Wild Cards (JJBA Villains x Reader)

14- Pancakes

(THE PUCCI CONTENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FORR)

You sit in your office, in the pit of its dull stomach, like something poorly digested waiting to be spit back out. It's sick of you there, bent in half over your desk, your sanity pulling thin-- You're a disgusting shape against its own elegance. 

Every inch of the space breathed with an exhaust of your presence, the clock yawned through its ticking as it counted over time, the fan above you screamed for a break. The keys of your laptop were sticky with effort, and your pen had indents from where you'd been gripping it the past... How many days has it been?

The still image of the world sits just behind the glass panes locked tight, a motionless picture meant to remind you of an outside world you wouldn't even consider with work still piling.

Your eyes bent upon the pale white glow of your laptop, drooping and underlined with color as they mindlessly skimmed across the page one, two, three times in an attempt to even understand what words you were meant to be reading.

All tangled and twisted, the words seemed to play tag with each other, racing across the screen in places you couldn't follow. Even if you knew they weren't really moving, and that this was a product of your own negligence to rest, you still fought for a means to decode something so foreign yet undeniably familiar.

Finally, your body pulled itself back and deflated, defeat stabbing at you with like the prick of a toothpick. Bearable, but annoying. Tense shoulders slouching against the leather back of your chair, burning eyes straining against the unfamiliar cool of your eyelids as you gave in to the demands of a rapidly failing body..

This brief moment of rest is interrupted with a knock at the door, and you pray, with every inch of your remaining soul that you haven't bet away, that's it's not Dio. You worry you might end up killing him in your state.

For a moment, everything is quiet, the visitor who'd thought to stop by stuck in a silent contemplation. After a while you're almost convinced they've left, but then the carpet is disturbed with a gentle chuff as someone sneaks near.

"Mx. (Y/n)? Are you alright?" The smell of pancakes slowly bleeds into the room, at first, a faint scent, only to then wash over you all at once like a damn had broke. "You haven't come to get breakfast."

Peeking one, unwilling eye open, you find Pucci standing at your doorway with a concerned look, a balanced plate of golden pancakes in hand, dripping with a mix of butter and syrup that looked like liquid gold. God, those looked fucking good.

You repress the growl in your stomach with a small swat before straightening yourself out.  "Giovanni typically drops something off when I have days like this, which are too often. I appreciate your concern."

"Oh, I see, then." He closes the door behind him as he approaches, "Well, assuming he hasn't come around yet, these would be for you. I didn't trust the new guy not to spit in the batter, so I made these myself."

With a sort of hesitant hope, Pucci slides the plate of pancakes onto your cleared desk, and you're practically assaulted with the reminder you haven't eaten something proper in weeks. The fast food joint down the street must be swimming in money with your patronage.

The soft pile of sweet, spongy, savory flat cakes beg you to take a bite, and your appetite rises from the dead to agree. Drool threatens to spill out of your mouth and for once, the small bit of composure you had left in you cracked a bit. Just a bit.

"You made this, for me?" You reiterated, taking the knife and fork he offered you. 

"From scratch, yes. I apologize to say you've looked... Unwell recently, so I thought perhaps something sweet might fix you up."