The flight was 18 hours long. Dinner was served at the four-hour mark, leaving plenty of time for the tainted food to turn everyone’s stomachs. Micah was excluded from this pain however because he didn’t order the chicken dish. Alexi did and he was suffering for it.

The plane’s cabin was dark when Alexi opened his eyes, save for a few lights that the other passengers kept on. He didn’t know why anyone else would be awake at 2am but he knew why he was awake. The weight on his shoulder from his sleeping boyfriend was nothing compared to the weight that settled in his stomach. Alexi grimaced as he shifted around in the small space, trying not to wake Micah who always had a hard time falling asleep in anything that wasn’t his bed.

But Alexi couldn’t help it. He woke up with such discomfort in his whole body that he couldn’t help but fidget. It was the nausea that made him the most restless. He was beyond grateful that his only neighbour was Micah. They specifically chose a row with only two seats because the flight went through the night. Alexi thought he’d be happy to not have a snoring neighbour, but he was actually relived that no stranger would be disturbed by his growling stomach.

And it was growling so loud, but not out of hunger. He could still taste the spices and the sauce from the chicken in his mouth. He was absolutely not in the mood for a midnight snack.

The nausea got worse as he struggled to fall back asleep. His gurgling belly wouldn’t let him finish his rest. The discomfort made him lean forward with his arms wrapped around his middle. As Alexi bent forward in pain, Micah’s head fell from his shoulder.

“Mm?” Micah mumbled as he caught himself. It almost wasn’t enough to disturb his sleep, but then he heard Alexi moan. Seeing Alexi bent over in pain also roused him from his sleep rather quick. “What’s wrong?” His voice was beautifully rough. Micah did always like how his voice sounded first thing in the morning.

“Sorry,” Alexi whispered. He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t a little happy to have company again. “I can’t sleep…Feel sick.”

Micah turned on the light above their heads. Harsh yellow light rained down on them, giving Alexi a sickly complexion. Or maybe he already looked like that. Funnily enough, a few other lights also clicked on throughout the cabin. It seemed other passengers weren’t having the best night either, but Micah didn’t care about the other passengers.

“You’re very pale, baby.” Micah put his hand on Alexi’s warm back. “Are you nauseous?”

With his head in his hands, Alexi nodded slowly. “I really don’t feel good.” A wet burp ended the sentence.

“Do you want to put your head on my shoulder and try to sleep?”

This time Alexi shook his head a bit more frantically. A long gurgle rumbled through his belly as he let out another belch. He shivered from the nausea. “Ugh, I’m so full. It’s like my whole dinner is just sitting in my stomach, rotting.”

Alexi wasn’t far from the truth. It wasn’t long before a flight attendant came over to their seats and confirmed both of their suspicions. The man had been apparently going to every passenger with their light on to say the same thing. “I’m guessing there’s someone feeling sick over here as well. Am I right?”

“Yes, sir,” Micah said, trying to match the man’s loud whisper. “My boyfriend is sick to his stomach.”

“It appears that the chicken dish has given many people food poisoning. I’m sincerely sorry,” the man said, looking around nervously. “Someone will come by with extra bags and ginger ale.”

Alexi groaned upon hearing this. He suddenly felt like the food in his belly was no longer sitting still. He slapped a hand over his mouth as another wet belch reminded him of the taste of dinner. “Micah…let me out. I’m going to puke.”

“There’s probably a crazy line for the bathroom. Just throw up in this bag.” He handed Alexi the barf bag from the seat in front of them.

Alexi sat on the edge of his seat, bouncing his leg so hard that other people might have thought it was turbulence. “I can’t. There’s so much in my stomach. I want a toilet.” His voice cracked as he tried to hold back tears. “…please.”

The tears that finally fell onto Alexi’s cheeks made Micah move. “Fine, but I’m coming with you and I’m bringing this bag.”

With unsteady legs, Alexi jogged down the aisle. He felt Micah’s hand on his shoulders the whole way there. They passed other people who looked as bad as Alexi felt.

Just as Micah guessed, they stopped before getting to the bathroom. The line was so long that they still stood in the aisle, awkwardly waiting next to passengers in their seats.

“Oh God,” Alexi whimpered. There was no more time to wait. He tried to hold back burps that he knew would set everything off.

He turned around and looked at Micah with pleading eyes. “What do I do? There’s all these people. What do I—” A low wet burp escaped while he spoke. Honestly, it was more of a gag than a burp because it splashed the back of Alexi’s throat with something thick.

“Okay,” Micah said worriedly, “I’m sorry, Lex, but you’re doing this here.”

Micah hurriedly opened the barf bag and held it open under Alexi’s chin until the boy held it himself. He pulled Alexi’s closer as if he were giving him a hug. This wasn’t a hug; it was the best privacy that Micah could give his boyfriend.

“Let it out, Lexi.” Micah wrapped his arms around his boyfriend while Alexi gagged against his chest. “Come on, let yourself be sick now.”

Alexi gave a miserable whimper before parting his lips. His whole body shuddered as the vomit came pouring out of his mouth with a harsh retch.

Once he started, there was no stopping. Tears streamed down his face while his stomach continued to purge itself. It came out in a thick stream of orange that burned his nose and throat.

“There you go baby,” Micah cooed as he rubbed the boy’s quivering shoulders. “I’m right here. You’re fine, just keep going.”

Alexi breathed a deep sigh as he got a second of respite. “Oh, my belly…it hurts, Micah. I’m so –uh– full.” He hiccupped from inside Micah’s embrace. He could feel the organ about to send up another gush. “Am I being loud?”

“No, shh, don’t worry about that.” Micah blocked Alexi’s view of the surrounding area. “You’re doing so well. I know it hurts, just keep going until there’s nothing left.”

That point was very far in the future, but Alexi got ever closer to the end as he heaved again. He was too sick to think about the fact that the bag was getting full. He was only focused on aiming and suffering. He was very good at suffering.

Micah on the other hand was aware of how full the bag was getting. They also hadn’t moved very far in the line. He wanted Alexi to feel empty, but he also wanted to not have puke on his shoes. The smell and sight was already invading his senses. He didn’t need a reminder on his shoes.

But Micah kept holding Alexi. He kept rubbing and blocking him from the other passengers. He did this for him even when he got to his second bag. Thankfully a flight attendant arrived in time with the bag. With another ten hours left to the flight, Micah wondered just how many bags Alexi would go through.

“Is it almost my turn?” Alexi asked as he came up for air. His face was sweaty and grey.

Micah wanted to pull him into a real hug, not give him bad news. So that’s what he did. He hugged him and said, “Almost. But you’re now a pro at aiming in this bag, so who cares?”

“Well, there’s another reason I wanted to get into this line, but it’s not urgent…yet.”

“Oh babe,” Micah said, wishing that he could get his boyfriend off this plane. “It’s going to be a long ten more hours, isn’t it?”

PJO motion sickness fic... It’s really short though. This is set somewhere after the son of neptune but the quest they’re finishing isn’t canon. 

TW: depictions of vomit

“Percy?” Annabeth asked, nudging her boyfriend with her elbow. He’d been staring at the same spot on the wall for at least 10 minutes now. Not to mention that he was gripping the armrests so hard his knuckles were turning white.

“I don’t like flying,” Percy answered through gritted teeth. 

“I know, but are you okay?” she prompted, peeling one of his hands away and lacing her fingers with his. He immediately squeezed her hand, scooting closer to her. “Yo, seaweed brain,” she nudged him again after she received no response from her boyfriend. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. He looked a little green in the face honestly. Annabeth felt awful for making him do this, but they didn’t have a choice. They had to be back to camp by tonight and there was no other way they would make it in time any other way. 

“Woah dude what’s wrong with you?” Jason asked from Percy’s other side, having been stirred from his sleep by their conversation and Percy’s shifting.

“I’m a son of Poseidon, Grace, what do you think?” Percy snapped. 

“Jeez, no need to get upset,” Jason held his hands up in mock surrender. Annabeth gave him an apologetic smile on Percy’s account. He hadn’t done anything. It wasn’t Jason’s fault that this was his Dad’s domain and not Percy’s. Jason had been on a boat for most of the quest, so he’d made his sacrifice already.

“Percy looks like he’s about to puke,” Nico piped up from Annabeth’s other side. He wasn’t one for flying either, but he’d been injured in their last battle, and was in no shape for shadow traveling. 

“Oh Gods, okay,” Annabeth said, frantically reaching for a motion sickness bag tucked into the seat in front of her. Sure enough, as soon as she handed it to Percy he lurched forwards, vomiting up his lunch, body convulsing with another heave almost immediately.

“Aw man, gross,” Jason sighed, scooting further away from Percy in his seat. 

“You’ve been puking for like the last week on the boat,” Nico reminded Jason, rolling his eyes. 

“You’re alright Perce, just try to breathe,” Annabeth said softly as she trailed her fingers up and down Percy’s back, ignoring the bickering of the other two boys. Honestly, boys were so annoying sometimes. Couldn’t they just shut up for once in their lives?

“Think m’done,” Percy muttered after belching dryly over the bag. Annabeth brushed his bangs out of his eyes, then reached up to push the call button for the flight attendant, who appeared quickly. Annabeth grimaced as she took the bag out of Percy’s hands, tossing it into the trash can on the cart the attendant was pushing. 

“Some 7 up to settle his stomach maybe?” the attendant asked.

“Uh, just some water please,” Annabeth said, knowing that 7 up would only mess Percy up further. This wasn’t your normal mortal motion sickness, this was different. Nothing would help him except being back on the ground. 

“You better not puke on me,” Jason mumbled as he relaxed into his seat normally again, although he was still eyeing Percy warily. For someone who had spent the last weak being sick over the side of a boat, he was sure being squeamish all of a sudden. 

“You alright Percy?” Nico asked, sounding out of breath. 

“I’ll live. You?” Percy grunted, glancing over at their pale friend, who looked even more peaky than usual. 

“Yeah,” Nico said shortly, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. They’d given him some nectar and ambrosia of course, but his wound was still killing him and the altitude was making him feel lightheaded and dizzy, similar to the way Percy was feeling really. 

“You boys are going to be the death of me,” Annabeth sighed, draping on arm around Percy and the other around Nico. 

He'll sit in his seat, heart racing and sweating as the plane lifts off the ground, and feel the anxiety stirring in his stomach turn into uneasy waves of nausea. He'll sip a ginger ale through his whiskey glass, pretending it's not ginger ale to soothe his turbulent tummy. When asked why he seems so pale and shakey, he'll say he's still getting over a bug he caught on the weekend. When his stomach audibly gurgles, he'll say it's just a touch of indigestion and nothing more. When he feels bile creeping up his esophagus, he'll excuse himself from the gentlemen in his presence and speedwalk to the washroom where he finally expells the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

When he exits the washroom and rejoins the gentlemen, he's twice as pale and shakey as before, but he refuses to draw attention to it and changes the subject as soon as it's brought up, as he sips on his totally-not-ginger-ale in his whiskey glass.

And when his flight eventually lands at his destination, he gladly exits the plane but still has a precarious stomach for the next 4-6 hours. If he is offered food, he'll either turn it down or ask for a salad or plain toast.

lol I love this. It also gave me an idea for another good winchester fic that I might write later or tomorrow.

TW: vomit under the cut

“Remind me why we have to take this stupid plane again?” Dean asked.

They’d only been in the air for a few minutes but already Dean could feel the large meal he’d eaten in the airport sloshing back and forth in his stomach, the motion of the plane jostling him and making him feel somewhat nauseous. 

“Because if Jody’s right, we’ve got like 4 hours before this thing goes on a feeding spree and then disappears for the next 29 years,” Sam sighed, glancing over at his brother worriedly. He knew that Dean and planes did not get along well.

“Well it could be someone else’s problem in 29 years then,” Dean grumbled, hunching forwards in his seat to cradle his stomach. Unfortunately the motion put added pressure on his already bloated stomach, which forced up a wet belch. Dean groaned and swallowed down a mouthful of something nasty. 

“You don’t mean that,” Sam said, “I know this isn’t your favorite, but it would’ve taken us like 6 hours to drive, and this is only a 50 minute flight. We’ll be down before you know it,” he tried to reassure Dean. After all, he’d survived a 9 hour flight to Scotland, surely he could survive this one to Denver. 

“Ugh, Sam,” Dean moaned, flopping back in his seat. Sam frowned, Dean was being even weirder than usual. Upon a closer look, Sam noticed that Dean’s hair was matted to his forehead, damp with sweat. His face was chalk white and his eyes were hazy, unfocused. 

“Here, you look like you’re gonna be sick,” Sam said softly, grabbing one of the plastic bags from the seat in front of him. He opened it quickly and pressed it into Dean’s shaking hands.

“Fuck,” Dean hissed, breathing slowly, eyes drifting shut. One hand moved to rest on his stomach, which Sam could see was bloated out against his belt, pressing in uncomfortably. He’d told Dean to slow down on the chicken nuggets back in the airport, but he knew his brother liked to stress eat sometimes. It was coming back to bite him in the ass now though, just like it always did. 

The plane bounced through a pocket of air, and that was all it took for Dean to lurch forwards over the bag and heave up all of the food he’d eaten. He hardly caught his breath before another wave took over him, then another, and another. 

Sam had placed a hand on Dean’s back hesitantly, not sure if his brother was in the mood to be comforted or if touching him would earn Sam a punch in the face. To his surprise Dean didn’t even react. Dean was also burning up, Sam realized in surprise. No wonder he’d looked so sick a minute ago, he really was sick! Jesus this was some bad timing. 

“Jeez Dean, breath, come on,” Sam coaxed him into letting him take the bag from him, quickly tossing it into the trash as the flight attendant passed, looking at them sympathetically. Dean pressed a fist to his mouth, muffling a queasy burp. 

“M’not done,” he mumbled.

“I know,” Sam sighed, grabbing the bag from in front of his own seat. “You’re sick,” he added.

Dean shrugged, taking the bag from him dejectedly. 

“Dean, why didn’t you say anything?” Sam asked, rolling his eyes. So stubborn.

“Dunno Sam, I just didn’t,” Dean said quietly, avoiding eye contact. Sam sighed, rolling his eyes again as Dean groaned, clutching at his stomach and leaning forwards over the bag again.

TW: depictions of vomit

It was no secret that Steve suffered from airsickness. He’d made a fool of himself by throwing up all over the place on his very fist mission. Of course, he had an excuse that time, cause he’d never been in a plane like Tony’s jet and he’d also just come off the ice, so he was a bit overwhelmed.

But he’d had many close calls since then, and a lot of hurried trip’s to the jet’s bathroom. Most of the time though, if he took some motion sickness pills before he left he’d be okay, or at least be able to wait until they got back to the compound. 

This time, the medicine he’d taken wasn’t cutting it. He’d been alright on the way out, and the mission had been a breeze. Steve was feeling it now though. His stomach was churning inside of him, bubbling angrily against the spandex of his suit. 

“You alright there soldier?” Clint asked, eyeing him from across the aisle. He was always the one who seemed to notice things like this, must be the dad thing.

“I’ll be fine,” Steve said, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than anything.

“Airsick?” Natasha asked, turning around to look at him.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, staring down at his lap to avoid the prying eyes of his friends.

“Did you take your medicine?” she asked.

Steve nodded, regretting it instantly as the motion made his nausea ratchet up another notch. It must have shown on his face, because a few seconds later a plastic bag was thrust into his hands. 

“M’not gonna throw up,” he said, even as his mouth was starting to fill with metallic tasting saliva. Steve bit back a gag stubbornly, squeezing his eyes shut as he leaned forwards, pressing a hand to his stomach.

“Sure you’re not,” Natasha said softly, reaching over to put a hand on his shoulder. 

Steve opened the bag with shaky hands, holding it between his legs, his head hung low, mouth open. He looked like the epitome of nausea, his face might as well have been actually green.

“Just let it happen Cap,” Clint’s voice was suddenly closer, and Steve was vaguely aware that there was someone sitting next to him. There was a hand on his back, rubbing in small circles. It felt nice, but it was also mirroring the churning of his belly, making his eyes water as the waves of nausea rolled over him. 

The jet flew through a pocket of air, bouncing slightly. It was enough to push Steve over the edge though. He pitched forwards, heaving up his breakfast into the bag.

“There you go, easy,” Natasha was saying, although her voice sounded weird, fuzzy, far away. 

Someone took his helmet off, allowing the cool air conditioning from above to blow onto his face, which took a bit of the edge off. He was able to take a breath finally, as the heaving tapered off. 

The bag was taken from his hands, but he kept his eyes shut tightly, trying to focus on the hand on his back. After a few minutes someone grabbed him by the shoulders, gently easing him back up straight to lean against the seat. The motion made him dizzy though, so his eyes flew open as he reached out for something to catch himself on. 

“You’re alright, just take it easy,” Clint said, grabbing him by his uniform to hold him steady. Clint held on until Steve seemed to settle, then stood up and headed back to his own seat to give him some space. 

“We’ll be back in a few Rogers, try not to puke all over my jet,” Tony called back from the front.

And then another Anon asked: “Hey could you please write a Blair and Dakota fic where Dakota gets airsick?” 

So Voila! 

------------

Since his last flight with Madix, Dakota had become somewhat of a nervous flyer. Speaking from experience, he legitimately could say that puking in the air was one of the worst places to puke. The plane is squishy, his ears are ringing, and there’s no escape when he’s in a flying metal bullet. It’s not fun.

It might have been a combination of nerves and windy skies that was his ruin this time. Dakota was pleading with whichever god controlled the skies to just make it a smooth trip. Alas, he did not get his wish. As they flew into grey clouds, Dakota looked out the window and started biting his nails. The plane was already getting shaky and so were his hands. He wished he were asleep like most people were. Luckily, Blair was wide awake reading her book with a flashlight, so he didn’t feel completely alone in the fight with his stomach.

Dakota closed the window cover so that he didn’t have to look at the stormy atmosphere or the wing of the plane bouncing up and down. He turned to Blair and whispered because it felt rude to speak so loudly when the entire plane was quiet. A crying baby would really help right now, he thought. He was pretty sure that the sound of someone retching was going to wake people up. “Bee, talk to me please, anything, just say anything – What are you reading?”

By the tone of her boyfriend’s voice, Blair knew something wasn’t right. She quickly put away her book and awkwardly faced Dakota in the cramped space. “Uh? It’s about a governess…Kota what’s the matter?” She put her hand on his arm and turned the light on above their heads so she could properly see his face.

The plane went through a rough patch, making the interior rattle. Dakota closed his eyes and breathed slowly out of his nose. “I want it to stop, I feel like I’m gonna be sick.”

With the light shining down on their heads, Blair could clearly see the sweat collecting on his forehead. She grabbed a few napkins from the pouch in the seat, as well as the airsick bag, and started to dab his sweaty face. “Okay, it’ll be fine. You just need to calm down and get to sleep.”

Dakota took the bag and nervously crumpled it in his grasp without realizing. “I can’t. I’m actually going to puke.”

Hearing the tremor in Dakota’s voice, Blair changed her voice to be softer and slower, hoping that he would do the same. She also took deep breaths, just to get him to follow. This wasn’t like Dakota at all to fear being sick, but then again, she’d never seen him get airsick. “Alright, if you have to puke just do it, who cares.”

Dakota tried to adopt that point of view. With the way his stomach was feeling, he was pretty sure it was going to happen, so it’d be best to accept it. Thankfully, his ears already felt like they were stuffed with cotton, so he didn’t to worry about blocking out the other passengers. In the spirit of acceptance – though it felt more like quitting – Dakota opened the bag and leaned forward onto his knees. Immediately Blair’s tiny hand was running along his spine. He breathed heavily through his mouth because it seemed to speed things along. He let saliva drip into the bag, not caring that he looked like a dog. Several minutes passed where nothing happened, despite the worsening state of his belly.

He groaned and leaned back in his chair. “Ugh, God I hate this.”

“I didn’t know you got airsick,” Blair said, handing him a water bottle that he turned down.

“I just feel gross and claustrophobic.” As if to demonstrate, Dakota tried bringing his legs closer together, but his knees ended up hitting the seat in front of him. In the small airplane seat, Dakota looked like a big football player trying to fit into an elementary school chair.

Eventually, Dakota got very fidgety. He kept alternating between sitting with his head between his knees, lying with his head on Blair’s shoulder, or wrapping his arms around the headrest.

At one point, when he was leaning against Blair, he looked sideways at her with big eyes. “Will you do that thing where you trace pictures on my back?”

Blair chuckled while nodding. Like a child, Dakota smiled widely and got comfortable…well as comfortable as he could be. He went back to leaning with his elbows on his knees, so that his back was exposed, and his mouth was right above the bag. Sometimes, Blair wondered if Dakota was only dating her for her back-scratching skills and long nails.

At first, Dakota tried following the patterns. He never said anything, but he was secretly guessing that a smiley face was drawn on his back, then a house, then something in cursive. When his stomach demanded more attention, he completely gave up trying to guess what Blair was tracing on his shirt. Also, he was almost positive that she was never really drawing anything but circles.

His stomach was rising in his throat. He thought the plane had to be plunging to the earth because his head started getting heavier. His whole being was being pulled down, except for the food in his belly.

Just before throwing up, Dakota’s throat was working double-time as the nausea peaked. Then it all came pouring out of his mouth. He belched wetly which sent up a rush of sick. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for it to be over. Everything he’d ever eaten felt like it was now in the barf bag.

The silent plane was awoken by the sound of him heaving, while vomit splattered into the bag with a sickening squelch. Blair notice the fast-filling bag and called over a flight attendant. She exchanged the sick bag with a fresh new one and Dakota immediately got to work on filling that one too.

“Crap, babe,” she said, slightly shocked at how much he was throwing up. “You gotta be almost empty.”

Just to spite her, Dakota’s stomach decided on two more rounds of vomiting before it was finally empty. When Dakota leaned back, he was covered in sweat and absolutely white. “Okay,” he breathed out, “I think – I think that’s it.” He spat a few more tendrils of spit and blew his nose before he was able to assess the damage. It looked like his clothes were clean, his nausea had subsided for a moment, and the entire plane must have heard the whole event.

This time he gladly took the water when Blair offered it. She brushed aside a strand of hair that had fallen in his watery eyes. “Are you feeling better?”

Dakota sniffled. “Are we still in the air?” Blair’s silence was all the confirmation he needed, not that he needed any confirmation though because his churning belly was still a reliable source. “How much longer until we land?”

Again, Blair’s awkward silence was the best reply. She kissed his shoulder while bundling up her sweater to use as a pillow. “I hope you can sleep till the morning.”