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thoughtsonhurtandcomfort · 13 days

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Shun the Light - Ch 21 - Second Chances

Masterlist

Author's Notes: this one got long! I guess Dante had a lot to say.

Content Warnings: werewolf whump, vampire whump, beaten, bruises, broken bones, thirst, hunger, exhaustion, poisoned, fever, stomach ache, drinking blood, angst, emotional whump, survivor's guilt

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They stagger into the house moments before the sun appears on the horizon. Knowing they won't make it upstairs, Dante guides Matteo to the living room, where they collapse onto the couch side by side.

Dante's muscles burn from so much exertion after years of little use. His bruised face and ribs ache so badly. His mouth is swollen from pulling his fang out. He's never been so tired or so thirsty.

Well...maybe not never.

Beside him Matteo struggles to catch his breath. He looks awful, malnourished and worn down. Dante can't believe he's here, that he found him, that he was never that far away all this time.

It hurts a little to think that he was so close but didn't return. Would he rather be out in the woods alone than here? At the same time, Dante feels a stab of guilt for not looking harder for him, or trying harder to stop him in the first place. No wonder Matteo felt like a burden.

Matteo opens his eyes and catches Dante staring at him. He gives a weak little smile.

"We made it."

Dante relaxes a little. "Thank you. I don't think I could have walked all that way on my own."

Before you found me, I don't know if I would have cared.

Matteo turns towards him. "Can I take a look?"

Dante nods and lets Matteo unbutton his shirt. Matteo draws in a sharp breath as he takes in the dark bruising coating the lower half of Dante's torso, which took the brunt of the beating.

"That looks bad..."

"I think something is broken." Dante groans. "When I move I can feel it."

Matteo tilts Dante's chin up and leans close to take in the damage to his face, then examines his arms, which he used to try to shield himself. Dante lays still and savors the touch.

"What do I do?" Matteo asks. "Do you still have any medicine? Can you even take medicine?"

Dante sighs and shakes his head. "I can't. It doesn't do anything. I just...need to get something to drink..." He starts to stand.

Matteo gently stops him. He pulls off his hoodie, just a tank top underneath, and offers his arm.

"Here. Take mine."

The pulse lightly drumming beneath Matteo's skin beckons Dante closer. He trembles, trying to maintain control despite his gnawing hunger.

"I - I can't. You look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine," Matteo insists. "You need it bad."

Dante takes his arm and strokes his thumb up and down over the veins of his inner wrist, but still resists biting. "When is the last time you ate?"

"...few days ago. I haven't had much of an appetite, that's all. I'll eat tomorrow. Promise."

There was no real point resisting. Dante does need this, and Matteo needs to sleep, and he can give him that.

It's a little difficult with just one fang, but Dante bites down and takes a tentative sip, not wanting to overdo it. He's about to take another, when the taste first hits him.

Dante quickly pulls away and spits Matteo's blood onto the floor. "Ugh!" He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and spits out more.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's bitter." Dante licks his lips and makes a face. "Something is wrong."

Matteo is much worse off than he has been letting on. Dante felt it early on but there was so much else to worry about that he tucked it away. But now it's so obvious - the flushed skin, the strained breathing, the way he rubs his stomach when he thinks Dante isn't looking. Not eating for days, when he has money for food now.

Before Matteo can argue, Dante presses a hand to his forehead. Whatever Matteo was about to say falls away on a sigh as he leans his face into the touch.

His skin is feverishly warm. Dante's hand trails down to cup his cheek. When he starts to pull away Matteo grasps his arm and keeps him there.

With his other hand Dante brushes some damp curls from Matteo's face.

"You're not well," he says softly.

Matteo closes his eyes. "The wolf, it...ate something. Some kind of berry. I got r-really sick for a while there."

"You still are."

"I'm fine." Matteo finally releases Dante's arm and stands, shaky on his feet. "You need blood. Is there some in the fridge?"

"Yes, but I can get it - "

Dante tries to stand too but pain shoots through his ribs and he drops back to the couch with a ragged cry.

"Let me," Matteo insists. He pulls a blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over Dante's lap as if it will pin him down and Dante has no choice but to give in.

While Matteo slowly makes his way to the kitchen, leaning on the wall for support, Dante leans back and gingerly feels over his side to assess the damage. He hopes he has enough blood in stock to heal this...

"Here."

He must have dozed off for a moment because suddenly Matteo is there again, holding out a jar of blood. A second one sits on the coffee table.

"Thank you." Dante takes the jar and drinks slowly.

Matteo drops down beside him, out of breath again. But at least he poured himself some water, which he chugs down in the blink of an eye then slumps against the cushions panting.

"So...is that why you were going to come back?" Dante asks between sips. "Because you were sick?"

Beside him Matteo gets a little tense. He must know what Dante is really asking: is that the only reason you were going to come back?

"That was part of it. But even before that, I really regretted leaving. Not just because living in a tent sucks. I got a tent, by the way. But it's not just any of that. I - I missed you."

Dante pauses mid-sip. He sets the glass down and turns to Matteo. "You did?"

"Well yeah. I like you, Dante. You know that, right?"

Dante's silence answers for him. Matteo frowns.

"I wouldn't be here if i didn't like you. I know we haven't known each other that long, but...really, you know me better than anyone back home. You know the worst thing about me and didn't reject me."

"You did the same for me," Dante reminds him.

Matteo smiles sheepishly. "Being a vampire isn't even close to the worst thing about you," he jokes. "You play chess and watch QVC. You're like my grandpa."

"I'm old enough to be your grandpa."

"Well you look great for your age." The tension has dissipated and Matteo is relaxed, curled up on his side with his head against the back of the couch, looking at Dante warmly.

Dante clears his throat. He picks up his jar and takes a few more sips of blood before speaking again.

"So you want to stay."

"Yeah. If...if that's okay."

"It is. I'd like that. I'm just...afraid."

Matteo's face falls. "Of me?"

"No! No. Not at all." He could laugh at the idea of being afraid of Matteo. The wolf, sure, but Matteo himself? Never. "I've, um. Been here alone for so long. It's weird having someone else here. I don't really know how to act sometimes. Or what to say. But I like it. And I'm afraid to get used to it."

"Me too," Matteo says. The warmth has returned to his expression, along with understanding. "I don't know what's going to happen. Maybe you'll get sick of me. Maybe the wolf will do something terrible, or get me killed. I don't know. I just know that...I was happier here with you than I have been in a long time. And someone once told me that happiness is in short supply, and we should stock up whenever we can. Or, it was something like that - "

Matteo trails off. Dante is left speechless.

Hearing his father's words echoed back to him from anyone else would feel blasphemous. But from Matteo it is as if for a moment his dad is speaking through him, telling Dante it's okay. It's okay to have something good. It's okay to be happy. Your mother and I gave everything for you to be happy.

All these years he has hated himself for surviving when everyone who ever loved him was gone. He searched for meaning in it and found nothing but pain. And then he stopped searching, or hoping, for anything.

Well if the universe won't offer up an answer, he can decide for himself. Maybe he survived so that this house would be empty and waiting for Matteo to find shelter. What would have become of him if it wasn't?

"Can I - can I just..."

He reaches for Matteo, who doesn't recoil or ask what he wants. Dante pulls him into a loose embrace and he sinks into it willingly, eagerly even. One of his warm hands comes to rest on the small of Dante's back, the other on his hip. He smiles into Dante's shoulder.

"Thank you," Dante whispers.

After a long moment he reluctantly lets go. Matteo obediently pulls away too, blinking drowsily. He covers a big yawn with his arm.

"Come on, let's get to bed."

"Bed," Matteo sighs. "That sounds amazing. Do you think we can get up the stairs though?"

"I think so. The drink is already helping - see?" He opens his shirt. There is still considerable bruising, but the broken bones are healing. The swelling around his eye has gone down and he opens his mouth to show Matteo the start of a new little fang poking through.

Matteo is visibly relieved. "Good. Take the rest up with you."

"And you bring more water. And a box of cookies."

Drinks and snacks in hand, the two trudge up the steps, using the railing for support. Matteo reaches the top first and opens the door to the spare room - his room. He takes it in with a look of pure gratitude.

Dante stands at the door to his own room and watches him. Just the day before he thought he would never see Matteo again. Now here he is, and they have another chance to see if they can be happy despite what they are.

Matteo turns and gives him a tired smile. "Goodnight. And...thanks. Again. I'm just going to keep thanking you, so get ready for that."

"Goodnight, Matteo." Dante leans against the door frame, his mouth turning up at the corners just a little. "I'll see you tonight."

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whackmewithwhump · 1 year

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I’ve been thinking a lot about people being sick at formal events where they’re all dressed up

Imagine someone dizzy and feverish struggling to keep their balance in heels. Someone who painstakingly applied makeup for it to only be gradually smeared and sweated off throughout the evening.

While people are mingling, everywhere they turn there is someone offering another glass of champagne, or an hors d’œuvre, and despite not being hungry or their stomach feeling a little uneasy, they’re too polite to decline. They keep drinking and eating, feeling worse as the night goes on, and all of this is before what is likely an elaborate and rich gourmet banquet.

Everyone is uptight and showing the best sides of themselves so there is no room to display their discomfort, there is no chance to escape smalltalk that is so mind numbing each word seems to add weight to their body which is feeling increasingly like it is made of lead.

By the time they excuse themselves, sure that they’re going to be sick, they’re too dizzy and unsteady to make their way to the bathroom quickly enough, particularly if they’re wearing heels. They end up throwing up on themselves, maybe getting it in their hair, and in their feverish state this is what really sets them off. They’re upset, inconsolable, tears beginning to fall because “this thing is dry clean only” whether it be a dress or a suit, and in their mild delirium this becomes their main misdirected concern.

I don’t know what it is about it, but that is what I’m vibing with rn

#whump #emeto #sickfic #sick fic #sickie #sick fic idea #emetophilia #sickfic scenario #whump ideas #whump tropes #fever whump #tummy ache #nausea

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danafeelingsick · 9 months

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UH OH, SHOULD'VE STAYED HOME

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

Stay tuned for the art I made for this fic!

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

WORD COUNT: 7,7k~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“EuUrRgh!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you should stay home today—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“BlEeuUrRrghH!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay… come in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, how are you feeling?”

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

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

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

“You might be right…”, he panted.

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

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

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

“Better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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investingestincest · 9 months

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~Random dialogue prompts 2~

[Warning: Mild NSFW/Lime]

"Ugh, my back hurts so much..." "Yeah, from being busy all night with B, I assume ?" "Pfft, I wish. But unfortunately for you, the only thing wrecking my back is my shitty bed and my scoliosis."

"Has it ever occured to you that A might be in love with you ?" "And has it ever occured to you that I'm trying to ignore that possibility ?"

"I need to get this work done tonight. Quick, someone motivate me with something that's not money !" "Okay then. If you succeed, I'll give you a kiss on the lips." "...Rephrasing my question. Motivate me with something that won't make me make out with B for hours on end !"

"Explain why you haven't handed me your homework yet ?" "Well, I'm not sure if you can relate, but I have this something called a partner-" *Later, to a laughing B* "So yeah, this is why I got suspended for three weeks."

"Well damn. With the way things are going, I wouldn't be surprised of someone just suddenly confessed their love to me out of nowhere."*Stares intensely at an oblivious B* "I know right, wouldn't that be crazy ?"

"Being near you makes me want to commit crimes." "In a good or in a bad way ?" "In a sexy way." "Nice."

"Call me a mosquito with the way I'll suck you dry and have you itching for days." "Good morning to you too/Never greet me like this ever again."

"Why can't I be the leader ? Why can't we do things MY way for once ?!" "Because your 'plans' always end up with you making out with the security guard B while we do all the dirty work !!" "It's still a good distraction !" "To whom exactly ? Because my stitches and medical bills disagree with you !"

#proship #proshipper #proshipper safe #proshippers please interact #imagine your otp #otp prompts #dialogue prompts #just got out of a horrible fever that left me aching for days and BOY am i filled with inspiration

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olliesneweyes · 2 months

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Thinking about Luca sickfic from food poisoning because with how bad the food conditions were in prison he forgets that food isn't supposed to make you want to vomit and he eats it anyway

#he had to eat a lot of moldy stuff so he's used to it making him feel like shit #and still tries to work through it #and. fails #you can get fever-like symptoms with food poisoning fun fact!#(nausea/vomiting‚ cramps‚ high temperature‚ aches and chills)#it's important to drink fluids when you're sick with it but that man is definitely dehydrated #someone comes in and immediately tries to take care of him and he relearns what it's like to be taken care of #idv

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bluemoonshadow561 · 1 year

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Camping Trip

Roman woke up shivering, beads of sweat trickling down his aching temples and soaking his pillowcase. With a shaking hand, he felt around in the darkness of the tent for his phone, and squinted when it lit up at full brightness. It was 4:32 AM. He sighed tremulously.

He rolled over in his sleeping bag. His belly, poking out over his blue flannel pajama pants, grumbled ominously, bloated with gas and beginning to cramp and churn.

He curled in on himself, pressing his fingers into his abdomen, trying to massage the pain away. Staring up at the silhouettes of trees through the roof of the tent, he imagined their sharp branches poking and stabbing his insides, bobbing up and down in the wind in a nauseating rhythm.

He sighed, inhaled deeply through his nostrils, and swallowed a torrent of runny saliva, clenching his eyelids shut. He straightened his legs, stretched his arms as far out as they could reach before bumping into the walls of the tent, then rolled over and groaned softly as the motion made his stomach lurch.

Roman’s father and brothers were asleep next to him. His step mom and sisters were in the other tent. There was hardly any way to get up without waking everyone. He knew this because August had clumsily gotten up to use the bathroom a few hours making everyone stir.

Roman hadn’t wanted to go on this camping trip, but Dad and Monica were outdoorsy folks, and they insisted that he, J.C., and August come along because the woods are so beautiful and they could use some fresh air and time away and all this other bullshit. But he desperately craved quality time and attention from his father, who he rarely got to see. So rather than say he wasn’t feeling up to a camping trip and risk disappointing his dad yet again, he figured he’d push through.

He knew by the cold, sick feeling in his throat and by the increase in burps he had to stifle that he was inevitably going to vomit. Roman sat up, hand not leaving his poor stomach, and eased himself around J.C.’s feet. He made eye contact with his older brother before ducking through the tent door and venturing far enough away to a bush where he’d hoped his family wouldn’t hear.

He belched and spat into the bush and leaned forward to rest his hands on his thighs. He groaned at the increasing intensity of his insides. He couldn’t take it anymore and laid out on the ground for what felt like hours before finally he retched. It surprised him. He sat up and covered his mouth tentatively before watery brown bits gushed up his throat and splattered onto the forest floor. His stomach heaved and heaved even after it was empty and Roman could only lie there pitifully.

“You okay?” J.C. asked.

Roman jumped, then coughed and wiped his mouth. “Wonderful.”

“What is it?” he heard his father ask, traces of annoyance in his voice.

“Roman’s throwing up,” J.C. explained, his own tone betraying irritation. In his feverish daze, Roman couldn’t tell if it was directed at him or his father, though later he’d deduce it was the latter.

Roman’s cheeks burned from both his fever and embarrassment.

“Oh…are you alright buddy?” his dad asked with a tenderness Roman couldn’t remember hearing since…ever? He heard the man crunching over leaves and sticks to approach him.

“I don’t feel good.”

“Did you eat something bad?”

“I don’t know.”

His father squatted down and placed the back of his hand on Roman’s forehead. “Christ, you’re burning up,” he muttered. “I’m gonna go get Monica.”

“No, it’s fine,” Roman said. “I feel a little better now. I just wanna go back to sleep.”

“Make sure you drink water,” J.C. said. “There’s some in the cooler.”

“Okay,” Roman said, scrunching up his nose at the thought of ingesting anything, although he was very thirsty.

As he lay back down in the tent between his brothers and father, he felt sick, but he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time — cared for.

#emeto #vomiting #sickfic #emetophilia #puke #nausea #stomach ache #vomit kink #ill #fever

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unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240 · 7 months

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So I had my Covid booster shot AND my flu shot last night and to say my ass is dragging today is an understatement. Ow.

#we're talking full body aches #phantom fever #stiffness #exhaustion #and wow are both arms sore #😫#two heating pads is barely enough #yes I should take ibuprofen #but that requires eating food which hurts #ahhhhh

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violetganache42 · 6 months

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Current mood since last night:

#it's that time of year again folks #it started out as a scratchy throat since monday morning #then on tuesday night i ended up with a runny nose after sneezing a few times #pretty soon i ended up feeling like crap since yesterday evening #my body was weak and although there weren't any usual aches my knees did feel rather sore #my cheeks were flushed and i thought my forehead was starting to feel warm #i've been staying in bed which is the plan for the next day or so #i don't want to risk getting a bad fever like i usually do with these colds #my post #not my video #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #ducktales reboot #ducktales season 2 #the 87 cent solution!#scrooge mcduck #huey duck

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dontxnumber · 2 years

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Think about a sickie being so weak and tired they can barely keep themselves awake, constantly drifting in and out of consciousness

Every time they wake up they feel worse. Maybe it started as them just trying to sleep off a small headache, but as times goes on is becomes clear something is really wrong

The first time, they wake up covered in sweat, it feels like their skin is on fire. They're probably running a fever, their whole body hurts. They wonder if a shower would help, they feel gross and clammy. It really does sound nice, but they feel so weak they can't bring themselves to at least try to get up, the ache in their muscles tells them it's not worth the effort

They second time they wake up their throat is dry and feels like it's been rubbed with sandpaper. Some water, or maybe tea would definitely do them some good. A groan scapes their lips just thinking about how far away the kitchen is. They fidget uncomfortably at the feeling of the blankets sticking to their skin, and they can only whimper at the way each breath feels like it's raking over their throat. They feel so bad, soon exhaustion takes over their body as they fall asleep again

They don't manage to sleep much, getting woken up by a cramp not long after. Great, guess their stomach joined the party too. They squirm a bit as they place a hand on their belly, feeling it shift under their fingers

Their stomach makes a loud gurgling sound, and they can't help but whimper as a hiccup makes their whole body jolt. They feel so so sick, they hiccup again, wetter this time, and they feel like there's lava burning at the back of their throat

Sleep doesn't come so easy this time, they spend a long time writhing in bed, alternating between kicking off the covers when the fever makes them feel like they're melting, and pulling them back on not long after, shivering from head to toe, teeth chattering from the cold

Acid reflux is not helping their sore throat at all, and soon they start coughing too. God, they really wish they had a glass of water to somehow calm the painful itch on their throat

The hiccups only help to increase the pain on their upset stomach, curling into a ball and pressing their hand deeper into their belly each time it cramps. Their stomach is killing them, and the heating pad is in their room, only a few steps away, but they're in no condition to get up rn, the thought alone is enough to make them tear up

They don't remember falling asleep, but they wake up feeling more nauseous than they ever felt in their entire life, and so so dizzy, almost like if they were on a boat in the middle of a storm, everything seems to be moving

They curl into a ball seeking both warmth and relief from the pain. They're shivering all over, it seems like they kicked the covers off the bed at some point, so now they just get added to the list of things that would really help them if only they had the strength to reach for them

They get shaken from their thoughts when a wet burp pushes it's way past their lips, and they whimper, pressing their face to the mattress.

They just pray their roommate gets home soon, cause they doubt they'd manage to at least lean over the edge of the bed when they inevitably start puking

They're lucky enough to fall asleep again, scaping from their misery for a while. Or maybe they're not so lucky, the next time they open their eyes they do it mid heave. Hot vomit splashing all over their bed, their clothes, clinging to their face.

Their stomach gurgles loudly, and they feel the back of their throat spasming. They need to get up *now*, their stomach is clearly not done, they need to get to the bathroom, or at least grab a trashcan. There's puke all over their hair, maybe they should aim for the bathroom and take a bath too. Fuck, the bedsheets are covered in vomit, they can't sleep there.

The thought of laying on a puddle of their own vomit is enough to make them gag again, burning liquid rushing up their throat and out of their mouth and nose. They cough and actually try to get up, weakly proping themselves up on shaky arms. Everything seems so sway in front of their eyes and they heave again, loud and violent. The force of it is enough to make them land on the mattress again.

All they manage to do is whimper, as tears start rolling down their cheeks. They feel so sick, their throat is on fire and breathing hurts, their head feels like it's gonna explode, their stomach won't stop cramping and somehow they feel dizzy even though they're laying down. They're sure their fever has gone up, everything hurts so much

Their quiet cries soon turn into desperate sobs as they catch a glimpse of the clock on their nightstand. They have at least a few more hours before their roommate gets home

They manage to roll over so at least they're not lying directly on their vomit, and curled up like that they cry themselves to sleep, hoping that their roommate would be there the next time they wake up

#this turned out a lot longer than i had planned #just felt like making a poor sickie as miserable as possible #the roommate can be changed for a so #sickfic #whump #stomach ache #emeto prompt #emeto #vomiting #emeto story #sickfic prompts #fever #throwing up #crying #hurt/no comfort #might do a part 2 with their roommate

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aealzx · 1 year

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Better Genes pg 6-10 / 38

A short ROTTMNT comic based off of 2003 TMNT Good Genes

(Read right to left)

Note, this comic will contain in either imagery or text: illness, fever, injury, bruises, blood, IV, needles, syringes, drugs, sedatives, body aches, sprained ankle, mild mutation, cracked ribs, injured eye, tranquilizer gun, pharmacy, TV Medicine, TV Science

as well as

familial fluff, hurt/comfort, very minor drama/angst, personal adjustments to canon designs

Featured characters: Donnie, Mikey, Leo, Raph, April, Splinter, Casey

Pg 1-5 . . . . Pg 11-14 Pg 15-18 Pg 19-22 Pg 23-25

Pg 26-29

Written Add on Part 1

Pg 30-33 Pg 34-35 Pg 36-38

___________

omg I actually didn’t think I would have anything to upload for another few weeks or so, but never underestimate the power of positive reinforcement and a free friday night X’DDDDD You guys have been so sooo sweet and great with the first few pages. A lot of the comments made me laugh. Thank you so much ;v;

This chunk was also a bit faster ‘cause I already had pages 9 and 10 drawn when I uploaded the first 5 pages, so there was just 3 more to get through. I’m finding while doing this that I really enjoy drawing April’s mouth. XDD It’s so fun and easy to get to squish around in different positions.

Fun facts:

I had to google that chemistry shet ‘cause I didn’t really have a chemistry class ever and know nothing X’D I skipped straight to AP chem and that was the dumbest thing I’ve done in my school life.

I defaulted to rice and beans for the food because that’s my default food when I don’t want to eat.

#my art #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #better genes #better genes comic #donnie #april #illness #injury #fever #body aches #sick donnie

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valoale · 6 months

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Is it normal to have a mental breakdown over the loss of the ability to smell and taste

Because I am

#man I can’t stop crying and laughing #I’m big on food and coffee is my life and I can’t even taste coffee anymore and I’m losing my mind #can this Covid kindly fuck off #its day 4 and I still have 38-39 degree fever and horrible aches and now I can’t taste or smell shit #I’m pissed right off #when is this hell going to end #vee talks #or should I tag #vee rants #instead #idk man this bitch is tired

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thoughtsonhurtandcomfort · 9 days

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Shun the Light - Ch 22 - A Gift

Masterlist

Author's Notes: So I'm thinking this will be the end of this particular series. NOT the end of Dante and Matteo's story!! Think of it like one book in an ongoing series. Next time I post I'll start a new series with a new title and new chapters continuing where this one leaves off. Otherwise it would just trail on indefinitely because I don't really have a set END end in sight for them. I never do, I like to always leave room for more. But I do have ideas for contained story arcs that I can group into series.

Also, re: the title - at first Shun the Light was in reference to literal light - the sun for Dante, the moon for Matteo. But as the story developed it also meant them rejecting any possible happiness for themselves out of fear/grief/trauma. And I think they've reached a place where they're letting a little light in now, so I want the next phase of their journey to grow from that.

Content Warnings: werewolf whump, poisoned, illness, fever, stomach ache, dehydration, dizziness, exhaustion, biting, drinking blood, comfort, caretaking

----

Matteo sleeps soundly through the day, but when night falls he grows restless. Overheated, he kicks off all the blankets and removes everything but his boxers. Soon he's awake, writhing with discomfort on the empty bed.

Poison still lingers in his system. It wages war on his body, and it is only because of his inhuman nature that he doesn't succumb to it. The thing that got him into this mess is the very thing keeping him alive.

Half-delirious, he tries to call for help but his throat and mouth are so dry. He props himself up on one arm and reaches for the glass of water on the nightstand. Moving makes him dizzy. The room blurs and turns upside down and Matteo drops heavily back onto the mattress. He muffles a groan into his pillow.

Please...

Matteo lifts his arm again and fumbles for the glass...only to knock it over. It shatters on the floor, spilling water everywhere. Shit. He groans again, rolling onto his back. His breathing is becoming erratic, his heart beating rapidly.

The sound brings Dante to his door. At first he taps politely and Matteo barely hears it. When Matteo doesn't respond, Dante cracks open the door.

"Matteo? Oh my god - what happened?"

The bed dips and Dante's hand settles on Matteo's heaving chest. Matteo tries to open his eyes to look at him but whenever he does the room spins. He tries to speak but is so parched he can only manage a hoarse whisper.

"D-don't feel good..."

Fingers brush his cheeks, wiping away tears. Then a cool hand is on his forehead. Matteo gasps; it's almost too cold, but he needs it so badly, he feels like he's boiling alive...

"Matteo? Matteo, look at me."

The words barely reach him through the haze of heat and pain. A sharp pang in his stomach makes him wail and claw at the sheets beneath him.

Suddenly Dante's presence is gone. Matteo whimpers and feels around for him but he isn't there.

"Don't leave," he pleads.

Hands hold his face and brush his sweaty hair from his forehead.

"Shh. It's okay. I'm getting more water. Can - can you look at me?"

Matteo forces his eyes open. Dante's face is so close he can see nothing else. His silver eyes start to glow.

"Breathe. Breathe deeply, slowly. That's it. Good. You're doing good."

A shudder runs through Matteo.

"Just breathe. That's all you need to do. I'll be right back."

Then he's gone again. Matteo's eyes flutter shut and he focuses on breathing in and out, in and out. His racing heart calms enough to pull him from the edge of a full blown panic attack.

Dante returns quickly with two glasses of water which he sets on the bedside table. He sits beside Matteo again and gets an arm around his shoulders to prop him up. Matteo tries to do some of the work but he can barely move without help. His limbs feel heavy and useless.

"You're burning up," Dante remarks as he manhandles Matteo into a sitting position. "Okay - drink."

He holds one of the glasses to Matteo's lips and cups the back of his neck to keep him steady. Matteo drinks slowly at first, then starts to chug the cool water down desperately.

When he's finished he has to take a moment to catch his breath. He lets his head droop onto Dante's shoulder, his hot forehead pressed against Dante's neck. He tries to form words, to thank him, but with his thirst solved now all his other pains come into sharp focus. The worst of them is his aching stomach - made all the worse by gnawing hunger. It's been over four days since his last meal.

"Ah - ow -"

"What? What hurts?"

"Stomach," Matteo mumbles. "Ngh!"

He starts gently rubbing his stomach to try to relieve some of the pain. Dante nudges his hand away and replaces it with his own, moving in light, slow circles.

Matteo clings to Dante's shirt, struggling to catch his breath. Suddenly he feels a pinch on his arm. Before he can put together what it is, he's out like a light.

Upon waking, Matteo feels heavy and weak...but no pain. It has been replaced with a pleasant numbness. His fever broke while he was out. A gentle breeze from the cracked window feels amazing on his clammy skin. It is nighttime again; he slept for almost twenty-four hours.

Something moves in his peripheral, startling him. Matteo tips his head to the side and opens his eyes.

As his vision clears Dante's form comes into focus. He's in an armchair with one leg crossed over the other, reading a book titled Common Poisonous Plants and Mushrooms of North America. In one hand he's holding a jar of blood. Every now and then he'll grimace and quickly take a sip from the jar.

Dante looks as healthy as ever, like no one ever laid a hand on him. His skin is smooth and almost human in coloration. His face is no longer gaunt nor his eyes hollow.

Matteo yawns and it draws Dante's attention away from his reading.

"Finally," Dante says, putting the book and drink aside. He sits at the edge of the bed. "I thought I might have put you into a coma."

Matteo lifts an arm and sees the fading puncture marks.

"You drank my blood."

"Yes. It was disgusting. I still can't get the taste out of my mouth." He feels Matteo's forehead. "But I think it helped."

"But won't you get sick?"

"So far I feel fine."

Even so, Matteo can't help feeling guilty.

"You didn't have to do that," he mumbles.

"I didn't know what else to do. You were in a lot of pain, looking it up would have taken too long."

"Well...I appreciate it." Matteo sighs. "I'm pathetic. First day back and you already have to be my nurse. I swear it's not usually this bad. The last few months have just been rough."

"Hm. Maybe I'm a curse," Dante says. His tone is light but there's an edge to it, like deep down he might really mean it.

Matteo nudges Dante's leg with his head. "No way. You somehow made it bearable. Usually I do this alone."

"That must be hard..." Dante traces over some of Matteo's scars. Matteo shivers and he pulls his hand away.

"No, wait - can you, um - "

Dante waits for him to finish. Matteo chews at his lip, embarrassed, wishing he had kept his mouth shut.

"Can you just..." He falters again. Instead of trying to talk, he takes Dante's hand and brings it to his cheek. "It feels nice."

"Oh." Dante looks surprised.

"You don't have to -"

"Scoot over."

Matteo does as he's asked and Dante sits on the bed beside him, leaning back against the headboard. Once he's settled Matteo leans his head against Dante's thigh and Dante cups his face with one hand.

"You're all sticky," he states bluntly. "I almost forgot about sweat."

"You don't sweat?"

"No. It's actually kind of a problem. I get overheated very easily."

"Huh. I never considered that. Guess I have a lot to learn about vampires."

Matteo falls silent, just thinking. Dante seems to understand that he needs the company, so he stays where he is. He picks up his book and continues reading, only removing his hand from Matteo's face to turn the page. Occasionally he'll even run fingers through Matteo's hair.

"Is this strange?" Matteo asks quietly after a while.

"Hm?" Dante lowers the book.

"Is it strange that this doesn't feel strange?"

"...what?"

"I just mean - we barely know each other. But I feel really comfortable right now. Does that make sense?"

"I think so."

Dante is quiet and Matteo hopes he didn't ruin what was such a nice moment, something he really really needed.

"Maybe it is strange," Dante replies. "But we're strange. I drank your blood before I even knew your name. Normal people don't meet that way."

Matteo lets out a relieved laugh. "Yeah, good point. Nothing about this is normal."

He looks up at Dante and sees something new and wonderful.

Dante is smiling.

It's not bright like the sun but bright like a candle. It is small but genuine, and it's just for him. Matteo is the first and only person to see him smile in almost fifty years. It feels like a gift.

Matteo closes his eyes and remains tucked against Dante's side. He hears the rustle of paper as Dante returns to his reading and his hand returns to Matteo's hair. Another gift.

I don't know how I'll ever thank you, Matteo thinks, far too content to break the silence.

But as long as I'm here I'm going to try.

#werewolf whump #vampire caretaker #illness #poisoned #fever #stomach ache #delirious #hyperventilating #biting #drinking blood #comfort #caretaking #my writing #my ocs #matteo #dante #no beta we die like men

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