yaaayyyy uppies! wait- not that kind!!!
You pout dramatically, arms crossed and foot stomping with exaggerated sass, as if daring someone to test you. And of course… they take the bait.
Without warning, strong arms scoop you up around the waist, hoisting you high into the air—
—before flipping you completely upside down, your fluffy hair too short to even reach the floor, shirt starting to slide upward with gravity’s betrayal.
You’re giggling already, even before the real trouble starts.
A firm arm keeps you locked in place, secure but helpless, as your shirt slips upward from the pull of gravity. Cool air hits your belly—exposed, stretched, vulnerable.
The first raspberry lands low and loud, vibrating through your skin. Your body jerks with the shock of it, laughter bursting out instantly. You twist, wriggle, kick, but there’s no escaping. Another raspberry follows, this time right on your bellybutton, and your giggles spike into frantic, breathless squeals.
Fingers sneak along your ribs in between raspberries, dancing in maddening little scribbles that make your back arch and your legs flail. Your laughter comes in hiccupy bursts now, body too overwhelmed to form any kind of resistance.
They pause only long enough for you to catch a shaky breath—then another raspberry hits, louder, longer, as you’re held completely at their mercy.
Even as you’re slowly lowered back down, dizzy from the upside-down view and the endless laughter, a final raspberry catches you off guard—one last burst of squeaky giggles before you’re finally released into a puddle of flustered, breathless giddiness.
They pick you up again, properly this time.
You crumple into their chest the second your feet dangle off the floor, legs wobbly, arms slack, your face buried against them with a helpless little whimper. The world still spins a little—whether from the upside-down chaos or the sheer amount of laughter, you’re not sure.
“Meanie,” you mumble into their shirt, voice muffled and pouty.
But your pout doesn’t last long, not with how warm and safe it feels to be scooped close, cradled properly now—like you’d originally meant. No more upside-down attacks (for now), just gentle swaying and soft hums, a hand stroking down your back, the other protectively curled beneath you.
“Uppies,” you whisper again, sleepier this time, eyes fluttering half-shut.
A quiet chuckle answers you, and you feel a brotherly kiss pressed to your forehead.
“Yeah, uppies. The right way up this time.”
And just like that, you melt in their arms—flushed, giggly, but oh-so-very content.
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