#stomach ache fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angstyaches · 7 months

Note

If you're taking requests can you do an Autumn sickfic. One where she's confused, running fever and vomiting

This is going to be in two parts because I wanted to include Autumn at college and Autumn being cared for by Payton, but it was a bit impossible to make both happen at once!

CW: vague mentions of diarrhea, sickness, family issues, stubborn sickie, emeto, vomiting in public, embarrassment, confusion, crying.

___

“Morning, baby! You’re – are you still in bed?”

“Yeah. I think I’m going to take a sick day,” Autumn said with a sigh. She was curled up on her side, arm outstretched with the side of her phone braced against the mattress. The duvet was tucked under her chin, and would have been pulled all the way up to her cheekbones had she not known it would muffle her voice.

On the screen, Payton was wearing their headphones and walking beneath the low-reaching branches that lined the sidewalks in the nice parts of town. Autumn could see the pale, bright sky behind their head. Their one-sided bangs kept flopping heavily over their eye, no matter how many times they tried to tuck them away behind their ear.

“Aw,” Payton frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Just… stomach stuff,” Autumn shrugged, wriggling her shoulders a little deeper under the duvet. She debated saying more, but decided to leave it at that, unless they asked. Payton didn’t need to hear about Autumn’s unfortunate nocturnal toilet adventures first thing in the morning.

“Aw, your belly hurts?”

Autumn nodded, cheek nuzzling against her pillow. That wasn’t a lie; just an incomplete truth. Her guts were in absolute disarray for some reason or another, and her stomach was twisting into knots with what was either nausea or hunger.

If she could figure out which it was, she might have felt like she had a slightly better handle on the situation.

“I have to open and close today,” Payton sighed. “If I was getting off any earlier, I’d offer to come around –”

“That’s okay, baby,” Autumn smiled. She hoped the smile would cover up the fact that even if Payton had been free, she wouldn’t have wanted them to drop by anyway. Not here. She dropped the smile again. “But who the heck talked you into working such a long shift? That’s not fair.”

“It’s fine,” Payton smiled, and Autumn got the feeling that their smile was hiding almost as much as hers was.

“Who?” she asked again.

“Annie, but –”

“P.”

“I need the money anyway.” Payton shook their head. “And don’t change the subject. Are you sure you’re going to be okay? Your mum’s at home with you, right?”

“She is.” Another incomplete truth. Autumn’s mum being home didn’t necessarily equate to any great help. But there was water in the taps, and a blanket on her bed, and that was all she could really see herself needing.

She swallowed. “Payton, if Annie doesn’t stop power abusing you, I really think you should –”

“Baby!” Payton whined, their grin even wider now. When their emotions swelled, so did their grin. It should have frustrated Autumn to no end, but instead, the sight of their smiling face never failed to fill her with joy. “Stop trying to take care of me, and take care of yourself. Just for one day. One day! That’s all I’m asking.”

Autumn sighed.

“Well?”

“Alright,” she said, though she had every intention of broaching the subject again as soon as there was no good reason for Payton to stop her.

Payton had stopped walking. Autumn recognised the sliver of red brick façade over their shoulder. “I’m about to open up. I can keep you on chat while I’m counting up the registers –”

Autumn shook her head. “I don’t want you to make a mistake and get in trouble.”

Their cheek gave a grateful twitch. “Still looking out for me, I see, but I’ll let it go. Get some sleep, okay?”

Autumn planted a hand on her stomach under the duvet, palm circling over the dull, burbling ache. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Well, I’m going to.” With their free hand, Payton made a little megaphone next to their mouth. “Get some sleep!”

Autumn couldn’t resist a smile at that. “Really?”

“Love you, bye…” Payton blew a kiss towards the camera.

“Bye, baby, love you.” Autumn slid her hand from her belly so she could give a little wave.

“Okay, one more time – get some sleep!” Payton babbled directly before hanging up.

Autumn was still smiling to herself as she slid a little lower in bed, settling in, phone still in her hands. She needed to message her college friends and tell them she couldn’t make it to class or to rehearsal today. Then she needed to email her professors so that they knew she was sick, and not just dodging their lectures.

She needed to –

“Mmph,” Autumn winced, curling up a little tighter as a sharp pain jabbed at her stomach. She tucked her phone under her pillow and flung back the duvet, gently getting her feet to the floor and easing herself up as she had at least four times during the night.

She was really feeling the disruptions to her sleep on top of everything else; her head was spinning, her shoulders and back were spasming dully, and she had to put out a hand to stop herself careening sideways into her dresser.

And wow, did her stomach ache. She worked the heel of her hand into her belly as she opened her bedroom door and started across the landing to the bathroom.

“Autumn!”

Goosebumps rippled up her arms. She turned around to see that her mother was halfway up the stairs, hair pulled back, wearing an astonished expression.

“Why are you still in your pyjamas?” Autumn’s mother demanded, eyeing, in particular, the fluffy socks on her feet. Autumn generally kept it a secret that she wore socks to bed, since it was the kind of thing her parents said was only for old people.

“I actually…”

As she soaked in her mother’s expectant gaze, the thought of calling in sick and spending the day at home suddenly didn’t make Autumn feel relieved. It made her feel hot. Hotter than she’d already been feeling.

Now that she thought about it, she didn’t feel all too bad.

“I slept through my alarm,” she babbled in the rushed tone of someone without much time to spare for chitchat. “It’s fine, I just need to brush my teeth and get dressed, and I’ll be out of here.”

“What about breakfast? The most important meal of the day?”

Autumn swore she felt her stomach gurgle in protest just at the thought of food. “It’s okay, I’m meeting Leigh and Dixon before our first class.”

“For breakfast?”

Autumn hated lying. Hated it. “Mmhmm?”

Her mum looked up at the faded floral clock on the hallway wall. “Better get a move on, then, darling, or you’ll definitely be late.”

“Yeah, I know.” Autumn cleared her throat and hurried towards the bathroom.

___

“Two sandwiches today?” Dixon chuckled, ducking down into their usual spot on the floor outside the student theatre.

Autumn found herself smiling at him, enjoying the fact that she didn’t have to wonder whether he was food-shaming her or just curious. They ate lunch together a lot, so it was perfectly fine that he had noticed something was different.

“I ended up skipping breakfast this morning.” Autumn took a bite from her ham-and-cheese. She also had a chicken-and-stuffing, still in the packaging, sitting on the floor next to her leg.

Next to Dixon, Leigh nodded deeply. She’d already been given this same explanation, since she’d had the unfortunate privilege of listening to Autumn’s stomach growl throughout their morning classes. After a bout of nausea on the tram, Autumn had started feeling spectacularly better, and was starving by the time she was seated in her first lecture.

Leigh was currently jabbing at her usual salad with her usual bamboo fork. “Honestly, Autumn, you’re a fucking hero for lasting this long.”

Autumn took another mouthful of her sandwich, exactly how she imagined a hero would have taken the same bite.

“I would die without my breakfast,” Leigh murmured.

Dixon gave an exasperated laugh. “A smoothie is not breakfast.”

“Yes, it is, and we are not having this argument again.” Leigh leaned her shoulder into Dixon’s side, and the contact made him blush and look away from her. It was all Autumn could do not to punch each of them in the leg out of delighted frustration. Could they not just kiss and get it over with?

“Well, I didn’t mean to skip it,” she said with a shrug. “My stomach wasn’t feeling right when I got up.”

“Ah. Was your dinner spicy last night?” Dixon hid his mouth with his hand as he chewed and swallowed. “The day after eating anything spicy, I always wake up with a bad tummy.”

“Oh, charming,” Leigh cut in.

“What? All I said was –”

“Enough information, Dixon, we’re eating!”

As she chewed another mouthful of her sandwich, Autumn ventured a guilty glance at her phone. There were two messages from Payton, one of them a GIF she couldn’t view without opening it, one of them reading ‘hope you’re okay, baby x”. She still hadn’t told them that she’d gone to college, let alone that she was staying after classes to rehearse for DramSoc’s production of Beauty and the Beast. She had been put in the chorus this time, but if it hadn’t been for that, she wouldn’t have made friends with Dixon, and wouldn’t have gotten close with Leigh – the production’s Mrs. Potts – so Autumn couldn’t complain too much.

“Eleven minutes to two,” Dixon muttered, mouth full of food as he checked his watch.

“Shit.” Leigh shovelled a huge forkful of leaves and cranberries into her mouth, unfolded her legs, and reached for her backpack. “Come on, let’s eat and walk.”

Dixon let out a groan.

Leigh gave a shrug as she rocked onto the soles of her feet and glided up in a graceful squat. “Does either of you want Maeve to yell at you for being late?”

Autumn and Dixon shared a glance before getting to their feet.

___

Autumn winced as she leaned forward to tighten the laces of her left character shoe. She was a little bloated – though whether that was thanks to her stomach’s morning upset, or her skipped meal, or the extra sandwich she’d gulped down in about four bites whilst half-walking, half-running to the Drama Soc. theatre. She’d worn one of her floatier dresses today, meaning it didn’t push on her stomach at all, but she did regret wearing tights. It would have been better to have risked cold legs, rather than endure the elastic waistband that was trying to bite into her flesh.

She attempted to shimmy it into a comfier position as she straightened back up.

“All good?” Dixon asked softly from behind her, and she nodded without turning her head. She tugged at the collar of her blouse, feeling that same smothering wave of heat she’d gotten in the hallway that morning.

The backing track to Be Our Guest started up, and even though everyone in the wings had already been waiting for it, they still jolted to a deeper level of attention, Autumn included.

As she was stepping onto the stage, her character shoes might as well have been stilts; every movement felt like it might topple her. Her hurried lunch gurgled within the walls of her stomach, some of it feeling like it might have gotten stuck in her gullet en route. Sweat prickled the sides of her neck and she wished she’d had some more water before joining the others in the wings. The time-worn floorboards swirled and dipped beneath her as she moved, and seemed to drift up closer to her face every time she blinked.

She didn’t so much prance to her position on stage as she did totter, and the next girl down the row – Aimee – caught her in the ribs with an elbow as she turned on the spot. Entirely Autumn’s fault, of course, for missing her mark. Aimee didn’t even look at her, didn’t miss a beat.

Autumn teetered backwards a few steps, only stopping when she felt Dixon’s hands on her shoulders.

He gently spun her around, which wasn’t in the choreography. His face came into focus just for a second. “Autumn? Are you –?”

Autumn’s stilts – no, her character shoes – no, her actual legs gave out under her, and the stage lights seemed to flash right into the back of her skull, and her stomach sank like a stone, and then everything seemed to go quiet.

For about three seconds.

The first thing she heard was “is she okay?” from an indiscernible voice among the chorus.

And the next thing she heard was a harrowing retch that came from the back of her own throat. Shrieks and squeals broke out across the stage as the chorus disbanded.

Barely-digested chunks of sandwich – she really hadn’t chewed all that well – came gushing out of her, soaking her knees and dripping all around Dixon’s ankles. He wasn’t holding her by the shoulders anymore, and he’d taken a step back to avoid being headbutted in the stomach while Autumn gasped and gagged, but after that, he seemed to have frozen to the spot.

And the music cut out to angered shouts from Maeve. Probably wondering why her chorus had all retreated to the wings. “What? What’s happened, what’s going on?”

“Autumn,” Dixon murmured, “are you –?”

Whatever his question was, Autumn didn’t hear it over the ringing in her ears as her mouth stretched open again, and hot, thick vomit came shooting out of her. She could feel the muscular contractions all the way down past her belly button, as though her body couldn’t have possibly been trying harder to rid itself of its contents.

She wrapped her arms around her tummy, miserably wishing yet again that she wasn’t wearing those elasticated tights.

“Well, this is just bloody fucking fantastic,” Maeve was grumbling from the front of the stage, where she’d climbed up to inspect the damage. Autumn couldn’t even bear to glance up at her, choosing instead to keep her head down and at least try to keep all of her sick in one place.

“Shit!” That voice was a little more comforting than Maeve’s. Leigh. “Is she okay?”

“I-I-I don’t know, she just –” Dixon didn’t seem capable of providing any further information, so Leigh clicked her tongue at him and took hold of Autumn’s elbow. Her grip was a little rougher than Autumn was expecting, which startled a little whimper out of her. She was hit with the realisation that she’d been expecting – no, wanting – Payton’s gentle fingertips, their light touch. “Come on, let’s go to the toilet, yeah?”

Autumn tried to nod as Leigh coaxed her forward a few steps. Her throat clenched, her mouth shooting open again, her stomach seizing in a dry heave, and some of the chorus who had ducked back into the wings gasped in horror and stumbled even further back to let her through.

___

They were halfway to the ground floor bathroom of the student centre before Autumn realised that her own character shoes were soaked through with undigested chunks of ham and cheese and mayonnaise too, and the next turn of her stomach came from the realisation that she was going to have to let her parents know that she needed to buy new ones. Autumn made her own money, but not a lot of it, and most of it she contributed towards living expenses.

Oh, and she should probably replace Dixon’s too, since she –

“Leigh,” she groaned weakly, clutching her belly.

“One second, just one more second,” Leigh assured her, shoving open the swinging door to the bathroom and dashing towards the nearest stall with Autumn in tow.

Autumn fell upon the toilet seat with a gasp of relief so intense that it probably sounded like pleasure. She almost blushed, but there wasn’t enough blood left in her face for that.

"Fuck, you poor thing," Leigh exclaimed. Autumn could vaguely sense her pacing back and forth just outside the stall, occasionally nudging the door open a couple of inches to keep an eye on her.

Autumn was seeing stars and felt as though her throat had been wrung out like a sponge. Every splash that touched the toilet water sent her further into a slump, until she was barely sure that she'd even left bed this morning. Was this all a horrible dream? Surely she hadn't just puked her guts up in front of the entire Drama Society, right on the beautiful stage where stories played out so prettily...?

“Leigh! Uh... I’ve got Autumn’s bag,” Dixon’s voice called out.

“The hell are you doing?” Leigh asked gently, still lingering outside of Autumn's stall. “Just bring it here.”

“But…” Autumn couldn’t see his face, but she could imagine that Dixon had gone the colour of beetroot. “It’s the ladies’.”

“You’re adorable. Bring it here.”

Dixon grunted. “I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or insulting me.”

“Let’s call it both.” Leigh began audibly fidgeting with the zips on Autumn’s bag.

“How are you doing, Autumn?” Dixon asked, and she couldn't help but think of the kind look he'd given her just before she'd vomited, and then the sight of his shoes dripping with her stomach contents.

Autumn had to bite her lip to keep from sobbing. “I-I’m sorry. Sorry about your shoes.”

“What…? No, no, don’t… I needed a new pair anyway. This was the sign I needed to take the leap.”

“Got it.”

“Her phone?”

“Yeah, but it’s locked.”

“Autumn, hon?” Dixon’s voice came a little closer to her again. “Can you unlock your phone?”

Autumn frowned, but stuck out her thumb to activate the screen. “Wh-why?” she croaked. When she tried to think of any possible reason they would need to access her phone, her thoughts became a hazy, black void. A bead of sweat cooled as it rolled down past the dimples in her spine, disappearing into the constricting waistband of her tights. She huffed. Wow, she wasn’t sure she’d ever sweat so much in her life.

“We’re just going to call… Well, who can we call for you?” Leigh asked. “Your mum? Is she free?”

“No! No.” Autumn shook her head, and a couple of tears came loose from her cheeks and landed on the toilet seat. A laugh bubbled up in her chest, which felt completely inappropriate, so she swallowed it back down.

“Then who?”

She sobbed quietly. Or, at least, she hoped it was quietly. “Payton,” she choked out, and it felt like a ball of acid had lodged high in her throat, slowly corroding the back of her head and eating into her thoughts and why, why was everything so dark all of a sudden.

“Payton,” she cried, lacing her fingers into her hair and shaking her head over the opening of the toilet bowl. “I just want Payton.”

#Lucyverse Autumn #emeto #emetophilia #sickfic #emeto sickfic #hurt and comfort #hurt comfort #stomach bug #stomach ache #stomach ache fic

39 notes · View notes

max-nico · 7 months

Text

Sonic has been called an "overprotective big brother" over the years many times. Not his fault that Tails is small, impressionable, and reckless. He's known the kid since he was a toddler, if anyone else had been around that long they would understand too.

Or at least he thought they would, but it seems he was wrong because his own two best friends–Amy and Knuckles–are the ones who call him overprotective the most. This is a huge betrayal on their part, especially when they bring up valid points like Tails' intelligence and skill, because how could he disagree. Sonic has the coolest, most awesome and amazing, little brother ever.

With that being said, Sonic is pretty sure he has the right to interrogate the little fox this time. He's like 90% sure his panic is warranted when he sees his little brother load and cock a very real and deadly gun. Because that kid is 9. He is 9, and he is putting on his watch and his plane gear to leave, and for some reason he needs a weapon wherever he's going. Sonic thinks he has a right to exercise at least a little big brother privilege here, honestly it would be negligent to not at least question him.

"Hey bud. Whatcha up to?"

Tails' ear flicks toward him as he packs a few things into the Tornado. "You remember that hard drive that GUN thought they stole from me, but I actually knew they wanted it so I lowered a few of my defense systems so that they could grab it and leave me alone?"

The answer is no, Sonic has no recollection of that happening at all. Though he supposes it's his own fault for only half listening when Tails was talking. He's really gotta break that habit.

"Sure do." Sonic lies.

"Well, I actually have a little bit of data on there that I forgot to back up to another hard drive since I didn't think I needed it, so I'm going to go get it."

"And you need a weapon for that? Why don't you just ask Shadow?"

Tails finally turns to face Sonic, floating down off the Tornado and in front of Sonic. He stands with his hands on his hips, leaning just a little into his personal space. He takes the chance to absentmindedly scratch behind his little brother's ears, making him push his head into his hand.

"I did, actually. He's the one who told me to bring some weapons, he said he wants to help me improve my stealth techniques."

"Huh, and he didn't even bother to text me about it." Sonic huffs. It comes out playfully, but he won't deny being a little peeved that Shadow didn't message him. Tails is a genius and can make his own decisions, sure, but he's also not even in double digits. Sonic is literally his guardian, he feels like he should've been consulted about this. "I find that quite rude."

Tails smacks Sonic with one of his tails. The fur gets trapped in the small quills on his face, which makes his brother giggle.

"Then how do you find that, hm?"

"I find that the person who did it has another thing coming."

Sonic is so gonna fill his pillows with quills and shaving cream again. The fox constantly complains about not being able to get his quills out of any furniture, but he also got his fur stuck on Sonic's face, he figures this is pretty good retribution.

"Sure I do."

This is what Sonic means. Where did his wholesome brother go? Ignoring the fact that he has been a little menace since they first met, this is obviously team Dark's fault. Their devious ways are corrupting his little brother, who has obviously only learned nice things from him, like dad jokes and spindashing.

Tails has been constantly hanging out with team Dark for a few months now. After spending time with Rouge on Amy's last birthday he seemed to acquire a sort of childish fascination with them. Honestly, Sonic didn't really see it as a bad thing at first. They got Tails to spend more time out of his lab, and they always seemed to take care of him so Sonic had no qualms as long as Tails was having fun.

Then the habits came. Habits that Sonic had managed to completely purge a couple years back. Sure, he's not building bombs willy nilly anymore (as far as he knows anyway), but a few weeks ago Tails showed him the Empire nuclear launch codes just because he could.

Just yesterday they were having a conversation about a grocery store in station square. Amy had apparently told him that the cashier was kind of rude, so he asked if she wanted him to "blow up the entire store". She laughed and said no thanks, but when Sonic just shook his head at him Tails had the audacity to say "he'll make sure there's no one in it", as if that was the problem with what he said.

Sonic will not claim to have clean hands. He will not say he's never killed anybody on purpose or on accident, but is it so much to want to spare his brother from the same fate? Sonic still has nightmares over things like that, and even if his little brother is joking, he just can't find it in himself to laugh.

It's obvious Sonic will have to talk to Shadow and Rouge soon, he would talk to Omega as well but the robot honestly just does whatever he wants. Sonic can respect it. He cannot, however, respect Shadow and Rouge teaching his kid brother bad stuff, like how to get away with murder and other things of the like.

"I'll be back before you know it, Sonic, I swear!"

It's obvious Sonic has just missed most of the one sided conversation Tails was just having with him, he zoned out again. Damn it.

"And I'll have my communicator on me so if anything goes wrong, you'll be the first to know! I'll stay safe, Shadow will be with me."

Tails says that as if it's any comfort to Sonic. He may trust Shadow with his life but he does not trust him with children. He's sure Tails will come out physically unscathed, but mentally? This is going to be a trainwreck.

Sonic sighs. He already knows he won't be able to convince him not to go, at least not in the small timeframe he has, so he just pulls the kid in for a hug instead. "Call me as soon as you're able, okay?"

"I will, promise!"

"And if you're not back and not answering in 24 hours, I'm coming to find you myself."

"Yes, Sonic." Tails says, pulling away.

"And I'll give Shadow a piece of my mind if I have to, you know I will."

"I'm leaving now."

"And so will Knuckles and Amy!"

"Goodbye!"

"Remember what I said about calling!"

"I can't hear you anymore!"

Sonic smiles as Tails starts his plane, the kid will be fine, he knows it. After all, he's sure Shadow and Rouge know the consequences if he's not.

woe, the brothers be upon ye I wrote this in like two sittings and its barely been edited, I'll probably put this on ao3 later after I've looked at it again lol. you're welcome to hit me up in my dms or askbox, but if it's a request I would prefer my ask box lol. Remember you have to be nice to me forever and ever and ever if you decide to talk to me btw

305 notes · View notes

danafeelingsick · 9 months

Text

having soft thoughts of a sickie feeling guilty about puking up all the food caretaker made for them with so much love and care:

sickie having to maintain appearances, even as their poor stomach revolts agaisnt the heavy meal sitting inside it

sickie who can't help but grimace at the sight/smell/texture of the food, which makes caretaker think they might've messed it up

sickie clutching/hugging their middle as they try their hardest not to puke, thinking of the smile caretaker had on as they watched them eat, thinking they finally were starting to recover

sickie who has a hand clasped over their mouth, holding it tight to keep the food in no matter what, even to the protests of caretaker who's trying to tell them to just let it out, don't try to hold it

sickie who ends up losing the barely digested food over the blankets, sobbing apologies to a caretaker who's more worried about their well-being than anything else

408 notes · View notes

teal-fiend · 1 month

Text

"Oh i found you. Have you been here this whole time?"

"Yes," the pred answered. Intent on their work

"Working hard or hardly working"

"I dont know. I think i should quit. Its not what i thought it would be, this project. Its too much."

"No offense. Dont take this too seriously. But you're acting kind of crazy."

The pred frowned.

They continued, " and you look all crazy. Look at how your shoulders are hunched, you're sitting around in the dark. You're all stiff and brittle. I could touch you and you would shatter."

"Dont do that then," the pred suggested

The observer stepped forward, the pred tried to lean away from where they were sitting. The observer lifted a hand and pressed it against the pred's middle. They rubbed up and down until the stomach produced a low, hollow growl.

"Hungry, are we?"

"Its fine, im busy."

"When was the last time you had a proper meal? You know, prey?" The observer petted the pred's flat stomach, which continued to groan at the stimulation

"Its irrelevant" they said, turning their head away

"You can't lie when you're right here in front of me. You want something."

The pred kept their chin up, "maybe"

"Something... wriggling?"

The observer kneaded into the pred's painfully empty belly. It wanted something. Desperately. The pred grimaced.

"I think youll find it much easier to relax once you let yourself gorge on something very alive"

"Maybe later," the pred bargained.

"Later?" The observer asked innocently, "do you really want to stay like this?"

Thanks to the observer's work, the pred was now acutely aware of how empty their stomach felt. The thoughts that caught the most traction in their mind were thoughts of prey. Where to find them. How to catch them. How to eat them.

The observer may have noticed this shift. "Buddy," they nudged the pred, "are you alright?"

"Im fine," the pred replied calmly. And stood up

"You're going to go get something to eat?"

"Yes"

"Do you need any help with that"?

"No" the pred said quickly, "thats fine."

The observer watched the pred for a moment. They hesitated before asking:

"Do you want to eat me?" The observer asked

The pred shrugged, " i want to eat everyone, you know that"

"Okay , this better be full by the time you get back." The observer patted the preds stomach.

The pred caught their hand, and the observer gasped in suprise. The pred guided their hand over their stomach, and then the ribs, letting them feel between the grooves. As if to say, this won't last long, or maybe, it might be you. You could be the one to push out these ribs, to stretch out this stomach, to satisfy the preds hunger. And then be torn apart by their body

The pred let go of their hand, then turned and left. The observer waited for them to come back

#tw vore #soft vore #v.ore #vore fic #v/ore #vore writing #hunger #hunger kink #cw hunger #tw hunger #pred pov #observer pov #fatal vore #stomach ache #stomach growling

68 notes · View notes

creative-caramel-coffee · 9 months

Note

Hi! How your having a good day/night/evening Can I request a wanda x nat x r where they take care of r because r tummy hurts? Thank you!!❤️

Tummy Troubles

Pairings: Wandanat x R

Word count: 621

Summary: R gets a stomach ache and needs her girls to feel better.

TW: stomach ache, cramps, pain medicine,

A/n im good thanks :) hope your day is going well too. sorry it’s a bit short, but I hope I got what you wanted correct.

Curled up on your bed, your stomach was killing you. Cramps were no fun. Pulling yourself from your misery you punched in Wanda’s number into your phone and listened to the line trill and ring.

Wanda and Nat had just gone out to the shops to get some grocery’s as it was Wanda’s turn to make dinner and she had promised to teach nat to cook. They were on their way home when they got a call.

“Wands.” You whispered into the phone doing your best to suppress a whimper.

“Baby whats wrong?” Nat’s voice asked.

“I don’t feel too good.” You said quietly.

“Thank you for telling us my love, we are on our way home now. What hurts sweetheart?” Wanda asked, keeping her eyes on the road.

“Stomach ache.” You whispered fighting tears.

“Oh baby, Wanda and I will be there soon and we’ll give you all the cuddles you need.” Nat cooed.

“Ok.” You said sounding miserable.

“My sweet, do you think you’ll be ok until we get home or do you want me to see if Bruce can get you something?” Nat asked.

“Jus want you.” You sobbed.

“We know baby, we’re almost there.” Wanda said pushing on the accelerator more.

It felt like hour but it wouldn’t have even been fifteen minutes when you found your door opening to reveal Nat. She quietly walked over to the bed to find you dozing but not asleep. She sat on the bed next to you and began running her hands through your messy bed head.

“Oh love, come here.” She said pulling you onto her lap as she swung her legs onto the bed and rested against the headboard.

“Where’s wands?” You whined quietly.

“She’s just putting away the cold foods. She said she could leave the rest for later but she doesn’t want the milk to spoil and she’s gone to get some things for you from her old room.” Nat cooed.

Despite the three of you living in the same room for almost half a year, Wanda’s room continued to act as a second space for storage and relaxing or if needed, quiet time away from each other.

You had begun to drift off again when the light from the opening door cast onto the bed and you burrowed your face in Nat’s stomach.

“Shh shh baby its wands” nat cooed rubbing circles on your back as you whined.

“I brought you some things.” Wanda said softly, coming to sit by Nat’s side on the bed.

She produced a hot water bottled and slipped it into your curled up form. Chuckling softly as you moaned slightly at the instant relief.

“I also brought you a water, if you sit up, i can give you some with some pain medicine.” She said guiding you into a sitting ball with your knees at your chest. Refusing to move your arms from their position wrapped around your legs, Wanda pressed the water to your lips before giving you to tablets and some more water.

“Good job baby, you can sleep now my love.” She said, seeing your eyes drifting shut again. She scratched your head slightly and nat traced patterns on your thigh. Wrapped in the arms of your two girls you started to feel better as you went to sleep.

“Good night love.” Wanda cooed.

“Sleep well y/n/n” nat said softly

“Goodnight wands, night nat, love you both.” You slurred and went to sleep.

MASTERLIST

235 notes · View notes

indigobrushpen · 8 months

Text

alone together

Felicia was curled up on the couch when you finally got back home, and she had a stomach ache.

She didn't tell you this, but you sorta knew just by looking at her- her pale face tight with discomfort, her lips pursed into a grimace, her large belly pressing against her dress, her hands resting over the swell-

And the fact that the dinner party she was supposed to be at didn't end until an hour later from now. She was still in her fancy blue dress.

"Hey," you called, kicking off your shoes. You made your way to the living room and Felicia gave you a tight, almost fake smile.

"Hi," she said, struggling to suppress a grimace. You spotted the large empty soup bowl and an empty Nestea can- and some napkins and crumbs - on the coffee table, and you thought, Oh.

" 'S everything alright?" you asked, sitting next to her. Felicia fidgeted, half-surprised.

"Hmm? Oh- oh, no, I'm perfectly- oooooh."

She was cut off by a sudden, thick gurgle. Her whole face twisted briefly, and she clutched at her stomach, taut and large and swollen.

You placed a hand on the small of her back, prompting her. There was a short silence, and then-

"...I really am okay," Felicia said unconvincingly. "It's just- mmh - my- my tummy just hurts a little bit, that's all."

"The dinner party didn't go well?"

Another fierce, sloshing gurgle. Felicia winced.

"No, no- it- it went well, just- I might've overdone it on the snacks," Felicia tried to smile, but another sharp ache must've run through her because she immediately grimaced. "I- oooh, that's not good..."

You'd seen Felicia at dinner parties before, and the picture was clear in your mind- Felicia downing plates of appetizers in secret, wolfing down her bowl of soup- feeling full and trying to wash it all down with dessert- feeling so abruptly full she couldn't move-

You gently pressed a hand against Felicia's stomach. She groaned a little, and you frowned at the intense bubbling pressure.

"Wow. You're really full, huh? You got a tummy ache?"

"Y-Yeah, I- mmh. Honey, can- can you get me something to drink?" Felicia asked, voice strained. "I-I don't think the Nestea helped much."

"You want water, Coke or Sprite?"

"Mmh- Sprite, please."

You didn't have any Sprite cans, but you did have a quarter of a two-liter. You poured that into a tall glass, snagging an antacid pill along the way (just in case).

Felicia took the glass and smiled gratefully when you returned- though it was a little strained. With one hand resting over her stomach, she chugged the contents in a few gulps.

You watched, transfixed, as she drank. The soda traveling into her pursed lips, throat bobbing with every gulp, chest rising and falling, stomach trembling, pushing at the seams of her fancy dress.

She pulled away shakily, sighing with slight relief, and you took the glass from her hand to set it on the table.

"Thank you," Felicia mumbled. "That helped, I should feel so much better after-"

A sudden, loud gurgle. Felicia's belly protested violently, and Felicia froze.

"After- oooooh," she doubled over slightly, curling in on herself, discomfort on every feature. You immediately put your hand on the small of her back again, rubbing up and down to soothe her.

"Felicia?"

"Ooooh- I- oh, no," Felicia groaned. "That's really not good..."

"Here," you said, bringing your other hand to rest over Felicia's belly. "Let me help?"

Felicia looked slightly confused, but nodded shakily, trying to suppress her pained grimace.

"How- mmh-"

You began to rub firm circles over the plush expanse of Felicia's belly, occasionally switching to stroking up and down. Your hand remained firm against the small of her back, applying extra pressure.

Felicia sighed, slightly contented- and then her tummy gurgled again.

"Ohhh, no," Felicia whispered tightly. You pressed more firmly into her tummy, and she briefly squeezed her eyes shut. "I- I- oooh, my stomach-"

You rubbed a little too firmly. there was a slight gurgling sound, and suddenly Felicia surged forward and belched loudly.

"BHHHHUUUUUUUUURRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHPPPP!"

It took the both of you by surprise- loud and nasty and probably painful. Felicia's stomach must've really hurt, if she had that much trapped gas- and probably more left.

But before you could even say anything, Felicia clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide. She looked mortified, face going red.

"...'Scuse me," Felicia managed after a few moments of silence, hands hovering near her mouth.

She looked really, really embarrassed, and she was clearly still in pain, and you knew better than to tease her.

"...You feel any better?"

"What? Oh, mmh- yeah," Felicia said quickly, turning to look away. "I must've cleared up my stomach after... that. Uh, I-I should go and rest, I- mmph!"

Her tummy gurgled, and Felicia clamped her mouth shut, swallowing back a surge of air. There was a slight sloshing sound, and Felicia's face tightened.

"Hey, hey- don't hold back," you urged, rubbing her back. "You'll hurt your stomach. Come on, I'll help."

"H-help?" Felicia hiccupped.

"You need to burp, don't you? Come on, I know that face. Here, I've got you. Go on."

Felicia fidgeted, lips pursed. "You- you aren't grossed out?"

"Of course not," you said. " 'S just a bit of gas, and it'll make you feel better. Go on, it's just me."

Subconsciously, you began to massage her taut, aching stomach- rubbing in wide, soothing circles.

Felicia shakily opened her mouth to respond. "I-"

She made a funny face, placing a hand over her chest. "I- mmh- BHUUUUUUUUURRRGGGGHHHHHPPP! Mmh! 'Scuse me..."

"Feel better?" you said, grinning slightly. Felicia blushed, but nodded.

"A- A little," she admitted sheepishly. She still looked mortified, but a little less uncomfortable. "I- I, uhm-"

"Still need to burp?" you said knowingly. "Man, that soda really-"

"Can you rub my back?" Felicia blurted out. Her belly gurgled, and you absently rubbed at it a little. "I- I just- I'm sorry, but I... I feel something stuck and- and I really don't feel good."

She looked even more mortified than before.

"Don't be sorry," you said immediately. " 'Course I will."

You rubbed her tummy a little more, just to soothe her nerves. With your other hand, you began to stroke generously up and down her back. After a few moments, Felicia seemed to relax a little, her shoulders loosing some of their stiffness.

Her tummy gurgled, though not as loudly as before. Felicia grimaced, then belched.

"BBUUURRRRRGGHHP! Oh, 'scuse me," She daintily pressed her fingers to her mouth, just as you began to pat her back with just a little too much force. Her belly gurgled.

"Mmph- BHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRGGGHHHP!"

Felicia slapped a hand over her mouth by instinct.

"You're excused," you teased, rhythmically patting her back, and Felicia giggled sheepishly, somewhat less nervous. "But you better say it, just in case."

"Excuse me," Felicia said, a hand on her chest. Then her eyes went wide and she burped loudly, and then, to your delight, she giggled even louder.

"E-Excuse me!" She laughed. "That just- that just slipped out!"

You snickered, patting her back, pressing gently against her stomach. "Damn. What else have you been keeping in there?"

"Probably a bit too much soda," Felicia said jokingly. Her nose twitched and you patted her back again. Felicia belched, but much more quietly.

"BHUURRGGGHP! Mmmh. 'Scuse me. Oh, that last one felt weird, it sort of tickled my throat."

She slumps against you, exhausted. You resume patting her back.

"How's your stomach?"

"My tummy feels a lot better," Felicia admits. The red blush on her face from her previous mortification is still prettily dusted across her cheeks. "Thanks, honey."

"Anytime."

#eructo #burp kink #burping #mini fic #oc x reader #belly kink #aftermath of stuffing #stomach ache #indigofic

159 notes · View notes

flowercrowngods · 1 year

Note

"Stevie," Eddie says, wincing at the stale air in the room. It's almost pitch black, except for the lamp in the corner that colours everything dark blue, and the glow stars on the ceiling that they'd put up together, making pretend constellations in pretend galaxies.

"Go 'way," Steve mutters, head buried beneath two pillows and hands clasped tight around them, as though that will be the thing that fixes him, that keeps the bad away. Eddie sighs, not at Steve, but at the awfulness of it all. He fiddles with the blister pack in his fingers, and allows the condensation from the water bottle in his other hand to soak his palm.

"Please, baby," Eddie says. "You need to take your meds. The doctor said - "

"Fuck the doctor," Steve curses angrily, muffled.

"Maybe later, once you've taken your meds," Eddie says calmly, or aiming for calm. He hates seeing Steve hurting, and Steve hurts a lot. More than he'd like. More than he knows he realises.

Steve emerges from his pillow prison slowly, blinking like it hurts him to do so, and Eddie knows it does, so he just holds out the water bottle, cap off, and Steve drinks greedily, throat working hard, whilst Eddie pops out two pills. Steve makes a pitiful noise as Eddie hands them over, but reluctantly takes them, screwing up his eyes against the taste before swallowing down more water.

"You did so good," Eddie says. Steve shakes his head then moans. "It's okay," Eddie says. "Back under the pillows now. The pills will work soon."

"I hate this," Steve says. "I hate that you have to see this."

"I know you do. I hate seeing it. But only because it's my favourite person in the whole world suffering. Not for any other reason. Please don't think it's for any other reason," Eddie says softly. Steve makes a small noise, already piling the pillows back over his face. Eddie reaches out and strokes the back of his hand.

Steve's hands clench, then unclench, before relaxing.

"I'll be around, if you need me," Eddie says, before standing. He pauses at the door. He looks at Steve's prone form, the invisible war in his head. "It's not rotten work, you know? Never, actually."

He pulls the door to, but doesn't close it entirely, just to make sure he can hear Steve if he needs to. He never, ever wants Steve to think he's a burden. Not when he loves that boy more than breathing. Not if it's you, not if it's me.

not if it’s us

#steddie #steddie fic #people will see this but no one will know but i do and my arm is still aching burning breaking but it’s whatever #Steve hurts a lot. More than he'd like. More than he knows he realises.#this one killed me it took me out it absolutely annihilated me i am deceased i hurt more than i realise too #chronic pain #steve has migraines #hey hey eddie just let steve not eat all day and then knock himself out with 1400mg ibuprofen on an empty stomach it will fix him #not mine #god poe just. idk. i adore you. thanks for leaving the door open 🤍#love language: writing fics in each other’s ask box

170 notes · View notes

whumpuss · 5 months

Text

When he was young, he used to be the royal paladin. But due to his pregnancy, he had to retire earlier in order to deliver his child.

#bellykink #stomachaches #oc #mpreg #my ocs #belly ache kink #stomach ache kink #stomach ache fic

160 notes · View notes

angstyaches · 11 months

Note

from the prompts you just reblogged, would you do 10 for shayne and charlie? they’re literally so cute and i just love how flustered they both get when shayne’s tummy is upset. shayne always seems so embarrassed when he has to acknowledge having a physical form and charlie is adorable when he’s trying to pretend that he has a normal level of affection for shayne’s tummy

The ending to this did not want to be written. I'm sorry if it's awful.

Another one from @butterfliesornauseous's lovely prompt list.

I've been in a plot/character development mood lately so this ending up being about 10% character dynamic, 70% Charlie angst, and 20% Shayne having a stomach ache.

I just thought the idea of Shayne feeling sick but still focusing on Charlie's problem was nice 🖤

CW: anxiety, stress, crying, mention of childhood depression and trauma, food mention, slight bloating, implied body issues, stomach ache, stomach noises, burping, belly rubs, mutual hurt/comfort.

___

Charlie idly stroked the side of Shayne’s arm and let his mind wander.

They were sitting next to each other in the surprisingly spacious conservatory – one of the better selling points of Trevor and Ingrid’s latest fixer-upper. The four of them had eaten a late dinner and then moved out here to continue catching up.

As nice at it was to get some use out of the conservatory, it wasn’t the most well-insulated, so Charlie was glad that Ingrid had suggested making hot chocolate. He could still feel it warming him up inside, even if his mug was empty and cool in his hand.

He was also enjoying the mundane view, if he was being honest; streetlamps blacked out the sky, erasing the stars, but the sights of other people’s – strangers’ – driveways and gable ends was comforting. He loved Mulberry, but the knowledge that it was the only house around for miles wasn’t exactly his favourite thing.

He wondered if he would always have this need to seek out crowds and repetition and anonymity.

This was the only room that had been completely cleared of construction clutter, leaving just the two wicker loveseats and matching coffee table. Even the blinds had been pulled all the way up, their cords rolled and sellotaped out of reach of anyone shorter than three feet. Belle wasn’t old enough to walk about by herself yet, but Charlie’s parents were taking no risks.

She would be here tomorrow. In this room, at the same time as him.

Charlie’s chest fluttered. He was trying to convince himself that he was feeling the good kind of nervous, but this didn’t feel like that. He knew he needed to get over it. Did he really want his five-month-old niece to look at his face for the first time and see all of his fear, all of his insecurity there? Was that the kind of role model he wanted to be?

“... Charlie –”

His thoughts jerked back to the moment at the sound of his own name.

Shayne was speaking towards the other loveseat. Trevor and Ingrid were seated over there, holding mugs that matched the ones that Charlie and Shayne were using.

A warm feeling swept in to soothe the anxiety in Charlie’s chest as he realised Shayne hadn’t said his name to get his attention; he was in the middle of telling his parents a story.

“And then, um... w-well, Brian says, ‘oh, Charlie’s a nice name. Is she pretty?’”

Ingrid snorted softly.

“And – and I panic, right?” Shayne said, “and I say, ‘Yeah, Brian, she’s beautiful’.”

Trevor bent his head forward, cackled, and slapped his knee.

Warm feeling rapidly retreating, Charlie gaped at his boyfriend. “Excuse me?”

“Shayne,” Ingrid chided outrageously, lifting a hand to her mouth to hide her grin.

“What? I’m sorry,” Shayne groaned, sinking back in the loveseat and sliding down a few inches. “The guy is ninety-one. For all I know, I could have given him a heart attack if I corrected him.”

Trevor, Charlie noted, was still chuckling away. Great. Thanks, Dad.

“Charlie,” Shayne said softly, looking up from his slumped position. He had one hand balled into a fist and was half-heartedly covering his mouth to hide his grimace. The other – Charlie couldn’t help noticing – was holding his empty mug in place at the top of his tummy. “Forgive me?”

Charlie smiled. He didn’t even have to think about it. The fact that Shayne was relaxed enough to even tell Charlie’s parents a story about his life was enough to make Charlie’s insides flutter.

Definitely in the good way this time.

“I forgive you,” he said, “but are you saying that if I ever visit the nursing home with you, I’ll have to wear a pretty dress and pretend to be a girl, all for the benefit of a ninety-year-old man who thinks you have a girlfriend?”

“Ninety-one,” Shayne corrected him.

“I don’t know, Char,” Trevor chimed in, “I think you could pull it off.”

“Can we take it easy with the gendered stereotypes, please?” Ingrid demanded, partially tongue-in-cheek, partially genuine. “I’m a girl, and I haven’t worn a ‘pretty dress’ in years.”

Shayne tilted his head to one side. “And I’m... fairly sure I've seen Felix in a dress.”

Despite not even knowing who Felix was, Ingrid gestured towards Shayne, raising an eyebrow at Charlie.

“Alright, alright,” Charlie half-smiled, lifting his hands in surrender. “I was describing a... a caricature more than anything –”

“Too late, son,” Trevor declared. “You’ve been cancelled.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “On that intellectual note, I think I’ll be off to bed with a cup of tea and my book. Have to savour the peace before it all kicks off tomorrow. Are you boys staying down here a bit longer?”

Charlie glanced at Shayne, who shrugged. He was still sitting a little too low in the loveseat, mug propped on his belly, and he looked adorably established.

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “I think so.”

“Don’t be too long, though.” Ingrid wrinkled her nose and shuddered. “It’s cold.”

“Your bed’s all made up for you,” Trevor reminded them for the third time since they’d arrived. Charlie had a feeling his dad’s emphasis was on the word your, insisting that the spare room in the fixer-upper belonged to Charlie as much as it would have if he’d been living with him permanently. Charlie couldn’t think about it for too long without his eyes fogging up, so he flashed his father a grateful smile.

“Oh – do either of you want more hot chocolate?” Ingrid asked. “There’s still some left in the slow cooker.”

Shayne was instantly shaking his head. “No, thank you, Ingrid.”

Confused, Charlie glanced at the empty mug in Shayne’s hand. He hated the thought of Shayne pretending to like something just to be polite or to not hurt his parents’ feelings. He’d had a similar thought at dinner, when Trevor had given Shayne a slice of lasagne the same size as Charlie’s, and Shayne hadn’t said anything despite the look of dread on his face.

“Um, yes, please,” Charlie smiled widely as his mum passed him on her way to the kitchen.

She gently clicked her tongue and took his mug. “How did I know you would? Hmm?”

“I mean, I can get it mys–” Charlie uncrossed his legs and started to stand up.

“No, no, no, stop that. Relax, sweetie.” Ingrid poked his shoulder. She always made a point of fussing over him on the first day of one of his visits. By tomorrow morning, he’d be hard-pressed to get her to pour him a cup of coffee from a pot she was already holding, at least not without a raised eyebrow.

He waited until both his parents had stepped out of the conservatory and into the kitchen before he turned towards Shayne again.

“You didn’t like the hot chocolate?” Charlie asked softly. He was a little bit disappointed that sipping hot chocolate on chilly night wouldn’t become one of their regular shared activities.

“I did.” Shayne narrowed his eyes. “I just didn’t want any more.”

Right. Charlie had spent so long battling his own serotonin-starved brain that he forgot that some people actually believed that too much of a good thing could be bad. When Charlie found something he liked, he tended to indulge in it as much as he could before his brain decided to give up rewarding him for it. If there was a button that he could have pressed for instant serotonin, Charlie would have mashed it to pieces a long time ago.

Next to him, Shayne turned his head away, raising a fist to stifle a low belch. “Sorry.”

Charlie put a hand on Shayne’s leg, his heart dropping. Had Shayne been waiting for Trevor and Ingrid to leave before burping? How long had been holding it in?

“Are you okay? Are you feeling sick?”

When Shayne didn’t immediately say no, it was usually because the answer was yes. And Charlie’s first reaction was a mixture of sympathy and indignation.

Holy shit, he’s so cute; I need to cuddle him right this second.

It wasn’t supposed to make his tummy hurt.

“No,” Charlie keened softly, glancing towards Shayne’s empty hot chocolate mug. “No, no, no, we made it with soy milk so it wouldn’t –”

“Ssshh,” Shayne whispered, his eyes pleading as he looked towards the door to the kitchen.

Charlie wanted nothing more than to fuss over his boyfriend and forget everything else, but that was when his father came back to the conservatory.

“Here you go,” Trevor said, arriving beside Charlie with his cup of hot chocolate, refilled. “Watch it, it’s hot.”

“Night, boys!” Ingrid called out from the hallway.

“Goodnight,” they both responded.

“Jon said they’ll probably be here around eleven,” Trevor said. “So, you two’ll be up and about by then, won’t you?”

Charlie’s heart sank again as he was reminded of the countdown to Jon’s arrival with his girlfriend and child. “Yeah, of course we will be.”

“Now, Char, remember. If you want to open that window in your room upstairs –” That time, Trevor definitely nodded in time with the words your room. “It sticks sometimes. So, you have to lift the frame, pull it in slightly –”

Even though he’d heard all of this twice before, Charlie smiled and nodded.

“Okay?” Trevor said.

“Can do. Thanks, Dad.”

Trevor still looked unconvinced that Charlie had understood his instructions. “You’ll figure it out. Goodnight, you two.”

“Night, Dad.”

“Goodnight, Trevor, thank you.”

And then they were alone.

Shayne held his empty mug in his right hand, propping his arm on the side of the loveseat. His left hand rested on his belly now, and Charlie’s head was flooded with all the different ways he could take over that job. Each image made his own stomach flutter, made his head feel like it was full of glitter.

He took a few mouthfuls of his hot chocolate, hoping to wash down the guilt and shame rising to his throat.

I’m so mean.

I’m so weird.

It had taken a lot of trust-building for Shayne to feel okay with letting Charlie know he didn’t feel well. Would he still be holding his stomach like that if he knew what kind of thoughts it sent spiraling through Charlie’s mind? How his face was burning with heat, and not just because of the scalding hot chocolate?

“Hey, I’m fine.” Shayne frowned as he saw Charlie's expression. “Will you stop worrying?”

Charlie panicked, thinking his stupid face must have betrayed his guilty elation, but Shayne must have interpreted the look as one of concern.

“Seriously.” Shayne tilted his head to one side. He pulled himself forward and sat up a little straighter, his torso turned towards Charlie. “Are you okay tonight? Why are you so jumpy?”

“I’m not jumpy! Who said I was jumpy?”

Shayne was leaning forward to place his mug on the coffee table. His eyes flicked off to the side, then met Charlie’s again. “Me. I just said it.”

“Um...”

“Here.” Shayne pried Charlie’s mug away from him and placed it on the coffee table too. “Hold my hands.”

Charlie was horrified to find that his hands were shaking, but that didn’t seem to bother Shayne as he took them in his.

“I know why you’re freaking out.”

Shit.

“I know you’re scared that Belle won’t like you,” Shayne said.

Wait... What? Charlie blinked. His head felt like it had been hurtling down one road, only for someone to slam on the brakes and crash through a barrier onto a different road. How –?

“But, like... god, how do I say this without sounding like an asshole?” Shayne muttered. “She’s a baby. She doesn’t even know that colours have names yet. You could be a murderer, and I doubt she would even care, as long as you made enough funny faces at her.”

Charlie should have been relieved that Shayne hadn’t noticed the other reason for Charlie’s nerves, but his heart kept fluttering anyway.

“That... probably didn’t come out right.” Shayne rubbed both of Charlie’s wrists with his thumbs. “Did I sound like an asshole?”

“No,” Charlie laughed incredulously. “Take it easy on yourself.”

Shayne arched an eyebrow. “Take your own advice, my love.”

“Hmm.” Charlie’s smile faltered.

Truth was, this had been weighing on him all week, ever since he’d gotten a message from Jonathan to say he, Nicole, and Belle would be visiting Trevor and Ingrid that Sunday. It hadn’t been an enthusiastic invitation; just a statement, left floating in the ether. It was like Jon had tossed a chunk of leftover ham between himself and a hungry dog, saying it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me if you eat this or not, but it’s there.

But that was how it’d always been between the two of them.

Charlie had gotten on the phone to Ingrid – it had been the first time she’d heard of this arrangement – and half-hoped that she would say that she and his dad wouldn’t be able to put him up on Saturday night, meaning the trip wouldn’t be worthwhile. She’d been delighted to offer him the spare room, though.

His last hope had been Shayne. He had been counting on him to decline Charlie’s offer to join him at his parents’, at which point Charlie could offer to meet him somewhere else instead. Sorry, Jon, he could have said. Plans with the bf this weekend. Catch you next time!

But Shayne had agreed to accompany him as soon as Charlie had explained the situation. He hadn’t even hesitated. He’d made Charlie simultaneously the most grateful and most disappointed boyfriend in the world.

Charlie blinked and fought to get the smile back on his face. His chest ached with guilt towards the part of him that resented Shayne for not giving him an excuse not to be here.

“What if...” His voice wavered. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

Shayne blinked in surprise. “I already covered that. Remember? My definitely-not-an-asshole speech?”

“I-I know. I know she’s just a baby now, but –” Charlie licked his lips. He had the urge to get up and try to walk off some of the nervous energy, but he didn’t want to let go of Shayne’s hands. “Even if tomorrow goes okay, she’s... she’s always going to have me in her life, and I just... I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

Charlie tried not to think too hard about the next part. He just talked.

“I didn’t exactly have the most optimistic outlook on life when I was a kid, and... and I don’t know if I ever got over it, or if I just learned to live with the depression at some point? Coexist with it, just like I did with CT? But I’ve always – I've always needed things to help me get through the negative feelings, you know? Even just... little things.”

“Like Mr. Teddy?”

Charlie paused, surprised that that was the first thing that popped into Shayne’s head. “Vincent.”

“Right. Vincent. Sorry.”

“Not just him, but... yeah.”

Shayne nodded sincerely.

“But beneath all of that... effort I made –” Charlie fought hard not to cringe; did he think his own attempts to stave off his depression had been some noble act of service to the world? Was he a hero for finding ways to cheer himself up? “For a long time, I felt like there was nothing worth looking forward to. Sometimes, the world felt so harsh, so scary, so...”

Shayne’s eyes glittered with sadness.

“Empty,” Charlie whispered. He wasn’t even sure if it had come from himself or from CT, but that didn’t even seem to matter.

Shayne sighed like he’d been holding his breath.

“What if...” Charlie swallowed again, his throat drying up as his eyes became wetter. “What if Belle comes to me one day, and asks me what the point of everything is? What if she asks me if things get better, if everything will be okay, if the world really is as messy and confusing and infuriating as it seems?”

A sob clawed at Charlie’s throat and he gulped against it, shuddering.

“What if she’s in pain, like I was, and she asks me to make it better, and I can’t?”

“Then...” Shayne squeezed both of Charlie’s hands. “Her Uncle Charlie won’t lie to her.”

Charlie took a deep breath, letting his mind wrap around that. He had been so lost in feeling and hearing his own despair that he had almost forgotten that Shayne could talk, too. “What?”

“I was lied to my whole young life,” Shayne said. “I wish that I’d had someone who just... told me the fucking truth. Even if it was messier and more fucked-up than any of the lies they could come up with.”

Charlie’s stomach twisted. He wasn’t sure that the psychological abuse Shayne had gone through fell into the same category as the little white lies that adults told children to preserve their world view. But he had a point, and the more he thought about it, the more he realised that if someone – anyone – had told his ten-year-old self that there was a name for the feeling he was so afraid of, maybe he’d have had an easier time of things. He could have gotten help. He could have sought out connections with other people who felt the same way.

Maybe he’d have had a better relationship with Jon. Maybe he’d have a father who could look him in the eye and say I miss you instead of always dancing around the subject.

“What?” Shayne frowned. “Was that – now am I being an asshole?”

“No. No, you’re right.” Charlie shook his head. Teardrops started to run down his face. “You’re so right, lovely...”

He lifted his arms, looping them around Shayne’s waist as he shifted forward to draw Charlie into an embrace.

“I’m just so scared,” he wept into Shayne’s shoulder. “I’m so – so scared that she’ll – that I won’t be able to help her.”

“You will be,” Shayne whispered to him. “Maybe not in the ways you want to, but... you’ll be the exact person she needs you to be.”

Charlie loved his parents. They were wonderful people. But there were subjects that just weren’t spoken about in their family when he’d been growing up, and the person Charlie had needed was someone who wouldn’t pretend that things were normal when they weren’t. Who wouldn’t pretend that life was supposed to be unbearably stressful or you just weren’t doing it right.

He’d needed someone who wouldn’t pretend that they had all the answers, just because they were expected to.

He needed someone like the person he was now.

Sobs quietly racked his body, dissolving into shivers. He tried his best to keep quiet; the last thing he wanted was for his parents to hear and to start worrying about him again. There was definitely a conversation he needed to have with them, but there was enough drama happening for one weekend already.

For now, he just let himself be held. And Shayne held him until the trembling subsided, until Charlie could breathe steadily without triggering a shudder inside his lungs.

“Thank you,” Charlie whispered, still not letting go. In fact, he held Shayne even tighter, turning the hug into an embrace that was for both of them, not just him. “I didn’t realise how much I needed this.”

Where Charlie inserted a little extra force, Shayne seemed to let go of some. He let his head sag against Charlie’s shoulder and sighed. “I’m so full, Charlie.”

Once again, the brakes on Charlie’s mind screeched – this time, the surprise was delightfully welcome. He felt goosebumps break out across his body, and a grin split his face, which he buried in his boyfriend’s neck.

He’d completely blanked on the fact that Shayne had just comforted him through all of that while he had a tummy ache. It felt like a tornado of confetti had suddenly ripped through Charlie’s brain. He loved Shayne so much, and almost said so out loud, but realised it might sound a little out of place right now.

Instead, he scratched the back of Shayne’s head and rubbed a circle over his lower back.

“Aw,” Charlie said softly.

Shayen let out a low groan of appreciation.

“Mmph. Sorry.” He shook himself and lifted his head. He kept one hand on Charlie’s side but pulled the other arm towards himself to lightly cradle his stomach. “Are you okay, love?”

“Yeah.” Completely okay, and outrageously normal. Charlie’s nerves fizzed with some delightful cocktail of adrenaline and dopamine and probably a million other things. “I feel so much better now.”

“Really?”

“Promise,” Charlie smiled. “Thank you.”

Shayne’s eyes were still a little glassy, but his frown relaxed a bit. He was taking slow, deep breaths, as though inhaling too sharply would make the pain worse.

“Lie back,” Charlie said. They were both still sitting near the edge of the loveseat, which Charlie realised was unnecessary. He twisted into a comfier position, looping an arm around Shayne’s waist as he joined him.

“Do you feel sick?” he asked, realising that he’d never gotten a proper answer earlier.

Shayne shook his head. “Not sick, but I can feel everything just... sitting there, though.”

His hand was now splayed over his belly, and Charlie couldn’t take his eyes off of it. He couldn’t help himself. It was practically an invitation, right?

He slid his hand across the top of Shayne’s stomach, his heart fluttering as his boyfriend let out a sigh and moved his own hand to the side. Charlie happily smoothed his hand downwards and slipped his fingers beneath Shayne’s jumper and t-shirt, glancing at his face for confirmation that this was okay.

His eyes were shut, and his frown was no deeper than it’d already been.

On the sweeping upward motion, Charlie could feel the extra pressure and tension around and above Shayne’s belly button. Charlie’s hand lingered, and he tried to figure out whether Shayne’s stomach was actually taut and spasming, or if his muscles were just clenching from being touched. But the longer he spent running his fingers back and forth, the more certain he was that Shayne’s tummy was pushing out a little further than it usually did.

Charlie felt a shifting motion under his hand, and a few seconds later, Shayne was turning his head away to let out another low, rumbling burp.

Shit. Charlie had to restrain himself from smiling.

He reckoned he must have still been gazing at him a bit too intensely though, because he instantly frowned when he met Charlie’s eye again.

“I – sorry.” His voice prickled with defensiveness.

“What? Don’t be sorry,” Charlie grimaced. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You’re fine, except your stomach hurts.”

“I – yeah.”

“So not fine,” Charlie pointed out. He let his hand glide a little lower, enjoying the warmth and the softness until it was abruptly cut off by the top of Shayne’s jeans. “You should probably take these off.”

Charlie’s throat clenched as he heard himself a second later. He buried his head against Shayne’s shoulder, still cupping his belly under his shirt.

“Shut up. I know that sounded like such a line."

“Didn’t say anything,” Shayne said.

“What I meant was that you should take your jeans off so they’re not hurting you.”

Shayne narrowed his eyes.

"So... I can get you some of my spare pyjama bottoms..."

“What are you getting at, Charlie?” Shayne's voice was only lightly seasoned with sarcasm.

Charlie rolled his eyes as he lifted his head to look his boyfriend in the eye. “I’m not getting at anything, lovely, except that when you're too full, your tummy can get a little bit bloated... and that’s when you should change into something looser or softer, to keep the pressure off.”

Shayne lowered his head, his mouth tilting into a sulk. Charlie pressed his lips to his cheek, wishing he could kiss away the look of muted discomfort on his boyfriend’s face.

“Hey. It’s completely normal.”

Oh, and really fucking adorable, but let’s not say that part out loud.

Shayne let out a little hum – though whether it was a response to the kiss or the verbal reassurance, Charlie wasn’t sure. His stomach had just gurgled while Charlie had been absentmindedly rubbing a few light circles into it, so maybe he'd just been humming to try to cover that up.

"So, do you want those pyjamas?" Charlie asked quietly.

“Did you actually pack spare pyjamas for a one-night stay?”

Charlie frowned. "Yeah."

“Did you pack some for me?”

“Yeah...” Charlie blushed. “We don’t have our own bathroom here. What if one or both of us needed to pee in the middle of the night? We can’t just wander around the house in our underwear.”

Shayne let his head rest against the back of the loveseat, eyes closed again. “I would have just put my jeans back on, gone to the bathroom, came back, took them off again –”

“No. No. No boyfriend of mine is putting his jeans on at four in the morning," Charlie said. "That...”

Shayne opened his eyes.

“That... goes against my religion." Charlie's voice wavered and he bit back a nervous grin. "What are you staring at me for?”

"Nothing. You're just an idiot sometimes."

"Okay?"

"For not realising how fucking brilliant you are."

Charlie let the grin win. "Okay."

#StW Charlie #StW Shayne #sickfic #stomach ache fic #angst fic #angst #hurt and comfort #hurt comfort #tummy kink #belly rubs #belly rub fic

46 notes · View notes

secretobsessionstuff · 2 years

Note

ok I'm not sure if you're taking promt requests, but I have one here: sick!dakota, inspired by something that happened to me a while back. I had to go for a formal event, and I ate something Fancy there that didn't settle right. I felt burpy, bloated and sick all night, and had to throw up. thankfully I got home without incident, but I did get sick with a stomach bug like right after. if you don't want to take the prompt, that's fine. have a nice day, brilliant author!

Thanks for the great request! And for making me blush with that compliment. I changed the prompt just a little because of course I didn't want Dakota to go home without incident ;)

Please excuse the ridiculous reference to an old meme that I slipped in this fic. I couldn’t help it.

--------------------

As a child, Dakota never thought he’d have enough money to give to charity, let alone donate enough to partake in a fundraising gala. Even that word Gala felt like an ill-fitting suit, much like the one he wore at that very moment. At a Gala. That he’d been invited to. He was overwhelmed by the entire affair.

That night’s special event was being hosted by the Canadian Academy of Sport and Exercise Medicine—an organizing that Dakota supported as soon as he got a disposable income.

Donating was not something that his family could afford to do, at least not consistently. Every Christmas, Dakota used to ask his dad for a five-dollar bill to give to the bell ringers. Nine times out of ten, he was given a loonie. Still, Dakota happily dropped the coin in the collection bin and wished the stranger a merry Christmas.

The suit that Dakota now wore should have reflected how far he had come in terms of money. He had worked hard as a teenager to afford to go to university. He worked hard as an adult to get to this point of financial security. He wasn’t rich by any means (not by a long shot), but he had enough to justify his presence at this fundraiser. He definitely had enough money to buy a better suit than the one he wore, but that was a task that he’d been putting off.

The jacket’s sleeves were tight around his arms and the fabric of the pants pinched awkwardly around his hips. The buttons on his shirt were working overtime to keep his belly from bulging out, but that might have been because he was bloated after eating the cream of vegetable soup. He’d certainly be needing a better suit for his wedding. For now, his old suit would have to do.

Blair, of course, looked stunning in her stormy blue floor-length chiffon evening dress with lace sequins. None of those fancy words belonged to Dakota. That was how she described it to him. All he had been capable of saying was a string of incoherent babbling as she emerged from their bedroom that evening. Stormy apparently meant a greyish-blue and the rest of those words must have meant so fucking hot you don’t even know. That was Dakota’s apt description after getting over his momentary shock.

Dakota paid more attention to Blair than the many, many speeches that were given throughout the night. Halfway through the event and he was already sick of hearing the phrase “We thank you for your contribution”, despite being one of those contributors.

Eventually, even his fiancée couldn’t hold his attention, not with the way his stomach ached. So maybe it wasn’t just the speeches that were making him sick. His belly churned and whined, trying to digest the first meal he’d given it that night. The soup had been creamy, but not nauseatingly thick. It was a pale orange with chunks of broccoli and carrots drowning in the velvety broth.

He didn’t understand why he got so nauseous all of a sudden. It was like the soup kept boiling inside him. The event took a while to start, so Dakota should have been starving but he was far from it. That first plate was enough to make him full. He didn’t want to imagine the other courses that were on their way. He could smell shrimp, and steak, and chocolate waiting their turns.

“I’m a registered dietitian,” Blair finished saying to a man sitting at their table. There was eight people all seated in a circle, perfect for networking and gossiping.

“And what about your husband?” asked the woman who was next to the man. They were an older couple and so soft spoken that Dakota didn’t look up to realize that he was now a part of the conversation.

“Oh, he’s actually still my fiancé,” Blair said with a smile. She put her hand on his arm to get his attention. “Dakota?”

“Yes?” He looked up, tearing his eyes away from the empty soup bowl.

“The Dhillons are asking about your job,” she said, gesturing to the couple.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Dakota tugged at the collar of his jacket. It did not have any give and was therefore terrible for fidgeting. All his fiddling did was remind him how uncomfortable he was. He cleared his throat. “I’m in sports rehabilitation.”

“No wonder you’re both supporters,” Mr. Dhillon said approvingly. He nodded at the two of them “Dakota, was it? How did you get involved with CASEM?” he asked, using the organization’s acronym.

Dakota began giving his answer with less enthusiasm that he would have liked. His voice sounded awkward and strained to his own ears. More than once, he had to interrupt himself to swallow a burp. His voice got deeper with each suppressed belch, as did the ache in his middle. The more he spoke, the more air he swallowed, and the more bloated he got.

It was after Mr. Dhillon’s second question, that Dakota failed to keep a burp from bursting from his mouth. It was loud and very wet. “Excuse me,” he quickly mumbled with a napkin pressed against his lips. He wiped the corners of his mouth, feeling his face grow warm. The other people at the table, all in the middle of their own conversations, spared surprised glances at him. After that outburst, he hurried up his reply and looked down at his lap. The tips of his ears were on fire.

In fact everything about him was on fire. He was hot and icky. Yes, icky was the only way he could describe the sensations in his body. Icky with an inkling of bleh.

Thankfully, Blair took up the next question. She gave him a curious look before answering the nice couple.

Dakota wished he could turn invisible. Not only was he blushing, but he desperately wanted to rub his gurgling stomach. It was very unsettled for some ungodly reason. Dakota felt like a proper sac of poop, squeezed into his too-tight suit, and sweating like a pig.

He did not feel well at all, he quickly realized. His gut churned as if he somehow ate ten bowls of soup instead of one. He could feel sweat dampening his clothes, making the bottom layers stick to his skin.

When another burp bubbled up from his belly, he managed to cover his mouth in time. His hand couldn’t muffle all the sound, but at least he didn’t feel any piercing eyes fall on him.

He must have sat there with his hand clamped over his mouth for longer than he thought, because he suddenly felt Blair touch his leg. It made him snap his eyes open, which he hadn’t realized he closed in the first place.

Blair leaned over and whispered to him, “Are you feeling alright?”

He shook his head. That was all he did. All he felt safe to do.

“Will you excuse us for a moment?” Blair said to the people at their table. She stood up, keeping her hands on Dakota’s shoulder until he rose as well, then she led him out of the dining hall.

Dakota walked with his head down and his palm pressed into his abdomen. They passed many other tables of finely dressed guests, but he didn’t try to smother the burps that rose in his throat. Standing up caused all the air in his belly to shift, and he couldn’t force it down any longer. A particularly wet belch coated his tongue in a thin layer of creamy acid. It tasted strongly of broccoli.

When the crisp night air hit Dakota’s skin, he had a second to wonder why Blair hadn’t led him to the bathroom. That was where he wanted to be. Where he needed to be. Only just then he was picturing his bathroom at home. He also wasn’t wearing this straitjacket of a suit in the daydream.

As if she were reading his mind, Blair said, “There were too many people in line for the bathroom. I didn’t think you wanted to throw up in front of a crowd.” Her eyebrows knit together in concern as she watched him pace around the parking lot. “You are going to be sick, aren’t you?”

Dakota nodded. “I feel disgusting, Bee. The food isn’t agreeing with me at all.”

He put his hands on his knees and breathed deeply through his mouth. Pressure built up inside of him, slowly rising in his throat. “I don’t—” he cut off when a belch splashed the back of his tongue with acid. “Ugh fuck. I don’t know what happened, but it hit me hard.”

“Did you eat too much before leaving the house?”

“No,” he replied, intending to elaborate, but he paused to release a bubble of air caught behind his tongue. It was sour and thick. “No, I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. I guess I forgot.”

“You?” Blair began, incredulously. “You forgot to be hungry?”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t on my mind. I’ve been thinking about this goddamn gala.” Dakota huffed. Being outside helped cool him down, but the sticky heat was still trapped inside his layers of clothing. “God, it’s hot. And I hate this fucking suit.” He started to helplessly shrug off his jacket with some difficulty.

“Come here,” Blair said shaking her head at him. She removed the jacket from his shoulders and patiently slipped the tight sleeves off his arms. The jacket itself was damp. Similar patches of sweat marked his dress shirt in the underarms. A dark line ran down his spine. “Wow, was there an indoor pool party that I missed?”

Dakota was in too much discomfort to banter. “Ugh my stomach is killing me.” He bent over again, letting out another long chesty burp. The tail-end of the burp made a funny sound in his throat, like sloshing of liquid that settled back down in his belly. He did not think that his belly would stay settled for very long. In fact, the next belch was more of a gag.

Blair heard the change as well and got close enough to put her hand on his back. She wrongly assumed that the heat beneath her hand was from him being uncomfortable and overly warm. All she knew what that he looked as green as a seasick passenger, ready to feed the fishes. “Alright. No one’s around. Just let it out.”

Dakota’s throat bobbed as the nausea increased. His mouth filled with saliva that he let drip onto the ground between his feet. He waited for the next burp, knowing that it would bring up a sludge of sick.

And it did.

The meaty belch was practically drowned out by the rush of vomit that gurgled up his throat. A splatter of orange coloured the pavement between his feet. Bigger chunks of green and brown dotted the puddle. Dakota didn’t get to admire his artistic creation for long because the next wave forced his eyes shut.

Blair hissed sharply through her teeth, hearing the strain in his guttural heaves. “Oh Kota. That’s it. Get it all up.”

Obediently, he did as he was told, retching up the most expensive soup he ever ate. And it hadn’t even been that good. It only cost a lifetime of learning to manage money. But at least he could barf knowing that degenerative joint problems were being treated all across Canada.

He could still hear the speeches being made inside, but the aching pulse in Dakota’s belly overpowered the noise. It was just him and his roiling insides. And, of courses, Blair’s soothing touch on his back.

When the liquid at Dakota’s feet was roughly the amount that could fit in a fancy bowl, he straightened up. He wiped his mouth on his white sleeve and sighed. “I think I’m done.”

“You sure?” Blair asked. “You missed a spot on your left shoe.”

Dakota looked down at himself. His shoes were indeed splattered with orange vomit. Flecks of it splashed on his legs. “Look at me. I can’t believe they invited this to a gala.” Strands of dark brown hair fell in front of his eyes, no longer held in place with the product in the rest of his hair.

Blair gave him a sad smile. “Well, I suggest we get this home,” she said, gesturing to his dishevelled self. “Do you think you’re truly done? Was it just the food that upset your stomach?”

“I think so.” Dakota sniffled. “I hope so.”

When they got to their car, Blair gave him back his damp jacket.

“Thanks,” he said deadpan as he took it from her hands. “I’m really sorry. You look like a…a—I can’t even describe how good you look, and I’m sweating through my clothes.”

Blair laughed softly at him. So soft it was like falling snow. “I don’t care.” She kissed him on his cheek as she helped him into the car. “I love you, sweaty.”

Dakota groaned at the reference. “Yeah, yeah, man door hand hook whatever. Get in the car.”

…

That should have been it. Dakota should have gone to bed, aching and annoyed, but done with vomiting.

That was not the case.

He woke up in a cold sweat four hours into his sleep, feeling like he ate a full-course meal earlier that night. The nausea slammed into him so hard that he made the split decision to run to the bathroom rather than wake Blair like he wanted to. He had a funny hunch that he would wake her anyway with what he was about to do.

His knees stung from crashing down on them in front of the toilet, but he was hardly aware of that pain. His whole attention was given to the upheaval in his belly.

He lifted the toilet seat just in time to catch the surge of sick that rushed out of his mouth. This made zero sense to Dakota. He hadn’t eaten that much during the day, yet he still let out a torrent of vomit. It burned his nose as the forceful wave came out of his nostrils.

He sniffled and spat into the bowl, staring at the contents with disbelief. What the heck was going on with his stomach? The pain gnawed at him as if it spent the day building in strength and intensity.

As he predicted, Blair came shuffling into the bathroom, squinting in the light at her fiancé who was drooling over the toilet. He inhaled a sharp breath before gagging and filling the bowl some more.

She kneeled next to him, watching as his body rejected everything he fed it within the last twelve hours.

“Oh baby, you’re really sick. This is…this is bad. It can’t just be from something not sitting right. Do you have any other symptoms?”

Dakota blinked tears out of his eyes, trying to think. But how could he think when everything was hell? “God, I don’t know. I feel like crap all around.” He tripped over his words as Blair started to walk away. “Wait, wait. W-where are you going?”

“Relax, I’m just getting the thermometer.”

“Oh…good. Don’t leave me.”

Blair pouted at him. “I’m not. I just think you might have a fever.”

With the thermometer in hand, she sat down next to him again. She put the device in his ear, waiting for the measurement.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. “Still okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, just hurry.”

“Then stop moving,” she said, holding his head still. The heat coming from his scalp made the thermometer obsolete. She could already feel the fever burning through him. When it read his temperature as 102°F, Blair was not surprised.

She could not tell him right way because as soon as she took the thermometer out of his ear, he pitched forward, belching up a smaller gush of vomit. Blair hated the way he moaned and hugged his belly. “Aw, Kota. I think you caught a stomach bug, baby.”

His roiling stomach agreed whole-heartedly. There was definitely a nasty little bugger worming its way through his digestive track. Pretty soon it would turn his bowels to water, but for now it made his stomach throb with nausea.

Dakota groaned and rested his head on Blair’s shoulder. “I feel awful, Bee.”

“I know,” she cooed, entwining her fingers in his hair. “Only thing to do is wait it out together.”

69 notes · View notes

danafeelingsick · 7 months

Text

UH OH, SHOULD'VE STAYED HOME

[Takes place after episode 3, in which Clark Kent is sick with an actual stomach bug this time and Lois takes care of him.] AO3 | masterlist

Stay tuned for the art I made for this fic!

CONTENT WARNING: graphic descriptions of vomit, nausea, fever, stomach ache, sick at work shenanigans, belly rubs, back rubs, some emphasis on comfort, caretaker Lois for the most part, somewhat horny descriptions? (nothing out of the ordinary), established relationship (to-be?)

WORD COUNT: 7,7k~

A/N: so, you know how in episode 2, Clark uses tummy ache as an excuse and hurries off? and like a few scenes later Lois muses about taking care of him? I took that personally, this might be my longest one shot yet.

omg i love them sm. great series, recommend. 8/10, because it's too short and a bit rushed. this could contain spoilers? idk, superman media is super old already.

Clark Kent was already half awake when his alarm went off, but couldn't bring himself to roll over and turn it off, or rather, smash it to pieces. His body felt so unusually heavy he was considering drifting back to sleep for just a few more minutes, to try and compensate for the restless night he had.

It had been too much optimism to think he would be able to sleep on a full stomach, especially when he was sure he was coming down with something nasty. The worry alone had been enough to turn his stomach, worry that he mistook it for hunger, which turned out to be nausea. Now all of those late night snacks seemed like an even worst idea.

His thoughts of regret and self-reflection were interrupted by his roommate coming down the bunk ladder, the clunky footsteps on the metal were even louder than the alarm, making his head pound. Clark buried his head under the pillows until it was manually turned off, and he swore he had heard it sigh in relief. One less broken alarm clock for the count.

“We're gonna be late for work if you don't get up", Jimmy shouted from the other side of the room, rustling through his drawers.

“Need five more minutes...”, Clark grunted, relieved when all he heard was a chuckle and his roommate stepping away, instead of blankets being snatched from him.

Despite gaining those extra minutes, he sat up after two, suddenly bothered by the feeling of humid covers, even the shirt he had slept in was drenched in sweat. It was a choice between enduring the heat or a headache from the bright artificial light. He chose the latter and dragged himself out of bed.

By the end of his extra time, he was already in the shower, sweaty clothes hanging from the laundry basket, with hot water falling on his back, his head swimming with the steam.

Clark caught his mind wandering to the Daily Planet and the day full of errands that waited for him, and... Lois. The two hadn't known each other for long, but Clark already knew that he had to be careful around her. Careful wasn't the right word. Every day she was coming closer to pinning down Superman's identity, and he was growing out of ways to hide it.

The kryptonian bit down on his lip when a wave of dizziness crashed over him, holding onto the wall with half a mind to not use his force on it. A soft groan escaped his lips as his hand wandered to his belly. Whatever he had eaten last night was not sitting well, it felt like his stomach was doing somersaults.

On top of that, there was a tight full feeling resting on the upper part of his abdomen, it looked round and firmer to the touch as well, like whatever was there refused to digest. Embarrassed by the thought of it being noticeable under his sweater, he rested his hands over it until the feeling was mostly gone. It was enough for him to step out of the shower and dry himself off.

It came back moments later, while he brushed his teeth. With a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair still wet, he suddenly felt shivers crawling up his back, and choked around his toothbrush. His mouth flooded with odd-tasting saliva, overpowering the minty taste.

It felt like he was going to vomit, even though that notion was foreign since he had only gotten sick a handful of times as a kid, rarely as an adult. He spat the frothy toothpaste and stared inside the sink, realizing he could hear the churning in his stomach. He hadn't felt anything like this in a while, he could consider himself lucky.

With shaky hands, he turned on the faucet and rinsed his mouth out, trying hard not to gag.

That was bad, he couldn't vomit now… Clark focused on his breathing and on his hands holding onto the sides of the sink, his vision was starting to narrow, out of anxiety, or he was even sicker than he thought. He didn't think he could make it to the toilet, sprinting would only make things worse. If he ran into the wall, he would go right through, and that was a whole other issue.

Shaking, he glanced up, catching his own piercing blue eyes in the bathroom mirror, looking glossed over and unfocused, his expression pained and miserable. He looked pale, he looked nearly green.

His lips puckered as he fought against the urge to gag and lost, his tongue rolled out with a thread of saliva joining the sink. He really didn't want to puke, he was running late already, but that did little to stop his stomach from trying to turn itself out. He swallowed hard, a soft hiss escaping through gritted teeth, and wrapped one arm around his middle, trying to keep his footing. If he found out whatever had gotten him sick, he would never eat there again.

“EuUrRgh!”

Clark hunched over and dry heaved, feeling his stomach roll under his hand. His lips pursed as he felt something burn in the back of his throat, flooding his mouth. He closed his eyes and coughed a thin stream of lumpy vomit, something sickly sweet acidic mixed with minty toothpaste in his tongue, forming a disgusting taste

Before he even had the chance to spit he was retching again, bringing more of what he had eaten the night before in a watery and clumpy surge. He tasted the stale donut leftovers in it, and gagged, trying not to think about it. It was gone with the running water, he didn't need to see it.

He turned off the faucet after washing his mouth but didn't move away from the sink. His head was pounding even worse now, but at least his stomach didn't feel as full, now it was tender and sensitive like an open wound. Not much of an improvement...

“Clark, your phone is ringing and it's Lois~”, just as he was starting to relax, Jimmy knocked repeatedly on the other side of the door. ”I gave her your number, you don't mind right? Of course you don't mind.”

To say the startled Superman jumped was an understatement, he flew, taking a chunk of the sink with him.

"I-I-I'll be just a minute", he sputtered, scrambling to piece it together.

His roommate was waiting for him as he came out of the bathroom, half-dressed, looking even worse than before. He must've noticed it right away, his blue eyes now looked a bit red at the bottom, like he was holding back tears.

"So, are you going to tell me what's up or I'll have to guess?", Jimmy interrogated him with crossed arms, his phone dangling from his hand. "We're late, y'know?"

A second of silence hung between the two before Clark sniffled. “I… think I'm sick.”

Jimmy couldn't think of another time where he looked as much like an abandoned puppy. Now he regretted the accusatory tone.

"Another one of your migraines?”, he asked, relaxing his posture as he handed his phone back. Clark had frequent ones, and Jimmy never acknowledged it, but it sometimes made his blue eyes look like, well, he wasn’t sure either. That didn’t seem like one of those, however.

“Don't know...”, Clark mumbled, and his eyebrows furrowed with pain as he stepped away. “Think I ate something bad.”

Jimmy nodded, he had seen him raid their fridge last night but nothing there seemed bad so Donuts and sandwiches were the first thing that came to mind. He knew Clark had a big appetite and he was always snacking whenever he could, the possibilities were endless. That scene was quite familiar, seeing him trying to soothe a bellyache, rubbing circles over it with his eyes closed, and lips pouting. Only this time he did look like he was about to fall over.

“I think you should stay home today—”

“No, not going to leave you two to do all the work. It's not fair”, Clark interrupted, briefly scrolling through his phone, with a strained expression.

“We'll manage without you. Besides”, Jimmy crossed his arms, his tone had something of suspicion in it. “You really don't look well.”

“I can't...”, Clark interrupted, showing the screen.

Lois had left a couple of texts, clearly written in a rush, but summarized meant: “Come ASAP, thought of a new plan. We're going to get that interview!”

“Alright, since you're not going to listen. You hurry, and I'll hurry. Five minutes”, Jimmy sighed, already on his way to the bathroom. “Oh, and you're eating something on the way because our fridge is empty!”, he added, trying to ignore the welded gash in the middle of their sink.

Clark grumbled but focused on tying his shoes instead of arguing.

True to his word, Jimmy stepped out of the shower in five minutes, and another five later, they were leaving the apartment. Clark was already looking a little better now that he was outside, with sunlight and fresh air, though it didn't take long for him to get too hot inside that thick pullover he always wore. He cuffed his sleeves, still managing to do it neatly while Jimmy dragged him to the nearest sandwich shop.

“I don't think eating and —uRp, walking is a good combination”, Clark commented, muffling a meaty burp into his fist. His face grew a bit red, but at this point, he couldn't tell if it had been out of embarrassment.

“It's actually good for digestion. Look it up”, Jimmy argued, crumbs of bread and lettuce falling off his mouth.

Clark wasn't convinced that would make any difference, his optimism was failing him today, but there wasn't much room for it when his stomach felt like it was waging war on that cheesy steak sandwich. Why did he have to pick the greasiest option out of a health and diet menu? Each bite was weighing on his belly like a rock.

He covered another queasy burp that brought the taste of acid to the back of his tongue, the sandwich was sitting atop that stubborn mess of food, refusing to digest. He risked another bite, he needed food in him after throwing up earlier, but had to hold back a gag as he tried to swallow. Nope, he was done.

“Do you, uh, want to eat my half?”, he offered, awkwardly pulling his jumper down, feeling like his waistline had grown several inches.

“Yeah, you're definitely sick. You usually eat mine”, Jimmy shoved the last bite into his mouth. I’m full too. Just wrap it, and you can eat it later.”

Clark produced a disgruntled noise but complied, and stuffed the half-eaten, now lukewarm sandwich back in its paper bag. He suspected that he would indeed be tasting it again later, but the thought still made him shudder. By the time they reached the Daily Planet, the young journalist had resigned himself to the fact that he was going to be feeling queasy for the rest of the day.

Inside the break room, he went to store his leftover breakfast in the fridge, finding another sandwich already there with a note stuck to it. A fishy stench leaked through the homemade wrapping, permeating the air. Then it clicked:

“To the prick who stole my Sandwich. This sandwich is for Steve. Not for Clark. Don't steal it, Clark. – Steve”

Labeled a thief after he had eaten his by mistake, and left his weird combination of mayo, tuna, and avocado for him, sounded like something only a jerk like Steve would do. Clark rolled his eyes, made sense why he was feeling like shit now. He had thought his usual sandwich had gone and in the end, he could barely stomach it. The mix of textures was so odd, and the taste was just wrong, but he wasn't about to throw food away.

He gagged at the memory, then again at the smell, and hurriedly shut the door. Fuck, not again. He jogged over to the trash can, not trusting himself to use super speed, and hunched over it, trying to breathe. The whole room smelled now.

It took a minute of breath control, swallowing and spitting the excess saliva, but he thankfully managed to keep his breakfast, even though now his stomach was sensitive all over. He pulled on his sweater, trying to make room for it.

Scowling, Clark filled a plastic cup with water, drinking it whole in tiny sips. The cold liquid was refreshing on his throat, which still felt a bit tender from the earlier spell. It took his mind off the swirling nausea for a moment. He stepped out of the break room with another cup, entertaining the thought of pinning charges of biological terrorism on Steve.

“Found you, Superman!”, a familiar voice shouted from down the hallway. Clark felt his soul leave his body.

He spotted Lois, he had spotted her giant green jacket first, but regardless, both were now marching in his direction.

“I-I-I think you have the wrong guy”, Clark stammered, nearly dropping his cup.

Lois stopped in front of him, both hands on her hips, now grinning. “And that's what I'm going to say when my plan works.”

“A-Ah! Haha”, Clark fake-chuckled, then swallowed hard, it felt like his stomach was running laps now.

“Wow, you went pale. Hope you're not hiding anything from me”, she half-joked, giving a playful look. ”So, what took you so long, Smallville? Didn't see you out jogging this morning.”

“I, uh... overslept”, ‘Smallville’ muttered, cocking his head in slight embarrassment. It wasn't a lie, for the most part, but he didn't feel like Lois needed to know the extent of his bad morning.

“Yeah, I can see that”, she commented, pinning him down with her gaze. “You do look a bit tired.”

“I, uh....couldn't sleep well”, he admitted, resting his hand on the back of his neck. He suddenly felt hot and dumb, as if he had been cooking under the sun for too long.

“Aw, is the stress already getting to you?”, she asked with a wince of sympathy, reaching one hand out to cup his cheek, but stopped midway, thinking twice about it.

“I guess you could say that...”, Clark muttered with a small sigh, eyeing her with a bit of hope, he somehow wanted her to…? He wasn't sure. “So, uh, what's your plan? I thought you already had gotten your interview with Superman”, he tried to change the subject.

“Oh that, I can't publish that! He lied to all of my questions”, the aspiring journalist said, waving a hand as she dug through her pockets, bringing out her voice recorder. “But I already revised them, there's no way avoiding these. And I already know how we're going to get another interview with him.”

Clark felt a lump of cold anxiety drop in his stomach, and it must've shown on his face because Lois eyed him with curiosity.

“What if he was being honest? He didn't seem like the type of guy to... lie”, he said, taking a sip of water to hide the shudder in his voice.

“I thought that too, I mean, he looked so—!”, she paused, flushing. “Uh, nice. Anyway, and when have you even met him?”, she raised an eyebrow, but before he could respond she was already grabbing his hand. “It's easier if I just show you the murder board. I spent all morning laying it out. Come on.”

Clark let out a yelp but didn't put up a fight as the shorter woman dragged him through the corridor. He couldn't tell if it had been her hand on his, or the way his body was already feeling awful, but his head suddenly felt hotter, his legs weaker. He didn't have it in him to resist.

Inside their provisory office, among cabin files and dust bunnies, Lois sat Clark down in one of the chairs, and he was grateful for that, right as he thought he was going to keel over. Jimmy was already there, trying to make sense of whatever Lois had pinned to the murder board.

“There, don't sleep, okay?”, she commented, and Clark was once again grateful for Lois' tunnel vision when it came to a story. She patted his back briefly before walking up to the board, bumping playfully into Jimmy on her way.

The wheels squeaked as she pulled it to the front, slamming her hand on it, and dropping some of the thumbtacks in the process. “So, here is the plan.”

Clark tried but couldn't pay attention to what his senior was saying, his gaze wandered across the board before it settled on the table, the only thing that didn't seem to be warping and tilting before his eyes. His head was starting to ache again, making it difficult to focus on anything. He blinked a few times, and brought an empty cup to his lips, feeling its contents sloshing in the back of his throat.

Jimmy took up the talking before Lois had the chance to ask anything else, he couldn't tell if it had been on purpose, but he was thankful either way. Clark slipped a hand under the table, then under his pullover and shirt, gently rubbing his queasy tummy. He could feel the organ churning under the taut skin, the food sitting there like a rock. He regretted every second that led to it.

The queasy-looking journalist silenced a sickly burp into his hand, swallowing back the trickle of viscous sizzling bile that threatened to come up. It tasted cheesy, greasy, and highly acidic, he couldn't think of a worse combination, but soon found one when he realized he could taste something spoiled as well. He had to suppress a fit of gagging, disguising it with a hand on his mouth when he caught Lois glancing in his direction.

“Come on, we're not risking our lives just to get another interview with Superman, that's not happening —”, Jimmy tried to argue, but he only caught part of the discussion.

Clark winced as a hot flash of nausea crashed into him, hitting him like a truck, though he had experienced that before, he didn't have a better description. His abdomen clenched, producing a string of bubbly complaints. He leaned forward, hugging his midsection tightly, feeling it gurgle unhappily under his thick sweater.

A soft moan tumbled out of his lips when his abdomen tightened involuntarily, that same awful anticipation taking hold of him.

“Um, are you okay there, big guy?”, Lois' voice broke through the stupor. “You've been silent.”

“S-Sorry”, the shaky young man whimpered, with his chin to his chest, curled even further into himself. “I-I really don't feel good right now...”

Lois gave a hum of sympathy, putting whatever she had down before her soft steps trailed his way. Jimmy didn't sound as graceful, he ran along the table, stopping right by him.

“Hey, what's wrong? What are you feeling?” she called with a slight tremble to her voice, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention.

Clark winced at her touch but didn't try to pull away, looking up was a bad idea. It felt like the whole room was spinning, only making him feel dizzier.

“My stomach hurts…”, he whimpered, his voice barely audible.

“So, his stomach's been bothering him since morning”, Jimmy explained.

“Oh, is that what those sounds were?”, Lois whispered, speaking off to the side, though her sick coworker still heard it, and froze under her hand, his face taking a whole another tone of red. Did she hear that?

“Yeah, he threw up too", Jimmy continued, which prompted his friend to raise his head and give him a strained look of bewilderment, his friend only shrugged.

“What!? And you still let him come into work?”, Lois' hand briefly left him as they went up, in a sign of exasperation.

“Well, he insisted!”, he tried to defend himself, and Clark felt a pang of guilt.

”R-Really, it… wasn't as bad this morning”, he tried to argue, glancing up at the short woman, who was scowling now, thankfully not at him.

“That is not—! Ugh, forget that”, Lois took another look at the puddle of sweat that used to be Clark, noticing that he was shivering noticeably now, his clothes already damp. “Hey, are you alright? Do you need anything?”

�� “I-I don't know, I think I’m— urP!” he began to answer, not really sure where he was going with it when he was cut off by a wet hiccup. The woman opened her mouth as if to speak, but shut it as she heard a sound akin to a reverse gulp coming from Clark.

That was the only warning he needed before his hand flew up to his mouth, in an attempt to stop the watery bile from flooding past his lips. He was up on his feet in a second, and out of the office in the other.

Lois called after him a second too late. She had barely seen him run off, she had only noticed after he was already gone.

The sick Kryptonian was too concentrated in not vomiting down the front of his sweater to realize that he was walking too fast for a regular human. Thankfully, the hallway was empty, he didn't have to worry about explaining anything to anyone. His boiling stomach lurched with every step, lunging against his abdomen as it sent its contents gurgling up his throat.

He pushed past the door to the restroom, and thankfully found it empty, though he didn't reach the stall in time. Something hot and acidic surged past his throat, quickly filling his mouth with more than it could hold. His cheeks ballooned out behind his hand, his throat convulsed, forcing the sour watery vomit through cracks of his fingers and down the front of his sweater.

Groaning with disgust, he pushed himself into one of the stalls, dropping to his knees just in time for his stomach to push out the rest of it. Clark didn't think he would end up like this, on his knees retching inside a toilet bowl, because of a stupid tuna sandwich.

“BlEeuUrRrghH!”

At least he was due some mercy, all that came up was mostly water, at first, spurting out of his nose. Hot acrid water that dyed the bowl a cloudy brown. Though it didn't look like it would leave a stain, it tasted absolutely awful, like drain cleaner with an aftertaste of grease. He gagged hard on the thought of it and began to dry heave.

Scowling, a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, infiltrating behind his lenses. He could feel himself shaking violently, a horrible nauseating heat latching onto his skin. He wanted nothing more than to take his sweater off, but he didn't think he could uncurl from the miserable position he was in.

A pained moan dribbled out of his lips as he gave into another fit of loud dry heaving. His abdomen spasmed under his tight damp buttoned-up shirt, the fabric clinging to it by sweat. It was like he was being suffocated by it.

Clark clung to the ceramic bowl, though his vomit-covered hand couldn't get a grip on it, and burped up a stream of viscous runny puke. He winced at the violent splash, it almost sounded like an open faucet. He gagged hard as he felt the solid parts passing through his gullet, bits of sandwich his sick stomach couldn't digest.

“Kh—”, he coughed as the vomit finally tapered off into a sirupy trickle, and spat out what still clung to his tongue. The disgusting cheesy taste of his breakfast was so evident now, with some rotten aftertaste he didn't want to dwell on.

For a moment or two, Clark hovered over the toilet, panting heavily. Drool and sick hung from his lips, thin ropes waving along with his breathing, which was the only sound apart from the muffled churning of his upset guts. His belly kept clenching unproductively, struggling to bring up what remained inside of it, only worsening the dull ache of his sore muscles. The dizzying nausea hadn't eased one bit, though he kept heaving, it would be a minute before he had the strength to let any more out.

A shaky hand came up, wiping vomit all over his sweater, then absentmindedly tugging at his neckline. Once, before a tiny button went flying. Reminded of his superhuman strength, he eased his grip on the toilet bowl and slinked back.

It could've been minutes or just a few seconds, he couldn't tell exactly, but something pulled him out of his feverish daze. A knock on his stall, a careful one made the door creak as it was pushed ajar. He froze, ready for the worst his anxious mind could come up with.

“Clark? Are you in there?” It almost didn't sound like Lois, but it was her. He didn't think he had ever heard her so livid before.

He looked over to find a pair of familiar sneakers peeking under the gap, shifting nervously. He even saw the small manicured fingers sneaking in to pull it closed, allowing him a little more privacy.

“H-Here Lois, ngh…”, he groaned, and though he still felt dizzy he put in the effort to flush out the toilet, hoping the smell hadn't already permeated the whole restroom. “I'm here.”

“Oh, good! I've been looking for you everywhere”, she exclaimed, her voice still shaky.

“Sorry for running off, I felt really sick all of sudden”, he replied, sitting back on his knees. It was a struggle to keep his voice from cracking when it felt like he had swallowed sandpaper.

“You don't have to apologize for that”, she sighed, her feet kept fidgeting. “Are you alright? Did you… um, throw up?”

“Y-Yeah”, he admitted, his face flushing with embarrassment, and grabbed a few pieces of paper to wipe his mouth with. “I think it was something I ate.”

“Jimmy told me so, said you weren't feeling well this morning”, she commented, and he heard her fidgeting with something in her pockets. “He went out to buy medicine, I only found headache pills around here.”

Any medicine would be a lifesaver right now, but Clark couldn't even stomach the thought of swallowing anything.

“Anyways, I brought you some water”, she added, followed by the sound of a bottle being agitated. “Can I come in?”

Clark gulped anxiously at the idea, he didn't want the girl he liked to see him like this, but the idea of being left alone was even scarier.

“Okay… come in.”

The door opened then shut with a small click, Lois actually bothered to close it properly, even though the stall felt small with someone of Clark's size inside, the short woman made up for it

While he took up half of the space, she barely filled a third. The squared space felt noticeably warmer too, just by being close to him she could feel the heat rolling off him.

“Hey, big guy” she greeted softly, shedding her puffy green jacket as she crouched behind him.

“Hey…”, he glanced over his shoulder, offering a tired but genuine smile under a sleeve he ran over his mouth. It tugged on her heartstrings seeing his misty eyes. “Sorry, I'm not doing so hot right now…”

“It's okay, I'm here now to take care of you”, she told him, rubbing his arm, and offering a reassuring smile of her own. “Anything you need, okay?”

He mouthed an “okay” before he had to swallow again, feeling his stomach jump, this time he could tell it was from the nerves rather than the nausea. Something about being in a tight space all alone with Lois, no matter how gross the actual situation was, made him anxious.

Those thoughts were quickly banished as she busied herself cracking the bottle open.

“Here, drink. You need to replenish your liquids”, she humored, handing him the water bottle.

Clark mustered a nervous chuckle before he took it, too eager to notice her fingers might've lingered on his for a moment too long. She did note how much they were trembling, though.

“So, how are you feeling?”

“A little better now”, he responded after a small sip, trying to return her good humor, and Lois chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow. “I don't know…”, he gave a more sincere answer this time, resting a hand over his belly. “I feel… hot? and dizzy… and a little… hm, nauseous still.”

Lois hummed, looking at his oversized hand distractedly rubbing his belly, picking up on the bubbling sounds she hadn't before.

“I'm sorry you don't feel good. Food poisoning is never fun”, she cooed, in a tone that should've been mocking but quickly took a side of sympathy. He chuckled too, the bottle's rim still on his lips. “I think you might be overheating in that big sweater, though.”

“You might be right…”, he panted.

Her hand wandered to the rim of his jumper, playing with it before she offered, with a smirk: “Wanna take it off?”

He gulped, then nodded, putting the water bottle down, and raised his arms just enough for her to pull it off.

Without it, he almost looked like another person, his hair was up in spikes, his blue tie was messed up and his glasses were crooked. The white dress shirt he had underneath was nearly see-through, with a couple more buttons threatening to pop off. Lois looked away for a moment, convinced the heat was getting to her as well.

“Better?”

He hummed, while adjusting his glasses and combing his hair down, coming off a little weaker than he meant to. In reality, he was still feeling quite groggy, and his head was pounding, not to mention…

“You don't sound sincere”, she commented, her eyes now fixed to his hand, which in play was fidgeting with the buttons of his undershirt. “Does your belly hurt?”

“A little…”, he started to reply, but as if to punctuate his answer, it gave a low grumble that Lois heard and had to disguise a snort. “Hah, I guess… a lot”

“You're a bad liar, Clark”, she pointed, smirking.

He would have blushed if his face wasn't already a feverish red. Instead, he lowered his eyes and simpered.

“I think we have a hot water bottle somewhere in the break room”, Lois commented after a moment of silence, bumping him in the shoulder to lift his spirits. “It helps a lot with cramps.“

Clark made a noise at the mention of it, a mix between a grumble and a snort that drowned out as he took a swig of water. While it soothed his sore throat, it was getting hard to ignore the way it seemed to slosh inside of him, sitting heavily on top of his undigested meal.

Another noise, one of surprise, escaped him when a small hand came to rest on his cheek. Instead of flinching at the feeling of cold fingers, he nearly melted, putting his hand over hers before she could retrieve it. In turn, Lois widened her eyes at the heat rolling off his skin.

“What are you doing?”, he asked, holding her there.

“Checking if you… have a fever”, she responded, with a mix of surprise and embarrassment at his reaction. His hand completely covered hers. “Can I?”

“Ah, right… Go ahead”, he gave a sheepish look before letting go.

Now flustered, her hand glided up, resting the back of it against his forehead, his once fluffy bangs were flat and soaked in sweat. A soft hiss left her mouth, all that was left was steam to come out, his skin was nearly sizzling, and she didn't even think it was humanly possible.

“Do you think I have a fever?” Clark humored her. “That would explain a lot…”

“Definitely, I don’t even need a thermometer to know”, she half-joked, brushing off a few damp strands of hair. ”You're burning up, and covered in sweat too…”

“Feels really hot in here”, he muttered, growing a little groggy from what she was doing to his hair. “Your hand is cold, feels nice."

Lois gave a small hum, cupping his cheek again, and caressing her thumb over his cheek. He seemed to relax as she did it, closing his eyes and sighing, though his eyebrows were still furrowed, and his throat kept moving.

“I might have an ice bag for you if we go to the break room", she mentioned. “How about it? There's a nice sofa there to rest.”

Clark considered the offer for a second, or rather, the mental image of falling asleep on her lap, he would've said yes then and there. Then he felt his stomach tighten, and was reminded of the nausea swirling in the pits of his stomach.

“I don't know, Lois… I really don't think it's safe with me, guh, like this”, he replied, looking up at her with a frown.

“Aw baby, are you still feeling sick?”, her voice took a more comforting tone as she ran her fingers through his bangs. “Do you think you might throw up?”

“I– I don't know…”, he echoed, swallowing thickly, enough in his mind for him to miss the nickname. “I think…?”

Lois sighed, still holding him, she could feel him letting more and more of his weight onto her, and worried he might be getting weaker. Her eyes wandered down to his collar, where a faulty button left a peek of his chest out, and quickly went back.

“You hadn't eaten much today, have you?”, she asked.

“Just, gulp, half a sandwich since I woke up”, he responded, his expression crumpling in disgust, as if recalling his previous meal wasn't the right move.

“Do you think that might've been it?”, she asked as he pulled away from her, going back to fidgeting with his buttons.

“No…”, his lips trembled as he said, like he was trying not to gag. “I– , had something from the fridge yesterday. I— muRp, excuse me.”

He pressed a fist to his mouth, closing his eyes and swallowing convulsively as he recalled the taste of that horrible tuna sandwich.

Before Lois had the chance to ask anything else, he was crossing his arms over his middle, groaning with nausea. She scooted closer, wrapping an arm around him in a somewhat awkward but still comforting hug. He leaned on her, even if everything in him said to pull away before he vomited all over.

“Ugh… my stomach's churning again”, he moaned, curling into a tight ball. “I really don't want… puke.”

“Well, if you need to”, she told him and heard an airy gulp in response. His face scrunched in what looked like disgust, but it could've been frustration from the way he shook his head. “Hey, I know it's bad, but it's your body's way of helping you through this.”

Clark mused about his options, his expression still pinched in pain. He could feel his stomach bubbling, the bile constantly at the back of his throat, like a boiling pot threatening to spill over. He looked up at her, at the cute frown she had on, and felt guilty worrying her like this.

“Lois, I think you shH— uRp!”, he opened his mouth and his body made the decision for him, letting a wet burp come up without warning. He cupped his mouth, wide-eyed.

Before he even could apologize, he was muffling another into his hand, trying to swallow the acidic saliva flooding over his tongue. Lois, on a calmer note, placed a hand on his back, gently guiding him to lean over the toilet.

“It's okay, just let it happen”, she told him, rubbing slow circles in an attempt to put him more at ease. It didn't seem to be working, she could feel his muscles tensing under her.

Clark was about to ask her to stand outside, he really didn't want her to see him like this, but he didn't seem to have a choice. Hell, they weren't even dating yet, and she was already seeing such a gross side of him.

Groaning, he draped his arm over the seat and hunched over, resting his head on the meat of his wrist. This way his head was mostly inside the toilet, affording him a smidge of privacy. He stared at the clear water below, taking deep careful breaths, feeling his stomach churn, his breakfast working its way up his throat.

“Ngh—”, he whimpered when his abdomen caved in, bringing a weak airy gag and a river of salty saliva to his lips.

It couldn't get worse at least, he told himself. Lois was there, rubbing his back and trying to keep him calm, seemingly unbothered by him being a contagious funk. Clark clenched his eyes shut, tears prickling his eyes, and dry heaved loudly, feeling her flinch at the harsh noise echoing inside the bowl.

“That's it, try to get it up”, Lois urged in a gentle voice, stroking his back as he retched again, louder but unproductive. “Keep going.”

He tried again, sucking in his abdomen and whimpering pitifully when it felt like a punch to the gut instead of the relief of emptying it.

“Easy…”, she instructed, her other hand wandered down, grazing his sore pained tummy over the tight shirt.

Clark shivered as he felt her touch it, letting out another needy whimper that made her pull away.

“I-It's okay, you can, gulp, touch there”, he managed to say before he was gagging again, his voice thick with nausea.

“Ah, got it”, she responded, now sounding flustered. “I’ll be gentle.”

Her hand found his stomach flat under the shirt, humid and warm, clenching in preparation for another harsh dry heave. A soft whistle escaped her lips as she realized she could feel the muscles of his toned abdomen underneath the clammy skin, even his stomach lunging as he gave another, this time wet-sounding heave.

Humming with sympathy, Lois tried to rub her open palm up and down, trailing from his belly button to just below his ribcage, gently kneading into his bruised tummy as she went. The surface felt firm, his stomach was full and bloated underneath. No wonder he was feeling so uncomfortable, there seemed to be a lot in there making him sick.

Her poor boyfriend-to-be let out a queasy moan and belched, the sound turning thick and wet as he forced it out.

“There, try to get it up”, she instructed, patting his belly and widening her eyes as she felt it gurgle underneath her fingertips. That seemed like it did the trick.

“H— urp! EUrGhH!” Clark made a miserable sound as he retched into the bowl, the violent heave turned hauntingly wet as vomit gurgled out of his mouth.

Lois winced as she heard it connect with the water inside the bowl in a sharp splash, hearing him choke up and spit out the rest of it. While that seemed to have been just the liquid he had drank, the strong acrid smell still reached her quickly, making her shift with a slight discomfort.

“There you go, let it out”, she whispered, trying to keep the disgust away from her voice.

Clark dry heaved again and his whole body seemed to follow the motion. His back arched forward, his musculature showing through the damp shirt, shoulders hitching as he strained. She felt his stomach lurch under her palm and braced as he brought up more of his stomach contents in a lengthy surge, some of it spurting out of his nose with a hiss.

He couldn't get a breath in as a second wave came up without warning, sounding thicker on his throat and heavier as it fell into the bowl, making a somewhat soft splatter. Lois didn't want to dwell on what it meant, but from how much he was straining she already had an idea. She could feel his stomach deflating under her fingertips, pumping itself empty.

“There you go, let it all out”, she encouraged him, rubbing his back, to which he responded, or at least tried to, with a weak groan.

“I'm, hrk— s-sorry…”, came the garbled apology, punctuated by harsh gagging.

“Aw, baby… It's alright, don't apologize”, she frowned, tempted to just scoop him up into a hug, but another loud dry heave made her think twice. “You're doing great.”

“No, I'm— urgh, this is so gross…”, he moaned, sounding completely clogged. “You shouldn't have to… hRk, see this, muRp!”

“Aw, Clark, it's okay, really. I don't mind being here with you. I wouldn't just leave you like this either”, she responded, sounding timid as the sentence went on. He, on the other hand, didn't have much time to dwell on it as another flash of hot nausea slammed into him.

Clark could barely keep his eyes open, but at a time like this he was almost thankful, his vision was blurry with unshed tears, which meant he couldn’t see much of the mess he was making. Retching harshly, he choked up another thick stream of his undigested sandwich and stomach juices, feeling the clumps passing through his throat.

He sucked in a greedy gasp of air, choking up another lengthy wave of vomit not a second later. There was so much that for a moment he couldn't breathe as it gushed out his nose, burning through his airways. He coughed violently as it tapered off, noticing the disgusting taste hanging from the tail end. He knew better than to think too much about it, but now he could taste a pull of spoiled fish at the end.

“EuRrGhH!”, he moaned, mustering a third consecutive wave before he was left panting so hard his lungs were whistling in his throat.

“Hey, remember to breathe”, Lois told him, but Clark seemed too caught up in his own misery to take her advice.

It felt like his stomach was trying to turn itself out. He clenched his eyes shut, tears of exertion gathering on his eyelashes, his throat still working through the last bits of vomit.

“Breathe…”, she instructed him, her hand still on his stomach, grounding him.

Clark lunged forward, nearly losing his grip as a harsh retch tore out of him, choking up a trickle of viscous bile into the toilet. He kept gagging for a solid minute, runny puke dribbling inside the toilet as his stomach continued to wrang itself empty, trying to get rid of any traces of that disgusting sandwich he had eaten yesterday.

A moment or two passed of Lois shushing him while he continued to heave weakly, the involuntary motions growing more sparse. It felt like his stomach was finally empty, even though it kept clenching, leaving his abdomen sore.

“Think you're done, big guy?”, she said, patting his back.

“Mrgh… hm-hmm”, he made a pained noise before humming, though it still took another minute before he felt confident enough to raise his head.

His face was an utter mess of orangish-brown vomit, drool and snot hanging from his nose and lips in thick slimy ropes, some of it coating his chin. He instinctively brought a cupped hand under it, trying to keep the mess from dripping on his shirt, but Lois was quicker, handing him a handful of rolled paper.

“Think you got it all out?”, she asked sheepishly, while he blew his nose.

“Think so…”, he rasped, his voice completely shot.

“Um, here, rinse your mouth out”, she instructed, bringing the water bottle to his lips and tipping it so he could take a sip. ”You don't have to swallow, just to get the taste out.”

After he swished and spat out, she flushed the toilet, glancing at the swirling vomit inside and grimacing. She could make out bits of green lettuce among the murky orange mess, and lowered the lid before she had the chance to see anything else.

Turning her gaze back to him, she found his junior intern sitting there like a lost kid, misty-eyed and sniffling, staring at the ground through half-lids. His color hadn’t improved much, in fact, he looked more green than pale now, with a feverish blush still burning on his cheeks.

“Hey?”, she called, waving her hand in front of him. He raised his head weakly, blinking. “Are you alright now? Still feeling nauseous?”

“Huh? No, I… think I'm empty now", he responded, though that didn't exactly respond to the question. His stomach was settled now, though it felt sore, like he had just done the worst workout of his life.

“That's good, I think? At least you got out whatever was making you sick”, she commented, to which he had to put a hand to his mouth, covering a gag. “You must have a pretty weak immune system, huh? I mean, you were last week too.”

“O-Oh, yeah, I was, yeah”, he feigned a chuckle, recalling the lie he had told her, when he needed to fly back home. His face quickly dropped. “Lois, I'm sorry you had to see this, I really didn't know what to—”

“Clark, it's okay, really. You don't have to apologize for being sick, or for needing help. None of it is your fault. I'm here, okay? For whatever you need”, she silenced him, cupping his cheek again. A small smile played on his lips, before he nodded, finally convinced. “Now, do you think we can go? It's not exactly hygienic to be on a restroom floor.”

“Ah! Y-Yeah, you're right“, he chuckled, putting his hands on his knees as he struggled to his feet. Lois followed, lending him a shoulder to lean on.

“Come on, big guy. If you play your cards right, I might even make you some chicken noodle soup when we get to your place”, she said playfully.

“Wait, really? That does sound good”, he replied, blue eyes sparkling with a naive and hopeful look.

“We'll see”, she smirked. “But now, what you need is to lay down and rest.”

He didn't argue, looking forward to the possibility of falling asleep on her lap, to her small fingers brushing through his hair, to her scent. At least there was some good to be taken out of this situation.

#emetophilia #tw emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #m.y a.dventures w.ith s.uperman #m/y a/dventures w/ith s/uperman #c.lark k.ent #c/lark k/ent #l.ois l.ane #l/ois l/ane #sick at work #dana//writing #dana//emeto fic #my writing #tw vomit #emeto art #fever whump #stomach ache whump #male sickie

119 notes · View notes