The Cat and the Hare (I won’t stop running so don’t you stop trying to catch me) - Pac is hidding something and Cellbit needs it, so they make a deal. Ler!Cellbit & Ticklish!Pac.
Oh, To Die By Your Hands - Pac discovers something interesting about Fit and neck kisses. Ler!Pac & Ticklish!Fit. Romantic Pairing.
In Between Feathers and Smiles - Philza notices that Richarlyson is a bit down, so he decides to give him a few tips about wings and feathers. Ler!Philza & Ticklish!Richas
Cuddle Time - Cellbit have been working too much on the last couple of days, so Roier take the matter onto his own hands. Ticklish!Cellbit & Ler!Roier. Romantic Pairing.
Chasing Laughter - Fit discovers a new thing about his son and then they decide to play tag :D Chaos ensues. Ler!Fit & Ticklish!Ramón.
Secrets and the Pros and Cons of Not Running Away - Post Happy Pills Arc. Forever just woke up and everyone is excited to show how much happy they are about it. Ticklish!Forever & Ler!Philza, Ler!BadboyHalo, Ler!Pac, Ler!Mike, Ler!Tallulah, Ler!Chayanne, Ler!Richas.
The Cat and the Hare (I won't stop running so don't you stop trying to catch me)
Kanene's notes: EVERYONE WAKE UPPPP BECAUSE TODAY IS @squeaky-n-blushy 's BIRTHDAYYYYY and since she and I have a clown to clown communication and a lot of screaming around Pac and Cellbit I wanted to make a fic to celebrate this day and our friendship. Thanks a lot, bean, for being so cool!! <3 <3
And about the fic I am so Unwell about Pac and Cellbit's friendship like WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING HERE YA KNOW??
Warnings: Uhh, I don't think there is any? There is a few mentions of hunting and prey but it's lighthearted and not too prevalent on the fic. Ticklish!Pac and Ler!Cellbit for the win. Around 8.000 words :D
[~*~]
Mike knows, of course.
Sometimes Pac wondered if his soulmate was able to realize what was happening even before he himself did. It was one of the perks and pains of spending your entire life with someone who you could trust blindly with everything that could ever matter and who you knew as the palm of your own hand.
It was quite nice, most of the time.
Except, of course, when Mike decided that he was going to be an insufferable prick about it.
“Não, não, não. Tá na hora de acabar com essa palhaçada.” (No, no, no. Time to end with this bullshit.) The annoyed shout was so out of nowhere that it almost made Pac fall from the roof of the Barbie house, turning to look at the other who was pointing at him with a hammer and seemed two seconds away from hitting him with it. “ ‘Fi, você vai lá falar com ele agora mesmo.” (Dude, you’re going to talk with him right now.)
Pac ignored how his cheeks already began prickling with heat, knowing in the same moment what the other was talking about.
Shit, his feelings must have leaked through their soulbond.
“Qué que ‘cê tá falando, moço, tô sabendo desse negócio que ‘cê tá falando aí não uai.” (Whatcha ya talkin’ about, dude, don’t have any idea watcha you talkin about.)
“Num tá sabendo, é? Não tá sabendo, mas vai começar a saber agora e não adianta ficar me imitando não.” (Dunno, uh? You may not know but you’re going to start knowing right now and mimicking me won’t help you at all.)
Oof, he was with that determined look. There was no escaping for Pac in this one. Mike turned around, got a ladder and climbed it. He ignored the phantom feeling of bubbly giggles that definitely weren’t his began tickling the back of his throat joyfully.
“Porque,” Mike continued. “Se eu tiver que ver o Cellbit mais uma vez e ficar com vontade de ficar dando risadinha que nem o nosso menininho, eu vou explodir esse Murder Mystery todo.” (Because, if I have to see Cellbit one more time and keep wanting to giggle like our little boy I’m going to blow up the entire Murder Mystery)
“Não, Mike!” (Mike, no!)
“ ‘Não, Mike’, nada! Eu vou, Pac. Vou explodir toda essa bagaceira aqui. Quer ver, hein? Quer ver?” (‘Mike, no’, my ass. I’m going to, Pac. I’m going to blow up all this clownery. Wanna see, huh, wanna see?)
“Explode aí então que eu quero ver. Bora, bora, que se dane já isso tudo!” (Yeah, blow it up, then, I wanna see. Let’s go, let’s go. To hell with all of this!)
Both of them stared at each other, Mike with the explosives on his hands and Pac with wide attentive eyes.
Silence passed like a lazy cat across them.
“Eu não, ‘cê tá louco, é? Mó trabalho que deu pra construir essa arena aqui e eu vou lá explodir ela agora.” (No, didya lost ya mind? So much work to build this arena, no way I’m blowin’ it up now.)
The one with blue hoodie crackled, muscles relaxing from being ready to sprint and steal all the tnt before his soulmate could use it in case it wasn’t a joke. Mike’s own laughter also followed his, getting closer until he was sitting by his side in a relaxed manner, green eyes watching him behind his crooked lens.
“Então, você quer que eu te faça cócegas?” (So, you want me to tickle you?)
His tune was nonchalant and Pac could literally feel how chill he was with his own words, perhaps even a little amused with the floating, excited butterflies that immediately appeared on their soulbond with his question.
The fact that Pac loved being tickled and to tickle his friends hadn’t been a secret between them for a long while, now. Had been discovered when they were just two little kids against the world in that orphanage and discussed in a late night whispered conversation in their first prototype of a laboratory.
Mike knew that when, for some reason or not, he would suddenly get giddy, a little shy and a bunch more playful, carrying a giggle on the tip of his tongue and an electricity on his skin, it meant that Pac would love to get into a tickle fight or to become a mess of snickers as Mike kept sneaking the words ‘cócegas’ and ‘cosquinhas’ in their daily interactions and throwing at him one or two pokes of fun.
“Hm, quero dizer… você pode?” (Hm, I mean… you can?)
He scratched the back of his head and avoided his eyes. The one wearing a green creeper shirt squinted at him. That wasn’t Pac usual “I’m feeling too embarrassed and silly but also excited to look at you right now”, it was more like his “uhhh, not sure how to say that you’re wrong uhhh.”
Mike sighed and crossed his arms. He was not going to move from there until this was solved and he knew Pac was fully aware of this by the way the other pouted in defeat.
“Bora, fala logo, Pac.” (C’mon, spit it out, Pac.)
“Você lembra de semana passada, quando o Roier e o Cellbit estavam esperando pela gente na Ordo Theoritas?” (Remember last week when Roier and Cellbit were waiting for us in Ordo Theoritas?)
Mike tried to. Cellbit was a solid part of his family - even if he would have no qualms in immediately calling him out of his bullshit if he showed even a trace of coming back to that asshole he was on the prison - and he really liked Roier a lot but those two were so insufferably in love and happily married when they were together that it was hard to not roll his eyes at it. I mean, he gets it! He was too happily married but you wouldn’t see him around the Spawn or the entire island getting all lovey doey with Mine at every second of their day.
(The fact that Mine was a goodness and that their connection had been difficult and faulty since the first day they got stuck on the island was simply a detail and no, he didn’t want to talk about it.)
Last week has been when the detective found some interesting information in an old abandoned laboratory of the Federation and called everyone for a meeting since it looked like it had potential to be about the eggs or the codes, if Mike wasn’t mistaken. Since he and Pac were around the Favela finishing some buildings at the time, they were the first to get there, finding the meeting room being already occupied by Cellbit and Roier in the middle of a tickle fight, - probably a started by Roier but which Cellbit was clearly winning - probably because they weren’t expecting anyone to appear so soon but also seemed to be too lost in their own silliness to even listen to the sound of the elevator or them arriving.
Mike just loudly complained and threw a few grinning teases at them, not thinking too much about it. Albeit, as it seems, that had been enough to bring Pac’s lee mood back to life.
“Lembrei.” (I remember.)
They looked at each other. Since his hands wouldn’t be necessary, the one with permanently crooked glasses started messing around with the redstone system of the house, trying to fix it for the sixth time. “Bem, isso explica porque é sempre o Cellbit, então. ‘Cê vai pedir pra ele?” (Well, that explains why it’s always Cellbit, then. Are you going to ask him?)
Pac grumbled and flooped on the roof. “Não dá, eu já tentei. Fui tentar puxar uma guerra de cosquinha perto dele com o Richas mas eu travei e no fim eles foram embora. Eu não consigo, Mike, eu não consigo!” (I can’t, I already tried. I tried to start a tickle war next to him with Richas but I froze and in the end they went away. I can’t, Mike, I can’t!)
“Mas tu tem que tomar coragem, Pac. Tem que ir lá e falar mesmo. Se fosse eu, eu falava!” (But you need to be braver, Pac! Gotta get there and ask. If it was me, I would ask.)
“Falava é? Porque eu me lembro muito bem do seu primeiro encontro com a Mine…” (You would, yeah? Because I remember very well about your and Mine’s first date…) Pac’s laughter quickly transformed into a shout when the other pushed him, making him roll across the titles for a few centimeters before stopping. “Tu vai me jogar, homi! Tá doido, é?” (You’re going to make me fall, man! Are you crazy?)
“Sempre fui, sempre fui.” (Always have been. Always have been.)
They chuckled and, in between shoves and jokes, went back to their construction.
Pac thought that the subject had ended there, then, that he would eventually get over his mood and continue his life. But he should’ve known that Mike was too annoying (caring) to let it go.
That was how he ended up like this.
Pac looked up, looking at those brown eyes shine back at him with a mischievous light. He squirmed a bit, but soon it was clear that he was totally trapped on the couch by the investigator’s body, who kept watching his expressions with curiosity and a hint of something else.
(It was hunger. Pac would recognize that glint anywhere.)
The scientist could feel each heartbeat in his chest and every butterfly flying on his stomach, small bolts of electricity scurrying away from his trapped wrist, fingertips twisting, almost being able to touch the sparkles in the air.
“Pac,” there were moments when Cellbit slipped and let one or two of his feline traits escape from his firmly constructed barrier. This time, it was in the way that his voice curled around his name, in a mix of a pleased purring and a warning growl that made a zing shot through his spine. “There’s no need to look so worried, I think you just didn't listen to my question very well in the first time… What is the code, Pac?”
If he wasn’t looking at his friend, he would’ve lost it, but the question was exactly what it looked like: an escape route. It was in the way that the hold of his right wrist loosened a little and how those brown eyes ran across his face - searching, poking, prodding, wanting to know - on the look for any trace of discomfort or fear, getting ready to jump away in the same second if he found anything. Pac was sure that he could just spill the eight numbers he knew by heart and then Cellbit would immediately get up, open the security door to the last phase of their puzzle and let him free to go.
Simple like that.
Quite boring, if he was being honest.
Pac grinned before letting his head fall slightly to the side, brows furrowing in a perfect confused face, voice light and just a tad too innocent.
(He wasn’t really afraid.)
(Cellbit could show himself to be as strong and ruthless as he wanted. Pac always had been the fastest one.)
(Just one of them had been able to get out of Alcatraz after all.)
“ Code? W-what are you talking about, Cellbit? I don’t know any code.”
“The specific numbers that will open the door and let me finally get to the bottom of the mystery that I’ve been puzzling out for one entire week. That code, Pac.”
A small shudder took over his body, whether it was for the lack of his hoodie or the hand that suddenly came to dangerously rest on his side, it wasn’t clear. A wobbly smile blossomed in his face.
That reaction didn’t go unnoticed by the other.
“Uhhh…” Pac pursed and popped his lips, resting his head on the cushions and looking at the ceiling, gaze quickly jumping across the room in a nervous manner. He still could feel those glimmering eyes on him. “I don’t really know any code.”
The fingers began curling on his side, short nails barely scratching the skin, he bit his lower lip.
“You sure?”
(Can I?)
“Y-yeah! I d-don’t even know what you’re talking about, moço. Just saw a sign that said ‘Free Food’ and got in the warplate and boom! Suddenly I’m here with you. We’re both kind of stuck here, you know?” His gaze went back to focus on the other, refusing with all his might to even acknowledge the twitching hand on his side that kept bringing awful tingles and freaking out the butterflies on his belly.
He continued the rest of his sentence in one quick breath.
“It’s not like I am part of the puzzle and was asked to guard the secret code that could lead you to finally getting your final prize since it’s the end of the investigation and deciding to not give it to you. That would be totally crazy. I would never do that. Never, ever, in one billion years. Nuh uh. Nunquinha.”
Cellbit’s left eye trembled in a signal of poorly disguised stress. Bad and Bagi had the same habit. It was quite funny to see.
Pac jumped when the touch suddenly got firmer and a pinch was delivered on his torso. A high pitched squeak quickly scrambled from his lips before he could stop it.
Having already gotten the reaction that he wanted, Cellbit showed him a smile.
Oh no, he was absolutely screwed.
“Alright, Pac. I believe in what you’re saying. You’re part of the family so you would never lie to me, would you?”
The scientist watched as Cellbit’s hand lifted up from its spot on his side and began going upwards, slowly crawling along his torso until it stopped on his forearm, tracing on his skin as the other hand kept his arm all trapped and nice above his head.
His fingertips started dancing and scribbling on the spot, following the goosebumps that tried to run away from the tickles, spreading across his nerves and obliging Pac to firmly press his lips in a thin line, giggles getting ready to jump out at any chance on the tip of his tongue.
The investigator cleaned his throat, calling his attention once again and holding it with analytical eyes. His voice came out rough, slow, savoring every word. “Would you, Pac?”
Pac was glad that he didn’t even try to open his mouth to answer him because, as soon as the sentence was over, those fingers began scribbling on the senseless, ticklish spot that was his inner elbow, nails scraping and fingertips tapping in an absurdly light and soft manner, making a muffled ‘eee’ sound to be present in the back of his throat.
He remembered that he had an answer to give.
“Nuh huh.” He shook his head twice, holding his breath to not let any other reaction escape.
“Ok.”
Eventually, Pac had to look away from him again. He could almost feel how Cellbit kept mapping out the exact points where his smile got bigger and his arm squirmed everytime another unexpected tickle spot was found so he could come back to it later. The tapping continued its way across his biceps, drawing abstract forms on it, taking its sweet to collect all the muffled titters and small twitches before going to the next one. With each step the curious hand got closer and closer to his torso.
His attempt to not look at his demise proved to be fool and only made him lose the way that the investigator’s smirk grew wider at each one of his reactions, fingers momentarily spasming in a desire to dig - quick, ruthless and precise - on any and every ticklish spot again and again and again until he could rip that sweet, precious laughter from his stubborn friend-prey-Pac-fun and make it ring loud and free around the room. Until his protests were so intertwined with snickers and snorts that they would be too lost and make no sense at all. Until he was so high in laughter and giddy with the tickling that he wouldn’t even be able to think about hiding his smile and blush - which, by the way, had already begun consuming his neck in a lovely, lovely way - on his hoodie as usual.
He wanted to discover every sound that he would make and drink on every variation of his laughter, from the lowest chortle to the highest squeal. And, especially, he wanted to purr and tease him about how, even with all the chances, Pac didn’t even try to move his free hand to stop him and was instead watching his every move with those wide excited, joyful eyes.
But no. Cellbit needs to be patient. He needs to first cultivate every giggle, snicker and titter until they were too strong to be stopped and then, after weakening his every barrier so they would finally crumble at the lightest breeze and finally come tumbling down with just the hint of his moving fingers anywhere near him and his ticklish - so, so wonderfully vulnerable and ticklish - spots.
Cellbit could be really good at that. Being patient. Stalking. Watching. Finding openings that could be explored.
(It has been a while since he and Pac had time to play like this.)
The traces and drawed forms continued until he got to his armpit and rested there. Tapping. Tapping. Tapping.
At this point Pac already felt like jumping out of his skin at every touch. He was torn between watching his slow and inevitable destruction or closing his eyes and then be bombarded by his own creative mind about all the different ways that his friend could tickle him right now. How he could simply give up from calmly teasing and prying his puffed squeaks or bitten gasps at any moment and just drum his fingers on his pit, maybe pull a surprise attack to his ribs or even keep the slow spidering until Pac felt so ticklish that a single wiggling finger would make him descend in immediate full belly laughter with minimal effort.
Cellbit’s next words were fast to pull him from his thoughts.
“Where is your worst spot, Pac?”
It was getting old, but once again Pac just shook his head.
“What? You don’t have one? Or you don’t want to tell me where is it?” The hands started swirling, creating spirals that went from the inside to the outside of his armpit. Cellbit watched in true amazement how such a soft touch made the other’s cheeks puff with the amount of squeals he was holding, his arm now trembling in his grip. “You know… I’m feeling like you’re hiding a few secrets from me. Are you, Pac?”
It took every single ounce of will from him, but the scientist pushed every and any giggle deep down so he would not look completely silly when the sentence left out his mouth, not really thinking too much about it.
“Aren’t you our Favela’s detective? Why don’t you find out?”
Cellbit froze, just like Pac’s breath when he realized what he just said.
However, it was too late.
“I am joking! I am joking!” He shouted, watching with a wide stare as the other chuckled in delight at his answer. Low and dangerous. Always ready for a good, fun challenge. “You know how it is! Dumb Pac just being dumb again!”
“You’re not dumb.” Cellbit frowned, but it disappeared as soon as it came, a determined, amused expression taking over his face once again. “That’s fair enough, I think. So, what about we make a deal? I will discover your worst tickle spot and then destroy it with tickles until you give me the code to finish my puzzle.”
The swirling was back once again. Soft, unbearable, light and impossible to ignore.
“Deal?”
“...Deal.”
The detective rolled his shoulders and neck, as if preparing for a battle. “Perfect.”
A quick, small tweak on his armpit ripped a surprised snort from his mouth, which immediately made the scientist’s free hand fly to hide it, not expecting the sudden tickling nor the sound.
“Careful there, bonitinho. Don’t go spilling everything already. I would hate for our game to end so soon.”
His hand went back to spidering, teasing the armpit for a few more seconds before going down to his ribs, scratching and watching as Pac turned his face around, pressing it firmly on his own shoulder, the blush fastly consuming more and more of him.
There was this horrible spot in that space between his back and ribs. Mike found it when they were kids and Pac didn’t know why, but it tickled like hell, so, in the very second that Cellbit’s fingers did as much as faintly graze it, his body immediately rolled away in an attempt to hide it.
Cellbit’s eyes shone and he wormed his hand between the cushions and his torso, legs firmly preventing him from trying to roll even more as curious pokes assaulted the spot, making him arch his back and trash back to the other side, shoulders bouncing with trapped laughter. This didn’t stop the investigator from scribbling closely by the spot, no longer prodding or actually tickling it, just testing his reactions by tracing his nails carefully around and in an X over it. As if he was marking it for future reference.
“One.”
The way that the whisper echoed in Pac’s mind did not resonate with how calmly and low it was said. Before he could think too much about its meaning, however, another question quickly followed it.
“Do you know how many ribs there are in the human body?”
The scientist, a very skilled profissional able to create the wildest substances and built the craziest buildings, actually blamed how giddy and distracted by the tickling he was for his answer.
“Twelve!”
“Pffft!”
The investigator’s surprised wheeze filled the room and suddenly Pac knew that he would never be able to live this down for the next years, Cellbit’s entire face opening in a feral joy as if Pac just gave him an early birthday gift.
“Exactly. That is the correct answer. Twelve.” He replied, clearly trying to not laugh and putting on a serious face, again. He let go of his wrist. “Why don’t we count it together now, so we can confirm how right you are?”
Before Pac could answer, Cellbit pressed his fingers, two in each side, on his highest ribs and tased.
Maybe it was the teasing. Maybe it was how much sensitive his skin felt after so many minutes of light touches and soft tickles or how the sudden series of ticklish shocks ran fastly across his every nerve. Maybe it was the way his entire torso now seemed to be just one giant tickle spot. However, that move made Pac slam his hands to hold on Cellbit’s shoulders so his arms wouldn’t come and pin the attacking, tickly fingers against his body.
That only made Cellbit double his efforts to make him laugh, teases immediately permating Pac’s mind.
“Afraid of trapping my fingers here, bonitinho? Why? You’re not even really trying to stop me. Don’t you want them to keep tickling and tickling and tickling your ribs? Right in that delicious spot right here?” Cellbit pressed, buzzing taking over his senses and filling his lungs with uncontrollable crackles that made his torso shake with the force to contain them, wiggling non stop from one side to another and legs flailing around, all which only seemed to reinforce Cellbit’s determination.
“No way! Is it really that ticklish, Pac? Tell me, is my hunt already over, huh? Did I already find your worst ticklish spot or are you just pretending to stop me from going looking for more? I wonder if all the other spots will be as bad as this one… But that is fine. It only means that we will have to stay here for hours and hours, experimenting and comparing every single one of them until we can finally decide which one is the worst. Unless you decide to tell me. That will make things go so much faster, don’t you think?”
He went to his next rib, giving it the same amount of attention and care as the previous one, scratches pursuing the entirety of the bone, tasing targeting the spaces in between them, quick scribbles concentrating on the places that made his kick his legs harder in a way to expel all the adrenaline racing across his cells, tiny squeals pushing against his lips with fervor.
“Or maybe you’re just that ticklish. A ticklish, little gigglebug. So, so sensitive and yet you still came and walked so wingfully right to my… claws.” The last part came out as an almost whisper, his sentence growing lower and lower to the end.
Pac didn’t mean to, but in that moment Cellbit jumped to his third rib and his barrier broke. Loud, crackling laughter exploding from his mouth in a melody that took over the entire room in the very same second, drowning every other sound and making Cellbit almost lose his concentration, tickling faltering for half moment as he was hit with… everything.
With how big Pac’s smile was and how his blush seemed to climb over his neck and ears to pool on his face, how he threw his head backwards when he laughed and the fact that he was actually right because the scientist was too concentrated on the tickle attack and on keeping his hands locked on his shoulder that, for once, he didn’t even try to cover his face.
Cellbit felt himself in a kind of a daze as he kept tickling his loud-friend-prey-fun-fun-fun! Each spot receiving all the scribbling and buzzing before he jumped to another, watching as Pac grew crazier and crazier with each second.
His laughter didn’t necessarily get louder, but it took a turn from the wheezy, high pitched, hysterical crackles on the highest ribs to a much more uncontrollable giggling the lower he went.
Pac squirmed and arched his back, a move that only managed to give Cellbit much more places to work with. He successfully got a few snorts and squeals when that happened and he took the opportunity to worm his hands under his black shirt and spider them on his lower back, making the scientist slam his back again on the couch and bring the tickling back to his ribs, which would then make him kick and wiggle again until another chance to attack his back would appear and Cellbit would gladly take it.
And he. kept. his hands. on his shoulders.
It took everything from him, Pac was sure, but he kept his grip firm, his mind being totally taken over by how much it tickled and everything else all at once. The dance and wiggling happening across his torso, the smug smirk on Cellbit’s face, the awe that took over his brown eyes when he began laughing, the prickle of heat on his warm cheeks and even the light touch of his own hair on his neck that kept sending silly, funny tingles through his nerves to his soul, leading the giggles to get giddier and his snickers to become more present in his laughter.
When the detective got to his lower ribs, light pinching and then drumming his fingers there, between the unintelligible words that fell like waterfall from his lips Pac was able to push a single giggly plea amidst his senseless protests.
“Cellbit!”
The other immediately froze. Pac took the opportunity to take big gulps of air, trying and failing in not succumbing into more laughing fits during the process.
At the second time that the scientist tried for the second to recompose himself and fell into more giggling Cellbit’s fingers twitched, wanting to make that sound ring once more across the room. Still, he didn’t go back to tickling him, aware that his friend indeed was a common human who needed plenty of oxygen to survive.
He blinked and realized that his own grin was almost as big as his prey- Pac. As Pac’s grin was.
(He didn’t run away. He didn’t stop him. He didn’t fight back. Or shouted. Or hated him. He just laughed and laughed and laughed and Cellbit was the main reason for that. For that smile. Those excited eyes watching him right now. The joy. Even if it was a bit artificial, he was the one who did it.)
(He wasn’t quite sure what he would be able to do just to listen to his name being laughed out loud as this again.)
(He was… happy.)
Pac startled when another sound followed the last of his dying giggles. It was a low, almost inaudible, rumbling purr which, if it wasn’t the light feeling of trembling on Cellbit’s shoulders, he would never ever realize that it was coming from his friend.
Before his brain could properly process this and then conjure a proper comment that could or not be a poke of fun - discreet enough that it wouldn’t be clear if he actually was talking about Cellbit’s feline traits or something else, - the detective voice cut the silence.
“Puts, would you look at that.” The feeling of the fingers crawling right back the top of his ribcage made him chortle and squirm, the tip of his fingers barely scraping his armpits. “I lost the count. Seems like we will have to start all over again, Pac. I need to keep up my part of the deal, afterall.”
“Espera!” (Wait!)
“One, two, three…”
He didn’t even try to stop his laughter this time, letting it fall from his lips freely. By the moment the counting ended he was already hysterically giggling just with the feeling of the other’s hands resting on his sides without moving, thumbs rubbing firm circles on his skin in a comforting manner that both made him want to melt and also kept a couple of stray snickers filling the air with the phantom tickles as he once again calmed down.
Pac stared at Cellbit’s brown eyes. There was something different there. Like, literally. But he couldn’t exactly purpoint what.
“Two.”
Another whisper.
Pac tensed, expecting another round of ‘counting your ribs’, although this time in an anatomically correct friendly version (how they got to the result that twelve was the actual correct answer a few seconds ago was a complete mystery to him since he was clearly very occupied dying in crackles) but the thumbs continued with their soft ministrations until he was back to melting, a low huff of laughter (and purring, however it seems like they’re both pretending to ignore that) leaving Cellbit’s mouth.
His fingertips began scribbling on the spot, fingers sometimes slipping under his shirt to scratch at the dip of his hips or on his trembling belly, making sharp intakes of breath to take over him as the scientist let go of the other’s shoulders to muffle his reactions, covering his face entirely.
“Just laugh already, Pac. We both know you want to.”
Cellbit began poking his sides, realizing that there was a lovely weak spot extremely close to his back that made Pac yelp and jump when he passed through it. So he took his sweet time to explore it, watching as a single poke on his right would make him trash to the left, where clawing fingers would be ready to excitedly squeeze his unprotected side over and over and over again until Pac eventually was able to squirm out of it and come right back to the soft, unbearable tickling of his other hand. His reactions dropped from kicking to shaking his head in protest as he kept holding all his titters and laughter inside, each second getting closer to break.
It was fine, though, Cellbit could wait.
Even so, he squinted his eyes at the other’s covered face, being prived from watching the moments when his mouth would become a straight line as he discovered a new tickly spot or how his eyes would instinctively close when his laughter grew stronger or how his smile increased when Cellbit would unexpectedly changed techniques, analyzing which one brought better results. The detective huffed in annoyment - Roier would call it pouting, but he wasn’t here so he was wrong - and added some more tweaks on Pac’s sides in protest, sulking way less when more and more muffled squeaks began appearing with each second.
He didn’t want to exactly pry Pac’s hands from where they were, especially because he would have to stop his attack for that and there just would be no fun in that. His prey-friend-family-joy was so, so close to laughing it out.
Although…
Having his eyes covered could prove to be a good opportunity for a surprise.
Cellbit began lowering his head, getting closer to the other’s extremely red ear, being careful to not let his beard tickle his neck - not yet, at least - to not alarm Pac of his plan. He made sure his voice had the lowest and roughest tune that he could make, letting his breath hit the skin freely.
“There is no reason for you to hold back your reactions like this from me, gigglebug. Besides, I mean, I thought we both felt the same about prisons and keeping stuff trapped, don’t we?”
Pac, honest to god, shrieked when he not only heard but actually felt how close Cellbit was, scrunching his neck in an attempt to make the buzzing tingles disappear, unsuccessfully.
“Well, then I guess I have no other option if you’re just going to try to keep all your snorts and hysterical snickers stuck inside when they should be free to rummage around. What is that phrase you and Mike are always saying, again?”
Pac finally gave up from trying to stop the other from talking so close to his ear and let go of his face to push him away, shiny eyes opening to stare at the huge, smug smirk on the detective’s face.
He didn’t know exactly why until a movement caught his gaze.
Cellbit’s hand was hovering right above him, slowly clawing as it lowered in the direction of his quivering belly. Senseless protests and pleas began stumbling in flocks from him, the scientist attempting with all his might to suck in his stomach so he wouldn’t immediately and ultimately die and still hold his giggles as much as he could.
“Wait, I remember, now!” The hand dug on his belly. “There is no impossible escape.”
Screeching laughter filled the entire space and seemed to only fuel’s the tickling more, Cellbit’s other hand joining the fun to drum on every single patch of skin available, scratching and poking fingers immediately unlocking all loud snorts and chortles as they unmercifully prodded and wiggled inside his bellybutton, adding even more to his laughter.
“There we are, bonitinho!” Cellbit’s happy shout probably held far too much pride for someone who managed to win such a childish challenge. But he didn’t care, immediately drinking the other’s reactions and comparing how different was Pac’s laughter when he tickled his belly - lower, less hysterical but seemingly stronger - from when he decided to shove his hands on his armpits and dig - higher, fast and wheezy. How his fast kicking became a dance of squirming when he went from his ribcage to his sides and how much relaxed the grip on his shoulders became - even if his face got much redder - when he went right back at attacking his neck and elbows with light scribbles. Or even how he instinctively descended into a silent laughter, full of hiccups and squeaks, everytime Cellbit targeted one of the sweet spots he mapped on his torso.
“Which one tickles more, Pac? When I attack your absurdly ticklish armpits” To help him to choose, Cellbit decided to demonstrate his question and scribble said spot, making Pac’s arms immediately slam down and a snickering fit to take place. “Or your very sensitive belly?” His adjectives were promptly proven true when he began clawing his stomach, inspiring more melodious laughter to appear.
“I don’t know! I don’t know!”
The other chuckled.
“You don’t know? Well, I’m sure you will be able to figure it out, eventually.” He lowered his head again, no longer stopping his beard from tickling the poor unprotected neck. A squeal was ripped from Pac’s throat and another attempt to hide his ear by squeezing it on his own shoulder was made. It only made the detective change from side to side, though, having way too much fun to be so easily dissuaded. “Don’t worry about it, though, we can stay here for as long as you want. For hours and hours, if needed, testing every spot, every technique, every tease until you can finally decide.”
Pac shook his head and let out some more senseless pleas in protest, too lost in his own laughter to even begin to properly respond. He rolled to his side, forcing Cellbit to go back to an upwards position, not without purposely rubbing his beard behind his ears and neck, and for a moment his lips parted, preparing to-
(No.)
With all the squirming his loose shirt moved enough to show some skin and Cellbit didn’t really think too much before skittering his fingers on the patch of his back again.
Pac yelped and slammed back on the cushions, quickly turning around and holding, a childlike, high pitched giggling flying freely from his lips.
Cellbit immediately froze.
(He didn’t try to stop him until now.)
“Wait, wait, Cellbit!”
The sentence was left incomplete as Pac snickered, bringing his hands (him) closer to his chest, still giggling even if the tickling had already stopped, eyes closed and smile going from one ear to another.
He looked relaxed. Content.
Cellbit furrowed his eyebrows. He already discovered the answer for his part of the deal. Pac’s worst spot was clear as any white shirt washed with a good dose of peroxide after a hard day, but there had been little funny details in his friend’s actions that pointed directly to one direction. That last reaction being his main hint.
Oh.
Cellbit gets it, now.
“Your worst spot isn’t your favorite one, right? That’s your back.”
Wide, expectant and excited, black eyes found his and something clicked just right in Cellbit’s brain. A predatory grin suppressed his previous thoughtful expression.
Pac didn’t deny it.
They were still in the game.
Pac was just so fun.
“Pac, Pac, Pac…” He tsks. “So you were actually hiding stuff from me.”
Easily freeing his hands from the loose grip, Cellbit observed as the scientist automatically began losing himself in sniggers, not even batting an eye when uncoordinated hands tried to grab his wrists again. He had an idea.
Pac yelped when two strong arms came and hugged him, all his protests coming to a halt with the sudden mix of soft embrace and firm restrain, leaving him frozen in confusion. The cushion at his side dipped as Cellbit put his weight on it and even if Pac’s brain began running a mile per hour he couldn’t get what his plan was here.
With a swift turn Cellbit lifted him from the sofa and rolled, his moves fast and precise - even if still a little clumsy, by the way that the detective let out a ‘oof’ sound when they fell back on the cushions and he hit the furniture, - successfully exchanging his position with Pac and, which is even more remarkable as the fingers that lightly pressed on the lovely space between his shoulderblades reminded him: leaving his entire back unprotected and open for any kind of silly, tickly attack.
“Gotcha, gigglebug.”
One hand began quickly scratching his neck as the other one skittered across his spine, wiggling on every bone until it reached his lower back, pinches, scribbles and scratches joyfully attacking the sensitive spot, exploring every part of it and immediately making his giggling grow up to a notch.
Pac shoved his face on the other’s neck, shoulders bouncing with each laughter as tiny sparks of electricity seemed to follow every one of Cellbit’s touches as they tickled and teased every and any available spot of his back, successfully trapping him in a mix of childlike, high pitched laughter and wheezy chuckles. It was a little maddening how all his muscles seemed to relax with the soft tickles as his fingertips lightly ran across his back only to instantly jump with jolts and surprised squeaks as a sudden poke or tazing was delivered right on the back of his ribs or on in between shoulderblades, increasing his laughter and pulling more and more snorts for a few seconds, just when the comforting touch would to come and take over again.
It was the most amazing, unbearable, awful, joyful trap he could imagine. Being locked on Cellbit’s firm yet gentle embrace, adrenaline running hot on his veins as the feeling of safe but in danger made all the sirens in his mind scream and a warm feeling of trust to pool into his soul. The way that he was unable to actively defend his favorite spot - how did Cellbit even discover it so quickly? - without giving his friend free access to more other places he could attck, but also knowing that just holding his hands would immediately stop him made Pac let himself go and giggle and snicker hysterically non stop.
Not to mention the literal feeling of the motor-like purr that was still present and also seemed to tickle him, his skin still feeling way too ticklish for all that buzzing. Especially since it seemed to only grow stronger every time that a special prodding on the base of his or a spidering on his upper back made him hug the detective closer.
Besides, Pac didn’t quite realize it, but with every hug he pressed his face more and more on Cellbit’s neck, his huffs and puffs of laughter resulting in shivers and wobbly smiles to escape from the detective as well.
They kept up that song and dance for a few more minutes until Cellbit got content after fishing all the wheezes, snorts, squeals and laughter he had stored, settling to massaging the nape of his neck as he calmed down. Still delivering one or two soft scribbles on the back of his ears from time to time to prevent him from falling asleep on top of him. Cellbit is still a very happily married man, afterall.
“Still alive there, dude?”
No answer. Cellbit began blinking quickly, suddenly realizing that the room seemed much more illuminated and detailed than when he first walked in, his mind instantly going back to focus on the enigma he was after now that the chase-hunt-play was over.
I mean, their deal.
(Where did that come from?)
“What is the code?”
Silence.
“Pac?”
Said one lifted himself from the hug, a giant smile on his face and a few unshed tears glistering in the corner of his eyes.
He suddenly wheezed when their eyes found each other, not expecting at all to see the full blown wide cat pupils staring right back at him.
The confused expression on Cellbit’s face only grew bigger as he continued to blink non stop, probably bothered by the light.
“Pfffff, me dá uns minutinhos aí, moço. A cat just got my tongue.” (Give me a few more minutes, bro.)
And then he immediately jumped away from the couch before the meaning of his words could fully sink in the other’s brain. He felt way too giddy after all the fun and playful tickles, with wobbly steps and gleeful chuckles twirling in the air.
“Pactw…” The underlying warning in his tone - together with a hunt-warn-catch thrill and, oh. my. god. Pac needed to tell this to the others like right now - made Pac yelp and hold his hands in rendition, lowering himself in what could be a preparation to run away or an attempt to look smaller.
“40028922!”
Cellbit kept staring at him, squinted eyes analyzing his every move and expression as usual. Sometimes Pac wondered what he found when he did this.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not! That is really the code and by the way I don’t have anything to do with it! They just told me to keep it.” As the other continued to look at him in disbelief, he started doing the orange justice dance, singing. “40028922 é o funk do Yudi que vai dar Playstation 2.” (40028922, it’s Yudi’s funk that will give you a Playstation 2)
Eventually, the detective got up from the couch and walked to the door, putting the numbers and watching it with one trembling eyebrow as the door opened effortlessly. He pinched his nose bridge with a groan and an amused huff. Knowing his luck, Cellbit should’ve expected something like that.
However, he quickly straightened his posture, combing his hair with his fingers and adjusting his coat. That was it. The last piece of the puzzle. The final level. He had no more time for playing around.
“Ok. Thank you very much for your cooperation and… trust, Pac. I appreciate it a lot. We make a good team when we work together.” He hesitated before stepping forward and didn’t quite look back, but Pac could feel those piercing brown eyes on him. “I know we were just joking but…You’re a good ally. You and Mike both. Hope we can keep fighting side by side in the future.”
“Y-yeah, of course! The Favela sticks together forever, right?”
“...Yes. We’re family. That is what we do.” Cellbit nodded and Pac mirrored him, even if the other was already getting inside the other room.
That was cool.
Dramatic.
But cool.
Pac was in the middle of sending Roier a message saying that Cellbit was heading in his direction when a thought went right through his brain, making him freeze.
“Wait.” He said out loud, looking behind to face the robot green rats that always followed him and Mike around. “Mike told him that this was like Roier’s idea and not some enigma left by the Federation, yeah?”
He began biting his nails, thinking about all the steps and parties involved in this surprise that Roier wanted to give to his husband as a gift. He wasn’t the only one invited to participate in it. Mike, Bagi, Philza, Baghera, Badboyhalo… “I mean, someone must have warned him, right?”
The rat shrugged.
Pac snorted, hand flying to his mouth before his wheezes could catch his friend’s attention and make him come back, quickly getting out of the place before Cellbit realized what he was really walking into.
(In the distance, he was almost sure that he heard a surprised shout followed by one laughter that, at this point, he already knew very well. But sometimes a good gossiper needs to know when to die for a fofoca and when to run away with half of it.)
(He needed to go tell everything to Fit first, afterall.)
[~*~]
Fun facts!
The first part with Pac and Mike is inspirated in that bit they have going on where Pac mimics Mike's accent and in turn Mike makes it thicker and talks faster and they just keep it going on! They also use it when they want to do something illegal (like escape from the prision on the latest event) so the translator won't catch exactly what they're saying
40028922 is a very known number in Brazil because it was a phone number used to participate in a kid TV Show and one of the hosts had this jingle where he would sing song it and say that you would get a Playstation 2. It's so known that using it as a secret code it's a bit like... rick rolling the person.
It's not made very clear but this is kind of inspired by @squeaky-n-blushy 's tags on my guapoduo tickle hc and Cellbit is actually walking directly to the end of a puzzle made by Roier as a gift where his prize are tickles :D Yay!!
Kanene's notes: As it seems when I wasn't looking ??? Fucking Felipe Minecraft just came here and made a nest in my mind and refuses to leave so now I have a new comfort character as it seems.
Also I know that Richas and Philza didn't interact a lot but I like to think they are final bosses for each other. The day Richas adopts him as his father and Philza adopts him as his son the island explodes and life come to a full cycle.
Warnings: None! Just a tad of angst with plenty of fluff and some silly cheer up tickles. Ticklish!Richarlyson and Ler!Philza. Around 4.000 words. Richas uses all pronouns here.
[~*~]
Tio Phil had a nice place.
Richas didn’t spend a lot of time there. Important talks were usually held in other secured spaces and he would rather spend some time building with her parents or causing some ruckus somewhere in the island than constantly invade Tallulah and Chay’s home. Even if they got closer after the Egg Island, it didn’t mean that he stopped feeling awkward around his siblings.
But today… They was tired.
So they hiked to the top of the wall, turned off Philza’s collecting machine and fell in the middle of the potato crops, watching the clouds as they calmly danced around their always-perfectly-sunny sky.
Looking at them, she wouldn’t have to think about how much she missed pai Cellbit and Pa Roier every single day, about how scared Empanada looked and the way she was always clutching her scythe now or how she and mãe Bagi barely came out of their securated base anymore.
If he watched enough the fading forms of the fluffy clouds and the occasional birds that came and went, he wouldn’t have to think about the sharp shapes and bright colors he saw today when he woke up in his old room in pai Cellbit’s castle, full of new stinging scratches covering entirely his arms and legs, the canvas and room filled with red drops of paint and blood. Nor how it felt to burn the piece of art and bury the ashes aways before anyone could see it.
Yes. The Wall was nice. It was calm and beautiful and since her tio and siblings were sleeping like rocks somewhere well hidden he could sneak a few jumps in their trampoline before coming back to a second nap by the plants.
From time to time he would feel something bump on his hand and turn around only to see a cute, small tortoise calmly biting and chewing on a leaf of the crop, probably a fresh fugitive from Talullah’s pond. They could respect its chaotic nature.
“Holy fuck!” A shout nearby almost made him jump out of his skin, fastly turning around, sword in hand, only to see his tio in a similar situation, hand on his heart as he tried to regain his breath amidst his surprised laughter. “Gods, Richarlyson you scared the shit out of me.”
That fished an amused crackle out of Richas, who didn’t feel much like it, but got up and waved a few times, writing a greeting for the adult. She kind of was in his home, afterall.
“Hi, tio! Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon,” Philza answered, putting his tools back on his trusted backpack once again, now already realizing what was the reason for his machine to have stopped working out of nowhere. He instead pulled a basket out of it.
It has been a while since he harvested his own potatoes by hand, but he had no hurry or plans today. Besides, it was quite a calming activity.
“Were you looking for me? Sorry, me, Chayanne and Tallulah have been spending a lot of time in our… other house.”
It was definitely a way to explain Rose’s protected sanctuary, but he couldn’t tell the kid about that.
A crossing thought made Philza’s body freeze and his eyes became wide. “Wait, is it about our trip? Is it time? Ok, I already got everything prepared but I still need a couple more minutes to leave Tallulah and Chayanne somewhere safe with someone and then we can go… Let me see who is already awake…”
A push in his arm stopped his sentence and called his attention to the dragons’ words.
“It’s fine! :D” Another blue sign quickly followed the first, the sentences being written fast and messily. “It’s not the time for our trip yet, don’t worry. I was just passing by here and decided to take a nap.”
The small dragon, a barely nestling, crouched and let their tail drag across the soil in a calming manner.
There was no rush today. Philza felt his muscles untense.
“Alright then. That is good.” The adult smiled, more relaxed. Richas never commented this with anyone, but sometimes his tios looked like they’re a thousand years old. “Sorry for interrupting your relaxing nap then, mate. As I said, I already got everything covered. The moment you need me, just call, ok?”
Energetic nods. Philza answered with one of his own and turned around, going back to his activity. It was already a habit at this point, to watch a kid with the corner of his eyes as he went on about his day, always aware to any danger or enemy that could appear. That is how he watched as Richas swayed in the same place when he turned around, expression falling to a neutral face as they broke their signs and threw them out of the wall before falling on the ground again, closing her eyes.
Richarlyson was a good kid. An energetic little shit rocketing from one place to the other with an adventurous and reckless spirit almost as big as his heart. Anyone who spent more than 2 minutes with him would see, clear as day how much he loved his parents and loved even more to give them gray hair, always ready for a playful chase, a harmless prank or a fun playdate with his siblings. They didn’t stumble on each other too much nowadays, but at any given time Philza would protect and take care of him just as much as his own kids if needed.
He was a good egg (literally).
That is why it was easy to see that something was off with her. Seeing her walking around without one of his parents or Bad was rare, but not an alarming sign itself, being as independent as they was. But that together with the way that her gestures lacked their usual uncontrollable energy, how he fell the moment Philza turned away and how tiredness clung in his form and brought shadows to her eyes and a weight to her shoulders was definitely something worth noticing.
Something had been bothering the boy and knowing his family and their history on the island… Well, not a single islander had been free from the horrors that permeated every corner of the place, but the brazilians seemed to receive a special - and not in the good way - attention more often than not.
Needless to say, Richarlyson probably had a lot to get worried and sad over, unfortunately.
All of them, the guardians, did their best to save their nestlings the best they could from the enemies and disasters that seemed to follow their every step. However there was just so much a small group could do against gods knows how many entities before their children also began paying a parcel of the price.
It was sorrowful to see the young one like this, but Philza wouldn’t pry. If the kid wanted to come and vent he would happily lend them an ear and give his best comfort. If Richas wanted to just hang out in silence and enjoy the refreshing breeze from the top of the wall then Philza would let him be, as well.
Therefore, he kept collecting the potatoes, humming one of Tallulah’s songs while putting them in crates and organizing the crates in a pile next to the security fence together with the other thousands crates that were already there.
Maybe he should follow Pierre’s example and start selling them to the Federation. Getting paid and becoming an official provider or something like that.
… Nah, he would rather die.
Philza turned around to get another round of potatoes, this time to make more avocado toast to nibble on until dinner, where his daughter would oblige him to cook actual true food for them - which is unfair, because avocado toast is a very good, healthy and energetic, fulfilling food! - when he saw it.
‘It’, more specifically being Richarlyson, who was still around three feets away from him, just like she was after the end of their conversation. Which didn’t make any sense since Philza had moved a good distance further away from his initial spot while harvesting and taking care of his plantation.
Hm.
Interesting.
He kept his gaze forward and his hands moving, not actively watching the kid but still paying attention for any kind of move.
A few steps away, he crouched to adjust a crop that had been almost removed from its spot, planting and firming it back on the soil before getting up again, his wings partially open to lower the sun rays hitting his back.
(With them being destroyed as they were, there was little use he could give them, but this would have to do.)
Pretending to stretch, he tilted his head just slightly amount, in the perfect angle to see that Richas, once again, had moved somehow in this short period of time and was now closer to him, laying on the ground with her eyes closed, a light snore coming out of her muzzle in a quiet ‘mimimi’ sound.
Philza held back a snort.
They kept this up for a while, almost as a game. Philza would continue his task, turn his head for half of a second and when he turned his attention back to the young one it was to see that they was already close again, “napping” with no worries, dead to the world as a rock, all across the field. There was a moment when the winged blonde could almost swear that he saw him crawling amidst the potatoes while following him.
Philza thinks he did a pretty good job in not laughing out loud at their antics, only letting out one or two small snickers here and there fly in the air before being swept away.
He was taking the toasts out of the furnace and storing them in pots when the little dragon “woke up”, yawning and stretching, an amused grin blossoming in his face.
“Hey, king, glad that you're awake. Just made a fresh stack of avocado toast. Here, take some, take some, make sure you have enough for any emergency or attack.”
A loud wheeze was pried from his lips at watching her previous grin quickly turn into a sour face at the sight of the toast, stepping away from them in a half of second.
Richarlyson quickly shook her head as she emphasized that he “would rather have a short and happy life instead, thanks” and that “Tallulah told me terror stories about these when we were in Egg Island 0_0 I am traumatized”, as the signs he placed on the ground said.
Philza had to hold himself on the fence so he and the toast didn't fall from the wall with the force of his laughter.
“Alright, alright.” He quickly acquiesced, putting the rest of the food in the remaining pot and disposing them all in his backpack, planning to bring it to the pantry later. “What if we shared these sandwiches Chayanne made me this morning, then? He is trying a new recipe and it's just delicious.”
The disgusted expression quickly melted away when they heard the mention of a new snack. Philza unwrapped it under Richas’ wide attentive eyes and offered him only to have his hand pushed away, the kid shaking his head furiously.
“What? Why? Did Tallulah tell you scary stories about her siblings’ cooking abilities too?”
Richas denied, looking a tad out of the place before apparently deciding on their words.
“You can keep it, tio! Chayanne made it for you and it's no problem, I am not hungry >:D”
Another sign.
“Besides, if I need some I can just go to Tio Bad's house and steal his refrigerator! I still have a lot in my backpack though.”
To show his point, the small one began pulling pot after pot of cooked goodies from his backpack: lasagna, soup, candies, more candies, chocolate, a not very good looking or even fresh bread, tamales… He proudly showed his collection, bouncing on the same spot before starting to put them back from where they came from.
This nestling…
“I am not saying that you don't have food. I know you're always prepared and I am pretty sure you even have one or two illegal items in your backpack too.” He rested his back on the tree behind him, careful to avoid hitting Missa's painting, smiling as his nephew stared at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes, bouncing on the same spot, not denying or confirming his suspicions. “But I still want to share a good sandwich with you, mate.”
Richas still didn't look convinced. He seemed to be listening, though. That was a good step.
“I am sure that Chayanne wouldn’t care too. He actually loves giving everyone good food and showing his skills to the island. Which is perfect. I can send him your thanks later.”
It was interesting how, even though all the similarities, every sibling was still very different from each other, in both their personalities and actions, and sometimes Philza liked to muse about it. At his words Richarlyson didn't nervously twist his fingers like Tallulah used to do when thinking hard about something or deviated his gaze like Chayanne when he knew what he wanted but thought that he should want another thing. Instead, the dragon fledgling watched him intently, looking for something.
They must have found it, because they smiled in an embarrassed manner and let his tail wag excitedly once, breaking the signs and walking to his side on the tree.
Philza handed them their sandwich and Richarlyson began eating, satisfied, small growling sounds escaping between each bite as they enjoyed the moment.
Without meaning to or even thinking too much about it, Philza answered back with a quiet, pleased caw, his right wing expanding to surround the little one, not locking her amidst his feathers, but creating a shield from the Sun.
(If only it could completely shield them from the dangers.)
“Do you like it?”
Richas answered by taking a large bite and ripping the sandwich in half, ears wiggling in contentment. The adult chuckled.
“Good to know, king.”
They spent some time like this before a sign was placed, successfully calling the other’s attention.
“How is it to have feathered wings, tio? Yours are so pretty! :D”
Flashes began filling his mind. The feeling of the wind hitting your face, the sound of the birds singing and chirping when flying in flocks, the adrenaline of falling without a single fear of hitting the floor, of expanding his wings and feeling each one of your feathers bristle in the air…
A light touch in one of his primaries shook him out of his memories and his eyes automatically flew to the… mess that were his wings now, with weak muscles and feathers missing from some spots.
Grimly, Philza could surely think about plenty of adjectives he could give them, “pretty” definitely weren’t one.
It was quite hard to focus on that when the fledgling kept carefully touching and looking at them with so much curiosity, however.
“It’s incredible.” He sighed, a mix of longing and awe painting his voice. “They can help with so much stuff, like, I’m not even kidding. Mine are very roughed up, especially after Purgatory, but when they were in their prime they were perfect not only for flying but also for shielding, holding stuff, attacking…There is a lot you can do with them. You also will probably be able to do all of this and more when yours grows.”
“You could attack with them? 0-0”
“Pff, yeah. Actually, you would be surprised about how many people wouldn’t be prepared to have a face full of feathers swinging with full force when fighting an avian.”
At the mention, he shook his black, glistering feathers in demonstration, finishing his sandwich with a final bite when a snorted squeal cut the air.
Philza turned around to see Richarlyson rubbing a spot on his neck, their other hand pushing his wing away while a small smile grazed his lips.
Hm.
“Also, you see those muscles?” He purposely brought his wing down, letting all the black feathers hit and briefly wiggle on the young’s face and neck, pretending to not notice the way he squeaked and jumped away, shoulders bouncing with the uncontrollable giggles that naturally resulted from the tickles. Philza continued as if nothing happened. “Lot of people don’t think too much about them, but to be able to carry a whole person, the muscles, tendons and bones need to have a lot of strength. So, being punched by them usually hurts a lot more than attentive enemies are prepared for and gives you plenty of time to run away or finish the fight.”
Richas rubbed the buzzing, tickly tingles left by the sudden attack of feathers away, airy titters still escaping from their mouth while they squinted suspiciously at the blonde, who seemed distracted enough by his explanation to realize the onslaught of accidental tickles.
The dragon risked a step closer. The conversation continued to flow without interruption.
“That is also why it’s important to always keep exercising your wings, especially during their initial growth or periods of recovery. Have you been building your core strength, mate?”
Brushing off the previous episode aside, Richas nodded, not helping the excited thrill that filled the air.
“Yes! Tio Bad taught me how and pai Mike has been trying to build a machine to fly with me so he is studying a lot of mechanics about how it works and accompanying me with the exercises. Pa Roier also said he will help me when he comes back, since he used to watch a lot of tia Jaiden and Bobby training.”
Philza tried to not visibly frown at the words. How long has Roier been sleeping, again?
He would have to ask Bagi and Fit for news later.
For now, he had a kid to distract.
“Sounds good. If you need any help you can call me, I wouldn’t mind giving you a few tips. Even if crow wings aren’t that close to dragon ones, they still have a lot in common.”
“Can you teach me the attacks? I want to surprise Dapper the next time he tries to fight me.”
The avian laughed. “Sure, king. Come a bit closer.”
Richas gave two more steps in his direction with wide watching eyes. “Alright, it depends a lot on your wingspan but usually you will need to be in close combat to use these techniques, so that is something to pay attention to. A good tactic you can have is to use them as a distraction.”
With a mischievous smirk, Philza began quickly moving his wings around the kid, letting them get close and then moving them away before he could touch them, the feathers skittering freely across his neck and ears with each swipe. When Richas squirmed to one side to hide, trying to push them away while firmly pressing his mouth shut so no squeak or squeal would escape, Philza simply attacked the other side, even managing to slip a few wiggling of the fluff feathers on his belly and armpits when the shirt would move up enough to reveal a bit of the scaled skin, catching a new giggly growl every time.
“And, when the target is sufficiently confused by them is the moment that you attack.”
Before the words could sink in the kid’s mind, Philza striked, giving to one of his sides a quick tweak, successfully fishing a loud yelp and managing to free a string of snickers that only grew louder and gigglier as he kept the soft, light feathery tickles intertwined them with more and more surprising squeezes and tweaks.
“You can keep it up as long as you need. Remember: confuse, confuse and attack.” Swipe. Swipe. Squeeze. “Again: confuse, confuse and attack.”
Laugh, laugh, laugh.
Richas gave up trying to push his wings and hands away, instead trying to hug himself to hide his most ticklish spots. However, the playful, soft and silly tickling kept following them no matter how much they wiggled or squirmed around, totally surrounding him with those fluffy bristles that made every single patch of skin buzz with a funny kind of electricity, freeing more and more squeaks between peals of uncontrollable laughter.
She started walking backwards, trying to put some distance between her and the tickles, almost stumbling on his own tail by how hard it was wagging in adrenaline and joy.
Philza’s eye twirkled with a gleeful shine.
He stopped his playful attack, but the young one kept stepping away.
“Another good technique that you can use is to create a physical barrier with your wings. It can be dangerous since your enemy can get a hold of them if you’re not careful but very useful in the case you want to stop them from touching you or, in our case,” Richarlyson’s back hit something soft but immovable and suddenly the wheezy titters and snickery snickers were back in full force once again, bordering on a hysterical laughter when skillful hands began scribbling and scratching his ribs. “Preventing them from getting away.”
His fingers danced and burrowed themselves in the space between their ribs, vibrating on the spot, which made a funny kind of squeaky growl escape from the dragon, more high pitched, bouncy laughter and unstoppable wiggles taking over him when the hands kept running away and attacking all over his torso. They spidered over his ribcage to then poke his armpits, or washed down to sneak some digging and squeezing on his stomach and also even skittered across his spine, pulling all kind of yelps, chortles, snorts and high pitched, wheezy laughter over and over again.
It took a few more minutes and a bunch more of snickering and wiggling - which was actually even worse now because each squirm made him sink even more on the tickly feathers - before the avian eventually let him go, chuckling in amusement at the way Richarlyson fell on the floor and curled in a ball, shoulders bouncing with the leftover giggles.
An amused snort was pried from the adult when they showed him their middle finger, trying with no success to frown in his direction while still smiling and snickering non stop, remnant sniggers twinkling freely in the air.
“That is a surprise tickle avian attack for you. Now you already know a few uses for your wings in a battle.”
The dragon nestling ignored him, dramatically rolling and turning around and away from the avian, still fully stretched on the floor as if he had just survived a fight for his life and not some harmless playful sillness. Philza chuckled a bit more, not resisting and giving his unprotected neck one last tickle, which immediately melted the half heartedly pout in a smile and made him turn back again and hold a tnt as a threat, making the adult laugh and pull his arms up in rendition.
Richas showed off his tongue and then fell dramatically on the ground again.
(It was good to him in a lighter spirits, again.)
Philza then got up, stretching and shaking his wings fervently, wincing a bit when their muscles trembled a tad more than normal while holding them, probably from getting so much exercise after being kept so long hidden and immobile.
Maybe he should follow his own advice and build more of their core strength.
Letting them rest, he went back to adjust a few more crates around before checking on his communicator to see if Chayanne or Tallulah had woken up.
It was almost evening now, and yet it showed not a single signal of life.
Hm.
Well, he could give them their cookies tomorrow if needed, there was still plenty of time before the end of the week.
A light poke hit him right below his shoulderblade and suddenly a loud giggly yelp was ripped from his throat. He turned around quickly only to find his own nephew looking at him with a malefic grin in his expression.
“No.” He said, wagging a finger in warning at them, already realizing their intentions just by the slight slow drag of their tail and the step they gave in his direction. His tune tried to come out as stern, but he was pretty sure that even the kid could see there was no real heat behind his words.
Richas answered him with an excited thrill, ignoring the threatening caw - more like a soft chip but he wasn’t about to admit it - he gave her in return.
“No. Richarlyson, you do not want to get into this fight with me, ok, mahahate?! Hey! No! Lehehet go!”
There was indeed a valiant and grandious fight. One of the most playful, silly and joyful ones to ever graze that land, they said. The winner was never revealed at the end but passing friends mentioned listening to plenty of surprised caws and giggly growls falling like waterfalls from the wall, especially when certain two other kids woke up to the lack of their father and went to investigate his whereabouts. They said that the growing match continued until the sun set.
Who knows, who knows.
And since that day, if Richas decided to visit his tio Phil more frequently and if Philza would take the habit of turning off his harvesting machinery from time to time to watch the clouds, that is nobody’s business but their own.
Kanene's notes: This was supposed to just be posted tomorrow but I got too excited dfghjhgfgh. I am extremaly weak for any fanfic with cuddles and Guapoduo so I decided to get one of my favorite tropes and add some giggly fluff to it. Hope you like!
Warnings: This is a tickle fic. There's a lot of swearing. But besides that, this is purely fluff with a pinch of angsty thoughts that are barely there before going away. Ler!Roier and Ticklish!Cellbit. Around 2.500 words. My spanish is still something I'm trying to improve so pls forgive any grammar mistakes.
[~*~]
Roier was on his lap.
This was a common occurrence, nowadays. Still, it made Cellbit’s heartbeat in a samba rhythm before calming down to a song of safety and happiness every time he thought about it. Feelings which only increased as Roier kept idly playing with his hair and massaging his scalp.
Technically, he knew exactly what his husband was doing. He used the same technique every time the detective got too lost in his enigmas, trying to claw and rip his way into the Federation’s secrets so they could have a tiny chance to escape from this island. First he would come to his office (not the one in Order Theoritas, but the old one because he kept forgetting to move the computer to the new building) and call him to go home, one, two, even three times before giving up and following one of the three usual routes:
1) Going away and doing whatever project he had in mind - usually with Richarlyson, - ending up in their Castle to sleep when he was over.
2) Staying on the coach nearby and sing while going through his albums, both the one with their investigations or the other with their daily lives, pulling Cellbit’s attention from time to time to remember some lost memory while showing him a fun picture of Cellbit’s first day in the island or Foolish shooting Slime in their wedding.
3) Deciding to make this the perfect opportunity to have his own quality cuddle time with his husband. This route usually brought plenty of other options that could consist in: Choosing to drap himself on the other’s shoulders and play with his free hand, talking about any and everything or just keeping the soft silence between them. Or giving him a massage, not without chuckling and throwing pokes of fun in a teasy tune about how the other would absolutely melt with the touch and pretend that he wasn’t fighting to keep his eyes open.
Sometimes, like this one, he would simply sit on his lap and rest his face on the creek of his neck, smiling half amused and half fondly about how Cellbit wouldn’t even comment or blink when he decided to do that, just open his arms and then keep writing or typing when he was comfortable on the new position.
The brazilian couldn’t actually point with precise exaction when each route was chosen every time, especially since others factors played in this like his husband’s feelings, Forever and Felps coming with Roier to help him to pull him out of the dark places of his mind after a bad day of working for the Federation or when Richarlyson would be around, wanting to spend time with him and Cellbit would be too much of a butter heart to actually deny his son anything under the Sun.
(He was doing all of this for them after all.)
Even when he thought he had finally come to find a pattern in Roier’s choices, his love would just come with a new route or decision that would totally throw him off the track and oblige him to reorganize all his thoughts.
But it was okay. He didn’t mind being wrong in this at all. Actually, it was like a domestic, nice puzzle that Cellbit could spend the rest of their lives trying to solve and he just couldn’t wait for when this would be his only worry.
He only was certain on one thing: most of the time Roier preferred to keep the third option for when Cellbit spent too much time on his books and forgot to keep up with simple human things like day and night, sleep schedules and eating. Cellbit was actually grateful that, even so, his husband would still keep trying to quietly convince him to let go of his enigmas with soft touches, some jokes, distracting kisses and complaints until the other finally caved and went home with him than Roier actively coming and physically pulling him out of his chair to rest.
Even if the idea of being carried in his strong arms, toned with muscles and strength, would sometimes make his brain and face fry, both knew that his investigation was way too important and his mind too set in find a solution for him to try to rest even when papers and books and photos weren’t in front of him. This action would just make both of their frustration grow when his thoughts wouldn’t just shut off and Roier wouldn't get to rest as well.
So, they played this game.
Roier pretended that each one of his moves were just him enjoying some quality time with his husband and not a plan to lovely break his resolve bit by bit until he went to eat and sleep and Cellbit pretended that he wasn’t, piece by piece, archiving a few good leads to follow on the next days and finishing his thoughts with the ones he already had in hand as yawns crept their way up his throat with each minute of the snuggle.
Right now the mexican was rubbing his back, changing from feeling the goosebumps following his fingertips when they lightly traced the skin to listening to his small (barely even audibles if he wasn’t so close) appreciative hums when he firmly pressed his thumbs in circles on his shoulders, following the path to his neck and going back before re-starting his circle.
(...)
It’s been a couple of hours since Roier first appeared and demanded cuddles - determined to make his husband get out of his office this night after spending the last three days there, - until he finally stopped listening to the typing of his computer. He turned his head from its resting place on the other’s shoulders, watching as Cellbit pinched the bridge of his nose with a tired, frustrated expression on his face.
Trying to know anything about their current prison was a painfully slow and exhausting process. It was no news to watch the shadows under his husband’s eyes get darker and darker as each answer brought other 4 new questions. Sometimes, Cellbit would confess in the sleepless nights, he came out of his investigations feeling much emptier than when he started, sensing his hope starting to give out to desperation.
And how could Roier let him shimmer in those thoughts under his supervision?
He turned around and kissed his chin, hands slowly creeping up to his sides, laying there for comfort and warmth as Cellbit twitched instinctively, sighed and opened a tiny smile at the other, letting his hand fall on Roier’s arm and rubbing circles there, still staring at the computer.
“Terminó? (Did you finish?) Did you already…” he then began typing idly on the back of the chair, pretending to be the detective “....hacked la Federacion?” (the Federation?)
“Uh hm, uh hum.” Cellbit immediately jumped on his silliness, also typing quickly and senselessly on his computer before doing a lower, grave voice full of glitching. “I’m in.”
“Apoco si, pendejo.” (Sure, stupid.)
“É verdade, é verdade. It’s true. I called a boat to come get us all of this, it must be getting close.”
“Si, si. Ya están en Vergiça, cabrón.” (Yes, yes. They’re already got on Dickland, idiot.)
“Oh, did you find them when you went there?”
“En portugués, Cellbit, en portugués.” (In portuguese, Cellbit, in portuguese.)
The brazilian let out a fond snicker, rolling his eyes, trying but not succeeding to hide how much happy it made him that the other was making a true effort to learn his language just as much as he tried to learn spanish.
“Ok, ok. Você encontrou com eles quando foi pra lá?”
“No, no, no. No pude ir porqué (I couldn’t go because) mi pepee is very small.”
Cellbit couldn’t stop the crackle that was fished from his throat at this, hand lightly hitting his tabletop and coming to hide his eyes, losing their battle of keeping a serious face as the conversation grew more and more foolish and they went deeper and deeper in the joke.
Roier smiled. He missed hearing that freeing sound. Even though Cellbit got much more relaxed and happy around him, it was easier to see that, since Jaiden’s mission in that giant dungeon, he had been much more stressed and on edge.
That is why he couldn’t help but immediately reflect the joy in his husband’s face as his laughter took turns in being totally quiet or having high pitched sounds. It was adorable.
Also, it gave him a very good idea.
He absently adjusted his hold on the other’s waist, glad that his smirk was hidden due their position.
“Que te ries, cabrón, eh? Que te ries?” (What are you laughing at, huh, idiot? What are you laughing at?) He threw the bait, already knowing what the other would say.
“Nothing, nothing.” Suddenly a squeal filled the room, which might or not be related with Roier choosing this exact time to rhythmically squeeze his sides, going up and down on the tickle spot quickly and skillfully, counting that the surprise attack and fast scribbling of his fingers would be enough to not allow the other to turn the tables before he could enjoy at least a good amount of Cellbit’s cute laughter. “Guapito!”
“Huh? Que dije, gatinho? No hablo inglés, sorry, sorry.” (Huh? What did you say, gatinho? I don’t speak english, sorry, sorry.)
“Pendejo!” He tried to grab his wrists, but with a swift movement Roier caught one of his hands and intertwined their fingers, pulling his arm up and then having no obstacles to attack his unprotected armpit with all the scratches and pokes that he knew that would make the detective completely lose any trace of coherent thought.
Cellbit threw his head backwards with a short ‘eee’ sound, silent laughter ringing in the air for a few seconds before he tried to become a ball of protection, squeaks and yelps falling like a waterfall from his lips as his hand went from trying to hide his smile to pushing the tickling away.
“Awww, no mames, wey. Cellbit you’re so ticklish, man. You’re ticklish everywhere.”
As if to prove what he was saying, Roier began spidering his fingers anywhere his fingers could reach, prodding the space between his ribs, scribbling on his sides, squeezing his hips, tracing his neck all while watching the other’s laughter descend in a string of high pitched giggling that made his cheeks burn and eyes gleam in mirth.
“Literally ticklish everywhere. A ver, a ver: Boom” (Look at this, look at this)
A poke on his armpit and another squeal shot through the room, more of them following as he kept poking his entire torso randomly, drinking on the gigantic smile on Cellbit’s face. “See? Very, very ticklish. Boom. Boom. Boom.”
“Não, sem cócegas, sem cócegas!” (No, no tickling, no tickling!) His voice was breathless, the words barely understandable with all the giggles.
Roier adjusted himself to a sitting position on his lap, letting go of his arm so both of his hands would be free. Cellbit latched on his wrists but didn’t actually push him away.
“Oh no,” He gasped dramatically, making his voice in a deep tune of despair that he knew sounded ridiculous enough to increase the foolishness of all of this, both of his hands following Cellbit’s torso around when it instinctively tried to squirm away from his hold, digging on any tickle spot available before happily jumping to another, no matter how much the detective tried to wiggle away or cull in protection. “Las cosquillas, Cellbit! Las cosquillas te encontraron, nooo! Ya no puedo salvarlo, és muy tarde.” (The tickles, Cellbit! The tickles found you, nooo! I can no longer save you, it’s too late)
Roier then added a few grunting sounds as he made an entire show of fighting his own hands, throwing himself from one side to another and swearing before finally stopping his attack. He felt a bit silly in doing all that but seeing the blush crept in Cellbit’s neck and how his snickers still danced joyfully in the air for the next few minutes even after he ceased his attack, he felt proud.
The brazilian tried for a third time to open his eyes - black and glinting with a playful mirth and a few unshed tears - and endured exactly two entire seconds of looking at Roier before his chuckling grew anew. Roier couldn’t help but laugh with him.
“Se murió, noo. Estás completamente muerto.” (He died, noo. He is completely dead.)
Cellbit weakly punched his shoulder, his own still bouncing with the leftover laughter.
“Callate, estúpido!” (Shut up, stupid!)
“Eh? Estúpido?” Roier didn’t wait not a single second before clawing on his stomach, sniggering malefically at the surprised crackling that exploded from the other, his hand hitting the tabletop. “Ya está, ya está. Ya no voy más a dejarte ir. Grosseirinho. Gatinho grosseirinho” (Enough, enough. I’m not letting you go, now. Rude. Rude gatinho)
“Desculpa, desculpa.” (I’m sorry, i’m sorry)
“Nah, nah, nah. Con esa boquita me besas?” (Do you kiss me with that mouth?)
With a bolt of strength Cellbit adjusted his hold and pulled the other forward, making him lose his balance and fall on his chest. He lost no time before capturing his lips in a kiss, immediately making Roier’s brain stop and his entire body freeze before melting on his chest, the tickle attack coming to halt, totally forgotten.
They spent a few moments like this before breaking apart.
“Si, con esa boquita te beso.” (Yes, I kiss you with that mouth.) Cellbit replied, satisfied in taking the other’s teasy grin right out his lips.
Roier, ignoring how hot his cheeks felt, snickered at how proud and playful the other’s smirk was, especially when Cellbit didn’t try even the slightest bit to hide how smug he felt since, even with a rushed plan created while he was laughing his ass off, he knew his husband well enough to know exactly what to do to stop his thoughts and attacks immediately.
It wasn’t easy to catch the flirty fighter out of guard but it was worth it every single time.
Still, Roier just couldn’t help himself but tease his love just a tiny little bit more.
“Nah, pinche beso sin fueza. (Nah, what a fucking weak kiss) One more, one more.”
He then lowered his head, pretending to go for another kiss before quickly changing his direction and planting a raspberry on the other’s neck, quickly following it with another and another and a fourth one before losing the battle against his own crackles and resting his forehead on Cellbit’s shoulder, still not believing in the honest to god shriek that came out of the other’s mouth, more laughing quickly following it.
Cellbit sweared at him and lightly pushed his arm, but both just let themselves calm down from the adrenaline and the high in a melody of increasingly quieter giggles.
“How did you say cosquillas in portuguese? Co… consewhat?”
“Nah, nah, nah. I’m not teaching you that.”
“Come on, man!”
Cellbit squeezed his side, making him jump with a yelp and get out of the chair while he was quick to follow, standing on his feet and stretching with a yawn. A worryingly number of cracks followed that action and that made Roier relax, knowing his husband would be too tired to get any revenge now. It was almost 4 am, afterall.
“Outro dia te conto. Vamos, pendejo,” (I will tell you another day. Let’s go, idiot) the detective turned off the computer and held his hand out, giving Roier’s one a tender kiss when he immediately answered the gesture before intertwining their fingers. Roier could feel a bolt of electricity and warmth travel his entire body at that “Let’s go to the castle. I will finish the rest of my work tomorrow.”
Roier kissed his cheek and pulled his warpstone, smiling. “I will follow you, gatinho.”
No matter what or where, he really would.
Cellbit smiled, pulled his own warpstone, starting to disappear in sparkles of purple. “I will wait, guapito.”
And, for forever, that is also true.
They slept relaxed and in peace that night.
[~*~]
Random fun fact: Forever and Felps are the only ones capable of making Cellbit stop working for very different reasons: Forever because he also has a thick skull and can and WILL spend the entire night complaining about the fact that Cellbit isn’t getting out of his office and how HE is already bored for being in his office and even calling Richas and Roier to try to help him. While Felps is because the logic and serious part of his brain automatically shut off everytime his best friend is around and usually they get lost talking about semantics and philosophy and random questions like what can and can not be considered a soup.
Okay, but the way I just *can't* stop thinking about guapoduo and tickle fights is just aaaaaaAAAAA it's making me LOSE my mind!
I can perfectly see it: Roier as the most teasiest shit to ever walk on this Earth. He will brag and be smug and pretended to be offended everytime Cellbit swears at him because of that. Sometimes mah bro doesn't even need to say anything, he will just have an especific smile and chuckle that will immediately make danger bells ring in Cellbit's brain, sometimes his attacks will be full of antecipation or a simple random impulse he got to see his husband, usually so serious and composed, but just the silliest when he's with him, losing himself in a mess of laughter and blushes.
On the other hand, I can see Cellbit being just so. great. at surprise attacks. My bro will just create an entire plan in his head to get Roier when he is least expecting it and being the most vulnerable. I think he will be much more softer and merciful in general with him but you can count that he will learn teasy sentences in spanish and make goofy villain voices and lots of malefic laughter just to see his usually flirty husband blush and win because yeah, he is *very competive* no matter what kind of fight
And don't even get me started on the tickly kisses and cuddles that become a tickle fight because of one of them accidentaly brushed too close of a tickle spot and the other immediately choose (a giggly) violence
Just.... them <3 <3
Kanene's Notes: Heyaa! Gosh, it's been a long time since I've been able to write and finish AND post a fic. But! I've got a new fandom >:D uytredrtyuidfg
So, at first I didn't know a lot about Fit but GOSH, now he is one of my faves. Like, a guy that is trapped in a experiment controlled by a gigantic force that is not above torturing, experimenting and doing awful thing just to keep the control and yet this is the happier he had ever been? Because he has a wonderful son and friends? Because here, different from the world filled with war he came before, he at least knows a bit of peace? And he would do anything to still have this love, happiness and family he found? B r u h I am on the FLOOR
Although, I still haven't watched a LOT of him so probably this is kind of OOC but yeah it is what it is dfghujuygtfrftgy
Warnings: None. This is pure flluff and plyaful tickles. Ticklish!Ramón and Ler!Fit. Around 1.000 words. General warning: this is a tickle fic
[~*~]
Ramón took off running.
It felt almost natural, now. He learned to run for his life a long time ago, nowadays being able to deal much better with all the thoughts his mind had to attend to. Where he should step, when he should keep going or try to hide, how far was his pursuer, what could he do to get just a few more seconds before help came…
At first, it wasn’t supposed to be a game, running away from someone more than often isn’t in his daily life. Not with the place that they lived. The island.
But, well…
The wind ruffled his hair and the adrenaline raced in his veins, heartbeat going in sync with his footsteps, painting in firm strokes and nimble steps determination in every turn and dodge. The voice that followed him on his path only served as a reminder that it was just a fun chase.
It was hard to not have fun when his father was involved.
“Ramooon, where are you? You can’t run forever, my baby boy.”
All of this was Dapper’s fault, really. He was a menace and immature and the one who didn’t know when to admit that he had lost the wrestling match and so decided to change to cheating so he could win. And no. It didn’t matter that technically Ramón had also cheated by sneaking up behind his twin and starting the play fight when the other was busy building. That is not cheating. This is being tactical and having a strategy . Cheating is resorting to unfair methods like throwing all your weapons and tools to the ground, shoving your hands under the enemy’s chestplate and squeezing their sides non stop.
Tickling isn’t even allowed in a real fight! Dapper doesn’t even expect the big storm that is coming to him, Ramón also has a lot of a very kind of giggly, tickly blackmail about his brother that he is more than happy to share with his uncle Bad.
He just needed to survive this chase first.
With the potato gun in his hand he turned around, firing. None of them hit the target, it was hard when both of them were moving so fast and inconsistently, full of zig zags, circles and jumps on the usual irregular soil.
“Ops, almost got me there, Ramon, but you can’t escape your father.”
Ramón almost laughed, almost cursed and almost tried to shoot another round of potatoes on his dad for being so embarrassing.
“You know I will always find you. Come here, my boy!”
In the end, he ended up stumbling.
His body didn’t even had the chance to fall on the grass before two hands, warm and kind. larger than life, full of scars that contained brave stories and strong enough to hold him dangling in the air in what his Tío Foolish liked to call the “Air Prison”, got him from behind.
“Oh! Oh!! I got you, I got youuuu, my beautiful, beautiful baby boy! Look what I have right in my hands, a cute little sneaker who thought that he could outrun his old man, huh? You love to see it.”
Ramón struggled on the hold, kicking and feeling his cheeks light up in flames at his father’s usual baby voice, trying to ignore with his entire might all the giggles crawling up his throat and the gigantic smile that fought to take over his mouth.
He was NOT going to lose this time! No matter how much embarrassing praises and unfair baby voices his own father attempted to pull against him, he would keep himself strong and simply not break!
(He always did. No matter how long they’ve played this game of hide and seek and chase, or how often his father’s eyes glinted in pure happiness when he saw him awake or even how the pride took over his words and gestures every time Ramón showed him his newer project. Everyday Ramon tried to keep his composure, his mature self in front of him as a shield and a preparation. Yet, every single day his dad came and let him act and feel like he was… like he could be just a child in front of him.)
All his thoughts came to a halt and got scrambled when suddenly he was thrown upwards and spun in the air, no time to get the grappling hook to escape the situation before Fit caught him again, now with both of them being able to face each other.
His father’s grin was as mischievous as big. Ramón huffed and squinted at him and did not pout at his destiny.
A couple of fingers sneaking under his armpits and digging there quickly made his grumpy demeanor melt in a loud squeak.
"Ohoho, what is this? Is that a smile that I am seeing right there? A big, bright and starry five stars smile, indeed."
Ramón shook his head, entire body shaking with the struggle of keeping the laughter inside. His hands attempted to push his father's hold away, but it would be much easier to try to move a mountain.
The fingers began crawling downwards, giving each rib a few quick, nimble scribble before focusing entirely on squeezing his sides, not being even slightly discouraged by the smaller’s tactic of trying to become a defensive ball, a couple of quiet yelps escaping when the scratching found a sweet spot right where his sides and ribs connected.
"I think someone's barrier is about to crack.~" Fit playful taunted.
A couple of giggles ran away without permission from his mouth, his smile growing from one ear to another as each tickle seemed to send a tingly, funny kind of adrenaline in his veins.
It took only single scribble on his stomach for everything, every squeal, giggly snort, squeaky wheeze and crackling to come trembling down from his mouth, filling the air with a loud, energetic laughter and a quiet, amused chuckle that danced together amidst the wind and the trees.
For a few moments that was all that existed, the silly, playful, tickly moment and genuine laughter. It lasted a couple of minutes before Fit decided they both already had their fun and that Ramón could use some of benefits of taking big, uninterrupted gulps of air.
"Okay, okay, enough. I don't want to take it too far." His father's movements weren't exactly gentle , still roughed in the edges by the life he had before the island, but he was the most careful as he let him on the ground and discreet enough to not snicker too loud when Ramón wobbled a bit on the same spot, left over sniggers still escaping and making his nose scrunch up. "Are you alright, Ramón?"
The kid just quietly wiped the beginnings of tears that formed in the corner of his eyes before, in a flash, grabbing his sword and quickly hitting his dad with a clear swing before jumping away.
"Wh- wha- what! Hey!" His voice was the perfect mix of amused and exasperated. Not a single drop of regret in it as the flames danced on his armor, barely even affecting him. "Now, come on…"
He stepped closer to the smaller one, only for Ramón to jump away once more and pull his spyglass, squinting at him in a clear show of protest.
(Of course both realized how the corner of his mouth was still up in a remain of a happy smile, how the swing was totally non harmful and how he would never, ever, truly run away from his father.)
"OK, OK, you're right, that was unfair of me." Ramón slightly bent his knees, hand still close to his sword, waiting for more. "What if we go clear that dungeon you mentioned earlier? Think you could forgive me then?"
The kid quickly put away his spyglass, stepping closer and nodding pleased. His father was smart. He knew he would stop being silly and see the reason, eventually.
Fit watched as his kid led the way, a pep on his step and a joyful hum in the tip of his tongue. His chest filled with warmth, realizing (not for the first or last time) how lucky he was to have all of this in his life.
He will do anything to keep this happiness, to keep them, alive.
[~*~]
Ramón may or may not strategically try to get his revenge in the future in front of a very curious and mischievous Brazilian (Pac really needed a Second to Breath when he heard Fit giggling for the first time, and, really, how could he just NOT help his sobrinho, ya know?) and ever since their life (and bit by bit the life of everyone in the island because rumors fly like crazy and not a single one in there isn't prone to some mischief) got filled with much more laughter and sillyness
Just wanted to write some light-hearted fun
