Don't You Just Hate Doing the Dishes?
Robert Robertson x reader || 770 word blurb
summary: You procrastinate. Too much. Which means that your desk is a mess. An unmanageable workspace. As you contemplate cleaning it, Robert comes up to help you. (more like do all of the work for you.)
a/n: dispatch fic was inevitable i love thsi game.
tags: robert LOVES. the reader. robert yearns. he wants that cookie fr. reader hates doing the dishes. reader has a tendency to procrastinate. highkey imagined this as buff lazy reader but it's up to u :3
You chugged the last dregs in your mug of coffee, holding it limply in your hand as you scanned your cluttered desk for a place to put it. There was none, unless you wanted to place it on top of the insanely tall stack of novels you brought into the office. You consistently forgot to take them home. Apparently that adds up.
You tap your feet impatiently, staring at your desk with contempt. Maybe you should've listened to Malevola when she said you should clean your desk, because right now, you don't even know where to start. Maybe tackle the horde of coffee mugs? Or the insanely cluttered pinboard that had like a million sticky notes on it? Or maybe you should gather up all of the hair ties scattered across the surface.
You sigh in defeat, dropping down to a crouch on the floor, holding your face in your hand with a dull expression. It's pointless. Nothing can fix the mess on your desk. The mess has swallowed the desk.
In the middle of your existential pondering, you hear a voice.
“You okay?” You turn around to look at who was talking to you. Robert. Of course. Your desk is right next to his.
“No,” You say, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “Hey, you actually look tall from here.” You smile. You catch his blush, the way his ears redden.
“Well, just for that comment, I'm not gonna help you.” He takes a sip from his mug, leaning his shoulder against the cubicle wall. He reaches his hand down towards you.
You grasp it, pulling yourself up. Robert didn't expect you to pull so hard, and he stumbled towards you.
You didn't notice, already having let go of his hand to turn around. He sucked in a deep breath to stabilize himself before he accidentally brushed against your back. He exhaled, shuffling to stand beside you. “Wow.”
“Shut up, I know it's bad.”
“No– no, it's good!” He laughs, you glare at him.
“Just help, okay?” How could he say no to any of your requests, anyhow?
Robert smiles, already drifting away into the astral plane the longer you looked at him. You grit your teeth to suppress a smile, trying to maintain your upset expression.
“You look like you're about to cry. Or yawn, I can't tell.” Robert pushed the office chair aside so he could pick up all of the coffee mugs.
“Shuddup," You mumbled, staring aimlessly at him.
He looked over his shoulder, noting your gaze. He ignored it, straightening up so he could carry the mugs to the break room.
“...Why didn't you put these away?” He asked. You fall into step beside him.
“I hate washing dishes. Something about scrubbing off the chewed, cold remnants of food off of silverware just turns my stomach.”
