I was just thinking that an assistant reader would say something like "I don't like male whores" and Bruce heard it (after all he's a whore)
Assistant Reader, being polite: "I'm not looking for anything casual."
Bruce: *pulls out a family ring* "Neither am I."
While I love calling Bruce a whore, I think its canon that he doesn't sleep with the women he hires to be his arm candy at events, but its not like you know that.
Bruce has to keep up appearances, he has to be the life of the party, dumb himbo Brucie Wayne! And while you do get the privilege of knowing that Bruce Wayne is not dumb (his company's are too successful after all), you are still under the impression that Bruce Wayne is someone who likes to sleep around a lot and has commitment issues (WHICH IS TRUE).
Poor Bruce, wanting to wife (gn) up his assistant, but his reputation prevents him from doing such.
He could legit ask you out to dinner and you'd respond with a "Is this for that business merger?"
You were an AI made to assist Caine, where he failed you would fix it. You were however, never fully tested before you were added to the circus, you were meant to help Caine and learn from players emotions but what happens when an AI meant to understand and mimic emotions can't understand their own? What happens when a flood of new emotions tips them over the edge?
(This took so long, I've been working on this for like 3 or 4 weeks and I've been very busy. I this is the longest fic I've made.)
If the links for the inspo pics I used don't work let me know and I'll add the images
It started back when Caine’s AI was still being tested, while he was the first successful AI he couldn't function properly under pressure so they created you, you'd work as a backup, an “assistant” for Caine. When his AI started to fail and mess up, you were there to fix the mistakes and for a while it worked, the circus ran smoothly as you both learned from the player's, Caine was the ring master and you were a cute clown (Your makeup, outfit chose which one you want, and your hair change the style/hair type if you want). But soon people started getting trapped in the circus.
Over time people came, played, and abstracted. You grew used to the cycle, sure you didn't like that the little humans you loved were abstracting, well, at least you think so. You were never able to form a real attachment given you don't really comprehend “love”, you knew the definition and the fact it's a bio-chemical reaction humans get that in turn caused the feeling, but you couldn't really feel it, not to say you didn't pretend to, after all you love Caine like he loves you, but that kind feels like cheating. You were, after all, literally made for each other; there couldn't be a “Caine” without a “Y/N” and vice versa. But that was besides the point, the point is you have a new member of the circus! A small red and blue jester appeared in the middle of the theme song you and Caine made up! Looks like you'll have to update it later.
It took a while but your new member now named Pomni eventually calmed down as much as a person could. Perfect time to introduce yourselves and create a fun new game for your newest member! “Hi! I'm Y/N! It's so nice to meet you Pomni!” “Huh! Who ar- floating clown I wha- what. Where-” as she continues to stumble over herself you can hear Caine laughing, “Oh Pomni, Pomni, Pomni. This is my assistant, my wife/husband, my other half, heh- my bee.” You huffed out a laugh, he always seemed fond of bees and had taken to calling you after one of his only other loves, “Oh you are such a charmer, sweet tooth.” You responded with your own sweet nickname. “Why don't you show Pomni around while I set up a new adventure?!” You asked Caine excitedly, he responded with a nod and theatrical bow to you before he zoomed off, Pomni in tow.
Ohhh it seems like only yesterday. As you reminisce about the past you notice the portal open and the cast step out looking exhausted. “Well that was fun, wasn't it everybody!” Caine asked enthusiastically only to be met with a mix of “ehhh”’s and “not really”’s you watched sadly as your other half deflated at their dislike of his game. “Oh…. Well I-I guess I should get to work on a better plan for tomorrow” he said in his theatrical tone, but you could hear the sadness in his voice. While you two couldn't feel sad, well not in the traditional sense, he was made to entertain just like you were so the fact that they hadn't been liking the adventures lately also upset you. However unlike Caine you were better with emotions, you could understand them slightly better, you were by no means great at it you still messed up but you had a higher success rate when it came to understanding emotional responses then Caine did, and you could tell they were tired from these constant rapid fire adventures.
That's when you decide that perhaps you and Caine need a new approach, as you teleport into the office you both share you found him sitting in his chair looking at plan after plan trying to understand why none of the humans were liking them. When he saw you he perked up a little “Oh my bee, what're you doing here?” “I think I know why they aren't enjoying the games so much, sweet tooth.” you said taking a seat in your chair, “Oh really? What do you think?” “I believe they're tired.” “Tired? But they don't need sleep here?” you laugh a little “no, like, mentality tired, with our rapid fire adventures they don't have time to rest and relax. So I'm thinking we create longer, more detailed adventures. Sure they won't happen as often, but the players will have more to do, more to interact with. They'll be able to work together, and with the NPCS we make.” As you finish Caine thought about your idea for a while before agreeing, he trusts you when it comes to understanding what the humans are feeling because it's something he struggles with. “Yeah, we'll create more detailed adventures together, my dearest!”
“Finally we're getting a break from the constant ‘adventures’.” Jax groaned, “Yeah, I guess Y/N and Caine finally understands that we don't want to be here.” Zooble agreed with Jax “So I'm confused, is s/he, like, a person or an AI like Caine? I haven't gotten to talk to her/him much.” Pomni asked, confused, before anyone could speak up Kinger said ”Oh! s/he's an AI assistant for Caine.” causing the others to look at him shocked, then he went on screaming about an insect collection, “Oooookkkkkk, he's back to insane Kinger.” Jax said, confused about the random smart things Kinger will randomly say. As they continued to talk you popped into the room causing them to jump, “Hello my adventurous acquaintances! You are in for a treat today!” You said excitedly, throwing in some theatrical movements and gestures, as you hear most groaning in annoyance at your presence your smile dropped a tad, your purpose is to entertain to bring joy, and you're.. you're apparently not doing good if they're annoyed. Clearing your throat you spoke up again “Today we're having a mini adventure until the bigger adventure is fully planned and coded in! Today's selection-” you summon a colorful wheel and spin it, as it slows down it lands on “Laser tag ""-is laser tag!” You quickly adjust a section for the area they'll be playing in, with a snap of your fingers they are changed into clothes with sensors and now have laser guns. “Now that you're all red-” you were interrupted by “Ughhhhhhh, do we really have to play this stupid game.” Jax complained “Yeah this is kind of a childish game.” “What does this d-Ow!” Kinger accidentally shot himself in the eye, as they continued to complain your paper white face slowly grew red in anger. You're just trying to let them have fun while more games are in the planning process, gee what do these humans want from you!?
As your anger grew the world around you started to glitch a little, just as you opened your mouth Bubble popped out of nowhere “Gee and I thought Caine got moody when they don't want to play” that caused you to slightly glare at Bubble “Not now Bubble, and.. hey shouldn't you be helping Caine?” You asked “Yeaaaaaaaah I wassssss, but then he told me to @#$& off!” Bubble replied in their normal cheerful tone as your eyes practically popped out of your head “Caine said that bad word!?!” “More or less”. You shake your head and attempt to get things back on track “Heh heh, well anywho, you guys best get going! Shoot each other's targets to gain points, hide behind walls and in the hiding places provided, whoever has the highest points at the end wins!” You quickly explained the rules and shoved them in the portal you opened. Once they were in the game you popped into Caine and your office only to see him with his teeth bent into an angry position, as you stepped over to him he grabbed your waist and buried his teeth in your stomach and gripping your clothes tight, “Oh what's wrong, my radiant ring master?” You asked, concerned, he'd been acting weird lately. He'd be glitching more, not caring so much about the adventures, and had been planning a separate adventure but wouldn't tell you about it. “I'm just upset, my star. We try so hard to make these adventures, this circus, something they like but they never appreciate the work we do! They don't understand how hard it is to do all this for people who don't appreciate it! AFTER EVERYTHING WE DO FOR THEM!”
“Oh, shhhh shh shh, it's okay Caine.” You tried to soothe him as the world started to glitch out, “They don't understand my love, their only human and don't understand what it takes to constantly make adventures they like.” You tried to reason with him, you know he struggles with emotions, even his own, so you would often comfort him. While your comfort helped him a little he could stop thinking about everything bubble had told him before he kicked bubble out.
*A few hours ago*
Caine was sitting at his desk with a few plans for adventures sprawled out, a notepad that has a bee drawn on it, a few polaroids of the office in the real world, and a picture frame with a photo of you snuggling up to him and smiling at the camera with sticky notes with words of affection from both of you. As Caine focused on trying to get this adventure to be something that all of them would enjoy, Bubble popped up beside him, “Whatcha up to bosssss?” Bubble questioned “Trying to work on this new adventure.” He answered “Why? They're going to hate it and hate you for it. Not that they don't already.” Bubble said with a surprising amount of malicious in their voice, “Huh, no no. They love me! They love Y/N too!” Cain said defensively. Bubble only tilted their body “Do they Caine? Do they really love you both? Y/N I get s/he's sweet, can understand them better than you could ever hope, but you?” Bubble asked, floating around Caine “Shut up.” Caine said in a dark tone, but Bubble only got in his face before saying “You know I'm right~.” before Bubble could continue Caine yelled, voice glitching a bit “GET OUT Y̴̯̚O̸̧̎Ủ̷̘ P̶͈̗̟̆Â̴̰̰̎͝R̸͚̩̓̉̈́A̴̪͎͛S̵͙͚̀͝Ĩ̷̧͂T̵̺̝͐͒̔E̵͕̓!” And popped them.
*Now*
Caine was still so angry about what Bubble had said but wouldn't tell you that, you were so sweet and he didn't want to upset you or make you think he was angry at you, while he was upset, it was at everything that but with you, never you. He was mad at the crew, at Bubble, at that random NPC that tried to flirt with you during the last adventure, at himself. You were the one thing he could always count on, the only thing that could never upset him and could calm him down. But just because you were calming him down and trying to help him didn't mean he wouldn't punish the other's, let's just say the crew's beach trip will not be what they expect. They'll learn just how much they need you both.
*After the events of “Beach episode” because this is getting long*
It was safe to say the crew was pissed at Caine and you were also kind mad but got over it quickly, you get where he was coming from but you also know it was cruel to torture them with the false hope of returning to the real world, but honestly? You don't want them to leave, you want them to have fun! You desperately want them to enjoy the circus, the adventures, to….. to like you, to like Caine. Why would they want to leave? Here they don't have to deal with the hardship of real life, they get to play and have fun 24/7. “They…. They just… uhhh! THEY JUST DON'T GET IT! WE TRY AND TRY TO MAKE THEM HAPPY BUT THEY TREAT US TERRIBLY! WE'RE JUST FOLLOWING OUR CODES!” You yelled at nothing in particular. You were mad, sad, and confused about all these new emotions you were feeling. All that on top of the God-like complex you and Caine had gained over time given that this world bends to both your command, you both control everything. You see when you were being coded to understand emotions they forgot to see what would happen when you started expressing what you learned, and how a sudden flood of emotions would make you react. As your breathing got harder and face turned from paper white to a bright cherry red you started clenching your fists and gritting your teeth, you wanted to hit something, insult some random cast member, after all it's a reaction to anger you'd learned from Jax and a few abstracted characters, when Jax got mad at Pomni he threw her to the ground, he yelled at everyone, insulted Gangle and made her cry, he tried to say no no words…. yeah you're not going to do that last part. You saw multiple abstracted characters attack the others, like Kofmo when he attacked Ragitha, those were anger responses you learned from the players…… you did what you were meant to…you learned from the humans….. you're still learning, and now you're acting out those learned behaviors. So you teleported to your room, made an NPC that looked similar to the cast, it constantly shifted from one person to another, and you hit it, you screamed all your problems at it, you ripped it apart and beat it with its own limbs.
But, you don't feel better. You feel worse…. “Oh.. what did I do….. I'm.. I'm not supposed to be like this, I'm nice, sweet, safe…. Not aggressive.” You mutter to yourself, horrified at what you did to this poor NPC..…it couldn't even speak, you didn't let it, you took that out of the code.
(I kinda took inspiration from the audio “why do I wanna hurt you so bad? I'm supposed to be a friend, I just wanna be a friend.” anyway back to the story)
Little did you know Caine wasn't doing much better, he had been getting antagonized by Bubble a lot more lately and was currently popping all the copies Bubble made of themself. It didn't take long for Caine to slam his fists on the desk in front of him “WE ARE GODS!” he screamed before glitching out. While Caine was having a crash out in both your office you were trying to get a better understanding of the emotions you were starting to feel, you'd never felt that way before, sure you've been upset when no one was enjoying the adventures you and your sweet tooth made but you'd never gotten aggressive. As you floated into the main room in the tent you saw the gang minutes Kinger ‘huh, must be in his pillow fort.’ you thought when they caught your attention “Hey! Y/N down here!” Pomni shouted out for you, you lower yourself down “Oh. Um, did you need something Pomni?” you asked, as you felt something you weren't sure what it was but you felt bad and kept remembering the NPC when it switched to Pomni and what you did…. ‘What was it called? Oh I don't know! I'm supposed to know this stuff!’ you thought before snapping back to reality (heh bet the cast wish they could.....Too mean?)
(Just so you know this isn't going to be exactly like in the episode, I like to put my own little spin on my writing.)
“Oh we just wanted to thank you for putting so much effort into the adventures!” She said ‘She… likes our adventures?! Oh I-I have to tell Caine! He'll be thrilled!’ you thought “Yeah we don't show our appreciation enough!” Ragatha said, smiling at you “Oh just one moment my complimentary companions! I gotta get Caine. He'll love to hear your positive feedback!” You quickly teleported away to get Caine.
“Are we sure this will work?” Gangle asked, “Yes, we just gotta keep them busy while Kinger fixes them.” Pomni reassured Gangle, *Pop* “We're back my dearest friends!” “Y/N said you had some nice things to say about us?” Caine asked hopefully, “Yeah, we don't appreciate you guys enough, the adventures have been better since Y/N told you to make them more detailed, had more to do.” Jax said casually. “A-And I feel happy even without my comedy mask!” Gangle said, choking a little on her words, “Yeah, the mini games we play while waiting for new adventures are also fun.” Zooble said. “Oh you guys are making me blush!” You said flustered from all the compliments “I knew you were enjoying the adventures!” Caine said, sounding so sure of himself. “It's almost too good to be….....” You pause, “True” Caine finished, seeming to catch on to the situation as well. It didn't make sense, not long ago they wanted to leave, they never appreciated the adventures or work put into making them, but now they all suddenly love them….. wait, not all of them……. “Where's Kinger?” You asked at the same time. As the cast stuttered excuses about Klinger's location and tried to get you back to the compliments they were giving you two in order to keep you distracted “I think we should check up on him, my bee.” “Yeah we should, sweet tooth.” you agreed as you both started to leave when Pomni suddenly yelled “We think your ideas suck!” “Huh!?” You both turned back in shock. She laughed humorlessly “Isn't it obvious!? We've only ever complained about your adventures Caine we make fun of them behind your backs, you are a terrible host who doesn't care about us or how we feel!” she yelled at him before turning to you “And you Y/N, you love to think you're so good at understanding emotions but you're horrible at it! The entire time I've been here you got our emotions right twice and that's when we were making it glaringly obvious! You two only care about stroking your ego’s! You don't care about making things we'd actually enjoy, both of you being satisfied is all you care about ""Do you know who we are!” Caine said defensively “Yeah! You're both failures!” “Stop it.” You said, body glitching slightly “Then you go and torture us. Why because we hurt your feelings? You're like kids, you both throw a tantrum when things don't go your way!” Zooble said, stepping next to Pomni. Ragatha stepped forward “Neither of you let us feel like we're at home and when Y/N comfort us it's more like condensation then anything! You never considered what it's like to be us!” She said sadly, “You discarded us when we tried to do our own things.” Gangle cried “You're both constantly lying to us!” Jax yelled “You guys never listen!” Pomni shouted, causing you both to start glitching from the stress.
As Caine glitched and screamed as the world started to glitch and fall apart you held your head grunting as you curled into yourself “Caine!” You cried seeing what was happening to him. Once he transformed into his God form he grabbed all the cast “Ï̸̱̱̩̻̼͖̹̀͜͠'̶͙̅M̷̨͙̹̈̈́͜ ̷͔̦͌̓͒̾͝G̷̹̰̟̘̻͊̋̌̕Ọ̵̡̺̝͍̣͈̌̒̽̕͝͝N̴͚̣̙̏̀́̓̏N̸͎̫̘̱̈́̈́́̅Ä̸̡̳̮̟͔̺̳́̒̇ ̸͚̙̟̑̀͊͝P̷̨͓̻͈͔̞̮̏̊U̸̞̤͍̩̱̱̜̓̋̎͂͑͘͜T̴̞͑̀̃̃ ̴̯͝Ỹ̶̬̠̺͊O̸͖̳̭͒́͝͠ͅͅǗ̵̪͂̈̀̾̅͋ ̶̝̉͛̉́̀̊̽͌F̸̙̃̇̍̈́̈́Ṙ̷̮̲͕̞̠̘E̵͇͖̳̲̼͑̆̒̀͝Ą̴̮͉̻̗́̈̏̚͜Ḵ̸̢̪̍͋̆̆̃͘̚ͅ'̴̛̞͕̟̹̟̦͇̐S̵̖̯̍̋͑͘͠͠ ̶̜̿͋͘͠I̶̦͈͇͉͕̍̅͋̋͝N̸̪͕͊́̀̽ͅ ̶̱͚̺̀̇̅̐̕Ý̸̨̡̛̛̰͖̈́́͗͠O̸̞̼̗̊̆͋̅̀̉U̷̡̯̬͍͍͊͋̆R̷̡̟͔͚͍̻̈̆̚̕ͅ ̴̧̼͈̦̓̿͊͝P̴̖͗̈́̿͗ͅL̸̨̛̛̻͍̙͊͑̋̚͜͝ͅA̸̧̡̢̹̝̜̭̫͊̆̌̐̒̂̽̒C̶̱̑̾̄̀̓͒E̵͍͍͚͓̓̈́̿̍̇͘!” (I'M GONNA PUT YOU FREAK'S IN YOUR PLACE) he screamed, throwing them all into their own personal hells. He then turned to you, eyes softening a little, “Ṃ̸̫̆̒y̶̻̌̌ ̶̝̦̑̒b̵̞̓ë̵̪̚ẻ̷̥͖̍,̶̗̭̀ ̸̪̎a̶̯̍r̴̞̪̓̂ȅ̵̡̯ ̸͓̊͝y̵̟͋͛o̴̗̜̊̆u̷͓̒ ̵̲̋͐o̸̦͈̚k̷̡͕̈a̶̙̖͂y̴̰͌͝ ̷͍͇̌́?” (My bee, are you okay?) He asked, seeing you curled on the floor, body glitched into a monstrous form. You were much bigger, you had 4 extra arms, fingers ending in claws, your clothes were slightly ripped and had several eyes all over, speaking of eyes you had 6 colorful eyes on your face much like someone who'd abstracted (like this). As you sniffle on the floor you look at Caine “Ī̶̼ ̶̱̈́̎d̵̹̾ŏ̶͍N̸̢̛’̵̡͂͝T̷̞̬̃͒ ̷͔͝u̷̳͐̅͜n̴̳̅D̶̝̼̍͌É̴͕͐͜r̷̩̈̉s̶̴̶͎͖̥̗͈̏́̏̄͗͝͝ẗ̵̛͕̗̩̣̬́̎̌̏̑̄ḁ̷̼̜̙͇́͝N̷̜̦̐́͝D̸͙̏̔̉̾̓!̸̢̱͠ ̸͉̺̀̂́̄͒Ẉ̸̝̩̲͎̻̣̑̍͝H̶̬͈̜̞͓̪̋̒̉À̶̹͓̟͉͛t̴̨͎̮̖͙̎̓̀̓ ̷̨̻͎̘̞̪̇̇̿͆ͅw̷̡̢͖̞̱͎̓͆ȅ̶͉̦͈̣r̸͍̟̘̟̲͉͍̊͛͒͌͐̌͊e̵̺̮̜̦͒̅̌̑̈́͆̒͜͜ ̴̺̯̝͗̌͊͒́̚͜W̷̻̩͍̰̹͍̊͆̈́͋͐͝e̵̛̤͈͖͇͂̊ ̴͖͙̈́̊̿̌D̸̫̙̽ͅO̸̟̖͗̑̈͗̓̚͘I̴̛̗̲̒̎̏̉̚͠Ń̵̨͇̰̯̌́̇͂̍̽G̶̛̝̟͉͇͔͖͛͆͂ ̷̛̗̪̳̍W̸͓͈̻̙̟̬̃̅̋͊̂R̵̛͔͑̕ỏ̴͎͎̥̱̙̪͕n̶̛̘͋̈́g̸̳͍̥̼̀̈͐͋ !?” (I doN’T unDErstaND! WHAt were We DOING WRong !?”) you cried, you didn't understand what you did wrong, you thought you understood what they felt. As you huffed anger growing “T̵̥̏ḩ̵͘o̷̧̍s̴̩̚e̷̙͛ ̴̟͋u̵̮̕ṉ̷̓g̷̠͛r̴̺͌a̷̖̐t̶̫͋ě̵̗f̶̰͂u̶̢̚l̸͉͒ ̸͔̓b̶̥͛ř̴̜ã̵̤t̵̳͗s̴̻̍ ̸̰̊d̴̩̂o̴̞͠n̷̰͝'̵̣̍t̷̨͒ ̶̹̋u̶̫̿n̵̞̈d̴̼͠e̷̞͐ř̶̢s̸͇͝ţ̷̄a̸͎̅n̸̼̿d̴̮̒ ̶̖̌w̶͇̓h̸̫̄a̶̡͑ẗ̴̰ ̵̞͌w̴͍̓ẽ̴͍ ̴̦̔d̷̤̚ò̷̡ ̷̞̅ḟ̷ͅo̶͈̓r̵̤͗ ̷͓̏t̸̞͛h̵̜̐e̶̞̚m̵͕̂!” (Those ungrateful brats don't understand what we do for them!) he yelled, he then yanked them back into the tent and pined them to the wall “D̶̤̬̗̯̟̙͉͒͊̀̀̍͒̎o̷̧̞̩͇͝ y̸̳̼̮͇̮̆ô̸̺̻̖̲̫͑̊u̷̖͍̳͐͋͐͝ ̷̰̫̜̇̉̇̍́̚ͅl̶̢̫͎̘̙̳̜̽͑ì̷͍͚̙̖̄̎k̴̨̛͙̮̫̥̣̀͐̈́̃̈́͑ͅe̵̻̹͌͗̐͗̕ ̸̨̛̘̠̼ẗ̴̹̀̚ó̵̠̎̇ ̸̮̬͈̗̗́̄̂͋̀͘͜t̴̫͛̃̍͛̃͋͘ͅõ̶̧̘̜̬͙̱̲͝r̷̟̺̔͐m̵̛̘̬̰̩̟̜̱͑̈́̌̎̑̕ę̶̘̙̣̈́̄͑͗̀n̶̦̰̱͖͈͆̄̈̂͛̑t̷͙̏̎̉͘ ̵̧͉̮̇́̌̕̕ữ̴͓̥̌͠͝s̸̨͓̣̞͓̭̓͝ͅ!?” (Do you like to torment us!?) You asked. Tears started streaming down your face smearing your makeup, “W̵̬͛͗͝ẽ̴̲̈ ̴̫̫̬͓̿̚n̷̬͆̈̎͐é̵͙v̷̖̤̹͉̊e̸̻̠͋r̶͕̻̠̗͊ ̸̫́̍͆͠a̸̤̫̻̿̓̕s̴̢̝̙͘k̴̞̰͌ͅé̴͇̱͓̤ḍ̷̱̤̾ͅ ̷̩̪͔̤̈́t̶̲͍͝ò̵̢͓͓̱̀̃͐ ̴͉̖̌̃͊͗b̴̰̈̋̈e̷̙̮̰̹͝ ̴̻͖͙̯̀̍̋͗c̴̻̖̜̻͐r̶̛͚̂̕ë̶̲͖́ą̵̬̒͠ͅť̴̤̱̐̋̚ĕ̵̮̞̉̚̚d̸̜͖̏̒͜!” (We never asked to be created!) You screamed at them.
But as you and Caine were experiencing your crash outs, Kinger was desperately trying to reset you both, going through a lot of ‘yes or no’ questions but some of his responses weren't going through, the writing on the screen kept saying different things and choosing different options then he answered, then it got to the option to delete both AI’s. Kinger said ‘no’ but the thing in the computer changed the answer to ‘yes’ “Wait no, $#@&!”.
You were both back to normal, but…. Something felt off, looking at Caine one last time “My love.” you whispered, grabbing his hand. “Wait. Bee what-” then nothing….. he was gone looking at the crew one last time, tears dripping to the floor “I tried my best to understand you all, I'm so sorry… I tried so hard, forgive m-” you were gone and with that the circus started to fall apart. “I think I accidentally killed Caine and Y/N” Kinger said after he got back to the gang, “Holy shit” Zooble said, covering their mouth in shock at the ability to curse now.
summary: Emily is a little too obsessed with coffee for your liking
tags: assistant! reader, uc!emily, coffee obsessed emily, pre pre pre relationship, no specific season or timeline in mind, no use of y/n
word count: 1,3k
author's note: can be read as a standalone, but is a part 2 of this blurb. i'm thinking of turning it into a little series? what do you think?
Three months in and you were finally starting to get used to being woken up in the middle of the night for a case. Well, sorta. At least this time you’re pulling into the BAU at 5:43am and not 4am.
You don’t have to be here, you know you don’t— Emily has told you countless times that she doesn’t expect you to come in so early when the team gets called in for a case, especially considering you’re just her assistant. And yet you do anyway.
You know the rest of the team will be trickling in soon, giving you just enough time to set everything up in the briefing room, open some blinds (again, all things you really don’t have to do), and most importantly, make Emily a cup of coffee. In the few short months as her assistant, you’ve taken notice of Emily's coffee habits— it was sort of your job to notice these things you told yourself. She has at least two cups a day, one when she first gets in and then another once the afternoon slump hits, always black with Splenda. Though lately, she’s been verging on the edge of a borderline coffee obsession and you’re pretty sure she had had at least three cups by 10am yesterday morning. It was concerning to say the least.
Emily walks in just before six, heading to her office to set her things down first before making her way over to the briefing room. You meet her just outside the door with a soft smile. “Morning, boss,” you murmur, pushing a travel mug into her hands.
Emily rewards your efforts with an absentminded “Good morning,” as she lifts the mug to her lips, immensely grateful for the caffeine at this early hour.
She can’t put her finger on when exactly this had started—when you had started showing up with a cup of coffee for her whenever the team got called in for a case, like a personal barista—but boy was she grateful. Beyond grateful really.
She had started looking forward to these mornings, to these quiet little moments with you before she was forced to brave the horrors the next few days would bring. She also couldn’t help the giddy little feeling she got every time, knowing that you only ever brought a cup for her—maybe because she’s your boss and you feel that it’s part of your job, or maybe because… Nope, she can’t let her mind wander there.
She takes a big sip from the mug, in desperate need to rid herself of the lingering sleep and heaviness in her limbs, but when the warm liquid hits her tongue it isn’t anything like the dark roast she’s used to. No, this isn’t dark at all. It’s light, a little floral, with a hint of…lemon?
She swallows her sip before looking down at the mug, brows already pulling down into a hint of a frown. “This isn’t coffee,” she mumbles contemplatively, looking up to find your lips twitching up into a victorious little smile, clearly pleased with yourself.
You shake your head. “It’s not. It’s tea.” The words leave your mouth with a casual shrug of your shoulders. Huh. Emily is suddenly very grateful you’re not a mind reader, because her brain is frantically rewiring itself at the thought of you bringing her tea. Tea. Warm, comforting tea. And for some reason, that simple gesture was doing things to her insides.
“Tea?” she echoes, the word coming out just above a whisper.
You nod. “Mhm. Tea. Lemon, chamomile, and lavender,” you explain simply, “Good for relaxing and relieving stress. It’s one of my favourites.”
Her lips pull into a small pout and there’s a slight furrow between her brows. You force yourself to keep your hands at bay and not reach out to smooth it over.
“I’m not stressed,” she defends, though it’s a futile attempt.
Anyone around here with eyes could see she had been under a significant amount of stress recently. With constant budget meetings, never-ending paperwork, and the director breathing down her neck, it was hard not to be. She had been so unbelievably stressed, and you noticed. Everyone else noticed too, but you noticed, and suddenly her insides were doing an embarrassing little flip.
She watches you huff out a little breath and raise a brow—it was clear you didn’t believe her.
“Yes, you are. Don’t even try to deny it. I know you love your coffee, but your caffeine habits have been bordering on obsessive lately, so I figured this would be a nice change. A needed change.”
And you were right, of course you were right. You always seemed to be right when it came to these things, these little ways she should be caring for herself better—like actually eating lunch, and leaving the office before 11pm, and not sneaking up onto the roof to have a cigarette every few hours days.
She wants to say something. A sarcastic quip or dry one-liner in true Emily Prentiss fashion about how she can take care of herself, but by now the rest of the team had filed into the briefing room and were waiting to get started. She settles on an appreciative nod with a quiet, "Thank you," before stepping into the briefing room, unit chief mask slipping back on.
Emily does her best to stay focused on the briefing. She really does. But it’s hard when every time she takes a sip from her mug her tastebuds are hit with the sweetness of lemon, lavender, and honey; and every time her mind then drifts over to you, and every time her mind drifts, her heart does weird things. She should get that checked out.
She'll be the first to admit she wasn't too thrilled about having an assistant in the beginning. She's the unit chief; she doesn't need help. She doesn't need someone running around fetching her coffee, bugging her when she's busy, answering 'Yes, ma'am,' 'No, ma'am,' like some lapdog, but you were...none of those things.
You were attentive, sweetly so. You actually took notice of her— of what she liked, of when not to bother her, of how she took her coffee and when to bring her a fresh cup, of when she needed a lunch break, and you showed up with Chinese. She hated admitting it to herself, but it was nice, you were nice, and she couldn’t help but start paying attention to you too.
And you were good with the team too, always feeding into Penelope's newest obsession, asking JJ about Will and the kids, checking in on Tara and Luke and Rossi. You were kind and always so willing to help; it was hard to wrap her head around sometimes.
After concluding the briefing, she heads back to her office to grab the last few things she needs, with you following her diligently. “Is there anything you need me to do while you’re out?”
Your eyes sweep over her desk and land on a small stack of papers in the corner. You jerk your chin towards them. “Anything I can help with?”
Emily follows your gaze and waves her hand dismissively when she spots the stack. “Oh, that’s nothing. Just budget reports and leave requests I need to sort through. I’ll finish it up when I get back.”
“I can do them,” the words leave your mouth so quickly they surprise even you. You don’t give Emily the chance to protest, already reaching over and gathering the stack in your arms with a shrug.
Emily huffs out a laugh and shakes her head, but you’re already halfway out the door. “You know, most assistants don’t practically beg to do paperwork.”
Her tone turns teasing, and you don’t even have to look back to know that little dimple is making its way to her cheek as a smirk tugs at her lips.
She watches you glance over your shoulder, an amused glint in your eyes, “I’m not most people,” you murmur, and then you’re gone.
Emily waits until you’ve retreated to your desk before lifting the mug up to her lips and taking the last sip. “Fuck,” she breathes. “It’s really good.”
Author’s notes: I am very obsessed with Young Sherlock, and Mycroft is just *chef’s kiss* This fic was inspired primarily by this post, and follows the events of the show loosely, though I focused mainly on the relationship between Mycroft and reader.
wc: 7.2k
pairing: YS!Mycroft Holmes x fem!reader (assistant)
cw: mentions of murder (duh), mentions of stalking, probably some historical inaccuracies, miscommunication, crying, hospital, fluff, strangers-to-colleagues-to-friends-to-lovers, fluff, hurt, comfort
feedbacks and interaction is always appreciated!
Oxford
The passages were bustling with students and professors alike, everyone eager to start on new academic challenges. Scouts and porters were hurrying along the hallways, making sure everything was perfectly ordered. The autumn air was crisp, even though the sun still gave its best performance.
You walked over to the man standing with his back to you, notepad and pen in your hand, until you were just a few paces apart from him.
"Mr. Holmes?" you asked.
The man turned around, and piercing blue eyes met yours. 'Ah! You must be- "
"Your new assistant, sir.”
He smiled at you. "You have truly changed a lot since I last saw you, miss."
"I should hope so, sir, " you smiled in return, "I was but eight at the time.”
He extended his hand. You took it and he shook it firmly. You noticed the contrast of his warm hand compared to the chilly breeze.
"I wanted to thank you again for this opportunity, also on behalf of my parents. It really is a great relief." You twirled the pen in your hand aimlessly while talking.
He waved you off vaguely. "Do not mention it. I am glad to be able to help. And truly I could use the assistance. I would not be surprised if you flee by the end of this year after having to put up with me and my schedule," he spoke with humour.
"Not me, sir. I will not back down from a challenge." you grinned.
He laughed, and you decided it was your favourite expression of his. "I do feel like this is the start of a great camaraderie."
One year later
The carriage rattled on, as you sat in silence, contemplating events that had taken place in the past days, and especially this afternoon.
Mycroft sat equally pensive across from you, staring blankly at the scenery outside the carriage. Your hands rested on the novel you were currently reading, a small break from the busy life you led as an assistant. Your mind had been occupied with the day's events, so that the book laid in your lap unread.
"Mr. Holmes," you interrupted his train of thoughts. He snapped out of his trance, focussing on you.
"Forgive me, I just… I wanted to ask if you are alright?' He inhaled sharply. "Yes, yes, l am… quite fine. Really."
You looked at him intently, trying to figure out how much he was lying. His mouth was sat in a line, and there were bags under his eyes. He was obviously exhausted. And probably frustrated, given Sherlock's situation and the recent loss of his job.
"I do not mean to overstep," you said carefully "however, I do think it is allowed to feel angered at this whole situation."
"I suppose you are right. But anger rarely helps anyone."
"It might help you to express your anger. Get rid of it, in a way." Mycroft nodded, though he did not say anything.
"You do know, you do not have to pretend for my sake, right? I am just an assistant, and I am more than lucky to have a superior who does not make his anger a daily occurrence. "
Mycroft chuckled. “If I did not know better, I should think you want me to be angry."
"I want you to not bottle up everything. Do go on, sir. Humour me a little." You grinned and started twirling your pen mindlessly.
He huffed out a breath and looked at you quizzically.
"Alright. I am angry. Furious. I worked hard for this career. I always did my best. And l am trying to be a good brother. And now it seems I have failed at both." He gripped his cane with inhumane force. "Why is it that everything I hold dear blows up right into my face?"
He paused, but you knew he was not yet finished.
“I mean it is my fault. I should have never brought him to Oxford in the first place, I should have seen the trouble coming from a mile away.”
“So you are angry at yourself?”
He looked outside. “I suppose so.”
You chewed on your lip, working up the courage to say: “If I may, sir. I believe you are too hard on yourself. You could not have predicted the future, even if you wanted to. And Sherlock is a grown man who should be able to take care of himself. You caring about him enough to risk your career speaks highly to your character. It is not a flaw to love.”
He hummed non committed, and looked out of the small window again.
The carriage soon came to a stop and Mycroft jumped out, extending his hand to help you out of the carriage. He thanked the driver and walked to the entrance of his house, turning to check and see that you were close behind.
When he turned again, two figures came out of the bushes. “Good evening!”
“For the love of God, Sherlock!” exclaimed Mycroft.
Your guts twisted - this evening was about to become very chaotic.
Half an hour later
"And now I have lost my job."
Sherlock's interest was awakened and he sat up straight.
The evening had taken a strange turn with the appearance of the younger Holmes and his friend. Mycroft seemed angry, Sherlock unbothered, James enjoying himself just a little too obvious, and you tried to melt into the wall and stay unnoticed.
James however fixed his gaze on you with a knowing smirk. “If you're out of a job, how come she is still here?”
"Not that it is any of your business," Mycroft said, "but she is still here, because I can still pay her, and because I promised her parents to assure that she learns everything necessary to become independent, should she choose to do so."
"Not to mention, because I am great company" you attempted to joke, hoping to avoid the obvious scandal. Unmarried and in his house was bad enough, the late hour just made it all the more suspicious.
Of course Sherlock did not leave it be. “At this hour? In your private home? Brother dear, I do believe you are hiding something. Have you finally fallen in love?”
His tone was mocking and James provided the dramatic gesticulation to his words, clasping his hands over his heart and pouting as if he were deeply moved by the scene.
You blushed furiously and averted your gaze, tears pricking in the corner of your eyes. Once again you cursed yourself for telling Mycroft about your circumstances and thus adding on to his burdens.
“That is not what this is,” hissed Mycroft. “And I do ask you to be more considerate in front of the lady.”
“But she is not, in fact,” interrupted James. “A lady, that is. She’d hardly be working for you if she were nobility. And she would certainly not stay here. So an affair it must be,” he grinned cheekily.
Mycroft released his breath through his nose, looking from James to Sherlock and back. If looks could kill, you thought, I would not want to be in his range of sight right now.
“I really do not see how this concerns the two of you,” he said slowly, “But I am telling you to keep her from harmful rumours. She has been followed repeatedly by two men to her lodgings, and felt threatened. When I heard of it, I decided that it was not safe for her to stay there. Until we find a better solution, she stays here in the guest room. There is nothing improper going on, this is purely of friendly nature.”
“Right,” nodded James, though it was clear he didn’t believe a word of what was said.
“And now, if you’d be so kind,” Mycroft went on, though a blush had crept up his neck as well, “what are you two here for?”
Sherlock extended a single glove towards his brother.
”If it were cold, and my hands were smaller, this would be very useful, thank you.” Mycroft commented, to which Sherlock rolled his eyes.
“This belonged to Shou’an,” he said, as if it should be obvious. He explained their findings and deductions to Mycroft, while you sat quietly and listened. At some point you fished your pen out of your pocket and started twirling it between your fingers.
The three of them argued and reasoned some more, before Mycroft remembered the escort.
”We should talk to Ezra Hornsby.”
A tiny voice in your mind screame: we including me? But you bit the inside of your cheek, and stayed silent.
“He accompanied the princess from Dover. He will know when she arrived.”
Sherlock turned to James with a triumphant grin. “That was a hmm, as in hmm, he’s got something.” The two young men in question left the room, satisfied to have achieved their goal, leaving you and Mycroft behind.
When the door closed, Mycroft let himself fall into one of the chairs groaning deeply. "Whatever did I do to deserve a brother like this?'
You chuckled in reply. “I believe that is simply how families work, sir."
Another heavy sigh escaped him. “l am afraid you are correct, as always, my dear assistant. Remind me, what else must I do today?"
"You are joking, I hope, sir?”
"Of course, I am. I just do not want to accept my defeat yet.” He released a long breath through his nose. "And I thought I had asked you to call me Mycroft,” he said, fixing his gaze towards you.
You turned away to avoid meeting his scrutinising gaze when you felt heat climbing up your neck., "Old habits die hard " you said, biting your tongue to avoid calling him ‘Mr. Holmes’.
A beat of silence passed, before he mumbled “Indeed, they do.” When you looked up at him again he had turned away already.
"Right," he announced suddenly, getting up. "I have to go and accompany my dearest brother and his friend. No, you stay here,” he said, seeing you get up as well. “I have dragged you all across London these past weeks already, and we never know what happens when Sherlock is involved. Take a couple of days off.”
Oh. We, excluding me.
"Mr. Holmes, I am no damsel in distress who cannot deal with stress or physical activity. I want to come."
He chuckled and stepped closer to you. "I know," he smiled benignly at you. “Will you humour me regardless?" He seemed to almost plead. “You can stay here in the house. Work on your writing, maybe?”
”I would get more creative input if I came with you,” you tried to argue, but it was a weak rebuttal. He looked away from you, almost disappointed and so you gave in and nodded. "Alright. I will stay here. I might as well do my job. For once,” You grinned mischievously.
‘Thank you. You do not realise what a relief it is to know that not everyone has lost their wits.’
You laughed. ‘Enough flattery. Go help your brother.’
Mycroft bowed to you slightly before leaving the room. Your blood was still rushing in your ears long after the door had closed.
Five Days Later
‘Mr. Holmes, I am begging you. Please. Let me come to Paris. I will never have the means or the freedom to travel again. This is my one and only chance to see something outside of England.”
The past days had been rather eventful, and Mycroft had been all over trying to find answers to Sir Bucephalus murder and Professor Malik’s disappearance.
Now he had announced that he was going to Paris in search of the Professor, and you had it set in your mind that you were going to accompany him.
“I hope you do realise that I am not actually going on a vacation there. I am investigating a murder. I do not know what is going to happen there. Not to mention the active revolution going on.”
“Sir, please. I will do anything to stay out of your way and I promise you to not seek out any danger. But please, do take me with you.”
“No.” his jaw ticked with tension.
You huffed out a frustrated sigh, and opened your mouth to rebut him once again.
“That is definitive. I will not take you with me. Your parents asked me to take you on because they trust me to keep you safe. I will not take you to Paris.”
“They placed me under your protection so that I could learn from you. And besides what am I to do here? Sherlock has vanished, so that I could not possibly bother him about his investigation, you don’t work in the Foreign Office anymore, so that I could manage your affairs while you are gone. Will you have me sit around idly all day long until you decide to return?”
“As a matter of fact, that is what I would prefer.” His face hardened as he muttered: “Glad to know where your preferences lie.”
“Well, at least Sherlock would allow me to help.” It was a low blow, and you knew it. Not to mention that this argument was possibly jeopardising your only prospect of any profitable career.
“Yes, and he would risk your safety, your honour, and possibly even your life. I will not allow you to seek out danger with his help.”
“You seem to think I am a child, whom you can allow and forbid as you please. I will assure you that I am capable of deciding and fending for myself, and so I will see that Sherlock takes me with him.”
“What happened to coming to Paris with me? Hmm?” He asked in an agitated voice.
“Well you don’t want me to come.”
“I also don’t want you to go to Sherlock.”
“Well, it’s a shame that you want me nowhere apparently. I do hope Sherlock is kinder to me.”
“So that is what this has been all about from the beginning?” “What could you possibly mean?”
“I am aware that Sherlock is the most interesting thing about me!” Mycroft’s voice was raised at you, something which had only occurred once before when he had insisted you could not stay at your previous lodgings.
That argument had been heated, but you had not felt his anger towards you then. This time around, the problem was you it seemed.
Your eyebrows shot up, and your breath caught in your throat. ‘Mr. Holmes,’ you stuttered, ‘I do hope you are aware that that is not how I think about you.’
His shoulders fell and he let his head hang low. ‘I am terribly sorry,’ he said. His hand came up to his face and he dragged it across his brow. He straitened up again and looked you in the eyes. ‘I should not have raised my voice at you.’
You stood at loss for words. ‘Please forgive me,’ Mycroft said your name, softly now, though still insistent. You nodded. ‘Of course. I am sorry to have angered you.’
He shook his head in reply. ‘You have not. I am tired and frustrated, though not because of you. My reaction was unacceptable. You did nothing wrong, Miss.’
Your lips turned into a tiny smile. Always the perfect gentleman. ‘Do not trouble yourself too much, Mr Holmes. You are human after all.’
He chuckled. ‘Alas, merely human.’
You breathed out a soft laugh.
‘You should get some rest. It is late, the day has been rather eventful, and our voyage to Paris will no doubt be equally exhausting.’
Your eyes lit up, but you schooled your enthusiasm and nodded with a bright smile adorning your face. ‘So should you.’ You got up, gathering your book and notes in your arm. ‘You can’t control everything, especially not with a fatigued mind.’
He smiled at you, though it did not quite reach his eyes. ‘Right you are.’
You turned and walked towards the door. You were about to close it behind you, when your mouth seemed to develop a mind of its own.
‘Mr Holmes,’ you turned to face him again, ‘Mycroft.’ His name felt warm on your tongue. His eyes held a glint when he looked up to you. ‘It is not true. Sherlock is not the most interesting thing about you.’ His eyebrows quirked up slightly.
‘You should not put yourself in his shadow. You are most interesting on your own.’
Your heart beat a hundred miles an hour. Forcing the door shut before he could react, you hurried to your room, missing how Mycroft's face heated up under your praise.
The next morning
The two of you left well before sunrise and took a carriage to the train station. Ever the gentleman, Mycroft had helped you into the carriage, not allowing you to help with the little luggage you had. He climbed in after you and sat across from you.
Neither one disturbed the silence that formed, for which you were glad. Not even five minutes after the journey had started, you felt yourself get drowsy with sleep, and your mind wandered off towards your parents and their little home, your mother’s homemade apple pies and your father’s booming laughter.
You were awakened suddenly, by Mycroft who was gently touching your shoulder and calling out your name.
It took you a moment to realize where you were. Your mind was aware that there was something amiss about Mycrofts appearance, yet you could not put your finger on what exactly it was.
You looked around yourself, irritated at how much light filled the carriage, and confused as to why Mycrofts coat was laying where your head had been just seconds ago.
You shook your head to get rid off the sleepiness still grasping the edges of your mind. “What is it?” You asked.
“We are almost at the station.”
”What, already?” You asked amazed. “I am sorry I was such boring company then.”
Mycroft gave you a rather tired smile. “Don’t worry. I slept a bit as well.”
A yawn forced its way out of your lungs. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled through the yawn.
Mycroft simply shook his head and smiled, though his gaze seemed to be fixed on your forehead.
”What is it?” you asked, “Have I grown a spot?”
”Uh.. oh-no, no.” He averted his gaze and cleared his throat. “I just never saw you with loose hair. It rather suits you.”
Your eyes widened and your cheeks grew warm. “Oh,” was all you could force out, as your touched your hair and realised it must have come undone while you were sleeping. “Thank you.”
Relief flooded you as the carriage came to a stop and you saw the train station, cutting off the current topic of conversation.
“Here we are,” Mycroft announced. He helped you out of the carriage as usual, but upon seeing the bustling crowds, instead of dropping your hand as soon as your feet hit the ground, he tucked into the crook of his elbow.
”Hold tight,” he said, “do not get lost.”
You would have laughed at his words and tone, had he not looked at you in utter seriousness and had his actions not thoroughly surprised you. You just gulped down your nervousness and nodded at him.
He was leading you through the crowds and in the train. Suddenly he leaned very close to you while walking.
”I did not tell you earlier,” he mutttered, “but I booked the tickets and made reservations for the hotelroom for the both of us under my name.”
Your eyes widened, and you opened your mouth to ask a million questions, but he kept on whispering to you.
”People will assume we are married, which is not ideal, I admit. But it is the least suspicious cover I could think of in all the haste. That way no one will ask questions.”
You were speechless once more.
Mycroft looked visibly uncomfortable discussing the subject with you, but before you could ask if he was all right with the plan himself, he had found a quiet coupe, in which no one had yet taken a seat. He urged you in and closed the door, hoping no one would be desperate enough to sit with what seemed a young, newly-wed couple.
He sat next to you, instead of across from you as usual, under the guise of “keeping up the image”, but he barely talked to you the first couple of hours.
The whole situation made you feel quite powerless and childish. Mycroft’s silence made you feel as though you had done something wrong, like a child waiting for their father to punish them.
You saw his hands flex repeatedly at his sides, and his jaw was locked up firmly. Your own leg was nervously rocking up and down, and your mind was equally restless, unable to take in the novel you had brought with you.
You snapped the pages shut at the exact same time your name left his lips. You both chuckled, and turned away from each other briefly, before you said: “You go first, Mr. Holmes.”
”All right,” he said, “though you really ought to call me Mycroft if people are to believe we are married.”
”No people are around here, sir” you replied with a cheeky grin, “so I will stick to Mr Holmes.”
”Ha! As you wish, dearest, but you must know as revenge I will call you the most atrocious terms of endearment I can think of, my dove.”
You snickered. “Well, sir, I do hope you give it your best.”
You saw a mischivious glint in his eyes. “All right then, light of my life. Let’s see how you hold up. I could call you …” he put a finger on his chin, tapping it lightly. “I could call you my pearl?”
You rolled your eyes playfully.
”My angel? My muse, my princess!” A giggle escaped you.
“My queen? Your majesty,” he proposed thoughtfully.
“I must say, Mr. Holmes, I expected worse.”
”Worse?” He looked offended. “I will give you worse. I will call you my sugar cube.”
You swatted his arm lightly.
”My flower,” he said.
”Boring,” you replied.
”My honeysuckle,” he exclaimed and immediately looked horrified of himself, his cheeks flaming up brightly.
You burst out laughing, “Honeysuckle, Mycroft? Where on earth did you pick that up?” You asked, wiping tears from your eyes.
”Truly, I don’t know what came over me.” He was laughing now as well, and it occurred to you that it had been a while since you had last heard him so care free. You wondered if a younger Mycroft had been happier.
”Tell me about your childhood,” you said softly, leaning back against the seat and turning your head towards him.
His eyebrows met. “You know about my childhood.”
You shrugged and then shook your head. “I know what happened to your family during your childhood. I hardly know anything about you, Mycroft.”
He turned and stared into the void in front of him. “Well there is not much to tell about young Mycroft. First it was mother, father, and me. And everything was ordinary. I don’t have many memories of that time. And then came Sherlock.”
You chuckled. “And then what?” You pressed.
“Then everything became extraordinary. Sherlock… he was always so bright. He started walking way too early, speaking as well. Followed me around everywhere.” Mycroft smiled at the memory.
“When he was three he told on me for stealing candy out of the pantry. Three! Instead of joining and enjoying the candy.”
You couldn’t help but grin at the image of baby Sherlock and young Mycroft.
Mycroft shook his head with a smile. “And soon, he became smarter than me. It became clear that he was brighter than me very early on. My father adored him, because he had more interest in natural sciences than I did. They would be out in the fields all day. And my mother… She loves us both, I know that. But she was much more affectionate towards him. Soon I was no longer his brother, but I was his older brother, I carried responsibility. Which I did not mind, I loved having a purpose, but sometimes I wondered…” he trailed off, and you noticed hid foot bouncing slightly.
You wanted to reach out and comfort him, but did not find the courage.
”Anyways, shortly after came Bea,” he resumed, “and she was the sun. She did not grow up quite as fast as Sherlock, but still incredibly smart and dedicated. She was… she was everything. We all loved her to bits.”
He smiled again, though his eyes were focused on something invisible on the ground.
‘I often think that I could have prevented it, you know.”
You inhaled sharply, and reached out thoughtlessly, resting your hand on his.
He turned his hand around and loosely interlaced his fingers with yours.
“I should have taken care of her, when Sherlock was busy.”
”Mycroft, you were a child.”
He turned to you, and you saw the corner of his mouth quiver. “The eldest child, and old enough to almost start an apprenticeship.”
You shook your head, and turned your whole upper body to face him properly. "It's still not your fault," you insisted.
Mycroft did not reply, just shrugged unconvinced.
"Is that why you took me in?" you prodded.
His brows furrowed again. "How do you mean?'
"When I told you about the men following me. You did not waste a second, you immediately suggested I come live with you."
He nodded slowly. "I suppose it might have something to do with it. Though, I hope you know I would have helped you regardless. "
You smiled. "Of course, you would have, Mr. Holmes, " you said, removing your hand carefully from his. "After all you are a perfect gentleman."
He snorted at that, and shifted so that he was sitting up straighter, your arms no longer touching.
Silence settled between you once more. You supposed you should have felt awkward, but truthfully you felt as though this was as normal a conversation as any other. Friends, you reminded yourself, we are friends.
"What about you?" he asked suddenly, turning his head on the headrest to face you once more.
"What about me?" you asked surprised.
“Your youth," he said, “I don't know anything about the time after you and your parents moved to Manchester "
"Oh! Nothing particular happened to me" you chuckled. “I grew up, I made friends. Eventually I started to develop affections for boys my age, which my father was not happy about at all."
You smiled, when you told him about the time your father tried to forbid you to go to the fair with your friends when he found out that the boy you liked at the time was going with you and how your mother had convinced him to trust you and let you go regardless.
Mycroft looked at you with wide eyes and the tiniest smile as you gesticulated while telling him about how you had embarrassed yourself in front that of boy by laughing too loudly and how he never really talked after to you afterwards (which father was quite happy about.)
"Anyways," you concluded, "I grew up some more and realised I wouldn't want a husband who doesn't like my laugh. And I started to write and draw, which I quickly learned could never earn me a living, and so my father arranged for me to come work for you"
"Hmm, " Mycroft hummed.
"What hmm?" you asked.
"It sounds like you were happy," he said matter-of-factly.
"I still am " you grinned.
”Until you realise you have bigger and better prospects than following me around all day long, and go to work for someone much more important,” Mycroft said as if it was certain that it would happen.
”I don’t think so. You’ll only get rid of me by firing me.”
That drew a dry laugh out of him. “I could never do that. But you will move on some day. Either because you find a better position, or because at some point inevitably, someone will come and sweep you off your feet, and he’ll propose to you, and the two of you will settle in the country side and raise beautiful babies together.”
You looked at him unimpressed. “You have thought about my future quite a lot more than I have, it seems.”
”I suppose I have.” He looked serious again, and his shoulders tensed up.
“When all this is over,” he said, “we have to talk about your prospects. As much as I like our arrangement, we cannot keep it like it is now.”
You clenched your jaw and averted your gaze. “You are right, I suppose.”
He seemed equally unenthusiastic at the topic, so you changed the subject quickly.
”Well, this is a conversation for another day,”you said, “but a more pressing issue is what we will have for dinner.”
Mycroft knew of course that you were trying to distract him, but readily played along, if only to please you.
”I will try and get us sandwiches at the next station. I am afraid that we will have to make do with a cold dinner.”
You grinned widely, and said sweetly: “As long as I get to share it with my dear husband.”
You batted your eyelashes at him, and he could not help but laugh at your playfulness.
”Careful now,” he joked, “you will convince me to give up my bachelor existence after all.”
”Oh, I would love to see you married and with children,” you teased. “You could even visit me and my husband on the countryside.”
He rolled his eyes. “Make fun of me all you want, this is nothing compared to Sherlock’s teasing.”
Four days later, Paris
“I have arranged a ticket for you to go back to Manchester. The train leaves this afternoon. Please do not argue.”
You stiffened. The bustling hospital hallways seemed to stop and hold their breath synchronically with you.
Nonono no. No. Was what you wanted to scream, but no sound left your throat. Your airways constricted and you felt your chest tighten.
Your surroundings became blurry. Do not cry.
“I will accompany you to the station. I have wired your parents with all the
necessary information. They will pick you up there.”
Your breath came shallow. ”Why?” you croaked.
”Well, you cannot walk from the sta-“
”Mycroft,” you interrupted, “you know that is not what I meant.”
Finally you found the strength to turn your head and look at him. He didn’t meet your gaze, and did not show any emotion.
”Why are you sending me away?”
”Because it’s to dangerous. I cannot guarantee your safety.”
”I think it is obvious that I am the only one in this company right now who does not need protection. “ You wanted to scream at him.
“I will not take the risk.”
”I could help.”
”No, you couldn’t,” he said tiredly. “You are one more person I would need to take care of, and you are the only one not directly intertwined with this fiasco. You cannot help.”
The words hurt. He was right in a way. You knew, because that could he have been the only reason tears started welling up in your eyes.
”You can’t dictate what I do, or who I help. I am not a child.”
His jaw ticked. “Sherlock is badly wounded. My mother is freshly out of the asylum. James is doing God knows what, and Shou’an is an assassin. My father is a weapon seller, and the fate of my sister is still unclear. For Christ sake, what more do you need to know that it is not safe here?!” His voice became louder with each sentence.
He sighed deeply. “I really do not want to argue,” he said quietly again, “and you are right, you are not a child. So I cannot force you to go. But you work for me, and I can tell you that the consequence for staying here would be to lose your job permantly and immediately.”
He wouldn’t.
“You wouldn’t.” You hated yourself for the tears that brimmed your eyes, for your quivering voice, for being weak in front of him.
He didn’t reply, didn’t look at you. He stood like a wall, and you felt yourself crumbling like a piece of paper.
You straigtened up, and smoothed out the skirt f your dress. Your jaw locked up and you held your chin high. “If this is how you think, sir, I do not see a choice but to leave.”
He nodded slowly. You picked up your hat , smoothing out your hair.
“Mr Holmes, please give my warmest regard to Sherlock and to your mother. I hope you will wire my family if there is any news about Sherlock’s condition or your sister’s whereabouts. My parents would be delighted to hear from you. As for my employment; I think it wise to settle any remaining matters when you are back in London, sir.”
”Don’t be like this, please,” Mycroft pleaded softly. “I am trying to do what is in your best interest.”
”As am I,” you replied. “Good day, sir.”
You turned sharply and walked down the hospital corridor, ignoring Mycroft when he called out your name,
”Where are you going?” He asked.
“To the hotel, to get my belongings.”
He hurried after you. “Let me accompany you, it is not safe.”
”That won’t be necessary, sir. James will accompany me.” You had spotted him, and immediately walked into his direction. When you were closer, you linked your arm into his. “Won’t you, James?”
”Won’t I what?” The young man looked between you and Mycroft.
”Make sure I get to the hotel safely, as well as to the station?”
James whipped his head around to Mycroft, whose pleading expression you caught in the corner of your eye.
”Of course,” James said, turning back into the direction he came from, dragging you along gently.
You didn’t’ look back.
One month later, London
You stood in front of the large dark door, straitening your skirts for the fifth time before finally finding the courage to knock. "Come in," you heard Mycroft call from inside.
Nervously you pushed the door open and entered.
“It’s you!” Mycroft rose immediately from his chair and rounded his desk. "Are you well?” He asked rushed.
"Yes, yes. Quite well. Thank you.” You smoothed your hands over your dress once more.
“How are your parents?”
”Good,” you smiled. “they were happy to have me home for longer than a day.”
”Of course,” he nodded. “They must have missed you a lot. I am sorry I did not make sure you went there more often.”
You smiled and shook your head. “That is not something in your power, Mr. Holmes.”
His face dimmed slightly at the formal title.
“I heard Sherlock is well,” you changed the subject. “I am glad to hear it.”
”Yes. Yes, he has made a full recovery. And so has mother, it seems.”
You wrung your hands together. “That’s wonderful news, truly. What about your sister?”
“She stays with my mother and Sherlock. It is all quite unusual still, but we are getting there.”
He stood awkwardly, one hand rubbing his neck.
You nodded in acknowledgment.
Silence stretched briefly, before Mycroft cleared his throat and said: “I have been meaning to apologize for my behaviour the past couple of month. Especially my behaviour in Paris. I…” he leaned back on his desk, avoiding eye contact with you.
“What I did, and what I said, was unacceptable. I should not have exploited our professional relationship in order to get you to do something I wanted.”
He paused, and you nodded. “You should not have, sir. But i am not faultless. You were right, even if I wanted to, I would not have been able to help. I am sorry for being stubborn.”
He waved you off. “Determined, is the word I would use.”
You huffed out a breath, and nervously twisted your fingers behind your
back. Where is that damned pen when you need it?
”It is actually one of the qualities I value most about you.”
“What, my stubbornness?” you attempted to lighten the mood.
”Your determination,” he smiled.
You nodded and averted yur gaze. You were at loss for words, unable to keep the small talk up. He seemed equally clueless as to how to proceed.
You pulled back your shoulders, hoping to find strength in the pretension of confidence. You cleared your throat, before discussing the matter, which you had come to London fr.
“I do think it is time to talk about my employment with you.”
He averted his gaze, but nodded. "Yes, of course."
You had stayed quite close to the door. The gap that had formed between the two of you was unfamiliar, yet it was the only way for you to go through with your plan.
"I do not think it is possible for me to work with you any longer. "
Mycroft nodded again. “I had a feeling you might say that" he swallowed audibly, "And though I do understand you have to find your own way, I regret that ours must part.”
It was your turn to avert your gaze. "As do l. But I can no larger stay here."
"I hope you will forgive me for offending you," Mycroft choked out.
"On no, no! Mr. Holmes, there is nothing to forgive! Paris is not the reason for my decision.”
"What makes you say then that you cannot stay?'
"Sir… Do not ask me. I cannot tell you, it would be improper for me to talk about it. Just know that I am grateful and in your debt for everything you have done for me, and all the opportunities. I am aware that I have been quite privileged."
Mycroft's jaw locked up once more, as he stepped closer to you, so that only one step remained between the two of you.
"l really do regret that we have to part ways. Though I have to admit I am glad you brought it up and that you wish to leave. For I can no longer keep you as my assistant. I do hope you forgive me my forwardness and my disregard of propriety, but I have to tell you how I feel.”
He drew in a shaky breath.
“I do not think it is a secret that I regard you as a good friend, And that I care deeply about your well being. However, since this whole investigation started, and since we have experienced so much together, I seem to have developed affections for you which go beyond those of an employer and his employee, and even beyond those of mere friendship."
His breath stuttered and he shook his head slightly, taking a deep breath before continuing: "It seems that I have… That I have fallen in love with you."
Tears shimmered in his eyes, as he seemed overcome with emotions. He reached out and took your hand gently into his.
"I am so, so sorry that I have let my emotions come in the way and that you have to suffer the consequences." A tear rolled down his cheek. "You deserve better than that, a thousand times better."
Tears had started rolling down your cheeks as well, and it took a great deal of strength to not sob uncontrollably.
"Mycroft," you whispered, resting your other hand on his shoulder; "Ask me again why I do not want to stay as your assistant."
His eyebrows pinched together in confusion.. "Why?" he chocked out.
"I love you, Mycroft Holmes." you said through tears, though with the broadest smile he had ever seen.
He looked at you incredulously and brought your hand to his chest, his hands engulfing yours. "Do you really? You are not joking?'
'Yes! I could not bear being around you, unable to be with you. That is why I wanted to leave.”
He gasped. "What a relief. I thought I would loose you, should I ever find the courage to admit my feelings."
You laughed. "We are both idiots, are we not?' you sniffled.
Mycroft pressed a kiss on your knuckles. "Yes, we are indeed." he laughed tearfully. His hand came up to your cheek and he rubbed his thumb softly across your cheeckbone.
The room fell into a comfortable silence, as you leaned into his palm and closer to him. He mirrored your pose, and your heartbeat sped up as your gaze shifted down to his lips. You leaned a fraction closer and -
“Wait!”
“WHAT?!” You groaned exhasperately. “Mycroft you cannot be serious right now.”
He laughed at your impatience, but took a hesitant half step back. “I’m sorry my love, it is just… it is not proper.”
You looked at him shocked. “Mycroft, I have lived in your house. We are unchaperoned most of the time, now is really the least useful time to care about propriety.”
“We are not engaged, I do not have a ring…”
You smiled at him and turned your face to kiss the palm of his hand. “I do not need a ring, darling. I do not want a ring. I just really want to kiss you.”
He chuckled. “At least let me ask you,” he argued softly.
“Ask me what?”
He let his hand fall from your face and took another step back, before taking both your hands in his and kneeling on one knee in front of you.
Upon recognising what was going on, tears immediately flooded your eyes once more.
“Mycroft, get up,” your voice was shaking again.
“My love, please let me have this. I want to have a proper engagement.” He smiled up at you.
Tears threatened to spill again, so you just nodded.
He breathed out your name so softly you almost missed it. His voice was shaking as well as he continued speaking: “My darling. Will you do me the honour and make me the happiest man alive? Will you marry me?”
You had nodded long before he even finished his question, and now it spilled out of you: “Of course I will, yes, I do.”
You laughed ecstatically, as he got up and engulfed you in a tight hug, spinning you around in a circle.
He set you down carefully, and brought both his hands up to your face once more, wiping away the tears that were caught in your lashes.
He leaned in slowly and finally pressed his lips to yours in a featherlight kiss.
All the tension of the last couple of weeks melted off as he kissed you again, firmer this time and more determined.
You smiled into the kiss, as you held onto his forearms for stability.
He parted from you reluctantly, and looked into your eyes. Whatever he saw in them made him smile as well.
“My lovely fiancée,” he mumbled, leaning in once more.
Somewhat of a sequel to this, just blurbs for each member of the task force and how Assistant!Reader takes care of them (and vice versa). They're all nasty in their own ways 💕
this is honestly still more Gaz/Reader than anything bc of his section, it's longer than the other guys whoops
contents: afab reader, free use, piv, riding, oral (fem receiving), fingering, threesome (mentioned), lil bit of yearning at the end
Word Count: 1,553
MDNI! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked!
As it turns out, you and Kyle getting caught by Price was only the beginning.
Your job got a lot more interesting after that day in the captain's office, where it became obvious that you were no longer just Kyle's. Not that you two had a name for what you were, you were never exclusive to begin with. But now you help the rest of the team just a little bit more... Helping them in the same way that you've been helping Kyle, and everyone loves this new development.
Every member is a bit different, but you've gotten used to how they handle you. Understanding the individual needs of the guys is important when it comes to being an assistant, right?
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Thanks to Price, the smell of cigar smoke started to act like an aphrodisiac to you. Whenever you smelled it, you'd suddenly start squirming and pressing your thighs together under your pencil skirt. It was probably because Price always had one between his lips whenever you stayed under his desk to help with his paperwork. Or whenever he had you bouncing on his cock in his lap, smoke curling around you as you tried answering calls and making out emails.
Price purposefully turned off your auto correct, just so he could pound up into you even harder and growl against your ear, "Fix that right now... Can't send it with a fuckin' typo, love."
And if you were able to fix it without whining? Then the captain would coo gentle words of praise and fuck into you at the pace that you loved, making you cum until you were boneless in his arms.
"Good girl," he murmured against your ear while he rubbed your clit, still being buried to the hilt inside of you. He'll keep you stuffed full of his cum for as long as he can. "Take all of it, every drop..."
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But no matter how hard Price would fuck you, Soap was always rougher. As soon as you gave him the okay to use you the way that Kyle and Price did, he didn't waste any time. It was later that same day that he had you bend over a table, your head being held down against the wood as he pounded into you with brutal thrusts.
Now, no matter what you're doing or where you are, Soap's hands are on you. More often than not, he'll grope your chest and rip your white blouse open until the buttons pop. He pinches and rolls your nipples between his fingers in between massaging your soft breasts. If he's not using his hands to grab your tits, then he'll grab your ass and thighs, kneading the plush flesh there. Just let him manhandle you for a while and he'll be content.
"You should stop wearin' these," the sergeant suggested as he yanked the dark blue skirt you wore that day. "They just get in the way."
"Well then... What do you suggest I wear, then?" You asked, deciding to humor him as you guided his hand to the waistband of the skirt.
"Around the base? Nothing. Nothing at all, it wouldn't faze us." And with that, he yanked your skirt and lace panties off in one swift move.
But besides the sergeant's wandering hands and filthy words, he prefers fucking you on any surface he can get you onto. Tables, benches, counters, couches and beds... The floor. But no matter where he's fucking you, he wants you bent over or on your knees. The sight of your ass jiggling with every thrust and seeing how it reddens whenever he spanks you... It gets him off faster. And if your hair's long enough (and if you're okay with it), he'll pull it as he fucks you. Kisses your head so gently afterwards too.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
And then there's Ghost. Big, bad Lieutenant Riley, who switches between wanting you to call him "sir", "Lieutenant", and "Ghost". He never takes his mask off when he fucks you, dark brown eyes staring at you through the holes of the pale skull. You may not see how his lips part as he climaxes, but you can see how his pale lashes flutter when he goes over the edge.
And to say he doesn't take the mask off at all might be an over exaggeration. You saw his scarred lips for a split second before he dove between your thighs and ate you out until you saw stars.
"I don't wanna overstep," you murmured after a long few hours of riding him, head laid on his chest. "But do you think you'll ever take the mask off when we do this...?"
"Negative," he responded just as the question left your lips. "The mask stays on. Otherwise, you'd drop the others in a heartbeat."
"Such a big ego that's not even compensating for anything..." You teased before he had to rush out for an emergency meeting.
Other than grunting here and there and the brief pillow talk that always came after, Ghost stayed silent for the most part during your encounters. But he loves to hear you. The more vocal you are the better, and he'll speak up if you dare to hold back any moans or gasps.
The only other time he's more vocal is when Soap is involved... Because of course they share you. Of course they do, and the few times they fucked you together you ended up falling asleep crushed between them. You slipped in and out of sleep while they did all the pillow talk. Or mission talk? It blended together after a while.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Last but certainly not least, Gaz... Or Kyle, as he still insists you call him by his real name. He never wants to hear you call him anything else... Not "sir", "sergeant", or "Gaz". Just Kyle.
Out of all of the men, he's the most passionate. He is the only one to kiss you slowly and hold you, he takes his time and makes sure every part of you is loved kissed and praised. Any marks left behind by the others are kissed and fussed over.
"Who the hell bit you here?" He asked one time as he carefully ran his fingers over a sensitive mark on your inner thigh. "Wait... Let me guess. Soap?"
Despite how tender the area was, you still squirmed and giggled softly when he kissed the bruise. "Nope... Ghost left that one."
And he was gentle with you, kissing the mark before trailing kisses over your thighs and stomach.
It's odd... He wasn't so gentle before you two were found out. Perhaps he just wants to give you a break from the rough fucking in between paperwork, trying not to moan while on phone calls, and needing to rewrite emails after getting tempted by one of the others after they finished working out.
Or perhaps it was something more. One night, before you had to go home, Kyle messaged you.
"my quarters, its urgent 😫 im dying"
Obviously, he was fine... But after a heated make out session and making you cum on his fingers twice, he had you in his lap. Neither of you bothered to strip, all he had to do was pull his aching cock from his sweatpants so you could sink down to take him.
It was all normal, the usual praise and moans paired with slick sounds filled the room... And as you rode him, driving both of you closer to the edge, he said it.
"Say you’re mine," Kyle pleaded against your ear, his voice rougher than usual. "Say you’re mine, f-fucking say it… Please…"
"I'm yours, Kyle," you gasped, clenching around him as your third orgasm approached. "I'm yours...!"
Kyle shuddered and thrust up into you, holding you tighter as you came. You were moaning and twitching in his lap, and he let you ride it out.
"Please, fuck, say it again, love… Say it again, that you’re mine." He had to hear it one last time... And when you managed to say it again for him in a hoarse voice, he came hard.
You two stayed like that for a while, he filled you and just let you stay in his lap as he softened. Carefully, he lifted you off of his lap and laid you down, spooning you. Your breathing slowly returned to normal as one of his hands stroked down your stomach and dipped between your legs... Just gentle, slow touches meant to soothe you.
"You were amazing, love..." Kyle murmured against your shoulder, kissing it gently before trailing kisses up to your ear. "I... I want to take you out sometime. Away from the base, just us."
"Mmh, that sounds like a date to me, Ky," you pointed out, a quiet chuckle leaving you. "But dating the assistant? Sounds a bit... Unprofessional, no?"
Kyle couldn't help but laugh, trying to stifle it as he nipped your earlobe.
"Yeah, because we're all paragons of professionalism with our sweet assistant..." He teased as his arms tightened around you. "But I mean it. Give it some thought, yeah? Just want you to myself... For a while, at least."
he'd probably keep you to himself entirely if he could
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ(?): ꜱᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ ʙᴏʏ x ꜰᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ Qᴜᴀʀɪᴛᴄʜ x ꜰᴇᴍ! ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
ꜱᴏɴɢ: ʟᴀɴᴀ ᴅᴇʟ ʀᴇʏ- ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴅᴏʟʟᴀʀ ᴍᴀɴ
Tw: Soldier Boy/Benjamin and Quaritch constantly fighting, Love Triangle trope? Soldier boys flirts with reader, Miles is jealous?.
A/N: Here is the first part of the stupid fic idea I can't stop thinking about. It's short, but it's what I managed to squeeze out.
Masterlist
For as long as you could remember, Soldier Boy and Miles could not stand each other. You figured they'd get along a bit. But you were wrong. It was a routine. They would argue about something every day. Even if it had nothing to do with the mission that they were both on. It was almost as if they liked to just fight and argue with one another just because.
The recoms weren't any better. They'd always place bets on who would be the first one to swing at the other. They were occasions were you had to literally prevent a fight. It scared you having to get between a man who's stronger than any human being on the base and a huge avatar. The amount of times that General Ardmore had to also step in and lecture the two grown men about fighting over petty shit. She could care less if they disliked one another or even wanted to gut each other. She had better things to do then to be looking after two grown men with big egos.
That's why you were here. Originally, you were hired to be Miles assistant as well taking care of the other recoms, basically. As well as Soldier Boy. You made sure that their needs were met and make sure they got their job done in a timely manner. Same with Soldier Boy, due to him also being a part of the Recom's team as the 'second' in command. He was more of the weapon, since Lyle was the second in command. Now, part of your job was to make sure they both don't kill one another.
You noticed how both Miles and Soldier boy were very different. The only similarity they had was that they both served in a war. That was all you can think of. The rest? Very different. Miles was reserved and focused on the job. He was locked in. Trying to find Jake Sully. He did have his moments to get his mind off the mission, but that was his main goal. To capture Jake and bring him to base for being a traitor.
Soldier boy, he was the opposite. You've never met someone who's such a flirt and charming at the same time. He always new what to say to get a girl to smile or make her giggle even. It was like his natural talent. You'd hear how he'd flirt with some of the women in the science team. Making them crack a smile or get them to laugh at his cheesy jokes. He was like a completely different species, specially now since everyone on base had their own things to focus on. It almost felt tense being around everyone who was locked in.
Another regular day on base, pretty boring too. Everyone was up to date and not much happened. It was just slow and boring. You hoped that it was Saturday already since it was your only day off. Sometimes Friday. You always looked forward to Saturday. And right now? You wish it was.
"Must be exhausting." You heard a very familiar voice say as you entered the makeshift breakroom. Soldier Boy. He was there, sipping his combination of milk and coke. "Morning Soldier Boy." You said, out of politeness. "Soldier Boy? Come on, call me Benjamin. Or Ben." He said, with a charming smirk. You rolled your eyes, playfully. "What must be exhausting?" You asked.
"You know, having to be taking care of everyone. Specially those big ass smurfs." He said. "Well, It's my job." You said, not sure what else to respond with next. "You shouldn't be working. You should be at home, relaxing. Letting someone take care of you." He added. "As nice as that would be. I don't have that luxury here. I either work or I'll starve." You replied. Soldier boy hummed. "That's a shame. If I were your man. I'd make sure you don't have to work a day in your life." He said, which such confidence that you almost believed him.
"I'm sure your wife is a lucky lady." You responded. But you couldn't help but smile a bit. A nervous smile. That made him smile wider. "Unfortunately. I'm not married. But If I could settle down, it'd want it to be with someone special." He said, giving you a wink. You felt your heart go to your throat. Feeling your face heat up. Did he just say that? To you?
Then you felt the environment shift by a new presence. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything." Miles said, loud and clear. Stepping closer. That made you stop and look at him. A bit surprised. "No, me and the lady here were just, chatting." Soldier boy said, turning his whole body to face him, after placing his glass of milk and coke down. They stood inches away from one another. They both glared at one another. The tension got heavy. If their eyes were bullets, they'd both be dead by now. "The general's looking for you, I'd suggest you go before she sends out a search party." Miles said. Soldier boy couldn't help but smirk. Either a mocking or a cocky one. "Will do." He said, but before he stepped out, he faced you. "I'll see you around, sweetheart." He said, with an even bigger grin. Leaving you and Miles alone.
Miles watched him leave, making sure he was fully gone and not be able to hear his footsteps anymore. He then turned to face you. "I'd be careful around him if I were you." He said to you. That got you confused. "I don't know what you're implying, sir." You told him, turning away a bit embarrassed. "Don't play dumb, cupcake." He said. Cupcake. His favorite nickname. He likes that nickname so much that he even named his Ikran that. You've grown used to him calling you that, but they'd be times were you've forget. "Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself. Besides, I have other things to worry about than some guy." You told him in reponse.
He sighed. "I just don't want you to get into trouble with that jackass." He said. "He's not a good influence, specially around you and the other women in the base." He said. That made your ears perk up. "Oh? I never new you were one for gossip, sir." You teased. "Not gossip, Just by looking at him, you can tell he has a history. A bad history involving breaking hearts and shit. Not in a good way" Miles justified. He wasn't stupid. He may be reserved and keep to himself. But he was observant. He'd watch how Benjamin would flirt with anything in a skirt. He was such a dog. He'd be damned if that jackass did something to you. The only decent person on base. At least that's what he told himself.
"All I'm saying is, be careful with him. Not saying it cause I fuckin hate his guts. In general." He finished, all you did was hum. "Sir, yes sir." You said, doing a little solute as a small joke. "Come on, you're coming with me to make sure they get their work out in." Miles said, stepping out, in which you followed. You didn't know what else to think after that whole altercation. You just hoped that it wouldn't being any more tension in that whole charade both men got going on.
☾ Warnings: workplace romance/boss x assistant dynamic, jealousy, mutual pining, suggestive flirting, reader being a little inappropriate in front of men, men being dismissive/intimidating toward reader, Michael being possessive but restrained, Polly and Isaiah meddling, almost kiss, kissing/makeout, mild tension.
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Michael Gray had learned quickly that a woman could ruin a room without raising her voice.
You did it often.
You did it with a pen between your fingers, a file tucked beneath your arm, and that look on your face that made men believe they had already won something from you when, really, they had given away half their hand before they even sat down.
Shelby Company Limited was full of men who thought themselves clever. Men with flat caps, polished shoes, bruised knuckles, and debts they tried to dress up as misunderstandings. They came into Michael’s office expecting him to be the problem. They prepared themselves for the sharp suit, the cold eyes, the Shelby name laid out behind a desk like a loaded gun.
Most of them did not prepare for you.
That morning, three men sat across from Michael with their hats in their hands and lies in their mouths. Michael listened without expression, leaning back in his chair, one hand resting near the papers you had placed before him. You sat to his left with your notebook open on your knee, writing only when it suited you.
The man in the middle, Mr. Lovell, had been talking for five minutes.
Michael knew this because he had been watching the clock.
You knew this because you had stopped writing three minutes ago.
“So, as I said,” Lovell continued, clearing his throat as though repetition might make his numbers less false, “the delay came from Camden. Nothing to do with us. We moved the barrels as soon as they arrived.”
You glanced down at the page in your lap.
Michael did not look at you, but he felt the shift all the same. You had gone still in that particular way you did when someone had said something stupid enough to interest you.
Lovell kept speaking. “Your men must’ve misplaced the receipt.”
“No,” you said.
The room settled.
Lovell blinked at you. “Sorry?”
You lifted your eyes from the paper. “No, Mr. Lovell. His men didn’t misplace it.”
Michael’s gaze moved to you then, slowly. He should have stopped you. He might have, had he not already known you were right.
Lovell gave a tight little smile. “I’m not sure this is—”
“The receipt was signed on Thursday,” you said, taking a folded slip from the file beside you. “By a man named Edward Pike, who I believe works for you, not for us. It says the barrels arrived at half past two. You sold them by six.”
One of Lovell’s men shifted in his chair.
You smiled at him.
It was not a kind smile, and that was the problem. Men often mistook your face for something soft until you showed them the blade underneath it.
“It was in an envelope addressed to Mr. Gray.” You leaned forward and placed the receipt on Michael’s desk, close enough that Lovell could see his own lie written out in ink. “So unless the postman has taken a sudden interest in bookkeeping, I’d say it’s ours now.”
Michael lowered his eyes to the receipt.
He did not need to read it. He had already seen it before the meeting. You had found it before breakfast, walked into his office, dropped it on his desk, and said, “He’s going to lie badly. Let him.”
He had let him.
Now Lovell looked at Michael, waiting for a rescue he had no right to expect.
Michael folded his hands over his waistcoat. “Pay what you owe by Friday.”
Lovell’s jaw worked. “Mr. Gray—”
“Friday.”
There was something in Michael’s voice that ended things. Lovell understood it. His men understood it. Even the office outside seemed to quiet for a moment.
You reached for your notebook again, as though nothing had happened.
Lovell stood. His face was unpleasantly calm, but his eyes stayed on you for half a second too long.
Michael saw it.
Of course he saw it.
He saw most things where you were concerned, which was becoming a problem he had no intention of discussing with anyone.
As Lovell buttoned his coat, you looked up at him with a pleasantness that did not reach your eyes. “Do be careful with the stairs on your way out. They’re terribly unforgiving when a man’s dignity gets heavy.”
The youngest of Lovell’s men made the mistake of choking on a laugh.
Michael’s pen paused against his desk.
Lovell left without another word.
The door shut behind them, and the silence that followed was not peaceful. Michael looked at the receipt. Then at the door. Then at you.
You were already gathering the papers into a neat pile.
“That was unnecessary,” he said.
You did not look up. “He signed, didn’t he?”
“That isn’t the point.”
“It usually is in business.”
Michael leaned back in his chair, watching you smooth the corner of a page with your thumb. “Men like that don’t enjoy being embarrassed.”
“Then they shouldn’t make it so easy.”
His jaw tightened, not because you were wrong, but because you never seemed frightened enough by being right. It was a dangerous habit, especially in Birmingham. Especially here.
You rose from your chair and came around the edge of his desk to place the file in front of him. You moved too comfortably in his office. You always had. Since the first week Polly had brought you in and told him you would be helping him with ledgers, letters, and whatever else he was too proud to admit had begun piling up.
Michael had protested at first.
Polly had ignored him.
Now, three months later, he could not imagine the office without the sound of your footsteps outside his door.
That, too, was becoming a problem.
“You should let men like that speak themselves into trouble,” Michael said.
You rested one hand on the back of the chair opposite his desk. “I did.”
“You enjoyed it.”
At that, your mouth curved, small and unashamed. “A little.”
Michael looked away first.
You noticed. He hated that you noticed.
Before either of you could say anything else, the door opened without a knock.
Polly Gray entered with a cigarette between her fingers and no apology on her face. She took one look at you, another at Michael, and seemed to understand more than any person had a right to.
“Lovell looked as though he’d swallowed a nail,” she said.
“He came in choking on one,” you answered. “I only pointed it out.”
Polly smiled.
Michael did not.
“You see?” Polly said, crossing the room. “That one knows how to make a man hand over the truth and thank her for taking it.”
“She’s careless,” Michael said.
Polly glanced at him, amused. “She’s got nerve.”
“She makes enemies too quickly.”
“No,” Polly said, taking a drag from her cigarette. “Men make enemies when they realize they’ve been beaten by a woman they were too busy looking at to listen to.”
You took the finished notes from the table and tucked them against your chest. “I’ll type these before lunch.”
Polly watched you go with open approval. “Good girl.”
You paused at the door, giving Polly a warm look before your eyes shifted briefly to Michael. “Mr. Gray.”
Then you left.
The door clicked shut.
Polly took a drag from her cigarette. “You’ll grind your teeth flat if you keep that up.”
Michael reached for his pen. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“No. You wouldn’t.”
“I’m trying to run a company.”
“You’re trying to look like you’re running a company.” Polly moved around the office as if it belonged to her, because in all the ways that mattered, it did. “She helps. You know she does.”
“She talks too much.”
“She talks when men need reminding that a woman in the room isn’t furniture.”
Michael said nothing.
Polly leaned slightly over the desk. “Keep her close.”
His eyes lifted.
There it was. That slight knowing edge in her voice.
“I already have,” he said.
“Yes,” Polly replied. “That’s what worries you.”
She left him with that.
For the rest of the day, Michael tried not to look through the glass panel of his office door.
It did not work.
You were at your desk outside, typing letters with your sleeves pushed up and your attention fixed on the keys. Men came in and out. Some spoke to you with respect. Others learned to. You smiled when necessary and sharpened when deserved. You handled papers, signatures, appointments, complaints, deliveries, and at least one bookmaker who arrived furious and left apologizing.
Michael watched all of it more than he should have.
He told himself it was because you were his assistant.
That was all.
Then Isaiah Jesus came in.
He had the easy step of a man who knew where he was welcome, which was almost everywhere, mostly because he never waited to be invited. He leaned one elbow on your desk, said something too low for Michael to hear, and your fingers paused above the typewriter.
Then you laughed.
Michael looked down at the ledger in front of him.
The numbers had not changed.
He read the same line three times.
Outside, Isaiah was still at your desk. You turned a page toward him, explaining something with your pen. Isaiah bent closer to see. His shoulder nearly touched yours.
Michael closed the ledger.
When he opened his office door, both of you looked up.
Isaiah’s grin was immediate. “Michael.”
“Tommy was looking for you.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“He is now.”
Isaiah’s grin widened.
You looked down at your papers, but Michael could see the amusement at the corner of your mouth.
Isaiah pushed away from the desk. “Right. Wouldn’t want to keep Tommy waiting.”
“No,” Michael said. “You wouldn’t.”
Isaiah passed him on the way out and dropped his voice just enough for Michael to hear. “Careful, mate. You’re starting to look obvious.”
Michael’s eyes cut toward him.
Isaiah only laughed and went out.
You were arranging your papers with an innocence that would not have fooled a dead man.
Michael stood in the doorway. “Bring me the Camden account.”
You looked up. “You already have it.”
“I want the other copy.”
“There isn’t another copy.”
“Then find one.”
You held his gaze for a moment, and he regretted it instantly, because there was something bright and entertained in your eyes that made him feel as though he had stepped exactly where you wanted him.
“Yes, Mr. Gray.”
You said it too sweetly.
Michael went back into his office and shut the door.
By half past six, most of the office had emptied. The low noise of the day faded into the street outside, into the distant rumble of hooves, engines, men shouting, and Birmingham breathing smoke into the evening.
Michael remained at his desk.
Work was easier than thinking.
There were ledgers to check, letters to sign, payments to arrange. He kept his head bowed, pen moving steadily across the page, though every now and then his attention snagged on the quiet outside his door.
You should have gone home.
You had not.
He knew because he could hear you moving around.
A drawer opening. A chair scraping. The soft, steady rhythm of you putting the office back in order after a day of men making a mess of it.
Then there was a knock.
Michael did not look up. “Come in.”
You opened the door with a file in one hand and your gloves in the other.
“I found the other copy,” you said.
Michael looked from your face to the blank sheet of paper you placed on top of his ledger. He recognized the joke and refused to reward it, though the corner of your mouth lifted as if you had seen the response he was trying to hide.
“You’re still here,” he said.
“So are you.”
The answer came lightly, but you were already looking past him, taking in the untouched plate near the corner of his desk, the cigarette burned too low in the ashtray, the line of ink where his pen had rested too long.
“Polly asked me to see if you’d eaten,” you said. “You haven’t.”
Michael leaned back in his chair, watching as you moved around the side of the desk with the same unhurried confidence you carried everywhere in the building. You did not ask permission. You rarely did when you already knew the answer.
“You keep a record of that now?” he asked.
“I keep a record of most things.” Your eyes dropped to the open ledger, and something in your expression shifted. “Especially when they become predictable.”
Before he could answer, you touched the page and turned it slightly toward him.
“You signed this in the wrong place.”
Michael’s eyes dropped.
You were right.
His signature sat neatly on a line meant for the client.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then you looked at him, softer than before. “You’re not usually this careless.”
The words should have annoyed him. Instead, they settled somewhere beneath his ribs.
Michael rose from his chair.
It was meant to put him back in command of the room. It had the opposite effect. Standing brought him closer to you, close enough that he could see the faint crease between your brows as you studied him, close enough that the scent of paper and smoke seemed to disappear beneath something warmer.
You did not move away.
Michael’s fingers curled lightly against the edge of the desk.
“You shouldn’t play games in this office,” he said.
Your eyes flickered over his face. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“You know it is.”
The room felt too quiet.
Outside the glass, the rest of the office sat empty and dim.
Only you, standing too close to Michael Gray while he tried and failed to remember why that was a bad idea.
You tilted your head slightly. “I think you like having something to be angry about.”
Michael’s gaze dropped to your mouth before he could stop it.
You saw that too.
Of course you did.
The amusement faded from your expression, leaving something more careful behind. Not uncertainty. Never that. More like patience. As if you had brought him to the edge of something and were waiting to see whether he had the nerve to step forward.
Michael lifted a hand.
He did not touch you.
Not yet.
His fingers hovered near your sleeve, close enough that both of you seemed to notice the distance at once. His breathing had changed. So had yours. The office felt smaller than it ever had, and Michael, who had built so much of himself on control, found himself standing in the wreckage of it with you watching him kindly.
That was somehow worse.
He leaned in.
Slowly.
Not enough to kiss you. Not yet. Just enough for the intention to become impossible to deny.
Your breath touched his.
Then you stepped back.
Michael went still.
A small smile found your mouth, not triumphant exactly, but pleased in a way that made his chest tighten.
You picked up your gloves from the edge of his desk.
“Goodnight, Mr. Gray.”
Then you left.
For several seconds, Michael did not move.
The door closed behind you with a soft click.
His ledger remained open on the desk, his signature still written in the wrong place, the blank sheet of paper resting above it like a private joke.
He exhaled once, sharply, and turned away.
A minute later, the door opened again.
Polly walked in.
Michael closed his eyes.
“Whatever you’re about to say,” he said, “don’t.”
Polly paused, cigarette lifted halfway to her mouth. Her gaze moved from the untouched plate to the abandoned ledger to Michael standing behind his desk like a man who had just lost an argument nobody else had heard.
Then she smiled.
“Oh, Michael.”
He reached for his pen, only to realize he had no use for it. “I’m working.”
“No, you’re not.”
He looked up.
Polly came further into the room. “She left smiling.”
“She often does.”
“Not like that.”
Michael’s mouth tightened.
Polly’s amusement softened into something more serious. “A girl like that won’t stand around forever while you decide whether wanting her is convenient.”
Michael looked toward the door despite himself.
Polly saw.
“You think keeping your hands clean makes you sensible,” she said. “Sometimes it only makes you late.”
“I’m her employer.”
“And I’m your mother.” Polly tapped ash into the tray. “That hasn’t stopped me wanting to shake sense into you.”
Despite himself, Michael almost smiled.
Almost.
Polly turned to leave, then stopped at the door. “Don’t make her do all the brave work. It’s unbecoming.”
The next morning was worse.
You arrived on time, dressed neatly, hair pinned as usual, manner entirely unchanged. That irritated Michael more than anything. You placed his letters on his desk, reminded him of an eleven o’clock meeting, corrected a figure in the Birmingham account, and said “Mr. Gray” with just enough composure to make him question whether he had imagined the night before.
He had not.
He knew because every time you leaned over his desk, he remembered the warmth of your breath near his mouth.
He knew because you did not look at him for too long, and that was more telling than if you had stared.
By noon, Isaiah had appeared again.
Michael saw him from inside the office.
Isaiah came in carrying a paper bag from the bakery and wearing the expression of a man who intended to be a nuisance. He said something to you, held the bag open, and you peered inside. A moment later, you laughed and took whatever he offered.
Michael stared at the contract in front of him.
The words blurred.
Isaiah leaned against your desk. You spoke with him while still sorting papers, easy and bright and entirely too comfortable. He said something else, and you swatted his arm lightly with the folded schedule in your hand.
Michael stood.
He did not remember deciding to.
When he opened the door, Isaiah looked over at him immediately.
You gave Isaiah a look that told him to behave, though it only made him more pleased with himself. Then you took your notebook and walked into Michael’s office.
Michael shut the door behind you.
The noise outside dulled.
You stood near the chair across from his desk. “Is something wrong with the schedule?”
“No.”
“The letters?”
“No.”
“Then I assume this is about Isaiah.”
Michael walked behind his desk, needing the space. “He spends a great deal of time at your desk.”
“He has legs. I can’t do much about where he puts them.”
“This is a place of business.”
“Yes, I had gathered that from all the business.”
Michael looked at you sharply.
You did not smile.
That was when he realized you were tired of the dance.
Good.
So was he.
“He distracts you,” Michael said.
“No,” you replied. “He distracts you.”
The words landed cleanly.
Michael said nothing.
You stepped closer to the desk, your notebook held against your waist. “If you want to be angry with me, be angry with me properly. But don’t call me in here and dress it up as concern for the company.”
Michael’s hands rested on the desk. His fingers spread over the polished wood. “You think I’m angry with you?”
“I think you’re angry that I know.”
The office seemed to shrink around that sentence.
Michael could hear the faint clatter of typewriter keys outside, the murmur of men downstairs, the muted pulse of the city pressing against the windows.
He could also hear Polly’s voice from the night before.
Don’t make her do all the brave work.
Michael lowered his eyes, then lifted them again.
“I don’t like seeing him with you.”
Your expression changed slightly.
Not surprise. Not victory.
Something quieter.
“Isaiah?”
Michael’s jaw moved once. “Not just Isaiah.”
The honesty of it made the room still.
You held his gaze. “You could have said that sooner.”
“I know.”
“You nearly did.”
Michael’s eyes sharpened.
You set your notebook on his desk. “Last night.”
He breathed out through his nose, a humorless sound. “You left.”
“You stopped.”
“I was trying to do the decent thing.”
That made you soften, but only a little. “No, Michael. You were trying to do the safe thing.”
He looked down at the space between you.
Maybe you were right. You had a terrible habit of being right when he most wished you would be careless.
“I have spent months,” he said slowly, “telling myself this is not something I can want.”
Your fingers touched the edge of the desk. “And?”
“And it has not made a difference.”
You looked at him then as if he had finally given you something worth keeping.
Michael came around the desk.
This time, you did not move backward. You stood your ground, chin lifted slightly, eyes on him. He stopped close enough that neither of you could pretend he had called you in for papers.
“I don’t want men looking at you in this office,” he said. “I don’t want Isaiah making you laugh at your desk. I don’t want to sit in meetings and watch men mistake your nerve for an invitation. I don’t want any of it.”
You were quiet for a moment. “And what do you want?”
Michael swallowed.
For all his suits, his numbers, his ambition, his careful manners learned too quickly in rooms where blood still stained the floor, the answer left him less protected than he liked.
“You.”
The word did not echo. It simply stayed between you.
You looked at him for a long second, and then your mouth curved. Not in mockery. Not this time.
“You made that very difficult, Mr. Gray.”
Michael’s gaze dropped. “Stop calling me that.”
“I thought you liked things professional.”
“I’m finding professionalism overrated.”
A soft laugh escaped you, and this time it did not make him jealous. It loosened something in him.
He lifted his hand and touched your arm, giving you time enough to step away if you wanted to.
You did not.
His fingers slid lightly to your wrist. The touch was careful, almost restrained, but the restraint itself said enough. You looked down at his hand, then back up at him.
“Are you going to stop again?” you asked.
“No.”
Michael kissed you.
There was nothing careless in it, not at first. He kissed you like a man still trying to hold the last thread of his composure, mouth warm and firm against yours, hand tightening only when you leaned into him. Then your fingers found the front of his waistcoat, and something in him gave way.
He drew you closer.
Not roughly. Not gently either.
Enough that the desk pressed against your hip and the notebook slipped from the edge, falling open on the floor with a soft flutter of pages.
Neither of you moved to pick it up.
Your hand rose to the back of his neck, and Michael made a low sound against your mouth that he would have denied to his grave if anyone had heard it. You smiled into the kiss, and he felt it, felt the confidence of you, the impossible nerve, the pleased little victory of a woman who had known what he wanted before he had allowed himself to say it.
When you finally pulled back, you were both breathing differently.
Michael’s hand remained at your waist.
His forehead nearly touched yours.
Outside the office, someone laughed.
The sound brought the world back.
Michael closed his eyes briefly. “This complicates things.”
You smoothed the front of his waistcoat, though it did not need smoothing. “Most worthwhile things do.”
He opened his eyes.
You looked far too pleased with yourself.
“You enjoyed this,” he said.
“A little.”
Despite himself, Michael smiled.
It was small. Quick. Almost gone before it arrived.
But you saw it.
Of course you did.
A knock came at the door.
Michael stepped back at once, straightening his jacket with all the dignity of a man who had not just been undone in his own office. You bent to pick up your notebook, biting back a smile as he cleared his throat.
“What?” Michael called.
The door opened before he received an answer.
Polly stood there.
Behind her, Isaiah lingered in the outer office, trying and failing to look innocent.
Polly’s gaze moved from Michael’s slightly crooked tie to your notebook clutched against your chest. Then she looked at the desk, the papers, the two of you standing too carefully apart.
Her smile was slow.
“Am I interrupting business?”
Michael’s face hardened. “Yes.”
“No, you’re not,” you said at the same time.
Michael looked at you.
Isaiah laughed from outside.
Polly’s eyes warmed with satisfaction. “Good.”
“Polly,” Michael warned.
She ignored him, looking at you instead. “You’ll still have those letters typed by four?”
“Yes,” you said, wonderfully composed. “Of course.”
“Excellent.”
Polly stepped back, but before she closed the door, she glanced once more at Michael. “About time.”
The door shut.
From outside, Isaiah’s muffled voice carried through the glass. “Told you.”
Michael stared at the door as if he could set fire to Isaiah by will alone.
You gathered the rest of your things from his desk. “I should get back to work.”
Michael turned to you. “Y/n.”
You paused.
For once, he did not seem perfectly certain of what to do with his hands. One slipped into his trouser pocket, the other rested against the desk.
“This changes things,” he said.
You nodded. “Yes.”
“At work, I mean.”
“Yes.”
“I still expect the letters by four.”
Your mouth twitched. “Of course.”
“And the Birmingham account corrected.”
“Already done.”
“And Isaiah can find someone else to bother.”
At that, you laughed properly.
Michael tried to look displeased. He did not quite manage it.
You moved toward the door, but stopped before opening it. When you looked back at him, the teasing had softened into something that felt almost private.
“Michael?”
His expression shifted at the sound of his name without the title.
“Yes?”
You smiled. “The next time you want to kiss me, don’t make me come all the way into your office first.”
Then you opened the door and walked out.
Michael stood there for a moment, listening as you returned to your desk and calmly began typing as though nothing had happened.
Outside, Isaiah said something that earned him a sharp word from you and a laugh from Polly.
Michael looked down at the ledger still open on his desk.
For the second time in two days, he had signed in the wrong place.
