#my knife did nothing wrong | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sh1-n0bu · 3 months ago

Text

yall really thought i was done with monster reader? nuh uh. VAMPIRE READER WITH A SHY MONSTERFUCKER CHARACTER

a shy monsterfucker who didn’t knew they were a monsterfucker yet, who didn’t knew of the kinks they had yet to awaken in themselves, who only thought of themselves as vanilla meeting you for the first time and thinking that you feel not so human. don’t get them wrong, there was nothing about you that was out of place. you looked human but you just… didn’t really felt like it at times

maybe it was the way you sometimes yawned and your jaws opened just a little bit too wide. maybe it was the way you were able to see so damn well in the darkness, eyes sometimes nearly glowing until they shake their head and your eyes looked just fine. maybe it was the way they slowly noticed that you barely ate anything whenever you hung out together, merely ordering a black coffee with extra shots or asking for the black coffee to be made just a little bit thicker. maybe it was the way your smile stretched just a little bit too big to be normal, sharp fangs and canines glistening

either way, you didn’t feel normal. you didn’t feel entirely… human, to them. but they find themselves shrugging it off, still thinking of you as their friend and a close companion

it all gets thrown out when you go radio silent one day. no phone calls, no notifications, no messages or hell, letters. just silence. worried sick, they make their way over to your house, using the spare key you gifted them and stepping inside to a dark and messy home. blinds closed shut, home miserable and, were those claw tears in the back of the couch?

feeling their guts churning with the desire to run away, they call out your name under their breath, akin to a whisper. when receiving no response, they call out again, feeling like they want to run away as they think of their choices. only a one step deeper into your messy home and their vision was swimming, being slammed down onto the floor as something hisses above them before it trails off into a low laugh. dazed, they open their eyes to find… you. except, it wasn’t really you. glowing slitted eyes, wide smile and a sense of danger

“fresh prey, walking straight into my grasp. must be my lucky day…” even your voice sounded weird, as if two people were talking at the same time. one, your normal voice and the other more high pitched. like how some creatures’ voice becomes higher pitched to mimic others and lure prey into their grasp. like… a monster

they tried to flee, to talk sense into you, fear and desperation tugging at their heart as their words trail off into a terrified whimper when your jaws open just a little bit wider, slits appearing at the sides as a long forked tongue runs over knife like sharp fangs before closing again. this felt like a nightmare, something they never really thought of happening before. they could only look away, tears stinging in their eyes when your clawed, stretched fingers tear off a piece of their shirt’s neck area open, thinking that you will tear them apart like how you just did with their clothes just now

a shy monsterfucker who lets out a yelp when they feel a wet feeling on their neck, something long and wet slithering over the skin as if softening the flesh there. despite the fear churning their stomach, they couldn’t help but whine out as their body suddenly started to feel hot. so needy and pathetically hard and wet in their pants like a hormonal teenager as they stare at your long tongue. even as you laugh at the flushed look on their face and make some demeaning remark, all they could do was stare

and to their own horror, they let out a fucking moan when your sharp fangs bite down on the same place you just licked at, head thrown back onto the floor as a loud plea for more falls from their lips. pleas of biting their neck more, tear their flesh apart with your fangs, clench down those strong jaws, absolutely ruin them to your own pleasure. they didn’t get it, wasn’t it supposed to hurt? at least, from all the movies and books, but no, it felt good. even as their blood gets drawn out and your canines dig into their flesh, tearing the skin apart, all they could do was moan out loud like a desperate harlot. mind muddled and body twisting to weakly hump at your knee between their legs, even as your jaws let go of their neck and licked the wounds close, they could only whimper at the loss of the feeling

the next morning, they woke up in your bed, surrounded in comfort and soft beddings. was… last night a dream? were they imagining it all? a wet dream?

their confused brain stops whirring question and theory after one another as the door to the room opens, you stepping in with a cup of steaming hot tea in your hand and a plate of some fruits cut into small pieces in the other. looking just fine and normal, no fangs, no blood, no strange slits at the corner of your mouths, no long slithering tongue, just a normal [name], albeit a tiny bit worried. so it was all just a wet dream…

since that day and that strangely realistic dream that the shy monsterfucker thought they had, it became a bit hard for them to look you in the eye and hold a normal conversation. they were fucking embarrassed, hell ashamed even, by their own thoughts that conjured up such image of you in their own sleep. they always knew you gave off an eerie, not-so-very-human vibes but even then, imagining you as a goddamn vampire who saw them as your prey was... a little bit too much. they didn't even found vampires attractive, but if you were to somehow magically turn into one, maybe they wouldn't mind it much. of being your bloodbag, your sweet prey, your willing sacrificial lamb that you toy and flaunt like a trophy pet

shy monsterfucker who gets too sexually frustrated easily ever since that one specific dream, always staring into your mouth whenever you're looking away and talking or laughing, hoping to see a glimpse of an unusually sharp fangs. who think they do indeed see something and immediately lets out a quiet whimper, thighs squishing and rubbing together as that one dream plays out in their mind again. who excuses themselves from the hang out earlier so they can go home under the guise of a "not feeling very good today", when in reality they would be touching themselves again that night, humping their pillows with pathetic broken moans of your name. sometimes, when feeling bolder, they would say the same pleads they did in their dream, asking you to bite them as they throw their heads back, neck free and pristine. if they shut their eyes tight and imagined hard enough, they could remember the phantom feeling of your slithered tongue running over their skin. humping at their pillow harder with a broken sob of your name as their body shakes, soiling their pillow case with their own cum again for the nth time in the last 2 days, changing it once more

they didn't get it, they usually had just a normal amount of sex drive, who barely got horny unless they were intoxicated or something. this newfound sexual frustration was weird to them. new and scary with the ways it left their body all hot and bothered just by looking at you. staring, waiting and gulping down saliva to wet their throat as their mind goes to the gutter. imagining your clawed hands trailing over their bare skin, maybe leave a few small cuts if you feel like it, hold over their hips a bit too tightly to leave a bruise, bite at their porcelain skin. would you make them your personal bloodbag if they acted good and begged hard enough?

shy monsterfucker who gets caught, mind too fuzzy with filthy thoughts as they moaned out your name into their pillows as you invite yourself inside their home with a bag of fresh fruits that you bought for them to get better, the spare key they gifted you in your hand. who didn’t knew they were caught, thinking of it as simply one of their imaginations again as they see you standing on the doorway to their room, leaning on the doorframe with a low hum

“i knew i used too much calming saliva on you” you say out loud, only getting a broken whimper of your name as their fingers curl inside their hole, tired and confused. vampires had a special aphrodisiac like mixture in their saliva that they used to calm their prey before feasting and to their bad luck, you have accidentally used an excessive amount when you drank from them few days ago

“[n-naameee]♡︎ ahck t-touch me! touch me, please♡︎…?” they cried out, hearts swirling in their pupils, face flushed to the tips of their ears as they whined out deliriously with an open mouth. a sweet prey, right in your grasp. since you were the one to cause it, it would only be right to fix your mistakes right? cooing out words of faux comfort, you step over their sweat clung body, taking in the way they looked so out of it. all wet and hard, too dazed to even say your name properly

shy monsterfucker who immediately lets out a squeal when your fingers push into their hole, while their own fingers were inside too! please be gentle, at least let them get their own fingers out first? who only could let out a broken sob when they could feel how deep your fingers curled inside them, feeling the way your fingers stretched and fucked their pathetic hole open easily. they were nothing but just a weak sex toy for you, a meager little bunny whose legs twitched and shook every time the pads of your fingers jabbed at that bundle of nerves inside them, squeaking like the precious little thing they were

“baahn—! aangh ah haang buh-bite..?” they asked, teary eyes staring up at you with so much love and lust as their wet lashes flutter against their red cheeks. “b-bite me♡︎..? aamh haah i... i’ve been such a go-ooddd♡︎♡︎ good bloodbag for yoouu♥︎!!” they blabber on, arm wrapping around your shoulder as they try to pull you down to their neck. the bite mark of a few days earlier already gone and healed thanks to your healing saliva. you could just hear the thrumming of fresh red liquid from under their skin, heart beat loud and erratic like a war-drum, begging you to tear them apart

shy monsterfucker who lets out the loudest moan, breaking down into pathetic blabbers of gratitude and pleads for more as you gave in to the instincts to feed. back arching up from the bed so prettily, soft chest against your own, a rapid beating heart under their own skin that you could feel against your cold, still one. shy monsterfucker who lets out a filthy squeal, tightening around your fingers as they cum on your hand, soiling it as the tears that built up in their heart pupil eyes finally fall down

shy monsterfucker who begs for a kiss, asking for your lips to be against their own. who lets out a cute muffled sob when you do just as they asked, tasting the metallic taste of their own blood on your lips before something long slithers down their throat. long and wet with a thicker textured saliva coating it, being pushed into their mouth, forcing their jaws open as they choke of their own moan as you continue to torture that tender spot inside their tight hole. gagging as your tongue slithers down their throat, feeling the way their adam’s apple feels a little bit wider due to how deep you showed your tongue inside their mouth

shy monsterfucker who could only cum dry, into your hands, tired and body aching due to their constant actions to try and relieve their sexual frustration. mouth left open, swollen lips wet with your mixed salivas that connect your faces just a little bit longer as your forked tongue comes slithering back out. eyes all hazy, nearly shut close with how low lidded they were. you would have mistaken them for unconscious if it weren’t for the weak whimper of a “mmghh—! s-shoo goowd♥︎ t-tongue... wan’ your tongue inside meegh♡︎♡︎” as they weakly wiggled their hips

shy monsterfucker who watches as you seemingly easily manhandle their body so you could do as they nicely asked, their strong body meaning nothing to you. who watches with their hands on the pillows by their head, neck painted a saccharine red that you loved, lust heavy eyes staring at you as a few tears fall from them. who lets out a broken sob as they see the way your jaws open a bit too wide, slits appearing at the edges of your lips to make it easier for your long tongue to come out. like a snake, it licks at their inner thighs, bloodied fangs leaving cuts on the tender flesh there as their legs violently trembled in your grasp

shy monsterfucker who chokes on their moans, head getting thrown back as your tongue pushes past their tight walls, eagerly humping your face as much as their shaking body could allow, feeling the way your tongue reached deep inside them — more than any meager sex toys or dildos ever could, twisting their insides. wailing out “guhhckk♥︎♥︎! s-sho deEEHNGK♡︎ y-your tongue— f-fuckinnh aanh nyah♥︎!! fuckinng my guts! aah ngaah—♥︎!” as they felt the way your tongue moved back and forth inside their hole, claws digging into their legs and thighs to keep them in place, forcing them to keep their legs open. who blabbers drunkenly about their mind melting, mushing up their words as they slur your name before fucking squirting. shrill noise between a moan and a squeal falling from their swollen lips before losing consciousness

shy monsterfucker who will most definitely ask you to bite them again the next time they wake up

⇨ dan heng, yingxing, argenti, moze, bronya, firefly, gepard, robin, caelus, yukong, legolas, lindir, meludir, baizhu, charlotte, diluc, furina, ganyu, kaveh, nilou, kokomi, xiao, calcharo, jiyan, xiangli yao, rover, zhezi, shorekeeper, aerith, zack, angeal, tifa, vincent, sephiroth + anyone you think will fit, really

2K notes · View notes

sp4ceboo · 9 months ago

Text

Atonement: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: fic i wrote with @triluvial 's lovely idea

tw: 18+, smut but pretty soft, oral (f recieving), so so so so much angst, fluff after tho dw, swearing, hints of sa and pedophilia from the baron, baron is also creepy to reader but not explicitly, u gotta bear with my yapping in the beginning but it gets good i promise, inkpie

wc: 3.9k

headcanons for this universe

When you married Feyd-Rautha, you were warned of many things. His cruelty, both in and out of the bedroom, his bloodlust, his uncontrollable rage, his violence, his complete and utter lack of mercy. They told you he was psychotic, he was a cold blooded murderer, he was insatiable and that you’d be lucky to last a year with him, and yet, they never cautioned you of his sheer, unerring indifference.

Before your marriage, you fancied that he’d be like fire; raging, searing to touch. You went as far as to wish to tame his inferno. Late at night, when you could not sleep and doubt wreathed your thoughts, you also considered that he’d be like ice, like the colour of his piercing eyes, glacial and cold, devoid of anything soft or sweet.

As a child, you saw him fight in the arena. There he blazed with passion, his victor’s smile a cruel curve upon his face, his knife blade stained dark with fresh blood: he was mesmerising. At that time you were beginning to understand that your future had been sold to this violent man, and you resented your parents for it - now you realise that it went deeper than that, that it was rooted in generations of religion, of whisperings of the Bene Gesserit. Still, even then, you found the way he burned intriguing, and you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

But you were wrong. He turned out to be neither fire nor ice, just stingingly, dismissively apathetic. His eyes slide right over you when he happens to pass you in the corridors, as if you’re lower than a servant, lower than the rare rats that survive Giedi Prime’s conditions. You suspected your marriage would be painful, wedded to a man such as he was, but you didn’t think it would be this damn lonely.

You wished he hated you.

That way, at least you’d mean something to your husband. At least then vehement, savage emotion would rise within his gaze whenever he looked at you, not that horrible, polarising blankness. You wish you disgusted him, because then he’d at least he’d speak his mind - you had learnt that he spoke with brutal honesty, uncaring of the consequences.

Maybe to him, that’s all you are. A consequence of being high born, of being the na-Baron. You mean nothing to him, and he treats you as such; to him, you are less than the speck of dust on the floor, less than a grain of sand in his beloved arena.

It’s not that you wish for him to dote on you, nor love you or devote himself to you. You just wish he would look you in the eye and feel something; you’d rather him stare at you in revulsion and call you names that you can’t even think up yourself than the dead, lifeless detachment that clouds his face when he sees you in your shared chambers.

Feyd-Rautha has never laid a hand on you in violence; in fact he rarely touches you at all. The last, and only time he kissed you was during the wedding day, and he makes no moves to be in bodily contact with you any more than he has to be. You are obliged to produce an heir from him, yet even in these infrequent encounters it seems as if it is a chore for him - he takes no pleasure in your body nor does he try to pleasure you, and he makes no sound when he takes you, staying as long as it takes for his seed to fill your womb before leaving without a word. On those nights, your thighs tremble as you stumble to the bathroom, only allowing your tears to fall once the shower water is searing on your skin.

During the first month of your marriage, you did everything in your power to please him. You thought maybe you weren’t pretty enough for him, maybe you were not desirable as a wife, so you always smiled at him, made an effort to fill the silence that pervaded the air around him, bringing up topics you knew he would enjoy, like the arena, like his love for knives and duels. To even that he would not reply, rebutting your questions with monosyllables or simply ignoring you. You stopped once he began to leave the room while you were mid sentence.

It is now your fourth month locked in this marriage with an uncaring man, and all you feel is bleak, crushing resignation. Somehow, Feyd-Rautha seems to take more interest in conversing with his brother than you.

You wonder if he has forgotten your name. He addresses you simply as ‘wife’ - that, and nothing more, the title leaving his lips like an accusatory curse, reminding you that if you did not serve a purpose to him, and if decorum did not restrain him, he’d have disposed of you by now, either by slitting your throat or simply abandoning you outside the palace grounds, not even bothering to end you himself.

The palace in question is lonely, but you feel the loneliest when you lay awake at night, shivering on your side of the bed as Feyd-Rautha slumbers to your right. Tears always prick your eyes during those moments, but you stifle them, afraid that you’ll rouse him with your crying; you do not know what you’ve done to garner his mistrust, but many times you’ve glimpsed the knife he keeps beneath his pillow, the cold blade glinting in the moonlight.

Often you wonder if he has a secret lover, and that is why he does not bother with you. You wake up sometimes and he is gone, but soon you realised that he would visit his concubines, especially after he had bred you. You would finish your shower, unable to wash off the feel that you were dirty, you were just an animal, a mindless thing to produce an heir for him, and he would be lounging in the antechambers of your quarters, ignoring your presence with the three harpies wrapped around him, whispering in his ears and caressing his moonlight skin. They accompanied him everywhere he wished, even in public, and to begin with, you felt humiliated that he would so explicitly show that you were not to his satisfaction.

Now, it just makes the solitude even worse.

You find solace in no one. More than once, you have walked in on the servants laughing behind your back, and as it became evident your husband was uninterested in you, they did not hide their mocking. The Baron’s other nephew you hardly saw, and the Baron himself terrified you: there was something in the way that he stared at you, his beady eyes glittering from where they were set deep within his putrid flesh, that made you feel more soiled than even after Feyd-Rautha took you.

So you remain isolated, speaking only when spoken to, drifting through the palace’s wide, dark hallways like a ghoul, a mourning spectre. You can barely remember your life before, just wisps and fleeting flashes of colour that ridicule rather than comfort you.

To Feyd, it is obvious who you are. A spy, commanded by his uncle to report every single one of his doings to you; he cannot slip up once around you, cannot reveal his weaknesses, that he is desperate to be loved, to be seen as someone whose only use is not war. He sees the way his uncle looks at you, hungry for information you do not have because he does not impart it, the way the Baron comments on you and the way you flinch at his words, pretending that you do not report to him.

Feyd is determined in his resolve to give nothing away. His uncle has held power over him since he was young, he refuses to give him even an inch over him now. He still has nightmares of it, which he wakes up from with his pale skin sheened in clammy sweat, clammy like the hands of his uncle.

Sometimes, he sees the tears in your eyes after he fucks you. The first time, he almost stopped, almost asked you where it hurt, but you turned away before he could, acting, always acting; acting when you smile graciously at him, acting when you ask him what his favourite type of blade is, what his favourite form of swordsmanship is. You are good at pretending, but of course you are - his uncle is the Baron, a man who bathes in power. No doubt he would get only the best of spies.

Tonight, you are not where you normally are. At this hour, you are usually asleep, or feigning it in the very least, curled up small on your side of the mattress, yet the bed is still made, the sheets unrumpled and smoothed down as they were this morning. Feyd thinks that maybe he might catch you reporting to his uncle, so he strides out of your shared chambers, pausing in the doorway to listen carefully; as a boy, he hunted in forests that have now been chopped down and industrialised, but he has maintained his keen ears long after the last wild plant on Giedi Prime’s surface choked on the fumes of pollution.

There’s a soft noise, barely perceptible, that echoes down the corridor to his right. Silently, he tracks it down the labyrinthine passages of the palace, servants scurrying out of his warpath, bowing their heads to him - he wonders if they too report to his uncle, if they travel now to his quarters to inform him of his beloved nephew’s whereabouts.

Feyd wishes he and Rabban were brothers first before rivals. Then he could have someone to rely on, someone who he trusted in this palace built on lies.

Pausing, Feyd cocks his head. You huddle in a crumpled heap at the end of the corridor, your knees hugged tightly to your chest, head low as if under a crushing weight. It occurs to him that maybe the Baron was displeased with your efforts to gain information and made it known to you - a pang of pity tugs at him, for he knows what his uncle’s wrath is like. At least you have been spared from the sole thing worse than that - the Baron’s thirst.

‘What are you doing, wife?’

Your head snaps up, Feyd-Rautha’s unfeeling voice kindling a rare burst of temper from you. Is it not evident to him what you are doing? Or is he just too blind to see the tears streaking down your cheeks? Your words are injected with venom when you speak, and you hope that it stings him for leaving you alone in this cold, dark place.

‘So now I am of concern to you?’

Feyd is taken aback by the indignant arch of your brows, the resentment displayed in your eyes. It takes him a moment to register the harshness lacing your voice - you have never addressed him in this way - and another to digest your words. There’s a bleakness in your wet, tear stained face as you stare up at him, and shock too, as if you did not expect yourself to speak against him this way.

Something clicks into place.

Feyd recognises that look in your eyes. He recognises it, because he’s seen it in the mirror a hundred times before; haunted, harrowed, lonely. He remembers nights when he trembled beneath the cold sheets of his bed, when he was small enough that he felt like he was drowning in the black satin, his eyes wide as the fabric seemed to wend around his limbs, tying him there as he lay fearful of everyone, fearful that his uncle would summon him. Even young, he was so terribly aware of not knowing who he could trust and who would turn to the Baron, bearing information like knives to split open his childish skin and spill his guts on the freezing stone floor.

It broke him. He is barely a shell of a sentient being, repressed emotions wreathing like ghosts around his frame, his eyes hollow, his heart decaying. In his fear, he was blinded, and he pushed you to the place where he had been all those years ago, so terribly, terribly alone - you are stronger than him, for lasting this long.

Sharp, plunging, dread sinks in his stomach, weighs down his soul; he has done unspeakable things to you, treated you like a dog, like a whore - worse. How can you look at him without hatred in your eyes, spite?

Bile rises in his throat, his heart seized by a dark, burning anger. He has done this to you, he has slashed your skin and left you bleeding, and yet all you did was try to please him. In an effort to save himself, he trampled you under foot; in order to keep you out, he left you surrounded by shadows. Feyd has never hated himself so much, has never despised who he has become with this much furor.

Slowly, he crouches before you. Eyes wide, you shrink away, misreading the direction of his rage, flinching when he reaches out a hand. Pressing your back against the wall behind you, you turn your head away from him, fear causing tears to spill down your cheeks: he sees the way you will the stone to swallow you up, knows the feeling.

‘Please don’t hurt me,’ you choke out, hands trembling uncontrollably.

Something deep within Feyd’s soul withers and dies at your words. Forcing his jaw to unclench, his hands to release the fists they held, he shoves down his anger. The fury is for later, for when he has made things right - for now it is you that is his priority. Too late, a voice whispers in his ears, too late, too late, too late -

Gods, he deserves to burn at the fucking stake for this. He deserves eternal hell for this, he deserves worse. He is a fool: a blind, blundering fool, stuffed to the brim with paranoia and cynicism.

He sucks in a breath. ‘I will not hurt you. You have my word, whatever it is worth to you. I - I have made an irredeemable mistake, I - ’

After his first sentence, you have not heard him. Tears of relief soak your face, and you whisper needless apologies for them; it is an arrow through his heart that you fear him so - yet the pain is where it is due, justifiable for the way he has shamed you, belittled you.

‘May I - may I touch you, my wife?’

You do not know why you nod in reply of your husband’s strange request, but the moment you do, strong arms pull you into a solid chest, and a sob leaves you - he is so warm, warm enough to banish the seeping cold embedded in your bones, warm enough to let your sorrow flow anew, soaking his shirt as your hands bunch in its fabric, so that if he is cruel enough to leave you here, at least he will have to fight to do so. You have not been held in a long time.

Each of your shuddering sobs is a knife blade twisting in Feyd’s spirit. He lets the pain wash over him, clings to the way you burrow into his arms, a kind creature in the embrace of a monster. At one point, in the throes of your crying, you beat at his chest, telling him that you hate him, and he takes it with a bowed head, stroking your hair and holding you tighter once you exhaust yourself; this is only a fraction of his atonement.

You fall asleep in his arms. He carries you back to your quarters, and only once the door is closed behind him does he let his tears mingle with yours. Keeping you cradled to his chest like a child, he pours a glass of water for you to drink in the morning, knowing you will be dehydrated; he sets it on your bedside table before laying you down on the mattress.

You don’t let go of him, even in your sleep. His heart clenches, tight in his chest, and he drops a kiss in your hair before lying down beside you.

He believes he will love you, if you will let him.

Consciousness leaks slowly into your mind, and you blink, squinting through the beam of light that filters in through the curtains. From your months spent here, you’ve realised that Giedi Prime’s atmosphere is normally churned up with violent storms and choked with pollution, so this ray of sun that falls against your pillow, warming your face is far from unwanted - nor is the pale forearm tucked around your waist, firmly so, but not trapping you either.

Your husband’s chest fits snugly against your back, his breath warm and steady against your skin; his fingers splay out across your stomach, gentle, communicating so many things that were left unsaid. Vaguely, you remember falling asleep, nestled against his chest, tears drying on your cheeks.

When you roll over, you’re unsurprised that he’s already awake. With blue eyes softened by the sunlight, he regards you, fingers settled at the small of your waist. Something clouds his gaze, and he shifts, propping himself up on his elbows.

‘I owe you an explanation.’

You wait silently, unperturbed by the way he clenches his jaw. He vowed to you last night that he would not hurt you, and you trust that. Wordlessly, his lips open, then close, and you patiently watch him, far too well acquainted with how this man struggles to let down his guard - even now, you cannot read the twisting of his features, the way his eyes squint as he looks at you.

‘I - I thought you were a spy sent by my uncle,’ he finally confesses. ‘My uncle… when I was younger, he,’

Reaching out, you cup his jaw in your hand, running your thumb along his cheekbone until he relaxes. You see the battle in his eyes, to let go, to tell you the knowledge that he thinks you deserve, but you see with it the years of hurt, of solitude. Something hopeful, something beautiful blossoms within you - the realisation that this wounded beast before you is someone that you could grow to love; you want him to bare his scars to you, those that are long healed and those that still seep with blood.

‘All in good time, Feyd,’ you assure him quietly.

He sighs, touches his lips against your palm. ‘I am sorry, my wife.’

Slipping your hand down to grip his shoulder, you lean closer towards him so you can kiss him. An anguished sound leaves him, and you see clearly how he realises that he has wronged you, how it pains him, and yet how the taste of you awakens something tender within him - you marvel at it, that it has survived, buried within him for so long. Perhaps he will let you love him.

Feyd is neither forward nor insatiable in the way he kisses you. In fact, he pulls away first, moving to get up from the bed despite the way your hands grip his shoulders, and you almost doubt that he wants you before you glimpse the longing in his eyes that lingers before he pushes it down. You wonder if this man knows how to make love or if he just knows how to fuck, you wonder if he feels the same molten feeling in his stomach that you feel and that is why his movements are tinged with nerves as he gently escapes your grasp. It is clear to you: he does not want to scare you.

‘Must you go?’ You ask, tugging at his fingers.

He tilts his head. ‘I don’t know if you want me here, after what I have inflicted upon you.’

A streak of bravery takes ahold of you. ‘Please, Feyd, I want you.’

You delight at the fire that ignites in his eyes upon your words. He wastes no time in returning to your side, dropping a sweet tasting kiss to your lips before taking your chin in his hand, eyes searching yours as he sits between your thighs.

‘Tell me if you want to stop,’ he says. ‘Yes?’

‘Yes,’ you echo, blood heating your cheeks.

Feyd kisses you again, giving you time to rescind your reply if you want, but you just tug at the hem of his shirt, drinking in his sculpted chest when he pulls the black cloth over his head. Delicately, he trails his lips down your skin as he undresses you, his broad hands warm where they encircle your waist, holding you flush to him as his calloused palms explore your body, skimming over your spine and caressing your breasts before settling on your thighs and pulling them open.

You’re terribly aware of how wet you are when his eyes settle on your pussy. Instinctively, your knees tip inwards, your face growing hot at the hunger in his gaze, but his broad shoulders block your legs from closing, followed closely by his hands which gently push them back open. He smiles at the blush high on your cheeks, rubbing his thumb over your ankle in order to put you at ease.

The sound you make when he pushes his fingers into your cunt and curls them almost makes Feyd moan. You tremble for him, bashful, and he can feel himself rock hard against the mattress, aching for the tight clamp of your velvet walls. He wants to bury himself between your thighs, and so he does, your sweet slick exquisite on his tongue - he presses kisses like butterflies to your thighs, your hips, worshipping you as his fingers pump in and out of you to the same pace as your heaving chest.

You look beautiful, gilded by the sunlight, lower lip trapped between your teeth, but he doesn’t miss the way you grip the sheets with one hand, the other clapped over your mouth, panting as he pleases you. Stroking your thigh, he pauses, licking your slick off his lips.

‘Let me hear you,’ he bids.

You blush again but obey him, tremors wracking your body as he sucks on your clit, laving his tongue over it until you throw your head back, eyes rolling as you come, your honeyed moans and hot release exquisite upon his senses. He wants more, needs more of the taste of you, but you tug at his shoulders, whining for his cock, and he’d rather die than deny you.

The way you say his name when he buries himself inside you sets his soul on fire. You look beautiful beneath him, shaking and whimpering from the hot pulse of his length, clawing at his shoulders until he wears red marks that he’s proud to bear, moaning into his mouth when he kisses you. It seems you cannot get enough of him, and Feyd is more than fine with that because he finds himself addicted to the feel of you under his hands, begging him for more.

Feyd remains entranced long after he comes inside you, with you, your cunt spasming around him. You draw close to him, intertwining your legs with his as he kisses your face, your neck, your chest, making sure he has not hurt you, making sure you are sated. Curling your fingers under his jaw, stopping him, you look him in the eye and smile before kissing him, and he finds himself mesmerised again by you.

He is certain you will let him love you. He is yours.

3K notes · View notes

moonlightrafe · 6 months ago

Text

My Sister’s Keeper

summary: Aemond intends to send you away to protect you after he starts the war, but Aegon isn't ready to let you go.

pairing: Aegon & Aemond x Sister!Reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: Explicit smut, mention of death, incest, threesome, p in v sex, oral (m&f receiving), voyeurism, male masturbation, infidelity (reader is married to Aemond), lactation kink, choking, cum play/eating, spit, Aegond kiss!! (oop) 18+ MDNI

note: Uhhhh. I'm sorry??? I feel like I just breezed through this, idk I was horny lol. Feedback is appreciated!

You’ll never forget the look on Aemond’s face when he first arrived back to the Red Keep from his journey to Storm’s End. Your family was desperate in the inevitable, upcoming war against Rhaenyra so Aemond had been sent to help strike up a proposal between one of Lord Borros’ daughters and the youngest son of the late king Viserys, Daeron Targaryen.

Sitting in the large bed of your shared chamber, you had been anxiously awaiting his arrival, chewing your fingernails down to bloody nubs.

“Aemond!” you practically leapt into his arms when he appeared sopping wet in the doorway. Overjoyed to see he’d returned in one piece, but something was off, something was wrong. He was vacant, like he had seen a ghost.

“Lucerys Velaryon is dead.”

With that simple sentence you knew your lives would be changed forever.

“You cannot just make me disappear,” you said to your husband through gritted teeth, as your voice trembled, lump in your throat forming as tears threatened to fall from your eyes.

“If we are not here they will just go looking for us.”

“Anywhere is safer than here, my love.” Aemond answered coolly.

“If you think this decision was not difficult to make, you are wrong. It is simply what's best for the both of you. You and the babe will be staying in Dorne until I know for certain that it is safe for you here.”

“But –”

“But nothing! This is not up for debate,” he growled at you, “the decision has been made and it is final!” His words cut through you like a knife.

“You cannot make a decision like this. You are not the king.”

“No “ he retorted, “but I am your husband, therefore, when it comes to you and my child, what I say goes!”

You got up and exited your shared chambers with haste, not wanting Aemond to see you cry.

Your bare feet padded against the cold stone floor of the Red Keep, the walls echoed and groaned as you made your way to your eldest brother’s chambers.

Aegon’s head perked up when he heard you come in. He stared at you sheepishly from behind his goblet of wine.

“Has he told you?”

Letting out a deep sigh, “he has.”

“I cannot leave you. I will not leave you, Aegon.”

“I know, I know,” he says, patting the spot next to him, motioning for you to come and sit.

“Our half-sister is unpredictable,” he replied calmly, “there’s no telling what she might do… not to mention, Daemon.”

As much as you did not want to admit it, both of your brothers were right. Accident or not, Rhaneyra’s son was dead. You would be a fool to believe she wouldn’t be out for blood.

Aegon pulled you into his lap, his cock already half hard. You kissed him deeply as he grinded his hips up into yours. You ran your fingers through his unruly silver hair, enjoying the feel of his mouth on you. Completely lost in the moment, you hadn’t heard Aemond enter the room.

He cleared his throat loudly to make his presence known.

“Aemond!”

Your brother-husband stalked into the room, his violet eye scanning over you with amusement.

“Oh please, do continue.”

Your chest rose and fell as you struggled to find the right words to say.

“Did you not hear me? I said continue,” Aemond repeated, as he approached you and Aegon.

“Aemond, this is not what it looks like —“

His brow furrowed at you as he gripped your chin forcing you to look him directly in the eye.

“Do you mistake me for a fool? You believed me to be unaware of your little arrangement?”

Still at a loss for words, you and Aegon just stared at your brother nervously. Aemond moved away a few inches and started to remove his tunic and his trousers. His cock strained hard against his small clothes, which he removed not long after. You gawked at him as he pumped his cock in his left hand, making his way back to you.

Aegon’s violet eyes beamed with excitement at this, pupils blown with lust. He took no time to nip at your neck, your earlobes, grinding against your core once again.

“I fear this is inappropriate,” you began.

“What’s inappropriate is you sneaking away from your husband to come fuck this wastrel,” Aemond began, his words thick with venom.

“Clearly, you want the both of us. So have us… while you still can.”

A slight moan left your lips as you tilted your head to the side, allowing Aegon easier access to your throat, your gaze never leaving Aemond’s, his expression unreadable as he nodded his head at you.

Aemond had his hand wrapped tightly around his cock, the tip bright red, lushed and angry, his arousal already dripping from the tip.

Aegon leaned down and wrapped his lips around your nipple, and began to suck harshly. Being that your babe was only two months old, you were lactating. A loud moan escaped your lips as you felt the milk begin to flow.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, “just like that. You’re doing so good.”

You could feel his cock twitching against your leg at your praise as he continued to ravenously lap at your breast.

As he switched to your other breast he sucked harder at your stiffened peak, the milk coming almost instantly. He palmed your abandoned breast with his large hand, squeezing gently. Shivers ran down your spine as the sweet feeling of relief washed over you once again.

A growl erupted from Aemond’s throat and he unexpectedly pulled Aegon away from your chest. To your utter surprise, he crashed his lips against Aegon’s, tasting your milk on his tongue. You watched with bewilderment as your husband passionately kissed your brother, tugging at his unruly hair, moaning into his mouth. Arousal seeped from your core and onto Aegon’s thighs. Aemond broke the kiss abruptly and stared at you.

Aegon’s hands gripped your waist, flipping you around so you were underneath him. Your eldest brother positioned you so you were laying on your back comfortably against the pillows. He nestled himself between your thighs and hastily hiked your nightgown up over your waist. You shivered as his warm breath fanned over your folds. Before you could blink his tongue was prodding at your entrance. Your hands flew to the back of his head on instinct, pulling him closer into your center.

Aemond approached you carefully. He tapped his cock against your lower lip a few times, a signal for you to open your mouth. Just as he did so, Aegon’s tongue had reached the right spot, causing your mouth to gape open as a loud moan escaped your lips. Aemond took this as an opportunity to forcefully shove his cock into your mouth. You felt a rush of pleasure as Aemond's cock filled your mouth. You began to suck and lick it, eager to make him moan even louder. Aegon's tongue continued to explore you as you pleasured Aemond, and you felt your body quiver with pleasure.

If you knew being with another man in his presence would have this effect on him, you would have brought your affair to light long ago.

With a low groan of your name he pumped in and out of your mouth mercilessly, the salty taste of his precum evading your tastebuds. The air left your lungs as you gagged around him. You could feel the pent up anger Aemond held for the entirety of the situation with each brutal buck of his hips. Ever so slowly he pulled back, giving the you the illusion he was going to give you a break. But before you were able to catch your breath, his cock found his way to the back of your throat again. The faster he went, tears began to stream down your face.

As bubbles of spit began to form around the corners of your mouth, you hollowed your cheeks to the best of your ability. With Aegon now three fingers knuckle deep in your cunt it was almost impossible for you to focus on Aemond; but as the pace of his thrusts quickened you knew he was going to cum soon. You moaned around his length, the vibrations making his cock twitch, you could feel every throb of the thick vein that ran along the underside of his cock.

“No,” Aemond growled as he pulled himself from your throat, “I need to feel your cunt around me.”

Aemond all but shoved Aegon away from you, almost knocking him off the large bed. Aemond lined his cock up with your center and sheathed himself inside of you with quickness.

As Aegon now sat on the upper left corner of the bed, he watched intently as Aemond’s cock disappeared into you repeatedly. One hand tugged at his painfully hard cock and the other wiped the tears from your cheeks.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he cooed, “look at how you take him so well,” he praised.

You nodded your head at him enthusiastically, pleasure overwhelming you. Aegon hooked his thumb into your mouth and you sucked and nipped at it intently.

There was no doubt that Aemond enjoyed the praise as well, snapping his hips even harder into your own. His cock bullied your sweet spot mercilessly. Your body tingled with a mix of pleasure and pain as Aemond's thrusts intensified; pressing hard against your cervix. His large hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing gently. The overwhelming sensation sent waves of ecstasy coursing through you, making it difficult to focus on anything else but the raw desire consuming your every thought.

“Fuck, Aemond, I’m going to cum!” you screamed as your hot waves of pleasure coursed through you.

Aegon watched intently as your orgasm wracked your entire frame, his own following not long after. He let out a loud groan as he came into his hand. He flashed an evil grin at Aemond as he brought his fingers to Aemond's mouth, shoving them down his throat.

Your husband gagged around his digits, sucking Aegon's release from them.

As the aftershock of your orgasm continued to pump though you, your cunt squeezed around Aemond’s cock. The depravity of it all overwhelmed him and Aemond cum with a shudder. With one final thrust and a loud grunt, he was spilling himself inside of you.

As Aegon removed his fingers from your husband's throat, Aemond leaned over you, his cock still buried deep inside you.

"Open up, baby," he said before spitting directly into your mouth, a mixture of his saliva and Aegon's cum evident on your tongue. You swallowed with a contented hum.

Aemond pulled himself out of you and got up quickly.

You curled up in the bed next to Aegon, Aemond’s seed seeping out of you onto the sheets, sleep finding you almost immediately.

“She can stay here for the night,” Aemond said as he leaned down to kiss your sweat-drenched forehead.

Aegon frowned at his brother.

“Aemond, we cannot make her leave,” he rasped, desperation clear in his voice.

“I think she needs to leave now more than ever, brother. To ensure nothing like this ever happens again.”

A loud sigh escaped Aegon’s lips as he diverted his gaze from Aemond to you, pushing your hair out of your face, admiring your beauty.

“Enjoy your time with her tonight. She will be on her way to Dorne by morning.”

2K notes · View notes

greenglowinspooks · 4 months ago

Text

Honestly I think the fics where Danny’s a Kryptonian have a lot of potential, so here’s me throwing my hat into the ring

Danny was born a human. He was born to two loving (though slightly neglectful) human parents in the painfully mundane state of Illinois.

Then, he died, but he didn’t do it right. He became a Halfa; too alive to be a ghost, but too dead to be human.

Then, through strange, uncontrollable circumstances, that changed as well.

He had been heavily injured, missing a large percentage of body mass, and was at the cusp of either dying fully or just fading from existence.

(Perhaps it was an ordinary fight. Perhaps it was the GiW, or his parents. Perhaps it was a simple accident. That didn’t matter now.)

He fled, phasing through the ground, trying to bury himself as deep as possible.

(Perhaps he didn’t want to be unmasked in death. Perhaps that was already too late, and he just wanted his body be able to rest in peace.)

Unfortunately for him, he was in Metropolis, and ended up in a secret genetics lab below the earth.

Danny detransformed, completely exhausted, falling onto a table covered in different labeled specimen containers. He closed his eyes, and prepared himself for what would happen next.

And… nothing.

Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes.

Danny sat up, brushing off the foul-smelling liquid from the specimen jars, petri dishes, and assorted vials.

He felt…fine.

No, better than fine. He felt normal. Healthy.

He felt like he wasn’t missing most of his internal organs anymore.

Danny looked down at his stomach, and saw that the wounds that were killing him had completely disappeared.

(The blood blossoms, if there had been any, were still there, but they no longer hurt. At most, they itched a little, or maybe just tickled a bit.)

He wanted to question what in the hell had just happened, but he didn’t want to jinx it. He just quietly changed back to Phantom, going invisible and phasing out of wherever he had found himself in, ignoring the loud alarm system that had begun to blare when he broke the samples on that table.

Life mostly went back to normal after that.

If, like Danny, you ignored all the physical changes in a valiant effort to remain in denial that something was horribly wrong.

His skin was tougher, now; he didn’t get scrapes or cuts, even when he accidentally fumbled a knife while trying to cook. His ghost form was stronger, too; he was barely knocked down by his old rogues anymore.

He could fly, even in his human form. Though, admittedly, the flight was much different. It was like using a muscle he hadn’t known existed beforehand. He didn’t just ignore gravity or wind resistance, though he felt more graceful in the air now than he ever did as Phantom.

There were more powers popping up, lasers and cold breath, x-ray vision and super strength. His lungs and heart were larger, and he could handle temperatures much easier. He didn’t have to transform to handle the pressure and cold of space anymore.

His reaction time had improved, becoming much faster than ever before. His senses were much stronger, and he had even seemed to gain a sense of electric fields, like a shark.

The only thing that separated him from a Kryptonian was that he had developed electrokenesis, which he had never seen any of them use on TV.

So, surely, he was fine.

Everything was normal, he hadn’t been transformed by alien DNA in a sketchy lab, he had just had a really weird and specific metagene activation.

—

Clark Kent, Kal-El, was panicking.

It had been around a month and a half since a particularly brutal fight between Intergang and an unknown assailant, and it seemed that Intergang was determined to draw out whoever had scorned them.

Their method of doing this, of course, was trying to level the city.

He and Jon were doing their best to stop them, but with both Kon and Zor-El away on their own business, it was difficult.

And by difficult, he meant almost impossible.

Slowly but surely he was driving them back, but not without massive amounts of damage to the city, especially with only Jon on dedicated rescuing duty.

He was distracted, trying to draw a group away from a heavily occupied building, when a projectile hit him in the back of the head.

The world spun for a moment, and then it went black.

(It was, probably, then, some sort of Kryptonite-metal alloy. Intergang at its finest.)

He woke slowly, forcing his eyes open. He felt like he had been hit by an eighteen wheeler.

Clark jolted up, preparing for the worst.

To his shock, though, the city hadn’t been reduced to rubble while he was out.

Jon seemed to still be working on evacuation, either unaware that he had went down or forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Then, a lightning-quick figure flew into view, and Clark’s mind went blank.

He thought, for a moment, that Kara was back. But, no, that wasn’t right, she was supposed to be off-planet for another week or so.

Besides, this new figure didn’t move like her. They were lankier and more slender, and they flew quicker than any member of his family.

Their powerset was different, too; they focused mainly on using blasts of ice and electricity to drive enemies back, only occasionally using their strength or lasers—ones which came from their hands instead of their eyes.

He had woken up at the tail end of the fight, it seemed. The remaining Intergang members were fleeing from the mysterious metahuman.

They stayed in the sky, motionless, watching them leave.

As if they could sense him staring, they turned.

They were small, still clearly young. Probably around Kon’s age, or maybe even younger.

Instead of the colorful clothing he had inherited from his family, the stranger wore black and white clothes which looked similar to a hazmat suit, their face covered by some sort of gas mask.

Interestingly enough, instead of the S-shape crest that he was so used to seeing, the stranger wore the letter D on his chest.

Kal’s heart sped up.

From up in the sky, he heard the stranger’s heart, on the left instead of the right, speed up in return.

But before he could say a word to them, they sped off, disappearing into the deep blue sky.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dcxdp fic #dcxdp fanfic #dcxdp prompt #dcxdp crossover #clark: NEW SON??#danny: fuckfuckfuck #bruce (sensing an adoption all the way from gotham): something just happened #btw this is a prompt and I would love continuations #however if you respond with bad dad clark content I do reserve the right to send the hounds to tear you to pieces

1K notes · View notes

maskedbyghost · 23 days ago

Text

Shadows of Obsession

TW: stalking, home invasion, emotional manipulation, obsessive behavior, Simon in his stalker era

The first bouquet of lilies appeared on her doorstep two months ago, crisp and white, with no note attached. At first, she thought it was a mistake. Maybe a neighbor’s anniversary or a delivery error. She even asked around, but no one claimed them.

The second bouquet arrived the following Friday, just as pristine and silent.

By the fifth, unease began to settle in.

Then came the notes.

The handwriting was precise, the words simple: “You looked beautiful today.” “The world doesn’t deserve your kindness.” “I see you.”

She told yourself it was harmless, a misguided admirer, nothing more. But deep down, she knew better. Each note felt like a pair of eyes on her back, a shadow stretching too close.

Simon was the last person she suspected.

She didn’t know him well—no one did. He was a phantom, his face always hidden beneath that mask. She’d worked with him a handful of times, enough to catch glimpses of a sharp mind and a colder demeanor. He was a man of few words, fewer smiles, and no visible vulnerabilities.

Yet somehow, he had decided she were his.

It started subtly: a fleeting glance that lingered too long, his voice softening when he spoke her name. Then the coincidences—running into him during her evening walks, finding him already at the café she frequented. Always nearby, always watching.

She tried to ignore it, brushing off the unease with excuses. But tonight, all those excuses evaporated.

She woke to silence, the kind that presses down on her chest and suffocates. Something was wrong. Her apartment, usually filled with the ambient hum of life, felt still.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, scanning the room. The shadows were where they should be, the clutter untouched. Yet the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

And then she heard it: a faint creak of a floorboard, too deliberate to be a trick of the wind.

Her pulse surged as she reached under her pillow, fingers brushing against the knife she’d started keeping there. She slipped out of bed, her movements careful, her breathing shallow.

The hallway stretched before her, the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the blinds. She followed the sound, each step a battle against the growing dread coiling in your stomach.

When she reached the living room, she froze.

Simon stood there, his skull mask catching the faint light. He was utterly still, a predator who had been waiting for his prey to notice him.

“Simon,” she breathed, the name heavy with disbelief and fear.

He turned slowly, his movements measured. His hands hung at his sides, empty, but his presence was suffocating.

“You weren’t supposed to wake up,” he said, his voice low, almost regretful.

Her grip tightened on the knife. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

He took a step toward her, his head tilting as if she’d asked a question he didn’t quite understand. “Keeping you safe.”

“By breaking in?!” Her voice shook, anger and fear warring within you.

“You don’t understand,” he said, his tone soft. “You don’t see how exposed you are. How vulnerable. The world isn’t kind to people like you.”

Her stomach churned. “You’ve been watching me, haven’t you? The flowers, the notes—they were from you.”

Simon didn’t deny it. Instead, he stepped closer, his gaze boring into her. “Everything I’ve done was to protect you.”

“Protect me?” you spat. “You’re the one I need protecting from!”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, something flickered behind the mask—hurt, maybe. “I’d never hurt you,” he said firmly.

“Then leave.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was almost pleading. “You don’t understand, love. I see what’s out there. I’ve seen what happens to people who don’t have someone looking out for them. You need me.”

“No, I don’t!” Her voice cracked, but the knife in her hand didn’t waver.

Simon’s gaze dropped to the blade, then back to her eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped closer. She pressed herself against the wall, the cold seeping into her skin.

“You won’t use that,” he said. “You don’t need to. I’d never let anything happen to you.”

“I don’t trust you.”

He leaned in, his breath ghosting over her skin. “You will.”

The weight of his words settled over her like a shroud. She didn’t know whether to scream, fight, or collapse under the realization that Simon wasn’t going anywhere.

part 2

---------------------------------------------

what do we think babess??

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon ghost riley #simon riley

679 notes · View notes

reidmania · 5 months ago

Note

Hey😁 you said request were open and i was wondering you could write a spencer reid fic where him and the reader get into a petty argument or something and he says something a little mean and has to grovel to the reader because she’s upset? I love your work by the way and you can add or take away whatever you want👍😊

not so funny | spencer reid

summary; after a rough day, Spencer accidentally takes his frustration out on you leading to a lot of guilt and grovelling.

warnings; spencer is mean, fem reader, he calls reader a bitch but he makes up for it, arguments, hurt x comfort, crying, it ends up being pretty cute.

an; ITS MY BIRTHDAY GUYS!!!!

“Come on spencer” You almost groaned as your voice itched with irritation, your hands flew up before dropping by your side. You were stood in the kitchen, trying to make dinner but the pasta on the stove and vegetables half cut on the counter were long forgotten.

Spencer spluttered, “You aren’t listening to me!” He groaned, bringing his hands up to his face dragging them down over his eyes as he turned his body away from you to the side. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes — this entire argument was pointless.

It started all because Spencer had come home after a bad day and was slightly snappy with you, just briefly and when you made a joke about it — he didn’t seem to take it as a joke.

“It was a joke — God” You sigh, turning back to the vegetables you were dicing before he walked in the door after work, but honestly with the annoyance bubbling in your chest you doubted you should be responsible for a knife right now.

His eyes widened, “But it’s not funny! You were just being a bitch” He mutters out, shaking his head before the realisation of his words fell on him the same time they fell on you.

Your entire face fell. Never had Spencer called you anything like that — he had commented repeatedly how much it pissed him off when peoples partners called them names like that. He had never been anything other than gentle with you.

He said your name as his eyes fell on your face. Before he could even open his mouth to apologise you were pushing past him to walk away. His hands reached out to grab ahold of your wrist as he repeated your name but you only flung his arm away from yours and you continued walking to the bedroom.

Spencer stood with his head in his hands as he knew better than to follow you right now. All the anger he had felt from the day that had built up slipped away when he saw the look on your face. — Hurt. He hurt you all because he had a crappy day.

He heard the bedroom door slam shut causing his shoulders to flinch slightly. He wanted nothing more than to follow you and spend the rest of the night apologising to you, he didn’t think there was anything he could do to express how sorry he was.

But he knew better than that. He knew it would just annoy you more if he walked in there right now and that was the last thing he wanted.

Instead he spent the next hour in the kitchen finishing the dinner you had started making — He knew wouldn’t taste nearly half as good as it would if you made it, his cooking skills no where near as good but he found himself doing it anyways.

He relished in the slight distraction but it only did so much as his mind continued travelling to you and the words that had left his mouth. He didn’t mean them. You weren’t a bitch. You were nothing of the sorts and the fact that he had even let that slip sent guilt coursing through his veins.

The day had been nothing but shit. To say the least. Everything was going wrong and Spencer couldn’t shake the annoyance. It didn’t help that right before leaving he had gotten into an argument with Morgan about something on a past case.

He didn’t mean to take his bad day out on you, he never did.

He finished the dinner, but the appetite he once had disappeared as it replaced the spot in his stomach with nothing but guilt. His feet trailed towards the door of your shared bedroom.

Every step was filled with dread as his mind traveled to every possibility. His heart shattered into a thousand little pieces as he heard your soft hiccup through the door.

“Honey?” He brought his hand up to knock on the door gently with his knuckles. His tone was the softest he had used his day — completely the opposite to what it had been the last time he spoke to you.

You didn’t reply but you went quiet. Probably trying to hide the fact you were crying. That made him feel worse — he deserved to feel worse. He knew that.

“Dinner is ready.. Are you hungry” He asked, not pushing his way through the door he was talking to you through. There was a pause on the other side of the door.

You, were curled up on the middle of your bed. Spencer’s hoodie was tugged up over your knees as they pulled to your chest. Your face was blotchy and scarred by the soft tears that stained your cheeks.

You hadn’t been able to shake Spencer’s words no matter how much you tried. You knew he was angry and had a bad day but you couldn’t help but be beyond mad — unfortunately when you are mad it ended in tears.

You wiped the tears from your face as if that would have any effect on the sound of your voice. “No.” You replied, trying to put on the most secure voice you could muster up but it wavered none the less and stayed quiet.

Your heart pounded as you closed in on yourself. “Can I come in?” He asked.

You wanted to say no, push him away and tell him to go fuck yourself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to, a small part of you aching for his comfort no matter how mad you were, you wanted to hear him apologise, even if you failed to believe it.

“Okay.” Your voice was small.

The door was being pushed open gently a moment after and you avoided meeting Spencer’s gaze, keeping your gaze fixated on the plush of the crisp white sheets that covered the bed.

If you did look at him, you would’ve seen his heart break all in his features at the sight of your tear stained face. His feet pattered towards you as he sat down on the edge of the bed, a respectable distance away from you, not wanting to push any boundaries.

“Im sorry” He said quietly, it sounded genuine and it burnt a way into your chest. You never brought your eyes to meet his as your mind failed to comprehend a response. You didn’t have a whole lot to say.

So instead, you just nod.

He frowns. “I am really - Im so sorry.” He said, shifting uncomfortably on the bed, eyes trailing over your face, uncomfortable silence washing over the room as he tried to figure out what to say next. “I had a shit day — which isn’t an excuse. I should’ve never called you that. I shouldn’t have taken my bad day out on you” He muttered.

You nodded curtly. “Okay.” Was all you said in response. There wasn’t a lot you could muster up as despite his apology his words burnt into the back of your mind, leaving a engravememt on your brain.

He frowned deepened. He knew he didn’t deserve your forgiveness and he didn’t expect it. He hurt you and he apologised hated that.

“I love you.” He said softly. Even if you didn’t believe his apology he wanted you to at least believe that he loved you.

You just nodded feeling a lump in your throat as your chest grew impossibly tight. You kept your arms wrapped tightly around your knees, holding them close to your chest almost as if to try and numb the burning sensation that made its way through to your ribcage.

You didn’t answer.

“I’ll leave you a plate in the microwave okay?” He muttered after a moment of silence. The silence dawned heavy and cold. You didn’t bother replying as he stood up.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before a soft sigh left his lips. “Im really sorry” He apologised again.

You didn’t see him again that night, you assumed he slept on the couch which made you feel slightly bad but you were so.. hurt.

The argument was stupid. He knew that, he knew it was a joke and any other time it wouldn’t have bothered him in the slightest, he hated how the one time it did he took it out on you.

The next day you didn’t see Spencer when you woke up, you assumed he went to work which made a puddle of relief fill your stomach as you realised you were able to self indulge in your feelings while he was away.

You missed him.

The door opened at 7:34, a lot later than when Spencer usually arrived home and for a while you were genuinely considering maybe he wasn’t going to come home.

You turned to face him as he stepped into the kitchen where you were, the same positioning the two of you had been in when the argument first arose.

“Hi.” He said softly, placing his car keys on the counter. You looked over him and guilt fell as you he looked a mess.

He pulled his arm from behind his back, handing you a gorgeous bouquet of flowers. He chewed at his lip nervously as you didn’t say anything but took the flowers from his hand, looking over them.

Your favourites.

“I know flowers aren’t an apology, thats not why I got them” He said quietly, you remembered a conversation you had with him about hating how guys got their girlfriends flowers as an apology — and he agreed, going on to say that guys should be getting flowers constantly.

You perked up slightly as you furrowed your brows in confusion — if not an apology why now.

“The last ones I got you are browning.” He said, reading your look of confusion. Your lips pursed as you looked over at the vase you always kept the flowers Spencer got you in. They were in fact browning.

He dragged his hand through his hair as he placed a grocery bag on the table, before looking back at you. “You aren’t a bitch, you weren’t acting like a bitch, if anything I was.” He said, taking a few things out of the bag.

Your favourite snacks, your favourite drinks and a small velvet box.

Your heart tightened slightly.

He took a step towards you and you stayed in place, pulling your eyes away from the items on the table. “Im really sorry I ever said that. It was stupid and disgusting of me” He hesitantly brought his hand up to your face.

You tensed slightly but didn’t flinch away, allowing him to push strands of hair behind your ear. “You are gorgeous, inside and out. There isn’t a bitchy bone in your body and Im sorry.” He said gently.

“I am so mad at you” You said, the first proper thing you have said to him in days. He knows it shouldn’t but just hearing you talk made his pulse relax slightly — and then speed up all over again.

“Good.” He said gently, “Thats- Its a good thing. You should be mad.” He said softly, “Id never want it to be a situation where you allowed that.. where it happened often enough for you not to be mad. Be mad, mad is good. Don’t be silent” He said as his thumb brushed gently over your cheek.

You hummed. You knew deep down silent treatment was the worst for Spencer, but honestly last night you had nothing to say. “You can yell at me, scream — hit me if you want” His tone was so gentle. You just scoffed, “Im not going to hit you” You said.

He smiled, “I know.”

“You have a lot of making up to do you know.” You pushed out, trying to ignore the way your face instinctively leant into the warmth of his hand, relishing in the soft roughness of his hands.

He nodded, “I’ll do anything, sweet heart.” He said and his tone held nothing but genuine emotion.

“Okay.” You nodded.

“Okay?” He asked.

“Okay.. Spence I just said that” You huffed out. A smile lit his lips, he leant down to place a gentle kiss to the top of your head, you tried to hide the smile on your face.

“Okay.” He repeated making you groan but you were smiling nonetheless.

Spencer spent every second apologising for the next two weeks, buying you everything he saw that he thought you would like and going above and beyond until you physically and verbally said that you forgave him.

#criminal minds #criminal minds show #criminal minds x reader #criminalmindsfans #spencer criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #wattpad #criminal minds one shot #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst

2K notes · View notes

reidmarieprentiss · 5 months ago

Text

Rewritten Plans

Summary: Spencer accidentally rejects you in fear of being rejected himself.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x tech analyst fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: crying, rejection, miscommunication

Word count: 4.7k

a/n: giving our baby better memories <333

main masterlist

The fluorescent lights in the break room flickered slightly as you reached for your usual morning coffee, the bitterness of the weekend still lingering like an unwelcome guest. You had spent the last few days wrestling with a mix of emotions—embarrassment, hurt, and a deep sense of rejection that gnawed at you. You couldn’t believe Spencer, the man you had built up the courage to ask out, hadn’t even shown up. As if the whole thing had been a cruel joke, he hadn’t called or texted to explain. Just… nothing.

As you stirred the sugar into your cup absentmindedly, you heard a familiar voice. “Good morning,” Spencer greeted, his tone casual as if everything was perfectly normal.

You froze, the spoon clattering against the ceramic mug. Your breath caught in your throat as you turned slowly to face him. His smile was genuine, but it was like a knife twisting in the wound. You had to swallow the rising lump in your throat as you stared at him, disbelief etched into your features.

“Good morning?” The words nearly choked in your throat as you barely managed to keep your voice from trembling. You couldn’t say anything more, couldn’t confront him here with others around. Instead, you clenched your jaw, turning on your heel, and walked out of the break room, the sting of tears burning in your eyes.

Spencer stood there, confusion furrowing his brow as he watched you leave. He replayed the conversation in his head, trying to figure out what he might have said wrong.

As you made your way back to the shared office you had with Penelope, you hastily wiped at your eyes, trying to compose yourself. The last thing you needed was anyone seeing you like this, but you knew Penelope. She was too perceptive, especially when it came to her friends.

Penelope looked up from her monitors as you entered, her vibrant outfit contrasting starkly with the dull mood you carried with you. “Hey, what’s up, sweet cheeks?” she asked, her voice full of concern the moment she noticed your expression.

You tried to play it off, offering a weak smile as you sat down at your desk, but the pain was too fresh, too raw. You sniffled slightly, quickly reaching for a tissue. “Nothing, just had a bad weekend.”

Penelope’s eyes narrowed, the gears in her mind already turning. “Did you go out with the good doctor?” she asked, her voice lifting with hope as she wiggled her eyebrows. She had been so excited for you, so sure that Spencer wouldn’t say no.

But the question was the breaking point. The tears you had been desperately trying to hold back welled up, and despite your best efforts, a few escaped, sliding down your cheeks.

Penelope’s face fell as she immediately rushed over to your side, pulling a chair close to yours. “Oh honey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

You looked at her, your vision blurred by tears, and it took everything in you to say the words. “He stood me up!”

“What??” Penelope’s voice was a mixture of shock and outrage. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

You wiped at your tears with the back of your hand, feeling utterly defeated. “Spencer stood me up, Penelope. He never came, not even a call or text. Nothing.”

Penelope’s eyes flashed with anger, something you didn’t see often from her. “He must have a good reason,” she tried, but her voice lacked the usual conviction. She couldn’t imagine Spencer doing something so cruel without a reason.

But you shook your head, the hurt too deep to be consoled by simple explanations. “If he had a reason, he would have called or something, right? But he didn’t. He just… didn’t show up.”

Penelope looked like she was about to explode. “I’m gonna go give him a piece of my mind!” she declared, starting to rise from her seat, her protective instincts kicking in.

“No, Penelope,” you pleaded, grabbing her arm. “Don’t say anything, please. I’m already so humiliated.”

Penelope hesitated, her heart aching at seeing you so distraught. She sat back down, her expression softening as she took your hand in hers. “Okay, honey, I won’t. But I’m going to give him a nasty look every time I see him!”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but let out a small, watery laugh. Penelope was one of the kindest, most understanding people you knew, and you were grateful to have her by your side, even if it didn’t make the pain go away. “Thank you, Penelope.”

She gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Anytime, sweet cheeks. Anytime.”

As you both turned back to your work, you couldn’t help but think about how the rest of the day would go, knowing that Spencer was just a few doors away, completely unaware of the hurt he had caused.

—

It was a quiet afternoon in the office, the kind where the hum of computers and the occasional ringing of phones created a soothing, almost hypnotic atmosphere. You had been working alongside Penelope for a few months now, and in that time, you’d gotten to know everyone on the team fairly well. But there was one person who had caught your attention more than anyone else—Spencer Reid.

Spencer was a fascinating mix of brilliance and awkwardness, someone who seemed to live in a world of his own, filled with facts and figures, statistics and probabilities. He was charming in his own unique way, with a smile that could light up a room. Over the weeks, you found yourself drawn to him, captivated by the way his mind worked, and how despite all his intelligence, there was a sweetness to him, a kindness that made your heart flutter.

So, after much internal debate and several pep talks from Penelope, you decided to take the plunge and ask him out. The idea terrified you—rejection was never easy, but there was something about Spencer that made you think it would be worth the risk. You caught him in a rare moment of quiet, standing by the coffee machine, refilling his cup. His focus was entirely on the task at hand, his mind likely a million miles away.

“Hey, Spencer,” you greeted, your voice light as you approached.

He looked up, blinking as if you’d pulled him from some deep train of thought. “Oh, hey,” he replied, offering you a small smile. “How’s it going?”

You fiddled with your hands nervously, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s going good, thanks. Um, I was actually wondering if… maybe you’d like to go out this weekend? With me, I mean. Like… a date?”

There was a brief silence, and for a moment, you saw something flash across his eyes—was it confusion? Shock? It was hard to tell. His expression remained neutral, almost too neutral, as if he was trying to process your words.

Spencer’s mind was racing. This couldn’t be real, right? Memories from his school days flooded back to him, unwanted and painful. He remembered the girls who had asked him out, only to laugh at him when he showed up, mocking him for believing they could ever be interested in someone like him. The sting of their cruelty had left scars, ones that never fully healed, making it hard for him to trust when it came to matters of the heart.

And now, here you were, standing in front of him, asking him out. He wanted to believe it was genuine, but the fear of being hurt again was too strong, too ingrained in him.

“Ha, yeah, sure. See you then,” he said, his voice carrying a forced lightness as he flashed you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You smiled back, relieved that he had said yes, telling him when and where to meet you. You didn’t notice the way his smile faltered slightly as you walked away, or how his gaze dropped to the floor, lost in a swirl of doubt and old wounds.

To Spencer, this was just another prank, another setup for humiliation. He couldn’t bear the thought of showing up somewhere only to be laughed at again, so he made a decision right then and there. He wouldn’t go. It was easier that way, safer. Better to be the one who doesn’t show up than the one who ends up a fool.

But as you left the break room that day, excitedly thinking about your upcoming date, you had no idea that Spencer wasn’t planning to come at all. You had no idea that his past was full of moments that had taught him to be wary of people’s intentions, to doubt even the kindest gestures. And because of that, neither of you could have anticipated the heartache that was about to unfold.

—

The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough that even those who weren’t particularly attuned to the emotional undercurrents of their team could feel it. Spencer sat at the conference table, his hands clasped together in front of him, his fingers nervously fidgeting with one another. He was trying to focus on the case at hand, but his mind kept drifting to the awkwardness that had settled in the room.

He couldn't ignore the way you had walked in, eyes fixed anywhere but on him, your expression clearly hurt and turned to avoid even glancing in his direction. It was like a punch to his gut, confirming what he feared—something had gone wrong, horribly wrong.

And then there was Penelope. She wasn’t just looking at him; she was glaring. Her usual warm, playful demeanor had been replaced by a frosty silence and a gaze that could have cut through steel. Spencer could feel the weight of it on him, making him squirm in his seat. He didn’t understand why she was so angry, but it was clear she knew something he didn’t.

Derek, sitting across the table, was the first to pick up on the strange energy. He noticed the way Penelope’s eyes kept darting over to Spencer, the way she seemed ready to pounce, her foot tapping restlessly against the floor. Derek had seen Penelope angry before, but this was different. This was personal.

As the meeting wrapped up and the team began to disperse, Derek caught up with Penelope just as she was about to leave. “Hey, baby girl,” he called softly, falling into step beside her. “You wanna tell me why you were looking at Reid like he spit in your coffee?”

Penelope paused, her face tightening as she looked around the room, making sure no one else was within earshot. Without a word, she grabbed Derek’s hand and tugged him down a quiet corridor in the office, away from prying eyes and ears.

Derek allowed himself to be pulled along, his curiosity piqued. Whatever had Penelope this riled up had to be serious. When they were finally out of sight, she turned to him, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“If I tell you, you have to be sworn to secrecy,” she said, her voice low but urgent.

Derek held up his hands in mock surrender, his expression full of concern and intrigue. “You got it, mama. My lips are sealed.”

Penelope hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering down to Derek’s mouth. “Mmm, those lips,” she muttered, before shaking her head to refocus. “Okay, focus. Y/N asked out Spencer, and he stood her up.”

Derek blinked, the surprise evident on his face. “No way,” he said, his voice dropping in disbelief.

Penelope nodded solemnly, her expression serious. “Believe it, beautiful.”

Derek leaned back against the wall, running a hand over his head as he tried to process what he was hearing. “That doesn’t sound like Reid,” he finally said, his brow furrowing in confusion. “He’s not that kind of guy.”

“I know,” Penelope sighed, her voice filled with frustration. “But Y/N said he didn’t even call her, Derek. Not a text, not a word. Just left her hanging.”

Derek felt a surge of protective anger rise within him. He couldn’t imagine Spencer doing something so thoughtless, but if it had happened, there had to be an explanation. “Oh, I’m going to have a little chat with him,” Derek said, his voice low and determined as he pushed up his sleeves, ready to confront his friend.

Penelope reached out, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “Y/N said not to intervene. She’s embarrassed,” she said, her voice softening.

Derek hesitated, looking down at Penelope’s hand on his arm, then back up at her face. He could see the conflict in her eyes, the way she wanted to protect you but also knew that something needed to be done. “I hear you, but you know I can’t just let this slide. Something’s up with Reid, and if he hurt her, even unintentionally, we need to get to the bottom of it.”

Penelope sighed, letting her hand drop as she nodded reluctantly. “Just… be careful, okay? He’s sensitive, and I don’t think he would do something like this on purpose.”

Derek gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, baby girl. I’ll talk to him, figure out what’s going on. But I won’t make a big scene. I promise.”

Penelope nodded again, trusting Derek to handle the situation delicately. “Thank you, Derek. I just want Y/N to be okay.”

“She will be,” Derek promised, squeezing her shoulder gently before heading off in search of Spencer.

—

Spencer had just finished organizing his files when he heard Derek's voice calling out to him from across the bullpen. “Yo, Reid, come have a chat with me,” Derek said, his tone casual but carrying an undertone that Spencer couldn’t quite place.

Spencer looked up, his brow furrowing in confusion. Derek’s expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that made Spencer uneasy. Nonetheless, he nodded and followed Derek as he led the way down one of the quieter hallways, away from the bustling activity of the main office.

When they reached a more secluded spot, Derek turned to face him, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall. Spencer shifted nervously, his mind already racing through all the possible reasons why Derek would want to talk to him in private like this.

Derek didn’t waste any time. “I heard from a little birdy that you skipped out on a promise this weekend,” he said, his voice steady but with a hint of disappointment.

Spencer’s confusion only deepened. “Huh? What? When?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. He couldn’t recall making any promises recently, much less skipping out on them.

Derek raised an eyebrow, giving Spencer a pointed look. “Your date with Y/N?” he prompted, his tone making it clear that he wasn’t messing around.

“My what??” Spencer’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, his mind reeling. “A date with Y/N?” he repeated, as if trying to wrap his head around the idea.

Derek nodded slowly, watching Spencer’s reaction closely. “Yeah, man. From what I hear, it seems pretty clear that there was a date in place. She asked you out, didn’t she?”

Spencer felt his stomach drop as the memory of your conversation in the break room flooded back to him. The moment when you had asked him out, the way he had brushed it off, thinking it was just another cruel prank like the ones he had endured in school. His face paled as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Oh no,” he muttered, more to himself than to Derek. He brought a hand to his mouth, the guilt starting to churn in his gut. “She… she really meant it?”

Derek’s expression softened slightly as he saw the genuine regret in Spencer’s eyes. “Yeah, Reid, she really did,” Derek confirmed, his voice gentler now. “And when you didn’t show up, she was pretty hurt. She thought you stood her up.”

Spencer’s heart sank even further. He felt like he’d been punched in the chest. “I didn’t— I thought—” He stumbled over his words, struggling to find a way to explain himself. “I thought it was a joke, Derek. I thought… I thought she was just messing with me like they used to do back in school. I didn’t think she was serious.”

Derek sighed, his frustration mingled with sympathy. He knew Spencer’s past had been tough, especially when it came to trust and relationships, but this was a mess that needed to be cleaned up. “Look, I get it, man. But you need to talk to her, explain what happened. She’s not those kids from your school. Y/N’s not like that.”

Spencer nodded, his throat tightening with emotion. “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he said quietly, his voice thick with regret. “I never wanted to hurt her.”

“I know, Reid,” Derek said, placing a reassuring hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “But you’ve gotta make this right. She deserves to know the truth.”

Spencer looked up at Derek, his eyes filled with determination despite the guilt weighing him down. “I will,” he promised. “I’ll talk to her as soon as I can.”

“Good,” Derek said, giving Spencer’s shoulder a firm squeeze before letting go. “And next time, Reid, give yourself a little more credit. Not everyone’s out to get you.”

Spencer managed a small, shaky smile. “Thanks, Derek,” he said, his voice sincere.

Derek nodded, watching as Spencer turned to head back to his desk, his mind already racing with how he was going to fix the situation.

—

The days that followed were an exercise in avoidance, a delicate dance you performed with all the grace and agility of someone trying to protect a wounded heart. You made sure to be busy—busier than usual—burying yourself in work, taking on extra tasks, and making yourself scarce in the common areas of the office. If Spencer happened to be in the break room, you suddenly remembered you needed to be somewhere else. If he entered the bullpen, you would conveniently find a reason to slip out, your footsteps quick and purposeful.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him. On the contrary, a part of you longed for him to acknowledge what had happened, to offer an explanation or even an apology. But the other part of you, the one that was humiliated, sad, rejected, angry, and hurt, couldn’t bear the thought of facing him. You didn’t trust yourself not to break down, to let those emotions spill out in a mess of tears and confusion. So you avoided him like the plague, hoping that by keeping your distance, the wounds might heal on their own.

But Spencer wasn’t blind to your actions. He noticed how you seemed to disappear whenever he entered a room, how your laughter, which used to fill the space, was now absent, replaced by a cold silence that made him ache with guilt. He tried to catch your eye in meetings, but you wouldn’t look at him, your focus trained determinedly on your notes or on anyone else in the room. It was as if you had built an invisible wall between you, one that Spencer didn’t know how to break through.

He tried to find moments where he could talk to you, hoping for a chance to explain, to make things right. But every attempt was thwarted by your meticulous avoidance. He waited outside your office one morning, only to have you take the other exit. He lingered by the elevator after a meeting, but you took the stairs instead. It was like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands—no matter what he did, you slipped through his fingers.

Spencer knew he had to get creative if he wanted to talk to you. The usual methods weren’t working, and he couldn’t just let this go. He cared too much to let you slip away without an explanation, without trying to mend what had been broken. So, he started to think, his mind racing with possibilities. Spencer was nothing if not resourceful, and if he could outsmart the most dangerous criminals, surely he could figure out a way to reach you.

—

Spencer spent the next few days trying to think of a way to reach you, a way that you couldn’t avoid or brush aside. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he needed to do something drastic, something that would grab your attention and force you to hear him out. Given his background in technology and his time at MIT, he knew he had the skills to make it happen. He just needed to put those skills to use in a way that would make you listen.

He spent a night at home, setting up his camera, nervously adjusting the angle and lighting. He wasn’t used to making personal videos like this, but he knew it was the only way to truly convey how sorry he was. After several deep breaths, he hit record.

“Hi, Y/N,” he began, his voice soft but steady as he looked directly into the camera. “I know this is probably the last thing you want to see right now, and I’m sorry for that. But I also know that you’ve been avoiding me, and I can’t blame you for it. I just… I need you to hear me out, and since I can’t seem to get a moment alone with you, this is the only way I could think of.”

He paused, running a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. “I’ve spent the last few days thinking about what happened, and I know I messed up. I know I hurt you, and I hate that I did. When you asked me out, I thought it was a joke. I thought you were just messing with me, like what used to happen to me in school. I’ve been through that kind of thing before, and it’s left me with some… issues, I guess. I was scared of being hurt again, so I just assumed the worst.”

Spencer swallowed, his eyes earnest and full of regret. “But I realize now that I was wrong. You weren’t trying to hurt me, and I ended up hurting you instead. That’s the last thing I ever wanted to do. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m so, so sorry. If I could go back and do things differently, I would in a heartbeat.”

He took a deep breath, his voice softening even more. “I don’t know if you can forgive me, and I understand if you need time. But I just wanted you to know how truly sorry I am and that I didn’t mean to stand you up. I was just… scared, and I let that fear get the better of me.”

“If you’ll let me, I would love to make it up to you. Take you on a proper date this weekend. But if not, I completely understand, I won’t take offense. I’m truly sorry.”

Spencer finished recording, his heart pounding as he watched the video playback. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest. And that’s what mattered. Now came the next part—getting the video to you in a way you couldn’t avoid.

The next morning, while you were immersed in your work, your computer screens suddenly flickered. At first, you thought it was just a glitch, but then the screen went black for a moment before a video started playing. It was Spencer’s face, looking directly at you, and your heart skipped a beat as you realized what was happening.

You reached for the keyboard, trying to close the video, but it was no use. The screen remained locked on the video, Spencer’s voice filling the room as he began to speak.

“Hi, Y/N,” the video started, and you froze, your hands hovering above the keyboard as you listened. There was something about the way he was looking at you, even through the screen, that made you stop and listen.

As Spencer explained himself, as he talked about his fears and how he thought it was a joke, your heart began to soften. You could hear the sincerity in his voice, the regret that laced every word. He wasn’t just saying this because he felt obligated—he truly meant it. And that realization hit you harder than you expected.

By the time the video ended, you were left staring at the screen, your emotions a tangled mess. You felt a mix of relief, sadness, and understanding. You couldn’t deny the pain you’d felt, but you also couldn’t ignore the effort Spencer had gone through to reach out to you.

The screen flickered again, and your screens returned to normal. For a long moment, you just sat there, staring at the now-blank screen, trying to process everything. Part of you wanted to be angry, to hold onto the hurt, but another part of you—a softer, more forgiving part—knew that Spencer had been genuine. He hadn’t meant to hurt you. He had just been scared, like you were now.

With a deep breath, you finally allowed yourself to acknowledge what you felt: maybe, just maybe, you could find it in yourself to forgive him. After all, everyone deserves a second chance. And Spencer Reid seemed to be worth it.

“Soo, I can’t pretend I wasn’t in here for all of that,” Penelope said, her eyes twinkling with anticipation as she leaned against the doorframe. “What are you gonna do, lovely?”

You sighed, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you glanced back at your screen, still feeling the warmth of Spencer's apology lingering in the air. You turned to Penelope, your smile growing a little wider as you finally admitted, “I think I have a date this weekend.”

Penelope’s face lit up with a grin as she clapped her hands together, clearly thrilled by your response. “That’s the spirit! You’re gonna knock his socks off, I just know it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension from the past week finally starting to melt away. “I hope so,” you said, feeling a little lighter.

—

Spencer was sitting at his desk, his leg bouncing anxiously under the table as he tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him. But his mind was elsewhere, entirely consumed by thoughts of you. He knew you’d seen the video by now—there was no way you could have missed it. But the silence that followed was eating away at him, making every minute feel like an hour. What if you decided not to respond at all? What if he had misjudged everything?

The thoughts whirled around in his mind, growing louder with each passing second until he heard a voice that made his heart skip a beat.

“Spencer?”

He looked up quickly, his nerves tightening as he saw you standing by his desk. “Hi,” he replied, his voice coming out a little shakier than he intended.

You gave him a small, reassuring smile, sensing his nervousness. “What time Saturday?” you asked, your tone soft but clear, letting him know that you were willing to give him that second chance.

For a moment, Spencer just blinked, the realization of what you were saying slowly sinking in. Relief and excitement flooded through him, and he felt the tension in his chest ease up. “Uh… how about seven?” he suggested, his voice a bit steadier now, a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Seven sounds good,” you agreed, your smile widening as you saw the genuine happiness in his eyes.

“Great,” Spencer said, his heart soaring. “I’ll pick you up.”

You nodded, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “I’m looking forward to it,” you said, and with that, you turned to leave, feeling a warmth spread through you that had been missing for the past few days.

As you walked away, Spencer couldn’t help but let out a small, relieved laugh, finally allowing himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg

1K notes · View notes