#stress induced emeto

[secretobsessionstuff]

nawwwhh man you aint gotta feel bad about not doin sicktember. im bein real here, i thought i was and i did like 3, so i aint either. but if you really do want me to request one, i'd probably do psychogenic fever/stress induced illness with madix bein sickie bc itd relate to me personally the most (bc i always get stress sick and i'd love to see madix sick witb it too (bonis point if dakota take care of him GOD i loved the fic where dakote took care of him))

Hey man, thanks for always being there and loving my fics. I hope you like this one even though it's nearly two fucking years late I swear.

This fic is set in the past when Madix and Dakota are in school together.

CW: Graphic description of vomiting! It's seriously so gross I love it lol.

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

A flood of relieved students rushed past Dakota. He swam against the current looking for Madix among the test-takers. Since it was 2pm, they were no longer test-takers, but the sea of knowledge inside their brains would still be there until the PTSD of organic chemistry was washed away by time. 

Dakota knew how anxious Madix had been for this final. The dreaded Orgo Chem kept his roommate up for the past three nights. It was a known fact that this second-year course was a killer, and Madix’s prof was a distinguished serial killer. Many students retook Orgo in the summer, trying for that passing grade with perhaps a more lenient prof. 

With the hallway now empty—all the students having left—it was easy for Dakota to find Madix. He hadn’t expected his friend to stick around after the final was over, but there he was sitting on the floor by the large windows. Madix looked like a crab, trying to find safety in the shell of his hunched over back. He had his head in his hands and was rubbing his temples as if the trauma of the exam pooled behind his eyes. 

“Hey, how did it go?” It was a very pointless question given that Madix was curled into a question mark. 

“Fuck if I know,” Madix slurred as he slid his hands down his face. “I keep going over every question, doubting my answers.” 

“Well, it’s over now so you don’t need to think about it.” It worried Dakota how glassy and fragile Madix’s eyes looked, like he was about to cry or explode into flames. His cheeks were pale and sunken too. 

“I need a 73 to pass the class.” 

Dakota squinted. “Mmh sounds like you’re still thinking about it.” 

Madix dropped his hands to his side. “I can’t stop. That exam is all I’ve been thinking about for the last week. I haven’t even had time to study for Anatomy tomorrow.”

With a sigh, Dakota sat down on the floor next to his friend. “I brought you something to take your mind off studying.” From behind his back, Dakota revealed a fast-food bag from the student lounge. It was Madix’s favourite place to get comfort food because of the crispy fries, the juicy burger, and the creamy milkshake. Madix didn’t like to indulge that craving too often because it was a greasy cheat meal that often left him feeling bloated, but Dakota thought it would be a nice gesture since Madix had hardly eaten anything leading up to this exam. 

He was about to hand his friend the grease-wrapped gift, but hesitated. The heat coming off Madix’s body was alarming. Dakota could feel the waves just sitting next to him. A quick touch to Madix’s forehead with the back of his hand told Dakota that he’d been neglecting his roommate. 

“Shit, Mads, you’re burning up. I didn’t know you were sick all this time.” 

“I’m not sick.” Like a starving animal, Madix reached for the bag of food, but Dakota held it out of his reach. 

“Bullshit. You can deny it all you want, but your head’s on fire, buddy.” 

“I know.” 

Dakota couldn’t stop his lecture now, as if the two of them hadn’t heard enough lecturing the whole year. “You’re the one in pre-med, you should know—wait what?” 

Madix sighed at the theatrics of his friend. “I’ve had a fever for three days. It’s not going away.” He rubbed his own forehead, feeling the familiar yet puzzling temperature. “I don’t have any other symptoms. I think it’s from stress.” 

It was honestly the oddest feeling. Madix could feel himself cooking from the inside. His cells buzzed like the many diagrams of excited particles when submitted to heat. But there was nothing else to indicate a virus or infection. His throat was fine; his nose was clear. If anything, he was infected with school. Perhaps his nose was clogged with equations and his throat was sore from reciting textbook chapters. 

Dakota looked skeptical. “So, you gave yourself a fever from worrying?” 

“Yes, it’s a medical mystery. They should name a disease after me. Anyway, gimme burger.” Madix reached for the food like a child with grubby fingers. 

Dakota scooted away from his friend, taking the prize with him. “I don’t know, Mads. You really don’t look well. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to eat something so heavy.” 

“Come on. You know I’ve been surviving on goldfish crackers.” It was only now that he could smell the fries and beef that Madix realized how hungry he was. His stomach was aching for something substantial. “Besides, I need the energy to study for Anatomy. It’s tomorrow by the way.” 

“Tomorrow? But you just had orgo.” 

“I have a shit exam schedule this year.” Madix pouted. “Please, Kota. It will make me feel better.” 

Finally, Dakota relented. He had bought it for Madix after all. But now he was worried that it was the exact opposite of what the overworked boy needed. 

He watched Madix stuff his face with his first real meal in 72 hours. The burger disappeared in record time. Fatty juices glistened on Madix’s chin as he dug into the fries. His fingers were coated in grease and fry seasoning by the time he was done. In between each mouthful, he took longs slurps of the Oreo milkshake. 

“You wanna slow down there, bud?” Dakota asked incredulously. There wasn’t much more to eat at this point. 

Madix dragged his sleeve over his mouth and shook his head. “Have to start studying soon.” He swallowed the last bite of fries and sucked at the last remnants of the milkshake. Madix let out a long burp at the end and sighed. 

“I’m not gonna lie, that was impressive.” Dakota couldn’t believe his eyes. “You’re getting more colour in your cheeks.” Maybe the meal really had been a good thing. “But I’m still worried about this voodoo fever though.” 

“It won’t go away until the exams do.” 

‘Then neither will I.” Dakota stood firm in this decision. He wasn’t going to let Madix get burnt out…literally. His hardest exams were done, so he could keep a closer eye on Madix now. “I’ll study with you in the library.” 

“You don’t have to, Kota. I’ll be fine.” 

“I want to.” 

By the tone of Dakota’s voice, Madix could tell that he wasn’t going to win this one. “Fine, but we’re studying in the red zone.” 

“Not the red zone! Anything but that.” 

Madix shrugged. “You’re the one who insisted on babysitting.”

• • •

The red zone was the fourth circle of hell—also known as the library during exam season. 

It was the quietest level of the building, reserved exclusively for students to study in absolute silence. No talking, no phones, you couldn’t even sneeze without getting dirty looks. You could hear a pencil drop and then watch that pencil be escorted out of the red zone. 

As someone with ADHD, Dakota hated the red zone. He much preferred the orange or yellow zone. At least in the orange zone, you could whisper and cough without being shunned. The yellow zone allowed for conversation and anxious tapping. He admitted that the green zone was definitely not ideal for studying. That was the first level of the library were students could openly cry over their exams or practice for their theater final that involved a murder scene. 

Dakota pretended to zip his lips and throw away the key. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them from moving on their own. 

Madix on the other hand had no issue keeping his mouth shut. The nausea forced his lips together. 

The fast food was quickly catching up to him, staying true to its name even inside his stomach. It hadn’t taken long before the burger, fries, and milkshake resisted digestion. The meal churned in his belly like a wad of chewing gum. 

The red zone was popular during this time of year, so Madix and Dakota hunted for two chairs next to each other. They found a long table with many students already studying there, but luckily there were two empty spots across from each other. Madix was grateful to be sitting across from Dakota so that he could rub his upset stomach discreetly. 

Unfortunately, the red zone was not a good place to have a gurgly tummy. The girl next to Madix gave him the stink eye when the organ groaned, tossing chewed up cow inside his gut. He felt grease sticking to his throat and hot burps in his chest. He pushed down every belch lest he be escorted out of the level. 

The words of the anatomy textbook swam across the page. Madix felt his fever ignite with a vengeance. Now he was dizzy, disoriented, and disgustingly full. There was heat behind his eyes that turned his vision to soup. Everything he needed to know for the exam was right in front of him in the book, but the letters became alphabet stew on a white background. 

He dared not look up at his friend in fear that Dakota would see right through him. 

Dakota could not study in such an environment, so naturally he saw every twinge of nausea flash across Madix’s expression. His poor friend was not having a good time. Madix’s cheeks were now flushed bright red, and beads of sweat gathered on his brow. 

In the dead quiet of the library, he could hear Madix’s stomach struggle to digest the heavy meal. Dakota kicked himself for giving into Madix’s begging. The nausea was no doubt thwarting his efforts at studying which created a vicious cycle of stress and pain. 

Dakota did a quick doodle in his notebook and passed it to Madix. He was quite proud of his drawing and had to keep in a chuckle. 

Madix frowned at the drawing. Along the top were the words Green Zone Now? Below Dakota’s messy handwriting was a drawing of a green-faced emoji. Its cheeks were ballooned with vomit. It seemed he wasn’t hiding his ailment so well. 

On the same page, Madix wrote back I’m fine. Must study. Madix didn’t think he needed to go to the green zone, despite what his complexion said. He could control his stomach. The food would stay down; it had to. 

Dakota gave Madix a disappointed look when he got the note back. Why must he be so stubborn? Dakota had to drop the matter. Aside from physically picking up his friend, he didn’t see any other way of convincing Madix to take a break for the sake of his health. He wasn’t going to be making any compelling arguments in the red zone. 

Madix tried to ignore his blistering fever and his unhappy guts.

Systemic Anatomy was hard to study for when he was so keenly aware of his digestive system. He imagined partially digested fries mixing with the gastric juices in his belly. His body went through the steps with much difficulty. 

The muscular organ was literally in the process of contracting itself to squeeze all the nutrients out of the fast food. Madix did not like the squeezing. He hugged his aching middle and laid his head on the table in defeat. 

It didn’t seem likely that the food would continue on to his intestines. His stomach couldn’t handle the greasy meal after days of hardly anything to eat. On top of all this, his body was too busy fighting a made-up virus called stress. The stress was very real, but his immune system was taking it too literally. It was no wonder why he couldn’t keep the meal down. 

Madix couldn’t stop the burp from coming up. It burst from his mouth, splashing the back of his throat with acid. The girl next to him shushed him. Her expression was as sour as his stomach. He didn’t have the will to apologize for the noise. Regardless, he wouldn’t have had the chance to say sorry anyway because another burp filled his mouth with sticky saliva. 

Dakota looked up quickly to see Madix hunched over his chair and gagging into his hand. Another sickly belch bubbled up, draining the colour from Madix’s face. 

Before Dakota could do anything, he watched Madix lurch forward with a loud heave. Thick vomit spewed from his mouth and fell onto the table in front of him. The sick quickly spilled onto Madix’s lap. 

“Oh, shit Maddy,” Dakota cooed as he came to his friend’s side. He didn’t bother with the anti-social etiquette of the red zone, not that it mattered though because everyone in their vicinity bolted from the room. No one wanted to risk catching whatever Madix had during their exams. 

Madix coughed and sputtered. Scandalous! He could only moan miserably before the muscles in his belly contracted again, sending up another wave of mushy fries and curdled milkshake. Dark flecks of Oreo and beef dotted the sick. 

“Oh God…” Madix choked out. “I can’t stop.”

Dakota rubbed his friend’s back while trying not to look at the growing pool of vomit that was…everywhere. “It’s okay, buddy. Just let it out.” The same heat from before lived beneath Madix’s skin. Dakota could feel the fever through his clothes. “No one is here. You’re good. Do what you need to do.” 

Madix’s belly gave another deep lurch. The pressure forced the undigested food up his open esophagus. If this wasn’t the best way to study the digestive system, then Madix didn’t know what else to do besides open himself up like a cadaver. 

His fever made the room spin around him. If he had any sort of receptacle, he probably would have missed. Luckily, he had no issue catching his notebook, his lap, and his shoes in the process. 

“Good job,” Dakota encouraged. He patted Madix’s back firmly. “Get it all out. Get that stress out too while you’re at it.” 

Madix had to admit that there was something cathartic about this purge. He felt lighter with each bout that left his body. He gave over to his subconscious mind and let his body do what it needed to do. He probably should have listened to the hunger and sleep cues before this, but he was listening now to the Get Out cues. 

If stressed looked like a melted Oreo milkshake then it was certainly no longer in his body. He tried to imagine the pressure and the expectations and the need for validation leaving his body along with the vomit. 

When Madix caught a break, he couldn’t help but give a chuckle. “This is the red zone. I just puked in the red zone.” 

Dakota laughed with him. “All over it really.” He looked around at the empty room. “You scared everyone away. They must think you have the plague.” 

“I think we’re all infected with it. This pressure—it’s an epidemic, man.” 

“Don’t go turning into a philosopher.” Dakota took a step back from his friend. It wasn’t a good view, but he was happy to see Madix’s shoulders relaxed. “Do you need anything? Water? Sleep?” 

“Both.” Madix slowly stood up from his chair, cringing at the wetness that made his shirt cling to his body. “But I think I better find someone who works here.” Madix rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess I should have listened to you, huh?”  

“Let’s discuss my vast amount of wisdom when everything’s cleaned up, shall we?" 

[angstyaches]

Sudden Sickness in Group Settings

CW: emeto, stoic sickie, stress-induced sickness, conflict.

___

🚶🏻‍♂️ A wanders away in the middle of a conversation, doubles over, and vomits violently. Their companions don’t have time to react before A comes back over. Noticing the shocked expressions that welcome them back, they mumble, by way of explanation, “My stomach hurts...”

🏃🏻‍♂️ Alternatively, A doesn’t acknowledge what just happened. They ignore the concerned looks, anxious to remain normal, and say, “Anyway, what were you saying, B...?”

⌛ The group is hanging around, waiting for A to show up, when someone spots them lingering quite a distance away. “What are they doing?” someone wonders, annoyed at being kept waiting, only to notice that A is leaning against a wall/tree/etc. and puking onto the ground. A shortly joins the group, gives a sheepish grin, and says, “Hey, guys. Sorry I’m late.”

😬 The group has gotten some distressing news. Everyone’s in a stunned, quiet daze, until they hear a belch/heave, and they all turn their heads to see A – the one the bad news affects most directly – throwing up. Someone softly exclaims, “Oh, A…” and they all snap out of it long enough to make sure A is taken care of.

😡 The group doesn’t know that A’s feeling nauseous; all they know is that A is cranky and has been pissing everyone off all day. B eventually snaps and calls them out. A defends themself, but then B yells something that’s too close to home for A – another group member chimes in with “B, come on, that’s uncalled for” – and A’s composure drops, their face pales, and they turn to the side and finally puke. 

👿 Alternatively, A wasn’t necessarily feeling nauseous all along; they were just in a bad mood. Whatever B yells at them about, that’s what makes A’s stomach turn.

[sickonthedancefloor]

Unexpected Dinner Company

Prompt: “And Suga called to ask if I was fine. I replied saying that I’m bored because I’m all alone and then after a while, Suga came to the dormitory with chicken in his hand! I was so touched at the time I fell for him without even realizing it. If I was a girl, I would definitely fall in love!”

That one time Hoseok got stress-induced enteritis and Yoongi took him to the hospital.

Sickie: Hoseok Caretakers: Yoongi Content: fevers, emeto, stomach aches

The music pauses again. Hoseok stands by the sound system in their little practice room, eyes holding an intense stare as he focuses on the device. It was the holidays, but seeing as his family lived so far from Seoul in Gwangju, he had opted to save his parents the train money and just spent the break at their small dorm. It had been rather peaceful, the entire dorm out for the two weeks break, save for the two who stood in the dance room. Originally, it had been only Hoseok, but his hyung—bless his heart, truly—had opted to stay a little later than planned and kept him company.

The other occupant? Yoongi. A year older then Hoseok but with far more wisdom in the industry than Hoseok would have ever guessed, with his sharp understanding of the choreography and his willingness to keep working with him.

“Seok-ah,” Yoongi calls from his spot on the ground. “Seok-ah, you didn’t make a mistake.”

“I did, hyung,” Hoseok insists. He’s breathing heavily, the strain of the practice pressing almost like a weight against his chest. He takes a sip of his water and lets the cool liquid rest in his mouth before swallowing it. But only one sip, he couldn’t weigh himself down with water until he felt like he’d accomplished the scene. Setting the bottle back down, Hoseok turns to the older rapper. “Can we try it again?”

Yoongi nods. “Start it from the end of the verse, we’ll launch into the chorus better.”

Hoseok answers with a nod of his own. He presses the forward button until the MP3 sped up to where they needed, then scurries back into his spot. The music begins again, and right at the beat, both boys jump and launch right into the choreography, checking their motions through the mirror before them. It was an intense song, lots of stomping and harsh moves while being quicker than it needed to be for the lyrics. But it was a cover; the band beforehand had put harsh, fast moves for effect. Their choreographer wanted to see if they could tackle it as rookies. The monthly trainee evaluation for January was delayed for the end of the month because of the holidays, so they had time to nail it. But they were determined to do well, and Yoongi noticed one of their hardest workers was his younger companion. Hoseok had a spirit about him that couldn’t be tampered. Truly, he finds it rather inspiring to work with him, even though the days are long and often tiring.

As the song trails to a stop, both boys just drop to sit on the scuffed wooden floor, breathing heavily as the song began to repeat itself through the speakers from the beginning. They’re already drenched with sweat, muscles burning from the intense movements they’ve been doing. And this is only after Yoongi had joined in; Hoseok, some strange form of early bird, had been to the studio for an hour or two already just dancing around, before he’d come back for breakfast.

Honestly, giving him a key to the dance studio was a bad idea. Hoseok spent half his life in that room, had already spent part of the holiday before Yoongi had even gotten out of bed.

It had been an hour and a half already, nearly two… Honestly, Yoongi wants to pass this evaluation but he wants lunch more. “Come on, Seok-ah, you’ve got this in the bag.”

Hoseok shakes his head, but something just looks off about him. He looks uncomfortable, like something was bothering him, and Yoongi doesn’t think it was just the choreography.

“One more time…”

Yoongi sighs. “I’m tired, Seok-ah… Come on, let’s get food and go home.”

Well, to the dorm. Their home away from home. The dancer affixes Yoongi with a disappointed look, teetering on the edge of asking to stay, but instead he sighs. “Okay. Let’s… let’s do cool-down and go back.”

Yoongi smiles, and he can see the younger one tries to return it. Hoseok slips a hand under his shirt and rubs his stomach; maybe it really is just hunger. Hopping to his feet, Yoongi goes to turn the music off, then heads over to help Hoseok to his feet. He feels his friend’s sweaty hand grip his and yanks him to his feet, only to have Hoseok stumble and tilt on edge. He almost drops to his knees but he catches himself with a step forward, both hands pressed on his thighs to keep him upright.

“Hoseok-ah!?”

“Hyung…” Hoseok grimaces. “Y-yeah?”

He’s sweating, and hard. Now, dancing for nearly four hours will do that to anyone, and there’s always times they find themselves in various states of undress from just dancing or working too hard. But something is definitely off. Hoseok’s breathing is rough, even with their short break.

“C’mon… let’s go sit down.”

Hoseok gives a shaky nod and lets Yoongi lead him to the plastic chairs shoved in the corner, dropping onto one of them. He leans forward again, propping one elbow against his knee, his other hand moving back to his stomach. Yoongi doesn’t sit just yet, instead choosing to bring Hoseok his water bottle, fanning him lightly with his own ballcap. Hoseok mumbles a small thanks, but he stays still and just tries to calm his breathing. He manages to calm down enough, but he looks uncomfortable as he sits back up.

“You okay?”

Hoseok nods. “I think breakfast just didn’t sit too well with me.”

Breakfast? But… all Yoongi could recall seeing him was some egg toast and soup. That usually sat well with everyone. Maybe their eggs were going bad. Yoongi reaches over to ruffle Hoseok’s hair, pointing to his jacket. “Let’s just hurry back. Maybe you just need something good for lunch.”

That earned a smile. “Cooking from hyung? I’m so lucky.”

Yoongi loved that smile. At least Hoseok seemed well enough to keep his spirit. And he immediately launched into a soft whine as he picked at his tee, completely damp with sweat, clinging to his chest. He decides he’s showering first, and honestly, it’s for the better; he smells sweaty. The whole room does, and often. Yoongi turns off the music and plugs in their scented dark light from the corner, hoping to take down some of the smell while they’re gone. Throwing on his cap, he leaves his jacket off and fishes for the keys to drive the two back to the dorm.

~*~

Hoseok still isn’t doing much better. Both are freshly showered and changed, and despite his tanned complexion, Hoseok just looks ashen. He says he’s okay, not one for much complaining (he called it professionalism, Yoongi called it being too brave sometimes), but Yoongi brings him a cup of tea when he notices Hoseok just holding his stomach. He figures it’s cramping, probably from too much work and not enough food, so he returns with a small bowl of seasoned rice and a spoon. Something to snack on while he finished the meat. By the time he finished, he finds the bowl of rice half eaten and Hoseok seems a little more relaxed. Yoongi sighs, placing their small row of banchan down before setting down the meat. He’s brought more rice for the two of them.

The way Hoseok’s eyes light up at the sagymeopsal just makes his day. It isn’t much, but Hoseok looks so happy he goes for a piece first instead of his usual kimchi. “Ahh hyung, this is really good!” he compliments, muffled by the meat.

Yoongi can’t help but grin back, nodding shyly as he waves the compliment off. He grabs his own piece and begins to eat. As dinner passes, Yoongi notices Hoseok seems more lively, definitely less uncomfortable than earlier. He eats a lot too, and both boys find themselves flopped on the floor in the living room, idly watching some reality dating show as they breathe through the food.

“I don’t think I can move to clean all this up,” Hoseok mumbles with a laugh. His hand finds his stomach again, bloated from probably eating so much, and he merely rubs up and down to soothe himself. But he looks happy, relaxed; and that’s all Yoongi really wanted. Perhaps today was just stressful from all the dancing. Yoongi makes a note to lecture him later, probably teasingly, but he figures right now, with how peaceful they both are, he doesn’t need to say anything. The two of them fall asleep right there on the rug, neither waking until one of the managers messaged them both late in the evening to check on them.

~*~

“Bored” with four frowny faces is the only text Yoongi receives when he checks on the dancer. His parents convinced him to come home for at least Christmas, and he agrees, especially seeing as he has some gifts for them that he afforded with his part-time job. Yoongi hasn’t spent a lot of time at home; his parents hadn’t been the most approving of his choice to join Bighit and become a trainee, and while they weren’t actively sabotaging him, it was hard to be around them with questioning remarks on if they’d debut and not have any real answers to give them. But he’s been making leaps and bounds in the rap world; he fought hard enough to make it into Bighit, he really isn’t worried. His parents had, thankfully, decided not to dwell and the few days were rather peaceful.

But every once in a while, his mind had drifted back to Hoseok. Hoseok who dragged himself out of bed early the day after their long studio morning to go right back to dancing, who had been putting on good faces up until it came time for Yoongi to head home. Hoseok who had been randomly spamming the chat just because he didn’t have company in their normally hectic noisy dorm. He must have been sad, spending another holiday up in Seoul instead of Gwangju with his family. But Hoseok said it was worth it; he didn’t want his parents to foot more roundtrip fare to get him home for Christmas when he’d only be gone for a few days, and his sister also hadn’t gone home; they could just video chat, he told them.

So Yoongi had decided that morning that he was leaving early. He tells his parents goodbye, kicks his brother playfully, and takes off back to the dorms.

As a bonus, with some extra cash his parents give him, he buys fried chicken. It’s a holiday tradition somewhere, he’s sure. Japan, he thinks? He’s not sure what the origin is but he knows it probably has to do with America. Whatever it is, he’s sure it’ll still be enjoyable.

Opening the door, Yoongi quickly shouts that he’s back, and finds Hoseok laying back on the floor in the living room watching a drama on their television, hand lazily fiddling with a tea bottle. The younger one grins at his arrival, attention immediately shifted. “Hyung! You’re back! Hey!”

Hoseok honestly doesn’t look good at all. Once again, just like he’d caught him in the practice room, he was pale and a little sweaty again, with a hand pressed against his stomach. Maybe it was just hunger again, but given how he was so pale… Yoongi was starting to doubt it.

“Brought chicken too.” Yoongi puts on a smile and sets it down on the table in front of him.

Hoseok’s eyes widen. “You came back early and brought food? Hyung, you must be an angel.”

The two laugh, and Hoseok clears a space on the table and hurries to his feet. He pauses, trying not to stagger; Yoongi’s quick to grab his arm to support him. “Hoseok-ah?”

The younger dancer grimaces, eyes shut as he takes a deep breath. He releases it with a shudder, his hand reaching up to rub at his head. “Sorry, hyung… I got dizzy for a second.”

“You don’t look well… here, sit. Let me get it for you.” Yoongi helps Hoseok back to the floor cushion, handing him his tea again, unscrewing the bottle for him. The bottle is still mostly full. “Drink some, okay?”

Hoseok nods, and goes to sip as Yoongi to the kitchen to grab a drink for himself. There’s not much in their little fridge, but he finds two colas and brings them out. It’s a special occasion; surely, whichever trainee had this will understand. He’s not sure if Hoseok will be up for the carbonation, but he wants to keep the offer there. As he returns, he finds Hoseok leaning forward, rubbing his stomach again.

Yoongi sighs. He’s glad he came when he did; Hoseok doesn’t need to be alone like this. They wait until Hoseok seems to feel a little better, whining as he sniffs the air. “Hyung… the chicken smells so good.”

“But do you think you can eat it?” Yoongi moves his hand to rub at the back of Hoseok’s neck, smiling as he watches his dongsaeng’s shoulders droop. “Is your stomach bothering you?”

Hoseok sighs. “A little, yeah…” But both boys knew Hoseok was lying; he could barely tell a convincing lie on a good day, but he looks downright uncomfortable to be where he is. Still, to prove himself, he reaches over and pulls off a piece and takes a bite. Yoongi watches him closely as Hoseok chews and swallows… and immediately leans forward.

“A lot… come on, Seok-ah, can you stand?”

“I get dizzy… I’m already a little dizzy.”

Shit. Hoseok isn’t a short kid, either. Doesn’t weigh much thankfully, but it’s all muscle. Hoseok’s always been lean limbs and slim muscles, but that doesn’t make him the lightest. Yoongi isn’t going to let them stay there though, not while Hoseok seems to be struggling so hard. He closes the travel box, sure they can put it up later, and goes to help Hoseok to his feet. And Hoseok sways. His skin goes ashen almost immediately, his eyes unfocused, and he knees seem to refrain from shaking by sheer force of will. For a solid second, Yoongi doesn’t think he can catch him, but Hoseok stumbles a step forward just in time.

The young dancer sighs. “Sorry, hyung… I kind of want to sit down.”

Yoongi just moves to Hoseok’s side. “We’re gonna need to take you to a hospital. There’s no way you can do anything like this.”

What worries Yoongi next is the immediate lack of protesting that came after. Hoseok mulls over the idea, as another grimace of pain washes over his face, and Yoongi just wraps an arm around his waist. He really does not seem to be feeling good.

“Come on, Seok-ah, let’s go.”

It takes a little longer than Yoongi would like to walk Hoseok downstairs from their dorm, but Hoseok goes without complaint. Besides a hitch of breath or a pause to wince, he doesn’t utter a single complaint. But Yoongi can feel how strained Hoseok’s small answers to his questions are, the slight tremble from under his arms. Hoseok’s skin feels so hot under his touch. When they make it downstairs, Hoseok takes to sitting on the side stairs while Yoongi orders a taxi. They’d considered the subways for all of one minute before Hoseok’s footing had slipped, and Yoongi opted against it. A taxi ride wouldn’t be awful on the finances; Yoongi’s sure replacing the sodas will cost more.

~*~

“That was… the worst taxi ride,” Hoseok grumbles as he leans heavily on Yoongi. Yoongi can’t disagree; the drive was rough, the traffic stop-and-go, and he’d taken to holding Hoseok’s hand to keep the younger dancer calm. But Hoseok’s face had taken on a greenish tint, and they weren’t even in the doorway before Hoseok pushes away from Yoongi.

“Seok-ah—”

And… splat. Hoseok leans forward by the trash can at the entrance, eyes screwed shut as he vomits again. Yoongi sighs, moving over to hold him up by his shoulders. He rubs his back with his other arm, trying to keep him calm.

“It’s okay, Seok-ah, let it out. I know it hurts.”

His hand rubs slow circles on his back, grimacing as he feels Hoseok’s back tense as he vomits another mouthful. He’s feeling warmer, and Hoseok can feel the sweat soaking through his shirt. He’s shaking completely now, one hand holding onto the pillar in the front, the other gripping his knee with white knuckles. He looks so weak, so strange, and Yoongi hates it. Hoseok, to Yoongi, has always been a strong young man; he’s always been up to every challenge, takes every job seriously, tackles every challenge he’s faced with his chin up and head held high. He’d dealt with feeling this poorly without complaining about anything. It startles Yoongi to know his friend has been suffering without asking for help at all.

But hyung’s here now. Yoongi’s not going to let him suffer alone.

Once Hoseok finishes, Yoongi’s arm around his shoulders tightens to help him up before he stumbles. Hoseok feels unsteady on his feet and he looks completely grey, and exhausted.

“Think you can make it inside?” Yoongi asks softly. “Or do you want to wait here and I’ll get a nurse—”

The automatic doors open, and a nurse hurries out with a handful of tissues. He hurries over to the pair. “Is he okay? Drunk?”

Hoseok accepts the napkins with a small mumble of thanks, wiping his mouth with the paper.

Yoongi decides to take charge talking to the nurse. He swallows his annoyance that every adult thinks the youth are nothing but trouble, and figures being direct is the best way to solve the issue.

“He’s sick. He’s having really bad stomach pain and a fever now.” Yoongi’s frown grew. “The taxi ride up here was really bad.”

The nurse, thankfully, nods and looks at Hoseok, taking in an initial evaluation. Hoseok is still unsteady but Yoongi’s holding him closely, and the man holds up one finger and hurries inside. He comes back out with a wheelchair. “Come on, let your friend sit here, we can go inside and get him signed in.”

That brings a smile to Yoongi’s lips. Finally, Hoseok will get some help.

~*~

Curled on his side in the hospital’s open room, Hoseok yawns as he looks at Yoongi. “Sorry, hyung, I know this was a lot.”

Yoongi just reaches over to stroke his hair. “That’s stupid, don’t apologize for being sick. Do they need to give you more painkillers?”

Hoseok gives a rough laugh. Through an IV, he’s received some fantastic painkillers, antinausea medication, and antibiotics, and he is completely relaxed under the thick blanket. The hospital is warm, but the medication working through his veins felt cold enough to give him a chill. While he was being examined, Yoongi had called their manager to give him a heads up and the staff promised to reimburse Yoongi for all of his efforts. Feeling a little more appreciated by the staff, albeit a little bashful for the compliments, he’d hurried off the call to return to Hoseok’s bedside.

Hoseok is already looking a little better. He’s not as pale, his cheeks finally taking on a rosier tint rather than the ashen grey he had earlier. He also didn’t look as stressed, but his eyes blink almost more rapidly as he looks at the older rapper. Yoongi reaches a hand over, stroking Hoseok’s hair back.

“Yoongi-hyung?”

“Hm?” Yoongi smiles down, long fingers raking across Hoseok’s scalp. He watches as the younger dancer’s eyelids grow heavy, another yawn escaping; Hoseok brings the corner of the blanket to his mouth and yawns into it again. As he begins to drift off, he mumbles a soft but solid, “Thank you, hyung. You’re the best.”

That startles Yoongi. Looking away as his neck begins to feel hot, he just shrugs. “You’d do the same for me, so… It’s nothin’.”

The smile on Hoseok’s face is the only indicator he’s heard, but neither of them say more.

“Sleep well, Hob-ah.”

[monthofsick]

An unwanted Gift

Nov(emeto)ber 2022, Day 28: The token made a mess prompt

OCs: Isaiah, Luka

Not gonna lie, making a huge mess is one of my favorite tropes ever. Especially in a public setting! It's just straightforward gross goodness, even though poor Isaiah might disagree. I had lots of fun writing and it even fit the season.

TW: Vomit, illness

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

Like every year, once fall had begun, the days until Christmas flew by in a timelapse. To avoid getting caught up in last-minute stress, Luka and Isaiah had decided to buy their presents early. They had planned a trip to a large shopping mall for maximum choice in a compact area. Conveniently, there was a direct bus stopping right in front of the mall. It was barely a 30 minutes trip.

Everything was fine when they met at the station close to their college. Isaiah was a bit tired, even more so than usual. Not a big obstacle to overcome if he could enjoy the rest of the holiday season without any hassle. The bus was surprisingly crowded for the time of day – other people probably had the exact same idea. Isaiah and Luka sat down at the two free middle seats in the back row for a bit of Christmas gift brainstorming.

About ten minutes later, Isaiah began to feel unwell. The burrito he had eaten for lunch weighed down his stomach like he had swallowed it whole. It triggered an instant anxiety that only added to the persistent queasiness. Isaiah had been carsick before and the driver wasn't necessarily gentle with his maneuvers. When Isaiah had covered the inside of Tiago's mother's car with his puke, it hadn't only been induced by his alcohol intake, but just as much by the winding mountain road. At least it was a much shorter ride today.

"So I found this awesome recipe for spiked mulled wine that we absolutely have to try, I'm getting winter bonfire Christmas S'mores party vibes, are you with me?" Luka's eyes were beaming, cheeks flushed. He was already in full blown festive mood and Isaiah would have loved to join in. He was a winter's child, way more comfortable in the cold than in summer heat. Snow was probably his favorite thing ever. If only it hadn't been for the brick in Isaiah's belly that demanded all of his attention.

"Oh… yeah… sounds great." It was a lame response, and Luka noticed. He gave Isaiah a slap on the back of his head.

"Don't tell me Mr. Freeze is turning into a Scrooge."

"Sure, I'm thinking tropical vacation this year." Isaiah rolled his eyes and instantly regretted it as a wave of vertigo washed over him. He should have probably looked out of the window, but there was a woman in the seat next to him. Staring rigidly in her direction would have been highly uncomfortable and borderline creepy. "It's just… I'm not sure about Tiago's present. He's still mad at me and I want to make things right without looking like a suck-up."

"I get it, man." Luka sighed and placed his hand on Isaiah's shoulder. "The guy needs to calm the fuck down, it's not like you barfed on purpose. Don't worry too much, he'll be fine once his mom allows him to borrow the car again."

"I hope so." Isaiah already regretted bringing back the vivid memory of being violently sick in a moving vehicle, even though it had successfully diverted Luka from his current issue. He was painfully aware of how full he was. The amount of food filling up his stomach, sloshing around in the gingerbread milkshake he had indulged in for dessert, added another dimension of threat to the unpleasant situation. If he couldn't hold it down, there was a lot that would come up. And this time, he wasn't in a car with his friends, but in a public bus full of strangers.

With a deep breath, Isaiah put a hand on his stomach. A subdued, but constant pain lingered in the back of his head. Had the driver turned up the heating system or was it just him breaking out in a sweat? The air was stuffy, almost viscous as it filled his lungs. Isaiah felt it gliding along his uvula. A sudden retch burst out of him and he tried to disguise it as a muted cough.

"You're not getting a cold, are you?" Of course, Luka had realized something was wrong – no surprise when he was sitting right next to Isaiah. The redhead looked up to check what station they approached. It was about ten minutes until they would arrive at their destination. Isaiah really didn't want to get off the bus and wait half an hour for the next one. It wouldn't make much of a difference anyways, he still had to sit through the rest of the ride either way.

"The air's just dry because of the heater", Isaiah tried to talk his way out once again. Actually, his mouth was anything but dry. There seemed to be a special offer on saliva today. With a straight face, Isaiah kept on swallowing and swallowing. His chest hitched with a burp, which earned him a disapproving glance from the woman at the window. "Sorry. Must be the beans."

"Would have been worse if it came out the other end." Luka grinned. There was no way he would miss the opportunity for a fart joke.

"I'm saving that for the way back", Isaiah declared with a strained smile. He felt sick to his stomach. The abdominal muscles under his hand clenched tightly, pushing up a sour liquid with the vague taste of cumin. Isaiah's eyes widened for a moment, then he pressed them shut and forced himself to swallow the vomit back down. Maybe getting out wasn't such a bad idea after all, but the next stop was nowhere in sight.

Lips pinched tightly, breathing in through the nose, Isaiah tried to stop his digestive system from shifting into reverse gear. It was hard to fight an automated process, especially when the entire muscles of his upper body worked together, contracting harshly to pump out his stomach. The rush of panic as the redhead understood that he was about to lose control poured an entire gasoline canister into the flames of his nausea. He would hurl in front of everyone in the bus and there was nothing he could do about it.

Or maybe there was. Unexpectedly, the vehicle came to a halt. Had they reached a station? No one got up and the doors didn't open, so it was probably just a red light. At least they didn't move anymore. Isaiah found new hope that the break would grant him enough recovery time to make it to the next stop without tossing his lunch. He didn't dare to part his lips, but he inhaled deeper and slower through his nostrils. It would be alright. He could do this.

Then the lights turned green and the bus accelerated with a sudden jerk.

The abrupt jolt hit Isaiah like a fist in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't even groan before a surge of thick liquid shot up his throat. His hands flew up to his lips just in time before his cheeks puffed out. Swallowing wasn't an option, the vomit had already flooded his mouth entirely.

"Isa?" Luka's voice, distorted by a static in Isaiah's ears. "Are you going to be sick?"

Isaiah couldn't answer. He desperately tried to hold it in, but more and more custardy fluid kept on coming up until finally, the seal burst. Creamy, light beige puke filled up the cup his hands formed in front of his mouth. It spilled over on top and splashed on Isaiah's lap. The woman sitting next to him screamed and recoiled in horror.

At this point, everything added to Isaiah's nausea. The movement of the bus. The warm throw-up covering his palms and seeping into his pants. The sour stench of rancid butter. Helplessly, Isaiah lurched forward and projectile vomited all over the floor. More people let out sounds of shock and disgust, some backed away to get out of the splash zone.

With eyes staring at him from every direction, Isaiah was shaken by a violent retch. Unable to control himself, the redhead noisily gargled up another fountain of puke. Grainy soup with lumps of beef, rice, black beans and whole kernels of corn cascaded from his mouth onto his legs, the ground and some of the adjacent seats. The spicy salad burned even more than on its way down, probably because of the gastric acid that accompanied it.

"There's some kid throwing up like crazy back here!", a man screamed through the entire bus, just in case anyone hadn't noticed yet.

"I know!", the driver yelled back. "Everyone's gonna get out at the next station, you can use your ticket at the replacement bus."

Part of the revulsion directed at Isaiah turned into annoyance. He trembled all over his body while his muscles wouldn't stop spasming rhythmically. A long, sickly belch bubbled up from his stomach, soon turning into a wretched gag.

"Mom, it stinks!", a little girl complained. "It makes me sick!"

"Pinch your nose, sweetheart", the mother tried to calm her, unable to hide her own nerves. "We can leave in a second."

"Drunk by lunchtime, that's why our country's in such a bad state", an elder man grumbled.

"Can you guys calm down for a second?" Luka put his arm around Isaiah's shoulders. "He's not drunk, he's sick, so leave him alone!"

"Yeah, some people should maybe stay away from public transport if they can't keep their food down", the woman next to Isaiah huffed snidely. She was pressed against the window to keep as much distance as possible in the confined space. The overwhelming feeling of shame wrung out Isaiah's stomach like a wet towel. A chunky mush was squeezed up his esophagus and plopped into the congealed puddle on his knees. Worst thing was, it didn't happen quietly – every bout of vomiting forced loud retches and sickening gurgles out of him.

Isaiah wasn't done spewing the vile mixture of minced burrito and milkshake as the bus finally came to a halt. Luka, who obviously had enough of the public humiliation, put both arms around Isaiah's upper body and dragged the puking redhead towards the door. With his mouth gaping wide open, Isaiah expelled a trail of vomit the entire way. He almost slipped in the barf he had projectiled over a remarkable area earlier. The sudden movement sparked another burst of nausea. Isaiah doubled over and hurled up a massive gush of bile and undigested food all over his shoes.

"Hang in there, Isa, we're almost in the clear", Luka encouraged Isaiah while he guided him out of the bus. To make things even worse, Isaiah's eyes were overflowing with tears. He felt horribly sick and embarrassed. He was covered in his own puke that stuck to his skin and drenched his clothes. And they were stranded in the outskirts of the city. There was no way a filthy, reeking mess like him could enter another bus – especially when he still hadn't finished throwing up.

Luka led his friend a few steps away from the station and the people that streamed out of the soiled vehicle. Supporting Isaiah with a hand on his chest, Luka bent him over even more.

"Don't worry about these assholes, just get it all out", he calmed Isaiah with a surprisingly gentle voice. Luka's hand firmly rubbed Isaiah's back as the redhead emptied himself on the lawn next to the sidewalk. "Yeah, that's it. You're gonna feel so much better once you puked it all up."

"Does he need a doctor?", the driver's voice reached Isaiah's ears through a rustling white noise. He stared at the off-white splatters below him, the bits of ground beef and corn and legumes. Gagging weakly, he added another mouthful of sick to the fetid mess. It wasn't much that came out of him, he had probably spewed most of his stomach contents inside of the bus.

"Thanks, I'll take care of him", Luka declined. He tried so hard to sound calm and collected that his suppressed anger was almost tangible. Isaiah choked up whatever was left inside of him, his tears dripping into the splashes of his upchucked meal. Even when he couldn't bring up anything more, he didn't dare to straighten himself again. The thought of facing the people who had witnessed one of the most mortifying moments of his life was too much for him. It was Luka who eventually grabbed him by the shoulders and raised him up. "Feeling any better?"

Isaiah shook his head, avoiding Luka's gaze. Luka pulled a crumpled package of paper tissues out of his bag and began to wipe Isaiah's lips and chin. Before he was done, he suddenly paused and put his hand on Isaiah's forehead.

"Okay, I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to feel that warm." He brushed back Isaiah's hair, then moved on with the cleaning process. "I knew there was something wrong with you. Didn't you notice you were about to explode with puke?"

"I – I thought I was sweaty because I felt nauseous." Isaiah's own voice sounded strange to him, shaky and husky. "Thought is was carsickness or something."

"It might have still been a good idea to tell me, you know? We could have left before you blew chunks all over the place."

"I know." Desperately trying not to break into a sob, Isaiah wiped his eyes before the tears could spill over again. "It's just… I mean… we were so close and… and… I don't know, you guys already joke about my weak stomach all the time. Now I didn't just ruin Tiago's car, but an entire bus."

"Stop it", Luka scolded him. He threw the dirty tissue on top of an already dangerously full trash bin next to them, then put both hands on Isaiah's shoulders. "You're sick. You're probably running a fever. I can tell that this feels like the end of the world to you, but it's not. You'll never see any of those dickheads again and I promise I won't tell Tiago and Thien. And now stop crying, you fucking idiot, it makes me want to hug you and I can't because you're covered in barf."

Against his will, Isaiah had to laugh. It quickly turned into another stifled sob as he remembered that they were still stuck far away from their dormitory.

"I feel like crap. How the fuck are we supposed to get back home when I'm like… like this?"

"Don't worry, I'm gonna call a fellow student. The guy still owes me one." Luka took out two more handkerchiefs and tried to wipe the worst mess from Isaiah's hands and clothes. "Probably gonna tell him to bring something clean so you can get changed… and a trash bag to transport this hazardous material you're wearing."

"You're so dumb", Isaiah mumbled, but he did feel a little better. Still dizzy and shaky and nauseous, but not as desperate.

"That's rich, coming from you", Luka grinned and took a moment to ruffle Isaiah's hair, even though he had fixed it just minutes ago. "Enough with the sad face now. You probably don't know, but I'm a great nurse. I'll get you back on your feet in no time."

"Wait, you… you really wanna take care of me?" Isaiah felt his freckled cheeks turn even warmer. His friends had always looked out for each other when one of them was dead drunk, but he hadn't expected Luka to stay with him when he was actually sick. "I mean… what if you catch it?"

"Then it's your time to repay the favor." Being somewhat done with his cleaning attempts, Luka disposed of the tissues and got out his phone instead to call for their pickup service. "Don't worry, I'll make sure he brings a barf bag, just in case there's anything left after you threw up the entire Niagara falls. And once we got you tucked up in bed, we can distract you with a bit of online shopping. After this, you definitely need a stress-free holiday time."

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

Archive of our own: Up all night to get Bucky

tumblr: birdnamedenza

[soft-for-yoongi]

How did you know you were into emeto & what are your favorite scenarios to read/write 🤍?

Awe I love this question!!!! Thank you for asking!!

I wasn't always into emeto I don't think.. at first I just wrote little fanfics that are superr embarrassing and found out that I loveeedd when a character took care of another, it's just super sweet 🫶 and then I stumbled across emeto fanfics and read heaps of them and then thought "hmmm there's not enough of these.. maybe I should write some!" And lots and lots of practice later... here I am!!! Although I can't stand emeto in real life—it freaks me out 🤧😭

Okay and my favourite scenarios to read and write:

Stomach illnesses, motion sickness (usually carsickness), food poisoning, migraines, stress-induced sickness, fainting (paired with emeto) and indigestion!! (I think that's it lmao)

[sicknessbysalem]

I Think I'm Lost Again Masterlist

What is I Think I'm Lost Again?

This series was created by @simplysickness before life took them in a totally different direction and these characters/this work in progress were passed to me via Sparrow for several reasons.

I Think I'm Lost Again canon lore goes after suffering a near death experience, twenty six year old Lex Millington dropped out of the world of music to pursue other passions, while his talented boyfriend, Soren Castellan, and their best friend Ksenia Khilemenetskaya, continue to tour and make movies with their bandmate Avan. Per Sparrow in the ITILA early days: I Think I'm Lost Again at its core is a story of recovery and redemption against all odds and showing the world that stardom isn't always the solution to every problem and there is life beyond the glitz and glamor of the stage.

I Think I'm Lost Again

i. one: lex is thankful to be out of the music industry, really. it tore him apart, chewed him up, and spit him right back out as fucked up as possible. lex is also thankful that he finally has a job he loves. even if his love for the job will be his own undoing. (tw emeto, migraines, nausea, overwork)

Play This Life

i. one: lana usually knows better. the last thing he needs to do is make kostya's life harder than it is. But, sometimes, shit happens. No matter what you want. (tw emeto, suspected food induced illness, scat, mentions/references to treatment and chronic illness)

ii. two: kostya just wishes things could be normal. that he wouldn't be sick, that he could just live, that he could stop being so stressful for lana to deal with, right? (tw emeto, treatment, mentions of serious illness, single dialogue mention of another character suffering an overdose, self doubt)

iii. three: lana knows how to comfort kostya, he's learned by now how to take care of his boyfriend. but it doesnt make it any easier to see him suffer. (tw for emeto, dizziness, fever, implied treatment for major illness)

iv. four: for as much as lana loves kostya, sometimes threats need to have some merit. for as much as kostya loves lana, kostya will choose violence over hospitals any day, even if his boyfriend is stressed out. (tw emeto, more emeto, chronic illness, major illness, implications of treatment for major illness)

[m4ngey]

⚠️TW ED (ana + bul) & EMETO MENT. (Recovery thoughts so may be tmi or rough)

My biggest regret in terms of my health to this day is an*rexia. Almost all of our present day major health issues are because of this. I didn’t realize the state our body was in and when it started it wasn’t even intentional, it was food instability and poverty that soon grew into chronic pain & stress induced nausea that became this intense cycle then fueled by compliments on how we looked and positive reception to us being “skinny” when we were the sickest we ever were. We traded our health for acceptance from family and ex friends and not being constantly shamed. Even DOCTORS started treating us better. Taking our issues more seriously. When our weight would fluctuate people immediately treated us differently. It’s fucked up so much. Fatphobia has rotted so many lives and spaces. I will never be as healthy as I was when I was 14 and “chubby”. I’ve never been as sick as I am now, dealing with the aftermath of neglecting our body for so long (us and professionals)- and yet I’ve never been complimented as often as I am now by family and strangers. Bc of our an*rexia, we now deal with worsened MCAS, FND, Anxiety, IBS, frequent nausea, etc. We want to eat better and treat our body better than we have in a long time but I’m glued to this bed half the time feeling sick and fatigued. Dealing with PNES and MCAS is scary enough a lot of the time but our immune system will never be the same.

My biggest regret is not seeking help sooner. My biggest regret is not acknowledging it was getting bad sooner. I’ve watched eating disorders almost kill my mother and now despite her being in her late 40s/early 50s, she can barely function physically most of the time. Poverty and generational trauma has done all it can to destroy me and we’re working to reclaim our body and our lives. I wanted to say this because it took me hearing about the fall out and being afraid of how bad it can get if not caught and helped sooner. I’m in it now, seeing how bad our health is now. We still struggle now because of poverty. No human should have to be scared of not getting to eat and where they’ll get their food each day. I have the luxury and privilege now to have food in the fridge most of the time but living that way for so long has destroyed our mental and physical health. Please seek help if you struggle with these things. Please seek help while you still have time to see things you haven’t seen and enjoy songs that haven’t yet been written. There’s still time for you

[kpopsickies]

hey so im the one who asked about treasure hc and im so glad to hear youre open to that now! pls dont feel any pressure tho since ik youre just starting writing for them but i was thinking of the ones who would be most likely to be emeto vs the ones who would be most likely to be a caretaker and i was thinking for caretakers it would probably be -hyunsuk, yoshi, jaehyuk, asahi and maybe junkyu but he’s probably squeemish- and for sickies probably -junghwan, jeongwoo, yedam, mashiho, ruto- thank youuuuuu

I'm not really familiar with treasure, but I did my best =)

caretaker headcannons:

Hyunsuk: When someone is sick he takes his role as leader very seriously. He's very caring and does everything he can to make the sickie feel better. He is not the most comfortable around vomit, but he is able to handle it. He does tend to get sympathy sick, but he does everything in his power to keep the members from knowing this. Not wanting them to feel guilty.

Yoshi: He is without question the most clueless caretaker. He really wants to help, but he doesn't know how or what he's doing, but he's trying. He is the one who usually steps up when a fellow Japanese member is sick. Especially when Mashiho is sick.

Jaehyuk: He is the best and worst caretaker at the same time. He is the best because he doesn't have a gag reflex and is not easily disgusted, but he's the worst because of his absolutely shitty immune system. He's 110% willing to take care of a sick member but will 110% get sick after he does.

Asahi: He's the quiet caretaker. He never goes up and takes care of the members, but he's very good at doing it subtly. Asahi seems to have a sixth sense and can sometimes tell when a member is sick before they even know. Because of this he will leave medicine on the nightstand of a member he notices getting sick. And he has never been wrong.

Junkyu: Junkyu is super squeamish, meaning he always struggles to take care of the others. Even someone gagging makes him uneasy. But despite this Junkyu still does his best to take care of the members, but typically when its something more low-key, like a cold.

sick headcannons:

Junghwan: Junghwan gets horrible stress induced migraines, which makes him absolutely miserable. He goes full maknae mode when sick, and especially clings to Jaehyuk. He also is sensitive to cold and if he is outside in the rain he will definitely get a cold.

Jeongwoo: He doesn't get sick often. He's more likely to lose his voice from overuse than a cold. But when he does get sick, it's bad. Like, hospital bad. He is known to pass out whenever he gets fevers, no one knows why though.

Yedam: Yedam gets sick very frequently, it often seems like he's always sick. But never severe he almost always has a stuffy nose, he's just gotten used to it at this point. but because of this he has a hard time knowing he's really sick until he's VERY sick.

Mashiho: When Mashiho is sick he only wants to speak/hear Japanese. He gets very emotional and nostalgic when he's sick. He gets fevers the most, as for some reason when he gets too cold or too hot it causes him to spike a fever. When he has a fever he really struggles to speak Korean.

Hauto: Haruto gets very awkward when he's sick, there's really no other way to describe it. he gets like this because he's trying to keep his illness a secret from his members. And because of this he sometimes comes across as bizarre or awkward. This also makes it easy to tell when he's sick. Even though he's trying to keep it a secret. Usually his bandmates pretend to not know for a day or so, just to make Haruto feel like he actually kept it a secret.

[secretobsessionstuff]

yo idk if you already got one of these fics but like, ik that whenever i do sumn stressful as hell, i usually get sick from it. but not DURING that said situation, but after that when im able to finally just sit and chill. so like, sumn like that would be really cool with one of your oc's. and honestly, throw the curse on whoever you feel it'll fit best. just thought i'd throw my idea out there yk?

Hey, man! Thanks for the great request! I'm so mean to my boys in this. Sorry it took a while for me to answer it. Hope you're doing good :)

Content Warning: This fic contains a very vague flashback to the actual stressful part. To give a proper warning, Mateo is an ambulance paramedic (edited from dispatcher because that was a mistake) so the stressful situation is a bad call in which a minor is injured. I do not actually write out the emergency, but Mateo does remember details such as blood and parental grieving. There is NO explicit death.

More CW: Vague descriptions of a major bodily injury, mention of blood and other bodily structures injured in an accident. Graphic descriptions of vomiting! Emotional turmoil that leads to vomiting for Mateo, and fear of blood that leads to vomiting for Shawn.

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

Blood pulsed in Mateo’s head. The waves beat against his ear drums, threatening to pierce that delicate membrane. A small part of him wished that would happen so that the red-tinted memories would leak out. A rush of vertigo forced him to reach a shaky hand towards Shawn. Luckily Shawn was solid and sturdy. Much sturdier than him. 

The ambulance bay was deserted, save for Mateo, Shawn, and the paramedic supervisor. Mateo knew that his mentor was around as well, probably waiting for his own support person to arrive; they weren’t allowed to leave on their own, not with shock clouding their eyes and judgment. 

Mateo bunched up the fabric of Shawn’s shirt in his grasp. His support person. The two of them stood in front of Mateo’s supervisor, listening to the proper protocols following a traumatic call. Mateo was instructed to take two mandatory sick days to recover from the stress. Then he had to be present for the debriefing. It was like a meeting to ensure everyone’s emotional wellbeing which lessened the effects of PTSD. That was the hope anyway. 

Mateo was not listening. He was drowning in stimulation. Voices. Sirens. Echoes of screams, all bouncing around in his skull like a ball in a pinball machine. He knew that the memories of this call would stick to the part of his brain that fabricated nightmares. But there would be no fabrication necessary. All he had to do was reach into the past—not but an hour ago—to fuel the bad dreams. 

The mother’s wails. The father’s incessant string of curses and self-deprecation. The boy’s…his…his legs. The ropes of mangled tissue and bones. All of it came back when he closed his eyes. By the time he and Joel had gotten to the address, the roar of the lawn mower had died, but the son was quickly being pulled to that quiet place as well. 

“Mateo.” 

Joel kept calling his name, telling him to fetch this, put pressure here. 

“Mateo” 

It all happened so fast. The boy’s blood soaked the end of his sleeves. The red spread up his arms like flames eating through a newspaper.

“Mateo?” 

The father had been punching himself in the head and pacing while they worked on boy. The mother tore up her vocal cords. Mateo had never understood the term “blood curdling” before, but he learned the meaning when his own blood cells seemed to clump together in his chest. The ache he felt was like pushing a clot through his aorta. 

“Mateo!” 

“Yes? What?” Mateo’s eyes shot up to meet his supervisor’s gaze. 

“Did you hear what I said?” Obviously, he had not.  “We’ll be getting you a new uniform, so don’t worry about washing the blood out.” The supervisor looked Mateo up and down. “I see you’ve changed already. Where is your uniform?” 

Mateo answered only after Shawn gave him a nudge. The nudge was enough to cause Mateo to sway on his feet. “Joel has it…my—my partner��he said he’d clean it for me.” 

The supervisor nodded. “I’ll be talking to Joel next. You’re free to leave, Mateo. Take care of yourself.” 

Mateo’s ears continue to ring as Shawn helped him to the car. Rain pelted the windshield, making it hard to hear what Shawn was saying. Where was this rain an hour ago? Surely nobody would have mowed their lawn if it had been raining this hard. Surely a little boy would not have been outside if the skies were this gray. But an hour ago, the sky had been blue and clear. 

“…is that alright, babe?” Shawn said, turning onto the busy street. When he got no answer, he lightly touched his boyfriend’s arm. “Hey, Teo?” 

“What?” 

Shawn’s shoulders dropped as he watched Mateo’s face remain emotionless even when he spoke. The boy was numb. He was somewhere else. “I said I’ll help you shower when we get home. Does that sound like a good plan?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

Mateo looked down at his lap with dead-drooping eyelids. The windshield wipers were making him dizzy, so he dared not look up again. Still, he could see them swishing back and forth in his peripheral vision. Back and forth and back and forth. Swish, swoosh, swish, swoosh. Like the blood in his ears. 

Like his blood, the food in his stomach was curdled as well. Lumpy and soggy with acid. The adrenaline had kept him from losing his lunch at the scene, but now there was nothing to keep his mind distracted from the sick feeling in his gut. 

His heart was pounding as if its beat alone could play music on his fragile ear drums. All this pulsing and throbbing was shaking up his insides. He imagined his belly frothing, bubbling higher and higher until it reached his esophagus. He closed his eyes in attempt to make the world stop. Just stop. Stop moving. Stop shaking. Stop screaming.  

Mateo’s battle with the world was internal. From Shawn’s perspective it appeared as if Mateo were sleeping—albeit restlessly. Only the sound of thunder kept Shawn company during the drive home. If he closed his eyes he could have convinced himself that he was alone. 

Shawn wished he could understand what was going through Mateo’s mind. Not that he could ever handle the details. Some nights Mateo came home with a story from the road. They were the calls that weren’t disturbing enough to upset Mateo, but they were certainly disturbing enough for Shawn. Usually, Mateo got half-way through the story before Shawn told him to stop. 

Mateo didn’t share these moments anymore. He technically wasn’t supposed to in the first place, but everybody needs an outlet sometimes. Mateo’s outlet just couldn’t be his boyfriend, and that was fine. 

Most of the time. 

“Alright, hon,” Shawn sighed as he stopped the car. “We’re home.” 

Mateo didn’t move. He kept his head down. Shawn could see that his eyes were open just a sliver. The colour of his face matched the storm clouds. 

“Mateo?” Shawn touched his arm again, hoping for a response. He watched Mateo’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Honey, are you okay?” 

A small drop of saliva dripped from his lips as Mateo shook his head to say no. Then all at once, he vomited up his lunch onto his thighs. There was hardly any sound or movement from the boy. Just a small gurgle in his throat before a sludge of sick coated his pants. Mateo’s shoulders didn’t even move when he retched. 

“Oh my God!” Shawn exclaimed, startled by the amount of vomit that came out of Mateo’s mouth. He quickly shrugged off his surprise and rubbed his boyfriend’s back. “Aw, Teo. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Mateo whimpered and gagged emptily over the layer of sick that soaked his pants. He awkwardly held his hands by his chest to keep them clean. Vomit dripped down his thighs, onto the seat and the floor. 

He gagged again, and tears leaked onto his cheeks. That’s when he started to cry for real. It was everywhere. On his shoes, on his knees, on his sleeves. It was sticky and thick. 

Except he wasn’t wearing a shirt with sleeves just then. 

Still, it was on his sleeves, spreading through the cotton fibers like a wildfire. It was on his knees from where he knelt on the grass with that little boy. It was red and everywhere. The woman was screaming. The man was screaming. He was screaming, but nobody could hear it unless they looked inside his mind. 

Mateo was breathing heavily in the now quiet car. He stopped vomiting, but his back was shaking. Shawn still had his hand between Mateo’s shoulder blades and could feel heat coming through his clothes as if he had a fever. But this was not caused by a fever or a bug. The heat was from that wildfire that burned through his thoughts. 

“You’re okay,” Shawn said. “Just let it all out. Cry, do whatever you need. I’ll help you get inside in a moment.” 

Mateo clutched his chest and cried. Tears and spit dripped onto his lap. Outside, the rain still hammered on the windshield, almost muffling the choked sobs that escaped from his mouth. 

“I know. I know,” Shawn said, his voice shaking with emotion. “It’s scary. You feel like you have no control. But it will pass.” 

“I can’t…” Mateo tried to talk around the lump in his throat. “I can’t stop seeing it, Shawn. There was so much blood.”  

Shawn swallowed thickly. This was the type of story that neither of them could stomach. He wanted to listen so bad. He wanted to let Mateo get it all out. The story. The tears. The sick. All of the bad gunk that clotted in his systems. But his own body and mind could not carry the load without snapping. 

Shawn let out a long exhale through his nose. You got this, he told himself. Mateo needs a shower. You can help with that. First, get him out of the car. He waited until Mateo’s breathing slowed down, which it finally did at the same time that the rain stopped. 

“Okay,” Shawn mumbled before opening the driver side door. He ran around to the passenger side and opened Mateo’s door. A small bit of puke dripped out. He cupped Mateo’s damp cheek. “Let’s get you inside.” 

They went straight to the bathroom. More specifically, straight to the bathroom floor. Shawn waited to see if Mateo was going to throw up again before doing anything 

He didn’t; he just stared at the floor in a trance. 

So, Shawn started to undress him. The boy was a dead-weight, completely uninterested in keeping his head up. But that was fine. Shawn could work with this. He started by taking Mateo’s shirt off. He took one of Mateo’s hands to get his arm out of the sleeve—

And immediately dropped his boyfriend’s hand. 

There was dried blood all along Mateo’s nails. The lines and creases on his palms were also traced in red. Every bend in his fingers hid the same secret. Clearly, scrubbing his hands after the call had not been enough. The blood was as resilient as the bad memories. 

Shawn looked away and covered his mouth, gagging into his hand. 

“What is it?” Mateo slurred, almost drunkenly. He curled in fingers towards himself, seeing the circles of blood around his nails. “…Oh.” His gaze travelled slowly back to his boyfriend. “You okay?” 

“I need a second.” Shawn mumbled into his hand. 

“It’s not mine.”

“I know.” Shawn said without opening his mouth more than necessary.

“It’s the kid’s.” 

“Please stop.” 

Mateo got a faraway look in his eyes. He seemed to look past Shawn. “It’s the kid’s,” he repeated. His bloody hand started to shake again. In his mind, there was nobody else with him in that moment—certainly not somebody who might be opposed to hearing about the scene. “It just kept coming. The blood. I used so many cloths, but it kept soaking through.” 

Shawn’s stomach rose in his throat. He retched into his hand and stood up on wobbly legs. The sick poured from his mouth as he lunged for the bathroom sink. 

His throat burned from the vomit that was now staining the white porcelain. He turned on the tap to wash away the mess. His knuckles went white as he held onto the edge of the counter. That grip got even tighter when his stomach lurched a second time. 

“Shawn?” Mateo looked at his boyfriend with huge eyes. Fear filled those eyes. It was fear for the things he had seen and fear for his boyfriend.

“I’m sorry,” Shawn choked out. He gagged over the sink again. “Ugh I’m sorry, I can’t. I want to help you, but…” 

“Don’t leave,” Mateo pleaded with fresh tears in his eyes. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

Shawn was crying too. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help you.” 

Though they were together, they were alone. Alone in their suffering that the other couldn’t understand. Shawn felt like they were falling at different speeds. He was dizzy and disoriented, unable to offer the kind of help that Mateo needed. 

Then a thought popped into his head. He looked up slowly, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. His skin was ashen like Mateo’s. The Shawn that stared back was fuzzy around the edges. Yeah, he wasn’t going to do much good like this. But maybe there was someone else who could help. 

…

A knock came at the door not but ten minutes later. Shawn had been pacing the hallway in front of the bathroom when the knocking came. He sighed gratefully and shook out his hands to get the nervous energy out. He wiped the sweat off his palm on his pants, before opening the door. 

Madix stood on the other side. Behind Madix was Dakota. They both wore identical looks of concern. Shawn had not been expecting Dakota, but he was more than happy to let his friends in. 

“Hey, man,” Madix said, clapping Shawn on the shoulder as he entered the apartment. “I was with Dakota when you called. I hope you don’t mind that he came too.” 

“Uh…um yeah that’s—that’s fine.”

Madix just nodded patiently as Shawn stuttered, taking in his friend’s appearance. “Alright, first things first, you need to sit down before you pass out.” He guided Shawn over to the couch. “There. Can I get you anything? Water? A blanket?” 

“Uh, no, no. Mateo—he’s in the bathroom. I couldn’t go back in. Go see him. Not me. Please.” 

“Okay, easy,” Madix said, hearing the growing panic in Shawn’s voice. He looked back at Dakota. “Kota, you stay with Shawn. I’ll check on Mateo.” 

“Thank you,” Shawn mumbled and put his head in his hands. He felt the couch cushions spring back up when Madix left. 

For a moment, he let the darkness of his hands envelop him. Then he felt a new weight join him on the couch. He opened his eyes to see Dakota’s sympathy written across his face. Something about the soft crease in his brow made Shawn want to break down. “I tried to help him. I was getting him in the shower, but...but—God, I’m so glad you’re both here.” 

“He’s going to be okay,” Dakota said softly. 

“I know. Madix will understand. He’ll help Teo more than I ever could.” 

“You did your best. Be proud of that," Dakota assured him. “Now, how are you holding up?” 

“Bad?” Shawn looked up and blinked away fresh tears. “When I left Mateo, he was so out of it. Just staring at his hands. He was—” 

“—Shawn,” Dakota cut in, placing his hand on his friend’s knee. “Slow down. I asked about you.” 

Shawn sniffled and let out a manic laugh. “What?” 

“You.” 

“Me?” 

Dakota nodded. “Yeah. This isn’t easy on you either.” He spoke slowly. “I insisted on coming for reason. You both need someone right now. So, tell me what I can do. We can talk about it if you want. Or we can talk about literally anything else if you need a distraction. I also I give the best hugs by the way."

In the end, Shawn wanted to be distracted. He had to get his mind off his boyfriend. Off the blood on his hands. Off the noise in his head. Off, off, off. Because turning off was the only way he’d get calm. 

[butterfliesornauseous]

Listening to a tummy growling and not being able to tell if it’s hunger or nausea <3

I actually wrote this months ago when I couldn’t tell if I was in a hunger or emeto mood so I made this but felt too shy and embarrassed to post it but I guess it has a tiny bit (barely) similar vibe to the last couple of anons I posted so 

(Warning for nausea , hunger and mentions of skipping meals) 

A wasn’t expecting to hear B was heading off to bed so early, they hadn’t even been home for an hour and said practically nothing in said time. B had just returned from a long (probably used all the hot water up) shower with skin still tinted rosey from the water and their hair dripping onto the oversized shirt/hoodie that belonged to A. A asked worriedly if they were okay but B shrugged it off with a yawn claiming to be “Just tied.”

An hour passes, A themselves, is ready to call it a night after feeling lonely without B. When climbing into their shared bed they cannot help but smile at their s/o’s cute pout in their deep sleep and decides to snuggle into B’s tummy after having seen part of their shirt roll up (plus B normally sleeps on A’s stomach, maybe they should get to see what all the fuss is.) A flutters their eyes shut with content within the silence, just to shoot open again as a sharp sounding gurgle comes from B’s stomach, quickly followed by a smaller but powerful one that A can feel against their cheek. 

B squirms slightly in their sleep, their once peacefully pout has turned into a face of pain while their stomach starts to grumble again loudly. 

Thinking back to it now, B was indeed acting suspiciously the whole night.  A was sure they saw B touch their stomach a couple of times when they said they were going to be going to bed earlier and now that the added red tint from the shower has worn off, their skin looks much more ashy and worn out from the little light in the bedroom. Though A can definitely tell from the sounds that this isn’t digestion and something is clearly bothering their tummy, however from the variations of groans and growls, A can’t tell if it’s upset is induced by hunger or nausea.

A knows that B had been busy studying the last couple of days and when B is studying, breaks for them are extremely limited and eating anything (no matter how worried A gets about it) is pretty much avoid until after B has completed the test they were studying for. Maybe A should get up and force them to at least eat something small but the next gurgle that quietly churns from their stomach sounds wetter and sickly then a hunger noise and now A wonders if maybe B actually went and bought something to eat before coming home and didn’t realise it was bad, and now the food is swirling badly in their belly (or stress always triggers poor B’s tummy into a frenzy, so it would make sense if their stomach is feeling iffy.) Now A is concerned if maybe a bucket and heating pad would be more appropriate. 

Another quick but decently loud rumble, this time contradicts the wet gurgle and A sits up to place their palm onto B’s stomach. They rub gentle circles onto B’s stomach and feel frequent ripples across B’s tummy, but non feel like the normal deeps pangs of hunger or the twisting and churning of nausea. At least if they can’t tell what is the issue with their partner’s poor belly, they can try to do something soothing for them. 

B slightly shifts in their sleep again, they make a small noise that sounds more content than in pain and A thinks maybe the rubs are helping in someway though it doesn’t last long when the groans from B’s stomach start having smaller breaks and their face scrunches again.

They spend the next couple of minutes rubbing their stomach and trying to decipher what sounds B’s tummy is trying to tell, so they can properly care for them (because if they were to make food when B is queasy that would probably throw them over the edge but if they are hungry and got given a bucket who knows how B would react.) Still through the next couple of minutes of rubbing B’s stomach and occasionally hovering their head over it to try see if the quieter gurgles give anything away, all they can ponder is ‘Did B go to bed early because their tummy wasn’t feeling well, and they want to sleep it off or because they were so famished they didn’t have the energy to be up any longer?’ Because B’s stomach isn’t giving any clue, and they're too worried to go back to bed.

B suddenly sits up while clutching their stomach. They have tears in their eyes and their stomach gives one final long growl. Did their tummy wake them up because it can’t go on any longer without something to eat, and it won’t let B rest till they are fed or because their tummy can’t handle having what ever is making it churn so much in it anymore and B has 5 seconds before it starts sending it contents up and onto the bed? 

[angstyaches]

Somewhere to Go

Continued from this fic. 

(Added a cut because she’s a little long.)

CW: stress, spiralling whumpee, nausea, emeto, crying, mention of trauma/abuse (very vague), mention of disordered eating/food issues

___

Charlie’s nerves were making his limbs go numb, and he fumbled with the hangers as he lopped them onto the rack between the fitting rooms. He had his teeth clamped around his thumb nail as he paced around the corner. He took a quick glance out into the shop before turning his head towards the ladies’ rooms.

“Rin?” he called out, shifting his feet uneasily. “Are you still in there?”

“Uh-huh, sorry.” A curtain swooped open and Rin stumbled out, still wriggling her foot into her boot, dragging her shoulder bag on the floor. Her eyes were wide as she finally straightened up in front of Charlie. She seemed to have abandoned the items she’d been trying on in the fitting room.

“Sorry,” she sighed, flinging some dark-red hair over her shoulder. She pressed her hands to her face then, shaking her head violently from side to side. “What did I do, Charlie, what the hell did I do?”

“No, no, no, Rin, it’s okay,” Charlie assured her. “It’s just the - the food thing, I think. It doesn’t usually set him off that easily, but...”

“Oh, god.” Rin groaned and stared off past the racks of clothes, her eyes widening again like she was gazing into an endless abyss. “What do we do?”

“Fuck, I don’t – I don’t know.” Charlie scrubbed his fingers through his hair as they started to walk. The shopping centre seemed louder and even more sprawling than it had before they’d gone into that last store. “He - he doesn’t know this place, and neither do I, so I don’t know where he’d go. I don’t know where to start.”

“Okay, so, we’ll just split up and find him.” Rin squeezed his elbow. “You start on this floor and work up. I’ll start downstairs.”

___

“Uh… Hello?” Charlie’s voice was low and awkward, yet unmistakable, as it echoed lightly against the tiled walls; tentative, like it wasn’t the first bathroom he’d called into.

Shayne tucked his head further between his knees and held himself tightly. He had one arm wrapped around his ribs, as though that would stop his body from shaking with sobs. The other hand was pressed to his stomach, trying to suppress the ache that was spreading through his insides.

Fuck, he thought at the sound of soft footsteps. Maybe Charlie wouldn’t spot him from under the stall door… Or maybe this plan wasn’t as fool-proof as he’d originally thought.

He watched as the light-blue Converse trainers came into view, slowing by his stall before coming to a stop. The tops of the rubber soles were worn from Charlie’s nervous habit of bouncing his toes against floors and walls.

The sensation of being found curdled in Shayne’s veins, and he had to very deliberately remind himself that he was still safe. In this moment, he was safe. Gulping back tears, he forced himself to clear his throat. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Charlie said back through the door. His breath sounded a little heavy. “We’ve been running all over, looking for you.”

“Sorry,” Shayne mumbled.

“Are you okay?” Charlie pleaded softly. He paused for a moment. “Is your stomach bothering you?”

“Mmm.” Shayne swallowed and pressed his face to his raised knees. His stomach had been in knots for days, but it had seemed like the least of his problems, and certainly not worth mentioning. “Kind of.”

“Kind of?” Charlie repeated. “Shayne, I know you, and I know you don’t start crying over kind of. What’s going on?”

Shayne swallowed again, this time shaking his head slightly, despite the fact that Charlie couldn’t see him doing it. Nobody had ever known him the way Charlie did, and there was a cold lump of fear settled under the dread in his chest that told him that nobody ever would again. The weight of his existence fell upon Charlie, and once Charlie was gone, he’d be back to being a tool with a purpose, a ghost with a flimsy, earthly shell that was only good for –

“Please open the door,” Charlie said softly. “We need to go and find Rin. She’s really, she’s – she’s really upset about what she said to you.”

Shayne winced, jaw tightening with a sharp sting. “She didn’t, I – it wasn’t her. It – it was…”

You know we’ll find you, had been the last thing Watson had ever said to him. And Shayne agreed with him, because even at the time, he had known it was true. It was a matter of time before he’d go back to that house, to those people, to that life that he was bound to –

“Shayne?”

This is what you are –

Shayne’s stomach flipped, making his throat clench and his hands shake even more horribly as he fumbled with the lid of the toilet. He’d barely managed to lurch onto his knees before a cold, sticky stream of bright-pink liquid gushed out of his mouth. His throat made a soft choking sound, and the whole ordeal might have been quiet, if it weren’t for the splash.

“Did you just get sick?”

“Um… Maybe.” Shayne hiccupped before retching again, this time unproductively. His jaw was clenched with the sobs that were wracking his body, while his lips were simultaneously being forced open by the nausea.

A low groan of sympathy came through the door. “Shayne, please undo the lock.”

After spitting sour, stringy saliva into the pink mess that had already destroyed the bowl, Shayne shook his head. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, wincing as something between a sob and a burp lurched up his throat. “Go and – go and find Rin. Tell her I’m fine and I’m s–”

Another wave of the smoothie he and Charlie had shared that morning came gurgling up his throat and into the toilet, followed by a weak cough as his diaphragm spasmed with pain.

“You want me to tell Rin you’re fine, while you’re – you’re crying and throwing up?” There was no anger in Charlie’s voice, just a sad kind of resignation. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m just gonna call her and tell her I found you.”

Shayne rested an arm across the toilet seat and tucked his head into his elbow, shivering and choking back sobs as he heard Charlie lower his voice for the phone. He always lowered his voice for the phone, no matter who was speaking to or where he was. Shayne was glad he couldn’t hear Rin on the other end because he could imagine her worry clearly enough in his head. He needed to get it together for her sake, but there was no shoving the anxious thoughts away now that he’d let them creep in.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t – don’t worry. I’ve got him,” Charlie was saying. “Bathroom on the second floor, we’re – yeah, no, we’ll meet you in a few minutes and we’ll – Rin? Shit. Um… Hey, how are you doing in there, lovely?”

The jittery energy in Shayne’s body reeled at the sound of the pet name. He lifted his head and moved his arm, stars dotting his vision. The remnants of the smoothie crawled up and out of him, with another sickening splash that made his stomach immediately flip again.

“Shayne, please,” Charlie whimpered. There was a slight thump and a rattle, like he’d leaned his weight against the door. “Please, please, tell me what’s going on, or at least just – just let me be with you…”

The sharp spike of panic in Charlie’s voice made Shayne’s breath hitch. Fuck. His head was spinning, and he was shaking from the sobs and the nausea, but he managed to turn and slip the lock aside.

“Thank you.”

“Mmhmm.” Shayne’s stomach twisted and he lurched back over the toilet bowl, gagging drily. A grateful wince escaped him when he felt Charlie lay a hand on his back, waiting in silence for him to be finished. Charlie’s hand felt its way around Shayne’s waist after a moment, smoothing back and forth across his stomach.

Footsteps entered the bathroom a few minutes later, and they weren’t the first to come in while he’d been in there. Most people had come in, done their business, and left, as far as Shayne knew, but he expected to hear this person leave once they realised someone was violently puking in the end stall.

Or not.

“Shayne? Charlie Bear?” Rin. In the men’s bathroom.

“Rin, what are you –?” Charlie cut himself off with a deep sigh. “You know what? Never mind.”

“Babe, are you okay?” Rin whimpered, her voice alone betraying the fact that she’d been crying a bit too. She’d been so happy earlier, full of light and jokes and smiles. And now she was crying, and it was his fault. “I was - I didn’t mean to say anything to upset you, I - I really hope you know that.”

Shayne gasped, tears falling on the toilet seat from his chin and his eyes. He sank back shakily against the wall. He’d started clinging to Charlie’s hand at some point, keeping him close.

Rin was crouched right behind Charlie, her hand on his shoulder as she peered over it. Behind the wide lenses of her glasses, her eyes were swimming with tears and her eyebrows were furrowed tightly together. As he looked down, he noticed that the nail of her thumb was pressing into the pad of her forefinger.

“Sorry, Rin,” Shayne choked out, looking down at the tiled floor. “This – this isn’t y-your fault.”

“I know. I-I know, Shayne, it’s okay, but I’m still…” Rin shook her head. “I’m still sorry that I upset you, and that we – we didn’t notice something was wrong…”

Charlie nodded. His eyes were glistening as he leaned in to search Shayne’s face. “What’s… what’s going on? Are you just worried about the offers tomorrow?”

Shayne’s jaw trembled as he shook his head. Nausea crawled at the back of his throat, and he hugged his belly to try to muffle the uncomfortable gurgling. 

Charlie brushed a thumb across Shayne’s cheek, clearing away a tear that had been creeping slowly downward. “What’s going on, lovely?”

“I-I’m, um…” Shayne struggled to form a sentence as his lips parted. He just wanted it out of him, he wanted it fixed; though he had a feeling the latter wasn’t going to be possible. “If… If I d-don’t get an offer tomorrow, I’m… I think I’ll have to go – to go back to – to…” He swallowed, the motion igniting the pain in his throat and his jaw. “To them.”

“What?” Charlie whispered.

Rin scoffed in disbelief, horror washing over her face. Having both of them look at him with those expressions made Shayne’s gut churn.

“Babe,” Rin breathed, “what are you talking about?”

“Ryan and Nancy, they – they said they’ll help me through – throughout my education, but if I’m n-not in education anymore, I – I have nowhere else to…” Shayne wheezed, feeling like something had wrapped itself around his ribs and started to squeeze. “Nowhere else to go.”

“You know that’s not true,” Charlie said quietly, squeezing Shayne’s hand. “Come on, let’s get you out of the stall.”

Shayne dutifully squeezed back, allowing himself to be pulled up from the floor as Charlie and Rin stood up too. He swayed until he held onto Charlie’s shoulder and followed him out into the bathroom, which suddenly felt vast and dizzyingly white.

A father and a son were making their way from the stalls to the sinks, and the kid kept looking back towards them, either bewildered by the red-haired girl in the men’s bathroom or the guy bawling his eyes out. Shayne shrank back from their gaze, fingers still looped lightly with Charlie’s.

“Shayne, babe…” Rin was shaking her head, somehow paying no attention to the man and the boy. “Why didn’t you tell us about this sooner?”

Shayne shrugged helplessly. “What would you have said? Would you have told me everything’s going to be okay?”

Rin bit her lip and glanced at the floor. Charlie sighed quietly, like a balloon deflating, as Shayne took his hand back.

“Because you don’t know that’s it’s going to be okay,” Shayne whimpered, pressing his wrists against his eyes. “You don’t –”

Suddenly he was taking a step back under the force of Rin’s body, stiffening as her arms pulled tightly around his back. The only thing he could think of, to fight off the instinct to kick and scream, was to hug her back, squeezing her just as hard as she was squeezing him. The pressure didn’t do his stomach any favours as it twisted inside him, but as soon as his arms were locked around her, it was like something solid had just come loose in his chest.

Fuck, he just couldn’t stop crying; it felt like he was never going to be finished, like he would just keep going until his body dried up and his organs failed.

“Babe, if the – if the Aldridges throw you out because of this?” Rin whispered, voice hitching. “Then they’re horrible people and you don’t need them.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Charlie ran his fingers through Shayne’s hair, prompting him to turn his head slightly, cheek pressed against Rin’s loose hair. Shayne closed his eyes and exhaled shakily as Charlie cupped the back of his head, grip tightening. “And if the Devines want you back, they’ll have to pry you out of my cold, dead hands.”

Shayne swallowed, opening his eyes in time to see the shadowy traces of Charlie Two’s stare retreating into the whites of Charlie One’s eyes.

“I mean that,” Charlie whispered in his usual register.

Rin rubbed Shayne’s back and nodded her head in agreement.

Charlie half-smiled as he curled a strand of Shayne’s hair behind his ear. “How about we all get out of here, head back to Mulberry for the night, and camp out in front of the TV? We can stop and get Chinese on the way.”

Shayne tried not to groan at the mention of food, feeling a dull ache settle in his stomach again. He wasn’t exactly going to keep complaining about his friends’ need to eat; besides, the thought of curling up with his friends at the Mulberry house almost had him crying again, this time with relief.

“I’m not sure how much sleep any of us are going to get tonight,” Charlie added, “so we might as well all be together, right?”

As Rin began to agree, Shayne felt himself being slowly guided out of the bathroom. He reached for Charlie’s hand again, both in an attempt to ward off any dizzy stumbling, and to remind himself that he could. 

Charlie wordlessly stroked Shayne’s wrist with his thumb, and despite the lingering nausea and the dread that still hung over him like a storm cloud, Shayne felt his stomach flutter.

[whats-k-popping]

Cravings

Summary: The pressure makes him gag, dry and grating against his already irritated throat. His back is fully arched in pain, tears mixing in with his saliva puddles on the floor. All the force eventually expels thin streams of bile into the mix as well. In these moments of sheer agony, Seokjin can only think about how Yoongi will be stuck cleaning the mess.

Pairing: YoonJin - Married AU. Pregnant Seokjin.

Words: 3969

Warnings: Emeto || MPreg || Romantic Relationship between Members || Graphic Descriptions of Illness || Mentions of Shame/Guilt || Morning Sickness

Inspiration: if you're accepting request, can i request something? a mpreg story for yoonjin with seokjin experiencing morning sickness .. stuff like that. i dont have any specific scenes in mind,i just love to read smth about that !

Dedication: I'd like to dedicate this work to the anon who made the request. Thank you so so much for the request. I meant to just write a scene or two and it turned into this. I'll admit, I got a bit carried away with it. I loved building and writing their relationship so much, I apologize if it takes away from the emeto experience. If you just want to read the emeto portion, skip to the second cut and read from there. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy!! <3

"What do you want for dinner, Jagiya?" Yoongi asks, one hand scrolling through delivery menus on his phone and the other rubbing his husband's noticeably round bump. The local news is playing on the TV, but neither one is paying attention. Seokjin's been resting on Yoongi’s lap all afternoon. The younger's legs have been asleep for probably too long, he shakes them every so often just to make sure they still work.

Seokjin turns toward the question. He shoves his face into Yoongi's stomach, batting at the drawstrings of the younger's hoodie. "Just get whatever you want," He says, but Yoongi can tell by the tone it's not what he means. 

Yoongi wonders if Seokjin's upset with him. He knows he didn't do anything wrong, but those hormonal mood swings have been kicking Seokjin's ass since he entered the second trimester, and Yoongi gets the short end of the stick each time. He readies himself for another pointless and irrelevant lecture. He can't in good conscience be mad about it. The man he loves most in the world is carrying his first child. Literally, fifty percent of Yoongi is living inside of the older man. And Seokjin’s taking such good care to ensure the health of their first born. Yoongi would be a fool to let a few hormone-fueled lectures sway his admiration.

Still, he wants to tread lightly. Because even though Yoongi doesn't care about the mood swings and the tiny tantrums, Seokjin does. Despite how many times Yoongi assures him that he understands and that he's not upset, Seokjin always feels so guilty afterwards. Guilty to the point that he weeps and sobs and convinces himself that he's a terrible husband and he's sure he's going to be a terrible father. It's just another hormone induced mood swing, Yoongi knows, but that kind of stress is not good for the baby. So Yoongi aims to avoid it whenever possible. 

Yoongi moves his hand away from Seokjin's stomach and into his hair, threading gently through the tangled strands. "You don't have a preference?" He asks again, gently with no hints of judgment. He knows Seokjin's not usually a picky person. But he's never known Seokjin to not want input on dinner. 

"Nope. I'll eat whatever you eat." Seokjin latches himself onto Yoongi's waist. He's needy, clingy. He wants Yoongi's attention, but he's too shy to ask. It’s another type of mood swing. But Yoongi actually loves this one. 

Yoongi figures there's something on the tip of Seokjin's tongue. He wants to say something. He assumes it's a dinner recommendation. But Seokjin wants Yoongi to pry it out of him. They've played this game before. Yoongi's had more success prying open sealed clam shells than getting his hyung to ask for something. 

It's times like these that Yoongi falls back on reverse psychology. Seokjin has a diverse palette, he rarely ever turns down food. But Yoongi knows a few things that Seokjin prefers not to eat. "I'm in the mood for fried tofu," he starts. 

Seokjin pulls a face of disgust. He hates the texture of tofu. Even more so since the pregnancy has been messing with his taste buds. Yoongi sees Seokjin's displeasure and he's satisfied with the response. "Alright. So you don't want tofu. What do you want then?" 

Seokjin sits up to face Yoongi on the couch, he's fiddling with his hands in his lap like he's in trouble, like he's guilty of some high profile crime. The older man pouts as he explains, "I don't want anything…" 

Yoongi knows where this is going, "But…" He spares a small glance to Seokjin's belly urging him to continue. 

"But," Seokjin palms his lower belly, "Agi is hungry for a hot pot." Seokjin's made a habit of blaming their baby on all of his cravings. A hot pot in the middle of July isn't even the most out-there request he's made in the past few months.

Yoongi laughs out loud, bellowing laughter that makes Seokjin feel just a tad less guilty. "Jagiya, you know it's like 33 degrees today, right? We're in the middle of a heat wave." 

Seokjin's quick to defend himself, "I tried to tell her that. But she already doesn't listen to me." He jokes, keeping his palm over his bump. "She's really set on a hot pot." 

Yoongi takes one of Seokjin's hands and kisses the knuckles. They’d received the sex of the baby just a few days prior and Yoongi was over the moon at the confirmation. He secretly wanted a daughter. He wants a little princess to spoil. But he wouldn’t have been disappointed with a boy either. He’s just happy to be a father. But when Seokjin refers to the little one in his belly as their daughter, it activates some primal paternal instincts he's never needed before. He can’t help but give in.

"Then I guess we're having hot pot," he picks up his phone and goes back to scrolling through delivery options, "does Agi have somewhere specific in mind?" 

"Actually…" Seokjin's back to fiddling with his fingers and it pulls Yoongi's attention back, "Agi wants it homemade. And with beef. Please." 

"What a little diva she's becoming," Yoongi chuckles with a wide smile. He wants to keep the mood light, he wants Seokjin to know it's okay to have cravings and it's okay to ask for them. Even if he wants a boiling meal on a boiling day. 

But he's only ever cooked hot pot once before. And he doesn't remember it tasting that good. Nothing like his mother's homemade hot pot. Not to mention that he doesn't know if they have all the ingredients in the kitchen. Their schedules keep them plenty busy. When was the last time they were in a grocery store?

Seokjin seems to sense Yoongi's uneasiness, "You don't have to, Yoongi. I know you're tired. I'm really okay with whatever you want to order." He looks down like he's talking to the baby, "Maybe we can have a hot pot when the rainy season comes around. It's not too far away." Seokjin's already shame-spiraling for asking. Yoongi will absolutely not allow it.  

"Jagiya, love. Look at me," Yoongi lifts Seokjin's chin with a finger to meet his eyes. "If Agi wants a hot pot, then Agi gets a hot pot. Made from scratch by her second favorite appa. With the finest beef we probably have in the kitchen." 

Seokjin's floored by the suave charisma of the one and only Min Yoongi. He's seen it a handful of times, specifically since they found out he was pregnant. It’s a different kind of sentiment than the usual calm, cool, collected, little-rough-around-the-edges Min Yoongi. In these moments, there are no walls up between them. Yoongi has nothing to prove, nothing to hide. He knows this is Yoongi's most raw, most pure expression of love. He swoons. "Thank you, Jagi. I'll make it up to you." 

"No repayment necessary, love. Remember this is for Agi." He stands off the couch, ready to take on the task, "And what Agi wants, Agi gets. Every. Single. Time." 

"And if Agi wants kisses…" Seokjin puckers his lips while his cheeks flood pink. 

Yoongi smirks, taking a few steps to close the distance between them. He runs a knuckle against Seokjin's jaw line and leans in. He can feel Seokjin's nervous breath against his nose. He can see the rapid pulse in Seokjin's neck. "What Agi wants," he whispers, lips centimeters away from Seokjin's. The older man quivers in anticipation. 

Yoongi drops to his knees in one swift motion and lifts the hem of Seokjin's shirt, exposing the protruding bump. He presses a kiss just below Seokjin's belly button, "Agi gets." He finishes with his lips still pressed to Seokjin's flesh. Yoongi scatters a few more kisses just for good measure before Seokjin swats him away. 

"Min Yoongi, you are such a tease!" Seokjin's trying to pretend that wasn't the most adorable thing he's ever seen Yoongi do. Because he wants to be mad those kisses weren't his. But it's hard to be mad at Yoongi with his soft lips still tickling Seokjin's belly and his melodic laughter filling the air between them. 

Yoongi picks himself up and presses against Seokjin's side. The hot pot will have to wait just a few more minutes. He coos, nuzzling into Seokjin's broad shoulder. "What's the matter, baby? Jealous you didn't get any kisses?" If Seokjin's going to call him a tease, then he best play the part. He leans in and whispers into Seokjin's ear. "All hyung has to do is ask." 

Seokjin melts into a puddle like snow on a hot day. Yoongi's rough voice tickles his ear and he needs. He turns to face Yoongi with pouty lips and batted lashes. "Please." It's as close as he'll to get to begging. 

That's all Yoongi needs to continue. He grabs a fistful of Seokjin's hair from the base of his neck and pushes his face closer until their lips meet. Neither wants to be the first to pull away, so they stay pressed against each other. Making small movements just to take in air and give attention to every millimeter of each other's lips. They continue until Seokjin's stomach rumbles. It reminds them both of how their little moment started. 

Yoongi's first to back away, releasing Seokjin's hair and smoothing it out. He's still wearing a wide smile on his soft features. "Sounds like Agi's hungry. I better get cooking." He keeps Seokjin's hand in his as he walks away. Until he steps too far to reach and he disappears behind a bend in the wall. 

Seokjin's left wondering what exactly he did in his past life to deserve a man like Min Yoongi. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoongi's scrolling through recipes online. He's hung up on the cook time of the dish. He needs to marinade the meat for at least two hours. And they've already delayed the meal enough. He knows Seokjin is hungry now. And he doesn't want to keep his love waiting. Cravings can be fleeting. He doesn't want to go through all the effort just for Seokjin to change his mind. 

He's relieved to find some sliced beef in the freezer and gets to work on defrosting it. He needs to be quick with that so he can get it marinating. What good is flavorless beef in the hot pot. At the same time, he’s preparing the marinade and setting a stock pot on the burner. He needs to get the homemade broth. He's following the recipe down to the T. He wants this to be a meal Seokjin will enjoy. 

With the meat marinating and the stock brewing, he takes a breather to finish reading through the recipe. He’s as caught up as he can be. He will soon need to start chopping the vegetables and soaking the noodles. But he has time for that later. Meanwhile, Seokjin is still hungry with no end in sight. Yoongi takes it upon himself to whip up some instant ramyeon. When it's finished, he walks a tray out to Seokjin. 

"It's still gonna be a bit before dinner's done. I made you this to hold you over in the meantime." He sets the tray down on Seokjin's lap. 

Before Seokjin can thank him, his stomach rumbles in anticipation. He giggles shyly when he thanks Yoongi and starts slurping up with noodles. The bowl is empty in minutes. Seokjin leans back on the couch, smiling with satisfaction now that his hunger has been quelled. “Aren’t you going to have a snack, too?” Seokjin asks, only now realizing that Yoongi sat beside him the whole time just watching. He feels a bit guilty not that he didn’t offer any to his husband. But he remembers that he’s technically already sharing every meal he eats with someone else. That fact eases his guilt. 

Yoongi just shakes his head. He starts collecting the used dishware and puts it back on the tray. “No, I can wait until dinner. But Agi sounded a little too impatient.” He rubs Seokjin’s stomach a bit. “I hope she’ll still be hungry for hot pot.” 

Seokjin’s mouth waters at the mention of the dish. “Yeah, I think she’ll still have some room,” he teases. Yoongi kills time entertaining Seokjin on the couch. He explains that the meat needs to marinate and the stock needs to settle and the whole process based on what he read on the internet. Really, making the hot pot isn’t difficult. It’s just time consuming. 

Yoongi presses a kiss to Seokjin’s forehead before heading back to the kitchen. The stock should be nice and rich, the meat marinated enough. He’s ready to move on to the next step. He begins the hunt for vegetables. After searching every drawer, cabinet, and container, he finds spinach, cabbage, peppers, carrots, mushrooms, onions, potatoes, and green beans. He’s actually surprised to see they had so many fresh vegetables available; he wonders how they got there. He doesn’t remember buying them. 

Regardless, he’s thankful he has them and starts chopping them into manageable bite size pieces. The recipe is easy to follow from there and in nearly no time at all, he’s got the simmering dish set up in the middle of their kitchen table. He sets out three places, just to build the habit, and calls Seokjin to the table. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seokjin can smell the meal from the living room. The savory, rich aroma of the juicy meat and hearty vegetables fills the air.  The combined fragrance of various spices adds flavor to the soup. It smells exactly like how Seokjin remembered. 

His mouth is watering as he takes in the scent. But it's not watering in anticipation of the meal. His mouth is filling with thick saliva in anticipation of sickness. 

The thing about Seokjin's morning sickness is that it never actually happens in the morning. He always wakes up feeling fine. He's able to get through most days without being sick. But he's not exempt from the miserable symptom in full. 

Actually, Seokjin would prefer a more scheduled experience. He'd prefer if he would just know what makes him feel sick. He'd rather vomit every morning for 9 months like clockwork over dealing with what his body is currently putting him through.

He's more sensitive to foods, both the tastes and the smells. And if he encounters a trigger, it's immediate nausea that always ends in misery. He'd avoid them if he could. But there's no rhyme or reason to it. No consistency in what kinds of foods are going to trigger it. 

Early in the pregnancy it was eggs. He could hardly stand to look at them without gagging. But after a few days, he ate a whole dish by himself and felt fine. Then it was Yoongi's coffee. Seafood. Onions. Pork. And now something in the hot pot is triggering him. 

The ramyeon he snacked on is sloshing around in his stomach, reminding him that there's food inside that wants out. He presses his palm into his stomach, begging the churning to stop. He doesn't want to be sick today. 

He thinks about Yoongi, who he can hear humming happily in the kitchen while preparing the meal. He thinks about how willing Yoongi was to satisfy his craving for hot pot. He thinks about how hard Yoongi's working to cook a meal he probably doesn't even want to eat. All because Seokjin asked him to. 

He's going to be devastated if Seokjin doesn't doesn't eat. He can hear the pride in Yoongi's voice when he calls for Seokjin from the kitchen. So he mutters as much baseless confidence as he can and forces the nausea away. He knows it's a temporary solution, but it's all he can think of with Yoongi waiting for him in the next room. 

"Your appa is going to kill us," Seokjin whispers down to his bump. He may also blame the bump for his current predicament. May curse her out for the poorly timed sensitivities. But he keeps those thoughts to himself.

Yoongi's smile is wide as he ladles a heaping portion into Seokjin's bowl. He makes sure to get a little bit of everything in the bowl so Seokjin can experience all the flavors. Once he's got Seokjin taken care of, he ladles himself a smaller portion.

Beads of sweat are forming on Seokjin's forehead but it's easy enough to blame the boiling pot between them combined with the heat of their apartment. But in reality, the sweat is a sign of Seokjin's nausea. A warning, a consequence for trying to ignore it. "Smells great Yoongi," He tries to distract himself while he swipes his hand across his forehead. He hopes Yoongi hasn't noticed he has yet to taste it.

Yoongi beams at the compliment. He's trying to be humble, but he thinks he did really well. And most importantly, he was able to satisfy Seokjin's craving. And that's worth more to him than the hours he spent working up a sweat in the hot kitchen. "Thanks, hyung. Agi's wish is my command. I hope it satisfies her." 

Seokjin raises the corners of his lips just a tad. He's reminded that Agi will not get the chance to taste it. If he's able to get any down at all, it likely won't stay there for long. He's got the nausea at bay for a moment and decides he's ready to take a bite.  

He picks up a chunk of carrot with his chopsticks, believing it's the safest option. The texture is soft and easy to chew, making it easy to swallow. And it likely didn't absorb as much flavor as the rest of the dish. He still doesn't know what specific element of the meal is making him so sick. The dish is filled with so many potential triggers. 

Choosing the carrot had been a mistake. The second the vegetable touches his tongue, his stomach bubbles and sloshes with rage. He's convinced the carrot is the trigger. Still, he's chewing, trying to convince Yoongi that everything is fine. He needs Yoongi to think he's enjoying the meal. Otherwise, he'll find himself on the spiraling train of thought that he's disappointed his husband. 

Seokjin's racing against his stomach. It's a competition to see if he can swallow the carrot piece before anything shoots up his esophagus. But sadly, as he continues to take slow and measured bites, his stomach rebels and he feels thick liquid climbing up his throat. 

He considers booking it to the bathroom, but the kitchen sink is so much closer and he knows he's out of time. So comfort and dignity be damned, he sprints to the kitchen sink and heaves up the undigested remains of ramyeon. 

He heaves again, and a third time before he notices Yoongi beside him. Though Seokjin thinks he's been there since the first wave. Of course, like the Saint he is, Yoongi is coddling him. Yoongi is encouraging him to get it out, easing him through wave after wave of what looks to be everything he's eaten since his last morning sickness episode the week before. 

After eight productive heaves and three dry ones, Seokjin relents. He throws himself onto Yoongi. Yoongi cradles him, guiding him back to his chair at the table. 

As soon as he's back at the table, his senses are bombarded with the stench of the hot pot again. He’s thrown immediately back to a nauseous mess. He falls off the chair onto all fours. His mouth is hanging open, droplets of saliva making small puddles on the floor. It feels like his stomach is being pressed into a juicer. But there's nothing left to push out, no matter how hard it's squeezed. It doesn’t know when to quit,

The pressure makes him gag, dry and grating against his already irritated throat. His back is fully arched in pain, tears mixing in with his saliva puddles on the floor. All the force eventually expels thin streams of bile into the mix as well. In these moments of sheer agony, Seokjin can only think about how Yoongi will be stuck cleaning the mess. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seokjin's memory is missing pieces, because next thing he knows he's in their bedroom, slouching against the mattress. Yoongi's beside him, running fingers through his hair and rubbing gentle patterns on his exposed stomach. He looks at his husband's soft, sympathetic smile and caring gaze. 

Yoongi swipes a hand across Seokjin's forehead. It's warm, but probably just from the effort. He accepts that it was just another bout of morning sickness. "Are you feeling better now?" There's no malice, only softly spoken words meant to help him be okay. 

Seokjin immediately starts crying anyway. In between hiccuping sobs, Yoongi can make out a few little phrases. "So sorry…you cooked…the smell…and Agi…belly hurt…the carrot…didn't mean it…good to me…I'm sorry…my fault." He can sort of paint a picture of what Seokjin’s so upset about. He scoops the older man into his lap with ease, resting Seokjin's head in the crook of his neck. Seokjin's using his shoulders as a tissue to wipe his leaky eyes and nose but Yoongi couldn't care any less. 

He shushes Seokjin, gently rocking side to side. He plants a kiss on every inch of skin he can reach without moving his husband too much. "Hey, hey, it's okay. You're okay. Everyone is okay. Everything's fine." Yoongi repeats the same gentle mantras until Seokjin stops shaking with sobs. When Seokjin seems calm enough to hold a conversation, Yoongi continues. "You don't need to apologize for anything, love. Something just didn't agree with you. That's no one's fault." 

Seokjin sniffles, "You worked so hard. And I couldn't even eat any of it." 

"If you don't feel well, you don't feel well." Yoongi states matter-of-factly, like it's obvious. Because to every extent it is. So he guides his nimble fingers along Seokjin's body for comfort. 

"You wanted to order out. Maybe this wouldn't have happened if we just ordered something." Seokjin rambles. 

"You had a craving, jagiya. You didn't know it would make you sick." Yoongi counters, "That's no one's fault either." But the reassurances all fall on deaf ears. 

"Please don't be mad, Yoongi. I'm sorry for wasting all that food. And for the mess in the kitchen. I'll clean it up.” Seokjin tries to pull away from Yoongi, but Yoongi tightens his grip. Seokjin abandons his efforts when he notices they’re not getting him anywhere. He settles back in before he’s hit with a blaring realization, “You didn’t get a chance to eat anything! You should get yourself something to eat." 

 "Jinnie-hyung. I don't care about the stupid hot pot. I don't care about the mess in the kitchen. I don't care about wasting food. I don't care about skipping dinner. I care about you,” Yoongi’s got both hands squishing Seokjin’s cheeks. He’s forcing Seokjin to look at him. He’s forcing Seokjin to hear him, “It’s you. You and Agi are all that I care about. Always.” Seokjin’s eyes well with tears again, but these aren’t guilty tears. No, tears of admiration for his husband. “Do you understand that?” Seokjin nods, nuzzling himself back into Yoongi’s chest. 

Yoongi hums in satisfaction, petting Seokjin’s head. “Good, now that that’s settled. Are you feeling better?” Seokjin hums an affirmation. “You’re all empty, Jagi. You and Agi need to eat. Think you can stomach something light, jook maybe?” 

Seokjin contemplates the question before agreeing. He looks up at Yoongi, “Can you order it from that cafe in Seongdong-gu? The one where every meal is named after a different fish. And can I get a soda. Please.” 

Yoongi chuckles fondly, pressing a long kiss to Seokjin’s forehead. “Anything for you, hyung.” 

A/N: As always, thanks for reading to the end! Feedback is always appreciated. And please let me know if I missed any tags or TWs. Please call me out for any errors you notice!

[softsnzstuff]

Sicktember 2022 Masterlist

Day 1: "Do you know how to take care of a sick person??" - Sick!Eddie and Caring!Wayne

Day 4: Hangover - King Steve tries to win his title back (cw: emeto)

Day 5: "Great, now I have your germs all over me" - Doctor Office AU, Sick Nurse!Steve

Day 6: Sick on Vacation - Streamer AU, Sick Streamer!Steve at a convention

Day 8: Intense Coddling - OFMD!!!, Blackbonnet fluff

Day 9: Home Remedy - Eddie/Wayne content

Day 10: Excessive use of tissues/blow your nose - Stucky

Day 12: Stress Induced Illness - Streamer AU, Steve at a con

Day 14: "I might be a teeny tiny bit sick, but it's fine." - Rockstar AU, Sick!Eddie on tour

Day 15: Frostbite/Sunburn - Lifeguard AU

Day 16: Care Package - Pre-Edissy content

Day 17: Fainting - Rockstar AU, Eddie on tour

Day 18: Nausea/Upset Stomach - Rockstar AU

Day 19: Whining/crying - Steddie, (NEW AU)

Day 22: Common cold/flu - Rockstar AU, Edissy

Day 25: Alt3 Cuddling on the Couch - Edissy

Day 28: Alt4 Taking a Sick Day - Doctor Office AU, Sick Doctor!Eddie

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Whump: Nausea

CW: Mild emeto mentions; eating and food mentions

(kink blogs DNI)

- A dizzy whumpee getting nauseous because of staring at the ceiling fan moving directly above them

- The whumpee won’t talk because they’re afraid they’ll throw up if they do (even worse if people keep talking to them, expecting responses)

- Feeling sick because of not eating for awhile

- Being so stressed out for such a long period of time that the whumpee can only eat so much before their throat starts feeling tight like it’s full (even though their actual stomach is still hungry) this was me irl for like, seven years… not fun at all

- Whumpees with stomach issues taking antacids with them everywhere they go

- That thing where your body just decides to yeet your stomach right before you go on vacation because... I don’t f*cking know

- Carsickness slowly taking hold of a whumpee on an hours-long drive with no end in sight (bonus points if they are also the driver)

- The smell of a food being so strong that it permeates the whole room… but not in a good way Don’t get me wrong — most Japanese snacks are amazing; but umaibo? The most overpowering, pungent corn you will ever smell. If you like it, great! But please, for the love of Frith keep it away from me.

- Caretaker giving a nauseous whumpee crackers and water once they feel up to eating something

- The absolute Power™ of ginger snaps (or just ginger in general) for getting rid of nausea

- A whumpee from one country not being used to the food of the country they travelled to I could easily see how this could happen with someone coming to America… a lot of our food is just straight-up nasty. I mean, the cheese (and I use that term very loosely) in my old school‘s cafeteria doesn’t melt and it bounces like a rubber ball when you drop it on the table. Gross.

- When the whumpee’s face just drops because “oh boy, it’s coming up”

- Those weird, very vivid post-nausea-induced dreams

[snezandsickheadcanons]

Sicktember Day 12: Stress Induced Illness

Characters: Gil

emeto warning for this one but nothing graphic. haha funnily enough i’m super emetophobic but my horniness for gil outweighs that funny how that works

Dying of overwork didn’t exactly hit out of nowhere. There was a lead-up to it, foreshadowed by deteriorating health and worsening mind. 

Of course, Gilgamesh was not most people. To all his subjects, even Siduri, he put on the act of someone in perfect condition, right up until he sat on his throne to take a nap he didn’t wake up from. He would not let himself collapse until he had no more life in him left to give. His people needed their king to be strong. And so, he was.

That being said, there were still some moments where it was clear to himself the stress was getting to him, damaging his body from the inside out. Months before he died from overwork, before Chaldea had even arrived, he was beginning to notice it.

The demonic beasts had only been attacking for two months, yet much of Mesopotamia’s population had already perished. Uruk was fighting with everything they had, and Gilgamesh as the king was included with that. 

There was too much to be done for him to take a rest. He hadn’t gotten any sleep for three whole days at least, and before that really was only the occasional quick power nap. If he was fully human, he surely would have passed out by now. 

Besides that, despite his incredible pool of magical energy, keeping all these Servants was draining him dry. A few of them had died already, but even then he felt the constant pull at his energy. He constantly felt as if he was light headed from anemia, or something of the sort. 

Still, this was nothing Gilgamesh couldn’t handle.

He told himself that.

Resting his head against his fist on the throne, Gilgamesh could feel the burning heat of his own fever. Nausea twisted in his stomach. His vision was blurring before him, and he blinked once, twice, to try and get it to obey. He didn’t have time for this.

The prophetic vision his clairvoyance had shown him—Uruk in flames, the blood of his subjects splattered on every street, the legacy of this city he was created by the gods to rule gone in an instant. It stood clearly in the center of his mind. A burning reminder of what it was he had to do.

He would do anything to prevent it. Make any sacrifice to defeat those threatening Mesopotamia. To defeat those… those faces, the ones he needed to defeat. The ones he needed to save… The ones who… En…kidu… Enkidu…

Enkidu Enkidu Enkidu Enkidu Enkidu Enki—

“Your Majesty?”

Gilgamesh snapped to attention, seeing Siduri staring at him. That was close. He’d been spacing out and almost lost consciousness. 

The throne room was nearly empty. He’d already dealt with the line of messengers for today. Night had fallen, and it was just him and Siduri. Finally, a break. Still, this wasn’t good. He needed to—

He rose from the throne, using all of his demigod willpower not to wobble as he did so. 

“Are you retiring for tonight?” Siduri asked again. She seemed genuinely concerned. 

Gilgamesh gave a light wave with his gauntleted hand. “I suppose I shall. There is nothing else to be done for the moment anyway,” he said, as if he’d had any other choice right now. “Wake me at first thing tomorrow morning.” Truly, if he was being honest with himself, he needed more than just a night off to fully restore his health, but they didn’t have time for that right now.

Siduri bid him good night, and he strode from the throne room down the hall to his bedchamber. 

Once he was alone, his muscles decided they could not be ignored any longer. He pulled off his gauntlet and dropped it to the floor as a heavy weight pulled on each of his limbs. Unsteady on his feet, he managed to get close enough to the bed by the time his legs gave out that he could collapse right into it. 

His whole body trembled with chills, the nausea he’d been suppressing turning painful and growing more agitated. 

Quickly, he summoned an old pot from his treasury just in time to vomit into it. 

Afterwards, not feeling any better at all, he took a steady breath and fully laid down on his bed. He stripped himself of as many of his royal garments as his trembling fingers could remove, tossing them aside. Even just his light vest and airy pants had him sweating. 

He needed to sleep. Just for a few hours. Then he could go and become the Wise King of Uruk once again.

[justmeandmysickies]

Em, I'm here to request my favourite trope, and that is the ✨stress stomach ache✨ Maybe two of your boys are out on a date, but one of them is extremely anxious about something that's been happening at work; he tries his best to not let it ruin the evening, but racing thoughts and an upset stomach eventually overwhelm him and he admits to his partner that he's not doing so well (I'm imagining sick/stressed Naoko, but please choose whoever you think it'd work for!)

Flick, you are an angel, thanks for the request. This was my first time writing this trope and I'm not really satisfied with how it turned out but I hope you can still enjoy it somehow!

For reference: Marissa is Naoko's superior/boss

Stress

characters: Sevan and Naoko warnings: implied emeto, mention of food, slight angst (I think?)

“Babe? Babe! Are you listening?”

“Hm?” Naoko questioned as he finally looked up from his hands.

“So you weren’t listening.” Sevan sighed. “What’s going on with you today?”

Naoko jumped a little at the question. He thought he’d been subtle. The couple was currently out on their first date night in forever and both men had been looking forward to this evening. Unfortunately, Naoko was not enjoying himself as much as he’d liked.

“Nothing baby, really. Work was hard, that’s all.” Naoko tried to reason, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Sevan raised his eyebrows at that. His boyfriend was obviously keeping something from him. He also hadn’t missed the hand Naoko protectively kept on his stomach. “Work is always hard for you, babe but you never get like this.”

“Like what?”

“You’re fidgety, distracted and you seem uncomfortable. Is it me? Did I do something wrong?” Sevan asked nervously.

“No! Baby, no. I just had a really hard day. I’m fine though, I promise.” Naoko was trying to sound reassuring, but Sevan could see right through his act. He also knew however, that his boyfriend was stubborn. Too stubborn to admit something was bothering him, so Sevan decided to drop the matter.

While Sevan went back to digging into his delicious meal, Naoko was barely picking at his. His stomach was in knots and it was starting to get really painful.

Due to Covid life at the hospital was upside down and today had been especially bad. Naoko had double as many patients to tend to and double as many shifts to cover. It was only a matter of time until a mistake was going to be made, and today might have been the day.

Nao winced as a cramp shot through his abdomen. What if he really had messed up today? What if he was going to lose his job? What was he supposed to do then? What if-

Naoko hadn’t even realized he’d spaced out again until Sevan gently nudged his arm.

“Baby, talk to me please. You look like you’re about to have a panic attack.” Sevan was getting really worried. His boyfriend was pale and sweating, his breathing was quick and shallow, and his hand was now clenching at his stomach.

“Today-“ Naoko trailed off, taking a deep breath, trying his best to collect himself. “I messed up today.”

“What do you mean you messed up?” Sevan asked, gently encouraging his boyfriend to keep talking.

“A guy came into the ER for stomach pain. He looked okay, so I told him to sit down and wait. It was full as always, so it took a while until we could get to him. He repeatedly asked me to speed things up and I was getting agitated at that because I was obviously busy as hell and he looked fine! I just figured he was being whiny. So I let him wait. Then suddenly the guy starts screaming out of nowhere. Turns out he had acute appendicitis and his appendix burst in the waiting room.” Naoko stopped talking, once again closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath.

“Okay and how is the guy now?” Sevan asked, not quite understanding the problem.

“He is fine. He’ll be discharged in a couple of days.”

“Alright but then what are you so worked up about?” Sevan wondered aloud.

Naoko’s eyes widened at the question. “What am I worked up about? The guy’s appendix burst because of me! I’m supposed to see stuff like that coming! It’s my job to evaluate the severity of a patient’s condition and to make sure they get the help they need! And today I failed! The guy could sue the hospital for that! I could lose my job and-“

“Okay baby, breathe. It’ll be okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. And I’m sure Marissa agrees with me on that. You’re a good and competent nurse. Very, very overworked but nonetheless competent.”

“Marissa said the same thing.” Nao mumbled. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he finally started to calm down after his little rant. Apparently getting this off his chest was much more helpful than he had anticipated.

“She also told me to stop worrying.” Now that he was calming down all his focus shifted to his stomach. It was hurting so much he was getting nauseous and the steak in front of him made an offending sight.

“Then what the hell are you still worried about? Jesus Christ, I thought you killed someone or something like that.” Sevan laughed, gently rubbing up and down Naoko’s shoulder.

Nao joined the laughter, suddenly feeling ridiculous about his outbreak. He didn’t know either what was bothering him so much. Maybe he really was simply overworked.

Then another wave of pain made it’s way through his stomach, so intense Naoko doubled over, panting slightly.

Sevan stopped laughing immediately. “Does it hurt bad?” He asked, noting the obvious pain his boyfriend was in. Naoko has always been prone to stress-induced stomach aches, but they rarely got this bad.

Nao nodded, straightening up slightly. “Yeah, it’s kinda bad. Guess I got myself pretty worked up.” He chuckled dryly.

Sevan bit his lip. “Do you feel like you’re gonna throw up?”

Naoko didn’t really want to think about that right now but the both of them knew there was a very real chance of exactly that happening.

“Maybe, I’m not quite sure.” He stopped, considering the way he was feeling at the moment. “I do feel pretty sick.”

“Alright.” Sevan stated, rubbing his hands together. “We’re leaving.”

“No! No, I’ll be fine! We are supposed to be enjoying tonight!”

“Baby, I won’t be enjoying myself knowing you are anxious and in pain. And judging by everything that happened tonight you desperately need some sleep. Let’s go home, I’ll rub your stomach for you and hopefully put you to sleep.” Sevan said, already getting up to leave.

“That actually sounds kind of nice.” Naoko sighed a little. He’d tried to keep up a façade all evening to make sure Sevan had a great night but going to bed honestly sounded like heaven right now.

And that is how they found themselves in their car on their way home.

“I’m sorry for ruining date night. It’s gonna be a while until we’ll be able to do this again.”

Sevan looked over at his boyfriend, who fortunately seemed to be doing slightly better already. He still had a careful hand on his stomach, but he luckily had some color back to his face.

“It’s alright, I just want you to feel better. You’ve been working way too much lately so a relaxing night at home is probably good for you. Besides, every night I spent with you is date night. I don’t need fancy restaurants and expensive food to enjoy your company.”

“Aw, that was the sweetest thing you ever said to me. Turns out you do love me after all.” Naoko joked, earning himself a half-hearted slap on the shoulder.

Yes, his boyfriend really did love him.