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sickonthedancefloor · 2 months

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All Hands On Deck - part 2

Sickies: OT7 Caretakers: Themselves + Managers

Part: [one]

Hoseok didn’t think he was ready for this. Here he had Jungkook, weirdly both pale and green-tinted, in a wet, vomit-sprayed tee and looking on the verge of crying. Before Jungkook could even consider apologizing, Hoseok merely shushed him softly, reaching a hand up to swipe his cheeks in comfort before tears could even begin to fall. His youngest dongsaeng, despite being taller and more muscular than him already, looked so small standing next to him with how sick he was. There was something about his big eyes being so watery and upset that pulled at Hoseok’s heartstrings immediately.

He was very weak for his members.

“It’s okay, Jungkook-ah, let’s get you changed and in bed. Sound good?”

He received a small hum in agreement, as the younger dancer dropped his face against Hoseok’s shoulder. Oh no… not vomit on the Balenciaga… It was honestly inevitable. He’d definitely have to ask one of the managers for their cleaning trick to get it out later for sure. But first… His hand rubbed small circles on Jungkook’s back as he walked him away from the bathroom, away from the new noises of vomiting from behind the door. It seemed to upset Jungkook further to hear it, and the last thing Hoseok wanted to do was have him sick again, and in the hallway where the clean-up would be harder. The two shuffled awkwardly and slow, but it didn’t seem to nauseate the youngest further, so Hoseok was alright with the pace.

“H-hyung,” Jungkook murmured. “Jin-hyung’s—”

“Hm? Jin-hyung?”

Jungkook pointed at the door. Ah… that made sense.

“Oh, you mean Jin-hyung’s room?” Hoseok guessed. That got a soft laugh and a thumbs up. Perfect, honestly; Jin’s door was closer, anyway. Hoseok merely shuffled to Jin’s room, leading Jungkook inside. Jungkook looked at the bed, but Hoseok merely held onto him, grabbing his shirt. “Come on, let’s get you changed into something cleaner. Okay, hands up.”

Jungkook looked so little. As Hoseok pulled the shirt from him, he couldn’t help but coo at how he scrunched his face. Once off, Hoseok just turned it inside out and dropped it near the door, before helping Jungkook out of his baggy jeans. He was like a child again, like that young teen who was so shy but still crawled into their beds when he felt too lonely or upset or just wanted comfort. Cute. Once in just his boxers, Hoseok led him to sit on the bed, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Stay right here, I’m gonna see what Jin’s got that you can fit.” For good measure, he moved the desk trash can next to the bed.

Hoseok tossed Jungkook’s pants, and his own sweatshirt (feeling too warm for it now anyway, he guessed someone turned the heater up for one of their sick members) to the pile and went to rummage through Jin’s closet for something light. He managed to dig up a simple dark tee and basketball shorts, and dressed Jungkook quickly as he noticed his eyes shutting. He was more than thankful that Jin and Jungkook fit the same clothes; it made it easier, for sure. Hoseok tugged the blanket back as he eased their maknae to lay down, then just ran his hands through Jungkook’s hair until the younger fell asleep.

Once he seemed settled, Hoseok sighed, leaning his head on the side of the bedframe. What a day… It was already giving him a headache, but he was glad to at least be helpful.

~*~

In the bathroom, on the other hand, Jin wished for peace. But all he received was a sharp stench of putrid, vile vomit that seemed rather discomforting being two distinctively different scents of yuck. He honestly didn’t think puke could have identifying smells, but whatever Taehyung was expelling before him had some odd, creamy scent to it that made his own stomach feel uncomfortable. But just taking a sharp breath upward, he merely continued to rub Taehyung’s back, thankful that his curls were at least short enough to stay out of his face.

Taehyung’s vomiting was calmer than Jungkook’s in a sense. Less loud, bouncy motions but more harsh, almost twitching gasps as he coughed up whatever wanted to make its way up his esophagus. He had tried to speak twice, barely getting out Jin’s name, and a broken apology, before he merely gave up. Taehyung had a shaky hand braced on his knee, fingers white-knuckled gripping his sweatpants as if it was the only lifeline he had between staying upright and falling into the porcelain nightmare (oh god, Jin realized, that was going to be a nightmare to clean).

“It’s okay, Taehyung-ah,” Jin said calmly. His hand on Taehyung’s back formed a fist and he rubbed his knuckles with a little more force on Taehyung’s back. Something more of a sensation, hopefully a bit of a distraction. “Try to take a breath now, hm?”

Taehyung coughed up a mouthful and then spit. Jin took the opportunity to flush, hoping to reduce some of the smell. But ever the diligent dongsaeng, Taehyung tried to take a breath. His shoulders slumped and he eased back. And took a second breath.

“H-hyung…”

“I’m here, Taehyung-ah. You’re okay. Just keep breathing—or… that, I guess.”

On Taehyung’s next breath, he gagged and immediately lifted himself back to the toilet, regurgitating out another thick mouthful of sludge. His hand on Jin’s hand merely loosened his grip and he swatted at him, albeit shaky and weakly.

“I know, I know. Not funny. But you always laugh at my jokes.”

Taehyung swatted him again, and coughed. He heaved again, but nothing came out.

“See, my jokes cured you.”

But another heave, and a mouthful of pure bile escaped. Taehyung was running on empty, and Jin could see it. He continued rubbing his back, encouraging him to take another breath. It took Taehyung another few minutes of dry heaving before he managed to sink back, forehead dropping on the toilet. Jin smiled.

“Good job, you stopped. Let’s wait a few minutes before we move, just in case.”

Taehyung just nodded as his eyes closed, his body trying to succumb to at least a few moments rest before Jin made him move. Jin let him have these extra moments in peace, just keeping one hand rubbing his back but now in slow circles. It gave Jin time to send a one-handed text message to Namjoon, letting him know their second youngest was also ill. This was already proving to be a disaster. They were going to need back-up, that was for sure.

~*~

From his spot on the couch, Yoongi looked towards the bathrooms on the left. He’d begun rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he heard Jungkook, but he was wide awake the moment Taehyung also disappeared. This already wasn’t good, and they hadn’t bought that much juk. They’d need more… and given whatever the two had, Yoongi figured he may as well begin messing with inventory.

He yawned as he stood, stretching his arms upward. The noise was enough to have Namjoon looking at him with a frown. “You’re not sick too, are you?”

Yoongi shook his head. “Wouldn’t dream of getting sick before you, Joon. I’m just going to make some juk. I have a feeling we’re going to need more, if Hobi-ah hasn’t come back from checking on them.” He really, really hoped Hoseok wasn’t also sick; that man hated throwing up, the last thing they really needed was an anxiety attack flaring up from anyone over illness. At least, for now, Namjoon and Jimin seemed alright, so after reassuring their leader that he was okay, Yoongi merely trekked his way into the kitchen and went to pull out the big pot. He’d make enough juk to last them a few days; thankfully it wasn’t hard at all. Opening the kitchen, he went to work, glad that Hoseok had organized their kitchen prior.

As Yoongi began cutting green onions, he realized he wasn’t alone. Despite seeming exhausted, Namjoon was out standing by the counter, frowning at his phone as he reread Jin’s updates. “Ah… Hyung, what can I do to help?”

Yoongi smiled. “Can you go check on Hobi and Jungkook? Hobi might need some help. Juk should be ready within the hour.”

An easy task. Namjoon gave a thumbs up and headed down the hall to peer in Jungkook’s room, then Hoseok and Jimin’s, only to find both empty. He just decided to search each room to find them, peering briefly into Yoongi’s empty bedroom before he landed on Jin’s. And there he saw Hoseok running his hand through Jungkook’s hair, Jungkook curled up next to him with his head in his lap on their oldest hyung’s bed. When Hoseok spotted Namjoon in the doorway, he smiled, holding a finger to his lips.

“Did he just fall asleep?”

Hoseok nodded. “I wanted to wait a little before giving him medication in case he could eat anything.”

“Yoongi-hyung’s making juk.” He wheeled over the desk chair to sit in, so he wouldn’t move the bed. “He thinks we’re going to need more.”

With a sigh, Hoseok nodded again. “I wouldn’t be surprised… Someone else is going to get it, I bet. When it’s done, let me know?” It only took a few minutes more before Jungkook began snoring, and the two sighed in relief. He was out. The rappers spent a few moments discussing their gameplan on if more of them came down with this—double line the trash cans, keep their two sick members comfortable, try to keep their medications on schedule. Check everyone just to be safe. Hoseok texted the managers their update while Namjoon headed out to give Jin and Yoongi their new update. The juk would take a bit, so he didn’t rush.

As he made it to the bathroom closest to his room, he knocked lightly. “Jin-hyung? You in there?”

“Ahhh, Namjoon-ah! Yeah, I’m in here. Careful if you open the door, Taehyungie’s legs—”

Namjoon was not careful. Upon immediate push of the door, he immediately knocked the wood onto Taehyung’s legs. Similar to Hoseok and Jungkook, Taehyung had taken Jin’s lap as a pillow, but with a damp towel over his eyes. He groaned but otherwise did not move, and Jin immediately began to fuss as Namjoon apologized.

“Is he sick too, Jin-hyung?”

“He spent ten minutes vomiting and now he won’t get up. And he won’t let me get up. Joon-ah, I can’t help him from down here! We don’t even have a traditional Korean bathroom, I could have just hosed down the mess but no, we have to clean it up! I could have just hosed Taehyung off of me—”

With that, Namjoon laughed, squeezing in and kneeling next to them. Taeyhung, while not as tall as Jin or Namjoon, had put on a significant amount of muscle on his frame, rivaling Jin in terms of weight already. And so much of it was muscle; but his reluctance to move overtook Jin’s attempt to keep him from the floor. It was a lose-lose situation for Jin. Taehyung’s button-up had vomit stains all along the front, and was damp with sweat. Jin had wiped his face already, but the younger vocalist seemed comfortable with the cloth blocking the light.

“Headache, Tae-yah?” Namjoon asked.

He received a mumbled ‘yes’. Fever confirmed by touch. Chills, possibly from the floor, possibly the fever. With a sigh, Jin rubbed his back again.

“Come on, let’s try to make it to the room with Joon, yeah?”

Taehyung grumbles again. “’m dirty…”

“It’s okay buddy, you’ve been sick. You want to try and take a bath?”

That gets the young singer to groan, his hand reaching up to press the cold cloth over his eyes. “I don’t want to move… Every time I move I get woozy.”

Jin sighed, stroking his hair. “Well, let’s at least try to get you changed and clean so you’re more comfortable.”

“Not… not yet.” Taehyung grumbled. He kicked a foot lazily to the side, but it bumped Namjoon’s leg—exactly what he was planning. “Go ‘way.”

Namjoon chuckled softly, patting Taehyung’s shoulder from where he sat. He was pretty sure Jin would catch it, being in proximity of now two vomiting members, but he wasn’t going to stress out over it. As Jin leaned his head back against the wall, he reached a hand over to swat at Namjoon too.

“Just bring him some fresh clothes? We’ll be out when we can, okay?”

Namjoon nodded and scurried out, returning five minutes later with a fresh pair of pajamas. On his way out, he added: “Oh, Jungkook’s taken over your bed.”

“Aish!”

#bts emeto #emeto bts #sick!jungkook #sick!taehyung #caretaker!jin #caretaker!hoseok #caretaker!yoongi #caretaker!namjoon #caretaker!jimin #tw: emeto #tw: emetophobia #bts sickfic #Whit writes

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allthewhumpygoodness · 9 months

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So I generally don't like throwing up in sickfic, I'm never going to be interested in a fic about a stomach virus...however, there *is* something great about a character throwing up only once, as an early sign of a super high fever. Like, they've been feeling *off* for a little while, but then their temperature spikes up out of nowhere and they suddenly feel so awful with a sudden wave of nausea that gets the better of them.

#whump #sickfic whump #tw: emetophobia #based on: me #i used to throw up whenever I got even a bad cold bc getting a fever suddenly would make me nauseous #so anyway torture your whumpees with that

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daebreaker1 · 1 year

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The Undoing of The Queen

Pairing: Vil x Ramshackle!Reader

Reader Pronouns Used: They/Them

Age Rating: 16+

Wordcount: 1608

Content Warnings: Mention of nightmares, mention of reader harm (in the nightmare), mention of over blotting, panic attack, dissociation, vomiting

Notes: The way Vil’s panic attack shows is how I experience anxiety attacks, I know they are two different things but I felt like it fit with the character.

Vil stood outside Ramshackle, a hand clenched tightly around the sleeve of his nightgown. Stupid, this was a stupid decision he decided. As he turned to slink back to his dorm and pretend like this problem did not exist, the memory of his nightmare flashed through his brain. Overblotting and seeing everyone run. Firing a dark tendril of blot at the Prefect, and, instead of Jamil barely being able to block it as had actually happened, the darkness struck through them and watching as his crush fell, dissolving into the inky blot. This nightmare had been plaguing him for weeks, ever since the incident in fact. But it had never looped as it had today. Every time he closed his eyes he could see it, see them fall and melt. He honestly could not even remember walking to Ramshackle. He wouldn’t have even remembered leaving Pomfiore if Epel hadn’t stopped him to ask him, what had Epel asked him again? Everything felt so heavy. Even the wet pre-storm air threatens to crush his lungs under the sheer weight. Loud creaks echoed in his ear, echoing and bouncing round his brain that felt a thousand times too heavy for his skull. A loud bell chimed from somewhere, the rings echoing around his head to the point where he wasn’t even sure what time it was.

“Vil?” The Prefect's voice echoed in his swimming brain. He was suddenly hyper aware of every detail of Ramshackle, the dust hanging in the air, the slightly squishy couch he didn’t even remember sitting on and… the body spray that he had bought you. Had it been this strong when he’d bought it for you. “Vil are you alright?” their voice had an odd echo to it, it was almost too much, everything was too much. The dust was too thick, the couch was too squishy, the body spray he himself had chosen for them was too much, too strong. Everything was heavy and thick, and suffocating him. He moved to stand, but his body felt like it was made of lead. Wrapping its way up his legs, through his stomach and settling like a kettlebell on his chest. “Vil?” their voice wrapped its way through him and he felt the weight increase, he had to get away. He had to get out, if he stayed here he was going to hurt you. He couldn’t do that. Leave, he had to leave. Rook had seen him leave, he thought, so Rook was probably just outside. They could go back to Pomfiore and it would be like this never happened. He went to stand, but the weight of his chest caused him to fall to his knees, gasping for air.

He opened his mouth trying to force the words out. “I can’t breathe.” He wasn’t sure if he even said anything, the smells and feelings of the world had never felt this heavy. The weight of everything spread across him, and it was suffocating. Everything was so heavy and thick that speaking felt impossible. The movement of air from his lungs to his throat hurt, thinking hurt. Every cell and fiber of his being felt like it was tearing itself apart under the weight of the world. Fighting through the pain he shouted with all his might, hoping Rook could hear him. “Rook, I can’t breathe?” Had he said that as a statement or a question, he didn’t know. His head was so heavy, and he finally allowed it to fall, shutting his eyes tightly. “Prefect I-”

The sound of running water caused him to blink, water? Since when was there a fountain in Ramshackle? His eyes were still squeezed shut, keeping the bright harshness of the world shut out. He felt himself being lowered to the ground, when had he stood up? He had just been sitting at the foot of his bed. No that wasn’t right he had been talking to Rook, or was it Epel or was it some other member of his own dorm. His head swam, as he squeezed his already shut eyes tighter. Where had he just been, why couldn’t he remember. His chest felt tight, his heart and lungs threatening to burst from his chest. “Vil, lean forward.” The Prefect's voice had an echo that made his head swim. “I need to get your robe off. You’re going to overheat.” He was overheating? His body felt so heavy that nothing else had even registered. When had he even come to Ramshackle, he had just been in Pomfiore. There was no reason for the Ramshackle prefect to be there. He leaned forward attempting to stand, but stopped suddenly, finally registering the hum of something behind him, bouncing around in his head. Everything was too loud again, filling his head with pure noise. The whining refrigerator, the echoing of Prefect continuing to try to guide him to lean forward, the dust in the air causing his lungs to ache and burn and cause him to gag.

The hum was gone, the voice was gone. But the sounds of SDC rang through his ears, and oh Seven the sound of screaming. Rook, Epel, and the rest of the team all screaming. Prefect falling to his blot over and over again. And then he was back, a cool rag being pressed gently to his head, a look of concern across the prefect's face. The look caused the weight in his chest to only increase, and he gagged. He felt the cool rag be moved from his face and something hastily shoved into his hands. He felt himself heave and the thing be forced even closer to his jaw. “I-In the can… Please.” The voice echoed in his ears, making the weight in his body worse and the twist in his chest so much worse. He could feel the weight get worse as he wretched into the thing he was holding. “Errgh… there… there…” He felt a tentative hand on his shoulder, and then the same cool cloth return to his forehead. “Grim, I can’t do this… go get the nurse or Crewel, actually any teacher. I-I can’t do anything. I need help, Vil needs help and I can’t do anything.” The Prefect’s voice sounded like it was echoing from miles away, as did the slamming of the door. “Vil, did you eat something? Did someone slip you something?” The Prefect’s concerned voice wrapped around his heavy brain.

Something rustled loudly over his head, and whatever he was leaning against shook slightly. The Prefect said something, but they sounded so far away that he couldn’t even make out any of it. “Prefect? Why are you in Pomfiore?” His brain hurt. It was still swimming, every noise amplified. He felt something freezing cold press to his head. Causing a shock to go through his body. He let out an undignified yelp and attempted to move back, slamming his head into whatever was behind him.

“It’s ice… I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to do…” The Prefect gently made sure he wrapped his fingers around the cup, and sat down slowly next to him. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s happening. I wish I could help you more but I just can’t.” Their voice was still swimming. “I need to try to keep you awake though, especially now that you’ve hit your head, so just-” They were cut off as a loud bang echoed through Vil’s brain causing him to drop the glass and grab his head again. He could hear an echoing click as shoe’s made their way towards him. “Professor Crewel!” He heard you stand as you hastily moved. “I don’t know what happened! One of the ghosts woke me up an hour ago and they told me that he was outside behaving weird, so I brought him in and,” They stopped talking suddenly, their voice still bouncing and echoing in Vil’s brain.

Vil awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright. “Lay back.” A voice Vil vaguely recognized as one of the nurses said. “You’ve had a panic attack, and quite a severe one.” He sighed “I have a potion for you to take, to relieve any lingering nausea or headaches. Beyond that you are on strict bed rest and supervision for a potential concussion, at least until Sunday.” The nurse handed him a cup, full of a murky potion that Vil drank in one gulp. As the nurse took the cup he spoke again “If you are feeling up to it, you are allowed one visitor at a time, and you do have one who has been waiting.”

“I… suppose I am up for it.” Vil assumed it would be Rook, coming to get any details needed for the time he’d be here. The nurse walked out, and Vil could vaguely hear him giving instructions to the person beyond the door. He sat up slightly, and adjusted himself to the best of his ability, though he did lack a way to check the effectiveness of it. As the door opened, he felt his heart stop. “Prefect?”

They walked over and sat down on the chair nearest Vil’s bed “How are you feeling?” Vil leaned his head back, scattered memories of the night flashing through his mind. He leaned back and covered his eyes with his arm. “It’s ok if you don’t want to talk, I can just stay with you. Or I can go if you want.”

Vil kept his eyes closed, wanting nothing more than to erase the memory from the Prefect’s mind. But he didn’t want them to leave, he didn’t want to be alone right now. “Stay. Please.”

#vil schoenheit x reader #tw: emetophobia #tw panic attack #tw dissociation #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland

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running-with-the-feels · 5 months

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Hanzo: You can do it, just say the words.

Kuai Liang: I....Have

Hanzo: It's okay, take your time

Kuai Liang: I...experience....emotions

Hanzo: See that wasn't so bad- oh no you're vomiting

Kuai Liang: I take it back!

#kuai liang #hanzo hasashi #subscorp #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x #mortal kombat 11 #tw: emetophobia

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zuppizup · 1 year

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Little Moments 3.0

Previous ficlet

She whimpers, struggling to keep control of her anxiety. Another rolling wave, the boat listing frighteningly to the side, then suddenly correcting. Gasping, she clutches at the rough wood of the hull, pushing backward to try and stop herself sliding around. She glimpses at the churning ocean as the ship corrects, the water almost black and terrifyingly opaque.

“How you feeling?”

Looking up, she finds Callum wincing at her from the top of the stairs. He’s holding on tight too but not with the white knuckle desperation she’s utilising in a vain bid to remain in place.

“Oh you know…” She closes her eyes as the boat pitches and heaves again, her stomach following suit. “Living the dream.”

He snorts softly, sitting on the lower steps beside her. “It’s a pity Zubeia couldn’t fly us across.”

“Who’d had thought being Queen of Xadia would make you busy, eh?” Leaning her head back against the hull, she smiles softly at him, appreciating his attempts at distraction.

It reminds her of their first boat trip together. Back when they barely knew each other. He’d tried to comfort her then too. Looking back, she now knows that was the beginning of the stirring of feelings for him.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly she developed a crush on him, but as he watches her now, his concern once again obvious she feels the familiar flutters, despite the increasingly distracting sea sickness.

And she feels another wave of nausea that has nothing to do with the pitching ship. This sickness is mixed with shame and the bitter sting of regret. It’s been a familiar companion of hers these past two years. A physical manifestation of the guilt for lying to him, for staying away for so long... returning with nothing but empty hands.

“Yeah.” His eyes wander around the ship and she assumes he’s getting ready to move on.

She tries not to take it personally. She’s not exactly great company right now and while things are getting steadily less weird between them, he still hasn’t really being seeking her out during their infrequent down time.

And, for once, she thinks she'd prefer he left her alone. She’s not exactly excited at the idea of him seeing her throw up, as petty as that feels.

Sighing, she wipes her brow. “Zubeia should really take a leaf out of Ez’s book. Go on more adventures.” She leaves her comments closed. Allowing him to nod and continue on his way to wherever he was going when he happened upon the pathetic mess she is, hiding from everyone else.

Callum laughs quietly at her and her stomach does a flip that has nothing to do with the rocking ship... and then it lurches in a way that has everything to do with it. Scrambling, she gets to her feet, heaving over the side.

She cringes with embarrassment, wishing so much Callum wasn’t here to see her like this. The salty breeze whips around her, and coupled with her violent retching, her hair comes loose of her bun, adding to her discomfort. She attempts to catch the hair swirling around her face, but the boat pitches again and she grabs the rail to stop herself from falling over board.

Before she can react, Callum is by her side. He gathers her hair, pulling it back from her face. She glances at him briefly, then turns back to the side as her stomach lurches again. It takes a few minutes for her nausea to subside and Callum holds her hair the entire time. His other hand is rubbing gentle circles across her back, giving her butterflies in her stomach that are really not helping with how unsteady she feels.

Yet she has no intention to ask him to stop.

After a few minutes, she takes a deep breath, glancing at him to indicate she’s ready to sit down.

Gently, Callum lets her hair go, stepping back a little. “You okay?”

She pouts, slumping down the side and rubbing her hands over her face. “I guess.” Looking at him from between her fingers, she sighs. “Sorry. I know it’s gross. You don’t need to hang around. I’ll be okay.”

Callum shrugs, sitting beside her this time. “You want water or anything?”

“I’ve got some.” She pulls her water skin from beside her and takes a small sip.

“When did you last eat?”

She turns up her nose, the idea of food almost enough to turn her stomach again. “I’m okay.”

“You should have something.” He insists. “Here.” He pulls a piece of fruit from his backpack and offers it to her.

“I can’t.” She can barely look at it, the very thought of food almost enough to set her off again.

Callum begins to peal the fruit, and she finds herself watching him, not having anything else to do. He selects a segment and draws a rune on it, then whispers a trigger word. “Aspiro Frigis.” Exhaling quickly and sharply on the segment, he inspects it for a moment, then presents it to her. “Try it.” He insists when she grimaces at his offering.

She frowns, really not wanting anything but not wanting to disappoint him. Taking the frozen fruit from him she reluctantly pops it in her mouth, sighing a moment later. It does feel good. Icy cold and subtly flavoured. Soothing on her upset stomach. “Oh.” She sighs, leaning her head back against the ship.

Callum flushes a little, continuing to peal the fruit. “Soren had some bad cheese at the mid-summer festival last year. This was the only thing that got him through it.”

“Gross.” She snorts, continuing to suck on the piece of fruit.

“Yeah, I wasn’t quite this excited to nurse him.” He says seemingly without thinking but appears to realise what he said a moment later when his cheeks go bright red.

She feels herself flush too, heart skipping a beat at the prospect he wants to help her feel better, even though she’s disgusting and throwing up. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she sucks on the frozen fruit, relaxing a little despite the constantly shifting boat.

“Thanks Callum.” She smiles at him, hoping she doesn’t look as awful as she feels.

He smiles softly at her, nodding in acknowledgement. “No problem, Rayla.”

Continued: Little Moments 4.0

Also on AO3: Little Moments 3.0

#rayllum #rayllum fanfic #rayla #callum #rayla x callum #callum x ralya #the dragon prince #tdp #the dragon prince fanfic #zuppi fanfic #fic: little moments #tdp fanfic #tw: emetophobia #mild reference to sea sickness/nausea

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silver-pieces · 2 years

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a friendly neighbour

Pairing: May Parker x gn!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Synopsis: May Parker is your new friendly neighbour. It should annoy you, how friendly she is, but there’s something about her that draws you in.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, kissing, alcohol consumption & drunkenness, tw for emetophobia - only mentioned once in conversation

A/N: Day one of Marvel Girlfriend May!! 💜 This is a fluffy grumpy one/sunshine one situation that I had a lot of fun writing hehe. Reader is the grumpy one. Reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

Divider ❊ Masterlist ❊ More May ❊ Taglist

Someone is at your door.

You tap your phone, and the music blaring from your speakers softens to a lull. It’s a warm night, the windows left wide open in the hopes of the breezy atmosphere getting you in the zone. But now, you can feel the threads of your thoughts falling apart again.

The soft knock repeats on the wood of your apartment door.

With a huff, you abandon your laptop at the table, and go to answer the door.

A woman, a stranger you’ve never seen before, smiles at you. “Hi! Oh - we’re the new tenants - ” she points next door - “we moved in last week?”

You nod. “I heard.”

Her smile drops a little, and her gaze darts down - taking in your ruffled work clothes you still haven’t changed out of. You smooth it down at the front, suddenly self-conscious.

“Great! Uh, well, I’ve got a kid, Peter, and he’s studying for his finals. Would you mind keeping the music down?” She gives a friendly shrug.

You wait for the annoyance to kick in. Work has been stressing you out for weeks now, and you’ve had to find comfort in the little things, like your music. But as the woman before you smiles, and you find your stomach doing a little flip of happiness instead. You clear your throat and duck your head. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

Her gaze softens. “Hey, no worries. If you ever need anything from us, just knock okay?”

You smile, already dreading going back to your laptop as you shut the door.

“Oh!”

You pause closing the door.

She throws you an apologetic look. “Um, I’m May. Forgot to tell you that.” She holds out her hand. “May Parker.”

Cute, you think before you can stop yourself. Her hand is warm to the touch, and you shake it once before letting go. You tell her your name as well, and then for some reason, you say, “tell your kid good luck, I guess.”

Her smile brightens, “yeah, okay. See you around.”

You watch for a split second as she turns and walks away, before shutting the door.

The second time you see May, it’s you knocking on her door instead.

She opens it looking a lot messier than the last time you’ve seen her, and it’s no surprise. Holding her phone to her ear with one hand, hair half falling out of its braid, she barely glances at you before her gaze hones in on the sad mess of a boy you’re supporting with his arm around your shoulder.

“Peter!” she cries, and reaches out to pull him into a half hug, before wincing into the phone. “Sorry - yes he’s here Happy, he’s safe, I think he’s just - ” she rears away from him - “are you drunk?”

The boy mumbles something that sounds like an apology.

“Oh god,” she groans, and finally looks back at you. “I am so sorry about this. Can you help me get him inside?”

“Yep.” You don’t have much choice, he won’t stand on his own. You had to carry him in the elevator the whole way.

She lets you into their apartment. It’s much like yours, but brighter somehow. You let your eyes wander as you bring Peter through, taking in the books lining a set of shelves, the several vases of flowers around the room, and actual paintings on the walls.

She leads you to his room. You try to be gentle, but he still flops onto the bed with an “uff!” and a groan. The kid can’t be more than seventeen years old, and he must still be in high-school if he was studying for his finals the other night.

“I found him downstairs, throwing up in the garden.”

She nods, nervously playing with her hair, her gaze darting between him and me. “Water - I should get him some water, right?” Her eyes go wide. “Oh, Happy!” before rushing from the room.

You find yourself seated in the living room for the next few minutes while May tends to Peter and talks on the phone to this ‘Happy’ person. But the one-sided conversation you hear is like nonsense to you.

“...didn’t even know he could get drunk? How does that...”

“...side effects? I’m freaking out Happy, I mean...”

“...apologise. But it sounds like it was very easy to steal if...”

Finally, the door to Peter’s bedroom shuts, and May appears, her face scrunched up in an expression that can only be described as embarrassment. “I am so sorry you’ve been brought into this.”

You shrug. “It’s fine, honestly.”

She sighs, leaning against the kitchen counter with her arms folded. Her expression relaxes into a soft smile.

You find yourself returning the smile with one of your own - a rare sight for you.

“Well, can I...” she shifts on her feet, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans, “maybe, tempt you with a drink, while you’re here?” She nods towards Peter’s room. “He’s dead asleep.”

Your eyes dart to the clock on the wall. It’s late, but that doesn’t stop you from wanting to stay. “Yeah,” you say, “I’d love one.”

In response, she gives you that same bright smile.

There’s a generous amount of wine in the glass she gives you, but as she seats herself beside you on the couch, you see she’s given herself even more.

“Cheers.” She clinks her glass with yours. “Don’t feel like you have to drink it all - I always seem to over-pour.”

“I’m not complaining,” you say, before taking a sip.

She watches you taste it first, before drinking from her own glass. “Hm, not bad!”

You raise an eyebrow. “You let me taste test it first, huh?”

Shrugging, she tips the glass back to drink some more.

The sight makes you want to laugh. You can’t help but crack a smile at her, shaking your head.

As she sets her glass to the side, she nudges her knee against yours. “It’s not often I get to drink these days.” She tilts her head at you. “What about you?”

You look down, swirling your glass. “I drink.”

She gasps. “Ooh, maybe I can come by some day when Peter’s not at home and pinch some of your booze.”

Your heart flutters. “Yeah, maybe you could.” You take another sip.

The two of you talk. It’s easy. She might catch you looking at her once or twice, but you’ve caught her looking at you in the same way. Interested.

There’s something about May that you can’t quite put your finger on. In the two times you’ve spoken to her, she’s breezed through all of your defences and brought out a warmth in you that you didn’t know you had anymore. You feel strangely drawn to her, like everything will be okay when she’s around.

It’s crazy to feel that way after meeting her twice.

She tells you about Peter, about how he excels in school and how kind and polite he is, and you adore the passionate proudness in her eyes as she talks about him. You wish someone would talk about you like that.

As the glasses empty, the conversation turns on you.

“You work from home, right? I mean, that’s what it looked like you were doing last time we spoke.” She’s sitting cross-legged now, leaning towards you with her elbow resting on the top of the headrest.

You set the glass down. “Nah, I just brought my laptop home from the office every day. But, that was my old job.”

“Oh,” she nods.

The wine may have loosened you up a little more, because you find yourself opening up more to her. “Yeah, I was so stressed at the time. But it’s over now, and I mean, I think I made the right choice. Things got better.”

“I’m glad.”

You smile at her. “Me too.” A thought occurs to you, and you say it before you can think any better of it. “So Happy... kind of a weird name isn’t it?”

Her smile freezes.

Shit, wrong thing to say. But before you can backpedal, she interrupts.

“Happy’s a...” she ducks her head, “friend. He looks out for Peter.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “None of my business.”

She puts her hand on yours in a sudden knee-jerk reaction. “Oh no! No - it’s nothing like that. We’re just friends.”

“Oh.” You look down at her hand, then back at her.

She smooths her thumb over your knuckles, and then, seeming to realise what she’s doing, withdraws her hand, clearing her throat. “Peter’s my whole world, you know? I’ve never really had time for all that.”

“I get it,” you nod. “I think I should get going though, it’s so late.”

“Okay.”

Is that disappointment you hear in her voice, or is it just the wine messing with your head?

You set the wineglass down on the table. “Thank you.”

“It’s me who should be thanking you.”

You look back at her.

“You got my kid back safe. I was a mess.” She reaches forward, patting your shoulder. “You are welcome over any time.”

Warmth blooms inside you. “Okay,” you say, and it comes out all flustered and quieter than you intended.

She walks you to the door. “I guess I’ll see you later,” she says.

You should invite her over some time. Or maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe she was just being polite. But the look she’s giving you can’t be just politeness, can it? Fuck, when was the last time you got this worked up over someone? “Uh, yeah, if you ever need that booze...”

She smiles at you again. “I’ll come knocking.”

Your heart flutters. “Cool. Bye, then.” You open the door, ready to head back to your place.

Her hand closes around your wrist, and as your heart skips a beat, she gently tugs you back towards her.

You turn, and she’s right there, looking at you with wide eyes. “Can I - ”

“Yeah,” you interrupt, and lean in to kiss her.

It’s sweet at first - you’ve caught her off guard by making the first move. But the kiss quickly changes when she cups the nape of your neck and kisses you back with a fierce passion that sweeps you off your feet.

You sigh into her mouth, enjoying the way she tastes like sunshine and wine. The soft press of her body on yours makes your heart soar.

Finally she pulls away. She immediately covers her mouth, a look of shock on her face.

You step away, concerned. “You okay?”

“Yeah, no, fine,” she nods. “I just wasn’t expecting...” she points between you, “this.”

You raise your hands in the sign of surrender. “Hey, no pressure.”

She stands in the door frame, blinking at you as though stunned.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, “but if you want to talk...”

“I’ll knock,” she repeats, no longer meeting your gaze.

“Yeah.” You turn to leave, heart sinking in your chest just a little.

“Well folks, looks like the worst is over. Spiderman was seen just a few minutes ago delivering the suspect to the police in handcuffs. The city council has advised it is now safe to leave your homes now, but folks should steer clear of the destruction until the council can co-ordinate a cleaning crew.”

A soft knock on your door has you reaching for the remote. You shut off the TV as it zooms in on the destruction of the city from a distance. Luckily, the fighting was nowhere near here.

A knock. Your heart skips a beat, and your gaze darts to the front door.

It’s been weeks since you kissed May. She’s avoided you ever since, and you haven’t been brave enough to make the first move. You’re sure you freaked her out by kissing her - after all, hadn’t she literally just told you she didn’t have room for someone else in her life? You were an idiot for taking advantage of her like that.

It couldn’t be her, could it?

You walk to the door and open it before you can stop to second-guess yourself.

It is her. She’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling visibly with each breath. Her hair is loose, and it looks like she’s been running her hands through it over and over. Like she’s been stressing.

“May? What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t say anything, just stares at you.

Your stomach flips, a spark of fear and hope going off within your core.

She goes to speak, but stops herself. Then, she steps forward, takes you with her hands cupping your face, and kisses you, hard.

And it’s just like you remember, only better. You can’t help but kiss her right back. The door swings shut behind the two of you, as you let her press you up against the wall.

She presses her forehead against yours. “Sorry,” she breathes, “I’m just a mess right now.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure her. “But I don’t want to take advantage - ”

“Shut up,” she murmurs, and before you know it, she’s kissing you again.

#may parker x reader #may parker #aunt may #aunt may x reader #may parker x you #aunt may x you #spiderman #tw: emetophobia #tw: alcohol #sil's writing

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andromedasummer · 2 years

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thinking about the sea of thieves stream where wayne and scorpy got high and just. immediately reverted to their base instincts: spending an entire 30 minutes in game digging up grubs and earthworms, eating them, vomiting immediately after, sometimes on one another, and then repeating the process like a sisyphean cycle of their own creation while gir watched on, absolutely powerless to either stop them or have them actually start playing the game

#''the grubs are for fishing. where are they.'' 'i ate them.''#wayneradiotv #socpens #mastergir #five hours. of just absolute nonsense and gir wanting so bad to play game.#tw: emetophobia

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hannah-the-small · 1 month

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"I threwed up a little."

#lil'hannah #tw: emetophobia

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 1 year

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Whump Prompt #1095

TW: alcohol / emetophobia / spiking

Did you know that the most common method of spiking is with alcohol?

That being said, your whumpee spends a carefree evening with friends. They’ve been sober for a while, and have truly worked hard to get to where they are now. So they sit back with a glass of coke at the bar, watching their friends do some drunk karaoke/fail miserably at hitting on people at the bar.

When someone offers to buy the next round, they of course say yes, and they are brought another glass of coke (or your whumpees preferred soft drink. Whatever works). They’re thirsty, so they drink at least a quarter of it pretty quickly... but stop when they see someone laughing.

Then it hits them. The taste of vodka on their tongue; clear as day. It burns.

The perpetrators laugh as he tries to use someone else’s water to get it off their tongue. But the damage has already been done, and your whumpee panics.

Maybe they rush to the toilets to make themselves throw up. Maybe they have a full blown panic attack, because they’ve ‘failed’ and don’t want to put their friends and family through that again. They’ve worked so hard, so fucking hard to get better...

A while later one of the more sober friends finds them in the cubicle, sobbing and apologising profusely. The sober friend tries to reassure them that it’s alright - that they’re still sober, and that they’ve done nothing wrong and they promise to keep an eye on your whumpee the next few days, as your whumpee is terrified of relapsing.

When word reaches the more drunk friends... they are more than happy to ‘have a chat’ with the perpetrators.

#whump #writing #ideas #prompts #angst #panic attacks #tw: alcohol #tw: alcoholism #past alcoholism #sobriety #worry #fear #tw: emetophobia #tw: vomiting #spiking #relapse

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brighteyedbushybrowed · 1 year

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𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 Of course Mary has a revelation about your relationship while you're drunk. It's very typical of him, really. 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 "Dance with me?" 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩(𝐬) Mary Goore x GN!Reader 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 No smut here. Reader has been drinking. Mary has basic human decency to not take advantage of that. Some grinding briefly but Mary puts a stop to it. Small TW for reader throwing up near the end of the fic. 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 967 words. 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 This is a short one tonight boys as I'm in physical pain, v tired, and couldn't bring myself to write a longer piece because of it. I've done my best to make sure I've not used gendered terms or pronouns for reader but if I have lmk and I'll fix it ASAP! 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 𝐓𝐢𝐩 𝐉𝐚𝐫

House parties weren’t really Mary’s thing. It’s not that he never attended them or got invited, he just never had anyone to go with. The only reason he was in attendance at this particular house party was because he knew you’d been invited, and you’d need someone to make sure you got home safe. After all, who better to walk you home than your loving partner of eighteen months?

“H-hey. Hey. Mare.”

They smiled at your approach, the relaxed grin on your face making Mary wish they had their phone out so they could take a picture. “What’s up, buttercup?”

You wrinkled your nose. “Who’s got butter in the cup?”

“Nobody. Don’t worry about it. Did you need something?”

That smile was back again. “Dance with me?”

Something else that wasn’t really Mary’s thing: dancing. Mary didn’t dance. He moshed. He headbanged. He got knocked around in the pit at gigs and wildly swung his arms around to the music. He didn’t do dancing. You knew as much too, but you were clearly tipsy and the way you looked at them with wide, excited eyes was enough to let that slide for the night.

“Lead the way, babe.”

Grabbing his hand, you led Mary to the crowd of god knows how many people grinding against one another to some thumping, bass-heavy music. He tightened his grasp, fingers intertwined so that you wouldn’t lose each other. The moment you were both submerged in the sea of bodies, you turned to Mary with a smirk and he knew he’d made a mistake in letting you drag him into the crowd.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that. Come on now.” His words fell on deaf ears as you pulled him close and began to dance, hips swaying and bodies far too close to one another to be innocent.

Well, shit.

You placed your partner’s hands on your hips, gently grinding against them to the beat of whatever song was playing. Mary wasn’t sure. Mary also didn’t really care what the song was either with the way you were deliberately grinding on them. A momentary jolt of anxiety flashed through his body as he glanced around, frantically trying to make sure you weren’t being watched. His cock gave a little twitch at the thought of being caught if you were both to dry hump in front of all these people, but something felt wrong. Very, deeply wrong.

Placing his hands on your hips to still you, Mary hissed. “Hey, we should stop.”

“Huh?” You blinked at him, eyes wide. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Shit, no, baby, you’ve not done anything bad. I just don’t think we should be doing this in your current state.”

“But I’m okay! I’m perfectly happy, Mare!”

Smiling, your partner pressed his lips to your forehead and pulled you into a hug, swaying the two of you in place. Your movements were completely off beat and off tempo, but Mary didn’t care. He couldn’t care less if the whole room was gawking at you both.

“I’m sure you’re very happy, but we shouldn’t be doing that while you’re drunk.”

“But I’m not drunk! Pinky swear!” you huffed, making them chuckle and rub your lower back. “Come onnnn, let’s daaaaance!”

Instead of dancing, Mary turned you and began to lead you out of the crowd and into the night air. You gasped at the sudden chill outdoors and Mary shrugged off his jacket before draping it over your shoulders and placing an arm around your waist.

“Let’s go, buttercup. I’ll make you a nice mug of hot chocolate and then we can go to bed. Sound good?” he suggested, kissing your temple as you began the stroll home.

You immediately perked up at his words. “In the Gar-fuck mug?”

Mary laughed. Of course you wanted it in that mug. He’d never lived it down when he tried to make a Garfield mug in pottery class, and it came out looking like a complete mess. It didn’t even look like Garfield, which was what made it even better. It’s also what made it your favourite mug to drink from, so much so that it now just lived in your kitchen instead of his.

“Yes, you can have it in the Gar-fuck mug. I’ll even throw some cream and marshmallows on top for you.” He couldn’t help but grin at the raucous cheer you unleashed, your head tilted up towards the night sky. It was in that moment, watching the sheer (if somewhat intoxicated) joy on your face because you got to drink from the shitty mug he made, that a profound realisation struck him. It just sucked that he was having this realisation now while you were under the influence.

Licking their lips, Mary pulled you in close. “I love you. So much.”

You stopped walking then, the two of you grinding to a halt as you moved to stand in front of them and watch their facial expression. You searched their face, eyes darting from their cupid’s bow lips to the dash of freckles on their cheekbones to the shape of their nose and eyebrows. The quiet extended further and further, both of you gazing at each other’s faces until you finally spoke.

“I love you too, Mary Go–” You suddenly bent over and made a sound that Mary very much didn’t like, the smell and the sudden wet warmth seeping through the tops of his converse confirmation of what had just happened.

“Okay, baby,” he cooed, rubbing your back and easing you into an upright position once you were done. “Maybe hot chocolate can wait for another time. Let’s just get you home and into bed with some water, yeah?”

You just nodded in response and leaned into him as he accompanied you home.

#tw: emetophobia #mushy may #mary goore #mary goore x reader #mary goore x gn!reader #repugnant #fanfic #my fanfic #mine

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