#yes its That Derek

[mtreebeardiles]

WIP Whenever

Got some words going, so have a snippet from the next chapter of the ME3 longfic

( @theoriginalladya here's some of what I was talking about :) )

Derek Gilliam didn't think of himself as a spy.

Contractor, maybe, a jack-of-all trades, a freelancer offering a suite of skill-sets tailored to a wide range of potential client needs. It was coincidental, really, that many of his contracts came from the sort of people for whom discretion was paramount.

He was seeing less of that now, though, what with the galaxy falling apart around them. Needs shifted, but money wasn't one of them, and he needed work, and maybe manual labor in warehouses on the Citadel wasn't as lucrative as the sorts of jobs he was used to but it kept him fed and sheltered.

It was more than he could say for a lot of refugees on the station, and if Derek had learned anything in the years since his disgraceful discharge from the Alliance, it was not to overlook the thinnest of silver linings.

Or to look a gift varren in the mouth when opportunity came calling.

He sidestepped a gaggle of hagglers arguing with a shopkeeper in the Presidium, his general presence unremarked and unnoticed, and that suited him just fine. Would've rankled, once upon a time, before his name had became synonymous with disappointment, but he was a different man these days. No longer desperate to fit into the mold his father had carved out for him, no longer weighed down by lofty ideals of legacy, of believing himself better by virtue of bloodline and surname. A different man, maybe not necessarily a better one, but maybe better in the ways that mattered -- to him, at least, if not to his father.

His father, who he wasn't sure was even still alive, who had considered his son dead to him long before the Reapers had come calling.

That was the thing about becoming a ghost to your own family -- you cared less, or told yourself you did, while accepting that they would always haunt you in a way you weren't sure you'd ever haunt them.

Did you ever worry about me? Thought of those cool blue eyes and the hard lines of his father's face, the way his dress uniform with all its ribbons and medals and accolades never did sit quite right over the soft bulge of his gut, the bulge Derek himself might've developed, too, if he hadn't stopped drinking so fucking much. Did you ever wonder where I went? What became of me?

A pointless exercise in nostalgia for a childhood he'd never had, and Derek shook the thoughts away as he navigated the wreckage of the Presidium. Ash and soot and evidence of laser fire scoring the once pristine white walls of this place and it still wasn't nearly as bad as it was down in the Wards. But priorities were priorities and the dregs of society were never going to be particularly high on anyone's list.

He ducked around a grouping of Alliance soldiers, not even bothering to hide his face. They wouldn’t recognize him, not anymore, not for a long, long time.

He found he liked it better that way after all.

The office was set up in one of the hotel rooms on the second floor, panoramic windows giving view of the Presidium down below. It was a hastily assembled space, bed pushed against a far wall to make room for a series of desks and mismatched chairs pulled from other places, but the hum of servers, at least, was familiar enough.

Also familiar was the figure seated behind the desk with the greatest amount of clutter, and Derek angled for the volus the moment he spotted him.

"Gilliam," the volus greeted, waving him towards a seat.

"Barla Von," Derek replied, sinking into the chair before him. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

He'd worked for the volus on and off for the past five years. A contact of a contact of a contact, layers and layers of obscurity, but Derek didn't mind the cloak and dagger so much so long as Von made good on his promises -- and his pay. He knew surface-level things only, details easily verifiable as fact -- that the volus worked in the Financial District, usually, that he worked with high-profile clients, that his operations were smooth and well-lauded. The murkier underbelly was something else together, worth only the most cursory of glances before Derek had decided he was better off not knowing. An information broker, that much was sure, lined up well enough with the sort of work the volus tended to pass on to him, but anything beyond that…

Well. Some things Derek just didn't feel he needed to know.

"A job," the volus replied, words interspersed with the all-too familiar rasp of his ventilator. "Of a sort to which I feel you are…uniquely suited."

Derek's eyebrows rose, and he sat up a little straighter. A flutter of unease hit his gut, and he fought the urge to wipe his palms down the thighs of his pants. He wasn't sure he liked where he thought this might be going.

"Oh?"

"Tell me," Barla Von went on, bracing his hands on the desktop. Derek couldn't see his eyes beyond his mask, but he felt that heavy gaze on him all the same. "How familiar are you with the Alliance protocol known as 'category-6?'"

Well, Derek thought, swallowing against a suddenly dry throat. Shit.

[frankiebirds]

will forever thinking about morgan refusing to leave dr. brazier's side while the bomb under her seat is being defused.

i didn't get a good screenshot of it, but he's also holding her hand the whole time.

and then the way he hugs her??

keep in mind he Just met this woman. he has no emotional connection to her beyond the fact that she is a person in distress and he is a person who cares. there is a bomb under her seat that could go off if she moves wrong or they fail to defuse it. if that happens, it will kill her, and almost certainly him too. he doesn't care. he kneels outside her car and holds her hand while she prays because he will not let her be afraid alone. he will not let her die alone, if it comes to that. derek morgan the bottomless well of compassion you are.

[seaweed-water]

ok i'm working on a new story that's about to be *super* dark and i'm excited to share it but god it's going to take a while and i promised myself i'd finish my works before posting them on ao3, just in case i need to go back and ensure continuity, etc,. wow what a run-on sentence. anyway, here's wonderwall:

The room is quiet, only the ticking clock on the wall and the psychiatrist’s pen clicking over bone. Derek doesn’t want to be the one to speak first, and he shouldn’t have to, a silent stare shared between the two men in the unsettling calm of the home office. Derek mirrors the doctor, his ankle crossed over his knee, leaning back into the chair with his forearms resting in his lap.

“Have you ever had therapy before, Derek?” the doctor asks with a raised brow.

Aside from forced and entirely useless counseling sessions after the fire, Derek has steered clear of anyone who could judge him certifiable. He doesn’t need that kind of negativity in his life.

“Not really, no.”

The doctor hums with a short nod, like he understands entirely. What he understands, Derek isn’t sure. He swears on everything unholy if this shrink says, ‘and why do you think that is?’ he’s going to lose it.

“So then, what’s brought you in today?”

The unexpected response takes him off guard, his brows twitching in before he relaxes his face again. His eyes wander the room in search of an answer, observing the book-lined wall, the ambient lighting, the atrium that separates the office from the rest of the house. On the other side of it, Derek can see a giant staircase with artifacts tucked into the carved-out wall leading to the second floor.

“Don’t you feel weird having people come to your house?” Derek asks. He can’t help but wonder what other kinds of patients the doctor treats, and why he’d feel so comfortable allowing them into his home. They could have a real antisocial personality disorder.  

“I don’t mind. I have a pretty good sense of people.” The man leans in, his lips curling. “I’m always prepared.”

The doctor’s low tone sends a shiver up Derek’s spine. He swallows, his arms crossing over his middle.

“Tell me what ails you,” the psychiatrist says, pushing up his glasses with long, spindly fingers before he clicks the pen over his kneecap a final time, resting the ballpoint to paper. His amber eyes meet Derek’s gaze, so penetrating that Derek can feel the warmth of them blooming in his chest. He averts his eyes, watching the man’s hands instead.

Derek isn’t sure where to begin with such an outstanding request. He can’t give too much away, but he’s here for a reason.

Dr. Stilinski’s heady stare remains, silent as he patiently waits.

“I’m losing control again. I can’t…” Derek pauses, thinking carefully, avoiding the doctor’s gaze, “I can’t stop myself from over-working out. I start to feel… insatiable. I want more before it’s even over.”

“I see,” Dr. Stilinski says, fingers curling over the top spine of his legal pad in his lap. “You’re used to feeling in control, but lately something’s changed. Maybe… you’ve been suppressing a part of yourself, but it’s getting harder, isn’t it?”

Derek inhales, his breath hitching as he meets the doctor’s eyes again. He feels like he’s been caught somehow, without having said anything technically damning. As nervous as this makes him, Derek is undeniably intrigued.

“Yeah,” Derek admits, unsure if he should continue. The doctor stares, blinking like he’s waiting for more. “It’s never been this difficult. It feels like if I don’t keep going, I’m failing.”

“Hm,” Stilinski starts, his thumbs tapping over the spine as he reads Derek from head to toe. “You’re not alone in that feeling, Derek. A lot of people have difficult impulses they can’t control. Maybe… urges that don’t fit in the lives they want to live. But perhaps they haven’t assessed the matter from every direction.” The doctor’s foot falls to the floor as he leans in, his arms resting over his notepad. “I can help you reform your thoughts about these impulses.”

Derek feels exposed under his stare, but unable to pull away. Something is off about this doctor, something Derek can’t quite put into words. It’s as if he’s holding back, skirting around truths he’s not saying, and it only makes Derek more intrigued. He wants to uncover the layers, to dig into the secret the doctor seems to dangle just out of reach. It’s unsettling, the way it feels like Dr. Stilinski can see right through him, straight to his core.

“Did you grow up here?” Derek asks.

The doctor tilts his head, his lips twitching. “Yes.”

“So you know, then.”

“Yes,” the doctor confirms, and Derek is once again caught off by his transparent honesty, expecting him to circumvent the question and segue into Derek’s childhood instead.

The doctor drops his pen and notepad onto the coffee table between them with a smack, his elbows over his knees as his hands clasp between his spread legs. Derek is unable to pull his gaze away.

“I’d like to help you, Derek. If you want that, you must promise me one thing.”

Derek’s heart speeds up. He’s not even sure what this promise is, but he finds himself nodding, a short twitch of acknowledgment.

“Do not lie to me. I promise, in return, to grant you the same courtesy.”

Derek nods again, his mouth slightly parted. Dr. Stilinski raises an eyebrow, a silent request for an affirmative verbal answer.

It’s not like Derek can casually announce it as if surrounded by like-minded peers in a support group: “Hi, I’m Derek, and I’m a murderer.” Promises mean nothing to Derek without a foundation of trust, and that comes with time and still a sneaking sense of suspicion; though he wonders if, when the moment comes, lying will even be possible. Derek can always tell, and he suspects Dr. Stilinski can, too.

“Okay,” Derek breathes out.

This seems to please him, the corners of his mouth twitching, his deep gaze locking Derek in. “Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

There’s something about him Derek can’t quite place, an air shrouded in deliberate mystery. It’s as if he’s setting the pieces on a board for a game only known to him, his every move premeditated, a mischievous glint in his eyes as if daring Derek to join him.

As Derek stands to leave, Stilinski rises with him and reaches across the coffee table to grasp Derek’s hand in a firm grip. The doctor takes a deep breath, shoulders lifting with the inhale, an easy smile playing on his lips. "Call me Stiles."

Derek’s not quite sure what to make of their first session. That doctor could read Derek like an open book, and he wonders what else Stiles might know about him if he grew up here. The thought of not returning crosses his mind, afraid of what Stiles might uncover if they continue. But an undeniable fascination settles within him as he glances back at the contemporary house tucked away inside a cove of trees, feeling eyes on him as he departs. Despite everything, he knows he’ll be returning.

[toastybugguy]

gotta be careful calling Scott your brother ‘cause in two episodes time he’ll rock your shit like only a sibling could 🙏🙏

For @scottappreciation’s Scott McCall Week 2023 — Day Three: Fight Scene

[mariocki]

New Scotland Yard: My Boy Robby? (2.13, LWT, 1973)

"Why?"

"It's the hearing in the magistrates' court tomorrow. They wanted to frighten you. Show you they were serious."

'But they must have known that I'd phone you?"

"People who live in their sort of world often miscalculate the effects of violence and threats on those who live outside it."

[billygaysanguine]

i am trying so super hard not to be too negative on here but wow it pisses me off how derek is like. Yeah these characters who are otherwise fully developed do have magical disciplines but im just not gonna tell you about them. On purpose. man why

[crownedleiurus]

zamn boi...r u barbie cuz u barbie girlign

Forming your first thought, handsome?

[weirdbabs]

idk maybe im weird for not giving a crap about who turned guillermo. like. i get it its a metaphor for sex, nandor and guillermo like each other and have a “relationship”, guillermo “cheated” on nandor by seeking someone else out sure. but all the vamps end up feeling very puritanical when they talk about how he let derek, of all people, turn him. how he just gave it away. like who cares if his “first time” wasnt with someone he loved, it was with someone he trusted and felt comfortable enough asking and thats all that matters to me

[ghostlypawn]

um heres a graph telling u what the best cm seasons are based on the avg imdb ratings ... do with it what you will

[lnsania]

@thenightmareofyourdrems​​ asked: “  woah—  hold up you’re bleeding.  ”   ~ Stiles

blood related prompts -- accepting

werewolf features retreated in a gradual shift ,  returning to their humanised structure while his pupils remained ignited .  blazing hues consistent on alert despite his wounded side .  bracing the damp ,  darkening material of his shirt with a hand as he spun to stare down stiles . 

“ you need to leave . ”  it was the night of the full moon .  and while the woods ,  for some infuriating reason ,  was stiles’ usual playground ,  tonight was different .  there were others .  other wolves with foreign scents who attempted to pounce on this suicidal human taking a midnight stroll .  “ you can’t be out here . ”

[frankiebirds]

I know that in the episode, this moment:

CYRUS: They didn't have to follow. God could have stopped me. [SWAT enters, Morgan shoots Cyrus] REID: He just did.

is a callback to an earlier moment where the OG leader of the sect says that Cyrus took control by saying that God wanted him to be, and then when the OG leader said if he did, he would send a sign, Cyrus held a gun to his head and said "he just did." but. reid wasn't there for that recounting. he was busy being held hostage. correct me if i'm wrong but he has no idea about that at all. if cyrus had told him i think we would have seen him do so. reid just said that from his own head. incredibly gay what the fuck.

[sapphic-woes]

:) holy fucking shit I'm livid

[nexttothelamp]

.....

[criminalminds4eva]

secret polaroids - spencer reid

summary: secretly dating your coworker, when it all coomes to light due to a blurry polaroid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

“wait, whos in the picture behind your phonecase?!”

doctor spencer reid, the genius with an eidetic memory, one of the fbi’s brightest minds, your coworker. who you’ve been secretly going out with for the last couple of months

it all happend over spilled coffee, you had been rushing over to the office, holding cups of coffee for the team working on a case out of town. as a new member of the team you wanted to make a good impression, hell maybe suck up to them a little.

so when you walk in the precint and spill the coffee all over your clothes, the work of a small town cop running into you, spencer offers to drive you to the hotel, to change into clean clothes.

“that was so embarrasing god what an idiot” you said covering your flushed face as spencer drove to the hotel

“the cop ran into you, besides you were doomed from the start carrying 8 cups of coffee in the same hand, and statistically speaking, it's actually quite common to spill coffee, especially when multitasking or under stress, the brain can only process a limited amount of information at once, which leads to small errors in motor control.” spencer looked over at you and chuckled

"you know it amazes me how much information you have stored up in your brain, i mean i know about the phd´s and everything but still its so amazing" you said looking over at him as he parked in front of the hotel, you can see his cheeks start to form a little red to them and naturally yours do too

and after that, a couple of weeks later full of small glances, smiles and of derek telling him how painfully obvious it was that he likes you and liked him. he asked you out

"you know people who share common interests and engage in meaningful conversation tend to form stronger connections and, well, i really enjoy talking with you, so i was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me sometime? i promise i won’t ramble about statistics the entire time" he said as he tried to hide the blush in his face so the rest of the team wouldnt know what the both of you were talking about in your desk

"spence, id love nothing more than to hear you ramble over dinner"

one dinner became two then three, then you found yourself kissing him goodnight as he dropped at the door to your apartment

he leans in slightly, hesitating for a brief moment, as if calculating the perfect timing and then gently kisses you

"i really enjoyed tonight" you said after the kiss "would you like to come in for a drink?"

he pauses for a moment, trying to think clearly then says "id love too"

after a while you both end up getting wine drunk in your apartment floor, which leads to the decision of your bringing out your polaroid camera

"come on spence smile for the camera" you laughed trying to get him to take his hands off his face but he wouldnt so you snap the picture anyway

"alright enough, your turn" he said taking the camera from your hands and taking a couple of pictures of you.

he wobbles a little setting his wine glass down in the counter, eyes half-focused but full of affection. "you know,ive been thinking, well, not just tonight, but, like a lot. you’re amazing and smart, and funny, and so beautiful and i think your definetly out of my league and if i were to kiss you then go to hell, i would. so then i could brag to the devils i saw heaven without entering" He fumbles over his words, blinking slowly, but his sincerity is clear. "maybe you could, um, be my girlfriend? statistically, we’re, uh, compatible, and I think we could you know be really happy together what do you say?" he offers a lopsided smile, clearly a bit nervous despite the alcohol.

his rambling takes you back "did you just quote shakespeare to me?" you chuckled as you leaned in to kiss him once more

"is that a yes i take it?" he said kissing you back

"yes doctor reid, i want to be your girlfriend" his eyes wide open to your response, and for a moment hes speechless, he laughs nervously rubbing the back of his neck and grabs the camera once more

"come on we are taking our first official dating picture" he smiles shyly but brightly taking a blurry polaroid of the two of you in front of the mirror

the two of you knew it was better to keep the relationship private, spencer's face flushed when you mentioned the thought of how derek would tease him, or how he wouldnt hear the end of it from garcia being all happy for the both of you. knowing they wouldnt do it to harm either of you but since this was quite new and being coworkers, you decided to keep it private but not a secret. the team knew spencer was seeing someone, emily said his face seemed brighter and suddenly he couldnt stay overtime to finish the files jj had sneeked him in his desk. and they knew you were seeing someone too since garcia said she caught you smiling while you were texting, they hoped you guys were seeing each other but since neither of you ever mentioned the date or maybe it was the fact that you really were able to mantain a professional front while working, they hadnt been able to fully catch on that you were dating spencer

that was until you decided to put the blurry polaroid of the night he asked you to be his girlfriend behind your phone case

"wait who's in the picture behind your phone case?" penelope squealed with exciment catching the attention of the rest of the team

"is that your boyfriend y/n, do i officially have no chance with you" chuckled derek leaning against your desk as you nervously took your phone from garcia

"oh come on now she will tell us when she wants too" emily approached then took your phone from your hands "besides you cant really tell who it is in the picture" as she looked at the picture trying to figure it out despite your efforts to take the phone from her hands.

derek stood beside her also looking at the picture "hey but doesnt it kind of look like.."

"morning what are we looking at" spencer appeared at your desk, his face blushing when he saw the picture emily and derek were looking at, they looked at spencer, then looked at you burying your face in your hands

"oh my god, no way really?!?" garcia said with a bright smile "doctor love oh my god i cant belive it" she said hugging spencer

"so i guess the cat is out of the bag huh?" you said looking at spencer

"you owe me 20 bucks i told you they were dating" emily said playfully punching derek in the shoulder

"wait you guys had bets on this" spencer said laughing nervously letting go of the hug with garcia

"well pretty boy we didnt actually think you would even ask her out how long has this been going on for" said morgan looking playfully hurt "baby girl let them breathe" he said pulling garcia from you

"a couple of months" you mentioned letting go of the hug with a cheesy smile

"alright, we have a case" said rossi joining the team by your desk. the team grins weider as they notice spencer blushing as he stands next to you "were really happy, for the both of you" said derek as they started to walk away. you get up from your desk following the team and squeeze your boyfriends hand, a signal that all was well

"did you really think we wouldnt figure it out?" rossi raised his eyebrows as he looked at spencer watching walk away while the team playfully teased you "im happy for you kid" rossi patted him on the back

spencer shakes his head with a half-laugh trying to hide the blush in his face as they joined everyone.

⋆｡°✩

a/n: feedback would be super appreciated, i hoped you enjoyed reading <33

[avis-writeshq]

hi ! love ur fics <3

can i request reader as being a massive flirt publicly towards spencer but when its Intimate and Private, reader is suddenly Stunned and Speechless and Blushing and spencer kinda gets the confidence to Do Stuff

im sorry if that was the stupidest described ask ever achh but lov u !

pairing: s9!spencer reid x bau!fem!reader genre: established relationship, bombshell-ish(?) reader, fluff warnings: 16+ for kind of suggestive? he’s so in love UGH a/n: thank you for requesting !! wc: 1.22k

Spencer thinks that you are the most beautiful person in the world. He thinks that you’re glowing every time you walk into the room– no matter how upset or disgruntled you may be– and as cliche as it may seem, he’s certain that swarms butterflies fill his stomach and cloud his mind. In fact, he thinks that you have always had that effect on him, ever since he’s met you. You’re touchy, and despite Spencer’s general aversion to physical touch, he finds that he doesn’t mind your germs much. 

Very often he finds himself at your mercy, with the way your fingers brush against his face as if it’s nothing, as if that movement alone was something that you do with everyone (you’ve only ever done it with him). There are other instances where you’ve been very blatant in your attraction towards him, so much so that he ends up with his cheeks hot more often than not. A part of him is grateful that though you work in the FBI, it isn’t his division. He doubts he’d be able to see the end of it.

“Spencer,” you gush, curling your fingers into the ends of his hair. Or rather, lack of hair. “You got a haircut. You’re supposed to consult me first, you know.”

He laughs, looking up at you as you stand over him while he sits at his desk. “Is that what a good boyfriend is supposed to do?”

“Yes.” You speak with mock indignation, properly running your fingers through his hair from his fringe to the back of his head. “It’s so short.”

“Do you hate it?” There’s a momentary pang of unease that strikes at his heart. “Maybe I should have consulted you.”

“No, baby, it looks really good.” You smile at him, pressing a kiss to his hairline. “You’re warm. Do you have a fever?”

Of course I’m warm, Spencer wants to say while you continue to dote on him, your hands travelling to his collar next and brushing against his throat. You’re touching me in the middle of the bullpen. 

He opts to not say anything when he sees your knowing smile. You’re doing this on purpose. He clicks his tongue, squeezing at your waist lightly as you lean over him to kiss his forehead. He’ll let you win this battle; he’s going to get you back.

***

He doesn’t really know how to get you back. There are a few harmless things he’d thought of doing: sneaking into your department and hiding your mug on the top shelf (he fears that you’d ask someone, a taller more handsome someone, to rescue it for you), not wearing the tie you picked out for him that morning (he can already envision your disappointed frown and his chest aches at the imaginary you getting upset because of him), and putting toothpaste in your Oreos (he doesn’t want to die). 

All of these ideas go down the drain and he ends up not getting back at you for days. It doesn’t help that he’s been gone for a case while you’ve been stuck at home. It isn’t all bad, and a part of him wishes that he can hold himself to the same level of confidence as Derek when Penelope calls him with flirtatious motives. You do virtually the same thing. 

Your words are honey as you shower him with compliments, ending him with a simple “Hey, gorgeous.” 

It is enough to make his heart leap to his throat and his cheeks to warm to a pretty pink. There’s not much overlap between the Human Resources Branch and the BAU, especially considering that you assist more on the training and hiring side of things, so there aren’t many opportunities for you to fluster him when he’s out of the office. He finds that you always make an excuse.

“Hi,” he responds softly, avoiding the teasing gazes of Emily and Derek. “Is… are you okay?”

“Do I need to not be okay to talk to my lovely boyfriend?” 

You’re teasing him, poking fun at the way he so easily surrenders to you. He resists the urge to run out the room. 

“Stop,” he warns half-heartedly. He says your name quietly, tapping his fingers at the edge of the table. “Is there something you needed?”

He can practically hear you smile as you respond, the sound of your mouse clicking in the background. “Oh, yeah. My computer says that my storage is full. What do I do?”

“Your storage is full,” he repeats, smiling. “That’s why you called me?”

“It’s lunchtime in Santa Monica, right?”

He relents, cheeks hurting from how hot and stretched out they are. “Yes.”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem.” 

He puffs out a breath of air, running his fingers through his hair. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re lovely.” He can imagine you batting your eyes, your smile saccharine. “Don’t you wish that you were here, gorgeous?”

He’s definitely going to get you back.

*** 

Spencer goes to your apartment once the case ends, his eyes dreary with sleep and the horrors that he saw only a few hours prior. Your apartment key hangs next to his on his keychain– a limited edition Tardis charm that you got him for his birthday. He huffs out a breath, unlocking your door and stepping inside. He’s met with you dancing around in your kitchen, headphones on whilst holding a wooden spoon. A part of him is concerned with how easily he could slip into your home without being notice, but the other part can’t help but smile at how carefree you look, and he leans against the wall to stare. 

He doesn’t get the opportunity to stare for long. It’s comical, the way you jump upon seeing him, eyes wide as you rip your headphones off. 

“You’re back! You scared me.” A smile stretches across your lips while you press your palm to your chest whilst taking steps towards him. “Don’t do that ever again.”

Spencer laughs, toeing his shoes off and resting his hands on your waist. His head dips down to meet your gaze, peering up at you with a soft smile. “You look beautiful.”

Your cheeks glow warm and you break eye contact. “Yeah?”

“Mm.” He hooks his pointer finger under your chin, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “I missed you.”

He notes the way you don’t respond, in some sort of daze while your lips part in both surprise and flusteredness. He understands your sentiments– it isn’t often that he initiates affection. 

“Did you miss me, too?” Spencer asks softly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he speaks. 

“Of course I did,” you croak out, heat building in your head. 

Spencer chuckles, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He’s doing this on purpose, flustering you to the point of no return. He kisses you again, one hand holding the base of your head while the other squeezes at the flesh of your waist. It’s dizzying, the taste of coffee on his tongue and the feel of his fingers in your hair. 

“Hey, gorgeous,” he murmurs once he’s pulled away. His thumb rubs a line from the back of your ear to where your jawline starts, and he can’t help but chuckle. “Where did that confidence go, hm?”

reblogs are always appreciated!

[flamingo--ing]

like. isnt it a privilege to be able to doubt your disability and illness??? like objectively my illnesses (if they even are real) arent bad enough............i dont even know anymore man like yeah okay rationally. theres shit wrong with me and there always HAS been. on the other side, i can walk so i should stfu