#belly flu

[tumbluuurp]

Walking by a bathroom door and hearing someone on the other side having explosive, splattering, liquid diarrhea…

I feel so terribly for them. I’ve tried not to listen but they’ve been… going for several minutes now. We’re in a cafeteria setting and I think the abandoned tray with a bowl of broccoli cheddar soup, Texas toast and sausage is theirs.

Poor dear is obviously not feeling well and even worse, a line is forming outside their door. It doesn’t sound like they’ll be vacating the restroom anytime soon, though.

[boysbellyrubs]

hi! I love your work, if you don't mind could you make a sickfic where a male character of your liking mistake a stomach flu as motion sickness, because he's in a car/airplane/boat. Thank you.

Sorry for making you wait so long for this. I'm finally free of exams so I had time to write this, it's kinda short and rushed but I hope you enjoy :)

--

The drive to Queenstown had always been known to cause motion sickness. The twisty roads stuck high up against the hills were a recipe for disaster. Caine felt himself sliding around in the passenger seat, trying desperately to stare at one spot outside the car. 

“Feeling okay?” Quinn asked. The car's radio turned down as Quinn took notice of Caine’s silence. Monitoring each other on the drive was something they had agreed on before they left, knowing how treacherous the trip was going to be. Caine didn’t want to think about when he would have to drive back, the thought of plummeting face first down the cliff made his insides curdle. 

His inside curdled on their own though. The roads curved and wrapped around his stomach, sending ominous gurgles and neon warning signs lit up in his head. Caine cringed inwards, hating the queasy feeling nestled deep in his belly, it made his head spin and his eyes water. 

Quinn tried again, “Caine? I asked if you were okay.” 

“Feeling a little queasy.” He mumbled, arms squeezing across his middle. His boyfriend groaned a little. 

“I’m sorry, hon, but we’ve got a ways to go before we get to some flat. Can you hold out until then?” 

Caine really wanted to say no. But, Quinn was right. It was impossible for them to pull over. He nodded but a small whimper left his lips. It felt like his brain was sliding around inside his skull, bouncing against bone and spinning up his eyeballs. He looked directly forward, breathing heavily through his nose. Quinn silently turned up the air con, an icy blast of air hit Caine square in the face. 

As they drove on, Caine found a good spot on the horizon for his eyes to rest. He ignored the speeding images of other cars and green hills beside him. A cramp tore up his middle, gurgling angrily at him. Every breath he took caused another fresh wave of nausea to rise up. 

“Do you need a bag or something?” Quinn said, eyes focused on the road. Even though Caine was clearly suffering, driving them off into the depths of the mountains was a lot worse. “There’s one in the glove box.” 

Caine shakily reached for it. He knew it was coming, he just didn’t know when. He closed his eyes at the uncomfortable feeling, hating the suspense and the build up of bubbly nausea brewing inside him. With some more shaky breaths he lowered his legs from their curled up position and let himself sit in misery, plastic bag crumpled up in his grasp. 

The sun was beaming into the car, the noon brightness causing his eyebrows to crease. The air conditioner was suddenly useless. Caine felt himself sweating under his layers but shivering like a leaf. He opened up the bag a bit, letting out a breath through his mouth. 

He could barely talk. “Quinn, I really don’t feel good.” It was a struggle to even open his mouth. Caine was terrified any indication of an escape would send his stomach hurtling into the bag. 

“I know, honey. Maybe ten more minutes.” Caine didn’t think he’d be able to last that long. No matter how hard he tried, the car’s movement was something he couldn’t just ignore. He felt his jaw clench, aching with the beginning of the end. His stomach chose that moment to cramp. 

“Oh, fuck me.” This was one of the worst experiences of his life. Trapped inside with only a plastic bag to calm his fears. His stomach lurched. Caine’s back arched and he dropped his head into the bag, hovering over his knees like he was elderly. The sudden movement made his vision swim. He was the picture of miserable. 

His shaky hands wrapped tightly around the handles as his stomach let go. A throaty heave brought up a mouthful, cutting off his air supply with little warning. He gagged again as the ache inside his stomach tripled. The entire atmosphere of the car changed, it felt like he was floating through space as another heave assaulted him. 

Caine’s mouth was wide open, desperate for a breath of air, but vomit won the battle. The sweat on his brow dripped into the bag. He felt disgusting. He could vaguely hear Quinn’s voice. Caine desperately needed to hold his belly, hating the way it contracted and heaved. The car took a sharp turn. Caine’s stomach took its own turn and pivoted up to his throat, another rolling gag made him spit up hot acidic vomit. He groaned at the feeling, his throat scratchy. 

The sharp turn however was Quinn finally being able to pull over. The car's engine rumbled quiet and Caine lifted his head just a bit to see the rolling countryside of the vineyards in his view. Well, if there was any place to get violently sick, it was Queenstown. 

His door opened and Quinn’s voice finally was loud enough to be heard over the blood in his ears. He guided Caine outside, clinging to his arms. “Take some deep breaths baby.” 

Caine’s legs were shaking. “Can I sit down?” 

“Oh, yeah, yeah. There you go, just relax.” He still had the bag in his hands. Caine imagined the sloshing to be what his stomach was doing. Despite being outside and stationary, his belly still tossed and turned. He moaned, wrapping one of his arms around it. There was a light breeze around them, drying his sweat and making him shiver. Quinn’s arms never let go. 

A few moment of rest was all he was allowed. Right outside a beautiful winery, Caine felt his stomach cramp again and he belched thickly into the bag. Saliva gathered quickly inside his mouth. His cheeks filled up with vomit and he coughed it up. With no time to breath, another gag made his shoulders roll forward and he burped up more, shaking at the force. 

Quinn’s steady hand rested on his back, and the other pushed up the hair that was beginning to stick to his forehead. That hand however, stilled when he touched skin. Quinn hummed as he held his hand there. “Are you sure this is motion sickness, Caine?” 

His answer was anything but coherent. Caine’s mind was burning and his grip on reality was faltering. 

“I think you have a fever, my love,” His hand moved to his neck, knuckles gently grazing under his jaw. “You’re very warm.”

Caine didn’t want to believe it. A nice trip ruined because of him. “I don’t even know where I picked this up though.” His voice was shot. Desperately tired and violently cold, Caine leaned into Quinn’s body, tucking his head down. The other just wrapped his arms around him. Cars whizzed past, probably wondering what the hell they were doing, but Caine needed the support. He was dizzy as fuck, feeling like the ground underneath was swaying like the ocean. 

“How are you feeling now?” Quinn tried after a few minutes of silence. Caine shrugged his shoulders, exhaustion outweighing everything else he was feeling. He put his hands onto his belly. 

“I think we can go. I’m freezing out here.” 

“Okay, hold on to me, okay,” Quinn got him standing. They slowly walked back to the car and Quinn handed him a new sick bag. “Found this in the backseat. If you want me to pull over just say so.” He brushed back Caine’s hair again, subtly checking the fever. Caine was so weak his head fell back against the seat as a result. He closed his eyes at the feather light touches along his cheeks and around the delicate skin of his eyes. 

A soft kiss was placed at the tip of his nose. 

“Not too far to go. Then you can sleep away this nasty bug.” Quinn’s hand patted his stomach and then buckled him in. 

The drive from then on was quite smooth, no longer winding and dangerous. Caine dozed for most of it, waking up only to cramps or to burp up vomit into the bag. The lethargy that usually came with stomach bugs was too strong though, making his bones ache and his muscles weak. Getting out of the car again stirred up his nausea once again and an embarrassing few gags filled the silence in the elevator. 

However, once they finally made it to the room, Caine collapsed onto the bed and let Quinn fuss over him. Belly rubs and kisses made his body shut down, falling into sleep as he let his body battle the sickness.  --

Some New Zealand scenery for ya'll. Thankfully I don't get sick when I go on this road lmao.

[bellysoupset]

I cannot find the ask who requested for sick Wendy + Bella caretaker, so maybe it never existed at all.... Anyway, have some pure sick bromance between my girls.

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

"You think I should cut it?" Bella frowned at her reflection, glaring at her hair. She was standing inside of the changing room of the store, in just a swimsuit, so Wendy could help her pack for honeymoon.

"Your beautiful lion mane?" Wendy scoffed, curling up on the puff she was sitting on and absently minded going through the rack of reject bikinis standing next to her, "are you crazy?"

"Sometimes I feel like it stands out more than I do," Bella pouted, hands on her waist and then sighed, tugging on the swimsuit, "so what do you think?"

"I liked the blue one more," Wendy studied her from head to toe, "but I also think you're going to give Luke a stroke."

Bella opened a big, smug smile, looking over her shoulder to stare at her ass in the mirror, "good, then I'm taking it as well," she walked over to the private part of the changing rooms in order to get back in her clothes, "so how's the extra class you were gonna start taking coming along?"

"Which one of them?" Wendy asked, getting up and checking the price tag of a cute little pink bikini with a matching skirt.

"How many classes are you taking!?" Bella opened the curtain of her changing part, unbothered by the fact she was just in her bra and panties, "aren't you also doing the neurology residency!?"

"Well, you see, I have a lot of free time," Wendy shrugged, "and a lot of energy."

"You should join my boxing class then," Bella zipped up her black leather pants, "Jonah's there and I'm kicking his ass."

"No, you're not," Wendy giggled at the transparent lie, "no coach would ever match you up with Jonah, Bell, he's huge."

"Please," Bella rolled her eyes, putting on her band t-shirt and grabbing her purse as well as the picked swimsuits and bikinis, "I could kick his ass, I know I could," she walked over to Wendy and grabbed the smaller woman by her shoulders, "come up for a class."

"I'll think about it," Wendy wrinkled her nose in distaste. A gym wasn't exactly her idea of fun. Sure, she did hot yoga, but there was none of the loud upbeat music and shouting at each other to do more and better.

"So what else are you studying then, Tink?" Bella walked to the cashier part. Wendy handed her the piece she was planning to buy for herself when her friend flashed Luke's black card before her eyes with raised eyebrows, wordlessly putting it on his tab and Bell didn't comment besides snorting at it.

"Interior Design classes every Monday and Thursdays, yoga every Saturday morning, fashion drawing every Tuesday night... I wanted to try ballroom dancing, but my partner is in freaking Doveport and Jon said he already knows and it would be no fun."

Bella wrinkled her nose and shook her head when Wendy opened her mouth as if to ask her, "absolutely not."

"Boo," Wendy sighed, "I think we should take some class together, it'd be cool. Babs is in my hot yoga class and it's a lot of fun."

"Sure," Bella picked up the bags and they started to walk out of the door, "but not ballroom dancing, thank you. I'm actually participating in a coding challenge right now and-"

"A coding challenge," Wendy raised her eyebrows, "what's that?" They walked the short distance between the store and Wen's apartment building.

"Basically I have to try and design a mockup app with the monthly theme," Bella explained and Wendy frowned at that.

"I thought that was your job...?"

"No," Bell followed her inside the elevator, "I'm a backend developer, a frontend does the design and thinks the interface, I do the math that makes it work. But I like UI design, so that's why-"

"God, you're so nerdy," Wendy grumbled, resting against the metal and grimacing slightly as the movement made her stomach lurch, "I can't believe you didn't get shoved into lockers when you were younger, Bell."

The ginger rolled her eyes, "that's because I was always hot," she showed the other woman her tongue like a five year old, running a hand through her curls and then frowning, noticing Wendy's face had lost its usual pink tone.

Bella opted for not saying anything and they kept chatting, walking into Wendy's apartment. However, the longer they talked, the more Bell realized she was the one doing most of the talking, Wendy getting quieter and quieter.

"Wen," Bella pouted, after spending a good thirty minutes talking basically on her own, "do you want me to go? I don't need to spend the night if you're tired-"

"No!" Wendy exclaimed, shaking her head and moving on her spot on the couch, "sorry, no, I don't want you to leave. We planned you'd spend the night, I was looking forward to that, it's just-"

"It's just?" Bell leaned in, confused and Wendy grimaced, moving again as if she couldn't find a comfortable position, "what's wrong, Wen?"

"My stomach is bothering me," Wendy's cheeks turned a deep shade of red, "I don't know what's wrong, I know I didn't eat anything off, but it's all gurgly and kinda crampy."

"Oh," Bella raised her eyebrows, "do you think it could be hunger?"

Wendy shook her head, "no, definitely not hunger, I feel a little queasy..." she pouted, hugging her knees, "I'm sorry, its just my stomach- I- It's a bit of a sore topic."

"Your belly?" Bella frowned, more confused than before, "you feeling sick to your stomach is a sore topic?"

Wendy nodded, pouting and resting her cheek to her knee, "yeah..."

"Why?" Bella crawled on the couch, moving closer, "because you're chubby? That's silly, babe-"

"No," Wen scoffed, before pausing, "I mean, sorta? I used to have issues with my weight back when I was a teen, which led to becoming bulimic and, well, I don't have an eating disorder anymore, but every time I feel like I'm gonna barf, it makes me feel disgusting-"

"Okay," Bella raised a hand to interrupt her, "your order of priorities is a little skewered, Wen. You should've started by telling me you think you're going to puke..." she opened a small, amused smile, "let's go sit in the bathroom, c'mon."

"No," Wendy curled up more, "I'm fine, it's gonna pass- You're not gonna say anything about..?" she raised a judgmental eyebrow and Bell shrugged, standing up from the couch.

"I don't have anything to say," she said in a nonchalant manner, "I'm happy you don't do it anymore...?"

Wendy let out a snort, noticing how uncomfortable Bella seemed being in the emotional caretaker role. She rolled her eyes, "okay, Bells," but the humor quickly vanished, as her lunch flipped yet again. Wendy let out a sigh, curling up in a smaller ball, "I feel gross."

"You're not," Bella patted her head, "c'mon, let's go sit in the bathroom before you ruin your pretty rug."

Wendy didn't have the heart to tell Bell that sitting in the bathroom waiting to throw up really made her feel more awful, not less. She fidget uncomfortably as Bella rummaged through her cabinet drawers until she found a good claw clip to pull Wen's hair back.

Then she sat down as well on the cold ground and planted a hand on Wendy's back, "you feel a little warm, Wen."

"Isn't that just grand," Wendy groaned, leaning forward and staring at the still water of the toilet. She pushed away, fanning herself, "can you go sit in the living room? I don't want you to see me like this..."

"Nope," Bella popped the P at the end of the word, pulling Wendy to lie against her, "sucks for you, but I'm not going anywhere. Come here- Come here-" Bell pulled her closer, draped across her lap and planted a hand on Wendy's unsettled tummy, "I do this for Luke all the time and it helps."

"That's because your husband is an overgrown puppy, I'm not," Wendy groaned, but she couldn't help but melt at the soft touch. Even if her whole face was aflame, Bella was being really delicate, moving her fingers to the sorest spots as if she already knew them by memory.

The ginger slid down slightly, muffling a yawn and pressing the heel of her hand to Wendy's tummy. The pale skin was pushing out, bloated, and every time Bell pressed it she could feel a string of gurgles under her fingers, traveling up-

"Oh, you silly idiot," Bella scoffed, flicking at Wendy's ear, "the belly rub doesn't help if you don't burp. That's the entire point of it!"

"You're killing me," Wendy groaned, pressing her face to Bell's leg and hiding the angry blushing overtaking her cheeks. Bella snorted at that, continuing the rub.

"I'm trying to help," she whispered, "tell me know if I'm making it worse."

"Not worse," Wendy squirmed, then a burp rushed up before she could muffle it and she let out a whine at the loud noise, covering her face, "oh God- I'm sorry-"

"You're so silly," Bella chuckled, "that's nothing, Wen.”

Wendy cringed, pressing her face further to Bella’s thigh and continuing to burp, trying to muffle them. The burps, that at first were making her feel better, got progressively wetter, until one brought her lunch with it and Wendy scrambled up, slapping a hand over her lips and rushing for the toilet. 

She didn’t vomit, it went back down, but left her feeling shaky, nausea causing cold sweat to break on her forehead and over her upper lip, flooding her mouth with a horrible taste. 

“Wen,” Bell planted a hand in the middle of her back, “what do you need? What’s wrong?”

Wendy groaned, lifting herself slightly so she could press her sick stomach against the porcelain and resting her forehead on her hand, elbow on the seat, “can’t puke… Wanna puke, I feel-” she spat again, the act of speaking causing more saliva to come up, “feel sick…”

“Okay,” Bells continued to rub her back, short nails making a scratching motion, “do you think drinking something might help it come up?”

She felt so horrid, talking about vomiting like that. Wendy nodded, before letting out a groan, almost a sob. Not quite crying, but close. At least this time it wasn’t her fault she was sick, silver linings. 

“Babe,” Bella sighed, returning from the bathroom sink with a glass of water, “hey, you’re okay, it’s just a stomach bug. Happens to everyone…” 

Wendy took the glass with shaky, sweaty fingers and forced herself to gulp it down. The first sip was actually good, pushing back the horrible taste and the stickiness in her mouth, only for the throat to seemingly close up, tongue curling with disgust, making it incredibly hard for the to swallow more-

“Fuck,” Wendy haphazardly shoved the glass in Bella’s general direction, not even sure if she took it or not before letting go and her whole back arching with a violent heave. Nothing came up, but it set off a chain reaction, her belly squeezing before she could catch her breath and another two gags, until a wet burp brought up a huge gush of half digested french fries and a milkshake.

The sheer volume made her feel like she was drowning and Wendy coughed, hacking again and letting out a string of moans as even more puke rushed up, splashing on her fingers, and making her head swim with the lack of oxygen.

“I got you, I got you,” Bella said softly, cupping her forehead and flushing the toilet, helping Wendy lean over it, “get it up, Tink, you’ll feel better soon.”

“Urgh,” Wendy spat in the now clear swirling water, struggling to breathe. Her nose was stinging and it felt blocked, she felt cold all over… “Can I have more- More wa-” she never did finish that sentence, her stomach contracting violently and more puke rushed up, this time actually choking her. 

Wendy folded almost completely with a coughing fit, feeling Bell thump her back and force her to straighten up in order to clear her airways, “big breaths, babe,” Bella tipped her chin back, forcing Wendy to look up, and some clear air to make it through. 

The smaller girl groaned as oxygen came back, her spine giving up on her and she fell back, only for Bella to grab her by the wrists and stop her from swan diving and hitting her head against the porcelain. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck — Hey, Wen? You with me?”

“Uhm,” Wendy closed her eyes, dizzy and nauseous, still gulping for air. She leaned to the left, her cheek meeting something soft, so Wen let her weight drop against it, “feel…” a little burp interrupted her, “really shitty.”

She heard Bella let out a relieved sigh at her being responsive, then the ginger’s hands on her face, something wet wiping her lips and chin. Wendy frowned, a new wave of humiliation washing over her, “don’t do that…”

“Shush it,” Bell scoffed, pulling her to lie against her, “you’re done? Surely you must be empty…”

“Don’t know…” Wen mumbled, planting a hand to her tummy. Bella had pushed up her top and it was still up, which made Wendy feel even worse. She must be a sight. Under her hand, there was a string of bubbles and gurgles, rushing up and causing her to let out a little sickly burp, “don’t feel done.”

“There ain’t no way,” Bella scoffed, but there was an amused tone to her words, “well, okay, do you want to just wait it out here or-”

Wendy forced her eyes open, feeling more than a little dizzy. It took her a second to realize she was pressed against Bella’s side, her cheek against her friend’s boob, causing her whole face to turn pink with embarrassment. She pulled back, then leaned forward over the toilet once more and shoved a finger inside her mouth, only for Bella to yank at her hand. 

“No, absolutely not,” Bella’s voice was harsh now, none of the previous lighthearted air, “you’re not doing that.”

“I don’t feel good…” Wendy whined, spitting in the water, “I want it out…”

“I don’t care, you’re not doing that,” Bella scoffed, then in a calmer tone she said, “let me rub your tummy, okay? Maybe it’ll help.” 

“No, Bell, I-” Wendy heaved, a mouthful of watery vomit falling in the water and leaving her panting, “I need to puke, my stomach feels sour and like it’s burning…” 

“Alright,” Bella had a practical tone that caused Wendy to groan, like she was a little engineering problem for her friend to solve. The ginger got behind her, pushing the glass of water back to Wendy, “big gulps.”

“Not- Not gonna-”

“Big gulps,” Bella repeated, voice firm, “c’mon, Wendy.”

Wendy sighed, blowing out another airy burp and then forcing herself to drink the rest of the water. It landed in her stomach like acid, causing more of the burning sensation that tickled her throat and Wendy groaned, leaning more-

Bella touched her belly, her fingers no longer that soft, pressing the heel of her hand to Wendy’s bloated upper stomach, right where it rounded out of her rib cage. The pressure caused a gurgly burp to come up and Wen moaned, squeezing the toilet seat with both hands, as Bell continued to literally squeeze her tummy. 

She couldn’t breathe properly, making a slightly wheezy sound, and then her stomach contracted once more, sharply, and Wendy moaned her way as another gush exploded out of her mouth. This time it was mostly sour, salty water, but the first gush opened the gates for the rest and she continued to gag, puking little mouthfuls of chunkier stuff, until she finally let out a deafening heave, whole back curling as her stomach forced up the last of it.

Wendy groaned, her knees giving in and she felt Bella wrap her up with an arm, flushing the toilet, “there you go,” the ginger pressed a kiss to the top of her head and Wendy would have started crying, if she wasn’t half convinced she already was. 

She whimpered, pushing her face against Bella’s stomach and falling into an awkward position across the woman’s lap. Bell seemed unbothered, combing her fingers through Wendy’s hair, then moving her hand to her tummy.

“How are you feeling?”

“Pathetic, disgusting, horrible-”

Bella glared at her, “that’s all bull,” she said sharply, “I wanna know how’s your belly.”

“Ah… Better. Not settled,” Wendy sighed, curling up her knees, “I think it’s the flu.”

“I think it’s the flu too,” Bell agreed, “you’re really warm. Think you can stand up? You need to get out of these clothes and into bed.”

“Not now,” Wendy mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut when shaking her head no caused the bathroom to blur, “I’m sorry you had to-”

“Madre de Dio, Wendy!” Bella cried out, “babe, you didn’t gross me out or whatever, just stop fucking apologize. It’s fine, you got sick, that happens.”

Wendy let out a whine, forcing her eyes open, all feverish and emotional and wanting to die, “you don’t think I’m gross? I mean, I-”

“Wendy,” Bella grabbed her cheeks, forcing their eyes to meet, “what world do you live in where we’re running beauty contests on the bathroom floor?”

The phrase caused Wendy to let out a chuckle, pulling back and forcing herself to sit up. She wiped at her forehead, desperately wanting out of her the clothes that were sticking to her, “I guess.”

“You guess,” Bella repeated, dryly and rolling her eyes, “that’s a ten for Wendy Marshall for puking her guts up with class and elegance, minor sobbing and almost no mess.”

Wendy’s cheeks caught on fire and she glared at her friend, “shut up, Bella.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Bell scoffed, getting up and extending her hand to help her up, “c’mon, let's get you in a shower and then in bed.”

[jurassicsickfics]

I can't be the only one who loves it when a character is pictured in their bed; I love to imagine them lying there sick. Sniffly or pukey I don't care, it's all cute💝😊

[aching-tummies]

As I lift the glass of tea to your lips I can tell your tummy is extremely bloated and full. Even still your throat aches so much you need the tea to feel any relief. Drink up babe you'll feel better soon. Every gulp fills your tummy a little more until your drink the last sip. I know your full but we still have half a teapot to go

I'm so, so, so sorry for the long wait. I adore this ask and I've loved it since I received it and have been trying to craft a response to do it justice for weeks. Thank you so, so much. You have no idea how much this post has sustained me through some busy times.

I think this was sent in as a response to the various sickness prompts? One and Two?

Sidenote...as I was finishing this response up and putting it together to post, my belly is literally giving off liquidy gurgles as though in response. As I mentioned in my "Appreciation Post and News" post, life has been kicking my butt lately. More stress, busy-busy, and various other factors have created the perfect environment for an oldie--stressy, upset tummy. I spent all day with my stomach feeling 'off'. I ate late-night instant noodles last night--that were undercooked 'cuz the water I used wasn't quite hot enough, but I was too tired to fix it at 2AM. So I woke up with an already upset tummy from the improperly prepared cup-noodle fermenting in my belly for the three hours or so that I slept. Got up and ran errands. I skipped breakfast but could feel hunger budding and pushing against the indigestion plaguing my belly. I opted for a 2-item box with fried rice from a food court 'cuz they were the only establishment up and running in the mall that was serving hot, non-burger, food. My belly was a bit unsettled at the strange food 'cuz I usually don't eat at those places. After that, I tried walking off the upset...which helped a little...until relatives decided to drag us to an impromptu 'dim sum' experience about three hours into my walk. For those that don't know, dim-sum can get pretty oily. I drank at least a full tea pot's worth of tea on my own, trying to avoid eating more oily food while still making it look like I was part of the dining experience. We got some milk tea boba from a place that always upsets my tummy (I think it's the dairy they use) and at home I ate a lot of watermelon because we needed to make space in the fridge for leftovers from the dim sum. My stomach feels all sloshy and I guess the oily fare is interacting with the tea and watermelon to further upset the works. My stomach hasn't stopped rumbling and letting out really wet gurgles since I sat down to write this.

Anyway...enough with the tangent--the response to this lovely ask is under the cut. Sorry, I feel like it's a bit too short, but I don't know where I could go from here.

I groan as I swallow convulsively around a wet belch. My belly burbles angrily and I close my eyes at the shiver-like sensations rippling through my liquid-filled belly. I turn away from the still-steaming mug of tea you're holding to my lips, shaking my head and cursing the surge of too-warm liquid lapping up my esophagus at the movement.

“C'mon. Drink up, babe. I know your throat hurts--you'll feel better soon, but you need to drink more to get there.”

I shake my head again, cradling my belly with both of my hands as it churns and sloshes uncomfortably within me. I feel like an over-filled water-balloon on the verge of rupturing. My belly is visibly distended. It doesn't look like much, but I've spent the last six days with a reduced appetite due to sickness and have not kept up with meals in those six days. As sick as the idea of eating anything makes me feel, I lament the fact that there's nothing substantial in my belly. Even a humble slice of bread would probably have soaked up a little of what feels like litres upon litres of broth and tea my sickly form is straining to contain.

“C'mon, babe. Down the hatch!” You urge, tipping the mug against my lips.

My belly lets out a watery burble as I swallow the torrent of tea, groaning as the queasiness and nausea increase tenfold with the last three gulps. I swear, I can feel my stomach swell, the stretch growing tighter right around my ribs. A steak crammed into a sausage-casing—that's how my stomach-organ feels at the moment—a large, tender, bloated piece of viscera that's rapidly outgrowing its surroundings.

“Nnngh...n-no more...oooh...urrrp...t-too full...” I wince as I try to form audible words against my sore throat. I bring a hand up to rub at my throat as my other one braces against the sloshing of my churning tummy. I don't want to feel like an overfilled balloon anymore, but I also don't want to puke. Even watered-down, there's still stomach-acid in the mess and the idea of it burning my irritated throat on the way out fills me with dread.

I paw at your arm as I see you lean forward on the couch, getting up to refill the mug, no doubt. I shake my head frantically, hoping you'll get the message. I swallow back against an extremely wet hiccup and cradle my belly again.

“I know you're full, but we're only halfway through the tea. You gotta keep your fluids up.” You admonish, running your fingers through my hair as you pass on your way to the kitchen.

My stomach gurgles loudly—a pitiful sound as it turns over itself. I knead gently into it, willing the liquid to shift somehow, to leave my stomach and maybe saturate my intestines instead of painfully inflating my stomach-organ. I stopped producing meaningful belches about two mugs ago. What's been coming up since has been more like attempts at a dam breaking than actual belches. There's not really much room for air pockets as you've thoroughly saturated my insides with plenty of liquid.

[tumbluuurp]

Getting ready for work and feeling my insides slosh around uncomfortably.

I really hope my tummy can keep everything down/not become a runny tummy but based on what everyone’s saying about this belly bug, it’s doubtful.

Taking a sick day isn’t an option- but hopefully the day goes smoothly and no one’s tummy betrays them.

Ooooh, my tum is starting to grumble.

[boysbellyrubs]

Can we get Alistair with the stomach flu 🙏🙏

thanks for the ask, another anon also asked for this so here you go :)

—-

Alistair was used to getting stomach aches; he often ate food that he knew would upset his stomach, ate too much, or just was chosen that day to suffer with a tummy ache. He was very brave about it, okay! However, bravery was lost for this stomach ache. Along with an achy belly, he was feeling lightheaded, sweaty, nauseous and couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. There was no doubt about the fact that he was definitely sick.

He was unsure where he would have picked up a stomach bug. It could have been from stress, as right now his drama class were preparing for their annual production and he was one of the lead roles. The line learning stage had passed, but they were still touching up some of the blocking on some scenes, which meant he was focusing very hard to quickly write everything down before the director moved on. As he was writing, he could physically feel his pencil slipping in his grip; his sweaty hands making writing nearly impossible.

The others around him were already finished writing in their notes when he looked up, and were staring at him. He felt his insides curdle.

“Sorry, butter fingers today.” He joked. Most of the cast giggled a little, but the director was giving him a stern look. Alistair needed to pull himself together, he only had another hour to go. He could do this.

The scene played out more, and Alistair was now giving one of his monologues. He tried his best to not look down at his script, and project to the audience. Nikau was down there, watching him while he waited for his part. Alistair’s couldn’t help but move his eyes over to him, smiling and looking proud of his boyfriend.

“Alistair! Focus please, we need to see more emotion. It sounds like you’re reading from the script.” The director yelled, cutting off his words. He looked over to her, the room spinning. He stumbled a bit,

“Yep.” He quickly said, trying to keep his stomach in place. Standing up for so long was terrible for his head, his feet weren’t his own and he swore the stage lights were making little figure eight movements. Alistair looked down, desperately trying to compose himself. He wasn't about to have a ‘Pitch Perfect’ moment.

Thankfully, he got through his monologue without any more issues and he was allowed a break. He rushed off stage, one hand sitting gingerly on his belly and the other carding through his sweaty hair. Alistair felt like he was dying, the air around him was too warm and suffocating, the smell of old costumes and props filled his nostrils and he nearly gagged. Without even thinking, he went out the backstage door and into the carpark, breathing heavily through his nose.

The fresh air did wonders for his head, but now the smell of petrol and rubbish replaced the mothball stench and he doubled over with a hearty heave. Nothing came up. His chest seized and a cough sputtered out of his mouth. Alistair had to stabilise himself on the wall next to him, forehead meeting the cold concrete. Stomach now worked up, he felt his lunch bubble and churn inside him, desperate to be out.

He moaned, “Fuckk,” rubbing his stomach did little, he was going to throw up in this grotty car park like a drunk, “Where’s Nikau when I need him.”

Alistair was swallowing thickly and rapidly, holding back burps and gags like his life depended on it. The cool wall was doing little for his scorching fever and he forced himself to crouch down as the nausea ramped up to a 10. He whined, saliva gathering in his mouth. It hit him in an instant; a burp and then a loud gag and suddenly his lunch was splattered in front of him. When the first lot came out, it prompted everything else to and soon enough he was spitting up more vomit.

It burned his throat and chest, and his gags were throaty and knocked him off his feet. His knees hit the ground harshly, and he quickly caught himself with his hands, splashing into the puddle of vomit. He lost control and coughed up another round, disgusted with himself and the mess he was making. He wondered if any passersby were staring at him. Alistair groaned at his stomach churning, still nauseous and angry despite most of his lunch being in front of his face.

At least he had crouched down first before he got sick, with the way his head was spinning he didn’t think he would have been able to stand up properly. He was also thankful it was cloudy today; having the sun shining down on his overheating body would have tipped him over the edge.

Alistair spat a little before sitting back on his feet. His hands were splattered with sick, and he shook them a little before letting them sit palm up on his thighs. He was a pitiful sight. He swore he was swaying on the spot, ground sloshing around like the bile in his tummy. He thought about going back inside, but then made eye contact with his vomit soaked knees and thought maybe it was better to just stay out here. Perhaps he would die out here, covered in vomit. God what a sight that would be.

His stomach gurgled. It was still very upset and hurt like a bitch. Alistair threw his head back, closing his eyes as the cramp tore through his body. A lone raindrop landed on his forehead. Well, at least the rain could clean up his mess easily. More rain fell and soon Alistair was just sitting out in the rain, sick and tired. His classmates were probably wondering what he was doing. He didn’t really care. He just needed his bed, and maybe his boyfriend.

His boyfriend. Nikau was definitely wondering where he had gone. Alistair’s phone was in his back pocket, and with now semi clean hands he pulled it out. He flicked a text to Nikau and waited. The door flew open, hurting Alistair’s head. But then, he saw Nikau crouching down next to him, touching him all over and wiping away some of the hair stuck to his face.

“Oh my gosh, Star, have you been out here this whole time?” He looked at the remnants of vomit on the concrete, “Oh, jeez. I had a feeling. You didn’t look so good on stage.”

Alistair looked at him, giving a small smile, “Yeah. Feel awful,” His stomach chose that moment to gurgle and cramp again, and he winced. The rain was now starting to make him shiver, and he was pissed that his jeans were now wet, “Can you take me home?” Nikau nodded and muttered ‘yes’ before gently lifting Alistair up.

“You’ve got a bad fever, sweetheart. You’re like a heater.”

“Yeah.” He leaned into Nikau, using Nikau’s steps to make his own. He kept his eyes closed, needing the darkness to not throw up again. He heard the whispers of his classmates and tried his best to focus on Nikau’s hands.

He opened his eyes and recognised the carpet of the audience seating, and waited for Nikau to gather up all their stuff. The director came over to the two.

“Alistair? Where have you been?” She looked him up and down, noticing his saturated clothes.

Alistair shuffled his feet sheepishly, “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling very well Miss. I need to head home.” He said those words and she took a couple steps back, but spoke with a gentle tone.

“That’s okay. Email me if we need to call in your understudy.” Alistair saw a small smile on her face and then she was gone, shouting again at the rest of the cast. Nikau rubbed his arm with his knuckles,

“Ready to go?” Alistair nodded, turning to his boyfriend. Nikau guided him out of the door and to the car. It was bliss to sit down, and he leaned back in the seat. However, he wasn’t excited for the drive home.

“Try and drive careful?” He asked, already holding his belly. Nikau hummed in confirmation and set off.

As they were driving, Alistair could feel every little movement the car made and it translated to tidal waves in his brain. He was so dizzy. It was a mission to keep his head still, while also feeling like his stomach was going to explode out of him once again. Alistair’s hands were shaky and warm, fingers digging into his cramping stomach.

Because he had terrible luck, the underlying nausea turned into full blown nausea and he jolted in his seat. Suddenly, it felt like he was being thrown into lava and was seconds away from puking. He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, hand tightly over his mouth. He heard Nikau curse, and then a bag was in his lap. Without questioning where he got it from, Alistair promptly puked into it. His back curled, his fingers held onto the bag like a lifeline.

The cars movement did nothing for him. No matter how hard he tried it felt like he was spinning, “Oh, Nikau, I’m-” he gagged, “everything is spinning.” He whined, unable to say anymore as he gagged again. Nikau had rolled the windows down, cool air washing over him. Alistair sat back as far as he could, holding the bag up to his mouth just in case. He needed stability.

“That’s it, Star. Just breathe. Relax, you’re sitting perfectly still.” Nikau’s words calmed him a little. He moaned as he felt the urge to gag again, and spat up a little more bile. He dropped one hand to his stomach, if he didn’t hold it he felt like it would slip out from inside him. The nausea slowly passed, and he was able to tighten off the top of the bag and hold it down by his feet.

“You good?” He was at a red light.

“Yeah, I think so.” Alistair murmured. His throat was scratchy and sore, his body was aching. He kept his eyes closed, and when that didn’t work he chose to look out the window. He kept his eyes locked on one spot in the horizon, and watched as the roads slowly got smaller and soon he was looking at their front door of their flat. Nikau’s hand was heavy on his knee.

“Come on, sickie. I know you’re feeling terrible.” Alistair whined at him. It was heavenly to finally get inside and lie down, with clean, comfy clothes and Alistair curled up on his side. The day’s events finally caught up to him and he felt his muscles slowly lose their tension. Nikau knelt down next to his face.

“I’m sorry to do this to you, but I wanna get some medicine in you. That fever is concerning,” He touched Alistair’s forehead, warm and sweaty. He tsked through his teeth, “You should’ve told me sooner you weren’t feeling good.”

Alistair murmured. Nikau was right, “Sorry. I thought I could get through rehearsal.” His head spun, a quick bout of vertigo forcing him to close his eyes.

“It’s okay. Are you dizzy?” Alistair nodded his head minutely, whining a little. He felt Nikau’s warm hands travel down his body and then he felt a kiss planted on his forehead.

Alistair felt Nikau’s presence disappear, and so he rolled onto his back gingerly, keeping his head still and placing a hand on his stomach. It was still hurting him, and was bloated and gross. The gurgles were sickly and he was probably going to be puking all night. Oh, he was so excited. Nikau returned, carrying the proper materials for a sick night. He gently forced Alistair to take some medicine, and then to make up for it, he lied down next to Alistair with the promise of rubbing his belly.

“I’m sorry you’re so sick, sweetheart.” Nikau whispered into Alistair’s hair.

“Mm, it sucks. But, you make me feel good.”

“Okay, I’m glad. Just rest, Star.”

[primofate]

[Genshin Impact] Sitting on his lap

Note: Watch me disappear for a long time again after this update.

Warnings: some are a bit suggestive, still safe for work though. established relationship with Genshin man, please excuse and tell me if there are pronoun slips

Premise: You just felt like sitting on his lap, nothing much to it...or so you think.

Characters: Alhaitham, Ayato, Baizhu, Cyno, Diluc, Itto, Kaeya, Lyney, Neuvillette, Scaramouche, gn!reader

Alhaitham

Continues reading his book unfazed, one arm automatically coming securely round your waist. He shuts his book after a few seconds more and passes you an upward glance.

"Need something?"

You only hum in response with a shake of your head, indicating that you had only wanted to be close to him. He sits straighter, chest pressing closer to your back. You feel the warmth of his lips press on the left side of your neck, his head tilted to gain access to it.

There's a deep inhale as he takes in your scent and a relaxed exhale that follows. You hear him whisper, voice almost a tone lower and a rare expression of affection passes his lips.

"You're intoxicating, do you know that?"

Ayato

Chuckles as you plop yourself on his lap. He had been doing some paperwork, but he pushes those aside as he wraps both arms around your middle, moving closer as his head rests on your shoulder.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The usual mischievous lilt in his voice doesn't disappear, he's amused that you've taken the initiative to come look for him, even though you knew he was in the middle of something. Before you could even reply, he beats you to it, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

"Am I right to assume that you, perhaps, missed me?"

"...and what if I did?" you counter with a smile of your own. Head turning sideways to look at him. He grins, one of his hands unravelling from your middle to travel up your face, landing on your cheek, pulling you closer to meet his soft lips.

The kiss starts off gentle, just yours on his. It starts to turn hungrier, still soft, but now it feels like hot lava is churning in your belly at the increasing intensity. He pulls away for a moment only to whisper "Then I'll have to do something about that,"

Baizhu

Looks up from his medicinal notes, taking a few seconds to gaze at your back.

The first thing you feel are his hands resting atop your shoulders, then his thumbs pressing small circles near the base of your neck. You let out a pleasurable moan, relaxing in his hold. Then, as if realizing what you'd done, your hand darts atop your mouth to hide a small laugh.

You could hear Baizhu chuckling alongside with you.

"No need to hold back, darling," his thumbs continue to press circles, now downwards along your spine, continuing his massage.

"Mmmmm..." you try to stifle the next moan coming, "This could so easily be misinterpreted by anyone passing by outside," the two of you share a short laugh yet again.

"Either way, all I'm doing is giving you some love, darling,"

Cyno

He blinks as he feels you sit on him. He was always uncomfortable with the initial position, and so what he usually did was pull you and your legs up, positioning you sideways over his lap, legs somewhat dangling over the armchair. One strong arm wrapped around your back, steadying you and allowing you to lean towards him, tucking your head under his chin.

"Is something the matter?"

You shake your head and offer a simple reply. "Nothing at all, I just wanted to be close to you,"

Your honesty always managed to tug at the edge of his lips the slightest bit. In opportunities like this Cyno didn't say much, instead he liked to savour your warmth melding with his, liked to feel your breathing in sync with his.

He silently presses a kiss atop your head before closing his eyes, and staying that way for a moment longer.

Diluc

Instead of you melting into his embrace it's Diluc who melts around you. The moment you sit on his lap his arms encircle you around your shoulders and pulls you flush against him, your back to his front.

From his position, he nuzzles into your neck and sighs, his hot breath tickling your skin. He closes his eyes and shields himself from the world for a moment, basking in the safety and love emanating from you.

"Hard day?" You ask him and he mumbles something into your neck, incoherent. He repeats it as he pulls away a slight inch.

"Not more than usual," he squeezes you around the shoulders as he says so. "and you?"

You reach a hand up to sift through his hair, he sighs at the feeling and nearly melts into a puddle. "Nothing out of the ordinary," you return his sentiment.

You play with his hair as he holds you close, and in that moment there really isn't much for him to say, though his heart bursts with emotion and fondness towards you.

"Stay with me, Y/N," he makes this request from time to time, and though the two of you have already sworn yourselves to each other, perhaps he needed to say it once in a while in order to hear the answer from you.

"I'll always be here, Diluc,"

Itto

The oni is rather cluless in certain aspects of life, but when you sit on his lap he's guaranteed to be flustered. You prop yourself on his thighs, hands positioned on his legs to keep you from falling in case he made any sudden movements.

"Y-Y-Y/N?!"

"Hm?" You innocently ask, tipping your head back to playfully look at his reddening cheeks. "...Shouldn't you be used to this by now?" you ask, a laugh threatening to escape your lips because of the look on his face.

"I-Well-*ahem* Sure I am!" He puts on a brave face, but he looks like he's also sweating bullets. His hands are stiffly by his side, and he's hesitant to touch you anywhere.

You decide to comfortably lean back and Itto could not think of anything except how warm and soft you were compared to him. He had to get it together, this happened every time you sat on his lap, and it was becoming uncool for him to keep blushing when you did so. He promised himself that he would "man up".

...He still had the same reaction the next time you did it.

Kaeya

Kaeya reacts as if this was an every day thing, in fact this was always a good opportunity to flirt with you.

"Found your favourite spot have you?" Kaeya twists around to peer at you, grin plastered on his face, hand finding your thigh.

"It was tempting, you were just sitting there and it looked like a good place to rest," You returned his grin and felt his chest rumble with laughter.

"You're always welcome, snowflake," his hand squeezes your thigh, eye seemingly glinting with mischief. He shifts around on his seat, making space in between his legs and pulling you right between them, arms tight around your waist, front pressing against your back. "But you'll have to pay a small fee for this exclusive seat, I'm afraid,"

He tilts his head down to gaze at you expectantly, seemingly leaning closer. You smile, tilting your head up for you lips to meet. Kaeya doesn't half ass his kisses. It turns passionate in a split second and his hands are starting to wander up and down your thigh.

"Tsk, tsk," you let out as you part, your noses still connected, gazes steady on each other. "Are you sure it's just a kiss you want, sir?"

He chuckles, "Love, when have we ever stopped at just a kiss?"

Lyney

"Hm?" Lyney chides with a smile as he feels you become comfortable on his lap. He laughs when he realizes that you were not planning on leaving anytime soon. "Hello there my rose," His arms wrap around your waist, and his head rests on your back, snuggling into the warmth of it. He looks almost like a cat purring and rubbing onto their favourite scratching post.

It tickles you the slightest bit, so you bristle with soft laughter. "Lyney!" You warn, and he returns your sunny laugh with a chuckle, but doesn't let go.

"What's wrong, love?" He feigns innocence but now has resorted to placing butterfly kisses up and down your spine, taking a moment to lightly nip at the back of your neck before kissing back down again in a line.

By now you know he's doing it on purpose, so you twist around on his lap, and give him a half-hearted glare. "If you wanted kisses all you had to do was ask,"

Lyney finally pulls back and smirks, that same smirk that shows up when he's at the climax of a magic trick, about to reveal the grandest part. He leans back on the chair he's sitting on, placing both arms on the rests before lifting a hand up, wrists flicking upwards in a motion to beckon you over. "Well come now," the same hand tilts your chin gently towards his direction as he whispers, tongue briefly grazing over his lips, "Let me show you a real magic trick,"

Neuvillette

Neuvillette embraces you in and it almost feels like you're floating on a cloud, weightlessly relaxing in the air. His clothes help to cushion you, but at the same time Neuvillette himself is as warm as a fireplace and comfy as a sea of feathers. It feels safe in the arms of the Chief Justice, as if no harm will come to you. Sometimes you forget that you're in the presence of such an important man.

You almost always end up sliding down the slightest bit, the back of your head resting on his chest, his arm secured around your stomach. "Would you like to retire for the day?" he asks, and this is his code to ask you if you would like for him to stop working and walk back home with you.

"No, don't mind me," you whisper, burrowing further into him. You hear him sigh contentedly. With you, Neuvillette is lovestruck. Whatever is within his power, he would do it for you. He takes your hand and briefly presses his lips on the back of it. "Alright," and just like that he brings the paperwork back into his hands. Reading his notes and documents--highly confidential, by the way. Something that you shouldn't be reading--but he trusts you more than he trusts himself and that was dangerous, for someone like him.

If there ever came a day where you broke his trust, Neuvillette would most likely never trust another soul again. You alone was his deity of truth.

Scaramouche...Ruthless Prince Scaramouche?

"Whadd'you think you're doing?" his eye twitches as you jump on his lap. You glance backwards at him before turning away once again. "Getting comfy," you reply nonchalantly.

"Getting com--" the rest of the words were mumbled, you didn't catch the whole thing but it did sound like he said a very garbled and muffled "my ass" at the end of it. You ignore him and happily stay, humming as you read a book while you're at it.

Scaramouche glares at your back, taking a deep, long breath. For a moment he contemplated on just letting you do it, but the other part of him wanted to just push you off and let your butt painfully land on the ground.

As you were peacefully reading, you suddenly feel his forehead bump your back, though he wasn't holding nor hugging you at all. He stayed like that for a bit, as if he was praying to some God he believed--or didn't believe--in. After a moment he grumbles something more, but now has a firm arm around your waist.

He repositions, opening his legs a bit more to give you more space to rest in between them and then leaning forward to lazily loll his head on your shoulder, looking at the book you were reading. "...What trash are you reading now?" but his tone of voice had levelled off to calm, nearly peaceful.

"...101 ways to annoy your husband," you secretly grin when you hear him scoff. His hand finds its way to the spine of the book you're reading and easily grabs and flings it off to the side.

"You do that plenty, you don't need more ideas," his hold on you gets a little tighter, as if he wasn't going to let you go anytime soon. "Y'know what I've been reading lately...?" you feel his lips against your neck in a chaste kiss but in the next moment you feel a slight nip that sends electricity down your whole being.

"Hm?" You ask absentmindedly, the question doesn't completely register in your mind, what with his hand edging closer to the hem of your shirt, brushing against the bare skin of your waist. He breathes the next words into your ear huskily, his hand sliding upwards, and you feel a shiver making its way to your shoulders.

"101 ways to make you scream,"

[screamlet]

08x06 fix-it fic: break and be mended

not connected to that excerpt i posted before, just something completely different. 4.5k, read on the ao3

---

Another hospital room. Buck takes a deep breath and closes his eyes again, letting it out and hoping he gets back to sleep. It doesn't happen, though, because his brain catches up to his eyes:

Maddie, wearing a yellow paper hospital mask, a hand anxiously on her belly, sitting in the chair next to him with that too-familiar oh-thank-god-you're-finally-awake face… and Tommy leaning in the doorway.

He takes another deep breath and opens his eyes again.

"You're okay," Maddie says patiently, slowly, as Buck tries to slam the door shut or set the doorway on fire with his brain. "It's just the turkey flu, it hit you hard."

That breaks Buck's concentration. "Wait, is this a dream? Another coma dream? Turkey flu has to be something I made up."

Maddie raises her eyebrows and looks over her shoulder at Tommy before turning back to Buck. "Another one?"

"No, no, don't look at him," Buck interrupts. "He's not supposed to be here, not when I have turkey flu, not ever. He broke up with me, remember?"

In the doorway, Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He's wearing the dark blue LAFD t-shirt and pleated pants, a special Air Ops patch on his shirt sleeve. They always lurked under his flight suit, under his turnouts when they were on the same scene, but Buck didn't get to see them often. It was for the best, he thinks now, because the shirt fits perfectly across Tommy's chest and shoulders, the pants belted low. His shirt is tucked in better than Buck's ever is. He almost never got to see him like this so it feels like some new Tommy he's seeing, a Tommy that hangs around Harbor long enough to take off his flight suit but doesn't peel the rest of his work self off. He doesn't get off his shift, put the pilot away, shower and go home.

Buck looks away. He's looked too long.

"I'm actually here, you know." Tommy raps his knuckles on the door like that's proof of anything except a very strong poltergeist. "I can hear you."

Buck watches something that he hasn't seen in years sweep across Maddie's face (mostly her eyebrows, because of the mask).

She turns around and snaps, "I let you come within ten feet of my brother and you think bitchy fun Tommy was invited, too? He was not." Tommy looks shocked and abashed; Buck loves her so much.

"Why was he invited at all, Maddie?" Buck asks. "And you're both real, right? Like I'm not hallucinating both of you. Is that a turkey flu symptom? Can I have my phone? I need to look up turkey flu."

"It's a strain of avian flu, you just happened to get it from a turkey farm. Hen said you had a call to one of those last week," Maddie explains. "And you kept giggling when I said the words turkey flu so, you know, why not?"

"It's pretty funny," Buck admits. "Hey, why's he here?"

Maddie turns around and looks at Tommy expectantly. Buck still knows his face, still knows him, and can see the quip that wants to escape past his lips. He can see the work it takes to hold it back and look sincere, really sincere, for them.

"You collapsed at a scene and I flew you over," Tommy says. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Buck stares at him as he presses his lips into a fine line. "I'm okay. Thanks."

Tommy nods, then asks, "Can we talk? Alone?"

It's taken four months, almost as long as they were together, but Buck's finally hearing the words he's wanted to hear since Tommy walked out his door. I'm sorry, I was scared, I love you, yes let's take the next step together, from now on let's take every step together—that was Buck's first choice. Can we talk as a jumping off point for all those other things—that was Buck's second choice. Was.

Buck glances at Maddie and knows his face does something dumb. "I'll be outside," Maddie says. "And I'm not far, if you want me to throw him out." She looks over her shoulder at Tommy. "I'll do it."

Tommy nods. "Wouldn't doubt you for a second."

She squeezes Buck's hand and lingers for a beat, one long look at him like she's waiting for him to say actually, wait, don't, stay, but he doesn't. He hates that he doesn't. He hates that he wants to hear what Tommy has to say.

She and Tommy swap places; he takes the chair next to Buck's bed and she leaves, shutting the door behind her. Tommy doesn't see the way she passes by the window like a shark, watching, but Buck laughs. When Tommy looks back, she's gone.

"Your sister's changed a little," Tommy says casually. "Her sense of humor, I mean."

Buck licks his lips. "Yeah, well, when you were my boyfriend, you were her friend. Now you're neither."

"Yep, got it," Tommy says. He sits back in the chair, but looks so uncomfortable that someone would think he'd never sat in one before.

"Are you okay?" Buck asks. "Why are you here?"

"This chair is so weird."

"Tommy, what do you want to talk about?"

It startles Tommy, and it should. He only got soft and smitten, totally-in-love (even if he couldn't admit it out loud) Evan Buckley, cute and bratty Evan Buckley. He doesn't get that Evan anymore. No one has.

Tommy sits with his feet flat on the floor and his hands folded in his lap. He takes a minute, a long minute, of staring at the floor before he looks up and stares at Buck. "You asked me to move in with you."

Buck blinks. "I did."

"You asked me to move in with you."

"You said that. I mean, I said that, but you—"

"Evan," Tommy interrupts.

"I thought I was Buck now," Buck interrupts.

Bitchiness lurks on Tommy's tongue, but he holds it back. "You asked me to move in with you. Into the loft."

Buck tilts his head. "Yeah?"

Tommy shuts his eyes hard and shakes his head before he looks at Buck again. "Evan, I own a house."

"... okay?"

"Did you ask me to move in with you and expect me to give up my house?"

"What, no—" Buck says, then stops himself. "I don't—I didn't think—"

"Did you even think about that?" Tommy asks. "Like when you talked about moving in together, getting married, the future, all of that—did you even remember that I own a house?"

"You know," Buck interrupts. "Four months ago, you could have said, haha, wow, that's moving pretty fast, also I own a house, maybe when we're ready, we could move into MY HOUSE and make it OUR HOUSE, but you needed to run out the door so why would you say any of that?"

"Yeah! I was freaked out! Because here was this guy I—this guy I really liked, and he asked me, a 40-year-old man, to move into his loft?"

"What's wrong with it? Why do you keep saying it like that?"

"It's downtown! Downtown is loud and filthy and did I mention it's noisy? It was hell sleeping there in the summer because even with your central air, heat rises and it rises right into the bedroom. I saw your electric bill, Evan, it was unforgivable."

Buck wants to throw something at him. "And we could have been at your house, quiet and with better temperature control, but we weren't because…?"

"I'm just saying," Tommy continues. "Yeah, all that's true, but I realized you wanted me, wanted a future with me, and you didn't even remember that when I wasn't working or with you, I was at my house."

"I get that," Buck says. "Now how many times did we hang out at your house?"

Tommy sighs. "It's out of the way, your place was always closer to the 118 and to Harbor, and I kept—I was going to, okay? Like maybe after our anniversary, we'd take a week off together and we'd actually be at my house, or take a trip somewhere—"

"You got me basketball tickets," Buck snipes at him.

Tommy stops completely.

"For our six month anniversary, remember?"

"How the hell am I going to forget that?"

"You got me tickets to see the Lakers. Really good tickets."

Tommy rolls his eyes. "Alright, well, that's the last time I call that guy I know in the press office for anything."

Buck thinks he's getting closer to setting something on fire with his mind. "I hate basketball."

Tommy stares at him. "What the hell are you talking about? We met because of basketball."

Buck sits up so quickly and angrily he starts wheezing and that turns into a coughing fit. Tommy's immediately there, sitting on the edge of his bed with water, getting him to take a small sip as he rubs his back. When Buck realizes what's happening, he covers his mouth with his blanket and shoves Tommy away, coughing even more.

"Sorry, I was just—"

"I have turkey flu!" Buck yells through the blanket covering his mouth.

"The doctor said you're not contagious anymore."

Buck points at a small paper box across the room. Tommy, so put-upon, grabs a pale yellow mask and slips it on before he sits in the chair again. "Sorry."

"It's—" Buck halts because Tommy had grabbed two masks and was holding one out to him expectantly. Tommy motions to it again and Buck can see how he wants to make a bitchy comment about not having this conversation through a hospital blanket, but he doesn't. That's what makes Buck reach out and put the mask on. The icy fist around his heart thinks about melting.

"We didn't meet because of basketball, we met because of Bobby and Athena and the cruise ship," Buck corrects. "I wanted to see you again after that tour at Harbor but I couldn't think of another reason—"

"I gave you the widest of openings," Tommy interrupts. "Hello? Flight lessons? When you finally offered to buy me a beer, I almost dropped to my knees right then and there."

"But you never called me! You're the one who left to hang out with Eddie!"

Tommy throws up his hands. "Ball was in your court! Speaking of basketball."

Buck sighs, exasperated. "We weren't, like, running into each other, I didn't have a reason to call you—don't say the beer—so finally I saw Eddie was going to that pick-up game with you and I dragged Chimney along."

"Right," Tommy says. "And you played basketball with us. We kicked your ass in a way that made me think you were pretending to be bad at it to make me feel good or something? And then there was the whole thing with Eddie's ankle."

"I hate basketball!"

"You brought your own ball!"

"I same-day ordered a basketball so that when I showed up you'd be like, wow, that guy's ready for basketball, what a cool guy!"

"So you're mad that your basketball ruse worked on my dumb ass, and worked so well for six months that I got you Lakers tickets for our anniversary."

Buck's so annoyed that he put it like that. Maybe that's true, but he didn't have to say it. "I don't like basketball! It was a ruse but I didn't hide it after. You watched games with Eddie and I never came along because I don't like basketball."

"You said you wanted us to have our Eddie-Tommy friend time!"

"Why do you make me sound and feel like a five-year-old? Eddie-Tommy friend time? Seriously?"

Tommy folds his hands together like he's in prayer and shuts his eyes. "Okay, listen, I just. I wanted to get the house thing off my chest, alright? Because it's—it's bothered me so much."

Buck could argue about the basketball thing for about another 500 years, except that Tommy has said what he said. "Has it?"

Tommy puts his hands in his lap again, folded politely as he looks at Buck. "I meant what I said. You were so swept away in how new and exciting everything felt, that I felt like you forgot who you were talking to. Like… I'm not a guy who's going to move in with you. I'm a guy who has a house with a home gym and a car lift, and—and the winter was so mild that I put in this little patio space in the backyard. I bought furniture for it. I took this corner of my front lawn, too, and started to plan a pollinator's garden because they sounded really interesting after those three days of bee hell. Evan, I have a house."

"You keep saying that," Buck says. His ears are burning, but he's listening too intently to feel embarrassed about it (much).

"I freaked out, alright? Because I heard: give up your house to live in this downtown loft with a couch that has a faded but GIANT blood and placenta stain on the other side of the cushion, and then the words engaged and married got thrown in there, too? All in the same breath?"

Buck stares flatly, then nods. "Yeah. I get it. Sorry." He clears his throat and grabs his water before Tommy can offer it to him. He takes a sip, looking at Tommy before he nods at the closed door. "Are we done here?"

"And I'm not a gay rights hero," Tommy adds. "You said that, too." Tommy looks away, and looks so miserable. "I'm just a guy, Evan. I've been burned before by younger guys who thought I was everything that their first gay boyfriend should be, and then—and they didn't see who I was. It's always—" Tommy holds out his hands like he's balancing scales. "Not straight enough to fake a life with a woman, not gay enough to have a real life with a man."

Buck hasn't done this in so long that his throat almost aches with it. He sighs, pained and breathless, the word crinkling against the mask: "Tommy." He swallows again and asks, "Did you really think that was me?"

Another long pause. It ends with Tommy saying, "I thought you were too good to be true."

"I'm not, though, I'm—I'm just me," Buck says. "And I did have a lot to figure out, but not about you."

Tommy laughs suddenly. "Really? Because you forgot I was a homeowner and I didn't know you hated basketball. Did you even go to that game?"

Buck coughs. "I gave the tickets to Karen and she took one of her brothers. They're nuts about the Lakers."

"Huh," Tommy says. "Well. I'm not mad about that."

The two of them are quiet until Buck says, "Seems there's a lot of things we don't know about each other."

Tommy glances at him; Buck can see the shape of his smirk beneath the mask, and the very specific way it makes his eyes crinkle. "And just when we thought we knew everything about each other."

"Yeah, I thought that, too, and then you dropped that you were engaged to my first serious girlfriend at our six month anniversary dinner." Buck raises his eyebrows. "Do you land helicopters that smoothly, too?"

"I got you here, didn't I?" Tommy bites back, then catches himself with a laugh. "Okay. Fair point."

It's so easy, it's so easy, it's so easy, it's so easy and Buck hasn't had it easy for months. He hasn't had these quips, this back-and-forth, this person who got him until he didn't, who—Buck rubs at his eyes. Tommy made it easy. He made everything easy. Not perfect, not effortless, but easy. Easier.

"So, uh." Buck fusses with the blanket in his lap. "What have you been doing for the past four months? You, uh…"

"Am I seeing anyone?" Buck nods. "I was, yeah. Didn't last that long."

Buck can't help himself: "Neither did we."

"Ouch." Tommy looks back. "And you?"

"Yeah," Buck says. "I liked them but I broke up with them because it just—it wasn't going anywhere."

"And what's wrong with that? Staying in one place? Isn't that what you wanted for us?"

It's not, but Buck can't articulate it, so he says, "Do you think that's the same?"

A beat, and then Tommy says: "No. No, I don't."

"Tommy," Buck says quietly. "How many people do I have to be with before you decide I've figured it out?"

Tommy's eyes widen. "What? I never said that."

"Tell me what you said, then." Buck swallows painfully, that turkey flu kicking his ass harder than he thought. "Tell me what you meant when you said I didn't know what I wanted. Because I told you what I wanted. I told you I was ready for something and all the things we did together, I thought that you believed me. I guess you didn't, so tell me how many bodies it'll take before you believe me."

Tommy doesn't say anything.

"God, and you know what really sucks?" Buck asks. "That we were together long enough to talk about who we'd been with so we could get tested and be safe. We talked about all that, but I never told you how many times I'd had my heart broken and you never told me yours."

"Three," Tommy eventually says. "Shawn, who was like… all of 25. He was all-in, knowing for sure that the first time was the charm, and I was old enough and steady enough to be That Guy. I believed the hype even though I was barely out of the closet. I shouldn't throw stones at Abby's House of Himbos when I set up my own on the other side of town. And then there was Raúl, my Army buddy who came out to his family and immediately moved to LA to get away from them. Everything felt like a fresh start for him, but… not quite for me."

Buck thinks to ask, but Tommy beats him to it. "Do I need to say the third?" Buck shakes his head. "What about you?"

"Abby, and you." Buck looks at Tommy as he says, "It's not just ending things with someone because it doesn't work. It's heart break. Something's gotta break and be mended."

"I don't think I did that part. You've one-upped me there."

Buck wouldn't have believed that 20 minutes ago, but he believes it now.

"So Bobby's been there, watched me since I was Abby's himbo and helped me to grow into the person who wanted that stuff with you. Once he, kinda, told me that if I care about how people see me, then I haven't learned a damn thing," Buck says. "And that is and isn't true, here. I can't live hoping I meet people's expectations of what they think I should be. I want people—I wanted you—to see me as I am. I thought you did but you didn't, and I didn't either because I didn't see how scared you were. I've made my peace with that. We had something really special and made each other feel really good but, in the end, I guess we were saying all the right things to people we didn't know."

Tommy listens, considers, and nods. "Whole lot of past tense, there."

Buck glances at him and doesn't want to look away, but he does. He doesn't meet Tommy's eyes. He's scared, too. He's done enough today: said a lot of things he's been thinking about for four months and said them very calmly and thoughtfully, but this is gonna hurt. It hurt Buck to realize it and it's gonna hurt Tommy to hear it.

"You got what you wanted, right?" Buck asks. "You got to keep your heart, and I don't feel new and excited anymore." Buck inhales deep; it hurts. "I feel like I did before, like I'm short one piece of being whole. Now the ocean I have to search is so much wider and deeper. So thanks for that, I guess."

"Evan—"

"I let you into my family," Buck interrupts sharply. "Because I cared about you and because you fit. I fit because they're mine and that's my family I made, and you fit there right next to me. With us."

"You're absolutely right."

Buck watches him, tries to see behind the sunshine yellow and white mask on his face, but all he sees are his eyes that, like always, make Buck feel too much, like laser beams disintegrating him.

"Were you really that scared?" Buck can't help the way his voice cracks. "You were that scared of me?"

Tommy looks up again, lasers in place. "I was that in love with you." He shakes his head like he did that last night in the kitchen, and looks up like he'll tip the tears back into his eyes. "And those heartbreaks—you'd leave them light-years behind if I let you. You'd leave me light-years behind."

Buck nods, then says, "Could you leave, please." His wet breathing crinkles grossly in the mask. "Thanks for telling me all this, thanks for the closure, but I don't need to see what someone looks like after they've walked away from me."

"You collapsed at a scene three days ago and I was the closest pilot to medevac you here," Tommy says slowly. "You were delirious and told Shreya, Don't tell Tommy I'm sick, he doesn't care anymore."

Tommy clears his throat. "I do care. I never stopped."

Buck sits back in his hospital bed and pulls the blanket up to his neck, the only comfort he's got right now. "If this is a turkey flu dream, I'm gonna be so pissed at you, real you," Buck says.

Tommy laughs quietly, sadly, then hesitates for a moment. "Can I ask you something? Can I ask you the scariest thing I've ever asked anyone in my entire life?"

Buck doesn't move, doesn't breathe. "What is it?" he finally asks.

"Will you give me a second chance?"

Buck, hearing what he's quietly dreamed of hearing for four months, doesn't feel the euphoria he thought he would. He feels something else, though: a strange kind of wonder that someone wants him again. Again. He swallows hard, feeling the pain right in his turkey-flu-ridden throat. Someone knew him. Someone left him. Someone came back—came back for him.

Tommy left. Tommy came back. Tommy wanted him then. Tommy wants him now. Tommy's wanted him all along.           

Buck asks, "Will you invite me to your place more than once every six months?"

Tommy's half-smile is still wide enough for Buck to see behind the mask. It falls, though, back into something serious. "Will you forgive me when I'm not a paragon of queer virtue?"

"Will you believe me when I tell you I've fucked around and found out enough for a lifetime?"

Tommy raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. "Will you believe me when I tell you I've fucked around and found out enough for a lifetime?"

Buck thinks he smiles a little behind his mask, but it doesn't stay. "Are we gonna break up again?"

"I don't know," Tommy admits. "But maybe next time we can stop each other and hit the brakes. I love romcoms, but maybe we don't do that again: you don't propose fixing a problem with marriage and a baby, and I won't run out the door."

Buck raises his eyebrows, too. "Who said anything about a baby?"

Tommy sputters. "I mean, you were the one raising the stakes before."

Buck laughs. "Right, right."

The quiet stretches out between them. They look at each other and don't look away. The stubborn, proud, cocky side of Buck feels annoyed that this feels like—like he can't get out of this. Like all roads lead back to Tommy, like he doesn't have a choice. Like if he wants to be happy, it's with this person.

A part of him wants to run and throw himself into the hunt again. He wants to thrive in the search for someone who makes him feel that euphoria and fondness and love that he felt with Tommy. He tries to imagine someone else, some vague smoky figure that isn't Tommy's height, Tommy's build, Tommy's arms crossed over his chest and that tilt of his head. The problem is that Buck feels more looking at that furrow and arch of his eyebrows than he's felt for anyone he's met in the past four months, maybe even longer.

Not all roads lead to Tommy—only the ones he wants to take.

"Say it again?" Buck asks.

Tommy nods ever so slightly. "I'm in love with you." He pauses and a smile reaches his eyes. "I love you."

Buck can't help the way his eyes water; neither can Tommy.

"Ask me again," Buck says.

"Will you give me a second chance?"

"Yeah." Buck wonders if his own smile reaches his eyes. He hopes it does. "Yeah. Will you?"

Tommy chokes out a laugh behind his mask. "Yeah, god, of course. Of course. You sure?"

"About you?" Buck asks. "Yeah. I mean, I want to be. Don't make me regret it."

"Don't make me give up my real estate."

"Don't make me go to any sports events."

"Seriously? Not even baseball?"

"God," Buck moans. "The sleepiest one of all."

"Hockey's good."

"You hate the Kings."

Tommy scoffs. "Of course I do. You always hate your local teams—you just hate visiting teams more. Can't let management get comfortable."

Buck attempts to take a deep, exasperated breath, but he forgets that he has the fucking turkey flu. He chokes and starts to cough and wheeze, but Tommy's there again. He freely, lovingly pushes Buck further to the other side of the hospital bed so he can sit and take care of him: water, tissues, hand on his chest to steady him, eyes worried and on him.

"It's not official until you kiss me," Buck says. "I'm not contagious."

"I mean, not with turkey flu," Tommy says. "Your Buckness? That I'm not so sure."

"Don't call me that anymore," Buck says.

Tommy puts his cup of water on the table next to Buck's bed, then shifts so he and Buck are closer, face-to-face, head on looking at each other. "How'd you get even brattier in only four months?"

"How'd you forget I was this bratty?"

"At my age, well, everything's starting to go."

Buck laughs, then coughs and wheezes. "Stop making me laugh."

"How'd you forget I was this funny?"

Buck tilts his head. "I didn't. I didn't forget a thing."

Tommy searches his face, then cups his jaw with one hand. Buck doesn't lean into it, just lets Tommy hold him as he tips Buck's chin up ever so slightly.

Then Tommy kisses his forehead and his birthmark, and wraps his arms around Buck. It's the warmest Buck has felt all winter. It finally feels like spring.

---

read on the ao3

[aching-tummies]

Cold/Flu Belly

I caught a nasty cold or flu a while back. Unfortunately, the medications I have at home to tackle it don't cover everything. There's a cough syrup that's effective against the different kinds of congestion, but it does nothing for a spiking fever or the fact that after the menthol wears off my throat and ear canals are on fire so I end up trying to run mental calculations on how many hours to wait before taking a dose of fever-reducer/pain medications.

Anyway, there was one night that I spent between 10:30PM and 4:37AM running these mental calculations for meds and trying to figure out how to quell the symptoms enough to actually sleep (I was awake the whole time, not for lack of trying to sleep though). I remember taking another dose of cough syrup around 3AM and then at 3:55AM deciding that the fever-symptoms were making it impossible to sleep so I bit the bullet and took a fever-reducer then too. I usually try to space out different meds at least 2 hours but I'd been trying and failing to sleep since 10:30PM.

My stomach was empty aside from the meds--if any of it made it to my stomach--the syrup mostly coated my esophagus so maybe only half a mouthful or less actually made it into my stomach. And the fever-reducer kept getting stuck somewhere on the way down so I kept chugging from my water bottle until it went down far enough. My stomach made a few loud growls as the water gurgled into an otherwise empty space.

The next day, I woke up around 10:50AM and my stomach was gurgling. Part of it was hunger, but the noises sounded kind of muffled and 'slimey'? I assume the nastiness in my throat had been trickling into my stomach all night.

I was exhausted, sore all over, hungry, and with my stomach maybe 30% full of sludge and cold/flu medication. RP-scenario prompt? What would you have done to my stomach in this state?

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

If You'll Have Me

A/N: Finally, this is here. Got this request back in March I think so anon, here ya go, sorry it took so long. Pairing: Megumi x Fem! Reader *(Both are 21 here) Warnings: Angst, breakup, pregnancy

It rained the day Megumi broke up with you. He sat there on your sofa, looking detached and apologetic, and you felt like your heart might choke you to death, the way it pounded frantically in your chest.

“I gave you everything!” You whispered furiously. “I supported you! Waited long hours for you to get home, without knowing what may have happened to you! I looked after Tsumiki when she became bedridden!”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Megumi’s eyes are like dark tunnels, with not a trace of warmth or emotion in them. “With everything that’s happened…I don’t feel like I’m worthy of you.”

“Oh, how noble of you!” You spat, feeling utterly humiliated. “I suppose you’ll say it’s not me, it's you?” 

“It is me. I see the fear in your eyes whenever I leave you for a mission. I hear the pain in your voice when I tell you I’m coming home late. I hate being the person that makes you feel that way. You’re such a good person. That’s why I think you’d be better off without me.”

“Get out.” You managed to squeeze the words past your tightening throat, your eyes stinging painfully, tears spilling from them. Wordlessly, Megumi gets up and walks towards the door.

Perhaps you’d been daring him to go because your heart stopped for a second as he got to the door. Part of you wished he’d stop, look at you, and gather you close, saying he couldn’t live without you. You’re begging him with your being to not throw this away. 

He’s supposed to stop, isn’t he? He’s supposed to realize he’s being irrational, that there’s no one better than him for you? You were a pair, meant to be. His look haunts you as he turns the doorknob.

“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly, before disappearing into the rain. 

You stood there, watching the downpour, feeling your heart crack and splinter, like a delicate teacup that had fallen from a shelf, no safe hands ready to catch it and prevent it from falling to its doom. 

.・。.・゜✭・.

A month later, you feel exhausted, more than usual. Getting out of bed feels like a chore. Your back and feet hurt, and nothing stays in your stomach. You try everything. Soup, saltine crackers, toast, applesauce. Whatever you ate made you nauseated and dizzy. 

You started worrying you had caught a really persistent form of the flu, but when your period didn’t start, you felt a wave of dread. 

Now, as you stared at the positive pregnancy test in your hands, you felt like someone had torn your body open, invisible wounds reopening and stinging afresh, chaotically spilling your feelings everywhere. 

“You need to tell him.” Gojo leans back in his chair, assessing you critically. You look at him coldly, cursing his six-eyes technique.

“I do not. And it’s none of your fucking business.”

“It is. Believe me when I say Megumi will not shirk his duties as a father. It would devastate him if he ever gets to know he has a child and that he was absent from its life.”

“How can you possibly assume that?” You cross your arms over your still flat belly and glare at him. Like it wasn’t bad enough that you were Megumi’s ex, now you were knocked up with his baby. “He wanted nothing to do with me. That man was barely able to keep promises to me as his girlfriend. What makes you think he’s going to step up and be a father to a child he probably doesn't want?”

“Because he knows what it’s like to be that child,” Gojo says the words quietly but with a firm edge that had you staring at him in disbelief.

“What?”

“Has Megumi ever told you about his dad?” Your silence says it all and Gojo narrows his eyes. “He’ll probably want my head if he ever finds out I told you this but I think it’s necessary.” Gojo sighs deeply and continues.

“Megumi’s dad loved him. But he simply wasn’t fit to be a parent. He abandoned Megumi and Tsumiki. Megumi was 7 years old at the time.”

You blink back tears as Gojo continues. “Megumi grew up as my ward. I don’t pretend to be his dad, but I can’t just let this slide. I understand you probably harbor resentment towards him, but cutting him out of this decision isn’t the right way to go about it.”

“I don’t want him to feel like he has any obligations towards me because of the baby. That’s the only reason he’d try to get in touch with me now, right?” You can’t forgive him for deciding to walk out of your life just yet, no matter what his childhood was like. 

“How long do you think you can keep this a secret? Megumi might not be around that much anymore, but you’ll start to show soon enough. If not me, someone else will tell him.”

Your expression hardens and you stand up with steely resolution coursing in your veins. “Thank you for your opinion. But the last I checked, though it takes two to make a baby, it only takes one to raise it.”

You pack your belongings and urgently move out of Tokyo by the end of the week.

.・。.・゜✭・.

Surprisingly, no one comes to bother you. You start over and manage to find work at a small accounting firm as a secretary. Your boss is sympathetic to your situation and doesn’t give you a hard time about needing maternity leave. Everything is going well despite the constant worry about running into someone from the jujutsu world but so far, nothing has happened. Your tummy swells and grows, the baby healthy and full of life. It brings you joy, knowing you carry this little being inside you.

One night, you wake up with a strange feeling inside your abdomen. Worried that the stress was getting to you as you entered your eighth month of pregnancy, you restlessly forced yourself out of bed and tried walking around the small apartment to ease your nerves.

It was a curious sensation, like something unseen was flowing through your veins, not sinister but a little unsettling. You place a hand on your swollen middle in hopes of soothing the baby then freeze when you feel the flow of cursed energy in your womb. 

You’d heard it wasn’t uncommon for sorcerer babies to begin regulating and channeling their cursed energy in utero, but it filled you with awe at how familiar the energy signature was to Megumi’s, vitality coursing under your fingertips as you felt it kick and turn. 

A soft rustling has you turning in panic, a gasp escaping your lips as you see 2 dog-like figures padding over to you from nowhere, their eyes glowing in the dark. Up close, you recognize them as Megumi’s divine dogs, their tails wagging as they approach you.

Motherly instinct has you clutching your stomach and angling away from them. Had Megumi finally figured out the truth? But the dogs’ demeanor didn’t seem to match that scenario. If anything, they looked curious and friendly. One of them finally gets close enough to nose your belly with its snout, before nuzzling the bump affectionately, which the other one mirrors. You watch in silent fascination, then feel a surge of energy from your womb. 

The baby was responding to the dogs. 

They recognized it as their owner. The dogs weren’t here because of Megumi. The baby had subconsciously summoned them. With a shaky hand, you pet both of them, seeing their eyes close happily. They bring back memories of Megumi and your eyes fill with tears.

“Does he want to be a father?” You ask them. They look at you with intense yellow eyes and before you can say anything else, vanish in a blink. 

.・。.・゜✭・.

The day the baby arrives is one of the happiest and emotionally draining days of your life. You lay on the labor bed, gripping the sheets as the contractions relentlessly come and go, each more painful than the last. 

You almost scream, not from the pain but in shock, as something noses your hand. Turning, you see the divine dogs at the side of the bed, unseen to the normal humans. You could’ve wept with relief, knowing you weren’t quite alone. You pet them and grip their fur as you finally deliver your baby boy into the world. 

The small pink bundle was a miniature of Megumi, the beautiful black hair plastered to its little head, screaming with the rage of life. With shaky hands you accept him, your heart so full of love you feel like it could burst. You’re so occupied that you don’t notice the divine dogs quietly padding outside, tails wagging, as someone lingers near the door.

Megumi has tears in his eyes as he hides just outside the room. He sees his child, and you, the person he loves and cherishes. You’re cooing at the baby, getting him settled down to suckle, his little hand wrapped around your finger so tightly.

Megumi balls his hands into fists feeling his fingernails dig into his palm, emotions raging through him. He’s so glad the two of you are healthy, and there’s regret for his mistakes of the past. He understands why you left Tokyo. You were a proud woman, independent, determined to not need him after he’d broken up with you. It wasn’t like you to grovel or beg. He was sure if the baby hadn’t summoned the divine dogs by accident, he would’ve never found you. 

Yet he felt like an intruder, an outsider, unworthy of entering the room. He understands what he broke the day he left and it eats away at his soul knowing that he was the reason you didn’t come to him after finding out you were pregnant. It had taken so long for you to let your walls down, to learn to depend on him finally, and in an instant, he had taken that away from you, the one thing you had avoided for so long; the need to rely on others.

It was that which drove you, the shattered dependability, and he remembered how long it had taken to reassure you to be less guarded on that front. He was awful, no better than his own father. But he had to try. He knocks on the door.

You turn, breath catching when you see him in the doorway.

“Hi.” He tries to not let his tears show, but when your eyes fill, he can’t contain himself. He closes the gap and embraces both of you as you sob uncontrollably into his shoulder.  

.・。.・゜✭・.

Megumi sleeps on the sofa, taking care of his child with such tenderness and love. He relearns everything about you, appreciating all that you are. It takes time but the relationship rebuilds steadily.

“How did Gojo not rat me out?” you ask one evening as Megumi cooks dinner while you cuddle the baby on the sofa. 

Megumi pauses, and looks over uncertainly. “He did.”

“He did?” 

“Yeah.” Megumi’s voice is low. “He told me and said I’d regret it if I didn’t try to find you. I was a coward.” He turns the stove burner off and faces you. “I never stopped thinking about you. You were the best thing to ever happen to me. I still believe I’m not your equal, and I never will be. You were my home base. The single person holding my life together. How much more could I ask you to do?”

He joins you on the sofa, taking his son into his arms, rocking him softly as he starts to doze off. “I was so scared to ask you to forgive me. I felt like a hypocrite, reassuring you all these years that it’s ok to depend on me, and then taking that security away from you. I was the worst kind of asshole. But I knew I couldn’t be a deadbeat father. I looked for you. But you did such a good job covering up your tracks. Honestly, if the baby hadn’t summoned the divine dogs, I probably would have never caught on.”

The baby yawns and drifts off to sleep in his arms. Megumi stares at the little face, unable to forgive himself for what he almost missed out on.

“I want us to be all right. I want us to be a family. Can we?” He looks at you with doubt, knowing if you said no, it was well within your right.

You take the baby from his arms, carefully settling him down in the portable bassinet next to the sofa, and take Megumi’s face in between your hands.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice choking up. 

Megumi pulls you against him tightly. “I love you so much. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure to live up to being your equal.”

You nod, letting your tears flow freely.

“I love you too.”

all dividers and banners by @/ cafekitsune

@estarlias @daswanj @actuallysaiyan @whatshernameis

@byul9158 @mirrors-musings @Mangiswig

@that-goth-bisexual @connorsui @jadedjane @darkstarlight82

@soft--cherry @galactict3a @hunnie-lily

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

Hiii! Could you imagine one where the reader finds out she's pregnant during one of Spencer's missions and when he comes home she has a crisis and ends up feeling ill and Spencer doesn't know how to help and the reader doesn't know how to tell him she's pregnant. (Both are already married)

i took this opportunity to set my pregnant!reader series into the future cause i already planned for them to have another child. request is tweaked justttt a little.

“my dear sweet penny, can you hit me with a bus? i want this misery to end.” you’ve been hit with the worst stomach bug or flu or just something that’s been lasting since spencer went on his case, five days ago.

your mom took your daughter for the day when you realized you weren’t getting out of bed anytime soon and you called in your reinforcement of one penelope garcia. the case ended yesterday but the team had to stay an extra day due to weather in their state, so penelope has been keeping you company for the past two days. it was nice to have an adult conversation instead of bluey and the same princess movies.

“okay, if you’re pleading for death that means it’s time to head over to a hospital. i don’t want spencer to hypothetically bite my head off if something happens to you.” her bright blonde hair was your shining sun in your darkened bedroom. and her jewelry were loud gongs with each step she took. “i hate to sound like a bitch but can you like, be the opposite of yourself today?” moaning and groaning as you tried pushing off the tossed sheets.

“yeah, you need a doctor. cause and i quote ‘penny if i even say to change yourself i’ve been abducted and that’s an alien.’ hopefully they can give you good drugs.”

at the hospital they took some blood, made you pee and just did a bunch of other check ups when it was shown you were sick with anything. so after an hour or so your doctor renters the sterile room with his clipboard and a poker face. “well, you’re not sick, but you are pregnant. we’ll get an ultrasound in here to check on the fetus.” talk talk talk and then he left again, leaving you and penelope open mouthed shocked.

“holy shit,” breathing out as your hand rubbed over your still small belly. “i told spencer i couldn’t keep my hands to myself.” telling that to the ceiling.

“oh, i’ll have another godchild! i’m so happy to live vicariously through you.” penelope stood at your side and smiled down at you. you turned your head towards her, “you know when they’re older, you’ll be our go-to babysitter then. so just be prepared for that.”

with the ultrasound done they confirmed you were almost done with your first trimester and that left you a bit shocked. you were three months pregnant but didn’t know, now you understand how some of those other ladies feel. but you were excited for another, but then you were done, seriously.

you tried calling spencer after leaving but his phone when to voicemail, but you didn’t think anything of it. probably feel asleep or out doing something with his team. so when you arrived to your mom’s place you were a bit surprised to see your husband holding your daughter and swinging her around.

“you’re back!” penny the first to speak and move further into the home. spencer and anna both turned their heads and smiled at the bright lady. “auntie penny!” your annabeth squealed with an arm out.

she happily took her from spencer’s hold and moved her away so you could talk with spencer. his puppy eyes and downturn mouth made your heart soar, oh how he’s gonna get you into so much trouble.

“you feeling better? your mom said it’s been a week.” pulling you into his hold, cheek pressed into his chest as his palms rubbed over your shoulder blades and spine. you sighed, “yeah, penny took me to the doctor. turns out i wasn’t sick… i was- i am pregnant.”

spencer’s hands stopped and leaned back, “what?” his brows raised into his curling locks. “how far along?” “three months…” biting into your bottom lip as you watched him go through his mental calendar. you both knew your period was irregular, that’s why you didn’t think anything of it.

“so it must’ve been sometime after annie’s fourth birthday,” spencer came to the conclusion. leaned in to peck your forehead, “are you okay with another?” always making sure you were okay with the decision.

you smiled up at him with a twinkle in your eyes, “absolutely.”

[tumbluuurp]

It’s crowded in the library, but quiet. Several people seem to have gotten sick, their sounds from the bathrooms echo loudly.

And that’s nothing to speak of the stomach gurgles, belches and flatulence coming from, well, it seems like everyone.

Everyone is studying hard, but no one looks happy. In fact, nearly everyone looks a little pale and uncomfortable.

Most of the buildings (and their plumbing systems) on campus are historically old. The last thing we need is another widespread gastro event…

[boysbellyrubs]

Detectives

hello. so i’ve gotten into crime novels and detective stuff lately, and so i made these characters :)). i tried to give some little details and clues to their personalities and friendship, but i’m not the best with that lmao.

—-

Detective Inspector Jack Woods was not a stranger to gruesome and disgusting crime scenes, taking pride in never getting queasy over it. It was something he often boasted about it, foregoing his nonchalant attitude to actually brag about not getting sick over a few mangled bodies. This time, he wasn’t bragging. Staring at the body of a young man that had been shot and ran over in a hit and run was enough to get his stomach churning. It was dark and cold, but Jack was sweating.

The other officers were milling about, talking amongst themselves before one came right up to Woods’ face, expecting conversation. He tore his eyes away from the body, “Yes?”

She stiffened at his tone, “Body was found around half an hour ago, with no signs of any other persons on the premises. Do you want a closer look at the crime scene?”

Jack looked past her shoulder to the body again and shook his head quickly. He wasn’t about to go and puke in front of everyone. She gave him another strange look but left, going back to her partner. The police lights were disorienting so he turned away, breathing sharply through his nose. He could still feel his stomach twisting, his brain holding onto the picture of the boy's disfigured body. Jack stared at the ground. What was up with him tonight?

All day he had felt like he wasn’t really all there. With a tickle of a headache blooming behind his eyes and the smell of any and all food making his belly churn, he was worried he might be coming down with something. He couldn’t afford a week off work, with cases piling up left and right, and an upcoming court case, there was no way the Chief would be pleased with it. He tried to calm his thoughts when a hand clapped him on the shoulder.

“Rough night, huh? Kid looks like he got shredded.”

Jack closed his eyes, “Shut up, Harry. That’s insensitive.” The hand left his shoulder and Harry skirted round to his front.

“Alright, sorry. What’s up with you today?” Normally Jack would join in on Harry’s banter. Something to take the pressure off the situation. He was in no right mind to do so tonight.

“It’s nothing. I’m just-” He didn’t know he was going to say. He didn’t know if he was sick, but he couldn’t just admit he was getting queasy from a body. What kind of detective would he be? He settled on, “Long day.”

Harry seemed to agree, moving to stand beside him now but looking towards the crime scene. “Have you got any idea though? No leads or anything.” Jack heard him shuffle his feet, a nervous tick the other did whenever he complained. He faced him,

“I know. I think I’m gonna head back to the station, Harry. Clear my head.”

“Sure. You don’t mind if I tag along?” Harry was a little younger than Jack, and he seemed to like following him around. Jack didn’t mind much, he liked feeling useful. He often got paired with the younger detectives, although he was only 28 himself. Sometimes he wondered if the Chief thought he was older than he looked.

To answer Harry he shrugged and nodded, walking towards his car. Jack got in the drivers side although he was in no mood to drive with the way his head spun. He nearly pulled over and asked Harry to drive for him but they made it to the police station without any issues. Harry chatted his ear off the entire time, talking of his weekend and the possible suspects for the current murder. He was a good detective and Jack actually liked him. His past partners have been more often than not useless or assholes.

“What do you think Jack?”

Oh, he had been speaking? Jack was too focused on putting one foot in front of the other to even listen. He turned his head, “What?”

Harry’s face fell, “Have you not been listening? Something is up with you tonight. What is it?” He grabbed Jack’s arm, forcing him to stop. Before Jack even got a chance, a voice down the hall turned both of their heads.

“Woods, Lawrence! I hear you’ve got a pretty gnarly case on your hands.” Detective Parsons strode down the hall towards them. He was one of the older detectives and never really left the building. He was always trying to get involved, especially with them. Parsons happened to be Jack’s least favourite person in the entire bureau. He held down his groan.

“Yeah, it was bad.” Harry had still not learnt the art of short answers so Parsons was always given a reason to continue talking.

Parsons came right up to them, “Heard his head was pretty much destroyed. Got any leads?” Jack nearly puked at the reminder of the scene. Before Harry could answer, Jack quickly replied,

“No. But we’re busy so we’ll be seeing you Parsons.” He grabbed Harry’s shoulder and turned him around. Jack heard Parsons stupid mouth open again and stutter out a few words before giving up. He smiled a little to himself.

Harry chuckled a little, “You really don’t like him, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

They made it to their desks and dropped their notes (Harry’s notes) into a fresh manila folder, and decided that the night was over and that the case could wait until tomorrow. Jack sighed with relief, feeling his knees wobble a little as he picked up his coat draped over his chair. His eyes unfocused for a moment, and his ears filled with blood. He really needed to go home and lie down. Jack clocked out with Harry and they quickly left, not wanting anyone else to come up and talk to them.

Even though he was so close to being free, Jack felt his body degrading. Every step he took felt like it was plunged into glue, and pulling his leg up was impossible. He felt his shoulders slouching and his head felt like it was attached to a pogo stick. His stomach whined at him. Jack had been ignoring it all night, and now it seemed ready to give him payback. Harry had stopped talking beside him, finally recognising that his partner was not going to give him a response. As they entered the car park, Jack felt his stomach kick up a notch. He immediately stopped walking, placing a hand on his belly.

Harry turned, “Jack? You good?” His eyes flickered to the hand on his stomach and his eyebrows scrunched up. The air was suffocating him in the dingy underground car park, and Jack desperately needed a wall to lean against. He took a couple steps backwards and then spun around bent over, puke spilling through his mouth and onto the floor. He felt his body stagger and he finally hit a wall with his shoulder, stabilising him enough to continue vomiting. Jack’s mind produced HD quality images of the boy's body and he violently coughed up another round. He could barely hear Harry’s worried words next to him and the shy hand resting on his back as he heaved.

His stomach growled at him, pulling a groan from his lips. Jack bent forward more, spitting up rancid saliva and squeezing his middle. It was nearly impossible to open his eyes, knowing that when he did the concrete would be spinning. He coughed again and his stomach seemed to calm down, enough for him to twist himself around so his back was pressed against the wall. Jack let his head fall backwards.

Harry stood right in front of him, hands on his upper arms, “Hey, Jack? Jack, you with me?”

Jack groaned but gave a slight nod, one of his hands covering his aching eyes. His head felt like it was about to split open. Harry was muttering to himself about how ‘he knew something was wrong’ and ‘why didn’t he say anything?’. Jack smiled a little to himself,

“Didn’t realise you cared so much, rookie.” He mumbled. Slowly, he lowered his head and took his hand away from his eyes. Harry’s face swam into view,

“Of course. And I’m not a rookie anymore.” Harry grumbled. The other smiled a little more. God, he needed to get home. His eyes flickered to the pool of vomit beside him and he moaned at the sight, feeling like just a glance was going to send him puking all over again. He pushed off the wall, shrugging off Harry's arms lightly and took a step towards his car. Harry quickly caught up to him,

“Uh, do you need a hand or anything? Like getting home?”

Jack tried his best to unlock his vehicle, fiddling around with his keys. His hands were shaking violently and his bag weighed ten tons on his shoulder. He blew out a breath, handing the keys over to Harry as he leaned his hand on the roof of the car. The ground felt uneven and his mouth was filling with saliva again. Jack spat,

“Ugh, Jesus. Give me a sec, Ha-urp-rry.” Jack leant back, putting a few metres between himself and the car. He burped again. Just what he needed. Jack felt his belly curdle and suddenly he pitched forward and vomited up thin, yellow bile onto the concrete. It burned his throat immensely. He burped again, the rancid smell wafting into his face caused him to gag again and a little amount of foamy spit dribbled out of his mouth. He hoped Lawrence wasn’t watching this.

Jack straightened up, still clutching his abused stomach and tried his best to stabilise himself. It took staring at a random car’s license plate and a few short breathing exercises before he felt stable enough to turn around. Harry was sitting in the car, god bless, and was scrolling through his phone. Jack got into the other side, collapsing into the seat and (gingerly) threw his head back.

“Sounds like gastroenteritis. Stomach flu, duh. But uh, do you need anything before we start driving, I can probably find a bag or something just in case.” Harry rambled on. He looked over at Jack.

Jack gave him no response except for a snort. The kid meant well but if he didn’t start driving right now, Jack was going to throttle him and then probably puke on him. He mustered up some energy, “Just drive.”

—-

not much sick in this fic but just cause it’s the introduction. let me know if y’all wanna see them some more 😊😊

[danafeelingsick]

couple doodles to pair with this fic uwu

swear i'll leave him alone now ewe

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.

[shotmrmiller]

Submitting to his dominance part II

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

TW: Orgasm denial, voyeurism???? slight pain play

WC: 1K

It had been five days since Ghost came down your throat. Five days since you last saw him. The anticipation of him dropping by was killing you. As much as you wanted to ease the pulsing ache between your legs, you didn’t. You promised to be a good girl for him, and you have been. 

With a groan, you drop your head on your couch. God, he couldn’t show up today? You were dying here. Then your phone flashes with a notification. Sucking your teeth, you don’t bother looking at it. It’s probably Johnny checking up on you— seeing if you are still down with the flu. But then your phone starts flashing repeatedly. A phone call. 

If Johnny is calling, then he must be really worried. You feel slightly guilty about that, especially because you aren’t sick, so you answer the phone with a soft voice, hoping you sound ill. 

“Hey.” 

“Hello, pet.” 

You shoot up from the sofa, on full alert.

“Ghost.” 

“I need you to do something.” Anything, you think.

“And that is?” 

“Go to your bedroom and open the curtains then lie on your bed,” he pauses before saying, “Let me see you touch that pussy f’me.” 

You don’t wait to get told twice and sprint to your bedroom, slamming the door closed. Putting Ghost on speaker, you toss the phone on the bed and walk to your window— yanking the curtains open and pulling the blinds up. You think you saw a glare of something on the roof of the apartment building facing you, but you think nothing of it. 

All but ripping off your bottoms, you crawl to the center of the bed and recline back on both arms with your legs closed. From your open window, you can see the other apartment windows as well— and that has you faltering.

Ghost’s deep voice breaks your train of thought. 

“Don’t worry about that, baby. This view is all f’me, only me.” 

Your cheeks are burning as you spread your legs wide open. 

He hisses loudly through the phone. 

“I knew you’d have a pretty cunt. And it’s already dripping wet, pet. Go on, then. Touch yourself to my voice,” and you’re lowering your hand obediently when he sharply says, “But you aren’t allowed to come. You will come with me inside of you or not at all.” 

You mewl at his order and he reiterates.

 “No finishing. Do. you. understand?” 

Biting your lip, you wordlessly nod.

“Good girl,” he purrs, “Now show me what I want to see.” 

You lower your hand to your cunt, and spread the lips open with a whimper.

“Run your finger along your slit, pretend it’s my tongue on you.”

Oh, he will be the death of you. With a moan, you do as he says. Your cunt clenches around nothing and you stroke your slit once then twice—

“Rub circles on your clit using your middle and ring finger.” 

You feel yourself leak onto your bed with every tight movement on your swollen nub, and you feel the coil in your lower belly start to tighten.

“Tha’s it, pet. Look at how pretty you look, so wound up. Shove those fingers into your wet hole— press into that spot of yours that gets you cross-eyed.” 

With a shuddering breath, you’re pressing your fingers into you and you hear Ghost say, “I can hear your cunt squelching through the phone, baby. Wish it was my fingers in you?” 

You nod jerkily with a whine and he says, “Yeah, I know you do. Your pathetic little fingers wouldn’t reach inside you the way I could, eh? Need me to abuse that patch of nerves,” and you press firmly into your g-spot, causing a trickle of your nectar to drip down to your arsehole. 

“You enjoy a little pain with your pleasure, hm? Give your cunt a slap.” 

And you do, with a loud moan. Ghost chuckles darkly before saying, “Again.” 

Another slap and that sends a jolt of ecstasy straight up your spine. 

“So obedient. Now pretend it’s my cock rubbing against that puffy pussy.”

With fervor, you press four fingers against your clit— rubbing up and down. 

“That’s it, doll,” and the fire in your lower belly starts to spread to your limbs when he cuts through your rapture with a harsh tone. 

“Stop.”

The squeal you let out is ear-splitting.

“I thought I said that you don’t get to come.” 

With quivering thighs and a raspy exhale, you lean back on your arms again. 

“Atta girl. You’re a vision, pet,” he remarks.

Ghost knows you’re teetering on the edge because he has you wait before making you touch yourself until you’re about to shatter again. He does this four more times, and you feel like you’re about to go insane. Your cunt is fucking drenched, your mind numb from the painful pleasure.

It’s almost comical how hard your legs shake. You’re a drooling, sloppy, babbling mess and as you gaze out the window,  you wonder if Ghost can see the silly little hearts in your eyes. 

“Open that pretty cunt for me. Let me see the mess I’ve made of you.”

You do as he says— trembling fingers spreading your swollen lips open.

He lets out a pleased grunt before saying, “That’s enough. Put your pants back on. Remember that you don’t get to come without me in you. Oh, pet. I’m gonna enjoy breaking you in. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. You,” and he takes a breath, “are gonna get it.”

And with that, he hangs up. Your tongue unsticks from the roof of your mouth and you let out a dry sob. You don’t know if you’re gonna make it until he gets here. 

Your phone flashes again and you pick it up with weak arms. 

‘How’s the sickness treating ya, hen?’  

Your jaw clenches as tears of aggravation threaten to spill. Angrily, you’re typing your response when another notification comes up on your screen. 

‘By the time I’m done with you, everyone will know who’s fucking you.’

Your soaked cunt clenches around nothing, then another notification. 

‘And they’ll have no choice but to hear you beg for mercy that I don’t plan on giving.’

Your eyes stare blankly at the screen, wondering if you’ve perhaps bitten off more than you can chew.

A/N: Ghost using a sniper to watch reader edge ftw

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