#still not done with everything i've been working on but doing better

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @i-doutt-it @beth-isnt-home @darylandbethfanforever9 @brianna-merlim @pumpkinkpieandtomato @smashleywow @imadisneyprincessiswear @clementineslawyer @pandaofsilentdeath @dixonsbridexx @imadisneyprincessiswear @staley83

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TW: cussing, Merle is well ... Merle, angst, walkers (Zombies), lecherous behavior, discussions of sexual history, homphobia, weed, depictions of being stoned and Marijuana use.

Part 4

Between Brothers - Part 5

The abandoned house sat like a forgotten memory among the overgrown Georgia pines, its weathered siding barely holding back the wilderness that threatened to reclaim it. You'd been walking for what felt like forever, your feet aching in boots that had cost more than most people's monthly rent back home, when Merle spotted it through the trees.

"Well, well," he drawled, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. "Looks like Christmas came early, sugar."

You watched nervously as he kicked in the front door, the wood splintering easily under his boot. A week of traveling with Merle had taught you that subtlety wasn't in his vocabulary. The house groaned around you both as you followed him inside, dust motes dancing in the afternoon light filtering through broken windows.

"Merle, we shouldn't be—"

"Relax, darlin'. Ain't nobody been here in years." He was already rifling through cabinets with his good hand, overturning cushions with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd done this before. The stump where his hand used to be didn't seem to slow him down much. "Besides, finders keepers in this world."

It was when he started checking the bedroom that you heard his low whistle of appreciation.

"Well, I'll be goddamned." Merle emerged holding a small wooden box awkwardly against his chest, grinning like he'd struck oil. "Looks like the previous tenant had some real interesting hobbies."

The sweet, earthy smell hit you before you even saw what was inside. Your nose wrinkled slightly at the unfamiliar scent.

"What is that?"

Merle's grin widened as he held up a small baggie with his left hand. "This here's what we call God's gift to mankind, sweetheart. Premium Georgia green."

You took a step back, shaking your head. "Oh no. No, absolutely not."

"Aw, come on, lil doe." The nickname rolled off his tongue like honey, though you still weren't sure why he'd started calling you that. "Live a little. World's gone to shit anyway."

"I don't... I've never..." You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling very out of place in this crumbling house with this dangerous man.

"'Course you ain't." He was already gathering kindling for a fire in the stone fireplace, struggling slightly with the one-handed task but too proud to ask for help. "Bet you never done a lot of things, sugar. That fancy upbringing of yours probably didn't include much fun."

"It's not about that," you protested, but your voice lacked conviction.

"No? Then what's it about, darlin'? You scared you might actually enjoy yourself?"

You bit your lip, watching him work. The past week had been a constant battle between your better judgment and the strange pull you felt toward him. Everything about Merle should have sent you running, but something kept you there, following him through the Georgia wilderness.

"I just... what if something happens? What if we need to run?"

Merle paused in his kindling gathering to look at you, and for a moment his expression was almost gentle. "Sweetheart, we been walkin' for a week straight. You look like you're about to drop dead on your feet. Little bit of this might actually do you some good."

He had a point. You were exhausted, emotionally and physically drained from everything that had happened, especially after the van had died on you. Maybe...

"I don't know how," you admitted quietly.

His grin returned, softer this time. "That's what I'm here for, lil doe."

An hour later, you found yourself sitting cross-legged by the crackling fire, watching Merle awkwardly attempt to roll a joint with one hand. Papers kept tearing, weed kept spilling, and his cursing was getting increasingly creative.

"Goddamn piece of shit..." he muttered, trying to hold the paper steady with his stump while sprinkling the green herb with his left hand.

"Do you need help?" you offered tentatively.

"I got it," he snapped, then immediately softened his tone. "Just takes a little longer is all."

You watched him struggle for another few minutes before finally scooting closer. "Here, let me..."

"You don't know how to roll, sugar."

"No, but I have two hands." You reached for the supplies. "You can talk me through it."

Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe even gratitude—before the familiar smirk returned. "Well now, look at you being all helpful. Careful, darlin', or I might start thinking you actually want to try this."

"Maybe I do... A little."

"Atta girl." His voice dropped to that low rumble that did strange things to your stomach. "Now, take a paper..."

It took three attempts and a lot of guidance from Merle's rough voice over your shoulder before you managed something that vaguely resembled a joint. It was lumpy and crooked, but Merle pronounced it "perfect" with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for masterpieces.

"Now comes the fun part," he said, lighting it with a match from the fireplace.

The first hit made you cough so hard you thought you might die. Your eyes streamed, your throat burned, and Merle's rough laughter didn't help your embarrassment.

"Fuck, Merle!" you gasped between coughs.

"Easy there, honey. Ain't supposed to inhale it like you're drowning. Here, watch me."

He demonstrated with practiced ease, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling slowly. "Your turn. Smaller this time."

The second attempt was better, though you still coughed. The third made your head feel light and strange.

"There we go," he said, studying your face with those pale blue eyes. "How you feeling, darlin'?"

"Weird," you admitted, surprised by how the word seemed to float out of your mouth. "Kind of... floaty?"

"That's the idea." He passed it back to you. "Take another."

By the time you'd shared half the joint, the world had taken on a softer quality. The edges of everything seemed less sharp, including Merle's usual abrasiveness. You found yourself actually relaxing for the first time since you'd found him on that rooftop, giggling at nothing in particular.

"There we go," he said, leaning back against the wall. "Now you look less like you're about to jump out of your own skin."

"Is this how you always felt before... everything?" you asked, waving vaguely at the world outside.

"Nah, this is better. Used to need a whole lot more than this to feel good." His expression darkened for a moment before the lazy grin returned. "But enough about me, lil doe. I got questions."

Something in his tone made you wary, but the warm buzz in your head made it hard to care. "What kind of questions?"

"Oh, just curious about you, sugar. Week of traveling together and you're still a mystery to me." He took another hit, eyes never leaving your face. "Like, you ever let a boy get to second base?"

Despite his constant Innuendos the question still caught you off guard, and you felt heat creep up your neck. "Merle..."

"What? Just wonderin' if those pretty tits of yours have ever seen any action."

"God, you're so crude," you muttered.

"That ain't an answer, darlin'." His grin turned predatory. "Come on, we're just talking here. You ever let a boy touch you?"

Maybe it was the weed, or maybe it was the way the firelight made everything feel dreamlike, but you found yourself answering. "Some."

"Some?" He leaned forward, interested. "What's 'some' mean, sweetheart?"

"I mean... yes, okay? I've been touched before." Your cheeks were burning now.

"Where?"

"Merle!"

"Come on, lil doe. We're sharing here. Where'd he touch you?"

You rolled your eyes, the gesture more dramatic than usual thanks to the weed. "Jeez, Merle, your acting like I'm a nun or something."

His eyebrows shot up, and you immediately realized your mistake. That grin of his turned absolutely wicked.

"Well now, that's real interesting. So you ain't completely innocent, are you, darlin'?"

The way he was looking at you made your stomach flutter nervously. "I didn't say that."

"Goddamn." Merle's voice was rougher now. "You ever suck a dick, sweetheart?"

You nearly choked on the smoke. "Give me strength"

"That a yes or a no?"

"I'm not answering that."

"That's a yes." His grin was absolutely filthy now. "Bet you were real good at it too, weren't you, sugar? Bet you got that sweet little mouth wrapped around—"

"How many have you sucked, Merle?" you shot back, your cheeks burning but determined to flip this back on him.

The words hit him like a slap. His cocky grin vanished instantly, replaced by pure horror. "What the hell—no! Jesus Christ, what kinda question is that?"

He actually recoiled, nearly dropping the joint. "I ain't no goddamn fairy! That's disgusting!"

His reaction was so over-the-top that you couldn't help but smirk a little, even through your embarrassment. "Just asking. You seem awfully interested in the mechanics."

"That's different! I'm a man, and you're a—" He gestured wildly at you, his face flushed red now too, but for entirely different reasons. "Hell no, I don't do that sick shit!"

"Hey man, Love is Love." You held up your hands in mock surrender. "Seemed fair to ask."

Merle took a long, aggressive drag from the joint when you passed it back, like he was trying to burn the very suggestion out of his brain. But after a moment, that familiar gleam crept back into his eyes.

"Nice try, sugar, but you ain't gonna distract me that easy." His voice was still a little strained, but the predatory edge was returning.

"We were talkin' about you and that pretty little mouth of yours. What about the main event, darlin'? You ever go all the way?"

You took another hit, buying yourself time. "Maybe."

"Maybe ain't an answer."

"A few times," you said finally. "But it wasn't... it didn't mean ... what I thought."

"How many times is a few?"

"Merle..."

"Come on, lil doe. We're being honest here."

"Three," you whispered. "Three times... same person."

"Three times." He seemed to be turning this over in his mind. "That it? Just three times in your whole life?"

You nodded, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable.

"Damn, sugar. For someone who ain't a nun, you sure are selective." His tone wasn't mocking, though. If anything, he sounded almost... impressed? "See, I'm just trying to figure out how innocent you really are, lil doe. What kind of experience you got—"

"What, you planning on getting me a hooker now that the world's gone to shit?" The words came out sharper than you intended, fueled by the weed and the memory of what he'd told you about his brother.

Merle's grin faltered slightly. "Now that ain't fair—"

"Isn't it?" You sat up straighter, suddenly feeling more clearheaded despite the buzz. "Because that's your solution to everything, isn't it? Just throw money or liquor at it and make it go away?"

"That ain't what that was about."

"No? Then what was it about, Merle? Taking away your baby brother's choice? Getting him so messed up he couldn't think straight and then shoving him into bed with some girl he'd never met?"

Merle's jaw tightened. "You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly. You thought you were doing him some kind of favor, but really you were just being a selfish asshole who couldn't stand the thought of his little brother being different from you."

The silence stretched between you, heavy and charged. Merle's eyes had gone cold, that familiar wall slamming back into place.

"You done?" he asked quietly.

"Are you? Done trying to figure out my sexual history so you can what—corrupt me? Add another notch to your belt?" You laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not some innocent little flower you can manipulate."

"That what you think I'm doing?"

"I don't know what you're doing." You took another hit, using it to buy yourself time to think. "But I know what you did to him was wrong."

Merle was quiet for a long moment, staring into the fire. When he spoke again, his voice was rougher than usual. "This boy from back home?"

"We dated for a while, but..." you state looking away, some of the fight going out of you.

"But what?"

"It wasn't right. I don't know... I figured I'd wait for feelings, you know? Real feelings. Not just... physical stuff." You looked at him pointedly. "Not just scratching an itch."

Something flickered across Merle's expression, too quick to catch. "Feelings, huh? That's real sweet, darlin'. Real sweet and naive."

"There's that word again." You shook your head. "Just because I don't screw around doesn't make me naive, Merle. It makes me selective."

"Same thing, ain't it?"

"No, it's not." You turned to face him fully. "Naive would be thinking everyone's good deep down. Naive would be trusting people just because they're nice to me. I'm not naive—I'm careful. There's a difference."

"If you say so, sugar."

"I do say so." You studied his face in the firelight. "So what about you? How many women have you been with?"

Merle's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. If we're sharing, let's really share. How many?"

"That's different—"

"How is it different? Because you're a big tough man?" You laughed, but it wasn't entirely pleasant. "Come on, Merle. You've been prying into my sex life for the past hour. Turn about's fair play."

He was quiet for a moment, clearly not used to being on the receiving end of such questions. "I don't know. Didn't exactly keep count."

"Ballpark."

"More than three," he said dryly.

"More than thirty?"

Another pause. "Yeah."

"More than fifty? A hundred ?"

"Jesus, what are you, taking inventory?"

"Just trying to understand the man I'm traveling with." You took another hit, feeling bolder. "Were any of them... special? Or were they all just—"

"Just what?"

"Just transactions." You met his eyes.

Merle's face went hard. "You got something you want to say, lil doe?"

"I already said it." You shrugged. "I just think it's sad, that's all."

"What's sad?"

"That you think sex is just something you do to someone instead of something you share with someone." You pulled your knees up to your chest.

"You think you're better than me?" His voice was dangerous now, low and rough.

"I think we're different," you said carefully. "I think we were raised different, taught different things about what intimacy means."

"Intimacy." He said the word like it tasted bad. "That some fancy word they taught you at your fancy school?"

"It's just a word, Merle. It means closeness. Connection. Something real."

"Real." He laughed, but it was bitter. "Nothing real about it, sweetheart. It's just biology. Scratching an itch, like you said."

"Is it? Then why do you care so much about whether I've done it or not?"

That shut him up. He stared at you for a long moment, something working behind his eyes.

"I mean it," you pressed. "If it's just biology, just scratching an itch, why does it matter to you whether I'm experienced or not? Why do you care?"

"I don't—"

"You do. You've been asking me about it. You walked in on me in the shower and you've been thinking about it ever since." You saw him flinch slightly and knew you'd hit home. "So why? What's it to you?"

Merle was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer.

"'Could just be planning your corruption," he said, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Are you?"

"What?"

The admission hung between you like a fragile thing, and for a moment you saw past all his walls to something raw and wounded underneath.

"Planning my corruption?"

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you saw something in his eyes that you couldn't decipher. "Maybe I am, lil doe. Maybe I am."

"I'm not naive," you protested, but the moment had shifted something between you.

"'Course not." His tone was different now, less teasing and more thoughtful. "Bet you went to some fancy private school too, didn't you, sugar? All proper and shit?"

"Actually, no." You pulled your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling the weight of the conversation. " But ... We had money ... lived pretty well."

"No shit?" He seemed genuinely surprised. "What kind of money we talking about here?"

"Enough." You shifted uncomfortably. "My father was in shipping. Import, export. We had a nice house, nice things..." You paused, looking at him. "What about your parents? What did they do?"

Merle's laugh was harsh. "They didn't do much of anything, sugar. Unless you count drinking and fighting as professions."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Made me who I am." He shrugged, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. "Your daddy probably had more money in his wallet than mine made in a year."

"Money isn't everything."

"Easy to say when you got it."

You studied his profile in the firelight. "Is that why you hate me sometimes? Because of where I come from?"

"I don't hate you."

"Sometimes you do. I can see it in your eyes. Like you want to punish me for something I didn't choose."

Merle was quiet for a long moment. "Maybe I do," he admitted finally. "Maybe it pisses me off that someone like you is slumming it with someone like me."

"Someone like me?"

"Clean. Good." He said the last word like it was foreign to him. "Everything I ain't."

"You think I'm good?"

"I think you're better than this. Better than following my sorry ass through the woods looking for a brother who might already be dead."

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard. "Then why do you let me?"

"Because I'm a selfish bastard who dont wanna be out hear with no one to talk too."

You reached out then, your fingers brushing against his hand. He didn't pull away.

"You're not as bad as you think you are," you said softly.

"Yeah? What makes you so sure?"

"Because someone who was truly bad wouldn't care about finding his brother. Wouldn't feel guilty about what he did to him."

Merle's jaw tightened. "I don't feel guilty."

"Don't you? Isn't that why we're really out here? Not just to find him, but to make it right somehow?"

He didn't answer, but he didn't deny it either.

"A nice house where, exactly?" he asked instead, clearly wanting to change the subject.

You hesitated, then figured what was the harm. "Island in the pacific."

Merle's eyebrows shot up. "An island? Like, surrounded by water and everything?"

"That's generally how islands work," you said dryly, and he barked out a laugh.

"Smart mouth on you when you're high, ain't there?" He shook his head. "So you're telling me you went from living on some fancy island to following my sorry ass through the Georgia backwoods?"

"When you put it like that, it sounds pretty stupid."

"Nah, not stupid. Just..." He studied you for a long moment. "Just makes me wonder what kind of life you're running from."

The observation was too perceptive, and you felt heat creep up your neck. "Wasn't running"

"Everyone's running from something, lil doe. Question is what."

"Who says I'm running?"

"What you decided to follow a one-handed redneck through walker-infested Georgia?"

"As opposed to leaving you on that roof ?"

Merle looked at you with something that might have been respect. "Yeah, Fair point."

"So what happens when we find him? Your little brother?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what happens to me? Do I just... disappear? Find somewhere else to go?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard. "You worried about that?"

"Maybe. I don't exactly have a lot of other options."

"You could go back. To your island."

"Could I? Airport schedules are a bit hard too pull up these days."

The fire crackled between you, and you found yourself studying his face in the dancing light. The harsh lines, the pale eyes, the way his mouth twisted when he was thinking.

"Can I ask you something?" you said finally.

"Shoot."

"Do you ever regret it? What you did to him?"

Merle was quiet for so long you thought he wouldn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.

"Every damn day."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Because I was young and stupid and thought I was helping." He ran his hand through his hair. "Because I didn't want him to be... different. Didn't want him to get picked on more than he already was."

"Different how?"

"Shy. Sensitive. Too damn kind for his own good." Merle's voice was rough with something that might have been pain. "Kid never hurt a fly, never said a harsh word to nobody. In our neighborhood, that made him a target."

"So you thought... what? That sleeping with a prostitute would toughen him up?"

"I thought it would make him more like me." The admission seemed to cost him something. "Thought if he got some experience, he'd be able to handle himself better."

"But instead you just hurt him."

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

You could see the guilt eating at him, could hear it in every word. "Is that why you're so determined to find him? To make up for it?"

"Maybe I just miss my baby brother." He looked up at you, and for a moment his mask slipped completely. "He's the only good thing I ever had in my life, and I'm thinking I fucked it up."

The raw honesty in his voice made your chest tight. Without thinking, you reached out and covered his hand with yours.

"You'll find him," you said softly. "And when you do, you'll make it right."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because despite everything you've done, everything you think you are, you love him. And love... love finds a way."

Merle stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. "You really believe that?"

"I have to. Otherwise, what's the point of any of this?"

He turned his hand palm up, his fingers curling around yours. "You're something else, you know that, lil doe?"

The nickname made your chest warm in a way that had nothing to do with the weed. "Why do you call me that?"

"Call you what?"

"Lil doe. You call me that the most."

Merle was quiet for a moment, his fingers twitched once. "You remind me of one, I guess. All big eyes and skittish, but..." He trailed off.

"But what?"

"But stubborn as hell when you need to be." He looked up at you, and there was something in his expression you'd never seen before. Something almost tender. "Deer are tougher than people think. Survivors."

Outside, the Georgia night pressed against the windows, full of dangers both known and unknown. But inside, by the dying fire, the most dangerous thing might just be the way Merle kept looking at you now like he was afraid to break you.

"We should get some rest," he said finally. "Got a long way to go tomorrow if we're gonna find my baby brother."

You nodded, but made no move to get up. Neither did he. The fire crackled between you, and somewhere in the distance, a night bird called out into the darkness.

"Merle?" you said quietly.

"Yeah, darlin'?"

"Thanks. For... this. For making me try something new."

His smile was softer than you'd ever seen it. "Anytime, lil doe. Anytime."

[tawghasa]

I endorse all of this.

I had to change careers in my early 30s (grant-gunded research scientist + four years of no grants in my speciality = redundancy with no hiring opportunities). Here are a few things I learned from that journey:

Consider doing the same job for a different employer. I spent 5 years working for a lab that, in retrospect, had a really terrible workplace culture. I got a position in another lab in the same institute, and the experience was a LOT better.

(It was still rough at times, due to the bullshit I had internalised clashing with similar bullshit my lab supervisor had internalised. But I cried in the bathrooms WAY less.)

There can be a LOT of jobs that are tangentially related to your current job, that no one in your current job is really aware of. Or if they are aware, they overestimate the barriers to getting there.

(E.g., I moved from medical research into intellectual property. I assumed that you would need some kind of legal background for that... But nope!)

On a related note, be sceptical of any career advice you get from people at your hell-job. If they haven't gotten out themselves, they are sharing conjecture, not facts.

Most people have bad resumes and weak cover letters/responses to selection criteria. I highly recommend checking out Askamanager.org, in particular this masterpost of advice for resumes and cover letters. Alison also has a guide for preparing for job interviews that I've used with success (it's free when you sign-up to her mailing list. I think I've gotten maybe two e-mails in the six years since I signed up to get the free pdf).

Being older can be a benefit in the workplace. Some recent hires at my job are in their 50s, and were REALLY surprised they made the cut... But they both have so much experience under their belts, they're very familiar with the norms of a 9-to-5 job, etc. (They're also less likely to look for another job before they retire than younger hires.)

Also, you just know more stuff. You have more experience in having a job, talking to people, doing things. You have more years under your belt of troubleshooting, finding easier workflows, cleaning up messes.

E.g., I hated my time in retail but I know a LOT about how to talk to people: how to give someone bad news without them yelling at me, how to tell them they stuffed up without them yelling at me, how to tell them I stuffed up without them yelling at me...

I have an excellent phone manner and a "customer-centric commitment to issue resolution" which has been a huge asset in both of my post-retail careers - but neither of those jobs had any kind of intentional training/mentoring in those areas! Those are skills I developed in THE shittiest supermarket in South Australia while developing bone damage in my feet because I was standing for 10 hours a day.

A few other bits of advice:

It's hard to be productive outside of work when you work a terrible job that is corroding your soul. It's hard to write a good resume/apply to further education/whatever when you hate your job and you're exhausted and everything is pointless. Don't beat yourself up if it takes longer than you'd like to get anything done.

Make things easier for yourself by asking for/accepting help. Use the Ask A Manager resources, ask friends and family (ideally ones who have jobs they like) to help you with your job search and your application materials.

(Are we mutuals? Do you want some help with a resume? Send me a DM. I can also hop on a Discord call and chat with you about interview prep and technique.)

Try to start prepping now, BEFORE the dream opportunity crosses your path. It's easier to have an up-to-date master resume that you can tailor to the role, than to scramble to pull one together the night applications close.

Reddit can actually be really helpful. There are subreddits for a lot of careers/industries, with posts every few months asking how to either break in or get out. They can also be a good place to ask what the day-to-day is like in a career you're thinking of switching to, which can help you identify any skills you already have that would be an asset/consider whether you'd enjoy the reality of the job. Keep in mind that it's all subjective, and no two people's experiences will be the same.

If you've read this far, try to find time to update your resume this weekend. Even if you like your current job. (That's usually the best time to look at other jobs - you're not desperate, so you're in a strong position to negotiate any offers.) Because if you've read this far through a thread about changing jobs/careers, you're probably interested on some level in doing the thing.

I’m thinking of doing a complete career switch- or at the very least, making an attempt to start it- and the idea is frightening for so many reasons- money, feeling like I’m behind, insecurity, family- but then i think of just sticking to the path I’m on and it sends me into a crying fit so. I think I’m going to have to be brave

Be brave! I changed industries at age 41 and it was so good for both my career and mental health.

It sounds silly to have to outright say, but if the thought of going to your current job makes you cry every day, it is time to LEAVE. You are not the first person I have had to give this advice to this week. The longer you stay in a dead-end job, the more your skills will rust and the inertia will drag you down.

It feels frightening, but you can get through the imposter syndrome by becoming a thorough note taker (assuming you are white collar, but a lot of this also applies to blue):

Capture every conversation you have

Immediately distill meetings and emails into to-do lists

Review your to-dos daily

Most importantly: write down your accomplishments, no matter how small, at the end of every week

Notes by hand helped me so much, and my little treat to keep going was to begin a fresh mini-notebook every 2 weeks, which I could decorate with ink stamps and washing tape. I used a different color gel pen every day, too. My notebooks were fun and super helpful with keeping me organized.

You will catch up soon enough. It sucks to be an older person in a junior role, but you will be more mature and hopefully adept at handling work drama. I hit senior at age 47 after doing my time, and now I'm pretty indistinguishable from the folks who beat me here.

People aren't meant to do the same thing for all their lives, if it means sacrificing other opportunities. It's ok to say goodbye to a career or hobby or whatever else, to make room for something new. Don't feel guilty sampling from life. Specialization is for insects.

[critical-doedecahedron]

Okay.. so I'm gonna talk more about this I guess.

I have been a gqux defender from the start, I've enjoyed most of it, but ugh...

So, the positives, what I liked:

Machu and Nyaan fighting together

The visuals, obviously

The fight choreography

Machu and Nyaan completing their dream of making it to earth, however I would have preferred a different ending. Or have them tackle it a different way

Negatives;

I kinda thought all the stuff with the original white gundam got a little dumb, especially with it growing in size???? What was that????? Sorry if thats me complaining too much

I think the narrative of this episode was nowhere near as strong as other episodes

A lot of it felt there just to tie up lose ends, especially with the ending montage and the clanbat people appearing again

It was so??? Rushed??? Nothing really felt satisfying to me I'm sad to say

I really dont like all the Shuji loves Machu stuff, the "this world was made for us to meet" NO!!!! SHUT UP!!!!!! Also I think Shuji isnt as strong a character as any other character, especially for a protagonist, and I think him being someone who has "chased after Lalah across countless worlds" makes him even weaker. It feels... lame and contrived....

Shuji is clearly my biggest problem with this show, he feels like nothing more then a bland plot point not a character, however I still believe the Shuji Transfem agenda

Everything just needed so much more time, I think there's a world where this show works and is good, the ending dampens everything the show has done good for me though.

More I can't name, I need to get my thoughts in orser but unfortunately a lot of my feelings for this episode are negative.

All that being said:

I think this show will always hold a special place in my heart, for various reasons. Talking about it week by week has been a lot of fun and I will miss it.

Machu is one of my favourite characters period rn, I do not think she is one of the best characters ever, but she sits in the top 5 characters ever in my brain though that may change.

I think a lot of this show was competently made, however I REALLY prefered the early stuff, up to like episode 7-8 with all the clanbat stuff, I thought that was more fun

As much as I can think the multiversal stuff can work it needed more buildup and it felt shoved in there and like it gunked up the show as a whole

But its impossible for me to say I don't like this show, I do, however there is an urge, an itch, to fix it because with that ending I don't think I can say Gqux is *GOOD*

I dont know, maybe I'll draft up an outline for how I'd approach what it feels like what they wanted to do and what I think could be done better, maybe I'll draft up a whole fanfic for it, I am confident it would be very different in the end from the show though.

Would anyone be interested in that?

[mosaic-of-light]

Good thing #98: Looking through this blog again has me smiling. I love seeing what made me happy a few months ago, and I'm hoping to start adding to this blog again now :)

[viktorapologist]

As much as each cliffhanger threatens to break me, I know the next chapter will contain just enough soft heartwarming moments to keep me alive. Imagine me, on life support, but the machines are pumping jayvik straight into my veins.

Oh, my sweet chronically ill Viktor. Starting off the chapter with scenes of him suffering is exactly what I'd expect after his near-confession last chapter. I love that he doesn't care to clean up after himself at this point. And the way his mind keeps coming back to all of the lies he has told Jayce. It's like a part of his body is finally rejecting the actions he took in earlier chapters. Hanahaki wanted him to lie and keep things a secret from Jayce, but the real Viktor wants to be known by Jayce. That part of him will win out in the end :) please. I'm begging.

...Jayce's definition of anything certainly didn't include falling in love with Viktor.

Oh honey, yes it does. If only you knew. Their confessions to each other are going to be fucking earth-shattering. My god. I can't wait. Thank god this story is tagged as a happy ending or I'd be comatose by now.

The more Viktor gets into his feelings about telling Jayce the truth, the more I'm kicking my feet with joy.

He dreamed of finally being honest with Jayce, of being able to say to him, see, this is who I am. This is the reason why. Everything I did or said, I did or said because I love you.

This is what I was trying to articulate in my comments a few chapters ago! Yes yes! You laid the trail of breadcrumbs perfectly. The universally craved experience of being truly known and still deeply loved despite everything you've done. *chef's kiss* Perfection. I hope we see it happen. I'll be there, with my popcorn, sobbing.

Is it just me that loves when Viktor and Jayce show up at each other's apartments? It can't be. I just think that's the best. We don't get to see them outside of the lab very often in the show, but I imagine they go over to each other's places. It's such a domestic thing. But it's like a level up to a friendship when you get to go to someone's living space??? Idk. It's cute.

Jayce shows up and talks to Viktor through the door, even though Viktor never acknowledges that he's listening. I can just see the scene in my mind. The view split by the door so you can see them both pressing their foreheads against either side of the door, mirroring each other without knowing. Jayce goes full sad puppy mode. VIKTOR LISTEN YOU BETTER GIVE THAT MAN SO MANY KISSES AFTER THIS. Jayce misses you! You abandoned him!

Not surprised at all that Jayce hasn't gotten any work done. He's so emotionally distraught. The poor man devoted all of his brain cells to processing his newly discovered attraction to Viktor and forgot to leave any for doing science. And with Viktor rushing out on him after Jayce said he'd do anything to save him? My brain would be full of bees after that. The whole eerily untouched lab is giving the same energy as Jayce sitting there, sleepless, waiting for Viktor to wake up after merging with the Hexcore.

Oh my god, you wrote about how Viktor showed Jayce his little hideaway. You did NOT. I always wondered how often they must have come there, for Jayce to know Viktor would be there when he's sad in Season 1. And you wrote lore about how Viktor got an updated cane with Talis ornaments? Everything I've ever cared about has been written into this story. Thank you for the food.

Oh, he could have stared at Jayce all day long–and that was all he was allowed to do, staring, for his desire for him would never be sated. Jayce was, simply put, out of his league.

It's honestly sad and hilarious how wrong he is. Jayce is actually a total dweeb. The two of them are meant for each other.

Case in point: Jayce demonstrating how the mage transported him and his mother to safety.

Okay, so the rune not being the acceleration rune was a surprise to me. I was wondering how much of an AU this would be. And it turns out we're going for the in-universe explanation of Mage Viktor's "in all timelines, in all possibilities" scene where he drops a different rune into Jayce's hand each time he saves him. It's really cute to think that in one of the timelines, Jayce and Viktor fall in love (do they still get obliterated by the arcane later?? hmmmm I don't want to think too much about that)

In the flashback, Viktor being proud to have made Jayce laugh even though they haven't known each other for that long yet AAAAAAA. They are so cute. You can see how their casual banter developed from these initial interactions.

Jayce was totally flirting with him though, what the fuck? "Particularly witty genius who took pity on me," and fucking WINKING? Jayce please, calm down.

I love how fast they opened up to each other. The combination of Viktor seeing Jayce at his worst and Viktor helping him fulfill his dream sets them on a course for immediate understanding. It's such a blessing to find someone that is interested in the same things as you, and to have them express an equal desire to learn about who you are and who you've been. Their energies feed off of each other is such a wholesome way. Even though Viktor is the only one...aware...of the danger of developing romantic feelings at this point, I like to think that Jayce felt this intense rightness during this scene as well. Like a piece clicking into place in his life, Viktor just fits.

Viktor's own backstory is so sad and a rhyme of sorts to Vi and Powder's experiences as children in Season 1. It also illustrates how alone he was. He fell and there was no one to reach out a hand to save him. He lies there, broken on the ground. Thankfully, he still had his mother to find him. I love how Jayce sees Viktor's strength and resilience immediately. He doesn't have to be convinced. He already knows.

Jayce was looking at him strangely, intensely. No one had ever looked at him like that before, but generally, when people stared at him, they either looked down on him or felt sorry for him. Viktor's bad went rigid. "I don't want your pity,' he said stiffly. Jayce's eyes shone. "I was admiring you."

God, this is just like the end of Season 2. Did you write this before that even happened? How did you know that Jayce was down bad for Viktor and admiring everything about him? Or did you add that in later just to make my heart shatter into a million pieces? I'm screaming, crying, throwing up flower petals. I don't think Viktor ever had anyone say that to him before. No one has ever openly admired him for anything. And Jayce is so unabashed. Basking in Viktor's luminance.

Their love is inevitableeeeeeee and I am deceased.

Other authors would have let Jayce and Viktor sweep things under the rug, but not you @white-btterfly you always make them confront their mistakes head-on before letting them make new ones that move the story forward.

There are so many emotions tied up in this final scene. It's insane. I felt like I was right there, watching it happen. Holding my breath as Viktor finally meets Jayce as the last rays of sun disappear. Feeling my heart break with Viktor's as he hears about how much Jayce has been struggling with watching Viktor slowly die before his eyes, helpless to intervene no matter how much he tries.

"...Everything I did, I did because–because I care about you."

The way Jayce says almost exactly what Viktor wanted to say to him earlier when he imagines confessing. Oh my god. Oh my goddddd.

The way Jayce walks through all of Viktor's fears and refutes each one, banishing those Hanahaki demons like it's his job. Jayce is the epitome of undying devotion. He wrote the definition. He is the blueprint. No one is doing it like Jayce is doing it. And isn't that just so in character, god damn it. THIS ENTIRE STORY IS SO PLAUSIBLE WHAT THE FUCK. Screw the canon, this is my truth now. Butterfly rune timeline is the one true timeline in my heart.

The way the order of the cosmos was rewritten when Viktor said, "You are the most important person in my life!"

Viktor accidentally on purpose throws him off the scent by calling him his "friend" a million times and I will never forgive him for it. But that line changes everything. Jayce has been worried about that this whole time, that the man Viktor loves is more important than Jayce is. But that's simply not true.

I wasn't expecting Jayce to fucking sob in this chapter. But it was so fucking cathartic to read. I'll never forgive the creators for taking out that split second of cut footage of Jayce clearly wiping away tears when he's at Viktor's bedside. LET JAYCE CRY! He's an emotional guy! Let the man express his sadness! And my god, the two of them needed a chance to let it all out.

And Viktor's stubbornness fighting back against the flowers. YES! Kick their botanical asses, Viktor! Begone, petals! I'm so proud of him, learning to hope for happiness again. He deserves it.

Is he going to cured now? He's starting to believe it's possible that Jayce loves him? Oh my god. I don't know. I don't know!

And rude rude rude I see what you were doing there with Jayce coughing. Evil. Maniacal. I didn't want to believe he would get sick too because that's just too unfair for my poor battered soul to take. But upon re-reading I am seeing that you left clues for that as well. I did notice Jayce was a bit delusional last chapter but hey, being a little mentally unwell is par of the course when you're Jayce Talis.

All in all, this chapter was beautiful.

Also love the little rune you drew for this.

Before Your Sun Sets - Chapter 10 is available!

Viktor is sick with Hanahaki. Jayce would do anything to save him—whether it be by developing an impossible cure or trying to find out who Viktor is in love with to smack some sense into them. Little does he know, he’s chasing his own shadow.

Read chapter 10 now

Read from the beginning

[ch1zzie]

A little disappointed that summer will start soon but I still haven't made much of my own art even though I promised that

Aaaaaa why does this happen!

[natreads]

all I want is to sit in a coffee shop and read my book, walk around my favorite bookshops and check out some secondhand shops, then end the day with a movie in a little movie theater

[fantasticalleigh]

Thanks for the tag! This is such an interesting idea and I’ve enjoyed seeing all the responses. I had to do some digging to find my oldest art and turns out i don’t remember where much of it is and i guess i haven’t backed it up anywhere so as of now some of the oldest stuff i have is from 2017/18.

OLDEST ART I CAN FIND: 2017-18

For a long time I considered myself as mostly a portrait artist. I loved drawing people's faces and had a fear and aversion to drawing full bodies. All of these are from 2018 (the black and white one might be 2017) but I wish I'd been able to find even older art than these because the skill jump was huge between high school and my first couple years in uni. In high school I never really used references when drawing and despite taking a ton of art classes I never really paid attention to the fundamentals so whatever I made would come out looking wonky. So fast forward to freshman year of uni and I really started taking that more seriously and I would find images I liked of celebrities and draw them as closely as I could. I was also dabbling in ballpoint pen drawings at the time but couldn't crack a proper technique until later.

I mainly did only traditional art until I got my first job after high school and could save up for an XP Pen drawing monitor and I started dabbling in digital art. I'd owned a pen tablet before from Wacom years before but it was also the kind that had no screen on it and I hated the experience of drawing on a blank slate but needing to keep my eyes on my laptop screen. It felt extremely unnatural so I only used it a few times and then gave up. So having a tablet with a screen directly on it opened up a whole new world for me but I really struggled with learning the ins and outs of digital art. I hated everything I was making but was determined to get better, and the most important thing was I knew I didn't want to go for the level of realism that I usually liked in traditional art. I liked doing cartoony stuff a lot too so I wanted to explore new styles through digital.

FIRST ART POSTED ONLINE

It was difficult to find the actual first art I ever posted online! I have some ancient Deviant Art accounts that probably still have that old art but I don't have the login stuff anymore ;-; I started using instagram in 2012 but sort of don't use that account on the left anymore. Once Instagram implemented AI a couple years ago I sort of nuked it and ended up deleting most of my archive on that account. I mainly use that account to message irl friends. But my earliest art on IG was all straight from my sketchbooks and most of it was like chicken scratch. Very messy, unpolished, and rushed.

I've pretty much always done tons of fan art. I drew the Draco Malfoy thing in the middle for a Dramione fic I was writing at the time--this must have been 2016 or 17... I was/am obsessed with Kylo Ren (and reylo in general) so I drew him a ton. I also was working on my own OCs (the Knight lady in the second image at the top of this post). My art professors at uni kept pushing me to get out of my box and focus on more conceptual/non fan art stuff which I found terrifying. By this point I was growing more comfortable with digital art--in 2020 I (perhaps irresponsibly) used my pandemic stimulus check to buy an ipad and apple pencil and procreate and having a smaller, more portable tablet made it so much easier to practice more often and I think that's when digital art really started clicking for me even though it took a lot longer to actually start developing my own style. I made a second art account on instagram (with this current username) to post all my fanart in since one professor told me it might be unprofessional for me to host fan art on my "serious" art account.

MOST RECENT STUFF:

The top two are admittedly from 2021 but I was and still am super proud of that entire body of work. For my art major senior 'thesis' I had to develop a body of work and set it up in an exhibition at uni. I threw myself into that and by then had really managed to nail down a good ballpoint pen technique that satisfied what I wanted to portray in my art. This process involved layers and layers of delicate hatching with ballpoint pens and it ruined my eyesight and because each piece took me so long I was experiencing wrist pain often. The whole series was supposed to be about fear and madness, hence the super garish and intense colors and weird imagery. I made like 10 or so drawings like this but I haven't really made any more ballpoint stuff since. It just takes way too long and I burnt myself out severely just completing that body of work but I'm still really proud of it. Maybe I'll return to the pens one day...

As for the digital stuff, since I graduated uni I jumped headlong into further developing my digital body of work. Most of it still is admittedly fan art but nothing else has helped me grow quite like fan art so no issue there. I've made several short and long form comics and worked on more illustrative stuff. I have other/new OCs and ships that I draw quite often when I'm not making wrestling fan art and I try to push myself to keep going out of my comfort zone. I have always haaated drawing backgrounds or ornamental stuff but for the past while I've challenged myself to really give a shit and actually put in the effort and it's slowly paying off. I'm still not 100% satisfied with where I am now but compared to where I started I think it's pretty neat :')

Ok here's a little thing i thought would fun for any artists to show off their progress at learning art (plus I'm nosey🤭).

Show off the oldest drawings you did (or the oldest that you can still find), the first things you were confident enough to upload online, and your most recent drawings and talk about them and show off how much you've progressed :)

Probably gonna end up missing some people, but I'm tagging a bunch of cool artists I follow/am mutuals with and am nosey to see how they started out, but no pressure :)

@fantasticalleigh, @thlayli-ra, @heelhausen, @stupidmarkzone, @2ndcitynightmare, @punk-o-ween, @normallypassingby, @tvheit, @seasonal-depression-of-punk

And if you wanna have a look at my old stuff, I've got it below =)

Oldest Drawings I Can Find

Of course, the first is an OC. Never did anything with her tho. Notice the lack of forehead and elbows, the arms that barely reach the hips, how indishtinguishable each part of the body is from one another. They're a perfectly smooth pole. and of course those wings. This is the first thing in my first proper sketchbook when I decided I was gonna start taking art more seriously. This would have been when i started secondary in 2014 at 11 years old. And I can't find anything from before that, since I never kept anything in a proper book/folder.

Second image is another of the first drawings in the book. It was my first closeup of a face, and also my first time drawing anime. I know I'm not the only artist who was desperate to learn to draw an anime-style as a kid. I remember doing this while on holiday, trying to follow an online tutorial, taking about 4 hours to get the outcome I did, and getting so frustrated that I couldn't get it to look right, that I was almost brought to tears. I'm pretty sure this was one of those "I'm never drawing again! >:(" moments, lol. Looking back, it was a pretty good first attempt. But I guess I was always a bit of a perfectionist, lol. Funnily enough, while I carried the anime eyes forward in my art style for years, to this day, I still can't draw a proper full anime style character.

First Drawings I Uploaded Online

I put these on insta to show my mates from school. The first picture was an attempt at a close up face with the new brush markers i'd got for christmas. This was 2017 just before i turned 14. Pretty sure I copied the design from an art tutorial book, that was supposed to be hyper-realistic (another christmas present). But I just couldn't bring that to life so just did what I could. Also, first time I used a signature. My signature's very different nowadays cos it's based on my tumblr username and not me actual name. But yeah. I was tryna get more professional I guess.

Second pic is the first full body piece I uploaded a few days later. Again, used the drawing books trying to learn how to draw flowy clothes. Think it was a book about drawing anime clothes that I used for this (another christmas present). By this point, each body part could move seperately and had joints. Also note the anime eyes, cos my simpler-but-still-anime-inspired eyes were something I stuck with a long ass time. This was the style I drew most often, and could usually do without having references (but obviously for this drawing specifically, I had the reference for the clothes). Had a lot of trouble with perspective, so all my characters faced forward, and later they would always face a 3/4 angle. And they could never lean or reach forwards cos I just couldn't get that to look right.

Most Recent Pieces

The most most recent is on the left, being my most recent closeup of a face. Still has a cartoonish edge with the lineart but much more realistic. And I'm fucking with this semi-realistic look atm. Tbh I dunno if i'd have the patience for the tiny details in hyperrealism. Also, fun story, in 2021 when I was doing my a-levels, I did an art piece that we were free to do in any style we wanted, and my teacher saw mine and was like “I wish you’d done it as realism instead of a cartoon style :(“ but it was actually my best attempt at realism and she hadn’t even realised. So I dunno, maybe I’m not cut out for realism 😂😂 I like my style rn tho so who cares

Then I got my most recent drawing of a (almost) full body. I got joints and decent hands and proportions and more body details.

Also this last year is the first time I've really got into digital. I always used to just do pen and paper. I even got a cheap drawing tablet, but couldn't get used to drawing on one surface and the image being up on a seperate screen. So I could never get the lines right. I did draw on my old ipad for a while which was easier, but the stylus was one of those with the thick rubber ball on the end, rather than a fine nib. Again, I had trouble cos I couldn't tell where it would register the contact with the screen and draw the line, which made it hard to do details. I got a new ipad a little while back that supports apple pencil, so I got one for it. And it's so much easier now that I've got a fine nib and can see where I'm drawing. I'm in love with drawing digital atm.

But yeah. That's how i've drawn over the years. Mental to see how much my style has changed and improved :) makes me feel better when I get frustrated with a drawnig and think I'm shit. Cos I know I'm getting better with each new drawing, even if it's only baby steps.

First: Now:

[icewindandboringhorror]

recent lounging babey images

[son-of-avraham]

Another mini update because I think I deserve to talk about this:

I am changing game plans! I'm not sure if I've mentioned this but... The shell stitch is such a yarn eater. I have four rows of shells, but you actually don't see that there are about eight rows in this because there are intermittently small ones to set up the space for all the shells. These four rows have basically eaten up ninety percent of my skein of 210 yards (192 meters). My question is: should I make one more shell stitch row before transitioning into double crochet, or is four sufficient?

My new plan now is something like this: shell stitch four rows, double crochet until I reach the center of the tallit. The middle will be a few more rows of shells, then back to double crochet until I make it to the other side. I genuinely can't think of a worse idea that thirty-three inches (eighty-four centimeters) of solid white in shell stitch.

(Do note that my camera has completely altered the colors. It does this automatically and I hate it so much. These colors are so much richer and more interesting than how this camera decided to mess with it)

[forcedhesitation]

*wheeze* slowly, but surely, working on art of them all

[running-in-the-dark]

well I can already tell this is gonna be a bad night

today has just been fucking weird and hard. I'm in a bad mood. everything feels bad. (probably not helped by me not taking the new antidepressant last night so I wouldn't sleep all day)

the plan was for my friend to come over this weekend to help me pack. she did that last time and it helped a lot. (my husband could help, obviously, but he's in charge of other things that also need to get done. plus he's very bad at putting things into boxes.)

but the rail strike is still going on so it's likely that she won't be able to get here (or get back in time). so now that's suddenly a lot more stressful and the one thing that I thought would make it go okay is gone.

and I also have to like. at least reread my thesis a few times or whatever to study for the oral exam on Friday. which will make me want to die. because it is bad. so. that will be bad. and the thought of being asked questions about that piece of garbage for 30 fucking minutes is so horrifying that I genuinely do not know if I will be able to get through it without taking my Lorazepam beforehand (which I know is a horrible idea, and my psychiatrist told me twice that it's a bad idea, and I know it would just make me unbelievably stupid. but holy shit that is the scariest thing I can imagine.)

and of course instead of doing anything useful I'm now just sitting here feeling like shit (like last night, only worse)

[plushri-moved]

I really thought I wasn't that anxious of a person until I got high for the first time and realised I'm basically never relaxed and possibly also deeply unhappy so that's wonderful

[harrysfolklore]

i see your face in every crowd - op81

summary: the asutralian grand prix is right around the corner and oscar's face is everywhere in melbourne, his ex girlfriend can't help but miss him (he misses her too)

folkie radio: if you know me you know i'm a sucker for an exes to lovers trope, and honestly this one is one of my faves i've ever done. ENJOY AND LEAVE FEEDBACK

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by oliviarodrigo, lando and 2,107,399 others

yourinstagram back home for a bit... needed some time to reset & breathe. been writing loads lately - the songs are just pouring out 🌊 feeling more inspired than ever tbh. can't wait to share what i've been working on with u all soon. huge thank u for all the love lately, means more than u know xx

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username1 BABYYYY

username2 i'm happy she's home and surrounded by love

sabrinacarpenter miss ur face already 😭 these songs are about to end lives fr

chappellroan THEYRE NOT READY FOR WHAT'S COMING!!! also pls come back to LA soon i'm dying without u

username3 chappellynbrina is a forever thing

username4 the way melbourne gp is gonna be so awkward next month...

└ username1 why does everyone have to make everything about that 🙄 let them live

└ username2 no fr like can we focus on the music instead

username5 oscar ain't shit anyway, ur so much better without him queen

└ username3 y'all don't even know what happened, stop being toxic

└ username6 they literally both asked for privacy can u respect that maybe

alexandrasaintmleux being home suits u sm! can't wait for the new era

└ username2 once a wag always a wag

username7 THE BREAKUP ALBUM IS COMING AND IM HERE FOR IT

username8 take all the time u need but also pls drop a song soon we're starving 😩

lando yooo text me when you get the chance !

└ username1 THEIR FRIENDSHIP LIVES

└username2 oscar piastri you can't break this one

username9 some of y'all are being so mean for no reason, they were cute together and now they're not, it happens

username10 manifesting a collab with sabrina on this album 🕯️

liked by lando, alex_albon and 467,958 others

oscarpiastri Last few days of prep before heading home for the season opener. Ready 💪

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username1 THATS MY BABY GOAT

username2 we're so taking that wdc this year

lando looking a bit weak mate might need another few months of training

└ oscarpiastri stick to gaming mate

└ carlossainz55 Children, behave 😂

└ username1 THIS INTERACTION

username3 we're so back. man's entering his thirst trap era and we love to see it

└ username1 healing through gym pics, real

username4 the transformation from rookie to absolute unit we love to see it

username5 melbourne's gonna go crazy for him

└ username2 the city will be pretty much covered with his face

username7 the post-breakup glow >>>>>>

username8 bro said watch me get faster AND hotter

username9 yn is stronger than me bc i definitely would've given him another chance

georgerussell63 Looking strong 💪🏼

└ lando but still slower than me

└ oscarpiastri We'll see about that mate

└ username3 WHAT IS LANDO'S PROBLEM

aussiegp Our hometown hero getting ready to give us a show 🇦🇺

username10 YN GET BACK WITH HIM I BEGGG

liked by shortandbrina, livbedumb and 119 others

definitelynotyn not me stalking his instagram at 2am with a glass of rosé in hand... why he gotta post gym pics looking like THAT 😭 someone take my phone away fr because what if i do something stupid like text him rn???? also why does he have to look so good while training I HATE HIM

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shortandbrina girl DELETE instagram rn i'm not joking!! calling u in 2 mins

└ definitelynotyn too late i already watched his story 3 times help

midwestprincess this is why we don't drink wine alone bestie... coming over with ice cream and we're watching mean girls

└ definitelynotyn pls hurry before i do something stupid like listen to our playlist

livbedumb first rule of breakups: BLOCK THE GYM PROGRESS POSTS!!!! trust me on this one

└ definitelynotyn but what if i just want to check if he's doing okay 🥲

└ gracieeeeee she's lost it completely someone intervene

arithegood not me literally writing a song about this exact situation last week 💀 wine drunk stalking is universal bestie

└ definitelynotyn pls send me the song i just know it'll hurt so good

phoebenotbuffay okay but like... we've all been there 😭 remember when i almost texted #him after he decided to walk around in those short shorts

└ definitelynotyn at least urs wasn't wearing race suits that make his arms look like THAT

whostaylorswiftanyway time to write a song about it bestie x

└ definitelynotyn already got three verses and a bridge done ngl

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f1updates Melbourne is getting ready for the Australian GP! The city is covered in @/oscarpiastri billboards and posters as they prepare to welcome their home hero

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username1 imagine being yn trying to get coffee and boom there's your ex's face on a 50ft billboard 💀

username2 the way you literally can't escape his face anywhere in the cbd this week

username3 the way this gp would've been so different if they were still together... remember last year?

└ username1 they were the cutest in the paddock

└ username2 pls she probably won't even be in melbourne this year

username4 our boy is everywhere and we love to see it!!

username5 the promotional team really said oscar piastri world domination

username6 the billboards are giving everything they need to give tbh

username7 maybe she should drop the breakup album during race week for maximum chaos

└ username1 now that would be iconic behavior

└ username3 the way the charts and the podium would be fighting for his attention

username8 MELBOURNE IS OSCARLAND

username9 imagine not being an oscar fan rn… or worse, being his ex

username10 CAN SOMEBODY THINK OF OUR GIRL YN

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liked by lando, charles_leclerc and 597,388 others

oscarpiastri Seems like there's a few of me around Melbourne at the moment... has anyone noticed? 😅

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username1 OSCAR FUCKING PIASTRI

username2 HE DID NOT

lando bit of an upgrade for the city tbh └ oscarpiastri Better than your face mate

username3 OH HE'S MESSY FOR THIS ONE

└ username1 posting this RIGHT after her story i'm screaming

username4 he chose violence today and i'm here for it

mclaren Our guy's everywhere! Can't wait for the weekend 🧡

└ username2 admin pretending they don't see what's happening here

username5 THE TIMING OF THIS POST??? someone's feeling petty

username6 he really said "oh you can't escape me? let me show you why" 💀

georgerussell63 Just ran into your face in the airport

username7 the way he probably had these pics ready and WAITED

username8 bro saw her story and chose chaos

danielricciardo looking good mate! although i remember when it was my face everywhere 👴 └ oscarpiastri Times change old man

username9 it's giving "oh you miss seeing me? here's more" energy actually

username10 focusing on the important stuff: he looks good in every single billboard

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yourinstagram missing tour life so much today! can't wait to get back on the road and see all your beautiful faces again 💕 thankful for the memories we've made together x

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username1 MY GIRL I MISS HER

username2 the way she posted this exactly after THAT story... we see you

└ username3 damage control era

troyesivan SUPERSTAR 🤩🤩

username4 girl we know what (who) you're really missing

└ username2 not her trying to distract us 😭

username5 we're not fooled bestie but we support you

sabrinacarpenter miss you too angel!! ❤️

└ yourinstagram love you sabs 🥺

username6 NOT THE DAMAGE CONTROL POST

username7 WE NEED A TOUR ASAP

gracieabrams I miss being on the road with you 🥹🥹

username8 EVERYONE TALKIG ABOUT OSCAR HELP

username9 can we talk about how good she looked on tour though??

username10 the way she's probably sitting with sabrina rn planning damage control posts

└ username11 the group chat must be WILD right now

liked by midwestprincess, livbedumb and 109 others

definitelynotyn well. something just came in the mail and i think i might actually throw up. universe really said "you thought that instagram story wasn't enough embarrassment for one day?"

view all comments

shortnbrina GIRL CHECK YOUR TEXTS RN

└ definitelynotyn I'M HAVING A CRISIS

midwestprincess the way i SPRINTED here when you texted

└ definitelynotyn help what do i do

└ midwestprincess BREATHE FIRST

gracieeee wait is that what i think it is? 🏁

└ definitelynotyn 🙃🙃🙃

└ gracieeee OH MY GOD????

livbedumb the timing… someone's been plotting

└ definitelynotyn don't. i can't think about that.

maddiebeer okay but like… are you going?

└ definitelynotyn MADS PLS I'M ALREADY SPIRALING

└ maddiebeer that's not a no 👀

arithegood manifesting a rain delay so you have to stay longer

└ definitelynotyn I HAVEN'T EVEN DECIDED IF I'M GOING

└ arithegood sure jan

phoebenotbuffay imagine if you'd actually posted this on main too

└ definitelynotyn DON'T EVEN JOKE ABOUT THAT

└ phoebenotbuffay too soon? 😂

dulapeep at least you have time to plan outfits

└ definitelynotyn NOT HELPING

└ dulapeep the green dress. trust me.

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liked by lando, charles_leclerc and 665,583 others

oscarpiastri Close. Bring on tomorrow

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username1 THATS MY BABY GOAT

username2 oscar piastri man of few words

username3 pole position if he was still with yn

mclaren Our home champ 🧡

username4 OKAY CHAT DO WE THINK YN WILL ATTEND THE RACE??

└ username1 maybe focus on racing?? this isn't about his ex

lando sorry about that

└ oscarpiastri Should've just let me keep it

username5 can't help but think about yn in parc fermé for his win tomorrow but they're not together anymore

username6 HES WINNING TOMORROW THERE'S NOTHING THAT CAN CHANGE THAT

charles_leclerc An existential crisis later

└ carlossainz55 Let him breathe

└ username1 HUUUH WHAT ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT

username7 brb listening to yn's songs about him.. specially lover

liked by midwestprincess, shortandbrina and 107 others

definitelynotyn watching from my couch because apparently i'm the biggest coward in the universe. the pass is literally staring at me from my coffee table. i hate myself.

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shortnbrina GET IN YOUR CAR RIGHT NOW

└ definitelynotyn I CAN'T

└ shortnbrina YES YOU CAN I'M CALLING YOU AN UBER

midwestprincess GIRL THERE'S STILL 40 LAPS YOU CAN LITERALLY MAKE IT

└ definitelynotyn and then what?? walk in mid-race??

└ midwestprincess YES EXACTLY LIKE A MAIN CHARACTER WOULD

livbedumb not you watching his every move on tv when you could be there

└ definitelynotyn this is less scary ok

└ livbedumb is it though??

maddiebeer remember when you said you'd never be that girl who's too scared to face her feelings?

└ definitelynotyn low blow mads

whostaylorswiftanyway THE PASS IS RIGHT THERE GO GET YOUR MAN

└ definitelynotyn STOP YELLING AT ME

└ whostaylorswiftanyway NO

gracieeee remember when you said his note was the sweetest thing ever? remember crying about how much you missed him? but sure stay on your couch

└ definitelynotyn this is emotional manipulation

definitelynotyn FINE YALL WIN. CALLING A CAR RN

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───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by shortnbrina, landitooooo and 113 others

definitelynotyn we did some talking. then we did some kissing. then we did some more talking. then we did some more kissing. might have cried a bit (him too). wearing his sweatshirt again. life's funny sometimes.

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midwestprincess OH GOD FINALLY

gracieeee I'M SOBBING

leclercccccc FINALLY you accepted the follow request

└ definitelynotyn oh my god

└ leclercccccc i helped with the speech you know

└ notoscarpiastri mate.

└ leclercccccc you're welcome btw

landitooooo took you both long enough bloody hell

└ notoscarpiastri says you

└ landitooooo oi what's that supposed to mean

└ shortnbrina no idea really

└ definitelynotyn lando norris and sabrina carpenter... there's stuff you need to explain

arithegood THE TIMELINE HAS BEEN RESTORED

└ definitelynotyn dramatic much

└ arithegood says the girl who showed up mid-race

whostaylorswiftanyway I expect a full debrief tomorrow but I'm happy for you my girl

notoscarpiastri Can we go back to the kissing?

└ definitelynotyn please

liked by username1, username2 and 8,594 others

popbuzz YN AND OSCAR PIASTRI SPOTTED TOGETHER IN MELBOURNE

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username1 THE SWEATSHIRT THE SWEATSHIRT THE SWEATSHIRT

└ username2 SHE'S WEARING HIS CLOTHES AGAIN

username3 FROM SPINNING OUT TO BREAKFAST DATES IN 24 HOURS

└ username2 character development at its finest

username4 IM GOING TO CRY THEY'RE BACK TOGETHER

username5 Sources say he went to her place last night...

└ username1 and didn't leave 👀

username6 I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY REALLY GOT BACK TOGETHER

username7 this is proof that crying over your ex on main actually works

username8 YN IS A WAG AGAIN OMFG

username9 everybody say thank you australia gp billboards with oscar's face

username10 OSCAR LOVE SONGS ARE SO BACK

username11 WE WON SO HARD

liked by yourinstagram, lando and 876,494 others

oscarpiastri Home race took some unexpected turns both on and off track. P9 wasn't the result we wanted, but somehow still ended up winning this weekend.

view all comments

username1 HE'S SOOOO

username2 LOST THE RACE BUT GOT THE GIRL??

lando mate that's actually smooth

└ oscarpiastri Learned from the best

mclaren We'll take this kind of victory too 🧡

username3 THE THIRD PICTURE IM SOBBING

username4 mans really said forget p9 i got the girl

username5 HE'S SO BOYFRIEND WE'RE SO BACK

nicolepiastri ❤️

username6 OSCAR PIASTRI THE MAN THAT YOU ARE

username7 oscar's guide to get back with your ex with just ten simple steps

sabrinacarpenter FINALLY !!! OUR GIRL CAN STOP MOPING AROUND

└ chappellroan now we need oscar's friend to grow some balls too

└ oscarpiastri @/lando

└ lando well...

└ username1 OMFG LANDO AND SABRINA??

└ username2 WHAT JUST HAPPENED

username8 I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL LIFE

yourinstagram 🥺🥺 i love you

[infamous-if]

May 2025

Happy May! It's my favorite month because it's my birthday month and I'm one of those annoying people who treat their birthday like it's a national holiday (sorry)(yes im a gemini). I'm turning MC's age (26) so that's cool. I will now be auditioning for a big reality tv show pls watch out for it and vote for me.

I am CONFIDENT chatper 4 will be done in may. It's written. I just had a lot of logistical things i needed to work out. Plus I made a mistake in the earlier chapters that i didnt realize about until it came to bite me while writing this chapter (i fixed it). I have been doing a lot of moving around and even had to move my outline around—the same outline i barely rearrange—in preparation for the upcoming chapters. I've kinda been all over the place with this chapter because now things are happening. like actual things. real things. and im trying to prepare myself so im not a mess later. (ive learned from past experience). There are some things in chapter 4 that don't see a solution until later and it has me screaming. (i like instant gratification and this is the opposite of that)

But it is my favorite chapter. I'm really happy with how it turned out.

Something happens in this chapter that can go many ways which is why this chapter feels longer. Not only because of the Challenge but because of how this Challenge pans out. I think what this character and this week does will surprise some, maybe not others. But I'm excited to see the reactions of *that* anyway. heh.

I realized with every update the stats are my biggest problem and i realized it's because they don't feel like they're representing what i want them to represent. personality stats being measured in the story and will still influence flavor text so that hasn't changed but i've reworked the stat page to hone in on what truly matters in the story. for example, i made the attached/detached stat visible in the "band" part of the stat page. I've also added a Castmate/Competitor stat that ive always measured but i've renamed it and made it visible. That felt like something I didn't want to keep hidden. Stuff like that. You'll see it in the next update. All of this in preparation for the rest of the story.

This sounds like a huge change but it's not haha. I've just streamlined it so it better suits the story.

Yeah! This, like the other chapters, is a biggun. But I'm happy and proud of myself.

I've been asked again and i want to reiterate that patreon gets everything first, band tier and then fan tier and then to the public. The Seven POV should be up tomorrow.

Thanks guys! Can't wait to release Chapter 4 :)

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 7

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader sleep together for the first time

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: loss of virginity, oral f/m receiving, so much praise, pain during sex, unprotected sex, cr**mp**, bit of overstim, soft dom spence, if u don't like that freak shit (love and intimacy) this is not for u, spencer is a nerd, they're both nerds actually and that factors in heavily, you may get more from this part by FIRST reading how they met in this bonus chapter a/n: thank you all for being patient, ilysm, this was the most laborious thing i've ever done for no reason and also this part changed so many times and is not what i expected it to be so pls go in with tempered expectations and keep in mind that this story is more about the characters and their specific relationship dynamic than just being porn. i truly have no idea how you guys will react to this but i sincerely hope you love it and them like i do<3 also it's twice as long as the other parts so feedback would be very very appreciated! again i love u all and enjoy the penultimate part!

Spencer’s lips are on yours, and you weren’t expecting it—hell, you weren’t expecting him to be in your apartment. After all, he’d wished you goodnight and walked out only a moment ago.

“Spencer—wh—” 

But he’s insistent with his lips, kissing you bruisingly over and over like there’s nectar on your tongue and he’s parched for you. Still, he has enough decency to not completely ignore you, exhaling a quick excuse over your flushed lips. 

“I missed you.”

This time, though, you dodge his hungry kiss. Part of you thinks, as he watches you, eyes alight and breathing heavily, that he sort of likes your playing hard to get. It’s not something you do very often, admittedly. 

“We’ve been apart for like, maybe a minute.”

“I didn’t even make it to the parking lot.”

Your face heats.  

“Well you can’t just—you can’t just walk in like that! And I thought you said we weren’t supposed to mix fighting with pleasure.”

“Then start locking your door. And I thought you said we weren’t fighting.”

You roll your eyes in response, though your heart is still pittering in your chest. 

At least his hands move to your arms, stroking up and down relatively chastely—although he has this way of making everything seem intimate. Especially when paired with those amber eyes of his—glowing like a candlelight beacon in the window guiding you home. He speaks in low, appeasing tones and darts his tongue over his lips. 

“I originally said it’s a bad idea for couples to sleep together after an argument. But you know—makeup sex is ubiquitous across culture and time because it works. Anger and arousal trigger a lot of the same hormones, specifically norepinephrine which is involved in feelings of longing and—”

“Spencer.”

“You know what else?” He mutters in a way that feels dangerous. “It tends to feel better than regular sex.”

That earns a shaky exhale from you. Whether from irritation or arousal is anyone’s guess—probably a combination of both. 

“So you came back to fuck me?”

It’s probably evident to Spencer from your choice of language that this already isn’t going exactly as he’d planned. He doesn’t answer right away—just regards you, gaze bouncing between your two eyes like he’s trying to calculate your level of anger. 

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You push him away and move to walk down the hall. 

“Maybe your window of opportunity has passed.”

A warm hand wraps around your wrist in the dark of the hallway and he pulls you back until you’re falling against something tall and warm and lean. The smell of polished amber and sandalwood overwhelms your senses. 

“What’s wrong, angel? What happened in the minute I was gone to change your mind?” His voice is scratchy like a favorite record. It’s the voice he could hold you captive with. The one you have a very difficult time saying no to. 

“I don’t know,” you mutter, unintentionally leaning back against him. “What happened to change yours?”

His response comes pressed against your ear, half-lost in your hair. 

“You’re upset that I changed my mind. I thought you wanted this, honey.”

“I do,” you admit, letting your head fall back against his shoulder and bringing his arm to wrap around you. “And if you hadn’t walked out earlier I would’ve done it. But… I’m tired of us doing everything on your timeline. You just… you expect me to be amenable to what you want, constantly.” His nose and lips press into your shoulder. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like… I’ve been begging you to sleep with me for I don’t even know how long. And you keep changing your mind, and I feel like you’re being really confusing about it. Obviously you don’t have to sleep with me, you never did, but I just feel kind of… jerked around. And you did it again tonight.”

A beat of silence. 

“I understand your frustration,” he appeases, securing both his arms around you. You cling weakly to his wrist, to his warmth, like he’s a tether in a storm. “Would you prefer to wait until you initiate it?”

“No. Yes! I don’t know,” you huff, disentangling yourself from his arms and continuing toward your bedroom. “Now I’m annoyed at you again.”

He follows you right through the door. 

“Just tell me what to do! I don’t want to be annoying.”

“I can’t. I’m being unreasonable.” You flick on your adjoining bathroom light and examine yourself in the mirror. Yeesh. The eye makeup situation is abysmal after all the crying that has taken place over the course of the evening. 

“So choose to be reasonable and tell me what you want from me. I’ll give it to you.”

You frown at your reflection, pushing your hair back and rubbing at some excess mascara. 

“No, you’re not understanding me. I’m not choosing to be unreasonable. My thought process regarding the situation is inherently unreasonable and there’s nothing I can do about it because it’s just the way I feel.”

“The feeling being that I’ve been too domineering over how our sexual relationship has unfolded?”

Spencer watches you in the bathroom mirror, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed as you tip some makeup remover onto a reusable cotton pad. You try not to check him out as you nod, but it’s impossible—with his sleeves rolled up to show defined forearms cradled in capable hands, and his hair all messy. 

When he pushes off the wall you freeze, unsure of his next move—until he’s gently spinning you around and taking the bottle and cloth from your hands. 

“Maybe it would help,” he begins, soft as he focuses on the new task, carefully bringing the round to your right eye so he can remove the bleeding mascara. You allow your eyes to flutter shut. “If I remind you why I’ve been so hesitant.”

“Because you hate giving me joy.”

He laughs, nothing more than one huff from his nose. 

“You’re spoiled and we both know it.”

Point taken, as he gently wipes your makeup away for you. Your silence is his cue to continue. 

“Everything I said about worrying that you would regret choosing me is true. It was especially true when I thought you felt lukewarm toward me. And all of that confusing stuff I said in the phone is true too—having sex for the first time is incredibly intimate and weird and sometimes scary. If you’re not 100% sure about your partner, or if you think your feelings are unrequited, it’s hard to be completely comfortable in such a vulnerable situation and your likelihood of getting hurt or having regrets skyrockets. I know that from experience. I wanted better for you than what I got. Still, I know it was wrong to project my feelings about the significance of sex onto you. In that regard, you’re right. I was being domineering, and I guess… I guess to an extent I’m still deflecting. I shouldn’t be trying to pretend like it’s about you when in reality I mostly just didn’t want to get hurt again. I didn’t want to go through that again, and that’s okay, but I shouldn’t have made you feel like it was something you could have changed.”

You try to process that. 

“Go through what?” You whisper hoarsely. Something about having him at such close range while he takes such care with you feels whisper-y. 

“Sleeping with someone who didn’t love me back.”

Your reply is small. 

“Oh. Right.”

How could anyone not love him back?

Spencer’s reply is simple and kind, without a hint of, obviously you dumb bitch—which is pretty much what you’re thinking to yourself. 

“Does that make sense, lovely? Do you understand why I wanted to wait?”

He lets you ponder for a while in comfortable-enough silence as he finishes removing your eye makeup with a characteristically gentle hand. When you open your eyes, he looks genuinely content, screwing the lid back on the bottle as if he’s got an eternity to wait for your answer. 

“Yeah. That part makes sense. But why did you seem so… I don’t know, like, wishy-washy about it?”

Spencer’s eyes dart up to meet yours, brows slightly raised. Then a small laugh bubbles up from somewhere inside him. 

“Because I’m obsessed with you. I thought about you like that constantly. I still do.”

Your breath catches at the casual admission. 

“Oh.”

Spencer hums, setting the bottle down before tenderly thumbing away some excess mascara that he must have missed from under your eye. 

“You didn’t think it was easy for me, did you?”

“Well… kind of,” you admit, tracking his eyes until they meet yours. 

“Not sleeping with you has been among the hardest things I’ve ever done. Especially when you started begging me. That first time, when I picked you up from Penelope’s and you asked me why we hadn’t had sex yet…”

He trails off, still rubbing at your cheek as he loses himself in thought. 

Eventually, you grow impatient, prompting, “what?”

“It’s not a nice thought.”

“Well, you have to tell me now,” you insist. 

He half smiles, thumb straying to your lips. 

“It was just… you had no idea what you were talking about, and you were ready to throw a tantrum in my living room until I gave you what you thought you wanted. Part of me was imagining bending you over the couch right then, since you thought you were so ready.”

It feels like someone has snipped the pulley that keeps your stomach in place. 

“Spencer,” you splutter, convinced your cheek is tangibly heating under his touch as your head reels at the revelation that he could have such a deeply dirty and mildly sinister mind. 

“I told you it wasn’t nice.”

You swallow. 

“Is that… is that still what you want?”

His brows flicker again and he tucks hair behind your ear. 

“To bend you over my couch? No.”

Your face warms even more and you turn to leave the bathroom, sick of his teasing. 

“Okay, goodni—”

“Hold on.” Spencer catches you by your waist and pulls you back into him for the second time tonight. A dangerous smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I know what you meant. And no, I don’t want to bend you over my couch.” He laughs, slipping a hand under your shirt to rub your back. “You know what I want. I’m more interested in learning what you want.”

“I want…” Your eyes dance between his, and your heart flutters against the confines of your chest as you realize what you’ve wanted for so long is finally yours for the taking. “I want to stop talking about it.”

His expression neutralizes and you know it’s probably intentional to stop whatever feelings you assume him to be having color your decision. 

“Oh?”

“I just think we’ve talked about it enough.”

Before he can say another word, or ask you another question, you kiss him with such passion there’s no way he can doubt how much you want this. 

Only a moment passes before he allows himself to lean into it, cupping your face between reverent hands and taking control of the pace of the kiss, slowing it down until you can hardly breathe. Your little noise of want has him quickening the process, pressing against you until you’re walking backward out of the bathroom. It’s like the first crack in a dam. After that, everything becomes inevitable. 

Your knees hit the back of the bed and you sit down hard on the mattress, smiling up at him. You skim the front of his thighs with your palms as he smooths your hair.

Spencer groans, leaning down and kissing you til you’re on your back. 

“Don’t make that face.”

An affronted huff from you breaks the kiss up and he pulls back to study your expression. 

“What do you mean don’t make that face? I was just smiling at you.”

“I know you were. And you have such a pretty smile it makes me feel guilty about… defiling you.”

Your brows flicker up and your mouth drops open with an affronted scoff.

“Watch yourself. I’ll defile you.”

“You already have,” he admits with a half-laugh as he kisses you again. “My mind was never this dirty before we met.”

“Hm. Tell me you like my smile.”

He pauses and then chuckles dryly against your mouth. 

“I love your smile. You’re gorgeous. Any more demands?”

Pleased, you shake your head and pull him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“Not currently.”

“Really?” he murmurs, trailing kisses over your cheek and down your jaw, “I’d do just about anything you asked me right now. You don’t want to take advantage of that?”

The sensation of his lips just below your ear threatens all rational thought in your brain, but you manage a reply with only a slight delay and a hint of a waver coloring your tone. 

“I shouldn’t have to demand things. You should just know to do them.”

His kisses drag lower, warm and unhurried and you’re trying not to let your hyper-sensitivity from going a week completely untouched show—but you doubt he misses the way your breath catches, or the barely audible squeaks, or the arch of your back or the tightening grip on his shirt. 

“Well, for future reference—” he nips at a sensitive spot and you gasp quietly, even as you tilt your head to offer him more access. More room to bite, if he so chooses. “—I happen to enjoy it when you make demands of me. Especially when those demands entail letting me call you pretty.”

“I’ve never not let you call me pretty before,” you huff. It’s a touchy subject, and Spencer can probably sense your hackles rising, but he has you right where he wants you and so he pushes anyway. 

“No. But you never believe me. We’ve had this conversation. You always act like I’m walking you to the gallows when I compliment you.” 

It’s hard to make a defense when he’s leaning his weight onto one arm so he can unbutton your jeans, when he’s looking down at you with sparkling onyx and scorched-earth eyes like you’re something to be consumed. But not violently, no—ardently. Like fruit heavy on the vine. Like you’re a religious rite to the devout and deluded. A sacrament.

But it’s not a blind passion. Spencer knows you; every inch of you and every loose thread on your soul begging to be pulled. He knows you and he still wants you like this. To be perfectly honest, you’d never thought you’d feel comfortable handing yourself over to someone like this—vulnerable and all your layers of armor shed. Never in your life would you have thought you could trust a person so implicitly that you’d hand them a knife and show them exactly where to press, that you’d say, I know once you open me and you see me you’ll not want to change a thing.

You adore him. Cosmically. Enormously. In every dimension. He’s lodged so deep in your heart you have no choice but to love him eternally. 

It’s deep in the midst of all these very profound revelations that you realize Spencer has stalled with your zipper undone. His hand has strayed to your hip, to sweetly push your shirt up and trace love letters into warmed and downy skin with his thumb. 

“I just wish you could see yourself how I see you,” he says softly, the weight of the truth a strain on his vocal cords. 

Sometimes, he is so kind it’s like a punch to your stomach. You’ve never been quite as kind as him. And nobody’s ever been as kind to you as he is. You’ve done nothing to deserve his kindness, but you know he needs a place for it, and you’re here with open arms. 

He studies you a moment longer, swallowing as his eyes trail over your face and lower. You want to reach out and brush strands of caramel hair out of his face, but he seems to be thinking so hard you’re hesitant to distract him. 

“I’ve never told you this, because I know you’d just shoot it down, but… you are genuinely the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in my life.”

Something twinges in the depths of your stomach—the darker shades who live there and exist solely to whisper not enough not enough not enough to you every minute of every day. 

But they’re simply not a match for the softness you find when you do reach out for his hair, or the way he looks at you. Spencer loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist—not a cuff, but an affectionate hold. 

“Do you believe me?”

There’s so much earnest hope in his voice it almost jars you. He so badly wants you to understand how feels about you—he’s been trying to tell you for months and all you know how to do is refute his praise and insist on your worthlessness. 

Ever since Spencer, you don’t see the faces on magazine covers or in superhero movies, no matter how mathematically flawless they are. Nobody gets close to being as beautiful as he is in your eyes. He’s in an entirely different echelon, and despite how you feel about yourself, you have to accept that he might feel the same about you. 

“I do,” you say, equally soft, and 100% honest. You believe that he believes it, and that’s enough. It’s all that matters. 

The shallow knit of his brow loosens. His lips ease into a suggestion of a smile. But it’s most visible in his eyes—the way smoldering coals reignite, melting the amber glass of his irises until they’re molten. 

The way he kisses you then, you’d think you’d lassoed the moon and pulled it down from the sky for him. But apparently all it takes to make him incandescently, contagiously happy, is to accept a compliment.

There’s a renewed sense of urgency on his breath as he kisses you deeply and quick enough your heart is racing. It only goes faster when he remembers his previous task and begins tugging your jeans down, but he doesn’t even bother to pull them past your knees before his hand is creeping up your thigh. Goosebumps race each other across your body as you try to remember what it feels like—what he feels like. But you can’t, even as his thumb fans over your inner thigh and pushes it open, gently encouraging you to give him more access to you. 

“You’re not wasting any time,” you breathe against him while he traces the edge of your underwear.

“Do you want me to slow down?”

Judging by the way the tips of his fingers only barely shy away from the fabric, he really wants the answer to be no. But you know in his searching gaze that he’d never push you. 

“No, it’s fine. As long as we… don’t go this fast the whole time.”

“We won’t.” The hasty words are of lower priority than the next kiss he plants to your swollen lips. “We won’t. I just missed you so much.”

“Yeah?” You giggle airily as he drags his fingers over your clit through the material, trying to ignore the way it makes your head spin. 

“Yes. Yeah.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this, so… desperate for you, as he drops his lips to your neck and presses barely-there kisses everywhere he knows you’re sensitive. Just the feeling of his breath against your skin has you shivering. His hand between your legs only brushes your most nerve-dense spot, but a few touches in and you’re already wound up, like if Spencer doesn’t give you more soon you’ll burst. And not in the good way. 

When he finally commits to actually kissing your neck, you squeak, warmth emanating from that spot just below your jaw all the way to your toes. The frantic energy of earlier is slowly melting away, and he loses focus with his hand, as it begins straying wider, stroking your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach. It’s like your nerve endings are on overdrive, delivering twice as much feedback to your brain as they normally would. Each touch feels like he’s conducting electricity over your body, like you’re a plasma ball. He’d probably like that analogy—you, a core of alternating voltage, and him, the conductor, tracing a path and giving all those electrons an easy release. If you weren’t so distracted, you’d tell Spencer you found a way to work Nikola Tesla into your mutual sex life, and he’d probably propose on the spot. 

But that electricity is building fast—even more so when he drags his lips down just above your collarbone. Your breath hitches, simultaneously trying to crane your neck to give him more room, and curl into him so as to escape the stimulation. Finally he pulls away, and losing the softness of his mouth while the air feels so cold against the places he’d kissed almost hurts. 

“You’re a mess,” he chuckles affectionately, raising his hand to brush hair away from your face before stroking the heated high point of your cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”

It’s teasing, but so low and gentle and honeyed it swirls your stomach. 

“Whatever you want,” you admit quietly. It’s a shy confession more than it is a salacious flirtation because he already has you. And you want nothing more than for him to act on that in any way he so pleases. Whatever he does, it will be careful, and kind, and because he loves you. You know that no matter how he takes you apart—he’ll put you back together again. 

“I don’t know if I can. You’re all jumpy.”

God, he has the prettiest smile—even when it’s twisted with sarcasm and a thin veneer of guilt, like he knows he shouldn’t be teasing and just can’t help himself. 

“I’m not,” you defend, face heating further. “I’m not nervous. I don’t know what it is.”

That sticky sweet tone is back, pooling in his eyes and dripping all over you like nectar as he languidly looks you over. 

“I didn’t say you were nervous. Just a little bit jumpy.”

It’s not accusatory—he’s simply stating a fact. Easy, gentle, designed to soothe. 

You shrug helplessly and chew on your lip, unsure of how he wants you to respond. It’s definitely true that excited as you are, you’re slightly on edge. You feel taut as a string on a guitar, tense and waiting to be yanked at any second. 

His expression is serene, and his thoughts inscrutable as he continues lavishing you with his eyes, down to where he’s lying over you and back up. His lips part, but he doesn’t speak for a moment as he formulates his words. 

“Can we try something? There’s this tantric exercise that might help you relax.”

Your brows draw earnestly and you nod up at him, not requiring any convincing even though you have no idea what he’s talking about. 

Spencer directs you to sit up, and you do—kicking your jeans all the way off so you can sit criss-cross with your hands braced on your ankles. 

He’s next to you on the bed, at a slight angle, one of your knees in his lap. You blink at him. 

“Now what?”

“Now you give me one of your hands,” he says, tone tinted with a hint of an amused smile, as if your impatience is funny to him. Of course it probably is. 

Frowning only a little, you unlock your left arm and hold it out for him, watching curiously as he takes your one hand between his and flips it palm-up. 

“Did you know,” Spencer begins, voice low and confidential, “that the fingertips are the second most sensitive part of the human body?”

“What’s the first?”

“Lips,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your hand where he’s brushing the tips of your fingers light enough it almost tickles. “They’re both incredibly important for keeping you alive, which is why they’re one and two. But you’ll be particularly sensitive anywhere you’re vulnerable.” His words are trailing off as he brushes his thumb over your palm and to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Like here.”

His knuckles skim up your forearm, to the crook of your elbow. 

“And especially here.”

You’re fascinated as he traces back down the length of your arm and over your inner-wrist, feather light. Then up once more, with the blunted edges of his nails, and your breath catches. You’ve never noticed how sensitive such an innocuous part of your body could be, but it has your stomach flipping—more so when he looses a breathy laugh. “You know, some people are actually able to reach orgasm just by light stimulation to this area.”

Your response is just as airy—you don’t recognize your voice when it comes out like that, hanging in the pitch black between you. 

“Really?” 

An affirmative hum from him, as he lifts your hand and places an intentional kiss over your pulse at the bend of your wrist. Your chest aches and heat is pooling in your stomach as his gently trails them up the delicate skin of your arm. Maybe you should be embarrassed by the reaction you’re having—after all, it’s just your arm. But he treats every part of you like it warrants love and attention and intimacy. Even the parts you typically ignore. Certainly parts you never considered to be sexually or romantically relevant. It’s dizzying. It’s like magic. 

“Arms up,” Spencer finally directs, just as sweetly as he’s doing everything else, and helps you tug your shirt over your head. Every brush of fabric, every seam against your skin registers more than it normally would. Everything is heightened, and despite your state of undress you’re still warm. “Your neck is really sensitive, too. It’s the most commonly acknowledged erogenous zone.”

Erogenous zone. Of course this all comes back to biology. 

“Tilt your head for me, honey.”

Utterly entranced and useless to not abide by him, you do so. Spencer brushes your hair over your shoulder, and if the slip of it down your back weren’t enough, the graze of his fingertips against the nape of your neck has you shivering. 

The warmth of him at your throat feels completely brand new, despite having already had his lips there only minutes before. But now they ghost over your skin with a kind of novelty, and your own lips part in silent pleasure, head lolling to allow him greater access.

“Lie back.”

Without hesitation (but perhaps a bit sluggishly in your stupor) you obey, sliding down until you’re propped up only by pillows once more. Spencer takes his place propped above you once more, thighs slotted with yours as he quickly picks up where he left off. 

The sweet kisses are perfect and feel so much better than you’d ever thought to notice before—but at the same time your core aches and there’s that pressure building again that’s starting to get to you. 

“Spencer,” you try, and it comes out hoarse but you don’t care at all. “More.”

“You want me to leave marks?” 

And the offer is so tempting you’ll wait a few more minutes to ask for what you really need, nodding semi-frantically and ‘mhm’-ing desperately. 

As he gently latches onto a spot that will require concealer later but feels fantastic for now, one of his hands slips down your side, just barely letting his nails skim, and your back actually arches. It’s a shocking amount of stimulation for being nowhere near any sexual hotspots. That tiny caught breath dissolves as his fingers continue down just as lightly over your hip and thigh. Your muscles tense as you chase and run away from the feeling. It’s ridiculous.

There’s no point in trying to keep your eyes open now—they grow heavy and you let them fall shut as he sucks another love bite to your throat. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it? It’s kind of weird.” He says, voicing your thoughts as he eventually decides the mark will be sufficiently dark. 

“Yeah,” you agree, lacking all eloquence as he caresses every sensitive place you didn’t know you had and your hips writhe minutely in a little desperate dance of your own creation. 

“Most people aren’t aware of the potential of the erogenous zones that aren’t actual sex organs. They don’t pay attention to them. You know what else is an interesting function of erotic stimulation to areas that aren’t directly involved in reproduction?”

“Hm,” you hum as his hand skims to your back. You lean into it and he promptly undoes your bra with a single hand—a skill you’re not even sure you have. 

“It releases not quite as much oxytocin as an orgasm but more than sexual pleasure alone. So you’re less tense before sex than you usually would be, and you’re primed to build more trust and feel more connected with your partner during.”

God, he’s a nerd. And it’s so, so hot. 

You roll over on your back again and look up at him through half-lidded eyes. The corner of his mouth flickers as he takes in your expression, before trailing downward, following the path his fingertips make over your skin as they tug the straps over your shoulders. Trying to stop him, to be shy, would be a pointless venture. He’s seen you like this and you want him to see you again. 

A shaky exhale of his own brings a little smile to your face as he pulls your bra away and observes the newly bared skin with a hunger that you can feel. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs, eyes cast pointedly down and thumb brushing over the side of your right breast. 

“You mentioned.”

“I’m not allowed to say it again?” He teases, leaning down to kiss you soft. Your lips curve against his. 

“You can say it as many times as you want.”

Spencer hums, finally thumbing over your breast’s sensitive peak. It sends a chill down your back and seeing as you’re already worked up to the point of near insanity, the pleasure from such a simple touch is much stronger than it would be otherwise. 

“Good. Because I missed you a lot.”

After that, he doesn’t waste much time—only toying with your flesh for another minute as he kisses you before his hand is skimming down your abdomen and dipping below the waistband of your underwear. 

“Please,” you whisper, tilting your hips toward him when he doesn’t move to touch you anymore. 

“Please what?”

“Spencer, don’t.”

He smiles at this, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as his hand travels lower. Fingers slip between wet folds and he begins making the lightest of circles over your clit. 

“You’ve probably been waiting long enough, huh? I should be nicer.”

Your answer is a breathy almost-whine as you seek more friction against his hand. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pressing down harder. The sensation sends sparks down to your toes and you attempt to clamp your legs shut around his wrist. “These need to stay open,” Spencer chuckles, “or else I can’t help you.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” The words are a sweet sing-song against your cheek as he kisses you there, before hooking his fingers into the fabric of your underwear and pulling down. You try to help wiggle out of them as best you can, gasping when he tosses them away and immediately returns his hand between your legs. He dips his head down, tongue lathing over your breast, and teases you with the tip of one finger circling around your entrance. 

“I need—”

“Shh. Let me worry about it.”

With that, he’s dipping his ring and middle fingers just barely inside of you to the first knuckle, then back out, before pushing a bit deeper, and repeating the cycle until they’re as far as they’ll go. When he slowly starts fucking you with them, still mouthing sweetly at your breast, you’re ready to melt. 

The room is quiet except for your breathy mewls, the lewd, wet sound of his fingers inside of you, and the blood rushing in your ears. Soon your breast pops from between his lips and he finds somewhere else to leave his mark. Spencer is turning you into a work of art, with his fingers, with his mouth. You don’t mind at all. You’d let him sign his name, if he could—but you doubt he’d let you get his name tattooed. 

Soon you stop fighting the perpetual tug of your lids down and let them flutter shut, loosing a freer moan as he brushes over that sweet spot inside you. Even when he’d told you how to find it over the phone, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t like this—maddening enough to have your hips twisting again and that hot bed of coals in your tummy sparking. 

“Spencer,” you warn, leg twitching as he stokes the fire beyond the point where you can passively enjoy it. Either he’s got to slow down or he’s got to let you burn all the way up. You practically jump when you feel his tongue flick over your clit—you hadn’t even been aware of his shifting positions. Maybe you’re more out of it than you’d previously thought. Your eyes shoot open and he does it again. “Oh, fuck.”

The words are simple, quiet, and apparently that’s not enough. Before you can even process the sensation of the tip of his tongue on you he’s latching onto your clit, suckling in a way that has your vision momentarily going out. You cry out and kick involuntarily, hips jumping up, but he captures your leg and presses you down into the mattress so no matter how much you squirm and squeak you can’t get away. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, Spencer I wa—ah—sn’t ready—oh my god.”

He remembers his fingers deep inside you and begins rutting them and you hiss, inhaling sharply through your teeth before letting it all out in a tremulous moan. The orgasm is building up so quickly it almost feels like an attack on your poor body as you try to process it all to no avail. Every sound you make is a vulnerable mess of pleasure and pain, a clear fear of surrendering to something inevitable. Of course, it doesn’t really hurt at all. As usual, he’s blindsided you. Found you unprepared. You rake your fingers through Spencer’s hair, continuing on with your shaky moans that sound half-worried. 

“Oh, please.” Really, you’re just pleading to be put out of your misery. It’s in moments like this, as the black is creeping in around the edges of your vision and your thoughts become threads in the tangle of an existence knotting in on itself with no discernible end or beginning in your mind until everything is completely abstract, that you’re reminded why the French refer to orgasm as the little death.  

Your fingers lace tight enough in the wilds of his hair to pull, and he groans against you, and those vibrations are your undoing. You succumb to the dark momentarily but he continues a loving assault of gentle kisses to your clit—careful enough so as to be inoffensive even after the euphoria abates and you’re hypersensitive, still relishing soft strands of hair between your knuckles. 

You’re breathing hard as you blink your vision back, looking down at him as he looks up at you from his place between your legs and rubs the top of your thigh.

“I wasn’t ready,” you pant, lips flashing into a tired smile that doesn’t hold a candle to his own livelier one. 

“Took it like a champ.”

If you weren’t already so warm his sarcastic comment would inspire more heat in the apples of your cheeks. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid using sports idioms?” You smile as he climbs back up your body. 

“It’s unreasonably sexy that you said idiom and not simile.” He kisses you, grin mirroring yours, and you don’t complain about the slick still on his lips. “And look at that. Not afraid to kiss me when I taste like you anymore.”

“I remember what you said,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, glowing amber pools in the low light. The words echo in your head from the first time he’d gone down on you and you’d been hesitant to taste yourself. 

One day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.

“So do I,” he points out needlessly. “Eerily prophetic, hm?”

“I think you just like going down on me,” you laugh. 

Without the light on, his smile is just as brilliant as usual.  

“You might be right about that.”

Another interlude of quiet begins, but you don’t mind it. Taking this slow, as desperate as you’ve been for it, feels nice. Easy. Waves of burning need ebb and flow, but for now, it feels nice to be bathed in his candlelight gaze, know you’re loved, and nothing else. 

“What next?” You whisper after a long moment, lifting your hand to trace the line of his jaw. He leans into it slightly, lips brushing your palm. 

“That’s up to you, angel. What’s going to make you feel most comfortable?” 

Your bottom lip rolls between your teeth as you think and he tracks the movement, corner of his mouth twitching fondly. 

“It might help if you weren’t fully clothed.”

“I think we could probably do something about that.”

He pecks the tip of your nose playfully and then he’s pushing off the bed. Your brow wrinkles as you follow suit only partially, sitting up with your legs folded under you and pulling the sheets over your body to combat the chill and the vulnerability of being completely naked. 

“Oh, my god. You had your shoes on that whole time?”

“I got distracted,” Spencer defends, almost tripping over himself in his hurry to slip the loafers off. 

You clutch the sheet to your chest, watching the adorable way he pushes his hair out of his face as he rushes. He’s so clearly excited—it shows in the flush of his cheek and his even worse than usual coordination. 

“But on my bed?”

“I’m sorry,” he says without seeming very apologetic, leaning down to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger and pressing his lips to yours. “I’ll pay to have your comforter dry cleaned. I’ll buy you a new one. I don’t care.”

“How chivalrous.”

“I am,” he insists against your lips, shaped by what is surely a boyish smirk. 

Unsurprisingly, you get lost in the kiss, dropping the sheet to hang onto his shoulders. Spencer takes advantage of the once-more revealed skin, rubbing your thigh with slow passes in a way that has you all lit up again already. It doesn’t help that his tie is skimming right over the recess between your folded thighs as he leans over your seated form, kissing you deeper as the moments pass. 

“You’re distracting me now,” you scold, but your voice is quiet and smiley as your noses brush. 

“Do you want to help me with my clothes?”

You nod, heart hatching like a cocoon and already slipping a finger into the knot of his tie so you can tug perhaps not gently enough. He chuckles, bracing himself with his fists on either side of your lap as you pull and yank until the fabric comes loose and you slip it from around his neck, flinging it blindly for dramatic effect. Then he slowly draws back to his full height, until you’re about eye-level with his chest. His gaze fixes on you, feverish and intent as he finds the buckle of his belt without looking. The slide of leather on leather, the jingle of the metal has the hairs on the back of your neck rising and you fight a chill as he pins you with his stare—feeling rather powerless as he towers over you, still essentially fully clothed while you’re completely naked. 

You probably shouldn’t be as thrilled by it as you are. 

Spencer tosses the belt on the floor and watches on, utterly charmed as you rise to your knees. His hands find your waist, steadying you as you begin unbuttoning his shirt with slow, careful fingers. 

“See?” You murmur bashfully. “Helping.”

His voice is equally as soft. 

“Very helpful. Thank you.”

The tension in the quiet room gets to be too much and you have to focus hard on the task at hand, failing to bite back a twisty smile. For once, he keeps his stupid perfect mouth shut and lets you push the fabric of his open shirt from his shoulders in humid silence. 

Your fingers skate down his torso and you watch the muscles tense. You wonder if he notices the way he pulls you slightly closer or if it’s subconscious as you both track the path of your hands. 

“Your button is on the wrong side,” you note, voice wavering slightly, once your fingers stall at the waistband of his pants.

Spencer chuckles. You feel silly. 

“Men and women’s clothing tend to have the buttons on different sides, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh.” A beat of silence, before the words come pouring out. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’m still a little bit nervous, I think.”

“That’s okay,” Spencer assures you, hands gliding up and down the soft lines of your waist. “It’s okay that you’re nervous. But I’m going to take really good care of you, okay?”

You nod, not looking away from the exposed skin of his torso. 

“And if at any point you need to take a break or stop, you’ll tell me.”

“I will, but… I don’t need to stop right now.”

“Then you can go as slow as you want.”

You swallow and take a moment to gather yourself before continuing on undoing his pants. With his assistance, you pull them down, and with them his boxers tug an inch or two lower, exposing a subtle v-shape before it disappears beneath the waistband. The fabric is obviously tented. A ball of nervous anticipation spins faster in your stomach, drawing all the heat in your body down between your legs. He’s pretty everywhere. You’d nearly forgotten. 

Spencer’s stomach tenses under your light touch as you drag your fingers down, down, just to the waistband. It’s then that you look up at him for permission to continue, and find his eyes already on you, heated and intense. 

“Go ahead, honey.”

Again you find yourself quite excited to touch him, but you start cautiously, simply letting your hand fall over the shape of him through the fabric. Even that has his chest rising and falling at a slightly quickened rate, and one of his hands finds your unoccupied one, twining them together. That small gesture inspires you to bolden your explorations, becoming more insistent in the way you palm at him. He feels big, which is a concern of yours. But you try not to let that intimidate you.  

Already he’s quite hard, you suspect from going down on you earlier (which is flattering as much as it embarrasses you) and your fingers graze a small wet patch of fabric. You fixate on the shaky little breath he releases as you push down his boxers with new fervor, and his cock springs up. 

He’s still perfect. 

You smear beads of precum down his tip, and he sighs, letting his head fall against yours as you both watch. A few coquettish pumps and he’s humming, kissing your face and dragging his lips down your neck where he makes a home for himself. Apparently the sight of your hand wrapped around him had been too much to bear. 

“So good. Missed this.”

“It’s just my hand,” you whisper, a little insecure that he’s maybe playing it up for your benefit. 

“It’s you.”

His voice is so breathy, you sort of have to believe him. 

“Can I…?”

Too nervous to voice what you really mean, you trail off, but it apparently doesn’t matter to Spencer. He lifts his head like he’s in a stupor but you’ve said something urgent. 

“Anything you want. You can do whatever you want.”

“Okay. Um…”

You let go of his hand (and his dick). Spencer automatically rotates to accommodate you as you end up on your knees on the wooden floor in front of him. 

“This is what you want?” He breathes, already pushing his fingers through your hair and gathering it back as you look up at him and nod. 

Very quickly you have him back in your hand, trying to remember what you learned from the few times you’ve done this. You start perhaps a bit softer, less eager to prove yourself than you have in the past—simply dragging him over your tongue before enveloping his tip in your mouth, and releasing with a pop. Despite being overtly, explicitly, and undeniably sexual, there’s something almost chaste about the way you handle him. It’s a (dirty) expression of love, and you think he understands that as he rubs at your cheek affectionately. 

Eventually, however, you get too excited, and you take him into your mouth in earnest, bobbing your head slowly and seeing how much of him you can take without gagging. 

Spencer makes the prettiest noises—they’re breathy, and not ostentatious, but he’s got such a nice speaking voice it’s like his gasps are bars in a song. You whine around him, wriggling your hips in a rather pathetic display, and then all too quickly he’s tugging your hair so you can’t keep him in your mouth. 

“What?” You ask, closer to pouting than you’d care to admit and voice slightly hoarse. “You said I could do anything I want.”

“Not if you’re that good at it. Come here.”

He helps you up and catches you in a deep, messy kiss before you’ve fully regained your footing, swaying against him, but he holds you fast, pulling away slow like strings of honey trail between your mouths. 

Spencer’s eyes are fixed on yours, lips parted in a sort of wonder before he glances down to your own mouth, wiping the shine from your bottom lip. Any moment you’re expecting him to say something, to tell you you’re beautiful or perfect or that he’s in love with you—but instead he just meets your eyes again, that same wonder-struck look on his pretty face. A tiny, breathy laugh forces itself from his chest like you’re a genuine miracle. 

You feel so observed—seen in a way you’ve never been seen, looked at closer than anyone has ever looked at you before. And he still looks at you like you’re the human embodiment of love, the closest mortal manifestation of the divine, Galatea come down from her marble pedestal. The way he looks at you has your heart pounding and your breathing hastened. Adoration has never been something so physical, so tangible, ever before in your life. Your blood hums at the frequency of his electromagnetic field—an energetic aura that surrounds each person and can be detected from several feet away, as he’d explained it to you. It originates from the heart and if you spend enough time close to  someone, syncs up the beating of your most vital organ with theirs until it’s a perfect match. Maybe that’s why, almost as quickly as your heart had begun to pound, it slows again, and you feel any reservation flush from your body like a fever. 

“Okay,” you breathe, cataloguing every angle and curve of his face to store with all the rest, all the moments that feel important. Of course, you’ll never remember them like he does yours. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try your hardest. 

“Okay?” Spencer asks. He understands the confirmation for what it is, and searches for signs of hesitation on your face while rubbing reassuring circles into your hip. You nod resolutely. 

As he lays you down on your bed, it feels like you’re entering some kind of altered state. Everything is muted and glowing with a watercolor aura in the dark and you really only care about the man on top of you and the way moonlight dances on his skin and the way he smells like smoky amber and rain. He makes sure the pillows are fluffed under you, before sweeping your hair from beneath your shoulders into a corona around your head. All the while his eyes are so soft on you, just like his hands, and his lips when he leans down to touch them to yours. 

One of said hands finds its way to your jaw, trailing down over your neck and collarbone, before settling over your breast where he swipes a thumb over your nipple, lightly, slowly, several times. 

Once again you’re struck with the odd feeling, even with his hand on you like this, that the situation isn’t sexual in the way you’d anticipated. It’s not pornographic, or even very dirty. Everything Spencer does, even as his hand sneaks down between your legs, he does because he loves you. 

“One more like this,” he mutters against your jaw after a moment. 

“Why?”

Your impatience yields a smile you can only feel against your skin. 

“Just want you relaxed and feeling good. That’s all.”

When you assent, his fingers are already slowly pushing inside you. 

It seems you’ve entered some sort of time warp as well, because you reach a gentle peak in what feels like record time, aided by his easy murmurings and saccharine praise.

“Perfect. That was perfect,” Spencer says with a kiss to your shoulder as he slides his fingers from you and you feel yourself literally dripping onto the sheets. “Can I ask you something before we get carried away?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sweet and compliant as pleasure dulls your inhibitions for the second time tonight and your head lolls into the pillows. 

“Baby,” he croons, voice soft as worn paper as your lids flutter and lashes brush febrile cheeks, thumbing over the heated skin. “Need you a little more alert, sweet girl.”

“’M trying,” you whine, though it’s half self-effacing laugh. Spencer chuckles too as you shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to reinvigorate yourself. “Okay. Go.”

“Well… we don’t have any protection.” Before you can groan, loudly, he hurries on. “And that’s… I’m okay with that, if it’s what you still want. I trust you. But there will come… a moment of reckoning. And I need to know where I should… reckon. So you don’t end up surprised.”

Now you’re really laughing—a giggly mess beneath him as your arms loop over his shoulders. 

“Stop it,” he whines, pressing his nose to your cheek as you turn your head in an effort to not snort at your boyfriend to his face. “That was for your benefit, you know. You get squeamish.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t take you seriously when you refer to it as reckoning.”

“Fine. I’ll rephrase. When I come, you essentially have two options. Inside, or on your stomach. Tell me where you want it.”

Your breath catches and your stomach does that tripping-over-itself thing again. 

“Um…”

Another fond half laugh, at your expense, is pressed against your skin. It’s enough to prompt you into answering—he doesn’t have to say anything to make his point about your being squeamish. 

“Inside,” you mutter, shy as you attempt to bring him closer so he won’t be able to look at you quite so closely. You wonder if he’s remembering the conversation you’d had over the phone last week—before he’d accidentally kind of broken up with you—about this very subject. You certainly are. 

“Okay. I want you to have everything that you want.” A few kisses to your neck later, between nips, he speaks again. “Just need to hear that you want this one more time.”

“I want this,” you repeat, obedient and honest, plain and simple. “Now, please.”

Spencer responds by first kissing you, firm and loving. It soothes you, and he punctuates it with a kiss to your cheek, before he’s reaching down and guiding himself between your legs. You feel surprisingly calm, more overcome with love and the light pleasure rolling down your back as he drags himself over your clit than you are by nerves. Still, you pointedly hold his gaze, not looking down in case you psych yourself out. He slots himself in place, tip resting against your entrance. 

“Remember, if you need to stop at any point—”

“I remember,” you cut him off hurriedly. 

Okay. So perhaps you’re still slightly nervous. 

He watches you, sympathetic though you’re not sure what for. 

“I need you as relaxed as possible, okay? I want this to be easy on you.”

You take a moment, scanning your whole body for tense muscles. When you feel sufficiently relaxed, you offer Spencer a small nod, and at that, he begins pushing into you ever so slightly. 

At first, it just feels foreign. He’s going so slowly, so carefully, you’re not sure he’s moving at all—until he finds resistance and the odd full feeling changes to a hint of burning stretch. Your hips jump and your breath catches, and Spencer stops immediately, relieving the pressure with a tiny shift in position. 

“It’s gonna hurt,” you realize, eyes darting between his like he might be able to tell you otherwise. You’d always been aware of the possibility, but you were holding out hope that you’d be one of those people who didn’t experience any pain their first time. 

“Just for a minute. Then it’ll feel good, angel.”

You swallow and nod. At the end of the day, you trust him completely. You trust him enough to let him hurt you. 

“Super deep breaths for me.”

He watches intently as you follow his directions, taking several deep breaths in succession, before he begins pushing into you once more. The pressure builds and builds until he pushes past that point of resistance, and it’s like he’s breaking you in two. 

“Ah,” you gasp, abs twisting as your body tries to escape the sensation without any input from you. 

“I know. I know, baby, that was the hardest part. Breathe.”

He drops his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles with light pressure to distract from the pain.

You nod, lips pressed together tight as the deep ache muddles your brain. It’s an insistent pressure against something does not seem to want to budge. It burns and stretches and is laced with sour, flirtatious pleasure so that you can hardly tell what it is you’re feeling. Mostly, you’re dizzy and hot.

“Relax, just like that,” he strains, looking down. “My good girl. We’re almost there, baby.”

Cries spill unbidden from your mouth and your eyes shut as he continues to open you up deeper, until finally, finally, his hips settle into the cradle of yours. 

Spencer sighs a curse under his breath, so quiet you don’t think it was meant for you. 

He’s inside of you. It’s bizarre. 

You whimper, and he snaps out of whatever revery he’d been in. 

“You okay? How does that feel?”

You take a shuddering breath, closing your eyes and trying to clear your head to no avail—your thoughts are like TV static. 

“I’m good. I need… I need a minute.”

“You can have as much time as you need. It’s a lot, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admit, voice small and weak. 

“I bet,” he agrees, peppering soft kisses all over your face. “But you’re doing so well. Proud of you, brave girl. You’re doing so well and we’re gonna make sure it feels good soon, okay? Whenever you’re ready.”

“Will you please kiss me again?” you whisper, and Spencer’s brow knits with concern. 

“Of course, angel. Of course I’ll kiss you,” he says, and makes good on his promise with his lips on yours. It sweetens the ache. “I’ll do whatever you want. You can have anything. You’re so perfect.”

He kisses you again, just as lovingly, and soft, like you’re delicate. All the praise is only contributing to your lightheadedness, but you don’t mind at all. It feels good. 

“You can… you can move.”

“Okay. We’ll go really slow, yeah?”

He waits for your nod before his hips are pulling back and you arch at the odd sensation. When he pushes back in, eyes carefully locked on yours the whole time, you keen slightly, frowning and brain shorting out as it tries and fails to process this new feeling. 

“Uh-huh. You’re okay, I promise.”

At first it doesn’t feel good. It mostly hurts. But slowly, the pain begins to abate as you acclimate to having him inside of you, and he’s careful the whole time. 

“Spence?” 

“Hm?”

He sounds concentrated on the task at hand—you’re entranced by the sight of him above you, the parted lips, the unkempt hair over the brow furrowed in pleasure and focus. But he’s never too busy for you. 

“Does it… um—” you pause to hold back a whine—“what does it feel like for you?”

At this, he slows even further and chuckles—it’s a strained, slightly breathy sound. 

“For me?”

“Mhm.”

“You feel perfect, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

The slight fry in Spencer’s voice as he curses, which is a rare event in and of itself, flips your stomach, turns you on immensely. The idea that you’re giving him pleasure too—it’s almost overwhelming. That’s when it starts feeling good. 

“Oh—” you squeak, jaw dropping and bucking your hips inadvertently as the first bolt of true pleasure shocks deep in your core. He hums. 

“Yeah, is that it, sweet girl?”

But you can’t answer for a long moment. Your brain is melting as your legs lock around him. 

“Mm—it’s—it feels…”

“I know it does,” Spencer murmurs.

You whine and press your face into the curve of his shoulder as each thrust gently rocks your body. As the pace picks up bit by bit, you feel yourself clenching hard around him. His hips stutter and he hisses. 

“Ah. Can’t do that, lovely.”

“What? Did I hurt you?”

He laughs breathily. 

“No, you didn’t hurt me. You almost pushed me out. You have to relax.”

“Sorry,” you whisper. “’M trying.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. I know you’re trying, baby, you’re being so good for me.”

Your nails skim his back—a small expression of a much larger desperation. Once he’s sure you’re relaxed around him, begins going faster. 

Your gasps and soft moans come more often now as he finds a steady rhythm and it feels so different when he’s actually fucking you. It feels like he’s everywhere. Every time your hips meet you feel the sweet shock of it in your teeth, your toes, the back of your neck. In the best way, you feel consumed by him. It’s not at all like you’d imagined, and it’s perfect. 

“Wait, Spencer,” you breathe, struggling to form the words. Immediately he stops again, lifting his head from your shoulder to examine your face. 

“What is it?”

He sounds just as wrecked as you feel, panting and strained and it feels good to hear. 

“I wanna watch.”

For a moment his eyes dart between yours like he’s trying to determine what you really mean—but you said exactly what you meant. Then he laughs, a huff of air from his nose as he presses his head to yours and gives you a quick kiss.

Your toes curl as he readjusts his position, holding himself a little higher and resting your heads together so you can both look between your bodies. 

“There,” he murmurs as he slowly begins to withdraw again. “Like that?”

But you can’t answer, because you’re too busy whimpering at the sight of him pushing into you. The feeling seems to increase tenfold as you watch it happen. Distantly you wonder how the fuck it fits. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Like that.”

Spencer takes this as a blessing to find a pace again, slower now as he seems to be just as enthralled by the sight as you are. 

“Give me your leg,” he rasps after a few moments like that, and you don’t know what he means exactly but you lift your right leg slightly only for him to press his hand to the back of your knee and push toward your chest, effectively opening you up and giving him more range of motion. It also enables him to fuck you even deeper. Again he slows, apparently savoring the feel of you yielding around him all the way down to the hilt. 

Black spots dance in your eyes as he settles at your deepest point—not pain, necessarily, just overwhelming sensation. Your jaw drops and you choke out a moan as he presses into recesses you didn’t know you had, as he shows you a part that you might have gone the rest of your life without knowing existed. He stops there, like that. Everything stops there, like that. If the cars on the road below ceased to drive, if the airplanes froze in the sky, you’d not be the least bit surprised. Somehow, you’ve unlocked a small eternity. There’s no sound but your joint heavy breathing and your heart pounding in your ears. The words just come bubbling up out of you in a little whine. 

“I love you.”

Spencer’s breath pauses for a moment before he’s letting it all out at once, brushing his lips up the ridge of your nose before they settle on your forehead in what seems like a permanent kiss. A few breaths in, you allow your eyes to flutter shut. Your heart rate slows down a touch, and you settle into the moment, never having been quite so content as you are like this—never having felt quite so adored and safe. 

“I love you,” he finally echoes, voice rasping, lips still pressed to your skin, still breathing against your hair. When he starts to move again, drawing back ever so slowly, you hiss softly. He raises his head from yours, and you look away from where he’s pulling out, meeting his eyes just in time for him to push back in, just as deep. They shine in the mostly-dark room and you moan unabashedly. It’s a high-pitched, sweet thing, nothing that will have the neighbors complaining—but so clearly true, from the depths of your soul, an expression of everything you’re feeling—not just the pleasure. 

Although that’s good, too, as Spencer shapes you to him again and again, the head of his cock kissing places nobody’s ever been and places you hope nobody else will ever venture to. This is all you need. Him. 

“Jesus,” Spencer groans, eyes fixed on your face as he fucks you slowly. But you can’t bring yourself to talk, too new to this kind of pleasure to find it anything other than mind-boggling and world altering. Your lips are still parted, allowing each sound to pass without filter. “Listen to you, beautiful.”

When he stops again, just to look down and marvel at you, you’re conflicted. On the one hand, you can taste the pleasure on the back of your tongue and he keeps taking it away when it’s so close. But on the other—you’re just as overwhelmed as he said you’d be. Your body has never had to process this kind of sensory information before, and you’re exhausted, but it’s so good. 

“Spencer,” you manage. He looks up, pupils blown and eyes lidded where they’d normally be wide. “Please don’t stop.”

He swallows, spurred into action again as soon as you say it. 

“Good?”

You nod and whine again as he picks up the pace bit by bit, remembering to push your leg back once more so he can get as deep as you need him. 

“So good,” you exhale at the top pitch of your voice. Your brows pinch and you release a fuller moan as Spencer finds a speed that’s fast enough to constantly feel good no matter where he is. You’re gasping for breath, back arching—and he finds a new angle, catching against the spot inside you that renders all those years of human evolution that gave you sentience and intelligence a waste. He chuckles airily at your series of series of affronted moans and halted gasps. 

“Right there? That's a good spot, isn’t it?”

“Oh, go—fuck, fuck!”

It feels so good it almost hurts, and your eyes are stinging to prove it. Your legs clamp tighter around him and you realize there’s a very lewd wet sound and you can’t believe that’s you. 

“Spencer, you’re—oh my god, I love you,” you whine, and it sounds like you’re pleading for your life. At this makes his own sound of pleasure, and hastens his messy circles on your clit as if in reward. 

But it’s too much all combined. 

Your hand claps to your mouth to obscure the loud, licentious moan that comes out—but Spencer immediately moves his hand from between your legs to grab your wrist and pin it gently to the bed, intertwining your fingers. 

“Don’t do that. Let me hear.”

You nod, and he lets go of your hand to return his fingers to your clit. If possible you get wetter around his cock—you can feel yourself gushing. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whine as if pained. 

“Yeah? Gonna finally let me feel you cumming, angel?”

He has a filthy mouth when he wants to. The words hit like high voltage to your core and the very pit of your stomach. You can’t even respond beyond a desperate sob. 

“Show me, baby. I’m right here. Let go.”

You cum around his cock with a broken cry and it’s like a purge of every drop of angst you’d felt over the past week or so—hell, it’s a purge of all the insecurities that had bubbled to the surface since you started dating him. None of it matters anymore. How could it matter when you have him? When you have this?

The orgasm washes you out like a tidal wave, taking everything with it. It’s strong, and it’s so good, so intense, your body is overwrought with sensation and it’s too much even though it’s perfect. Your brain is drawing a blank as it tries to react to the feeling, and it’s like every button on the damn panel has been hit. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” Spencer grits, and you feel it in the way he adjusts his position, shifting as he grips at the edge of the mattress for leverage and the thrusts become messier, needier. You gasp as his other hand tangles in your hair, turning your head to ghost your lips over his forearm. It’s not entirely surprising when his own lips find your shoulder—but the feeling of him finding his release just as his teeth sink into your skin does come as quite a shock. It doesn’t hurt, and you’re sure there’s no skin broken, but it’s an undeniable fact that he has grounded himself in the throes of passion by biting down on you.

Inside you, he feels hot. Searing, almost, as his spend tries to fill space that doesn’t exist. There is absolutely no room for anything else inside of you. Stars dance in your eyes at the overstimulation, but long after he’s finished he’s still fucking into you—albeit much slower and with far less technique. Spencer moans like a two bit whore, like he’s reached pain to a point of ecstasy, and to you it’s as good, as special as the singing of the planets. If he’s as sensitive as you are now, it’s no small feat for him to keep going on like this. It’s a testament to how much he doesn’t want it to be over. The pleasure is carrying him away, but you’re beginning to feel how soft you must be and how if he continues on like this you may bruise like an overripe peach. 

“Spencer,” you manage, skating your hand up and down his back in what you hope are soothing lines. “Baby.”

He whines as his lips detach from your shoulder, but his hips finally slow to a stop, nestled inside you. 

“Jesus, fuck, I'm sorry,” he breathes, opting now to bury his face in your neck (with significantly less biting this time).

You’re still reeling, toes still curled, still struggling to breathe as your head spins and spins and spins. His chest pushes against yours with every heaving breath, hot and heavy on your skin, and that’s the only sign he’s still alive until his hand eventually reanimates in your hair, scratching your head tenderly. 

For a span of minutes, you stay like that—silent, twined together like caducean serpents. His weight on top of you is perfect. This, the lack of differentiation between your body and his, is perfect. You don’t know where he ends and you begin and you don’t need to. It’s a blissful moment. 

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice is hoarse when he finally speaks, lifting his head to look at you with flushed cheeks and messy hair and sparkly eyes. 

“Hi.”

He smiles. 

“You’re so pretty.”

“You too,” you murmur, moving your hand from his back and pressing your thumb into the hollow of his cheek. His eyes map the curves of your face as he pushes your surely askew hair back. 

“How do you feel?”

It takes you a moment to seriously consider his question, scanning your body for any undue pains, but for the moment, you find none, beyond a dull aching throb that you can manage. 

“Good. Tired.”

You wince at the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. Spencer hums sympathetically and presses a sticky kiss to your lips which makes it a little better, though you can’t ignore how uncomfortable all the previously pleasant wetness has become between your legs. 

“Here—stay here, I’ll get a wash cloth and—”

“It’s fine,” you insist, holding on even as he tries to roll off of you. “I just need… will you stay here for a little bit?”

“Of course,” he promises, now pressed close to your side and propped up on an elbow, “whatever you want.”

You lavish in his gaze, warm like a spotlight, as he strokes your cheek and plays with your hair. Very quickly you’re lulled into a doze, eyes fluttering shut. Minutes stretch. You feel drunk on waking dreams, and perfectly at peace. Safe. 

“Angel girl,” he christens you fondly. More than anything, it’s an observation, so lovely it sinks into your skin like a balm, soothing every tired muscle and little mark he’d made. Even half-asleep, it makes you smile. 

“You’re an angel,” you slur, reaching blindly for him, and he chuckles, catching your wrist and helpfully settling your hand on his cheek. 

“I thought you were asleep.”

You hum, “mm-mm,” looking up at him with just as much adoration as he has for you. Those cuddle hormones must be kicking in because soon you’re attempting to pull him back on top of you. He doesn’t quite comply, probably for fear of crushing you—rather he settles next to you, gathering you in his arms. 

Silence blankets the two of you, but it’s not unpleasant as you just watch each other with barely-there smiles curling your mouths. This kind of intimacy still manages to give you butterflies, even after everything else you’ve done. This kind of satisfaction, reverie in the sound of each other’s blood flowing and lungs filling. Setting aside words because you don’t need conversation as a pretense for wanting to be around each other anymore. You don’t need an excuse to look at him like this. You don’t need words any more than you need clothes. It’s enough to just be. 

“I love you,” he says, a soft reminder, and entirely redundant with the way he’d already been looking at you, touching you. 

“I know. I love you too.”

The smile flickers brighter on his face. 

“And thank you.”

Your eyes narrow minutely as you consider what he could possibly be thanking you for. 

“For what?”

“For loving me. And trusting me. It’s…” your heart squeezes as you realizes tears are pooling in his eyes. He takes a moment and clears his throat. It’s incredibly endearing. “It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”

You look down, thumbing at the sheets where you’ve hoisted them over your bodies. 

“You do realize how lame we are if we have sex and both immediately start crying, right?”

At this he laughs loudly but not loud enough to pop the little bubble you’re in, and you look up just in time to catch the brilliance of his smile, the way it changes his whole face and he becomes superhuman in his beauty, the lines that form by his eyes and the way they narrow and crystalline tears bead his lashes like precious gems. 

“Don’t cry,” he requests gently, hypocritically as your own eyes sting. The way his smile fades is like the sun setting. Gorgeous, like everything else he does. “You’ve cried so much, honey. Please don’t cry.”

You sniffle, gathering yourself. 

“I’m not. That would be pathetic.”

Spender leans forward to kiss you tenderly a few more times. Ordinarily you’d worry about coming across as clingy when you hold onto him so closely and so insistently like this, but for now you don’t care. Neither does he, it seems, as he seems unable to get you close enough. Eventually, you end up curled against him, head tucked under his chin and dozing on and off as he traces shapes into your skin. 

“What are you writing?” You mumble some time later, cheek smushed against his shoulder. He only responds with a soft hm, like he was lost deep in thought. You clarify, “it feels like you were writing something.”

“She Walks in Beauty.”

Your lips pull into a sleepy smile. 

“The Lord Byron poem?”

The first time you’d met Spencer, he’d inadvertently caused your painstakingly annotated copy of Lord Byron’s works to go flying all over a cafe, and then kindly helped clean up the pages and reorder them for you in record time. Among the poems had been She Walks in Beauty. 

“Yeah. I was trying to figure out when exactly I fell in love with you, and as someone who is deeply skeptical about love at first sight, I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I keep coming back to our first conversation. I mean, I believe in genetic compatibility, and how that contributes to attraction and what we think of as chemistry, but—”

“Wait, what about our first conversation did it?” Your cheeks ache from smiling as you speak. “As I recall I was being a bitch and I was covered in coffee.”

He laughs dreamily, still tracing letters over the small of your back. You wonder what part of the poem he’s at now. 

“Yeah, mean to me and covered in coffee is pretty much exactly my type. But I think it was actually the annotations on that copy of Lord Byron’s works. They were so insightful, and personal, I—it kind of took my breath away, and I know I shouldn’t have read them all but I couldn’t stop. You were compelling, and charming, and funny and wildly intelligent and beautiful and… and I didn’t stand a chance.”

Everything aches. It’s a good ache. Despite being seconds from tearing up all over again, you snort. He never told you about that first day.

“You thought me writing ‘sister fucker’ in all caps every time he mentioned Augusta was charming?”

“Oh, obscenely so. But now that I’m looking back, I feel like… I feel like I can’t remember not being in love with you. I mean, I remember when I realized I was, and that was later. But it was like I met you, and then I was just… waiting for you to catch up.”

You grab his hand and interlace your fingers, watching the way the ambient nighttime light from the window and the bathroom dips them half in color. 

“We were pretty much on the same page. I was debating courthouse versus small intimate ceremony as soon as you left.”

You watch him watching your joined hands, features soft and relaxed, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly as he speaks. 

“Definitely small intimate ceremony. I have too many friends who would kill me if they weren’t invited to the wedding.”

You giggle and pretend the thought doesn’t give you butterflies. You imagine a ring on your finger, the one he’s got between his own. Marriage had never been something you’d considered. Not when you had no reason to. It seemed like something for other people. But maybe one day, it will be for you, too. 

“Did you know Lord Byron had a daughter who is regarded by many as the first computer programmer? She wrote the first algorithm for a theoretical machine that was so complex it couldn’t be built with the technology available at the time. It was called an Analytical Engine.”

He sounds almost wistful as he gives you the utterly unprompted, but still welcome, abridged version of her life. The description is ringing a bell—but you can’t quite place her, sleepy as you are.  

“What was her name?”

“Ada Lovelace. She was exceptionally gifted. The odds of parent and child being so extraordinary in their respective fields are incalculable, but from a purely theoretical perspective, negligible. I mean, they’re both massive historical figureheads. That’s extremely uncommon.”

You adore it when he goes off on these tangents—the passion that stains his voice, the ardor that grips him until he has no choice but to tell you exactly what’s got him so excited. You could listen to him talk for hours. It means he’s here with you, and he wants you to love what he loves. 

Since he met you, that’s all Spencer has wanted—for you to love what he loves. 

You want the same. 

“Pretty name,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Tell me more.” 

-

part eight