House X M!reader
House x m!reader
mostly angst , house isnt allowed happiness
You were the case he shouldn’t have taken.
Not because it wasn’t interesting—God no, you were fascinating. A rapid, degenerative decline with no clear cause, organs failing like dominoes, bloodwork that didn’t make sense. A real puzzle.
But you were also charming. Razor-sharp. Witty in a way that felt intentional—like you were sparring with him, not trying to impress. You didn’t flinch at his sarcasm, didn’t soften around the edges like most patients did. You met him eye to eye and made him feel seen, which was worse than being ignored.
And now you were dying.
No diagnosis. No answers. Just a firm deadline hanging over you like a guillotine.
House stood at the foot of your hospital bed, watching the slow, mechanical rise and fall of your chest. The monitors beeped softly—too softly. The air felt wrong without your usual quips, your dry smile, your “what do you want now, more blood?”
You hadn’t woken up all day.
Wilson entered quietly. “You know you can’t fix this one.”
House didn’t look at him. “People said the same about cancer. Then someone invented chemo. Maybe I’ll invent something in the next twenty-four hours.”
Wilson was quiet a moment, watching him. “You’re not angry because you can’t solve the case.”
House’s shoulders stiffened.
“You’re angry because it’s him.”
House finally turned, expression cold. “I’m angry because I’m surrounded by idiots who can’t figure out what’s killing a man in front of them.”
“You can’t figure it out.”
The silence between them stretched. Wilson, as always, wasn’t afraid to twist the knife.
House swallowed thickly and turned back to you. “He was making jokes about death three days ago. Asked me if I’d write his eulogy and call everyone at the funeral idiots.”
“That sounds like him.”
“He said he’d haunt me. Said he’d rattle my cane at night just to piss me off.”
House's voice caught at the end, almost imperceptibly. He cleared his throat like he could swallow the grief.
“You cared about him.”
“I don’t care.” The words came too fast. Too loud. “He’s a patient. A dying patient. Dying patients die. That’s what they do.”
“Greg—”
“He’s going to die, and I’m not going to cry over someone I’ve only known two weeks.”
Wilson looked at him for a long moment, then sighed and left.
House stood alone at your bedside, silence pressing down on him like gravity. His hand hovered above yours but never touched.
“I hate you for being smart,” he said quietly. “I hate you for being funnier than me. I hate you for looking at me like you saw right through all of it.”
Your breathing hitched in your sleep. Just slightly.
House leaned in, the tiniest crack in his voice:
“I hate that it's going to suck when you die.”
The room smells like antiseptic and late afternoon sun. You’re propped up in bed, barely able to sit upright without your lungs burning like you’ve run a marathon. Every breath feels like it takes negotiation. The beeping monitors have become your ambient soundtrack.
Then the door creaks open, and Thirteen walks in with something big cradled in a to-go box, grinning like she’s just broken the rules. Because she has.
You raise an eyebrow. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
She plops it down on the tray table with ceremony. “Bacon double cheeseburger. Extra onion rings. Triple patty. I threw in a milkshake just to make nurses yell at me later.”
You let out a weak, hoarse laugh. “This is gonna kill my cholesterol.”
She doesn’t laugh back right away. Just smiles. Softly. The kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
You both know what this is. Not recovery. Not hope. It’s a parting gift. Something indulgent and alive, for someone who's already fading. It means: you mattered. It means: we’re saying goodbye, but not with tears just yet.
Your fingers tremble as you reach for a fry, and Thirteen gently helps you bring it to your lips. It tastes like everything you’ve been denied—grease, heat, life.
You chew slowly. “Tell House he still owes me a better eulogy.”
Thirteen nods, her voice thick. “He’ll pretend he doesn’t care.”
You manage a smirk. “He’ll write it anyway.”
And you both sit in the fading sunlight, sharing the best worst meal of your life.
God, this is such a soft, aching scene. The slow procession of goodbye, disguised in humor and shared memories. Here's how that might look:
You're not sure who sends out the signal, but somehow, one by one, they all come.
Foreman is first. Ever the professional, even now. He checks your chart, updates your IV with practiced hands. You pretend not to notice the way he lingers, as if fixing the machines might fix you too. He doesn’t say much—never really did—but his hand rests on your shoulder longer than necessary when he leaves.
Taub sneaks in next, looking like he’s trying not to be caught. He sits at your bedside, cracks a joke about how *you* should’ve been the one cheating death, not him cheating on his wife. It’s dark, but you both laugh. You knew way too much about that man's love life by now. He leaves behind a sudoku book you can’t focus on, but it smells faintly of his cologne and cigarette smoke. Comforting, in a weird way.
Chase comes just after sunset, sunlight haloing his golden hair. He grins as he flops into the chair beside you, casual as ever.
“You’re my favorite dying guy, you know,” he says.
You grin, weakly. “You’re my favorite Aussie. Don’t tell Hugh Jackman.”
He chuckles, and the sound almost breaks you. “You don’t get many people like you. Smart, sharp. Didn’t let House get away with shit.”
“He’s still gonna win.”
“Maybe.” Chase’s smile falters a little. “But you made it hard for him. He liked you.”
You nod, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “That’s the nicest insult I’ve ever gotten.”
He squeezes your hand before leaving, thumb tracing a slow arc across your knuckles. “Get some rest.”
The room is quiet when Wilson finally steps in.
No dramatic entrance. No clipboard. No comforting lie.
Just Wilson, clutching a coffee he hasn’t touched, standing in the doorway like he’s afraid crossing the threshold will make it real.
You manage a small smile. “Didn’t think you’d come. Thought you hated watching people die.”
“I do,” he says softly, closing the door behind him. “But I hate missing the chance to say goodbye more.”
He walks over, sits down where Chase sat before him. His eyes are tired. Red-rimmed. You don’t mention it.
There’s a long silence.
Then, his voice cracks like something inside him finally gave way. “I really wish it was cancer.”
You don’t flinch. You don’t laugh. You just nod, slow and steady, because you do understand.
Cancer, at least, comes with a playbook. Chemo. Radiation. Clinical trials. Wilson’s entire life has been about fighting it, taming it, coaxing one more month, one more year, out of the cruel beast.
But you—your body’s unraveling in ways no one can name. There’s no script. No treatment. Just time, and not much of it.
“I know,” you whisper. “Me too.”
He puts the coffee down. Takes your hand like it’s glass.
“You’re not alone,” he says, voice thick. “Even if you want to be. You’re not.”
You nod again. It’s all you can do.
And for a long time, neither of you speaks. He just holds your hand, thumb brushing over your pulse, as if willing it to stay.
You’re barely there when he comes.
Not that you weren’t expecting it—House was always late from what you've heard. To consults, to court, to apologies. You weren’t sure he’d show at all.
The door creaks open. A moment passes. Then the telltale thump of his cane on tile. Steady. Slow.
You don’t bother opening your eyes.
“Thought you were done with the case,” you rasp, voice more breath than sound. The words tug at your cracked lips, forming a crooked smile.
There’s a pause. Then—
“I don’t like unfinished puzzles.”
He says it like it’s a joke. Like it’s still just another day, another file. But the pause that follows is heavy.
He walks closer, and when he sits, the leather of the chair creaks under his weight. You hear him breathe out, shaky. Like he’s been holding it the whole way here.
Your breath rattles in your chest. You manage to crack one eye open—just enough to see the gray in his stubble, the pinch in his brow.
“You look like hell,” he mutters.
“Mirror,” you wheeze, “must be broken.”
House huffs a breath that might’ve been a laugh. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. Doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t need to.
“I ran your bloodwork again,” he says, almost absently. “Still nothing. No 'miracle.' No screw-up. You’re… you’re really dying.”
There’s something unspoken at the end of that sentence. And I can’t stop it.
You let your head roll slightly toward him. “You mad at me for it?”
“No,” he says. Too quickly. Then quieter, “Yes.”
He rubs a hand over his mouth, then down the back of his neck. He looks at you like maybe if he stares hard enough, you’ll get better just to spite him.
Then, finally, he says the thing that’s been clogging his throat the whole time:
“I don’t want you to go.”
And God, it’s not romantic. It’s not tender. It’s raw and bitter and laced with all the things House can’t say right. But it’s real.
You cough, and it hurts like hell, but you manage to smile again. “You’ll have to… find a new favorite terminal case.”
“Already told the others,” he says. “You’re irreplaceable. You bastard.”
You close your eyes, and for a moment, the pain slips beneath the surface. House stays. Silent. Watching. Waiting.
And for once, he doesn’t try to fix it.
He just stays.
Your grip is barely there, papery and trembling in his palm, but House doesn't let go.
He never does things like this. Never lingers. Never touches unless it's necessary—or cruel. But here he is. Sitting at your bedside with his calloused fingers wrapped around yours, thumb brushing idly over your knuckles.
You’re more shadow than substance now. Skin yellowed with jaundice, eyes glassy, voice a thin, rasping ghost of what it was. But when you smile, he feels it like a punch to the gut.
“I should get you a hooker,” he says, voice rough, grating. Still House. Still a dick.
You wheeze a laugh that dissolves into a wet, painful cough. “Only… if it’s one of the expensive ones.”
“Oh, naturally,” he says, faux-casual. “None of that street corner crap for you. I’m talking… a high-end escort. Ivy League education. Can quote Tolstoy while choking on your—”
You squeeze his hand. Barely. But it’s there.
“God, I’m gonna miss your mouth.”
House swallows hard. Looks away.
“Don’t,” he says.
You smile again, smaller this time. Sleepier. It’s all slipping now. Moments draining like sand in the glass.
“You were an asshole from the moment I got admitted.”
“Consistent branding,” he murmurs.
“But you held my hand.”
He looks down at where your fingers are intertwined. Doesn’t answer right away. Then, softly:
“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone. Ruins my reputation.”
Your breath hitches, not from emotion but exhaustion. He can hear it. Feels it. The end’s so close now it buzzes in the air like static.
Still, he doesn’t let go.
Doesn’t move.
Just stays. Holding on for as long as he can.
Your chest hurts more now, a pressure that suffocates rather than aches. It’s sharp, like a thousand needles, each breath a ragged gasp you can’t quite catch. The monitors beside you beep in a steady, heartless rhythm, their sound growing louder and more frantic with each passing moment.
House’s face has morphed into something you didn’t think was possible. His usual cocky, sarcastic demeanor has melted into something raw. Something… afraid. His eyes flick to the monitor, then to you, back and forth, as though willing it all to stop, willing time to go backward, for you to just wake up from this.
You can see it in the twitch of his fingers, the flex of his jaw. He wants to save you. He wants to break every rule, every order, and fight for your life as if it’s one more case to solve. But he can’t. Not this time.
You can’t hold back a weak cough, the sound of it pathetic and wet, escaping your lips in a desperate attempt to make it better—but there’s nothing left to save.
“I—” He stops. His breath catches. “I could—”
“House…” Your voice is barely a rasp, a shadow of sound. It’s hard to form the words, hard to make them come together in your failing throat.
He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.
You know what he wants to say. I could break the rules. I could fight for you. I could save you.
But you signed a DNR. A part of you—the part that really knew it all along—is grateful for that. Grateful that you won’t have to endure any more pain. That you’ll be allowed to go. To leave this behind. Without being hooked to machines or held hostage by the life you’ve outlived.
You squeeze his hand—weakly, pathetically, but you do it. The touch is almost nothing. But it’s everything.
“I’m here,” he says, voice thick with something—grief, regret, tenderness—maybe all of it. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, something like a prayer.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters. A whisper. Too quiet. But you hear it.
You blink slowly, feeling your body grow heavier, the world dimming at the edges. It’s time. You know it is. But you want him to know, somehow, that you’re okay with this. That it’s okay for him to let you go.
With a final, shaky breath, you exhale the words you’ve never said before, not like this.
“I’m not scared.”
His hand tightens around yours in the final moments. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. There’s nothing left to say as the heart monitor flatlines and the machines scream in silence.
But he stays there, holding your hand, because that's the only thing he knows to do when the one person he couldn’t save slips away from him.
More Posts from Annewashere and Others
Just A Dragon (Hiccup x Reader)
Characters: Hiccup, Toothless
Fandom: How To Train Your Dragon
Tags: Fluff, slight emotional hurt / comfort
Warnings: None (calling Toothless a beast like once, that’s all)
Word Count: 2,5k words
Summary: After arriving to Berk when they’re rescued from their dying land, Y/N tries to adjust to their new home. Luckily, a boy called Hiccup is very helpful in that regard. Unluckily, he’s good friends with a dragon that scares Y/N.
A/N: This is my first attempt at writing for this fandom, but I’m so excited!! I really loved the movies upon rewatching them, even more than I remembered, and after finally watching the third one, I was already missing the characters, so I wanted to write a little something! Enjoy!
AO3: Link
Want to send a request? Read my rules first, please!
Hiccup Haddock x Gender Neutral Reader
Being a newcomer in Berk wasn’t easy. You were in an uncharted land filled with strangers with different customs and with something far more worrying than just different traditions… They had dragons.
You were wandering around the forest, trying to put some order in your thoughts. Things would be okay, you just needed to get used to that place and for that you needed time. The people seemed friendly enough, even if a bit strange. As long as you stayed away from the dragons, everything would turn out alright.
“Oh, hey!” A voice startled you, making you look up when you reached a clearing. “Hi, Y/N!”
“H-Hi” It was Hiccup, one of the few people you got along with so far. He was a sweet boy, but his dragon was the most ferocious looking one out of them all.
Keep reading
Hi can I ask for a blurb where Peter accidently hits the reader while playing or something like he sometimes forgets about his super strength but fluff at the end please 🥺.
this got away from me but this was so fun and cute to write!
“I kinda want a black eye.”
Your boyfriend slowly lowered the bag of peas on his left eye, his elbow dropped daringly, forcing you to look at the dark purple hue.
“Oh, really?”
You nod, “it looks gnarly but it’d be cool to have one.”
“Baby, my heartbeat is currently taking place from my eyeball. You don’t want one.”
Stretching across the space on the couch you raise Peter’s hand back up so he can ice the bruise some more, it does look painful.
“I think if you loved me you’d give me one.”
Peter took a second to see if that sentence would resonate with you but it hadn’t.
“We should go to the women's shelter and spread that knowledge.”
You scoff, “they weren't asking for it, Peter. I am.”
Your boyfriend lowered his temporary ice pack and reached a hand out, his thumb rubbed under your eye, you almost thought he was thinking about it. Almost.
“I’d never. I would, however, patch you up if you ever got one.”
“Do you have a friend that could-”
“No.”
—------------------------------------
Oh FUCK did your eye HURT.
It was on a level ten throb level, it felt like a ring stretching to your eyebrow and nose. You couldn’t even open it, all you could do was press your hand to it and try and stop the pressure from building, it didn’t work.
You were able to blink it open just enough to be blinded by the living room light, you’ve never been so light sensitive. Squeezing it shut you winced, you tried to be understanding and calm; it was an accident after all. But the pain was spreading all over your face and you had a target right on the corner of your right eye, and it hurt.
If your right eye could open it’d be shedding tears too, you had one continuance stream coming from your left eye.
Your voice bubbles with pain, “petey, it hurts.”
Your boyfriend couldn’t even breathe right now, he had hurt you. The one thing he swore he would never, could never do, and he did it. Panic flooded his body, panicked he’s caused serious damage, panicked you’d be scared of him, panicked you’d dump him, panicked your dad would come curbstomp him.
“It hurts so bad,” he knows you’re calling out for him, he knows you need him, but all he could replay was the ‘whack!’ in his head. It wasn’t gentle in the slightest, you whipped away from him with a hiss, your hand immediately covering your eye. You had been okay at first but after a minute had passed it became nearly unbearable.
Peter knows how bad a black eye hurts, and he just gave you one.
His short, barely there breaths start to stutter.
And suddenly Peter couldn’t see because his vision was muddled by tears, he tried to blink them back but they ran. He can’t remember the last time he’s cried, but this brought him to his knees. He never wanted to punish himself more than in that second. He should’ve been quicker, he should’ve known you were behind him, he has those goddamn senses and they did nothing in that moment.
“Peter!” A desperate cry for attention, you don’t know what to do, it hurts more than you could imagine.
You look up at your boyfriend still standing in shock where he jumped away from you after hitting you directly in your eye. A wrestling battle, you had tried to take him down after he’d pinned you three times. In an effort of a sneak attack you crawled up the couch and tried to jump on his back where he sat on the floor. You dived and at the last moment his hand… well you don’t know what he was trying to do but it connected hard to your cheekbone.
Your back hit the couch and you held your hand as you hissed and groaned in hurt, Peter scrambled up and backed up behind the coffee table, as if he was scared to be around you.
He’s crying, your boyfriend’s crying. You’ve been punched and he’s crying.
“I’m.. I’m sorr.. Fuck.” Peter snaps out of it, you need him. He crosses to the couch in two steps, his hand cupping your cheek. It makes everything in him deflate when you flinch as he touches you, he bites his bottom lip to stop a sob. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
His heart hurts as you cry, his thumb taps at your hand covering the damaged eye. The one he caused.
“Let me see it, please?” Peter said it like a question, like he’d ever be lucky enough to have that privilege.
You sob, “it hurts.”
Peter blinks, more tears. He can’t believe he’s crying over this, he also can’t believe he hit his fucking girlfriend.
“I know, I know it does, baby. Please let me see it.”
You choke in air to stop your crying, it works. You slowly lift your hand off your eye, it’s not throbbing as much but the pressure has inflated tenfold and you couldn’t open it if you tried, it was swollen shut. You tried to gauge a reaction out of him, to see how bad it is. You forgot your boyfriend had the world’s best poker face.
Peter wanted to curl up into a ball when he saw the damage.
It was bruising, and swollen and you couldn’t open your eye and it was all his fault.
His fault, his fault, his fault.
If he was normal, if he was a normal boyfriend, this wouldn’t have happened. A normal teenager doesn’t have the strength to hold a ferry or stop a runaway bus, he does. And he used that strength on you.
His powers, his abilities, his strength.
His fault, his fault, his fault.
“You need ice.” Is all that could come out. A wince wraps over your face when you nod, you try to sit up and groan. “Everything hurts. How do you do this? Pain has to affect you differently, right?” Peter ignored you as he backed away, you don’t think he’s ever been so aware of his surroundings and actions.
He shouldn’t be getting ice, he shouldn’t be putting it in a plastic bag and wrapping a rag around it, he shouldn’t be grabbing you tylenol extra strength, he shouldn’t be icing your black eye he caused.
His fault, his fault, his fault.
It scared you how quiet he was, the accidental punch was just that. You weren’t upset at him or scared he would do it again, you were scared how odd he was acting. He was strangely quiet and standoffish, when he came back to you with ice and pills you watched him think about holding the bag to your eye but stopped and put it in your hand.
He shifted his weight and looked at the couch, he stepped back and sat on the coffee table.
Peter cried and was quiet and standoffish and scared to touch you. He was terrified of himself, you may be physically hurt but he was emotionally broken, his one major thing washed down the drain. Accident or not he gave you a black eye, and it was tearing him up inside.
You hummed when ice hit the hot skin, suddenly it didn’t hurt.
“Am I right, super high pain tolerance?”
It’s like you broke through a wall, Peter looked up at you like he just found out you were in the room.
“I hit you.”
You would’ve rolled your eyes if you could’ve.
“That’s a little dramatic.”
Peter shook his head, upset you weren’t upset.
“I hit you hard, I hurt you. I…” His hand pulled at his curls so hard you grit your teeth. “I fucking hit you,” he whispered it, like his own mind couldn’t wrap it around.
He doesn’t pull out the fuck word often.
You thought about reaching out for his hand, but you think that’d made things worse.
“I’m not scared of you, petey. It was an accident.”
“I swore i’d never hurt you, that I would never hit you and I didn’t-”
“Mean it.” You cut him off, “you didn’t mean it.”
Peter rubbed at his jaw and blinked, you saw tears puddling and you wanted to do nothing more than hold him. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, you lowered the bag of ice from your eye prepared to switch seats. He wouldn’t let you.
“Ice.” Cold and hard, like you had no other option. You didn’t question him, you followed instructions.
“Remember when you asked me to give you a black eye months ago?”
It was a joke. Sure, you saw a tiktok with a girl who had one and you couldn’t deny it looked a little cool. Then seeing one on Peter the same night you couldn’t shake it. You were just playing around, it’s not like it was that serious.
“I was joki-”
“I told you I'd never, and I did. I hit my girlfriend and gave her a black eye.”
Disgust. That’s what it was. He was disgusted with himself.
You sat up straight, your lip curled up.
A black eye? Sick.
“Wait, really?”
Peter looked up at your excitement, it came from nowhere.
“You gave me a black eye? I have a black eye right now? For real, for real?”
This wasn’t a cute or funny thing, and he won’t let you make it be one.
He hit you.
“This isn’t funny, I hit you and you’re happy you got a black eye?”
“Pete, I forgive you. And not just cause you gave me a black eye, because it was an accident and you didn’t mean to and you’re obviously extremely remorseful.”
“But I-”
You reached out for his hand, “forgive yourself. You forgive yourself.”
It wouldn’t be instant, until your eye healed, which would be at a much slower rate than him, he wouldn’t be able to fully forgive himself.
“No more wrestling.”
You scoff, “no more sneak attacks, how about that?”
He shook his head, “I don’t want this happening again.”
“If the situation was reversed would you want me to hold it against myself?”
Peter scoffed, “absolutely not, but it wouldn’t hurt me like it does you.”
“So you do have a super high pain tolerance.”
He snapped and ripped his hand from yours, “yes, I do have a super high pain tolerance. I also have super strength and give my girlfriend black eyes.”
You held your hand up, the other one slightly freezing from the cold but you were too scared to take it off.
“First off, plural. Second, please stop. You’re making me feel bad, I’m really okay and I’m not mad and I forgive you a thousand million percent.”
Peter inhaled sharply, he has to believe you. He’s more shook up than you are and he guesses he should agree with you, you were the hurt one. If you forgive him he could try and do the same.
“I think you need to give me a black eye to even it out.”
You gasp like your offended at his words, your hand lays over your heart.
“I’d never!”
Your boyfriend ran his tongue over his teeth and gave you a dead stare, his hands pushed him off the coffee table. His words grumbled, “toxic.”
I may or may not have been awake for about 48 house, so I wanted to ask a request before I fall asleep.
The hosts when their SO was up for 2 days straight doing work and starts to slip when get to the host club and acting a little bit too much like the Kyoya.
been thinking about this more than my actual story lately, and i have terrible writer's block, so hopefully this will help! {thank you, anon for the idea!}
The Host Club and their Sleepy, Cranky S.O. {Ohshc X Gender Neutral!Reader}
.oOo.
"mon amour? you need to wake up, darling." tamaki's voice whispers gently in your ear.
the darkness that had surrounded you minutes ago suddenly vanishes as you open your eyes, your head swiftly lifting off of the hard surface that you had rested your eyes upon just a few minutes ago.
it had been just a few minutes, right?
coming out of your tired daze, you feel a warm hand under your chin, and your eyes are turned to meet the concerned, violet gaze of your boyfriend. he is positioned above you, one soft hand resting the club's table in front of you and the other on your face, trailing gently from the point of your chin to the roundness of your cheekbones as his thumb runs gently over the skin there.
"my love, do you know what time it is?" his voice was like butter as dips his head a little deeper, worry creasing his perfect face as he watches you lean into his touch almost automatically.
"mmph..." through his stress about your exhausted state, he giggles slightly as you sigh and shrug, your eyelids dropping more with each second. "i don't know, love."
"it's nine, (y/n)."
"what?" any haze that had chained your brain was broken as you shot out of his gentle hold.
straightening your back, you peer towards the large windows that created a barrier between the club room and the outside world, seeing an endless night erasing any of the natural light you had experienced when you walked in here after class.
"it's nine o'clock?" panicked, the chair screeches across pristine tile as you grab at the things scattered across the table. laptop, charging cords, notebooks and pencils all make their way into your grasp as you hurriedly shove them into your bag. "why didn't you wake me up sooner?"
tamaki had watched the stress bunch up in your shoulders the minute you broke away from his grasp. he watches it wind into your muscles and face as you close up your pack and swing it around one arm, hastily pushing the chair in.
"you look like you needed your rest." he says softly, taken aback by your harsh tone. "i talked to my father to let us stay here a little while longer, since i know you have been working really hard on that project you have, and i thought-"
"exactly!" without raising your voice, he feels the sharp frustration rolling off the tip of your tongue, and it pierces something tender as you whip around to face him. "i have been working so hard not to get behind on my schedule, and now that's all out window. why didn't you wake me up like I asked?"
yellow eyebrows raise as you bite back at him, and he is getting whiplash from the sudden venom in your voice. "i tried, (y/n), but you didn't wake up!" his hands move in an pleading gesture. "you shoved my hand off when i tried to shake you and faced the other way when i kissed your cheek. the end of the world couldn't wake you."
your lips purse as your eyes squint and roll, and you stomp towards the door. stuttering, your golden retriever boyfriend follows behind as you nearly rip the door off it's hinges in your haste.
his words are rushed as he rushes to follow you out of the club room as you make your way down the long, empty staircase. "truly, you're not as behind as you might think, angel, not with all the work you've been doing?"
"you would think, huh?" another frustrated sigh escapes you, but it's more tuned towards yourself than anything. you push through the grand entrance of the school.
tamaki chases you out into the moonlight. his tall form stops in the doorframe though, when he sees the way the pale light drapes over your figure.
your usual bright stance sags in the night, and the hand he loves to hold rakes harshly through your perfect locks before it disappears to run down your face.
"(y/n), mon amour, what's wrong?" you hear his dress shoes click against the pavement. long arms wrap around your waist from behind, and a soft cheek nuzzles against the side of your face. tamaki tightens his hold, encouraging you to melt into his form. "talk to me."
after nothing more than a second, you do, because how could you not?
your head falls back as your spine molds into the bends and divots of tamaki's long torso, and a deep, shuddering sigh ripples out of you.
"i'm sorry, my love." tamaki feels your apology vibrate against his chest. "i just-, i've been extra stressed lately."
"about your project?"
"yes."
"why, angel?"
your neck twists, and you meet your prince's gaze in the complexity of his embrace, and tamaki sees the deep circles under your eyes. he notes how they had darkened since the last time he noticed them.
"i just have a lot riding on my grade for this course. my mother is counting on me for the future of her company, and if this project doesn't go well, then..."
"stop it." the comforting hug he had wrapped you in briefly vanishes as his touch pulls against your uniform. his fingers travel up your waist and forearms, gently grasping your shoulders as he spins you around to face him. "stop thinking like that."
when you're looking at him, his hands run up the rest of your body to your face, holding your jawline in his touch. "you've been working and worrying for two days, mon amour. you haven't been taking care of yourself, and there is nothing more important than your wellbeing."
his tone is different from his gallivanting, and incredibly endearing, dramatics. it's gracefully intense, like when he helped a struggling doctor find his way to his estranged daughter. the way he looks at you is also fierce, love and determination swimming in his purple irises.
"tamaki..."
"why haven't you been taking care of yourself?"
"i haven't had the time!" your voice tries weakly to defend yourself, but tamaki raises another eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "there isn't enough time in the day for me to work as hard as i have been and get a full night's rest."
"then why haven't you come to me about it?"
"i...i don't know." defeated, there is a drop in your gaze as you give up trying to defend yourself. "i thought i could do it on my own."
"you don't have to do anything on your own. not when you're with me." tamaki bends slightly to get into your line of sight. "you know you can talk to me, (y/n); that i'm here to give you anything and everything you need."
your (e/c) eyes whip back up to him. "i know that, love, but i-"
"no buts. you come to me if you need me. that's how it has always been for us."
the moonlight reflects off the small amount of wetness in your eyes, and tamaki's serious expression crumples. all of your stress and exhaustion breathes out of your body at his words. he smiles softly as you bury your face in his chest, placing his hand on your hair and another at your back, kissing the side of your head.
"i need you." your voice sings through the night, into the air as it's carried into the rose garden, red petals fully in bloom.
.oOo.
kyoya has seen this look before.
the tension of your lips as they writhe over your teeth. the slam of your footsteps as you make your way over to your usual seat across from him. especially the small smile you give to whomever greets you.
the smile that doesn't reach your eyes. the smile that falls immediately after you give some random excuse to dismiss yourself from the conversation, and you let it fall because you think no one is looking.
but kyoya was watching.
"good morning, (y/n)." he greets over his laptop as you click open your own, and you meet his gaze briefly before turning your attention back to your computer, giving him the same dismissive smile.
being that he was your boyfriend, that hurt a little.
"good morning, kyo."
he lets his eyes linger on the bored, dull look that you attach to your screen, accompanied by your sluggish movements and purple smudges under your eyes. a dark eyebrow quirks from behind his glasses as your chest rises with a sigh, and your face crinkles despairingly at whatever you are working on.
"what are you doing?"
your lashes flick up to him once more before returning back to your task at hand. "i'm working on the budget."
he blinks a little at your reply. "still?"
the tension from your mouth seeps into your form at his question, and you shift in your seat. "yes, love, thank you so much for pointing that out."
lips parting slightly at the sarcasm in your voice, the club's director raises his fingers off of his keyboard, favoring to clasp them under his chin instead as a more calculating gaze sweeps the figure of his beloved.
he catches an eyebrow twitch, a flare of your nostrils, the way your head bobs slightly before you shake it, as if that could erase the pure exhaustion radiating from you.
yes, kyoya has seen this look before.
in the mirror.
"how much sleep did you get last night, my dear?"
this time, you don't even look at him when you answer. you just shrug at him, too focused on your typing to really concentrate on a reply. "i don't know. maybe an hour or so-."
a sharp flare of concern rises in his chest before you spin your computer on it's base, shoving the screen in his direction with a wary look in your eye. "does this look right to you? i feel like something's missing."
his hands are still at his mouth when he glances at the spreadsheet you two created together, the perfect, color coded numbers arranged into straight columns.
but his brow furrows even more the longer he looks at it. lowering his hands to the device, kyoya pulls it closer to him as he scrolls through, skimming the text for any sign of error or miscalculation.
he finds none.
"(y/n), this is perfect." his pupils dart across the page behind his frames. "i have no idea what you're stressing over."
the laptop is pulled away from him once more as you run a hand through your hair. "no, no." you hit the backspace button on your keyboard, tired eyes squinting over the excel sheet. "something isn't right."
your aggressive typing fills the air once more, a little more frenzied and anxious than a minute before.
kyoya leans back in his chair, still observing. "(y/n), have you been working out this budget since the time i sent it to you?"
"of course."
"that was two days ago."
"i know."
he stands, pushing out his chair, but you don't notice. "have you slept at all?"
"not really. i've been going through the math, the incoming inventory. sure, it looks perfect now, and we are within this month's spending range, but i know there's a way to save more money. if i could just-"
"that," the lid of your computer is suddenly pushed down, closing the screen in front of you. a pale hand with pianist-like fingers attached to it splays across your protective case. "is more than enough, then."
"kyoya!" you sit in front of him, shock emanating from your face as his name is gasped from your lips. "what the hell?"
kyoya leans in front of you, one hand bracing your laptop closed while the other slips into the pocket of his trousers. his raven hair falls into his eyes a little bit, but the gray color is still piercing and raw.
"my dear," he pulls away slightly, adding pressure onto your computer so that it drags to his side of the table. "you need to take a break."
"a break?" you rise as well, trying to keep a cool demeanor. but your director could tell that your patience was thinning. "i'm on the brink of figuring this out, and you want me to take a break?"
"you already have figured it out, (y/n). i looked it over. you found the solution."
"but it could be better."
quickly, kyoya rounds the table, walking into your space to grab one of your hands.
he places both of his palms around one of your own, trying to get through to you through his touch instead of his words, even if the connection was small.
"how much sleep have you had in the past forty-eight hours?"
abandoned by the distraction your work gave you, you now face your boyfriend head on as he studies your movements.
since the moment you met him, kyoya has always watched you intently. as a man who didn't involve himself with anything that he didn't care greatly for, the process of dating him has and will always include him taking the time to observe and study you; to commit your mannerisms to memory. gray irises will forever notice how you bounce your leg underneath your desk when you have something to say but won't say it out right. or how you take your (f/h/d) in the morning, and the exact brand that you use.
or how your face lights up when he comes into view from down the hallway, and you excuse yourself to meet him halfway.
or how you always seem to kiss him with soothing, deep movements, which always encourages him to respond in kind.
but, very rarely is that intent stare coupled with concern.
yet, here it was, bathing his beloved gaze as he waits for your reply, leaving you with an aching heart. you think back to they way you've been acting, cranky and stand-offish, and a pang of regret sparks in your stomach.
your hand adjusts slightly in his as you hold onto his grasp, albeit a little nervously.
"you want the truth?" your beautiful eyes break his gaze as you stubbornly shift in place.
"always."
"not very much. maybe three hours." he swallows as that sharp flare of concern burns into an engulfing flame in his torso. "in total."
A disappointed frown etches onto his handsome features, but it's not angry. it's sad.
sad that he didn't see your exhaustion before, not in it's totality. he saw your frequent yawns and the way you tended to drift off mid-conversation, but he was busy with work as well, and couldn't connect the dots until now.
"(y/n)-"
"i know, i know. it's not the best." you take a deep breath and look at him with more confidence, ready to admit to your actions. "the perfectionist in me kind of let loose. i'm sorry, i just wanted it to be the best that it could be. for the club, ya know? for you."
tugging on your clasped hands, a deep hum resonates from the ootori son as he draws you closer. soon, your hands naturally loop around his neck while he settles his hold at your waist.
his forehead rests on yours as he sighs deeply, and you close your eyes as his low voice reaches your ears. "i think the best thing for me and the club is for you to get some rest."
he smirks a little as he feels you giggle tiredly against him. "yeah, i think you're right."
kyoya chuckles softly as he raises his forehead off of yours to place a kiss in the same spot. "i'm always right, my dear."
.oOo.
"hikaru! stop it!"
arms caged yours as you writhed against his chest. your legs were wild as they kicked up into the air, barely missing your boyfriend as he picked you up from where you had sat on your desk.
"put me down right now! what are you even doing?"
he grunts a little as your swinging legs hit his calves before throwing you down on your bed. unceremoniously, the bed frame creaks with your weight as you land face first into your duvet.
a loud huff escapes you as you turn around from your position, seeing hikaru standing at the foot of your bed with his arms crossed, a victorious smile plastered onto his sharp mouth.
"well, i asked you to take a break from your studying. and you said 'make me.'" his fingers come to either side of his head to create quotation marks. "so i made ya."
"i didn't mean literally, jackass." you grumble as you shift. your palms push your body up off the bed and spin you so that you are seated properly on your comforter. scooting roughly to the edge of your mattress, you barely stand up before your pushed onto the bed again.
"hikaru!"
"nope. not gonna happen."
"i need to study!"
"that's what you've been saying for the past two days!" his rough voice sounds exasperated as he gestures wildly to you. "in the clubroom, in the cafeteria, on our facetime calls. shit, (y/n), i don't think there has been a single second where i haven't seen that textbook open in front of you."
he points to the hefty calculus book open on your desk, three quarters of the pages turned to one side.
"that's what studying is!" you move to get up again with another frustrated sigh. "my test is tomorrow, my love, i can't afford any breaks right now."
this time, instead of simply pushing your back onto the bed, hikaru pins you down. in a flash, golden eyes fill your vision as his fingers clamp around your wrist. when you fall back, his weight takes you down as he flops heavily on your chest.
"you're not going anywhere, baby. not until you tell me what's going on."
"nothing is going on." you huff, blowing a few of his ginger strands out of his face. "now get off me."
"i don't believe you." ever the stubborn twin, hikaru makes a point to wiggle his body on top of yours to amplify the fact that you have no hope of pushing him off. "and i'm not moving until i believe you."
"what?" you bite back.
a more serious tone laces his voice as he scans you. "today, during club hours, you looked like a zombie."
you shoot him a blank look. "thanks."
"a gorgeous zombie, but still."
"not helping."
a crease forms between his eyebrows at your usually soft, bright tone crackling into dry one. "you were dragging your feet, and talking to yourself more than usual. it was creepy."
you rolled your eyes, and hikaru watches as the bags under your eyes moved with the motion, his jaw setting into a firm line.
"so i'm not getting off of you until you tell me what's been up your ass lately."
offended, you gasp and writhe once more, trying to break free of the surprisingly strong grasp the hitachiin twin has on your wrists. "i don't have time for this!"
he chuckles a little at your flustered expression and sinks more of his weight onto your figure. "well, if you're not going to take a break, than i will. i think i'll take a little nap on this comfortable bed."
realizing he doesn't need to pin your arms down anymore with all of his weight on you, he lets go and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his arms and legs sprawling out over your uniform.
"don't you dare, hikaru!" you say as you try to bring your arms underneath him to push him off, but he's just a block of dead weight.
his breath hits your ear, and you can feel the mischievous smile on his lips. "oh, wow, this is a bumpy mattress." wriggling, he adjusts so that he locks perfectly into your body, and a deep sigh emits from his lungs. "that's better."
another weak push strains your muscles before you give up completely. flopping back onto the mattress, you let out a frustrated groan.
"hikaru, please."
"oh, the mattress speaks?"
"my love."
laughing, he presses a kiss onto the column of your throat. "what's up, baby?"
like a weighted blanket, hikaru's body flush against yours has calmed your heart rate slightly, and all the exhaustion and stress that you have been feeling suddenly comes to a head.
your arms lift from your sides to wrap around his toned back, and you turn your face into the divot connecting his shoulder and his collarbone, inhaling the comforting scent of his cologne and laundry detergent.
"i've been awake for the past forty-eight hours."
his chest rumbles with a sympathetic hum. "i know."
"i'm tired."
his head pops up from the embrace, and sincerity shines in the liquid gold of his irises. "let's take a nap, and then we can figure something out afterwards, yeah?"
you can already feel your eyelids dragging over your pupils. "yeah, that sounds nice."
as you succumb to your fatigue, you barely register the way hikaru rolls off of you. his warmth returns when you feel an arm wedge itself under your waist and pull you to him so that you can lay on his chest with ease. the other wraps around your shoulders, and you feel his breath tickling the top of your head as he settles in beside you.
"thanks for telling me, baby."
.oOo.
"so, i think because i found the magnitude of this vector, than i should be able to find the acceleration, right?" kaoru asks, back hunched over his desk, spinning a pencil in his left hand as he concentrates on the paperwork in front of him.
when he doesn't get a response, he stops fidgeting and looks over to you: his incredibly intelligent, and usually helpful, partner.
you're sat next to him, slaving away at your laptop while he watches the blue light practically burn your retinas.
well, sat is a strong word.
you slouched, your neck barely able to keep your head on your shoulders as you worked at his desk, fingers robotically clicking at your mouse and dragging images to their predetermined place, your graphic design coming to fruition with each release of a button.
"(y/n)?"
at the sound of your name, your spine flinches slightly as it straightens. you whip your head towards him with such a quick motion, that he winces at the twist of the muscle, hoping you didn't get whiplash.
his hopes are dashed when you immediately face the front, bringing one of your hands up to massage the nape of your neck.
"are you okay?"
"i'm fine," you breathe, exhaustion sprinkled in your sigh. "what did you need?"
cautiously, kaoru slides his paper over to you while you shift closer to him, pulling your chair over until your legs touch underneath his desk.
"i don't know if i got this problem right."
through a yawn, your eyes scan his homework, everything coming together in a blurry font due to your lack of sleep. you can barely make out his handwriting on your best day, so the fact that you hardly think straight doesn't really help.
but you couldn't let kaoru know that.
"it looks good, babe."
he quirks a ginger eyebrow, glancing between the paper and then back up to where you sat.
"yeah?" he asks, studying you carefully.
"for sure."
"okay, well then," your boyfriend flips the paper over, where another disarray of words meet you. he scribbles something out before circling an answer choice from his options, then looks back at you. "that must be right, too, yeah?"
you nod, blinking slowly. "mhmm." you turn to look at him, a small smile on your lips. "you're so smart, love."
his lips curve up into a half-smirk as he tilts his head, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. golden irises squint as he glances over your face once more. "it's a smiley face."
your smile fades. "huh?"
the sneaky twin gestures towards the paper again, and after rubbing your palms over your eye-sockets, a happy face penciled in lead comes into accusing focus.
"i drew a smiley face, and you said i was smart." kaoru summarizes, a deadpan tone only being interrupted slightly as he laughs through his sentence. "what is going on with you?"
a frustrated whine ripples past your throat as you rest your head in your hands. your voice breaks into a quiet groan, and while your volume doesn't rise, your disappointment does. "god, this essay is making me lose my mind! i can't even think clearly, let alone write three more pages of this shit."
"hey, woah." kaoru rests his hand against your spine and rubs it, moving his hand back and forth in calming motions. "talk to me."
another deep sigh rushed out of you as you talk behind your hands, and your poor boyfriend can't hear a single thing.
the hand on your back glides to the side of your face, bringing your chin up and out of your grasp. he locks his gaze with yours as he leans back in his chair. "try again, babe."
"this essay makes me want to jump off a cliff."
"and you were gonna do that without me? i thought we had an agreement."
"shut up." despite yourself, you laugh.
the fingers on your chin shift to your scalp while he laughs with you, pushing only a few of the stray hairs away from your face. "have you slept?"
"not well."
kaoru notes a redness in your eyes he didn't see before. "not well, or not at all?"
you roll your eyes a little, but he knows it's not directed at him. you're disappointed in yourself. "a mix of both." hastily you look back at him, widening your eyelids a little at a poor attempt to look more awake.
"but it's no big deal!" your voice is a little too bright. "i can catch up on sleep once i submit this paper."
the gingered twin squints his eyes, but to your surprise, he shrugs, spinning in his office chair as he refocuses on his work. "yeah, i guess you're right. i get it."
your mouth was slightly agape at the fact that that actually worked. "you get it?"
"yeah. sometimes, people just can't sleep enough with everything going, ya know? i only got two hours of sleep last night, so i understand what you're going through."
there's a pause. kaoru fights a smirk as he scratches an equation into the top right of his paper.
"what?" a concerned voice reaches his ears, and he almost feels bad for lying. "only two hours?"
"mhmm." he hums, not even giving you a second glance.
"kaoru," the sweetest whine escapes your lips as he feels a hand on his shoulder. he steels his expression into one of confused nonchalance as he faces you again, only to be met with the spot you get between your crinkled eyebrow when you're worried. "why didn't you tell me?"
"what do you mean? it's not a big deal."
"yes it is!" your other hand reaches his opposite shoulder, and he turns to face you fully, reveling in your touch as you move to cradle his face. "sleep is important, babe, you can't just-"
his grin widens as a flash of realization flutters across your face. The worry in your features melts into a blank expression, and he laughs as you push his face away from yours, muttering a "jackass" under your breath.
the sneaky twin closes the distance though, pulling your chair ever closer to his to where nothing was standing in his way to pull you to his lap. you resist slightly, pouting as your sat into the space between his legs, but a natural, familiar gravity pulls you towards him anyway, and your face rests gently in the crook of his neck.
"rest for a couple minutes, okay? your paper will be here when you wake up."
a contended sigh seeps out of you as your exhaustion bubbles up to the surface. your eyelids begin to drop when you speak into his neck. "and what about you?"
kaoru's arms come to wrap around your folded form, burying you closer into his chest. "i'll always be here."
.oOo.
mori had gotten used to your talkative nature. being a man of little words, you complimented him well with your bright, energetic commentary about anything that excited you.
he supposed that he hadn't just gotten used to your bubbly personality shining through your lovely voice, he had come to love it; to rely on it.
so, when you entered your usual sparring session with your heels dragging on the wooden floor of the dojo, not only did the air feel off, he felt off.
your white gi hung off your rounded shoulders, the karate belt around your waist haphazardly tied in a knot at the front. and while you still looked as stunning as ever, mori could feel the confusion and worry well up in his chest.
he stood up from stretching out his hamstrings, his long body gracefully walking over to you to greet you with his usual hug. your smile was tired, and when you wrapped your arms around his thin waist, he felt you snuggle more into his hold and release a breath.
still gripping his waist, you looked up at him, your grin still exhausted but content when you propped your chin on his chest to meet his eyes.
"hey." you said, and your voice was airy and cracked.
"hi."
"how was your day?"
"good." his palms tightened on your back. "yours?"
you could barely keep your eyes open as you shrugged. "meh. it was interesting."
"yeah?"
"yeah." still, even in your tired state, you inched your face closer to his, a dazed look in your eye. "but we can talk about it later."
a disbelieving, good-natured scoff left him as a sharp exhale, your boyfriend knowing full-well that would not want to talk about it later. but he met you halfway, and your lips met in a lazy, soft kiss as he lowered his head to yours.
you had nearly put all of your weight onto him at this point, and as you sunk into his grip, he arched his back to counteract the force. his hands glided from your waist to your cheeks as he tilted his head, smirking slightly at the warm hum that left your throat.
pulling away, he kept his forehead on yours as he held you. a breathy left glazed over his face when you separated from him, and he opened his eyes to see a light curve on your plump lips.
"thanks, takashi. i needed that."
that brought all of his worries rushing back.
"(y/n)..." and you opened your eyes at the way he said your name. since mori wasn't the most vocal man you've been with, you learned to pick up on his tonal cues.
your name could be spoken in many ways. a gentle breeze as he tells you that he loves you, a deep inhale as you, yet again, prove your the clumsiest human alive, or maybe a groan in the late, late hours of the night.
this one was a mild warning, forming at the front of his mouth as he stares at you, deep brown eyes boring into yours with earnest.
"what?" you didn't want him to ask. but, he was kind and loving and really fucking stubborn. so, of course he was.
"what's wrong?"
a whine bubbled to the surface of your soft pallet as you dropped your face into the crook of his neck, even if you had to stand on your tip-toes to do so. abandoning your hold on his waist, you preferred to bring your arms up and around his shoulders, locking them around the back of his neck.
"i don't want to talk about it."
"what happened?"
"nothing, really. i promise."
"doesn't feel like nothing. here," gently, you felt a pressure on your hips as mori pushes you out of his hold, instead moving to grab your hand as he leads you to a traditionally decorated wall of the dojo.
letting go, the stoic leans his back against the wall before sliding down, tucking his lanky form into a sitting position before inviting you to do the same. "sit with me."
and he looked so sweet, his gaze hardened on the surface but filled with emotion and weight within it's depths. so how could you say no?
plus, he really wouldn't stop until you told him.
taking a spot next to him, you let your head roll onto the back of the wall before resting it on his shoulder. and the spot was so comfortable, so familiar, you wanted to fall asleep right there.
mori was stubborn, yes, but he was also patient. he waited like a boulder against the tide as you gathered your thoughts, loyal and permanent and determined to help you through whatever was plaguing you.
in your thoughtful silence, he imagined the stress you had been baring when you were assigned that presentation in class. even if you were energetic and outspoken, he knew public speaking terrified you. the pure panic that had erupted in your irises when you told him about the ten-minute powerpoint you had to put together in three days told him everything he needed to know about how your weekend was going to go.
that was two days ago, and he had suggested this impromptu sparring match to give you a little bit of a break. physical activity always cleared his head when he was stretched, and he figured if he could remind you how strong you were, then you could convince yourself that this would be a piece of cake.
but the bags under your eyes and the unanswered calls from him on your cell-phone made him think that this had been harder on you than he had originally expected.
a small snore broke him out of his thoughts, and he looked down at the source.
your eyes were peacefully closed, and your lips were parted as deep, calm breaths washed in and out of your chest. he relaxed slightly into the wall, and smiled as you cuddled closer to him in his small movement.
kissing the top of your head, he rested his cheekbone upon your hair as he rested his eyes as well.
you two would talk later. it wasn't physical activity you needed, or even a helping hand if you had let him.
all you needed, really, was a little bit of rest.
.oOo.
"(n/n)-chan! (n/n)-chan!"
honey bounced up to your desk as you typed away, usa-chan banging against the side of his calves as he stopped at the end of your chair. "wanna play with me, (n/n)-chan?"
you barely spared him a glance, but your eyes met his with a quick shake of your head as you returned your urgent glance to your laptop. "not right now, honey. sorry."
the blonde's bouncing stopped, a little to awe-struck at your rejection to feel sad about it. he was more confused than anything. you never said no to him.
a deep, apparent wrinkle appeared between his brows as the boy-lolita tugged on your sleeve, causing your fingers to slip off the keyboard slightly as you typed. "please?"
"what the-?" your hand having slipped, it gently brushes the cup of tea near your working space, and you gasp before rolling your eyes. "no, honey. i told you, i can't. go play with usa-chan, okay?" you quickly pulled your sleeve out of his grasp and got back to your work, leaving him deflated at your side.
this time he was pouting, and the wrinkle on his forehead turned from confused to determined as he walked around to the opposite side of the table to crawl into the chair across from you.
"what are you workin' on?"
this time your eyes flicked up to him for a longer moment. you wondered why he couldn't leave you alone, but you guessed it was better that he was sitting over there rather than pulling at your uniform and keeping you from your work. "the club's website."
he gasped as he swung his legs on the chair, too short to reach the ground from this height. "ooh, are you making it pretty?"
a sigh came from deep within you as your eyes squinted, zooming in on something on the other side of your screen. "you could say that."
"what are you doing to it?"
you shrugged, still focused on your work. "formatting, graphic designing, boring tech stuff."
"cool!" honey excitedly places his palms on the table, seeing if he sat up straighter, he could get a better view. "how do you know how to do all that?"
you suspiciously scanned him over as he edged closer, pulling your computer forward on the table. "lots of practice."
a high-pitched hum exudes from the third-year as he tilts his head, almost fully on the table now, but something has caught your eye, and your back to your furious typing, not noticing how close he's gotten.
his voice sounds distant in your focus. "couldn't you take a break? for cake? a cake break?" he giggles, but his smile falters when you don't hear his joke.
"haven't taken a break in two days, honey. not gonna start now." your voice is low and inattentive, trailing off as you scroll through the columns and columns of pictures and texts.
still crawling towards you, his brown eyes widen slightly. "two days?" he gasps, and begins to count on his fingers. "that's uhhh..." honey counts his fingers under his breath for a moment before he brightens with an answer. "forty eight hours worth of work! did you even sleep?"
"nope. no sleep. kyoya needs this done by tonight."
"what?!" at that, honey stands to his full height, his small but strudy weight easily supported by the desk underneath him. you jerk back as he points a finger in your face, his voice still young but firm as he speaks down to you. "you need to take a nap right now!"
"honey!" the blonde has your full attention now. "get down!"
"nope!" his pink lips pop the 'p' noise as he shakes his head defiantly. "not until you agree to sleep! kyo-chan can wait."
your hands come up in an exasperated motion and you stand up, pushing your chair out from under you. "honey, this table is not stable. you're gonna fall if you don't get down!"
"will you take a break?"
"i can't!"
"well, then i'm not coming down." folding his arms across his chest, he puffs it out, a proud look on his face.
his confident aura melts, however, when the table shifts with his dramatic movement.
you suck in a breath as honey throws his arms out to balance himself, barely keeping the table at bay as he wiggles side to side.
"okay! okay, i'll take a ten-minute nap! just, please sweetheart, get down from there."
even in the midst of chaos of his own making, honey still finds the. motivation to negotiate. "twenty minutes!"
"fine!" you round the table and extend your arms, and he leaps into them as you pick him up. your heart rate slows as you hold him while the table falls with the loss of his added weight, your tea and computer skidding to opposite sides of the tile.
blankly, you look at honey as he winces at the impact, and then at the dark aura that slowly begins to crowd around your frame.
"i can pay for that." he promises.
.oOo.
your knee bounces under your desk as you watch haruhi's eyes flick over your screen, the words you spent two days writing reflecting back in her dark brown eyes as she reads your work.
your hands are clasped in front of your lips, keeping you from saying anything like 'i changed my mind!' or 'okay, you can stop now', because you're pretty sure haruhi would ignore you anyway.
she had insisted on reading your short story. it was something you did in your free time, and it was something she knew you took pride in.
sometimes, if you felt courageous enough, you would submit them into newspapers, or maybe magazines and blogs if you were really going all out, this past weekend being one of those times. day in and day out, you sat at your writing desk, typing away for what felt like mere seconds as the story in your mind began to unfold onto the pages in front of you. barely any food and close to no sleep rendered a masterpiece of literature, or at least that was what haruhi had assured you she would call it if you let her proof-read it.
your natural host promised that it would take her only a few minutes to read the whole thing, and then you could be on your way to submit it to the magazine's editor. plus, it was the least you could do since you basically ignored her calls and used up all of your study-date time to edit and revise your concluding paragraph.
but finally, finally, after many torturous seconds, your girlfriend leans back. her hands wrap around the edge of your macbook to only shut the laptop halfway and push it aside, turning her full attention back to you.
very briefly, you pulls your hands away from your mouth to ask the question you've been dreading. "what do you think?"
the gentle look that haruhi always wears stays frozen for a moment, but slowly starts to melt into a soft smile as she meets your nervous gaze. "it's good, love. it's really good."
straightening, your eyes widen as you bite your lip. "really?"
her smile gets brighter as amazement floods your cheekbones. "really."
"oh my god." releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding, you throw yourself into the back of your chair. pulling your palms up and around, they rake over your face before scratching through your hair, a groan morphing into a laugh as relief sputters out of you. you feel like you need to say it again, probably louder for good measure. "oh my god! you really liked it?"
the honor student's deep laugh joins yours as watches you bask in a job well done. "why would i lie about that?"
touching down to earth, you shrug, your hands falling into your lap. "because you love me, and you would do anything to make me happy?"
she snorts, leaning forward as she is drawn into your space. "you're right. i do love you. probably just enough to never lie to you again."
a teasing smile curves your lips as you fake offended disbelief, scooting closer so that your knees slip between her own. "again?"
brunette eyebrows work upwards as haruhi mirrors your smirk, nodding as she gets even closer. "mhmm."
"and what have you lied about, haruhi dear?" her breath is mixing in with yours now, and she keeps her kiss barely out of reach, her lips grazing yours as she responds.
"about letting you leave tonight."
"wha-?" your eyebrows knit as haruhi shoots out of her chair, and before you can protest, she is straddling your hips, one of her legs on either side of you as you blush at her sudden proximity.
"haruhi!" but even if your voice sounds surprised, you hold her closer, your palms coming to rest on her thighs.
"when was the last time you slept?" she asks, suddenly serious as she cups your face in her hands.
"last night." you say, but she squints at your response.
"for how long?"
"enough." you whine, bringing your hands around her waist, encouraging her to be flush against you. "don't worry about it."
"(y/n), you look exhausted. i'm going to be worried about it."
you look at her for a moment before realizing that she isn't going to back down. shoulders slumping, you drop your head onto her shoulder, hugging her close to your body. "two hours. maybe."
a displeased noise expels from her throat, but suddenly you feel slender fingers rubbing your back, toying with the hairs on the back of your neck. "you need to sleep."
making a grunt of blind agreement, you melt into her hold, the excitement and anxiousness you felt about your story being blown away by a gust of drowsiness. the scratches on your scalp weren't helping.
"like right now." she emphasizes, and tries to wiggle out of your hold, but you were stronger. tightening your grip around her slim waist.
her shoulders shake with another endearingly low laugh as she hugs you back. "let's get to the bed, love."
you don't think you've ever slept deeper in your life.
.oOo.
starting to write again, and i used this as a little exersise to get back into it. hopefully it can tide you over! i'll see you soon :)
Throwback to all these Jesus comics I drew in 2012…
𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞
sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 𝟣
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞! 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧, 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞! 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 + 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲! 𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞! ♡
“Yah! You’re billowing dust all over me!” You giggle as Su-Hyeok all but shakes the fabric of the infirmary beds excessively, sending unwanted particles in straight descension your way following the height difference slope between you two. He smiles at you cheekily over where he was currently holding onto the corners of the white linen, repeating the motion once more to send your hair flying into a mess.
He finally stops long enough for you both to fold the sheets nicely and stretch it taut over the very last cot in the room. Taking a step back, you eye the result of your hard work for the past few hours as you scan the now pristine room, each bed surface without a wrinkle in sight.
Most other students would disagree with you that cleaning duties was their favorite of the student requirements at Hyosan High, but you found it to be therapeutic in a way. Strangely, or maybe not so strangely considering your career choice for the future, you were in your element with anything and everything even remotely close in relation to the medical field. Or, it could be the fact that Su-Hyeok would always try to sign up as your cleaning partner before anyone else has even had a chance to look over the room assignments for the week—all that just to spend more time with you.
You dramatically slide your hands back and forth across each other, dusting them off. Nodding your head in satisfaction as you survey the surroundings, you proudly exclaim, “Look! Isn’t this just perfection, Su-Hyeok?” As you’re smiling at the end product, you don’t catch him gazing at you fondly.
“Yeah, more than perfect,” he mumbles to himself. With only the two of you in the room, it’s hard to miss, though you don’t register the full meaning behind his words.
Holding up your hand for a high five, he returns it, intertwining your fingers together to tug you towards him, the movement practically sending you crashing into his chest. Flustered, you opt to tease him instead to ease the tension you always feel around him. “Yo–You’re too close. I can smell your feet from here, Su-Hyeok.”
“Bear with me for a second,” he chuckles as he pulls you nearer. You can’t bring yourself to look up into his face as he smooths down your hair—entirely his fault from beating the sheets against your head earlier instead of the posts in the room that serve an obvious purpose. Except, you don’t have to worry about that as once he’s finished, he lets go of your hand and bends down to your level, making direct eye contact as he pats your head playfully. “Now, you’re presentable.”
You scoff, mock offended, finally stepping away from his personal space in hopes that the blush on your face isn’t as visible as you imagine it to be. “Are you saying I wasn’t before?” Su-Hyeok puts both hands up in defense, countenance teasing, before flopping unceremoniously onto the nearest bed.
“Aish!” You reproach. “We just made them!” He ultimately springs back up in fear of your relentless whacks to his chest. Glancing at the clock, it was already well into early evening, so you decide to call it a day. “Let’s go! Hopefully we can catch up with the others outside on our way to the entrance!”
“Race you there!” Su-Hyeok dashes out of the room without so much as a second glance, leaving you dumbfounded as you chase after him, dodging other students in the halls also on their way home.
When you finally make it outside, you and Su-Hyeok both spot Gyeong-Su and Cheong-San in the distance. Decidedly heading there together, you deliberately bump shoulders, trying to make the other fall over to no avail. Lightly kicking him in the shin as petty revenge for having sprung a race on you earlier, you sprint off toward your friends in front before Su-Hyeok has time to react.
You don’t give Cheong-San any indication of your presence until you jump on his back, arms around his neck. He stumbles, but doesn’t fall as Gyeong-Su whips around in surprise before seeing it’s you. He laughs at Cheong-San’s struggles as you finally let go. “It’s your little sister from a different mister!”
Growing up together and being the only child in your respective families, you, Cheong-San, and Su-Hyeok have always been close enough to the point that showing up at one another’s residences became commonplace. Mr. and Mrs. Lee never fail to bring up the fact that you’re the daughter they always wanted but never had to pull their son’s leg whenever you come around. Actually, now that you think about it, even when you’re not, they still do so out of habit, resulting in you getting an earful from Cheong-San the day after about how his parents’ affections are prioritized in the wrong order. You frequently laugh it off, but deep down, you’re grateful that the whole family is so protective of you, particularly Cheong-San, almost as if he was your brother by blood.
Though exasperated, when you cutely open your arms for a hug, Cheong-San rolls his eyes and gives in. “One day, you and On-Jo are going to annoy me to death,” he says as you guys let go.
“What an honorable death that would be for you,” you stick your tongue out at him.
“Don’t I get a friendly hug too, Y/N?” Gyeong-Su asks before pulling you into one.
“All this tenderness is making me want to throw up,” Cheong-San says as Su-Hyeok reaches the group.
“I think that’s been long enough,” Su-Hyeok warns, jealous.
“Nope,” Gyeong-Su refutes, not letting you go to make a point, causing you to laugh. He releases you soon after though, before Cheong-San has a chance to scold him.
“I get a kick in the shin and they get hugs?” Su-Hyeok grumbles, nearly sulking.
“If you wanted one so badly, you could’ve just asked.”
“No flirting before dinner, guys. I’ll lose my appetite.” Gyeong-Su puts an arm around Cheong-San’s shoulder, amused at the scene in front of him.
As Su-Hyeok spreads his arms wide, you mirror him, before handing over your backpack, heavy with beginner’s medical textbooks. “Free hug for you from my lovely backpack.” Gyeong-Su cackles at the priceless expression on Su-Hyeok’s face while Cheong-San just shakes his head, tired of the familiar behavior between the two of you he’s had to witness against his will over the years as the eternal third wheel.
You wave as you see On-Jo and I-Sak approaching, the former shoving Cheong-San’s shoulder so hard, he drops his phone on the ground, rattling against the gravel from impact.
“My phone!” He scrambles to pick it up.
“Hey, gopher. Let’s go have some fried chicken,” On-Jo says, jutting out her backpack.
Regardless of their endless bickering, he doesn’t hesitate in taking the bag from her, though you’re not really surprised. You’ve known about Cheong-San’s massive longtime crush on On-Jo before he even knew it himself. To this day, you’re still waiting for him to make something happen, though you expect to be waiting forever.
“It hasn’t opened yet,” Cheong-San says, peeved.
“Yeah, it has. Your mom said she’s testing out a new recipe today,” On-Jo counters as Gyeong-Su hits Cheong-San, somewhat affronted. You assume they’ve already been over this once before the girls arrived. On-Jo and I-Sak pull you to their side, linking their arms through yours as everyone confirms their attendance to the impromptu chicken dinner invite.
“Ohhhhhhh,” Gyeong-Su drawls excitedly. “Is this a triple date?”
“Mwoya? How annoying.” I-Sak couldn’t be more disgusted as she drags you and On-Jo away speedily towards the school’s entrance, leaving the boys trailing behind to Gyeong-Su’s happy whistle rendition of Auld Lang Syne, extra backpacks and all.
»»————-————-————-————-————-————-————-—««
“There’s the cute couple!” Cheong-San’s mom bellows, referring to you and Su-Hyeok, handing over the largest platter of fried chicken you’ve seen in your life. She immediately embraces you before you even get a chance to sit down.
The boys convene on one side while you and the girls take seats opposite them, somehow paired up as Gyeong-Su had hoped for.
“Mrs. Lee, we’re not together,” you correct as you dig into the plate in front of you, the mouthwatering smell of freshly fried chicken wafting through the vicinity.
“Do we get extra fried chicken if we are?” Su-Hyeok inquires, genuinely curious. You kick him under the table and Mrs. Lee looks on, entertained.
Somehow, the lighthearted conversation as your little group eats shifts to more serious matters when Mrs. Lee heads back to the kitchen to reevaluate the briny recipe with her husband after taking everyone’s feedback into consideration.
“Ah, right. Did you guys catch wind of what’s circulating around school about Mr. Lee? I-Sak starts.
“What about him?” Cheong-San questions, as everyone turns their attention towards I-Sak, wondering what the latest gossip was.
“He emits the odor of a rotting corpse.”
Cheong-San sighs. “Na-Yeon’s the one who spread that rumor, right?”
You roll your eyes. “Knowing her, of course she did.”
All five pairs of eyes turn towards you, scandalized. “Wow, this is the first time that you, the nicest person in the world, have clearly expressed your dislike for someone,” Gyeong-Su states to everyone’s agreement. “Our own future doctor and resident angel with a pure heart full of compassion finally has one person on her hit list,” he teases.
“Pshh, stop it you guys. Refrain from giving me these grand nicknames I can’t live up to. An angel, seriously?” You deny, slightly embarrassed at them putting you in such high regards.
“Su-Hyeok surely thinks so, in a literal sense—" The person in question elbows Gyeong-Su forcefully, on the brink of sending him toppling over in his chair. Everyone laughs as Su-Hyeok shoves a drumstick into Gyeong-Su’s mouth to shut him up.
“Don’t force it, Gyeong-Su. I think he likes Nam-Ra.” As the words leave your mouth, everyone snaps their head your way, staring unbelievably, almost comically so.
On-Jo recovers first. “So, you’re saying he likes someone smart, kind, and beautiful. Hmm, sounds like someone we all know,” she stares right at you.
“Yah, Y/N, you’re supposed to be the smartest one out of all of us here, including almost the entirety of the school. How are you so dense?” Cheong-San clucks his tongue, frustrated.
“Excuse you? I can feel him burning a hole through the side of my face trying to get a glimpse of her in class,” you defend. Up until now, Su-Hyeok hasn’t said a word, though he resorts to beating his forehead lightly and repetitively against the table.
“Care to remind me who’s beside Nam-Ra and sits in the aisle seat?” I-Sak looks at you pointedly.
“It’s me, obviously, that’s how I can tell.” Gyeong-Su ends up choking on his chicken as he snorts while the others just give up.
“Anyway,” On-Jo moves on, circling back on the conversation. “What I-Sak says is true! Mr. Lee was absent for a short while after his son went missing, then showed up one day to class with a deathly smell.”
“How would Na-Yeon know the smell of a cadaver? It’s not like she has any experience being in close contact with one; I doubt the majority of us have.” Cheong-San criticizes.
“No idea, but if it’s the only one she’s not accustomed to, she can’t be wrong about the unidentified scent. He did act exponentially bizarre in the aftermath of what happened to his son,” On-Jo clarifies.
“Poor Jin-Su was an outcast from what I remember. I heard he got bullied severely.” I-Sak looks down at her plate, pitying the boy.
“I feel sorry for him, and Mr. Lee as well. Can you imagine knowing your child getting mistreated but not being able to do anything about it? I wouldn’t be able to bear it, much less fathom what his thought process was at the time,” On-Jo pauses before bringing up another matter. “Do you guys recall him leaving class last week all of a sudden?”
“He had written all these biological terms in English, madly, in some sort of craze on the blackboard,” you detail. “The sound of the chalk was eerie when it scraped so wildly across the board’s surface.” Everyone nods as Gyeong-Su asks you what Mr. Lee had written, with your history of having studied abroad before entering high school. “I’m not quite sure what they meant. It was just a bunch of complex information about parasites, viruses, and cells. But the thing is, his writing wasn’t complete. Those notes seemed like it was solely for him to comprehend,” you deduce.
“He’s known around the school to have been a genius in his prime.” I-Sak stops before adding as an afterthought. “Though, I guess he’s still considered a genius now.”
“Geniuses often go crazy,” On-Jo murmurs.
“You may accumulate a hundred problems, but for the rest of your life, I suppose you’ll never have to worry about that being one of them,” Cheong-San says wittily.
Gyeong-Su laughs as On-Jo scolds him. “Are you looking down on me? Grades aren’t everything.”
“Be careful, Y/N. You might go crazy one day,” Su-Hyeok jokes.
“If I do, I’ll bite you first.”
Gyeong-Su taps your empty plate with his chicken bone, tone fake reprimanding. “Now, now, my dear Y/N—that’s not very school appropriate.”
Before you can get back at him, I-Sak’s rushed reminder sends everyone fleeing from the table, clearly running late to their English academy. After all of your hasty goodbyes to Cheong-San’s parents, Gyeong-Su is the first one out the door, afraid of your wrath-filled kicks if he were to stay any longer. He knows better than to mess too seriously with a black-belt.
You and Su-Hyeok don’t attend the same academy—well he just doesn’t attend one at all—so you two have fallen into a routine of him walking you home everyday after school even though your house is next door to his.
As you walk, the back of your hands keeps brushing against each other’s, close enough to touch but not enough to hold. That is, until Su-Hyeok boldly reaches over to clasp them together without hesitation, always making sure you’re on the inner side of the sidewalk.
A few blocks later, you shiver against the cold, realizing you should’ve heeded your mom’s advice this morning about putting an extra layer on top of your thin green cardigan. Su-Hyeok takes off his black blazer for you to wear, disappointed in having to let go of your hand for you to put it on properly. The only problem was it’s completely too large on you, the sleeves dangling in a funny way and the length almost a dress, but it serves its purpose and smells entirely like Su-Hyeok.
“Aren’t you going to be cold?” You ask him, fretting, despite how touched you are by his actions.
He entwines your hands again and drags you closer to his side. “Not really.” He glances down at you. “I think I’m warm enough.” It’s hard to suppress your smile as you huddle a tiny bit closer, his red name tag lined up with your heart.
When the door of your house comes into view, you reluctantly draw your hand away from his, proceeding to take off his jacket, intending to return it. Before you can so much as get it past your shoulders, he stops you.
“Give it back to me tomorrow,” he smiles shyly at you.
“Alright, thanks.” You shuffle your feet, suddenly at a loss on what to say. When did things become so awkward? “Well, this is me,” you point to your gate as if he didn’t already know. “It’s getting late, you should go.”
“Not until I see you inside first.”
Your heart is warm as you turn around to head in. When you lock the gateway behind you, he calls to you through the opening between each metal post.
“It’s not Nam-Ra that I like.”
The statement is entirely too random until you remember the conversation at Cheong-San’s family restaurant.
“Then, who? Do I know her?”
“You do—very well.”
“Will you tell me?”
“I’ll let you know before the end of tomorrow.”
“Then, see you tomorrow, Su-Hyeok.”
“Always.”
sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 𝟣
© 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐞𝐭𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐱’𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐔𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐛𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨, 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.
Annoying
Five Hargreeves x Reader
Summary: It’s no secret Five finds you annoying. In fact, he frequently tells you this. Maybe he even goes too far. But when someone else insults you, Five realizes that only he’s allowed to do that. Reader is gender neutral.
Warnings: Hurtful comments said to the reader
Word Count: 3500
A/N: I’m alive! So long story short, I lost the motivation to write for a while which caused my spontaneous hiatus. I honestly wasn’t sure if I would post anything again. But then, I rediscovered comfort in writing, especially when it’s about my best boys.
My posting from now on may be a bit sporadic as I’m back in school but I do intend to keep posting.
Anyway, here’s my favourite grumpy boy as a treat!
Five Hargreeves had gotten used to working at the Commission. He still hated every second of it: the job, the people, the killings. But he had adapted, just like he had in the apocalypse, and had fallen into a familiar routine that made the situation easier to swallow. He had finally accepted his job and made peace with it. That is, until you came along.
You also work at the Commission as a field agent and until recently, Five didn’t even know of your existence. Then one day, you came into his office and tried to chat with him. He was bewildered of course and told you to get the hell out of his face. But his rude words didn’t deter you. Instead, you asked him if he wanted to be your partner in the field. Again, Five was shocked and told you absolutely not. Unfortunately, you don’t seem to take no as an answer.
Every day since then, you kept popping into his life. Every day you would make nice with him, do him favours, and were overall friendly with him. Every day, he offered you nothing but a cold shoulder. Every day you asked him to be your partner and every day he told you no.
It was extremely aggravating to say the least. He tried to report you to the Handler but she told him you were doing nothing wrong. She even made some suggestive comments that made Five regret ever going to her for help. So he was on his own.
Except none of his usual moves worked. You never shied away from his negative presence. If he blinked away, you would somehow find him again. There seemed to be no way to remove you from his life.
He’s sitting in his office working when he hears a sound he has come to dread. “Knock knock,” you say as you open his door, not waiting for a response. He once asked you, “What if I was doing something private?” but that only made him flush at the accidental implication and you laughed.
“Not now,” he mumbles, not taking his eyes off his work.
“Yes now,” you say, entering the room and taking a seat on the other side of his desk. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t just removed the chair since the only person who ever used it was you. “I brought you coffee!”
This causes him to glance up, only a little, and what a mistake that turns out to be. There you sit, a beaming smile spread across your face. Your eyes tend to light up when you smile, bringing attention to how stunning they are. Thoughts like these make him feel queasy, at least that’s what he’s deeming it to be. His face also tends to heat up and his breathing acts funny. He’s considered a few times that he was sick, but every test indicated otherwise.
This is another thing that bothers him so much about you. You bring unknown feelings that Five has never experienced before, and he hates feelings, let alone unfamiliar ones.
“The answer is still, and always will be, no,” he says blankly, his eyes focused on his computer but he isn’t paying attention to what’s on the screen.
“But I haven’t even said my pitch yet!” you complain. Without looking, he knows you’re looking at him with big puppy dog eyes. He would never admit, even to himself, that they affect him. “I think today’s speech is much better—”
“Doesn’t matter, still a no.”
You ignore him and clear your throat. “As your partner—”
“Stop.”
“I would bring you freshly made coffee every morning, just the way you like it,” you continue. He decides to stop talking to you altogether. With concentration, he’s able to read the words on the screen and continue typing. “You can still take lead on the missions, though you’ll find I’m fairly skilled on the field. This will also reduce the danger of getting hurt, and if one of us does get hurt, the other can patch them up.”
It is a pain to tend to my own wounds, Five thinks before mentally berating himself. He’s supposed to be ignoring you. And besides, he’s been taking care of himself for years, he’s used to the difficulties by now.
“Another bonus, is that with me as your partner, the Handler won’t be on you as much,” you say, and despite himself, he listens. “She’ll know that someone else has their eyes on you, and with my reputation, she’ll trust me with it.”
Now that actually sounds desirable. The Handler is always checking in on him and keeping a watchful eye on his actions. She knows he’s a good agent, he’s proved that by now, but she still worries that he might betray them. This makes him a loose canon in her eyes. Plus, with her attention elsewhere he’ll be able to make more progress on his secret project to return to his family—
Stop it, he tells himself. This is exactly what you want. You actually have him considering the possibility of becoming partners. The more your voice fills his ears and the more he thinks about what it would mean to have you as a partner, the more his face starts to burn.
He can feel himself losing control over his emotions and he panics. Clearly, ignoring you is not the solution.
“That’s enough!” he yells, causing you to pause mid-sentence. He looks over at you to see your wide eyes staring at him. For the first time, he sees a crack in your positive shield. He continues. “God, just stop already. I am so sick and tired of you groveling at my feet, it is so annoying. Why won’t you get this through your head? I am never partnering with anyone, especially not with you! So for the last time, leave me alone!”
A deadly silence fills the room. Five is panting from his outburst and when his anger recedes, he finds he’s shocked at himself. He’s never had an outburst like that, never yelled like that before. Sure he gets angry and frustrated all of the time, but he hardly ever yells and his words are never that venomous. He just got so riled up with his emotions…
You also seem shocked. You try to cover it up, but he can still tell. You seem unsure of what to say and your usual peppiness seems to have vanished as well. Five isn’t sure how to feel. He also isn’t sure of what to do.
You then clear your throat. “Well then,” you say, trying to piece yourself together. “You seem busy so I should go.” You grin but its wobbly and it doesn’t meet your eyes. And despite himself, he feels sorry. You wordlessly stand up and exit his office.
The silence remains and Five is left frozen. After a moment, he shakes his head and tries to feel unbothered by what just happened.
†††
A few hours have passed since his conversation with you, and Five is out of coffee. He blinks to the Commission’s break room but then he sees you there. You’re standing at the counter with your back to him and in a moment of panic, he blinks to behind a wall just around the corner from the break room.
He curses silently. He can’t believe that he’s hiding from you after earlier. Maybe he just doesn’t want to deal with your emotions. Or maybe he’s hiding from his own.
He’s about to just toughen up and deal with it when he hears someone else entering the room. “Y/N, how nice to see you,” he hears someone say. He looks to see a woman approaching you. Five thinks he’s seen her around but doesn’t recognize her. He’s tried not to make friends here or fill his mind with useless information. This means he only knows a few people including you and the Handler.
“Cassandra,” he hears you say in a bitter tone. He frowns. He’s never heard you speak like that.
“How have you been?” Cassandra asks and Five doesn’t know why, but she sounds ingenuine despite her cheery tone. He also suspects her smile to be too friendly.
“Fine.” You don’t even look over at her as you continue whatever you were doing at the counter. It isn’t like you to be short with people, and Five wonders if it’s because of what he said.
“I heard you got in trouble with the Handler this morning,” Cassandra says. Oh shit, Five thinks. He isn’t sure if that happened before or after he yelled at you but either way, he doesn’t envy your morning.
“Yup,” is your only response. Cassandra doesn’t seem satisfied by your response. She walks over and leans against the counter next to you.
“That must have been awful. I hope she doesn’t fire you soon,” she says with false concern. You still don’t glance her way. You simply nod your head absentmindedly as your focus remains locked on the kettle in front of you, waiting for the water to boil. Cassandra just keeps talking. “Are you still bugging Agent Five about being his partner?”
Five’s ears begin to burn as the conversation steers towards him. Now more than ever, he thinks he should leave this private conversation, but his feet remain glued to the floor. What does he care? he tries to tell himself, but it doesn’t work.
He watches as you grip the counter tightly. Unfortunately, Cassandra also seems to notice and she takes that as an answer. “Aw you poor thing,” she says, putting her hand on your shoulder only for you to shrug it off.
“Look Cassandra,” you say, your voice filled with agitation. “I’ve had a really bad day, if you could just—”
“I can only imagine,” the woman says, and Five is starting to really dislike her. “It must be hard, getting rejected day after day. I’m surprised you haven’t given up.”
“Fuck it.” You push yourself off the counter. You turn around and Five ducks back around the corner. “I’ll come back later.”
There’s a moment of silence before, “Do you know why he keeps rejecting you?” Five risks a glance to see that you’ve turned back around.
“What?” you say, surprised by the question.
“It’s the same reason why all of the others rejected you,” she says, which takes Five by surprise. He didn’t know there were others. An illogical flare of jealousy rises in him before he stomps it out.
“You’re annoying,” she says, her tone one of false sympathy. “No one wants to be around you. You come on way too strong and, sweetie, you reek of desperation.”
“S-stop,” you say, in shock but also seemingly hit by a bullet of emotions. Even Five is surprised.
“You’re just a nuisance,” Cassandra says. “A pest that no one can get rid of. That’s why you’ve never found a partner and that’s why you never will. I mean, who could like you let alone stand you?”
“Cassandra…” you say and Five can hear the quiver in your voice. He doesn’t know why, but the sound makes his chest tighten.
“Face it, Y/N,” she says, now standing right in front of you. “You were always meant to be alone.” Finally, Five can’t take it anymore. He walks out from around the corner and glares at Cassandra. He finds himself loathing her. Only he is allowed to call you annoying.
Cassandra glances past you and looks surprised to see him there. Just like that, she has on her friendly looking face again. “Oh hey there Fi—” she starts to say to him.
“Get out,” he spits at her. Her eyes widen at his venomous tone but decides to listen, scurrying away. It’s nice to see his fearful reputation precedes him. There’s a silence that settles in the room once she’s left. You seem to be frozen in place, not even turning to face him. He isn’t sure what to do himself, whether to somehow approach you or to ignore you entirely.
Luckily, his decision is made for him as you wordlessly walk back up to the counter towards the kettle. Five clears his throat, trying to rid himself of this awkward feeling, and walks up beside you.
He doesn’t address you, after all he normally isn’t the one to start the conversation. Which is why it’s so odd when you don’t. The two of you move about silently, completing your individual tasks. He finds he can’t even look at you, for the downtrodden look on your face still inflicts pain upon him. Finally, after an agonizing amount of time, you speak.
“Five,” you say, also clearing your throat. “I, uh, I have some good news for you.”
He sees that you’re trying to plaster on your usual happy appearance but it’s broken and he can see right through it.
He expects you to say something along the lines of “I forgive you for earlier” or “I made you some coffee.” He expects you to forgive him and act as normal. He did not, however, expect your actual words.
“I will no longer be bothering you with my presence.” Normally, these words would send him jumping for joy. After all, this is what he’s been wanting. But after the conversation he overheard, something gave him pause.
“Oh?” he says, at a loss for words as he is caught off guard.
“Yeah,” you say with a forced smile. “I’ve realized that I haven’t been respecting your feelings, as you have made it more than clear that you don’t want me as a partner and that you never will.”
He hears your voice crack towards the end and he can’t help but compare your words to Cassandra’s. “Yes I uh…I appreciate that,” he says, hesitant with his words. He isn’t sure what to make of all of this.
“Right,” you say, straightening yourself. You pick up your mug and turn to fully face him. He tries to ignore the shine of incoming tears in your eyes. “See you around. And uh, sorry for bothering you.”
Before he can say anything else, you turn and exit the room, leaving Five in a state of uncertainty.
†††
When Five walks into work the next morning, he’s not on edge like he usually is. He normally expects you to greet him on his way to his office, but there’s no sight of you. After Five recovered from his shock, he decided he should be happy about the situation. Sure, he didn’t want you to get hurt, but he got what he wanted.
He settles into his office and gets to work. He reaches to take a sip of his coffee when he realizes there’s nothing there. Oh, right. You normally got his morning coffees for him. Not a big deal, he thinks. If anything, this shows what a nuisance you had been for changing his routine.
Throughout the next couple of days, he starts to realize what an impact you had made on him. For one, the coffee doesn’t taste as good, which is odd. Then he noticed his plant started to die. Five didn’t even know he had a plant. He got rid of it and suddenly felt that his office was colder. He knows it’s illogical, but he didn’t realize how it brightened the room.
And most of all, he found his normal routine to be rather dull. Normally, you would interrupt his work and give a small relief to the boring workload. His room is quieter than ever and the days start to blend together.
But this is what he wanted wasn’t it? To finally be on his own? It’s not like he missed your ramblings, or the sound of your laugh, or your happy disposition, or the way you brightened his day. No. He’s better off alone…
He doesn’t even believe himself. He scowls. How could he let this happen? How could he let someone in and affect him so much to a point where he missed them? He thinks about ignoring his feelings and soldiering on, as is his way, but the thought of going on like this for God knows how long makes him reconsider.
Goddamn you.
†††
He had never seen your office before. He didn’t even know you had an office up until now. He thought, a bit conceitedly perhaps, that he was the only field agent with an office. Maybe you weren’t exaggerating when you said you were good.
Your door is left open, possibly to be more inviting and welcoming. It’s perfectly you. Five looks in to see your head down, writing something at your desk, and takes a moment to consider you. God, he had missed you. He feels a little excited just seeing you there. Is he that lonely and desperate?
He knocks on your door and stands in the doorway. You lift your head and your eyes widen in surprise to see him. He tries not to look uncomfortable under your gaze.
“Oh! Hey Five,” you say, cautiously. You’re not as bubbly around him anymore, almost afraid to scare him off. He doesn’t like it. “What can I do for—”
Before you can finish, Five drops a file onto your desk. You look at him in surprise. There’s a silence. “What’s this?” you ask.
“Read it,” he snaps at you, his nerves getting the better of him. You open the file and he sees surprise overtake your whole face.
“This…this is a request to have me as your partner,” you say quietly, not knowing how to react.
“This has nothing to do with your pestering, by the way,” Five says. “I thought about it and came to my own conclusion that a partner would be beneficial. I thought since you were already willing, it was the simpler choice.”
As he speaks, he watches your disbelief change into joy and a bright smile returns to your face. It’s almost infectious.
“This is incredible,” you say. And then something changes and your smile drops into a frown, which makes him upset. Not that he was doing this for you, but he thought you’d be happy. “But I thought…I thought I annoyed you. What changed?”
He feels guilt tug at him. It seems his outburst stuck with you. “I…might have overreacted the other day. You do annoy me, but I didn’t mean it like that.” You nod at this and he senses it isn’t enough to convince you. Fuck it. He’s already in this deep. “I suppose, as a gesture of good faith as your new partner, and only for this occasion…I owe you an apology.”
Your eyes shoot up at him and he falters. Then he clears his throat and prays no one else is around to hear this. “I am…sorry, for any hurt my outburst may have caused you.” He could count on one hand the number of times he has genuinely apologized to someone. But apparently it works, as your frown is gone.
“Oh, um, thank you,” you say, unsure how to respond to his sudden change in character. There’s an awkward pause before you smile. You hold out your hand and say, “Partners?”
It’s such a sweet gesture of forgiveness that Five finds his mouth twitching upwards. “Partners,” he says, shaking your hand. He ignores the sparks he feels when his hand touches yours. But he has been sentimental for far too long.
He ends the handshake and clears his throat once more. “To be clear, this is not an official contract, you still have to sign the paper,” he says but the smile cannot be erased from your face.
“Yes, of course! I will handle that right away,” you say. “This is so exciting! You will not regret this.”
“I better not,” he says. “This doesn’t change anything between us, we’re not friends.”
“Yet,” you say with a cheeky smile. He is much more relieved to see you acting as your normal self again.
“Y/N I’m serious—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. This is going to be so fun,” you giggle, seemingly ignoring what he just said. “Thank you.”
You’re looking up at him, a soft smile on your lips and a twinkle in your eye. He falters again as he feels heat rising in his cheeks. He looks away.
“No need to thank me, just make sure that request is signed and submitted.”
“Aye, aye, cap’n,” you salute him and he takes this as his cue to leave. He turns and you call out, “See you around!”
He doesn’t respond, or rather he can’t. He’s already starting to regret this and not because of the reason you think. Seeing you all happy and excitement caused his heart to swell with a feeling he isn’t familiar with. He doesn’t like this unknown territory and change. But he has to admit…
It felt kind of nice.
Can i request a fic were Wilson is a morning person but since reader came into his life he has been staying in bed longer or/and taking more time to have breakfast 😉
A/N: I’m so sick and tired of Tumblr making my photos so shitty 😭😭 anyways thx for the request hope this is good! Sorry if it’s short
Fluff Oneshot
⚕️Mornings with you
James Wilson x Gn!Reader
James has always been a morning person. He got dressed, ate a quick breakfast, brushed his teeth, blow-dried his hair, and then went off to work. You are not. But ever since you came into his life, he’s stayed in bed waiting for your eyes to flutter open so he can wake you up with kisses. It’s made you question your faith to the term ‘night owl’. He’s made sure you get up early enough to eat breakfast and get to work on time. To say he spoiled you was an understatement; he worshipped you. If he got up early enough, he loved to make you your favorite breakfast so he could surprise you with it in bed. He loved seeing the tired smile on your face when you woke up. Today was no different.
🔆
The sweet smell of pancakes and fresh fruit fills your lungs as you wake up. A small yawn escapes your mouth as you turn over, arms falling across your boyfriends chest. A sweet kiss is pressed to your temple in turn.
“Good morning my love.”
You groan, face buried in his chest, in response but make sure to kiss him back.
“I made us breakfast.”
“It smells good.” You mumble in a half-awake haze. James’s hands find themselves in your hair as he twirls on your beautiful locks. Despite how much you want to stay in bed with him all day, you realize you should probably get going. It was nice living with James; previously you had to set 15 dozen alarm clocks to make sure you get to the hospital on time, but now you had a live in one, one that awoke you with kisses and delicious gourmet food. You could get used to it.
One final groan pushes through your lips as you make your way off of him to go eat breakfast, your end target motivating you along with your boyfriend, who stood up with you and hugged you from behind as you walked through the house. Breakfasts for James usually meant scarfing down really whatever he could find before finishing his morning routine and leaving; but when you came into his life, his home, he wanted to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. He made sure that you weren’t stuck with shitty food or nothing at all. When you came to live with him, breakfasts now meant him waking up early to make you only the best and eating with you as you cuddled up together and watched a bit of TV, listened to music, or just talked.
You walk into the living room and take a seat on the comfy couches, one of the many things you loved about his house. You grabbed a plate and plopped down, James following, and took a bite as you leaned into him.
“Holy shit— this is so good?!” You exclaimed. Sure, you were used to the food he made being good, but today it felt like it was made with extra love. He blushed a pink hue and you find it adorable that you can make him flustered with just a small compliment.
“Only the best for you.” He hums as he smiles, taking a bite himself as you continue.
“You know, I think I’m starting to like mornings,”
“Oh yea? Why’s that?”
“because I get to spend them with the best boyfriend in the world, who makes me the best pancakes ever.”
breath of fresh air | sherlock holmes
pairing: sherlock holmes x fem!reader
summary: you overhear some mean things being said about you and it gets you thinking about your importance to sherlock and why he keeps you around. (based off this request by @little-gallaxy.)
warnings: slight bullying, hurt/comfort, crying, soft!sherlock
word count: 2.6k
a/n: haven’t written for sherlock in a hot minute so i hope y’all enjoy this one!
you had stopped by scotland yard that morning to drop off some freshly-baked muffins, packed neatly in a cloth-lined basket, that you had prepared earlier as a little treat for the detectives in an effort to cheer them up after a particularly gruesome case. you had insisted on not being given any further details once sherlock had mentioned something akin to ‘a frankensteinian dismemberment and re-stitching of three separate victims.’ at that point, you had heard more than enough and expected nightmares to greet you that same night. you shivered at the thought now, unable to fathom how someone could be so brutal.
you shook off the memory as you continued down the long hallway. the building was familiar to you and you had grown somewhat fond of the detectives and other personnel, especially the older gentleman up front who manned the reception area and doubled as a security guard. he always greeted you so warmly and offered a new joke each time you stepped foot onto the premises. you had prepared a joke for him this morning for a change, having searched through countless internet browsers the previous evening in the hopes of finding a joke he hadn’t heard. he had laughed heartily, a deep, throaty chuckle that echoed throughout the entryway. you both knew the joke was ridiculous, but it was nice to see him indulge you.
lestrade had always been kind to you as well… at least as kind as he could be. he was gruff and a bit rough around the edges, but for the most part, he made an effort and that’s what mattered most to you. the others, however, donovan and anderson, in particular, never really seemed to enjoy your company whenever you stopped by to ‘help.’ it really wasn’t much help at all, of course, as you were well aware that you weren’t the most knowledgeable of this sort of field, but it was nice to get out of your flat and experience a change of scenery.
sherlock, for some odd reason, had been more than pleasant around you, which was incredibly strange considering the rumors you had heard about him from the others: that he was cold, emotionless, machine-like, sociopathic, and generally just… off. you hadn’t encountered any of those characteristics from him, in fact, he was rather kind and often kept you close by, insisting that you never strayed too far from him. you weren’t entirely sure why, but it certainly felt nice to be wanted.
wicker basket in hand, you approached lestrade’s office, where everyone was no doubt gathered to debrief; however, before you could make your presence known, you heard whispered chattering through the crack beneath the door.
“she’s totally useless and she’s always bloody crying!” you heard someone whisper harshly, donovan, it sounded like. “she can’t even step foot into the autopsy room without shaking like a stray dog.”
another voice piped in, “honestly, greg. what’s the point in her coming ‘round every day? why the hell does sherlock drag her here? she’s always in the way and you know just as well as i that she doesn’t do anything,” anderson said.
“she’s like his pet or something, it’s repulsive. have you ever seen that lunatic even so much as tolerate being in the same room as a moron for longer than a minute? and now he’s bringing her ‘round like she’s his shadow or something.”
you did not cry all the time, you thought to yourself, though your eyes were starting to blur with the warning of tears. their comments hurt, knowing that they thought so negatively about you. you had no idea they hated you this much. they weren’t always the most welcoming bunch you’d ever come across, but still, this was pure disgust and hatred for your very being, your entire personality and presence in general. why did sherlock keep you around, you thought to yourself. truly? you couldn’t offer any assistance in crime-fighting or case-solving. so, why?
as the conversation continued, you had hoped lestrade would pipe in to come to your defense, or to at least put an end to the defamation of your character. but no, he didn’t utter a word, just chortling now and then at each new insult. that, more than anything, stung the most.
having heard enough, you left the basket of muffins at the edge of the door and walked back down the winding hallway and out the door, back to 221b baker street.
you brushed past mrs. hudson in the doorway, still managing to offer a smile and polite greeting like you usually did, and made your way up the stairs and let yourself inside sherlock’s flat.
you found that he wasn’t there—he wasn’t pacing back and forth or standing in front of the window playing his violin, nor was he concocting an experiment of any kind in the kitchen, so you assumed he was in his bedroom getting dressed. something you knew about the famous detective that nobody else had the privilege of knowing was that the man spent an absurd amount of time fixing his hair each morning. while it usually looked carelessly tousled or ruffled from the wind, it was definitely done on purpose.
you briefly recalled how you had come across him standing in front of the mirror adjusting his curls through a crack in the doorway and clapped a hand over your mouth to conceal your laughter, but he had still heard you, of course, swinging open the bathroom door and pointing a finger at you with a firm ‘speak of this to no one.’ you had mimed zipping your lips sealed and agreed that you would never tell a single soul that the famous sherlock holmes obsessed over his hair every morning.
presently, you sat yourself on the sofa as you waited for him to come out into the living room. you grabbed a nearby pillow, fingers fiddling with the loose stitching as you thought back to the conversation from earlier. their comments still stung and you wished you hadn’t taken them so personally, but how could you not? knowing that the people you more or less ‘worked with’ hated you and thought you were a mindless idiot that tagged along like a lost sheep definitely hurt.
you startle slightly when john emerges from the entryway, his approaching form having escaped your notice.
“y/n,” he greeted, breathing heavily as if he had just run over here. you noticed the tray of to-go cups in his hand, so he must have gone out for a quick coffee run. “i didn’t know you were stopping by today.”
“do you know if sherlock is here?”
“he’s been locked in his room all morning. mrs. hudson mentioned that he was having a slow start today. i got a text from him that just said ‘need coffee –SH.’ who does he think i am, his bloody butler?” the doctor huffed in irritation as he marched further inside the flat and into the messy kitchen before setting down the tray.
“c-could you get him for me?” you hated how unsteady your voice sounded. it was obvious you had been crying and it just fueled your embarrassment further.
he peered over at you, finally noticing your distressed state. “of course. yes, of course. just a moment,” he said quickly before snaking down the hallway to sherlock’s bedroom.
before he could even lift his hand to knock, you heard the door swing open and the tall form that was so characteristically sherlock briskly approach you, indicating to john that the situation was handled and that the doctor was free to depart from the flat.
“darling,” he said softly before kneeling to meet you at eye level, and that was all it took for you to burst out into full-on tears, shoulders shaking as sobs wracked your body. he tsked softly, sympathetically, “come here, my darling girl,” and pulled you forward until you were close enough for him to wrap his arms around you, running his slender fingers up and down your back in soothing, repetitive motions. “talk to me,” he whispered.
you shook your head back and forth against his shoulder, not quite ready to speak yet. tears soaked through sherlock’s suit jacket and you felt guilty for ruining the material. you started to lean back, to at least save the fabric from further damage, but sherlock placed a hand on the back of your head, keeping you steady against him.
“but your jacket—”
“i don’t care about the damn jacket, i care about you. i know i’m good, but i haven’t quite mastered mind-reading just yet,” he mused. “tell me what’s wrong, y/n.”
“this is so stupid. i’m stupid.”
“you’re not stupid.”
“of course i am, especially compared to you…”
“well, not everyone can be as smart as me.”
you pulled back and shot him a look, unimpressed.
he realized how insensitive his comment was. it certainly wasn’t his intention to offend you, not now, not ever. it was just him stating a fact, thoughtlessly listing off things he knew to be true, but it obviously wasn’t the time nor the place. “sorry,” he said with a wince, and he did sound genuinely apologetic. “why do you say that? what happened today?”
you shrugged.
“in case it’s escaped your notice, my dear,” sherlock began, “i can always tell when you’re lying or hiding something from me. so it’s best if you just come right out with it.”
sighing, you began your retelling of the day’s earlier events. “i overheard the others at the yard today and it got me thinking… i mean, they’re totally right.”
“right about what, darling?”
you fiddle with the buttons of his suit jacket, popping them in and out of their respective holes as you spoke. “why do you keep me around, sherlock? i’m completely useless and i always get in the way, and i have absolutely nothing to offer when it comes to solving your special cases.”
he brushed your hair away from your face and tilted your chin up to look at him. “you keep me sane—human. i need you in my life to maintain some sense of normalcy. i get so caught up in cases and going on the run that i forget to breathe sometimes. you help me do that.” he gently stroked your cheek. “you’re my breath of fresh air.”
“so you keep me around for… emotional support?”
he laughed lightly. “if you wish to put it that way, sure. but you are so much more than that, more than words could ever put into perspective. it’s awfully dull around here without you. plus,” he continued, “you make the best blueberry muffins i’ve ever tasted.”
you burst out into laughter, tears drying as sherlock calmed your nerves and spoke from the heart. for a man who didn’t seem to have much humanity, at least, from an outsider’s perspective, he certainly had a way with words and knew how to comfort you in just the way you needed.
“scoot over,” he told you before he plopped himself onto the sofa, tugging you onto his lap and holding you against his chest, your head resting comfortably in the crook of his neck. he gently rocked you back and forth, and the motion was so comforting, you could have wept—but you had done enough crying for one day, instead, you smiled softly at sherlock’s gentleness with you. “you’re all right, i’ve got you,” he spoke into your ear, your hair brushing against your cheek by his whispered breath. he smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke, petrichor, and cinnamon—so characteristically sherlock.
you heard a knock on the open door behind you followed by a familiar voice. “holmes,” lestrade announced, “you never came ‘round earlier. we need your help with—” but before he could finish his statement, you felt sherlock’s grip tighten around you as his head shifted back and forth against your shoulder. “not now,” he said, voice deep and rough as it vibrated in your chest where you two were connected.
“but—”
“get out.” the quiet rage in his voice left no room for argument, and quickly thereafter, you heard the fading echo of footsteps descend down the stairs.
“sherlock—” you began.
“i’m sorry for what they said about you.”
you shifted slightly in his lap. “it’s fine, i’m already over it.”
he laughed humorlessly. “darling, i know you better than anyone. you’re not over it yet, and that’s expected, hell, i encourage it. they had no right to ridicule you like that, to criticize you for who you are. i’m going to speak with them about it.” his tone changed and you practically felt his infuriation at the situation ruminating just beneath the surface. “in fact, i’ll head over there right now—" he started to stand up but you placed a firm hand on his chest, stopping any further movement.
“it’s all right, sherlock. there’s no need for you to go down there to defend my honor,” you laughed at how ridiculous the situation was becoming, already moving past the offensive words that were spoken about you earlier in the day. give it to sherlock to make you feel better, no matter how big or small the issue was. “i’m perfectly fine now, thanks to you.”
sherlock settled back down, though you could feel the tension radiating off him. “if you insist,” he acquiesced. “but just say the word, and i’ll go—”
“sherlock, really,” you said, humor lacing your tone.
“fine,” he said with a sigh before adjusting you more firmly onto his lap. “what would you like to do today? i’ve taken the day off, it’s just you and me.”
you pondered for a moment, mentally checking off activities you could do with sherlock with him completely at your mercy for one day. coming to a decision, you hopped off his lap and tugged his hand, dragging him into the kitchen. you then slipped away and rummaged through the cupboards until you came across one of mrs. hudson’s old aprons. you giggled to yourself as you approached sherlock, his lanky form standing uncomfortably in the middle of the kitchen with his arms hanging by his sides. “oh no,” he said, backing away at your outstretched hands.
“oh yes,” you replied, tackling him with the apron and tying the strings around his slim waist. “you and i are going to do some baking today. come on.”
the man groaned but secretly, he was just happy to see you smiling again. if him joining you in the kitchen, covered in flour and raw eggs, was what it took for you to cheer up after the day you’d had, then so be it. he would open up a damned bake sale with you if that’s what would make you happiest.
he watched as you pulled down ingredients and mixing bowls from the cupboards, frowning when you couldn’t find everything you needed. “you really need to go to the store more often, sherlock. this is embarrassing for you… no brown sugar? no baking powder?” you threw up your hands in exasperation. “i’ll just go see if mrs. hudson has some. you,” you said, pointing at him, “start cracking three eggs in a bowl while i’m gone.” you weaved through the living room and out onto the landing, but before descending the stairs, he heard you shout, “and make sure there are no egg shells!”
sherlock laughed into the empty kitchen as he did as you instructed, already eagerly awaiting your return so he could throw flour in your hair and eat raw cookie dough with you. you were his breath of fresh air, indeed.
In the middle of the night
Y/n shout-whispering : Gally ? Gally can I sleep with you ?
Gally lifting the covers still sleepy : sure sweetheart, come here
Y/n snuggling with him : Thanks
Gally : So what's the problem ?
Y/n pulling up the covers : Nothing I just missed you
Gally chuckling : There's a spider in your hut right ?
Y/n dramatically : That thing was huge ! I swear it's a shucking monster !
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