Making Blindfolds Fun (Spencer/Maeve)

they’re having fun together :))

Your latest fic was absolutely adorable! I was coming here to leave a prompt but my brain is mush and I’ve got nothing. I just really enjoy talking and reading about ticklish Reid.

Also MGG seems like he would be super ticklish and it’s a shame that the one thing we have is a one second poke but a big reaction in season 2.

ohh thank you sm!! if a prompt comes to u at any time feel free to ask

i love matthew gray gubler, in every story i have heard of him he seems like the sweetest and most fun guy

him dropping the mug + that one zero context shemar moore instagram post is all the proof i need haha

If this is too much detail for a flash fic, please feel free to ignore this!! But I was thinking something where Spencer and Derek have to go undercover as a couple for something (maybe to a gay bar or something bc that’s where the unsub seems to be picking people up) and someone tries to flirt with Spencer and Derek starts to play the boyfriend act a little too well??👀

It wasn’t necessarily unusual, snaking his arm around Spencer, but Derek had to admit it felt strange to keep it there for longer. He wasn’t used to feeling the curve of his body moving as he swayed along to the music, maybe mostly because Derek himself was swaying and pulling him along with him. The bar was crowded, the music loud, and Derek knew Spencer would get overstimulated soon and so they tried to be quick about it. Only it was no easy task to hurry up a stake out, especially when they barely knew what they were looking for. It was pride month, so obviously the bar was spilling over with music and laughter and dancing bodies, all celebrating, all happy.

Derek gave Spencer’s side a squeeze. “Wanna dance?”

Reid turned to look at him, a deer caught in headlights. “Now?”

“Just for a moment. Scout the room out. Then we’ll know where it’s best to position us.” While all of it was true Derek had also suggested it because he wanted to see Spencer dance to techno, as one does. He was wearing a tight light blue relatively cropped shirt to Derek black net shirt. Maybe them being chosen to go undercover to a gay bar as a couple wasn’t as odd as Derek had first thought. Derek had the clubbing experience and Reid had the gay bar one, albeit on a much lower scale.

“Maybe we should get a drink first,” Spencer said, turning his body toward the bar. “Are we allowed to drink on the clock? Maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe we should get sodas.”

Derek squeezed his side again, content when he felt the muscles tense up. “Come on, one dance.”

“Morgan, please-”

A drink as big as Spencer’s head was suddenly presented right in front of them, and when Morgan looked up a man looking much too smug was grinning at them from behind it. “I took the liberty of buying you a drink.” He all but forced it into Spencer’s hands. “I hope that’s okay,” he said, and Derek could’ve sworn he glanced over at him condescendingly for a second.

“Oh, I, uh-” Spencer looked at Derek, obviously panicked.

Derek was caught between amusement and annoyance. “He’s okay, thank you. He doesn’t drink.” He pulled Spencer closer and took the drink from him with his other hand. “Thanks for offering, though.”

“He doesn’t speak for himself?” The man raised an eyebrow at him. “Pity.”

“Of course he does,” Derek snapped. “But he makes a habit of not talking to creeps who barely introduce themselves. Move along now.”

“Big guy, huh? That your type?” He’d turned to Spencer again, looking angry now.

Spencer straightened. “My type is considerate and kind. So yes, you could say he is my type.”

The man huffed and left as quickly as he’d arrived, disappearing into the crowd to go creep on someone else. Maybe they should keep an eye on him.

Derek put the drink on a table close by, not trusting it to not be spiked. “You’re gonna make me blush, pretty boy.”

“Oh, shut up.” Spencer shoved him with his shoulder. “You got that overprotective jealous boyfriend act down to a T.”

“Is that so?” He squeezed Spencer’s side differently now, hitting all the right spots to make him jerk away, only he of course jerked into Derek and so he could do it again. “How about this? Is this boyfriend behavior?”

“Don’t-”

Spencer’s laughter got lost in the sound, and that simply wouldn’t do so Derek used his other hand to poke at his belly, hoping to throw him into that gentle panic that was enough to get him giggling. “There we go, pretty boy.”

Spencer twisted out of his grip, palms up and facing him. “Come on, not here.”

“Not here, not at work, not on the jet, not in the car. When, exactly, am I supposed to do this?”

“We’re working.”

Derek huffed. “Fine. I’m breaking into your apartment later then. Finish my boyfriend duties. Not like that,” he added with a laugh at Spencer’s expression. “You need to buy me dinner first.”

know when to walk away. know when to run.

fandom: criminal minds

w/c: 1943

content: fluff very cartoony goofy fluff

summary: morgan bets reid he can't go a day without rambling. reid takes him up on it.

a/n: i got a little carried away with everything that wasn't the main course but i promise it is there towards the end. open to criticism ☝️, i am still new at this and looking to improve.

p.s the penelope rant was all me i am penelope.

~~~~~~~~

Derek was starting to feel guilty. To an outside observer, nothing seemed unusual. Reid was sitting across from him on the jet, reading some book in Russian. At least he thought it was Russian. When he asked Reid if it was, he made a face which indicated it was not actually Russian. Any other day he would've corrected Derek on the fact it was Ukrainian (which Derek had to find out after looking the book up on his phone - tedious.) Any other day Reid would passionately explain away a passage in the book that particularly interested him. But today he was completely silent.

It was really starting to get to Derek. And he could tell the kid knew he was getting to him. Spencer would check his watch every so often, glimpse at him with a smug ass look on his face, then go back to his book. It was infuriating.

-----

The unsub they had been dealing with was a bride-killer. He targeted women during their bachelorette parties days before the women were set to be married. The only reason for him to pick such high-profile, high-risk women is if it were a compulsion.

“Maybe he’d gotten cheated on during his own bride’s bachelorette party,” Rossi said.

“Wouldn't he have to stalk these women for weeks to know they were getting married?” JJ questioned.

“Not necessarily,” said Morgan. “Wearing a bride-to-be sash like the victims were would be like waving a red cape at a bull.”

“It’s a common misconception but actually, bulls are colorblind. So it doesn't really matter what color the matador waves - it’s the cape’s movement that elicits an aggressive charge response in the bull.”

“...”

Everyone stared at Reid in a silence that stretched for seemingly forever. He shrunk under their intense gaze.

“Um, Morgan’s metaphor still applies here, though.”

Derek laughed the way he always did right before he teased Reid.

“I bet he can’t go a day without saying some completely unrelated fun fact during the investigation. He just can’t help himself.”

“It wasn’t completely unrelated..” Reid mumbled shyly, before speaking to be heard. “I can. But where's the fun in that?”

“You wanna put money on that?”

"Ooh, careful Morgan. Gambling with a Vegas boy is bound to go wrong." Rossi joked.

“The stakes are too unclear. And there would be too many technicalities. We'd argue over what constitutes as irrelevant to the investigation, what counts as a fun fact..” he trailed off as he realized the stares and silence were back.

“Okay, pretty boy. New stakes. I bet you can’t go without talking for… at least twelve hours. About anything.”

“Can I make any noise?”

“Hmm. Nah.”

“How much money?”

“Reid, Morgan, focus up.” Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose indignantly. “We need Reid to talk until the investigation is over. Then you can wager on your own time.” Hotch brought everyone’s attention back to catching the killer. From over his copy of the case file, Reid mouthed to Morgan. You’re on.

-----

It started right after the unsub was processed. Immediately after. As in, while Morgan was putting the suspect in cuffs, he had turned to Reid and said, “50 bucks?”

“Sure,” he replied. “Starting when?” The local PD came to take the unsub away.

“Now?”

Reid smiled confidently in response.

“Great work, everybody.” Hotch walked up to the team huddled inside the killer’s home. “Let’s get out of here. I’m buying coffee. What does everyone want?”

Reid opened his mouth to say something before pursing his lips. This would be harder than he thought.

-----

On the jet ride home, Derek had been trying to goad Reid into saying something. He facetimed Penelope.

“Hey mama, I got a question for you. Here, let me put you on speaker.”

“Oh! I love questions. You know I know everything. What’s up?”

He looked at Reid smugly as he talked, even though the kid was fixated on his book. “Why exactly does ‘Doctor Who’ spend so much time in places that look exactly like Earth when he's got a whole universe to explore? There ain’t no way Earth is more interesting than the entire universe.”

Oh my. The look on Reid’s face was devastating. The only time Morgan would ever willingly discuss Doctor Who, he couldn’t join the conversation. Derek’s heart would’ve broken if he hadn’t found it hilarious.

“...okay. Sweetheart, first of all, he is not called ‘Doctor Who.’ He’s called ‘The Doctor.’ Okay?” Penelope sighed, agitated. Some relief washed over Reid’s face as if that was what he wanted to say.

“Doctor Who is the name of the show. His identity is a mystery and he just goes by The Doctor. So people and alienfolk all go ‘Huh? What do you mean? Doctor Who?’ and that’s why the show is called that. You wouldn't call Captain Kirk 'Star Trek: The Original Series.'" Reid was positively pouting.

"Second of all, I heard about the little challenge you placed unto our baby genius and I will have no part in his torture. Tata.” Penelope hung up the phone.

Derek frowned and put the phone in his pocket. “Damn… I really was curious. Do you mind answering my question?” he taunted Reid with a toothy grin. Reid scowled and returned to his book. A true miracle he had so much self control over his hand gestures.

-----

Two hours had passed slowly and silently. It wasn’t fun anymore. Morgan had seen Reid perk up at least three times to infodump about the books he’s read during the flight, before he caught himself. Each time he was stupidly dejected afterward. Morgan didn’t love it. He hated it. The kid had been shut up his entire life by his peers and bullies. And now by his friends. His heart was actually starting to ache seeing his friend’s gaze become more and more distant.

“Hey, kid. Let’s just call it off.”

Spencer met his eyes and raised a brow.

“I wanna hear about the story. Genuinely.”

Spencer looked down at his watch, then crossed his arms. Morgan scoffed.

“Seriously, you want the 50 dollars that bad? There’s still an hour left before we land.” He didn't want to see Reid be depressed for the entire remainder of the flight. And the longer it went, it seemed less likely he'd be up for talking even after the time limit. Morgan couldn't handle that.

“C’mon man, it’s unhealthy for a brain to store so much information without an outlet. You’ll explode.”

Spencer smiled and huffed out of his nose. His eyes went wide. He awkwardly looked over to the side at nothing.

“..Was that a noise?” Spencer frowned and shook his head. A figmental lightbulb went off over Derek’s head.

He walked over to sit side-by-side with Spencer, who eyed him cautiously. He sighed. Maybe it was inappropriate to play dirty, but Spencer wasn't exactly giving him an option.

“Listen, we can do this the easy way. Where you open your mouth right now and call me an asshole for ever suggesting this stupid bet in the first place. Or we can do this, uh…” he grinned impishly, wiggling the fingers of one of his hands. “..the hard way.”

Spencer’s jaw clenched at the implication. He braved a face of nonchalance and for a moment, Derek thought maybe he wasn’t even ticklish. Or maybe he didn’t think Derek would actually do it. They were in front of their boss after all, their unit chief of the Federal Bureau of Investigation Behavioral Analysis Unit. Not in grade school.

But then Derek saw the red of his ears slowly make its way down to his cheeks and decided he couldn’t help himself. Plus, the kid wasn’t talking.

"Okay, have it your way."

It was childish, Derek would be the first to admit it. But he’d kill two birds with one stone. End the bet, and get Reid to smile a bit.

He wiggled an index finger lightly at the side of Spencer’s neck, which immediately got trapped. Spencer reached up to pull the hand out, before his wrist was snatched and Derek clawed at his ribs.

To Derek’s surprise, Spencer stayed quiet. His physical reaction, however, made up for it. He jerked and contorted so hard his back ended up on the seat of his chair. One leg curled up to protect the attacked side, while the other sprawled over Derek.

He kept his lips and eyes shut so tight they quivered.

“You’re kidding.” Derek was indignant. This was the most stubborn he’d ever seen him. “You can’t keep this up for an hour.”

After spending some time there, he moved up into his underarm. Spencer broke out into an open mouth grin and another spasm. But still no noise.

Derek let go of his wrist - bicep burning from Spencer's struggle against him - to use both his hands to tickle. Something happened that completely bewildered him.

Spencer was laughing. He was trembling, his stomach was tense, and his throat bobbed as it always did when he laughed. But it was silent. How the hell was he doing that? Why was he just taking it? Is he really going to endure this torture for the rest of the flight?

If he could, oh man. There was no way in hell Derek would stop. This was a much better sight than the sad quiet Spencer from earlier. He just wished he could hear it.

Derek was broken out of his thoughts when he saw tears fall from Spencer’s eyes, which suddenly looked much more desperate. He was turning a concerning shade of red. The drawback of silent laughter finally registered in Derek’s brain.

“Woah Jesus, kid! Breathe!” Derek immediately stilled his hands, reaching instead to grab hold of Reid’s face. It was hot to the touch. He quickly wiped away Reid's tears, which felt a bit intimate, but he didn't want the team to see he had accidentally tickled their greatest asset into crying. He figured Reid wouldn't want them to see either.

Derek helped him sit upright. Spencer breathed hard, a smile gracing his face as he peacefully closed his eyes in relief and weariness. His lips shaped in a circle to steady his breathing.

Absolutely infuriating. He would have passed out before he lost. It was a battle of wills, and even when Derek held all the cards, he folded first.

He wondered why Spencer was going so far for something so dumb. If he was trying to prove something to himself, to his team, to all the bullies who shut him up, Morgan would never live down the guilt. He hoped it was as simple as Reid just being a competitive little shit.

He groaned. “Okay, fine! You win, Spencer. You proved your point. You know how to stay quiet. Hell, not even I could…" he cleared his throat. "..uh, the point is, you won. You can have the 50 bucks. Please just talk to me.”

Spencer was still panting, the smile on his face seemed permanent. “You're.. an asshole,” he breathed. “And a cheater.”

“Yeah, I know.” Derek laughed.

“I still won, though. Whew."

“Yeah, yeah..” Relief. He was a competitive little shit.

"Can't believe you couldn't take just three hours of me not talking! You must really love learning."

He scoffed. "Whatever." Alright. The kid was starting to get cocky.

“Hasn't anyone ever told you cheaters never prosper?"

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.” He pinched at his side and Spencer laughed. Audibly, this time. Garcia would call it a swoon-worthy sound. Maybe those were his words.

He pulled out his government issued wallet before his hand was stopped. “Oh. I don’t actually want your money.”

“A bet’s a bet, Reid. You earned it fair and square.”

“You wouldn’t take it if you had won.” Spencer smiled. “Just buy me a coffee when we land. I didn’t get any earlier.”

Derek shrugged. If he took any lesson away from this, it was that the doctor was stubborn. “Alright, fine by me.”

“And listen when I say the whole point of the Doctor’s archetype is to love Earth - specifically humanity - and for logistical reasons it’s just more convenient for the setting to be on Earth or on a planet that resembles Cardiff, Wales..” Here we go. Spencer rambled on, speaking quickly and more with his hands than anything. Derek rolled his eyes, but he sat back and listened.

Me: I wanna make more tumblr friends. *Someone messages me* Also me: I have literally no energy to respond.  I am a corpse.

Hii

Yep, commissions alert

Here the link for the Boosty also

😦😧🤯

THE VERY END OF CRIMINAL MINDS SEASON 9 EPISODE 18 THAT IS ALL

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

hi welcome

this blog is very messy and not very active. will organize eventually.

i am quite new to tumblr and i'm still trying to learn how it works.

a very beginner fic writer

always looking for new friends, don't be shy!

i like criminal minds, doctor who, good omens, supernatural, stardew valley and a lot lot lot lot more but those are the mains.

i have recently discovered i have a proclivity towards tickling. if you find it strange so do i. but i will be using this space to explore it. thank you and have an amazing day 💗

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. 😼