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kanene-yaaay · 3 months

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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!!

#Cellbit: I am the master of the teases and antecipation I am ruthless I have no mercy I am unstoppable #Pac: a// Cellbit: Friend is uncomfortable? Friend want me to stop?? Friend is sad??? *sad wet cat noises*#I tried to make this a bit out of my comfort zone! :D With plenty of teases and antecipation and took a while to write but I am very happy!#You can see this as romantic but honestly I think they have something much weirder going on #qsmp tickles #qsmp tickling #Ticklish!Pac #Ler!Cellbit #I regret nothing #I wanted to make the dialogue in portuguese on the tickle part too but I would've died fr fr #Sarcastic and acid Pac lives rent free in my mind I mean did you see the prank he and Mike did to Foolish to get him back about the prison?#Crazy stuff for real for real xD #Kanene's fanfic #Kanene's fic

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fallout-fucker · 10 months

Text

Crows Of The Commonwealth

I was on CrowTok and it made me come up with an idea.

So, obviously a lot of the crows in the Commonwealth are made by the Institute, though I personally like to believe that there are still a lot of crows that are regular ones, too.

Crows are an incredibly smart species of bird, which makes sense as to why they're the ones the Institute use. To my memory, I don't think there are any other birds in the game. Again, I'd like to headcanon that they're not the only ones left but if only a few species of birds managed to survive the bombs and the aftermath, I wouldn't put it past crows to be one of those species due to that intelligence.

Crows are known for recognising people, which also works in favour of the Institute as to why they'd choose them specifically. If you are able to tell the difference between individual crows, you'll be less likely to question if a specific one if following you if you are aware they likely recognise you.

However, they're also known to bring gifts and trinkets if treated right, or actually attack people who don't. And they remember faces. I don't get the impression that the Institute treats them too kindly if they don't even consider Gen 3 Synths as people, who are literally created with technology and human biology/DNA.

If we imagine that the Institute Crows work like Synths do, then that means that they are also able to become independent like Synths can. We know they have the level of intelligence, more so than another species of bird, to perhaps reach that level of independence. That's exactly why the Institute picked them. Wouldn't it be ironic if that became part of the Institute's downfall.

So imagine a Sole Survivor, fresh out of the Vault, scared and cold on their first few nights. Hungry, tired, likely sick, grieving. Alone. They have Dogmeat. They have themselves. A few strangers they saved. Nothing else.

They're trying their best one night to settle. They've only been unfrozen for a few days by now, but have yet to leave Sanctuary. They chose to stay for a couple days to prepare for their long journey ahead, and rebuild their home so they had somewhere to go back to. Preston has taught them basics self defence and survival, Sturges has helped them temporarily fix the holes in their walls. They're not close to these strangers yet, but there's a small comfort in knowing there's still people, and people nearby to run to if anything not friendly comes knocking on their door.

They're picking at a 200 year old box of stale cereal, not able to stomach the taste just yet. In the end, they end up leaving it in a bowl for Dogmeat to have, preferring to sleep, hunger be damned. They sleep on the floor that used to hold the dinning table, not ready to sleep in the now-too-empty bedrooms.

By morning, their sleep is interrupted. Not by the cold October air that their thin, makeshift blanket- That doubles as their coat during the day- barley keeps away. Not by the sunlight that seeps in by the broken shards of class where the window used to be. Not by drops of rain that fall through the cracks in the ceiling. Not even by Dogmeat licking then awake, like he did yesterday morning. This time it's the sound of pecking and squawking that has Sole prying their eyes open.

A small group of grows picking at the bowl of cereal. They must've gotten in through what once was the window, or literally any of the holes of missing metal panels scattered throughout the building. Sole barely has it in them to care. They know they shouldn't waste food that could've gone to them or their new furry friend, but they truly cannot bring it in them to mind. They wonder if the birds have a hard time finding food, too, and decide it might not be a waste at all.

They sit up. A few of the crows fly up onto the windowsill at their movements, one stays enjoying their breakfast, unfazed. Sole waits, sitting still until the birds realise they have no intention of harming them. They glide back down onto the floor, going back to eating.

After a few moments, the crow that stayed perks his head up, neck twitching into an angle that lets him look at Sole. He hops over, stopping just before he reaches their lap. Sole raises their hand, thumb and index finger moving slowly until they land on its neck. His feathers bristle under Sole's pets, his feet dancing happily beneath him. The other crows finish their breakfast. Salem, Sole decides to call him, joins his friends who hop back onto the windowsill. They fly off. He turns his head to the side, a beady eye looking at Sole again. He squawks at them before flying off to join the others.

Sole spends the rest of their day taking metal panels from some of the completely collapsed houses to fix the holes in their walls. They're able to find paint at the old Red Rocket down the road when looking for more equipped tools. Repainting isn't exactly their priority right now, just making sure the house will be fit to stand against the weather, and for when it gets colder in the next few months. The paint will be useful when they get to the stage of being able to consider making it look presentable, however. Unfortunately, the only paintbrush they find is snapped in half. They toss it in frustration. Less so because of the brush itself, and more so because Sole has a lot of anger built up from the events of the last few days that they have no other outlet for.

They end up going home when the sun starts to set, having avoided the empty tomb of memories for as long as possible. It wasn't safe to be out so close to dark.

When they set down their tolls by the door, something on the kitchen counter catches their eye.

Upon inspection, they realise it's an intact paintbrush.

Their confusion lasts barely five seconds, as they hear a familiar squawk. Hoping on the windowsill is Salem. His eyes study Sole. He's waiting. Sole smiles, pulling open the duffle bag they'd taken on their supply run. They pull out two wild mutfruits, which they'd harvested from bushes near the station. Sole cuts them into smaller pieces, before tossing them gently into the grass of their back garden from the car porch. Salem glides to the pieces, now satisfied in knowing that Sole approved of and appreciated his gift. Sole looks up to the trees that border their garden where other crows have started to also descend from to join in on the food offering. Apparently, there's a lot more in this group than what Sole had assumed from the smaller one earlier. About twenty feathered creatures dance about on branches decorated by orange and brown leaves or nibble at the mutfruit in the grass.

Salem flies over once he's had his fill, taking a seat on Sole's shoulder. His friends also begin hopping over gradually, and Sole ends up sitting down to welcome them and pet their small heads. Dogmeat also seems to love the attention, or perhaps just the warmth that radiates from Sole's body as he curls up next to them. Every so often, one of them drops a trinket into Sole's lap as they snuggle into them. A random screw, some gears, even some bottlecaps. Bits and bobs that a few days ago, Sole would've considered mostly junk, even if they'd still been appreciative, but everything now is useful. They even drop a few things by Dogmeat's snout, who sniffs them, tail wagging. Sole doesn't think Salem appreciates the happy licks Dogmeat gives him, though.

Regardless, Sole breathes out slowly, deeply, as they take in the sunset and birdsong before them. It's the first time they've honestly felt any peace since leaving that godforsaken Vault.

Sole makes a mental note to redesign the kitchen window when they get around to fixing it so that it'll be able to open widely. They also begin thinking about designs for birdhouses, feeders, and small fountains.

It's safe to say Sole feels slightly better than they did when they went to bed last night.

They feel less alone.

For some reason, as Salem nestles into their lap, against their stomach, a small pressure builds in their gut. They can't quite shake the instinct, the thought that comes with it. The feeling that Salem feels less alone now, too.

#Aka a story where Sole unintentionally befriends the Institute crows and teaches them actual love #To the point where they start to also rebel against their creators. Sole starts finding crows that have clawed out their own eyes #Or that have scratched chunks (Chips and cameras) out of their necks and turns Sanctuary into. Well. A Crow Sanctuary #Sole accidentally trains a crow army to be loyal to them #They start getting to the point where crows start being able to send messages like pigeons for the Minutemen and Railroad #Deacon hated the idea at first and when he found out Sole was basically housing Institute spies almost had a heart attack #Then he got on board when he realised the crows were also starting to runaway from the Institute #Salem likes to prank Deacon #They even steal Institute tech so their human friends can study it :)#Who needs to train Deathclaws when you have an army of birds that are already trained in spy work #And who you can use to find Synth agents because they recognise their faces and WILL attack them on sight #Who needs the Mysterious Stranger when every bird in the 'Wealth will swoop in to peck and claw at a raider's face when you're outnumbered #Sole being the King/Queen/Master of crows goes hard ngl #Their animal friend perk is maxed out. They DO also raise a baby Deathclaw just because they can #I might make a fic that includes this idea tbh because I love it #And I have been wanting to make a realistic fic about what it would be like for Sole. Especially in the early days.#Sole Survivor #Salem The Crow #Dogmeat #Deacon #Fallout #Fallout 4

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