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.
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: IT SEEMS SO SERIOUS WITH THAT TITLE KJUHYTFRGHUJK Nah, just your normal tickle fic with not so much normal characters. Fit and Pac have been living rent free in my mind since before Purgatory and after their date??? I am dead on the floor. Get a man who will declare his feelings for you in your native language for real for real.
Warnings: Lots of nibbles, tickly kisses and raspberries in this one. Switch!Fit and Switch!Pac. Around 6.500 words. Also! I tried to add the way that Pac calls Fit because of his accent written on the fic because I think it's lovely and cute. Hope it isn't too much confunsing or strange :D
[~*~]
“Thank you for coming, Pac. Ramón really likes when you sing him that lullaby.” His voice was rough but soft, just like his entire form and self when it came to his son, his beautiful baby boy.
Pac smiled, also following his example and lowering his voice, closing the secured door of the kid’s room carefully before they both headed to the other room where they held their first date, a prep on his step. “It’s no problem, Fitch! Actually, I don’t know why he likes that one so much, it literally talks about how a Cuca, which is like… a kind of monster? I don’t know how to explain. But how she will grab, or better, uh, snatch the kid away because the parents are out working.”
A loud peal of laughter was pried from the mercenary’s lips, staring at the other with unbelief in his eyes. “Wait, wait, that is the actual meaning of the song?”
“Yeah, yeah! I don’t know why they made it so scary. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if someone sang it to me before putting me to bed.”
“Damn, brazilian lullabies are just at a hardcore level.”
“Teaches you to sleep with one eye open, right?”
“That is right, that is right.”
They shared smiles. Arriving at the place, the air was still light, but it wasn’t difficult to see the question itching Pac’s throat, wanting to jump out of his body. It was in the way that he walked closely by Fit side and how he kept sneaking glances at him, quickly deviating them to look around the room before going back to stare, keeping the cycle for a while. Each time his steps got closer and closer until their hands intertwined in a hold.
It made sense he would be like that, of course. Fit would be just the same if his boyfriend woke him up in the middle of the night asking him to come to his place to help to calm down his kid after a nightmare because he wasn’t able to.
Still, he was glad that no questions were asked, not when Pac arrived - barely half a minute later after he sent his message, sleep and anxiety clinging like a shadow to his form - and not now, as the storm seemed to have passed.
Shame, however, kept flowing hot in his veins. He and Ramón had been alone since… always, really. They both had dealt with each other’s nightmares and night terrors more times than they could count. This one wasn’t supposed to be different. Shouldn’t be different. He should be there the moment his boy opened the door of his room with tears streaming down his face, sobs stubbornly escaping from his firmly pressed lips and hands open for a comforting hug that Fit should be able to give, a rare show of a child that his baby boy was, but refused to demonstrate most of time.
And yet…
Fit himself hadn’t been much better. Hadn’t been better for a long time, now. Because everytime he closed his eyes the threat from Madagio filled his mind and nightmares kept permeating his every night for the past two weeks, crowding his mind with horrifying scenarios that shouldn’t, but shook his core.
Usually, he would just wake up, push all of it - the feelings, the fears, the screams begging for their life - deep down his chest and hope that it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass.
Nevertheless to say, as all the things in life, it definitely did.
Because that night, when Ramón looked at his face - and god knows what he saw there - he stopped right in his tracks and carefully signed his name. He had been crying, he had been crying and scared and tired and all Fit could think - because words simply didn’t come out, no matter how much he tried to spill, spit them to comfort his kid - is that he could kill him. So quickly. Easily, even, with a twist of his wrist, a swipe of his trident, a pull from his bomb stacks, he could kill him and suddenly he was frozen on the spot, unable to even get closer to his son.
If Madagio had any power like the Federation, it could control him and destroy his most precious riches in a matter of seconds. It wouldn’t need to come to the island. It wouldn’t even need to pull Fit from it to make his life a living hell.
“There is something that we need to talk, Pac. Please take a seat.”
So, he called Pac. He deserved to know exactly what he was getting into (how many times would they have this kind of conversation?) and Ramón deserved a father who would actually get his shit together and get over it.
Pac gulped and looked at him slightly startled, knowing very well what the serious tune could mean, probably with a thousand of scenarios already running at light speed in his mind. “O-of course, Fitch.”
He then softly squeezed his hand - because there was no universe where Pac wouldn’t be perfect and strong and there but sometimes Fit seemed to forget that so he had to remind him - and let it go, sitting on the blue couch Fit recently added on the room and expectantly waiting for the other to do the same.
Which he promptly did - of course, because there wasn’t any universe where he would go and Fit wouldn’t immediately follow him.
“Wine? What about wine? Do you want some wine?” The brazilian offered, pulling glasses from his well trusted backpack and a bottle from the refrigerator nearby.
“Already wanting to take me to bed, Pac? Wow.”
“No! Stop it.” Pac lightly shoved his arm, both chuckling for a bit before Fit sobered, taking a deep breath and a sip of the liquid. It was good stuff, probably from Aypierre’s vines. “Thought we were here to have a serious conversation, no?”
“We are.”
Fit stopped, pondered how he would put it in words. It didn’t matter, there was no easy way to put it.
“Pac, would you kill me if it was necessary?”
The scientist sputtered, almost choking on the wine before turning in alarm to stare at the other, his gaze zig zagging across his body as if it would transform at any moment into an enemy, a monster in disguise pretending to be his boyfriend right in front of him.
He didn’t doubt Pac’s abilities, even if Pac himself hardly believed in them. He was an extremely good fighter, going through monsters and battles with a calm demeanor and precise, strong attacks that ended the conflict as soon as possible. Fit was very skilled, himself. But he was sure that if Pac used one of his brilliant plans and his scythe, it would take a lot, but he would eventually come down.
But, for that, he needed to know if Pac would go through with the plan.
“Why, why that, Fitch? Did something happen? Are you feeling weird? Is it…” He got closer. Fit’s heart beated louder. If it was him… if it was him it wouldn’t be so bad. “Is it the Federation, again?”
“No. It’s… the other.”
Understanding downed in his expression. “Oh. Did he contact you again?”
Fit shook his head. “No. But it did say that it would hurt you if I tried to betray our contract and I am not planning to but, Pac, I need to know if you’ll do it. If I become a threat.”
Pac bit his lower lip, thoughtfully. Fit’s muscles relaxed, glad to know he was taking this as a serious worry, not just some unfounded fear.
“We will save you. Just like we did before, just like you did to me, Fitch. I, I will be there for you too, when you need and for as long as you need, if you’re gone we will bring you back.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I don’t, but, if I have to kill you, Fit… how will I tell this to Ramón? Or Sunny? WHo is going to be her bodyguard? And what about the morning crew? Are we supposed to just… stay?”
“You are all very strong and I am sure that-”
“No.” His voice was determined, sad. His hands gestured widely. “No, no, no. I am not leaving you behind, Fit. What about when I’m in danger, who will rescue me? Who will share the island’s fofoca with me? Or give me a refrigerator full of food on the first date? Or kill the eye workers when they attack or tease Tubbo when he goes on a date with Fred, or help us to take care of Sunny, or, or, or…” Fit held the other’s hands, squeezing it tight when he started to talk too fast, snapping Pac out of his thoughts, making him take a big breath. “No. You can’t go away, Fitche. Never. I won’t let them take you too.”
Oh.
Oh.
Yeah, that… that made sense.
This was Pac, who the first thought when seeing his friend being drugged and controlled by the Federation was going under the same treatment so he could find a cure for it. The one who forgave Cellbit in a heartbeat when he told him he had changed. Who refused to kill him - even before the date, when Fit couldn’t even put in words his feelings for the other - during Purgatory. Who threw himself into mines and danger easily without thinking twice and would do all of it again an again if it meant keeping someone he cared about safe, even when the Federation kept taking his family one day after the other. He would do it in a heartbeat.
It made sense he didn’t want to lose another one. He was smart, strong, kind… Fit would trust him with his life into his hands in a blink of an eye.
But…
“If I hurt Ramón, Pac. If ever get close to hurt any of the eggs…”
“I will lock you, Fit. And I, we! We will find a cure again. None of them will die and you don’t need to die either.”
“Do you promise?”
Pac nodded, composure and eyes kept firm in their place, holding him down and reminding him he was no longer on this alone. “I promise, Fit. And if your boss cat comes here to hurt them… Then we will kick his butt, right?”
Fit snorted, if it was anyone else, he would doubt, throw their words away as a senseless attempt to comfort him, without true meaning. His boss was god, some kind of entity with power enough to pull him out of a world of literal destruction and throw him into a dimension where all of it never existed. However, this was Pac. Both he and Mike have proven over and over again that there was no place, no rule, no limit that they weren't able to overcome and laugh at their face when the managed to overcome it.
Maybe… If it was him.
He could believe it. Besides, Pac did promise that he wouldn’t let him hurt the children. They were always the priority, afterall
“Yes, we will. Thank you, Pac.” He took a deep breath. Since he already started, he could as well…
Talk. About stuff.
“Sometimes I… worry about, uh, what I can do.”
(Kill. Maim. Destroy. Break it down piece by piece until there is nothing left. Watch in the shadows and continue his way quietly through all the screams.)
Pac understood what he meant. “Oh. It’s fair. I think, it must be hard, when you think about it…” He then squeezed his hand before letting them go, starting to count on his own fingers. “But, I don’t think you should worry about it, Fitch. You can do a lot of awesome things, too! You’re a really good cooker, you can make very cool bombs and explosions, you’re good at hide and seek, at saving me when I am down. You are also very good at hiking and training, which makes sense, right? With how muscular and great you are, also-”
“Pac,” Fit voice’s took a firm tune, pulling Pac from his rambling and immediately catching his attention, wide black eyes turning at him attentively. “Pac, I was made for killing. All of this is just…”
(It doesn’t matter.)
“Nah.”
Fit blinked once, twice, quite astonished at how nonchalant the scientist sounded. Stared at those beautiful, soft eyes that watched him with a playful light that somehow nothing on the Island had been able to destroy. Strong. “Sorry?”
“I don’t think you were made for killing, Fit. No one is only able to do one thing and everyone can change. Besides… it gave you a lot of skill, right? Surviving there. That is why you’re one of the best fighters on the island, Fit! The codes, the eye workers… even Cucorucho is no match for you. You’re so strong, fierce, cool, fit and,” Pac’s determined tune tripped a little bit as his words got faster and a tad more distracted, his eyes deviating from his stare, looking at his face, arms, torso… Fit would be lying if he said he didn’t like how it hovered for a little while on his chest and muscles, “and you’re good looking too! Awesome, ruthless, muscular, handsome...”
“Ahalright!” Fit cut him before his face melted from how hot it felt, the tip of his ears feeling like they were on fire.
His voice seemingly broke Pac out of his mind and made him immediately attempt to hide his face on his hoodie, trying to jump away to hide and being stopped by the gentle hand still holding his, keeping him close. That didn’t prevent more embarrassed snickers from also filling the air. “Sorry, sorry, I got distracted.”
“Take it easy, big boy, take it easy.”
Fit only laughed harder when the teasy nickname made the other shout in protest, a light hit landing on his shoulder. It successfully distracted him enough so his head peaked again from the deepness of his blue hoodie, so Fit counted it as a win. Especially when a playful gleam took over Pac’s glare.
“Actually, Fitch, I think you were made for something.”
“Oh, you think so?”
Pac got closer, smiling, nodding in such an innocent way that could only mean trouble.
“Yeah, for kisses.” He laid his head on his shoulder and Fit could feel goosebumps travel his entire body from the skin contact. His voice became lower, slower, certain. “Can I kiss you, Fit?”
Fit definitely didn’t bluescreen, half words and meaningless sounds leaving his mouth in a string of incoherency that lasted a couple of minutes before he finally managed to get himself together enough to shove an actual sentence, with a too high pitched tune, through his throat. “I-I mean, of course you can, Pac! If, ah, if you want to.”
Pac’s answer was a single kiss placed in his collarbone before the brazilian focused his administrations on his neck. Soft, warm lips leaving a trail of tingles and electricity whatever they touched. Fit could feel the care in each one and it felt… nice.
Cozy.
Warm.
Tickly.
Ok, actually, it was very, very tickly.
Fit closed his eyes and turned his face around, trying to hide the beginning of a smile that grew bigger with every light - so, so, so light - peck grazing his skin. Not wanting to actually ruin the sweet moment between them, especially after Pac got the courage to ask for what the mercenary had been wanting to do for a while.
(Cuddle and kiss his boyfriend. Oh god, when did he become such a softie?)
The problem with his hiding tactic is that it only left more spots in the open for Pac to attack and bash in attention, not leaving a single patch of skin alone without a caring goodbye kiss, unknowingly breaking piece by piece Fit’s barriers.
He twitched when his boyfriend got too close to the line of his jaw, the warmth racing up to the tip of his ears in a way he hoped that Pac didn’t realized. The one with blue hoodie and attentive eyes stopped in a hitched breath. Waited.
Fit got his racing heart and tickly tingles under control. He was not going to lose to a few accidental tickles. He was not.
He squeezed Pac’s and drew circles on the back of his hands, turning at him with a teasy smirk and crooked eyebrows.
“Oh, is it my turn now?”
Pac giggled and shook his head. “Wait, wait, I still got…”
Without finishing his sentence he dived and placed a light kiss right under his chin, successfully catching the other out of guard and making one of various locked snickers wheezily flee from his lips, quickly being followed by others when Fit tried to cover his smile, turning around once again.
“Oh, god, I am doing this wrong, aren’t I?” Pac pushed himself away and grumbled, starting to search in his pockets for his warpstone, increasing the other’s snickery fit. “Ok, ok, that is it.Thank you so much for calling, I had an incredible time so now I am going to throw myself off the Cristo Redentor and then go to bed, good night, Fit. Tell Ramón I loved him and tell Richas to take a shower, bye.”
“No, no, Pac. Calma, calma.” Fit held one of his wrists, pulling Pac back to his place on the sofa, chasing his black eyes when they kept running away from his while the scientist kept shaking his head from side to other in a dramatic despair. Fit ended up resting his other hand on his cheek, guiding his look back. “I would never laugh at my brazilian boyfriend.” He tried to not grin smugly when that melted the other’s pout in a shy smile “The kisses just tickled me, that is all.”
That immediately brought Pac’s attention. “Wait, Fit… you’re ticklish?”
“It seems like I am, but I am not sure. Not a lot of chances for bonding and laughing when fighting for your life in 2b2t.”
“Oh, I see.” Silence, Pac’s wrist wiggled out of his hold and suddenly there were warm hands flying to his neck, fingertips dancing on it, blunt nails and wiggly fingers tickling the sensitive spot softly. “So, you’re ticklish.”
Fit huffed a laugh at the strange feeling, instinctively scrunching up his neck all while he tried to not pry Pac’s hands away. Same hands that now spidered their way up to his ears, tracing them and giving each one a few scratches, Pac watching in awe as their tips became more and more colored with each passing second.
“Oh my god, Fit, your ears are so red! Are you blushing? That is really, reeeally cute, you know?”
Fit’s shoulders began to shake slightly with the effort to keep all the giggles and laughter trapped inside, the task growing more and more difficult as Pac kept his exploring. Fingers tapping their way down to the mercenary’s ribcage, making his torso twitch from one side to another as they started skittering up and down, tracing senseless drawings and forms on the spot. Another fleeing snigger escaped from his firmly pressed lips. There was no way such light, barely even touching touch could tickle that much.
“You can laugh it out, Fit. I bet it will feel much better! Besides,” the gleam in his eyes got sharper and Pac didn’t really lower his voice, but something in his tune changed, a turning point that made a shiver run down Fit’s spine. It didn’t feel like something truly dangerous but alerts began flashing in his mind when the touch became just a tad firmer.
Fit had to push down the squirms that threatened to push the other away. “You can’t just keep all that laughter only for yourself, now, that wouldn’t be fair. No, no, not fair at all. Keeping all those giggles and snickers hidden from me. Trapped inside. They deserve to be free, you know? So everyone can see how cute they are.”
“Pac…”
But then Pac started digging and his barrier broke. Loud laughter immediately followed the hands vibrating in between his ribs, scribbling, looking for any special spot that would make Fit go insane. Not that he was very far from this, now, head being thrown backwards with how strong his crackles were, because nothing in the world could ever prepare him for the feeling that was being tickled, to have each nerve screaming but not in pain, to have each touch bring a new kind of electricity that traveled his torso and filled his heart with a warmth that made him want to jump out of the sofa and at the same time bring Pac closer.
A curious prodding in a spot in his highest ribs that was almost on his back and Fit slammed his body on the cushion, a snort being pried from his lips and quickly being followed by another and another when the fingers kept drilling and kneading on the spot non stop.
Then he heard it, low as a whisper.
“Beautiful….” It came in an awed voice, and in between half lidded eyes Fit saw the one with black hair shake his head, as if getting himself together before slowing down the tickling, thumbs rubbing the remnant tickles as he stared at him. “Sorry, Fitch, I, caham, I got, uh, distracted. Are you okay?”
He nodded, chuckles taking over his words and disappearing with any hope of saying something without descending in more of a waterfall of giggles. Still, he tried, the proud smile in Pac’s face erasing his embarrassment in how silly he sounded giddy like this.
“I’m fine, just surprised that I am dating a tickle monster.”
The brazilian laughed, shaking his head and hiding his face on Fit’s shoulder. “Não, não, não (No, no, no). Mike is actually the tickle monster in our team. I just learned a lot from playing fights with him.” Pac trembled in an exaggerated shudder. “He is merciless.”
“Really?”
“Uh hum.” Pac hummed, thoughtful, before doing a little ‘pop’ sound, hands washing down to his sides, tapping senselessly there. “He had this kind of attack where he would be talking to you and suddenly he would start to tickle you and like, it would be really, really light so you didn’t actually, you know, like, died laughing? But at the same time it would be crazily ticklish! Following you around no matter how much you squirmed or snickered.”
“P-pac, come on…”
The other just hummed, still talking and hands still spidering in their resting position, taking turns in between drawing circles on his sides, feeling how his torso would shake with a new round of chuckles blossoming anew, and scratching the little dive of his hips to make them grow faster.
“Then he would try to keep a conversation going and complain like ‘are you even paying attention to what I’m saying, what’s going on?’ as if he didn’t know what was happening, can you believe?! And you couldn’t just… walk away or keep silly giggling non stop and not answer him, because you’re still in a conversation and that would be rude, right? So you’re just there, laughing and wiggling and it always drives me crazy!”
Fit nodded, knowing the feeling very well, in his opinion. His brain trying to pay attention to his words but getting totally distracted by his own attempts to not wiggle around so much because everytime his body trashed to one side, Pac would just dig his fingers on his sides and drum, which made him jump in the other direction only to receive the same treatment, creating a maddening cycle almost impossible to escape from.
Once again, laughing began flooding the room, high pitches and wheezy giggles chasing around one or two squeals when a tentative squeeze grazed the spot before quickly jumping away, the unexpected playful attacks blending with the soft scribbles and somehow making him not being able to predict nor prepare for one or the other.
“And then, out of nowhere he would get bored and that is where it lies the danger, Fitch.” Pac’s voice took a turn to a lower tune, torn between a warning and a threat. His tickling came to a halt, fingertips just laying on his waist with occasional twitches. What was more strange, though, was how, even so, the janitor couldn’t stop the titters taking over his mind and body. He wondered if that was how he would finally die, undone and destroyed by his very lovely boyfriend. Pac snickered in mischief and amusement, breaking his mask for a couple of seconds before cleaning his throat and coming back to his persona, interlocutor voice back again.
“Because, when he stops it means that he is getting bored. You know that he is getting bored and he knows that you know that he is getting bored and that it is just a matter of time before he decided that is enough and something happens” he highlighted the word by spidering quickly across his ribs. His voice sounded like it was closer. “So you just stay there, quiet, waiting for the moment he will strike.”
Fit held his breath, eyes closed. His smile was so big that it traveled from one ear to the other. No more laughter was falling from his mouth, but his shoulders still bounced with the phantom tickles that freely pricked his skin and seemed to follow his every squirm. Pac’s hands felt warm - dangerous - where they touched and he was pretty sure that his entire face would melt at some point of this game.
He waited.
Waited.
Nothing.
A kiss was pressed on his forehead.
He opened an eye, muscles immediately untensing and relaxing with the scene, even if adrenaline still ran without control in his veins, of Pac happily smiling, just a few centimeters from his face.
“Oi, Fitch.”
“Roi, Pa-ACK!”
Loud, uncontrollable and unstoppable laughter filled the room, Fit still tried to finish his sentence before giving up and succumbing to the snorts and wheezing that took over his laughter. Squeezes, drumming and prodding attacked his sides, kneading on the ticklish spot before scratching their way up to his ribs, burying themselves there and then keeping their way up to his armpits - poking and scribbling and making him lock his arms on his torso - until it got to his ears, changing the loud peals of booming laughter to a hysterical string of snickers only to make he go back to crackling when he attacked his sides again and again, alternating between each and every tickle spot so he couldn’t picture where he was going to tickle next.
Fit could even swear that at some point he felt a squeeze in his knees that fished a chortle from his lips and an uncontrollable kick from his legs.
It lasted only a couple of minutes. All the electricity and tickly buzzing teased and made him laugh like nothing else mattered, loud and free even when, between his own amused giggling, Pac ceased his mean attack and watched with a giant grin as the other tried to regain his breath, a light blush dusting his face.
“You were saying, Fitch?”
Nonsense. That was exactly what Fit was about to say. Because his brain kind of became a mush after all that attack and the airy giggles that kept flowing from his throat didn’t exactly help him to gather his thoughts nor fade the hotness running still on his face.
“I, er, huh…” and there it was, the sentence got lost to jumpy snickers again. Fit brought a hand to hide them and try to gain at least save a bit of face, but a quick poke on his defenseless armpit made it go immediately down again. He glared without any real heat at his boyfriend, who lifted his arms in rendition.
“Sorry, sorry. I’m done for real, now.”
The silence was extended for a few pieces of time, stretching across them like a cat after a nap.
Fit was the one who broke it.
“That is Mike’s…” He coughed, cleaning his throat “special tickle attack, then? I can see why you call him merciless.”
“Nah, actually that is my own technique. Mike prefers to catch a person out of guard and tickle while taunting them until they promise to make something for him.”
The surprised, amused huff of laughter that came out from the mercenary’s mouth didn’t have anything to do with wiggly fingers this time and Pac joined him.
“You’re such a sneaky guy, Pac, you’re such a sneaky guy.”
“Thank you. Gotta learn from the best right? Maybe someday me and Ramón will team up and win the hide and seek against you.”
“Hmm, you probably would. But maybe I can convince Richarlyson to help me?”
“It would be good. Richas is the best in hide and seek. He would really like to. Hey! We should set up a playdate with them in our Hide and Seek arena. We can even call Tubbo and Sunny, maybe even Philza with Chayanne and Tallulah, if they are awake. The more the merrier, right?”
Fit was sure that if he was shapeshifter like Tubbo, without even wanting to, his eyes would be heart shaped. It never ceases to amaze him how Pac could accept and love everyone - him - like they were and would always be a family to him.
“But, so?” The brazilian wiggled his eyebrows, a smirk opening in his face. “How is it the experience of being tickled for the first time?”
Maddening. Tortuous. Able to make someone go crazy, he was sure. Surprisingly tiring and unexpectedly effective. Strange. Itchy. A lot. Hard to explain.
But also, it was extremely caring. Warm. Soft. Funny. Bonding. Weird. Extremely silly. He couldn’t stop his smile and thoughts about the gleam and shine in Pac’s eyes when he discovered a new spot or how - strangely enough - light and giddy he was feeling right now.
Besides, he never was self conscious about his laughter or anything but listening to Pac calling him… beautiful, in such an amazed voice… Well, his ego really couldn’t complain.
“It was fun.” He decided to go with that, a playful grin in his face, his hands holding Pac’s and intertwining their fingers.
“Oh, I’m happy in hear that! Actually, I-”
“But…” Fit cut him, purposely deepening his voice in a tune that never failed to catch the other of guard, sending a cold shiver through his muscles. “I can think of something even more fun.”
“Y-yeah?” Pac’s blush deepened when he looked at the dangerous, sharp, determined shine in Fit’s eyes, his entire mind getting overcomed with a choir of excited screams, burning face at realizing how their intertwined hands was both a soft gesture and a restrain.
Damn, he was really, really gay.
“Uh hm,” his tune now was almost like a purr of a predator watching his prey wobbly smile back and hold his hands tighter together, knowing very well his fate and still not even trying to escape from it. “It’s something that back on 2b2t we liked to call… revenge.”
With a swift move he pulled their hands and lead Pac to lose his equilibrium, falling backwards on his lap, one hand keeping his arms up and the other lifting his hoodie just the slightest bit, the actual perfect amount for him to immediately shove his face on his stomach and start blowing raspberry after raspberry, quick and ruthless.
“FITCHE!” The sound that came out of his mouth could barely be called a word, the high pitched shout being quickly taken over by a hysterical crackling that made his entire body shake with each laughter.
His boyfriend just chuckled, lifting his head just enough that his next words would be audible to the other, each one buzzing on the ticklish skin and making tiny, tickly electric shocks dance freely across it. “Oh my, Pac, what a delicious belly you got right here. One of the richest, rarest delicacies I’ve ever seen.”
“NONONO, FITCH!” He kicked and trashed, trying to roll away from his predicament but being firmly held in place by the other, which was kind of nice, since he wasn’t sure how to explain to Fit that he definitely wasn’t going to run away if he had the chance.
Still, that didn’t stop the fast, airy and high giggles of painting every syllable of his pleas that began flowing like a stream from his lungs, becoming more and more intelligible with each protest. “Please, please, Fitch anything but that! I will do anything you want! Do you wanna know all Mike’s most ticklish spots? Eu posso te dizer! (I can tell you!) he has this place right under his knees that if you poke he starts making ‘wee’ sounds e é muito engraçado (it’s very funny) Fitche por favor, espera, espera, wait!”
“Sorry, Pac, nothing I can do. I just have to try a little. Raspberries are so delicious and I just… I just gotta, ya know? I just gotta try a little, the tiniest little bit.” He lowered his head once again, carefully and softly nibbling on the ticklish skin and doing a bunch of ‘oh nom nom nom’ sounds as he did so, smugly relishing in how louder Pac’s laughter sounded at this, random portuguese and english being mixed in a series of incoherent talking that he couldn't even hope to understand, even with the translator.
The raspberries and nibbles began taking turns, dancing all across his stomach and sometimes even escaping to attack one lower rib or two in a way that usually drove Ramón crazy. It was kind of funny and endless endearing to realize that both of his boys were extremely weak for the same kind of tickle attack.
All the while Pac was simply dying. There was no other way to describe it. He was utterly and completely dying, losing every tread of.. everything that wasn’t thinking about how much it tickled and laughing both because Fit (Fit!!!!! His boyfriend Fit!!!!) was teasing and tickling him and also because as it seems he was the goofiest dork that ever existed in this world while doing that and somehow that made all the butterflies flying crazy on his belly and tickly electricity following his nerves one hundred times worse and ticklish and it was amazing.
Fit enjoyed a couple more minutes of the silly attack, fondly realizing how much more hysterical and loud the crackles got everytime he added more “hmmm” and “nom nom nom” sounds.
“There we go, big boy.” He lifted his head and got a glimpse of a gigantic, dazzling smile and a red face before Pac immediately hid it behind his hands, wheezes and snickers filling the room.
“Shuhuhut up!”
Fit grinned, but let go of the teasing and took pity on his brazilian boyfriend. He could quite understand why Pac seemed so happy in destroying him minutes ago. There was just a something that made his heart beat faster just in realizing that he was the reason why Pac was so happy and giggly.
Also, the way that the brazilian’s accent got stronger, especially while saying his name in between unstoppable, uncontrollable giggling… Fit thinks he could live with that, yeah.
“Oh my god, Fitche… and you call me merciless.”
The ex-mercenary chuckled. His eyes hovered over Pac’s face, making sure that he was still breathing and alive (he hadn’t taken too far, did he?) when suddenly his look got attracted to his neck, the memory of what started all of this popping like a flashing lamp in his mind.
“Pac…” It was the low voice again, lighter, but still there. Pac’s entire body froze still for a second and alarmed eyes turned to stare Fit, who seemed strangely fixated on his hoodie. “Is your neck ticklish?”
Oh.
Oh.
Pac 100% blamed the gay screaming in his head for his next words.
“YES!” The shout was as excited as it was loud, making both of them wince at it, Fit looking at the one with black hair with a faintly surprised, crooked eyebrows. “I mean, er, assim, uh, no!!! It’s actually not! NOt even a little bit! What even is ticklish, you know? I don’t even speak english, senhor Fitch eme ce, na verdade, essa é a minha primeira vez aqui na ilha, quem é você e… Não!” (sir Fit eme cee, actually, this is my first time here in the island, who are you and… No!)
The babbling was promptly cut when, once again, Fit chuckled in mischief and shoved his head on Pac’s neck.
Butterfly kisses followed the line of his jaw, attacked that spot under his chin, tickled the place where the collarbone and the neck met, each patch of sensitive skin getting a kiss and a raspberry as a gift, making a series of snorts and high dazed giggles quickly follow the initial surprised shriek and jump around the entire room, Pac’s arms coming to rest on the other’s chest, partially pushing him away and partially holding him, legs kicking behind them with how much adrenaline and giddiness jumped across his muscles and filled his heart.
Pac hid his face on the crook of Fit’s neck, attempting to at least survive a few more seconds from dying of embarrassment, each snort and hysterical high pitched snicker sealing even more his fate and putting another nail in his coffin.
A few curious squeezes on his sides and a final, long raspberry and then Fit finally let him go, watching as the other got his breath again, forgetting for once to hide his blush and brilliant smile into his hoodie, looking completely lost in his own laughing fit. Adorable.
Sometimes Fit wondered how could he be so lucky.
A loud click and a flashing light brought both of them out of their thoughts. Pac almost falling from the sofa when he turned around and saw Ramón quickly hid a camera behind his back while passing three copies of the pictures to Richas, who stopped making gagging noises to hide them on his protected backpack before the adults could take it.
“Richarlyson, Me dá essas fotos!” (Give me those pictures!)
“Ramón, what are you doing awake? You should be sleeping. It’s late.”
Ramón had the sense to look at least a tad admonished, but the expression quickly disappeared when Richas began jumping on the same spot, wiggling from one side to another like he always did when he wanted to cause more mischief. The kids exchanged a look.
“Nenê (Baby), no. Don’t follow Richas’ example, he is a little demon.”
The sandal that went flying across the room and hit the brazilian in the face - which actually led to him falling from the cushions - only further proved this fact. Still, Richas let out plenty of offended noises while getting his sandal back, showing off his tongue when Ramón shoved him and shook his head in disapproval.
Fit tried his best to not laugh and sound serious. “Richas, do not hit your dad.”
“Don’t worry, Fitch.” Pac tapped his arm, getting up from the floor, tsking. “There is no other way, I guess. I’ll have to kill him. Yeah, it was fun to have a son for a while.”
The mercenary laughed, knowing very well how much of a weak heart Pac had for his little troublemaker. “Calma, calma, Pac. I think I have the solution. Since the kids are feeling so… energetic, we should probably tire them out before putting them back in bed, right?”
He also got up and gave Pac a Look, pretending to not see Ramón pulling Richas’ sleeve and exchanging warning words to him, knowing very well what that playful, dangerous shine in his dad’s eyes meant.
Pac grinned, mirroring his own devilish expression. “I think you’re right, Fit.”
Richas once again wiggled around in energy, his dragon tail tapping on the floor while Ramón threw a flower at Pac (smart boy, Fit thought, winning the melting heart from the dad that would have more mercy, very smart) and jumped on the same place, smiling and nodding in excitement.
He then pulled Richas away, starting the chase. Pac immediately following behind with joyfuls “I’m gonna catch you!”.
Fit chuckled.
Maybe Pac was right.
Maybe life - he - was more than just die and kill.
Well… he rolled his shoulders and followed his family in their game, laughing excitedly. He would have to enjoy it while it lasted, then.
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
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: I will receive no constructive criticism on this, I saw a character that just keeps being destroyed over and over because he loves and cares too much and since mah bros on that island only SUFFER, I *WILL* take the matters onto my own hands and give them all the tickles and fluff thank you so much for understanding.
Anyway, the Happy Pills Arc is my absolute fave until now, and this animatic is my new obsession. It doesn't has anything to do with the fic, really, but I think it deserves more love drtyuiklkjhg.
Warnings: This is a tickle fanfic. It has hurt/comfort, fluff and some angsty thoughts, but nothing too dark. It happens after the Happy Pills stuff and doesn't follow the canon timeline. Ticklish!Forever and Ler!Philza, Ler!Bad, Ler!Pac, Ler!Mike, Ler!Richarlyson, Ler!Tallulah and Ler!Chayanne. It is 8,000 words long.
[~*~]
Forever woke up.
His eyes hurt when they opened so he kept them closed for a few minutes more, watching the flash of memories run behind his eyelids in blurry movements and sounds.
For the first time in a while his mind was silent, clear from all the effects of what the Federation did to him. His feelings no longer exploded crazy in his chest as they often did during the last few days, fighting to survive before the chemicals from the drugs washed them over and got suppressed by a blinding, fake happiness.
Their kids were gone.
Richarlyson was gone. His son disappeared in thin air and there were no clues or hints that showed any single way to get them back or even know where they went.
The island was in scrambles, empty.
There were explosions and grieving and chaos everywhere. Every parent doing any and everything to cope with the fact that from day to night they’ve got what was the most important for them ripped right from their fingers.
The N.I.N.H.O, his project (his responsibility) didn’t work out this time and they lost everything because of it.
Badboyhalo was losing his colors. Baghera disappeared. Cellbit straight out begged him to not leave him alone during all of this. Mike hadn’t been seen in a long time. Etoiles was trying to keep their hopes up. Everyone asked him what they should do, now. What would he do as their president.
And what did he do? He fucking lost it. He let his feelings get over his head, exploded everything that he could put his eyes on, demolished his base with TNT and threatened Cucurucho, forced the Federation to do a throwback just so they would have an island to put their feet on. Made the Federation see him as a threat and force those pills on him.
He left everyone. His family. His friends.
(What more could he do?)
And everyone should've left him too.
…
And yet…
And yet Pac jumped head first to save him. Accepting to go under Cucurucho’s “treatment” so he could analyze the drugs and find a cure for it. No matter how much he was shaking in fear the entire time, how bad the Federation treated him before or how there was just no certainty that his plan would even work
And yet Philza saw under his mask of smile, past the point of his gun and right into the pain in his eyes in his lowest moment and said that everything would be fine, that he still trusted him, that he knew who he was and how much he cared about the eggs. He said they would find a way to solve things out.
And yet Cellbit didn’t let him go for a single second. He followed him no matter the instability, during those painful moments of consciousness, beyond the fake minutes of happiness and slipped past his traps just to go and pull him out of it. He shouted and hugged and taunted and broke and fought dirty and did what he could to bring him back.
And yet Bad still talked and answered him, even with how much he was hurting, even with the bombs and screams and the dismissing he came back over and over again with his chats and banters and discussions that so easily led Forever to the trap that would come to save his life.
Once again, there were tears in his eyes.
They were too his family. Forever was the one who put himself under Cucurucho’s radar by going apeshit and bombarding the entire island and they were the ones who saved him from that white fucking bear. From himself. From the Happy Pills.
He cried.
(What else could he do?)
Agony and hope danced in harmony in his chest, sucking all his other senses to nothing and filling his soul with every emotion under the sun at the same time. It was overwhelming but good to be free to feel so easily. It was horrible that he knew how it was like to miss this freedom so much. It was empty to feel this despair all over again. It was good, no, essential to know he was not alone.
Almost hopeful, even.
And yet their children were gone.
And yet everyone was kind of lost.
And yet they needed someone solid, a strong leader to step in.
Forever didn’t feel strong.
(What would he do?)
He wiped his tears. Sat on the bed. Got up. Put back the flag on his shoulder. Took a deep breath, listening to the very known voices coming out of the infirmary that made his entire face change to a (this time genuine) happy, tired and relieved kind of smile.
The president of Quesadilla Island woke up.
(And he didn’t have any idea of how much everyone had been waiting to show him how much they were happy about it.)
[~*~]
It all started in very tiny ways, as most things did, easy to miss if you didn’t know where to look.
The first time it happened Forever was at favela. He had just finished fixing the elevator from the Karaoke and was watching the sunset (Hi, Bobby) wash over the beach in a dance of colors at the top of the building, resting on the parapet. Pac was somewhere close, building more houses or getting in trouble with Fit, but, besides them, it was just him, his memories and Copacabana beach.
Forever laid his head in his arms, with a long sigh, closing his eyes and just letting the wind mess his hair and clear his thoughts, enjoying the brief moment of peace before he started thinking about more plans and projects to fill his day and mind with.
It was hard, though. When every block he put down or decoration he pulled up made the blonde turn around with a call in the tip of his tongue, words disappearing when he realized that there was no set of small footsteps following him and probably never would again because they were all gone and he was not and how could he ever even think about-
A shiver ran down his spine and made his thoughts come to a halt when he felt a light tickle in the back of his neck, making him have to move a hand out of his comfortable position to wipe the leaf or whatever out of his skin.
His fingers made contact with nothing. Uh. Must’ve flown away already.
He was tired. Maybe he should take the rest of the day to clean his base. There were still holes from the mine traps that someone has been spreading across the island lately. Another problem for him to resolve. Looked like those were never going to end.
The tickle came back, following him even when he flinched away, with a puffed snicker falling from his tongue. His hand shot to scare whatever insect it was from his neck again but the touch was as nimble as it was soft, lightly and skillfully dancing away from his hold before it could catch him.
“Que porra.” (“The fuck.”) He tried again and again, going so far as slapping his entire arm behind him, hitting nothing.
The sensation disappeared for a brief while before running all the way across his spine, making him almost jump in the air and finally give up his comfortable position to spin around. “Que que é isso, cara!” (“What is this, man!”)
“Pfff- hahaha!”
Forever turned just in the right moment to see his short friend, with sky blue eyes shining with a playful light, pulling a black, crooked and beautiful wing behind his back, his laugh ringing across the building.
“Philza! Really?”
“What? You wouldn’t have that problem if you wore a shirt, you know?” Forever’s shouted “WHAAAAT!” did nothing to alleviate his laughing fit, a snort not taking long to appear.
“You, you’re, you’re bullying me, man! I just came out of the hospital and you treat me like this. I can’t believe it!”
“You’re-”
“You come here, you hit me, you don’t let me rest after I get out of a coma… I am an injured, man, you know that, Philza? You’re bullying an injured man.”
“I literally,” his tune tried and failed to sound at least a tidbit serious before he descended in more laughter. “I literally didn’t even hit you!”
Forever continued as if he didn’t hear the protest of the other, turning around and gesticulating dramatically. “You’re a bully, Philza. You’re such a bully.”
“I am doing that to remind you to put on a shirt! You just came out of the hospital, you’re gonna catch a cold.”
“Nah, nah, nah, you’re mean. You’re just so mean to me. Like, I thought we were friends, you know? But I see the truth now.” He tsked. “That is just sad, Philza. That is really sad, man.”
“Oh my fucking god.” The punch he gave on Forever’s arms didn’t even hurt, only making the president snicker louder. “Shut the fuck up.”
Forever chuckled at how done the other sounded, watching him roll his eyes and shake his head with a big smile before taking (he wasn’t resting anymore so might as well just finish his work here) the chance and walking in between the tables and chairs until he got behind the balcony. In no time he began filling the storage with drinks and food. The high, upbeat joy of banting with his friend slowly calming down.
“Actually, I am going to put back my old black suit soon. I am just taking a break from wearing suits so much, you know?”
He didn’t have to explain what the break was really for and how his old presential clothes didn’t have anything to do with it, Philza understood.
“Take that time off, Forever, you deserve it.” His tune was soft.
Forever smiled, wishing he could show Phil how wrong he was. A“break” definitely wasn’t on the list of things that Forever deserved at all. That anarchist was way too kind.
“Thank you very much, my friend.” He closed the cabinet door, turning around (and away), facing the entire restaurant.
Each chair, each color and decor had been carefully picked by small , gentle claws. The building had been chosen by hand and even the balcony was built lower than normal, made so that a small child could go behind it and pretend to be a barman, sing with the melodies and enjoy the view with their family and friends.
Signs were still spreaded there, on the restaurant, the rooms, the favela, the N.I.N.H.O, the Spawn, their home and island… None of it had been built to be just for the adults and it all brought a longing pang in his chest.
Saudade.
They’re gone. They’re gone and he was here laughing and resting and doing nothing to rescue them and how could he be so usele-
Another soft sweep of feathers right under his chin made him flinch away with a surprised, bitten giggle, successfully making his line of thoughts disintegrate for a second time. A half smile painted his face.
“Stop with that, man! It tickles.”
Philza tilted his head slightly to the side, eyes sharp in concentration, as if just realizing something. But at the sound of Forever’s voice he blinked and let his expression become a tad more relaxed, with worried tunes.
“You just seemed to be thinking a whole lot back there. What is in your mind?”
“Nothing really important. It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, I’ve got some bad news for you then, mate. Because it will matter to me. You can tell me anything, Forever.”
And for a moment the other considered not doing that. Teleporting away or brushing his worries with another topic or a joke. But that was Philza.
Philza, one of the most protective parents who still trusted him with Tallulah when he was away. Philza, who didn’t care about the elections but voted for him anyway. Philza, who trusted him with such a conviction and an unyielding loyalty that Forever had no idea of what he could ever have done to deserve it.
(“You saved my children.” Philza would say if he could listen to him. “You went beyond and further to save everyone’s kids for free over and over so no parent would ever carry the grief of losing them again. You did it for Richarlyson, for Tallulah, for Bobby, for Pomme, for you, for us, for free. I’m not forgetting that easily and I’m not letting you forget too.”)
And that was enough.
He stared at the beach again, the words coming easier when he was not looking at the other.
“Talullah was the one who decorated the restaurant. We were having a Karaoke Night and when we got up here she had already put all those nice trees and pretty flowers…It looks really nice.”
Philza sighed, looking ten thousands of years older.
“Yeah, she has an amazing taste.” Then he walked and stayed right in front of Forever’s view, staring right at his eyes, serious. “We’re going to find them, ok? Richas, Talullah, Chayanne, Ramon… Every single one, we’re going to get them back. So don’t let yourself give up and stay focused.”
The president, his friend, nodded.
“We will get them back.” Forever agreed. “No matter what it costs.”
[~*~]
But Philza was a discreet fella, so things continued to be shown in tiny ways for a while. A poke when he got too distracted and his thoughts too dark, a scribble to get his attention, a sweep of feathers when he refused to stop working so much and listen to the reason. Forever pretended to be annoyed, but the fact that the other cared so much and in such a playful way kept fishing fond smiles and amused chuckles out of him and that he couldn’t ignore.
His cute secret was secure with him, and so things took a while before it began escalating, all because of a different afternoon…
It started with a jumpscare.
“FOREVER!”
“PUTA MERDA!” (“HOLY SHIT!”) The loud shout quickly descended in a series of nervous giggles. The blond holding his chest and resting in a wall to not fall, muscles trembling with the sudden shot of adrenaline.
It took a couple of minutes for him to get back his composure and glare at the demon that was still snickering gleefully at him, tail swooping around in delight as he jumped around.
It took exactly one second.
In a blink Forever was getting his soul back to his body and then in the other he was throwing himself at him and both were rolling on the floor in a mess of pushes and kicks. “Tu se acha engraçadão, hein? Tu se acha muito engraçadão. Palhaço! Tá palhaço demais, hein, Badboyhalo.” (“You think you’re so funny, yeah? You think you’re so funny. You clown! You’re being such a clown, huh, Badboyhalo.”)
Forever didn’t care that his wrestling was uncoordinated enough so most hits didn’t even land on his friend, different from Bad that actually got more than one or two kicks right before letting himself be lost in a mix of too joyfully complains of “unfair attack” and “dictator” to have any true heat in them.
Their playful fight was kept for a few pieces of a while before they were too distracted by their own amusement to not let the other go and try to recompose themselves.
“Where! is! it!”
“What?” Forever asked, staring with confused eyes at the black demon who crossed his arms and squinted at him in what Forever could swear was an annoyed composure if it wasn’t the way his tail swayed around and his eyes glinted in glee. Whether it was for being so unclear and successfully confusing the blond or for the original reason he appeared there in the first place it wasn’t clear.
For a moment his eyes unfocused from the form of the other and watched the wall full of kind, heartwarming messages that he asked for everyone still awake at that night to write so he could make BadboyHalo a surprise. Suddenly all the pieces came together in his mind and formed such a cute picture that Forever couldn’t help but let out a delighted chuckle, lips curling in an amused, teasing smirk. “Ooooh, I see what you’re talking about now, Badboy.”
That chuckles almost became a crackle when the only response he received was a petulant huff and a hand extended in his direction, fingers twitching impatiently. Forever took out his backpack, rummaging through it until he found the compartment where he kept all his flowers, carefully pushing Richa’s favorite one aside so he could pull another one. His fingers clasped around a stem and soon a light purple grazed his sight. “Here. Your daily flower. It’s for until you get better, right?”
“Oh, nice, thank you.” Bad’s voice tinted with a softer tune, carefully gathering the gift and putting it on his own backpack, in a special place, together with the others, before his tune became agitated again, feet tapping on the floor with energy. “But that is NOT what I am talking about.” He got closer and repeatedly began slapping his arm, following the president when he shouted and started running around the enclosed space, jumping in attempts to escape from the sudden attack. “WHERE IS IT! GIVE ME, IT’S MINE!”
“What! What more do you want from me!” When no answer was given besides more chasing and (friendly) hitting, the blonde got the warpstone with an exaggerated sigh.
“You know, Badboyhalo,” when Forever said his entire name, it wasn’t exactly sing-songing, but it had a little beat painted with amusement and tease, when the demons haven’t been able to successfully annoy him out of his mind, of course. “I really need to go, man, and since you don’t have anything to say to me… tsk, that is so sad, man, I was really feeling quite… generous today”
“No!” The demon tried to grab his shoulder, but the blonde dodged swiftly, still pretending to be looking busy and thinking hard about his next location. “Forever. Do not. You’re not running away. I know what you’re doing!”
Forever smiled.
Being friends with Cellbit, you learned a thing or two. Like how to disappear in the middle of a conversation, but, especially, how to do that in the most annoying way possible. “No, no, no, I’m not running away at all, Bad, I am actually…”
However, that was the thing: Bad was also Cellbit’s friend, and so realized the exact moment that glint filled the president’s brown eyes what was about to happen. His hand flew in another attempt of a grab, missing once again his shoulder when the other, a bit later than last time, dodged, which allowed his reflex to kick in and his hand changed the trajectory and lay on the brazilian’s side, squeezing.
None of them was prepared for the squeal that this action fished.
For a second, a blissful second, everything froze and both stared at each other.
That is how Forever saw the exact second the demon’s eyes squinted and a playful flame alighted in them.
In a blink his other hand also flew to his waist and began attacking both sides with no mercy.
Forever had no chance to even try to stop the barking loud laughter that exploded from him, immediately letting go of the warpstone to clue on Bad’s wrists, trying to push them away by sheer reflex even before his brain could process what was happening.
“Nonono, stop that! BA-ad!”
Bad couldn’t help but giggle, half adoring and half malefically, at the way the laughter made most of his words get almost intelligible. Besides, Bad thinks he could grow accustomed to having his name being snickered in such an adoring - together with that cute smile and shiny eyes - way more often, really.
His fingers poked and prodded with skill and curiosity, looking for any sensitive spot that could create a new fun sound and concentrating there for a few maddening seconds and plenty of digging before looking for the next one. There was a very nice one juuust above his lowest rib that made the barking laughter become a string of snickers that seemed to grow higher and faster by the seconds. It almost made Bad forget his main job now as his friend and rival the second (actually, even before that, if he was being honest, but honesty was overrated) he discovered that little fun secret about their dear tyrant:
Tease him out of his mind.
“Huh? Stop what, Foreverrr?”
“That! You’re ti-” Bad closed his hands in fists and pressed his knuckles on his ribs and rubbed as if his life depended on it, cutting the rest of the sentence with success and filling the room with much more shrieks than before.
“What was that?”
Forever couldn’t answer, his legs were failing and it made him get close to a fall if it wasn’t for the demon adjusting his hold on him and slowly lowering him to the ground, fingers still dancing in each and every rib, scratching and scribbling happily.
“Sorry, I couldn’t hear what you’re saying, some muffinhead is laughing their heart out near here. Perhaps they heard a very good joke. Hmmm, what do you think Forever?”
Forever snorted, eyes almost closed with how much he was laughing, tears beginning to collect in the corner of his eyes. A few portuguese words got tangled with his crackling. Bad nodded seriously and slowed his tickle attack, not wanting to go too far.
“Uh hm, no, I get what you’re putting down here. We just need to ignore the laughter and keep up our nice conversation. I think that is a great idea!” He snuggled his hands cozily under Forever’s armpits, lightly wiggling and poking, which resulted in the laughter becoming a new dance of a calmer, but still high with adrenaline and mirth, string of snickers that made the blonde’s shoulders bounce in joy. “What were you saying before?”
“Stop tickling me!”
“What!” Bad gasped in offense. “How can you even accuse me like that! What the fudge, I thought we were friends. But, no, I see. I came aaaaall the way over here, did nothing wrong and you just treat me like that.” He gave a fake sniff. “You’re hurting my feelings, Forever.”
“Mentiroso!” (Liar!) It was quite difficult to see with tears and squinted eyes, especially when Bad’s hoodie always kept his expressions hidden, however, it was even harder to miss how those shiny eyes glinted with mischief and fondness and his smirk went from one ear to another.
It was quite the sweet sight. Forever had to push his face away before it made him blush vomit.
(For a second, he could almost swear that the blue that covered the other’s figure dimmed a little for a piece of time.)
“You’re such a liar.”
“Oh why, thank you.”
Bad freed his hands and softly attacked the back of the elf’s ears, still too lost in the lovely sound of his delightful giggles, crackles and snickers to actually let him go. That was the true sound of Forever’s happiness, not that forced, explosive laughter created by those pills.
Besides, Forever also wasn’t pushing him away.
Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the only one missing that freeing sound. Maybe Forever also longed for those moments of playful fights between them, of pushing the buttons and teasing and caring and always, always being there, for the better or the worse.
Eventually, the president held his hands and stopped the attack, left over giggles still pouring from his lips like a waterfall.
Their eyes met.
Forever’s smile got relaxed and small before growing bigger.
Bad just hummed, tail starting to sway fastly from side to side.
“So, Badboyhalo…”
“Yes?”
Forever’s grip got more firm.
Bad’s pull got equally stronger.
They kept smiling.
“Are you… uh.” His voice lost the undertone of playfulness, brown eyes focusing with true curiosity for a moment. “Coceguento? How is it in english? Tickly?”
“Oh, it’s ticklish. For example, you are very ticklish, Forever.”
“Hehehe,” he snorted, and his curiosity was satisfied. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. But what about you, Badboyhalo? Are you… ticklish?” The word came slowly and playfully, tinted with a nice accent.
Bad’s tail opened his backpack, rummaging in search for a very specific item.
“Hmmm… no, actually. I’m not.”
The blonde’s smile got more dangerous. “I don’t know… I don’t believe in you, man.”
He found it.
Bingo.
“Then why don’t you try to find out?”
Forever pulled him closer and with a swift move the enderpearl that had been in his bag was thrown to the other side of the room, successfully freeing the demon from his hold. Not a second later, though, Forever was jumping on his feet, ready for another chase.
Lots of laughter filled the afternoon, that day.
[~*~]
After that, the avian wasn’t the only one who now randomly poked, prodded and attacked the outgoing brazilian when he wasn’t expecting, anymore. Even though Badboyhalo’s attacks were much more out of the blue, following him in those lonely afternoons when he was distracted in his adventures or too lost in a project to realize the other invaded his base in the middle of a sleepless night.
But, you see, the difference between Philza and Bad and knowing that Forever is actually pretty ticklish is a very single detail: Bad is a fucking gossiper who loved to set chaos just to see where it would go.
And, therefore, the main reason why Forever was so screwed right now.
“NÃO! SAI, SAI, SAI. LARGA DE MIM!” (NO! GET AWAY, GET AWAY, GET AWAY. LET ME GO!)
“Que isso, moço, tá fugindo da gente por que?” (What is this, bro? Why are you running away from us?)
Forever didn’t even have to turn around to see Mike’s giant smug grin. It was almost palpable in his tune. But if anyone could have any doubt about its existence, they just needed to listen to his crackles as both him and Pac chased their friend through the Spawn, leaving a very amused Bad and Bagi, who shouted a “Boa sorte aí, Forevinho!” (Good luck, Forevinho!) in the wind behind.
“Pois é, a gente só quer um abraço apertado do nosso presida da galera! Cadê o espírito da Favela Six?” (That’s right. We just want a tight hug from our favorite president! Where’s the Favela’s six spirit?) Pac, however, questioned with a genuine tune, almost naive like as he followed the other closely, getting closer and closer by the seconds. For a moment he almost tricked the president into thinking that he was the merciful one, then he remembered about that one tickle fight he, Mike and Tubbo had in the Favela.
Let’s just say it was just a very quick thought, really.
“Favela six é o caralho, ceis querem é me roubar. Eu já disse que não vai ter Armazém da Galera nenhum! Isso é ataque à autoridade, hein!” (Favela Six my ass, you just want to rob me. I already said that there won’t be any Free Storage! This is an attack on authority!)
“A gente só quer o que é nosso por direito, Forevin.” (We just want what is faithfully ours, Forevin.)
The blonde didn’t even have a chance to answer before an arm grabbed his shoulder and pushed, disbalancing him enough so Pac was able to sneak behind him and lock him in a hug, snickering gleefully in his ear.
“Que isso, cara, achava que tu era compromissado! Vou falar pro Fit, hein!” (The hell, man! I thought you were compromised! I’m going to tell Fit!) Forever’s struggles only grew stronger when he saw Mike getting closer, wiggling his hands in the form of claws as he stopped running and instead began to approach slowly, chuckles falling freely from his lips and making shivers run across his spine and giggles to pile in his chest.
He tried again to free himself from the hug, showing no success. Pac’s hold was firm as a mountain.
“E desde quando que tu tá malhando? Tá todo mamadíssimo aí, né, eu tô sabendo.” (And since when you’re ripped? You’re all ‘mamadíssimo’ now. I see what’s going on.)
Pac let out an amused, with drops of shyness, snort. “Pois é, né, moço. Sabe como é né… Tô indo na academia do Fit bastante esses tempos e tudo mais, aí dá nisso.” (That is right, bro. You know how it is… I’m visiting Fit's Gym a lot these last days and that is what happens.) His tune lost a bit of the light and became more serious, cracked in the corners. “Também, né, a gente nunca sabe quando vai precisar. Eu não quero que quando chegue a hora…” (Also, we don’t know when we’re gonna need it. I don’t want that, when the time comes…)
Forever knew exactly what he was talking about, the same cloudy thoughts that filled everyone’s mind in the island the second he warned that the kids had ran away because a danger greater than everything they’ve seen before was coming, the Federation choosing to announce the train station’s opening in just a few days also did not help their nerves.
He looked at Pac’s shadows under his eyes, suddenly remembering that his friend also went under the Happy Pills Treatment, the horrible withdrawal, the exhaustion of recovery, all to save him.
His struggles became just a little, a little less strong, heart melting and hurting like it did for every single member of their dysfunctional family since they arrived in that boat.
The scientists deserved to have their own silly fun, even if the fun was destroying their friend and president in a mess full of giggling pieces.
And so Forever let out a loud laughter, wiggling his eyebrows and giving him a knowing smirk. “Tu tá praticando bastante exercício com o Fit é? Aham, hehehe, tô sabendo.” (Doing a lot of exercise with Fit, yeah? Uh hm. Hehehe, I see.)
“FOREVER!” This time the snort that came out from Forever’s mouth was more of a result of Pac's unfairly squeezing his belly non stop instead of a reaction to the affronted shout, the one with blue hoodie not throwing any other remark or getting lost in any dark thought. The blonde counted that as a win for him.
“Tá bem engraçadinho, mas você não vai conseguir me distrair. Sabe, o Badboy me falou algo muito interessante sobre você que ele descobriu mês passado…” (You think you’re being funny, huh. But you’re not going to distract me. You know, Badboy told me something very interesting about you that he discovered last month…)
Mike finally got right in front of him and Forever immediately started kicking in his direction to keep those offending fingers away from his torso at the same time that he continued to attempt to pry Pac’s hands - that somehow seemed to sense the exact spots he was the most sensitive and concentrate all their pinches, scribbles and tickly efforts on them over and over again - until the attack forced Forever to press his lips on his shoulder to contain the blossoming laughter and embarrassing squeals that tried to escape from his mouth.
His efforts to not let any sound out, however, were demolished when, in his distraction, Mike grabbed his ankle and grinned like a shark that finally got his prey.
“Eu preferia uma mãozinha, mas já que é isso que você tá oferecendo…” (I’d rather you gave me a hand, but since you’re offering…) And, locking the leg in a headlock, his fingers began dancing across his sole, walking around his arch and giving some special attention to the extremely ticklish space right under his toes, skillfully dodging any kicks that this move resulted in and breaking Forever’s barriers instantly.
Forever’s booming laughter filled the air in a free dance of joy, mirth and a warmth that filled his heart when he remembered just how long had it been since all of them could just get together and goof around a bit, no kidnappings or imminent dangers in their minds for a blissful pieces of time.
[~*~]
“Soooo, guys, I think I’m heading out, now.” Forever kept jumping on the trampoline, restless energy running on his veins after talking to Phil about his journey in the Nether. The virus hadn’t spread a lot those last days, but the conversation was hard, not only because of how, primarily, exhausting it was to go through all of it, but because for some reason something in him made he almost feel compelled to shut his mouth and not say a single word about the infection to anyone else.
They played and gave each other a few remarks and pokes of fun when Philza asked for Forever to take off his shirt in the bunker, careful touches analyzing the skin around the ébano substance glued on his back and in the nape of his head. Even so, it made the blonde want to hide away the result of his journey. Forever never have been ashamed of his body. He used to walk around shirtless, on the good old, first days on the island, afterall. But if he was being honest... he was afraid about that infection, and Philza didn’t seem very relieved about it either.
It was a literal mark about how he had failed in absolutely every single sense and chance he had out there. In finding any clue, in getting their kids back, in saving Walter Bob or even himself. In the end, he was not able to do any of this.
That is the President of Quesadilla Island, everyone.
(“We’re going to talk with Cucurucho and demand answers about what the fuck is this.”
Forever gave a humorless chuckle, happy that the children were outside playing so they weren’t here to witness how defeated he sounded for a second before adjusting himself to a playful grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, Philza, he is very good at this. Giving us answers, right?”
“We have to try. If someone knows about this it is the Federation.” Philza brushed the other’s sarcastic ‘há!’ easily and moved until he was right in front of the brazilian, capturing his eyes in a firm stare. “And if they don’t have anything, we’re going to find our own answers.”
Forever nodded, not really believing.
“You worry too much, my friend.”
“Exactly. I already told you but I will repeat it until it gets through your thick skull: I always will worry and I’m not leaving you side, mate.”
For a moment words escaped from his tongue, a mix of feelings of ‘safe’, ‘happy’ and ‘embarrassment’ filled his chest before he got a hold of his senses.
“Alright, alright, alright.”
This time, when he smiled there was a light back into his brown, tired eyes.
“You know, Philza, you really need to get over me, man. The line continues, I’m already moving forward and you still try to romance me, it’s- what is the word? Oh, embarrassing, hehehe”
The avian took advantage of his position to hit the other upside his head, a surprise snort being fished from his lips.
“Oho, shut the fuck up. You’re the one who is still on this!”)
And yeah, maybe he was just making a strategic retreat after showing vulnerability, but who could blame him, really? No one, that’s who. He would be out before they did try.
“Come on, Richas, vamo de Megabase.” (Let’s go to Megabase) He called, getting out of the trampoline when the boy kept painting and paid him no mind. Tallulah, however, stopped writing on a book to go to him, Chayanne turned to look from his place next to the grill nearby, already testing a new recipe.
The girl placed a sign and stared at him with attentive eyes, lips firmly pressed in a shadow of disappointment. ‘You already going?’
(God. He really missed the sound of little steps and signs being placed. They missed it all so much.)
Forever internally winced. He really didn’t spend a lot of time with Chay and Talullah since they’re back, letting them enjoy more time with Phil and just making quick check ins once in a while. He also took the last days to spend as much time as he could with Richas, afterall.
“Yeah... sorry, Talullah, but me and Richas still have to finish our project, right Richas?”
Still no answer from the younger one, too concentrated in every stroke to pay the conversation any mind.
Forever chuckled, sensing a chance for some mischief. Cleaning his throat, he lifted his voice from the usual soft tune he always used with Tallulah to a more taunting tune, making it louder so Richas could listen perfectly well.
“Ohhh, but maybe you can go and help me to make it, right, Talullah? You’re such a nice, helpful egg who listens to your parents when they call you, just like Chayanne. Richarlyson could take some examples from his older siblings more, tsk.” The president had to hold the snickers when he saw the red cow head stop and slowly, threateningly slowly, turn around to face him, Richas letting go of the brush to squint their eyes at him. Talullah and Chayanne rolled their eyes, amused, already used to the playful banters between father and son. “But ahh, he just never listens. Oooh, I have an idea! While Tallulah helps me with the decoration, Chayanne, you can go too and make your delicious barbecue there to keep us- AH!”
The surprised shout was a direct result for when the younger launched himself at his father in protest and began roughhousing immediately, both descending in growls and portuguese for a few couple of minutes before Forever laid a satisfied Richas on the floor, who immediately placed a sign.
‘Pai, stop. I’m making Pepito’s birthday present, let me finish it >:0 we can go Mebase later :D’
“Ok, ok, I get it, I get it. You like Pepito more than your own father. Yeah, yeah, no Richas, no, I get it.” He began fake sniffing and making crying noises, leading to a Richas kicking his leg in a clear message of ‘stop the dramatics’ before going back to the canvas. “Ok, ok, warn me when you finish your drawing then, we can stay a little more.”
The three kids danced in excitement.
(...)
He is not sure how exactly he had ended up in this position.
Talullah and Chayanne were secure and cozy his arms, half because of a poke of fun at Philza that started with a joke ten minutes ago and they just kept it running and half as a parting hug that was stiffly (but still very carefully) answered by Chayanne and warmly by Tallulah. Forever enthusiastically squeezed and hugged them even tighter. A bit jealous of how Philza could shield them both with his wings during their own hugs and how he could only wish that his arms would be strong enough to defend them when the time comes.
“OK, now it’s for real. Richas, let’s go!”
But, when Richarlyson appeared in front of him, paints and canva already put inside his backpack, his smile had a different tint in it and, between his curls, Forever could recognize the flame that always appeared when that kid’s inner demon - not his terrifying artistic alter ego, though, the general demon that lives inside every rascal kid - woke in search of chaos.
He immediately became wary.
‘Chay, Talluh, can I tell you a secret about Pai Forever? 0-0’
Both siblings immediately nodded.
“Ohh, gossip. I like, I like.” Philza snorted at the affronted look in Forever’s face.
“Vai contar nada, vai contar nada, seu muleque atentado! Nem sei o que tu vai falar, mas não vai falar não. Que que é isso, Richarlyson, tá se virando contra o seu próprio pai?” (You’re telling nothing, you’re telling nothing, you absolute brat. I don’t even know what you’re about to say but you’re telling nothing. What is it, Richarlyson, are you turning against your own dad?)
During the entire scold Richas kept jumping around in circles with the utmost, simple delight, wiggling his body and tail in sync in front of Forever, as if daring him to let go of the other two eggs to go and actually catch him, like a cat looking deep into your eyes before throwing the cup right off your table.
He put a sign on the ground.
‘Pai Forever is absurdly, awfully, very, very, ticklish. And it’s so funny because he always agrees to give us anything when we tickle attack him at home.'
“WHAAAAAT! RICHARLYSON, TU VAI FICAR DE CASTIGO, SEU OVO SAFADO. VAI PASSAR O RESTO DA VIDA NAQUELE CASTELO ASSOMBRADO LÁ DO TEU PAI CELLBIT. VOU CHAMAR O ELMARIANA PRA PUXAR TEU PÉ DE NOITE” (RICHARLYSON, YOU’RE GOING TO GET GROUNDED, YOU RASCAL. YOU’RE GOING TO SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE IN YOUR DAD CELLBIT’S HAUNTED CASTLE. I’M GOING TO CALL ELMARIANA TO PULL YOUR FEET IN THE NIGHT.)
His kid, his beautiful, beautiful baby boy that he would explode the entire island for and go through the literal hell all over again if it meant that he would be finally safe, only looked at him in a confused expression - as if the lil shit just couldn’t tell why his dear pai was running away from him as he tried to get closer - and began following his steps as Forever tried to put distance between them, holding Chayanne and Talullah the farthest away from his torso that he could while the two squirmed trying to escape and attack.
In the end his back ended up hitting the tree and, without being able to get his items to flee, he had nowhere to go.
“Wait, wait, wait, don-” A chortle escaped the very exact moment Richas began drilling on his sides, making Forever want to bounce up and down with the sudden tickly energy that shot through his entire body, leaving his mouth with a big, dazzling smile and his arms to fall in an attempt to protect himself from the tickling, which inevitably brought the other children close and sealed his fate.
Tallulah was bold, briefly looking at his face for any sign of discomfort before carefully shoving her claws under his armpit, scratching the ticklish skin with ease, but for the loud shriek that this resulted one could think that she just unlocked a full, unmerciful on a tickle attack.
Chayanne took a bit longer, giving his surroundings and sky a wary look, as if a monster would appear the very second he lowered his guard, only to end up finding his father’s gaze, who was watching at them with a soft expression and nodding encouragingly. The little (way to young) warrior relaxed and also took the job of scribbling, encircling and digging (just the tiniest bit, he had to be mindful about his claws after all) the other armpit, fish just more squeals and plenty of gleeful laughter with that.
Forever felt like he was about to jump out of his skin, his body going crazy at the ‘it tickles, it tickles so so much!’ feeling while his brain was still caught in the need to not move around too much to not hurt any kid with his squirms. All of which ended up with the blonde doing a weird little dance around the spot that brought plenty of giggles and amused snickers from the young ones.
Now, the similarity between Philza and Bad is that, while he wasn’t exactly the one who created it, Philza was more than inclined and wouldn’t necessarily refuse to add to a chaotic situation it if the chance came, if he felt like it.
That is why he stepped close, winking at them. “I think it’s better if you just agree to their terms, Forever.”
“I-I” the adult tried to bite back another giggling fit, but their tickles were so goddamn light and maddening- “I don’t even snk know what thehey want!”
“Just agree to give them anything then.”
Forever shook his head. He knew his son enough to understand how much of a pain in the ass that decision could become.
“Needing more convincing? Well, kids, you saw it.”
“Filho da puta-” (Son of a bitch-), and Forever threw his head backwards in more laughter, more squeaks, more half squirms.
Now, Philza may not know Portuguese. However, six months sharing an island with 7 brazilians and plenty of reasons to swear taught him well what some words meant. He snorted, half amused and half affronted.
“Do NOT swear in front of the children.” Then, a wicked grin was formed in his expression.“You know what? I think the eggs need a little help.”
Forever’s eyes got wide when he saw the avian stepping close, cracking his fingers, making an electric shiver run across his spine and spread through his nerves, making his fingertips tingle with adrenaline and anticipation.
His legs tensed in preparation for the chase, unfortunately, his son knew him too well.
In a blink Richarlyson threw himself on his legs and hugged them, successfully stopping him from even trying to escape. And those extra pieces of time were all that Philza needed. As fast as he was to defend and attack, he positioned himself right in front of the president, firmly pressing his shoulder to the tree and not really, truly, preventing him from escaping, but successfully securing him in place, in the same time.
“Ok, kids, what I know for a fact is that his neck is a very bad spot…” He demonstrated it by lightly tracing and wiggling his nails on said place, all of the dragon hybrids watching attentively as the action made Forever lose himself in a sea of snickers and yelps, a stronger reaction only coming out when two more tiny hands got mixed in the fun when Chayanne and Talullah tried mirroring their dad.
“But a spot that could make him cave…” Philza hummed before turning to the young one with a red mushroom cow head. “What do you think, Richarlyson? His hips or the back of his ribs?”
Richas looked at his dad.
At how dark have been the circles under his eyes since he came back, at how he kept chatting with the islanders but never truly talking to them, how he always kept running off to another project or meeting, always saying that Richas was his son and his best friend and the only one he could trust when they got caught up in the middle of the night building and decorating his base.
He saw how, until now, he hadn’t run away. Through the teases, the attacks and tickles, he stayed.
And so, he smirked.
Placed a sign.
‘Both?’
“Geez, I’m never getting into a tickle fight with you, mate.” Even so, the avian reflected his smirk right back at him and both turned to look at Chayanne and Talullah, who nodded in understanding and placed their claws on the back of his ribs.
“Nononono! Wait!” Philza placed his free hand on his hips, thumb pressing the spot right above the bone, the palm resting on the back of his spine. Forever’s speech became more high pitched and much faster, with nervous, delirious chuckles already spilling and spinning in the air. “None of you said what you wanted from me! That is not justo, uh, just, huh, fair! Calma aí, come on, wait, wait, wait!”
They did not, in fact, wait.
For a second, once again, everything else in the world disappeared. There were no code monsters, no Federation, no Purgatory or anything else but the warm, electric feeling of fingers and claws prodding, pinching and scratching that took over his entire senses, making his laughter ring free in a song composed of yelps, shrieks, squeals and snickers that filled the air. There was nothing else but the fun, the joy and the warmth of a careful touch and silly taunting smiles that his heart melt with care over and over again.
In the end, after more laughter, plenty of teasing and lots of snorts, they finally agreed to ask him to visit them again after a couple of days for a nice picnic. A request which, in between leftover chuckles, plenty complains and a few gleeful tears, Forever agreed, a plan of vengeance already forming in his brain.
