Emetophila Sickfic page, using OC's of my own 18+ only please! Requests open, I'm always happy to ingulge myself and others. She/her, 21, always happy to roleplay
Hey there, I'm Calli, I'm a straight female with a definite emeto kink. I love writing, especially sickfics, and am always happy to do an emeto rp, though I prefer to work with experienced writers. Always up for requests, new scenarios are a blessing! Please feel free to ask me anything you want, I don't really have qualms about answering anything, SFW or NSFW.
Alright, so I’ve got about six videos recorded now that I’m selling for $10 each the whole unedited video. Most are forced/auto and I have one natural one.
So I’ve decided to start selling videos guys. College is really catching up to me and making a bit of extra money while engaging with both my audience and my kink seems like the right way to go. Anyone interested can dm me. I’ve got my first video recorded already, it’s about 10-11 minutes long. I got super high and decided to chug water until I was full enough to puke. My face is shown, and I am completely naked as I chose to do this in the shower. $10 for the whole unedited video.
Y’all all I want rn is a man to stuff till he’s practically bursting, then force him to face fuck a strap on until he pukes everything back up all over the shower. Legitimately where do I find a place to meet someone like this… even just for a hookup; I’m so fucking horny rn
Roan stopped in the doorway, gym bag still slung over her shoulder, hair slightly mussed from the wind outside. Her expression shifted instantly from surprise to worry as she took in Justin — pale, shaking, eyes rimmed red.
Justin swallowed hard, his hands digging into the pillow on his lap. “I… I saw you.”
Roan blinked. “…Saw me?”
His voice cracked. “At the restaurant.”
Roan looked genuinely confused. Not guarded. Not guilty. Confused.
She set down her gym bag. “Justin, I didn’t go to any restaurant. I told you, I had work tonight, and then—”
He shook his head sharply. “No. No, you weren’t at work. You walked right past the window. I saw you. You were laughing with some guy.”
Roan stared at him like he’d spoken another language. “I… what are you talking about?”
Justin’s breath hitched. Something inside him twisted painfully — humiliation, fear, nausea, all spiraling into one suffocating knot. He hated how weak he sounded when he whispered:
“You told me you were working late.”
“I did work late!” Roan insisted, eyebrows drawing together. “Justin, baby, what—”
“Don’t call me that right now,” he choked out.
The silence that followed cracked like thunder.
Roan froze.
Her eyes flashed — hurt first, then wounded anger. “Okay. That’s… wow. All right.”
Justin winced. That wasn’t what he meant to say. He didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want any of this. But the image of her walking with another man had sunk its claws into him.
He curled forward slightly, clutching his stomach. “I’m not trying to be… I just need to understand.”
Roan didn’t move closer. Didn’t smile. Didn’t soften. Her voice, when she spoke, was careful in a way that terrified him.
“Who,” she asked, voice tight, “did you think you saw me with?”
“I don’t know!” Justin burst out. His heart hammered so fast he couldn’t think straight. “Tall guy. Black hair. In a bun. About my height, maybe a little taller. You were laughing and walking with him and you looked… comfortable.”
Roan’s eyes flickered wide for a split second — recognition — but then frustration washed over her features. “Oh my god.”
Justin stiffened. “So you do know who he is?”
Her jaw tightened. “Yeah. I know exactly who you mean.”
His stomach dropped. He felt physically sick all over again.
Roan lifted her hands helplessly. “That was Marcus.”
Justin’s mind blanked. “Marcus?”
“Yes, Marcus.” Roan ran a hand through her hair. “He’s an old client. From when I first started coaching at the gym. He’s been living in Chicago the last year for a job, and he’s only in town for tonight. He texted me earlier asking if we could grab dinner to catch up.”
Justin’s lips parted. “…Dinner.”
“Yes, dinner!” Roan snapped, exasperated. “Because he wanted advice on his training program and we used to be close friends! It was literally just a meal at the Thai place near the gym!”
Justin’s pulse pulsed so loudly in his ears he barely heard her. “You didn’t tell me.”
Roan looked equally stunned and upset. “I thought I did. I meant to. I planned to mention it when you got home — or maybe I thought I already said it. I don’t know, Justin, it’s been a chaotic day!” She gestured toward the door. “But you think I would just… what? Sneak around behind your back?”
“No!” Justin said immediately — too immediately — and Roan’s face pinched.
“But you did think that,” she said quietly. “You thought it long enough to get sick over it.”
Justin flinched.
She wasn’t wrong.
He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to think she’d cheat. But the sight of her with someone else had hit him so hard, so suddenly, he hadn’t had time to reason it out.
“I didn’t think you’d cheat,” he whispered. He looked at his hands. “I just… I panicked.”
“About me,” Roan said. “About something you should know I’d never do.”
Silence.
Tense. Fragile.
Justin felt the nausea gathering again — a tight, dangerous pressure rising in his throat. He swallowed, but the movement made his stomach roll violently.
He clutched his side.
Roan’s frustration faltered. “Justin? Are you okay?”
“I—” His breath hitched. “No.”
Her voice softened instinctively. She stepped forward. “Justin, baby—”
This time the word didn’t comfort him.
This time his stomach turned so sharply he gagged.
“Shit—” he gasped, clapping a hand over his mouth.
Roan’s eyes widened. “Oh god, wait—Justin—”
But it was too late.
His stomach surged upward in a brutal wave.
He turned his head but not fast enough —
And he vomited explosively.
Right onto himself.
And right onto Roan.
Thick, creamy Italian food — fettuccine, Alfredo sauce, chicken, stomach acid — splattered across the front of Roan’s shirt and down her jeans.
Justin gagged again, stumbling backward, desperately trying to cover his mouth as another heave wracked his body. More vomit spilled over his fingers and down his arm.
Roan made a shocked noise — not disgusted, just startled — and reached out, catching Justin before he stumbled into the coffee table.
“Justin, hey, hey—” she said, hands steady on his arms even as warm, half-digested pasta dripped down her shirt. “It’s okay. Breathe—”
“I’m—god—Roan, I’m so sorry—” he choked, doubling forward again.
She held him tighter. “Don’t apologize, just breathe.”
He didn’t get the chance.
Another wet, choking gag ripped up his throat.
This one splashed onto the hardwood floor, splattering at their feet. Justin trembled violently, tears streaming down his face as he coughed and spat.
He was mortified.
Beyond mortified.
Roan, covered in vomit, still kept her hands on him.
“I’m sorry,” Justin sobbed. “I’m sorry, Roan, I didn’t mean—”
“Justin,” she said firmly, “stop apologizing. You’re sick.”
He shook his head, voice shaking. “I’m—I’m not—I mean I am but—I didn’t mean to accuse you—I just—my brain was—”
“I know,” she said, softer. “I know your anxiety gets bad. But we’ll talk about that after we get the puke off both of us.”
Justin winced at the bluntness, but it was so purely Roan it nearly made him cry harder.
She kept a steady grip on him, guiding him toward the bathroom. Every step made his stomach churn dangerously, but he swallowed back the lingering nausea.
“Sit,” she ordered once they reached the bathroom, gesturing to the edge of the tub.
Justin sat.
Roan immediately turned on the shower, then peeled off her shirt — vomit-splattered and heavy — revealing a black sports bra beneath. She tossed the shirt into the hamper.
Justin stared down at his lap, cheeks burning with shame. “You shouldn’t have to clean up after me.”
Roan huffed. “You threw up on me, Justin. I’m involved in this whether I like it or not.”
He winced again.
She softened her voice. “Hey. Look at me.”
He did.
Her eyes held no anger now — only hurt, exhaustion, and fierce concern.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
“I know,” he whispered.
“You really thought I would go behind your back like that?”
Justin swallowed. “I didn’t think it. Not really. I just… felt it. For a moment. And I couldn’t stop it.”
Roan stepped a little closer — still covered in dried Alfredo sauce, still smelling faintly of garlic.
“You have got to talk to me when you feel like that,” she said quietly. “You’ve got to trust that I love you. That I’m yours. That I would never betray you.”
Justin’s throat burned. “I do trust you.”
She lifted an eyebrow.
“I do,” he repeated. “I just… I didn’t trust myself to be rational. And I panicked. And I didn’t… I didn’t stop to think.”
Roan rubbed a hand over her forehead. “I should have told you about Marcus. I should have texted or something.”
Justin shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Clearly you don’t fully believe that,” she said quietly.
He looked down, guilt twisting inside him.
She exhaled slowly, then crouched in front of him, taking his hands despite the drying vomit. “Marcus is engaged. To someone he met in Chicago. He literally spent the entire dinner talking about ring designs and whether he should propose during Christmas or New Year’s.”
Justin blinked. “Engaged?”
“Yes, engaged.” Her expression softened. “Justin, there is nobody on this planet I love more than you. You hear me?”
His chest tightened. “I do.”
“I would never cheat,” she said firmly. “Not even drunkenly. Not even stupidly. Not even accidentally falling onto someone else’s lips.”
Despite himself, Justin huffed a tiny laugh.
Roan cupped his cheek. “But I am hurt that you thought I might.”
He wiped at his face with the back of his sleeve. “I didn’t want to feel like that. I didn’t want to doubt you. I just—my brain got stuck. And I got so scared and my stomach—”
She finished for him. “Did what your stomach always does.”
He nodded miserably.
She sighed deeply, standing. “All right. Up.”
Justin blinked. “What—?”
“You’re getting in the shower.”
“But—”
“No arguing.” She tugged him gently toward the warm spray. “You’re covered in dinner.”
“So are you,” he pointed out weakly.
Roan shrugged. “Then we’re both showering. I’m not sitting in Alfredo stew.”
Despite everything — the fear, the shame, the argument, the vomit — Justin felt the faintest smile tug at his lips.
Roan froze mid-step, noticing.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re… you’re not leaving?” he whispered.
Roan’s expression softened instantly, heartbreakingly. “Justin Caruthers, if you think I’m walking out on you because you got scared and threw up on me, you’re actually insane.”
He let out a small, teary laugh.
Roan stepped closer, pressing her forehead to his. “I love you. Even when you panic. Even when you get sick. Even when you assume dumb things because your anxiety hijacks your brain.”
“I love you too,” he whispered, voice trembling.
She kissed him — slow, lingering, reassuring.
Then she stepped back. “Now move your ass into the shower before you start smelling like a cheesy corpse.”
Justin laughed again — truly laughed — and let her help him into the warm water.
As the steam filled the bathroom, the tension finally, slowly, began to uncoil.
Not completely.
Not neatly.
But enough.
When they got out, wrapped in towels and quieter now, Roan swept the bathroom floor with practiced efficiency while Justin rinsed out their clothes. Every so often, she glanced at him, making sure he didn’t look like he was about to get sick again.
He caught her looking at him on the third check-in. “I’m okay,” he said softly.
Roan nodded. “Good.”
Finally, when everything was clean, they climbed into bed together — Justin tucked against her chest, Roan’s arms wrapped around him protectively.
He breathed into her collarbone. “Are you still upset?”
“A little,” she admitted honestly. “But I’m more worried about you right now.”
Justin nodded. “We’ll talk more tomorrow?”
“Yeah. When you’re not a freshly wrung stomach noodle.”
He snorted.
She kissed the top of his head.
“Sleep,” she murmured.
Justin’s eyes fluttered.
Just as he began to drift, Roan whispered, “Next time your anxiety acts up, come to me first. Not your imagination.”
“I will,” he whispered.
But he meant it.
This time, he meant it.
Outside the window, headlights flickered past — one slow, lingering moment of brightness.
Justin didn’t notice.
Roan didn’t notice.
But if they had, they might have seen the dark silhouette of someone sitting in a car across the street.
Time for a nice dramatic series my guys, I’m low-key so excited for this one. My poor little Justin is going through the ringer here, and it’s not in this one but I’m gonna trigger warning the whole series for assault of both the physical and sexual kind.
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
The buttery glow of the restaurant’s sconces reflected off the mahogany tabletops, giving the entire room that cozy, almost dreamlike warmth that Italian places seemed to specialize in—soft lighting, soft chatter, soft music. It was exactly what Justin had been craving after an exhausting week of exams, labs, and mock interviews for med school applications.
He let out a quiet sigh as he slid into his seat, across from someone who was—by every conceivable measurement—his total opposite.
Darius Wolff plopped down with the gracelessness of a very tall man who had never once in his life accounted for the length of his limbs. His shaggy blond hair fell forward as he shook it out of his eyes, and he muttered something in German under his breath that Justin didn’t understand but assumed translated to something like bloody hell this chair is small.
“You look like you’re about to collapse,” Darius observed, pointing at Justin with the handle of his fork. “If you die at the table, I am not giving you CPR. I do not kiss my friends.”
Justin snorted. “That’s reassuring. Good to know you’d just let me perish.”
“Yes, but I would hold your hand very gently while you expire. I am not heartless.”
Justin laughed, which was exactly why he’d wanted Darius here tonight. Darius had a way of making everything absurdly dramatic, and somehow that was grounding. Roan had been scheduled to work late at the gym, and Callum and Eddie were off somewhere “getting lost on purpose” on electric scooters—Callum’s idea, obviously—so dinner with Darius had seemed like the perfect plan.
They settled in with menus, and Justin inhaled the smell of warm bread, basil, and garlic like it was therapy. Because it was. Italian food was fast becoming one of his favorite American discoveries.
“You’re getting the carbonara,” Darius announced, without looking up from his own menu.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes I do. Every time we go out, you say you will try something new, and then you do not. It is adorable.”
Justin raised a brow. “And you’re getting lasagna.”
“Yes, because I am predictable and proud. That is called consistency.” He smirked. “You may quote me.”
Justin rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. Warmth settled in his chest. This—this harmless banter, this slice of normalcy—felt like a balm.
The waiter came by, took their orders, and soon enough, both men were tearing off pieces of bread and dipping them in olive oil like they hadn’t eaten since the Paleolithic era.
Darius leaned back in his chair, balancing it dangerously on two legs. “So. How is med school prep? Dead yet?”
Justin groaned. “I feel like my brain is leaking out my ears.”
“You look too alive to be leaking brain,” Darius offered helpfully.
“I mean, I’m sleeping about four hours a night.”
Darius winced. “That is… horrifying. Even Ari sleeps more than that, and she studies like she is trying to outsmart God.”
Justin snorted. “Yeah, well, God doesn’t have the MCAT.”
“Maybe He should take it,” Darius mused. “Would humble Him.”
Justin choked on his water, laughing. “Please never say that in front of a priest.”
“I will say it in front of anyone,” Darius declared, stabbing a breadstick like it had personally wronged him.
Justin was about to make a joke in response—something light and sarcastic—when a flash of familiar wavy black hair caught his attention out the window beside their table.
He turned his head automatically.
And froze.
There—on the sidewalk just outside the restaurant’s glass façade—Roan was walking.
Roan.
His Roan.
Shoulder-length black waves bouncing as she laughed at something the man beside her said. Her blue eyes—the ones with gold flecks he loved—were bright even from this distance. She wore a casual grunge outfit—ripped black jeans, an oversized band shirt, boots. She looked relaxed. Happy.
With a man he didn’t recognize.
Justin’s stomach clenched instantly, like a fist had grabbed his insides and twisted hard.
Roan had told him she had work tonight.
She had specifically told him that she couldn’t come out because she was covering a late training shift, one she didn’t even want to take but had to, because one of the junior trainers called out sick. Justin had even offered to bring her dinner later, but she’d said not to worry, she’d grab something on the way home.
So why—
Why was she here?
Why was she with him?
And—God—why did she look so comfortable?
Darius kept talking, oblivious. “—and then Ari threw a shoe at me because I said I thought giraffes were just tall cow-dragons—Justin? Justin, are you listening?”
But Justin couldn’t hear him anymore.
All the sounds around him—the clinking dishes, the waiter calling out orders, the faint music—faded into a soft, cottony static.
His pulse spiked.
His vision tunneled.
Roan and the man had paused near the street corner, still talking. The man reached out, gently brushing Roan’s arm in a way that made something drop inside Justin like a stone in a well.
She didn’t pull away.
Justin’s breath stuttered.
This wasn’t happening.
It couldn’t be happening.
Roan loved him. She told him every day. She held him at night like he was something precious. She stood up for him, protected him, softened for him in ways she didn’t for anyone else.
She wouldn’t lie to him. She wouldn’t.
But she had. At least—something wasn’t right.
“Justin?” Darius finally asked, following his line of sight. “What are you—”
He saw Roan.
His expression changed instantly—his joking demeanor dropping away, replaced with tight surprise, then a flicker of confusion.
“Oh.” Darius leaned forward, voice low. “Scheiße.”
Justin’s heart hammered so fast it hurt.
He felt nauseous—violently nauseous, not just uneasy. A cold sweat prickled across his palms and forehead. His throat tightened. His stomach roiled hard enough to make his muscles spasm.
“Mate,” Darius said quietly, “deep breath.”
But Justin couldn’t.
Logic couldn’t get through the wall of panic slamming into him.
He pushed back from the table so fast his chair scraped loudly. His body felt like it was moving on autopilot—hands shaking, breath shallow, vision shimmering at the edges.
“I—I need to—bathroom—sorry—just—” He didn’t finish the sentence.
He practically stumbled his way across the restaurant, shouldering past the hallway divider and shoving open the men’s room door.
He made it into the first stall just in time.
The moment he hit his knees, his stomach lurched upward brutally—as if all the anxiety pooling there had turned to acid—and he gagged, then vomited hard into the toilet.
The force of it left him shaking.
Tears burned his eyes, partly from the retching, partly from panic, partly from the image of Roan laughing with another man burned into his mind like a brand.
Another wave hit him before he could even breathe, and he clutched the rim of the toilet, body shuddering as he threw up again—thin, sour, and painful.
Distantly, he heard the bathroom door creak open.
Then Darius’s voice: “Justin? Are you in here?”
Justin coughed, spit, tried to speak—but another gag cut him off. He dry-heaved weakly, body trembling, nausea threatening again.
Darius knocked gently on the stall. “It is me. I am coming in, yes? If you do not want that, tell me. Otherwise, tough luck.”
Justin didn’t manage an answer.
The lock clicked—Darius must’ve used the trick of lifting from the bottom and pushing—and then the stall door creaked open.
Darius stepped inside carefully, ducking his tall frame. He frowned sharply when he saw Justin kneeling on the tile, pale as paper and shaking.
“Oh, Alter…” His accent thickened—he always slipped into German when he was worried. “Okay. I have you.”
He crouched beside him, one large hand on Justin’s back. The gesture was steady, grounding, nothing invasive—just a solid presence.
Justin let out a small, broken noise.
“I don’t— I don’t understand,” he whispered, voice shaking as hard as his hands. His throat burned. “She— she said she had work.”
Darius didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he reached for some paper towels, ran them under cool water, and pressed them into Justin’s palm.
“Here. For your face.”
Justin wiped his mouth, eyes stinging with humiliation. “I’m sorry. I’m—I didn’t mean to—God, I’m a mess—”
“Stop.” Darius’s tone was firmer, but still gentle. “You are not a mess. You are anxious and sick and scared. Those are human things.”
Justin squeezed his eyes shut. “I just—” His voice cracked. “Why was she with him?”
“I do not know,” Darius admitted honestly. “It… looked strange. But we do not jump to the worst conclusion yet, okay?”
“That is why you breathe,” Darius murmured, resting a hand at the nape of Justin’s neck in a calming way. “Slow. Like this. In… and out.”
Justin tried. He really did. But the moment he thought of Roan again, his stomach flipped sharply, warning him.
“I think I’m gonna—” He didn’t even finish before he lurched forward, gagging again.
But this time, barely anything came up—just bitter saliva and a few thin strings of bile. The burn of it made him cough and choke.
Darius winced sympathetically. “You are going to feel like hell after this. Want me to get you water?”
Justin nodded weakly, leaning his forehead against his arm on the toilet seat.
A minute later, Darius returned with a cold bottle of water and a cup of ice from the host stand. He handed them over gently, like Justin was something breakable.
Justin took the water in trembling hands and rinsed his mouth, then sipped slowly until the trembling eased just a fraction.
He tried to stand, but his knees wobbled immediately.
Darius caught him with quick reflexes—one arm bracing him firmly.
“Easy,” Darius murmured. “I have you. Sit for a minute.”
“I don’t want to be here,” Justin whispered. “I need to go home.”
“Okay. We go home.” Darius nodded decisively. “I will pay the bill and drive you. You stay in here as long as you need.”
Justin hesitated, then leaned against the wall, burying his face in his hands. “Thank you.”
Darius squeezed his shoulder. “Do not thank me for being your friend, Justin. That is what I am.”
He left, and Justin stayed where he was until his nausea died down enough for him to stand and wash his face. His reflection in the mirror was awful—pale, eyes red, curls sticking to his forehead.
He looked like someone whose world had tilted off-axis.
He returned to the table, where Darius had already settled the bill. Darius didn’t ask any questions as they walked out—it was unspoken that this wasn’t the time.
Justin glanced toward the sidewalk again.
Roan and the man were gone.
⸻
The Drive Home
The car ride was quiet.
Not awkward—just… careful.
Justin stared out the window, fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt. He felt hollow and shaky, like someone had rung him out and hung him up to dry.
Darius drummed his fingers lightly on the steering wheel. “You are thinking too fast,” he finally said. “Tell me one thought.”
Justin swallowed. It took him a moment to get words past the knot in his throat.
“I don’t want to think the worst of her,” he murmured. “I don’t. She would never—she loves me. She tells me all the time. She’s always so—so good to me.”
Darius nodded. “Yes. She is crazy about you.”
“But…” Justin’s breath hitched. “Why lie? Why say work? Why be with some guy?”
Darius inhaled deeply through his nose. “I do not know. But I know Roan. She does not sneak around. If she wanted to break up or cheat—she’d be honest and loud about it. She is not subtle.”
Justin let out a tiny, weak laugh. “True.”
“So,” Darius continued, keeping his tone calm, “there is something we do not know yet.”
“Something bad?”
“Or something harmless,” Darius said. “Which is also possible.”
Justin’s fingers tightened in his shirt. “I just feel sick.”
“You threw up your entire stomach,” Darius said gently. “Feeling sick is normal.”
Justin sighed shakily. “God, she’s going to think I’m being dramatic.”
“No,” Darius said firmly. “Roan will see you. Not judge you.”
Justin wanted to believe that.
He wasn’t sure he could.
⸻
Home
Darius walked Justin to the door of his apartment building. He didn’t let him climb the stairs alone until Justin insisted he could manage.
At the door to his unit, Justin hesitated. “Thank you. Really.”
Darius gave a soft, warm grunt. “Sleep. Drink water. Text me if you puke again.”
“Darius—”
“What? I am giving you medical advice.”
Justin huffed a weak laugh. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
The moment the door closed behind him, Justin sagged back against it, chest tight.
The apartment was dim—only the lamp near the couch was on. The place smelled faintly like Roan: cedar shampoo and vanilla lotion. Phantom’s leash was gone from its hook, meaning she’d taken the dog out earlier.
Her parkour bag was missing from the corner.
Everything looked normal.
But nothing felt normal.
Justin dropped onto the couch, curling sideways, his hands pressed against his stomach. The nausea had faded to a dull ache, but his throat still burned. His head throbbed.
He didn’t know how long he sat there—ten minutes, twenty, maybe more—staring at the ceiling, replaying every frame of what he’d seen.
Roan laughing.
Roan not at work.
Roan with someone else.
He felt another wave of dizziness roll through him, and he swallowed hard.
The key turned in the lock.
Justin’s heart jumped into his throat.
The door opened.
Roan stepped inside.
She froze when she saw him on the couch—hair messy, face pale, eyes still red.
Her expression shifted instantly—from tired to startled to deeply concerned.
“Justin?” Her voice was soft, careful. “Baby, what—what happened? Are you okay?”
She stepped toward him—
And he lifted his eyes to hers, stomach twisting hard.
tw: emeto, scat mention related to food poisoning (pretty brief)
Callum woke up craving cereal. The biggest fucking bowl of cereal he could possibly have. Maybe Froot Loops, or Cocoa Puffs. Something sugary enough to give him diabetes on the spot. It’ll turn the milk funny colours and make it taste all sweet. Rolling over in bed, Callum smashed his face into Eddie’s bare upper arm.
The blonde was still snoring deeply, but he shifted slightly at the sudden contact. When Callum wrapped his hands around Eddie’s bicep, Eddie woke up just enough for the sun streaming through the curtains of the bedroom to wake him up the rest of the way. He turned his head towards Callum, blinking blearily until he could actually see.
Callum grinned at him, green eyes sparkling. “I’m hungry,” he stated quietly, squeezing Eddie’s bicep slightly. Eddie blinked again, smacking his tongue along his mouth for a moment to clear the sticky sleep spit.
After a moment, he responded in a croaky, sleep-deepened voice. “Go find some breakfast then, or I’ll make you something if you give me a sec to get up.”
Callum shook his head. “No, you don’t have to do that, I’m going to make a bowl of cereal. I woke up wanting it.” Eddie just nodded and let his eyes drift slowly shut again. Realizing it was going to take Eddie a good few moments to wake up properly, Callum decided to get up on his own for the moment. He released Eddie’s bicep from his grip and tossed the blankets off.
With a soft, murmured “Oh, mo cuishle,” Callum pressed a kiss to Eddie’s forehead and slid out from under the covers. He stumbled into the ensuite bathroom, brushed his teeth, then departed the room for the kitchen. Once there, he pulled a ceramic bowl out of the cabinet and plunked it on the counter. It made a slightly louder noise than he intended and he cringed, but the bowl was unharmed so he continued.
Callum yawned as he padded across the cold kitchen tile, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his palm. The apartment was still dim and quiet, the soft morning light barely beginning to reach the kitchen through the half-closed blinds. It felt peaceful—too peaceful for how violently he craved cereal. A ridiculous urge for a grown man, but Callum didn’t care. His stomach wanted something sugary and he was going to feed it something sugary.
He tugged open the cabinet above the counter, scanning the collection of boxes. Eddie had insisted they were keeping too many different kinds on hand, but Callum’s argument had been: “We’re adults now. We can buy all the fuckin’ cereal we want.” And because Eddie loved him—or maybe because Eddie was too tired to fight—he’d agreed, and now they had a child’s dream in cardboard form.
Callum reached up and grabbed the Froot Loops first, then hesitated. Cocoa Puffs caught his eye. Both were singing to his soul. He set the Froot Loops down, grabbed the Cocoa Puffs, then swapped them again. He opened the Froot Loops box, inhaled the sweet fruity scent, nodded in approval to no one, and reached for the milk.
The fridge light hit him square in the face like a personal attack. He squinted and grabbed the gallon jug without really looking at it. He cracked the lid just enough to sniff, but he’d only been awake all of seven minutes; his senses weren’t exactly online yet. It smelled… like milk. That was good enough for him.
Callum poured a mountain of Froot Loops into the bowl, humming as the colours clattered against the ceramic. He added the milk afterward and watched, pleased, as the colours began to bleed into the liquid.
It was perfect.
He grabbed a spoon, took his bowl, and plopped down at the small kitchen table. Outside, he could hear the distant rumble of a garbage truck and someone’s dog barking six floors down. The city was waking up. So was he. He dug into the cereal with an enthusiasm he should probably have been embarrassed about.
The first bite made him sigh. Sweet. Crunchy. Exactly what he wanted.
He ate like a man starved, sugary cereal disappearing by the mouthful. A few minutes later—much faster than was reasonable—he was scraping the bottom of the bowl, chasing the colourful sweetened milk with the spoon. He even picked up the bowl to drink the last of it, despite Eddie teasing him every time he did that.
Setting the bowl down, Callum stretched, feeling deeply, profoundly satisfied. Like the universe had aligned just so to deliver him that cereal. He washed the bowl and spoon, put them in the drying rack, and leaned against the counter while rubbing his stomach fondly.
“Breakfast of champions,” he muttered to himself, wiping a stray drop of milk from his chin.
Then—like a tiny, cautious whisper—something in his stomach gurgled.
Callum blinked and pressed his palm to his abdomen. It felt… bubbly. A little tight. But he’d eaten too fast, so that wasn’t surprising. He pushed off the counter and headed back to the bedroom.
Eddie had rolled onto his back, mouth slightly open, making the softest, most ridiculous snore. His hair was a mess, sticking up in half-curled tufts. Callum crawled back into bed and flopped down beside him dramatically, making the mattress bounce. Eddie groaned.
“Jesus,” Eddie mumbled, rubbing his face. “You sound like an elephant throwing itself down.”
“I had me cereal,” Callum reported, propping himself up on one elbow.
Eddie cracked one eye open. “Yeah? Was it everything you dreamed of?”
“It was glorious,” Callum said with great sincerity. “You have no idea. I’m a new man.”
Eddie snorted, half-asleep. “You’re a menace.”
Callum kissed his shoulder. “Love you too.”
Eddie hummed, letting his eyes close again. “Mm. C’mere.”
Callum settled against him, nestling his face into Eddie’s warm skin. They lay there in comfortable silence.
Then Callum’s stomach squelched loudly enough that Eddie’s eyes shot all the way open.
“Uh… Callum?”
“…Yeah?” he said, voice tight.
“You okay?”
Callum swallowed. “I think I ate too fast.”
Eddie listened another moment. Callum’s belly rumbled ominously under his hands.
“That doesn’t sound like too fast, babe.”
Callum grimaced. “It’s fine.”
It was not fine.
Five minutes later, Callum sat straight up in bed, hand clamped to his abdomen, breathing shallowly.
Eddie instantly followed, now fully awake. “Oh—okay. Yeah, that’s not a normal face. What’s going on?”
Callum swallowed again, but his mouth felt dry. “Think… think I need the loo.”
“Okay—go,” Eddie urged, already scooting out of bed. “Do you need help—?”
“No, I—oh fuck—”
Callum bolted across the room, making it into the bathroom just in time. The door slammed behind him.
Eddie blinked, startled. Then he heard it.
“Oh shit,” Eddie muttered, running a hand down his face. “Literally.”
The bathroom fan sputtered to life a second later, followed by a low, miserable groan.
Eddie hovered outside the door for a minute, biting his lip. “Cal? You alive in there?”
Callum’s voice came back strained. “Barely. Christ above—my stomach’s tryin’ to kill me.”
Eddie winced sympathetically. “Okay. I’m gonna get you some water.”
He filled a cup, grabbed some wipes and a clean towel just in case, and knocked gently.
“Callum?”
“Come in,” Callum whined.
Eddie opened the door cautiously, afraid of what horrors awaited him. To Callum’s credit, he’d managed to confine the catastrophe to the toilet and was gripping the counter with one hand, hunched forward, sweating.
Eddie stepped in. “Hey, babe.”
Callum glared weakly at him. “I’m dyin’.”
“No you’re not,” Eddie said gently, brushing his fingers through Callum’s hair. “What happened?”
“My stomach—ah fuck—hold on—”
Another wave hit him. Callum clenched the counter, breathing hard. His face had gone pale, freckles standing out sharply. Sweat gathered at his temples.
When the spasm passed, Callum sagged forward. “What the hell was in that cereal?”
Eddie frowned. “Just cereal. And milk.”
Callum froze.
“Milk,” he repeated, horrified. “Eddie… did you… did you throw out the old milk?”
Eddie blinked. “What old milk?”
“The one in the fridge for—I don’t know—weeks!”
“Callum,” Eddie said slowly, “I bought new milk three days ago.”
Callum stared. “Did you… finish the other one first?”
Eddie opened his mouth. Closed it. Thought back.
“…Maybe?”
Callum’s eyes widened with dawning dread. “Eddie.”
Eddie winced. “Okay, look—in my defense—I didn’t know it was still in there—”
“Why would you leave expired milk in the fridge?!”
“I thought I threw it out!”
“You didn’t!”
“I realize that now!”
Callum made a noise halfway between a groan and a whimper. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I’ve poisoned meself.”
Eddie knelt beside him. “Cal—hey—hey, look at me.”
Callum looked up, face miserable.
“We’re gonna get you through this. You’re not dying. You just drank milk that probably had its own ecosystem.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“I know.”
Eddie reached out to rub his back in slow circles. Callum flinched with another cramp.
“Oh God—stood up too long—”
He grabbed the trash can beside the counter and yanked it toward himself instinctively. Eddie reacted instantly.
“Bucket,” Eddie muttered. “Hold on—here—”
But it was too late.
Callum gagged, body jerking, and Eddie barely managed to get the small wastebin positioned before Callum vomited forcefully into it. Thick, colourful chunks cascaded past his lips and shot from his nose, leaving his nostrils burning viciously.
“Fuck—” Callum gasped between heaves. “Fuck me—”
Eddie steadying the bin with one hand and Callum’s shoulder with the other. He hated seeing him like this—shaking, sweating, trembling with every retch.
“It’s okay,” Eddie murmured. “Let it out.”
But Callum wasn’t listening; he was too busy being violently sick. Colourful cereal and sour milk splashed into the bin with each heave. His stomach convulsed hard, and he choked, spitting, eyes watering.
Eddie rubbed his back again. “I’m here. Just breathe when you can.”
Callum managed a broken laugh between coughs. “Don’t—don’t breathe, he says—Christ—”
Another heave cut him off. He curled over the bin, groaning afterward, shoulders slumping.
“That’s it,” Eddie said softly. “Good job.”
Callum made an offended noise. “Don’t—tell me—good job—for—fuckin’ pukin’,” he wheezed.
Eddie kissed the top of his head. “You’re doing amazing.”
Callum gagged again. “Eddie.”
“Yes, babe?”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
Callum took a shaky breath, trying to rinse his mouth with the water Eddie offered. It barely stayed down ten seconds before he doubled over again, vomiting mostly bile.
“Okay,” Eddie said quietly, heart squeezing. “You’re not leaving the bathroom for a bit.”
“No shit,” Callum croaked.
Another stomach cramp hit him and he barely got back on the toilet in time. He buried his face in his hands.
“This is the worst mornin’ of me life,” he moaned.
Eddie sat down on the floor beside him. “That’s because your morning started with expired milk.”
Callum glared at him through sweaty strands of hair. “I’m gonna throw hands when I’m not shittin’ meself.”
“Uh-huh. Sure, babe. Terrifying.”
Callum groaned again, resting his head on his knees. “I feel fuckin’ dreadful.”
Eddie reached over and wiped Callum’s forehead with the towel. “You look dreadful too.”
Callum weakly kicked him with his heel.
Eddie kissed his knee in apology.
Another twenty minutes passed in waves—vomit, then diarrhea, then dry heaves, then Callum sagging against Eddie’s shoulder, trembling.
At one point Callum whispered, voice cracking, “I’m so tired…”
“I know,” Eddie murmured, supporting his weight. “You burned more calories than your cereal had.”
“That’s not—funny—” Callum said, but he smiled faintly.
By the time the worst of the vomiting slowed, Callum was limp and shivering. Eddie wiped his face, cleaned the bin, helped him off the toilet carefully.
“We should get you in the shower,” Eddie said softly. “Warm water’ll help.”
Callum nodded, exhausted. “Don’t… don’t leave.”
“I won’t.”
Eddie guided him into the shower, sitting him on the built-in ledge while warm water cascaded over them both. Callum leaned heavily against him, head on Eddie’s chest, eyes closed.
“This is humiliating,” Callum muttered.
Eddie wrapped an arm around him. “It’s not. You’re sick. And I love you.”
Callum sighed, letting himself relax. “You’re too good to me.”
“Someone’s gotta keep you alive.”
“Apparently.”
“Apparently,” Eddie echoed with a soft laugh.
Once they’d washed off the sweat and misery, Eddie got him dressed in clean shorts and carried—actually carried—him back to the bedroom. Callum was too weak to protest.
Eddie tucked him under the blankets, plopped a trash can beside the bed, and sat down next to him, brushing his knuckles along Callum’s cheek.
“How’s your stomach?” he asked quietly.
Callum groaned. “Still tryin’ to stage a rebellion. But not… not as violent.”
Eddie smiled sympathetically. “Good. You want me to stay right here?”
“Please.”
Eddie lay down and Callum immediately curled into him like a miserable, overheated cat. Eddie stroked his hair slowly.
Callum whispered, voice small, “Don’t let me die of cereal poisoning.”
“You’re not dying,” Eddie said firmly. “I’m gonna make sure you drink water, and rest, and—”
Callum tensed, suddenly gagging. Eddie shot up, grabbed the trash can, and got it under Callum in the same second Callum vomited again—thin, sour liquid.
“Okay,” Eddie soothed. “Okay, I got you—”
Callum coughed, tears leaking from his eyes. “Fuckin’—milk—”
“You’re never touching dairy again.”
Callum flopped back onto the pillow, panting. “I hate this.”
“I know,” Eddie murmured, stroking his cheek. “But you’re okay. I’m right here.”
“For takin’ care of me. Even though I’m a disaster.”
Eddie kissed his forehead. “You’re my disaster.”
A soft smile tugged at Callum’s lips. “Stop bein’ sweet when I look like death.”
“You always look good.”
Callum snorted. “You’re deranged.”
“Hopelessly,” Eddie said, settling the blankets around him. “Now get some sleep. I’ll be here.”
Callum drifted off gradually, breathing evening out as the worst passed. Every so often he whimpered or shifted, but Eddie stayed awake, watching over him, rubbing his back when his stomach cramped again, murmuring soothing nonsense until Callum quieted.
By the time afternoon sunlight filtered through the room, Callum stirred, eyes half-open.
Eddie whispered, “Hey, babe.”
Callum blinked slowly. “Still alive?”
“Shockingly.”
Callum sighed, sinking closer to him. “Never lettin’ you buy milk again.”
“That’s fair.”
“Also… Eddie?”
“Yeah?”
“If I ever wake up wantin’ cereal again… stop me.”
“No chance,” Eddie laughed. “I like seeing you happy. Just—next time we check the date.”
Callum groaned into his shoulder. “Deal.”
Eddie kissed the top of his head. Callum let out a soft, content breath—weak, drained, but comforted.
Y’all, I need some prompts or stories you want from me, cuz I want to write something but I’m coming up blank. Any pairings you want to see or specific scenarios with specific characters? Help me…
For the frisky fic 👀 I don’t have anything super specific in mind but I would loovve to see both of them DROOLING over how hot their husband is. (horny jail sorry) by the way, I think I’d sent a request about Jon being gaga over Leo being a lawyer, did you see it or did tumblr swallow it? (No pressure to write it of course)
Alsooo don’t you dare break vin and Wendy up pleasee😭😭 not now after they’ve overcome so much😭😭😭😭 I love the throuple but not at the cost of the og freaks 😭💔
Anddd I’m LOSING my mind over how domestic the first honeymoon fic is!!! 🍄
Used up this ask to write some friskyyy Jon/Leo hehehe + Very upset stomach. Smutty start!
-----------------
Leo couldn't tear his eyes away from Jonah, which was getting a little ridiculous because they had been stranded in Milos for 5 days now, with hardly any contact with their outside world and he still wasn't sick of his husband.
In fact, Leo was convinced they could just get all their things shipped here and start a whole new life.
"I'll go by Konstantin," Leo giggled, pressing his mouth to Jon's neck as he trailed a bunch of kisses all over him, "and you can be Giorgio and we can call JD-"
"We're not changing JD's name," Jonah chuckled, rolling them on the bed so he was on top and pulling back, sitting on his feet as he ran a hand through his hair. God, Leo thought, air all but vanishing from his lungs as he could see sweat glistening his husband's chest, muscles flexing on his bicep and abs as Jon tilted his body back.
Leo gulped down, sinking further against the pillows as he trailed his hands up Jonah's naked thigh, until he could slide them under his boxer briefs and cup his ass.
"Fuck, Jonah..." Leo breathed out dreamily and the other man let out a chuckle, leaning in so he could latch his mouth to Leo's collarbone, a hand tangling in the blonde's hair and tugging slightly.
"I'm planning to," Jon teased, his lips pressing over Leo's nipple, tongue circling it and teeth lightly grazing it, causing the blonde to squirm. His thoughts were all scrambled, the previous conversation fleeing his mind.
Jonah's kisses trailed south, heated mouth pressing all over Leo's chest, his stomach, the inside of his thighs- "No," Leo breathed out, struggling to think, "no, come back here, I want- C'mere-" he tried to put into words that although Jonah gave the most earth shattering blowjobs, right now he wanted to make love. He wanted to look in his husband's hazel eyes and watch how his pupils swallowed up the green as they fit together, feel Jon's breath in his mouth and watch that wrinkle that formed right between his brows a second before an orgasm, followed by bliss that seemed to age him down five years and send Leo back to the first time he laid eyes on Jonah.
Jonah opened a smile, all boyish, then moved up, clashing his lips against Leo's.
Eventually, they made it out of the hotel room. Leo was frankly a little embarrassed by how much time they spent locked inside every day, instead of enjoying the island. Part of him, that one that worried about money all the time despite his tax bracket being different for nearly 5 years now, wondered if it wouldn't have been a smarter decision to go on honeymoon a month after they married, when they stopped being so giddy about each other and could actually enjoy the place.
"What's in your mind?" Jonah asked, an arm wrapped around Leo's waist, sunglasses planted on his face.
"Just thinking we're not enjoying Milos enough," he sighed, leaning back against Jon and smiling as his husband promptly pressed a kiss to his cheek.
"That's fine," Jon shrugged, guiding them down the street. Although Leo had planned a couple activities in each island they'd visit — Milos, Santorini and Rhodes. Leo had ruled out Crete and Mykonos when he learned through Jackie that Jonah had already been there — Jon was the one really guiding the whole thing. Leo didn't mind, he liked not having to think of maps and the order of things, as long as they showed up to the historical tours and the beaches he had delineated, "more the reason for us to come back next year."
Leo rolled his eyes, "yeah right, Dr. Banks, gotta start saving now after all we splurged on the wedding-"
"Leo," Jonah bumped his nose with his, voice all amused, "relax."
Their next stop was a restaurant named Fagitó. It had one of the best reviews when Leo had looked it up online and he was feeling very smug as Jonah opened a huge smile.
It was more of a tavern, with fishing gear scattered around and stone walls, the backside of the restaurant facing the sea and tables scattered under a pergola covered in bougainvillea.
"This place is pretty," Jonah was already holding out his phone, while Leo sat down and leaned on his chair, smiling as he looked out to the sea. This place was so sunny and colorful, he felt like he'd never even know what seasonal depression was if he lived here. It was probably the tourist in him speaking.
Because it was such a touristic place, the menu was in both Greek and English and the staff spoke it too. Leo skimmed over the names, while Jonah continued snapping pictures.
Although they had been away for only 5 days, Leo had to admit he was getting sick of seafood. He was craving a mac n' cheese already, although he didn't dare saying that out loud. Jonah didn't seem to suffer with that problem, since his choice was grilled octopus with tartar sauce, while the blonde picked the only pork option they had.
Across from them in the restaurant's backyard, there was a playpen and Leo followed Jonah's gaze as he watched the kids squeal and yell at each other as they played with the swing and the slider. It was so painfully obvious now that he knew what to look out for, how much Jonah wanted that.
"Stop staring at me," Jon scoffed, catching Leo watching him, and the blonde shrugged, his cheeks burning.
"I'm not staring, I'm admiring," he corrected, moving his chair so they were side by side, "you're the one who's staring at the children."
It was Jonah's turn to blush and Leo grinned at that. His normal brown skin had turned into a bronze shade due to the amount of tanning they both had done by now, which made Jon's smile all the more brilliant and his light eyes stand out even more than they normally did.
Well, Jonah had tanned. Leo had gained a new freckle collection and a painful pink patch on his shoulder, which was now peeling away. To his credit, Jon seemed delighted by the freckles, especially the ones that had appeared on Leo's nose bridge.
"They're cute," Jon shrugged, averting his eyes from the children, "have you change-"
"Nope," Leo planted his chin on Jonah's shoulder, "I haven't changed my mind."
"Good," he leaned back, curls tickling Leo's temple, whole body relaxing, "wanna see the pictures I took? The sea here is to die for..."
Their dishes arrived 30 minutes later and Leo wrinkled his nose as Jonah tried to force him to take a bite of the octopus.
"First slugs, now octopus? No thanks, hard pass," Leo scoffed, pushing Jonah's hand away as he held up a tentacle in front of his mouth, "all yours."
"Coward," Jonah grinned, before stuffing his mouth with it, "it's really good and you're missing out."
"I doubt it," Leo shrugged, continuing to eat.
About an hour after they finished, while they sat around eating dessert and chatting about the weird wedding gifts they had gotten, Jon started to get fidgety. Leo noticed how he was bouncing one leg nervously and how he kept closing and opening his hand. Other than that, though, he seemed fine. Maybe he was anxious...?
"Here," Jonah interrupted his thoughts, shoving the rizogalo bowl he had been holding into Leo's hands, "I gotta go the bathroom."
Leo raised his eyebrows at his harsh movements and unceremonious confession, but before he could say much else, Jon was darting away. He frowned, then let out a sigh and finished up his own dessert bowl. When it took more than ten minutes for Jonah to return, Leo went to pay the bill and wait for him outside.
He checked his phone. 01:48 PM, a late lunch. Maybe they could head down to the beach once more, sprawl in the sand and take it easy? Unless Jon had different plans, he had been mentioning wanting to go to the catacombs-
"Sorry," Jonah winced as he stepped out of the restaurant, now holding a water bottle, "didn't mean to take so long."
"That's fine," Leo shrugged, studying Jon. He still seemed a little shaky and there was perspiration clinging to his neck, but otherwise he seemed alright, "are you okay? Is your tummy upset?"
"Not really," Jonah shook his head and Leo squinted, wondering which question he was answering, "I'm fine, don't worry. Let's go? The catacombs close at 3 and we still gotta get a taxi there, it's across the island."
Leo didn't think he was fine, but he bit down his retort. Maybe he was overthinking it, it was a really warm day so that explained the sweat and, besides, Jonah didn't seem sick.
"Sure, let's go," he intertwined his fingers with Jon's, letting him guide the way.
The taxi drive to the catacombs was much less pleasant. Leo's lunch churned inside his belly as they went down the dizzying streets, the fact that he was sitting in the backseat making his carsickness worse.
Just as he was about to ask the driver to pull over, the car came to a stop and Leo stumbled out, planting his hands on his knees and taking slow breaths.
"Love?" Jonah put a hand on his back, "the ride made you sick," it wasn't a question, "here, take a sip. Slow," he pushed his water botte in Leo's hands and the blonde took it, taking a couple small sips and then pressing the cold plastic to his forehead, hoping to push down the throbbing that the carsickness brought to his head.
"You need a minute?"
"No," Leo thumped his chest, until he managed to push up a small, sickly burp, "I'm good, let's go."
The catacombs were part of a volcanic tunnel web, although man had made most of the extra tunnels. There were a couple tunnels closed from visitation, but they still walked around the arcades, following the signs so they wouldn't get lost.
Leo felt slightly claustrophobic, so he was more than glad when the guide announced they were closing and everyone needed to leave. The place was gorgeous, moody and seeming straight out of a spooky movie, but they definitely didn't need to be in there when the sun started to set.
Outside of the catacombs there were several gift shops, street vendors showing little miniature of the tunnels, postal cards, little hourglasses, Christian figurines-
"Can you get us some post cards?" Jonah asked, pressing a kiss to his temple, "I'll buy some gum, you want anything?" he gestured to the little café a couple dozen feet down the street.
"Nope- Well, minty gum would be nice," Leo relented, thinking they'd need to go into another carsickness inducing ride back to the hotel. Maybe he could convince Jonah to just walk with him, the streets were deserted enough and they'd be walking down the hills, not strenuous activity...
Jonah returned almost twenty minutes later, mumbling something about a line, and shoving the gum package in Leo's hand.
"I got us some post cards," Leo raised the ones he had picked, "and this cute hourglass. I think it'll look adorable in my office."
Jon offered him a strained smile, "very fancy-" he raised a hand to his mouth, muffling a burp, "uhm- Do you still have the water bottle...?"
Leo was still clutching at it, but when he raised it, they realized it was mostly empty, only one lukewarm gulp left, "sorry, angel... I can run and get you a new one, how abou-"
"No," Jon took the bottle from him, finishing that one measly sip, "can we go? Or do you want to keep shopping?"
Clearly he was trying to keep the good spirits, but Leo knew Jonah enough to know that he was no longer in a good mood, probably cranky because they hadn't seen the whole thing.
"No, I don't wanna keep shopping," Leo relented, fixing the tote bag on his shoulder and reaching to grab Jonah's hand, only for his husband to pull it away, shoving them in his own pockets. Alright, dickhead. Leo had been considering stomaching another nauseating ride, but as he felt a wash of pettiness over the open rejection, he got bold enough to say, "can we walk back to the beach? I don't think I can deal with another crazy cab."
Jonah's face clouded even more, jaw locking in a frustrated manner and Leo let out a breath.
"Jon," he scoffed, "please?"
"Sure," Jonah nodded, "let's go then..."
They were about fifteen minutes into walking when Leo started to feel a little guilty. Jonah hadn't been that much of a dick to warrant walking for nearly an hour, even if it wasn't a difficult walk and the scenery was gorgeous. He bit down his lip, trying to make conversation, "if you want, we can come back tomorrow during morning..." Leo said, speeding up. For some reason Jon was power walking instead of enjoying the view, the nice warm breeze, the charming little houses and the pink flowers littering every corner, "I didn't realize you wanted to see the catacombs so badly."
"No, it's fine," Jonah rubbed his neck, "the other rooms aren't gonna be any different from the ones we saw."
Leo pouted, "Jon, don't sulk, c'mon. I'm sorry about the catacombs-"
"I'm not sulking," he groaned, interrupting Leo's unnecessary apology, "really. I just wanna get back to the hotel."
So much for not sulking. Leo let out a sigh, but opted for letting it go, "if you really want, we can call a taxi. It's still gonna be more twenty minutes walking-" probably more, considering the twenty minutes would lead them down to the beach, but there were another ten minutes back to the actual hotel.
Leo fully expected Jonah to stubbornly deny his suggestion, so he was surprised when the other man paused and then nodded, "I'd like that... But it's not gonna make you too sick?"
"Hopefully we can get a driver that doesn't drive like a maniac," Leo smiled at him, fishing out his phone, "give me a second."
Jon was bouncing on his feet as they waited the eight minutes for the car to arrive and slowly Leo started to piece things together. Aided entirely by the sickly growl that his husband's stomach let out as they entered the car, Leo realized Jonah wasn't pissed off — or at least, not just that — but feeling sick.
He should've guessed.
Leo opened his mouth to say something, but the driver knew English and kept talking with them. Jon had given up on answering, so the task not to be rude befell on Leo and all he could do to comfort Jonah was squeeze his nape while the older driver continued to chat their ears away.
By the time they parked in front of the hotel, Jonah didn't so much as wait as Leo paid the driver, bolting inside like a slingshot. Leo cringed, sympathy washing over him. He took his time walking inside the hotel, picking up some Gatorade in the vending machine, then getting back into their room.
The bathroom door was shut and Leo grimaced, lightly tapping his knuckles against the door, "Jon? You're okay?"
"FINE!" His answer was annoyed, voice a little too loud, causing Leo to jump away from the door with a frown. Dickhead strike number two.
He set down the Gatorade bottle on the bedside table, then turned on the TV and moved the balcony to watch the sun set over the horizon, a ball of orange melting into the sea and leaving behind a bright purple sky littered with tiny stars.
Behind him, the bathroom door opened and Leo turned around once more, only for his eyebrows to vanish in his hair, "Jon... Oh angel, you're not okay..."
He expected some sort of futile resistance, Jonah trying once more to dismiss him saying he was fine, but instead he got a pitiful groan. Jon folded forward, an arm wrapped around his stomach.
"I'm sorry..." he whined, causing alarm bells to go off in Leo's head and he crossed the room in two large steps, reaching in to grab Jon's arms, "I don't feel well..."
"I can see that," Leo scoffed, studying him closer. Now he was drenched in cold sweat and he was trembling all over, his belly was sticking out against the gauzy fabric of his shirt, gurgling loud enough that Leo could hear it even though he was a good ten inches away, "your tummy's upset...?"
Instead of answering him, Jonah pitched forward with a wet burp, barely managing to muffle it in his hand. Hunched forward, he wrapped an arm around his belly, eyes squeezed shut, "I feel really gross, Leo..."
"Oh baby," Leo cooed, his heart clenching, "you should've said something sooner, we'd have come straight back to the hotel..."
"I didn't- I didn't think it was that bad, but-" Jonah sucked in a breath as he collapsed on the bed, curling up on the fetal position, both arms wrapped around his belly, "fuck, it hurts, Leo."
Leo frowned, sitting by his side and carefully trying to uncurl his husband, "crampy? Have you been sick?"
"No, just- Just diarrhea," Jonah grimaced, his cheeks burning with humiliation, then another sickly burp rolled out of his mouth, "but I feel like it wants up too-"
"Ew," Leo couldn't help but tease, wrinkling his nose. He undid Jonah's pants, rolling down his hips and then let out a whistle at how horribly bloated the other man was, "that damn octopus wants you to suffer, uh?"
It was the wrong thing to say, because Jon pitched to his side, hanging his head out of the bed as he suddenly gagged. Now he looked grey. Leo cringed, glancing around the room for a trashcan and settling for the abandoned, empty champagne bucket.
"Hold on, hold on, hold on-" the blonde chanted, rushing across the room and skipping back, holding the bin up under Jon's chin, but all he managed to catch was some droll and a collection of pained groans, "false alarm?"
"Nhumfhgh," Jonah mumbled, pressing a hand to his belly and wincing as it forced up a brassy belch, thick and turning frothy at the end. He spat inside the bucket again, panting, "it's not gonna- Stay down..." his stomach let out a loud, watery gurgle and Leo cringed as he saw the rest of the color vanish from Jonah's face, making him look almost corpse like.
The blonde didn't need anymore explanation, not when Jonah sounded so desperate. He wrapped an arm around the other man, pulling Jon to his feet and skipped across the room with him, all but dropping him on the toilet.
As soon as Jonah managed to shove his pants down, his belly contracted and he let out a whimper, covering his face with both hands as the runs plagued him. Leo winced, happy that Jon couldn't see his disgusted frown.
He squeezed Jon's shoulder, "I'm gonna wait outsi-"
Leo never finished that sentence, as Jon's convulsed under his hand and then a wave of bright red puke fell right between his legs, splattering on the ground and his ditched pants. Leo froze on the spot, eyes wide. He wasn't sure he had ever witnessed Jonah this sick...? At least not when he wasn't sick himself as company.
"Leo-" Jon's voice was muffled, thick with nausea, "Leo, bu-URugo-bucket," he retched mid sentence and the blonde finally snapped back into his senses, rushing out of the room to retrieve the champagne bucket.
He planted it on Jon's lap just in time for his lunch to make a kaleidoscopic reappearance, a thick gush of semi digested sludge falling inside of it. Jonah whimpered, pressing his forehead to the metal and letting out a string of tiny burps. His knuckles turned white on the rim as another cramp wrecked through him and Leo felt a pang of guilt.
They should never have walked after the catacombs or set foot in that restaurant, which had been Leo's pick too.
Jonah coughed, gagging once more and leaning over the bucket to bring up a small, but much thicker mouthful of sick. Once he was done choking on it, he continued to hoover over the bin, unsure if it was safe to move away.
"Angel," Leo crouched down, trying to collect himself, "Jonah, I think you're done. Can I help you into the shower?"
"This is so-" Jonah's voice echoed inside the bin, followed by another deep, gurgly belch, "so undignified... It's our honeymoon..." he sounded close to tears and Leo let out a sigh.
"It's pretty gruesome," he relented, smoothing Jonah's curls back, then running a hand down his trembling back, "but I don't need you to be dignified, Jonah, I want you to feel better. Let me help?"
Jon let out a sigh, which was quickly followed by another angry whine from his belly, "I don't know why it's- It's churning like that. I'm wrung up."
Considering that as close to an admission of defeat as he was gonna get, Leo carefully peeled Jon's fingers off the bucket, hitting the toilet flush twice and then turning up the shower. Although it was summer and they had been taking lukewarm, almost cold shower, this time Leo turned the water warm, hoping it'd stop Jon from shaking like a wet kitten.
"C'mere," he hoisted his husband up, entering under the stream as well, regardless the fact that Leo was entirely dressed. The hot water soaked through Jonah's shirt and Leo stripped it off of him, as well as kicked his soiled pants and boxers away, "you're okay?"
Jon nodded, lowering his forehead to Leo's shoulder, "just... Gross."
Leo rolled his eyes, "you're not gross-"
"No," Jonah shook his head, muffling a burp in his fist, which turned productive and he coughed a thin stream of vomit over the drain, "my stomach feels gross still. All of me."
"I'm gonna order you some medicine," Leo decided, regretting the fact he hadn't packed up Pepto. Was that even allowed on a plane? Probably not, "and you'll sleep this off. Goddamn food poisoning-"
Jonah let out a whimper as another cramp hit him, causing him to fold and grab at his lower belly as if he wanted to dig his fingers into his intestines, "fuck..."
"You need the bathroom again?" Leo kept his voice firm, with not a trace of disgust, no matter how awful the situation. The last thing he wanted was for Jon to feel bad about himself on top of how horrible he was feeling.
"No... No, empty. Just-" he was breathless, "crampy. Nauseous."
They stood under the warm water for another minute, before Leo decided Jon was clean enough and needed to lie down. He wrapped up Jonah in the hotel's fluffy robe — despite Jon grumbling at being manhandled, folded like an elderly man as he tried to protect his tender stomach —then pushed him into the bed, exchanging the robe for just a new set of boxers.
"Here you go," Leo walked back from the bathroom after cleaning it up as best as he could, using a towel to clean the vomit on the ground — not much, most of it had fallen on Jon's pants — and washing off the bucket. He planted the clean bucket on the floor next to Jon's head, then broke the seal of the still closed Gatorade bottle, "you think you can stomach a little sip?"
"No," Jonah's eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but sleep didn't seem able to catch up with him, as the cramps continued to squeeze his belly, "can you- Leo," he rolled onto his back, a hand clutching his stomach.
"Yeah, of course," Leo climbed on the bed, falling against the pillows and cuddling closer so he could plant a hand on Jonah's tummy. It was domed, bloated up, and warm to the touch, "try to get some rest, baby."
It wasn't late, just a little past sunset, so Leo was still very awake. He quietly rubbed Jonah's stomach for several minutes, cringing at how sloshy it felt, how vocal it was, until Jon's frown eased up and he started to snore, something that he never did.
Leo moved closer, so he could press the back of his hand against his husband's cheek and forehead, but he wasn't overly warm, just clammy. He pressed a kiss to his temple, then got up from the bed in order to tidy up their room and get a decent shower himself.
Jonah slept through it all, even as Leo ordered up room service so he could have dinner, setting aside a grilled cheese in case Jonah woke up hungry. Instead of waking up, Jon groaned in his sleep and buried his face further into the pillow, curling up and betraying just how unwell he still felt.
Leo combed through their pictures, deleting the ones that were just blurs and didn't have a single thing in focus and favoriting the others he planned to have printed out and put in an album. He did this to both their galleries, then was left with nothing else to do, so finally Leo decided to go through his texts.
Luke had been steadily updating him about what was happening in Welton, sending him a collection of memes as if he really didn't need an answer to keep talking. Vince did the same, although to a much more manageable extent. There was a text from Max, which made Leo's eyebrows raise, a single heartfelt "Thank you for inviting me to the wedding. It was so beautiful and so much fun. I hope I didn't create any problems for you. Have fun at the honeymoon 🥵 make a baby or two"
The last part caused Leo to chuckle, but he hung at the words "I hope I didn't create any problems". That was out of the blue and very weird.
Behind him, Jonah let out another little groan and Leo glanced over his shoulder, just in time to see Jon sit up, face all wrinkled from being pressed against the pillow.
"Hey, angel..." Leo said softly, walking closer, "how are you feeling?"
Jonah was still half asleep, since he didn't seem to have heard, wrapping an arm around his stomach and staring at his feet like a broken ventriloquist doll.
Leo sighed, planting a hand on his naked back and rubbing it up and down, "do you think you can drink some water for me?"
It took ten extra seconds for his words to pierce through the haze, but then Jonah scrunched up his face, "Uhm-" he gulped down, but then nodded, "don't wanna... dehydrate..."
"That's right, Dr. Banks," Leo smiled, getting up to get the Gatorade bottle and holding it before his husband, "just one little sip."
Leo couldn't hold it against Jon. He truly did try to drink, but not a second after he had swallowed up the sip, his throat was bobbing dangerously and Jonah bleary looked around for the bucket, leaning over it just in time for the liquid to fall out of his mouth, not even with a gag.
"God," Leo sighed, holding him by the shoulder and wincing at the several dry heaves that followed, "I guess... I guess we can try again later..." Silently, Leo made a pray that Jonah would take the liquid later, because the last thing he wanted was to try and get him to a hospital while in Greece, not speaking a drop of Greek.
Jonah curled back up, falling back in the bed and letting out a long suffering sigh, "what- What time is it?" he asked, his voice barely above a rasp.
Leo glanced at his phone, "just a little past 9," he gently rubbed his hand up and down the side of his husband's bloated stomach, not daring to put any pressure behind his touch. His belly was churning under Leo's palm, angry gurgles under Jon's belly button and crawling up his sides, "how are you feeling?"
"Like hell," Jonah scoffed, squeezing his eyes as another cramp hit him, "I'm sorry- Making you clean vomit in our honeymoon-"
"Oh shush it," Leo rolled his eyes, moving his hand so he could swat Jon's ass in a teasing manner, "shut up about it, I'm the one who's sorry. I hate to see you like this..."
Jonah let out a little scoff, then rolled on the bed so he could press his head to Leo's lap, "just gotta- Sleep it off..."
"Uh-huh," Leo wrinkled his nose, "you've been asleep for hours now... Maybe we should ask the front desk for a doctor-"
"I'm a doctor," Jonah's voice was offended, but he didn't even bother to move from his comfortable spot, "it's just food poisoning, Leo. I won't die."
"People die from food poisoning all the time," Leo argued, struggling to push his lawyer self down. This was hardly an arguing matter, Jonah was right that it had been only a couple hours, but Leo simply couldn't help his arguments, "and you're not drinking any water, dehydration also kills-"
"Leo, your voice is giving me a headache," Jonah sounded much more like himself now, annoyance coloring his words, "just let me rest."
"Fine," Leo scoffed, pouting.
Of course, Jon couldn't see he was doing that, so it caused the blonde to smile when Jonah said five seconds later, "and don't pout."
He squirmed on the bed, so he was propped against the pillows and could continue to run his hand up and down Jonah's back, hoping he'd feel better soon.
Around 10 PM, Leo dozed off, not sleepy per se, but he had forgotten to turn up the main lights and the room was dark, Jonah was warm against him, there wasn't a single noise safe from the occasional stomach whine...
He woke up with the sound of the bathroom door opening. Leo jerked in the bed, like he had just missed an imaginary step, blinking quickly to situate himself. The room was even darker now, Jonah had turned off the soft yellow lamp that was in the "living room" area of their bedroom.
It took him a second to identify Jonah in the dark, leaning on the wall right next to the bathroom door, hunched over so his hands were on his knees and he was taking measured breaths. Leo frowned, shuffling on the bed so he was ready to bolt and catch him in case Jonah collapsed.
It was harder to pinpoint his expression, but Leo could tell his shoulders were shaking-
"Jon?" Leo whispered, crawling out of the bed and walking closer.
Jonah's head snapped up, eyes wide and confused, which caused Leo's heart to race. Please, don't let it be serious, he thought, placing his hands on Jonah's arms, "baby, what's wrong?"
"Nuuh-Nothing," Jon was slurring slightly, voice barely above a whisper, "justsssick."
"Uh-huh," Leo rolled his eyes, quickly deciding his husband was going to be of no help. He planted his hand on Jonah's neck, expecting to feel a fever, but there was none, "did you throw up again?"
A head shake.
"Okay, uhm- Let's go back to bed..." he chewed on his lip, sleepily trying to count the time zones. Would Wendy pick up if he called right now?
Jonah collapsed on the bed, moving so he could curl up under the thin blanket and blinking up at Leo like he expected him to vanish before his eyes.
"How's your belly?" Leo crouched down next to the bed, grabbing the Gatorade once more and checking the hour on his phone. 3:25 AM, "do you still feel sick?"
A nod.
Great, Jonah had puked his frontal lobe because now Leo felt like he was dealing with a five year old version of him. He let out a little huff at the thought, opening a grin, "you're cute looking like a startled kitten and all, but can you use your words, angel? How are you feeling?"
"Like crap," Jonah scoffed, causing Leo to beam with a smile. There he was, his usual grumpy husband. It was clear he wasn't speaking because he had no voice, shot from all the heaving.
"Can you drink something?" Jonah's face scrunched up with disgust, so Leo stitched in, "please? You're really worrying me, Jon."
It was a little amusing how much Jonah was wrapped up around his pinky, Leo thought, watching as his resolve melted away and he took the bottle. The first sip was met with a gag, but once Jonah managed to swallow it, he eagerly went for a second one, thirst hitting him.
Leo took the bottle back, "sorry, but we really want that to stay down. If you don't throw up in ten minutes you can drink more," he felt like he was quoting Jonah himself, "did the diarrhea stop? How's your belly-" without waiting for an answer, Leo went in, planting his hand to Jon's bloated middle.
His belly was still sticking out, but the angry gurgling had reduced considerably and it was no longer that warm to the touch. Jonah corroborated Leo's finding by grumbling "it's fine," and then burying his face in the pillow, clearly embarrassed.
The blonde let out a chuckle, pressing a kiss to his temple and climbing back on the bed, "c'mere, love," he said, pulling the sheets in order to drag Jonah closer to him and forcing the other man to uncurl, so Leo could take the spot currently occupied by his pillow.
Jon let out a grumble, followed by a happy sigh as his cheek met Leo's chest and he was wrapped up in a hug, "Greece is getting to you," he mumbled, squirming and snuggling up even more, "you're pudgy."
"Go to sleep, Jonah," Leo chuckled, rolling his eyes and pressing a kiss to the top of his head, "you're delusional."
Alright, so it’s been a good minute since I posted a story, but I’ve finally gotten my life together and I think I’ve got a pretty good idea for what I want to write next. I know I never finished that series with them in the Bahamas, but we’re gonna push that aside and pretend it never happened. Eddie had meningitis, or that was the plan anyway for anyone curious. Sorry it never got finished. MOVING ON! Enjoy my first fic back after a months long hiatus.
Roan wasn’t planning on doing much of anything that night. Justin was out with a group of his guy friends, at a bar if she remembered correctly, so he wouldn’t be around for cuddles and a movie like she wanted him to be. Still, she couldn’t be selfish with his time; that wouldn’t make for a very healthy relationship dynamic.
She ended up on the couch, reading through a Stephen King novel. *It* was one of her very favorites, twisted and dark as it was, and it completely engulfed her attention until the front door creaked open around midnight. Roan jumped, so engrossed in her novel that she hadn’t heard Justin’s footsteps or him fumbling with the keys. “Honey? That you?” She called into the hallway, peering over the back of the couch.
A loud groan answered her, followed by a thud. Roan was immediately springing off the back of the couch and jogging into the hallway, where she found Justin slumped against the wall. He appeared to have fallen there, but wasn’t entirely bothered by it. A goofy grin spread across his face at the sight of her, one hand stretching out and making little grabbing motions at her.
“Baaabbbyyy,” he slurred, stretching the word out like he was trying it out for the first time. “You’re he-*hic*-here…”
An exasperated smile formed on Roan’s lips as she took in the sight of her boyfriend, completely and totally wasted on the floor of their entryway. She knew he had called an Uber to get back, as that had been the plan all along, so she wasn’t worried about him having driven home like this. That meant she could allow herself to be properly amused by this development.
“Well where else would I be? I live here dumbass,” Roan said affectionately, crouching down beside him and balancing on the balls of her feet. He seemed to process this for a moment before nodding serenely.
“Right, I knew that.” He sits silently for a moment, then cocks his head to the side to look at her more clearly. “My belly hurts…”
Roan frowned, placing a gentle hand flat on his stomach. She could feel it rumbling and roiling under her palm, a visceral sensation. “Aw, baby, I think you had a bit too much to drink,” she cooed softly, brushing a curl out of Justin’s face. “Seems like it upset your stomach a bit.”
Justin moaned a little, nodding again. “It hurtsss Roan…”
Roan just offered a sympathetic smile, which quickly shifted to a small gasp of shock and horror when Justin suddenly belched loudly, sending a cascade of partially digested alcohol down his front. No gag, no convulsion of the throat, just sick pouring onto his lap and the floor.
Tears instantly sprang to his eyes, guilt flooding his system. Roan hurried to pull his hair back with a hair tie around her wrist, then darted to the bathroom to grab a couple towels. By the time she got back, the puddle had gotten significantly worse and Justin was openly crying.
"Oh, honey, it's okay, you're alright," Roan reassured him gently, using the towel to wipe the worst of the mess from her boyfriend's chest. "You're alright, I promise." Justin only cried harder, and to be honest Roan was starting to get a bit exasperated at this point.
“Alright, baby, I need you to pull yourself together a bit here, help me out,” she chided, tone still soft. She lurched forward to cup her hands, covered in a towel, under his mouth as he belches thickly and brings up a torrent of beer and whatever he had eaten at the bar. Probably a burger and fries, if Roan had to take a guess.
Justin moaned again, tears leaking down his cheeks as the sick pooled in the little towel bowl she made. When the liquid finally stopped flowing for a moment, Roan darted to the sink and dumped the towel into it, shuddering as some of it slipped onto her hands.
In hindsight, a trash bin would have been a better idea, but she had been in a bit of a hurry. She went to grab one now, darting back to Justin’s side and draping the second, clean towel over his lap, dabbing up some of the sick.
Justin groaned again, his head lolling to the side as Roan returned with the trash bin and set it down beside him. His eyes barely managed to focus on her, glassy and red-rimmed, his cheeks flushed a blotchy red from crying and drinking. He looked pitiful. Damp curls clung to his forehead, and a smear of vomit had somehow gotten into his stubble.
“God, you’re a mess,” Roan muttered, not unkindly. She crouched beside him again, reaching for some tissues to gently wipe at his face, her movements tender despite the sour smell clinging to everything. “You got it in your beard, you idiot. How do you even manage that?”
Justin blinked slowly, barely coherent, but managed to murmur a soft, “S’rry…”
“I know, baby. I know you are,” she sighed, wiping him down as best she could without setting off another round. “But you’re gonna have to help me out here. Can you sit up a little?”
He tried. He really did. His arms trembled as he braced them against the wall, pushing himself upright with all the grace of a marionette with half its strings cut. Roan moved behind him quickly, propping a supportive arm under his shoulders. He leaned heavily against her, too drunk to hold himself up properly. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the dampness of his shirt sticking to her arm.
“There we go,” she whispered, brushing his hair back again. “Just lean on me for a minute. I’m gonna get this shirt off you.”
Justin made a weak protesting noise but didn’t stop her as she tugged the soaked, foul-smelling fabric up over his head, maneuvering him gently so he wouldn’t tip over. She tossed the shirt aside with a grimace—it was definitely beyond saving—and reached for the clean towel to drape over his bare shoulders.
“You’re gonna need a shower, or at least a rinse,” she said, brushing his sticky curls back from his face again. “But let’s take it slow, okay? One thing at a time.”
Justin whined softly, clinging to her arm with uncoordinated fingers. “Don’t wanna move… feels gross…”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Roan muttered, pressing her lips to the side of his sweaty head. “You’re gonna feel a lot better if we clean you up. Trust me.”
He didn’t answer, just leaned more heavily against her, and Roan sighed again, adjusting her hold.
After a few moments of stillness—just the soft hum of the apartment and the ragged sound of Justin’s breathing—he gagged again, his whole body tensing against her.
“Trash can, trash can—got you, I got you,” Roan murmured quickly, maneuvering the bin in front of him just in time.
This time, there was less volume, but more heaving. Justin convulsed with a deep retch, bringing up bile and froth, his eyes squeezing shut with the effort. Roan rubbed his back slowly, murmuring soft nothings while he emptied what little was left of his stomach.
“Shhh… that’s it. Let it out, babe. You’re doing okay. I know it sucks.”
He whimpered afterward, collapsing against her shoulder. “It huuurts…”
“I know,” she whispered, pulling the trash can aside and wiping his mouth with the towel. “You’re really paying for it, huh?”
He gave a small, pathetic nod. “I didn’t mean to drink so much… it just… it just kept happening…”
Roan gave a small, tired laugh. “Yeah, that’s kinda how bars work, Justin.”
His brows furrowed like a scolded child. “Don’t be mad…”
“Oh, baby.” Her voice softened instantly. “I’m not mad. Just… a little tired. And kinda covered in puke.”
Justin gave a strangled noise that might’ve been a laugh or a sob, and Roan hugged him gently. “Come on,” she said after a moment. “Let’s get you in the tub.”
It took nearly ten minutes to get him on his feet, between his drunken dead weight and his inability to stand without swaying like a sapling in a windstorm. Roan braced his arm over her shoulders and guided him toward the bathroom, her muscles straining under his weight.
Once they got there, she helped him sit on the closed toilet lid while she turned on the shower. She kept it lukewarm—anything colder would be cruel, anything warmer might make him nauseous again. Justin just slumped where she left him, eyes half-lidded, mumbling barely coherent words under his breath.
“Okay, we’re gonna do this fast,” Roan said, stepping back over to him. “I’m not leaving you alone in the shower, and I’m not getting in with you, so let’s just—arms up.”
Somehow, miraculously, he obeyed. Roan peeled off the towel from his shoulders and helped him out of the rest of his clothes, steadying him as she nudged him into the tub.
He stood under the stream, swaying slightly, his eyes closing as the water rinsed down his bare skin.
“There we go,” Roan murmured, grabbing the detachable showerhead. “Let’s get the puke out of your hair, yeah?”
He made a soft sound of agreement, leaning into her touch as she gently washed his curls with the gentlest shampoo she had. It took a while to get the vomit out, the clumps of it clinging to strands in the most stubborn places, but eventually his hair was clean, and his body was rinsed, and his skin was slightly less clammy.
Roan wrapped him in a clean towel and led him out of the bathroom with slow, careful steps. She helped him sit on the edge of the bed, then pulled out a clean pair of boxers and an old hoodie—his favorite one, soft and broken in.
“Arms up,” she said again, dressing him like a sleepy toddler. Justin clumsily stuck his arms through the sleeves, letting her guide the fabric over his head. The hoodie nearly swallowed him whole, but it was warm, and it smelled like her. He sighed softly as she helped him lie back against the pillows.
“Better?” she asked, pulling the blankets over him.
“Yeah…” he whispered, blinking up at her with heavy eyes. “You’re the best…”
Roan smiled faintly, brushing the damp hair off his forehead again. “You’re lucky I love you,” she murmured. “Anyone else would’ve made you sleep in the tub.”
He chuckled weakly, then winced and clutched his stomach. Roan’s smile faltered.
“Still hurts?”
He nodded.
“I’ll get you a bucket,” she said, standing. “And some water. You need to hydrate, babe. You’re gonna feel like roadkill in the morning.”
She returned a few minutes later with both, setting the bucket beside the bed and pressing the water into his hands. Justin managed a few sips, grimacing at the taste but not arguing. His eyes drooped shut before he could finish the cup, and Roan took it from his hands before he could spill.
She climbed into bed beside him once she was sure he wasn’t about to hurl again, curling up against his side. He instinctively curled toward her, nuzzling his face into her neck.
“Love you,” he mumbled sleepily.
“I love you too,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Even when you’re disgusting.”
He let out a breath of laughter, already half-asleep. Roan sighed and closed her eyes, holding him gently as the room quieted around them. The worst of the chaos had passed, and the rest of the night would be about recovery—his, and hers. But for now, they were safe and warm and together. And that, she thought as she drifted off, was enough.
Y’all I am so hungover right now. My stomach is killing me and I keep getting these big gurgling burps. I’ve been on the edge of throwing up twice now and I hate it. I wish I was one of us who liked being nauseous and vomiting, but instead I get stuck with very mild emetophobia and a deep hatred of feeling nauseous.
Me and a couple friends got drunk last night, and I did end up vomiting. It was awful: I couldn’t even lie down without the nausea getting ten times worse. When I eventually did throw up, it was short and quick. Small little heaves that had plenty of space in between them for talking. My equally drunk friend kept calling from the other room to check on me, which was sweet. I was spending the night with him so I didn’t have to walk home all drunk. My house is like a ten minute walk from his place.
Anyway, I kept bringing up these little gushes of alcohol, those Monster Beasts. I only had three, but I’m a bit of a lightweight due to being underweight and I hadn’t eaten much that day. It was way too sweet coming up, and the smell was also very cloying. Made me even more sick to be hovering above that trash can smelling that. I was on a mattress on the floor, leaning off the edge while lying on my side, over a tiny white trash bin with a trash bag in it. Heaving over that only took about two minutes at most, probably less, but I still wish I’d had someone to rub my back while it happened. Too bad my boyfriend broke up with me last week.
He’s been feeling off all day, but he’s trying to push it off as just his usual acid reflux. Coughing that brings bile splashing up into the back of his throat, deep wet burps that do the same. He’s invited you over to study for a while, and it’s hard not to notice the way he’s shifting uncomfortably in his chair, burps bubbling up in his chest.
He keeps apologizing every time another belch forces its way into the open air, but you reassure him every time that it’s okay, you understand, it’s not bothering you. After about an hour, he’s gone almost completely silent, the only sounds his ever more frequent burping.
Then, as you’re scanning a PowerPoint and hitting down a couple more notes, he suddenly straightens, hand going to cover his mouth. He’s not looking at you, but his gaze is a bit wild, obviously anxious. A belch from deep in his stomach works its way up his chest audibly, the upset organ gurgling ominously. When he tries to let out the air, it’s not alone. His mouth fills with bile and his half digested lunch. He’s so taken by surprise that it bursts from his lips and out from between his fingers, dripping onto his lap and the floor.
All this is followed by a proper gag, a guttural retch, that brings up a thick wave of vomit. It splashes across his shorts and the soft skin of his thighs, splattering onto the floor. Chunks of his lunch speckle the viscous liquid.
He looks up at you in horror as more vomit spills down his chest, and you hurry forward to pull his hair from his face…
Alright, next up on this little series I think I’m gonna call ‘my fave emeto things’, I’ve got a good one. Since returning to college after the Christmas break, I’ve had some nice little thoughts brewing up in my pretty little head (not to mention a total hair change: dyed it blue!). There’s this guy I’m sort of into here, and he’s not exactly what I would call an alcoholic, but he does drink a fair amount. Perhaps you can see where this is leading…
That’s right, next on my list is drunk pukers. I think it’s something about the lack of control, and the way they need help for absolutely everything. Of course, it’s not all drunk pukers, just the cute sweet ones. You know, the ones who get clingy when drunk, and whiny and vulnerable. Those ones. The ones that let you help them and cling to you for support. Holy fuck, I just need me three things right now: a man, a frat party, and too much alcohol.
Just think about it: you and your partner go to a frat party together, and you find a whole case of beer in the fridge. He goes a little crazy, drinking far more than he should, and after the high of it wears down, he starts to feel off. He clings to you, burying his face in your neck and whimpering. His head is pounding and his stomach swirls like a dryer on spin mode. He mutters something in your ear about wanting to leave because he feels funny, words slurred and muttered onto your skin because he doesn’t want to let you go. You guide him outside and into the grass just outside the frat house, keeping one arm firmly around him. He’s leaning on you so heavily, legs practically jelly. As you help him stumble back towards your dorm, only a little walk across campus, he gives no warning, not even a retch. Just opens his mouth and lets a torrent of beer and whatever is left of his dinner come pouring from his lips. You pause, rubbing his back as he heaves again. When he can finally walk again, you hurry back to his dorm room, but spend the next hour kneeling on the bathroom floor beside him as he gags and spits into the toilet. When you finally take him back to his actual room, getting him in bed, he begs you to stay and ends up falling asleep draped over you with his face buried in your neck, arm around your midriff. All you can do is go to sleep and wait for the inevitable hangover that’s bound to come in the morning…
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.
holy fucking shit guys I am so sorry. I legitimately haven’t even been on tumblr since November. Idk what happened. Okay, that’s a lie, I know exactly what happened, but it’s a lot of whining about depression and shit, so I’m not gonna bore you with it. Anyways, I am unbelievably sorry that I haven’t posted in months and I will try to get a new story up soon. Luv you guys!
Okie dokie folks, finally got that second installment for y’all. In all honesty, I’m probably the most proud of this one than any others so far. Just the depth and emotion of this one compared to the others is so much more! That’s part of why it took me so long to write: I couldn’t keep it short. That being said, this is a very long one, so be prepared!
tw: vomiting, severe illness, anxiety, brief mentions of abuse
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Callum couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so good. All of his friends around him on a perfect vacation, just hanging out by the poolside of their resort. Not to mention Eddie, whose head was resting on Callum’s lap, snoring softly. Callum brushed a hand through his boyfriend’s curly hair, a smile forming on his lips. He could stay right here like this for the rest of his life and he would be happy.
A screech from the other side of the pool woke Eddie, who jumped a bit pushing himself up to a sitting position. “What the fuck was that,” he groaned sleepily, rubbing at his face with one hand.
“Justin threw Roan into the pool,” Callum answered with a laugh. He could still see the couple wrestling in the water, each trying to dunk the other. To an outsider he figured the scene might look a bit violent, but he knew this was just the way those two were. They suited each other.
“Hm, well can he do it quieter,” Eddie muttered grumpily. He had pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. “They’re gonna wake the dead screaming like that.”
Callum shot the other boy a glance, a playful smirk on his face. “Somebody woke up cranky, huh?”
Eddie glared at him, his usual permanently cheerful expression missing. “Whatever, I was just comfy. And hungry. Anything to eat around here?”
The flash of concern Callum felt at Eddie’s angry mood was replaced by his excitement to show a new food to his boyfriend. “Yeah! The waiter brought over these awesome dragonfruit tarts, and I saved one for you. There’s also a mango-peach smoothie if you want it.”
Eddie looked skeptical for a moment, then shrugged, forcing himself to his feet. “Yeah, that’ll do I guess. Where did you leave them?”
He headed in the direction Callum was pointing without another word, his steps heavy. Must just be hangry, Callum thought, watching him walk away. That happened on occasion to Eddie; his mood was fueled by whether or not he had eaten anything in the past half hour or not, or so it seemed to Callum sometimes.
A nudge at his foot brought his attention back to the pool, where Ari was floating, staring up at him. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Just saying hi,” Ari responded with a sweet smile. “You looked a bit put out when Eddie left.”
Callum chuckled. “Yeah, well, he’s being a feckin’ eejit anyway, so maybe it’s best if he’s alone for a bit. Get himself something to eat.”
Ari hummed her agreement. “You can come chill with us for a while if you want, if he’s being too big of an ass.”
The shadow appeared over Callum’s shoulder in the moment he was about to decline, and two strong hands braced on his back, shoving him forcefully into the water. Callum let out a small yelp as he fell in, scrambling back to the surface. His aviators nearly fell off in the process of him flailing to grab onto the edge of the pool, but he managed to take them off and toss them onto his towel back away from the edge a bit. Darius stood above him with a mischievous grin on his face, blonde hair dripping onto the concrete.
Callum let out an exasperated huff of laughter, grinning right back at his friend. “Aye, fair play then, I’ll give ya that.”
Darius just shrugged, doing a front flip over Callum’s head into the pool, where he landed with a gargantuan splash, soaking Ari and making her squeal. She reached out and wrapped her arms around Darius’s neck, clinging on like a monkey. He thrashed around a bit, trying to throw her off, but when she held on he stopped and laughed. “I guess you win,” he conceded, shaking his head.
“Yes!” Ari giggled as she splashed backwards off of his back. She turned to look back at Callum. “See? Come hang with us. Eddie’s just being a pain in the ass right now. You don’t need him to have fun.”
Callum wasn’t honestly too fond of the idea of just leaving without telling Eddie, mostly because he didn’t want to start a fight, but in the end he decided that Eddie probably wouldn’t be back for a while. He had time to go swim around with the others for a bit. Besides, with some food in his stomach, Eddie would be in a much better mood.
An hour later, Callum hauled himself up out of the pool, panting and laughing. He was done for now: he had gotten pretty tired from messing around with his friends. Justin and Roan had gone back to their room just a little bit ago, but Ari and Darius were lying in their little cabana, snuggling together on the circular bed/couch.
Callum looked around, but Eddie still wasn’t back. This worried him, but he tried not to let it show as he waved to the peaceful couple. “I’m heading back to my room, see ya,” he called, plastering a smile on his face. Ari waved back, blowing him a kiss. Darius just lifted a hand to wave without even opening his eyes.
As soon as he was out of their line of sight, Callum bolted for the elevator. He was terrified that he had done something wrong and now Eddie was mad at him. Mad enough to just leave without saying anything. Callum had been extremely careful about making Eddie mad since they had started dating. It wasn’t like Eddie would hurt him or something, he knew his boyfriend would never do that. No, it was just because the thought of fighting with the person he loved most in the world made his stomach do flips.
He hated confrontation with anybody, but especially with the people he cared about. It made him feel gross, like his skin was covered in slime or something. And God forbid the other person were to, say, go to bed angry (cough cough Eddie cough cough), Callum was pretty sure he would just curl into a ball and start sobbing.
The second the elevator hit their floor, Callum was off down the hallway, fumbling to get the room key out of his wallet. He was so frantic that it took him a few tries to actually get the key to work, but when he finally did, he pushed the door open so fast he nearly tripped entering the room. “Eddie? Babe, you in here?”
Complete silence greeted him. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, tossing his key, wallet, and towel onto the coffee table in the living space. As he did so, he spotted Eddie’s wallet on the entertainment center beside the television. Callum’s hands shook as he reached for the door to the bedroom, turning the door knob impossibly slow. “Eddie, is something wrong? Are you… are you mad at me?” His voice was shaking almost as much as his hands.
Years of fights between his parents had steeled Callum with a steady resolve to never be like them. He was never going to have those big blow-up fights that they did, and he most definitely was never going to leave the bruises his mother tried to cover with makeup, layers of foundation and who knows what else coating her cheeks and eyes. More than anything, Callum was terrified that if he did end up in a fight with Eddie, he would act just like his father. He knew it was stupid to think genetics would affect a thing like that, but the paranoia hung at the back of his mind, a tiny voice whispering in his ear.
When Callum pushed open the door, Eddie wasn’t on the bed nor in the armchair facing the TV, but the bathroom light was on and shining out from the crack under the door. This calmed Callum somewhat, thinking that maybe Eddie just hadn’t heard him with both the bedroom and the bathroom doors shut. He managed to open the bathroom door, after knocking of course, with a bit of a steadier hand. Well, sort of open it. It hit something when it reached the halfway point, but no matter how hard Callum pushed the door wouldn’t open any further, so he slid in between the door and the wall with a wince when the latch dug into his spine.
Once he had gotten in properly, he glanced down to see what was blocking the door, gasped in alarm, and promptly stumbled backwards quick enough that he smacked his head off of the corner of the door. Groaning loudly and holding his head with one hand, Callum sank to his knees beside Eddie, using the other hand to shake him awake.
Eddie snorted softly, reaching a hand up to swat Callum away, but when the disturbance continued, his eyes fluttered open and he lifted his head a bit to look around. Spit had dried on his cheek where it had trailed from his open mouth while he was asleep and a small puddle of drool was on the floor where he had been. “Cal? Wha- whas goin on… what’re you doin…” he mumbled, still not fully awake. “Your still in the pool…”
“Well, clearly not if I’m sitting here, mo cuishle,” Callum murmured with a small smile, slipping in the Irish pet name that Eddie loved so much. It meant “my pulse,” basically meaning “the one who makes my heart beat.” Eddie had always found it both extremely sexy and adorable.
Eddie’s eyes began to slip closed again as his lips twitched into a faint smile. “Yeah, guess not…”
Callie reached out, positioning himself so he could pull Eddie up against himself, Eddie’s back pressed to his chest. Callus’s legs spread around his boyfriend, like a fence keeping him contained for fear he might run off somewhere. This was a stupid notion Callum realized after a second, but the position was comfortable and so he stayed in it. Eddie’s head rested on his shoulder. With a low moan, Eddie buried his face in Callum’s neck, turning his body so he could curl into the young man easier. “Sorry I lef’ you down there,” he slurred, voice muffled by Callum’s skin. “I didn’t feel good…”
This comment was followed by a low groan as his stomach gave a very audible burble, bubbles trailing up his throat and bursting into the air as a sickly burp. Callum shook his head, rubbing his boyfriend’s back. “No, no, baby it’s okay, I just wish you had said something.”
“You were havin’ fun, I didn’t wanna make you leave,” Eddie responded. His sentence ended with a hiccup that jerked another moan out of him and he raised a fist to his lips.
“Eddie, I wouldn’t have minded at all. I love you, I want to make sure you’re okay. You worried me when you just disappeared.” Callum’s stomach dropped again just from the very memory of thinking that Eddie was pissed at him, but he didn’t want to bring that up right now, not when Eddie was clearly feeling so miserable. “You shouldn’t be wor-”
Callum had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Eddie’s stomach begin to heave under his palms. The only reason he noticed at all was because Eddie gave a guttural retch, causing a river of sick to cascade down his chest and all over the floor. Eddie hardly seemed to notice: his eyes were still half shut. Callum, to his credit, didn’t freak out like he really really wanted to. He took a steadying breath before pushing Eddie forward so he could stand up. His lap was soaked in vomit, chunks hitting the floor with a wet splat as he stood.
“Okay, baby, you have to sit up,” Callum cooed, trying desperately to keep his voice from shaking. He tried to help Eddie stand by sliding his hands under his armpits, but Eddie weighed half again as much as he did so it wasn’t easy. Luckily, Eddie seemed to gain some clarity back, because he forced himself up, using Callum as a crutch.
He lurched forward, practically throwing himself onto the toilet and managing to whack his forehead off the toilet seat in the process. This new, sharp burst of pain sent his stomach roiling again. He gagged harshly. A thin stream of liquid poured from his mouth into the water below.
At this point, Callum was fucking freaking out. He had completely given up trying to stay calm when his boyfriend had rebounded off the toilet lid. Frantically, he dashed back into the bedroom and swiped his phone off the entertainment centre. His fingers trembled violently as he pressed Roan’s contact. She was good with this kind of thing, and her boyfriend was going to medical school, so they were Callum’s first choice. The phone rang four times before she finally picked up, long enough for tears to start streaming down Callum’s cheeks.
“Callum? What’s up?” The voice on the other end sounded gravelly and tired, as though she had just been awakened from a nap. Callum heard a faint “Baby what’s going on?” from Justin in the background.
“Roan? I-I need h-help,” Callum stammered, voice choked by sobs. “Eddie’s r-really sick and I-I don’t know what to d-do.”
“Fuck, okay, we’ll be right there,” Roan said. She sounded fully awake now, Justin still asking her what was going on in the background. The call ended with a beep, and Callum dropped the phone onto the floor. He couldn’t help it: he dissolved into a renewed bought of sobs, curling into the fetal position on the floor. He had never been good at staying calm when the people he cared about were in trouble, even when he was a kid. His parents’ fights would always send him racing to his shared bedroom to hide under his covers and cry.
The struggle between wanting to stay curled like this forever and wanting to go comfort Eddie, who was still making awful retching noises in the bathroom, raged in Callum’s head for a few moments, then finally he managed to push himself to his feet. His own stomach was churning, though not from sympathy. His anxiety reared its head like a great beast, fighting to take control. He somehow shoved it deep down inside himself in time to register a knock on the hotel room door.
When he rushed over and opened it, Roan and Justin immediately shoved their way in, both looking like they had just rolled out of bed into the middle of an apocalypse. Roan’s hair was tangled, her clothes rumpled, but her eyes were wide as she gazed around the room. “Where is he?”
“Um, bathroom,” Callum stammered, still trying to control his tears. He followed the pair to the bathroom, peering over Justin’s shoulder to see Roan crouching beside Eddie who had his cheek resting on the toilet seat, a long string of drool hanging from his lips into the bowl. Roan tore off a few bits of toilet paper, wiped Eddie’s mouth, then flushed the toilet. Callum watched a thick, brownish-yellow slurry go swirling away. “Is he okay?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course not, he barely even knows we’re here,” Roan snapped, taking a thermometer from her pocket and sliding it under Eddie’s tongue. Eddie gagged a bit, but nothing came up and the thermometer stayed in place.
Callum shrank away from the bathroom, going to sit on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. His shoulders shook with heavy sobs, though he somehow kept them quiet. He didn’t want to disturb whatever they were doing in the other room. After a few minutes, he felt the bed shift beside him.
“Don’t take it personally, she just gets focused and doesn’t like being distracted,” Justin said quietly. Callum felt a hand on his shoulder. “I may be the future doctor, but honestly, I think he’s in better hands with her. When she gets going, I don’t think the whole of the Pentagon could stop her.”
Callum took a deep sniff, raising his head from his knees to look at Justin. He felt like such a baby, breaking down like that. He could feel his cheeks heating in embarrassment. “Right, I know, sorry…”
“Nothing to be sorry for, I get it.” Justin nodded his head towards the bathroom. “I’d probably be doing the same thing if that were Roan in there. Though, it wouldn’t be. That girl’s got the immune system of ten men.” He shook his head with a faint smile, then turned back to Callum. “Right, sorry, got a tad distracted there. But yeah, don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
It was at this inopportune moment that Roan emerged holding the thermometer, a grim expression on her face. “He’s got a fever of one oh four point three,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning on the door frame. “At least that explains why he’s basically delirious.”
Callum’s heart beat immediately picked up by ten paces and his stomach lurched. He tried to speak but instead he gagged into his hand, his system revolting against the raging emotions inside him.
“Oh fuck,” Justin muttered, darting forward to grab the trash bin beside the bedside table. He slid it into Callum’s lap, forcing him to put his legs down from their cramped position. Callum wrapped his arms around the bin, breathing hard.
Roan started forward but Callum held out a hand. “No,” he panted, “Go back in with Eddie, I’m fine.” Roan hesitated for a few seconds, then turned and closed the bathroom door behind her.
Callum did his best to calm himself so his stomach would quit acting up, but with all the thoughts spinning through his head, trying to fight them back only made his head spin, which in turn made his nausea spike. He gagged again, spitting into the bin. “Easy there mate, deep breaths now,” Justin said, patting Callum’s back.
Callum took the slowest, deepest breath he could, but it ended with a retch that finally sent his lunch shooting up his throat. It landed in the wastebasket, the visceral sound making Callum gag again. His stomach slammed inward, his shoulders hitching up to his ears. The heat of his stomach contents through the plastic made him want to drop the bin onto the floor, but he forced himself to hold on through another few bouts, until his vomit had filled the little bin nearly halfway.
His stomach was still angry when he stopped heaving, but it had at least decided to let him stop doing his best impression of the Exorcist child. Justin took the bin from him, setting it on the floor a few feet away where the smell wasn’t suffocating them both. “Feeling a bit better now?”
Callus grunted, not quite convinced yet, but he lay back on the bed to stare at the ceiling. “Maybe. I can’t really tell yet.” He could hear Eddie in the bathroom even with the door closed, alternating between loud retches and muffled whiny sounds. “I wanna go back in with him, but I’m scared I’m just gonna fuck things up even worse,” he admitted to Justin, turning his head to look at his friend.
Justin shrugged. “Yeah, maybe you will.” He paused for a second, then added, “Or maybe Eddie will feel ten times better because one of the few people he loves most in the world is in there beside him.”
Callum hadn’t considered it from that perspective. He pushed himself up onto his forearms, watching the bathroom door. “Yeah…” He stood slowly. His anxiety was still there, running laps and screaming like a banshee in his head, but for some reason his stomach had settled considerably. The knob of the door was cold in his fingers as he turned it. Inside, Eddie was leaned up against the bathtub, eyes closed, while Roan wiped up what appeared to be sick off of the toilet seat. She glanced up when Callum came in.
“He’s not throwing up anymore, but I think he somehow managed to give himself a concussion. His pupils are super dilated and he’s having trouble focusing his vision.” She gestured to Eddie’s forehead, where a bruise was forming. “Did he hit his head falling down or something?”
Callum shook his head. “No, he knocked himself off the lid of the toilet. You know, when he was being sick the first time.” Crouching beside his boyfriend, he put a hand on the young man’s forehead. He was certainly burning to the touch.
At the sound of Callum’s voice, Eddie’s eyes opened just a bit. “M’sorry I made you sick…” he muttered, trying to bring a hand up to Callum’s knee. “Heard you pukin’ in there.”
“No, baby, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Callum murmured, cupping Eddie’s jaw softly. “I’m fine, I promise.”
The faintest of wan smiles crossed Eddie’s lips, and he made a quiet affirmative sound. His stomach suddenly contracted, a dry heave shaking his body, but he didn’t move: he just let it shake his body before falling limp again.
Callum pressed a kiss onto Eddie’s forehead then turned to Justin, who was hovering in the doorway. “I think you need to call 999, he’s getting pretty damn bad.”
A frown appeared on Roan’s face. “999? What’s th-”
“Call an ambulance,” Justin cut her off. “Callum wants us to call an ambulance. It’s the emergency number back home.”
While Roan darted off to find Callum’s phone, Callum turned back to Eddie, brushing his curly hair out of his eyes. “Bloody hell, I hope they get here soon…”
I’m working on the next Bahamas fix ya’ll, and I swear my brain is just clinging to its last cell. I wrote nearly half of it using the WRONG FUCKING NAME FOR ONE OF MY OCS. In the beginning, I couldn’t decide whether to name Eddie his current name or Leo, and I just apparently forgot which I chose because I just had to go back and change about twenty “Leo”s in “Eddie”s. And it’s not even like I had to ask myself which one I picked. I just confidently started writing using the name Leo. Dear Lord I think I’m just losing it. Someone help…
