Alright My Next Post Ain’t Nobody Going To Be Able To Predict This

he's a ten but the bbc keeps calling him the fourteenth doctor

Built To Laugh (Good Omens)

(Lee!Crowley, Ler!Aziraphale)

Summary : Aziraphale has been laughing at Crowley all day. Maybe it’s the demon’s turn to laugh for a change?

A/N : this fic takes place after s1 but before s2! so obvs no spoilers for s2 here 😁 i also have not gotten my laptop fixed unfortunately so if there’s any errors it’s prbly cause i wrote this on my phone which i’m Not used to LOL

Word Count : 3304

hope u enjoy!! :)

. . .

When Aziraphale gets in these moods, Crowley can’t help but smile. Well, internally smile. He sorta prides himself on the air of mystery that surrounds his emotions. So he bites his tongue as Aziraphale giggles at him, laughing at how utterly annoyed Crowley looks by his antics.

Aziraphale had found an old joke book in the shop. Well, not really old, when in the hands of beings that have existed since the literal dawn of time. Actually, it couldn’t have been published more than 30 years ago. But it was old in the sense that Aziraphale hadn’t touched it since it had been brought in all those years ago.

Aziraphale told a vague story to Crowley about how it had landed in his possession (this was, of course, after telling him a truly horrible knock-knock joke that Crowley demanded an explanation for why he was being tortured so unjustly). But that story doesn’t matter anymore. What does matter is how giggly Aziraphale has become since realizing how irritating this all was to Crowley.

“Blehck, HORRIBLE, just fffffucking—You’re the angel, I’m the one supposed to be torturing you right now,” said Crowley, exaggerating his hatred of dad jokes just a bit (not by much, these jokes truly were horrible) just to see Aziraphale do that thing when he giggles, covering his mouth and clutching that wretched joke book.

“That was a really bad one, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale said once he collected himself.

“Yes, yes, it was, now will you please stop before I groan myself to death?”

“Always with the dramatics, you are,” said Aziraphale, before grinning, “Just one more?”

Crowley grimaced. “Grk…for the road, I suppose.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Yes, for the road!” He stuck his nose right back into the book, and it wouldn’t be such an unfamiliar sight if he hadn’t been looking up at Crowley every other second just to watch the demon stir.

When Crowley heard a gasp from Aziraphale, he knew he’d found his grand finale. Maybe he’d saved the best for last? (And in the angel’s opinion, he had. Just not in Crowley’s favor.)

“Alright. Are you ready?”

“Get on with it.”

“Yes, but are you ready ready?”

Crowley stuck an eyebrow up. Aziraphale just kept smiling. ‘He really is in the best mood today, isn’t he?’ Crowley thought.

“Crowley, do tell me…when is a door not a door?” His cheeks were plump with the force of his giddy smile.

Crowley blinked. His arms were crossed, laying back lazily against the bookshop’s old cushion chair. He tapped his finger against his arm impatiently.

Of course, this just made Aziraphale smile bigger.

“Come on! You have to play along, it’s part of the fun!”

“For you, angel, part of the fun for you.”

“Maybe you’ll start having fun too if you work with me here.”

“You’re working me, that’s what’s happening right now.”

“Just ask and this will all be over with,” Aziraphale raised his brows for a moment like he does when he gets all smug and silly. Crowley had to bite his tongue not to smile at that.

“Ffffffine,” Crowley sighed hard in feigned exasperation. “Well, I just don’t know, angel! When would a door not be a door? Seems like a paradox to me!”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “When it’s ajar!”

Crowley could only stare blankly at the tittering angel before him. It was a bit hard to conceal his own giggles as Aziraphale burst into laughter seeing Crowley’s unamused expression. But he held steadfast, refusing even the slightest chortle. Crowley hadn’t seen Aziraphale laugh like this in what felt like a millennia.

“You’re a silly one, Aziraphale. A real splinter in my ass.”

Crowley hadn’t seen a more angelic sight in so long. He felt his own face grow warm watching as Aziraphale tried collecting himself, but found he’d been caught back in his deadly case of the giggles. It was just precious.

“You think you’re a real comedian, don’t you?” Crowley said while trying to cover his own smile slyly, elbow now propped on the arm of the chair as he pushed his face into his hand. He tried looking as annoyed as possible.

Soon, Aziraphale caught his breath, a stray giggle leaving every few moments despite himself. They were now staring at each other, both too lost in the moment to think too hard on the implications of it.

But, as it usually goes in moments like this, Aziraphale put the brakes on first. He sat the book on the side table next to him before pushing himself off the chair. “Well, that was rather fun. But I do have some paperwork to fill out regarding the shop. Upstairs always feels the need to know how it’s running,” He gave Crowley an empathetic smile that almost said ‘It did feel good, but you know it can’t last.’ At least, that’s how Crowley interprets it. It’s the same smile he’s been giving him all these years, after every little moment the two shared.

It wasn’t the type of smile Crowley wishes to see on Aziraphale. He rather liked the real ones, with Aziraphale’s round cheeks going pink, the ones with the little lines appearing next to his squinted eyes. Those made him feel warm. This smile always feels distant…more cold.

“Yes well…guess I should be goin’ then, wouldn’t want to distract you from your heavenly duties,” Crowley made his voice go all funny on the last words, almost snarling. Maybe he was trying to make Aziraphale laugh. If he had been, it didn’t work.

“Oh you’re more than welcome to stay! I do believe I have some wine left over from last time, if you want to get started before…well, I thought I could maybe join you after I’m finished,” Aziraphale looked bashful. Apologetic, almost. But he chippered up quickly, pointing a finger to the sky. “Heavenly duties!” He repeated the demon’s words with a hummed chuckle, before retreating away to his study.

He’s always been like this. Leaving before Crowley could accept, so once Aziraphale returned from work it’s like it was entirely Crowley’s decision rather he’d stay or not. Like Aziraphale hadn’t offered in the first place. But that was fine with Crowley. Because even if Aziraphale pretended it hadn’t happened, they both knew it had, and there was a silent agreement between them to not bring it up.

So Crowley did wait in that back room of the shop, where all the giggles and jokes and flirtatious annoyance had grown that lovely tension to start the evening off right once Aziraphale returned.

He didn’t, however, start drinking yet. Crowley rather liked to start sober when they drank together. That way it felt more like an activity they were starting together rather than one Aziraphale was just joining him on.

It was around two hours Aziraphale worked before returning. He walked into the back, giving a surprised smile seeing Crowley had indeed waited for him.

“Ah, you grabbed the good bottle, I see,” Aziraphale wiggled his fingers in the air like one would before diving into a slice of cake. He noticed the bottle had been unopened, and did not mention it.

“Dunno, seems a good night for it,” Crowley popped the cork out with ease, filling one glass he’d brought in for Aziraphale before taking a swig straight from the bottle.

“Oh? And why is that?” Aziraphale sat on his preferred chair before taking the glass and sipping in a dignified manner.

Crowley wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “You just seemed in a good mood today s’all. Figured we could end the night right, proper wine to get your mind out of all that blasted paper.”

“Ah. Well, I suppose I was in rather high spirits earlier. I don’t know what it was about all those jokes, but at the moment they really tickled my funny bone,” Aziraphale took a sip and hummed delightedly.

“Right tickled you were. Could hardly catch your breath, and they weren’t even funny jokes, angel. Really, I’ve got to introduce you to some actual comedians cause it was just a sad display of your humor.”

Aziraphale looked into the glass, swirling his wine. He gave a shy smile without looking up at Crowley. “Maybe it was partly so funny because you just seemed so…agitated by it all.”

Crowley’s eyes widened a bit, surprised Aziraphale actually admitted to it. He couldn’t hold back a smile anymore, and he’d blame the wine for it if you asked. “Oh so I’m what got you all giggly earlier?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but he too couldn’t keep a smile off his face if he tried. He’d also blame the wine. “Oh hush, you wily serpent. It was just funny seeing you so irritated at simple jokes.”

“Nah nah, we’re not moving past this. You think I’m funny!”

“I never said that. If you must know I was…laughing at your expense,” Aziraphale hid his mischievous smile behind the glass as he took a sip.

Crowley gaped in amused disbelief. “So you were making fun of me then? Right, okay, I see how it is-”

“Well it’s a little hard not to when you have such a silly reaction to it!” Aziraphale gestured his free hand towards Crowley as if to say he’s doing it right now.

“Silly reaction? Whaddya mean silly reaction, all my reactions are perfectly rational and mean-spirited and never, never silly,” he growled the word as if to prove his point, but he only succeeded in making Aziraphale giggle again. He turned his head to hide his smile.

Aziraphale took a quiet sip from his glass again, his eyes peering over the edge to look at Crowley. Once he put the glass back in his lap, he said, “I rather like when you’re silly, darling.”

Crowley blushed deep. Darling? He—Aziraphale rarely ever used the word darling. But every time he’s done it these 6000 years (which, again, hadn’t been too often) it sent something wicked through Crowley’s system.

Crowley changed the topic quickly. If he didn’t, he’d probably combust from having to think too hard about what all that meant, and if it meant anything at all.

So they talked for a while. About nonsense, mostly. Just jabber to fill the silence and let out all the thoughts they’d been thinking and waiting to share with the other. They’d both grown just a tad tipsy at this point, and Crowley was almost ready to grab another bottle.

Mainly because he wanted to steer back to their first topic again.

“Yknow I was just thinkin’…you said you, er—that you like when I’m silly, or whatever it was you said. And I…well, I rather like it when you laugh. Has that, er…angelic quality to it. But not in a bad way, I suppose.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, it’s literally in your DNA, if we even have that. Do angels and demons have DNA? I suppose not, but I mean something’s gotta compose all that’s happening here, physically I mean,” Crowley rambled, now definitely tipsy. He took another swig. “But, yeah like, there’s literally that saying, ‘angelic laughter.’ It’s all up in you, you’re built to have a good laugh.”

“Yes, maybe so. But you have a nice laugh, Crowley! So it can’t all be angelic,” said Aziraphale.

“I do not have a nice laugh. You may have angelic laughter, but I’ve got a demonic cackle. Very different things,” Crowley could feel himself blush, but it was all thanks to the wine. Most definitely.

“I have heard you laugh on many occasions, and in none of them would I describe it as a demonic cackle. If anything you’re more of a giggler,” Aziraphale reached his glass out to Crowley, and through instinct he filled it for him.

“We are not doing this, I refuse to have this argument,” Crowley said before arguing, “Giggling is not something I am even capable of. Not in my DNA.”

“I thought you established we don’t have DNA?”

“Point stands, it’s not in my bones. Giggling is-is-it’s, well— it’s childish, for one, and children aren’t typically seen as demonic.”

“After helping raise Warlock I’d beg to differ, and he wasn’t even the Anti-Christ we thought he was-“

“STILL, angel, still! Point stands, not going back on it. Let’s change the subject, let’s talk about-about dolphins or some nonsense, I don’t really care-“

Aziraphale stood from his chair, and Crowley shut up. He sat next to Crowley on the sofa.

“What are you doing?” Crowley’s voice was low and suspicious. Aziraphale sat his glass on the table, even going so far as to take the bottle from Crowley’s hand to do the same. Crowley let him, of course, but not without raising an eyebrow. “I said, what are you doing?”

“I’m glad you’ve taken that leather coat off, or this would be a much harder ordeal than it needs to be,” Aziraphale said before cracking his knuckles dramatically, waving his hands about as if to loosen them. Crowley’s brows were furrowed and eyes wide.

“That explains absolutely nothing,” Crowley leaned back against the couch, as if to say ‘nope, this isn’t affecting me at all, I’m not the least bit nervous about whatever it is you’re planning right now. I am the image of relaxed.’ His leg was bouncing.

“Well, you claim that you don’t giggle. I want to counter that argument, and I know exactly how to do it,” Aziraphale gave Crowley a devious smile, one an angel shouldn’t be allowed to pull, before wiggling his fingers in the air towards Crowley. Crowley immediately backed his body away, only getting as far as the arm of the couch.

“No, no—you cannot—this is not the direction I’m letting this conversation go!” Crowley held his hands up defensively, curling his legs into himself like the snake he was.

“Come now, you can’t handle a little friendly competition?”

“Hell do you mean competition?! You tickle me, I lose, there’s no competition to be had!” Crowley practically shouted, his nerves taking over.

Crowley had always been on the more…sensitive side, one might say. It was something Aziraphale always found a little too amusing. “You’re a demon!” He’d say, “It’s just so silly how a demon could be as ticklish as you are!”

Crowley did not find it silly. In fact, he found it to be quite the pain in his ass. How was he supposed to look all scary and menacing and demonic when pinching his belly made him fall into laughter so unlike him?

“So you admit you would giggle if I tickled you?”

“When did I ever say that?” Crowley was trying to shove Aziraphale away with his feet now, kicking (maybe too softly) at his thighs like it would do a thing. Aziraphale held his ground like a solid rock.

“Well you said you’d lose! So obviously that means you would giggle if I were to, say…” Aziraphale quickly grabbed hold of one of Crowley’s pestering ankles, scribbling his nails into the socked sole.

“GAHK! NO-!” Crowley shouted, thinking maybe if he expelled his energy through loud sound he might not fall into those giggles Aziraphale apparently thought so much of.

But he didn’t hold strong for long. Luckily, though, his feet were a little too ticklish for mere giggles. Instead, he cackled like no one’s business, so maybe he would win this argument after all.

“Stop! Ahahangel stop! I’ll kick you!” Crowley barked out through roaring laughter. He actually was already kicking Aziraphale, but it was still at his thighs like before. He was just worried he’d eventually nail the angel right in the nose if he kept up with it.

“Well, you aren’t exactly giggling, but maybe it’s just because your feet are too ticklish,” Aziraphale inquired like a scientist running a study. Crowley wrapped his arms around his midsection through his laughter.

“Yehehes they ARE! Now quihihit!” Crowley couldn’t take tickling on his feet for too long, it really was too horrible to bear. Curse this wretched vessel and its terrifyingly sensitive nerve endings.

Without saying a word, Aziraphale darted his hands to the spot just above Crowley’s knees, giving them quick pinches and observing Crowley like a specimen.

“Ohoho nohoho! Angel plehehease!” Crowley felt his resolve slipping, falling into a more giggly realm than before. He gripped onto Aziraphale’s wrists like a lifeline, not shoving him away out of pure trust. Goodness, feelings were a curse.

“Aha! I believe I’ve found quite the giggly spot on you, Anthony!” Aziraphale teased. He only ever used that name when he was trying to get under Crowley’s skin, and damn it if it wasn’t working.

Crowley hated how quickly his face began to flame, a small blink-and-you-miss-it whine slipping from his lips. “You cahahan’t do this to mehehe!” He playfully swat at the hands tickling his knees, rolling over like it’d deter his situation at all. “I’m druhuhunk you bahastard!”

“Yes yes, drunk and oh so giggly,” Aziraphale reiterated, really driving it home how he’d won their little argument. “But it’s so divine hearing you like this, I really don’t want to stop.”

God, Satan, someone help him. Not because Crowley needs the saving, but because now he’s not sure he wants to be saved.

“Ehehevil! Wrehehetched angel!” Crowley giggled, before letting out a very undemonic squeak as fingers began pinching up and down his sides. Aziraphale was practically hovering over him now, and if Crowley’s face wasn’t warm before, it was searing hot now.

“Nohohoho!” Crowley swat at Aziraphale’s hands and arms, squirming from side to side and his midsection was attacked viciously by angelicly gentle fingers.

“Why not, Crowley?” Aziraphale pinched Crowley’s lower ribs, a killer spot on the demon he was very familiar with.

“Behehecause!” Crowley had no good retort in his giggly state, head swarming with endorphins.

“Because why?” Aziraphale was mean when he was in these moods.

“You bahahastard!” Crowley flopped to one side just to protect half of himself (and also to hide his face in the back of the couch), now letting Aziraphale play with his open side like a grand piano. It was miserably fun.

Crowley let Aziraphale play with his ribs for a solid two minutes, giggling his head off into the cushion, before finally having enough and grabbing Aziraphale’s wrists for real this time.

He panted, still hiding his face in the couch. “You…are without a doubt, the most evil angel to ever be created. Just…just deplorable.”

“Oh come on. You can’t say you didn’t have a little fun,” Aziraphale spoke softly, still tipsy and stroking Crowley’s arm like it was second nature.

“I absolutely can say that, actually. Wouldn’t—wouldn’t exactly qualify bein’ tortured as my favorite pastime,” Crowley curled in on himself, if only to hide his lingering smile.

“Always so dramatic,” said Aziraphal before giving Crowley a pat and raising himself off the sofa. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I could certainly do with some more wine, and we’re just about empty. I’ll be back in a moment, dear.”

Aziraphale once again left the room, leaving Crowley to lie on his back and ponder. Thoughts of how silly that situation was, imagine one of the higher ups seeing him in that kind of state. It’d be to the pit for Crowley in an instant. Well, if he still worked for them that is.

Also, Aziraphale had been really pulling him around all day, hadn’t he? Laughing at his expense, tickling the daylights out of him when he’s utterly inebriated. Well, that just won’t do. Won’t do at all.

An angel doesn’t get to just play with a demon all he likes and expect no repercussions.

Crowley pondered some more on that. Just thoughts of revenge and a devilishly ticklish angel he can’t wait to get his hands on.

. . .

a/n : hope u liked it!! thankfully not as sad as my last one i couldn’t take more angst LMAO

Now gracefully strung by your hand

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Characters: Derek/Spencer

Anonymous said: Prompt (fits in your existing ‘verse if you want): Spencer Reid on a low-effort case getting distracted by the others' hands while they work bc he’s thinking lee thoughts. Mayhaps Morgan or one of the others notices and does something about it 🥰

A/N: References this fic!

Words: 1.2k

Derek noticed more now. It was thrilling, in a way, to look back on past interactions and pinpoint exactly when Spencer could think of nothing but tickling, even for just a fleeting moment. And Derek knew he probably wasn’t misreading the moments, especially now that he knew exactly how Spencer was like when the thought suddenly gripped him. The lee mood, as he’d learned it was called (and which his usage of always made Spencer embarrassed in the best way). He probably didn’t associate handcuffs with it, being in the FBI and all, but Derek could remember one particular instance where he’d been joking around with him, way back when, and had asked to cuff him to see how well Spencer would survive if the need ever arose.

“I’ll be gentle,” he’d told him, and Spencer had blushed in a way Derek hadn’t yet understood.

“You thought I was gonna tickle you, weren’t you?” he asked him one day, having remembered it.

“No.” Spencer was bright red then too, but he seemed honest as he met his gaze. “I thought of it, but it- it wasn’t just that.”

“Oh?” Derek grinned. “Was it me holding you down over the table that distracted you?”

Spencer shifted in his seat, eyes now on the wall behind him. “You’re terrible, Derek Morgan.”

“Mm, you love it.”

The most innocent and captivating display of Spencer being caught up in this type of mood Derek noticed accidentally. Spencer seemed to be zoning out, staring at something for so long that Derek was certain he wasn’t paying attention to what he was watching, until he realized it was hands. And then he kept noticing it. Spencer’s gaze innocently on Hotch’s flexing hand pointing to a map. Spencer’s gaze following Emily’s fingers leafing through a case file.

He found him in the conference room one day, where Garcia was showing him something on the computer. Clicking, pointing, tapping, all the while Spencer was watching the blur of her wiggling fingers. Derek could imagine what he was thinking, caught up in it without meaning to, all wide eyed, all innocence.

“Were you watching her hands?” he asked with a laugh and Spencer jumped, face pinkening so quickly in that delicious way Derek adored.

“She has nice nails,” he said, and maybe Derek would leave it at that had he not understood what exactly that meant.

“Mm, they’re long. I bet it would tickle like crazy if she ran them over your belly.”

“Derek, oh my god, not here.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

Derek let out a laugh. “I do know why. I just like seeing you get flustered.”

Spencer huffed, but there was no coming back from that blush.

*

“Do you ever watch my hands?”

Spencer didn’t have to ask to know what he meant. “Sometimes. A lot of times.” He flushed and averted his eyes. “Most times.”

“Oh?”

“I can’t help it.”

“Well, you do know exactly what these hands can do.”

“Derek.” He said it softly, more out of habit than a plea for him to stop. They were alone. Spencer could indulge.

Derek too.

“Do you picture them running up your spine?” Derek demonstrated by stroking the air, index finger slightly extended, moving slowly over something invisible. “Or maybe-” He flipped his hand over and wiggled his fingers. “-gently stroking your chin? Tell me.” Spencer was bright red now, but he wasn’t looking away. “Do you ever tickle yourself and pretend it’s me?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. It pleased him. “Even when you’re around.”

Derek faltered. “But you could just ask me.”

“I know, I just-” Spencer shrugged, pulling at his sleeves. “Sometimes I feel silly asking. And sometimes I don’t really want the entirety of it anyway. Sometimes just the idea is enough.”

“I see.” Derek had to admit the image of Spencer lying in bed with Derek watching tv and slowly tracing his fingers over his own sensitive skin was kind of hot, to put it boldly. “If you ever want me to be quick and gentle, I can. Or if you want me to air tickle you.”

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I just-” Spencer let out a laugh, something soft and slightly panicked. “I’m still not used to talking about it so casually.”

“I can make an event out of it, don’t worry. July 16th. Caught Spencer looking at Garcia’s hands.”

“Shut up.”

“July 18th. Got him to admit he tickles himself.” Derek laughed as Spencer shoved him, fingers automatically going for his ribs. “Oops, sorry, didn’t mean to steal your job.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You love it when I’m annoying.”

Spencer huffed, but didn’t deny it. Derek reached out experimentally and stuck a finger into Spencer’s neck, earning a giggle, shoulder rising to stop him. “H-hey.”

“You really think I was gonna leave you alone? I’m in a ler mood.”

“Oh my god, please shut up-”

“Shh, let me tickle you. Please.”

Spencer was still giggling from the fingers on his neck. “F-fine.”

“Thank you so very kindly for your sacrifice.” He pulled his hand free, wiggling the fingers in front of Spencer’s face. “Watch them.”

“Derek.”

“Just for a moment, and imagine what they will do, okay? Because they love the attention.”

Spencer’s eyes widened. Derek knew he would probably kill him one day. He was fine with it.

*

Watching Spencer watch hands calmed Derek down, too. He noticed it on the jet one day, feeling anxious and exhausted after a draining case, and so he’d turned toward Spencer like he usually did and found that Spencer was already watching him. Or watching his hands, gaze flickering between them and Derek’s face and while he did a good job of not flushing Derek caught the telltale sign of him being embarrassed in the way his body shifted. He wondered if Spencer longed for him to wash the week’s hardships away with his fingertips on his ribs, or if he was simply so used to watching certain parts of people that it had become a habit.

Derek relaxed under the gaze either way, wiggling his fingers experimentally and being rewarded with a kick to his leg as Spencer looked away without a word. Hotch sent him a questioning look as Derek laughed, seemingly out of nowhere.

Most times he caught Spencer watching other hands, though. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel jealous about it, but he didn’t. He found it cute. And entertaining. Thanks to the case which had brought them together in the first place everyone knew that tickling was a topic for Spencer. A sensitive topic, maybe because he’d gotten captured by the tickle UnSub, or maybe because he’d known more about the topic than they’d expected him to. Derek hadn’t talked to anyone else about it, because frankly he respected Spencer too much, so he wasn’t sure if anyone had pieced it together. But no one really tickled him, other than Derek. Maybe they found they couldn’t after the case. Maybe they felt it was Derek’s job.

But Spencer kept watching, maybe not on purpose, maybe dreaming more than paying attention. But each time Derek caught him earned him a blush. And how could Derek not love that?

*explodes everywhere* hi

have you ever done ler eleventh doctor??

I didn't done...

Until today..!

A small drawing while I'm sitting on shift at a point where there are few clients, because I suddenly had a need for content with River

I once read a fic that was about Spencer accidentally handcuffing himself to his bed cause he was practicing escaping them and Derek found him and basically nsfw things went down BUT what if you replaced the nsfw activities with tickles 👀👀👀

Spencer wouldn’t necessarily call himself someone who was prone to luck, other than the fact that he was born as a white male in the 20th-21st century, and really, he was one among many. Sometimes he even considered this a misfortune seeing as certain things were now expected of him which he very rarely managed to fulfill. He was skinny and fidgety and intelligent in a way which had always made him an outcast in certain areas of his life. And with outcast he meant severely bullied as a child and not always warmly received as an adult. And it was fine. He didn’t care. Who was he to wish for a community anyway.

He was around nine - no dad, mom acting in a way he yet couldn’t comprehend - when he decided that luck was not on his side and that he would have to fight for everything in his life other than a splash of white male rights, and so he had never really considered himself very lucky.

Until Derek Morgan entered his bedroom one random Friday evening without having been invited, that was.

“What the hell?”

“I would say the same thing - because how the hell did you even get in here - but I have frankly never been happier to see you in my life.”

“Reid, what- is it an UnSub? Wait, we’re not even working a case.”

“It’s not an UnSub.”

Something flickered across Derek’s face. “Is it a lady?” His wagging eyebrows were enough to have Spencer flushing, until he added “or a gentleman, I don’t judge,” which really had him wishing the ground would swallow him whole.

“It’s not. Shut up.”

“Are you really in a position to be rude to me here, pretty boy?”

Derek was, of course, right. Spencer shifted, grateful that he was at the very least sitting on the bed rather than the floor which had been his first choice before he’d changed his mind about forty minutes ago. “Sorry, sorry, just- get me out of here, please.”

Derek hummed as he approached him. “Well, you did say please. But I gotta know how this even happened first. You owe me that much.”

“I think you owe me an explanation as to why you’re barging into my apartment.”

“I think I barged in just at the right time, didn’t I?”

Spencer relented. “I was trying to practice my escape skills.”

“Ah. And then you couldn’t escape.”

“Something like that.”

“What was your plan for this exact scenario then?”

“I have brunch plans tomorrow with Garcia and she would eventually realize something was up and find me. Or the cops would. I don’t know.” He pulled at his trapped arms, grateful that the handcuffs at the very least weren’t messing up his blood circulation. They were merely tight enough to stop him from slipping out, cuffed to his sides in a way that didn’t hurt. He’d decided he wanted to start slow, not realizing he wouldn’t get any further than this.

“That would be like 15 hours from now.”

Derek was blinking incredulously at him. It was embarrassing. Maybe being found by Garcia in 15 hours would’ve been better.

He averted his gaze. “I know. I just- I guess I wanted to prove myself.”

Derek sat down on the mattress next to him. “To the team?”

“And myself.”

He sighed. “We’ll have a proper talk about this eventually. I guess I should get you out first. Where’s the key?”

“Uh.”

“Spencer.”

“I’m not sure?”

Derek moved his gaze to the ceiling. “Of course you’re not. Why would this rescue mission be easy.”

“I thought I’d get out without it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well, clearly you overestimated yourself.” Spencer caught the moment Derek regretted his words, but he couldn’t blame him. Spencer had been doing too many stupid things recently in an attempt to prove himself. A bad decision during a case and a scolding later, he’d started doubting his abilities as an agent in the field. Hotch had told him he could stay behind the scenes if he preferred, but that his analytical skills were useful in the place of action too. And so Spencer had tried to improve.

Clearly it wasn’t working.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, no, I get what you mean.” He leaned his head back. “Just get me out of here.”

“How exactly am I supposed to do that without a key?”

“You’re an FBI agent, aren’t you?”

“Ha ha smartass.” He poked Spencer’s side, most likely out of habit, but Spencer, who couldn’t move away from it properly, tried to jerk back which merely resulted in him slamming himself against the headboard. “Jesus, sorry, sorry.” But Derek was laughing and Spencer was too, maybe out of nervousness, maybe because this whole situation was ridiculous.

“It’s okay,” he said, suddenly blushing for the second time since Derek walked in on him. “I wasn’t prepared.”

“Downplaying your ticklishness, I see.” He leaned closer, grinning. “I have you right where I want you, you know. I could even tickle your neck since you never let me do it without freaking out.”

Spencer could feel the ghost tickles beneath his chin, which wasn’t helped by the fact that his collar was touching his neck already. “You wouldn’t.”

“Are you so sure about that?” He wiggled his fingers in the air. “It would be soooo easy. You wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

Spencer started giggling, which was probably the most embarrassing thing he’d done during this whole interaction. “Derek.”

“There we go. There’s that smile.” He leaned back again with a laugh. “I won’t do it, but it’s fun teasing you.”

“You’re an asshole.” Spencer turned his head away from him in an attempt to compose himself, and as he did - surprised squeak, sigh of relief - he caught sight of the key on the floor in front of his closet.

“Hey,” he said later, when he’d been freed and fed and, yes, somewhat tickled to death. “Why did you come here?”

Derek put down his burger. “I was bored. You weren’t answering your phone. Was gonna bug you to entertain me.”

Spencer let out a laugh. “Well, did I?”

“Oh, very much so.”

I read 'the twelve doctors of christmas' book i found in my school library and there's a story of rose and ninth. rose tells him about a bike she wanted for christmas as a kid but her mum couldn't afford it. so the doctor gets in the TARDIS and plans to deliver the bike to a child rose tyler. before he can leave it at her door, the bike gets stolen by an alien that the doctor pissed off 150 years ago. he briefly considers going back in time by five minutes to keep a better eye on the bike. but then he goes on to figure the chain of events that would create, which would eventually lead to LITERALLY the end the world.

so he instead decides to hunt the alien - named Jinko - down to get the bike back. he then brutally crushes Jinko's henchmen, brings down Jinko's little family scrapyard business, then cycles away on the little girl bike as the building comes down around him. he successfully gets the bike to rose, labeled it from "father christmas." then he returns to adult rose to cheekily hint that was actually him who got her the bike.

which is just. SO incredible. and perfectly encapsulates nine and rose.

i think im funny

😔

real footage of me trying 2 write a fic normally (brain making it abt tks again ..)

I've been seeing this anew lately and I'm FERAL? The way Cas is laughing, genuinely laughing in a way we rarely see. And you can tell by their body language that they talk like this all the time (I would like to see it)

But what really kills me is Dean's face. He's so happy to be making Cas laugh like this, he looks so PROUD. You can see the anticipation in his expression as the joke's about to land, his body turned, watching Cas' reaction. Ugh they're so in love

Three times Alex denied being ticklish

Fandom: Red White and Royal Blue

Characters: Alex/Henry

Anonymous said: Hi N! I loved your red white and royal blue fic! In that story you said, that Henry had to tickle Alex to pieces three times before he admitted to being ticklish. Would you be interested in writing about that as well?

Words: 800

1.

The revelation had happened on a day like any other, only Henry had marked it in his calendar and Alex had whined about it for days because of it. A Tuesday, semi-cloudy, event after event lining up throughout the day, and all Alex had wanted was to sneak in some fun between them if you catch his drift.

He’d wanted slow kisses and quick hands. Hushed voices and Henry tugging lightly at his hair while a coat hanger dug into Alex’s shoulder blade.

What he’d gotten instead was Henry digging his fingers into his sides again with a delighted laugh, because Alex’s stupid body had been too eager and too tired to pretend the gentle squeeze hadn’t tickled the first time, and so of course Henry needed to be an asshole about it and do it again.

“I didn’t know you were ticklish,” he said, indignant and offended and whatever other emotion he managed to lace his voice with as Alex was too busy trying to shove him off.

“I’m not,” he said, knowing it was stupid to deny it, especially when Henry was just about to discover that his ribs were even worse as he climbed his hands upward, but he said it anyway.

“Are you sure about that?” Henry’s voice had a teasing lilt to it which made Alex want to both blush and tear his clothes off.

“Y-yes!” He tried to twist out of his grip, bumping into a broom or something which fell against the door. “Henry, they’ll hear us- don’t!”

“I think they’ll understand when I tell them of the earth-shattering information I just discovered about the first son of the United States.”

“Henry!”

Henry stilled his fingers with a huff. “Fine. But your denial does not land with me.”

“Please shut up and just kiss me while you can, you idiot.”

2.

The second time was much more private, which meant that Henry had much more time to explore his discovery, much to Alex’s dismay. He pinned him on the bed, Alex thinking for a second that this was simply Henry being impatient, only to realize that his wandering hands were aiming to tickle rather than to touch.

“Hey, wait, don’t do tha-ah!”

“Why?” Henry paused just at Alex’s upper ribs. “You’re not ticklish, remember?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Have fun having a whole nation after you.” Henry curled his fingers, grinning when Alex jumped. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing.”

“I see. So you won’t mind if I do that again then?”

Alex leaned his head back, begging the gods for strength. “Of course not.” “Oh, good, because now that I think about it, I have noticed you twitching a bit when I kiss your neck.”

Alex’s breath hitched. “Right.”

“So be a good boy and keep your head just as it is.”

Alex was not a good boy, but Henry was strong, Henry was stubborn, and Henry was much too good of a tickler for it to be fair.

It was a miracle no one came to rescue him, because Alex was certain his screams could be heard throughout the whole of the White House. He needed new guards for sure.

3.

The third time had Alex nervous, which Henry noticed and teased him about. “I wouldn’t be torturing you if you had just not kept this from me to begin with.”

“Sorry for not holding a press conference about being ticklish, your majesty.”

“So you admit it?”

“No.”

“Then I reckon I have no choice.”

Alex tried to make a run for it this time, leaping over the bed with Henry right at his heels, both laughing, both young and silly and in love, and when Henry managed to grab him and pull him down into a heap on the floor Alex wondered if this was how the rest of his life would be and found he didn’t mind it at all. Not even when Henry started tickling his knees.

…and one time he admitted it.

In the end, Henry didn’t have to coax out the confession.

It was late, both were breathing heavily, and Henry was running his fingertips over Alex’s stomach without any real intention of tickling him. Alex was half asleep and wasn’t feeling ticklish at all until he hit a particularly bad spot on his lower belly, which made his hand shoot out to try to stop him. “Tickles,” he mumbled and he heard Henry laugh, something hushed and lovely.

“Knew it,” he said, and Alex whined, unwilling to open his eyes to glare at him. “Is this your official confession?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his head away from him and sighing happily when lips found his temple. “Don’t be annoying about it.”

Henry huffed. “I would never.”

“Liar.”

“Not fun when someone denies the obvious, huh?”

“Shut up and go to sleep, your majesty.”