Trigger Warning: graphic description relating to the topic/action of vomiting

*

Note: This is a scene I've often thought about but never truly put into existence because I wasn't sure how I wanted to execute it. But I'm a real sucker for Paul being a giant care bear and for Marshall getting the love and help he truly deserves, so here we go.😂

Just some things to remember: In the book, it's stated that Marshall holds onto the food he eats until he naturally pukes it out. I meant that in the sense of his body full on rejecting any traces of food which remain in his system roughly 24 hours after being ingested. Unfortunately, the only way to keep this from happening against his will is for Marshall to purge whatever's in his stomach on his own before then.

Normally, he has no problems letting his body do what it needs to because it's easier passing things that way. It just ends up happening when Paul is around when they start spending nights together.

Timeline wise, this would've happened a bit after Marshall was given permission to be in Quileute territory and started spending more time at the Lahote house, but before the Cullens decided to leave Forks.

Also, shameless plug incoming 😂There's an easter egg in here! I won't say where it's from, but it's something else written by me that I've thrown in here just because! I have now placed myself into the Pretty Boy universe and am not sorry about it 🤣

***

Marshall didn't feel well.

He knew something was off when a queasy sensation woke him up before he was truly ready to greet the world. Discomfort was strong enough to make him bite back multiple groans and necessary position changes. He chose to do so because he wasn't alone in the bedroom; and there was an apparent fear that moving or making noise might disturb a tranquil environment.

At the time, the sun hadn't risen yet, crickets were still chirping, and Paul was sound asleep in the vampire's delicate hold. A crisp, chilly breeze carrying the smell of fresh rain wafted into the room via slightly ajar windows.

It was only the fragrant aroma of water which helped to clear his senses enough to let him fall back asleep.

But relief was short lived.

Because as soon as Marshall got out of bed at around noon, the first thing he wanted to do was gag. Each slight movement made his abdominal muscles clench in warning. The most minor shifting of his weight made fluids swish around in his stomach. Being in any lying down position made undigested food swim upward, settling right below the back of his throat. The only way he wasn't assaulted by an unwanted desire to puke was by sitting on the couch, propped up against multiple pillows.

He wanted to curse himself for completely neglecting his body's biological timer.

Now, when Marshall went out for lunch with Brad, the vampire didn't see a point in trying to...deal with the situation...because he was usually home when it was time to naturally do so. If not, he at least had a private bathroom at his disposal to do what needed to be done.

But Marshall hadn't foreseen a surprise date with his boyfriend later in the evening. Nor did he foresee a long, passionate night full of kisses, laughter, and physical declarations of affection. Such an amazing turn of events made him forget about the remnants still sitting in his stomach.

It wasn't like Marshall was ashamed of having to be sick in front of Paul. It just wasn't something the vampire considered because actively being ill was usually done when no one else was around.

Brad witnessed the tail end of the ordeal a few times when the two had sleepovers; and his worried expression always made Marshall feel guilty.

If he threw up when his coven mates were present at home, the only ones to ever check on him were Esme or Carlisle. And they always did so after the fact. Their habit got Marshall accustomed to experiencing frequent periods of sickness by himself—without anyone there to help him.

Paul, though...he looked like he was ready to grab a bucket at the smallest of half-stifled cues.

Whenever Marshall held back a gag, braced a hand over his chest, massaged his throat, or clenched a pillow tightly against his stomach, his gestures were always met with Paul questioning whether or not anything was needed. He'd constantly ask if there was any way he could make things better or a little more comfortable; if he should open more windows to let in extra fresh air or close them to keep additional smells from outside at bay.

Despite the bothersome situation continuing to worsen with each passing hour, genuinely kindhearted motions were appreciated every time they were given.

"Tiger, honey, please- for your sake, calm down," Marshall stated with a tired, scratchy voice. "I know you're just trying to help, but there's really not much else that needs to be done here. You're going to make yourself collapse if you keep standing like that."

Paul deflated with a sigh. "I just want you to be okay, Honey Bun."

"And I am. This is normal. Not really a cause for concern. The only reason I haven't actually thrown up is because I keep accidentally forcing it back. I'm pretty sure if I stopped trying to breathe through the nausea, I probably would've vommed by now. Force of habit, I guess. Beats doing it myself, though. That takes a level of mental gymnastics I don't have the patience to get through right now. And I don't want you to have to see that either."

An honest explanation was met with a saddened pout.

Marshall held back a long exhale, silently admitting he was a bit out of his element here.

"I'm not trying to worry you, honey. I just..." His hand dropped onto his thigh in mild exasperation. "Maybe I just need a distraction. If I'm focusing on something else, I won't be thinking about stopping myself."

"Hm...if that's all, maybe I could put on some music? Or I could read to you."

Golden eyes glanced upward in surprise. "Read...to me?"

"Yeah. I know you like the sound of my voice, and I've noticed you're in the middle of a book with short stories. Maybe doing that will let you relax the way you need to."

Marshall was taken aback by the idea. Not because it was bad, but because it was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever offered to do for him.

Uncomfortable rumbling in his stomach was swapped with light fluttering.

"I'd like that a lot, Tiger. And, why not, let's do both. Just keep the music low."

Paul nodded with a large grin. While walking over to the new bookcase by the entertainment center, he brought out his phone to scour through their shared music collection. A few finger swipes were followed by a Bluetooth speaker sitting on the kitchen counter coming to life. 

A thin book with a floral spine was pulled out of its spot. Paul glanced over a cursive title and front cover on his way to the couch.

Marshall scooted over to make space for his boyfriend. They stayed close, heads leaning against one another.

A delectable scent of apple detergent made golden eyes close in delight.

"Ready, Honey Bun?"

"Mhmm."

Flipping of pages was quiet against faint background music. "...Honey's was such an important staple to him—not for the food; but for the warm, calming, relaxing atmosphere that came about with being around cats. They gave him comfort. And he frequently chased after that level of reprieve when trying to get through the long, daunting days full of studying and homework..."

Marshall snuggled closer to his comfortable heat source.

Wanting to be further immersed into the literature being read to him, he let himself imagine the cute, fictional cat café known as Honey's Delights. It was easy to picture overhead chalkboard menus, wall-length windows, intimate low lighting, floor tables, red terracotta floor tiling, and loads upon loads of several cat breeds. The aromatic scent of fresh coffee was simple enough to think about as well, regardless of whether or not Marshall actually cared for it.

Paul's voice was steady as he continued. Passages were read through slowly. Appropriate pauses were given for emphasis, drama, or comedic effect. His tone remained gentle when going over expository sections, and he changed his pitch to differentiate between characters talking to each other.

Marshall loved every second of it.

At least he did—until fluid shot up his esophagus with enough force to make him taste it.

His hand hovered near his mouth. "Stop."

"Stop?"

Stomach churning was followed by a full body shiver. An involuntary gag made him sit up.

"Stop."

No further warning was given before Marshall tossed his pillow toward the floor in haste. He was already upstairs by the time a fluffy cushion made contact with soft carpet.

A porcelain cover was moved out of the way. Sharp elbows braced against an oval shaped seat. Trembling hands wove into black waves to keep them back.

It only took one more heave to make Marshall start vomiting.

His back arched in protest. Abdominal muscles were pulled taut as his body started harshly expelling every single trace of soda, liquor, and food it could find. Since he didn't have stomach acid present inside of him, the fabled sour taste of bile wasn't something he had to experience. Unfortunately, the vampire wasn't able to escape the spine-chilling flavor of yesterday's assortment of lunch mixing into a singular concoction. And since there was no way for his body to break anything down, it all came up the same way it was swallowed in the first place.

It took everything in him to not rip his hair out with how strong his fingers clenched.

"Marsh, are y- oh. Oh, honey."

He was halfway through another bout of retching when warm hands took hold of him. One braced against his back with the other taking refuge right above his abdomen.

"Don't-" Marshall gagged again and sniffled. "Don't do that. You'll- I don't want you to have to feel that."

"It'll take a lot more than feeling your tummy rumblies to gross me out, honey."

Although miserable, the vampire actually did find some solace in his boyfriend's words.

Having an anchor—a physical object present to keep him from drifting away into a dark, lonely headspace—it was...strange.

Currents of heat dancing across his back were foreign. Soothing circles being made against his stomach were foreign. Having a gentle, caring voice tell him everything would be okay was foreign.

But they weren't bad.

If anything, Paul's mere presence acted as a life preserver. 

He was an evident reminder that Marshall's pain would be short lived, and how he finally had someone present to help deal with the aftermath.

"I know it's a lot, baby. But don't hold anything back, okay? Get it all out."

Being so openly cherished caused fresh tears to fall from glossy golden eyes.

Even after he was finally done vomiting, the upper half of his face was shielded from view out of embarrassment.

And his actions were met by tender kisses being sprinkled across his upper spine and shoulders.

"All empty, Honey Bun?"

He had to clear his throat before answering. "Yeah. I'm sorry you had to...be here for that."

"Nothing to be sorry about. You know I'm always here when you need me. Through the good times and the bad."

Marshall gave a quiet hum in response. He allowed himself to be pulled backward into a warm, snug embrace. A strong arm reached past him to close the toilet lid and push its metal lever. Flushing water sounded amplified against the stillness of an otherwise silent bathroom.

"How about a nice, warm bath to relax? And while we're in there, I can keep reading to you."

Golden eyes fluttered shut. Pink lips pulled into a light smile. A deep inhale took in the alluring scent of apple, musk, bergamot, and wet dog.

The mixture of fragrances, ones Marshall connected home with, made warmth sprout from his chest outward.

"Sure, Tiger. Sure."