secretobsessionstuff

[secretobsessionstuff]

I still think up sickfic scenarios for my characters all the time, it just feels like I've already written all of them 🫠

[secretobsessionstuff]

JAMIE: The Deterioration of Date Night

Hey, so I actually wrote something lol. This one's a little different than what I've done before, but I had fun, so here's some sick Jamie, finally

------

Max and Charlie have this joke that at this point, the two of them should just start dating, despite neither of them having any romantic feelings for the other, because of how often they end up alone with the other.

Being the only single members of their flat, it’s not unexpected, but when Tuesdays unofficially became date night it seemed inevitable that the two of them would be alone more often.

Max is expecting another slow night with Charlie, eating dinner and then playing a board game or something.

They’re standing in the kitchen, scrolling on their phone waiting for Charlie to get home from work, when their phone dings with a text.

Jamie: Coming home now.

Weird, they think, moving to examine the flat’s message board. Jamie’s not supposed to finish work for another two hours, they remark, starting to wonder if something’s wrong; it’s not like Jamie to call out of work, let alone leave early.

Then they notice Jamie’s little blue sticky note that says  “Dinner with Key, home by 10:00” and it's not even 4:00, so they know something weird is going on.

Their phone dings with another message, and they’re relieved to see Colin’s name.

Colin: no date with keegan 2night? everthing ok?

Jamie: Not tonight.

Many thoughts run through their head, scenarios where Jamie and Keegan have broken up, as unlikely as it is, or where something happened to upset Jamie enough that he wouldn’t want to see Keegan.

When Jamie finally walks in, however, Max knows none of their speculations were right. They shove their phone in their pocket, and meet him at the door.

“Hey Jamie, are you okay?” they ask gently, scanning him carefully, noticing the way he’s sporting an uncharacteristic frown, and the way he’s holding himself deliberately rigid.

He shrugs, hanging up his jacket and kicking off his shoes. He walks past Max without a word, and goes straight to his bedroom. Confused, Max trails after Jamie, pausing in the doorway and watching as he lies on his bed, facing the wall.

They knock softly on the doorframe until Jamie glances up at them. He sighs, and says, “Well, come in then.”

Max hesitates, hearing the resigned tones in their friend’s voice, but they also need to know, at least partially, what’s wrong, so they slowly walk in and perch next to him on the bed.

“I know something’s wrong,” they start, glancing at him again, and he resolutely avoids their eyes, “Can you talk to me, please?”

Jamie huffs, curling up further. After a moment, Max considers leaving him to it, and texting Colin to talk some sense into him, but then he mumbles, “I don’t feel good.”

Okay, they can work with that.

They scoot closer to him, and go to check for a fever, before hesitating, “Can I…?” they ask carefully, hand raised by his forehead.

He glances at them, and then turns over so he’s facing them properly, “I guess. Don’t think I have a fever though.” Max gently settles their hand on his forehead, then runs their hand through their hair as he pulls it away. Jamie stretches into the contact a little bit, almost unconsciously, and Max bites down a smile.

“You’re right,” they say softly, “No fever.”

Jamie gives a small smile in response, then he winces, wraps his arms tighter around himself, and tucks his face further into the blankets on his bed, essentially hiding his face from Max.

“So…” they start, deciding to push just a bit more, “Is your belly bothering you?”

Jamie groans, biting his lip, and he gives a small nod as his face flushes slightly. Max brushes a hand back through his hair, and smiles as Jamie relaxes again.

“Do you think you’ll throw up?” Jamie immediately shakes his head, face paling at the thought, a distinct difference from the warm tones of a few seconds earlier. Max frowns, wondering if he just doesn’t like the thought, or if he genuinely doesn’t think he’ll throw up. They shrug it off, deciding that’s enough pushing for now.

Instead, they ask him, “Do you want me to stay, or leave?” Jamie glances at them, then frowns, and mutters, “I don’t care.”

They roll their eyes, and nudge him, “Scooch over then,” sliding onto the bed properly and sitting against the headboard. Their hand finds its way back into Jamie’s hair, running through his messy brown curls, and Jamie presses his face against Max’s pants, glasses sliding down his nose at an awkward angle.

They sit there in silence, unsure what Jamie needs to feel better, and hoping that Jamie’s like them, and just doesn’t want to be alone when he’s sick.

After a few minutes, Jamie shifts, moving against them and sitting up until he can lean on Max’s shoulder.

“Can you pass me that book?” he asks quietly, pointing to his bedside table, and pushing his glasses back up his nose. With the book in his hand, the quiet returns, save for the rustling of pages and the slight whines coming from Jamie’s stomach.

Max slides an earbud into his ear, giving Jamie the semblance of some privacy, without having to leave him alone, and they lean into the comfortable balance they’ve created.

They can immediately tell that something’s changed, when Jamie abruptly slides a bookmark into his book, puts it aside, and closes his eyes, his arms wrapping tightly around his belly.

“Jamie?” they ask softly, a loud gurgle coming from their friend’s abdomen. They eye the garbage can across the room, but before they can move, Jamie slides himself off the bed, and mutters “I’m going to the bathroom.” His tone is so muted and final enough that Max doesn’t question if they should follow him; There was no invitation in that phrase.

Instead, they wander the apartment, checking that Charlie hasn’t come home yet (she hasn’t), collecting a glass of water for Jamie, and putting it beside his bed, and then sitting on the couch.

They hang out there, petting Apple when she comes to see them, purring and pushing her face against their hand until their attention returns to her. The snap of a door down the hall startles Apple enough that she stops purring, and goes to investigate. Max laughs as they follow the cat down the hall, but when she turns towards the firmly-closed bathroom, nose twitching in interest, they turn toward Jamie’s room.

The door is open just enough that Max can tell that Jamie returned to his previous position on the bed, and they push the door open, joining them once more.

“Hey, you okay?”

Jamie gives a small groan, and shakes his head. Apple, hearing the noise comes trotting into the room, and with a small mew, jumps onto the bed, walks across Max, and butts her small head against Jamie’s hand. He smiles at her antics, and he pets her until she curls up against his stomach.

When Jamie lets his hand fall back onto the bed, Max turns their attention onto him properly. He’s paler than normal, face covered in a thin layer of sweat, and his gentle face contorted in an expression of discomfort.

Max frowns slightly as they consider their friend, mind running through scenarios or actions that could help. Before they make a decision though, they hear the front door open and close, and the clattering of someone - Charlie probably - returning home.

It’s only a few minutes later when the door to Jamie’s room swings open, and Charlie breezes into the room.

“Hey peeps, what’s goi- Oh. What’s wrong with Jamie?”

“Besides you just walking in, and talking about me as if I’m not right here,” mutters Jamie into the blankets, so quiet that Charlie couldn’t have heard it, but just loud enough that Max could, and they stifle a laugh behind their hand.

To Charlie, they answer, “You know there’s such a thing as knocking, right Charlie? And Jamie’s fine, mostly.”

She takes a small half-step back, and her eyes get that wary look she sometimes has, as she asks “He’s not going to throw up, is he?”

“He is right here,” says Jamie a little more forcefully, sitting up straighter. He continues more quietly, “And no, I’m not.”

Charlie nods, and lingers for an extra couple of seconds before walking back toward the door. A thought occurs to Max, “Hey, sorry I didn’t have plans for dinner or anything.”

She shrugs, and says, “That’s okay, I was thinking of making something light tonight anyway. I’ve felt a bit weird today.”

Max frowns, glancing between her and Jamie. She does look a bit pale, and she’s holding the door frame… but before they can question her further, she seems to realize how that sounded.

“Oh, I’m not sick, I don’t know what’s up.”

“Is your sug-”

“No, my sugar’s fine, I’ve had my eye on it all day, but it’s normal,” she shrugs, “so I’m just gonna make a salad or something.”

Relieved, Max readily agrees, and when she leaves, they turn back to Jamie, who looks as if he could be asleep, but Max knows that’s probably not the case.

With the moment of quiet, they fish their phone out of their pocket and text Colin.

Max: Hey, could you maybe come home as soon as you’re done with work tonight?

The response comes more quickly than they expected, and Colin’s reply makes them smile, feeling some immediate relief at the thought of Colin coming home soon.

Colin: already talked 2 ro about that. is jamie ok

Max: He’s sick, but okay. But I think you should be here.

Colin: ok home in 1 hour

For as well as Max knows Jamie, caretaking is not their forte. They make a decision about an event, or an initiative with a quiet kind of determination, but ask them to look after someone and they start overthinking every decision.

—---

By the time Colin gets home, Jamie has settled into a restless doze, squirming every minute or so, a tight frown between his eyes. This is the most honest he’s been all night about how he’s feeling though, so Max can’t find it in themself to wake him up.

They’re startled from their quiet observations with a knock on the door, and they look up to find Colin grinning at them as he softly moves into the room. Their shoulders immediately lose some tension they didn’t realize they were carrying.

His grin falters when he sees Jamie, “He’s sleeping?” he asks, sounding half worried, half amused.

Colin spins the desk chair around, plopping on it and meeting Max’s eyes.

“So what’s going on? You just said he’s sick…”

“I’m uh, not really sure. He’s not feeling well, clearly, and he went to the bathroom for a while, but he said he’s not throwing up, so I don’t know.”

Colin nods, expression softening further as he properly looks at Jamie, whose nose scrunches as he starts to blink awake.

“Hey dude,” Colin starts gently, seeing Jamie’s eyes snap over to him, widening slightly, “What’s going on?”

Max gently excuses themself, and joins Charlie in the kitchen, hoping Colin can get more out of Jamie than they could.

“Are you going to actually tell me what’s wrong, or am I guessing?” Colin asks in amusement, laying down and pulling Jamie towards him.

“Don’t feel good.”

“Yeah, I got that part,” he looks down at Jamie, and frowns as a liquidly gurgle sounds through the room, “Your stomach’s bothering you?”

Jamie nods into his chest, and he continues, “You’re not throwing up?”

He shakes his head, then sighs.

“C’mon Jamie, what’s wrong? Admitting it is the first step my dude.”

He lets out a slightly hysterical giggle, and finally admits, “I’m not going to throw up. Uhh, we had a staff party today, and something must have been bad, that’s why Sam started sending people home. So I really don’t feel very good, but I’m definitely not throwing up. It’s uhh…  lower…” he finishes, covering his face with his hand and cringing, face blooming with pink.

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed,” chides Colin gently, “It’s okay, happens to everyone.”

A groan builds in Jamie’s throat and Colin just tugs him closer. Close enough that he can feel the burbles moving through Jamie’s belly.

Jamie closes his eyes against another ripple that tears through his intestines, and he squirms, before caving to the discomfort.

He peels himself away from Colin, mumbles “I need to go to the bathroom,” and stands unsteadily.

“Okay,” Colin says easily, standing up first and looking around. He hands Jamie his phone, “Take this, and text me if you need anything, okay?”

Jamie nods, wincing when another cramp ripples through his belly. Colin watches as he makes a slow trek to the washroom, clearly uncomfortable.

As he watches the door close behind his friend, he calls “Hey, don’t lock the door, please. I won’t come in, obviously, but I don’t want you stuck in there if anything happens.”

He hears Jamie’s hum of agreement, and when he doesn't hear the lock engage, he turns back to Jamie’s room, and sets to work. He straightens the blankets, and finds a glass of water on the bedside table - That must have been Max, he thinks fondly.

He pokes his head into the living room, and finds Max and Charlie curled up on the couch, salad bowls abandoned on the table. He answers their questions about Jamie, pleased to be able to report that it’s food poisoning, and nothing more serious. He smiles, moving onto the kitchen, where he rummages under the sink until he triumphantly pulls out a hot water bottle.

He boils some water, fills the water bottle, and makes a mug of tea with the leftover water. As the tea’s steeping, he hears a small sound from down the hall, and then the bathroom door opens.

“Colin?” Jamie calls quietly, and Colin hurries over.

“Jamie? You okay?”

As he approaches the bathroom, he finds Jamie standing at the door, steadied by a hand on the door jamb.

“I mean, besides the obvious,” he continues more calmly. He notices how Jamie’s about 6 shades paler than normal, and his eyes are ringed with red from crying, and his heart clenches in sympathy.

“Come here,” he mutters, pulling Jamie towards him, and they half-hug, half-stumble back to his room. He flops pathetically onto the bed, and Colin pouts at him sadly.

“I’m sorry you feel so awful, Jamie. I’ll be right back, okay?” At his weak nod, Colin hurries back to the kitchen, grabbing the items he previously abandoned.

He offers Jamie the hot water bottle, and he immediately curls up around it, letting out a little happy sigh as the warmth seeps into his skin, chasing away some of the claminess he was feeling.

“Don’t get too comfortable yet, Jamie. Sit up for a minute, okay?”

Jamie groans, but still lifts himself up on shaking arms, until he’s sitting against the wall. Colin slides into the spot next to him, pressing their shoulders together, and passing Jamie the glass of water.

“Have a few sips, okay?” instructs Colin, but Jamie turns his head into Colin’s shoulder instead, a whine building in his throat.

”C’mon Jamie, you have to drink something. I’m sure you’re already dehydrated. Take a few sips of water, and then you can have some tea.”

Thankfully, Jamie doesn’t put up anymore arguments, carefully drinking some water, and then even more carefully, the tea. He hums in appreciation, the soothing chamomile flavours washing over his tongue and reminding him of nights curled up in his mami’s arms.

The discomfort is still there, bubbling low in his gut, but he thinks he might be able to get a few hours of sleep, with the warmth of the water bottle, and the exhaustion from the illness. Especially if Colin stays here, he thinks, curling into his warmth, Colin’s arm wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him close. He lets his eyes drift closed.

[secretobsessionstuff]

Safe Word

A/N: Warning: This is N S F W. Emeto kink, non-emeto sexy times, all that. Not explicitly explicit because I don't write that, but no doubt what's going on. This is completely out of order; it actually takes place earlier in Drew and Jeremiah's relationship; I may put it in the minific section because it's outside the regular plot I'm writing. EDITED TO ADD: If you read this the first day I posted, I've added a few more details and cleaned up some of the mistakes. Just like Jeremiah and Drew are figuring out how their kinks work here, I'm figuring out how to write them.

“Cincinnati?” 

Jeremiah shook his head.  “Too many syllables; I’d never be able to say that in time.”  He thought for a second. “How about Milwaukee?”

“My aunt and uncle live in Milwaukee; we’re going to my cousin Margie’s wedding there next year, remember?”  Drew snorted. “Can you imagine trying to have kinky sex while literally visiting the place that is our safeword?”  He snuggled into Jeremiah’s side.  “Can you grab the blanket?  I’m freezing.”  

“So maybe we only have non-kinky sex while we’re there.”  Jeremiah grabbed the chunky knit throw blanket from the arm of the sofa and tucked it around the two of them.  “Better?”  

“Mmhmm.”  Drew purred contentedly.  “You’re cuddly.”  Under the blanket, one of his hands found the bottom edge of Jeremiah’s pajama shirt. He pressed his hands into Jeremiah’s skin and the man yelped in surprise. 

“Holy shit, where have your hands been? They’re like blocks of ice.”  Jeremiah instinctively tried to wiggle away but Drew followed him, climbing fully onto his lap.  He slid his cold hands up Jeremiah’s chest and tweaked a nipple, grinning devilishly when Jeremiah jumped again.  Apparently his boyfriend was in that kind of mood, and Jeremiah caught up quickly.  “Make sure your hands are warm before you put them anywhere else,” he warned.  “Or you’ll make it shrink.”  He pressed his own palms against Drew’s ass and positioned him exactly where he wanted.  

“Impossible,” Drew scoffed.  “I’m too arousing to ever let that happen.” He grabbed Jeremiah around the hips and propelled himself down to the floor, his head disappearing under the blanket. 

“Such an ego,” laughed Jeremiah.  There was a lump in the vicinity of his waist where his boyfriend was working hard at pulling off his pajama bottoms.  He lifted himself up to help the process along.  “Taking notes from Adam, dear?”    

Drew’s face appeared suddenly from under the blanket, the knitted material wrapped around the rest of his head like little red riding hood.  “Hmm, I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a challenge.”  He started to pull the blanket back over his head and then stopped.  “Did you have a safe word with him?” 

Jeremiah’s brain - and body - had been drifting off in an entirely different direction but Drew’s question pulled him back.  He squinted at his boyfriend’s face.  “Did Adam and I . . .?”

“Have a safe word, yeah.  I mean, you did a lot with him, right?”  Drew’s voice was serious, but his hands were still roaming slowly across Jeremiah’s skin. Jeremiah slipped his own hand down to help.  

“You know what we did.  I’ve told you everything.”  He fumbled with the tie on Drew’s sweatpants and as soon as it came loose, pushed the fabric over his hips.  But instead of wiggling fully out of the clothing, Drew put his hand on his wrist.

Jeremiah froze. It may not have been a safe word, but the intent was crystal clear.  He moved his hand away and focused back on Drew's question. 

“He asked me first, each time we were going to do something new," he explained. "Once I said yes, he kept going.”  He searched his boyfriend’s face. They had talked about Adam before; first generally and then, once Drew met him for the first time, in a lot more detail.  Jeremiah had thought they’d exhausted the topic, to be honest.  But now Drew climbed back up onto the sofa and draped his naked legs over Jeremiah’s equally naked lap.  Since it didn’t seem like he’d completely abandoned his original plan for the night, Jeremiah chose his words carefully. “You know we didn’t do anything that would require a safe word.  Nothing kinky.”

Drew nodded his acknowledgement.  “But did you ever say no?  When Adam asked to do something.  Or did you let him do . . . whatever he wanted?”  He sounded more curious than upset; his hands began moving slowly again.  

Jeremiah opened his lap to give the man more room.  “I said no to sex.”  Drew knew that, but maybe not the rest. “He asked me more than once.  Three different times, actually.  I always said no.  And then he dropped it.”  

“Hmmm.”  Drew scooted forward to straddle him again.  “You said yes to me the first time I asked.”  He sounded more than pleased, and his body was showing it.

“I did; and haven’t regretted it for a second,” agreed Jeremiah with amusement.  In spite of the fact that he’d been the more experienced one by far, Drew had been almost tentative when they’d first gone to bed together.  Now Jeremiah understood why, and he wasn’t beyond pushing his advantage.  He grabbed Drew’s wrists.  “I think it’s time I showed you what else I’ve learned.  Lie down.”  He put some authority into his voice and kicked the blanket onto the floor.  Drew’s breath hitched as he clocked the change in Jeremiah’s demeanor. 

“Whatever you need . . . doctor.”  He scooted off Jeremiah’s lap and leaned back on the sofa cushions, watching him expectantly. 

Jeremiah hovered over him, considering. “You will not move, you will not speak, and most importantly, you will not come, until I say,” he commanded.  As soon as the man nodded, he grinned and lowered his body down to Drew’s waist.  

Afterwards they snuggled under the blanket again.  “Do we really need a safe word?” Drew wondered, playing with Jeremiah’s hand.  He sucked gently on one of his fingers.  “You seem to be able to read me pretty well.”  

Jeremiah kissed Drew’s temple where it was mushed up against his lips.  “I was going easy on you,” he teased.  “You were quite compliant.”  He kissed again.  “Still, it’s probably a good idea to have one in case I’m not feeling quite as . . . benevolent, next time.”  

“I’ll keep thinking of cities we’re never likely to visit,” promised Drew.  “Ones with short names.”  

Jeremiah patted his hair. “You make sure you get that done, Nurse Thorton.”  

*****

It was almost another two months before Jeremiah got to call Drew Nurse Thorton again; at the hospital he was Drew.  They were on the sofa again, and again they were wearing pajamas.  Well, Drew was only wearing his bottoms, and Jeremiah was admiring the way his stomach pushed out against the waistband.  

It had been storming off and on most of the day.  Jeremiah had made big, puffy omelets for breakfast and homemade potato and bacon soup for lunch.  During a break in the rain he’d run out to the ice cream shop on the next block and returned with a pint of caramel ribbon and a large oreo milkshake.  

Drew had finished the ice cream agreeably, chasing it with swallows from a bottle of coca cola that Jeremiah held, carefully putting the straw into his mouth and holding it there while Drew guzzled the soda.  When Jeremiah finally pulled it away, Drew wrapped his arms around his waist.

“I need to burp,” he complained, bending forward over his lap.  “My belly hurts.”  

Jeremiah shivered. Drew may have been whining, but his eyes were bright and the rest of his body was clearly enjoying himself.  He kept his voice unemotional and firm while he answered. “You can hold it in; you haven’t even finished half the bottle.  I’ve seen you drink a lot more than that without burping.”  He put his hand on Drew’s shoulder and pushed him upright.  “And sit up for me; I want to see your face.”  

Drew sat up slowly, wincing as he did.  “Yeah, but usually I’m not so full.”  He gently palmed his stomach.  “I’m really uncomfortable.”  He put his fist to his mouth and held it there a second.  “Please, Jeremiah," he muttered from behind his hand. "Let me burp.”  

Jeremiah suspected Drew wasn’t entirely playing up his discomfort. He'd been eating all day, after all, and the ice cream was rich and heavy. He probably really did need to burp.

And Jeremiah wanted to fool around a bit before the next part of their game.  It would be harder to do if Drew was too uncomfortable. Still, he needed to play his part too.  He held up the bottle again.

“I tell you when you can burp, remember . . . nurse?”  He drew out the last word.  

Drew nodded.  “Yes doctor.”  His hand dropped off his stomach and swiped between his legs.  Jeremiah smirked.  

“That’s what I thought.  Now take two more sips.”  

After Drew swallowed down more soda, Jeremiah put his own hands on the man’s bubbling belly and them moved them lower.  “Feel good?” he asked casually, stroking.  Drew’s hips bucked.  

“Yes,” he ground out.  “But . . . hic . . . I need . . . hic . . . please.”  His eyes begged Jeremiah’s as the hiccups made his stomach quiver. Drew bit down on his lip.

“Go ahead and burp,” Jeremiah allowed. He climbed off the sofa.  “I’ve got something else for you.”

“Thank you,” Drew gasped.  He immediately dropped his chin to his chest and let out a deep, thick belch.  Jeremiah hummed with appreciation.  His body was tingling with the anticipation of what he had planned next and he practically sprinted to the kitchen and opened the freezer.

Drew was still burping when Jeremiah returned, pushing into his chest to force up little puffs of air. Jeremiah watched for a second, feeling heat pool between his legs.

“Still belching?  I didn’t feed you that much soda.”  He sat down next to Drew and put the large milkshake he’d been carrying on the coffee table in front of them.  Drew eyed it warily.

“I was . . . urp . . . trying to make more room,” he explained, blowing out another puff of air.  “I don’t know how much more I can manage.”  He shuffled in his seat, watching Jeremiah’s reaction.  Jeremiah just stared back, waiting.  Drew shuffled again.  “I mean, I’ve got . . . urp . . . some room left.”  His next words were very deliberate.  “If you want me to eat more.”

‘I do,” Jeremiah nodded.  He picked up the milkshake and climbed onto Drew’s lap, straddling him.  “Hands behind your back, please.”  He and Drew had only recently begun pushing the boundaries of what they liked in the bedroom.  Sometimes Drew liked giving up control, and Jeremiah was learning that sometimes, he really liked ordering his boyfriend around.  He was always very polite about it; there was something about issuing commands in a soft, calm voice that was so much hotter than barking them out.

He could tell Drew thought so too.  His eyes went a little unfocused when Jeremiah settled his weight against his packed belly and he blew out a breath.  “Oof, careful,” he warned.  “I’m starting to feel a little sick.”  

“You’re fine,” Jeremiah said dispassionately.  He leaned further forward and captured Drew’s mouth in a deep kiss. Drew grunted out another soft sound of discomfort but then he kissed Jeremiah back with so much enthusiasm that Jeremiah almost forgot the rest of his plan.

But his hand was getting cold from holding the milkshake, and he finally pulled his tongue out of Drew’s mouth and sat back.  Drew took a deep breath.

“How much do I have to drink?” he asked cautiously.  “I’m not joking - I’m really full.”  He swallowed hard. "And kind of queasy."

“Oh stop it,” Jeremiah scoffed.  “You’re fine.  Now keep your hands behind your back and open your mouth.”  Some time, he knew Drew wanted to try an element of bondage, but Jeremiah wanted to get comfortable domming first.  He held the straw to Drew’s lips and he obediently accepted it.  

As soon as Drew began drinking, Jeremiah slid his hand down to where their bodies met.  He was tingling all over, watching his boyfriend swallow more and more of the milkshake. The first time he pulled the straw away to give him a break, Drew immediately burped.  It was shallow, not deep and relieving, and he gulped immediately afterwards.  

“Oh god,” he groaned.  “I’m not feeling good.”  He breathed slowly through his mouth.  “I . . . I need a minute.”   He blew out another breathy burp. 

“You can have thirty seconds.”  Jeremiah kept playing, his fingers dancing over Drew’s skin.  Drew made a sound, low in his throat that made Jeremiah go still.  He needed to stay in control as much as his boyfriend right now.  Finally he lifted the cup again.  “Open up.”  

Drew stared at the straw for a long moment.  He swallowed hard, and Jeremiah thought he was about to protest again.  But then he slowly leaned forward and took it into his mouth.  Jeremiah cupped his hand on Drew’s neck so he could feel him gulping down.  “Five swallows.  Big ones or we start over,” he said, and Drew gave him a tight nod.  He drank slowly, Jeremiah counting for him.  He was planning to kiss Drew again as soon as he was done, looking forward to tasting the milkshake on his boyfriend’s tongue.

Drew stopped after four sips.  The straw fell out of his mouth and he panted hard over his lap.  His throat bobbed, and Jeremiah touched his cheek.

“That’s only four; you’ve got one more,” he reminded him.  Drew pulled in a deep, shuddering breath. He was nodded, head still down, and Jeremiah could see dots of sweat pricking across his brow. "Is there a problem?" he asked. "Tell me."

Drew gulped. "I kind of feel like I'm going to throw up," he mumbled softly. His breathing was uneven, and he was exhaling little pained burps under his breath.

"I told you to finish," Jeremiah said, a little more harshly that before. Drew's face had gone pale and Jeremiah shifted in his seat. "Are you refusing a direct order?"

Drew shook his head. "No . . . doctor," he choked out. A strand of drool pooled at the corner of his mouth and he wiped his away with a a shaky hand. Now Jeremiah was the one who had to get control of himself, watching his boyfriend struggle. He took a deep breath.

"Good, that's . . . that's good," Jeremiah said thickly. He pushed the straw towards his boyfriend's mouth and Drew slowly opened it.  His jaw was quivering and he pulled back again.  

“Hold . . . hold on,” he stuttered.  His body jolted with a weak gag.  “I’m so nauseous.”  

“You know that’s not my problem,” said Jeremiah, speaking softly again. “You promised five sips and I expect you to keep your promise.”

Drew squeezed his eyes shut before nodding slowly.  He opened his eyes and then his mouth again, but as soon as Jeremiah lifted the straw, he turned his head away, gagging more roughly.  

“Neptune,” he choked out, putting a fist to his mouth.

Jeremiah froze for half a second, hearing their newly chosen safe word coming out of his boyfriend’s mouth.  Then he slid off Drew’s lap and knelt in front of him.  “Bin or bathroom?”  he asked gently. Silently he cursed the fact that he didn’t have a trash can right there.  Drew gulped down.

“Bathroom,” he said thickly.  “Please.” 

Jeremiah hauled the man to his feet and wrapped his arm around Drew’s waist.  “You did so good, sweetheart; I’m sorry I pushed you too far.” He began helping Drew shuffle to the bathroom, unsure if he should feel guilty or not. He was still aroused, too, and his thoughts were swirling.

But Drew shook his head.  “Don’t . . . uhhulp . . . don’t apologize,” he said through a retch.  “I liked it.”  He slowly lowered himself down to kneel in front of the toilet and then leaned forward to spit.  “I just couldn’t . . . eat . . . . anymore. without it all coming up, and I didn’t want to ruin the sofa.”  He reached out for Jeremiah’s hand.  “You did good too; I really wanted to keep . . . going for you.”  His voice got thin and reedy and he turned to pant over the water.  “Next time I'll . . . keep going for you. But right now I really have to throw up.”  

“Go ahead,” agreed Jeremiah.  “In fact, I order you to vomit.” He crouched down behind Drew and rested his hand on the man’s belly.  “On my count.”  

He only got to two when Drew retched and lurched forward.  “Or don’t listen to me,” he laughed.  “Get it up, baby.”  He patted his boyfriend’s back while he emptied his stomach.  Halfway through, Drew grabbed his hand off his belly and moved it lower.  Jeremiah huffed in surprise.  “You sure?”  

Drew burped up what looked like his breakfast omelet.  “I’m sure,” he croaked. “And when I’m finished here, I’m going to finish you in bed.”  

Jeremiah kissed the back of his neck. “Whatever you want.”

[secretobsessionstuff]

I found your stories off of a03 and I love them. I have a lot to go through lol Tyvm and I hope you have a good day.

Wow what a cool surprise!! I never thought anyone would find me from ao3! I was using it as a backup storage lol.

This is making me think I should get on with copying more of my stories over there.

[secretobsessionstuff]

Honeymoon

I actually might write a part two for this. So much misery! Warning for scat and emeto. It's so fucking gross--Dakota I'm sorry buddy.

----------

Dakota’s stomach fell victim to the foreign waters of Cancun, Mexico on the fourth day of their honeymoon. It started with a weak ache in the pit of his gut on the morning after a night of dancing and eating, then his condition quickly took a plunge—not into the crystal cave system of the peninsula—but into the murky and muddy swamps of hell. 

The first day went smoothly with beachside cocktails and a midnight bonfire. Dakota and Blair found plenty of time to enjoy their new reality as a married couple. They had three romantic and exciting days that surprisingly didn’t end with sex, but with exhausted cuddles because they were pooped from the adventurous days. They went snorkeling, hiking, and ruin exploring, making sure to hold each other’s hands at every chance they got. They were stuck together from the sticky heat and the sunscreen. 

Dakota was itching for a lazy afternoon next, but the fourth day was packed with zip-lining and tree-top trekking. He was excited for this adventure, but his stomach wasn’t so eager on the fourth morning. Regardless, he made sure to eat a full breakfast at the all-inclusive restaurants so that he had enough energy to keep up with his wife. 

Blair bounced excitedly in the bus as they arrived at the zip-lining location. The shuttle took them to and from the resort to any activities they requested. Blair wore cute athletic shorts and a racerback tank that was a peachy pink like a flamingo. Her high ponytail swayed adorably everywhere she walked. 

“I can’t wait to get in the air,” Blair whispered fervently to Dakota while they listened to the guide explain the rules for tree-top trekking. 

Dakota nodded, but he wasn’t as confident. Something in his belly told him that staying on the ground would be safer. He didn’t like the rumblings in his tummy one bit. 

The guide clapped their hands as they came to the end of their presentation. “I see few people with high hair, but the helmet will not fit with that. So low hair only.” 

Blair gave a silly pout and undid her hair. Dakota wanted to gawk at the sunshine that streamed down her back, but he was preoccupied with a burbling in his lower belly. 

“And last,” the guide said, “now is good time for toilet before we get you in harnesses. The course is two hours.”

What a fucking wonderful idea, Dakota thought. 

He had the same idea, but now every other tourist would join him in the bathroom. He decided to wait until everyone had gone, which meant of course that he wasn’t ready by the time their group was set to leave. The bubbling heat in his intestines told him that he would want to be alone. 

He ushered Blair forward. “Go, follow the group. I’ll catch up.” 

Blair hesitated but conceded. “…Okay.” 

A sharp cramp propelled Dakota into the bathroom. Prickly sweat broke out across his forehead as he sat down on the toilet. His bowels let go immediately in a hot rush. Dakota moaned from the aching and inconvenience of it all. 

He was thankful to have the restroom to himself. 

There was no air-conditioning in the welcome cabin, so he was positively melting from the sickness. He felt itchy and damp all over. A wave of nausea and dizziness washed over him while his stomach emptied itself. He dabbed at his face with toilet paper, fearing that grey brain matter was leaking from his pores. The pounding in his head and the debilitating vertigo did not reassure him that it was simply sweat. 

Every time Dakota thought he was done, his stomach twisted painfully, keeping him stuck on the toilet. Their trekking group was probably already in their harnesses and outside at the start of the course. He hoped that the guide would take their sweet time showing them the ropes. Blair wouldn’t start without him, meaning that she would have to wait for his fucking stomach to calm down. 

Eventually it did. 

He rose with shaky legs, feeling sweat sticking to his thighs. One look in the mirror told him that he was not okay. He leaned heavily on the sink, considering his options. He really didn’t want to do this. He imagined himself in the air, balancing on wooden planks when the urgent need to shit would hit him again. There was no escaping that. Balancing on his own two feet was hard enough at the moment. 

Maybe his stomach was done spasming. Maybe he just really had to go, and now it was over. Surely there was nothing nefarious squirming in his digestive track. 

As soon as Dakota left the bathroom, another guide helped him into a harness. She moved so quickly and efficiently that he didn’t have a chance to change his mind. He stepped into the rigging while on auto-pilot. Then the woman tightened the ropes around his thighs, crotch, and abdomen. Fuck, it was tight. The pressure on his belly was unbearable; he could hardly breathe. She fitted him with a helmet, secured the fastener, and bopped him on his head. 

“Good to go. Hurry now." 

In a daze, Dakota stumbled into the bright world, squinting as he followed the trail to the first obstacle. Most everyone was high in the trees now, but a few were still waiting their turns, Blair included. 

She wrung her hands together anxiously. Her face lit up when she saw him. “Finally, babe. I thought you got lost. We almost had to join the next group.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Dakota mumbled. 

The massive trees loomed over them. The wood and bark creaked from people climbing all over it. He heard laughter and little cries of fear from the other tourists. Dakota’s vision tunnelled as he looked up the trunk. Suddenly, he couldn’t tell if he was looking up or down. He may as well have been looking down a cliffside. 

Dakota stumbled over nothing and had to catch himself on Blair. “Oh God, Bee.” He swallowed thickly. His stomach still felt like a sloshy mess and now the need to throw up was inching higher in his throat. 

She grabbed his arm to steady him. His grey-tinged skin jumped out at her. He looked like a mouldy piece of bread. Thick droplets of sweat dripped down his nose. “Kota, honey, you look horrible. What’s wrong?” 

“Umm, I—I don’t…” Dakota stuttered, having a difficult time finding his words. He finally had to crouch low to the ground to give himself the semblance of stability. Clumsily, he removed the helmet and ran his hands through his damp hair. “I don’t think I can do this today, Blair.” 

Blair lowered herself to the ground, convincing Dakota to sit on the forest floor. She touched her hand to his forehead and did a double take when she felt the intense heat. “Oh my gosh, you’re burning up.” 

Dakota leaned into her touch. “I don’t feel good. My stomach is a fucking mess.” He told her about the magical experience he just had in the restroom. He felt a new gurgling in his belly, telling him that he was going to have another near-death experience on the toilet very very soon. 

“Oh baby,” Blair cooed, wiping the sweaty hair off his forehead. She could hear his stomach whining and bubbling like a hot spring. “Come on. I’ll help you stand up.” 

Somehow Blair managed to get him off the ground. He immediately swayed as if he were drunk. His cheeks went a mossy green colour. 

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna be sick,” he mumbled with a hand over his mouth. His bowels were still grumbling when he forced down a gag. “Bee, help me out of this harness before I shit myself.” 

Their four hands fumbled at the straps and ropes around his waist. Blair loosened the fasteners until the harness fell down around his ankles. Dakota hopped out of the tangled mess, forcing down wet burps. 

The trek back to the cabin was indeed an adventure. Blair was sweating and breathing hard by the time she opened the door for her sick husband. Dakota quickly stumbled into the bathroom without giving the guides a single glance. 

The four workers cocked their heads at the sudden display. One man spoke up with broken English. “He is all right?”  

Blair gave them a flustered look. “Not really, no. Do you have a trash bin by chance?” 

With a proper receptacle under her arm, Blair swooped into the men’s restroom only to hear Dakota retching in the stall. His shorts were around his ankles. The floor and his clothes did not survive unscathed. 

Blair stopped breathing through her nose and pushed open the door to find that Dakota had vomited in his lap. It dripped down his legs and onto his shorts. His shoulders shook with each haggard breath. His inhales were shallow, and his exhales were just moans. 

“Oh, my love.” Blair handed him the trash bin, but he only spit into it. “I’m so sorry.” 

Mucus ran from Dakota’s nose. He sniffled thickly. “I don’t know what to do. I feel so sick.” 

“Nothing. Nothing,” Blair said as she ran her hands gently through his hair. “You don’t have to do anything. Just stay here as long as you need.” She looked at the mess around him. At least it was only vomit. “They’ll have a lost and found. You can take clothes from there. And the staff will have cleaning supplies.” 

Dakota put his face in his hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

“I will do all the talking.” She patted his shoulder. “You sit tight.” 

“I literally have no other choice.” 

Blair crept out of the restroom, ensuring that no other tourists were in the building. The last group hadn’t gotten back yet and the next one wasn’t scheduled for another fifteen minutes. They had time to fix this.

She approached the desk where the four guides still stood, now with knowing looks on their faces. “Um, so, we need some help. My husband has some sort of stomach bug. I will clean everything up, but I need a mop maybe. And a pair of shorts to borrow.” 

The oldest man—probably the supervisor—grinned. “You are polite. We will help. Where are you from?” 

“Canada.” 

He nodded. “Many tourists get sick first time. The water is uh…your bodies not used to.” 

“Yeah, it seems so.” Blair rubbed the back of her neck. “We feel really bad. Dakota—my husband—is really embarrassed about the whole thing.”

The supervisor swatted this worry away with his hand. “It will be fixed. We help.” 

[secretobsessionstuff]

Waiting Games

A/N: This is for everyone who voted for Gabe trying to hide his illness at work until Logan got there. It's going to have a part two - or more like a continuation - but not immediately. Now I get to reward myself with @bellysoupset's new fic!

Being in between deals at work was kind of like being on vacation, as far as Gabe was concerned. He caught up on his sleep, had time to go outside for fresh air, and was even occasionally able to sneak into the stairwell with Logan for a quick makeout session. 

Except today, Logan was out of the office all morning touring locations for the firm’s next big charity ball. It was making Gabe feel out of sorts, so when Adam texted to say he was in the neighborhood for a meeting and did he want to grab coffee and breakfast after, Gabe quickly agreed.  He’d been dragging anyway, supposedly working on finishing up the closing summary from his last deal, but his mind kept drifting off.  

And Adam was always a good distraction.  Today he was ranting about Rory and his behavior at Jeremiah and Drew’s over the weekend.  

“Seriously, he was acting next-level, even for him.”  Adam took an enormous bite of his breakfast sandwich and egg yolk spilled out and dripped down onto his hand.

Gabe frowned with distaste as Adam began licking his fingers.  “So he was freaking out even though Noa wasn’t sick?”  He sipped his drink slowly. Once he’d been seated he’d decided he wasn’t that hungry after all.  The coffee itself felt like a lot; it was his second of the day and he was realizing that he probably should have gotten a small instead of a large. And held off on the vanilla sweet cream.  Adam shook his head.

“No, she was, but not as bad as everyone else.  Hell, Jeremiah and Drew were puking all over the place, but apparently while I was out getting supplies Rory wanted them to take her to the hospital. In a fucking blizzard!”  He laughed and dug back into his sandwich.  

Gabe gulped down at the image.  He’d been queasy from the tainted dessert too, but hadn’t eaten enough to actually throw up. Logan had gotten him meds and a heating pad and he’d managed to power through, curled up with her in bed. But now just thinking about it seemed to be bringing some of the sick feeling back.  That, or watching his brother lay waste to his breakfast.  Bacon grease had joined the egg yolk and Gabe grasped for something else to think about.

“Noa said you brought Avery Morrison back to help?  How did that . . . happen?”  He burped softly under his breath but Adam didn’t seem to notice. He waved away the question. 

“Ahh, you know.  I ran into him at the CVS and he insisted on coming to help. I couldn’t exactly turn the guy down, could I?”  He looked around the coffee shop and signaled to their server for a refill. 

“I’m sure you couldn’t . . . uhhUrp . . . turn him down,” said Gabe dryly.  The second burp made him decide he didn’t want his coffee anymore and he put it on the next table.  “So what, did the two of you cozy up on Drew and Jeremiah’s pull out sofa for the night?  Who was the big spoon?” 

He’d meant it as a joke, of course; there was no way his brother would have hit on Rory’s partner while out buying meds for all their sick friends in the middle of a huge blizzard.  Except Adam got an odd look on his face.  He wasn’t one to blush - not much embarrassed him - but Gabe had been his brother’s wingman for a long time.  He knew what the expression meant.  Stomach ache momentarily forgotten, he leaned forward to punch Adam in the arm.

“You slept with him?” he asked incredulously. “Really?”  Gabe shook his head.  “That’s bold, even for you, Bro.”  Adam was the only person Gabe still called “Bro,” but he felt it was justified in this case.  Adam shrugged.

“Why bold? I asked, he accepted - of course - and we had fun.  No biggie.”  He took a sip of coffee, staring unapologetically at Gabe over the rim of the mug.

Gabe rolled his eyes.  “Well doesn’t it break your ‘no entangling alliances” rule of hooking up?  You’re going to have to see him again, you know.”  He let his voice go sly.  “Unless you’re thinking of dating him?”

As he’d expected, Adam looked horrified. “What?  No, absolutely not.  Why would I want to date Avery?  I don’t date, remember?” 

Gabe couldn’t help but notice that Adam had used the man’s first name and he filed that bit of knowledge away.  His stomach gave an angry gurgle and he pressed his hand into his side.  Not now, he hoped he was telling it.  He’d take some Pepto back up in the office - after he got more information.  

“Oh, I remember,” he responded.  “I’m just wondering how you left things.  What’s going to happen when you see him at the trial?  Or hanging out at Rory and Noa’s?”  Gabe forced up a deeper burp while he waited for his brother to think that over.  

Adam waved him off.  “Nothing’s going to ‘happen’.  It was a night, it was fun, that’s all.  He knows that.”  

“Are you sure about that?” Gabe scoffed.  He’d run a lot of interference for his brother over the years (and vice versa, if he was being honest) - making up excuses for why Adam wasn’t returning texts or calling for a second date or whatever.  “ I don’t know Avery that well but he doesn’t seem like quite the player you are. Why would you think he knows you only do one-nights?” 

“When did you become so concerned about some guy I fooled around with?”  Adam scowled at his brother.  “Honestly Gabe, you know me, and to be honest, so does Avery-at least this part of me.  I’m positive he understands our arrangement.”  He shrugged again.  “And who knows?  Maybe I’ll decide to break my rule and sleep with him one more time - the sex actually wasn’t terrible, you know.” 

“I don’t know, and I’m pretty damn glad about that,” Gabe said tiredly.  Had it really been just over a year since he would have been high-fiving Adam over his latest conquest?  Or asking for help with his own? Thank god he had Logan now.

Speaking of, Gabe had been hoping for a message from her.  It was probably too early for her to be on her way back to the office, but she hadn’t texted either.  Logically, he knew that meant she was busy, and normally that would have been fine. But he was starting to feel off - the dragging feeling from earlier was now a heaviness all over his body.  And his stomach felt kind of sloshy and gross.  The coffee had definitely been a bad idea.  He threw a $20 bill on the table and Adam looked up in surprise.

“You’re leaving already? I thought you said you weren’t busy right now. I thought we could hang out for a little while.”  The accusation in his voice was plain.  

Normally Gabe would have given in and let Adam talk him into staying a little bit longer.  He would have bitched about the work he still had to do, and made a big show about the favor he was doing, blowing it off to hang out with his brother.  And Adam would have been smug about convincing Gabe to stay.  That was their thing.  

But today his head felt heavy and his stomach was unsettled and he wanted to finish writing up his report so he could maybe go home early.  He didn’t say so because Adam would give him shit for being whiny and he didn’t have the energy for that right now.  And maybe he was still thinking about how much things had changed for him in the past year.  He had both his belly and his girlfriend in mind as he slowly shook his head.  

“Logan’ll be back soon from her meeting; we’re going to grab a late lunch,” he lied, even though eating was the last thing on his mind.  

A strange expression flashed across Adam’s but it was gone too quickly for Gabe’s tired brain to process it.  A second later he rolled his eyes.  “Oh you’re so whipped; yeah, yeah, go hang out with your girlfriend instead of your brother.  Have your missionary position, vanilla sex or whatever it is you do now that you’re tied down.”  He shook his head in mock disappointment.  “I know Noa and Rory are a lost cause but I never thought I’d lose you to the Dark Side.”  

Gabe felt the sting, but he also knew there wasn’t anything he could do to change it besides agree to stay.  And he just wasn’t feeling well enough for that.  “We have a ton of basketball to watch in the next month,” he reminded his brother.  “I’m planning to take you all down in the bracket challenge.”  March Madness was practically a religion in the Calder family and Gabe was looking forward to including Logan this year.  He knew better than to say so at the moment though.  His stomach gurgled sickeningly and he tried not to wince.

Adam misinterpreted the noise.  “Sounds like you need to go find your girlfriend and get that lunch you skipped eating with me for.”  He threw his napkin down and pushed his chair back.  “I’ll let you pay for me though, so thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” muttered Gabe.

The elevator back up to the 36th floor was empty, and Gabe took advantage of the privacy to force up as many burps as he could.  By the time he got out on his floor he wasn’t feeling exactly good, but a little less full at least.  He’d take the win.  Even better, he had a text from Logan telling him she'd be back in the office in about two hours.  Hopefully by then his stomach ache would be gone and they could actually have the late lunch he’d lied to Adam about.

He was almost at his office when one of the senior associates poked his head out of a conference room.  “Hey Calder, you worked on the Tri-Way deal last month, right?  Can you give us a quick overview of the collateral structure you used?”  

Gabe changed directions towards the conference room.  “Sure Tony, but isn’t Levitt in there?  He’s the one who worked the most on that part of the deal.”  

Tony frowned.  “He was in here, but after the third time he had to run to the bathroom to puke they forced him to go home.”  He made a face.  “Hoping for food poisoning and not a stomach bug or the whole team’s going down.”  

Gabe gulped.  “Me too.”  He and Caden Levitt had shared a plate of french fries yesterday.  Suddenly his gurgly stomach felt a lot more ominous.  He took a couple of slow breaths, assessing.  It wasn’t nausea he was feeling, right?  Just a slightly gross belly.  Probably from the two cups of coffee, that’s all.  He ignored the cold prickles of sweat on the back of his neck and bent over the sheet of numbers on the table.  

It was a bad position.  A bubble of air rose in his chest and he let out a harsh burp before he could stop himself.  

“Sorry,” he said quickly, standing up and rubbing his chest.  “Just uhh, came from breakfast.”  The memory of his brother’s drippy egg yolks made his mouth water, but not in a good way.  He swallowed hard.  “What do you need to know about the . . . uUrrp . . .collateral?”  That burp was wetter and he bit back a groan.  He was not nauseous, he reminded himself.  Just a little uncomfortable.  He squinted at the document in his hand.

“There was a uh, bankruptcy restructuring,” he explained quickly.  “The initial creditors put up their interest in exchange for a financed cut of the final payout.”  He gulped down again.  “I uhh, have the terms in my office; I can send them to you.”  And he could sit down and take off his suit jacket and untuck his shirt.  It all felt too tight around his middle and he was suddenly desperate to loosen the pressure. 

Tony smacked the table. “Bankruptcy, that’s what we missed.”  He punched Gabe on the shoulder.  “Yeah, send me the terms, thanks.  And if you have historical data too, that would be great.” 

Gabe swallowed down and then nodded.  “Jacey has that file; I’ll ask her to send it to you.” A shiver ran through him and he realized how freezing he was.  Not a good sign.  Still, he felt more or less functional.  Enough to help Tony out for a while, at least. 

The guy let out a sigh  “Thank you;  Levitt was about to get them for us, right before he lost his breakfast. I was taking a piss when he came barging into the bathroom.  It wasn’t pretty.”  He peered at Gabe’s face.  “You’re feeling okay, right?”

“I’m fine,” Gabe said automatically.  His stomach gurgled, revealing the lie but he laughed it off.  “Had breakfast at Constantine’s” he explained, naming the coffee shop on the mezzanine. He palmed at the side of his stomach.  “Ate too much.”  He didn’t know why he was lying; he wasn’t on a deal right now and no one would think anything of it if he went home.  But it really wasn’t that bad.  And besides, Logan was on her way back.  He wanted to see her, not complain about not feeling 100%.  

Tony didn’t seem that interested anymore.  “‘Kay; send me the details,” he muttered, attention back on the pile of papers in front of him.  “Thanks.”

Gabe found Jacey and asked her to send Tony the closing file, and then she asked him to talk to one of the partners about rescheduling a zoom because one of the other iBanks had a conflict.  That led to Gabe having to call the associate at that firm because it was easier than sending a million texts back and forth. He went to find Jacey in the conference room where she was working to confirm the new agenda and at some point while he was talking to her he realized that he was actually feeling kind of terrible. 

She was going through her notes, asking Gabe perfectly normal questions about funding goals and tax incentives, and he was answering thoughtfully and trying to ignore the way cold sweat was making his shirt stick to his back.  And trying to pretend he wasn’t queasy.

Except he was.  Not “must rush to the bathroom to throw up right now” queasy, but it was starting to feel like it might be in his future.  Right now he really needed to burp.

“Gabe?  Earth to Gabe.”  Jacey was waving her hand in front of his face.  He swallowed down the saliva pooling in his mouth and forced himself to focus.

“I’m sorry . . . what did you say?” He gulped out.  “I was . . . uhh . . .”

“Thinking about your girlfriend?” Jacey grinned.  “You’ve got that funny ‘I’m in love,’ look on your face.”  

Gabe didn’t reveal that it was actually nausea.  At some point, he’d have to tell Logan; she’d think it was funny that daydreaming about her and trying not to gag looked the same.  Right now though, the trying not to gag felt critical. As did leaving the conference room

“I’ll just . . . email you the rest,” he stuttered.

He didn’t wait for an answer, but rushed back to his office, immensely grateful that as a third year associate he had his own space and a real door.  He was untucking his shirt before he even closed it and sank ungracefully into his chair, finally letting up the burp he’d been holding back.  And then he sat very still, almost holding his breath, willing his body to behave.  Like in the conference room, his mouth filled with saliva.  This time, he knew there was no way he’d be able to swallow it down, and he just barely managed to grab his trashcan before his body jolted with a heave. Nothing came up, and he drooled into the bin, suddenly too nauseated for the effort of spitting. His stomach spasmed again, this time pushing out a harsh-sounding burp.  It was so loud he half expected someone to knock on his door to see if he was okay.  But no one came and after a few more tense seconds, the urge to retch died down.  

Gabe took a deep breath.  He was okay; it was just a little nausea. He’d worked through worse.  He could handle this. 

But first, he had to text Logan. Maybe there had been a time when he would have hidden something like this from her, but not anymore.  He typed out the message with shaking hands not bothering with any sort of grammar.

G: fyi im sick 

G: waiting for you

G: but dont rush

Three dots of her response popped up almost immediately, a good sign.  Gabe breathed slowly in and out while he read her response.

L: oh no, sweetheart, what’s wrong?  We just left the last site so I should be back in about 45 minutes.  

L: Do you have meds? I’ve got Tylenol and DayQuil in my desk. Love you.

Gabe breathed out.  45 minutes.  He could definitely last 45 minutes.  Although as if to mock him, right then his stomach rolled over.  His face tingled with the nausea that followed, and it was a full two minutes of slow breathing before he could respond to his girlfriend. 

G: stomach 

He wanted to say more but just thinking about typing the words “I’m nauseous” made him feel like gagging. 

Logan clearly understood.  Where his sister would have asked a bunch more questions - what had he eaten, did it feel like a stomach flu, had he thrown up? - Logan’s response was gratifyingly brief.

L: Well fuck.  I’ll be there as soon as I can.

Gabe put down his phone and tried to figure out what to do for 45 minutes. 

He tried to read some of the financial articles that were backing up in his inbox, but before ten minutes was up the words were swimming before his eyes.  

Next he stood up and walked slowly around his office, breathing in and out in careful rhythm until the pressure building in his throat forced him to cough.  His legs felt too heavy anyway, and he sank back into his chair.  

Giving himself a belly rub didn’t work, especially because of the way his stomach was squeezed against the waistband of his suit pants.  But he didn’t dare unbutton them because he knew he’d never get them closed again

For a while he made himself burp.  Swallowing gulps of air and forcing them back out helped at first. He pulled up another random article on his computer but this time fixed his unfocused gaze on the screen so it only looked like he was busy. Every one in a while he clicked his mouse. 

Click.  Soft burp.

Click click. Burp Buurp.  

Move the mouse and click. Thicker belch.

Click. BrraAuUURP.  

Bitter liquid jumped into his mouth.  Gabe instinctively swallowed it back down and immediately choked and began half coughing, half gagging to try to clear his throat. Saliva sprayed across his desk while he struggled to catch his breath.  Just when he thought he was under control a fresh wave of prickly nausea rolled over him.  He belched, deep and wet, and shakily pushed his chair back so he could hover over his garbage can.  But all he could do was pant and heave, so harshly that it made him dizzy.  He let his head fall onto his desk, lifting it up from his arms long enough to hiccup or spit and then resting it back down.  God, he felt like shit.

The sound of his door opening couldn’t even rouse him from his nausea to try to fake it that he was working.  Luckily, it didn’t matter.

“Oh no; you’re really sick.”  Logan’s hands were cool on the back of his neck.  Gabe lifted his head to spit again and then raised it a little higher to find his girlfriend.  

“Hi,” he managed, swallowing down the need to heave.  “I think I need to puke.”  

Logan snorted.  “You think?”  She squeezed his shoulders.  “Have you yet?”  She leaned over him to peer into the garbage can.

“Nope.”  He shook his head.  “Waited . . . uhhurup . . . ‘scuse me.  Waited for you.”  He turned his chair and pressed his head into her stomach.

“Well I’m honored, I think,”  Logan ran her hand through the back of his hair.  “Is it going to be here or can you make it to the bathroom?”  

Gabe held up a finger to wait.  Finally he belched again and some of the heaviness in his jaw eased.  He held out his hands. “Bathroom,” he said heavily.  “C’mon.”  

Logan pulled him to his feet.  “Where else would I go?”  She waited for him to get his bearings, resting her hand on his cheek.  “This came on fast,” she said as they shuffled slowly out of Gabe’s office.  “Weren’t you with Adam this morning?  Don’t answer if you can’t.”  

Gabe burped again.  “Yeah,” he mumbled.  The bathroom was only halfway down the corridor but it seemed a million miles away.  If coworkers were watching him he had no idea.  “I’ll . . . tell you . . . later.”  He gulped down, and then again.  They were getting close; just a couple more doors.  He swayed, and Logan grabbed him around the waist.  

“Need help? I knew he looked green earlier.  Fuck, so it is the stomach flu.”  Gabe barely registered Tony’s voice or Logan’s response.

“I think I’ve got him, but thanks.  No need for you to get it too.”  

“Too late for that.  Call me if you need help.”  

Tony’s voice faded away and then Logan stopped moving.  Bathroom door.  Gabe’s mouth was sticky; he needed to spit again.  Instead he tugged on Logan’s hand.

“Come . . . come in,” he managed.  His stomach heaved and he gagged, dripping stringy spit onto the carpet.

Obviously making sure he didn’t throw up in the hallway was more important than who might be at the urinals.  Logan didn’t even hesitate, pushing open the door and rushing him inside the empty bathroom and then into the nearest stall.  

Gabe crashed to his knees and retched but nothing came up.  He braced his arms across the toilet bowl and retched again, feeling like the entire stall was spinning around him.  Logan began rubbing his back.  “I’m having deja vu,” she joked.  “Too bad we couldn’t go back to the partners’ lounge.”

The third retch was productive.  Gabe vomited up a mouthful of coffee mixed with his early morning oatmeal, sucked in a shaky breath, and burped up a much bigger gush.  

“When I’m a partner,” he mumbled thickly, spitting out a glob of something stuck in his throat.  “Then I’ll puke in there all the time.”  

“Can’t wait,” laughed Logan.  “Are you feeling any better now that you got something up?”  

Gabe shook his head.  “No.  Still . . . still more.”  The nausea crested again and more vomit rushed up and into the bowl.  Logan leaned over to flush.  

“Take your time,” she said calmly.  “When you’re mostly empty I’ll call an Uber and bring a bag.”  

Gabe twisted his head so he could peer blearily up at her.  “You’re the best,” he croaked.  “I’ll take care of you when you get this.”  He leaned back over to gag emptily, stomach straining until he finally brought up bile.  “I wanna go home now.”

“It will be my pleasure to take you there,” Logan said solemnly.  “Let’s not throw up in the hallway if you can manage it.” 

Gabe burped weakly against Logan’s leg and then stood up slowly.  “I’ll do my best,” he promised.

[secretobsessionstuff]

Wow I wrote a fic! I think my existence on this platform will be me popping out of a two month hiatus and throwing the grossest fics at anyone who cares. Needs editing before I can post it tomorrow.

[secretobsessionstuff]

your fics and specifically the dakota and blair fics got me into emeto. i don't usually read oc fic but I love your cast. thanks for this stuff.

Aww thank you for saying that!! It's such an honour to give someone a kink lol. I'm just kidding, but thanks for loving my characters :)

[secretobsessionstuff]

Bad Berries

i have always be obsessed with the idea of wild berries. some are a delicious, tart treat, and some can make you sick as a dog. which one you get can be a gamble.

imagine, for a moment, a young male traveler trotting through a lush forest. he’s the kind of guy that goes village to village and doesn’t stay in one place for too long. in his travels he’s acquired quite an eclectic taste for foods from all different regions, so he’s pretty brash and adventurous with his appetite.

the forest stretches on, maybe even for days, and he quickly notices his hunger. he’s run out of rations from the last village, and there isn’t an end to this forest in sight. maybe he took a wrong turn.

he continues, getting hungrier and hungrier, to the point that he starts considering mushrooms and acorns. however, he doesn’t have to resort to that. his prayers are answered when he notices a berry bush along the path with ripe, juicy, blue-colored berries. without hesitation he pops one into his mouth. it’s ripe with sweetness. it practically explodes in his mouth. he gathers a healthy portion using the hem of his shirt as a basket and periodically plops them into his mouth as he trots along, his hunger sated until he gets to the next village. his fingers are stained blue, and so is his mouth.

after finishing the berries, within an hour he’s feeling hot, hot enough to visibly moisten his shirt. he sponges a sickly sweat from his brow. the traveler doesn’t want to admit to himself he’s feeling a little feverish. maybe the temperature has risen with the midday sun…certainly, that must be all it is, right?

when a turbulent feeling settles into his stomach, he knows he can’t be so lucky. his steady pace has slowed to a snail’s crawl. he puts a hand on his belly and burps up a sweet taste. by this point he decides to sit down on a fallen log and assess the situation. he’s so dripping hot that he shucks off his cape. his eyes fall to his belly. his heart starts hammering against his ribs.

the buttons of his shirt are straining. he can feel his belly swelling and churning. i imagine the traveler is already a bit husky, so he cant believe how tight and full his big tummy has gotten. the longer he sits, the worse he feels, and the more his tummy boils and froths with the berries. he rubs his belly, trying desperately to settle it. he can hear and feel it gurgling in waves as it continues to bloat.

he decides to power on, what else can he do? he clutches his upset stomach and trudges forward, starting to feel a little light-headed and fuzzy. the pain worsens, and soon his throat and mouth are feeling thick. everything gets slow and starts spinning. the traveler collapses onto his knees, dry heaving like a sick cat. when he can’t get anything up, he crawls over to a tree and rests against it, groaning and clutching his berry-filled belly.

imagine you’re a healing witch or warlock, and on your midday walk you find him slumped there. by looking at the blue stain on his lips and fingers, you know exactly what’s wrong. this isn’t the first poisoning you’ve seen. you help him up, and with your arm over his shoulders you lead him back to your cottage. you tuck him into bed with a wet, cold towel on his forehead. there is a bucket at the side of his bed. he’s restless, tossing and turning from side to side, moaning and groaning about the pain and how hot and feverish he feels. he’s delirious and can barely articulate himself. you hush him and put a tea kettle on the stove, promising a remedy that will help.

you return with a tea cup and help tip it into his mouth. he guzzles it all, and you tell him the only way to feel better is to get everything up, which your medicinal tea will help do. he groans, panting hard, complaining that he doesn’t want to throw up.

minutes pass. in his delirium he worriedly tells you the tea isn’t working. you laugh, and promise that it will. no sooner do you say that he winces. the traveler tells you he’s not feeling too good all of a sudden. he begins to retch and gropes for the bedside bucket. you place it in front of him on the bed, rubbing his back as he gets the berries up.

the traveler stays overnight. you watch him closely to make sure he’s okay. he falls into a fitful bout of sleep, waking the next day confused as to where he is and how he got there. you tell him he ate some poisonous berries and went into shock. you tell him he’s going to be alright, and in no time you send the traveler on his way with a belly full of breakfast.

you await the next traveler that mistakenly eats from your berry bush.

[secretobsessionstuff]

I love your fics! I would love another one with both Dakota and Blair sick, if you have the time. Maybe one of them gets really sick everywhere and the other sympathy pukes? Cue the sick one feeling super guilty and sympathy puker comforting them and saying it's not their fault.

Ahh fun request! Thank you!

--------

Blair and Dakota did not usually order the same thing at restaurants; Blair preferred lighter meals with unique flavours while Dakota went with hearty, protein heavy meals. But neither of them could resist the pull of garlic shrimp alfredo. They did not want to share their portions, so the only option was to get the same thing. 

Two hours after eating, Dakota’s tongue still remembered the creamy delight with fondness. During the drive home, he entertained himself with thoughts of going back to that same restaurant. Blair certainly wasn’t providing stimulating conversation to keep his mind busy, but that was okay. She sat quietly in the passenger seat, the city lights flashing across her features. 

The meal wasn’t sitting so ‘fondly’ in Blair’s memory, nor in her stomach. Enough time had gone by since eating that her fullness should have been dissipating, but it wasn’t. She closed her eyes tight as every streetlight sliced across her vision. A strange heat burned beneath her eyelids. She felt crampy and sore in every part of her body. This was not the typical fatigue that came after a big meal; it was the fatigue of fever—of an internal war inside her cells. 

Blair cleared her throat and shifted awkwardly in her seat. “I feel kinda weird, Kota.” 

Dakota squeezed her thigh where he rested his hand. “You feel like a normal human to me. Yep, definitely skin and bone under here.” He smirked but spared a glance in her direction. “What’s the matter?” 

“I don’t know…” She trailed off, playing with Dakota’s hand. She intertwined their fingers and traced the veins she could feel through his skin. She lifted his hand to her face. “Do I feel warm to you?” 

Keeping his eyes on the road, Dakota cupped her cheek. “Yeah actually, you do.” He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “You might be coming down with the flu. It’s going around.” 

Blair mumbled something noncommittal. She didn’t want to think about what kind of flu it might be. And she certainly didn’t want to think about the squirming mass of noodles in her belly or the fishy shrimp swimming in between. 

They fell back into an easy silence, Dakota rubbing his hand over her leg. He thought about his wife’s demeanour throughout dinner. She’d been quieter than usual, but he figured she was just relaxed and enjoying her meal. 

Now her unease was hard to miss. She breathed heavily, occasionally letting out a muffled groan. Unhappy gurgles emanated from her stomach as she fidgeted in her seat. Dakota didn’t like the sick sounds one bit. He wished the drive home wasn’t so long, so he could tuck her into bed faster, but they still had a ways to go. 

Many moans from his wife later, Dakota wasn’t surprised to hear her let out a wet burp into her hand. He switched to rubbing her stomach instead of her leg. He clicked his tongue worriedly against his teeth. “Your dinner’s not sitting so well, huh honey?” 

Blair hiccuped. “Ugh…no.” Another burp bubbled up from her stomach, filling her mouth with saliva. “I’m sorry about this.” 

“Don’t be sorry. Just let me know if I need to pull over.” 

“Okay…” 

Blair didn’t mean to lie, but she was not able to stay true to that one little word. It didn’t happen immediately though which lulled them into a false sense of security. For a while there, Dakota thought they would get home without incident. Blair was mostly quiet as she hugged her aching belly. He almost thought she was asleep, until he heard a harsh gurgle travel up her throat. 

She bolted upright with a hand over her mouth. “Fuck, Kota, I—” A bubbly retch interrupted her sentence.  With a hand clamped over her mouth, her stomach rose into her throat. 

Dakota startled at the sudden turn of events. He was in the middle lane of the highway when a gush of vomit came spewing from between Blair’s fingers. “Oh God…Okay.” 

Blair moaned miserably, unable to stop the next wave from coming. Her stomach squeezed itself like a rag, sending up another torrent of chunky pale sick. In vain, she tried to use her hands to keep the vomit contained. It was useless and succeeded only in coating her hands in half-digested pasta. 

Dakota watched in horror as her legs, the floor, and her hands got covered in sick. “Oh, fuck honey, just let it happen.” His voice was thick and nasally from breathing through his mouth. He checked his blind spot and swore.

Blair sniffled wetly. Snot and tears dripped onto the floor with the sick. A puddle of whiteish vomit filled the ridges of the floor mat. “Kota…Ugh, I’m so sorry.” A wave of vertigo washed over her even while the lights outside blinded her. She gagged. “Please pull over.”   

“I’m trying, baby,” Dakota said shakily.  

No one was letting Dakota into the right lane. He flashed his blinker for ages, waiting for an opening. He heard Blair gag then the liquid sound of more vomit joining the puddle. 

The rancid smell of fermented cream sauce filled the car. It wrinkled Dakota’s nose. Some survival instinct told his own stomach to get rid of whatever was making Blair sick. Stupid monkey brain, Dakota thought as he swallowed a wave of nausea.   

Finally, the car came to a stop on the side of the road. Blair fumbled with the door before falling to her knees on the cold grass. She coughed and gagged on all fours, trying to take in big gulps of air but failing. Her pounding head made the world spin around in her peripheral vision.

Dakota did his best to avoid looking at the horror scene splattered across the car. He too tried to cough up the smell of sour vomit that lined his lungs. He managed to set aside his nausea to crouch by his sick wife. 

“Aw baby,” Dakota cooed as he rubbed her back. She shivered from the cold and the crying. “Just a tad sick, methinks.” 

Blair spat a glob of spit onto the grass. “It happened so fast.” 

“I know.” 

“It’s fucking everywhere, Kota.” She looked down at her hands and her pants. 

“It’ll come clean. It’s not the first time this has happened.” Dakota swallowed hard, seeing the remnants of his own dinner soaking into Blair’s clothes. A shiver ran down his spine as he stood up on shaky legs. 

“I want to go home,” she said weakly, standing up as well. 

Dakota paced on the grass, psyching himself up to take a look at the damage in the car. The open door let him see the aftermath of the entire ordeal. The seat was covered in a slimy layer and the floor mat was dotted with flecks of spaghetti and shrimp. It curdled his stomach as the taste of dinner came back to the forefront of his memory. A heavy lump formed in his throat. 

He wobbled away from the car, feeling the colour drain from his face. “Shit, Bee. I need a minute.” 

Blair heard the tremble in his voice. “Are you okay?” 

“Mmhmm,” Dakota mumbled as he bent over with his hands on his knees. A gurgling retch grated up his throat. A similar colour and consistent of vomit as Blair’s splattered onto the grass at his feet. He nearly tumbled into the ditch from the force of the heave, but Blair’s arm came to the rescue.

“Oh no, babe.” Blair pouted. “Are you sick too?” She felt for a fever and found nothing but cool skin. 

“Not exactly…” Dakota gagged. “I’m fine…just sympathetic to your cause I guess.” 

Dakota gave Blair plenty of time to ponder and obsess over the implications of his words while he emptied more of his stomach. He didn’t think he’d feel better until everything was out. I’m such a good fucking husband, he thought. He told himself that he was merely trying to understand his wife on all levels. 

“No, baby! I’m so sorry!” Blair exclaimed. “I should have told you to pull over sooner. I’m an idiot.” 

Dakota sniffled and wiped his sleeve under his nose. “Stop that. It’s not your fault.” 

“Except it totally is!” 

“Okay you’re right,” he said smugly. “You totally caught a stomach bug on purpose.”  

Blair conceded eventually, mostly because Dakota couldn’t debate the matter while also gagging. She settled on simply rubbing his back like he had done for her. 

Together with swirly tummies, they looked back at the car in disgust. Dakota awkwardly cleared his throat. “I’ll be fine now I think.” 

“I can help.” 

“No, you can’t. You have a fever.” Dakota had to push Blair into the back seat where he forced her to rest like the evil husband he was. 

------

The end. I hate coming up with endings so here’s an abrupt stop :)

[secretobsessionstuff]

So soft and precious ❤️

MAX: It's Nice to Be Cared For (Part 1)

Max and Jamie are such a precious pair to me, they get along so well, and just feel very calm and understanding. So here's a wintery sick Max, with caretaker Jamie :)

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DAY 1

All through the flat, not a creature was stirring, not even the cat. But this only lasts a moment, before the person in the last bedroom turns and peeks at the clock, groaning in annoyance when it shows them that it’s only been 43 minutes since they last checked the time.

They roll over again, frustrated that they can’t seem to fall asleep.

After hours of tossing and turning with no relief, they finally give in, and reach for their phone. They text the one person in the flat who might be able to help. Jamie, the resident insomniac.

Sure enough, moments later, Jamie knocks softly on the door, before creeping into his friend’s room.

About to settle on the bed, he pauses and whispers “Hey, what’s your favourite book?”

Blank eyes blink back at him, and he pauses before saying “Or, I don’t know, a book you’ve liked? Do you not have a comfort book?”

Max laughs softly, and says “I think that’s just you, Jamie.”

Jamie rolls his eyes fondly, “Come on, there must be something.”

“Umm, okay… Maybe Divergent?”

Jamie smiles before hurrying from the room, and returning moments later with the book tucked under his arm.

He motions for Max to move over, before clambering onto the bed next to them, and snuggling in.

“So… Why can’t you sleep?” he asks Max.

Max shrugs, dropping their head onto Jamie’s shoulder, and curling into him.

“I don’t know. Just hasn’t happened.”

“Okay,” Jamie says softly, before he opens the book.

“What part do you like most?” he asks.

“Hmm?” says Max, before looking over and seeing what Jamie’s holding, “Oh, uh, the part with the fear simulation? And with Tris learning about Four?”

“Ooh, good part!”

As Jamie searches for the page, then starts to read aloud, Max quietly drifts into a restless sleep. Now, they’ve always been a light sleeper, prone to waking up in the night, but they’re not often restless.

Jamie shifts onto his stomach and continues to read in the soft lighting of the bedroom.

Max continues to sleep, tossing and turning periodically. They wake often throughout the night, each time comforted by Jamie who remains steady next to his friend.

Jamie actually manages to get a couple hours of sleep; sleeping with someone has always been helpful for him. He wakes when Max shifts yet again, mumbling something in their sleep.

They startle awake, eyes flying open in fear, before they soften when they land on Jamie.

Twining their fingers together, the two friends quickly fall asleep again.

When Max next wakes, Jamie’s sitting next to them, smiling gently at their sleepy state. As they start to wake up they rub their eyes, and muss their hair before they grimace and realize how gross they feel.

Jamie must have noticed this, as he says “Hey Max, are you feeling okay? You feel pretty warm.”

“M’okay, Jamie. I’ve been next to you all night, I’m allowed to be warm.”

Jamie nods in agreement, then brightens. “Breakfast?” he asks.

“I’m gonna shower and change first.”

Once Jamie departs, Max peels themself out of bed. The pounding in their head increases tenfold with the change in position, and they close their eyes tightly, grabbing the bed to keep their balance.

After they’ve settled, they hurry to the bathroom, hoping a shower will help.

They make sure to keep the water cool, hoping to get rid of the fever they’re sure they have.

Stepping under the cool spray, they shiver as goosebumps spring up all along their arms and legs. They hurry, quickly scrubbing their body, and running some shampoo through their tangled hair.

As soon as the water’s off, they wrap themself in a fluffy towel and huddle on the mat, trying to warm up and dry off. They brush their hair, and quickly towel-dry it.

They pull on their favourite comfort clothes: a pair of really old, but very soft, loose pajama pants, and a t-shirt that they stole from their dad that practically drowns them.

They pause in their room to grab a hoodie, and they’re hit with an overwhelming dizziness. Their vision goes dark and swims in and out of focus, and they feel themself starting to sway unsteadily.

They drop to the floor, and sit still until the room refocuses. Then, they gently raise themself to a standing position, and carefully walk to the living room. They curl up on the couch, and pull one of Jamie’s large fluffy blankets over their body.

They tip their head back until it’s supported against the couch, and then they try (unsuccessfully) to bury their head in the cushions, as an attempt to relieve their head from the relentless pounding of a headache.

Okay, they think, Jamie was definitely right, I have a fever, and on winter break too!

At the thought, their mouth turns into a pout, and they smush their face further into the couch.

Jamie appears at the doorway, and smiles faintly at the sight.

Max only looks up when they feel the couch dip, and they peek up and see Jamie looking at them with both concern and amusement.

“Shut up,” they mutter, still pouting.

“I haven’t said anything!” exclaims Jamie indignantly, though it’s overshadowed by the amusement still present in his tone.

When Max winces and shifts deeper under the blanket, however, Jamie sobers.

“Seriously though, are you okay?” he asks gently.

Max shakes their head against the couch, then pulls themself away from the heavenly comfort to look at Jamie.

“I definitely have a fever,” they say.

“You do?” asks Jamie, mirroring their sadness.

“Mmhmm,” is their eloquent reply.

“What else?” inquires Jamie.

“Mm. Headache. Dizzy. Everything hurts.”

Jamie sighs softly, then says “That totally sucks.”

Max snorts in amusement, and immediately regrets it when their head flares with pain.

“You should eat something. What would you like for breakfast?” asks Jamie softly.

Shuddering at the thought of eating anything, Max simply shrugs, and says “I dunno, ‘m not hungry.”

They watch as Jamie stands, and pats their leg comfortingly as he passes on his way to the kitchen.

Max blinks, and Jamie’s in front of them handing them a piece of toast, and telling them to eat. They try to swallow it down, but it’s dry and tastes like cardboard, and the thought of even eating in the first place makes them vaguely nauseous, so they don’t eat much of it.

They toss and turn for a while on the couch, trying to nap with a show on in the background, but they don’t know if they ever actually slept or not.

The next time Max is aware of their surroundings everything’s kind of blurry and they’ve just woken up. They seem to not be thinking straight, as they look around in confusion, only comforted by the sight of Jamie. They notice that the only time throughout the day when they feel properly safe is when they have their head pillowed on Jamie’s lap as they lay on the couch, feeling the sturdiness of their friend all around them.

Max knows that they were passing in and out of focus all day, but the most vivid memory they have is when they woke up from what must have been a fever dream, they later realize.

They were sleeping, until they weren’t, pulled from the throes of a terrifyingly strange fever dream from which they can only recall hints of strange voices and settings and the feeling of absolute terror that accompanies it.

Waking from this imaginary world of fear, they were thrown into the present, and their eyes snapped open, and they jolted up from where they were lying, looking around wildly.

Their eyes landed on Jamie, and he was quick to reassure them that all was fine, and he soothingly explained where their friends were and why Max was feeling so bad.

Even through all the blurriness and vague feelings of discomfort, Jamie is always there, and as Max starts to fall asleep in their own bed (How did I get here? they distantly wonder), a thought drifts across their mind. I’m so thankful for Jamie. It’s been years since someone has looked after me like that. Max immediately falls asleep, with gratitude and wistfulness filling their thoughts.

[secretobsessionstuff]

okay, so I know I’ve been gone for forever, but y’all know I’ve got all that depression and motivation issues, so college has been plenty for me at the moment. Anyway, recently got a new… toy… and it brought me back to here. Low-key missed this place lol. My point is, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about pukey men and such, and it’s brought me to reflect on my very favorite thing: burping/vomiting.

I absolutely love it when a burp goes all wet and brings up something unexpected. Or maybe, they’re in the middle of throwing up, and they hiccup a bit, which turns into a belch, which brings up a rush of chunky vomit.

I mean, just think about it. He’s been lying in bed, panting and sweaty, trying to avoid waking you up. His stomach hurts, so fucking bad, but he’s been trying to ignore it. He puts a hand to his stomach, kneading at it, and it starts to move a big air bubble. His fist goes to his lips, hoping to muffle the burp he can feel rising in his chest. When he parts his lips to let it out, instead of the air he’s expecting, it’s bubbly and wet. The belch sends a wave of thick vomit over the blankets and his bare chest, waking you up. You turn to face him, scrambling to sit up, the blankets pooling at your waist. He stares back at you with wide eyes, the hand pressed to his mouth dripping with bile and undigested dinner, looking completely ashamed of himself.

I dunno, just a thought 😊

[secretobsessionstuff]

5 times Quinn was sick for his birthday

2.)

Quinn burped over the toilet bowl, squeezing his eyes shut rather than watching how the vibrations caused the water below him to ripple.

"O-Ohhh, I don't feel good..." he moaned, wrapping his arm around his aching stomach.

He'd been propped up beside the toilet for what felt like hours, waiting for the moment his nausea evolved into something more. He'd left the bathroom only once to retrieve his phone, hoping for any type of distraction while he prepped himself for the inevitable.

A quick glance at the time showed that it was nearing midnight. Merry Christmas, right? This was the worst; he was sick, he was alone, and he surely didn't have any reason to be celebrating.

A sharp cramp rippled through his stomach and he heaved, though he brought up nothing but air and bitter-tasting saliva.

He closed his eyes and rested his cheek on the lip of the seat. The coolness made him suspect that maybe he was running a fever. He considered giving up and just going to bed, after all, he hadn't actually thrown up and it had been forever.

But the thought of getting up right now, or worse, actually going to bed, and then not making it back to the bathroom when he did have to puke, even when all he'd managed at this point was pathetic dry heaves, kept him firmly glued in place.

He hadn't realized he'd started nodding off until he was startled from his impromptu nap by the shrill sound of his phone ringing. The sound echoed off the tiled walls and made his head spin, but somehow he still felt a little lighter when he saw Toby's name flashing on the screen.

He swiped to answer and immediately heard a chorus of singing on the other end.

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to Quinn! Happy birthday to—hey, are you there?"

Quinn bit back a groan. As nice as it was to hear Toby's voice, and even to get a birthday wish from him at the stroke of midnight, Quinn just wasn't in the mood for any of it. "Yeah," he croaked. "Thanks for that, babe."

"Q? You sound awful."

This time Quinn allowed himself a groan, reacting as his stomach did a nauseating somersault. He swallowed thickly. "I feel awful."

There was a sympathetic sound over the receiver. "Do you need me to come home?"

Quinn sat bolt upright, caught off guard by the suggestion. "No, no, no! Toby, no, don't you dare." He took a breath in through his nose, doing his best to will the nausea away. Unfortunately, it wasn't working. "It's probably just an occupational hazard. I'm sure it'll run its course in 24 to 48 hours," he added, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself.

"I don't know," Toby replied skeptically. "You sound miserable."

"I'm so nauseous." He muffled a belch into hie fist, hoping Toby couldn't hear over the phone. "I think I'll feel better once I—hic—can get it out of my system."

He screwed his eyes shut, his throat tightening with an impending heave. He tried swallowing, gagging slightly on the thick acidic saliva coating the inside of his mouth.

"I can come home," Toby tried again. "It'll only take a couple hours. My family would understand."

Quinn shook his head. "No," he said, his voice thick with nausea. "I'll be okay..."

"But Quinn, it's your birthday! And Christmas. And you're sick. You shouldn't be alone for any of that."

Quinn was only half-listening. His stomach was truly revolting now, the roiling gurgles actually starting to become painful. He felt another belch bubbling up in his chest, and somehow he knew this was the turning point.

He retched, heading reeling. "Gotta g—" He fumbled blindly with his phone, hoping he managed to hang up before Toby heard anything disgusting.

He leaned forward, coughing harshly as acid burned his throat. He whimpered as another cramp seized his midsection, an audible gurgle from his belly finally forcing up a mouthful of sick.

His relief at the beginning of what he hoped would lead to an end was short-lived when he heaved again, a cascade of slurry vomit splashing into the water below.

A deep belch reverberated through his entire frame, bringing up another forceful wave of sick.

His phone rang. It was Toby again, but Quinn declined the call, even knowing Toby would just keep trying.

All this continued for an indefinite amount of time: puking, ringing, puking, declining, gasping for air before puking again. He wondered where all the sick was coming from, and once the retching tapered back into dry heaves, it was true that Quinn did feel marginally better.

His muscles ached something fierce, but that could easily be attributed to crouching forever on the hard bathroom floor. He reached for his phone, seeing that Toby had sent him a text about five minutes ago. He also had three missed calls.

Go to sleep, Quinn texted back. I'm ok. Just threw up.

The replying chime came through almost immediately. Not really the definition of FINE.

Quinn rolled his eyes, managing a weak smile. Bea's going to be mad if you're not awake to watch her open presents. Go to sleep.

He sent the message and immediately started typing another. I'm tired. I'll text in the morning.

There were several seconds where Quinn watched as Toby started typing, and then stopped, typed, and stopped. Finally, his text came through.

Happy birthday, Quinn.

Merry Christmas, Toby.

[secretobsessionstuff]

I loved the wedding fic! I got married a few years back (I'm in my mid-late twenties) and the sickness was nice (!!! Loved the suffering), but the details and visuals of the wedding were so real and beautiful, and warmed my heart. Been following a long time and can't believe the characters have progressed so far :))

Aww thank you!! That means so much! I really wanted to portray the atmosphere the way I saw it in my head.

There's something very special about writing in a oc universe that lives on. Like the characters change and grow with me! Crazy!

[secretobsessionstuff]

The wedding was everything. Thank you. 🙏🏻

Ahh you're so welcome, Anon! It was so much fun to write!

[secretobsessionstuff]

thank you for the wedding fic!!! i love your characters so much, and i read every piece you write. i know you've once again reiterated that you're busy so i dont expect you to do this anytime soon, but if you would ever be up for it i would like to request a dakota/blair fic sometime where blair is seasick in a smallish boat.

Thank you lovely anon! It's nice to know I have loyal readers ❤️

I will totally add the request to my list! There is something about small boats that seem so perfect to create a bad seasick experience.

[secretobsessionstuff]

The wedding fic was so sweet! Well, the actual wedding and vows. I felt so bad for Madix. I, myself have been sick recently. (Acid reflux AND runny nose) So, this made me feel better to read the bride and groom were so accommodating. My family is too though🤭

Thanks for writing!

(Fun fact, I've been calling Madix, Madrix this whole time. Just noticed no r today🤭)

Aw thank you anon! Glad you also have accommodating family to get you through the illness. Acid reflux is brutal sometimes.

Lol, Madrix is a pretty cool name though. You can keep on saying any name that sticks haha. I have a secret about one of my oc's name because I just discovered that I'm saying it wrong compared to the rest of the world!