#Emeto sickfic
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Sudden Sickness in Group Settings
CW: emeto, stoic sickie, stress-induced sickness, conflict.
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🚶🏻♂️ A wanders away in the middle of a conversation, doubles over, and vomits violently. Their companions don’t have time to react before A comes back over. Noticing the shocked expressions that welcome them back, they mumble, by way of explanation, “My stomach hurts...”
🏃🏻♂️ Alternatively, A doesn’t acknowledge what just happened. They ignore the concerned looks, anxious to remain normal, and say, “Anyway, what were you saying, B...?”
⌛ The group is hanging around, waiting for A to show up, when someone spots them lingering quite a distance away. “What are they doing?” someone wonders, annoyed at being kept waiting, only to notice that A is leaning against a wall/tree/etc. and puking onto the ground. A shortly joins the group, gives a sheepish grin, and says, “Hey, guys. Sorry I’m late.”
😬 The group has gotten some distressing news. Everyone’s in a stunned, quiet daze, until they hear a belch/heave, and they all turn their heads to see A – the one the bad news affects most directly – throwing up. Someone softly exclaims, “Oh, A…” and they all snap out of it long enough to make sure A is taken care of.
😡 The group doesn’t know that A’s feeling nauseous; all they know is that A is cranky and has been pissing everyone off all day. B eventually snaps and calls them out. A defends themself, but then B yells something that’s too close to home for A – another group member chimes in with “B, come on, that’s uncalled for” – and A’s composure drops, their face pales, and they turn to the side and finally puke.
👿 Alternatively, A wasn’t necessarily feeling nauseous all along; they were just in a bad mood. Whatever B yells at them about, that’s what makes A’s stomach turn.
#emeto#emetophilia#sickfic#emeto sickfic#emeto prompts#sickfic prompts#prompt list#whump prompts#hurt comfort#hurt and comfort#prompts
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Emetophobic sickie self-indulgent garbage
-
It's not happening.
A ran as fast as they could.
It can't be happening.
Slammed the door.
I've been so *careful*.
Hunched over the toilet.
What did I do wrong?
A emptied their stomach out.
-
"A? A, where'd you go?"
B looked up and down the halls, but they just couldn't find where A had run off to. That is, until B turned the corner. Soft whimpering could just barely be heard from inside the bathroom.
Oh boy...
B knocked.
*Gasp-*
"A, could you let me in?"
-
It was a violent mix of sobbing, shaking, and vomiting. B held A's hair out of their face and rubbed circles into their back.
"Shh... It'll be okay... This is natural, sweetie..."
It just kept coming, and coming, and coming...
"My poor baby..."
-
A was sobbing loudly in B's arms. Their entire body was shivering. The taste of bile still stung in their mouth.
"It's all over, darling. You're alright. You're safe."
"I- *hic* did everyt-thing right, I..." A's voice was painfully hoarse.
"I know, sweetheart. It's okay. Everything is okay now."
"w... WHY? WHAT D-DID I DO WRONG?" A sobbed and cried uncontrollably, still being tenderly held by B.
"Nothing, love. It just happens. But you're safe."
"I D-DON'T *hic* WANT IT T-TO HAPPEN!"
B's heart ached for A.
"It's all over... I'm here..."
#writiehugs#sickie#whump#sickfic prompts#whumpblr#sickfic dialogue#sickfic tropes#emeto#emeto sickfic#emetophilia#fever whump#sickfic
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This is from the latest SKZ VLOG
This, THIS got me thinking sickfic thoughts....👀👀👀👀
Does anyone know any Stray Kids sickfic/emeto blogs?
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Oh I nearly forgot to post this but my partner threw up last night, not once but twice, and I have some notes:
Weak retches with small sick sounding burps on the end. Not usually into burping related stuff but this was hot.
Silent but productive heaves. Damn.
Gurgling retches. You can literally hear it coming up.
Hearing their stomach make a sickly gurgling noise mere seconds before it all comes pouring out of them. Good heavens I thought this was just a trope, but nope, it’s real.
Forceful, gushes vomit that just rush out in one hugely productive stream. Fucking hell. It’s like their stomach emptied itself in one go. This is how you know their belly felt *really* sick and they’re gonna need some serious caretaking cuz that would’ve really taken it out of them
#sickfic#emeto#emetophilia#emeto kink#sickfic ideas#sickfic prompt#emeto blog#sickfic blog#whump#sick
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having soft thoughts of a sickie feeling guilty about puking up all the food caretaker made for them with so much love and care:
sickie having to maintain appearances, even as their poor stomach revolts agaisnt the heavy meal sitting inside it
sickie who can't help but grimace at the sight/smell/texture of the food, which makes caretaker think they might've messed it up
sickie clutching/hugging their middle as they try their hardest not to puke, thinking of the smile caretaker had on as they watched them eat, thinking they finally were starting to recover
sickie who has a hand clasped over their mouth, holding it tight to keep the food in no matter what, even to the protests of caretaker who's trying to tell them to just let it out, don't try to hold it
sickie who ends up losing the barely digested food over the blankets, sobbing apologies to a caretaker who's more worried about their well-being than anything else
#emetophilia#emeto#vomiting#tw vomit#tw emeto#sickfic prompts#sickfic ideas#emeto fic#emeto prompts#sick scenario#sicknario#stomach bug#nausea#sickfic starters#stomach ache whump#sick whump#emeto scenario#caretaker prompts#sickie prompts#sickee prompts#emeto prompt#emeto kink
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the sickfic to end all sickfics
i will never get tired of a boy going to bed feeling funny and waking up in the middle of the night feverish and horrifically sick.
he tries to brush off his sour stomach and tiredness and lack of appetite. after all, he’s been working long hours and eating the wrong things. a good night’s sleep is all he needs. he hardly touches his dinner and is in bed by 7:30.
he falls asleep quickly next to you, but his temperature rises and leaves him with feverish, confused dreams. you’re awoken by him mumbling deliriously, and when you ask him what’s the matter he starts muttering incoherent sentences that don’t seem to connect or conclude. you switch on a bedside lamp, and examine the pallor of his sweat-slicked face while using your palm to feel his forehead. he’s absolutely burning hot. his eyes, heavylidded, flutter.
“i don’t feel good” he manages to tell you through dry lips. his breaths come shallow and out of his mouth. you feel so sorry for him but can’t help but find him irresistible in such a weak state. you ask him where he isn’t feeling good, brushing back his bangs.
“stomach” is all he says. you probe further and ask him what kind of stomach ache it is, and with a heavy swallow he says “nauseous” and that “everything is spinning.” you lie there with him until his saliva is too much for his own mouth, and you have to help him to the bathroom. you stay by his side until he thinks he’s done.
the next morning doesn’t fare much better. he got sick a couple more times in the night, and is still running a fever. he mumbles incoherent thoughts about having to call into work sick, so worried about having to take a sick day, about how much he’ll be missing at work. he tosses layers of blankets to the floor and removes his pajamas, complaining about how hot it is. within fifteen minutes he is shivering and you have to help him put his pajamas back on.
he goes a couple hours without throwing up, and you suggest crackers. he manages to keep those down, and before long he agrees to a can of chicken soup. when you come to place the tray over his lap, he is lying there staring off into space looking so miserable and pale. you hope the soup will give a little color to his face.
he slurps the soup down to its bottom. you’re glad to see him eating, and after he’s done you take the bowl to wash. as you’re doing the dishes, you hear him coughing. you think he might be trying to clear his throat.
you hear him start to retch.
you leave the sink and come back into the bedroom. his head is hung over a trash can. he looks up.
“im sorry,” he mutters. “im so sorry. i didn’t mean to.”
this sight absolutely breaks your heart. in this woozy state he feels the need to apologize, worried about upsetting or offending you for throwing up the soup you made. you rub circles on his back and hush him as he apologizes again and again and again. after he’s done you tuck him back up, kissing his burning forehead. you sit at his bedside to play with his hair and make him sleepy. he goes in and out of sleep, and senses when you’re not there. when he wakes he weakly cries out for you, begging for you to make it all better. all you can do is pet his hair and shush him, hoping it’ll all be over soon.
#tummy ache#belly ache#emeto kink#sickfic#emetophilia#vomit kink#whump writing#whumpblr#whump scenario#whump prompt#whump#whump community#whumpee#emeto fic#emeto tw#fantasies from the duchess 👑
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Emeto this or that part two
(500 special 4/5)
Warning for emeto, mentions of medication, not eating, over eating, alcohol
Feel free to use or send me a number :)
1. Everything coming way in a powerful wave or lots of gagging and spitting up saliva?
2. Gagging on trying to sallow a pill or gagging on a thermometer?
3. Nausea from side effects of medication or nausea from medication withdrawals?
4. Queasy burps or queasy hiccups?
5. Caretaker gently doing a small braid in a sickie’s hair or throwing their hair in the messiest ponytail because there’s no time?
6. “I thought you were getting better” or “I thought I was getting better”?
7. Sickie that’s concerned about getting caretaker sick or sickie who doesn’t care and wants all the love and care they can get?
8. “I want to throw up” or “I need to throw up”?
9. Sickie has a bad caretaker, caretaker that is angry or caretaker that completely ignores sickie?
10. ‘Hurl’ or ‘spew’?
11. Tender stomach muscles after vomiting or dehydration headache?
12. After vomiting, character is hungry and ready to fill their empty guy again or doesn’t want to even smell food for the next couple of days?
13. The character/s getting sick matters more, or the reason for being sick/tropes matter more?
14. Focus on the vomit itself, or focus on the vomiting noises?
15. Producing a lot of saliva before vomiting or throat going dry?
16. Sickie gets caretaker sick, are they more “I told you to stay away” or “I’m so sorry”?
17. Sick feeling tummy from a stuffed belly or nausea from not eating for a while?
18. ‘ Nauseous ’ or ‘Queasy?’
19. Sickie is stuck looking after themselves, absolute pro or absolute mess?
20. Chamomile or peppermint tea?
21. Sickie that begs for their tummy to be rubbed or sickie that would gag at even the slightest belly touch?
22. Embarrassed from throwing up in a doctor's office or embarrassed from missing the bin in a public area?
23. Caretaker has an extremely gross but effective nausea remedy or extremely gross but effective vomit inducer?
24. A formal sickie throws up during work, they suddenly fall apart for the first time in their lives and need care or keep it together?
25. ‘Midsection’ or ‘abdomen’?
26. Puking after getting yelled at or puking after getting told devastating news?
27. ‘Upset tummy’ or ‘Unsettled tummy’?
28. Gagging or heaving?
29. Feeling sick from eating/drinking too much in tight clothes, or already being bloated and feeling sick because sickie forced themselves into tight clothes?
30. Sickie has been hovering over the toilet for ages with no relief, they press down on their own tummy to vomit or caretaker presses down?
31. ‘Twisting’ or ‘turning’ to describe nausea?
32. Kneeling in front of the toilet or crouching in front of the toilet?
33. Hand on the stomach or arm wrapped around the stomach?
34. First time drinker throwing up from the taste of alcohol being way too strong or experienced drinker is proud they have never vomited from drinking but gets cocky one night?
35. Gagging from watching a gross video, or gagging from tasting something gross?
36. Indigestion or intolerance?
37. Accidentally squeezing a queasy belly too hard, or accidentally knocking into a queasy belly?
38. Body language cues (holding stomach, hand near mouth) or sound cues (frequent burping, tummy noises)?
39. ‘ Stomach flu’or ‘stomach bug’?
40. Sickie is extremely nauseous before a massive event, they throw up beforehand and do amazing or do okay during the event and throw up once it’s all over?
41. Feeling sick from physical pain or mental pain?
42. Vomiting on the first date or vomiting before proposing/ getting proposed to?
43. Watching your character hurling in a tv show/ movie or reading about your favourite character hurling in a book?
44. Vomit seeping through a sickie’s fingers when coving their mouth or the vomit pushes their hand away and splats on the floor?
45. ‘Bile’ or ‘stomach contents’?
#500 followes special/#emeto#emeto warning#upset tummy#stomach kink#sickfic prompts#emeto ask game#(4/5.)
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"You just threw up the water you had ten seconds after drinking it, but you're still gonna keep saying you're fine, huh?"
#i think about them every day#atsushi#also i drew this a while ago i was wanting to write something with it before i posted it but im struggling to write at all so heres this#im sorry im taking forever im burnt out from working my brain is fried too much going on#sskk#my art#bungo stray dogs#bungou stray dogs#bsd#emeto#fever#vomit mention#emetophilia#high fever#shin soukoku#akutagawa#sickfic#sick art#emeto art#nausea#sicknario#sick#illness#vomiting#thermometer
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Some burping themed sickfic prompts for your enjoyment:
1: sickie letting out big, wet burps right before throwing up
2: Caretaker pats sickie on the back and accidentally burps them like a baby. Bonus points if sickie is pleasantly surprised that it kinda helped and even more Bonus points if this becomes something caretaker does for sickie all the time
3: sickie burping so loudly in the middle of the night that caretaker wakes up and mumbles, "you good?"
4: Burping while making out
5: belly rubs causing sickie to burp
6: suddenly burping alot being the first indicator that a preppy character is sick, because they'd never do that unless they had an upset stomach
7: character burping when someone else hugs them because their stomach was squeezed by the hug
8: a character burping during a serious situation because of a nervous stomach
9: a whiny, "Ugh, my tummy hurts..." followed by a huge belch
10: emetophobic character panicking that they have to throw up, only to let out a huge burp and then immediately feel better, embarrassed that they overreacted
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Vince sick with the flu at Wendy's birthday
Vince knew he was bound to catch the bug after being so terribly exposed, he had just been counting on the fact he had gotten the stomach flu back in the end of January and hoping this meant he was immune.
No such luck.
Not only he had definitely caught the bug, judging by how upset and gurgly his belly felt, but he had caught it on Wendy's birthday. He wanted to cry.
"Are you alright?" His father asked, looking up from the dishes he was doing when Vince groaned, tugging at the roots of his hair.
"I think I caught the stomach bug that's going around the school," he answered and Giuseppe frowned, drying his hands on the dishcloth and walking closer.
His palm was cold against Vince's forehead, all soft thanks to age, "you're a little warm, piccolino," he hadn't called Vin that since his son had outgrown him.
"That's just great," Vince sighed, leaning slightly on his dad's touch. He wanted nothing more than to go upstairs and crawl up into his childhood bed, let his family fuss over him, but instead he had to hit the road. There was no way he was going to miss Wen's birthday.
They had already talked the night before, video called at midnight so he could wish her happy birthday, and texted in the morning, Wendy sending excited updates about everything.
Her parents had sent her a huge breakfast basket with flowers and she had gotten a bunch of chocolate from patients, which Wendy was over the moon about as it was her first time getting gits from patients.
She was going to have lunch with Bella, Jonah, Barbie and Megan and then the party was going to be at night, at a rooftop and Vince knew for a fact that Jon had gotten fireworks for her as a surprise.
"I have to get going," Vin forced himself to pull back and stand up. As soon as he stood up, he felt all sorts of woozy, so Vin grabbed the wall behind him and breathed through his mouth until the slight vertigo faded away.
Giuseppe's silver eyebrows were up, blue eyes scanning him, "you're planning on driving like this? No, you're not."
"Babbo, I can't not go," Vince sighed, "I'm gonna drive slow, I promise. And text you as soon as I get there."
His father didn't look one bit pleased, "at least take some medicine before you go..." he mumbled, looking nervous about the prospect.
Although the old man looked fearful, he did let Vin go, without telling Ma about the fact he was sick, something Vince was very grateful for. There was no way his mother was going to be this cool about him getting in the motorcycle when feeling that woozy.
By the time Vince entered the big city, he was freezing. It was only partially due to the fever, it was the last day of February, so it wasn't exactly warm to begin with.
He had the key to Wen's apartment and she, thankfully, still wasn't home, so Vince headed straight to the bathroom. His reflection was a sight, his skin had gone from its usual light olive tone straight into green territory, all pale and with dark circles around his eyes. His lips were devoid of color and his hair had flattened down around his head, clinging to his clammy skin.
"Looking handsome," Vince grumbled, planting his hands on the sink and taking a steadying breath as his stomach gurgled uncomfortably. The nausea was taking its sweet pace building and currently he was covered in goosebumps, his mouth feeling sticky and sweet.
Vin stumbled into the shower area and turned up the hot water, hoping to wash away the look of sickness. He had very little energy, so he just stood under the stream, letting the water do most of the work.
He washed his hair and then gagged when the scent of conditioner hit his nose, making him rush to wash it off. It was to no avail, and Vince leaned over the drain, retching softly until a thin stream of watery puke came up.
It brought no relief whatsoever, but his stomach's muscles relaxed, leaving him still just as nauseated and unable to barf. Vince groaned, washing away the evidence and his face all over again.
Once he stepped out of the bathroom, with Wen's large lilac towel wrapped around his waist, Vince opened a smile as he saw Wen had left an outfit picked out on top of the bed.
He put on the boxers and the social pants and was sitting on the edge of the bed, struggling to tie his social shoes since the position squeezed his tummy, when Wendy opened the bedroom door.
"Oh hi..." she sounded all breathless and Vince didn't have to force a smile. His girlfriend stood at the doorway of her bedroom, with her hair in rollers and a pink robe.
"Hi birthday girl," Vince grinned, "c'mere-" he got up to kiss her and Wendy's whole face turned pink as she promptly wrapped her arms around his neck, getting on her tippy toes.
They stumbled back inside the bedroom and Vince bit down a groan as he felt Wendy climb his lap, still kissing him fiercely. He moved his face, planting a kiss on her neck and squeezing her on a hug.
"I missed you," Vince whispered, planting a kiss on her shoulder, pushing her robe out of the way, "I missed you so much."
Wendy let out a pleased sigh, pulling back and running her fingers through his humid hair, "I missed you too," she pressed her forehead to his, "I almost wish we could just stay in bed."
Vince snorted at that, patting her ass so she'd get off his lap, "no, you don't, you'd never miss your own party."
She blushed as he read her so easily, then climbed off of him, "I'm just gonna take a quick shower, can't get the hair wet. Are you almost done?"
Almost, he just really needed to throw up first, Vince thought, but kept his happy smile on.
"Yeah, pretty much. Take your time, though," he kissed her temple and swatted her ass, "I'm gonna go get your gift."
"My gift?" Wendy's voice went up at least two notes as she smiled and Vince rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, your gift," he steered her to the bathroom, "c'mon, you don't wanna be late."
He had left Wendy's gift in his backpack and Vince went to the living room to retrieve it, while buttoning up his shirt. She had picked a deep red button up, her favorite color on him.
Vince sat on the couch as he heard the shower running, allowing his mask to slip and wrapping an arm around his stomach. Even though he had left his belt quite lose and not yet tucked in the shirt, he already felt like he was being squeezed by it all.
His intestines were gurgling something fierce and when Vin pressed on his warm, sensitive belly, he felt a burp sneak up his throat. Airy and with no sound, but turning wet at the end. Vin snapped his mouth shut, swallowing back the urge to gag.
He felt another shudder run up his spine and Vince pressed his eyes closed, valiantly fighting a cramp- Then he heard the bathroom door open and immediately pulled himself together, pushing everything out of his mind and getting up.
Wendy was already in her shapewear, pulling out a deep magenta dress from her closet. She had removed her hair from the rollers and they fell around her heart shaped face like old Hollywood waves.
"You look great," Vince smiled, leaning against the bedroom's doorway, "you look gorgeous."
Wendy opened a big smile, then she caught a glimpse of the simple black box in his hands and raised her eyebrows, "what is it?"
"Turn around," Vince stepped closer, holding the large square box. He was quite nervous about it, actually. It hadn't been cheap, but it was nowhere near what a girl like her was used to. He knew Wendy was the Harry Winston and Cartier sort, so he was really nervous about buying her jewelry.
Vince put the necklace around her neck and planted a kiss on top of her head as she looked at her reflection in the closet mirror, "what do you think?"
It was a simple white gold necklace, with a flower pendant made of four rubies and the center a topaz.
Wendy didn't say a thing, leaning in to inspect it and Vince cringed, feeling a whole new layer of nausea wash over him.
"I know it's no Tiffany's or whatever, but-"
"I love it," she interrupted him, glaring at him in the mirror, "it's stunning."
Vince's cheeks burned and he fidgeted uncomfortably, as Wendy smoothed the necklace against her collarbones and opened a pleased smile.
"I really love it, Vin," she turned around to hug him by the waist and tilted her head back, opening a blinding smile, "thank you."
"You're not just saying that? Because its from a local jewelry shop, so you can definitely exchang-"
"I love it," she shook her head, squeezing him, "and it matches my dress."
Vince let out a scoff, biting down a burp as Wendy's head pressed to his upset stomach. He gulped down, keeping a hand in the middle of her naked back and breathing through the queasiness.
There was no way he was going to make it through the night without puking, Vin thought, as Wendy moved in his arms and planted a kiss to his tummy, pulling back.
"I'm just gonna do my make up and we can go," she said happily, putting on her heels and Vince forced a smile.
"Alright, I'm gonna wait in the living room."
The party was in the same rooftop Vince remembered being for Jonah's birthday, when Wendy had gotten sick due to a migraine. It was ironic she had picked it, given how horrible he was feeling.
Vince was practically wincing as Wendy intertwined their fingers together and pulled him as she checked with the staff everything was alright.
He was bouncing a leg nervously up and down and Wen let out a chuckle as she noticed that, "it's just our friends," she misinterpreted his nervousness, grabbing a champagne flute and pushing it in his hands, "you have nothing to be nervous about."
Vince offered her a strained smile, but that wasn't exactly true. Wendy was a social butterfly and he knew for a fact it was not a party just for Jonah, Luke, Bell and Leo. Half the hospital would be there, as well as all the girls she knew from yoga and from other courses. Barbie, Megan, whom Vince had met before, but they still made him nervous. Other people he had no idea how Wendy got acquainted with.
He wanted to die as the place started to fill up and his head continued to swim. Vince couldn't pay attention to anything that was being said, but thankfully his participation in small talk was all but optional.
He was feeling clammy all over as the little canapes started to circulate on top of trays.
Wendy squeezed his arm, "are you hungry?" she tilted her head to look at him and Vin promptly shook his head, almost stumbling back as it made the room spin.
Just the mere thought of putting anything in his stomach made more sickness splash up and he gulped down, "No-" his voice came out all hoarse and Vince cleared his throat, "no, I'm just warm. I'm gonna go outside for some air, okay?"
Wendy pouted slightly, "are you alright...?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Vince squeezed her hand in his, "talk with your friends, I'm just gonna get some air and I'll be back," he promised and she opened a bright smile, turning around and squealing as she caught sight of Jonah entering the room.
Vince turned around and bolted.
It was not lost on him that once upon a time he had found Wendy hunched over the same rail. He pressed his tummy to the iron rail and forced up a sick burp, but nothing came up with it.
Vince groaned, squeezing the metal and feeling like he was about to collapse. His legs were shaking and he couldn't stop swallowing down, his mouth pooling with saliva.
Another burp snuck up on him and Vin whimpered, feeling his eyes sting. He hated this, he wanted to be having fun with Wendy, not almost ruining her party.
A hand came to rest on his back and Vince shuddered, knowing who it was without even looking back, "fucking kill me, Luke."
"What's wrong?" Luke's voice was impossibly soft and Vince tipped to the side, leaning against his best friend's chest. He was freezing, he wanted all warmth he could get.
"Stomach flu..." Vince groaned as his stomach flipped again, "gonna be sick..."
"Okay, think you can make it inside? To the bathroom?" Luke squeezed his nape, rolling his thumb in a comforting manner. Vin took in a deep breath.
"Don't-" he gulped down as a gag interrupted him, "don't want Wendy to see me-"
"Buddy, the chances of her seeing you here are way higher," Luke squeezed him a little tighter, "lean on me, okay? We're gonna speed walk."
"M'kay," Vince slumped almost completely and heard Lucas let out a little huff at his weight, but he didn't let go. He was so dizzy, he didn't actually see a thing as they moved back inside the restaurant area, only heard the noise escalate and then get low once more, as Luke pushed him inside the bathroom.
Vince stumbled, bracing against the sink and Lucas let out a sigh, "c'mere," he wrapped an arm around Vin's chest, steering him towards the toilet and Vince immediately fell to his knees, leaning over the bowl and panting.
His stomach hurt with how much it was churning and finally he let out a weak gag and felt everything he had eaten since morning rush up his throat.
Vince groaned as the sheer amount seemed to suffocate him, coughing and groaning as it stung his nose. He spat in the bowl, blindly reaching to flush it, but his arms were too shaky and that almost caused his chin to hit the porcelain, wasn't it for Luke wrapping an arm around his chest.
"I got you, I got you," Lucas reassured him, before flushing the toilet, "done?"
"Nu-uh," Vince gagged, spitting once again. He had never felt so nauseous in his life, what the hell was this bug?
"Jesus, dude..." Luke groaned when Vince let out another gurgly burp, which quickly morphed into a violent heave and even more puke rushed up and splattered in the bowl.
Lucas moved so he was crouching practically next to him, planting a hand on Vince's forehead and keeping him from taking a dive in the toilet as the heaves continued to rock him. He cringed as he could feel the crazy heat under his palm, it was shocking Vince had been able to play off as healthy for so long with a fever like this.
"Okay, okay, big breath," Luke rubbed his back as Vin let out a whimper and swayed on the spot, bracing against the stall wall and causing the entire thich plastic structure that separated the cubicles to tremble.
"Fuck," Vince breathed out, squeezing his eyes and massaging his chest. His hands were trembling and tears had run down his cheek, he also looked terribly pale, "this isn't a stomach bug, it's some plague."
"It looks like it, yeah," Lucas flushed the toilet again, grabbing a bunch of toilet paper and passing it to Vince, "you good?"
"For now..." Vince wiped his mouth, blowing his nose, "but my stomach is still churning and I feel like I'm gonna shit my pants."
Luke wrinkled his nose in distaste, getting up from the floor, "you need to go home-"
"I can't go to Wendy's, it's her birthday," Vince whined, "I'm not gonna ruin her night-"
"No, you're coming to my place," Luke rolled his eyes, "can you just sit there and not die? I'm gonna let Bell know-"
"Oh god, Bella-" Vince groaned, curling up as much as he could in the small space and Lucas let out a sigh.
"Just don't die, alright? I'll see if she can go home with Wen and you come with me- Don't die," then he turned around and ran out of the bathroom.
Vince sighed, leaning his head back against the hard plastic and trying to find any strength to get up and wash his face. He hated himself for going anywhere close Daniels last week.
There was a gurgle through his stomach and Vince squeezed his belly, breaking in cold sweat. He let out a sickly little burp, getting on all fours and struggling force himself up, swaying so much he nearly smashed his head against the stall wall.
Vince fell down on the toilet, tugging on his social pants and clumsily reaching for the door and locking it, before managing to push down his pants just in time for the runs to hit him.
He wrapped both arms around his tummy, pressing his eyes closed and sniffling pitifully. The cramps were killing him and to make matters worse he was starting to feel nauseous all over again, the curled up position forcing up sickly little burps.
Vince gulped down, breathing slowly through his mouth as the woozy sensation only seemed to get worse. Then there was a knock on the door and his head snapped up, colorful little spots dancing on the corner of his sight.
"Occupied!"
"Vin, it's me," Luke said and he could've cried. In fact, judging by the way his throat was hurting and he could feel his eyes burning, he was pretty sure he was.
"Gimme- Give me a minute..." he groaned, "just wait."
"Okay, yeah, no problem," Lucas said hurriedly and Vince assumed he probably could hear the pleading in his voice, since he didn't fight him.
Vince wiped the cold sweat from his brow once again, taking slow measured breaths as he cleaned up and then got out of the stall, stumbling to the sink in order to wash his hands and his face.
He looked dreadful. Vince made a little pray that Wendy was across the rooftop and didn't get a glimpse at him, because he looked pretty close to a corpse.
He dried the cold water from his face, before all but collapsing against the bathroom's main door, pressing his forehead to it, "Luke."
"Yeah?" Lucas' voice was very clear, as if he was glued to the door and Vince thanked his stars for that.
"I think I'm gonna faint..." his lips felt numb, this wasn't good. The second the weak words made out of his mouth, the door opened. Just in time, because Vince's knees buckled and Luca caught him by the armpits, letting out a grunt as he almost went down with Vin.
"Christ, Vin-" Luke's hand pushed his hair back, patting his cheek, "hey man, I need you to help me here or I'm gonna drag your ass to the hospital."
Vince shook his head, angrily forcing his eyes open and trying to think through the fog, "Wendy-"
He jumped as there was a loud noise, followed by squeals, just outside the private hallway that led to the bathrooms. Luke stiffened his hold around him, only to let out a nervous chuckle.
"It's Jon's fireworks. We should go."
"Uhmm," Vince nodded, grabbing on Luke's arm, "I'm gonna hurl on you."
"I know," Lucas forced him up, voice all strained, "but outside of here, deal?"
"Deal," Vince almost chuckled, pressing his feverish forehead to Luke's shoulder and allowing him to rush them out of the fancy restaurant.
#sidenote: i know vince is sicilian but giuseppe isn't so his children use babbo even tho that's a northern italian thing not sicilian#ended up posting it all in one thing bc i'm lazy#mywriting#vince monacelli#stomach flu#sickfic#emeto#emetophilia#maybe i'll do a part 2 even tho this is huge already#idc i'm having too much fun lol
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Hi!I love your fics so much and I saw your request things and thought maybe you could do Donnacha or Henry with an upset stomach that pushes them to the edge? Like they have to go go go all day long and it makes them like super overwhelmed but it ends all fluffy with the other character comforting them with belly rubs or a hot shower or smth?? Only do this if you want ofc!! Just a an idea! Ok bye!!
I was so sure that this hadn't been in my inbox for too long, but then I realised my original draft is named 'henry sickfic june' lmao thank you for the lovely request and for your patience, anon 🖤
CW: anxiety, depression, bad self talk, chronic pain, job interview scenario, death mention, emeto, stomach noises, platonic caretaking, belly rubs.
Word Count: 4,000+
___
Henry woke up feeling far too rested.
Not a good sign.
Even before he’d untangled his thoughts from the hazy dream he’d been having – the details were already retreating, but he was certain that Orlando Bloom had been somewhat involved – he knew in his bones that he had slept through his alarms.
Cold spikes of adrenaline flipped him onto his back, joints protesting, so he could reach for his phone and his glasses. He pressed the glasses to his face and read the time on the screen. The taste of bile crept into his dry mouth.
“Oh, fuck.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. He hadn’t shaved in ages, and his stubble was just short of a full-fledged beard at this rate. He’d intended to shave this morning, before sitting down to do a remote job interview that had been scheduled for one hour and forty-three minutes ago.
Well. The company may as well have received written confirmation that he was no longer interested.
Woops.
He supposed he could call them up now and apologise for running late, and maybe they’d give him another shot –
Henry’s stomach instantly turned at the idea, and he had to swallow very measuredly to avoid choking on a mouthful of bile.
He had another interview lined up for later that afternoon, in case interview number one fell flat. Which it technically hadn’t. Now everything depended on the second – only – interview, a thought that had his stomach twisting again as soon as he had it. He almost regretted that he hadn’t managed to sleep through that appointment, too; at least then it would have been out of his hands.
Henry hauled himself out of bed, grabbed his cane, and headed down the hallway for a quick, lukewarm shower. He thought about his day as he worked the grease out of his hair and the sheet-marks out of his face; his failure to make his first meeting of the day clawed at him, clinging to his skin despite the running water. As much as he’d been dreading the human interaction, he needed work – for the sense of purpose as much as the financial compensation.
But... mostly the financial compensation.
Digging through his clothes, he realised that the first thing he’d needed to do that morning was stick a bundle of his laundry into the washer-dryer, so he would have a decent shirt to wear for his interviews. Well, interview singular now. He dragged his laundry basket to the kitchen and filled the machine. His hip and back started aching with the effort of crouching, and head spun with urgency, frustration, and the overall unpleasantness of waking up to instant panic. His hair – now long enough to lick the neckline of his sweater – dripped cold water into his clothes.
Alright. The dry cycle would be finished a measly fifteen minutes before he’d need a shirt. He’d really needed to wake up with that first alarm, but... it was fine. This was fine.
While the washing machine hummed to life and water trickled into the drum, Henry gingerly righted himself, fingers working into the tension in his hip. Tears stabbed at the backs of his eyeballs and his jaws sat tense, but there was no sense in letting the pain steal his focus when he had things to be doing.
He eyed the cupboards and considered dragging something out for a breakfast/lunch hybrid, but he felt his stomach do a queasy little backflip at the thought.
He slinked back to his room, his heart thumping like he’d run a marathon, and lowered himself into his desk chair.
___
Henry tried tapping around on Reddit to kill the time, but the constraints of both his laundry and his upcoming interview made it impossible for him to get absorbed in anything other than watching the time. His eyes skimmed over words and paragraphs without really taking anything in, and what little information his brain did let in only made him confused and angry. His mind was locked up tight, sealing itself up in fear of forgetting what he was supposed to do later.
He typed the name of the company he’d be interviewing with later into a search engine. Maybe if he convinced himself he was being productive, his brain would give him a break.
Light stabbed his eyes and Henry almost physically recoiled when their website appeared on-screen. No wonder they were looking to hire a web designer. The thing looked like it’d been created by a thirteen-year-old in 2004, despite the fact that the About Us portion stated that the company had been established in 2016.
Henry was ready to click away from the site again – any longer in front of that wall of neon yellow and headers written in Bradley Hand, and he’d trigger a migraine – when a twinge of hunger sent his stomach into a spiraling churn.
“Oh, great, now you’re hungry,” Henry murmured, gliding a hand over his belly.
As indignant as he was about having to move, he was a little grateful to be given a task. He pulled himself out of the desk chair with a resigned sigh. After making himself a milky cup of coffee and a sandwich, using the last slice of cheese in the fridge, he hobbled over to the living room couch.
He thought about turning the TV on, but the remote was out of immediate reach, so that decision was made for him. He ate in silence.
He took a few bites of his sandwich that didn’t really taste... like anything. He hadn’t had anything to drink, since he’d woken late and in such a panic; maybe it was his dry mouth that was stopping his taste buds from doing their job. He took his coffee mug firmly by the handle and gulped down a few mouthfuls, stopping when the bitterness clung to the back of his throat. Not his best move, he thought with a shudder. He managed a few more bites and, unable to force himself to eat the crusts when his appetite was already so poor, called it there.
___
Henry’s belly roiled. He could feel a panicky sheen of sweat gathering under his clothes. and his voice trembled throughout the meeting, It was so hard to sort through his dizzy thoughts that he struggled to answer the most basic of questions; what were his qualifications, what previous work was he the proudest of, what had he struggled with in the past and how had he overcome that struggle.
“Thank you for allowing me to get to know you, Mr. Wilde,” the interviewer said now, smiling at him through the screen. “Your qualifications and experience are probably the most outstanding of all of our candidates so far. But I am just curious; what it is that interested you about this particular project?”
Henry swallowed thickly. Despite this very immediate emergency situation, all he could think about was how Lucy would have passed away from second-hand embarrassment if she ever found out that the extent of his research on this company hadn’t gone beyond a brief skim of their website.
He mumbled something about potential, even though all he could think about was the potential of him taking a nap directly after this interview ended. To his left, his bed lay beneath the armfuls of clothing that he’d moved out of his webcam’s line of sight, yet it seemed to peer out at him with a warm, tempting gaze. He could call it a day here, and hope she’d hire him based on his credentials alone.
A warm, sickly belch crawled up his throat. He managed to stifle and muffle it, but his fist jerked towards his lips out of instinct, his cheeks puffing out slightly. The air settled back into his stomach with an acidic slosh, and he eyed his interviewer carefully.
“Excuse me, sorry,” he mumbled.
She blinked, regarding him with a hint of distaste, but moved along. “So, if we were to hire you for this project, where would you begin?”
Henry cleared his throat, removing his fist. He was becoming irritated now; it felt as though she were tricking him into giving her instructions for whatever sap she hired, be it him or somebody else. But sometimes, you just had to jump through hoops to get ahead. Or stay afloat.
“Well...” He cleared his throat. “I think I would begin by implementing some basic changes to the optics of the company’s home page. It’s the first impression of your company that many customers will get, so I feel it’s important to provide a good visual impact.”
“Visual.” The interviewer – shame curdled in Henry’s gut as he realised he’d already forgotten her name – raised an eyebrow. “This project doesn’t concern any graphic work.”
Catastrophe bloomed amidst the existing unease in Henry’s belly. He could let himself off the hook for not knowing the company inside-out, but not knowing the details of the position he was applying for was a whole other level of unpreparedness. The Lucy in his head was slapping her forehead and shaking her head, disowning him.
“But you’ve intrigued me,” the interviewer said. “What optics are you referring to?”
If you want my input, hire me, Henry wanted to snap at her.
“Well, there are some scenarios where websites such as your current one would lend a certain retrospective, nostalgic charm,” Henry said, adjusting his glasses with a shaky hand, “but since I have no reason to believe that this was the intention here, the current website makes your company appear out of touch, and the previous designer seem like an incompetent amateur.”
With a deep nod of her head, the interviewer looked down at the notepad she’d been clutching since the call had begun. She tucked a nonexistent strand of stray hair behind her ear. “The previous designer was my deceased partner.”
Henry’s throat froze over.
“But I thank you for your feedback on her competence, Mr. Wilde, or... lack thereof, as it would seem.” Her eyes widened as she jotted something down. Her sudden lack of eye contact seemed intentional. “That’s all I need from you right now.”
Henry fidgeted in his desk chair. He’d done such a great job of not fidgeting until that point. An apology danced on the tip of his tongue, but all that came out when he opened his mouth was, “Alright.”
“Thank you for your time.” The interviewer didn’t even off a ‘we’ll be in touch’ before she ended the video call and vanished from his screen.
Henry sat back in his chair, flung his glasses across his keyboard, and groaned loudly into his palms. When the groan didn’t seem like enough, he allowed himself something a little closer to a scream – why not? He was home alone, and the downstairs lot had been unoccupied ever since they’d moved in.
The sound turned over painfully in his throat and made his eyes water. His insides felt like they were shrinking under the weight of failure, uselessness, despair, and hopelessness, and his shoulders crumpled inwards until his head was resting on the edge of his desk.
It felt like forever before a sob finally tore loose, and with it came the sickly belch he’d swallowed on the video call, only this time, it came with interest. His stomach was churning wildly, feeling full to the brim with acidic mush.
Jesus Christ, he hadn’t even said sorry for his remark, or thanked the interviewer for taking the time to speak with him –
Vision blurry, Henry’s hands scrambled to find the metal bin he usually filled with sticky notes and chocolate wrappers and noodle cups. He shifted his chair forward in the search, jamming one of the wheels against his own foot. He yanked the bin into his lap as his stomach muscles imploded.
No, he thought, tossing the bin back to the floor. Puking in his bin would mean washing it later, and Henry didn’t trust his energy levels to be up for an extra task after all of this.
He gripped the edge of his desk, flinching to his feet and setting his stationery holders rattling. His hip seized up as he straightened, and if that wasn’t bad enough, a spike of tension pierced his temples. He staggered into the hallway and towards the bathroom, and, mercifully, made it to the toilet bowl before his stomach could really get going.
The pressure at the base of his oesophagus felt like too much laundry being pushed into a washing machine drum at one time. It took far too long for him to retch up even the tiniest splatter of burning-hot bile; the liquid ejected from his stomach probably amounted to less than the liquid he’d squeezed out of his eyes.
Still, his body seemed satisfied with that for now. The nausea retreated, leaving only that stubborn pain in his belly and the matching pain left behind by the clenching in his throat.
He sank to the floor, knuckles pale and jutting as he gripped the toilet seat with both hands. He forced up a burp that was pressing at the base of his ribs, grimacing and desperate for relief, but it only brought that hot, heavy feeling back. His stomach burbled. His hip ached. His goosebump-ridden body shuddered. His heart curdled into a lump of despair that sat at the back of his throat.
He belched again, and this time, up came his sandwich.
___
“Henry, it’s Flatmate Friday,” Donnacha called through the door, as drily as he might have said that it was raining outside.
Henry groaned quietly into his pillow. Flatmate Friday generally involved pizza delivery and a nostalgic movie or two, while three people sat crushed together on the couch and the fourth either took up residence on the floor or on a dining chair.
“Hen, you alive in there?” Donnacha asked. “More importantly, are you decent?”
Knowing he wouldn’t be able to convince Donnacha not to come into his room, Henry gave in to the inevitable. He tugged the duvet out of the way of his mouth and called out, “Yes.”
“Look,” Donnacha sighed as he breezed into the room. His eyes lingered on the mess of clothing that lay between the door and the bed, but only for a few seconds. “I know Lucy brought you your slices last week, but I don’t agree with that! I’m sorry if it sounds harsh, or whatever, but the point of Flatmate Fridays is... you know. Hanging out with your flatmates on a Friday. If I can be civil with Payton in the spirit of Flatmate Friday, then you can at least manage the ten paces it takes from here to the couch...”
There was a brief flash of silence.
“Jesus, Hen,” Donnacha said softly. Ha shimmied around the clothes mountain. His weight tipped one side of the mattress, creating a slope that pulled Henry’s legs towards the warmth of Donnacha’s back. “What’s going on? Bad day?”
Henry shrugged.
“Those... those new meds messing you up?” There was a soft, sympathetic melody to Donnacha’s voice now. He wove his fingertips into the fluffy mess of Henry’s hair.
The gesture took him so much by surprise that tears sprang to Henry’s eyes, almost as uncontrollably as vomit.
“Hen,” Donnacha exclaimed in a whisper, as though Henry had done something outrageous by tearing up. “What’s up? This is scary. Please tell me.”
“I... fucked up so many times today,” Henry said numbly. It all felt so... inconsequential now that he was trying to summarise it for someone who wasn’t there. Someone who didn’t share his headspace. Someone who could smile and shrug and tell him to try again another day.
Someone who, sweet as he was, didn’t understand.
“What do you mean?” The sympathetic edge left Donnacha’s voice, leaving only disbelief. Genuine disbelief that Henry could have fucked anything up because Henry was older, Henry was smarter, Henry never left the apartment so when would he even have the opportunity to fuck anything up?
“I-I woke up feeling like shit, and then I missed one job interview, and I really... really wanted that one.” He hadn’t admitted it to himself earlier, but now it hit him like a rock to the gut, that the interview he’d missed had meant so much more to him than the other one. “A-and then, I spectacularly fucked up the second one –”
“It can’t have been that bad.”
“I insulted the interviewer’s dead partner.”
Donnacha’s lips hovered apart, wordless. Yeah, that’s what I thought, Henry wanted to spit.
“And then I-I completely shut down for the rest of the day... I’m behind on my current deadlines –”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Donnacha said.
He didn’t even realise he’d started heaving with sobs until he felt Donnacha’s hands trying to still his shuddering shoulders. He leaned into his arms, the mattress rolling his legs and his torso closer to Donnacha’s weight as the larger boy edged a little closer.
“And you’ve just been lying here all by yourself? Why didn’t you call out to any of us when we got home?”
A small, bitter voice in Henry’s head wanted to snap, Why didn’t any of you think to check on me? but he knew that was unfair. Most days, he was fine, but still didn’t like having his flatmates entering his personal space without an invitation.
“Why didn’t you tell me... tell us you had interviews this week?” Donnacha wondered. His eyes darted across Henry’s face, as though he thought he had a better chance of finding an answer in his pores and his eyeballs than of getting an answer verbally. “You don’t need to keep all this shit to yourself.”
Henry shrugged. He honestly wasn’t sure. Part of him had wanted to avoid Career Guidance Lucy and her sporadic seminars on interview skills. Part of him had dreaded the inevitable words of encouragement that Donnacha and Payton would no doubt have offered him, making it feel like an even bigger deal, an even more profound failure, when he didn’t get the jobs. He’d wanted to secure a new gig in secret, and mention it casually to his flatmates after the fact.
Anything else was just asking for too much attention, building up too many expectations...
A weak gurgle broke the silence, and Henry instinctively covered his stomach with his palm. Donnacha’s eyes followed the movement. A second later, there was a deeper sound, a hollow grumble that Henry felt tickle at the back of his throat.
“Have you eaten today?”
“Yes. I’m not hungry,” he added, already knowing that Donnacha was going to suggest, once again, that he join the others for pizza and Flatmate Friday. It was just unfortunate that his belly decided to rumble for a third time.
“Somehow, I think you're lying to me.”
“No - you don’t get it,” Henry sighed. Noting that Donnacha had left the door ajar and that Lucy was just down the hallway in the living area, he lowered his voice and leaned a little closer to Donnacha’s shoulder. “After my second interview... my only interview, in the end,” Henry growled, kicking his past self yet again, “I felt so sick to my stomach that I threw up my lunch.”
Donnacha looked positively wounded with sympathy. Henry wondered how the hell he managed it.
“Hen...” Donnacha’s hand pushed gently into Henry’s hair again.
It was all Henry could do not to whimper and melt into the touch. He settled for letting his eyes flutter shut. He didn’t deserve the tingling pleasure that was flowing from Donnacha’s fingertips into his skull, softening the sparking, frayed edges of his nerves.
“I’ll bring you your slices, if you want them.”
Henry shook his head. He might have been trembling with emotion now, rather than nausea, but he still didn’t feel up to putting anything in his stomach.
“I’ll bring mine, too. We can hang out in here, watch our own movie.”
“No,” he choked out, pulling away from Donnacha’s hand and resting his head on the pillow again.
“Just give me one minute.” Donnacha didn’t hesitate another second before getting up from the bed and tackling the obstacle course that was Henry’s bedroom floor one more time.
Henry buried his face in his pillow, part of him hoping that Donnacha would somehow change his mind while he was out there and not come back. Part of him felt extremely cold and hollow at the thought of him changing his mind and not coming back.
These feelings were confusing. Henry didn’t like it when feelings were confusing. Maybe that was what prompted him to groan in displeasure when Donnacha returned, carrying a plate laden with at least five slices of pepperoni pizza. The smell made Henry’s stomach growl with hunger that felt a lot like nausea, or... nausea that felt a lot like hunger.
“You can’t be in here,” Henry muttered as Donnacha leaned over the mess to prop the plate on the edge of Henry’s desk.
“Ah, ah,” Donnacha sang, darting from the room again. This time, he came back with his laptop, which he propped on Henry’s desk chair – after removing a few pairs of underwear that had been tossed onto it. “What were you saying?”
Henry sighed and pushed himself up onto his side. That spike of agony still trailed from the outside of his eye socket to the centre of his brain. He couldn’t allow his mind to drift anywhere near the memories of the day without feeling the shame turn over in his belly. But he had to admit, Donnacha’s presence was a lot like a hot cup of tea on a chilly day.
“It’s Flatmate Friday.” Henry waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the living area. “Flatmate bonding and whatnot.”
“You’re my flatmate, too,” Donnacha pointed out. He looked away from his laptop and glanced about the room, no doubt analysing the mixture of washed and unwashed laundry littering the floor. “And I have a feeling I’ve... we’ve all been neglecting you a little bit.”
Henry’s empty, knotted stomach attempted to do a little flip. “You sound like Lu.”
Looking slightly pleased with himself, Donnacha gave a shrug. “Maybe she’s a good influence on me. Only Fools and Horses?”
“Sure.” Henry didn’t particularly care for the 80s sitcom, but it always seemed to draw a chuckle or two out of Donnacha.
Donnacha positioned himself at the lower half of Henry’s bed, one leg crossed under the opposite knee while his foot trailed off the side. It was a long way for him to reach to grab a slice of pizza from the place, but he did so heroically with only a tiny exhalation of strain. Henry took his pillow and pressed it to the back wall, forcing himself to sit upright even though it made his head spin and his bones feel like jelly.
After five minutes of staring numbly at the laptop screen and listening to Donnacha chew not one but two slices of pizza, the spinning and the weakness started to pass, and the shifting in Henry’s stomach felt less like a natural disaster waiting to happen and more like an empty plea for sustenance. He gingerly reached for a slice of the pizza, and was oddly relieved when Donnacha didn’t make a big deal out of it; he just leaned around Henry and grabbed a third slice for himself.
A few bites in, and Henry’s mind started to wander. Sleeping in, not feeling motivated enough, insulting the work of a dead person, lazily forgetting social etiquette –
The spices in the pepperoni and the tanginess of the tomato sauce drained away until the next bite of pizza felt like a mouthful of cardboard.
Henry chewed painfully leaning over to place the half-eaten slice back at the edge of the plate. Chewing was an ordeal almost as unpleasant as that afternoon’s bout of dry-heaving, which he had no desire to repeat.
He brushed the crumbs from his fingers onto the plaid fabric of his pyjamas pants, making a note to change them before bed, and sank back against the pillow. Dough and cheese and sauce sloshed around in his stomach, and he started to lift a hand to rub at it, but a large, protective one made it there first.
Donnacha didn’t even look away from the screen as he rubbed his hand back and forth. “Doing okay?”
“I think so,” Henry murmured, flinching as his stomach squelched under Donnacha’s palm and then began to settle into a gentler churning motion. He wondered if Donnacha had any idea the effect he was having.
And then Donnacha laughed out loud at an on-screen joke that Henry just didn’t get, and Henry had to fight just to keep his eye-rolling subtle.
#Lucyverse Henry#emeto#emeto sickfic#sickfic#hurt comfort#hurt and comfort#anxiety mention#anxiety induced sickness#depression mention#bad mental health mention#hurt comfort fic#platonic caretaking
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imagine them projectile vomiting onto the closed bathroom door 🥺 they really tried to make it but didn't expect it to be closed. maybe it's the middle of the night and they couldn't see. they're humiliated and don't want to wake their partner, but they feel really bad and it's more than they can take.
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Here it is!! This one is for @sicklycutefluff. Thank you so much for requesting this!
I'm sorry this one took a while. Just a quick notice, some of this is actual information from the series, and some I just got it from my imagination in a way that would make sense 😅
[ ] Midoriya
[ ] Uraraka
[ ] Iida
[ ] Todoroki
] Tsuyu
[ ] Aoyama
- Quirks and their consequences.
In the super-human society, about 80% of the population possess some sort of special talent called "quirk". It can also be called individuality. This ability opened a path to a new profession, "hero"; and because of that, a special school was opened to train the youth who aimed to be pro heroes in the future, UA.
Although this special ability gave you superpowers, such as levitating, super strength, the ability to become invisible, super speed, etc; it also had its downside.
Most of these abilities had an impact on the user's body, and if not used correctly, they could leave permanent damage. As some may say, everything has its price.
In class 1-A at UA, a lot of the students possessed a quirk that directly affected their bodies.
Midoriya, who inherited All Might's power, One For All, constantly suffered injuries due to the amount of power his quirk had. Multiple times the young boy had broken bones, and eventually, he was told that if he continued to use his power he could lose the ability to use his arms.
Todoroki, a boy who had both fire and ice quirks, for a long time only used his ice quirk. And the reason behind that was the hatred he had for his father, Endeavor, who had a flame quirk and made Todoroki's mother go crazy because of what he did to two of their children. And all of that left a scar on Todoroki's face as well. It was not until his fight against Midoriya during the Sports Festival that he began to use his fire quirk. But now, using both of them meant that he had a hard time regulating his body temperature, which resulted in him getting fevers quite constantly, and also regulating his flame temperature so as to not seriously harm others.
Uraraka, the sweet girl had a levitation quirk and although her powers helped save midoriya at the very beginning of their school year, it had its consequences on her body. Every time she used them, she would get really nauseous and therefore could no longer fight.
All of them were gathered to train their bodies and powers to get more control over them and also, get stronger.
Midoriya was focused on getting his kicks right, as now he used his quirk as "shoot style" to give his arms a break.
Todoroki was working on regulating his flames temperature and getting his body to adapt to such extreme conditions. And Uraraka was training so that she could use her quirk without getting sick.
And today, they were joined by Aoyama.
Aoyama was a sparkly boy with a sweet personality. After some events, he grew close to Midoriya. During one of the training sessions for class 1-A, the one in which Midoriya first showed his Shoot Style to All Might and the whole class, Aoyama talked with him about how they were alike. Both of them had quirks that weren't compatible with their bodies, which caused more damage than good.
Aoyama's quirk allowed him to shoot a beam from his belly button, but even though he considered it beautiful, the power had its effects on him. He would constantly have stomach aches during fights or training, and honestly, the only training he could do was constantly use it so to grow his body used to it. But that only made things worse.
As usual, Midoriya was focused on getting his Shoot Style perfect, with the right amount of strength so as not to damage his legs as well.
Todoroki kept using his quirks alternatively to get used to activating his flame quirk as fast as his ice.
Uraraka kept floating all the time, with Tsuyu helping her out every time the nausea was too much to deal with and she had to stop levitating.
Iida was running laps around the training block and kept motivating his classmates all the time while also paying close attention to them.
And Aoyama was using his beam constantly, one shot after the other.
But, unlike the other days, in which he would only get a stomach ache, this time he was starting to feel nauseous. At first, it felt like it was only mild discomfort, but it grew stronger.
Aoyama did want to become stronger, he wanted to be able to use his power more, but he also didnt want to hurt his body to the point where he couldnt fight. So for the time being, he decided to take a break, and see if his stomach would settle down.
And his timing couldnt be better, as the Dekusquad was also taking a break.
They went to the corner of the training block and sat down on the floor to catch their breaths and drink some water, and recharge for the next round. But no one dared eat anything, they knew eating and training right after was the worst combination possible.
They took the opportunity to give each other advice as well.
- Todoroki-kun, how is your training going? Do you think you're getting somewhere?
- Hm. I think I'm getting the hang of it. But it's still hard to find a balance. The heat is still too strong and it makes me dizzy.
- I see. I dont know exactly how you feel about using your flame quirk, but maybe, deep inside it still bothers you? I mean, maybe your negative feelings towards it are keeping you from being able to lower the temperature of the flames?
- You might be right. Thanks, Midoriya.
- Uraraka-kun, and your training? Any progress?
- Yes! I can keep my quirk activated for more than an hour now! That's 30 minutes longer than before. But the nausea is still a bother, not much, but still keeps me from giving it all.
- That's good! Uraraka-kun! Keep pushing!
- And you, Deku-kun? We saw that you have a new fighting style now. Shoot style, right? That's cool!
- oh! Y-yeah! That's right. Since my quirk doesnt really adapt to me, I gotta be the one to adapt to it. I dont know if I ever told you guys this but.... if I kept using my arms to fight, there was a high chance that they'd stop working...
- Midoriya-chan....
- Deku-kun...
- No, no no! It's alright! After studying it, I discovered that using my legs was the best option. And I have it more under control now. And Hatsume's san costume is really helping!
They kept on chatting and giving each other advice for a long time. If possible, they wanted to train together but since they were experimenting new things, it was dangerous.
Eventually, Midoriya noticed Aoyama on a corner, all alone.
He wasnt that close to him, but they had a connection, and Midoriya could tell that something wasnt right. Aoyama was usually sparkly and happy and chatty, but he was too quiet and didnt have his usual expression on. He was looking in distress, in pain.
Seeing that, Midoriya excused himself from the group and went to meet Aoyama.
- Aoyama-kun?
- Midoriya-kun...Hi!
He tried to sound cheerful but failed. He knew Midoriya wouldnt believe him if he said he was okay.
- Are you okay, Aoyama-kun? You seem off today...
- I'm okay... it's just... my stomach... my quirk seems to be affecting it a little more today
- Dont push yourself too hard, Aoyama-kun. You said it yourself that our bodies arent compatible with our quirks. We shouldnt push it to its limits, it wont help anything. Why dont you come sit with us for a while? Let's rest for a bit.
- Okay. I'll do it.
Aoyama sat with the group and they talked for a while, resting their bodies so they could resume training.
Aoyama would say something here and there but the whole time his stomach just kept acting up. From time to time, mild nausea would suddenly increase and he just kept quiet and tried to control his breathing so his stomach could settle down. It seemed to work so he thought it would be safe to resume training.
After about 45 minutes, the squad was ready to resume training again. They got up from where they were and made their way to their training spots.
But as Aoyama stood up, his stomach jumped making him stop mid-way and grab his knees. Midoriya noticed that and went to his side.
- Aoyama-kun. Are you okay?
- I'm fine! I was just getting the dust off my clothes!
He said with a forced smile. Midoriya decided it was best not to insist and just accepted what the boy said and they both went back to training.
After about 50 minutes, the discomfort in Aoyama's stomach had grown basically unbearable. It kept doing revolting turns and he felt something tickling at the back of his throat every time he shot his beam.
Eventually, the feeling grew unbearable and he stopped shooting his beam, which Midoriya noticed. But before the green-haired boy could actually process what was happening, Aoyama bended abruptly getting Midoriya's attention.
He ran to Aoyama's side and held him by the waist and shoulders.
-Aoyama-kun! Are you okay? Hey!
- Midori-ugh!
The boy tried to reply but was cut off by a harsh gag and almost instantly his legs gave up on him. But thankfully Midoriya was there to make sure he wouldnt fall.
- Aoyama-kun!
The fuss caught the attention of the others who also ran to their side.
-Aoyama-kun! Midoriya-kun! What happened??
- I dont know. When I turned to look at him he was already like this!
While the group discussed what could be wrong with him, he was trying his best to keep his stomach content inside. He kept his eyes shut, hands on his knees to support himself, and deep breaths in and out. He was so focused, the voices from the group began to fade away, but the nausea persisted.
- Aoyama-kun? What happened? What are you feeling?
- Midoriya-kun... I don- I dont feel well...
That was what he managed to say before shutting his mouth, afraid that if he kept on talking, everything would come out.
But the nausea only increased. He bended even further and clamped his mouth shut.
- Aoyama-kun.... tell me, what are you feeling?
- I feel like- I'm gonna be sick...but I dont want to...
- Aoyama-kun, it's okay. You're safe here, alright? I've got you. You need to let it out. You'll feel better after.
But Aoyama was determined not to vomit. He was swallowing convulsively to the point where his mouth began to feel numb. He felt that if he vomited, he would be admitting that he was weak, that he would never be able to use his quirk properly, that he wouldnt be a good hero. What's the point in being a hero if I manage to help only a few people before needing to be helped myself? Those were his thoughts for a long time.
Midoriya couldnt stand watching his friend in pain anymore so he decided to help. Whether Aoyama liked or not.
- Aoyama-kun, I'm sorry for doing this.
Those were his last words before he hugged Aoyama and pressed his stomach. The motion quickly brought up a thick wave of vomit that made Aoyama sway forward, but Midoriya caught him and supported him.
Another violent stream came up, not giving him time to breathe properly and making his back arch to the point where it hurt.
Midoriya then gently guided him to kneel on the floor before he threw up again.
It hurt, it hurt a lot because he hadnt drink much liquid so it was just thick wave after thick wave.
- There you go. You're doing good. Just let it all out.
Throughout the whole time, Midoriya kept rubbing his back, up and down, then in circles. And that made Aoyama feel safe.
The rest of the group also jumped into action to help their sick friend.
- I'll got get some water and a clean cloth!
- I'll let Aizawa-sensei know about the situation.
Aoyama's stomach gave him only a few minutes break before beginning another round. But now only bile kept coming up, and it stung his throat.
After a while, the ordeal finally stopped. He couldnt say he felt better but he didnt feel as bad as before. But now he felt weak, too hot and sweaty and his vision was starting to blur.
- Midoriya-kun.... I feel faint...and too hot...it feels like I'm suffocating...
- Okay, let's get you out of your hero costume. You're wearing something underneath, right?
- yes...
- there you go. Feeling better? Do you think you can lie down for a bit?
-yes...
- Here, Midoriya, take this.
While Midoriya was helping Aoyama, Todoroki decided to make an ice block and a few ice cubes to help Aoyama cool down a bit.
-Todoroki-kun! Thank you!
Midoriya grabbed the ice block and wrapped it with Aoyama's cape. It was a light one so the coolness from the ice block passed through it easily.
- How does it feel?
- Relaxing...
After a few minutes, the rest of the group arrived.
- here, Deku-kun! The water. And a cloth!
- Thanks, Uraraka-san!
- I just talked with Aizawa-sensei. He said we should take him to recovery girl.
- Okay. Here, Aoyama-kun. Can you drink a little bit? It's really cold, it'll feel good in your stomach. But take small sips or you'll make yourself sick again.
Aoyama gladly took the water bottle, and, as instructed, drank it in small sips. And just like Midoriya said, it settled down quite nicely.
They stayed with him until he was feeling a little bit more stable.
After some time he deemed safe to sit up and sat up straight. But he did not dare lift his face. And before they could react, there were tears running down his face.
Everyone's heart dropped at the sight. Aoyama, the usually cheerful and chatty guy, was crying. Midoriya was so taken back he felt his stomach twist at the sight.
-Aoyama-kun. What's wrong!?
- I'm- I'm sorry-
- What are you apologizing for?
- I just caused you trouble. I interrupted your training.
- What are you saying?? There's no trouble at all!
- I can't- I can't save people! I'll never be a true hero!
- What do you mean, Aoyama-kun? Of course you will!
- No. How can I be a hero when I'm the one that will need help in the end? What's the point in being a hero if I can only save a few people before needing to be helped myself? I'm not fit to be a hero...
- Aoyama-kun. You're wrong.
- huh?
- Anyone can be a hero. You dont need to have a quirk to be called a hero. Everyone out there can be a hero. Helping someone cross the street, helping someone carry their stuff. It can be considered heroic acts, because you'll never know what is going on in a person's life. Maybe that minor act, will change their entire day. You'll never truly know.
It doesnt matter if you can only save a few people before you're out of battle. In the end, you'll have saved them. They will get to see another day because of you. And you shouldnt be ashamed for needing help, everyone needs help sometimes, our quirks arent meant to be perfect matches for us. And you shouldnt be worried if you'll need help after using your quirk. You're not alone. We're here. We'll always be here for each other. Those you cant save, we will save them. We'll always support each other. You are not alone in this fight, Aoyama-kun.
Aoyama didnt know how to answer Midoriya. All this time he felt different, he felt like someone who wasnt good enough. But now, he was surrounded by people who were trying their best to achieve their dreams, and aiming to be true heroes.
- Thank you, Midoriya-kun, guys.
Aoyama couldnt be more grateful for having encountered these people. They were truly his friends.
#mha emeto#mha sickfic#bnha emeto#bnha sickfic#anime emeto#anime sickfic#anime whump#emeto whump#sickfic#emeto sickfic
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Sick omo
Sick characters bundled up in bed, teetering on the edge of consciousness and delirium, not even noticing the sheets and blankets becoming soaked as they wet themselves
Sick characters who have a bad cough and a full bladder leaking a little spurt of pee every time they cough
Sick characters heaving over the toilet, unable to move or contain it as they wet themselves, so close to the toilet but occupied by their sickness
Sick omo~
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Something about throwing up in bed just makes me go feral,, someone not making it to a meeting or something else in the morning, so a teammate or friend checks on them and they're fast asleep on their side with a pool of vomit on their sheets </3
#trying to start posting again#thank you all for being so patient with me and my health#emeto#emeto tw#tw: emeto#promptiehugs#sickfic#whump#whumpblr#fever whump#sickie#sickfic prompts#sickfic tropes#sick fanfic#emetophilia
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Bad Berries
i have always be obsessed with the idea of wild berries. some are a delicious, tart treat, and some can make you sick as a dog. which one you get can be a gamble.
imagine, for a moment, a young male traveler trotting through a lush forest. he’s the kind of guy that goes village to village and doesn’t stay in one place for too long. in his travels he’s acquired quite an eclectic taste for foods from all different regions, so he’s pretty brash and adventurous with his appetite.
the forest stretches on, maybe even for days, and he quickly notices his hunger. he’s run out of rations from the last village, and there isn’t an end to this forest in sight. maybe he took a wrong turn.
he continues, getting hungrier and hungrier, to the point that he starts considering mushrooms and acorns. however, he doesn’t have to resort to that. his prayers are answered when he notices a berry bush along the path with ripe, juicy, blue-colored berries. without hesitation he pops one into his mouth. it’s ripe with sweetness. it practically explodes in his mouth. he gathers a healthy portion using the hem of his shirt as a basket and periodically plops them into his mouth as he trots along, his hunger sated until he gets to the next village. his fingers are stained blue, and so is his mouth.
after finishing the berries, within an hour he’s feeling hot, hot enough to visibly moisten his shirt. he sponges a sickly sweat from his brow. the traveler doesn’t want to admit to himself he’s feeling a little feverish. maybe the temperature has risen with the midday sun…certainly, that must be all it is, right?
when a turbulent feeling settles into his stomach, he knows he can’t be so lucky. his steady pace has slowed to a snail’s crawl. he puts a hand on his belly and burps up a sweet taste. by this point he decides to sit down on a fallen log and assess the situation. he’s so dripping hot that he shucks off his cape. his eyes fall to his belly. his heart starts hammering against his ribs.
the buttons of his shirt are straining. he can feel his belly swelling and churning. i imagine the traveler is already a bit husky, so he cant believe how tight and full his big tummy has gotten. the longer he sits, the worse he feels, and the more his tummy boils and froths with the berries. he rubs his belly, trying desperately to settle it. he can hear and feel it gurgling in waves as it continues to bloat.
he decides to power on, what else can he do? he clutches his upset stomach and trudges forward, starting to feel a little light-headed and fuzzy. the pain worsens, and soon his throat and mouth are feeling thick. everything gets slow and starts spinning. the traveler collapses onto his knees, dry heaving like a sick cat. when he can’t get anything up, he crawls over to a tree and rests against it, groaning and clutching his berry-filled belly.
imagine you’re a healing witch or warlock, and on your midday walk you find him slumped there. by looking at the blue stain on his lips and fingers, you know exactly what’s wrong. this isn’t the first poisoning you’ve seen. you help him up, and with your arm over his shoulders you lead him back to your cottage. you tuck him into bed with a wet, cold towel on his forehead. there is a bucket at the side of his bed. he’s restless, tossing and turning from side to side, moaning and groaning about the pain and how hot and feverish he feels. he’s delirious and can barely articulate himself. you hush him and put a tea kettle on the stove, promising a remedy that will help.
you return with a tea cup and help tip it into his mouth. he guzzles it all, and you tell him the only way to feel better is to get everything up, which your medicinal tea will help do. he groans, panting hard, complaining that he doesn’t want to throw up.
minutes pass. in his delirium he worriedly tells you the tea isn’t working. you laugh, and promise that it will. no sooner do you say that he winces. the traveler tells you he’s not feeling too good all of a sudden. he begins to retch and gropes for the bedside bucket. you place it in front of him on the bed, rubbing his back as he gets the berries up.
the traveler stays overnight. you watch him closely to make sure he’s okay. he falls into a fitful bout of sleep, waking the next day confused as to where he is and how he got there. you tell him he ate some poisonous berries and went into shock. you tell him he’s going to be alright, and in no time you send the traveler on his way with a belly full of breakfast.
you await the next traveler that mistakenly eats from your berry bush.
#belly gurgling#tummy ache#belly ache#emeto kink#emetophilia#emeto#feedisn#sickfic#bloating kink#male bloating#fantasies from the duchess 👑
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