casper-reblogs-sickfics

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

Hello! Omg i have loved your blog for so long but have been too shy to send in any requests. If you're still taking prompts, can i please have sheith with a burpy shiro suffering a stomach bug and keith having to look after him??

Keith notices a few minutes into breakfast.

The borderline disgust as Shiro sluggishly pokes at his bowl of “space porridge”. The deep bruising around his eyes, (he obviously hadn’t slept a wink), the fringe sticking untidily to his sweaty forehead, and the way his hands shake with little tremors - he’s having trouble holding onto his spork.

It was obviously a bad night. Keith’s chest feels too tight. Because he should have noticed sooner. He should have noticed yesterday when Shiro cut their training session short. When he went to bed before everyone else because he kept dozing off during the movie.

Keith is nearly hovering in his chair because Shiro looks like he might just fall out of his. His swaying gently, eyelids fluttering as his head droops towards the table. He’s gone grey, throat bobbing with a thick swallow.

“Shiro?” Lance asks, sounding worried. “Are you all right? You look kind of, um—“

“Sick,” Hunk interjects. “You look sick.”

Shiro startles and sits up a little straighter. He looks dizzy and vaguely disoriented. But he tries to smile because suddenly everyone’s attention has turned on him.

“I’m fine,” he nods, then quickly closes his mouth and swallows again, breathing heavily through his nose.

“Shiro—“ Keith begins, but he’s cut off when Shiro’s shoulders abruptly jerk forward with a wet choking noise.

He cups his hand over his mouth and pushes away from the table, looking like he’s seconds away from losing it right there. “Excuse me,” he mumbles behind his hand before stumbling for the door.

“Crap,” Pidge breathes, looking scared and glancing around at the others for help.

“Someone should go make sure he’s all right,” Hunk suggests, obviously not too keen on volunteering. He already looks queasy just thinking about the prospect.

Keith stands up without a word.

“Keith, wait! Take this,” Lance calls after him. “He’s probably gonna need it.”

Keith catches the water pouch Lance tosses at him and stalks out the door.

Shiro made it back to his room, but couldn’t quite make it to the toilet. Keith finds him on the floor, crouching over a small trash bin. The smell hits him before anything else, the cloying tang of sickness already permeating the small room.

Shiro’s shoulders ripple with a belching heave and Keith cringes as a noisy splatter of liquid gushes into the bottom of the bin. His knuckles are bloodless, gripping the edges of the can so hard Keith’s certain he’s going to fracture something. Shiro curls forward with another guttural retch, expelling more of his stomach contents. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s not alone.

Keith squats down behind him, carefully placing his hand on Shiro’s shoulder as soon as his stomach gives him a break. Keith takes a chance and strokes his fingers lightly down Shiro’s back.

“Fine my ass,” Keith sighs.

Shiro leans forward to spit, struggling to get his body under control. “Please, go out,” he pants, swallowing down the renewed urge to gag. “Don’t — want you to see this.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Keith hums, fingers weaving an invisible path back up the broad plane of Shiro’s shoulders. He hasn’t been shrugged off yet. That’s not a good sign. “Your twentieth birthday ring any bells? You couldn’t get out of bed for two days.”

Shiro groans, shuddering with revulsion at the memory. “‘m…sorry about your boots,” he slurs.

Keith shrugs, moving a little closer. “They were falling apart, anyway.”

Shiro snorts out a strained breath of laughter. Then a wet belch sets him off again and Keith grips Shiro’s shoulders, holding him upright over the bin. He waits a few minutes, but Shiro isn’t bringing anything up. He’s just gagging on saliva and burping up sour air.

“Hey,” Keith soothes, reaching up to brush away the damp bangs plastered to Shiro’s forehead. “I think you’re empty. Just…um, try to breathe, okay?”

Shiro grunts and squirms in Keith’s grip, coughing through another aborted retch. “Yeah —“ he gasps.

“We should move this party into the bathroom,” Keith suggests, awkwardly rubbing circles between Shiro’s shoulder blades. Shiro nods and tries to stand. He wobbles and reaches out to catch himself against the wall. “Easy.” Keith loops an arm around Shiro’s waist, helping him into the bathroom.

Shiro collapses onto the closed toilet seat and buries his head in his hands, inhaling a few deep breaths to try and calm his stomach.

“You could’ve said something,” Keith mutters, wetting a washcloth in the sink.

Shiro makes a noncommittal noise. He isn’t really paying attention, too focused on keeping his stomach from crawling back up his throat. He lets out a small groan and burps into his lap. “Sorry. This is gross,” he cringes. “You don’t need to stay. I’ll be f—”

“Here.” Keith ignores him and pokes the plastic straw into the water pouch, guiding it to Shiro’s lips. “You’re dehydrated.”

Shiro peers up at Keith through his fingers and reluctantly accepts the pouch, sipping slowly, allowing the water to soothe his ravaged throat. Eventually, he pulls away with a contented sigh, swallowing a few times to ensure the water stays down.

“Thanks,” Shiro says, pressing a fist to his mouth.

“You need to go to back to bed. Rest.” Keith runs his fingers through the limp mess of hair, enjoying the way Shiro automatically leans into his touch. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Shiro whispers, throat working frantically again. “Fuck,” he slurs quietly.

Keith uses the wet cloth to wipe Shiro’s mouth, then underneath his nose, and he doesn’t say anything. He’s had enough experience with this to know he can’t convince him otherwise.

“Mmnnn, Keith…” Shiro’s stomach emits a foreboding gurgle. He winces, utterly miserable, and cradles an arm against his upset belly, weaving slightly as he begins tilting forward, forehead dropping onto Keith’s shoulder. Warm breaths puff against Keith’s neck and Shiro’s overly warm skin is flush against his. Keith swallows, aware that he’s lingered too long before he finally scoops his hands underneath Shiro’s armpits and gently lifts him up.

“C’mon, big guy,” Keith tries to smile for him. “Time for bed, yeah?”

Shiro blinks twice, lips moving silently. Then suddenly he’s gagging in his mouth and his stomach muscles visibly contract. He lurches to the side and throws up into the shower drain. It isn’t much, but he still dry-heaves for a solid five minutes before he’s finally wrung out. He collapses against Keith’s shoulder, stress-tears staining his cheeks and smearing against Keith’s skin.

“Okay, seriously,” Keith whispers into Shiro’s hair. “Bed.”

He’s almost grateful that Shiro is too exhausted to argue.

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

Day 2 - Emeto

Ayyyyyy *finger guns* don’t mind me, walking into @vldwhumpmas2017 15 minutes late with Starbucks in my hand.  

I would blame school for this being so delayed but…i really can’t do that lmao.  I’m combining this with a prompt I have sitting in my inbox, and as the title suggests, there’s an emeto warning

Keep reading

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

“Okay, it’s okay… Just breathe…” for Alistair and Julius with either of them sick, maybe?

Okay, here is an extremely self-indulgent fic because I wanted to make Alistair very sick. I’m not really happy with it, buy I hope you guys think it’s okay.

Warning: descriptions of vomit below.

Over the years, Julius had learned endless little things about Alistair. Most of them were rather useless things - like how he tied his laces with bunny ears, how he couldn’t use fountain pens because he pressed too hard as he wrote and made them explode, how he somehow managed to kick the blankets off the bed even on the coldest nights.

However, one useful thing he’d learned was that if Alistair was moaning, whining or complaining about how sick he felt, he was probably going to be fine - it was when he grew silent that you had to worry about him.

Julius would usually have noticed that morning that Alistair was unusually quiet before they dashed off to a lecture, but he’d been in a flap trying to find his essay and he hadn’t had a good look at his boyfriend.

Julius didn’t notice anything was amiss until both boys were sat in the lecture hall. Alistair was sat with his chin in his hands, staring ahead dazedly. To anyone else it would look like he was just listening intently to the lecturer - but that was unlike Alistair. He never just sat still and listened. He’d doodle on his paper or idly nibble his nails or twirl his pen around, anything so he didn’t have to take notes (when the final exams rolled around, he studied with Julius’s notes, page after page of the boy’s delicate, tiny handwriting).

It wasn’t until Julius inches closer and felt the intense heat radiating from his boyfriend that he understood. Julius hustled Alistair home and tucked him in bed quick as a wink, and spent the rest of the day trying to lower his fever. He plied the red-head with medicines, he forced him into cold baths, he placed an icy cloth on his burning forehead.

For once, Alistair didn’t protest or complain in the slightest; he barely even spoke. Sometimes he cried as he was lying wretchedly in bed with Julius stroking his hair, but even then he was silent, simply blinking the tears sideways down into his ears as he lay on his back.

That evening, the vomiting started. It seemed to surprise Alistair as much as Julius - the red-head suddenly jerked out of an uneasy doze and threw up into his own lap. After that the bouts of vomiting came on every two hours or so, continuing all the way through the night. The boys got very little sleep, sometimes even resorting to curling up on the chilly bathroom floor. Isabelle found them both in the morning when she went to the bathroom, getting ready for her early lecture. The pair were sprawled across the linoleum, towels pulled over them, Alistair’s head on Julius’s lap.

“Christ, have you guys been at this all night?” she asked incredulously as Alistair heaved himself wearily over the toilet again. Simply turning his head to look at Isabelle had been enough to make his stomach lurch again. Julius was immediately by his side, sighing.

“Guess I’m peeing in the sink this morning then,” Isabelle teased. She was trying to make Alistair laugh - it was frightening to see him so white and quiet, tears pooling in his eyes as Julius wiped his lips tenderly. The red-head smiled obediently, but his eyes were glassy and lifeless.

Julius and Alistair ended up on the sofa, curled up together like puppies, a bucket on the floor beside them. Julius put on Disney movies, worrying all over again when Alistair didn’t make a peep in protest; he usually said Disney was so sickly sweet it gave him diabetes.

Julius was able to get away with the cutesy, dorky stuff Alistair would never usually have allowed, like singing A Whole New World to him and calling him princess and giving him Eskimo kisses. Alistair barely reacted, and Julius grew more and more concerned. The smaller boy was relieved when Alistair started to doze off just after midday, hoping he’d be able to have a real restorative sleep.

When Alistair seemed to be settled, Julius crept away. He still had a lot of washing to do from the night before - several sets of clothes and the bedsheets had ended up coated with vomit throughout the course of the night. Julius was exhausted, and all he really wanted was to curl up beside Alistair and sleep all afternoon. But the sheets had to washed, unless he and Alistair wanted to sleep on the bare mattress that night. He rolled up his sleeves with a sigh and set to it.

By the time Julius was up to his elbows in soapy water, Alistair was tossing and turning, groaning in his sleep. He eventually jerked awake with a yelp, immediately reaching out for Julius. He felt a pang when he realised his small boyfriend wasn’t curled up beside him, and he quickly hauled himself up, staggering off to go find him.

Earlier that morning, Julius had gently coaxed Alistair into eating a couple of slices of toast, just so he’d have something in his belly. Alistair hadn’t notice until he stood up, but the food was like a rock in his aching tummy - he was seized with a cramp and tasted bile that minute he was on his feet.

Every instinct was telling him to sit down at once, but he wobbled onwards, holding onto the wall to keep upright. He stumbled and fell in the hallway, landing with a thump on his knees.

Julius, who had been wringing the rinsed sheets, heard the thumping and thudding. He dumped the sheets back in the sink and dashed out into the corridor. He found a white-faced Alistair in a crumpled heap on the floor, leaning on the wall. He turned his face to Julius, but as soon as he opened his mouth he retched.

Julius knew there was no point trying to move Alistair now. He squatted beside the red-head, carefully gathering up his tangled mane of hair and rubbing his back.

“Don’t worry. Okay, it’s okay… Just breathe…”

Alistair heaved again, this time bringing up a wave of half-digested food. He’d raised his hand as if he thought it was possible to catch the mess, but of course it just seeped through his fingers and splattered on the floor in a revolting fashion. Alistair just casually wiped his hand off on his pyjama pants, making Julius sigh.

Almost immediately after the first wave, a violent stream of mostly liquid vomit gushed out of Alistair’s mouth and onto the floor, all the liquids Julius had forced into him coming up at once. Tears fell down Alistair’s cheeks with the exertion, and because he was making an unpleasant mess on the floor that poor Julius would have to mop up.

After a further ten minutes of coughing and dry heaving, Alistair’s stomach finally seemed to settle. By that point he was exhausted, his bangs wet with sweat. He slumped against Julius weakly, his head on the smaller boy’s shoulder. Julius rubbed Alistair’s back comfortingly, but inside he was worrying again. Alistair usually groaned or snapped or complained after he threw up - he was never so calm and silent and weak.

“If I was dying right now, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?” Alistair mumbled into Julius’s shoulder. The smaller boy smiled and relaxed. That was more like Alistair, ever the drama queen.

“Yes, I’d tell you. And you’re not dying. You’ve just got a really nasty stomach bug,” Julius said, soothingly stroking Alistair’s damp hair. The red-head sighed, deliberately not looking at the pool of vomit on the floor.

“I made such a fucking mess. And you’ve already been cleaning up my puke all night,” he said wretchedly.

“Don’t worry, Star. You can’t help getting sick. Besides, even when you’re not sick I’m used to your messes. Picking up your clothes from the bathroom floor, collecting your empty soda cans, cleaning all the dishes,” Julius teased, grinning. Alistair huffed a little.

“I help!”

“You help if I force you! But whatever the truth is, you’re too sick to help today. Will you sit and wait on the sofa until I’ve cleaned this up?” Julius asked.

“No.”

“I thought not. Stay sitting there, then. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Alistair sat on the floor obediently as Julius put the flat to rights, cleaning up the vomit and stuffing the rinsed sheets in the washing machine. By the time he returned to Alistair, the red-head was half asleep, slumping against the wall. Julius smiled fondly, helping Alistair up and trying to manoeuvre his legs into clean pyjama pants.

“Come on, sleepyhead. You wiped your pukey hands on these.”

Once Alistair was dressed in clean clothes and had been given a few sips of water, the boys ended up on the sofa again. Though he was quite a bit bigger, Alistair crawled on top of Julius at once, putting his hot head on the smaller boy’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Julius was thoroughly squashed, but he didn’t complain, simply stroking Alistair’s hair fondly as he drifted off to sleep.

The boys slept together all afternoon, not even waking when Isabelle returned. She smiled at them fondly - they looked so sweet, even Alistair, all curled up together, their cheeks flushed with sleep and their hair dishevelled. She tenderly draped a blanket over their sleeping bodies and left them in peace.

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

Julien was a big guy, but he wasn’t out of shape. In fact he was relatively fit, carrying a good bit of muscle on him. But he’d always been a little self conscious about his weight. He’d always been a little chubby in places, and Florence and Rhys always told him how they liked that about him. He took that to heart, but part of him wanted to still give it a shot. He might not be down for dieting (how in the world could he turn down Rhys’ and Flo’s awesome cooking?), but a workout routine could be worth it.

But everyday lately, Rhys would catch him outside in their big backyard, doing push ups until his arms couldn’t take it anymore, or just pushing himself to work out as much as his body could handle. Maybe it was a bit of a phase churned up out of a little insecurity, but Julien was definitely trying hard. He’d eat a full, high protein breakfast, then let himself outside for an hour or two, and come back exhausted.

Exactly that happened that morning. Rhys was cleaning up the kitchen, and not to long after starting, Julien walked in. He looked terribly tired and sweaty, maybe a little more than usual, and he went straight to the fridge, grabbing a cold bottle of water and leaning up against the counter.

Rhys smiled, coming over to greet him with a kiss. “Fun?” he asked, wrapping his arms around Julien’s waist. He drew back immediately, making a face. “Ugh. Sweaty.”

“What’d you expect?” Julien snorted, smiling at Rhys and still leaning over to kiss him on the lips, no extra contact needed. “Yeah, it was fun. I quit a little early… I got tired real quick this time.”

Rhys nodded towards the living room, taking Julien by the hand. “Break?”

“Yeah.” Julien nodded back, lifting up his shirt and dabbing off his forehead, following Rhys to the living room. Right away, he fell back onto the couch with a heavy sigh, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Rhys sat down beside him, brushing the loose strands of Julien’s hair back from his sweaty forehead. He seemed to take notice of Julien’s discomfort. He frowned. “Okay?”

Julien looked a little unsure, but he nodded anyway. “Yeah, I’m okay… just kinda… queasy, I guess.” He shrugged tiredly. “It was hot out, so, maybe it was that.”

Rhys made a sympathetic sound, standing and heading back into the kitchen. He returned a minute later with a cool, wet rag. He motioned for Julien to sit up for a second and draped it across the back of his neck.

Julien let out an appreciative hum, the cool rag immediately making him feel more comfortable. But suddenly even moving around felt a bit painful. It was pretty alarming at first, but after a moment, the pain centered on his stomach, and a gurgling sound made him wince and groan softly. “Geez… yeah, I definitely think I got too hot,” he mumbled, fanning himself with his hand.

Rhys frowned. “Shower?” he suggested.

“Maybe,” he huffed, but a harsh churn of his stomach sealed the deal. “…You know what, yeah. Y-Yeah, could you get me a cold shower going, please…?”

Rhys nodded, brushing his hand over the crown of Julien’s head before jumping up and heading towards the bathroom to get things ready.

Julien actually followed right away. He moved a bit urgently, actually, though he was lightheaded from pushing himself too far with his workout. Maybe he should have cut it much shorter… or maybe he shouldn’t have overdone the power breakfast he had right before.

Stepping into the bathroom with Rhys, he put a hand on the counter and leaned against it, breathing in slowly like he was fighting off a wave of nausea.

Rhys startled, surprised by Julien’s quick entrance. His expression immediately turned to worry, and he stepped up behind Julien, placing a hand on his back.

“Julien…?”

“I-I’m good,” he mumbled, but he couldn’t stop himself from suddenly gagging, and he leaned over the sink, coming up with nothing.

“Not,” Rhys said, shaking his head. He took Julien’s arm, tugging him away from the sink towards the toilet and urging him to kneel.

Julien groaned. He didn’t want to go through that right now, but he knew he’d feel better right after. It didn’t take much other than just kneeling in front of the toilet to trigger it all. After a couple slow breaths, he heaved again, vomiting up whatever was on his stomach from that morning.

Rhys winced, kneeling behind him and rubbing his back in an attempt to soothe his boyfriend. “Okay, Julien…”

Julien let out a whine, feeling almost embarrassed as he got sick in front of Rhys. But it was stupid of him to over do it, too, and that only made it so much more embarrassing. “…M'sorry,” he mumbled when he caught his breath, but it was short lived, and he was soon gagging again, retching so hard, Rhys could feel Julien’s muscles tense under his hand.

“Shhh,” Rhys murmured. He stood and grabbed a washcloth off the shelf, wetting it in the sink before kneeling down behind Julien again. He drew the cloth across his skin in an effort to cool him down, moving it across his shoulders and down his back.  

“Mmh,” Julien tried to show he appreciation, but he was still stuck trying to calm his stomach. He waited just in case, waiting until it seemed like nothing else was going to come up before he sat back, wiping his mouth of the mess, his eyes a little red from the strain and stress of it all.

Rhys reached past him and flushed the mess down the toilet. “Done?” he asked warily, eyeing Julien with concern.

“I hope so…” He shuddered, taking the cold cloth off his shoulders and putting it to his face, still desperately trying to cool off.

“Shower,” Rhys urged again, touching Julien’s shoulder. “Feel better.”

“Mmhm,” Julien hummed again, nodding his head and taking Rhys hand, letting him help him up and into a nice, ice cold shower.

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

Hotel Room Yuuri Sick Fic

Here’s a fic that i just got inspired randomly to do :) Nice when inspiration comes to you easily! 

This is set when Yuuri is training under Viktor’s coaching. They are at a competition, travelling away from home.

Enjoy some sick Yuuri with a caretaking Viktor.

This is a part 1 of 2 for the fic.

***Trigger Warning: This fic contains scenes with vomit under the line.******

Yuri felt like he could melt into the hotel lobby couch. Viktor, Yuri, Yakov, and him along with a few other teams were staying at a hotel nearby the competition venue. The sound of Yakov arguing with the man behind the front desk droned in the background, annoying Yuuri with the racket. All he wanted after today was sleep. 

The jet lag was terrible for this competition and he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep over the previous training day and this first day of competition. He had woken up today with a splitting headache behind his eyes and feeling like his body was being weighed down. He pushed through this day’s competition and did ok with his short program, but he knew he was off his game. The rest of the day had been full of cheering, interviews, results, post competition team meetings, and dinner out with several teams. Yuuri just assumed he was so tired because of all the day’s activites, but the slightly nauseas feeling he felt and the chills he was beginning to feel were making him reconsider. He closed his eyes, waiting for the room situation to be figured out so he could get into bed and try to sleep this off. 

“Yuuri? Come on, its not time to sleep yet!”Yuuri opened his eyes to see his coach, Viktor, standing in front of him. He had all his bags and was extending a hand down to Yuuri with a smile. Yuuri rubbed his eyes, stretched and got up off the couch bending down to scoop up his belongings. His head began spinning and he felt the blood rushing in his ears forcing him to stop. He steadied himself on the couch groaning from the vertigo. 

“Woah, careful. You good?” Viktor said catching the younger skater as he swayed dizzily. 

“mmnnngg…Y-yeah.. I just stood up too fast i think,” Yuuri replied, as the dizzy spell began to pass. He looked up at Viktor’s face, a look of mild concern mixed with amusement on his face. He returned the smile sheepishly. He still felt shy and unsure around Viktor, he had only been his coach for a few months by now. Yuuri hadn’t mentioned feeling bad to anyone today. Mostly because he didn’t want to disappoint Viktor, but also he was occupied willfully convincing himself he was fine so he could focus on the competition.

“Hurry it up already!” Yakov hollered at the two of them from down the hallway. Viktor helped Yuuri gather his things, grabbed the key from Yakov, and the two headed to the room they were assigned. Once inside their room, the two threw their bags on the floor and began to get settled. Viktor changed into some sweatpants and Yuuri filled his waterbottle up from the bathroom sink. 

“You want to watch some TV for a bit?” Viktor asked lazily flipping through the tv channels. He was lounging at ease on his bed shirtless. It still made Yuuri blush when he saw Viktor in this state. 

“Mmmm I honestly don’t think I can keep my eyes open to watch. I’m just gonna go to bed I think. Its been a long day,” Yuuri said, grabbing his tooth brush and a pair of clean boxer briefs. 

“Sure, I might just stay up and watch a little TV before bed, that wont bother you will it?” Viktor said.

“no its fine. I sleep like a rock,” Yuuri said changing while brushing his teeth in the bathroom. He felt terribly cold standing on the tile floor in his bare feet, t-shirt and boxer briefs. He looked at his reflection shivering, noticing how flushed his cheeks looked. He certainly didn’t feel good, and he was beginning to look it too. Yuuri spat out his toothpaste, rinsed his mouth, and then crawled into bed. He pulled the duvet snugly up to his chin and curled into a ball trying to get some warmth. His aching head was pounding and he could hear his stomach audibly shifting and twisting ominously. At least Viktor couldn’t hear it over the drone of the TV. He closed his eyes and prayed a little prayer that this was just fatigue from travel and some indigestion from the reastaurant…

At 11:30pm, Viktor turned off the tv and climbed under his blankets. “Goodnight Yuu-” Viktor began saying but stopped when he saw the dark haired boy already fast asleep. In the lamp light he noticed Yuuri had a pained expression on his face. Viktor frowned in concern and watched Yuuri toss and turn in his feverish sleep for a second before turning off the bedside lamp. He couldn’t help feeling protective over Yuuri, but he rationalized his concern saying to himself he was being a paranoid coach. They both just needed a good nights sleep.

____________________________________________________________

Yuuri woke with a jolt, breathing rapid breaths and his heartbeat thudding in his ears. His automatic response was to sit up in the dark bedroom. As he did, his head span and an intense wave of nausea made his stomach lurch. Yuuri began to panic, sweat cold on his neck as he swallowed down the rising nausea. “nnnnngggggghhh…” Yuuri whimpered taking a slow breath through his nose. He needed to get to the toilet, he was sure he was gonna throw up. His stomach contracted and Yuuri gagged, swallowing back vomit. He jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. He slapped on the light switch, the brightness piercing his head, and slammed the door. All he could do was turn to the sink as a slurry of vomit escaped his throat and splattered in the sink and on the counter. Flecks of sick covered the bottom of the mirror dripped onto the floor.

“hhuuurrrraaaaaaauurrrrkkkkk!” Yuuri heaved into the sink, his whole body convulsing. He grabbed the counter to steady himself as he swayed. He stared down at his predigested dinner in absolute horror. 

Shit. No. Noo. No this cant be.. ulp*.. happening!! Yuuri’s thoughts raced frantically. He hovered for a moment spitting and trying not to inhale the overpowering stench of vomit filling the tiny bathroom. Without warning a thick stream of puke erupted from Yuuri, making him keel over. Yuuri panicked and tried staggering to get in front of the toilet, but ended up making a mess in the process. Yuuri whimpered in pain as his stomach continued sending everything he ate yesterday up violently, splashing noisily into the water below. He was really regretting eating all that heavy bolognese pasta earlier. The taste was awful coming back up.

“Oh my god,” Yuuri uttered when he finally seemed to get a break between bouts of vomiting. He rested his cheek down on the toilet seat, too tired to care about how hygienic it was. The nausea wasn’t relieved at all, in fact it seemed to be getting worse. All he could do was let his mouth hang open and drool over the dirty water with his eyes screwed shut.

“Yuuri? Are you okay?”

panic and embarrassment shot through Yuuri when he heard a little knock and Viktor’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door. No he wasn’t fine, but he really didn’t want Viktor to see him in such a pathetic state. 

“I-I  I-I’m uhh.. Its okay, don’t worry–aaauuucckk!!!” Yuuri attempted to shoo Viktor away, but was cut off by a sudden heave.

“Yuuri I AM worried, you’re throwing up…I’m gonna open the door okay?” Viktor said. Viktor pushed the door open and cringed sympathetically as he saw Yuuri panting over the toilet. 

“Oh Yuuri.” Viktor spoke in a hushed tone despite being alarmed at the state Yuuri was in. He knelt behind Yuuri and began rubbing his back. Yuuri’s face burned, tears streamed down his face as more streams of vomit came up suddenly. The sting of acid caused him to go into a coughing fit. Viktor could feel the heat radiating off his back. “You’re burning up, you’ve definitely got something more than just jet lag.” Viktor got no response other than some sniffling and miserable groans. The two sat in the bathroom for several minutes not moving, Yuuri’s head laid on his arms that were draped over the toilet seat. Viktor felt a bit overwhelmed, he opened his phone and checked the time. It was 1:58am, this was going to be a long night and he felt unsure he could handle Yuuri on his own. He contemplated getting Yakov, but he didn’t feel comfortable leaving Yuuri alone like this. Instead, he silently rubbed circles in between Yuuri’s shoulder blades. Every few seconds, Yuuri would shift and groan in discomfort or let out a breathy burp. After a few minutes of this Viktor figured Yuuri’s stomach was settling down.

“How do you feel Yuuri? Nauseas still?” Viktor asked gently. Yuuri groaned and nodded his head slowly in response. Viktor was incredibly patient, he could sympathize as he had been hit with the flu only a couple months prior and shuddered at the memory. He was beginning to think that Yuuri may have fallen asleep when the boy suddenly started and a wet burp wormed up his throat. Yuuri let out a groan and the sound of trickling liquid followed.

“Shhhh it’s okay. Let your body do what it needs to,” Viktor said soothingly. The two sat for what seemed like forever. Yuuri felt miserably nauseas and didn’t feel safe leaving the commode anytime soon. He couldn’t remember ever feeling nausea this intense before. All that came was a few false alarms of Yuuri’s breath quickening in anticipation and unproductive gags. Both of their knees and backs were beginning to get sore from sitting awkwardly on the hard tile floor.

“You think your done?” Viktor coaxed not wanting to rush Yuuri. 

“Yeah, for now anyways,” Yuuri croaked. His whole body felt like it was on fire. The only relief he felt was not feeling so bloated and full, but his stomach still twisted uncomfortably. Exhaustion hit Yuuri like a ton of bricks, and he closed his eyes and laid down on the floor, the cold tile soothing his burning cheeks. He could hear Viktor moving around the bathroom, flushing the toilet, cleaning up, and rinsing a washcloth under some cold water. Once finished wiping up the vomit from the sink incident, Viktor came over to Yuuri who had fallen asleep on the floor. 

“Come on Yuuri, wake up. This isn’t the best place for you to sleep.” He knelt in front of the younger skater watching him rub his eyes and slowly sit up. “Here, let me.” Viktor said as he wiped Yuuri’s face clean ever so gently. The coolness felt amazing against Yuuri’s burning skin. Viktor stood back up and was rinsing the washcloth out with more cold water, when he heard quiet sobbing. Viktor turned around to see Yuuri burying his face in his hands. Tears leaked in between his fingers. Viktor came and sat beside him, running a hand through Yuuri’s sweaty hair.

“no.. no..I- I c-can’t be sick right n-now! why now?! I -I have to do w-well in t-this competition-n!! ” Yuuri sniffled looking up at Viktor from up against the tub. His eyes were bleary with feverish haze.

“You can’t help it, Yuuri. I’m so sorry you’re feeling so bad,I wish there was more I could do to make you feel better,” Viktor cooed trying to calm him down. He began wiping hid face again trying to distract Yuuri from getting too worked up. “Let’s get you into bed now that you’re cleaned up. You want to do that?” Viktor offered, kneeling in front of Yuuri. He was so patient. Yuuri let out a slow breath, it was clear he was still feeling nauseas. His face was extremely pale and he kept swallowing precariously. Yuuri nodded and Viktor helped him slowly get up.

“Ooooohhh hnnnn…” Yuuri groaned as the movement jostled his stomach and made his head spin.

“Its okay, Ive got you.” Viktor whispered in his ear. Yuuri could feel Viktor’s strong arms wrapped around him. The two slowly made it back to Yuuri’s bed. Yuuri collapsed onto the mattress while Viktor grabbed the trashcan from the bathroom and Yuuri’s waterbottle. “Here, just in case,” Viktor gestured at the bucket now located below Yuuri’s head. 

“Mmmmm …” a noncommittal grumble was the only response. Despite the nausea, his fatigue was taking over and he could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness. Viktor sat on the side of his bed and let out a breath. He certainly wasn’t expecting this to happen during the competition. In training, Yuuri had appeared to be in good health. He knew Yuuri struggled with his nerves, but a full blown stomach flu wasn’t on anybody’s radar. Viktor grabbed his phone and texted Yakov, letting him know Yuuri was sick and the two of them would likely not be making it to the rink tomorrow. 

Oh my poor Yuuri… Viktor exhaled. He moved to sit beside him. Viktor’s fingers carded through Yuuri’s hair. From where he was sitting he couldn’t see Yuuri’s expression relax at the touch. How could he have known that having his hair played with was Yuuri’s favorite?

To be Continued…..

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

They had planned the date well in advance, so when the day finally rolled around, Yuuri opted to ignore the lethargy and the cramps flaring hot across his stomach in favor of enjoying the day with Viktor.

Keep reading

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

okaaaay so if you feel like it: i would love a yoi sickfic with yuuri as caretaker! just go all out and make viktor as sick as you can! preferably without sending him to the hospital, though if the fic demands that it happens, no worries! a fic's gotta go where a fic's gotta go XD (also i'm not great at prompts so sorry if this is not detailed/specific enough >.<)

Hey!!! Sorry this fic makes no sense towards the end and isn’t that good but I hope you like it my friend!!!!!!

~~~~~~~~

Yuuri came to a stop as he scanned the skating rink, he could’ve sworn that Viktor had sent him a text saying to meet on the ice ten minutes ago. Where was he? Yuuri sighed as he slowly skated towards the edge of the funk and he slowly stepped off the ice before he pulled on his skate guards,

“Viktor?” Yuuri called out and silently waited for a response but he didn’t hear anything, he moved his hand and felt for his phone before he turned it on and the bright screen blinded him, the only notifications he had were from his best friend who was currently prepping for a competition in another country. Yuuri tapped his hand against his thigh before he stood up and made his way into the dressing room, where in the world could Viktor be? He wondered to himself as he sat down on a bleacher in the room and began to remove his skates to go on a search for his coach. He paused as he heard the sound of retching coming from the locker room bathroom, and he snapped his head towards the door before he slowly stood up and made his way to the door. He did a small knock before he slowly entered the bathroom,

“Viktor?” Yuuri called out softly and watched as a man emerged from one of the stalls, his hair was sticking to his sweaty forehead and the back of his shirt was dampened with even more sweat,

“Ah, Yuuri..” The Russian man said and gave a weak smile,”Why didn’t you tell me..you were here?” Viktor slowly made out and Yuuri blinked trying to pull together his thoughts, what was he suppose to say to Viktor?!

“I called for you, but—“

“Where are..Your skates?” The older man asked and Yuuri froze, surprised to be cut off,

“I mean—Viktor, those are..My skates you’re trying to wear..” he whispers and looks around the room,

“Nonsense, Yuuri, get your skates-“

“Viktor! Those are mine, they don’t even fit you come on please set them down..We should go home, and I should get your fever taken and you need rest and Viktor, come on stop staring at the wall..!” Yuuri took a deep breath and stared at the older man before he made his way and gently grabbed Viktor’s hands,”You’re warm, Viktor please..”

“Only because you’re sick,” Viktor said and stumbles into Yuuri and the smaller man caught him and gently held onto him,

“I’m not sick, Viktor..” Yuuri let out a defeated sigh as he helped Viktor towards the door. Once outside Yuuri glanced at viktor and watched as his breathing slowed and he seemed to be having a struggle, the cool air rushed past them and Yuuri groaned, he knew that this would be a long walk home.

About half way there Yuuri felt viktor tugging away from him,

“What’re you doing-“ Viktor asked, a slight tinge of being annoyed could easily be heard in his voice, and as Viktor teamed up Yuuri immediately felt horrible.

“No, Viktor, I’m sorry..” Yuuri whispered,

“What do you mean..?” The older man asked,”I’m not..”

_______________

“Viktor..?!” Yuuri cried out before he blinked rapidly,

“Yuuri! Thank god you’re awake,” Viktor sighed before moving and grabbing a cloth out of a bowl and gently placed it on Yuuri’s forehead after wringing it out,”You were having a nightmare,”

“But you were..the sick one..” Yuuri whispered,

“That was a fever dream..” Viktor reassured softly,

“Oh..” Yuuri whispered before relaxing on the bed,”I’m sorry,”

“No,no, it’s not your fault you’re sick,” Viktor said softly,”Get some more rest, I’ll be here when you wake up..”

“Thank you,” Yuuri whispered before letting his eyes fall closed.

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

2+6+9 F for Rhys????

2F for a sick Rhys being taken care of by Julien?

fever + nausea and vomiting, night before Christmas 

((written with Mod Felix))

“It’s snowing again,” Julien said, a slightly excited look on his face as he turned to Rhys behind him, bundled up in one of his favorite sweaters. Julien loved watching the snow fall, and he stared out at their huge yard blanketed in white happily, and he pulled Rhys over, sadly knowing he wasn’t feeling well again.

But Julien wasn’t going to let the lingering fever bum Rhys out. The weather right now was prime time to light a fire, and for the first time, Julien and Rhys go to start up the old style fireplace in the living room. It was ready just as it got dark outside, and Julien set up the room perfectly. The curtains were open, snow storm rolling. They piled up the blankets and a couple pillows on the floor, not forgetting Rhys’ plush armadillo in the cuddle pile. The fireplace and TV were going, an old cheesy sci-fi film on, and they sat leaning against the couch, Julien’s arm wrapped snugly around a curled up Rhys.

Though the movie would normally have been right up Rhys’s alley, tonight he didn’t seem particularly into it. He burrowed up against Julien’s side, watching the screen with glassy, listless eyes.

Julien, on the other hand, was pretty engrossed in the movie, but was easily distracted by the lack of response on Rhys’ end. “You okay, babe?” he asked, petting his side sweetly. “You fallin’ asleep on me?”

“Mmm,” Rhys hummed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Bad.”

“Bad, huh…” Julien frowned, shifting to turn and look at him better. “Bad where?”

Rhys shrugged, gesturing at himself vaguely. After a moment’s hesitation, he rested a hand pointedly on his stomach.

Julien thankfully understood quickly. “Stomach ache?” He asked to be sure, getting a nod in response. “… c'mere, baby.” Julien hummed in thought before he reached over, putting both arms around Rhys and gently guiding him over to sit with his back to him, on the floor between his legs.

Rhys huffed, shifting around in an attempt to get comfortable before finally settling back against Julien’s chest.  

Julien just brought him close, putting a his hand on Rhys’s belly and rubbing it gently, kissing the top of his head. “That doesn’t hurt, does it…?”

“Mm, no.” Rhys sighed contentedly, shivering a little from his lingering fever.

“Good…” Julien sighed, rubbing his stomach in a soothing fashion. He wanted to try and take Rhys’ mind off of it, so he turned up the volume on the movie, holding him comfortably and leaning in just far enough to sweetly kiss his cheek.

For awhile it seemed to work. Rhys relaxed as Julien continued to rub his stomach. He even started to get back into the movie, laughing at some of the cheesier effects. As the movie neared it’s end, though, he began to squirm again. He whined, turning and pressing his face against Julien’s chest.

“Jules…”

“Yeah, Rhys?” he asked softly, a little tense hearing him sound like he was in pain. “Does it still hurt? Do we need to get up?”

Rhys nodded, pressing a hand to his mouth.

Julien suddenly realized it was a little more urgent, shifting over and hurrying a little unsteadily to his feet. “Ahh… come on, Rhys, baby, to the bathroom.” He hurried him a little, but he was looking worse off by the second.

By the time they made it to the bathroom, Rhys was already heaving. He dropped in front of the toilet, gripping the edges in a white-knuckled grip as his stomach attempted to turn itself inside out. He was shaking, his entire body soaked in sweat as he continued to heave unproductively.

Julien got down to the floor next to Rhys. The extent of his fever finally showed, and Julien winced at the how he retched so hard, there was no way it wasn’t painful.

“Rhys… easy…” He tried to calm him down somewhat, reaching over and pulling his long hair back and out of the way.

Rhys managed to suck in a shuddering breath before pitching forward again, heaving up a wave of his dinner with one long gurgling retch.

“Get it out, babe…” Julien sighed, rubbing circles over Rhys’ back, feeling his muscles tense tight under his hand. All Julien could do was hope it made his stomach feel better, and as he slowed down, heaving dryly, he helped him sit up, grabbing a nearby hand towel and wiping off his mouth.

Rhys whimpered, wrapping his arms around his middle. “Christmas,” he whined, looking up at Julien apologetically.

Julien’s expression softened, and he helped Rhys sit back against the wall. “…Christmas is still fine, Rhys,” he reassured him, finishing cleaning him up as best he could. “Nothing’s wrong… Promise. You can’t help it if you’re sick.”

A shiver ran through him, and Julien saw him swallow a few times as he struggled to keep his stomach under control.

“This…this sucks,” he grumbled, drawing his knees up and resting his chin on them.

“I know,” Julien sighed, putting his arm around Rhys again. “Doesn’t bother me though…” He shrugged, leaning in and kissing the side of his head sweetly. “It can still be a good night.”

Rhys blinked up at him tiredly. “Yeah?”

“Totally.” Julien grinned, nodding. “You know, if you want, I can go put out the fire and just run us a hot bath instead…”

“Mmm, yeah,” Rhys said, nodding. He swallowed thickly. “Maybe not…not done,” he added sheepishly.

“R-Right,” Julien nodded, guiding him to the toilet, rubbing the poor boy’s back and immediately hearing him heave all over again.

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

2+6 B for Kazu

Feverish+Nauseous In the car on the way to visit a loved one.I went with young!Min and Kazu cause I had a better idea for that. Thank you for the prompt, friendo!

“You need t’ drive.”

That was Minato’s first warning that something was off. Normally, Kazu insisted on driving; he hated being out of control, and even if he’d had far too much to drink, he’d put up a fight for the car keys. Despite being worried, Min just nodded and climbed in the driver’s seat. He didn’t want to be difficult, not when Kazu was already doing him a favor. The Kurosawa family was less than fond of Minato’s boyfriend, but nonetheless, Kazu had reluctantly agreed to come along for Christmas dinner.

As the car crawled down crowded highways, Kazu asked, “How fuckin’ long is this gonna take?” The stop-and-go traffic was about to drive him insane, and despite the freezing weather, he cracked the car window, desperate for fresh air.

“A few hours, probably…” Min gave his boyfriend an apologetic smile. “Are you doing okay? You look a little pale.”

“’m fine. I don’t get carsick. I’m just bored.” Kazu mumbled, patting Minato’s shoulder to calm the tiny blond. He thought he didn’t get carsick; he’d outgrown that years ago, around the time he’d hit puberty, but today, he was feeling absolutely abysmal. His head had been spinning since they left the house, and he’d barely even had a drop to drink. The idea of spending the night with Min’s family only make Kazu feel worse, and he rolled the window back up as a truck chugged by reeking of diesel.

Min continued to watch Kazu from the corner of his eye; traffic didn’t require much focus when it was moving at the pace of a geriatric snail. He noticed the dark-haired boy squirming and scowling in the passenger seat, and Min frowned, biting his lip.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stop? It’s not like we’re getting anywhere right now.”

“I told you I’m fine!” Kazu snapped, his temper flaring defensively.

Min flinched, turning back to face the windshield. “S-sorry. I’m just worried about you.”

“Maybe worry about gettin’ us to your parents’ before fuckin’ new years.”

“I’m trying! I can’t control traffic.” Minato whined.

Kazu grumbled something about running over the idiot ahead of them, but stopped complaining, instead moving to check the time on his phone. “Fuck. How is it already ten? Didn’t we leave at like, fuckin’ six?”

Min nodded, “We did. It’s just been slow going.”

“Goddamn… I'ma be fuckin’ 90 by the time we get there.” Kazu flicked through his texts as he spoke, scowling at some of the messages, but not bothering to reply. He set the phone aside; staring at the small glowing screen was starting to make his stomach turn. Running both hands though his hair, he rested his elbows on his lap, hunching over himself and wishing he could be anywhere else. He shouldn’t have agreed to this stupid fucking trip. Spending the weekend outside in the snow was sounding increasingly appealing as the car continued to scoot forward, little more than five feet at a time.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I really appreciate you coming with me…” Minato murmured, trying to console his boyfriend.

Kazu didn’t really respond beyond a vague grunt. He was torn between plotting the murder of the truck driver ahead of them, and trying to keep his lunch down as the car jerked forward. God, Min was a shitty driver; he was absolutely incapable of braking smoothly, and awkwardly tapped on the accelerator until the car was going the speed he wanted. Traffic was basically at a standstill, only creeping once every minute or so, and Kazu was nearly asleep when the car stopped so suddenly that he found himself smacking into the dashboard. He cursed loudly, rubbing the spot on his forehead that had banged the windshield.

“Oh, jeez. Sorry, sweetie. Are you okay?” Minato asked, not bothering to mention that Kazu would’ve been fine if he’d been wearing his fucking seatbelt.

“’m fine…” Kazu growled, his mood having gotten even bitchier than he’d thought possible. He shifted onto his right hip, facing out the window and mostly ignoring his boyfriend. He hoped Min didn’t notice him cringe whenever the car moved. The newfound headache only added to his discomfort, and he had to bite back a retch when they passed a dead skunk on the road.

Not wanting to bother Kazu more, Minato simply reached over to hold his boyfriend’s hand. He was shocked to find the dark-haired boy radiating heat, noticeably warm even by Kazu standards. “Sweetie, you’re burning up…” Min murmured, moving a hand to the taller boy’s cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling sick?”

Kazu shrugged. “’m fine.”

“No you’re not!” Minato squealed. “You’ve got a fever, and you’ve been pale and moody all day.” He sighed, flicking on his turn signal to make an abysmally slow beeline for the next exit. “I’m not making you come to my parents when you’re not feeling well. We’re going home.”

“What?” Kazu sat up, surprised and a little confused, “For real?” Hope shined in his glassy blue eyes as he considered spending Christmas with Min in their apartment, rather than in the stuffy old house of a bunch of judgy Catholics.

Minato nodded, “Of course… I would never have dragged you out if I’d known you were sick. Would you rather get a motel, or drive home now?”

Kazu weighed it in his head. He hated motels - they hearkened back to his teenage years of sleeping with scummy strangers for pocket money, but he wasn’t sure he could handle four more hours of slogging traffic. After a long moment, he sighed, his tone softening, “Go home. It’s cheaper.”

“Okay. Let me know if you want to stop. I don’t mind, I promise.” Min insisted.

“Mmph.” Kazu shrugged, stretching out as he reclined the passenger seat. He was barely listening, trying to ignore his aching stomach and maybe get a little sleep.

Minato didn’t press for a proper answer, brushing Kazu’s dark hair out of his face as the younger boy settled down to rest. “We’ll be home soon, I promise.”

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

Asthma fic

Okay, finally a fic! I wrote this on holiday over a long weekend, and I’ve been feeling crap recently so that’s why it’s taken ages. Anyway, this was a gift for @sickfickid, who is having a tough time recently. I hope this is okay for you.

Warning: descriptions of vomiting, asthma attacks and hospital scenes below.

Winter brought essay deadlines, cold weather, and for Julius, asthma. The cold always got to his chest and made him wheeze, and on many brisk mornings he woke coughing in Alistair’s arms. He had colds throughout the winter that went to his chest, leaving him gasping and wheezing painfully, taking antibiotics like polo mints.

Alistair, of course, panicked every time Julius woke up even a little wheezy. He was ever vigilant, making his small boyfriend have regular puffs on his inhaler and calling to him worriedly whenever he ran too fast, so much so that his friends teased him about it.

“He’s not made of glass, Alistair,” Toby laughed several times. Alistair always just scowled and affected a lofty indifference to the teasing, but deep down it bothered him. Julius meant all the world to him, and there were so many ways he could be stolen from Alistair too soon - the asthma was the biggest threat in Alistair’s eyes. He felt as if there was an invisible knife hanging over Julius’s curly head, about to drop at any moment, and it terrified him.

Alistair was only really close to Julius - he had friends, of course, but he’d met them all in the last couple of years. Julius had been his constant companion since they were thirteen. They didn’t know when Alistair was in a bad mood just from the look in his eyes alone, they didn’t make him special tea when he had a tummy ache, they didn’t gaze at him with that look of utter devotion, even when Alistair thought he didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t lose Julius - it would be like losing a lung - so Alistair fussed and worried and spent half the night lying awake panicking.

After a few weeks of this, Toby got sick of his invitations being turned down, and  he forcibly dragged Alistair out for the day. It had been a difficult task - Alistair would have been reluctant to have an entire day away from the safety and comfort of his own home even without his Julius worries - but Toby was insistent.  

Toby knew it was harder to worry about things when you were busy, so he set up half a dozen errands to be done that day, even managing to turf Alistair out of bed early, before Julius was stirring. The red-head kissed his boyfriend’s fluffy curls and slipped out of the flat.

The moment Julius’s eyes fluttered open that morning, he knew it was going to be a bad day for his asthma. He woke coughing and gasping, and reached across for Alistair with a groan. He felt a pang when his groping hands felt only the cool sheets and he remembered that Alistair was out with Toby. He considered calling him and asking him to come home, but hastily talked himself out if it - Alistair had been worrying enough about him recently, and Julius was sure he’d feel better soon.

The day hastily slipped downhill from there. Julius tried to eat and drink like Alistair would want, but he kept having to keep puffing on his inhaler every ten minutes or so. It didn’t seem to ease his chest the way it usually did, and by the afternoon he was really starting to panic. He was all alone in the flat, unable to catch his breath, his inhaler not working.

Another couple of hours crawled by, and Julius finally cracked, standing up to grab his phone, needing Alistair or an ambulance, anything. But the flat wavered and tilted as soon as he got on his feet, and he fell to the floor with a sickening thud, gasping, his hands clawing at his throat. His mind was racing,  but there was one thought at the forefront - Alistair, Alistair, Alistair!

Alistair was exhausted by the time he got home, fumbling for his keys with Toby tagging him along beside him. Alistair swatted at his friend playfully.

“Get lost, I’ve had enough of you today,” he said, and Toby laughed.

“Nah, you know you love me really,” he said, as Alistair pushed the door open.

They both heard it the moment they walked inside - that harsh, irregular gasping, those terrifying raspy wheezing breaths. Alistair’s face drained white, and the smile melted from Toby’s face at once.

They both ran into the room and found Julius flat out on the floor, his face white, his eyes very round and frantic, his lips dark, almost blueish. He’d scratched the skin all around his neck and chest as he fought for breath, and he’d been so frightened that his bladder had emptied under him.

For Julius and Alistair, the next hour or so would always be a blur. Only Toby remembered everything clearly, and it wasn’t something he was eager to recall. Toby remembered Alistair’s screams as he knelt beside Julius, holding him tightly, massaging his chest as if he could physically force the air into him; he remembered calling an ambulance and wondering if Julius would even survive that long; he remembered having to prise Alistair away from Julius when the paramedics arrived; he remembered the frantic car ride to the hospital, where Alistair didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even look at him.

Alistair ran to the reception at the hospital as soon as they arrived, frantically demanding that he see Julius. The girl at reception directed him to a ward, but he and Toby were confined to a waiting room. The red-head threatened, pleaded, begged, even wept, but they were adamant - he had to wait.

Toby and Alistair was forced to perch on the uncomfortable orange plastic chairs in the pokey room that smelled like disinfectant, staring at the green and cream walls. Alistair bit his nails constantly, blood all over the raw, nibbled tips of his fingers. His stomach was churning violently with anxiety, his skin a sickly grey-white.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Alistair asked Toby miserably, his words barely audible as he chewed his fingernails. Toby sighed wretchedly. He was trying hard to be reassuring, particularly as he knew what Alistair was like and could see that he was pretty close to decorating the floor of the room with his puke - but Toby was worried too. Julius had looked so terrifyingly awful, writhing on the floor with blue lips. The ambulance had raced off with the siren blaring. They didn’t do that unless it was serious.

“Of course he’s not dead,” Toby insisted, because what else could he say? “He’ll be fine. They’ll stick him on one of those breathing machines and he’ll be right as rain in a few days.”

Toby tried so hard to sound convincing, but he was an open book. His voice and his face betrayed his true feelings, and Alistair could see he was worried too. The red-head groaned and hunched over in his uncomfortable chair, his stomach churning so violently he winced.

“Heeugh!”

The dry heave came out of nowhere, startling even Alistair, making his give a surprised cough. Nothing came up, thankfully, but Alistair felt acid at the back of his throat, and he knew it was coming soon. Toby stared at his friend, eyes wide.

“Did you just heave?” he asked, sounding horrified. “Fuck, I don’t know where the toilets are or anything! Shit, Alistair, look at me. Try to calm down. Please, for the love of God…”

Obviously, Toby himself panicking just made Alistair feel worse. He retched again, this time bringing up a mouthful of vomit that splattered onto the floor unpleasantly. Toby swore violently, and eventually grabbed a decorative trash can from the corner of the room for want of anything else, shoving that into Alistair’s arms.

Alistair vomited slowly, retching and heaving over and over again, his face white and his body shaking violently. He gave painful gasps between each wave of vomit, still panicking. It suddenly struck Toby that Alistair and Julius were practically sharing their pain - Julius was fighting for breath in the hospital bed, Alistair was fighting for breath out here. The older boy did his best to comfort his friend, rubbing his back and whispering quietly to him.

Alistair dissolved into sobs again when the vomiting eased off, shaking so hard he could barely swallow the water Toby forced him to drink. Toby took the puke filled trash can away with a grimace, thinking he should probably alert a nurse - it was a hospital, so they’d most likely want to disinfect it. He put an arm around his distraught friend, trying to reassure him, but Alistair barely reacted.

After what seemed like endless hours, a doctor called them. Alistair stood at once, his fists clenched, expecting to hear that Julius had gasped his last breath - but the doctor simply said that they were giving him oxygen and would be monitoring him for a few days, that he was shaken but would be totally fine, and was asking to see Alistair.

The red-head nearly fainted in relief, going to hurry after the doctor - but Toby suddenly caught hold of Alistair’s wrists, restraining him. Alistair swore at him angrily, but Toby took no notice, clasping his big hands on the red-head’s shoulders, his face unusually serious.

“Alistair, listen to me. Julius is going to be all scared and shaky after everything he’s gone through today. I know you’ve had an awful fright, but he needs you to be strong for him now. So no puking or tears, okay? If you can manage that?” Toby said. Alistair paused, meeting his friend’s blue eyes. He knew Toby was right, but he still stuck out his chin belligerently and shoved Toby away, trying to retain some dignity.

“Of course I can fucking manage that!” he snapped. “I’ll be strong for him.”

The boys followed the doctor to a small ward with three beds lined on either side of the room. They were led to the bed right at the end, and the doctor briskly pulled back the curtain.

Julius was lying there, looking very small and frail in the large bed, tucked firmly under the sterile blue hospital sheets. He had an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, his face was startlingly white and his curls were dishevelled, but his face lit up like a candle when he saw Alistair, and he held out his arms to him.

“Star!” he whispered, his voice hoarse and muffled by the mask.

All resolutions about being strong and keeping it together flew out of Alistair’s head. He burst into tears. Toby sighed heavily, wondering why he ever bothered to give Alistair advice, but Julius didn’t seem to mind. He held out his arms to his boyfriend, cooing sympathetically.

Alistair crawled right up into the bed with him, wrapping his arms around his small boyfriend, burying his face in his curls, crying all over him. Julius cuddled as close to Alistair as he could, wrapping a lock of his red hair around his little finger, as if he was binding them together forever.

The couple stayed curled up together, long after Toby had crept away and the tears had dried on Alistair’s cheeks. They didn’t speak much - Julius was too tired and Alistair was thinking too hard.

The red-head was thinking about a small black box, carefully hidden in one of his shoes at the back of his wardrobe. Inside, nestled in a velvet cushion, was a little silver ring, with Julius’s name engraved on the inside. Alistair had bought it just before he’d cut off his parents, since he couldn’t say when he’d next be able to afford a ring after that.

He hadn’t intended to give the ring to Julius - or ask him the question - for many years, but this incident had shaken him up. He remembered the fear, the panic when he’d thought Julius’s life was in danger. He was sure that he’d never want to live with anyone else - he loved Julius. He loved him more than anyone. He saw no reason not to marry him sooner rather than later.

“When we get home,” Alistair whispered into Julius’s ear, “I’ve got something I want to ask you.”

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

Hello 👋🏼 I’m in love with your characters, could I request a sick Florence with a worried/concerned Rhys taking care of her and just being really sweet and loving? Thank you in advance 😀😊

Not many things could get Florence to stay home from work, but this cough was one of them.

With a fever and an ache in her lungs that she couldn’t shake, she was glad that at least Rhys was home with her. Julien still had to work, and she didn’t think she’d be able to handle being alone with how awful she felt.

She snuggled close to Rhys, staring listlessly at the show playing on her laptop. She glanced up when Rhys tapped her arm, holding out a thermometer. She smiled weakly. He’d insisted on checking her temperature every hour, worried that her fever was getting worse.

She obliged him, letting him slip the thermometer under her tongue. Unfortunately, it didn’t stay in place when she broke into a fit of coughing. The sound was enough to make her wince, a rattling in her chest whenever she coughed or breathed too deeply.

Rhys placed a hand on her chest, his other hand rubbing between her shoulders until her cough quieted down.

“Flo,” he said, his brow furrowed in concern.

“I-I’m okay,” she choked, her voice hoarse from coughing like that all day. “I’m not dying. It’s just a chest cold.”

“You…m-medicine,” he said, turning and rifling through the items on the bedside table until he found the bottle of cough syrup. He poured out a dose and offered it to her.

She wrinkled her nose at the medicine, but her heart melted from how sweetly Rhys was taking care of her. She opened her mouth, letting him feed her the medicine and shuddering at the terrible taste.  

He nodded approvingly, brushing her hair back from her sweaty forehead.

“You’re so good to me,” she laughed. The sound came out a lot more hoarse and painful sounding than she’d intended.

“Love you,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Should…should rest.”

“Yeah. You’re right,” she sighed. Thankfully, the cough medicine seemed to be working well enough for her to manage a nap before she would inevitably wake herself up coughing again.

Rhys closed her laptop and carefully set it aside before wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She nuzzled against his chest.

“You don’t have to stay with me, you know. I’m just gonna be sleeping.” Still, she wrapped her arm around his middle, perfectly comfortable enough to sleep for as long as he’d stay still.

“Sleeping,” he repeated, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze to let her know he wasn’t going anywhere.

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

Fullmetal Alchemist SickFic

Hey Everyone, ok so this is my first fic I’ve ever written! It’s set when Ed and Al are younger (maybe 9 & 10 years old)training to become alchemists and are left stranded on the island for a month. I got the idea actually from a few panels in the original fullmetal alchemist manga. So this supposedly did happen in Hiromu Arakawa’s story.

P.s this is not intended as a sexual reading. Purely brother’s enduring a shitty food poisoning episode. That is all, enjoy.

**this fic contains scenes with mild swearing,spoilers,vomit and scat after the line*****

“Hey Al! I found something!” Ed hollered over his shoulder into the thick forest surrounding him. They had been scavenging unsuccessfully for food for close to a week. Ed’s stomach growled angrily and he told it to shut it as he began picking the little white mushrooms. Twigs snapped off to Ed’s left and soon after Al emerged out of the bushes with leaves in his hair.

“What did you find Brother?” Al yelled excitedly as he ran over to his older brother.

“Mushrooms! Finally something edible.” Ed said as he continued grabbing the mushrooms off the forest floor.

“Brother, I don’t know, didn’t Mom say that mushrooms can be poisonous? I thought we said we were gonna stay away from them and eat other things on the island.” Al said concerned, peering down at the pile of mushrooms.

“If you haven’t noticed Al it’s been almost a week since we’ve had a proper meal! A week! And yeah, trying to get other sources of food went SO successfully,” Ed replied with an over sarcastic eye roll.

“Hey, you were just as much at fault for letting that fish get away as I was!” Al argued back.

“Well look at these Al. They are white, no spots or weird colours on them. They look just like the mushrooms we used to get from granny’s neighbour friend.” Ed said. He knew that mushrooms were a risky food choice, but just looking at the little white morsels made his mouth salivate heavily. They both were so hungry and being picky wasn’t going to work when trying to survive on this island. Al picked a mushroom and inspected it carefully.

“Well I guess your right, they do look just like those mushrooms we used to eat at home.”

“Look Al we don’t have tons of time, it’s getting dark. Help me pick these! Look around this area for more.” Ed snapped. He was becoming extremely hangry, and a hangry Ed was especially impatient and sarcastic. The two of them continued foraging in the dwindling sunlight, filling their shirts with their treasure.

Back at the boy’s camp they dumped the mushrooms into a little pile on the ground. For a moment they sat there just looking at them hesitantly. A loud stomach gurgle broke the silence. “Oh..I’m so hungry! Come on let’s just eat them already!” Ed said and began stuffing his face with the mushrooms. “Hey save me some!” Al yelled and dove into the pile as well. They each had about two handfuls of mushrooms when they came down to the remaining few. Splitting them evenly, they polished them off and sat back mildly relieved of their hunger pains.

The day had been a long and hot one, both of the boys yawned with exhaustion. Al curled up on his makeshift bed of leaves while Ed stoked the tiny fire they had made.

“Well that should tie us over till morning,” Ed said as he laid down beside his brother.

“Good night Brother.” Al yawned.

“Goodnight Al.” Ed replied and rolled over falling asleep almost instantly. He was thankful for no uncomfortable tossing and turning due to hunger.

——————————————————

But a couple of hours later, Ed woke with a jolt. An incredibly strong wave of nausea washed over him and a cool sweat broke out on his forehead and back. His stomach felt hot and bloated. “Aaaahh!” Ed gasped out as a painful cramp shot through his insides, causing him to whimper and curl in on himself.

“Al?” Ed rolled over only to find his brother’s side of the bed empty. He peered into the surrounding darkness, his eyes having a hard time adjusting. “Al?!” Ed called out again getting up slowly, hands wrapped protectively around his torso. A wet sour belch caught him off guard and he quickly put his hand over his mouth swallowing the excess saliva. He knew he didn’t have much time to waste. Ed panicked and called out again for his brother, he desperately didn’t want to be sick.

Ed heard a strained whimper followed by his familiar little brother’s voice calling out for him. Ed walked quickly over. “Al what are you doing? Are you ok?” Ed said when he saw his little brother squatting beside a tree. Splattering sounds on leaves followed by a loud wet fart. Exactly what Al was doing became blatantly obvious to Ed and he hesitated to give his brother privacy. Al whimpered miserably. “Brother, something’s wrong with me! My stomach really hurts!” Al called out. Ed walked up slowly to his brother and was immediately hit with the awful stench. He gagged harshly and turned away momentarily.

“Jesus Al!”He looked back at his helpless little brother who was clearly overwhelmed with the situation he was in. All he could do was squat there and pant as his insides emptied violently.

“B-Brother! What’s happening?! I-euurrp-i feel so sick!”

Ed’s stomach dropped and he swallowed down an entirely new sick feeling. “Shit!” Ed exclaimed. The two stared at each other horrified. A wet burp slipped up Ed’s throat and he covered his mouth, breathing carefully through his nose. There was no need to say it aloud; they both knew very well why they felt sick.

Al doubled over again as a cramp shot through his insides sending both of them into panic.

“Ah, Um well, uh, what should I do?!,” Ed cried, pulling at his hair. This was overwhelming to deal with his brother sick on top of himself not feeling well. He had never seen them this sick before.

“I don’t know Ed! Don’t leave me though, I think I’m gonna be sick.” Al swallowed thickly and held his burning,sweating face in his hands embarrassed and miserable. Ed knelt awkwardly in front of his brother and put his hands on his shoulders patting them gently.

“Ok Al, it’s gonna be ok.” Ed said as calmly as he could. His own nausea was rising and he began hiccuping. When Al seemed to have momentary relief from the diarrhea, Ed felt he should do something more to help.

“I’m gonna run back to our camp and get you some leaves and water ok? I’ll be right back,” Ed said getting up to leave. Al just moaned in reply and continued taking deep breaths trying to control the nausea. Ed ran back to the camp and began gathering leaves and grabbed the water pail. But just as he was scooping some fresh water into the bucket, he felt an uneasy shift in his stomach.

Suddenly before Ed could do anything a projectile wave of vomit forced its way up and out of his mouth and nose, splashing into the lake water and rocks below. Sour, acidic puke continued to pour out of Ed, all the while Ed stood keeled over. He stared down at the vomit below mortified. “Oohh..” Ed moaned. He felt light headed. Swaying unsteadily he sat down on the wet grass and put his head in between his knees, trying desperately for the spinning sensation to stop. He stayed like this panting for several minutes, too nauseated to move. Thats about when Ed remembered why he was at the lake in the first place. “Al needs me,oh no” He couldn’t leave him all alone! He was the older brother and he swore he would look after Al the day Mom died. Determination and his protective instinct for Al swelled in him. But when he tried to open his eyes and lift his head, the trees and ground tilted and Ed found himself falling over. “Guuuaarp! *cough cough* ulp* bluaaauu!!” Ed burped up more vomit onto the ground beside him. “Gaaahh!!! Owww!!!”Ed panted as another cramp shot through his middle. His eyes screwed shut in pain but flew open immediately as he felt hot, burning liquid pouring out of his rear. All he could do was lay on his side panting as his body purged him from the poison violently from both ends.

It took several minutes for Ed to calm down and stop dry heaving. His legs felt like cold, wet noodles. His cheeks burned and his insides were sore and felt hollow. Ed spat and bit his lip. He was on the verge of bursting into tears from misery. Sniffling he swallowed down his tears. A familiar voice caught his attention.

“Brother?!” Al shouted from a ways behind him. “Brother!! Oh no..” he exclaimed, identifying the pathetic heap on the ground as Ed. Al grabbed the pail of water and brought it to his Ed’s side. He helped Ed sit in a half reclined position away from the mess and gave him some water to drink.

“Mm no more, I can’t.” Ed said turning his head away from the pail. “Al are you ok?” He asked.

“I think so..I threw up ..and..you know…a lot after you left, but after that my stomach started to feel better.” Al replied sheepishly. He drank some of the water and laid down beside his brother. Nothing was said for a few minutes, the two just breathing and occasionally coughing and spitting to rid the foul taste in their mouths.

“Hey Al..” Ed said quietly.

“Yeah Brother?”

“I’m never eating mushrooms ever again.”

~Fin

P.s let me know what you think I’d love your feedback!

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

A fic where Rhys is about to be sick but can’t communicate it and ends up making a mess would be so good

((Written with @sicklyfeels ))“Star Wars marathon time!” Florence sang, plopping down beside Rhys on the living room floor. Rhys gave her a small smile, but she could tell something was up. He’d been unusually quiet all evening, and had picked around at his dinner without really eating much. She figured he probably wasn’t feeling too good, but when she’d asked if he still wanted to have their date-night, he’d said yes.

Snuggled up close, she made sure their blanket was wrapped nicely around them before she handed him Dillon, the stuffed armadillo plush she’d gotten him for his birthday the previous year.

“Dillon’s ready for some movies, too,” she joked. “We are so ready to rock this date.”

Rhys snorted, grinning as he sat Dillon on the floor between them. “R-Ready,” he said, leaning against her side as the movie started.

Florence pressed a kiss to his cheek, then earned another grin as she dramatically sang along to the movie’s theme song. She knew he didn’t feel very well, so making him laugh was the least she could do.

In no time, Rhys was completely engrossed in the film. No matter how many times he’d seen it, it remained one of his favorites. Which suited her just fine, as it was one of her favorites, too.

An hour or so into the movie, though, Rhys began to squirm, shifting around as though he couldn’t get comfortable.

Florence noticed, and she put a hand on his arm. “Hey, Rhys, you okay?”

He made a noncommittal sound, pressing a hand against his stomach.

“Does your stomach hurt?” Flo asked. “I can get you something for it, if you want.”

He shook his head. Flo wasn’t sure if he was protesting the medicine, or saying that his stomach didn’t hurt. In any case, he seemed to settle down. His fidgeting stopped, and he turned his attention back to the movie.

Florence ran her nails over his back soothingly, watching the movie again as well. If he didn’t want medicine, he must have been feeling okay enough to tough it out.

Or not.

A few minutes later, she felt him shift again, his shoulders jerking slightly. He made a gulping sound, his shoulders jumping again.

“Rhys…?” She looked concerned, putting her hand on his back. “Babe, you sure you’re okay?”

He opened his mouth as though he was trying to answer. What came out instead was a thick gush of vomit that splattered across his lap. He coughed, belching up another wave before she had time to react.

“Oh, jeez!” Flo jumped up quickly, pulling the blanket out of the way before running to the bathroom. She was back in a flash, carrying a couple of towels. “Here, baby, you’re okay. Poor thing,” she sighed, wiping a little bit of vomit from his lips. “Do you need to get to the bathroom? Are you gonna be sick again?”

He nodded, but seemed too sick to move. He opened his mouth, barely heaving as another mouthful of vomit came up.

Florence brought up a towel just in time, catching the puke before Rhys could make too much more of a mess. “Okay, c’mon, Rhee,” she said sweetly. “Let’s get you to the bathroom. You’re gonna need a shower…”

When he offered no protest, she moved the towels aside, taking his arm and helping him to his feet. It was slow going; Rhys was bent forward as he walked, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle. Florence had to practically drag him down the hall, but they finally made it.

She helped him peel out of his vomit-stained, sweat-dampened clothes, then helped him sit down in the shower when it became clear he wouldn’t be able to stand.

It was normal for Rhys to not speak, but Florence was still worried by how quiet he was being.

“Rhys,” she said gently. “Is it okay for me to clean you up, babe? I’ll need to take your temperature, too. You might have a fever.”

Rhys curled forward around his stomach, but he nodded. “Yes.”

Flo sighed in relief, thankful that he was at least responsive. She was careful to make sure the water wasn’t too hot or too cold before she pulled the shower head down, gently rinsing the mess off of him.

He wouldn’t look at her. This also wasn’t uncommon. She knew how embarrassed he got whenever he was sick. Trying to reassure him, Florence leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re okay, Rhys. Don’t be embarrassed, it happens.”

He shook his head, pressing his fist to his mouth as his shoulders jumped again.

“Oh, Rhys…” Florence placed a hand on his back, feeling how tightly coiled his muscles were. “Don’t fight it, babe. Go ahead and get it out.”

Rhys leaned forward, his stomach lurching as he spilled another wave of watery vomit onto the shower floor. Flo moved the shower head to help wash the mess away, all the while stroking his back as he continued to heave.

“Poor thing,” Florence said softly. “Maybe we should take you to the doctor.”

Rhys heaved dryly a couple more times, but there didn’t seem to be anything left for his stomach to bring up. He slumped against the shower wall, exhausted.

“Okay. I think you’re done.” She made sure he was rinsed off, running some soap over his skin just to make sure he was clean and comfortable. Once he was rinsed off, she grabbed the biggest, fluffiest towel they had to wrap him up in.

“Don’t get up,” she warned. “You might slip.”

He nodded, not looking like he had the energy anyway.

She got him dried off before allowing him to stand, keeping her arms under him the whole time to support him. Thankfully, his room was right across the hall, so she got him to his bed easily. Once she’d gotten him into some clean pajamas, she tucked him in and pulled his blankets around him to keep him warm.

“Okay, babe. I’m gonna text Julien, okay? I’m gonna have him get you some medicine for your stomach and fever, because I’m sure you have one. You try to get some rest.”

Rhys only nodded, already beginning to doze off.

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

It’s Okay to Not Be Okay

I was craving a sickie having trouble taking medicine and my mind whispered something to me about a stubborn sickie refusing medicine which then turned into this Victuuri angst with Victor as a snappy sickie.

The two have a fight, but they work it out because they love and understand each other and I cannot get enough of their love ♡

1800~ words

Keep reading

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

It didn’t matter how gently Florence pressed down on the brake pedal, it still elicited a startled jolt from Rhys who sat forlornly in the back seat of their car. Julien was seated next to him, hoping to offer some moral support for the drive. They knew how much Rhys hated riding in cars, but there were some situations where it was unavoidable. Now,  heading to see Florence’s family for the holidays, was one of those times.

“I’m sorry, Rhys,” Florence sighed, glancing at him through the rear-view mirror. “You doing okay back there? We don’t have much further to go.”

“Yeah, it shouldn’t be too long,” Julien reassured him, but the poor boy didn’t look any more eased than before. He looked at him worriedly, taking his hand. “Just be real easy, Flo… like really, really easy.”

“I am,” she assured them. “Trust me. I’m not going one mile per hour over the speed limit.”  

Rhys whined, glancing towards the window before looking away again quickly. His tiny chest rose and fell with quick, panicked breaths. He tightened his hold on Julien’s hand. “Stop.”

Florence heard his plea, and she carefully slowed the car down to a stop, parking on the side of the road and putting on the emergency blinkers.

Turning in her seat, she reached back to put a hand on his knee.

“You okay, sweetie?”

“You look a little rough…” Julien frowned, putting his hand on Rhys back and patting him gently, feeling Rhys heart racing.

Rhys just shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself. “Not more…okay?”

“Babe, we have to finish driving there,” Florence said softly. “We can wait a while, though. You wanna listen to some music?”

“We can step out for a sec, too… get a little fresh air for a minute,” Julien offered.

Rhys huffed, shaking his head. He jabbed a finger at himself, then pointed at the seat, silently indicating that he had no intention of ever moving again.

“Oh, Rhys. We can’t stay here forever,” Florence scolded. “We have to leave eventually.”

Julien sighed, running his hand through his wild curls in thought. “We can’t just stay here, babe. And we can’t leave you here. And we can’t walk there.” He hated to do it, but he narrowed down their options.

“Jule…” Rhys whined, but Julien could see the subtle shift in his expression as he steeled himself against the inevitable. He sighed, sitting back and looking mournfully at his feet. “Go. Drive.”

It made Julien sad to see him like this, but he gave Florence the okay to try again. Julien scooted himself over to the middle of the seat, putting an arm over Rhys shoulders.

For awhile it seemed like things were under control. Rhys had nestled against Julien’s side, and it looked like he was even beginning to doze off.

Up ahead, the traffic began to slow, and Florence eased on the brakes without thinking. It wasn’t even an intense stop, but the sudden decrease in speed was enough. Rhys jolted awake, grabbed onto anything he could reach to stabilize himself. It didn’t take long for him to realize that they weren’t crashing, but it didn’t matter.

The sudden sound and movement only made Florence falter more, slowing too quickly when she tried to look back at him. “Whoa, whoa, hey…! Rhys–” Julien took careful hold of him, but he just ended up something to cling onto.

Rhys sucked in one shallow breath after another, nearly hyperventilating, his fingers digging into Julien’s arms. He made a horrible, panicked keening sound low in his throat, his shoulders jerking suddenly as he gagged.

“Oh, Rhys, honey…” Florence gripped the steering wheel tightly, steeling herself. “Julien, take care of him. I just…I’m gonna keep driving. We’re only a couple minutes away.”

“No, no, no, no!” Rhys gagged again, ducking down to cover his mouth against his arm.

“Come on, baby, you’re making yourself sick…” Julien looked down at Rhys, cringing at how painful the gagging sounded. “We’re almost there, you just gotta hang on a little bit longer…”

“It’s gonna be okay, Rhys, we promise,” Florence encouraged. She kept driving, taking extra care to make the rest of the ride as smooth as possible. “Just breathe, babe. We’ve got you.”

Rhys only shook his head again, his shoulders shaking as he began to cry. He burped suddenly, a mouthful of watery vomit dripping down his sleeve where he tried to stop it from happening.

“Oh, man…” Julien reached over and fruitlessly tried to save Rhys from making a mess on himself. All he could do was try to comfort him, reaching out to hold him and try to get him to close his eyes. “Breathe… okay? Listen to me, Rhys, you’re gonna be alright. We’re gonna get there, no problems. You know we are.” He shot a glance to Florence through the rearview mirror, the both of them with brows furrowed in worry, but he gave her a quick nod to keep on driving, kissing the top of Rhys head.

With Julien’s guidance, Rhys’s breathing slowed, his sobs quieting down. He kept his eyes shut tightly, pressing his forehead against Julien’s chest. As Florence promised, they arrived at their destination a few minutes later. Even after the car stopped, Rhys didn’t release his grip on Julien.

Florence cut the engine as soon as they were parked in her mom’s driveway. She took her seatbelt off, wasting no time in climbing into the back seat with her boyfriends. Careful to avoid the mess Rhys had made, she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his back.

“We’re here. You’re okay, Rhys. No more driving.”

“Yeah, no more driving.” Julien repeated, petting through Rhys’ curls, tapping his chin and lifting his head. “We can get all cleaned up inside. You gonna be alright, babe?” He offered him a reassuring smile. “Can I get a ‘yeah’?”

“Y…Yeah.” Rhys couldn’t quite muster a smile, but he seemed to be settling down at least. He looked down at himself and grimaced at the mess. “Gross…”

Rhys nodded, and with Florence helping him to not make more of a mess, he changed out of his dirty clothes and into the clean sweater. After a few minutes to get himself calmed down, he pointed to the car door and tapped Florence’s thigh.

“Okay, babe. Let’s go inside. I bet my mom’s already got a ton of food made,” she said with a smile. “When your stomach is settled, we can have ourselves a snack.”

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

Jonah

Based on the phrase “please don’t make me go, I don’t feel good”

It was unfortunately early on Friday morning when Jasper and Jonah’s alarm went off. Both of them groaned, and Jasper fumbled to shut it off. It was only 5:30, but the two of them had a road trip planned: they were headed down to Iowa for Jasper’s sister, Allie’s, wedding. Allie and Jasper weren’t very close, simply because Allie was seven years older than him, and he’d a always been much closer to his twin sister, Caroline. So, although he knew he had to go, and should be excited, it was almost a chore to drag themselves out there. Nevertheless, he still rolled out of bed sleepily, and stumbled to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. Jonah, meanwhile, was barely awake. The moment he’s opened his eyes that morning, he’d known that something was wrong. His stomach was tight and cramping - not quite nauseous, but probably on its way there. His head was pounding in time with his heart, and he had that overall feeling of ‘ick.’ He groaned, clearing his throat and moving to stand, just as Jasper walked in with two steaming cups of coffee. He leaned down to press a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead a and hand him one of the mugs. “Morning, Babe. Time to get up; you’ve got 30 minutes to get ready,” he said, sounding far to conscious for the circumstances. “Ugh,” moaned Jonah, “okay.” He definitely didn’t want to be up, or get ready, or attend a wedding, but this was important to his boyfriend, so he was going to push through. Besides, a shower would make everything feel better, right? Wrong. The spray of warm water on his back made his feel sticky and overheated, which simply upset his stomach further. It had moved past cramping now; he was incredibly nauseous. He abandoned brushing his teeth when he gagged on the toothbrush, and then realized that he had to tell Jasper. There was no way he’d make it to this wedding without vomiting, not to mention sit through it and come back. He made his way out of the bathroom on shaky legs, eyes downcast. “Jasper?” He asked quietly, and Jasper looked up. “What is it?” “I…I don’t feel great. I’m sorry, I just…” He stumbled over his words. He didn’t know why he was so nervous; Jasper didn’t even want to attend, so surely when he found out that his boyfriend was sick, it would be the perfect excuse. That, however, didn’t seem to be the case. When Jonah looked up, Jasper’s expression was stony, “Seriously? You want to play hooky?” He asked, sounding annoyed. “What? No, I -” He didn’t even let Jonah finish. “This is my sister’s wedding. I know it’s early, and it’s a long drive, but this is important to me. You can’t just get out of it by faking a tummy ache.” Jonah was stunned into silence. He couldn’t believe that his boyfriend didn’t trust him. “Put your car clothes on; I packed your suit.” “Jasper…please don’t make me go. I don’t feel good.” “I don’t want to hear it!” He snapped, exasperated, and threw a bundle of clothes at the younger man. So, 15 minutes later, the car was packed and ready to go. Jasper had volunteered to drive there the night before, because they both knew how exhausted Jonah was in the morning. The ride was a little bit over six hours, so they both settled in. Jonah curled his legs up on his seat, laying down awkwardly in a ball in his chair. It wasn’t incredibly comfortable, but it seemed to calm his stomach a little bit. That didn’t last long, though. Witching the first half-hour, he’d switched position twice, and now he was sitting up with his head resting on the cool glass of the window, stifling nauseous burps in his fist more and more frequently. He tried to ignore how acidic they were getting, and the fear that something more than air would come up, but it wasn’t working. It hit him very suddenly: he knew he was going to throw up. His stomach gurgled loudly, as if to prove his point, and he blurted: “Jasper, please pull over.” Even if he hadn’t believed Jonah that morning, there was no faking the urgency in his voice. Luckily, they were on a pretty much deserted country road, so it wasn’t hard to maneuver to the shoulder. Before Jasper had time to ask questions, he’d undone his seatbelt and practically fallen out of the car. On hands and knees, he retched dryly over the dirt. An expletive rang out from Jasper’s side of the car. Trembling, he prepared himself for the next retch, but still wasn’t ready when it came. This time, he puked up a thin stream of bile, and then, suddenly, he burped wetly, and a thick slurry of vomit poured out. It splattered loudly on the ground, and flecks flicked up and landed on his face and arms. As he felt Jasper’s hands on his back, he heaved again, his stomach squeezing out a thick torrent of liquid. He breathes heavily, and retched again, bringing up only a string of saliva and bile that wouldn’t let go of his lips, even when he tried to spit it out. “Oh, Jonah, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Honey, I didn’t think–” he heard Jasper take a deep breath, and then he felt the rough touch of a paper napkin on his mouth and chin, wiping them free of the sick and spit that wouldn’t let go. Then, another napkin was wiping at his shaking forearms, and soft hands were leaning him back to sit on his heels. Jonah realized that he had his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Cautiously, he blinked them open, and was met with big green eyes, wide with concern. “Are you okay, Jonah?” Jasper asked quietly, combing a hand through his hair tenderly, “do you think you need to throw up again?” Jasper tone was so genuinely kind and concerned that he couldn’t even bring himself to be mad anymore. He shook his head, “Not right now. Just take me home.” He whimpered, and buried his face in Jasper’s shoulder.

[casper-reblogs-sickfics]

Peter's Upset Stomach

This fic is a very short apology gift for my extended absence; I’m not an incredibly reliable writer, but I swear that I’m not normally tHIS BAD. I’ve had a lot of personal and work-related concerns, and I really haven’t had the time to write Sickfic. No promises, but I’ll try to stay more on top of things. Love, Syd. “Peter?” The word had left his lips before he was even fully conscious. It was instinctual now for Aaron to call his boyfriend when something was amiss - and something was definitely amiss. But what? “Peter?” He repeated, making an effort to roll over and open his eyes. The bed creaked suddenly, and Aaron sat up abruptly. “What’s wrong?” Peter Handel was sitting up in bed, eyes shut tight and hand clapped over his mouth. Truth be told, Aaron was pretty sure he knew what was wrong, but he was reluctant to accept it. “Honey, are you–” A sharp choking sound cut his sentence short, and a cold ball of panic settled in the pit of his stomach because oh god how was he going to clean this up? It was all happening way too fast for either of them to fully process the events unfolding. Suddenly, Peter retched hard, and threw up a slimy gush of half-digested spaghetti into his hand. He choked on the sour taste, which led to a gag that preceded a thicker wave of vomit. Aaron’s conscience slapped his over the head, and he stopped gaping; he crawled over to Peter’s side of the bed and nudged him gently toward the side. After a few moments, Peter found the strength to sluggishly bring his legs over the edge of the bed. Miraculously, there was no vomit on the bedsheets, as most of it had been caught precariously in his hands or spilled into his lap. Aaron would have thanked god for that, but he was a bit distracted by his boyfriend, who had resumed letting out soft, worrying burps. “Are you gonna be sick again?” He asked hesitantly, ready to take action, but it was too late. He barely made a sound this time, like he’d been on the verge for a while. Peter’s throat bobbed, clicking wetly, and then sick poured out, missing his hands and lap, and instead splattering on the hardwood floor. “Oh, baby…” He rubbed a comforting hand over his boyfriend’s back. “A-Aaron…” His voice tugged at Aaron’s heart, “I don’t f-feel good.” “I see that, sweetie, I’m sorry. Do you want to try to walk to the bathroom or wait here for a little bit?” He asked gently, rubbing his thumb over Pete’s cheekbone. “B-bathroom,” he spoke weakly. It took a few minutes to get his boyfriend into their ensuite, and then the shower. “I’ll be right back, Peter, I’m just clean up the bedroom quickly, okay?” When he’d received a positive response, he gingerly picked up his boyfriend’s soiled clothes and tied them in a plastic bag. It only took a few minutes to take care of the bedroom, but already by the time he was back, weak, sickly retches could be heard from the shower. With a renewed sense of urgency, Aaron stripped quickly, exposing his lean, muscular body. “Hold on, baby,” he comforted, pulling back the curtain, “I’m coming, in.” He winced at what he found; his boyfriend was couched on the floor of the shower, leaning over thin, watery vomit that was being swept down the drain as quickly as it was produced. “Oh, honey, you’re shaking,” Aaron cooed, “sit down before you pass out.” He eased his boyfriend into a more comfortable sitting position, leaning up against his own solid chest, and Peter sobbed a sigh of relief. Even as the adrenaline drained from his body, so did the tension. He relaxed as much as possible, considering his current situation, and the nausea calmed slightly. He was done for the moment, and he felt much better after having ridden out that storm.