#emeto ocs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boysbellyrubs · 4 months

Text

its been a while but here's this. it's probably not the greatest but i just vomited it up in like half an hour...hehe see what i did there.

---

“Ow, oww. Mmh, fuck.” Alistair whined, hugging his upset belly. He swore being at fancy places fucked with his immune system. He ducked his head down and squeezed his middle tightly, the rolling, gurgling organ cramping up tightly. “Gah, ahh, oughh.” Alistair huddled down into the corner, his forehead meeting his knees. He was stuck in the bathroom at the moment, desperately trying to get his stomach to calm down so he could go out and face the multitudes of people in the dining hall.

As of now, Alistair was attending one of his drama societies meetings as he was the treasurer of the committee. He was perfectly fine before he left, maybe a little queasy from nerves but nothing to be wary of. However, he took one bite of the dinner and knew that he was going to be in for a rough night.

His hair was tied up in a messy bun, the baby hairs along his hairline were stuck down with sweat and his stomach was in his throat. Alistair moaned at a harsh cramp, a gurgle rippling its way through his intestines. “Where’s Nikau when you need him?” At home. Nikau was at home completely unawares of his boyfriend’s ailments. Nikau was a student that just did the work and nothing more, so when Alistair signed up for the committee Nikau was more than happy to decline the offer.

Right now Alistair wished Nikau was here. He would hold him and gently guide him out of the building, and everything would be okay.

Another gurgle and Alistair crumpled down to his knees, harshly hitting the cheap lino. “God, my belly. Jesus.” He whimpered as he felt the food he had eaten squelch its way down and around his stomach, refusing to digest and settle. He burped, but it was small and wet and didn’t do much for him. He tried again, but this time it made him gag.

“Mmh, okay, nevermind.” He panted. “Nevermind- eugh.” He gagged again, one hand hovering just below his chin. Saliva gathered in his mouth and Alistair felt another burp weasel its way up his throat. He moaned at the feeling. He clamped his mouth shut, slapping his hand over it for more protection, and prayed. Alistair kneaded his belly, it didn’t do much for the nausea but the cramps in his intestines eased a little.

A few minutes of sitting still later, Alistair felt confident enough to remove his hand and breathe. He sat up a little straighter and put his hand gently on his belly. He was bloated up to the max, his dress pants digging terribly into his midsection. He pulled apart his blazer and quickly unbuttoned his pants, watching as his belly fell forward and push down the zipper. He rubbed underneath his black dress shirt, soothing the angry marks left there. Alistair put both hands on his middle, simply resting them there to ease it. God, he needed to leave. The only thing that would fix this would be Nikau’s hands and a nice hot water bottle.

He braced himself and stood back up, the world tilting around him and he heard a ringing in his ears. Alistair used the stall to keep himself upright as he did up his pants and tucked in his shirt. The simple act of tidying himself up caused more gurgles to erupt and a sickening spin cycle began in his belly. “Oof, fuck. Ughh.” He moaned, holding his belly like he was pregnant; one hand on his belly button and the other on the tight skin of his upper belly. He rubbed himself slowly, trying desperately to calm it down enough to leave the stall.

“Urrp-ouhh. Mmh, I don’t feel good. Ahh.” He breathed. Alistair felt around his pockets for his phone, but luck was not on his side tonight. An image of his phone sitting on a dining hall table flashed into his mind, and he nearly passed out. God fucking dammit.

Alistair slowly unlatched the stall and made his way out of the bathroom. There was no one in the hallway, and no one in the entrance, but before he stepped inside the dining hall he did a quick breathing exercise. Just in case. As he pulled open the doors, the fresh smell of pastry and pavlova attacked his nose and he almost lost it right then and there. He gagged in his mouth and looked straight down, avoiding eye contact with the waiters and waitresses.

His table was near the far right wall. He just needed to make it there and leave as quickly as possible. It felt like everyone’s eyes were on him as he stumbled his way through the crowds. Someone stepped back and walked into him, apologising quickly under their breath. Alistair could’ve killed them. He was so overwhelmed, sweaty, sick and felt like the next time he looked up would be his last.

Thankfully, by some miracle, his table came into view and he beelined it for his phone. But, the miracle didn’t last long, as one of his friends, Cassie, stopped him in his tracks.

“Alistair! Where were you? You missed all the speeches.”

He swallowed thickly. “Uh. Bathroom.” He said stupidly.

Cassie frowned a bit, no doubt noticing his complexion. “Are you alright? You don’t look so good.” Her hands were gripping his arms, making him feel even hotter.

“Um.” He swallowed again. His stomach was revving up the spin cycle once again, and his lower belly was beginning to cramp. Alistair just shook his head and removed himself from her grasp, sidling past her and grabbing his phone. Cassie followed him, blocking him from the other guests' views.

“Do you need help? You look like you might pass out.”

“I’m about to. I feel like garbage.” Another gag grew in his throat and he cupped his mouth, one hand still scrolling through his contacts.

Cassie grabbed a glass. “Do you want some water?” She shoved it in his face and he never thought water could make him feel so ill but the way it sloshed and settled just made him think of his insides, and another gag hit him. Cassie put it back down quickly. “Okay, no water. How about Nikau? I can call him for you?”

Alistair’s hands were shaking as she pulled his phone gently out of his hand. He curled forward and wrapped his free hand around his middle. The smells and temperature of this building was just making him feel like hot shit, he wished he had never left the cool sanctuary of the bathroom.

His stomach grumbled at him, bloated and upset and so close to being sick Alistair was scared he’d soon have puke on his lap. Cassie was talking beside him but he couldn’t understand what she was saying. There was too much going on and his head felt like it was gonna explode.

“Cassie, I need a bin.”

Cassie turned to look at him, phone at her ear. “What?”

“A-urrp- a bin. I’m gonna throw up.” He said thickly. Alistair felt his jaw grow heavy and saliva pooled under his tongue. He gagged harshly into his hand and hoped Cassie had heard what he had said. Suddenly, a bin appeared in his lap and he let the floodgates open. He gagged loudly, curling his around the lip of the bin to cover his face. Vomit splattered into the bottom, crinkling up the rubbish bag and covering the napkins and plastic cups inside it. He was glad there was no food in this one.

His back curled forward as he gagged again, chunky vomit coating his throat and the bin. He burped wetly, rubbing his belly as another gag rocketed up his throat and more vomit fell into the bin. He hoped no one was taking notice, the situation couldn’t get any worse. He had little time to think as another gag attacked him, the nausea sky rocketing to a solid 16 out of 10. Alistair moaned into the bin, coughing and spitting.

Cassie’s hand was on his back. He appreciated that as he could barely feel himself sitting in his own chair. Her hand was keeping him grounded as his head floated away into the sky. Alistair rested his burning forehead on his wrist, methodically spitting into the bin. He tried to soothe his tummy but he was so bloated it was painful to even let his fingers gently graze the skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily.

“Hey, are you alright now?” Cassie said, her quiet voice beside his ear. Alistair was glad she was the one who found him.

He nodded. He wasn’t done-done, but for now he felt like he could at least stand up. “Okay, because Nikau is on his way. I think some fresh air will do you some good.” She rubbed her hand up the length of his back, keeping him steady.

“Yep. Okay, help me up.” Alistair’s face was beet red, a mix of exhaustion and embarrassment. He just needed a bed and his boyfriends arms. His stomach was aching at this point, the violent vomiting and the tight swollen skin made it feel like he couldn’t bend over even if he tried.

“How are you?’ Cassie asked.

“Terrible. My stomach really hurts.” He couldn’t keep the whine out of his voice. “And I feel like I’m walking on nothing. It feels really weird.”

Cassie held him tighter at that. “Mm, you’re probably dehydrated. I get that.”

The air outside was refreshing. It blew the sticky hair off his face and filled his lungs. Alistair found himself guided to the nearest bench and sitting down was a relief.

“Is it a stomach bug?” Cassie asked. She was looking out at the road for any sign of Nikau.

Alistair shrugged, rubbing his tummy. “Not sure. Probably, considering my whole body feels like it's on fire.” Cassie gently put her hand on Alistair’s forehead.

“Yeah, no wonder you feel so terrible.”

It went quiet. Alistair just curled up into himself, gently rubbing his belly as it settled down. He was glad the vomiting helped, if only he didn’t have to do it in public. His lamenting was cut short as a car approached the curb, and a very stressed Nikau hopped out of the drivers side.

“Star, oh my god! Are you alright?” A flash of movement and Nikau was in front of him, holding his face with his hands, checking over him like a worried mother. “Cas, hey, is he okay?”

Cassie giggled. “Yes, I think so. He puked inside, but he’s definitely not 100%” She stood up, brushing down her dress. “I better get back inside, actually. I hope you feel better, Alistair.”

Before she left, Alistair mustered up the strength to look at her. “Thank you, Cassie. You saved me in there.”

She looked a little sheepish. “Oh, it was nothing. Just, rest up.”

She left and Nikau brought his hands to Alistairs. “You’re burning. Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”

“Please.” Alistair was pulled up by Nikau and gently put into the passenger seat. He rested his head on the window, still holding his middle.

Nikau got in the car and looked right at him. “How are you? You really don’t look good, Star.” He cupped his face, thumb gently rubbing under his eye.

Alistair leant into his hand. He could fall asleep just like this. “I feel awful. I’m overwhelmed and I feel like my head isn’t connected to my body. And my belly hurts really badly.” He moaned that last bit. He scooted down in the seat more, feeling sorry for himself.

“Aw, Star. Don’t worry, I’ll get you feeling better in no time my love.”

---

terrible at endings

#emeto #stomach ache #sickfic #emetophilia #vomiting #belly rubs #oc's #alistair #nikau #belly kink #burping

60 notes · View notes

shion-yu · 2 months

Text

A Safe Place (part 1) [Day 28]

Cliff shows up at Elliot's doorstep in the middle of the night soaked to the bone. A Cliff/Elliot sickfic heavy on the angst, also ft. Theo. For @monthofsick Day 28: Chaotic body temperature. I know, not me joining in on a writing challenge right at the end but it fit so well. 3,065 words, original work, TWs for homophobia, emeto (neither strong warnings, but the sick will get much sicker in p2).

It had been a long summer. Cliff had spent it working at Theo's law firm again, except this time he wasn't an unpaid intern but a legal secretary. It was a temporary job that they had offered him when his summer break had aligned perfectly with one of the secretary's maternity leaves and Cliff had jumped at the chance to work in such a great environment again. He was happy to see many familiar faces from last year, and to his surprise they were happy to see him too. Although he was mainly working with one of the other partners this time - not Theo - he saw the lawyer nearly every day and was relieved to learn both Theo and his partner, Al, were in good health. Al had gotten a double lung transplant that last Fall, Theo told Cliff. He and his new lungs were doing great.

"What about you?" Theo asked Cliff eagerly. "How did your first year at NYU go?"

Cliff smiled, automatically thinking of Elliot. "It was great," he said. "My classes were interesting but not too hard."

"You look happier," Theo said, surprising Cliff with how true the observation was. "Did something cause that?"

"Yeah," Cliff said thoughtfully. "Someone did."

Being apart from Elliot that summer was difficult. He missed hugging and kissing Elliot every single day. He wanted to talk to him on the phone for hours and hours just to hear his voice and fall asleep with his fingers in Elliot’s curls. But when he was living at home, Cliff knew he had to be the perfect, straight laced child he'd been raised as. In other words, he couldn't be himself. He wore business attire to work every day, but the soft sweaters and cute hair clips he'd amassed over the past year stayed packed away in his college stuff for next semester. He didn't think his parents would appreciate those particular fashion choices he'd been making.

It's not like his parents made it hard to hide things. They hardly ever asked questions, and if they did it was about grades or tuition. Cliff knew he was incredibly lucky that his parents paid his entire tuition, room and board as if it were a given. Elliot's parents weren't able to help much financially, meaning his boyfriend had to take out loans and work part time while in school. This summer he was working nonstop in his dad's auto mechanic shop, saving up money. Often when Cliff video called Elliot these days he was covered in sweat, streaks of black motor oil on his face. It seemed wrong to complain about his parents when it was thanks to them that he was only working this summer because he wanted to, not because he had to. And yet, silently, Cliff thought maybe he'd be happier if he was in Elliot's shoes - without much money but with a place he could really call home. It was a selfish, privileged thought and Cliff refused to voice it, but it creeped in each time he heard Elliot's mom call in the background, "Boys, wash up, it's time for dinner!"

Working was a blessing to Cliff, because if he'd been at home he would've been in that big, lonely house all by himself most of the summer. Being at the law firm was not only a distraction, but comfortable. Despite wearing a suit, Cliff actually felt less tense there than at his parents' house. He stayed long hours, longer than he needed to, because he preferred the sound of printers and fax machines over his parents screaming at each other downstairs. When he was in high school it seemed easier to ignore. Maybe it was because he'd had a break for so many months that returning to it seemed worse than before. Or maybe it was because Elliot never screamed at him like that, and Cliff had started to realize that this wasn't how things had to be.

Around the beginning of August, Cliff caught a cold that didn't seem to go away. At first it was just the sniffles, and then it was a cough that grew progressively deeper with each week that passed. The other employees started asking him if he was alright, and embarrassingly Theo caught him staring blankly at the water fountain one day for far too long. Cliff was so out of it that he didn't even notice Theo calling his name until the older man waved his hand in Cliff's face.

"Oh," Cliff said, rubbing his eyes to try and make his blurry vision clear up. "Sorry, I was just... Daydreaming."

"You look pale," Theo said, and before Cliff could step back Theo had placed a hand on Cliff's forehead while ignoring Cliff's protest that he was fine. "Hmm, you feel a little feverish. Why don't you go home, kid?"

"I'm really fine," Cliff said, wildly embarrassed. "It's just a cold."

Theo looked him up and down, clearly assessing how pushy he should be. "At least go take a nap on the couch in my office, you look exhausted."

Usually, Cliff would say no immediately. He wouldn't even consider showing weakness at the place he was supposed to be making a vitally good impression at for his career. But he felt weak and a little dizzy and found himself saying in a small voice, "...If you're sure."

Theo was sure. He brought Cliff to his office and shut the blinds so there wasn't much light coming through the many glass windows. He even tossed a blanket to the eighteen-year-old. "I sleep here all the time," he reassured Cliff. "You can't work if you're too tired to think. Don't worry about it."

Cliff felt guilty for taking over Theo's office, but Theo headed out for a two hour meeting and Cliff was left alone on the couch. He had half a mind to leave and get back to work at his desk now that there was no one stopping him, but just sitting there made him realize how fatigued his whole body felt. A little nap wouldn't hurt, he reasoned. A really short one. He lay down and fell asleep so quickly that he didn't even remember closing his eyes.

He woke up to Theo gently rubbing his shoulder. Cliff was confused, then his eyes widened in embarrassment and he sat up. Shit, had it been two hours already? Wait, that clock didn't say 5pm did it? - surely he hadn't slept for four hours?!

"Woah, it's okay Cliff," Theo said quickly, "You seemed really tired so I let you sleep. You should go home now, everybody's leaving for the day."

"I'm so sorry," Cliff gushed, face bright red. "I didn't mean to sleep so long. You don't have to pay me for today - please don't, actually."

"Settle down, it's really fine," Theo said in a calm voice that made Cliff remember to take a deep breath like Elliot had taught him to calm down. "We all have off days. You don't feel so warm now, so that's good. Stay home tomorrow though."

"That's totally not necessary," Cliff said, his confident tone supplemented by a very unconvincing round of dry coughs. He waved off the tissues Elliot tried to hand him. "Really, I'm fine. I've just been having some asthma since I got sick last winter, but my boy-" Cliff stopped himself, realizing he was about to out himself. "My, um, my roommate got me an inhaler so I just have to use it that's all."

"Your boyfriend," Elliot supplied gently. "It's okay to say it, Cliff. You know I have Al."

Cliff wanted to deny the comment outright. He wanted to laugh and say Elliot really was just a friend. But Theo had such an earnest expression, and he was the only successful adult man Cliff knew of who was gay. "I know, but, it's really not, not for me," Cliff found himself saying, voice wavering. "I-I have to go. Sorry I slept in your office so long," he said as he hurried out, ignoring Theo's all too kind voice calling after him. Cliff knew in a certain world that it was okay, but it wasn't his world. Not the world where he still relied on his parents.

Despite saying he'd be back the next day, Cliff did stay home that Friday. His fever was worse and he had chills that left him huddled under the covers. His mom didn't notice he didn't leave the house and he didn't tell her. She didn't need to know, just like she didn't need to know about Elliot. She had never supported Cliff in anything at all, so why... Why did Cliff feel such a strong urge to tell her?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

On the last day of Cliff's work at the law firm, Theo told Cliff if he ever needed a reference, he'd get a glowing one from him. And if he ever needed to talk about anything, anything at all, Cliff could call him too. Cliff knew what he was getting at, and he didn't want to face it. But Theo was such a calm person that it was disarming, and Cliff asked without meaning to, "Is it worth it?"

Theo nodded. He knew what Cliff meant without specification. "Yes, it's worth it," Theo said. "Even if there's nay-sayers and you lose people, you gain much more. It's always worth it to be exactly who you are, Cliff."

Cliff went back to his parents house with those words echoing in his brain. Theo, a successful and respected lawyer, said it was worth it. He had a career and a person who loved him by his side. Was that something Cliff could have, too? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be honest, just once?

"Mom," Cliff said over dinner, pushing his phone over to her with a picture of him and Elliot together on the screen. "I want to tell you something. This is my-"

"Don't do this to me Cliff," his mother interrupted before he could finish. "You've already caused enough trouble. He's not - just because you have a thing with another guy doesn't mean anything."

"It's not a thing mom. I love him," Cliff found himself saying angrily. And oh, why did he say that? The first time he finally said he loved Elliot and it was directed at his mom in spite. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

"Cliff, you don't love him. You're too old to be playing this game. Now I'll forget we had this conversation. And don't tell your father."

Cliff saw red. He'd never been so angry in his life. He snatched his phone back and grabbed his wallet on the shelf by the door and went outside. She didn't follow him.

It was pouring rain. Cliff shivered, wishing he'd had the forethought to grab a coat too, but he wasn't going to ruin his dramatic exit by going back inside. Of course his mother hadn't approved. Cliff hadn't expected her to. But he'd expected her to get angry - not to dismiss him all together like he was just a kid with a big imagination. Cliff knew then that she would never really think of him as his own person, and he couldn't do anything to change that. It broke his heart.

Cliff walked for a very long time. He didn't quite know where he was going, only that he wanted to get as far away from that house as possible. He found himself at a park by the water where he beat up a couple of tree trunks that definitely won based on his bleeding knuckles afterwards. The rain didn't let up, and Cliff found himself getting progressively colder. His cough from earlier that month had never gone away and his breath began to catch on what felt like a dry patch in his throat. Cliff realized then that he'd left his inhaler at the house, too. The coughing grew more desperate until he pitched forward and vomited onto the grass he was standing on. He groaned and leaned against the nearest tree he could find, the contents of his stomach mixing with rushing rain water and swept away quickly. He continued to gag for several minutes until the coughing abated ever so slightly. He felt weak and pathetic. And also very, very alone.

He needed to get somewhere dry. Somewhere warm and safe. Cliff only had one place like that in mind. He boarded train after train, shivering in the corner like a wet dog as he made his way all the way to Long Island. He knew Elliot's address because he'd been sending Elliot mail all summer, little love notes and presents that made Cliff think of him. He never included a return address though, because he hadn't wanted his parents to see. Thankfully his phone had enough battery to direct him to Elliot's doorstep despite the wet four hour commute, and he found himself at the front door of a modest suburban home at 3:30 in the morning.

The journey had felt like a daze. Cliff had never done something so erratic, so unplanned. He raised his hand to knock before remembering what time it was, and Elliot had parents and sister who probably wouldn't appreciate him knocking. He called Elliot instead, his phone barely hanging on at 5%. He thought to himself that it seemed unlikely that Elliot would answer at this time of night. But after several rings, by which time Cliff had resigned himself to waiting for dawn under a tree, a very sleepy voice picked up.

"Cliff?"

"Elliot? Sorry to bother you," Cliff said, as if this entire situation weren't incredibly bizarre. "But I'm at your door."

There was a long pause, presumably while Elliot tried to figure out exactly what Cliff meant by 'at your door'. "Like right now? Now?"

"Yeah," Cliff said. "Do you think I could sleep over?"

"I'm coming down," Elliot said, and there was the rustling of sheets and then the thump of footsteps as Elliot ran downstairs. The front door opened and Elliot hung up. Cliff looked at him and thought he was the most beautiful person in the entire world. "Holy crap, you're really here," Elliot breathed. "God Cliff, what happened? No, come in first, you're soaked..."

Elliot pulled Cliff inside and helped Cliff take off his soaked trainers. There were traces of vomit on the front of his shirt and his fingers were still bloody. Elliot brought him to the bathroom, motioning for Cliff to stay quiet with one finger to his lips. He grabbed a towel from under the sink and wrapped it around the shorter boy, who was shivering violently from the marked change in temperature. In the bright light of the kitchen, suddenly his journey seemed a lot less valiant and a lot more stupid. "Sit," Elliot said, sitting Cliff on the toilet. "You're freezing... Can you take your temperature?”

Elliot handed Cliff a thermometer, which Cliff obediently used. After a few seconds it beeped and read ‘96.9.’ Elliot frowned. “Hot shower, okay?" Despite being woken up in the middle of the night, Elliot seemed fully alert. Cliff nodded and peeled off his wet and dirty clothes. He coughed roughly as he did so, a slight wheeze audible on the end of the exhale. Elliot patted his back with a concerned expression. "Do you have your inhaler?" Cliff shook his head no. Elliot grimaced and ran the hot water for Cliff. "You warm up. I'm gonna find you some clothes and I think there's an old inhaler somewhere in the medicine cabinet..."

Elliot moved to leave, but Cliff grabbed his arm before he could go. "Don't wake your family up," Cliff said hoarsely. "I'm okay."

Elliot looked at Cliff in concern and sighed. "Cliff, you just showed up soaking wet in the middle of the night. You live all the way in Newark. I'm gonna be a little concerned. But right now you need to warm up. We can talk later."

"Okay," Cliff said. He took the hottest shower of his life then, and it felt glorious. After a few minutes he started to feel dizzy though and sat on the floor of the tub. Elliot came back and peeked around the curtain, frowning when he saw Cliff sitting there.

"Are you awake?" Elliot asked worriedly.

"Hmm," Cliff hummed in confirmation. "Just feels nice, and I got sleepy."

"Finish up in there," Elliot said. "I've got sweats and a hot water bottle and bed waiting for you."

Cliff obediently finished showering and sat on the edge of the tub as Elliot dried him off thoroughly with two big, fluffy towels. Cliff closed his eyes and remembered how many times he'd imagined being together again over the summer. "I missed you so much," Cliff said, resting his face on Elliot's abdomen.

Elliot stilled and crouched in front of Cliff. "I missed you too," he said softly. "Now arms up." Elliot helped Cliff get into the warmest sweats that he owned and then led Cliff upstairs to his bedroom. The house was quiet, and Cliff hoped that meant he hadn't disturbed anyone else's sleep. He glanced around curiously at Elliot's childhood bedroom, which was decorated in a way that seemed so very Elliot. He smiled at the teddy bear sitting on the dresser that Cliff had bought Elliot at the baseball game they'd been to. It brought back good memories, nothing like the ones that had been swirling around in Cliff's head for the past several rainy hours.

"Bed," Elliot whispered, tucking Cliff under the duvet and several extra blankets. Cliff was still shivering, but less so now. His temperature had blown from low numbers to high and he gazed at Elliot with glassy, feverish eyes. Elliot handed Cliff a very expired albuterol inhaler, which Cliff took a few puffs of. Despite the date stamped on the canister, it still eased the tightness in Cliff's chest a little. Elliot then climbed in next to him and wrapped his arms around Cliff. The feeling and smell of being enveloped by Elliot after all this time brought Cliff to tears and he hid his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know I should have called.”

"It’s okay,” Elliot said. “Sleep, Cliff. We can talk tomorrow.” Knowing he was finally in the only place he truly felt safe, Cliff slept.

[Cont. part 2]

#shionwrites #novemetober rescheduled #whump #sickfic #sicknario #tw: emeto #tw: homophobia #prompt: chaotic body temperature #novemetober 2023 #oc: cliff #oc: theo #oc: elliot #fever whump #hurt/comfort #angst #hypothermia #pneumonia

39 notes · View notes

rt-squish · 7 months

Text

I was never really satisfied with the first version of this scenario, so I redid it.

(This version is inspired in part by emetoandotherthings' stories. A splendid sickfic writer.)

#my ocs #steve #stuffing #gurgle #emetomania #emeto #cw vomit #marcus #puke #gross #sick #whump #doodles #meinstuffe #non-canon

61 notes · View notes

writing-whump · 6 months

Note

💔😭🛌🥣🤢🤮 for one of your boys? 🖤

This is a great one, thank you! From this ask game.

The trio has a movie night with Isaiah stress sick all day until it finally downs at him. Vomiting, angst, heartache and lots of comfort.

Movie night

It started with the phone call.

"Your brother is back in town."

That was all it took. A friendly warning from Sonny that Hector was back from his exchange semester. They would probably meeting again at the nearest wolf event. If he didn't go they would meet at the next one.

There would be no avoiding Hector anymore.

That was alright. They knew how to get along civilialy. Right?

After getting the call, Isaiah couldn't eat. He hated how it messed up his whole day. His focus was shot, he kept forgetting what he was planning to do. While reading his preparation texts for uni the letters swam in front of his eyes and he didn't dare send any coordinating emails for work when he was so confused.

He stayed at home, pacing the apartment and fighting the lingering nausea that just accompanied him everywhere. He didn't dare to eat, just keeping hydrated. It was the weirdest feeling. He felt restless and tired and the same time. Waiting for something to be over that there was no running from.

His self-pitying parade ended when Seline and Matthew came home.

"I got the popcorn and Matthew got the cola!" Seline said instead of a greeting. "So I hope you got that free evening we talked about."

"Free evening?" Isaiah asked, confused. Damn, what else did he forget today?

"Yes. It's Wednesday. Our movie night. Remember?"

Ah right. Seline kept coming up with these ideas where they would all see or meet each other regularly doing activities together. It was like she was afraid they would drift apart before they even got close.

In the name of bonding time, she came up with traditions for starts and ends of semesters, holidays, conclusion of exam season and regular common events.

It was heartwarming in effort, a little awkward in its schedule. But they all agreed it was justified. Isaiah lived alone since he was 18 and he didn't talk with his family properly since that day. Matthew spent his teenage years in a boarding school.

Seline was the only one with a nice stable family - if the daily calls to her mom and weekly visits she came all happy from were anything to go by - but since she didn't live in Vienna until this year and out of many other complicated reasons, she had very few friends in the city itself.

Isaiah got the impression she was on a quest to change this, and it was a purposeful decision she was doing her best planning and preparing for.

He couldn't be angry, and he couldn't say no to that effort. Even if having a movie night was the last thing on his mind. His chest was feeling tight, probably from the angsting he was doing all day and the nausea was still very much there although his stomach hurt from hunger.

It was horrible to come to terms with his heart issues because he pushed his emotions and shadow down so successfully for years after moving out, it became his weak spot. If there was anything stressful or upsetting, it went right there. The damage was done, permanent. The doctor he saw about it said it was very rare for shadow wolves to contract such lasting issues in life. Shadows could heal anything aside silver - but they couldn't heal damage they caused themselves. And this was a gradual one, caused over time, little tears around the heart valve that wouldn't to away anymore.

That one was entirely on Isaiah.

He didn't tell anyone. It would be entirely discrediting for all the packs if they knew he had such an injury, such obvious weakness. They would tear him to pieces or never take him seriously again. His influence would be shot.

Only Matthew knew a little. Since that unfortunate day when he helped him home and watched him get sick. Though Isaiah didn't really explain and didn't know how serious it was at the time.

Isaiah didn't realize all the preparations were ready as he sat on the couch in thought. He was really out of it today to not join in any way.

Seline made the pop corn, Matthew brought the big cola bottles and before Isaiah knew how it happened, he had a glass of it pushed into his hand. The lights were shut and the beginning of Mad Max: Fury road started to play.

"You picked this for us so we would have some action?" Matthew asked, stretching on the sofa completely with a handful of popcorn gathered in his hand.

Seline glared at the lack of a bowl, but seated herself across Isaiah in the corner of the sofa.

"This movie is so much more than mere action. I admit the plot is simple, but that's so you can focus your attention on all the details of the worldbuilding. There are amazing social themes about humanity, apocalypse, reactions, dictatorship, oppression, brainwashing and power of friendship, redemption. The brutality of the fights and the agressive music contrast with the small moments of kindness and softness..."

Seline got into her triad as the titles started playing.

Isaiah held his glass stiffly. He didn't want to be here. Somehow until now he didn't realize how intrusive it would be to live with others. He liked company and was good with people on a normal day, but he had days like these too and he didn't...it was very stupid it didn't connect until now. That he wouldn't be able to have lonely evenings of suffering in peace, that his secrets would be held under scrutiny, that his presence would be demanded and expected.

He wanted to be left with his dark thoughts, heart episodes and damaged family ties in peace.

He also couldn't leave without breaking a promise and alarming them that something was wrong.

The only thing he managed to come up with was to slide down from the couch onto the floor, leaning his back against it. At least a bit of privacy.

The cola in his hand smelled sweet and inviting and it was supposed to help with stomach issues, right? He took a few sips, feeling the rush of sugar calming his hunger pains.

It calmed him a little. Seline kept stopping the movie to underline some kind of important cue or meta fact. Matthew was getting crazy angry over it, except he talked right through the movie, when commenting or exclaiming suddenly about a well made fight scene.

Isaiah actually relaxed for a bit, getting his mind of things as he listed. He wasn't getting much from the movie, it was all too fast and colourful, but he was feeling marginally better.

So it was to is utterly surprise when the nausea returned. His stomach was bubbling angrily with the few mouthfuls of cola, sloshing painfully.

It wasn't fair. He wasn't even overthinking this anymore!

Isaiah tried to take deep breaths and calm himself down. If this was simply from stress, maybe it would go away soon.

Then his stomach gave a light squeeze. Liquid shot up his throat, the taste of cola flooded his tounge. He tried to swollow it down, but it surprised him so much he gasped and the sugary vomit spilled out, right down his front.

There was no warning, no sound, no fight. One minute he was fine, fighting the roiling liquid down and the next it dripped from his chin at the small splash in the center of his chest.

Isaiah was mortified, body going rigid. He had no idea how that happened. No heaving, no warning. He didn't feel any worse than he did the whole day, aside the constant dull ache in his stomach.

Did he seriously just throw up on himself in the middle of a movie?

The only saving grace was the fact no one seemed to notice. Seline and Matthew were too invested in the loud action of the movie and he was hidden away from direct sight, sitting on the floor like that.

He could simply get up and disappear into the bathroom. Change his clothes and act like nothing happened. It was just a little accident. Not like anybody had to know.

Except then he felt the liquid shoot up his throat again, the force accompanied by an agonising stab in his middle. All he managed was to hang his head over himself as it sprayed out of his mouth. Just a small sip of black liquid joining the first splash. His teeth felt sticky and eroded from it.

His body gave a whole-bodied shudder. His right hand hovered about his chest, but he felt paralysed by the disgust of it all. He who thought himself so good in control? This was so humiliating and gross...

A quite pitiful sound escaped him then, something between a sob and a sight. He wanted to fall down the floor and disappear.

And it had such an easy solution, if he just made himself get up already. No chance though, his body was locked up and frozen in place.

His heart was beating in his ears, painful electric impulses. The nausea was ever-present, only rising with his pulse and his stomach was doing flip flops for no reason.

"Hey, Isaiah? Are you paying attention?" Seline asked, interrupting his haze.

Isaiah gulped and nodded, hoping that would satisfy her. His ears were ringing, so he only half-heard the film. His stomach hurt, curled around itself like around a fist.

"Isaiah?" She asked tentatively and stopped the movie.

The room fell in uneasy silence. Isaiah's panting breaths sounded too loud against it.

And then something even worse happened. Matthew stretched out behind himself to turn on the switch, basking Isaiah's complete emberassment in bright light.

Isaiah shut his eyes against the onslaught of artificial rays, hanging his head and panting through rising panic.

"What the hell-" Matthew grumbled in surprise.

"Isaiah? Hey, hey, hey, what's wrong?" Seline's voice was melted honey, the softest sound he ever heard.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, pressing his hands against his eyes, hopefully hanging his head low enough to hide the worst of the mess on his chest. "Please, don't look at me." He sounded as pathetic as he felt. Just great.

"Isaiah," she cooed and he heard her sliding down the couch next to him. Cold hands were suddenly at the side of his face, her fingers in his hair, stroking his curls gently. Since he didn't slick them back today they were more wavy around his face, sticky with sweat.

"Does your belly hurt? Do you feel sick? What is it?" She asked, not pulling away from his hair.

Isaiah just shook his head, bowing further.

"Matthew, can you get me some paper towels," Seline said, voice soft but decisive. He heard Matthew's hurried footsteps on the floor. He didn't bother to look for his shoes before he went.

"Sweetie, please look at me," Seline said, treading her fingers through his overwarm, wet hair. "It's alright. You are okay."

Isaiah hid his face in his hands. The splutter of cola felt cold against his chest as it dried off and the smell of it mixed with stomach acid irrated his nose. He wanted to curl up on the floor and disappear.

This was so humiliating. With the silver poisoning, at least he was too out of it and it was too serious, serious enough to warrant his failure of senses. But this was just unforgivable, weak and repulsive. He felt so repulsive-

"Sweetie, come on. It's okay. Nobody is angry. Please, believe me." Seline slid closer to him, leaning her shoulder against his, one arm coming up around him to pull him against her, while the other kept stroking his hair.

"I'm sorry, I don't know- I don't-" His shoulders hitched with the sob. Selined leaned even closer, as if not disgusted by the the mess and the smell or by the display. She was full on hugging him now, her head against his neck.

"Shhh. You don't have to apologise, sweetheart."

Isaiah finally dropped his hands from his face, all pale and sweaty. He needed to see her, to make sure she wasn't joking. "Look at me, Seline. How can you-? I'm disgusting-"

As he turned his head he met her stare, bright baby blue eyes just centimeters from his. This was the closest their faces ever were together.

"Don't say that, sweetie. Darling. Dearest. Honey."

Isaiah huffed out a tiny laugh. He couldn't help it. He was a mess, and she was holding him, calling him all those weird sweet things, pressing herself against him as if nothing of that was true, as if his state wasn't absolutely unforgivable and sickening...

And she was doing it with that familiar fiery stubbornness and in that soft steely voice he couldn't resist.

Isaiah leaned his forehead against hers, just for a second forgetting how disgusting it all was. Just accepting the comfort, the touch, the blooming smell of her, like jasmine and peppermint.

He breathed in and out, only now realizing he could do it slow and proper again. His chest wasn't tight and pulsing anymore, and the pressure in his stomach eased up to exhausted but bearable soreness.

He waited for Matthew to get back with a fresh shirt and the towels, wrapped in her presence and reassurance.

----

@bellysoupset

#emeto #emeto writing #sickfic #stress sick #vomiting #whump #whump writing #hurt/comfort #comfort #my writing #my ocs #werewolf story #Isaiah

55 notes · View notes

labratboygirl · 3 months

Text

lovesickness

little thang i made to go hand in hand with the cupids arrow piece

#not as proud of this one as i am of the first one LMAO #funfact this is actually a remake of an old vent comic i decided to recycle into something sillay #might make this guy into a fullyfledged oc ……….iwanna name him kevin #my art #lovecore #emeto

39 notes · View notes

angstyaches · 2 years

Text

✨What’s up, witches?✨

Make assumptions about my OCs based on their appearance!

(sorry for the reposting shenanigans. I’m having formatting issues on my phone and my laptop, which is why the images are stacked instead of arranged in a square.)

Their names are (in the same order as the images):

Rex (she/her)

Blake (he/him) - please imagine with one blue and one brown eye.

Lilith (they/them)

Astrophel (he/him, or any neo pronouns).

Also here's the Picrew maker link. It’s a really fun one!

Assumptions:

“Astrophel is a good friend”

“Blake plays guitar (or wishes he did)” (Part Two)

“Lilith was bullied into being/looking ‘normal’ as a kid”

#ask game #Madame A's Retreat for Spellworking #MARS Rex #MARS Blake #MARS Lilith #MARS Astrophel #OC stuff #begging for asks #witch OCs #sickfic OCs #emeto OCs #whump OCs

5 notes · View notes

hae-meto · 1 month

Text

Feeling carsick ✨

#haedoodles #emeto #emeto art #oc

99 notes · View notes

iwritesickfic · 2 months

Text

An Unmissable Night

New fic! warnings for emeto

Seamus can already hear tomorrow’s blind items - “infamously awful popstar is noticeably absent from his all-too-forgiving boyfriend’s birthday soiree. is their relationship on the rocks? again?!”

He knows why Theo’s not here, and he knows it’s not because their relationship is on the rocks. Theo’s been sick as a dog for the past two days, and there was no way in hell Seamus was going to wake him up to get to his birthday party.

So Seamus is here alone. Not really, all his friends will be here soon, but he still feels like he’s here alone. If so many people hadn’t already been invited he would’ve just cancelled, but it’s way too late for that. He’d so much rather be at home with Theo, puking or otherwise. Pretty much anywhere he is, he'd almost always rather be with Theo.

They’re at a small but incredibly extravagant spot downtown, with maroon velvet curtains and low lights and a mahogany bar. The crowd has only just begun to arrive, and though he said no gifts, a pile of them are accumulating by the entryway.

As he’s grabbing another drink, he hears more than the average chatter from the door. He turns to see Theo, looking incredible in one of Seamus’s cream fisherman sweaters. It’s cuffed at the sleeves so it doesn’t fall over his hands. He’s talking with the bouncer (and a few of the other guests) as he’s taking off his coat, and Seamus almost thinks he’s made a miraculous recovery.

He knows better than to assume Theo showing up means that, though. Then Theo catches sight of him, beaming. Seamus smiles back, and then Theo’s making his way over to him.

“Happy birthday!” he says, and kisses Seamus’s cheek. He clasps his hands loosely behind Seamus’s back, so his arms are around his waist before kissing him again, this time on the lips. Seamus leans back against the bar top, letting himself enjoy this for a moment before making himself acknowledge how feverish Theo feels against him. He lays his palm on his cheek, and sure enough, he’s burning. Still, he’s so happy to see him he can’t quite wipe the smile off his face.

“Feeling better?” he asks, still half hopeful, and Theo snorts.

“No, absolutely not. But I’m fine. Tylenol, Pepto, whatever. You look so goddamn beautiful.” He’s smiling like he’s being completely sincere. Seamus sighs, cupping his hot cheeks.

“Thank you Teddy, but there’s a reason I didn’t wake you up. You should be in bed. Seriously.” He tries to keep his tone admonishing, but it's hard when Theo is between his legs and has him pinned to a bar. And is calling him ‘so goddamn beautiful.’

He tightens his arms around Seamus’s waist, grinning like a devil.

“And miss your birthday?” He asks, and it’s clear he’s putting every ounce of seduction he can into that one sentence.

“Yes. And miss my birthday. You’re…” He tucks some of Theo’s hair behind his ear. “You’re really burning up.”

Theo tucks his face against Seamus’s neck as Seamus wraps his arms around him. They stay that way for a while, and eventually Seamus finds they’re ever so slightly rocking from side to side.

“I don’t think the tylenol is working,” Seamus finally says as they pull apart. His voice is still low. Theo sighs, closing his eyes.

“That would make sense. I threw up like…almost immediately after.”

“Oh, baby…” Seamus is back to stroking his hair. Theo relaxes into his touch for a moment before straightening back up.

“Look, I’m fine. I’m not missing this.”

“Yeah, because it's gonna be such an unmissable night,” he says, even though he knows that's not what Theo means. “I don’t care what people are gonna say,” he finally whispers and Theo’s brow furrows.

“What?”

“If you’re not here.”

Theo’s brows shoot up.

“Oh. I didn’t even think about that.” He pauses, he looks around the room.

“Then… Why do you wanna stay so bad?” This all makes even less sense knowing that the idea has just occurred to Theo. His face softens, almost hurt.

“Because it’s your birthday,” he says, voice quiet. Seamus's chest immediately aches. Part of him feels terrible for assuming it was Theo’s desire for good PR that drove him here, another is guilty for his stupid birthday being the reason Theo’s not in bed where he should be. Instead he's here, burning up a fever, swaying in Seamus's arms. “You don't want me here?” Theo asks, and Seamus cups his cheek.

“Oh my god, of course! Jesus Christ, of course I want you here, Theo. You're just-” he cuts himself off, tucking a bit of hair behind Theo’s ear. The fever heat pouring off him is astonishing. “You're so sick, baby.”

Theo lets out a shuddering sigh and, again, turns his face into Seamus’s touch.

“Don't make me leave, Shay. I wanna stay,” he murmurs, his big brown eyes pleading in the way Seamus can never resist. The hint of a smile has returned, like he knows how irresistible he's being. It doesn't help that Seamus’s thumbs have found their way under his sweater, to the hollows of his hips. Seamus sighs and looks up at the ceiling, as if the strength he needs to send him away is up there somewhere.

Before he can reply, a voice cuts in.

“Sorry to interrupt the love birds but I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday!” It's Elise, one of the assistant engineers from the studio, and Seamus (very reluctantly) breaks away from Theo to return her hug. As they start to talk, Theo catches Seamus’s eye, raising his eyebrows. After a moment, Seamus nods back, and Theo smiles before going off to talk to another of their mutual friends.

Over the next half hour the crowd grows, and Seamus makes his rounds. It feels like an eternity before he finally spots Theo on one of the maroon velvet tufted couches, laughing with a group of a few other people. When he spots Seamus he beams.

“Hey!” he says, resting his hand on Seamus's thigh as he sits down beside him. Seamus's stomach tightens as he feels the fever heat from Theo’s palm. Seamus kisses his cheek.

“Hey, love.”

As the conversation picks back up, he's almost able to forget what's going on, just able to enjoy the company. God, his boyfriend is so funny. God, he's so charming.

Then Theo’s fingers stiffen where they rest on Seamus's leg, and all of that ease disappears. He turns to him, looking very pale, and all of Seamus’s attention snaps to his face.

“I'm gonna go get a drink,” he says, and Seamus can hear the breathless nausea in his voice. “Do you want anything?”

“No, no, I'm ok. Are you -” He takes Theo’s hand as he stands up, shaking his head.

“Be right back,” he says, and disappears back through the crowd before Seamus has a chance to ask him anything else.

Seamus tries to fall back into the flow of conversation, but he can't quite relax.

“Where's Theo? It's been like, 20 minutes or something,” one of his friends finally remarks, and someone else shrugs.

“Bar’s probably super backed up.”

“20 minutes backed up?”

“Know what? I'm gonna go grab something, I'll find him,” Seamus says, standing up and making a beeline for the bar. It's moderately busy, but Theo is nowhere to be seen. Seamus starts to make his way to the bathroom, and when he tries the handle, he finds it's locked. He knocks.

“Sorry, I'm - Someone's in here,” he hears Theo’s voice say, muffled through the door.

“It's me,” Seamus says, and it takes a few moments for the lock to click. He slips inside quickly, only to see Theo bent over the sink, his sweater rolled up to his elbows, flushed and trembling.

“Hey,” he murmurs waveringly.

“Hey, love,” Seamus says. He doesn't need to ask what happened, he already knows. And Theo knows he knows. So instead, he starts to comb his fingers through Theo’s hair, removing the hair tie that's already begun to fall out. He takes his time gathering his hair into as neat a bun as he can while Theo breathes slowly and deliberately. He rests his palm on Theo’s back when he's done. His fever is raging, his whole body shaking.

“So…” Theo swallows thickly, finally pushing himself upright. “So should I go out first, or you? Or at the same time?”

“Same time I think,” Seamus says, and Theo raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah?”

“Why not? Oh god forbid someone think you gave me head on my birthday.”

Theo laughs, sniffling.

“Yeah, I guess you're right.”

“You ready?”

Theo nods, even though his expression says that he's the opposite of ready. They leave together, back out into the party, and Seamus wraps his arm around Theo’s waist, pressing a kiss to his sweaty temple.

“You wanna go sit back down? Or you wanna come with me to the bar?”

“With you.”

They make their way through the crowd, and the bartender is immediately in front of them as soon as they approach, despite the bar being completely crowded.

“Hey, um, do you have anything with, like, ginger in it?” he asks, and the bartender blinks.

“A Moscow mule?” She asks, verging on condescension.

“No, no I mean… Ginger beer? Or grated ginger or something? No alcohol.”

“Well I can make you a virgin Moscow if you want?” She asks, and Seamus nods.

“Perfect. Two of those.”

She goes back down to the other end of the bar to make the drinks, and Seamus turns to Theo. He just stands beside him, breath shaky and intentionally slow.

“I can't wait to give you your present when we get home,” he says, his voice still wobbly. He's forcing himself to smile, and Seamus smiles back.

“I don't know if you're in any state to give me what I really want,” he whispers back and Theo laughs softly, a genuine smile growing now, and presses himself closer. He bites his lip and leans in.

“I thought you like when I gag on it,” he whispers, and it's so filthy and unexpected that Seamus bursts out laughing at full volume, turning a few heads. He quickly tries to compose himself.

“You are fucking disgusting,” he whispers back, his cheeks aching from how hard he's smiling.

“You can't set me up,” he says, and leans in closer, pressing a soft, open mouthed kiss to Seamus’s throat.

The bartender sets down the two copper mugs in front of them wordlessly before walking away and Seamus feels his face flush as he picks them up.

“Thanks,” he calls to her, and Theo laughs again against his skin. Before he can return to their rapidly escalating banter the lights dim, and he hears Happy Birthday begin in about 7 different keys.

Then Theo is singing too, and the crowd parts as someone wheels forth a gigantic birthday cake with about a thousand candles.

He doesn't have to fake his smile as the song finishes. As he blows out the candles the room cheers, and the lights come back up.

He's relieved the only real event of the night is over, because now he's free to leave whenever he wants. And judging by Theo’s fever that's going to be sooner than later.

A server is cutting and passing out cake, and Seamus rubs Theo's back gently. He's holding his mug with both hands, taking tiny sips, his chin quivering.

Seamus gives him a look, and Theo seems to understand because he nods back, his mouth in a tight line.

“I'm gonna go start saying bye, maybe you can go get some air?” He asks, and Theo nods again, eyes closing as he swallows thickly. He gives him a peck on the cheek before making his way back through the crowd.

It's about 15 minutes before he finally makes it back to the front door where Theo is. He's in his coat, leaning against the wall with his eyes screwed shut, cheeks flushed red. It only takes Seamus's thumb brushing his jaw for him to open his eyes.

“Ready?” Seamus asks, and Theo nods, eyes half lidded. Seamus takes his sweaty palm and they walk outside only to be met by the flash of about a dozen cameras and shouted questions.

He hears Theo take in a sharp breath, and he squeezes his hand.

Just before they make it to the car Theo stops short. Seamus is just turning back to see what's the matter when Theo doubles over and vomits into the gutter. The sound of the camera shutters doubles, and Seamus feels awful about it but he practically drags Theo into the car despite him clearly not being finished. The last thing Theo needs are tabloids writing about how he left a bar “hammered” when his sobriety is already a constant topic of speculation.

When they’re safely inside, the driver is prepared with a bag. Seamus just rests his hand between Theo’s shoulder blades not saying a word. The car pulls away, and the flashes of cameras and muffled questions slowly fade as Theo heaves.

When he's finally done they’re on the Manhattan Bridge, and he leans back, still shaking.

“I'm so sorry,” he breathes, and Seamus frowns.

“No, no, no. Stop it. Nothing to be sorry for,” he says as Theo wipes his mouth.

“You're too nice. I'm such a fucking idiot for coming out tonight, I feel like I'm gonna die,” he whimpers, and Seamus kisses his fiery temple.

Theo's arms are wrapped around his stomach, his shoulders tense.

“I'm not going to not be nice. But, yeah,” he teases gently. Theo's head leans down to rest on his shoulder.

“You're supposed to argue and say I'm not an idiot,” he murmurs back. The car goes over a bump and he moans.

“Well I'm not going to lie either,” he says, before pressing another kiss to Theo’s damp hairline.

“I'm gonna make it up to you. With your present,” he mumbles.

“That's alright, it can wait.”

#my writing #sickfic #whump #illness kink #emeto #oc theo #oc seamus #sorry for the formatting #no idea how to do anything on mobile rip

34 notes · View notes

blinkpen · 9 months

Text

beating myself to death with hammers (casually spitballing ideas for HYPOTHETICAL Bad Ends) for NO fucking reason, but be a pressure valve on my own current turbulent emotions, we are all so lucky i prefer happy endings and healing and shit long term, things have the potential to be fucking RUTHLESS otherwise

aauauururrrghghhhh here have a song too get annihilated with me losers i am choosing to channel my inner over-indulgent emo angst lord right now entirely of my own volition for i am immune to irony poisoning

#cosmic horror #i keep crying like a little bitch over this #this really is just me from fucking middle school rn this is so middle school angst glurge writing isnt it #i'm sorry #but it works for what it is doing for me #hurt me good tragisad gays timeline i absolutely do not have the heart to have be what actually happens #i'd burn my OWN house down #oc babble #charlie k #zoetrope #necrin #death cw #blood cw #body horror cw #emeto cw #just in case #wow this is the worst Vore Day ever

75 notes · View notes

boysbellyrubs · 1 year

Text

Under a Sick Stomach

here’s that fic i talked about with being stuck under someone with a sick tummy 😋. i had heaps of fun writing this one.

cw for semi explicit content, making someone puke (sticking their fingers down their throat), discussion of kink

also maybe time skip of like five years, so they’re 24 ish cause why not lol.

—-

Caine and Quinn often fell asleep on top of each other, and it had never posed any issue so far. Caine had stayed awake playing with Quinn’s hair. It had gotten a little longer than normal and he was begging Quinn to never cut it. Long hair was just superior, Caine didn’t make the rules. Quinn had drifted to sleep in the past thirty minutes or so, snoring lightly on Caine’s chest. His hands were resting on either side of Caine’s body. If anyone were to come in they would probably assume Quinn fell on to Caine and didn’t want to get back up.

Caine was content to stay awake though, he quite enjoyed letting Quinn sleep. It sounded creepy but watching him sleep made his heart full. Everything that had been troubling him suddenly disappears and his face morphs into innocence. Caine can’t resist giving him kisses he won’t feel, touching and rubbing every solid area of Quinn’s body. It’s almost like he experiences cuteness aggression with his boyfriend, screaming into his hands when he catches him snoozing anywhere.

He didn’t mind being crushed under Quinn either. The warmth and heaviness drained his stress and created a barrier between him and the rest of the world. It was comforting.

Quinn was slowly easing into deeper sleep but every now and then his body twitched and brought him back. Caine shushed him each time, one hand still fiddling with his hair and the other running softly down the length of Quinn’s back. His gentle touches weren’t enough though to stop the tiny movements. Quinn was also letting out these tiny sighs and grunts that interrupted his breathing. When this happened, Caine’s eyes kept darting down to look at Quinn’s, making sure that he was still resting.

The next anomaly was Quinn’s stomach. With the way they were lying, Caine’s own stomach was almost directly under Quinn’s and he could feel each time he inhaled and exhaled. Along with his breathing, there were little gurgles happening inside Quinn’s belly. He originally had thought the boy was getting hungry, but they didn’t seem like empty growls. These ones were thick and pushed through his stomach like molasses, coating Quinn’s tummy in sick sounds.

Caine, with all his soul, was freaking out about this. It didn’t sound or feel very pleasant, but Caine was having trouble containing himself. Quinn’s noisy belly let out another sick gurgle, one that travelled from his actual stomach to lower down his belly. Quinn moaned sleepily and moved his head, smushing up Caine’s shirt. Caine’s hands no longer had the strength to play with Quinn’s hair, instead he was clamping his mouth shut with both of them. His boyfriend was clearly in pain, but there was something so incredibly erotic about being able to feel each gurgle and hear each moan so close to his ear.

Another growl and this time Quinn’s legs curled up. He moaned again and Caine felt himself flush red. He gritted his teeth and put his hands back on Quinn, down by his tailbone. He tapped and glided his fingers along the area, feeling a little guilty he was doing almost nothing to soothe Quinn. It was just too good. His brain thought of all the possible reasons as to why Quinn’s stomach was bothering him. While he was daydreaming, Quinn’s belly had grown more upset and it wasn’t letting up with the noises. Each growl and gurgle pierced Caine’s ears and made the boy on top of him squirm.

The more he squirmed, the worse he made his belly. Each time he moved, Caine could swear he felt the contents slosh and groan, churning up whatever was inside to mush. As Caine felt more grumbles, Quinn whimpered and his limp hands suddenly curled underneath Caine’s back. He jolted at the touch a little, but Caine let it happen. Quinn was probably going to wake up soon so he wanted to savour this. Caine felt Quinn’s belly contort and a loud grumble echoed out, making Quinn moan and squeeze his hands tighter around him.

Fuck, Caine thought to himself. There was another crucial part to this dilemma too. Not only was Quinn’s belly turning his brain to goo, everytime Quinn squirmed he was doing so right on his dick. As soon as he woke up, Caine would have to push him right off if he wanted to keep his dignity. It was almost unfair.

Quinn’s hands squeezed, his belly jumped and a sick sounding burp fell out of his mouth. Caine had to stifle a groan. He was actually about to explode. He looked down at Quinn and found that his brow was contorted and his mouth was open like he was panting. As he watched, Quinn let out another involuntary burp and he groaned out a miserable noise. He didn’t know how much longer to let this go on; he debated whether to wake him up or enjoy this for a little longer. It was probably quite cruel to let Quinn stay in pain, but…for a few more minutes.

So, for the next few minutes Quinn kept moaning and groaning, squirming on top of him and occasionally burping and hiccuping. A particularly sick gurgle broke through the overall noise and Quinn’s head jumped upwards, and it seemed he was finally awake. Caine immediately went into caretaker mode.

He groaned, “Caine.” His voice was gravelly. Quinn tried to roll over but he curled inwards, instead sliding down off of Caine until he was kneeling in between his legs. He moaned, one of his hands came up to cup under his chin as a bit of spit escaped. Caine could only watch. Quinn’s eyes were half shut, his cheeks were flushed and his hair was mussed from his sleep. His ‘fucked out’ look was made ever better with him on the verge of gagging and his hand digging into his belly.

Caine wanted to capture this moment in his brain forever. He sat up and grabbed Quinn’s shoulders.

“Hey, hey, love, look at me.” Quinn’s frantic eyes locked on to his, watery and red. Caine’s hand pushed up Quinn’s hair, touching his forehead at the same time. He had quite a fever. “It’s okay, calm down.”

Quinn shook his head, “No, no, I-I’m…I don’t feel good. Sick.”

“I know.” Caine leant up to kiss Quinn’s forehead. As he did so, Quinn’s throat made a strange noise, and he was suddenly much closer than before. He burped and a splashing sound alerted Caine to the fact that his boyfriend was now being sick. He rubbed Quinn’s back as he coughed, another strangled sound came out of his mouth and more vomit puddled in between the two boys. Quinn moaned as he panted, leaning more and more on Caine’s chest. He burped again but nothing happened, so he lifted his head and looked at the mess he’d made.

“Oh, Caine, I'm so sorry. My belly…”

Caine couldn’t be mad at him. Honestly, he was more grossed out with himself for being so turned on from this. His lap was dripping with puke and his boyfriend was still moaning and spitting saliva that dribbled from his lips. When Quinn finally looked at him, the vomit stuck to the corner of his mouth and the tears trailing down his cheeks was enough to make Caine’s eyes widen and his cheeks burn. It was criminal how good Quinn looked right now.

While he stared, Quinn’s stomach gurgled again and he heaved, bringing up a small amount of bile that fell down his chin. He dropped his head and another burp forced up another mouthful, making him cough and splutter. Quinn’s hands were pushing in on his belly, and by the looks of it, it was a little bloated from being upset. Caine didn’t think this could get any better.

He was wrong. When Quinn pushed in on his tummy, he groaned and gagged yet nothing came up. So, the next logical thing was for him to look up and meet Caine’s eyes and whine out a sentence Caine had been pretty much dreaming of.

“Can you help me? I still need to puke, my belly won’t let me.” He moaned out each word, pain and nausea lacing the syllables. Caine was dumbstruck.

He pointed to the bed, “R-Right here? We should probably move to the bathroom.”

Quinn wasn’t having it. He whined as moved a little closer to Caine and grabbed one of his hands. The boys touch was shaky and warm, hands sweaty with exertion. He brought it up to his mouth and let’s Caine’s fingers touch his chin.

“Please. My poor tummy needs to be emptied.”

There was a moment where Caine thought he was dreaming. This was single-handedly the hottest and weirdest thing that had ever happened to him. Quinn was acting so strange, but if he needed help, Caine wasn’t going to deny him. He crawled around to be beside Quinn instead as Quinn’s hand dropped from his own, now cradling his stomach again. Caine kissed Quinn’s shoulder as he inserted his fingers, feeling spit and residues of puke on them.

He got closer to the back of Quinn’s mouth and felt a hiccup and then the vibrations of a moan, Quinn’s mouth dropping open a little more to let him have access. Caine’s heart was pounding. His free hand went around Quinn’s waist, his fingers rubbing a little. He could feel how bloated Quinn’s stomach was from this angle too, pushed out far against his ribs like he’d eaten a big meal. Quinn’s belly rippled as he hiccuped again, but still no puke.

Caine was taking too long, he felt Quinn’s hand come up to push his hand in further and he almost choked on it. Caine pushed him away.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got it. Don’t worry babe. Relax.”

Quinn whined, “Please hurry. My belly is killing me.”

“I will.” He kissed Quinn’s shoulder again. His fingers pushed inside again and he felt some more saliva trickle out of Quinn’s mouth. The nausea was ramping up it seemed. Quinn’s belly gurgled loudly and his hands gripped it, one on either side and showing off his swollen gut. He leaned back onto Caine, now rubbing his belly from side to side as it grumbled at him to get a move on. Quinn tossed his head on to Caine’s shoulder and moaned. Caine’s fingers eventually reached the back of his throat again, but he was too focused on the way Quinn’s belly was almost being presented to him. He wished Quinn’s shirt was off so he could see how stretched his skin was. Maybe his lower belly would still be soft, the sickness not reaching there yet. It gurgled again and Caine bit back a moan of pleasure.

Back to the task at hand, he guided Quinn to sit back up again and his other hand curled further around to rest on the bloat of his belly. As he did so, he jammed his fingers into Quinn’s throat and the boy jerked forward. His throat spasmed on his fingers, more and more saliva dribbling out. Caine tried again, and this time Quinn coughed up a small amount of bile. He moaned and rubbed his belly.

Caine leant forward, “How about as I push on your throat, you push on your belly. Try to get as much up as possible, yeah?”

Quinn’s eyes met Caine’s and he could tell the boy was sceptical. “It’ll be okay, baby. I know your tummy hurts but it’ll only be for a second, and then you’ll feel so much better.” Caine whispered, kissing Quinn’s temple.

The other boy whimpered but he felt him nod. Caine smiled and moved so he could be directly behind Quinn, one hand in his mouth and the other resting on his stomach. He rubbed a soothing motion into his shirt.

“Ready baby?”

Quinn nodded.

“Okay, push hard. 3,2,1”

The strategy worked. Quinn let out a retch that brought up the last bits of puke. Vomit coated Caine’s arm as he pulled it out of his boyfriends mouth. He let it hover over Quinn’s legs as the boy continued to puke, burping and moaning as it tapered off. The noises and the way Quinn looked was too much for him. Caine’s eyes squeezed shut as he came, that final heave going straight to his already painfully erect cock and sending him over the edge. Both boys panted, Caine’s head resting on Quinn’s broad back as Quinn spat out the bitterness of his puke.

Caine’s clean hand rubbed along Quinn’s belly again, needing to feel the final churns and jumps as Quinn burped. Fuck, he was so screwed.

They both were quiet for a few minutes. Quinn was coming down from the intense nausea, and Caine was coming down from…well, you know. But, Quinn broke the silence first as he leaned back into Caine.

“Thank you. Can we please go get cleaned up now?”

Caine raised his head, “Yeah, yeah, for sure. Come on, i’ll help you.”

Caine got off the bed first and helped Quinn move. He was careful not to let Quinn’s legs get even more covered in vomit. He got Quinn into the bathroom and turned the water on. He let Quinn undress as he went to get the sheets off the bed, he was a little worried about them staining the mattress. When he got back to the bathroom, Quinn was only in his underwear and was sitting on the toilet seat.

He looked up, “I got a little dizzy. And my stomach started hurting again.”

Caine couldn’t help but chuckle. He went over to the boy and cupped his jaw, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “That’s okay, the warm water will help.”

Quinn opted to lean a lot on Caine. Caine didn’t mind, his hands were on Quinn’s belly and helping him get clean and feel better. The shower was uneventful in terms of vomiting, but Caine was glad. Quinn was completely silent during it and had his eyes closed. Clearly this was taking it out of him.

It was only after they were dressed and on the couch that Quinn spoke.

“Caine…what was that?”

Caine stiffened. Quinn was resting on his chest now, breathing slowly with his eyes closed. He had a feeling he knew what he was talking about but didn’t really want to admit it.

“What?” He said dumbly.

Quinn raised his head off his chest, now making eye contact. His expression was exhausted.

“Before, when I was sick. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” The face he was pulling wasn’t one of disgust or judgement. Caine stared right back at his boyfriend. He felt his cheeks heat up and his lip was slowly being chewed down to nothing.

Quinn laughed and one of his hands came up to touch one of Caine’s red cheeks. He leaned forward and kissed his nose, “You look frozen, baby. It’s okay.”

Was he dreaming? He had been so good at hiding it for so long, but this one incident made it all come out. He smiled awkwardly.

“I’m so sorry, Quinn. I’m not some creep who gets off to you being sick. I do care about you. I’ll be there if you’re sick.” He rambled, only shutting up when Quinn’s hand covered his mouth.

“I’m not disgusted by you. It’s something new, yeah, but I love you. I’m not going to hate you or call you gross for something you can’t control.” He leaned back down into Caine, “Do you think I haven’t noticed before? You’re always touching my stomach when you get the chance and you almost ask me to rub my stomach when I’m sick.”

Caine felt his body relax a little. He let his hands touch Quinn again but nowhere near his belly.

“I thought I was hiding it pretty well.”

Quinn laughed, “I can see right through you, my love. But, at least you don’t have to hide it anymore. I was pretty sick before but I said some of those things just to get a reaction out of you. I guess it worked.”

Caine was still confused. How he managed to find a person so understanding was a little perplexing. But, as he sank back into the couch, Quinn laid down fully and stretched out onto his back. His stomach was covered by a shirt once again, but the sickness brewing underneath kept it swelled out to reveal his lower belly. Caine hesitated.

“Go on. It makes me feel better.” Quinn said with a soft voice. He touched Caine’s face again to make him look at him, “Behind all of this sexual tension, I still am very sick. Please, Caine, I don’t feel well.”

Caine’s eyes shut on their own and he breathed out deeply. Everything Quinn said was just making his head spin. He chanced a look and Quinn had his eyes shut, a grimace tugging at his features. His hands were resting on the upper part of his belly and Caine was desperate to replace them with his own.

So, he did. He gently pulled Quinn’s away and touched his stomach. The boy underneath him sighed, tucking his head inwards towards Caine’s stomach. Caine smiled and his other hand went to hold the back of the boys head, playing with the dark hair.

#emeto #stomach ache #emetophilia #vomiting #oc's #caine #quinn #belly rubs #sickfic #belly kink

271 notes · View notes

shion-yu · 2 months

Text

A Safe Place (part 2) [day 7]

Cliff’s cough turns into something more serious. For @monthofsick Day 7 “Too feverish to think” and my @badthingshappenbingo space “Delirium”. Wasn’t expecting this to be more than 2 parts but the boys had other plans! 3,385 words, original work, TWs emeto, references to parental homophobia/abuse. [Part 1]

The night Cliff showed up soaked and feverish on the doorstep of Elliot’s family home, Elliot held him and stayed awake until dawn. Cliff was asleep, his overly warm body in Elliot’s arms. Elliot, on the other hand, was wide awake. He was disturbed by Cliff’s sudden appearance and the shape his boyfriend was in. He didn’t know what happened or how to deal with this. He was nineteen and usually he felt like that made him an adult, but right now all he wanted was to go wake his parents up for help. Of course he wasn’t going to turn Cliff away - he’d protect Cliff however he could - but the lack of context was maddening.

At seven, Elliot’s alarm for work went off. He left Cliff asleep in his bed and crept downstairs where he usually ate breakfast with his mom and dad before heading to work at his dad’s auto shop for the day. It was Saturday, so they were only open in the morning. Elliot never missed a day of work and was extremely reliable, but knew today he’d have to let his dad down - but first he had to tell his parents what happened. His dad was already working on one of the plates of toast on the table and his mom was packing the two of them lunch.

“Good morning honey,” his mom, Rachel said. His dad Giovanni nodded at him around a sip of orange juice. Elliot swallowed nervously, hovering awkwardly instead of sitting down.

“I need to tell you guys something and I hope you’re not too mad,” he said. His parents’ faces immediately grew serious and Rachel wiped her hands off and sat at the table. They looked at him expectantly. Elliot took a deep breath. “You know my boyfriend Cliff? Well... last night, he showed up at our door. He was soaking wet and didn’t have anything with him and I don’t know what happened, but... he’s in my bedroom.”

“You boyfriend’s here? In this house?” Giovanni repeated incredulously. Elliot nodded.

“Is he okay?” Rachel asked.

Elliot shook his head. “I don’t know. I think not really. He has a fever and his breathing sounds bad. I know I should’ve told you last night but it was like three in the morning and, I don’t know. I should’ve come to get you. But I’m really worried about him.”

Rachel just nodded, and Elliot felt a rush of relief that neither parent seemed like they were about to lecture him. At least not yet. “It sounds like he’s sick,” she said, “I’ll go take a look at him.”

“Please,” Elliot said. His mom was a nurse, but more importantly she was a mom and he didn’t know what to do in this situation all by himself. “And um, I’m sorry dad but I don’t think I can come to work today.”

Giovanni stood up and clapped him on the shoulder. “Do what you need to do today, alright kiddo?” Elliot gave him a quick side hug and hurried upstairs with his mom. Cliff was right where Elliot had left him, huddled under several blankets and his noisy breathing audible from the moment they stepped closer.

Elliot crouched in front of the bed and shook Cliff’s shoulder. “Cliffy? Wake up. I want my mom to take a look at you.” Cliff felt even hotter under Elliot’s hand than before, causing a pang of panic to run through Elliot’s body.

Cliff blinked awake sleepily, calm until he noticed Elliot’s mom in the room. Then his face turned to one of fear and he shook his head no, pushing away from Elliot as if the other side of the bed provided far more distance than it did. “No no, Cliff, it’s okay. She’s really nice. I know you don’t like being touched by other people but I think you’re really sick. Please let her look at you. For me?”

It took a few long seconds, but Cliff eventually acquiesced and pushed himself into a sitting position. His arms were shaking with effort and Elliot wrapped an arm around him so he could lean for support. Rachel gave Cliff a gentle smile and sat on the edge of the bed. “Hi Cliff, I’m Rachel,” she said in what Elliot knew to be her nurse voice. “Elliot’s told me so much about you. I’m really glad to meet you. You don’t look like you feel too good though right now, do you?”

Cliff didn’t confirm or deny, but clutched onto Elliot’s hand tightly. Rachel grabbed the thermometer from where Elliot had left it on the bedside table last night and held it up to Cliff. “Under your tongue please,” she said. Cliff obeyed. Elliot could feel him trembling. He watched as the number kept going up until it beeped and settled on a glowing 102.7. Rachel frowned and said, “I think we need to go to the doctor.”

It was as if something in Cliff snapped and his grip on Elliot became painfully tight. “No, no, no hospital,” he said. “I-I can’t go to the hospital. My dad - my dad’ll be mad. Please don’t make me.”

Elliot’s heart broke for Cliff. He knew Cliff’s parents weren’t very nice people, but this reaction seemed extreme. He remembered how Cliff had begged him not to go to the hospital when he had the flu, too. Rachel had a similar pitying expression on her face. “Cliff, honey, we need to make sure you’re okay. We can go to urgent care though, alright?”

Cliff settled down a little, but he still looked afraid. “Hear that Cliffy? Just urgent care. It’ll be super fast and your dad will never know.” It took several seconds, but finally Cliff nodded.

“You boys get ready to go and meet me downstairs,” Rachel told him, leaving them in the bedroom alone. Elliot sighed.

“Cliff... What happened?” He asked. It still felt the wrong time to question his boyfriend, but he felt like he needed to know before this went any further. This felt serious and he couldn’t keep running on speculation. He also doubted that Cliff would tell any doctor the whole story.

Cliff looked at him with exhausted, watery eyes. "I came out to my mom,” he said hoarsely. “It didn't go well."

"Did she hit you?" Elliot asked, feeling like his heart was in his throat. "Did she kick you out?"

"No," Cliff said quietly.

"Then why, in the middle of the night, in the rain...?"

Cliff shrugged. "I just had to get out of there," he said simply. "And I really needed you."

Elliot wanted to know more. He wanted to push Cliff to keep talking. But Cliff seemed so delicate and they really did need to get him to a doctor, so Elliot let it drop for now. “Well, you’ve got me baby. Let’s get you looked at and then we’ll be right back here in bed, okay?”

Getting Cliff to urgent care was like leading a child. He was sluggish and acted a little confused, which scared Elliot. His mom drove while Cliff laid in the backseat with his head in Elliot’s lap. Elliot helped him into the waiting room and then checked him in. The wait was thankfully not too bad, something Elliot was exceedingly grateful for as he listened to Cliff’s breathing become more labored. He had a cough that sounded wheezy and painful, and the secretary waved a mask at Elliot until Rachel grabbed it and helped Cliff put it on.

Cliff sat on the exam table once they were led to a room and had his vitals taken by a nurse. His temperature was 102.9 now and he was shivering. Elliot climbed onto the table next to him and let Cliff rest against him until the doctor came in. Cliff predictably clammed up when the doctor started asking questions, so Elliot explained that Cliff had spent the night in the rain and had asthma. The doctor listened to Cliff’s lungs and ordered a chest x-ray. “You said his temperature was low last night? Rebound hyperthermia can usually cause a fever afterwards, but a cough like this wouldn’t have shown up overnight. How long have you been sick, Cliff?”

“A while,” was the near whispered answer. Elliot squeezed Cliff’s forearm, urging him to elaborate. “Maybe three weeks.” Elliot felt his stomach drop. Cliff had been coughing for three weeks and his parents hadn’t said anything? His dad was a doctor for goodness sake.

The chest x-ray didn’t show pneumonia, the doctor said, but Cliff had definite bronchitis and needed to rest. He was prescribed a 4mg prednisone taper pack and a new inhaler, and then they were allowed to head home. By the time Rachel parked the car back at the house, Cliff’s face was a pasty white with a tinge of green. He stood up, then sat back down. "Dizzy?" Elliot asked. Cliff nodded minutely. "Okay. Just hold on to me and we'll walk really slow." Elliot supported Cliff into the house, wishing urgent care had given Cliff something for the fever while they were there.

It felt like a long way all the way back up to the second floor, but Elliot got Cliff into bed and tucked in before going to get some fresh water and something to eat for himself. His mom was waiting in the kitchen and said, “Okay, let’s talk honey. What’s going on here?”

“Honestly, I don’t know that much,” Elliot said tiredly, sitting at the table heavily. The half-night’s sleep and worry was getting to him. “Cliff said he came out to his mom and it didn’t go well and... I think they were abusive growing up. He’s really scared of them.”

Rachel looked sad and gave Elliot a hug. “Well, it seems like he trusts you more than anyone. Just let us know what we can do and we’ll do it,” she said. “He can stay here until school starts and then you guys can go back together.” Elliot hugged her back, so grateful that he had the parents he had and not Cliff’s.

“Thanks mom,” he said, unable to help tears from filling his eyes. School would start in two weeks. It wasn’t that long.

Elliot ate his now cold toast from earlier and then went back upstairs, expecting to find Cliff in bed. Instead he followed the sound of retching into the bathroom, where he found Cliff kneeling over the toilet seat throwing up quite violently. Elliot winced, glad he hadn’t given Cliff his steroid from the doctor yet. “Oh Cliff,” he sighed sadly, sitting next to him and rubbing Cliff’s back.

“This is gross, go away,” Cliff groaned, weakly trying to shrug him off. Another wave of vomit caused him to launch back over the toilet seat.

“It’s fine,” Elliot said. “You sat with me when I threw up, remember?”

“That was different, we were drunk,” Cliff managed to choke out. He coughed into the bowl, the water making the sound echo a little. He slumped forward, resting his forehead on the edge of the toilet miserably. “Everything’s spinning.”

Elliot wet a washcloth and rubbed it against Cliff’s hot, sweaty neck. Cliff shivered. “I’m right here,” Elliot said evenly. “Take your time.”

It was about five more minutes of Cliff intermittently gagging until Elliot was sure he had nothing left in him and pulled Cliff into his lap. He wiped the rest of Cliff’s face off, and his hands which had some of the puke on them. “Bed?”

“Don’t wanna throw up on you,” Cliff mumbled.

“There’s a trash can. You need to lie down and take your meds.” Elliot helped Cliff stand up, which proved to require some core strength with how heavily Cliff leant on him. They hobbled back to Elliot’s bedroom where Cliff collapsed onto the mattress, panting heavily. Elliot popped out the first doses of prednisone and two Tylenol into his hand and held them out to Cliff. “You’re supposed to eat with these...” He said, “Do you think you can - no, didn’t think so,” he didn’t finish the question when Cliff interrupted him with a loud whimper. “Okay, let’s just hope for the best.”

Cliff took the pills and his new inhaler, mumbling a weak, “Thanks.”

Elliot climbed into bed next to him and spooned Cliff protectively. “Thank you for going to the doctor,” he said. “Now you can rest.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Elliot had never heard someone cough the way Cliff had been coughing and he was extremely worried. In the week since Cliff had shown up unannounced, he’d been weak but after that first full weekend in bed his fever broke and he seemed a little better. He had been eating again and had become less painfully shy with Elliot’s parents. Elliot went to work with his dad the following week and Cliff seemed sick, but well enough to insist on helping out with the chores around the house. Rachel said he was a very good assistant.

Cliff told Elliot a bit about his internship this summer and one afternoon they even drove to get Cliff’s college stuff from his parents’ house at a time when Cliff was sure nobody would be home. There was no incident doing this and Cliff seemed like he was on the mend. It seemed as if their final week of summer vacation was going to be actually spent together having a little fun. Elliot’s father planned to release him from work for the season so he could spend the last week before school started getting ready and relaxing a bit. Elliot thought about all his favorite places that maybe he could bring Cliff, like his favorite state park.

That cough just wouldn’t go away though, especially at night. By the end of the week, Cliff's cough had grown much deeper and he seemed like he was in pain every time he did so. It was just the cough and a low grade fever though, so Elliot still hoped it would go away. That hope was shattered when he came home after work on Saturday at noon to find his boyfriend sitting up in bed, struggling to breathe. Cliff was clutching a fist to his chest and his face was contorted in pain. When he looked up at Elliot his eyes were glassy and unseeing.

“Cliff!” Elliot exclaimed in shock. Cliff had seemed mostly fine when he’d left this morning, what had changed? He pressed a hand to Cliff’s forehead and was able to feel a searing heat in the second before Cliff jerked away from him.

“Don’t touch me,” Cliff gasped. He looked angry, and Elliot felt hurt until Cliff added, “I’ll be good, I can go to school. Don’t call dad.”

“Cliffy, it’s me, Elliot,” Elliot said slowly, climbing onto the bed and holding his hands up when Cliff shuddered away from him. “Your mom and dad aren’t here. It’s just us.”

Cliff looked at Elliot suspiciously, his breathing labored. Elliot could hear that asthmatic wheeze back in his breath, but worse than that a deep, hollowed out noise underneath. “It’s just us,” Elliot repeated. “I promised you I’d never put my hands on you to hurt you, remember?”

It took a while, but finally Cliff nodded hesitantly, like he couldn’t quite trust that memory was real. “I don’t wanna go to school,” he mumbled. “M’tired.”

“Okay, that’s okay, no school,” Elliot reassured him. “Can we take your temperature?” Elliot slid the small instrument under Cliff’s tongue waiting anxiously for a reading. 103.2. Shit. Cliff had barely had a fever the past few days, mostly just a low one at night. Now it was noon and it was higher than ever. This didn’t seem right. Cliff whimpered in pain and wrapped his arms around himself. “What hurts?” Elliot asked.

“Chest,” Cliff said. It made a chill go down Elliot’s body. That was it. There was no begging it off this time, Cliff needed to go to the hospital. The question was how to get him there, because Elliot knew the second the word hospital was mentioned that Cliff would freak out. He racked his brain for a solution. They were the only ones home right now.

Cliff shivered and coughed that horrible deep cough that made Elliot’s stomach twist in pain. He knew Cliff might never trust him again if he did this, but he felt like he had no other choice. Cliff really needed help and he didn’t think urgent care was going to cut it this time. He made his decision. “Alright Cliff, my sweet guy,” he said. “I know you don't feel so good but we gotta go out for a bit.”

“Huh? Where?” Cliff asked suspiciously.

Elliot tried to keep an innocent expression. “Just out. Just for a bit. I need you with me though, can you do that for me?”

Elliot held his breath waiting for Cliff to answer, but finally Cliff nodded and said, “For you.” Elliot pushed down the guilt he was feeling and forced a smile at Cliff.

“You're the best,” Elliot forced himself to say with fake cheer. He coaxed Cliff into the car and drove well over the speed limit to the emergency room. He kept one eye on Cliff, anxious to get someone with medical knowledge to listen to that horrible cough that left Cliff gasping. Cliff seemed too out of it to notice when they pulled into the ER parking lot and Elliot took a deep breath, steeling himself for the inevitable fight Cliff would eventually put up.

“Cliff?”

“Hmm?” Cliff's eyes were closed, his face disturbingly pale and his chest heaving with the work of breathing. Elliot grit his teeth and forced himself to be truthful.

“We're at the hospital. I need you to get seen by a doctor.” Cliff’s eyes opened and immediately Elliot could see a mix of pain, fear and betrayal. He felt like the worst boyfriend in the world right now.

“You said we weren't going to the hospital,” Cliff’s voice wobbled. His eyes blurred with tears. “No way, I’m walking home,” he said.

Elliot, knowing Cliff had literally made his way here all the way from Newark last week, was afraid he actually would and grabbed Cliff's wrist. “Baby, please, listen to me. Cliff. You're so sick. I don't know what to do. Just let a doctor see you, we're not even in the city, your dad won't know.”

“He’ll figure it out,” Cliff said desperately, attempting to tug his arm away but Elliot didn't let go. Cliff was too weak to shake him off. “All I do is cause problems for them. I can’t.”

Elliot leaned forward so he was as close to Cliff as possible, his expression and tone begging. “Please Cliff. I’m going to protect you, but just come in with me. I’m scared. For me, please? If nothing else, for me?”

Elliot didn't think it was going to work. He physically slumped in relief when Cliff stopped pulling away and said, “Okay. For you, just this once.”

“Thank you,” Elliot gushed earnestly, squeezing Cliff's hand. “I love you, Cliff.”

“I love you too,” Cliff said, looking at Elliot with watery, exhausted eyes.

Elliot blinked in surprise. He wasn't expecting the first I Love You to come right now, or anywhere close to right now when he had just tricked and then pressured Cliff into going to the one place he was most afraid of. “You do?” He said, his voice high pitched.

Cliff nodded. “I do,” he said hoarsely. He was mostly looking at his lap but gave Elliot a sideways glance.

“Oh,” Elliot said. “Thanks, Cliff.” He wasn't sure what else to say, but Cliff looked embarrassed and was definitely clamming up, so he added, “That makes me happy. And I'm really grateful you trust me enough to get checked out. I’ll be right there the whole time.”

“Okay,” Cliff said. Another harsh coughing fit overtook him that lasted so long that by the end of it, tears were streaming down his face. He breathed sharply through his nose, trying to catch his breath. “Can't breathe, El.”

“I know. That's why we're here baby,” Elliot said worriedly. “Let's go in now.”

“Promise you won’t leave me?”

“I promise,” Elliot swore. “I’ve got you, Cliff.”

[Part 3]

#shionwrites #oc: cliff #oc: elliot #sickfic #whump #sicknario #fever whump #illness whump #sick whump #male whump #emeto #TW: emeto #novemetober rescheduled #novemetober 2023 #bad things happen bingo #hurt/comfort #angst

31 notes · View notes

secretobsessionstuff · 6 months

Note

i have a little set of blair/dakota scenes in my head i wanted to put in a request for please!! one night, they come home after a big dinner, overstuffed and cuddly. blair has indigestion but kota helps get the burps out and they go to sleep. but the next morning, blair is still bloated... and she realizes all that old food is about to be burped right back up. (maybe onto the blanket? toilet? cup by the bedside table?) ty ty!!

Hi anon! Thanks for the beautiful request and your infinite patience. 💙

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

The only reservation they could make was at 9pm. It was a little late for Blair and Dakota’s liking since they both had work early the next morning, but they booked it anyway because they were craving sushi and conversation with each other after a long day at the office.

The sushi was cold and refreshing, while their conversation was warm and relaxing. Dakota and Blair reminisced over their first few dates while eating sashimi, spicy salmon salad, and sushi pizza. Blair laughed but enjoyed the Canadian invention of making sushi mimic pizza. A fried rice patty acted as the bread, with avocado, crab meat, mayonnaise and wasabi acting as the toppings.

They didn’t linger in the city for long after dinner. Their bed was calling to both of them by the time they cleaned their plates. Blair could have fallen asleep at the table, with the big meal rumbling in her belly. She got that sluggish over-stuffed feeling from all the food. After taking a swig of water to help her stomach digest, she burped deeply into the empty glass. She excused herself with an embarrassed laugh.

Together they stumbled up to the front door of their home, drunk on the lethargic feeling of eating too much. The growing nausea also reminded Blair of late-night drinking. Her cheeks felt hot and the fatigue in her bones made her wobble like an alcoholic.

Blair let out a heavy sigh as she fell onto the bed next to Dakota. Rubbing her full belly she said, “This is why I don’t like eating too close to bedtime. There’s no way I’ll be able to fall asleep like this.” She was all bloated and squirmy, wiggling on the bed to find a comfortable position.

Dakota pulled her in close, seemingly determined to make her comfy. “I can rub your belly until you fall asleep.” He supressed the urge to say that he would rub something else and glide his hand passed her belly button, because he sensed that she was feeling more than a little full. Her tummy grumbled loudly, and she curled in on herself. He could feel the organ moving beneath his hand. Gurgles and light vibrations tickled his palm.

Blair pushed her back up against Dakota’s chest so that he spooned her. “Will you rub in big circles like you did the last time? Felt good.”

“Sure.” Dakota chuckled softly into her hair, then shooed the strands away that tickled his nose. “You fell asleep fast when I did that.”

“Let’s hope I do this time.” She burped into the pillow. “Mm, it’s late. I don’t like feeling so full.”

“Shh, just focus on the feeling of my hand on your tummy. Nothing else.” Dakota flattened his palm against her midriff. He circled all the way up to ger ribs and down to the waistline of her pajama pants, occasionally using his fingertips to add a light touch.

Blair must not have found his touch so light because she started to burp as soon as he made one circle around her middle. Her stomach tensed with each build up and release of gas. She shivered, tasting the memory of spicy sushi in the back of her throat. She was glad to be facing away from her boyfriend.

The belches just kept coming. Some were long and deep; others were quick but painful. It didn’t matter the size or intensity in the burps—nothing was making the indigestion go away. Dakota must have sensed her frustration because he gave her tummy a good push. The burp rumbled up from the pit of her stomach and splashed the back of her throat with a something spicy and unpleasant. She immediately shot up into a sitting position, slapping a hand over mouth. Acid reflux and nausea crawled up her throat.

“Sorry, honey.” Dakota pulled his hand back fast. The sound that gurgled in her throat made him worry that he nearly just made her puke. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

Blair waited a beat before answering. Her throat moved as she swallowed down the close call. “I’m okay. It kinda helped.”

Blair’s pale face and wide eyes gave Dakota a moment’s hesitation. “You sure? It looked like you were about to be sick.”

“For a second I thought—but no I’m fine.” She shook her head to shake off the lingering nausea. It was true, she did almost lose her dinner all over the bed, but then everything settled down just as fast. The massive belch at least helped to bring up the trapped air. She could feel the indigestion losing its grip.

“Really?” he asked, still on high-alert and propped up on his elbows. He abandoned his comfy spot when Blair jumped up.

“Yes, really.” She placed her hand on his chest, easing him onto his back again. “I might be able to sleep now. But to make up for scaring me, I get to lie on your chest.” She was already beginning to find a soft spot between his shoulder and pec, and avoiding his collar bone that sometimes dug into her cheek. After many many nights of sleeping this same way, she knew what would feel best.

“Come here.” Dakota nuzzled his face into her neck and pulled her as close as he possibly could, just short of letting her sleep inside his skin.

• • •

Blair awoke the next morning to the absolute worst taste in her mouth and dried drool on her pillow. She peeled her face off the pillow with squinting eyes that were still adjusting to the sunlight coming in from the window. She felt like she had the flu or something. Her stomach ached as if it were pumped full of rotting food—in a way, it kind of was. It seemed her stomach hadn’t done any digesting while she slept. It simply let last night’s dinner soak and marinate in stomach acid. On top of it all, her belly was still bloated and gurgling painfully.

Dakota must have gotten up earlier because his side of the bed was empty. Blair hoped she could shake him awake, but clearly that wasn’t going to happen. She could hear him moving around in the kitchen.

Shouting for him was not an option when her mouth began to fill with saliva. All that food from last night was coming up now. She didn’t have to time to throw off the blankets before a deep belch burst from her mouth. Blair gagged from the taste that coated her tongue—fishy and spicy, and not something she ever wanted to experience again.

Thick strings of saliva dripped off her lips as she continued to burp and gag.

Dakota’s whistling came clearly from down the hall. Blair was happy to have him near when she inevitably puked everywhere, but she was sorry that his first look at her that morning would be of her hunched over, hugging her belly, and gagging on the bed.

“Baby?” Dakota knocked on the ajar door. “What’s that sound? Are you—Oh shit.” Dakota scrambled for something to do as he watched Blair burp up a wave of old, clumpy sushi onto the blankets.

The sick fell like mush past Blair’s lips. The texture alone was enough to make her heave again. She choked up another mouthful of vomit onto the bed. She held onto the duvet so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

“Fuck honey,” Dakota said gently as he came to sit on the edge of the bed. He helped her sit up straighter and rubbed her back. Big circles. Big circles between her shoulder blades and on her lower back until she was able to catch her breath.

“Ugh, I’m not done.” she sniffled and wiped the bile that dripped from her lips. “My belly’s so full still.”

“Do you want a bucket or—” Dakota began but was cut off by Blair belching up another stream of puke. “Oh…nevermind.” He sighed and continued to rub her back. “That’s alright. Get it all up.”

Blair burped up all of last night’s meal until she felt like there was nothing left in her tummy. The organ still ached and groaned even when she brought up the last small wave of partially digested rice and yellow bile. She coughed and sniffled like a mad woman until falling forward and letting her head hit Dakota’s chest.

He quickly enveloped her in a hug. “Oh Bee, that’s not a good way to start the day. Your poor tummy,” Dakota cooed as he slipped his hand under her shirt. With the softest touch, he let his hand fall back into the rhythm of big circles.

Blair allowed herself a few moments to contemplate death inside the hug, until she scrunched up her nose and pulled away from her boyfriend. “Ugh Kota, I have to get up before the smell makes me puke again.”

“What smell?”

“Shut up, this is fucking disgusting.”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

Blair shoved him off the side of the bed. It was nice of him to pretend like nothing was wrong, but she really would spend the entire morning dry heaving if she didn’t start cleaning. The one good thing about this whole mess was that her stomach would start feeling better now that it was empty; she just had to get away from the puke that was soaking into the blankets.

Dakota helped her wrap up the blanket, ensuring that nothing spilled. Afterword they had the unavoidable debate over whether Blair should attempt to go into the office. It was no surprise that Dakota argued strongly for her to stay home.

“Baby, you’re going to be shaking and nauseous all day. I know you.” He said adamantly. “I promise you’ll be refreshed and ready to girlboss tomorrow if you take the day to feel better.”

“But I’m not even sick sick.”

“You threw up at least three times. By my count that sick sick sick.”

Blair sighed at his ridiculousness. “Why are you like this?”

“It’s a long story.” He took her hands and dragged her back to the bedroom. “It’s going to take all day to explain so get comfy.”

75 notes · View notes