“It’s Just a Virus”
*Sick Vox x Reader
| Fem Reader |
Summary — You’re sick husband decided to attend business meetings all day. Too bad for him, you reluctantly drag him back to rest.
After a few years after your death, you started to understand Hell. The expectations of endless pits, and pitchforks no longer existing.
What you hadn’t expected was how quietly hell could unravel someone. How your husband—one of three most successful overlords in pride to continuously stir restlessness in bed.
Body tense, blue-screen errors, and digital sweat present across his features.
Vox had always thrived on being in control.
And maybe that was why the sight of your husband buffering for a brief moments felt during the night was more alarming than the daily catastrophes hell threw at you.
You had woken up before him, something rare enough to feel significant on its own.
The bed was warm, the sheets still tangled from the night, and yet Vox hadn’t moved to get up immediately. He laid there instead, one hand scraping against his screen, the other clawing at the sheets.
“Vox?” you had muttered, voice lower from sleep,
“I’m fine,” he responded automatically that seemed completely unconvincing as Vox finally sat up. “Big day. Can’t afford to miss anything sweetheart.”
And just like that, he grabbed his ironed colored suit and left you alone in the penthouse. It was quick to catch onto suspicion from how rushed Vox had been to leave for the day. The morning routine seemed too sluggish that was different from his usual showstopper mood.
By the time mid-morning rolled around, the uneasiness hadn’t stopped.
Instead you had been glancing at your phone more times than you’d like to admit, debating whether it was overthinking or not. Vox was stubborn, yes, but he wasn’t careless. If something was truly wrong, he would've told his wife right..?
—
That thought didn't last long.
Grabbing your work clothes from your closet it had been in your best interest to take care of other work related matters while Vox was at his meetings.
Vee-tower was hectic but nothing that was unexpected. In fact you were discussing the newest voxtek employee hub upgrades to an employee of yours before hearing the sound of your voice coming from down the hall.
“Mrs. Whittman!” You turned your head and saw your husband's dear assistant speed walking towards your direction.
“Oh—Ethan! What seems to be the issue?”
“Hello Miss, I have been worried if you are aware Mr. Vox is not feeling well today?”
Your fingers tightened more into your elbows as you crossed your arms huffing in disappointment.
“Huff—I believe he failed to mention this to me.” Your tone turned more sharp, making Ethan respond with rubbing the back of his neck cautiously.
“Ha ha…Um well, Mr. Vox has been buffering with errors all morning.”
“Currently Mr. Vox is with the department executives in a “production meeting.” But if you wish I can clear his schedule for the afternoon?”
You closed your eyes rubbing your temple. Of course he said he was simply “fine”.
Of course Vox—your incredibly stubborn, egotistical husband had decided to drag himself through an entire day of business conferences while sick instead of saying taking the day off.
“Thank you E but I would rather have Vox be home all day until he’s better. I will handle this personally.”
You left the discussion with a swift turn on your heel making your way to the elevator already pressing the button with a soft “ding” waiting to arrive at the next few floors below you.
The VoxTek conference room was polished and filled with the low murmur of department heads pretending they weren’t intimidated by the man at the head of the table.
Vox sat looking stern, tapping one claw against the table, the other resting under his monitor clearly not entertained by the advertisement department head who droned about product numbers.
Though it was visible how his posture was sunken and less controlled. The lag in his reactions. But especially when his usual cutting edge tone was interrupted by multiple error signal messages across his face and crackling static.
Vox cleared his throat with a cold cough before awkwardly continuing, pretending not to notice his own distortion.
You didn’t knock nor hesitate when walking in the conference room, the double doors opened with an intention of gaining attention onto you.
Every department head turned looking at you, soft relief flickered across more than one employee’s face.
Because there was only a small number of individuals (Velvette and Valentino) who could interrupt Vox in a business setting without consequences. But of course you—Vox’s wife definitely had no limitations and often did as you pleased.
“Meeting’s over everyone.” You announced calmly, voice cutting through the room with gentle authority but commanding enough that none of the department heads would have second guessed.
Your husband's head snapped toward you, straightening his posture upon seeing your expression that didn’t need to be said but obviously stated Seriously? You're unbelievable…
“What?” Vox raised his brow with confusion across his features.
“You heard me,” you replied, already crossing the room toward him. “Everyone out.”
For a moment no one moved out of their seats—until Vox coughed again, harsher this time, causing the main projection screen opposite to Vox’s position to burst out with harsh electricity.
Chairs scraped against the floor as sinners left the room to leave their disfigured boss to deal with their other superintendent, which was you.
“Wait—No, we’re not done here,” Vox tried, pushing himself upright, his voice sharper now as he looked around at his employees. “Sit back down. We still have—”
“No, you don’t,” you interrupted, stopping right beside him. You hand rested on his shoulder. Up close, it was even more obvious—you heard the sound of internal fans whirling with soft heat. The faint strain in his expression, “You’re clearly unwell.”
“I’m perfectly fine babe…” he insisted but the delivery came out strained despite his best effort to keep them steady. “It’s just a virus—”
“It’s best you come back home,” response not unkindly, but firmly enough that there was no room for argument.
“There are five more departments that need to present,” Vox countered, his gaze sharpening as he tried to regain control of the situation. “I don’t have time to—”
“Vincent.” You didn’t raise your voice as there was no need to. But something in your tone made him pause.
“You’re going home,” you repeated, harder this time, your thumb brushing faintly against the side of his screen as if grounding him. “Let me take care of the man I married.”
Vox stared at you.
There was resistance clawing at him—the part of himself that refused to step away from his tireless pursuits no matter how sick he was.
But there was something else too.
Gratitude that you were here to push him back.
Reluctantly, he exhaled “…Ugh—Alright,” the words slipping out like it physically pained him to say it.
You didn’t give him time to change his mind.
“Hm, Meeting dismissed.” You added now satisfied, glancing briefly at Ethan who lingered outside the room not long after you interrupted the conversation and tapped away at his device just long enough to offer you a grateful nod before shutting the door behind him.
Vox leaned back slightly, one hand coming up to press against his screen where his noise would be as if the act of holding himself together had finally started to fade away.
“You just shut down my entire schedule,” he said after a second, though the bite in his tone was more subtle now. “Do you have any idea how much that’s going to set me back?”
“I’m aware.”
You leaned down to wrap your arm around one of his own, giving vox your “pleading eyes” he couldn’t argue with. “But I also know how much your system will worsen if you keep pushing yourself like this.”
“…I had it handled,” voice now losing most of its earlier weight.
“You were about one error code away from crashing in front of your entire company. “Very professional.”
That earned you a faint, distorted huff of amusement. “That’s being dramatic,” he murmured, standing up from his place grabbing ahold of your waist.
“That’s being accurate,” you corrected gently.
And then, with a quiet zap of electricity, the two of you were back in your shared bedroom.
—
Vox swayed the second he was home.
You guided him to the bed without a word, pulling back the covers as he sat down, vox continued to remove his shoes and vest, rolling up his sleeves that took more effort than he wanted to admit.
“Lie down,” you instructed softly.
“I don’t need—”
“Vincent…Please?”
Offering a reluctant sigh, he leaned back against the headboard. “…This is unnecessary,” though vox made no attempt of resisting feeling the mattress drip beneath him.
“Mm-hm,” you hummed, brushing a hand across his chest feeling heat, confirming what you already knew. “And you’re definitely not running a fever either, right?”
Vox didn’t respond to that.
Instead, he turned his head slightly toward you, his expression softer now, less guarded. “I would’ve been fine.”
Faintly, Vox’s claws brushing against yours. “Just stay alright? Especially after you pulled that stunt in front of my impractical staff.”
“Fine, but not before I grab you proper medication.”
And for once, Vox didn’t argue when you returned to rest beside him letting the rest of hell deal with his absence.
Authors Note: Whoo! Finally got my motivation back! Inbox should be open if you have any request like this! (Not proof-read. Might go back and change some details later!)
