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the-brainrot-central · 1 month

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This story is gonna kill me one way or another, either that or I’m gonna kill it. Whichever comes first. Anyways here’s a miscellaneous scene of my favorite asshole suffering through hyperemesis gravidarum (severe morning sickness). More headcanons here ⬇️

ANYWAYS without further ado, enjoy the misery

Hard Day’s Night (rough chapter for Atom Heart Father)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: vomiting, like a lot of it, domestic abuse, manipulation

Also sorry the italics didn’t copy correctly so you get no italics. Suffer

This nausea was debilitating.

It had been at worst a nuisance at first, just making him queasy about smells and tastes. If it was a particularly bad day, he’d even throw up. But I’m spite of that, he could still mostly go about his day without a hitch.

Now, however, it was becoming downright unlivable.

He’d woken up at three am this morning feeling like absolute shit, and ended up spending the rest of the night kneeled on the floor, heaving into the toilet.

He’d managed to fall asleep after that for another hour. However, upon waking up the nausea once again had his body in a chokehold, and he spent a good ten minutes at the sink, trying to get himself feeling well enough to move around without vomiting. He had no such luck, however; despite the fact that nothing was coming out, he was queasy as all hell, and his head ached from the lack of sleep and food.

Eventually, he somehow managed to get to the kitchen without throwing up on the floor. He hadn’t been able to brush his teeth; he knew better than to put something in his mouth right now—his gag reflex was clearly alive and well. For this reason, breakfast was also a no-go—even the thought of eating crackers or rice was intimidating.

He made it out the door in spite of his nausea, and miraculously didn’t throw up until he got off at his stop from the train. He instantly dashed to the nearest public bathroom and had a go at it, for what had to be the fourth time that morning. He was wholly mortified by the fact that other men were there pissing in peace, minding their own business while he hacked his guts out into the sink.

Once he’d gotten somewhat of a hold on the nausea, he made a beeline out of there and hustled his ass to work—he knew he couldn’t be late. He managed to get there on time today, miraculously, but it almost didn’t matter anyway—he spent half of the day camped out in the office bathroom, waiting for more vomit to come as waves of nausea washed over him. His stomach was starting to throb from just how much he was throwing up lately, and the anxious part of him was afraid he’d tear his esophagus with all the forceful heaving.

He made his way home the usual route today, but stopped to sit on a street corner when he started to feel dangerously lightheaded. Luckily, this was back in Morioh, which wasn't as populated as the city, so he didn't have to be paranoid about prying eyes judging him. He winced as he crouched to sit, his back throbbing from the strain—it seemed to be doing that a lot more lately. He brought his hands to his face, closing his eyes in an attempt to stop his head from spinning so violently. He was just on the verge of throwing up again (as if he hadn’t done enough of that today), his stomach roiling with nausea. He let out a low groan, hoping no one could see him in such a pitiful state. It was a bit later in the evening, so not as many bodies wandering, but a few still staggered across the streets. He could practically feel their pity, like gamma rays—he hated it. He didn’t like getting any kind of attention, especially not this.

All the same, someone had the gall to walk up to him and ask him how he was.

“Sir, are you alright?”

It was a youthful, gentle voice—a young woman. He looked up slowly to see her—she had neat black hair, swept back into a ponytail, and wore a cream colored blouse.

He feared he’d be sick again if he tried to speak, but nonetheless tried to.

“I’m…okay…”

“Are you sure? Do you need an ambulance?”

“Please don’t…no…”

He sighed. God, this was absolutely mortifying.

“I’m just a little lightheaded, that’s all. Haven’t eaten much today.”

What a lie. He hadn’t eaten anything today, period. And it was finally biting him, perhaps—he felt like he might just pass out right then and there.

“Oh, I see. Do you need help? I can go get you some water, or something.”

“No, it’s alright—I’m fine.”

She gave him that pitying look. God, he hated this kind of attention—absolutely loathed it. As if he didn't have enough of a headache already.

“Please, just, leave me alone…I’m fine, I promise…” He sighed, rubbing his forehead, eyes closed—any excuse to avoid eye contact.

She seemed unconvinced, but finally dropped it.

“Alright then. I’m sorry you feel sick.”

Finally, she walked away, leaving him to stew in his shame by himself. This was awful. He hated the attention he was garnering—he didn’t look around intentionally, but he could see people staring at him. And God, his head was throbbing—he wished that it would stop. It only aggravated his nausea, which had been violently rising and falling all day now—it never fully went away, but it was definitely stronger or weaker at some moments than others. A sudden wave of it overcame him and he sighed, trying hard to grip tightly to whatever dignity he had left today. He could not, would not vomit, again—not here, not now. He’d already made such a spectacle of himself just by sitting on the side of the road, hunched over, cradling his head in his hands. What a sight he must’ve been.

Breathe, just breathe, come on…you’re better than this.

You just need to stand up and go home, then you can rest. Just get up.

A simple task, really. At least, he knew it should be; but in his current state, it was terribly daunting. Part of him doubted he even had the strength to stand on his own; the only leverage he had right now was the raised sidewalk, which wasn’t much to work with. And with the way his back and feet throbbed? He might as well just forget it and sleep here for the night.

God, how the hell was he going to get home? He was only a few blocks away now, but that distance seemed insurmountable in this state—even one more step and he’d pass out.

It seemed like forever passed, when out of the blue someone came up to him again.

“Sir? Are you alright?”

Oh, great, more of this shit.

“Never better, thanks for asking,” he groaned.

The stranger hesitated before speaking again.

“Do you need anything?”

He sighed. God, what the hell was wrong with these people?! Didn’t they have any fucking tact?! All he wanted was to be left the fuck alone, and yet they kept nagging him.

But the more he thought about it, he could really use some help…as much as he hated asking for it.

“Could you help me stand up?” he said, his words faltering. Just uttering the phrase out loud was mortifying enough to make him want to disappear. God, he was only forty one! People must’ve thought he was ancient, decrepit—some old, senile geezer with hemorrhoids and dementia or something.

The young man aided him eagerly, with an alacrity that really rubbed in the shame—he must think himself so goddamn noble and kind, helping out the elderly.

“Thank you,” he said, forcing himself to make eye contact. God, he just wanted to die right now.

“No problem, sir. Do you need help getting somewhere?” he said patiently, his arm still wrapped around Yoshihiro’s back. Now this pissed him off.

“I’m fine, thank you very much,” he said, practically shoving the young man away—his headache was raging, and he knew if he stayed any longer he’d start yelling at this poor guy.

However, almost four steps away and his body swayed, collapsing to the pavement. He stifled a groan and almost cried; out of all the things he could’ve had to deal with today, this was arguably the worst—people.

“Sir!”

His head was swimming furiously. More people were stopping to stare at him, mostly young people, but they all looked blurry—God, who did they think they were? Why’d they have to fucking gawk at him like a freakshow?

The young man rushed to his aid, only to be shoved away.

“Fuck off! I said get away from me you retard! God, what is it with young people these days?! You never listen!”

Angrily, he brushed off his suit, stumbling to his feet and trying not to trip this time—his whole body felt like jello, so he was extra cautious.

“I’m fine.” His voice quavered.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Fuck it…” he said, breathing heavily, his head throbbing behind his eyes. God, just standing up was exhausting—he just wanted to lie down right there on the sidewalk. What he wouldn’t give for a bed to just appear right there and swallow him forever.

He knew that wasn’t an option, so he stumbled along, his vision going a bit blurry and his head still spinning.

Dammit…I didn’t mean to yell at him…

The guilt was sinking in.

I should apologize.

But he didn’t, and he kept walking, without stopping, till he reached his house and collapsed in the yard.

—————————————————————————————————

He was glad no one came to fetch him—he had a peaceful moment to himself where he could finally just rest. He knew soon enough he’d be seen, though, so he made quick work of hauling himself back up, laboriously, and stumbling into his house.

Fumiko was there in the entryway, a look of fury plastered across her face.

“Hi, honey.” The words barely made it out before she started yelling at him.

“And just WHERE the fuck were you?! You’re two hours late!” she barked.

“I…don’t know…”

Had it really been two hours later than his usual arrival? It felt like less. Perhaps his sense of time was fuzzy, from the exhaustion—he wouldn’t be surprised.

“Oh…you don’t know? You don’t…fucking know?” she whispered, voice harsh and straining. Her eyes terrified him—they were just like his father’s when he was angry.

“All I fucking ask of you is to do your fucking job, get home on time, and stay healthy and you cant even fucking do that!”

Her voice rose at the end and she slapped the kitchen counter, making him jolt.

“Do you have…any idea, whatsoever, the hell you put me through?!”

His whole body was shaking, rather violently—it was from blood sugar, he could tell. He felt like his knees would give out any second now.

“WELL? DO YOU?!”

He thought it was rhetorical, but he quickly scrambled to find the right words amidst his panic.

“I…I don’t…”

“OF COURSE YOU DON”T! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!”

Two hands slammed the kitchen table, making plates rattle—he hated that noise.

She turned to him and stuck an accusatory finger at him.

“YOU NEVER SEE ANYTHING I DO FOR YOU! You’re ungrateful, needy, whiny, pathetic, helpless….God, I just can’t fucking stand you!”

She was pacing as she yelled, not making eye contact—her eyes bore holes into the wood floor as she gestured sharply and furiously, her arms swinging and hitting in the air.

His ears were ringing, and she was just so loud, and he just wanted to sob. Today was a mess. Everything was awful, and it was all his fault.

“You’re so lousy! Worthless! You just can't do anything right, can you?”

Another horrid silence, followed by a piercing shout:

“WELL, CAN YOU?”

The tears flowed before he could stop them. He looked at the floor, heart thrashing, thinking about how many ounces of vomit he must’ve expelled in the past week, the past day even, and how much weight he was losing, and—

“ANSWER ME WHEN I FUCKING SPEAK TO YOU!”

A hard, sharp slap across the face shocked him enough to look up, and to start sobbing.

“AND LOOK ME IN THE EYES!”

She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him into her, bringing their faces uncomfortably close. His heart was beating so hard he feared he might be having some kind of cardiac event.

“Please…Fumiko…darling…” His voice wavered.

Her eyes were boring into him, scrutinizing him—this was it—the eye of the tiger. Moments like these felt infinite in their sense of terror, suspended in time. Her furious eyebrows shifted, and she pulled away.

She was quiet for a moment as he sobbed, just staring at him with those strange, bewildered eyes—he could never quite read them.

Stop, stop, stop, don’t cry, what the fuck are you doing, she’d gonna yell at you again, why the fuck are you crying?!

Her hard expression melted into something gentler. He didn’t trust it yet.

She suddenly, without warning, lunged forward and squeezed him into a hug—he nearly jumped with a start. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he didn’t know why he was still panicking, because the danger was over now, but he felt so tense in her arms, waiting for her to hit him again, to do something, anything—

“Oh, honey…it’s alright. I didn’t mean it like that. No need to cry about it.”

She had a point. He knew she didn’t mean it—she never did—but it was just too much to handle. His sobs wouldn’t stop.

“Shh…hey, I didn’t mean it. I’m just a little stressed, okay? You bring that out of me.”

Her voice was soft, reassuring. All he could offer was a soft “mhm” between sniffles. She combed her fingers through his hair, and he melted under the touch.

“You’re so sensitive, y’know. You should work on that.”

He tried, he really did. He hardly cried as much as he felt like it, which was every day now. He tried to hold it in as much as he could, but God, it was hard when she yelled at him.

“Do you want something for dinner?”

He gently shook his head. In truth, he was starving and would’ve killed for some of her cooking—but he knew his stomach couldn’t handle it.

His head was swimming again, and before he could catch it, he was starting to slump into her arms.

“Hey, hey, hey, watch it—HEY!”

He practically collapsed all of a sudden—his knees just gave out, finally. She caught him before he hit the floor, in a sort of awkward hold.

“Christ, are you trying to kill yourself?! Jeez…”

“Sorry…” he mumbled, his vision blurry. God, he was exhausted.

She helped him get back upright, but his vision was going blurry and a bit dark, and he almost fell right back down.

“Fuck! Don’t do that!” she scolded, scowling at him as she helped him, once again, slowly rise to his feet.

“I’m sorry. I’m just…really lightheaded.”

“Did you eat lunch today?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“No…”

She let out a frustrated sigh, carrying his weight as she guided him to their bedroom.

“I’m sorry.”

“You really gotta work on that, you know—we can’t have you starving. It’s not good for either of you.”

He felt a fresh wave of shame at that mention. She didn’t outright say it, but she might as well have.

“I suppose you’re right…”

That was true—he worried about that. Fetal nutrition was important, and god knows he wasn’t getting nearly enough of it through what he ate; that was concerning. He ought to go back to the doctor early about it.

He practically collapsed onto the bed, hardly having the energy to move slowly and cautiously—his back instantly punished him for it with a violent twinge.

“Do you want anything to drink? Tea or water maybe?”

God knows he couldn’t handle anything, liquid or solid, going in his mouth right now—but all the same he nodded, not wanting to upset her.

“Water.”

“Alright.”

She gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“Be right back.”

Moments after she left, he passed out.

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