Gross Icky Sicky

It’s Yoongi time! Okay I’ll admit, I might have gotten a little into this one, so it is a bit longer, but I hope y’all like it!

TW: Emeto, Scat, Messing, Accidental Overeating, Food

I believe those are all the triggers, but if anyone sees anything else, please let me know!

Prompt: Yoongi pulls an all-nighter working on a new song, and then has to go to a meeting, a dance practice, and then lastly, he promised Jimin that they could go get dinner tonight to celebrate him finally being done with all of his solo dance choreo production. Well, of course Yoongi has to have a lot of energy to do that, which means bring on the coffee! (And lots of mini-snacks) If only they’d sit well with him… 

Word count: 3958

A. Angst 2.Please just leave me alone right now.

Thank you for saying so:)Please enjoy!.

Makoto noticed that Haru had been even quieter than usual and more spaced out. He often saw Haru staring out the window in his own world but that day he just stared down at his notebook. Makoto might not have thought much of it if he hadn’t realized that Haru wasn’t taking notes.

When he asked about it after school, of course Haru shoved him off but Makoto kept it in the back of his mind.

They walked home together without much conversation besides a few grunts in response from Haru. Then Makoto noticed halfway that Haru had stopped walking at on a bridge and was leaning against it. It looked as if he was trying hard to appear casual but he was bent forward slightly, looking uncomfortable.

“Haru? You okay?” Makoto walked back.

“Un.” Haru nodded yes and slowly started walking again.

When they got to Haru’s house, Haru sat back in a chair at once. Makoto found this strange because he usually went straight to the kitchen to get a head start on dinner. He pulled out his notebook and stared reading it.

“Worried about the test?” Makoto a bit was surprised. “Sensei said he covered most of it in his lectures so we just have to study our notes.” Makoto looked over Haru’s shoulder and saw that Haru was reading a blank page of notes.

He shut the notebook at once and turned away from Makoto. “Not really.”

Makoto sat down in front of him looking worried.

“Quit doing that.” Haru snapped.

“Doing what?”

“Making that face at me. It’s annoying.” He said bitterly.

Makoto tried not to be offended and pulled out some books from his backpack. He sat down on the floor and started studying.

Some time passed with Haru fidgeting and taking deep breaths. Makoto tried to ignore him but when he snuck a glance, he saw that Haru was glistening with sweat. “I’m ganna get some water!” Makoto shot up in his seat, regretting how quickly he did so. “Want some?”

Haru shrugged and Makoto decided to bring him one anyway. The moment he set down the tall glass of water, Haru scooped it up and downed the entire thing. Makoto gaped at him as he watched his Adam’s apple bounce up and down.

“What?” Haru wiped off his lips with his shirt.

“N-nothing! Does it feel hot in here to you? I’m ganna open a window.” Makoto got up to open the windows and Haru did not protest.

Some more time passed and Haru only seemed to be getting worse. He was breathing from his mouth and bent forward so far over his notes his nose was almost touching them.

It wasn’t until Haru hiccuped loudly and dropped his pencil that Makoto looked up instinctively. He was holding his hand over his mouth and looked distinctly green.

“Haru- you’re face is poorly colored… are you feeling sick?”

Haru swallowed thickly not trusting himself to speak, but nodded, slowly lowered his hand and went back to writing. Makoto didn’t lower his gaze and despite Haru’s awareness, he ignored it.

Makoto gave up and with a sigh and went back to studying. Some more time passed before Haru looked at the clock and slammed his book shut. “It’s late. You should go home.”

Makoto looked up with surprise. “I- thought we were ganna pull an all nighter..?”

“I’ve studied enough. I’m sure I’ll pass.”

“Oh- okay…” Makoto said sadly.

Haru stood up, indicating that he would walk Makoto out and at that moment, his expression changed and his hand shot over his mouth.

“Haru?” Makoto jumped up and touched shoulder.

Haru shoved him off and backed away. “Please just leave me alone right now. Go home.” Haru ran off passed Makoto, leaving him speechless. There was no way he was going to leave if Haru was sick. So he waited, still standing in the hall with his backpack, feeling too awkward to sit down after Haru told him to leave.

He wasn’t sure what to do, his mind was swimming with thoughts. ‘Maybe Haru really is just having a bad day and went to go to sleep….’

Makoto put his hand on the door handle, pausing with conflicting thoughts. Then he heard distinct noises of coughing.

Without a second thought, Makoto ran back and threw open the door to the bathroom. “Haru!” When he saw Haru leaning over the sink with a puddle of vomit in it, he felt awful but was relieved that he stayed.

“Mako- to- I told you to leave.” Haru said angrily.

“Look at you, you are sick!” Makoto came in and felt his forehead.

Haru slapped his hand away and rinsed out the sink.

“You’re feverish too.”

“It’s fine.” Haru insisted. “I’m just going to bed anyway.”

“It’s not fine! Haru, you need to pay more attention to your health.” Makoto was stunned.

“Leave me alone. I’m fine.” Haru tried to walk passed Makoto but he felt a suddenly dizzy spell and lost his balance. Makoto grabbed him and he pulled away. Leaning against the door for support instead. “Please…”

Makoto was shocked when he heard a tone of sudden desperation in Haru’s voice.

“Just leave- I can’t- I can’t- hold it in any longer.” He said with shame.

Makoto clenched his fists and suddenly yelled at Haru. “I can’t leave you alone knowing that you’re sick!”

Haru was surprised to hear Makoto yell and looked up at him, suddenly looking vulnerable. Haru doubled over and his knees buckled. Makoto caught him and helped lower him to the floor. He noticed Haru was shaking despite his skin being hot.

“I- don’t- feel good…” he admitted in a whisper.

“Don’t worry Haru. I’m right here.” Makoto rubbed his back and head softly as he was in his arms.

He slowly helped Haru sit over the toilet and at once, Haru was leaning over it, puking into the bowl. His coughs were soft and followed by short gagging noises. He was sick many times in a row before he finally got a break.

He leaned against Makoto’s shoulder panting and dripping with sweat. “There’s no reason for you be here. It doesn’t make a difference.” Haru told him.

“Haru. Haru?” Makoto snapped his fingers in front of the presumably sleeping Haru to wake him up. He had found Haru laying on the couch with numerous plates sitting on the coffee table beside him.

Haru opened his eyes slowly, not producing much of a reaction upon seeing his friend.

“You texted me to come?” Makoto pulled out his phone. “You said it was an emergency!”

Haru nodded “yes. I’m dying.”

“What on earth is the matter!” Makoto was already annoyed enough.

“I’ll be dead soon so I wanted to say goodbye.” Haru closed his eyes again.

“Haru!” Makoto shook Haru awake and his eyes shot open wide.

“You’d be wise not to shake me.” Haru said, suddenly looking queasy.

Makoto was starting to get the picture. “Did you manage to eat yourself sick?” He was dumbfounded.

“I bought too much mackerel and it was going to go off, so had to finish it today.” Haru said flatly.

“Haru!” Makoto was bewildered. “That’s why you called me?”

Haru shook his head. “I called you to ask you to give me something.”

“What?”

“Just- something…” Haru was unspecific.

“What is it you want!” Makoto was frustrated but then he began to catch on. He sighed loudly, rolling his eyes and picked up a trash can at the other end of the room.

He held it out for him to see, and Haru opened one eye to look then closed it again. “I don’t want to use that.”

Makoto was getting angry. He stormed into the kitchen and took out a bowl from the cabinet. He showed it to Haru and he seemed to approve.

“Okay.” Haru slowly began to sit up, Makoto could see his stomach jiggling as he moved. Haru could feel his stomach contents sloshing around inside him and it produced a nauseating feeling.

When he finally sat all the way up, Makoto tried to help him stand but Haru made him wait until the nauseating feeling subsided.

When he felt it safer to move, Makoto carefully helped him up. Haru felt his overly full stomach try to force it’s contents out his throat at the sudden movement and he gagged.

Maktoto shoved the bowl in front of him in a panic but Haru swallowed it back down. Then he slowly began walking to the bathroom, the liquid in his stomach sloshing loudly with each step. Haru hiccuped in a stream, forced to bend forward and hug his stomach desperately along by the way.

When they finally reached the bathroom, Haru rushed past Makoto and dove over the toilet. It only took seconds for him to start spewing out mouthfuls of semi digested mackerel into the toilet, his eyes watering as the acidic taste burned his throat.

in which todoroki gets seasick sick!todoroki, caring!midoriya tw: vomiting word count: 819 (Sorry it’s so short!)

Kirishima:

Hey guys! We're on the plane!!

Hinata:

Hey Kiri!!! Can't wait to see you!!!!

Bakugou:

Why the hell are you texting while Izu's asleep?!

Kirishima:

I'm sorry dude, I got bored. Besides, bunny over there looks pretty comfortable on your shoulder.

Bakugou:

Jealous are we?

Kirishima didn't answer after that. He was kind of jealous but they both looked cute so he didn't mind it that much.  Bakugou looked at the pouting redhead with a faint smirk on his face. 'Cute.' He thought.

Suga:

Hey!!! Sorry, I was helping Daichi with something.

Kirishima:

Nah it's cool and halos!!!

Nishinoya:

With what?

Suga:

I just was helping him out with you Nishinoya!! Why would you put a coin in the garbage disposal?!

Nishinoya:

I though it was cool!! It made a cool sound too. The way you could see it moving in the sink was awesome.

Bakugou chuckles at that and Kirishima stifles his laugh not wanting to wake Midoryia up.

Bakugou:

See y'all soon. We're about to take off.

Suga:

See ya!

Nishinoya:

See ya soon!!!!!

Hinata:

Can't wait to see yousss!!!!!!!!

Then the plane took off.

During the flight, Bakugou woke up because every time Kirishima shifted, he'd always feel it. It got annoying, but then he looked at the boy worriedly. He looked really pale and was hunched over clutching his stomach. "Kirishima, do you feel sick?" Kirishima looked over at the blond boy and then the other boy truly realized how bad he actually looked.

Bakugou looked at him so worried that he almost panicked. He looked a bit green but pale and was still clutching his stomach. "Bakugou, I think I have food poisoning." Bakugou rubbed the red head's back. "Do you think you're gonna be sick?" Bakugou asked him. Kirishima shrugged. "I-god-I'm not I don't think. My stomach just-just really hurts." Kirishima tried to say.

Bakugou got the emergency bag on the side of Kirishima's chair. He got it out just in case he had to use it. He didn't want the red-head to accidentally throw up on himself and feel embarrassed afterwards if he could have prevented it. Kirishima laid his head on Bakugou's shoulder not wanting to cause any more discomfort in his stomach. It calmed down for almost a minute before it came back feeling like it was cramping with a terrible stomach ache on top of that. Kirishima groaned in discomfort but not too loud not wanting to wake up Midoryia.

"Damn, I told you not to eat fucking nachos. You're a dumbass." Bakugou told him. Kirishima picked his head up and then flopped it back down and snuggled his head into Bakugou's shoulder. Bakugou started to pull Kirishima closer to him but carefully. He didn't notice that Midoryia woke up since Bakugou had moved so much. "Mhmm...stop moving..." Midoryia slurred out. "Nerd, when did you wake up?" Bakugou asked. He wasn't mad or anything, just curious. "Just now, why do you keep moving?" Midoryia asked. Then, Midoryia saw how Kirishima looked. That alone just made him be powered up enough to be fully awake. "Oh my gosh! Kiwi are you okay?" He nearly screamed. You can't really blame him. I mean, it's in his nature to panic.

"Oh no, I'm sorry Kiwi." Bakugou looked at the green head again. "I thought I heard you wrong the first time. What's with the nickname?" Midoryia shrugged. "I dunno, I just thought it was cute and funny. Ya know, how I have a nickname for you Kacchan." Kirishima hunched over again. Usually he was able to hide how bad he was feeling, but he couldn't. It was just too bad. "Guys-I'm-n-not doing time go-ood." Kirishima sounded like he was straining his voice which made the other boys worry. "You feelin' nauseous?" Kiri slowly nodded. "Here." Bakugou handed Kirishima the bag. Kirishima took it and gagged into it a couple of times. Bakugou rubbed his stomach and eventually he threw up.

"That's right, let it out." Bakugou said softly. Usually, he wouldn't even want to do this, but he wanted to help him. Kirishima eventually finished and it was just gagging. Bakugou rubbed his stomach and then he scrunched his nose. Kirishima went a bit red realizing that he farted. "Damn, you have to shit too?" Kirishima went even more red. "N-no, not now at least." Kirishima farted again. "You sure Kiwi?" Midoryia asked. Kirishima bent over slightly and farted before getting up and heading to the bathroom, blushing the entire time. Midoryia and Bakugou chuckled as he left.

Kirishima got back from the bathroom and sat back down next to Bakugou and put his head on Bakugou's shoulder again. "Your stomach feel better?" Kirishima nodded. "It's a bit better." Midoryia smiled at the sight in front of him. "Aww, cute!" Bakugou kissed Midoryia and Kirishima's foreheads. Then, for the rest of the flight they fell asleep.

———

For the prompt from my lovely friend @hangon-toyourself “obviously tim was an ass to jon but like what if it some point tim got sick or hurt and jon being a petty little bitch ignored tim asking for help/thought he was over exaggerating or something and doesn’t help until he actually realizes how bad it is cause like there are plenty of fics like that with the roles reversed”

———————————————————————————————————– Tim lives because screw canon!!!!

TW FOR VOMITING, NOSEBLEED, NIGHTMARES, AND ALCHOHOL MENTION

———————————————————————————————————–

They survived The Unknowing.

It had gone better than expected, and they were all able to get out with minor injuries physically at most.

The emotional scars were another story.

So here Tim was, a month after it all happened and he was not doing good.

His head was pounding and he swore he could still hear Nikola’s voice.

Jon still stayed locked in the office most days, Martin was the only person he would respond to at all, whenever Tim tried to talk to him, to apologize, Jon would shut down completely and would, rightfully, be a bit of an ass.

Tim raised a shaking hand to his face, feeling like his head was going to explode then, and was not surprised to see blood on the hand from under his nose.

He also was pretty sure he had a fever, judging by the dampness in his hair and the shivers running down his spine.

Martin out of the office today, his mum was ill and needed help, but god Tim wished he was.

Jon was in his office, and he has no idea what time it was, all he knew is he was on the floor, probably covered in his own blood, and his stomach turned at the smell of it.

The lights were making everything ten times worse, but he couldn’t bear to close his eyes, every time he did he saw Danny’s face, on something that wasn’t him dancing and smelt the burning of the wax museum.

The next thing he knew he was heaving over a bin that was next to him, and he heard a door open and it felt like tiny needles were being shoved into his ear.

“Tim, I don’t know what you’re playing to try and get me to trust you again, but I don’t like it, I told you earlier and I’ll tell you again, if you’re actually sick go home.”

Tim felt like he could cry, he deserved the treatment from Jon, he really did, after everything that he did to Jon, to someone he used to consider a friend.

He didn’t like feeling like this and he doubted Jon did either.

He heard the sound of retreating footprints again, and he let himself cry.

Ugly sobs ripped through him, he remembers the times Jon took care of him in his own little ways when they were friends.

How Jon would always memorize his orders from restaurants, so whenever Tim was having a bad day, his order would show up at his desk, and how Jon always seemed to know when he had a headache and would make sure to give him a lighter workload that day.

He remembered the days in research, before the worms, before the archives even, when Tim had just a little too much to drink on a bad day where all he could think of was Danny, how Jon sat with him while he puked his guts out and cried for hours on a hard bathroom floor in his cheap apartment.

He looked up at the ceiling, hoping the lights might just hurt him enough to temporarily take him out of his misery.

It wasn’t enough, but he also couldn’t remain the half upright he was anymore, so there he was, curled into the fetal position on the dirty floor of the archives.

He closed his eyes, he wanted to sleep, he didn’t know the last time he slept more than three hours.

Was this what Jon felt like?

He lost consciousness shortly after that, his mind still running but his body giving out.

——————————————————————————————————————————-

Danny screamed in his dreams.

Screaming about how Tim failed, about how it was his fault.

Sasha was there.

He didn’t know which one it was if it was the real one or the fake one but she was yelling about he failed her too and he knew.

He failed Danny and Sasha and Jon and Martin.

He failed.

He was in the museum.

He was in the museum and then he was in the tunnels and then he was in Elias’ office getting told he was being moved to be an archival assistant.

He was with Sasha in her lap.

He was with Jon, they were at karaoke.

“Tim.”

Someone was talking but it wasn’t in his head.

“Tim, what on earth happened.”

Someone touched him and he was back on the floor of the archives.

“You’re burning up.”

He opened his eyes, and was not greeted by light.

Thank god.

He couldn’t move his head, but he could see Jon out of the corner of his eyes.

“J-Jon”

He was being moved, he was pretty sure, or the room was moving itself.

Jon’s hands were under his arms, Jon was never strong, how was he doing this?

“Shhh you’re alright, don’t talk.”

Fuck.

Was he talking out loud?

Jon gave him a sympathetic smile, small and guilty.

He was upright.

It took his eyes a second to focus but when he did, his stomach lurched and he was back to being sick over a bin, but it had apparently been cleaned out which he was thankful for.

Jon was rubbing his back, calm and circular motions so contrary to what he deserved from Jon.

He didn’t deserve it after how he treated him.

He had nothing else in him to expel, and Jon and the bucket were both gone.

He closed his eyes, didn’t know how long for, but when he opened them back up it was to the feeling of a warm cloth running gently under his nose and over his mouth, gently wiping the blood off of him.

It was a relief, the metallic smell finally slightly is gone.

He never did like blood.

“Tim, I gotta get you standing.”

Jon’s voice was soft and worried, tinted with only a little fear.

Tim didn’t like that idea, but realistically he knew it was the best thing to do.

Jon was stronger than he remembered.

Probably some spooky shit, he distantly thought

The next thing he knew he was on the cot in document storage.

His head was spinning but laying down helped.

Jon was moving around, he heard the door click shut and then blinked and suddenly Jon was over him with a glass of water and some pills, gently sitting him up.

Tim took the pills, and Jon pressed the water to his lips, holding him up and when he was done, carefully laying him down.

A cold cloth pressed to his forehead, Jon smoothed it there before moving his own scarred hand to Tim’s scarred cheek, holding him as if he wasn’t as bad as he was.

“Take a rest, Tim.”

——————————————————————————————————————————-

Tim woke up to a head only mildly pounding, and to someone holding his hand.

He looked up to see Jon, sleeping in a chair next to him, and something in Tim’s heart cringed at it.

He knew Jon didn’t deserve the treatment Tim gave him, and he knew Jon was… well, scared of him, but here he was.

He gently squeezed Jon’s hand, which was apparently enough to rouse him from his slumber, and he looked around, finally meeting Tim’s eyes and smiling.

“How’re you doing? You were pretty sick for a bit.”

He didn’t move his hand at all, only shifting into a more professional position.

“I feel… not good but… better. Jon- I-“

He was cut off by Jon.

“I’m sorry Tim- I was an ass and I didn’t listen to you I’m so sorry I didn’t help earlier.”

Jon looked like he was about to cry and Tim was already, fevers always did make him more emotional.

He pulled his hand back and Jon looked almost hurt, before Tim sat up and pulled him into a hug.

It was different, definitely from the past year, and different from the common occurrence of him comforting Jon.

Jon ran his spidery hands through Tim’s hair, still soaked with sweat.

“I’m so sorry, Jon, I know you didn’t want any of this.”

Tim was crying and so was Jon.

There was still a long way to go, but there they were, fallen asleep on the cot in document storage, in a position that would surely hurt both their backs in the morning.

Thank you~ :)

WARNING:

DESCRIPTIONS OF VOMIT AND DIARRHOEA

WARNING:

DESCRIPTIONS OF VOMIT AND DIARRHOEA

WARNING:

DESCRIPTIONS OF VOMIT AND DIARRHOEA

WARNING:

DESCRIPTIONS OF VOMIT AND DIARRHOEA

“Oi, what’s with that shitty expression on your face, Oikawa?”  Iwaizumi poked the spot right between Oikawa’s furrowed brow.

“Wh- What?  Iwa-chan, what are you talking about?”  Oikawa laughed nervously.  “How mean!”

Iwaizumi scowled and let out a small puff of air.  “If you didn’t actually want to come, then why did you try so hard…  Is this a joke or something?”

Oikawa felt like he’d been punched in the gut.  In more than one way, actually.  However, at that moment, all he could focus on was the fact that Iwaizumi actually thought Oikawa would take him on a date just for the sake of a prank.  If that didn’t prove how terrible Oikawa’s character was, he wasn’t sure what did.  It had literally taken years for Oikawa to confess to Iwaizumi, and it had taken another whole month to convince Iwaizumi that, no, he wasn’t making fun of him, and even longer to convince him to go on a real date…  Now that they were finally at a nice restaurant, there was no way he was going to mess this up.  Punched-in-the-gut feeling or not.

“No!”  He denied the accusation after only a slightly prolonged, stunned silence.  “Iwa-chan, I swear, I would never lie to you!  Especially not about that!”

Iwaizumi studied him for a moment and Oikawa held his ground; it wasn’t long before some of the coiled tension in Iwaizumi’s frame fizzled out.  For a moment, Oikawa’s smile flashed sincerely.  Then the food arrived, and it was all he could do not to grimace.  He suddenly remembered the physical sensation that he’d earlier identified as being akin a sucker punch, except now it was infinitely worse.

“What?”  Iwaizumi asked, deadpan but full of concern, noting Oikawa’s reaction (subdued at best, repulsed at worst) immediately.  It hurt Oikawa to watch Iwaizumi’s eyes become guarded again.  He hated that his confession had led to that.  Hated it, but understood it, because he was, after all, Oikawa Tooru.  The ladies man.  The guy who never held onto a significant other.  The fake-smiler.  Of course, he was also known to be incredibly stubborn and persistent, so he was going to do his very best to contradict all of that.  He grabbed his fork and stabbed at his food.

“Nothing, Iwa-chan, I’m thrilled to be here!  Aren’t you?”  He repressed a shudder and shoved the steak into his mouth.  “Delicious.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes went dark, and he spoke in a monotone.  “Yeah, looks like it.”  He listlessly pushed his food around on his plate, but didn’t eat any.

For his part, Oikawa managed to shovel down about five more bites before he hit his limit.  Then, an almost debilitating pain in his side alerted him that the time to move to a more convenient location was now or never.  He stood quickly, all thoughts of preserving a romantic date dissipating.

“Sorry Iwa-chan, I’ll be back in a minute!”

Iwaizumi grunted but didn’t look up, for which Oikawa was grateful.  He practically ran to the bathroom.  Upon arriving, he immediately gagged - over the sink, not even making it to the toilet - but nothing came up.  He stumbled to the toilet and dry heaved in vain four times.  Then a particularly brutal retch brought a large lump up his throat.

For a moment, Oikawa couldn’t breathe, and with every fiber of his being he regretted foregoing chewing in place of eating more just minutes ago.  Then his stomach lurched and a bitter wave of barf dislodged the object blocking his airway.  Even before it had all splashed into the toilet, Oikawa was struggling to breathe through more puke.  He coughed and retched and sputtered, and was just barely getting to the point where he could catch his breath when a previously unnoticed stench reached his nostrils.  His eyes drifted to the source and was as shocked as he was dismayed to see a brown mess running, hot and thick, down his leg and pooling on the floor.  A sharp pain in his side alerted him of more to come, so he turned and sat on the toilet in a rush.  Moments later, gas and shit were exploding painfully from his rear.  Meanwhile, he was only growing more nauseas from looking at the puddle of diarrhea on the floor, and it wasn’t long before he was vomiting again, adding a new layer of gross to the ground.

And that was how Iwaizumi found him, getting violently sick from both ends, tears streaking his face.  He’d gotten worried after all of about two minutes had passed.  Whether it was his fortune or misfortune that Oikawa hadn’t had time to lock the bathroom door is debatable, but he was relieved that he was able to enter quickly after hearing the noises from inside.

“Shit,” Iwaizumi sized up the situation.

“And sick,” Oikawa managed to cough out before spewing again.  Iwaizumi laughed nervously in a way that Oikawa would have thought incredibly cute at any other time.  At that moment, though, he was 100% humiliated.  Iwaizumi knew it, too.

“Hey, Oikawa, it’s okay.  Jesus, you’re sick.  Fuck.  Okay.  Just breathe,” Iwaizumi muttered, managing to repress his gag reflex only because he had both a naturally strong stomach and a lack of contents in his stomach.

“Iwa-chan, I’m so - HUUU-UUGH,” Oikawa coughed up more sick, too exhausted to aim it anywhere further than his own knees.  He’d long since resigned himself to the fact that he would need to burn his nice suit as soon as possible.  As nausea coursed through him, Oikawa shuddered.  “So sorry.  I ruUUG- HUURP- ULP.  Ruined our daAUUUGH.”

“Hey, hey, stop that!  I just wish you’d told me…  We could’ve gotten you home, more comfortable, less… public.”

Oikawa whimpered as, even as his stomach was nearly empty, his stomach wrung him out, causing him to dry retch so painfully and forcefully that he and Iwaizumi both worried that Oikawa would pass out.  Then a thin stream of bile spilled over his lips.

“I just,” he rasped, throat raw but desperately wanting to explain himself.  “Just wanted to go on a nice date with you,” Oikawa managed before gagging.

This time Iwaizumi was silent until Oikawa spoke up again.

“Just wanted to prove,” he sucked in a gasp at another pang of pain.  Finally, it seemed, the vomiting at least had stopped.  Iwaizumi gently tilted Oikawa’s head to rest on his own shoulder.  Oikawa swallowed.  “I love you.  It’s not a prank.  I understand that I’m like that but I’m not lying, I really-”

“Oikawa.”  Even as liquid diarrhea spurted from Oikawa’s ass, Iwaizumi caressed his best friend’s face until he looked him in the eye.  “Oikawa.  I don’t know what “that” you think you’re like, but in my mind you’re nothing less than perfect.  That’s why…  Wow.  That’s why I thought…  Well, I’m glad it wasn’t a prank.”

Iwaizumi smiled, eyes clear and unveiled and refreshing.  “I’m really glad.  Because I love you, too.”

Yeah, I ended up being sick again last night, as I’d expected.  I’m starting to wonder if I’ve somehow managed to get food poisoning and a stomach bug at the same time, cause I’ve never had it come out both ends at the same time before.  It’s probably not that unlikely, considering the fact that I’m in college, which means I eat dining hall food and am constantly around people who don’t know how to take care of themselves when they get sick, so stomach bugs (and all other sicknesses, really) spread like wildfire.  

Anyway, here’s how it went down, for anyone who’s interested.

in which todoroki gets seasick sick!todoroki, caring!midoriya tw: vomiting word count: 819 (Sorry it’s so short!)

Sure! Thank you :))

cw: minor, non-graphic scat; emeto

———

When Hart wakes up, he feels... strange. Not bad, per se, but still kind of weird. His stomach feels kind of tingly and if he moves too quickly a dull feeling of sickness roils through his belly. But it’s fine. He can deal with it. He has a photoshoot followed by a business meeting coming up that he can’t afford to miss. He’ll just have to hope it doesn’t get worse.

He gets dressed, brushes his teeth, washes his face, and has a light breakfast—avocado toast. The food doesn’t quite sit right in his stomach, but he willfully ignores the uncomfortable sensation and gets into his car, grateful that there are no fans waiting outside his door this morning. Probably because Zach’s across town recording.

Upon arriving at the park he’s supposed to be modeling at, his agent comes running up to brush powder on his face for the lighting and get him into position.

He manages to pull off some pretty good photos, though his belly never stops slowly churning, and, by the time he’s done, his skin feels unnaturally warm. He presses a hesitant palm to his stomach as he gets back into his car, rubbing lightly as he drives in an attempt to quell the rolling and turning.

Things only seem to escalate during the meeting. Hart, unfortunately, is the one supposed to be leading the whole thing which means he has to stand up and walk around occasionally, talking the entire time. When he’s finally able to sit back down again, he forces himself to take a few deep, measured breaths. Nausea crawls up his throat, heavy and sour, and he forcefully swallows it back. He stifles a quiet moan as the queasy ache in his belly spikes.

One of his hands tightly grips the armrest of his chair while the other presses careful fingertips into his pained side, massaging cautiously as it spasms and churns. To his dismay, his belly’s beginning to bloat painfully, making it difficult to breathe or think properly.

He hardly notices when the meeting’s over, only realizing it’s done when he sees everyone standing up and pushing their chairs in. He eases himself up, inhaling sharply as his tummy cramps dangerously, before hurrying out the building. He sags into the seat of his car, shoulders slumped, and tries to breathe through the now near-debilitating pain and nausea. He rubs his hands over his face and is surprised to find his skin alarmingly hot, prickling with heavy heat.

He rests a hand on his turning tummy and even that slight pressure is enough to dislodge an air pocket that leaves his mouth a queasy burp. He groans softly and palpates at the swelling area, another nauseous belch working its way up.

Hart drives home quickly, knowing that soon more than just hot air is going to be leaving his body. Sharp cramps have begun to spread across his gut, seizing abruptly with a painful ferocity.

By the time he pulls into his driveway, the nausea’s risen to a miserable peak and he’s forced to unlock his front door at an alarming speed, rushing to the bathroom and dropping to his knees in front of the toilet as hot vomit comes rushing out of his mouth. He hardly registers Zach, who must’ve returned early, kneeling down beside him.

“Hart?” Zach says anxiously, rubbing a hand up his back.

Hart opens his mouth to respond but all that comes out is more queasy nausea. It fills his mouth with a sickly taste and spews into the toilet bowl, curdling and sour. Hart moans, wrapping an arm tight around his fiercely churning tummy, and Zach smooths his hair back from his sweaty forehead.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Zach murmurs. “You’re okay. Just get it out.”

Hart’s chest heaves violently before a final rush of vomit spills into the bowl. Zach leaves and returns with a glass of water after flushing the toilet and Hart swishes it around his mouth to clear out the nauseating taste.

He sags into Zach, thoroughly exhausted, and Zach slips a hand beneath his shirt and smooths his palm over the bloated surface of his belly. It twists and burbles beneath his hand, gurgling loudly every few seconds in a sickening fashion.

“Come on,” Zach says, gently tugging him to his feet. “Let’s get you into bed.”

Hart sways dangerously into his side as they walk and collapses onto the bed, curling up slightly and shaking with fever. Zach sits down beside him and presses a cool hand to his forehead.

“You’re coming down with something, huh?”

Hart just groans in response, sweat pouring down his face.

Zach massages his bloated stomach with gentle pressure, careful not to further upset the nausea and gas burbling in Hart’s gut. It churns queasily against his palm.

Hart lies still and tries to let it pass for a bit, relishing in the small comfort Zach’s warm hand provides, but his stomach is still gurgling and bloated with gas and everything hurts.

A few minutes later Zach’s palm dips and Hart feels something shift and—

He jumps up and runs to the bathroom, plopping down on the toilet just as his bowels open and his rumbling intestines empty into the bowl. Hart groans and keels over as the spoiled excrement squelches painfully through him, making his abdomen ripple with undulating sickly gurgles.

Zach closes the bathroom door behind him and very gently rubs his broad hand back and forth over Hart’s lower stomach, coaxing everything downwards. Hart groans shakily and tries to focus on the soothing presses of Zach’s hand instead of the nauseating waste rapidly expelling itself from his tummy.

The last of it ends with a few sloshing grumbles and twinges and Hart sags with relief and exhaustion. He cleans himself up quickly and flops back down onto the bed, turning onto his side so Zach can rub at the remaining queasiness settled like a dull ache in his stomach.

“Thanks, Zachy,” he murmurs, eyes slipping shut as Zach’s palm works away every minor squeeze and cramp. 

“’Course, Hart. This just means you can’t get mad at me now for eating the last fudgsicle.”

Their impromptu brunch was hours ago, so Blaine's not entirely sure why their stomach is starting to hurt now, but their only guess is that the platter is the cause of the problem. The only other things they'd had to eat today were the same things Diego had eaten — they'd split a late fish-and-chips lunch, and for dinner they'd both shared a huge plate of nachos at the diner downtown. Driving home now, Blaine's stomach is starting to protest loudly, tight cramps squeezing through their belly like a fist around their stomach.

Diego shoots them a nervous glance from the driver's seat. "Are you okay?"

Blaine exhales slowly, fixing their eyes on the horizon ahead of them. They breathe deeply through their mouth, trying to settle their churning stomach. It feels like everything they ate today has suddenly congealed together into a sack of cement, weighing them down.

They shake their head. "No, I don't— I, I don't feel so good."

"You don't look so good," Diego agrees. Blaine doesn't even make a sarcastic comment back. "Are you carsick?"

"I don't know," Blaine answers. They push their thin t-shirt up, settling their left hand on their belly. They're surprised to find that they're unexpectedly bloated; they hadn't thought they were earlier, unless they just didn't notice, somehow?

They try to rub their belly anyways, hoping it'll help. Pushing too much just makes the sharp cramps tighten, persistent aches that have stopped coming and going and now just aren't going away, so they just try to slowly rub on the surface. They work their way into a small spot where they can feel the contents of their tummy gurgling. They try to work a belch up, hoping it'll help, but their chest feels too tight to let anything up. They groan, shifting uncomfortably, tipping their head back and closing their eyes.

"Blaine?" Diego asks anxiously. "Hey, babe, how you doing?"

"Not good," Blaine admits quietly. They can feel a layer of sweat breaking out on their skin, hot at their temples, above their upper lip. They exhale shakily, breath wavering as their stomach churns, sloshing against the sides.

"Tell me if you need me to pull over," Diego tells them. "I'm trying to get us home, though, okay?"

"Okay," Blaine says, barely a whisper. They cup their belly in both hands, cradling the bloated slight swell of it. For a moment, they don't move, hesitating. They feel gurgles ripple through their belly under their hand; their stomach muscles tighten painfully, and they groan, unable to keep it in.

They start rubbing their stomach in earnest now, hands moving in towards each other, then out, over and over. They know they're rubbing a little too desperately, but they can't help it: they're starting to get really desperate.

A thin, acidic hiccup forces its way up their esophagus, and they groan. It makes a half-belch come up right after it, their whole stomach lurching with it, and they shift in their seat, leaning forward slightly, opening their eyes. They exhale slowly, palms slick with sweat as they fist their hands in the material of their shirt. They can feel their hands shaking.

"Babe?" Diego asks hesitantly. Blaine stares hard ahead, slowly putting one hand on their frothing stomach. Their head is pounding, nausea spread through their entire body like cotton or static, filling them up until they can't focus on anything except how sick and miserable they feel. They exhale slowly again, shifting to put their head between their knees. Their seatbelt cuts into their swollen belly, and tears spring to their eyes.

Their stomach churns again before it gurgles, deep and low, and they moan miserably. They can feel their bowels squeezing tight, their intestines starting to protest whatever's making them sick, too, and Blaine feels like their whole body starts shaking. All over, their skin has broken out in a cold sweat, and they're nearly crying.

"Hey, hey, we're almost home," Diego tells them. "Almost there. It'll be okay."

Blaine's belly whirls inside them. They clamp their free hand over their closed lips, swallowing back a mouthful of bitter saliva. They lift their head, shaking it frantically.

"I'm—" They feel their stomach lurch, and they push their hand harder into their mouth, making sure nothing comes out when they force themselves to swallow. When they can breathe, they gasp, "Pull over."

"Wha—"

Blaine unbuckles their seatbelt with shaking, sweaty hands and repeats, "Pull over!"

Diego jerks the car into the breakdown lane, slowing down just in time for Blaine to grab the car door handle and yank. The door's locked, and they groan, reaching for the lock as their stomach turns again. Their hands shoot up to their mouth again, closing their eyes and forcing themselves to breathe through their nose until the wave of nausea passes. Tears finally spilling, they unlock the door with fumbling hands and finally wrench it open.

They fall to their hands and knees in the grass on the side of the road; their stomach feels like it's turning inside-out as it forces up a hard, painful belch and a gurgling stream of vomit. They whimper, hands fisted in the grass as they cough and belch up another wave.

Diego runs around the car, his hands landing on Blaine's back and rubbing softly as he says, "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry, it's okay, I'm so sorry—"

Blaine cuts him off by desperately saying, "I need to— I need to get home, I feel like I'm gonna—" Blaine gags, then retches, belching up another thick mouthful of vomit. They grab for their stomach, feeling their belly churning and their intestines twisting. "Diego—"

Diego seems to understand what they're saying, thank God, because Blaine doesn't think they have it in them to say or do much more. Diego hooks his hands under Blaine's arms and pulls them up to their feet, all but dragging them to the tree line near where Diego stopped their car. Diego undoes Blaine's pants quickly for them, yanking them down; Blaine barely has time to feel embarrassed, everything's happening so quickly. Their stomach feels like it expands to fill the space, almost offering relief before their entire abdomen feels like it cramps up. They have no choice but to just let their bowels go, and they sob, their stomach churning up sickly as it empties itself from both ends. They belch again, groaning as they brace themselves against the tree behind them.

"You're okay," Diego says from close by. "I'm here if you need me, baby, okay?"

Blaine nods miserably, barely able to process what he's saying before they’re vomiting onto the ground. Their stomach doesn't feel any less bloated, still rumbling sickly inside them as they puke up another wave of vomit, cheese and fries and fish and the fucking seafood platter from this morning.

Blaine catches their breath, just for a moment, and manages to choke out, "I think I have food poisoning."

Diego looks at them incredulously before he says, "Yeah, no fucking shit, honey."

Dani’s stomach is super upset. Their wife CJ helps them feel better.

🔞 this is a belly kink/scat fic featuring explicit sex. if that is not your bag, this is probably not for you. if it is your bag, hi! 🔞

Compared to their usual weeknight meals, dinner had been lavish. Dani had come home to find CJ in the kitchen still in her work clothes, standing over a pan with two sizzling steaks. A bowl of bright green sauce sat on the counter next to a pan of roasted cauliflower, and Dani’s eyes had gone wide.

“You made chimichurri, too?”

CJ had grinned in reply and pulled her wife in for a hug and a kiss, deftly flipping the steaks with her other hand. “What, I can’t do something special? I know midterm season is awful for you and we had a slow day at the restaurant, so I finished prep a little early and ducked out. These are almost done– do me a favor and set the table?”

Everything tasted phenomenal and Dani hadn’t had time for more than a protein bar at lunch. They ate nearly to the point of pain, their stomach seeming to flip straight from “gnawing hunger” to “uncomfortably full” somewhere during their third helping of chimichurri-slathered cauliflower. After dinner, they settled onto the couch and put on a nature documentary. Usually, Dani loved laying on the couch with their wife: CJ was warm and soft and smelled like fire and cooking oil and old spice, but tonight Dani couldn’t get comfortable. Every position put pressure on their overfull stomach, and moving made it slosh around. 15 minutes into the documentary, Dani’s belly let out a loud growl and they involuntarily let out a string of loud, wet farts.

“Oh jeez, sorry. I think maybe my tummy is punishing me for skipping lunch.”