling away with a shriek.

“i hahate yohou!” he wails, then returns his arms around his waist protectively and kicks against the floor a little. “yohou’re cruhuhuel!”

“i could leave you here until it's over,” albedo suggests, making aether frantically shake his head. “maybe even make some more for you.”

“y-yohou wohouldn’t!” aether cries, although they both know he absolutely would. 

albedo pokes a spot on his tummy that his arms fail to cover up. “if you say so.”

[tklpilled]

thinking about ticklish xiao

aether tries tickling him once, but for someone who has lived through so much, xiao has no clue what they're trying to do. all he knows is that he wants to get away, and the only thing he associates that with in his mind is danger. aether, upon being faced with the tip of xiao's spear, sheepishly explains what they were actually trying to do; it's fun, they say, a sort of game with someone you care about.

(it's the last part that gets him, makes him reluctantly give in and let them try again.)

it lasts longer this time, long enough for it to properly register throughout his brain and body, and all xiao can think is that it's absolute torture. he hates giving up control, but in this state, he feels his strength being sapped away and replaced with the strangest urge.

the vigilant yaksha, conquerer of demons, does not giggle — yet here he is, biting his tongue and desperately focusing on keeping a blank face. he tries, but aether is so close, and their hands are touching skin that has known nothing but pain for hundreds of years. they're touching him so gently, and xiao can handle lots of things, but whatever this is isn't one of them.

when aether touches his stomach, so agonisingly soft, xiao makes a sound that may be a squeak, or maybe a yelp — either way, everything crumbles. xiao can't take it any longer, panicked giggles pouring from unwilling lips, his unfamiliar smile making his cheeks hurt.

what is this, he tries to ask, and for a moment he doesn't think any of it came out coherently; until aether laughs, teases him for being so ticklish, and after a pause, points out how red his face has gotten.

it's torture, he hates it, but even so he can't bring himself to get away. he could, he knows he could, even if it would be more difficult than usual. something about how playful it is reminds him of four long-forgotten faces, causing an ache in his chest. it's all so much, too much.

but still, he stays.