#caretaker hiccup | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boysbellyrubs · 1 year

Note

Hello!! I don’t know if this is too specific, but I would love for you to write something like it!! (Only if you want to tho ofc!!) Btw, I know their is no sickness in the ask, but you could put in an upset tummy from A.

A comes home after an incredibly rough day and is almost on the verge of tears. All they want is a hug and cuddles from their partner B. But B doesn’t pick up on their partners trouble and makes a snide remark or snaps at them mindlessly. They don’t realize anythings wrong until A bursts into tears . . . End in fluff pls!!(I think this would be so cute for Alistar and Nikau!! - sorry if I spelled it wrong) Thank you if you decide to do it!! ❤️❤️

here is the fic I promised before :D, it's quite long almost 3000 words. the ending is mid, i hope i have met both of your expectations with your asks. thank you very much for both of them hehe.

---

Alistair, being Alistair, had made his day ten times worse than it already was. He had already anticipated a bad day, and his manifestation seemed to actually come true, just to spite him. His mood was down the drain, his outfit was shit, his classes were boring and everything about him felt awful. His stomach was terribly upset, he didn’t know if he was hungry or the stupid thing was getting sick, so as a result he was starving and bloated, belly pushing into his pants. Thankfully, his last class was wrapping up, an hour long tutorial that he didn’t contribute anything too; rather he sat in the corner leaning against the wall. He was sure he didn’t pick up anything the tutor was saying, let alone take any notes.

However, moving along he packed up his stuff with the sluggishness of a sloth, and dragged his feet out of the classroom. The person in front of him dropped the door on his face too, just his fucking luck. He scowled at their stupid haircut and started walking towards the bus stop. Oh, that was another thing, Nikau had needed the car today so he had to walk to University and now he was destined to go on a packed bus with a bunch of business men and crying babies. Joy.

The walk to the stop, Alistair reflected on how much of an awful day he had. It was downright laughable, he could’ve been on a sitcom with the amount of things that went wrong. His laptop was low on battery, the library was packed full of people, and he had only one hour breaks between all of his classes and lectures. And he was already pissed before his stomach even started to riot. So, on top of everything, his stomach gurgling away at him all day was like an incessant fly that wouldn’t stop flying around his ears.

As he walked, he found himself unconsciously holding his belly. He didn’t care what he looked like, other people be damned, all he wanted was to feel better. The walk seemed to take forever, the smell of tarmac, the sight of construction, the noise of city life, Alistair felt like his brain was melting. He zeroed in on the bus stop sign, willing himself to move faster.

It was empty. The lone bench was blissfully quiet as he heavily threw himself down on it. He shucked his bag off, sitting it against him, and threw his head back. His hair was sticking to the nape of his neck, gross, and his legs felt like jelly. Hot electricity coursed through his hands and arms, raising goosebumps and sending warning signals to his brain. He was sick. So sick yet so far from home. The bus was coming in ten minutes, the ten most agonising minutes of Alistair’s life. He wrapped both arms around his middle, holding it in place as it grumbled away incessantly.

His thoughts began to wander then. To his assignments, his boyfriend, the birds singing their annoying songs, how sick he felt. It was all coming together in Alistair’s mind, and in all honesty he wanted it to stop. His own brain almost made him break down at that bus stop. He ducked his head and sucked in harshly between his teeth, forcing the tears back into his tear ducts. Sickness floored him every time, broke down every emotional defence he had up, like a crack in a dam that grew and grew until a huge wave finally broke through. The pain in his belly, the overstimulating noise, the knowledge that every assignment would have to be pushed back for him to recover, was too much existentialism for the bus stop.

He gathered himself. Alistair turned to stare at where the bus would appear. He sat back on the bench, needing to feel the solid wood behind him. The gurgling hit a sharp note, his measly breakfast rumbling through the pit of his stomach. The organ twisted on bits of bread, trying to digest something that wouldn’t move past his stomach. He rubbed a hand over the tight spot.

Focusing on his own body, he didn’t notice the bus finally arriving. It pulled into the stop and Alistair had to force himself up, feeling his back slouch and his knees wobble, he stepped up onto the bus and sat on the closest free seat. He stared out the window, pulling a deep breath into his lungs. He closed his eyes, hoping the bus ride was the smoothest of his life.

—

Alistair trudged through the front door, groaning loudly to announce his presence. He pretty much threw his bag onto the ground, slamming the front door with his foot. The bus messed up his stomach even more, the churning getting worse and morphing into a nauseating mess inside him. He wrapped his left arm around his bloated belly, hunching over and went searching for Nikau.

The house was quiet, the only sound were Alistair’s heavy footfalls. God, he hated being sick. He groaned again when his stomach bubbled, the bug getting angrier by the second the longer he ignored it.

He got tired of searching, “Nikau! Are you here babe?”

There was a muffled reply that came from the bedroom. Alistair smiled to himself, excited to see his boyfriend after the day he’s had. His legs were heavy as he climbed up the stairs; the landing felt like it kept stretching further away from him like an oasis in a desert. His head pounded as he ascended making him shut his eyes as he finally made it to the second floor. Alistair pretty much threw his hand on the knob, knocking it down as he pushed his way inside the bedroom.

Nikau was on the bed, headphones in and laptop resting on his lap. He immediately brought a finger up to his lips, silencing Alistair’s planned complaint. Nikau’s face was very serious as he went back to staring at the laptop screen. The redheads mood decreased further, no longer feeling as excited as he was before, realising that he was going to have to wait.

Nonetheless, he sat down on the bed, flopping backward onto the pillow. His stomach rolled, making him groan deeply with the movement. Nikua shot him a look that withered the seed of hope in his chest. Alistair stole a look at the computer screen and saw the all familiar squares of a Zoom meeting. He frowned, Nikau hadn’t mentioned this at all so it must have been sudden. No wonder he was so pissed off.

Alistair closed his eyes, throwing his forearm over his eyes. The darkness was incredibly comforting, the tension in his eyebrows and jaw releasing. His other hand was rubbing along the harsh lines on his lower belly where his jeans had been cutting into him. Alistair’s tummy rumbled, nausea increasing as he sat in darkness. He almost hoped Nikau was taking notice without him having to utter a word.

The room was quiet. Alistair heard the little taps of Nikau’s keyboard flowing into his ears. It was like ASMR, quieting the anxious little voice that wouldn’t shut up. He couldn’t wait till Nikau’s Zoom was over. He conjured up an image of both of them on the couch, Nikau’s hand rubbing soft circles into Alistair’s belly, muting the upset gurgles, with cups of tea and something stupid on the TV to distract him. Getting into bed and falling asleep with Nikau’s strong arms wrapped around his middle, magically getting better by the morning.

Alistair caught himself smiling at the thought. So dramatic. He huffed at his own voice. He breathed deeply, stomach inflating with breath. After everything, he almost fell asleep. However, Nikau had decided to slam his laptop shut, sighing angrily and pushing himself off the bed with a huff.

The bed shook and Alistair’s stomach sloshed, a heavy gurgle spreading across his middle. He threw his arm off his eyes, watching Nikau pace around the room and finally coming to a stop at the windowsill, leaning on it like he was in a period drama. Alistair sat up,

“Nikau?”

“What?” The word was spat out like a curse. Alistair immediately wondered what the Zoom had been about.

“Are you alright?” Alistair didn’t notice how shaky his voice sounded, and neither did Nikau apparently. He turned around with a stormy look in his eyes, the setting sun outlined him. Alistair had to squint to look at him.

Nikau shook his head roughly, “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Alistair sighed, now nervous about telling him his own problems. He didn’t have the chance though, Nikau already moving out of the room. Alistair got up to follow, vertigo crashing into him. He lost his footing a little, stumbling towards the dresser. He moaned as the world tilted sideways. Nikau turned around,

“What is wrong, Star? I don’t have the energy right now.” His words stung, but he knew Nikau didn’t really mean them.

“N-nothing.” As soon as the word left his mouth Nikau turned around and disappeared from sight. Alistair leaned against the dresser more, taking deep breaths in and out. His stomach was spinning, echoing his head. The more he stood there, the more anxious he felt about throwing up. It was definitely on the horizon and he felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes. Alistair made his way to the bathroom, vomiting inevitable.

His hand never left the wall, hunched over himself as the nausea increased the closer he got to the bathroom door. He slapped a hand over his mouth as he gagged, vomit filling his mouth and burning his tongue. He burst into the bathroom and leaned over the toilet, vomit spilling from his lips. He coughed harshly, a heave bringing up another fierce wave as he almost fell forward. His stomach gurgled, a wet burp preceding another gag and a mouthful of vomit. He had a moment of reprieve and he sat himself down, knees slamming into the tile. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, leaning over the toilet now that he had more stability.

His stomach brought up another wave, and Alistair was surprised at the amount of vomit coming up. Coughing, panting and groaning was all that was heard around the walls of the bathroom. Alistair thought he was being loud, but apparently not loud enough for Nikau to notice. He groaned, his neck losing its strength and his head fell forward. The gurgling noises coming from his insides weren’t letting up, it almost felt like they were getting louder. He forced up a burp, which only made him gag, spitting up a chunky mouthful. Alistair moaned, arms squeezing tighter.

“Fuck.” He whined, clearing his throat and hating the feeling of his saliva dangling from his lips. His knees ached on the floor. His headache grew, a pulsing right behind his eyes. His mouth filled with saliva again, jaw tingling, and another wave was brought up into the mess in front of him. His gut finally started to calm down a little so he took the time to catch his breath. Everything was aching, he was freezing, and now he was hiccuping. He sighed, running a hand down his sweaty face. His hair was sticking to his forehead now and he felt disgusting.

He sniffled, spitting out the last remains. His hands shook as he flushed away the mess. He shakily stood, washed his hands quickly and threw some water over his face and swirled some in his mouth. He hoped Nikau had calmed down a little, it was already bad enough he felt like shit he didn’t want to feel even worse by making Nikau upset.

Alistair left the bathroom with a heavy gait. His journey down the stairs was thankfully uneventful, but by the time he made it down he felt weaker than he did immediately after vomiting. He felt like he was about to pass out. Making his way slowly to the living room, he kept his arm wrapped around his middle and found Nikau scrolling on his phone.

He cleared his throat, “Nikau?”

The man hummed, not even looking at Alistair. Alistair sagged a little, a bit defeated that his boyfriend was paying him any attention. He moved on then, to the kitchen where he fixed himself a healthy meal of ibuprofen and water. He gulped down a mouthful, wary of drinking too much. He leant back against it, staring out at the back of Nikau’s head. He still was curious as to what had upset him so much, but he knew he needed to let Nikau deal with it on his own for a bit.

All this thinking distracted him from his condition, but a cramp hit his belly right as he relaxed a bit too much. He gasped, his hand clutching his tummy, the ibuprofen coming back with a vengeance. He powered through it alone, fever addled brain making him feel worse that Nikau hadn’t even got up from his seat at Alistair’s noise. His pitiful thinking brought on more tears, but these were unable to be stopped. They made tracks down his cheeks, meeting on his jawline and falling to the ground. His belly cramped again, Alistair hunching over himself and using the bench as a support to not fall immediately to the ground.

He clamped a hand over his mouth when a sob broke through, desperately trying to make himself quiet. Nikau didn’t need extra worry. Nikau didn’t want extra worry. Nikau didn’t want to help.

No matter how much he tried to be silent, Alistair’s cries weren’t unheard. Nikau turned his head, noticing right away the state Alistair was in. He got up in a rush, throwing his phone down and approached his sickly boyfriend.

His hands landed on Alistair’s upper arms, “Star, hey are you okay?”

Alistair fell forward, his forehead landing on Nikau’s shoulder. His cries got louder then, “No, I feel like absolute rubbish, Nikau. My belly hurts.” He whined, arms winding tighter around his middle.

“Oh, love, I’m so sorry for not noticing. How long have you felt like this?” His hands moved to Alistair’s warm back, moving up and down his spine.

“Since lunch. I thought I might have just been hungry but it just got worse,” He paused, unsure if he should say this, “I threw up before.”

Nikau reeled back, eyes desperately searching Alistair’s face, “For real?”

Alistair nodded, a few more tears slipping past his eyes. Nikau sighed, pulling Alistair back into a gentle hug. The heat from Alistair’s body made Nikau feel warm, and he connected the dots as to why his boyfriend was so upset. He felt terrible. But, now that he understood he knew exactly what to do.

He pulled back more slowly this time, watching Alistair’s eyes flutter with another cramp. He hissed in sympathy.

“Okay, sweetheart let's get you settled. I’ll get you feeling better in no time.” He tried to peel Alistair off the counter as gently as possible, coming around to his side and wrapping his arm around his shoulders. They moved as one towards the living room, Nikau depositing Alistair on the couch and reaching for the nearest blanket to lay over his lap. He leant forward and got Alistair’s attention by cupping his hands on his jaw,

“Be right back.”

Alistair watched him leave, sinking down into the couch. His thoughts were still running, but as he sat down he admittedly felt a tad better. His stomach calmed down a little, and his legs were thankful that he was sitting down and resting. Alistair leaned his head back on the couch, hand resting on the crest of his swollen stomach.

He barely moved when Nikau returned, he heard a bucket be placed on the coffee table, and he felt the couch dip as Nikau sat next to him. The man touched his knee,

“You feeling okay? You don’t look so good, babe.”

Alistair shook his head, “I really don’t feel good.” Turning his head he met Nikau’s eyes, a pitiful expression on his face. Nikau made a clicking noise with his teeth, sitting a little closer to put his hand on Alistair’s belly. He leaned forward and kissed his cheek as he started to rub Alistair’s upset stomach.

Alistair moaned, the cramps coming back with the touch of Nikau’s fingertips. He pushed his stomach out, needing the pressure and comforting weight. Nikau quickly got the memo, pushing a little deeper into his belly. He burped, covering his mouth with his hand.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. If you need to let them out just do it.”

The man groaned at the feel of another burp forcing its way up his throat. His hand joined Nikau on his tummy, rubbing the underside as it swelled with pressure. His stomach wasn’t perfectly flat, yet the softness of his belly was completely overtaken by the bloating of this illness, the skin stretched tight as it worked its way through his guts. His throat jumped at a wet burp, chest lurching. Nikau paused,

“Are you gonna throw up?”

Alistair shook his head, “Just gassy.”

Nikau hummed, kissing his cheek again. The room fell silent bar Alistair’s stomach and burping. There was a tension in the air though, Nikau was the first to break it.

“I’m sorry about not noticing how sick you were before. Also, I ignored you when you were clearly ill. I’m sorry, Star.”

Alistair didn’t really know what to say. His brain was too muddled to come up with a response, too much pain and exhaustion, so he just shook his head and leaned into Nikau, hoping that was enough to get Nikau to relax. It felt like he did, his hand was still rubbing along the swell of his belly and his other hand was playing with the wavy strands of hair at the crown of Alistair’s head. ---

pls don't flop

#emeto #emetophilia #stomach ache #oc's #Alistair #Nikau #belly ache #belly kink #stomach kink #vomit kink #male sickie #caretaking #belly rubs #stomach rubs #belly gurgles #burping #vomiting #hiccups

77 notes · View notes

kerwynlar · 6 months

Text

The Rite of the Seven Glasses

A Belly Kink Fic by Kerwynlar

New installment in the King of Mirokan series, following The Sensation of Your Hands on Me and A Contrivance. Neither prior story is required reading.

In an act of diplomacy, King Lawrence undertakes a foreign custom and ends up very, very drunk. Prince Consort Nathaniel is there to help with the aftermath.

Tags: alcohol, drinking & drunkenness, semi-graphic vomiting, burping, hiccups, slurring words, belly rubs, sickfic, hurt/comfort, caretaking, domestic fluff, modern royalty, a bit of in-universe politics/worldbuilding.

Note: As the tags say, there is vomiting in this story. I don't have a good enough sense of the norms to know whether this should be tagged as "graphic" or "emetophilia". If you're not interested in that, I've put an asterisk where it begins and ends so it's easy to skip. If you read it and have ideas about how I should be tagging it, please let me know.

~2,900 words

Read it below or on AO3.

~*~

Lawrence thunked the shot glass down on the table just as the burly man across from him did the same. The liquor burned down his throat and into his belly which was already sloshing with far more of the stuff than he ever intended to drink. Lawrence squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to swallow all of it, then opened his mouth to gasp for breath but was interrupted by a loud hiccup.

“Ah hah!” his companion slapped his hands down on the table. “There you go, Your Majesty! The Rite of the Seven Glasses! Now we are truly friends!”

Lawrence’s head swam and he blinked slowly to bring the man - the Foreign Minister of a nation with whom Mirokan had a strained relationship - into focus. “Thank you, Minister.” Lawrence spoke slowly, focusing on not slurring his words. “It - HIC! - was an experience I won’t soon forget.”

“Yes, yes! Now I shall tell my President that King Lawrence of Mirokan is a truly honorable man. One who we can deal with and come to an understanding.”

Lawrence pushed himself to his feet, wobbling a little, and one of his aides stepped forward to put a steadying hand on his arm. “I’m very glad - HIC - to hear it, Minister.”

The minister put out his hand and Lawrence had to squint at it for a moment before he could line his own hand up to shake it. The minister laughed again and clapped Lawrence roughly on the arm. The momentum might have overbalanced Lawrence in his present condition if his aide hadn’t been steadying him.

“Next time, you shall meet with the President. We are friends now.” The minister let go of Lawrence’s hand, took a step backward and bowed. Lawrence managed to nod in return and thanked the man again.

The moment the door shut behind the minister, Lawrence sank back into his chair with a groan. The aide was saying something to him, but he was too focused on trying to loosen his tie with clumsy fingers to listen.

When Lawrence looked up again, the aide had been replaced by Solomon, his personal attendant.

“Your Majesty, may I take you back to the residence?”

Lawrence hiccuped while his sluggish brain worked through Solomon’s words. He frowned.

“Where’s Nth… Nath… Nthan… my husband?”

“I believe the prince consort is in the residence, Your Majesty.”

“I don’ wan you, Solmn. You’re… you’re not…” he waved his hand in what he thought was probably a dismissive gesture. “I wan my pretty husband. Makes me feel good.”

Nate hurried through the halls of the palace. The text he had received from Solomon had read: King requires you in the Blue Room. Please come at once.

He rounded a corner and almost collided with Solomon.

“Oh, Prince Consort, thank goodness! Please come with me.” Solomon turned and walked alongside Nate.

“Solomon, what is going on? Isn’t the king having dinner with the minister from Elendria?”

It seemed impossible that Lawrence was having digestive issues: the kitchen would have made absolutely certain that everything they served was safe for his stomach when he was engaged in diplomacy.

“That was the plan,” Solomon said. “But the minister refused food, and insisted that to create friendship between Elendria and Mirokan, he and the king had to engage in the Rite of the Seven Glasses.”

Nate nearly stopped walking. “Isn’t that the thing where you take seven shots of Elendrian liquor?”

“Yes.”

“And Lawrence did that?”

“Yes. On an empty stomach. His Majesty is quite intoxicated.”

“Shit.” Nate walked faster. “I’ve never seen him drink liquor. Can his stomach handle it?”

“I’m not sure anyone’s stomach could easily handle that much in that short amount of time with no food - well, no one who’s not Elendrian - but no, His Majesty rarely drinks liquor. He prefers wine in part because it is less likely to upset his stomach.”

“Do you think he needs to eat?” Nate asked. Solomon had worked for Lawrence for years. Nate had only been married to him for eight months.

“He probably needs to eat something and I’m having some fresh bread sent up. But honestly it may help if he vomits first.”

Nate nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” Another thought occurred. “Did it work?”

“Did what work, sir?”

“Doing the Rite with the minister. Did it achieve what Lawrence wanted when he agreed to do it?”

“Oh!” Solomon brightened. “Yes, rather spectacularly. I understand that the minister appears to have been favorably impressed. He even stated that his majesty’s next meeting would be with the President of Elendria.”

Nate grinned as they reached the door to the Blue Room. Lawrence was brilliant as always, even if he was suffering for it now.

Solomon held the door open for him. “Please let me know if you need anything.”

Nate entered the room to see Lawrence sprawled across a sofa. He had never witnessed the king in this state of disarray: Lawrence’s hair was mussed, his tie hanging loose, his jacket and waistcoat crumpled on the floor, and - most notably - his shirt and trousers hanging open with his swollen belly protruding out. There had been no question in Nate’s mind that Lawrence would be incredibly drunk, but seeing the normally prim and proper king so very undone was something else.

“Hey there, love,” he said gently as he approached.

Lawrence turned unfocused eyes to him and gave him a bleary smile. “Nath… Nathanull - HIC! ‘S my pretty husban. C’mere pretty hus- HIC!”

Nate choked back a chuckle. Lawrence slurring was a revelation. He sank to his knees beside the sofa. “I hear you completed the Rite of the Seven Glasses.”

“HILK! Yep,” Lawrence said, popping the p. “The minis… minster said we’re - HIC - frienz now. Gonna… gonna meet the… the thingy. Urf. Prez. Prezdent nes time. HIC!”

Nat shook his head. “You’re incredible, Lawrence. How are you feeling?”

“‘M verr verr verr verrrrry … um. Drunk. Verr drunk. ‘N my stom… HIC! My belly dint like… not happy. Oof.” Lawrence put his hand on his bloated belly and groaned.

Nate placed his hand beside Lawrence’s. “Poor belly. I tried to do the Rite of the Seven Glasses with some Elendrian friends when I was a teenager. I made it to five before I threw up. I can’t believe you completed it.”

Lawrence groaned again. “Throwin’ up sounds verrr nice. My belly’s all blurglewurgle. ‘S not good. An it’s HIC ‘s … too big. Not nice n fat. Bloated. ‘N it hurts. ‘S sloshy. Don’ like it.”

Nate rubbed a circle over the tight skin of Lawrence’s belly. “Bloated and blurglewurgle huh?” Nate couldn’t help his smile. “Let’s get you into the bathroom and we’ll see about throwing up then, okay?”

Lawrence hiccuped again and nodded.

Nate wrapped an arm around his back and helped him sit up, bringing his feet to the floor. Lawrence blinked slowly, clearly dizzy from the movement. He opened his mouth as if to say something but a huge belch came out instead. Lawrence closed his eyes and moaned. “Nathn … don’ feel so good.”

“Yeah, love.” Nate rubbed Lawrence’s back. “Blurglewurgle right?”

“No, I- uuuoouurrrp. Room’s spinning. Feel sick.” He groaned and belched again. “Mm not good.”

“Okay, love, just breathe.”

“Rooms too spinny,” Lawrence moaned. “Ohh my belly. I don’t… ugh. Uuuurrrrrrrp. Feel so sick.”

“Lawrence,” Nate said firmly, trying to hold his attention. “Do you think you can stand up? I’ll help you. We need to get you into the bathroom.”

“Uuuuoorrrrp. I don’ … ‘m really - uurrp - really bad.”

“I know, love, that’s why we need to get you to the bathroom, so you can throw up.”

“Need to throw up,” Lawrence moaned. “So sick. My belly is really sick. Buuurrp.”

Nate grimaced. “You’re not going to make it to the bathroom, are you?”

Lawrence had gone very pale and was swallowing repeatedly. “Ohhh oh no. Don’ think I can… hold it.” He gave a wet-sounding belch and clasped his hand over his mouth.

Nate looked around and to his relief saw a clean trash can with plastic liner sitting just inside the door he had come through. Bless Solomon, he must have put it inside while Nate was distracted with Lawrence. Nate registered that there was a large pitcher of water and a glass, as well as a loaf of bread on the table by the door. Nate quickly grabbed the trash can and brought it back to Lawrence.

Lawrence took the can and leaned forward, producing a series of sickly belches, but no vomit. He groaned and wiped his eyes.

Nate moved to sit beside him on the couch and rubbed his back. “Let it out, love. You’ll feel so much better with all that liquor out of your stomach.”

“I want to but-” Lawrence was interrupted by a cough that turned into a retch, then dry heaving and belching, but still no vomit.

“Feel so sick,” Lawrence groaned. “Ugh why won’ it come out?” He sat up, then leaned back against the couch, pawing at his exposed belly. “Nathn… my belly hurts. Feels so bad.”

Nate reached over and spread his palm over Lawrence’s belly. Lawrence groaned and pushed his hand on top of Nate’s, pressing firmly against his skin. Lawrence belched, then sat up again. He pressed Nate’s hand harder into his belly.

Nate frowned. “You want me to push on your belly? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Won’t. Please.” Lawrence gave him a miserable look. “Need to throw up.”

“Okay.” Nate sighed.

Lawrence leaned forward and Nate pressed into his bloated belly. Lawrence belched and coughed, then spit into the can. “More,” he gasped out.

Nate pushed harder, then suddenly felt Lawrence’s stomach muscles clench under his hand. Lawrence’s belch turned into a wet gasp and then vomit was pouring out of his mouth and into the can.

Nate looked away, not wanting to be sick himself. He started to pull his hand away, but between heaves Lawrence whimpered, and Nate stayed where he was. He kept one hand pressed against Lawrence’s belly and the other rubbing his back.

“There you go love,” he said soothingly. “There you go. You’ll feel so much better.”

Lawrence spit into the can a few times, then put it down on the floor, gasping for breath.

Nate reached into the pocket of Lawrence’s trousers and pulled out the handkerchief he knew his husband always carried. Nate gently wiped Lawrence’s eyes, then his nose and mouth.

“Are you ready for some water?” he asked.

Lawrence shook his head. “‘M not… not done. Will you… my belly.”

“Yeah, love.” Nate rubbed his hand over Lawrence’s belly, clearly feeling the churning within.

Lawrence let out a deep burp, then leaned forward and picked up the trash can again, its contents reeking of liquor.

Nate took that as his cue, and pushed hard against Lawrence’s stomach again. Once again, he felt Lawrence’s stomach muscles tense and then he was vomiting.

It ended more quickly this time, and Lawrence put the can down an arms length away. “Please,” he gasped out, “I don’t want to smell it.”

Nate understood completely. He took the can, careful not to look inside, and carried it into the bathroom, leaving it by the toilet.

He grabbed the pitcher and glass on his way back to the couch where Lawrence was huddled miserably, arms wrapped around his middle. Nate poured a glass of water and held it out to him. Lawrence looked up at him, eyes red and wet, and took the water, one arm still holding himself. Lawrence took a careful sip and swished it around his mouth then swallowed. He closed his eyes and Nate guessed that his throat was likely pretty raw. Nate set the pitcher aside and sat back down beside Lawrence, draping an arm around his shoulders. Lawrence leaned into his side and took another sip of water.

“‘M sorry,” Lawrence mumbled. He coughed then burped. “‘M so sorry.”

“Shh.” Nate pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“You didn’t - mmf - you didn’t need to see me vomit.”

“Lawrence, we’ve been over this. You don’t need to be embarrassed about this kind of thing with me.” Nate pulled him closer and kissed his hair again. “I’m very glad that alcohol is out of you instead of in you, and by putting it in you, you seem to have managed to thaw relations with Elendria of all places, which is something that I would have sworn was impossible two years ago.” Nate gave him a squeeze. “You’re a wonder, Lawrence. And if you need some help to recover from being a wonder, then I consider it an honor and a pleasure to be the one to help you.”

“Marryin you was a good thing, Nath- Nathn…” Lawrence paused to frown. ��Why’s your name so hard to say when ‘m drunk?”

Nate chuckled. “You know, my friends from home all call me Nate. I love that you call me Nathaniel, it sounds especially good in your accent, but you can certainly go with the shorter version in your state.”

Lawrence considered this. “Mm. Nate.” He took another sip of water, then turned his head away to give a quiet but deep burp. “Thank you, Nate. For helping me.”

Nate kissed the side of his head again. “How are you feeling now?”

Lawrence blinked. “‘M still drunk. But maybe… maybe a lil clearer.”

Nate nodded. “You still have to process what’s in your bloodstream, but now you don’t have all that sloshing around in your belly. How’s your stomach?”

Lawrence burped again. “‘M not gonna throw up again but it still feels bad. Queasy. ‘N ‘m still bloated.”

“It might help to eat something,” Nate suggested.

Lawrence groaned then leaned back against the couch, showing his still-swollen belly. “Too bloated.”

Lawrence’s pants and shirt were still open and his belly looked so exposed. Nate could just imagine how uncomfortable it was. He gently placed his hand on it.

Lawrence squirmed a little under his touch. “Would you rub? Always feels nice when you rub my belly.”

With a smile, Nate shifted a little closer and brought both hands to the sides of Lawrence’s belly and began stroking gently.

Lawrence sighed and smiled, then closed his eyes and let his head fall back. “Mm, good,” he mumbled before covering his mouth to burp.

Nate alternated between stroking Lawrence’s sides and rubbing circles over the middle of his belly. When he felt gurgling in one spot he would focus his attention there, usually leading Lawrence to belch.

While Nate didn’t like when Lawrence was feeling unwell, he had come to truly enjoy helping him with his rowdy stomach. Lawrence worked so hard all the time, governing his kingdom with a steady hand. And while Nate eagerly (and skillfully, if he wasn’t being too modest) engaged in diplomatic interactions as well as charitable work, he often felt a bit like an afterthought. But helping Lawrence when he wasn’t feeling well was both incredibly intimate and felt like something concrete and meaningful he could do.

He leaned forward to kiss Lawrence’s belly. He knew it wouldn’t really get better until the rest of the alcohol had left Lawrence’s system but it seemed a little less tight than it had been and Lawrence was comfortable enough to have dozed off.

“Lawrence,” he said quietly. When he got no response, he reached up to brush his fingers across Lawrence’s cheek. “Come on, love. You’ll regret it if you sleep in this position for too long, and I think your stomach will thank you if you get some solid food into it.”

Lawrence stirred and roused. “Mm.” He blinked and rubbed his eyes then patted his belly. “‘S better.”

Nate smiled broadly. “I’m glad. Solomon left some fresh bread. Can I get you some of that?”

Lawrence looked at him sleepily. “You’re so pretty, Nathnull. Nathan… Nate. So good.”

“Thanks, love,” Nate chuckled.

“Mm. Wanna make you feel good too.” He reached out to grab Nate’s shirt and pulled him in for a kiss.

Nate gladly kissed him, despite the fact that he still reeked of liquor, but then pulled away. “Are you propositioning me, Your Majesty?”

“Do you wan be propos…zshnd?”

Nate laughed. “Aw, sweetheart, you know I love it when you scream my name during sex. Right now you’re too drunk to even say it. Let’s save it for when you’re sober.”

Lawrence pouted, and Nate thought it was likely the most adorable thing he had ever seen. “‘S cause I threw up in front of you, isn’t it?”

“No, love,” Nate said firmly. “It’s because you’re still drunk enough to be slurring your words, and you need to eat something.” He leaned in to kiss him again. “I’ll be making love to you the moment you sober up. And get over the hangover.”

“Promise?” Lawrence asked, still pouting.

“Promise,” Nate said. He kissed Lawrence’s nose, then sat back. “I’m going to get you that bread and text Solomon to ask him to bring you some sweatpants so you don’t have to try to get that suit back on.”

Nate pulled his phone out of his pocket and had started composing the text when Lawrence spoke up again.

“Nathnull… Nate.”

Nate grinned, but didn’t look up from his phone. “Yeah, love?”

“Knew I could do it ‘cause of you.”

Nate did look at Lawrence, then, to see the king peering back at him.

“The Rite,” Lawrence continued. “I knew-” he interrupted himself with a yawn. “Knew no matter what happened, you’d take care of me. ‘S the only thing - only thing that gave me … made me think I could do it.”

Nate leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “Always, love.”

#kerwyn's writing #belly kink #belly rubs #caretaking #sickfic #burping #alcholol #drunkenness #vomiting #hiccups #slurring words #caretaking kink #sick kink #the king of mirokan

15 notes · View notes

whats-k-popping · 2 years

Note

Congrats on all your achievememts 🥰 Requesting Yoongi who accidentally overeats because he’s stressed over work. Cue Hoseok finding him groaning and hiccuping in his studio, empty ramen cups littered around. Hoseok helps ease his painful hiccups. Doesnt need to end in emeto. Can end with Hobi giving him a warm water bottle and belly rubs.

Thank you anon!! This is such an interesting request! I loved writing it so much. I really liked writing just hiccups as the symptom. There's so little content that focuses on just hiccups. I'd love to read more content like this in the future. It's so cute! I hope you enjoy this anon!

Pairing: SOPE - platonic friendship with allusions to a fwb situation. Do what you will with that.

Setting: Sometime between That That and the announcement of JITB.

Words: 2320

Warnings: Accidental Overindulgence || Stomach Ache || Hiccups

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

Time is an illusion inside the Genius Lab. Sometimes minutes pass like hours. Sometimes hours pass like minutes. Yoongi had a hard time keeping track of the concept of time when he’s so absorbed in his work.

Maybe he shouldn’t have accepted collaboration projects with fifteen global artists on top of his own album and debut preparations. Maybe he has become too proud, too greedy. But hindsight is always 20/20. He can see everything clearly now that he’s drowning from the pressure. Everyone always says he operates like a machine, but he’s still only human. Even the great Min Yoongi has his limits.

He knows he needs to eat, but can’t be bothered to leave his studio. He keeps a stash of cup ramyeon in his studio for this exact reason. But he’s operating under skewed timing. He’s stuck in a mindset where minutes pass like hours. He thinks he is so far behind, not realizing that he’s only been stuck on the same part for only 25 minutes. He swears he’s been at it for hours.

He eats one ramyeon.

Through trial and error, he’s able to move forward. He finds a combination of sounds that flows well. The bridge is complete. Now onto the refrain. He’s stuck again. He works, plugging new instruments and sound effects. Trying to layer on sounds. It’s complicated. He’s stuck again. He feels like he’s spent hours on it. It’s actually only been 30 more minutes.

Still, he rewards himself with another cup of ramyeon.

He moves on to the chorus. It needs to be more lively. It needs to fit well with quick motion choreography. He needs a sound that feels like driving a convertible on the beach. That’s the information he was provided. But he doesn’t know what that feels like. After thinking about it for hours (15 minutes).

He stress-eats yet another instant ramyeon cup. He even snacks on some chips while he watches the plastic cup spinning on in the microwave.

After he finishes gulping dowm the broth, he throws the container away and looks at the three recently eaten containers laying atop one another. The other two containers are still warm to the touch. He starts to wonder how much time had actually passed. The new heaviness and rumbling of his stomach tells him he’s eaten far too much way too quickly.

He looks back at the time stamped revision history to the track and confirms that only about an hour has passed since he started working. He’s disgusted at himself for eating three whole cups of ramyeon in under one hour. He didn’t feel full before. But now he’s feeling bloated, his stomach swelling underneath his sweatshirt. Thankfully, it’s oversized, so the fabric doesn’t need to stretch to accommodate his bulging middle.

But, of course, it is the one day he chooses jeans over sweatpants. And not loose fitting jeans. No, skinny jeans. He leans back in his desk chair and unbuttons them to make room for his aching stomach. The zipper unravels on its own. Instantly, his stomach pushes through and he lets out a heavy breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He feels so much better. He doesn’t think he could refasten them even if he wanted to.

He grunts when he sits up and leans back over his keyboard, determined to work more on the song. It’s a struggle. It’s nearly impossible to focus on the music over his own stomach gurgling loudly. And even when he wears his most effective noise-cancelling headphones, he can still feel the rumbling through his whole abdomen. It is screaming for attention, but Yoongi ignores.

That is, until the hiccups start. He hardly registers the first one, working right through it. He thinks the next three are a fluke. The fifth hiccup hits hard, deep in his stomach. And by the tenth, he realizes they won’t be stopping anytime soon.

He tries to work through them, tries to focus on the track and waits for them to go away on their own. But it proves too difficult for him to suffer through. The squeaky sound distracts him from the sounds of the instruments. His whole body jolts with each one, his hand flying off the mouse or making him click something he didn't intend to. His diaphragm jumps and slaps hard against his too swollen stomach making him wince in pain. And each hiccup leaves a burning feeling in his chest. He only makes it five minutes before he closes the software.

He slides his chair over to his couch and throws himself onto it, kicking the chair away. Both hands wrap tightly around his middle, feeling it jump with his fast-paced hiccuping. Each loud chirp followed by a whimper or grunt. He tries to rub against the bloated organ, trying to press out the excess air in hopes it will make the hiccups stop. But it's no luck.

It never is. He's tried so many times before. It was advice from Seokjin, who like him, gets pretty frequent bouts of hiccups. Seokjin mentioned his go to cure was to burp them away. No more airy middle, no more hiccups. It works for his hyung every time. But try as he might, Yoongi is not capable of making himself burp.

He's tried ever since he was a teenager. Everyone always told him- "just swallow air, it's so easy." But he never understood what that meant. And he never did it right. Boys in middle school made fun of him for his pathetic attempts. When he joined the company, that weakness became a strength. They loved a trainee who didn't engage in the boyish antics and shenanigans that burping contests fell into. He became a big hit among the instructors.

But the inability to burp came with its own rotten downside. He would always end up with pretty aggressive cases of hiccups any time he did anything to upset his stomach. Drink too many carbonated beverages? Hiccups. Eat too fast? Hiccups. Work out too soon after eating? Hiccups.

And of course, eating too much? Definitely painful hiccups.

He tried to swallow air anyway. But just seemed to make his case worse, each hiccup punctuated by a small airy burp that only served to hurt his throat and relieved absolutely none of the pressure in his stomach. All the slapping and jolting in his stomach was starting to make him nauseous.

While Yoongi wallows in misery of his own making, there's another rapper down the hall who has been waiting patiently. It's 3:28. Hoseok remembers Yoongi agreeing to meet with him at 3:00 to help him. He's been stuck on the same bar of this track for days. He's tried to work through it, but he really feels like he needs reinforcements. He needs a second opinion. He needs Prod. SUGA of BTS.

He knows Yoongi's been busy with all of his collaborations. It was with a heavy heart and a very full wallet that he approached Yoongi about it in the first place. He even willingly agreed to pay Yoongi for his time, not even at a member discounted rate. Yoongi's time is valuable. He doesn't want to disrespect it.

But Yoongi is nothing if not punctual. Hoseok starts to wonder if Yoongi had forgotten. Or if he'd been so busy he'd fallen asleep at his desk- again. After half an hour of waiting, he finally decides to text the Daegu rapper.

Hoseok: "Hyung, where are you?"

Yoongi texts back almost instantly. It's an ominous reply- "4342755"

Hoseok thinks for a minute, trying to make sense of the numbers. Could it be a phone number? A coordinate location? A new text lingo that he doesn't understand?

He thinks he has it when he stumbles through his memory. It's the pass code to Yoongi's studio. Yoongi never shares that with anyone. Hoseok runs down the hall, thinking he'd mixed it up and Yoongi had been waiting for him the whole time. He feels like such a bad client.

Hoseok smiles when he inputs the numbers and the door unlocks. He rushes into the studio, "Hyung, are we meeting-" He cuts himself off when be sees the desk chair is empty, sitting in the middle of the room. He hears Yoongi before he sees him.

The chirp of a familiar sounding hiccup turns Hoseok's attention to the couch. He finds Yoongi lounging there, hands on his bare stomach with his sweatshirt pulled up. The bunched up hem rests on the top of his bulging stomach. It bounces with another hiccup before Hoseok approaches.

The younger rapper coos, "Oh, hyung. What happened to you?" He sits beside his hyung, this scene all too familiar to him. Yoongi's always had a pretty sensitive stomach.

"I ate too-too much," Yoongi admits, freely hiccuping between words. He has no embarrassment with Hoseok. The resident sunshine member has seen him at his worst, has loved and supported him through everything. He knows he has nothing to be ashamed of. "Was-wasn't my fault tho-though. I-I lost tra-k of t-time."

Hoseok chuckles, resting a hand on Yoongi's upper thigh. He struggles to fathom how Yoongi can think he's not at fault. "You always lose track of time, hyung. Someone needs to get you a watch to track your meals" He chides.

"Sh-shut up," Yoongi would usually play back with him, but he's not in the mood today. "Don't te-tease me. I don't f-feel good."

"That's okay, babe." Hoseok's hand wanders to a spot on Yoongi's hip. "I'm sorry. I see you're not feeling well." The other hand cups Yoongi's cheek. "I shouldn't make fun of you."

Yoongi hiccups again, "Exactly. I'm still yo-your hyung. You need to respect-me."

Hoseok has to bite back his giggles. It's amusing to watch Yoongi try to lecture him while he looks so small and bounces with cute squeaky hiccups. The expressions on the older rapper's face after each one are adorable. "You're right, hyung. What can I do to help you?" He asks, but the hand that he'd rested on Yoongi's hip is already slowly creeping toward the exposed skin of his stomach.

Yoongi's aware of it too. He feels Hoseok's cold thin fingers gliding against his warm stomach. "You're gonna rub it fo-for me, Seokie?" He's basically begging, a deep pout on his lips. He feels so uncomfortably bloated and he's so over the hiccuping. He just wants to feel relief.

Hoseok's hand movement becomes much more deliberate. He immediately palms Yoongi's stomach, pressing into the firmness with as much pressure as the older rapper permits. His hand bounces in conjunction with each of his hyung's hiccups. "Oh, poor hyung. They sound painful," Hoseok coos.

"Well, it doesn't exactly feel goo-good," Yoongi groans, choking on his next hiccup, "I want them t-to stop."

Hoseok rattles off a few common remedies, each one Yoongi doubts and challenges. He claims nothing ever works. Hoseok tries scaring him, but that just ends with a light punch to the shoulder and a loud hiccup. In a last ditch effort, Hoseok recommends kissing. It's not something they haven't done before, or something they wouldn't do again. But Yoongi shoots it down claiming he's not in the mood, feeling too full to do anything that could turn nefarious. Hoseok doesn't miss the growing blush on his cheeks as he turns his head away.

At that the dancer deflates, having run out of remedies he remembers. He just goes on, rubbing Yoongi's stomach and suppressing the urge to giggle at each hiccup. After several minutes of rubbing, Hoseok's face lights up with a new idea. "Hyung, do you still have a heating pad in here?" Hoseok remembers Yoongi having one on hand while he was recovering from his shoulder surgery.

Yoongi just points to a cardboard box in the corner of the studio. There's a sticky note hanging above it that reads "Lost and Found" in Jimin's handwriting. The dancer chuckles, going over to the box. He rustles through items in the box. It really does seem like a lost and found. It's filled with miscellaneous items that would otherwise clutter the studio space. Many of the member's personal items filled the box. He actually finds a bracelet he'd thought he lost in addition to the heating pad.

He plugs in the heating pad and resumes his gentle rubbing while it heats up. "Maybe this will help, hyung." Hoseok speaks in a whisper as he lays the heating pad across Yoongi's upper stomach. He still uses his hands to massage under his hyung's bellybutton. Yoongi relaxes into the heat.

Yoongi's persistent hiccups shake the heating pad. Hoseok has to frequently readjust. But after a few more minutes, the hiccups eventually fade out. After two full minutes without hiccuping, Yoongi lets out a relieved sigh, "Finally!"

His stomach still aches from fullness, but he's glad to finally be rid of the hiccups. He feels a lot better, no more lingering nausea. He turns to Hoseok with a bright, gummy grin. "Hob-ah, I really owe you one."

Hoseok really knows he didn't do anything. The hiccups had just run their course. Still, he's happy when his hyung is happy. "How about you help me with my song and we call it even?" The dancer remarks, recalling his original intentions.

Yoongi's eyes widened, realizing he had completely forgotten he agreed to help Hoseok today. "Shit, Hoseok-ah. Yes, we can do that! Let's go to your studio." Yoongi lunges to get up from the couch and winces at the way his stomach cramps when he moves.

Hoseok picks up on the wince. "It's okay, hyung. You still clearly need to digest. How's tomorrow?" Hoseok offers.

Yoongi smiles timidly, "Sure."

"I'm going to bring my laptop to you, though. Now that I know the key code." Hoseok jokes. Yoongi laughs, deep from his belly despite how much it hurts.

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

A/N: I researched a lot of content to try and find any content of Yoongi hiccuping. I managed to find things for all the other members except Yoongi. Until watching Memories of 2021 anyway, which is where I clipped that gif from. Seems like this is the perfect time to post this.

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!

#bts #bts sickfic #bts jitb #bts overindulgence #bts stomach ache #bts hiccups #sick!Yoongi #caretaker!hoseok #sope #romantic intentions between members #bts canonverse #tw overindulgence #tw stomach ache #tw hiccups #aki writes #aki sickfic #aki requests

32 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 9 months

Text

tw - sex doll au, implied dub/con, unhealthy relationships, possessive behavior, and generally depraved behavior.

You're starting to wonder if you should've gotten a different pair.

You knew what you were getting into when you decided that, of all the androids in Teyvat's stock, you were going to be one of the few brave souls that dared to put two members of the Akademiya Collection that weren't Tighnari and Cyno under the same roof. The salesperson had cringed as you made your selection, your more tech-savvy friends pursed their lips and asked if that was really for the best, and you couldn't mention your specific preferences on any public message board without being berated off the platform entirely. You didn't care, thought. The heart wants what it wants, and apparently, your heart wanted two burnt-out post-grads to rail you into next week.

That's what you told yourself until you got Alhaitham and Kaveh home, at least.

The bickering, you were prepared for. You weren't surprised by the constant passive-aggression, the subtle pokes at Alhaitham's arrogance and Kaveh's bleeding heart, and you managed to stomach it the first time your dreams of a multi-major threesome were dashed because Kaveh mentioned some ancient philosophical principle and Alhaitham couldn't resist the opportunity to correct his wording and you were left bouncing yourself on Alhaitham's cock while he dispassionately flipped through a textbook you haven't opened since you were an under-grad. Minor hiccups, nothing you couldn't forget about when Kaveh buried his face between your thighs or Alhaitham split you open on his fingers while reading your latest research paper aloud, denying you an orgasm for every grammatical error. That part, you wouldn't trade for the world.

The jealousy, though - you could live without that. You've heard that there's supposed to be fail-safes for this kind of thing, measures the developers take to make sure any companion droids can co-exist without tearing each other apart, but their mutual distaste seems strong enough to overwhelm whatever barriers their creators put in place. You've lost count of the number of times there's been a false-alarm in some other part of your apartment while you're on your knees at Alhaitham's feet, how many times Alhaitham's flawless hardware has suddenly 'malfunctioned' while Kaveh has your ankles propped on his shoulders.

Not getting laid, you can deal with, but it's a little hard to be so forgiving when Kaveh spends the better half a day pouting because you took Alhaitham to work and left him at home, when Alhaitham deletes your registered commands from his memory bank because you had the nerve to take Kaveh to a farmer's market that that he'd rather die than step foot in. You've tried to be fair, to divide your time evenly, but they're not happy with that, either. Neither of them would ever say it out loud, but it's clear enough that they both want to be the center of your attention. It'd be cute, if they weren't so spiteful.

The only thing worse than their jealousy is when they put aside their spitefulness, their petty arguments, and decide to agree on the only thing they can ever agree on: that their beloved 'master' should be the one to make up for all those hours of neglect. It's a little like your fantasies, but not quite; your chest pressed against Alhaitham's Kaveh's chin resting on your shoulder, the former inside of you while the latter whispers sweet-nothings against the curve of your throat. It's more violent than anything you ever would've expected from two men so scholarly, more aggressive - teeth buried in your skin, bruises in the shape of their palm painted across your thighs, fingers forcing their way past your lips whenever you so much as consider using your safe-word. You're left strung-out for hours after they're done with you, and Kaveh's free to press himself against your side while Alhaitham tries to pass himself off as the caretaker he so clearly isn't. It's the only time they don't waste their breath on bickering. It's the only time they ever get along.

It's the only time you don't have the strength to focus on anything but your two precious, precious androids.

2K notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 9 months

Note

not sure if you’re taking requests buttttt poly!marauders but they’re kinda overprotective bfs and she sneaks out to go to a party with marlene or her girlfriends but they find out and show up at the party 💞

Hi don't worry, I am! I think it should show on the requests page linked in my pinned post, but please let me know if it doesn't, I'm still figuring tumblr out and often mess up! I hope this is alright honey, I tried to go for the angst but honestly the more I write the more suspicious I become of my inability to write our boys being anything other than soft with reader! I'll try to work on it but in the meantime I hope you enjoy this <33

cw: mention of concussion symptoms, including nausea, nothing intense or even very descriptive though

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 906 words

You’re aware that the internet had said you were supposed to avoid bright lights, loud sounds, and movement when Remus had looked it up after an unfortunate fall that morning. Just like you’re aware that when your boyfriends left you at your apartment a few hours ago, they’d been trusting you to follow those instructions. But you’re also aware that the internet had led you all to believe your concussion was mild, and that Marlene only has one birthday a year. Damned if you were going to miss it.

So yeah, you feel a bit queasy as your eyes struggle to track the movement and voices around you, but that’s nothing compared to the contentment of being with your friends. Lily has assigned herself the role of your caretaker, checking that you’re alright every few minutes and shushing anyone who raises their voice too loud around you, and Marlene has attached herself to your side, telling you how much she appreciates you in between beer-scented hiccups.

“And you’re so nice to come tonight,” she’s saying now, brushing her fingers clumsily but sweetly through your hair. “I can’t tell you how much—uh oh.”

You have a premonition of ill fate even before the hair on the back of your neck stands up, and you follow Marelene’s unfocused gaze to the curly-haired boy coming towards you.

“Happy birthday, Marls,” he says, his smile only appearing slightly strained, before he turns to you. “Hey, sweetheart. Let’s go home, yeah?”

“Jamie,” you say quietly, and Lily and Marlene leave the couch to give you as much privacy as a party allows. “What are you doing here?”

“Everyone here’s been posting, and you’re in the background of half the pictures.” His smile slips as he crouches in front of you, disappointment in his eyes. “You know you’re supposed to be resting,” he says softly. “C’mon, let’s go.”

You’re glad that he’s here instead of Remus or Sirius, who surely wouldn’t be as careful about not embarrassing you. James is less stern than the others, and though you feel a bit guilty for doing so, you press that to your advantage.

“I haven’t drank anything but water,” you say. “That’s gotta count for something, right? And look.” You brush your hair behind your ear, showing him the earplugs you’d put in before arriving. “I’m being careful, see? I’m alright, Jamie, and it’s Marlene’s birthday. Let’s just stay, both of us, okay?”

James looks nearly apologetic. “Remus and Sirius are waiting in the car.”

You groan, but allow James to pull you to your feet, waving goodbye to your friends with a pout. He supports more of your weight than you really need him to as he walks you outside, where Remus sits in the drivers’ seat of the idling car. Dread settles, along with dull resignation, in your stomach.

Sirius is in the backseat and you hope James will get in first, but he lifts you in before him, placing you between two of your three upset boyfriends. You can’t look at any of them, allowing James to buckle your seatbelt for you as an oppressive silence, worse than the bass that had brutalized your head inside Marlene’s, stretches out between you.

True to form, Sirius is the first to breach it.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

You sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“You have a concussion! All you had to do was stay home and rest. That website said that lights and loud music—say, the sort of things you’d find at a party—would only make things worse.”

Normally, you’d argue with him. No matter how hopeless it seems, no matter how obvious it is that Sirius is going to win, you can always meet him head-on and at least make your point. But tonight, with your head throbbing and something about your very being feeling fundamentally wrong, you can’t muster up the energy.

“I know,” you say.

Sirius goes silent at the acquiescence in your voice, and he looks at Remus in the rear-view mirror, unsure of how to proceed. James puts a hand on your knee, a tiny gesture of comfort even though he’s upset with you too. The motivation that had driven you to Marlene’s and through the party is wearing off, and you feel suddenly, embarrassingly teary.

“Do you feel sick?” Remus speaks for the first time, and though his voice is calm, the absence of his usual terms of endearment leave no doubt that you’re still in trouble.

You clear your throat of the tears that are trying to clog it. “A little.”

“We’re bringing you to our place to rest.” It’s not a question. “We can go get some things from your place tomorrow, but tonight you can just wear our stuff. Think you can eat something before bed?”

It’s worse that he’s being kind to you. You’d been prepared for a lecture, but being taken care of is worse. It brings the vulnerability you’ve felt since the frightening pain and dizziness of that morning to the surface, and you keep your face turned towards your lap as your eyes become wet. “Yeah, I think so,” you say, and your voice cracks slightly when you add, “I’m sorry.”

Sirius makes a sympathetic, pained sound from beside you, and James abandons all pretense of anger, tucking your head under his chin.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Remus says, a bit more gently. “For now, just try to relax.”

1K notes · View notes

imaginecolby · 1 year

Text

caretaker || c.b.

summary: when you have a little too much to drink on a night out, colby jumps into caretaker mode.

requested by anonymous.

“which do you like better?” you asked aloud, stepping out into the bedroom wish two dresses in your hands. colby looked up from his phone, eyes flicking back and forth between the options you held in front of him.

“of course i’m going to choose the black one.” he laughed. “but i do like that blue one on you.” he added.

“mm, the black one is more comfortable though.” you said. you were getting ready to go out with some of your girlfriends for a celebration of one of their birthdays.

“well, there you go.” colby laughed. you finished getting ready, spritzing on your perfume and sliding into your shoes. you looked up in the mirror and caught colby giving you a once over, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth.

“mmm, dont look at me like that or i wont ever leave.” you said to him.

“maybe that was my intention.” he said, raising a brow at you. you laughed and rolled you eyes. you finally finished getting ready, said your goodbyes to colby, and made your way downstairs to catch your uber to the restaurant you were having dinner at.

you met up with your friends, made it to your table and the night ensued. dinner, drinks, conversation, and good time were have by all. after dinner, you ended up at a nearby bar for more drinks. as the night continued, you could tell that you were reaching your limit. you’d downed another shot, and it did not sit well with you.

you drunkenly ran to the bathroom, quickly making your way into a stall. you immediately started spewing the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

“you okay in there?” a strange voice called from the neighboring stall.

“yeah,” hiccup, “im okay now.” you said out of breath. you fumbled around your clutch and pulled out your phone, tapping on colby’s contact profile to dial his number.

“hey baby.” he said softly when he answered.

“hey. did i wake you?” you asked.

“no, i was up. are you okay? your voice sounds raspy.” he asked.

“yeah im fine. but, um, can you come pick me up?” you asked.

“yeah, of course. text me your location.” he answered without hesitation. you agreed and hung up, immediately texting him the address of the bar you were at. you took a deep breath and pulled yourself up

from the floor. you stumbled out to the counter and cleaned yourself up before heading out of the bathroom back to your friends.

“hey, are you okay? do we need to call someone to get you home?” they asked.

“im okay. i just called colby to come pick me up.” you said, and they all nodded. they got you some water while they waited for colby with you. he text you once he was outside, and you said bye to your friends before you walked out.

as soon as you stepped out into the cool night air, you immediately felt a ton better. colby met you at the door and walked you to his car, helping you get settled into the passenger’s seat. he drove slowly back home, as to not upset your stomach or make you feel any worse than you already did.

once you finally got home, colby held a tight grip around your waist as he helped you upstairs and to your room. you stumbled into the bathroom, standing over the toilet, thinking you were about to spew again.

“more?” colby asked as you braced yourself against the counter. before your brain even had a chance to answer, your body answered for you. you crouched down in front of the toilet, colby crouching down next to you. he wrapped your hair around his hand and rubbed your back, consoling you as you threw up.

once you finally finished, you leaned against the wall to catch your breath.

“i’m sorry you have to see me like this.” you sighed.

“please, you don’t have to apologize.” colby said as he helped you stand, wrapping his arms tight around your waist.

“yes i do. because now i feel bad for making you think you were getting any tonight. i was all done up and sexy before i left, and know i looked like hot garbage.” you said, resing your head on his chest.

“oh, you’re sexy to me all the time.” he said, resting his chin on your head. “although, and dont take this the wrong way, but your breath does smell like hot garbage.”

“oh, shit. sorry.” you said, pulling away from him. you slowly moved to the sink and brushed your teeth, slowly as to not trigger your gag reflex again. once you finished, you walked out into the bedroom to find colby had laid out some sleep clothes for you. you finished changing just as colby walked back into the bedroom.

“alright, here’s some aspirin so your head doesn’t feel like three bowling balls in the morning.” he teased, handing you the medicine and a glass of water. he also handing you a pack of crackers for you to munch on. you ate a couple of the crackers before you finally laid down in bed. colby pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before placing down a wet wash cloth.

“thank you, for everything.” you said softly, catching colby’s gaze.

“always.” he said, kissing you again. you laid as still as possible, as to not jostle your stomach. you felt colby situate in bed next to you, intertwining his fingers with yours as you both started to fall asleep.

you fell asleep almost at quickly as you closed you eyes, and you felt better knowing that colby was there next to you.

#colby brock #colby brock imagine #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock x reader

1K notes · View notes

strawberrystepmom · 2 months

Text

YOU ARE A FEVER | gojo x f!reader | series masterlist | next chapter

cw: mentions of witchcraft and witch hunting. reader has defined physical characteristics (red hair, long length, wavy texture), two sisters, and a complexion that visibly reddens. word count 2.6k.

Is this the sum of my life?

It is not your intention to seem ungrateful for the gift of the years you have lived so far, all twenty something of them, though you will admit grace is difficult when the scratchy fibers of hemp rope binding your wrists together scrape against you with every twist and pull of your hands. One of your neighbors binds you while another digs through the meager belongings, picking through pages of your current journal.

“What are you going to do to me?”

The small mob of people occupying your grandparents kitchen is wordless despite their zeal, no God chosen leader speaking above the crowd to read out your crimes. There is no fairness in this trial and any words you dare speak will only be used to further persecute you.

“A witch alright,” the man picking through the pages of your journal exclaims while holding up a page he ripped from its handbound spine. It’s a page of rudimentary drawings, doodles of a shooting star you witnessed while out in the woods one night alone, and he holds it up triumphantly. The sneer across his face makes you flinch. “Does your family know about you and what you’ve done to them?”

You’ve done nothing though you consider for a moment that this has been your crime. You’ve let them whisper about you and the things you’ve “done” for months, deciding to ignore the rumors rather than address them for fear of stirring more controversy.

“I’m not a witch.”

Your words land with no one and you are given little more than a sidelong glance from the people in your home. The same woman who used to plait your hair when you were a child, just as you have now done for hers many times since their birth ten years ago, refuses to meet your eye while securing another length of rope around your waist. She knots it tightly as though it’s the difference between you remaining where you stand and bolting barefooted into an early winter night, something you hadn’t even considered until now.

There is always the option of running but they’d give chase, a small group of fifteen can still outrun a single woman before she can even make it into the woods. The trees and shrubs miles outside of the dirt road leading to Ucra, your village, have been your refuge from the suffocation of restrictive superstition since you found your hiding places as a young girl.

“What have I done?” Your pleas fall on deaf ears and although you’ve tried your hardest to remain unaffected and stoic, sobs hiccup from the back of your throat before you can stop them. “Will someone please explain what’s happening? Where are my grandparents and sisters?”

You’d be indignant over this treatment if it were less painful to be treated this way by your neighbors and friends, people you once viewed as aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters. Tears fall down your cheek while the woman whose eyes are still downturned gently pulls the tether end of the rope, guiding you out of the small home your family has shared for two generations.

“Witch!”

The word strikes you as colder than the earth and rocks your feet walk across, led by the tether of a rope. There was no consideration for your comfort and goosebumps erupt over your cotton nightgown covered skin. The winter air is almost freezing at night and you glance upward toward the sky, a blanket of stars winking down at you. The night sky has always been more beautiful this time of year. It feels bitter to glance above knowing it’s the last time you will ever do so.

“Witch!”

This time the accusation comes from the lips of a child, the tender age of twelve, one you’ve clothed and bathed more times you can count in an effort to assist her mother. Your role in your village has always been that of a caretaker, if not animals and children then the elderly and ill. The entire village once called you responsible and always where you’re supposed to be though it appears the goodwill only extends as long as they aren’t suspicious.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“What crimes have I committed?”

“Treason!” One of the members of the crowd shouts. “Adultery! My husband admitted to having impure thoughts about you! Cut off her hair so that we can bury it in the woods and it won’t curse another. Flame colored hair is a sign from the Devil!” Another shouts and a few women join her words in unison, your mouth running dry. “Murderer! The goats!”

The goats. Before autumn two of your goats fell ill, several weeks ago two more died unexpectedly. The small, reclusive village lacked the supplies needed to stave off the infection that started in their gums and eventually took their lives. Did this begin all the way back then, before you could ever fathom this cruelty being inflicted upon you?

“My goats were killed too.”

The man tying you to the stake in the middle of the village sneers at your muttered words.

“Of course they were. You thought we’d never suspect you if you killed your own first.”

A pained groan leaves your mouth when the back of your head hits the stake sharply, the man standing in front of you using his forearm to press you against the wood. You attempt to arch your back but are met with another forearm pressed against your torso, someone behind you securing the ropes around your feet, wrists, and middle to the wooden stake they’re planning on burning you on.

“I didn’t do anything!”

Another chuckle from the man pressing his forearm against your sternum, his face inches from yours.

“You’ve been using your cat familiars to spy on all of us, we know your games.”

If you were less shocked by everything happening you would argue that the cats come to you and not the other way around although it wouldn’t do you any good at this point anyway. Everyone’s minds are made up and you look out across the crowd, squinting to see if you can find your family anywhere. There is no sight of them and you are both relieved and terrified, shuddering breath leaving you while your hands are fastened above your head.

“Witch!” The crowd continues to shout in unison, the ringleader backing away to hold oil and a torch in front of everyone looking on that cheers for him to light you up. “Burn her!”

The crackling sound of wood being set alight fills the night air, melting the light snowflakes that are falling into tiny puddles. You shut your eyes tightly and cry wordlessly, smoke filling your nostrils. You hope that inhalation takes you before the flames do, that some God takes mercy on a woman falsely accused, striking her accusers down. You pray and plead and beg and when you feel the air around you shift, your eyes open to see a man standing directly in front of you.

You recognize him.

Satoru Gojo, the man always making the trip to pick up meat and produce for the cafe owner in the city. The man whose smile and eyes are etched in your daydream, their memories messy little sketches in the pages of your journal that will never be returned to you.

“Sorry I’m late, do you know how hard it is to sneak around a village this small without being noticed?”

The man shakes his head, unable to hide that you are not giving him the reaction that he was expecting. Your world is blazing everywhere you look but he is not. He remains unscathed, hair the same color as the stars above dipping over his eyebrows and touching the tips of his eyelashes that are the same color.

“So they’ve called you a witch, huh?” Glancing at him, you blink silently with a quivering bottom lip. A pair of vaguely familiar large eyes dance over every feature and crease of your face, impressed by what they see despite the circumstances. The unbelievable man in front of you is unable to hide his expressions, head tilted with a little smile on his face. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Another sob bubbles out of you. Your body reacts, finally, and you strain against the ropes that bind you and secure you to the stake.

“Please, please, please get me down,” your chest heaves and the white nightgown draped over your frame turns more gray from exposure to smoke with each moment that passes. The heat of the flames licks your feet. A fresh round of tears streams down your face, finally forcing Satoru to move. He reaches above your head, loosening your bindings with his fingers while his magic handles the ones securing your feet and waist. A few seconds feels like an eternity as orange flames give way to hotter blue ones at the heart of the fire and as soon as your arms are free, you wrap them around his neck and cling to him. He chuckles and wraps one arm around your waist, holding you to him tightly.

“They won’t be able to see us leave.” You nod in response to his whisper, holding onto him tightly. “But they will come looking as soon as they realize there are no bones and ashes in the morning.”

These people wanted to wake up to nothing but a pile of you left. Your stomach churns and you squeeze this practical stranger tightly, wrapping your legs around his waist, face buried against his shoulder. Your tears dampen his shirt although he doesn’t mind and before you can think, the heat of the flames disappears and gives way to a whoosh of cooling air.

The two of you materialize inside of a makeshift hideout, stone cave walls surrounding you on all sides when you unbury your face from his neck and look around. Blinking, you look upward and downward and finally directly in front of you. Gojo grins at you, arm still wrapped around your waist and holding you against him.

“Hi there.”

Adrenaline moves your body on its own, beckoning you to lean forward and press your lips against his. You’ve dreamed about this moment before, the day you would be brave enough to kiss this glamorous man who is from a city you have only ever heard about secondhand, and while this feels different it also feels like the exact way to say thank you.

Your lips pucker a second time and press against his though your senses return and your eyes widen, arms unwrapping from around his neck to push yourself away from him.

“Is that how you thank everyone who saves your life?” Your mouth opens and closes silently, words that you want to say refusing to form on your tongue. Satoru has managed to render you speechless and he smirks while keeping his gaze pinned to your shocked face, cheeks still reddened thanks to the blaze you barely escaped from. “Even if it is, I won’t hold it against you.”

Finally you scoff and your body wakes up all at once, attempting to wiggle free from his grasp. He sets you down on the ground below and steps away, holding his hands up innocently. You wrap your own arms around your chest, hands smoothing up and down your forearms to comfort yourself. Looking around the unfamiliar surroundings, you begin crying again.

“Why did you save me?”

He smirks, holding his arms open and glancing at you exaggeratedly.

“I can’t let a pretty girl get burned alive in good conscience, I’m a gentleman after all.”

More tears drip down your nose and chin while you shake your head incredulously, eyes wide.

“That doesn’t answer my question. How did you know? Did you tell them I was..?”

“Absolutely not. You are a witch but I know you didn’t do what they accused you of,” he retorts with a raised brow. “I mean, maybe you are guilty of the fantasy accusation but that’s hardly your fault. Pretty hair, pretty girl…things are bound to happen.”

Gojo reaches out to wrap one of the long strands of your hair around his finger, marveling at the color. You reach up to slap his hand away and he drops the strand, giving you room to pace across the stone floor of the hideaway he has secured you in.

“I’m not a witch!” Chuckling, he sits down on the small bed in the corner of the room and crosses his legs one over the other. “Is that all you took away from everything I just said? You are weird, I was right.”

Feet carrying you forward, you plop next to him on the bed. You know Satoru Gojo but you don’t know him. You know he’s from Amavel, his friend runs a cafe and he’s the only one daring enough to make the quarter of a day’s journey to your village to pick up fresh goods for said cafe. You know he’s charming, everyone in the village gawks at him every time he’s around though it doesn’t answer your question.

“I am weird and scared and I don’t know where my family is and a man I’ve met a handful of times but think about often came out of nowhere to save me from certain death and,” your words tumble out endlessly, breathlessly, and he stops you with a finger to your lips. He withdraws it as soon as you stop speaking and raises his brows, lowering his face until the two of you are eye level.

“Because you’re special.”

Shaking your head, you refuse to believe his words and stand once again. His hand gently closes around your dangling forearm and he pulls you back down to the bed, rubbing his thumb along the inside of your arm the same way you remember your mother doing to comfort you as a child.

“Listen to me before you say anything else.” He instructs and you nod wordlessly, letting him speak. “I saved you because I’ve known for a long time that you are a witch. You don’t have to believe me now but I will prove it to you, okay? I’m going to keep you safe here until the village has given up looking for you and then we will return to Amavel.”

Sighing, you find it hard to argue with a man who seems so certain of everything he says. You lean forward and place your elbows on your knees, turning your palms upward and burying your face in them. The option of running is still on the table though you know it’s unsafe for you to do so in just a nightgown and bare feet so you turn your face toward him, cheeks still warm from the fire, just the fire, and not the way his gaze remains fixed on your face as if he’s afraid to look away.

“How are you so certain?”

Gojo grins and leans in your direction, finally touching you the way he wants. A large palm rubs your back and eventually works down your shoulder and upper arm, settling on scooping one of your hands into his.

“Because I am a witch, you silly girl. How do you think we got here so fast?”

A raised brow is your only response, too shocked by the truth to speak, and he lifts the back of your hand to his mouth to kiss it. That same look as before is on your face, awestruck and overwhelmed. There is an overwhelming urge inside of the man to gloat about your surprise but he thinks better of it, knowing there will be plenty of time for the two of you to discuss your future together.

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #kendall writes #yaaf au #you are a fever #satoken

155 notes · View notes

thestaroffeanor · 5 months

Text

Some things gained back n̷̹͒e̷͍͛͝v̵̠̬͎̉ẽ̵̖̣̮͂͂r̴̪͒̐̈́ ̵̮̬̅͌ģ̶̰̑e̴̤̥̗͊̓̀t̵͚͚͝ ̴̨̆̓t̴̩̼̐o̴̟̰͗̏͠ ̴̟̦͂̍b̴̗̟̊ͅè̸͂ͅ ̵̺̺̎̋̐ẘ̵͇͉ȟ̵̝̺̫̆ö̸̺̬̮l̷̹̜̽̓̋e̴̼͉͖̊̎̄ ̷͙͍̪̕a̸̛̺͈̽̑g̶̩̝̅̋͆a̴̞͎͗̓̈i̴̙͎̥͝ǹ̸̺̌̚ Maglor and Maedhros in Himring, short fic under the cut

It was in the dead of the night, usually. When Maedhros had cried himself back into sleep by sheer exhaustion, Maglor held his eldest brother, to which he still looked up so much and loved so much it hurt. Patiently, he had soothed Maedhros since his nightmares had woken him an hour into the night, had provided him with warm milk laced with honey, bandages for the "accident" on his arm that Maedhros did not want to talk about, thick blankets and his own embrace, soft words of encouragement, endearments Maglor was not sure even managed to get through to Maedhros. They had come a long way since their cousin had brought him back from Thangorodrim, and it was a task Maglor had not exactly volunteered for, but knew he was suited, needed for, even. None of his brothers had the patience needed for Maedhros to so slowly open up and allow for care, though they all tried. Care the redhead still thought himself undeserving of. It made Maglor sick. As he collected his brother closer to himself so he could feel their combined heartbeats, tears stung in his eyes. He was so glad to have him back and for the most part he liked to be his caretaker during the dark nights, yet there was never any forgetting about what had been done to their Nelyo and he, of all, saw it so closely he was surprised his brother had not broken completely. As Maedhros' body mended, so did a part of his mind, torturously slow. For this last part that remained untainted and wanting to live, that grew a little more each month, shifting and realigning pieces of him that it came across along its way, Maglor vowed to always stay by his side. It did not stop the bitter tears at the utter atrocity of it all, of knowing that he himself had been the one to refuse to bargain with Morgoth to get him back before all of this had happened. He had condemned him to this.

A shaky inhale signaled something more to come and the minstrel quickly lifted a hand to his lips to muffle the anguished cry that would have woken Maedhros. He ought not. Maedhros had been so strong for so long, Maglor should not turn to him for comfort and yet, he would always be the little brother that wanted and needed that. How pathetic. He had no time to feel sorry for himself, it was a blessing that they had gotten back one they had thought lost, an honor to be allowed to work on getting him better. A chance for repentance.

Still, his tears continued to fall, hiccups stifled by his hand, comforted by the way Maedhros unconsciously curled into him.

#my art #maedhros #maglor #sons of feanor #silmarillion #tolkien #wanting to draw maglor as part of the portraits #got angsty instead :(#also new signature I might actually keep #hurt/comfort #one's hurt #the other comforted #also one day i'll have a concept for maedhros' scars #this is not that day #silm art

227 notes · View notes

howtowhumpyourhiccup · 2 years

Text

Not Even You

Whumptober 2022 Day 26!

Summary: Written for Whumptober 2022 Day 26 and Wednesday100. Set during RttE, Viggo Lives AU. Viggo wonders why it is that Hiccup saved him.

Warning: /

Rating: General

Characters: Hiccup, Viggo

Pairing: Minor Vigcup

Words: 100

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: NO ONE LEFT BEHIND, “Why did you save me?”

Whumpee: Viggo

Author’s Notes: Constructive criticism is appreciated.

Enjoy!

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

"Why did you save me?" Viggo's question comes unexpectedly, yet Hiccup feels like he shouldn't be this surprised.

The man sits on a chair in front of him as he tends to his arrow wounds. They're healing well.

"Just… because," Hiccup says. He's not sure what to respond.

Viggo huffs in amusement and then hisses. The action hurt him.

Hiccup sighs.

"I don't leave anyone behind."

"Not even me?" Viggo asks, surprisingly soft.

"Not even you."

That feels good. He wouldn't want to be saved by anyone but him. Wouldn't want to be taken care of by anyone but him.

#whumptober2022 #no. 26 #NO ONE LEFT BEHIND #“Why did you save me?”#httyd fics #httyd movies #rttee #race to the edge #hiccup haddock #viggo grimborn #viggo whump #caretaker hiccup #vigcup #wednesday100 #my fanfics #not even you

37 notes · View notes

kalessinsdaughter · 1 year

Text

Whumpuary 2023

Prompt no. 5 "collapse".

The trek back to the cave tests Dagur's endurance to its limits.

#whumpuary #whumpuary2023 #whumpuaryno5 #collapse #prompt fic #dagur the deranged #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #race to the edge #how to train your dragon #rtte #httyd #pre slash #dagcup #dagur whump #caretaker hiccup #httyd fanfiction

1 note · View note

nvvacanesworld · 4 months

Text

୨⎯ “credits to @plutism for banner " ⎯୧

second part to my last fic

tw- Angst/Comfort (not for gojo), Toji comes into play, Drinking (we outsideeee), Slight smut (fingering, kissing) i was scared to do to much) Pet names (Sugar, Baby, Ma) Flashbacks of arguing .

After you left you found yourself at a bar. You don’t indulge in drinking often. You stopped some point in your relationship because Sato- or should you say gojo now?

Well Gojo didn’t like it when you would get drunk. He said “It was to much of a hassle to take care of you” and He couldn’t “take care of me when i was sloppy like this”.

You stumbled your way into the kitchen trying not to fall flat on your face. Still trying to be as quiet as possible in fear that you would wake Satoru up.

Your friends had invited you out saying you need to get out of the house, and they haven’t seen you in forever. When you thought about it they didn’t really lie.

You haven’t seen your friends in forever. So you made the decision to go out, and you had a amazing time. You didn’t tell Satoru though, and when you walked further down the hall and saw light illuminating from the kitchen you realized that may have been a mistake.

Tripping into the kitchen you were met with a fuming Gojo.

“Where the fuck where you y/n?”

Silence

That’s what over took the room. To be honest you were scared to speak, you didn’t want to upset him anymore. You were tired of fighting but it’s like you couldn’t escape it no matter what.

“Oh i get it now, can tell just from one look you were out being a slut again getting sloppy drunk”

Now you had to speak up. Because who was he calling a slut?

“Ex-excuse me? who do you think y-ou are? i’m n-ot a slut” You tried to say confidently but due to your intoxication it came out in hiccups. Maybe he was right.

His head fell down looking into the floor and you heard him chuckle.

“This is what i wanted to prevent, this is why i told you to stop drinking, Look at you, you can’t even form a proper sentence right now” He spat “it’s pathetic” if you would’ve just had one more drink and were just a tad bit drunker you might have not cost how he mumbled that under his breathe;but you did.

And you were pissed.

Walking over to him. The best you could. You got in his face pointing your nail in his face. You didn’t miss how he looked taken aback. Probably not thinking you would stand up to him like this right now. But being intoxicated you found confidence. The confidence to put him in his place.

“How d-are you say that to me m-mister, I’m not pathetic, at-least i’m not pathetic as y-ou, i mean who talks to there g-girlfriend like this? So what if i want to have fun? It’s better than being stuck around your b-boring ass all day-” You rambled but was forced to cut short because you were cut off.

Satoru had a look on his face you had never seen before. He look so angry.

Putting his hand on his shoulders it felt like he was trying to push you into the ground with how hard he was gripping them.

“Listen here bitch.”

Woah. Your eyes started to well up with tears. You waited for what he had to say next.

“Don’t ever talk to me like that again. You can’t come in here stumbling over your feet and hiccuping out your words and expect me to pick up the pieces, i’m not your caretaker, if you wanna be a slut and go to bars to drink thats fine but if you do, learn to take care of yourself. It’s to much of a hassle to take care of you when you’re like this y/n”

As you sat at the same bar he would always yell at you for going at, reminiscing about all the times you should’ve left, you didn’t notice someone filling the seat next to you.

“Hey Sugar what’s ‘got you s’upset?”

Turning to the side you were startled to say the least. For one you weren’t expecting anybody to take this seat. This bar wasn’t very popular and was very empty at the moment, the emptiness only being filled by a few regulars. Two, You weren’t expecting to see him again; let alone here.

You weren’t sure if you should open up about your problems to a man you don’t even know. You’re brain was overthinking

Didn’t you see him at the party?

Does he know Geto?

If he does would he go back and tell him he saw me ?

What if Geto tell Gojo?

You’re thoughts were halted when he put his hand on your thigh.

In hopes of getting your attention of course.

“What’s got yer mind so clouded to where ya keep ignoring me? Am i easy to ignore?” He let out a chuckle at his own joke

Getting flustered you tried to look away from him to hide the heat that was rising to your face. But he grabbed your chin stopping you from turning away from him.

“Answer me ma” he said while his eyes locked with yours “What’s got a pretty girl like you so upset, this is twice i’ve seen you sad”

Finally you decided to break your flustered silence

“I’m okay” Looking down at the drink in your hand “Me and Sato- i mean Gojo, Me and Gojo broke up that’s all”

The man whose name you don’t know, yet, just looked at you with a look of pity. The grip he had on you loosening

You began to get nervous.

God did i ruin the mood?

What if he blames me?

I should’ve lied and said i was fine

You went to get up. You couldn’t sit here and vent out your feelings to a stranger. Just when you were pushing your legs to get up the grip he had on your thigh stopped you; tightening again.

Eyes blowing wide you looked at him waiting for him to say something, anything.

“Break ups can be hard, a pretty women like you s’doesn’t deserve that, you deserve t’be happy” He spoke. He had a distant look in his eyes, kinda like he knew my pain. It made me comfortable and my body started to get less tensed.

You decide to expand your thoughts

“Oh wow, um thank you. I mean it was long overdue, i should’ve left that asshole ages ago. I mean he can never even realize when he’s wrong and he’s so mad all the time but then in public he acts like the perfect boyfriend calling me baby and shit. It was so confusing-“ You cut yourself off realizing you were rambling

“God i’m sorry i shouldn’t be venting to a stranger, i don’t even know your name” You whispered the last part not wanting to admit that you wanted to know his name.

But it seems he read your mind

“Toji” He looked at you and smirked being your attention to his lips and the scar that decorated them

“Y/n” You sighed out almost dreamily.

He found the way you said it so cute. He found you so cute. He wanted you to talk to him more.

So that’s what you guys did.

You talked at the bar for an hour or two until the door to the bar chimed and in walked the devil.

Gojo Satoru.

Hot. That’s how your whole body started to feel. You were nervous and getting sweaty.

You need to get out of here you couldn’t comfort him just yet.

It seems he didn’t see you though,Thank god, because he made his way to the booth where he sat with a group of guys and girls.

Oh so you can drink and go to bars but i can’t?

Toji noticed your distress and grabbed your hand. He dragged you into the men’s bathroom.

“Sorry if that was abrupt. I could just tell yer were nervous” He said kinda shy. Different from his confident demeanor you had grown used to.

You sat on the counter looking down at your thighs that were exposed because of the skirt you were wearing.

Toji looked too.

Walking over he stopped infront of you.

“Say sugar, hope ‘bout i try to take yer mind off that jerk” He said in a hushed tone. His arms caging you in, His eyes finding yours.

Just like they have been this whole time

Without speaking you leaned into kiss him. You caught his hint and you didn’t want to waste time. You need this.

You deserve this.

Toji wasted no time kissing you back. Lips over powering yours leading the kiss. He was big. Bigger than you so it was easy for him to overtake you in just about all his movements.

His hands found there way to your hair. He soon yanked it causing you to moan out. Giving him a chance to push his tongue into your mouth.

His lips tasted like whiskey and he smelled like oak. You couldn’t get enough. You needed-

“-More, I need more Toji.”

Not saying a word following your order his hand trailed it’s way up your skirt fingers pressing onto your puffy clit. You were soaked.

Breaking the kiss Toji spoke up.

“Yer panties are soaked through baby. Do you need me this bad? Huh?” it rolled off his tongue. Like he was born to seduce you.

“Yes ngh..yes i do please touch me more”

Diving your face into his neck you started to trail bites and kisses on it. Marking him up as your own.

You were so sexy he thought.

He groaned while throwing his head back so you could get better access. “Fuck”.

You felt him push your panties to the side. He rubbed his fingers up and down your slippery silt. Gathering the wetness on his fingers.

“Taste yourself baby” He brought his fingers to your mouth. You quickly took them in moaning around the soaked digits. Locking eyes with him. It was like your eyes were glowing in the dim lit bathroom. There were like a lantern to him. You reminded him a Siren. Luring him in with your dirty words and Beauty.

He popped his fingers out your mouth and immediately went to dive them into your pussy.

You had to muffle your moan into his neck.

But he wouldn’t allow that.

He wanted that bastard to hear how good he was making you feel. He wanted him to see it too.

Pistoling his fingers in and out of your core you were a moaning mess.

“Let me hear you baby, Let them hear you , Let him hear you”

That made your pussy leak. You felt yourself about to squirt.

He felt it to.

You turned your head to look away but he was quick to stop you. “No no no mama, Don’t look away from me. Let me see those pretty eyes when you squirt on my fingers”

He need to see those eyes while you came. He wanted that memory engraved in his brain forever. You were too much.

“I’m cummin’ i’m gonna-“

The bathroom door flew open.

You couldn’t stop yourself but toji looked over to catch blue eyes staring back at him.

This was the best day ever he thought.

“What the fuck”

You knew that voice. Fuck

Fuck

FUCK.

No you didn’t want him to see you like this.

“Y/n How could yo-“

“How could she what?”

“This is insane just who do you think you are?”

Hiding into Toji’s chest you tired to close your legs but Toji wasn’t having that and kept them open with his own legs.

“Don’t you dare” He said to you forcing you to obey.

“So like i said, How could she what?”

Gojo didn’t want to see this. He was hurt. He always hated just the thought of you with another man.

His chest was heaving

He was starting to lose his composure.

“Listen kid, cause that’s what you are a kid, a boy, because no man would treat a lady the way you did, You lost your chance, I suggest you tuck your dick and get the fuck out of here unless you want trouble” He paused and looked down at you

You were shaking. You just wanted Gojo to leave you alone.

Forever.

“Yer making my baby scared, i cant have that shit.”

Gojo stood there for a second before finally turning around and leaving

Probably the most mature thing he’s done since you’ve met him to be honest.

He was going to be thinking about that forever

He was mad at Toji for talking down on him like that, Mad at you for fucking him, But mostly mad at himself because seeing you with him was a wake up call.

He fucked up and he fucked up bad.

You weren’t gonna come back like all the other times.

It’s like he could feel the connection you guys had when you were together leave when he walked out that room

You weren’t coming back were you?

Back in the bathroom you were dressed up after Toji cleaned you up

The more you thought about it the more you were happy Gojo walked in. It gave him a taste of how you may have felt while you were together

What better way to make your ex boyfriend suffer than to have him watch you cum from another man’s fingers

You looked up at Toji, He was looking right back at you waiting for you to say something.

“Thank you”

“Don’t thank me ma, he needed to be put in his place”

“Yeah but you didn’t have to do that”

Silence took over the two of you

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing, i want to see you again”

You confessed to Toji. He looked stunned but at the same time relieved.

“Thank god you beat me to it, was just about to say that”

You giggled at his words

Yeah you deserve this.

AN- OKAY SO THAT WAS PART TWO i hope you guys enjoyed it. I’m sorry if it seemed rushed at the end i felt like i was taking to long to get it out but i wanted my story to right.

I’m sorry if detail was lacking in some areas let me know what you guys think of this.

reblogs and follows and likes and comments are appreciated and welcome with open arms and legs.

taglist- @multi-fandom-fanfic @username23345 @whereflowerswenttodie @missukiyo @mor-pheus

175 notes · View notes

sxulcxtcher · 4 months

Note

Okay but imagine having tentacles.

Wet, slimy, thick tentacles that sprouted from your spine. The things you could do with them…if only you weren’t imprisoned in a filthy lab.

Oh how you absolutely despised the people in white coats. How they would ogle at you with no regard for your own privacy, how they poked and prodded at your skin like you were some sort of primitive specimen, whose only purpose was to sit there and look pretty.

But one day, everything changes.

There’s a person—a new one—waiting outside the thick glass that confines you to your misery. They appear almost nervous, but you shrug that off. Everyone seems nervous around you. However, this might be the only entertainment you receive for the day, so your gaze remains locked upon them.

They’re now standing right inside the small space you have to yourself. You look them up and down, almost mockingly. They still adorn the same white coat that your captors wear, but they seem…different. Somehow.

They clear their throat. “…H-hello,” they compose themselves further, “I’m going to be your new caretaker.”

You raise an eyebrow. Nobody here has introduced themselves to you before. You watch intently as they pull out a bucket from behind them. Feeding time.

You slowly step forward, peering into the pail. You scowl deeply. It’s the same, dry flakes that you have everyday. You hate the brittle pieces and the rough texture that grates against your tongue. Most of all, you hate the taste. It’s powdery and sticky and reeks of chemicals.

Your new caretaker appears to take notice. “Do you not like them?”

Your response is almost immediate. A firm shake of your head and a frown pulling at your lips is all it takes for the person to throw out the disgusting excuse of a meal and instead feed you sneaky bites of their own food.

You may not like the people in white coats, but this one is an exception.

——————————————————————————

Your human, or so you’ve come to call them, lays trembling beneath you. Fat tears run down their delicate skin, a hiccup escaping their throat every once in a while. They moan lowly, squirming beneath you as yet another tentacle prods at their already spent hole.

“P-please,” they pant, “no more. Please?”

Their bare chest rises with every breath they take, cum staining their stomach, the juice dripping so perfectly down their thighs.

You pretend to consider their words. After a brief pause, you shake your head. A frustrated whine escapes them, more tears threatening to spill from their perfect face.

“How else am I supposed to ensure that you carry my eggs, dear?” your rhetorical question leaves them stunned. Was that the first time you spoke to them? Well, it’s too late to tell, as you’ve already buried yourself inside them once more.

hmmmm the tentacles I see would be a darkish teal-blue while the 'eggs' would have that same color in the middle while the outside is a translucent almost clear teal, but those are just my visuals <3🌹

#✰heart offers

149 notes · View notes

whats-k-popping · 2 years

Note

"My stomach hurts so bad! Please make it stop" for Jungkook

Thanks so much for the request! I combined this prompt with another prompt in my inbox. Thank you so much for your patience. I made sure to give this a good deal of attention. I was just going to write an intoxication fic, but things just unraveled this way. Hope you enjoy it! <3

Pairing: OT7 - platonic intentions but read as you want.

Prompts: "My stomach hurts so bad! Please make it stop." || "He won't uncurl enough for me to look at him. I think he's in too much pain."

Words: 3332

Warnings: Emeto || Graphic Descriptions of Vom!t || Excessive Alcohol Consumption || Stomach Ulcer || ER Visit || Hospital Admission || Drunkenness || Mentions of stress and guilt || Hiccups

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

Jungkook’s favorite part of filming In the Soop with the members is the after hours activities. When the cameras are off, the members get together to have some additional fun. Now they're seated around the table playing various drinking games. Drinking games are the only types of games where Jungkook likes to lose. He gets to consume more alcohol that way. So he's throwing game after game, chugging every cocktail that Yoongi mixes for him and knocking back every shot with practiced ease. He’s getting rather drunk rather quickly, but continues the festivities in the interest of quality time with his hyungs.

Everyone is getting pleasantly buzzed, but Jungkook is already entirely too drunk. Seokjin decides to cut him off; the rest of the members nod in agreement. Yoongi gets up to fetch water and carbs for Jungkook to help flush the alcohol out of his system. He shouldn't be too obviously hungover for the next day of taping. Jungkook doesn't argue. He sips the water and eats the leftover ramyeon from dinner but he also steals sips from the member's drinks when they aren't looking. Jimin is pouring six shots when they start to notice Jungkook's not really there with them. He's still sitting at the table, but he's not with them mentally. He's so zoned out. It's not uncommon for Jungkook to zone out, especially after drinking, so they leave him be and carry on with their games.

As the games progress, Jungkook finds himself plagued with a nasty case of drunk hiccups. After several minutes, the sharp, pitchy sound every few seconds is starting to get on Taehyung's nerves. Taehyung tries to get Jungkook's attention, but he doesn't respond to his own name. He’s still far too zoned out. Taehyung pushes Jungkook's shoulder and the maknae nearly falls out of his chair. Namjoon on his other side has to quickly slide in and steady him. All the external stimuli finally shocks Jungkook enough to acknowledge the rest of the members. He recognizes that Taehyung is glaring at him.

"Tae T-Tae" He jolts sharply with another loud hiccup, "Wha-what's wrong? Are you ma-mad at me?" He sounds like he's on the verge of tears.

"I'm not mad. Your hiccups are getting annoying. Can't you get rid of them." He crosses his arms over his chest with a huff. Usually he finds it cute and funny when the members get hiccups, but his own drinks are starting to affect him. And drinking too much makes him irritable.

Jungkook looks back at Taehyung like his heart has fallen to his feet. He quickly nods and chugs the remainder of the water Yoongi brought him. But then Hoseok scolds him. "Don't drink too fast, Kook-ah. You might upset your stomach."

Jungkook shatters. Now two of his hyungs are mad at him. And it didn’t even work. He’s still shaking with hiccups, possibly more frequently now, and the water mixes poorly with all the alcohol in his stomach. Each hiccup is now accompanied by a sloshing sound. Hoseok was right, his stomach started to hurt.

Taehyung clicks his tongue when Jungkook hiccups again. The sound fills the otherwise silent room. Jungkook can sense Taehyung's annoyance. So he quickly fills his lungs with air and tries again to rid himself of the hiccups.

Jungkook's still hiccuping into his mouth. At least it’s quieter. He believes Taehyung won’t be mad at him any more. But holding his breath is making him lightheaded. He usually has a good lung capacity, a benefit of being a career performer. But he's only been holding his breath for 12 seconds before he wobbles in his chair and his irises start to roll toward the back of his head.

Namjoon shakes the maknae's shoulder, snapping him back to reality. "Jungkook, hey. Breathe. Don't pass out on us."

Jungkook lets out the breath he was holding. The exhale is followed by another hiccup that proves his efforts were for nothing. He whimpers, now three hyungs are mad at him. And he's suddenly dizzy, and his stomach is swirling. He's not having a fun time. What even happened to the fun drinking game they were playing? Did he ruin that for everyone? He hiccups again.

"You really overdid it tonight, Kook. I'm going to bed." Taehyung excuses himself from the table. He can't stand to be in the same room as Jungkook any longer.

Jungkook also stands from the table to chase after Taehyung. "TaeTae-hy-hyungie. I'm sorry. Please don-don't go!" But when he's on his feet, he stumbles over his steps and ends up on the floor, falling belly first against the hardwood flooring. The maknae doesn’t get up right away, which frightens the hyungs. Everyone, Jungkook excluded, sobers up immediately.

It’s silent, spare Jungkook’s persistent hiccups. Yoongi fears Jungkook’s passed out, “Did he hit his head when he fell?”

“He hit his everything, hyung. He fell pretty hard.” Jimin answers, sitting closest to the scene. He jumps from his seat and goes beside Jungkook on the floor. He’s hesitant at first to touch him. “Should we call an ambulance?” He asks, directing the questions at those older and more responsible than himself.

Seokjin bites his lower lip. “It’s five minutes right?” He looks around the room for confirmation, “If he’s passed out for over five minutes, we call an ambulance.” There’s a hesitance in everyone’s eyes but a few nods so they decide that’s the plan. “How long has it been already?”

“Like, maybe one minute?” Taehyung responds. He’s positioned himself on the opposite side of Jungkook. Any resentment he harbored previously vanished. He's only feeling fear and guilt now.

At the two and a half minute mark, Jungkook stirs. But before any of the hyungs can celebrate, the room fills with a shriek of pain that comes from none other than the maknae. Jungkook curls in on himself, wrapping his arms protectively around his stomach and rolling around on the floor. The hyung line rushes to the scene at the sound of the screaming.

“Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon speaks, “Can you hear me.” He uses his hand to try and direct Jungkook’s attention toward him. When Jungkook looks, he continues, “What hurts?”

Jungkook struggles to speak through the pain, but he hears his hyung talking to him. He vaguely registers the look of concern on Namjoon’s face. “My stomach.” He winces, “Hurts so bad!” Another shriek of pain. “Please.” A sobbed hiccup. “Make it stop!” He’s rolling like a turtle stuck on its back, knees pulled up to his chin.

“Do you feel like you’re going to be sick?” Yoongi asks, knowing the youngest had too much to drink.

"Burns," Jungkook cries, "Feels like burning!" Before anyone can answer, Jungkook lets out a burp that comes from deep within his belly. It sounds like a precursor to a mess.

Taehyung reacts quickly, pushing the maknae onto his side. He props Jungkook's large body against his knees and holds him in place. There's no further warning. Vomit pours from Jungkook's mouth into a growing puddle on the floor. There's no force behind it. No retching or gagging. That just goes to show how desperate Jungkook's stomach is to rid itself of the contents. Jungkook doesn't have to try at all. His stomachs doing it all on its own. He just has to focus on not choking.

Every sickly drunk burp brings up more of his sour stomach contents. It's mostly liquid, presumed to be the dozen or so drinks he consumed. But there's a few chunks of undigested ramyeon that add some texture to the pile. The sound of gurgling and rushing liquid fills the room. The air smells like a cheap bar, the combined stenches of vomit and alcohol fill the air. They know they will have to clean it up before the cameras turn on for the day.

Hoseok steps away, lingering in the doorway to the next room. He doesn't want to leave because Jungkook needs all of them. It's a cowardly thing to do, to just abandon the situation. But the sight and smell of vomit is making his own stomach turn. And he doesn't want to add to the mess.

A few minutes pass and nothing else spills from Jungkook's mouth. But he's still whimpering and curled into himself. He's desperately clutching his stomach despite it being empty. Taehyung shifts him away from the wide puddle of vomit, giving the rest of the members more space to huddle around him.

Seokjin jumps in first, falling to his knees beside the maknae. "Kook-ah, do you feel any better now?" Obviously not if the clinging and crying are anything to go by. But he asks anyway. Maybe the pain has relocated. Or maybe it's not alcohol induced at all. When Jungkook doesn't respond, Seokjin goes in with his hands. He wants to see Jungkook's torso. Maybe there's bruising from the fall, some indication of internal bleeding. Something that can serve to figure out why Jungkook's in so much pain. But Jungkook doesn't let Seokjin get a finger in.

It's like prying open a particularly stubborn clam shell. With equally minimal success. In the background the other members watch curiously, all waiting for the eldest hyung to make a decision. Finally, Namjoon asks, "Hyung, is Jungkook okay?"

Seokjin huffs, falling back in his heels. "He won't uncurl enough for me to look at him. I think he's in too much pain." He runs his fingers along Jungkook's jaw. It's clenched tight, trying to fight against the pain. "I think we need a manager. He needs to go to the hospital."

Hoseok's running out the door before anyone else can volunteer. He has been waiting for an excuse to leave the room. Now he gets to leave and be helpful to Jungkook. It's a win-win.

After Hoseok's already gone, Jungkook pleads. "No," he winces. "No hospital."

"You won't let me look at you," Seokjin barks back, "you're going to the hospital. That's final."

"Hyung, what about the taping?" Jimin asks. Not that he's against Jungkook seeking medical attention. But it's an important question.

"We pause for a few days. This doesn't even air for months. The directors can figure it out." Yoongi answers quickly. Seokjin looks about ready to blow from the stress.

Hoseok returns quickly with a pajama-clad manager in tow. The manager quickly assesses the situation and deems medical attention appropriate. Thank goodness, otherwise the poor manager would have received the unrestrained wrath of Kim Seokjin.

An ambulance is always on standby, never too far away from the boys for emergencies like this. Jungkook is rushed to the hospital, Seokjin rides along. The rest of the members pile into a van to meet them at the hospital. It's the middle of the night, they aren't worried about drawing attention to themselves. Hoseok had the least to drink, pacing himself well. He's not a big drinker, he tries not to overdo it. He knows how his own stomach gets with too much alcohol. So he drives.

At the hospital, Jungkook is immediately rolled into an examination room and Seokjin is left in waiting. When the rest of the members find a park, they join Seokjin in the waiting room. There's minimal conversation. Even Taehyung and Jimin, usual troublemakers, are eerily silent in their seats as they wait for any updates. Seokjin's replaying the night in his mind, trying to wrap his head around how a fun night could have gone so horribly horribly wrong.

Hoseok is comforting Seokjin, trying to help the older man relax and promising that everything will be okay. Yoongi and Namjoon are speaking with the managers about events leading up and how they can rearrange schedules if Jungkook has a serious condition. And Jimin is consoling Taehyung, who is shouldering all of the guilt around Jungkook's condition.

Taehyung blames himself. If he hadn't lost his temper and stormed away from the table, then Jungkook wouldn't have stood up. And if Jungkook didn't stand up, then he wouldn't have fallen. And if he wouldn't have fallen, then he wouldn't have been in so much pain. It's a cyclic anxiety pattern that's playing over and over in his head.

Despite the fact that Taehyung hasn't said a word out loud, Jimin knows exactly what's going on. He can read his expressions. They share a telepathic connection. He knows just how much Taehyung aches from the circumstances. He pulls Taehyung closer to himself and hugs his oldest dongsaeng. "It's gonna be okay, TaeTae." He whispers, trying not to draw the attention of the other members. This is a moment for only them.

"They were just stupid hiccups, Minnie. Why did I make such a big deal out of it?" Taehyung chokes on a sob and throws his head into Jimin's shoulder. "This is all my fault." His voice cracks when he speaks.

Jimin hushes him, pressing the younger's head further against his chest to muffle the cries. "Nothing is your fault, Tae. Jungkook just got sick. It happens sometimes." Jimin reassures, "Everything's going to be okay. I'm sure Jungkook isn't even a little bit mad at you."

Finally, the ER doctor who first wheeled Jungkook away approaches the group. Everyone's on their feet when he addresses them. Taehyung wipes at his watery eyes. The doctor scans the mass of people. "You're all here for Jeon Jungkook-ssi?" He asks for clarification.

Their manager explains the affiliation and the doctor nods in understanding. "Very well." He continues, "Jungkook-ssi is doing better now. We found an ulcer in his stomach that was nearing the point of rupture. Thankfully, he was brought in before it ruptured, so we were able to get the situation under control and ease the symptoms."

Namjoon scans the doctor's coat for any identification. "Hak." Namjoon wasn't nonchalant in his action, so the doctor answers the unspoken question.

“Hak-nim, what caused the ulcer.” Namjoon asks.

"It can be caused by a few different things. We did test for a bacterial infection, but that came back negative. So it could just be an imbalance of stomach acids. Some other factors could be spicy food, alcohol, stress. Anything that might cause Jungkook-ssi to have an upset stomach." He clicked his tongue before continuing, "We did notice during our assessment that his BAC was nearing poisonous levels. That could have been what triggered the ulcer to flare up and inflict so much pain."

The members nod their heads as the doctor speaks. Jungkook loves spicy foods, drinks regularly, and the life of an idol is always stressful. A few members start to wonder if they have an ulcer inside their stomachs waiting to burst. Taehyung lets out a relieved sigh. "What can we do about it?" Jimin asks.

"We have already gone over all the treatment with Jungkook himself. So he knows what to do with his medications. And we'll go over it again when he signs his discharge paperwork. But you all can help him by making sure he avoids spicy foods and alcohol for at least 6-8 weeks. And helping him manage any stress. Ideally, he should be stress-free, but I understand how unrealistic that is in your line of work." He then addresses the manager, "He will also need a follow up appointment with a gastroenterologist in 4-6 weeks to ensure that it's healing properly with the new medication. You should schedule that now since there may be a wait." The manager goes off and makes a series of phone calls.

"Anything else I can help you gentlemen with?" Dr. Hak asks the remaining members with a smile.

"Can we see him?" Taehyung's voice is quiet, still a bit hoarse from crying.

"Absolutely. I'll take you to his room." He turns and starts walking down the winding halls, "We admitted him just so we can make sure he reacts well to the medication. Also, we pumped his stomach to wipe his system of any remaining alcohol, so we hooked him up to an IV for hydration. Just so you aren't alarmed. He does have to be sobered up before he can be discharged."

They arrive in a single hospital room. Jungkook is laying in the bed looking a hell of a lot better than the last time they saw him. He's got a single needle poked into his elbow, connected to a bag of fluid. He's awake when they walk in.

"Hyungs," he greets them with a thankful smile. It drops instantly when he recalls earlier events. "I'm so sorry. I drank too much tonight."

"Well I hope you enjoyed it because you won't be drinking anything else for a long time," Seokjin scolds. It's light and friendly but he absolutely means it.

"Or eating that spicy ramyeon packet you love so much." Namjoon continues the sentiment.

"And those hot chips you’re always snacking on." Hoseok adds. Jungkook didn't think he was getting out of a lecture, but this just feels like a personal attack.

"I know, hyungs. I know." Jungkook acknowledges, "I don't want to ever be in that kind of pain again. Believe me. I'm gonna follow the rules and take better care of my stomach."

"The important thing is that you're feeling better, kid. You really had us all scared." Yoongi approaches the bed and ruffles Jungkook's hair.

"I'm sorry for scaring you, hyungs." Jungkook leans into Yoongi's touch. "Thank you for taking care of me. I didn't mean to cause trouble."

"Of course," Jimin smiles with a soft laugh that eases all the tension in the room. "That's what brothers are for."

Taehyung throws himself around Jimin's shoulder, "And we're going to keep taking good care of you."

Their manager enters the room shortly after. In that short time, several bodies have joined Jungkook on the bed, cuddling and snuggling to squeeze onto the small surface. "Okay, here’s how we are going to move forward. We're going to pause filming for two days. When Jungkook-ssi gets discharged, you will all go back to the lot. The motion cameras will remain off and no camera crews on site for two days. We can pick up filming on Thursday and we'll extend filming until Monday. All of your future schedules will be adjusted to accommodate the additional shooting. And Jungkook-ssi's schedule will be lightened at least until after his follow up appointment." He explains tapping away on his phone.

Namjoon nods on behalf of the group. They don't want to talk about work right now. They just want to be thankful that it wasn't anymore serious and Jungkook's going to be okay. The manager gets the message and leaves them. He notes to check in on them later in the day.

Jungkook is discharged from the hospital a few hours later. They all make their way back to the estate, all piled up into one van. It's 8 AM when they make it back and they all shuffle off to bed. Taehyung follows Jungkook to bed, not yet ready to part from the maknae. He doesn’t think he’ll leave Jungkook alone anytime soon.

They all emerge late in the afternoon for dinner. Seokjin cooks for the group, something light and easy on all their stomachs. He's more attuned to the spices he's using. Namjoon makes sure that Jungkook takes his medicine. Everyone asks Jungkook a hundred times over if he's feeling okay. They all agree to abstain from alcohol for the remainder of the week in solidarity with Jungkook.

Jungkook's good about taking his medicine without the extra reminders from all of his hyungs. He understands the importance of taking them. But they come with an unfortunate side effect. The medicine is supposed to reduce the amount of acid in his stomach. Each time the tablet reaches his stomach, he gets hiccups. Taehyung is sure to giggle and laugh each time it happens, reminding Jungkook of how cute he is and sticking with him until the case passes.

It seems Jungkook doesn't even remember, but Taehyung will never forget.

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

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!

42 notes · View notes