#tklfics

[tklpilled]

cardinal

“can you really not keep any secrets from lesser lord kusanali?”

wanderer isn’t even surprised by the voice below him, not anymore. he opens one eye and glances to the ground, knowing exactly the sight he’ll see. and he’s right: a certain annoying desert-dweller, holding one hand up in a wave.

he closes it again. “she could find out whatever she wants, but she has the decency to give me some privacy.” unlike some people, he internally adds on.

sethos laughs. “so, i could just go to her with all the questions you refuse to answer? will she tell me about your family?”

wanderer stiffens. “i don’t have a family.”

he can sense the moment sethos realises he brought up something he shouldn’t have. awkwardly, sethos speaks again. “h-hey, just kidding! i won’t do that!”

“why are you here?” asks wanderer, lifting his head and looking down at him. a chilly breeze blows through the branches of the tree he’s perched in. sumeru is a warm nation, so even the cold wind only makes the average person shiver a bit and nothing more. it doesn’t affect wanderer, though, his resistance to temperatures higher than his peers. “or have you just come to pester me again?”

sethos grins once wanderer’s gaze is entirely fixed upon him. “actually, i had a question! i’ve known you for a while now, but i still dunno your birthday.”

wanderer scoffs. “pointless. does it matter?”

“yes! it does!” sethos huffs, hands on his hips. “c’mon, when is it?”

wanderer is silent.

sethos doesn’t move.

wanderer sighs loudly. “you’re so damn stubborn.”

sethos laughs at this. “so i’ve been told.”

he has a difficult choice to make here. if he just keeps quiet, then eventually sethos will leave, though wanderer can’t be sure how long that will take. and even if he does leave, he can always just go to buer to ask her, and she’ll undoubtedly tell him because she’s always talking about how he needs to play nice and make friends.

damn it.

“...today.”

sethos sputters. “w-wait, really?! hey, come down here! actually, i haven’t prepared anything…er, i’ll treat you to lunch!” he bounces on the balls of his feet, giving wanderer a pleading look.

wanderer rolls his eyes. sethos is like a little puppy. wanderer is not going to give in to that.

…he gives in to it.

only because buer would scold him otherwise, alright? that would be even more annoying than sethos’s pestering.

“so, how old are you?” asks sethos, swinging his legs. they sit on a bench not far outside the city’s port, watching the scenery while they eat. sethos had bought him some inazuman food, and it leaves a sort of bitter taste in his mouth.

he likes bitter things, at least.

wanderer stares at the fish in the water, two of them circling each other and jumping, like they’re playing. “i don’t know.”

“huh?” sethos turns to him, head tilted, a bewildered expression on him. “what do you mean? how do you not know? doesn’t lesser lord kusanali know, like, everything? she can tell you.”

wanderer kicks a pebble with the toe of his sandal. “i don’t care how old i am. i never bothered counting. most people’d probably lose count by now, anyway.”

if the fall of khaenri’ah was a little over five centuries ago, it would make him around the same age. he’s not sure how long after it that he was created, though, or exactly how many years it’s been. he’s five hundred something, at least. too old to celebrate pointless things like birthdays.

“aw, man!” sethos wails, tossing his head back in despair. “how am i supposed to know how many candles to put on your cake?”

“i don’t like cake,” wanderer reminds him, “and you wouldn’t get halfway before you’d burn down the entire nation.”

sethos sighs, resting his arm on the back of the bench as he looks to wanderer. “ugh, you really don’t ever smile, do you? not even on your birthday.”

“i’d smile more if you were funnier,” wanderer retorts, lowering his head to hide a smirk under his hat.

“h-hey!” sethos protests, leaning towards him. “i’m funnier than cyno, at least, you’ve gotta give me that!”

“the mahamatra? at least someone laughs at his jokes…even if it’s just him.”

“i bet i can make you laugh,” says sethos, and wanderer should have known from the glint in his eyes that this conversation is going somewhere very dangerous.

yet, he continues. he taunts. he can’t help it, teasing sethos is actually kinda fun. but—

“w-what the fuck?!” wanderer yelps, jolting away so forcefully he almost falls right off the bench. sethos stares wide-eyed for a moment before he bursts into laughter, doubling over and holding his stomach.

“i hoped you’d be ticklish, but i didn’t think you’d have that strong of a reaction!”

…tickling. wanderer knows what it is, of course, but in his long life he’s never once experienced it for himself. a part of him is curious, wanting to learn more, but he shuts that little voice down immediately.

unfortunately, sethos doesn’t seem to care about any of that. all he seems to concern himself with is that wanderer is ticklish, and tickling is a surefire way to make him laugh.

and…laugh he does, as much as he tries to hold back. sethos’s hands latch onto wanderer’s knees, squeezing playfully and it really, really tickles.

“s-stohohohop!” wanderer tries to growl, but between his squeaky laughter and steadily reddening cheeks, he doesn’t think it comes across quite how he wants it to. “i’ll—yohou! stop thihihis!”

he looks up to sethos, wanting to glare, but he’s met with a bit of an unexpected sight.

sethos looks absolutely entranced, eyes sparkling with glee. the wide grin upon his lips might just rival wanderer’s own.

“is this why you never laugh?” sethos asks, almost teasingly. “no one will ever be intimidated by you if they knew how cute your laugh is…”

the sentence, or maybe the tone he says it in, or probably both, sends a swarm of butterflies to wanderer’s stomach, though it’s very quickly drowned out by a bunch of pokes and squeezes to the area.

“shuhut uhuhup! i swehear, i’ll…!”

it’s so unnatural for him to laugh so freely, and he wants to hate it. in a way, he kind of does. this entire thing is driving him insane and he doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.

but when he manages to grab onto sethos’s wrists, he can’t bring himself to push them off.

[gigglecryptid-art]

eh, started this forever ago and decided to finish it. might write a tklfic based on this tbh

[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]

atlantis

merry christmas, @stopiteatpopcorn ! i was your squealing santa this year! enjoy <3

—

“fight me,” says tartaglia, slamming a hand down on wriothesley’s desk, the other resting on his hip.

wriothesley cocks an eyebrow at him. “sorry?”

“fight me,” tartaglia repeats, staring straight into wriothesley’s eyes. “you’re strong, yeah? come on.”

“no,” wriothesley says simply, leaning back in his seat.

“wha—why not?!”

“you’re a prisoner here.” there’s something like a smile on wriothesley’s face. “i don’t fight prisoners.”

so, yeah, tartaglia is a prisoner. it’s really annoying; he knows he’s innocent, and he knows that damn iudex knows it too. but here he is, stuck underwater with nothing but endless tasks and shitty meals.

at least there’s the pankration ring.

he becomes something of a god to them, the group that hangs around down there. he wins every fight he’s in, no sweat. maybe some sweat, actually, because he’ll admit a few of his opponents are tough, but they’re still not enough to match a harbinger.

his whole fascination with the duke sparked the moment they met. he had just been brought to his room when he was visited by a tall, muscular man, heavily scarred but not much older than tartaglia himself. he looked strong.

“a fatui harbinger in my fortress?” wriothesley had said, wearing an irritatingly lazy smirk. “this must be my lucky day.”

tartaglia knew, at that very moment, he would not be able to rest until he kicked this guy’s ass.

the main issue is that getting the chance to fight him is harder than he’d thought. and, hey, he loves an opponent that’s hard to get! it makes the victory all the more satisfying! but wriothesley is really starting to piss him off. tartaglia thinks he wouldn’t be so annoyed if wriothesley didn’t fight him at all.

because he does fight, sort of. they spar in the pankration ring sometimes, but every time, it’s so obvious that he’s not putting in his full effort. it’s not satisfying tartaglia’s itch to fight at all!

he complains to the fortress’s nurse one time while she’s patching him up.

“your duke. why won’t he fight me?”

sigewinne’s small hands press an ice pack to his side. “why do you want to fight him so badly?”

tartaglia opens and closes his fist, staring at it. “does he not think i’m strong enough? he’s not that full of himself, is he?”

“please stop moving,” she tells him. “i know you don’t want me to, but it’s my job to tend to all the inmates.”

tartaglia doesn’t listen. “how do i fight him?”

sigewinne hands him a cup full of some…concoction. “he doesn’t fight inmates,” she says, confirming the man’s own words.

it hits tartaglia, then, that there’s an easy solution.

escape.

his golden opportunity comes just days later, when he spots a few new heads in the fortress while on his way to work. he recognises them as the knave’s (favourite) kids; he’s never met them personally, but from what he’s heard, the twins are pretty popular in fontaine. tartaglia doesn’t know who the smaller one is, but he’s sticking to the other two, so they must be close.

arlecchino isn’t particularly fond of him, but he doubts she’d just leave him here if he asked for help. she knows this nation better than he does, anyway. she’s the best chance he has at getting out of here.

but, of course, it’s too good to be true.

the eldest of the trio, lyney, scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “we don’t have any way of contacting father,” he says, as tartaglia’s shoulders slump in defeat. “we’re prisoners here too, you see.”

tartaglia is too disappointed to question why.

when the entire thing is over, when he’s slept enough to last the rest of his life and his wounds are mostly healed, he returns to fontaine. there are a few reasons; the traveler is still there, and he’d like to talk to them before they disappear into archons know where. he supposes they’re not called the traveler for nothing, but they don’t have to be so difficult to get in contact with.

the second reason is fatui duties, or more specifically, arlecchino. he has to discuss business with her—the gnosis, the prophecy, how to continue after everything. fontaine doesn’t have an archon anymore, and that might cause some problems for the tsaritsa. he eventually finds the knave by the water, looking as though she’d just lost someone important. he asks her about it. she doesn’t give him an answer.

the final reason is for his own self-indulgence. he still hasn’t battled with those champion duelists, and he’s practically bursting with excitement at the idea. natlan is the nation of war, but it seems like he has many more sparring opportunities in fontaine.

and, of course, fucking wriothesley.

he visits the duke’s office, slamming both hands on the desk similarly to how he’d done a couple weeks before.

“fight me,” tartaglia demands. his chances are infinitely better this time; he’s officially a free man, and he’d been single-handedly fighting off the primordial narwhal for the sake of their nation. the least anyone can do is give him a good battle.

wriothesley stares at him for a moment before he laughs, standing from his chair and walking around the desk. “you’re stubborn. alright, i suppose i can grant you this one thing, as thanks.”

tartaglia’s eyes widen, lighting up with excitement for all of two seconds before wriothesley’s hand meets his stomach.

he should be feeling pain. it should hurt, should make him stumble back in shock and agony.

it should not tickle like this.

tartaglia barks out a laugh, stepping backwards but being met with nowhere to go. wriothesley’s grip on him is strong, and while normally tartaglia wouldn’t have a problem breaking out, he’s not exactly in the best state to do so.

“h-hehey, wahahait!” he protests, voice almost a whine. “thihis—yohohou—!”

wriothesley grins, squeezing at his sides and stomach with experienced fingers, like he was born with the knowledge of how to tickle tartaglia to pieces. “you didn’t specify what kind of fight, comrade,” he teases. the bastard. “are you already giving up? disappointing. i expected more from you.”

tartaglia lets out embarrassing peals of laughter as wriothesley tickles up to his ribs. curse him for finding this loophole. curse him for everything, actually. and while he’s at it, curse that little melusine sigewinne, because she’s definitely the one who told wriothesley that he’s ticklish in the first place. she kept poking around his sides, okay, he couldn’t help it!

“y-yohou bastard!” tartaglia squeaks out (squeaks! he doesn’t squeak!). he tries to reach for wriothesley, but the man dodges him expertly while still not letting up on his assault.

wriothesley’s smug smile is evident in his tone. “hey, come on. it’s not every day i get this chance.”

as tartaglia’s laughter echoes in the chamber, he decides that if this doesn’t end soon, he’s going to be charged for homicide again.

[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]

ship in a bottle

with all the time idia spends on his computer, it should come as no surprise that he has plenty of things on there that he’d…rather not be shared. he has folders of (totally legally) downloaded animes, his collection both impressive and highly embarrassing. he even has them nicely organised, into categories like “super underrated, binge when sad. or when happy”, and “terrible ending, can’t have shit in twisted wonderland”. he’s had to tinker with the storage a few times to make it all fit while still running smoothly.

then, of course, his games, dating sims and gachas and horror on occasion. he’s played just about every game anyone’s ever heard of, and then some.

even so, all of that isn’t even close to the worst on there. plenty of people watch anime and play those types of games, after all, and the fact that he likes them isn’t any kind of secret. he doesn’t have anything bad on there, exactly, just things that he’d rather die a slow and agonising death than let anyone else see.

like that one thing—

“idia-san.” azul’s voice breaks him from his trance. idia snaps his head up, blinking a couple times. the board sits on the table, displaying a half-finished word game. “it’s your turn.”

“o-oh, yeah.” idia scans the board in search of azul’s most recent play. he has some odd letters, but he’ll probably be able to make it work—

he freezes.

of course that’s the word azul put down.

he stares at it for a moment too long, hoping that maybe he’d misread it, but the letters don’t change. six of the tiles, in a neat row. does azul know? no, he can’t. it’s just a coincidence. it has to be.

azul speaks up. “idia-san?” he asks again, tilting his head, expression laced with concern. “are you alright? you seem rather flushed.”

“fine!” idia chokes out, squeakier than he’d like. he grabs some letters from his tile rack, spelling out jukebox using previously placed u and o tiles. he doesn’t think azul believes him; hell, not a person in the world would believe such a blatant lie. still, the topic is dropped and the game continues.

—

“you should tell him, nii-san!” ortho encourages, bouncing on his feet. “you want to, so go for it!”

idia buries his face in his arms, his normally freezing cold room feeling way warmer than usual. “i can't! there's no way he'll ever think i'm cool!”

he regrets even telling ortho about his problem. he should have seen this coming. doesn't ortho get it? azul is basically idia's only friend. sevens, he'd rather confess his stupid crush on azul over this, and he can’t begin to express how badly he doesn’t want to do that. literally anything but this.

“azul ashengrotto-san isn’t the type of person to judge his friends,” says ortho. “plus, his affection levels towards you are higher than usual.”

“th-that’s the problem!” idia squeaks. “being friends with him is already, like, a secret route! if he finds out, it's totally game over for me!”

azul is nice enough, but idia is still nothing short of terrified of what his reaction would be. maybe he'd distance himself, stop coming to club meetings or quit entirely. avoid idia at every chance. tell the whole school what a fucking weirdo the ignihyde housewarden is.

(and yet at the same time, idia can't stop imagining, fantasising about the other possibility. that azul would just laugh, reassure him in his own azul-like way, move closer and closer until his hands are on idia's waist, nimble fingers instantly drawn to all of his most sensitive spots. the mere idea, however unrealistic, fills his stomach with butterflies. he can't think about it too long before he feels likes he's about to explode.)

ortho sighs. “it’s worth considering, at least.”

idia mumbles into his sleeves, “yeah, whatever.”

he’s not going to consider it for a second.

—

idia can't get the conversation out of his head. he can't really tell azul about it, can he? no. no way. out of the question, one hundred percent. possible reaction aside, there’s no way idia would even be able to say it.

azul clears his throat and idia snaps his head up.

“apologies,” he says, straightening his glasses. “there was a bit of a tickle in my throat, you see.”

great. of course that’s the phrasing he uses. idia nods, trying his best to act casual, even though the word makes him so panicky and now he can’t stop thinking about it. the way azul says it, how easily it falls from his mouth. he’s obsessed. he hates it.

there's silence in the empty room as azul moves his piece a few spaces. then, as idia is trying to figure out his next move, azul speaks.

“you're blushing again.”

huh?! well, his face does feel rather warm. his eyes widen and he stammers, pulling his hood over his head to hide the pastel pink tips of his hair. ugh. humiliating.

“um, s-sorry. it’s my turn, right—?”

“tell me,” interrupts azul, tilting his head. idia glances over at him, but doesn’t quite look up. “why do you get so flustered when i mention tickling?”

fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck.

it’s idia’s own fault, really. he’s the idiot for thinking azul hadn’t noticed. he was just so desperate, hoping that his most well-guarded secret would stay a secret—from the boy he likes, especially. he must have gotten careless at some point.

he realises azul is still watching him. idia coughs weakly, looking anywhere else. “i-i don’t know what you’re talking about! it’s def just some sort of bug, i’m totally fine…!” he’s talking too fast, too high pitched. it’s not a believable excuse at all.

there’s something dancing in azul's eyes; amusement? excitement? “is that so? then, please,” he gestures towards idia, “explain why your face has gone so red.”

“eh?!” idia hides his face with his hands, peeking out between his fingers after a moment. “j-just…drop it, please…”

and, to his disappointment, azul listens.

—

at least, in a way. he doesn’t mention it outright, but every interaction with him from then on is a constant reminder to idia that he knows (some of it, at least), and he’s not above using it against him.

azul begins to bring up the word as casually but as often as he can, and sevens, why are there so many damn phrases that use it? he jabs idia’s side when he spaces out, squeezes his knee under the table, pinches at his waist when he walks past. each touch is brief, and it only leaves idia craving more.

he can’t take it.

“stop teasing me!” he gets the courage to blurt out over a game of chess one day. he can already feel the warmth creeping under his skin.

azul stares for a moment, and in that instant idia has a sudden feeling of impending doom.

and then azul laughs.

he doubles over, pushing the board away from him as he holds a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. he laughs like idia’s just told him some sort of joke, and idia wants to be annoyed by it, but the sight is just too cute. screw his stupid feelings.

when azul is done laughing, he looks back up at idia. “i'm surprised,” he admits. “i didn't think you'd say anything this soon.”

idia crosses his arms, glaring. his face could easily be on fire and he wouldn't know the difference. he can't say anything. he doesn't know what to say.

azul straightens the frames of his glasses, still smiling. “so, idia-san,” he starts, “what do you want?”

he must be dreaming. idia feels like he’s going to throw up, in some sort of excited way. is this not what he’s been wanting? what he’s been thinking about for ages?

this can't be real.

it takes a while to find his voice. “please,” he whispers. “i want you to t-tickle me.”

and azul…

…stays silent.

idia’s words linger in the air, neither of them moving an inch. idia stares a hole into the table, his hands trembling as he clenches them.

azul isn’t saying anything. he’s not doing anything. shit, he’s never going to want to talk to idia again, he thinks idia is some sort of freak—

idia stands up suddenly, preparing to run, but azul’s hand grabs his wrist before he can move. idia, finally, locks eyes with him.

“okay,” azul says, smiling so genuinely in a way idia has never seen before. “i'll tickle you.”

and idia stops thinking altogether.

azul guides him to the ground, lays him on the floor of the classroom and hovers over him, practically straddling him. their position in the end would surely give anyone who walked in the wrong idea; but then again, maybe that assumption wouldn't be too far off.

“okay?” azul asks once they're settled, tilting his head. he's waiting for idia's go-ahead—as if he would say no.

idia can't find the words in him, so he merely nods.

he flinches almost violently when azul's fingers meet his stomach, both because his hands are cold and he knows what's coming. he gasps in a breath of air, but it doesn't matter. the moment nails begin to drag across his skin, he falls apart. he couldn't keep from laughing if he tried.

“az-azuhul-shi! wait, plehease, please…!” he doesn't even know what he's begging for. he doesn't want it to stop, but he doesn't think he could handle any more.

azul giggles, a light sound that barely carries over the sound of idia's desperation. “please? is this not what you've been waiting for? make up your mind.”

idia can't remember ever laughing this hard. he doesn't even remember the last time he was properly tickled, if it ever happened at all. he didn't know his body could even be this sensitive; it's overwhelming, any attempt at a coherent thought being instantly washed away.

yet at the same time, it's euphoric. he can't deny that he loves this, even as azul manages to find the spots that make him practically scream. it's such a relief that all the classrooms are soundproofed.

“please,” he begs, “dohon’t stohohop!”

[tklpilled]

your sweet red rose

riddle likes to stick to a routine. it’s simpler that way, no surprises or unexpected turns. he knows exactly how things are supposed to be and he makes sure they stay that way. the other students are well aware of this; it's why they try to stay out of his way, although he thinks it's more out of fear of what he'll do to them, rather than actually caring about his schedule. he’s stuck to the same routine since freshman year, only tweaking it a bit once he became housewarden.

somehow, inexplicably, floyd leech has wormed his way into that strict routine.

it took some getting used to, of course. walking to his usual study corner in the library only to see the most annoying person he’s ever known wasn’t exactly pleasant, even less so when said annoying person began sneaking into his room, too. but part of what makes floyd so damn irritating is that riddle’s threats always seem to bounce off of him, and of course, he can’t do much more than threaten, considering floyd’s signature spell. so riddle is stuck with him. it isn’t consistent. floyd shows up whenever he wants. riddle has learned to stop caring so much, or else his blood pressure would constantly be skyrocketing.

riddle is in his bedroom, homework papers splayed across his bed as he works through them. floyd sits beside him, practically coiled around riddle’s body with his face nestled in the crook of his neck.

riddle doesn’t pay him any attention, now long used to his antics. at least, he doesn’t, up until there’s a warm and sharp feeling at his collarbone.

“no,” says riddle, poking floyd’s head with the tip of his pen. “you’re not biting me.”

floyd whines like a child, squeezing riddle tighter. “why not? it won’t hurt…”

“human bites can be very dangerous,” riddle says, still not looking up, “and i can’t imagine how that translates to someone like you, considering your teeth are sharper and you’re not fully human anyway. i need to be in top shape, you know.”

floyd grumbles, untangling himself from riddle’s body. “yeah, whatever.” he crawls down towards riddle’s legs, sitting on the bed next to them. he tilts his head, examining them curiously. “so weird…” he trails a finger down the back of riddle’s leg. “what's it like?”

“hm?”

“having legs.”

“...you have legs,” riddle points out, finally looking over at him.

floyd shrugs. “but they're different. they aren't as real as yours.” he runs a finger down the leg again. “so? tell me.”

goosebumps raise over riddle’s skin at the featherlight touch. “i’m really not sure what you're asking. they feel the same as yours, i’d assume. stop that.” the last part is accompanied with a tiny kick as floyd repeats the action for a third time.

“huh? goldfishie is ticklish?”

“what?” riddle stiffens up so subtly that it's barely noticeable. it wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone not watching him as closely as floyd is. “no. just stop it, i'm trying to focus.” he's trying to change the subject, but really, he knows it's useless. there's an unspoken rule when it comes to tickling, one that riddle despises; if an individual says they aren't ticklish, one must test it for themselves. plus, once something has caught floyd’s attention, there's no distracting him until he loses interest.

even so, he doesn't expect the feeling of knuckles pressing into both his sides at once. his body spasms, accidentally throwing his pen onto the floor and scattering his papers as he makes an embarrassingly loud noise. he whips his head around to glare at floyd, who simply grins back.

“d-don't do that!” riddle scolds, sitting up so he can begin to reorganise his papers. he rubs at his side to try and get rid of the lingering tingles.

“but i wanna tickle you.”

huh?! riddle freezes, feeling the familiar sensation of his face turning pink, but this time not induced by rage. he turns to look at floyd, the room growing suddenly warm. “you—! i don't want you to!”

floyd pouts. “why not?”

“b-because…!” riddle stumbles over his words. “i'm busy right now!”

“you're busy?” echoes floyd, curling back around riddle's body as he lays back down. “so i can tickle you when you're done?”

damn it. riddle squeezes the pen in his hand, pointedly looking at his paper and nowhere else. “...fine.” he regrets the words even before they leave his mouth, and floyd’s look of pure excitement does nothing to help.

as it turns out, riddle should have let floyd do what he wanted to begin with. because now he’s teasing him, just centimetres away from touching him, and it might just be worse than the tickling itself.

“you’re gettin’ all twitchy around here,” floyd says, mostly to himself, his hand hovering around riddle’s midsection. “this a bad spot?” he giggles, wiggling his fingers in the air as he approaches and stops just before touching riddle’s side. “azul’s real ticklish here too, you know. and jade—” he moves towards riddle’s neck, and the housewarden scrunches up his shoulders even though there’s nothing actually there, “right here. i wanna see how you compare to them.”

riddle doesn’t respond to any of it, though he can feel his face burning as he tries desperately to focus. it’s getting hard to remember the answers when there’s nothing but ticklish thoughts running through his mind.

it takes a few minutes longer to finish than it should.

riddle is tempted to keep going; keep writing down something, even just random scribbles, anything that will postpone his demise. at the same time, though, the anticipation is killing him. he thinks the tickling would be more bearable than this.

so he sets his pen down, sighs, and turns to look at floyd. he tries to ignore the burning under his skin.

“...i’m done.”

floyd’s reflexes are terrifyingly fast. riddle blinks and suddenly he’s face-up on his bed, floyd settled happily atop his hips. he giggles as he looks down.

“goldfishie’s cute when he blushes.”

riddle grumbles, covering his face with his hands. “just hurry and get this over with!”

he doesn’t have time to feel embarrassed about his plea before floyd’s sharp nails are scribbling all over; his neck, his stomach, his sides, and riddle is suddenly laughing harder than he remembers ever laughing before. which, quite honestly, isn’t a high bar to rise above, given that he hasn’t had much to laugh about at all throughout his life—but still.

“stop, stohohop!” he cries, head thrown back as his hands find their way to floyd’s wrists. he’s always been incredibly ticklish, and floyd is one of the last people he ever wanted to find out—but now that it’s happened, he doesn’t hate it as much as he wants to.

and he does want to hate it. this is so…unbecoming of him; as a housewarden, as valedictorian, as a subject of the queen, but…as he laughs, he feels lighter than he has in years.

floyd’s eyes are practically sparkling. “i’ve never heard ya laugh so much before!” he exclaims, scratching at riddle’s lower ribs and making him cackle, so free, so undignified. it’s too out of place.

riddle hiccups between laughs, fits of giggles spilling out uncontrollably. “ihihi—i demand you stohop thihis!” he wants to cringe at how wobbly his voice sounds.

“eh?” floyd pouts, not letting up on his attack for even a moment. “but goldfishie promised i could tickle him…are you going back on that?” as if to reprimand, he tickles a little harder, veering on the edge of painful and way too ticklish. “that’s gotta go against one of your dumb rules.”

in a normal situation, this is the part where riddle would begin to scold; the queen’s rules, however foolish they may sound, are all important and to be respected. if he could, he would; but right now, he lacks the ability to speak more than a few words without crumbling to giggles once again.

“where's goldfishie most ticklish, huh?” floyd asks, skittering his fingers up and down riddle's sides. “‘cause it looks like you're just ticklish everywhere. what about here?” he reaches to pinch above riddle’s kneecaps, and riddle squeals and kicks and laughs and not much more, because there’s not much more he can do.

“i-i don’t knohohow!” riddle confesses, hands pressed over his face to hide and muffle himself. he’s been tickled before, but only briefly. he had no way of knowing how bad it would be.

floyd barks out a laugh at this, the sound intertwining with riddle’s for a second. “you don’t know? does that mean i get to tickle you ‘til i find it?” he flashes a sharp, dangerous grin, crawling under riddle’s arms.

“no, it does nohot!” yelps riddle, arms shooting down to protect himself. “st-stop it, i cahan’t take it! plehehease!”

he’s not normally the type to beg, but this entire situation is making him desperate and his nerves feel more alight with each touch. he tries to grab at floyd’s wrists, to push him away, hoping he’ll get bored and focus on literally anything else. being floyd’s victim isn’t anything he’s not used to, but this is new and he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to handle it.

it’s not long before his grip slackens, lashes growing damp as his strength is all but sapped out of him.

it takes a while to realise that the tickling has stopped.

he blinks his eyes open, deep and heavy breaths making his chest rise and fall, interrupted by stray residual laughs. he looks up, mismatched eyes meeting his. floyd’s hands are off of him now, but he’s still situated atop riddle’s thighs, not letting him move.

floyd giggles. “you’re real fun to play with.”

riddle can almost feel the heat rushing to his already warm face. “d-don’t tell a soul about this,” he hisses, “not a single person.”

“hm? ‘course i won’t.” floyd pokes riddle’s stomach one last time, as if the ensuing squeak is the punctuation at the end of his sentence. “teasing goldfishie is my job.”

[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]

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]

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]

About the twst pairings, thoughts on Rook and Vil?

Remember to stay hydrated!

-🐝

"roi du poison, allow me."

vil lowers his makeup brush to look at rook, who is approaching with a gentle smile. "what?"

"your makeup." rook takes the brush from vil's hand, reaching to dab on a little more eyeshadow. "please, let me do it."

"...alright." vil closes his eyes, waiting for rook to begin. he's not used to other people doing his makeup, but he'll allow it this once.

vil's skin has grown used to the treatment it's put through every day, the extensive routines to make it shine, and the various powders and creams he uses to accentuate his features. he assumes he won't feel a thing.

as it turns out, the principle of not being able to tickle oneself applies even when tools are involved, such as this one. vil twitches at the feeling of the soft bristles on his eyelids, but he keeps his eyes closed and steels himself. he wasn't aware he even could be ticklish there, but he's not about to let it get in the way.

rook chuckles at the sight. "ticklish, hm?" he teases, and if vil wasn't forced to relax his face, he'd be scowling. rook puts a hand on his cheek to steady his face, brushing on the mauve eyeshadow. he pulls away after finishing with one eye, presumably to apply more of the makeup, then returns to put his hand in the same position. his fingers are resting on vil's jaw, and he thinks nothing of it until rook presses oh-so-lightly into the skin.

vil full-on flinches this time, leaning back and opening his eyes with a glare. "give me that," he huffs, snatching the brush away. rook only laughs.