vomiting bugs

queenbeansthelibrarian  asked:

Makoto with a bad fever and stomach bug that keep him from getting any sleep with Haru rocking and comforting his boyfriend at some obscene hour of the morning, please? This is my first request. I've been trying to build up the nerve to ask such fantastic people to write for me. P.S.- I love your Free! and Voltron fics!

@queenbeansthelibrarian You’re too kind! So glad you sent this in. I’ve been craving a little Free! action so thanks for the inspiration! 

Haruka blinked into the darkness, confusion and drowsiness fogging his sleep-addled mind.

It was two in the morning and he still felt exhausted. So why was he suddenly so awake?

The hairs along the back of his neck prickled with the sensation of Makoto’s warm breath ghosting along his nape. Haruka shivered slightly and felt under the covers for his boyfriend.

Makoto made a small humming noise when Haruka’s fingers stroked up along the ridge of his stomach. He breathed again, a sharp inhale followed by a soft moan.

Mmm…Mako?” Haruka slurred, turning over to face the other boy. He felt the last traces of sleepiness dissipate almost immediately.

Even in the dark, he could see the way Makoto’s brows were furrowed in discomfort, his lips twitching minutely as he struggled through…what? A nightmare? Indigestion? Haruka was at a loss. Whatever was wrong, Makoto was beginning to squirm restlessly in his sleep.

Haruka touched a finger to the side of his face, traced it upwards along the curve of Makoto’s hairline and brushed back a damp mess of bangs. Pressed up against him, Haruka could tell how much his boyfriend was sweating, even through the thin layer of sheet separating their bodies.

For a moment, Makoto seemed to be trying to nuzzle closer, pressing his face into the dip between Haruka’s collarbone, releasing a hitching breath as his limbs writhed awkwardly beneath the covers. Then he abruptly rolled away, swinging his legs clumsily over the side of the bed with a low groan.

“Makoto?” Haruka sat up behind him, arms looping carefully around his boyfriend’s chest and nose pressing against his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Stomach,” Makoto slurred, wrapping one arm around his abdomen; the other reached up to hold onto Haruka’s hand. “Feel weird, Haru.”

“You’re really warm,” Haruka said, free hand stroking soothingly down Makoto’s arm. “Do you want some water?”

Makoto swallowed thickly and shook his head, head bowed low. His shoulders rolled with a convulsive tremor and Haruka could feel the muscles coiling beneath his hand.

“I gotta —“ Makoto paused to swallow again, “— bathroom.”

When Makoto pulled out of his arms, Haruka let him go, watching as Makoto stumbled drunkenly into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

Haruka sat in the dark and waited, uncertain of what to do or how to help.

A few minutes later, he heard the toilet flushing and Makoto emerged, pale and trembling. One arm cradled his stomach and the other was gripping the doorframe like a lifeline.

“You okay?”

Makoto gave a shaky nod and belched into his fist before falling face-first back into bed.

“Makoto?” Haruka leaned over his boyfriend, running his fingers through the sweaty mess of hair plastered against Makoto’s neck.

Makoto shivered and pulled the blankets back up around himself.


The boy hiccuped weakly and buried his head in the pillow.

“Jus’ wanna sleep,” he murmured.

“At least drink something,” Haruka tried.

But Makoto was already sound asleep, congested snores slowly filling the silence.

Haruka lay back and frowned up at the ceiling, drifting in and out of a hazy doze for a while. A violent shudder against his back jerked him into wakefulness.

“Hey,” he whispered, rolling over to reach out for the other boy.

There was a muffled choking noise, the wet, garbled sound of gagging.

“Makoto!” Haruka sprang up in alarm. He went to shake his boyfriend and realized that Makoto was still asleep. His body had apparently gone on autopilot and was determined to expel whatever the hell was making him sick whether he was ready or not.

Something splashed onto the pillow and Haruka quickly heaved the unconscious boy into a sitting position. Makoto moaned, eyelashes fluttering open, then closed again. Instinctively, he raised a hand to his mouth as his upper body jerked with a forceful heave. A flood of warm sick was suddenly spilling from between his fingers, dripping down his arm and onto the sheets.

“Shit,” Haruka cursed under his breath, reaching up to move Makoto’s hand away from his mouth just in time for the next wave to splash into both of their laps.

“Oh, god,” Makoto whimpered, burping up a smaller mouthful. He hovered for a moment, panting raggedly, confused.

“It’s all right,” Haruka soothed, running his hand down Makoto’s back. “You’re okay.”

“Haru,” Makoto whispered, finally registering the cooling mess soaking into his lap. When he looked up at Haruka, his eyes were filling with tears.

“Makoto, it’s okay,” Haruka quickly assured, taking the clean edge of the blanket to wipe some of the vomit from Makoto’s mouth and bare chest. “Come on. Don’t do that.”

“I —I’m sorry,” Makoto stammered, dangerously close to crying. “Haru, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sick,” the other boy said matter-of-factly. “You didn’t mean to.”

“The bed —“

“Can be washed,” Haruka interrupted before the water-works really got started. “Don’t worry about it.”

But Makoto wasn’t paying attention. He sniffled miserably and began balling up the sheets, caught in a frantic litany of, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“Makoto,” Haruka placed a gentle hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Stop.”

“But — but I need to wash them.”

Haruka shook his head, carefully easing the soiled fabric out of Makoto’s hands and away from both of them.

“Later. Right now let’s get cleaned up.”

Makoto stared down at the mattress, reached up to wipe at the tears trailing down his cheeks and nodded sadly. He wouldn’t look at Haru.

Haruka gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and helped Makoto climb out of bed. It was a slow trek to the bathroom with Makoto too dizzy to support most of his considerable weight. He leaned heavily against Haruka, one arm perpetually hugging his stomach.

Once inside, Makoto collapsed to his knees and slumped over the toilet, struggling clumsily with the lid.

“Here,” Haruka helped him set it in place and brushed a few damp strands behind Makoto’s ear to get them out of the line of fire. Not that it really mattered much at this point.

Makoto opened his mouth, panting towards the water as strings of saliva dribbled into the bowl. A deep, guttural belch rolled out of him, followed by a small mouthful of bile.

Haruka rubbed his hand between his boyfriend’s shoulder blades, coaxing up another wet sounding burp.

“You’re all right, Mako,” he shushed. “Don’t fight it.”

“Sorry —” Makoto hiccuped, the noise echoing in the bowl, “—about all this.”

“Stop apologizing.” Haruka tried to keep the agitation out of his voice. “It’s not your fault.”

Makoto convulsed with another belching gag and Haruka heard a much louder splash as he brought up whatever was left in his stomach.

Finished for the moment, Makoto rested his cheek against the rim and Haru rose to retrieve a washcloth. He ran it under warm water and sat down cross-legged behind Makoto.

“Come here,” he coaxed.

Makoto complied, leaning back until his head was resting comfortably against Haruka’s shoulder. His skin was burning, face nearly ashen except for the two flushes of red decorating his cheekbones.

“You’re a mess,” Haruka muttered affectionately as he began cleaning the worst of the drying vomit from his boyfriend’s chest.

“Nuh-uh, sheets are,” Makoto slurred, swallowing thickly. “’S warmer in the dryer.”

“What?” Haruka paused and peered down, concerned.

“Laundry,” Makoto murmured, as if that clarified everything. “It’ll be warm.”

“Are you cold?”

Makoto shook his head, but shivered anyway.

“Everything’s…’s all spinning. Haru?”

Shh,” Haruka ran his fingers through Makoto’s hair, trying to calm him. “You’re running a fever. That’s all.”

“Yeah,” Makoto breathed, nearly unconscious. “Still need to wash ‘em. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about that anymore,” Haruka whispered into his hair. Makoto moaned softly, beginning to fidget against him, cramps gurgling in his stomach.

“Hurts,” Makoto curled harder against him, seeking the warmth.

“I’ve got you,” Haru said, hugging his boyfriend to his chest, rocking him a little, hoping to settle him down. “You’re gonna be all right.”

They stayed that way until Makoto was forced to crawl back over to the toilet so he could throw up more air.

Haruka took the opportunity to retrieve their pillows, settling in for the long haul.

The laundry would simply have to wait.

Cute Sickfic Things

• I’m all for characters at their worst, but can we talk about Character A walking in on Character B wearing their sweater, eyes glassy and nose red

• When the Character B is wearing a hoodie pulled low over their face and hands in sweater paws, wiping their nose pathetically yet so adorably

• Character A walks in with a “Honey, I’m home” only to be greeted by Character B wrapped up like a burrito, blanket trailing forlornly on the floor

• Character B is so cold and feverish, and the loving Character A stays up all night cuddling with them, making herbal tea and giving medicine until they fall asleep

• When Character B is feeling extremely weak and reaches their arms out to Character A to please carry them because they don’t have the strength

• When Character B whines and Character A shoves them away until they realise that Character B never complains unless they’re sick and immediately begins to look after them

• Character B is feverish and can’t sleep, but Character A runs a cool hand through sweaty hair and hums a lullaby until they fall asleep

• Character B is just recovering from the vomiting bug and is so weak so Character A spoon feeds them food and helps them drink water

• Fevers make Character B hyper, so Character A gently traps them on their lap and hushes them until they fall asleep, back pressed to Character A’s chest

• Character A’s wonderfully cool fingers brushing against Character B’s sweaty, hot forehead and them leaning towards the cool hand

• Stubborn Character B finally finishes that essay and Character A wraps them in a blanket and drags them to the couch to care for them


GOTG 2 was awesome. <3 <3 <3

I’m just gonna let my feelings fly. Major spoilery stuff is behind a cut.


Somebody said they headcanon Mantis as autistic.




Baby Groot trying to eat a bug and Rocket being all “what’s in your mouth? Spit it out!” cracked me up. (Groot was so autistic in this movie omg)

Baby Groot puking green stuff was gross and funny. He pukes just like human babies do– with a smile. lmfaoooo!

Drax and his nipples. lmao. (Drax was so autistic in this movie.)


Lots of cute stuff, holy shit. So much cute.

I almost died of cute.




Mantis sensing Drax when he’s missing his daughter and crying, omg. She is such a sweet character. (And totally autistic, suck it NT’s.)

Drax was calling Mantis ugly all through the movie but I think he was trying to mimic the dynamic Quill has when he’s insulting the hell out of Rocket. It’s such a typical example of how an autistic person tries to mimic the nuances of a group and failing and getting treated like crap instead. But Mantis picks up on the truth and appears to recognize that Drax isn’t saying mean things to be mean, he’s trying to be funny. (It just comes off real bad at first.)

DRAX ASKING EGO STRAIGHT UP IF HE HAS A PENIS XD!!! That srsly made me LMAO and so was everyone else in the theater!

…….geez XD……


SHIRTLESS YONDU!!!! (Yes he is blue alllll over.)

Yondu saying he was being funny when he told Quill he was going to eat him.

Yondu calling Groot a twig.


Arrow badassery. So much arrow badassery.

“I don’t fly it with my head, I fly it with my heart!”


The Hoff…lmao srsly 

Rocket swearing all over the place. Gee, I wonder where Groot learned it.



Rocket showing he can physically fight!!!


Fleetwood Mac music, YESSSS.

Yondu being able to pick Rocket’s tough guy act apart because they have similar backgrounds and are a lot alike. OMG.



Nebula, holy shit she has gone through hell


Sisters. SISTERS.

“It’s not ripe!” lmao




But oh man…

oh MAN…

* * * Major spoilers, so cutting it here. * * *

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Can you please write a fic with a really sick Jason with a burpy type stomach bug with Noah taking care of him? Please please please :) your an amazing writer!!

“Are you dead, yet?”

Noah had returned from the kitchen with a bottle of water in one hand and a fresh towel in the other.

Jason groaned miserably and belched into the bucket balanced between his legs.

Sitting up in bed to hover over a mop bucket wasn’t exactly comfortable. But it was preferable to bruising his knees on the cold bathroom floor like he’d been doing for the past three hours.

“Grim Reaper, is that you?” Jason croaked into the container, spitting a watery stream of saliva.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Noah indulged his brother with a sympathetic laugh. “But I brought reinforcements. Think you might be able to keep some of this down?”

In response, Jason released another sour burp into the bucket, panting noisily through his nose as he struggled against the surge of nausea.

“Later it is,” Noah conceded, setting the bottle on the nightstand. He sat down beside his brother and began searching for the remote.

“Stop — moving,” Jason hiccuped. “’S making it worse.”

“Sorry,” Noah cringed. “I thought TV might help distract you.”

Jason pushed up from the bucket, leaning his head back against the wall. His eyes fluttered closed as he inhaled a few steadying breaths.

“I know you’re bored, lobinho,” Jason swallowed, throat working rapidly as the nausea ebbed. “You don’t have to stay here. Your professors are going to miss you.”

“Nice try,” Noah smirked, switching the channel to ESPN. “Get comfy ‘cause you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh, great,” Jason deadpanned.

A commercial for Taco Bell’s newest monstrosity popped up on the screen, oozing chemically engineered cheese and sizzling with glittery GMO’s.

Jason gagged in his mouth and leaned back over the bucket with a low groan.

Noah quickly pushed the power button and patted his brother’s back apologetically.

“Sorry, Jay,” he winced, rubbing between Jason’s shoulder blades.

The motion coaxed up another wet sounding belch. The noise rumbled in Jason’s throat for a moment before he let it roll out into the bucket.

“Fucking — mmph —Taco Bell,” Jason mumbled through a sick hiccup.

Noah’s eyebrows shot up in surprised amusement.

Now who gets to wash who’s mouth out?” he teased.

“Shut up,” Jason slurred weakly. “That’s my — urrp! — one for the week.”

His next hiccup morphed into a much deeper belch. His legs squirmed over the covers as his stomach clenched, forcing up a small mouthful of bile.

“Jesus,” Noah grimaced, rubbing slow circles against his brother’s back. “I’m sorry, Jay.”

Without lifting his head from the bucket, Jason reached over to flick the side of Noah’s head.

“What the hell was that for?” Noah yelped, rubbing at the sore spot.

“You know — exactly what that was — for,” Jason panted.

Another burp gurgled up the back of his throat and he retched. A second later he was rewarded for his efforts by a thick wave of whatever was left in his stomach. The mess splattered loudly against the base of the bucket.

Jason’s muscles shuddered violently as he heaved and belched until there couldn’t possibly be anything left to bring up. The ordeal was intense, with no break to breathe and Noah was afraid his brother might pass out if he didn’t settle down.

“Dude.” Now he had one hand stroking his brother’s back and the other gripped Jason’s upper arm, holding him steady. “You’ve gotta breathe.”

Jason swallowed thickly, burped and made a rude gesture.

“Um, that’s two,” Noah snorted. “You’re really starting to rack ‘em up.”

Jason spat one last time and didn’t so much push away as slump to the side of the bucket. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, muscles limp with exhaustion.

“Water?” Noah offered. Jason waved his hand, gesturing for the bottle.

He sat up to take a few careful sips, swilling the last one around in his mouth and spitting it into the bucket.

“Thanks,” he breathed, muffling a residual burp into his fist.

“I’m gonna go, uh, empty this out,” Noah gingerly picked up the bucket, holding it as far away from his body as possible. “Don’t throw up, okay?”

“Don’t think I have anything left,” Jason slurred, curling up into a ball on the bed.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Noah retorted, gagging dramatically as the contents in the bucket sloshed.

“Smartass,” Jason mumbled into his pillow, low enough so that his brother wouldn’t hear.

its-a-goddamn-heartbreak  asked:

Aiden and McKenzie both having to stay off school with the same bug and bickering about who's the sickest

A/N: I cannot put into words how much I love love love writing Aiden and McKenzie, they’re such an interesting duo! 💜💜 (oh and I’m totally up for writing more of them - hint hint 😉) I hope you enjoy it!! 😀

“I’m taller than you, I should get the sofa,” Aiden protested; he was curled awkwardly into one of the armchairs while staring across at McKenzie, who was sprawled along the sofa on a nest of towels and blankets.

“But you haven’t puked yet! I have!” McKenzie replied smugly, as though this was some kind of achievement. “So I need to lie down.” Aiden groaned slightly and rubbed his hand across his belly.

“Well at least I haven’t made a monumental mess that needs to be cleaned up!” Aiden jested. He was absolutely convinced that it had been McKenzie who’d infected them with whatever god awful bug was ravaging both of their insides. This hypothesis came from the fact that McKenzie had been the one to wake up at 3am and projectile vomit all over his bed and floor, whereas at that point Aiden was only feeling low key queasy.

“I couldn’t help it!” McKenzie exclaimed, pouting slightly and wriggling around on the sofa, trying to get comfy.

“You couldn’t have had the presence of mind to make it to the toilet?” Aiden said scathingly; he was massaging his stomach gently as that churning nausea was making him feel tense.

“I couldn’t!” McKenzie replied, his own hand doing a similar action to Aiden’s. “It just all came up! It came out my nose!”

“Don’t!” Aiden snapped sharply, he still had contents in his stomach and thinking about McKenzie’s coming out through his nose caused his nausea to increase. He closed his eyes, trying to take deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“You gonna hurl?” McKenzie asked, sounding wickedly pleased that his adoptive brother was feeling so ill.

“No…” Aiden murmured, although he wasn’t entirely sure of that answer. He felt a hot sensation dripping from the top of his head through the rest of his body and wondered whether he should make his way to the toilet.

“You’re green Aidy!” McKenzie’s voice had a touch of worry in it now.

“I’m fine,” Aiden said slowly, the sudden churn that had begun in his stomach was fading back to a slow burble the longer he forced himself to regulate his breathing.

“Well don’t blame me when you barf everywhere!” McKenzie sighed.

“I blame you for giving me this god awful bug!” Aiden shot back, his eyes snapping open to glare at McKenzie.

“How do you know it was me?” McKenzie retorted scandalized.

“Who upchucked at 3am?” Aiden pointed out, trying to raise his eyebrows at his brother, but feeling like his face was set into a mask.

“That doesn’t mean I gave you it! I’m just sicker than you!” He answered quickly.

“How do you work that out?” Aiden asked, watching as McKenzie pulled one of the soft blankets over himself, and made a pathetic expression on his face.

“Either of us could have infected the other,” McKenzie defended.

“I doubt it,” Aiden refuted. “I know I’ve got a stronger stomach than you, but it’s not that much stronger. No, you were exposed first and infected me you wee shit!”

“Mum!” McKenzie wailed dramatically. Aiden and McKenzie had only been living with Richard and Lucy for ten months now, but they’d both been formally adopted already and McKenzie had slipped into the habit of calling them ‘mum and dad’ as though it was just meant to be.

“What is it love?” Lucy appeared in the doorway, looking concerned.

“Aiden’s being mean to me!” McKenzie whined, but even Lucy could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn’t really serious. “He says I’ve infected him!”

“It doesn’t matter who gave who what,” she replied calmly, she’d crossed to the sofa and started tucking McKenzie in the blanket, wrapping him up. “You’ve both got a bug, and you need to rest.”

“You hear that Aidy?” McKenzie stuck his tongue out at him. “I need rest!”

“Alright smarty pants,” Lucy stroked the younger boy’s mousy hair away from his sticky forehead. “So does Aiden, so you can’t bother him either.”

“I’m never a bother, I’m a delight!” McKenzie quipped, and had Aiden not been feeling so lousy he might have chuckled.

“At least you’ve gotten your sense of humour back,” Lucy said encouragingly. “But I do think you should have a wee nap, let your body recover from this horrid bug, eh?”

“Okay mum,” McKenzie agreed, getting himself comfy and resting his head back. Aiden watched him resting and wished that the churning in his belly would stop so he could get some rest too. Lucy had moved to perch on the footstool next to the chair Aiden was curled up on, and she patted the top of his hand gently.

“How’re you bearing up bud?” She said quietly; Aiden liked the way Lucy spoke to him – she knew he wasn’t a little kid and she didn’t treat him like one.

“My belly feels really bad,” Aiden admitted, the discomfort in his stomach was rolling over and over, he couldn’t seem to get any relief.

“Poor thing,” she clucked, then pressed the back of her hand to Aiden’s cheek. “This tummy bug is really taking it’s toll on you, you’re all pale and sweaty.”

“I just want my belly to settle…” Aiden whimpered slightly at the cool touch of her hand.

“I know darling,” she tucked Aiden’s fringe behind her ear tenderly. Six months ago, when Aiden had gotten ill for the first time while living with Lucy and Richard, he’d barely allowed Lucy to be in the same room as him, let alone touching his face and sorting his fringe. But now he felt safe enough to let her look after him while he cradled his own aching belly; he didn’t need the wall of defences he’d had up before, and best of all – he didn’t need to prioritize looking after McKenzie while trying to ignore his own roiling belly. “I can bring you an alka seltzer if you think that might settle your stomach?” She offered, Aiden squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

“No… thanks,” he muttered, swallowing back an unusual urge to burp as his belly made a jarring movement.

“I think you should try and rest too, like McKenzie,” she suggested to him, then dragged around the footstool that she had been sitting on for him to put his feet up on.

“Okay…” Aiden agreed; he didn’t think that sleep would be an easy option for him right now. However he pretended like he was settling himself, not once removing his hand from his belly.

“You give me a shout if you need me, alright Aiden?” She told him, patting the top of his head again.

“Thanks Lucy,” he nodded, resting his head back in the chair. He wanted this to be over; he hated missing school – he hated falling more behind, he’d worked so hard to catch up! The ominous gurgling sound which emitted from his belly as he lay still on the chair did not inspire confidence.

“Was that your tummy?” McKenzie asked, he didn’t move at all but his eyes had gone wide in his face.

“Yeah…” Aiden groaned, palming both hands on the flesh of his stomach.
“It sounds like you’ve got a hippopotamus in there!” He exclaimed.

Briefly distracted by McKenzie’s bizarre description, Aiden opened his eyes and frowned across at him: “How do you know what a hippopotamus sounds like?”

“Youtube,” McKenzie said, making a brief shrugging motion from under his blanket.

“Fair enough,” Aiden accepted this as he went back to holding his stomach, just as it gave an enormous gurgle.

Gggggrrrrrlllluuuuuuurrrrrlllllllluuurrrrrgggggllleeeeee.’ Aiden swallowed hard against the sudden queasiness that rolled through his entire chest and abdomen.

“Should I call for mum?” McKenzie questioned, sounding worried again.

“No, just let me rest Kenzie!” Aiden snapped, being shorter than usual, Lucy couldn’t do anything – Aiden just had to ride this out. McKenzie fell silent as Aiden closed his eyes and rested his head back.

The silence didn’t stop Aiden from feeling worse and worse every passing second; he’d stopped rubbing his hand back and forth across his belly – fearing that the external movement was contributing to the swirling within. Aiden pressed his lips tight together as he felt an uncomfortable prickly sensation at the back of his throat, and he felt what he was sure was the muscle contraction before the hiccups began. He rubbed gently on his chest for a moment, then knew instantly that was a mistake.

Hmk!” Aiden aborted a hiccup which had begun to morph into a heave, and the result was now his stomach bubbling like a witches’ cauldron.

“Aidy?” McKenzie sounded young again, like the ten year old he really was rather than the mini adult he’d spent so long being. But Aiden couldn’t reply, he was pushing himself out of the chair he was in while trying to keep his mouth clamped closed as small ehaves began to force up his chest. “Aidy? Are you gonna throw up?”

Aiden was desperately trying to keep his mouth closed as with getting upright his whole abdomen had begun to squeeze, and with every aborted heave, there was a splash of acid at the base of his mouth. The way his face was dripping with a cold sweat, and the increasing contractions gripping his insides, he knew he was merely moments away from being sick. Yet his legs weren’t cooperating and he wobbled as he was trying to make his was out of the living room. He was only three steps from the chair he’d been resting in when he felt the liquid forcing up his throat.

Abandoning making it to the toilet, he turned his attention to the clear plastic mixing bowl that Lucy had placed next to the sofa in case McKenzie needed it. He dropped heavily to his knees and pulled it towards him before bracing his hands flat on the floor.

Baaaaaaarrraaauuuuurrrlllffff!” The heave which came up from Aiden’s belly was so strong that he momentarily felt dizzy and bright pinpricks of light seemed to flash in front of his eyes. He could taste the sour liquid in his mouth and felt it burn as it poured out through his nose. Underneath his hands and knees the ground felt like it was pitching and swaying like the deck of a ship; and he’d barely taken a breath before another heave was bursting up from his chest. “Huuuuaaarrrppp!”
Muuuuu-uuuuuuuum!” Aiden heard McKezie’s frantic voice yelling, but there was absolutely nothing he could do. Every time he tried to take a breath in, another retch would counteract it and bring up more puke.

Huuuuuaaarrrrrllllggghhh!” The wave of vomit that poured from Aiden’s mouth was copious, and he was aware that the bowl he was hurling into was perilously close to being full. He tried to clamp his mouth shut, but the next heave simply forced a small stream of sick to pour from his nostrils and made his eyes water and sting.

“It’s alright Aiden, that’s it, you’re alright,” he heard Lucy’s gentle voice right next to his ear, then felt her hand resting onto his shoulder, but he was still trying to stop another round of puke barrelling up his throat.

“Still gonna – hrmmmff – puke,” Aiden choked out, aborting the start of another heave by taking a sharp breath in. “Don’t wanna – hrrk – make a mess!”

“Don’t worry about that,” she reassured him, rubbing her hand in between his shoulder blades, able to feel every convulsion that he was fighting against. “I can clean up once you’re done, just let it out Aidy.” It was against his instinct, but her permission was all he needed to stop fighting.

Kkkkrrrrrruuuuaaaaarrrrrlllfffff!” The amount of sick that spilled past his lips was almost as much as the first wave had been, causing the bowl to overflow and start dripping over the rim and onto the floor. Aiden couldn’t quite understand where it was all coming from, but knew it must be the cause of his stomach sounding like a hippopotamus, as McKenzie had so uniquely put it. “Hrrrrp!” Only a mouthful of sick dribbled out this time, and Aiden’s belly ached from the force of continual heaves. He hoped he was nearly empty; his arms were quaking to hold him up and he felt drained of the little energy he had.

“That’s it, oh your poor tummy…” Lucy stroked his hair out of his eyes again, and the tenderness of her voice made a lump catch in Aiden’s throat. He was still retching, but dryly now – the action scraping at his throat. He leaned towards Lucy and was reassured when she wrapped her arm around his shoulders and allowed him to rest into her. She was soft and gentle, and Aiden’s retches gave way into weak sobs. “I’ve got you, don’t worry honey… You’ll be okay, it’s just a nasty bug you’ve got.”

Mmmmhmmm,” Aiden tried to nod, but he was so exhausted that he felt like he could fall asleep right now.

“You feel done for just now?” She asked, holding him tight, and he gave a small nod. “Let’s get you up onto the chair so you can rest up.” Aiden was trembling so fiercely that Lucy pretty much had to carry his weight from the middle of the floor back up onto the chair he had been on. He rested his head back against the chair with his eyes closed, exhausted from the small movement. “You just rest easy, I’ll get you some water to sip on, we’ll see if that helps your tummy…”

“Thanks mum,” the word had slipped out without him realising, and he didn’t bother to correct himself.

“Okay honey,” she moved his hair out of his face again, then left to get something to clean up with.

There was a few seconds of absolute silence, then McKenzie’s small voice piped up from over on the sofa:

“You’re definitely sicker than me…”

anonymous asked:

Hi! Can you please write a fic where Makoto falls really ill (a stomach bug and a fever maybe) and his mom and dad take care of and comfort him. I love your work very much. Keep at being awesome❤️❤️❤️

Thank you kind anon^^
Hope you enjoy!


“Okaasan? Okaasan!”

“What is it Makoto dear?” His mother came into the room in the middle of the night. The light shining though the door made Makoto squint in his pitch black room. With the light shining in, she could see he was curled up in a ball with all the covers kicked off his bed.

“My stomach.” He squeezed his midsection tightly. “I feel really sick. And I’m so hot.”

His mother put her hand on his forehead and clicked her tongue. She went to get a thermometer and on the way, her maternal instinct told her to place the trash bin in his room beside Makoto’s bed.

She was gone for less than a minute but when she returned, she found Makoto leaning over the side of his bed being sick into the trash bin.

“Oh, you poor dear.” She sat beside him, lifting up the bin and holding it for him. The light from the hallway made Makoto’s cheeks glisten, as tears were streaming down his face.

He leaned over the bin panting as if he could only inhale and sobbing between stifled gags. He leaned forward with a particularly strong gag but it only produced coughing.

His mother rubbedcircles around his back and ran her fingers through his sweat soaked hair. “Shh. It’s okay Makoto. It’s all going to be okay.”

Makoto tried to calm down his breathing but ended up coughing again with only air escaping from his throat. He gagged forcefully and felt his stomach contents jump. One more gag forced everything out before he could even get a breath in and he heaved up a fountain of liquid. The bitter acidic sting made his eyes water and he coughed and spat out the foul taste.

After the first spell stopped, his mother had him lay back down. By then, Makoto had sweat through his clothes and he was shivering. His mother took off his shirt and wrapped a blanked around him.

“It’s st-st-still cold.” He shivered.

His mother used the thermometer to take his temperature and had an expression of worry when she looked at it.

“What is it?” Makoto asked, still bundled up in a straight jacket of blankets.

His mother left the room and a moment later he heard his father’s voice.

‘No!’ He thought. ‘Don’t wake Otousan.’ An air bubble escaped his throat followed by a large belch. Makoto covered his mouth with both hands as nausea rushed over him. He glanced around in the dark, desperately looking for the trash bin but he couldn’t see it. He shut his eyes and swallowed constantly but when a flood of liquid poured into his mouth there was nothing he could do.

Makoto tried to lean over the side of his bed but he wasn’t fast enough. A second later, a flood of vomit came up his throat, pushing the first mouthful out. Vomit poured through of his fingers and he removed his hands and leaned forward, heaving and coughing loudly.

His mother and father ran inside the room and turned on the light. They saw Makoto with vomit dropping down his front and all over his bed.

“I’m- so sorry.” Makoto broke down into tears, still holding out his hands which were dripping with sick.

His father ran and brought him a towel which his mother used to wipe off Makoto’s chest and chin. “Shh. It’s okay dear. It was an accident.”

Makoto wanted to believe that, but he still felt guilty.

His father somehow managed to lift him up and carry his sick son to the bathroom. He put him down on the closed toilet seat and Makoto hung his head low with exhaustion and embarrassment.

“Otousan- I’m-” he tried to apologize but his father turned on the shower so it was too loud to hear him. He took Makoto’s clothes off and helped him sit in the bathtub. He rinsed him down with the shower head, the cool water feeling good on his hot skin.

His father dried his hair with a towel and wrapped it around Makoto. Then he was walked back to bed and relieved to see that his mother had remade his bed for him with clean sheets and covers.

His father put new pjs on Makoto, who shivered when the tower was removed. He laid back in bed, happy to be clean and back in under the warm covers. His mother placed the trash bin right beside his bed within arms reach.

“Open.” His mother was suddenly holding a tablespoon of red liquid medicine in front of his mouth. Makoto was too sick to ask questions, so he downed the medicine and winced at the disgusting taste.

“That should help you feel better. Now we’ll be right next door if you need us.” His mother and father told Makoto before shutting the door.

Makoto was so exhausted he wanted nothing more than to sleep but no matter what he did, he couldn’t. He tossed and turned in his bed, pulling the covers on and off and leaning over the side of his bed over the trash bin waiting for something to happen but it didn’t. He was moaning in his sleep, tossing and turning restlessly. He felt so sick he didn’t think he could take it.

Finally, he leaned over the bed and burped out of stream of air bubbles that made his stomach muscles flex. He heaved up a stream of vomit, the first bout tasting like the sour medicine he drank and the second like what he had eaten for dinner. By the third he was no longer paying attention to the taste, only wishing for it to be over. For a moment, he got scared because he couldn’t seem to stop being sick.

“Okaasan-gUahh Otousan-uueEEh” he shouted between gasps and strong bouts of puking.

His parents ran in quickly and his father helped Makoto sit up and held him up as he was sick into the bin.

“It doesn’t feel like his fever went down at all.” His father could feel Makoto’s boiling hot skin as he held up the limp boy to keep him from falling out of bed.

Makoto realized he must have been given fever medicine, and that that he had just vomited it all up. “I’m-hic-sorry.” He started to cry again.

“Don’t apologize dear. It isn’t your fault.” His mother stroked his hair.

“Everyone gets sick.” His father told him.

Makoto sniffed. “I’ve caused you so much trouble.” He started sounding dazed.

“Don’t worry about that love. That’s our job as parents.” His mother tried to explain.

“I- I wanna try'nd- take it again.” Makoto’s words were slurring together.

“Are you sure?” His mother asked, and Makoto nodded.

He took another dose of the same foul tasting medicine with a sour face and his parents put him back to bed. He was so tired he managed to fall asleep for a short time. But he woke up less than an hour later in a cold sweat. He was overwhelmed with nausea and leaned over to be sick into the bin.

After being in bed so long, Makoto had to go to the bathroom, so he took the bin and wondered around in his dark room trying to find the light switch. He felt so weak and dizzy that he could hardly stand. He tripped on something in the dark and fell with a clatter.

His parents must have heard the noise, because they ran in a moment later. Makoto broke down into tears on the ground and his father helped lift him up to go to the bathroom.

After that, Makoto’s parents took turns sitting beside his bed looking after him. Eventually, Makoto managed to stay asleep.

datbellytho  asked:

Keith and Lance have an eating contest. Resulting in sicky burpy pouty Keith and Shiro having to take care of him please? I've never done an ask before like this, sorry, I just love your work and this is kinda a dream.. I'm sorry if this bugs you

anon asked: can u hit us with some bloated, burpy keith pls? thanks so much for doing voltron, ilu” - hope you guys don’t mind if I combine these into a ficlet. 

Keith shifted, breaking the silence as his stomach emitted another queasy gurgle.

Shiro’s fingers paused, his forefinger still tangled in a lock of the dark hair.

“You know this is your own fault, right?”

Keith moaned, hiding his face against Shiro’s thigh. The older boy chuckled and resumed the head massage.

“Fuck,” Keith growled. “I know. I’m an idiot, all right?”

“You could’ve said no,” Shiro helpfully pointed out, amused.

Keith reached down between where his body was pressed against the bed and palmed his stomach. A burp jolted up into the back of his throat and he hurriedly clamped his mouth shut.

“You know Lance,” Keith mumbled bitterly. “He doesn’t take no for an answer. He just annoys the shit out of you until you can’t think about anything except shutting him up and damn the consequences.”

“It’s a unique talent,” Shiro agreed, grin replaced by a frown when Keith made a small choking noise. “You all right down there?”

Shiro stopped scrolling through the pad and glanced down at the boy currently using his lap as a pillow. He heard Keith swallow, obviously struggling against his body’s urge to relieve some of the discomfort.

Ugh,” Keith moaned, pressing his face harder against Shiro’s leg. His words were muffled. “I hope Lance is having the worst time.”

Shiro pet a wild strand of hair back into place, then moved down to rub gently against Keith’s nape.

“I hope he spends all night just…suffering, on the toilet.”

“Well, if he ate anything even close to the amount you shoveled down, he’s gonna be feeling it,” Shiro confirmed; the grin was back.

Keith mumbled something else but Shiro couldn’t understand him beyond the blockade of fabric.

“Try again?”

Keith pushed up on his elbows and blinked down at Shiro’s lap, “I’m glad you think this is funny.” He swallowed carefully and concentrated on taking a few deep breaths.

“I was never one to stand in the way of entropy,” Shiro teased, twining his fingers back up through Keith’s hair.

Keith shivered slightly and closed his eyes, sighing, “I thought you were supposed to be the voice of reason. Stop us from doing stupid shit like - ulp - eating ourselves stupid just to prove a point.” His stomach let out another angry grumble at the memory.

What had started as a joke had quickly escalated into a heated battle for supremacy. Keith couldn’t remember over what, exactly. But he and Lance had apparently deemed it worthy enough to stuff themselves with the spongy green crap. The off-putting color should have been Keith’s first cue to bow out. Instead he’d plowed mindlessly through three gigantic bowls until he heard Lance gagging and calling for a truce.

“What was the point of this again?” Shiro’s fondness teetered between mild condescension and genuine curiosity.

“Bragging rights,” Keith gave a weak hiccup. “And I won. So Lance can suck it.”

Shiro heaved a long-suffering sigh, resisting the urge to shake his head. This probably wasn’t the time for a lecture. He’d save it for when the two idiots weren’t so green around the gills. He suspected Lance wasn’t fairing any better and hoped, at the very least, that he’d sought refuge with Hunk.

“He certainly riled you up,” Shiro mused. “Any particular reason it was so easy, tonight?”

“He’s a jackass?” Keith muttered as if it were the obvious answer.

“Be nice,” Shiro flicked the back of Keith’s head.

“Ow! - hic - oh,” Keith reached up to rub the sore spot, pausing midway as a much wetter hiccup jumped into his chest.

“Keith?” Shiro apologized by rubbing his thumb over Keith’s knuckles.

“Shit,” Keith’s cheeks inflated as something gurgled up. It took a few hard swallows to push it back down.

“Quit holding them in,” Shiro frowned. “It’ll only make your stomach feel worse.”

Keith shook is head and rocked forward, suppressing another rumbling belch. He cupped a hand over his mouth just in time to let it out.

Oh,” he groaned, most of the color draining from his face. “I don’t feel good.”

“I know,” Shiro winced sympathetically as he slid his hand further down to Keith’s upset belly. He could feel the contents churning and sloshing beneath his palm as he began kneading gentle circles over the heated skin.

“Sh-Shiro,” Keith panted weakly, suddenly pushing up from his lap and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He leaned forward, perched over the edge while his fingers dug into his knees. Shiro watched the boy’s throat work convulsively as a shudder ran through is muscles.

“Hey,” Shiro soothed, scooting up behind him. He reached out to place a hand against Keith’s back.

“Think I’m — ‘m gonna throw up,” Keith slurred, voice thick with nausea.

“Easy,” Shiro coached, looping his natural arm around Keith’s chest. “Take a few breaths through your nose. You’re all right.”

Keith tried to follow the instruction, but midway through his first shaky inhale, he choked. His shoulders rolled with a belching gag that sent him heaving into his hand.

“Okay, bathroom,” Shiro leapt off the mattress and tugged Keith upright, concern and the threat of a mess all over the bed making his voice sound a little harsher than he intended.

“Oh, no,” Keith gagged, swaying unsteadily as his stomach whined, protesting the abrupt movement. He shoved out of Shiro’s grasp and stumbled the few steps to the small bathroom. “Don’t come in here.”

Before he could say anything the door whooshed shut and Shiro was left standing outside. The harsh sounds of violent retching met his ears and he cringed, wanting desperately to make himself useful.

“Keith?” Shiro knocked softly on the door. No answer. “I’m gonna grab a few water packets, okay?”

A sharp burp followed by coughing and then, “Kill Lance for me while you’re at it.”

Shiro scratched the back of his head, trying to maintain his empathy for the situation.

“I’ll be right back.”

The idiocy he endured for this team…

anonymous asked:

Request: A fic where a girl gets the stomach virus. Throws up all night, fever and all that fun stuff. Then someone comes to check on her and they get it too.

A/N: So I’ve been meaning to fill this fic for a while - and finally I managed to get round to it, and be warned it is mammoth! I really hope you enjoy it because I had lots of fun writing it! 😊

Alba was wrapped in her blanket when Eppie knocked on her door, then pushed it open.

“Hey Alba, can you help me straighten the back of my hair?” Eppie was clutching a pair of straighteners as she stood at the doorway. “Oh… You are coming tonight, aren’t you?” Eppie’s face had creased into a frown as she saw Alba wrapped up and sitting in bed.

“Yeah I am,” she answered, even though the last thing she felt like doing tonight was going to the gang’s weekly movie night. “There’s a plug just there.” She indicated to a socket next to the head of her bed. Eppie plugged in her straighteners and approached the edge of the bed.

“Are you alright?” Eppie questioned, standing at the edge of the bed.

“Yeah,” Alba held out her hands for the straighteners and Eppie turned her back and sat on the bed. “I could just do without this tonight though.”

“You don’t need to come if you don’t want to,” Eppie told her as Alba began to separate strands of Eppie’s dark hair.

“I know,” Alba sighed, she’d already considered this. Today had been tough, and Alba couldn’t even determine quite why – the classes at placement had gone well, but all day she felt exhausted, and rather like she’d been run over by a bulldozer. “I’m just really tired, but I don’t want to miss it…”

“No one would blame you for getting an extra bit of sleep…” Eppie said quickly. “I’ve no idea how you and Jude put up with it!” She let out a brief chuckle, and Alba started straightening the next part of Eppie’s hair, and she simply hummed in response.

The thought of just climbing into her bed was very alluring. Her limbs already had that kind of dead weight to them that accompanied fatigue, and everything felt very unsettled. She continued to move through each section of Eppie’s hair, trying not to notice the way her fingers were trembling, or her head pounding.

“The other guys wouldn’t mind if you missed tonight,” Eppie repeated eventually.

“Yeah, I – hic!” Alba stopped instantly as a sharp hiccup burst from out of her chest, and she could feel her stomach flipping inside of her. Eppie swivelled round on the edge of the bed to look at Alba, and her face was set with concern.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Eppie asked.

“Yeah, I’m fi – huuuaaaarrrrggghh!” Alba had meant to say ‘I’m fine’, but halfway through the words a sudden unexpected rising sensation in her chest and throat had precipitated a gush of vomit which exploded from her mouth and sprayed across herself, her bedspread, and Eppie. Eppie’s eyes widened as Alba’s hand shot up to clamp across her mouth as they both realised what had just happened. Alba’s stomach was still doing somersaults inside her and she gagged a few times into her hand.

“Alba!” Eppie had exclaimed, her hand fastening onto Alba’s shoulder.

“God, sorry…” Alba choked from behind her fingers. “Uuuuurp!” She couldn’t suppress the burp that slipped out as she tried to compose herself again, but she still felt like she might be sick again at any second.

“Let’s get you to the bathroom and clean you up,” Eppie encouraged, and Alba noted the very calm tone of Eppie’s voice. She allowed Eppie to help her off the bed, the sick on her thighs was seeping through her jeans and made her feel even more awful. She was shaking all over – and her legs didn’t seem to want to support her, so Eppie’s firm hands held her upright.

Huuuuuuuuuurrrrrrpp!” Alba doubled over again, a belch escaping her as they left her bedroom.

“Nearly there!” Eppie said rather urgently, half dragging Alba across the small hallway towards the bathroom.

Brrrruuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrlllllkk!” Alba had wrenched free of Eppie’s grip and broken into a run as puke dripped through her fingers and across the hallway floor. Eppie turned the light in the bathroom which Alba had neglected in her rush to the toilet; she was curled over the toilet bowl retching fiercely. Sick splattered across the floor which Eppie skirted without standing in any, until she reached Alba.

“Why didn’t you say anything Alba?” Eppie muttered, placing her large hand onto Alba’s back, but Alba was incapable of replying.

Buueeeerrrggghh!” Another huge gush spilled past Alba’s lips, hitting the toilet seat and pouring into the bowl as her head lolled forward.

“Alba?” Eppie said quickly, her heart speeding up in her chest at just how ill Alba had become so fast. Hooking her hand around Alba’s forehead she instantly was aware of the sticky warmth that accompanied a fever, but she held Alba’s head steady, so that the next wave of vomit fell squarely into the toilet. “Don’t worry darling,” Eppie murmured reassuringly. “I’ve got you.” Alba’s retches were turning into sobs, but she was still unable to speak. “You get it all up then you’re going to bed.”

It took another few long minutes before the gagging and sobbing stopped, and Eppie continued to cradle her head and rubbed her back until she fell silent.

“You feel up to me helping you to bed?” Eppie asked.

“ ‘ts covered in sick…” Alba’s voice was hoarse; Eppie frowned, she’d forgotten about that.

“That’s okay,” she replied, thinking quickly. “You can sleep in my bed and I’ll clean up.”

“Can’t take – urrrp – your bed…” Alba said, but she sounded like she might fall asleep right here if Eppie didn’t move her soon.

“You don’t have a choice,” Eppie told her firmly. “I’m gonna get you changed and in bed, then I’ll text the others to let them know we’re not coming, then clean up.”

“Sorry,” Alba was trying to raise herself up, but her arms were trembling so badly she couldn’t hope to support herself.

“Don’t worry about it Alba, seriously!” Eppie put her hands onto Alba’s upper arms to support her and holding tight. “You must have gotten something from school.”

“Yeah…” Alba agreed shortly, her eyes were closed and she looked worn out. Eppie grabbed a face cloth that was drying on the rail and dampening it under the tap, then she turned to Alba.

“Come on darling,” she placed her fingers under Alba’s chin and began to wipe at the drips of sick which were beginning to dry. “Do you think you can take off your dirty clothes?”

“Mmmm, yeah…” Alba mumbled as Eppie cleaned her hands with the cloth. “Can you help me up?” Eppie grasped her hand tightly and pulled her up; she wobbled unsteadily on her feet and Eppie held tight onto her arm as all the colour drained from Alba’s face.

“You okay?” Eppie asked, watching as Alba swallowed, her lips pursed into a tight line. After a few moments she nodded and released her hand from Eppie’s grip; Eppie could see her trembling as she started to peel off her t-shirt which was covered in puke. “Just drop them here, I’ll pop them in the wash for you once you’re settled.”

“Thanks,” she was still shaking fiercely, and Eppie couldn’t decide whether to grip her arm again as she tried to take her jeans off.

“That’s it,” Eppie encouraged, once Alba’s soiled clothes were discarded onto the floor, she nodded. “Let’s get you through and into bed.” Alba was a little ungainly as Eppie led her through into her bedroom, where her bed was a little untidy but clean. “Give me a sec,” Eppie allowed Alba to perch against the bed while she raked through one of her drawers, “here, it’ll be massive on you – but it’s just to sleep in.” She handed across an old t-shirt which Alba pulled over here head with shaky hands. “Come on, into bed…”

“Eppie,” Alba started, shuffling back on the bed, “thank you.” She looked so pale and miserable that Eppie nearly hugged her.

“Come on, lie down…” Eppie pulled down the bedspread while alba shuffled back slowly, slipping her legs under the covers and lying down while Eppie laid the covers over her. “I’m gonna pop the bin at the edge of the bed, just in case alright?”

“Mmmmmmhmmm,” Alba gave a tiny nod, her eyes closed already and her pale face and blonde hair starkly contrasted against the dark covers of Eppie’s bed.
“I’ll bring some water through for you,” Eppie told her, but Alba’s breathing was already slowing down as she slipped into sleep. Eppie tiptoed across her room and closed the door as quietly as she could.

Cleaning the bathroom and Alba’s bedroom actually wasn’t daunting for Eppie in the slightest; she had a strong stomach and barely batted an eyelid as she stripped Alba’s soiled sheets, gathered the dirty clothes from the bathroom floor and own top that was splattered with sick up the back, and bundled them into the washing machine to be cleaned. She scrubbed the toilet and floor of the bathroom with disinfectant until her head was spinning.

By the time that she’d finished all these tasks, she had several missed messages from the group wondering where the two of them were. She typed a blanket text which she could send to all of them:

‘Hey guys, sorry not going to be able to make it, Alba is really sick 🤢 She’s resting and I don’t want to leave her on her own! Enjoy the film!’

She’d sat down on the couch in their tiny living space, scrolling through Facebook on her phone while wondering whether she could sneak back into her room on the pretence of checking on Alba and retrieve her laptop at the same time. Her phone buzzed and she was unsurprised to see that Eden was the first to respond to her message.

‘Let me know if there’s anything you need. E x’
Eppie smiled slightly at Eden’s willingness to come to their aid if necessary.

After a silent hour from Alba, Eppie’s phone had run out of charge and she was trying to figure out how to keep occupied. Alba must have a phone charger in her room – Eppie simply couldn’t remember whether it was the same ones as hers… Being in Alba’s room without Alba being there felt immensely awkward – like peeking into someone’s personal diary without permission. Irregardless of the fact that there were clean sheets on the bed. Eppie had decided already that she was going to sleep on the sofa. When she couldn’t find anything similar to her phone charger, she really quietly crept into her own room – but she didn’t have to worry in the slightest, Alba was fast asleep curled into a little ball on the bed. She definitely looked ill, the small section of her face that Eppie could see was milky white, with very pink blotches covering her cheeks. Eppie quietly retrieved her laptop and phone charger to take through to their living space.

Eppie awoke with a stiff pain in her neck. She’d fallen asleep slumped over the sofa with her head propped at an awkward angle – in all practicality she was too tall to sleep on the sofa. Her laptop screen was still on, glowing eerily in the darkened room. Initially she wasn’t sure what had woken her, and she strained her ears in case it had been Alba but the flat was in silence. She sat up slowly then felt the slosh inside her stomach, she steadied herself on the arm of the chair and tried to consciously take stock of what was going on in her body. Her face felt hot, and her limbs were stiff all over, but that could just be from sleeping in a funny position. But the squishy, sloshy sensation in her gut couldn’t merely be put down to lack of sleep.

Eppie knew her body – she knew every inch of it and was very good at evaluating what was going with it – but she didn’t really want to admit that what was going on was probably the same as had gone on in Alba’s earlier… Well, what had she expected? She’d been coated in barf and then cleaned up a whole load more.

Eppie ran her hand across her face, wondering how long it would be until her stomach launched its full scale rebellion. Leaning her head back against the sofa and stretching the stiff muscles in her neck. Eppie also rested her hand onto her stomach and pressed gently as though testing it. It gurgled ominously when she lifted her hand, and that was never a good sign.

She was just considering getting up to get some water when she heard the creak of a door and then footsteps padding quickly over the floor. After a few seconds of silence Eppie heard a distant ‘huuurk!’, and knew that Alba was back in the bathroom throwing up again. Eppie had to swallow hard at the thought as her own stomach gave a little gargle and lurch sympathetically. She had to go and check on her, Eppie staggered a little when she was on her feet, her stomach churning even more as she was upright, but she forced herself to keep going.

Alba was slumped in front of the toilet, making weak gagging sounds interspersed with empty belches.

“Oh Alba,” Eppie sighed, coming up behind her and placing a reassuring hand onto her shoulder, able to hear Alba’s raggedy breaths. “Are you still not feeling any better?” Unnervingly Eppie could hear the wobble in her own voice as she spoke.

“Still feel like – hurp – there’s stuff… need to get up…” Alba mumbled, the weak retch that she gave causing Eppie’s stomach to give an involuntary clench. Her hand released its grip on Alba’s shoulder and flew up to cover her mouth as the back of her throat suddenly felt tight and wet. Gripping her free hand onto the sink she steadied herself, swallowing hard.

“Just –“ Her voice was very thick, every few seconds her stomach gave an uncomfortable jerk. “Get it out then you can rest…” Something about Eppie’s tone must have raised concerns for Alba, as she laboriously turned herself round from her position clinging on to the toilet to look at her. 

“Eppie?” She asked, peering blearily up into her friend’s face, which looked waxy under the bright bathroom light. Eppie didn’t respond, worried that if she opened her mouth. But she was losing it anyway, her chest jolting with mini heaves that she was desperately fighting. Her mouth was filling rapidly with very, very runny saliva and she could feel an ominous rising in her chest. Alba’s head had suddenly snapped back round to the toilet as a further retch brought up a dribbling of bile into the toilet: “G’huuurr!”

It was too much for Eppie; her head spun suddenly and her cheeks bulged full of sick. She couldn’t push Alba out of the way, so she gripped both hands firmly on the edge of the sink.

Huuuuuueeeeuuuurrrrggggghh!” The force of the heave that Eppie had been holding in sent a cascade of vomit into the sink, and splashing over the back of the sink as well. Eppie only had the chance to gasp in a quick breath before another wave was forcing its way up her oesophagus. Her airways stung from the acid, and from the sudden expulsion through her mouth and nose; her eyes watered so much that her vision was briefly obscured: “Buuuuuurrrrrk!”

“You too?” Alba forced, but Eppie didn’t look at her she was waiting for the next round of puke to come up, as she could feel it bubbling thickly in her aching stomach.

Ba-huuurp!” Eppie pitched violently forwards again, but only a small mouthful splashed into the sink.

“Sorry…” Alba muttered quietly, closing her eyes so as not to see the remnants of her own puke.

“It’s not your fault! Huuurpp!” The sickly belch reverberated against the porcelain of the sink.

“Eppie, use the bloody toilet!” Alba exclaimed, sounding exasperated; Eppie was trembling as she felt Alba grasp her leg and tug her down. Overbalancing, Eppie wobbled and fell, trying to scramble round just in time for a gush of puke to make it in the toilet.

Bahhuruuugggh!” Eppie was leaning on all fours, her head just over the toilet seat. Everything about the entire moment, the sound of liquid hitting water, the sharp scent of the acid and the sight of sick pouring from Eppie’s mouth turned Alba’s stomach and she began dry heaving so fiercely that she nearly banged heads with Eppie. Alba regained her composure much quicker than Eppie – her stomach emptier, and she brought a weak hand round to pat gently on Eppie’s knee as she continued to spit up mouthful after mouthful of puke.

“Don’t worry,” Alba said quietly. “I’ll look after you.”

Eppie could feel her whole body trembling from the effort of emptying her stomach in such a short period of time, but she spat a mouthful of spit into the bowl, trying to rid her mouth of the foul taste, then looked up and caught eyes with Alba. If Eppie looked as bad as Alba did, then it would explain why she felt like she’d been dragged backwards out of hell.

“Let’s…” Her voice crackled in her raw throat. “Let’s look after each other…”

anonymous asked:

Can you please write a fic with a sick Mikoshiba Seijuro on a date with Gou. He tries to hide it until he throws up. He thinks Gou will hate him for it, but she ends up taking him home and taking care of him, before tucking him into bed with a kiss.

Anon also asked: “Can you please do a Seijuro Mikoshiba x Gou sick fic. With a very sick Juro and a very caring Gou. Thanks. Your blog is awesome btw!”

Seijuro blinked through the haze of sleep. The movie was still playing, the noise a pleasant hum in the background.

He glanced down at the warm body resting against his chest and pressed a soft kiss into her auburn hair. He couldn’t remember when they’d fallen asleep but it was no longer light out.

Still groggy, he reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes, wondering for a moment what had woken him. His mouth still tasted vaguely like the grease from the pizza they’d ordered earlier. The lingering aftertaste wasn’t especially pleasant. His stomach still felt uncomfortably full. Seijuro didn’t often allow himself to indulge in foods that weren’t a part of his incredibly strict diet.

But Gou had suggested pizza and he hadn’t seen the harm in splurging for once. He’d eaten more than he probably should have, so caught up in the lively conversation and his beautiful date, that he hadn’t realized just how many slices he’d devoured until his body finally cued him in by plaguing him with an unattractive bout of hiccups.

Gou had easily laughed off his embarrassment, sliding her small hand down his chest to rest over his stomach as they settled back on the couch to watch the movie.

Two hours later, Seijuro could still taste the pizza, could feel it like a rock in his stomach, refusing to settle. He let out a small gasp as his belly suddenly cramped. That must’ve been what startled him from sleep. The painful sensation was too concentrated to be indigestion. He realized he was sweating as the contraction ebbed and his stomach muscles gradually relaxed.  

Gou stirred against him, humming sleepily into his shirt. Dammit. He hadn’t meant to wake her.

“Hey,” she smiled up at him, yawning as she arched her back into a little stretch. “Did I fall asleep? I’m sorry.”

“I think we both did,” he smiled back, doing his best to ignore the lingering discomfort. “Guess we’re gonna have to rewind it.”

“I should probably head home soon,” Gou yawned again, repositioning her head into a more comfortable position against his chest. Despite her words she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to move as she reached for the remote. “Thirty more minutes. We missed the best part.”

On the one hand, Seijuro was elated that she didn’t want to leave, that she wanted to spend time with him. But on the other, his stomach was beginning to make a lot of noise and Gou was going to notice eventually.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to lie still. He tried desperately not to squirm as the cramps grew more intense. He tried to pay attention to the movie. He tried to ignore the cold sweat gluing his clothes to his body.

Seijuro pressed a fist to his lips, hurriedly suppressing the burp that bubbled up into the back of his throat. The aftertaste of grease nearly triggered his gag-reflex. He swallowed carefully, inhaling a few deep breaths through his nose.

“Seijuro?” Gou lifted her head, frowning up at him. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he tried to smile for her. Gou’s frown deepened.

She brushed a rogue strand of damp hair behind his ear. “You’re sweating. Should I get off?”

Seijuro felt himself flushing, “No! No you’re great. Please, don’t. I mean, unless you want to but I, uh — hic! — oh,“ he stammered, embarrassment flooding every molecule in his rebelling body. Another cramp squeezed his stomach, sent him doubling over his lap. Something hot abruptly surged up and settled in his chest. He realized he needed to burp again before he was bringing up more than just air.

His hands shook as he rose unsteadily to his feet, “I’m gonna get a drink of water. Do you, um, want anything?”

Gou was studying him intently, suspicion creasing her delicate features, “I’m good. But you —“

“I’ll be right back,” he quickly assured, cupping a hand over his mouth as another rumble of trapped air attempted to escape without permission. He headed for the bathroom furthest from the living room, praying that she wouldn’t follow. He locked the door, turned on the shower and the faucet as he braced himself over the sink.

“Shit,” he cursed, swallowing a few times. His stomach contracted, forcing up an ominous gurgle that he could feel traveling from the pit of his roiling stomach up into the back of his throat. Seijuro jerked forward and belched, wet and deep and rolling out of him with startling intensity. His mouth immediately flooded with saliva, more than he could swallow. He gagged hard, cheeks ballooning as nausea crashed over him like a tidal wave.

Seijuro dropped to his knees, fumbling with the toilet lid as his chest jumped with aborted heaves. Another sick belch tore out of him, bringing with it the sour tang of bile. He spit into the water, feeling disgusted with himself.

“Hey,” A knock preceded the soft voice. This was not happening right now. “You okay in there?”

“F-fine,” he panted, spitting up another damn mouthful of saliva. “I’ll be out in a - ulp - minute.” His last words were lost in a stifled retch.

“Are you throwing up?” Gou sounded genuinely worried. The doorknob jiggled and for a moment Seijuro panicked, thinking he’d forgotten to lock the door.

The spike of anxiety sent his stomach barreling over the edge. A final belching gag ushered up a thick surge of his predigested dinner. The contraction lasted for so long that he began choking. With barely a second to inhale, his body ejected another putrid projectile wave. The mess splashed loudly into the bowl and left him trembling. 

Seijuro coughed so hard he nearly sent himself into another fit of gagging as he reached up to flush. Behind him the knocking had grown more insistent.

“Seijuro, let me in.”

“Please go away,” he groaned miserably, gingerly cradling his churning stomach. “Trust me, you don’t want to see this.” He leaned a little further over the bowl and burped, but nothing else came up.

He’d never felt so mortified in his life.

“Mikoshiba,” her voice had acquired a sterner edge. Kind of scary. “If you don’t open this door right now I’m gonna —“ the threat sputtered to a halt. “I’m gonna…”

“What?” he croaked, a little amused despite himself.

“Kick it down!” she decided. He could almost see her crossing her arms in defiance. “You keep forgetting I manage a team of four boys. Plus, I’m related to freaking Rin. I’ve seen just about everything. Trust me.”

“Gou,” he sighed wearily, tucking a hand under his shirt in a vain attempt to calm his stomach. He could tell he was fighting a losing battle. The girl’s stubborn streak was more tenacious than her older brother’s. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Seijuro,” her tone softened. “I don’t want you to be alone. I could help. Please?”

It was that sweet, affectionate plea that finally crushed his fortitude. He realized in that moment, he couldn’t deny Gou Matsuoka anything even if he wanted to. Grunting, Seijuro hauled his shaky body off the floor and trudged the few steps to unlock the bathroom door.

He tried to muster up some semblance of a smile and hoped he didn’t look too pathetic. Judging by her tight frown and the sympathetic furrow of her eyebrows, he wasn’t succeeding. She reached up and cupped his cheek in her warm hand, he hummed appreciatively, leaning into her touch.

“Oh, jeez,” she cooed, reaching up a little further to feel his forehead. “You’re really not feeling good, huh. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s no big deal,” he shrugged, swallowing thickly around a leftover hiccup. “Think I just ate too much. I don’t usually eat…um- I don’t -“ Accidentally recalling the texture of the greasy offender sent Seijuro scrambling back over the toilet, gagging violently as another stream of chunky liquid poured into the bowl.

“Oh, god,” he gasped, swaying dizzily as he finally collapsed back onto his knees, fumbling with the tissue he was trying to pull out of the box. “‘M sorry.”

“Here,” Gou moved to crouch behind him. “Let me.” She pulled out a few tissues and handed one to him, using the other to wipe away the stress-tears staining his cheeks. “And don’t be sorry. You can’t help it if you’re sick.”

“I feel so gross,” he blew his nose and flushed again. “I’m so sorry about all of this. This probably wasn’t what you had in mind for movie night.”

“Stop that,” Gou brushed back the sweaty bangs sticking to his forehead. She kept running her fingers gently through his hair. It felt nice. “I mean it.”

“I’m feeling better now,” he coughed. “Let me clean up a little and I’ll take you home.”

Gou glared at him like he’d just suggested they jump out of a plane.

“You’re kidding, right? You can barely hold your head up. I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

“It’s just a bug,” he insisted, no longer caring that he was resting his pounding forehead against the toilet seat. “I just need to — hiccmmph — sleep it off.”

“I’m staying until your brother gets back, at least. Someone needs to be here with you. I’ll call my mom and let her know I won’t be home until late.”

“Gou, this really isn’t necessary. I’m told you, I’m fi—“

“Nope,” Gou whipped out her cellphone, ignoring him. “Your decision making abilities have been compromised. That means I’m the boss.” He knew it was meant as a joke, but the determined conviction made his chest feel strangely warm.

While Gou informed her mother about the change of plans, Seijuro closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing through the nausea. He felt miserable enough to be far past the point of embarrassment. He’d simply accepted that this was probably the last night he would be hanging out with his dream girl. The confidant image he’d worked so hard to maintain had been obliterated to hell, and that stung.

He must have nodded off, because what seemed only seconds later, he felt her small hand rubbing gentle circles against his back. Her voice was soothing when she asked, “Do you feel like you’re finished?”

Seijuro nodded, swallowed, and allowed Gou to help him to his feet. He rinsed out his mouth and took a few gulps of the water to clear the bitter taste still clinging to his tongue. She never let go of his arm, never stopped brushing her fingers lightly over his skin, as if to reassure him of her presence.  

“Couch or bed?” she asked, wrapping her free hand around his bicep.

“Couch,” he decided, tucking an arm around his sore middle. Closer proximity to the bathroom.

It felt good to lie down. His aching muscles relaxed a bit, uncoiling as he settled back against the cushions. Something soft and warm was draped over his shoulders and he slurred a tired ‘thank you’. Gou returned a few moments later with a small trashcan and two water bottles. She set the can within easy reach and uncapped one of the bottles.

“Try to drink a little. It might help settle your stomach.”

Seijuro did as he was told, scooting forward to take a few sips, “You’re pretty good at this,” he smiled, feeling a little delirious. He was positive his brain was short-circuiting, overwhelmed with too many emotions to deal with right then. 

“I told you,” her warm breath ghosted over his cheek. He opened his eyes a fraction and froze as she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I’ve had some practice.”

She pulled away, eyes bright and features soft, illuminated by the flickering glow of the television.

“Now get some sleep.”

its-a-goddamn-heartbreak  asked:

The gospel choir goes on tour and it's basically Blake and Aiden's first holiday together, just way more hectic and stressful. Anyhow, they're going round so many different places, meeting new people, and one of them gets sick. Turns out there's nothing more grim than being ill on a coach full of people who all think they can sing better than the person next to them and knowing the next stop is in over four hours time.

A/N: This basically became an excuse to write a mixture of sickfic and fluff for these guys, so it’s not quite as extensive as I first envisaged it, but I think it still fits! I really hope you enjoy! 😊

“You go and – hrrrrmmmffll – join in with the rest of them Aiden,” Blake choked out, hugging the bucket that had been, mercifully, emptied at the last stop.

“I’m not going anywhere Blake,” Aiden shook his head vehemently, rubbing his hand across Blake’s shoulders.

A loud burst of voices came from the back of the bus where the rest of the choir was congregated, still in very high spirits from their placing second in the European university choir competition last night. They’d been running on adrenaline since boarding the bus early in the morning to begin their journey back to Britain, and Blake had been dreading it for the past week. Every other bus trip had been two or three hours as they zig-zaggged through continental Europe, and they had been bad enough; this one was seven hours until they could board the ferry to go across the channel.  They had around four hours still to go, and Blake was already in a horrendous state.

Buuuuaarrrrffll…” Blake belched wetly, hanging his head over the rim of the bucket as a tendril of spit dangled from his lips.

“Oh dear,” Aiden soothed gently, pulling a tissue from the drawstring bag he had filled and dubbed ‘Blake’s Motion Sickness Kit’ , and dabbed gently at his boyfriend’s mouth, removing any traces of the ejection of Blake’s stomach contents.

The two of them had only been together for six months, but Aiden already had experience of Blake’s chronic motion sickness. He knew Blake couldn’t do anything about it – and Aiden was training to be a nurse, this didn’t bother him in the slightest. On the contrary, all he wanted to do was look after him and make him feel even one iota better. He knew also, that this was more than Blake’s usual car sickness – there was something paler about his skin, shakier about his grip, and weaker about his resolve.

“You don’t – huuurp – have to look after me…” Blake’s voice was weak and ragged; Aiden could sense that he was mere seconds away from another bout of retching. “I’m – hiiccckk – used to this…”

“Bullshit Blake!” Aiden exclaimed suddenly, and Blake raised his head to look at him. Blake’s skin was the colour of curdled milk and saturated with sweat, his fringe had begun to curl as it stuck to his damp forehead. He looked utterly piteous and Aiden momentarily felt bad for raising his voice at him. “I know you threw up in the hotel before we left this morning, so I know this isn’t just your motion sickness…”

For a few long moments Blake stared at Aiden, almost as though he was looking for any sign of annoyance in Aiden’s face but when he found none his face crumpled: “Mmhmm…” He nodded, his chin wobbling as he tried to hold back a sob – but tears had already begun to roll down his cheeks.

“Oh Blake!” Aiden wrapped around his shoulder and pulled Blake close into him, he could feel Blake trembling as his head rested into Aiden’s chest. “It’ll be okay.”

H’uuuurk!” Blake pulled abruptly away with a deep retch that sounded like he was nearly bringing up his liver. “Rrrrrruuuuuuukk!”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” One of the other tenors, Quentin, came down the aisle of the coach and leant against the back of the seat that Aiden was occupying. “Is he still puking?”

“S – ulp – sorry…” Blake stammered, spitting into the bucket and sounding even more miserable.

“He can’t help it…” Aiden said coldly, surveying Quentin’s haughty expression with some contempt. “He’s not well.” As though to emphasize this, Bake let out an empty belch which reverberated in the bucket; Quentin raised his hand like in surrender.

“I’ll just go back, shall I?” He said lightly, then joked: “I’ll make sure Louise doesn’t hear him!” Louise was one of the altos who’d turned out to be one of the most sensitive, and violent, sympathy pukers any of them had ever come across.

“I’m – uuuurrrh – really sorry…” Blake groaned, resting his head back against the seat and closing his eyes.

“No, sssh – sssh…” Aiden whispered gently, clasping his hand onto Blake’s, which was still gripped on the edge of the bucket and was drenched with sweat. “It’s not your fault… You can’t help being ill…”

“But what if I’ve infected everyone on the bus?” Blake whimpered, shifting around in discomfort in his seat.

“You won’t have,” Aiden reassured, but he couldn’t honestly believe what he was saying. If Blake had picked up some kind of virus, it was highly likely that there would be some transference to the other choir members on the bus.

“It must have been that other pianist…” Blake mumbled, his throat sounding hoarse and sore. “You know, the German one, who puked before they went on… I thought it was just nerves…”

“Blake, listen to me,” he said calmly, “there is no way you could have prevented this, and it is not your fault. Stop worrying about it. Now you need to have another sip of water before you rest.”

Mmmmmn, no…” Blake shook his head without opening his eyes.

“Yes,” Aiden was unscrewing the lid of the water bottle he’d been plying Blake with; he raised the bottle to Blake’s lips, that were cracked and dry. “Just a little bit to try and keep you hydrated…” Blake’s eyes had opened again, he looked exhausted and teary again, but he accepted a few small sips from the bottle. “There you go…” Aiden encouraged. “Now try and see if you can get a wee bit sleep… Come here, rest into me…”

Blake didn’t argue, but snuggled his head close into Aiden’s chest; Aiden secured his arm around Blake’s shoulder and held tight.

This was the first time the two of them had been out of the country together. Aiden had initially thought it might be like a holiday for them, but touring and performances and practicing for the competition that had culminated their trip, had made it considerably less holiday-like that he had thought. He’d already begun thinking about the possibility of suggesting that the two of them go somewhere on holiday, even if it was just a weekend break or something. Although he knew one thing for certain: they would not be going anywhere by bus.

Blake’s breathing had begun to slow, and Aiden felt relief flood through him that Blake was finally getting some rest. He leant his head on top of Blake’s and closed his own eyes. Poor Blake… It was bad enough that he got chronically car sick, let alone adding a bug on top of that.

He couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but he’d definitely dropped off because suddenly Blake was pulling away from him, and he jerked awake. Blake was panting heavily, his grip redoubling on the bucket, and his cheeks had tinged that familiar sallow tinge. Instantly Aiden put his hand to the nape of his boyfriend’s neck and could feel the perspiration gathering there. Blake lurched forward with a burp, then hung over the bucket, groaning weakly.

“It’s alright, you’re okay,” Aiden intoned, “you’re okay Blake…” Blake was trembling visibly, and appearing like he was fighting hard to hold down the water. He let out a weak whimper, swallowing convulsively.

Buuuuuuuuaaarggggglllllluuuuuuuuuurrrrh!” With a forceful heave, Blake brought up all the water that he’d drunk, and it splattered into the bottom of the bucket.

“That’s it… Okay…” Aiden began to rub circles into Blake’s back again.

“Oh god…” Blake moaned, retching weakly again, but bringing up nothing.

“You’re doing really well,” Aiden said, using his free hand to pick up the tissue and wipe Blake’s mouth once again.

“I’m sorry…” Blake repeated.

“Ssssh…” Aiden brushed the curls of Blake’s fringe away from his sticky forehead.

Eventually Blake rested back against the seat, exhausted. After a few long minutes, in which Aiden half thought he’d fallen asleep, Blake opened his eyes and asked in a weak voice:

“How much further do we still have to go?”

“I’m sorry…” Aiden replied, his heart heavy as he looked down at his boyfriend, and knew that they had at least another three and a half hours of torture before they could get off the bus.

Uuuuuuuugggh…” Blake groaned, wriggling in his seat as though trying to find a position that was kinder on his unsettled stomach.

“Ssssh, you just rest back,” Aiden advised, putting his hand gently on Blake’s shoulder and easing him back into the chair, “and I’ll massage your stomach for you.”

Very cautiously Aiden put his hand onto Blake’s stomach, he could feel straight away that it was puffed out further than its usual slim size, and made gentle rubbing motions back and forth. After a few moments of this Bake let out a small moan, and rested his head back in the seat.

“That’s nice…” Blake whispered quietly as Aiden’s hand glided across his skin. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Aiden answered, “I’ll always look after you.”

House centipedes, man

I’m just trying to live my life, but this little bugger wants to crawl all over my wall and scuttle along my floor. Does this creature care that I have an exam tomorrow? No. Does it care that tiny bugs with many legs who surprise me end up on the receiving end of whatever weapon I can conjure up in my moment of panic? No.

My point is that it’s 3:15 in the morning, and I’m sitting perched on a chair, clutching a makeshift bat made of paper and weighted with tape, because there’s no way I’m gonna go to sleep with that THING hiding behind my desk.

I know they’re harmless and can be helpful and all, but please leave my room! D:

anonymous asked:

Sousuke x Makoto both ill with a stomache bug please. :) Sousuke is sick but claiming it's no big deal whilst telling Makoto, who's quickly getting sicker and burning himself out fussing over him to rest. One gets suddenly spewey and makes a mess which triggers the other to do the same. Caring soul vs caring soul. ♥

A/N: so self-indulgent it’s a tad obscene 🙈…

It’s so hot. It feels like the blankets are trying to smother him in his sleep.

Sousuke kicks off the offending covers with a frustrated groan. It takes a few tries to untangle the fabric from around his sweaty legs. For a moment, he lies there, wondering what exactly had woken him. Then his stomach does a slow, nauseating somersault and Sousuke curls into a fetal position, huffing softly into his pillow. The arm he presses abusively against his abdomen does little to alleviate the discomfort.

A fresh wave of sweat breaks out over his skin, but this time it’s mercilessly frigid, causing him to shiver involuntarily. His throat tightens, saliva suddenly flooding over his tongue and he swallows on impulse. He feels the warm body snuggled up against his back shift, and then a sleepy whimper as Makoto fusses himself awake.

“Sou?” he murmurs, hot breath puffing against Sousuke’s shoulder. “Y’okay?”

“‘M fine,” Sousuke assures, reaching back to rub his boyfriend’s thigh. Makoto gives an appreciative hum, then slurs around a yawn as Sousuke peels himself out of bed. “Gotta go to the bathroom,” he answers. “Go back to sleep.”

Makoto mumbles an incoherent protest, running his fingers clumsily over Sousuke’s back as he struggles out of the cocoon of blankets.

Sousuke doesn’t realize how dizzy he is until he’s on his feet; the floor dipping and swaying like a ship caught in a maelstrom beneath him as he overcorrects and staggers against the wall for balance. His stomach lurches, slimy warmth surging up and clogging his throat as he stumbles into the bathroom, collapsing to his knees.

“Oh, god,” he grunts, feeling that odd tingling sensation crawl up into his chest. “Oh, shit…”

His head goes all funny and every limb feels weak and powerless; he couldn’t get up off the floor right now if he wanted to. As the nausea cripples his body and absorbs every thought, Sousuke feels tears welling in his eyes. He fucking hates throwing up.

Something bubbles up from his stomach, hot and urgent. His lips part, a string of drool immediately dripping down into the water as the uncomfortable thickness rumbles in the back of his throat. Sousuke shudders, back arching as a deep, guttural belch tears out of him. He adjusts his position, panting over the bowl as dizziness sluices through him.

He wishes he’d had the presence of mind to turn on the faucet. He’s being too loud. Makoto absolutely cannot find him like this.

He spits out another mouthful of saliva, moaning softly as much wetter burp gurgles up. Sousuke gags, legs squirming over the floor as his body tenses in anticipation. Warm wetness slides down his cheeks, but he can’t reach up to wipe it away. His fingers tremble as they struggle to grip the sides of the bowl, his anchor and the only thing currently keeping him upright.

“Fuck, come on,” Sousuke groans, shoulders hitching with another unproductive retch. He just wants to get this over with and his body isn’t cooperating. The longer he sits here, the more likely it is that he’ll wake Makoto.

Another sick belch rolls up, morphing into a deep gag halfway out. Something shifts in his gut and he presses a hand to his stomach, feeling its contents surge as his muscles contract.

It happens so fast he doesn’t have enough time to inhale before a projectile torrent of vomit pours out of his mouth, splashing violently into the water below. Sousuke chokes, struggling to draw a breath as a second wave geysers up, causing his muscles to seize spasmodically as his body brutally purges itself.

He burps up another mouthful before heaving in several deep breaths, trembling as he pushes up from the toilet. Dizziness grips him like a vice. Sousuke sways dangerously, collapsing hard against the bathtub as his head reels and the room spins. His stomach chooses that moment to cramp, stabbing him with little lightening bolts of agony.

Curling in on himself, he pants through the pain, hoping he doesn’t end up puking all over himself. The bathroom door opens and Makoto shuffles inside, fisting his eyes like a sleepy toddler.

“Sou?” Makoto’s eyes widen, his entire posture stiffening as he absorbs the scene. “Oh…oh, no.”

Though his features are screwed up with concern, Makoto is unnaturally pale, wavering on his feet as his throat bobs precariously.

“Oh, god…why didn’t you tell me you felt sick?” he stutters, crouching down beside his boyfriend. “You look terrible. How long have you been in here?”

“‘M all right,” Sousuke pushes himself into a sitting position, keeping one hand cradled around his stomach. “Must’ve been something I ate.”

“You feel really warm,” Makoto frowns, brushing the back of his hand over Sousuke’s flushed cheek. “I think you’re running a fever.”

Sousuke releases a breathy burp before answering, chin tilting down to rest against his chest, “Mako, I told you. I’ll be fine. Stop worrying.”

“You need fluids. You’re going to get dehydrated. Have you had anything to drink? I’ll be right back,” Makoto staggers to his feet, hurrying out of the bathroom before Sousuke can protest. A moment later he returns with his arms full of water bottles and medicine packets.

Sousuke grimaces, swallowing around the urge to gag. “I don’t think that’s gonna stay down.”

“Please, try,” Makoto begs, another thick swallow momentarily contorting his features. He holds out a bottle and a few pills, hands shaking slightly as he waits for Sousuke to take them. “Please.”

“Makoto,” Sousuke reaches out a hand, gently cupping the back of Makoto’s neck. “Are you feeling all right?”

The younger boy shudders, leaning into the embrace as his throat spasms. “Y-yeah,” he breathes. “Can you please drink something?”

Sousuke sighs, grabbing the bottle and tilting the plastic to his lips. The water soothes his raw throat, sliding down to settle in his roiling stomach. Makoto relaxes a bit, looking relieved.

“You should go back to bed,” Sousuke croaks, despising the way his voice rattles. “I’m fine, really.”

Makoto heaves a shaky breath, looking queasy as Sousuke reaches up to flush away the mess in the toilet. Sousuke doesn’t miss the way his hand strays to hover over his stomach.

“Are you coming?” Makoto asks timidly. For such a large person, Makoto has an annoying talent for disappearing when he feels overwhelmed.

“I don’t think I can go back to sleep just yet,” Sousuke admits, palming his own stomach. “I might lie down on the couch for a while.”

“Okay,” Makoto says, gathering up the supplies and hooking an arm around Sousuke’s waist, guiding him to his feet. “We can watch something.”

Sousuke doesn’t have the energy to protest as Makoto leads him into the living room and settles him down on the couch. He grabs a blanket out of their bedroom and drapes it over Sousuke’s shoulders before turning on the television. Makoto also positions a trashcan to the side, just to be safe.

“How’s your stomach?” Makoto asks, nervously pulling his legs up underneath him on the couch.

Sousuke’s cheeks inflate with an unexpected burp before he releases the trapped air with a low moan, “Hangin’ in there.”

Makoto’s eyebrows furrow, but he nods reluctantly, resting his hand lightly against Sousuke’s stomach and rubbing slow circles as he settles his head against the older boy’s shoulder.

The soothing gesture ushers up another wet belch and Makoto pauses his massage.

“You all right?” he asks, glancing up at Sousuke with a worried frown.

Sousuke doesn’t trust himself to open his mouth, so he simply nods, grunting softly in his throat.

After a few moments, Makoto’s hand stills, fingers digging into Sousuke’s flesh as his body tenses. Makoto’s skin is on fire, his breaths labored and uneven. Slowly, Makoto’s hand slides off of Sousuke’s bare abdomen, a small hiccup jolting his broad frame.

“Hey? Makoto?” Sousuke runs his hand over Makoto’s arm, peering down to get a better look at his boyfriend’s face. Makoto is completely passed out, lips parted slightly and warm breath puffing against Sousuke’s chest. But his throat is working with convulsive swallows, beads of sweat dotting his skin as he burrows his face against Sousuke’s neck.

Something gurgles in Makoto’s throat, causing him to choke. Before Sousuke has a chance to do anything, Makoto jerks, convulsing in his sleep as a flood of watery sick spills from his mouth, dribbling down his chin and bathing Sousuke’s naked chest in slimy warmth.

Makoto coughs, unconsciously smearing his cheek in the mess, jolting with a soft burp as another mouthful of vomit splashes all over his boyfriend’s stomach.

“Makoto,” Sousuke’s voice is weak as he gently shakes his boyfriend awake. He ignores the churning protest of his own stomach as Makoto moans, blearily lifting his head from Sousuke’s chest. “You’re all right. You’re just sick. Try to sit up for me, huh?”

“Wha’ -“ Makoto blinks, uncomprehending as he glances down at the cooling vomit pooling in both of their laps. His bottom lip quivers, tears brimming over his glassy eyes.

“You threw up,” Sousuke explains, rubbing the other boy’s back in slow, soothing arcs. “It’s all right. Don’t worry, we’ll…we’ll clean it…” A sudden swell of nausea forces him to retract his hand, instead reaching up to cup his mouth as a familiar ache constricts his throat.

“Sou?” Makoto breathes, voice hitching with a suppressed sob as he pushes away from the other boy, uselessly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It only makes the mess worse, but Makoto doesn’t seem to notice. 

Sousuke abruptly lunges for the trashcan, ducking his head in the container as a belching gag erupts from his throat. A moment later, Makoto whimpers, burying his face against Sousuke’s quivering back as copious waves of foul liquid slosh into the plastic bag.

“‘M sorry,” Makoto hiccups, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s heaving stomach. He doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for, and yet, “Sorry…I’m -“

“Makoto,” Sousuke spits, hacking up a final gob of nastiness before slumping back against the couch. Makoto shivers against him, arms still tucked securely over his lap. “Shh, it’s all right. Settle down,” Sousuke strokes his fingers wearily over his boyfriend’s clammy back.

“Bu’…but you’re so s-sick,” Makoto slurs.

Sousuke can’t help the delirious snort that escapes his lips. His boyfriend is burning up, barely coherent. They’re both a fucking mess. Covered in congealing bodily fluids and far too ill to do anything except cling to each other.

Sousuke presses a weak kiss into Makoto’s damp hair. His boyfriend heaves a shaky sigh, shivering violently against Sousuke’s chest. The fact that Makoto is nearly unconscious is concerning. He’s mumbling incoherently as wet hiccups wrack his upper body.

When he feels the hot tears begin to drip over his skin, Sousuke decides they need to call someone. This is too much to handle on his own.

He swallows his pride and picks up his cellphone.

anonymous asked:

"Wake up, come on, I can't lose you."

Ithro sat in the uncomfortable chair that he had pulled up next to the bed in the seedy motel room, holding the hand of the still figure lying on the bed.

“Come on. Wake up. I can’t lose you,” he pleaded, tears in his voice, streaming unashamedly down his face. He hadn’t left since Glanni had fallen to the poison in the drink nearly a week ago.

It had started like a stomach bug; nausea, vomiting, a fever, chills. Then it had progressed to clumsiness, fainting, delirium.

Then the note had come, detailing everything.

Ithro had never been so angry that he could recall, for one of the first times in his adult life truly wanting to destroy something. While they had found and administered an antidote, it had not had any visible effect yet.

He fell to his knees. “God, anyone, if you’re out there, I’m not sure if I believe in you, not sure if you’re real or not, and I know I’m not a religious elf, but please, please don’t take him from me. I’m not sure how it happened, but I…I think I love him.”

He didn’t remember much after that, having laid his head on the bed, sobbing quietly.

He woke to long fingers running through his hair.

Looking up, he saw that Glanni was awake. Not really well-looking yet, but conscious and alert.

Ithro took the hand in both his own, his smile saying everything he couldn’t.

dont-look-so-good  asked:

A prompt: person A isn't feeling good, so person B gives them a piggyback home. But it gets worse and person A ends up throwing up all down person B. Can you write this with Cain and Jesse please :D

A/N: I can’t even begin to describe how much I loved this prompt! It’s wonderful - and I loved it! I hope you enjoy!! 💙💙

Cain tightened his grip on the cool metal rail as he looked down at Jesse, who was surrounded by a gaggle of nine and ten year old kids. This was a new venture of the skate club that Jesse was part of – an outreach scheme for some of the less privileged kids of the catchment, bringing in their skaters like Jesse and Stuart to teach them simple board skills and build their confidence. Jesse had been ridiculously nervous about the whole thing, but Cain couldn’t help but smile as he watched Jesse sticking his arms out rather theatrically as he balanced on his skateboard, encouraging the kids to do the same. Cain didn’t know why Jesse had been so worried – he was clearly a natural with these kids. Cain could hear the children laughing as Jesse pretended to wobble and fall off.
Letting out a deep breath, Cain dragged one of the metal chairs over to the railing, sat down and leant his head against the rail – the bar of the metal resting above the ridge of his brows. He’d intended to go into uni and do some work on one of his drawings, then he wanted to pick up some books from the library – assuming that by the time he’d done both of these tasks Jesse would be done teaching the skate class.

That hadn’t quite worked out though… By the time Cain had gotten into uni, his head had begun to hurt – and focusing on the precise measurements he needed for his drawing only made it worse. He’d downed his entire bottle of water, thinking it might just be dehydration, but the water didn’t settle well, sloshing about uncomfortably in his belly. He’d attempted to ignore it, thinking it might pass, but he’d barely drawn five lines when he realised that his hands were shaking so much that it was useless.

He’d packed up his drawing, headed towards the library and never made it. He sat on a bench two streets away from the entrance to the library, taking deep breaths as his knees felt weak underneath him. Briefly he’d considered phoning Damian, but he dismissed that, thinking that he really was being silly, he decided to walk down to the skate park. He could take his time on his way down, stopping as and when he needed to, then wait for Jesse to be done.

The railing was soothing against his forehead, and Cain began to wonder whether he was running a temperature. He really wouldn’t be surprised if he was, he felt particularly rubbish right now. His mouth tasted funny and the back of his throat felt tight. Closing his eyes, he wished that Jesse was done so they could go home – his bed sounded like the most inviting place in the universe right now.

“Cain…?” Cain shot back in his chair suddenly as his name came from close beside him. As his head snapped back, he became instantly aware that a tight compressing sensation had closed in around his chest and stomach. Jesse was coming towards him along the observation platform.

“Jesse!” Cain stood up from his chair, and made to hug his boyfriend; the tight squeeze that Jesse administered made him momentarily light-headed. When he drew back Jesse let out a sudden burst of laughter, then bit his lip as though trying to restrain himself. “What?”

“Have you been sleeping against the railing?” Jesse inquired.

“I was just resting my eyes!” Cain refuted, wondering how Jesse could tell.

“Yeah, right…” He commented rather sarcastically, then raised one hand up.
“You’ve got a line imprinted on your forehead.” He explained with a grin, running his finger across the line. Almost instantly the grin vanished from Jesse’s face and his brows furrowed; both of his hands cupping Cain’s cheeks.

“Yeah?” Cain answered, the coolness of Jesse’s hands felt wonderful and Cain fought hard not to close his eyes in satisfaction.

“What’s wrong?” Jesse had lost the jaunty, bouncing tone in his voice and sounded serious.

“Nothing!” Cain said, forcing a grin onto his face, brushing Jesse’s hands away. “You were really good down there with the kids.”

“Cain, don’t try and change the subject,” Jesse stated firmly. “What’s wrong?” Cain looked at him and realised he wasn’t going to drop it.

“I’m not feeling 100%,” Cain admitted quietly. “I’d really like to just go home…”

“Of course,” Jesse slipped his hand into Cain’s and began walking towards the exit of the skatepark; Cain’s knees were wobbly underneath him but he was trying his best to hide this from Jesse.

Once they were out into the darkening street, Cain felt his head pounding and the lights of the streetlamps had golden halos around them. Jesse was glancing at Cain every so hundred yards as though checking on him.

“So, are you gonna tell me what’s up?” Jesse asked, giving Cain’s hand a quick squeeze.

“I just feel a bit rough…” Cain shrugged his shoulders, sighing slightly. This was a massive understatement. Underneath him, Cain’s legs felt as though they’d been turned into something soluble, and he was struggling against the desire to sit down and never stand up again. His head was throbbing more rhythmically now, and his stomach was bubbling inside him.

“Maybe you’re coming down with something?” Jesse suggested.

“Yeah,” Cain agreed, glad that he wasn’t on his own anymore, but he was feeling weaker by the second. “Sorry, can we stop for a moment? I need to sit down…”

“Of course,” Jesse relinquished his grip on Cain’s hand as the latter wobbled towards a low wall and sat down. “Just take your time. I’ve got some water if you’d like some?”

Cain shook his head a little, sinking his head briefly into his hands and feeling himself shaking. They weren’t too far away from their flat, but it felt like it’d take an immeasurable amount of effort to get there.

“Sorry…” Cain mumbled, not wanting to raise his head because he knew the look of concern that would be on Jesse’s face.

“It’s fine Cain,” Jesse reassured, then Cain felt Jesse’s cold hands touch his face; he let out a brief hissing sound. “You’ve definitely got a temperature.”

Uh-huh,” Cain hummed, but he still made no effort to move.

“Let’s get you home,” Jesse said finally, then he turned round and knelt down with his back to Cain. “Climb on…”

“What?” Cain had looked up and worried instantly that he’d gone mad, or at least was delirious. “Don’t be silly…” Jesse swivelled on the balls of his feet and rested his hands gently on Cain’s knees.

“Cain, you need to get home, but it’s obvious that you’re not really able,” Jesse told him softly, “let me help you. I’ll give you a piggy back.”

“I’ll squash you!” Cain protested, but Jesse made a clucking noise.

“You’re a beanpole Cain,” Jesse said dismissively. “I’m stronger than I look. We’re not that far away from home anyway, come on…” He turned back round and waited.

Very slowly, Cain wrapped his arms around Jesse’s neck and then his legs around his hips. He was surprised by just how strong Jesse was as he got to his feet and began to walk, a little slowly, in the direction of their flat. Cain rested his head on Jesse’s shoulder and closed his eyes, unable to continue to worry for his boyfriend over how rubbish he felt right now.

“Thank you…” He murmured into Jesse’s warm neck, feeling the tight grip of Jesse’s hands under his knees.

“You’re welcome,” Jesse replied, the faintest trace of a pant in his voice. Jesse was being extraordinarily gentle – but even those movements jostled at his already upset stomach. He took deep breaths in, and could smell the familiar musky, slightly woody smell that he associated with Jesse. He felt so protected.

Then he felt Jesse step down the edge of a pavement, and his stomach gave a sudden unpleasant lurch.

“Jesse, can you put me down?” Cain asked gently, raising his head and swallowing uncertainly.

“We’re nearly there Cain, I promise,” Jesse replied, not loosening his grip on him at all. “Just a few more minutes.”

“No, Jesse – put me dow – huuuueeerrrrgghh!” Cain’s sentence was cut off as his stomach gave an almighty squeeze and he felt the sick leaving his mouth before he could give any more warning. Foul smelling liquid had flowed onto Jesse’s shoulder, his back and all down Cain’s front. Jesse stopped and allowed Cain’s legs to swing to the ground, but gripped onto his hands as he turned to look at Cain, who let out a weak sob. “I’m sor – rrhhheeeuuuurrrggghh!”

Jesse had dodged quickly to avoid being hit by another wave of puke, but he fastened his arm tight around Cain’s waist, and swung Cain’s limp arm over his shoulder to hold him upright.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry Cain,” Jesse reassured, able to hear upset mixed with the ill sounds of weak retching. “We’re nearly home, we’ll get you cleaned up…”

“I’m sorry…” Cain finally managed to get his words out without throwing up.

“I said don’t worry,” Jesse repeated, slowly edging Cain along the street.

“I puked on you though…” Cain sounded like he was about to burst into tears.

“You’re not well Cain,” Jesse placated, “you didn’t mean to, so let’s just focus on getting you home right now.”