❝ my chemical romance, panic! at the disco, fall out boy and twentyonepilots imagines. ❞
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𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐖𝐍, 𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒
𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄.
𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃:...
For: anon on Tumblr. Request: could you do a ryan or gerard x reader where the reader is sick? if not it's totally cool, just wondering ╚═════════════. .★.╝
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REQUESTS ARE OPEN.
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It was inevitable; you knew that. Your days were numbered, and regardless of how careful you were, no matter how many precautions you took, you knew that you would eventually fall. The stomach bug had been making the rounds on the Pretty. Odd. tour, and unless you were one of the four band members who were being kept away from everyone else, you were fair game.
"Ryan, don't," you croaked, using what little strength you had left to push yourself up into a sitting position on your bunk.
You were dazed and disorientated and had no idea what time it was. Looking out of the small window next to your bed was no help either; the grounds on which the tour bus stood was completely shrouded in darkness. It could've been the impending promise of nightfall, or it could have just been the dreary Maine weather.
It felt as if you had only just fallen asleep, yet it also felt like you'd been sleeping for months. The blankets had become your enemy, drawing you into a battle of constant pushing and pulling as your body temperature fluctuated between extremes.
Making the mistake of turning around to look if Ryan had entered the bus, your stomach churned and your head spun.
"Oh god, here it comes," you choked out, hand flying to your mouth as you stood up and staggered to the tiny bathroom.
Hearing the commotion, Ryan hurried onto the bus, struggling to maintain a firm hold on the ginger ale and crackers in his hands.
"My love?" he called to you with concern in his voice, bursting into the bunk area just as you shut the bathroom door. "Too slow; I saw ya! I brought reinforcements."
The scene inside the compact space was not at all pretty. You were sprawled on the floor, limbs splayed out as wide as the restraining walls would allow. The toilet bowl was directly next to your head; as unappealing as the position was, you were terribly afraid that if you were too far away from it, you would make a mess all over the floor once the contents of your stomach decided to make a premature reappearance.
