Some Of My Favorite CM Cast Pictures

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

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

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.”

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

It's camp!

Fandom: Stranger Things

Characters: Steve, Robin

Anonymous said: Hi! Could you write one where Steve is messing with Robin so she straddles him and tickles his belly button? Maybe they’re at his house having a sleepover and he makes fun of her haircut?

Words: 920

Steve became suspicious when Robin didn’t want to take her hat off in the middle of july. “You’re gonna get heat stroke,” he told her, going back and forth between opening his window and slamming it shut upon realizing it was still too early in the evening for the air to have cooled down. “I’m serious, Robin, I don’t feel like driving you to the hospital if you collapse.”

She rolled her eyes, pulling the neon green thing lower down so that it covered her eyebrows. “It’s comfy.”

“It’s psychotic behavior. Did you shave your head or somethin’?” It was mostly a joke, but the way Robin tensed up made him gasp. “You didn’t.”

“I didn’t!” she was quick to reassure him, pulling a strand of hair out of the hat. “See? Hair.”

“So then what’s your deal?”

“I might’ve cut my hair myself?”

Steve waited for her to laugh and say she was joking, but no laughter came. “Robin, oh my god.”

“Listen,” she started, sitting up, legs crossed on Steve’s bed, where she was about to spend the night like many other nights. “I- it’s a gay thing.”

“Okay?”

“Shorter hair? Like short short hair.”

“Right.”

“The hairdresser never wants to cut it as short as I want.”

Steve was beginning to see where this was going. “So you decided to take matters into your own hands.”

“Exactly. But-” She winced, grabbing her hat, but not pulling it off. “But I messed up.”

Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You should’ve asked for help.”

“I know.”

Her voice sounded small, which was fucking terrifying to hear and Steve found himself reaching out to squeeze her knee. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“Promise you won’t laugh if I show you?”

“‘Course not.”

“It’s getting hot.”

“Told you.”

She sighed and shoved the hat off, her hair a mess of tangles on top of her head. Steve waited for it to settle down enough before he said anything, only to promptly realize it wasn’t settling down at all. 

“Oh my god.”

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“Woah, woah, am I laughing?” He wasn’t laughing, but that was mostly due to shock. “Robin, I- Did you try to cut layers?”

Robin nodded wordlessly and Steve mentally wondered how he could convince her to go get it fixed at a hairdresser. “It’s- nice. It’s camp.”

“Did Eddie teach you cultural words again?”

“It’s a good thing he did. I can definitely see the vision here.” He framed her face with his hands. “Way ahead of your time. A trendsetter.”

Robin snorted. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not! It’s-” He waved his hands around, trying to think of a word. “Cool?” The way he’d said it, slightly high pitched, laced in a question, accidentally made way for a laugh which came out at the end, and he was already apologizing by the time Robin had tackled him.

“You’re so dead, Harrington!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s not funny, it’s just-”

“It looks bad. Just say it.”

“I’m sure we can get it fixed-” He had no time to say anything else as Robin’s fingers were worming their way under his arms, nimble and strong and unbearably ticklish. “Wait, wait, I’m only trying to he- stop!”

Straddling his hips, Robin and her ridiculous haircut hunched over him, her frown slowly smoothing out as he laughed and laughed and begged and laughed. She’d caught him off guard, okay? He could totally fight back otherwise. Probably.

“Oh-kay, no, not there, come on-”

Robin had this thing where she would zero in on a spot and not move away until Steve was a puddle beneath her. This time it just so happened to already be one of his worst spots, much worse than underarms which she’d only tortured for a minute. As Robin ignored him and tickled the edges of his belly button, shoving his flailing arms away easily, Steve felt he would pay for three of her haircuts if only she stopped.

It was a good thing they were alone, because Steve’s scream could surely be heard throughout the whole house. “Robin!”

“This is what you get,” she said, finally grinning at him which was at least a bit of a win for him. “I told you not to laugh.”

“I barely did- oh my god!”

His hands being free was nearly worse, as he came close to relief and then pulled right away from it. Robin was occupying one of her own hands purely with blocking his attempts, her other dancing around his belly, but mostly keeping close to his navel. His shirt was still pulled down, but it tickled too much nevertheless.

The first time she’d discovered this particular spot was a day he could never forget no matter how much he tried. The persistent pokes, over and over again, laughing when he jumped. Embarrassing, but also strangely nice to feel close enough that this could be happening. She’d discovered many spots since, but that memory was one of his strongest.

Also maybe because Robin kept bringing it up, making a very clear reference now as she was poking at his navel over and over. His whole body jerked with each poke, his laughter becoming choppy. He felt nearly as ridiculous as her haircut. Maybe he shouldn’t tell her that though. Although how much worse could this get if he did?

She stuck her hand under his shirt and Steve found out just how much worse it could get, all right.

Checkmate

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Characters: Morgan, Hotch, Reid

Anonymous said: so for lee!reid, could it be that he’s constantly bragging abt how good he is at chess, and hotch and morgan tickle him in an attempt to (lovingly) bring down his ego

Words: 630

“Checkmate.”

“Oh, come on.”

Reid seemed to try, to his credit, not to gloat, but Morgan knew this scenario all too well. Had seen it with both himself and other members of the team. The only person who rarely got to see Reid brag about winning chess was Gideon, but Reid probably wouldn’t be gloating at Gideon anyway.

He watched him now, annoyance rising slowly inside of him as Reid bit his lip to keep from smiling, eyes downcast, looking so goddamn smug that Morgan nearly angered, having siblings and all. Maybe it was because he had siblings that he found himself unable to not take the bait. “You cheated.”

“I didn’t,” Reid said matter of factly. When he looked up he seemed earnest, which made Morgan huff. “I swear.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t be so goddamn smug about it.”

Reid turned to Hotch, who was sitting beside him with his gaze stuck on the case file. “Tell him you can’t cheat at chess.”

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Hii

Yep, commissions alert

Here the link for the Boosty also

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?”

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