can we discuss joonie with an upset tummy? like he's just trying to get work done but lunch really setting well and he's feeling kind of queasy and just wants a belly rub
(oooo, yes, lets! thank you for starting the discussion nonnie!)
an upset tummy wouldn’t get in the way of joonie’s work at first; he’d put up a good fight. it would start as an annoyance, a noisy gurgle here and a sharp whine there, shooting across his middle and making him press into it--that’s when he’d notice he’s pretty bloated, but he’s too focused on his laptop to be concerned. he’d fidget like crazy though, tapping his foot feverishly or patting his knees.
time passes and his lunch is still sitting like a stagnant brick in his stomach, seemingly making no attempt to start breaking things down. that uncomfortable fullness that comes after eating but doesn’t usually stick around very long is still very much present, after an hour later, and it’s now settled in the back of his throat.
he types with his swivel chair pushed back so he can be bent over. his stomach turns constantly and noisily as he reads over the same lyric. he smothers a few foreboding belches that taste a little too acidic to be normal. pressing an arm across his belly, he stares down at the wood grains of his desk to give himself a little breather before trying to concentrate again.
he doesn’t get far. that frustrates the hell out of him. he’d allotted himself this time to focus and he can do anything but.
he gets up when his own attempts to rub his stomach just seems to nauseate him further. he’s just too heavy handed--he isn’t good at self soothing.
joon would pace around the house and hover by someone until they offered him comfort, but he wouldn’t directly ask. he’d have his hand under his shirt and he’d look real pitiful. he likes it best when his hyung comes to bombard him with examining questions all the while pressing cool hands on his neck and forehead to feel for a possible temperature. namjoon tends to feel so much younger when jin cares for him like this. namjoon’s voice gets smaller around jin. he might even whine.
namjoon would be putty in anyone’s arms when any of the members offer to rub his upset stomach. he’d shiver at the gentle touches along taut skin and try his hardest not to burp too loud when pressure is applied, but he won’t be able to help it.
joon would probably sit through a whole movie in someone’s arms if they’d let him, but if his stomach starts to make him feel too sick, he’d reluctantly get up to sit over a toilet, and he wouldn’t let anyone come with him.
i envision a bad upset belly from joon would involve a lot of trips alone from the bathroom and back to the couch or bed in someone’s arms, pouty and disappointed that productivity is lost and the members trying to reassure and cheer him up.
so slowly i’m digging up old fills i wrote and posting them here. this is from 2013 so uh, it’s not exactly stellar writing, but here we are
prompt:
I'd love a fic where Joly get stuffed and afterwards he's very vocal about how stuffed he is and how he's going to explode and how he's never eating again. But he's still kind of enjoying the sensations. Just... it's Joly....
“Ooh, I don’t—ow, ow, ow—” Joly’s face crumpled and he laid a hand over his protruding belly. “I’m so full… My belly’s huge, too…”
Lesgles huffed and watched him bemusedly. “I told you as much.”
“No you didn’t—and I—oof, that didn’t feel good…” Joly frowned and grimaced as he got up from his place at the table, which seemed to be just the trigger that his body needed. “Ow—Lesgles—it hurts now--” He placed his hands on either side of the bulge in his middle and whined. “I’m going upstairs…do come with me…”
Bossuet couldn’t help himself from chuckling. “Joly, dear, it’s not a hard concept… I told you you’d give yourself an awful bellyache, and do you remember what you told me?”
Joly looked wounded. “No. Stop laughing at me. My tummy hurts.”
Lesgles sighed loudly, glanced down the stairs, then ruffled his hair and kissed the side of his head while Joly’s parents were in the kitchen. He remained with his nose tucked against his ear for a moment, then said, “Go lie down, then.” Joly burped unintentionally and quietly apologized as he made his way up the stairs, which took a great deal of effort. He paused for a moment to catch his breath at the top banister, then awkwardly proceeded to his room.
Lying down was an immense relief; he was sure to choose his left side, to try and ease digestion as much as he could. The absurd fullness he had felt whilst sitting had now transformed into a terrible, splitting ache that gathered a moan as he arranged the pillows. Bossuet offered a sympathetic smile from the edge of the bed.
“God, I’m never eating again…” Joly belched and groaned in response to the subsequent stirring of his insides. A hand remained on his belly, achingly full and round; he felt much like a garter snake with an intact egg in its stomach as he began to gingerly stroke his sides. He turned his head to whine again. “Bossuet…. My belly’s about to ‘splode. Please lie down with me….”
Lesgles tried to hold back his laughter. Joly furrowed his brows and moaned theatrically, wiggling a bit on the bed to try and get comfortable in a way that didn’t add to the pressure upon what presently felt like every organ in his body. “Don’t laugh at me! I really—oooohhhhhh….” He burped again, very gently cradled his midsection; his belly growled loudly, as if on cue, and he winced as the whole meal shifted within him. “—It really hurts… It all would’ve gone to waste… …and I couldn’t really….stop…”
“Well, we can see that, now can’t we?” Bossuet sighed, shook his head, and tutted, but—taking some measure of pity—carefully joined him on the bed as not to further disturb the contents of his stomach, then sidled against him and finally began to stroke around the enormous protrusion of his overstuffed tummy. It was hard and truly full to bursting, stretched taut under his fingers.
It took a few minutes, but after a little while, Joly began to relax ever-so-slightly like a ragdoll cat as the fat and sugar traveled his veins, leaving him in a state of gluttonous exhaustion, and the sustained, feathery touches actually felt…good…. He quieted for the moment, with the exception of interspersed hiccups and a few burps.
His boyfriend’s hands were not soft, but they were very gentle, and that made up for the slight brush of the burn scar on the right palm against his overstretcheds navel. He felt enormous, and perhaps with reason. Joly yawned, then grunted at the little slosh in his stomach when he moved.
He was hit not a moment later by an intensification of the pain, several sharp aches in his stomach, and he squirmed and whimpered. The belly rub stopped, and he whimpered at that, too, and clutched his Lesgles’ hand, moving it up and down with an especially woebegone look.
“What are you trying to do?”
“Please don’t just stop like that…” Joly frowned and arched into his touch, which took a little more effort than he would’ve liked to admit. “I was trying to burp… There’s so much air in my belly and it hurts. I feel like a balloon…”
“You won’t be able to bring much of it up lying down like that.”
“I don’t really have another option. If I move I’ll just burst.” He frowned.
“Here, I’ll help you sit up.”
Joly’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “Nonononono—No—” Lesgles lifted his hands to show that he’d paused. Joly shook his head and buried it into the pillow, but his ears were still visible as they turned red along with the rest of his face. His words were muffled. “I hurt too much.”
“Poor Joly.” Lesgles sighed and rubbed the small of his back, back and forth, back and forth. Occasionally a little hiccup shook his lover’s swollen frame; other than that, he was still. “You’ve really gotten yourself into some trouble.”
“I’m never eating again.”
Bossuet chuckled lowly and kissed the back of his neck, then nuzzled it and closed his eyes, softly thumping the small of Joly’s back with the same little pats he’d offer a baby to try and bring up gas. After a few minutes, he was successful, or at least to some degree; Joly did offer a sick belch, then laid in quiet.
“Bossuet… This really isn’t enjoyable… I feel sick—”
“Aw.” Lesgles smoothed a hand down his bulging flank, stroking with his thumb as he went. “Would you like me to get you something?”
“I doubt that I have room.”
Bossuet nuzzled his ear and made a sympathetic noise. “You can hold down a little cup of Pepto-Bismol, can’t you? You’ll feel better for it.”
The thought alone was enough to make Joly bury his face further into the pillow with a groan. “I can’t…”
“Please do. I dislike seeing you suffer.”
“Oh, God, I don’t want to. It'll hurt, and I could tear the lining of my stomach and that could kill me, Bossuet, it's dangerous.”
“Joly. You've just had too much to eat. I assure you, you are in no danger of dying, no matter how it may feel. Just keep comfortable and I'll go get something.” Lesgles squeezed his arm, then got up as carefully as he could, but the shift in the mattress was still enough to dramatically worsen the roiling in Joly’s belly. He closed his eyes with a muted whimper and tried to breathe, tried to focus on something other than the awful pressure—it was almost pleasant feeling that full and warm, if only the pain could be separated from it.
Lesgles returned bearing the promised gift. The little syrup cup thing may as well have been a keg.
“I can’t sit up,” he warned.
“You don’t need to. Here—Drink it in little sips…”
Joly cast an exaggerated frown in his direction and did as told, wincing as it all went down. He set the empty cup on the side table and sank back into the mattress, then curled up with an arm wrapped beneath the swell of his abdomen. He struggled for a few moments to move close enough to tug Lesgles’ sleeve from the edge of the bed. “Lie down with me.”
"I am, I am. Give me a moment." Bossuet eased himself back onto the mattress and planted a little kiss upon the nape of his neck. Joly shifted under the blankets with another whine, and he paused, then whispered. "How are we doing, Joly? Is it better or worse?"
"A lot worse."
"Still just pains?"
"No. Indigestion too."
"Poor dear... You know more of medicine than I do, but wouldn't walking help?"
Joly took a while to answer. "Mmhm. It does help peristalsis along but it also hurts." He took a deep breath, then sighed and pushed his face into the pillows, seeming a little embarrassed. "Besides, I'm much too heavy to do anything right now..."
Bossuet couldn't keep the pitying chuckle from coming out. "I didn't know that you could eat that much."
"Neither did I," he groaned.
"If you roll over, it'll be easier for me to help you," Lesgles said after a moment. Joly made an incredulous sound.
"No. I can't. I hurt, cher, I'll throw up." Resting with both arms around his middle, Joly struggled to look over his shoulder.
Bossuet's voice was soft and gentle. "Here. Let me help, then." As soon as Joly opened his mouth to protest, he was already supporting the bottom of his tummy with one hand and cradling one side with the other. "Just scoot. You can lie down on your back. You can do that."
Joly groaned and glared daggers, but he complied. His insides rumbled and burbled uncomfortably, and his belly was a tremendous weight atop him, making it even harder to breathe.
"Alright. Halfway there. Now you just have to move onto your other side, Joly, and you're done.”
There was a long pause before he finally complied, uttering a little cry when the side of his enormous belly was laid upon the blankets. Bossuet sighed and gave him another sympathetic look, beginning to caress his swollen waist with both hands. “Does that help any?,” he whispered.
Joly cast him a pitiful look. “My stomach hurts.”
“It doesn’t look like it would be too comfortable,” his lover murmured, tracing little patterns into his ballooning abdomen. Quite a bit of food moved within him and he sighed with displeasure and—with difficulty—wiggled to try and reposition himself.
“It was all so rich… I feel sick.”
“Shhh. That’s fairly typical, ami.” Bossuet bent his head and gently kissed Joly’s straining navel. “Eating that much food generally upsets the stomach… It’s likely just too much grease and sugar.”
“Whatever it is, it hurts.” Joly pouted. “I drank all of that antacid for nothing. I’m bursting…”
“You need to give it time to work, dear.”
“I have,” he whined, “and it’s in my stomach. It just isn’t doing anything…”
Bossuet sighed and nuzzled his forehead; Joly made a little sound of contentment and closed his eyes. “I’m getting fat,” he complained after a few moments of quiet, “I’ve gained seven pounds since we got here…”
“I don’t mind. You know that I always find you incredibly handsome.”
Joly blushed and wiggled in place, cuddling against his mate as much as his gut would allow. “I know. But I can hardly button my pants, and I like them… …And when I do, things are um…spilling over…”
Lesgles kissed the tip of his nose. “If you mind it, you shouldn’t overeat like this, dear… And really, you shouldn’t to begin with…”
“It would’ve gone to waste!” The sentence was punctuated by a little belch. “…And I just can’t stop myself…”
Lesgles gave the side of his tummy a little pat and it glorped loudly not a moment later. Joly winced. “I’ll watch you, then. Let’s not repeat this, cher.”
“You don’t need to—oooooh, God—tell me that….”
Bossuet chuckled. “Rest, dear,” he whispered gently, “just close your eyes and let your belly handle it.”
Joly groaned.
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