anonymous asked:

Yuuri suprises Viktor with homemade mulled wine. After the drink's finished Viktor feels awful and accidentally leaves his mark in the family home by puking the wine back up over the carpet and cushions (red wine stains are the worst), Yuuri's left to assure him it's alright.

Yuuri glances across the dinner table, a dreamy smile quirking his lips and the remainder of his dinner completely forgotten.

Viktor sits beside him, gesticulating animatedly as the rest of the company erupts into hysterics at the conclusion of his story. Yuuri’s heard it before but it still makes him laugh. He squeezes his boyfriend’s thigh appreciatively underneath the table.

Viktor turns toward him, a beautiful smile illuminating his handsome features as he leans in to give Yuuri a quick kiss on the forehead. Yuuri feels his entire face flush with heat; his stomach never fails to swarm with butterflies anytime Viktor’s lips touch him. They’ve both had quite a bit to drink already and Viktor’s affectionate side is only amplified by the alcohol. He can barely keep his hands off of Yuuri. It’s simultaneously sweet and a little embarrassing.

“You guys are gonna kill me,” Yuuri’s sister bemoans, gathering up the empty plates. “Stop being so damn adorable. It’s giving me hives.”

Viktor chuckles, reaching over to take another sip of his wine, “That dinner was amazing. Though it doesn’t surprise me that Yuuri’s family members are also exceptionally skilled.”

Mari blushes furiously, waving away the compliment as she directs the kids towards their bedroom. “You two head outside if you like. I’ve got to clean up in here.”

“We can help, Mari,” Yuuri volunteers, but his sister cuts him off.

“Not a chance. You two would just be in the way with all of your groping.”

“M-Mari! That’s not -” Yuuri sputters, but Viktor just throws his head back and laughs. He grabs his glass, takes Yuuri by the hand, and together they stumble out onto the patio into the chilly night air.

“I like your family,” Viktor says, raising the glass to his lips. “They don’t take anything too seriously.”

“I don’t know about that,” Yuuri scratches his head, gazing out towards the hot springs.

“I almost forgot,” Viktor’s smile brightens as he pulls out a package from his coat pocket, excitedly handing it over. “I have something for you. Merry Christmas, Yuuri!”

Viktor waits impatiently for Yuuri to unwrap the paper, helping him with the bow as Yuuri gapes at the midnight-blue, knitted scarf.

“It’s for practice. You’re always shivering. Perhaps this will help,” Viktor tugs the scarf over his neck, adjusting it snuggly around Yuuri’s shoulders.

Instead of thanking him, Yuuri throws his arms around Viktor’s neck, burying his face in the other man’s shoulder and pulling him close.

“You like the gift, then?” Viktor chuckles and returns the hug, stroking gently down the arc of Yuuri’s back. “I’m glad.”

“I have something for you, too,” Yuuri announces, blinking the moisture from his eyes. “Wait here,” he instructs, heading back into the house. Moments later, he emerges cradling a glass bottle and two stems. He hands the bottle to Viktor who takes a sniff.

“I heard you mention something about mulled wine being a staple at your holiday gatherings,” Yuuri explains, shrugging his shoulders in embarrassment. “I know you couldn’t be at home with them this year, so I made you some. I hope it tastes all right. I followed a recipe my grandmother loaned me.”

For once, Viktor has no words. His eyes shine as he accepts the offered cup, tilting the smooth glass to his lips. Yuuri watches with bated breath as Viktor takes his first sip. He swirls the liquid in his mouth before swallowing, closing his eyes as the flavors dance across his tongue.

Oh, Yuuri,” he moans, inhaling the spicy aroma. “This is delicious. Is that nutmeg?”

Yuuri beams with the praise, nodding his head as he takes a sip of his own beverage. It’s actually really good. He can’t believe it turned out so well.

Viktor quickly polishes off his first glass and pours himself another.

“You take such good care of me, lyubov moya,” Viktor leans in for a kiss. It lingers so long that when he finally pulls away, Yuuri is panting for breath.

Lost in conversation, it’s almost half an hour before Yuuri realizes he’s only finished half of his second glass and yet the bottle is down to the dregs. Viktor’s shoulder slumps heavily beside him, silver bangs hanging in the older man’s face as he sways in place.

“Viktor?” Yuuri reaches over to brush a few of the stray hairs from his forehead. Viktor smiles, leaning into the touch with a deep sigh. “Are you all right?”

“I…’m perfect,” Viktor replies, voice lilting with a noticeable slur. His eyes are drooping and Yuuri can’t help but think maybe he’s overdone it just a little.

“You’ve had a lot to drink,” Yuuri whispers, smiling at the way Viktor’s nose scrunches under the observation. “Maybe we should go inside.”

Viktor’s good mood seems to deflate a bit, but he nods agreeably and grabs Yuuri’s hand, “Yes, I think…I’d like to lie down, now.”

Yuuri helps Viktor to his feet, grunting under the extra weight as his boyfriend sags against him, practically useless on his feet. Viktor turns his head, humming something into Yuuri’s neck, followed by a drunken giggle and hiccups of hot air vibrating against his skin.

“Here, sit down,” Yuuri instructs, easing Viktor down onto the couch. The older boy teeters but remains upright, blinking at Yuuri with a woozy grin and bleary eyes. “I’ll get you some water.”

When Yuuri returns, he finds Viktor hunched over on the couch, swaying dangerously and jolting with poorly suppressed hiccups. He glances up, trying to conjure some semblance of his usual smile.

“You didn’t leave,” he whispers, glassy eyes so earnest it makes Yuuri’s chest ache.

“What are you talking about?” Yuuri laughs gently, handing the water over to Viktor. “Of course I didn’t leave.”

“I don’t know…I thought -“ Viktor frowns, raising the back of his fist to his lips as his cheeks inflate with a sudden belch. “Oh…I’m sorry.”

Yuuri tries to coax Viktor to drink but his boyfriend refuses, swallowing thickly around another soft burp.

“Yuuri…” Viktor’s voice is weak, his words slurring together like melting molasses. “I don’ feel so - hic!”

Yuuri places his hand on Viktor’s back, intending to urge him to lie down when Mari enters the living room carrying a plate of sweets.

“I hope you boys are still hungry,” she chirps, setting the platter down on the coffee table.

Viktor has gone rigid beneath Yuuri’s hand. He ducks his head, turning away as a much wetter belch bubbles up. He’s resorted to cupping his mouth, throat working convulsively as he struggles to control himself.

“Uh, Viktor?” Mari’s eyes narrow in concern as Yuuri kneels down in front of his boyfriend, planting a steady hand on his knee.

Oh…” Viktor gulps, voice clipped with panic. His upper body suddenly lurches with a violent retch. He gags once, twice; the precursor to a dark red flood of liquid that spills out from between his fingers, spraying all over the cream-colored couch cushions and carpet.

“Oh my god,” Mari gasps, looking as horrified as Yuuri feels.

Viktor coughs harshly, another watery, crimson stream spurting out from behind his hand. He clamps down on a belching gag, whimpering desperately as the dry-heaves send him convulsing over his own lap.

“Okay, okay,” Yuuri dumps out a decorative bowl on the coffee table housing a display of plastic fruit and shoves it into Viktor’s lap.

Derr`mo,” Viktor curses, clutching viciously at the bowl as his back arches and a fresh torrent of sick gurgles out of his mouth, splattering noisily into the container.

“It’s all right,” Yuuri soothes, running his hand down his boyfriend’s shuddering back in slow arcs. He doesn’t know what else to do. This is light-years outside of his comfort zone. He’s never seen Viktor get sick before.

Viktor spits up one last mouthful before glancing up. His eyes are filled with tears, cheeks flushed bright pink and there’s a trail of saliva dangling from his bottom lip that he can’t seem to get rid of.

“You’re a mess,” Yuuri smiles softly, reaching up to brush Viktor’s hair behind his ears and thumb away the tears trailing down his cheeks.

“Yu’ - hic - Yuuri,” Viktor’s voice hitches with a wobbling hiccup. He glances down at the soiled cushions, then at his sticky hands. “I’m so s-sorry…I didn’t -“

“Hey, it’s all right,” Yuuri shushes, easing the sloshing bowl out of his grasp. “This was probably my fault.”

“How is this your fault?” Mari demands, surveying the damage to the couch with an unamused scowl.

Viktor immediately shrinks but Yuuri holds his ground, “I wanted it to feel like home.”

Beside him Viktor sniffs, his bottom lip quivering as fat tears begin rolling down his face. Disregarding the mess, he leans down to wrap his arms around Yuuri’s neck, nuzzling his nose against the younger man’s shoulder.

Aaw, Yuuri,” he slides off the couch, knees thumping onto the floor as he slumps haphazardly, draping himself over his boyfriend. “You did such a - hic - good job. I don’t feel lonely at all.”

As Viktor continues gushing compliments and sniffling into Yuuri’s shoulder, Mari rolls her eyes, shaking her head at the pair.

“I give up,” she throws her hands in the air before pointing a threatening you-better-clean-this-shit-up finger at Yuuri.

“I - I ruined your couch,” Viktor moans, inhaling a shaky breath as he clings to Yuuri like a drunken octopus on a mission to suffocate him.

“Don’t worry,” Yuuri huffs a good-natured laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of Viktor’s head. “It’s just stuff.”

“Your sister’s - ulp - mad at me.”

“She’ll get over it,” Yuuri promises. Viktor rests his forehead against Yuuri’s chest and exhales a tearful sigh. “I’m just happy you enjoyed your Christmas present.”

“I - hic - did! I really did.” 

Perhaps a little too much. 

Yuuri pets Viktor’s hair, easing him upright, “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“And we didn’t even know each other...”

Look. I know Zayn and Louis applied for the same job. And Niall and Liam went to the same Busted concert (presumably when they were like 8 years old when Busted was touring before 1D was formed). Both of those things are neat coincidences.

But they aren’t very significant to any of them, because they’ve mentioned both of those things like one time in interviews over the course 6 years (and it was arguably to try and make the Script concert seem like less of a thing). 

You know what’s significant? What Harry himself made significant? 

The Script concert. He had to make a public declaration about it…twice!

“This place is incredible to me…I remember coming to quite a few gigs here. I remember I stood right there watching the Script and it turns out, Louis was at the same gig!“ - Manchester, 22 December 2011

“This venue is quite special to me. I’ve been to quite a few gigs here before. And I remember, about 3 years ago, I was stood just about there to watch the Script in here, and it turns out, that Louis was at the same gig!” - Manchester, 23 December 2011

Louis and Zayn have never described their mutual employment pursuits as “incredible” or “quite special.” And neither have Liam and Niall described the Busted concert that way, despite it being literally the same scenario as Louis and Harry attending a Script concert at the same venue on the same day.

So you have to wonder why Harry cares so much, why it’s such a curious thing that they were there, together, on the same night, at the same time, doing the same thing, and they didn’t even know each other. 

But then fate twisted, and they did meet, and became so important to each other, that it made the night they missed each other that much more significant. 

“most women want to be Cinderella right? But i feel like I’m Cinderella.”

well he sure is pretty enough to be cinderella imo lolol

(call him day 10 at night if ur wondering when this is)

anonymous asked:

Member/Kink: Jimin & Thigh Riding😉




“No, ‘m tired.”

Frustrated and horny, you whine incessantly, tugging at your boyfriend’s shoulders in the hopes that you could get him to sit up and take care of you. You had even put on the sky blue babydoll he bought you for your last anniversary. It has never failed to make Jimin pop a boner.

“Jimiiiiin.” You drag the end of his name out as you thrown your leg over his waist, straddling him. “At least let me ride you or something.” Jimin cracks an eye open, lifting his head to look up at you for a second before letting it fall back, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“I think I’m too tired to get hard.”

“What?!” you screech, your hand immediately flying down to his crotch, where he was, to your dismay, soft.

“Oh.” You try not to let the disappointment show, try to understand that Jimin was just exhausted after a particularly grueling dance practice. But you can’t stop the feelings of doubt from bubbling up and telling you you’re not good enough, not sexy enough.

“Hey.” Jimin sits up, cupping your hand in his face. “Quit thinking so hard, I can practically hear you.” You pout at him, one last plea for him to do something to help, to make you feel wanted. Jimin sighs, his eyes narrowing as a thought grows. Unexpectedly, he scoots backing, until he’s sitting against the headboard. He then grabs your hips, pulling towards him and rearranging your legs until they straddle one of his thick things.

“Ride my thigh, babe.” He smirks up at you before grabbing a pillow to put behind his back. “I promise I’ll make it up to you in the morning but this will have to do for right now, okay?”

“Um… okay.” You awkwardly place your hands on his shoulders for support before lowering yourself on your thigh. A gasp escapes your lips when the muscle clenches beneath you, the slightest friction stimulating your sensitive nub. “Oh.”

Jimin’s hands, still holding onto your hips, help you start a steady rhythm as you grind down on his thigh. He tugs the leg of his basketball shorts up so the only thing separating you is the pair thin lacy panties you’re wearing under your babydoll. You grind down a little harder, enjoying the feeling of his muscles rippling and tensing underneath you. Wetness spreads, dampening your panties and leaving a trail of wetness on his skin as you grind back and forth.

“That’s it baby. You’re doing such a good job. You look so pretty,” he murmurs encouragingly, one of his hands letting go to brush a strand of hair out of your face. “Does it feel good, princess?”

“Y-yes,” you moan as you increase your pace, your own thighs burning as you chase the orgasm building in your core. 

Jimin surprises you by lifting his leg up a bit and moving it back and forth, opposite to the movement of your hips. His thigh stimulates your clit at just the right angle and speed, your orgasm suddenly so close you can feel your walls tensing up.

“J-Jimin!” his name falls from your lips like a prayer, followed by moans and curses. 

“Go ahead, baby. Be a good girl and come for me.” His words push you over the edge, your orgasm surprisingly strong, your walls clenching around nothing as you slow your pace, riding it out and smearing your juices all over his thigh.

You finally come to a stop, sighing contentedly as you collapse next to Jimin, who gets a couple of tissues to wipe up the mess you had left on his leg. Sleep creeps up on you, your eyelids getting heavier.



“I’m hard now.”


“Come on, baby.”

“No. ‘m too tired now.”


You make it up to him in the morning.

jungkook, Protect Jimin Movement Member™

anonymous asked:

can I request for a really weak and sick rin, he doesn't tell souske that he's feeling sick until he wakes up in the middle of the night and runs to the bathroom to throw up and souske hears him and goes to care for him and comfort him?? (Love your work btw)

“You’re not hungry?”

Rin had been spinning his fork on its tongs; now it clattered onto the plate with a startling clang. He glanced up and managed a tight grin when he saw Sousuke arching an eyebrow at him from across the table.

“I’m pretty full.”

“You’ve barely touched your steak,” Sousuke looked reasonably baffled, if not altogether suspicious. It was almost unheard of for Rin Matsuoka not to finish a meal and then some.

“I’ll take it to-go and heat it up later,” Rin smiled, trying to wave off the concern as he muffled a soft belch into his fist. “Besides, we only have about twenty minutes if we wanna catch the movie.”

“Right,” Sousuke’s brow lowered about a millimeter as he polished off the last of his potatoes. “Don’t get all bitchy on me when you’re starving in two hours.”

“Wha’ - I don’ - I never bitch,” Rin squawked, mouth agape as though royally insulted.

Sousuke snorted into his glass of wine and called for the check.

It wasn’t until hours later, when they were both home and curled up in bed that it all went to hell.


Rin woke to a churning stomach, spinning head, and the imminent certainty that he was going to throw up.

He tossed one leg over the side, suppressing the urge to groan as he slid out of bed as quietly as possible. Sousuke, who wasn’t much of a cuddler to begin with, simply accepted the absence of his personal foot-warmer and rolled over in his sleep, murmuring something unintelligible before releasing a deep sigh.

Rin doubled over the moment he was on his feet, cradling an arm around his cramping belly as a wave of dizziness assaulted him. He shuffled slowly into the bathroom, doing his best to avoid jostling his tossing stomach.

He shut the bathroom door and turned on the faucet before lowering himself in front of the toilet. Perhaps it was the proximity to the bowl, the knowledge that he could let go if he wished, but his mouth was suddenly salivating faster than he could swallow.

He curled over the bowl to spit, inhaling a few deep breaths through his nose as his entire world narrowed to the rippling receptacle of water below him.

There was no warning. Without so much as a preemptive gag, his stomach contracted sharply, forcing up a projectile surge of thick liquid.

Gripping the edges, Rin pitched forward, gurgling up another massive torrent before he was able to catch a breath. He coughed harshly, dropping his forehead against the rim of the toilet as his muscles quivered from the exertion.

“Fuck,” he gasped, panting through the momentary reprieve. The eruption had occurred so abruptly that his body now seemed to be playing catch-up with the usual precursory symptoms.

His skin was suddenly drenched in a cold sweat, ears buzzing furiously, blocking out every other sound as his vision wavered. He slumped to the floor, curling up into a fetal position while the chilly tile sent icy shivers coursing through his aching limbs.

Rin knew it was far from over, especially if the unhappy burble of his roiling stomach had anything to do with it. Besides, he felt so dizzy it would’ve been impossible for him to get off the floor even if he’d wanted to.

Rin was so distracted by his mounting nausea that he didn’t even hear the quiet footsteps approaching the door.

A gentle knock and a slurred, “Rin? You okay?”, preceded Sousuke’s sleep-tousled head of dark-brown hair as he peered inside the bathroom.  

“Ah, shit,” Sousuke murmured, swiping a hand over his face in order to wake himself up as he spotted Rin sprawled on the floor.

“Don’…c-come in here,” Rin hissed, nose mushed unattractively into the bathroom rug. His stomach was trying to fucking kill him.

Rin might as well have never opened his mouth for all of the good it did him. Without a word, Sousuke knelt down beside him, gathering Rin into his lap with a long-suffering sigh.

“I said I don’t want you - ulp - in here,” Rin gulped, moaning around a wet sounding burp. Another agonizing cramp sent his hand flying up to clench Sousuke’s thigh as he buried his head in the other boy’s stomach. “I - I threw up…’s really gross.”

“I knew you were sick. Idiot,” Sousuke muttered, his deep baritone rolling out far rougher than usual, still bogged down by the lingering remnants of sleep. “I’ll never understand why you can’t ever just quit while you’re ahead.”

“‘Cause quitting’s for - hUURrp - losers,” Rin gagged, tongue clicking as a bitter splash of bile rose in the back of his throat. He retched into Sousuke’s lap and the other man planted a steadying hand against the center of his back.

“Okay, rockstar,” Sousuke carefully eased Rin into a sitting position, guiding him back over the bowl. “Let’s get this over with, huh?”

Draped over the toilet once more, Rin tensed with a sharp belch.

Sousuke quickly reached around to rescue his forehead, massaging Rin’s shoulder with his free hand.

The stimulating gesture ushered up a fresh wave of watery vomit; Sousuke could feel the rippling heave building, traveling all the way up through Rin’s diaphragm. The resulting mess burst out of the sick boy’s mouth with enough force to backsplash.

Oh, god,” Rin slurred, muscles seizing through another brutal bout of retching. “Didn’t even get to - huuuRR - finish my will.”

“Drama queen,” Sousuke chuckled, humming a gentle kiss against Rin’s quaking shoulder.

Rin stiffened, letting loose another bubbly belch.

“You’re a fucking mess,” Sousuke winced, pulling Rin’s hair back into a short ponytail as saliva continued dribbling from the smaller boy’s parted lips.

Mmnn…” Rin groaned, jolting as a spurt of watery bile shot out of his mouth. “Really don’t - hUurRp - feel good, Sou.”

Sousuke shook his head, sliding his hand around Rin’s waist as the queasy boy wilted against the rim of the bowl, chest jerking spasmodically with a series of nauseous hiccups. Rin instinctively hugged Sousuke’s arm to his belly, entwining his fingers with the other man’s.

“What happened to ‘go away, Sou’?” Sousuke mocked gently as he began kneading his long fingers into Rin’s overly warm flesh.

“Didn’t mean it,” Rin coughed, then gagged into the elbow he was resting over the rim. “‘Sides, you never li’ - huURRulp - ‘sten to me, anyway.”

“Good point,” Sousuke smiled sympathetically, shushing and encouraging Rin as he lurched forward to heave up another round of whatever the hell was making him so goddamn sick.

anonymous asked:

Can you write some iwaoi or daisuga fever sickfic! Maybe where one character pushes themselves too far? Thanks!

I was actually tempted to make this one where Iwaizumi overworks himself because the Oikawa overworks himself thing is super overused, but at the same time it’s like my favorite thing ever so I just went with the usual again here.  Hope that’s alright with you!  Enjoy!

WARNING: writing about vomit under the cut

When his phone rang at 3 am in the morning, Iwaizumi answered out of instinct and mumbled a sleepy hello into the receiver without even opening his eyes.  In fact, a part of him was still dreaming, and he thought, at first, that he was receiving a call from his dog about a business meeting.

Regardless, when he heard a strangled noise that sounded like a sob coming from the other end of the line, he snapped awake immediately.  Even before anyone said a word, Iwaizumi knew it was Oikawa.  A sense of deja vu washed over him as he remembered that night years ago when he’d gotten an eerily similar call and rushed to find Oikawa on the gym floor with a severely injured knee.  A vice-like fear gripped him.

“What’s wrong?”  There was no evidence of his worry in his tone, but neither was there any sign of his anger or uncertainty.  His voice was completely monotone.

“I-Iwa-chan,” Oikawa choked out.  He spoke again but it was incomprehensible.

“Where are you?”  Iwaizumi’s heart was beating fast at the thought of Oikawa hurt and alone somewhere.  He put on jeans and a hoody and instinctively started running towards the school.

“Th-the g-gym,” Oikawa sobbed.  Iwaizumi nodded.  It was as he had expected.

“Alright.  Hang tight.  I’m on my way.”

He ran as fast as he could, legs propelled to move even faster than normal as Iwaizumi imagined Oikawa lying on the ground with his leg bent at an awkward angle.  Yet, when he actually reached the doors to the gym, he hesitated for a moment.  He took a moment to attempt to brace himself for whatever he would find inside.  If Oikawa hurt his knee again, his volleyball career would most likely be over.  The thought made Iwaizumi’s stomach flip, and he realized that bracing himself for something like that wasn’t an option, so he flung open the doors.

Keep reading

To the conspiracy theorists that think Stephen Hawking is some kind of body double or has been replaced over and over...shut up.

It’s all the same guy. A disabled person’s body is going to age differently than someone who is able-bodied. Especially if it’s something that affects the nerves and result in muscles becoming useless as time progresses. His lack of facial wrinkles is because of the muscles atrophying from disuse. People get botox to paralyze facial muscles, which removes wrinkles.

Stephen also went through a period of being very thin because he had a lot of trouble swallowing for awhile. He coughed up more food than he consumed. I think that was remedied with a laryngectomy some time after his tracheostomy, and it helped him swallow food safely again. After that, his thinness is more or less due to muscle atrophy as he lost more and more ability to move.

The later pictures probably aren’t in exact chronological order, but I tried to consolidate them within specific decades the best that I could. Some hints are the appearance of the speech device and later the sensor mounted on his glasses.

The tilt of his head and his overall body position has been pretty consistent throughout the years. His eyes, nose and lips are all the same shape if you look closely.

Stephen Hawking is still very much alive. He wasn’t “replaced” and he’s not some poor old man from a nursing home. He’s an actual human being living with disabilities and doing the best that he can with what he’s got.

Conspiracy theorists just can’t stand seeing a disabled person who is smarter than them.  You theorists cry “fake” at anything that doesn’t fit your narrow-minded view…and you have the gall to tell reasonable people that they’re wrong? Plz get off this planet kthxbye.

anonymous asked:

Really miss your OCS!! 💕so can I please have a burpy Nick sick with the stomach bug while alone with Jason? Cue snuggles and comfort

They were on the bus heading back from classes, en route to their dorm when Jason realized something was amiss.

He’d been immersed in his textbook, headphones blasting, oblivious to his roommate until he felt the tense jolt against his shoulder. Glancing up, Jason removed an earbud when he noticed his friend hunching over his lap with a fist pressed against his lips.

“Sanderson? You all right, there?”

He watched Nick’s throat bob with a few convulsive swallows, the younger man bracing his hand against his knee as he straightened.

“Yeah, ‘m good,” he grinned sheepishly, leaning back against the headrest. Jason was about to dismiss his concern when Nick’s entire chest suddenly jumped with an enormous belch. His cheeks inflated behind his fist as the noise rumbled in his throat. He released the excess air with a sharp hiccup.

“Whoa,” Jason arched an eyebrow, earbud poised midair. “That didn’t sound too good. You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” Nick insisted, though his bravado seemed to be wavering. “Just - urp - indigestion.” He rubbed his chest, easing up the trapped gas caught in his throat. The burp he dislodged sounded wet and painful. “Sorry. I know it’s gross. You can move if you want. I don’t think they’re - uUrp - letting up any time soon.”

Jason snorted, patting his roommate’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture. The movement ushered up another breathy burp that Nick wasn’t expecting and thus struggled to stifle in time.

“Dude,” Jason smiled sympathetically, “have you met my little brother? Bodily functions incorporated?”

The crack yielded a weak laugh, followed by a thick swallow as the bus jolted to a stop. Nick groaned, closing his eyes against the abrupt motion. He wrapped an arm around his stomach as the organ gurgled angrily, causing Nick to wince as he curled further into himself.

Without warning, a deep belch rolled out, unhindered from Nick’s lips. The passenger sitting beside them cast a sideways glance but was polite enough to turn away after a moment. A few weren’t so polite, disgusted grimaces glaring back at them from different seats all the way up the aisle. Nick’s cheeks blushed a tomato shade of red as he tried to make himself as small as possible.

“Nick, how bad is it?” Jason whispered, rubbing a soothing hand down the other boy’s back. He recognized the warning signs - years of experience cleaning up after his sibling - and wasn’t entirely convinced his friend was going to make it off the bus before he lost it. “Talk to me, man.”

Nick’s eyes widened with panic, throat working furiously as he gulped back a mouthful of something. His hand flew up to cover the lower half of his face.

“Shit,” he mumbled from behind his palm. “Ah, shit. Feel like ‘m gonna - huURP - throw up.”

“Right now?” Jason inquired calmly. “Or can you hold it?”

Nick looked like he wasn’t sure how to reply. Or couldn’t. His gaze flickered frantically up at Jason, then back towards the floor before his body went perfectly still; the only perceivable movement was the rapid bobbing of his throat.

“Okay,” Jason said, reaching inside his pack, searching for the plastic bag containing the remainder of the food he’d packed earlier that morning. He dumped out its contents and opened it up for Nick. It would have to do.

The boy didn’t protest as Jason pushed the plastic into his hands. Another thick belch sent him rocking forward as he spat a gob of saliva into the bag.

“Oh my god,” a woman covered her own mouth as Nick convulsed with a gag. “Is he okay?”

Nick promptly answered her question by burping up a watery stream of liquid into the thin plastic. Onlookers gasped in horror and revulsion as Nick coughed harshly, burying his head in the bag.

“It’s all right,” Jason assured, wrapping his arms around the other boy, attempting to shield him from numerous prying eyes. “You can’t help it. Don’t worry. Just try to breathe through it.”

Nick shuddered beneath his touch, erupting with another sick belch as more vomit trickled up, splashing noisily into the bottom of the plastic. He panted weakly, falling against Jason’s shoulder, apparently done for the moment.

At the next stop, Jason kept his arms encircled around Nick’s shoulders, steadying the sick boy as the two stumbled off the bus. Once outside, Nick clumsily discarded the soiled bag in a nearby garbage can before doubling over to heave into an unsuspecting flowerbed. After a few moments, he sank into a squat, swaying dizzily before momentum pushed him onto his knees.

“Sanderson? How you doin’, buddy?”

Jason rested a firm hand against Nick’s back, running it up along his shoulders before giving the base of his neck a sympathetic squeeze.

Nick groaned, burping wetly as saliva dribbled down onto the shrubbery between his legs.

“So great,” he slurred, digging the heels of his hands into his forehead. “So fuckin’ - uURrp - great.”

“Yeah, you look it.”

“Thought…thought I was just - hic-Uurrp - carsick. But my stomach really hurts.”

Jason winced as his friend struggled against the nausea.

“You’re fighting it,” Jason observed. “Just let it out. It’ll help. Trust me.”

“’S not that I don’t - huURuulp - want to,” Nick gagged. “I can’t…can’t do it - bruUURRP!”

“Look, I know you hate it,” Jason soothed as he knelt down beside his friend. Nick’s face was ashen, his dark brown eyes wet with moisture as he nodded in agreement. “But your body needs to get rid of something. It’s not going to feel better until you let it.”

“I k-know,” Nick whimpered, spitting up another mouthful of drool. He was trembling violently, arms struggling to hold his own weight as the sickness wracked his body. “I just - hic - uUULp - just can’t -“

“Maybe I could help?” Jason suggested, keeping his tone casual. He wasn’t sure how comfortable Nick would be with the idea. But once again, the other boy simply nodded, bracing himself as Jason carefully slid a hand around to palm his churning belly.

“That all right?”

“Y-yeah,” Nick gasped, tensing in spite of himself.

“I’m going to apply a bit of pressure. Tell me if you need to stop.”

Jason slowly pressed down on the swollen flesh, kneading his fingers into the knotted cramps. The organ burbled and twisted; he could feel the massive torrent of pre-digested liquid surging up even before Nick lurched forward with a strangled cough.

The boy opened his mouth, muscles seizing as a belching hiccup abruptly drowned in the projectile flood. The warm mess launched out of him with so much force that Jason was momentarily caught off balance. He hooked his free arm around Nick’s chest, allowing the younger boy to lean his weight against him as he continued emptying his stomach.

Jason felt his friend sagging, utterly exhausted as another heady burp tore past his lips.

“What’s your twenty, officer?” Jason finally asked, trying to get a better look at Nick’s face. It was a running joke between them.

“Ten - ulp - fifty-three,” Nick slurred, suppressing an unproductive retch.

“Right,” Jason snorted. “Come on,” he hoisted Nick up from behind, slinging one of the sick boy’s arms around his shoulder. “It’s only about a block.”

Nick’s head rolled against Jason’s arm, his exhaustion sapping the last dregs of his willpower.

“Don’t know if I’m gonna - uURRP - make it,” Nick staggered, moaning in the back of his throat. His next belch puffed against Jason’s collar and he pulled his head away, embarrassed. “Feel so sick…”

“I’ve got you,” Jason encouraged, looping a strong arm around his friend’s waist. “You’re gonna be hugging that toilet in no time.”

“J’ - hic - ‘erk,” Nick hiccuped half-heartedly.

Although, he had to admit, with the way his stomach was roiling, Jason’s prediction didn’t seem too far-fetched.

reflection — namjoon

in the darkness, people look happier than the day.

Namjoon loves silence and darkness.

Comforting silence that wraps around him like a Mother’s comforting hug, a Father’s wordless yet supportive arms, a sibling’s loving gaze, a friend’s reliable shoulder. It was comforting, in a way he couldn’t put it into words. There is something so… melancholic yet beautiful about the pitch black surrounding he was in. Only his evened breath resonates around the small space, the monitor’s red light glowing on and off.

It was one of those days again, when he would feel incredibly… sad for no reason. It had been a good day at most, with their performances and promotions going on per routine. Yet, there was something tugging at his heart.

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