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upachucks · 2 years ago

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oh my god this is INCREDIBLE. I haven't watched bsd in so long but I think this fic was the motivation I needed to get back to it

everything together // skk sickfic

using this prompt ;)

ao3

nsfw jokes + dazai typical suicide jokes + vomiting below beware

Chuuya is pretty certain he's never once seen Dazai go to bed early.

"Dazai?" Chuuya calls through a pout. He doesn't get a thing from him in response. He's mostly concealed by the comforter as usual. Not a groan or a sigh or anything, and he decides that he's really, actually asleep. At eight in the evening. Chuuya doesn't mind. He's pretty tired himself after a long day of work so he might as well crash right along with him.

He changes into something more comfortable to sleep in and crawls into bed beside Dazai. He takes a few moments to decide not to nuzzle up next to him, considering he's already been asleep for a while, and he doesn't want to wake him. Maybe he'll be considerate instead of bothering him on purpose.

So instead, he shuts his eyes to fall asleep and manages to do so relatively quickly, but it isn't long at all until he's awake again.

He hears the sound of someone coughing at first, he thinks. His half-asleep brain decides it's probably just Dazai coughing in his sleep, which isn't something to be alerted by. Only a few seconds later, though, the bed shifts just enough to bother Chuuya, and the coughing morphs into gagging.

Oh. Dazai's probably throwing up.

Chuuya forces himself to at least sit upright and turn on one of the headlamps, and he sees Dazai half leaning over the side of the bed, heaving over the edge. He cringes at the thought of vomit on the expensive rug that surrounds his bed, but he thinks it's time for a new one anyway.

"Hey, what's…" Chuuya murmurs through a yawn, scooting a little closer to him to get a better idea of what's going on. He figures this probably has something to do with why he went to bed early, but it's still not giving him the whole picture.

He's not sure Dazai is completely awake, either. He watches the back of his head sink down just a bit before a burp brings up more of his stomach contents onto the floor.

Chuuya somehow manages to find the energy to climb out of bed to find a trash bin he knows he has in his room somewhere. He finds it right beside his night stand and he crawls back into bed, laying a hand on Dazai's shoulder to push him onto his back.

"What the hell happened," Chuuya sighs, running a hand through Dazai's bangs to get some of his hair out of his face. He looks miserable, but he's still eyeing Chuuya with that ridiculously attractive smile of his. He gets a chance to register just how sweaty he is, and once he presses a hand up to his forehead, he sighs. "You're hot as shit."

"Mmm…you're not bad yourself," Dazai barely manages. He tries to sit up a bit, too, but it takes him a lot longer than it took Chuuya. He winces at the effort it takes.

"Shut up, asshole. You're burning up. Why the fuck didn't you say anything?" Chuuya grumbles. Now is not the time to be flirting. He lays the back of his hand over Dazai's cheek too, just to make sure he's right, and he is. He has a fever. Chuuya is fully aware that Dazai was already asleep by the time Chuuya got home, but he still would have liked to know. Somehow.

"I like to, uh…inconvenience you. For fun," Dazai jokes, although, Chuuya's convinced that's the truth sometimes. He seems to enjoy Chuuya's thoroughly annoyed expression for a moment before a gag throws him off guard and a hand flies up to his mouth. Chuuya shoves the trash bin in his direction and he's lucky enough that Dazai ducks his head into it to choke out a mouthful of vomit without another word. It's followed by a drawn out whine. Chuuya is glad that his secret wish of his sheets being spared came true.

"I don't think I've ever seen you puke before," Chuuya murmurs. Dazai's a renowned alcoholic, but he can hold his liquor ten times better than Chuuya could ever dream of doing. He doesn't think he's ever even seen the guy hungover. He sounds pretty miserable, breathing heavy, labored breaths into the bin between a groan or two. There's still strings of saliva stretching from his open mouth and caught on the sides of the bag. Weirdly attractive. Chuuya's taken aback by the thought.

"Remember…remember when you puked during that party, and…it got all in your hair," Dazai recalls without enough energy to actually laugh, barely lifting his head up to look at Chuuya. All Chuuya can hear is a choked chuckle. He spits in the bin.

"No, I don't remember that, because I was drunk off my ass. But thankfully, you took a picture and sent it to everyone. A normal boyfriend would've, I dunno, held my hair back," Chuuya grumbles, rolling his eyes. He's got some gall, bringing that up now. "What if I did that to you now, huh?"

"That wouldn't be as funny, babe," Dazai insists, wanting to laugh again, but he can only manage a groan. He lays a hand over his stomach as he sits back just a bit, and Chuuya's sure it's doing all sorts of flips with how sick he is right now, and how pale he's looking.

"And how'd you get this? Kissing your work boyfriend?" Chuuya huffs.

"Mmm…probably…he's got a stomach flu," Dazai mumbles. He muffles a burp with his fist.

"Great. And why are you kissing guys with stomach flus?" Chuuya asks him.

"Mmm…dunno," he says. It almost sounds innocent, but Dazai is as guilty as they come. If he wasn't so sick right now, he would definitely try to talk some sense into him, but there's no point now.

Dazai's head is leaned back against the headboard, his hand pressed a little tighter against his stomach, now. He lets out a long, pained groan.

"You still feel nauseous?" Chuuya asks.

"Uh-huh," Dazai informs him.

"'Kay. Stay here. Don't puke on my sheets," Chuuya tells him, climbing out of bed once again. He has some sort of nausea relief medication somewhere, and maybe something for that fever, too. Chuuya thinks he might call a doctor over for him in the morning, he doubts that Dazai will be much healthier by then.

He manages to find a few things that aren't expired. Pepto bismol and ibuprofen for the fever, but he's concerned about the pepto staying down. It's going to have to, because he doesn't have any alternatives. He decides to take a thermometer, too, just to make sure it's not a dangerous number.

"C'mere," Chuuya says as he walks over to Dazai's side of the bed, making a mental note that he still has to clean the vomit off of that rug. He turns Dazai's head towards him, and he groans in protest. "I just need to get you temperature, you baby. Open your mouth."

"If I close my eyes, will you put something more fun in my mouth instead?" Dazai asks. Chuuya almost fell for it.

"No, you bastard. So you can blow me and then puke all over me?" Chuuya mumbles.

"I dunno. Seems like something you'd be into," Dazai shrugs as he opens his mouth for Chuuya to slide the thermometer under his tongue. Chuuya chooses to avoid that comment for the time being.

The thermometer is a bit slow, Chuuya hasn't used it in ages so he'd forgotten, but evidently, it's too slow for Dazai. Chuuya watches his eyes go wide and it's too late for him to react, because Dazai suddenly gags again before he doubles over, a gurgling burp bringing up a splatter of vomit.

Dazai, however, completely misses the bin this time, and pukes on Chuuya's comforter. Dazai starts to say something but he's cut off by another gag, this time, bringing up nothing more than saliva. It hangs off of his tongue and he has to spit to break the string.

"I'm - I'm sorry, Chuuya," Dazai says through heavy, short breaths, one hand pressed over his eyes and the other over his stomach again. He burps again, but nothing comes up. He's concerned about the fact that he actually sounds sincere.

"Don't worry about it," Chuuya tells him. In the end, they're just sheets. The thermometer read something around a hundred and two, which explains why he looks so miserable. Dazai sits up and spits into the bin again before leaning his head back. Chuuya can't imagine he's going to be able to take any Pepto if he can't even keep a thermometer in his mouth. "You look awful."

"Mm…" he groans, turning his head in Chuuya's direction, like he's looking for comfort.

"Let me take care of this. You should take these, if you can. I'll leave 'em here," Chuuya says, gesturing to the medicine he left on the counter.

Dazai briefly looking down, and then back up at Chuuya to pout. "Gimme the whole bottle."

"No, babe," Chuuya huffs. "Thought you ruled out overdosing as an option already."

"I dunno…tempting, sometimes…"

Chuuya gathers the comforter and the rug from the side of the bed without much of an issue but he makes sure Dazai still has easy access to that trash bin. He feels bad for him. He really doesn't look good, and Chuuya's already lost count of how many times he's puked. He's probably going to have a rough night.

He leaves everything in the laundry room, instead deciding he'll call someone in to do it for him tomorrow. He'd rather be looking after Dazai right now. He takes a replacement comforter and heads back to Dazai.

He's taken the medicine, much to Chuuya's surprise, and he's curled back on his side like a little kid. Chuuya throws the blanket over him and climbs in with him.

He doesn't say anything. He stares at Chuuya for a few moments, their faces relatively close, before he lets his eyes fall shut. Chuuya reaches a hand over his face to brush some hair out of his eyes.

Dazai finally seems to relax a bit. He hides it well, he always does, Chuuya can only tell because his brow doesn't look as furrowed.

"So I needa take off tomorrow, then," Chuuya says.

"I can…go hang out at the agency," Dazai murmurs. His voice is heavy with sleep.

"No, you're staying here. 'Cause I said so," Chuuya grumbles. He doesn't like the idea of Dazai going all the way back to the agency with how shitty he's feeling. It just logically makes more sense for him to stay here and rest.

"Aww, Chuuya…so sweet," Dazai teases. He opens his eyes again to smile at Chuuya. It's a ridiculously sweet expression he's wearing. "You love me?"

"Yeah I love you, shithead," Chuuya groans. Chuuya hates the way his heart is racing. That idiot makes him feel all sorts of things.

"Love you too," Dazai giggles, but he's cut off by a pained groan. Chuuya's a little worried he might throw up again, but Dazai just rolls back on his back. He breathes out a shaky breath. "Chuuya…my tummy still hurts."

"What are you, five?" Chuuya grumbles, but he scoots closer anyway, sneaking a hand under Dazai's shirt to rub some circles into his abdomen. His skin is still so hot. "Lemme know if it hurts."

"Mm. Feels good," he tells him as he lets his eyes fall shut again. "Just keep your hand out of my pants."

"What makes you think I wanna fuck you so bad right now, anyway? You freak," Chuuya huffs and rolls his eyes, but he doesn't take his hand away. Dazai starts to relax a little bit. "You need to go back to sleep. Quit running your dirty mouth."

Dazai seems to have intentionally listened to the suggestion, because he's already drifted far away enough that he's not responding to Chuuya. He's so ridiculous.

"Hope you sleep well," Chuuya murmurs quietly, cursing himself for being so stupidly sentimental. He hates seeing Dazai like this. He hopes he's better by the morning.

But of course, only a few hours later, Chuuya wakes up to the sound of retching again, this time further away.

He groans as he sits up, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes to get adjusted to being awake faster, and he quickly realizes that Dazai's not in bed with him anymore. Chuuya concludes he's probably in the bathroom.

The retching really sounds painful. Chuuya cringes at the sound of it, but once he's got a hand on the door handle to open it, he realizes it's locked.

"Lemme in, babe," Chuuya says with a sigh. He's sure he has a key somewhere, so he's not entirely sure why Dazai locked the door in the first place.

It takes him a moment. Chuuya almost wonders if he heard him at first, but he hears the door start to unlock and reveal Dazai's thin frame without a word.

He whines and lays his head on Chuuya's shoulder to seek some sort of comfort. Dazai's not usually the type to seek affection or comfort at all, so it hurts Chuuya, just a bit. He rests a hand on his back and helps to lead him back to bed.

"You done?" Chuuya confirms before he gets him to sit back in bed, and Dazai only nods.

"Empty," Dazai groans. Chuuya can imagine. He's pretty sure he's thrown up a lot more than was even in his stomach to begin with.

"'M gonna piss. Lay down, 'kay?" Chuuya says, still rubbing his eyes, and Dazai obliges as Chuuya trudges back to the bathroom.

He peers into the toilet out of curiosity to find it's full of bright pink vomit, probably from the pepto. Chuuya figured it wasn't going to stay down for long anyway, but he's not sure how else to help him, now.

Suddenly, he's overtaken with a wave of nausea that he almost thinks he's imagining before he's on his knees gagging, bringing up the soba he had for dinner as it spills past his lips and splatters into the already soiled toilet water below.

Great. This is great.

He groans before more of it forces his way up his esophagus and doesn't leave any room for complaints. This fucking sucks. He probably wasn't even awake enough to realize he was nauseous. This seriously came out of nowhere.

He's thoroughly annoyed. He didn't entirely mind a day off looking after Dazai, but that day off suddenly becomes much worse if he's sick, too. The nausea roiling in his gut is already unbearable, he can't imagine dealing with this all day.

He suddenly remembers he needs to hold his hair out of the way as he ducks his head back into the toilet to gag, but he feels another hand pull it back for him, and another on his back.

"Does this redeem the picture thing?" Dazai asks in that mischievous tone of his, but Chuuya's too nauseous to fight back. He greatly appreciates Dazai rubbing his back for him. He's not entirely sure why, but it helps enough for the nausea to subside, just a bit.

"I'm gonna kill you," Chuuya groans, trying very hard to not look into the toilet. Dazai seems to recognize that he can't stand the sight of it, and he closes the lid and flushes it for him.

"Guess we have to do everything together, huh?" Dazai teases as he briefly takes over Chuuya's caretaking role to tuck some hair behind his ear. "You're still pretty. All sweaty like this."

"Shut your whore mouth," Chuuya groans as he tries to stand up, not expecting to need help from Dazai, but taking it anyway. Dazai still looks much worse than Chuuya feels, and he's starting to feel guilty about needing help, but Dazai does it without any complaints, much to his surprise.

"Where's your medicine cabinet?" Dazai asks after he leads Chuuya back to bed, but Chuuya forces him to sit down instead.

"Nice try. I'll get it," Chuuya insists, before he disappears into the kitchen to get what he needs. Taking Pepto is probably a fruitless effort, considering how it went for Dazai, but he takes some anyway. He takes a fever reducer too, even though he's not quite sure he's caught one yet.

Dazai's still awake and waiting for him when he gets back, and Chuuya crawls back into bed beside him, as close as he can with an annoyed whine.

"You forgot to pee," Dazai tells him.

"Ugh. Later. Sleep," Chuuya murmurs, ducking his head under Dazai's chin as Dazai nuzzles him a little closer.

"M'kay," Dazai says through a yawn.

They're in for a long night.

#puke.fic #puke.tv show #tv show puke #fuck this was good #fic rec #i dont care if you've never seen the anime you need to read this fic

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upachucks · 4 years ago

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They're so sick

Your poor, sickly fave finishes their violent bout of vomiting and slumps down; exhausted, sore and shaky. You hold up a tissue to their face for them to blow the sick our of their nose. You then gently wipe their nose and around their mouth clean with a fresh tissue You tenderly hold their chin in your hand and inspect their sleepy face; it's pale, sweaty, and when your eyes meet, you note that they seem to be struggling to keep them open. You continue to look them over, and have to force back a smile at how their cheeks redden slightly at your lingering gaze despite how unwell they're obviously feeling. Once you release their face, they groan and roll over.

You once again contemplate trying to move them to the bathroom, or a bed- maybe even a couch. You opt out, however, when their tummy let's out a loud, unhappy grumble and they whimper. If they were stubborn about moving before, they'll be even more so in their current state.

You think about moving them anyway, since they definitely wouldn't be able to stop you, but decide against it; not wanting to upset them further. You run your hand through their hair as they lay curled up on the cold, hard floor and sigh.

Water.

They need water.

You get up to go and get them a glass of water, stopping to turn around and poke your head through the doorway to check on them one last time, before leaving the room.

You're not gone for long, when you hear them weakly calling your name.

You hear them coughing harshly as you approach the doorway. The coughing turns to gagging as you walk in and you see them hunched over the bin. Despite their body's effort, nothing appears to be coming up yet. You sigh and pad over to them. You rub their back gently as their entire body jerks, and you wipe a bead of sweat from their forehead with your knuckle.

The heaves get closer together, and they barely have time to breath between their powerful retching. They start to whimper, but after several of their complaints are cut off with harsh gags, they go quiet again to focus on enduring the aggressive episode of dry-heaving.

Finally, one of the gags brings something up and you hear the loud splash of their stomach contents hitting the basin. They let out a pathetic groan at the sudden, unpleasant sensation, but their vocalization is once again interrupted by their nausea.

The next wave is chunkier, but much smaller. You peer into the bucket curiously and spot some partially-chewed lettuce and tomatoes from the salad they had asked you to make for them an hour or two ago. They thought that their nausea would go away if they ate something- and salad is healthy, right? You would laugh at the unfortunate irony if your fave didn't look so poorly. You wonder if things would have been any different had they not insisted upon you dousing it with thick, rich dressing? Probably not.

Though their tummy is still grumbling angrily, they don't bring anything else up- only dry heaves. The dry-heaving tapers off into coughing, which then subsides into panting.

It's probably the heavy steak they had eaten earlier in the day that was refusing to come up easily. They ate it nearly 5 hours ago but have been belching non-stop and complaining about feeling bloated ever since. You peer down at your fave and note that their belly is still pretty swollen; the steak nestled in deep and refusing to move.

They whine and whimper quietly and appear to be laying as still as possible. You kneel down, setting the glass onto the floor beside you, and reach for the tissues. You get them to blow their nose before wiping their face clean again.

You slowly bring the glass of water to their lips. At first, they pull their head away, but you remind them that dehydration will make them feel worse. They sigh melancholically and let you bring the glass back to their mouth before obediently tipping their head back slightly.

You have them rinse and spit into the sick-filled bucket three times before ordering them to swallow a small mouthful. They complain and try to refuse, but your persistence overpowers their present lack of will. They end up taking a few sips before curling back up.

You sit down next to them in silence for the next few minutes. All you want to do is evelop them into your arms, but you settle for stroking their arm slowly, as not to jostle them too much. They're still curled up on the floor; their breathing is slowing down- which you hope is good. You can still hear their tummy; soft sloshing and bubbling could now be heard amongst the constant, unhappy grumbles from before. The noises almost seemed to be tapering off for a while, but now you swore that they were increasing in volume and intensity again. Your fave let's out a soft moan, increasing your growing concern. You consider asking them to give you a status update, but stop yourself; if they're falling asleep, then you should let them rest. It's only when they release a loud, sickly, wet belch that you decide that it's time to go back into caretaking mode.

You ask them how the water is settling; their stomach seems to squelch in response.

"It feels cold and heavy," they whine, "it hurts." You had suspected that this would be the case, but the taps in the building don't have temperature control so there wasn't anything you could do.

"I'm gonna leave this out by the window, okay? The sun will warm it up so that you can have more later without it hurting your tummy," you say placatingly, before setting down the glass on the windowsill behind the curtains. They show their enthusiasm by not responding or even turning to look at you. Instead, they let out a loud moan.

"Oh, y/n. My stomach really hurrrrts," they whimper.

"Do you want me to rub it for you?" You ask. They have to stop and think about it for a moment, before nodding and slowly turning onto their back with a grunt. They hazily look up at you.

"Not too hard," they practically whisper. You nod and place your hand on their belly; taking in how little your hand sinks in before it's met with whatever food they'd eaten that day- at least compared to their tummy when it's in a healthier state. It audibly grumbles around your hand.

"Gentler, please," they rasp, and you decrease the pressure a bit, "even gentler." You obey and very lightly, smooth your whole hand around the expanse of their slightly bloated tummy. They close their eyes and sigh.

Though most of the roundness is gathered in their upper belly, you can't help but notice that their mid and lower tummy are a little bit bigger than normal, too. You smooth your hand up the bump of the stomach itself, and down over the slight tautness around their navel- which burbles lazily as the contact shifts whatever was sitting around there- down to their fleshier underbelly and back up the way you came. After a while of that, you start to rub in circles again but are startled by your fave trying to speak.

"Keep going up and down," they rasp without opening their eyes. You chuckle softly and oblige, enjoying the feeling of their belly under your hand.

Their breathing slows down further and you got pause in your rubbing once you're sure they're asleep. You get up to empty their sick basin and give it a quick rinse; your nose wrinkling at the foul smell.

You return to the room and slump back down next to them. Your heart melts with pity whenever they groan in their sleep, or their gut let's out a particularly cacophonous gurgle.

You are about to drift off yourself when they suddenly jolt up, and you all but throw the bucket at them.

They let out a long, miserable moan before dry-heaving a few times. Wanting to get ahead, you quickly get up to grab the tissue box and the water from the windowsill. Your fave makes an unpleasant noise that sounds like a cross between a gag and a gutteral belch, and a mouthful of browned liquid and small, undiscernable bits spatters into the basin. They sit there leant over for a few more seconds, before falling back into a lying position.

"That's it?" You ask. You are certain that they have much more food still festering in their belly. They don't react as you lean over to pull their top away, and are further convinced by how swollen their abdomen still is.

"Idonknow," they slur. You watch them for a moment, but they don't start retching again.

"My tummy is still super upset, but I don't feel like puking anymore," they tell you softly.

"Water time," you announce with sarcastic zeal. They groan, but sit back up and you hold the glass to their lips.

"Ugh. 'Ts all warm," they wrinkle their nose and squint their eyes.

"It was too cold for you, so I put it in the window to warm it up earlier, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," they say softly. You get behind them and help them lower themselves carefully onto their back again.

"My tummy is still super upset, but I don't feel nauseous anymore," they softly inform you. Their brows have unknit and they close their eyes again. You don't have the heart to inform them that there was no way they're actually better.

Their belly still looks distended, and it's angry growls are only growing louder. You also take note of how some of the unhappy gurgles are gaining a higher pitch, indicating that a reasonable amount of the mess in their stomach was making its way further down into their gut.

You run a hand through your hair before beginning to gently rub their belly up and down, like you were earlier. They release a soft, contented sign when you lean over to kiss their cheek.

While you gently rub their stomach, you begin to strategize in your head how you'll get out of all of your plans- at least for the next day or two. Your poor fave will definitely be needing you around.

Tbc... someday. In the meantime I may come back and edit this one a bit.

#fic rec #puke.txt #you bet I'm throwing m/att ca/sey into this scenario

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