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aliteralsemicolon · 7 months ago

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We can't be friends, but I'd like to just pretend

Part 1 of We can't be friends (wait for your love) | See part 2 | See part 3

You and Spencer have convinced yourselves that you’re only meant to be friends despite the strong tension between you two. It only seems to intensify the longer you ignore it, eventually reaching its boiling point and forcing changes in the friendship.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

(but no mentions of pronouns in this so it can be read as gn)

DISCLAIMER This story is SFW but it’s intended for mature audiences only. You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING Mentions of: Indirect peer pressure, alcohol/drinking/being drunk, very slight implicated SA (it doesn’t happen), serial killer, kidnapping, torture, murder, stalking, and threats. It’s all barely there and doesn’t really matter to the story tbh. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 9.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Being in love is hard. Being in love with your best friend is harder. It’s a merciless form of torture really, devoting yourself entirely to the person you hold dearest to your heart, but they aren’t yours. It was almost masochistic, standing by to serve him in whatever way you thought he needed. Luckily, you weren’t a masochist.

Not entirely, at least.

You were there for him when he needed, offering whatever you had to give, but there were parts of you that you kept guarded. To protect yourself, but more importantly, to protect Spencer. It wasn’t uncommon for you to hear that you were ‘too much’ from passing lovers in your life. A certain level of detachment was necessary to ensure the safety of Spencer’s friendship. He was the most important person in your life.

Maybe it was the multitude of degrees as a result of his intelligence. He never let you feel stupid or any less intelligent.

Maybe it was the way his whole body lit up when he shared information he’d stored in that beautiful mind.

Maybe it was the charm in how goofily he carried himself. The way his hands would flail around when he spoke to keep up with the speed his brain moved at.

Or maybe it was how he made you feel seen.

How he always knew what to say, what to do. How he remembered little details about you, like how you preferred the window seat on the jet. And how he went out of his way to accommodate the details, like giving up the window seat just so you could sit in it. He was an unusually thoughtful man, with everybody he knew.

That’s something you had to remind yourself of often.

He’s like that with everybody. He has an eidetic memory, of course he remembers the little details.

If only you knew how wrong you were. Spencer was a thoughtful man, there was no doubt about that. Sure he was gifted with an arguably incomparable memory, but unlike all the things he had no choice in remembering, he chose to remember the little details about you. To him you were the closest thing to a real life angel.

It was the way you were the only person he’d ever met, willing to sit there and listen to him talk for hours. You’d go out of your way to show interest in the things he’d share, even if you didn’t actually have any interest in it.

The way he could swear he saw stars in your eyes whenever he stole an opportunity to stare into them. They would burn brighter if accompanied with the sweet sound of your laughter.

He felt compelled to accommodate you. Especially when you light up the way you do from such minuscule actions on his part. Spencer loved being the person to bring out your smile, taking any excuse to try and coax one out of you. Even if he’d slightly inconvenience himself at times. His convenience mattered little to him because he knew how much you did for him too.

Every morning before work you’d make the trip to his favourite coffee shop, getting him scones and coffee exactly to his liking because you knew he had a tendency to skip breakfast. His favourite coffee shop was a fifteen minute drive from your apartment and an extra twenty from Headquarters. You went out of your way to deliver it to him, even reheating the coffee yourself before handing it over.

Spencer wasn’t alone in recognising your generosity. The entire sixth floor had noticed how both of you subconsciously performed acts of service for each other, even if nobody had brought it up to your faces.

“I know that look.” Rossi remarks, turning his head towards his raven haired co-worker, eyes on you and Spencer.

“Yea..I just wonder if they know.” Emily mirrors his actions as she gives her own comment on the sight just a few feet in front of her.

Neither of you realise you have spectators observing your conversation. You’re in your own little bubble at Spencer’s desk, the resident genius seated comfortably with his gaze on you as he speaks. Your focus is entirely on the man across from you, leaning in slightly, perched on the wooden surface.

“Because stomach acid in the human body is typically 1-2 on the PH scale, it’s capable of dissolving metals such as certain types of stainless steels. Razors for example! The Gastrointestinal Endoscopy journal shared that scientists found that the thickened back of a single-edged blade dissolved just two hours of immersion in stomach acid!” His voice went up a pitch as he spoke and you couldn’t help but smile.

“So theoretically, an unsub could use a razor blade as a murder weapon and potentially eat it to dispose of it?” It was a relatively dumb question, but you just wanted to keep him talking.

“Well, it’s possible, but realistically I don’t think a razor blade-”

“Sorry to interrupt my younglings,” A colourful Garcia appears in your bubble and cuts Spencer off, “but I am here to let you know that the team will be going out for drinks, on Rossi, tonight! No exceptions!!”

When your head swivels to Garcia, you also notice the gawking pair not far behind her, shuffling off when they realise they’ve been caught staring.

“I’ll come, but I won’t be drinking.” Spencer says with an awkward smile. They shift their sights on you for your response.

“Sorry guys…I already have plans for tonight.” You purse your lips together apologetically.

“What no! No, no, no! You know how rare these nights can be!” Garcia frowns and grabs your shoulders pleadingly.

“I knowwww…I’m sorry!!”

“Fine, fine, but at least share what’s keeping you busy tonight?” The blonde pokes.

You shift your eyes to Spencer, who’s just staring at you with a curious look and then back to Garcia.

“Well I have a date-” You begin, but are interrupted by a whispered squeal.

Garcia begins a response, but stops herself when she spots a nonchalant Derek Morgan heading towards the elevators. “We will discuss this in detail during Saturday’s girls night. For now I will accept your excuse and remind you to dress your sexiest! Now excuse me while I go and intercept my sweet chocolate thunder.”

She grips you in a tight hug and scurries off after Morgan. The atmosphere shifts slightly, as you meet Spencer’s eyes awkwardly.

“You have a date? Why didn’t you mention that” Spencer titters.

“I’m sorry, it just didn’t occur to me.” You try to lie, but Spencer’s expression gives away that he doesn’t believe you. “Okay, okay, I just didn’t wanna say anything because the last time I talked about one of my dates you got all weird and I didn’t want to upset you again.”

“Upset me? I was not upset.” He protests and folds his arms across his chest.

“Okay what would you call it then?”

“I wouldn’t call it anything.”

“Oh really? So you’re not upset that I’m going on a date?”

“Nope. Not at all. I’m interested actually, tell me about him.”

You eye him carefully, trying to figure out where his head is at. Spencer has a tendency to get sassy when he feels defensive.

“You’re interested? To hear about one of my dates?” You question with playful caution.

“Yes. I’m always interested in things about you.” He spills.

Your reaction to his words is immediate, a surprised jump in your features, but you manage to mask it almost just as fast. Spencer’s just as surprised as you.

“I-I just mean- you know? Because yo-you’re my best friend.” He tries to play it off.

There’s no way.

You think to yourself. Spencer definitely didn’t mean it in that way.

No he definitely didn’t. He just said so himself. You’re his best friend. Spencer Reid does not feel the same way about you.

It stings to admit to yourself, but it’s for the best. Spencer is a smart, handsome, wonderful man with so much to offer. You’re too much work, come with too much baggage, just too much.

“Yea, we’re best friends.” An affirmation more for yourself than him.

A silence looms as you stare at each other stiffly.

“Anyways, my date,” you decide not to linger on it for too long, “it’s with that guy I told you about, Nathan.”

“Nathan? Didn’t you go on a date with him last time?” A casual inquiry.

“Yea!” You squeak enthusiastically, grateful that he had reverted back to his light-hearted self.

This was something you deeply enjoyed about your friendship. The fact the two of you could flow back into casual conversation no matter what.

“So it’s a second date?”

“Yes! The first one went really well, so I thought why not agree to a second when he asked?”

“That’s good. I’m happy for you.”

His approval should feel better than it does. For some reason, it makes you uneasy. Almost as if you don’t want him to approve.

He has approved though, meaning he isn’t against you dating other people. He doesn’t want you the same way.

“Really?” You want to be sure, scared that you might put him off again.

“Yes! Really! If you’re happy then I’m happy for you.” A fib that you were unaware of.

In truth, Spencer would rather crawl on the office bathroom floor than see you with some other guy. Fortunately for him, he isn’t actually going to be there to see you with this ‘Nathan’. So he doesn’t need to submit to such an awful torture. Maybe he’s being dramatic, you aren’t his girlfriend. He has no right to feel such a heavy drop in his gut.

Part of him really is happy for you. He wanted you to feel loved, even if it wasn’t by him. God, how he wished it was by him. If friendship is what he has to settle for to be near you, then so be it. Though at times it feels like it might kill him, you being the closest person in his life, but not close enough to the point where he could call himself yours.

“REID!”

Spencer jumps at the sound of Morgan’s voice, finding it difficult to focus on his current surroundings. He missed half the team scattering around to different parts of the bar, Morgan now his only company.

“What’s up?” His expression shifts to a tight-lipped smile.

“Where’s your head at man?” Derek probes.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I have never seen you this zoned out before. You haven’t checked back in since you sat down.”

It wasn’t intentional, but since you walked out the doors of the BAU all Spencer’s been able to think about was your date. You probably went straight home to get ready, pulling out all the stops to feel as beautiful as you are. For somebody that can never truly appreciate it, not like he can.

“I guess I’m just not feeling well.” A pathetic excuse. One Spencer finds himself making whenever he’s pulled out of his thoughts about you.

Morgan doesn’t believe him. Hell, Spencer doesn’t even believe himself.

“Kid. You know you can always talk to me right? About anything.”

“I know. I’m really just tired. Actually- you know what, c-could- could you just tell the others that I’m just not feeling great, I’m- bye Derek.” Spencer stutters as he rushes out of his seat.

He doesn’t even give the man a chance to respond as he makes his exit out of the bar. He’s lacking the capability to force himself to socialise. The knowledge of you on a date with another man was something he’s been able to handle, but a second date with a man was harder to stomach. You must like him if you’re willing to see him again.

The ride home feels longer than it actually is. How far had the date gotten? Were you enjoying it? Did Nathan make you laugh the way he could? Spencer might lose his mind. He wondered if you had given Nathan the privilege of touching you. Your skin always looked so soft, his heart panged at the thought. He felt sick.

You were his best friend. You trusted him. He shouldn’t think this way about you, feel this way about you. Unreciprocated feelings were something Spencer was entirely used to. He’d perfected being able to put the person at the receiving end of his affections in the back of his mind. To ignore until it went away entirely.

Why was it so much harder this time? There is no universe in which you would ever return his love for you. Which is why he needs to force himself to love you from afar. It was a fact Spencer reminded himself of repeatedly. And he would’ve kept at it, if he wasn’t interrupted by the sight of you standing in front of his door as he stepped up his apartment stairs.

“Hi!” His voice alerts you softly.

“Hi!” You squeak back, turning on your heel to face him.

He can’t help but note how heavenly you look. It almost knocked the air out of his lungs, except he noticed the poorly wiped tears glistening on your face. He didn’t ask about it, immediately. Instead he just pulled you in for a hug, something he rarely did with others, and unlocked his door as he motioned for you to enter first. Another thing to love about Spencer Reid.

You step inside, more than familiar with the deep green walls surrounding you. If the stench of liquor wasn’t enough, then the way you stumbled on your way to his couch was all Spencer needed to deduce that you had been drinking. A lot. He walks past you towards his kitchen, returning with a glass of water and painkillers you would definitely need later.

“Have you eaten?” He asks softly, handing you the glass of water.

“Um..” you take a sip and pause as you sigh, “yeah.”

The two of you just sit there, silently, stealing small glances at each other and averting your gazes before the other can notice. You know he’s waiting for you to feel comfortable enough to speak first. Except you don’t know what to say. You feel so embarrassed. He probably had better plans for tonight, but here you are, pestering him again.

“How long were you waiting?” He speaks up once he realises that you aren’t going to.

“Not long, I had actually just gotten there, your timing was really good.” You mumble, forcing an awkward chuckle.

“Did Nathan drop you off?” Spencer hopes that bringing up your date might give you enough courage to vent.

“No. No, I walked.” A resigned smile creeps on your face, not wanting to talk about your journey here. “How was your night?”

“Walked?? Alone?? Drunk??” The words seep out of him before he can hold his tongue. “Why didn’t you call me?!”

“I’m sorry! I just didn’t want to bother you!” You defend.

But you are bothering him. You’re bothering him right now.

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to hold back tears. Guilt creeps inside him. He knows that he’s not the source of your tears, but he didn’t want to make you cry regardless.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he takes hold of your hand and squeezes ever so gently, “we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Why don’t we play chess? You’re getting better at it, you know?” He adds, thinking of a quick distraction.

Chess was a favourite pastime of yours with Spencer. You pull your hand out of his grip and use it to rub the opposing arm, his touch overwhelming you. He was too soft with you. You suppose it’s why you seek him out so often. Out of all the men you’ve ever known, Spencer was the only one who knew you. It felt so nice to be known.

“Y-yea..yes. Please. Let’s uh- let’s play chess.” You stumble on your words, eager to think about anything else.

Spencer retrieves his mini chess board from his satchel and prepares the board between the two of you. Neither of you utter a word as you play your moves. You appreciate the silence, because you know that you can’t say or do the wrong thing.

“You’re going easy on me.” You break the silence anyway, scared that the silence might bore him.

“You’re holding back.” He argues and you finally meet his eyes for the first time since you started the game.

“No, I’m just drunk.” You counter.

“I was the one at a bar but you’re the one who’s drunk.” It’s a stupid comment, slightly cringy even, but he earns a genuine laugh out of you.

His dorkiness was part of his charm. Your laughter makes him smile. A comfortable silence fills the atmosphere as your eyes meet again. Spencer’s eyes were so beautiful, you could drown in them. Spencer in general was so beautiful, in every way possible.

“It’s your move.” He has to remind you, worried that if he’s allowed to look at you for two long he might do something really stupid.

“I-uhm- I had a shitty date.” You owe him an explanation for ruining his night.

He doesn’t respond, not wanting to say anything that might make you close up again. He wanted to be the person you talked to about your problems. He wanted to be your solace.

“It started really well. I thought I could see something more, but it turns out he just wanted the same thing as all the others. Thought that maybe if he got me drunk enough..but it obviously didn’t work” You try to lighten the weight of your words by laughing with them. “It’s probably for the best, you know? I don’t think it would’ve worked out regardless, I couldn’t stop-”

Stop comparing him to you.

Normally, Spencer is the one with the tendency to ramble, but the alcohol wasn’t making it easy for you to shut up. You just hope he doesn’t realise where you were headed with that statement. You kept comparing your date to Spencer. Everything Nathan did today was a direct reminder of things Spencer would never do.

“Check.” You choose to stop making a fool of yourself there.

Spencer’s breath hitches. Not because he picked up on what you hoped he didn’t, rather because he was concerned by the possible implications of what you said.

“Did he..did he try to-”

“No. Oh my God, no!” You cut him off before he can finish the thought.

His shoulders relax and the silence resumes. For the first time since he met you, Spencer found himself speechless. He didn’t know whether to comfort you or give you advice. Part of him felt selfishly relieved, at least he didn’t have to worry about some other guy anymore. The other part, the part that felt disgusted with himself for even thinking about himself right now, felt a mixed range of hurt for you.

It started with resentment for the negligence Nathan displayed with you and ended with sorrow for how easily you brushed off your hurt. While he ran all the possibilities of the best thing to say, you ran all the possibilities of leaving his apartment in the least inconvenient way for him, interpreting his silence as irritation.

He should be irritated, you’re disrupting his night.

You need to leave before he can tell you to. Just as you’re about to mutter some bull-shit excuse, Spencer gently cups your hand with both of his hands and locks eyes with you. His voice is so painstakingly gentle, your breath gets stuck in your throat.

“Nathan and anyone else who has ever allowed themselves to be blinded by their shallow urges is an absolute fool. Idiot. Moron. There aren’t enough words in the English dictionary to describe how stupid they are for missing out on knowing you as you are. I’ve experienced a lot of good things in my life, none have ever brought me as much joy as you do. I can’t even begin to explain how deserving you are of love and it’s heartbreaking to see that you’ve convinced yourself of the opposite.”

It’s your turn to be speechless. Of the list of things you didn’t expect, this wasn’t even on the list. You should have expected it. It was in Spencer’s nature to prove you wrong for underestimating his tenderness. He felt perhaps he went too far. Said too much.

“I-I just mean-”

“Why are you so nice to me?” Your heart feels like it’s lacking space inside your chest, tears threaten to build.

“Because you’re my f-friend.” He struggles to utter the last word.

“Friend..” You nervously laugh.

The meaning behind his words don’t register in your drunken state. All your focus is diverted to the feeling of his calloused skin on yours. The liquor in your veins awakens dazed boldness. One you’d be too wary of displaying otherwise. You allow your fingers to dance against his, an act of intimacy not reserved for friends. He doesn’t stop you either.

“You know…”

it’s almost not even a whisper,

“...if I wasn’t who I am…”

but Spencer was an expert in tuning out everything else to focus solely on your voice,

“...maybe you could love me the way I love you.”

And the world, as Spencer knows it, stops. Your words ring in his ears and he’s sure his heartbeat has become audible.

“Y-you love me?” He repeats, unable to suppress his need to hear those words again.

The validity of your confession doesn’t bear any weight until you hear it from him, your motions against his hand coming to an immediate stop. You shift line of sight to his face faster than you can blink, waiting for his reaction so you can scramble to save your friendship.

Parroting your words wasn’t enough, Spencer couldn’t believe it. He had never considered it feasible for you to love him. He had spent so many sleepless nights tormenting himself over the fact. He wanted so badly to cup your face and tell you about all the thoughts of you that consumed his mind. To say those three words back.

“You can’t love me.” Instead he said four words that strained your hope for salvation. He’d shoot himself if he had any realisation of what he had just done.

“No, of-of c-course, I meant like an- a- amazing fr-friend. You k-know, like the kind of bes-best friend you only mean once in your lif-life.” And you unknowingly shattered that hope in him.

Silence has never been more deafening. Neither of you can look away from each other. There’s so much to say but how can it be said now?

“Right. No, yeah. Of course.” He forces out.

A fake understanding between you two. The expressions canvassing both of your faces display anything but understanding. Though you’re no longer physically touching, you’re still holding each other in your view. A few moments pass and Spencer is the first to look away.

“You must be tired-” He starts.

You were still disrupting his space.

“Right, I’ll go-” You stand, ready to rush out the door.

“No-no.” He sighs. “Stay please. It’s late and you’re drunk-”

“No I’ve alrea-” You try to protest, not wanting him to go out of his way for you any longer.

“Please. I’ll feel a lot better knowing you’re safe.” He begs, not just with his words but his eyes.

“Okay.” You murmur. “But I’m taking the couch.”

Under any other circumstances, Spencer would have resisted you taking the couch. Today? He was utterly drained.

“Alright. I’ll get you something comfortable to change into while I set up the couch. You know where the bathroom is.” He sports a weak smile, unable to meet your eyes again.

He watches you disappear into the bathroom after handing you some spare clothes. He sets the couch with the pillows and blankets he’d reserved for you. He bought them after you’d slept over a few times at the start of your friendship, wanting you to sleep as comfortably as possible so you would keep coming back.

You’d just broken his heart into a million pieces, so fine that he’d never be able to put it back together whole, but he still couldn’t not exert the utmost care when it came to you.

In the bathroom, you fight back tears again as you fumble into his clothes. You’d worn this particular sweatshirt before, because you didn’t anticipate staying the night. It was never planned, often you two just lost track of time because you spent too long engaged in conversations. After a while you started leaving things at his place so you had an excuse to keep coming back.

You can handle just being his friend, but you don’t think you can handle not being anything to him. Was there something you could do so you didn’t have to stop coming back?

When you came out and saw your makeshift bed for the night, you felt slightly fuzzy inside. Spencer had already gone to bed but he’d covered the cushions of the couch with a thick blanket and two fluffy pillows. A fresh glass of water was waiting for you on the coffee table with the pills from earlier.

Maybe things were okay after all? Surely he wouldn’t have put as much care into your comfort if they weren’t. So why couldn’t you shake this feeling of dread inside you? Why did the air feel so thick?

You spend most of what’s left of the night awake, curled into yourself on his couch, muffling your sobs. You’ve ruined another good thing. Pushed away probably the most important person in your life. You knew he was too good for you, he could never feel the same way. You got greedy.

Just a few feet away from you, Spencer’s in the exact same position as you on his bed. No rejection has ever hurt as much as when it came from you. He knew you were drunk, he knew you could never actually feel the same way. But aren’t drunk words sober thoughts? Statistics definitely agree they are.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the pounding headache. Then the dry mouth. Spencer had left a glass of water, painkillers and a bagel on the coffee table. You reach for the pill first, hoping that the faster you take it, the faster it kicks in. As you practically pour the water down your throat, you see a little note next to the bagel.

“Paper work day at the office. Make sure to eat and drink lots of water. Will tell Hotch that you’ll be late/taking the day off. - Spencer”

Thoughtful as ever. The bagel was still warm so he must’ve left recently. It was strange that he’d left without waking you up like he normally does. Your first bite of the bread jolts the memories of the night before and it hits you harder than the headache. Your appetite faded and the remorse set in.

Shit.

You and Spencer have always been able to bounce back, but the damage you caused last night might be irreparable. Say Spencer does forget about it, can you? You always knew he couldn’t love you back, but you never imagined that he would forbid you to love him in the first place. As much as you didn’t want to face Spencer right now, work was the best place for you to be if you didn’t want to go mad thinking about last night.

You’d have to change into appropriate work attire first, so a trip back to your place was warranted. The whole uber ride back to your apartment you think of things to say when you see him. Things didn’t need to change. You had to apologise, obviously, but there had to be some way of apologising while maintaining normalcy. The best start was getting him his coffee and scones like you usually did.

Meanwhile at the office, Spencer was stuck on the same page of his file. It had never taken him more than a few seconds to turn a page, but he wasn’t actually reading the words. You took up every thought in his mind again. He wondered if you were awake yet, if you remembered the events of the night before.

“You know if I wasn’t who I am, maybe you could love me the way I love you.”

When he initially heard you say it, all he heard was that you love him.

“You know if I wasn’t who I am, maybe you could love me the way I love you.”

When he said it out loud to himself all he wanted to do was tell you how much he does love you, but the chance was ripped away from him just as fast as it was given to him. Did you even care? Or was it just an insignificant event to you? It was a lot easier to accept that you could never love him the same way before he had a taste of what it would be like if you did.

There was this moment, when your fingers were fiddling with his and you said those words, just a second where he experienced what it could be like. He can’t go back to how it was, not now that he knows how it could’ve been. In order to protect himself from unravelling completely he has to let you go. An impossible task, considering you work together.

“I brought coffee.” Your expression is tentative.

Spencer looks up to see you standing above him, holding his daily coffee and scones in hand. There are no traces of the night before to be seen on you. Your makeup is fresh and you’d clearly changed clothes. You looked perfectly angelic, as always. If it were any other day, your gesture would’ve made him feel like the most special person in the world. Today, it felt like the cruellest thing in the world.

“Do you wanna come with me while I heat it up? Or should I just bring it back to you?” You prompt.

“No.” He rises from his seat and pries it out from your hand. “I can do it. Thank you.”

Before you comprehend what’s happened, Spencer’s walked away. You try to follow him to the kitchen, but when you get there he’s nowhere to be seen. This seems to be a trend for the next few days. You find some excuse to try for conversation and he shuts it down after about one sentence. That’s if you’re able to get close enough to him for that sentence. It’s becoming more and more obvious that he’s avoiding you.

You decide to give him space after about a week of it, wishing everyday that you could go back in time and change things. Around the two week mark, he starts giving you the cold shoulder, not even so much as looking at you. He couldn’t look at you. It was taking everything in him to force himself away from you, but it was easier than being near you. You weren’t the only one who could feel this change in your dynamic, the team was just as confused.

They’d all tried to investigate the root of this shift, individually directing casual questions to both of you in conversations. You’d both just brushed it off, not wanting to be the burden of the topic. Spencer had been doing so well in keeping his distance, but eventually, Hotch made the decision that enough is enough.

The BAU was in Chicago this week, hunting down another unsub who thought he was too smart to get caught. This was one of those cases that would stick with you for a while, so tensions were already high amongst everyone. Nobody was more on edge than Spencer and now he was forced in a car with you, driving around the city, chasing leads.

Rarely did he ever get behind the wheel, but he knew he would need any distraction he could get. Driving was supposed to mean he wouldn’t be stuck in the passenger seat, fighting the urge to stare at you. Now he was fighting the urge to stare at you from the driver's seat. He hated being in love. You were trying your best to stay silent and looking out the window at the passing buildings.

“Are you hungry?”

That’s the first time in a month that Spencer’s been the first one to speak. He tried not to. Like he tried not to pay attention to your routine. It wasn’t possible. No matter how hard he tried, there were just some things Spencer couldn’t not do in regards to you. The most important thing was that he couldn’t not care.

He knew you hadn't been eating properly. You had a tendency to forget about your well-being during hard cases. You were probably hungry. Somebody had to take care of you because you most definitely weren’t going to. He was right. The thought of food made your stomach growl. It was wicked timing.

“No, thank you.” You lie anyway, not wanting to inconvenience him further.

“Why won’t you stop lying to me?” He mutters in annoyance.

“Excuse me?” You scoff, turning to look at him.

He doesn’t look away from the road, pretending to not have heard you.

“Seriously?” You sputter. “You’re ignoring me now?”

You huff as you throw yourself back against your seat. He didn’t mean to ignore you, he just didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t understand why you’re being like this.” You mumble.

It was already daunting when he was barely acknowledging you, but refusing to acknowledge all together? When you were the only person next to him? That was just vicious. You knew you’d fucked up, but was this necessary? You had already spent so much of yourself trying to keep it together, being confined in this car with him would waste your efforts.

“Pull over.” You say in the kindest way possible, which was immensely harsh. “Spencer Reid pull this damn car over or I swear to fucking God I am going to jump out of it.”

That definitely caught his attention. In all your time together, you had never spoken to him in that way. You had definitely never addressed him by his full name. He brings the car to a halt on the side of the curb and finally turns to face you. You push the door open and hop out, slamming it behind you.

“What are yo-” Spencer starts, but you’re already walking away. He quickly gets out and follows behind you. It doesn’t take him long to catch up to you and he stops you by the arm when he realises saying your name won’t make you turn back around.

“Don’t touch me!” You yank your arm out of his grip and keep walking.

“Where are you going?!”

“Anywhere you’re not.”

He tries you by your name again, but when it fails again, he grabs you by the shoulders and spins you around. You hadn’t noticed that you’d walked into an alleyway.

“Get back in the car.” He demands.

“I am not getting in a car with you.” You have never been this upset with him before.

“You’re being childish!” He snaps, rolling his eyes.

“Oh I’m being childish?! Spencer, believe me when I say I mean this is the nicest way I possibly can right now – FUCK OFF!” You push his hands off you and take a step back, but he just grabs your wrist.

“Listen to me,” he urges, “there is a serial killer that’s kidnapping women in broad daylight, torturing them and murdering them. And he’s threatened each of us individually during the course of this investigation. You cannot just be walking around alone, in a city you hardly know.”

“Don’t explain the details of this case to me, I’m well aware.” You snarl, your irritation increasing tenfold.

“Then why are you being so difficult?!” He screeches.

“Why are you–fucking hell, I cannot keep doing this. I’m not getting in the car when you won’t talk to me. Hell, you won’t even so much as look at me!”

“Fine! You wanna talk? We’ll talk! Just–get back in the car. Please.” He sighs in defeat. You still don’t budge, so he pleads softer. “Please.”

You take a deep breath and roll your eyes, stealing your wrist out of his grasp. Spencer doesn’t move until you do, both of you silently making your way to the car.

You’re both silent initially, not knowing where exactly to go from here. There’s one thing you know for sure, you won’t be the first to speak. Spencer catches on to that fast.

“What do you wanna talk about?” He snarls, shrugging his arms.

“Cut the shit, I won’t get back in this car if I get out for a second time.” You’re not in the mood. The two of you had avoided this conversation for long enough, it was now or never. Some part of you wished for never.

“Fine. Did you mean it?” He shoots, briskly.

“What?” You didn’t know which part he meant.

“That you love me specifically as an ‘amazing friend’, I believe was your wording.” His voice cracks and it causes a shift in his behaviour. He’s no longer hostile, just hurt.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

In your rush to get him talking, you hadn’t actually realised that you weren’t ready to talk about this. You were stalling.

“Answering a question with a question.”

This doesn’t feel like a conversation. More like an interrogation, except you’re the unsub. He scoffs bitterly at your silence.

“Spencer, don’t–”

“No, you’re the one who wanted to talk! You were so insistent, in fact, that you would have rather made yourself a serial killer’s target then get in a car with me if I didn’t talk to you. And all of a sudden you’re speechless?” He snaps at you.

“Yes! I was the one who wanted to talk! I just– I can’t understand what I’ve done to make you hate me so much? Was it because I said I love you? Did it really upset you that much?” You were both shouting from frustration.

“You think I’m upset because you love me?!” Spencer scoffs in disbelief.

“Aren’t you?!” You bitterly laugh.

Spencer rubs his temples and squeezes his eyes shut, mumbling some under his breath. He’s genuinely never been this frustrated in his life.

“Are you being serious?” His voice strains in pitch, as he tries to keep himself a lot calmer than he feels. “Is this some sort of joke to you?”

“Some sort of joke–”

“Do not interrupt me again. You wanna run away from this? Fine. But you will listen because I will not have this conversation again.” His tone is sharp, like a blade being held against your throat. It definitely shuts you up.

“Talk. Okay, let’s talk about how I have spent the last four years watching you allow undeserving men to walk all over you, letting them treat you like you’re worth nothing. I damn near drove myself insane trying to figure out why. Why is it something you accept for yourself? And then I realised– that’s how you see yourself. You actually hate yourself so much that you’ve convinced yourself you deserve it! Do you realise how infuriating that is?!

Especially because it’s the furthest thing from the truth! Still, I watched you throw yourself into this vicious cycle over and over again. You gave yourself away to those idiots, knowing that they didn’t have good intentions, but you still hoped it would be different every time. I mean you’re a fucking profiler for God’s sake! How can you expect others to love you if you can’t even love yourself?

That’s not even the worst part! You’re so desperate for their acceptance that you continuously neglect the acceptance you already have from the people who love you. People like Emily, Penelope, Derek– the team– people like– people like me. I mean I’ve always known that you didn’t love me as anything more than a friend, but your constant reminders feel like a punch to the gut! Is it that embarrassing for you to love me as anything more?

I’ve survived way worse things, but this is the cruellest thing I’ve ever been through. Because it’s coming from you! I just never expected it’d be from you.” He’s practically hyperventilating for air by the time his speech comes to a stop, the vein in his forehead more prominent than usual.

Your jaw is tense and restless, twitching from anger. Some part of you still wants to keep this friendship. The louder part knows that there’s no going back from this. You’re not entirely sure you want to go back. Your entire body is shaking from rage. The first rule of your friendship was no profiling. Not only did he break that rule, he used the profile against you as if you actually were an unsub he was interrogating.

“That’s not fair”

His eye twitches at your response.

“Not? Fair?” Spencer grumbles in pauses.

“No, that's not fair!” You cry out. “It’s your turn to listen.”

It doesn’t feel like there’s any oxygen left to breathe in the car.

“Self loathing? Spencer, that's your projection! You love too hard and nobody’s ever loved you back the same way. But just because you lack things you want in your life doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me! And all this talk about love, but none of it makes any sense. You think I’m embarrassed of loving you? Is that how shallow you think I am?! You’re the one who told me that I can’t love you. God, you are the most duplicitous person I’ve ever met! I can’t believe I didn’t see it. You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder because I love you as an ‘amazing friend’? Because you love me and you think I’ve been neglecting you?!”

You had never spoken to anyone this way in your life. There was so much truth to Spencer’s words, but he had no right. He’d touched every nerve in your body without ever laying a hand on you. Up until roughly twenty minutes ago, being seen by Spencer was your favourite thing in the entire world. Now? You’d never hated the feeling more in your life.

Spencer squeezes his hand into a fist, knuckles going white and releases his fingers like if he were aggressively squishing a stress ball. If asked about a month ago, he would never in a million years think that your friendship would manage to dissipate in just a few seconds. He didn’t think he could associate the word love with you anymore.

“Let’s get one thing straight. I do not love you. I do not love anything about you. Actually, I hate you. I hate how sweet you pretend to be. I hate the stupid morning coffee you bring me, nothing tastes more bitter. I hate to admit this but you’re right; everything about you is a brutal reminder of all the good things I can never have and I despise you for it.” He spits his words out with extreme tension in his blood vessels.

“I can’t say I’ve known what it feels like to truly loathe someone before I met you.” You fire back, breathlessly, not having it in you to spare any more words for him.

You’re not exactly sure how long the two of you have been sitting there just glaring at each other. Only when Spencer’s phone rings do you two look away.

“Reid.” He answers the call. “Yea, she’s still here. We’re on our way back now.”

The ride back to the precinct was silent. Even as you regrouped with the rest of the team, you acknowledged everybody but each other. The team was instantly alert to the change, but no one mentioned it at the time because of the high stress of the case. You wrapped the case up a few days later and only then did the questions start making their way around.

“Is everything okay between you two?”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“What happened between you and Reid?”

“What’s up with Boy Wonder over there?”

You didn’t entertain any of them, Spencer had taken up enough time in your life. You refused to talk about him, look at him or acknowledge him at all. He shared that same incentive. Another three weeks passed as the team watched what was once the closest duo in the BAU, pretend that their counterpart didn’t exist.

If one of you was in a room and noticed the other enter, you’d walk out without drawing attention to the situation. When leaving the room was not an option, you either went as far in the opposite corner of the room as you could or you’d simply pretend the other wasn’t present just a few metres away. You wouldn’t discuss intel with each other about cases, sharing your findings with anybody else.

Since Chicago, Hotch only assigned you with Spencer once more, but quickly realised that wasn’t going to help when both of you begged to be assigned with someone else privately. If you were in a discussion with someone and they started talking about Spencer, you’d tune out entirely. After a while the hating game got exhausting.

Spencer hated pretending that he hated you. He felt an immense amount of guilt for the things he’d said, but it was too late to take it back. He thought it would be easier to deal with his feelings if he wasn’t around you all the time, but it was just as difficult as before. You still lit up the dull grey rooms of the building. The only difference was that now he had to watch you shine from afar.

In truth, you didn’t hate Spencer either. What you actually hated was that you didn’t hate Spencer. You still caught yourself staring at him for long periods of time. There were days when you’d go to his favourite coffee shop before work and buy his order, only to give it away to somebody on the street because you didn’t want to ruin Spencer’s day with the bitterness of your coffee.

By the fifth week since you had gotten back from Chicago, you and Spencer were no longer ignoring each other as much. You’d gotten into a routine of professionalism for the sake of the team, only talking to each other about cases when necessary. That didn’t stop you from subconsciously showing subtle gestures of love. These were a lot quieter than the gestures you showed when you were friends.

You’d make sure that there was always a fresh pot of coffee in the office kitchen, so Spencer would have it ready to drink whenever he needed. He’d make sure that the snack cupboard was always filled with your favourite snacks because he knew you liked having something to munch on when catching up on paperwork. You’d keep extra painkillers in Garcia’s lair knowing Spencer would retreat there when a migraine hit.

He’d ensure the aircon was always set to room temperature, you get uncomfortable if the room was too cold. Both of you were aware of the little gestures too, no one else knew your truly niche preferences. Neither of you was brave enough to actually go up to the other, though. It was all too much for you. No matter what was said, he was still your thoughtful Spencer deep down and it killed you.

You’d tried to talk to Spencer a few times, building up the courage for days in advance. As soon as he noticed you heading in his direction, he nearly bolted in the other direction. His avoidance didn’t end at the office. You recently became aware that Penelope had been scheduling rosters to invite you and Spencer to outings, trying to ensure you were present for equal amounts of time.

You were chilling at her desk in wait for her, when you noticed a little note with your name next to a date and time. Under that was Spencer’s name with a separate date and time.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” She greets you.

“I needed to talk to you…Penelope what is this?” You hold up the little pink sticky note.

Penelope sets her octopus mug down and takes the note from your hand.

“This? This is nothing.” She fumbles a bit as she speaks.

“Garcia?” You purposefully speak with warning.

“Okay! Okay! But you didn’t hear it from me! We’ve kinda been taking turns hanging out with you and Spencer sometimes. But it’s because we love you and don’t want to make either of you-” She starts a panicked tangent.

“Garcia!” You interrupt her before she sends herself into a spiral. “There’s no need to do all of this. Yes Spencer and I aren’t close anymore, but you guys don’t need to go out of your way for us.”

“Well..” She grits her teeth and tilts her head.

“What?”

“We didn’t really mean to. It’s just we noticed that Spencer would never come if you were going. And both of you just straight up refuse to talk about it, so this was the best we could come up with.”

“Oh. Penny, I’m sorry that you guys have had to do that.” That was all you could say, your head hanging in guilt.

“Can you at least tell me why you won’t talk about it? I mean it makes sense for Boy Wonder, he’s always been stubbornly private, but you’ve never not told me anything!”

You look towards Garcia again, thinking for a minute. You didn’t know exactly why you refused to talk about it.

“I don’t know, honestly. I just don’t want to talk about it, if that makes sense?” You pull your friend in for a hug as an apology.

You felt awful leaving her lair without giving her a proper answer or a resolution. It didn’t matter how professional you acted, this rift would always impact your friends and your work life.

Spencer would always impact everything in your life.

The guilt didn’t spare you that night, creeping its way to the forefront of your mind every few minutes. It had been four months since your last fight. It was the longest you’d gone without Spencer. This had to end for the sake of the team. That was how you found yourself standing at his door once again. After a few minutes you finally knock. You didn’t know what you were going to say, honestly you just wanted to run before he answered. You hear the locks being undone, but it’s not Spencer who answers when that door finally swings open.

“Yes?”

It’s a woman, one you've never seen before. You’re taken aback and look around to make sure you got the right apartment. This was definitely Spencer’s apartment, you’d been here a hundred times before. And some woman was answering his door for him. Some very beautiful woman.

“Can I help you?” She follows up, looking you up and down.

“Hi, yeah, sorry, is–um– is Spencer here?”

“Who’s asking?” She’s definitely not very friendly.

“We work together. Is he here or not?” You didn’t have the patience for this, annoyance seeping through your pores.

“Who’s at the door?” His voice emerges from behind her and he finally shows up. “Oh.”

“Hey.” You glance away as soon as you see him.

“Could you give me a minute?” He turns to the woman. She flashes a sickly sweet smile and kisses his cheek before disappearing inside. Spencer shuffles out to the corridor, closing the door behind him.

“That–uh–that was–” He stops himself, clearing his throat and switching to his professional voice. “What are you doing here?”

Cold.

“I was hoping we could talk.” You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to play off what you just saw.

“What more is there to say?”

“About the team. I came over to, um, apologise and maybe move past things for the sake of the team.” You were looking everywhere but at him.

“Honestly?” His eyes are on you though. “I don’t care. And even if I did, I don’t want to hear it.”

He starts to walk away, but turns back and mentions your name like it’s the most vile word in the dictionary. “Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.”

With that he re-enters his apartment, leaving you standing in the hallway. It’s hard to imagine that this man was once your best friend. If you didn’t know about all the good times, you wouldn’t have believed it. Every tear that your body could ever produce streamed out of you for the rest of the night. Once you had made it back to your apartment, they broke out in sobs. In your line of work, you had survived being shot at, almost blown up and even a kidnapping once.

The man you loved with every fibre of your being looking at you like you were less than filth under a person's shoes was your breaking point. There was no way you were going to face him again. You needed to forget about Spencer Reid, which meant a fresh start. This city was a constant reminder of his essence, you couldn’t stay. You plopped down on your bed with your work bag, reaching into it for your work computer. Hands twitching as you type.

You remember being so proud when David Rossi recommended you for the FBI’s Behavioural Analysis Unit. You were even more ecstatic when Hotch actually requested your transfer there. You had worked your ass off for it. It was there that you met the infamous Doctor Reid. He was much different than how you had imagined him. He was so charming, friendly and so down to earth, not liking him wasn’t an option. The two of you had so much in common, despite being so different, it was the foundation for your friendship. His caring nature pulled you in further, you soon found yourself deeply in love with him.

Tears flooded your keyboard as all your memories with him flash through your brain. His friendship was a beautiful bonus of the job you once loved, you never thought that he would become the reason you’d leave it. Yet here you were, furiously drafting your resignation to Agent Hotchner. There were so many signals in your brain telling you to back off, to open a bottle of wine and drown your sorrows instead, but your heart didn’t feel like that would be enough. Your love for your job didn’t outweigh your desire to run.

Spencer Reid was your best friend and being in love with him is an excruciating torture. One that you can no longer endure. You had never been more sure of anything as you are at this moment and you weren’t going to give yourself time to change your mind. Your time with Spencer and, as a consequence, your time at the BAU had come to an end. Another memory flashes through your mind as you sign the letter off with your name. A case in Boston had gone wrong and you were really hung up on it. Spencer, in an attempt to help you move on, shared a quote with an author he had recently read. You bitterly chuckle to yourself at this recall and press send with no second thought.

“Getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey bars. You have to let go at some point in order to move forward.” - C.S. Lewis.

Spoilers: BAU! Reader, friends to enemies, mutual pining, hurt, angst no comfort, whump (maybe idk), Reader & Spencer are both idiots, they should probably consider therapy actually, Spencer is a sassy little shit, but really just needs a hug and a class on communication.

AN - You’ve heard of enemies to lovers/friends, now I present to you the exact same thing in reverse (been done time and time again, I’m not in any way original <3). You can blame Ariana Grande for this one. Sorry that I haven't posted, I've had insane writers block. I might be slightly incapable of shorter word counts, I’ll try to improve that. I apologise for grammar/anything that does not make sense, I am both an idiot and also was dealing with a bad case of the flu when I wrote this. I’d like to thank @reidmotif for curing my writer's block and inspiring me on the second half of this fic. Thank you @starstruckbambi for proof reading this.

Drop thoughts & feelings so I can ponder on them. Always remember that I’m in your walls.

Thank you for reading!

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obsessivevoidkitten · 3 months ago

Text

Your Knight in Shining Armor

Kinktober 2024 Day 1: Whump Yandere Male Royal x Male Reader AND (separately) Yandere Male Dragon Hybrid x Male Reader CW: Painful noncon, blowjobs, minor physical abuse, verbal abuse, homophobia, internalized homophobia, bullying, kidnapping, minor character death, implied minor character murder, non-human genitalia, emotional trauma, angst, hurt with little comfort, humiliation, degradation, shame, a lot of crying, general yandere behavior, possessive yandere, whump, Dead Dove: DO NOT EAT Word Count: 3.5k (I decided to make my own list of kinks/scenarios for kinktober. I am only posting every other day and not everything is a full fic, though there are several full fics in the mix. This has been a labor of love for you my beautiful readers, please enjoy!)

The Prince of Thornhollow, Percival, was pampered and spoiled by his royal upbringing. He seemed to have been almost blessed. Not just by birth but also in ability. In contests with his knights, he was always the victor, and in his hunts, he had always been successful. The skill he possessed only served to grow his sense of superiority.

He also delighted in cruelty. All of this was unleashed upon castle servants. Since you were his personal servant, you suffered the most abuse by far. The prince tripped you, made fun of you, ridiculed you for the smallest things, and smacked you around whenever he was upset.

A few times he forced you to jerk him off and look at him while you licked the cum from his cock. He loved the humiliation in your eyes.

"You should be thanking me for letting you taste the royal seed with your peasant mouth."

It wasn't a suggestion. You had to thank him. He berated you afterward for being a girl and liking dick. It was an open secret that you fancied other men, and it was a favorite subject for Percival to pick at.

Sadly his sexual abuse didn’t end there. One time, when he was drunk on wine and you had been cleaning his chambers, he suddenly pinned you against the wall and kissed you roughly on the mouth. Sloppy and uncoordinated, you could taste the wine.

You flinched from his touch, sure that it was a cruel joke. And even if it wasn't your first kiss, you should have been from someone you loved, not someone you feared.

Percival grabbed your wrists to stop your squirming.

"Stop fighting, slut."

His words were harsh but his voice had a certain softness that you were not accustomed to from him. It was obviously the alcohol.

"You're gay, I'm an attractive man, I know you want this."

You yelped as he spun you around and grinded against your ass. You had no choice but to comply with his every whim... he was royalty. He nuzzled your neck and cooed into your ear.

"You're shaking so much, I bet your trembles will feel so good from inside you."

Percival pulled your pants down, followed by his. He took a gob of precum from his cock and massaged it into your hole.

"I bet you can't believe your luck, having the prince do this to you."

He slid a finger into you, followed by another. You wept silently as he squirmed inside your ass to stretch you out.

"I'm not a gay freak like you, this is just your reward for being such a good servant all these years. You deserve it."

The prince sucked and kissed your neck as he slowly pierced you with his cock.

You gasped for breath as the pain made you speechless. You would have fallen to the ground had Percival not been propping you up with his strong hands. There was a resounding smack as his nuts hit your ass with every thrust. You tried to squirm free, instinct overriding the attempt to obey a superior, but Percival wrapped his arms around you tightly.

"Just try to relax. You'll love it. I know you'll love my cock."

He nibbled on your ear and trailed kisses down your neck.

"Stop crying, you're being really ungrateful... it's starting to annoy me..."

He began going at a crueler pace in his frustration. He felt between your legs and you were barely even hard. He thought you'd love this, there were prevalent rumors that several knights had used you as a convenient cumdump and he was obviously better than they were. Of course, you were a virgin, and the prince was robbing you of your first time in the most brutal fashion.

After filling you with his cum he let you slump to the floor as he sneered.

He was still drunk, but his orgasm brought a bit of clarity, letting his elitism and internalized homophobia bubble back to the surface where it mingled with his disappointment and insecurity at the fact that sex with him wasn't enjoyable for you.

He was too ignorant to know that much better lube and stretching needed to be used while you were more relaxed. Percival wiped himself off with a rag and then threw it at you with a look of disgust.

"Clean yourself up, then get the hell out and don't let anyone know, or I'll cut out your tongue."

You wiped the cum and blood from you quickly and staggered to your feet before hobbling away while sniffling. He didn't do anything like that again, not even force you to suck him, but he did treat you worse for weeks.

His disposition finally went back to his normal level of disdain when he finally got his new set of enchanted armor. It was white and black, with silver and gold filigree. It became your most important set of tasks, fetching, polishing, and putting away his armor as well as helping him into it. Though even when it was perfectly polished, it was not unheard of for you to get a minor thrashing at the hands of the prince.

The life you had was pretty miserable. Even though the prince acted as a tyrant to his personal servant, you, he protected his and the crown’s image. It helped that the royal family's policies and skills at governing resulted in a fairly content lower class. Percival, especially, was beloved by many. The handsome prince with his blood red hair and muscular physique. He was quite charming and had drawn the affection of many noble ladies. This meant you couldn't find an escape or even speak badly about the prince because you would surely be ratted out.

So you went about tending to the prince as best you could and just hoping that he wasn't in a foul mood at any given time. But the prince wasn't the only thing you had to worry about.

There was a dragon-man hybrid, Rinvir, that had been attracted by a certain shiny gleam. He found that it was the valuable armor of the prince.

Of course, it may be good to have someone tend to the armor sometimes. Maybe they could polish other treasures for him. When he watched you shine the armor, he couldn't help but think how nice it would be to have your delicate human hands tend to his "sword" too. And maybe how good it would feel "sheathed" inside of you.

Rinvir wouldn't just mate with a human for such a flimsy reason, so he stalked you and the prince. Whenever he was hunting with you as his assistant, whenever you were in the training fields helping him put on his armor, whenever you were alone and tending to your outdoor duties.

He hated the prince but fell deeply in love with you. You were so kind and soft-spoken, so diligent with your work no matter what the task.

Rinvir wanted you even more than the immensely valuable armor. He still wanted the armor in his hoard, though, too. It would spite the prince nicely.

The dragon-man waited until a lovely clear day when you were just about to help Percival into his armor. He was screaming at you to hurry up as you were struggling with its immense weight. Rinvir swooped down and snatched you right up, armor and all. A flash of shiny blue scales was all the prince saw before you were gone. He stood there dumbfounded for a moment before collecting himself.

"But... that one was... mine..."

He had to have yo-, no, his... armor back. It was so valuable and had been forged partly by magical means. Luckily, his father, the king, agreed. It was an insult to their rule to let such a slight go unpunished.

Dragon-men were strong, but the prince had a good number under his command, his own talents, and the magic of the court wizard backing him up. He'd have his precious peasant back by any means! And this time, he'd not let silly shit like fear of rumors and homophobia stop him from holding you close in bed while rearranging your guts.

Oh, uh... and he'd have his fancy enchanted armor back... that was what he was really worried about... the armor... yeah...

Meanwhile, at the formerly abandoned lakeside temple that Rinvir called home, you were crying. A giant man with shaggy unkempt hair, huge blue wings, horns, and scales up and down his arms and legs had just made off with you. Surely he would eat you or kill you for sport.

"Shhh, calm down, delicate thing."

He took you to his underground treasure room and put the armor on a stand then gave his undivided attention to you.

"You're my new favorite treasure!"

He nuzzled into your neck and licked your cheek, causing you to shudder.

"I-I'm not a treasure... j-just take me back home!"

He laughed. That wasn't happening.

"And go back to that abusive royal? Not a chance. You're gonna be my mate."

At first, you were borderline hostile. Then you were extremely reluctant. But as the days and weeks turned into months, you became more and more amicable to your self-appointed boyfriend. Rinvir did so much for you. He set up a little garden so you could enjoy outside time because you always looked at peace during your brief moments in the palace gardens.

He caught food for you. Though you did have to prepare it, he was no chef. But you had to prepare fresh meat on the prince's hunts all the time. But now you got to cook it how you preferred and Rinvir left you the best bits.

When you were sore, he gave the best massages.

When you slept, he held you tight to provide warmth.

When it came to sex Rinvir was a patient and gentle lover. So far, you had only pleased him with your mouth and hands, and he had returned the favor. His cock was thick and slimy but you actually enjoyed how it felt in your hands and the taste wasn’t bad either. He never pressured you into anything and was content with letting you explore what you liked at your own pace.

He really was your savior. Your dragon in shining scales.

It had been three months. Three agonizing months without his manservant. His beloved. His father had ordered him to give up the search because at this point, it was getting costly, and the prince had matters of state that needed attending. They could always make new armor and still investigate in smaller numbers if there were solid leads about the dragon.

That wasn't acceptable to Percival. His servant was probably dead or, at the very least, being tortured by a beast. It had been so long, and there were no guarantees that you were still alive. Percival had to have closure and revenge. Even if you were alive, he'd need revenge for having to endure without you, and you had surely missed him. If you were still hanging on you probably felt abandoned.

His father wouldn't budge. And when, in desperation, Percival had told him he valued and needed your friendship, his father had laughed him out of the throne room.

Unfortunately for you, his father came down with a sudden case of "died in the middle of the night." It was assumed he had succumbed to his advanced age, though that wasn’t the case.

King Percival redoubled the efforts into finding that thief of a dragon. It took an extra month after his ascension to the throne, but he had discovered rumors of a shimmering blue dragon-man. Percival spared no expense. Took no chances. He surrounded the entire area with well over 100 troops and had hired an additional two mercenary mages to work alongside the court wizard. They had used great magic to keep the approach silent.

It was the middle of the night when they made their move. Rinvir heard them approach and woke you up quickly.

"I think the prince found us! There's a lot of them. I can't believe they got so close without me noticing!"

He held you in his arms and planned to fly off with you through the temple's tower window.

You were too frightened to speak, but you had confidence in Rinvir's ability to get you to safety.

Rinvir spread his wings and leapt from the window. But a beam of light made by the combined magic of the King's sorcerers pulled the two of you to the ground.

Percival's heart leapt at the sight of you. He could scarcely believe you were still alive. This was amazing. He'd take you back, marry you at once, keep you safe, and heal you from whatever trauma this brute subjected you to.

"SLOWLY!!! He has my betrothed!!"

Yes, he was quickly paralyzed with powerful magic, and you were pried from his grasp.

Your knightly king would have you soon. Percival would make up for every bad word he ever uttered to you, for every humiliation, for hurting you the first time the two of you had made love because he had assumed you were more experienced.

He felt silly for having brought a small army when all he had needed were a few powerful magic users. They brought you to him, and he hoisted you into one of the wagons that had been brought to take back the dragon's treasures.

Percival removed his replacement armor and pulled you right into his lap. You had been shocked into silence with everything having moved so fast. One moment, you were snuggled up with Rinvir, your love, and suddenly, you found yourself in the lap of the man who made you hate life. Who's touch made you want to vomit.

You tried to shake him off and escape his hold.

"M-my Rinvir... I got to see Rinvir..."

"Who? That glorified lizard? Has he brainwashed you!? They say the best way to break such magic is with the touch of a loved one."

His hands were all over you as he peppered you with small kisses.

"Forget that monster, you're safe now, I promise."

"Y-you don't understand! I love him! Please let us go!"

He held you tightly with one arm as he began stripping you down with the other.

"I know just the thing to break this bewitchment."

Percival figured even if you weren't under the power of a spell that giving you his cock and making you feel good would still help you get over your overgrown lizard. The king kept you on his lap but turned you to face him. He swallowed up all of your protests with a deep hungry kiss, his tongue rolling around your mouth as it invaded you.

You started thrashing more as his finger grazed your hole. He held you tight as he leaned over and grabbed a vial from a box underneath his seat. He had this wagon prepared for your rescue if it was successful.

“Please don't. J-just let me go back...”

He put the contents on his fingers and massaged them diligently into your hole, slowly adding more digits until you could handle four of them with ease. Then he slicked up his large cock.

"Don't worry. This will be so much better than last time. I'll be the only man you ever think of after this."

His mouth attended to your neck as he slid into you slowly, going at a slow pace and making sure he hit a spot in you with each thrust that made you shudder and keen.

Percival had to admit that it was his fault your first time was awful. But he had consulted books since then. If he had been this attentive the first time, he could have been bedding you for a long time. You wept silently as your body betrayed you entirely, Percival assumed that the pleasure was just too much for you. You came intensely, spurting cum all over his hard abs and chest.

He went faster, still careful to go at a pace that wouldn't hurt you, as he chased his own climax. Being inside you finally and seeing your face as it was so ruined by pleasure sent him over the edge, and he filled your bowels with his semen.

"See!? Isn't that so much better? We can do it all the time now! I forgot to tell you! I'm the king!!!"

He held you close, burying your face in his pecs as he rubbed your back.

"If anyone gives us shit for being gay I'll cut their tongue out."

Percival was worried because you kept shaking and sobbing, but when you cried about wanting to go back to Rinvir, his attitude went icy. He peeled you off of his dick and cleaned you up roughly but then sat you across from him.

He had to remind himself that you had suffered great trauma, and it would likely take time to heal since it clearly wasn't a mere spell that had been laid upon you. He had to remain kind to you because it wasn't your fault, and a king shouldn't treat his betrothed too harshly.

Besides, he still had to make up for all the torture he put you through.

But he was not known for his patience. As the weeks passed, he grew increasingly irritable and could no longer handle your ceaseless whingeing about Rinvir.

Percival arranged for you to meet the piece of trash.

He took you down to the dungeon where you saw Rinvir. He was encased in a solid block of some type of enchanted glass or maybe even magical ice, completely unable to move. You fell to your knees and pressed your hands to the surface of the material as you cried his name. You hadn't seen him since you were ripped from his arms, you hadn't even known whether or not he survived!

"He's still alive, you know?"

Percival leaned down and spoke softly into your ear.

"I was going to have him displayed in the throne room, but that would have been too cruel to you, and I do love you so."

The depraved king applied a special lube to his fingers. One that was guaranteed to make you cum hard.

"He can see and hear everything. Since you cry for him so much in my presence, it is only fair that he hears how I make you moan and cry in pleasure."

You were crying so desperately that Percival's words hardly registered at all. Only when he pulled down your leggings did you realize his intent. You squirmed and writhed as he put the lube in you, feeling a strange heat inside you as he rubbed it in.

He gripped your hips and lined up with your hole, your crying face looking down shamefully to avoid seeing Rinvir as Percival took you.

His cock kissed that spot inside you and instantly you started moaning. It was like he was pumping a surge of ecstasy into you with every thrust. Though tears fell to the cold dungeon floor as he fucked into you, you couldn't help arching your back and moving against every thrust in an effort to feel it more deeply.

It was something you had never done before while Percival "made love" to you.

Percival greatly increased the pace. He wanted Rinvir to hear the smack every single time he drove into you, wanted you to hear the squelch from the precum and lube as he pressed into you, and most of all wanted him to hear all the pretty little gasps and moans HIS fiancé was making that HE had caused.

Percival's throbbing cock spilled rope after rope of semen into you, causing you to practically collapse to the floor in a riot of bliss as you came. You buried your head in your arms in humiliation and guilt. Your loving king angled your head up and forced you to look at Rinvir.

"It probably hurts him a great deal to see you like this, don't you think? From now on, anytime you mention his name, I am going to bring you down here and breed you right in front of him."

Percival sneered evilly at Rinvir. He knew from your defeated expression that he had won. The king kissed and comforted you as he picked you up to take you to bed. You had a long day, and tomorrow there was a wedding to start planning... now that you were over your ex...

He left the mess that had pooled out of you right where it had fallen. Rinvir could look at all the cum he had put into you for a while as a reminder of what Percival did to those who would dare take what was his.

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waitimcomingtoo · 1 year ago

Text

Jealousy, Jealousy

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Reader

Synopsis: Peeta helps Johanna unzip her dress in the elevator and it makes you jealous

Masterlist

“Can I have a hand?” Johanna asked as she turned her back to Peeta. Peeta looked at you and Haymitch for a split second before shrugging and taking ahold of her zipper.

“Oh. Sure.” He said as he pulled the zipper down her back. Your head slowly turned to Peter and you stared at him with a slack jaw. Peeta looked at you and his smile immediately dropped. He adverted his eyes as long as he could until they found their way back to the scene in front of him. Johanna was looking between you and Peeta with a smirk when she turned around to pull her sleeves off her arms. Peeta and Haymitch couldn’t help but watch her as she undressed and dropped her clothes onto the elevator floor. It appeared that you were the only one able to keep your eyes on the ceiling as Johanna stripped out of her last piece of clothing.

“Thanks. Let’s do it again sometime.” She said as the elevator doors opened. She walked into the hallway fully naked and left a silence when she left. Peeta and Haymitch chuckled and exchanged looks as the elevator went up another door. Peeta then made eye contact with you and gulped when he saw the daggers in your eyes. You could not believe he had just looked at her the way he did. Seeing him unzip her dress and watch her made your blood boil in your skin in a way it never had before. You were so consumed with your jealousy that you didn’t hear Peeta try to change the subject and only knew she spoke when you saw his lips move.

“What?” You asked him.

“I asked what outfit you liked the best.” Peeta repeated. “I thought District 5’s was kinda cool. But it didn’t look very comfortable.”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care. I wasn’t looking at the other tributes.” You said and eyed him up and down as the elevator doors opened on your floor.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peeta’s face scrunched in confusion as he followed you out of the elevator.

“Nothing. I’m going to sleep.” You announced and headed straight for your room.

“You’re sleeping already? Aren’t you gonna eat?” Peeta asked with concern.

“I’m not hungry.” You said without looking back.

“I can meet you on the roof in a little bit if you want to hang out.” He offered.

“Not tonight.” You replied and disappeared into your bedroom. Peeta frowned and felt disappointment sink in over not getting the night with you that he thought he’d be getting.

“Uh oh.” Haymitch chuckled as he poured himself a drink.

“What was that?” Peeta asked and gestured to where you had just been.

“That, my friend, was you getting in trouble with your lady.”

“What?” Peeta blushed at what Haymitch called you. “She’s not even my lady.”

“But she wants to be.” Haymitch said pointedly and took a long sip.

“Y/n? There’s no way. She knows I like her and she made it very clear that she just wants to be friends.” Peeta insisted.

“Peeta, I don’t really know how they do things in 12 nowadays, so let me spell things out for you. That girl wants you but she’s way too stubborn to admit it to you or even herself. She doesn’t want to tell you how she feels because she wants you to just know. And she definitely didn’t want to see you undressing another girl right in front of her.”

“I wasn’t undressing her. I just helped her unzip her…” Peeta trailed off when he saw Haymitch raise his eyebrows in amusement. He realized how bad the moment in the elevator must’ve looked to you and began to panic.

“Oh no.” Peeta gulped. “Is she really mad at me?”

“Definitely.”

“What do I do?” He whined.

“Talk to her. And prepare to get hit a couple times.” Haymitch chuckled and patted Peeta’s shoulder as he passed him. Peeta thought about it for a moment and then went up to your room to do what Haymitch said and talk to you. He knocked on your door and you opened it pretty quickly as if you were expecting him. You had ditched your parade outfit and were now in some silky yellow pajamas.

“Hey.” Peeta smiled at you.

“What do you want?” You replied, making his smile drop.

“Just to talk. And I wanted to see you.”

“I’m really tired. I’m not in the mood to talk tonight.”

“Oh, okay. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want. I’m tired too. We can just sleep.” Peeta offered. You usually slept in the same bed to keep the nightmares away but there was no way you were letting him in your bed after what happened in the elevator.

“I’m gonna sleep alone tonight.” You told him with a tight smile.

“Oh. Okay.” Peeta said again and felt his disappointment settle in a pit in his stomach. Your cold expression suddenly melted to one of insecurity and you looked down the hallway as if you were expecting someone else to be there.

“Are you?” You asked quietly.

“Huh? Who else would I be sleeping with?” Peeta genuinely wondered, not realizing you were asking about Johanna.

“I don’t know.” You said quickly. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. See you-“ Peeta was cut off by you closing the door in his face. He sighed and put his hand on your door before walking away.

“Tomorrow.” He mumbled.

When tomorrow came, he woke up in his lonely bed and went straight to your room. Your door was open and you weren’t inside so he assumed you already went downstairs. You weren’t there when he got to the table and let out another sigh. You were clearly avoiding him and he was not handling it very well. Peeta decided not to let it get to him and busied himself by making you a plate of all your favorite breakfast food. Haymitch watched Peeta scrambling to get back in your good graces and laughed to himself. You came down just as Peeta was finishing your plate and eyed him curiously.

“Good morning.” He greeted with you a smile.

“Morning.” You replied without looking at him.

“I made you a plate.” He said and put the plate in front of you. You stared at the plate for a minute and almost gave it and apologized for your cold behavior until you remembered the way he looked at Johanna last night. That was enough to make you lose your appetite so you pushed the plate away.

“I’m not really hungry.”

“You’re not? But you didn’t eat last night.” Peeta said worriedly as he sat beside you.

“Yes she did. For a hunter, you’re not very quiet. I could hear you rummaging for food all the way from my room.” Haymitch said to you.

“You came down to eat?” Peeta asked. “You should’ve gotten me. I would’ve kept you company.”

“Maybe I didn’t want your company.” You shrugged, making Peeta frown.

“Oh. Ice cold, sweetheart.” Haymitch chuckled. “You better watch your back in the games, Peeta. This one has death in her eyes.”

“You’re still mad at me?” Peeta whispered to you.

“Who said I’m mad at you?” You said without looking at him.

“I know you are. We usually talk on the rooftop and then sleep in the same bed. And then come down to eat breakfast together. You didn’t let me do any of those things.”

“Maybe I just need some space. We spend every hour together every single day. Excuse me for wanting some privacy for a little while.”

“We should be spending every hour together before we don’t get the chance. How long are you gonna be mad at me?”

“I already told you, I’m not mad.” You whispered harshly.

“Fine. You’re not mad. But when can we be friends again?” Peeta asked and tugged on your sleeve.

“Peeta.” You said warningly and pushed his hand away.

“Come on. I miss you.” He whined and tugged on your sleeve.

“I’m right here.” You scoffed but started to feel guilty for your behavior.

“No you’re not.” He pouted. “You’re far away.”

“Stop whining so much. You sound like my cat. And I hate that cat.”

“So you hate me now? All because I un-“

“Don’t.” You cut him off and got up from the table. You passed Effie in the hallway as you went back to your room.

“What’s going on? Y/n just told me she wants to train alone today.” Effie said as he joined the boys at the table.

“She’s mad at loverboy.” Haymitch said and pointed to Peeta.

“What did you do?” Effie asked him.

“Nothing. I didn’t do anything.”

“He unzipped Johanna Masons dress in the elevator.” Haymitch tattled.

“What? Are you insane?” Effie gasped. “You can’t do something like that in front of your lady.”

“Why does everyone keep calling her my lady?” Peeta asked. “She doesn’t even like me.”

“Of course she likes you. That’s why she’s so upset. She’s jealous.” Effie laughed like it was obvious.

“Jealous? Of me and Johanna? I don’t think I even said a word to her. I just pulled the zipper.”

“It’s not about Johanna, silly. It’s about you giving attention to another girl. That’s why she’s jealous. She wants to be the one you’re unzipping.” Effie explained, making Peeta choke on the water he had just sipped. He wiped his mouth once he stopped choking and sighed.

“I need to fix this.”

“Yeah. You do. Before she makes you her first target.” Haymitch told him.

“She wouldn’t do that. Oh my God. Wait. Would she?” Peeta worried.

“She might.” Effie shrugged and Haymitch nodded in agreement.

“Well what do I do? She won’t talk to me.”

“So don’t give her a choice. Go in there and show her that she’s your only lady.” Haymitch instructed.

“What if she tells me to go away?” Peeta asked.

“Stay.” Effie answered. Peeta nodded his head and got out of his seat to go talk to you. He knocked on your door but this time, you didn’t answer. Peeta took a deep breath before opening the door and going in. You were on your bed with your knees drawn up to your chest. You gasped when he came in and threw a pillow at his head.

“What are you doing in here? Get out.”

“No. We’re talking.” Peeta said and sat on the edge of your bed.

“Well I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Too bad. Because I want to talk to you. Please? I can’t take it that you’re mad at me. I don’t want to go in the arena without hearing your voice. Can’t we just talk?” Peeta begged.

“Fine. What do you want to say?” You asked him.

“That you’re a big baby.” Peeta replied.

“Excuse me?” Your eyes widened when you didn’t get the apology you were expecting.

“You are.” He insisted. “You don’t get to be mad at me for unzipping Johanna’s dress when I didn’t even know what was happening.”

“What?” You laughed nervously. “I’m not mad at you for unzipping her dress. Why would I care about that?”

“I don’t know why you care. But I know that you’re jealous.”

“Jealous? Oh, please.” You scoffed and got off the bed to get away from Peeta.

“It’s okay to admit it.” Peeta said calmly. “I admit that I was jealous when I saw you talking to Finnick. And his giant muscles that are always out.”

“They are, aren’t they?” You smiled coyly.

“Hey.” Peeta said defensively.

“You’re the one who’s jealous. Not me.” You said and pointed to him.

“Then how come you’ve been mad at me ever since I unzipped her dress?” Peeta asked and walked over to you.

“It’s not about the dress!” You exclaimed.

“Then what is this about?” He asked. You scoffed again and folded your arms to close yourself off. Peeta wasn’t about to give up that easy and put his hands on your shoulders.

“Please tell me. I miss my friend.” He said quietly. You sighed and looked into his big sad eyes.

“I don’t care that you unzipped her dress.” You admitted. “You were just doing what she asked. I care that you were looking at her when she took her clothes off.”

“In my defense, I’ve never seen boobs before.” Peeta stated, making you laugh for second.

“Me either.”

“Not…not your own?” Peeta whispered in disbelief.

“Yes my own. Never another girls.” You explained and smacked his arm.

“Oh. I was gonna say. I know we don’t have a lot of mirrors in 12 but I think they’d be kinda hard to avoid- “

“I don’t want you looking at Johanna, okay?” You cut him off. “Or any other girls. I hated it. It made my blood feel hot and my stomach dropped to the floor. And then I couldn’t sleep because I kept replaying it in my head. What is that?”

“Thats jealousy.” Peeta explained with a pleased smile now that he knew Effie was right.

“Oh. Well I don’t want to feel it ever again. I didn’t like it.”

“Well I didn’t like when you didn’t talk to me.” Peeta said quietly.

“I’m sorry. I feel like my life is completely out of my hands lately. But you and I are the one thing I have a say in. So when it felt like our relationship was threatened, I tried to gain control by shutting you out.”

“It’s okay. I probably would’ve curled into a ball and cried right in front of you if I saw you unzip some guys pants.” He admitted, making you laugh again. You chuckled and pulled him into a hug to apologize for being so cold towards him. When you pulled out of the hug, you kept your arms around his neck and looked into his eyes.

“So seeing me with Finnick really made you jealous?” You asked with a smirk.

“Yeah. I was questioning our alliance the second I heard him make you laugh.” Peeta replied, making you laugh.

“Yeah. I know the feeling.”

“Why do you think we got so jealous seeing each other around other people?” Peeta wondered. You looked down at the floor and sighed.

“I think maybe we underestimated our feelings for each other.” You admitted.

“We?” Peeta raised an eyebrow.

“Fine. I underestimated my feelings. When I saw you looking at another girl, I realized the only one I want you looking at is me.”

“As if theres anything in this world that could make me take my eyes off you.” Peeta said softly.

“Except for Johanna’s boobs.” You mumbled under your breath.

“You’re the only one I’m looking at right now.” He assured you. You smiled for a second, then frowned.

“But you’re not thinking about them, right?” You asked him.

“I’m about to if you don’t stop bringing them up.” He said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe I can take your mind off it?” You asked with a shrug.

“How?” Peeta barely got the word out before you were kissing him. He wrapped his arms around you to deepen the kiss as your hands found their way to his hair. There were no cameras and no witnesses because it was just yours.

“So we’re friends again?” Peeta asked once you pulled away.

“I don’t know. I don’t get jealous like over just my friends.” You said coyly. Peeta picked up on what you were saying and felt his face heat up. He pressed his forehead against yours and looked into your eyes.

“Good.” He said. “Because I never wanted to be just friends with you.”

#peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark fluff #peeta mellark fanfic #peeta mellark angst #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark whump #peeta mellark fanfiction #peeta x reader

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curiositysavesthecat · 4 months ago

Text

*This poll was submitted to us and we simply posted it so people could vote and discuss their opinions on the matter. If you’d like for us to ask the internet a question for you, feel free to drop the poll of your choice in our inbox and we’ll post them anonymously (for more info, please check our pinned post).

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jasmines-library · 9 months ago

Note

Hey, I love your Batfam work! Is there any chance you could do a whump/angst one of batsis being kidnapped by a villian(you can choose whoever you want) and she’s tortured for days with it being broadcasted to the Batfam while they try to track the footage. I feel kinda bad but can you do maybe some head trauma md severe burns? Maybe she has to be put in a medically included coma or smth because of the damage? Also is there any way you could include Barb and Duke along w/ the four robins? If not that’s totally cool! Sorry for the long request but I hope you have a great day!!

Anonymous Requested: batfam x batsib reader whos the youngest and newest robin and is just really goofy and doesn’t take anything seriously (ex: them blaring “who’s the (bat)man” on the comms during patrol [that songs stuck in my head i had to mention it]) and something happens, maybe their first close encounter to death or a run in with the joker and they just become a shell of who they were and stuff

Jokes On Me

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Note: My god im so sorry this literally took me forever to write, thank you so much for being patient. I've been trying to write this all week but just couldn't sit down for long enough to finish it.

Warnings: Torture, blood, burns.

Word Count: 2.5k

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

“Y/N, turn that shit off.”

Jason grumbled at you over the coms. You had been blasting some wretched song that you’d found on the internet over and over again and it was beginning to drive him mad.

“Nope.” You said, popping the ‘p’ loudly.

“Seriously.” Dick deadpanned. He had found it amusing at first, but it was now beginning to test his patience.

Agitated, you sighed and turned off the music. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Jason expressed gratefully, turning his eyes back to the road he was patrolling. The night was cool and quiet besides the odd dog walker or couple returning from an evening out. It was one of those nights where patrol would end early and he could return home to take a warm bath and read a book before turning in for the night. Or so he thought.

You were rounding the corner, humming that tune that was still stuck in your head when his laughter ricocheted across the walls. You stiffened, eyes widening and hands fumbling for your weapon as your breath hitched. No amount of turning and craning your head allowed you to catch a glimpse of the dreaded figure, and you thought for a moment that perhaps it had just been a trick of your mind, or one of your brothers playing a cruel joke on you as payback for winding them up earlier. But then you heard it again, only this time to your left. You clutched your weapon tighter, eyes scanning the area with a new found sense of urgency.

“Wing…” You whispered into the coms so quietly that you were surprised he heard it.

“What now?” He somewhat snapped.

“We have a problem.”

Dick’s heart sank through the floor, his ears pricking up and his demeanour changing completely. “Where are you? What’s the matter? He was trying to let his panic show, but you hadn’t been patrolling as a vigilante for very long, and while you were well trained, you lacked the experience to deal with something big on your own. And from your tone of voice, he could tell that you were in some deep shit.

Jason worked his legs harder to push himself to reach the direction he had seen you head off in. Albeit it seemed even his hardest wasn’t enough.

When he stepped out of the darkness, the first thing you noticed were his eyes. Wide and bright, easily mistakable for a cat’s as they flashed in the darkness; wild. Rabid. As he emerged fully with that infamous twisted grin splayed out on his face, you felt like a cornered animal; a deer in headlights. You froze, unable to move despite how your heart screamed at you to run as it pounded, trying to break free from your ribcage.

“He’s here…” A mere whisper sliding over your tongue, so fragile that you weren’t even sure if you had actually said it aloud. Jason had heard it.

“Who?”

The Joker was circling you now, dragging out his strides in lazy circles. You should have fought but in that moment all of your training had drained out of you, along with the colour in your face. He smirked, leering down upon you as you tried to keep your trembling hand still. He pouted in mockery and at your silence, Jason repeated his question to you, but you never got the chance to respond.

“Oh…Just an old friend, Jay-bird.”

“Joker.” Urging his body to move faster, Jason grit his teeth.

Dick paled. “You leave them alone.” Dick spat. It tried to be a command, but the effect was lost somewhere in transmission.

The joker pursed his lips, tilting his head as he analysed. One of his hands had found his way to your jawline and he trailed it with a cold, gloved hand. You wanted to lean away, to run and find your brother but you knew that now he had you in his grasp there was no point in even trying. “And why would I do that? They’re right in front of me. I could just…snatch them up.”

“Don’t you dare!” Dick was frightened now. “Y/N, you stay there as long as you can, okay? You fight. We’re coming, you hear?”

The Joker frowned at you. “D’you hear that? Big brother birdy coming to the rescue. How sweet.”

His grip on you tightened. “Too bad you’ll be long gone by the time they get here.”

With one swift motion, he had thrown you harshly to the side, your head colliding with the wall with a sickening crack.

The two boys skidded to a halt just a second too late. You were already gone.

Your head hurt when you woke up. Your eyes squinted against the sterile light. They did no favours to your pounding headache. With a groan, you tried to twist, to roll over and soothe the crook in your neck but instead all that happened was the jinging of a metal chain. You craned your head and spotted the thick chain that had been wrapped around your wrist, confining you to the chair. Struggling, you tugged on them, trying to free yourself only for them to rattle and scrape against your skin.

“Yeah, that’s not going anywhere, birdy.” The joker chided.

You glared at him through narrowed eyes, trying to mask the thumping of your heart. The joker grinned wildly at your frightened complexion.

“It was such a shame that Grayson and Todd didn’t get to you in time, but it was far too easy to catch you, little bird: you completely froze.” He snapped his fingers to emphasise his point. “Didn’t batsy teach you better?”

“Don’t talk about them.” You snapped.

The joker raised his hands, palms facing toward you in surrender: taunting you as if you were the one with the power in the situation. “Touchy subject I see. Too bad.”

He gestured above you to an incessantly blinking light. “Smile for the camera, you’re live.”

Babs had been monitoring the street cameras when the computer beside her flickered to life. She had been searching for any sign of you ever since Dick and Jason came flying through the grandfather clock. Everyone was on edge.

The moment the screen flashed on, her eyes perked up to watch it, alarmed. She hadn’t turned it on. And there were very few people who could bypass the caves system. So when she saw a small frame curled up in a chair she knew immediately what was up.

“Duke…” she called to the dark haired boy who was trying to help decipher your whereabouts. “Go and get B.”

It did not take long at all for everyone to gather around in the cave. Duke was fast, and everyone dropped what they were doing to race down: even Alfred had taken his leave from his duties to see.

It was almost like some sick irony because as soon as they were all there, you began to scream. A guttering, perfect scream that cut that through them like a knife: unclean and pinging into them messily again and again.

The joker had taken a knife to your left thigh, his smile dripping with malice as he watched the camera, somehow knowing that at least one of them would be watching.

Your face was contorted in pain, twisting in agony as tears rolled flatly down your cheeks from fearful eyes. Damian felt sick, his stomach churning. Jason wanted to leave. But all of them were stuck watching. Barbra was tapping away, trying to locate the signal from the video to no avail.

“I hope you’re watching this Batsy…” He moved round to trail your face with the edge of the knife. You whimpered. “I’ve got your little bird here and I must say, you need to work on their training. They were far too easy to catch.”

Bruce felt his jaw tightening and Tim had to place a hand on his arm to remind him of his place.

“Anyway I thought we would play a little game… how long can little y/n survive for. I wonder if it’ll be any longer than our very own Jason Todd.”

Jason twitched.

“I’m testing you here, Bat. Tick Tock.”

The transmission cut to black.

It seemed hopeless. Even though they had been searching for days, they were no closer to finding you. And to make matters worse, they could see you. Not long after the first transition ended did it start up again. It had been lifestreaming since then, and although they had tried to block it from their minds, it was hard to ignore. Especially when your agonised screams ricocheted throughout the halls.

You looked like hell. Dark bags occluded under your eyes and there wasn’t an inch of your skin that wasn’t marred or stained with drying blood. The burns were worse. Damian could still hear the scream you let out when the joker first brought the hot poker to your skin. It had bubbled and blistered as the skin peeled away; you had thrashed against your restraints violently. Tim was certain that they were going to get infected if they didn’t reach you soon.

It felt as if they had searched everywhere. Dick and Jason had even asked around to see if anyone had heard anything, going as far to talk to the Jokers closest associates in Arkham, but even if they did know, nobody said anything. Duke had even gone as far to go back to the area to use his powers to see if he could trace anything, but nothing seemed out of place; they had hit a brick wall. That was…until a small light appeared on the monitor. Babs had managed to trace the signal to a small building on the outskirts of the city.

They were suited up in minutes, making a beeline for the building. They stormed it, recklessly taking down the Joker's goons before Batman chased wildly after the Joker, his face stony and his fists burning with anger. The other four boys chased down the winding corridors, flinging open the doors until they found one that was locked. Tim wasted no time, picking the lock with ease he peeled it open. His breath hitched when he saw you.

Your face was gaunt, hanging low by your chest. Your suit was torn and there was less of it on your body than there was ripped away. You looked so fragile as your chest heaved sporadically.

Jason nearly had to take a step back. This place reminded himself too much of his own encounter with the Joker not too long ago. But he pressed forward, fighting his instincts. He had to be strong. Instead of turning back, he kneeled in front of you, whispering your name. His hand came up to cup your face. You flinched away.

“It’s okay kid. It’s us.” He tried to reassure you, but you shrank back into yourself.

“We’re so, so sorry kiddo.” Dick tried placing a gentle hand on your arm before moving to work on the cuffs around your wrists. “We’re going to get you out.”

You said nothing, just continued to stare at the black space before you, and Dami wasn’t sure if you even knew they were in front of you. But when Jason moved away from you to help remove your restraints, your fingers latched onto him and you squeaked in protest.

He sighed shakily. “Don’t worry kid. I’m not going anywhere.”

Damian twisted from where he was guarding the door. “We need to leave.”

Dick nodded bluntly, finishing with the last of the locks. “I’m going to have to pick you up, okay sweetheart?”

You barely registered what he had said. Everything had grown numb, you nodded anyhow. Moving his arms underneath your legs and slipping one arm behind your back, Jason began to lift you. He nearly recoiled when you cried and whimpered with the way your wounds jostled as he sprinted out of the building to get you back to safety.

You were yet to say anything since you came home. You had been back a few days and your wounds were healing up nicely thanks to Alfred’s handywork, but the air was eerily silent around you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t been communicating with them; you spoke to them with gestures or writing but no one was used to not hearing your voice. The stark contrast between your loud and bustling personality and you now was unsettling. No one wanted to push you too far but the manor was beginning to grow lonely.

It was one particularly rainy night when you finally spoke. You were curled up in a large armchair by the window in the library, sinking back into the plush leather as you watched the raindrops race down the glass. Jason had been watching you from afar, contemplating whether to talk to you or not when he walked over.

“What are you up to?” He asked you, making sure you knew that he was there before he spoke.

You gestured toward the window,then to the half opened book at your feet and shrugged.

“I see.” He nodded, taking a seat on the armchair opposite you. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Jason wasn’t much of a talker. He knew more than anyone what you were going through, which was why it was nice just to know that he was willing to sit with you, just so you knew that he was there if you needed him. It made you feel safe. But you also couldn’t help but feel guilty, and frustrated with yourself for being in a place that made him feel as though he had to do that.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Jason had to do a second take. His heart swelled. “What for?”

You sighed. “This. When I saw him…i-i froze. If I had run then this would never have happened.”

“Shh. This isn’t your fault.”

“But-”

“I promise, Kid. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

You nodded, looking away from him. But then you furrowed your brows and turned back to him. “How did you do it? How did you deal with this, Jay? Every time I close my eyes he’s there.”

“I guess I don’t, really. Or sometimes it feels like I don’t. I still get scared sometimes. I still see him in my dreams. But over time it gets easier. I had people around me to help me. And so do you, kid. We’re here. We’ll always be here.”

Jason shifted to brush away a rogue tear and you leaned into his touch and then wrapped your arms tightly around his middle.

“I’m here. Always. We’ll get through this together.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

BATFAM TAGS

@aestheticdaisies @hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @mamapucket @hell-o-kittys @harleycao @batfamsstuff @alicedawitchbish

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

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creelson · 17 days ago

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Choosing to stay alive and not kill myself because I still have Archive of Our Own to read and post on. I’m not even joking

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yourmidnightlover · 10 months ago

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forever?

pairing: mob!bucky x reader

summary: after being forced into a marriage you didn’t want, you become very cautious of your new husband out of fear of what he’s capable of when one of his employees makes a move at a dinner meeting.

warnings: anxious reader, threat of domestic violence (reader is just worried abt it), groping, please let me know if i missed something or need to add anything!

a/n: reader is very timid in this. i know a lot of people like a reader who doesn’t take shit and stands up for herself, but i often find myself in situations where i just shut down and don’t know how to respond… so this is kinda inspired by that feeling

pt 2 -> control

two months out of forever.

two months of what seemed like wedded bliss from the outside.

in reality, that “bliss” included sleeping in separate rooms, never even seeing each other unless necessary to make appearances for either of your parents.

the ones who arranged for this to happen in the first place.

you were just glad you were able to have your time for yourself. you thought you would use the time to continue writing for your book, but you’ve hit a serious case of writers block. so lovely.

on the bright side, he wasn’t as controlling as your few friends had made it seem he would be.

they had painted this picture of a monster in your head. a man who would loom over your presence during every waking second. a man who was controlling and wouldn’t let you have a personal life or secrets.

so far, he’s been the opposite.

for some reason, that still leaves you unsteady.

because they also painted him in a very violent, angry, red light.

but maybe he had a mistress. if that were the case, he truly didn’t respect you or your family. it didn’t seem like bucky to do that, though. he wouldn’t ruin a business deal that benefitted him so much.

the reason you married him was because your father’s finance business was going under, drowned in debts while the only options were to sell to the barnes’ or the rumlow’s. the barnes’ seemed the lesser of two evils.

the only way to smoothly transition your father’s business to be under the barnes’ control without raising any question of your father’s capability was to marry. if any questions were asked about why your father sold his company, the not so good side of the finance industry would trample after your entire family. the barnes’ would get a new company and their many clients, while your family wouldn’t become entirely blacklisted by the entire country, would be putting your family under the barnes’ protection, and there would be less questions asked as to why the company had been merged.

you had a few months of “leaking” images of you and bucky together into the tabloids to prepare the public for the news of such a big marriage. some were photos of you and bucky holding hands while walking. a couple of you at a restaurant smiling. a few staged kissing photos… those may or may not have been your favorite.

those times spent with him, in all honesty, weren’t bad at all. going for walks together at sunset, dinner dates, feeling his lips against yours…

you had gotten to know more about his childhood that the tabloids didn’t feel was important to cover. his favorite subject in school and how he actually lost his arm so many years ago. you learned each others’ fears and worries in life. your favorite thing to learn about him, however, was what he truly wanted in life.

peace.

a couple weeks after the wedding, a few photos of the reception were once again “leaked” in order to sell the “too in love to wait” bit that everyone had started assuming upon seeing the first few photos of you and bucky together.

but all of your history with him flew to the back of your mind as bucky knocked on your office door.

“come in,” you replied hesitantly, not sure what he wanted from you for the first time since your wedding. he stepped through the threshold and stood at the doorframe.

“there’s a work meeting tomorrow,” his hand remained on the doorknob, so stiff you’d think he might rip it off the precious white wood in seconds. “the men are meeting at the house. i wanted to let you know. the men in this business, they expect marriages to be of the… traditional values.”

you nodded with understanding, turning to face him with a forced grin. “so i should play the part of the doting housewife, huh?” no smile in return, so you bit back your humor in turn for matching his serious tone. “what food should i prepare, then? and uh, how many guests will we be expecting?”

“whatever’s easiest for you,” he shrugged lightly. “there will be 9 of us there.” with one final look in your direction, he left the office and didn’t return to say goodnight.

the next morning you got to work setting the house up for the 6pm meeting your loving husband was hosting.

you had decided to set up a buffet-style table outside of the main dining room where the meeting would take place. for the menu, you settled on simple grilled chicken with quite a few side options. roast potatoes, asparagus, sauteed carrots, green beans, and rolls.

you were putting the rolls in the oven when bucky got home, seemingly entranced by the smell of all the food, heading straight to the kitchen.

“it smells amazing in here,” bucky called from the archway of the kitchen. you jumped slightly from the surprise, but swallowed down the shock and another weak smile.

“thanks,” you nodded to the edge of the island where a large chalkboard sat, your handwriting neatly displayed on the board that listed all the food to be had. “the menu. i figured a variety would be nice, and who doesn’t like chicken, right?”

“vegetarians,” if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was telling a joke. but you knew better than that. “the men are coming in a little less than an hour. do you maybe want to change before they get here?”

you looked down at what you were wearing, a pair of blue jeans and a loose t-shirt clearly not worthy of someone who had married a barnes man. “right, of course. i’m sorry,” you finished setting the timer on the oven and ran upstairs to get yourself put together before bucky saw the tears trying to seep past your waterline.

you settled on a black cocktail dress you had worn to one of your dad’s company events before the downfall… quickly swiping some makeup on to cover the exhaustion in your eyes and pulling your hair up to a more respectable updo rather than your typical messy bun.

luckily you had become an expert at quickly getting ready from your time in university, as you were back in time to pull the rolls from the oven, but not before pulling on your apron. you’d be dammed if you got this stunning dress dirty right before this prestigious meeting.

t-5 minutes before the meeting was supposed to begin and you could already hear lots of rustling from the formal dining room. you knocked on the closed doors before bucky opened the door for you.

the men went silent as their gaze rested on you in the doorway.

“the foods ready. buffet style?” your eyes didn’t leave bucky’s pretty blues, too scared to do anything wrong in front of his men.

“that’s perfect, my love,” his hands gravitated to your waist before pulling your body taut against his, one hand moving a stray hair behind your ear before leaning in to whisper. “you look ravishing…”

as he pulled back, you were sure your blush was evident across your cheeks. you tried to hide it behind a smile, shrugging with a shy ‘thanks’ leaving your lips.

“what do you say to my stunning wife, boys?” his hand squeezed your waist once more before turning to the other men, ‘thank you’s being echoed throughout the room as they stood and made their way to the kitchen to make their plates.

in a matter of minutes, all the food was gone. you figured it was best they liked the food, even if you didn’t get to try any of it yourself like you had planned.

you got started on cleaning everything up with earbuds in your ears, starting with the dishes already in the sink from when you were cooking. then, you were sure to place the dishes that the food was in inside the sink for you to clean before starting on wiping the counters, then sweeping, then mopping, and then back to the dishes.

you didn’t realize that bucky had called for a break in the meeting, however. you were in for quite the rude awakening when you felt a pair of hands on your waist, but not the ones you were semi-familiar with.

you turned around with a gasp, shock evident on your face as you tried to piece together whoever this man was. blond hair, blue eyes… definitely not steve though. you knew steve well and had seen him often.

you pulled your earbuds from your ears in attempt to better understand what was going on. his hands were still gripping your sides, but you couldn’t necessarily escape his touch. you were backed against the sink. even if you could fight him, you’d likely lose to his strong grip.

“is the meeting-is it over already?” your voice was so much more cowardly than you’d ever expected yourself to be.

“no, no,” he shook his head. “just a little break, some of the guys were getting antsy.” you leaned back further, trying to create some semblance of space between you. “i figured i’d say a special thank you, on behalf of all of us guys in there.” he let one hand cup the side of your face and neck, his other hand trailing down from your waist, firmly grasping your ass with a sqeeze before you jumped at the invasion.

“i don’t-i’ve got it…”

“john,” he smiled grossly, as if he could convince you to go to bed with him.

“no need for a thanks,” you tried to remind him. “i did this for bucky. for my husband.” your eyebrows rose, trying to emphasize that his boss was also your husband.

“i’m sure he won’t mind you getting a little bit of extra special attention, don’t you?”

then, a growling voice cut through the fear running through your veins.

“i think he might mind.”

you turned to face bucky with wide eyes before facing john, wishing the tears welling in your eyes would just go away.

his hands slowly retracted, stepping back with a chuckle.

“sorry, sir,” he smiled before turning to face your husband. “she was just telling me how she wanted some extra attention, weren’t you, toots?” he tilted his head expectantly.

your mouth opened, nothing leaving in spite of your brain screaming at you. what would bucky do? would he take his side? would he believe you? would he hurt you?

you’ve embarrassed him now… humiliated him in his own home. surely he’ll take action against you for this.

your mind replayed stories your old friends had told you about him. how he would lash out at men that betrayed him. how he never took shit from anyone who showed him any disrespect. how he was the kind of man to shoot first and ask quesitons later.

and now, in a way, you’ve both betrayed and disrespected him. or at least, that’s what he’ll think.

you didn’t even realize tears were flowing down your face until your sobs were interrupted.

“enough!” you finally looked at bucky before his eyes softened for a second before walking closer to you. “go to the room.” he ordered sternly.

“but the dish-”

“i’ll take care of it,” he interrupted gravely, “go. to. the. room.”

“yes, sir,” you nodded and swiftly left the room entirely, collapsing against the door once you had shut it, sobs wracking your body. you held your knees against your chest before trying to regulate your breathing.

he won’t hurt you.

he has to protect his image.

you’ve embarrassed him.

you’re his wife.

you’re his business deal.

you’ve humiliated him.

he’ll hurt you.

you didn’t know how long it had been since the incident.

your sobs had subsided. you had, at some point, moved to your bed. you were still rocking your body back and forth, trying to self sooth.

and then there was a knock at the door.

your body instinctively jumped at the sudden noise, although it wasn’t harsh in any manner, at least not one that you were expecting.

he twisted the knob, slowly opening the door with slow movements.

“i-i’m so sorry,” you began apologizing as soon as he stepped through the threshold into your room. “i swear-i swear i didn’t tell him that. i didn’t even realize he was there, i promise. i wouldn’t lie to you. i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry. please believe me.” your body was still rocking and you didn’t even notice he was as close to you as he was until you saw his hand moving by your head.

automatically, you assumed the absolute worst, your head ducking into your body like a fucking turtle, the meekest squeal leaving your lips mixed with a sob. your arms went over your head protectively, as if a bomb were about to go off.

“sweetheart,” his voice sounded so broken, so torn, so unexpectedly soft.

you finally looked at him for the first time since he came in your room. his flesh hand was holding his metal one as if it were something that could kill. in ways, it was.

“you-there’s no need to…” after looking at him for a second longer, you noticed that his eyes had tears that almost mirrored your own. “i would never, ever lay a hand on you. i’m so sorry for scaring you. i can’t…” he sighed. “i can’t believe i made you believe i’d ever hurt you.”

“i’m sorry,” you pleaded with him once again.

“you have nothing to apologize for,” he hesitated to reach for your hands before settling on simply grabbing a spare pillow. “i came up here to apologize. for my tone earlier… i know john. he never knows his boundaries. i should’ve… you never should’ve been put in that situation. that’s my fault. that’s on me. and i will spend the rest of forever to make it up to you.”

“you don’t have to-”

“no, my love,” he shook his head. “can i-can i hold your hands? please?” you, without hesitation, grabbed his hands yourself. “i need to make it up to you. you’re mine. you’re my wife. it’s my job to protect you, to keep you safe. and to have someone ruin that? to touch what’s mine in my own home? i’m so sorry.” he brought your hands to his lips, pressing at least ten kisses to each hand. he was so gentle and careful it was a good thing you knew better than to think it actually meant anything.

you were surprised, to say the least, at how tender he was being with you.

how could you have ever thought he would hurt you? that he would raise his hand and swing? that he would cause you harm? he was here declaring that he would make up this incident for the rest of eternity when it wasn’t even his doing…

“will you stay with me tonight?” his eyes lit up at the request.

“are you sure you want that?” he became a touch more reserved. “i don’t know if it’s a good idea since you were worried i would…” his voice trailed off.

“i’m sure,” you nodded before scooting over in the bed.

sure, your marriage was arranged and didn’t stem from true love. you may not have talked outside of when absolutely necessary. you might have even been terrified of him at one point.

but now, the thought of forever with bucky barnes didn’t seem half bad.

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marvelstoriesepic · 12 days ago

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Whumpcember (day 15)

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Prompt: Broken glass

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: slight mentions of panic attacks; crying; Bucky being a sweetheart because I love him so much

Author’s note: This got unnecessarily long somehow. Again, this was meant to be a shorty. Also, I was in my feels when I wrote this. Anyway, thank you for reading!

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

The final box of Christmas decorations thuds to the ground as you let it down with a heavy huff. You straighten up your back with a grimace, rolling your shoulders.

You might think as an Avenger, carrying a few boxes, would be an easy task. After all, you are trained to thrive under the most punishing conditions, with sharp skills and boundless stamina. But after hauling all those cartons stuffed with tinsel, garlands, and ornaments up from the storage room to the towering Christmas tree in the compound’s common area, you are left panting like you’ve just run a marathon.

It’s almost laughable. Thankfully, you are alone for now. Sam would have a field day, smug grin plastered across his face at the state you’re in.

Wanda, Natasha, and Clint meant to help you with this but they were all still glued to the desk, writing reports, but Bucky is supposed to be back from his latest mission any minute now and you wanted to do this nice thing for him at least. He did sound a little worn out on the phone earlier when he called you to tell you they were on their way back.

So perhaps decorating the Christmas tree would lift his spirit a tiny bit. It’s the first step in what you hope will be a cozy and inviting scene - something Bucky might walk into and, for once, not feel like a soldier returning from a war zone but a man coming home.

The tree is a statement, of course. Tony insisted on it. It’s so tall, it might even brush the high ceiling of the room and there is no way you’ll get some ornaments all the way up without risking your life. And Bucky would definitely not brighten up if you tried it out.

So you’ll absolutely be needing Wanda’s help sooner or later. With a flick of her wrist, she could make this whole thing a hell of a lot easier but you don’t have the time to wait until she is done writing her report.

You let your eyes roam over the many ornaments lying neatly in the box before you and one of them immediately sparks your attention. Your fingers brush against the delicate surface of the red ornament placed almost carefully beside the others.

Its glass is smooth and cool, the color a deep crimson so much more in depth than all the others. You hold it up to the light, turning it slowly, marveling at how the glow from the tree’s string lights catches on its curves and the unique and detailed pattern all across.

It’s heavier than expected, the weight surprising for something so fragile. The gold clasp at the top gleams faintly, tarnished just a little with age. A thin ribbon dangles from it, curling at the end like it has been tied and untied countless times.

There is something about it, some intangible quality that draws you in - a sense of history, of significance.

And then it happens.

The ribbon slips from your grasp, too quick for your fingers to snatch it back. If you weren’t so enamored with the beautiful piece, you would have gotten access to your reflexes a little earlier.

It’s too late now though, and you can only watch in stunned silence as the ornament tumbles to the ground, the crimson surface catching flashes of light as it falls.

It hits the hardwood floor with a sound that is both sharp and final - a crack, then a splintering.

Disappointed in yourself, you crouch down to the shattered remains. Tiny shards of glass fan out like a constellation, glinting under the glow of the tree. The ornament is no longer whole, splintered into different-sized fragments.

Annoyed that you were so stupid and careless to let this special ornament fall to its devastation, you begin to pick up the many red pieces into your palm.

It really was unique. It would have looked great on the tree-

Your movements freeze. Your heart leaps to your throat. A rush of panic claws at your chest and rises up to your ears where it floods and pounds tremendously.

Rebecca B.

It’s a name ingrained into the largest surviving piece of the glass - a faint, looping scrawl. Clearly written by hand.

Rebecca Barnes. The realization makes you weak in the knees and you fall back onto your heels, your ass hitting the floor with a thump.

This isn’t just some random ornament. This isn’t another piece of holiday cheer to hang on a tree and forget about for the rest of the year after packing it back into boxes to store it in a corner of the storage room.

This ornament belonged to Rebecca Barnes. Bucky’s sister. Something Bucky kept all these years, hidden among the other decorations like a relic of a life he’d lost long before his own had been ripped apart.

The air around you feels heavy. The smell of pine from the tree now stings in your nose. Your heart might actually have fallen along with the ornament because it too is shattered in pieces.

The shards tremble in your palm and you stare at them along with the rest still lying helplessly on the ground, as if there is actually something you can do right now to go back in time and not pick it up ever again, just to make sure.

But there is nothing you can do.

Your heart breaks even further at the thought that Bucky might have put it here deliberately. Maybe it was an attempt to move forward, to share the memory of his sister. Maybe he thought the ornament didn’t belong in some dusty package hidden away, but out in the open, a part of the holiday warmth he’s been so hesitant to feel. Maybe it was his thought of remembering her with someone else this time, instead of alone.

This would be such a huge step for him. And you would feel so proud if you weren’t on the verge of a panic attack.

Because it’s broken, divided into so many pieces. You just dropped something so carelessly that probably meant the world to Bucky. And, god, did he deserve the world. But you took it. You contorted the precious memories of his little sister. Unwillingly, of course. But that doesn’t make you feel any better right now.

You have known Bucky for a few years now. Though knowing him feels like a word too shallow for what you share. You never labeled it, both of you walking the fine line, and never crossing it.

But you see that Bucky trusts you - the kind of trust he doesn’t hand out freely. And for good reason, after all. In fact, you’re not even sure he’s ever given it to anyone else in quite the same way, not even Steve. And that’s saying something.

You see it in the small things, in the way his guarded demeanor softens when it’s just the two of you, the soft smiles that seem to be reserved for you. It’s the kind of friendship where silence doesn’t have to be filled, and words don’t have to be spoken to be understood.

He lets you sit with him on the couch in the living room on nights when his past pulls him under and doesn’t allow for him to get some shut-eye. You are usually awake yourself, sometimes just running on adrenaline after coming home from a mission and accompanying him silently. He always seems to linger out here when you are away on a mission anyway, so you usually meet him here after getting home, watching his shoulders slowly droop and his back rest more comfortably against the back of the couch.

You are the first at his bedside when his nightmares claw at his mind. You’ve seen him at his most vulnerable - shirt clinging to his sweat-soaked chest, hair plastered to his face, his breaths coming in uneven gasps as you help him fight to pull himself out of his memories.

Those nights, you never push him to talk. You don’t ask him to explain or tell you what he saw. Without a word, you would hand him a glass of water and wait while he drinks, his hands trembling so slightly it makes your stomach feel heavy every time. Sometimes you tell him to breathe with you, in and out, until the panic subsided and his shoulders stopped shaking.

You were never sure how much touch he needs in those moments so you usually stay at a small distance from him, but it seems your presence alone does wonders.

When he would be ready, he always searched your face so long and intensely, before croaking out a heavy but meaningful “Thank you.”

And his small acts of kindness always fill you with a jittery feeling that makes your knees weak and unfortunately doesn’t help at all when fighting against Natasha in the ring.

Just a few weeks ago, Bucky spent an entire Saturday afternoon fixing the squeaky hinge on your bedroom door because he heard you muttering to Wanda about how annoying it was.

He never even told you he was going to do it. You just came back to your room later that evening to find the door silent as a ghost. It took a whole week for you to find out how this happened. And it wasn’t him, who told you. It was Clint, who saw him walk around with a toolbox and a satisfied smile on his face that Clint, as he told you found a little terrifying.

Additionally, he always seems to know when you need a break during training sessions, tossing you a water bottle before you even realize how tired you are. Or he would plant himself wordlessly between you and your opponent for the day, with his arms crossed and a chastising glance at you when you’ve been fighting for hours without acknowledging the way your movements already grew sluggish and wobbly.

You are always aware when his hands linger on your shoulder a second longer after a sparring match, his metal fingers cold but careful, as if he’s memorizing the feel of you there. Or the way your stomach twists when he catches your eye across the room, and for just a moment, it’s like the rest of the world falls away. And the way he talks to you, even when people are around, his voice lower, softer, words chosen with an almost uncharacteristic care, makes you feel like you’re the only person he truly is interested in talking to. You also love the nights he shows up at your door with takeout, wordlessly handing you your favorite meal, and striding into your room to settle at the foot of your bed with a contented sigh.

Through it all, however, was always this persistent question you had. The one that molded into an ache inside your chest. Because what if? What if you took one step closer and stopped holding back? What if you risk everything you have with him now for something more?

But right now you feel like those questions don’t hold the same energy anymore. The same weight. No, they just got weightless. Pointless. Because you just ruined everything without even risking it.

You just destroyed something that can’t be fixed with glue and an apology. It can’t be fixed with you sitting with him and comforting him in the dark while his mind goes to the same cruel place like many times before.

This feels like you’ve crossed a line you can’t uncross.

The wrong line.

Shaking hands pick up the largest fragment, the soft loops of her name still visible through the fractures. The sharp ends bite into your palm like the memory of something sacred that’s been lost. You don’t feel the sting. You don’t feel the sensation of the few droplets of blood sliding over your palm where the ends nicked your skin.

The only thing you register is that this foolish mistake might actually unravel everything you’ve built with him.

He let you in, further than anyone, but that doesn’t mean he won’t push you back out if you give him a reason. And this definitely feels like a reason.

Your mind presents you with his reaction when he comes walking in here and sees what happened.

At first, there’d be nothing - just the stoic silence he uses to sink into, the kind that makes it impossible to tell what he’s thinking. But you’d see it in the smallest of things - the way his jaw tightens just enough to be noticeable, the flicker in his eyes that he’ll try to hide but won’t be able to, the stiffening of his shoulders. And then the desolation, like a tide pulling back just before it crashes. You wonder if he would say anything at all, or if the silence would hang heavy.

You swallow hard, begin to feel the sting behind your eyes, and try to force the lump in your throat down.

You’ve worked so hard to be someone he could rely on, someone he could trust in ways he hasn’t trusted anyone else in decades. You’ve sat with him, listened to him, stayed silent with him. Learned to know him so well, you even memorized the subtle shifts in his expressions, the things he won’t say but still lets you feel.

And now, here you are with broken glass in your hands and a painful feeling in your chest, terrified that this could be the moment that shatters the thing between you.

He might pull away, retreat behind those walls he’s spent years building. What if he doesn’t let you sit with him anymore. Or what if he does, but his shoulder would only grow more tense. What if he starts holding back, measuring his words, locking the parts of himself away that he once entrusted to you?

The idea of losing him - not just losing him, but losing this connection, this unspoken, almost-more-than-friendship thing that you’ve both been too afraid to name - makes your breath catch and something rise in your chest that might be bile.

A sob comes out instead.

It comes out like a wound ripped open before it could begin to heal. You press a quivering hand to your mouth, in hopes of muffling the sound, but it’s no use. More broken sobs come anyway.

You try to pull yourself together, to force the tears back, but your body feels so weak under the guilt and shame.

More parts of the broken ornament bite into your skin, red droplets welling up and sliding down your skin, pooling at the curve of your wrist, before falling soundlessly to the floor.

Pain should ground you. It should pull you out of this spiral, force you to snap back to some semblance of control. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t do anything at all.

Instinctively, your hand gives way, the pieces tumbling from your fingers and scattering across the hardwood once more.

You only sit there, frozen, your breath hitching and catching in your throat as tears streak down your face, warm and unwelcome. You can’t stop them.

You’re not supposed to be this weak. You’re not supposed to break down like this, over something so small. And yet that makes the sobs only harder to contain. Because this isn’t small - not to Bucky. And that’s the part that leaves you as shattered as the crimson glass. Perhaps as shattered as your relationship with the person you fell for as hard as the ornament fell to the ground.

It’s Rebecca. His sister. His past. His grief. It’s a tiny piece of his life that he trusted enough to bring out of hiding, to put here with the rest of the world, in the open where it could be seen. Where it could be touched. And you touched it, only to let it fall. Only to ruin it.

Shame knocks down on you so hard, you draw your knees up to your chest, curling into yourself as though you could make yourself smaller, invisible, anything but this.

You don’t even know what to do with your blood-streaked palm, only letting it hover in the air, the shallow cuts glistening under the still-glowing lights of the tree. It’s a mess. You are a mess. Curling your fingers into a fist, you wince in pain at the stinging of the cuts but you leave it like that.

Perhaps you are overreacting, sitting here on the floor in the common area of the compound with a bleeding hand and the shattered remains of Rebecca Barnes's memory, but you feel so helpless and remorseful, you can’t really think straight at the moment.

The sound of the elevator is faint, but it’s enough to reach your ears. You freeze. You just sit there, knees drawn to your chest, blood smeared across your palm, the shattered glass of the ornament glittering like broken stars on the floor.

You are tear-streaked, trembling, your chest still hitching with uneven breaths and Bucky just got home.

Those approaching footsteps are so familiar to you, you would always recognize his gate. Usually, it’s comforting, grounding to know he got home and would leave you with relief in your chest.

But there is no place for relief in your chest right now.

His footsteps sound normal, steady, perhaps a little hurried but he hasn’t reached this room yet.

You don’t look up. Instead, you bite your lip to stop the sob that threatens to escape. The shame is too sharp, cutting deeper than any piece of the ornament and making your heart bleed as well.

Maybe if you stay still, if you stay quiet, he’ll miss you somehow.

But then his steps come to an abrupt halt and you know you are screwed.

Burning tears spike once more and the sob breaks free.

“Woah, hey-” he calls out, so urgent, so worried.

Bucky is across the room in a heartbeat, dropping to his knees in front of you with a speed that catches you off guard.

“Sweetheart, hey.” It falls from his lips so softly, so worried, it nearly breaks you all over again.

Tears fall more freely at the kind of tenderness in his tone and suddenly his hand is cupping your face, thumb, and knuckles brushing the streaks of wetness from your cheeks.

But they keep coming.

“Look at me, please! Doll, look at me,” he murmurs, his voice impossibly gentle, but dripping with so much concern. His metal hand is on your face as well and he tilts it upward, guiding your gaze toward his.

His brows are drawn so deeply, lips parting slightly as he studies your face - the tear tracks, the desolation in your eyes, the shame and guilt, the trembling of your shoulders.

You can’t look at him. Can’t bear to see it. So you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping you’ll ever be able to forget that look on his face. Not when you know what’s coming. Not when you know what you have caused.

Just wait until he sees it, you think. That look will change.

“No,” he whispers, his voice so soft again, but there is a firmness in it. The pad of his flesh thumb smooths gently across your cheek again, while his metal fingers move to your hair. “Hey, no, don’t do that. It’s okay. Y/n, it’s okay!”

You shake your head quickly and try to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a choked sound, half-sob, half-breath. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He doesn’t know what this is about.

You want to stay hidden behind the veil of your closed eyes, safe from not seeing what you know will be there in perhaps seconds when he figures it out - disappointment, maybe anger, the grief of what you’ve broken.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart, please.”

There is something in his voice you can’t ignore. It sounds unshakable and steady, yet fragile and thick.

Slowly, reluctantly, your eyes flutter open to meet his, but when you do, you freeze.

Because he already knows.

He looks at you. Just looks, but you see he already put the pieces together. He saw the shards scattering around your knees. His expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it but he looks at you with an intensity that is new to you. There is that understanding in his eyes. But it’s so soft. So gentle.

There is no anger, no frustration, no disappointment.

There is nothing of the reaction you had feared for.

Yes, there is pain in his eyes as well. It’s unmistakable, flickering in the soft blue of his irises. But it’s not the pain you expected.

It’s not for the ornament. It’s not for what it meant.

It’s for you.

You can see it in the way his brows crease, the frown that tugs at his mouth. And the way he never once lets his gaze stray to the shards on the floor. All he looks at is you.

Bucky keeps his hands on your face, continuing to swipe over your cheeks like he’s afraid you’ll crumble if he lets go. Then, his thumbs still, resting against your cheekbones, his touch so achingly gentle that it only makes more tears fall.

“Sweetheart,” he says again, and the word cracks, quiet and uneven. He still doesn’t look angry. He still doesn’t look disappointed. He looks devastated - not for what you’ve done, but for what it’s done to you.

Your lips tremble, barely able to form words.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Come here.”

Baby definitely is a new one. It’s something he’s never called you before. But there is no time to linger on it, no chance to unpack the flutter it sparks in your stomach because he’s already pulling you toward him.

His flesh arm wraps around your body, tugging you against his chest, while his metal hand finds its place at the back of your head, cold but reassuring fingers threading through your hair.

He lets you cry against his chest. Cradles you so tightly to him, you might actually get worried about your ribs, but it feels so good. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, his heart is pounding. The fabric of his tactical suit presses against your skin, rough and worn from the mission he just came back from, but it grounds you to some extent.

“It’s okay. Just breathe, alright? Breathe,” he keeps whispering, exaggerating his breaths against your body to invite you to follow his lead. You try.

“I’m so sorry,” you sob, the words spilling out in a choked, broken rush as you bury your face in his chest. The tears won’t stop, soaking into the dark fabric of his suit.

“Shh,” he keeps on with his soft voice. His arm around you tightens, holding you closer, while his metal hand stays solidly at the back of your head. His fingers brush through your hair in slow, soothing motions. “Don’t be. Don’t you dare be.”

He continues murmuring to you when you try to apologize again, his voice low and warm. He talks so calmly and sure, you feel something inside of you churn.

Bucky tilts his head slightly, resting his cheek against your hair, and you feel the warmth of his breath as he talks to you.

And yet, biting guilt gnaws its way through your ribs. You feel terrible - worse than terrible - because it should be you comforting him, not the other way around.

It’s him who lost something precious, something you had broken. And here he is, holding you, brushing tears from your face, whispering words meant to stitch you back together.

But somehow, he doesn’t even seem to care. He holds you like you are the only thing that matters right now.

Remorse burrows deep, heavy, and shaming, until it pulls you back to yourself - slowly, shakily, but enough to loosen the sobs caught in your throat.

You sniff and take a breath, a real one this time, ragged but yours.

Then, you shift in his arms, gently pressing against his chest to put space between you. His hold loosens, slowly, with a hesitation that tugs at something in you. As if he is reluctant to let you go. Still, he relents.

His flesh hand slides away first, but his metal one lingers, brushing through your hair one last time before settling on your shoulder. He keeps you close, his thumb brushing absentminded sweeps across your sweater.

His gaze never strays and it’s heavy. You can’t meet his eyes for long. They’re too full of that care you don’t deserve, the care he shows you in so many small gestures all the time.

So your gaze falls to the floor, but then you freeze again.

The broken shards that had glinted so mockingly against the floor just moments ago are gone. Instead, settled carefully on the coffee table as though it had never fallen at all, is the ornament.

Whole.

It takes you a moment to process it, to trust what you’re seeing. The cracks are gone, smoothed over seamlessly. The gleaming red glass catches the light of the Christmas tree, its golden little details shining like something out of a memory, timeless and unbroken. As beautiful and aesthetic as before.

For a moment, you even wonder if your eyes are playing tricks on you, but then you notice Wanda standing at the far side of the room. Her hands lower slowly, the telltale red glow of her magic fading from her fingertips.

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t step closer - just tilts her head slightly, offering you the faintest, knowing smile. Her eyes are warm.

God, of course. You should have thought of that. It even makes you feel a little ridiculous. You live together with people who possess supernatural abilities, powers beyond comprehension. You should have thought of Wanda. How her hands could have mended it back together in seconds.

A choked breath stumbles out of you, somewhere between relief and disbelief. Bucky follows your gaze, his brows furrowing, only to soften when he sees the ornament resting perfectly intact on the table. He stares at it for a moment.

But then he looks back at you and his sweet smile could melt any ice this winter has to offer.

His flesh hand moves a few strands of hair out of your face and tugs them tenderly behind your ear. His hand stays on your cheek. “Told you it’s okay.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I still broke it,” you say, words slipping out quietly, somberly. Your gaze remains fixed on it. Wanda seems to have slipped out again.

“Stop,” Bucky cuts in, his voice more firm than before but still gentle as always. He shakes his head, moving closer to you again, gaze fixed on you.

You feel his hand brush against yours, but then his shoulders stiffen up. He stops. His eyes catch on something and his expression shifts in an instant.

“Jesus-” His frown deepens, something like a shadow crosses his eyes. Sharp eyes lock onto the red streaks lining your palm, the cuts where the shattered glass had broken your skin.

You hadn’t even realized you were still holding onto the pain - too caught up in everything else to notice the dull throb of your hand or the sting of the scratches.

“You’re bleeding. Why didn’t you say anything?” The words are a quiet exhale, soft but weighted. There is no reprimand in his voice, no anger - only concern coloring every syllable.

His thumb ghosts over your wrist, careful not to brush against the cuts. His intense gaze flickers from your injured hand to your face, searching your expression.

“It’s not a big deal-”

“Don’t.”

Bucky shakes his head. His jaw tightens and he exhales sharply through his nose. It’s not frustration - not with you, anyway. It’s something deeper, something that seems to pain him in his chest as he studies the scratches like they’re a personal failing.

“Bucky,” you say while trying to pull your hand back from his grasp when he tilts it more toward the light to get a better look. As if he hasn’t the eyesight of a super soldier.

“Doll. Let me see.” His lips press into a thin line, the faintest hint of exasperation ghosting across his face.

The sigh you let out drags down your chest and you don’t resist when Bucky keeps cradling your bleeding hand and studies the scratches. His brow is furrowed in concentration that feels too much for something so small.

You want to tell him it’s fine, that this is nothing, but the words die before they reach your tongue.

“Let’s get you fixed up,” he says tightly, the tone of his voice all business and leaving no room for argument.

But you shake your head. It’s your fault the ornament broke in the first place. You’re aware it’s whole again, but it was in shambles just moments earlier and you cut yourself thanks to your own stupidity.

“Bucky, you just got back from a mission-” you protest, your voice quieter than you’d like.

“Not too worried about myself right now, doll,” he interrupts, his voice insistent but warm. The hint of steel beneath his words not directed at you but at the way your guilt is still in control, trying to downplay yourself.

“Come on.” He says it softer now, but before you can argue any further, he’s already moving.

Without so much as a pause, Bucky stands and scoops you up into his arms as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You barely have a second to process the shift, before you’re pressed securely against his chest.

“Bucky!” you exclaim, startled, your uninjured hand reaching for his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Relax, doll. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost amused, though his expression remains calm, focused.

You sigh again, but there is a laugh on your breath. “Buck, I can walk. You don’t have to-”

“Not hearing it,” he says simply, almost flatly. He just continues striding along the halls with you in his arms. His steps are heavier, but you know it’s not because of your weight. He holds you like you weigh nothing at all. “You’re hurt.”

That doesn’t sound like a plausible explanation to you, since you’ve come home with way worse injuries from missions over the last months alone. But the gruffness of his voice, the one that always accompanies him when you’re injured, no matter how small - the seriousness, the concern - it shuts you up for the time being.

You let your head rest against his shoulder. He smells a little like gunpowder and dust, but you only latch onto the parts that are him and breathe them in.

“I didn’t mean to break it, Bucky,” to whisper, gaze dropping to the tightly pressed ball that is your bloody fist. “I’m so sorry.”

You feel the intake of Bucky’s breath against your body and his eyes warmly falling down on you. You don’t meet his gaze.

“You didn’t break anything, sweetheart.” His voice is like velvet, brushing so softly against your skin. So reassuringly. So profoundly gentle. “You’re okay, doll. We’re okay. I promise.” His hands curl tighter around you.

You blink, your head tilting to glance up at him, and your breath catches when you meet his gaze.

It is intense. His brows are pulled together - not with anger, but with concern. Like the only things he cares about right now are the tears that linger in your eyes and the way you’re still trying to curl in on yourself, still letting your body slightly shake with the guilt that he refuses to let you carry.

Something stirs in your belly. Something flutters, as if thousands of tiny wings brush against the walls of you, demanding to be seen. To be felt.

Because you let your mind spiral so much earlier, bracing yourself for a reaction of disappointment, frustration - that flicker of something unnameable that might pull the two of you apart.

But it still isn’t there.

Not even close.

It’s the opposite, really.

#whumpcember24 #whumpcember day15 #marvel bucky barnes #marvel mcu #bucky marvel #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes whump #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes comfort #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #avenger!reader #avenger!Bucky

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ellecdc · 19 days ago

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the basilisk and me

Sirius Black x fem!reader who is hallucinating [979 words]

CW: hallucinations, reader is in hospital, post first wizarding war, suggested and implied PTSD, anxiety/panic attack, based off of this prompt/idea, high stakes hurt/comfort A/N: ok first attempt at this kind of vibe so hopefully it's not complete shit

Sirius tried to stamp down on the fury threatening to take over as he walked as fast as socially acceptable through the hospital corridors. He promised you he’d be here today; the same time as he was the day before, and all the days before that since you’d been rescued following the end of the war from the Death Eater’s hideout.

He kept that promise, but you wouldn’t know that thanks to the security personnel who spent the past twenty plus minutes arguing with Sirius about whether or not he was authorised to visit you.

There were only four people authorised to visit you, one of them was Sirius Black; Sirius Black who had been here yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, etcetera. At the same time, every day; Sirius was here. You needed him here.

And he needed to be here; twenty plus minutes ago.

Any relief he felt at the sight of your room vanished at the sound of your gut wrenching sobs, a shout, and the clattering of furniture.

Officially forgoing social acceptability, Sirius broke out into a sprint before all but barreling into your hospital room.

There were two mediwix closing in on you with three security personnel flanking them; all of their wands drawn as your wild eyes split your attention between the people circling you, anything in your room that you might be able to use to your advantage, and - apparently - the empty corner of the room.

“Get away from me!” You screeched before dodging behind a table tray meant for meals just as a purple spell left the tip of one of the mediwix’s wand.

“What is going on!?” Sirius barked, making to step further into the room as one of the security-wix stepped in front of him.

“You can’t be here.” They stated simply; gesturing towards the door as if that would simply be the end of it.

“Would you fucker’s stop trying to tell me that!?” He all but bellowed before shoving past him to grab - rather roughly, looking back at it now - the one mediwitch he was familiar with who turned towards him with a look akin to relief.

“What is going on?” He tried again.

“She’s hallucinating; woke up screeching that there was a basilisk in the room trying to kill her. When we tried to offer her a calming draught, she started accusing us all of trying to poison her."

"And you're...?" Sirius started bemusedly. "Firing hexes at her?"

"Mr. Black-"

“Don’t call me that.”

“She needs to be stupefied.”

“The last thing she needs is more violence.” He growled in response before shoving past her and pointing his back to the four wands still aimed at you.

“Hey, baby hey. Hey hey hey, whoa, whoa.” Sirius started as he crouched down in front of you, listening to the way your shrieks and wails quieted to pitiful hiccups and sobs. “Hey, doll; hey. Easy, love, come now.”

“St- Stop, no.” You shook your head, eyes glued to a point across the room. “Stay… stay away from me.”

“It’s me, doll. It’s me; it’s Sirius, yeah? Come on, babygirl, look at me.”

"No..."

"It's me, doll." He repeated.

“Sirius.” You keened as he took your face between his hands; tears pouring a steady stream over the apples of your cheeks as you kept your gaze locked on an invisible threat that only you could see.

You didn’t pull away from his grasp, though; trembling hands landing near gently around his wrists. Your knuckles were close to white as the joints threatened to push through the dry and cracked skin of your hands even though your grip never strengthened on him.

Sirius’ heart ached for you.

“Look at me, baby. Come on.”

“I’m scared.” You whispered; breath hitching as you managed to make the briefest eye contact with your boyfriend before your eyes darted back to the corner of your room.

“I know, love. I know.” Sirius agreed, moving to his knees and tucking his feet underneath him before pressing his forehead to yours; his thumbs sweeping methodically over the highs of your cheeks as he kept his gaze on you. “I know; it’s okay.”

“But the-”

“It’s okay; just look at me until it goes away, okay?”

Sirius’ heart didn’t return to its normal cadence until your blinks started to slow - time stretching between each heavy blink - as you tried your best to keep your gaze dutifully on Sirius.

“Why don’t we get you to bed, hm?” Sirius whispered after a period of time, feeling wretched at the way your body tensed and your eyes started darting around again.

“But, the-”

“Can you still see it, dolly?” He asked kindly, quietly; allowing you some space to crane your head and get a good lay of the room that saw only one mediwix and one security personnel present after the ordeal.

“Uhm,” you let out with a nervous woosh, breaths threatening to speed back up at having lost track of your threat, “no…no, but…”

“Let’s get you to bed, and I’ll keep watch, okay?” He offered, beginning to stand before you had a chance to think too hard on his offer as you obliged Sirius, allowing him to guide you to your hospital bed.

Sirius was just pulling the thin blanket over your form when you grabbed him by the wrist.

“Will you stay with me?” You blurted, turning bashful as you added a timid “Please?”

“Of course, my love.” He agreed quickly, shucking off his boots and sliding under the thin sheets beside you. “How else would I keep watch, hm?”

And if the mediwix took issue with Sirius being there, they didn’t dare mention it; quietly working around the two figures in the bed as they cleaned up the various pieces of furniture you’d used to defend yourself whilst Sirius kept watch for any threats - visible or invisible, real or imagined - that might deign to disturb your peace.

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reidmania · 3 months ago

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in the absence of you | s.reid

summary; to find out you're pregnant and then experience a miscarriage while spencer is in prison, is a lot, trying to figure out if you should tell him when he gets home is just as much.

warnings; fem reader, hurt x comfort, mainly hurt, a lot of angst, miscarriages, pregnancy, guilt, withholding information, post prison spencer, mentions cat, probably inaccurate medical information, messy timeline, relationship struggles, imma say 18+ because there is very strong mentions of sex, and bad sex experience, emotional deattachment, grief, guilt, reader strongly believes she did something wrong, spencer blames himself for her dettachment, insecurities, trust issues, established relationships, hopeful ending, (happy ending would be inaccurate bc theres nothing happy about this fic!) feeling alone, yeah man idk this is just sad.

an; um.. so this was suppose to be fic 5 but i wanted to post it sooner, and its BEARtober so i can actaully do whatever i want.. thank you, i know i posted fic one two hours ago.. but its technically day 2 bc its 12:30am.. im so sorry in advance. 4.7k... YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME!! if this will trigger you, please don’t read.

beartober masterlist

You remember the moment clearly: the world was grey, the air heavy with the scent of rain, when you stumbled upon the truth in a small, sterile bathroom. It had been two weeks since Spencer had been taken away, wrongfully convicted and trapped in a nightmare you couldn’t fathom. You had just returned from a visit, the echoes of his voice still dancing in your mind like a haunting melody. You stood there, staring at the little stick in your hand, the two pink lines appearing like a beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounded you. Your heart raced, a mixture of joy and fear spiralling within you. You were pregnant. Spencer’s child was growing inside you, a tiny miracle nestled in the shadows of despair.

In that moment, you could almost picture his face—the way his eyes would light up, a smile breaking across his face as he wrapped his arms around you. You imagined the joy of sharing this news, of planning a future together even in the midst of chaos. But as the excitement bubbled within you, a chill settled in your chest. Spencer was in prison, suffering through an ordeal that felt cruel and unjust. You couldn’t bring this news of a new life into the turmoil that enveloped you both. What would it mean for him to hear such news in a place where hope felt like a distant memory? No, you decided. You would wait. You would hold this secret close until he was home, until you could see the joy reflected in his eyes, not the shadows of despair.

Days turned into weeks, and each passing moment felt like a tightrope walk, balancing on the edge of your own joy and the weight of his suffering. You became adept at hiding your secret, slipping into a routine that felt increasingly fragile. You took prenatal vitamins in the morning, their presence a constant reminder of the life blossoming within you. You attended appointments alone, tracing your fingers over the growing bump that would soon signify so much.

But with every visit to Spencer, every moment shared behind that glass, you felt the joy dimming under the weight of your choice. You didn’t want to add to his pain; his world was already dark. You watched him struggle to hold onto hope, and you couldn’t bear the thought of placing another burden on his shoulders. You knew if you told him he would be happy, and then feel horrible because you were pregnant, and he wasn’t there, he deserved to hear it when he could process it. That was something else you worried about, the timing was horrible, not unwelcomed on your behalf but unfortunate. When Spencer got out he would need time to adjust, you would need time to adjust.

When you touched your belly, you whispered promises, vowing to keep this little one safe until he was free. But it wasn’t long before the joy turned to an ache, a sense of loneliness creeping in. You would lie in bed at night, tracing your fingers over your bump, feeling the small kicks and flutters, and wishing desperately that he could be there to experience it with you. The silence felt oppressive, filled with unspoken words and unshared dreams.

Then, just two weeks before Spencer came home, everything shattered. You found yourself crumpled on the bathroom floor, the world spinning around you as the pain hit like a tidal wave. You didn’t want to believe what was happening, didn’t want to accept that the life you had held onto so tightly was slipping away. The miscarriage was both a physical and emotional unravelling, a gut-wrenching reminder of how fragile hope can be.

You spent the following days in a fog, the echo of your loss drowning out everything else. Each moment felt surreal, like you were watching life unfold from behind a glass wall. You wanted to scream, to let the world know that you had lost something precious, but the fear of burdening Spencer kept you silent. You couldn’t tell anyone, nobody knew you were pregnant beforehand. You kept the joy away from the world until it could reach Spencer, and now it was gone. In the quiet of your apartment, you felt the walls closing in. The space that had once been filled with laughter and love now felt hollow, echoing only with your grief. You avoided places that reminded you of the joy you had once felt, the memories of what could have been cutting deep into your heart. You wandered through your days in a daze, wearing a mask of normalcy for the world to see. Friends reached out, concern etched on their faces as they noticed your distance. You offered polite smiles and reassurances, your heart aching at the thought of revealing your pain. They didn’t know what you had lost, and you didn’t want to pull them into your darkness.

At night, when the silence was deafening, you would curl up on the couch, clutching a pillow to your chest, tears streaming down your face. You replayed the moments you had spent with Spencer, the way his laughter would fill a room, how he would hold you close and make you feel safe. You missed him fiercely, but you also felt an overwhelming loneliness, the grief a reminder of everything you had kept hidden from him. You thought about telling him, about sharing the weight of your sorrow, but the thought made your chest tighten.

Every time you looked at him when you visited, your heart twisted with guilt. He deserved to know, but you feared his reaction, the possibility of seeing that flicker of pain in his eyes. You wanted to protect him, but in doing so, you found yourself carrying this burden alone. You acted the best you could when you visited, but you knew he could tell you weren’t okay.

Two weeks have passed since Spencer’s release, but the warmth of his return hasn’t settled into your bones. Instead, it feels like a lingering chill, a shadow that stretches over your heart. How could you add to his pain when he had just returned to a world that felt foreign? He had faced horrors you could only imagine, and you didn’t want to push him deeper into the darkness. You stand in the kitchen, staring blankly at the dishes piled high in the sink, each one a reminder of how normalcy feels out of reach. The sunlight filters through the window, casting a golden hue across the room, but it does little to brighten the dark corners of your mind.

Spencer is home, yet he feels distant, a haunting echo of the man you once knew. You watch him move around the apartment, and while he wears a smile that is both familiar and foreign, his eyes reveal the weight of the trauma he carries. You want to comfort him, to wrap him in the warmth of your love, but the grief of your loss sits like a stone in your chest, making it hard to breathe. It’s been so easy to slip into the role of caretaker, to push your own feelings aside for the sake of his recovery and adjustment. The truth is suffocating.a secret you’ve kept locked away, tucked into the recesses of your heart. You want to scream it, to let the world know, but the fear of burdening him with your sorrow keeps your lips sealed.

Every time you meet his gaze, you feel the weight of your silence pressing down on you. Spencer is still adjusting, still fighting to find his place in a world that has changed around him. You can see the flickers of his old self—the gentle humour, the way his laughter dances in the air—but the shadows linger. You can’t shake the feeling that by holding back your truth, you’re pulling him deeper into the void. Spencer’s presence was a comfort, but the weight of your secret loomed like a dark cloud. You started to withdraw, spending long hours lost in thought, feeling like a ghost haunting your own life. In the two weeks Spencer had been home, you had sex once, a few nights after he got home– and honestly it was probably the worst sex you’ve ever had, not because of him, he did everything perfectly, you felt good, physically, he was gentle, and focused. Three months is a long time without sex, and physically it felt good, really good.

But the physical pleasure didn’t compare to the mental disturbance. You felt like the world was crushing you, there was so much guilt and disgust flowing through your veins because it felt so wrong. You kept it together and you didn’t blame him for not noticing, you kept your eyes closed throughout the entirety of it, too scared that if you let them open the tears would fall. He was focused on being gentle. It was messy, and fast, and you were almost thankful. You waited till Spencer fell asleep before you hid yourself away in the bathroom and spent hours crying. You didn’t wake him, you refused to. He deserved rest, good rest in the comfort of your shared bed. Anytime he tried to initiate more you tried, you allowed yourself to get lost in the feeling of his lips for a while but you couldn’t do it when the feeling bubbles in your chest again and you felt the struggle to breathe, not from the kiss but from the pure weight of your guilt.

You hardly slept, the one way to escape your burden taken away when your dreams of what your life could’ve been turned into nightmares of what you had lost. Most nights you’d lie still in Spencer’s arms, his body warm against yours, yet it provided no comfort, only reminding you of what you were keeping from him. You felt guilty, guilty that the ultrasound photos sat in the bottom of your handbag untouched since the day you lost the baby, you couldn’t look at them, it felt like torture. You felt like it was your fault, no matter how many times the doctor told you, it wasn’t, it was a thought you couldn’t shake. You felt like you were constantly battling the idea of telling Spencer, which would only put more on his shoulders, more that he didn’t need, but he deserved to know, you knew he would want to know.

You were pulling away, He noticed, of course, but he attributed it to his own struggles.

“Hey, you okay?” Spencer asks one evening, breaking the silence that has settled like a heavy fog between you. You look up from your coffee, the steam curling into the air like the thoughts you can’t articulate.

“Yeah, just tired,” you reply, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You wonder if he can see through it, if he senses the turmoil beneath the surface.

He nods, though uncertainty flashes across his face. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately. I know things have been rough, I- I know things are different- I’m different. I'm sorry, but I’m here..” The sincerity in his voice hits you hard. You want to believe that you can lean on him, that you can share the weight of your grief, but the thought of adding to his burden paralyses you. He’s already been through hell; how can you throw your pain into the mix?

“It’s just… adjusting to everything,” you say, your voice wavering. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around all that’s happened.”

Spencer steps closer, the warmth of his body radiating into the space between you. “I know. We will be okay.. Are we okay?.”

Your heart aches at the earnestness in his gaze. You want to reach out, to let him pull you into the light, but the chasm of your grief feels insurmountable. It feels silly trying to act like everythings fine, it would be useless to lie, the colour drained from your face and the emptiness in your eyes spoke words louder than a lied ‘im fine’ ever could, so you gave in to his knowledge. You nodded, “ We’re okay– I- I just need time,” you whisper, looking down at your hands. “I’ll be okay.” You move away towards the couch, he follows, sitting next to you as you bury yourself in the sofa.

The silence that follows is heavy, filled with unspoken words and unacknowledged pain. Spencer nods slowly, his expression one of resignation mixed with concern. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, the thoughts he’s too afraid to voice. As the days pass, the emotional distance between you only grows. You drift through your routines, performing the motions of daily life—cooking meals, doing laundry, going to work, avoiding the deeper conversations that tug at your heart. You want to talk about it, want to tell him how devastated you are, but every time you think of opening your mouth, the words stick in your throat. Each time he reaches out, trying to connect, you feel a pang of guilt. He deserves to be wrapped in the comfort of your love, not burdened by your sorrow. You keep telling yourself it’s better this way, that it’s noble to protect him, but deep down, you know it’s a lie.

“Let’s watch something together,” he suggests, his tone light but laced with worry. You nod absentmindedly, your mind elsewhere. The sound of laughter from the show fills the room, but it feels hollow. You can’t shake the heaviness that clings to your heart.

“Do you remember the last movie we watched together?” Spencer asks, attempting to lighten the mood. “The one with the ridiculous plot twist?” He offers, shuffling his body to face you a little more, you continue picking at your nails, keeping your gaze on the tv, honestly hardly hearing his words

You force a chuckle, but it doesn’t reach your heart. You don’t remember, not in the slightest, maybe if you thought about anything besides the weight in your chest you would be able to, but everything was distant, you were distant. “Yeah, that was… something.”

He turns to face you, and you can see the concern in his eyes. “You’re not really here, are you?”

His words cut deep, and the truth behind them wraps around your throat like a vice. “I’m trying,” you manage, feeling the tears threaten to spill over.

“Just… talk to me,” he pleads, and there’s a desperation in his voice that makes your heart ache. “Is it too much? Baby, tell me what you’re thinking.” He shuffles closer. You tense.

And yet, the silence persists. The weight of your loss feels too heavy to share, like a storm cloud hanging over both of you. You can’t bear the thought of seeing the flicker of pain in his eyes, the guilt that would inevitably follow. You feared saying it aloud would make it too real, telling him would make it too real. He didn’t deserve that, not after the months he spent being put through unimaginable things. He was trying here, to make this as easy for you as possible, showing empathy in the time he needed it most. That plagued you with guilt you couldn’t shake because no matter how hard you tried to be present, your heart remained in pieces on the bathroom floor.

“It's not you.” It came out quiet and if your sense of self awareness didn’t feel thousands of miles away you would’ve cringed. It wasn’t him, he was trying his best and dealing with stuff and turmoil you couldn’t even begin to imagine, you expected a change in him, that wasn’t the issue. Your head dropped as your fingers moved a little rougher, now picking at the skin around your nails, a horrible habit Spencer had helped you stop when you first started dating, you subconsciously picked it up again when he went to prison.

He moved closer, if you looked up you would’ve seen his brows knitted in concern and a frown on his face as he reached out to depart your hands from one another, taking one on his own to stop your assault. “Then what is it?” He was pleading for an insight into the mess in your head, that was terrifying because you knew there was a similar mess in his own, for a completely different reason. You were both silently fighting emotions impossible to articulate. Spencer was slowly adjusting, slowly. It took time for him to even begin to talk about what had happened in his time locked up, you never pushed. He was trying to let you in, and you were trying to push him out, but you could see it in his eyes, he knew there was something, and you could push him away and try to handle this alone, but you didn’t want to be alone.

You looked up at him, tears lining your eyes. You chewed at your lip before you let out a harsh breath, “I got my period.” Your voice broke, then the tears followed as a sob left your lips. Then your hands were reaching to cover your face as the tears continued, falling as if you hadn’t been crying everyday for the last month. Waking up to your period was maybe the worst feeling you had ever experienced, the reality washing over you again, and the sight of blood filling you with a memory you didn’t think you could ever forget. It was painful, so painful.

His eyes widened when you started sobbing, each sound leaving your lips causing his heart to weigh heavier as he moved closer to wrap his arms around you. He knew you, he knew you on your period. Sure you were more emotional than normal but not this emotional. His hands threaded through your hair as you buried your face in his chest, still covered by your hands. He didn’t want to admit that this was the closest he had felt to you since his release. “Is that what's wrong, sweet girl? Are you in pain?” He asked, and you shook your head as sobs ripped from your throat followed by wet hiccups. You were sure there were probably wet stains on his shirt despite the fact your hands were in the way, your tears would not stop, you couldn’t stop them, you couldn’t carry this alone. Not anymore.

It was muffled by your hands and his t-shirt, hardly coherent through your sobs, “I was pregnant,” You felt him stiffen slightly and you knew he heard it, but once the truth was in the air, once the words left your lips, the others followed almost instantly. “I was pregnant and I lost it – I killed our baby.” It was all broken words, the ugliest side of your guilt travelling through in your words.

He was quiet. That was the worst part. You knew he wasn’t mad, actually you didn’t know that, deep down maybe, but right now you truly believed he could have any sort of reaction, even the most unlike him. Right now your brain was absent of any ability to process what you were doing. Your chest was so tight it hurt and you were genuinely struggling to breathe.

When he heard your slight hyperventilating against his chest he seemed to snap out of whatever state he was in, he pulled back to look at your face, his hands moving to cup your cheeks to pull you to look at him, the sight was heartbreaking. “Breathe, Please. Deep breaths” He guided, his voice gentle but you could see emotion in his eyes, something less gentle, not so much anger, maybe hurt, maybe confusion, maybe guilt. You couldn’t see well enough through your tears to figure it out.

You listened, the air you breathed in deeply was so cold it made your throat burn, it was just as cold when you breathed it back out, then again. “I’m sorry,” You whispered, the tears were still falling, you didn’t bother trying to stop them anymore. It was useless.

“That’s a lot–” He shook his head, “--You were pregnant?” It was the same whisper as yours, as if he was trying to make sure he properly understood what had left your lips, as if this was a reality he didn’t want to be. He was confused, of course he was.

You frowned as you looked up at him, you knew he would want to know everything, and as much as you knew he deserved that, explaining and reliving it felt like a punishment, as if you needed more of that. “Spencer” it was pleading. You were pleading with him not to dig, not to ask, selfishly so, because you knew he deserved everything, that he needed to hear it just as much as you needed to not talk about it.

He frowned, his thumb reaching to brush tears away from your cheeks, the movement useless because the tears kept falling, “I know it hurts. Can you tell me when?” he asked, he was being so gentle, it only made the guilt in your chest burn more, his kindness was cruel because you didn’t deserve it, not in your eyes.

You hiccuped as you looked down, he lifted your face a little more, encouraging you to look back at him, you did. You “Um– A month after- you uh” You trailed off, a month after his life was ruined and he was wrongfully convicted, he knew what you meant, you could see it in the way his eyebrows furrowed further. He was quiet, the silence thick with so many questions and needed explanations, he needed to know what happened, he needed to be walked through it because he wasn’t there. You knew the guilt was probably eating at him for that, you partly wished you hadn’t mentioned it, that you had been more sensible before blurting it out.

“How far along were you?” He asked, another question tumbling out so gently. He was trying to be careful, despite his hundreds of questions. There was no backing out now, he deserved to know everything just as much as you deserved to be able to tell him everything.

You hiccuped as you answered, “Eight and a half weeks.”

His eyes closed as a harsh breath left his lips, his hands dropped from your face to drag along his own. You weren’t sure what he was feeling, you weren’t sure what you were feeling. He did the maths in his head to figure out when you miscarried, he didn’t want to make you answer it. His hands dropped from his face to his lap as he looked back at you, then you saw tears in his eyes, ones that mirrored your own. “Did you find out what happened?” He asked, voice strained.

You dropped your head and looked down at your hands, “Genetic abnormalities” you whispered. Saying more seemed impossible as your throat felt like it was closing.

You remembered the appointment after like a scene on repeat. There were so many tears, so many ‘it's not your fault, there's nothing you could’ve done' and even more ‘Do you want me to call somebody?’ from the doctor, the question would only make your tears harsher, because there was nobody to call.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice cracked with emotion as he searched your eyes. He wasn’t angry, he was hurt, processing, overwhelmed, anything but angry with you. He wanted to know, he wanted to know everything, especially something like this.

Your head dropped further as you whispered and ‘im sorry’ which made him shake his head, and remind you that he asked you why you didn’t tell him, he wanted to know what was going on in your head, he wanted to know, he wanted you to let him in, to let him grieve this loss with you. He wanted to know what it was that made you feel like this was something you had to carry alone.

“You’ve been through – You’re going through so much” You mumbled out, every word seemed harder to get out, but there was no out of this conversation, no running or hiding from the truth, from him. “I didn’t– I didn’t want you to have to deal with this as well.”

His frown deepened, and you swore your heart broke in half when a sound so sad left his lips, as if what you said physically wounded him. “You-” He let out a harsh breath, “That's not fair.” He whispered, and you knew he was right. You withheld information he deserved to know, that could affect him just as much as it did you, and he understood your intentions, and your fears but that didn’t make it any easier to process. He wasn’t mad, he was hurt, maybe a little bit mad, but not so much with you, with everything else. “You don’t– Angel, you can’t choose that for me. This– this is just as much on me to deal with as it is for you. I want to deal with this with you.”

“I know.” You were silent after that, because the only words you could think of was ‘I’m sorry’ and you knew he didn’t want that. You knew he didn’t want you to be sorry, he wanted you to trust him to let him in, to not treat him like he was fragile. He wanted you to have faith in him, to be able to rely on him, he wanted to be there. He hated that he hadn’t been there. He was right, it wasn’t your job to dictate what he could and couldn’t handle, and while maybe with the right intentions, you were taking away such an important part of your relationship from him, you were hiding something so important to you, and you knew it was just as important to him.

Maybe I’m sorry was all you could think of, because that's all you were. So sorry. Sorry that you hid it from him, sorry that you let him down, sorry that you lost the baby. You were so filled with guilt and grief it was consuming you. No matter how many times you were told it wasn’t your fault, the wonder of what if took up too much space in your mind, what if you just did one thing differently, it was useless, because it was out of your control, that felt worse. That there was nothing you could have done to change it. Spencer was just as silent as you were. The weight of what happened caused a crack neither of you wanted there, you didn’t know how to fix it, you didn’t know how to let him into the mind you didn’t even want to be in.

“I love you” He muttered.

The sob followed. You didn’t realise how much he was holding back emotion till this moment. Till he leant forward to wrap his arms around you and his head buried into the crook of your neck, seeking your comfort just as much as you seeked his. You shuffled closer and wrapped your arms around his, easing into his touch. “It's not your fault.” He spoke through his sobs, His hand trailed up to cup the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair, pulling you closer, at his words your mind swirled, hearing it from him made you think about it, it didn’t shake the guilt, but it softened it, your sob followed his.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, crying in the comfort of one another, at some point you had moved so you were on his lap, his arms around you like he needed it to breathe. Telling him didn’t ease the grief you were carrying, you didn’t think anything would, but you were feeling it with him, and you weren’t alone in it. There were many more conversations to be had about it, probably hundreds of more apologies between the two of you, probably a lot more crying and days just like this, tangled in shared sadness and maybe that wouldn’t fix what you were feeling, ore take away the grief and maybe it would be just like this for a while.

But you trusted him, and you trusted that you would be okay, that your relationship would be okay.

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