Hi

anyways this is the final part!! i'd like to thank everyone who has showed me support throughout writing this series and i'm so glad you enjoyed it!! i do hope i can get to the other members without so much delay :333

some honorable mentions to the people who have always been so supportive of me throughout this whole series: @sirloncelot-of-bananas @astrophile-annie @livelovestraykids @crystawaters97 @reginald-stay09 @minnielvrr @hetashi-takashimaya @asexualaerosmith + everyone who loved this series!!

Minho's world had narrowed to the dusty gap beneath the ottoman, his broad shoulders jammed awkwardly against the heavy wooden frame, arms pinned uselessly beneath his own chest.

His damn phone sat just out of reach, screen glowing mockingly with a half-finished game. He’d wiggled. He’d cursed. He’d even tried rolling his hips to gain leverage, but the ottoman was a solid beast and he was thoroughly, humiliatingly wedged.

God. Hopefully no one gets back until I get out of this.

Minho spent the next twenty minutes struggling to find a gap to escape. It would be all too easy if someone lifted the ottoman from above him, but that would mean someone would see him in this position and Minho wasn't all for that.

Then the front door clicked open.

Jeongin’s footsteps paused. A beat of silence. Then the unmistakable sound of the maknae’s bright, evil laughter bubbling up as he took in the sight: Lee Minho, dancer extraordinaire, global kpop star, face-down and trapped like a sad turtle.

“Hyung?!” Jeongin wheezed, dropping the bag without a care. “What are you doing under there?!”

“Shut up and help me, you brat,” Minho growled, voice muffled against the floor. He tried to kick his legs in warning, but they only flailed uselessly behind him.

Jeongin didn’t help.

Instead, the younger boy strolled closer, still giggling, and without any mercy at all, plopped his full weight down right on the backs of Minho’s thighs, effectively pinning his lower half.

“Jeongin—” Minho started, but the warning died in his throat as Jeongin’s hands immediately found his sides.

The first scribbling attack was light, almost playful, dancing over the fabric of Minho’s shirt. Minho twitched, biting back a sound. But then Jeongin pushed the hem of the shirt up with zero hesitation, cool air hitting warm skin, and the real attack began.

“Jeongin, don’t you dahahahare!!”

But Jeongin dared. Oh, he dared enthusiastically.

Bare fingers attacked without mercy—clawing, scratching, digging thumbs deep into the hollows of Minho’s sides. One hand spidered up toward his underarm (as far as the trapped position would allow), while the other raked down to the sensitive skin just above his waistband, teasing the line of his sweatpants.

Jeongin laughed, delighted. “Wow, you’re loud already. I’ve barely started!” His fingers danced faster, digging into the spaces between ribs, then skittering down to the sensitive dips just above Minho’s hips. “This is payback for all the times you tickled me during practice, you know.”

“FUHUHUHUCK!! I diihihidn't do it thihihihis bahahahahhad!!” Minho whined, forehead pressed to the carpet as laughter poured out of him. His whole body trembled under the assault. Jeongin’s nails were surprisingly sharp, scratching lightly in that way that drove Minho absolutely insane.

"NO!! NOHOHOHHOHO!! NOT THAHAHAHHAAHHAHAT!!"

“You’re so red, hyung,” Jeongin teased, voice sweet and innocent even as his hands destroyed the older dancer. “Cute. Does it tickle that much? Right here?” He dug in harder under Minho’s ribs, vibrating his fingers.

“YES IT TIHIHICKLES, YOU FUHUHUHUCKER!! STAHAHAHAP!” Minho’s voice cracked. Tears were already pricking at the corners of his eyes. He hated how sensitive he was there, hated that Jeongin had figured it out so quickly. The ottoman creaked as he bucked again, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

Jeongin shifted his weight a little higher, leaning forward so he could reach better. One hand slipped around to Minho’s stomach, nails lightly scratching in swirling patterns that made the muscles jump and twitch uncontrollably. The other hand stayed focused on his sides, squeezing and digging in rhythmic pulses.

"Hmmm, should I call the others?? I'm pretty sure Channie hyung and Seungminnie hyung would love to see this~"

“NO! Don’t you dahahahare call anyone! I’ll kihihihill you after thihihis— AAAHAHAHAHA!”

Jeongin’s eyes sparkled with pure, wicked delight as he sat comfortably on the backs of Minho’s thighs, looking down at his helplessly trapped hyung. Minho was still panting from the previous round, chest heaving against the carpet, arms numb under his own weight beneath the heavy ottoman.

“I can literally make you do whatever I want right now,” Jeongin said, voice sweet and dangerous. He drummed his fingers lightly over Minho’s exposed sides, feeling the muscles already twitching in anticipation. "Hmmm, what should i ask for?"

Minho thrashed under him. "NOTHING!! Lehehet me go youhu brahat!!"

"I want you to call me hyung."

Minho barks out a laugh, this time not from the tickling. "In youhur dreheams. I'll never do it."

Jeongin shrugged. "Your loss." He dug both thumbs into the dips just above Minho’s hips while his fingers continued their spidering dance across the ribs.

Minho squealed. The older dancer bucked wildly underneath him, legs kicking uselessly against the floor, hips twisting as much as the pinned position allowed. But there was nowhere to go. The ottoman held him fast, and Jeongin’s weight kept his lower body helpless.

“YOU’RE SO MEHEHEHEAN!!” Minho wailed, voice cracking as uncontrollable laughter poured out of him. His head thrashed side to side, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.

He was starting to get dizzy. The constant, merciless tickling on his bare sides and ribs made his vision blur with tears of laughter. Every breath he tried to take was stolen by another wave of giggles.

Jeongin leaned down closer, chin almost resting on Minho’s back as he whispered, “Just say it. Call me hyung and I’ll stop. Or should I go lower?” His hands slid teasingly toward Minho’s waistband, fingers hovering dangerously close to the hypersensitive skin just above it.

“NOHOHO!! NOT THEHEHEHERE!!” Minho shrieked, trying to suck his stomach in. But Jeongin only laughed and returned to his ribs, this time using all ten fingers to scribble and claw rapidly up and down both sides at once.

Minho was slowly losing stamina. "FUHUHUHUCK!! ALRIGHT ALRIGHT I'LL SAHAHAY IHIHIT!!"

Jeongin slowed. "Go on. "Please hyung, don't tickle me""

Minho clamped his lips shut and shook his head. But two jabs and rapid scratching at his sides again forced the words through his lips. "PLEHEHEHEASE HYUHUHUNG," Minho wailed in embarrassment. "DOHOHON'T TIHIHICKLE MEHEHE!!"

Jeongin finally lifted his hands completely, patting Minho’s trembling back gently. “Okay, okay~ You did so well. I’m proud of you, hyung.” His voice was dripping with fake sweetness, clearly still riding the high of his victory.

He climbed off Minho’s thighs at last and shoved the ottoman up high enough for the older dancer to finally pull his trapped arms free. Minho collapsed fully onto the carpet the moment he was loose, rolling onto his back and curling up slightly. His chest heaved, face flushed deep crimson, hair a complete mess, and tears still clinging to his lashes as he tried to catch his breath.

"Hah....hah, you're dead after this, Yang."

"Oops!! That's my cue. Byeeee hyung~"

"Come back here, you brat!!"

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?”

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.

“Bin,” Minho warned, already breathless, already smiling despite himself. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what, hyung?” Changbin cooed. “Don’t tickleeee?~”

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.

“THAHAHAT’S NOHOT FAHAHAIR!!”

“You made the bet.”

“I TAKE IT BAHAHACK!!”

“Too late.”

:DDDDDDD

Among others, the word that could be used in description of the chick curled up against him was none other than "adorable". Eyes fixed on the glowing screen, breathing steady, blonde hair frizzy from the blanket and hoodie he was squished between, Felix seemed perfectly content as he lay there with Chan.

It was a perfect way to end a long day- they'd been recording all day, and when Chan suggested the two have a movie night, Felix was all for it. As soon as they'd gotten to the dorm, the two immediately started preparing- they agreed to use Chan's room, since he had a better TV setup, and with more apps (not to mention his bed was bigger too, so they'd be less cramped). Once Felix had arrived to Chan's room, he had thrown on the first movie he'd found, closed the door, and they'd settled in.

Now Felix's hand was making lazy patterns across Chan's belly under his hoodie, the chick paying no attention to his movements as he focused on the movie. Chan, however, was struggling to keep a straight face- Felix's fingers felt torturous as they traced across the bare skin of his stomach, even softly doing so. He'd been trying not to laugh for the past 5 minutes, and fortunately Felix hadn't noticed yet; Chan didn't know how much longer he wouldn't, though.

When a finger slipped into his bellybutton, Chan couldn't hold back his giggles anymore, and they came tumbling out in sweet noises as he let his head fall backwards onto the headrest. "Lihihix! Stop dohoing that!" He tried, Felix only looking up at his giggling hyung and grinning evilly. "Just so you know, I knew the whole time- I was wondering how long you'd last." The chick said, quickly pinning the wolf to the bed, sitting on his thighs and attacking his ribs, sliding the hoodie up further as he dug in. "AhAHhah! Fehelix! GeHet off mehe!" Felix hummed, bringing a hand down to Chan's belly and spidering around, his other hand opting to squeeze up and down the wolf's sides. "Hmm...no dice. I think I"ll stay rightt here-" Chan tried curling in on himself, bubbly laughter still pouring out of him, but with the chick sitting on his legs, he couldn't really go anywhere- he wouldn't let Felix win that easily though. Mustering his remaining strength, he grabbed Lix's wrists and flipped him, reversing the roles faster than the chick could react.

Letting out a startled yelp, Felix suddenly found himself underneath his grinning hyung, starting to panic as he realized it was his turn now. Chan brought a hand up to Lixxie's neck, fluttering fingers there and watching as the chick adorably scrunched his shoulders up to block them. "Aww, look how cute you are Lixxie- you and your ticklish little neck!" Chan cooed, loving how flushed the younger's face got from the comment. "Chahan! StahAhAp teheasing meHe!" Felix managed to say, words riddled with cute laughter. "Aw, can you not handle the teases? Huh baby?" The wolf said, bringing a hand to the chick's hip and massaging a thumb into the spot. "NAHA- ChaHAn-hyUHung! Nahat thEHehre!" Felix squeaked, laughter rising and falling in pitch as Chan continued his attack on both spots.

"Shhh- Lixie, you're so loud; you might wake somebody up! Or are you just too ticklish to take it?" He teased, watching his Aussie twin scrunch up his nose, eyes shut as he let out laughter Chan hadn't heard in some time. "Thehen stahap tihickling mehe! ChahaHAHANNIE!" The chick squealed as the wolf pushed up his shirt, leaning down quickly and blowing a long raspberry on his tummy before letting him go. Taking in deep breaths, Felix lay there for a second on the bed; then, raising a hand, he pointed a finger at his hyung accusingly. "Yohou...suck."

Jeongin stared up at the sterile white ceiling of the medbay, the soft hum of the ship’s engines vibrating through the examination table like a constant, mocking reminder that they were still light-years from home.

The whole crew had gone to explore another planet. This planet was drab and boring. There was nothing new to explore or see. Nothing like…Earth. 

Jeongin’s chest ached. Discovering Earth had been amazing. They had learned and seen so many new things, and had experienced sensations and feelings none other had the privilege to experience. 

He was strapped down, as usual. Wrists locked in padded cuffs above his head, ankles secured at the bottom corners of the table, legs spread just enough to make him feel utterly exposed and helpless. The restraints weren’t even necessary for a real checkup, but Minho insisted on protocol every single time.

“Standard procedure for the undeveloped one,” Minho had said earlier, voice smooth and clinical, that tiny smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he tightened the last strap. “Can’t have you squirming during vital scans, Innie.”

Jeongin hated every second of it. He was the youngest, the last of them whose powers still hadn’t manifested, and that meant monthly full-body evaluations. Minho, with his annoyingly perfect medical training from the academy, always volunteered. Or rather, demanded.

Minho moved around him like the picture of medical efficiency, scanner in one hand, stylus in the other. His lab coat was crisp, sleeves rolled up to show the lean muscle of his forearms. He poked at Jeongin's ribs with a gloved finger, once, twice, then again—firm, deliberate prods that made Jeongin twitch and bite his lip.

"Muscle response nominal," Minho murmured, as if dictating notes. "No unusual tension. Yet." Another prod, this one lingering just under Jeongin's lowest rib. "Hmm. Interesting."

Jeongin squirmed, cheeks already heating. "Hyung, that tickles. Can we just... get the scan over with?"

Minho's eyes flicked up, innocent as ever. "Tickles? This is a standard palpation technique, Jeongin-ah. For detecting latent power nodes. You know that. Hold still..." He pressed again, slower, wiggling the tip of his finger in tiny circles. 

"Or are you saying your development is so delayed that even basic diagnostics are too much for you?"

Jeongin huffed, trying to twist away, but the cuffs held him firm. "I'm not—ah!—I'm trying!"

Five minutes. That's all it took for the pretense to crack.

Now Minho had the buzzing node pressed deep into the side of his ribcage, and Jeongin was vibrating with held in giggles. Minho watched with amusement. 

Jeongin's heart rate spiked.

"Hyung—"

"Shh. Still documenting," Minho said, voice low and mock-serious. He placed both hands on Jeongin's exposed sides, thumbs resting just above his hips. "Subject exhibits heightened sensitivity in the lateral abdominal region. Recommend further... exploration."

He swung a leg over Jeongin’s hips and happily straddled him. The weight was warm, solid, impossible to buck off.

“A good thing I have the tools to explore…now.”

Fingers spidered up Jeongin's ribs in quick, fluttering strokes, clinical precision mixed with pure evil playfulness. Jeongin exploded into laughter instantly, body jerking hard against the restraints.

“Nohoohohohooo!! NOHOHO TIHIHICKLING!!” He wails. 

Minho didn't even crack a smile at first. He kept his expression focused, like he was reading vitals on an invisible monitor. "Elevated heart rate. Good laughter response—indicates healthy lung capacity. Excellent." 

His fingers danced higher, scribbling under Jeongin's arms where the skin was impossibly soft. "Though I must note, subject is attempting to evade protocol. Typical for undeveloped powers."

Jeongin thrashed, flopping like a fish on a line, his whole body convulsing in helpless giggles. The magnetic cuffs didn't give an inch. "Stohohohohoppp!! YOUHUHURE SO MEHEHEHEHEAN!!" 

He felt his cheeks warming at Minho’s words. “Thihihis is tohohohorture!!”

“Scientific inquiry," Minho corrected smoothly. He shifted his weight, thighs squeezing tighter around Jeongin's to keep him from bucking too wildly. 

One hand stayed at the ribs, the other trailed down to prod at his belly, dipping into the navel with a single, teasing finger. "See? Right here, the power nodes are clearly dormant. We need to stimulate them thoroughly."

The teases were worse than the tickling itself. Delivered in that calm, doctory voice. It was detached, almost bored, like Minho was genuinely filing a report…while his fingers wreaked absolute havoc. It made everything feel ten times more unbearable.

Jeongin screamed with laughter, head tossing side to side, tears already pricking at the corners of his eyes. The clawing at his tummy was unbearable. 

“YOUHUHU BAHAHAHAHASTAAAHHAHA—” He shrieked. “GEHEHET OFF MY TUHUHUHUMMY!!”

“Dramatic as always," Minho hummed. He leaned forward, elbows braced on either side of Jeongin's torso now, fully committed. "Vitals stable. No signs of actual distress—unless you count this adorable squeaking." 

His thumbs found the spot between Jeongin's ribs on the left side, that evil, hypersensitive hollow just below the armpit. He pressed in and vibrated them mercilessly, rapid little oscillations that sent shockwaves through Jeongin's entire nervous system.

Jeongin absolutely convulsed, grin stretching into the picture of delirium, the most adorable cackles exploding out of him. 

“STAHAHAHAHAHAP!! NOT THEHEHEHERE, NOT THEHEHEHEHEHHERE!!”

“Oh? This spot?” Minho’s voice dripped with fake innocence. He zeroed in, thumbs drilling and vibrating mercilessly into the soft hollows between Jeongin’s ribs, right where it was worst. “Highly reactive. I’m detecting…squeals. Multiple frequencies. This must be a bad spot. Documenting for future reference.”

Jeongin’s back arched clean off the table as far as the restraints allowed, a high-pitched squeal ripping out of him that dissolved into frantic, wheezing laughter.

Cute," Minho said softly, almost under his breath, but the clinical mask stayed firmly in place. "Exceptional response in the intercostal zone. Vibratory stimulation appears highly effective for... encouraging development."

“ENCOHOHOURAGING DEHEHEHEVELOPMENT MY AAHAHAHAASS!!” Innie howled. 

Minho didn't let up, thumbs buzzing deeper, switching between quick flutters and slow, grinding circles. "Hold still, Innie. This is for your own good. We can't have the maknae returning home without at least one power manifesting, can we?"

Jeongin was a mess—flailing as much as possible, legs kicking uselessly under Minho's weight, torso twisting and contracting in waves.

“Youhuhuhure so bahahhahahad at lyihihihing!! You juhuhuhust dihihihid this to TIHIHIHIHICKLE MEHEHHE!!”

Minho tilted his head, feigning surprise. "Lying? I'm a professional, Jeongin-ah. Everything here is documented." He dragged his nails lightly down the center of Jeongin's ribs, then back up, repeating the path over and over. "See? Standard ribcage mapping.”

Every time Jeongin thought he might catch a breath, Minho would lean in closer, breath warm against his ear.

"Still no powers manifesting? Shame. We'll have to extend the session. Maybe tomorrow too. And the day after. Purely medical reasons, of course."

Jeongin could only shake his head frantically, tears streaming, body limp and twitching between bursts of renewed struggle. “Youhuhu SUHUHUHUHUCK!!”

It had been a solid five minutes of pure torment. Minho remained perched comfortably on his thighs, knees locked tight like a vice, thumbs now buried deep into the soft flesh of Jeongin’s hips, digging in with perfect, relentless circles, vibrating and kneading right into the hypersensitive hollows where hip met waist.

Jeongin couldn’t even form words anymore. His mouth was stretched into a wide, helpless grin, teeth flashing, eyes screwed shut with tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. 

Silent laughter shook his entire frame in violent, frustrated spasms. He bucked weakly under Minho’s weight, hips twitching and twisting in tiny, useless jerks against the straps, but the restraints and Minho’s pinning thighs kept him almost completely immobilized. His chest heaved, stomach muscles clenched so tight they hurt.

Meanwhile, Minho was hell-bent on being more of an asshole than he was already being. 

“Excellent response in the iliac crest region. Very promising, Innie. I’m noting this as a primary weakness. We’ll need daily sessions to build tolerance, of course. Doctor’s orders.”

Then it happened.

Something inside him snapped—white-hot and sudden, like a dam breaking after years of pressure. A raw surge of power exploded outward from his core, uncontrolled and explosive.

Before Minho could even register the shift in Jeongin’s expression, an invisible force slammed into his chest like a wrecking ball. 

Minho was hurled backward violently, flying off the table and across the medbay in a blur. He crashed hard into the far wall with a sickening thud and a pained grunt, the impact rattling the medical instruments on the nearby trays.

Min crumpled instantly to the floor, curling into a tight ball, both hands flying up to cradle his throbbing head. A low, pained groan escaped him as he rocked slightly, eyes squeezed shut against the spinning room.

Jeongin shrieked. “HYUNG!!” He bucked against the restraints instinctively, feeling panic rise when he realised he was still strapped down with magnetic cuffs. 

He didn’t need to worry for long, though. The crash had echoed throughout the ship. The door burst open thirty seconds later. 

“Minho-yah!” Chan shouted, voice tight with worry as he took in the scene at a glance: Minho crumpled on the floor, Jeongin still strapped spread-eagle to the examination table, face flushed and tear-streaked.

Chan crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees beside Minho, gently scooping the younger man up into his arms.

 Minho was dead weight, head lolling against Chan’s shoulder with a weak “ow…” as the movement jostled the growing bump on the back of his skull.

Jeongin’s breath hitched sharply from the table. His wide eyes were glassy, brimming with unshed tears that finally spilled over as he watched Chan carry Minho. His chest heaved with leftover adrenaline and guilt, wrists and ankles still firmly locked in the padded restraints. 

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t even reach out. The silent laughter from earlier had left his throat raw, and now it felt like it was closing up with panic.

Chan carried Minho over to the plush armchair tucked in the far corner of the medbay—the one usually reserved for patients waiting for scans. 

He lowered the doctor down gently, arranging him so his head rested against the soft back cushion. Minho stirred just enough to let out a tiny pained hiss, one hand weakly lifting toward the back of his head before dropping again.

Chan thumbed Minho’s bangs away from his face tenderly. Then turned to the medical table. 

Jeongin was trembling now, tears slipping freely down his reddened cheeks. His body was still hypersensitive from the merciless tickling, every nerve buzzing, but the guilt sat heavier than anything else.

Chan reached the table and leaned over him immediately, both hands cupping Jeongin’s tear-stained face, thumbs gently wiping under his eyes.

“What happened, baby?” he asked softly, voice warm and steady like always, even with the clear concern etched between his brows. 

His gaze flicked quickly over Jeongin’s restrained form, checking for any injuries, before locking back onto the maknae’s eyes. “Talk to me, Innie. Breathe.”

Jeongin sniffled, before words rushed out of his mouth in embarrassing speed. 

“We were just doing a check up as usual and then Minho hyung was being mean and tickling me, and it was so bad hyung, I swear I was gonna die if he kept kneading my hips like that so something happened, I swear I don’t even know what it was but I somehow threw Minho hyung across the room and I’m so sorry I really didn’t mean to—”

The explanation poured out in one frantic stream, Jeongin’s voice pitching higher with every word, fresh tears spilling as he strained uselessly against the wrist cuffs.

Chan listened without interrupting, his hands staying gentle on Jeongin’s cheeks, grounding him. When the younger finally trailed off into shaky hiccupping breaths, Chan hummed softly, low and reassuring.

“That’s alright, Innie,” He said calmly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Jeongin’s forehead. “I know you didn’t mean for it to happen. Your powers finally showed up, huh? That’s a big deal, baby. We’ll figure it out together, okay? No one’s mad at you. Least of all Minho.”

Jeongin let out a small, watery sob of relief, nodding as much as he could with Chan’s hands still cupping his face.

Chan straightened up, giving Jeongin’s shoulder a light, comforting squeeze. “I’m gonna go get an ice pack for his head. You stay right here…” He glanced meaningfully at the restraints still holding Jeongin spread out on the table. “…and try to breathe. I’ll be right back. Promise.”

Not even a minute later, Minho stirred in the armchair with a soft groan, eyelids fluttering open. He sat up slowly, one hand gingerly pressing against the back of his head where a decent-sized lump was already forming. The throbbing was sharp but bearable. 

Nothing a painkiller and some rest wouldn’t fix. He blinked a few times, vision clearing, and immediately zeroed in on Jeongin still helplessly strapped to the examination table.

Jeongin was shaking. Just a little, but visibly—small tremors running through his arms and legs from the adrenaline crash, leftover ticklish sensitivity, and pure guilt. His eyes were wide and watery, cheeks still flushed pink from earlier.

Minho’s lips curved into a slow, mischievous smile despite the ache in his skull. He pushed himself up from the chair, swaying for only half a second before steadying himself.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, voice light and teasing as he walked over to the table. “Look, hyung’s alright. See? Still in one piece. Just a little bump. Nothing a tough guy like me can’t handle.”

Jeongin’s eyes filled. Minho’s smile falters. “Look, I’m always the victim whenever you guys get your powers, but I know you’d never do anything that genuinely hurts me. It only happened this time because it was the first time you got your power. Telekinesis? Baby, I’m so proud of you.” 

“B-But I did hurt you…” Jeongin trails off, squeaking in surprise as Minho reached the side of the table and swung one leg over again, smoothly straddling Jeongin’s thighs just like before. 

The weight settled firmly, pinning him down once more. Minho’s hands came up to gently cup the maknae’s face, thumbs brushing away the last traces of tears. “Accidents happen when powers first wake up. I’ve had worse. Now stop worrying that pretty head of yours and let hyung finish the checkup.”

Before Jeongin could protest, Minho’s fingers danced lightly up to his neck, scribbling and fluttering along the sensitive skin just under his jaw and behind his ears. Jeongin immediately melted into a puddle of giggles, head tilting side to side as much as the restraints allowed.

“Nohohohoho not thehehe neheheheck!!” 

“Oh, yes, the neck. It’s so sensitive for you. Adorable.” Minho leaned closer, nails gently scratching behind Jeongin’s ears, then tracing the shells with feather-light touches. “So sensitive here. Look at you, already giggling like this. Such a cute reaction. Does it tickle that much, Innie? Hm?”

Jeongin’s giggles bubbled out helplessly, soft and sweet, his whole body relaxing into the tickling despite the earlier panic. He was a melted puddle now, shoulders shaking with laughter, face scrunched up in that bright, irresistible smile. “Yehehehehhehes it tihihihickles!!” 

Sadly, Minho had to finish the examination on Jeongin’s torso. He had been so rudely interrupted, after all!! 

He claimed this, ignoring Jeongin’s thrashing  as he clawed down the younger’s left side. “Awhh, what’s wrong? Does this spot make you crazy? Are you flustered, baby?” 

Jeongin was a complete mess now—thrashing wildly, head thrown back, mouth wide open in uncontrollable laughter, body flushed and trembling. The restraints held him perfectly spread and helpless, forcing him to endure every single tickle Minho delivered with zero escape.

“PLEHEHEHEHEASE ILL DOHOHO AHAHAHHNYTHINGGG!!”

Chan stepped back into the medbay holding a cold ice pack wrapped in a soft cloth, the doors sliding shut behind him with a quiet hiss. The moment he saw the scene in front of him, Minho comfortably straddled over a thrashing, hysterically laughing Jeongin,his expression shifted from concerned leader to fond exasperation.

He tutted loudly, folding his arms across his chest. “Minho, what have we said about this?” Chan’s voice was stern but laced with amusement. “No turning checkups into full-on tickle torture sessions. Especially not right after the poor baby just discovered his powers and flung you into a wall.”

Minho lifted his head, still perched perfectly on Jeongin’s thighs, one hand lazily continuing to claw and scribble down the younger’s left side while the other paused on his stomach. He gave Chan the biggest, most dramatic pout.

“But hyung~” He whined, dragging the syllable out. “Look at him. Jeongin’s being so cute right now. How am I supposed to resist?”

A hysterical wail startled both of them. Jeongin’s twisting like crazy, trying desperately to detach the clawing fingers at his side. “LeheheheHEHEHET UHUHUHUP!! PLEHHEHEEASE IM DYHIHIHIHING!!”

He tried—really tried—to summon that same surge of power from before. His face scrunched up in concentration for half a second, but nothing happened. Instead, a soft mechanical beep came from the overhead scanner monitoring his vitals and new abilities.

“Unable to apply telekinetic force,” the calm voice announced. Hyunjin’s voice model. “Subject’s nervous system is currently in heightened sensory overload. Power output suppressed.”

Chan stared for a beat… then burst out laughing. Hard. He doubled over slightly, one hand clutching his stomach as deep, bright laughter rolled out of him.

“Oh my god— Innie’s power goes haywire when he’s tickled!” Chan wheezed, eyes sparkling with delight.

Jeongin could only respond with another shrill, desperate squeal as Minho’s fingers found a particularly evil spot along his lower side again.

“STAHAHAHAP LAUGHING AT MEHEHEHE—! AAAAHHHAHAHA!”

Minho gasped suddenly, eyes widening.

He felt it—an invisible, warm force wrapping around both of his wrists like soft, insistent bands. The telekinetic energy gently but firmly dragged his hands closer to Jeongin’s body, pulling them back down toward the maknae’s sensitive tummy and sides instead of letting him pull away.

“Looks like someone wants to keep getting tickled senseless,” Minho teased, voice back to that sweet, clinical tone. “Don’t worry, Innie. Hyung will give you exactly what your powers are asking for.”

Jeongin lets out a tired, giggly whine. Minho cooed and decided to let up. Medical examination complete. 

“Alright, alright,” Minho murmured gently, the playful clinical tone fading into something warmer. “Hyung’s got you. Tickle time’s over for now.”

He stayed straddled on Jeongin’s thighs for a moment longer, just stroking soothing circles over the sensitive skin to help him come down, before carefully climbing off the table.

The padded cuffs clicked open, freeing Jeongin’s arms. The younger immediately brought them down, rubbing at his wrists even though they weren’t sore.

Minho stepped back awkwardly. Jeongin pouts. 

He scrunched his face up and thought as hard as he possibly could. Minho squeaks as he feels a force tug him forwards until Jeongin could comfortably fold into his hyung’s arms. 

Chan smiles at the two and leaves, sensing that the two needed their moment. 

The telekinetic hold lingered for a second longer, almost like a hug, before fading away, leaving Jeongin clinging there on his own.

Jeongin let out a tiny, contented sigh, arms slowly wrapping around Minho’s waist. His body melted against the older dancer, boneless and trusting, still trembling faintly from all the laughter.

“You okay, baby?” Minho asked quietly, voice low and fond against Jeongin’s temple. He pressed a light kiss to the top of the maknae’s head, the gesture so natural it made Jeongin’s heart squeeze.

“Mhm…” Jeongin mumbled, voice muffled and sleepy-sounding. “Warm… feels nice.”

A few more minutes passed like this. Minho slowly adjusting to let Jeongin press further into him. 

“But seriously, why is it always me who ends up being victim when you babies’ manifest your powers?”

okay note to future sana, change most things about this fic it SUCKS YOU CAN DO BETTER T_T

Seungmin was absolutely insufferable tonight.

The concert had ended hours ago, but the adrenaline still buzzed through Seungmin like electricity that refused to ground itself. He was riding the wave higher than anyone else. His cheeks hurt from grinning, his voice was hoarse from laughing too loud at his own jokes, and he just couldn’t stop.

Chan had warned him earlier to tone down the ego, but he was smiling nonetheless. Seeing Seungmin confident for once was enough to make up for the torment.

Seungmin had just laughed, that bright, loud, triumphant laugh, spinning in place like an overexcited puppy who’d discovered the treat jar was bottomless. “What? I’m just stating facts! I carried the whole stage today. Admit it. Admit ittttt~”

He knew he absolutely killed that performance.

Immediately, he teased Minho when they piled into the van, voice bright and syrupy with mock innocence. “I had to carry us in that beginning, honestly. My vocals were flawless. Yours were…serviceable. At best.”

Minho shot him a flat look, one eyebrow arched. “Keep talking, puppy.”

Seungmin only beamed wider, golden-retriever energy dialed up to eleven. He leaned over the seat, poking Chan in the shoulder. "Aren't I the best rapper in the group, hyung? Watch out, Changbin hyung. I'm coming for your job."

Changbin rubbed his temple, already exhausted. “Seungmin-ah…”

By the time they reached the dorm, the others had exchanged enough pointed glances to form a plan. Seungmin was still floating on his sugar-rush cloud, kicking off his shoes with a flourish and announcing, “I’m gonna go take a victory shower. Try not to miss me too much, losers~”

He barely made it two steps down the hallway before strong hands grabbed him from behind.

“Wha—hey!”

Chan’s voice was calm but firm, the leader tone activated. “Nope. Not tonight, puppy.”

Seungmin yelped as he was lifted clean off his feet—Changbin and Hyunjin doing the heavy lifting while Minho and Felix herded him toward the living room like a misbehaving puppy being dragged to timeout. He squirmed, whining breathlessly, still riding the high. “Yah! Put me down! This is kidnapping! I’ll sue you for endangerment!!”

"No can do, Seungmo," Felix chuckles. "Brat tax is due."

They dumped him onto the wide sectional couch in a tangle of limbs. Before he could scramble up, the others piled on. Chan pinned his shoulders.

Changbin locked down his waist and one leg. Hyunjin caught his other leg and an arm. Felix and Jeongin each took a wrist, spreading his arms wide above his head. Minho straddled his thighs with that dangerous cat-like smirk, knees pressing just enough to keep him immobile.

Seungmin’s eyes went wide, the laughter dying in his throat as he realized just how thoroughly trapped he was. The couch creaked under their combined weight. He tugged experimentally—nothing. Not even an inch. His heart started hammering for an entirely different reason now.

Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod.

Seungmin tried his hardest not to blush. It's been a quick second since he was wrecked thoroughly, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss it.

Fingers hovered. Ten. Twenty. More. Wiggling menacingly just above his tummy, his ribs, his sides, his hips. The air itself seemed to vibrate with impending doom. God, he was so fucking screwed. There was no way he'd make it out of this alive.

Seungmin’s golden retriever confidence evaporated in a single heartbeat. His body tensed like a live wire, already twitching in anticipation before anything even touched him. He whined, breathless, trying to squeeze his eyes shut but somehow still stare through a slit in his eyelids.

Minho’s voice was low, dangerous, and way too amused. “You’ve been a brat all night, puppy. Time for some humbling.”

.....

AND THEN THEY WENT TO SLEEP BECAUSE I SAY SO.

good night guys and HAPPY APRIL FOOOOOLSSSS :DDDDDD

based off of this moment!!