CiCi Sama

A̻͚͠s̠͟o̠͚͖̣̕ci ̠̦̝̟a̸l̸ ̶C̪̫̫̲̮̥r͓̦̺̰e ̱̘͈̙̥̦̦́e̫͡ p͉̩̙̫

Age 26
Female
Souichi's Haunted Mansion
Seen 1 Hour Ago
Posted 1 Day Ago
130 posts
44 Days
Junji Itou's character, given new life by an assortment of cringetastic x Reader fanfiction.

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Souichi Tsuji is a young boy who enjoys normal boy things: pranks, goofing off, cartoons, and the occult. An outcast, he has no friends and often curses those who get on his bad side. While most don't take him seriously, he sometimes shows that he truly has supernatural powers.


Sick

(Souichi x Reader)!Kids
Rated: PG (Mild language)

It isn’t odd that Souichi hadn’t shown up to school that day. What is odd is that he hadn’t called you before skipping. You’re on your way to his house with the schoolwork your teacher’d forced into your hands and a growing sense of irritation. He’s the only reason you even went to school any more — and vice versa. You’re prepared to give him hell when you get there.

It only takes you about half an hour to reach his house. The modest home’s lawn is freshly cut and ready for winter and small ornaments line the clean walkway. You knock on the front door and a few moments later, Mrs. Tsuji answers. Her face is as lined and tired as ever.

“Afternoon, dear,” she says with a smile.
“Afternoon, ma’am.”
She notes the schoolwork under your arm. “Souichi’s not feeling so well right now. I can give him that schoolwork instead if you—”
“No thanks, that’s not necessary, I’ll take it up to him.”
“Then if it’s not too much trouble, can you please take him his food and medicine?”

You agree and soon you’re on your way upstairs to his room with a tray of food and the schoolwork (that will probably go unfinished). At his door, you hold the tray in one hand and use the other to knock.

“Go away.” His voice is nasally and stuffy.
“It’s me,” you reply.
“Come in.”

You laugh through your nose at his change of heart, then slide the door open and walk in, closing it behind you. It’s so dark in his room that you’re not quite sure what he’s doing. Souichi’s in the middle of his room on the floor, surrounded by unlit candles. He has a box of matches and is in the process of lighting one. When he strikes the match, the light allows you to see a ring of salt around him as well.

You repress a sigh but couldn’t stop the exasperation from coming through in your voice. “What’re you doing?”
“Trying to get the demons out.”
“What are you talking about?”
He lit one of the candles, shook out the match, and used the candle to start lighting the others. “I feel like muk.”
“You probably have a cold,” you reply.

You put his food tray beside his bed and walk up to him. He went into a coughing fit, determined to light the candles through his violent motions.

“I don’t get sick—” he coughs more, his chest congested. “—it’s clearly the work of the supernatural.”
“You should be in bed resting.” There is a box of tissues on his desk so you grab one and give it to him, letting him hack into it. You take the candle from him and blow them all out. “And is this seriously a line of salt?”
“It was the best I could do, okay? Barely made it down the stairs…”

When he tosses the tissue aside, you grab his arm and lead him to his feet. He stumbles but you’ve got a good hold as you lead him to his bed. No protests erupt from him — he really must be sick if he can’t find the energy to fight you tooth and nail. You gingerly put him to bed and he finally groans his objection.

“Don’t need’a go to sleep…”
“Then eat instead.”

You retrieve his soup, water, and medicine. Souichi’s face scrunches at the sight of the neon-colored fluid.

“I was having better luck with the salt circle,” he says, getting up.
Your hand on his shoulder leads him back down. You say, “c'mon, you wanna get better, right? Weren't we supposed to call on Souji and Grandma Sachi for the holidays? How are we going to do that if you're sick?”

He sighs — well, sort of. It starts as a sigh and ends as a coughing fit. When he finishes, he slowly reaches over and picks up the small cup of medicine, then downs it in one go. Souichi squeezes his eyes shut and sticks out his tongue, lips curled back, making a big show of how much he hated it.

“Yeah, yeah,” you dismiss. “Just drink your water.”

He does so, drinking a bit before putting it back and moving onto the soup. You wait patiently for him — this wasn’t exactly what you’d been expecting coming up here. You were thinking you’d do more yelling, but this isn’t one of his fake illnesses. This one is real. And bad.

He doesn't finish all of his soup, maybe half by the time he puts it away. While he blows his nose, you gather up some things to take downstairs before you leave. Namely, you take the candles and the container of leftover salt, alongside his dishes.

You say, “Guess I'll let you sleep. Hope you feel better soon.”

Just as you're walking out, you hear Souichi try to call “wait”, but his voice is coated with phlegm. He coughs, clears his clogged throat, and tries again.

“Wait, don't leave yet. Come over here and cuddle with me.”
“Are you delusional?” You ask plainly. “Is your fever getting to your head?”
“How cruel,” Souichi pouts, leaning back against his pillow with arms crossed. “I just want to cuddle, is that so much to ask? And to think I helped you with your math homework last week…”
“Souichi, you stole the answers from Wakayama and then tried to get me to copy them. I still got a D on my test today, you know.”
“Ungrateful…”

You want to slap him, but he looks pitiable covered in sweat, eyes leaking, nose reddened from tissue abuse. Putting the tray with everything on it atop his desk, you go back to his bed. He makes room for you to lay beside him, smiling at you; cutely innocent (what a laugh) and dorky. With a playful roll of your eyes, you get in, laying over the covers. He throws an arm across your shoulders and snuggles up to you. His breathing is thick and he’s sweaty.

You watch him for a minute or two, his eyes closed, smile fading as he began falling asleep. You wish that you would've picked a more comfortable position on the bed. Seems a shame to wake him. Even knowing that you were going to wind up getting sick now, too, you find it worth the warm, affectionate scene before you. When are you going to finally tell him that you think he’s cute?

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