#lee's wild scribbles

[littlespidermonkey]

I think in the universe where the Cullens aren't in Forks, Bella Swan takes a while to come out of her shell, but when she does, she's witty and passionate and smart as a whip, even if she's still quiet and reserved. She sits with Jessica Stanley, who demands the best of everyone, and tells her friends about her boyfriend down on the rez, who is sweet and caring and funny and good with his hands, who works for everything he's ever had.

After class, during a sleepover, Bella whispers to tell Angie and Jess about the night after prom, even though her father, loving and careless, worries about her only a normal amount and loves Jacob Black like his own. When she gets into Dartmouth--all by herself, through study sessions in garages and with Jessica and in Angela's house--she chooses to go to Stanford instead. She misses the heat and light on her skin, even after falling in love with the rain. Jessica comes with her; Angela and Eric go to U of Washington in Seattle instead, for education and journalism respectively.

Bella makes sure to call every week and then one day she drives down to Seattle and her boyfriend, warm like the sun she loves and at least twice as reliable, becomes her fiancé. The ring isn't especially big or ornate or pricey, but the way she smiles could trick anyone into thinking that it was. All of her friends, new and old, are waiting at the small party afterwards, and Bella laughs the entire time. The engagement cake--chocolate, her favourite--is sweet and moist against her tongue.

She moves back to Forks once she gets her masters in information sciences and becomes the town's librarian. She gets married a month before the move, barefoot in the surf and her old prom dress, both her parents weeping with joy and Billy Black beaming damn near as bright as his son, Sue Clearwater holding his hand.

She raises her kids --both beautiful children, blessed with Jake's thick, long hair--with Angela and Eric's and takes them down to Los Angeles to visit their auntie Jess and her husband Quil, who lavishes them with gifts from her career as a top surgeon. She jokes about having to support Quil's career as an environmental lawyer and displays each and every one of his wins alongside her diplomas. When William Black II decides he wants to be a doctor too, she writes him a shining letter of recommendation to her alma mater. Sarah, who has always been the spitting image of her father, joins and eventually takes over Jacob's mechanic shop.

On occasion, Bella fights with Jacob, even though he's the love of her life. Despite this, she is never afraid of him, and he never stops her from doing what she wants. Instead, he goes out and works on his cars and comes back in an hour later with slightly greasy hands and a bouquet of flowers from Emily Young's little garden, planted to celebrate her cousin Leah Uley's wedding. Bella makes him muffins, recipe courtesy of Sue and missing bites courtesy of Seth, Colin, Sarah, Will, and Claire, with raspberries, not blueberries, just how Jake likes them. They make up, and they make changes, and they go on.

Eventually, both slower and quicker than she realizes, Bella gets old. She lives in fear of losing herself, of losing her husband and her children, like her grandmother had. But she remembers her grandkids to the very end, even gets to meet her first great-grandchild a week before it happens. Her heart gives out before her brain does, too weak and too slow.

It was too full of love, the letter from Jacob says. Sarah reads it. Her father passed a day after his wife--simply too heartbroken to live without her. Much of the town of Forks and hordes of family attend their funeral, remembering a life well lived.

It is an unremarkable life, in the grand scheme of things. She does not live to be a thousand; she is no great beast, with speed like the wind and strength; she does not discover her powers or lead a great defiance. Bella Black, happy and human and surrounded by love, could never imagine wanting anything else.

[nonbinary-androids]

I couldn't get the full fic out in time, but here's a snippet from versions of me, my post Magisterium fix-it fic! This is from the last chapter, at Tamara's graduation party.

Someone a few years younger than him approached, at first cautiously, then strode over boldly. There was no fear in her eyes as she spoke, but plenty of derision. “Are you Alex Strike?”

Aaron smiled at her. “Actually, it’s Hunt.”

As if they’d put it on a cue, Call swooped in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey,” Aaron said, looping an arm around Call’s waist.

“Hey, baby,” Call said, barely sparing the stranger a second glance. Instead, he gave Aaron the biggest, goopiest love-eyes he could and kept the playful smirk on the side of his face where she couldn’t see. “All set to go home?”

“Definitely.”

As soon as they were into their car and away from spying eyes, Call burst into laughter. Aaron let himself crack too, giggling with his husband.

“Actually it’s Hunt? Holy shit, Aaron, that party’s going to go wild,” he cackled.

Only a few years ago, Aaron would have submitted himself to the whims of the Assembly’s desires for him, probably wouldn’t even have shown up at the party in the first place. Now?

“Didn’t even mention that it’s Dr. Aaron Hunt,” he replied, putting his hand on Call’s shoulder. “I thought I was quite reserved.”

“Heads would have exploded if you’d mentioned that,” Call said, turning on the car. “As it is, I think Tamara’s going to be late. Probably getting a lot of questions.”

[emmiesoverthemoon]

AISLE BE DAMNED

two: closer than my comfort allows

wc: 6.3k ss count: 8 < previous | navigation | next >

friday, 2:50pm

the florist studio is tucked into the edge of the city like it belongs somewhere else entirely— glass walls half-swallowed by ivy, a hand-painted sign that reads blush & thistle, and the thick, heady perfume of fresh blooms rolling out onto the street like it’s trying to pull you in.

you’re early for once, as opposed to being just on time.

you stand just outside the doorway, one hand shading your eyes from the afternoon sun as you scan the carefully curated front window: a spiraling bouquet of peonies the color of spilled champagne, ranunculus with edges kissed in soft coral, and something vaguely poetic and wispy in cream. the arrangement is asymmetrical in the way only the most meticulous hands can make look effortless.

it smells like the kind of life you never admit to wanting.

you close your eyes for a breath, let it catch at the back of your throat. it already smells like the wedding. like the version of it you can see in your head— soft, decadent, wild around the edges but structured just enough to hold its shape. like magic, but orderly.

a place where nothing gets dropped. where the timeline bends without breaking. where everything just works.

“i knew you being early as a concept was real,” comes a voice behind you. dry. familiar. amused. “but seeing it in person? shocking.”

you turn without even flinching.

“oh my god,” you say, deadpanning. “you’re early and funny. someone write this down. it needs an entire section in the history books that will be studied for generations to come.”

minho steps beside you without looking over. he’s dressed more casually this time— well, casual for him. a slate-grey sweater layered cleanly over a collared shirt, coat folded neatly over one arm, sleeves already pushed to the forearms like he’s bracing to fix something broken. even now, he looks like a walking google calendar. somehow both timeless and scheduled.

he doesn’t glance at the flowers, just pushes open the glass door and steps inside like he’s done it a thousand times.

you follow behind him. “you didn't tell me this place was so fancy.”

“you never asked,” he replies, voice low as his eyes sweep across the shop’s glossy floors.

inside, the florist is already setting out samples on a long oak table— velvet-lined trays of boutonnières arranged like jewelry displays, pale rose bundles rising from glass cylinders in perfectly staggered tiers, tall taper candles resting in antique brass holders that glow soft gold under the skylights. it’s as close to sacred as a planning space can feel.

you catch your breath for a second.

minho, naturally, doesn’t blink.

he slides his coat onto the back of a nearby chair with surgical precision, then rolls up his sleeves and starts flipping through the sample binder like he’s clocking in at a job he plans to outperform.

you narrow your eyes at him. “you’re awfully comfortable.”

he shrugs. “i like efficiency.”

but then he pauses. his fingers stop mid-turn over a page showcasing a trailing jasmine installation, its shape loose but elegant— intentional, but not rigid. something about the mess that makes sense.

he taps the page once.

“this one,” he asserts.

you blink. “…really?”

“your cousin will love it,” he replies simply. “you were right about the overgrown romantic thing.”

you stare at him.

not just because he said it. but because he said it like it cost nothing. like you being right was a given, not an anomaly. like you weren’t supposed to be on opposite ends of a never-ending argument.

“mark the calendar,” you mutter. “lee minho said something nice and no one has died.”

he rolls his eyes. “yet.”

the walkthrough begins in earnest. the florist leads you both through timelines, options, backup options. you follow her across the studio, scribbling in your notebook, nodding in all the right places, but your eyes keep drifting back to minho.

he’s not watching you. he’s not really watching anything.

he’s tracking.

when your pen slips from your notebook, he catches it mid-fall and sets it silently beside your hand. when the florist struggles with the ladder, he steps in without hesitation, holding it steady with one hand while helping rearrange a stubborn garland with the other. when she asks if you'd prefer the jasmine woven through the arch or draped more freely, you pause, unsure— and minho just says, quietly, “the drape. it catches the light better.”

you watch him without meaning to.

watch the way he folds his sleeves again as they start to slide. how he wipes his palms on his pants before handling delicate pieces. how he does things without being asked, does them well, and says nothing afterward.

it’s infuriating.

it’s— kind of amazing.

he’s not just good at this. he’s quietly good.

the kind of good that doesn’t need credit. that doesn’t point to his work when he’s done. that just makes sure the thing gets finished the way it’s supposed to.

you hate how the chaos seems less sharp when he’s near it.

you hate that you didn’t see it sooner.

you hate that you are seeing it now.

and you really, really hate the way your stomach flips when he steps back from the archway, nods at the florist, and says, “better. now it looks like it was meant to be here.”

what the hell is this supposed to mean?

later, as the florist talks through delivery dates, you find yourself zoning out just enough to realise how close the two of you are standing now. how his shoulder brushes yours each time he shifts weight. how he doesn’t seem to mind.

he notices everything, and yet— he doesn’t step away.

you’re not sure what that means.

you’re not sure you want to know.

you scribble a few final notes. mostly for show. your brain is a fog of jasmine, candle wax, and the smell of minho’s cologne that is unfortunately expensive and effective.

the florist asks for a final decision on what centrepieces and small motifs you’d like to order for the dining tables.

you open your mouth to speak, but before you do, minho leans forward, just slightly.

“she wants the low ones,” he affirms. “so people can see each other across the tables.”

the florist nods while ticking a section in her binder, then turns away.

you look at him.

not annoyed. not defensive.

just—

“how’d you know that?”

he shrugs. doesn’t look at you. “your eyes hovered over that section of the page for almost a full minute.”

you blink.

“…what?” he questions, catching your stare.

“nothing.”

“you’re doing the face.”

“what face?”

“the one where you realise i’m useful.”

you scoff. “i’d rather die.”

he grins.

not smirks. grins.

full, unguarded, slightly lopsided, but bright across his whole face. not for show, not for spite.

just for a second.

just for you.

and it hits you somewhere low and warm. something small but deep and entirely unprepared for.

you look away. immediately.

the florist clears her throat gently. you say something vaguely articulate.

he doesn’t look at you again.

when the meeting wraps, he helps pack the samples with the same quiet competence. he holds the door for her, thanks her for her time, checks the time and murmurs “on schedule, good” under his breath.

you linger by the car after. watching his hands as he scrolls through his calendar. efficient. focused.

you try not to notice his sharp knuckles or the veins raised along his wrists and hands that contorted with each of his movements.

you fail.

you used to think he was cold.

now you’re starting to wonder if he’s just careful.

and if maybe—just maybe—there’s more under that surface than either of you are ready to say out loud.

friday, 8:14pm

saturday, 12:48pm

sunday, 4:23pm

he should have said no to meeting at her place.

he should have said no the second the words “you can just come over, i have snacks and post-its” appeared in his texts like that was a normal thing to offer your co-planner. like it was a completely neutral suggestion to invite someone you had spent the past week or so bickering with into your living room with snacks and oddly aggressively colour-coded planning boards.

he told himself it was fine. he would stay an hour, maybe less. they would rearrange the seating chart, double-check the RSVPs, confirm vendor follow-ups, and move on. he wasn’t there to hang out. or linger. or notice things.

but now he was standing at your door, folder under his arm, coffee in his free hand, staring at the crooked little magnet on your front door that read:

no bad vibes (and also no men with opinions)

he stared at it for five seconds.

then knocked.

the door swung open on the second knock. you were already mid-sentence, wild and animated, one sock bunched halfway down your ankle like you hadn’t stopped moving all morning.

“ignore the mess,” you spoke quickly before he could get a greeting in, backing up into the apartment. “i’ve been in wedding-brain for three hours and i’m down a glue stick and most of my dignity.”

he stepped inside.

the first thing he noticed was the smell. vanilla and paper and something faintly like clean linen or lotion. the second thing was the absolute chaos spread across your living room floor. cushions tossed around a coffee table covered in seating cards, floor plan sketches, colour swatches, and the remains of what looked like a very enthusiastic snack run.

it looked like a storm made of washi tape had landed here and been told to get married.

“you said this would be a working meeting,” he said.

“this is a working meeting,” you replied, nudging a space clear on the floor for him to sit. “it just happens to include a little pizazz. and comfortableness. essentials!”

he didn’t roll his eyes. not outwardly.

but he did hesitate before lowering himself onto the floor beside you.

close. too close, maybe. but the coffee table left no room for distance.

“we’ll be quick,” he informed, opening his folder. “just seating and caterer reconfirmation. no need to—”

“minho,” you interrupted, reaching across him for a pen. “i designed laminated name tags! see?”

he blinked.

“you… laminated them?”

you held one up like it was a trophy, waving it proudly. “mhm, we’re not animals in this household.”

he didn’t respond. but he felt the corner of his mouth twitch once. involuntarily.

they settled into the work slowly.

or rather— you settled. you were cross-legged, phone propped against a jar of markers, flipping through guest notes and muttering about which side of the family was “least likely to start a scene,” or who was most incompatible with the elders of the family. your handwriting was neat but frantic. your mind, faster than your mouth.

he sat straighter. made notes in real time. watched your process like it was a foreign language he almost understood.

and slowly—almost annoyingly—he found himself syncing to it.

you spoke in half-formed ideas. he filled in the blanks.

you reached for one name, he already had it sorted alphabetically.

you frowned at the spacing when it felt off, he adjusted the layout with three quick gestures and no fanfare.

he didn’t ask questions. he didn’t announce when you had made a mistake. he just fixed it, no questions asked.

and for once, you didn’t fight him on it.

sometime between the third snack break and the fourth round of placements, he started noticing things.

like how you always tapped the side of her pencil twice before suggesting a change.

how you rechecked the same line of the guest list even after he’d confirmed it.

how you would squint at the chart with the intensity of someone trying to win an argument without saying a word.

and also— how your knee kept brushing his.

not deliberately. not flirtatiously. just the accidental contact of two people sitting too close for too long, both pretending not to notice.

but minho did notice.

he noticed it every time.

and the longer they sat there, the more aware of you he became. not in a distracting way. not even in a romantic one.

just… aware.

your perfume. faint. sweet. nothing showy. just you.

your fingers. always moving. fidgeting. rearranging.

your voice. lower when you were focused. softer.

your laugh, when you let it slip between sentences— unconfined, quick, like it surprised even you.

he didn’t want to learn these things. he just did.

“what if we moved table six next to the head table?” you suggested suddenly, breaking his spiral. “it’s awkward now, having these people out by the fireplace. it’s too far.”

he looked down at the map. then up at her.

you were biting the corner of her lip. unsure, for once.

he took the name cards. shifted the pieces around. slid your proposed change into place.

“you’re right,” he agreed.

you blinked. “i am?”

he nodded. “it balances the room.”

you smiled then— soft and easy. the kind that didn’t feel defensive or smug or rehearsed. the kind that made something buzz low in his throat.

“you’re not bad at this,” you hummed.

“you sound surprised.”

“just impressed. you didn’t even sigh once this time.”

“yet.”

you laughed again. this time, he let himself smile too.

they sat in that hush for a long moment. paper around them like flower petals. warm yellow light spilling from the lamp above. your shoulder barely brushing his. his thumb tapping absently against the corner of a card.

he didn’t say the thing in his throat.

the one that sounded a lot like you’re easier to be around than i thought. i like this more than i’m letting myself admit.

he didn’t say anything at all.

but when he reached for the final place card and your fingers met his halfway, neither of you pulled back.

not for a second.

then—finally—you stood, and stretched your arms above your head.

the moment broke like sugar glass.

“i’ll finalise this tonight,” you spoke. “unless you want to triple-check everything in your sleep.”

he stood too. adjusted his folder. gave you a look.

“only twice.”

you rolled your eyes.

he watched you without meaning to.

in the car, on the way back to his side of the city, he stared out the window.

not thinking about anything.

but not not thinking about you.

that was new.

monday, 10:02am

wednesday, 1:27pm

friday, 5:11pm

the sky is a melted spill of lavender and peach, the last sun-glow dipping behind the treetops. the breeze is warm for winter, dusted in late golden hour, and you’re adjusting the strap of your dress with a pit in your stomach and a buzzing under your skin.

you smooth your dress again. fix the collar of your coat. stare at your reflection in the hallway mirror like it might give you instructions.

just take a deep breath.

it’s just minho.

just minho, who once called your table styling “visually exhausting.” minho, who adjusted the itinerary once because your bullet points weren’t “uniform enough.” minho, who made planning feel like a chess match played with garden shears.

except tonight, you are fairly certain he is in a suit.

you do not know that for a fact, but you’ve heard him say “semi-formal” in the exact same tone most people say “murder,” and if he took it seriously—which he would—then he is absolutely out there right now dressed like a warning label for heartbreak.

you are not nervous. you are not. you are just slightly flushed from the glass of white wine you definitely did not drink to calm yourself. and maybe your hands are a little cold, and maybe your thoughts are not particularly safe for work, but—

you peek through the front window.

he’s here.

minho. suit-clad. leaning against the side of his car like he stepped out of a magazine editorial called brooding elegance. charcoal grey jacket and black slacks, tie tied almost too perfectly around his neck. his sleeves are rolled just slightly, enough to reveal forearms and a glint of silver watch that should not make you feel the way it does. his hair is still damp from a recent shower, the ends curling just above his temples.

you grip the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping your knees upright.

and then— your phone lights up. his name. your thumb hesitates above the screen before you answer.

“i’m outside,” he informs, voice smooth, low. irritatingly calm.

you nearly drop your phone. “be down in a sec,” you reply, breathless. “hold your horses. or whatever it is you drive.”

the door opens.

he turns.

you descend the steps one by one, heels soft against the concrete, coat draped over your arms, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes catch— how they stay fixed. the way he straightens up as if jolted by electricity.

he blinks. once. twice.

and then— he swears under his breath. quietly. reverently.

he’s trying to stay neutral. to act like your presence in that dress isn’t causing minor system failure. but he is not fooling anyone. especially not himself.

he opens the passenger door for you.

“you look—” he begins, but then his voice cuts out like he changed his mind halfway through.

“you’re driving?” you deflect, half-laughing, already sliding into the seat.

“i can legally operate a vehicle,” he feigns offense, but his mouth twitches into a smile. he sits in the drivers seat. “don’t act surprised.”

“no, it’s not that. it’s just…” you exhale and give him a pointed once-over. “you. suit. behind the wheel. how dare you.”

“oh how dare i, hm?”

his hands tense around the wheel, knuckles white.

“the way you said that. oh that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you murmur to yourself, quietly enough so that he doesn’t hear.

he does hear it.

the rest of the ride is quiet. not silent, not comfortable, charged. like someone turned the volume down on the world but turned the brightness way, way up.

his cologne coils low in your throat. something clean, something subtle, like cedar, cold water, and a hint of heat beneath. you keep your eyes ahead, fingers fidgeting in your lap, trying not to notice the line of his thigh pressed close, the way his hand flexes on the gearshift. the flick of his gaze toward you at every red light.

he doesn’t speak. but he feels. like static across your skin.

friday, 5:44pm

the venue is glowing when you arrive— fairy lights strung in loose constellations through the trellises, draping low over the courtyard like starlight caught in a net. soft instrumental music filters through hidden speakers, just shy of orchestral, just shy of overwhelming. it pools into the golden hour like it belongs there. like it was written to gild the edges of a night like this.

it’s elegant. lush. dizzying.

it’s everything you had wanted for your cousin. it’s everything you had drafted in sketches, pinterest boards, and blurry midnight notes in your phone.

and it feels real now.

you step inside. and minho is beside you.

not ahead, not trailing behind— just there. shoulder to shoulder. like the rhythm has been established and neither of you are willing to break it now.

you both field questions like co-hosts. not just efficient— seamless. one unit split between two bodies.

he defers to you on décor. you defer to him on vendor logistics. a glance is all it takes for a decision to be made.

people notice.

they always do.

someone’s aunt knocks over a glass of wine with a too-wide gesture. you both move at once— him for the glass, you for the napkins. he catches it mid-fall. you’re already blotting the linen. he holds the glass steady as you reach for it. your hands brush— barely.

neither of you says anything.

but your pulse thuds behind your ears.

he disappears at one point and reappears moments later with a new drink, no explanation. he does not ask if you want it. just places it beside your elbow like it belongs there. there for you if you were to want a fresh glass. he would be unoffended if you left it, you know. he just wants you to have what you want.

obviously only in the context of ease and convenience. nothing else.

you do not thank him out loud.

you just hand him a new place card for table five without being prompted.

this is how it goes now. reflexive. unspoken. comfortably in swing with each other.

you do not touch.

but you almost do.

when you reach across him for the floral sample, your sleeve brushes his wrist.

he doesn’t move.

at one point, you bend to fix the ribbon placement along the sweetheart table. he kneels beside you, adjusting the arrangement opposite your hands with quiet precision. you’re close— close enough to see the shadow of his lashes, the faint crease at the corner of his mouth when he concentrates.

you glance over to him.

he’s already looking at you.

and for one full second, neither of you look away.

your breath sticks.

his fingers pause mid-placement.

then—too fast—he clears his throat and shifts back like nothing happened.

“you handled that toast well,” he compliments—almost smugly—later, voice just behind your shoulder.

you turn your head, slightly.

he’s close enough that the scent of his cologne fogs your senses. warm. dark. something spiced that makes your head hum.

“was that a compliment?” you murmur, lips tilted.

he blinks once. then—quiet, like it’s an accident—he says, “maybe.”

you don’t answer.

but you also don’t move away.

you stand like that for a few long beats. shoulder to shoulder in the half-lit hallway, the sound of laughter echoing off the walls from the next room. the party goes on without you. but your body is tuned to him, now. to the static, the charge, the sharp ache of whatever this is becoming.

friday, 7:32pm

the courtyard is warm with late sun and champagne. the soft glimmer of fairy lights makes the air feel a little enchanted— like something impossible might happen if you just stepped a little farther into the gold.

you step back instead.

a soft breeze trails through the stone archway as you slip away from the bustle, away from the table setup and the politely enthusiastic relatives and the never-ending sea of questions. you don’t go far— just near the fountain, where the string music fades into a gentler hush and the flowers curl around the trellises like they grew just for tonight.

you breathe.

a moment. just one.

and then, your cousin appears. she’s still in rehearsal whites, hair pinned up loosely, glowing with that particular kind of joy that only belongs to the week before a wedding. when she sees you, she smiles like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.

"you look like you needed rescuing," she laughs softly, linking her arm through yours.

you breathe out a soft laugh. "i was hiding."

"same thing."

you stand like that for a moment. the breeze is just warm enough, the laughter from inside low and soft like it's part of the décor.

she pulls back slightly to look at you. "so… how are things going with my two favourite planners?"

you snort. "we haven’t killed each other. yet."

"interesting," she hums, tilting her head, clearly playing innocent. "because it looked a lot like i saw minho refill your glass and brush the hair off your shoulder and laugh at something that was not remotely funny."

"he didn’t—"

"mmhm."

you blink, suddenly aware of the residual warmth in your chest. of the way you’d caught yourself watching him earlier— adjusting the lighting chart, jacket off, tie loosened, sleeves rolled. how he’d glanced over like he felt it too. like he was watching you back.

"he’s just being polite," you dismiss finally.

"he’s never been polite a day in his life."

you glare. "do you want me to plan your wedding or not."

she grins, completely unbothered. "just sayin’. you two are… something."

"something?"

"something. simmering."

a moment passes.

she rests her head briefly against your shoulder, voice gentler now. “thank you. for everything. i know this past time has been hell, i know how he can be to deal with sometimes. i know i dumped you into this on the spot when i asked you.”

you shake your head. “no, you didn’t. i said yes. and… i’m glad i did.”

“even with him?”

“…maybe especially with him.”

she smiles. then, her head perks up like she’s just remembered something.

"anyway—before i forget—do you have next weekend blocked out?"

you furrow your brows. "uh. no? what’s next weekend? i didn't think i had forgotten something was on..."

"oh no, you didn't forget. i just booked this yesterday. it's a super crazy catering presentation, with that chef group you picked out—great taste, by the way. it’s at their fancy vineyard estate a few hours out. the head chef wants you and minho to sample the full menu and sign off."

"that sounds…" you trail off, suspicious.

"delicious?" your cousin offers.

"inconvenient."

"it’s in the evening," she says, all fake-cheerful. "they’re serving everything as a full-course dinner. with champagne pairings. and the estate insists on overnight guests to ‘ensure palette clarity’ or some crap."

"girl—"

"relax. i already booked the room."

"the room? singular?"

"the one room they had left."

you stare at her.

she smiles like she just got away with a crime. "it’s all they had on short notice! i said you were very close coworkers."

"you’re going to hell."

"worth it."

you cover your face with both hands. she hugs you sideways.

"you’re welcome," she smiles into your shoulder. "only good can come from this."

friday, 9:17pm

the champagne goes straight to your head.

not a lot. but just enough.

you’re perched beside him on a low stone ledge in the garden, empty glasses between you, the air full of murmuring laughter and distant violin.

you’re tipsy. not sloppy. you’re still completely in control, just loose around the edges.

your cheeks are warm. your guard’s cracked.

you glance sideways. he’s got one arm draped across his knee, suit jacket folded neatly over a nearby chair, dress shirt unbuttoned just slightly at the collar, tie abandoned to his pocket.

“you look really—” you start. pause. sip your drink even though it’s empty. “—stupid hot tonight.”

minho stills.

you don’t look at him when you say it. you stare straight ahead. pretend it was a joke. a mistake. a side effect of the alcohol.

but he turns slowly.

you feel the weight of his gaze like a hand on your throat.

he says nothing.

he doesn’t need to.

the air shifts. tightens.

his knee brushes yours.

you don’t move.

he should say something. you should say something.

instead, you both just sit in it. the weight of what was said and what wasn’t. the electric hum under your skin. the way your eyes catch on the curve of his mouth every time he exhales.

someone calls you both back, instantly shattering any moment you both were in. minho helps you up and aside to let you reenter the building first, his palm lightly brushing the centre of your back to guide you.

you almost thank him.

you almost reach for his wrist as you pass.

but neither of you breaks the silence.

instead, you fall back into step.

like gravity.

like a pattern already written.

and in every step beside him, in every look passed between wine glasses and candles, the truth lingers beneath the surface:

you are not pretending to hate each other anymore.

but you are still pretending not to want.

and that’s worse.

so much worse.

friday, 10:01pm

it’s later that night, and the party is starting to splinter— guests leaving in soft clusters, heels in hands, speeches echoing in their laughter. minho stands near the exit, nursing the last half of a drink that’s long since lost its chill.

minho does not look for you.

he’s been doing that all night. too much. too obviously.

so now, he’s looking at the chandelier. or the gift table. or absolutely anything that isn’t the swing of your dress across the room.

"you’re brooding," comes a voice to his left.

he turns slowly, and sees the groom looking back at him.

"i’m standing," minho replies.

"brooding while standing, then." his friend clinks their glasses together. “what’s going on with you and my fiancée’s cousin?”

minho exhales through his nose. “nothing.”

"mhmm. and yet here you are, glowering into your whiskey like a tortured protagonist.”

"we’re working."

"you’re working,” the groom echoes, nodding with mock seriousness. “working together. respectfully. professionally. with all that almost-hand-touching and deep eye contact."

minho sips his drink and says nothing.

"anyway," the groom says, smirking now, "the missus told me i was meant to give you a heads-up."

minho raises a brow.

"about next weekend. the vineyard. she booked you both in for the catering run-through."

“right,” minho nods. “the dinner thing was mentioned to me earlier in passing.”

“it’s a whole presentation now,” the groom replies. “chef’s running a full-course mock-up— wine pairings, menu tasting, all that. they’re trying to make a night of it. impress you.”

minho nods once. this was practical. expected, even.

then the groom adds, far too casually: “and they’ve got a room ready for you two.”

minho pauses. “a room?”

“mhm. they only had one left. something about peak wedding season. it's been booked already.”

there’s a beat of silence. the music has shifted— slow, distant, some soft piano instrumental echoing through the space like the tail end of a love story.

minho sets his glass down with a little more force than necessary.

“it’s not weird,” the groom offers, attempting nonchalance. “it’s a huge room. i think. probably. big vineyard. rustic charm. candles and shit. very aesthetic.”

“why would i care,” minho says, voice tight. his attempt to cover the fact that he in fact does care is futile.

the groom’s expression shifts— just slightly. “you shouldn’t. obviously. but you do look a little…”

"i don’t."

“…weirdly tense about it.”

minho closes his eyes for half a second. opens them again.

“we’re professionals,” he breathes evenly. “we’ll manage.”

"mm. you do seem like you're managing. especially when you aren’t staring at her for three minutes straight across the bar."

minho doesn’t reply.

he picks up his jacket from the back of the chair. straightens the collar. and ignores the grin spreading across his friend’s face.

"if it helps," the groom remarks, one last parting shot, “from the time that i've known her, i think she likes working with you.”

minho freezes for half a breath.

then leaves. the silence swells around him, full of everything he didn’t say. didn’t ask.

she likes working with you.

he lets the words sink in.

one room.

one dinner.

not a problem.

not a problem at all.

this might be a problem.

friday, 10:37pm

on the way back, the silence is unbearable.

minho drives.

his right hand stays steady on the wheel, knuckles tight with restraint, the other resting uselessly on the gear shift as though it needs something to grip— anything to ground him. the interior of the car smells like you. your perfume, the faintest trace of champagne on your breath, your laughter still echoing somewhere in the seams of the leather seats.

you do not speak.

you do not dare.

your body is turned slightly toward the window, knees angled just enough to look casual, but not distant. the air between you is vibrating, humming with the static of everything that did not get said. your thigh brushes his once—accidental. then again, more like a whisper. more like your skin asking a question it cannot voice.

he does not flinch.

you are thinking things you are not supposed to think.

what his mouth would taste like— how it would feel to pull him in by the collar and kiss him like you mean it. what sound he would make if you said his name like a secret. if his hands would hesitate or devour. whether his tie is still tucked into his coat pocket and whether he would ever let you tug on it just once.

you grip the hem of your coat tighter in your fists.

outside, the streetlights paint passing gold ribbons across your thighs, your cheek, the line of his jaw when you steal a glance.

a red light.

you risk it.

you look at him.

and he is already watching you.

his eyes are dark, unreadable. but something inside them flickers— something raw and wrecked and wanting. his jaw is tense. his mouth parted like there are words balanced right there on the edge, waiting to tumble out if only he could bear to say them.

he opens his mouth.

your breath catches. you feel it— feel the shift, the second the air grows tight and ready to snap. your lips part too, like maybe this is it. maybe this is the moment everything gives way.

but then—

the light turns green.

he exhales like he’s been holding it in for hours.

and he drives.

he walks you to your door because he is polite. because he is eighty-five percent sure you're still tipsy, and you actually don’t know what you’re doing. (you do know). because if he leaves without seeing you inside, he will worry. because if he leaves without one last look, he will break.

you fumble with your keys.

your hands shake a little— not obviously, not enough for him to comment, but you feel it. the adrenaline of something almost-born still stuttering beneath your ribs. you glance up once, open your mouth. the words are right there, tucked beneath your tongue. i wanted to kiss you. i don’t hate you anymore. i don’t want to pretend.

but he speaks first.

“goodnight.”

simple. even. too smooth to be accidental.

you blink.

“…goodnight,” you echo.

neither of you moves.

he stands there, hands in the pockets of his coat, chest rising slowly. you think he might lean in again, just slightly, barely perceptible— but you see it. you feel it. like the universe is teetering forward with him.

his gaze traces the outline of your lips.

your collarbone.

your eyes.

you are all heat, all pulse, and all maybe, and he is looking at you like he might do something unforgivable.

but then— he tilts his head. just a fraction. and steps back.

“see you soon, get some rest,” he mutters, voice thick, rough around the edges like it scraped against everything he did not say.

you nod. even though you are not ready. even though your mouth aches with every unspoken thing you swallowed down instead.

the door closes softly behind you.

you lean against it. then slide down to the floor in your stupid pretty dress and too-warm skin and heartbeat that does not know how to calm down. you press your palm flat to the hardwood flooring, like if you stay there long enough you might still feel the echo of his footsteps through it.

you want to tell him to come back. say something. scream.

instead, you just sit there, clutching your coat like it might explain anything.

outside, he does not move.

minho stands under the porch light, eyes fixed on the crack between your curtains, trying to convince himself to turn around. to breathe. to forget.

but he can't.

his hands curl into fists inside his pockets, like they’re holding him together. like if he loosens one finger, the whole thing might break.

minho doesn't sleep that night.

and neither do you.

both of you lying in separate beds, in separate parts of the city, thinking the exact same thing:

i should have said something.

i should have kissed them.

but the window of opportunity has closed. and the night has carried on, leaving you in the dust.

saturday, 11:04am

the morning is too bright.

you wake with your cheek pressed into your pillow and your hand curled beneath your chin, the imprint of last night’s makeup faint against the fabric. your mouth is dry. your hair smells like champagne and something floral.

you do not open your eyes right away.

you are remembering things. not dreams— real things.

his hand on the small of your back, guiding you inside like it was nothing.

the look he gave you when you stepped into the car.

the silence between you, thick enough to drown in.

you should have said something.

you roll onto your back with a hefty sigh, blanket kicked to the floor, one arm draped across your stomach like it might hold the ache there still. it is not a romantic ache. not a lovesick one. it is sharper than that. brighter. like your body is still buzzing from a voltage it was never allowed to discharge.

your phone is facedown on your nightstand. you consider ignoring it.

you do not.

the screen lights up in your palm— no messages from him. no messages to him, either. not yet.

your text thread from yesterday is still open, like it’s waiting for one of you to admit something.

it mocks you.

you type out thanks for the ride

then delete it.

you type what would you have done if i brought you inside?

then delete it.

you type did you get home okay?

then delete that too.

you lock your phone and toss it gently across the bed.

in the kitchen, your kettle sputters to life, and you lean against the counter, waiting, eyes still swollen from too little sleep. your dress is still pooled on the chair. your heels by the door.

you don’t feel bad.

you just feel… unsettled.

as if something important almost happened.

as if it still might.

somewhere across the city, minho sits on the edge of his bed, tie still crumpled in the pocket of his coat, phone in his hand. his thumb hovers above your name, unread messages unsent.

he’d meant to text.

he’d meant to say goodnight, or you looked beautiful, or what would you have done if i leaned in?

he doesn’t text any of those things.

instead, he gets up, drags a hand through his hair, and stares at the mess on his desk— your invitation designs, your schedules, your ceremony timings.

everything in its place.

everything but this.

he thinks about your perfume.

the way you looked at him when you said that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.

how your fingers almost touched his at the stoplight.

how he almost said i wanted to kiss you and instead said nothing at all.

he makes coffee, and proceeds to not drink it.

he tells himself to let it go.

he knows he won’t.

you sip your tea slowly.

you scroll through photos you do not remember taking— random areas of the venue, family members you haven’t seen in too long, and only one of minho. it appears to have been taken in a random room at the venue, you think he was speaking with some vendors? the memory is foggy. it’s a candid image, and your slightly blurred-drunken photography gives it a dreamy look, making him appear even more ethereal than you remember.

you stop on that one and stare at it for a long time. it’s like you’re frozen in a daze, he’s so capturing.

then, you open your messages with him and him the image.

just that.

no message. no caption. no follow-up.

you leave your phone on the counter and walk away.

when you return five minutes later, there’s a reply.

your heart stutters once.

you close the thread.

and smile. freely.

you’re alone, and you’re sick of pretending he isn’t the reason for it.

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thanks for reading chapter two! keep hanging around for chapter three and beyond <3

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[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

Hiiii! I’m a big fan of yours! I just want to ask if you can do a lee Seungmin one? Maybe with some rough tickles and some like tools? I would totally love it. But do what you want cause I love it no matter!!!✨🤍

two tired:

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 1.2k

𝙖/𝙣: i have a fever lol IM BACK 🎀 i love this and i love the moodboard OUGHHH

𝙩/𝙬: rough tickles, college! au

𝒍𝒆𝒆: seungmin

𝙡𝙚𝙧: minho

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeonginsdiary @leeknowstan33 @v–143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkytornpagess @lajanaa @a-wild-seungberry

 @channieissocute125 @soap143 @seungsluvv @skznccmlee @moony-9 @sunny-117 @minnielvrr @reginald-stay09 @lunalattae @just-hyunlix-things @skzrosey @kijaswrldd 

@shinywombatcrusade @heartsforvia @kawaiihaille20 @mars-hi1009 @gnabnahcnova @loveskz2901

Their dorm room was technically meant for two people.

Two beds, two desks, two wardrobes—perfectly mirrored. Neat, organized, symmetrical.

Useless. Because one of those beds was already collecting dust. Minho didn’t need it.

Not when he had a human space heater named Kim Seungmin. Minho only ever left his own bed to climb into when he wanted snacks, warmth, or when Seung wanted a very specific type of comfort: being wrapped up in Minho’s arms, like the floppy-limbed clingy puppy he always turned into when sleepy.

And right now, Seungmin? Flat on his back in the center of the mattress. Shirt ridden up. Arms flopped out and legs a tangled mess of socks and sleepiness. Minho flopped on top lazily, completely relaxed, head tilted down where his cheek was pressed into the dip of Seungmin’s collarbone.

Minho was grinning, that wicked sparkle in his eye, as his fingers wiggled right at the hem of Seungmin’s now-ridden-up shirt, grazing across bare, unprotected skin. It so wasn’t fair. Seungmin jerked. A barely audible whine echoed. And when Minho wiggled? Seungmin’s arms snapped down instantly, his entire body tensing.

“Minho, I swear to god if you touch me—”

“Hm?” Minho responded with an evil smirk. “Swear to god what, pup?” The older just pressed himself further down, lying completely flat on top of him with a teasing hum, his cheek smushed into the curve of Seungmin’s shoulder.

Seungmin wiggled like a trapped insect. “I have an exam tomorrow! I’m already stressed…please let me sleeepp…” He groaned. 

“Awhhh, an exam?” Minho pouted mockingly. “I can help you destress, you know.” 

“NO!” Seungmin squealed when he felt Minho’s lazy fingers sneak under his sleep shirt. Min laughed.

God, he loved that sound—loved how Seungmin tried so hard to keep a straight face, to stay strong, to grit his teeth and pretend it didn’t tickle.

But it did. Oh, it so did.

And Minho was merciless.

Seungmin’s face was bright red and he was struggling, a huge muffled smile on his face as he wiggled helplessly. 

Minho dug in just the tiniest bit harder, fingers clawing lightly with his nails down Seungmin’s exposed sides, dragging from under his ribs to the soft spot just above his hips. 

“This is illegal!” Poor Seung barked.

“You look so cute like this,” Minho hummed.

And then—he struck.

That was it.

“NAAAHAHAHAHA NOHOHOHOOOO—!” Seungmin screamed, his laughter exploding from his throat in a burst so loud it rattled the walls. “MINHO—MINHO PLEHEHEHEASE—!”

“What’s wrong, puppy?” Minho crooned back. “Ticklish?”

“NOOOOOAAAHAHAHHAHAA—!” Seungmin erupted, descending into full-blown, wild cackles, his head tossing back into the pillow as his limbs flailed helplessly. “YOU SUHUHUHUCK—HYUNG!!”

Minho giggled, smug and way too pleased with himself. “There’s my giggly baby~” He cooed, not lifting his head, just letting his weight pin Seungmin down while his fingers scribbled viciously at those squishy, trembling sides, hands digging down into those soft obliques. “Awwhhh, what’s wrong, puppy?? Can’t take a little tickle?”

“NOHOHO STAHAHAHA—MINHO—MINHOHYAHAHAHAHAH!” Seungmin squealed, his laughter going full siren mode, high and loud and uncontrollable, and so so so cute. “YOHOU BIHIHIHITCH!! MINHO STOHOHOP—!”

“You’re so squishy~,” Minho teased, squeezing lightly around Seungmin’s waist with both hands, his thumbs brushing into that spot that made Seungmin buck off the mattress with a desperate wail. “Squishy little puppy~ Tickle tickle tickle~”

“I HAHAHATE YOU SO BAHAHAHAHAHHA—!” Seungmin howled, kicking at the air and writhing so much that Minho had to pin his hips down with a knee.

“Liar,” Minho said with a grin, dragging his nails back up Seungmin’s sides again in light, wicked swirls. “You love me. And you love this, so be nice and loud for me and take it.” 

Seungmin’s cheeks were flushed, his chest heaving with hysterical laughter, tears pooling at the corners of his squinted eyes as his body twisted uselessly beneath Minho. 

He let out a helpless squeal and latched his fingers onto his hyung’s back, scrabbling desperately with his nails in a useless attempt to make it stop.

“Shhh, you’ll wake the others,” Minho whispered, and then dug in again, his nails dancing around the back of Seungmin’s ribs where the tickles got worse.

“NOHOHOHOHOHO—PLEHEHEHEHASE IT TICKLES SO BAHHAHAAHAHAD!” Seungmin cackled, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes as he curled and squirmed, but there was no space to run, no leverage to push Minho off. “GEHEHEHET OHOHOHOFFFF!!”

Minho loved that.

It was one of the reasons why the tickle hug position was his favorite. He could feel every muscle twitch and every heave of laughter pouring from Seungmin’s chest. Best part of having a ticklish roommate. 

“Oh~? Someone’s still got sass?” Minho leaned in, dragging one single finger each in a slow, agonizing circle around Seungmin’s lower sides.

“NONONONOHOHO—MINHO—!!”

He could feel his hyung’s grin pressed into his neck as the older dragged and clawed his way down to his hips. 

“HYUHUHUHUHUHUNG!!”

Seungmin thrashed, knees buckling, his whole body convulsing with laughter so loud and wild he actually squeaked. His face was on fire, bright red, and the sound pouring out of him was absolutely feral.

Seungmin arched, but his arms were stuck, his hands flopping uselessly at his feet as he bucked and screamed and laughed until he was gasping for air.

“I can’t even hear what you’re saying~” Minho teased as he danced his nails all over Seungmin’s middle. “Use your words, Minnie~ Or I’ll have to keep guessing.”

“I hate you I hate you I hate you I HATE—NOHOHOHOHO—!”

Minho’s fingers dug into Seungmin’s ribs like he’d been starving for it. Up and down, in and out, sharp little claws dragging between each space while Seungmin arched under him, caught in a position so horrible, so vulnerable, that all he could do was scream with laughter. “IHIHIM SOHOHORRY IM SORRY PLEHEHEHEHASE!!”

“You sure you’re sorry?” Minho teased, dragging a single nail down the firm muscle of the boy’s side. “Say you’re sorry in your nice voice.”

Seungmin practically screamed into the air.

“I’M SAHAHAHAHARRY—YOU JERK—I’M SAHAHAHARRY!!!”

“Eh, close enough.” Minho laughed and finally ceased, hands holding Seungmin’s now burning waist. 

“Ahah…oh my gohohod, that was horrible…” Seungmin panted. 

A loud bang startled both of them. 

Hyunjin’s frustrated voice bled through the wall, loud and clear: “Can an overworked college student get some sleep here?!”

[everettswritings]

Hey. Lee!Candy Apple Cookie and Ler!Shadow Milk Cookie. The 4th Anniversary duo!

Yes! I love them, they’re such a silly father-daughter combo. I need more of them. (Kink/NSFW accounts DNI!)

In the Spire of Deceit, through the bending corridors and the stairs facing all kinds of directions, there was a room featuring a gigantic statue of Shadow Milk Cookie in a pool of pure white milk. Even more of it dripped from the ceiling, sending little ripples bouncing through the pool. With how shiny the milk looked, it seemed ethereal in a way. All was quiet as Shadow Milk Cookie stood at the edge of the pool, deep in thought as he stared at his reflection- he was concocting another scheme, one that would need more care put into it. He then felt another presence entering the chamber.

“You can’t sneak up on me, you know!” He called, not even looking to see Candy Apple Cookie behind him, she giggled excitedly. “You always know what I’m up to! You’re truly the master of all deceit!” She skipped up to her master’s side, gleefully swaying from the left to the right as she watched him think. Shadow Milk Cookie rolled his eyes, “I can’t focus when you’re all squirmy, kid. Go… I dunno, play with dolls. Whatever the children are up to these days!”, Candy Apple Cookie started laughing again “You’re so funny, Shadow Milk Cookie!”. He appreciated the compliment, but he wasn’t even trying to be funny this time. The jester crossed his arms, now he had to think while having adoring eyes on him- not to mention the occasional giggle that came from her or excited feet tapping on the stone floor. You know, you never really understand how loud someone truly is until you take them somewhere quiet!

Even though it was humorous, Shadow Milk Cookie was growing a little tired of it. He didn’t have a mission to send her on just yet, there really wasn’t much to do around the spire itself, so what could he occupy her with? Great, now he was being distracted from his initial plan even more! However, when Candy Apple Cookie giggled quietly again, it gave the Beast an idea.

“Candy Apple Cookie, my dear, do you mind standing in front of me real quick? Please?” He asked, playing up the politeness, to which she immediately got up in front of him. She was so quick to listen! “Perfect! Now sit still and-“ He didn’t even finish his sentence, he started tickling his loyal servant mercilessly, roughly scribbling all over her sides. She started to bounce and squirm like she was hopped up on sugar, “Kyahahahaha! Hahahahaha! Hahahahaha! I should’ve known!” She squealed and fell onto Shadow Milk Cookie, who lowered himself and her down to the floor. “Yeah, you should’ve!” He teased “You should know all the tricks up my sleeve by now!” He continued tickling her, now making little beeping sounds as he started giving little pinches all around her sides. Candy Apple Cookie had hearts in her eyes and her pale cheeks were bright pink, the little scamp was enjoying this! No matter, when it comes to tickling, it’s more fun when everyone’s enjoying it.

“Hahahahahaha! Hahahaha! Kyahahahaha!” She snorted as she continued laughing, not even trying to protest or break free. “Was that a little oink I just heard?” Shadow Milk Cookie grinned, poking at her to make her snort again, “That was a little oink! Oink, oink, oink!” He kept poking to make her do it again and again. He then started to pinch at her knees, making her kick like a wild horse, all while humming the cancan. Candy Apple Cookie was just laughing and laughing! It seemed like she was barely making any stops to breathe. The beast snickered to himself, thoroughly enjoying this little predicament. He then took his hands off and leaned down, he took a deep breath and blew the biggest raspberry all over her tummy that he could muster! The sound was loud, it echoed through the chamber, and so did Candy Apple Cookie’s giggling. “KYAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!” She wheezed “HAHAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHA!” Her face was now as red as the apples in her hair, but soon it looked like it would turn blue.

Shadow Milk Cookie let her go, still smiling from ear to ear, “Had enough?” He asked and Candy Apple Cookie shook her head “Never! Come on, I need more tickles!” She gave him puppy eyes. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Maybe later, kid, I think you need to breathe.” He shook his head, she pouted, “Please? That was so much fun!”. This was something new; normally the poor cookies that were at his fingertips would beg for mercy, beg for no more! Ah, well, he may as well take advantage of an excited lee. “Fine, fine!” He chuckled “The tickle monster’s gonna give you another visit… starting now!” His hands darted for her tummy, making the little cookie squeal and immediately start giggling again. The beast stole a quick glance at their reflection in the pool, he could’ve sworn that he saw his old self and another cookie from long ago, but he shrugged it off and focused on making Candy Apple Cookie laugh. And laugh she did, for hours on end that day.

End of fic! Thanks for reading. I don’t have much to say or ramble about, I just love these little sillies. These absolute goobers. Have a good one 🫶

[breakmeoff]

I have a crazy, harebrained idea.

You guys remember the Choose Your Own Adventure books we read as kids? I think doing something like that could be a kind of fun collab idea.

Hear me out. 😂

10ish of me and my fav writers decide to write a joint story. I come up with a concept, and write it out in 300-500 words. Then I tag in the next writer to continue the story however they want in 300-500 words. Then they tag in the next writer.

Say the story is about Chan confessing his love for the reader, and he's sobbing on his knees and then... GD pops in, dressed as a clown, and tells reader that Chan's whack and she should be with him. Then a SMAU pops up with Lee Know telling you your pup Seungmin is in heat! But wait! Then Thanos shows up with Felix and they take reader to the hospital to say goodbye to her dying grandmother. AND THEN Jackson Wang shows up as her doctor and bends her over the nurse's station and fucks her woes out of her.

THE WORLD IS OUR OYSTER!

You wanna go from smut to angst? Angst to crack? Crack to love and child birth? DO IT.

Let me know if you're interested because I think this could be wild and fun lol.

Also, I threw some of my fav writers on here for shits and giggles but by no means does this obligate you OR if you want your name in? TELL ME! I'M OPEN TO ALL! ❤️❤️❤️

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

@angel-writes-skz-here @emmiesoverthemoon @makeitworse @pixie-felix @gdinthehouseee @mashtatosworld @berfgrimm @moontabi @leriexoxo @fenya-scribbles @sereia4skz @flymetothexmoon @baby-yongbok @sunshinesfreckless

[headinthecloudssssssss]

What gave me away?

This is a tickle fic! And my first one too! Fandom: Windbreaker

Ler: Suo

Lee: Sakura

Words: 1054 words

ꕤꕤꕤ

“Sakura-san… are you still here?” 

Nirei waved his hand in front of the teenager in front of him, but Sakura had already lost focus, his eyes darting towards the eye-patched guy sitting on the couch next to him. 

Suo took one final sip from his tea cup and then gracefully leaned back into the couch. 

Perfect. 

Sakura smiled to himself, slowly inching towards Suo like a cat eyeing his prey. 

“Sakura-san?” Nirei questioned his friend’s weird movements.

Yet Sakura ignored him, and couldn't hear him, in fact. His eyes were fixed on the spot next to Suo’s stomach. 

That’s the spot, Sakura thought to himself.

One poke and he can get Suo to laugh. One poke and he can get his sweet, sweet revenge. 

Swiftly but surely, his fingers aimed for the spot—  

Yet right before he could reach the spot, a strong hand grabbed at his wrist.

Sakura tilted his head. This wasn’t part of the plan. He looked up at his captor, and saw his purple-haired friend playfully glaring at him. 

“What do we have here? A trapped kitten? Hello there, Sa-ku-ra-kun~” Suo chirped. 

Suo’s smile was ever so bright, but his eyes flickered with a hint of darkness, his smile mischievous. 

Sakura’s heart flipped. 

This is bad. Really, really bad—

He dares not look at Suo, who had a Cherise cat smile placed on his lips, his eyes glistening with mischief. He is sure he’ll die blushing if he looks at Suo, either from embarrassment or from the tickles yet to come. 

There is only one word, one cry in Sakura’s mind.  Abort mission. 

Sakura tugged at his wrist, but Suo only held them a bit tighter. 

“Let me go, you idiot!” Sakura fumbled. 

Nirei looked up at the two. “Ohhh… so this is what it’s about.” He said. 

“Yes, and I suggest you run if you don’t want to be next, Nirei-kun.” Suo grinned, and giggled to himself when Nieri bolted out of the room.

“Traitor!” Sarkura yelped, though his attempts were futile. No one is here to save him from the predicament he’s put on.

 From behind him, Suo let out a soft chuckle, before turning his gaze back to Sakura.

“Ahh… so close. One more second and you would have taken your revenge.” Suo shook his head at Sakura. 

“You ought to be sneakier, Sakura-kun. Like this.” 

Sakura barely had time to register the words that Suo had said before he felt a finger poke at his stomach. 

“Ah!” Sakura yelped, eyes widening, bringing his knees up to protect his stomach. 

“Wait, that’s a cute sound.Do it again.” Suo’s words dripped with amusement. 

The very next second, another well-placed poke to Sakura’s stomach sent him jolting again, the “Ahh” slipping out of his mouth. 

Sakura heard his captor trying but failed to stifle a chuckle, and he felt himself blushing. 

“Suo-san!!!” Sakura cried out. How dare he make fun of him! He was going to punch Suo so hard it will break his nose, and—

“Yes…?” Suo replied teasingly.

 Just as Sakura was about to open his mouth and reply, long,delicate yet devious fingers scribbled gently but rapidly against his stomach,at the spot right below his belly button.

The electric sensation immediately overwhelmed Sakura’s brain, and he can’t remember anything but focus on the fingers playfully tormenting him. 

The words Sakura was about to say were replaced by loud wild giggles. 

“Hmm? What were you about to say, Sakura-kun?” Suo teased. 

“You… hahaha…you’re a haha menace!” 

“Me? A menace?I’m hurt, Sakura-kun. First you tried to attack me, and then you called me names? You need to be punished severely.” Suo smiled sinisterly. 

And with that, Suo dove his hand right into the centre of Sakura’s belly button, watching in delight as Sakura let out a loud squeal and dissolved into cackles. 

As much as Suo hated to admit, he liked seeing Sakura like this. Laughing and blushing instead of his usual scowling. Of course there is nothing wrong with his tsundere friend’s usual expression, it’s just that once in a while, he would like to see Sakura laugh with his friends because of something silly like this. 

“N-not there!” Sakura screeched, flailing around, as Suo found his fingers dancing at Sakura’s upper ribs. 

Suo smiled. He hit the jackpot. “Where? Here?” Without a warning, he dug his fingers into Sakura’s armpits. 

The screech that Sakura let out was deafening. 

Sakura thrashed around, loud laughter spilling out of his lips uncontrollably. This is unbearable, this is unbearable… 

Luckily, just as Sakura was about to reach his limits, Suo retrieved his hand, leaving a panting mess of him laying on the arm of the couch. 

“You act like I took the life out of you.” Suo grinned, scooting over to rub Sakura’s back to calm him down. 

Sakura tensed when he felt the touch, but relaxed and leaned towards it when he felt that he wasn’t going to get another tickle attack so soon. 

“You suck.” Sakura spat out one last insult at Suo, and Suo only laughed. Sakura isn't ready to take another round, but he will save this piece of information for tickle attacks another day. 

“Really? You never asked me to stop, nor tried to grab at my wrists.” Suo asked. 

Bingo. Sakura felt his cheeks flame up. He couldn’t think of a valid comeback, so he only turned his back against Suo.

So cute… Suo cooed. 

“What… gave me away? Is it Nirei-kun?” Sakura asked. 

Suo smiled at his friend’s confusion. Sakura was probably still in disbelief that Suo counter-revenged on his revenge.

 Cute.

“Your eyes. You checked to make sure I’m in a good mood and in the right time and place before you pounce.” 

Sakura only grumbled in response. 

“Oh, don’t be sad~ I appreciate it. How you always look out for your friends even if it is just a tickle fight. You’re caring, kind, and…” 

Suo snickered to himself when he saw Sakura get redder and redder with each praise. It wasn’t until Sakura held out a hand to cover Suo’s mouth did Suo burst out laughing. 

“Just so you know, I’m getting you back next time. Tenfold.” Sakura threatened, looking at Suo with that competitive glint. And Suo returned that statement with a smirk.

“Looking forward to it.” 

ꕤꕤꕤ

Writer’s notes:

Ahhhh I finally wrote the fic that’s been on my mind for ages. Hope you all enjoyed it?

[toniko]

There was a time when I thought the ORV side stories (big number 5) was something you could read IF you wanted more ORV after the ending. That if you wanted to think what you like & enjoyed the open ended ending then it’s probably better that way. Totally changed my mind now.

I think it’s actually such a disservice to miss out on reading the ORV side stories (the big one) right now. I mean it’s literally around 300 chapters right now (a little over half of ORV). Like, I can hardly call it a piece of side media right now, it’s practically ORV 2, events directly proceeding the original novel!!! In fact, the original ORV characters haven’t found peace or anything (sorry) they’re still going!!! That’s the truth! Character that have seen their ending continue on!

The orv side stories are so good, every single character that received extra focus in it became like 100% better it’s so crazy, from KimCo characters like Lee Gilyoung, Lee Jihye & Jung Heewon to side characters Anna Croft & Uriel to extras Cheon Inho & the 10 evils (generally) . There’s new characters! More to love! More to cry over! The world opens more, scenarios like it keeps going and going and going and truly feel that damn TWSA ran for a decade long (I mean as if it didn’t seem like there was enough, there’s even more right?

I think we gotta stop doing the “I just finished ORV now I have to cope with finishing it”, there IS more bro and it’s literally ongoing nonstop until who knows when right now. The only caveat is that you have to pay *checks scribbles on palm* 100 won for a chapter (and show proof to a translator)

done telling people to accept the ending that they wanted. NAH are you guys readers or not, is there not more story to witness. but it’s also. so many of you love ORV, love this story like I do. I think the fact that this story still had room and absolutely decided to explore it in a wild direction, in a style reminiscent ever of the ORV main story (and so so many parallels) that if you still haven’t read it you’d be missing out on another chapter of this story

(no but in the end accessibility is still the problem and KR novel companies like munpia are way too DMCA happy so that’s why it’s so thoroughly uh underground? but trust me if there’s a will there’s a way… guys it’s so worth it, trust)

[tickle-headcanons]

Blot (Dandy’s World) Headcanons please! :3

(Ye :3) 🎭 Blot the Mime – Tickle Headcanons 🎩

General

Pure Lee ➤ Like. You literally can’t convince me this boy isn’t horrifically sensitive ➤ He's made of living, inky goo!! With stretchy limbs and an expressive body—he’s a tickle magnet ➤ Bonus: the more he freaks out, the more his limbs melt into goo and flop everywhere 😭

Does not make a sound, but his reactions? Off. The. Charts. ➤ Silent laughter, wild twitchy spasms, full-body flails—and maybe even a squeaky snort if you push him far enough 😳

🖤 Lee!Blot

You know how some people are super quiet but then lose it IMMEDIATELY when tickled? ➤ Yeah. That’s Blot.

Worst spots?? • Underarms – Complete jelly. No control. Goo arms everywhere. • Neck/collar – Especially the goo drips around his hood/shoulders—instant stiff giggly mime freeze • Behind the knees – Surprisingly lethal. DO NOT ATTACK unless you want to summon wiggly rage • Sides/ribs – He covers them up with those big mime gloves but… they’re SO vulnerable

His nonverbal struggling is hilarious ➤ Tries to mime a stop sign mid-fit ➤ Accidentally pulls the classic “trapped in an invisible box” motion while flailing 😭

If you tease him with fake mimed tickling gestures?? ➤ He starts reacting BEFORE you even touch him ➤ “Ohhh~ You can feel it already~?”

🎩 Ler!Blot

He is SILENT. DEADLY. AND MERCILESS. ➤ Glides in without a sound ➤ Waggles his fingers with the most mischievous grin ➤ And then. POUNCES.

You won’t even see it coming. He’ll “mime” where he’s going to tickle—then suddenly tickle somewhere completely different 😈 ➤ “?~ymmut ruoy rof gniog saw I kniht uoy diD” scribble scribble under your arms

Gets this super smug bounce to his steps while you’re breaking down

He may not speak, but the ✨expressive teasing✨ is RELENTLESS

And when you’re a total puddle? ➤ He does a lil bow ➤ Offers a thumbs-up like “10/10 performance” ➤ Then helps you sit up and mimes a heart with his goo hands 🖤🥹

[cryingatwindermerepeaks]

Eyes Open - Chapter One

A safe and sound prequel. I intent to make it through the whole series - following or diverting from canon as much as I choose. I’ll focus on different characters as I go, starting with LottieNat because they are the start of everything ever for me. Anyway - I hope everyone enjoys this!

Notes -> flip!lottie, flip!nat, pre-crash, mentions of gore and injury, allusions to Lottie and Nat’s home lives, substance use, part of this is an old fic I wrote and repurposed

Word count: 1770

Winning States had been big for all of the Yellowjackets. As a team, they’d trained and sweated and drilled until they were dizzy and exhausted - dizzy and exhausted, but united. They’d won together - bundling into a blur of blue of blue and yellow in the centre of the pitch. And Nat would never admit it, never let such a sappy sentiment slip her chronically pursed lips, but they’d felt sort of like a family - even in those early days. The buzz of adrenaline carried itself over to the next day, Friday, teetering at the edge of the weekend and the change of life as they all knew it. It was easier than usual for Nat to drag herself out of bed that morning. School had still held its usual doom and gloom, monotonous classes which couldn’t lure Nat away from meeting up with Mike and Bruce in a back alley and wagging until lunch.

Lunch was a non-negotiable for Nat though, Jackie was pretty big on team-bonding lunches (Nat was unsure why because the girl never actually ate lunch and really only ever used the period to pester Shauna and seemingly hide from Jeff) and Lottie always seemed a little downtrodden whenever Natalie wasn’t there to accept the extra lunch her housekeeper kept accidentally packing her. So, Nat did show up to school eventually, only because the Yellowjackets needed her.

The lunch turnout of the day was as it usually was - a way too perky Jackie, nestled right up close to Shauna who was scribbling furiously in her journal with her back against their tree. Laura Lee, picking blades of grass and doing her best to tune out Mari and Allie’s theories about how Amanda B had definitely not been alone in the bathroom stall when Mari had walked past in 1st period. And then there was Lottie, the first to notice Nat’s approach - smile wild and unwaveringly genuine as she peered up through the blinding sunrays to see the bleached blondes approach. Nat sunk down to the grass beside Lottie unceremoniously, letting their shoulders bump together in a way which no one could question given how Jackie was mere centimeters away from straight up shoving her face into Shauna’s. Lottie wordlessly handed Nat a little brown bag which contained a cheese sandwich, and apple slices. Not cut neatly in the way Lottie’s was which really did suggest that the housekeeper had prepared it, but in the sort of untrained, lopsided way Lottie cut up midnight snacks for the many nights Nat spent sleeping on the spare side of her way too big bed - like Lottie holding a knife was a hazard to her own fingers. Nat let her go on thinking she believed it was another over-packed lunch though, happy to accept the not-technically-charity. That was how Nat and Lottie worked - how they had for over a year now, since the first night Nat had tried her own hand in charity as she helped a drunk and distressed Lottie out from a party and didn’t question when the girl asked - through tears - just to be held. Since then, Nat had held Lottie whenever she’d needed it, most sacredly when Lottie wasn’t quite Lottie (or she, for once, actually was Lottie). When she was smaller, and softer, and holding stuffed animals out to Nat and hiding her face behind the soft pink fabric of her most precious blanket. And Lottie had - to her credit - held Nat right back. When Nat’s hands felt a little farther away, and her brain swarmed with thoughts which were too big, too much. Regression, Lottie had explained once. A term explained to her by one of the psychiatrist’s whose role in Lottie’s life was never quite revealed to Nat. Regression, how Lottie and Nat took care of eachother. “Pep-rally next,” Lottie had murmured, and Nat was glad because she’d almost forgotten.

The pep-rally was all pumping music and face paint. Over fast enough, but leaving enough adrenaline in Nat’s body to get her through practice. That was at least - if Tai would stop testing her patience. Talk of Allie this, Allie that, had Nat storming off to try to keep her patience until practice. Nat didn’t have the explosive anger of her father, though the fear always lingered. Her anger came quietly, clouding her judgment and stacking bricks of defence around her. The brick wall of the school building worked just as well for the moment.

Nat slumped down against the wall, bag dropping to the floor beside her and knees folding up to her chest. Lottie was quiet in her approach - not in a deliberate way meant to scare, but in the way that she carried herself which was gentler enough not to cause disturbance. She lowered herself to the floor next to Nat. “It’s so stupid,” Nat grumbled, instinctively leaning into Lottie’s side. Lottie hummed softly in agreement, resting her chin atop Nat’s head. The dry blonde hair pressed gently into her skin. Nat didn’t really have much else to say, Lottie already knew how Nat felt about the ‘freeze her out’ strategy - and was never keen on prolonging unnecessary complaining. Instead of finding something to say to forcibly fill the silence, Nat slipped her thumb into her mouth, letting her eyes drop closed and trusting Lottie would keep an eye out for anyone walking past. No one came, and the two stayed there until it was really time to go to training.

The scrimmage - and the sight of Allie’s bones sticking out cracked and gorey through her skin - had left Nat witj a sickening nausea in the pit of her stomach. The sort of discomfort that made Nat want to check in on Lottie, even though they’d agreed that Lottie would pick Nat up for the party at five forty five.

Lottie’s house was empty. It always was. A part of Nat’s heart ached for the loneliness it insinuated for her girl, but at the same time Nat was glad it meant she could come over as often as she liked. Once the housekeepers filed out at the end of their paid hours, Nat would sneak in through the back door and clamber upstairs to find Lottie - sometimes bent over a stack of homework, sometimes perched on her bed with her pacifier in her mouth and a distant glimmer in her eyes. Today was different though, Lottie’s room was an absolute mess. In the middle of the explosion of clothes, books and toiletries, was Lottie and an empty suitcase. “Jesus Christ, Lot,” Nat breathed - almost laughing at the mess. It was ridiculous that the girl even had so many items of clothing. Lottie turned to face Nat, frustration warring on her features.

“I don’t know what to pack,” she whined, in a manner that made Nat think she was probably heading towards regression.

“Start with your uniform,” Nat instructed, taking it upon herself to begin folding up some of the unnecessary clothes Lottie had pulled out - it was going to be a week, Lottie would not need 3 different winter coats. Despite how put together Lottie seemed to make herself at school, her room was never really clean. It was always so cluttered and chaotic, and Nat felt in the stupidest, sappiest sentiment ever, that it was kind of like the girl’s mind.

They carefully worked their way through Lottie’s clothes, packing what she’d need - a few dresses, a striped top which Nat knew was her favourite when she was little, silk pyjamas. “Why don’t you grab your blankie?” Nat instructed, slipping Lottie’s pacifier into her bag. Lottie’s face snapped towards Nat, her face palling.

“I can’t bring that,” she frowned, reaching across the bed to take her pacifier from Nat’s hand.

Nat sighed, rubbing her thumb over Lottie’s hand where they met. “Lot…”

“No, no,” Lottie shook her head urgently, panicked tears welling up in her eyes. What was her deal? It wasn’t like Nat had suggested she go and take her comfort items out onto the soccer pitch with her. “I can’t. People can’t. They can’t find out.” She pleaded, a striking urgency in her voice.

“Fine. Not the pacifier, but your blanket, please Lot you need it.” Lottie’s face flushed red with shame - it was somewhat undeniable, she did need the stupid thing. No, no, it wasn’t stupid. She’d had the blanket since she was a baby, and as lonely as it sounded, for many years it had been her only companion. She reached under her pillow to pull it out, stroking her fingers back and forth over the soft, faded fabric.

“What if the others see?” She asked, her voice small and shaky.

Nat laughed, an attempt to ease Lottie’s worries. “They aren’t going to see,” She promised. “We’re sharing a room, no one else will need to see.”

“What if someone comes in to say hi?”

“Then you can just hide it.”

“What if it falls out of my bag?”

“Is your zipper broken?”

“No…” Lottie sighed, tracing the fabric against her cheek. She almost felt embarrassed to do it infront of Nat when she wasn’t small, ashamed to admit how reliant she was on such a childish object for stability. But it was Nat… and Nat had seen much worse of her.

“Come on, Lot. You don’t even have to take it out, you can just keep it in the bottom of your bag if you don’t need it. But I don’t want something to happen and you don’t have it.” Lottie could think of a million things that could happen that would make her need her blanket - they lose and it’s her fault, she regresses and Nat rejects her, she has one of her rare episodes when her medication just doesn’t work well enough. They all feel like worst case scenarios, but they prove Nat’s point. She couldn’t handle them without her blanket.

“Fine.” She huffed, holding back the urge to stomp her foot against the floor below her bed as she shoved the blanket right to the bottom of her suitcase.

“I couldn’t convince you to bring the pacifier too, could I?” Nat asked, knowing she was trying her luck. Lottie shook her head, closing the suitcase before Nat could tempt her more.

The tension over bag packing dwindled quickly, instantly really. And then it was time for the party. In all honesty, Nat forgot most of the night after that. When she woke up the next morning and her head was pounding unforgivingly. The desperation to stay in bed and ditch the trio was strong, but she couldn’t - because her team needed her.

[bullet-prooflove]

Palm Sunday: Jamie Dutton x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @alixw22x @vintagedaydreams @madisonbroxson1 @shira666 @zealouslibrariesparadiselight @lovethis-lovethat @foxfables

Companion piece to

Wild Bloom

The second time Jamie Dutton enters your shop, it’s a week later and he’s carrying a large wilting palm. You frown as he sets the thing on the counter in front of you, it’s large leaves draping over the two of you as you study it.

“I think my plant is dying.” He tells you as your fingers caress the yellowing leaves with a frown. There’s a distinct smell clinging to soil surrounding pot, something you are intimately familiar with.

“That’s because someone’s been watering it with gin.” You say as you plunge your fingers into the sticky soil. “I’m guessing from the expression on your face it wasn’t you?”

Jamie shakes his head. He can take a fucking guess who’d be vicious enough to empty the contents of a gin bottle into Palm Sunday, the plant that Lee had given him for his office to liven it up because it had been ‘too damn depressing’.

Beth’s only been back a week and she’s already playing havoc with his life.

“Is there anything we can do to save it?” He asks you with a hint of desperation in his voice because this is one of the last real ties he has to his brother.

You tilt your head from side to side, studying the damage to the stems, the limpness of the leaves, the crisp brown edges and the yellowing parlour.

“Maybe.” You say as you pick up your pencil and scribbling a few notes. “You’ll have to leave it with me for a few weeks. I’ll have to repot it because the soil is saturated with alcohol, clip the dead parts off, I’ve got a mix I use that should strengthen it but I can’t make any promises.” 

“Anything that you can do for it would be appreciated.” He says as you close your notepad and move the palm to a position by the back door so you can triage it. That’s when you notice a sticky label with the words ‘Palm Sunday’ written in black capitals on the pot. You give Jamie a quizzical look and the edges of his mouth tip up into a small smile.

“My brother Lee.” He says by way of explanation. “It was his way of reminding me not to take myself too seriously… and to stop working weekends.”

His actual words were ‘don’t kill yourself in servitude of our father Jamie, for fucks sake give yourself a break’ but he doesn’t tell you that. It was the first time Jamie had realised just how much Lee understood the weight of John Dutton’s expectations, how much they’d weighted on him too.

“It sounds like he used to look out for you.” You say, returning to your stool and Jamie nods his head in agreement, swallowing hard against the emotion in his chest.

“Nobody talks about him you know?” He finds himself saying softly. “Sometimes it feels like he didn’t even exist.”

You sigh as you reach for his hand, clasping it lightly as your thumb soothes over his knuckles.

“People thinks that grief’s linear, that there’s a timeframe and after a certain point you’re just supposed to move on and be done with it.” You tell him, your gaze meeting his. “It really doesn’t work like that.”

“No.” He says tilting his head away, his eyes stinging. “It doesn’t.”

“How about we go out for a coffee?” You say, grabbing your purse from underneath the counter and settling it on your shoulder. “You can tell me more about Lee and I can explain why a gin diet isn’t good for your plants in excruciating detail.”

He laughs then and it’s such a rich sound, one that seems to vibrate through his whole body as you thread your arm through his and guide him towards the door.

“How about dinner instead?” He suggests and you find yourself smiling as he holds the door open for you.

“Ok.” You say as you step out onto the street, taking out your keys to lock the door of the shop. “Let’s do dinner instead.”

Love Jamie? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[miniaturecanvas]

All of my artfight attacks so far! I've been going a lil hog wild cause I know once my days off are up I'm not gonna have any free time...

character credits:

Ozzie: me

Ice Cream: @crowecreates

Equius, Paper Plane, Limelight, High Voltage, Wisteria, and Patchwork: @pitbullprideful

Bebs: graveyardterror on artfight & Instagram

Cryptid Scribble: @clowncryptids

Dean: V8WOLF on artfight

Tea Biscuit and Cookie Swirl: @dannyvhs

Rocky Road: Rippled on artfight (my baby sibling)

Needlepoint: PanBunnyBun on af

Kewpie: SillyDoodler on af

Tutti Frutti: @pvppyboyy

Spongysponge: @waackery

Nova: MonkeyTime100 on af

Cringe Culture: RickyCorpsy on af

Rosey: @judocake

Spark: OceanBeagle on af

Split: Narna on af

Kettle Chip: @pfeffaroo

Meadowlark: @eurasian-jay

Circus Pop: @peachsorbett

Soft Sigh and Rock Lee: Tired-Simon on af

[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

Hi! Can you write a kpop tickle fic of Lee Know tickled Han but mainly focus on tickling the legs? Like the calves, knees and thighs? Thx!!!

Ps leg tickles are so underrated 😓

fine category:

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 1k

𝙖/𝙣: TIS BEEN FAR TOO LONG. happy birthday @ssstarlostx !! this fic is for u and i hope u have a great year ahead :3

𝙩/𝙬: teasing, both soft and rough tickles

𝒍𝒆𝒆: han

𝙡𝙚𝙧: minho

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeonginsdiary @leeknowstan33 @v–143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkytornpagess @lajanaa @a-wild-seungberry

 @channieissocute125 @soap143 @seungsluvv @skznccmlee @moony-9 @sunny-117 @minnielvrr @reginald-stay09 @lunalattae @just-hyunlix-things @skzrosey @kijaswrldd @shinywombatcrusade @heartsforvia @kawaiihaille20 @mars-hi1009 @gnabnahcnova

Jisung’s day was going totally fine. Yep, watching his hyung pelt stuffed animals at his legs, tied to the ends of the chair, arms behind his back, was a totally fine category of his day. 

And that was what he was yelling at the moment.  

“You’re so dramatic,” Minho said sweetly from beside him, testing his grip on a feather duster and clicking his fingers—long, glinting fake nails that had been part of his costume earlier that day. Jisung paled just looking at them.

“Please!! Anything but those—” He whined. “This isn’t fair…I didn’t even do ahanything!!”

“You exist.” Minho deadpanned, eyes narrowing. “Now do you want me to explain the rules?? Of my one person game, which involves you losing either way?” 

“Yes…” Jisung groaned, squeaking when Minho walked over with a pack of stickers. 

“Okay!” He chirped. “Here’s the game: I toss this little guy at one of the targets—” He mimicked a throw with a little underhand lob, then caught it again, “—and wherever he lands, I get to tickle that exact spot. For two full minutes.”

Jisung’s jaw dropped, and his mind began blanking from panic. “That’s not a game, that’s a death sentence!”

Minho grinned. “It’s entertainment.”

And ten minutes later, Jisung was in the chair, face burning, legs trembling, arms bound behind his back, and watching in wide-eyed panic as Minho stepped back, held the quokka in his hands like it was a bomb, and grinned at him with the look of someone about to destroy a man.

“Ready~?” Minho cooed.

“Minho I swear on EVERY SKZOO EVER MADE—”

“Too late~”

And the first plushie flew through the air.

It hit Jisung’s right knee. 

And the ace gasped like he’d been shot. “NOOO—NO NONO NOT THE KNEE—” He shrieked, already pulling at the restraints in a wild, twitchy panic. 

Minho was beaming.

“Ooooh,” He cooed like he’d just won a jackpot, crouching slowly, dramatically, right in front of Jisung’s trembling legs. “First try. Right knee. You know what that means~”

“I’M GONNA DIE!!” Jisung wailed, gritting his teeth and tugging at his restraints. “Hyung—HYUNG YOU KNOW HOW BAD IT IS!!”

“And that’s why I’m going to go gentle.” Minho reassured, although his grin said otherwise. 

His nails skittered in little circles around the softest parts of Jisung’s knee, dancing around the cap, then suddenly scribbling up the edge where it met the thigh. Then back again, lightly, just enough to make Jisung’s laughter pitch climb higher and higher—

And Sungie was giggling like an idiot. 

“Minhoooo!!” Jisung whined. “I cahahahahan’t TAHAHAHAKE THAHAT!!”  

“You’re doing amazing,” Minho giggled, switching hands and doubling down with both thumbs now pressing right into the squishy dip just below the kneecap.

And when the timer rang, Minho stepped back. 

Minho held the plush quokka like it was a sacred weapon.

Jisung, still breathless and twitchy from the first round, had tears in his eyes and a dazed, pleading smile on his face. His left knee was red, twitching, clearly still feeling the aftershocks of the ticklish frenzy Minho had driven him into.

And Jisung’s entire soul left his body the moment the plushie hit him square on the inner thigh—not just grazing a target, not just skimming the edge, but lodging itself perfectly between the two inner thigh bullseyes Minho had oh-so-innocently set up earlier.

“Oh,” Minho whispered, blinking in mock awe. “Double hit.”

“Minho, please…” Jisung gasped out, hips shifting in the seat like he could somehow melt out of the chair entirely. “PLEASE not the thigh, not the—Minho PLEASE!!”

And Minho absolutely pounced, his fingers digging into the muscle without an ounce of hesitation.

Jisung absolutely lost it, instantly squealing so loud it echoed throughout the room. His body jerked, knees yanked inwards instinctively, but they were strapped down tight. All he could do was laugh and giggle and take it.

Minho’s fingers skittered everywhere. Up and down the plush, sensitive skin, around the edges of the taped-on targets, dragging in slow horrible spirals near the crease where thigh met hip.

“Plehehehehease—!!” Jisung squeaked, cheeks soaked with tears, voice climbing higher and higher with every scribble. “Nohohohot thehehehere not theheehheereee—MINHOOHOHOHO—!!”

“But I hit the target,” Minho said sweetly. “Both of them!! Gotta respect the rules.”

He leaned in, his hair brushing against Jisung’s thigh as he focused his evil little clawing just under the edge of the tape, right in the soft dip of flesh, making Jisung’s laughter crack into desperate, cackly little giggles.

“Youhuhuhure so mehehehehehean to mehehehe!!” He wailed, twisting like crazy.

Minho only smiled wider.

He picked up the pace, switching to light spidering for a few seconds—just enough to make Jisung think he could breathe—before suddenly digging in again with firm little kneads of his thumbs into the trembling muscle.

That got the loudest howl yet.

“YOUHUHUHAHHAH—!!”

Jisung was gone. A thrashing, teary mess, drooling and squealing and sputtering out half-syllables of gibberish.

“I’M GONNA DIE—” He gasped, head lolling as he laughed himself red, “I cahhahahahan’t STOHOHOP TIHIHICKLING MEEHEHEH!!”

“You’re gonna laugh.” Minho corrected, glancing at the timer with a grin. “Still one minute to go~”

Jisung screamed again.

Minho leaned in with the softest, evilest voice imaginable. “Want me to use the nails now?”

Jisung let out a sound that couldn’t even be classified as human when Minho’s nails trailed down his thigh, past his knee, and right against his calves. 

This was so unfair. Jisung didn’t even know he was that ticklish there. But now he was thrashing and screeching like a banshee at the feeling of nails dragging along the skin there, and poor Sungie was losingit. 

“OKAHAHAHAHAY OKAY!! I GET IT I GET IT!! PLEHEHEHEHEASE ITS TOO TIHIHICKLISH!!” Sung didn’t even know what he was screeching about, all he could feel was the tickles. 

“Okay okay,” Minho laughed, letting up and watching Jisung pant before reaching back to unclip the restraints. “You did great~”

“Never agahain.” 

“Ehhhh…we’ll think about that later.”

[everettswritings]

Can you do black pearl and captain caviar (you choose which one is lee and ler)

But of course! It feels good to have some free time and motivation every now and then. They don’t say junior year’s the hardest for no reason. Anyways, hope you enjoy! (Kink/NSFW accounts DNI!)

Captain Caviar Cookie, the fearless captain of the Salty Sharks and perhaps one of the only Venerable Elders of the Republic worth looking up to. The man was fearless, the cookies would say. He would look death itself in the eye and laugh! He really cared about his crew and those around him. All of which to say, he was a great man. After all, the rumors were true.

How do I know this? Because he was staring death down right now, and her name is Black Pearl Cookie.

The siren locked eyes with the sea-faring cookie, waiting for him to wince just once. She towered over him, storm clouds swirled above her head in a wild monsoon, and the murky waters below churned like batter in a mixer. She wielded her trident in one hand, the other was held up to her chin as she watched for a reaction. Surprisingly, there was none.

“Are you not scared, little cookie?” She asked, her voice dripping with saccharine.

The captain let out a loud, hearty laugh at her question. “Scared? Me? Hah! Like I’d ever fear some old fish of legend!” He proclaimed, striking Black Pearl Cookie with offense. Her eye twitched, “You should be! I CONTROL THE DUSKGLOOM SEA! I COULD CRUMBLE YOU WITH THE FLICK OF MY WRIST!” She shouted, the sound boomed like fierce lightning, “Oho? A fight’s what you want now, madam?” The captain challenged “Who am I to deny a lady what she wants?” He grinned.

“As if you’d ever stand a chance! You’d get soggy and crumble in the water before you could lay a hand on me!”

“Oh yeah?”

“YEAH!”

Oh, that was all he needed! It was fun when he found another cookie that shared his competitive spirit, even if they weren’t too friendly with it. Friendliness didn’t matter right now, though, what mattered was proving that old fish wrong!

Without a second thought, or another beckoning word, the captain jumped in! Like any skilled fisherman, he held on tight to his catch and wouldn’t let go. He found himself scrabbling around her side, meanwhile she was trying to fling him off with her ceaseless thrashing in the water. He bobbed in and out of the waves with her movements, not letting go for a second! His hand slipped, scratching into the small of her back- at least kind of, and she paused

“What? Y’good?” Captain Caviar Cookie asked, trying to keep his head above the surface, “Silence! It’s none of your concern!” Black Pearl Cookie snapped. Well, that was oddly defensive! Naturally, the captain got curious and started scratching again, and a small laugh escaped the siren’s lips. She quickly covered her mouth, and just as quickly his grin grew wide and wolffish.

He was gonna have fun with this, to say the least. “Ticklish?” He teased, “N-No! Shut up! Pathetic cookie-!” Black Pearl Cookie tried to yell at him, but she was suddenly overcome with giggles as he continued raking his fingers along her dough. “HA! HAHAHAHA! Hahahahaha! Hahaha! Stop it! Little pehehehest!” She kept laughing and laughing, unable to stop herself whatsoever. Wasting no time with it, the captain climbed up onto her stomach, moving his efforts to whatever he could reach.

The siren’s tail flapped, splashing dark waters everywhere as she was tickled relentlessly by the “pathetic little cookie”. “Nohoho!” She tried to flick him away like an insect, but her limbs were already turning to jelly, “Stop! Hahahaha! Hahaha! Quit!” She cackled. Captain Caviar Cookie chuckled, not backing down and scribbling his fingers around even faster, “Coochie coochie coo!” He sang. He could’ve sworn she started laughing even harder. Black Pearl Cookie was, indeed, laughing harder now! She squeed girlishly as he started pinching the dough, still going “Coochie coochie coo!” As he did so.

“Are ya gonna let me sail through now?” He asked, letting go and letting her breathe. She bobbed on the surface of the water, huffing indignantly, then crossing her arms over her chest, “No way! You’re not gonna live to see another day after humiliating me like that!”. The captain looked around, quirking a brow and pretending to think about it for a moment. “Nah!” He finally said.

Before Black Pearl Cookie could object, or even get one word in, she was met with a little raspberry on her tummy. She screamed and howled with laughter! “HAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA! HAHAHA! NOOO!!!” Her tail started flapping again and smacking the water repeatedly, leading to waves and waves rippling throughout the whole sea. Feeling the buzz of the raspberries, the light brushing of his mustache, and the constant scribbling of his hands was all too much! It didn’t help that he started blowing one raspberry after another, either. He was so tiny, he was just a weak cookie, and yet he rendered her to a giggly mess!

Suddenly, she felt the gentlest nibbling of his sharp teeth on her tummy alongside the raspberries! Oh, she completely lost it! “KYAHAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAAAA!” She couldn’t even get a word out! And the pattern was so deathly.

Nibble, raspberry, nibble, raspberry, raspberry, nibble, and so on. It was a nightmare!

“OKAY!!!” She finally caved in “YOU CAHAHAN! PASSS! HAHAHAHA! HAHAHA!” She was just beginning to run out of breath, and finally he stopped. “Why, thank you kindly, madam!” The captain pretended to tip his hat like a gentleman, “All you had to do was say so!” He chuckled. He was proud of winning this little victory.

Black Pearl Cookie rolled her eyes… but a part of her was almost… charmed by his antics today.

the end

AAHAHAHVSHSHSHAHAH!!! CAPTAIN CAVIAR AND BLACK PEARL MY LITTLE SILLIES! This was so… refreshing… to write. Okay, okay! I’ll show myself out! No need for all the tomatoes! Have a good one 🫶

[secretsecretbunny]

Just friends: stray kids smau.

Part 1.5: The Rumor.

paring: lee minho x f!reader - roommate!skz

genre: fluff, angst, roommates au.

warnings for this chapter: angst, cussing, alcohol mention, assault mention, sex mention, fighting.

Notes: ⚠️THIS IS A FLASHBACK CHAPTER. PLEASE READ THE CHARACTER INTRO AND PART ONE FOR THIS TO MAKE SENSE. ⚠️

College. The origins of your friend group date back to your high school days, when you, Chan, and Changbin first bonded over your shared love of music and movies. From then on, the three of you were practically inseparable, supporting each other every step of the way. 

Come freshman year of college, Chan and Bin befriended Minho, someone they met in class, but your friendship with Minho began later on that same semester when you were assigned that fated project together. After you and Minho got over your distaste for each other, your friend group became four, constantly together and causing trouble, much to Chan's dismay. It stayed that way until the start of sophomore year when Chan started inviting his cousin Felix to join in on your hangouts, and then Felix invited Jisung and Hyunjin, and finally Hyunjin started bringing Seungmin and Jeongin around. Eventually, you were a close knit group of nine wild idiots.

You had always been a platonically touchy person, craving physical contact and intimacy in all your friendships. Whether it was holding hands, cuddling, or simply sitting close together, you found comfort in the nearness of your friends. As a result, your circle embraced this trait and soon enough, it became the norm to see you all piled up in a cozy corner, phones out, scrolling mindlessly or studying together. 

Halfway through sophomore year came the rumor. It had started at a party, most of your group was drunk save for Innie and Seungmin who were merely tipsy. In the midst of the lively party at the frat house, you discovered a secluded nook, packed with an assortment of soft bean bag chairs and pillows, which became the perfect setting for your drunken cuddle puddle. 

You were sitting between Chan's legs, your back leaning against his chest while he stroked your hair. Jisung was sat the same way between your legs as your hand rubbed his arm while you scrolled through TikTok with the other one. Felix lay on both of yours and Chan's thighs, Minho rested a shoulder on Chan's left side and Jeongin did so likewise to his right. The remaining members laid across each other nearby. You were all touching in some way or another just vibing, chatting, and giggling. 

After a while you started noticing people looking your way, whispering, laughing, and staring, but in your drunken state, you didn't think anything of it. Suddenly Chan sat up straight, lurching you forward a bit. "We need to go." He said sternly, looking at his phone, eyes wide, anger and concern written on his face. "What? Why?" you asked, clearly confused. Minho looked at Chan's phone over his shoulder, his face taking on the same expression. "What the fuck..." he whispered. "What?" you asked again. "It's nothing. Let's just get out of here, okay?" Chan reiterated. "What's going on, let me see!" you giggled, reaching for Chan's phone, he pulled it out of your reach. "It's not important." he lied. You pouted "come onnnnn, Channie." you whined. "y/n..." After struggling to get hold of his phone for a moment, you eventually succeeded but were taken aback by the unexpected image on the screen, making your face drop.

On his phone sat a photo posted on the school's official Facebook page. A photo of the nine of you, mere moments ago, with the word 'whore' scribbled sloppily across your face, and 'simp' scribbled on each of theirs. The caption read "I bet they pass her around like a joint". As you scanned the comments, reading each one, you noticed a common theme..

- "Ew. I bet those boys are infected with something now 🤢"

- "She's probably looser than a child's tooth lmfao"

- "bet she's had more turns than a door knob."

- "I heard she sleeps with professors too 😬"

- "wonder if she gets paid for it, I heard the two pretty boys are rich."

- "how many of them do you think she's taken at once? 😏"

- "at least she's hot, you think they'd share her with me?"

When you finally stopped reading the comments, all eight of the boys were looking at the phone with you, their faces reflecting a deep sense of horror and disbelief. Your eyes burned with tears as your face heated up with embarrassment, your heart racing and your mind filled with thoughts of shame and self-consciousness. Chan took his phone back and stood up, pulling you up with him. The boys followed suit, trailing behind you as Chan lead you out the door by your arm, guiding you through the crowded frat house with a firm grip. None of you even bothered grabbing your jackets from the corridor, the cold air outside nipping at your skin. It seemed nearly everyone there had gotten the notification about the post. They all stared and whispered as you made your way out of the party. 

Your group's steadfast pace didn't stop until you were off campus, Felix mentioning that his family had a property that they could go to instead of heading back to their respective dorms. The boys came to a decision that you would all take the bus there, the next one arriving in somewhere around 30 minutes from then. You hadn't said a word since leaving the frat house, your eyes glued to the ground, unable to make eye contact with any of them. Changbin had given you his hoodie to keep you warm as you all waited for the bus.

"Who the fuck posted that?!" Changbin finally snapped, breaking the silence.

"I don't know but I'm going to kick their ass." Seungmin chimed in.

"No one's kicking anyone's ass.." Chan growled.

Minho scoffed. "Speak for yourself, Chris." 

The four of them began bickering before Jisung finally spoke up "SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU'RE UPSETTING HER!!" he shouted at them. They went silent, looking at you with concern. Tears were streaming down your face as Jeongin rubbed your back gently and Jisung squatted in front of where you sat on the bench, holding your hands firmly. Hyunjin and Felix stood off to the side, scrolling through the comments on the post, attempting damage control by responding to negative remarks.

"It's gonna be okay, bug. I promise." Jisung whispered, rubbing the tops of your hands with his thumbs.

Jeongin stroked circles on your back. "Try not to let it get to you, noona."

The bus ride to the house was silent except for Felix and Hyunjin whispering quietly to each other while still engrossed in their phones. Minho sat next to you, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, holding you close as the dark scenery outside passed by in a blur.

The bus dropped you all off at the bus stop nearest to the house, but you still had to walk about 10 minutes to get there. Once you arrived, Felix punched in the code and ushered everyone inside. The interior was chilly as no one currently lived there full time, so the heating system didn't need to be on. Felix clicked it on and turned on the lights. "My parents were just here a couple of weeks ago when they came to visit, so there's probably still snacks and drinks if you guys want anything." He said, leading everyone to the living room. 

You didn't speak again until a couple of hours had passed, everyone submerged in their phones, most likely still doing damage control. You broke the silence. "I'm so sorry.." you whispered, though in the thick silence, it was deafening. As you sat there, your eyes refused to leave the torn fabric of your jeans, as if searching for an answer that only they could provide. Your knees were pulled to your chest as if trying to shield yourself.

Hyunjin spoke for the first time in what seemed like hours "What? Why are you sorry?" he asked, sounding almost offended. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I- I should have known how it would look to everyone.. I'm always hanging all over you guys.." your eyes started started tearing up again. "how many relationships have I ruined for you guys? ...you never date.. is it because people see me all over you? How long have people been assuming this? Was this even the first post? What if they-" you were rambling when Felix stopped you "Hey hey hey, we all hang all over each other, bubs. It's not just you and you shouldn't be putting blame on yourself like that." Seungmin nodded in agreement "Those fuckasses don't even know what they're talking about, all they have is sex on the brain, obviously it's clouding their common fucking sense." he spat out, arms crossed over his chest. "Plus anyone who thinks physical affection is only sexual surely doesn't have a fully developed brain." Jeongin chimed in. Your hands were shaking, something that didn't go unnoticed by Minho. "Take a deep breath, princess." he said softly, taking your hands "this is gonna pass, everyone will forget about this soon enough." 

But it didn't pass, and no one forgot. When you all went back to your classes on Monday, the whispers and stares were seemingly worse. Word had spread like wildfire and it felt like everyone knew about the rumor, even the professors and staff. It continued like that for weeks before things gradually got worse.

Guys would not leave you alone, all of them thinking you were easy and that they had a chance. They would get in your space, whistle at you, even straight up ask you for sexual favors. You even had to stop wearing skirts because guys would flip it up when they'd walk by you. Their behavior eventually caused your friends to get into fights. First it was Changbin, landing a punch to a guy who had grabbed your ass, successfully breaking the guy's nose. Then it was Seungmin, full on kicking a guy to the ground who dared to lift your dress to check the color of your panties. Jisung and Minho followed, teaming up on a few guys who had you cornered against a wall in the back of the library. Even sunshine boy Felix found himself in a fight or two. They all repeatedly got in trouble for violence while those creeps got away scot-free.

Eventually you started skipping your classes and began avoiding your friends. You even stopped staying at the big house and held yourself captive in your tiny dorm room, ignoring their calls and texts. Tensions ran high between the boys, they were always arguing and fighting, their group was completely falling apart and they hadn't seen you in almost two weeks.

Finally, after weeks of being ignored by you, who had suddenly become distant and unresponsive, Chan and Minho decided that they have had enough. Chan organized a group meeting in order to confront the issue head-on. Since you were still ignoring everyone's texts and calls at this point, Minho took matters into his own hands by physically going over to your dorm and practically breaking in just so he could retrieve you. "You can't just fucking ignore us like this, y/n! Do you know how worried we were?!" he said, his voice raised. You said nothing. "Chan wants to talk to everyone. We're going. Now." He stated, almost a demand. He threw some decent clothes at you for you to change into before basically dragging you off campus, and getting you an uber to the house. 

When Minho got you into the house, he lead you to the living room where everyone sat, quietly bickering. "Got her." Minho stated as you both entered the living room. Everyone went quiet, looking at you. "Jesus, bug, you look like you haven't slept in weeks!" Jisung said as he got up, pulling you into a hug.

Seungmin broke the silence that followed. "So, what, why the hell are we here acting like we're having some sort of twisted intervention?" 

Chan sighed, clearly frustrated. "I'm tired of this tearing us apart. This needs to stop. We're constantly fighting with each other and other students. Hell, Seungmin and Minho are one fight away from expulsion for fucks sake!!" he yelled.

Seungmin raised his voice back "yeah well y/n is just avoiding the fucking situation while we all fight for her ass!"

Okay, that one pissed you off. "Who the fuck asked you to fight for me?! Did you even stop to think for one god damn moment that I'm removing myself from the group to stop the fucking rumor!?!" you shouted. The room fell silent as everyone's eyes turned towards you, their faces etched with shock and disbelief. Never before had they heard you raise your voice, and rarely did you even show a hint of anger, especially not towards them. "Am I just supposed to continue like everything is normal?! Continue ruining your lives and reputations!? Having me around you only made shit worse!! Tell me, have you even gotten into fights with other students since I disappeared?!" You screamed. More silence followed. "Yeah.. that's what I fucking thought.." you mumbled, voice cracking. "Having me around will only make shit worse.."

Felix broke the next bout of silence. "but we want you around, y/n. We need you around." Now his voice was cracking.

"Our group isn't the same without you, sweetheart" Chan followed up, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're our glue." 

"I miss my smoke buddy.." Jisung added.

"I miss my noona" Jeongin followed up.

Hyunjin chimed in next "who's going to judge people and gossip with me if you're not around?" 

"Yeah, and it's not like these guys will watch cheesy dramas and romcoms with me.." Changbin all but whined.

"I mean I GUESS I miss you or whatever.." Seungmin grumbled, turning his face away to hide the tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

"Well, I definitely really fucking miss you, princess." Minho whispered, wiping a fresh tear from your cheek.

You let out a shaky breath. "What do we do? If I'm around you things just get worse.. they'll never stop talking about it. They'll never leave us alone. There's a new post about us almost every week! They're not going to let it go and if I keep going to class I'm just going to keep getting assaulted and you guys are going to get expelled for fighting!" You cried. "I miss you guys so fucking much it hurts!" you were full on sobbing at this point. "But what are we supposed to do besides drift apart?" Your last question came out as a whisper.

There was that silence.. Jisung was the one to break it again. "I mean.. what if we just.. dropped out?" he suggested.

Everyone looked between each other. "Well, I mean.. I'm going to be honest, I'm not even planning on using my degree." Chan said. "I've already started producing music in my spare time, and I know Bin and Ji are into it too, I'll have no problem building us a platform with it." 

Seungmin shrugged. "I'm already in the process of starting my own business, and people seem interested. Shouldn't be an issue for me either."

"To be honest classes have been stressful with having a job at Bean Artisan, I like coffee a lot more than school, I skip half of my classes anyway.." Jeongin said with a shrug.

Minho looked at you. "I've been offered a full time teaching position at In Motion Studios. I wasn't going to take it because of school but.. I'd like to."

"and Felix and I have money coming out of our asses, who needs college?" Hyunjin added, Felix nodded in agreement before adding "and my family really wouldn't mind giving us the house. They only ever used this place to visit me because I was staying at the dorms."

You looked at all of them, your lip quivering. "why... why would you all drop out because of me..? I'm not worth that.." you murmured.

They all spoke together in a cacophony of convictions, each one trying to drown out the others with their own certainty. The air was thick with the clashing of various 'of course you are's, 'don't say that's, and 'we want to's. You chuckled through tears as you heard Seungmin throw in a "who cares, fuck the system!"

"and we can take care of you, bubs!" Felix said "I won't even notice a shift in my account if I started spending on you"

You shook your head "No, no. If we do this, I'll find work. I.. think I know a girl who could get me into something that pays well.."

The steady rhythm of the clock's ticking filled the quiet space, emphasizing the pause in conversation.

"Sooooo, are we doing this?" Jisung questioned with a smile, looking to you for the answer.

The attention in the room shifted from each other to focus entirely upon you; every eye turned towards you like a compass needle pointing north - making this moment yours alone to decide what happens next. They waited patiently (and perhaps also anxiously) for your answer to set the conversation in motion once again.

You looked between them, your eyes jumping from one boy to another, finally landing on Minho's encouraging gaze, his pleading eyes and nod of approval filling you with the confidence to finally speak. "...fuck it. Let's do this." you decided.

With wide grins spreading across all their faces, Chan quickly rounded everyone up until they were enveloped within one massive embrace where you sat snuggly at its heart. "Don't you ever disappear on us like that again, sweetheart. You worried us to death." Chan cooed, his chin resting on your head as he stroked your hair.

"Yes, daaaad~" you teased.

As Chan rolled his eyes, his subtle smile gave way to the amusement he felt, prompting the boys to snicker.

After a few weeks of adjustment, things finally started feeling like they were back to normal again, albeit a new kind of normalcy that everyone had to get used to. With everyone now living under the same roof, you all began to grow closer and more tight-knit as time went on. More jokes were shared as well as quality time, and you didn't have to worry about anyone judging your group for being affectionate with each other. Everything just seemed to fall into place and you were content. Happy even.

The only stress you had was brought in the form of your newly acquired job. But that's a story for another time..

mlist || part two

a/n: hopefully this will hold you guys over until I finish part two!! Please please let me know how you liked this by liking, reblogging, or leaving me a comment/ask!!

I don't do taglists!

[potatogirlyy]

Game Night Chaos

Lee - Seungmin

Ler - Minho & Chan

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹‧

Game night was in full swing, the dorm buzzing with laughter and shouts. Empty snack bags decorated the table like trophies, soda cans clinked together, and the TV blasted cheerful loud music. In the middle of it all sat Seungmin, grinning ear to ear, absolutely thriving as he teased his hyungs with every chance he got.

“Hyung, honestly,” he said, smirking as Chan’s character fell for the third time, “I think you should just hand me your controller. You’re clearly not qualified to use it.”

“Oooooooh,” the others chimed, sensing danger.

Chan’s jaw dropped. “Yah—!” But before he could argue, Minho leaned back with a wolfish grin, eyes locked on Seungmin. “Oh, you’re in big trouble now, puppy.”

Seungmin raised a brow, sipping his drink as if unbothered. “Big trouble? Please. You should thank me for being honest.”

Minho tilted his head, voice dangerously playful. “Mm, no. See, there’s only so much sass a hyung can take… and I think you’ve just hit the limit.”

Seungmin blinked, still smirking. “Trouble? For telling the truth? Don’t be mad just because I’m better.”

“Ohhh,” Minho drawled, stretching his arms lazily over the back of the couch. “He’s got a sharp tongue tonight, huh, Chan?”

Chan folded his arms, lips twitching. “Too sharp. I think someone needs to teach him some manners.”

Seungmin snorted. “What, are you gonna give me a lecture? That’s not very scary, hyung.”

Minho’s grin only widened. “A lecture? No. I have… other plans in mind.” He wiggled his fingers in the air meaningfully locking eyes with Seungmin and laughed when Seungmin’s smirked faltered “…Hyung, don’t.”

Chan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving Seungmin. “You hear that, Minho? He sounds nervous already.”

“Mm, he should be,” Minho said smoothly, still flexing his fingers in slow, exaggerated motions. “This puppy’s been nipping at our heels all night. Time to put him back in his place.”

The room filled with giggles and “ooooohs,” but Seungmin only hugged a pillow to his chest defensively. “You two are overreacting. I was just pointing out the truth.”

“Oh, so you’re still mouthing off?” Chan raised a brow, pretending to look impressed. “Even when you’re outnumbered?”

“That’s brave,” Minho agreed, shifting closer on the couch. “Stupid, but brave.”

Seungmin tightened his grip on the pillow, eyes darting between them. “Don’t you dare.”

Chan smirked. “What’s wrong? I thought you were confident. Or does the mighty Kim Seungmin only talk big until someone calls him out?”

Minho chuckled low, leaning in until his face was inches from Seungmin’s. “You know, the more you glare at me like that, the more I want to see what your laughing face looks like.”

Seungmin’s eyes widened, his smirk officially gone. “Don’t—!”

“Too late,” Minho said cheerfully, tossing the pillow aside in one swift move.

“HYUNG!” Seungmin squeaked, scrambling backward, but Chan was faster, looping an arm around his waist and pulling him down into the cushions.

“Gotcha,” Chan laughed, tightening his grip as Seungmin flailed. “Minho, he’s all yours.”

“Gladly,” Minho purred, already wiggling his fingers threateningly. “Say goodbye to that sass, puppy.”

Seungmin barely had time to gasp out a protest before the first scribbles landed on his ribs, and the room erupted with his wild, breathless laughter.

Minho then dove in, scribbling mercilessly at Seungmin’s sides. The younger’s sass dissolved instantly into shrieks of laughter, his legs kicking helplessly against the couch.

“NOHOHOHO—! STOP! HYUNG!” he cried, twisting desperately.

Chan only smirked, keeping him pinned with ease. “Not so sassy now, huh? What happened to all that confident puppy?”

Seungmin gasped for air between laughs, trying and failing with coming up with something smart to fire back. “Y-you’re still—trash at—GAHHAHAH!” His words cut off in another squeal as Minho found his hips.

“Ohhh, he’s still talking back,” Minho teased, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Unbelievable. You really don’t know when to quit, do you, puppy?”

“NEHEHEVER!” Seungmin wheezed, tears springing at the corners of his eyes.

“Is that so?” Minho chuckled darkly, switching to scribble under his arms until Seungmin shrieked. “Then we’ll just keep going until you do.”

“PLEHEHEASE—!”

“Please what, please keep going ?” Chan teased, leaning down close to his ear. “Since you asked so nicely puppy, of course we can keep going, we can tickle you alllll night?” Chan teased

“AHAHAHA! STOP—NO, THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!”—!” Seungmin yelled through his laughter, thrashing uselessly in Chan’s hold..

The younger nearly folded in half, laughter cracking into squeals as he kicked wildly. “STAHAHAHAP—! I—I HATE YOU—!”

Finally, when Seungmin was red-faced and breathless, they eased up, letting him flop back against the couch in a sweaty, giggling heap.

“…You’re both… evil,” he panted.

Chan leaned back smugly. “How’s that big mouth of yours feeling now, huh?”

For a moment, Seungmin stayed quiet, catching his breath. Then, slowly, the smirk returned. “…I still won the last round. You guys suck.”

Minho froze, narrowing his eyes. “Chan. Did he just—”

“Yep,” Chan said, cracking his knuckles with a grin and going straight for Seungmin's belly button. Seungmin’s eyes went wide. “No—NO! I WAS KIDDING—WAIT— NOHOHO—HYUNG! STAHAHAHP—! NNNOT THERE—!” he screamed out, squirming violently on the couch.

Minho went straight back to tormenting his ribs, teasing and tickling relentlessly, circling and poking the sensitive spot. Every touch sent the younger into louder, more desperate laughter.

“HYUHAHAHUNG! I-I CAN’T—! STAHAHAHP—PLEASE!” Seungmin gasped, flailing his legs helplessly.

“You’re so adorable when you’re helpless,” Chan teased, leaning down and pressing just enough to keep him squirming.

“Still think you can talk big now, puppy?” Minho added, smirking as he dug his fingers into the exact spot he knew would make Seungmin lose it.

“I—I SWEHEHEAR—H-HYUNG—STOP—PLEASE!” Seungmin squealed, tears forming at the corners of his eyes from the intensity of his laughter. Even as he tried to twist and kick, the two worked together flawlessly. Every time he thought they’d stop, one of them found another sensitive angle, and his laughter only grew louder.

Finally, Minho and Chan slowed down, letting Seungmin flop back against the couch, completely breathless and red-faced. His hair was sticking up in every direction and he was still giggling softly.

“…You guys are evil,” he panted, hiding his face in his hands.

Before Seungmin could protest, Chan wrapped an arm around his shoulders while Minho draped one over his waist, pulling him gently into a warm, snug sandwich. Seungmin squeaked, squirming just enough to earn a soft laugh from both of them.

“You’re impossible,” Chan muttered, nuzzling the top of Seungmin’s head.

“And we wouldn’t have it any other way,” Minho added, resting his chin lightly on Seungmin’s shoulder. Seungmin buried his face into the crook of Minho’s neck, letting out a soft, defeated giggle. “You’re both trouble…”

“Trouble who loves you,” Chan whispered, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Seungmin’s head.

Seungmin sighed, relaxing completely between them. The room was still a mess from the chaos earlier, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. With Minho and Chan holding him close, laughing softly at his flustered little protests, he felt safe, very safe with his hyungs.