I'm gonna say it, I do think that even the laziest person imaginable should have a roof over their head, food in their stomach, and access to healthcare
you scoffed at dunk, your hushed whispers filling the outside air near the inn. between you lay a babe asleep against your chest, a sling keeping him right against you. for all it was worth, he was a deep sleeper.
“i told you nothing was going on,” you voiced, your frustration only building. around and around dunk had you going, making you feel like a fool the longer you fought. “why would i—?”
“i don’t know,” he cut you off, gaze hard and hands anchored at his hips. “but i know what i saw.“
“what was it then, dunk?” you pressed on. “sing a ballad.”
dunk said nothing. he looked away, the worst of the storm in his mind rolling out in another wave. he was shaking, hands itching for you to hold. hands wanting to find that man and hold him high in the air, demanding that if he so much as looked your way, he’d find himself headfirst in the dirt.
for what? a laugh passed between two strangers? it made his stomach curl—was he upset at you or himself? could he not handle such a sight?
another wave crashed into him, and you continued. “with your babe at my chest? you think so lowly of me?”
“i never said i—“
“well, seems we’re both making assumptions,” you bitterly laughed. “can’t even go around having a kind word with another. don’t want to make the giant jealous.”
a quiet whine escaped the babe, making the both of you freeze. your hands rubbed at his back and patted his behind, easing him back into a bliss you only dreamed of. anything than fighting with dunk, anything than arguing over something so ridiculous.
“…i’ll be in the room,” you scoffed, stepping away to pass him. dunk kept his head low, not trusting himself to follow. not yet, not when he felt so stupid.
when you came to the room, egg was already in bed. you tucked him properly, careful not to move so much out of risk of waking him. then came the babe, who didn’t fuss or wake once he was moved to his basket.
the children were in bed, and you sat at the edge of the straw mattress. you didn’t know how long you spent staring at the floorboards, the quiet rustle from underneath further trapping you in that moment of anger. all you could think was, how could he? how could he?
light broke into the room. dunk shuffled in, attempting to keep quiet for the sake of egg and your babe. you said nothing; you hadn’t bothered to look at him.
a moment passed. maybe two, or three.
dunk spoke your name softly.
you settled in silence, refusing to look up, refusing to acknowledge he was there. it was easier to stir in your anger. your hands balled, then released, and balled again. you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to hit him or take it out on the bed.
“please..” his voice carried to you again, and you realized he was moving closer. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry, my love.”
still, he was met with silence.
dunk sank to his knees in front of you. although he’d lowered himself, he was still too tall for you to meet him with your head hung. his hands hovered, not yet coming to the bend of your skirt, to your knees.
“i’m a fool,” he whispered. “strip all i have, you’ll find a big, stumbling fool—“
“dunk..”
he swallowed as your head lifted. “i know it’s not easy. but i love you, i do. it makes me do stupid things. i’m a stupid man, and i don’t think when it comes to you, love. i—i just do. i act—“
“dunk,” you said again, voice nearly cracking. “you need not to say such horrible things about it yourself.”
“i cannot explain my behavior otherwise.”
your hands came to his face, holding him there before he lay his head at your knees. his hands slipped up your skirt, the warmth of his skin touching your calves.
“..i’m a fool for you,” he continued. “i’d rather break a man’s teeth than watch one make you laugh, or…or make you smile.”
he felt your hands come to his head, burying into his roots. by the seven, it felt good. initially, he wanted to sink further. close enough to where he could drown in you and never have to see you with another again.
“..suppose it does make me jealous.”
“i didn’t mean that.”
“yes, you did.”
“it was a poor choice of words.”
“no.”
“enough,” you sighed, lightly tugging on the strands. he picked himself up, not quite moving back but tilting his head to look up at you.
“yes,” you murmured. “it was. ought to have kinder.”
“i’m…i’m not entirely deserving of your kindness,” and by the look in his eyes—those big, blue eyes, he believed it. “not right now.”
“protective.” you substituted anyway. “you’re protective, and perhaps it fogs your mind.”
“don’t make excuses for me.”
“i’m not,” you huffed, taking his face into your hands again. “you have a thick skull, we will agree on that.”
he said nothing for some time. your thumb stroked his cheek, and he watched as you softened at the mere sight of him. it made his gut twist and his heart stutter.
there was so much more he wanted to say. i’ll be better. i love you. how is it you love me? i don’t know if i deserve it. i love you.
yet when his lips parted, he whispered, “..i’m sorry.”
“i forgive you,” came half a second later.
dunk returned to your lap, his body pressing into your thighs as he held you close. for all the back-and-forth, neither of the children awoke.
despite the fabric against your skin, you felt the press of his lips on your stomach. one after another, as if he tried to bury his remorse into you.
stirring the pot "you really thought nobody would find out?" where dunk finds out his wife has been skipping meals bc they've been low on coins.
“by the seven, you barely gave yourself time to chew!”
egg looked up from his bowl, eyes wild and mouth stuffed when he met your gaze. he used his sleeve to wipe his mouth.
"i haven’t eaten all day, my lady,” he said, and his eyes darted down to his bowl. “we’ve been waiting for word from oldstones, and ser duncan said we must preserve coin…”
“and you are still hungry?” the question tumbled out faster than you could consider. "i presume?"
egg was just as eager, “yes. although...i don’t believe ser duncan would take kindly to his portion being taken. he's had some water, but he spit it out. it tasted as brown as it looked.”
it was as if the gods decided to strike you at that moment. egg sighed and set his bowl aside, eyes casted down to the grass. he’d never looked more diminutive.
“the gods have favored you, then," you smiled, and without missing a beat, you picked up his bowl to bring it closer. you scraped what was left in your own, giving him your portion of supper. "i am quite full."
egg perked up, seeing how much you'd given--and there was not a scrap of meat left in your bowl.
"you...you hardly had any, my lady."
"i've had my share of sweet rolls all day. there was a caravan not far from here...offered me a few in exchange for thread."
the boy's nose wrinkled, sniffing out the lie quicker than a man could twice his age. but the look on your face washed him in doubt. you had traded your goods for something sweet, yet you had nothing left? not even for your husband-knight?
"sweet rolls are very fulfilling," he said with caution. yet the moment you handed over his bowl, he couldn't help himself. he refused to listen to you and ate like a wolf pup starved of fresh meat.
as the days wore on, it became your new normal. there was little to share between the three of you, and dunk was so caught up in duty that he ate his suppers much later than you and the boy. you kept his meals hot, and he nearly drooled over the fire every night.
by the end of the moon cycle, he found himself on an early return.
"slow down, lad," he came over to you, his gaze lingering on egg as the boy took a big bite of bread. he practically had a full meal to work on, and dunk immediately took notice of your own state. there was not a cut of beef nor a cup of broth anywhere on your plate—and your plate was nowhere in sight, he realized.
"did you eat?" he asked, his face morphing into concern.
you readied his plate with a nod, "some time ago. i found some berries nearby. they were perfectly ripe."
as you handed over his plate, he took the first bite with a slowness you'd never seen before. he chewed, uncharacteristically unhurried. "you ought to have more than berries."
"they were very filling. i almost gave myself an ache."
"...what sort of berries?"
ah, fuck.
"i don't know," you paused. "they were red. reminded me of apples, but...not as big."
"she said she'd pick some for the morrow!" egg chirped, his cheeks full. "you still will, won't you, my lady?"
"yes," you smiled, but it was strained. you looked to dunk, who had not once looked away from you. "perhaps if you bought honey, it'll make for a good treat."
dunk watched you for a moment longer. "i might, aye."
and he left it at that.
until the next evening, when there were no berries in your shared bags. a deer must have plucked the rest, you excused.
dunk knew he was a great fool. egg ran circles around him, ever the clever lad, and you were always gentle in your approach. every passing day you lived was for one another, to guide each other through the hardships of the road. some nights you found yourself in an inn, sharing a warm bed and fevered kisses. others, you were in a ditch, wrapped in a rough spun cloak and shielding the boy from the wind.
it was never easy, and your life was without stability. but you had your constant, and that was your hedge knight.
so why did you no longer trust him?
another evening, and another sparse meal was split between the three of you. dunk stared you down like a predator, listening to every scrape of your spoon as you gave egg the last bits of supper. you looked tired, more so than he'd ever seen.
he was quiet while his squire was around. dunk kept to himself, stirring in thought, while you cleaned the pan and tended to the fire. it felt like ages before egg finished and retreated to his bedroll. still, he waited until he heard egg's soft snores.
"...what is it you've had today?" he asked, tense even when you came to sit beside him. it was difficult not to touch you, to not wrap an arm around you and huddle you close. his anger wouldn't dissolve, but it would soften.
dunk could not afford to soften over you, not over this.
"suppose some trout flew from the river and offered itself?"
"don't play the fool, my love. there were some leftover bread and honey...it made for a good meal." there was no hostility in your voice. no objection. dunk stiffened under your touch, his arm turning to near stone when your head came to rest.
"then why treat me as one?" he kept his voice low; his indignation was unkempt.
your tranquility ended there. you sat up in a heartbeat, head turning to look him in the eye. he felt just as you looked—confused and offended. the question between you was shared, and neither knew how to answer.
"i have done no such thing, duncan."
"you have," he swore, his brows furrowing as he turned fully towards you. "you believe i would not find out?"
"what are you—?"
"you lied. you so easily wove comfort into egg and i, making us think you've taken care of yourself with senseless fibs—“
"fibs?" you choked back a laugh.
"are you amused?" he hissed, before his voice broke. "does wasting away bring you comfort? are you—this eager to leave me behind?"
you snapped out of it. he'd never spoken to you that way, and a spike of aggravation struck. "i...i did what was necessary."
"by becoming skin and bone."
"by not letting you and the boy starve. i do indulge, duncan, if it concerns you so," your gaze hardened, your voice quieted to a whisper. "and i am not the only one with secrets."
"i have hidden nothing from you!"
"you have," you shot back, "for a time."
dunk shook his head as he gathered what was left of supper onto his plate. he refused to look at you now, even after he pushed the plate over to you.
"i am fine." you trembled. "i told you, i ate long before—“
"you need it more than me. eat, before i feed you myself."
you swallowed your argument, choosing not to test his patience any longer. not with words, at least.
"i have no issue throwing you over my knee," he warned.
oh, how you wished you could snap back. your fingers curled, hands tightening into fists. he glanced down, almost snorting at the sight. you were the first to move, but not to strike him.
you took his plate, your stomach twisting at the aroma. dunk pushed himself over, coming closer as you began to eat what was left. he reached for you, pushing your hair back as the wind blew.
"aye," he murmured, voice softer than before. it was a start. "that's my girl."
cass try not to write over 1.3k challenge impossible…who am i if i don’t challenge my own rules
ִֶָ🪽་༘ body worship, messy make out, praising, vulnerability
post-sex glow
glowing. sensitive. shaking. nothing gets shane harder than seeing you like this. not just fucked. completely satisfied. skin flushed. eyes soft and hazy. lips plump and red from his biting and rough kisses. cum and saliva still on your thighs. you’re blooming. you’re beautiful. things that make him want to stare at you. or fuck you again. this time, he’s itching to do both.
you’re breathing heavily beside him. messy hair. tears dried on your cheeks. your body heavy and boneless. every nerve ending is open and sensitive. shane lays beside you, breathing the same. he looks at you before pulling you to his chest, pressing tiny kisses on your head. he buries his nose in your hair, breathing in the sweat mixing with whatever products you used. he wipes the sweat across your forehead, looking at your half-lidded eyes. the bastard smirks. “you okay, baby?” so proud of himself every time he makes you end up like this. all pretty and tired.
“hmmm…” you just hum tiredly.
his lips trail to your jaw, kissing down your neck. smelling you. the way the sweat, the smell of sex, and his own scent cling to your skin takes all his patience not to fuck you again. he drags his tongue out and sucks a long, hard line into your neck. “taste so good, sweetheart…” he whispers against your skin before giving you a bruising suck.
he can’t stop touching you. squeezing your thighs. playing with your nipples. sliding his fingers through the cum on your skin. he loves every bit of reaction because your body is just all sensitive and fucked. his hips keep rocking, a slow, desperate grind against your thigh. he’s hard and aching and deliberately holding back.
“shane… let’s get cleaned up…” a light giggle slips out from your lips because of how he can’t seem to keep himself off you.
he sighs deeply before sitting up. stops. his breathing halts as he looks over your body. you’re laying on the bed, spent, legs shaking slightly. marks and bruises all over you. from him.
you notice him staring so you kick his foot. he catches your leg and massages it gently in your thighs. his fingers work the sore muscle, then trail up through the slick you’re still leaking. “shaneee” you whine. your voice comes out low and broken. raspy from how he made you scream. he loves that sound. loves the way it rumbles in your chest because of him.
shane scoffs and leans in. he just hovers above you, drinking in the sight. your flushed skin. that fucked-out glaze in your eyes. the way you’re barely holding onto consciousness.
“what a pretty girl you are,” he murmurs under his breath. he watches your lips part, watches your chest rise and fall. then his mouth is on yours. immediately messy. aggressively kissing you, fucking your mouth with his tongue. he only stops when you tap his arm and pinch him.
he pulls away, breathing heavy. looks at you again. at the spit-slick mess he’s made of your lips. “think you can take another round?” as his hand slides down your thighs again.
would dunk ever be lashing out on his wife? i know he'd be angry from time to time, he's human. but would he ever yell or use his size to intimidate her? if so, in what scenario would that be? i'd love to know your opinion on this :)
hello, anon!
thank you for your inquiry to the dunk oracle.
to give you the short answer; no. but please stay for my thoughts, as this is very intriguing!
you’re correct, dunk is only human. he faces many challenges each day and his brave, honorable heart speaks for his character.
his anger is quiet. when it comes to his wife, he wouldn’t shout to overpower her or lash out. you’ve proven time and time again that you listen to him, that his opinions and concerns matter. when there’s an issue he can’t quite get past, though, you see it in his body language. he can’t look at you for too long, his gaze darting between you and the ground. he’s tense, hands restless and his words quicker to tumble out. you argue, as all couples do, but it’s never a screaming match. it’s hushed, and his thoughts run faster than he can keep up with.
dunk is quick to shut down an argument if you don’t get to it first. a recess is set in place, and you can return to it much later when you’ve had time to reflect. by then, he’s ready to apologize and move on, because it’s difficult being angry with you, let alone away from you. you’re everything to him.
i dipped my toes into arguing with dunk before, in this short blurb: white-winged dove. it’s a little different when he’s jealous, because how could he think to twist your love for him? alas, you make up, you always do. now back to the oracle…
dunk could never use his size to intimidate you. his stature is typically the butt of the joke, or a passing jab. you fondly call him your giant, and the last thing he wants to do is use your love for him against you. you trust him, and he couldn’t fathom betraying that trust.
now, if this is for your sake, he takes your well-being seriously. ("you really thought nobody would find out?") would he threaten to take you over his knee for jeopardizing your health in favor of his own? yes. he’s half-tempted, and he’s upset. but he could never harm you. to impose is to hurt, and he’d rather take a thousand lances through his chest than make you afraid.
i hope this was what you were looking for! thank you for the ask. if anyone has any questions, please send them my way!
partially-managed mental illness is so fucking funny i'll be sitting around doing my job and suddenly think "wow i hate myself" and immediately get confused because, like, that's not TRUE! i love myself so much. who are you to talk to me like that
Anonymous asked:
omg not too angsty but imagine winter soldier!reader x dex….like both insane AND terrifying??? im sold
you would be so compatible! especially if you were more insane and less bucky-like. in your best moments, you work so well together. clearing avtf agents felt like a date to him. he would wipe the excess blood from your cheeks and kiss you. he never felt so one with you than he did in these moments.
and even in your worst moments, when you would feel hollow with all the years of being used. he would squeeze those feelings out of you. he would trap you on his lap, tighten his arms around you and cocoon you in until you begged to be let go. he understood you, the feeling of being used was mutual.
dex would idolise you. he couldn't believe he found someone so much like himself, he could split his marrow in two and yours would match. sex came so easy between you, and it never had for him before. he'd spent years pretending this was what he wanted to do, these women were who he wanted to be with. but with you, it was a way to bury himself inside you and become one. he could feel as close to you as possible.
Anonymous asked:
dex and hashtag knife play🤭🤭 he’s like do you trust me? and meanwhile he’s throwing knife’s missing u by an inch
dex + knife play
"do you want me to stand in a silly position with an apple on my head?" you joked, trailing after him as he gave into your incessant pleading.
you'd lost count of how long you'd been asking to see his accuracy in person. he'd used it for domestic things, like throwing things into the bin as he cooked, forgetting to turn a light off and throwing a nearby object at the switch, or even throwing his keys into the dish whilst he was mindlessly making out with you.
but you hadn't seen him use his knives. he was particular about keeping you separate from his nightly activities, that way you couldn't be hurt, you couldn't be used as bait or leverage. and he remained steadfast by that rule, cleaning them whilst you were at work, locking it all into a safe inside the closet.
and there was only so much begging dex could take, he gave into you with ease.
"i bet you can't do it, i bet it's all talk." you sighed, throwing your legs over his lap.
dex needn't say a word in response, only give you a daring glance. you knew his accuracy was pinpoint, you were goading him into giving into you. as he always did.
"i can poke holes in that pretty little vest you're wearing." he declared casually.
"i don't believe you."
"oh really?" he asked, hooking his arm around your ankles to move them onto the floor. "come on then."
you watched from around his arm as he gathered the knives into his hands, some with small engravings on them, some weathered by combat and fatalities.
"what do those symbols mean?" you asked, pointing at one only for it to be jerked away from you. dex was overly cautious about your safety, he'd never let you touch one, it was more than enough you were getting them thrown at you. he trusted his aim, but his heart still stammered at the idea of you in harms way.
"get bored waiting for the targets to arrive, so i doodle on them." he admitted softly. "go stand against the door for me, sweetheart."
only when your back was flush against the wooden door had your nerves set in. you trusted dex, with your life. you believed he would protect you with his very last breath. but knives being thrown at you was a different caliber, it exceeded your thoughts and presented itself in real time. you were in over your head.
"is it too late to back out?" you joked, anxiously laughing as dex held the blade end in his grip.
his face softened at your fear, taking a few strides to meet his face with yours. your eyes were glassy, a wobbly smile on your face as you tried to remain brave.
"do you trust me?" he whispered, dragging the pad of his thumb against the apple of your cheek.
you nodded.
"i would sooner kill myself with one of these things than hurt you with one, okay?" his words were comforting, although the ideation of his death hadn't comforted you at all.
he stepped back, a few metres away from you against the door. you flinched as he raised his hand.
"sweetheart, you need to be relaxed."
"do you think a knife being lobbed at you is relaxing?" you argued, fear biting at your temper. "don't answer that."
dex chuckled. "shoulders down, keep your eyes closed if you want."
you did. squeezing them shut as you forced your shoulders downward, soon hearing the collision between wood and metal. you felt the metal ghosting at your waist, but there hadn't been a sharp sting or a trail of wetness. nothing at all.
you opened your eyes and peered down, knives outlined the curve of your body. the blades sat mere millimetres away from your skin, catching the fabric of your shirt instead. three on each side.
"holy shit." you breathed.
dex yanked the knives from the door, giving your hair an affectionate ruffle. " my brave girl, hm?"
you smiled, feeling the rush of adrenaline you'd feel once you'd done something scary. like ride a fast rollercoaster, or take a cliff dive. you wanted to do it again, up the ante, have you believing your chances of safety were dangerously low.
ꫂ᭪݁ Includes: (800 wc) ..... f!reader, mentions of violent thoughts & ptsd, pwop, p in v, missionary position, creampie, est relationship. takes place when dex was in the army as a sniper.
"Clank. Clank. Clank."
The sharp metallic rhythm of dog tags against the wooden floor pulled you from sleep. Dawn light filtered weakly through the curtains of the small off-base apartment you shared. There he was, on the floor beside the bed in nothing but low-slung gray sweatpants, muscles flexing and glistening with a light sheen of sweat as he powered through perfect push-ups.
Every controlled drop and rise of his body made those tags clank. The sound was familiar now, almost comforting. You knew what it meant. The adrenaline from training always mixed with the ghosts he carried from the field—long hours behind the scope, the weight of every perfect shot, the violent thoughts that never quite left him. Working out was his anchor. It quieted the noise from his childhood, the darkness that still lurked at the edges of his mind. He wanted to be better. For you. You were the only north star he’d ever had.
His sharp eyes flicked up as you stirred, rolling over to face him. The moment your gazes locked, his rhythm faltered for half a second before he pushed up smoothly to his knees. “Hey baby,” he murmured, voice rough from exertion. “Sorry if I woke you.”
You smiled sleepily, reaching out. “It’s okay… as long as you’re here with me.”
The months he’d been gone had been brutal. The worry never really left you—knowing he was the best sniper they had didn’t stop the fear that something in his head might finally crack under the pressure. But right now he was here, solid and real and looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered.
Dex rose to his feet and climbed onto the bed, crawling over you with that predatory grace. He slowly dragged the covers down, revealing the thin nightie that barely covered your chest and thighs. His gaze darkened, hungry but still carrying that fragile edge beneath it.
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then lower—trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck and across your collarbone. One strap slipped easily off your shoulder under his fingers. He tugged the silky fabric lower, exposing your breasts, and groaned softly as he latched onto a nipple, sucking and licking until you arched into his mouth with a quiet whimper.
Dex didn’t waste time. He shoved the hem of your nightie up around your waist, yanked his sweatpants down just enough to free his hard length, and reached for a pillow. He lifted your hips and slid it beneath you, angling you perfectly.
Then he was on you, hands braced on either side of your head, caging you in as he pushed inside in one smooth, deep stroke. You gasped at the stretch, and he immediately started fucking you into the mattress. Every thrust hit deep and perfect, the pillow letting him grind even further.
His dog tags dangled right above your face, swinging with every powerful snap of his hips like a hypnotic pendulum. You reached up, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him into a messy kiss. When he pulled back for air, you tilted your head up and gently caught the tags between your lips.
Dex’s eyes widened, breath hitching. You held his stare—exactly the way he needed—and bit down softly on the cool metal, tongue brushing against it.
“Fuck…” he breathed, voice cracking with raw need. The sight made something in him snap. His hips drove harder, faster, pushing into you while he kept his eyes locked on yours. He couldn’t look away. He wouldn’t. You kept biting his dog tags, moaning around the metal, eyes glassy with pleasure as he fucked you exactly how you both needed.
The coil in your belly tightened unbearably fast. Dex’s rhythm started to falter, his control fraying at the edges. “Please don’t ever leave me,” he gasped against your mouth as he started to come, burying himself as deep as he could, hips jerking with every pulse.
“I won’t, baby,” you cried out, clenching hard around him as your own orgasm crashed over you. “I’m right here—Dex—right here.”
You trembled beneath him, tears of overwhelming pleasure slipping from the corners of your eyes. He stayed inside you, panting, forehead pressed to yours while the aftershocks rolled through both of you. After a moment, Dex reached up with shaky fingers and lifted the chain from around his own neck. Still buried deep in your pulsing heat, he slipped his dog tags over your head, letting them settle warm against your chest.
“They look better on you,” he whispered, voice thick with something dangerously close to vulnerability. His hand splayed possessively over the tags now resting between your breasts. “Stay right here with me.”
You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close as the early morning light grew brighter around you.
(5 times people wrongly assume that Spencer and his best friend are a couple, and the 1 time they actually are)
spencer reid x f!reader ft jemily if u squint
(she/her pronouns used for reader-insert)
5+1 best friends to lovers - fluff
wc: 900
my ao3 // my mastertag
1. When Spencer first started at the BAU, he didn’t bring any decor for his work desk. He claimed that it’s not necessary for his job performance and that it would only be a distraction. Eventually, he brought a few figurines and a singular framed photo. Derek pointed at the picture, one of Spencer grinning at a woman with her tongue stuck out, and asked him about his girlfriend.
Spencer furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
2. Rossi hosts a birthday party for Aaron and encourages the team to bring anyone and everyone. So I can send more people home with leftovers, he’d said.
Spencer brought his best friend, and it’s the first time he’s introducing her to the team. As is every event that Rossi throws, the dress code is formal, so she’s wearing a dress and heels. Spencer has a suit on, with a tie that matches the color of her dress. She holds onto his arm as they ascend the front stairs to the house.
Emily and JJ are in the foyer, helping each other remove their coats, as she and Spencer enter. He introduces her to them, and she shakes their hands while keeping one on his forearm.
Emily asks, “How long have you guys been dating?” and they laugh like she’s told a joke.
She looks over at JJ with perplexity. The blonde woman just shakes her head.
3. At the FBI/Secret Service softball game, she comes to cheer them on wearing a shirt that says Go FBI! on the front and Reid on the back. She shouts and claps for everyone, but she’s especially loud for Spencer. After his first attempt at bat results in him striking out, she shouts, “It’s okay! You’ll get ‘em next time!”
Spencer’s cheekbones are flushed, certainly just from being out in the sun, as he sheepishly waves at her from the dugout.
A woman next to her in a Secret Service T-shirt leans over and asks her what it’s like to be married to an FBI agent, and she laughs and shakes her head, “Oh, we’re not together.”
She misses the bewildered gaze the woman gives her. She’s too busy wordlessly asking Spencer if he needs more water.
4. They’re sitting on a quilted blanket in the park, pulling sandwiches and cubed fruit out of a picnic basket. It’s a beautiful Spring day, one of the rare ones where the frigid Winter cold has worn off and the deep heat of Summer hasn’t set in yet. They both brought books to read, but they’ve been abandoned next to them as they talk and laugh around bites of their lunch.
An elderly couple approaches them and tells them how sweet they look, and the man shares that this park is where he took his wife on their first date fifty years ago.
They smile politely and inform the couple that, no, we’re not dating, and they chuckle and shake their heads at them.
The man looks pointedly at Spencer, “Don’t waste any more time, son.”
Spencer stutters, “Y-yes, sir.”
5. Spencer is away on a case, somewhere. He can’t remember where. The last thing he can recall is trailing behind Derek as they entered an abandoned house. There was a loud noise, possibly a gunshot, before Spencer collapsed and everything went dark.
When he opens his eyes, everything is blurry. He’s surrounded by EMTs, being wheeled on a gurney, and the bright flashing lights of the ambulance are hurting his eyes. Around the oxygen mask, he starts mumbling unintelligibly.
A woman near his head tries to stop him from pulling the mask off and hears a woman’s name coming from his mouth just before she reorients it.
“You’re okay – someone will call your girl at the hospital.”
He’s so out of it that he doesn’t think to try to correct her – he just nods and sighs in relief.
*** She steps off the elevator at FBI Headquarters and looks around for Spencer. A smile rises on her face once she spots him, and he hurriedly packs his satchel before rushing out of the glass doors to greet her. Bending down to kiss her cheek, he takes her hand in his before leading her back into the sliding silver doors, talking animatedly about the new spot he wants to try for lunch.
The team watches the scene unfold, and Penelope is exasperated as she throws her hands up and asks, “Are we all seeing this?”
When they return from the new sushi restaurant, they don’t notice that JJ and Emily have just pulled into the parking lot, as well. Their eyes track Spencer as he leads her back to her car with a hand on her lower back, murmuring things in her ear that have her giggling.
The two women climb out of JJ’s SUV, and they can’t tear their eyes away as Spencer softly closes her door and leans his forearms in her open window. Emily gasps as he juts forward to press his lips to hers, and JJ grabs her arm when they hear him say, “I love you. Drive safely.”
They stand a few spots away, frozen in place, as she pulls out of the lot and Spencer waves goodbye. With his hands in his pockets and his head tilted downward, he doesn’t notice his coworkers staring at him until he’s a few feet away. His eyes squint at their incredulous expressions, and he shrugs, “What?”
Emily points to where her car just was, dully saying, “Best friends don’t act like that.”
He laughs and informs them they’re not just best friends anymore. Well, we’ll always be best friends, but she’s my girlfriend now, too.
summary: your best friend had been secretly in love with you since forever. So when your date stood you up, a run-in with spencer gave him an unexpected opportunity to show you how you deserved to be treated.
warnings & tags: fluff, mutual pining, best friends & coworkers to.. idk, spencer is down BAD, they talk abt 'dating' as a general topic, dry humping, inexperienced!spencer, spencer cums too fast in his pants
w/c: 3.8k
a/n: I've been needing something sickienngly sweet lately, and this is what my brain came up with today
Just like many weekends that were left untouched by the demands of the BAU, Spencer found himself in a familiar state of indecision.
He was left with two options—inviting you over to order cheap takeout while debating the terribly flawed plot holes of a bad horror movie, or retreating to losing himself in his freshly acquired collection of books with the hum of Star Trek playing on his small, boxy TV, alone, in the comforting orbit of his apartment.
Spending time with you was Spencer’s favorite thing to do; it didn’t matter what the two of you were doing as long as he got to do it with you.
So when Spencer’s ‘are you free?’ text was met with the first ever, simple ‘I’m a bit busy’ with no elaboration, he couldn’t help but feel his heart sink. It wasn’t just disappointment; it was a sudden realization of how much he relied on your presence to make his days feel complete.
The books on his coffee table lost their appeal, and all he could do was wonder what you were busy with tonight.
He stared at your text, picked at every letter as if the four simple words held more than their meaning.
Spencer analyzed the abruptness that only he was seeing, and quietly questioned if he had somehow overstepped a boundary he hadn’t even realized was there.
The suffocating quiet of his apartment offered no answers. Surely, Spencer reasoned with himself, he could just go outside and see where the evening takes him with no specific plan.
He told himself he was going to clear his head and pick up some takeout from a nice spot near his place.
He had no idea that his restless feet were taking him straight to the restaurant where you were currently sitting alone, staring at an empty chair.
Pure habit guided him to the small, warm-lit cafe across from your favorite park—a place he frequented because the ambient noise was predictable and the food was always good.
The moment he pushed the heavy glass door open, the bell chiming softly, his eyes wandered around the place before fixing on the back of someone’s head.
He knew it was you. Sitting at the table by the furthest window from the door, everything about you was familiar—your hair, your posture, and the distinct way you propped your elbows on any flat surface in front of you.
Spencer froze, his feet rooting to the floor as he stared at you, completely alone, with a closed menu, and a single glass of water sitting untouched in front of you.
He cursed at himself for not trying to look put together before leaving his apartment, his hair greasy and tucked behind his ears, his shirt wrinkled in a way he’d never allow.
You’d probably seen Spencer in his worst states on exhausting, soul-sucking cases where everyone slowly morphed into hollow, sleepless creatures, or on lazy mornings after spending the night on your couch because the two of you had been lost in conversations that lasted into the early hours of the morning. But standing here while you were dressed up and seemingly waiting for someone, felt entirely different.
You looked just as utterly captivating as ever. He didn’t have to see your face to know that you looked like a breathtaking angel that he wasn’t worthy of staring at.
You were a stark contrast to the dim, soft atmosphere around you, and it made his chest ache to think someone was making you wait.
Before he could think better of it, Spencer’s body was already making its way up to you.
“Hey,” he said softly, your face immediately following the unmistakable sound of his voice as you looked up with glassy eyes.
“Oh my god, Spencer.. hi,” you beamed despite the sheer embarrassment burning in your chest, “w—what are you doing here?” you let out an awkward chuckle with your question.
Spencer’s hand instantly went to the back of his neck, his fingers nervously tangling in his hair as he offered a sheepish smile. “Oh, I— I was just coming in to get some takeout,” he gestured vaguely toward the front counter.
His eyes flicked down to your outfit in between his words, admiring the mini plaid red skirt that hugged your hips beautifully before looking back up at your face.
“You look amazing,” he said honestly, his voice slightly quieter than the first time he spoke. “Are.. you waiting for anyone?” he glanced at the empty seat across from you.
“Um.. yeah— I mean, I was,” you muttered, your hands nervously smoothing out your skirt, “but I just got the ‘can’t make it’ text. Twenty minutes late,” you let out a dry laugh, leaning back against the wooden chair, “and he still had the audacity to reschedule for tomorrow!”
Spencer shook his head, his fingers fiddling on the insides of his pockets, “Wow, that’s.. exceptionally poor etiquette.”
He glanced at the empty seat across from you, then back to your face. His stomach did a violent, nervous flip, but the sight of you sitting there, looking way too beautiful to be left alone, gave him an uncharacteristic burst of bravery, “Y’know, if you don’t wanna go home yet, and since you’re all dressed up.. I haven’t had dinner yet. I know I don’t look very presentable right now, but I can assure you I’m a better conversationalist than an empty chair.” he paused at the faint tug of your lips that formed into a little smile, “I actually haven’t had anything in my system since last night, so you’d technically be doing me a massive favor by letting me join you.”
“Are you asking me on a date?” you teased as you cocked your head to the side.
The question caught him completely off guard, making his soft lips part with no words leaving them as he took in the playful tilt of your head.
He cleared his throat, a boyish, endearing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he dropped his hands to his sides, “No! I mean—yes! If.. if you want me to?”
His heart pounded in his chest, threatening to break his ribs and jump out at any moment.
You nodded, “Of course, Spencer. Sit.”
The simple invitation acted like an instant release valve for the tension coiled in his shoulders.
A soft, heavy breath escaped him as he slid into the chair across from you, his long legs awkwardly tangling with yours under the small table for a brief moment, “Sorry,”
Spencer couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was on a date with you.
He knew that the situation he ended up in was a total coincidence and you probably considered this date a friendly hangout more than anything else. But it still somehow felt serious to Spencer, it was his first date ever.
When the waiter approached the table a moment later, Spencer didn’t even glance at the laminated menu resting between the two of you. He ordered a club sandwich and you decided to get the same order as him before a comfortable yet slightly charged silence settled over the table.
Spencer cleared his throat, leaning forward slightly as if he was treading carefully into the subject. “So, um.. If you don’t mind me asking,” he hoped that you would somehow answer his unasked question, “Who was he? The guy who.. canceled on you. You never really.. mentioned anyone like that.”
“It was our first date. I met him a few months ago at the grocery store.”
Spencer’s heart dropped. Although taking someone’s number or going on a few dates didn’t mean that you were completely off limits, it definitely meant that you were interested in someone else.
He knew it’s your right to find love, but he wanted it to be him.
“Oh, and you guys have been…” Spencer trailed off, silently asking what the two of you were for the past few months.
“This was supposed to be our first date.”
“It took you months to go out?”
“I.. actually didn’t really want to at first.” you stared down at your fingers as you laced them together, “It’s nothing against the guy, but dating was never.. something I put much time and effort into—especially with how demanding work is. So I kinda just abandoned that aspect of my life for the past few years.”
The relief that spread through Spencer’s chest when you said that you hadn’t been seeing this guy for the past few months was almost enough to make him reach over the kiss you senseless.
“I get that,” he said softly, “The idea of traditional dating feels almost.. impossible sometimes. The unreliable work schedule and the exhaustion that comes with it plays a huge part as to why I’ve kept my distance from it, and I’d really hate to be an absent partner..” he bit the inside of his cheek, slowly admitting to things he’d never really shared before, “I know some things are out of my control, but I’d die from guilt.”
Before you could respond, Spencer went on, “But I don’t think that is why I’ve never dated.”
“Then what is?” you tried to catch his flickering gaze and lock it onto yours to let him know that you understood.
“I just.. Never found a reason to try.” he murmured, finally forcing his hazel eyes back up to meet yours.
“I’m sure you’ll find someone who’s worth trying for. I know you will.” you offered him a small, tentative smile.
Spencer was an angel on earth—someone you’d always harbored a secret softness for.
Thankfully, before the silence turned awkward, the waiter came back with your orders, and seeing the perfectly cut triangles of your toasted club sandwich made your mouth water, shifting your focus to eating and enjoying the beautiful view in front of you.
Two more orders of fries and one chocolate ice cream you shared, the two of you were surrounded by completely new faces. People were coming in and leaving the two of you were still at that table.
Spencer was completely in his element now, his eyes focused entirely on you, his long fingers animatedly gesturing as he rambled on about everything under the sun.
You listened, laughing whenever his voice turned to a higher pitch when he got to the frustrating parts of whatever he was dissecting, stealing fries from the basket between you, enjoying the sweet and salty mixture with the ice cream.
As you brought some melting ice cream up to your lips, it slipped off the plastic spoon, dripping on your chin and falling onto the clean fabric of your skirt. “Shit,”
Spencer was drunk off your laughs and mesmerizing voice all night in a way that made him reach over and skim the sweet ice cream off your chin before pushing the bowl closer to you.
“So romantic, Spence,” you properly wiped the excess off your chin, “stealing my ice cream off my face?”
All he could do was sheepishly chuckle.
He leaned forward, his hair falling on the side of his forehead, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
You could clearly tell that this was the most romantic experience of his life, and you thought it was sweet.
His innocence and the absolute sincerity he showed you was unlike anything you’d ever seen before.
After the two of you almost got into your first ever fight over who got to pay, Spencer ended up paying before rushing you out of the place to distract you with the quiet park you so dearly loved.
The two of you walked along the perimeter of the park well over five times as time lost all meaning like it always did when Spencer was around.
You spotted the bookstore you’d visited a few times together, noticing that the warm golden lights were spilling through the windows, meaning that it was open. And looking at books together was something you couldn’t pass up on.
“Look, they’re open!” you pointed at the shop at the very far end of the street, tugging on Spencer’s shirt so he’d look in the direction of the light.
Spencer’s legs immediately followed your lead, all his senses wanting to be as close as possible to you as your sides grazed while walking.
You noticed that Spencer was walking incredibly close to you—much closer than usual, but you didn’t say anything.
The shop was completely empty of other customers, leaving just the quiet hum of a vintage radio playing soft jazz somewhere near the back counter. He looked around the place, then turned his gaze to you, his expression softening into that deep, undivided attention he always seemed to give you.
You grazed the spines of a few books, feeling Spencer attached to your hip, his eyes following your finger to read the titles.
The two of you parted ways at bookstores, exploring new finds and bringing them to show one another, or recommending new reads and giving detailed book reviews to one another, but evidently, Spencer did not want to do that tonight.
“What are we looking for?” he tilted his head toward you. He was so close you could feel the warmth of his breath hitting your face, his eyes entirely on your profile rather than the books on the shelf.
“Just looking,” you whispered, trying to tone down your growing smile that came along with the faint blush spreading on your cheeks.
Spencer let out a soft, barely audible hum before turning his gaze back to the books.
“Ooh look, it’s that rare edition of The Idiot, the pretty one I told you about,” you pulled out the heavy hardcover.
Spencer had gotten that exact book a week ago, only a few days after you’d showed him your worn, heavily annotated copy. He knew you liked collecting different editions of your favorite books, and The Idiot was an exceptional example of that hobby of yours.
Getting a book he’d read a million times just because you loved the cover was something he was never planning to admit.
“Oh yeah, I’ve been wanting to get it ever since you showed me your copy!” he lied smoothly—or tried to, his fingers gently brushing yours as you handed him the book.
“Then this is my gift to you,” you softly whispered, as you looked up from the cover to his face.
“Wait—no, you don’t have to do that,” he stammered quietly.
You let out a quiet laugh as you shook your head, “Just shut up,” you rolled your eyes at his stubbornness, “do you want anything else?”
“No,” he mumbled, a soft smile breaking through his flustered face as he clutched the book securely against his chest.
“Then let’s go,” you patted his bicep before heading to the counter where the cashier was reading under a dim lamp in the corner.
Spencer followed closely, the fabric of his sleeve brushing your side with every step as if he couldn’t bear the thought of putting any distance between the two of you.
After paying for the book and leaving, Spencer was still fumbling with the book in his hands, “Thank you,” he whispered, finally looking up at you, “not just for the book, but for.. tonight. I honestly don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop thinking about tonight.”
Maybe Spencer was being too honest for his own liking, but you didn’t mind.
“Thank you, Spencer.” you looked up at him, staring into his puppy dog eyes that almost made you drop dead, “I had the best time ever.”
Spencer was terrified of overstepping, or being too much in any sense of the word, so he took a deep breath and snapped back into your usual friendly dynamic.
“Do you wanna head back to my place?” he asked, his voice softening into that addicting rhythm you were so used to, “We can do the usual. Make some tea and watch some Doctor Who.. If you’re not too tired?”
You slowly nodded, “Yeah, Spence. I’d love to.”
The walk to Spencer’s apartment was usually filled with fast-paced debates about random topics you guys picked apart together, but tonight, silence took over, and every breath and brush of his shoulder felt intentional.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll boil some water,” Spencer murmured, quickly setting his new purchase down on the coffee table.
You kicked off your boots and walked over to the couch, smoothing down the back of the skirt he’d been quietly admiring all night before plopping down on the cushions, dramatically splaying out your limbs in tiredness.
Instead of heading to the kitchen, Spencer found himself sitting next to you, his body naturally leaning closer to you in pure need to stay near you.
It was embarrassing, and he hoped you wouldn’t notice, but of course you did.
“I know tonight didn’t start the way I planned.” you twisted your body to face him, “I think I should thank my missing date,” you giggled.
Spencer chuckled along with you, afraid that he’d been misreading you this whole night, because to him, you looked too cool and composed to mean this in any romantic way.
Your smile softened, the playful giggle dying down as you noticed the slight tremor in his hands.
You don’t know how or why, but you reached up, your fingers tucking his soft hair behind his ear before pulling him down to you. His lips were slightly parted in surprise when yours met his, but the gasp that left him was quickly swallowed.
Spencer froze for a moment, and you applied the slightest pressure, he completely melted into your touch.
It was a soft, hesitant kiss.
His hands came up, hovering awkwardly around your head before they finally settled on your face, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real.
It was probably the doing of your suppressed feelings for Spencer, but he tasted so sweet. And as soon as you pulled away, you already wanted his mouth on yours again.
Spencer’s eyes were entirely blown out as he breathed too heavily for a simple kiss.
Did you do something wrong?
“Is.. this okay?”
“Yes. So okay.” he eagerly nodded, “More than okay.” he breathed against your lips that were only a few inches away from him before he slowly leaned back in.
The angle was too restricting, you two were too far apart.
You anchored your hands on his tense shoulders and shifted your weight, swinging your leg over his, your skirt riding up your thighs as you settled over his lap, straddling him.
A low, ragged gasp escaped Spencer’s throat as your weight pressed down against him. His large hands immediately found their way to your waist. He tilted his head backward to look up at you through his lashes, the soft light above you looking like a halo around your head, making you look more heavenly than ever.
“You have no idea,” he whispered, trying to chase your lips, “how long I’ve wanted this.”
You didn’t make him chase you for long. You leaned down, cradling the back of his head as you captured his mouth in a kiss that was much hungrier than the one before.
Spencer’s slender fingers tickled you through the bunched up fabric of your skirt as they slid down to your thighs, gripping the backs of your thighs because he was that overwhelmed.
The friction of your hips grinding on his lap pulled a needy sound from the back of his throat, making his adam’s apple bob as he deepened the kiss.
“Please,” he breathed into your mouth before widening his lips to let your tongue explore his mouth—his entirety completely surrendering to you.
“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” his voice was thick, and incredibly desperate as his hips bucked up instinctively to meet yours.
A tight knot started forming at your center, quickly tightening at the sound of his ragged, broken breathing.
“You’re—” you were cut off by your own moan, “you’re not dreaming.”
Spencer whined at your moan—your pretty noises making him pathetically much more sensitive to your touch.
As you began to move in a steady, slow rhythm on his already very hard bulge, Spencer started to roll his hips up to match your pace, completely consumed by you.
“I’m—” he whimpered, “I’m so close— I’m sorry, I’m just—shit, I can’t” he stumbled over his words as his fingers dug into your sheer tights.
“It’s okay,” you whispered against his mouth, kissing the corners of his mouth before rolling your hips in a tighter, slower circle against his length.
The mere thought of what Spencer was hiding beneath his slacks was enough to make your pussy ache and pulse around nothing.
You could tell that Spencer was big, and the fact that he never got to use his assets somehow added to the excitement of the moment.
But you wouldn’t want to overwhelm this poor man even though he was more than willing to go as far as two people could go right now.
“No—no, I can hold it,” he buried his face in the crook of your neck as he nodded into your soft skin, his mouth immediately finding the sensitive skin on your pulse point.
You loved the way he was reduced to a whimpering mess just for you.
Ignoring his reassurance that he could hold it, you tilted your hips, picking up the pace just a fraction as you pressed harder against his erection.
“Oh my god..” he heaved against your neck, leaving a sloppy trail against your hot skin, “oh my god, keep going..” he pecked your collarbone, “please.. please, don’t stop.”
A ragged sob was ripped from his throat as his hips bucked up hard and disorganized against you as his firm hands pinned your core down on his covered cock, completely helpless against his orgasm.
Spencer completely melted into the cushions, his mouth quickly going back to yours as he kissed you with frantic, bruising hunger, his moans that sounded a lot like cries.
He shot his load in his cotton boxers, unable to stop the damp heat from flooding and spreading under the fabric. His sticky cum added to the pressure against his aching cock that twitched with intense aftershocks.
Spencer was completely soaked.
You could feel him through your slightly damp panties.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to come so fast,” he looked up at you with a pitiful, overwhelmed look.
You stared down at his swollen, pink lips, “It’s okay, Spence.” you wiped away the sweaty strands of hair that stuck to his forehead.
You had no idea you could do this to Spencer.
“Can you still keep going?” you pecked his forehead, looking down at him as he eagerly nodded.
“Yes. I can do anything. You’re.. still not done,” his fingers gave your hips a small squeeze.
You smiled down at him, satisfied with how he cared about getting you off even when he was clearly hypersensitive right now.
Military!Dex who has zero actual social skills in the barracks, but the second anyone asks about home he lights up like a damn Christmas tree. He’s that guy pulling out his wallet to show off picture after picture of you — you smiling at the camera, you in his old hoodie, you kissing his cheek. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” he brags, voice full of rare, genuine pride. The other guys tease him for being whipped, but he doesn’t care. Talking about you is the only time he feels normal.
Military!Dex who will never, ever admit to you that he sometimes hires private eyes to keep tabs while he’s deployed. He tells himself it’s just worry. He’s halfway across the world with a rifle in his hands and nightmares in his head; he just needs to know you’re safe, that you’re waiting for him, that no one’s trying to take you away. Every report that comes back saying you’re okay lets him breathe a little easier.
Military!Dex who used to nervously twirl a challenge coin between his knuckles to keep his hands busy and his mind steady. The day he decided to propose, he replaced that coin with your engagement ring. Now when the anxiety creeps in, he spins the ring on its chain around his neck instead — a constant reminder of you, that you’re his, that he has something worth coming home to.
Military!Dex who writes you letters that are almost painfully honest at 0300 when he can’t sleep. He never sends the ones where he sounds too broken. Instead he sends the ones where he tells you he’s counting down the days, that he’s being careful behind the scope, that he’s trying to be better for you.
Military!Dex who fucks you like crazy the second he’s back on American soil. The insecurity hits hardest after long deployments — he’s convinced you could do better, but the way you look at him and the way you moan his name keeps the darkness quiet.
Military!Dex who keeps a photo of you tucked inside his helmet. During long, silent hours on overwatch, he pulls it out and traces your face with his thumb. You’re the only thing that makes the violent thoughts fade. His reason to keep his aim true and his mind intact.
Companion being jealous of dead wanderers because they got to see BB is so dhshdjdh she is sooo insane about him i love it.
Let's say that looking at BB's true form won't hurt Companion—because of the seven, because the backrooms accepted her, whatever—how does he react when she doesn't flinch, she doesn't scream, but she reaches for him and drinks in his sight? I imagine her murmuring " oh, you are so pretty " and BB just. All the fear abandons him. Sheer relief and pure happiness invade him. He can't believe this is real. Asks her to say it again and again and again–
Also the murals made me think of a Companion who loves painting who wants to paint BB, and her version is so much different from the others: the darkness doesn't look threatening but comforting, all the limbs look like they are embracing you, the many eyes look at you softly. This is BB seen and depicted by someone who loves him.
you are a lil crazy about him and I think that’s neat 🙂↕️
so the true form. let’s say the seven protect you. let’s say the Backrooms have rewritten your biology enough that combined with the seven, you can hold the sight without your mind cracking open because there’s enough of bb inside you to hold your mind together and recognise his true form as home. whatever the mechanism, the buffer exists, and one day (maybe by accident, maybe because his control slips in a moment of extreme emotion) the Bobby-suit drops and you see him.
all of him. the thing in the walls. the original shapeshifter. the one that is many. many-limbed, too-jointed, fluid and hard at the same time. teeth that spiral. eyes that shouldn’t be where they are. a form that contradicts itself, that juxtaposes its own edges, that exists in a way human brain was never built to contain. the thing that inspired those murals with terror. the thing that killed with talons and jaws.
and you don’t flinch.
you don’t scream, don’t step back. your eyes go wide and your breath catches and your hands come up, but not to shield your face. not to push away. to reach. fingers stretching toward the nearest part of him you can find, and your voice comes out low and fond, shaky.
“oh. you’re so pretty, baby.”
and everything in him stops. every frequency. every vibration. the grand, ancient grinding mechanism that has kept him moving for millennia just. halts. because he’s been seen before. been seen by hundreds. and every single time the seeing was followed by horror. by screaming. by the wet crunch of a mind folding in on itself because it touched a shape it couldn’t survive. that’s all the seeing has ever been. violence. breakage.
proof that he’s a thing that harms by existing.
and you just called him pretty.
“say it again.”
his voice doesn’t sound like Bobby’s voice right now. it doesn’t sound like anything human. it’s layered, harmonic, coming from everywhere and nowhere, and it’s shaking.
“you’re pretty, BB.”
“again.”
“you’re so pretty. you’re beautiful. look at you— “
and he cracks open. not composure cracking. deeper. the foundation itself giving way. the fear that has lived at the centre of him since the first moment he loved you (what if she sees and won’t stay) dissolving like frost in direct light.
and what floods in to replace it is so vast and so bright it changes the temperature of the corridor. relief. pure, stupid, staggering relief. and happiness so potent it’s almost indistinguishable from grief because he has wanted this, wanted this, for so, so long. to be seen. to be known. to be monstrous and wrong and too many limbs and too many teeth, and still have you look at all of it and say pretty.
and then he’s around you. all of you. at once.
his true form is so vast that the embrace doesn’t come from one direction. it comes from every direction. limbs and tendrils and parts of him you don’t have names for folding around your shoulders, your waist, your legs, your arms, cradling the back of your skull, pressing against your ankles.
you’re held in the entirety of him. your eyes flutter shut because the sensation is overwhelming, not painful, just total. cool skin, cool everywhere, every point of contact carrying that familiar chill you know from the Bobby-hands, the Bobby-forehead pressed against yours at night. cool. always cool at first. and then warming. slowly. everywhere at once. degrees climbing under your palms, under your cheek, against the bare skin of your arms, because your touch does this to him, has always done this, your warmth bleeding into his cold the way it does when he holds your hand, except now it’s all of him warming for you at the same time. your whole body wrapped in the slow bloom of heat that you created just by not pulling away.
he can’t stop asking. “again. please. say it again.” and you do. wrapped in the whole of him, warm where moments ago he was cold, your voice muffled against a surface you can’t identify but know by heart. you tell the oldest thing in the Backrooms that it’s beautiful, over and over, while it trembles around you and holds tighter, the warmth building wherever you press close.
and the painting. ohhhh, the painting.
because you find paints on a level you’ve never catalogued. you always find things when the Backrooms want you to find them, and maybe the Backrooms as a whole want this, too. and you sit him down (the real him, the true form, because he’ll let you see now, he’ll let you see whenever you ask) and you try to paint.
and your version is nothing like the murals.
the wanderers painted what they saw in glimpses. panic. terror. a frantic hand trying to capture a shape that was already killing them or pushing them out. crude violent strokes. a thing made of teeth and darkness and fear.
your painting has the same teeth. the same darkness. the same impossible limbs and wrong joints and too many eyes. but the darkness doesn’t threaten. it holds. the limbs don’t reach to grab. they reach to embrace. the many eyes don’t stare with predatory blankness. instead, they look out from the wall with a softness that shouldn’t be possible for a creature with that many pupils, and every single one of them is looking at the viewer with an expression that can only be described as tender.
this is BB seen by the person who loves him. this is the monster painted by the only human who ever looked at it and saw home.
he finds the painting after you’ve gone to sleep. stands in front of it for hours. doesn’t move. the fluorescents in the corridor dim to almost nothing around him because even the lights seem to know this is private.
he’s never been depicted with kindness before. every other image of him in this place was drawn in fear. in survival. in the last desperate seconds before the seeing ended in death. and here is one drawn in love. by your steady hands. with soft eyes painted where the horror should be.
he touches the wall where you painted his eyes. his hand, the real one, not the Bobby-hand, too many fingers. joints that bend at wrong angles come to rest against the dried paint and he stays there until the lights come back up.
he never mentions it. but the mural never fades. the Backrooms preserve what they want to keep, and apparently, they want to keep this.
Could you do one where reader is extremely obsessed with dex and threatens him (kinda of like the pearl scene where she yells are the projectionist?)
yes i can!!
dex struggles with intrusive thoughts, reader is kind of unhinged (a given)
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you and dex ('tony', he said) had been dating steadily for a few months. it was as calm as the early stage of a relationship could be. you went on dates and he'd pull out the chair for you, get the car door for you, walk you to your apartment door and plant a chaste kiss to your cheek.
oddly, dex hardly wanted to touch you; you were so ordinary. you stood a few inches shorter than him, and your eyes always seemed to grow larger when you looked up at him. you'd smile shyly and laugh coquettishly on dates, you were more gentle than anything dex had ever been allowed to touch.
sometimes it would frustrate you. you'd be watching a film with him in your apartment and start trying to tease him—you'd trail your fingers up his thigh, inching closer and closer to his cock twitching in his pants—but he'd just take your hand in his and hold it.
or the one time he allowed himself to spend the night at your place, after you had been begging him to do so for weeks. he seemed pretty eager to head straight to bed, but you laid awake and craving his attention.
he felt you wiggle and writhe against his chest before your body weight shifted back against his cock. he knew what you wanted, but played the wildest game of 'sleeping lions' in pretended to sleep through you practically humping against his semi-hard dick.
dex wanted you more than anything, of course! but he constantly feared hurting you in a way he could never forgive himself for. he would wake up alone in his bed, having dreamt that he bruised your tender skin or broke your lithe bones.
every time he looked at you, all he could see was those terrors. he could feel his desire for you, but it was drowned out by the sounds of your cries—the pained screams that he feared he would be the cause of.
it all became too much one day: the constant fear of hurting you, the sheer effort it took not to give you exactly what you had been asking of him all along.
"i just don't think this is going to work between us." he tried not to be swayed by the sight of your glossy eyes staring up at him, like you were going to burst into tears at any given moment. he felt bad about breaking it off with you in your own apartment, but he didn't know where else to do it. "we're just...not compatible."
the look of sheer infuriation that you throw at dex was nothing like the other, softer looks you used to save just for him. your eyes seemed impossibly dark and dex couldn't bring himself to look away, regardless of how difficult he was finding it to look you in the eye.
"why?" was the first word out of your mouth, but the tightness in your chest made it impossible to even think about saying more. you had to force out more with an inhuman level of effort. "why are you doing this?"
dex couldn't stand to listen to you like this. he knew you were angry—anybody would be if they'd been led on like you thought dex had done to you. he could see the tension in your shoulders and your hand clenching into fists.
"why are you leaving me? i thought you liked me! were you lying to me this whole fucking time?!"
"no, of course not, i--"
"then why are you doing this to me? was it just a fucking joke to you?" dex watched completely still as you inched towards him. you looked like he felt around you all the time: he could tell you were trying not to put your hands on him. your fists practically vibrated by your sides and your jaw clenched as if you couldn't trust yourself not to sic your teeth into his jugular.
"this isn't fair! you can't just make me think you want me and then leave me!"
"i want you. too much." dex took a tentative step towards you and planted a hand on the back of your neck. he could feel your body ease up just a bit, but you still looked to be boiling over. "i don't want to hurt you."
"you're hurting me now, tony."
"no-- i mean..." he trailed off as he struggled to find the words that wouldn't send you running. he didn't know he could never say anything to scare you off. "i mean physically. i don't want to hurt you."
he watched you watch him in utter confusion, and he finally worked up the courage to do something that, to you, seemed so simple. he ran his hands across your body in different directions, his left hand caressing your arm and his right stroking your back. "these hands...have done bad things. i've done bad things. i couldn't live with myself if i ever became a danger to you."
the room went still with the suffocating weight of dex's words over your heads. dex worried that he had really put the last nail in the coffin, and you were trying to understand why he would ever feel this way.
his body startled when you threw your arms around his shoulders and pressed your lips against his, in course shoving him against the wall behind him. you were fiercely driven and dex just stood there and took it before you pulled away marginally—just enough to look him in the eye as your breath ghosted over his mouth.
"don't ever try that again."
dex only nodded meekly, not for a moment entertaining the thought of arguing with you. clearly, he was there to stay.
you nodded in satisfaction before pulling him away, intent on spending the evening with him
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