geethingy

Latest Posts by geethingy

Hii

Yep, commissions alert

Here the link for the Boosty also

Hi you recently made a post about some destiel fics that are poetic with names like 91 whiskey, restless wanderer and something living kiss. Could you maybe share the link or something? I want to read them! Thank youuu🧡

yesss im gonna put everything ive read that i loved actually okay

restless wanderer <33333

and this, your living kiss

ninety one whiskey

a turn of the earth

the path of fireflies

psalm 40:2

the best years of our lives, my ass

the dean winchester beat sheet

the 5 senses of longing

twist and shout

so says the sword

i dont have them bookmarked together on ao3 so heres links for all of them separately and by all of them i mean ive only read the most popular ones so far and these r the one i loved the most !! hope u enjoy !!

@bondnamesthejames

everyone is pretty awesome, i'm curious as to who all the "founders" of TFB are.

i'd consider you a notable person! i get a little starstruck when you interact with one of my very rare posts 🙈

wordstrings was and still is very impactful for me, as is nhasablogg and the-best-medicine.

I was wondering what blogs people here in the community consider to be significant and notable people 👀

Like, the stars of the tword community

For me it's @/otomiya

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

worth it

fandom: supernatural

w/c: 2903

summary: Takes place right before the events of swan song. Dean takes a depowered Cas on a date. Pre-destiel.

an: first supernatural post! there is no getting over spn, everybody who's ever had business with that show makes dang sure of it. i'd also just like to say @wordstrings single handedly developed my frontal lobe. everything she's written is a masterpiece and a half.

~~~~~~~

Dean found Castiel in Bobby’s kitchen, staring discontently at the microwave with burrito in hand. Deciding not to make his presence known just yet, he leaned against the doorframe. This was probably Cas’ first time using one. He took a guilty pleasure in watching the angel try to use things he was unfamiliar with. He almost always does it wrong the first time. It amused Dean, who thought an angel’s knowledge was supposed to be infinite. He supposes the details get lost in it all, especially the ones that aren't critically necessary to pay close attention to.

There was so much about Cas that was, thankfully, unlike any other angel they’ve faced. For one, he wasn’t a sciolistic, know-it-all douche about humanity. He didn’t pretend to know everything. He wore all his confusion shamelessly, right on his face, in squints and tilted heads that didn't give a fuck about who saw how clueless he was. But he actually tried to understand it all, too. He always seemed grateful whenever Dean showed him how to work things he didn’t have to worry about before his tenure on Earth, like using a phone. The other angels would never take any kind of guidance from what they love to call 'filthy apes.’

Castiel frowned at the angry beep of the microwave after he tried to press a button while the door was still open. Dean smiled and mercifully stepped into the room, flipping it closed and nuking the food for him. Cas gave a shy thanks while Dean grabbed the beer he came inside for.

“So, you're eating now?”

“Apparently, I need to.” Cas sighed and itched at his eyebrow in irritation. As the smell hit them both, Castiel’s stomach rumbled fiercely.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Sorry to hear that.” When the microwave beeped, Cas hungrily retrieved the burrito before Dean could issue a warning. He dropped it in surprised pain, where it mashed into a steaming pile on the floor.

“Ah- it’s hot.” Dean said too late. He held himself back from looking too sympathetic at the sad way Cas stared at the mush on the floor.

“I don’t know how you do it.” Cas said somberly.

“Well, usually you have it on a plate.”

“No, I mean…” Castiel sighed, in a way that was so unlike his usual, nonbreathing self that Dean had to bite back a smile. “I don't know how you do being human.”

He sipped at his beer, shrugging. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“Everything is so.. so much. I feel so much more than I ever have.” He stared forlornly at his fingers. “Every discomfort and pain. Sensations that are both limited and amplified by a three-dimensional body. Hunger..” Cas glanced at Dean. “I don’t know how to manage.”

Dean shifted, unsure of what to say. He's never been anything more than human, he couldn't really understand the loss. To be stripped away from everything you've known and turned into something.. less. Something you've only ever watched. He imagined it’d be like if Dean were to turn into a still drawing, or a cartoon. Unable to move or do anything he’s used to doing existing with a Z-axis.

But he’d always treated Cas like he was just some dude anyway. Maybe he shouldn't, and whenever he thought about what exactly Cas is, he really really shouldn't act as if he's just the homeschooled kid. But it comes so easily. Dean’s always teased those he admired, it's how he shows his love.

The surface part of his brain told him to play offended, to tell Cas off for acting like being human was something so awful. But he didn't. Instead he took Cas by the wrist of his coat, pulling his hand under the sink as he drew cold water from it.

“Look, I know it sucks. Especially now. But.. it’s not like you're useless.” Dean let go of Cas abruptly, sheepishly aware of how he’d held on. “Hell, me and Sammy would be one big tumor right now if you hadn't shown up against Pestilence when you did.”

Cas flexed his fingers under the running water. “Right. That was unpleasant too.” He said dryly.

Dean scoffed at his attitude. “C’mon. Bug bites and burns and getting sick are just one part of the experience. Being human, it’s- well it isn’t all bad. If we had the time..” He cut himself off.

It surprised Dean how bad he felt over Cas potentially never getting the chance to experience earthly delights. The small joys that make it worth carrying on, even with all the horrors that surround them. His heart ached over their fate for the millionth time.

“Dean?”

He slapped the water off. “Fuck it. Come on.”

—-

“Are you going to try to take my virginity again?”

Dean jammed his keys way off the mark of the ignition, dropping them on the floor of the Impala.

“What?! I-I wasn't- that's not. You don't-” Dean stuttered, face blazing. He retrieved the keys hastily, pointedly not looking at Cas, who was no doubt eyeing him warily.

“Okay, that wasn’t what I was doing. That was- well, I was, but I wasn’t. Whatever. No.” He shook his head hard. “I’m taking you to get some real food.” Cas’ stomach instantly growled again just at the mention of food, drawing a displeased frown from Cas and a chuckle from Dean.

The drive was quieter than usual. He looked over to the passenger side, only to see Cas slouching. It was ever-so-slight, but recognizable enough when the angel usually sits ramrod straight at all times. Dean wondered if his joints ached now where they didn't before.

"You okay?"

Cas blinked, very humanly. Seeing it happen made Dean realize Cas never really blinked when he was at full strength. Never gave him a break from those unsparing eyes.

“We should be preparing for the fight..” Cas murmured.

“We are. A big, greasy warrior’s meal is just what we need to nourish our bodies. You can’t stop the apocalypse on microwaved burritos.” Dean huffed. “Believe me, this is necessary.”

They ordered their food to go, a couple burgers with fries and two milkshakes. Castiel was bent on trying to ruin a nice thing Dean was trying to do. He caught Cas looking in the paper bag on his lap with too much longing. Dean lost count of how many variations of ‘I don’t understand. Why can’t I eat this right now?’ or ‘are we there yet?’ Cas would repeat on the drive to their destination. To stop the griping, he let Cas take some fries, so long as he didn't use the ketchup and inevitably make a mess. He taught Cas to dip the fries into his milkshake, which earned him a skeptical look, but he listened anyway. He nodded in approval and commented on the delightful sweet/salty contrast.

They finally arrived at the top of the overlook, just in time for the sky to begin transitioning into warmer hues. He shut off the car, replacing the sound of the rumbling engine and music with a serene silence. It added something to the beauty of the sweeping view of the Badlands.

“Bobby took me and Sammy here the first couple times dad left us with him. Sam wouldn't stop crying.” He left out the details of his own explosive tantrums. “Back then, being left in a stranger’s care without knowing when dad would be back was as close to the end of the world as it got. But this view made it all a little better.”

Dean took his eyes off the view, shifting them over to Cas. He flushed when he saw Cas was already staring at him instead of the sunset.

“Uh, it’s nicer o-out there.” Smooth. He snatched the bag out of Cas’ hands and exited the car to sit on the hood.

Castiel followed him out, butt-scooching awkwardly next to him as Dean dug around in the bag. Dean huffed. “Man… did you seriously eat my fries?” Cas shrugged so unapologetically he couldn't help but laugh and shove the burger into his hands, hands that immediately started ripping into it.

Dean didn't know why he expected Castiel, Angel of the Lord, who used to fly above the heavens and the Earth for business just last week, would’ve been impressed by not even the most impressive view in South Dakota. But every time Dean took his eyes off the pinkening sky, Cas was only looking at him. Dean should've felt hurt by his blatant disregard of the 'food and a view' he drove 20 miles out of his way for. But he didn’t.

Dean spoke with his mouth half full. “Y’know, I came here after I didn’t say yes to Michael.”

Cas swallowed the ravenous bite he took from his own burger, which was already almost entirely gone. Man, this human Cas was giving Famine Cas a run for his meat.

“You did?”

“I was so close to saying yes, Cas. It wasn’t easy. Fuck, none of it’s been easy. Going against what angels say is meant to be? And as much as I wanna believe I’m always right… sometimes their words would get to me. I mean, you'd think they’d know better about what's right than something like me…”

Cas finally seemed entranced by the sunset as it reached just above the rocks. “I know how you feel, Dean.”

“Yeah, I guess you would.”

“You did the right thing. Because of you, this cliff that's lasted over a millennia will remain after tomorrow.”

Dean sucked in a breath.

“Because of us..but yeah. Who gives a shit about paradise without being able to live first?” He finished his food and tossed the wrapper into the paper bag. He laid back against the hood of the car, arms resting up to cushion his head. The first few stars of the night started to make their appearance. He smiled when Cas copied his pose, as the angel never looked any semblance of relaxed before, and chuckled at the deeply content sigh that followed.

“Agreed. The food was incredible. As is this place, Dean. Thank you.”

“Yeah, well. Now that you’re mostly human, you should at least get a feel of what you’re fighting for.”

Much more sentimentally than he’d prepared for, Cas replied “I already have.”

After a moment of silence, he followed up with “Though I’m not entirely convinced it was worth the wait to eat.”

“Gluttony is a sin, Cas.” Before he could stop himself, one of the hands beneath his head reached out to give Cas’ stomach two quick squeezes.

“Hehe.”

For the briefest moment, he feared that Cas was rejecting his admittedly affectionate touch, immediately placated when he looked beside him.

Cas shifted away with a subsiding grin on his face. He had hardly ever seen the angel smile, despite Dean basically never not making jokes. The closest Cas gets to smiling is the occasional, unmistakable reverence in his eyes that don’t quite reach his lips all the way. But there for a moment he saw a big grin, with shiny teeth and all.

“Huh. I think this mostly human you is ticklish now.” He stated as casually as possible.

“Hmm. Don’t be ridiculous.” But he wasn’t fooling anybody. Dean saw the grin, the big stupid grin that he never saw his angel do before.

He hummed, keeping his eyes on the stars. Nonchalantly, he tried to reach over to Cas' stomach again, but was caught by the wrist by a strong hand.

He smiled quizzically at Cas, who was smiling back at him. At him, because of something he did. Dean made him smile.

Things escalated after that. He shifted to sit up, in an instant he dove his other hand towards Cas’ torso. That hand was caught before it could land too, but Dean succeeded in startling a low giggle out. That fueled the giddiness rioting inside him.

This was ridiculous. Dean was being ridiculous. How sweet that laugh was was ridiculous. Cas hardly smiles, but he never laughs. It lit his body up with a crazed energy, like seeing a comet pass by, one that hasn’t in thousands of years, and won't again for a thousand more. It was rare and magical. He felt like a little kid, chasing that comet down the street.

Dean pushed hard against Cas’ hands, frantically reaching and clawing and wiggling his fingers at the slim space of air around his body, desperate to make contact.

“Ah- Get off of me! Stop doing that!” Cas grinned, arms starting to shake from the combination of holding up Dean’s body weight and anticipatory laughter.

Dean continued to wrestle, joyously demanding through gritted teeth “Just let me tickle you! It’s part of the experience!"

Cas managed to get a knee in between them both, shoving Dean hard enough to roll him off the car. He planted his feet on the opposite side of where Dean brushed himself off, bowed in a stance prepared to fight. Dean couldn't keep any of his exhilaration out of his grin, leaning down as threateningly as possible.

“Why’re you so scared? I didn’t think anyone was stupid enough to try that before.”

Cas panted nervously. “I-I don’t know. It's instinctive. What you're going to do, it's- ah!” He shouted when Dean feigned toward him, defensively curling his arms up. Cas shook his head, frustrated and no doubt confused by his reaction.

“Aww, Cas, don't you trust me?” Dean skipped side to side, unable to keep still. There must be something in an angel’s laugh, something addictive that Dean couldn't stop himself from tweaking out about. There could be no other reason he was so excited to tickle a grown man.

Dean saw the trenchcoat swish up before he really saw Cas’ body move, and suddenly they were fighting each other to the ground. With a heavy forearm pinning Dean's chest, he felt fingertips tapping rapidly up and down his side and, okay, Cas has definitely never done this before, but it was effective enough to get Dean giggling.

“Heh- w-what are you- doing??” Dean snorted, totally endeared by the strange, very Cas way he was trying to tickle. Cas looked delighted.

“I was worried this trait was something only new humans shared. Babies, young children, recently fallen angels. But it looks like you haven’t grown out of it.”

“Screw you, you're doing it wrong!” He laughed, managing to reach up to dig into Cas’ ribs.

The angel’s yell echoed throughout the overlook, instantly retreating off of Dean to curl into himself, but Dean’s hands followed.

Giggles streamed out of Cas helplessly as Dean expertly provided a demonstration and oh, he wanted to cry. If the laugh before was a comet, this was a full blown meteor shower. Cas flipped onto his belly, trying to crawl away while also protecting access to sensitive spots with his trench coat. Dean grabbed his leg and yanked, enveloping it into a tight three-limb bear hug and relentlessly squeezed at his thigh with his fingertips.

Holy shit, Cas lost his goddamn mind. His hands slapped the ground while he laughed his head off, begging Dean to let go. The sound was bright and unexpected, at least an octave higher than the pitch he uses when speaking.

“Ain’t this awesome, Cas?? You like being human yet?”

Dean didn’t get a response besides a rapidly shaking head. Cas writhed on the ground with an even stronger bout of cackles, and suddenly Dean was the one overwhelmed. His insides flared with an intense kind of joy, and he found his own cheeks hurt from smiling. Cas was laughing hard, and Dean was loving it so much.

He spaced out the tickles in random pulses, a method he personalized and perfected, knowing all too well how maddening the feeling must be.

“Deeaan- AAAAHA! YOU HAVE TO LET GO!”

Dean wasn’t planning on that for awhile, but found himself rolling away with a wheeze when, despite the stronghold, there was just enough give for Cas to reel back and effectively kick him in the nuts.

They both lay on their backs, curled inward, catching their breaths and trying to recover. The sun had set completely while they were playing, but the stars twinkling dimly over them was just as welcome of a sight.

“Dean, why did you do that?” Cas panted, but Dean could still hear the smile.

To hear you laugh. “To teach you a lesson! Hahh, ow..”

“In what?!” Cas sounded exasperated.

“In letting loose. You should have some fun for once- at least once in your life.”

“So tickling is fun for you?” Cas asked, and Dean’s sure he didn't mean to make it sound judgy, but with the exasperation still in his voice Dean went bright red.

Dean gaped. “Huh? I mean- well, uh, tormenting you is. Yeah, really great fun. What about- did you- was it fun?”

Cas took a beat to think about his response. “It was.. thrilling. I'm glad to have experienced it.”

“Well, you're welcome. I’ll do that anytime. All the time. God, you were great.”

Cas hummed in a low voice. “I did enjoy it. I enjoy trying new things. Dean, is it more fun in the getting or the giving?”

Dean blushed, about to make a quip at the innuendo, until Cas ambushed him yet again with unrenderable speed. They wrestled under the stars, laughter echoing in bounces throughout the cliff.

😦😧🤯

STOP THE FUCKING PRESS, WE HAVE TICKLISH SEBASTIAN STAN

ANABELLE WENT IN DEFINITELY TO TICKLE HIM, AND HIS REACTION IS A MIXTURE OF ANTICIPATORY TICKLES AND FEELING TICKLISH AT THE SAME TIME. which leads me to believe he is super ticklish, as anabelle didn’t fully launch an attack but he still grabbed her arm and flinched away.

GUYS IDK WHAT TO DO HELP I NEED MORE, WE GOT IT @barnesrogers-blog

*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

No, I can't just look at a pic on Pinterest and draw a tword continuation to it—

Although who said that I can't?

TLC

fandom: the falcon and the winter soldier

w/c: 1149

summary: How Sam convinced Bucky to sleep on the couch AKA Bucky is introduced to ASMR.

a/n: I love TFATWS and I want to write for them more but I cannot for the life of me think of good scenarios. Inspired by my own love hate relationship with asmr.

~~~~~~~~~

“Paid good money for that sofa you're disrespecting.”

Bucky sat up from his position on the floor. Sam's silhouette stood with crossed arms in the doorway, outlined only by the kitchen light behind him. He looked ridiculous. Bucky stretched to reach the lamp switch.

“I’m kind of an active sleeper. Figured I’d do less damage starting on the floor.” Bucky rubbed at his neck.

“Mm-hm.” Sam walked over to the couch and sat, meaning he didn't intend to let Bucky sleep just yet. “Sarah’s concerned.”

Embarrassed, Bucky dropped his hand slowly. From the moment he stepped inside the Wilson family home, he wondered if he was completely overstaying his welcome. He wouldn't have blamed them for feeling uncomfortable housing an ex-assassin. There were children in this house.

“She sent me in here to convince you to get off the damn floor. ‘C’mon Sam! Give the hobo your bed if it's better on his old joints than the couch.’ Hmph.”

Bucky smiled. “That’s kind of her.”

Sam glared at him. “Keep dreaming. You're funny if you think you're sleeping on my bed.”

Bucky shook his head with a frown. “No, the couch is comfortable. Very comfortable. Feels like I’m gonna sink right through it.”

Sam’s glaring expression changed to something more real. Was that a rude thing to say?

“Look, I get it. But you're making me look like a bad host. Sarah won't even let the cat sleep down there.” Sam said softly. “You’re just not used to feeling comfortable yet. All it takes is some TLC.”

“TLC?”

“Tender love and-”

“I know what TLC means.” Bucky said, more guarded than his therapist would have approved of. Sam was brave for this, Bucky thought. By now they had gotten comfortable, perhaps even extended their boundary past ‘a couple of guys with a mutual friend.’ They were friends, yet even so Bucky didn’t know what to do with clear affection. Sam knew this. It was brave in the same way as sticking a hand out to a dog known to bite.

Bucky sighed and looked up at Sam. “Are you offering?” he asked, genuinely.

“Just get your ass up here.” Sam said.

--

He pulled out his phone and a pair of earbuds as Bucky sat next to him.

“We can start with this.” Sam said, holding out his tools as he explained. “Have you heard of ASMR? Stands for auto sensory… something or other. People listen to it to go to sleep, sorta like whale sounds or white noise. You know how certain sounds make you go all relaxed and tingly?”

Bucky frowned, not liking how that sounded. But Sam continued with an eyeroll.

“Well, that's the gimmick. It's pretty awesome and knocks me out like a baby. Gotta be careful not to find the freaky ones, though. There are a lot of weirdos out there..” Bucky’s frown deepened skeptically.

“Man, nevermind. Just, here-”

Bucky violently ducked his head away from Sam’s hand, instantly snatching the earbud Sam started to shove into his ear. Sam chuckled, to which he scowled at.

“I don’t know about this, Sam. I'm not a big fan of…” He squinted at the title of one of the videos on Sam’s phone. “Brain tickling? That doesn’t sound relaxing at all.”

Sam reached over to tap the video immediately as Bucky made a noise of disapproval. He stood and patted Bucky’s shoulder.

“Alright, now lay back and close your eyes. Ugh.” Sam reached forward, smoothing out the dubious eyebrows on Bucky’s forehead. “Relax your damn face. Trust me, man! This stuff is powerful.”

Bucky was entirely unsure about this, as nothing about what Sam had been trying to sell sounded appealing. But because Sam was good at this sorta thing, he obliged. He laid back and shifted to get comfortable, snatching up the blanket that was on the floor with a metal hand.

He looked up at Sam, who was staring the whole time he adjusted himself.

“Are you gonna watch me sleep?”

Sam scoffed. “Sounds exhilarating. Sleep tight, Buck.” He switched off the lamp for Bucky, and left him alone with the ASMR.

As the video played, Bucky was caught off guard by the quality of the sounds.

There was a sweet spot in Bucky’s lower back he hadn't known about. And for reasons unbeknownst to him, the amplified scratching sounds coming from the video ignited the nerves in the same spot. Over and over again. He felt ridiculous for flinching, but he could hardly control it.

skrich skrich skrichskrichskrich.

It sounded like it was right behind him. His eyebrows pinched together in discomfort. He surprised himself by not throwing the earbuds across the room.

As weird as it was, it was also kind of nice. A tingle would start at the base of his skull, before shooting down that dip in his back. Relaxing chills overtook Bucky’s body after each ticklish pulse that sparked his spine. He found himself embracing the sounds and their unbearable, incredible effect. It reminded him of nails on his back, a sensation he had trouble remembering with how long it had been since he received such tender treatment. But he knew it was enjoyable. Even when the nails strayed to spots that were too sensitive to stay still for.

Bucky couldn't stop the smile that followed after the next jolt, so powerful it made his leg jump. Like when you pet a dog just right. He wondered if this ASMR garnered the same reactions from Sam. If that was why he liked it so much.

A laugh startled Bucky to open his eyes. He thought it might have come from himself until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. His face flushed as he tore the earbuds out of his ear.

“How long were you standing there, you creep?” Bucky asked, worried about how much Sam might have seen - and clocked.

“Just came out for a bit to see if it already put you to sleep. Looks like you were loving it.” Sam said, grinning. There was no judgement in his tone, only teasing. Bucky can handle teasing.

“It's nice. It’s freaky, but it's nice. I was almost asleep till you came back out.” Bucky said accusingly. Sam started to say something back, an apology about interrupting his tickle-time, but Bucky wisely put the earbuds back in and flipped over on the couch to ignore him completely.

“Alright alright. Get your beauty sleep, White Wolf.” Before finally leaving him alone for the night, Sam fluttered his nails up and down Bucky’s exposed back and neck. He shrugged him off with a giggle-laced fuck off.

“Goodnight Sam,” he called out before he shut his bedroom door. “Thanks.”

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.”

When I tried to do animation, but got tired while drawing hands... Maybe someday I'll finish it, but for now I'll show you what I've done

I'm just proud of this because there are no references x'D

Here’s your daily dose of cute with these lovesick idiots. 

hi this was beautiful and hilarious!! something about this resonated deeply within my soul and i've become obsessed with it. it reminded me so much of the book. one of my favorite short fics ever! i must have read it 50x by now.

Human Affection - Good Omens Fic

One more fic for the @bingokisses prompts - this one from last week - Behind the Knee kisses! Which I found a little odd, so I decided to go silly on this. Should be a good counter for the angst I put out. This will be going on AO3 after some edits, so let me know if you spot anything off.

CW: Silly drunken banter.

“Crowley, that is absolutely absurd. Stop making things up.”

“I’m not!” The demon reached for a bottle of wine, shook it, found it empty, and went hunting for the next. “I know these things. I know humans. Better’n anyone.” He finally found one with at a little red still at the bottom, shrugged, and drank it straight from the bottle.

“Not better than me,” Aziraphale protested, scowling a little as he lifted another nearly-full bottle.

“Much better’n you.” Crowley wasn’t quite drunk enough for this sort of argument, but now his pride was at stake. “Y’don’t even like talkin’ to them!”

“No,” he admitted as he poured another glass, “but I read. A’stensivly.”

“Obstentily?”

“Egstenilly.”

“Abstentally?”

“Exten…I read a great deal!”

“Ha!” Crowley jabbed a finger at Aziraphale, then realized he should make a point. “You don’…don’ read the right sor’ of books. Gotta read th’ naughty ones. Th’ones Heaven don’ like.”

“I read plenty that Heaven disproved of,” Aziraphale objected, taking a long drink of wine and licking his lips happily.

Keep reading

Doctor Who in 100 years:

Welcome to Doctor Who! We call this "New Who' since it was made after what we call 'Classic Who' but this is the fifteenth time the season count has restarted so it should technically be called "New New New New New New New New New New New New New New New Who.

birds and the bees? 😒

more like lers and the lees 😼

am i dreaming rn 🙀

I just need a little TenRose for inner peace of mind

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.

Aziraphale's Literary Discovery

HAPPY HOLIDAYS @practickles!!! I am your squealing santa this year :)) I hope this is everything you hoped for and more!! (and now i can follow you without being worried that i'll blow my cover lol)

@squealing-santa

screw canon(/j), they are happy together and have tickles.

switch!aziraphale, switch!crowley.

cw: light mentions of alcohol/sobering up magically, cursing (because it's Crowley), using a miracle to pin someone that could be read as invisible bondage.

Aziraphale turned a page in his book, but wasn't really reading anymore. This had been happening more and more often: he would stop reading just to think about the demon who was currently asleep on his couch.

Aziraphale and Crowley had finished off some good wine last night, and instead of sobering up, Crowley had decided to sleep it off on the bookshop's couch. The angel had sobered up, reading all through the night with the occasional glance to the demon's sleeping form.

Honestly, Aziraphale prefers Crowley awake. He loves the demon's antics and being able to spend time together (although the serenity and calmness radiating off the demon's lanky form was delightful). He didn't technically need to breathe, but he did -- soft deep breaths that were almost soft snores.

Aziraphale quickly snapped himself out of the trance he had been in, staring at his friend(?), and glancing back at the book. It was a sweet romcom, one that left Aziraphale feeling giddy and with butterflies in his stomach. The couple in his book were playful, and in the current scene, were poking each other and giggling. This was a fascinating idea that humans called "tickling", which led to supposedly uncontrollable laughter and seemed like a sweet bonding exercise.

Something clicked in his mind and he looked back at Crowley asleep on the couch, limbs splayed out haphazardly. His tight-fitting shirt had risen a little, leaving a sliver of the pale skin of his lower stomach on display. Aziraphale gasped excitedly, looking back at his book where the tickle fight was happening. Supposedly, even small touches could lead to ticklish sensations!

He stood up, beginning to creep over to the sleeping figure, before realizing that Crowley could sleep through almost anything and walking over normally. The angel stared at him with wide eyes, glancing back and forth between his calm face and the sliver of exposed stomach. He tentatively reached out a finger, poking Crowley's abdomen.

There was a faint reaction, a small breath hitching in between small snores and Crowley squirmed a bit. Was Crowley ticklish?! How silly! How human! What a delightful discovery! He giddily clapped, then began tracing the sliver of exposed skin. Crowley huffed, squirmed, and scrunched up his nose a bit, before rolling over and crossing his arms over his stomach.

Aziraphale was ecstatic at his findings, and couldn't wait to enact something rather devious (by his standards)!

|

|

A few days later, he woke a grumpy Crowley up from his nap (and if Crowley became less grumpy when he noticed that he was covered in a cozy blanket, the angel didn't need to know). Aziraphale had a mission: go on a date -- a Friend Date (he told himself, at least) -- and bring up tickling to him! The angel had an innate need to tickle Crowley now, see his presumably adorable reactions, and have the physical contact that the angel began to crave.

"Come on, Crowley!" Aziraphale grinned, pulling the demon into a seated position by his hand.

Crowley grumbled, "For what?"

Crowley seemed entirely uninterested, but in truth, he loved spending time with Aziraphale and would do anything if Aziraphale truly wanted to spend time with him.

"A picnic!" Aziraphale gestured to a wicker basket stocked full of goodies.

Crowley rolled his eyes (but was truly content with this plan), put his shoes on, and drove them to a gorgeous woodsy park. When they had found their own spot, Aziraphale spread out a blanket on the grass, sat down, and began unpacking some small sandwiches and poured them both a glass of wine.

"Not so much now, my dear boy," He handed Crowley the wine, "I'd like you awake for a little while. It's dreadfully boring being all alone and reading by myself!"

He got nothing but a grunt in return, but everything was perfect, so Aziraphale continued on with his ramblings.

In between bites of his sandwiches, he told Crowley all about the books he had been reading, but especially about the lovely rom-com he had just read.

"They had such a lovely relationship! Human love just excites me so much! They do so many sweet things together, not unlike us!"

"Ngk-" Crowley choked slightly on his wine and turned a bit pink, but Aziraphale didn't seem to notice.

"They certainly touched a lot more than we do, though, Crowley!" The angel pouted.

Crowley shrugged, "We're not having sex."

"Crowley!" Aziraphale's mouth gaped as he gasped, smacking the demon softly on his leg, "Don't say that! They touched plenty without sexual implications!"

Crowley sipped his wine, not needing to respond.

"They cuddled, and kissed, and even- well," Aziraphale cut himself off, suddenly a bit embarrassed.

This now intrigued Crowley, who sat up a bit, and looked at Aziraphale, scooting closer so they were side by side.

He teased Aziraphale, "Oh? Was it sexual then? You realized I was right and you were wrong?"

Aziraphale huffed indignantly, "No! I'm just not sure if you even know what it is!"

Oh, Crowley was so up for a challenge. "I'm sure I would! I know much more about humans than you do."

Aziraphale leaned closer, grinning and placing a hand on the blanket behind Crowley, so they were almost touching. "Oh really?"

Crowley smirked and nodded, taking his sunglasses off and stowing them safely in the picnic basket, so he could look at Aziraphale in the eyes to show him how serious he was.

"Yes, they were tickling each other!" Aziraphale grinned, hoping that Crowley wouldn't know about tickling, so he could teach him.

"Oh, that? How would I not know about that?" Crowley didn't let anything slip, so Aziraphale thought it might be possible that he just didn't know.

"Yes, I think that's quite intimate," Aziraphale reached out and placed a hand on Crowley's knee, "it seems sweet to me!"

Crowley grumbled, avoiding eye contact awkwardly. "What, is this your way of asking me to tickle you?"

Aziraphale stammered, protesting quickly, "Why would I want that?!"

Now it was Crowley's turn to look offended, "There's nothing wrong with wanting that!"

Aziraphale was now slightly grumpy; this wasn't how it was supposed to go!

Crowley had that devilish (albeit attractive) grin across his face, placing a hand on Aziraphale's side.

"This wasn't how this was supposed to goHO-" Aziraphale smacked a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

Crowley, that evil, evil demon, had squeezed Aziraphale's side! What a terrible thing for his corperal form to feel! Aziraphale, in all his planning, could not have anticipated this!

A small smirk crept across Crowley's face as he put the other hand on Aziraphale's clothed side and squeezed a few times in a row.

Aziraphale's hands flew down from his mouth to his sides, weakly pushing at Crowley's hands as he laughed heartily. His smile was beautiful. It was, well, angelic.

Crowley was right. Aziraphale thought this was quite nice. He hadn't laughed this hard in a while, and seeing Crowley's enjoyment of his reactions was amazing!

Crowley smiled widely, skittering his nimble fingers along Aziraphale's gorgeous plush stomach, before refocusing his attention on Aziraphale's thighs. Aziraphale's magnificently scrumptious thighs, currently busy with Aziraphale's frantically kicking feet. Crowley stopped, giving Aziraphale a small break, before placing his hands on those delightful thighs.

Aziraphale was not worried in the slightest; he had never heard of someone's thighs being ticklish, just the usual suspects like the upper body, feet, neck, and hips. But thighs? That seemed silly... until Crowley started squeezing them.

Aziraphale barked out a laugh, falling gently on his back as he was unable to hold himself sitting up. He made noises that were so embarrassing: he even squealed! Crowley was unwavering in his ticklish squeezing, grinning broadly. Aziraphale was laughing harder than he ever had, his head shaking back and forth as he laughed frantically, beginning to push at Crowley's hands again. This was Crowley's cue to slow down, and he moved his hands back up to the angel's stomach to gently trace shapes as Aziraphale recovered.

"Y- you're evil!" Aziraphale gasped, still giggling.

"I'm a demon, that's kind of the whole point," Crowley deadpanned, although unable to wipe the smile off his face.

Aziraphale caught his breath, then grabbed Crowley's hands. Crowley's eyes widened slightly, but he tried to play it off, scoffing.

Aziraphale sat up quickly, pushing Crowley onto his back and pinning him there with shocking strength. Crowley looked at him confused and began squirming awkwardly. Aziraphale had fully sat on his hips, pinning his arms above his head as he leaned over the demon, their faces quite close together.

"What? How did you-" Crowley stammered, baffled by Aziraphale's strength, "What are you doing?"

Aziraphale grinned, excited to give Crowley all the exposition of his plan. "When I was reading that book, I tried tickling you, when you were asleep. I poked you, and you reacted! I have to try it again!"

Crowley blushed a bit, before retorting, "Angel, anyone would react to being poked. I'm not ticklish, I'm a demon. Being ticklish is all- cute and innocent. I'm neither of those things."

"I beg to differ," Aziraphale grinned, slipping his warm hand under Crowley's tight shirt, beginning to trace circles on Crowley's stomach.

Crowley's brain short circuted. Not only was the angel on top of him, but he was touching Crowley more intimately than they'd ever touched. And Crowley did feel something -- was that being ticklish?

Crowley squirmed, averting his eyes from Aziraphale's as he clamped his mouth shut.

Aziraphale, ever so oblivious, was slightly upset that it didn't really effect Crowley like it did when he was asleep. Maybe he was controlling his reactions? Maybe he truly was right and wasn't ticklish!

Aziraphale huffed, "You really reacted the other day, I promise!"

Crowley was trying his best to not react, his serpentine eyes flicking towards Aziraphale's well-manicured hand, still tracing under his shirt.

"Ngk- just give it a rest, angel!" Crowley sputtered, feeling giggles (Yes, giggles! Demons aren't supposed to giggle!) bubbling up in his chest.

Aziraphale was starting to feel a bit hopeless; he thought it would have been incredibly endearing if Crowley was ticklish. The demon barely smiled (not counting his mischievous smirks), and Aziraphale would love to hear him laugh, truly laugh, for the first time in years. Aziraphale pouted and decided to give it one last go.

He poked Crowley in the side.

Crowley gasped, jumped, and made awkward eye contact with the angel on top of him.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, was ecstatic! A giddy smile broke across his face.

"No, angel, no. I was just startled-" Crowley said quickly, squirming.

"Oh my dear Crowley, my dear silly demon..." Aziraphale grinned.

"No angel I-" Crowley couldn't focus on being called Aziraphale's, due to the imminent danger of him being tickled.

Much to his dismay, Aziraphale began ruthlessly skittering his fingers over Crowley's stomach and sides. Damn his fashionable outfits! The shirt he was wearing was incredibly thin and did nothing to protect him from the angel's attack.

Crowley tried to keep his mouth shut and hide his reactions, but his attempts were futile. He burst out into loud laughter and squirmed as much as he could (which wasn't much). It made sense why tickling was used as a torture method in the past; he would have given up any secret that Aziraphale could ask for in this moment! Although, there was something nice about it: the intimacy, the giddy feeling, and Aziraphale's touch gave him a rush of happiness.

"Why are you laughing, my dear boy? Thought of something devious? Scheming?" Aziraphale laughed along with Crowley -- for such a supposedly evil being, he sure had a contagious laugh -- and scribbled his fingers even faster. "Or are you just... ticklish?"

And if Crowley's cheeks turned an even deeper shade of pink, he hoped Aziraphale didn't notice.

"You're- teasing- me!" He sputtered indignantly, through bright, happy laughter.

Aziraphale paused, pretending to look offended, "No I'm not! I'm simply asking questions to figure out why you're laughing so much!"

In the midst of talking, he wasn't paying attention to what his hands were doing. His hands moved down to the hem of Crowley's shirt, causing the demon to jump, eyes wide.

Aziraphale's eyebrow raised quickly, "Oh?"

Crowley shook his head, stammering "No," and tugging on his hands.

As both of them knew, although the angel's corporeal form was strong, Crowley could easily have gotten his arms free by non-human means. Maybe he just didn't want to.

The most devilish grin to ever cross an angels face suddenly appeared on Aziraphale's. He let go of Crowley's arms, but not before preforming a miracle that kept his arms trapped in place, taut above his head.

Crowley's snake-like eyes grew wider as he tugged frantically on his arms, beginning to giggle nervously. His whole 'bad boy' persona was completely gone now, and he was quite enjoying this (though he'd never admit such a silly thing).

"Oh Crowley," Aziraphale teased, wiggling his fingers at the squirming demon, "are you prepared for your demise?"

That shut Crowley up.

Until Aziraphale did something truly evil. Something so evil that even the higher-ups in Hell couldn't dream of. He repeatedly squeezed Crowley's hips.

Crowley made the most embarrassing noise possible -- he squealed.

"AAAAZiraphale!!!" He laughed, wiggling as much as possible, "YOU BASSSSTARD!!"

Curse that stupid hissing. Usually he was able to disguise it, whenever Aziraphale caught him off guard with accidental(?) flirting or made a silly joke that a big bad demon like himself shouldn't laugh at. Speaking of laughing, Crowley was laughing more than he ever had in his life.

And it felt amazing. Having his angel so close to him in such an intimate way, literally on top of him. He was able to let his guard down.

The angel gasped, "What did you just call me, my dear boy?!"

Aziraphale skittered his fingers around Crowley's stomach and sides, relishing in the rare and genuine laughter.

Luckily, although neither of them could be sure if it was intentional or not, Aziraphale's miracle that pinned Crowley's hand was slowly faltering. Crowley didn't realize (he was laughing too hard to think about much) until his arms subconsciously snapped down to grab at Aziraphale's hands.

Aziraphale paused his attack, concerned about his friend(?). Crowley looked at him, as his leftover giggles became slightly more devious.

Crowley latched his clawed hands onto Aziraphale's clothed sides and rapidly squeezed, disrupting the power that Aziraphale had held over him, and toppling them both over onto their sides, facing each other.

Aziraphale tickled Crowley back, angelic giggles pouring out of his mouth.

"You- you're such a demon!" He exclaimed through loud laughter.

Crowley nodded, squirming closer to Aziraphale as they tickled each other.

They were practically cuddling as their fingers slowed to tracing each other's abdomens, softly giggling.

Aziraphale stared into Crowley's gorgeous auburn eyes and was struck with a sense of overwhelming love.

Crowley's smile was wider than it should have been from leftover giggles as he watched the angel and his smile and gorgeous face. As if God Herself had heard his thoughts, sunlight struck the angel's face in a certain way where he looked like he was glowing (although he may have been radiating an otherworldly glow from overwhelming happiness).

They stayed there for a while, in each others arms, staring lovingly into each other's eyes.

If you made it this far, thank you. Reblogs help writers and artists on tumblr a lot, so consider reblogging if you enjoyed <3. If you'd like, send me an ask if you want to talk about anything (related or unrelated to this fic), as it motivates me to write more.

when the doctor used the tardis like a skateboard and pushed with his lil foot reblog if u agree

Stained Leather (Good Omens)

(Switch!Aziraphale/Switch!Crowley)

⚠️SPOILERS FOR GOOD OMENS S2⚠️

Summary : He’s lost his angel. Now all Crowley has are the memories they shared. Memories he wishes he could forget as easily as he remembers them.

A/N : love these gay old-ass genderless beings with my whole heart and soul. which is why i’m devastated and needed to vent with angst and tickles :)

Warnings : angst, tickling

Word Count : 2221 (omg kinda angel numbers)

hope y’all enjoy! :)

—

He’d been thinking a lot lately. For someone’s sake, he sure knows he’s got the time for it now. Driving endlessly for days, weeks, maybe months. Who really knows, with how time has blended seamlessly together like one long stretched road, terrifyingly eternal in its seeming hatred for dead ends. He’s had far too much time to ponder on the last, oh, 6000 years or so. But who’s counting? Certainly not Crowley.

He gave his head a stern shake, trying so hard to knock loose all those dreadful little thoughts that keep his knuckles white against the steering wheel. But thoughts always fell right back into place, and yet again, he felt trapped. Did the Bentley shrink since he drove it last? It seems far more cramped than usual. Like he doesn’t fit comfortably anymore, like his body can’t seem to find that Crowley shaped indent in the leather cushion that he worked so hard to make just for him. For a moment, he wonders if it took a new shape, one the car favored over his own.

Angel-shaped.

His eyes shut tight, silent fireworks in the darkness of his pinched eyelids. He’s thinking like a fool now. An idiotic, foolish sap.

That one thought has his mind drifting though, and he feels his heart race with the memories. It’s not the usual heart rate he has when thinking of his…the angel. No, it’s uncomfortable and uneasy. Unbearable. Like a blood-boiling type of heart rate. He’s never felt this way before when remembering.

One particular memory hits him like an oncoming truck. Makes him wish a real truck would hit him even harder.

…

“Please Angel, you’re gonna ruin the leather!”

“Oh, do stop being foolish. I know you are well aware that I’m not much of a mess-making type. Plus, I did bring napkins-“

“Mmyes, napkins, the pinnacle of all cleaning products against 100 year old leather” Crowley says too sarcastically for Aziraphale’s taste. “D’you remember 1991, that little excursion of ours in New York. You tried a hotdog that resulted in the world’s first mustard stain down an angel’s white button up,” Crowley popped the ‘P’ as he poked Aziraphale’s chest, right where the stain had sat years ago. Aziraphale swatted the hand away, annoyance painted all over his face. “It took a miracle to get that stain out, quite literally might I add.”

Aziraphale fixed his posture quickly, chin up in defiance. “Now that’s not fair, and you know it, Crowley. I distinctly remember a certain someone pinching my knee under the table just so I would spill something all over my garments.” Aziraphale huffed, wiping his mouth with one of the napkins he brought specifically because he knew Crowley would make a fuss. He had gotten an ice cream cone on their most recent outing, buying from a local vendor who made it from scratch. He tipped quite generously too, as homemade is always his favorite.

“Yeah well, s’not my fault your vessel’s too ticklish to keep food in your mouth,” Crowley grinned, leaning just a tad closer to Aziraphale so he could get a good look at that flustered expression painted on his angel’s face.

“Oh hush, it wasn’t even in my mouth when it fell. You know that, too,” He took a generous lick of the treat, unable to hold back a smile and slight wiggle at the strawberry flavor coating his tongue. “And don’t you forget, I’m not the only one here with a sensitive vessel. I seem to remember a particular incident in, oh, 2004 was it? Ah yes, you drew quite the attention of just about everyone in the pub with your scream-“

“Oh shuttuuuup, I did not scream,” Crowley insisted, just as he did back in ‘04, even with all those curious eyes on him. He specifically remembers two blue ones paired with a particularly un-angelic smile bringing a sickening warmth to his face. He merely rolled his eyes at the memory.

“A shrieking cackle then, maybe?” Aziraphale couldn’t hold back his cheeky smile as Crowley glared at him. “Would a shrill squeal better suffice? Nooo, I know, it was more like the wail of a —ah! Ah, Crohowley, wait-!” Aziraphale was cut off mid sentence by devilish fingers squeezing just above his knee cap, an unfortunate repeat of ‘91 waiting to happen. “The leather, Crohowley, the leatheheher!”.

“Oh no, do continue! I’d just love to hear what other synonyms you’ve been cooking up the past 10 years!” Crowley couldn’t help the grin as he saw Aziraphale struggle to keep his ice cream from dripping while pulling at the tickly hand on his leg. Those angelic giggles always have been his downfall, though he never did complain. “Haven’t got all day, have we, Angel?”

Aziraphale groaned through his giggles, nearly crushing the cone in his hand from his mirth. “You fiehehend!” He stomped his legs (gently, though for the soft angel it might as well been a violent kick) against the car floor, nearly pressing his face into the window next to him in giggly embarrassment. “Stop ahahat once!” His voice squeaked on the last word, and Crowley couldn’t hold back the fond coo if he wanted to.

“Aww cmon, now, you don’t have to kick her! What did she ever do to you, huh?” His hand moved to strike the angel’s side, cackling like the demon he is as Aziraphale practically folded sideways, the angel’s hand on the opposite side having quite the struggle to pull the tickly one off him. He must’ve forgotten he could switch the ice cream to his other hand, the poor ticklish thing.

Aziraphale no longer got any words in, too caught up in giggling his head off to care. He’d folded so much to the side his head began falling onto Crowley’s shoulder, seizing the opportunity to hide his face in the material.

Crowley thanked everything above and below that Aziraphale’s eyes were hidden, now that a familiar fond smile and warm blush painted the demon’s usually cold face. He loved seeing his angel like this, and he could surely get used to it.

However, he didn’t want to embarrass his friend so much he discorporated (though the thought awfully enticed him. Not the discorporation necessarily, but definitely getting his angel to blush so hard he was hot to the touch).

Crowley finally let go of him, smoothing out the fabric of his suit and snickering when Aziraphale flinched. “Oh, I’m done, angel. You can relax.”

Aziraphale pouted as he caught his breath, shoving the cone towards Crowley which he took without thinking twice. Aziraphale smoothed out his coat on his own, like he just knew Crowley wasn’t doing it properly before. After composing himself in silence, he gave a glare towards his demon. “That was rather childish of you, don’t you think?”

Crowley grinned. “Mmyes, I suppose it was,” he took a lick of the ice cream before handing it back to a still blushing Aziraphale. The angel looked to the roof of the car as if sending a silent prayer. Crowley tilted his head. “But rather fun though, wouldn’t you say?”

Aziraphale gave a tight shake of his head. “I cannot agree in the slightest. Exploiting my vessel’s sensitivities like that is just…well it’s unprofessional, Crowley. You should know better.”

“What, know better than to give my angel a little laugh once in a while? I say no harm, no foul,” He shrugged, sagging back into his seat and throwing an arm over the back of Aziraphale’s own.

“No no, much harm, much foul. It’s humiliating!” Aziraphale pouted again, looking down at his ice cream with those awful puppy-dog eyes Crowley just can’t stand for long. “Vessels are such strange things.”

Crowley sighed, “That they are.” He gazed at Aziraphale’s face for a moment, before decidedly looking anywhere but his face. He’d embarrassed his angel. He really didn’t mean to (well, he did, but he was allowed to feel a little bad about it after). Those heavenly giggles just have such a hold on him sometimes. He growled when a thought popped into his head he absolutely despised, but knew would make his friend feel all the better. “Look, if it embarrasses you that bad…and really it shouldn’t, it’s just laughing after all, not like I dressed you in feathers and made you dance down the street like a plump chicken-“

“Get to the point,” Aziraphale said straight-edged, like he’d been waiting to hear this from the start of his pout-parade. Oh that slimy little bastard. He always got his way with Crowley, didn’t he?

And still, Crowley didn’t call him out on it. He just growled through a long, dramatic sigh, looking up towards the roof. “You…well, I could allow, if only for a moment-!” He pointed a finger towards Aziraphale’s face (which he was looking at again, why did he always feel the need to look), and he was doing that smug little grin he always did, cheeks round and eyes squinted in his direction. Oh, Someone save him. “…nrk, just, make it quick, would you angel?”

Aziraphale cheered back up a little too quickly at that. “Oh of course. If you please?” He offered the cone back to Crowley, who took it with great hesitance. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, never one who was able to handle the anticipation. His lips pressed together in preparation to conceal all those embarrassing sounds he dreaded escaping, he held his breath and waited.

And waited.

He was half tempted to say something, but he was far too clever for that. Aziraphale’s done this before to him, making him open his mouth to complain before striking so he had no chance of holding back those sounds his angel dared to call giggles.

Instead, he opted to open one eye, just to see what all the hold up was about. So much for being clever.

Aziraphale’s hands were poised over Crowley’s torso, fingers wiggling with very un-angelic intent. His face said it all, though, looking directly into Crowley’s eyes like he had been waiting for him to look. Such an unfair game he played, at least Crowley got it over and done with!

Crowley growled behind gritted teeth, smacking away at those mean, teasy hands with his own free one. Aziraphale tsked.

“Now, Crowley, you said you’d give me a moment’s tickle, but I haven’t even started yet! You can’t shove me away already,” His hands continued their tickly motions here and there while being fought off (quite lazily if he had any say about it), “It’s against the rules.” Crowley groaned, always unable to stay silent against teasing.

“We’re rule-breakers, it’s what we do—AH!! No wahait! Oh you fuhucker!” Crowley released bubbly cackles as soon as Aziraphale touched down, squeezing the bottom of his ribs like his fingers were a magnet to his most sensitive spots.

“Such lovely laughs you always produce when I tickle here. Though, I’ve wondered before why some spots are more ticklish than others. Like, for example, here-“ He moved his hands up to Crowley’s neck, fingers fluttering softly against the skin and making Crowley break out in breathy giggles. “-you make such sweet giggles-“

“Nohohot gigglin’!”

“-and yet when I tickle your ribs, you just-“ He struck back down against his bony ribs, the gentle fervor behind his finger tips sending Crowley’s head slamming against the headrest behind him, overcome with belly laughs and cackles he couldn’t contain if he wanted to (he did not, but don’t tell his angel that). “-my, well you just can't take it, can you?”

Curse Aziraphale and his evil teasing. Why did he have to be so sweet and gentle about it? Always made Crowley want to explode on the spot just to expel all that nervous, flustered energy inside him.

“Stohohop! Really, ahahangel, I-!”

CRUNCH

The tickling stopped, and so did any movement or sounds amongst the two of them, for just a moment. They eyed the ice cream cone dripping between Crowley’s fingers, dollops falling onto the leather between his legs.

A small snicker from the back of Aziraphale’s throat, before the angel fell into helpless cackles. The irony of it all just…tickled him so.

And though so very annoyed at that sticky stain he was now having to angle himself away from, avoiding getting any on his black jeans…Crowley began to laugh too. What could he say, angelic laughter was far too contagious for him to help himself.

…

Crowley burnt from the inside out. The flames soured everything inside him, churning his insides and scolding his flesh to a burnt replica.

His eyes unconsciously darted to the seat he sat upon, wondering if under all the cleaning products and the eventual miracle, there was still a sweet pink stain underneath it all.

He turned back towards the road. His hold so tight on the wheel his arms started to shake, pushing hard against the wheel until it began shaking too.

Strangling the wheel of his poor car, he shook and fought and bellowed out a loud, growling yell from deep in his belly, slamming his fist against the wheel repeatedly. Of course, it was of no use. Memories replayed over, a broken record of moments he dreaded bringing to surface.

With an agonized cry, he tried again.

—

A/N : hope you enjoyed, i didn’t, these two have broken me!!!! bye i’m gonna go listen to Unknown/Nth by Hozier yet again and grieve

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

A Plan Fit for an Angel (Good Omens)

(Lee! Aziraphale/Ler!Crowley) (brief lee!crowley/ler!aziraphale)

Summary : Crowley’s dignity was positively shattered being tickled by Aziraphale two weeks ago. Well, only one way to fix that: getting revenge. [see part one here! this is a sequel]

a/n : i lobe them sm

Word Count : 3626

hope u enjoy! :)

. . .

There are two types of demons: Those that like to strike as soon as they see their target, and those that plan their evil-doings methodically, thinking out every angle so they can strike their prey when they least expect it.

It might shock some to find that Crowley tends to lean more towards the latter.

It had been two weeks since Aziraphale had pestered Crowley with those god-awful jokes, relishing in his demon’s irritation. Two weeks since Crowley had been tickled into the couch cushions so Aziraphale could win an argument.

So for two weeks, Crowley has been planning.

And planning for Crowley doesn’t mean he just thought real long and hard about how he’d make his move. No, planning requires research. Lots and lots of research.

Tickling isn’t something Crowley would call a regular occurance between the two of them. Yes, it happens, has happened, but if you were to ask for something defining that they do together, tickling would be quite low on his list, if it made it there at all.

So maybe, before he strikes, he’ll need something of a…refresher.

Aziraphale stood in the bookshop’s tiny kitchen, making himself a cup of tea. Crowley stood at the doorway, wondering if his angel knew he was there.

“I know you’re there, yknow?”

Ah. So he does.

Doesn’t matter. He knows Aziraphale will continue to read through his book on the counter, waiting for his water to heat in the kettle like Crowley wasn’t even there. He was too comfortable in Crowley’s presence…making him far easier to attack.

So Crowley sauntered behind Aziraphale, miracling up a feather from his wing. He heard a page being flipped.

“Whatcha readin’?” Crowley asked, before placing the feather under Aziraphale’s shirt without having to move a finger. Real magic truly was the best thing since sliced bread (trust him, he was there when it happened, sliced bread was quite the invention for the time).

“Oh it’s a lovely book, I’ve read it many times but somehow I keep coming back to it. Georgette Heyer’s ‘The Black Moth.’ Quite a page turner; it takes place in 1751, during the—AH-!” Aziraphale flinched, his right arm gluing itself to his side.

Crowley smirked behind Aziraphale, still looking over his shoulder at the book. His finger waggled near Aziraphale’s coat, a magic tether traveling from it to the feather. “What was that, angel?”

“Er, nothing I just—well I think there may be something in my shirt. I do hope it’s not a bug,” Aziraphale said, before snapping his fingers. A feather floated down onto the pages of his book. A black feather, to be precise.

Aziraphale clicked his tongue. “I see.”

“How peculiar,” Crowley grinned. “Wonder how that got in there?” He walked right out of the room to avoid further accusations, all of which would probably be correct.

Stage one: complete.

Now onto stage two. Snake time, baby.

Crowley very rarely switched to his snake form these days. Really no need, plus any time he did he was usually beaten within an inch of discorporation by a horrified human. So no, he doesn’t typically take his snake form anymore.

But occasionally, when he’s feeling rather…well, one might use the word clingy (Crowley detests such accusations), he’ll be a snake for a few hours just for the excuse to curl up on Aziraphale’s lap while he reads.

This usually embarrasses Crowley, not exactly one open to admitting his love of cuddles and pets and head scratches. Which is why he’s especially excited about snake time today, since he’s getting to embarrass Aziraphale this time and not the other way around.

He’d taken his form around 20 minutes ago, giving himself time to adjust to the change and alert Aziraphale of his body today. When he heard, Aziraphale went and made a cozy spot for himself on the couch, beginning to read his book. It was a silent code to Crowley that Aziraphale was ready for cuddles whenever he was.

It was no surprise when Crowley slithered his way onto the couch, his now curled body finding purchase on Aziraphale’s lap. The angel got to petting, resting his book along the serpent’s scaled back. He scritched softly at Crowley’s head, running his hand down the length of his now much longer body.

Crowley almost got lost in the comfy-ness of it all when he felt Aziraphale stray too close to his underside, a sensitive area on both of his bodies. Ohohoh, the plan, yes right, I’ll get on that now.

With the sneakiness only a serpent could possess, he slowly moved his tail around until he found the area buttons can’t close up on Aziraphale’s shirt, and slithered his way in. Bingo.

He only allowed himself about an inch’s worth of entry, can’t get too confident now. He waited a few moments, listening for Aziraphale to stir or speak up. He didn’t move, though, so that’s a good sign. Now he can strike.

Crowley fluttered his tail back and forth, like a rattlesnake in slow motion. Aziraphale huffed.

“Is that you down there?” He asked, voice a little wobbly like trying to hold something back. Got ‘em.

“Is what me?” Crowley said in his tired, I’m-far-too-comfortable-to-care voice.

“It is you!” Aziraphale let out a giggle through his words, moving Crowley around in his lap to stop the incessant tickling that was still taking place on his lower belly. “Aha-! Crowley, stop!”

“I really don’t know what you mean,” Crowley yawned. “And stop moving me, m’comfortable.”

“I will not!” Finally, Aziraphale found the end of Crowley’s tail, pulling it out of his shirt and readjusting Crowley in his lap. “Now you stop that or I will be putting you off to the side.”

Crowley huffed, his body adjusting under his head in a way that almost looked like his head was laying in his arms. “Whatever. Didn’t even do it anyways. Punishing me for something I didn’t do? Now that’s just cruel.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, going back to petting Crowley while fixing his gaze back on his book.

Well, he really didn’t wanna risk ending this. Might as well enjoy it and plan for the next stage in his great scheme.

Which, as it happened, took place the very next day, snake Crowley no more.

Aziraphale sat on his favorite chair, listening to a record he recently bought at Maggie’s shop. He was the picture of content.

Crowley was bouncing on his heels ready to ruffle the angel’s feathers.

“Mmyes, some good ole’ Stravinsky. Rather liked that guy, with the whole y’know, riot debacle,” Crowley made his way around Aziraphale’s chair, leaning against its back. “Great fun that was.”

“Yes, that was a rather difficult event. I was there, you know, but I truly was only there to see the show,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley hummed, having heard the story before. He looked at Aziraphale’s ear below him, giving a puzzled look.

“What’s that in your ear?”

Aziraphale furrowed. “My ear?”

“Yes yes, there’s something in your ear.”

Aziraphale’s hand shot up to feel around his ear, “Where?”

“No you—you’re missing it, it’s nothing but a piece of fuzz, I think. Here, let me-“ He shooed Aziraphale’s hand away, before using his pointer to gently prod and scrape along the shell of his ear.

Aziraphale’s shoulder shot up. “Aha, wait, wait—there’s really no neheheed-“ He batted at Crowley’s hand, but couldn’t dissuade him.

“No seriously, I can get it if you just give me a moment-“ he wiggled the finger, and this time Aziraphale shot out of his chair with a quick giggle before turning and giving Crowley a pointed look.

“You’re messing with me,” Aziraphale straightened his coat before giving his ear a quick scratch. There was a smile small on the corner of his lips.

“Now why would I do that?”

Aziraphale shot him a look, “I’m not sure, but I know that’s what you were doing.”

Crowley walked toward Aziraphale until they were eye to eye. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, before walking out.

Stage three: complete, but Aziraphale was definitely onto him now. Time to set the real plan in motion.

Like it started, Crowley’s plan took place in the back room, wine in each of their hands as they talked and bickered and laughed with each other.

After having made Aziraphale laugh at one of his favorite stories to tell, Crowley smiled and remembered. Admittedly he had gotten a bit tipsy and nearly forgot about the whole thing until he saw his angel folding over in laughter just moments ago. Made him remember what this was all for.

He glanced over at the desk, noting Aziraphale’s current book having a very familiar bookmark peeking out of its pages. He had actually noticed this days ago, but was waiting until now to bring it up. Clever demon, he thought.

“What’s that there in your book?” He gestured lazily at it, sitting up like it was of great intrigue to him.

“Oh that’s…” Aziraphale looked at the book, like it was the first time he’d noticed it there. “Well, it’s my bookmark, of course.”

“Mmyes obviously it’s your bookmark. I meant what is it, exactly? Cause I don't know if I recognize this one.”

Aziraphale looked a bit flustered. “Erm, well it’s…it’s a feather, actually. But it works just as nicely as a bookmark.”

Crowley hummed. “Aren’t your feathers white, angel?”

Aziraphale looked without words for a moment (oh how Crowley just loved flustering his angel), before straightening his back with newfound confidence. “Well I didn’t say it was my feather, did I?”

“No, you’re right, you didn’t,” Crowley said, resting his chin in his palm as he relaxed over the arm of the sofa. Sometimes he likes letting Aziraphale think he’s won before pulling the rug out from underneath him. “Is it mine?”

Aziraphale was definitely blushing now, but he stayed on guard. “Yes, it is. You…put that blasted thing in my shirt the other day when I wasn’t looking. When it fell into my book I…well, I didn’t have a bookmark before and then I did. It’s really as simple as that.” He smiled at Crowley all clever, taking a sip from his wine.

Crowley gave Aziraphale a puzzled look. “You think I put that in there?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Well obviously. You’ve been messing with me for days.”

Crowley smirked. “Have I now?”

Aziraphale glared at him. His eyes were a bit squinted, very suspicious. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything. You’re accusing me of something I have no recollection of. I’m just asking how you think I was messing with you,” said Crowley, thinking ‘that’s right, lure him in.’

Aziraphale hesitated, like treading over thin ice. “…you’ve been teasing me, and you know it. You—you’re doing it now!”

Crowley couldn’t hold back his grin anymore. “I mean, can you blame me?” said Crowley before standing abruptly. He took a swig from the bottle, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and sat it hard against the table. “You messed with a demon angel. You never mess with a demon.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. He set himself back further into his chair, hands holding onto the arms.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Ohh, don't act all innocent now. You were quite the tease a couple weeks ago, as I remember,” Crowley pointed a finger at Aziraphale, who actually started…grinning.

“You’re still worked up over that, aren’t you?” Aziraphale asked, a clever smile taking him.

“No—no, that’s not what I mean-“

“Oh I’m sure. But you can’t really deny that apparently, you’ve been thinking about this quite a lot,” Aziraphale looked as smug as ever.

Crowley was admittedly a little stuck for words at the moment. His mouth formed around rebuttals but they never made it past his throat.

He growled before rushing over and grabbing Aziraphale by the lapels.



“Maybe so—but only because I needed to plan out exactly how I was going to get you back,” Crowley growled, grip tight on Aziraphale’s coat. He liked how nervous the angel suddenly looked. “Like I said, angel. You don’t tease a demon.”

Crowley let go of him, walking back and almost pacing in thought. He waggled a finger in the air, “But I can’t do it now. No, no you’re expecting it now. I’ve gotta get you when you’re totally off your guard,” He plopped himself back down on the couch, pointedly not looking at Aziraphale.

“So…you’re not tickling me now?” Aziraphale raised a brow his way, taking a slow sip.

“No, I’m not.”

Aziraphale shrugged, placing his glass on the table. “I’d let you.”

Crowley paused. He looked at Aziraphale like the angel had grown an extra arm. “You’d let me?”

“Well, yes. I don’t actually hate being tickled. You just keep doing it when I’m in the middle of something, or I’m trying to relax,” he said, which was the last thing Crowley was expecting. “If you just asked I’d be happy to oblige.”

Crowley was near seething. He wasn’t actually mad, just utterly irritated by how nonchalant Aziraphale could be about the whole thing. Crowley was beyond embarrassed when Aziraphale tickled him the other week. How could someone not be embarrassed by it?

Crowley shook his head, “It’s the principle of the thing. You tickled me when I wasn’t ready, I’ve got to do the same back,” Crowley took a much needed swig. “S’how revenge works, angel.”

“Be my guest then. I’m happy to wait,” Aziraphale grinned, so pleased with how quickly things had turned in his favor. Sure, he was still going to get tickled eventually. But now he knows the real context.

Crowley was still so flustered over his little tickle attack the other week, that he had been meticulously planning on how to get Aziraphale back just to regain his dignity. He couldn’t deny how adorable that much effort and thought was.

Crowley grumbled, throwing his head against the back of the couch. “Grrrrbut it’s not as fun now,” he slumped. “Now you know it’s gonna happen. Shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Yes, maybe you shouldn’t have,” Aziraphale said. “Because now, once you do tickle me, I’ll have no choice but to tickle you back immediately after.”

Crowley gaped at him, actually letting out a low chuckle. “Oh really? Well that’s not fair, is it? Supposed to be tit-for-tat, don’t you think?”

“No, no I don’t think so. See, it doesn’t affect me nearly as much as it does you. That’s the fun in it.”

“It does not affect me. S’just not right for a demon to have such a weakness. Makes sense when you’re an angel, s’why you don’t give a shit.”

“I’ll have you know it’s perfectly normal for a demon to be ticklish. I tease you for it because it’s fun, but it’s not like you can help it. It’s your vessel, dear. And it’s a vessel I think you should take much more pride in than you’re giving it right now.”

Crowley just grumbled again, not really having a good response. He knows he can’t help it, but it’s still so…weird. It’s not just because he’s a ticklish demon. It’s that he’s a ticklish demon who actually finds it a little bit fun when his angel is the one tickling him. That’s the part that’s got him all screwy.

But it’s not like he could just say that.

So he stewed for a bit, thankful for Aziraphale allowing him his stew time in peace. The angel sat contentedly, sipping on his wine and basking in the lovely tension their bookshop always seemed to hold.

Crowley stewed and stewed. Pinching his lips together, sipping on the wine, reaching over and filling Aziraphale’s glass when he realized it had gone empty. But he had to say something eventually, because obviously Aziraphale wasn’t going to speak first.

And also because he kind of still wanted this to happen. Just a little.

“Fine.”

Aziraphale looked up. “Fine?”

“Yes, fine, whatever, just get over here and let me get my fffffucking revenge already.”

Aziraphale grinned, already beginning to stand. “I thought you said I couldn’t expect it when you get your revenge?”

“Oh that’s still gonna happen,” He smiled as Aziraphale sat next to him, the demon already crawling into his space.

“You do remember I’m getting you back as soon as you’re done, right?” Aziraphale said with a nervous titter in his voice, backing up towards the arm of the couch.

“Yeah I know. Guess that just means I’ve gotta make this count,” Crowley said as he fully closed in on Aziraphale, cornering him into the couch. He just hovered, for a moment, his hands floating over Aziraphale without touching him.

Aziraphale swallowed. “Well…?”

Crowley grinned. “Well, what?” He wiggled his fingers, and Aziraphale tittered anxiously.

“Are you going to…?”

“Can’t say it now?” Crowley’s eyes were devilish as he smirked. “Is someone getting nervous now that I’ve got him cornered?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, a meek attempt at confidence over the situation. His slight squirming and tight lipped smile gave him away. “No.”

“No?” Crowley asked, before jerking his hand down near Aziraphale’s side, laughing at Aziraphale’s flinch. “I haven’t even touched you!”

“But you’re going to!” Aziraphale practically whined, a ghost of a giggle lacing his voice. “Just get on with it, I’m not sure I can take this.”

Crowley smiled genuinely. “Oh alright. But just because it’s you.”

Finally, after waiting oh so patiently for this moment the past two weeks, Crowley struck. He went straight for Aziraphale’s sides, thankfully unguarded since the angel had taken his vest off hours ago. Aziraphale yipped, trying to hold in his laughs for a brief moment before falling into those angelic cackles Crowley could eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

“AH! Ahaha—Crohowley!” he laughed, sliding down unconsciously and only stretching his body out more for Crowley. “Wahahait!”

“Oh no, I’ve done plenty of waiting recently,” Crowley said, delivering sporadic pokes up and down Aziraphale’s torso, the angel’s cackles shooting up as he did so. “See, s’not so fun when it’s you getting tickled, huh?”

“It’s fuhuhun! Just—“ he was cut off by his own loud laughter as Crowley shot his hands into his armpits. Arms slammed against his sides, twisting and turning every which way because it was just too much. “—tihihickles!”

Crowley chuckled, ecstatic. “Bet it does,” he said, pulling one hand out from its trapped state in Aziraphale’s underarm to reach up and give his ear gentle scratches. Aziraphale squeaked, a hand shooting up to protect the ear. Seeing the opportunity, Crowley shot his hand right back under his arm, and Aziraphale shook his head through his laughter and shock.

“Nohot fahahair!” Aziraphale blushed, unsure of what to do with his hands. He opted to batting them around uselessly.

“You’re playing with a demon, angel, what did you expect?” Crowley said, before taking both hands out to squeeze, pinch, poke, prod and scribble all over Aziraphale’s tummy.

Aziraphale’s laughter was all over the place now. It was like he couldn’t decide whether to give deep, belly laughs or squeals and giggles fit for his angelic persona. The tips of Crowley’s ears grew warm at the sound.

“This is hysterical, by the way,” Crowley laughed, pinching Aziraphale’s hips and watching as he barked a laugh, twisting and gripping onto Crowley’s wrists. “I mean I knew you were ticklish, but this is priceless.”

“You’ve made your point!” Aziraphale giggled out helplessly. “I gehehet it! It’s bahahad! It’s sohoho baahahad—!” He fell into a giggle fit that made it impossible to hold a conversation, wheezing pitifully.

“I could keep going, yknow. Show you actual demonic torture,” Crowley grinned when Aziraphale shook his head, cheeks plump and pink from mirth. “Say you’re sorry and I’ll consider it.”

Aziraphale slapped Crowley’s arm playfully. Crowley poked softly but quickly over Aziraphale’s torso, easing up on the tickling just enough for him to get some words out. Aziraphale panted a bit, giggles lacing every breath.

“Okay okhahay! I’m sohohorry!” Aziraphale giggle, pushing Crowley’s hands away from him. Crowley let his hands be moved for just a moment, before giving one last quick squeeze to Aziraphale’s hips just to make him yip.

Crowley smiled down at his angel, watching him catch his breath and try to will away that blush from his cheeks. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley with a pointed expression, “Wily serpent.”

Crowley laughed, “You asked me to!”

“I did not ask you to. You obviously wanted to do it so I…obliged,” Aziraphale shrugged, the lie plain as day on his face. Crowley couldn’t help but snicker.

“Yes, of course. Obliging the temptation of a demon really is your forte, after all,” Crowley teased, laying his front down on Aziraphale’s, making himself comfy. “Had your fun?”

Aziraphale sighed through a smile, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Crowley’s back. “Well…not quite.”

Crowley’s face puzzled before feeling Aziraphale’s grip tighten around his torso. His snake eyes grew twice their size, “C’mon angel, play fair.”

“This is fair. I told you what I’d do if you tickled me,” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s forehead, not giving him a moment to think about that shit before digging his fingers into the backs of Crowley’s ribs.

“FuhuAHK-!” Crowley jolted, falling into helpless laughter on top of his angel. He squirmed and giggled and held onto Aziraphale’s body even tighter just so he could resist throwing himself off.

“‘Demonic cackle’ my behind,” Aziraphale teased. “You’re far too sweet for that, my dear.”

Crowley blushed, hiding that and his smile in Aziraphale’s neck, not missing the way the angel giggled whenever his nose brushed the skin.

The plan ended up being much more than successful. It was everything Crowley could’ve ever hoped for.

. . .

a/n : hope u enjoyed! consider reblogging if u liked it <3

Limitless Bond (Good Omens)

(Switch!Crowley/Switch!Aziraphale)

Summary : Aziraphale and Crowley have a tickle fight during their cute little movie night.

a/n : i’ve been aziracrow pilled there’s a worm in my brain screaming abt them at all times edit: reading this back i’ve realized i’ve never seen a single james bond film so take it with a grain of salt lmao

Word Count : 2892

hope u enjoy :D

. . .

Let’s do some math for a second.

Crowley and Aziraphale have been on Earth together for 6000 years. They’ve been in each other's lives as hundreds, thousands of human generations around them lived and died. And yet, only in the 4 years after the apocalypse did they dare truly bask in one another’s touch. In 0.00066667% of the time they’ve known each other, Aziraphale and Crowley taught themselves to be truly comfortable in one another’s presence, learning about each other in ways they never thought possible.

Try not to think too hard on the numbers. It’s quite difficult sometimes for humans to grasp an occult being’s concept of time. Time for angels and demons is so wildly different from anything a human could ever experience, and that is exactly what makes Aziraphale and Crowley’s love for each other so special and unique. Their time is limitless, so their love is limitless.

What a human can comprehend, however, is how infuriatingly frustrating their relationship must be considering the fact they refuse to actually talk about it. Non-humans are funny like that.

Why put it into words when they both know it’s there? Intrinsically, they feel it, they know it without a shadow of a doubt, and yet somehow they are both still too scared to talk. If they do, it’ll make it real. Their love could literally break down celestial systems incomprehensible to the human mind. Or it could just result in some nasty paperwork. Either way, both sound horrific, and are things the angel and demon are silently working together to avoid.

Whether they ever choose to talk about it or not, those 4 years were magic on Earth.

During that time, Crowley learned that Aziraphale’s hair might even be softer than his wings. Aziraphale learned scratching Crowley’s back when he’s sleepy makes the demon smile without knowing he’s moving a muscle. A demon taught an angel to love roughhousing, and an angel taught a demon the joys of a good cuddle.

But possibly their new favorite physical affection to take advantage of was one they learned together on a casual, cozy movie night.

Aziraphale grinned as Crowley strolled into the bedroom, “I’ve never seen that shirt before.”

Crowley pulled the shirt down to show it off, giving a little wiggle.“What, you don’t like Bond?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Aziraphale, “But I’ve never actually watched the titular James Bond films, so I can’t really say anything,” he said with a teasing tilt in his voice. He knew he’d get a reaction out of such a ghastly confession.

Crowley gaped, stuttering over incomplete words in shock, “Wha—you, you never—I mean—angel, that’s gotta be illegal. Seriously, if I phoned the FEDs right now they’d probably swarm in here guns-a blazing for your crimes,” Crowley shook his head, throwing himself onto the bed next to Aziraphale. “We’re watching it now, I don’t care. You’re lucky I got you this TV set up last month.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes fondly, but didn’t argue. “You can’t be mad at me if it’s not my cup of tea. You know the kind of films I prefer, and I don’t think these fit the list.”

“No no you’ll love it. Got all that romantic filler your heavenly heart desires,” Crowley said, the TV turning on with a flick of his wrist as he settled comfortably against his angel.

They watched together in an easy silence, Aziraphale trying to really gather everything he could from a movie he knows Crowley loves so dearly. He’s not even sure which Bond movie they’re watching at the moment, but he assumes it’s Crowley’s favorite.

But during an intense shootout scene, Aziraphale does get a little bored. He’s always preferred scenes of great dialogue, heartfelt moments passing between characters. Right now he’s just seeing mediocre special effects and lots of screaming. He gets the appeal, sort of, but it’s just not his thing.

Crowley on the other hand was as tuned in as ever. Aziraphale smiled as he watched his friend’s intense expression, seeing Crowley suppress his excitement over a movie he knows he’s had to have seen dozens of times now.

His gaze wanders back down to Crowley’s torso, “Where did you get that shirt? Really, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it.”

Crowley blinked like snapping out of a trance, trying to look nonchalant as insecurity trickled over him. “Oh, this thing? M’not sure I recall,” he snuggled deeper into Aziraphale’s chest, “It’s my night shirt. Don’t wear it often.”

Aziraphale squinted. “You’re ‘not sure you recall’?”

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, yellow eyes bearing into blue, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Aziraphale looked puzzled, shaking Crowley’s shoulder playfully and smiling at the hiss it produced, “Are you hiding something from me?”

“No, stop pestering me,” Crowley growled, but it was entirely unconvincing with that playful grin on his face. He faced the TV again as if his mind wasn’t completely on the angel holding him tight.

“You’re really not going to tell me?” Aziraphale giggled, “It can’t be that bad, darling, it’s just a t-shirt.”

Crowley groaned, hiding his face in Aziraphale’s chest, “Nooooo nonononono, I’m not talking,” he said, words muffled in Aziraphale’s silk pajamas.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows playfully, rubbing up and down Crowley’s back through the shirt in question. “You know, humans have this fun little game they play to make someone reveal funny secrets. I only wonder if it will actually work on a demon.”

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale with a suspicious glare, “The hell are you talking about?”

Aziraphale said nothing, giving a nonchalant hum. Instead, he moved his hand down Crowley’s back towards his ribs, giving it a quick pinch.

Crowley squawked, arching away but getting caught in Aziraphale’s hold. He snapped a look Aziraphale’s way, “Do not.”

Aziraphale giggled in glee, wanting to clap his hands together but needing to hold Crowley close. “I wasn’t sure it would work!”

“Angel-“ Crowley growled.

“A ticklish demon. How silly~” Aziraphale sang, tickling into Crowley’s ribs without wasting any more time.

Crowley bit off a yelp, twisting in Aziraphale’s grip as if he was trying to get away (he wasn’t, but he’s allowed to play along). But Aziraphale kept pinching and prodding and finally Crowley just couldn’t hold back anymore, letting out a peal of giggles and laughs that had Aziraphale cooing.

“Nonononohohoho!” Crowley shook his head into Aziraphale’s chest, hiding his smile. His arm was a little stuck under Aziraphale’s back, so there wasn’t much else he could do.

“Saying no is what started this, dear,” Aziraphale smiled, bringing his other hand around to tickle into Crowley’s neck, relishing in how high-pitched those giggles became. “Goodness, how ticklish are you?”

“I don’t knohohow! Not tryna fihihind out-!” Crowley squeaked out the last word, finding out his ears are especially sensitive to perfectly manicured fingernails.

Crowley squirmed like a worm on a hook, pushing against Aziraphale without even meaning to, his head shaking back and forth like a protest to his giggles.

Aziraphale gasped, “Is this your first time being tickled, Crowley?”

“Stohohop!” Crowley guffawed, hardly taking in the angel’s words.

“I asked you a question,” he said simply, pinching at Crowley’s belly and watching Crowley’s feet kick the sheets.

“Fuhuhucker!” was all Crowley could get out.

“Oh alright,” Aziraphale reluctantly halted his attack, carding fingers through Crowley’s hair. “I said, was that your first time being tickled?”

Crowley huffed, pouting against Aziraphale’s chest and keeping his gaze on the TV. “You’re not even watching the movie.”

The angel chuckled lightly, giving Crowley’s head a tender kiss. “It’s a lovely movie, darling, but it’s hardly as interesting as this little discovery.”

Crowley grumbled, mumbling a response into the silk pajamas.

“What was that dear?”

Crowley lifted his head with a devious look on his face, “I said you’re a prick,” Crowley dug into Aziraphale’s sides, grinning wickedly at how wide his angel’s eyes became.

“AH! Cr-Crohohowley!” Aziraphale fell gracefully into his giggle fit, expelling his excess energy by gripping onto Crowley’s wrists.

“So I take it you’ve never been tickled either?” said Crowley as he wiggled into the angel’s ribs, biting his own cheek when Aziraphale threw his head back in laughter.

“Yehehes! I mean-! Nohoho, I-! Crohohowley plehehease!” Aziraphale never realized how difficult speaking could be when getting tickled. He truly learned something new every day with his dear demon. His mind was mush and all he could think about was how dreadfully ticklish he apparently was.

“Oh poor angel, thought he could get away with teasing a demon,” Crowley teased, poking sporadically across Aziraphale’s tummy and making the angel’s laughter grow. “Naaaah, now that I know your weakness I’m never lettin’ you live it down.”

Crowley crawled on top of Aziraphale, shoving his thumbs into his underarms. “NO! Nohoho Crohohowley! Bad snahahake!” Aziraphale teased even through his laughter, unabashedly having a great time.

“You having fun down there or somethin’?” Crowley chuckled.

“Yehehes!” Aziraphale squeaked, face turning pink from mirth.

Crowley shook his head fondly, not surprised in the slightest. But he could tell Aziraphale would probably appreciate some air soon, whether he actually needed it or not, and eased up. Not before giving his belly once last poke, of course, just to hear him yip.

Aziraphale giggled through his breath, hands resting on Crowley’s thighs. The demon couldn’t help blushing, but didn’t move.

“I never realized it felt like that,” Aziraphale said, a smile etched between his rosy cheeks. “I knew tickling was used as torture way back when, but my goodness.”

“Human vessels are a funny thing,” Crowley said, unsure of where to put his hands now that they weren’t being used as weapons. As if Aziraphale could tell, the angel gently took them in his own, laying their hands down on Crowley’s thighs.

They sat staring into each other's eyes for a while. It was such a comforting silence, one Crowley felt warm in. Why did Aziraphale always have to open his damn mouth-

“You’re quite ticklish on those ribs of yours,” Aziraphale shot a cheeky grin, eyebrows up like he’s being clever. Crowley groaned, looking up to the ceiling.

“Don’t remind me.”

“You never did tell me where you got that shirt from…?” Aziraphale said, slowly loosening his grip on Crowley’s hands before the demon squeezed back-

“I’ll end you.”

“I’m sure.”

“I’m serious, angel. Death, discorporation, sooo much paperwork-“

“Was the shirt a former lover’s? Are you embarrassed, Crowley?” Aziraphale teased as he starting fighting Crowley’s grip, their hands now playing for dominance.

Crowley grunted, not shocked that Aziraphale was winning their little fight, “Grk, no! It’s…just…a secRET-!” He was cut off by a squeak as one perfectly manicured hand tore from his grasp and gripped onto his ribs, squeezing and pinching and tickling. Crowley collapsed forward in his squirmy laughter, hand still holding tight to one of Aziraphale’s.

“Oooh a secret, you say? Do tell me more,” Aziraphale finally fought his other hand free, now tickling up and down Crowley’s torso as the demon wiggled and laughed freely on top of him. His head was pressed firmly to Aziraphale’s chest, and my that just wouldn’t do anymore, now would it?

“You keep hiding your smile from me! It’s rather unfair, my face was on full display when you tickled me,” Aziraphale said before pushing Crowley to the other side of the mattress, tickling him the whole way down. He hovered over Crowley with a big grin.

“Ahahangel! This is stupihihid!” Crowley cackled, head turning this way and that like trying to hide his face in the sheets surrounding him.

“Was it stupid when you tickled me?” Aziraphale accused, pinching Crowley’s hips and smiling when he bucked and kicked.

“GAHAHAhaha-!” Crowley guffawed, finding words very hard at the moment. “Nohoho-! Was— fuhuhunny!”

“Oh Lord, now you’re just asking for it,” Aziraphale shot his hands up into Crowley’s armpits. It tickled like hell (Heaven? no, definitely hell) on himself, so maybe it’ll be the same for Crowley.

Crowley. Screamed.

Maybe scream is the wrong word. The sound that left Crowley was like a screech, a hurtle of pure loud noise that fell into cackles, squeals, and Aziraphale’s favorite, the snort. Oh what a sound it was. The angel would never forget it (and unfortunately, neither would the demon).

“Oh wow…” Aziraphale giggled at Crowley’s expense.

“Ahahangel-! I—shihihit-! I’ll tahahalk!” Crowley managed to get the words out through his laughter, a feat he wished he could be proud of. Aziraphale conceded even though he honestly really didn’t want to. Crowley looked so cute when he laughed, it was hard to quit.

Aziraphale drew his hands away, and Crowley took a moment to catch his breath. When the moment faded, he threw a pillow over his face and screamed into it quite dramatically. Aziraphale pulled it off and held it gently in his lap.

“You were telling me about the shirt?” Aziraphale said, scribbling a finger onto Crowley’s clothed tummy. Crowley batted it away with a hiss.

“Do you even actually care about the shirt or did you just want an excuse to torture me?” Crowley tried yanking the pillow back but found it held in an iron grip. He settled for crossing his arms instead.

Aziraphale took his hand. “If you really don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. I just thought a game would be fun,” Aziraphale handed him the pillow.

Crowley took it, raising an eyebrow, “So you were bored of the movie?”

Aziraphale winced. “…Meh?”

Crowley’s face pinched in frustration, “But it’s James ffffucking Bond! No one in the history of EVER has been bored by a James Bond movie, angel, you are literally setting records here!”

“I just prefer the softer films! You know, your…Pride And Prejudice types.”

“That’s one of your favorite books, that hardly counts.”

“It’s still a good film!”

“Okay okay, point stands though, that you only did all that to get out of watching my movie. You don’t actually care about the origins of my shirt at all, do you?” Even though his arms were already crossed, he made a little harumph motion with them, hand still holding Aziraphale’s gently. He turned his head away from Aziraphale, feigning anger. Crowley did love a petty argument every now and then.

“Oh come ooooonn,” Aziraphale shook Crowley by the shoulder with his free hand. Crowley said nothing. “Don’t be like this, you know how much I hate the silent treatment.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a pointed look that said ‘duh, why else do you think i’m pulling the silent treatment?’ before turning back around.

Aziraphale sighed playfully, “Whatever am I going to do without you to talk to…” He couldn’t hold back a cheeky grin as he pinched Crowley’s side, the demon flinching but still saying nothing. “Who will I complain to when my favorite books get turned into terrible films?”A few pokes to the belly, and Crowley’s knees shot up. “Who will teach me about the different plant life in London?” Three pinches to the ribs and he heard a stifled giggle as Crowley’s back arched away from his fingers.

Aziraphale let the moment hang in the air. He wanted Crowley to feel anticipation crawling up his spine. Aziraphale saw him squirm slightly into the sheets.

He quickly pinched up and down Crowley’s side, from his hip to his rib, the demon flinching hard with a keening giggle. He rolled over quickly, ticklish laughter spilling from him as he slapped at Aziraphale’s hands, feet digging into the mattress. “Okay okahahay! I gihive, you dihihick!”

Aziraphale pulled away for the final time, meaning it this time (well maybe, who knows with how playful they’ve both felt this evening). He laid on his back next to a sprawled out Crowley, putting his hand in his…friend’s.

They basked in each other’s presence for a little while, rubbing their thumbs over the skin of their hands, playing with each other’s fingers, once Crowley dared to tickle Aziraphale’s palm. But then the credits started to roll on the film and Crowley felt the need to confess.

“It was a convention.”

“Hm?”

Crowley laid his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder,“It was a, er…ngk,” he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, letting go of weird insecurities. “…a James Bond convention. They held one in London when those newer films came out. I’m a pretty big fan, you know that, so I popped by, made myself…known.” His confession was awkward but very real, and Aziraphale could tell that even as silly as it was, it did take something for Crowley to admit that. “Got a t-shirt while I was there, thought hell, why not, I’m here, the shirts here, probably made to be. So yeah. My new nightshirt.”

Aziraphale smiled so wholeheartedly at Crowley the demon was half-worried he’d pop something. “That’s so sweet, Crowley. I always knew you loved James Bond, but worthy enough to have the Anthony J. Crowley show up to his convention-?”

“Ohhhh bite me a new one, angel,” Crowley shook their intertwined fingers, getting even comfier against him. Aziraphale did the same, leaning into Crowley and wrapping an arm around his waist.

They didn’t talk about this when they woke from their nap. They didn’t need to. At least, they thought they didn’t need to. Their time has always been limitless. They thought their love always would be too.

. . .

a/n : ok im going to sleep goobyeee

they’re having fun together :))

"fort" night at mike's.

fandom: five nights at freddy's (movie)

w/c: 843

summary: mike and vanessa are sleep deprived. they want to help each other.

a/n: i thought the movie was really cute! it wasn't something to take completely seriously. also, i am conforming with the masses because josh hutcherson is 😻.

~~~~~~~

This was their best work yet, not including the one they made with the help of creepy possessed robots. The fort in the living room was the largest it’s ever been, stretching spaciously from the couch to the television. The TV was tucked inside the fort by blankets to ensure they had entertainment alongside maximum coziness.

Mike, Vanessa, and Abby laid in the fort, heads pointing toward each other in a triangular shape. It was reaching the witching hour. Abby had fallen asleep twenty minutes after the construction of the fort. She had done most of the work, after all. It tuckered her out. Mike and Vanessa, on the other hand, found sleep a difficult thing to achieve recently. Not that it had never been easy to do anyway.

Mike stared enviously at the blanket-ceiling, listening to the peaceful sounds his sister made in her sleep. They should've gotten pillows before they laid down to prevent snoring. It would’ve made falling asleep easier, too.

“Vanessa,” he whispered.

“Yeah, Mike?”

“Not asleep?”

“Not yet.”

He knew there was no way she could sleep decently for a long time. The first night out of the hospital, he had offered to let her stay in their home. That night he found her sat cross-legged on the couch, wide eyed and tired. She confessed to him the last thing she saw before falling into her coma was the murderous rage in her father’s eyes. The same eyes at least five other children saw in their own last moments. The same eyes she saw in her nightmares every second she spent in the coma.

“Give me your arm.” He said. She stuck her arm out toward Mike, who reached up and began to stroke gently with his nails. It was somewhat awkward, but he tried his best not to halter.

“Used to do this for Abby when, um…”

“When your mom died?” She asked, bluntly.

“Yeah. It took her hours to fall asleep the first few days. She wouldn’t let me stop the entire night. Eventually it took less and less time to get her down. Quickest was two minutes.”

She smiled. He was offering to stay up all night to help her sleep. She allowed herself to enjoy the feeling, letting it soothe and distract her mind.

“I should be doing this for you. You're the bigger insomniac.” she said.

“Doesn't have the same effect on me. It’s the opposite of relaxing, actually.”

“Don’t like to be touched in your sleep?” she asked, carefully trying to learn his boundaries. Trying to learn everything about him.

“No, nothing like that. It just tickles.” He confessed. Vanessa giggled.

“When's the last time you've tried?”

“Aw, geez. I dunno, seven? I remember it was my mom. I got jealous seeing her do it to the baby to get him to fall asleep.”

“And you don’t think you've grown out of the ticklishness by now?” She stopped his stroking by grasping his wrist firmly. He tugged without much real effort.

“Ahh, don't think it's a good idea to find out. For you to find out.”

They played a friendly tug-of-war with each other’s wrists, stopping only when Abby shifted around in her sleep, disturbed by the motion.

“Just let me try. You never know. It might help you sleep now that you're older.” Vanessa insisted. Mike sighed, relaxing his body. He gave her his arm.

She rolled over onto her stomach, laying on her elbows to get a better look at both his arm and face. He closed his eyes, face schooled neutrally.

With one finger, she stroked up and down his wrist and forearm.

His eyes creased tighter, lips wobbling to fight against a small smile. He pursed them out like a duck to keep it from twitching.

“Really? Just this?” She teased. She pulled away for a second, before waggling her three middle fingers over the inside of his bicep.

He tittered, immediately pulling his arm in and shrugging up.

Mike opened his eyes to see Vanessa staring at him in such a way it made him blush. He looked at the blanket-ceiling with a frown.

“You didn’t grow out of it.” She deduced.

“Right, thank you.”

“It’s alright, you can stick to your whale sounds.”

“Will do.”

“No more pills, though.”

“Yeah.”

Without any warning Abby huffed up, startling Mike and Vanessa. She sat straight, her eyebrows angry. She crawled out of the fort.

“Where are you going?” Mike called out to her.

“My room! Flirt without me next time.” She sassed with a hint of disgust laced in her voice. She stomped to her room and shut the door with displeasure.

Mike, floored once again, stared speechlessly up at a stitch in the fabric.

Vanessa shrugged it off. She laid back down on her back, shifting around comfortably before sticking her arm back toward Mike. He shyly obliged, continuing the earlier ministrations.

“It felt nice, actually." he said. "It tickled, but I probably would have fallen asleep eventually.”

“Oh, good. Let’s try it tomorrow. Tonight’s my turn.” she said languidly. Mike smiled, happy she was receptive to his help without protesting.

“Okay.”

A soft Crowley with a Duck

I just want you to know who I am

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Characters: Spencer Reid, The BAU

Anonymous said: Spencer cracks the identity of a “serial tickler” and has to come to terms with his own hidden love of tickling.

A/N: This was fun! It was fun writing about a case like this again but from Spencer’s POV this time. I hope you like it!

Warnings: An UnSub who breaks into people’s homes and ties them up to non-consensually tickle them, but this one’s super ungraphic and mostly just fluff tbh.

Words: 7.4k

(Read it on ao3)

Spencer was squinting at the board, which was poorly illuminated now due to the descending sun. He probably should have turned on a light, but he’d been standing there for the past twenty minutes and refused to move. If he moved he might lose it, the little hint of something at the back of his mind. The board contained pictures of bodies, only this time they were all alive, tied up but alive. That was unusual, to have every single victim to interview. They weren’t even really hurt, only a little traumatized, but they all knew that talking to traumatized victims was almost harder than talking to mere witnesses who’d simply seen something out of the ordinary. Hell, even talking to family members was easier than to scratch open wounds that had barely had time to start healing.

He rubbed at his temple and sighed. This was hopeless.

“I can’t seem to find a connection between them at all,” he said when Gideon entered. “They’re all of different ages. Different socioeconomic backgrounds. Different skin colors, different body types, different types of people entirely. The only thing they seem to have in common is the fact that they live here in Quantico.”

“Take a break,” Gideon told him. “Let’s recoup in fifteen, okay?”

Spencer deflated. “Fine.”

“That’s not a punishment, Reid,” he replied with a laugh. “Have some coffee. Hotch and Morgan will be back soon.”

“Okay.”

Gideon tilted his head. “After you.”

“You’re no fun, you know that?”

Keep reading

I believe the demon Crowley invented it

Which he does, on occasion, do on purpose.

Crowley makes up something special for a certain angel someone. So season two is a thing. I made a thing about Crowley making a thing because I needed more things. I hope you like the thing! :) No spoilers for new season, no worries

SFW. Potential warnings: none. Good Omens/Ineffable Husbands tickle fic.

Word count: 6,003

~*~

It took Crowley a while to want to fly again. To be expected, really; falling, cast from the heavens and plummeting to the depths amid a cacophony of agonized screaming and terrified wailing of the damned all plunging downward into jagged rock and sizzling sulfur–it wasn’t an experience he was eager to repeat. He kept to the ground for a while. Crawling, slithering, was much calmer. But one day, he caught a breeze. Sitting on a crag, sunning himself, the downy feathers of his large dark wings felt a cool gust and began to fluff up. He stretched out the limbs, welcoming the wind, and his long gossamer flight wings began to shiver as well. The wind whistled through him, beckoning him to stretch further, to go faster, to fall. And, with a deep breath and golden eyes wide, he fell. Tucked his wings tight against his back, feeling the wind batter him, rocketing down the mountainside–and then threw them open wide, like floodgates accepting rain, like garden gates accepting fire. He caught the wind, the wind caught him, and he was no longer falling but flying. The wind, the sky, embraced him, surrounded him, whipping through his long crimson hair and tousling it a thousand directions, pinning a hysterical smile to his cheeks, drying tears before they could fall from his eyes. Flapping, swooping, diving, soaring, Crowley shrieked in whooping laughter, utterly free. He wasn’t doomed to the depths; he was up, left, right, down, and everywhere. The sky was his to ride, the earth his to explore. He was alone, and he was free. 

He did a lot of flying after that. Still walked often, sure; humans and their antics were much easier to see from the ground. But his heart pounded loudest and brightest up in the atmosphere.

Speaking of heart pounding.

One day, as Crowley flew, he spotted a large white shape in a tree below him. He couldn’t say offhand where he was–it wasn’t like he often flew with a destination; as much of the world as there was, humans hadn’t filled it with all the fun stuff they would one day–but he could see plenty of empty open desert to catch him when he landed. So, he angled his flight downward, and, just for fun, somersaulted into the dry scrubland, loving the feeling of sand freckling his grinning cheeks and grass adorning his mussed hair. A hop, skip, and a jump, and he’d crossed the distance to the curious tree and was perched on a branch beside its familiar inhabitant.

“Hey, angel.”

“Hello, Crawly,” said Aziraphale. Prim and polite as ever, albeit looking painfully bored. The angel’s eyes were wandering the fuzzy desert horizon, hands folded in the lap of his obscenely white robes which billowed gently around his crossed ankles, which swayed subconsciously back and forth. His wings were folded at his back, appearing tight and stiff from disuse. Crowley counted back in his head how long it had been since their paths had crossed and wondered how much of that time Aziraphale had been made to spend as a tree ornament.

“Crowley,” the demon corrected, feeling antsy just watching Aziraphale sit so still and so standing up on his branch, which creaked protestingly against the first real new movement in a while, and reaching up to ruffle the foliage with his fingers.

“Right,” Aziraphale said, furrowing his brow and shaking his head with an embarrassed smile. “Crowley. I wasn’t expecting to see you. What brings you here?”

Crowley’s fingers found purchase on a higher branch, and he gripped it tight, using it to swing himself up and around and hang upside down from the taller vantage point by his knees. His long curls hung down like a red willow, but his own black robes hugged dutifully to his corporal form. (Even if he didn’t have the human habit of shame, he wasn’t keen to let gravity have his clothes; the wind could get cold even in the desert). The blood rushing to his head made Aziraphale’s question not quite register right away, and Crowley blinked. What had brought him? He stretched out his onyx wings and flexed them demonstratively.

“Ah,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I mean, what are you doing?”

The demon stuck out his lower lip thoughtfully and narrowed his eyes. “Nothing?”

The angel tipped his head, brow furrowed. “What do you mean, nothing?”

“Just that, I guess. Flying quite a bit, having fun. Not like demons really have anything we’re meant to be doing, so.” Crowley curled forward, reaching up to his hanging branch and pulling himself upright before laying down on his stomach, resting his head on his arms to look down at the angel. “Yeah, whatever I want. Nothing.”

Aziraphale sputtered, and Crowley chuckled.

“’We have no time to waste, the Almighty has much work for us to do,’” said the demon in so impressive an impression of the head archangel that Aziraphale held a hand to his lips when a titter startled him by escaping. Crowley grinned. “Even if I’m not on God’s payroll anymore, time’s hardly wasted for us, is it? We’re not mortal; we don’t have a limited amount of time to get done all the things we should.” Crowley closed his eyes with a deep sigh. “So I’m doing none of them. Too much earth to enjoy to get busy with work.”

When Crowley slowly opened one eye, he saw Aziraphale turning his ring over on his little finger, white wings twitching and puffing out, subconsciously agitated.

"Could show you, if you want. Come fly with me, I'll take you on a tour."

"What!" In an instant, Aziraphale's wings went from anxiously fidgeting to defensively spread, puffed up and rigid and making him look much bigger and more threatening. Or, it would have, if he hadn't whipped his head around to look at Crowley with the biggest eyes and flapping mouth and reddening cheeks. He looked positively scandalized.

Crowley couldn't help it--he laughed, a hissing snickering sound that he buried in his arms. He noted Aziraphale's flush looked even darker when he lifted his head, but the thought didn't even occur that it could have been from something other than the words from his mouth.

"I- I- I-! I couldn't possibly--!!"

Couldn't possibly, Crowley sighed, hiding the way his smile began to fade by pressing his cheek into his forearm. Couldn't possibly be seen flittering about with a demon!

Aziraphale settled himself, clearing his throat and smoothing his ruffled feathers. "Couldn't possibly. Far too busy."

"With what?" Crowley scoffed, smiling again when Aziraphale's blush rebloomed. "Looked to me like you were doing as much nothing as I was." He pushed himself up, looking through the verdure to an empty desert. "Unless I'm mistaken, not much of a garden here for you to guard."

"Precisely, there isn't," said Aziraphale, visibly brightening, more confident, when Crowley furrowed his brow and opened his mouth in confusion. "Humans are free to roam about wherever they like now," Aziraphale explained, "even if they're harder to keep track of. And angels are tasked to give them inspiration and blessings."

"Yeah, but," Crowley said, reluctant to disagree when the angel had given so content and cute a wiggle in his seat, "doesn't look like there's many humans around for inspiring or blessing."

"No," Aziraphale relented, casting his gaze downward and fidgeting with his fingers. "Actually, there aren't many yet at all, certainly not enough for all us angels to keep busy, so I- I'm waiting for them to do their whole--" he scrunched up his nose and flapped his hands in front of him, “’go forth and multiply’ing… thing…”

“Uh-huh.” Crowley leaned to once side and then the other before tipping off his branch, catching himself one the perch with one elbow and swinging one leg up to hang from his knee. “And, while you’re waiting for that,” he said, tipping his head back to look at Aziraphale, “you could come fly with me to–”

“I most certainly could not.”

“You should,” Crowley countered. “If for nothing else, because you’ll get stiff just sitting there.”

Aziraphale gave his head a quick and resolute shake. “But I won’t.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “You won’t get stiff?”

“No,” Aziraphale huffed with an exasperated smile, “I won’t go flittering about. Angels aren’t meant to…” He trailed off, brow furrowed as he sought for words. Instead, he gave a shaky wave with his hands, as though that gesture wasn’t equally vague.

“Fly?” Crowley guessed.

Aziraphale gave another huff, part impatient and part amused. “Obviously. We, no, um… There’s a certain level of professionalism to…” He’d run out of words again. Crowley wondered if the Lord’s precious humans would be so kind as to one day make up a way for someone to communicate with their hands for beings like poor Aziraphale. (Probably would, clever things.) As it was, the angel said no more, but his inability to articulate in concert with his anxious hands and wide eyes spoke bounds.

Professionalism, hm? Ah. Crowley guessed again, words slow and eyebrows rising. “You’re not meant to have fun?”

At that, Aziraphale nodded, the tension in his shoulders and wings dropping, and a relieved smile gracing his cheeks. An answer, even one delivered so astonishedly as Crowley’s had been, evidently was enough to settle him. “Yes. Far too busy.”

“Let me get this straight.” Crowley unbent the two limbs suspending him from his branch, languidly loosing them so he could drop down sit beside Aziraphale on his lower branch. “Lord of all light and goodness,” he wiggled his fingers upward, “made all this world for you to serve and forbade you to enjoy any of it?”

“Not forbade, but serving does come first” Aziraphale replied, seeming only have just realized Crowley was now beside him. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands in his lap. Crowley cocked his head curiously; no more hand-flapping or chin-wagging, then. The angel had let himself out of his box enough for one day.

“Well,” said Crowley, clapping his palms to his thighs and pushing off until he tipped backwards and into freefall. His wings caught him with practiced ease just beneath the tree’s canopy, but he definitely delighted in the angel’s startled jolting and almost reaching to try and catch him. “Have fun sitting in your nest.” He gave the angel a salute, then touched a finger to his head. “Or don’t have fun, I guess, whichever. I’ll be up there.” Crowley pointed upward, then snorted. “I mean, ‘up there’ like the sky, not ‘up there’ like– you know what I mean.”

The last he saw of Aziraphale before flying off was cherub cheeks glowing an embarrassed pink and hands all but anchored to his robed lap. Crowley’s wings beat fast and hard, arms thrown wide, and soon he was back amongst the cloud. Which way he’d been intending to go, he had no idea, so he hailed the first wind gale and let himself float along it. His thoughts, which usually wandered just as aimlessly as the winds, were stubbornly pointed downward and behind him.

Oh, an angel didn’t want to have fun, what a shocker. Let him sit in his tree, bored, all he wanted. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Crowley’s wind carried him to an ocean that would one day be called the Red Sea, passing him off to an air distinctly cooler and tasting of salt. Beneath him, the blue vastness stretched on toward the horizon, in no time at all swallowing up the desert he’d come from until he was flying over only sea. Ocean above, ocean below, even from so high up, he could see no end to either. Beautiful. Peaceful. Lonely.

The sighed Crowley exhaled was ocean-deep. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Banking hard, Crowley dove under and out of his wind current, flying lower and closer to the sea as he trekked back toward land. A spray-laden breeze spurred him on, carrying him like a leaf riding the rolling waves.

He couldn’t just pull the angel from his tree. Well. He could, of course, literally. But he couldn’t pull him from where he’d metaphorically rooted himself. Maybe there was a figurative middle ground at which to meet him.

Literal ground came into view, and Crowley slowed until he’d lighted on a beach. He stood there a moment, hands on his hips and lips pursed and wings stretching, thinking. Stewing. Any other angel, Crowley probably wouldn’t have been so stuck on. But Aziraphale wasn’t any other angel. He had a little devil in him, or he wouldn’t have talked with a devil in the first place. An angel’s stuffiness didn’t suit him; even if he was prim, it wasn’t like he’d had much chance to be anything else. To try anything else. He wanted to have fun; Crowley knew he did. Crowley watched the waves tumble onto the sands with thunderous yawns, listened to the gulls’ distant disgruntled cries as they squabbled over dinner. The ocean was just as vast from below. If only he could have Aziraphale standing next to him, get him to see all there was to see.

Something scuttled over his foot, and he brought his gaze down. A small crab, no bigger than his thumb, had elected that the risk of invading a demon’s personal space was worth the few seconds it’d safe on its journey. Crowley stepped back–obligingly, not because the creature had startled him; he was far scarier than a crab, thank you–and crouched down to watch the crab scurry on. The sand beneath them both was warm and deep, too, shifting beneath Crowley’s feet in miniscule landslides of grains too many to count. Crowley snickered; some poor angel had to have been saddled with the task to count sand and pour it out on the earth, he was sure. There were shells atop the sandy scape, too, and stones already being smoothed down from the waves’ crashing. Crowley picked up one of each, a pretty little brown spiral and a slate rock hewn quite flat. After a second of consideration, he reeled back his arm and tossed the stone out across the ocean, grinning when it jumped four times across the surface before sinking into the water. Like it was skipping. Snickering proudly, he scooped up another such stone and tucked it safely alongside the shell into one of the many folds of his robe. (Like gravity, the robe was willing to ignore space and mass to allow Crowley to carry more things. Very considerate.) He walked a few paces further, gathering up a small piece of driftwood, another rock with an interesting texture, and, deciding the risk of getting pinched was worth it, the crab. Then, back into the air, he went.

Time was still funny. After the big seven days at the beginning had been counted, the calendar had gotten a little messy. Humans would probably benefit from it, get a few more weeks or years or centuries in change from days not counted for the sun having forgotten to have been set. Maybe some angel would be appointed to sort that out eventually and keep time organized. As it was, Crowley didn’t know how long he’d been gone from Aziraphale’s tree. A few hours? A few days? It was easy to get lost up in the air and up in one’s thoughts. What he did know was that it had been long enough for Aziraphale to fall asleep.

Angels didn’t need to sleep. It had been a design feature. Too much to do. But, as Crowley clambered into the tree once more, he saw a blonde head tipped back, eyes closed and jaw relaxed.

“Hey, angel!” Crowley crowed and jabbed a finger into Aziraphale’s side, already grinning.

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open, and he jolted forward with a yelp, floundering with his wings to get his balance back while one hand gripped his branch and the other was pressed affrontedly to his heaving chest. When was no longer in danger of falling, Aziraphale’s focus shifted squarely to Crowley, all dagger-glares and flushed cheeks. Crowley couldn’t help laughing, which, he realized, was all too easy to do around Aziraphale. “Crowley! That was–! You startled me!”

With a shrug and lingering snickers, Crowley moved to Aziraphale’s perch, sitting down beside him. “Just helping you out, angel. You were working so hard before; would hate to see your higher-ups find you dozing.”

Whatever retort or further scolding Aziraphale had intended to give fizzled away in his flapping mouth. He pressed his lips tight together and turned his pink face away slightly, and Crowley wondered if he was trying to keep himself from coming up with an excuse or, God forbid, breathing a lie.

With a chuckle, Crowley reached into his robes, elbowing Aziraphale’s side as he did. “I’m just teasing. I wouldn’t want to see your higher-ups at all.” At that, the line of Aziraphale’s lip wobbled, the muscle of his cheek twitching like it ached to pull upward. Crowley’s grin was unabashed. “Anyway, hopefully this will make up for it.”

Aziraphale jumped when he found himself with hands full of small silly objects. “What’s this?” he asked, juggling them for a moment before laying the treasures in his lap. The offended crab stayed determinedly pinched to the hem of his sleeve, but the other trinkets spread out nicely upon the fabric his white robe in a flattering little display.

“Figured,” explained Crowley, holding a hand out to catch the crab when it eventually tired, “since angels are allergic to having fun and going to new places, it’d be a shame for you to not even see things from those places.” Moreso, it was its own temptation, but nothing Crowley had been instructed to do. He hoped that, if Aziraphale saw pretty little things from somewhere else, maybe he’d want to go there more than he’d want to do his nothing job. Maybe want to do nothing together. Maybe.

“Oh.” The angel’s gaze hadn’t left the little exhibit. His eyes wandered between the objects, and, slowly, he let his hand–the one not currently being clambered up by a crustacean–trail over them, tentative and featherlight. Gentle. Reverent. Crowley tore his own gaze from Aziraphale’s hands back to his face. The flustered blush had faded, and his eyes were as bright as Crowley had ever seen them, positively shining. “Thank you. I suppose.”

The verbal response was so detached from the visual one that Crowley snorted. Right, so, angels didn’t know how to receive gifts (albeit, admittedly, they were as new to the concept as any other earthling). Maybe that was enough of an excuse to give him more gifts.

"No one's ever given me-- ow." Aziraphale looked up from his treasures to the crab that had scaled his sleeve and delivered a disgruntled pinch to his arm. He smiled, regarding the little creature with eyes still bright. "No one's ever given me a crab. Excuse me, my fine little fellow?"

"Well, I wasn't planning repeats anyway, but definitely no crabs next time." Crowley jabbed at the crab with his finger. "Oi."

The crab promptly let go of Aziraphale to brandish both pincers at Crowley.

"Ow," he said when the crab latched onto his nail. "Fine, read you loud and clear, I'll give you a lift home." He tucked the little devil into his pockets and looked back to Aziraphale, who'd gone red again. "Don't look so terrified, angel. He's safe in there, you're safe out here."

Aziraphale's response was quiet. "Next time?"

"'Next--'?" Crowley's eyebrows furrowed, then rose to his hairline. 'Next time' that he brought the angel a gift. Well, he hadn't meant to speak that implication into the universe. Whoops. "Ahm, s-- so. You want to come with me to escort the little thing home?"

"I can't," Aziraphale sighed, but he was cradling the smooth stone and tracing it with his fingertips.

"Busy, right." Crowley scooted forward and off the branch, into the air. "Well, sleep tight."

Maybe not the best time to tease when the angel had a stone in his hand, but Crowley could get used to seeing Aziraphale blush before flying off.

He was still seeing red, and is was just as adorable, while he lay on his belly on the warm beach sand, fending off the little crab from pinching his nose with one hand.

"You were no help back there," Crowley told his tiny bloodthirsty foe, parrying away a jab with his index finger. Only after delivering a few nasty blows to Crowley’s knuckles and fingertips was the vengeful crab, at last, satisfied, scuttling off into the surf. Crowley mussed his hair with both hands before letting his head loll forward, resting his forehead on the sand and mindlessly scratching lines into the sand with his fingers.

Not a total failure of a plan, but not a complete success, either, with or without the aid of Captain Stabby. He hadn’t gotten the angel out of his nest, but at least he now had something to keep from being bored to sleep. Crowley wasn’t usually averse to giving up, but he could be pretty stubborn. And maybe he had a pretty big crush. But that wasn’t the point! Aziraphale was perhaps the only angel to speak to, let alone be kind to Crowley after his fall. He was too sweet a soul to deserve being benched from all of Earth’s joys for a few centuries just because he didn’t technically have work to do. Crowley couldn’t let him be stuck like that.

Resolved, Crowley lifted his head and determined to come up with another plan. Watching the waves crash and turn over, so he shuffled through the thoughts and ideas in his mind. Giving Aziraphale things hadn’t swayed him enough to move from his perch, even if those things had obviously delighted him. (More than obviously, but Crowley didn’t yet know how Aziraphale had carefully tucked all of the little beach treasures safely into his own pockets.) Perhaps, instead of showing the angel how much fun could be had somewhere else by collecting things from that somewhere, Crowley could make him feel that right where he was. Hard to replicate the feeling of being on a warm beach, soaking in the sun and listening to the sea, while in reality sitting in a gnarled old tree. A different feeling, perhaps. A different place. Crowley’s most favorite place was the sky; as an angel, Aziraphale would be well acquainted with how good flying could be. But how to make him feel that way from the ground? It wasn’t like he could collect bits of cloud and wind.

Crowley looked up at the clouds, following the bright white hilltops and grey flat plains with his eyes. No angel designed them or upkept them; the wind pulled and pushed and shaped them, taking them and making them to its whim. Like it took Crowley. From in their midst, clouds looked mostly like great pale curtains. From below, Crowley could almost see fluffy sheep and snowy mountaintops in their formless shapes. Chaos, random chance, channeled to make something substantial. Collecting hadn’t work to replicate feelings; why wouldn’t making something?

Demons loved making stuff. Creativity had been made to be a human trait, but demons, by principal, had the bad habit of doing things they weren’t supposed to. It was fun in so many ways. To come up with and then make something overcomplicated, accidentally brilliant, or absolute bullshit nonsense–and then to see what humans did with it. It was invigorating, cathartic, and hilarious.

What, what, what could Crowley make for his angel? It actually wasn’t too hard yet, to think up something unique, occupying such an early chapter of history. Still, he wanted it to be special. Moving. Figuratively and literally. What did he feel when flying, and how could he make that happen down here? How to ruffle an angel’s feathers without wind?

Crowley looked at the squiggling furrows his fingers had left in the sand. They had been made without intention, for the satisfying scraping sounds and gritty shifting texture as he thought. But, now, they gave him an idea. Hands could ruffle feathers, sure. He looked over his shoulder and reached back to give his own feathers an experimental ruffle. Yup, that could work. Like the waves crashing over one another, Crowley’s thoughts started to race, spurred as he looked backward. Hands ruffling feathers, fingers buried in sand, feet bare in soft grass. He thought of one human he’d seen poke another in the side and how the second had recoiled with a smile before they’d both gone back to fishing. He thought of how it felt when an itchy leave wriggled its way down his robe. He thought of how it felt when an angry little crab scittered across his skin. He thought of an angel’s beaming smile and bright eyes. He had many thoughts, but he had one idea. One idea for something absolutely nonsensical and extremely silly, and, when he eventually workshopped a name for it, he’d call it tickling.

But, one unnamed idea in hand, Crowley flew up from his sandy sunning spot and back in the direction of a now very familiar tree.

“I saw you coming this time,” Aziraphale declared when Crowley all but crashed into the tree with how fast he’d been flying.

Crowley scoffed, picking twigs from his crimson hair. “I would hope so, between how many eyes you have and how much noise I was made landing.”

Aziraphale set his eyes heavenward, as close as he seemed to get to rolling them.

“Why?” Crowley said as he sat down next to the angel. “Were you watching for me?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d come again,” Aziraphale admitted, cheeks going rosy and fingers worrying a small brown shell.

For a moment, Crowley’s heart beat loud and eager in his ears. He kept it. No time to be swept up in that thought, though; he was far too busy with the task at hand. Crowley cleared his throat and shrugged, moving to sit close enough to Aziraphale that their knees touched. “Had to. I had another gift for you.”

“Oh?” The angel’s eyes lit up excitedly, even as he tried to look professional. “From where this time?”

“From me. I made it up. For you.” Crowley stuck out his tongue and cursed his own ears for burning. “Ngk– I’ll show you.”

Before the angel could offer any turnabout teasing for Crowley being the one flushed and at a loss for words (because, Crowley just knew, there was enough devil in Aziraphale to absolutely turn the tables given the opportunity), Crowley thrust his hands beneath Aziraphale’s folded wings, wiggling his fingers to muss the feathers and scribble at the muscle beneath.

“Ah–!” Aziraphale yelped, his wings swinging out wide to escape the surely strange feeling. Crowley only targeted the space closer to Aziraphale’s shoulders instead. “What are you–?” Aziraphale tried to ask through laughter that seemed to be building and bubbling quite irresistibly from his chest, “What are you doing?”

“I’m tickling you,” Crowley explained, crawling his wiggling fingers from Aziraphale’s wings, down his shoulder blades and under his arms. “Not sure about the name yet, but I figured vessel nerves usual react for preservation. Why not make them react to something fun?”

Perhaps for preservation against this new attack, Aziraphale tried to lean back and away from Crowley, flapping his wings and batting at his hands. The tickling under his arms, though, had him curling up and laughing enough to mostly rob him of words once again. “This isn’t–!”

“This isn’t fun?” Crowley guessed, puffing out his lower lip. “Now, is that because it’s actually not fun, or because you, as an angel, could not possibly be having fun?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale squealed, and Crowley grinned, downright devilish.

“I mean, if it’s not fun, why are you laughing? Laughing means you’re happy, yeah?” he teased, slipping his hands from under Aziraphale’s arms to set his dancing fingers loose upon his stomach.

Aziraphale was nearly horizontal, leaned so far away from Crowley and wings and hands flapping weakly. When Crowley’s next attack targeted his stomach, Aziraphale loosed a merry wail before tumbling into bright laughter that made the lines by his eyes crinkle happily and the breath in his throat catch wheezily. And oh, his laugh was perfect. All the pristine stuffy angel was gone, drowned out by the loud, head-thrown-back, wrinkled nose, toothy, shoulder-scrunching, belly-shaking laughter. It suited him.

Crowley had some mercy, switching from digging and scratching to poking and wiggling. “It is supposed to mean you’re happy, right?” he asked, for a moment concerned he might accidentally kill the angel. He certainly looked happy, and he hadn’t been doing much to push Crowley away, but… “I came up with tickling, but I’m not yet fully clear on…”

A still-giggling Aziraphale blinked through laughter-induced tears–tears were sad; had he become so happy, he was sad?–to look at Crowley, his gaze an odd but warm mix of fond and sympathetic and sweet and teasing and just losing the edge of hysterical. Just that look nearly bowled Crowley onto his back.

“Oh well!” Crowley exclaimed, a little too loudly. “I’ve got to perfect my new little game for you. And you,” he grinned as Aziraphale grew all the redder and scrunched his neck, “you just stop laughing if you stop being happy.”

Aziraphale didn’t stop laughing, but he didn’t stop squirming either. In fact, when Crowley set out to practice until perfect by testing other techniques to see what would tickle and started squeezing the soft spots of Aziraphale’s stomach and sides, the angel thrashed so exuberantly that he rolled right off the branch. Crowley followed, and, in a mess of feathers and flapping wings, the two tumbled from the tree and into the desert scrub grass.

With how much of a reaction squeezing had gotten, Crowley continued doing it, chasing Aziraphale’s laughter down along his thighs and behind his knees. With more ground on which to metaphorically stand, Aziraphale did put up a bit more of a fight, and Crowley was sure no one who pictured wrestling an angel would conjure that image. Of the angel with a wide smile beaming like the sun, of the demon getting the upper hand by jamming his thumbs into the angel’s hips until the later collapsed backward with a snorting cackle, of the adoration in the demon’s eyes as he tickled the angel apart piece by piece. Crowley rounded back, at last able to get one of Aziraphale’s wings pinned under his knee and burrowing the fingers of one hand into the wing pit and the fingers of the other into the soft stomach and vibrating both sets until the angel was wheezing.

Crowley had had about a dozen other ideas for this tickling thing once Aziraphale had actually been under his hands, but he had actually succeeded in getting Aziraphale from his tree, and he didn’t want to overwhelm with too much of his brilliant new idea. He pulled his hands back to a featherlight crawl, tracing the fair hair of Aziraphale’s forearms with the tips of his fingers and the tops of his feet with the tips of his black wings. The angel, thoroughly spent and thoroughly happy, lay giggling and content, hands twitching and stomach jumping but otherwise still. Eventually, all Crowley’s movement stopped as well, transfixed by the sight beneath him.

Here lay Aziraphale, opalescent wings thrown wide and with feathers mussed, perfect curled hair a tousled mess, hysterically happy smile stuck to his cheeks, tears drying on his cheeks, chest heaving from a belly full of screaming laughter. Crowley fell from on top of him, laying beside Aziraphale with a smile of his own. Perfect.

“That was fun,” Aziraphale said, eyes closed and smiling so gently that Crowley simply couldn’t bear to gloat just then. (He would eventually gloat. A lot. But not just then.)

“Yeah, it was.” Crowley lay beside Aziraphale, reveling in the validation of a successful plan and good idea, as well as the echoing angelic laughter still gracing his ears. He turned his head when Aziraphale pushed himself to sit up.

“Well, it will be a bit before humans fully populate the earth anyway.” Aziraphale stood, brushing off a bit of sand from his robes and producing the shell and a rock from them to make sure they had survived the fall, and holding out a hand to Crowley. “You can lead the way to that ocean you were so keen about, and you can tell me more about your creation. I haven’t ever laughed like that, have you?”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and stood, shaking his head. “Just when I catch a really good breeze, but even then…”

“Ah. Well, I liked your gifts. Can I share this one?”

The demon was struck with the absurd image of angels dropping like flies around the old garden under the menace that would be Aziraphale the tickle angel. He snorted. “Sure, if you want.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders happily and stretched out his wings. “I’d like to tickle you then, so you can laugh like that, and I can see it.”

Something in Crowley’s mind popped. Full of ideas as it had been minutes earlier, it was amazingly empty at Aziraphale’s proposal. With all the excitement the demon had had coming up with the idea and developing it, he had not once considered it being turned against him. Regifted. He was struck with another image, this time of himself, pinned under Aziraphale, at his mercy, laughing like flying. That image actually struck him as quite lovely, but it did also make his ears burn like hellfire. “Well!” Crowley said, kicking up off the ground and hovering a few feet above it. “One fun thing at a time. Ocean?”

Aziraphale nodded, smiled, and shot up into the air like a feathery stone shot by a sling. “Race you!”

“Hey!” Crowley laughed, chasing after him.

~*~

Crowley had come up with it, but Aziraphale had made it his own. And had inspired Crowley to coin the term ‘tickle monster.’

Such inspiration came to Crowley in an instance much like the one he found himself in at present: head tipped back against the cottage bedroom door, cheeks and chest aching from laughing, knees wobbly, so high and happy that the only thing keeping him from floating away was Aziraphale holding him (quite nicely after so evilly pinning him there earlier), stroking his fingertips along Crowley’s hips and sides, slow, featherlight, gentle, reverent.

“This may have been the best gift ever given,” Aziraphale chuckled, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s neck and leaning back with a proud wiggle.

Crowley lifted his arms, still a bit jelly-like, to wrap around Aziraphale’s shoulders, holding him close and keeping himself upright. “And it got me a hefty promotion way back when.”

Aziraphale laughed, “What?!”

“Yeah,” Crowley grinned, crooked and dizzy. “’Oh, Crowley, what an ingenious torture method, all the fun of hysteria with no marks left behind!’”

He let his head fall onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, giggling, as Aziraphale smothered his own laughter in his hand.

“But,” Crowley said, lifting his head but still too boneless to actually hold it up and so letting it thump back against the door, “you are by far more evil with it, so I may have taken credit where I was not due.”

“How rude,” Aziraphale tutted, giving Crowley a little scratch to one hip that had him crumpling sideways and squeaking. The angel caught him easily, supporting him around the waist and gently tickling his back to get him to purr and slump further into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Well, whatever the offices took it for, I am very grateful.” He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead and smiled. “Very happy with it.”

“Good,” Crowley mumbled, “because I didn’t keep the receipt.”

😔

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

an old new thing

fandom: good omens

w/c: 1977

summary: word vomit domestic life feat. crowley and aziraphale.

a/n: got dang this is all over the place!!! this is plotless fluff and very much self indulgent. self-soothing after season 2. also i cannot write kiss scenes for my life so it turnt stupid LOL. please do not pay it any attention and enjoy the rest 🫶

----

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Convincing you."

“Well.. I’m not convinced.”

“You will be.”

Crowley stiffened. Over the last six millennia, Aziraphale had used distance as a hand over Crowley. If he'd suggested a scheme slightly too outrageous, or gone out and done it himself before relaying it to Aziraphale, he wouldn't see the angel for a long time. It sure took a lot of patience, being his..frenemy.

To be fair, Aziraphale was much more tolerant of mistakes than the angels he’d been surrounded by for all of eternity. Much more forgiving than the demons Crowley reported to. It only took hunting the angel down (not a particularly difficult task; he was conveniently predictable) and a little dance before they were back on their Arrangement and regularly scheduled meetings. Still, the weeks of silence frustrated Crowley beyond anything. He's glad Aziraphale decided to do away with the silent treatment since the notpocalypse.

He's taken up a new way to get Crowley to admit when he's wrong. Or to get him to admit Aziraphale is right. Rather than disappear, Aziraphale will cling. He’ll bother and bother and bother. He’ll talk and pout and follow Crowley endlessly until he’s had enough. Crowley definitely prefers this to the former method. He’d rather be annoyed endlessly than ignored for a little while.

Perhaps it's even why it takes so much longer for him to fold.

With that said, it's just so new. After 6,000 years of the same old routine, the affectionate turn in their relationship is taking some getting used to. It’s a bit much to handle in Crowley’s opinion. It's probably why Aziraphale does it so often, the bastard. He knows it's effective.

---

Two nights ago, Aziraphale had been reading on the armchair when the lights inexplicably went out. He picked up the lit patchouli candle next to him when a sound came from the darkness.

Aziraphale has cleverly stayed away from horror content most of his existence. Unfortunately, this made him very unaware of most cliches used in films. He was an excellent target.

“Crowley?” He tucked the book underneath his arm, using both hands to grip the candle closer to him. Another noise came from the left.

Aziraphale went to investigate. Crowley was meant to be in Glasgow for a boogie-concert. Both decided it would be better if he had gone unaccompanied. The last time Aziraphale attended a concert with the demon, a spill to his tartan coat had him miracle every narcotic on site into the chalky substance they put in candied hearts. There was a lot of confusion among the mosh pit, mainly about the lack of confusion everyone felt.

“Is that you, mister Mouse? I've told you, it's not safe for you here. There are snakes in this household.” Aziraphale called out, but there was no response. All noises stopped.

He went to the front door, intending to check the electrical box outside. He swung the door open. Aziraphale felt a presence somewhere out in the night. Dread filled his guts.

He chuckled to himself for being silly. The list of things which could harm an angel were short. Other angels took up a majority of it. Fear was one of the hundreds of human attributes he's indulged in during his time on earth.

He took a breath of courage, but choked on it when a two-headed, red goblin roared out from the side of the doorframe. Aziraphale screamed, dropping the candle and the book. The goblin quickly saved the book from hitting the floor, but the candle shattered. The ancient and quite ridiculously flammable carpet lit up instantly.

Aziraphale clutched his chest and shouted several incohesive ‘oh dear goodnesses’ while Crowley blew the fire out in a long, icy breath.

“Hm, well. Wasn’t expecting that.”

Aziraphale pushed past him. “Oh no, oh no..” he softly repeated until he was too far away to hear. The lights inside the bookshop flickered on. Crowley could now see the charred stain over the antique rug. He hissed.

The “oh no’s” were returning, growing steadily in volume, until it was shouted right near Crowley’s ear. Aziraphale appeared in the doorway.

“Look what you've done!” He whined.

Crowley stared at the spot in disbelief. “How did it go up so fast?”

“You startled me!” He continued indignantly.

“It's October, angel. Really, what do you use to top off these carpets? Petrol?”

“You burnt my rug!”

“...would explain the Bentley's recent behavior.* Actually, you dropped the candle. Seems terribly irresponsible to keep candles in an old bookshop.”

“You turned out the lights. I needed to see!”

“Right, well. Not a big deal.” Crowley pushed the armchair directly over the stain. “Good as new.”

“Not good as new, it’s still all ruined.” Aziraphale enunciated dramatically. “I expect you to fix it.”

“You're being ridiculous. You can't expect me to miracle it out tonight. The two heads thing took a lot out of me. You can’t even see it!” Crowley sat on the armchair, covering the gap - in which the stain was still very much visible - with his legs.

“I don’t expect you to miracle it out,” Aziraphale said. “I want it restored. Naturally.”

Crowley groaned. “Alright, sure. Fine."

“And a new candle.”

“Whatever you want.” he said spitefully.

“And company to Derren Brown’s Illusionist performance.”

“Never!”

---

Aziraphale is currently hugging Crowley from behind him, entrapping his arms in a one-sided embrace.

“No, I will not. Get off!” Crowley growled, pulling out his arms. Aziraphale remained hugging around his waist. Crowley huffed. “If a person makes a mistake, and then fixes said mistake, the mistake no longer exists and nobody owes anyone anything. I agreed to fix the rug. I’m not going to a silly magic show.”

“I’d hardly call it a mistake. The scare was certainly deliberate.” Aziraphale grumbled. “He who has done wrong unto another must make it up to thee who he wronged.” He made up.

“What, like… building interest? That's not how it works. Do all angels forgive like a bank?”

“Afraid so.” He hugged a little tighter. “Even though I've returned, I still haven't made up for… leaving.” The example seemed to spill out before he could ponder its appropriateness. “Didn’t do much good in the end, did it? So much was damaged. World nearly ended again. No, haven't even begun to make up for it.”

It's a tricky thing. Part of the healing process for Aziraphale had been to bring it up every so often, as casually as possible. Even during moments of domesticity. Perhaps one day they'd grow immune to the pain if exposed to it enough times. That was Aziraphale's logic, though sometimes he regretted ruining a nice moment with a sour memory. Crowley saw it more like a confession. A way for Aziraphale to relieve the guilt he felt. Guilt which hit him harder anytime he realized he was starting to feel happy rather than guilty. What a bitch, that guilt.

Angel’s felt nothing but guilt for over 6 millennia. Only for ever doing what he thought was right.

Personally, Crowley wished to never speak of it again. He didn't find it healing to reopen wounds. But he was working on his tendency to run from his fears, so he tolerated it.

“Course you have. I’ve forgiven you for that.” He softened.

“Yes, well..” I haven’t, he didn’t say.

Crowley squeezed the arm around his middle and took in a breath. “You can hold me however long you want, I’m still not going to the show with you.” He reminded Aziraphale despite not wanting to go. Perhaps he was running a bit. The subject is still awfully uncomfortable.

“It won’t kill you, my dear. It’ll only last six hours.”

“Six hours?? I’ll go mad. Add onto the week of you attempting all the tricks you've seen him do. Forcing me to watch. Forcing me to participate. No. You cannot make me- haha! You can’t make me go!” Aziraphale began to tickle around his grip.

Crowley tried to walk away, but Aziraphale followed surprisingly lightly on his back. Like a pair of wings. It would’ve been less frustrating if he had held Crowley solid.

“Let go!” He laughed.

“Oh, please come with me darling. We’ll have an incredible time. He won’t be performing here again for another year!” Aziraphale persuaded, pretending it was still his words doing all the bargaining.

“I- ehehe, piss off!!” Crowley stumbled over to the couch, legs beginning to give out under him. With a war cry, he suplexed himself Aziraphale-first onto the couch. His attempt to dislodge the angel failed. Infact, it only invigorated him. The hold around him tightened and the once gentle tickling turned deadly. Like a snake. Ironic.

There was an initial few seconds of kicking and cackling, before the laughter became true and bright. Still every bit as loud, but margins sweeter.

“GET OFF!” He shrieked.

“I think you’ll find you're the one on top of me. I’m quite frightfully stuck. I can’t seem to get out.” Aziraphale replied calmly. “Do you mind letting me up?”

Crowley struggled to sit up or wiggle off with Aziraphale still holding onto him. He dropped his head back and laughed in frustration. “Please!”

“Oh, alright.” Aziraphale chuckled. He stopped and let go. Crowley immediately rolled off the couch.

They both lay staring at the ceiling for a moment. Crowley turned his head to look under the armchair, directly at the charred stain. The cleaners wouldn't arrive for another day.

"Never do that again. Ever."

"I'll do it again the second your back is turned."

The threat made Crowley blush. There was another silence.

“Why do you want me to go with you anyway? I'll only spoil it with my complaining.”

“Nonsense. I enjoy most things more with your company. You could never spoil it.” Aziraphale stood up to straighten himself out. He stepped over Crowley, who frowned. Bastard didn’t even lend a hand. “But I suppose you’re right. I wouldn't want you to have a bad evening on my behalf.”

Aziraphale left the room without Crowley for the first time in two days.

“Hang on!” Crowley called from the floor. “What, that’s it? All that.. blasted effort into persuading me and you’re just letting it go?”

“Well, I tried everything I could think of. I figure you must dread to go if you're willing to endure all that tickling.” Crowley could hear him fiddling with cups. “I’ve stooped to torture. How you've corrupted me.” Aziraphale said low and fond.

“You only did it for a moment.” Crowley said as Aziraphale returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He furrowed an eyebrow.

“What’s this? You'll miss the performance if we start drinking now.”

“Oh yes, well… what's a year to beings like us anyway?” Aziraphale said gently. “Are you saying I could have convinced you if I kept going?”

“What? Ngk-no, no. I mean, maybe. F'ya did it long enough. This.. bloody corporeal thing. Right ticklish. But don't you dare!” he pointed at Aziraphale. He dropped his hand to his chest. “But the pestering. The hugging, I mean. I almost conceded there. Didn't, though. But that's only ‘cause I didn’t want it to stop so soon. Shut up!” he exclaimed upon seeing Aziraphale smile widely.

"Ugh." By that explanation, the same logic would have applied to the tickling.

“You could have just said.” Aziraphale smiled, bending slightly over Crowley’s head. He appeared upside down. Crowley looked away too late - a little smile was tugging the corner of his own mouth. “So, then, tell me. How can I convince you to join me?”

“Get me off this damn floor, for one.”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley up as though he were a feather, holding his hands. He scooted closer, straightening out the fabric over his chest. “And then?”

“Hm," he looked off. "I suppose you could give me a kiss. Might do the trick.” He said with a smirk and an old confidence in his words. He was grateful how well this communication thing was finally working out.

Both were flush when they parted. To Crowley’s dismay, a bit of steam trickled out of his ears quite cartoonishly.

“Look at the time!” he said, flustered again. “Ahm, better get a move on if we want good seats. Might as well be comfortable if we’re going to be there for six hours.” He hurried out the room to the front door. Aziraphale smiled and straightened with giddiness. How good the demon was to him.

“Bring the wine!” the demon shouted.

*referencing the headcanon that the Bentley and bookshop are in love with each other. 😼