this fic contains tickling!! if not your thing, keep scrolling darling <3
"Right there," Jisung mumbled, his voice already hazy with relaxation. "That's the spot, Min."
Minho hummed in acknowledgment, his thumbs pressing firm, deliberate circles into the base of Jisung’s neck. It was intimate in a way that made Minho’s heart feel full. He loved getting to spend time with his boyfriend, to be able to take care of him after he does so much for the city.
“That’s it,” Minho murmured, pressing deeper. “You were so tense. What were you even doing all day?”
“Mm… training,” Jisung mumbled into the pillow. “Swinging. Saving. You know. Hero stuff.”
Minho rolled his eyes fondly. “Right. Hero stuff.” He worked his way down Jisung’s spine, following the curve of each vertebra, and Jisung melted further into the sheets, boneless and pliant. This was the good part—the quiet, the warmth, the way Minho’s hands knew exactly where to press.
Minho's hands travel absentmindedly to Jisung's back ribs. Jisung’s entire body jerked. A high-pitched shriek, half-surprise and half-pain, tore from his throat, and he instinctively tried to scramble away, his whole body jolting.
Minho’s hands shot back, and he sighed, a long, weary sound. "Why did you do that?"
Jisung, still trembling from the shock, whined into his pillow. "You know why! It's the same reason you tied me down!"
"Because you have crazy reflexes, baby." Minho said, his voice patient but exasperated. "I touch one sensitive spot and I’m webbed to the ceiling. I have to keep you in place."
Jisung’s arms were stretched out above his head, his face still planted firmly in the pillow.
He didn't fight it. In fact, he felt a new wave of relaxation wash over him. He was anchored, secure. He melted even further into the sheets, a small, happy sigh escaping his lips.
Minho’s hands found his back again, resuming the deep, soothing strokes. It was so good. So good. His muscles sang. He was practically purring.
Until the fingers started wandering again. This time, they crept slowly, deliberately, towards his sides and the sensitive ribs on his back. Minho’s thumbs pressed in, just a little, right into that spot.
Jisung squealed, a sound that was pure, unadulterated panic mixed with mirth. He jolted so hard that the headboard creaked, but the ties held. He arched his back, trying to escape the relentless touch, his laughter already bubbling up in his throat.
"Jisung!" Minho’s voice was sharp with warning. He pulled his hands away. "Stop squirming so much!"
Jisung let out a howling, giggling whine, his whole body shaking. "I cahahan't! It tihickles! It tihihihihickles!"
Minho stared down at his boyfriend, who was now a bundle of uncontrollable giggles and flailing limbs, tied securely to the bed. A familiar, fond smile touched his lips. He had a choice. He could be the kind, patient partner and move on. Or he could indulge in a little mischief.
The latter was infinitely more appealing.
"You're a menace," Minho says, and his voice had gone low and teasing. "A menace who needs to learn to take a massage like a grown-up."
And then his thumbs dug into Jisung's back ribs.
Jisung lost it.
"WAHAHAHAIT!! NOHOHO!! MINHO!!—" He couldn't even form words, his body convulsing beneath Minho's hands, laughter ripping out of him in desperate, howling peals.
He was flopping up and down like a fish that had been thrown onto a dock, the rope creaking as he yanked against it. His face was buried in the pillow, but that didn't muffle the sound—high and wheezy and completely out of control.
Minho didn't stop. He just kept pressing his thumbs into the spaces between Jisung's ribs, tracing slow circles, working the sensitive spots that made Jisung scream.
"Are you going to man up or not?" Minho asked, his voice maddeningly calm, almost bored.
"I CANT! MIHIHIHIHINHO I CAHAHAHAN'T!! PLEASE NO NOHOHOT THEEHEHERE!!"
Minho's fingers had slid to his shoulder blades, vibrating against the bones and the spaces between.
The sound that came out of Jisung was not human. It was a howling, giggling, screeching mess of a noise, his whole body bowing upward off the mattress. His arms yanked at the ropes. His feet kicked uselessly at the sheets.
“I CAHAHAHAHAN’T!”
“Can’t what?” Minho was tickling him now, properly, his fingers skittering up and down Jisung’s sides, dancing over the sensitive curve of his back ribs. “Can’t handle a little massage?”
Jisung lets out a indignant, petulant whine at that. "THAHAHAHAT'S NOT FAHAHAHAIR!! Youhuhuhu're tiHIHIHICKLING MEHEHEHE!!"
Minho hums. "Actually, you might like this more than the massage, right Sungie? You love this massage the most~" Minho kneads mercilessly into Jisung's hips. "Answer me."
Jisung's fingers clawed uselessly at the air, his whole body arching and bucking in a desperate attempt to escape the ticklish torment. Minho didn’t stop. He simply changed his tactic, using his nails to rake over the strips of sensitive skin of Jisung's armpit.
Jisung just lets out a bunch of frustrated noises along with some more laughs. "WAIT!! WAHAHAAHAIT!!"
"Wait for what?" Minho's fingers never stopped. They danced over his ribs, dipped into the hollows, traced the spaces between each bone. "You haven't answered my question yet."
"I cahahan't think when you're tohOHOHOUCHING ME THEHEHERE!!" Jisung screams. His brain was going into full panic mode, trying to do anything to get Minho's torturing fingers off of his side and armpit.
"You're so red." Minho's fingers danced down his sides, featherlight, and Jisung wailed. "You're thinking about it, aren't you? About how much you love this. About how you'd rather be tickled than massaged any day."
"I—I WOHOHOULDNT!!"
"Liar." Minho's voice was fond, almost affectionate. "You're such a liar, Jisung. You love this. You love when I tie you up and tickle you until you can't breathe."
Jisung's face was on fire. Minho was surprised steam wasn't coming out of his ears yet.
Minho leaned down, his lips brushing Jisung's ear. "Say it."
"NOHOHO!!"
"Say it, and I'll stop."
Jisung shook his head frantically, so embarrassed he could die.
"Tell me, Jisung."
And Jisung gave in.
"YEHEHEHES!" He screeched. "I LIHIKE THE TIHICKLING MORE THAHAN THE MASSAHAHAGE!!"
Minho's hands stilled.
The room was silent for a long moment.
Then Minho leaned down, his lips brushing Jisung's ear, and his voice was warm and soft and absolutely smug.
"I knew it."
Jisung groaned. "I hate you." He waited for Minho to commit the grave mistake of untying him.
"You were good," Minho said, his voice soft and teasing, as the ropes fell away from Jisung's wrists. "You earned your freedom."
Jisung's arms dropped to the mattress. He was still panting, still trembling, still flushed from head to toe. His wrists were pink from the rope. His bare back was slick with massage oil and sweat. He looked utterly wrecked, completely defeated.
Minho smiled down at him, fond and proud.
And then Jisung moved.
One second he was a boneless puddle on the mattress. The next, he was a blur of motion—faster than Minho could track, faster than he could react. There was a soft thwip sound, and suddenly Minho's left wrsit was pinned to the headboard, webbed in place by two thick strands of white silk.
Minho blinked. "Wait—"
Another thwip, and his right hand were webbed too.
"Jisung," Minho said carefully, testing the webbing. It held firm. "Babe. Love of my life. What are you doing?"
Jisung's smile was sharp and bright and full of mischief. His eyes were still red-rimmed from crying with laughter, his cheeks still flushed, his hair a complete disaster. He looked like chaos incarnate.
"Revenge," he said simply.
Minho's stomach dropped. "Now, wait—"
But Jisung was already climbing onto the bed, crawling up Minho's body with the kind of focused determination that usually preceded something catastrophic. His hands landed on Minho's hips, and Minho's shirt rode up just slightly, exposing a sliver of skin.
"Jisung," Minho tried again, his voice pitching higher. "Jisung, we can talk about this—"
"We talked enough." Jisung's fingers found the hem of Minho's shirt and pushed it up, baring his stomach. "You talked. I laughed. Now it's my turn."
"Jisung, don't you dare—"
But Jisung was already leaning down, his lips brushing the skin just above Minho's belly button.
And then he blew.
The raspberry was loud and wet and absolutely devastating. Minho's whole body jerked, his back arching off the mattress, a strangled sound ripping out of his throat. The webbing held, but the bedframe groaned in protest.
"JIHIHIHISUNG—!"
"Oops," Jisung said, not sounding sorry at all. He pulled back, grinning, and Minho could see the laughter sparkling in his eyes. "Did that tickle? Cause I can do it again."
And he did.
The second raspberry was longer, more deliberate, Jisung shaking his head from side to side as he blew into Minho's stomach. Minho shrieked—his hips bucking, his heels drumming against the mattress.
"WAHAHAIT WAIT NOHOHOHOHHO!!"
"You thought you could get away that easily?" Jisung cooed.
He used his hands—his free, unbound hands—to crawl up Minho's flanks, his fingers skittering over the sensitive skin of his sides. Minho screamed with laughter, his head thrashing on the pillow. "NOT THEHERE!!"
Minho's flanks were devastatingly ticklish—Jisung knew this, had catalogued every weak point on his boyfriend's body over three years of loving, teasing warfare.
And right now, with Minho's arms pinned above his head and his shirt bunched under his armpits, his bare stomach and sides completely exposed, he was helpless.
"Oh, here?" Jisung's fingers wiggled into Minho's underarms, and Minho's laughter went silent, breathless, his whole body convulsing. "You mean here? Right here, where you tickled me?"
Minho was dying. His face was red, tears streaming down his temples, his laughter broken and desperate. He was so much more sensitive than Jisung had ever realized—every touch made him jump, every wiggling finger made him scream.
And Jisung was loving it.
"You were having so much fun, weren't you? Being a menace?" Jisung hums.
"I TAHAHAKE IT BACK!! I tahahahake ihihit ALL BAHAHACK!!"
"Fine, fine. As you're begging for mercy and all." Jisung yanks the webs off.
Minho groans. "You're too mehean..." As Jisung helps him sit up.
"All's fair in love and tickle wars~" Jisung teases back.
Minho kissed his forehead, still catching his breath. "Idiot."
Jisung melts, smiling. "Your idiot."
can you guys genuinely let me know if my writing's getting too repetitive?? i worried about this one a lot cause for some reason all my fics kinda read the same these days.
this fic contains tickling!! if not your thing, keep scrolling darling <3
The sand was black.
That was the first thing Minho noticed as he killed the ship's engine, the sudden silence ringing louder than the roar of the motor had been. The shoreline stretched before them like spilled ink, volcanic grains glittering with flecks of something silver.
Mica, maybe, or crushed shell. It caught the grey light and threw it back like scattered stars. No footprints. No driftwood. No evidence that any living thing had ever touched this place.
The crew didn't notice. They never did, not at first.
The grey sunlight filtered through the clouds, casting a soft, muted glow over the beach as the waves lapped gently at the shore. The boys' laughter echoed across the sand, a chaotic symphony of joy that seemed to fill the entire oasis.
Changbin lay half-buried, his arms stretched out lazily, his head tilted back with a grin so wide it crinkled his eyes.
"You're brooding," Chan said when Minho finally stepped onto the beach.
"I'm observing."
"You're brooding with your eyebrows."
Minho's mouth twitched. He opened his mouth to retort, but Chan's hand found his first. Palm warm against the chill of Minho's fingers, grounding him in a way that made his chest ache faintly. Chan didn't ask. He never did. He just held on, and Minho let himself be held.
Jeongin ran up to him and presses a seashell into his palm. Minho exhaled, and the tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying bled out of him like tidewater. He observes the shell for a few fleeting seconds before tugging the youngest closer to plant a kiss to the top of his head. "Thank you, Innie."
Jeongin beams and runs off, back to the others, back to playing.
Behind them, the others had begun their ritual. Changbin lay supine, eyes closed, arms spread like a martyr, while Felix and Seungmin knelt on either side of him, scooping black sand over his torso with exaggerated reverence.
The sand rose. Changbin's chest disappeared, then his stomach, then his arms up to the elbows. Only his neck, face, and ears remained exposed, his grin cutting through the darkness of the grains like a crescent moon. He looked ridiculous. He looked perfectly, utterly content.
He looked like the sun peeking out behind the moon during an eclipse, a beam of happiness cutting through even the darkness of the sand.
Chan leaned in, his shoulder brushing Minho's. "Cute," He murmured, nodding toward the scene.
Minho followed his gaze. Changbin had surrendered completely, his eyes closed now, a peaceful smile on his face as the boys piled more sand around his neck, their giggles softening into something almost reverent.
Felix patted the mound gently, like tucking a child into bed. Jisung placed a single seashell on Changbin's forehead. A ceremonial offering.
"Yeah," Minho said quietly, his voice rough around the edges. "Cute."
Jisung crouched near Changbin's feet, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "You know," He said, tapping a single finger against the arch of Changbin's left foot, "you're really not supposed to move."
Changbin jolted. A strangled noise escaped his throat.
"Jisung," he warned, his voice cracking. "Don't. Don't you—"
"Don't what?" Jisung's finger traced a lazy spiral on the sole. "I'm not doing anything. I'm just resting my hand here. Perfectly still. Like you're supposed to be."
"JIHISUNG!!" Changbin's whole body convulsed, the sand around him shuddering. Felix gasped dramatically and began patting the cracks back into place.
"You're moving," Felix scolded, his voice dripping with theatrical disappointment. "After all our hard work. Do you know how long it took to get that sand perfectly smooth?"
Hyunjin, the traitor, began scribbling at the spot behind Changbin's ear. A horrendously ticklish spot that sent zaps of ticklish sensation straight to Changbin's nervous system.
And then Jisung began scratching properly at the arch of Changbin's foot.
Changbin screamed. A high, helpless, utterly undignified sound that dissolved instantly into the most hysterical, breathless giggling any of them had ever heard.
His feet kicked uselessly, sending sprays of sand into Jisung's face, which only made Jisung retaliate by spidering both hands over both soles at once.
"NO NO NO NOHOHOHO!!" Changbin was shrieking now, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, his entire body bucking against its sandy prison. "PLEASE!! PLEHEHEHEEHEASE I WOHOHONT MOVE!! JUST DONT DO THAHAHAHAT!!"
Felix was giggling so hard he'd collapsed onto his side, clutching his stomach. Jeongin had abandoned all pretense of fixing the sand and was just cackling openly, recording the whole disaster on his phone. Hyunjin's face was split in a gleeful grin, his fingers never stopping their relentless assault on Changbin's neck.
Minho watched from a few feet away, his hand still loosely linked with Chan's. His expression had gone from mild concern to poorly concealed fondness, the corners of his mouth twitching. Beside him, Chan was already laughing, quiet and warm, his shoulder shaking against Minho's.
"They're going to kill him," Minho observed.
"Nah," Chan said, his voice full of affection. "He's having the time of his life. Look at him."
Minho looked. Changbin's face was a masterpiece—squeezed eyes, wide grin, tears streaming, his entire being reduced to pure, unfiltered joy. He was laughing so hard his face was crimson. It was undeniably adorable.
"HEHEHEELP!! SOHOHOMEONE SAHAHAHAVE ME!!"
Jeongin, now up to Changbin's elbows in sand after his feet had been abandoned, leaned in close to Changbin's ear. "If you stop moving," he whispered innocently, "we'll stop."
Changbin went completely still—or at least, he tried to. Every muscle in his body was trembling with the effort of suppressing his giggles, his breath coming in hiccups. His wide, watery eyes darted between his tormentors.
"...Really?"
Jisung's grin was wolfish. "No."
He went for the soles again and Changbin howls in frustration before dissolving into giggles again. Hyunjin's long fingers tracing patterns nonstop on his neck.
"JIHIHISUNG YOU MEHEHENACE!! I HAHAHATE YOU!! Hyuhuhuhuhuhunjin pleheheease stop tohohouching my neheheck!!"
"No can do, wifey~" Hyunjin chuckles. "Your giggles are far too cute."
Changbin's breathing slowly evened out, though every few seconds a residual giggle would escape him, his shoulders shaking the sand mound slightly. His eyes were still wet, his cheeks still flushed, but the panic had drained out of him, replaced by a drowsy, contented haze.
"You okay?" Felix asked softly, his thumb brushing over Changbin's ankle.
Changbin hummed, a sound so relaxed it was practically a purr. "Mhm."
"Not gonna move?" Jisung teased, but his voice was gentle now, his fingers carding lightly through the hair at Changbin's temple.
"Tragic," Hyunjin agreed, reaching over to brush a stray grain from Changbin's cheek. "Truly tragic. We'll build a shrine."
"A memorial," Seungmin added. "With a plaque. 'Here lies Changbin, who was too ticklish to survive.'"
Changbin snorted, which turned into another soft giggle.
"Alright!!" Minho called out. "Let's return to the ship guys! Rinse Binnie off before getting in, I don't want sand all over my fucking deck."
All the other boys ran in to grab vessels to hold water in, bringing them back out to fill with water from the barrel tap.
Felix had two. Jisung was holding his bucket with both hands, already sloshing water over the sides in his eagerness.
"You ready, Bin?" Seungmin asked, his voice sweet as poison.
The first bucket hit him square in the chest, turning the dark sand into mud.
Felix was more merciful, aiming his buckets at Changbin's feet and legs, washing away the sand in smooth, clean streams.
Hyunjin circled around to his head, gently pouring water over his hair and neck, careful not to get it in his eyes.
Jeongin had somehow acquired a giant barrel and was hesitating, clearly debating whether to dump the entire thing at once.
"Yang Jeongin, don't you dare."
Jeongin glanced at Jisung, who nodded solemnly.
The barrel tipped.
Changbin's scream echoed across the cove as a literal wave of water crashed over him, dissolving the sand mound entirely, leaving him sprawled on the beach like a washed-up sea creature.
He gasped, coughed, and flopped onto his back, arms spread wide, utterly drenched and covered in wet sand streaks.
The crew burst into laughter—bright and loud and utterly delighted—as Changbin lay there, blinking up at the grey sky, his chest heaving.
"...I hate you all," He said weakly. "I hate you so much."
"You love us," Felix corrected, dropping his empty buckets to offer Changbin a hand.
Changbin stared at the offered hand. Then, with a groan that came from the depths of his soul, he took it, letting Felix haul him to his feet.
Meanwhile, Chan was watching the waves with his captain. The tides were coming in, the streaks of orange painting the skies reminding them that sunset was soon approaching.
"Ready?" Chan asked, nodding toward the ship.
Minho looked at the black beach one last time—at the scattered buckets, the crumbled sand crown, the footprints that had finally marked the shore.
Then he looked at his crew, already scrambling toward the gangplank, dripping and laughing and alive.
"Yeah," He said softly. "Let's go home."
lowkey wanted to give that evening beach nostalgia vibe....i hope i succeeded...
𝙖/𝙣: been FOREVER since a longing part :3 celebrating with a new ler in the series hehehe
warnings: pinning, teasing, minho calls jisung "tickle bug", use of recording and live stream, jisung is catastrophically embarrassed, a little disclaimer that jisung asked them
this fic contains tickling!! if not your thing, keep scrolling darling <3
Jisung is a mess. His face is the color of a ripe tomato, flushed all the way down his neck and disappearing under the collar of his oversized shirt. His hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction from thrashing.
Chan is still straddling Jisung's hips, solid and immovable, his weight pinning Jisung's wrists to the mattress on either side of his head. Chan's not even breathing hard, the bastard.
He's just sitting there with that fond, wolfish grin, watching Jisung try to remember how lungs work. Every few seconds, Jisung's body gives an involuntary twitch, a leftover spasm from the assault, and Chan's grin only widens.
Minho is happily sitting on his arms, completely unbothered, entirely content with having watched Jisung kick and buck and scream with laughter.
"Hello, everyone," He says, and Jisung nearly dies on the spot. Is he really live right now? He can almost hear the explosion of comments that must be flooding the screen. "Sorry for the sudden live. Chan-ah and I wanted to show you something."
Chan snorts above him, his grip tightening just a fraction. He shifts his weight, leaning down to get a better look at the phone screen. "Oh, this is going to be good," He murmurs, his breath warm against Jisung's ear, which is now burning a furious crimson.
A quiet, breathless sort of whine escaped Jisung’s throat. His chest was still heaving, the remnants of hysterical laughter bubbling up and dying in his ribs.
He was pinned, utterly defeated.
And the fans could see every single second of it.
Chan finally speaks up after about a moment. "So, who wants to see us tickle Hannie?"
Jisung's entire soul briefly left his body. His eyes went impossibly wide, and a strangled, disbelieving noise clawed its way out of his throat. The chat exploded. Hearts. Emojis. Screaming in all caps. A flood of YES and PLEASE and WE DO and I CANT BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING.
The pressure kept Jisung flat, but his knees. Oh, his traitorous knees, were already creeping up toward his chest, his body instinctively trying to curl into the smallest possible shape. His arms were still pinned by Minho, but his legs were free, and they were trying.
Chan laughed, bright and delighted, and it was the most beautiful and terrifying sound Jisung had ever heard. "Awwww," Chan cooed, tilting his head like he was observing a particularly fascinating creature. "Look at the little pill bug here. He's curling up. So cute~"
Jisung's face burned so hot he was sure he was going to combust. "I'm not a pill bug!" he whined, his voice cracking embarrassingly high. He tried to pull his knees up higher, tried to tuck his chin down, tried to disappear into himself.
Minho just laughed again, utterly unbothered. "He says this," Minho announced to the phone, which he'd propped up against a pillow so the camera had a perfect view, "but watch Chan-hyung get the tummy."
"No," Jisung gasped, his eyes darting to the phone screen where hundreds of comments were flying by. "No. Not in front of the fans. Chan hyung. Chan. CHAN.—"
Chan's fingers found his stomach.
"CHAHAHAHAHAHAN!!"
The giggle that exploded out of Jisung was helpless and immediate, his whole body jerking as Chan's long fingers spidered across his sensitive belly. His knees tried to slam shut, tried to protect him, but Minho was already there, already holding him, and there was no escape.
"NAHAHAHAH!! YOU CAHAHAHAHAN'T!!"
Both Chan and Minho ignored his protests.
And Minho was already narrating, his voice smooth and clinical like a nature documentary. "Here we observe the pill bug in its natural habitat," Minho said, completely deadpan, watching Chan as his fingers wiggled mercilessly against Jisung's quivering tummy. "Its favorite habitat, as we can see."
Jisung wailed, a sound caught between laughter and despair and utter embarrassment.
"Being tickled half to death," Minho continued, nodding sagely. "Notice the defensive curling response. Classic pill bug behavior. He's trying to protect his vulnerable underbelly. But alas..."
Chan casually dips a finger into Jisung's belly button.
Jisung lets out a howl of laughter, tears streaming down his cheeks, his body writhing between them. His knees were still trying to curl, but Minho's weight kept him flat, kept him exposed, and there was nothing he could do but laugh and laugh and laugh.
"The pill bug is experiencing peak distress," Minho narrated, his voice warm with barely concealed affection. "He's very red. Very loud. Very cute. The predators are fascinated."
Chan snorted, his own laughter shaking his shoulders. "Fascinated," He echoed, grinning down at Jisung's wrecked, tear-streaked face.
Jisung could barely form words anymore. His laughter had gone breathless. "I HAHAHAHTE YOU BOHOHOTH!!"
The chat was exploding with heart emojis and the excited suggestions of the fans.
"Get the hips?" Minho read out loud. "Why, what a good idea!"
But Chan didn't wait. Of course he didn't wait. His thumbs dug into the sensitive hollows of Jisung's hip bones, pressing and vibrating in quick, merciless circles, and Jisung lost it. His whole body arched off the bed, a fresh shriek tearing out of his throat.
Minho's hand joins in at the ribs, vibrating thumb buried deep in the space between his bottom two ribs.
His legs kicked wildly, heels drumming against the mattress, but he couldn't escape. He couldn't move. Chan's weight was solid on his thighs, pinning him down, and Minho's hand was still at his ribs, vibrating into the spaces between each bone like they were playing some sort of cruel instrument.
Jisung swears he is not going to live another day. But he loves it anyway.
Jisung's head thrashed from side to side, his grin stretching so wide it hurt. Tears were absolutely streaming down his temples now, disappearing into his sweaty hairline. His laughter had gone completely silent between the shrieks.
Minho cooed, and his voice was dripping with mock sympathy. "Awww. Look at him." He tilted his head, watching Jisung squirm like a fish on a line. "The pill bug is absolutely thrashing. Look at those little legs go."
Jisung's legs were going. Kicking, scrabbling, trying to find purchase on anything that would give him leverage. But Chan's weight was on his waist, and Minho's weight was on his arms, and there was nowhere to go.
"I CAHAHAHAHN'T!! STOHOHOP TEHEHEASING MEHEHE!!"
"The pill bug," Minho continued, his voice sliding into that smooth nature-documentary cadence again, "stands no chance against the predators' strategies. The predators have identified the most vulnerable spots. The hip area. The rib cage. Very sensitive. Very ticklish."
"SHUHUHUHUT UP YOU MEHEHEHEANIE!!" Jisung screams. "I'hihim nohot even ticklihihish!"
That seemed to do it for a second. Both Chan and Minho paused.
"You're not ticklish?" Minho asked again, grin widening in amusement. "Should I test that out?"
Jisung whined. "No, please don't."
"Please don't what?"
"...Please don't tickle me."
Minho reached up to squeeze his hand, giving him a knowing look. At Jisung's nod, he was back.
Minho grinned, and took Chan's place. Chan clambered to tackle Jisung's arms down again. Minho made an amused expression. "Reallyyy?" He drew the word out, and his free hand came up, fingers crawling up Jisung's side like little spiders. "The pill bug isn't ticklish?"
Jisung clamped his lips together so hard his jaw ached. His whole body tensed, and the giggles started bubbling up in his chest, trapped behind his sealed lips. "N-Noho."
His shoulders hunched, his hips twitched, his legs kicked weakly against the bed. But he was determined. He would not break. He would not—
Minho's fingers wiggled against his ribs, light and teasing. "Is the little pill bug holding in his giggles~?" He cooed, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Is the pill bug feeling all the tickles?"
Jisung shook his head frantically, his breath coming out in sharp, strained little exhales through his nose. His face was so red. His whole body was trembling with the effort of keeping quiet.
Minho tilted his head, pretending to study him. "Who's the most ticklish pill bug, hm?" He mused, his fingers still dancing lazily across Jisung's ribs. "Is it you?"
Jisung shook his head again, a desperate, jerky motion. His lips were twitching, fighting so hard to stay together. A tiny, helpless giggle slipped out, and he slammed his lips shut again immediately.
Minho's eyes sparkled. "Really?" He frowned, pretending to be confused. "But I could've sworn you were..."
And his hands dove into Jisung's armpits.
"GAHAHAHAHAH!! MINHOOOO!!"
"What? Don't act like you didn't ask for this~"
"WHA—?! PFF—SHUHUHUHUT UP!! NO I DIHIHIDN'T!!"
"Mhm~" Both Chan and Minho chorused.
After another ten minutes of tickling a poor Jisung stupid, he finally started to wear out, going limp and giggly.
"Awww," Minho cooed, finally letting up a but, tilting his head as he observed Jisung's squirming form. "Look at the little pill bug. He's so sensitive today. Did the predators wear him out?"
"WEAR ME OUT??! YOU FUHUHUCKING TORTURED ME!!"
Minho shrugged. "Potato, patahto."
And then, "Don't be mean to the species predator. Or next time I will blow raspberries into your tummy until you cry."
Chan lets Jisung go. "C'mon, bug. Don't be rude. Say hi to the fans."
Jisung's blush is nuclear. "Hi guys. Forget that ever happened."
"Oh come on. We all know you lik—"
And the live cuts out as Jisung frantically slams the end button.
happy 3 year anniversary to me!!
starting off the next three days full of fics hehehehe i hope you guys like this one and i hope you're excited for the next ones too!!
can we get a lee Seungmin ler Han?? Where like Seungmin is being superannoying and bothering him n stuff?!
𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒐𝒔:
𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 2k
𝙖/𝙣: lee seungmin hehehehehe winner of the polllll (my fav headcanon of seungmin that he brats off when he wants attention but gets upset when the members don't realize it)
warnings: teasing, pinning, seungmin's foot injury mentioned, rough tickles, begging, seungmin is referred to as "puppy" for a lot of this (not in a weird way) (its sad i have to specify), seungmin is generally a brat.
this fic contains tickling!! if not your thing, keep scrolling darling <3
The Stray Kids dorm was the study of controlled chaos. But tonight, the chaos had a specific, pouty, utterly insufferable source: the relentless poking, prodding, and general nuisance that was Kim Seungmin, directed squarely at Han Jisung.
A soft thump-thump-thump echoed from the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of crutches. Jisung didn’t look up. He knew the rhythm.
Seungmin hobbled into the room, his right foot encased in a bulky walking boot. He looked like a disgruntled, adorable puppy who’d been forced to wear a cone. His face was pinched with boredom.
“Hyung,” He whined, dropping his crutches with a clatter and flopping onto the other end of the couch. “I’m bored.”
“Mhm,” Jisung hummed, not taking his eyes off his screen.
Seungmin poked his thigh with his good socked foot. “Jisungie. I said I’m bored.”
“I heard you.”
A huff. Seungmin dragged himself closer, his crutches forgotten. He leaned over and started rhythmically tapping Jisung’s arm. Tap. Tap. Tap. “What are you doing? Is that new music? Let me hear.”
“No,” Jisung said, swatting his hand away. “It’s a rough mix. You’ll just complain.”
“I won’t complain,” Seungmin lied, and immediately reached for the headphones.
What followed was a masterclass in annoyance. Seungmin, with the singular focus of a bored genius, began a systematic campaign to disrupt Jisung’s peace.
He stole one earbud right out of Jisung's ear. He slouched so his head was in Jisung’s lap and started poking his stomach, making the older squeak and grab the puppy's wrists.
He sang the wrong notes loudly. He asked inane questions. He complained about the boot, about the crutches, about the lack of snacks, about the fact that Jisung wasn’t paying him enough attention.
“Seungmin,” Jisung said through gritted teeth, trying to compose a text. “Stop.”
But Seungmin just pouted. “You’re always working now. I can’t do anything. My foot is fractured. I’m a prisoner in my own body."
Jisung wanted to sob. "Go be a prisoner elsewhere, Seungmin."
"But you're ignoring meee!!"
It was the last straw. The whiny, dramatically victimized tone, coupled with the ninja-like assault on his ribs as Seungmin’s fingers found their target, snapped something in Jisung. He ripped his headphones off and yelled, the words exploding out of him before he could stop them.
"Can't you go bother someone else for like five minutes!?"
The sound bounced off the walls. Silence crashed down, thick and heavy.
Seungmin’s hand froze mid-poke. The pout vanished from his face, replaced by a blank, wide-eyed stare. His entire body went rigid, as if he’d been slapped.
Jisung feels the guilt crash over him almost immediately. God, why did he say that? He saw the hurt in Seungmin’s eyes, the way he pulled his knees up, making himself look small and fragile. The crack in his own voice echoed in his head. He hadn’t meant it. He’d just been frustrated.
"Minnie..." Jisung voice was quiet.
Seungmin wasn't just bothering him. He was hurt. Bored and cooped up and frustrated, and he was lashing out for attention, for any kind of interaction to break the monotony. He was like a puppy who’d been left alone too long and was now acting out.
Jisung’s heart ached. He set his phone and headphones aside.
“Hey,” He said softly, his voice a complete 180 from the yell a moment ago. “Seungminnie. Come here.”
Seungmin flinched slightly but didn’t move, his shoulders hunched.
Jisung sighed, and with a gentle determination, he shuffled closer. He carefully lifted Seungmin’s injured foot, which was resting awkwardly, and propped it up on a pillow on his own lap. Then, he wrapped his arms around the smaller boy and pulled him into a tight, full-body hug, tucking Seungmin’s head under his chin.
Seungmin was stiff for a second. Then, a tiny, shuddering sigh escaped him, and he melted into the embrace. His hands, which had been clenched into fists, slowly uncurled and found the fabric of Jisung’s shirt, clinging to him.
Jisung buried his face in Seungmin’s hair. “I’m sorry,” He murmured. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I was just being stupid.”
He rubbed Seungmin’s back in slow, comforting circles. “You’re not a prisoner. I know you’re bored. I know this sucks. But you can’t just poke me to death.”
Seungmin mumbled something unintelligible into Jisung’s chest.
“Hm?”
“…wasn’t going to poke you to death,” Came the muffled, pouty reply. “Just to a mild inconvenience.”
Despite everything, Jisung snorted.
Ten minutes passed. The embarrassment of the moment began to creep back into Seungmin’s system, prickling his skin. He’d been vulnerable. He’d been needy. Ugh. He squirmed, trying to pull away from Jisung’s grip.
“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” He said, his voice gruff. He tried to sit up, but Jisung’s arms tightened. “Let go, I have to…go check on my crutches.”
“Your crutches aren’t going anywhere,” Jisung said, a sly smile growing on his face as he sensed the shift. The embarrassed brat was returning.
“No, seriously, let me up.” Seungmin pushed at his chest, a bit more forcefully this time. “It’s too hot. And you’re being weird.”
Jisung finally let him go, and Seungmin scrambled back to his end of the couch, his face a fascinating shade of pink. He grabbed his phone, pretending to be engrossed in it to hide his flustered state. "It's okay, seriously. I'm not a baby puppy."
“Oh really?” Jisung asked, his tone dropping to a playful, dangerous drawl. He saw the opportunity. He’d been patient, he’d been kind, and now Seungmin was trying to act all tough and nonchalant. He reached out and gently poked the spot on Seungmin’s side that he’d been terrorizing earlier.
Seungmin jolted. “Yah! Stop that!” He was cornered at the end of the couch, his crutches out of reach.
“Jisung, I swear to god, if you come any closer I’ll—!”
Jisung didn’t give him a chance to finish the threat. He pounced, the momentum carrying them both. He easily maneuvered around Seungmin’s injured foot, and with a triumphant laugh, he pinned Seungmin to the couch.
"Easy, easy," Jisung murmured, almost to himself. He shifted his weight, angling his body so he could hook his own foot around Seungmin's calf, just above the edge of the bulky walking boot.
The contact was firm but gentle, a cage of warm skin and muscle that pinned Seungmin's leg in place without putting any pressure on the fracture itself.
Seungmin froze for a second, his breath catching.
Even with his wrists trapped above his head, even with Jisung looming over him like a predator, that single act of consideration made something warm bloom in his chest. His heart stuttered.
And then Jisung's fingers found his ribs.
"YAHHAHAHAHAAH!! JISUNG!" The scream tore out of him, raw and immediate. His body arched off the couch, trying desperately to escape the wiggling, spidering fingers that danced across his ribs and waist. But Jisung's weight kept his hips pinned, and that his foot kept Seungmin's injured leg anchored safely to the couch.
Jisung loomed over him, a wicked glint in his eyes. He used his body weight to keep Seungmin’s hips and good leg pinned down, and he captured Seungmin’s wrists in one hand, easily holding them above his head.
Seungmin struggled, a futile, squirming mess. “Ohohohohhomygohohosh!! GEHEHET OFF!!"
Jisung leaned forward, placing his free hand flat on the bare skin of Seungmin's stomach, right over his toned tummy. The skin was warm and quivering. Seungmin was already shaking his head, his eyes squeezed shut.
"What's wrong, puppy?" And he was wiggling his nails over the expanse with no mercy, occasionally dipping a nail into the boy's button and making him jerk like he'd been electrocuted.
“NAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” Seungmin shrieked, his head thrashing from side to side on the couch cushion. He tried to curl up, to protect his vulnerable belly from the onslaught, but Jisung’s weight on his hips made it impossible. He screamed with laughter, kicking his free leg and flapping his hands against the arm of the couch, both wrists trapped in Jisung's tight grip.
“Please what?” Jisung asked, his grin widening. He leaned forward, his mouth close to Seungmin's ear. “Please tickle you more? Because that’s what it sounds like to me. It sounds like you’re saying, ‘Oh, Jisung, please, I need you to tickle me forever and ever!’”
He punctuated the sentence by kneading all five fingers across Seungmin's sensitive hip. Seungmin nearly shot off the bed. His laughter was completely silent now, just a frantic, wheezing squeak as his body spasmed.
"Awwhhhh, is it the hips, puppy?" Jisung cooed mockingly. "Are they too ticklish? Bet you're thinking of how bratty you were and how you're now getting exactly what you deserve."
“I’M SAHAHAHARRY!!” Seungmin wailed, tears streaming down his face.
“Oh, you’re sorry?” Jisung laughed, his voice dripping with amusement. “That’s so sweet of you, Minnie. But I don’t think you’re sorry enough. I think you need to be a little more sorry.”
Seungmin struggled against the grip against his wrists. Ugh, it was a curse that all the members have been working out. All of them were considerably stronger than him.
Seungmin thought he could probably get Jisung's grip off of him if he really concentrated, though. Which was too bad, really, as Jisung was now rhythmically squeezing his hip and Seungmin was letting out embarrassing, practically girlish squeals, jolting in place.
"HOLD OHOHOHON!! WAHAHHAAIT WAIT WAIT LEHEHEMME MOHOHOVE!!" He yelled.
"Hold on?" Jisung repeated, his tone dripping with exaggerated confusion. "You want me to hold on to you? Like, here?"
His fingers wiggled into the space just beneath Seungmin's armpits, and Seungmin absolutely lost it. A shriek of laughter tore from his throat as he tried to clamp his arms down, but they were stuck. He couldn't pull them down. He could only thrash and twist and feel. all escape plans dissolved in his brain, replaced only with helpless, hysterical giggling.
"NOHOHOHOHO NOT THEHEHEHERE!!" He screeched, his voice cracking embarrassingly. He could feel the heat flooding his cheeks, his ears, his whole damn face. He was blushing so hard he probably looked like a tomato. A very, very ticklish tomato.
Jisung shrugged. "Either focus on getting free, or focus on laughing your pretty head off. You can only do one." He slid his hands back to the tummy, dragging his nails in a slow, deliberate spiral around Seungmin's belly button. "And, frankly, we both know which one you're better at."
Seungmin whined at that, face turning even redder, which should've been impossible. "Nohohoho DOHOHONT SAHAY THAHAHT!!"
"Ooooh should I get the snort spot?~" Jisung laughed. "That's your favorite spot, isn't it, puppy?"
Seungmin screamed. "NONONONO NOT THE SNORT SPOT, HYUNG PLEASE!!" But it was too late. Jisung's fingers were already finding the horribly ticklish skin of his lower tummy, pushing Seungmin's shirt out of the way.
"Awwwhhh, so cute." Jisung crooned over the absolute train wreck of the boy under him.
Seungmin was dying. He was letting out endless torrents of cackles, the occasional snort mixed in there, helpless and absolutely uncontrollable.
"OHOHOHO MY GAHAAHAHASH YOU MOHOHHONSTER!!" Seungmin lets out another embarrassing snort mid sentence, and his eyes go wide with horror.
Jisung cooed, his voice absolutely dripping with fondness. "Oh my god, you're so precious. Do it again, puppy. Come on. One more time for me."
"SHUHUHUT UHUP!" Seungmin wheezed, his laughter coming in gasps now. "YOHOHOU'RE THE WOHOHORST!"
Jisung begins scratching at the skin, laughing along with Seungmin as the boy throws his head back and absolutely cackles. "Ohhhh, is this a bad spot? Is it so ticklish, puppy?~"
"MHMHMHM!" Seungmin nodded frantically, tears streaming down his cheeks. "YEHEHES! IT'S THE WORST! PLEHEASE, JISUNG, IHIHILL BE SO GOOD I PROHOHOHOMISE!!"
"Will you?" Jisung asked, his tone playful but his eyes soft. "You're going to be good and stop pretending you didn't love that hug?"
Seungmin's flushed cheeks darkened even further. He looked away, mortified. "Yehehes...yes," He finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I lohohoved it."
Jisung laughed, bright and warm. "Cute."
He shifted, carefully untangling his ankle from Seungmin's calf and checking the boot with gentle hands. "Did you twist it? Does it hurt?"
"It's fine," Seungmin said, watching him fuss with unguarded fondness. "You were careful. You're always careful."
Jisung looked up at him, a pleased flush coloring his cheeks. "Well, obviously. Can't have my puppy hurting himself more. Who else is going to annoy me into an early grave?"
guys i wrote this in one shot and it might be ass pls forgive 🫠
also one of my favorite seungsung hcs that jisung calls seungmin's lower belly the snort spot because seungmin always snorts when its tickled. OUGHH MY HEART >.<
thinking about alien ler! jeongin using his new telekinesis powers to hold down his particularly squirmy, stronger lees.
he’s cooing at how helpless they are squirming underneath him as he tickles them senseless, both hands free because he’s holding their arms down with his powers.
he’d particularly do this to changbin, minho, and chan, though he loves to use it on any lee, reveling in their wailing screeches because it was so. unfair.
College is a stress for me at the minute bc I did not expect to have this much work and assignments and coming home tired all the days I didn’t expect it at all and did not expect this much work load as well
I just have a request I know you are working on your tickleoctober at the moment but I just had a thought of can you do one where it’s Lee: Felix and Ler: minchan and Felix was being sarcastic or something and minchan were both in the room and Felix was annoying them and they chased him around the dorm
I love you loads and your fanfics are Amazing and I’m looking forward to more of your tickleoctober stories
the chase:
𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 1.5k
𝙖/𝙣: i really need to write more >.<
𝙩/𝙬: teasing, pinning, ragebait, rough tickles, mentions of sickness
"Honestly," Felix croaked, his voice a hoarse whisper that still managed to drip with disdain, "You two should be in bed by now. It’s, what, seven PM? Past your bedtime, isn't it?"
He tugged the blanket up to his chin, a smug, delirious grin on his face. "I’m surprised you haven't started yelling at clouds yet, Chan."
Chan pinched the bridge of his nose, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "Felix, I swear to god, I will put you in a headlock so fast you won’t have time to say 'senior citizen.'"
Minho, sprawled on the other end of the couch, was barely containing his amusement. He was enjoying the show, his eyes glittering with mirth. "Leave him alone, Chan. He's just a poor, sick little lamb. A very...verbally aggressive lamb."
Felix, emboldened by Minho’s faux defense, doubled down. "See? Even Minho gets it. He's so old and wise now. Probably forgot he was supposed to be a dancer. I bet he just shuffles around the practice room now."
The air in the room shifted. Minho's smile didn't falter, but it turned sharp, predatory. Chan stopped rubbing his temples and slowly lowered his hand, his gaze fixing on Felix with a new, unsettling intensity.
Felix's stomach did a little flip, a cold prickle of wrongness crawling up his spine.
He'd hit a nerve.
Shit.
But before he could backtrack, before he could even form an apology, the atmosphere in the room changed. It was like the air itself had turned to ice. Chan closed his book with a deliberate, soft snap that was somehow louder than a shout. Minho set his nail file down with a click that echoed in the sudden silence.
Chan stood up, and Minho mirrored him. They moved in perfect, unnerving sync, Minho grabbing the front of Felix's shirt. "I've been patient long enough."
"Patient?" Felix snorted, still struggling against Minho's grip. "You're just slow. Both of you. Ancient. Feeble. I'm surprised you even remember my name." He paused, then added the killing blow, his voice dripping with sarcastic sweetness. "It's okay, halmeoni. I'll get you your medicine and your blanket and your teeth. I'll take care of you."
Chan's eyes snapped open, and a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. It was the smile that preceded chaos. Minho, who had been holding Felix loosely, suddenly tightened his grip, his own grin turning shark-like.
"Minho," Chan said, his voice deceptively calm. "I think he really needs some medicine for that brattiness right now."
"Agreed," Minho purred. "A strong dose. Intravenous."
Felix's eyes widened. "Wait. Wait, no. I was kidding! I'm sick! You can't—"
But it was too late. Chan was off the couch, and Minho was already hauling Felix backward. In a flurry of blankets and flailing limbs, they manhandled him. It was laughably easy. Felix, for all his big talk, was weak as a kitten.
Chan sat heavily on Felix's thighs, pinning him to the couch cushion. At the same time, Minho grabbed Felix's wrists and slammed them above his head, pressing them into the armrest with a grip that was unyielding.
"Let me go!" Felix whined, squirming with all his might. His chest was heaving, and his face was even more flushed now, not just from the fever. He bucked his hips, trying to dislodge Chan, but Chan just settled his weight more firmly, a wicked glint in his eye.
"Say that again, Lixie," Chan cooed, leaning down. "Say we're old. Say we're senile."
"Say halmeoni again," Minho added, his voice a low whisper as he tightened his grip on Felix's wrists. "I dare you."
Felix's breathing hitched. His frantic squirming was getting him nowhere. He was completely, utterly trapped. The laughter had died in his throat, replaced by a high, panicked whine. He looked up at Minho, then at Chan, his eyes wide and pleading.
The living room erupted into chaos.
"Wait wait wait I'm sorry I'm SAAAHAHAHAAHAHRRY!!!" Felix's desperate plea dissolved into a torrent of helpless, breathless laughter as Chan's fingers dug into his sides.
The first few seconds had been manageable—Chan's hands dancing over his shirt, the fabric providing a thin barrier between those merciless fingers and his sensitive skin. Felix had squirmed and giggled, still able to form words, still able to make half-hearted threats about revenge. But then Chan had looked up at Minho with that particular glint in his eye, the one that spelled absolute trouble.
"You know what, Minho?" Chan had said, his voice deceptively casual as his fingers continued their assault. "I think this would be way more effective if we removed this."
And then he'd done it.
Chan's fingers hooked under the hem of Felix's oversized t-shirt, and with a teasing slowness that was absolutely criminal, he slid it up, baring the pale, sensitive skin of Felix's stomach.
"NO—" Felix had started to protest, but the word died in his throat as Chan's nails made direct contact with his bare tummy.
The difference was astronomical.
Felix shrieked, his entire body convulsing as Chan's fingertips danced across his stomach. The laughter that erupted from him was no longer controlled giggles. It was wild, unhinged, the kind of laughter that stole his breath and left him gasping for air.
"Awhhh, see?" Minho cooed from above him, his grip on Felix's wrists never wavering. "This sounds so much better than all that bratting, doesn't it, Chan?"
Felix bucked beneath them, his laughter already turning breathless. "Nohohohohohoho! StahahahAHAHAHAAHAP!!!"
"Stop?" Chan raised an eyebrow, his fingers never faltering. "But we're just getting started, Lixie. You were so worried about us being old and senile. We're just making sure our reflexes are still sharp."
"THEHEY'RE SHAAHAHARP!" Felix shrieked, twisting violently. His legs kicked out uselessly, heels drumming against the couch cushions. "THEHEHEYRE SO SHAHAHAHARP PLEHEHEASE!!"
Chan teasingly crawled his fingers to the ribs.
"No no no no NOHOHOHOHO!" Felix's protests turned into helpless shrieks as Chan's bare fingers made contact with the sensitive skin of his ribs. The fever had made him that much more sensitive.
Chan abandoned the ribs after a couple minutes and returned to the younger boy's freckled torso.
"CHANHYUNG PLEHEHEHEASE!" Felix was losing it. His whole body convulsed, trying to arch up off the couch, but Chan's weight on his thighs kept him firmly pinned. Minho's grip on his wrists was like iron, holding him down so he couldn't even curl into himself to protect his poor, tortured belly.
Chan's nails—just his nails, those stupid frustrating nails—started swirling all over Felix's torso. He traced patterns on his stomach, danced over his hip bones, wiggled into the soft skin just above his waistband. Every touch sent sparks of unbearable ticklishness through Felix's entire body.
"You know," Minho said conversationally, his free fingers still moving in those maddening patterns over the smaller's neck, "I think he's having fun. Look at him, Channie hyung. He's laughing so hard he can't even form words anymore."
"I CAHAHAHAHAN'T!!" Felix cackled. It was a raw, desperate sound, torn from somewhere deep in his chest. His whole body was shaking, muscles trembling with the effort of trying to escape and the strain of laughing so hard.
"IM SORRY IM SOHOHOHORRY!" He shrieked, thrashing wildly. "JUST STOHOHOHOP IT! STOP STAHAHAHAHAP!"
"Stop?" Chan's fingers kept wiggling, moving up and down Felix's ribs in slow, torturous patterns. He'd pause at the top, wiggle his way down, then start all over again.
It was maddening. Felix squirmed like crazy, trying to twist away, but there was nowhere to go. "Oh, I'm sorry," Chan said, his voice dripping with false concern. "I couldn't hear you. I'm so old, you know. My hearing isn't what it used to be."
"FUHUHUHUHUHUCK!! IHIHIM SORRY!! YOUHUHURE NOT OHOHOHOLD!! SO YOHOHOHOHOUNG AND SPRY!!"
"Oh, I'm not?" Chan's fingers paused again, and Felix gasped in a desperate breath, his chest heaving. The pause was worse somehow—the anticipation, the waiting. "But you said we were senile, Felix. You said you'd take care of us. Get us our medicine and our blankets and our teeth."
Chan laughed at that, Minho's eyes folding into crescents. "Awhh, he's trying so hard to get out of this. I think he wanted our attention after all, Minnie."
Felix bucked violently, trying one last desperate attempt to escape. His whole body arched off the couch, and for just a moment, he thought he might actually manage to throw Chan off—
But Chan just shifted his weight, pressing Felix's thighs down again, and Minho yanked his arms higher, pinning them more securely above his head.
"Nice try," Chan chuckled. "But you're not going anywhere, Lixie. We're not done with you yet."
"PLEHEHEHEASE!" Felix begged, his voice breaking. "I LEARNED MY LEHEHEHESSON! I PROMISE!"
"You promise?"
"YEHEHEHES!!"
"You sure~?"
"MIHIHIHINHO HYUHUHUNG!!"
And thankfully, the two pairs of arms retreated. Chan stepped back to survey his masterpiece. He hums in satisfaction.
Minho sighs. "Now go to sleep, brat. You have medicine to take in the afternoon."
The dorm was quieter than usual. Not the comfortable kind of quiet, like late night study sessions or early morning stillness before schedules began.
This was the heavy kind. The kind that pressed down on your chest and made every breath feel like a chore.
Woonhak had been carrying it for days. He hadn’t smiled in nearly a week. Not a real one, anyway. The corners of his mouth would twitch sometimes, out of habit or muscle memory, but the warmth never reached his eyes anymore.
The others noticed. Of course they did. They were a team, a family stitched together by shared dreams and cramped dorm rooms and the kind of pressure that would snap lesser people in half.
Taesan was in the studio, Sungho was on a call with his mom, Riwoo was napping, and Leehan had his nose buried in a book.
Woonhak had been lying on the living room floor for the better part of an hour, staring at the ceiling as if the answers to everything were hidden in its white, unblemished surface.
Jaehyun watched from the doorway. He’d been watching a lot lately. He noticed how Woonhak’s laughter had gone hollow. How he picked at his food instead of inhaling it like he used to. How he flinched less at horror movies and smiled less at everything else.
Something has to give, Jaehyun thought. And then, because he was Jaehyun, because he loved his members with a fierce, protective kind of love that didn’t always know how to use words, he decided on a different approach.
Woonhak didn’t look up. Not even when Jaehyun sat on the coffee table in front of him, knees almost touching Woonhak’s folded legs. Not even when Jaehyun reached out and gently pulled the laptop closed, setting it aside.
“Hi,” Jaehyun said softly.
“Hey,” Woonhak echoed, voice flat. He still didn’t look up. His eyes were fixed on a loose thread in the sofa cushion.
Jaehyun studied him for a long moment. The dark circles under Woonhak’s eyes. The pale, pinched look around his mouth. The way his hands lay limp in his lap, fingers uncurled like he didn’t have the energy to even make fists.
“You haven’t smiled in days,” Jaehyun said. He wasn’t accusing. He said it as if it were a simple fact.
Woonhak frowned. Or tried to. The expression felt strange on his face. "I'm fine."
"You haven't smiled since Monday."
Woonhak tipped his head back. “I…that’s not—”
Jaehyun stood, taking Woonhak’s hands in his. He pulled the youngest up and beckoned him to follow. Woonhak trailed behind him obediently as Jaehyun walked to the bedroom and closed the door behind them with a soft click.
Woonhak sank into the bed, feeling the mattress and sheets envelop him. One moment he was breathing into the pillows. The next, his wrists were being pressed into the mattress above his head, gentle but firm.
Woonhak blinked, his brain lagging like an old computer trying to load a video. Jaehyun was above him now, knees bracketing Woonhak's hips, his weight settled comfortably over Woonhak's thighs.
“Hyung?” Woonhak croaked.
Jaehyun was already wiggling his fingers in the space between them, and something cold and electric shot down Woonhak's spine.
"Don't what?" Jaehyun asked, all innocent confusion, even as his fingers twitched closer to Woonhak's ribs. "I'm not doing anything."
"Your fingers are literally—" Woonhak tried to jerk his hands down, but Jaehyun's grip on his wrists didn't budge. The leader was deceptively strong when he wanted to be. "I swear to god, hyung, if you tickle me—"
“Ohh I wasn’t planning on it,” Jaehyun replied. “But if you insist…” He teasingly spidered up Woonhak’s left side, watching as the maknae squeaked, squirming wildly under him. And then he began digging.
“WAHAHAHAIT—!”
Jaehyun grinned, sharp and wolfish. “There it is.”
He didn’t let up. His fingers danced across Woonhak’s ribs with a merciless precision that spoke of experience—the kind of experience only older brothers (or brother adjacent leaders) could possess.
Woonhak’s senses were overloaded with that horrible, wonderful, maddening sensation that short-circuited every rational thought in the brain and replaced it with helpless laughter.
“NOHOHOHOHOHO!!” Woonhak threw his head back against the pillow, wrists straining uselessly against Jaehyun’s grip. His legs kicked out, but Jaehyun’s weight on his hips kept him anchored.
“HYUHUHUHUNG!!”
Woonhak dissolved into another fit of cackling as Jaehyun's fingers found the space between his ribs and hip. His vision was actually going spotty.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed this hard. Maybe he'd never laughed this hard. It hurt—his stomach ached, his face hurt from smiling, and oh god, he was smiling, wasn't he? When had that happened?
“What’s wrong, WoonAgi?” Jaehyun cooed, all false innocence as he spidered his fingers up toward Woonhak’s underarms. “You were so quiet all week. I thought you lost your voice.”
“IHIHI HAHAAVEN’T!!” A particularly well aimed wiggle against a spot just below his armpit sent Woonhak into a fresh spiral of giggles. “THAHAHAT’S NOHOHOT—!”
“Not what?” Jaehyun’s grin widened. “Fair? Life’s not fair, maknae. That’s why you have hyungs to remind you how to have fun.”
He changed tactics suddenly, abandoning the ribs to scribble his fingers down Woonhak’s sides instead—light, fluttering touches that made the younger boy shriek and squirm. The bed creaked violently beneath them, and somewhere in the distance, a door opened.
“What’s going on in—oh.” Leehan appeared in the doorway, bleary-eyed and holding a glass of water. He took in the scene: Jaehyun on top of a hysterical, pinned-down Woonhak, both of them laughing for very different reasons. “Never mind.”
Leehan snorted into his cup. “Baby, you brought this on yourself.”
Jaehyun laughed. “He’s right, you know,” Fingers digging into the spaces between the maknae’s ribs. “The poor little maknae is so weak~”
Leehan looked up. “Now that, I don’t agree with.” He crossed the room.
Jaehyun reacted far too late. “W-Wait!! I didn’t mean that!” But it was fruitless as Leehan grabbed both of his wrists and tugged him backwards off of Woonhak, who was still struggling to catch his breath but whose eyes were sparkling with mischief.
“Guys c’mon!!” Jaehyun shrieks as he’s pinned. “Why should I get tickled for doing a good deed?”
“Because it seems you, hyung, have gotten a huge ego.” Woonhak snarked back.
“I don’t!!”
Leehan snorted. “You just said maknaes were weak in front of two of them. You basically dug yourself a hole.”
That's different," Jaehyun said quickly, trying to sit up straighter. "You're—I mean, technically you're a maknae, but you're not the maknae. There's a distinction."
“Really." Leehan's voice was flat. "What distinction?"
"Woonhak is the maknae maknae. The baby. Woonhak is the baby."
"And I'm what? The slightly older baby?"
Jaehyun opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Woonhak watched the realization dawn on his leader's face in slow motion—the widening eyes, the slight paling of his skin, the way he looked terrified.
"Leehan," Jaehyun said carefully. "Let's talk about this."
"No," Leehan said. "I don't think I will. You called us weak. And then you tickled our maknae until he cried."
"I did NOT cry—" Woonhak started, but neither of them was listening.
Leehan finished his tight grip on Jaehyun’s wrists. “So, agi, you gonna take your shot?”
Jaehyun blanched.
“Woonhak," Jaehyun said, and his voice had gone slightly higher. "Woonhak, buddy, let's talk about this—"
"You didn't let me talk," Woonhak said, and then he dug in.
Jaehyun's reaction was instantaneous.
A squeal tore out of his throat, followed by a string of garbled protests that dissolved into giggles.
Not the controlled, leaderly laughter he used during variety shows. This was helpless, breathless, almost childish laughter, the kind that came from somewhere deep and unguarded.
Jaehyun’s legs kicked uselessly, his heels digging into the mattress as Woonhak's fingers spidered up to his ribs. The older boy was ticklish, Woonhak realized with dawning delight. Not just a little ticklish—devastatingly ticklish.
“NOHOHOHOT THE RIHIHIHIHIHIBS!!”
"The ribs?" Woonhak's fingers found the spaces between Jaehyun's ribs and pressed. "You mean this spot? The one you attacked mercilessly not fifteen minutes ago?"
“OHMYGOHOHOHOHOHOHOSH!!” Jaehyun threw his head back and let out a stream of squeaky, adorable cackles.
“Awhhhh~” Both Leehan and Woonhak chorused.
The door flew open again. Sungho stares at the scene for five seconds before breaking into a delighted grin. “Oh my god, get the armpits. It’s absolutely horrid on him.”
"Don't you DAHAHAHAHARE!!" Jaehyun tried to sit up, but Leehan shoved him back down.
Woonhak's eyes lit up. "How do you know that?"
"I’m the oldest. I know everything." Sungho adjusted his phone angle. "Carry on."
Jaehyun's underarms, as it turned out, were a disaster zone.
“FUHUHUHUHUCK IHIHIM GOHOHONNA DIE!!”
“Language,” Woonhak sang, while Leehan replied. “You’re not gonna die.”
After another 10 minutes of tickling, Leehan finally let go of the leader’s wrists. Woonhak flopped down on top of Jaehyun, laughing along with him.
From the doorway, Leehan sighed. "You two are disgustingly codependent."
"Go away, Hannie," Jaehyun said, not looking up.
"You're on his bed."
"Yes. And we're going to cuddle now. Leave."
Woonhak snorted—actually snorted—and something warm bloomed in his chest.
— | hi! my name is sana, and this is a kpop tickle blog! |
— | i just want to clear this up before there's any confusion—all idols in my fics are not meant to depict their real life selves!! it is just a portrayal!! |
— | i am a minor, and i am 16 years old! keep your suggestions to yourself |
— | i'm pretty introverted, but please don't hesitate to drop by and say hi! i'm very friendly once you get to know me!! my mbti is infj-t!! |
— | i am in fact taken!! @sirloncelot-of-bananas is my gf <3 |
— | small disclaimer!! i am a ler and do sometimes do teases but i'll feel kinda awkward if you show up in my inbox just asking to be teased with like zero chat beforehand...it's just not the most comfy for me :( |
— | discord: itzmesv. |
— | i am also into sonic, atla, mcu, etc! |
— | i use she/her pronouns |
— | my favorite group is itzy!! |
— | request status - open! <3 |
𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑:
— | skz tickle-verse community join link |
— | discord server for skz tickle-verse! |
𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:
— 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕:
-> boynextdoor
-> itzy
-> stray kids
-> aespa
-> ateez
-> dreamcatcher
-> enhypen (currently paused + all requests deleted...)
-> multigroup
-> txt coming soon!
— 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔
— 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕
— 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒑𝒔 𝒊 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏!
— groups i write for
𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒:
— 11
𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒:
#written by sana ⋆˚꩜｡ - all fics
#sana’s rants - just me ranting about random stuff
The air in the common room was thick with tension. And not the good kind of tension, where adrenaline buzzes under your skin, where you feel ready and charged up. No, this tension was different.
Chan, the leader, the unshakable pillar of their strange little alien family, was currently flat on his back on a wide, padded mat. His wrists and ankles were secured by magnetic cuffs that hummed faintly, pinning him spread-eagle and utterly helpless. Noticeably the same spot where Jeongin had his checkup weeks ago.
Traitors, he thought miserably. I built those cuffs.
His face was the color of a ripe strawberry, the blush crawling down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his loose t-shirt.
"You said it yourself, hyung," Jeongin said, settling his weight more firmly across Chan's hips. He was straddling him like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy, his knees bracketing Chan's ribs, his hands hovering in the air just above Chan's heaving chest. "Minho hyung's...torment triggered my powers. Maybe yours are just slow."
"Jeongin, that's nohot how it works." Chan gasped, already breathless and Jeongin hadn't even touched him yet. The anticipation was killing him. His whole body was taut as a wire, every nerve ending screaming, and he could feel the laughter already building in his throat like a trapped animal.
"Aww, look at him," Jisung cooed from somewhere to Chan's left, sprawled across a beanbag with his vines curling lazily against his fingers. His grin was enormous, gummy, and absolutely menacing. "He's already red and Innie hasn't even started."
"His ears are practically florescent," Hyunjin added from a plush armchair, long legs crossed elegantly, chin propped on his hand like he was watching the season finale of his favorite drama. His eyes were bright with barely contained glee. "This is going to be good."
“You’re a traitor, Seungmin.” Chan snarled. It had in fact, been the two maknaes ganging up on him to get him pinned to the table. The eldest would be lying if he were to say he wasn't just a little curious, though.
Jeongin tilted his head, all wide-eyed innocence. "But hyung, if your powers manifest, we need witnesses. For science."
"For science." Jisung repeated, deadpan, and then dissolved into snickers.
Chan had told himself it was fine. He'd told himself it was a logical experiment. He'd told himself he was the leader, the oldest, the one who had held this ragtag family together through asteroid fields and bounty hunters and at least three near-death experiences involving malfunctioning airlocks.
He could handle his baby brother wiggling his fingers.
But Jeongin lowered his hands.
At first, it was just the pads of his fingers—featherlight touches skating up the sides of Chan’s torso, tracing the valleys between each rib with excruciating slowness. Chan’s breath hitched. His stomach muscles fluttered involuntarily. He bit his lip, hard, determined to maintain some shred of dignity.
Jeongin's fingers landed on the lower slopes of Chan’s ribs, just above the waistband of his pants, and scribbled—short, quick, scratching motions that bounced from rib to rib. Chan jerked violently, a startled yelp punching out of him before he could stop it.
“NAHAHAHAHA—JEONGIN!!”
“Oh.” Jeongin said, delighted, “That’s a good sound.”
He didn’t let up. His fingers danced upward, tracing the ridges of Chan’s ribcage with merciless accuracy, dipping into the soft spaces between each bone.
Chan bucked beneath him, but the magnetic cuffs held firm, locking his wrists above his head and his ankles spread wide. All he could do was twist and writhe and laugh—loud, helpless, breathless laughter that filled the room and made Hyunjin clap his hands together in glee.
"Oh my god, he's dying." Minho laughed. "Look at his face!"
Chan’s face was, indeed, a masterpiece of embarrassment. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears already beading at the corners.
His mouth was stretched wide in a helpless grin, cheeks flaming, ears practically glowing red. He was squeaking—full-on, high-pitched, undignified squeaks between cackles, the kind of sound he’d never live down.
Changbin wheezed from the floor. “I’ve never seen him like this.”
“No one has.” Jisung agreed, clutching his pillow like a lifeline. “This is historic.”
Minho tilted his head, cat eyes gleaming. “His worst spot is the sides of his chest, by the way. Just under the armpits. If you want to be thorough.”
Jeongin's face lit up like a Christmas tree, looking away from his red faced, squirming victim towards his hyung. "Remind me to give you one of those weird cat hybrid treats later."
Minho beamed.
"NOHOHOHOHO DOHOHOHON'T—" Chan thrashed, really thrashed now, his whole body twisting in the cuffs. The magnetic bonds held him fast, but his torso was free, and he used every inch of that freedom to squirm and buck and try to dislodge the absolute menace sitting on his hips. "Jeongin, please, not there, not thehehehere—"
"The armpits, huh?" Jeongin repeated, and his fingers dug in deeper, nails now, light scratches that made Chan's nerves light up like a constellation. "You said that was your worst spot, right? A few months ago? During truth or dare? I can't believe I haven't exploited it before."
"Jeongin," Chan said, his voice still raw and breathless, a thin thread of warning wrapped in leftover giggles. "Jeongin, don't. Don't you dare—"
But Jeongin was already moving.
Not slow. Not dramatic. Just casual. Infuriatingly casual.
He let his right hand drift up from Chan's stomach, dragging his fingertips lightly over the hem of his shirt, over the tense ridges of his abs, up toward his chest. His eyes never left Chan's face.
And that was the worst part. The eye contact. The smug, knowing little quirk of his lips. The way he watched Chan's expression crumple in real time.
Chan's breath hitched. His whole body tensed.
"No—" Chan whispered, already squirming, already trying to twist away even though the cuffs held him fast. "No, no, no, no, no—"
Jeongin paused, his hand hovering over the spot. Chan tenses so hard his abs ached.
And then the demon of a maknae pounces, raking his nails over the soft hollow, watching Chan absolutely howl and thrash like crazy.
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He could only laugh, loud and helpless and absolutely shameless, thrashing against the cuffs like a fish on a line, while the youngest reduced him to a puddle of helpless, squealing, blushing mess.
"THAHAHAHAHAT'S NOHOHOHOHOT FAHAHAHAHAIR—"
“Aww, hyung,” Jeongin cooed, digging his thumbs into the soft flesh and circling. Chan screamed with laughter, thrashing so hard the entire examination table rattled. The cuffs held fast. “You’re so sensitive. This has to be it. The power’s in there somewhere, just dying to get out.”
"I DONT FEEHEHEHEEL AHAHANYTHING EXCEHEHEPT DEHEHEHEATH!!"
"You're so dramatic." Jeongin laughed. As if Chan thrashing around on a table screaming under him was a daily occurence. "What if I add more hands?"
Chan gasped at that. "NOHO WAHAHAY!! YOUR POWERS AHAHARENT STROHOHONG ENOUGH FOHOR THAT!!"
Jeongin shrugged.
It started as a faint pressure against his stomach, like someone pressing a palm flat against his trembling abs. Then another pressure against his neck. Then his hips. Then the insides of his wrists—spots he didn’t even know were ticklish until that exact moment.
“What—” Chan gasped, but he didn’t get to finish.
The invisible touches moved.
They weren’t hands exactly—Jeongin had described them before as “blobs of sensation,” and that was disturbingly accurate.
They were warm, semi-solid masses that could shape themselves to any surface, and right now, they were shaping themselves into claws. Thin, pointed, nail-like protrusions that scritched and scratched and dragged across every inch of Chan’s exposed skin.
Chan absolutely shrieked. Jeongin’s real hands never stopped their own assault, now targeting Chan’s stomach with a relentless, squirming wiggle.
The invisible hands were the stars of the show, though. They were unpredictable. They moved in patterns no human hands could mimic, attacking from impossible angles, skittering up his sides one moment and then diving back into the hollow of his armpits the next.
Chan tried his hardest to form a coherent sentence. To order Jeongin to stop. Instead, what came out was: "FUHUHUHHUUHUCK—!!"
Jeongin tsked. "Language, hyung. Feel anything? Any powers trying to escape?"
Chan wailed. "NOHOHOHO!!"
Jeongin hummed and let up, poking his tongue in his cheek as Chan panted, gasping for air that never seemed to be enough. "I guess we've gotta try something else then."
Chan's stomach was tingling from Jeongin's swirling fingers, his neck and ears were melting from the invisible touches, and his whole body felt like it was floating in warm, ticklish honey.
"There he is," Jeongin murmured, and there was something reverent in his voice. "There's my hyung."
Jeongin's been tracing for ten minutes and Chan thinks his brain is gonna melt out of his ears.
Chan's giggles turned into full, bubbly laughter—not the desperate cackling from before, but something lighter, brighter, almost musical. His head fell back against the cot, baring his throat to the invisible blobs that were still tracing lazy patterns along his neck.
His eyes were squeezed shut, but tears were leaking from the corners anyway—not from distress, but from sheer, overwhelming sensation.
"Tickle tickle tickle, hyungie~" Jeongin sang under his breath, his fingers wiggling up and down Chan's sides in a steady, hypnotic rhythm.
Chan shook his head weakly, still laughing. "Nohohohoho!!"
"You like that, hyung? You like the tickles?"
Chan's brain was static. "Yehehehehehes!!"
The word came out before he could stop it. The room erupted.
Felix made a sound like a boiling teakettle. Hyunjin literally fell off his chaise lounge, clutching his chest like he'd been shot. Jisung buried his face in his hands and screamed. "SO CUTE OH MY GOD."
Jeongin's face split into the widest, most delighted grin Chan had ever seen. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes sparkling, and he looked for all the world like a child on Christmas morning who'd just received everything he'd ever wished for.
Jeongin's fingers started wiggling again, faster now, bouncing up and down Chan's sides in a flurry of light, teasing touches.
"Tickle tickle tickle for the hyungie who likes it~" Jeongin sang, his voice dripping with affectionate mocking. "Tickle tickle tickle for our sweet, shy leader who just wants gentle tickles on his tummy—"
"STAHAHAP!!" Chan shrieked, but he was grinning, laughing so hard his stomach ached, tears streaming down his temples. "STAHAHAP SAHAHAYING IT!!"
Jeongin laughed and eased up a bit. Chan's chest was heaving. He needed air.
"M' tired," Chan mumbled, voice hoarse and cracked from all the laughing. His head lolled to the side on the cot, curls plastered to his damp forehead. His chest was still heaving, but the movements had lost their frantic edge. "Can't do any more."
Jeongin pulled his hands back immediately, hovering. The invisible telekinetic blobs dissolved into nothing. "Okay," he said softly. "Okay, hyung. I've got you."
Chan blinked up at the ceiling, eyes glassy and unfocused. A few residual giggles bubbled up and died in his throat. His whole body felt like warm jelly—loose and heavy and done.
"Don't feel anything," he whispered. Not accusing. Just tired. Just empty. "Nothing's there. I guess I just… don't have powers."
Minho's expression flickered—something soft and almost sad passing over his features before he smoothed it away.
Jeongin didn't say anything. Not right away.
Instead, he reached down and pressed the release on Chan's wrist cuffs. The magnets disengaged with a soft click, and Chan's arms dropped limply to his sides. Then the ankles—another click, and his legs drew together slightly, knees bending in unconscious relief.
"You are everything." Jeongin said firmly. "You are not less for not having powers."
Chan melts. "Innie—" And he was being tugged into the maknae's arms. "Just shut up and let me hug you."
The oldest deflates, eyes going soft and fond. "Okay, baby."
"And this video is going in the group chat forever!!"
𝙖/𝙣: i know i know i write too much lee know but i missed hoodie okay!!?
also happy birthday @asexualaerosmith!! one of my most close mooties i love you so much i hope you’re happy and healthy this year and for all the years to come!! we should stay mooties forever 🤭
It was an understatement to say that Chan loved Minho. That simply wasn’t enough to describe everything the leader would do for the second oldest.
Chan would saw off his own femur with a rusty multitool, bleed out for three hours, actively set himself on fire for him. And then look up at Minho with hazy, feverish eyes and still ask. “Need anything else, Minho-yah?”
Anndddd Minho would laugh at him. He’s been doing it all day. Rejecting Chan’s affection. Being a general asshole.
The dorm had been quiet for exactly four hours and thirty-two minutes.
That should have been Chan's first warning.
He'd been in his studio since 6 AM, wrestling with a bridge that refused to cooperate, and when he finally dragged himself back to the dorm at half past ten, all he wanted was a shower and his bed.
The living room was dim, Changbin half-asleep on one couch, Hyunjin scrolling on his phone on the other. Normal. Safe.
His coffee maker—the one he'd specifically arranged just so that morning—had been rotated seventeen degrees counter-clockwise.
His protein powder container was sitting in front of the blender instead of beside it. And the dish towel he always folded into a precise rectangle was crumpled into a loose ball and shoved next to the sink.
From the living room, he heard a soft, deliberate hum. He turned.
Minho was sprawled across the armchair, one leg dangling over the side, holding up his phone like he was reading something. But his eyes were fixed on Chan over the top of the screen.
Innocent.
Blameless.
Testing.
Chan took a breath. Counted to five. Reset the coffee maker, moved the protein powder, refolded the towel into its perfect rectangle. He didn't say a word.
Minho's mouth curved.
Forty-seven minutes later, Chan was standing in his bedroom, staring at his nightstand.
His lamp. The one with the specific, exact, necessary angle that pointed the light directly at his notebook, was crooked.
Not obviously crooked. Slightly crooked. The kind of crooked you wouldn't notice unless you were him.
Chan closed his eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled.
He fixed the lamp. He centered the photo.
He sat down on his bed and counted backward from one hundred.
By the time he reached fifty-three, he was already walking back to the living room.
Minho had relocated to the floor, lying on his stomach with his chin propped on his hands, watching something on his phone. He didn't look up when Chan entered. Didn't acknowledge him at all.
That didn’t matter. Chan would make him notice soon enough.
"You," Chan said, very quietly, "are doing this on purpose."
Minho finally looked up, all wide eyes and feigned innocence. "Doing what, hyung?"
“Ragebaiting.” Chan replied, one eyebrow raised. Minho didn’t seem to care at all.
“Now, hyung. I’m not ragebaiting or anything like that. You’re just old, sensitive, and now senile. That’s not my fault.” Minho shrugged.
Oh, that’s it.
“You touched my stuff," Chan said.
"Did I?"
"The coffee maker."
"Maybe."
"The towel."
"Could have been anyone."
"The lamp. The photo. The remote."
Minho’s smile turned sharper. “Well, now you’re just losing it.”
Chan pounced. Clearly, Minho didn’t expect such a sudden action from someone he had just called old, so he squawked as Chan pinned him down to the floor, sitting on his thighs, one hand bracketing Minho’s wrists and pinning him to the floor.
Now, Minho is learning what happens when the leader of Stray Kids finally snaps.
And he's learning it in front of everyone.
“You thought it was funny," Chan says quietly. His voice is soft. That's the scariest part. "The cup. The couch. The monitors, Minho. You touched my monitors."
Minho swallows. "I don't know what you're talking about—"
The first touch hits his stomach, and Minho wails.
His fingers find Minho's belly. That soft, horribly ticklish expanse just below his navel. and he starts scribbling there in fast, erratic circles.
"No no no nononono—"
"Say hi to the group chat," Chan says flatly. He gestured over his shoulder to where Seungmin was recording.
"I WILL KIHIHIHILL YOUHUHUHUHU!!”
Minho's stomach muscles clench and jump under Chan's touch, trying to escape fingers that follow every flinch.
Minho grunted through giggles, throwing his body away from the spidering fingers. The moment Minho arched and twisted away, those evil nails slid right onto his exposed side and started clawing gently but relentlessly into the soft flesh there.
“AAHAHAHAHA—NO NOT THE SIDES!!” Minho screamed, laughter turning sharper and more desperate as he whipped back the other way.
“Oh really? Well, you don’t get to decide right now.” Chan retorted, sliding his hands down to the hips.
“I CAHAH— I CAHAHAHAHAN’T!!” Minho shrieked, head tossing side to side. His face was burning hotter than the sun. That laugh—god, he sounded so ridiculous. Loud, squeaky, breaking into little dolphin-like squeals every time Chan found a worse spot.
“Oh my god I’m keeping these videos forever.” Seungmin spoke up from the couch. Minho could barely register it.
NOHOHOHO—DELETE THEHEHEM!!” Minho wailed, dissolving back into frantic cackles as Chan zeroed in on his lower belly again, nails scribbling right along the waistband.
Chan let Minho twist side to side, just following the movement like water. Minho twists harshly to the left and Chan digs into that side, following along Minho’s tummy as the younger wailed and squirmed the other way, right onto the other side.
Minho was already shaking his head frantically, hips twitching as he tried to shrink away from the hovering claws. “Please—pleasepleaseplease I’ll do anything just don’t—NOHOHOHOT THE SIHIHIHIHIDESS!!”
Minho’s laughter was loud, frustrated, and completely helpless. He yanked hard on his hands, hips bucking, torso twisting left and right in frantic little arcs.
“YOU’RE SO ANNOYING—AHAHAHAHAHA!! IT TICKLES—IT TIHIHICKLES SO MUCH!!” He wailed, face screwed up in that wide, wide smile he couldn’t control.
“Well that’s what it’s supposed to do, silly,” Chan chuckled in response, eyes gooey with fondness. Walking his fingers right back to the side.
Minho let out a piercing squeal and immediately stopped twisting so wildly. The sides were honestly unbearable. Worse than the tummy. Every time those nails raked across them, it felt like electricity shooting straight up his spine.
He gave up.
With a defeated, teary sob of laughter, Minho forced himself to lie as still as possible, arms stretched taut above his head. He stopped fighting the inevitable and just let Chan’s hand return to his tummy.
“Awhhh, why’d you stop squirming, baby?” Chan laughed.
“Thehehe sihihihides were wohohohorse!!” Minho whined. Cheeks coloring at the statement’s truth.
“Grand finale time!” Chan announced.
Minho’s eyes shot open in horror. “No hyung. NONONONONO—”
Chan dove under Minho’s hoodie, burying his head in the younger’s tummy, and blew a loud and long raspberry.
Minho lost it completely—howling, head shaking side to side, fresh tears spilling as uncontrollable laughter poured out of him in waves. “YOUHUHU BAHAHAHASTARD!! HYUHUHUHUNG I’LL KIHIHIHILL YOU—NOHOHOHOHO!! NOT THEHEHE TUHUHUMMY!!”
Chan didn’t reply. He just surfaced and took another breath, ignoring Minho’s desperate pleading, and ducked down to blow another raspberry. And another. And another. Trailing them up Minho’s stomach, along his ribs, and some down his flank.
“Fuhuhuhuck I cahaHAHAHAHAN’T!!” Minho choked out. “CHAHAHAHAN HYUNG!!”
Chan pulled up. Minho fell back to the floor, residual giggles pouring out of him. “Do you promise to be good?”
Minho nods so quick his head was a blur. “Yesyesyehhehehhes I prohohohohomise!!”
“Good.” Chan eased off with a scribble to Minho’s side, earning him a final giggle.
Seungmin cheers. “My phone storage is dead from this video but it is so worth it!!”
Minho lunges. “Let’s see how you like it, Seungmin!” Chan laughs.
Minho would be back to ragebaiting him in the morning. And Chan? Chan would be ready.
The dorm was quiet when Minho finally pushed the door open, but the silence felt heavier than any noise.
His body ached with every step, the sting of the stage fall still sharp in his knee, the echo of the staff’s yelling ringing in his ears like a feedback loop.
His throat was raw from forcing words out during the schedule, and the headache had only worsened into a dull, relentless throb behind his eyes.
All he wanted was his bed. All he wanted was to collapse into it and let his brain melt out of his ears.
But the moment he kicked off his shoes, two figures appeared from the living room.
“Minho-hyung?” Felix’s voice was soft, worried, freckled face creased with concern. “We heard what happened today. Are you okay? You look really pale.”
Hyunjin stepped closer, reaching out gently. “Come sit for a second. We made some tea, and I can get the cooling patch for your head. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but—”
Minho lightly tried to protest. “But, I just want to sleep, guys. Let’s talk tomorrow?” He tried.
“Okay, but first—”
Minho’s patience snapped like brittle wire.
“I don’t need anything.” He snarled, voice low and cutting, sharper than he’d ever meant it to be with them, his babies, his everything. “Just leave me the fuck alone. Both of you.”
Felix flinched, eyes widening. Hyunjin’s hand froze mid-air, his expression crumbling into hurt.
“Hyung, we’re just trying to—”
“I said leave me alone!” Minho’s voice cracked with exhaustion and frustration. “I’m not a damn child. I don’t need babysitting. Just stay out of my face.”
He didn’t wait for their replies. He shoved past them, shoulders rigid, ignoring the way Felix’s soft “hyung…” followed him down the hallway like a bruise. He’d pushed it. Kept poking at it. For some reason, it felt satisfying even when it hurt.
The bedroom door slammed harder than necessary. Minho collapsed onto his bed face-first, the mattress creaking under him. His chest felt too tight, breaths shallow and angry.
Tears prickled hot at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill, but he refused to let them. He wouldn’t cry. Not over this. He didn’t deserve to cry when he was the one who did this.
He buried his head deeper into the pillow, muffling the world, the regret already starting to twist in his gut alongside the headache and the shame.
Just as the weight of the day pressed him further into the sheets, the door to his room opened with a quiet click.
Instead, the mattress dipped on both sides of him. Then more. The quiet shuffle of multiple bodies moving carefully, like they were approaching a wounded animal that might bolt. Before he could lift his head or protest, warm pairs of arms began wrapping around him.
All seven of them.
Seven pairs of arms. Seven bodies pressing in close, surrounding him completely in a messy, overlapping tangle of limbs and quiet breathing.
The bed groaned under the combined weight, but no one moved away. They simply held on. Tight enough to ground him, gentle enough not to smother.
Minho wanted to push them away. Tell them that he’d been horrible and they should just leave him to rot in his own misery.
But the words wouldn’t come. The fight had drained out of him the second their warmth started seeping through his clothes.
Two hot tears slipped free despite his best efforts.
They rolled slowly down his cheeks, soaking into the pillowcase in dark, silent patches. His voice came out small. “Jinnie, Lixie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
It felt suffocating and safe at the same time. Like being buried and rescued in the same breath.
He didn’t deserve it. Not after how he’d spoken to them.
But they wouldn’t let go.
Minho’s hands finally unclenched from the pillow. One shaky hand reached out blindly until it found Chan’s arm, then another until it brushed Felix’s fingers. He held on weakly.
The tears had barely started to slow when the shift happened.
It began with Jisung.
The younger boy, still glued to Minho’s back, let his fingers drift lightly over Minho’s side. An innocent-looking brush at first.
But when Minho twitched and let out a shaky, involuntary huff against the pillow, Jisung’s whole demeanor changed. A mischievous spark lit in his eyes. “Hyungieeee~ Was that a giggle?”
Before Minho could even process the warning, multiple hands moved at once. “No-No wait—!”
His protest was cut off by a startled yelp as the attack began.
Chan and Changbin grabbed each of his wrists in one smooth motion, pulling his arms up and pinning them firmly above his head against the pillows, Minho being stomach down on the bed. Minho’s eyes flew open, still glassy from crying, widening in genuine surprise.
Hyunjin immediately went for the back ribs. Using his thumbs to slide into each gap between the bone. Minho felt his body jolt helplessly. Chan and Changbin each used their free hand to target that sensitive spot beneath the armpit.
Seungmin dragged his nails down Minho’s sides, letting out amused chuckles as Minho bucked up and down like a wild bull. Jeongin and Felix tag teamed him, using one hand to squeeze up and down the thighs while the other scribbled under the knee.
Minho’s a mess instantly. “AAAHAHAHAAA!! NO—NOHOHOHOHO TIHIHIHIHICKLING!!” The words dissolved instantly into bright, uncontrollable laughter.
His head snapped back against the pillow, throat exposed as peals of laughter burst out of him—loud, wheezing, the kind of laugh that made his whole face scrunch up and his eyes squeeze shut.
Minho flopped up and down like a fish out of water, red face scrunched up, teeth showing in a downright adorable grin. “FUHUHUHUCK—I CAHAHAHNT I CAAAANT!!”
Seven pairs of hands worked in chaotic harmony, finding every weak spot they’d memorized over years of living together. The tickles at his thighs and knees made his voice pitch up until it was practically a shriek; Minho will deny its existence till the day he died.
“NahahaHAHAHA!!!! OHMYGOSH STAHAHAHAHAP!!”
Changbin’s high pitched laugh rumbled through the pile. “Not until you’re properly wrecked, hyung. You yelled at our Felix and Hyunjin earlier. This is payback.”
Chan was smiling wide, eyes soft even as he kept Minho’s arms stretched taut. “And because we love you. And because you need this.”
“Are you feeling better, hyung?” Jeongin asks innocently.
“Nohohohoho!!” Minho choked out. “Youhu bahahastards are tihihIHIHICKLING MEHEHE!! ”
“He says he’s not feeling better!” Seungmin shouts. “Keep going!”
Minho wails at that. “OKAHAHAY OKAY OKAY! I FEEL BEHEHETTER!!”
“You sure?” Hyunjin enquires.
“YEHEHEHES!! Juhuhust stohohohop!! Plehehease! I neeheheed a nahap…”
The tickling finally slowed, then tapered off into gentle pokes and lingering traces of fingers as the laughter in the room gradually died down.
Chan and Changbin finally released his wrists. Minho’s arms flopped limply back down onto the bed, too exhausted to even pretend to push anyone away. The rest of the members slowly untangled themselves, but not completely. They stayed close, a warm, protective pile surrounding him.
Felix brushed a few sweaty strands of hair off Minho’s forehead, grinning. “But you feel better now, right, hyung?”
Minho hummed, the sound low and lazy. He didn’t even try to deny it. “Mmm…yeah.” His breathing evened out almost immediately afterwards, far too quickly for someone who had been so worked up just minutes ago. His smile lingered, small and peaceful, as his body finally surrendered to sleep.
The dorm fell into a peaceful quiet, filled only with the soft sounds of eight boys breathing together.
Minho lounged on the wide sectional couch in their dorm living room, the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains and casting a warm, golden glow across the space.
The air smelled faintly of the vanilla candle Felix had lit earlier and the soft, comforting scent of cat fur. His three cats, Soonie, Doongie, and Dori, were in absolute paradise mode, because their owner finally had time to play with them and nap with them.
Minho's been playing with them for nearly an hour, dangling the long feather toy with its wand handle and fluffy attachments, watching them pounce and leap like tiny tigers. Their energy had finally worn out. One by one, they’d climbed onto him like he was their personal heated cat tree.
Soonie claimed his chest, curled into a tight orange loaf with tiny purrs rumbling against Minho’s sternum. Doongie stretched across his lap, one paw possessively tucked under his thigh. Dori, the smallest and boldest, had nestled right under Minho’s chin, his fluffy tail occasionally flicking against his neck.
He tilted his head back against the couch cushions, eyes half-closed, content to just breathe and enjoy the quiet. The dorm was peaceful for once; the others were out or napping in their rooms. Minho let his mind drift, already planning what he’d make for dinner later. Maybe some fried rice. The cats loved when he cooked because they got tiny samples.
He didn’t hear the soft footsteps behind the couch.
Felix had been watching the whole scene from the hallway for the past ten minutes, phone in hand, secretly recording tiny clips he’d never show anyone but maybe Chan later with a giggle.
He crept forward on socked feet, moving like a shadow. The couch was high-backed, perfect cover. Felix crouched low, peeking over the edge just enough to see the top of Minho’s head and the vulnerable stretch of his neck.
The feather toy was right there, easy pickings. With the stealth of someone who had practiced this exact kind of prank dozens of times, Felix reached out, fingers closing around the wand handle. Minho didn't notice, eyes closed in bliss as three small bodies curled on top of him.
Felix bit his lip to keep from laughing already. He extended the wand and ever so lightly brushed the soft feathers against the side of Minho’s neck, just below his ear.
Minho twitched. A tiny, involuntary shiver ran through him, but he froze immediately, eyes opening and then widening. The cats didn’t stir. He exhaled through his nose, trying to play it off as nothing.
Felix grinned wider and did it again, this time dragging the feathers in a slow, teasing circle right behind Minho’s ear. This time, Minho flinced, letting out a strangled giggle before clamping his lips shut.
"Lee Yongbok, I swear—" He hissed. "Dohohon't!"
But Felix was already committed. He swirled the feather again, this time catching the sensitive spot right under Minho’s jaw and then up into the shell of his ear. The feathers were ridiculously soft, perfect for this kind of torture.
Minho’s whole body trembled with the force of keeping still. His head tilted slightly to the side, trying to escape the sensation, but that only gave Felix better access.
Minho was turning the color of red wine, shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles. "I aham gohohonna kihiill you!"
Felix cooed softly in the other ear, blowing air in slowly. "Look at you, trying to be a statue for the kitties~"
"Ihif youhu wahake them, I'hihill air fry youhu!!" Minho threatened under his breath, but it was hard to sound intimidating when he was currently giggling under his breath. The restraint only made it worse; every suppressed giggle made his torso vibrate softly, which in turn made the cats shift a little in their sleep.
Felix was losing it quietly behind the couch, shoulders shaking as he tried not to laugh too loud. He switched tactics, brushing the feather down the other side of Minho’s neck and then lightly across his collarbone where his shirt had slipped a bit. “You’re so cute like this. All trapped and giggly. Can’t even fight back.”
Minho’s head fell back against the cushion, exposing more of his neck in defeat. His cheeks were flushed a deep rose now, and he kept biting his lower lip, but the giggles kept slipping through anyway: soft, breathy bursts that made his eyes water. "Plehehehease!! Thehey just fehell asleep!!"
Felix cooed. “Aww, you’re so good to them. Best cat dad ever.” But he didn’t stop. He twirled the feather attachment like a paintbrush, drawing invisible patterns along Minho’s ears, behind them, down the nape of his neck where his hair was shortest. Every new spot earned a fresh twitch and a new wave of barely-contained giggles.
"Just wait till the cats aren't on me." Minho hissed. "I'm gonna make you scream with laughter for hours."
Felix finally peeked fully over the couch, resting his chin on his arms, eyes sparkling. The feather kept moving in lazy, relentless strokes. "Nice empty threat there, hyung." He shrugged.
Minho turned his head just enough to glare at him, but the glare dissolved instantly when Felix brushed the feather right under his collarbone, nearly disturbing Dori.
The resulting giggle was loud enough that all three cats flicked their ears. Minho went statue still again, holding his breath, eyes squeezed shut as silent laughter shook through him.
Felix took pity—sort of. He slowed the feather but didn’t remove it entirely, letting it rest lightly against Minho’s neck like a constant teasing threat. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. I'm gonna find a place to hide.”
Minho glared at him, though his eyes were watery, face a bright red, gaze piercing.
𝙖/𝙣: my second favorite after day 1 🥹🥹 i love i love i love
𝙩/𝙬: mentions of binge eating, rough tickles, traces, restraints, teasing, use of like one tool, minho’s brain is so fried that he begs in two different languages
Minho slammed the dorm door behind him with more force than necessary, the sound echoing down the hallway like a warning shot. The day had been absolute shit from the moment he woke up.
The staff had completely botched his stage outfit, the seam on the jacket ripping right before soundcheck, forcing a frantic last-minute fix that left him standing around half-dressed and fuming while everyone scrambled.
He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to fake his smile. He just wanted pure, instant comfort.
So he did the next best thing: he raided the kitchen pantry like it owed him money. The lights were dim, just the soft glow from the range hood illuminating the counter.
Minho sat cross-legged on the cool tile floor in his oversized black hoodie and sweatpants, a half-empty family-sized pack of choco cookies open in his lap.
Yummy yummy yummy.
The soft pad of footsteps made him glance up, but he didn’t stop eating.
Chan appeared in the doorway, still in his practice clothes, hair slightly damp from a quick shower.
His eyes softened instantly at the sight. Minho, usually so composed and sharp-tongued, having the best resistance to sugar of them all, reduced to a grumpy cookie monster on the kitchen floor.
Chan suppressed a stream of giggles. The sight was so unbearably amusing that he could barely hold it in.
“Ohh, my grumpy baby,” Chan cooed, voice low and fond, the kind of tone he used when he knew someone needed gentle handling. He crossed the room in a few strides and dropped down to his knees right in front of Minho without hesitation.
Minho groaned. “Hyung, don’t.”
But Chan wasn’t having it. He cupped Minho’s cheeks with both hands, squishing them slightly, and started peppering kisses all over his face.
“Look at you. Sitting on the floor destroying the snack stash. Rough day, huh?” Another kiss landed on Minho’s eyelid, making him scrunch his whole face up. “My poor Minho-yah. Let hyung fix it.”
Chan pulled back just enough to look at him properly, thumbs brushing away a few stray crumbs from his cheeks.
“You done being mad at the world yet?” Chan asked softly, still holding his face.
“No,” Minho muttered, but there was less bite in it. He broke off a piece of cookie and held it out half-heartedly. Chan accepted it with a grin, popping it into his mouth.
Jisung wandered in, rubbing one eye sleepily, his oversized t-shirt hanging off one shoulder. He was clearly on a late-night fridge raid of his own.
“Wow. Hyungs are having a moment,” Jisung teased, voice still raspy from sleep. “Should I leave? Or grab my phone for blackmail material?”
Chan laughs. “You know he’s had a bad day, Sungie. Lay off on the blackmail a little.”
Jisung’s eyes widen with delight. “Oh right! I was actually planning on calling hyung into my room. For a little…physical therapy, per say.”
Minho narrows his eyes. “Physical therapy?”
Chan grabs both of his hands. “Come on, Minho-yah. I’m sure Sungie has some nice massages planned.”
Minho lay back down on the bed. Already suspicious. He wanted to know why the other two members had wide, excited grins on their faces and what they had in store for him.
Before Minho could protest further, the two of them moved with practiced coordination. Chan gently but firmly pushed him down onto the bed, while Jisung grabbed a couple of soft scarves and hair ties from his desk drawer. Mainly things he usually used for styling but were now clearly being repurposed.
Minho’s eyes widened as they started looping the fabric around his wrists. “Yah. What are you planning?” He squirmed. “Untie me.”
Jisung handled the ankles with surprising efficiency, tying them apart to the foot of the bed so Minho was spread out in a loose starfish position on his back.
Not tight enough to hurt, but definitely enough to limit movement. Minho tugged experimentally, heart already picking up speed. “You two are dead. I swear—”
Jisung leaned over him first, plucking the half-eaten pack of choco cookies from Minho’s hoodie pocket where he’d been clutching it like a security blanket. “No more stress eating for now, hyung.”
He set the cookies aside on the nightstand, then used the sleeve of his own shirt to gently wipe the chocolate smudges from around Minho’s mouth. His touch was careful, almost tender. “You’ll feel much better after this. Trust me.”
Minho glared up at them, cheeks already heating. “This is not physical therapy. This is kidnapping.”
Without warning, both of them pushed Minho’s oversized hoodie and t-shirt up to his chest, exposing the smooth skin of his stomach and sides. The cool air made him shiver.
Minho’s breath hitched. “Don’t you dare—”
Four hands descended at once.
Minho clamped his mouth shut. No way no way no way. He was not going to laugh that quickly.
His face flushed instantly, a deep pink blooming across his cheeks and ears, then spreading down his neck like spilled strawberry syrup. He twisted, trying to curl inward, but the ties held him open. Every nerve ending lit up under their coordinated attack.
Chan leaned closer, voice low and playful. “See? All these tight muscles from today. We’re just helping them loosen up.” His nails trailed higher, under Minho’s arms, then back down the sensitive sides of his ribcage in feather-light scratches. “Breathe, baby. Let it out.”
Jisung grinned, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “Hyung’s so stiff everywhere. Look at this.” He switched tactics, using all ten fingers to spider-walk rapidly across Minho’s exposed stomach, dipping into the dips of his hips. “This area holds so much stress, right, Chan hyung?”
Ohgodohgodohgod. Minho threw his head back, face approaching the color of a tomato, neck straining.
The tickling was everywhere: Chan focusing on his upper body, ribs, underarms, even the sensitive skin just below his collarbones, while Jisung worked lower: waist, hips, the terrible spot right above his hipbones. Their nails were relentless but never rough, just light enough to drive him insane.
Minho held on longer than they expected, stubborn as always, his grumpy mask cracking but not breaking. His cheeks burned hotter with every passing second, lips pressed into a thin, quivering line.
Then Jisung went for the kill.
“Extra therapy on the sides, coming right up,” Jisung announced cheerfully, ignoring the look of absolute horror on Minho’s trembling face.
He dug his fingers in just enough. Firm, vibrating scratches right into the worst spot on Minho’s sides, that deadly area between ribs and waist.
He moved them fast, no mercy, while Chan held Minho’s hips steady. That did it.
A loud, involuntary burst of laughter exploded out of Minho.“NO—Noohoohohohohoho!!”It was quickly followed by helpless, bright giggles that poured out nonstop.
His grumpy face shattered completely. The tension in his expression melted into pure, boyish laughter, eyes crinkling, mouth wide open as he thrashed against the ties. “GAAHAHAHAHAHAA!!”
Chan laughed along with him, soft and fond, but didn’t stop. “There he is. That’s our Minho. Keep laughing, it’s good for you. Releases all that stress.”
Tears of mirth pricked at the corners of Minho’s eyes. The unbearable sensations flooded every sense—ticklish fire dancing across his skin, the warmth of their hands, the sound of their fond teasing mixing with his own helpless giggles.
Jisung and Chan exchanged a quick, mischievous glance over Minho’s still-shaking body. The dancer was already a wreck, chest heaving, face flushed a deep strawberry red that reached all the way to his ears, tiny giggles still slipping out even though the main attack had paused.
“Not done yet,” Jisung announced cheerfully, scooting down toward the foot of the bed. “We still have to treat the lower extremities. Very important for balance and stress relief after all that dancing you do, hyungie.”
“Nononono—not the feet!! Han Jisung, my feet are off limits, you little rat!!” He tugged hard at the soft restraints around his ankles, but they held firm, keeping his bare feet exposed and vulnerable. He had kicked off his socks earlier in the kitchen and now deeply regretted it.
Chan’s hands returned to Minho’s sides immediately, fingers digging in with that perfect mix of firm and feather-light scratches that made every nerve scream.
Jisung pulls Minho’s right foot into his lap, fluttering his nails against the skin with no remorse, cooing as Minho threw his head back and wailed with laughter.
“I CAHAAHAHHAANT TAHAHAHAKE ITT!!”
Jisung grinned like a maniac, fluttering his nails faster. “Wow, hyung. Your feet are so sensitive. Look at how they twitch.” He switched to the left foot, giving it the same fluttering treatment: light scratches, quick scribbles, focusing especially on the arches and the bases of the toes.
The sensations were maddeningly ticklish, like a thousand tiny sparks shooting up Minho’s legs.
Jisung wasn’t finished. He reached over to his nightstand drawer and pulled out a long, plastic backscratcher—the cheap kind with a long handle and flexible prongs at the end, perfect for this kind of “therapy.”
“No.” Minho demanded. Though it was weaker now. Scared. “Jisung. No. ”
“Awhhh, well, too bad.” Jisung held Minho’s right foot upright with one hand, gripping the ankle firmly so the sole was fully exposed and stretched. Then he slowly trailed the backscratcher down the entire length of the sole.
Minho’s reaction was loud. Explosive.
“JEHEHEBAAAHAHAHAL!!”
The plastic prongs dragged lightly but relentlessly—from heel to arch to toes—in long, deliberate strokes. He repeated it again and again, sometimes switching to quick, flicking motions that made the prongs vibrate against the sensitive skin.
“I CAHAHAHAHANT I CANT!! GEHEHEHEUMAAHANN!!” He shouted random pleas in a mix of the two languages as the sparks traveled straight into his nervous system. His brain was officially too fried now.
Jisung broke into laughter. “Oh my god, no way!” Chan laughed along with him. “We broke him!!”
Minho wailed. “OHMYGOSH STAHAHAHAHAAP!!” He was bucking around, face bright red, mouth wide open in the cutest, dopiest grin.
“Alright, alright. We’ll stop.” Chan chuckled. Both Chan and Jisung let up, admiring the absolute wreck they’d made out of the toughest dancer of the group.
Minho was dizzy, panting, and still giggling weakly even after the direct tickling stopped. His chest heaved, tears drying on his cheeks, a big, exhausted but genuine smile plastered across his face. The grumpy cloud from earlier had been thoroughly, completely shattered.
Chan leaned over and ruffled his damp hair gently. “There’s our happy Minho. Feeling better?”
Jisung set the backscratcher aside and patted Minho’s ankle soothingly. “Best physical therapy session ever, right, hyung?”
Hyunjin notices it by accident. At first, it’s just a small thing. Lee Know brushing past him in the practice room, sleeve riding up slightly…and there it was.
Faint, pale lines along his wrist. Not scars, not anything serious—just traces. Like someone had been holding him there. Recently.
Hyunjin tilts his head. “What’s this?”
Minho immediately tugs his sleeve down. Too fast. “Nothing.”
That’s the second thing Hyunjin notices.
Minho doesn’t hide things. He dares people to look. So the fact that he’s suddenly avoiding eye contact? Suspicious.
Minho scoffs, trying to move past him. “You’re dramatic.”
Hyunjin catches his wrist again—gentler this time, but deliberate. His thumb brushes over the faint marks, and Minho flinches.
Hyunjin’s eyes slowly light up. “Wait…”
Minho immediately pulls his hand back. “Drop it.”
“No, no, hold on—” Hyunjin grins now, something playful and dangerous sparking in his expression. “That’s not from grabbing.”
Minho turns away, busying himself with literally nothing. “You’re imagining things.”
Hyunjin circles him like he’s solving a mystery. “You hate being grabbed. You’d have complained.”
“I am complaining. You’re annoying.”
Hyunjin ignores that completely. “So if it’s not that…” He leans in slightly. “What made you react like that?”
Minho freezes a bit. Hyunjin’s grin stretches in glee. “Someone tickled you.”
Minho lets out a strangled noise. “Hwang, so help me, if you don’t want tissues in your diet—”
Hyunjin is delighted. “You—Lee Minho—got tickled hard enough to leave marks? So who was it? Channie hyung, Seungmin, maybe even Changbin hyung?”
Minho shoves him lightly. “Stop talking.” But it’s too late. Hyunjin is already moving. Fast.
Minho barely has time to react before Hyunjin grabs his wrist again—this time more firmly—and traces his fingers right over the same spot.
Minho jerks. Clamps his lips together. A sharp inhale—almost a yelp—slips out before he can stop it.
Hyunjin gasps in delight. “Oh my gosh, you’re kidding!”
Minho couldn’t take the tracing. Bubbly giggles burst from his lips, his other hand scrambling to wrench Hyunjin’s off. “Stohohop!! You bahahahastard!!”
Minho glares, but it’s already ruined by the way he’s biting back a squeak. “Hyunjin, don’t—” Hyunjin absolutely does.
His other hand joins in, fingers dancing lightly along Minho’s wrist, then just barely up his forearm—and Minho snorts.
Actually snorts, head ducking as laughter spills out in quick, startled bursts. “Nohohoho!!”
“Hyuhuhunjin!!” Minho’s voice cracks into helpless giggles, knees bending slightly as he tries to twist away. “I swehehear—!”
“You what?” Hyunjin teases, moving closer again. “You can’t even finish your own sentence.”
Minho glares at him through laughter, cheeks flushed, eyes squeezed shut for a second as another soft scribble hits the exact same spot.
“Youhuhu—!!” he chokes, free hand coming up to cover his face on instinct.
Hyunjin notices that immediately.
And gently catches that wrist too. Minho’s eyes snap open. “Hyunjin—”
“Nope,” Hyunjin says firmly. “No hiding.”
Minho opens his mouth to protest and immediately dissolves into giggles again when Hyunjin traces the same sensitive spots in slow, deliberate patterns.
“I cahahahan’t!!” Minho chokes out, face scrunched up cutely. Like a little overripe tomato.
Hyunjin smiles. And this time, when he lets go, it’s gentle.
The tables turn immediately. “Hyung,” Hyunji warns as he catches the mischief in Minho’s eyes.
Minho takes one step forward. Hyunjin takes one step back. Another step forward. Another step back.
Until Hyunjin’s back meets the mirrored wall with a soft tap. Oops.
“…Hyung,” Hyunjin says again, but it comes out weaker this time. “I was joking.”
“Mm.” Minho steps closer, slow enough that Hyunjin has time to regret every decision he’s made in life. “So was I.”
Minho catches one shielding wrist. Then the next. And Hyunjin was pinned to the practice room mirror.
Minho immediately traces along Hyunjin’s toned side, cooing as Hyunjin basically folds in seconds, giggling helplessly.
Tracing lightly over Hyunjin’s belly, circling, skimming, barely pressing—but always finding it.
Minho leans in slightly. “You started this.”
“I dihihidn’t!” Hyunjin squeaks, voice breaking when Minho drags a slow line right under his ribs. “That’s nohot fair!”
Minho hums. He had no intention of stopping anytime soon.
“What’s wrong, Jinnie?” He teased. “Can’t handle some tracing?”
“Thahats ironic!!” Hyunjin knows he’s digging his own grave. “Youhuhu were the ohone gihihiggling up a stohohorm earlier!!”
Minho raises his eyebrows. “Oh? Getting cocky now, are we?” He shifts to dig slightly into Hyunjin’s hips, watching with amusement as Hyunjin nearly buckled, the air filling with the sound of his sweet laughter.
It started as a harmless bet—some dumb game, too much confidence on Minho’s side, Changbin’s quiet, knowing smirk on the other. And then Minho lost. Not by much, which somehow made it worse.
“Alright,” Changbin clapped his hands once, satisfied. “You know the deal.”
Minho rolled his eyes, trying to play it cool even as he shifted back a step. “Yeah, yeah. Ten seconds, right? Don’t drag it out.”
Changbin tilted his head, considering him.
Minho squeezed his eyes shut, instinctively trying to curl in, but Changbin kept him from fully hiding. Just enough that he couldn’t escape the attention, couldn’t disappear from it.
It made everything worse.
Or better, depending on who you asked.
Minho’s words cut off in a sharp inhale as Changbin shifted them both down onto the couch, quick and controlled.
One second Minho was standing, the next he was half-sprawled, Changbin right there, bracing him in place.
It wasn’t rough—just solid. Inescapable in that calm, unfair way.
Minho tried to twist away again, but Changbin adjusted easily, one knee sliding between Minho’s legs to keep him from rolling off, one hand catching both of Minho’s wrists and guiding them up over his head in a single, annoyingly effortless motion.
“Yeah. Completely unnecessary. I’m not even—I’m not that—”
Changbin’s free hand dipped, fingers brushing lightly along Minho’s side.
Minho jerked.
“—tihihicklish,” He finished weakly, the word breaking apart the second it left his mouth.
“Oh really??”
“Yehes!! Thahat was just a fluhuke!!” Minho denied, though he was beginning to squirm quite a bit.
Minho’s words dissolved into giggles when the tickling moved up his ribs, lighter now, more deliberate, making him squirm even harder.
“Relax, it’s barely been a few seconds.”
Minho shook his head rapidly, biting his lip in a desperate attempt to muffle the laughter bubbling out of him. It didn’t work. Nothing worked.
Changbin didn’t care. He just wanted to hear his hyung laugh. He just shifted slightly and found that spot just above Minho’s hips.
“NOHOHOHO!!” Minho’s laughter spiked, louder, more frantic, his whole body jerking as he tried to twist away, completely undone now. “NOHOHOT THEHEHERE!”
“Say it again,” Changbin said, amused.
“I LOHOHOST! I LOHOST!!”
“That’s right.”
“PlehehEHEHEASEE!! I CAHAHANT!”
“You’re doing fine.”
“Ihihihim nohohohohohot—” Minho choked, laughter catching in his throat, his head shaking as if that would somehow make it stop. “I’m lihihiterally GOHOHOHONNA DIHIHIHIE!!”
Minho’s world narrowed to the sensation, to the laughter he couldn’t control, to the way every pause made his stomach flip because he knew it wasn’t over—
—And then he gets an idea. A terrible one.
Minho sucked in a shaky breath, trying to force words through the laughter.
“Dohoho—” he broke off, giggling helplessly. “Dohohoouble!!”
Changbin paused. Just barely. And Minho seized it.
“DOHOHOUBLE OR NOHOHOTHING!!” He blurted, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush, laughter still clinging to every syllable.
Changbin went very still.
“Double or nothing?” He repeated slowly.
Minho nodded quickly, still trembling with leftover giggles, chest heaving.
“Yehehes!! If I win ihim free!!”
“And if you lose?”
Minho hesitated. That was the problem, wasn’t it? But he was already in too deep.
“Then you can keep gohoing…” he said, the last part wobbling.
Changbin hums. “Alright.”
—
Changbin’s fingers curled around his, firm, steady.
“Three,” Minho started, determination sharpening his voice. “Two, one—”
They pushed.
And Minho’s arm dropped. Not even slowly. Not even a struggle. It just folded.
“Wait!!” Minho choked, eyes widening as his hand hit the table with a soft thud.
Minho barely had time to react before he was grabbed again, pulled forward with a surprised yelp as Changbin dragged him right back onto the couch. “So you lost. Double or nothing. So now you get double tickle time.”
Minho screamed—a startled, breathless sound that broke immediately into uncontrollable laughter as the tickling hit him all over again, worse this time, because he was already sensitive, already worn down.
