mercs (pref spy but the others are your call) with a reader who overworks themselves often ? idk i'm feeling Angsty ',:3
Sure!! I hope you don't mind I wrote this as a oneshot with just Spy instead of HCs :]
You Can't Keep Doing This - Spy x Reader
Contains: ~2k words, g/n reader, shitty google-translated french, reader is mean at one point but apologizes, comforting vibes, fluff, again falling alseep together teehee
It was dark outside, but your room was bright. The overhead light buzzed, but you were buried so deep in your writing that you had tuned out the noise.
Your eyes scanned across the page as you furiously scrawled out words. You’d already finished writing the battle strategy for tomorrow and the to-do list for the next week, and next up was the machinery blueprint Engineer had asked for your help with. Sketchy lines, haphazard sidenotes, and arrows with labels littered the page. You were finally starting to get somewhere when your train of thought was interrupted by the loud growl of your stomach.
Your pencil paused on the page. You glanced down. You blinked, for the first time in a while, and sat up straight. You hadn’t noticed how totally hunched over you were before, nor how dry your mouth was. You sighed, scooting back from your desk. You supposed a quick break to grab some water and a snack would do you good.
You took the opportunity to stretch as you stood, your back cracking. You yawned as you walked out of your room, blinking your eyes some more in an attempt to ease how strained they felt.
You dragged your feet into the kitchen, flicked on the light, grabbed yourself a glass from the cupboard, and got a pitcher of water from the fridge. (You couldn’t trust the quality of water coming from the sink.) As you poured yourself the water, you felt like you were being watched.
“Hello there, my love,” a low voice purred, gloved hands materializing on your shoulders.
You jumped and whipped your head around. You saw the familiar face of your lover, Spy, looking back at you with an amused smirk. You groaned and set the pitcher down, your tense shoulders relaxing again.
“Jesus, don’t do that!” You scolded half-heartedly.
“Do what? Say hello to my stunning lover?” He teased, his smirk growing a little wider. “How could I not?”
He wrapped his arms around your waist loosely and stepped closer. You could feel the light touch of his chest against your back.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you... You’ve been cooped up in your room for much longer than you said you’d be.”
“Oh… have I? Sorry, honey. I’ll be finished in just a few minutes, really,” you replied, finishing pouring yourself that glass of water.
You couldn’t see his expression, but he was rolling his eyes at that remark.
“My love. Do you know what time it is?”
“Uhh… 11:30?” you guessed.
“It’s 1 in the morning,” he replied wryly. “You’re wearing yourself out again. You can’t keep doing this.”
You were quiet for a moment, a little embarrassed at being called out. You felt like a child getting in trouble. You huffed and hardened your expression, turning to see him through the corner of your eye.
“I’m just trying to be responsible and get my work done. I’m not like you, I don’t have the time to… lounge about and smoke cigarettes, while I listen to smooth jazz and sip wine,” you replied, the words coming out sharper than you meant them to.
Spy narrowed his eyes and pulled back, stepping to your side to look at your face more clearly. You winced and immediately regretted the words you said.
“Sorry,” you said, looking down at the counter.
Spy paused for a long moment, and you thought he might have been crafting up a deep-cutting comeback, but he only sighed. He knew the look of regret when he saw it; avoiding eye-contact, shoulders shrinking in, a small frown on your face.
“…I’m going to excuse that this time. I wouldn’t be surprised if your lack of sleep is making you irritable,” he replied kindly. He reached up to cup your cheek gently, turning your face towards him again.
“Leave the work for tomorrow, mon couer. It can wait,” he said, gray eyes connecting with yours.
You pressed your lips together and nodded. You let go of your glass to gently hold his wrist. You ran your thumb over the edge of his glove, where soft fabric met warm skin. Spy gave an amused snort.
“Mon dieu, my love, don’t look so miserable. I know you didn’t mean it,” he assured, pinching your cheek. A smile returned to your lips as he pulled his hand away.
“You can be so dramatic sometimes,” he added fondly.
“I’m the dramatic one?” You laughed. “Oh, don’t even-“
“Ah ah ah, not the time for arguing with me, my love,” he shushed you with a grin. “Get your water, get something to eat, and then get back to my room. Don’t even think about going back to finish that blueprint. I’ll know if you do,” he warned, strolling out of the kitchen.
You shook your head with a chuckle and got something to eat next.
After a snack and a drink, you were already feeling a bit better, albeit exhausted. You yawned again as you walked through the dark hallway, then knocked on the door to Spy’s smoking room.
“Honey…? It’s me. Can I come in?” You called out quietly, not wanting to wake the other mercs likely sleeping nearby.
The door swung open immediately, like he’d been standing behind it. He wore black slippers and his usual nighttime robe, his silk pajama pants peeking out from the bottom. The mask was still on, for now. He smiled and bowed, extending his hand to his room theatrically.
“Please do.”
You chuckled and stepped inside. He gently closed the door behind you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, leading you to a tall dark bookshelf. The fireplace only had a few little embers burning inside, and the room smelled faintly of smoke (but that was probably from Spy, not the fire).
He leaned forward to pull out a book, and it made a mechanical clicking noise before the book slid back into place, the bookshelf slowly swung back. Yes, his room had a secret entrance from his smoking room. He had high standards, and the salary to afford them. It was a long time before he revealed it to you, but now he allowed you to come and go as you pleased.
He ushered you into his bedroom with a hand on your back, his eyes watching yours. You sighed and leaned against him as you walked. Now that you’d gotten a taste of a break, your disregard for your basic needs was catching up with you.
“Oh, you poor thing. If only someone had told you to take a break sooner. Oh wait, I did.”
He was teasing, but his soft voice betrayed his true feelings.
“Yeah, you’re right, once again,” you grumbled, eyes barely held open.
“Hmph! Thank you for acknowledging it. Here, change out of your day clothes,” he said, handing you a silk set of pajamas. They were in your size, the craftmanship flawless. You glanced up at him, unsure if you should go somewhere else to change. He seemed to read your mind and smirked.
“I think we’ve seen each other enough to be comfortable, haven’t we?”
You smiled and rolled your eyes.
“Turn around, I don’t want to feel you staring at me,” you teased.
“Oh, fine. You’re such a prude,” he replied as he obliged, crossing his arms as he faced the other way. He took the moment to take off his mask and set it on the bedside table.
Your clothes were discarded in a pile on the floor, replaced by the soft pajamas. They felt smooth and freeing.
You sank down onto the soft mattress, topped with a deep red cashmere blanket and far too many pillows. You flopped back, eyes falling shut easily. You took a deep breath in, and the air smelled sweeter in his room. You heard the bookshelf-door slide shut again. You cracked your eyes open when you heard the bedsprings creak beside you.
You got to see that handsome face again- grey stubble, pointed nose, and wavy black hair with stripes of gray revealed. The ones no one else got to see.
He was equally as enamored at the sight of you. These moments of vulnerability you let him see made him weak in the knees. You had a kind of beauty that shined through no matter your appearance.
“Are you comfortable, mon couer?” He asked as he climbed into bed.
“Mhmm,” you hummed, scooting towards him before he’d even settled down.
He chuckled at your eagerness to cuddle and laid down, swallowing you up in his arms, the velvet of his robe kissing your skin. He wrapped an arm around your waist and carefully slid the other under your neck, allowing your head to still rest on the pillow. His hand reached up to toy with your hair lightly, every leisurely movement intentional. He gazed at your face in the dim light.
“Good, my love. You look adorable when you’re so tired,” he murmured.
You kept your eyes closed and tucked your head under his chin, hugging him back with a yawn. He felt soft and warm, smelling like woody cologne and cigarette smoke. You felt his arms close a little tighter around you.
“Mm. Thank you,” you replied.
“You’re welcome, mon amour. You mustn’t stay up so late working, as adorable as you are. It’s not good for you,” he said, his voice softer than when he had chastised you before.
“I know,” you conceded with a heavy sigh. “I just… have so much to do. I feel like… I’m being selfish if I avoid work. Or if I try to sleep, it’s all I can think about,” you explained, a furrow forming between your brows.
Louis eyed your change in expression and mirrored your frown. He reached forward to gently stroke over your brows, smoothing out the crease like a wrinkle in his suit. (Not that his suit would ever have a wrinkle.)
“I see. It’s because you care so much that you work yourself far too hard, my love,” he said, sweet words dripping like honey from his lips.
“You think taking a break is selfish?” He continued. “I very much disagree, my love. It is only necessary. Everyone must have a break, everyone must eat, everyone must sleep. You are no exception. It seems that… leaving work undone makes you worried, yes?” He questioned, petting your hair absentmindedly.
You breathed out and nodded, your muscles slowly relaxing as you listened to him speak.
“Worried. Hmph. You have nothing to be worried about, my dear, really. What are you afraid of, eh? It’s not going anywhere. And neither is your brilliant mind,” he said, tapping your head playfully. “A little wine and music wouldn’t kill you, either.”
You smiled sleepily, imagining sharing a glass with him in his smoking room while he put a record. Maybe you’d dance together, too, or lounge on the sofa in front of the fire.
“Yeah. S’good idea,” you mumbled.
“I know. I’m full of them,” he replied with a smirk, closing his eyes as well. He held you close and took a deep breath of you, then breathed you out again with a sigh.
“Don’t feel guilty for resting, my love. I hate to see you treating yourself that way,” he muttered, nearly a whisper. “Je t'adore, mon amour, mon petit bijou. Dors et ne laisse rien te réveiller. Ne t'inquiète pas un seul instant.” *
“Mmh… didn’t really get that last part.”
“I’m saying don’t worry so much. Go to sleep, and have sweet dreams,” he murmured.
“Oh.” You smiled sweetly. “Goodnight, Louis.”
“Goodnight, mon couer. Rest well.”
With your head resting under his, you could faintly hear his steady heartbeat if you focused. You slowly evened out your breath to the sound of his heart, counting until you fell asleep.
.
.
.
*Translation: “I adore you, my love, my little jewel. Sleep and don't let anything wake you. Don't worry for a single moment.”