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dudadragneel · 2 months

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Hello again guys!

This one is the last request I had. It's a tad different from what I do (there's no emeto involved) but I opened an exception since it contains another trope that I like (fainting).

This one is from @freepeachgalaxy

Ok, erm.... Chan is sick in the studio , does usual of hiding, collapses whilst there, with any of them present, get him home, faints again? I don't know I'm sorry I just love a good faint, that's witnessed and also found unconscious on the floor

DON'T HIDE IT

The boys' lives were far from being normal, no ordinary person could handle the pressure and how hectic their schedules were.

They all felt the pressure in different ways and Chan was the one under most pressure. He was the leader, he had to take care of the kids, practice, produce, record, and go to photoshoots.

He was their pillar, their stronghold, and due to that, he'd hide whenever he felt unwell, sad, or stressed, he never wanted to worry his dongsaengs.

They had a day packed with schedules and they had still gone to the company after completing them. They had to practice and work on new songs.

Since the day had been so chaotic, Chan had barely gotten any rest or eaten anything, or not enough to keep him going through the day.

During dance practice, he started to feel off, he was too sweaty for someone who had just started dancing, he looked in the big mirror in the room, looking at his face which had gone a bit pale as well and his vision had black dots from time to time. Fuck. He thought to himself, he hoped none of the members or the staff had noticed that.

But as the leader and oldest, he pushed through the first half of dance practice. As soon as the dance teacher said they'd have a little break before the next session, everyone just crumbled to the ground, dramatically as usual.

Chan went to the back of the room, grabbed a water bottle, and sat down, his breathing was erratic but still a bit too fast, even if he was dancing.

He took a few sips of water and ducked his head between his knees when he felt a sudden wave of dizziness.

Lee Know, who was the second oldest, suspected something might be wrong with their leader but he knew how Chan would react to everyone being worried about him, so he just brushed it off as him being tired from the schedules.

Chan took the entire time of a break to try to control his breathing and get rid of this dizziness that made him feel like the ground was shaking even though he was completely still.

Their dance teacher called them again and Chan could only hope he'd get through dance practice without collapsing, and thankfully he did.

When they finished, everyone scattered around to do their own things. Chan said he was going to his studio to work on some new songs, which wasn't a lie but he wanted to be alone, and so he left.

Getting to his studio he went straight to the couch, hoping that lying down would help with the dizziness he was feeling and for a while it did. When he felt well enough, he sat on his chair, turned on his computer, and started working.

It wasn't being easy, as the constant movement of his eyes to look at the screens made his head feel like it was being pressured. A few minutes in with work, the other two members of 3RACHA entered the studio.

To say Chan was annoyed was an understatement, now he had two more people inside the room and he was afraid they would pick up on how awful he was looking, but they didn't, or at least acted like they didn't.

Han and Changbin didn't keep quiet, and Chan would usually love how chaotic and energetic they were but today it was too much, however telling them to keep quiet would immediately give away that something was wrong, so he just endured it, joining them every now and then.

But as the minutes passed he began to feel worse than before, his vision was getting blurry and he felt like the floor was melting under his feet.

He stopped what he was doing and rested his head on his hand, he knew he looked pale and sweaty and suddenly the room felt stuffy and he couldn't breathe properly.

He started heaving and his back was going up and down rather rapidly and the two younger boys noticed that and put their phones aside.

- Hyung?

- Chan-hyung? Are you okay?

They both said getting closer to him and placing their hands on his shoulder.

Chan grabbed Changbin's arm turning to the side.

- I feel dizzy...

He admitted, voice already weak, he was going to faint at any minute.

- Let's get him on the couch.

Changbin and Han helped Chan up but the moment the oldest stood up, his body completely shut down and he went limp.

- Hyung!

Changbin, being the strongest at the moment, managed to hold Chan before he could fall to the ground and carried him to the couch.

Changbin sat down on the couch and placed Chan's head so he was lying on his lap while Han lifted his hyung's leg up and placed some pillows under them.

- Han, tell the others what happened, I'll stay here with him.

Changbin thought of Han's anxiety and deemed it safest to have him call the others rather than having him stay with Chan. He could get worried enough to work himself up to an anxiety or panic attack.

----- PRACTICE ROOM-----

The other boys were still in the practice room, some just chilling and others dancing when Han entered the room with a rather worried expression.

- Did something happen?

Lee Know immediately asked, going into hyung mode.

- It's Chan-hyung. He passed out.

- What!?

They all said, eyes widened in surprise and all of them felt their stomachs drop, just at the thought of their leader, their pillar going down. Even the staff was taken aback.

Lee Know was the first one to get up and leave the room with Han, followed by the others and the staff.

When they got to Chan's studio they found the oldest still unconscious on Changbin's lap.

Lee Know told the boys to stay by the door and not crowd the place and went to Chan's side.

- What happened?

- We don't know. We were working and then he started to feel out of breath. When we noticed he had gone pale and ended up fainting.

- It must be exhaustion. I noticed he barely rested or ate anything today.

- What do we do?

- Let's wait for him to wake up and then let's take him home.

One of the managers entered the room to check on Chan and he had a device to check his blood pressure.

- 70/40, it's really low.

The manager said and the others got really worried about their hyung's health.

A few seconds later, Chan began to regain consciousness, he heard multiple muffled voices around him, and his vision slowly became normal. But since his pressure was low he was shivering cold.

- What happened...

He said voice sounding weak and confused.

- You passed out.

Lee Know answered kneeling beside him.

- oh...

- Hyung, how were you feeling before?

- I was feeling fine...

- Hyung, don't lie to us, please.

- okay...I have been feeling dizzy since practice...I'm sorry for worrying you guys.

He covered his eyes with his arm because the light was too bright and it was making his head hurt.

Lee Know got up and asked one of the staff members to let them go home but they said they needed to practice. Being the second oldest, Lee Know knew how to impose himself if needed, he learned that from Chan and also from the countless times he got outfits that made him uncomfortable. He was stern when talking to the staff about Chan's health and managed to convince them they needed to go home.

One of the managers took the boys' side, after all, they completed the main schedules of the day, and all they had left was practice, which let's be honest, could obviously be postponed and they knew they wouldn't be able to do it properly knowing their hyung was feeling unwell.

He discussed with the others and convinced them to let the boys rest, after all, they didn't have any schedules for the rest of the week, considering it was Thursday, there wasn't enough time to rest but every minute was worth it.

- Okay, boys. Let's go. Chan-ah, can you walk?

- Yeah.

He couldn't Lee Know and Changbin helped him up but as soon as he was up, he felt lightheaded and swayed.

- Nope, you can't walk. I'll carry you to the car.

Changbin said positioning himself in front of Chan so he could climb on his back.

Lee Know covered Chan with a hoodie since the oldest boy was shivering from cold due to low blood pressure.

The other kids gathered their stuff and headed out as well.

Lee Know got in first and Changbin helped settle Chan in the car and the second youngest buckled his belt and pulled Chan close to him so his head was resting on his shoulder. Chan fell asleep or fainted again, he didn't know.

The ride was unusually quiet as all the kids were worried about their hyung.

Chan said he was feeling better and wanted to take a quick shower, even though all of them wanted him to eat something, a common symptom of fainting was nausea so despite being hungry he didn't have much of an appetite.

He entered the bathroom, still looking a bit wobbly and before he could close the door behind him, Lee Know appeared.

- Hyung, don't lock it. I know you don't want anyone in there with you but if you feel dizzy again, let me know, okay?

- Alright, thanks Minho-ah.

Chan knew better than to keep standing up while still feeling dizzy so he just sat down on a stool. The water flowing through his body felt like it was washing away all his exhaustion and tension.

But as he was finishing and turning off the water, his vision got blurry again and it felt like his legs had gone numb. He didn't want to pass out in the bathroom, so he quickly managed to put his clothes on and get to the door.

- Minho-ah....

He said weakly, voice almost inaudible.

As soon as Lee Know got up and opened the door, Chan passed out one more time, not falling to the ground thanks to Lee Know.

- Kids! Come here!

He yelled as he carefully lowered Chan so he was leaning against his chest.

- What's wrong? Oh my god!

- Get the manager, he needs to go to the hospital. He hasn't eaten anything all day, he is most likely dehydrated and I'm starting to feel like he might be running a light fever. Go!

Lee Know said firmly, whenever something happened to Chan, he stepped up as the second in command.

A few minutes later, their manager got to their dorms.

- What happened Minho-ah?

- He fainted after the shower.

- It's best to take him to the hospital. He might need an IV. Let's go.

The manager picked a barely conscious Chan up and carried him to the car, followed by Lee Know who told the kids to wait in the dorm.

Upon getting to the hospital, they were guided to a private room where the doctor asked what was wrong. They ran a few exams and they turned out perfectly fine, except for his blood pressure.

- Did he eat anything today? Drank any water?

- No. Just barely.

- This is a clear case of exhaustion. He wasn't listening to his body so it shut down. We'll set up an IV and some fluids. I'll give a prescription in case he gets a high fever since he's a bit feverish now. You're free to go when the IV ends.

- Thank you.

Lee Know and the manager said turning to Chan who was a bit more conscious than before, but still feeling a tad lightheaded.

- I'm sorry...

- Hyung. Don't apologize. I know you, we know you and you know us. I know you don't like to worry us but please tell us before things can get out of hand. Just think about the kids' reaction seeing you faint all of a sudden. We barely managed to keep Jisung calm.

- How is he?

- He's okay. He handled this very well.

- I will take good care of my health. Thanks for helping, Minho-ah.

- That's why I'm here, right? As the two oldest we need to help each other.

After about two hours, the manager had already called the kids to let them know what happened and they signed in relief as it wasn't anything that serious.

The IV ended and he was feeling better than before, his blood pressure was almost back to normal, but it was good enough for him to go home. They left with prescriptions from the doctor, explaining that he needed rest or it could escalate to something worse.

When they arrived at the dorm, all six kids were waiting in the living room and went immediately to Chan, Felix hugging him tight.

- I'm sorry for your worrying you guys. I'm better now. I'm sorry for scaring you, Felix.

The boy just buried his head in his hyung's shoulder getting a hug back.

- The doctor said he needs to rest so the manager will tell the company and probably issue a statement if needed.

Lee Know guided Chan to his bedroom, afraid that he'd collapse again but thankfully he was indeed feeling like he was alive again.

He settled him on the bed and covered him, before leaving to cook him some food and control the kids.

He came back with some soup, that would probably sit well with his stomach, and Chan only then realized how hungry he was.

After he was finished he just lay down again and was fast asleep within minutes. Lee Know turned off the lights and left the door ajar just in case.

For the next few days, the boys took turns and made sure to keep Chan from doing anything and really letting him rest. They didn't even let him use his so cherished computer, that stored basically their entire career.

He wasn't used to not being in control of the situation but he was watching all of them working and having fun from afar and was immensely glad he adopted these kids.

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cuddlepilefics · 4 months

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Can’t stop puking

Fandom: Enhypen

Sickie: Heeseung

Caregivers: Enhypen

@monthofsick

Heeseung can't fall asleep and starts to feel sicker as the night progresses. He tries to stick it out by himself, not wanting any of his dongsaengs to have to deal with him and his mess but that can only work for so long.

TW: emeto; real person fiction

No one’s POV.:

Heeseung was usually quite fond of having a room to himself. Tonight was one of those rare occasions though when he wished for a roommate. He had felt a little off all day and had spent the past two hours tossing and turning as he tried and failed to fall asleep. By now, his sheets were soaked with sweat and he found himself dazedly staring up at the ceiling. Heeseung’s head pounded and there was no doubt in his mind that he had managed to fall ill. All he wanted, no needed, were a few sips of water to soothe his parched throat but his body felt so heavy, getting up from his bed seemed impossible, and he had no roommate he could call out to for help.

There was no way of telling just how long he had lain there, the numbers on his alarm clock blurring in front of his eyes. Heeseung squeezed his eyes shut and rolled onto his side, drawing his knees up to his chest. His stomach was churning now too, probably from the lack of food. Since he hadn’t had the slightest appetite all day, he hadn’t managed to force down much over the course of the day, so hunger pains were to be expected but the rising nausea was not. Huffing a shaky breath, Heeseung contemplated his options. It would probably be safest to go and sit in the bathroom for a bit, if the funny feeling at the back of his throat was anything to go by, but he was so exhausted. The way too the bathroom seemed so impossibly far.

Laying in his feverish daze for a few more minutes, Heeseung barely noticed how his mouth started to water and startled when his stomach suddenly seized. He barely had time to lean over the sized of his bed, hands fisted in his sweat-damp blanket as he watched the mouthful of stomach acid splatter the floor boards. Yeah, he should’ve most definitely headed to the bathroom. Giving a strained cough, Heeseung heaved again and was glad that he hadn’t eaten much. A string of saliva dangled from his lips and he spat in disgust, hoping to get rid of the vile taste. His already dry throat burned now but he didn’t crave a drink as much as he had a little while ago, figuring it wouldn’t sit well while his stomach still turned.

The room span for a few seconds as Heeseung sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful to avoid the puddle. Shakily, he made his way to the bathroom and slumped against the sink as he stared at his ghostly pale complexion. His hand trembled and he struggled to catch enough water in his palm to rinse out his mouth. At least, most of the taste was gone now. Heeseung splashed some cold water on his face before sinking to his knees and slumping against one of the cabinets. His cheeks puffed with a queasy burp and he sighed, trying to find the energy to clean up the mess in his room.

It has taken Heeseung a little while but he eventually got his bearing and tiredly shuffled back to his room, cleaning supplies in hand. He was a little proud of himself that he managed to clean his mess without the stench making him sick again, though there were a few close calls. What Heeseung didn’t have the energy for though, was changing his sheets. They were absolutely sweaty and disgusting but mopping the floor had left him winded. The thought of just going to sleep on the couch with a bucket close by crossed his mind but the likelihood of one of his dongsaengs finding him in a pathetic state was too high for him to risk it.

After throwing his bedding onto the floor, Heeseung wrapped himself in a fluffy blanket, which did nothing for his chills, and laid down on his bare bed. He wouldn’t be able to rest for long though. His stomach was cramping badly and knowing he wouldn’t have the energy to clean up after himself a second time, Heeseung unwillingly dragged himself back to the bathroom and settled on the rug. With trembling hands, he flipped up the toilet seat and pulled his blanket tighter around his shivering frame. It only took a few minutes for Heeseung to find himself gagging again. The strain made his head pound and brought tears to his eyes, which he hurriedly wiped away when he heard footsteps approaching down the hallway.

A hand appeared on Heeseung’s upper back, giving a few hesitant pats when the eldest coughed. “What happened, hyung?”, Niki hummed, sleepily slurring his words, “Do you need anything?” Heeseung tensed when he realized that it was their maknae, who had walked in on him. Tightly gripping his blanket, he choked out: “Water an’ Jay, please?” – “Sit tight”, Niki agreed, squeezing his hyung’s shoulder before hurrying off. Heeseung coughed up another mouthful before tearing off some toilet paper and weakly cleaning himself up. By the time Jay joined him, he had drawn his knees up to his chest and tiredly rested his head on them.

“Hey, what’s going on, hyung?”, Jay frowned as he crouched in front of his friend. Looking up at the other, Heeseung slurred: “Sick.” – “Yeah, I can see that but you seemed alright when we got home earlier, so when did this come on?”, the younger worried, feeling Heeseung’s forehead. Giving a pathetic sniffle, the eldest admitted: “Felt a little off all day. Like, no appetite and all but it wasn’t bad. Then when I went to bed and tried to sleep, I couldn’t and it just got worse and worse from there. Started sweating like crazy and threw up a while ago. Thought I was empty, so I tried to sleep but seems I can’t stop puking for long.” While he was speaking, what little color he had, drained from his face and Jay helped him lean over the toilet again. “Where is that even coming from”, the younger frowned, “I don’t remember you eating anything at all.”

When the spell was over, Niki handed Heeseung a bottle of water and the older rinsed his mouth before taking the tiniest of sips. “I did eat a little but-“, Heeseung slurred, muffling a belch against his fist, “Shouldn’t be anything left though. Gosh, it burns.” – “Your face is r ally hot to the touch”, Jay informed, carefully brushing his bangs back in place, “Do you want us to help you back to bed? We’ll bring a bucket for the next round.” The older shook his head though, taking another sip to soothe his shredded throat. Feeling humiliated, avoided eye contact when he admitted: “Don’t have sheets on my bed right now.” – “Alright, how about the couch”, Jay nodded. Seeing as he had already been discovered in a poorly state, Heeseung agreed and allowed his friend to pull him to his feet. He stumbled weakly, leaning most of his weight on Jay, who supported him to the living room. Niki was nowhere to be found and the eldest deeply hoped that the boy had gone back to bed.

“There’s a bucket next to you”, Jay informed as he set the bucket down before fixing the blanket around his hyung’s shoulders. Heeseung was already drifting off when Niki returned to let them know that he had put fresh sheets on the other’s bed, so Niki only whispered it to Jay, wanting his hyung to sleep, no matter where. Seeing that Heeseung was resting for the time being, Jay told Niki to go to bed, while he’d be camping out in the living room with their hyung in case he needed to be sick again at any point of the night.

That happened to be the case twice more. Both of those times, Jay sat with Heeseung, rubbing his back and supplying him with water and tissues. By the time morning rolled around, Jay was knocked out cold. Jungwon was the one to find them and comparing their face shades, figured out that Heeseung was sick, while Jay was merely exhausted. Gently waking Jay, the leader whispered: “What happened last night?” – “We’ve been up for most of the night because hyung couldn’t stop puking”, the older muttered, “Probably a stomach bug ‘cause he’s quite feverish.” – “Do you wanna go lay down for another hour or two, hyung? I’ll call management and let them know Heeseung-hyung is sick. If we pack some breakfast for you to eat on the way, you could sleep in late”, Jungwon offered fumbling with his phone. No matter how badly Jay wanted to be strong and just go about his day like normal, he was too exhausted and the offer too tempting. He trusted his dongsaengs to wake him on time, so he agreed and headed back to his room.

While Jungwon was on the phone, Jake joined him in the common area. He had woken up when Jay entered their shared room, so the older had quickly explained what was going on before going to bed. The Aussie quickly packed a lunchbox for his hyung before making sure everyone else was up and eating breakfast. Heeseung was eventually woken up by all the commotion and even let Sunghoon talk him into having a few bites of rice before downing a pill for his fever. Unsurprisingly, the eldest found himself over the bucket, painfully retching it right back up as soon as Sunghoon had gone to the bathroom to get ready.

This time, the comforting hand on his back belonged to Sunoo, who shot him a sympathetic smile as he offered him some water to rinse his mouth with. “Good morning, hyung”, Jungwon hummed when Heeseung collapsed back into the cushions, “Management is informed that you won’t be attending our schedule today. You want me to rinse that out for you?” – “Thank you, Wonie”, the eldest rasped, his voice shot from how many times he had thrown up in the past twelve hours. Jungwon took the bucket from him and hurried to rinse it out, wanting to return it to his hyung as fast as possible.

Jake left a pot of tea and Heeseung’s favorite mug on the coffee table, pleading: “Try to stay hydrated, hyung. We don’t want to find you in worse shape when we get back tonight.” – “There’s rice in the kitchen and a pot of soup on the stove. I know, you probably have no appetite but please try to eat something at some point, hyung”, Niki smiled sadly, placing a pack of saltine crackers next to the tea. “You shouldn’t have gone through the trouble. It’ll just come back up”, Heeseung forced out, fighting back tears, “I’ll give it a try once it feels a little safer.” – “That’s good enough for us and, hyung, it was no trouble. We don’t mind even if you end up throwing it up. At least, it won’t hurt as much as dry heaving, right?”, Jake comforted, glancing at the clock, “Niki-yah, could you go and wake Jay for me?” The maknae nodded and hurried off to his hyungs’ room.

“How are you feeling now, hyung? Aside from ‘seconds away from puking’”, Sunoo whispered as he watched Heeseung curl up on the couch. The older smiled sadly when his dongsaeng helped him tuck the blanket tighter and sighed: “Tired, sore, my head and stomach hurt, my throat’s on fire and everything is freaking cold. To sum it up: shitty.” – “Hm, give me a minute”, Sunoo hummed before he disappeared to the kitchen.

When Sunoo returned to the living room, he handed Heeseung a hot water bottle and smiled: “Should help with both, the stomach cramps and your chills. To soothe the headache and make sure the hot water bottle won’t raise your fever, I got an icepack to put on your forehead.” – “You’re truly an angel, Ddeonu”, the eldest rasped, hugging the hot water bottle to his sore middle. “Try to get some rest, hyung, and text us whenever you feel like it”, Jay instructed, still messing with his hair in an attempt to look presentable. Wincing when he spotted the dark circles under Jay’s eyes, Heeseung promised: “I will. Try not to overexert yourself today and thank you for last night.”

#fanfic #fluff #comfort #fanfiction #sickfic #sick #enhypen #emeto

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danafeelingsick · 2 months

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Emetophile K.aeya Headcanons

warning: these are suggestive! contains emeto and descriptions of vomit, mentions of alcohol. n.sfw hcs will be under the cut!

K.aeya had been into puke pretty much since the first time he's gotten himself drunk. He loves feeling nauseous, be it for being too full, or too drunk, the danger of throwing up out of nowhere is exciting.

Kaeya doesn't usually drink to the point of vomiting, he has enough self-control and, well, a reputation to uphold as the cavalry captain. Whenever he goes to the tavern, be it on a date, or an outing with friends or coworkers, there is always a part of him that is secretly hopeful he will end up drinking himself to the point of feeling sick and someone who happens to have the same kink will love to take care of him.

Insisting he drinks water, and accidentally giving him too much of it, sugesting he eats even though both of them know he won't be able to keep it down. Urging him to empty his stomach because he will feel so much better afterwards, then helping him get it all up, either with fingers or belly stimulation, thoroughly enjoying the mess he is making.

Kaeya likes, and often needs, to have his hair held for him when he pukes. It is long enough to get in way of almost anything, but he almost never has it properly tied, or a hair tie on him, for that matter.

Despite all that, Kaeya dislikes hangovers as much as the next guy. Headaches only get in the way of him feeling horny while nauseous, and the food doesn't exactly have the same effect when he can't even taste it properly. The worst part of it is that he is yet to find someone to stay with him past a one-night stand. Kaeya has also, more than once thrown up in his sleep, and he hasn't enjoyed that at all.

What Kaeya loves the most is the sounds someone's very full stomach makes when they are right about to puke. That sound of liquid rushing up someone's throat, the watery puke almost tearing through. He also loves the panting and groaning they would make between bouts, the short but almost euphoric moan of relief they let out when the stomach lightens. The sound of heavy breathing echoing inside the toilet bowl. Kaeya isn't sure which is the best: the built-up or the release, but he surely does love seeing someone trying to deny the inevitable.

For him the best texture is watery but lumpy. The mixture of alcohol with barely digested bar food, heavy and greasy, all mixed into small bites littered through a puddle of puke. That might be the most common thing he has had to spew. He tries not to let it show too much, but whenever he finds one of those, he is excited to guess what did this person eat to produce the splatter, thinking about the food coming up and how it might've looked before.

mentions of oral sex ahead! (i rarely write anything smut so please be gentle with me 😭)

Messy sloppy blowjobs! He loves getting to fuck someone's throat until they puke all over him. He might get too carried away, and end up being a little rough (consensually!). Holding his partner's head down as he pumps his load down their throat.

After all that though, he is the most lovely caretaker you will meet.

#these are kinda detailed i'm sorryy 😭😭#emeto headcanons #emeto kink #tw emeto #tw alcohol #emetophilia #emetophile #gen/shin imp/act #k.aeya g.enshin i.mpact #kae/ya gen/shin imp/act #vomiting #tw vomit #vomit kink #suggestive i guess?#intox kink maybe

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twisted-sickfics · 3 months

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Tough Day

a lot of content warnings in this one for angel-typical sexual content and violence so please skip this one if that’s not something you’re comfortable with! this still has lots of caretaking and comfort, there’s just also valentino so please beware!

content warnings: MDNI, emeto, language, valentino, violence and sexual content

Angel knew it would be a tough day when he woke up feeling like shit.

Well, to be more specific, his stomach feels like shit and his entire body aches all over. It doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure out that he’s probably coming down with something.

But he doesn’t have time to worry about that. Valentino needs him for a shoot and he’s not exactly going to take “I’m sick” as an excuse. He’s been higher and felt worse than this and completed shoots just fine. If he’s lucky, he doesn’t even remember them when he’s that out of it.

This is just…uncomfortable. Inconvenient. A fucking drag.

Getting to the set isn’t an issue but actually having to film? That’s another beast altogether. Having a bunch of dicks shoved in his mouth isn’t exactly the best idea when he’s already feeling like he could puke at any second. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like that’s the vibe Valentino wants to go for today.

Filming isn’t actually that bad, but it’s during the short break he’s allotted that things start to take a turn for the worse. He takes a drink of water and practically gags, feeling his stomach rebelling against the liquid he tried to introduce into his system.

“Angel, baby, we haven’t even played with your gag reflex today,” Valentino says, obviously having fun reveling in Angel’s misery. He just has to suck it up and take it, trying to fight back now would just be stupid. “Don’t tell me you’re losing your touch.”

“Not at all, Valentino,” Angel swears. “I’m fine.” The last thing he’s going to do is open up to Valentino and admit weakness. If anything, the creep would only want to exploit his misery even more.

Valentino looks at him intensely as though poring over every little detail of Angel’s body. It feels slimy. It feels violating. “Back to filming, then,” he commands and the stagehands and actors get into position. Angel follows suit.

It’s when he has a demon’s cock up his ass and his brain is being pounded out that the nausea gets worse. He lifts a hand to cover his mouth, but Valentino immediately yells, “Cut! Angel, what the Hell are you doing?! We need to hear you loud and clear!”

“Valentino, I—” He isn’t sure how he would have explained himself, but even fumbling over his words would have been better than doubling over and vomiting all over the bed. Which is exactly what happens. He hears the stage crew gasp and shout around him, pictures being snapped, and Valentino yelling at him.

It all gets fuzzy after that. Maybe it’s the fever he’s positive he has at this point or maybe it was all so awful that he blocked it out of his memory, but he doesn’t remember much of Valentino’s wrath, just being thrown out of the studio and yelled at by some stagehand to call a cab because the shoot is over.

That didn’t end very well.

Angel still has the cognizance to do exactly what that stagehand told him to do because he needs to get home now. He’s lucky a driver even lets him in the car with how rough he looks, but he manages not to throw up in the backseat for the entire ride. That’s a win in his book.

This late at night (or early in the morning), not many of the hotel’s employees are still awake. Alastor might be lurking around somewhere but that doesn’t really count. Husk is the only one up at this hour, but that’s about the only person Angel feels comfortable showing himself around while he looks and feels like this.

“Hey,” Angel greets, his tone noticeably less excitable than usual. “‘m not feelin’ great today, you got anythin’ other than booze here?” He hasn’t eaten or drunk anything since the previous day now and he knows he should at least get some non-alcoholic fluids into his system.

That…definitely wasn’t what Husk was expecting. He thought Angel would immediately ask for the strongest drink he could make, but for him to admit that he’s not feeling well? Husk decides to keep a close eye on him out of concern. “I’ve got coffee, milk, tea, and water,” he offers. “Take your pick.”

Angel’s stomach rolls at the thought of drinking anything other than plain water right now, so he opts for that. Husk eyes him for a moment longer than usual before handing him a glass of water. “How was work?”

“Terrible,” Angel admits. “I threw up all over the bed during the shoot and Valentino threw me outta there. Guess I ain’t getting paid this time.” There’s no way Valentino will pay him for screwing up. He’ll have to resort to other means to make ends meet for the month, then.

“What the fuck?!” Husk shouts, and he immediately lowers his voice because of the way Angel flinches. “That bastard did this to you? Because you got sick? The next time I see that guy, I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

“After today, I think I’d like that,” Angel says, taking a swig of his water like it’s alcohol and immediately regretting it. His stomach still isn’t feeling great. “Listen, I’m gonna head to my room now. You have any drugs I can take? Like, the actual medicine kind?”

He must be feeling worse than he’s letting on if he’s actually asking for medicine. Even now, he’s performing. “You head upstairs and I’ll meet you there. I’ll bring you some meds and some water.”

Angel looks like he’s about to say something for a moment, but stops himself. Instead, he nods and heads to his room. Husk knows the bitterness of the tea would probably upset his stomach even more, so he pours him a glass of water instead. He gets some nausea medicine and some fever reducers (just in case, the guy was looking a little worse-for-wear) and heads to Angel’s bedroom where he’s immediately greeted by the sound of retching from the bathroom.

“Angel?” Husk calls out, setting the glass of water and medicine on the nightstand and opening the door to the bathroom only to be greeted with Angel hunched over the toilet, expelling what little is left in his stomach. “Hey, ‘s okay. Just breathe.”

Angel gags, bringing up a small amount of stomach acid. “I feel like shit,” he moans, eyes streaming with tears from the strain of throwing up, his voice hoarse and raw.

“I know,” Husk sympathizes, “but you’re doing great. Just lemme know when you’re done and we can get you cleaned up.” He takes this opportunity to check his forehead for a fever and sure enough, he’s burning up.

It’s tough to see someone who’s usually so strong in Husk’s eyes barely able to keep themselves up in front of a toilet bowl, and he really feels for the guy. If he had any kind of power over Valentino, he would kick his ass into oblivion for working Angel to the bone while sick.

“Think I’m done,” Angel says, looking absolutely miserable. He looks like he might pass out, so Husk wants to get him to bed as soon as possible. Husk rips off a piece of toilet paper and uses that to clean around Angel’s mouth. It might just be the fever, but his face looks really red.

“Think you can stand up?” Husk asks. He’s surprised when Angel nods, attempting to stand up on his own, but he leans on Husk for support as he walks to bed.

For the first time that night, Husk sees Angel visibly relax and close his eyes. “No going to sleep yet, sweetheart,” he says, apologetic since he knows the only thing Angel must want to do right now is go to sleep. “I need you to take these.”

Angel swallows the pills with some water and sighs. “If I have to go into work tomorrow, I think I’ll actually die again. I feel like shit, Whiskers.” How honest. When he’s not feeling well, Angel tends to be a bit more truthful. Interesting.

“I know you do, Legs. Tell you what, you sleep in today and get some rest. If Valentino comes knocking, I’ll set Alastor on him. Sound good?”

“Mhm,” Angel mumbles affirmatively, but he’s already half-asleep and very out of it. He probably doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to, but there’s no way Husk is letting him go to work tomorrow when he’s this sick. He’s already thrown up twice and his fever felt pretty high. Whatever Valentino is going to do to him won’t be good.

Husk turns to leave when he feels a hand grip his wrist. “Wait…please stay…” Angel mumbles. How could Husk say no when he’s asked like that? He isn’t completely heartless. Just mostly heartless.

It doesn’t take long for Angel to fall asleep. He must have been exhausted, because it usually takes him much longer. Husk sits next to him, reading a book he’d been meaning to catch up on.

Husk flips through the pages of his book when Angel begins to stir again. He doesn’t appear to be awake but he looks distressed, as though he’s having a nightmare. Husk doesn’t wake him because he doesn’t want to disorient him even further, but a large small part of him feels badly seeing him like that.

Eventually, Angel wakes up with a gasp. “You’re alright, Legs,” Husk says, a steadying hand on his back. “You just had a nightmare. You’re in your room and you’re fine.”

He doesn’t feel fine, though. His stomach is in knots and he’s starting to sweat but he feels cold. He just dreamt about Valentino and he has to go to work the next day like this. There’s no way he can work like this! He’s going to get in so much trouble.

Husk can see Angel starting to work himself up even more, but he doesn’t know what to say to him to make it better. It’s only when Angel’s breaths start to morph into nauseous hiccups that Husk goes to get a trash can and places it under Angel’s mouth.

Angel starts to gag unproductively, bringing up strings of saliva. It isn’t a pretty sight, but Husk wants to be here for him. He has to. “It’s all right, Angel,” he says, “just let it out if you have to.”

Eventually, Angel finally does bring up a mouthful of bile and Husk winces. He hasn’t seen him this out of sorts in, well, ever. And he’s seen Angel in many different states.

It seems like that’s all he’s going to be able to bring up because the rest of his retches are dry and unproductive. Husk has to help him sit back in bed as he moves the trash can out of the way. “How’re you feeling?” he asks tentatively, though he has a feeling he already knows the answer.

“Like shit,” Angel says, as expected. “I think I threw up the medicine you made me take. Sorry ‘bout that.”

That’s when his phone starts blowing up. Husk is able to see the contact labeled “Valentino” on his phone, followed by several messages with some very aggressive language. He doesn’t miss the way Angel tenses up when a new text comes in.

“I-I should answer that,” he says, reaching for his phone before Husk snatches it out of his grasp.

“No way,” Husk says, “you’re not answering that asshole. I’ll take care of everything, promise. You deserve one day for yourself. Worst case scenario, tell that Valentino to shove a dick up his ass because you’re not going and that’s that.”

He’s worried he crossed some boundaries there, but Angel’s lips turn upward in a small smile. That’s enough to make Husk smile too. “Just get some rest, sweetheart.”

Husk isn’t stupid, he knows that means more work and possibly more punishment for Angel down the road. But for now, he’s in no state to show up for a shoot. Anything that comes later, they can handle. For now, he can just focus on resting and feeling better.

Angel doesn’t have to ask him to stay this time.

#emeto #emeto fic #emeto tw #sickfic

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writing-whump · 6 months

Text

Nightmare

Isaiah is sick after a nightmare. Cue some fluff and comfort from Seline. Warning for emeto.

Isaiah was pretty sure their pack was ruined before it even formed. And that he had ruined his chances with Seline.

Since that difficult afternoon, things have changed between the trio. Matthew and Seline apologized to each other right away - her for not letting them know earlier of having guests over and him for scaring her. They both acknowledged partial guilt for the incident and resolved to be more tolerant in the future.

Seline promised to always message them if someone came over and ideally warn them a few days in advance. Matthew expressed deep regret over raising his shadow at her and promised he would never hurt her no matter how angry he was and reassured he wasn't being angry with her in the first place.

This did not, however, achieve the effect Isaiah had hoped for.

Seline was cold and avoiding them. She would greet them and act politely, but she hurried over to the second floor to her room any chance she got, excusing herself from sharing meals with them. She waited until they left in the morning to come down, came home late and her answers to any initiations or invitations were "don't know if I'll have time yet". Which Isaiah knew was a lie, cause she kept a calendar for months in advance and because her assistant job was flexible and confusing to understand without it.

Matthew and Isaiah both had an unspoken agreement to initiate contact on neutral ground in the shared spaces only. The second floor became Seline's exclusive territory - her room, her personal boundaries and her safe space. They were not going to breach it without explicit invitation, hoping to soothe her that way.

Except the invitation never came.

Isaiah didn't think it was necessarily him she was avoiding, but since he had comforted Matthew, shared a room with him and tried to mediate their first apologetic interaction after the incident, he had inevitably taken "his" side and fallen into the "enemy" camp.

He shouldn't have been explaining so hard that wolves needed their territory and were touchy about new wolves that invaded it without warning and that the whole thing would have been much easier if they had just become a pack. His suggestion was met with a disbelieving stare, asking him if he was insane. Yeah, he should have held his mouth shut.

But he couldn't precisely abandon Matthew to the issue either.

Isaiah got to know Matthew's stress reactions very intimately in the following weeks. Matthew asked him to train with him outside of their sparring for fun to work on his shadow's temper. He also kept up with his daily runs, waking up even earlier to go to the gym and do some boxing workouts before and after school. When he got home, the redhead usually switched on their Google Chrome on the smart TV, a clear indication he was open to having a movie night, whatever anyone picked.

Their evenings looked exactly the same since. Seline declined his offer to watch something without even giving him a look or a thought. Matthew promptly dosed off, only to stumble over to bed around midnight and get up at 4 am again for his run. Rinse, repeat.

Matthew's stress reaction was to sleep and be quiet. Coaxing a conversation out of him took a herculean effort. Then again, he could also be exhausted from all the additional workouts. Isaiah thought Matthew was working on the issue diligently and seriously enough to win some sympathy points, but Seline seemed set on not seeing any effort Matthew was making.

He also thought she had come a bit calmer from her visits to her mom over the weekend. Except afterward, she started going home every weekend, sometimes even taking Fridays and Mondays free to go home sooner. Completely shutting them down.

This left Isaiah alone in a very tense and silent apartment. He hadn't realized before how much he looked forward to coming home after they started living together. How much he cherished the afternoons cooking for everyone or sharing a glass of wine with Seline to talk over progress on their respective research projects. Or the way they would debate and laugh about movies, always switching in introducing their favourite ones to each other. He missed Matthew's good-hearted grumpiness and Seline's playful complaints and the heated discussion about that or another scene. It really felt like a home, in a way the empty vast place he had before never did.

Now living in polite charming illusions he knew alright and he hated them. Masks may have been his thing, but he only became what he wanted to be, what he wanted people to hear - because he genuinely wanted to give them something and not because he was hiding what he knew was terrible to do to someone else. His masks were heartfeltly crafted pieces of art, of himself, of things he was shaping himself to become.

But whatever this terrible silent tension was, it was too close to home in an unexpected way.

Maybe that was when the nightmares started. The foreboding feeling came right in the evening, his stomach feeling like it was hanging on water as he watched Matthew turn his face into the pillow and Seline gathering food to eat in her room, so she wouldn't have to spend even that minimal time with them.

Retiring to their shared room with Matthew didn't help much either, cause he couldn't sleep and when he did, he dreamed. He wasn't sure what he dreamed about, just that he woke up confused, nauseated and sweaty and like he didn't get any rest at all.

Matthew's sleep was very deep though. Nothing seemed to wake him once he was out, so Isaiah at least didn't have to worry about his night terrors being witnessed.

It was the same that night as well.

Isaiah woke around 3 in the morning, sweaty and breathing hard from a dream he didn't want to remember. A string of faces of all the people he had failed, that he had left behind. Familiar enough.

Except now Seline's and Matthew's faces showed up there too.

He must have had a real heavy dinner today, cause he wasn't just feeling vaguely nauseated. His mouth was actively flooded with saliva and gulping down just made his stomach twist more.

Isaiah scrambled from the bed as fast and queit as he could, though Matthew didn't even stir, and headed for the sanctuary of the bathroom.

He turned on the light, closed the door and dropped to his knees in front of the toilet. His stomach was in turmoil, roiling restlessly inside him. The nausea felt like claws, black and long running up his back and Isaiah leaned over the toilet, bracing against the rim.

Taking deep breaths didn't seem to help at all. He let drool drip from his parted lips, when a sudden heave surprised him. His whole body rocked and vomit rushed out of him, hot and thick. The horrible guttural sound accompanying it was even worse.

He took some more breaths, but they were coming fast and shallow. His stomach hurt and twisted further and he knew this wasn't the end. Another terrible sound came and another thick wave of vomit with it, chunks of undigested rice and meat from dinner spluttering noisly against the water.

This was horrible and intense and he didn't even understand the cause! Surely his stomach wasn't so weak as to react to stress that wasn't even rightfully his.

His stomach shot up his throat again, but he managed to swallow it down this time, moaning the bitter taste burned his throat. Isaiah let his head fall down against his folded hand on the toilet, exhausted to the bones.

Time seemed to have stopped and slowed down at the same time. The nausea was still there, not as intense, but ever present, so he didn't dare to leave his post. His shirt was cold and sticky with sweat, making him shiver. He should buy a thicker carpet in front of the toilet, this one did miserable job sparing his knees...

The door creaked open. Isaiah didn't feel like lifting his head, it seemed to weigh a ton.

A hesitant gentle hand touched his upper back.

The contact felt electrifying, his head finally shooting up to see Seline kneeling next to him, bathrobe open around her blue PJs.

"Oh," he creaked, his voice hoarse. "Hey." Just when he thought the night couldn't be any worse.

"Hey yourself," she said, not letting her hand fall. "What's wrong with you? Are you sick?"

"It's nothing. Had a nightmare. Nothing serious." He let his head dropped back against his folded elbow, wanting to hide. He always felt like hiding when he felt like crap. Especially from her.

"A nightmare can make you this sick?" Seline asked, horrified. "What was it about?"

Isaiah made a helpless gesture up with his free hand, then let it fall limply beside him again.

"Go to sleep, please. Nothing fun to see here."

She reached behind him to flush the toilet. Isaiah reddened at the reminder he forgot to do it himself.

Seline rubbed his back slowly, feeling him tense and shiver as she touched the sweaty stains. "Anything I can do?"

"Just go back to sleep," he said quietly, not wanting to argue. Why did she always have to see him at his most disgusting and pathetic? Why couldn't he just be his normal, strong, tidy self, like he could with everyone else? Couldn't she come down from her fortress during the day, when he was fine and in control?

The anxiety spiked a reaction in his stomach. He groaned as the nausea made him shudder and he leaned over the toilet again, spitting into it. His stomach roiled in preparation like he was on a boat.

"Please leave, Seline. I don't feel good," he warned, brows furrowed as he rode out the next wave. His teeth clapped together, but he didn't think that would help.

"That's okay, I don't mind."

"Seline-"

"You can't seriously expect me to leave you here like this-"

Isaiah wanted to argue that was exactly what he wanted her to do, when the new wave of puke had him heaving over the toilet violently. He braced against the rim with both hands, mind going blank as his body purged in several waves after each other, leaving him breathless.

He lifted a little, his hands hurting from the coldness digging into his palms. This was so humiliating...

It was then that he noticed the warm presence against his back. Seline had her forehead pressed to his shoulder blade, hands digging into the fabric of his shirt from behind.

"Please, don't send me away. I want to help you," she said.

He reached for toilet paper, wiping his mouth clean of the drool and sighed heavily. "I don't want you to see me in this state."

"Why can't you let other people help you? Why can't I help you?" Peaking up from her place against his back, she added in a smaller voice: "Why do you not want me here?"

He couldn't stand the hurt in her voice, like he had somehow put it there. "Because I want to be perfect for you and this is the exact opposite of it," he said in exasperation.

The silence that followed was deafening. It made him realize what a terrible thing he had just said.

Isaiah groaned, pushing his face against the inside of his elbow again. "I'm so sorry."

"For what? Saying that you like me?" she said in a stunned voice.

"Yes. No. I'm sorry I said it here, at such a disgusting place and at such stupid time. I had a whole plan of how-"

"Shhhhhh," she said, leaning against him again. He could feel the place where she buried her face into him burning through his shirt. "It's alright."

"But you-"

"I like you too."

It was his turn to be stunned. He blinked, hoisting himself up, trying to turn enough to look at her.

"And you help us with embarrassing, stupid stuff all the time," she said quickly, "so it's no fair to try to prevent us from doing the same."

"This is such a terrible confession," he said, raising an eyebrow at her. She leaned back as well to meet his eyes. Despite what he said, her blushing cheeks, her tangled hair in a loose ponytail, her eyes flashing with indignation - he thought he never saw anything more beautiful.

"Shut up! I thought you would never say anything."

"I was waiting for your signals!" he protested, "I wasn't going to force-"

"Signals? I was giving you plenty. You think it's easy for a girl not to look like she is chasing the man-"

Isaiah chuckled. He was freezing, his mouth surely smelled terrible, just like the whole bathroom and it was almost 4 am and there they were, arguing. His chest felt so light and fluttery though like not in several weeks. Not since the argument.

Seline's eyes widened in surprise as she tipped back against the wall, watching him. "Hahaha. Glad you are feeling so much better."

Isaiah ran a hand through his hair. "I'm still very sorry."

"If you apologize one more time, I'm going to hit you," she threatened. He wondered how exactly she was going to do that, when he was the one trained in martial arts and with a deadly shadow.

Her hand reached forward to press against his forehead, gently brushing some hair out of its way. "You don't have a fever."

"I told you. It's just stress," he deadpanned. But he truly was feeling a lot better. His throat was still raw and his stomach was tender, but he didn't feel the weight gnawing him or the nausea at his spine. He allowed himself to lean a bit into her touch, eyes closing momentarily against the exhaustion that hit him as a ton of bricks.

Seline rocked closer to him again, face almost touching his neck.

"Stop that," he chided in a resigned tone. "I'm disgusting."

"You better stop with that talk," she said. He blushed, squirming self-consciously as her hand slid from his forehead to his cheek. "I couldn't find you disgusting if I tried," she whispered.

He wrinkled his nose in disbelief, but he was too tired and confused from the adrenaline crash to argue further.

Seline leaned away, but tugged at his sleeve. "Come up to my room to sleep with me?"

Isaiah forgot about the embarrassment entirely. "Oh?"

Seline's whole face reddened, waving her hand at him adorably. "Not like that! Just...I thought it might help against the nightmares. If you want."

Isaiah watched her in amusement, realizing slowly what she had just offered. Breaching the ban. She just invited him over to her room, her territory, her kingdom.

He smiled at her, blinking tiredly. "I would like that."

---

@bellysoupset

#sickfic #emeto #whump #hurt/comfort #emetophilia #nausea #vomiting #emeto writing #whump writing #my writing #werewolf wip #Isaiah

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pixelatedraindrops · 9 months

Text

About my Illness Whump Guilty Passion:

I really enjoy it ^-^

The only whump content I enjoy is illness whump. (no others) Why? Because content around it is usually super fluffy and wholesome. (plus anime characters specifically look really cute when they're sick. The flushed faces, the messy hair and the cozy pjs... and the weak tired voices… gah its all so cute!! >w<)

My personal favorite trope to play with is high fevers, migraines, and exhaustion/fainting 🌡️

Colds/Flus are super fun too (tho I'm not too graphic on it as some people are) 🤧I'm not too into snz (its fine) but I do like coughing a lot.

I'm not into emeto as an actual emetophobic with irl people…💦 However, sometimes I can write it in an implied sense with little graphic detail. And at times I do enjoy reading it if its not TOO graphic. 🤢 (I'm better with it in fictional media and art, but if it's irl emeto with real people vomiting, then nope THAT triggers me.)

Reasons illness/caretaking hurt/comfort tropes are my favorite

I love when a usually strong, serious, stoic (or asshole) character becomes more vulnerable when they're taken down by illness (bonus points if they become super needy >w<)

Really great fluff fodder for a Parent/Guardian and Child type of relationship. Or even a found-family situation.

Super wholesome and sweet for shipping, siblings, or close friendships. In sickness and in health as they say :3

It is not in any way a kink for me. It's just a trope I really enjoy and fangirl over, but I never get off on it. It just makes me genuinely happy. Its a comfort of sorts to me💜

Its my favorite type of genre to read and watch. And I even write/draw/edit it myself sometimes c: And I usually have my favorite character as the victim of it :3c

It's also made me really like nurse-aesthetics. Especially masks and thermometers >w<

Just wanted to gab a bit about this.

Here's my AO3 if you wanna read my few fics I have written~

And this is my prime whumpee~🌡️💊

Rain Code Whump Tag

Art Tag

Thanks for listening!

Fluffy sickies ftw~ <3

#illness whump #whump tropes #whump writing #NOT A KINK #rambles #sickness #sickness whump #fever whump #whump #caretaker #whump community #whumpee #me explaining why I like something odd because I feel like I have to justify my weirdness lmao

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maccreadysbaby · 7 months

Text

A Hundred Days to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: sickness, emeto (not graphic because ya girl is emetophobic, just mentioned)

wanna start from chapter one or read more? here’s the table of contents!

enjoy a damian-centric chapter of bentley flexing his i-care-about-you-but-i-don’t-really-know-what-i’m-doing-and-i’m-terrified muscles (bentley really steps up in this chapter and pushes through his initial anxiety for someone else’s benefit, and I’m proud of him 🥲)

also BENTLEY & DAMIAN MY BELOVED

(ps got tired of editing so ignore misspellings.)

part twenty-one

❝ ROBIN DOWN ❞

SATURDAY — 9:30AM — DAY 84

DAMIAN WAYNE WAS A CREATURE OF HABIT. Very precise, very particular habit, and he despised breaking it. Everybody knew what to expect from him, to an extent. He always left his room at the same time every day. (Seven-fifteen on weekdays and eight on weekends.) He took Titus to play outside for exactly forty-five minutes as soon as he got home from school. He spent an hour every day working on art, usually after he did his homework, and Bentley heard his door close at three-twenty every single morning when he got done patrolling as Robin.

So, Bentley assumed he was rightfully anxious when he’d been downstairs for nearly an hour and a half and Damian hadn’t emerged yet.

It was a cloudy, freezing Saturday morning — Alfred had shipped himself off to England for his sabbatical, and Bruce was out of town for Wayne Enterprises business. (Or Batman business, Bentley didn’t know.) Dick had stayed the night at the Manor the night before but left early that morning for something, quote-on-quote, urgent. Bentley assumed Nightwing was needed somewhere, so he assured him they’d be fine staying with Duke (aka the only other person in the manor) while he was gone.

Tim was at work. He hadn’t been at the manor for the past couple days. Bentley didn’t really know why, but a fight with Damian wasn’t far fetched, and that seemed to be why he left the most. Jason… well, Bentley had no earthly idea what Jason was doing, but he wasn’t at the manor a lot. Steph was probably working on college stuff, Cass was at some overnight event for her dance studio, and Bentley was sitting at the kitchen island, anxiously chopping the tiniest slice of leftover breakfast casserole into practically microscopic pieces.

Duke was cramming for his SATs, he’d said, and that sounded important, so Bentley didn’t intend to bother him. Although he’d assured them they could come to him if they needed anything, that offer flew in one of Bentley’s ears and out the other just like it always did.

So he sat, staring at the little green clock above the oven and watched the numbers flip from 9:31 to 9:32. It was weird having a nearly empty manor. Weird, but peaceful, if Bentley hadn’t been so worried.

Damian was never late. Not when school got canceled for weather, not when they had nothing planned on a lazy Saturday, not when Dick stayed the night in his room, never. Bentley had been living with the Wayne’s for well over two months and Damian had never faltered on his routine. Until today.

Bentley had thought about going to knock on the door, but he didn’t want to bother him if he was doing something important or sleeping. Even though he’d ended up not being absolutely terrifying like Bentley thought, he still didn’t want to annoy him.

So, instead, he watched the numbers change from 9:32 to 9:33.

At 9:37, after Bentley’s casserole was more of a slop from all of the nervous chopping, light footsteps thudded down the stairs.

He glanced through the breezeway that connected the kitchen, dining room, and entryway, and saw a green hoodie go by on the stairs. He stared at his own plate for a few silent moments, and then Damian walked in from the leftmost entrance to the kitchen.

Bentley knew something was wrong as soon as he saw him. His tan face was flushed — only slightly — and his brown eyes were dull and sort of glazed-over looking. His posture was more slack than normal, hunched over the tiniest, smallest bit, and the first thing that popped into Bentley’s head was that Robin had been shot or stabbed during patrol (although he had been fine yesterday, and he didn’t have patrol the past two nights.) It didn’t seem like Bruce or Dick to to willingly leave him home after being badly injured, but maybe they did. Damian was pretty stubborn, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if he’d talked them into believing he was perfectly fine.

Bentley watched as he made his way to the fridge (he was walking the slightest bit slower than normal, gingerly) and pulled it open.

If he really had been hurt as Robin, Bentley shouldn’t ask about it, right? He wasn’t just going to tell him a supervillain stabbed him or something. A bunch of options floated around in Bentley’s head before he settled on one he used commonly: ignore it.

“Good morning,” He said, pushing around the food he’d eaten none of on his plate. Hopefully he’d grabbed so little Damian would think he ate some.

“Good morning,” Damian replied. His voice sounded mostly normal, and Bentley wondered how much effort he was having to put into it.

He watched in silence as Damian stared blankly into the fridge for a few moments, (at all the neatly packed food items Alfred had left them.) scrunched his nose up, and closed it. Instead, he grabbed a glass from a nearby cupboard and settled on having fridge water for breakfast.

Bentley said nothing.

Damian sat on the farthest stool, leaving two empty ones between them both, and stayed silent.

Bentley tried to fight away the concern clawing its way up his throat, but failed, because Damian was really freaking him out. “Are you okay?”

Damian straightened his posture a bit when Bentley asked, glancing over at him momentarily. “I’m fine. Why would I not be?”

Bentley shrugged. Okay, so that probably meant it was a Robin thing and that he shouldn’t mention it at all for the rest of the day. Silence was something he could handle.

So the two kids sat at the island two chairs away from each other in silence for a good ten or fifteen minutes, before Damian slid off his stool. Bentley saw a flash of discomfort appear on his face before his expression fell neutral again, and he left the kitchen without another word, albeit faster than he’d come in. The water cup sat half drank and abandoned. Which was another slight cause for concern, because Damian always cleaned up after himself.

Bentley sat there for a few minutes, just to see if Damian returned to his glass. After about ten minutes, and more anxious chopping, he didn’t show any signs of reappearing.

Bentley threw away his untouched food (apologizing to Jason in his mind the whole time) and stood in the kitchen for a minute, trying to figure out what to do.

And then a lightbulb went off.

Damian had a phone. If he needed help or a listening ear or anything, he could just call one. There were about eight Wayne’s spread around the Gotham area that would drop everything for him. So Bentley decided that maybe he needed to stop freaking out and let Damian do what Damian was going to do. This wasn’t his problem — especially not if it had anything to do with Robin.

So he idled there in the kitchen for a few minutes before he decided to go to the library. He hadn’t told Jason, but he’d definitely nodded off during the last couple chapters of Jane Eyre they’d read and he needed to re-read them before they moved on. Maybe distracting himself would make him less buzzy and anxious.

Apparently not, though, because when he turned into the library, Damian was sitting in a chair reading. Or at least he seemed to be reading, but Bentley knew the art of staring at a book while your mind raced all to well.

It’s rude to leave a room just because someone else is in there, his father’s scoldings echoed in his head, so he went inside and sat on the couch opposite of Damian. Jane Eyre had been left on the coffee table, so he grabbed it, flipped it to a random page, and pretended to read the words.

Not five minutes after he sat down, Damian stood up and left. Which was fine. If he didn’t want to be in there with him, that was fine. Bentley just hoped he hadn’t annoyed him by joining him.

On second thought, maybe he should’ve just walked away when he realized Damian was in there. Bentley wasn’t the best judge of what was annoying and what wasn’t, obviously, and he felt like he was failing on all cylinders right then.

So he sat there (and actually managed to read a little bit) for a few minutes, until Damian returned.

Which Bentley hadn’t expected. Damian walked right back in (slower than he’d left) and sat back in the chair with his book. He looked… off.

No, Bentley realized, he looked bad. Actually bad — his skin had faded a shade pastier, and his eyes were just a bit red, and the longer he sat in that chair the more he seemed to curl up in on himself. It was very un-Damian-like, and it was freaking Bentley out.

Damian would call someone if he needed help, or go get Duke. Right? …Right?

“Damian…” Bentley muttered, and his little assassin eyes flicked up to him and he suddenly didn’t know what to say. He was probably being so annoying right now.

Instead, he held up his palm and placed his other hand on it like an upside down ‘T’, flicking it like a knife. Are you alright?

Damian bobbed his fist yes.

So Bentley just sat there. And sat there. And sat there. He wasn’t sure how long he stared at the pages of Jane Eyre without reading. Long enough that he thought Damian might’ve been asleep in the other chair, but he didn’t want to watch him and be weird, so he just stared at his book.

And about ten minutes later, Damian got up again. Bentley followed him to the door with his eyes.

And then he stopped.

Bentley creased his brow as Damian simply stood in the doorway of the library for a solid ten or fifteen seconds before he put his hand on the doorframe to hold himself up.

Bentley found the courage to stand up and walk toward him. “Damian? Are you okay?”

Damian responded by collapsing like his strings had been cut.

Bentley didn’t flinch away, but for the first time in his short life, he flinched forward, managing to grab Damian under the arms in a sloppy fashion just good enough to keep his head from banging on the floor. Of course, all this did was make Bentley fall, too, but neither of them hit their heads. Small mercies.

“Damian?” He questioned quietly, moving himself out from under the other boy but keeping his head pillowed on his lap. “Damian? What’s wrong?”

He was immediately reminded of holding Tim on the floor like this in his nightmare, but Bentley was a hundred percent awake. He was awake and this was happening. All of his common sense seemed to leave, and the fact that he was allowed to yell for Duke completely evaded his mind, leaving nothing but panic in its place.

His mind started doing the fear-induced repetition of ‘oh my God’ again as his hands hovered awkwardly, uselessly.

“Damian,” He tried again, but the boy was out cold. “Damian, please.”

Okay, just freaking get it together, he said to himself. Think through it like a normal human being.

Damian was hot. Like, really hot. Like, raging fever hot. Bentley could feel heat coming through his pants from where his head was laying, and he was obviously not dead, just unconscious. Bentley had fainted and blacked out numerous times in his life for numerous reasons. He logged all the potential offenders in his mind: not eating enough (he hadn’t seen Damian eat anything today.) not drinking enough (a few sips from his glass wasn’t much.) maybe a side effect of medicine (he’d have to ask if he took any.) But right now he just needed to stop panicking and get him to wake up.

He took a deep breath and forced his hands to stop shaking.

“Damian, please wake up,” Was just about the best he could come up with. He copied how Jason turned his hand around to feel his head, and Damian was literally, like, on fire.

It felt like years (even though Damian was only actually unconscious for, like, forty-five seconds.) before his eyes fluttered back open blearily, and he blinked a few times. He looked at Bentley, and around the room, and then sat up so fast he nearly knocked his head into Bentley’s.

“Unhand me immediately. What is the meaning of this?”

“You passed out,” Bentley replied sheepishly, startled by his sudden burst of energy. “You… have a fever.”

“I’m fine,”

Bentley thought they’d be spending a few minutes on the floor, but Damian stood up like he was rising from some causal picnic. Bentley made sure to stand with him. And he was about to say something when Damian swayed slightly on his feet, so he reached out and grabbed his shoulders instead. (Bentley knew there was no way he would actually be able to keep him from falling if he passed out again — he wasn’t strong enough — but he could at least make it not hurt so bad.)

“Unhand me,” Damian ordered. Bentley obeyed and released his shoulders, genuinely shocked by the fact that Damian was even upright in the first place. Every time Bentley had fallen unconscious in his life, he didn’t even want to sit up once he woke.

Damian took to making his way back to the chair that he’d come from, and he made it about halfway across the room before he staggered just enough to freak Bentley out. He jogged forward and grabbed Damian’s shoulders from behind, guiding him toward the chair.

“I don’t need your assistance,” Was what he said, but he didn’t make any moves to remove Bentley’s hands. He sighed when Damian plopped down in the chair.

Breathe. Relax. Talk to him.

“…But you can barely stand up,” He forced out.

“I am fine,”

Bentley said nothing. He promptly remembered how stubborn Damian was, and that he probably had no hope of breaking through that until Dick got home.

Okay, at least he had a new goal: keep Damian alive until Dick got home.

He tapped his fingers on his jeans, sitting back on the couch across from Damian.

“How… long have you been sick?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “I have clearly stated that I am not ill several times.”

Bentley said nothing, but sighed lightly. Surely Damian knew he was very obviously sick. Bentley lifted a hand and pointed at himself, then extended both hands palm-up and pulled them to his chest. He did the same gesture Tim did in the kitchen when he asked for help, but this time, pushed it toward Damian instead of pulling it inward.

I want to help you.

Damian held up a hand, his palm facing left, and tapped his thumb on his chest twice.

I’m fine.

Bentley held a hand out, brought his fingers to his forehead and pulled down, making both hands into fists and extending them outwards.

You passed out.

Something changed on Damian’s face, suddenly and strangely. He tapped his finger in a ‘c’ shape on his elbow and made his hands into a circle, moving them from up to down.

Trash can.

Bentley blinked, assuming that he’d signed wrong, until he realized how rapidly Damian’s face was losing color.

He hopped off the couch and grabbed the little waste bin from next to the couch, thrusting it into Damian’s hands just in time for him to vomit in it.

Bentley stood off to the side awkwardly for a few moments until Damian looked back up at him.

He made a thumbs-up and flicked his chin with his thumb, then tapped his forehead and stomach with his middle fingers.

Not sick?

Damian sucked in a deep breath, and instead of telling Bentley off, he sat the trash can in the floor with a grimace and a huff. “Perhaps I am… slightly unwell.”

What did Bentley always do when he was sick? Pump himself full of medicine and wait for it to pass? He remembered vaguely hearing his father tell him to put a wet towel on your forehead and go lay down. That’s about all the wisdom of being sick he was familiar with. But Damian was throwing up, so he hadn’t eaten anything, and if he hadn’t eaten anything he couldn’t take medicine, and if he couldn’t take medicine his fever wouldn’t go down, and if his fever didn’t go down he’d melt his brain or something-

Bentley took a deep breath and then blew it out, and Dick’s voice from earlier that morning echoed in his head: if you need anything, go get Duke.

That sounded like a good idea. “I’ll go get Duke.”

Before Bentley could even turn around, Damian had jolted upward. “No! Don’t. He already has things to worry about.”

“But…” Bentley trailed off when he realized that sounded exactly like something he would say, so he paused. “…Okay. Do you… want to call Dick? Or your father?”

“No,” Damian repeated, settling back down in the chair. “I do not require assistance. I am not so weak as to allow a puny illness to incapacitate me. You should leave to avoid contracting it.”

Bentley blinked. Leaving Damian in the library with a raging fever after he’d just passed out and thrown up within, like, two minutes of each other didn’t seem like a very good idea.

The redhead shrugged. Obviously Damian wasn’t one for being pitied, so he tried to make his statement as neutral as he could.

“I’ve already been around you.”

Hopefully it didn’t sound too close to i’m-kind-of-worried-and-want-to-stay-in-here-so-you’re-not-sick-alone-because-it-sucks-to-be-sick-alone, which is what he really meant.

Damian made a tt noise either way.

Bentley sighed. Medicine and food were out of the question, and that’s pretty much all he was prepared to offer. So he stood there for a few moments and stared down at his shoes. Why was it when someone else was struggling, he had absolutely nothing to contribute? He was struck dumb just like he had been during Dick’s nightmare and he hated it.

He couldn’t just stand there. Standing there wasn’t doing Damian any good.

He tapped his index finger and thumb together on each hand.

What should I do?

Damian looked at him for a moment with a mixture of skepticism and doubt on his face, before his expression fell blank again. He opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“You can bring me my water,” Was all Damian said. Water glass; in the kitchen — Bentley could do that.

Bentley quickly made his way out of the library and back to the kitchen, retrieving the glass off the counter and topping it off before returning to the library.

Damian had moved to the couch, on the opposite end to where Bentley had been (which he was glad for, both because Damian hadn’t passed out on the way and because the couch was way more comfortable for him.)

Bentley sat the water on the end table closest to him, then returned to his spot on the other end of the couch.

“How long have you been sick?” He asked again, glancing over at the pasty little assassin across from him.

This time, Damian said: “I started throwing up last night.”

Bentley cringed at the thought of Damian being woefully sick one room over and not even knowing about it. He was at least thankful he’d had been home instead of on patrol — Robin wasn’t allowed to leave without Batman. Him going on patrol like this probably would’ve been an ordeal.

The two of them sat there in silence for a while. Damian sipped on his water occasionally, and Bentley called that good, hoping that Dick would be home soon to take over.

Bentley didn’t do much but lay somewhere when he was sick, but what would he want someone to do? He was already staying near Damian, which he’d want, but Damian wasn’t him and he’d already asked him to leave once.

This was so complicated.

He sucked in a breath again, glancing over at Damian momentarily, who was sitting in silence, too. Then he glanced at the copy of Jane Eyre he’d discarded on the coffee table to jump for the trash can.

“… Do you want me to… read to you?”

Damian looked over at him questioningly, so he continued: “…It always helps me feel better and fall asleep, when Jason does it.”

Damian shifted on the couch. “I’m not a subordinate child.”

Bentley quickly shut up and took to messing with the hem of his sleeves.

“… but, if you say it makes you fall asleep… I would not mind.”

For a moment, Bentley blinked, until his brain caught up and realized that was basically as close as he was going to get to a yes.

He grabbed the book and opened it to the first page (making sure to leave Jason’s bookmark where it was.) and sucked in a breath. Maybe reading like this would help him talk to people better.

So he started reading to someone else for the first time ever. Damian was there to correct all his mispronunciations from the other end of the couch. At one point he scooted closer to see a word Bentley was having trouble with, and ended up settling there, to aid Bentley’s reading, he’d said.

And an hour later, Bentley was reading quietly to himself, and Damian was curled up like some kind of cat next to him, sound asleep. His head was close to Bentley’s leg and he could still feel a bit of heat radiating from it. But at least he wasn’t… like… suffering.

Every now and then Damian moved around, and Bentley sat ramrod stiff until he settled back down again. Until once, he sort of whined in his sleep, and he realized his fever was high and he was probably having bad dreams. So he took a chance (that might’ve costed him a hand if he wasn’t careful) and did what Dick did to him — he ran a hand through Damian’s hair.

Which was sort of funny because he was sure Damian would throw him across the room if he were awake, but he wasn’t, and the movement seemed to be calming him down.

So Bentley did that and read quietly for a long time. Well, until Damian woke up enough to comprehend what was going on.

Fortunately, all he said was: “Don’t tell Grayson — he’ll be jealous.”

And then went back to sleep.

As stressful as the fainting and everything had been, Bentley was kind of glad for it at the end of the day. He felt like he’d done something for someone that actually mattered. And a small part of him wondered if he was allowed to call Damian his brother yet — because he really wanted to.

(Dick was wholeheartedly jealous when he got home and took about four thousand pictures Bentley had to promise not to tell Damian about, and Damian coincidentally forgot all about the head pets once his fever broke.)

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld💛

—

tag list (ask and I’ll add you!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

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sicjimin · 10 months

Note

Can you do jimin carsick on a normal day and how it annoys him that he started off his day being sick which makes him tired when compared to the other members so he's not as productive on the days where he gets carsick and there's no telling on which days he will because it's so unpredictable.

You can choose the caretaker who reassures him and gently gets jimin out of his frustration

a.n : a usual opening for my fic .. i'm sorry this take soooooo long to be fullfiled, i hope this won't disappoint you after the long wait, and i hope you're still around anon 🥲 thank you for requesting ! and sorry for the broken grammar all over, somehow after almost 2 months not writing, my english isn't english-ing

tw : emeto

Jimin isn't a hateful person per se, like .. if you had to sit him down in an interview, and they ask him to put it on the list someone or something that he hates, it would definitely take him longer than 5 minutes to give something out—or even none. Maybe he would put something silly like mangos, mint choco, and etc ; that would sent the members teasing him or the interviewer burst into giggles, as they all know, there's no actual hatred in Jimin's body for it.

But on some days, bad days to be exact—Jimin would love to be asked that kind of questions and he would answer it delightfully without having to think long ; and he definitely put every meaning into his answers.

It's being sick.

He hates being sick. No—scratch it. He loathes being sick.

And bless God for putting his soul in a petite body that's apparently : have a great resistance towards cruel and inhumane hours of dancing, but very weak against a moving object (re: cars, trains .. and every other transportations you could name). It's so .. goofy, if he think about it.

He hates how it comes on the most unpredictable times—sometimes when he's in rush hours and running late, or sometimes when he's already dealing with anxiety before something big—and how sometimes it comes even he already prevented it. A big gulp of benadryl, dramamine .. everything you named it ; in the morning, still got him dizzy and gagging at the parking lot in those bad days.

And lucky for him, today is one of those days—and it's just match perfectly how they got to shoot something a bit far away, 30 mins of ride if there's no traffic.

He starts to sense that something is going wrong in the first 10 minutes of ride—as he tries to tuned in with whatever conversation Taehyung and Jungkook get going on in front of him, and Yoongi quiet scroll through his phone—when he feels a familiar tightness around his middle area.

He takes a deep breath, hoping that it's just anxiety pooling in with the mental image of doing a shoot, mixed with his quite filling breakfast. It doesn't help much; a few more seconds pass with his hands balled up in fists, starting to sweat.

It happens so fast, like one moment he starts acknowleged the telltale of it—then another second it grows.

He feels dizzy now.

"Hyung ..", Jimin tries to switch his gaze from the quick passing of trees on the road, but his head feels heavier than before, as if his stomach had dropped. The pressure increases exponentially in his belly and he bites on his lower lip to stop the groan that threatens to slip out.

Yoongi snaps up from his phone, and when their eyes meet his gaze looks worried. "Jimin-ah, are you okay?", he asks quietly, eyes wide open, brows furrowed and worry written over his face. His voice comes out as a question, and his hand reach to rub circles on the younger's thigh in an effort to ease him.

Jimin shuts his eyes as he takes another deep gush of breathe, even with the darkness—everything is spinning around him. And he feels sickeningly warm at the same time. "Bag ..", he manages to utter, barely above a whisper—not trusting himself enough to be more detailed with whatever he's feeling. Or else their lap; Yoongi's and his; would be covered with his breakfast now.

Jimin could hear Yoongi's quiet curses, followed with loud fumbling around his bag and hushed call towards the others that seated in front—in between the ringing in his ears as his breakfast pooled right on his throat. Then, Yoongi's palm is under his chin as the rapper tap his shoulder.

He opened his eyes slowly, seeing bag already pushed towards him, "Here."

The elder's voice is quiet, worried, and there are tiny lines carved across his forehead like he was trying to figure something to do.

Jimin feels like he's not part of his body anymore everytime he feels sick—like it got another mind to control what his next moves and no room for Jimin to think and contemplate it. He barely got to mumbles a quiet "sorry" to his members—before his stomach curved in, forcing a quiet loud and gross gag filling the car. Tears pooling in his eyes with the force and embarassment that came with it. And he felt himself get pushed to the side, colliding with Yoongi's chest as the older wrapped his arms around him, and his low "It's okay .. you will feel better after this" get drowned with the next heaves, that apparently more productive as a mouthful of vomit splatter to the bag.

Jimin gasps, breathing heavily and panting from the overwhelming amount of nausea that has filled his system. He tried getting out of Yoongi's grip, yet the elder held him close as the smaller man shook, bending forward even more when his stomach pushing all his breakfast out, filling the bag rapidly without giving him room to breathe.

"Hyung .. sorry ..", Jimin coughed for a bit, then shook with another sickly retch as even more puke fountained out of his mouth.

Yoongi hums, keep rubbing small circles around his shoulder blade to comfort his trembling figure and keep him steady. Jimin keeps his eyes shut tightly, barely registering the concerned mumbles around him—as his body worked up, continued to let his stomach content out for quite some time before he doubled over with unproductive spasms.

Jimin slumps against Yoongi, almost completely limp, his head lulling to the side, lips slightly parted and his hair stuck against his neck.

"Jiminie," he heard Taehyung calls out, sounding worried "Are you alright?"

Jimin lets out a shaky breath, "I'm fine..", he mutters quietly, eyes still closed. "It just hurts a little.. my stomach.."

"Do you want us to stop somewhere?", he recognized that as Jin trying to sound caring and calm, but was clearly still worried.

"No... no it's fine.", Jimin says, "We're only few minutes away, right?"

"Yeah.", Jungkook replies, voice laced in worry. Jimin nods weakly at the youngest's reply.

The car went in silence and Jimin's body feels weak. But he can't afford to sleep when he needs to remain conscious—not until his stomach stops feeling so horrible. He just hopes that when he wakes back up he'll feel somewhat rested.

"Do you need something? you have your medicine with you?", Yoongi's quiet voices brings Jimin back to reality and he shakes his head, keeping his eyes not being open for too long in attempt to avoid the new round of nausea. "No.... to both. I think i forgot to take my meds this morning. I dont think today .. will be like this", he mumbled in between heavy breaths.

Jimin can imagine the concern look on Yoongi's expression—he knows his hyung, he would understand if it was him.

"Let's rest for awhile then.", Yoongi suggested calmly, rubbing small circles on his back again.

***

Jimin knows that his bout of sickness wont end simply with once episode of throwing up. He knows his body better than that—along with how he already lost count with waves of nausea that passes through his body since he stepped out of the car until now.

It's almost 2pm now, they already moved from the shoot location to the practice room as they need to rehearse few things for their new songs and upcoming shows.

Jimin frowned, looking at his reflection in the mirror like it's personally offended him when he got the moves wrong—no, he got it right but something feels off with how he did it. It's not .. perfect enough. He takes a deep breath, gulping down a whine out of frustration that been building up, and blinks—the room spins momentarily ; but he brushed it off—before moving his hand along with the beat on his head.

"Jimin-ah"

"Hm?", Jimin hums, choosing to look at Hoseok—that been eyeing him for the past minutes—through the mirror, so it doesn't break his focus.

"You should sit this down for a minute, take a rest", the older frowns, "You're pale"

"I know, I know," Jimin sighs, "But i cant, we have to go soon..."

"Jimin, you don't look good..."

"I will after this, just few minutes i promise", Jimin mumbles as he continues, trying his best to shake away the sudden nausea creeping back over him, "I'm okay, really"

"Jiminie..."

"Hobi hyung... please just trust me", Jimin pleaded, finally looking at his friends—and he can see Hoseok's hesitancy, but the older gives in anyway—leaning closer to check the other out more carefully. He watches as he reaches to pat his arm in reassurance.

Jimin smiles in appreciation, before turning his attention back to the choreography that he was supposed to master perfectly before their run through.

It takes him a while to get everything back into place—he isn't sure whether that's because his vision is starting to blur or because of the sweat dripping down his temples. But he can't complain, he has to concentrate, otherwise this whole practice session could turn into vain.

He closes his eyes tightly, feeling the nausea becoming more intense along with his movement. Taking a deep breathe even through the help of his parted lips didn't help. His tongue felt thick and cottony in his mouth, and he knows he probably won't last much longer.

Just as he thought that—just when he was about to move one foot to make the next step forward, his stomach turns once again—this time causing him to bend forward. A wave of nausea hits him and the taste of bile floods in his mouth. He gags, quickly clamped his mouth as his lunch burns through his throat and filling his cheeks.

His eyes widen, panic washing over him as his stomach rolls again, pushing more intense gag that he knows will breaking his composure.

He barely register that someone called out for him—that Yoongi and Hoseok been on his side, ready to help—when he makes a run to the bathroom.

He cant throw up here.

He slams the bathroom door open with a slim time—he gagged into the palm of his hand and turned toward the nearest sink instead. Jimin doubled over and spewed a chunky stream of vomit into the sink. He barely aware with the rush of footsteps behind him, the sudden touch going up and down over his back, and how his already grown hair not spilling all over the sink—as he's too busy following his stomach command. Over and over he shuddered and spewed out chunks of his half-digested lunch.

"Ssh, Jimin, breathe ..", Yoongi cooed at him, holding onto his shoulders to keep him steady—while Hoseok stood by the sink, watching Jimin vomit out his meal with his face scrunched.

"Hoba", Yoongi croaked out as his fingers found their way under Jimin's hair and pulled it back, grimacing as his voice drowned with the younger heaves, "Can you bring him water and towel?"

Hoseok nodded, rushing out of the room, secretly glad that he didn't have to witness it for a moment as his own stomach starts to turn as well.

"Hyung ..", Jimin paused, panting, and let his mouth hang open as nausea still thick lacing over him. "This is so gross", he chokes out before another retch soon overcame and water rushes out of him.

Yoongi chuckles, "Yeah it is .. but it's okay, you have to let it out"

***

After Jimin vomits for what seemed like ages, though he knew it was only about ten minutes, Hoseok comes with Yoongi's request—towel and bottle of cold water in hands. "Are you feeling better?", he cooed at the younger that slumped against the sink as he rinses his mouth, eyes rid rimmed and filled with tears—while Yoongi steadily held him by waist ; afraid that the younger legs might gave out anytime soon.

Jimin groans softly, wiping his forehead with the towel, "A bit.."

"That's good", Hoseok smiles, "You need to go home"

"Go home?!", Jimin splutters, brows furrowed. "You can't tell me that."

Hoseok laughs, "Yes I do, you must be exhausted", he pauses briefly, "You've practiced a lot. That's enough, and you're not feeling good"

"I already feel better!", Jimin whines, shaking his head furiously before he cut out with a gasps, as dizziness rushing through him and makes him lose his footing.

"Jiminie .."

"See? You barely can hold yourself up", Hoseok points out, helping Jimin lean against Yoongi that been quiet. "Hyung can go with you"

"Hyung ..", Jimin whines again, moving his gaze towards Yoongi, hoping that the latter would help him somehow.

He still needs to practice ! There's a lot of movement that he hasn't perfected yet ! How can they make him go home?

"Jimin," Yoongi calls his name sternly, and Jimin knows Yoongi is serious this time. "You're not doing a great job either right now"

Jimin groans at that, knowing it's true. The younger is not in control anymore, and it hurts his stomach to even move at all. Jimin hates having an effect on everyone around him, especially those close to him—they shouldn't have to worry about his health when it comes to their career.

"Okay", Jimin looks down, suddenly feeling too tired to argue. "I'm sorry hyung"

"No, no. Don't apologize", Hoseok assures him; "You've already done enough".

Jimin sighs, "Okay.."

"Here, drink some water first", Hoseok said gently. Jimin nods slowly, opening the bottle of water and taking a sip. "Good boy, now go home with your hyung and take a rest", Hoseok ruffles his hair, smiling warmly at Jimin who returned it weakly. "And call me when you get home"

"I will hyung"

They watch as Hoseok walks out, leaving Jimin alone with Yoongi. Jimin lets out a soft sigh, leaning further towards Yoongi's chest, "I'm sorry you have to go out early too with me. I can go home al—"

"Nah", Yoongi cuts him out, as he trailed behind the younger. "Thank you for letting me out early", he chuckles. "You know sometimes rest doesn't hurt, and i'm sure everyone won't do much either today"

Jimin huffs, tugging Yoongi's sleeves to walk closer with him unconsciously, "But we only have few weeks left—"

"And you have been performing for 10 years, Min .. a day of rest won't reducing your performance", Yoongi smiled fondly at him, wrapping his arms securely around his body, "Let's rest today okay? We can continue tomorrow."

"Okay", Jimin sighs, knowing Yoongi will always find the counter attack if he's going on and on—then fine, he'll allow himself to go a little off the beat this one afternoon.

#bts sickfic #bts emeto #tw emeto #tw vomit #sick!jimin #caretaker!yoongi

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sickficideas · 6 months

Note

☠️ and 🧹 for dazai?

Sick or Treat!

Thank you anon!! Here's what I chose for these two and they're both below :)) I like them I might post them on ao3 too just for fun hehe

🧹 (Motionsickness) - ADA Dazai + Kunikida (Warnings: emeto)

☠️ (Spiked) - PM Dazai + Chuuya (Warnings: emeto, vomiting blood, references to Dazai's unhealthy eating habits, poisoning)

🧹 (Motionsickness) - ADA Dazai + Kunikida

“How come I didn't know about this sooner?” Kunikida says with an exasperated sigh.

“It's, uh - usually not very - hic - consistent,” Dazai half jokes, not able to keep up the charade for much longer. One hand is pressed against his tummy and the other grips the armrest, like he's somehow hoping it'll make him less nauseous, but it's a losing battle.

Kunikida is kind of a race car-style driver, and not in the fun way, the kind where Dazai can usually only handle small amounts at a time. That usually works out pretty okay, they're never in the car for long, but today is an exception.

“I'm trying to pull over, give me a second,” Kunikida murmurs nervously.

“Not sure how long I can wait, partner,” Dazai manages, mistaking the pressure in his esophagus for a burp that he tries to cover up with a fist pressed to his lips, but it's much more than that. Suddenly a mouthful of hot liquid fills up his mouth and splashes against the back of his teeth, but he's lucky that it's small enough for him to swallow back with a sickly gulp. He knows there's more coming, though, with the way his tummy is sloshing around under his hand.

“Did you just -” Kunikida stammers, wide eyed for a moment before he reaches back behind Dazai's seat and pulls out a little trash bag. Dazai's lucky he's the type of person to keep his car in order. He really doesn't feel like throwing up all over his shoes today.

Dazai takes the bag with shaky hands, and it feels as if the moment he takes his hand off his tummy is when the floodgates open. He burps as he rustles the bag to open it a little more and that bit of vomit he swallowed comes right back up, rushing over his tongue and splattering into the thin plastic bag in his hands, sagging at the bottom.

“Shit, Dazai,” Kunikida mumbles, reaching a hand over to lay on his shoulder as the car starts to slow down. Dazai would very much like for it to drop but he knows there's not much Kunikida can do where they're driving right now, but before he can reply, he groans through another nauseous burp that brings up a thick gush of vomit into the bag, nearly missing it and landing on the floorboard.

“Sorry,” he manages, leaning back for a moment to catch his breath, a belch forcing itself up and nearly threatening more of his lunch to come with it as Kunikida is finally able to stop the car.

“It's fine,” Kunikida assures him, his hand moving to Dazai's back to rub circles into it. “Thought I was an okay driver.”

“My tummy - bllrpp - disagrees,” Dazai whines as he leans forward again, spitting up the saliva that's pooled in his mouth. His tummy is still turning and twisting even now that the car has stopped, but he's hoping it'll calm down soon.

Dazai thinks he might be done, but of course the second he lets his guard down, a third, much thicker gush of hot vomit comes up from his throat, forcing a gag out from how heavy it is, and he's unlucky enough to actually have the pleasure to completely miss the bag and throw up all over his shoes, thick chunks of vomit sliding off the leather and onto the floorboard to join the rest of the pile.

Dazai's noticed that Kunikida's hand has suddenly stopped.

“Now Kunikida's really gonna kill me,” Dazai mumbles, sheepish eyes trailing up to meet Kunikida's, who looks as pale as a sheet.

“No, it's…it's fine,” he somehow manages to say, even though he's clearly seething with something. Rage, disgust, who knows. Fair reaction to someone who has just thrown up in his newly cleaned car.

...

☠️ (Spiked) - PM Dazai + Chuuya

“Chuuya,” Dazai murmurs, pulling at Chuuya's coat like a child and whining like one too, just like he always does.

Chuuya doesn't have the patience for this today. He wants to leave this snobby mafia party and go to bed, and he's sure Dazai wants to do the same. He's not sure why he needs to waste their time by going on his nerves, too.

“What, Dazai?” he grumbles, whipping around to see Dazai's half-concealed pale pace, pouting at him. Chuuya's a little too loud, evidently, a few suited men turn around at the sound.

“My tummy hurts,” Dazai mumbles quietly, keeping a loose grip on Chuuya's coat.

“It always hurts. You're shit at taking care of it,” Chuuya reminds him, not having the heart to swat his hand away, for some reason. “Maybe you should eat some of this food they have instead of starving every day for fun.”

“I did eat some,” he whines. “When they were bringing the trays around, they had crab…and they served it with liquor, too…”

“Yeah, you love your crab, don't you…” Chuuya sighs. He really shouldn't drink at something like this, but he'll do what he wants. “Let's go out to the halls. I hate being around all these people.”

Dazai doesn't agree or disagree, but he doesn't let go of Chuuya's coat, so Chuuya takes that as a sign to lead him out of the fancy ballroom and into one of the outer halls, away from the crowd. Dazai's hand loses its grip as they're walking and Chuuya just keeps weaving through the crowds and wandering forward until he makes it to the hallway, relieved to be away from all the people.

But the moment he turns around to make sure Dazai followed him, he realizes the latter is leaned against the wall, a hand pressed up to his mouth, very clearly only seconds away from vomiting, and Chuuya's eyes are there to witness it. It sprays from between his fingers with quite a bit of force and he pulls his hand away with a little whimper, only to burp up even more of the thick substance over the ornate carpet.

Okay, he was serious about his stomach hurting.

Chuuya's a little afraid of getting close to him, he doesn't necessarily want to get puked on, but Dazai loses his balance the very second his extra hand lifts off of the wall, and Chuuya runs forward to catch him.

He's careful about getting his face too close to his clothes, he doesn't want the vomit from his lips to smear, but as he takes Dazai's shoulders back to make sure he stays upright, a shiver shoots up his spine when he realizes it's blood.

It hasn't been blood this whole time. His eyes dart over to the splatters on the floor and they're the color he would expect of vomit, with that same consistency - slimy and gross, but this on his lips is blood, and he leans over Chuuya's arm to gag and spit up an entire mouthful of it.

“Dazai,” Chuuya says sternly, so nervous he feels nauseous himself. This isn't normal. He presses a hand against his cheek, expecting a fever, but he's cold. He's horrifically pale.

“They pois’n’d me,” Dazai murmurs, evidently already having realized this, hardly able to say it, “Chuuya needs to help me…”

“Who was it, Dazai?” Chuuya stammers, wracking his brain for a face, but he doesn't think he was even looking. It must have been when that tray with the crab came around. Dazai groans in pain, his body starting to go limp, but not before Chuuya hears him swallow back what he can only hope is sick.

“I don’ wanna die like this,” Dazai murmurs as his body falls forward, against Chuuya's smaller frame, “gonna hurt…it hurts real’ bad, Chuuya…”

Chuuya grits his teeth. Dazai is dramatic, ridiculously so, but he's not kidding, the symptoms Chuuya can see are proof enough.

“I'm gonna get someone to help you.”

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dutifullyshamelessearthquake · 2 months

Note

(Heya, it's Aery)

So Im Not the anon that just sent a generalized 'sick tighnari' recently, but as Ive been casually embroiled in my own sick tighnari writing i Am curious! do you have any major head canons for him?

either for canon or for your modern au

(fun fact! you are the first person with a major modern au in any fandom Ive ever read more than the tiniest bit of bc I usually stay deep in canonverse. it's so good! I just had to gush a bit here ><)

Oh I'll take any excuse to talk more about one of my favourite boys, hehe! I've actually been thinking more and more about doing some writing actually situated in the canon universe, so this is a good opportunity to jot down some headcanons for canon Tighnari! (Don't get me wrong, I adore my modern au and it's not going anywhere, but the itch to write something more canon has recently started poking its head out.)

I did just compile a list of emeto-specific headcanons for Tighnari in my modern AU here, for those who want to check those out!

Also omg that means a lot to me!! I'm so happy you enjoy modern au!! Thank you so much! (Honestly I need to properly name it at some point)

- Tighnari's ears move a lot, twitching at sounds, turning this way and that when he's listening to things, etc. But when it comes to showing emotion, he fights them from moving so freely. He doesn't like the idea of people knowing how he's feeling because of the movement of his ears or tail for that matter. If you catch him actually pinning his ears back or flattening them, you caught him at a really bad time. The opposite is also true, if something made his tail actually wag, that had to be something huge.

- We all like to hyperfixate on his sensitive hearing, but his sense of smell is definitely also spectacular. It's saved him from accidentally eating something that's gone off, multiple times.

- Despite how much loud noises hurt his sensitive ears, Tighnari never covers them with something. Anything that remotely muffles the sound feels like taking away one of his biggest defenses. He simply doesn't like it.

- Tighnari really easily adapts to sleeping in unfamiliar places. Camping out in the rainforest is no less comfortable than his own bed.

- He has excellent night vision, and quite enjoys doing the occasional overnight patrol. But despite having a handful of built in nocturnal instincts, he still prefers to primarily sleep at night and work during the day.

#earthquake author's note #sickfic #headcanons

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danafeelingsick · 3 months

Text

Novemetober 2023

Also happy Valentine's day ❤️

@monthofsick

Prompt list | Masterlist | AO3 collection

Day 14: Can't keep anything down

* combined prompts visibly ill and out of character

Word count: 1.4k~

CONTENT WARNINGS: narrated in 2nd person, y/n is a maid at Dawn Winery in this one, gender-neutral reader, descriptions of vomiting, descriptions of food

Anon asked: Hi, for the Nov(emeto)ber 2023 requests, could I have Diluc with prompt 14. Can't keep anything down? Thanks!

(let me know if you want to be tagged!)

A/N: so, whenever i'm feeling down i daydream about being one of diluc’s maids and these very overindulgent scenarios of one of being sick and the other, you get the gist. I was writing this myself anyways and it reeks of overindulgent mary sue. hope it's serviceable, i live in shame!

Dawn Winery's upper floor would usually be empty by the afternoon, when the staff would focus its efforts on cleaning after lunch. You found it perfect, at least no one else would see if master Diluc were to reprimand you for being nosy. You had already made up your mind.

You weren't the only one wondering why the young master hadn't left his room the entire day. While it wouldn't be out of place to say he could’ve left during the night on a one-man-expedition, no one had seen him leave. And you didn't think you could wait a week or even a month without notice to confirm that theory.

You reached his room, and found the door locked, though that didn't stop you from knocking. You listened closely for any sounds on the other side, and after what felt like several moments of silence, you knocked again for good measure, before you accepted that he had really left.

It took a minute. You only heard the muffled steps when they were already close, and the creak of the door as it crept open. It was just enough for the young master to shily peek through.

You almost didn’t recognize him at first. Behind the mop of fiery curls, his heavy-lidded eyes brimmed with tears, standing out against his pale complexion. His freckled nose and cheeks were also flushed pink, which made you suspect he could’ve been dealing with a high fever.

You had been right to worry. Diluc looked like death warmed over, and must’ve been feeling like it as well, judging by his affixed frown. His usually put together appearance was something you couldn't evoke at the moment. He slouched against the doorframe, shivering despite still being dressed in his pajamas. Could it be that the man had just gotten out of bed?

“What is it…?”, when he finally spoke, after staring at you for a while, his voice was hoarse, barely louder than a whisper.

“Ah…, pardon my intrusion! I've come to, uh, check if you need anything”, you started, already losing yourself on the script you had rehearsed. “The other maids were worried. You haven't left your room all morning, so, uh…”, as the words fell out of your mouth, Diluc’s expression seemed to sink. “Master Diluc?”

For a moment, you thought he was going to keel over, he certainly looked like he would at any moment. Heaving a shaky sigh, Diluc closed his eyes, and ran a shaky hand over his face.

“What time is it again?”, he asked slowly, as if the words weren't coming to him as easily.

“It should be around midday”, you responded, watching as Diluc pauses, his palm pressed to his eye.

“A-Already…?”, he muttered, to himself rather than to you, and combed his fingers through his hair. Red strands stuck to his clammy skin, beaded with sweat. “I must've lost track of time… I don't think I did all th… —”

The sentence turns to muttering as he presses his forehead to the door frame, looking frustrated as his eyes slide shut. You observed him for a moment longer. The man breathes heavily, his whole body trembling noticeably under the thin fabric of his pajamas, his eyebrows pinned into a frown. It almost feels like a scene you weren’t meant to see, you worry he would simply fall asleep on the spot.

“Um, sir?”, you spoke up, raising a hand as needing to leap and catch him mid-fall was becoming a real possibility. Thankfully, he opens his eyes at your call, blinking as if he barely recognized you. “Is everything okay? You don't seem well.”

Diluc glances up at you through his eyelashes, his look nearly pleading. He hums weakly, managing to nod.

“I-I believe I might be… sick”, he confesses, and it almost sounds like he's embarrassed. “I don't know when… it got this bad, but…”, he pauses, swallowing thickly. “I don't feel well at all.”

You hummed thoughtfully, taken aback by his honesty. He sounded so vulnerable, timid almost, you had never seen such a side of him before. You had never taken him for someone who would ask for help either, as quietly and reserved as you thought him to be.

“Oh no… Is there anything I could get you? Some tea, or maybe…”, you offered. “Have you eaten yet? Lunch has already been served, but I could still arrange something, if you wish.”

At your offer, the young master lets escape an uncomfortable sound, though he doesn't make an effort to hide it. He slowly shakes his head, his expression still tense.

“I haven’t had much appetite as of late”, he tells you quietly, swallowing as his hand wanders to his abdomen. You see the fabric of his pajamas stick to and can't help but think he looked rather thin without his black coat. “Wouldn’t it be too much trouble if I asked for something light on the stomach?”

“Of course not, I can make you some soup in a few minutes”, you promptly reassure him, to which he gives a slow nod. “Okay. Try to rest while I’m away, alright?”

“Ah, of course. Thank you… I’ll try”, he lets out a small chuckle, though that glint in his eye doesn't last. You try not to dwell on it as you bow and take your leave.

You softly knock on the door, a tray of hot soup balanced in your other hand and a moment later, you let yourself in. The young master sleepily glanced up at you from his bed, peeking from under a nest of red curls. He still shivered, even cooped up under several blankets. You feel the urge to feel his forehead and check for yourself the fever he was running, but you knew you would be overstepping at that point.

“Master Diluc?”, you call, trying to keep your voice hushed. “I’ve brought your soup.”

“Ah, right… thank you”, he answers weakly, his expression becoming somewhat strained. You wait as he begins to sit up, one hand wandering under the covers to hold his stomach.

You gently place the tray on his lap and he regards its contents with a slight frown, his lips pressed thin. You were able to make a simple cream soup in less than half an hour, careful to keep its flavor mild and texture smooth. It didn't look bad to you, but you didn't blame the young master for being cautious.

You see his throat shift as he swallows, his mouth seemingly watering.

“Take it slowly. Try a spoonful and if you feel you can't swallow it, just spit it out”, you told him, unfolding a napkin for safety.

Diluc is hesitant at first, but he does as you say and picks up a spoon, trying a small sip. His face is tense if not unreadable, his hand floats up to his mouth, but he manages to swallow it.

There is a pause before he stiffly eats more, his expression turning sour as he forces it down. It isn't exactly pleasant to watch, but you are somewhat relieved he is at least trying. You let him eat in silence, managing to get through half of the plate before his face turns to disgust.

“You don't need to eat it all if you can't”, you warn him, but he simply shakes his head, forcing down another spoonful of warm soup.

“N-No, I… want to eat it”, he replies weakly, his voice held back by his spasming throat.

“Just… remember to pace yourself”, you advise him as he goes for yet another bite. “The food is not going to run away from you.”

Before he has the chance to respond, the man freezes, the empty spoon still lingering by his lip when a nauseated moan stumbles out of his lips. That is the only warning he can give as he starts reversing and his cheeks suddenly fill. You can practically hear the soup swirling inside his mouth before he clasps a hand over it and desperately tries to swallow.

You think fast and grab a few napkins, balling it into a makeshift nest before you hold it to his chin.

“Ah, here!”, you try to tell him, but Diluc refuses, stopping mid head shake when his stomach visibly heaves under his thin shirt.

“H— URK!” Vomit sprays out from between the cracks of Diluc's fingers, coating his hand in the warm pale slurry that had become the soup he ate just moments prior. Some of it drips uselessly into the cloth held out, staining your gloves as well as the entire front of his once white shirt, making it nearly see-through as it sticks to his chest.

“EuRgh!” He gags graphically, pulling his soiled hand away as his mouth falls open.

This time you manage to hold the cloth under his chin, catching the next surge of undigested soup as it pours out of his lips. It quickly soaks into the fabric, staining it a deeper sickly yellow from the bile. You grimace as you notice it somehow feels even hotter than when it was plated.

For the sake of your own gag reflex you look away, affording the young master a smidge of privacy as he continues to empty his stomach. He heaves weakly, releasing another stream of vomit into your hands, the pungent smell of digestive acid takes hold of the room. You hear liquid gurgle in the back of his throat as it tapers off, and he sets off coughing as if he's drowning. It sounds painful, and you don't doubt it feels like hell on his throat and already sensitive stomach.

You risked a glance as you heard Diluc hiccup, seemingly done, though you didn't expect to find his eyes screwed shut, clear tear tracks trailing down his cheeks. His face was a mess of sick and snot, beet red as if he was straining to hold in his sobs. You took pity on him, though you decided to act on it rather than show.

Quickly, you fold the soiled napkins and leave it on the tray, exchanging it for a clean. Diluc’s breath hitches as he feels you touch him, though he doesn't try to pull away from it.

“Shh, it's okay”, you ease him, running the cloth over his mouth. He takes it from you, busying himself with it as you pull his hair out of the way, grimacing at the heaviness of the matted now vomit-soaked hair.

“I-I’m sorry, I — ”, he tries to apologize, his voice bordering on a whimper, but you stop him, offering tender words instead.

“No, no, it's fine”, you insist, picking up the tray, trying not to look at the mess in it. “I’ll clean it over here and then I’ll prepare a bath for you, okay? We can try again later with… maybe, something else.”

#emetophilia #emeto #vomiting #tw vomit #tw emeto #gen/shin imp/act #sickfic prompts #novemetober 2023 #novemetober day 14 #d/iluc g/enshin i/mpact #di/luc gen/shin impact #sick!diluc #x y/n #self-insert

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emetogirl · 11 months

Note

I had something amazing happen last night, but before I share I feel I need to give some context:

My gf is a bit older than I am, and way more experienced with alcohol and bar hopping. When we first met, I had never even thrown up from drinking too much. Throughout our time together, she's taken care of me as I've tested my limits. This is actually quite a big deal for me, as I've never thrown up in front of anyone but my mother. There was one evening in particular when I accidentally mixed alcohol and antibiotics and got extremely ill. At the time I was in denial about being into emeto, but I found myself constantly reliving her taking care of me on that night.

Fast forward to now: I got cross faded last night and had a bit too much. I told her that I felt like I needed to puke, so she went to the bathroom with me. She tied my hair into a bun and started rubbing my back. I gagged a few times but nothing came up, so she offered to use her fingers on my throat. I agreed, and she gently stuck two fingers in and tried to trigger my gag reflex. My whole body shuddered and I almost puked, but nothing came up again. She told me it would be more effective if she did it twice in quick succession, so I let her use her fingers two more times. All the while, she was petting my head with her other hand and telling me I was being a good girl + other gentle encouragements. I was really having trouble bringing anything up, so at one point she even pressed on my stomach while rubbing the back of my throat.

I ended up getting incredibly turned on from the whole thing, and was acting a bit guilty and odd once we finally got to bed. We ended up having sex (although she was nervous about making me sick), and she remarked that I seemed even more into it than usual. I sheepishly admitted that I had gotten really excited when we were in the bathroom and then immediately apologized for sexuallizing a situation that wasn't sexual for her.

She asked me a lot of questions about how my emeto kink works (what turns me on and what doesn't, what I fantasize about etc). She even started teasing me and implied that she was actually trying to turn me on when we were in the bathroom, because she had a suspicion I might be into it. She was completely fine with what had just happened and after I explained everything she just said "Baby, I'll make you puke if you want." I just stared at her in stunned silence for a long minute. "What...what did you say?"

She repeated it and assured me that she was being genuine. She doesn't seem to think it's gross or a big deal; she just wants to indulge me. We've done a somewhat similar kink in the past, so I know she might even get off on it a bit too. I feel so relieved and also grateful I ended up with such an open minded person.

WOAH🔥🔥 this is unbelievably hot n spicy. Please keep us updated!!! Love this story so so much

#emeto #emetophilia #irl sick #irlsickstory #vomit tw #nausea #emeto tw #puke #caretaking

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crinkled-emotions · 6 months

Text

Day 1: Nights spent by the toilet, rubbing A's shoulder

We're finally here! I kinda felt like maybe I wouldn't get to this point but here we are, ready to publish day 1!

The way these are going to work is very similar to my other fics: they will vary in length, the warnings will be the first thing you see (where applicable) and then the fic itself will be under a readmore. We're starting with a bang, but there are a couple different types of fics coming with multiple ships and, of course, some Dagger time!

This particular fic was partially inspired by one I wrote last December - find it here!

Warnings for this fic: emeto

Rapping his knuckles on the bar table in front of Phoenix and Bob, Payback immediately had their attention.

“Bagman’s out the front pukin’, might want to go check on him.”

“Why not you?” Bob replied. Payback sent him a look and Bob sighed.

“Well it can’t be me either; I already lined up a game of pool with Fanboy and Rooster.”

With that, Bob got up and followed Payback into the crowd, leaving Phoenix on her lonesome. For such a big team, no one really minded having a moment to themselves. She glanced around the Hard Deck, taking in the rest of her team. Coyote was nowhere to be found which was odd; he was usually one of the first to suggest a team outing on a Saturday night, shortly followed by Hangman. Considering how much they fed off each other’s shithead energy, no one was really shocked that Penny had them thrown overboard at least once a month... maybe twice, if they were really leaning into their naughty adult children act (terrorising Rooster at the piano). She’d barely seen Hangman tonight, but a glance from Penny and Maverick told her they had information she could use. As she walked past she gently touched Rooster’s shoulder. She always did it when passing him- he did it too. They used it as a way to check in with each other more than anything.

Up at the bar, Penny offered Phoenix a bottle of water and a gentle smile.

“I saw Seresin looking a little green earlier; do you want Mav to come with you?”

“Hey!” Maverick protested, but the corner of his lips twitched upwards. Phoenix shook her head.

“I’ve known Seresin since before either of us were legally allowed to drink; we’re fine. If Bob asks tell him I’m taking Hangman home.”

“Sure thing.”

Penny walked off to serve an incoming customer, but Maverick paused for a moment.

“Are you sure, Tasha? I was only joking-“

“-it’s better that you don’t, he’ll crawl out of his skin,” Phoenix reassured, “it’s nothing personal.”

“I understand. We’re here if you need anything.”

Never had Phoenix met a CO like Maverick; though, to be fair, she wasn’t sure there was anyone like Maverick. Paternal but firm and with a quick temper. She’d been one of the only people allowed to know the full story between him and Bradley; it felt like a privilege and she continued to treat it as one.

“Hey; what’s going on? Did your drink get spiked?”

Natasha had seen Jake in a lot of compromising positions over the almost ten years of knowing each other; from her roommate’s bed in the academy to the stomach flu of ’09 that had taken out him, her and Bradley all in one swoop. It’s still a topic all of them refuse to talk about. Sitting in the dirt around the side of the Hard Deck, Phoenix barely blinked as she reached to help him up. Jake grimaced.

“Wait, don’t move me yet. I didn’t get spiked; I think it’s a cold at worst. Relax, Tasha.”

Another thing Phoenix learned very early on in their frenemyship; Hangman will understate everything going on in the hopes it gets him left alone until he’s ready to accept help (read: most likely requiring hospital treatment or, at the very least, a cleaner with a strong stomach... cooking dinner ended up requiring both once).

“Yeah, sure, and I haven’t done this for you before. Do you know where Coyote is?”

“He’s not here.”

“I know that; where is he specifically?”

In response, Jake just shrugged and Phoenix determined if she didn’t laugh, she’d probably smack him. Hefting an arm around her shoulder, she pulled him to stand. Immediately he snorted and Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Okay, man, out with it.”

“Have you ever thought of suing the county? Y’know, for putting the sidewalk too close to your ass- ow! Hey, I’m sick!”

That time, he did get smacked.

With his keys in hand, Natasha guided (read: dragged) Jake back to his truck. Climbing into the driver’s seat she sighed and reached for the handle to pull it forward; for someone who had just lost everything they’d eaten over the last 24 hours, Jake seemed to find this rather funny from the passenger seat.

“Fuck you, Seresin.”

That shut him up for the time being. They only had a short window to get him home before the nausea would take over and Phoenix wasn’t down for pulling over for him to hurl on the side of a street.

In the end they barely made it back to his place. Phoenix had barely pulled up before he threw himself out the passenger side to gag rather dramatically on to his driveway. She rounded the back of the truck to put a hand on his back, wincing at the warmth radiating off his body. Jake shivered, turning to look at Natasha.

“This sucks.”

She snorted.

“It does, even more when it’s not because you had tequila the night before. C’mon, you aren’t doing anything else but going to bed tonight.”

“No, wait; I don’t think I’m done.”

“You’re empty, dude. Anything further and you’re gonna tear your throat.”

Jake winced, sucking in a breath.

“Promise you’re not gonna laugh?”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

Jake might have laughed, but it was shortly followed by a grimace. Using her body weight like they’d taught her in basic, Natasha hauled him up to stand.

“Let’s make this quick,” Jake said. Natasha winced.

“Gotcha. Bedroom or bathroom?”

Jake stayed quiet. Natasha got the hint.

With Hangman curled up in the bathroom for the time being, Phoenix took the opportunity to take a quick inventory of the kitchen and medicine basket on top of his refrigerator. He had Tylenol but no Advil; everything in the refrigerator was either expired, meal prepped or not useful in this situation (read: a carton of milk). She huffed, glancing over her shoulder.

“Hey Bagman, you do know what a cheat day is right?”

No response. She couldn’t blame him.

At least he had a thermometer; she’d guesstimated he had a fever but confirmation would be a good start. Finally, she located bottled water in the mostly empty pantry and she grabbed a couple to put by the couch. After a couple minutes of searching she paused in her steps when she heard the retching start again. Phoenix cursed under her breath and jogged back to the bathroom. Doordashing those missing supplies could wait.

“Jake? You good?”

“Fine,” he groaned, “just nauseous.”

He was so past the point of nauseous. Tentatively, Phoenix took a seat on the bathroom floor by his side. Her hand hovered over his shoulders for a moment, eventually making contact with his shirt when his arms came up to brace himself over the toilet.

“You know what you need?” She started after a moment. Hangman turned to glance at her over his shoulder.

“A hug?”

“A toothbrush.”

Despite the fact that Hangman was miserable as fuck and Phoenix could feel her skin starting to crawl considering the stench of puke in the room, they both snorted.

For the first thirty seconds of being awake, Phoenix couldn’t remember where she was or why she wasn’t in her bed. Instinctively she went to glance over her shoulder just to make sure she didn’t have someone else in her bed, only to meet the back of the couch... wait. That wasn’t her couch. It was Hangman’s. She’d crashed there after finally managing to get him into bed, promising to listen out in case he needed help in the night. By the time she’d gotten him to bed he’d brushed his teeth, had a couple sips of water and downed Tylenol, and was ready to pass out until the cycle restarted.

Sure enough; it had indeed started.

Phoenix got up, heading through Hangman’s room and into his ensuite. Crouched over the toilet, Hangman looked like he was not having a good time between the sweating, shaking, and the... y’know, the retching probably didn’t help. The offer of comfort came a lot easier to Phoenix that time, kneeling by him to calmly rub his back when he winced.

“You alright?” Phoenix asked. Hangman hummed, reaching up to wipe at his forehead.

“Killin’ me.”

“Well, work should be quiet on Monday if you’re dead. Maybe I should go, leave you to die in peace.”

“Don’t go.”

Oh. That was new.

“Sit back. I think you’re good for now.”

Phoenix reached for the face towel sitting on the end of the sink, dunked it in the water, and then handed it over.

“You and me; we take this to the grave. Clear?” She said. Jake nodded, groaning as he turned to rest his head on her shoulder. Natasha went quiet for a moment, then she checked for a fever again.

“I have an idea. Get up, asshole, I can carry you I just don’t want to.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Of all the things Natasha had expected Jake to do, she didn’t even think about getting all of five minutes into the shitty late night show she’d left on low only for Jake to toss a pillow on to her lap and rest his head on it, pulling her hand into his hair.

“You good?”

“My stomach hates me more right now than it did in flight school.”

Natasha snorted in amusement, her hand remaining on his shoulder.

“If you promise not to hurl on me, you can stay there.”

He slowly drifted to sleep. Despite the fact that her thighs were probably going to die if he slept long enough to start feeling better, Phoenix figured there were worse places for him to be.

#Top Gun Maverick #Top Gun: Maverick #TGM #Natasha Phoenix Trace #Natasha Trace #Phoenix #Callsign: Phoenix #Jake Hangman Seresin #Jake Seresin #Hangman #Callsign: Hangman #sickfic #emeto #G's Dec 2023 Prompts!#Day 1

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