#reader is sick

[qfzeeph]

Suprise! You get Zeeph Writings today because I am very sick and thinking about him to keep me sane :3

♡Kaito (Vocaloid) x Reader/Master HCs [3]♡

♡Reader is Sick♡ ♡Kaito is taking care of them!!♡

☆Since he's a weird android-type thing, Kaito doesn't really get sick in the way we do. Which makes him all the more available to take care of you when you fall ill.

☆it doesn't matter what you've got. This man will be by your side until the day you recover, wether that be if you're stuck at home or in the hospital recieving care. (For the sake of this post, reader is mainly going to be ill at home.) ☆He'll happily sleep on the floor when you're too sick to share a bed. He tries to stay close by to you incase you need anything ☆if you DO need anything, he'll do his best to have it right away. Tissues, ginger ale, you name it. ☆Keeping high spirits while you're sick is important. Kaito is really good at making you feel happy even when you're feeling your worst. He'll sing lullabies to you to help you sleep, watch TV with you to make you feel less alone, and even sits on the side of your bed when he can so you can hold his hand. He won't let you feel like you're suffering alone even for a second. ☆Sometimes being sick isn't pretty. Even when you're a disgusting hot mess, he's going to be right by your side to help you clean up. Hell, he'd help you clean yourself up, send you back to bed, and then take on the rest of the cleaning on his own so you can rest. He doesn't care how gross the mess ends up being, because if it's for you it's worth it. ☆Likewise, you have a washing machine. If something gets on the scarf, it gets on the scarf. He understands human illness isn't always just the sniffles and icky things do happen. He isn't going to get mad at you if he gets a little dirty trying to care for you. ☆Kaito tries not to be too clingy while you're sick. He understands that cuddling and hugging and being attached to you at all times is more stressful than comforting when you're not feeling well. He can't wait for you to be back on your feet so he can shower you with affection again. Though, sometimes he can't help himself and leaves little kisses on the top of your hand or forehead. If he's sitting next to your bed, a little hair ruffle means the world to him. ☆The first thing he'll want to do together after you recover completely is either take you to go get ice cream or alternatively your favorite sweet dessert. He'll even pay for it since you deserve a nice treat after all you've gone through. ...so basically, I have the norovirus ;A; it is NOT fun! But thinking about my blue guy makes me feel a little better. I'm cooped up on the couch (I have a loft bed and was having a hard time getting in/out of it) with one of my Kaito plushies to keep me company. As usual, thanks for givin' a read and hope everyone is healthy! ...at least healthier than I am right now :(((

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Stomach Struggles

Pairings: Wandanat x R

Word count: 1.7K

Summary: R struggles while her girls are away, chronic stomach aches are no fun and r just wants her girls

TW: anxiety, stomach ache, slight angst, crying, vulnerability, vomiting

|| PART 2 ||

Stomach aches were the bane of your existence. They hurt and they made you sick almost every single time without fail.

So when you woke up on the day you and Wanda had finally scheduled a date for the first time in months and felt like you were going to spending the day with your head in the toilet you couldn’t help the tears that fell. Wanda and Nat were still on their mission and should be getting back at around four this afternoon.

You put all of your energy into rolling over, gazing at your phone screen and unplugging it you blearily looked at the time. You couldn’t help the few extra tears that fell, 4:30am. No wonder it was still dark and you hadn’t heard your alarm. It wasn’t going to go off for another two hours. You knew there was no going back to sleep now. The pain was too much but you couldn’t find it in you to find some pain medicine that your girls had stashed somewhere in the bathroom.

Deciding there was no point being sad about something you couldn’t change you began to sift through the bedside table’s draw. You were sure you had hidden som stuff in there incase you got sick in the night.

The chronic stomach aches hit whenever so it was good to be prepared. And you knew Wanda had restocked the stash before she left. Nat had made a big fuss with fury about leaving you all alone for a few days. Worried they wouldn’t be there if you needed them.

You were sad when they left but it was nothing on how much you missed them now. Now when you needed them most.

Your finger wrapped around what you were looking for. Pulling out the small container of your emergency supplies your sleepy fingers fumbled with the small lid before it finally came off with a small pop. You checked what was there. Gratefully and teary eyed as you knew Wanda had taken extra care this time, you pulled out the small note. Written in her loopy script it said how much they loved you and how if you needed anything from the box at all you were to call them and tell them. Wanda signed it with a kiss of her red lipstick on the note. Your fingers brushed over the print and another few tears fell. Carefully you folded the note and placed it on the bedside.

Reaching into the box you found a small packet of pain meds and sobbed in relief. Carefully you took the right dose and put them on the bedside beside the note. With shaking hands you pulled out on the sickbags from the small pile of them in the bottom of the box. You knew it was better to have it ready if you need it than not.

Looking in the rest of the box there were three more things. A bottle of pepto bismol which you turned your nose up at. Another bottle of water and a small pack of crackers. And lastly a small stuffed plushie of a frog. You rolled your eyes but pulled it out and hugged it to your chest. Burying your face in the soft fuzzy fur, it smelt like Wanda and you let another few tears fall.

Turning to the bedside and placing the box on the ground you picked up your phone. Wanda had said to call them if you needed them. But would they get in trouble? With the plushie still under one arm you hesitated before tapping her contact. Was it too early to call them?

The line trilled once, twice, three times and then Wanda picked up

“Y/n?” Her sleepy voice came through the line and you choked back another sob but it didn’t work as a small noise came out. That seemed to wake Wanda up.

“Baby?” She asked sounding more alert. “Are you ok my sweet?”

“Where’s natty?” You asked sounding small and vulnerable you dodged the question.

“Shes here sleeping beside me. Baby are you ok?” She repeated, “did you have a nightmare my love?” She asked with a soft voice.

“N-no.” You hated that your voice shook and let out another small sob.

“Is it your tummy baby girl?” Wanda asked now waking up nat who would be mad if she missed a chance to talk to you. Nat grumbled and threw a hand over her eyes. Wanda nudged her side and covered the phone receiver.

“Its Y/n/n she doesn’t feel good.” Wanda said and nat sat bolt upright. Taking the phone from Wanda.

“Y/n? Are you ok my love?” She said her voice slightly sleepy but still alert.

“N-natty?” You asked.

“Yes baby I’m here.” She cooed.

“H-hurts.” You said.

“Oh baby where does it hurt my love?” Wanda asked and you realised you were on speaker.

“S-stomach a-and head.” You muttered brokenly. You heard shuffling on the other side.

“W-wands whats g-going on a-are you guys o-ok?” You asked.

“We’re fine baby natty’s packing the bags, the missions basically over they can send a relief team, our girl needs us fury can shove it u-“

“Baby lets go. Ill call fury on the way.” nat cut her off making you giggle.

“N-no i-i-ill be ok. Y-you don’t need to come b-back.” Wanda frowned.

“Baby we want to make sure your ok. You don’t have to do it all by yourself anymore sweets natty and i are here now.” She said frowning deeper as your didn’t respond.

You wanted to, you really did. You wanted to tell her how much you owed her and nat but the nausea peaked, and you found yourself leaning forward and dropping the phone as you clumsily pulled the sickbag under you chin and gaged.

“Baby?” Wanda’s voice came through the phone that was where in the sheets.

Nat was by her side and mimicked the sentiment.

“Y/n? Are you alright?” She said sounding urgent. All they were met with were the sounds of you being sick as you threw up into the sick bag.

If they weren’t worried before they were now.

“Oh sweetheart.” Wands cooed. “Its ok. Your ok” she hushed knowing how much you hated being sick.

“Baby we’ll be there soon ok? Stay on the phone with us.” You merely sobbed in response as you gagged again into the bag. Your tiny whimpers broke Nat’s heart.

“Screw this.” Nat said and Wanda raised an eyebrow “I’m calling tony to send us a jet it’ll be way faster.” Wanda nodded and return her attention to you.

“Crap baby my phones gonna die. We haven’t been able to charge them. I want you to keep track of how often your sick and natty and i will be home soon. I lov-“ the phone cut out and the beep told you the line was dead.

You sobbed and stood on shaky legs to dispose of the sickbag. Your head swam and you sat back down.

“Bad idea” you muttered and put the gross bag into the small bin by the bed, unable to full get rid of it.

Pulling the sheets up exhaustion hit and you tried to go back to sleep. After tossing and turning for about a half hour the nausea was back again. You quickly pulled out another bag and threw up again. After another few bouts of dry heaving you were throwing up again. With you head in the bag you didn’t see the door open. Unaware of another presence in the room until a warm hand was rubbing circles on your back. You flinched away and dry heaved again through the sobs.

“Oh baby its ok we’re here now.” You felt the bed dip on either-side and almost cried as you realised they were here. They were back.

When you were done you carefully set the bag in the bin and nat raised an eyebrow at the sickbags in the bin, as you threw yourself into their arms.

“Oof” nat said and wrapped her arms around you anyway.

“Oh baby it’s ok” Wanda said taking you from nat and rocking you back and forth in her arms. “How many times my sweet.”

With a small voice you replied “two.” Wanda sucked a breath in.

“And why are they still here?” Nat said looking at the sickbags and earning a glare from Wanda who was also curious.

“Couldn’t get up. Lightheaded. Thought was gonna pass out” you said snuggling into Wanda’s chest and missing the two girls exchanged worried looks.

“Baby are you feeling anything else? Do you feel warm at all?” She said pulling you back slightly and laying a hand on your forehead. You had your eyes closed but hummed at the skin to skin contact.

“Does she?” Nat asked

“No. She feels fine.” Wanda said and you snuggled back into her.

“Let’s just hope it what it normally is and nothing more or we’ll have to see Bruce.” Nat said standing up and taking the bin away to dispose of them properly.

“Baby have you had anything since you were sick?” You shook your head against Wanda’s neck and she sighed. Pulling you close she swung her legs onto the bed and positioned herself against the headboard with you still in her lap. She picked up the pepto ignoring your whines she made you take it followed by pain meds.

“You did so well my sweet.” She said as you gaged at the taste. “Shh shh shh.” She said ready with the sick bag. Luckily you weren’t sick this time and so she pulled you close again and hummed a soft tune.

“Go to sleep baby I’ll be here when you wake up. Natty and i will take care of you now sleep bubs.”

And you did.

A/N Anyone want a part 2? Imma write a part 2 anyways…

MASTERLIST

[beauleifu]

I'll do a backflip if u write more syntax x reader content

backflip

do it now

i got an idea for this one so i'll answer it first CONSIDERING we're at the tail end of thanksgiving break. Also i am sick too and its easier to write about things that derive from personal experience. HAPPY LATE THANKSGIVING BTW (to those who celebrate ig)

anyways, pretty long 3k oneshot, pretty fluffy, enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SYNTAX X READER

Lego Monkie Kid

Context: You wake up with a fever and Syntax feels obliged to take care of you, despite you being a very disagreeable sick baby. Curse him and his affection for you.

TW: Language, mentions of sick

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

He thought you'd gone to work.

Well, he never checked to see if you'd left or not.

To be fair, Syntax never ventures into your sleeping chambers very often, if only to retrieve or return a book that caught his interest. Respect is high on his list of values.

The spider demon has your work schedule practically memorized by now, so he's content with the knowledge that you left at precisely 8:30 a.m. to be at work by 9:00. However, he does find it a little disheartening to find that you'd neglected to leave a note for him. You rarely do this, but it lights a warm fire in his soul whenever you do (don't ask why, Syntax is the worst at figuring out his own emotions).

Currently, he's on the couch reading a psychology textbook you forgot to return back in your college run.

Amusement tugs Syntax's lips upwards.

Yes, he knows the book was rented. Upon taking a quick peek at your e-mail inbox, he discovered a number of warnings to return the damn thing before your account was charged.

But Syntax found no record of your account in the logs.

He reminds himself to ask you about that later, but it's probably due to you graduating and someone deleting your account to save room. The requests died off a few months ago as the store decided to give up, anyways (he ignores the streak of guilt at his snooping. It's for your own good).

Ah-heh. . . .

There's a lot of things he does 'for your own good'. Things you probably wouldn't file into the same category, unfortunately.

Lazily shifting around to look at the clock, Syntax frowns and tries to decide when is the safest time to visit his Queen's old lair. Sure it's destroyed, but he's found plenty of useful equipment to fuel his creations, which are currently scattered on the coffee table.

RING RING RING-

Green eyes flicking wide open at the sudden intrusive blaring, Syntax jumps to his feet and whips around.

There, in the kitchen, is your phone.

Your phone??

It continues to ring incessantly, making Syntax's lip curl with discomfort. Muttering to himself, he marks his page in the textbook and makes his way around the couch to retrieve the phone. Curiosity and apprehension flare up at the name on the screen: 'Jasper (Work)'.

Jasper must be your manager. Syntax faintly remembers you bringing him up on occasion. A complaint at best, threats to quit at worst.

Syntax hesitates slightly before answering the call. Why did you leave your phone here?

"Hello?"

"Who's this?" Is the immediate reply, host to a deep and irritable tone of voice.

Damnit.

Syntax obviously can't introduce himself honestly. Millions of excuses and impromptu pseudonyms flood the spider demon's mind as he tries to come up with the best disguise that you might approve of (Bob? Not in a million years). His eyes slide over the textbook lying face-up on the table, sharp green eyes flitting wildly over the pages.

Eventually, Syntax decides that his conflicted (not panicked, not panicked) silence has stretched out long enough.

"Ah, apologies. This is . . . Maverick?"

Thank the stars for his quick reading skills and your willingness to let him borrow your books.

Your manager sounds surprised. "This is (Y/N)'s phone, yes?"

"Correct."

"Where are they, then?"

Panic turns to suspicion, which promptly dissolves in a pit of worry. The dots connect and Syntax feels like he already knows the answer before the words tumble out of his mouth. "What do you mean? Are they not at work?"

It's almost mid-day. You would be taking your lunch break in an hour.

Jasper sighs tiresomely. "No. I know they have a habit of turning up late on Fridays but this is just unnacceptable. What are you doing with their phone?"

"It's . . . I mean . . ."

Syntax finds himself pacing.

To speak honestly or not to speak honestly, that is the question. Should he reveal that he's living in your apartment? That you left your phone in the kitchen-

No.

Hold the cable.

You'd never forget your phone, it's your only means of transport (oh, yeah, he knows your habit of using the GPS for even the simplest of directions no matter how hard you try to hide it). So the only possible explanation for finding it still in the apartment would be because you hadn't even left in the first place.

"Can I put you on hold for just a moment?" Syntax asks, biting his lip anxiously.

Jasper sounds thoroughly confused. "Uh . . . sure."

"Much obliged."

With that, Syntax puts his speaker on mute and lowers the phone, taking wide and purposeful steps down the hallway. Your door is closed with not a sign of life noticeable through the cracks. But suddenly, the thought of finding you still in bed is more worrisome to Syntax than finding your room vacant. He can find you easily no matter where you are in the city whether you have your phone or not (he might've instilled a tracking device into that favorite piece of jewelry/clothing you always wear when going out. Once again, for your own damn good). The problem arises in discovering you haven't yet gotten out of bed to eat, drink water, or do anything productive.

Okay.

So he's been stalling for a good two minutes at your bedroom door thinking of all the worst ways to discover your body.

Something twists his gut, makes him hesitate to raise his hand for a soft knocking on your door. Unfortunately, the pressure of having your manager on the phone forces Syntax to ignore his thoughts.

"(Y/N)?" He asks, softly at first.

Well damn, there's no way you could've heard that.

He raps his knuckles on the door with a tad more impact, disliking the empty way it reverbs off the hallway. Syntax doesn't like a quiet apartment, he's much more used to (and much prefers) the life in which your fill it with. He'd never admit that aloud, though. "(Y/N), are you in there?"

Silence meets his question. It feels like a stab to the foot. A metaphorical one, but the pain is there and unrelenting.

Syntax finds himself biting his lip.

Your safety must come before his flight instincts. He needs to make sure you're okay.

". . . I'm coming in, all right?"

The doorknob is cold to the touch as Syntax twists and pushes the door gently open - slowly, so you could voice any oppositions. But none reach his ears and he's allowed to open the door all the way. It hits the wall with a soft bump.

Syntax doesn't need to look very closely to determine your likely whereabouts.

The sad lump under the bundle of blankets tells him enough.

Oh dear.

"(Y/N)?" He calls, hand gripping the door frame somewhat tightly. The room is quiet and cold, sending a chill down Syntax's spine as he observes your form.

You suddenly shift - faintly at first, but then the sound of coughing reaches the spider demon's ears.

That sounds really bad.

Rough and moist and rattling and definitely painful. It's even painful to hear.

Syntax blinks, eyes going wide with surprise. Slowly, he raise the phone again, unmutes the speaker, and holds it close to his ear. "Are you still there?"

A pause. Then; "Yeah. What's the problem?"

"(Y/N) is sick."

An even longer pause. One that allows Syntax enough time to shuffle around your bed to try and pick out any part of your body that isn't coddled by the blankets. No such luck, though, and the scientist is mildly put-off by your isolation.

You must've tried to muffle the sounds of your illness by burying yourself within the blankets.

Had your manager not called, Syntax never would've known.

The thought is . . . uncomfortable.

At that moment, Jasper finally decides to speak up. "Whaddya mean, they're sick? They should've called and told me so I can assign someone to take over their shift! Now we're falling behind!"

Irritation worms its way into Syntax stomach where it boils angrily. It doesn't seem like Jasper cares enough about your health. You'd failed to call because you left your phone in the kitchen last night. Based on how sickly you sound, there's no way you'd bother walking all that way just to call off work (come to think of it, you didn't sound too well last night, either. You hardly talked at all).

"Sir, I apologize for the inconvenience. I'll try to have them back at work within the next few days, I-"

Wait.

Shit.

Sure, Syntax may care about your health.

But how the hell is he supposed to fix you up?? He's not the nurse in the house - that's your job!

For a moment he just stares at the blankets, completely short circuiting. It goes on like this for so long that Jasper clears his throat; "You good?"

Syntax's brow furrows, anxiety making him fidget with his sleeve.

Well, he's not the only thorn in the thicket, thank goodness. Taking a deep, determined breath through his nose, the spider demon clears his throat with much pizazz and swallows his dignity. "Yes, I'm all right. But your employee is not. I was . . . wondering. Um. Do you have any reccomended diagnosis for them?"

"(Y/N) coming down with the flu is news to me, how would I know what to give them?" Your manager grunts, then his voice suddenly lifts with the air of one pointing fingers. "Maybe you should take them to see a doctor if you don't know what to do."

Hhhhh. Well, there's no way Syntax can do that. Not even as you erupt into another fit of coughing, the sound tugging at his heartstrings. Simply put, Syntax is torn.

Science is easy. It has codes and tricks and programs that literally work as free serotonin.

People, however.

They are problematic and difficult to understand.

Sick people are no different.

But of course, like the stubborn man he is, Syntax denies the option to seek external assistance. "No, no, I can handle this myself. I'm not a complete healing novice."

"Huh. Okay. . . . Have them call me back when they feel up to it," Jasper adds with a hint of stiff suspicion. Syntax knows exactly why. Having a stranger answer his employee's phone definitely raises red flags. "I want them to personally let me know when they can return to work again."

"Will do. Goodbye."

After hanging up, the spider demon spends another good minute just staring at you.

Or, well, at the blankets.

Should he wake you up? How much sleep do you need?

He runs a stiff hand through his hair, teeth gritted despite himself as he deposits your phone by the bedside table. If his calculations are correct, you haven't gotten up to get a drink of water all morning. Neither have you gotten a bite to eat. Considering it's almost 1 p.m., that gives rise to concern. Plus, the room smells funny. A nasty kind of funny.

This is what has him crouching by your bed, hands clasped above his knees. "(Y/N)?"

Nothing.

Biting his lip, he reaches forward and gently pokes where he think your shoulder is. What he feels, though, is probably your head.

Oh. You must be curled in on yourself.

Warmth and pity fight for dominance in his heart. Once again he prods you with a finger, reaffirming his belief that it's your head he's bothering. After a third attempt, you shift, and he stops.

You cough a few more times, the sound followed by a hoarse, rattling inhale of air. It's expelled slowly thereafter.

"(Y/N), are you awake?"

" . . . Hm?"

Syntax smiles slightly at the familiar sound of your voice, even though currently you sound strangled.

"Ah. There you are," the spider demon hums, resting his hand on the edge of your bed rather than on any part of you. "I'll get you a drink of water, all right?"

Silence. Syntax frowns before standing up to leave.

So you're sick. And from the sound of it, you've got it bad. What is a guy like Syntax supposed to do about that? Wrap you in bandages? Prescribe you some medicine? Take you to the doctor like a sane and smart individual? (Unlikely. He's much too prideful for that)

The one thing he can do safely and without consequence is to fetch you a cup of water, so he does just that.

When he returns, you're sitting hunched on the bed.

You're rubbing your eyes when he comes 'round with the cup in hand, and you don't even look up as he stands over you. Syntax has to clear his throat to get your attention.

"Here you go."

Gingerly, you take the cup. Syntax notices the subtle shake of your hands, which only makes his brow furrow.

He's almost about to ask you about it when suddenly, you're pointing somewhere behind him. Confusion stirs his depths, and he glances over his shoulder. "You want me to look away?"

"Tylenol," you murmur, voice raspy and quiet. "Bathroom."

Ah.

"I'll be right back," says Syntax, watching you carefully for a second before departing. There's something off about the look in your eyes. The lack of focus, maybe. Perhaps it's because you just woke up. Perhaps it's because you're really ill-

He quickly takes his leave, entering the bathroom and flicking the light on. A quick glance around and all of its secrets are coming undone. From the look of it, you've gone in here to blow your nose multiple times (the trashcan is overflowing with tissue paper); you've thrown up in the toilet (it smells god-awful in here - that's why it smelled funny); and you've attempted to treat the pain yourself (bottles of pills lie popped open by the sink). All Syntax can do is hope that your nursing instincts kicked in at the last moment and you steered clear of an overdosage.

After flushing the toilet, he peers into the other room, eyes on you. "When did you take these last?" Syntax asks, shaking the Tylenol bottle. It says every 8 hours. He just wants to make sure.

You suck on your bottom lip, dull eyes on the bedsheets.

You hold up eight fingers.

Relief washes over the spider demon, and he divvies out two pills. "All right."

With that, he heads over, pulling up a chair to sit by the bed. When he hands you the pills, you nod silently, popping them in your mouth and taking the water with it. Silence fills the room. Normally Syntax would find it uncomfortable, but right now he's trying to figure out what to make you for lunch.

Suddenly, you look away, face buried in your arm as you let out a few coughs. Then you look back, eyes slightly bloodshot from congestion and lack of air. "Thngks."

"You're supposed to be at work, you know," Syntax reminds you gently. Stars, you sound terrible.

You shift at that, sniffing wetly. "Wha . . ."

Coughs wrack your body, sending you into a fit of trembling that only panic could ensue.

Oh, you're worried about missing your shift and angering your manager? He can't have that.

"Don't worry about it," Syntax reassures, tempted to rub your knee to soothe you. "He called me ten minutes ago and I told him I'd take care of you. Just . . . call him back later and let him know when you feel better."

You nod slowly, temporarily mollified from your excitement. But then your eyes slide to the bedside table and a hand reaches out to retrieve your phone.

Syntax is faster. "Ah ah ah, I said later," he says sternly.

Your bottom lip juts out in a pout. The spider demon suddenly quite likes this docile version of you.

Maybe sick people are different.

"Time," you grunt, glaring halfheartedly at Syntax from over the glass of water. It seems as though you really are parched, which relieves the spider demon.

So he's doing something right. Good.

"One . . . ah, one twenty," Syntax answers, one leg bouncing on the ground.

You groan hoarsely. "My boss is gonna- cough! - kill me."

"Doubtful. However, you're not quite safe from my wrath," Syntax says, regarding you carefully through narrowed eyes. Like you were a rare specimen that had a bad case of annoying people. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling all right?"

"Dunno."

"Not one for words? Cat got your tongue?"

You glare again, leaning away from the spider demon who returns your look equally. "Throat hurt."

Syntax scoffs. "That's no excuse."

"I-" Whatever explanation (excuse, in Syntax's opinion) you had in mind to say is halted by you suddenly freezing up, finger suspended mid-air. Nose-wrinkled, posture stiff, you wait for the inevitable. But no sneeze comes, and Syntax can't help a smirk at how silly you look. Recovering quickly, you expel a bout of air and sniff; "I thought it was temporary."

Hmm. Your voice does sound strained. Perhaps it would be wise not to encourage you to talk.

"Fair enough," the scientist sighs, and you glance at him in surprise. But he merely locks eyes with you boredly. "Would you like something to eat?"

"Uh-"

"Just nod or shake your head."

You sit and ponder at the blankets for a good minute.

In the end, you reward the spider demon with a grudging nod. "Just- lemme get dressed."

Inclined to stand up as you throw the blankets off, Syntax pries his eyes from your features to inspect your outfit. Comfortable clothes might make it easier for you.

"You look fine."

"I look. Unprofessional," you sniff.

He waits for you to stand. But when all you do is stare at your crossed legs in mild surprise, Syntax comes to an obvious conclusion.

You're sick.

Walking should not be one of your chores.

"I . . . I can carry you," says Syntax all of the sudden, as though the idea were a brilliant discovery that should've been obvious. Flowers blossom within his chest at the thoughts summoned to mind. But his eyes are bright, fixing on your face with a determined spark.

You recoil, face scrunching up. For a moment Syntax fears the idea disgusts you but the scrunched face was only in preparation for a loud sneeze.

Your face promptly vanishes within the blankets.

He waits for you to resurface.

Heh.

In a moment, you do, thoroughly dazed but adamant about refusing Syntax's offer. "No."

The scientist is starting to smile. "I'll carry you. Why not?"

"Gotta get dressed. 'M heavy. You're nerd boy," you say, along with a raspy stream of similar retorts that eat away at Syntax's pride. Nerd boy?

All right.

Time to put his metaphorical foot down. Which hurts, since it's already been metaphorically stabbed.

"Enough. We've got no time for your shenanigans, not this time. I know you'll eat anything I cook for you and I also know you're severely unwilling to give up those clothes," says Syntax firmly, gesturing to your pajamas. You clutch them protectively, but the look in your eyes suggests a more insulted mindset. Syntax allows himself a soft, warm smile and extends his hand. The one with your phone in it.

"Let me take care of you."

Your eyes are pretty, yes, but also milky with the flu as they slide down to consider his offer.

He waits.

You suck on your lower lip with indecision, and his eyes flick down before darting back up. Then, after you let out a small sigh, two arms are extended, one taking the phone. "Fine."

"You are tired," Syntax murmurs. You merely dip your head down.

He wastes not another moment. Bending over, Syntax slips one arm under your legs and the other under your arms. You're suddenly lifted into the air, and the weightless feel of it has you clutching the front of Syntax's shirt, eyes going wide. Upon hearing your sharp intake of breath, Syntax glances down at you with a concerned frown.

"Ah . . . you're not going to be sick, are you?"

Lips pressed tightly together, you shake your head. Without a word, you let your head thump lightly against the spider demon's collarbone, but your fingers stay curled around the fistful of shirt you've collected.

Syntax allows himself to feel relieved. Vomit is not a suitable addition to his attire.

Besides, it stinks.

He adjusts his hold on you before heading out, thinking of the many possibilities for lunch. Casserole? Perhaps something easier on your stomach.

Toast.

Oh stars, toast was literally Syntax's go-to for everything before he met you.

That, and granola bars. And junk food.

He sets you on the couch carefully, head swiveling around in search of the TV remote. But when you jerk uncomfortable, a hand shooting under your leg, Syntax looks down to find you whipping the remote out from underneath you.

You're squinting at him, as though you think he'd done that on purpose. Syntax merely holds his hands up in surrender.

"I didn't."

Shrugging in response, you turn the TV on.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. You seem content to keep quiet. "I'll make you some toast, yes?"

Another shrug.

"Is there something wrong?"

His eyes snap south to find you holding up a finger. Your face is scrunched up yet again, and Syntax can do absolutely nothing to stop the smile that spawns on his features as your head is thrown forwards in another sneeze.

He chuckles, materializing a hankie. Well, not really. His pocket.

"Here. That was a big one, wasn't it?"

You give him the evil eye, snatching the handkerchief. "'M not talking to you."

"You just did."

"Starting now, asshole."

"Stars, (Y/N), you're sick. Can't you spare the effort to add insults?" Syntax asks exasperatedly, taking the hankie back after you blow. Ergh . . . he'll have to wash that.

You merely glare at him and jut a thumb to the kitchen. "Toast."

Eyes narrowing, Syntax meets your gaze. Perhaps he should just blame the flu and not subject you to anything.

"F i n e."

And to think he felt bad for you.

No, no, this is going to be a nightmare. Maybe.

[ramen8baka]

Kakashi X reader headcanons!

summary: kakashi takes care of you wile you’re sick ;-;

﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊

• He seems like a serious guy but in this scenario I think he’d actually be pretty confused

•but that doesn’t mean he won’t try his best to take care of you

•making soup or something warm to sooth your throat

“I don’t feel hungry, ‘kashi”

“baby you still have to eat something.” He shoved the spoon of soup in your mouth. “mffm! mmf!”

“trust me, y/n this isn’t fun for me either but I want you to feel better. I’m only doing this because I love you.” This earned an eye roll from you.

•still cuddling because he wants to help you feel comfortable and safe

“but won’t I get you sick?” “nope, i’ll be fine. Besides we haven’t cuddled in awhile.”

•checking your temperature 24/7

•staying up until you fall asleep. Which doesn’t take very long

•he only gets the good flavored medicine for you (if that isn’t a great boyfriend I don’t know what is)

“Thank you for taking care of me.” “of course y/n. I have to look after my princess.”

[inkskinned]

please i love you i'm begging you bring back suspension of disbelief bring back trusting the audience like. i cannot handle any more dialogue that sounds like a legal document. "hello, i am here to talk to you about the incident from a few minutes ago, because i feel you might be unwell, and i am invested in your personal wellbeing." "thank you, i am unwell because the incident was hurtful to me due to my childhood, which was bad." I CANT!!!!

do you know how many people are mad that authors use "growled" as a word for "said"? it's just poetics! they do not literally mean "growled," it's just a common replacement for "said with force but in a low tone." it's normal! do you hear me!! help me i love you please let me out of here!!!

[bi-writes]

ok ok how about mute?ghost who you aren't sure if he's actually mute or if he just chooses not to say anything. you hear a different answer from everyone you ask. (18+)

ever since mexico, wouldn't say a fucking word.

nah, mate, he's been zipped shut since he enlisted.

heard it was a mad accident.

what you mean? heard him telling off privates not even a year ago!

well, since you're a certified yapper, and ghost can't (won't) tell you to shut up, you make him your living diary. whenever you see him around, you sit next to him, stop by his office, hop up onto his desk and talk to him. you tell him about your day, about the recruits that bother you the most, about the meals in the mess hall being worse on saturdays than on mondays (fuck, you'd think the weekend would put some pep in their step, no?).

but gosh, when ghost finally had you seated in his lap with your pants around one ankle, you really weren't expecting to hear him.

pussy-drunk, tongue out, hands gripping your ass as he listens to the wet smack of your thighs against his, and that's all it takes for him to let out the filthiest groan you've ever heard, enough to make you spiral, see red-hot stars, to shake and cry until you're cumming and babbling and even more incoherent.

when they talk about ghost, you still keep your mouth shut. you're still not sure if he talks, fuck if i know, is what you say.

but if you suck his cock just right, you're certain he's singing.

[starsofang]

Simon didn’t like to hold you. He liked to be held.

At first, you didn’t understand why he’d turn his back to you in bed without saying anything. You thought you’d done something to him, or maybe he was in a bad mood. You couldn’t be any more wrong.

Simon Riley, an absolute brute of a soldier, was silently asking for you to be the big spoon. You nearly didn’t believe it when he finally brought it to your attention.

He was too embarrassed to ask you, so he’d resort to flipping on to his side and wait. And wait. Until he realized you didn’t catch the memo, even after many hopeless attempts.

In his mind, he thought being the big spoon would somehow convince you he wasn’t manly enough, as if his title in the service or his pure stature wasn’t proof enough of his masculinity.

To him, being held was a blanket of security. Where he’d always have to watch his back out on the field, both literally and metaphorically, he didn’t have to keep an eye out at all times with you. It was a chance for him to find solace in a person, and when he explained this to you, he was surprised to find you so willing.

And oh, when it happened, Simon nearly kicked himself for holding back on verbalizing it for so long.

The warmth of your arms when they wrapped around him from behind, your face buried between his shoulder blades, legs tangled in his, he thought that this was what inner peace felt like.

He was silly to think you’d ever be the one to judge him for what most deemed ‘unmasculine’. In all of his broad glory, he felt safe the moment you held him, like a child does when they feel a mother’s embrace except it was from someone he loved dearest to his heart.

And you? You found that being the big spoon was rather enjoyable when the man you’re holding was so damn comfortable to snuggle up to. It was a win-win for you both.

You just wished he wasn’t an idiot that left you wondering all those hopeless nights until the truth came out.

[makismei]

he hums, smiling down at you from between his legs, both of yours separated by his body.

nanami shakes the vibrator back and forth, watching your legs tense and your back arch dramatically.

“that was a strong one, love.” he comments, not letting up and pressing the wand harder on your clit. “can you give me another?”

you shake your head, trying to sit up on your forearms and scooting away. “c—can’t, ken—mmm—noooo!”

he pulls you toward him again, pressing the vibrator harder against you. “be good for me baby, don’t run.”

keen eyes watch your cunt drool pearly slick, your back arched up as you cried his name, shaking your head.

nanami gives your clit a break, briefly. “you have a safe word baby,” he reminds gently, “do you want to stop?”

your hips twitch, before you shake your head, “i’m okay—mmhmm, aahhh!”

he slips two fingers inside, hooking them expertly against your spot. so wet, licking his lips, cock jumping in his briefs, nanami is so enticed by your entire being. the scent of sex is heavy in the air, but both of you can’t find it in you to care when it feels this good.

“ken,” you whine, hand trying to pry his hand from your gushing cunt. “please, i want your cock noooow—wait! i’m cumming, fuck!”

he hums, pulling his fingers out to rub your clit, cum spraying everywhere. he lightly slaps your pussy, smiling at how your hips jump. “let me play with you a little more, okay love?”

[unceeled]

gojo satoru has you all covered. they were not joking when they said that this man would serve and protect because not a single thing touches you, ever. and gojo satoru is proud of that, that's what he's good at: being your personal shield.

and yet, even if he were to extend his infinity to you at every hour of the day, the one thing gojo satoru could not protect you from is getting sick.

then and there, the strongest one forgets how to act. this was not something he could fight off, something he could exorcise. no. but he felt helpless watching you squirm and curl up into a ball, sneezing and coughing on your bed.

he'd do everything in his power to take care of you, of course. but it was fidgety, at best. he never got sick growing up; he wasn't aware of the procedures of this all. so... he googled.

what else was he meant to do? you refused to eat, you were coughing up something, you were shivering, your temperature extremely high, and more things he truly did not want to think that you were going through. still, it was those same things that found their way to the google search bar as gojo satoru looked desperately for anything that could make your shivering figure feel better.

comfort was the last thing he got from his trip to the internet, however. the text on his screen informed him of the demise you'd supposedly face at this rate. you were gonna get worse and he was gonna lose the light of his life... is how he understood the search result.

after spending the whole afternoon napping, you finally stir awake feeling a cool towel on your head and something dripping on your hand. you blink the sleep away for a few more moments, eyes finally focusing on the sniffling figure holding your hand.

"toru, what's going on?" you squeeze his hand back lightly. you hear an almost theatrical gasp matched with widened blue eyes and immediately become engulfed in big bulky arms.

"i thought i was gonna lose you." he sniffs, nuzzling his face in your neck. you're left puzzled but return the hug nonetheless. "what made you think that?" satoru pulls away and examines your face. "baby, it felt like you were dying on me," he exclaims, still cupping your face.

"toru, it was probably just the flu-" you are interrupted by a cough that erupts from your throat.

"see! this is what google said would happen!"

"google? satoru gojo, you consulted google? and that's why you were crying?"

"next time i'll just exorcise every germ in this world."

"if you say so, baby"

[satoruxx]

boyfriend toji asks you to workout with him all the time, but not in the way you’re thinking. you’re his incentive, a little prize for working so hard.

so of course he cages you underneath him as he does push ups, claiming a victory kiss each time he lowers himself to the ground. honestly the way you laugh and giggle is far more satisfying than the actual workout part of it, his lips quirking into a half smile each time he pushes back up.

“you’re so lame,” you laugh, patting his flexing bicep and he rolls his eyes.

“what’s wrong with havin’ a prize? i’m workin’ so hard,” he stresses the last word with an over exaggerated sigh.

“yeah right like this isn’t the easiest possible thing for you—”

a heavy kiss—his favorite way of shutting you up. he pulls back, expression going smug at your dazed reaction.

“you sure do talk a lot for someone who’s enjoying it.” he quips.

and you do enjoy it—honestly you’d take any excuse to steal affection from the hulking wolf of a man that is your boyfriend, especially when he’s always so willing to give it.

some days he’ll switch it up and ask you to get on his back as he does his push ups, because god knows he’s strong and he can handle you so easily.

and he likes the way you loop your arms around his neck, likes the way you squeal as he playfully tries to bite your fingers when they get too close to his face.

“i think i’ll just stay up here,” you comment from atop his back, and toji can hear your smile.

“oh yeah?” he grunts as he lowers himself to the ground.

“mhm.” your fingers drum over his back. “you look pretty good like this. i can boss you around and everything.”

“hah—” an evil smirk, even as sweat drips down his temple. “watch your mouth, kid. don’t push your luck.”

you laugh, he grins. somehow you just make the whole process that much more fun for him.

toji is selfish too. bad enough that he has you trapped either under him or on top of him as he does push ups for as long as he can. but once he’s done and you’re about to go do your own work he’s grabbing your wrist with that trademark smirk going, “hey i’m not done yet.”

and then you find yourself holding his feet down as he casually does sit ups, and of course each time he makes it back up he’s kissing you. you giggle each time, leaning your weight onto your palms to keep his legs steady as you peak over his knees. the sound tickles his ears—infectious.

“aren’t you tired yet?” you call out, tilting your head with a teasing smile. toji pulls himself up, abs flexing as his bulky arms stay put behind his head.

“tired?” he scoffs, lips brushing over yours. he pulls back just slightly, hooded eyes boring into yours. “i got my energy right here.”

he’s ridiculous. selfish and utterly ridiculous. it comes to a point where he refuses to do his exercises if you’re not there, claiming that “it’s no fun workin’ hard if there’s nothin’ to work hard for.”

but obviously half of the time he ends up forgetting about the workout anyway, grabbing at your waist to pull you into his lap as he presses his mouth to yours eagerly—one little prize already managing to distract him.

for someone so strong, toji can be embarrassingly weak when it comes to you.

oh well, no harm done. he knows he can get his exercise in a different way—and you have no problem with that either.

[sanatomis]

cw. none except satoru being disgustingly cute (part 2)

satoru isn’t used to people calling him anything other than his surname. gojo-san to most, gojo-sensei to others. it’s simple, and gets the job done.

only a handful of people stick to calling him by his given name. to them, he’s satoru. it’s easy, and rolls of the tongue, and he greatly prefers it over the sound of his surname. it makes him feel like an actual person.

satoru never entertained the possibility of being called anything else other than those two names. he didn’t think it would ever happen.

for once, he was glad to be proven wrong.

“tough day, pretty?” you ask gently, and he sighs with a nod as he throws himself into your opened arms. his body moulds easily into yours, and he lets out a heavy groan as he settles onto the couch with you. the groan is loud, and over-exaggerated.

it’s so satoru.

you have to stifle a giggle.

“everything went horribly wrong,” he grumbles, his voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “the higher ups were up my ass again, my students laughed at me again, and when i finally made it to that bakery you liked they were out of your favourite pastries so i couldn’t get them for you—again!”

“oh, my poor baby,” you coo, and gently push his bangs out of his face. he nods in agreement, faking an immense amount of sympathy for himself. “‘s okay, at least you tried, hm? i think that’s very sweet.”

satoru hums, as if he’s deeply thinking about your words. “’m still your baby?” he mumbles, deciding that’s the most important thing right now. his eyes briefly flutter shut, consumed by utter bliss as you play with the hairs on his undercut.

“mhm, still my baby.”

“yeah? what else am i?”

this time you do giggle. he does this sometimes. you aren’t exactly sure why—but on tough days, satoru likes to crawl into your arms and listen to you call him every cheesy nickname under the sun. it’s easily providable and makes him so very happy, so you always indulge him.

“my honey bun.”

“and?”

“my boo bear.”

“mhm.”

“my sweetheart.”

“yes?”

you laugh softly. “my mochi,” you coo, and pinch his cheek. it’s a little squished because he’s laying on your chest, but it emphasises your point.

he grins under your touch. it’s adorable.

“keep them coming, please?” he asks, and you do. you always do, unable to refuse him. especially when he asks so sweetly.

“my sugar cookie.”

“my muffin.”

“my baby cakes.”

“my angel.”

“my love.”

“my husband.”

“h—huh?” satoru stammers, looking up from your chest. he lays his chin on your sternum, baby blue eyes blinking up at you. they’re filled with awe, surprise, and utter glee. “that’s, i’m not. . .”

“just testing the title, baby,” you tell him, and continue playing with his hair. he bathes in your touch and you smile softly as he grabs and kisses the palm of your hand. “what do you think, hm?”

“i think you should call me it again.”

“oh?”

“mhm,” he mumbles.

“my dearest husband.”

“again.”

“my handsome husband.”

“again.”

“my sweet husband.”

“again, please?”

you hum, impressed. “my well-mannered husband.”

satoru chuckles, and lays back down on your chest. his white hair tickles against your skin, and he sighs in content.

“i think i want to be your husband for real.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he mumbles and nuzzles further into your hold. “y’ve got the same ring size still, right?”

“i sure do,” you say, a content smile on your lips as you watch him slowly doze off to sleep.

“hm, good to know.”

for satoru, those nicknames make him feel as if he’s something even greater than a person—it makes him feel yours.

he’s not just gojo, the strongest. he’s not just satoru, the at-times somewhat immature adult with the sweet tooth of a child.

he’s yours. your baby. your honey bun. your boo bear. your mochi. your boyfriend. your love. and for satoru, there’s no greater thing in the world than that.

[thehauntedetheral]

Yan Tribe X Reader

Requests are open!

• You were a camera woman for discovery channel. You loved your job. After all you get to travel world with your crew, see and explore the most interesting wonders, and get paid to shoot all of that in camera. What more can you ask for? Yeah your love life sucked because you were never at a one place for long. But who cares? You have your camera and your passion.

• Your crew has been assigned to shoot a new show by channel which is showing and telling people about the tribal life and community of an x forest. You were excited.

• You shooted and captured all the things about the tribal community. The people were friendly once they warmed up to your team. They showed and told you everything about their community, about forest, their lifestyle through a member of yours who knew their language and translated everything.

• You got to know about many tribal traditions, rituals, festive, their beliefs, their worships, hunting, farming style but what caught your attention was a certain tall, muscular young tribe man.

• He would always be with your crew even if he is not needed. You were shooting a particular episode on the womens in tribe? He was still there silently just observing you all especially you in a way you didn't notice.

• Your crew tried fishing for some fun in break time. And as usual your clumsy self would trip and ruin everything embarassing yourself. He would later leave a basket full of fish for you silently.

• You noticed that he was kinda good looking. Okay not kinda but a lot good looking with his huge built, dark black tribal tattoos covering his tan arms and chest, his sharp bone jewellery giving all Tarzan vibes with his long black hair tied in half bun that many women in community wished to be his mate. Also because he was a excellent hunter.

• You once told someone in community casually that you wished to taste raw natural honey from honeycombs like other tribals but were scared due to honeybees and he heard it. Well next day he gives you a huge piece of honeycomb anonymously ,freshly teared by him even though it caused him serval stinks from honey bee because this was not the season to collect honey but he would do anything for you.

• Their community had a practice where once in a year men would wear their best dresses, jewellery trying to impress womens and get their attention. This was a special episode that you weren't shooting but the other cameraman was doing because you were on the other side of forest with a few crew members shooting some shots of forest for another episode as your time of departure were close and you have to finish your work fast.

• You finished your shots. And walked a bit around the forest a little more to explore while your fellow mates moved back to see the celebration.

• You saw yan tribe sitting all alone under a tree. You felt sad seeing him all alone like this instead of being in the celebration with others. Well might be the women whose attention he is trying to grab chose someone else in competition you thought.

You tried to console him by speaking in your broken fluency in their tribe language which you have learned by staying with them for months. You were scared that you might have said something offensive to him unconsciously due to the language barrier because his expressions didn't change but became serious.

He only looked up at you and held your hand in his and said "MATE". You knew your speaking and listening skills towards his language were below average but you were 101% sure what mate word that he said means. And that scared you to dead because seeing his big strong hand holding your fragile one tightly made it clear that he is not going to let you leave at any cost.

Want part 2? Let me know through comments.

Requests are open!

For more yandere reading:

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Hey lovely,

Back again from stalking your fics, and I wanna leave the paring up to you. Either wandanat xx or maybe platonic Larissa x r ?

But basically r is really sick, and that makes them clingy as hell. But they feel embarrassed and the pairing you choose, doesn’t know what to do but just babies them which results in r either calling larissa momma or if it’s wandanat confessing there love

~🕯️

A home in your heart

Pairings: Weems x R (platonic)

Word count: 1.8K

Summary: you get sick and yoko goes to fetch you some help.

TW: flu symptoms, fever, body aches, headache,

A/n this reminds me I need to renew my CPR qualifications lol (I think they expired already).

Waking up feeling awful wasn’t how you wanted to start your day off. Yoko had already left for classes based off the fact her bed was disheveled and empty. Her Pjs were on the floor, and she was nowhere in sight.

Rolling onto your side you heaved a groan at the aching pain in your muscles. There was no way you were making it to classes today. Your nose was running, your muscles aching and your head pounding. You were undeniably sick and defiantly miserable.

Pulling the blanket up over your eyes and wriggling further into the sheets you thanked whatever higher power listening that yoko hadn’t opened the windows today in her rush to leave. You peaked out of the sheets and through your blurry and squinted vision you were able to make out the time on the clock by your bed. Nine thirty, even if you were going to class today you were already running very late. Well, that settled that decision. You wriggled back into your cocoon and tried to fall asleep again.

The pervasive tiredness in your body made it rather easy. In no time at all you were fast asleep again, a thin sheen of sweat starting to form on your skin. Your hair was growing damp, and the sheets were making things worse. Still asleep you managed to flail around enough to toss the bedding to the floor and curl up into a ball. Your fever only worsening. You wanted someone to come save you from it all, but the idea of anyone seeing you like this was awful.

Your friends were great but more than anything you wanted an adult who cared. You missed the mothering you had used to receive at home when sick and now you missed it even more. The acts of kindness amidst the sickness always made you feel loved when you were most vulnerable. You turned over and cried into your pillow, dampening the sobs into the sheets. You were sick, lonely, vulnerable and embarrassed but most of all, you were sad.

When the seat next to yoko in her first two classes remained empty she began to grow more and more worried about her roommate. Sure, you were sleeping when she left but she had assumed you would still get up for classes on time. Looking at the clock again she only had a few minutes left of class and there was no sign of you. She made a decision; she would go to your dorm between classes and see if you were ok. If you were, she would drag you out of bed herself. If you weren’t well… she’d figure it out. She had a test in outcast history after lunch so if you were unwell she would defer your care to a teacher.

The end of class sounded as her classmates packed up and stood, she was quick to follow. Grabbing her stuff and hightailing it out of there she would need to be fast if she wanted to make it to her next class without being late.

She flew up the steps and through the halls until she reached her dorm. Opening the door, she first noticed it was still dark with the windows drawn. Surely you weren’t still asleep… right? Walking over to your bed she pulled off her sunglasses to get a better picture of what was going on. You were curled into a ball shivering slightly.

The young vampire frowned and rolled you onto your back. You were freakishly pale and sweaty. Yoko laid the back of her hand against your d forehead and sucked a breath between her fangs. You were far too hot for a human or just about any outcast. Even with her abnormally cold body temperature, vampire perks i guess, you were far warmer than she had ever felt you to be. Warmer than enid even and she ran at a wolfs temperature which was quite warm.

Yoko checked the clock and looked back at you again before moving to leave when a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Turning and looking back at the bed you looked up at her with half lidded eyes and a sad little watery frown that bordered on a pout.

“Stay.” You said in a gravely and hoarse voice.

“Shh babes I’m going to get you some real help.” Yoko said prying your clammy fingers from her wrist and setting your hand back down on the bed with a brief pat.

She whispered some more reassurances and encouraged you to go back to sleep for a bit before your eyes shut again and she slipped out.

Principal weems office wasn’t far and she would surely know who was spare to help. Rounding the corner, she knocked twice on the wood and waited for the invite to enter. Despite whatever corny myths about vampires not being able to enter without permission, she still waited for the invite. Not due to some obscene biological imperative but more because her mother had raised her right and to be polite.

The door opened and principal weems stood with one brow raised as she looked down at the vampire.

“Ms Tanaka what are you doing out of class?” She asked.

“Firstly, i need to know if any of the staff is available for the day, Y/n is sick, and I have a test i can't miss and she needs someone to stay with her. And second i kind of need a note in order to not get yelled at when I go back to class.” Yoko said and adjusted the sunglasses on her face with her thumb.

“Right well come in and i can write you that note. Meanwhile i have some time today off and i assume i can look after her myself. Most of the staff is in classes right now anyway and the nurse went to do refresher course on CPR to keep her qualifications up to date.” Weems said stepping aside and motioning for Yoko to follow.

Weems crossed the office and reached into her draw, pulling out a small purple notepad and pen she quickly wrote a note and tore it off to hand to yoko.

“You best return to class now and i will go check on Ms L/n.” Weems said before grabbing a first aid kit off the shelf in her office and moving to follow yoko outside.

The two said goodbye and yoko headed to class while the principal made haste to get to your dorm.

She knocked twice before deciding to enter. The room was still dark, but she could make out your form on the bed. Coming over she sat beside you and brushed the hair from your face. Your eyes cracked open, and you looked up at her through the haze of your fevered mind, eyes glossy and barely lucid.

“Hello darling.” Larissa said softly. “How are you feeling Y/n?” She asked and you let out a small whine.

“Everything hurts.” You whimpered and weems clicked her tongue and laid the back of her hand against your cheek before moving to feel your forehead.

“You're a bit warm darling. How about we check you for a fever?” She asked softly and moved to get the thermometer from the first aid kit. She pulled out the small stick and turned it on with a beep. She tapped your cheek with her thumb.

“Open.” She instructed and she carefully put it under your tongue, moving and closing your mouth by shutting your jaw with her finger on the underside of your chin.

“Now what else hurts sweetie?” She asked softly.

“My head.” It was hard to talk around the thermometer, but you managed, “And my whole-body aches.” You whispered not trusting your voice to talk normally.

“Alright once we have a temperature back on that thermometer, well get some medicine into you and then it’s time for another nap darling.” She spoke with nothing but care and concern in her tone.

At that moment the sick beeped and she gently took it from your lips and let out a discontent hum of concern.

“A little high sweetheart.” She said looking at the reading. “101.7 isn’t great now, is it?” She asked and you let out a sad hum of agreement and snuggled closer into her side.

The principal was mildly surprised at how affectionate you were being due to your usually stoic and slightly reserved nature. She ruffled your hair softly and smiled down at where you were resting your head on her arm.

“You're really not feeling good are you honey?” She asked and you let out a sad noise of genuine pain. “Alright, alright. Let’s get to work on making you feel a bit better, ok?” She asked and you nodded tersely. “Alright.” She chuckled.

Pulling out two paracetamol which were both fever reducers and pain killers she grabbed the waterbottle from your bedside smiling at the stickers on it. You had a ‘I <3 art’ sticker and a ‘support small artists’ sticker that she found particularly cute along with you own little paintings on the metal bottle. She also took note of the small Marvel stickers of wanda and Natasha.

She screwed off the lid and tenderly guided you by a hand on the back of your head to drink some water before giving you the medicine which you took without debate.

After that she rooted around in the first aid kit and found a stick-on fever patch. She broke it open and activated it before sticking it on your sweaty forehead. You let out a soft discontent mewl which bordered on a whine and larissa shushed you.

“Hush now darling this will help you feel a bit better, ok?” She asked and guided you back into the pillows. You curled up around her, now lying down on your bed properly and out a soft yes.

“Good. Now get some sleep. I’ll be right here doing some work ok?” She asked and thanked the gods she had the foresight to bring her laptop. She might have lied about it being her day off, but her students always came first. The board would just have to wait another day for that annual income, earnings and tax report for the end of financial year. She rested herself up against the headboard of the bed and you curled into her lap resting your head on the expanse of her thigh.

“G’night mama.” You said with a yawn and Larissa’s heart melted. You were so soft and innocent in that moment she never wanted it to end.

“Goodnight darling.” She drawled and stroked a hand through your hair as you fell asleep. Work could wait another few minutes, right now she just wanted to absorb the moment. After all she may never be a mother, but her students were giving her more than enough experience and emotions, that they might as well be her kids. And it was moments like these she remembered why she did it all. For the students who needed a home because they would always find one in her heart.

MASTERLIST

[daetrng]

let’s meet again, yoo joonghyuk.

[obsesssedblerd]

thinking about gojo asking nanami, "hey, how was your trip?" and nanami just softly smiles as he has flashbacks of fucking you, his beautiful wife, on every surface of the lovely hotel you stayed in while visiting malaysia together. then he'll just nod and say it was a much-needed trip. he definitely thinks he got you pregnant.

[skyrigel]

Simon had him and you all convinced that it was just sex and nothing more.

“No attachment.” He always said, everytime — sometimes so hurried and forgotten that it's just mumbled against your mouth before he's shoving his tongue down your throat.

Sometimes with so much urgency that it's lost between your moans, no attachment, babe, no attachment. And you believed him because it was really just sex, wasn't it ? There were no pretty dates and no fancy dinner at ritz, maybe those poorly wrapped ones he pretended he had not ordered and takeouts he brought along...but oh please, no attachments!

But maybe sometimes about those walks in the city where he would not so subtly grasp your hand, and you would catch him stealing glances at you while a teenager fiddled with his guitar, rhyming she came, my world lit with narcotic, I am addict.

No attachment but Simon's standing outside your workspace when it's raining —“I thought you might need it.” holding up the umbrella but those two words were there again when you were knew deep in the passanger seat and he was eating you out... because it was casual, right ? No attachment.

And it really didn't burn and ached until you got sick, real sick — puking your guts out and coughing until your ribs gave up, surely he wasn't the best role model of no attachment when he was panting to death as he picked your unconscious frame from the floor, you still remember the faint whisper of his ‘please don't leave me, please, please don't —’ over and over.

And if he wanted for no attachment then he should be gone. Gone and not come back because it was just sex...

Simon shouldn't be mopping the floor, and stirring your soup and touching your forehead every five minutes.

No attachment then why he's loading your grocery and taking out trash and doing your laundry, why he's wiping your tears and telling you it's going to be alright.

Why he's not leaving like he always did because there were no attachment right, but he's right here, tucking you in bed and washing your hair and reading you book.

“Is it some eccentric joke ? Why this Zaid is always growling ?—also when you get alright... we're gonna try it out, lovie.”

You blushed, but it wasn't just what he was suggesting but that word, it felt good.

“S-say it again.” You whispered, shifting your head in pillow. Simon turned back a page he was reading from, your scrunchie on his wrist.

“Zaid growled—” You screwed your face,“—oh, we'll try it—”

“last word. Your last word.”

“Oh.” He said, “Lovie...you don't like it ?”

You shaked your head, sniffing very unsexy-ly

“Call me that...I love it.” Simon pushed up the book up his face, his neck was pulsing with his many veins and you knew the blush that would be blooming on his hard face. Cute.

“Again.” You tilted your head, to get a look at his flushed out face.

“Okay Lovie...sleep now.” He grumbled, flicking your bedside lamp off and bookmarking the book with one of your scrunchie he removed from his wrist.

“Huh...Good night baby.” You said, waiting to be corrected, waiting for those two words to come and upside down it all.

But they never came, like they never even existed, never had a meaning to them at all.

No attachment, lost forever in darkness.

“G'night lovie.” He said so sweetly, and when you closed your eyes this time, you only saw daylight.

Grim Reaper! Simon

Masterlist