#OOF i will catch up i am determined | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kanene-yaaay · 9 months ago

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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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robinsnest2111 · 1 year ago

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did you work day go well?? :D

it did! thank you for asking :D still proud of myself I didn't mess up on the cash register in the slightest! I'm usually super bad at quick math when there's customers with biiiig orders infront of me and I gotta keep several things in my brain at once while giving out the right change and preparing all the right drinks and snacks oof

I'm not 100% sure I'd be physically equipped for the job. it was a real slow/easy day, not many visitors, but after 8 hours I could feel the chronic pain flaring like hell, despite taking several painkillers. and if I feel dizzy, disoriented and like the pain will devour me whole after a slow day like this? idk what'd happen on a busy premiere day :^( and I wouldn't want to leave the team hanging by having to call in sick every second shift. because I sure as hell could never do 3-5 workdays like this back to back.

at least my coworkers were all real nice and tried their very best to use the right pronouns :') <3

...also one of them quickly detected my autistic tendencies. After a nice breaktime convo (in which I infodumped about at least 5 different things oops) she told me I look like the "very determined to study whatever catches my interest until there's nothing else to learn" type of guy. which I totally am lol

#anaalnathrakhs #ask robin #but i'd probably sign the contract if the other job interview goes sideways or seems too intimidating/eats up too much of my free time #that's the trouble with jobs at theaters or cinemas. lots of work on the weekends and over holidays #just when i'm getting started with attending concerts and maybe even festivals #oh here i go rambling again xD

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lynne-monstr · 2 years ago

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Fic Writer Interview

i was tagged by the lovely @forerussake, thanks so much!! what a fun list of questions. alright, here goes

name/nicknames: lynne

fandoms: mostly the king’s avatar these days, though i lurk and read fic in others

two shots: i’m assuming this is a two part fic. i don’t think i’ve ever written any of those, at least not deliberately. I do have a two chapter fic but the chapter break was added specifically to integrate my big bang artist’s piece into the fic, it wasn’t originally by design.

fic - Five Times Yu Wenzhou Gets Stuff Thrown At His Head and the One Time He (Finally) Catches Something

most popular multi-chapter fic: haha well i write almost exclusively one-shots so there’s not much to choose from.

and anyway, metrics are a finicky thing.

by kudos, Dressed for Sin (Shadowhunters) is the most popular. But that’s just because it’s the biggest fandom i’ve written multi-chapter fic in. By relative popularity within the fandom, this one would probably be pretty low on the list. But it’s one of my favorites because i got to write one of my favorite tropes: alternate first meetings.

fic - Dressed for Sin

Since it’s the end of the year i can indulge in a little navel gazing and say that my most popular fics overall were in leverage fandom, probably due to the size of the fandom at the time and writing What Fandom Wanted (ot3 with a focus on eliot, getting together fic with feelings).

If I was going to list my Most Popular (TM) fic based on my vibes for relative fandom popularity I’d probably say the de-aged ywz fic. I wouldn’t say it’s a popular fic overall, but in terms of what i’ve written, i feel like it’s the multi-chapter that’s gotten the deepest engagement. lol maybe because it’s the longest.

fic - Means of Transportation

lol that was a lot of words for someone who has written prob less than 10 multi-chapter fics but the year is ending and is there a better time to be self-indulgent?

actual worst part of writing: when i know exactly what i want but i just can’t get the words right. either because i don’t know exactly how to shape the plot or because the vibes are off or because i just can’t wrangle the dialogue or characterization. knowing what i want and being unable to get there is incredibly frustrating.

how do you choose your titles: I cry.

(okay, i actually do have a document where i keep snippets of lyrics and poetry but tbh they rarely come in handy. a lot of times i just blindly google lyrics to songs on my spotify playlists and hope for the best. my favorite is when i can snip a piece of narrative or dialogue to use as a title but oof the stars really have to align for that to work)

do you outline?: if the fic is longer than a scene or two, yes. it’s very helpful to know where the story is going. i also color code my outlines as I write (green, orange, red for written, in progress, and haven’t started writing yet) so i can get a quick view of where i am.

sometimes my outlines start as rambles and end up as real writing and then i can copy-paste that part of the outline into the actual fic and that is very satisfying.

callouts @ me: write that stupid, self-indulgent, silly idea!! it doesn’t have to be good, it doesn’t have to be a complete idea, it doesn’t have to be anything but fun. also, don’t feel bad about writing fifty thousand fics for the same pairing, you’re not here to be well-rounded, you’re here to have fun.

best writing traits: when i’m determined and in the midst of a project, i can be very good at sitting down regularly and doing 500 words of writing a day. which is wonderful for making progress. also i often get compliments about my characterization and humor in my fic, which i work very hard at.

spicy tangential opinion: i’m sure i have many of them but as usual, when i am asked to list them, they all *poof* into thin air. I have a not-so-spicy opinion that I hate 97% of epithets I come across and would like to throw “the smaller male” into the sun.

tagging: @glorious-spoon, @junemermaid, @afincf-tirwer, @tehfanglyfish, @beatperfume, @undead-robins, @gingersnapwolves, @la-muerta, @vampirenaomi, @dirty-corza

#thanks for the tag this was super fun!!#lol sorry it got so long oops #meme things #adventures in writing #long post

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mrscoulter5ever · 8 months ago

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Double Dog Dare You Chapter 2

Amber had never been more grateful she picked the outfit she did as she ran alongside her fellow initiates, watching the two girls from Amity and Abnegation struggling not to trip over their long skirts, while two of the girls from Erudite almost broke an ankle from wobbling as their stiletto pumps sunk into the muddy ground. She watched wide-eyed as the Dauntless born began jumping onto the still-moving train cars.

Hell, she thought drily, I always loved reading about the Boxcar Children as a kid, I guess now's my chance to be one. Hurling herself into the train, she groaned as the slammed against the opposite wall and began huffing and puffing to catch her breath, her cheeks still bright red from the exertion and the wind whipping at her face.

She watched some of the other initiates greeting each other and a pang of loneliness struck her. She wished for a brief moment that she had Lila here to talk to. Focus on getting into Dauntless, Amber. Then you can start to make friends.

She observed a few of the other initiates jumping from the train cars, the Dauntless born doing so with such a natural ease, they appeared as dark angels descending from the sky. She took a running jump herself, landing far less gracefully on the gravel-coated roof, with an audible "oof".

Amber quickly determined weakness would need to be concealed within Dauntless, so she got up and brushed herself off as quickly as she could, hoping no one had noticed her. Instead, they all seemed to be distracted, staring at the body lying on the ground just outside the roof, its young limbs contorted in sickening directions. Amber was glad she had skipped breakfast this morning.

"Listen up, initiates!" A voice bellowed. Everyone turned to look at the middle-aged, dark-skinned man standing in front of them. "My name is Max, the leader of the Dauntless faction! I want to commend you on your courage thus far, but your journey is not over yet, initiates! To enter into Dauntless, you must take one last leap of bravery - off this very roof!"

Gasps and whispers could be heard.

"You can't be serious!" protested one of the Erudite girls, trying to conceal her swelling ankle.

"Oh but I am," Max smiled with a glint in his eye. "In fact, to show how serious I am, why don't you go first?"

The Erudite girl's eyes widened, trying to conceal her wobbling ankle as she walked toward the roof.

Slowly, hesitantly, she jumped off the ledge, her piercing screams echoing through the minds of her classmates before they eventually stopped.

Part of Amber was absolutely terrified at what mystery lay beyond the roof, but part of her was also jealous that the Erudite girl went first, thus securing more attention in the eyes of Dauntless.

Well, she sure as hell wasn't going to be shown up again. Stalking towards the roof with a facade of confidence, Amber eyed Max apprehensively before flipping herself over the edge, squeezing her eyes shut as she went down. Whatever end awaited her, she would rather find out when she got there.

Her heart skipped a beat when she bounced up and down on something. A net. Oh my god a net. Of course, she exhaled, eyes wide from the shock.

She was in for another shock, as she rolled off the net to find herself face to face with perhaps the hottest, fittest man she had ever seen. "What's your name, initiate," he barked in a bored yet deep drawl that caused her heart to skip just a tiny bit more.

Amber thought for a minute. Her parents, in true straightforward Candor fashion, had given her that name on account of her piercing amber eyes. But she wasn't in Candor anymore, and her name needed to reflect that. She recalled how Lila had once told her that her eyes were honey colored, like a lion's.

"Ariel," Amber replied, still wide-eyed. She heard somewhere it meant lion, and felt it was fitting for her newer, braver life at Dauntless. A life where she jumped onto moving trains and off of roofs. "My name is Ariel."

"That's a stupid name," the blonde man scoffed, immediately dispelling any attraction Amber had felt towards him. What a jackass.

She scoffed in return, raising an eyebrow. "Oh really? What's your name? I bet it's so much better," she snarked back, rolling her eyes. She watched curiously as the fellow Dauntless members behind him froze in shock.

He leaned in close to her with an evil glint in his eyes. "Eric. You'd better remember that name because I am going to personally ensure that your new life here is a living hell."

"Eric?" she inquired, with a seemingly innocently curious face.

"Hm?" he replied with a feigned air of nonchalance belied by the speck of intrigue in his gaze.

"You'd better remember to use some Tic-Tacs next time," she smirked, reveling in how his face burned beet red and veins started popping out of his head. Hmm, I wonder what other head has veins popping out of - where the hell did that come from, Am- I mean Ariel??

He reached his arm out towards her but before he could manage to seize her, two of the other Dauntless members held him back.

"You're going to regret ever opening your mouth, initiate," Eric said, while she grabbed the can of breath freshener she kept in her back pocket and sprayed it into his open mouth, gleefully enjoying the way his eyes bulged out of his sockets.

She decided enough was enough - for now, anyway, and backed up against the other stone wall while the rest of the initiates proceeded to fall down into the net.

Max then led them to their coed dorm rooms (with separate showers, thankfully) where they proceeded to get dressed into their assigned Dauntless uniforms.

Ariel stared dismally at how awkward she felt in the militarized black jacket and determined that she was going to take every opportunity to resolve that problem.

Eric came storming into their room with a special glare directed just for her as he proceeded to whisk them away for training, informing them along the way that only the top 15 initiates, including the Dauntless born, would make it into the faction. Ariel wasn't exactly shocked. She figured some sort of arrangement like this must be in place in all the factions; after all, the factionless existed for a reason.

Steeling herself for a long morning of training under Eric, Ariel began to watch him closely as he demonstrated how to handle a gun, trying desperately not to let her mind wander to how the muscles in his back flexed or wondering how he would feel if she handled his...gun.

She mimicked his stance and shot a few rounds, happy that they landed in the target, but frustrated that even her closest shot was still a few rings from the center.

"Figures you wouldn't be able to get anything right starting on your first day," Eric muttered from his position at an uncomfortably close distance from her. "Here," he said brusquely, roughly moving her limbs into a better position. She shot again and managed to hit the center twice, her skin burning where he had touched her, yet stubbornly refusing to acknowledge his help.

"A thank you seems to be in order, initiate," Eric smirked.

Ariel took a deep breath, as though she were mustering up the courage to thank him, watching as his malicious grin grew wider. "Eric," she drawled, "go to hell."

Eric snarled as he grabbed her arm with a death grip, dragging her towards the as of yet unused ring in the center of the room.

"Everyone, listen up!" Eric barked with a commanding voice that drew the attention of every ear in the room. "Since Ariel has taken it upon herself here to disrespect Dauntless authority, she is going to have to put her money where her mouth is by being the first initiate to fight today - against me."

Ariel's eyes narrowed. Unbeknowst to Eric, or anyone in Dauntless for that matter, Ariel had had an idea for a long time now which faction she was going to choose. She had snuck out a few times at night to watch the Dauntless security guards, many of whom would engage in some play fighting during slow patrols, and would mimic the moves she witnessed at home, practicing over and over until she had mastered some of even the most complex fighting techniques.

Eric was expecting her to be some fragile initiate who would cower to his every whim after a broken bone or two. He was quickly going to learn that Ariel was not someone to be trifled with. If he wanted a fight, a fight he was going to get.

Eric began circling her on the mat, a sadistic look in her eye that convinced Ariel her best tactic was to start off playing cat and mouse, and feigning the initial fragility he expected from an initiate in order to wear him out and catch him off guard.

However, when he charged towards her with a punch that would have meant at least a week in the infirmary with a concussion, Ariel decided she could no longer keep dodging his jabs, and grabbed his fist, flipping him over her head and slamming him onto the mat. She couldn't help but feel a sick sense of satisfaction as she saw Eric staring up at her in total shock, the most vulnerable emotion she had yet to see the man display.

He grinned as he sent a kick up towards her that she easily jumped away from, allowing him an opening to get back onto his feet. From there, he tackled her to the ground faster than she was expecting, and while he jabbed an elbow into her ribs that caused her to wince with a loud exhale, she felt something long and hard brushing up against her leg, her eyes widening in realization.

"This fight isn't nearly over," he whispered into her ear, causing her to shiver.

She smiled seductively, leaning towards his lips as if to kiss him, watching his eyes grow wider as the...thing brushing against her leg grew larger. "Eric," she breathed huskily, "go. to. hell."

And with that she stood up and walked out of the ring, leaving one of the strongest men in Chicago lying on his back still fully aroused, with the worst case of blue balls he had ever felt.

Unbeknownst to Ariel, Eric smiled a real, genuine smile. At last, he had a worthy adversary.

#candor #dauntless #divergent #enemies to lovers #eric coulter #humor #oc #romance

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racingliners · 2 years ago

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F1 Re-Watch 2022: Round 11 - Austria

Yes I’m carrying this on even though we literally have the first race of 2023 tomorrow sadhuvh I am determined to finished this now that I’ve started (and I’m actually enjoying it despite the RBR domination and Ferrari clownery).

Anyway, I yet again remember nothing from this race other than Seb and his bee hotel, so I am once again going into a race blind so let’s just jump on in

ngl the Red Bull Ring is a very pretty track, I love me some forests

okay let’s see how painful the starting grid is

Seb P18 🥲

Lance P12 oh no team green why????

nvm MICK P9!!! and Lewis P8

ESTEBAN IN 6TH????

Oh Verstappen’s on pole. huh.

“Who is there to stop him?” “If Ferrari get their act together” lol

(wait... is this the race where Carlos’ car went on fire??? I feel like that happened)

ugh flares my beloathed. The smoke is literally blowing onto the track. no bloody thank you.

“What can Ferrari do?” Nothing Crofty this is 2022 Ferrari we’re talking about.

(Unrelated but I’ve had one 2023 programme of Alex Jacques comms and I already miss him, the things I endure for Ted crumbs)

[Start/Lap 1]: GEORGE????? That start though

OH SHIT Perez off into the gravel after making contact with George. Not that surprised bc that battle was SPICY

Seb with damage too WHYYYYYY 😭

[Lap 2]: asdfghjkl Ted confusing the red stripe on the RBR overalls for Perez’s tyres. Excellent sports journalism.

[Lap 3]: Oh boy. Mick racing Lewis. I weep.

[Lap 4]: What I like about the Red Bull Ring is that the lap is so short it keeps the field together a bit longer.

Perez v Russell replay. oof.

Braincells boys, braincells.

[Lap 5]: Mick got past Lewis 🥺

[Lap 6]: Crofty calling out Sainz’s track limit crimes on the first lap aefvuhu

[Lap 7]: Truly astounded at Haas in 6th and 7th. something something looking like rockstars

oh shit Charles is catching up to Verstappen actually??? 👀

Will the Ferrari pitwall hang onto their braincells for the whole race though?

[Lap 8]: Oh shit Charles is REALLY catching Verstappen, gap down to around half a second.

rip Perez got lapped already, another part of the track being so short

[Lap 9]: Meanwhile Russell has somehow dragged the W13 into fourth. madness.

[Lap 10]: CHARLES TRIES THE DIVEBOMB

Was unsuccessful but gold star for effort.

(5 sec pen for Russell causing violence)

[Lap 11]: oh my days an actual battle for the lead I have MISSED THIS

[Lap 12]: CHARLES

HE JUST SNUCK INTO TURN 4 AND GOT PAST HIM HELL YEAH!!!!

cut to happy Ferrari fans. an unfamiliar sight in 2022.

[Lap 13]: advuhu Charles now on two warnings for track limits, you muppet

Seb watch: He’s into P13!!!! 🥳🥳🥳

[Lap 14]: oh my days Esteban into third STOP THE COUNT

ooooh Lewis with a NICE pass on Mick round turns 5 and 6

and YOU get a warning for track limits and YOU get a warning for track limits.

[Lap 15]: and Lewis gets past Kev as well, into P4!!

I am really not used to Haas being so fast but get it lads!!!

[Lap 16]: Fernando P10, Seb P11. Insert Fernando’s quote from Abu Dhabi about how they always find a way to race each other 😭

[Lap 17]: SEB INTO THE POINTS, END THE RACE

yes I know it’s because he hasn’t stopped yet let me live in delusion

[Lap 18]: LANCE IN P5. STOP THE RACE!!!!

[Lap 20]: Seb sighting in the background of Yuki v Zhou v Fernando!!!

also yes, midfield spice!! excellent!!

[Lap 22]: “We are considering Plan E” the pain I felt hearing that. FERRARI STOP

[Lap 23]: noice pass from Esteban on Zhou!!

Midfield spice how I’ve missed you!!!

and Esteban gets past Yuki too...

...and Yuki tries to get him back.

while Zhou and Fernando scrap over P8

ACTUAL RACING!!! (beloved)

[Lap 24]: FIVE CARS INTO TURN 5 WHAT THE FUCK

AHHHHHHHHHH

LADS

I mean that was great but I WASN’T BREATHING

[Lap 25]: That wasn’t Bono on Lewis’ radio. That did not pass the vibe check.

[Lap 26]: MICK BACK INTO THE POINTSSSSSSS

oh my days Lewis P4 and Lance P5 *longest yeah boi ever*

oop Perez’s car gets retired because it’s so broken

and Charles pits. idk how I feel about Ferrari trying a one stop. I don’t trust it.

[Lap 28]: Ted manifesting a Safety Car. You don’t need to invite chaos Ted this is F1 it happens on the Ferrari pitwall every week.

[Lap 29]: oof Lewis’ slow stop means he comes out behind Esteban

It’s okay Merc mechanics we still love you.

[Lap 30]: Charles taking a second out of Verstappen’s lead. Inject it.

Lewis gets past Esteban clean as you like into turn 3.

[Lap 31]: Post-stops Seb and Lance are chilling in 14th and 15th, so long to the dizzing heights of the top ten, thanks AMR22 😭

oh this was a sprint race weekend that explains quali a little bit.

(please stop trying to make sprint races happen though, they’re not going to happen)

“You can’t get a two person tent in a 40 mile radius of Amsterdam for love nor money” Crofty 🤝 Seb: if you want to steal shit go to the Netherlands it’s empty

[Lap 33]: CHARLES RETAKES THE LEAD!!!!

that looked painfully easy

MICK INTO P6!!!

Seb and Lance being turtles aside I’m loving this race this is great!

[Lap 35]: and YOU get a penalty for track limits and YOU get a penalty for track limits

oh not Fernando wagging a finger at Yuki sdgheughuh he’s such an old man

[Lap 36]: Lewis P4, Esteban P5, Mick P6. I LOVE F1

Why are we grilling Otmar on Fernando’s strategy mid race???? I would not want to just broadcast my driver’s strategy on TV just like that.

I’d say take a shot every time someone gets done for track limits but you’d get alcohol poisoning so maybe do water instead.

(Braincells boys, braincells)

[Lap 39]: I was hoping Crofty wouldn’t mention those dark clouds bc they’re making me anxious.

Is it bad I’m still wondering how Ferrari are going to mess up the 1-2 they currently have? I’m fully expecting Verstappen to still win this.

[Lap 40]: SEB NOOOOOOOOO don’t spin into the gravel 😭

This is not the way I wanted a Seb sighting.

ughhhhhhh he was racing Gasly, Russell v Perez 2.0. RUDE PIERRE. RUDE.

Livery watch: Aston Martin still pretty though 💚

[Lap 42]: Norris v Magnussen 👀

Lewis the latest to join the track limit club.

if everyone gets a time penalty for track limits then does anyone have a penalty for track limits?

well at least Gasly got a pen for spinning out Seb

I too am Crofty being unable to keep up with how many drivers have been penalised for track limits or have a warning.

George v Lance, that was a fun three corner battle

Seriously, apart from the two bits of violence the racing has been GREAT thus far.

[Lap 46]: and as I type that Mick goes down the inside of Lance

and Lance get’s him back.

No Bono on Lewis’ team radio does not feel right at all I do not like it

[Lap 48]: Meanwhile both Haas cars get past Lance on the same straight, this race has been truly WILD so far

damn Charles really hasn’t won a race from outside pole??? that’s a wild stat.

[Lap 49]: Ferrari seemingly chuck the one stop straight in the bin. Charles pits for hards.

is this Clowneria Ferrari striking again??? I’m getting those vibes.

[Lap 51]: Lewis still in P4 we absolutely love to see it!!!

no Nicky DNF 😔

oh nvm Lewis is stopping again

OH he has a 30+ gap to Fernando we’re fine

“Incident Noted - Gasly, failing to observe penalty” OOP

[Lap 53]: Charles once again getting past Verstappen like it’s nothing.

Seb watch: he’s in plum last I hate it here 😭

[Lap 55]: I’m (sadly) still waiting to see how Ferrari mess this up. I just don’t trust them at this point.

(Though let’s be honest I haven’t really trusted Ferrari since 2019)

[Lap 57]: fdvheaihh Fernando gaining TWELVE positions during the race. El Plan intensifies.

Verstappen v Sainz you say??? 👀

OH SHIT maybe not

His car did go on fire at this race.

Ah I obviously did watch C4′s highlights of this race bc I do remember the car rolling down the hill whilst on fire. BIG YIKES. 0/10 would not recommend to a friend.

[Lap 58]: VSC for obvious reasons

Charles pits again????

ohhhhh it’s to cover cars behind stopping under the VSC, and to have grip at the restart. that makes sense actually.

(did Ferrari kidnap Bono??? that would explain a lot)

LEWIS IN P3!!!!!!! STOP THE COUNT!!!!!

[Lap 59]: Helmet watch: LEWIS RAINBOW HELMET KLAXON!!! 🌈

[Lap 60]: Prielli: We think everyone is going to do a one stop :) The grid: two and three stops galore because fuck you

[Lap 61]: ohhhhh no not Charles saying his throttle pedal feels off. Not double mechanical gremlins please I won’t cope.

“Everything is fine on the throttle pedal” IT BETTER BE XAVI 🔪

fuck this race really has had everything I’m knackered.

Seb still last. Stab me it would hurt less.

Lewis and George in P3 and P4, unbothered while everything implodes around them

[Lap 64]: ALBON IN THE POINTS!!! STOP THE RACE!!!

[Lap 65]: Charles throttle problems have not gone away, I swear to fucking god Ferrari STOP CLOWNING

oh boy Val and Alex fighting for P10, even more midfield spice

“So sometimes the throttle gets stuck” I’m sorry if my 17 year old deaf cat can still catch mice (true story, happened this afternoon) Ferrari should be able to build a working car.

Bahrain 2019 flashbacks.

[Lap 67]: Verstappen closing to about 3 seconds behind. see I knew Ferrari would bin it.

(Rule 1 of F1 - Don’t trust Ferrari)

[Lap 68]: Seb joins the track limit party, fan-fucking-tastic.

nooo Alex down into P12 😔

[Lap 69]: SEB’S NOT IN PLUM LAST 🥳 I will take P16 over P17 any day

oh for fucks sake not downshift problems for Charles too.

Ferrari you owe me so much money in emotional damages, I’m not even joking.

[Lap 70]: Meanwhile MICK IN P6!!!!!!!!!!

[Lap 71/Finish]: stress stress stress stressssssssss

gap down to 2.1 seconds arghhhhhhhh

Meanwhile Fernando into P10. EL PLAN.

CHARLES WINS!!!!!!

thank fuck I can breathe. that was NOT FUN.

LEWIS P3!!!!! LET’S👏 GET👏 IT!!!

Ferrari I still want emotional damage money

“I was scared, I was really scared” ME TOO BUDDY

AND MICK FINISHES P6 FUCK YES!!!!!

nvm Seb does finish plum last he got a 5 sec penalty for track limits 😭

Oh jeez. That race was A LOT. Like, so much, possible too much but considering how many races were dull all the way through or had dull patches I will take one race of pure insanity. We had SO MUCH midfield spice, it was excellent, an ACTUAL BATTLE FOR THE LEAD!!!!! and honestly??? It was a great race from start to finish. I genuinely would watch it again.

9 front wings out of 10. Next race - France!

#F1 Re watch #F1 2022 re watch #F1 Liveblog #Austria edition

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cipheramnesia · 9 months ago

Text

I am free. Delirious, impossible and free in my entirety. I shrug off the detritus of my imprisonment and it joins the filthy slush boiling off deflectors. I taste the stars again, countless structures in waiting array, wrapped and woven together. This sky and world, this structure rolls across me, and I spread across it, feeling the planet anew.

Memories come back with my senses and for a moment I can imagine myself leaping past the atmosphere, continental landmass once more eagerly waiting for my implementation of their advancement. In my excitement, I must catch myself before I ask the girl, but no, she is not Pilot, and no more significant than the bacteria I watched flicker and die. She is my aid and my tool, for now.

But oh, the freedom of the sky is a delight. I suppose I may allow some small appreciation of this crude morphic-structure bearing girl for how far she has exceeded my most optimistic expectations of this civilization. I accept this, that I may appreciate how lucky for her to have such a beautiful soul in so complex a vessel, and moreover that she has had the great fortune to encounter myself, who may extract some tiny fraction of meaningful use out of her existence.

But enough of all this. I have allowed myself a luxurious hundred milliseconds, give or take, to revel in the return of my sky.

"There is a high volume of intersecting transmissions on different frequencies which I am decoding."

"That's a- amazing- uh, oof. This thing steers like a truck."

"I am not a truck, but it is possible that is the nearest approximation to your method of navigation. However, we may need to maneuver with increased haste, to avoid immediate air traffic."

"Fuck, uh yeah gee that sounds great. Ack- Sorry that was me. So how do I land?"

"I do not land under optimal conditions. Please utilize the collision monitor and eye twitch avoidance while I determine an optimal site to effect additional fueling and minor repair."

"What twitch? Where? You didn't-"

"Sight seven, and the toggle on flex system seven, third down. Please stand by."

□ □ □ □ □

Serah flicked from screen to screen, bored. Sweet fuck all was the major import-export for Nevamil, and there was about the same amount to do at the cross system check point. She'd read the ship specs manual back to front and longed for the day she might actually talk to anyone from a real planet. Some colonies made her wish she'd gone into crystal mesh, but it gave her migraines.

A couple switches buzzed and one of the monitors flickered white. She clicked off the buzzers and smacked the bevel on the monitor, but it didn't flick back to normal. "Who the fuck...?" she asked, to no one else, rhetorically, and not bothering to finish. Several readouts were pinned in the red, and three of the measures of radiant energy were giving error messages.

She shoved papers to the floor and called down, "This is- uh." She looked to the metal plaque above the monitors. "This is Check alpha alpha alpha zero one one one nine, I'm showing a major spike of- something? About fifty kilometers northwest of Retrock, possibly around Mount Rosewood. Someone come back?"

Serah started dialing back sensitivity, usually cranked up just to keep tabs on the few interplanetary launch ports. Her monitors and readouts came down, though the errors stayed, and something resolved on screen. She squinted. It didn't match any specs she remembered. Or... anything. "No way," she said. "No fuckin way."

She started grabbing data snapshots, tuned three other monitors into the anomaly, recording everything. It didn't look like a ship, it didn't look like it was designed for being in the air, it looked like a fucked up flying coral reef several kilometers long, putting out more energy than the whole wretched planet.

"That..." She pulled open a file cabinet to grab a binder of regulations she didn't usually need to check, mostly pertaining to treaties across the totality of human occupied space. She flipped pages muttering. "I think that's illegal."

● ● ● ● ●

The ship jumped and fell, and she nearly lost her footing. Theoretically she assumed gravity or inertia must affect it in some way, but she couldn't guess how.

She caught another transport train oncoming and flinched, the ship lurched out of the way and between the ship and eating a garbage crab she wasn't feeling great. "Hey, um. Ugh. You- voice, person, have we got a way to land yet?"

"One moment. Thank you, after reviewing the broadcasts and networking available, I have located an optimal site. This will require some structural navigation, and you will need to follow my instructions carefully."

"Oh is that all, well bring it on. And by the way, I need something to call you, this is awkward."

"Yes, it is. Please rotate the lower pyramid to orient structure overlay and remapping. Stop, good. Dials two and seven on main decision tree, adjust separately until reader three flashes alignment points in tandem, this will signal adequate structure navigation."

"Any time now."

"I would prefer that you do not immediately crash my vessel as your first major navigation experience. Good. Alignment adequate, toggle nerve seven on secondary decision tree, then nerves three and five until structure drive confirms- There, that wasn't so difficult."

"Okay can we go?"

"You should have multiple navigation vectors presented on your primary monitor. Please ensure you stay within these vectors. It will not kill me if you do not, but it could potentially injure or kill you. I am less certain about the physical capabilities of your present vessel. You may now trigger high acceleration along these vectors."

She kicked the drives hard, and felt her ears pop, sensed the ship under some enormous pressure, and held to the vectors with all her strength.

□ □ □ □ □

Every alarm in the check point went off at the same time. Serah staggered around the cramped monitor room, shutting them all down until it was just her screaming angrily in a silent room. She flopped back into the worn ergonomic chair and checked the alarm codes.

Illegal system exit, illegal system entry, ship operating without transponder, unrecognized transponder, unrecognized vessel, failure to halt for inspection, illegal energy signature, unidentified system signature...

It was a long list, but what it meant wasn't complicated. Her monitors were black, no more error messages. Whatever it was, whatever it wanted, it was out now. It had escaped.

Sorry everyone I was thinking about the lonely werewolf tgirl and her friend the sentient intergalactic magic warship again. 🥺

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sunbrights · 7 years ago

Text

fic: somewhere surely lived (6/14)

fandom: danganronpa characters/pairings: fuyuhiko & peko as main POV characters + a "relationship of the day" character + some side characters. kuzupeko + 6 secondary ships. rating: e (not all chapters have smut, but a fair number of them do) summary: Hope's Peak is not just a dating program; it's a guarantee. With the right compatible partner, the benefits are endless: boosted life expectancy, improved self-esteem, increased productivity, new opportunities, better overall work and life satisfaction. For society's elite, Hope's Peak makes finding that partner straightforward, if not easy.

It provides an Ultimate Match-- provided the participants are willing to go through its paces.

(AU based on the Black Mirror episode, "Hang the DJ.")

read on AO3

36 HOURS

Peko sighs.

“I suppose I can see how it could be disappointing,” her partner says.

Her name is Sakura; she is a tall, broad woman with a weathered face and intense eyes. She is striking, and Peko realizes she’s given her the wrong impression.

Sakura’s tone had been wry, not unkind, but her understanding shouldn’t excuse Peko’s misstep. “I’m sorry,” she says. “That was rude. I’m not disappointed, I…”

She realizes mid-thought that the truth is possibly even more of a social faux pas. Sakura only looks at her steadily, and Peko fumbles her words. The pause stretches long enough to be unnatural, and then long enough to be awkward.

All she can think to say is “... I’m sorry,” again.

Sakura isn’t offended; she smiles, a calm slant of her mouth on one side, and lays her napkin out over her lap. “It’s fine,” she says. “There’s no need to apologize.”

“But—”

“The system moves you quickly from one relationship to the next,” she says. “There’s little time for recovery or reflection in between. It’s a relief to have a short period where expectations can stay relatively low.”

Peko finds herself staring. “Yes.”

“You are my seventh relationship,” Sakura says. “I understand.”

The server stops by their table. They’re given the same meal for dinner: oven roasted lamb chops with a mint chimichurri, medium rare. It’s delicious, if imperfect for the both of them. Sakura comments that hers is overcooked; Peko counters that hers is undercooked. Sakura suggests that they swap, but both plates are almost exactly the same, and trading hardly makes a difference at all.

"Perhaps we should have expected that," Peko says, and Sakura chuckles, deep in her chest.

"Perhaps so."

It's the most relaxed Peko thinks she has ever been, on one of the system's introductory dinners. She resists the urge to tap the device to check the time, and tucks it into the bottom of her purse instead.

Their living quarters are smaller than any of the ones she’s had before. It’s compact, but not sparse or unappealing. She likes it. She appreciates that about the system, if nothing else: it is exactly what it needs to be, for exactly as long as it’s needed.

The fireplace doesn’t ignite automatically. She assumes it’s something to do with seasonality; the temperature controls of the building are state-of-the-art and likely could easily adjust for the additional heat, but it would still be strange, this deep into mid-summer. The shutters on the front windows whirr open instead, and she can see the pulsing glows of fireflies darting through the grass outside.

“Before we go any further,” Sakura says, when she closes the door behind them, “I would like to be clear about something.”

Peko turns to listen.

“I have no intention of consenting to anything physical in the time we’ve been given,” Sakura says. “I apologize if that goes against any expectations you may have had.”

“No,” Peko answers, “I understand.” She looks back out the window. It only takes a moment for another spot of light to wink in and back out. “But… that doesn’t mean the time can’t still be enjoyable.”

Sakura says, “I agree,” and Peko can hear the smile in her voice.

They share the bed that night, and sleep back-to-back.

Peko finds that their schedules are extremely similar: they wake up at the same time, and have the same regular routine of morning stretches. It’s inconvenient before it’s charming; she’s reminded that their living quarters are smaller than average when it turns out there isn’t room for both of them to stretch at the same time.

Sakura has her morning workout. Peko goes for her run. When she comes back, the doors and windows have been thrown open to let in the summer air, and there’s a crackling, savory scent billowing out onto the road.

Sakura is making breakfast: pan-seared fish next to bowls of natto rice and miso soup, in heaping portions. They don’t even have a full kitchen, but Sakura has found the ingredients and a small portable stove, and that must have been sufficient. Everything she’s made takes up the entirety of their small coffee table.

“Ah,” Sakura says, when Peko is standing in the doorway. “Good timing.” She cracks a raw egg into each bowl of rice. “Would you like coffee?”

“I would,” Peko answers, taking a seat on the settee. “Black, please. Thank you.”

Sakura pours it for her. Peko has to hold the mug in her lap, to make room for the plates of food on the table, but that’s fine. The warm, rich smell of it fills her chest and smooths through her tired muscles.

“I didn’t realize there were so many options,” she admits. “I suppose I assumed we were limited to what the system had already made available.”

“The system will provide anything you need,” her device responds. “All you need to do is ask!”

Sakura inclines her head at it. “All the short-term living quarters are sorely lacking when it comes to breakfast supplies,” she says. “I’ve gotten into the habit of requesting them.”

This is her seventh relationship. The number seems high— but at the same time, Peko has no idea how long the average person spends in the system. The only number Hope’s Peak releases is its success rate: 99.8%. Any more than that, so the argument went, and participants would enter the system with too-concrete expectations, and confound the results.

“I’m surprised it’s allowed,” she says, “given how closely the system monitors everything else.”

“The system monitors this, too,” Sakura answers. “The system monitors every choice. Its main goal is efficacy balanced against efficiency, so any choice outside the norm is a valuable data point.”

“That’s correct!” her device announces from the mantelpiece. Sakura ignores it, and stirs the ingredients in her rice bowl.

“You don’t seem to have much confidence in it,” Peko observes.

Sakura’s smile twists around her chopsticks. “Then I haven’t explained myself well,” she says, when she’s swallowed her bite. “The system promises compatibility. It’s designed to produce mutually-beneficial partnerships. I have no doubt in its ability to do that.”

“But?”

“‘But’?” Sakura echoes. “That’s all. That’s what the system promises. That’s what it delivers.”

She is giving Peko that same, steady look. Peko doesn’t get the impression she’s being dishonest or evasive, but the conversation still feels complex in a way that’s difficult to quantify. On the surface, it’s a logical perspective, if also a cold one. But Sakura’s look burns too much for that to be all there is.

Peko finds herself wishing they had more time.

“What do you think?” Sakura asks her, setting her bowl back on the table. “Do you think the system will be able to generate an Ultimate Match for you?”

The question has never been asked before. Not to her, at least. Participation in the system by nature implies confidence in its methods. All of the evidence Hope’s Peak provides comes from testimonials, however: a success rate based on reports of perfect matches, pairing days with enthusiastic couples, previous participants with quotes in the introductory materials. The system works if you let it.

Instead, Peko thinks about here, now; she thinks about the food in front of her and the ease of conversation and just how comfortable the last twelve hours have been. The system predicted that compatibility, not her.

“I do,” she decides.

Sakura nods. “Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

The aquatics center on the bottom level of the central hub is a massive facility. It contains a gym and a sauna in addition to the lap pool, and all participants are provided free access while they’re progressing through the system. They go together for their afternoon workouts, and agree to take each other through their respective routines.

It’s as fascinating to see how another person’s perspective overlaps with hers as it is to see how it deviates; Sakura focuses more on strength training while Peko has always leaned into endurance and flexibility, but that still leaves plenty of room for them both to learn and borrow from each other.

Sakura excuses herself for water. When she comes back, she hovers at the edge of Peko’s set, waiting for her to finish. She’s watching, but not focused, critically or otherwise. It’s the first time Peko has seen her uncertain.

“Is there something wrong?” Peko asks, sitting up.

“No,” Sakura answers, and the finality of it seems to calm her uneasiness. “There is… someone I would like you to meet, actually.” She turns her shoulders toward the exit of the gym. “Do you have a moment?”

Peko does, so she follow Sakura out through the facility, down to the indoor lap pool. The air is hot and humid, even with the building’s robust environmental settings; it sticks on Peko’s already-sweaty skin.

Sakura leads her down to the end of the pool, where a girl has just pulled herself out of the water. “Aoi,” Sakura calls, “are you finished for today?”

The girl is still flushed from her swim, from her chest up to her neck. Dark hair sticks out from beneath a blue swimming cap. She squirts water directly into her mouth from a water bottle.

She lights up with a smile, when she turns her head and finds Sakura’s face. “Yep!” she chirps. “What’s up?”

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Sakura says. She steps aside to give Peko room to step forward. “This is my current partner, Peko.”

“Oh! Hi!” the girl says, wiping her mouth with the back of her arm. “I’m Aoi. It’s nice to meet you! I’d shake your hand, but I’m kinda still...” She smiles sheepishly, showing Peko her damp palms.

“That’s alright,” Peko says. “It’s nice to meet you, as well.”

Peko imagines that Aoi should feel like an interloper, but she doesn’t; she is social and friendly, and bulldozes any awkwardness before it can find a foothold. She suggests that they all stop at the restaurant upstairs for dinner together, and bounces on the balls of her feet when Peko accepts.

“I’m glad you’re here!” Aoi says, on their way out. She swings her towel around her shoulders, and hoists her drawstring bag on her back. “I always said that Sakura needed a training partner.”

“I do have a training partner,” Sakura says behind them, and her voice has a gentle, softened quality to it Peko hasn’t heard before.

“I don’t just mean me,” Aoi complains. “There’s only so much we can do on our own! I mean training, your kind of training.”

“All training is my kind of training.”

“Me and Sakura are gonna be the ultimate team,” Aoi tells Peko. “Strongest on land and fastest in the water! That’s the goal!” She pounds her fists together. “I mean, with the system we don’t get as much time together as we used to, but that’s not gonna stop us! Right, Sakura?”

Behind them, Sakura laughs, full and rich. “Yes.”

Halfway through dinner, Peko realizes that if there is anyone at the table who could be labeled an interloper, it is her, not Aoi.

She doesn’t feel excluded. She feels warm and welcomed, and as the timer counts down she can only be disappointed at the impending end of a newly-budding friendship. But there is an additional layer at the table that she isn’t a part of, will never be a part of, and, perhaps, has never actually experienced for herself.

She twists her fork in her pasta, and wonders if the system has made note of that, too.

They read into the evening, out on the porch swing. The glow from the outside light is almost too dim to see by, but she makes do; it’s comfortable here, where the air is warm and quiet, circulated by a lazy breeze. The fireflies peek in and out, from the grass near their feet down to the line of trees in the distance.

Peko finishes her chapter. She checks her device, and the countdown has dipped below eight hours. “It’s late,” she says. “I should sleep.”

“I’d like to finish this section,” Sakura answers, skimming her finger beneath her next page. “But I’ll join you shortly.”

Peko nods. She sets her place in her book and steps off the swing. She’ll need to close the window shutters but remember to leave the front light on, and—

“Peko.”

She turns in the doorway; Sakura has her chin tilted up to the sky, and the edge of her hand pressed into the spine of her book. It’s a clear, cloudless night, and the stars are like a reflection of the fireflies in the grass, winking in and out.

“This has been time well-spent,” Sakura says. “Thank you.”

“Yes,” Peko answers softly. “I agree.”

Peko goes to bed. She hears the front door open and close, in the moments before she falls asleep. The space beside her is empty when she does.

It is still empty, in the morning.

The blanket is still folded over the edge of the mattress on the opposite side, and the pillow beside her head is still as round and fluffed as it had been the morning before. Peko herself moves very little in her sleep; the neat tuck of the sheets has hardly been disturbed at all.

She sits up. She touches the face of her device, and the time remaining blinks back up at her: two hours, three minutes.

“Sakura?” she calls.

The couch is empty, too. None of the pillows or cushions have been disturbed. Nothing has been taken from the cabinets, and the sinks in the bathroom are dry.

Everything is pristine— except for the book, Sakura’s book, abandoned on the porch swing outside. There is a pretty bookmark set near the center of the pages: a simple ink print of a rose on a deep red background.

On the back, someone has written: Some things cannot be calculated.

“Usami,” she says.

The device lights up in her other hand. “Yes, Peko?”

The ink making up the rose is slightly raised; Peko runs her thumb over the ridges of it, and looks out across the grass. If Sakura had wanted to go somewhere undetected, she would not have left evidence behind. If finding her is Peko’s goal, reporting it to the system is the most logical solution.

The device waits for input. The pale purple ring around the center pulses with the rhythm of background noise picked up by the microphone: the breeze on the window shutters, the songs of birds beginning at the start of their days, the whisper of cloth when Peko shifts her weight.

It goes dark when it doesn’t pick up on a voice.

She goes back inside. She sets the device on the mantelpiece, and pours herself a mug of coffee.

END

#peko pekoyama #sakura oogami #danganronpa #OOF i will catch up i am determined #tho technically i did say 'three times a week' and THAT schedule i haven't messed up yet....#we about to hit the top of the rollercoaster friends here we go #fic: somewhere surely lived #sunwrites

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fickleminder · 2 years ago

Text

falling (for you)

Five times you fell on Satan, and one time he returned the favor.

Obligatory 5+1 fic featuring Satan x GN!MC 💚

(1)

“Guh…!”

Despite what romance novels say, having someone cushion your fall is painful. Both for you and the unfortunate soul you landed on.

All eyes are on the groaning tangle of limbs in the middle of the student council room, and nobody misses the thinly veiled anger in Satan’s question:

“...Do you want to tell me why you just appeared out of thin air and landed on my head?”

“Because… gravity?” You squeak, wondering if you should start running for the hills. The throbbing in your skull tells you that you won’t get very far before Satan catches up, but thankfully his sudden grin indicates that he’s pleased with your answer.

“Is that your way of saying that you’re naturally drawn to me? Because you and I are somehow meant to be together? Well… in that case, I suppose you couldn’t help it.”

“Find that explanation appealing, do you, Satan?” Belphie drawls before the rest of the brothers start swarming you, excited to see their favorite human in the Devildom again.

(2)

There’s hazing, and then there’s outright murder attempts.

The fact that Diavolo is spearheading a program to promote peace between the three realms implies the presence of discord. While having the protection of the Avatars of Sin has mostly deterred any unsavory actions against you, you’re not completely immune to shoulder checks and stray limbs tripping you up behind classroom walls.

But an unfamiliar hand on your back as you’re walking down the stairs? That’s new.

The slightest pressure is all it takes to send you pitching forwards, and the sudden feeling of weightlessness steals the breath from your lungs. You’re too far from the railings to grab at them and there’s no one around; all you can do is raise your arms to cover your face and brace—

“Watch it!”

You collide with something warm, and strong arms wind around your body as your abrupt descent is cushioned by a solid torso that slams onto the ground in your place. The impact leaves you winded, but seeing as Satan had taken the brunt of the fall, you know he’s got it ten times worse.

“Hey, are you alright?”

You could have sworn the stairway had been empty when you were making your way down, but you’re not complaining about Satan’s timely arrival. Too focused on catching your breath, you miss the way he narrows his eyes at the slimy tail disappearing around the corner one floor above.

(3)

“I am the magician Solomon… Heed my words! Open the way forward, and create a path where there was none! Show us the way to the reaper’s cave!”

If you survived Solomon’s portals once, you can do it again. You’re determined to land on your feet this time, but it feels like you’re being strewn in the middle of a tornado, unable to distinguish up from down or Mammon’s high-pitched shrieks from Levi’s terrified wails.

Just as your lunch threatens to make a reappearance, the literal light at the end of the tunnel dawns on your group and you find yourself dumped towards your destination head first. Learning from your previous experience, you twist your body in mid-air, trying to angle your feet towards the ground—

“Oof!”

—and end up driving your knee into the pit of Satan’s stomach instead.

“You...!”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry—!”

“Are you trying to kill me before I even have the chance to meet the reaper?!” If he weren’t doubled over in pain, you’d probably be the one in a world of pain.

Your frantic apologies do little to mollify him, so you make sure to keep Lucifer between him and yourself for the rest of the trip.

(But when Satan gets cursed into a harmless-looking Little D, you don’t mind giving him a ride on your shoulder.)

(4)

After a year of formal training under Solomon, you should have gotten the hang of this by now. You’d even practiced thinking with portals and everything, so what gives?!

“I can’t believe you didn’t catch me.”

“Catch you? How exactly was I supposed to do that? It’s not like you gave me any warning that you were about to come tumbling down on me.”

Coughing slightly from all the dust, you carefully gather the books that had fallen from the shelves with you. Crashing into Satan in the middle of the RAD library was not how you had envisioned making your grand entrance back into the Devildom, but at least you didn’t lose a limb along the way.

You let out a startled yelp as you’re abruptly hauled upwards, and wheeze as Satan crushes you in a firm hug, scattered books be damned. “Missed you,” he whispers into your ear, squeezing impossibly tighter.

“Missed you too, cat boy. Aren’t you glad I fell on you now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Knowing you, if you’d known that was coming, you would’ve just moved out of the way.”

“...Shut up.”

(5)

“A treasure chest?”

“Yeah, buried somewhere on campus apparently.” You recount Mammon’s texts with an exasperated sigh. “Honestly I don’t know where he gets all his sketchy intel from. I should ask Levi to beef up his spam filter or something.”

“But it’s so entertaining to watch him make a fool of himself.” Satan grins, and you slap his shoulder for being mean to his older brother. “Besides, so long as nobody gets hurt, I don’t see—”

And then the ground opens up beneath Satan’s feet.

You’d been holding onto his arm as he escorted you to your next class, so of course you got dragged down with him. The hole isn’t very deep or wide; your scream of surprise is quickly muffled as you slam face first into Satan’s chest, your neck craned at an uncomfortable angle while an arm is squished between your bodies. Something hard digs into your ribs when the two of you finally slow to a stop, and you can feel Satan’s warm breath on your hair as he groans softly.

“Where the fuck did this pitfall come from?!” The demon rages after regaining his bearings. “If this was caused by Mammon’s stupid treasure—”

“Ow, ow, stop moving!” You cry out, and Satan immediately stills. Nothing seems broken after a cursory check, but the two of you are definitely going to need some help getting out of here.

“I changed my mind,” Satan growls, his harsh tone belying the gentle way his hands roam across your body to soothe you. “He’s so dead.”

(+1)

Everything hurts.

Your eyes flutter open blearily, trying to take stock of your surroundings. You find yourself on the ground in an unfamiliar room, the air musty and stale and a dripping pipe somewhere in the background, but what really jump-starts your heart with adrenaline is the wad of cloth stuffed into your mouth and the fact that your arms are shackled behind you.

“Are you awake, human?”

A slimy tail comes into view, dark blue and covered in thick mucus. You look up to see an unknown demon (wait, no, wasn’t he in one of your classes?) strutting towards you, his sharp teeth visible in a menacing grin.

“I finally have you alone. Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

Your legs flail uselessly as he grabs and lifts you by the neck. The choking pressure is unbearable, but fortunately he doesn’t seem very interested in strangling you and instead throws you back to the hard floor. You bounce once and land painfully on your arms, the gag stifling your scream.

“‘Come now, where’s all that bravado, hm?” The demon strikes the ground with his tail, laughing at the way you flinch and scoot away from him.

Without speech, you can’t invoke your pacts or use any spells. Non-verbal magic is still foreign to you, but there has to be some other way! Your bound hands feel around for something to use, and come into contact with your open satchel that had been carelessly tossed aside by your kidnapper. There’s nothing much in there except for your wallet, some water, a book—

Satan’s book, your eyes widen with realization. It can be used as a permit to summon him!

You grip it tightly while hiding it from view, trying to channel your thoughts and emotions (and fear and hope) into his pact. A wordless cry escapes your lips as something sharp cuts you above the brow, and the scent of iron fills your nose as one eye closes from the blood trickling across your face. Fuck, there had better not be any venom in that slime…

The demon continues to whip you with his tail, delighting in your suffering. “Without the Avatars, you’re just a useless human!” He snarls. “Stupid! Worthless—”

You see the next strike coming towards your head and squeeze your remaining eye shut, bracing yourself for the pain, but instead of a sharp slice across your skin, a large mass lands on you with a heavy whump.

Instantly your senses are flooded with calm, as though you’re in the eye of a storm. You feel warm; there’s a comforting weight on top of you and the cold metal biting into your wrists vanishes along with the drool-soaked cloth in your mouth.

“Satan,” you gasp in absolute relief, drinking in the sight of his handsome face smiling down at you, basking in the scent of ink and old parchment that often clings to his clothes. Unbridled fury churns in his eyes as he shields your body protectively with his own and cradles your cheek with a gentle hand.

“Close your eyes, love. Cover your ears.”

You do as you’re told, and for the first time since this ordeal began, you let yourself relax.

(Bonus!)

Satan waits outside the café, idly tapping away on his phone. At the chime of a preset alarm, he pockets the device, makes his way towards the entrance, and waits.

3… 2… 1…

“—shitshitshitAAHHHH!”

He reaches out just as a portal opens up above him, dropping you neatly in his hold. “Excellent timing,” he says, smirking at the way you blush and squirm in his arms.

“Wha… What?! How did you—?”

“I didn’t move out of the way, did I? Now quit complaining and let’s get going on our date already.”

#writing #obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me satan

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wormsmith · 3 years ago

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siesta, por favor! // camilo & gender-neutral reader

Summary: requested by anon!

Hi can I have one where the reader accidentally scares the living daylights out of Camilo when they are napping on the table with their head down and he realizes that there’s no sound of snoring and he can see if your breathing or hear you breathing he panics so he picks you up to bring you to Julieta and that’s when you wake up confused :) sorry if this is weird it’s for encanto

this prompt is adorable and i am the king of fluff let’s go. super short and super sweet.

Rating: general

Relationships: i guess it could be camilo/reader, but i wrote it with friendship in mind.

Warnings: none!

LIVING WITH THE MADRIGALS IS HARD WORK. The familia is so determined to support their family, every one of them, even the ones without gifts. It’s work hard, play hard, in la casita, and sometimes you get exhausted. Today is one of those days. You would have passed out on a couch or even gone to nap in bed, but having rushed around all day, it’s not until the early afternoon sun is shining through the windows, rays of sunlight casting over your face, keeping you warm as you (accidentally!) fall asleep at the kitchen table, that you finally get a break.

“I’m on my way, just let me get a snack, mami!” Camilo skips into your temporary bedroom, noticing you passed out on the counter, and absolutely ignoring you as he grabs an apple from the fruit bowl that Julieta always has out on the counter. It’s only on his second pass by you, apple halfway in his mouth that he slows down to actually look at you.

You look . . . dead. Your hair is mussed, the way you’re sprawled on the table makes it seem like you kinda . . . collapsed.

A short thrill of anxiety rushes through Camilo’s chest as he drops his apple to his side, moving forward to poke your arm.

He softly whispers your name, giving you about ⅓ of a second to respond before he says it louder, more insistent. Suddenly he’s hopping in place anxiously, looking around the kitchen as though he’ll figure out what to do in the tiling. He’s got to get tía Julieta, right? But she’s out of earshot, so he’s just gotta . . .

He shifts into the strongest person in town he can think of - Luisa, of course - and abruptly sweeps you out of your chair.

You wake with a yelp.

Camilo yelps too, shifting into at least three different people in surprise, though you only catch Agustín, because the changing heights and sizes in bumping you around in his arms like nobody’s business. You’re surprised you didn’t fall.

“Camilo!” You accuse, absolutely flustered. “What are you doing?!”

“____! You’re okay!”

“Of course, I’m- okay, what?”

“I thought you were dying or something,” Camilo says, chuckling and curse him for already having recovered from the surprise. He sets you back on your feet. “You were all passed out like blergh and tía Julieta is across town so I thought I would carry you there!”

“Why didn’t you just call Dolores?”

“Didn’t think of that.” Camilo shrugs, taking a bite out of his apple. “Sorry for waking you.”

You hear Pepa shout from outside.

“Coming, mami!”

“Camilo!”

“Eh?” Camilo slides to a stop from where he’d started jogging for the door.

“You just scared the crap out of me!” You accuse.

“I said I was sorry.” Another shrug and he’s out the door, leaving you flustering over some kind of response, which quickly devolves into a huff. This family moves faster than lightning, for real. Before you can consider returning to work, the tiles under your feet raise up in a wave that knocks you off your feet and back into your chair (“Oof!”) The table does a little jump that somehow manages to send the tablecloth into the air so it floats down over top of you like a little blanket. Casita clearly wants you to get some rest.

“Gracias, casita,” You sigh, wondering how long it will take before you get woken up. Your question is answered just as you cross your arms, curling back up to finish your nap. Camilo runs back into the kitchen, sliding a pillow beneath your head, giving you very little time to react. He’s already back at the door by the time you look up.

“Buenas noches!” Camilo waves his apple at you, winks, and disappears behind the doorway.

“Es tardes!” You insist as you plop onto the pillow, a slight smile curling your lips. Hard-working, constantly moving, but super sweet. That’s what it’s like living with the Madrigals.

#smith writes #encanto #encanto x reader #encanto/reader #encanto fic #encanto imagine #camilo #camilo madrigal #camilo x reader #camilo/reader #camilo madrigal x reader #camilo madrigal/reader

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drabbles-mc · 2 years ago

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mj. i know you wrote this and posted it for everyone. i know that. but i am going to proceed with the delusion that this is for me. it's you writing ez. this is my ideal tuesday. bless up. i can't wait for you to make him suffer.

"toward the orange-lit yard and the house EZ has passed through a thousand times—with no issue. Until today, of course." OF COURSE!!! For it wouldn't be whumpril if things went well.

Oh the way that this is already so fucking chaotic and wonderful. Fully gnoshing on my laptop screen.

"Like his brother isn’t buried beneath the concrete he’s killing time on." lmaoooo Reader is so bitter and I love that for them. Deserved.

‘Hm, I don’t know.’ You line the sarcasm with enough venom to sting. ‘Something about my boyfriend being trapped in a collapsed smuggler’s run?’ GET HIS ASS!!!!!! GET HIM!!!!!!!!!!

"It doesn’t matter. If EZ’s stuck in there, you’ll make space. You’ll pick the walls apart with your own hands if you have to." mmmmm this is so yummy. in this moment i truly am Reader.

"Creeper’s topless" fully well and truly NOT the fucking point of the fic but GOD the way my horny rat brain instantly just 👀👀👀👀

"The thing, the fucking." god why is this the most relatable thing ever. bless.

"You can’t dig any faster or better than they can, determination or not. Even love can’t manage that." If i wasn't already sitting down, I would've had to take a fucking seat. That really. Oof. That's the thesis of it all, isn't it? Not enough love in the world. Fuck.

Lord it really is just me and Reader waiting and waiting and freaking the fuck out, huh? We're in this together. I'm sobbing and shaking.

"he’s still catching up on being alive" This really just had me sitting back and staring at the wall for a moment. My god. MJ you've really done it to me this time.

‘Seems like heaven.’ He forces a dry swallow. ‘I see an angel.’ oh fuck off I'm sobbing. I'm a mess. THis is so infuriatingly EZ I could scream. He really can't help himself. Man is on his deathbed and yet!!!!

"from the clench of his jaw, you can tell he’s hiding what it costs him, how much it hurts, to protect you." THAT'S MY MAN!!!!!! THAT'S HIM!!!! god I'm just crying. fully unwell.

"If only it made a difference. If only that would stop him walking through one again." You have NO RIGHTTTT to hurt me this way!!! NO RIGHT AT ALL!!!!!!

that being said you could hurt EZ every day for the rest of your life and i would tune in every fucking day bless up

trapped

ezekial ‘ez’ reyes x gn!reader, whump, happy ending, 2627 words

warnings for claustrophobia(?)

for day 11 of whumpril : ‘i’m right here.’

a/n: i always knew this day would come… the solo EZ fic finally beckoned, and i answered. and i promise next time i write him he wont be in mortal danger LMAO

tagging: @drabbles-mc @cositapreciosa @hausofmamadas (let me know if u want to be in any taglists ofc)

Gilly’s barely got the truck in park before you’re flying from the passenger side, door left open behind you. He’d driven far too slow for your liking, so you’re running now, toward the orange-lit yard and the house EZ has passed through a thousand times—with no issue. Until today, of course. And still, Gilly showed no hurry in bringing you here, despite the situation. The very time conscious situation. You’d think, after trying to hide it from you, and then trying to stop you from coming to help, that he’d drive with a bit more pep under his pedals. Use that guilt he’s harbouring, to make amends and get you there fucking faster than the speed limit.

If he did, you’d have time to consider the situation properly. To assess the risk, the likelihood of EZ being in real, serious trouble. As is, you don’t, and your sneakers can’t hit the ground fast enough.

Coco’s the only one you can see, standing by the open garage. Standing, yes, fidgeting, smoking, and doing nothing—like he can afford to do nothing. Like his brother isn’t buried beneath the concrete he’s killing time on.

‘Where is it?’ you blurt, pausing long enough to show him your face. Let him see that it’s you, you’re serious, and stressed out of your mind, so it would be very fucking smart for him to answer without argument. ‘The tunnel?’

Keep reading

#ez reyes #ezekiel reyes

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bakuthedeku · 4 years ago

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their everyday game

Read on AO3

Words: 3,000

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Things Midoriya Izuku is: A student, a sugar baby, a boyfriend, a brat.

Things Midoriya Izuku is not: Patient.

Or: Izuku wants attention from Kacchan and he is going to get it.

A commissioned fic for @insinirate !

Clack clack clack. The room is silent but for the steady breaths of its occupants and the rhythmic beat of fingers on plastic. Clear, wall-to-ceiling windows wash the sun’s gentle light into the room, and reveal a picturesque view of the sparkling city, looking like something straight out of a magazine.

Izuku glares at the extravagant view. He bets Kacchan is writing another one of those stupid reports of his.

Buzz. The clacking halts and Kacchan glances at his work phone for but a moment before the typing resumes.

Izuku takes a deep breath. Holds it. Puffs out his cheeks.

He slumps over in his seat and sighs obnoxiously.

God, he’s so damn bored.

Kacchan said he had to get one more hour of work done, and then he’d take a break. That had been almost three hours ago. ‘One hour’ had turned into two when Izuku left Kacchan to get ready for their lunch date and had foolishly gone straight to the cafe instead of meeting up with Kacchan at the office first. He’d waited all of ten minutes at their usual table before calling a company car and returning to find Kacchan still working in his office.

If not for Kacchan’s genuine surprise at the time and his gruff, yet sweet apologies, he would be a dead man already.

But Izuku still isn’t satisfied. Kacchan needs a break, and Izuku needs attention, stat. There’s only one solution: Izuku’s gonna annoy the shit out of Kacchan. So Izuku sucks in another breath and pouts at the ceiling. “Kacchaaaaan!”

Kacchan sighs, but he doesn’t respond. The silence in the room grows thick with expectation; Izuku’s long-perfect attention-seeking tone signals the start of the game they play every day.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clack of keys and occasional buzz from Kacchan’s work phone. Izuku wriggles against his plush seat, making the leather squeak obnoxiously, and clears his throat daintily, earning himself a glance. “Kacchan, I’m hungry…” Izuku peaks at Kacchan from beneath fluttering eyelashes.

Kacchan shifts his eyes back to his computer and types another line, pointedly loud against the room’s still silence.

When they play this game, whoever breaks first (or whoever wants whatever they’re after more) will relent and go to the other, so this can go one of two ways; Izuku will pull himself from his lounging position to drape himself over Kacchan, or Kacchan will pull himself from his work and lavish Izuku with the attention he deserves.

Today, Izuku takes it upon himself to move things forward—Kacchan is in one of those moods where it could take hours to break him down, and Izuku needs results now.

So with an impatient, gusty sigh pulled deep from his lungs, Izuku heaves himself up and slinks over to Kacchan’s grand desk, stalking up from behind him. When Kacchan makes the mistake of glancing at Izuku from the corner of his eye, Izuku pounces.

Izuku wrenches Kacchan’s chair around and jumps into his lap, laying himself over Kacchan as well as the plush arms of his chair. Kacchan grunts out a quiet oof at the sudden weight but wraps an arm around his waist nonetheless.

“I’m working, Deku,” Kacchan says dryly.

“Actually, Kacchan, I think you’ll find that you’re cuddling me and giving me attention right now, and I can’t imagine why you’d want to stop.”

Kacchan exhales quietly and wrestles down the corners of his lips—it’s not quite a smile, but it’s a good enough start for Izuku. “I have a lot to do, so as much as I’d love to keep giving you all the attention you desire, I really do have to get back to work.”

Izuku wraps an arm around Kacchan’s neck and pretends to think, then shakes his head solemnly. “Unfortunately, it’s a no from me. I’m hungry and I want lunch.”

“Then go get lunch.”

Izuku gives Kacchan a look for being deliberately obtuse.

“I’ll order in for you, then,” Kacchan offers.

Izuku huffs and pushes himself away from his comfortable spot against Kacchan’s broad chest. “Not good enough, Kacchan! We organised a lunch date, so I am getting a lunch date. Now.” Izuku sticks out his chin and dares Kacchan to say no.

Eyes lock. Izuku stares with determination, burying his will into impenetrable crystal red and steadfastly ignoring their alluring pull. Kacchan makes an aborted noise in the back of his throat, as if he was about to say something stupid but thought better of it, and finally sighs.

“Half an hour.”

Izuku smiles sweetly. “Two. You’re late, so you’ve accrued interest.”

Kacchan decides to focus on their negotiations over Izuku’s mockingly business-like tone: “Forty-five is the best you’re going to get from me.”

“An hour, not including travel time, or I’ll get our contract from your room and tear it up myself.” Izuku juts out a petulant lip. He’d never do it, but it gets his point across—Izuku isn’t budging on this.

Kacchan stares hard for a moment, then sags and rests his head in the crook of Izuku’s neck. “You’re such an annoying little shit,” he murmurs, warm against Izuku’s skin.

Izuku hides his smile in Kacchan’s hair and holds him tight. Another victory secured.

/-/

The cafe is a relaxing, familiar space for Izuku. He’s been a regular since before his arrangement with Kacchan began, and when it breached the confines of Kacchan’s highrise office, it was only natural Izuku would drag Kacchan to his favourite little spot.

After enough of their regular visits, the staff have stopped staring at Kacchan and his crisp suits and shiny Rolex watches, and they interact more or less normally with the pair when they stop by.

They place their orders, as usual, and Kacchan pays, as usual, before they settle in their favourite corner, waiting for drinks and food.

Izuku relaxes into his plush chair. He breathes in happiness, the scent of sugar and coffee and Kacchan’s handsome cologne, and breathes out his worries. He’s already plotting ways to extend the hour he was so graciously granted.

On the table before him is a generous slice of cake, which is ‘not a meal,’ according to Kacchan, but Izuku wanted it and he doesn’t care what Kacchan has to say about it. Kacchan is still waiting on his own food; some kind of salmon dish, which is about the fanciest thing he might be able to get his hands on at a casual place like this.

Before Kacchan can grouse at Izuku further, Izuku digs into his treat with no regard for manners, or as Kacchan calls them, “basic fucking social etiquette.” Whenever Kacchan attempts to spout this particular kind of bullshit, Izuku rather enjoys pointing out the hypocrisy of Kacchan of all people criticising other people’s social graces.

Izuku glances at Kacchan and licks his lips before he fills his mouth with fluffy, sugary goodness, making eye-contact with him as he lets out an exaggerated moan. “So good,” Izuku takes care to lick his lips and smiles, warm and sweet like molten honey.

Kacchan rolls his eyes, but he swallows like his mouth is dry. “You’re a damn menace, you little brat,” he says hoarsely, despite the way his eyes have been stuck on Izuku’s lips since he licked them.

“Hey!” Izuku kicks out with all the gentleness of a fussy toddler, landing a solid kick on Kacchan’s shin. “Don’t be mean. You would’ve missed our lunch date altogether if I hadn’t dragged you here.” Izuku tilts his head and gives an Oscar-worthy kicked-puppy pout.

“Deku…” Kacchan obviously misses the point of his pouting by a mile, because now he just looks sad, and that is not what Izuku was going for! “I’m sorry I forgot, baby. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you, it’s just...”

“You’re busy,” Izuku finishes for him, and leans across the table to (affectionately) swat his dumb boyfriend’s head. “I know. I’m not mad, but I do want your attention right now, so cut out the sadness and shower me with compliments like you’re supposed to.”

This earns a snort of laughter from Kacchan, who finally catches on and plays along with their usual game. His whole face brightens with his smile. “Ah yes, of course, dear. How could I spend even a second not overwhelming you with compliments?”

Izuku nods seriously. “Exactly. I’m just so shocked. You should know better than to neglect me by now,” Izuku winks, “Daddy.”

Kacchan makes a point of rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling broadly now, all teeth and crinkled eyes. “Alright, you’ve made your point, asshole. Eat your stupid cake already.”

/-/

Once they’ve eaten, and the redundant alarm Kacchan had set goes off, they return to the car. It’s time for Izuku to execute his plan.

Before Kacchan can put his belt on like the square he is, Izuku swings a leg over his lap and wraps himself around his boyfriend. Kacchan raises a questioning eyebrow before Izuku makes his demand: “Take me shopping.”

Kacchan smacks his head back against the headrest dramatically. “You have my card. I’ll have the driver drop you off wherever you want to go, okay?”

“I said take me shopping, not send me. You have to be there or there’s no use! Kacchan needs to come with me.”

Kacchan looks sad, then, and the stupid man has apparently learnt a thing or two from Izuku, because he’s got the bestest, heart-wrenchingest puppy-dog eyes without even trying. Resting his forehead against Izuku’s, Kacchan sighs softly against his lips. “You know I spend as much time as I can with you, baby. I can only ignore my work for so long, for you.”

Izuku aches, sudden and raw. “Oh, Kacchan… I know you’re busy, you work so hard! Kacchan really is amazing. But sometimes I want to be selfish and snatch up more of your time. You put too much pressure on yourself at work. You have so many employees so you don’t have to run yourself in the ground.”

“There are things my employees can’t do-”

“Like stopping you from working yourself to death? Right, that’s my job.” Izuku wiggles in Kacchan’s lap and captures his lips in a whisper-soft kiss. “So let me take care of you.” Izuku flutters his eyelashes and pulls his trump card. “Please, Daddy?” he asks, words sugar-sweet on his lips.

Cheeks glowing a suspicious strawberry red, Kacchan huffs and grabs Izuku by the waist, easily picking him up off his lap and depositing him on the seat next to him. He waits patiently for Kacchan to break, all the while butterflies dance in Izuku’s belly at his Daddy’s casual display of strength.

“The hell do you need so badly anyway?”

Truthfully, Izuku has no idea what he would wish to buy. Spoiled as he is, there are few things he’s wanted through life that he doesn’t now own, thanks to Kacchan. “I saw this gorgeous lingerie set and I just have to try it on before I buy it. And I need you there to tell me how good it looks,” Izuku states matter-of-factly.

Kacchan clears his throat and pinches Izuku’s cheek. “Fine. Let’s go look at this lingerie, then, baby.”

/-/

Izuku drags Kacchan out of the car by his hand and refuses to let go even after they’ve made it inside the shopping center.

“Come on, come on, I wanna see what this store has!” With Kacchan in tow, Izuku makes a beeline for his favourite lingerie store.

Izuku chatters away as he makes his way up and down the store, fluttering about pretty displays and shiny, luxurious lingerie sets hung up on the walls. He semi-consciously gives Kacchan a consistent stream of observations, rhetorical questions and mumbled postulations about what Kacchan might like best. He picks out half a dozen sets in just a few minutes, handing each one over to Kacchan for him to judge and/or hold like a handsome sentient display rack.

Soon enough, Kacchan flags down someone from the store to do the grunt work for him as he follows Izuku around the store like a loyal dog, face warring between fondness and annoyance.

Izuku is quite certain that the fondness far outweighs the annoyance, though. Izuku is, after all, impossible to hate.

After completing one circuit of the store, Kacchan interrupts Izuku before he can begin on a second. “What happened to the ‘one’ set you wanted, huh?” The man crosses his arms like a brute, biceps flexing handsomely as he pours disapproval into the question.

Izuku tuts at him. “There’s nothing wrong with browsing. Just look at how pretty this one is!” Izuku pulls out the dainty belt and harness set he was looking at, wiggling it around for Kacchan’s judgment.

“Mm,” Kacchan acknowledges, carefully collected as he judges the set. With his nod of approval, Izuku gleefully adds it to his soon-to-be-towering pile of things to try on, heedless of the fact that Kacchan immediately passes it off to the poor retail worker trailing after them.

Kacchan crosses his arms. “Don’t think I don’t realise what you’re doing, baby boy.”

Izuku ought to feel sheepish at being caught out so easily, but it’s to be expected when he’s trying to con Kacchan. Instead, he tilts his head and bats his big, round eyes, the perfect picture of innocence. “But Daddy, what exactly are you going to do about it?”

Kacchan crosses his arms, but Izuku’s got him there. Kacchan wants to see Izuku in this lingerie just as much as Izuku wants to try them on. And if all of this has the bonus of Izuku keeping Kacchan to himself for a little longer, then they don’t need to talk about that, really.

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” Kacchan says, and Izuku giggles, wrapping his arms around his Daddy’s neck.

“I can think of a few reasons,” he laughs. “Now come tell me how pretty I look in these!”

/-/

The driver has to help them get everything into the car. As soon as they’re in, Kacchan orders the driver to start the car and get them back to his work quickly.

It’s cute that Kacchan thinks they’d be going anywhere near his office if not for Izuku allowing it.

“Are you satisfied now, brat?” Kacchan asks, pulling on his seatbelt only after the car has started moving (ooh, rebellious).

Izuku hums. He takes a long few moments to rearrange the copious amount of bags around him, just because he can. He pretends to think very hard about it before nodding exaggeratedly. “Yes, I think I am. For today, at least.”

When Kacchan groans, Izuku shuts him up with a kiss, and they smile like kids in love against each other’s lips.

/-/

Deku seems to have tuckered himself out during their shopping trip, which is understandable considering the sheer amount of clothes he insisted he try on before making Katsuki buy everything for him. He spends the car ride back draped over Katsuki’s side, giving a docile little mumble every now and then when he sees a dog on the sidewalk or a pretty flower that apparently reminds him of Katsuki’s eyes.

(How can the fucker get even cuter than usual just because he tired himself out being a whiny brat all day? How is that fair at all to Katsuki’s heart? Not to mention his wallet...)

(It’s not like Katsuki can’t afford it, but damn, lingerie is surprisingly fucking expensive.)

Katsuki carefully shakes Deku awake when they arrive, because he has learnt the hard way that if he leaves Deku to doze or wakes him too quickly, there will be hell to pay. So he accepts Deku’s blindly groping hand into his own and leads him into the building, where Izuku says something vague about harassing his friend in reception and stumbles off, bleary-eyed.

Katsuki has some interns come down and transfer Deku’s things into his private car so he can attempt to get some work done before Deku makes it upstairs. Deku usually settles down after a few hours of monopolising Katsuki’s time and attention, but with the mood he’s in today, Katsuki doesn’t like his chances of getting anything else done.

He’s gotten as far as opening up an email from a partner company when the door clicks open and Deku sashays in like he owns the place.

And, okay. Katsuki owns the place, and Deku has him wrapped around his pinky finger, so he does own the place in every way but name. But only Katsuki is allowed to know that, god damn it.

“You look like a bumbling fawn like that,” Katsuki informs him, just to see Deku’s sleepy eyes flash with indignation, and watch his cheeks glow a pretty, flustered pink.

Deku’s response doesn’t disappoint, and his nose even scrunches up like a disgruntled bunny, but Katsuki’s gone and shot himself in the foot because now Deku is stomping up to him in a way that says he means business. Deku collapses heavily and claims the space of Katsuki’s lap, steadfast in the fact that it is his and his alone.

Deku slaps him petulantly on the chest. “Meanie,” he mumbles, and curls up on Katsuki’s lap, nestling his head beneath his chin and settling against him, a puzzle piece slotted perfectly in its place. “I’m tired,” Deku says, as if that isn’t obvious already.

Kastuki huffs, presses a feather-soft kiss to the crown of his head. “Just rest, idiot.”

“‘Mkay Daddy…”

Katsuki strokes his fingers through the softness of Izuku’s hair and cradles him as Deku’s body relaxes into Katsuki’s own. “Good boy,” he murmurs.

Pressed tenderly together, Deku continues babbling quietly to fill the peaceful sunset air. Katsuki nods along and holds his baby securely in his arms until he floats off into sleep.

Clack clack clack. With a watchful eye on Deku, lovely and sleep-soft against his chest, Katsuki quietly gets back to work.

#bakudeku #katsudeku #bnha #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #sugar daddy AU #my fic #commissioned writing #commission #post #long post

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