#ticklish Tim stoker

[tickled-2-death]

Tma tickles

Tma fans in the tickle community, please send me requests for any oneshots or hcs you want written! Jonmartin, LonelyEyes, Tim, Sasha, literally any of the other avatars no matter how niche? Send em my way, see pinned post for further info.

[amazingmsme]

Best Served Cold

AN: it shouldn’t really come as any surprise that I’m a Tim Stoker stan & that man needs to get knocked down a few pegs. The role reversal prompt was perfect for them, cause sometimes the tickle monster just needs a taste of his own medicine! Without further ado, here’s day 22’s fic!

Martin was on his way back down to the archives, a fresh cup of tea in hand. He was halfway back from the break room when a loud shriek echoed down the stone halls followed by shrill, frantic giggles. He smiled to himself, rolling his eyes fondly. It seems Sasha fell prey to Tim's antics once more.

Oh well, better her than him.

He walked down the rest of the stairs and around the corner, her laughter growing louder the closer he got closer. Sure enough, Tim had cornered her between the wall and a filing cabinet, giggling herself silly. She looked adorable like this, Martin had to admit, but he sympathized with her plight. He wasn't sure which of them he attacked more frequently...

A rare smirk settled on his face. Perhaps a bit of revenge was in order.

He crept up behind Tim as quietly as he could, but he was too preoccupied with the task at hand to notice anyway. He slowly raised his arms, a predator about to strike.

"Just one more piece! Come on, don't be stingYYYY! Hehehey whahat the hehehell?" His sly bargaining was interrupted by a shocked squeal that quickly gave way to confused laughter.

"What's the matter Tim? I thought you just loved tickling, seeing as you do it to us so much," Martin pointed out, surprisingly bold and teasing with his words, but a rare bout of mischief had taken root, and he was determined to put their resident trouble maker in his place. Sasha barked out a laugh at his words as she recovered, enjoying her front row seat to the show.

"Thahat's not- nohoho don't!" he pivoted mid sentence when Martin's hands scribbled down to his hips.

"I mean, it's only fair to return the favor, don't you think Sasha?" he asked innocently, continuing to hold Tim on his tickly hug. She made a miraculously quick recovery upon hearing those words, already wiggling her fingers at her previous tormentor.

"Oh I couldn't agree more! He's been extra annoying lately, maybe he was just waiting, begging for one of us to just snap," she finally struck, diving right for his belly. He immediately doubled over, bursting out into bright, bubbly giggles.

"I wahahas nohohot!" he denied, twisting in Martin's hold and trying to hold Sasha's hands away. A few quick pinches up his ribs reminded Tim that he was still very much a problem. He arched away with a shriek when he found a spot between his sixth and seventh rib that seemed worse than the rest.

“Noho, please! Nohohot thehehere!” his pleading went ignored as they continued to seek out the best spots.

“Alright then, how about here instead?” Martin asked as he plunged his hands beneath his arms to scribble at the center of his hollows.

“Ahahabsolutely nohohot!” he cried out through his laughter. He snorted and shook his head back and forth when Sasha reached up to flutter her nails along his neck, scribbling at the spot just behind his ears.

“NOHOHO! Ihihi hahate you bohohoth!” he whined through growing hysterics. But it was all for show. Being trapped in a tickle sandwich between your best friends wasn’t ideal, but it he’d choose that over filing any day.

“Awww, we love you too!” she cooed in a false honey sweet tone.

“N-nohot whahahat I said!” he choked out, trying to hide the blush quickly spreading across his cheeks.

“I know, but you forget I happen to be fluent in Tim Stoker sass,” she teased, scratching underneath his chin just to make him squeal.

“Ohoho fuck you!” he hissed through clenched teeth before another snort ripped free from his chest. He gave up on the useless endeavor of fighting back, instead focusing all his efforts on hiding his face.

“Aw, why are you hiding? There’s no need to be so embarrassed Tim!” Martin teased fondly, but he really meant what he said.

“Exactly! So stop hiding, and let me see that handsome smile,” Sasha taunted as she gently pulled his arms away from his face. His blush darkened and he immediately ducked his head to look away.

“Nohoho!”

“No? Well that’s a bit rude, innit?” she asked with a laugh of her own. She went back to poking around his tummy, drawing out jumpy, nervous giggles.

“This ihihis rude!” he argued, and they both gasped.

“What? We’re just sharing the love!” Sasha justified.

“And I’m simply returning the favor!” Martin added. An amused chuckle from behind made them all stop in their tracks as they turned to see Jon browsing a nearby cluttered desk.

“No need to stop on my account, I just needed to grab a few things,” he explained, eyes scanning the surface until he apparently found what he needed.

“Please, carry on. And don’t forget to go for his knees,” he advised with a teasing smirk, going as far as to wink at the crew. He was about to leave, when Martin’s voice called out and gave him pause.

“Or you could do it yourself.” And wasn’t that an enticing thought.

“I’m afraid I’m swamped,” he excused himself with a little shrug.

“Sounds like you could use a break then. And we have the perfect stress ball for you to try out,” Sasha insisted.

He stared at the three of them, all with varying degrees of a smile on their face. And they looked so hopeful, even Tim, that he just couldn’t refuse.

He sighed, setting down the file before cracking his knuckles, flashing a rare, mischievous smile.

They all could use a good laugh.

[a-simple-lee]

Just like old times (TMA)

Tim Stoker, Sasha James, Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims

Synopsis: Tim can be a bully. Sasha’s prepared to take him down a notch as part of an old tradition of theirs.

“Tim, please-”

“I’m just saying, you could’ve gotten his number-”

“His number-? wh-I-”

“If not for you, then for me, I mean-”

“Tim!”

“What? He sounds cute.”

“Oh my God.”

Sasha tries to stifle a laugh at her colleagues’ banter. Martin has his face buried in his hands, sunkissed curls peeking out over the tops of his fingers as he ducks to run them through his hair. His freckles have disappeared behind a positively glowing blush.

“Tim, stop bullying him,” 

“But it’s so easy-”

“Hey!” Martin raises his head at that, eyebrows furrowed in a way Sasha has to stop herself from calling adorable. 

“Haven’t you done enough damage?” She smiles, nodding in his direction. He lets out a sigh of relief, as if Sasha is the only one in the office talking sense (she often is).

“Thank you, Sasha.” 

“...Hold on. You’re still not over your crush, are you Martin?” Tim practically lights up with the realisation. “That’s why you didn’t make a move, huh?”

Martin lets out a squeak of indignation, dropping the pen Sasha had been watching him tap against his wrist for the past 20 minutes in what she guesses is a nervous tic. 

“Oh, Marto,” Tim rubs his hands together, and Sasha refrains from telling him he looks like a fly cleaning its antennae. 

“Tim,” She starts, stepping over to him. “Leave the poor boy alone,”

“Yes, listen to Sasha-” Martin nods frantically.

“He’s perfectly capable of embarrassing himself.” She takes a sip of her tea and listens to Martin spluttering for a second. 

“Uh-well, that’s- I- How very dare you.”

Tim grins. “If you just tell us who it is, it’d make things a lot easier-”

“Tim,” Sasha elbows him in the side. “He’ll tell us when he’s ready.”

Tim elbows her back. “Sasha,” he gestures to Martin. “He can speak for himself.”

“I-it’s fine, Sasha, you’re right-”

Sasha reaches over to pat Martin’s shoulder, and the nervous rambling halts.

“Right, are you going to leave him alone then?” Sasha gently pushes Tim.

“But who am I going to pester?” He frowns.

“We both know you only pester us when you want attention,” Sasha tosses a pen at him. He catches it.

“It’s working so far,”

Something clicks into place in Sasha’s head. 

“Alright, fine. Let’s say you’ve got my attention. Now what?”

Tim glances to the ceiling, a tell Sasha’s learned to pick up on. She knows he’s trying to think of an answer. His eyes light up, and he points to his cheek with the pen. “You could give me a kiss?”

She giggles, deciding not to point out that he’s just smudged ink on his face. “Pretty sure Martin doesn’t want to be subject to our workplace fraternisation.” 

“But Sasha-” Tim wiggles his eyebrows and lowers his voice. “It’s not fraternisation if we don’t get caught.”

There’s her cue. She reaches over and squeezes his side. 

“Tim, you’re despicable.”

He shifts away, suppressing a laugh. “Hey, now-”

“What?” She grins, stepping closer to poke at his ribs. It’s no secret that Tim isn’t one to shy away from physical affection, though perhaps less known that he’s not averse to being tickled. Every now and then, Tim will try to initiate a tickle fight through playful roughhousing or banter, and Sasha will eventually get the message. 

She certainly doesn’t mind humoring Tim’s attempts at provocation if it means getting to watch her best friend giggle uncontrollably. Her hands poke up and down Tim’s ribs, following when he leans away - he’s perfectly capable of stepping out of range, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, batting weakly at her hands and backing himself into a corner.

“Sash!” He squeaks, signature Stoker grin morphed into a beaming smile, letting out a high-pitched giggle when Sasha lightly squeezes his sides.

“Yes?”

“You’re-ha-killing me! She’s killing me, Martin!”

Martin puts down his mug and resumes typing, not even looking their way. “What a pity.”

“Please, you’ve gotta save me, Martin!”

“Leave him out of this,” Sasha tuts. “He knows not to intervene.”

Martin snorts. “Just common sense, really.”

“Fine, fine! I- SASHA!” Tim all but screeches when she moves to target his stomach, sinking down slightly and stumbling backwards into his chair. Sasha can’t help but start laughing, and Tim’s trying to glare daggers at her, only he’s blushing way too hard and smiling much too widely for Sasha to take him seriously. It’s silly, and childish, but this dance of jovial affection is theirs, and she wouldn’t change it for the world.

And then Jon clears his throat from his place in the doorway. 

Tim sits up straight in his chair, hair still askew, residual giggles still lacing his voice. “Hey, boss!”

Jon nods stiffly. “Hello.” The both of them take a second exchanging a look Sasha can’t quite decipher. She thinks of the time in Research, when she’d entered the room on lunch break to see Jon and Tim swatting at one another like siblings having a disagreement. Of the way Jon knew to prod at Tim’s torso to get him to back off, or the way Tim knew to tweak one of Jon’s ribs in retaliation. 

It feels like years ago, but she knows - she can tell - none of them have forgotten.

“You have ink on your face.” Jon observes. Tim sends a pointed glance in Sasha’s direction. She shrugs at him.

“Right, thanks. I’ll get that sorted.”

There’s a pause. 

“Did you, uh-”  Tim gestures to the pile of files Jon’s cradling. “Did you need something?”

Jonathan blinks. “Yes, actually, uh. Sorry to interrupt your lunch break. I amended the errors you pointed out in those recordings last week, Tim. I’d appreciate it if you could swap out the tapes on the shelves.” Jon starts, briskly striding to his desk and sliding two cassettes onto the free space by the keyboard. 

“Right, cheers.” Tim looks dazed. They both do. 

Jon gives another nod, heading back towards his office. Sasha watches him go. 

He pauses at the doorway.

“Oh, and Sasha?”

“Yes?”

“You should know by now to go for his neck.”

The door swings shut. Sasha grins as Tim starts trying to improvise a peace treaty on the spot.

Some things never change.

[stray-tickles]

Amorous

Read on AO3

Jon was… rarely playful. Oh, he had a devious streak which had gotten him into trouble from time to time, but it was buried deep these days. He was the head archivist after all, and had to maintain a certain decorum.

Never mind that said decorum was completely futile with his assistants, all of whom were now fully aware of how debilitatingly ticklish he was. Tim and Sasha had known for some time, and it only took Martin walking in at the wrong time for him to find out too.

Not that Jon minded their frequent attacks, per se. He’d rather die than admit it, but he enjoyed it. He liked the closeness, the laughing, the fun of it all. It was so rare in his life.

Thankfully, Tim and Sasha’s deviousness was such that he never needed to go to much effort to provoke them, if at all. They weren’t so cruel as to make him admit that he liked it, even though Jon was certain they must know. They let him get away with pretending not to want or enjoy it, for which Jon was immeasurably grateful.

He was also grateful for their frequent sneak attacks. It made it very easy to know when one of them was coming up behind him.

Tim was there. No doubt about it. He moved slightly more heavily than Sasha, and more deliberately than Martin. Jon reached for the tape recorder to at least put on a show of not knowing Tim was right there, ready to pounce.

Hmm…

Actually, why pretend when he could have a little fun himself? When he could win, if only for a moment?

Jon cleared his throat and clicked on the tape recorder. “Statement of Jonathan Sims.” He started, hearing Tim’s footsteps stop in what he assumed was confusion. “Regarding an amorous encounter with Tim’s mother the previous night. Statement given fifteenth of March, twenty-seventeen. Statement begins.”

The statement did not, in fact, begin. The only thing to follow Jon’s introduction was deafening silence, every second of which made him want to laugh. He turned his head to look behind him and had to bite down very hard on a smile. Tim was standing there, a few steps away, staring at him with wide, shocked eyes that seemed to have no thought behind them at all. As if Jon’s little prank had short-circuited his brain.

That thought got a little chuckle out of Jon, which in turn seemed to knock Tim out of his stupor. “Oh, you little shit.” He growled.

Jon rocketed out of his seat, already smiling nervously, knowing what was going to happen. “Tim, Tim- wait, TIM!” He darted out the door to the main archive with Tim hot on his heels, giggles bubbling up in his stomach.

Sasha looked up when she saw their chase across the archives. “That time of day again, huh?” She joked.

Tim all but growled. “Call an ambulance Sash, someone’s gonna need to resuscitate this smartass.”

If Jon didn’t know Tim as well as he did, he’d have missed the smile he was hiding behind that exaggerated scowl. “Tim, please, wait- it’s not what you think!” Oh damn. He’d been backed into a corner.

Tim shot forwards, seizing one of Jon’s wrists and making him break into nervous giggles. “Oh yeah?” He smirked. “Please, elaborate.”

Jon swallowed back his laughter, seeing Sasha’s fond sigh from behind Tim’s back. “Well, I’m asexual, you see, so we didn’t do any of that. I just took your mother out for a candlelit dinner and we kissed under the moonlight.”

Tim glared. Sasha howled with laughter, gripping the arms of her office chair to keep from sliding out of it. “Well now you’re in for it.” He said. “Statement of Tim Stoker, regarding the murder of Jonathan Sims.”

It didn’t take much effort for Tim to catch Jon’s other wrist in his hand, pulling both arms up over his head. Then, without preamble, his free hand latched onto Jon’s upper ribcage, fingers poking and wiggling and making Jon shriek.

He barely managed to stay standing for five seconds, his legs buckling under him, unable to keep him upright. To Jon’s surprise, Tim didn’t pin him to the ground. No, he pulled him closer, keeping his arms up above his head and his body pressed close to Tim’s in what could almost be a hug.

A hug, but for the arm wrapped around Jon’s torso, digging fingers into his ribs.

Jon cackled like mad, tugging weakly at his wrists and twisting this way and that in Tim’s grip, unable to do anything else. It was useless, he knew that and he’d dug his grave anyway. Tim’s fingers were long and clever, and he’d long known the spots that made Jon go crazy. “Nononono, ple- Tim please!”

“Got your manners back I see.” Tim teased, scratching mercilessly under his arm now and bringing tears of laughter to Jon’s eyes. “I hope you showed mum some of that.”

God, why was Tim so tall? He couldn’t even lean up to gain a little give and lower his arms, not even by an inch. And that hand kept scratching away at his armpit, laying waste to Jon’s nervous system. “Sorry!” He squeaked. “Sorry, I’m soRRY!”

Tim’s hand moved back to Jon’s ribs, one finger wiggling up and down like a worm and making him snort and flush. “Oh no, don’t be sorry for giving an older woman a lovely night. Where’d you go? Italian place? Spanish?”

Jon shook his head, unable to get a word out between snorting laughter.

“Hmm, let me check.” Fingers spidered and poked across Jon’s stomach through his shirt, dissolving him into giggles. He tried to double over, almost pulling his own feet off the ground to no avail. He was thoroughly stuck, and secretly very happy about it.

Tim grinned, not ceasing the playful torment of his friend. He loved playing like this, getting Jon to relax and let loose once in a while. “Not much here.” He chuckled, squeezing at Jon’s sparse tummy and earning a series of squeaks for his trouble. “Sushi?”

Jon’s glasses were lopsided, though at this point he was surprised that hadn’t fallen right off his face. Electricity was pulsing up his spine, lighting up his face in laughter, and it was so much, “Tickles!” He squealed, unable to think about anything else.

“Don’t think I’ve heard of that place.” Sasha mused from her desk, smiling widely.

“No, I think it’s out past Brixton, right?” Tim said, not letting up. “Caribbean restaurant?”

Jon wheezed in air. “Y-yehes, anything!” He hiccupped, not sure what they were really talking about at this point but knowing he couldn’t stand much more.

“Uh oh, we’re losing him.” Tim teased affectionately. “Got that ambulance Sash?”

She pushed herself to her feet. “Defibrillator’s right here.” She grinned, rubbing her hands together.

Jon kicked his feet weakly against the floor, knowing where they were going with this. “Ha- Sasha no, Sasha plehease, I can’t, I cahahan’t!”

Sasha paused just long enough to catch his eye, then cheerfully shouted, “Clear!” and tazed her fingers into the bottom of Jon’s ribcage.

Jon screamed, bucking violently in reaction to that awful vibrating tickle, cackling helplessly. He would almost believe he’d been shocked with a real defibrillator with how much energy it filled him with.

Then it stopped abruptly, leaving Jon to heave in breaths deeply and try to recover some of his faculties.

“Clear!”

Jon shrieked again, his legs collapsing completely and leaving his feet hanging off the floor, his arms still in Tim’s grip as he squirmed and laughed. He managed only a few seconds before hiccupping out, “Naha- stop! Stopstopstopstopstop ehehehe-”

Sasha pulled her hands away before he’d finished pleading, ruffling his hair affectionately. “He lives!” She joked. “Good to have you back with us.”

Jon continued to giggle, sinking against Tim to remain upright when his arms were freed. “Fired, both of you.”

They both laughed. “Oh sure,” Tim joked, keeping one arm wrapped around Jon in a hug. “Fire me, I’ll just go to HR and tell them what you said about my mother.”

Sasha snorted into her hand. “That was really funny.”

Tim gasped. “You wanna be next?” He threatened, then immediately backed away when Sasha took a step towards him in response. “Fair point.”

Jon smiled into Tim’s shoulder. He felt… fuzzy. Fuzzy and happy and… loved.

Sasha retreated back to her desk, still grinning at him. Jon was dimly aware that he probably looked a mess, glasses barely on his face, red cheeks, mussed hair. He could live with that, for now.

Tim chuckled and half carried him back to his office. It was almost unfair how cute Jon looked sometimes. “Sit down before you fall.” He teased warmly.

Jon huffed a laugh as Tim let him down into his seat. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” Tim grinned. He hesitated at the doorway. “One of these days, you’ll figure out that you can just ask, instead of trying to provoke us all the time.”

Jon felt his cheeks heat up and crossed his arms around his waist. He bit his lip and looked down at his desk. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Get back to work, boss.”

Taking the tape recorder, Jon chuckled and clicked it on. “We met at a lovely tapas bar by the Thames…”

Tim barked a laugh. “You son of a bitch.” He muttered, closing the door behind him.

Jon turned off the tape recorder and grinned to himself.

He really liked this feeling.

[ao3feed-themagnusarchives]

Remind Me Of The Babe

by Stray_Tickles

Tim finds a voodoo doll in one of his statement files and considers it his archival duty to test it.

Words: 4326, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Martin Blackwood

Relationships: Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Additional Tags: Season 1, Voodoo, Tickling, Fluff, Archives crew - Freeform, background jonmartin, ticklish!Jon

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/33597517

[amazingmsme]

Like Magic

AN: So this is a bit of a different spin on the prompt, but anything to write more TMA! Idk how the rest of this month is shaping out to look like for me, but I’m gonna try to finish things. Please be patient as I try to finish these fics. Here’s my fic for day 18!

Martin rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time as Tim droned on about how such great friends he apparently was with one Jonathan Sims. Of course he wasn't buying any of it. But that didn't mean he wouldn't play along.

"Wow, ya don't say?" Martin said breathily, sarcasm still evident.

"Yup! He even said so himself!" Tim proudly proclaimed. Martin raised his brows in shock.

"He said that you are the funniest one here?" he asked skeptically. Tim scoffed.

"Why'd you say that like it's hard to believe?"

Martin shrugged. "B-because it is! I mean, it's Jon we're talking about. Does... does he even have a sense of humor?"

Tim shook his head with an amused chuckle. "Oh Martin, always so naive. Everyone has a sense of humor if you know what tickles their funny bone," he winked, nudging him with his elbow.

"Yeah but, he just doesn't seem like the giddy type," he reasoned.

"Well, you just don't know Jon like I do. What can I say? We have an unspoken bond between us. I can make him crack up with a single look," he boasted, and that was where Martin called it.

"Oh you can not!"

"Wanna bet?" he asked with a crooked grin, wiggling his eyebrows at him. Martin opened his mouth but abruptly snapped it shut when Jon walked into the break room. Tim also shut up, hands shoved in his pockets. Jon looked between them and snorted, walking to the counter.

"If you're going to talk behind my back, I suggest making it less apparent," he casually teased.

"N-no, it's nothing like that!" Martin assured him.

"I was just telling Martin what great friends we are!"

"Hm, that's news to me." Jon barely hid his smirk  at the way Tim cried out indignantly.

"Ouch. I'm hurt Jon. You hurt me," he said, pointing an accusing finger. Jon grinned smugly, turning back to the kettle. He poured himself a cup as Tim walked back to the couch, flopping down next to Martin with a pout. Martin looked about as smug as Jon.

"What?" he snapped.

"You're so full of it," he said softly, an amused smile firmly in place. Tim shoved his shoulder.

"Oh sod off! You know, that last part was actually true," he said, and something in his voice seemed genuine enough for Martin to feel inclined to believe him.

"Really?" he asked, casting a quick glance Jon's direction. Tim followed it, nodding.

“Oh yeah. It’s a little magic power of mine,” he bragged, wiggling his fingers in a twinkly magic kind of way. Martin snorted in amusement.

“Magic, okay, sure,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh you don’t believe me? Here, I’ll prove it,” he said matter of factly. He hopped to his feet, sauntering over to the counter next to Jon. He looked over his shoulder at Martin, smug smirk already in place. He turned his attention to Jon, leaning his hip against the countertop.

“So how’s your day been so far?” he asked casually. Jon snorted.

“The same as every other damn day, what do you think?” When he looked up from adding the smallest amount of sugar to his tea, he froze like a deer in headlights.

Tim was giving him The Look. The one he always gave him before he pounced and turned him into a hysterical mess. His eyes were glowing with mischievous intent, deviously smug smirk peaking out from behind his mustache. Jon took a step back, a nervous grin already tugging at his lips. He glanced over at Martin- oh God, he was going to do it in front of Martin! He looked at Tim with wide eyes, shaking his head. His smile stretched ear to ear and quite literally lit up the room. Martin stared on in shock, a faint blush dusting his cheeks at the sight of their boss looking so adorable.

“Tim-“ Jon started, hoping to negotiate his way out of this.

“You sure it’s just another boring day?” he asked, cutting him off. When he wiggled his eyebrows at him, Jon giggled, actually giggled, bumping into the corner of the fridge when he backed up further.

“Tim I swear-“

“What? I’m just asking about your day. You seem to be rather chipper, thought I’d see what that’s all about,” he teased further. Jon was starting to visibly flush, and he was at a loss for words.

“Oh you bastard,” he huffed, turning away. Tim stepped in front of him.

“Where did this hostility come from? I think someone ought to teach you some manners,” he said, winking at him. Jon felt his blood run cold.

He turned to run, but Tim hooked an arm around his waist, immediately digging his fingers in his sides. Jon doubled over, choking back laughter that still forced its way out through quick bursts of giggles, snorts, and uncharacteristic shrieks. Martin was in awe.

But he couldn’t let himself look or act as lovestruck as he felt, so he just sat there in shock.

“Tihihim! Wha- whahahat dihid I dohoho?” he asked through an onslaught of helpless snickers. Tim brought his other hand into the fray, kneading his sides like a cat making biscuits. Jon snorted, knees buckling when devious hands made contact with his ribs. Those torturous fingers prodded every space between the bones, leaving him sputtering through laughter.

“Oh nothing, nothing at all. You just looked like an easy target,” he reasoned and Jon whined. He found the uppermost ribs and Jon arched his back with a giggly squeal.

Tim only kept at it for a while longer before he released him. He gave Jon a pat on the back as he caught his breath. Tim looked over at Martin and flashed a wide, cocky grin.

“See, what’d I tell ya? Magic,” he said with a grand flourish, making Martin snort in amusement. And if he noticed the way Jon was slowly creeping up behind Tim, fingers flexed and ready to strike, well, he didn’t say anything.

Where would be the fun in that?

[amazingmsme]

You're The Mouse

AN: I was having a hard time wondering just what I wanted to do for the chase prompt, and then I met Distortion Michael & the rest is history! This was an absolute blast of a fic to write, definitely one of the longer ones you'll see this month. I already miss Tim a lot so he gets a nice lil spotlight too. Posting this at 2am because I'm excited & the one time I did that it blew up. Hope y'all enjoy day 6!

It had been a long, tiring day with some rather harrowing statements he had to hear and record himself. His back ached from hunching over the desk for hours without a good break, and he felt tired down to his bones. Even his eyes felt tired, burning from the strain of staring at small font and lack of blinking. He couldn't wait to get home and crash in the couch. It was only Wednesday, which for him didn't bode well for the rest of the week.

He should've noticed the static. That fuzzy ringing in his ears that started out quiet, only to grow in intensity. If his mind wasn't so frazzled, he would've noticed that's not his usual office door.

A chill ran down his spine when he stepped through the doorway and found himself deep in the tunnels.

"Oh God," he muttered to himself, backing up and turning to run, but it was too late. The door was gone, and he ran straight into Michael's arms. Though he didn't remain there for long.

He screamed and started trashing, managing to elbow him in the stomach and stomp on his foot. Temporarily hurt, he recoiled enough for his grip to slip so Jon could free himself. He whipped around to face him once he felt there was a suitable distance between them. Although with Michael, he wasn't sure there even was such a thing.

"What the hell do you want now?" he growled, hands gripping the strap of his messenger bag tightly. Michael let out an echoing, disorienting chuckle.

"Oh archivist, I simply want some fun."

That was quite possible one of the worst things he could've said, at least in Jon's opinion. Because when Michael had fun, people usually ended up dead or insane, or in a cruel twist of fate, both.

"Maybe you should pick up a hobby, like drawing or golfing, or literally anything that involves leaving all of us alone," he suggested, though it felt more like a plea once it left his tongue. Michael let out a shrill giggle.

"You just don't get it, do you?" he asked with a tilt of his head. His wide smile was unnerving. "You're my favorite little toy."

Jonathan's face scrunched up in disgust as he looked him up and down, clearly not amused by his statement.

"Oh get your mind out of the gutter archivist, I didn't mean it like that," he scolded. "It's more like... when you were a child and you'd build fantastic cities out of blocks just so you could watch their destruction at your own hands." He took a step closer. "I'm just looking for a bit of fun amidst the chaos."

His held his hand out in front of him, reaching for Jon. His eyes widened in fear, stumbling backwards. Michael's hand distorted and stretched before his very eyes, long fingers growing in the darkness of the tunnels. Jon was already halfway down the hall.

Michael loved the thrill of the chase. He loved hearing the rapid thud of a racing heart, the panicked gasps for air as they ran for an escape. They were all the same, really, if he thought about it. Just a mindless chase through endless, winding halls that always ended victoriously. (For him, at least.)

Jon was frantic. Why now, of all days? He was so ready to walk through his front door, kick off his shoes and enjoy a nice hot frozen meal on his couch. It really was the least he could ask for, and yet, he couldn't even have that. The only saving grace was the fact that he was in the archive tunnels instead of whatever weird pocket dimension the Distortion liked to trap people in. His lungs ached as his feet pounded against the hard, dirt floor, eyes searching through the dark for something, anything to register with him and give him a clue as to his whereabouts, but it all looked the same.

"Joooon, come out come out wherever you are!" the voice was shrill and empty, the words hollowed out and stuffed to the brim with static. It echoed through the tunnels, and Jon couldn't tell where it came from, but the echo made it sound so fucking close and that sent him into a panic.

He ran ahead, ducking in a small alcove to catch his breath. He felt like he'd put a sufficient distance between them to be safe enough to do so. He gulped down air until the burn in his lungs subsided. He raised two fingers to his neck, checking his racing pulse and willed himself to calm down. Every reaction was just giving Michael exactly what he wants.

He needed to conserve his energy, move slower to remain quiet and keep his wits about him. He was pretty sure he had his bearings now, which was a plus. But if he really was where he thought he was, then they were deep in the underground maze. It took the better part of 30 minutes to even get to this point in the tunnels!

At least he knew where he was, he told himself, forcing himself to focus on the bright side of things. He walked at a brisk pace, a borderline jog really. He wanted to get out of here quickly, but he didn't want to give Michael the satisfaction of causing him to panic.

"Believe it or not, I don't want to hurt you, archivist. I simply want to have some simple, haaarmless funnn together, ehehehehehe!" His voice went shrill and warbly and distorted towards the end of his unnerving giggle so much that it became almost inaudible. And fuck, if it didn't make Jon run.

Could you blame him though? There was no way that- that thing actually meant what it said. It was absolutely going to hurt him. And it was probably going to do so in the most terrible ways imaginable.

Jon hated the deep, guttural scream that ripped from his throat when he rounded a corner and came face to face with the blonde monster.

His feet scrambled on the packed dirt and he was already turning around, but arms that were too long wrapped around him from behind, dragging him back as they retracted to a more normal length. He was screaming and kicking the air, arms fighting to free themselves.

"Shh shh shhhh, would you relax? What part of I don't want to hurt you did you not understand?" he chastised, holding a single finger to Jon's lips to quiet him. He went silent out of shock more than actual compliance.

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. Now what do you really want?" Jon demanded, mustering enough confidence to glare him down. Michael just laughed.

"Like I said, I'm just looking for some fun. You humans aren't the only ones who get bored you know," he said condescendingly. Jon remained silent.

"I tend to- peak in, from time to time, just to see how my favorite sheeple are holding up," he mused, causing Jon to visibly cringe and roll his eyes.

"Good to know there's actual reason behind always feeling like I'm being watched," he grumbled.

"Oh no, I'm not the only one, but trust me, I'm your favorite."

"Quite the opposite."

"Well, I will be your favorite," he winked and giggled to himself. "But last week, I noticed you playing with your friends. You looked soooo happy then... I'd like to make you happy like that too, Jon."

What a nice sentiment from such a not nice entity, not to mention he had no clue what he was talking about. "Bullshit, you don't want to make me happy, you want to ruin my life!" he snapped, still continuing his struggle.

"Oh, but can't I do both? Life ruining is such a long process, and I'd really like to hear that laugh in person."

Realization dawned on him the same time terror wracked his body, body going stiff and eyes bugging out. Michael cocked his head, that unnaturally large smile forming into a curious pout.

"Why archivist, if I didn't know better I'd say you look frightened," he cooed. "There's no need for that. You didn't have that look when Martin snuck up on you in the break room," he pointed out.

"You keep his name out your fucking mouth," Jon growled, and in a moment he was pressing into the Distortion's space. He had grabbed him by the shirt collar and jerked him so hard his neck snapped at the momentum, their noses almost touching. A few flecks of spit even landed on Michael's cheek from the force of Jon's rage. It genuinely took him aback before a wicked grin took over.

"Your boy toy's off limits, lesson learned."

"He's not my-" Jon cut himself off, seeing no use in arguing with him. His eyes were closed and he pressed a free hand to his temple. "Look. You said you wanted your sick fun, but all you've done since capturing me is talk. I'm a smart man, I know I can't escape this. But I'm fucking tired, and I just wanna go home, so the sooner you shut up and get on with it, the better."

There was a beat of silence, and then a shit eating grin followed by, "If you wanted me to tickle you already, you could've just said so."

"No, I want to go home you assho-" Jon cut off his own rambling mid sentence as Michael started fluttering his fingers over his sides, prompting him to clamp his mouth shut. He rolled his eyes.

"I'm doing this so I can hear that cute, funny laugh of yours archivist! The longer you hold out the longer I have to tickle tickle tickle you!" his taunt echoed off the walls. Jon flushed and hid his face in his hands.

"Y-you're sohoho fucking weheheird!" His voice pitched higher towards the end of his sentence when Michael tweaked his sides before drilling in his thumb. He tossed his head back with a discordant cackle of his own, seemingly amused by the response.

"Is that really the best insult you can come up with? How adorably pathetic!" he cooed, reaching around with his other hand to knead his belly. Jon writhed in his grip, snickering and squealing with no way to escape.

"Shut up or Ihihi'll- nohoho wahahait!" the threat died on his tongue, melting into frantic giggles. He kicked his feet in the air and gently shoved at the offending tickly hands, but to no avail. He slumped in his hold, leaning back over his arm and covered his face with his hands.

"Oh? And what exactly am I waiting for?" Michael asked, cocking his head. The way he was so calm while picking Jon apart made it all the more maddening. Those long, spindly fingers were able to work their way into every tickle spot they could find, and it was perhaps the most horrendous thing he's ever felt in his life.

"I-Ihihi dohon't knohohow!" he whined, yelping when Michael pinched and prodded at his soft tummy. "Just shuhut up!"

"Hm, I don't think I will. Especially if it gets you all worked up like that," he taunted. Ironically, he started tracing a large spiral over his stomach, closing in on his bellybutton. Jon snorted, covering his face with one hand while trying to push Michael away with the other.

"Ohoho you've gotta behehe johoking," Jon groaned through his giddy laughter, rolling his eyes.

"What? It's my signature, I simply have to," he said casually, closing in on the center of his stomach. Jon's deep chuckles morphed until they were high pitched and bubbly. He was blushing like a fool behind his hand, shrieking and wiggling in Michael's arms all the while.

~~~

Tim had the worst luck. He had been halfway home when he realized he'd not only left his wallet, but his keys as well, at the institute. He backtracked, grumbling to himself the whole time.

He hated nothing more than being alone in the archives. It was bad enough being there during the day surrounded by people, but at night when those endless halls and rooms were empty? It might as well be straight out of a horror game.

He was trying to get to his office as fast as possible, but slowed as he neared Jon's office. The light was off, and he couldn't hear talking, sure, but the door was left open. Jon never left his door open.  The sight filled Tim with dread.

"Boss? You still here?" he called out, but received no answer. He walked to the door and peeked inside, greeted only by a dark and empty room.

Maybe he just forgot to shut the door when he left, he tried to reason with himself. But none of them were that lucky, especially not Jon. Still, he went back to retrieve his things and be on his way.

Execpt that's when he heard it.

Muffled screaming. Coming from below.

Tim froze, unsure if what he was hearing was true. He bent down, putting his ear to the floor and listened.

He could just make it out.

"Please, no, have mercyyyyy!"

That was someone pleading for their life. That was Jon pleading for his life... He raced to the trapped doors.

He had the sickening feeling that he'd walk in on Elias standing over Jon's body, having killed him deep within the tunnels just as he did Gertrude. Well not today.

He descended into the tunnels, pausing when he heard frantic, hysterical screams echoing down the halls, but he could swear it sounded like... laughter. And now that he was within the tunnels, he could hear that it was undeniably Jon's.

Just what the hell was going on?

~~~

Jon knew he was going to die here, in these godforsaken tunnels. He had no way of stopping this, and Michael proved to be just as relentless now as he's ever been. And those long fucking fingers of his were absolute torture. Just one hand was big enough to vibrate over his entire stomach and still wrap around to dig  into his sides and scribble at the base of his spine. Jon was effectively in hysterics, shrieking and giggling with no end in sight.

He should hate this. Should hate that it was Michael of all people doing this to him, but an overwhelming part of him was relieved that he wasn't subjected to legitimate torture. A more foolish part of him thought that maybe Michael was warming up to them: that maybe he wasn't so downright malicious after all.

And then he felt sharp nails scratching behind both his ears, and that thought was gone as soon as it had arrived. If he hadn't been cackling so loud, perhaps they would've heard Tim calling out for Jon, telling him to just hold on, he'll be right there.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?"

If Jon hadn't been so preoccupied, he'd have jumped and shrieked in fright, though he was shrieking for an entirely different reason at the moment. Michael on the other hand, did startle, having been caught red handed. He almost seemed embarrassed, and dropped him like a sack of potatoes. Jon landed flat on his back, the breath being knocked out of his already breathless lungs. Tim was frozen in place, taking in the scene. He was knocked out of his daze when he saw Jon hit the ground, and he immediately rushed over to help him up.

Jon was gasping and wheezing, face red and hair messy, but he still had that rare, genuine smile on his face.

"Sorry you had to see that, I had thought the archives was empty," Michael said in lieu of an explanation.

"Yeah, it was. Good thing I had to come back," Tim snapped. Michael rolled his eyes.

"Oh please, he's perfectly fine. I didn't harm a single hair on his head."

"You fucking dropped me!"

Michael let out a shrill chuckle. "And that was a complete accident! But you can't really blame me for wanting to have my own fun with you. Especially after everyone else made it look like so much fun."

"Hey, you stay away from him! Only we're allowed to torture Jon like that!" Tim scolded weakly, but it was all he could think to say. Which just made him feel stupid when Michael continued to laugh at them.

"Oh, so you're the only ones who can toy with the archivist, is that it?" he asked tauntingly, cocking his head. Tim opens his mouth to answer, but stops short. Jon is sitting curled in a ball, hiding his face in his knees.

"No, you've got it wrong. We do it because we care about him, and want him to be happy, even if it's short lived. You do it for your own sick kicks!" Tim accused. Jon's head snapped up when he admitted their reasoning for why they always seem to tickle him out of the blue. It brought a shy smile to his face as he recovered from the ordeal.

"... Well that's a rude assumption. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

Tim snorted, "My point exactly." They were all quiet, the three of them engaged in a bit of a stalemate. "Aren't you going to show yourself the door?" he boldly prompted. Jon choked on his own spit in shock.

Michael's smile widened. "You know, I wasn't quite finished yet. And I'd hate for you to feel left out," he playfully threatened, and his limbs stretched ever so slightly as he spoke. Tim took a step back, eyes wide. Jon was just now making to stand, and pointed at him sternly.

"No." He stood up and dusted himself off, glasses askew on his face. He straightened them and cleared his throat. "Haven't you had enough? You leave him, and everyone else alone." And just because he knows better than to trust Michael, added, "That includes me too."

"I'll think about it. It'd be easier if you weren't so fun to tickle. Isn't that right Tim?" Michael asked, even winking at the pair. Jon blushed and turned away, and Tim failed to fight back a smile.

"Heh. Right." He shook himself out of it, glaring at Michael as he stood by Jon protectively. "B-but you just mind your business."

"Ha! Unlikely, diet archivist."

"Hey!" Tim snapped at the insulted and Jon stifled an amused  snicker. He was just about to give him a piece of his mind when Michael opened a door that hadn't been there a second ago, standing in the doorway.

"Until we meet again," he waved at them, closing the door behind him, leaving them stunned and alone.

Now that Michael was gone, Tim turned to Jon with a teasing smirk. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah, I'll be fine. I'm honestly... more confused than anything." Tim barked out a laugh and patted his shoulder.

"You and me both."

They began their trek out of the tunnels, walking side by side quietly until Tim broke the silence.

"So, what's it like being tickled senseless by the Distortion?" he asked in a teasing tone. Jon flushed and shot a glare his way, but he had that happy, sheepish grin plastered on his fast, just like every other time they wrecked him.

"Oh, should I have let you find out for yourself?" Jon quipped to mask his own embarrassment.

Tim looked down with a faint blush. "Fair point." A beat, and then, "You know we have to tell the others, right?"

Jon choked on his own spit, and Tim stopped walking to give him a moment. He looked at him expectantly, while Jon looked at him with a floored look.

"Are you joking?" he asked.

"As much as I wish I were, no." The shit eating grin on his face said otherwise. "You heard what that thing said. We're all fair game in his eyes." Jon gave a noncommittal hum. "They deserve a bit of a warning, don't you think?" It was true, but he didn't have to be so damn smug about it.

"Yes," Jon begrudgingly agreed through a growl.

"Think it might be best if you made a statement. You know, so we have an accurate account for the record."

Jon groaned and hid behind his hair. "I would literally rather die." Tim barked out a laugh and threw an arm over his shoulders.

"Always with the dramatics! So you're saying you'd rather tell them in person? Look them in the eyes and admit how I saved you-"

"Don't-"

"From the big bad ti-"

Jon didn't think he'd ever been so embarrassed. "Stop!"

"The big bad tickle monster named Michael!" Tim rushed out in one breath, laughing at the flustered squeak he made as he marched ahead. It took him no time at all to catch up, thanks to his long legs. "Oh come on, you know it's funny!"

Jon huffed, unable to hide his lingering smile. "Only because it wasn't you, asshole."

They continued their playful banter back and forth, unaware of the tape recorder that had appeared in Jon's pocket the moment he entered the tunnels, listening in and capturing every word.

~~~

Tim was relieved when he made it back home, slipping his key in the door and stepping inside. Strange, how he didn't seem to notice the change from handle to doorknob.

His eyes flew open when he was met with the sight of an endless, shifting corridor. He felt sick. A chill ran down his spine, his ears were ringing, his head filled with static and he stumbled in an attempt to get his bearings. There was a sinking feeling in his gut, and he felt so trapped.

Michael walked out from the nothingness, grin much too wide for his face. Tim hugged his arms to his body and stepped back, fighting an involuntary smile tugging at his lips.

"Y-you stay back! I'll fuck you up!" Tim cried, bravely putting his hands up, balled into fists and ready to swing. Michael laughed, and it was a sound that unsettled Tim to his very core. He held his hands up, and Tim couldn't help but flinch at the movement.

"Believe it or not, I'm not here to torture you. I'll save that for a rainy day," he added, chuckling at his own joke. Tim lowered his arms, staring at him skeptically.

"Okaaaay. So what the hell are you doing in my home?"

"But I brought you to my home," he corrected, and that wide grin turned just a tad condescending. Tim narrowed his eyes and set his jaw.

"Yeah, through my front door!" he argued before sighing in defeat, pinching the bride of his nose. "So what do you want?"

"I wanted to give you something." Tim perked up, looking at him in shock. He jumped and yelped when Michael was standing right in front of him. He held out the tape recorder.

"A little... souvenir from earlier. I doubt Sasha and Martin will believe you without proof." He placed the tape in Tim's hand, leaving him dumbstruck. "And I really have a hard time believing Jon will corroborate your story, don't you?"

Tim didn't know what to say. "Um... thank you?"

Michael winked at him. "You're welcome." And because he couldn't help himself, he skittered his fingers over his belly. Tim jerked back with a surprised laugh, a blush and a growing look of fear on his face.

"Relax. Like I said, rainy day."

He gave him a small wave and opened a door off to the side and left. Everything melted into his flat, and he was safe in the middle of his living room.

~~~

Jon walked into work the next day as if it were any other, eager to forget the events of last night. He went to the break room for a cup of coffee to start the day and walked in to see Sasha, Martin, and of course, Tim, huddled around a tape recorder. They all wore a look of concern. Well, except for Tim.

"What're you listening to?" he asked. Sasha and Martin jumped out of their skin when they heard his voice, whipping around to meet him. They looked rather guilty, but more concerning, they looked worried.

The next thing he knew, Martin was hugging him.

"I'm sorry, what's-" A voice on the tape interrupts him.

"Joooon, come out come out wherever you are!"

"I-I'm so sorry, we left you here alone, and Tim said Michael got you and-"

"Did he now?" he asked, cocking his head.

"Now Jon, is that any way to speak to your knight in shining armor?"

"Oh please, you're not my bloody knight." He spoke over the sound of his own erratic breathing and feet pounding against hard packed dirt.

"Were you even gonna tell us Michael attacked you?" Sasha asked, brows furrowed with worry. "Because I really doubt it."

Jon floundered for an answer, face going red. "Um- it- look, it really wasn't as serious as Tim undoubtedly made it seem." He glanced up at his smiling face and said, "Would he really be grinning like that if it was?"

Of course, as soon as they looked at him, he schooled his features into a serious expression, but they each caught a glimpse of a fading smirk.

"Okay what's... what's happening right now?" Martin asked, looking between the two.

"You wanna tell them yourself Jon? Or uh, let the tape do the talking for you?" he asked, holding up the tape.

"Shh shh shhhh, would you relax? What part of I don't want to hurt you did you not understand?"

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. Now what do you really want?"

Jon refused to meet his friends' gaze as he spoke over his previous conversation. "Look, I'm fine. He didn't hurt me, didn't psychologically scar me, the only thing damaged was my pride."

The tape played on in the background as Jon tried to explain himself. Michael's endless talk of having fun did nothing to calm Sasha and Martin's nerves for past-Jon. "I-I don't really know why he t- uuh, did what he did, but he seemed almost... friendly isn't exactly the word I'd use, maybe tame? Toned down?" That was about the time Michael mentioned the rest of them, and how they all "played" with Jon. A hesitant smile ghosted over Sasha's lips as she thought she knew what he was hinting at, and judging by Jon's reaction, she might be right, but there was just no way... Was there?

"Jon, did Michael-"

"Yes," he cut her off before she could finish the sentence. "Yeah, he uh, said you all made it look like fun, so he decided to try it out," he said, staring at the faded break room carpet.

"Wait, so it's our fault?" Martin asked, and Jon immediately felt guilty for saying it like that.

"No! God no, you guys are just trying to make me loosen up. Michael's just... morbidly curious."

"Right," Tim agreed, suddenly more serious. "He uh, told me he was waiting for a rainy day. So obviously, he has his sights set on all of us. Which is... unnerving to say the least." He locked eyes with Jon, a soft smile on his face. "So I'm not just doing this to fuck with you. But that is an excellent perk!" Jon couldn't help but chuckle. "But I thought everyone deserved a bit of a heads up. And maybe ease some worry while I'm at it." "Where'd you even get this?" Jon asked, pointing at the recorder just as his own bubbly giggles  started pouring out.

"Michael gave it to me."

"Very funny." When Tim's expression didn't change, his jaw dropped, "You're serious."

"Where else would I have gotten it from?"

"Fair point."

A loud shriek followed by shrill cackling and snorts emitted from the tape. All heads snapped over to look at him with amused grins and fond expressions.

"Right. Well, I lived through this once already. No need to stick around for a second time," he said, cheeks burning from embarrassment. He paused in the door. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this, am I?"

"Not likely."

"Nope!"

"Absolutely not."

He gave a curt nod, lips pursed together. "Thought so."

[a-simple-lee]

Wednesday Afternoon

Timothy Stoker, Reader

Synopsis: Season 1 fluff. Following up leads for Jon sucks, but your other colleagues make the job a little more bearable.

A/n: I went to close my google docs tab and blinked and suddenly half an hour had passed and I’d finished an old fic. I don’t know what to do with it so I’m dumping it here I guess?? Please tolerate my shameless simping for Tim, I’m so sorry

_______________________________________________

The morning hasn’t necessarily been bad, but you’re tired. Commutes on the tube tend to have that effect on everyone, and you’ve had more than your fair share of those - hopping on the train to the British Library for some records was as tedious as could be expected, and after spending precious minutes squinting at tube maps and dashing between platforms, the records you'd retrieved had barely helped with the statement in question. Today has just decided to feel longer, it seems. You sigh.

You’re not expecting Tim to sneak up behind you for a hug in the break room, but it's welcome nonetheless. 

"Afternoon." There's a grin in his voice.

“Hello to you, too.” Tim lets you extract yourself from his arms so you can turn on the kettle. Both of you lean back against the counter. You eye the ostentatiously patterned, partially unbuttoned shirt Tim's wearing, and vaguely remember Jonathan’s double take upon seeing his assistant’s outfit this morning. "Boss isn’t letting you get away with that ensemble, is he?”

“'course he is. Wouldn't dream of having a go at his favourite assistant." He puts a hand to his chest with a flourish.

"Pfft. No, really. What did he say?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Something about decorum and how I'm lacking - as if he can talk with his corduroy blazers. What I lack in professionalism I more than make up for with charisma. Can’t say the same for him."

"He is stuffy. Tea?"

“Massive understatement.Yes, please.” Tim types something into his phone. It makes a cheerful blipping noise.

“Sash and Martin are out investigating a lead, but we're hoping to pop out for chips later - care to join us?”

“Sure, sounds good." You reach towards the top shelf for some mugs. "Why does Martin have to-oof- put all of these at the back? It's hardly fair."

"It's perfectly fair, you’re the only short one here." Tim grins, tweaking your side. You flinch away with a poorly concealed yelp. Both of you freeze.

It’s Tim who speaks up first. “Oh?”

“Tim-” It’s too late. He’s already reaching out to poke you again.

“Are you ticklish?”

“No?” The fact that you’re already letting a few giggles slip doesn’t help your case at all. Tim continues making pincer motions towards your sides, and at first you manage to dodge him, stepping back each time he tries to reach you.

And then your back hits the wall. Shit.

“Tim-”

“Yep?” He’s got a spark of mischief in his eyes, and a grin that’s starting to bring a blush to your face. His hand makes contact with your lower ribs, squeezing gently. Your hands fly up to cover your mouth.

“Wahait-” The dam breaks, and streams of your badly muffled laughter stream into the break room. Tim lets out a triumphant little “aha!”, only encouraged by your reactions.

“You are ticklish! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” He smiles, shifting closer to hold an arm around your waist so you can’t sink down against the wall.

“The tea! I need to make the tea!” You gasp out between hysterics, trying to push at his shoulders but finding it doesn’t do much. 

“But you’re cute when you’re being tickled.” Tim states smugly, chuckling at the flustered noise you make.

“Tim!”

“You’re blushing~”

“Shut up!”

He gasps, trying to sound offended. “Did you just tell your best friend to shut up? I could report you for workplace bullying, you know, I’m the Archivist’s favourite assistant.”

“Plehease-” You whine, turning to hide your face as best you can.

“Please report you? Well, since you’re asking so nicely-”

“No- that’s not what I- Okay, I’m sorry- don’t report me-” 

“Are you sorry?”

“Yes!”

He sneaks his hands under your arms, and you let out a yelp before falling into another bout of hysterics. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, I give, I’m sorry-” You tap his arm a couple of times, weak from laughter, and he finally releases you.

“Apology accepted,” Tim watches as you readjust your shirt with a huff before heading back to the countertop. 

“That was rather mean of you.” You sigh, trying to wipe the smile off of your face as you reach back up to get out the mugs. Tim, inevitably, shifts closer, and you shoot him a wary glance, concerned he’ll try to poke your side again. He holds his hands up, the picture of innocence.

“Nah, it wasn’t mean...” He hesitates. “Was it mean?”

“...No, no. Not really.” You switch the kettle on. 

“You’re still blushing.”

You almost tell him to shut up a second time, but think better of it. “Stop pointing it out.”

“Never.”

“...There’s a lot to hate about you, Tim.”

“No, you love me really.”

“Did I say I didn’t love you?” You screw the cap onto the milk and place Tim’s mug next to him. 

“Aww, look at you getting all soft. Is Martin rubbing off on you?”

You roll your eyes. “Just drink your tea, Stoker.”

“Love you too.”

Suffice to say, the rest of the day more than makes up for your shitty morning.

[ao3feed-themagnusarchives]

a gentle touch

by Anonymous

Martin may be the last person to find out that Jon is ticklish, but he's more than prepared to make up for lost time.

Words: 2336, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen, M/M

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood, Melanie King, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Georgie Barker

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Melanie King & Jonathan Sims, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker

Additional Tags: Tickling, Fluff, Established Relationship, Teasy Martin

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/23881666