#work stress

.☘︎ ݁˖ synopsis - your house husband grows quietly upset and worried after you repeatedly come home from work without answering his calls.

★ pairings - ushijima wakatoshi x reader

── .✦ cw - argument, emotional tension, miscommunication, work stress, marriage, hurt/comfort.

₊⊹ wc - 0.8k

Even for someone as perfect and composed as Ushijima Wakatoshi, marriage doesn’t come easy.

Your husband vowed to fulfill any wish you’d ever have—no matter how unconventional it was.

Out of everything you ever wished for, what you wanted most was your career.

You never wanted to commit to societal norms and expectations—where you’d be seen as nothing more than a caregiver or homemaker. Slaving your life away by prioritizing your husband’s and children’s needs over your own ambition never sounded appealing.

When you married Ushijima, you couldn’t have been happier.

He was everything a partner could be: patient, understanding, caring—and most importantly, supportive.

Ushijima understood your fear of conformity. Your fear of losing yourself to expectations.

Just your luck, he was more than willing to be the one who stayed home. The one who cooked, cleaned, and cared for the house while you pursued what you loved. However, that’s what leads Ushijima to where he is now—dumbfounded and frustrated.

He had done everything for the day. Dusting the shelves. Washing the dishes. Doing the laundry. Everything.

You had promised you’d be back by 4 PM.

“I promise, 4 is the latest I’d come, Waka.”

It’s currently 8 PM.

Ushijima takes great pride in making meals for the both of you, always ensuring the food is ready by the time you come home.

Now, it sits cold and untouched on the table.

He’s been trying to reach you for hours. Call after call—no response. Eventually, he grows tired of waiting without answers.

He isn’t just upset about the food.

He’s worried.

“Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system,” the carrier rings.

“She promised she’d come by 4…”

He remains seated at the table, pushing the food around on his plate.

Hours pass. Not a sound. Not a word.

By 10 PM, he finally stands, packing the food away and placing it in the fridge.

As he settles onto the couch, a thud echoes through the apartment.

You’re home.

“Ushi!! I’m so sorry—I promised I’d be back by 4. You see, there was this work thi—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupts calmly. “Food is in the fridge. Heat it up and eat.”

You recognize the tone immediately.

He’s upset.

“Ushi, I promise this wasn’t on purpose. Please, let me explain.”

“There’s nothing you need to explain,” he says, “especially considering you didn’t think to send a message letting me know you were safe.”

Setting your belongings down, you approach him carefully, reaching for his hand.

“Look, I know this looks like a big mess, but I promise I didn’t mean to be so late—or ignore you.”

“Well then, explain,” he replies. “You do realize this has been happening for the past month, no? Every time you promise to come home early, you stay at work for hours. You don’t keep your promises anymore, y/n.”

“Ushi, I know this all looks bad—and maybe it got blown out of proportion—but please, hear me out.”

You take a breath.

“My manager said he’d give me a raise if I worked a few extra hours. I really thought I’d be home on time every time I promised you. I never meant for it to turn out like this. I shouldn’t have kept it a secret—I just wanted to surprise you. Still… that’s no excuse. I’m sorry, Ushi.”

He stays quiet.

“And what about today?” he asks. “When you didn’t come home early—and didn’t answer your phone—it wasn’t just upsetting. I worried for you.”

“I know… and I’m sorry. My phone died. I thought the surprise would make up for it, but I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that.”

You raise your hand, gently cupping his cheek.

You search his eyes for even the smallest hint of forgiveness.

You wait.

A long pause stretches out—painfully slow. Was he even going to accept your apology? Ushijima is level-headed and direct… but this has been going on for a while now.

The silence weighs heavy between the two of you.

He exhales, shoulders relaxing just slightly as he leans into your touch.

Hesitantly, he finally speaks.

“…Apology accepted. But next time, you need to communicate with me. You know that saying, ‘Key is communication?’”

You huff out a laugh.

“It’s ‘Communication is key,’” you mumble. “Sometimes I forget how dorky you are.”

“Jokes aside,” you add quietly, “do you really forgive me? You made all this food and—”

“I forgive you. Do not worry,” he says gently. “Now, would you like to eat what I made for us?”

His hand rests on the small of your back, guiding you toward the kitchen.

“I’d love to,” you smile. “Tomorrow’s food is on me. Promise.”

“…Pinky promise?” he teases. “Nothing wrong with being sure.”

You interlock your pinky with his, smiling softly.

“Pinky promise.”

He's in a mood because he got called in on his day off.

Fortunately, he gets to take it out on my mouth after his shift. That's bound to help with some of that stress he'd been carrying around.

May the best find you right where you are and be ready to accomodate you - in work, and everything else.

And I feel guilty being upset at this because the prim voice on my shoulder sniffs and says "Well, if you're this frustrated with having to take a day to refocus on God, clearly you're in need of it." And, sure, yeah, there's an extent to which that's true.

But also, I've been super frustrated at my job this past year. It's gotten so much harder to juggle with all the family things. I got one week at home with my baby out of the hospital before I had to start back. I don't feel like I'm taking adequate care of my parents. Communication with coworkers and the priests I work for is getting worse and worse. Twice in two months they've added a Mass I was expected to play at and I found out with a week's notice or less. They scheduled a funeral at the same time as my children's summer camp final morning prayer that had been on the calendar for over 2 months. When I was hired, they told me they wanted me to spearhead a project to refurbish the organ, and I can't get the priest and the organ builder to sit down in the same room.

I was hired to be part time: 10 hours a week. If I actually am staying on top of my work, it's more like 35 hours a week. They reclassified me as a full-time employee so I could take maternity leave, but I'm still getting paid the same as when I was hired to work 10 hours a week.

Mental Stress vs Deadlines & Workload

Caffeine Efficiency Peak

Mental Yield Point

Ultimate Burnout

Mental Breakdown 💔

This graph is too real. We all know this curve way too well.

Tag someone who’s currently living in the “Ultimate Burnout” section.

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