#but i couldn't figure out where to fit it in

[ya-zz]

Ramattra Drabble

Wherever the omnic went, there was always a book in his hand or under his arm. At first, you thought it was just some reading material, but as time went by, you concluded that it wasn't a novel of some sort, but rather a notebook.

You had asked him about it multiple times on various different occasions but he never opened it up to show you. In fact, he never spoke about what was inside of it.

Figuring that it was something to do with his work, you stopped asking, admitting defeat and dropping the subject entirely.

There had been days, however, that he would leave it on the table or on the counter but he always came back within minutes to retrieve it, not leaving you with enough time to sneakily flip through the pages.

But you respected him. You trusted him. You wouldn't actually bring yourself to do it, no matter how much it gnawed at you. It was important work, so you thought. Maybe he'll show you when he's achieved what he needed to.

Months went by before the book was even mentioned again, but it wasn't you who sparked that conversation. It was Ramattra.

"You have wanted to see what was inside of here for so long." He looks down at the book in his hands before glancing back up at you, optics studying your face. Confusion but also curiosity. His arm extends outwards, book between his fingers as he holds it out to you.

"You're finally letting me look?"

Ramattra nods once before speaking. "Yes. Though, it will not make sense at first." He watches as you take the book, sitting down beside him so he can watch you turn the pages.

He wasn't wrong. Omnicode and equations riddle the first set of pages, scribbles of what you assume were weapon ideas and snippets from newspapers of world-wide events. It wasn't entirely what you were expecting.

As your fingers flip over to the next page, things start becoming a mess. Equations are scrapped, red and blank ink hiding what was once written and some pages were crumbled, seemingly from a small fit of rage where he scrunched the page.

"What is all of this?"

"That is not important." He silent urges you to keep moving ahead in the notebook and when the next few pages are turned, his systems momentarily freeze. His optics were locked onto your face, studying your features.

"Ramattra...?"

Amidst the omnicode, small sketches of you fill the page. At first, it was just one or two that fit the spread but as you continue to turn the pages, the sketches become larger, filling the pages entirely. Various angles and poses, sometimes when your back is turned, others when he's been sat directly across from you and you didn't even realise.

The omnic couldn't find the words, his vocaliser emitting a small hum of static. His hands that rest on his knees begin fidgeting, pulling at the soft fabric of his pants or rubbing the metal joints of his knuckles.

You can feel your heart fluttering, chest growing warm with what you believe is affection. The parts of you that you hate, he's sketched so perfectly. You're seeing yourself as he sees you.

"How long has this been going on for?"

Ramattra realised he never even dated them, but his memory serves him well in remembering the first time he sat there and sketched you. "Since the start of the year."

"And you've done so many-" You keep your eyes glued to the pages, admiring each and every single sketch. Some in pencil, some in pen.

"You are too beautiful not to draw." He chuckles when he sees the flush that instantly appears on your cheeks and he couldn't stop himself from bringing his hand up to cup your face.

You had reached the final page of the notebook, noticing how the final page was yet to be filled. Looking up at the omnic sat next to you, you're about to speak before he cuts you off.

"I was saving that page for now, if you would let me?" He watches as your eyes widen and that flush only deepens. The timid nod from you causes the omnic to tilt his head, his systems warming up.

His hands retrieve the book from you as he watches you get comfortable on the sofa. Before he starts, he hears you speak up.

"Thank you." You can sense the confusion so you elaborate. "For showing me. I didn't expect any of this."

"Thank you for being a perfect model." He chuckles along with your nervous giggle.

He admires you from the opposite end of the sofa, the way your eyes glittered in the light of the room, the flush that still painted your cheeks and the soft smile that graced your face.

Now knowing that you're aware of what he's been hiding all year, it causes his systems to heat up, fans whirring loudly in the otherwise quiet room. He speaks, a hint of sheepishness in his tone as he begins, pencil scratching at the final page of the book.

"You are the definition of beauty, you know?"

[intheshadows2000s]

Bug

In the charmless morning, I promise to be gone

Warnings: 18+! smut

This is Part Three

Part Two

Days passed where the revelation sat clear in your mind. Everytime you saw Alex, all you could imagine was a little girl in his arms. Everytime you saw him slide into his car, you imagined that he was going home to her. Everytime you saw him munching on his cereal, you wondered if he hadn't had time to eat because he was getting her ready for the day.

Your perspective on him had completely changed. And yet....there was no reason for you to keep observing. Alex had made it clear that he couldn't be with you, nor try in any capacity, to fit you into his life. You accepted it, of course you did. But that didn't stop you from wondering.

"Oh, sorry!"

You bumped into her, so lost in your mind that you hadn't even realised where your body was taking you. You were moving on muscle memory alone, no regard for your surroundings. You'd trusted your body to get you into the room mindlessly, but that proved wrong.

"Don't worry love, I know what it's like!" Joanna giggled as she helped you pick up your things. She had a kind face, prominent cheekbones and piercing baby blue eyes that nearly sent a shiver through you. You stared into them with a shy smile as you both stood back up, your things back in hand and yet you didn't make a move to leave and neither did she.

"Friday isn't it?" she sighed, "sometimes I come in and I don't even know what I'm thinking half the time."

You chuckle, "yeah. It's....the break couldn't come soon enough."

Which was a stark difference to how you'd started this term. You'd been so excited; trivial things like the leaves changing and the icy winter mornings seemed pathetic compared to what you were experiencing now. You didn't even notice the branches on the trees or the beauty of the morning anymore. Not when you'd spent weeks in your head.

"You're literature right?"

You nod, "modern."

"Ah," she grins, her white teeth sparkling under the light,  eyes bright and beautiful, "my favourite."

"I better head to class," you shift the books further up your chest, suddenly feeling small and insecure next to her. She's clearly larger than life, seems nice and is gorgeous. You're not surprised Alex had his eye on her but the two of you couldn't be anymore different. Did he get with you for that reason? Because you were different to the relationship that failed him? To the mistakes that haunt him?

"Sure," she stepped out of your way with a smile, "Joanna by the way."

"Samantha," you smiled back, though felt the reserve in it.

"See you around Samantha."

You buried your head in your hands at the end of the day. It had been a harrowing week - another one - and you were starting to get really fed up of your own mind that wouldn't stop racing, wouldn't stop tiring you out before you had a chance to wake up and face the day like the positive, strong woman you were a mere few weeks ago.

You sat in the staff room, stalling the process of going home even though your bed was telepathically tempting you. Your feet felt heavy despite being pressed steady against the ground, you felt overcome with emotion but which one, you couldn't decipher yourself. The scent of dust tickled your nose and your eyes were heavy, cheeks hot as you pressed your palms to them. But you couldn't move. You didn't want to move. You sat there for ages, unmarked papers beneath your hands, wondering when you'd get the motivation to move.

You knew it was wrong - ridiculous, even - to mourn over something that had barely started. And that's where the inner turmoil came into play. You couldn't believe how pathetic you were being and yet you couldn't figure out how to stop feeling this way.

The room was dark, only a few lone lights left on out of the several cast on the ceiling. It was late - hours had passed and you'd managed to mark a few papers but you were still lost in your mind, the words in front of you nonsensical, jumbled beneath your tired eyes.

When you heard the door creak, you jumped, looking up with wide eyes to the source of the noise.

Alex had his eyes fixed on his phone, the other hand moving to his hair once the door had been released. He walked in absentmindedly, not noticing you at first and you couldn't find it within yourself to speak, to interrupt the motions of his being.

But as you shuffled slightly, your chair creaked and he looked up with a comically alarmed expression, a small gasp leaving his lips. His eyes slowly softened when he realised it was you and you smiled sheepishly, shyly almost.

"Hey."

He smiled, "hey."

"Enjoying the peace?" you nodded back to what he'd told you at the beginning - that he loved working alone when everyone else was gone.

"Mhm," he chuckled, "you?"

"Yeah...."

He moved to the kettle with the mug you hadn't noticed. Although, throughout your many, many observations of him, it wasn't hard to gauge that he was a caffeine addict. You rarely saw him spare of a coffee, usually with some kind of sweet syrup around the rim and a load of frothy milk.

"You want one?" he waves the mug in the air, a beat passes where you stare at it wondering whether it's even appropriate to say yes. But eventually, you nod. It's not like you're going anywhere anyway.

Alex is quiet as he makes the drinks, the kettle being the only thing to make a sound in the room. The air feels still and yet tension threatens the corners of the room, ready to seep in and make you both squirm if needs be. For now, you avert your eyes back to the papers and try to remain calm - begging your heart not to pound, begging your mind not to stray.

It surprises you when Alex places your coffee down, the steam bringing a warmth to you that you didn't know you needed and you breathe a sigh of relief. But instead of scurrying off - he pulls a chair out and sits next to you.

"You don't mind?"

You shake your head and he smiles in relief, eyes saying things his lips never could.

The two of you refocus on your work. You actually feel more content with someone around. It's hard to think about the source of your problems too deeply when he's sat right next to you. His presence overwhelming but for once, you're comfortable in it. He's busy marking work too, a small frown on his brow, a crease in his glabella making him look angrier than he probably is.

His hand is heavy, the sound of his own scratching the paper much more prominent than your delicate scribble.

A while passes, you manage to get engrossed in your work but then you notice that Alex's scribble has stopped. You look up to find him looking at you. He's leant on his elbows, his eyes glazed with something, some emotion that you can't work out. Even as you look at him though, he doesn't look away. He doesn't blush, doesn't waver. He just stays, staring, intense as ever, raising goosebumps all over your skin without even trying.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Ale-"

He cuts you off. You barely comprehend that his body moves, but he's launched at you before you can. His lips reach yours, hot and wet and hard from the get go, one hand finding your cheek, the other gripping the table edge like it's trying - and failing - to hold him back.

Your gasp is swallowed by him as his lips slide over yours, unmoving, eyes wide open in shock. But soon enough the familiar heat, the simmering desire, overtakes you. You kiss him back, moaning gratefully at the taste of him, coffee and mint and smoke. The feel of his rough hands stroking at your skin. The weight of his want, unspoken and yet clear as anything.

He's out of breath when he pulls away, resting his forehead on yours. You stare into his eyes, dazzling with a spark of something, perhaps excitement. You can't help but smile, and at that he returns it, before kissing you all over again.

Desperation overcomes you both. You don't know how but suddenly you're both stood, pressed against each other. His fingers draw delicate patterns on your hips and your fingers tug at the roots of his wild, untamed hair. The scent of his engulfs you, the familiarity making you feel comfortable - as if you're exactly where you should be, doing exactly what you should.

The world around you crumbles, leaving you stood in a dark abyss of him, him, him and nothing beyond that. You don't even try to understand it this time, you just let it happen and revel in it.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers against your lips, "I just couldn't help myself."

His accent, blended with roughness and lust, nearly makes your knees buckle. You grip him harder, pulling him closer. The heat of him against your thigh, hard and wanting, is too tempting. You have the urge to please him, to relieve the tension he always seems to be carrying around. And so, you let yourself fall, and he watches you with heavy lidded eyes as your knees hit the scratchy carpet with a soft thud.

It's so dangerous what you're doing. At work, where anyone could walk in, any cleaners, any other teachers, the dean even. But you don't care, not in the moment when you're tugging at the tough button of his trousers and unzipping them.

Alex lets his fingers rest in your hair, the carefully conducted curls falling loose under his grip. He holds you steady, still, as you pull him out of his boxers.

You hadn't seen him last time, hadn't managed to observe but only feel. Now, you gasped when faced with him, well endowed, swollen and leaking all for you.

"You're so big," you whispered, your hand wrapping around the base of him. He was too thick for you to fully wrap your hand around. It was no wonder you'd spent all of last weekend hobbling around like a penguin.

He chuckled, "I guess I'll take it as a compliment."

"You should," you look up to him with wide eyes, innocence replaced with something sultry. One of his hands came around to cup your jaw, his touch tender, alluding to the fact his desire goes beyond just the physical.

You played with him for a while, your touch tantalising, lips swelling in anticipation and yet you wouldn't lean forward, wouldn't take him right where he wanted you most.

His eyes, wide and brown were pleading with you to do more. To take him. But you looked at him with heavy lidded eyes and a smirk that said it all. He'd have to ask.

You stroked him again, languid movements intent to tease. A whimper slipped from his lips that made your hold tighter. His back hit the wall with a thud but you were right there beneath him, crawling to meet him again, one hand around him, one hand stroking his trembling thigh.

"Fuck Sam," he groaned, just as you spat on him, spreading it down him for a smoother touch. He shuddered at the friction, everything was going so perfectly for you but his hips were chasing your touch and you weren't even close to giving in.

"Does that feel nice?" you raised your eyebrows, the glint in your eyes sinister. It was a side to you that you hadn't even discovered but seemed to enthral him. Behind the desperation, you could see that he was loving it. Loving you. On your knees. Torturing him.

"You know it does," he gasps, making you giggle as you kept moving, kept your pace slow, "come on love. You know I need more."

"Do I?" you purr in response, moving your mouth to his tip, pressing your lips just against him enough to taste the saltiness and warmth of his pre release. Alex's hips stutter, a low groan falling from his lips. His hand in your hair pushes your head in, an uncontrollable action but necessary nonetheless.

You know you're dancing on the edge of time. As much as you'd like to draw this out for minutes, hours, even - you don't have the leniency to do so. Not now, at least.

So you lean in, encasing your lips over him, finally giving him what he's so clearly craving. He takes a sharp inhale of breath, it releases in short spurts with some sweet, soft hums escaping him between them.

You start your rhythm, embracing the feel of him in you again, the heat of him in your mouth. Alex is loud off the bat, not shy like last time and he keeps his eyes driven to you as you move. Chocolate brown pools with adoration swirling around his irises nearly make you collapse against him and beg him to be yours. Steady hands that find your hair, twirling the strands around long fingers make you want to fall against him and never let go, beg him to hold you forever.

"That's so good darling," he whispers, soft like velvet, making your heart clench in its cavity, your stomach flip. You never knew a moment so heated, so full of passion and desperation, could also be so damning. There's something about the way he looks at you, the way he touches you that feels as if it's branding you to be his, to want nothing more than him. If you thought you were a goner before, this is sealing the deal.

"You're gorgeous," he breathes out, a moan tumbling from swollen lips when you swirl your tongue over him, staring up through your lashes. His cheeks, stained red, beads of perspiration forming on his forehead as he sucks in another breath. You play for a while, trying to find what makes him tick; you find that when you take him deep, to the point tears are streaming and you're close to gagging, his hips bucks like he means to become you and a strained curse falls from his lips.

So you do it again, and again, until he's near unravelled, looking dishevelled against the wall.

"Fuck...." Alex's hips stutter, his eyes rolling somewhere into the back of his head in time with his head, banging against the wall. The tremble of his thighs under your palms make you smirk against him, still swirling and sucking like your life depends on it, the lewd wet sounds bouncing off the walls.

"Oh Christ," his hand tightens in your hair, enough for it to hurt but you ignore the pain, "I'm gonna-"

He cuts himself off with a groan, the look of urgency in his eyes makes you smile around him but you don't pull off and so he lets himself go, not that he appears to have much choice. His eyes fall closed as he releases in your mouth, a soft whimper falling from his lips that's like music to your ears.

Eventually he stalls your movements, gentle now but overstimulating nonetheless. He's breathless, undone and in awe when you stand up, shaky on your legs. He cups your elbows and kisses you deeply, humming into your mouth with a sound much like content. Much like fulfilment.

"Thank you," he mutters against your lips, pulling away with a watery gaze full of unspoken words. The air has been tainted and yet the fear to make it worse still lingers, you take a step back from each other, staring wordlessly towards each other. You're pining, he's pining but there's something invisible between you both telling you that it isn't right. That it can't be.

You pulled your phone out, muttering something about sorting yourself out only to gasp in horror when your reflection finds your eyes.

Alex looked perfectly composed. You, however, definitely didn't. Your makeup had run, your hair was a state from his eager hands and your cheeks were spotted with red from the lack of oxygen you'd consumed while going down on him.

"I look terrible," you groaned, trying to tame your hair but without a brush there wasn't really much you could do. Alex grimaced and shook his head.

"No you don't."

"Okay," you rolled your eyes, making him stifle a smile, "but I do look like I've just sucked a dick."

"Yes well," he laughs, "I think it suits you."

"Cheeky!" you exclaimed, watching his face light up and his shoulders relax as the laughs rumble through him. It's rare to see him casual, lost in anything other than his own mind. But it's a sight to behold, and you can't help but smile at it. At him. Being like this with you.

You wonder how long it will last this time. Whether on Monday, you'll stride in and act like you barely know each other again. Alex is confusing, even in his explanations. You don't have it in you to ask and ruin the moment but you hope, pray, that he won't shut you out all over again. Even if you're just friends, it's better than him having his way and then ignoring you entirely.

"The Christmas party is soon," he says. You've both packed up and began walking to the car park. You still don't look presentable but luckily it's just the two of you around, bar a few students on campus that you thankfully don't recognise, "are you going?"

"Jane has mentioned it and I've said yes," you nod and he smiles.

"Great."

"Are you going?"

"Mhm."

You roll your eyes at his classic response, the same one that used to grate on you, you now found endearing. You knew why; you were starting to like him. It was probably dangerous territory, one that he'd actively stated you both shouldn't cross. You were staring straight into the face of fire, feeling the heat of the flames and yet you just kept walking towards it like the blend of oranges had you hypnotised beyond sense.

"Come to mine before. For dinner."

"But you said about....we can't...."

"Please?" he said, stopping at your car. You stood by the door, peering inside like there might be a sign in there on what decision to make. Nothing. Just darkness and one glistening penny.

"Well don't you think....if we turn up together?"

"We'll walk in separately," he defends, "it's no biggie."

"No biggie?" you raise your eyebrows, barely suppressing a smile at the casual language. Alex rarely talks like an actual human being and more like a human novel. He smiles and nods and so you shrug.

"I'll think about it."

He nods and you get in your car, he taps the window and waves as you pull out of the car park, watching his silhouette slowly fade from your vision in the rear view.

Alex's apartment feels like an entirely different space from when you were last here. The room, bathed in a warm yellow glow, appeared cosy and inviting opposed to the darkness that had swallowed you last time.

He took your coat and you blushed as your eyes grazed over the leather settee, still tainted in your minds eye with what had occurred on those very cushions. You felt like you could see the two of you on it, him on top of you, your heels dug into his pale skin, your nails digging into his shoulder blades, leaving marks that were yet to fade.

It smelt of vanilla, but blended in was the classic, warm scent of old spice. For once, you couldn't smell smoke. Your eyes grazed over the simple decoration. It wasn't much of a home, per se, there were no photos, no ornaments, no nod into who he was beyond the university walls. But in the corner sat a guitar, a sleek black fender, it looked expensive with its perfectly polished silver strings and the lights bouncing off its varnished texture. Other than that - beige, black and white was all that met your eyes.

You'd hoped the light would offer some insight to his character. Maybe there would be a photo of him and his daughter, or a novel that strayed from his usual interest or even a record on a shelf to show what music he likes. But nothing. Nothing except that guitar. At least that explained the callouses. One, tiny minuscule detail about him that you now knew, felt like a success.

"Drink?" Alex wondered, walking to the open plan kitchen. The beige counter tops were offensively ugly, he looked wrong stood there so beautifully in a tux against something that looked so nineties and not the trendy part.

"Sure."

"I've got water, tea and wine," he shrugged and you laughed.

"Wine."

"White? Red?"

"White."

"Mhm."

He busied himself making the drinks while you sat at a glass table, perfectly clean, not one scratch, nor clutter on it. It made sense that he was a clean freak, his office was the same. But he himself appeared so unorganised, that it was a stark difference. Another small thing that seemed a success to know. Yet no less confusing.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Hm?" Alex glanced around, his cheeks splotched with various shades of pink and red, lips pulled inward. It was almost as if he'd forgotten you were there, the guest he'd so brashly invited here, long lost in the mind that raced beyond his comprehension.

"Oh, um....about five years."

"Is that when you started living here....or?"

"I've always lived here, well, in the city," he moved over to you with the glasses of wine and sat next to you at the table, "I moved into this flat when I got the job at the uni."

"What did you do before?"

He took a gulp of wine. Your incessant questions were clearly putting him on edge but at least he was answering them with more than his notorious 'mhm'. You'd probably leave if he dared utter that as a response again.

"I was a teacher at a secondary school. But I hated it."

You chuckle, "yeah. I've heard it's the worst of education."

"The kids are just too uninterested," Alex shrugs, "I was the same at their age. They aren't old enough to....appreciate art, you know? I find it tough trying to pitch it. So I'd rather work with young adults, who at least think they'll be interested."

You hum in response, momentarily wondering what he's like as a lecturer. You can't imagine him conducting a class, stood at the front demanding the attention of several bored students. You try to engage as much as possible, choosing activity based learning and practice opposed to informative learning where you speak the whole time. How Alex might teach is lost on you, but something tells you those students respect him more than it may seem. He doesn't verbalise his expectations, but they're clear nonetheless. Even with you. Silent command. No room for defiance.

Alex asks you about your life, how you ended up here, where you've come from. You don't have the same experiences that he has but he still nods enthusiastically while you speak, seeming interested in learning more about you.

After a while, your stomach rumbles. It isn't audible but Alex can sense your discomfort nonetheless.

"I can't cook," he states, making you cock your head, "literally, not at all. It's my worst....trait.”

"Really?" you narrow your gaze, making him laugh, "I reckon there's worse things than that."

"I've got some menus here," he pulls some takeaway menus from a draw, spreading them neatly before you like he's presenting rehab choices opposed to dinner, "if you wanted a takeaway."

"We can just have food from the buffet when we get to the party, if you like," you shrug. Alex looks relieved and puts them away before you both move to the settee to continue your conversation.

You're surprised by how easy it is to talk to him when he's actually relaxed. You thought you knew of him before, now you realised that you hadn't had him sussed out at all. The panicky, quick nature of him at work was not the same laidback, easygoing man in front of you now. The fumbling, awkward conversations that had jeopardised your opinion at the beginning, were nothing on how intensely he listened to you now, asked questions, offered answers.

You got so carried away talking to him, that you forgot about the party entirely. But then....his phone rang.

"Sorry," he winced, moving towards it. He looked at the contact and let out a silent sigh, before holding his finger up to you and leaving the room.

You sat straight up on the settee, your ears practically stretching to hear what was being said. You were being assumptive thinking it must be her, but something deep in your gut, something wedging into you and making you queasy, told you it was.

You could barely hear him, it was more a gruff jumble of sounds opposed to any clear words, probably because he was trying to speak as lowly as he could so you wouldn't hear. Regardless, you picked up on a few short sentences.

"....will be there soon....lost track of time."

That's about all you heard before his goodbye rung out loud and clear. A few moments passed before he left the room, as if he was gathering himself. You knew that the night was over the second you saw his face, scrunched up with sorrow.

"That was Joanna," he said, lingering next to the chair that his coat was hung over, "um....I promised I'd look after Noelle for the second part of the evening so she could go to the party. So....I won't be able to make it to the party. We lost track of time."

"Oh, okay," you stand quickly, as if you need to race out quite literally this second.

"I'm sorry," he swallowed but you shook your head, fixing him with a smile.

"It's okay Alex, I understand. I'll call a taxi quickly-"

"I'll drive you there, I've only had one," he points to the wine.

"Oh no you don't have to," you wave off, feeling a little awkward. It's not that you expect to be his first priority, you're not even sure what this is, whether this is a date or just friendly like he'd claimed when he invited you. Either way, it felt weird for it to end so abruptly. You were used to dating people who had all the time outside of work free, which meant sleepovers and attending bars and parties with no worries. Momentarily, you'd forgotten this man was a father. He had priorities outside of you, and you couldn't blame him for it. Not at all.

"It's really no trouble, it's pretty much on the way."

"Okay," you caved, pulling your coat over your shoulders. Your half drunk wine sat mockingly on the table, a reminder of your interrupted night. Just when you'd started to melt into the evening, it was ripped away from you.

"Thanks for the wine, and the company. See you on Monday."

You climbed out of the car, waving goodbye to Alex who had his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He nodded, smiling but it was a meek smile. You weren't the only one affected by the abruptness of the end.

Regardless, you went inside and immediately made a beeline towards the bar ordering another glass of wine, even if you knew you shouldn't.

As you sat there, waiting for it to be served, you couldn't help but think about this....all of it. Alex having a daughter complicated things. But having a daughter with a woman who worked at the same place as you? That just made it worse. Soon enough, she'd be striding into this party and you'd have to pretend you hadn't been the reason he was late. It makes your skin crawl with unease. There was nothing between them, he said it himself. But a whole child? That's more than anything at all. That's more than a house, a marriage, it's even more than love. It's forever. There's no escaping it. Not that you'd want him to step away from it, especially not for you. But you can't deny it - it's hard to imagine ever being comfortable with the idea of being second best. Of him sharing something so precious, so personal, with someone else entirely.

You'd never even thought about being in this position, even though you're now in your thirties, and it was common. It still felt so foreign. Something you thought only happened to older people, to divorcees, to people who had had it all rather than some random encounter that led to something so serious. So permanent.

You had to admit that you weren't ready for it. To be in that position, to understand it even. And you were grateful that Alex had already laid down the law that it wouldn't work, stated he didn't have the time, wasn't in the position. Because admitting out loud that you weren't mature enough to cope with it would surely make you seem terrible. Especially when you like him so much.

Christmas break followed the party, and you were eager for some time to recover from the weird second half of this semester. Papers were due and you still had some marking to do before you were completely free, but that was pale in comparison to the work you'd had to manage during the term so you certainly wouldn't complain.

The town felt dull and empty when bared of the students. You walked through it with your shopping at hand. It was freezing but you'd fancied a walk nonetheless. The peace of the town hung over you in a blanket of comfortability. Even if it was bizarre not to hear the buzz of young people around the streets, it was nice for it to be still for a while.

You smiled at an older couple walking past, a woman walking with her kids, a man with a dog that jumped at you and made you giggle. Everybody was clad in hats and scarves and gloves, winter had come, full frontal but you loved how cosy it all was.

You found yourself sidling up in a cafe, a burning hot tea between your hands. The tie on cushions didn't disguise the hardness of the wood chair beneath you, the table was a little sticky with remnants of sugar poured throughout the day and they were playing radio pop hits that were so overplayed it made your ears hurt - but you felt content nonetheless. You leant back into your seat with a sigh, watching the people in the streets, the wind blowing around rubbish and leaves, the sky greying in preparation for a downpour you should probably try and avoid. But here you are, revelling in all the little attributes that make up a season.

"Samantha?"

A woman called your name, snapping you out of the peaceful trance you'd let swallow you whole. It was almost brutal being pulled back to reality, the music harsher, the tea scalding you as it poured over the rim when you jumped.

You looked up as you sucked the droplets off the side of your finger, catching sight of Joanna with that big, bright and brilliant smile. You glanced down to her side, she was holding the hand of a little girl who looked vacant, big brown eyes boring into nothing in particular. Her cheeks were red rosy from the sharp, cold air and she was wrapped up in a red felt coat that looked so cute you'd usually gush over it. But you couldn't gush. You couldn't even speak. You just looked back at Joanna, uselessly forming nothing except an awkward, forced smile.

"Fancy seeing you here! I love this place," she gestures around, "my mum actually owns it. So I could've got you that on the house if I'd seen you."

"Oh....no it's fine, thank you," you waved it off, eyes widening when she took a seat at your table, pulling the child onto her lap. You were in no position to tell her to leave, especially not in a place her own family owned. You felt so awkward that tears prickled at the corner of your eyes. Suddenly, the scalding tea felt more comfortable than her eyes on you.

"It's a beautiful place," you said, "when the students aren't here I like the quiet."

"Bad for business, but hell....good for some peace," she hummed in agreement.

"This is your daughter?" you gesture towards her, she's now gazing curiously at you, eyes so familiar to Alex's that it was almost scary. You lifted your tea to your lips only to cloud the view of her staring at you. You just couldn't bear it. You didn't even know if Alex would want this, you and the mother of his child sharing a tea like the oldest of mates with his own daughter felt so wrong. And yet she had no idea. You can't help but wonder what she'd think about you if she knew, or whether Alex had told her at all. Maybe she was trying to be nice to relax you, make it known that she wasn't a threat. Or maybe she was just clueless. You prayed for the first but knew Alex well enough that it would be the latter.

"Yes," Joanna looked down, lifting her daughter's hand up to wave, "say hello Noelle."

"Hello," the child's voice was a mere whisper, a sweet, subtle melody that made you smile despite yourself, despite the discomfort.

"Hi Noelle," you grinned, "that's such a beautiful name. So christmassy."

She smiled shyly, her cheeks glowing a beautiful rosy pink, "mummy says because I was born around Christmas."

Her pronunciation of the word made you chuckle, you and Joanna sharing that look that women do, when they're enamoured by a child just being so cute, so innocent.

"It's her birthday soon?" you wonder.

"Yeah," she kissed the top of her head, a teasing pout coming to play on her lips, "she'll be four. It feels horrible knowing she's getting older but I love it all the same. My little bestie, aren't you love?"

"Mhm," she nodded.

Alex. All you could see in her was Alex. Sure, she had the same face shape as her mother, the same raven dark hair. But her eyes, her words, even her mannerisms alluded to him enough that you'd probably consider she was his even if you hadn't known.

"Her dad is taking her to the farm today for an early celebration," Joanna smiled, "he should be here soon. You might know him actually, he's-"

"Sorry I'm late, traffic was-"

Alex burst in. In light of your conversation, you'd not even heard the bell ring. He stopped, skidded to a halt right at the edge of the table, nearly toppling over it. His eyes darted, from you, to Joanna, to Noelle who was grinning up at him, clearly excited to see her father.

"Oh....er....hi Sam."

"Alex," you nodded curtly and then stood, barely able to comprehend how this was happening. How your morning had been so relaxed and peaceful and somehow, despite that, he had come in like a tidal wave to ruin it all over again.

"I better get going before this defrosts," you lift up your shopping bag like it's proof in your measly excuse. Joanna glances between you and Alex, the smile on her lips faltering a little, like she can't work out why the air has grown so tense but she will soon enough.

"Nice seeing you Joanna, and lovely to meet you Noelle."

You rushed off before another word could be said, trembling with the realisation that you couldn't have handled it worse. Nevertheless, you keep walking, not even daring to glance into the window they're all still sat at,

The last thing you'd expected was to meet their daughter. Or for her to tell you about it. The way Alex had said it was as if no one at all knew, but clearly she was far less ashamed of the fact than he was. Or he just hated David interfering, which you couldn't blame him for.

Regardless, it took you hours to stop cringing and even then, every time you thought of it after, you grimaced to nothing and no one in particular. You'd barely spoken to Alex after that night at his. It wasn't personal and this time it wasn't just him - the end of a semester is busy for anyone involved. He'd still been friendly around and you too, you'd just assumed that was it. You were bound to be friendly at work and nothing more. You didn't even have his number, it had been a while since anything had happened. You were safe in the knowledge that you weren't ready and neither was he. That was it.

But this felt harrowing.

You groaned to yourself, burying your face in your hands on the settee. It was a small town and you bumped into people you knew frequently, but that didn't mean it wasn't weird that there'd been some big family reunion that you were smack bang in the middle of.

But then, it happened again. You were starting to think it wasn't a coincidence. What are the chances you'd bump into her again? So soon after seeing her beforehand. You felt as if she was seeking you out. You'd turned up to your local park run, hoping to clear your head with an easy pace and some good music. And there she just happened to be, stood with a group of women, some holding prams, some dogs and some childless. It looked like the cast of desperate housewives, but maybe that was just mean and you were bitter.

Either way, you'd have been happy to avoid her and pretend you'd not seen a thing. But of course, she spotted you, long arm waving high in the air and that same bright smile on her lips. You imagine Alex got out of it the other day, somehow, and that's why she's being so friendly.

"Hey Sam!" she ran over, jogging on the spot unlike you, arms crossed and suddenly regretting your decision to come to this stupid, trivial event, "we need to stop bumping into each other like this! What are the chances!"

You chuckled, it was a polite, but uncomfortable sound - almost weak. She didn't catch on, just waffled on about how she’s here every week, how much she loves it, how you should join them after for a coffee. You nod and hum where needs be, for the first time in your life wishing you'd been late so you could avoid this.

You ended up running your fastest pace ever, trying to finish the race before she did so you wouldn't have to talk to her over. The minute you were covered by the roof of your car, engulfed by a space that was just your own, you breathed a sigh of relief and basked in it for several minutes.

Luckily the next few weeks that passed, you didn't see her again. You spent a week in your hometown with family, and then new years with a friend somewhere else. By the time you returned, you felt okay again, ready again to face a new semester.

The students weren't back yet but it was early January and there was a lecturer training day to attend. You were nervous to see Alex but at the same time excited to see Jane and to get back into some normalcy after a month of eating crap and drinking wine.

Alex was already in the room when you entered, leant back in a chair spinning his pen around his fingers. A sheet with the agenda on sat before him, not that he seemed to be paying attention to it. Other than you, Jane who was leading the class and another lecturer who didn't even lift their head, he was the only one here.

You decided to bite the bullet, taking the seat next to him. He didn't even look around, he was engrossed in something or the other, you could never figure it out in that placid gaze. But when your hand laid on his upper arm, he jolted slightly before looking to you, those eyes displaying something much softer, more tender as they fixed on your face.

They roamed around your features, as if in the mere month that passed, he'd forgotten them entirely. But with each freckle, each crevice, each line of your face, he looked more and more enamoured. It can't have been longer than a second, but that second seemed to stretch into weeks, months, years. By the time his eyes returned to yours, your heart was racing and your mouth was dry.

You'd been looking at him too, studying the little things about him as if you'd forgotten it all too. The little mark below his lips, the fluffiness of his dark eyebrow, his perfectly straight but large nose, the way his stubble had grown in. Typically, all flaws. And yet you found something beautiful about all of them.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine," you swallowed, "tired. You?"

"Mhm," he nodded, his eyes growing hazy, as if he was in a lull caused by your presence, by the mood you emitted, "yes. Me too."

Nothing more was said, but it didn't feel like there needed to be. You worked next to each other in a comfortable silence, heavy with mood but not necessarily in a bad way. Unspoken words hung between you both, none cynical, none offensive - all pointing to what would happen, what you both knew you wanted the second you'd locked eyes today.

The day dragged on, you all sat, bored, disengaged, all still lost in the haze of Christmas just passed. It wasn't just the two of you and yet, it was bizarre that you two, different completely, but both constant thrivers, weren't interested at all.

By the time lunch came about, you jumped out of your seat and Alex wasn't far behind. He grabbed your hand, making sure it was just the two of you in the corridor before he dragged you into his office.

Two minutes passed, he was on you, hot, heavy, but not fast, not desperate like he usually was. He took his time, savouring each kiss you let him have, each stroke of your tongue against his own. His hands gripped your hips, but he wasn't tearing your clothes off, not yet anyway.

You appreciated the lull in the pace, the gentleness, the warmth. You found it endearing that he didn't only care about his fix, but the build up mattered to him too.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you," he said against your mouth, opened in a gasp as his palm slid up your front, fingers grazing just the edges of your breasts, "not even for a second."

"Me too," your admission was softly spoken, shyly spoken almost. You felt ashamed to admit it, after being so sure with yourself that it was over, that you weren't ready. But he was hard to resist, gorgeous, endearing and so, fucking, sexy.

"Yeah?" he grumbled, a low throaty groan leaving his lips when you pressed against him, your arms caught around his back, pulling him as close as you possibly could, "missed me?"

You huffed a laugh that soon turned into a moan when his hands caught you, lifting you up as he often did. He walked you both over to the desk, no urgency in his actions but you could feel his want nonetheless.

He placed you down gently, the wood pressing into your arse but you didn't mind - especially when he started kissing down your jaw, to your neck, sucking on the little pressure points that made you shiver and grope him tighter.

"What is it?" he wondered, pulling away momentarily. Your hand had slipped between you both, cupping him as he swelled beneath your palm. He wasn't fully hard yet but by the second he was growing, you could feel each inch expand as you squeezed and rubbed him right where he needed you.

"About you? What is it about you?" he spoke in hushed, broken sentences. It made your heart ache, the fact he felt that way, the same way that you did him.

"Alex...." you sighed, pulling his head back into the curve of your nape, stroking the soft, bouncy strands. He let his face rest there, even though he was fully hard beneath his trousers, he was making no attempt to continue.

"I don't wanna fuck you like this," he whispered, his voice muffled but you heard him clearly. For a moment you felt offended, thinking that he didn't want you at all. But then he looked up, his eyes filled with something sweet, something that alluded to how he saw this as more, even if he shouldn't, even if that threshold wasn't meant to be crossed by either of you.

You were teetering on the edge of it nonetheless, you knew it, and he did too. A quick shag in his office was exactly what would stop you crossing that boundary. But he didn't want just that. Even if it was just a shag. His eyes told you he wanted to do it properly, to take you properly. Like you deserved.

"I want this," you whispered, your hands gripping the collar of his shirt, you forced him to look at you, to see you. Legs spread, chest spotted red, perspiration on your hairline, desperate for him, "I want you."

His eyes fluttered closed as he leant into kiss you, all his resolve crumbling at your sultry admission. He couldn't resist your seduction, and it wasn't even that he wanted to. This was complicated and you both knew it, but when he was on you, touching you like this....neither of you cared.

Alex lifted your skirt up to your hips, fiddling with his belt and then his button with a dark expression as he stared at you. Your breath came in quick, short spurts that echoed through the space. You could see your chest in your peripheral vision, rising and falling rapidly, matching the pace of the moment, your heart beating erratically.

You didn't look down even as he pulled himself out, shifting your hips closing to the edge so he could align with you. His hands came down against your cheeks and his mouth covered yours in a tender kiss as he started to push in.

You were tight, even if you were also warm and wet. He hissed as you gripped him and your mouths fell open against each other once he buried himself to the hilt, swallowing each other's gasps.

His eyes became glassy, his eyelids falling until they were nearly shut and he kept his lips hovering over yours as he started moving, slowly at first, letting you get used to his size, the shape and curves of him inside of you.

"Fuck," he hissed, "Christ....you're so tight."

"This is so bad," you mutter in his ear, as he moves inside of you slowly, teasingly. Your walls tighten around him, enamoured by his arrival, his small, gentle movements nudging the right spots to make you shiver, "anyone could walk in."

He let out a breathy chuckle, his mouth moving past your lips to the shell of your ear. He started to move his hips harder, hipbones clashing against your own, the sound of skin smacking skin echoing through the office, the walls probably barely concealing the explicit sounds.

"Would you like that Samantha?" he whispered, his voice deep, a teasing lull that coaxed a moan from your lips, "to be caught?"

You shook your head and he thrust harder, faster. One of his hands lifted your legs, the new angle allowing him deeper. It begged for a moan from you but you bit your lip until you could taste blood, trying not to react, not to make a sound or feed into his ego. He was good at pretending but you could see just how much this was affecting him too, a sweat broken out on his forehead, his white shirt sticking to his skin and turning transparent from the heat of his chest.

"No?" he teased you, hard, faster, deeper until you couldn't hold back your moans, no matter how hard you tried, "imagine what they'd think hm? Miss Williams, so kind, so helpful, so eager to learn...."

You could barely get a sound out other than piercing, high moans that would only alert the whole university to the ongoings. You bit into his shoulder, stifling yourself, making him hiss and fuck you harder.

"But you're such a dirty girl aren't you?" Alex continues, the hand holding your leg moving to your hair, gripping it at the roots and roughly pulling your head back so your eyes were fixed on him, "so fucking dirty."

"Alex," you whined, thrashing. He released you quickly, your head falling back against the desk along with your whole upper body. He grunted repeatedly as he unbuttoned the smart white shirt you had on, just enough so that your tits popped out.

The way you were laid made your body easier to explore. Alex laid one hand on your stomach to keep you in place, the other drifted to your middle, to rub you right where you needed him. You were swollen, puffy, so fucking wet that it was dripping all over your thighs and his desk. The lewd sounds of squelching could be heard throughout the room, mingling with your moans, his grunts, his hips smacking incessantly against your own. It was sinfully filthy, and you were loving it. The glint in his eye told you he knew it all the same.

His eyes fixed on yours, flickering between them and your tits that bounced with each thrust he gave. You took him well, but you were starting to tremble. The pleasure was unlike anything you'd ever felt, so indescribably euphoric that you could barely string a thought together, let alone a sentence.

Alex felt you tightening around him, the tension in you coiling to the point where all it would take is one, hard thrust and you'd crumble around him.

"You want to come?" he quirked a brow, his voice still low, filled with his lust. You could feel him twitching, your hands gripping the edges of the desk, preparing for him to take his desperation out on you. You nodded but he tuts in response, delivering a particularly hard thrust that had you shining, tears spilling from your eyes and staining your crimson cheeks.

"Words darling," his own voice had lost its authority. He spoke through his teeth, just barely hanging on. You clenched around him and he nearly fell on top of you but just about steadied himself, shuddering deeply.

"Yes," you sighed, "please Alex. I want to come. Please make me come."

He groaned, speeding up the pace of his fingers circling your clit, fucking you at an angle that made your vision starry, like you were laid under the stars on the clearest night of the year.

Within seconds you were finished, you gripped him like a vice, your back arching and your body shaking as you reached a peak you'd never been to before - not even in previous orgasms. Your vision went black as the euphoria fell over you like fairy dust that you couldn't grasp but would've clung onto forever if you could have.

Alex groaned, watching your face scrunched in pleasure, feeling the vice-like grip of you, he couldn't hold back any longer. He pulled out quickly, only just managing to grip the base of himself before his warm, thick cum landed in splatters across your chest. It came so fast, so much of it, that a streak even landed across your lips, warm and salty seeping through the seam, making you moan weakly.

Alex collapsed on top of you. The weight was comforting in your vulnerability, you held him close, feeling him soften and drip against your thigh. Your hands found the roots of his hair, careful, tender touches that made his breathing steady, his chest slow in its pace.

You laid like that for ages. You had an hour before you had to return, but food, socialisation - they were the last thing from your mind. You laid beneath him and you held him close as he breathed into you, nuzzling into your chest. His shirt was probably ruined from how it was pressed into his release, but that didn't stop him from trying to get closer, trying to feel as much of you as he could before he had to say goodbye again.

"Alex," you muttered, feeling the vibration of a soft hum against your collarbone, "we need to go back."

"I know," he sighed, but he didn't move and you didn't urge him to. Your grip on his tightened, legs circling his waist, arms circling his neck. You clung to him like you never meant to let him go, because in this moment, you couldn't even imagine doing so.

But eventually, you knew your time was up. Alex peeled himself away from you, dismay covering his brow when he looked towards his chest to see the now dried, white marks staining his shirt. He pulled his jumper back over his head, disguising it before he pulled some tissues free from a box on the window seal and gently wiped up the remainder of the liquid, now cooled and sticky against your chest.

His eyes flickered to you as he did so, full of content. You managed a small smile at him, legs kicking as they hung loosely from the desk.

"Can I have your number?"

You laughed. You couldn't help it. It just seemed so obscene that after everything he didn't even have somewhere to contact you. He joined in, noting just how weird it was - the backwards way you two had gone about things wasn't exactly a romance novel, but it was the narrative of you two. And he loved that.

While Alex returned to the room, you went to the bathroom to compose yourself and fix your makeup before you had to return. You stared at your reflection, poking at your red cheeks, your eyes now fixed but still watery, the swell of your lips from his heavy kisses. You traced them now, trying to remember the feel of them, the reenaction in your head making you shiver, still so sensitive even minutes later.

Nobody batted an eyelid when you returned, much to your relief. You sidled back up next to Alex with your secret close to your heart, your thighs brushing together beneath the table. You felt like a giddy teenager, his touch like a flame to your gasoline.

It was unspoken but something had changed. Become more raw, more personal in the weeks that had passed. You wondered how that could be possible when you hadn't even seen each other, but concluded that he'd lived rent free in your mind from the moment he'd kissed you. And you were in no mind to evacuate him. Not yet, at least.

At the end of the day, you walked in a comfortable silence to your cars. He lingered at yours even when everybody else was going home, looking over to you with a soft, pleading gaze.

"Will you come over?"

You nodded, not willing to argue with something you wanted. Needed, even. Whether that be a conversation, another encounter or hours of you watching television - you wanted some time with him after craving just that for so long.

You followed his car back to his apartment and walked wordlessly inside. You felt a lot more comfortable now than you had at the beginning but after his revelation, his behaviour had made sense and you forgave him.

"I'll make us a brew."

You nodded and made your way over to his settee, the piece of furniture now familiar to you. You sunk into the cushions with a sigh, letting your head fall back. You've been tired recently, trying to outrun your mind isn't easy.

Alex placed the tea in front of you, the mug steaming, bringing a comfortable aura to the space. He clicked on the lamps and turned off the big light before sidling up beside you on the settee, closer than he had before. His arm came to rest around your head, and the butterflies in your stomach felt juvenile. And then he was leaning in, kissing you again, making them flutter all the way up your throat until you couldn't breathe, couldn't move bar your lips, on his.

He kissed you until your lips hurt and you were both gasping for breath, only finally pulling away when the tent in his trousers began to ache. He pulled at them, the discomfort evident on his brow.

"I like you Samantha," he said as he pulled away, his voice full of a wonder that was almost childlike.

You felt bad though, ending up frowning and looking away opposed to melting into him like you wished you could. Alex seemed to tense immediately, his grip on your shoulder tightening as he gently shook you.

"Was that....too much?" he breathed out, the insecurity in his voice piercing. He'd admitted to you how hard he found it with women and yet here you were, making it worse for him. But you couldn't lie.

"No it's not that," you reassure him, squeezing his hand, "you told me you weren't in a position for this."

"I know-"

"And to be honest Alex, I'm not sure that I am," you cringe as the words come out, having just fucked him and kissed his lips red raw at his own flat, it was contradictory and you knew it.

Alex shuffled a bit further away, more to grant you space than to scold you but you felt the heat of the moment dissipate and be replaced with that familiar gruelling tension.

"We work together-"

"But that doesn't have to be a problem," he argued, voice soft, hand still gripping yours like he was trying to convince you through the strength of his touch. And it could work, you both know that.

"It's not just that...."

Realisation flashes across his face, you quite literally see it dawn on him. Your heart races with guilt, your skin prickling with it and you try to remain neutral but you already feel close to tears before the conversation has barely begun.

"You aren't comfortable with Noelle," he states it, looking away from you with a hand trawling through his hair, regret lingering in his eyes.

"I don't know, I've never...." you huff, words failing you as you try to get this across without ruining his faith in women entirely, "....I don't know how to deal with that."

"Yeah it's....I get that," Alex completely removes his touch from you now.

"I find it weird being around your ex-"

"She's not me ex," Alex stands quickly, his voice sharp and it immediately silences you. Shocked, you sink into the cushions like you mean for them to swallow you whole.

"She's not anything to me like that," he says, hands on hips as if he's giving you a right telling off, you nod wordlessly but he's in his own head now, "it was an accident. And fuck....I'm glad its happened because I love Noelle, of course but....it wasn't on purpose."

"I know that-"

"No you don't," he holds a finger up to you, eyebrows and dark eyes blending into one angry, intimidating sight, "she's never been anything like that to me-"

"Alex you fucked her, didn't you?" you snap back, annoyed by how he's taking his frustrations out on you.

His hand trawls through his hair and he winces, like the reminder of how this situation came to be pains him somehow.

"Yes well....that's nothing is it, people fuck," he shrugs but he sounds uncertain of himself. Sighing, he looks up to the ceiling, blinking at the cracked paint, looking for something he's not going to find.

"I'm sorry, I just....I don't want to lie to you and say I'm completely comfortable with it. I've always been....with people that are child free, I just....I wouldn't know how to, balance that."

He nods, releasing his hands from his hips and his head back into place.

"Okay."

"I'm sorry Alex."

"It's fine," he says, too quickly for it to be true. You open your mouth to speak but he shakes his head, silencing you without even a word, "I'll see you out."

"Alex...."

He stood, hands on his hips again staring out the window to the nothing beyond it. It was dark, only the skeleton of a tree was visible, and yet you'd think there was some hidden magical wonderland in his line of vision that you were ignorant to, with how taken he was.

Even though he'd said those words, he didn't walk you to the door and you didn't attempt to leave. Instead you walked over to him, watching the way he nibbled at his lips and avoided your eyes at all costs, like he couldn't bear to see the rejection in you.

"Alex...." you reached him, your hands splaying out on each of his cheeks. You felt his breath quicken against your fingers and the muscles in his cheeks twitch, but other than that he gave no indication that he was aware of you.

"I like you too."

His eyes fluttered closed, a subtle shake of the head indicating that he didn't want to hear it. But you refused to leave here having him think he wasn't worth getting to know that lifestyle for. It wasn't that. It was your own self-doubt about how tolerant you could be, how you could rein in your jealousy, how you could accept to always be second best, that stalled you from jumping into this. Not him, not at all.

"It's not about you-"

"Noelle is a part of me," he snapped, pushing your hands off his face. You nearly stumbled from the force, but it wasn't violent, just a spurt of energy. He steadied you nonetheless, eyes growing apologetic.

"Which is what I find hard to....relate to."

"And that's fine," he nods again, "but just....don't make it about Joanna like she's the problem. We've never had any romantic feelings for each other."

"Okay."

You stood back, a little irked by his protection for something you weren't even criticising him over.

"Okay," he said back, equally annoyed.

The two of you stood like bratty teenagers, eyes fixed to the floor beneath your feet. You didn't want to leave, he didn't want you to go. But there was no going forward after what you'd just admitted. How could you just continue like those words hadn't tainted anything?

"You said you weren't ready either."

"I didn't expect to feel this way," his voice was strained, he was still torturing his hair, fingers trawling through the thick strands searching for some peace that was nowhere to be found, "about you. Not so soon, anyway."

"Neither," you admit, glad you're at least in the same boat about that. Alex's eyes flicker up to you, catching on yours with some kind of hunger simmering beneath them, but you gauge that it's not sexual, more so just the desire for you to be his. To want to be his.

"So, what now?" Alex wonders.

"You, kicking me out," you can't help but chuckle, your lips curling at the sides and Alex, try as he might to remain serious, quickly follows suit. The tension dissipates with your laughter, soon enough it's like nothing has happened at all.

You both sit back down, you grab your now lukewarm tea and Alex grabs the remote, chucking on some reruns of an old show you both admit to loving. For a while, you sit in that comfort. A tv buzzing, teas at hand, the cushions swallowing your outline until you can barely be arsed to move.

But you can sense Alex is still thinking about it all, you can practically hear his mind buzzing but you won't know what until he realises how to conduct it. You might never know what, if he doesn't conduct it at all. He’s not the type of man to speak without meaning to. You watch him silently, sipping on your tea as you do so.

His side profile is more stark even than his front, with his sharp edged nose, dark lashes, high cheekbones and prominent jaw, you could barely pull your gaze away from him even if you wanted to. He was perfect, like he'd been carefully sculpted with an angle grinder to ensure every little detail, every crevice of him made sense - looked right, even if not conventionally perfect.

"You know...." he caught you off guard when he turned to you, sudden enough for you to jump and be caught staring, your cheeks glowing a dusty rose, "being with someone is really different to having a kid with them."

"I'm sure...."

"It's something I wouldn't have thought about, before," he admits, angling himself towards you. You take the step to reach out and pause the TV, wanting for him to indulge, to tell you what's racing through that busy, busy mind.

"I always thought that when you had a kid with someone, you were bound to love them," he said, swallowing a gulp of his tea as if he was letting his words linger and settle before he said anymore; you watched him tentatively, awaiting his next move like he was the most interesting part in a play.

"Maybe it was because me own parents were so in love, you know? Me whole life, never any troubles," he said, "they're still together now. Same house as when I were young. Never gotten bored or owt."

"But then when Joanna told me she was pregnant, there was no....I just didn't feel that way about her. No matter how hard I tried, and it was the same for her with me."

"Sometimes kids happen, as long as they have two present parents, the love part isn't relevant," you offer and he hums in agreement.

"I was so naive," he laughs, though it's bitter, unamused, "always thought the day I had a baby it would be the woman I loved most in the world. At first it was really hard to navigate having a kid with Joanna, no one tells you how to raise a kid when you were never with their other parent, do they?"

"It seems to me like you're both doing a good job," you state, catching his attention, eyes lingering on yours as if he's trying to figure out whether you - childless, scared of them all together - is worth believing, "I guess the silver lining is that you both felt the same. It would make the process easier than if there was one of you who felt more than the other."

"Mhm," he nodded, seeming content enough with your words.

"Have you ever....been with anyone since she's been born?"

Alex stifles, hanging his head suddenly. You gauge that perhaps there was someone, someone ill fitting for the situation. Someone who scared him off. But he just nods his head and you don't press him any further.

"I guess what I'm trying to say," he clears his throat, looking into your eyes with that familiar burning intensity that ties a string around your heart and robs it from your chest in the blink of an eye, "is that I understand your reservations. I probably would feel the same, in your shoes."

"Friends?" you hold a hand out for him to shake, ignoring the bemused smile on his lips contradicting the sadness in his eyes. He holds his hand out to you, his touch electric enough to prove your words wrong. The spark between you is no less dulled, but for now you both ignore it.

"Friends."

[s-e-v-e-n-24]

I was told to post my Enigma and Duela stuff

Semi? Continuation of this?

We only ever got Enigma as her hero/Villain name, and as far as I've looked there's no official name. I Did see someone mention "Quinn" As her name though, and you know what? Going with it. She'd be named after Harley with that I think it's so cute. Matches the canon hair being in the same style as Harleys!

Kind of style where it should look like she's a disaster but mostly cohesive. Big 70s/60s/80s inspiration. In contrast to Eddie, who I ca only really ever imagine in formal wear

Aside Harley, Echo and Query are also Aunts

This particular headcannom comes from @knight-says-nanana, absolute genius. I think it's a great way to answer the whole "Hey who the fuck is your mother" Question

Horrible little bog child <3

Duela! Also obsessed with her

I haven't figured her out as much? I just know that the whole "Jokers daughter" Thing sucks ass

Daddy issues somehow. Probably raises primarily by her mother. Something happens, and she starts following in her father's footsteps

I'd have it that by the time she starts claiming Rogues as parents she already knows who's hers. It's really Not subtle. Doesn't stop her at all

Enigma overhears her claiming Riddler as her dad. Quinn of course, knows this is probably false but is going along with it anyways. Dragging Duela back to base with her and introducing her to Ed as her new sister

Red hair dye to match the new found family

I say she keeps Harvey's general aesthetic of half and half (Though sometimes it's not completely half, just mismatched). I say she also incorporates little design things from other rogues

Wears platforms even though she's probably around 6'0

I know Harvey gets coded as BPD in some versions and I think she should inherit it

Essentially: Let Eddie be a girl dad

Previous art of them I never ended up posting under the cut

The original design thing

Them harassing other Rogues (Today's choice is Scarecrow)

There's a lil more Quinn art I couldn't fit here

[useless19]

Do you think Bowser has hinted at marriage once in awhile randomly or do you think he's chilled out about rushing things finally. Sure he was pretty dead set on marrying the Princess not only from his own interests and political benefits but prehaps abandonment issues caused him to see marriage as mostly a way to insure himself they wont leave him since it a final say writen on papers? (divorce exist but if you got unspoken issues the smaller details are usually ignored)

Honestly I've always been fascinated by peoples take on Bowsers possible attachment or abandonment issues

He absolutely has.

"Or I could just lock you in the dungeon when it's time for you to go back," Bowser said. He laughed when Luigi started to protest. "I know, I know. No kidnapping. It was a joke." -Bowser, in the middle of planning Luigi's kidnapping.

I imagine a lot of the earlier proposals got passed off with a similar 'I'm joking' sort of thing. But because Luigi's still got fairly low self-esteem, he takes Bowser's word when he brushes off Luigi's bemusement with a 'I'm not being serious' or the like whenever Luigi comments on a pretty place and Bowser hints that it might be a good place to have a wedding.

Ultimately, Days!Bowser had a (at his best) distant dad, a mum who died when he was barely old enough to remember her but not young enough to have not remembered her at all, and some relatives who couldn't be around very often for their own safety. And then he only reinforced that by kidnapping people. So yes, he sort of thinks that marriage will make someone stick around (and it did during the main plot!).

(I considered going for a Bowser who lost both his parents at a terribly young age (playing into the fact that some of the Yoshi games refer to him as King Bowser, even though he's a pretty young kid), but a Bowser who has literally never been accountable to anyone is going to be different to the Bowser I was putting together for Day 7/9.)

Anyway, this means it comes as a shock the first time Bowser goes all out on a proposal. Luigi is not a fan of surprises or being the center of attention, and Bowser's not going to half-arse something as important as a proposal. It'll be loud, there'll be a crowd, and Luigi's going to have the frightful time of figuring out how to say 'no' without Bowser assuming that's the end of the relationship. (He doesn't do great).

Luigi escapes the resulting fiery chaos and retreats to his room. He feels awful and has some miserable thoughts on whether or not this relationship is viable if they keep having stuff like this happen. (It's not been that much that often, Luigi's just spiralling here). He gets ready for bed automatically, but doesn't get any sleep.

And trying to figure this out turned into just writing fic... It's first draft, but here you go.

Luigi yelped when his bedroom door slammed open. Bowser stomped in, only to stop short when he noticed Luigi.

"Knock, please," Luigi said.

"You haven't escaped yet?" Bowser said.

Luigi clutched the heavy book he'd been trying to use to send him off to sleep. "Do I have to escape?" he asked carefully.

"Not yet," Bowser said. He began to pace around Luigi's room.

Luigi put the book aside and laced his fingers together. It was hard to even know where to start. How were you supposed to tell your partner that you weren't ready for marriage when they so obviously were?

"I'm sorry I messed things up," Luigi said.

"You should be," Bowser snapped.

Luigi flinched. Bowser stopped pacing and took a deep breath.

"I'm furious," Bowser said on the out breath.

"I'm sorry, I -"

"You said you wouldn't leave without telling me why," Bowser said, looming over Luigi.

"Do you want me to leave?" Luigi asked.

"What? No!"

Luigi patted the bed next to him. Bowser huffed. Instead of sitting next to Luigi on the mattress as Luigi had intended, Bowser slumped to the floor and leant his head on his folded arms on the bed.

"I don't want to leave," Luigi said.

"Then why didn't you say yes?" Bowser asked, a note of hurt in his voice.

"Because I don't want to get married yet," Luigi said. "It's a lot to say yes to. It's a huge decision."

"Figures I managed to bag the one mushroom person afraid of commitment," Bowser grumbled. "What do you think a relationship is except a precursor to marriage?"

Luigi hadn't considered it like that. "I don't know. There's still a lot we haven't talked about with... us and everything it entails."

"The proposal can be a surprise but the engagement shouldn't be," Bowser said.

Luigi blinked in surprise. "Exactly. Where did you hear that?"

"Can't remember." Bowser shrugged, knocking Luigi off balance.

Luigi lifted his hand to put it on Bowser's arm then hesitated. Would his touch even be welcome right now? When he dropped his arm, he caught sight of Bowser's red eye watching him.

"Hate me so much you can't stand the thought of touching me?"

"No." Luigi braced himself. "Do you hate me?"

Bowser closed his eyes. "I asked you to marry me a few hours ago, what do you think?"

"I think a lot of people would hate someone for saying no."

Bowser huffed and reached out to pat Luigi's leg. If he wanted to hurt Luigi, it would have been so easy, but he didn't. Luigi reached forward and threaded his fingers through Bowser's coarse hair. Something he hadn't realised was tense relaxed as Bowser gave a rumble of contentment.

"Was it just a no?" Bowser asked. "Or was it a not now? Because it felt like the former, but you waffled a lot before you got there."

"That's it exactly," Luigi said, relieved beyond measure at finally getting the right words. "I don't want to get married now, but I might change my mind in the future."

The lateness of the hour hit Luigi and he was unable to stifle his yawn. It must have been gone midnight by now. Tomorrow was looking better than it had been, but too little sleep wouldn't help anyone.

"We should probably try to get some sleep," Luigi said, untangling his fingers from Bowser's hair with a pang of disappointment. "Would you stay with me, tonight?" he blurted out before he could wimp out of asking for what he wanted again.

"In here?" Bowser waved at Luigi's quite-big-for-Luigi-but-small-for-Bowser bed.

"If that's okay?"

Bowser crawled onto the bed. There really wasn't much room for Luigi, but he'd spent enough time in too-narrow or too-short beds on adventures that he could probably doze off. Bowser curled his hand around Luigi's body. Luigi put his hand over Bowser's finger.

Heavy, absurdly long breaths were becoming a welcome sound to drift off to. Luigi snuggle down, enjoying the extra warmth a fire-breathing Koopa added.

"How long will it take before you're ready?" Bowser asked in a tone that he'd probably meant to be casual but missed by miles.

How long did it usually take before people were comfortable taking the next step in a relationship like this? Luigi had known people with whirlwind engagements who would have had a kid already on the way at this point, and others who had been together more than five years before they even hinted at marriage.

And it didn't matter how other people did it, Luigi had to figure out what worked for Luigi.

"I don't know," Luigi said. He clutched Bowser's fingers. "If I try to pick a date, then I don't know if I'll be ready by then and the extra anxiety over whether or not I'll be ready by then will probably just make it take longer. And I don't think you'll do very well with a specific date to get your hopes up for."

Bowser grumbled unhappily, but didn't disagree. Luigi rubbed Bowser's claw with his thumb and was relieved when Bowser gave him a gentle squeeze in return.

"I can promise that when I'm ready, you'll be the second person to know," Luigi said.

"After Mario?" Bowser said, disgruntled.

"After me," said Luigi.

Bowser laughed sleepily.

[freakartack]

"...Hello? Ma! I told you not to call me today, I'm making a movie!" -Wario, Mario Power Tennis

The most important lesson from Ma that Wario took to heart was the endless pursuit of cold, hard cash. Unfortunately, the one lesson she could never teach him was the importance of hard work to get it.  It wasn't for lack of trying; Wario's Ma is the hardest worker this side of the Mushroom Kingdom.  Raising Baby Wario was a herculean enough task on its own, but ever the enterprising spirit, she had also set out to grow one of the most profitable crops: garlic.

Her backyard business quickly expanded into a veritable garlic empire. Wario's mother toiled away tirelessly each day from sunrise to sunset to grow and harvest as much garlic as she could possibly achieve.  Much of Wario's current strength and endurance can be attributed to helping his mom on the farm as a child, although the teeth-pulling task of getting him to actually work was almost as difficult as preventing him from eating all the garlic straight out of the ground.  Wario's nose for instant gratification has always been a thorn in his mother's side, but try as she might to instill a solid work ethic into the boy, her "get-rich-slow" schemes could never appeal to him.  Still, Wario enjoyed his surprisingly agrarian upbringing. Along with garlic, his mother also raised chickens for eggs, inspiring in Wario a lifelong soft spot for poultry.  (He also had a pet hamster named Fluffy, who sadly passed away in 1986.)

Today, Wario is still on good terms with his mother despite their physical distance, and frequent phone calls keep her updated on all of Wario's business successes.  Of course, being Wario, he heavily embellishes the amount of work he actually does at his company.  If she only knew...

[picaroroboto]

random thoughts I've been having on some of the connections between Aleph Abnormalities: some of them feel like they're more deeply connected to Lobotomy Corporation and it's employees than many other Abnos. Melting Love is the result of an agent getting atttatched to a slime blob from a failed experiment, and Mountain of Smiling Bodies came from a botched cleanup after a disatrous breach killed a lot of employees. They're both direct products of human error.

Plague Doctor claims to want to help people but turns them into it's minions when it turns into WhiteNight, Army in Black claims to want to protect people but turns black and breaches when it absorbs too much negativity from their hearts, and agents develop a cult-like worship of Blue Star because they believe in a sort-of afterlife if they jump into it. These three, whether actively or unintentionally, seem to exploit the faith and trust of the employees, their desire to be helped or to be literally anywhere other than where they are now.

Alephs are powerful and threatening because they can do a lot of damage, yes, but what makes them worse, what makes them truly deserving of the highest tier of threat level, is the way they are the result of or take advantage of deeply human psychological vulnerabilities.

[forgetful-river]

Sometimes being in love is like getting your eye gored in a fit of purifying violence, sometimes it's not

[wundrousarts]

Hi folks! It seems like people are discovering that there are people online who write some WEIRD! 👎 stuff for Nevermoor. Some tips and tricks for dealing with that:

Don't engage. Don't read the fics. Don't even comment to say how much you hate it.

Don't spread it around. It's gross as hell, I know! But being like "ew, guys, I found this gross fic" just means you're causing more people to seek out said gross fic, and that's just not great. If you don't want to see it, no one else wants to either.

If you can: block, mute, or filter. I don't really use any fanfic sites to know if these functionalities exist, but I'm sure people online have found ways. Edit: here's a way to do it on Ao3.

TL;DR: Ignore, Ignore, Ignore. 👍

(PS: Same thing goes for when people send weird inappropriate anon messages. Just delete them from your inbox and don't subject others to them.)

This is unfortunately something that's been present for years in the fandom, on both Ao3 and Wattpad. This is also why I essentially don't read Nevermoor fics unless they're for Mogtober, and even then I'm cautious. I have seen some weird stuff written about my favorite characters that I wish I could pluck from my brain and set on fire, or worse! But when I stumble across that stuff, I just quickly close the tab and pivot to something else to get my mind off of it.

We should not entertain these types of people in a fandom full of minors about a middle grade series, so: just don't engage with them, ignore them, filter them out, and maybe even drown them out with some fics of your own.

[buccellato]

We're far enough along in the week that I think this won't disrupt the rest of the book club discussion, but just to be safe I'm putting it under a cut since it deals with the themes of sexual assault

I've seen some people touch about the themes of body autonomy and SA undertones from the fifth moon incident, and as someone who is on my like, 3rd reread over the years I definitely concur with it

and I wanted to add some more support to the conversation (if, uh, there is one here), because I notice people tend to focus on Vash's reaction and the immediate incident (which is fair, because he's one of the characters the audience will be empathizing with most at this point), and I wanted to go over the other things surrounding the incident that made this event go from "villain hurts the protagonist event" to something worse™️

(screencaps courtesy of the Overhaul project btw)

First up we have Vash's freeze-up event, which is very common in traumatic events but not for Vash, who has learned to be reactive for survival. Some deeply traumatic memory is freezing his body, one that he can't even fully remember, and he just stands there and dissociates in his memories for a solid minute as his naked-ass brother closes the good distance between them on foot after declaring he was gonna show him how to use his angel arm (which is just bad vibes city after the following pages, because Knives is just so casual with how he treats Vash's body, like it's something that belongs to him). I truly believe this wouldn't happen if he wasn't under extreme duress, because we know Vash is inhumanly fast and we know that he definitely wants to get back at his brother. This isn't a Dominique situation where he's trapped by other means, this is one where he's trapped by his trauma imo.

Next page is the one I like to call the "you need to back the fuck up dude" page because of how creepy Knives is here. He leans on Vash's arm in a weirdly casual and tender way, but Vash is pulling away in shock and fear. And then to follow it up, Knives slams his hand into Vash's face to take control of him. Throughout it all Vash is visibly spooked, but Knives looks so goddamn pleased with himself. After this there's a few pages of Vash's body be changed against his will to activate the angel arm, followed up by this

Where the gung-ho guns are all watching on, stunned, while Conrad yells at them to evacuate (you know, the usual things to say when you accidentally slip the screwdriver from the demon core). Knives, meanwhile, has slithered up behind Vash and is getting more handsy with him for better control. Throughout it all he is completely at ease, asking Vash "how it feels," to activate his arm while forcing him to remember the events of Lost July. All of his language here kind of implies that he doesn't have much respect for Vash's individuality, going on about how "this is our true power" while forcing him to remember one of the worst events of his life. Knives here is drawn extra menacing with wide-eyed glee while Vash is just straight-up bawling.

The following page is Knives trying to force his brother to fire, which others have touched on, but I just actually really wanted focus on these 2 panels because Vash is just in complete anguish. Tears are literally pouring down his face, he is miserable and possibly in pain as his body gets changed in ways he cannot fully control anymore, but his brother is telling him to "let his power flow," as the core in the angel arm reaches criticality.

Vash eventually rips his arm out of the frame of the angel arm to shoot himself (and his brother) in the legs so that he can change his angle to at least aim up into space (and into the moon), because he can't stop the gun from firing. Vash and Knives are injured, Vash wishes he didn't exist, and almost everyone else who witnessed the event from a distance blames him for his participation. The SA vibes are very easy to read imo (to the point where I picked them up when I first read it years ago), and there's certain events from later in the manga that just sort of pile on to it (but we're not there yet so 🙃).

Now, I'm not entirely certain Nightow intended it to be read as SA at this point, but the way it sort of builds up later (and the way it gets reused more explicitly in tristamp) kinda gives me the vibe that he eventually picked up on it himself later on. Granted, we were already introduced to organ farming, slavery, and rape by this point in the narrative (and almost directly before this, too), so maybe it was intended 🤔🤔?

Anyways, in conclusion

Me, the reader, to Knives:

[meangreenmulletmachine]

If you don’t mind sharing more, what happened in the relationship that caused it to end so suddenly? So glad you are safe and well, sending love xx

Hey there anon <3 thank you!

Well to make a long story short- you can't help someone who won't help themselves.

The long version- My ex partner was wrongly diagnosed and medicated for a mental health condition. When they found out they had been misdiagnosed (after months of extreme mania) they cut all their medications cold turkey- which made them spiral into a psychotic break.

I had gotten them in for emergency help but they refused to take advantage of the resources provided or go to follow up appointments, and never fully recovered. As I see it, the person I thought I loved is no long here. Someone else entirely now takes up residency in their body. I have had to mourn the loss of somebody who is still technically alive.

[lazaruscorpse]

taking everything down and then putting even more up took like 5 hours

[theheadlessgroom]

https://www.tumblr.com/beatingheart-bride/721420179978027008/beatingheart-bride-theheadlessgroom

@beatingheart-bride

“We’re fine, we’re fine!” June quickly assured her, as Wilhelm led them back to the banks, his heart pounding and his stomach tight with nerves-even though it seemed pretty clear by now that Constance was dead and gone (the term “sleeping with the fishes” popped into his head, but he resisted the urge to say it aloud, too rattled from the fight to crack jokes), he wanted to get as far from the spot where she sank as possible all the same (that, and he was sure the gators would soon smell blood in the water and come a-callin’, and he wasn’t about to interrupt supper).

As they swam back to shore, Randall seemed much more worried about Emily than himself, worriedly looking her up and down; having not missed the blows her opponent landed on her, he asked nervously, “Are you alright, are you okay? Sh-She didn’t hurt you too bad, d-did she?”

As they made it back to dry land, their clothes thoroughly soaked and now hanging heavily off their bodies, June ventured to suggest, “Why...why don’t we go back to the house? I’ll help you with those bites and scratches, and we’ll...we’ll take things easy for a bit.” They could all use something to calm their nerves, and the peace and quiet of the house would be the best place for it.

[sysciety]

This is the same anon, thank you for answering my question! It was very helpful. Maybe this was mentioned in one of the articles you cited (we have been reading them but progress is slow😅), but is there empirical evidence for the claim that dissociated parts are /always/ fused before a specific cutoff age unless there is trauma? We’re mostly confused by the specific age part, especially since what that specific age is is often reported differently. The idea of a specific cut-off age also seems unprovable (and unfalsifiable, at least while the response to people with DID claiming to have had the disorder formed after the cut-off is “you just don’t remember your earlier trauma or you’re lying”).

Thanks again!

I honestly think this has more to do with general brain development. 90% of your brain is developed by age 5 which is why early childhood experiences can have such a large impact on someone later on.

I'll say flat out that I'm not a neuroscientist and that I'm not an expert in childhood development. But I think the cut off range is more about the sheer amount of growth that you do at those early ages.

By 7-11 your brain is 95% developed, which is much less growth than that first time interval. By 5-8 is when a child's prefrontal cortex (critical thinking/decision making part of the brain) starts to become more active. It's not developed before then because your brain is trying to figure out basic functions just to like, live in general. When people say identity is integrated by 6-9 it's because it really does depend on when the integration starts to kick in.

You're gonna notice a lot of these are ranges and not specific numbers because brain development varies due to different factors (developmental disorders might mean something like a delay in speech, for example). I've seen some people say an identity should be formed at 6 and that 6-9 is to account for developmental disorders but I don't know the validity of that. I don't have a study for you to back this up so I can't tell you with certainty that 9 is the upper bound.

I will say as you get older you start developing non-dissociation coping mechanisms. In general being dissociation-prone increases the odds of a CDD so unless you've already been doing that I think the odds of developing one outside that range aren't high

The formation of CDDs is also a slow thing that I think ultimately depends on how that initial stage of integration is disrupted. Repetitive trauma doesn't even always cause CDDs it's a pretty complicated process.

So I guess to answer your question there isn't really a hard age cut off, but if there is no disruption then it will happen eventually. For some reason I was having a hard time finding if there is any concrete evidence but I did find this pamphlet on helping your child form an identity which might be helpful? Not sure if it's what you're looking for but I'll leave it here anyway: https://www.patterson-lakes-ps.vic.edu.au/uploaded_files/media/2.helping_your_child_to_have_a_strong_sense_of_identity_.pdf

(Also I know the sources from the last ask are pretty dense I totally get it if reading takes a while but I don't think it's mentioned in anything I linked if you were looking for it specifically)

[dragonsatmidnight]

I do pass, and I don't want to.

The only joy I ever get out of passing is the look on cis people's face when they realize that, OH, wow, maybe I HAVE known trans people.

My transness is a huge part of my identity. I'm nonbinary, but when I do identify as a man the TRANS part of being a trans man is deeply important to me.

I also just desperately wish that people would understand that like. I had top surgery for me. I was passing 100% of the time when I had top surgery. Absolutely no one would misgender me, and I had other trans people tell me they didn't think I was trans.

Passing, and erasing my identity, isn't a privilege. It's not the be all, end all, of my identity either. When I was 21, I got a trans masc symbol tattooed to my arm and I will never forget the dude who came out of the woodwork to tell me that trans people like me made it more difficult for him to pass.

Take that up with cis people, not me.

Honestly I think a lot of people's mental image of trans men especially when talking about privilege are like. Top and bottom surgery done, full beards, 10-15 years minimum on testosterone, speech therapy and body masculinization surgery and vigorous workout routines, perfectly passing for cis men, all legal documents changed accordingly, completely stealth and divorced from their past with a fully supportive family and friend group.

And yeah, those guys exist. I can rattle off names in my friend group right now who that describes. I've even dated a few of them.

And I do think those guys do receive a heaping cupful of male privilege, and I also think they're very aware of it.

But I also think of trans guys in my friend group who look like this:

Because they're not out or because they can't be out or because they're not in a situation that they can change anything or because they aren't yet comfortable grappling with their gender or because they're honestly happy with the way they look or because they don't want to take hormones and get surgery or because they're nonbinary or because they have medical concerns that keep them from pursing medical transition or because they're in abusive relationships and can't get out or because their insurance won't cover it or because they can't afford it or because they're somewhere they legally can't or because they live somewhere that not only groups them as cis women but also still treats women like men's property or because-

And I'm always like. Where? I've sheltered more than one trans guy who looks exactly like that when their parents kicked them out for being trans and they had nowhere else to go. They've lived in my house until they could figure out a more permenant solution. Where's their privilege?

[incognit0slut]

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Behind Closed Doors

Your admiration of his vest leads you to an empty office with his face buried between your thighs—and an urgent Emily demanding your whereabouts.

Warnings: (18+ MDNI) soft!dom spence (are we even surprised), fingering, oral sex (f), semi-public, slight overstimulation, and Emily kind of overhears because she calls Reader in the middle of the deed (oops). 5k words

A/n: I don’t have any excuse for this one, I just wanted to rewrite this scene of him because looking at it is not enough

You heard him before you saw him. It wasn't his voice per se, but the distinct sound of rapid shots cutting through the air. The noise seemed to intensify as you stepped into the control room, almost overbearing, but you'd long since grown used to its piercing sound.

"Is that Reid?" You asked, your polished boots echoing into the confined space. The officer monitoring him through the surveillance camera glanced over at you, and even though her expression didn't betray outright displeasure, you could hear a subtle edge in her voice.

"Agent Y/L/N," she greeted, her eyes darting between the rows of monitors, then to you, and finally settling on the clipboard in her hand. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Actually, I am. It’s Tuesday, my usual training day.”

"Not for another hour."

"I know," you countered, holding up your wrist to check your watch. "But I have some spare time, thought I’d come by early."

“I’m afraid it’s occupied right now. Agent Reid is still in the middle of his test."

This caught your attention. "What test?"

She glanced at you, her expression conflicted. "It's just a routine evaluation."

"He's currently not an active agent," you pointed out. It hadn’t been too long since his release from prison. It didn’t make any sense for him to go through an evaluation, not when he was behind bars for the past few weeks. Then recognition dawned on your face. "He's being evaluated to rejoin the team, isn't he?"

"I... I'm not at liberty to discuss that," she replied. Her gaze faltered momentarily before she nodded slowly, confirming your suspicions. "But yes, it's standard procedure for agents returning from extended leave."

"Oh wow—okay," you responded, absorbing the information. Your eyes flickered towards the monitor. "How's he doing?"

Her lips formed a thoughtful line before she answered, "Like the second coming of Wyatt Earp."

You let out a laugh, finding the comparison amusing. You'd known Spencer for what, three, four years? While he wasn't bad with firearms, comparing him to a historical figure like Wyatt Earp seemed a bit exaggerated. However, as you watched him through the monitors, despite your initial skepticism, you couldn't deny the truth in her words.

You had witnessed him handle a gun countless times, but always in situations where there was a real threat, where you both had to be on high alert. Yet as you observed him now from a different perspective, it was hard to tear your eyes away. It was as if he was in his element, and Spencer Reid in his element never looked so... attractive?

Now that wasn't an exaggeration. Although you had never admitted this to anyone—god forbid what your teammates would say—there was an undeniable charm to the confidence he exuded. While Spencer had always been attractive, there was something different about the way he handled the gun.

You were sure it had something to do with his time in prison. After all, who wouldn't be affected by such a daunting place, especially when you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place? Yet, surprisingly, Spencer seemed to be coping better than you expected. Despite the toll it must have taken on him, it was evident that his experiences had shaped him, perhaps more than he let on.

Although he was still the same sweet, adorable guy you considered one of your closest friends. But you weren't sure your current observation of him fitted the typical definition of friendship… because there was nothing remotely friendly about the thoughts running in your head right now.

Not only was it not friendly, but it wasn't exactly innocent. Because look at him. Look at the way he was gripping the gun, his arms defined beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Look at the way his protective glasses covered his face, the black-rimmed frames accentuating his handsome features. And even though you had seen him wear the uniform vest countless times, somehow it was undeniably distracting the way it hugged his chest. 

Yep—there was nothing remotely friendly about how you wanted to climb up the man.

A sudden buzz echoed in the room, snapping you to reality. You glanced up and noticed the officer you were talking to entering the monitor screen and it dawned on you that you had been so distracted by your thoughts that you hadn't realized she had left the control room.

"I'll send the results to the review board this evening," the officer's voice resonated from the screen.

"Did I do okay?" His voice came through.

"Like the second coming of Wyatt Earp," she replied, echoing her earlier assessment. Her gaze shifted to the printed cardboard image of a man, supposedly representing the Unsub, which was shredded right around the face. "Or... Al Capone, maybe."

You observed Spencer's slight nod as she turned and walked out of the screen. Quickly, you exited the control room and met her in the hallway.

"Agent Y/L/N," she called out as she spotted you. "You can have the room in five minutes—"

"I need to reschedule."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Reschedule?"

"Uh... yes, something urgent came up," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual.

She regarded you for a moment before nodding. "Alright, just let me know when you want to reschedule."

"I will, thank you," you said quickly. Sensing her lingering gaze, you added, "Oh, I'm just waiting for Reid. I need his help on... something."

A faint smile played on her lips, though she didn't press further. "Of course, I'll leave you to it then." 

With a nod, she turned and walked away just as the door at the end of the hallway opened, revealing Spencer emerging from the room. His eyes met yours in confusion, and you could sense his curiosity as he approached you.

"Hey," he greeted. "What are you doing here?"

You cocked your head to the side.

What were you doing here? 

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before offering a shrug. "Just passing by, I guess."

His brow furrowed slightly as if he sensed there was more to your answer than you were letting on. "Alright," he said, though his curiosity lingered in his gaze.

You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling the need to change the subject. "So, how did the evaluation go?"

"So you've heard.”

"Yeah," you confirmed, starting to walk down the hallway as he stepped in pace beside you. "I can't wait for you to be back on the team. Officially, that is."

"If they let me back on the team."

"Of course they will," you reassured him, your hand finding its place on his shoulder, offering support. "You're more than qualified."

He sighed, and you tried not to notice the subtle movement of his vest across his chest, or how it shifted under your touch. "You think so?"

"I know so," you affirmed, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Trust me, they'll definitely bring you back."

He stopped his pace, and so did you, before his eyes flickered towards your hand on his shoulder. He must've sensed something different, considering you weren't exactly the type of person who liked physical contact. Neither of you were, actually. While Spencer was known for his aversion to germs, you simply preferred maintaining a certain level of personal space.

"Seriously," he wondered, his tone laced with curiosity. "What are you doing down here?"

You cleared your throat. "I told you, I was just passing by."

"Really? Is that why you're talking to me instead of going through your usual training?" he pressed on. "It's Tuesday. I'm well aware of your schedule."

Damn him and his eidetic memory. You shifted away from his gaze. "Can't a girl just choose to have a chat with a friend?"

"You chose me over your scheduled routine?” his lips curved into a subtle smile. “Am I that much of a distraction?”

Yes, that damn vest is distracting me.

"Distraction might be a bit strong,” you replied, the lie sounding feeble even to your own ears.

"So you’re admitting I’m slightly distracting?"

"I never said that.”

Spencer leaned in and you felt the heat of his proximity radiating from his body. "But you didn't deny it either.”

You felt a faint blush creep onto your cheeks as you realized the shift in his tone. Dare you say he was... flirting with you? Or was it just your imagination running wild? From the corner of your eye, you caught the subtle way he licked his lips, and without meaning to, your own gaze was drawn to the movement.

It was a habit of his, one you'd observed countless times before whether it was out of concentration or a mere reflex. But seeing it up close now, the way his tongue traced the curve of his bottom lip, was driving you insane.

You swallowed hard. This was not friendly behavior. A friend wouldn't be imagining what it would feel like to have his tongue on your lips instead.

"Y/N?"

Your face felt hot as you met his gaze. "I..."

Before you could respond, the sound of laughter and chatter from down the hallway reached your ears. You heard Penelope's unmistakable giggle with JJ's animated voice, and suddenly your instinct took over. Without a second thought, you reached out and grabbed Spencer’s arm, pulling him into an empty office nearby. 

The door shut with a soft thud, and you frowned, suddenly feeling embarrassed. You didn't want to be caught in a state of flustered panic like some nervous school girl talking to her crush, but as Spencer stood behind you, you realized you were overreacting. The more you dwelled on it, the more absurd it seemed to hide away when there was no reason to.

With a sigh, you turned to face him. "Sorry about that, I didn't mean to..."

But as your gaze met him, your words faltered because he was standing closer than you expected. Close enough that the color of his eyes seemed to intensify under the soft light filtering through the window—a rich brown, like warm chocolate, with specks of gold that danced in the sunlight.

Your eyes involuntarily traced downwards, from the sharp lines of his nose to the curve of his lips, lingering on the stubble lining his jawline. Your mind wandered, and now you couldn't help but wonder how it would feel having it against your skin. Or how it would feel pressed against your thigh.

Your face grew hotter at the thought.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" he asked, taking a step forward. You squeaked in surprise, an actual high-pitched sound leaving your lips, as you felt the hard surface of his vest pressing against your chest.

"It's just..." You hesitated, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. "You're standing really close..."

He glanced down at you, his eyes resting on your lips. "Do you want me to move?"

"I... uh..."

His eyes flickered back up to meet yours. "I'll take that as a no."

Before you could process his words, his hand reached up, fingers gently gripping your waist. You felt a rush of heat spread through you at his touch, the sensation seeping through your shirt and you found yourself leaning into him, your breath catching in your throat as his face hovered closely above yours.

It was happening. Your heart pounded in your chest as his lips drew closer. You couldn’t believe it, he was going to kiss you—Spencer-fucking-Reid was going to kiss you.

But just as his lips hovered dangerously close against yours, he suddenly stopped.

"Just to make this clear," he began, running a thumb along your side. "I respect you, both as a friend and a colleague. I don't want to force you into anything you're not comfortable with, so if you think this is pushing any boundaries then—"

"Spencer," you cut in. "Just kiss me already."

With a hint of relief and a small smile playing on his lips, he finally closed the gap between you.

You never imagined his lips could be so soft. He had the softest lips that moved against your own with a hint of coffee and something undeniably sweet. Those soft, soft lips parted away from yours for a moment before he leaned back in, more desperate, more needy. And when he swiped your bottom lip with his tongue, seeking entrance, you couldn't help but welcome him with a soft moan of pleasure.

He devoured you then, his tongue pushing eagerly into your mouth, his lips enveloping you with a hunger that left you breathless as he pressed himself against you. Before you could fully grasp what was happening, you were walking backward until your back collided with the solid surface of the desk. 

With strength you didn’t know he possessed, he effortlessly lifted you and perched you on top of it, prompting a surprised squeal to escape your lips. He laughed in response but you were too caught up in the moment to worry about whether he found you amusing. 

Your hands eagerly roamed over his chest, fingers curling around the strap of his vest as you pulled him closer. He slipped between your parted legs with ease and when he pressed his evident bulge against your core, you both gasped in pleasure.

"We should... we should probably stop, right?" he murmured, his voice muffled against your lips. Despite his words, his actions betrayed his self-control as he began to roll his hips against you.

“We're at work, someone might—” He groaned. “Someone might… hear us..."

He was right, but you found yourself unable to care about anything else but the sensation of his hard cock pressing against your heat.

"We could stop, or..." you found yourself saying without thinking. Your hands moved with a mind of their own, finding their way between you as you started to unbutton your shirt, the fabric slipping away to reveal more of your skin. 

"Or..." He prompted, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip yet again, his breath coming out in shallow, ragged bursts.

"Or..." you repeated, pushing the front of your shirt open. "We could be quiet."

"We could be quiet," he agreed all too quickly. "We could definitely be quiet."

You let out an amused laugh. "We’re going to get in trouble if anyone finds us."

“Then you shouldn’t make a sound.”

“Me? What about—oh.”

His lips were already trailing down your body, leaving soft kisses as they lingered on your neck, across your collarbone, and then he moved lower, sucking lightly on the swell of your breasts. A whimper of his name escaped your lips, your fingers entwining in his hair.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes drinking at the sight of your breast pushed up against your bra, a glistening sheen of his saliva coating your skin.

“You are stunning,” he murmured, before leaning back in to place a tender kiss on the spot where your collarbone met your shoulder. “How far do you want to take this?”

You blinked, trying to ground yourself into the moment between the lust fogging your brain. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he muttered as he rutted his hips against yours, drawing a needy moan from you. “How far are you willing to go?”

“If you’re asking whether I want to have sex with you, the answer is a hundred percent yes.”

You could practically feel his smile on your skin as he buried himself in the crook of your neck.

“That’s good to know,” he whispered, causing you to arch your back as your chest pressed against the hard material of his vest. “But I don’t think we can do much considering we’re supposed to be working. Well, you at least.”

You grasped his shoulders, pushing him away to meet his gaze. “I thought we agreed to keep quiet.”

“We can keep quiet,” he assured you, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “But I can’t rush my time with you. Besides, you deserve a much better setting than an unoccupied office full of dust.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers trailing lightly along your jawline. “Maybe, but it’s more about time, really. I just want to take—” His lips brushed against your cheek. “My time—” A peck on your lips. “With you.”

You melted right there and then. You could’ve sworn you were nothing but a puddle mess. If he wasn’t holding you for support you were sure you could fall right back to the floor.

“Alright then,” you finally said, reaching for the buttons of your shirt with trembling hands only to be stopped as his fingers curled around your wrist.

“What are you doing?”

You shot him a puzzled look. “I thought you didn’t want to have sex right now.”

“I didn’t say anything about stopping,” he replied, releasing your hand before his palms slid up your thighs. “There are plenty of other things we can do.”

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks. “Like what?”

“Well, I guess we'll just have to get creative.”

Your breath hitched when his fingers hovered over the button on your pants. You watched with a mix of excitement and disbelief as he started to undo them, your mind turning into a mushy mess. It was as if every neuron in your brain had decided to stop working.

“Lift your hips for me.”

You met his gaze, trying to summon up your composure but you couldn’t help the nervous twitch of your lips. He smiled at you.

“Come on, pretty girl, we don’t have all day.”

Not only were you melting, but you were practically liquid by now. Your body moved on its own accord—your hands gripping his shoulders as you lifted your hips, synchronizing perfectly with his gentle movements to slide the material over your hips and down your legs.

He placed your pants on the empty space beside you while his eyes never left your body. His gaze lingered on the rise and fall of your chest, and he leaned in, his fingers trailing over your skin before settling on the hem of your panties. His thumb slid to the front, brushing along the delicate material. Your hips bucked as he continued to run his thumb up and down as if he were trying to map out your slick folds over the fabric.

“Look at you dripping,” he mused, his eyes fixated on the way his thumb slid over to your clit. “Are you always this wet?”

Your cheeks heated at the question. He wasn’t even trying to make it come off as dirty talk; he asked it like a normal question, as if he were simply wondering about what you ate for breakfast. But the question alone had your face burning because you did not expect it to come from him.

“I… I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he asked, his tone amused. He hooked his fingers into the material of your panties before pushing it to the side.

“I-I don’t know.” You let out a breathless moan when his fingers grazed your slit. “Whenever I’m turned on, I don’t... I don’t exactly touch myself just to check how wet I am.”

Spencer chuckled softly, angling his hand between your thighs before gently pushing his middle finger into your entrance. You gasped at the sudden stretch, brows furrowing as he pressed further, and your hand instinctively gripped onto his arm.

“Do you often touch yourself?”

Your head fell back as he started to move.

“M-Maybe,” you managed to stutter out.

"What do you think of when you do?" he asked slowly, his own breath starting to grow shallow as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He observed the way your mouth fell open, your tongue slightly slipping out in the corner, and the way your eyes shut closed. He was fascinated by the effect he had on you, on how just a simple touch had you squirming.

“A… a lot of things,” you managed to reply.

“Have you ever thought of me?”

Whoa.

The question caught you off guard, and you blinked, momentarily stunned.

This was dangerous territory, but then again, nothing seemed quite as risky as being fingered by your coworker on a Tuesday afternoon. So what harm could it be if you admitted that yes, in fact, he had crossed your mind when you touched yourself wishing it was his fingers instead?

A lot of harm, actually. One, it seemed like an inappropriate confession given your friendship. Friends don't usually imagine each other in sexual scenarios. And two, you could die of embarrassment.

"No," you replied, hoping your voice sounded more confident than you felt.

He hummed skeptically. “I thought we were past the point of lying between profilers.” With a pause, he added another finger inside you, causing you to bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. “Is this how you imagined it in your fantasies?”

What was the point of lying now? You swallowed hard, trying to think of a witty response to distract from the intense pleasure coursing through your body.

“Uh… This is slightly better.”

“Slightly? I’m hurt.” He pressed his thumb onto your clit. “What else did you think of then?”

Your cheeks flushed even more. “You… well, um, you also used your tongue.”

The airy laugh he let out sent a shiver down your spine. “Really? And how did that fantasy play out?"

Your heart raced as you tried to find the right words. "Let's just say it involved a lot more tongue action and a lot less talking."

His smile widened, and he leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear. “Then let’s reenact it.” He gently pulled his fingers out of you. “Lay on your back.”

With a shaky breath, you complied, sprawling out on the desk, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through you. When he reached for the waistband of your panties, you couldn't help but crack a joke. "If I knew this was the direction this day was heading, I would've worn my fanciest underwear."

Spencer shook his head. “Trust me, you don't need fancy underwear to drive me crazy."

He then deftly removed your panties, his movements confident yet tender, like he was unwrapping a precious gift. When the fabric pooled at your ankle, he got down on his knees and parted your legs wider, positioning himself between them.

You watched, anticipation building, as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your inner thigh. Then, with a teasing glance, he pressed his lips to your skin, planting soft kisses along the trail of your inner thigh, inching closer to your core.

You shivered at the sensation and your heart raced with every kiss. His hands roamed over your thighs, tracing delicate patterns while his mouth brushed closer to where you craved him the most. You bit down your bottom lip, unable to contain the moan that escaped as his tongue flicked out, grazing your sensitive flesh.

This was definitely better than your fantasies, the ones you'd harbored in secret, too taboo to admit even to yourself. But here you were, living out those desires in the most deliciously real way possible.

You gasped as his tongue lavished your slit, tasting every inch, mixing your arousal that was beginning to drip from your core with his saliva. Your back arched off the desk, thighs trembling and when they threatened to close, he made sure two heavy palms kept them open long enough for his tongue to drag over your clit.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Somehow it felt like a dream, but everything was real. His face was right between your thighs; his mouth pressed against your cunt, his tongue lapping through your wet folds. And it wasn’t as simple as tasting you, he was eating you, devouring you, swallowing every drop of your arousal as if he couldn’t get enough of your taste.

You started to lose control of your mind, your body, your actions. Your hips bucked to meet his tongue, your jaw slackening as stifled moans spilled from your lips. And that was when you felt it—a faint vibration against your thigh. At first, you thought it was just the sensation of his touch, but then the loud, unmistakable loud ringtone of your phone shattered the moment.

"Shit!" You squealed, scrambling to grab your phone from your discarded pants. The last thing you needed was for someone to discover you in this compromising position.

"It's Emily—“ You pushed his head away, trying to hide your flushed face as he looked at you with surprise. His lips were glistened with your arousal and his hair seemed messier. God, he looked so pretty.

"Don't answer it."

"It might be important." With a pointed look, you silently urged him to keep quiet as you brought the phone to your ear with trembling fingers. “H-Hey... what's up?"

Emily's voice came through the line, slightly muffled by the sounds of commotion in the background. “Hey, I need you to review the report you submitted yesterday, you left a few details about the Unsub.”

Spencer's lips brushed against your inner thigh, sending a shiver down your spine, and you had to bite back a moan. You shot him a warning glare, mouthing ‘stop’ before turning your attention back to the call.

“Y/N? Are you listening?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “So… um, which report?”

"The case in Florida," your boss explained. "You mentioned that the Unsub was targeting women between the ages of 25 and 35…”

You were trying to listen, you really were, but it was hard when you felt his fingers ease into your cunt, your juices dripping out, coating his flesh as he curled them inside. You almost let out a whine as his thumb pressed to your clit, caressing in circular motions. 

“…he's also been stalking younger women."

Your eyes screwed shut as he sped up his pace. His touch was driving you crazy, and you could barely register the conversation over the sounds of your own arousal echoing in the room.

“Y/N.”

You snapped your eyes open, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks as you tried to concentrate on the call. "Uh, yeah, go on," you managed to stammer, hoping she didn't notice your wavering tone.

“Are you okay? You sound... off," Emily's voice cut through the haze of pleasure. You shot Spencer another pleading look, but he simply smiled at you with a hand still between your thighs and the other slipping underneath your bra.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, fighting against the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. "Uh, yeah, I… I-I’m doing my training.”

You mentally cursed yourself for the terrible excuse. Emily didn't seem entirely convinced. "Training?"

"Yeah, you know, the uh... firearm training? I-It’s Tuesday.”

There was a pause on the other end before she spoke again. “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound like you're in pain."

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a moan as his fingers curled inside of you. "No, no, I'm fine. Just... a little out of breath from all the… shooting."

Spencer let out an incredulous scoff, and you shot him a pointed glare.

“Are you with someone?”

You hesitated, racking your brain for a believable excuse, but all you could muster was a feeble, "Uh, nope.”

There was a pause on the other end, and the tension in the air seemed to thicken as your body flushed with heat. Meanwhile, Spencer seemed intent on torturing you, never stopping his pace. If anything, it seemed like his movements were increasing. Just when you thought you couldn't feel more exposed, another scoff echoed through your ear, this time from Emily.

“Alright, where are you really?” she pressed, her tone indicating she wasn't buying your flimsy excuse.

“I told you I-I’m doing my training.”

She laughed. “Y/N, we profile people as a job. I can sense your lie even through the phone.”

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes. What was up with these profilers and their knack for sniffing out lies? You were one yourself, but apparently, you were no match for their scrutiny.

“I’m not—“ your words were cut short when he stood up, hovering above you. You looked up at him, smiling at you innocently as his fingers continued to curl deep inside you. You clutched his forearm with your free hand, attempting to steady yourself.

"I'm not lying," you managed to squeak out.

"Mhm," came Emily's voice from the other end. “Just come by my office and grab the report, okay?”

Your breath hitched as his fingertips delved deeper, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the sight of his hand moving between your legs, coated in your arousal with each thrust. You could feel your orgasm edging closer. Your hips moved in sync with his motions as the pressure built, the tension coiling tighter in your stomach and—

“Y/N!”

“Y-Yes, I’m… I’m coming.” Spencer's low chuckle filled your ears, and you realized what you'd unintentionally implied. Your eyes widened in embarrassment. “I mean, I-I’ll be there soon, okay, bye!”

You quickly slammed your phone down on the desk, ending the call with a thud. But before you could even take a breath, Spencer's fingers were back to their rapid pace, driving you to the edge of sanity. Your body staggered under his touch, your hips moving in sync with his relentless rhythm, the world outside the room fading away into a blur of pleasure.

"A-Ah—w-wait, fuck—"

You barely managed to utter a protest before his hand covered your mouth, muffling your cries of pleasure. Your back arched, your head thrown back as you tightened your grip on his wrist, your body writhing beneath him as your orgasm consumed you.

It lasted longer than you expected and Spencer seemed determined to push you over the edge as he shifted his attention from your cunt to your sensitive clit. His fingers withdrew momentarily, only to return with a renewed intensity, applying just the right amount of pressure.

Your senses were on overload as you moaned into his hand, the sound muffled but still audible. He worked you, over and over, and you didn't even know your body could take so much. Every stroke, every caress sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you, building up to an intensity that bordered on overwhelming.

Your legs shook uncontrollably as the sensations reached a fever pitch. It was all too much, too intense, and in a moment of desperation, you pushed his hand away. When the last tremors of your orgasm finally faded away, you collapsed back onto the desk, panting heavily, your limbs feeling like jelly. 

Spencer removed his hand from your mouth, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he watched you catch your breath. “Are you okay?" 

You nodded weakly. “Yeah, just… that was intense.”

“Good intense?”

“Really good intense,” you replied with a sheepish grin, which only made him smile. With shaky hands, you pushed yourself up from the desk, feeling a wave of satisfaction wash over you. As you began to dress yourself, you couldn't help but steal a glance at him—or rather, the evident bulge underneath his pants.

“That… that doesn’t look comfortable,” you remarked.

Spencer waved off your worry with a dismissive chuckle. “Don’t worry about me, I can take care of it myself.”

“Here? At work?” Your eyes widened at the implication. “I didn't know you had it in you.”

He cocked his head to the side. “That’s not what I meant. It’ll eventually go away if I ignore—stop staring at it,” he added with a laugh. “You’re not helping.”

Your gaze lingered a moment too long on his bulge. "I can think of another way to help.”

Spencer's breath caught in his throat, his imagination running wild with possibilities, but he quickly regained his composure. "Go," he said, gently nudging you towards the door once you were properly dressed. "Emily's waiting for you."

Your eyes swept over him and a wave of awkwardness suddenly washed over you. What was the protocol after experiencing the most intense orgasm of your life? Shake his hand? Give him a high-five? You couldn't help but stifle a nervous laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

After a brief moment of contemplation, you decided to trust your instincts. With a hint of hesitation, you stepped closer and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. He blinked in surprise, but before he could respond, you were already rushing to the door.

He couldn't help but smile as he watched you leave, a tingling sensation lingering on his cheek where your lips had briefly touched. But as he licked his lips absentmindedly, he couldn't shake the taste of your arousal that lingered there.

Groaning softly, he shifted uncomfortably as his mind filled with vivid images of you squirming under him; your mouth agape, eyes half-closed, your pretty legs spread apart. The memory of your moans echoed in his ears and his cock stirred in his pants. 

He sighed, realizing he was in for a long day if he didn't do something about it. With a slight grimace—and the embarrassment gnawing at him for what he was about to do—he let his feet carry him to the nearest bathroom.

[9kittie]

You are eating exhusband Rafe up! I imagine it would be hilarious when wife reader finds out Rafe has knocked her up again - riding off the back of your last post where they had jealous sex. Just Rafe all smug about how it’s his child and basically parading that fact around to the both outer banks and specifically the guy who tried to take his place

(Not him trying to sneak that ring back on her finger)

when exhusband!rafe had gotten told that you were pregnant and it was his, he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

you had been feeling nauseous all week. nothing out of the ordinary, just figured you hadn't been drinking enough water or eating well enough. either way, it was brushed off.

usual routine of seeing rafe weekly to pick up your daughter, and even some days when you weren't picking up your daughter, continued.

it was when you two were having sex that you realized something was really really wrong. where he'd been giving it to you good and it hurt so bad for some reason. at first, it was brushed off. you figured maybe you'd gotten tighter? maybe it was just a simple moment of your insides being bruised. then again, sex isn't all as perfect as it seems.

but no, no it was more than that. the pain continued, and continued and it was when you were trying to push him off of you, wailing out a soft sob.

"stop it rafe! doesn't feel good." closing your thighs and eyes all glossy, he's instantly pulling out. hands slipping under your dewy and sweaty back from missionary and soothing you with soft words.

"hey, hey. whats'a matter huh? not feeling it? tell me what i did wrong, baby." he's sitting against the headboard, cooing at you and rocking you softly while you sniffled against his chest. balled up in his lap while he prepped kisses all over your face.

swallowing down a lump in your throat, shaking your head all while eyes are fluttered closed and a big uncomfortable pout is evident on your lips, he's really getting worried.

"it jus'.. it hurt real bad. i don't feel s'good." and it's then that your getting nauseous again, stomach turning in a horrible way that had you balling up your body even more.

rafe's examining with a concerned face, nodding softly before laying you down against the bed. he's rummaging around for some of his clothes, pulling out an old t-shirt and a pair of his boxers all while he's sitting down on the bed next to your laying form and looking down at you.

"are you- you sick? what d'you mean?" he'd felt horrible, like it was his fault.

it was his fault.

brushing away some strands of hair from your forehead while you softly held your lower stomach. "talk to me, can't know what to do to help if y'don't tell me pretty girl."

a soft groan is leaving your throat when he begins to move your body, putting his clothes onto you before making you sit up, a whine leaving your lips. "my stomach's cramping."

he'd thought maybe it was just your period, but you'd gotten that just a little past a few weeks ago. it wasn't normal for you to get symptoms from it like this.

so, being the responsible and attentive soon to be husband; again, he's pulling on a polo shirt, and some loose fitted jeans and getting stuff ready to bring you to the hospital.

what he thought would be the worst news of his life, really was the best. being told that you were pregnant was something that brought tears to his eyes.

he's clinging onto you, kissing all over your face while you sat dumbfounded on the little bed in the doctors examination room.

"hear that baby? gonna be a dad again, gonna have another kid." his tone of voice is what brings a big smile to your face. how could you not be happy? he's crying.

swallowing down nerves all while you're hugging him back. he's kissing your hand, the hand that now wears the wedding ring from your wedding day.

his lips meet yours. in a soft and delicate kiss. hands cupping your face gently before he's bringing you into a hug again.

and it was final. you'd both gone back home to TannyHill where you'd talk through it all. plan to move back in with him. get remarried. tell your daughter. he couldn't be happier to have the woman he was in love with to be his again.

of course, you felt the exact same way. being in the arms of the man who you'd never be able to let go of.

˖ ݁ ݁˖ ≽ܫ≼

a few weeks had passed, things couldn't have been going better. the two of you remarried with a beautiful ceremony. while you already had a ring, he'd buy you a second one because you deserved it. because he wanted to re-knew the bond between both of you, making a vow towards this marriage the best he could.

rafe's schedule had been filled with work upon work. making bigger deals, meeting with new clients. it was stressful, but good. he had you and his daughter at home. his two favorite girls.

he'd been at the country club just for a simple play of golf with topper and a small glass or two of drinks.

he'd been in a deep conversation with topper before he'd caught eye of.. him. the guy who he'd saw before getting into it with you. he glared, a small smirk on his face before he's brushing off topper for a second and walking towards the bar.

he'd smile his way through his glass of whiskey in a 'polite' manner, giving a heads nod before looking in front of him. the tv above playing whatever channel before he's speaking without thinking.

"hey, yo you're uhh.. that- that guy, right? my wife knows you." rafe's leaning against the bar on his side, a slick smile formed on his lips .

"yeah.. are you rafe? her ex husband right?" he's bringing out a hand to shake, but rafe's looking away. a small 'tsk' leaving his mouth before pushing his glass towards the bartender and looking back at him.

"ex husband.." he begins, muttering. "no actually, we got remarried." rafe's eyes are fluttering closed, a smile on his lips before nodding his way. the guys starstruck, eyebrows raising in surprise and letting out a small chuckle.

"oh, congrats man. that's- yeah that's good for you." rafe's eyes are narrowing at him. blinking his way while the smile is now a thin line on his lips.

"really, a wonderful woman. really got it goin' on." the guys obviously using some sort of tactic here. jealousy evident in his eyes. it's not new, rafe understood this guys perspective on his ex wife wife. he knew what it was when he'd first heard about him from his daughter.

he's humming in response, picking up the drink from the counter and chugging it before putting it down and looking away. tongue in cheek while he's taking a step closer before slightly leaning down.

"might wanna reconsider your words when speaking about my wife.. who's pregnant, by the way." he's shrugging, smirk forming on his lips while the guys taking a small step back. straightening himself out like he'd do something to rafe.

that'd never happen.

"yeahhh, why don't you go scurry somewhere you belong. don't you got a wife to cater to? knew you couldn't handle what i got. a shame, you seemed like a dead beat anyway." and he's nodding towards him again, face so smug before he's watching the guy mutter something under his breath, slamming down some money and walking off.

"'s good to see ya!" he'd call out.

and that night, he'd go home to his beautiful wife. dinner all cooked out and daughter all happy. not that man, nah. rafe. rafe cameron who'd be the only man you'd ever really love.

it'd stay that way too.