I if requests are open, do you think you can do a syndrome x reader, a continuation of the Christmas special. Maybe he sees the reader interact with kids or babies, and starts to realize what she meant, and becomes an angsty/fluff.
Thank you!
Ohh I had so much fun writing this! Thank you so much for this request. I just love writing for Buddy and I hope you enjoy it.
Family Syndrome ||
Characters:
• Syndrome (Buddy Pine): A former superhero fan turned villain, focused on world domination. Highly intelligent, manipulative, and often self-centered in his pursuits. He initially dismisses the idea of having a family but gradually begins to feel the absence of his wife’s affection and realizes what she truly meant.
• Reader (Wife): Syndrome’s loving and supportive wife, who yearns for a more personal future with him, including raising a family. She is compassionate, hopeful, and patient but also deeply hurt by his initial rejection. Over time, she distances herself emotionally, finding comfort in moments with children, which unknowingly sparks a change in Buddy.
• Various Children & Babies: Represent the warmth and love that the reader desires, unknowingly influencing Syndrome’s realization of what he might be missing.
Trigger Warnings:
• Emotional Conflict: The reader and Syndrome experience a deep emotional rift due to differing desires for the future.
• Dismissive Behavior: Syndrome initially disregards his wife's feelings and aspirations, creating emotional pain.
• Isolation & Loneliness: The reader begins to pull away emotionally, and Syndrome starts to feel the emptiness of her absence.
• Angst & Regret: Syndrome struggles with the realization of how much he has neglected his wife’s emotional needs.
• Soft Manipulation: Syndrome’s past tendencies to prioritize his own plans over their relationship contribute to the tension.
• Bittersweet Realization: Themes of longing, self-reflection, and unspoken love create a slow, aching emotional shift before leading to a heartwarming resolution.
Masterlist
Part 1
Words: 1249
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Days passed since the conversation, and something had changed. His wife was still there—she still kissed him in the morning, still sat across from him at dinner, still brushed her fingers through his hair absentmindedly when passing by. But there was something different in those gestures, something subtle yet impossible to ignore. She lingered less. She smiled, but there was a flicker of distance in her eyes. And worse, she wasn’t as present in the spaces they used to share.
Buddy didn’t want to think about it. He buried himself in his work, throwing himself deeper into his plans, into new inventions, into every little thing that kept his mind moving so fast he wouldn’t have to acknowledge the unease settling inside him. He told himself he was just imagining things. That she would get over it. That this was just some fleeting phase, a passing thought, and soon enough, everything would go back to normal.
But then he started to notice the silence.
It crept in slowly, so subtly that at first, he didn’t realize what was happening. The quiet hum of their life together, the way she used to sit beside him while he worked, asking about his latest designs even if she didn’t fully understand them, the way she used to press against his side while he ranted about heroes, offering a quiet comment that made him feel heard—it was all fading. And in its place was nothing.
She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t cruel or distant in any obvious way. But he could feel it in the way she moved around him, in the way she seemed to be somewhere else even when she was right beside him. And he hated it.
He wouldn’t bring it up. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of thinking she had shaken him. He would just wait.
And then one evening, he saw her.
It wasn’t planned—he had just been walking through the estate when he stopped in his tracks, his attention drawn to the courtyard. She was there, holding a baby, laughing softly as the child cooed and reached for her hair. Buddy froze. He had never seen her like this before. She was always beautiful, always captivating, but this was something different. There was a warmth in her eyes, a quiet kind of joy, something so tender and real that it made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t understand.
He should have walked away. He should have shaken it off. But he stood there for too long, staring, something unfamiliar twisting inside him. He had never seen her look at him like that.
That night, lying in bed beside her, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The way she had smiled, the way her voice had softened when she spoke to the child, the way she had held them so carefully, as if she had done it a thousand times before. He turned onto his side, glancing at her. She was still awake, staring up at the ceiling, lost in her own thoughts.
“I saw you today,” he muttered, voice quieter than he intended.
She turned her head, blinking at him. “What?”
“In the courtyard.” He hesitated, then admitted, “With the kid.”
A flicker of something passed across her face before she sighed. “Oh. Mirage asked me to watch her cousin for a little while.”
“You looked happy.” The words felt foreign in his mouth, strange and uncertain.
She didn’t answer right away. Then, with a small smile, she said, “I was.”
It was such a simple answer, yet it landed like a weight in his chest.
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing at all.
But in the following days, he couldn’t get the image out of his head.
And suddenly, it was everywhere.
At a coffee shop in the city, he saw a father lifting his daughter onto his shoulders, making her squeal with delight. The sound grated on his nerves more than it should have. At one of his warehouses, a woman rocked a baby in her arms while speaking to one of his men, her voice soft and soothing. Buddy turned away before he could look too closely. He went about his life as he always did, but for some reason, it was all starting to feel… hollow.
The worst part was that it followed him even in the quiet of their home.
At night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the thoughts creeping into his mind. He imagined little footsteps echoing through the halls, small giggles filling the empty spaces of the mansion. He pictured his wife sitting on the floor, a child in her lap, reading some ridiculous bedtime story with that same warmth he had seen in the courtyard. He imagined that child looking up at him with her eyes, grinning at him with his smirk.
And the idea didn’t repulse him the way it should have.
He still didn’t understand it. He still wasn’t sure what it meant. But when he looked at his wife now, he could feel the weight of everything unspoken between them. She wasn’t pressing the issue. She wasn’t trying to change his mind. But she was still waiting. And he didn’t know how long she’d wait before she stopped altogether.
One night, he found her sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, flipping through an old photo album. He wasn’t sentimental, didn’t care much for looking back, but for some reason, he sat down beside her. He glanced at the pictures, old memories frozen in time—years ago, when they were younger, before everything had fallen into place. Before he had become this.
“You miss something, don’t you?” he asked before he could stop himself.
She gave a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I miss what could be.”
He didn’t know how to respond to that. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. But when she looked at him, there was something so honest in her expression that it made his throat feel tight.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “…I don’t know how to be that kind of person.” His voice was quieter than usual, almost hesitant. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”
“You don’t have to be perfect, Buddy.” She squeezed his hand, voice softer now. “You just have to be you.”
He swallowed hard, staring at their hands.
“I’m scared,” he admitted. It was the first time he had ever said those words out loud.
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t laugh or scoff. She just leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. “Me too,” she murmured. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it.”
He didn’t say anything else. He just sat there with her, listening to the quiet crackling of the fire, feeling the weight of something shifting between them.
That night, as they lay in bed, he pulled her closer than he had in weeks. He wasn’t sure where this was going, wasn’t sure what it all meant yet. But as he buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her, he whispered, “Maybe we can talk about it. Someday.”
She tensed for just a moment before looking up at him, eyes wide. “…Really?”
He hesitated, then gave a small, crooked smile. “Yeah. Really.”
