13thedream

[13thedream]

I will probably be writing some EPIC Odysseus content soon. Maybe even Telemachus

And definitely of Achilles and Patroclus from The Illiad/The Song of Achilles

[13thedream]

HIIIII i see ur requests r open

may i request for mitsuri and obanai, romantic obviously ( ˶´ ᵕ `˶ )

sentence starter can be something like "here comes the tickle monster~" with ler mitsuri pls

thank youuuu ᯓᡣ𐭩

My soft spot!!!! Slime you know me so well! :D I love these two so much- they never fail to make me smile! I've gotcha covered!

“Ugh!” Mitsuri suddenly doubled over, wrapping her arms around herself. Obanai felt himself panic. “Ugh…Ah!”

“Mitsuri! What’s wrong?” He was at her side in seconds, rubbing her back as his anxiety grew. Was it something she ate? “What can I do to help?”

“I can’t…hold it in…” She gasped out shaking her head as she squeezed herself tighter, face hidden in her hair. “It’s..coming out!”

“What’s coming out? Mitsuri, say something!” Obanai begged, his fear overriding logic as he desperately looked for Shinobu. “I need to get help-”

“Obanai!” She grabbed onto him, suddenly freezing all over. His pulse raced rapidly. “I’m sorry…”

“What?” It was only then he realized despite her cries, she wasn’t pale or shaky. Her hands weren’t clammy, either.

Now his anxiety came from an entirely new place. “Mitsuri..”

“Here comes the tickle monster!” She cried, shooting up and grabbing onto his fleeing form. Her insane strength quickly came into play, trapping him in a devious hug that did funny things to his heart while her fingers racked up and down his sides. “Tickle tickle tickle!” 

“Gaha! Geahhahahah! Mihihihitsurihihihi, pleahahhahase!” He broke near immediately, unable to withstand her expert technique! “Dohohohon’t tihihihickle mehehhehe!”

“Who’s that? I’m the tickle monster of the Demon Corps! I’ve taken over your beloved Mitsuri’s body and now I’m gonna tickle you forever!” She roared playfully as she swung him in her arms, digging gently into his belly and waist as he all but doubled over in mirth. “Get ready- you’re my first victim of the day! Hehehehe!”

“Ahehahahahah! Gehahhaha- pleahahhahse spahahhare mehehe! Gihihihive me bahahahck my belhoohohved!” He cried out. Sure, it was a bit flustering, but it was only them right now. He could bear to play with her some. “Pleahahhahse, tiihickle mohohohnster!”

“B-Beloved!” She gasped, her grip loosening some at the words. Obanai took his chance to escape her clutches, turning on his heels as he faced her. “Obanai?”

“Oh no- I’m not falling for that!” He ran at her with lightning speed, grabbing her from behind and quickly tickling her own sides. Mitsuri let out a squeal of surprise before collapsing near immediately. “You’re the tickle monster- and I’m gonna keep going until you return my beloved! Get ready!”

Send me a sentence starter and I'll write a dabble for you! :D

[13thedream]

Hiiii :>

Question- Are requests open right now? If so, I might have one(Demon slayer/KNY related)

Hello, requests are open, yes, specifically for Demon Slayer & Honkai: Star Rail - both for art and writing

What's on your mind?

[13thedream]

What exactly are you looking for someone to inspire you with? Maybe some fiction or some art? Or do you prefer words?

Anything goes, honestly

[13thedream]

I just KNOWWWW Akazas stripes are so ticklish! They have to be! Anything Lee Akaza throw my way 😫

I. Love. This. Headcanon. I love it! My god I can't even begin to count the ways I adore this silly thought of Akaza having the most ticklish stripes on the planet! I've gotcha covered, anons!

Cloud 9 (Taglist peeps):

@myreygn @thatbigbisexual29 @duckymcdoorknob @wolfyeatstacos @gladdygirl18 @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13 @t-wordiiish @sarahmaystock5578 @rachi-roo @mystwrites @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @giggly-toybox

Kokushibou tried to be subtle in his staring. Hard to do given he had six eyes, but he tried all the same.

Before him, Akaza was spacing out, openly ignoring Douma and his constant chatter. Leaned back on his arms, his bright blue stripes were on proper display for all to see. Normally such a sight wouldn’t entertain the highest moon, but after recent events, they were the only thing on his mind.

“He gets so giggly when you trace them!”

He had heard about Akaza’s supposive ticklish stripes. It seemed almost everyone within the Kizuki had tried it at least once, earning various reactions from the red headed demon. Most walked away with temporary injuries; the exception being Rui. Akaza’s soft spot for the spider was as clear as the blue within his markings.

Once again, he found himself staring. So long so when he looked up, Akaza was staring back.

Silence. Moments passed that felt like hours at their stare down. Eventually, Akaza looked away. He always did first.

Kokushibou blinked, his attention shifting once more to Douma nearby. He was staring now, a knowing look in his eyes and a teasing smile.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached out and traced one of his long nails against a stripe.

“Sh-” Akaza all but jerked at the touch, twisting to snarl at the blonde. Douma laughed like a child, unfazed as he was grabbed and shaken by the angry demon.

That settled it. Kokushibou had to see what this was all about.

~~~

It took awhile, but eventually Kokushibou had him just where he wanted him.

“This better be important. What do you want, anyway?” Akaza growled as he sat before the demon, voice only just shaking beneath his anger.

Kokushibou decided to ignore it as he carried on with his plan. “I wish to ask a favor of you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It seems everyone else has had a turn trying it, but I’ve yet to myself.” He leaned forward for emphasis, eye glinting with intrigue. “Would you be so kind as to let me have a go?”

Akaza blinked, taking in what he was saying. When it finally hit, he scrambled back- wide eyed and sputtery. “W-Whoa whoa hang on! Who told you- why do you- absolutely not!” He folded his arms across his chest, pulling his vest over himself even tighter. “There’s no way I’m just gonna sit there and let you-”

“I won’t force you.” Kokushibou cut in, calm as ever. “You and I both know if I wanted to do that, I’d already have you on the floor. I’m that much stronger than you.”

Akaza rolled his eyes at the reminder, still guarded. Kokushibou held up a hand in surrender.

“I assure you I have no intentions of testing it without your consent. If you truly don’t want me to do it, I’ll leave you be.” Kokushibou folded his hands once more, flat against his knees in a show of honesty. “That is all I have to say.”

Akaza stared, trying to find the lie in the demon’s teeth. There was none. Kokushibou was being genuine. A rare thing among them, but it did its job at lowering his walls. Groaning low, he came closer until he was sitting beside the six-eyed demon. “Five minutes.”

“I beg your pardon?” Kokushibou blinked.

“Five minutes. I’ll give you that much time to have your fill tickling me. After that, we never talk about this again.” Akaza wouldn’t look at him, but his expression was clearly a reluctant pout. “Fair enough for you?”

Kokushibou stared. “Are you certain?”

“I wouldn’t still be sitting here if I wasn’t.” Akaza gestured him to get on with it, his pout deepening as he looked anywhere but there. “Times a ticking- get your fill and I’m out.”

“Wouldn’t it be more fair to only start the clock when I actually tickle you?” Kokushibou asked, amusement touching his tone as he turned on his knees, reaching out. Before Akaza could respond, he trailed a single finger along the bright blue band against his bicep.

“Eeeh!” Akaza jerked at the touch, frowning lips twitching. Kokushibou did it again. “Ehehem-mmph!” He bit his lip, trying to muffle the sound of his growing giggles building up in his chest.

“Just a touch and you’re already laughing.” The six eyed demon mused, daring to add a nail to the mix. “Is this your worst spot, or are you just anticipating what’s to come?”

“Shuuhuht up! Gahhaha!” Akaza went to swing at him, but Kokushibou was far too fast. He easily grabbed the fist coming his way with one hand, raising it up and giving himself more access to tickle spots. “Nohohoho, don’t! Gehahaha, yoohohu fuhuhucker!”

“Such language. I hope you don’t say such things infront of Rui.” Kokushibou chided as he clawed his fingers, dragging them along the stripes lining Akaza’s side. The reaction was near instant- the redhead went tumbling to the right with a loud cackle. “Knowing you, however- I shouldn’t worry about such things. You’ve always had quite the soft spot for him.”

“Whahahht’s thahahhat suhuhuhhoohohohsed to mehahahahen? Jehehahhaalous muhuhuhuch?” Akaza snarked through his laughter, torn between blocking with his free arm or swinging with the other.

“A little bit.” Kokushibou didn’t elaborate. Instead he dared a finger down the center stripe along Akaza’s chest. Akaza all but flew backwards at the touch, barking out a shrill laugh.

“GAHHAHA!” Losing all balance, Akaza hit the ground back first as he flailed about, shrieking with mirth while Kokushibou closed the gap. Fingers carried on tracing the lines along his torso, unyielding and devastatingly ticklish. “SOHOHOHOON OF A BIHIHIHIIHTCH! YOHOHOHOOHU SIHIIHIHXED EHEHEHEYED FREAHHAHAHK, CUHUHUUHUT IT OHOHOHOUT!”

“It seems tickling makes you more bold.” Kokushibou chided without malice, a rare smile pulling at his lips as he focused his efforts on the stripes running along his upper ribs, making Akaza flail and go near silent with mirth. “Six-eyed freak, huh? Is that what you call me when I’m not around?”

“GAHAHAHAH! I’M SHAHAHRRY! I’M SHAHAHHARRY NOW STAHHAHAHAP!” Akaza all but shrieked, voice fading in and out as he threw a tantrum against the ground. He was sure he looked a right mess, eyes wet and face aching from that ever permanent smile. He wanted to rip off his skin and shake out the feeling until it was gone in the wind.

And yet- a part of him was having fun. A small part of him- ever present. Damn his once beating heart for enjoying this.

“Has it been five minutes already? Shame, and I was just getting to the good part.” Kokushibou hummed as he pulled away, folding his hands neatly in his lap while he watched Akaza roll around with a groan. “I found that quite enjoyable though, Akaza. Thank you for letting me have a turn.”

“Ugh, whatever. You’re just lucky I’m nice.” Akaza quipped back. The words stunned him though- a memory of himself saying that same exact phrasing to a young woman flashing through his mind.

“Akaza?” Kokushibou asked, his teasing tone fading into one of concern. Akaza blinked, reaching up and holding his brow.

“I’m fine.” He assured, sitting up quickly and facing the older demon. “I’m fine, really. Just…this whole thing is weird. You’re weird.” He winced some- he sounded like a bumbling fool. “Not that..that’s really a bad thing though.”

Kokushibou’s various eyes widened, taken aback by the comment. Akaza quickly twisted on his heels to escape. “You remember the deal! This never happened, you hear me bug eyes?”

He ran before he could be caught, flying down the halls and towards his usual hideout. Maybe it was his exhaustion, but he swore he could hear the faintest of chuckles from the room he escaped.

Yeah. Definitely his imagination.

Thanks for reading!

[13thedream]

I am writing instead

somebody encourage me to draw demon slayer tkl art I beg

[13thedream]

somebody encourage me to draw demon slayer tkl art I beg

[13thedream]

Wouldn't it be fun if Yoriichi and Michikatsu/Kokushibo had the same but slightly different tickle spots

Both of them have a ticklish stomach, but Koku's stomach is ticklish on the sides of it while Yoriichi's is more ticklish in the center.

Or ticklish ribs, where Koku has ticklish lower ribs and Yoriichi has ticklish upper ribs.

Just a fun thought.

[13thedream]

@ the requester

I see you and I'll get it done but it may take years

[13thedream]

Characters: (Lee) Sunday, (Ler) Kafka

a/n: this is based off of the Idea that Sunday joined the Stellaron Hunters. I have not done the most recent quest yet - only partially proofread, and my first fic, so do not make fun of it, please. But constructive criticism is encouraged

words: 1,5k

Sunday has had a headache all day today, and his eyes felt sore.

It was no doubt the fault of him staying up for most of the night tearfully, but he was sure that these people played a part in it.

They are unfamiliar; they hardly know him and he hardly knows them. And yet, here they are behaving as if he’d always been a part of the “family”. Arms slung over his shoulders, going out to places as well… Aren’t they meant to be an elite group, the feared and despised Stellaron Hunters? No doubt powerful, and yet, they had so much time on their hands to still be silly.

It is safe to say he is not used to such treatment. Relaxing, sitting back and doing nothing, having fun - yet he is neither relaxed or having fun. The thought of his sister laid heavy in his mind - the way she looked so tired on the television, and it tugged at his big brother instincts to sometimes see her wings not preened.

Sunday sighed quietly, his face buried in gloved hands as he leaned back against the sofa he sat on. He regrets now not bringing any of his books, or his journal; then again, he had to leave in such a rush, there simply was no time.

A tiny breeze fluttered the feathers of his left wing, and it twitched. He ignored it, groaning as he burdened himself with thoughts of his sister. What if she’s not feeding herself properly? What if she’s spending her nights crying?

Another breeze, another twitch.

Maybe she hates him. No- Robin would never, yet he found himself wishing she would. He hates himself so much, and he’s just pulling her down with him.

“...day.. Sunday.-” Something delicately traced down his wing, and Sunday would forever deny the startled, squeaky “eep!” He had let out. He whipped around, golden eyes wide, meeting the even and somewhat curious gaze of Kafka.

She was smirking; he felt his cheeks heat up at his own embarrassing reaction - and his damned wings were now curling around his cheeks too, as if he were some shy child hiding his face.

Clearing his throat, Sunday spoke, “..Good afternoon, Miss Kafka,” A polite greeting, choosing to move past what had just happened.

“Hey, angel,” she replied, that stupid smirk never leaving, and he felt his skin prick from the nickname. Angel? Audacious to call him anything other than his own name - yet, he held no power here, so he may as well accept it.

Kafka continued to speak casually, “I’ve been calling your name for a while. D’you wanna have dinner with us later?”

Sunday huffed quietly at the thought alone. Dinner with that barbaric swordsman, the moving suit of armor, a literal cat, and the girl who can’t put her phone down? Forget it. The most normally behaving person there would be Kafka, and that’s saying a lot.

“No.” Sunday grumbled, before clearing his throat once more and fixing himself, “...No, thank you. I will get my own.”

Kafka merely shrugged one shoulder, propping up her face on a hand as she observed him. When had she sat down beside him? Sunday met her gaze for a couple of seconds before glancing away, feathers puffing up. What does she still want?

“No problem. You seem tense,” the woman commented offhandedly, and he looked back out of politeness.

“How could I not be?” Sunday replied, tone cool and curt. Kafka shrugged again, raising one eyebrow as she observed him a moment longer.

“Fair point. But no one’s coming after you here, y’know?” She pointed out, and he huffed; of course he knew that. They’re in the middle of Xipe-Knows-What, in Xipe-Knows-Where.

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m more worried about the company here than anybody looking for me.” Sunday watched reproachfully as Kafka’s expression turned into one of amusement, as well as a mischievousness which had him tensing up further.

“Ah? How come? We’re a loving family here.” She replied, and they could both tell that she was just messing around now. They both knew why.

Sunday sighed, “Well, I don’t feel the slightest bit safe with that swordsman - constantly looking as though he'd strike me down if he had the chance. And that girl is a nuisance. It feels as though her entire personality is just, “Games this,” And “Hacking that,”.” He snorted out - and he felt himself lighten a bit at Kafka’s huffed out laugh.

“...Sam is most likely the most tolerable person,” Her smirk never left for the entire conversation - does this woman even know any other facial expressions..?

“And you are… Hm.” She looked even more smug than usual for a moment at his hesitance, and he grumbled out, “..Mysterious, I suppose. I dislike how unpredictable you get.”

Kafka was silent for a good long moment, just staring at him, before she chuckled, “Might I remind you, Birdie, that you are not so normal for yourself.”

She reached out again, while he was looking elsewhere, and dragged a finger down one of his wings lazily.

Sunday yelped.

His wing flapped, and he whipped around to face her again, cheeks on fire. “Would you please stop that?” He politely snapped, eyebrows furrowing.

She observed, he shifted, trying to cool down his cheeks.

“You’re ticklish,” Kafka finally mused out, tone thoughtful. Sunday sputtered, cheeks ablaze, a huge difference from his usually stoic, cool demeanor.

“What? No. What-? I was just caught of guard.” He replied, shifting away from her on the sofa. Perhaps he should try to respectfully make his leave-

“You laughed a little bit,” Kafka hummed, her eyes narrowing, a nearly predatory look behind them.

“I did not,” Sunday denied, frowning.

“You did.” Kafka’s already smirking lips began curving upwards even further.

“I am not ticklish. Where did you even get that from? Your claim makes little to no se–”

“Alright. Let’s prove it.” Kafka said, and before his brain could even process her words, two hands were firmly gripping his sides, fingertips digging into the flesh.

Sunday let out a surprised, “Aah-ha!” Falling back onto the sofa and attempting to squirm away. It did not tickle so terribly - yet single nerve felt as though it was on fire, and his embarrassment worsened with every little squeak which escaped his lips. He hated his laugh, and he was now sure he hated this damned woman, and her damned smirk, and her damned hands.

“Wait- Wait! Wahahait!” He cursed himself, giggles slipping into his words. His body was jumping, hands reaching down to try and push her’s away, but to no avail. She easily dodged all of his attempts, hands squishing at the sides of his stomach now, only worsening the sensations.

“Gah! Ahahaa! Wahait!” Kafka was smirking, watching the usually uptight Halovian fall apart just from a few touches. His body spasmed when she got closer to his belly, and she chuckled.

“So much for not ticklish, hm?” She hummed out, that predatory glint still in her eyes. He was blushing hard, his laugh a bit awkward - probably from not being genuinely used in so long - and his smaller pair of wings were busy trying to cover up his face.

What an adorable sight.

Her hands teased his belly for a few moments longer, before lowering down on it. Sunday squealed, blushing a dark red now as he lowered his hands to block his sensitive stomach, panting. He heard Kafka click her tongue.

“K-Kafka, thahat’s–!” Suddenly, her hands were in his underarms, those horrid nails scratching at the exposed skin.

“AAah! Kahafka!” He cried out loudly, tone becoming more and more high pitched the longer this went on. His arms slammed down, trying to fruitlessly guard his vulnerable underarms, but that just pushed her hands in deeper, digging into the centers.

His wings were quivering, both sets, and he bucked up wildly. His hair was becoming a mess and his clothing ruffled. Mirthful tears sprung up in his eyes, threatening to fall down his red cheeks, and his chest heaved.

Kafka scratched in his underarms a moment longer before removing her hands altogether, recognizing his limit. She was still smirking, and he breathlessly glared at her.

“...Ruhude.” He panted out, titters still escaping every here and there.

Kafka only smirked, “You had many chances to say stop. You didn’t.”

His cheeks lit up again - Great Xipe, he’d never get over this embarrassment. What’s worse is that she is absolutely correct.

Sitting up, Sunday muttered a quick, “Be quiet..” as he tried to smooth down his clothes. He felt much lighter now, he realized. Not so tense anymore - yet despite that, he still glared at Kafka before moving off of the sofa.

Well. Now he has to go hide in the bathroom for a couple of hours. And possibly die from the embarrassment.

“Excuse me,” he grunted out, and hid his tiny smile in his wing as he left. Kafka replied casually, as if she hadn’t just tickled him senseless, “Seeya.”

Weird - his headache is gone too.

[13thedream]

Characters: (Lee) Sunday, (Ler) Kafka

a/n: this is based off of the Idea that Sunday joined the Stellaron Hunters. I have not done the most recent quest yet - only partially proofread, and my first fic, so do not make fun of it, please. But constructive criticism is encouraged

words: 1,5k

Sunday has had a headache all day today, and his eyes felt sore.

It was no doubt the fault of him staying up for most of the night tearfully, but he was sure that these people played a part in it.

They are unfamiliar; they hardly know him and he hardly knows them. And yet, here they are behaving as if he’d always been a part of the “family”. Arms slung over his shoulders, going out to places as well… Aren’t they meant to be an elite group, the feared and despised Stellaron Hunters? No doubt powerful, and yet, they had so much time on their hands to still be silly.

It is safe to say he is not used to such treatment. Relaxing, sitting back and doing nothing, having fun - yet he is neither relaxed or having fun. The thought of his sister laid heavy in his mind - the way she looked so tired on the television, and it tugged at his big brother instincts to sometimes see her wings not preened.

Sunday sighed quietly, his face buried in gloved hands as he leaned back against the sofa he sat on. He regrets now not bringing any of his books, or his journal; then again, he had to leave in such a rush, there simply was no time.

A tiny breeze fluttered the feathers of his left wing, and it twitched. He ignored it, groaning as he burdened himself with thoughts of his sister. What if she’s not feeding herself properly? What if she’s spending her nights crying?

Another breeze, another twitch.

Maybe she hates him. No- Robin would never, yet he found himself wishing she would. He hates himself so much, and he’s just pulling her down with him.

“...day.. Sunday.-” Something delicately traced down his wing, and Sunday would forever deny the startled, squeaky “eep!” He had let out. He whipped around, golden eyes wide, meeting the even and somewhat curious gaze of Kafka.

She was smirking; he felt his cheeks heat up at his own embarrassing reaction - and his damned wings were now curling around his cheeks too, as if he were some shy child hiding his face.

Clearing his throat, Sunday spoke, “..Good afternoon, Miss Kafka,” A polite greeting, choosing to move past what had just happened.

“Hey, angel,” she replied, that stupid smirk never leaving, and he felt his skin prick from the nickname. Angel? Audacious to call him anything other than his own name - yet, he held no power here, so he may as well accept it.

Kafka continued to speak casually, “I’ve been calling your name for a while. D’you wanna have dinner with us later?”

Sunday huffed quietly at the thought alone. Dinner with that barbaric swordsman, the moving suit of armor, a literal cat, and the girl who can’t put her phone down? Forget it. The most normally behaving person there would be Kafka, and that’s saying a lot.

“No.” Sunday grumbled, before clearing his throat once more and fixing himself, “...No, thank you. I will get my own.”

Kafka merely shrugged one shoulder, propping up her face on a hand as she observed him. When had she sat down beside him? Sunday met her gaze for a couple of seconds before glancing away, feathers puffing up. What does she still want?

“No problem. You seem tense,” the woman commented offhandedly, and he looked back out of politeness.

“How could I not be?” Sunday replied, tone cool and curt. Kafka shrugged again, raising one eyebrow as she observed him a moment longer.

“Fair point. But no one’s coming after you here, y’know?” She pointed out, and he huffed; of course he knew that. They’re in the middle of Xipe-Knows-What, in Xipe-Knows-Where.

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m more worried about the company here than anybody looking for me.” Sunday watched reproachfully as Kafka’s expression turned into one of amusement, as well as a mischievousness which had him tensing up further.

“Ah? How come? We’re a loving family here.” She replied, and they could both tell that she was just messing around now. They both knew why.

Sunday sighed, “Well, I don’t feel the slightest bit safe with that swordsman - constantly looking as though he'd strike me down if he had the chance. And that girl is a nuisance. It feels as though her entire personality is just, “Games this,” And “Hacking that,”.” He snorted out - and he felt himself lighten a bit at Kafka’s huffed out laugh.

“...Sam is most likely the most tolerable person,” Her smirk never left for the entire conversation - does this woman even know any other facial expressions..?

“And you are… Hm.” She looked even more smug than usual for a moment at his hesitance, and he grumbled out, “..Mysterious, I suppose. I dislike how unpredictable you get.”

Kafka was silent for a good long moment, just staring at him, before she chuckled, “Might I remind you, Birdie, that you are not so normal for yourself.”

She reached out again, while he was looking elsewhere, and dragged a finger down one of his wings lazily.

Sunday yelped.

His wing flapped, and he whipped around to face her again, cheeks on fire. “Would you please stop that?” He politely snapped, eyebrows furrowing.

She observed, he shifted, trying to cool down his cheeks.

“You’re ticklish,” Kafka finally mused out, tone thoughtful. Sunday sputtered, cheeks ablaze, a huge difference from his usually stoic, cool demeanor.

“What? No. What-? I was just caught of guard.” He replied, shifting away from her on the sofa. Perhaps he should try to respectfully make his leave-

“You laughed a little bit,” Kafka hummed, her eyes narrowing, a nearly predatory look behind them.

“I did not,” Sunday denied, frowning.

“You did.” Kafka’s already smirking lips began curving upwards even further.

“I am not ticklish. Where did you even get that from? Your claim makes little to no se–”

“Alright. Let’s prove it.” Kafka said, and before his brain could even process her words, two hands were firmly gripping his sides, fingertips digging into the flesh.

Sunday let out a surprised, “Aah-ha!” Falling back onto the sofa and attempting to squirm away. It did not tickle so terribly - yet single nerve felt as though it was on fire, and his embarrassment worsened with every little squeak which escaped his lips. He hated his laugh, and he was now sure he hated this damned woman, and her damned smirk, and her damned hands.

“Wait- Wait! Wahahait!” He cursed himself, giggles slipping into his words. His body was jumping, hands reaching down to try and push her’s away, but to no avail. She easily dodged all of his attempts, hands squishing at the sides of his stomach now, only worsening the sensations.

“Gah! Ahahaa! Wahait!” Kafka was smirking, watching the usually uptight Halovian fall apart just from a few touches. His body spasmed when she got closer to his belly, and she chuckled.

“So much for not ticklish, hm?” She hummed out, that predatory glint still in her eyes. He was blushing hard, his laugh a bit awkward - probably from not being genuinely used in so long - and his smaller pair of wings were busy trying to cover up his face.

What an adorable sight.

Her hands teased his belly for a few moments longer, before lowering down on it. Sunday squealed, blushing a dark red now as he lowered his hands to block his sensitive stomach, panting. He heard Kafka click her tongue.

“K-Kafka, thahat’s–!” Suddenly, her hands were in his underarms, those horrid nails scratching at the exposed skin.

“AAah! Kahafka!” He cried out loudly, tone becoming more and more high pitched the longer this went on. His arms slammed down, trying to fruitlessly guard his vulnerable underarms, but that just pushed her hands in deeper, digging into the centers.

His wings were quivering, both sets, and he bucked up wildly. His hair was becoming a mess and his clothing ruffled. Mirthful tears sprung up in his eyes, threatening to fall down his red cheeks, and his chest heaved.

Kafka scratched in his underarms a moment longer before removing her hands altogether, recognizing his limit. She was still smirking, and he breathlessly glared at her.

“...Ruhude.” He panted out, titters still escaping every here and there.

Kafka only smirked, “You had many chances to say stop. You didn’t.”

His cheeks lit up again - Great Xipe, he’d never get over this embarrassment. What’s worse is that she is absolutely correct.

Sitting up, Sunday muttered a quick, “Be quiet..” as he tried to smooth down his clothes. He felt much lighter now, he realized. Not so tense anymore - yet despite that, he still glared at Kafka before moving off of the sofa.

Well. Now he has to go hide in the bathroom for a couple of hours. And possibly die from the embarrassment.

“Excuse me,” he grunted out, and hid his tiny smile in his wing as he left. Kafka replied casually, as if she hadn’t just tickled him senseless, “Seeya.”

Weird - his headache is gone too.

[13thedream]

I'm cooking up a Lee!Sunday fic going along with the theory/idea of him becoming a Stellaron hunter; have not done the most recent quest yet, my laptop is still updating

how're we feeling boys

[13thedream]

(A bit of context: Rosie (the angel woman) is in a dream - everytime she dreams, an ancient god named Risus messes with her - be it with the faces of loved ones, or just plainly teasing her (as seen here))

Dialogue:

Risus: "My, what have we here~? A trapped little angel~?"

Rosie: "...You are holding me, Risus. Not very sharp for a god, are you?"

Risus: "You seem particularly prickly today, Miss Rosemary... Perhaps I'd ought to do something about that~..."

Rosie: "Mmh-!"

Risus: "Perhaps I should claw at your exposed little underarms..."

Rosie: "AH- hah..."

Risus: "..Maybe I should show your sensitive little tummy some attention... you always snort so adorably when I tickle you here~"

Risus: "Or squeeze your hips... knead at your thighs... trace over your neck and lower back... scratch at your soles... spider behind your knees..."

Risus: "And leave behind nothing but ... A breathless, blushing little angel~ (Already half way there, pfft...)"