#greg burns

[spilladabalia]

Marriages - Less Than

[the-houserat]

St. James Infirmary (pt. 1)

Summary: Y/N is in an accident

Notes: This fic is based loosely on a song cover by Hugh Laurie with the same title

Word count: 2.9k

You wake up so early in the morning that not even the sun is there to greet you. As a doctor this is your duty; While everyone else is asleep, you're awake giving others a chance at a new tomorrow.

You are a longtime employee at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, however for the past 6 months you've been recruited by Dr. Gregory House to join his Department of Diagnostics Medicine.

These mornings before the hospital have become so routine that you unconsciously start your day and are only brought back by the closing of your car door. You instantly flip through the radio stations after turning on the ignition before settling on blues to accompany your morning commute. You follow your regular route, stopping and turning at all the usual places. Right after you stop at a red light ,10 minutes away from your destination, you hear a song you enjoy come on. You lean down to turn the volume knob to the right and then lean back slightly in your chair as the melody relaxes you and drowns out the worries clouding your busy mind.

Your attention is directed back up to the changing colors of the red light to green. You press your foot onto the accelerator and ease into a comfortable speed. Before you're able to fully leave the intersection, however, a semi truck rams into the back of your car.

You feel nothing.

Time slows, but hours pass like minutes.

—

Dr. Lisa Cuddy sits at her desk filing paperwork. Her telephone rings. She swiftly answers, rubbing her temples at the sudden intrusion to her work. Her face falls when she hears the doctor on the other end of the line's words.

She tentatively grabs her pager to request Dr. House's presence in her office. Quite a while later, he hobbles in while speaking with his head positioned downward and his usual frown, “What is it now, Cuddy? You've already interrupted my nap twice.”

“Greg…” She says softly before being cut off by him.

He rests his weight on his cane as he places his opposite hand on his waist, falsely showing interest. “Come on now I've got patients to attend to,” he says pointing towards a nonexistent watch on his wrist.

She raises an eyebrow at him before stating, “Thought you were napping.”

He moves closer to her desk while explaining, “I said you interrupted me doing so twice. It's quite presumptuous of you to assume this was a third time.”

As much as Cuddy would love to shoot a witty remark back, more pressing matters are at hand. She shifts slightly in her seat and places her hands together, bracing herself to deliver the news as calmly as possible, “Y/N has been in a wreck and has been sent to St. James Infirmary. Police found their employee I.D. and called to let us know.”

House unexpectedly laughs before rubbing his chin and shaking his head.

“I'm not joking, House.” She says.

He pauses, shocked, before silently pulling himself together, “What's the damage?”

Cuddy looks at him with concern in her eyes, “They didn't say.”

He furrows his brows in annoyance at her vague statement, “What do you mean ‘they didn't say’? You called me to your office to tell me my employee is in the hospital and you aren't able to tell me what's wrong with them?”

“I can't tell you something I don't know, House. If you care so much, why don't you go visit them?” She retorts.

A flicker of annoyance with a hint of worry quickly flashes across his face. “And do what? There's no patient over there, just an idiot who probably thought it was okay to cross a red light and get themselves run over,” he says, attempting to feign indifference.

Cuddy leans back in her chair as she crosses her arms, “If you really think they're capable of such a mistake, why are they on your team?”

“Not many people are as smart as them, but everybody is an idiot.” All Cuddy does is nod her head with narrowing eyes, but House takes it as a threat. “They're my employee, an asset to the team, and they're not more important than any of the other people on it. Which reminds me, which one of them gets to deal with their patients?”

Cuddy lightly presses her lips into a smirk as she says, “That would be you.”

“Of course it is,” he sighs. He doesn't protest his departure any longer, though. He just needed a way to make it seem like he didn't want to see you, like it wasn't his first instinct, like he cares… because he doesn't.

House doesn't give a fuck about anyone else but himself.

At least, that's what you originally thought…

He turns around to exit Cuddy's office before she asks, “Leaving for the day?” He simply nods and continues to leave.

—

Memories of the accident flood your unconscious mind and seep into your dreams. Shards of glass surround you in scenes you won't remember when you wake. Your eyes jolt open as you feel a sudden stab in your arm.

As the world around you comes into focus, the image of your boss standing above you twirling a pen comes into view. “Rise and shine.” He says louder than you wish he had.

You groggily sit up, rubbing your head and putting the puzzle in front of you together. “I'm not in a coma, House, no need to poke me awake.”

House stills his twirling of the pen to point it at you, “Can never be too sure, Y/N.”

“Thanks for the advice, I'll be sure to keep it in mind for my future coma.” You look around trying to place where you are as House vigorously shakes the pen.

He goes to write something down, but no ink leaves the pen. “You're at St. James Infirmary- stupid pen.” He shakes the pen again and attempts to write once more before throwing it away. “You don't remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” You ask, “The hospital or the pen?”

“You can answer for both if it makes you happy.” He answers sarcastically as he goes to sit down in the chair to the left of your bed.

You rub your head as you're about to answer, just to realize the butterfly needle stuck into the vein of your hand is connected to an IV drip. As you attempt to run that hand through your hair, it catches on the wings of the needle. “Ow-” you yelp at the pain, “It's not like the first thing I do after a wreck is ask where I am. I assumed you of all people would know pain meds come first.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused by both your jab at him, as well as your struggle with your hair. “Now that you have your pain meds, would you care to recount the events that led to this? Unless, of course, you forgot that too.”

As House's icy blue eyes stare at you, you begin to feel small and self conscious. You have tiny scrapes on your face, likely due to shattered glass, and your hair is just a mess. The more you try to detangle it, the worse it gets, and the dark circles under your eyes from your late night shifts at the hospital further accentuate your disastrous state.

Why do you care what he thinks of you right now? Why is your mind swarming with anxiety about what you look like in front of him? You are in a hospital, and you still care about physical appearances?

He stands up which draws your attention back to his tall frame and away from your racing thoughts. You watch as he limps over to the side of your bed and sits down. You wonder what he's doing as you stare at the back of his head as he looks away from you. That is, until you feel another poke to your skin.

“What the hell House?!” You question

“You were quiet,” he answers “It was only appropriate to make sure you were still alive.”

“Are you sure I'm alive? Because this is pretty close to what I imagine hell is like.”

“Weird. I imagined more hookers,” he quips. He reaches the back of his hand to your forehead, the contact unexpectedly making your cheeks flush. “You're warm enough for life as far as I can tell.” His hand lingers there for a moment longer than what's usual for taking someone's temperature and he looks at you with an unreadable expression. He removes his hand, but not his gaze. He scans your body as you continue to struggle with your hair.

A man wearing hospital scrubs walks in after lightly knocking. He seems to be in his mid 20's with a muscular physique. Blonde, mid length hair frames his face. He enters holding a clipboard. After looking at it for a moment, he looks at you, “Y/N L/N?”

“That’s me,” you say smiling politely.

House raises himself off your bed after the intrusion and stands to face the both of you. The blonde man checks the monitor with your vitals.

“Do you perhaps have a working pen?” House abruptly asks. The man nods and hands him one from his pocket. He notices the tangled mess you've created in your hair and offers his help. You happily accept, glad to have someone assist you. He untangles your hair, his touch a gentle balance between delicate and focused. “I need to get a little closer, is that okay?” He asks. You nod your head.

While he meticulously works, House carries an even more sour expression than usual. He stomps his cane on the ground to bring attention back to him before clearing his throat, “Well, doc, I'm waiting to hear what's wrong with your patient.” He continues, “Unless you'd prefer it if I left so you can have sex with them instead.”

The man pulls away from you at his snarky comment, “Excuse me?”

“Just asking a question.” House responds before sitting back down in his chair.

You look at House before turning back to the man, “Could you give us a moment?”

The man gets up, but before leaving he turns around and says, “I'm the nurse by the way.”

He leaves and you immediately turn to the older man next to you angrily, “What the hell?”

“I know right, “ he says with both hands resting on his cane, “A male nurse? Feminism's come a long way.”

You pinch your nose bridge. “House, why are you here?”

“To brighten your day,” He replies snarkily.

Silence awkwardly fills the room after that last remark.Your gaze drifts away from him, guided by both your anger for him and shame for yourself.

Your anger prompted by House's behavior, and the shame brought on by your reaction to it. You know how he is. You have been working with this man for six months and his deportment has yet to change; This is how he always is. However, something in you had slight hope that it would somehow shift- that these circumstances would solidify every word unspoken in your stolen glances.

While lost in your own thoughts, you don't even notice him come to sit next to you. He lightly shakes your shoulder, “Stop dozing off before you make me accidentally call a code blue.”

You look back at him with your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, “Are you my doctor now, house?”

“No. I'm not here as your doctor,” your gaze softens at his reply. He's concerned about you, that must mean- “I'm here as someone annoyed at you for getting run over by a truck.”

Oh.

Your wishful thinking was quickly shoved away by the continuation of his sentence. You know you should've expected as much from him, but the way he so quickly threw away any notion of genuine care for you left a sour expression on your face. Here you sit having practically tasted death and yet he still refuses to crack away this miserable wall between you.

He notices the look on your face and actively disregards it. “You should stand up,” he says.

“House, I'm tired,” you reply in a harsh tone as you turn your head away from him.

“I didn’t ask you if you were tired, I asked you to stand up. I'd like to check if you have a back injury. It's important to see if it's just a regular ol’ aspirin fixer upper or a spinal cord injury that could lead you paralyzed,” He lightly guides your face back to look at him.“I don't think these idiots could tell the difference between a headache and a gunshot wound.”

You swat away his hands, annoyed at his tiny hint of warmth after his previously cold comment . “You didn't ask me anything, you demanded. I'm serious, House, I'm fucking tired.”

He raises his hands in defeat. “Well, let's not get into semantics. And you can't go to sleep until I've made sure you didn't mess up your spine in the crash.” He stands up with one hand resting on his cane and the other urging you to follow him in rising off the hospital bed, “Now stop being difficult and just stand up, because I've got better things to do than worry about you.”

“Then leave.” The words leave your mouth as soon as he says that last sentence. You didn't even have time to register your own words before understanding his. He's only here to make sure you can still work after all of this is said and done; He only cares about how well his diagnostics team is working on patients, not about the members themselves. Everything people said about him that you had refused to accept is true: He's a narcissistic asshole who can't bother to care about anyone else but himself.

“Don't be an idiot,” he says with a laugh of disbelief.

You glare at him, “I'm serious. You have better things to do, so leave. I didn't ask you to come here and I sure as hell didn't ask you to worry about me.”

“If I didn't care, I wouldn't have come here.” he sighs and for a moment it feels like you see that wall come down, “You're a part of my team.”

Your voice is quiet, but stable, “I almost died…and you can't even find the decency to be nice to me. You still feel the need to add a belittling quip at the end of every somewhat kind comment.” You turn your head away from him and face forward in your bed as you lay back onto the cheap hospital pillow, “You have better things to do, House, so go do them.”

He stares at you for a moment, taken aback by your words. His gaze softens before swiftly transitioning into a stormy rebuttal. He snaps, irritation coating his voice, “What the hell did you want from me? A warm hug and comforting words? This is me you're talking to! The nicest I've been to you since you started working for me was 3 months ago when I let you have the rest of the coffee- And that was because I'd had 2 espressos from the cafeteria!”

Your composed stature remained, as each of his words brought back the feeling of glass in your skin. They pierced through you like a needle through cloth. “I don't know what I was expecting, House.”

He continues to berate you almost as if attempting to prove his own point, “You can pray that someday I'll wake up and be a nicer person, but that's not what you're getting today. All you're getting is the usual cold, miserable bastard who's only here to ensure that you're only dealing with minor back pain and not a spinal cord injury that could leave you paralyzed.” He scoffs, clinging to his distant demeanor as he pulls the pen he received from the nurse earlier and a piece of paper from his pocket. He writes down what seems to be a sentence, but at his reveal it turns out to be a singular word: pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.

All you could give him was a near scowl.

“Do you recognize this disease? This is actually a fictitious disease made to mock medical names, however it's now deemed as the longest word in the English dictionary.” He says while holding the card to face him, “Funny how people just make things up. Much like you are now,”

You relax your shoulders and breathe, shaking off your emotions, “I don't want to do this right now, House. I'm mourning the fact that for a second I truly believed death was knocking on my door; I appreciate you feigning interest in my well-being, but I assure you that I am fine and I don't need your care right now for a case that you have no interest in. Go save some poor patient who's dying of some rare condition that no one can figure out and leave the simple car crash to idiots.”

House's eyes narrow slightly, his jaw clenching as he thinks of how to respond. For a brief moment, it looks like he's about to reach out to you, but his cold facade returns almost as quickly as it left. He steps back away from you and takes a deep breath, followed by his exit.

[h0useslut]

feeling more human and hooked on her flesh ᢉ𐭩

requests | masterlist | pt2

pairing : gregory house x fem! neighbour au! reader

w/c : 1k

warnings : insomnia, nightmares, hinted past trauma

summary : house doesn’t think much of his new neighbour— until her quiet presence and a single sticky note lead to late-night piano requests, soft glances and something tender growing between two insomniacs.

a/n : there will be a part two. end of discussion hehe

♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚

House didn’t really pay attention to his neighbours. He knew their names, their faces. He knew that one of them got takeout almost every day. That was it.

He also knew that the apartment across from him was vacant. And that a certain somebody had moved in.

You had moved in.

You weren’t the type to make a grand gesture and start baking cookies for all your neighbours. Greet them, and invite them to your new place. You were quiet, shy — thank god.

He didn’t even bother to meet your gaze at first. But when your soft voice greeted him with a smile, he couldn’t help but smile back.

You didn’t pry. Didn’t ask about the cane. And that alone made him like you a bit more than the others.

Since then, House paid a little more attention to you. He started noticing how you were never loud— like you were cautious of disturbing someone.

He noticed other things too.

How your lights were on until late, sometimes even past midnight. As if you weren’t getting any sleep.

It was then that he started playing the piano late at night again, not expecting something to happen. But when you started turning off your lights every other night when he finished playing, he felt intrigued by it…

Maybe a little concerned…

Maybe

He figured it might be nightmares, or something close enough. But he wouldn’t dare to ask— he never asked. He let himself think that maybe the piano helped.

Until one night, he found proof that something went wrong.

A case held him in the office past midnight, making him almost collapse on his couch. But he didn’t. He saw a little sticky note on the outside of his door, making him stop in his steps.

“You play beautifully. Try Clair de Lune tonight?”

That was it. No name, no number, or even apartment number. But he knew — oh he knew it was you who wrote it.

Because who else stayed up past 1 am and only turned off the light when he stopped playing the piano?

You.

You hadn’t meant to do that. But you couldn’t just knock on his door either. You weren’t scared of him but weren’t so keen on disturbing him either.

So you wrote it on a post it. Since you were too shy to speak to him, you expressed your feelings on a post it.

You’d expected him to toss it in the trash, to ignore it. Anything. Maybe even crumble it up and mutter something sarcastic under his breath— “Who the hell leaves requests on sticky notes?!”

You imagined him reading it— rolling his eyes and forgetting about it by the time he locked his door.

That was safer to believe. Safer than hoping he’d play it just for you.

What you didn’t expect though, was him playing Claire de Lune that same night.

You were tossing and turning all night, small tears of frustration trickling down your cheeks. You knew he hadn’t been back, because you eyed on the post it both times you left and returned from work.

The clock read 2 am. You were so sure he was probably laughing at it, thinking that you were pathetic.

Until you heard it.

The soft notes of piano filled his apartment, and yours.

It was slow— careful. As if he was testing the keys. But in reality, he just wanted you to listen to it.

And god, did you listen to it.

You sat up, the blanket falling from your shoulders as you tried to listen to him playing. Maybe it wasn’t perfect— but you couldn’t tell. You didn’t care.

Because it was for you.

Only for you.

That night you didn’t sleep. Not because of the nightmares, or the past creeping up on you. This time, it was different.

This time, you stayed up just to listen.

The next night, you hesitated on your door. Hovering over the door— like you expected something… or someone

You weren’t planning on writing another note, no. But when you stepped out in the hallway to catch your breath— maybe hoping you’d…

You saw him.

House.

He was standing there, already back from the hospital. He didn’t mean to linger too long, didn’t mean to stare. But he did.

He was the first to speak, voice low— almost soft.

“You know” he started, a hint of a smile on his face. “I don’t usually take requests”

Your lips parted and then curved into a small smile.

“Thank you. I really liked it.” You said, in a soft tone. He had never heard your voice. It was so sweet, almost gentle.

“I played it like crap” he protested, shrugging his shoulders.

“It still helped though”

Silence. Not uncomfortable, not at all. He leaned back in his door, looking at you up and down.

He didn’t ask questions, didn’t dig or push you to talk. He could see the anguish in your eyes, though.

You spoke first, voice a little quieter than before.

“Couldn’t sleep last night”

He nodded like he knew.

And oh, he knew.

His tone wasn’t sarcastic anymore— It wasn’t like the usual tone he used with Wilson, with the team— with anyone.

“I figured. But—“ Another pause. “But next time you want me to play something, knock on my door”

Your eyes widened slightly— your chest feeling warm at his words. He saw the way your face flushed, almost immediately.

He didn’t want to comment on it. He would, with anyone. But there was something about you…

“Okay,” You finally spoke, agreeing with him.

Your eyes lingered on his a little longer than usual, but you both didn’t say anything.

“Goodnight Greg”

Eyes still on you, he gave a small nod.

“Goodnight”

Then you both disappeared inside your apartments— doors closing softly behind you. But both of you felt warm inside— Content.

And after midnight, the sound of the piano echoed through your walls, making you close your eyes and sigh— not because of the weight on your chest. Because you felt relieved. Like some weight got off of you.

You didn’t listen to the piano this time because you’d woken up by a nightmare, or were scared.

You listened because you cared.

Because every night he played for you.

[dr-cameron]

doing a mini house rewatch and i cant w house sjeidjeidneisndkwm

[lolokisilly]

[mysterieyes]

Hey guys did you see that they changed this panel in the comics. It’s on the offical website. You don’tn eed to fact check this because I wouldn’t lie.

[tomwambsgans]

i love the part of tom and greg's dynamic that's essentially "aren't you tired of being nice?" "oh god FUCK yes"

[evilhorse]

Marvel Masterpieces cards #9: Black Widow

[lanagirly]

Hey guys, don’t know if anybody would be interested but I just posted my first huddy fic so if u want to check it out !!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63805444

[dog-woman]

sorry but why has no one done a house edit to no children. house and cuddy and wilson and their stupid fucked up entanglement.

'and i hope i never get sober'

[h0useslut]

fire away 𓂃⋆.˚

pairing : gregory house x fem!coworker!reader

w/c : 1k

genre : hurt/comfort, slow burn, romance

warnings : emotional distress, implied anxiety/panic attack, crying, soft!House

summary : reader has been slipping— house notices. and when everything finally unravels, he’s there in the only way he knows how— quiet, steady and a bit too tender for his own good

a/n : i may or may not have made a part two on this…

ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

There’s a reservoir in your eyes— House can see it. In the way you carry yourself, how you give short, clipped answers whenever he’s discussing a patient.

He doesn’t say something at first.

He thinks that it would be better if he stopped noticing, if he pushed down the weight in his chest whenever he caught glimpses of your expression.

Tired, drained. Trying to keep it together for his sake? Or the teams? He didn’t know.

He’s infuriated, both with himself and the fact that you were so out of it.

He notices again, while you’re trying to solve yet another case. You’re almost hunched over the table, pretending to read the patient’s last lab reports. You fail, miserably so. Because House notices the fact you’ve zoned out and your chest is rising and falling with shaky breaths.

Of course, he doesn’t let it go.

He decides to poke you until you let it out.

“So… Y/N, do you want to tell the class why our super healthy patient fell into a coma? Or are you trying to make the pages flip with telekinesis?”

Usually, you’d snap back. Throw in another sarcastic remark, and make him smirk. But now… now, you just sat there. Pretending that it didn’t affect you. Or made your chest ache. So you tried to reply fast enough so both the team and House wouldn’t ask what was wrong.

“I— I was just reading this um— His last lab results,” You said, voice coming out strained.

He did not like the sound of that.

“No need. Thank you for your disassociation, because we’ve already gone through that”

His words stung once again. You nodded, muttering a small apology. Why were you like this? What was going on with you? And why was he so affected by the way your face fell when he teased you? — like you were so used to being jabbed.

His voice echoed through the room, commanding Cameron, Chase and Foreman to do multiple procedures and blood draws.

You swore he said something to you, but as you turned to leave, he placed his cane to stop you from doing so.

“What’s gotten your lab coat in a twist?” — another pause — “Or should I say panties?” His words still tinged with the same kind of sarcasm as before.

“I don’t want a pep talk, House” You protested, trying your best to sound as cold as possible. He caught your weakened voice almost instantly.

“Oh no, no. Me neither”

Another beat of silence.

“What the hell is wrong with you Y/N?” His tone was more gentle now, cane dropping back to the floor as he tried to bring you closer.

His hands were warm on your arms, and you almost flinched.

You could hear your name being called again, but the growing ache in your chest was making it hard to concentrate.

Pulling back wasn’t an option. He held you there firmly, anchoring you. Seeing everything you wouldn’t dare to let out.

“Y/N…” He whispered, softer this time — more like a question.

Your breathing was already ragged as you snapped out of your trance. “I’m sorry— Oh my god” You breathed out, eyes glistening with unshed tears as you tried not to fall apart.

“Talk to me” You could feel the soft brush of his fingers against your arm, but it wasn’t enough.

He couldn’t believe what demon had possessed him then, but he brought you closer. Close enough for you to feel his warmth and let his scent engulf you.

“I’m not— I’m not okay” It came out like a whimper, small and broken. The choked sob that followed was the cherry on top, and something inside him broke as well.

You couldn’t make out what was going on next— just his arms around you, voice soft and low as he tried to remind you to breathe.

He wasn’t the type to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Hold you tight and shush you as if you were a baby.

But that night, when the world felt heavy on your shoulders and you needed someone to let it out…

He wanted to be there.

Gregory House wanted to be there for you.

Later, he insisted on taking you back to his place. He kept a close eye on you through the entire drive, and let you curl up on his couch while he rummaged through his drawers to find another bottle of Vicodin.

You were crying when he got back. He didn’t ask why. Or what was wrong.

It seemed like he knew. He knew you’d been holding in a lot. For a long time.

And this time, without hesitation — he pulled you in his chest.

“I’m here” He whispered, stroking your hair.

“I’ve got you” His tone was hushed, lips against your temple — like the words would vanish if he said them any louder. Like they were meant for you.

He held you there until you felt better. Till your soft sobs turned into steady breathing and the tight grip you had on his shirt loosened.

Neither of you said much — And for the first time time, — silence didn’t feel empty.

Gregory House thought he couldn’t be there for anyone, but…

You might’ve been the exception.

The realisation dawned on him heavily, though it wasn’t undeniable.

He didn’t move, not even after you’d calmed down. Even when his leg started aching. His hand on your back rubbed soothing circles, feeling you shuddering every once in a while.

Eventually— You broke the silence. Meeting his gaze, that looked… Concerned? Gentle? You couldn’t place your finger on it.

Your voice came out hoarse from all the crying.

“I didn’t mean to fall apart like that”

He stared at you for a moment, studying you with those sharp, unreadable eyes. But something in him shifted—

“Picked just the right person to do that, hm?” He teased, but his voice was far from teasing.

Your response was a small little sigh — a sad sounding sigh.

“Hey,” He whispered to you.

“Stay the night”

Despite the ongoing whirlwind in your mind, you nodded in his chest. And when you finally succumbed to sleep, he held you a little tighter.

[snaillamp]

Sicktember - day 6

6. Sick and Injured

Whumpee coughed, feeling the vibrations ripple through their congested chest. Rolling over, they groaned, their head feeling heavy as another chill danced over their bones.

Pulling the blankets higher, they sniffed, curling into a ball as they shivered. Whumpee hated being sick. It hurt to swallow, it hurt to breathe, they felt to hot and the minute they cooled down, they felt too cold. They were hungry but the second they tried to eat food they lost their appetite…

They couldn’t win.

They had decided to wear shorts and a loose singlet, nestling under blankets, the best compromise they could think of, even if their legs felt a bit cold and achy.

Sighing, Whumpee cleared their throat of slimy phlegm buildup and sat up, immediately regretting it as the world swayed, making them feel nauseous. They forced their weak, shaking legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed a blanket, wrapping it over their shoulders shuffling towards the kitchen.

Their work colleague, Caretaker had made some soup and left it for them in the fridge, telling them to warm it up if they wanted any. When Whumpee hadn’t turned up to work a few days ago, Caretaker, knowing Whumpee lived alone, had come by to check in on them, finding them curled up in bed, delirious with the flu. Caretaker had then spent the past few days visiting them when they could, attempting to help nurse Whumpee back to health.

Whumpee had long suspected Caretaker had a massive crush on them. Caretaker would take any opportunity they could to talk to Whumpee, and Whumpee had caught them on many an occasion staring at them while they worked. Whumpee didn't mind, they liked Caretaker as well, maybe as a good friend or maybe something more, they couldn’t be sure…

Whumpee pulled open the fridge, shivering as the cold air washed over them. They found the small plastic container, filled to the brim with a thick, creamy soup. Whumpee lifted it out with both hands, not strong enough to hold it with just one. Carrying it their microwave, their blanket fell from around their shoulders.

Sighing in annoyance, Whumpee lifted the container into the microwave, trying to decide how long to put it in for through their hazy mind. '40 seconds should do.'

They pulled off the lid, punching in a number and pressing the 'START' button without even checking the time they had set it to. Bending down with their aching joints, they grabbed their blanket, pulling it back over their shoulders.

Whumpee stared out their kitchen window, zoning out as they waited, the buzz of the microwave droning on and on in the back of their mind. After a while they frowned, ‘That’s been in there for a while, maybe I should check it.’

Turning to the microwave, they gasped, rushing forwards. “No, no, no, no!” They begged, hitting cancel. They had pressed to 4 too many times, setting the microwave to 4 minutes and 40 seconds. Ripping open the door, they lifted the scalding soup from the microwave with the tips of their fingers, but as they tried to place it in their sink to let the soft plastic cool, the sagging bottom of the container split open, sending boiling soup splashing onto Whumpee’s bare legs. They howled dropping to the floor and watching in horror as their skin turned scarlet.

Thinking quickly, the grabbed their blanket, wiping off what they could, before rolling over onto the ice cold tiles of the kitchen, sighing at the brief moment of relief they provided. They moaned in pain as they inched across the kitchen, if they could get it to their phone, they could call for help except… a sinking feeling set in.

Whumpee had left their phone charging in their room, all the way on the other side of their house… Sobbing, they continued to crawl, making it halfway to their room, before they collapsed in a shaking ball. They couldn’t do it, they were too sick… their shins and feet were too painful. They could feel the large blisters forming as they curled up on their side and shut their eyes, accepting their fate, the hazy fever consuming them.

~~

Caretaker lifted the doormat, finding the key and opening Whumpee's front door. The smell of Whumpee’s home washed over them as they stepped inside, followed by the smell of something... burnt?

“Hey, Whumpee? It’s Caretaker.” No reply. “Probably asleep…” Caretaker murmured to themself. Whumpee had been asleep a lot recently, given their condition. It wasn’t unlikey that they were asleep now, but that burnt smell was worrying them. Caretaker crept to Whumpee's room, expecting to find them huddled under a mountain of blankets, but their bed was empty. “Maybe they went to the bathroom.” Caretaker reasoned out loud. They crossed the hallway, into the bathroom. Nothing. “Huh… Maybe they moved to the main room?”

But when Caretaker entered the main part of the house, they gasped in horror. Whumpee was collapsed on the floor, unconscious, a trail of soup behind them. Caretaker ran over to them, shaking them awake.

“Whumpee, Whumpee, what happened?” Whumpee mumbled something incoherent, raising their head to look at Caretaker, before letting it drop back down to the ground. Caretaker looked them over, finding the burns on Whumpee’s legs and feet, causing them to gasp in shock.

Large, angry blisters were stretching over Whumpee’s burned legs.

Caretaker immediately jumped into action, picking up Whumpee under their arms and dragging their heavy, limp body to the bathroom. They heaved Whumpee into the bath and turned on the tap, letting it flood Whumpee's skin with cool, flowing water.

Whumpee moaned in relief, letting their head fall back against the rim of the tub. Their skin was still quite pale and sickly looking as Caretaker watched them with worry. “Whumpee, what happened?”

Whumpee was silent for a moment, before mumbling some slurred nonsense and a microwave and a sink. They sat together in silence for minutes, letting the water run over Whumpee’s burns until they moaned quietly, their eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritted in pain. Caretaker watched in concern as Whumpee’s moans grew quieter, their shivering growing worse.

Resting their hand on Whumpee’s forehead, Caretaker felt their skin. It was ice cold. Caretaker shot up, running to Whumpee’s room to grabbing them a blanket, returning to Whumpee and wrapping the blanket around their freezing friend.

~~

“C-Care…” Whumpee mumbled, cracking open their eyes, turning their head slowly too look at Caretaker. “Too cold…” They whispered, shuddering as they wrapped their arms around their quacking body. They felt ice cold, unable to warm up, not even after Caretaker wrapped the blanket around them. Their lips were slowly turning blue, their eyes shutting as they slid down the edge of the tub, gasping and coughing as darkness began to creep into their vision. Their breathing grew faster as they tried to fight it off, but they were so, so cold…

Whumpee coughed, sliding down the edge of the bath, their body going limp as they fell unconscious. “Whumpee?” Caretaker asked, hauling Whumpee back up. Their head flopped back heavily, their skin cold and blue as Caretaker sat them up, shaking Whumpee to try and wake them. Whumpee didn’t move.

Caretaker felt sick, was Whumpee hypothermic? Had they done this to them? Whumpee was so cold and pale…

Pulling their phone from their pocket, Caretaker dialed the emergency number and waited for them to pick up. When Caretaker finally got through, they stumbled over their words as they explained to the operator what was happening.

Within minutes, paramedics had pulled up and were unpacking bags, asking Caretaker questions. “How long since they got burned, passed out, in the water, how long, when did, what is…?”

All the questions became a blur as they draped plastic wrap over Whumpee’s burns and lifted them from the bath, wrapping them in a silver sheet. Caretaker ended up in the back of the ambulance with Whumpee, watching their body jostle as the ambulance sped over bumps in the road. Whumpee looked so small and fragile strapped to the stretcher. Caretaker swallowed the urge to throw up as they watched their friend slipping away in front of them… and it was their fault.

~~

The ambulance pulled in the the ED and the paramedics carted Whumpee out straight away, leaving Caretaker to wander in behind them, dazed. They watched as Whumpee was treated, gripping their hands into tight fists, their knuckles beginning to ache until they released them.

A nurse invited Caretaker to sit by Whumpee and wait for them to wake up, which Caretaker did anxiously. Whumpee took ages to wake up, but when they did, the first thing they did was smile at Caretaker. “Whumpee, thank goodness you’re okay, I'm so sorry, this is all my fault...” Caretaker murmured, brushing some hair off of Whumpee’s forehead.

"No... it isn't..." Whumpee whispered, as Caretaker's gentle hands stroked their face.

Whumpee groaned softly, leaning into the pleasant sensation with a contented smile, before their face fell. “I feel… weird…” Caretaker sighed, trying to hold back a laugh. “It’s probably the drugs they put you on. They said you might feel a bit strange.” Whumpee nodded, before reaching for Caretaker’s hand gently stroking their face.

Caretaker’s stomach did a flip.

~~

Whumpee’s fingers brushed Caretaker’s, looking up at their friend's face, noticing how their cheeks were slightly pink. “Thank..you…” They grabbed Caretaker’s hand properly, pressing it into their cheek.

“If you hadn't…”

Caretaker’s eyes brimmed with tears as they leaned down and wrapped Whumpee in a massive hug. “I was so scared, Whumpee…” Caretaker whispered in their ear.

“I know, I was too, but when you were there, I knew I was safe…” Caretaker pulled back slightly, looking redder than a tomato. “What… what do you mean?” They stuttered, making Whumpee smirk as they shut their tired eyes.

“Later…” They mumbled, their hand relaxing as they passed out.

~~

When Whumpee checked out of the hospital, Caretaker was waiting there to pick them up. They hugged each other awkwardly, before getting into Caretaker’s car sitting in silence as Caretaker drove.

The curiosity soon got the better of Caretaker, and they turned to Whumpee. “Hey, so you said something back at the hospital… you never ended up explaining it.”

Whumpee frowned, “Honestly, I hardly remember anything, they had me doped up on so many drugs.” They laughed, running their hand though their hair nervously. “What was it?”

They glanced at Caretaker who glanced back briefly, before turning into the driveway of Whumpee’s house. “Oh, nothing, you just said that you were scared… until I was there…” Caretaker tried to sound casual as the car gently stopped in the driveway, but they began blushing hard, looking at their lap, embarrassed.

~~

Whumpee looked at them, chuckling, before getting out of the car. They waited for a second before bending down and looking in.

“Well, you coming in, or what?”

Caretaker’s eyes sparked with excitement as they got out of the car, helping Whumpee back inside, making sure they were comfortable lying on their sofa. Squeezing in next to Whumpee, Caretaker blushed again, stealing a glance at them as they lay back a little, supporting themself on their elbows. Whumpee noticed, sighing slightly and smirking at them.

“I meant it, you know.” They piped up, looking at Caretaker’s face. They watched their friend frown as Whumpee moved slightly closer, sitting up a little more. “I was scared, until I knew you were there. I couldn’t move, but I knew I was okay, because I could hear your voice and you…” Whumpee’s eyes searched Caretaker’s their faces slowly growing closer.

Before Caretaker realised what was happening, Whumpee’s lips touched theirs. They felt a zing down their spine as Whumpee’s hand made it’s way up Caretaker’s back and neck, settling gently in their hair. Caretaker reciprocated, leaning into Whumpee’s body and melting into their arms. They straddled Whumpee's waist, tilting them back onto the sofa, both of them completely engulfed in each other’s presence until Caretaker’s foot brushed Whumpee’s burned leg.

Whumpee felt a sting flash like lightning through their shin, pulling back and gasping in pain. Caretaker sat up, panicked as they watched Whumpee groan in pain.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry Whumpee, I didn’t mean to hurt you! I just got a bit carried away and... Oh fuck, are you okay?!” Caretaker stumbled over their words, getting off Whumpee's hips and sliding away, mortified.

Whumpee smiled moving into a sitting position, legs safely out of the way. “No, it's fine... I think we should just stay up right for now…” They murmured, pulling Caretaker on top of them again. Caretaker met Whumpee halfway, giggling through the kisses, fingers becoming wrapped in each other’s hair, the both of them oblivious of the world around them.

All that mattered was that they had each other, and that nothing, not even 2nd degree burns were going to take that away from them.

~masterlist~

[stephenist]

Rudy Rucker has posted free epub, mobi and webpage formats of the seminal sci-fi cyberpunk anthology ➡️ Mirrorshades. ⬅️

[theywhoshantbenamed]

what if Greg in the monster AU gets depressed for whatever reason and all the monster states can tell and do their best attempt to cuddle the human that is very tiny compared to a lot of them

That’s their emotional support human who gives them snacks damn right they’ll try to comfort him

He gets to cuddles against the comfy fuzzy ones and feel their warmth. And the sound of their slow heartbeats are super comforting too

[tomwambsgans]

when he goes out of his way to tell everyone that he likes women but in the process alludes to a song where the protagonist specifically fails to have sex with a woman

[willosword]

do yall remember when steven universe future was in the middle of airing and cartoon network just dropped this fuckign trailer of steven suffering for 30 seconds straight. what a wild world we lived in