70% lee / 30% ler usually sfw but occasionally nsfw / English is not my mother tongue so sorry for my bad English :) anyone who does anything inappropriate on this account will be banned. account to read t-fics :) tickle blog español-English 🖤 asexual 💜 20 years old
So you all know how there's an underrated spot behind the neck right under the hairline, I mean there are so many ways to tickle that spot and drive your lee crazy, turn them into a babbling mess. But we are here to talk about something that'll will help you all lees.
Grab a pen or a pencil and start to poke right on that spot, obviously with the flat part of the pen or pencil, it tickles a lot, I love it ngl, I'm obsessed with doing it
Summary: maybe soft giggles can make kimiko talk?? Well.... Frenchie thinks it can work
The safehouse smelled of stale rain, copper, and the cheap, pungent tobacco Frenchie rolled between his stained fingers. It was quiet—a rare luxury in their line of work—but the silence in the basement felt heavy, almost suffocating.
In the corner, sitting cross-legged on a mattress that had seen better decades, was the girl. Kimiko.
She was a feral, fragile paradox. One moment a whirlwind of snapping bones and lethal force, the next a trembling, hyper-vigilant creature hiding behind a curtain of tangled black hair. She didn't speak. Not a word, not a grunt, not a sigh. Billy saw a weapon; Frenchie saw a broken soul trapped behind a wall of trauma. And Frenchie desperately wanted to build a bridge.
He walked over slowly, keeping his hands visible, holding a fresh bowl of warm broth. He sank onto the floor a respectful few feet away.
"Bonjour, mon cœur" he said, his voice a soft, rhythmic purr. "I brought you something warm. No needles, no cages. Just soup."
Kimiko’s dark eyes locked onto him. Her shoulders were tense, hunched up to her ears. She didn't reach for the bowl, but she didn't strike him either. Progress.
"You know, the silence... it can be a cozy blanket, or it can be a prison," Frenchie murmured, setting the bowl down between them. "I wish to help you break out of the prison. But softly. Always softly with you."
He noticed how her gaze flicked to his hands. She was expecting violence, because violence was all she knew. Frenchie’s heart ached. He needed a way to break the tension, to show her that physical contact didn't always mean pain or control. He needed to find her reset button.
And then, he remembered an old tactic from his youth in Marseilles—a way to coax a smile out of the most hardened, stubborn street kids.
"I am going to move a little closer, oui? No harm." He slid a few inches forward on the dusty floorboards. Kimiko tracked his movement, her posture stiffening slightly, but she stayed put.
"You are so serious," Frenchie chided gently, a teasing glint entering his eyes. "So fierce. But I think, underneath all that anger, there is a little girl who wants to laugh."
Slowly, deliberately, Frenchie raised his hands, wiggling his fingers in the air. Kimiko tilted her head, her brow furrowing in deep confusion. What kind of combat stance was this?
"Let us try an experiment in trust," he whispered.
With agonizing slowness, ensuring she saw exactly where he was aiming, Frenchie reached out and hovered his hands just above her sides. Kimiko flinched slightly, her hands instantly coming up to guard herself, but Frenchie didn't strike. Instead, his fingertips made feather-light contact with her ribs.
*Scritch, scritch, scritch.*
Kimiko gasped, her entire body jerking backward. Her eyes went wide as saucers.
"Ah! See? You are alive in there," Frenchie chuckled, his voice dripping with affection. He didn't let her escape completely. Moving with gentle persistence, his fingers pursued her, lightly dancing along her sensitive flanks, mimicking the pitter-patter of raindrops.
Kimiko’s mouth opened in a silent, breathless shock. She tried to swat his hands away, but Frenchie was quick, dodging her half-hearted swiped paws while keeping up the soft, relentless friction against her waist.
A tiny, choked huff escaped her throat. It wasn't a word, but it was s ound
"Oh, mon ange, what is that?" Frenchie beamed, his heart soaring. He moved his hands up, his fingers lightly scribbling under her arms, right where the seams of her oversized jacket met. "Is that a giggle trying to find its way out? Let it out. Share it with me."
Kimiko wriggled furiously, her face flushing a deep, pretty pink. She squeezed her eyes shut, her shoulders shaking as she tried to fight the sensory onslaught. She was strong enough to rip a man’s arm off, but against the light, torturous fluttering of Frenchie’s fingertips in her underarms, her super-strength was utterly useless.
Another breathy huff escaped her, followed by a squeaky, bubbling sound that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed laugh. She curled into a ball, trying to shield her stomach, but Frenchie gently nudged her knee aside, finding the sensitive spot right behind her kneecaps.
*Tickle-tickle-tickle.*
Kimiko kicked her leg out, a silent, wide-mouthed laugh finally breaking across her face. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and for a fleeting second, the terrifying female assassin vanished, replaced by a girl experiencing pure, unadulterated joy. She squirmed across the mattress, her hands uselessly pushing at Frenchie’s wrists, but there was no force behind her resistance. She was completely helpless to the tickles.
"Look at you! Beautiful," Frenchie cooed, his fingers migrating to her tummy, giving it a playful, rhythmic drumming. "Let the bad thoughts go, chérie. Just for a moment. Trust me."
He kept the intensity low, never wanting her to feel trapped or panicked. It was a dance of pure caretaking. Whenever she seemed to lose her breath too much, he would ease off, letting his hands simply rest warmly against her skin, before starting up a slow, agonizingly ticklish scribble along her collarbones.
Kimiko threw her head back against the mattress, her chest heaving as she silent-laughed, her small feet kicking against the floorboards. The sheer absurdity of the situation—and the intense, ticklish warmth spreading through her—finally melted the last of her icy defenses.
After a few more moments of playful torment, Frenchie slowed his fingers down, letting the tickles transition into a soft, soothing stroke up her arms and into her hair.
"All done, All done," he murmured, smoothing back her tangled bangs.
Kimiko lay flat on her back, panting softly, her cheeks flushed and a lingering, genuine smile resting on her lips. She looked up at Frenchie, not with suspicion or murderous intent, but with a soft, bright curiosity.
She reached out, her small hand trembling slightly, and placed her palm gently against Frenchie’s cheek. She didn't speak—perhaps she never would—but as she gave his cheek a affectionate squeeze, Frenchie knew the message loud and clear.
The wall had a crack in it. And they had all the time in the world to break it down, one giggle at a time.
Ok so you know how some people of the tickle community consider themselves asexual (one of them here) and it's difficult to explain since there are some people that enjoy tickling in a very lovely and non sexual way, but others get turn on by only videos of tickling with nothing sexual on it, aaaand the ones who get turn on by tickling in a full sexual anyways, a lot of chit chat, however these days I've been thinking about having sex while being tickled and I know that you must think that it's normal however feeling that it's so weird to me.
Sooooo I don't know if it happenes to you too, but I've never felt that before with nobody, yet there are some men that make me feel so weird
I don't know if you've watched "the boys", okay so it's such a good show however I've been dreaming about soldier boy tickling homelander, I know it sounds weird, after all, both of them are the most powerful guys in their universe, but the idea of soldier boy reducing homelander (almost a god) into a pile of giggles
No cause, being nibbled, sniffed or nuzzled on your ribs and pits makes you jump to the ceiling, that's why you should always tie the lee before doing it
Beautiful, you don’t HAVE to forgive them. You just can’t ridicule them after leaving for being “tainted” or “evil” or whatever the acceptable word is now. Do not punish the behaviour you want to see.
“But they should’ve known sooner” and we should’ve known sooner that Destiel was never gonna meaningfully happen outside of queerbaiting, what’s your point?
“I never want them near me” that’s fine, but you do realize to insult them, YOU have to get near THEM, right? Wouldn’t it be more conducive to what you want to just leave each other alone?
“What if one of them tries to approach me?” Then you block them online, or you keep the conversation clinical and polite irl. You do NOT take time out of your day to berate them for their old views. Your mother raised you better than that.
Villainize outsiders, which can look different depending on the cult, make everything an us vs them situation. And then when those outsiders show themselves to be hostile (doesn't matter why) the cult is proven right all along on one of their foundational messages
A/N: Almost finished… This anime is still in my head and it’s a shame that the movie had been canceled - yeah, I’m still talking about it. So, I had to write a little something from this show as well. Number 30 - Giving in - of @vqler's Tickletober prompt list of 2025 ft. Yuri and Otabek from Yuri!!! on Ice.
Words: 1,070 words under the cut
“Please Yuri… just once…” The quiet yet oddly persistent tone in Otabek’s voice made Yuri whip his head around instantly. The Kazakh skater was leaning against the back of the couch, eyes focused intently on him in a way that sent a strange, prickly heat up his neck.
Just a few hours ago they’d been hanging out with Victor and Yuuri - nothing unusual. But of course, Victor couldn’t just keep his mouth shut. No, Victor Nikiforov, master of unnecessary oversharing, had casually dropped the fact that Yuri was “super ticklish” in front of everyone.
At the time Yuri had snapped back, cheeks burning, claiming Victor didn’t know what he was talking about, but clearly Otabek had been listening and thinking and plotting. Now here they were - back in their shared apartment - and the guy hadn’t stopped bringing it up. Yuri narrowed his eyes. “What the hell does ‘just once’ even mean?”
Otabek’s lips curved slightly, almost imperceptibly. “You know what it means.” Yuri huffed, crossing his arms and sinking into the couch cushions. “No way I’m letting you-” “Where are you ticklish?” Otabek asked, leaning forward, clearly enjoying himself far too much.
“I’m not,” Yuri shot back instantly. The other tilted his head, his expression calm but undeniably amused. “Then it shouldn’t be a problem if I try, right?” The blonde glared at him, jaw tightening. “You’re annoying.” “I’m curious,” Otabek replied, unbothered. “Just once... That’s all I’m asking.”
The back-and-forth continued for several long minutes. Every time Yuri tried to change the subject, Otabek would circle back, his steady gaze making it impossible to ignore him. It was like being trapped in a staring contest he couldn’t win. Finally, with an exasperated groan, Yuri threw his hands up. “Fine! Just once, okay? And my armpits are off-limits!”
Otabek’s eyes softened and a warm smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Deal.” Before Yuri could overthink what he’d just agreed to, Otabek stepped forward and pulled him into a brief hug, a surprisingly tender gesture that caught him off guard. “H-Hey what the-”
But the moment ended quickly - Otabek gently pushed him back, so that he was lying against the couch cushions, hovering above him with that unreadable, faintly mischievous expression. “Ready?” “No-!” Yuri began, but his protest cut off in a startled yelp as Otabek’s fingers landed on his sides. It wasn’t an all-out attack - at least, not yet.
Otabek’s touch was light, almost experimental, as if he was mapping out exactly how Yuri would react. Yuri’s shoulders instantly hunched, his legs curling slightly as he pressed a hand over his mouth, trying so hard to keep it together. Otabek noticed. Oh, he definitely noticed.
“Don’t hide it,” he murmured as he gently took Yuri’s hand and moved it away from his mouth, “you promised.” Yuri’s cheeks burned. He glared up at him, about to fire off a retort, but Otabek’s fingers gave a deliberate squeeze at his waist, and the sound that escaped was anything but dignified.
“Ah-! DaHahmn it! NohoHOHOHO!” Yuri twisted, the beginnings of laughter spilling out. His hands instinctively clung to Otabek’s shirt, gripping the fabric as if that would somehow stop the tickling. It didn’t.
Otabek’s smile deepened just a fraction and he continued in smooth, deliberate movements - sliding his fingers up and down Yuri’s sides, sometimes pressing in with a bit more pressure, other times barely grazing him at all. The unpredictable rhythm made it impossible for Yuri to brace himself. The touch was still light, but that lightness alone already tickled so bad.
“Still think you’re not ticklish?” Otabek asked quietly, the calm tone only making Yuri flush harder. “S-ShuHUhut up!” The blonde’s voice cracked as laughter tumbled out, bright and unrestrained now that the initial resistance had broken. His head tilted back against the cushion, and for a moment, he hated that it actually felt… kind of nice.
“DahAhhmn iHihitit…. nghHoHoH aAhhAHAHAh,” he laughed when the other hit an especially sensitive spot near his lowest ribs and continued to explore his newfound discovery, wiggling his fingers into said spot all while smiling down at him with this knowing grin. “Tickles a lot, hm~ I should’ve tried this much sooner,” he laughed, tickling him more.
Despite his teasing, Otabek didn’t push the limit. He kept his promise about the armpits, never straying higher than Yuri’s ribs, though his hands occasionally wandered to his stomach. The light kneading there made Yuri’s laugh pitch up several octaves, his legs kicking weakly against the couch. “WAAhh B-BeHeka fuHhuHuck,” Yuri cursed.
The black-haired smirked as he slid his fingers over his stomach, feeling it vibrate under him as he pressed them softly against it, not daring to slip under the other’s shirt - at least not for today. However, he noticed that the entire time - despite his so-called “protests” - Yuri had never tried to stop him and it somehow made him smile innerly.
“You’re actually enjoying this,” Otabek remarked, amusement flickering in his eyes. “In your- hahHA! dreHehams!” Yuri shot back between bursts of laughter, wriggling helplessly. “…Of course, Yurio, of course~” he teased back, but decided to leave it at that, wanting to savor these moments of tickling the other as long as he could, and the other allowed.
The tickling felt like forever, but eventually, Otabek eased up, letting his fingers slow to a stop before withdrawing them completely. Yuri lay there catching his breath, cheeks flushed pink, hair mussed from all his squirming.
“Thanks,” the ravenhead said softly, and before Yuri could question why he was thanking him, the older boy leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Yuri froze. His eyes widened, a rush of heat flooding his face that had nothing to do with the tickling. “You- What-” he stammered, pushing at Otabek’s chest weakly. “Idiot.”
Otabek’s smile was small but steady. “I’ll take that as a yes.” A long pause hung between them, and then - barely above a whisper - Yuri muttered, “You can… do it again.” Otabek’s brows lifted slightly. “The kiss or the tickling?”
Yuri’s blush deepened instantly. “Idiot,” he repeated, glaring to the side - but there was no real bite to it this time. Otabek chuckled quietly, his gaze warm as he sat back. “I’ll keep you guessing.” The blonde scowled in response, but his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile.
Sometimes, my thoughts are too loud to concentrate, I unconsciously scratch the skin on my arm and bite my cheeks. The feeling if needing someone to grab me and blow raspberries on my neck behibd me increases.
Just imagine this, person A having intrusive thoughts, fears, and phobias tormenting they, they pace around the room trying to think clearly, but everything seems unreal and horrific, they sweat and even whine a little bit.
Meanwhile person B, a more relaxed one, aware of what is happening to person A, smiles softly, and walk towards them. B grabs their hands and hugs A arms against their sides, person A sighs against B person's chest, tired and overwhelmed.
However person B only nuzzles his head into A person's neck Making them squeal and shrug their shoulders, person B starts to blow softly there, the soft skin getting goosebumps, person A laughs and tilts their head to cover the crook of their neck however B person's head is already there, trapped.
Person B would blow slowly into the crook of A person's neck, whispering against their ticklish ears "you know, people say the best medicine is laughter, this might help" Person A squeaks and trashes but they doesn't beg, they only laugh "HAHAhahahaHAHAHahahah" Person A laughs like a child, snorting from time to time and their eyes welling up, it feels so good.
After a while Person B would stop "tsk tsk tsk how many times I have to tell you, ask for tickles when you are over thinking, you are just so stubborn" person B says while caressing A person's nose, person A babbling and blushing on the bed "ahaha I....well ahahah...y-yeah" person B leans down cuddling person A and they can finally have a great comfy night
it's been a while since I don't publish anything here, I wanted to talk about something important today.
I like tickling since I was a baby, blushing at the TV every time a tickle scene appeared and running away when someone mentioned it. However, I've never felt good when I've been tickled, the problem was my insecurities, I used to be a little fat, so whenever someone touched me I felt so disgusted with my body that I hurt myself, Obviously my insecurity doesn't only limit me in this aspect, ruined my whole life.
I've been suffering from bulimia since 2024, I lost weight, of course, but now I'm so scared.
I lived my whole life thinking that being thin was the best, that if I was thin I would be happy, that I would be encouraged to do everything I wanted, but late I realized that it doesn't matter how much the outside changes if the inside remains the same.
I'm writing this from a hospital gurney, I guess you can imagine why, all I want to say is that it doesn't matter how your body looks like meanwhile it's healty, you deserve anything you want, it doesn't matter how you look. Take care of yourself, love yourself.
I don't know if I'm going to be okay, I'm weak and tired, but I'll keep fighting this, I'm so terrified I won't lie, but deep down I know I'll get better, take care of yourself....love ya :)
Soooooo, hi cui cui, basically we have a group of WhatsApp about the tickle community and if you want to enter, the only thing you have to do is dm me, we want to know more lers and lees
Sara, my woman, I'm sorry I exposed you in this photo IQIWUQUS
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