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1heartsickfics · 3 months

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Hi! Your stories are amazing. I’m totally addicted. Zayn and Andrew are such a cute couple. I was hoping you’d be able to write something about Zaun being sick to his stomach and insisting on going to work because he’s a teacher and he needs to. I’m a teacher and I’ve had to work though sooo many bugs and it’s awful. I literally keep a box of supplies at work just in case. Bonus if someone has to come get him because he’s too sick to get himself home and they give him the whole, “I told you so”

“Morning babe,” Andrew said as he heard Zayn enter the kitchen. When he recieved no reply he looked up from the book he was reading. “You okay?” He asked.

Zayn just shrugged. He was already dressed for work, wearing slacks and a button down, but he looked tired and uncomfortable.

“I feel kinda sick to my stomach,” Zayn answered after a moment. He was cradling his belly with one hand.

“Maybe you should stay home today,” Andrew said, getting up and moving to Zayn’s side. He gently guided Zayn over to their dining table by his elbow and pressed him down onto the chair. “They can’t find a sub on this late of notice,” Zayn shook his head.

Andrew took a seat next to his husband and reached forward to press the back of his hand to Zayns cheek. He felt a little warm, he’d probably caught some kind of bug from the kids at school. “I know, but you really don’t look well hon,” Andrew said sadly, knowing that he was fighting a losing battle. “I’ll just have it be a work day for my students, I’ll be okay,” he shrugged, his mind clearly already made up. “Okay..” Andrew sighed, clearly worried. Zayn could be so stubborn when he was sick. At least he’d been open about telling Andrew he didn’t feel well. That was progress. “I’ll be fine babe,” Zayn said, smiling weakly to try and reassure his husband. “Okay, I hope your kids behave for you today,” Andrew said, leaning forward to kiss Zayn’s cheek as he stood up to take his breakfast dishes to the sink.

“Me too,” Zayn sighed, forcing himself to get up from the table and finish getting ready. As he was putting his shoes and coat on, Andrew came in and held out a tote bag to him. “Here, I made you a little sick day care package to take to work.” Zayn peaked into the bag. A packet of chamomile tea, some mints, pepto, some saltines, and a can of ginger ale. “You’re so sweet, thank you,” Zayn said, slinging the bag over his shoulder along with his backpack. Andrew smiled at him sadly. He sounded exhausted already and his day hadn’t even begun yet.

“Call me if you need anything and I can run it up to you okay?” Andrew said, leaning over to give Zayn another peck on the cheek. “I will. I love you,” Zayn answered, feeling so grateful for Andrew.

“I love you too.” Andrew replied as Zayn stepped outside and headed to work. Andrew just hoped he could make it through the day.

———————————————————————

The drive to the elementary school had felt longer than usual. Each turn made Zayn’s stomach flip. By the time he arrived and parked his car, he was s already starting to feel nauseous. Once he got to his classroom he took a swig of the pepto and popped a mint into his mouth. Then he headed to the teachers lounge to heat up some water for the tea. He hoped that would be enough. Thankfully, he managed to calm his stomach down to a dull ache by the time his students started arriving. He didn't greet them all as he usually did, but tried to give each student a smile and a wave as they entered the classroom and made their way to their seat.

"Alright, how's everyone doing today?" Zayn asked his class after the bell rang. He received a chorus of words that he couldn't understand, as usual.

"Anyone have any fun plans this weekend" he asked as he wheeled his chair out from behind his desk to sit at the front of the classroom and sat back down in front of the students. A few raised their hands and told him about their family outings or sporting events taking place this weekend.

"Awesome, thanks for sharing guys," he said, debating on what he wanted to tell them. "So, I'm going to be honest with you all, I am a little under the weather today. So we're just going to have a work-day. That means that if you've got any assignments due or late work to catch up on, you can do that. Otherwise, you're free to read a book, do some creative writing, or find an art project from our creation corner," he explained.

"Are you sick Mr.Kalani?" one of his students asked, looking concerned.

"Yeah sweetie I am," Zayn sighed.

"My mom says you should stay home when you're sick," another student spoke up.

"Your mom is right," Zayn chuckled lightly, "I wanted to stay home but there wasn't enough time to find a sub for you guys, so I'm just going to power through," he explained.

"So, I'll be at my desk if anyone needs me. Feel free to listen to music if you want but no games and try to keep chitchat at a whisper level okay?" he continued, finishing up his instructions.

With that, his students started rummaging around in their backpacks for assignments and books. Luckily, he had a pretty good class this year. No real problem students, just some kids who liked to talk during class a little too much, but he could handle that.

Zayn scooted back to his desk, wishing he could just dim the lights and take a nap. His stomach was already starting to turn again. Maybe he should see if they could at least get a sub for the second half of the day.

He opened his email and typed a message to the principal:

'Hello Mr. Whitman,

I am feeling pretty ill this morning and wanted to see if there was any possibility of getting a sub for my class starting after lunch. I can power through if I need to but a half day would be much appreciated.

Thanks,

Zayn'

He hit send before he could have second thoughts. Normally he wouldn't even ask but he genuinely felt so unwell that he really wasn't sure he actually could make it through the day. Andrew had been right.

Mr. Whitman responded within minutes: 'I'll see what I can do'. Which was about the best response Zayn could've hoped for.

As the minutes ticked on, Zayn's stomach grew more and more upset. He could feel it churning sickly and resisted the urge to press his hand to it. A few times his stomach lurched, thankfully only forcing up belches that he attempted to muffle into his fist.

By some miracle, he made it to 10 o'clock, which was when his class went to gym. He got everyone lined up and led them through the school to the gymnasium.

Mr. Penn immediately got the kids started with a game of dodgeball, then walked over to where Zayn was slumped against the wall.

"You feeling alright?" Mr. Penn asked.

Zayn shook his head, "Not really. Hoping Mr. Whitman can get a sub for me after lunch."

"Yeah hopefully he can, you really aren't looking so good," Mr. Penn said, cringing in sympathy. "You can go back to your classroom if you want, I've got 'em. I'll bring 'em back to you in an hour," he added, nodding toward the door.

"Thank you," Zayn breathed out, giving the other teacher a grateful smile before slinking out and heading back to his classroom. Standing had made him feel about 15 times worse. The nausea had returned in full force, making him press a fist to his mouth as he walked, afraid something might come out if he didn't.

Once he was sitting as his desk again the nausea receded slightly, but he still felt like he could throw up at any moment. He cracked open the can of ginger ale from Andrew and took a careful sip. The cool fizzy drink did feel nice in his sick belly, but it didn't lessen the feeling of nausea. Zayn leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, focusing on taking slow breaths through his nose. He must have drifted off though because he was startled awake when the door swung open and his kids filed in.

“Thanks,” he croaked to Mr. Penn, forcing himself to stand up even as his stomach sloshed in protest. “Hang in there brother,” Mr. Whitman said quietly on his way back out the door. Zayn nodded in thanks, afraid to say more. He was actively fighting back the nausea at this point, willing his stomach to stay in place. This was not good.

His students had all made their way back to their seats and were looking at him expectantly. He must really not look well because they weren't even talking amongst themselves, just watching him.

"Mr. K?" one of his students asked. Their voice sounded far away though, his ears were ringing.

His mouth started filling with saliva and he knew that it was over. There was nothing he could do. He rushed over to his desk and crouched down behind it to at least shield himself from his kids' eyes as he leaned over the trash can just in time to throw up what little he'd ingested.

"EWW!" a chorus of disgusted sounds and laughter came from his class on the other side of his desk. He couldn't worry about that right now though, he was too busy focusing on breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth so he wouldn't throw up again.

He felt a small hand on his shoulder, "Mr. K should I go get some help?" one of his students, a sweet girl named Molly asked, standing behind him.

"Yes please," he rasped, cheeks flushing red. "Thank you Molly," he added as she turned to head out of the room. He couldn't believe that this had just happened. He'd never hear the end of it.

A minute later Molly returned with the teacher from across the hall, Mrs. Davis. She instructed Molly to return to her seat and asked his class to read quietly for a few minutes.

"Hey," she said, crouching down next to Zayn. "Came down with a bug huh?" she asked, smiling sympathetically. It happened to all new teachers in the winter. Kids bring in a lot of germs and it takes a few years to develop the immune system to fight everything off.

"I'm so sorry," Zayn said, dropping his head down into his hands. "I thought I could make it through the day."

"We always do. It happens to the best of us Zayn don't worry," she tried to reassure him. Zayn smiled woefully, but felt absolutely humiliated. And nauseous.

"I have two paras watching my kids right now so I can cover yours until Mr. Whitman finds a sub or figures something out. So whenever you're ready, grab your stuff and get out of here, okay?" she told him.

"Thank you Sara, I owe you one," Zayn sighed, taking a deep breath to try and regain his composure. He was already dreading standing up to the prying eyes of his students.

"No need, like I said, it happens," she shook her head, "Are you okay to drive home?" she asked. He really did not look well. His skin was deathly pale and ashen, damp with sweat. His hands shook as he reached up to brush his hair out of his face. He hardly looked fit to stand, let alone drive.

"Uh, yeah..." Zayn trailed off, not so sure, "I can call Andy," he finished, deciding that was probably the better idea. The last thing he needed was to puke all over himself while trying to drive home.

"That's probably a good idea," Sara nodded. "You ready to get up?" she asked.

Zayn nodded, though he wasn't really. Sara grabbed his elbow and gently helped him to his feet. He swayed, immediately dizzy, but grabbed the edge of his desk to steady himself. As he started to pack up his things he could feel the kids' eyes on him.

"I'm going to be hanging out with you guys for a while since Mr. Kalani isn't feeling well," Mrs. Davis said, walking to the front of the room and addressing his class.

"Feel better Mr.K!" a couple of kids called out as he finished packing his things.

"Thank you," he smiled gratefully, thankful to have such a sweet class. "Be good for Mrs. Davis okay? Hopefully I'll be back tomorrow," he added, waving to them as he shakily headed for the door.

As soon as he was out of eye sight, he leaned against the wall and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Opening a text to Andy he typed 'Can you come get me? I threw up and I really don't feel good' and sent it.

Almost immediately he got a response back: 'Poor baby :( omw'

Andrew had probably been waiting around, expecting this to happen. Zayn wished he'd just listened to him and stayed home today. Then this whole mess never would have happened.

By the time Zayn trudged his way to the back exit of the school, Andrew was parked and waiting for him. He got out, rushing over to Zayn to take his bag from him, then placed a hand on his back to lead him over to the car. Zayn carefully got into the passenger seat, afraid to upset his stomach any more than it already was.

"How's your stomach feeling?" Andrew asked after getting back into the driver's seat.

"Not good," Zayn shook his head. He was still unbearably nauseous, stomach feeling sour and unsettled.

"Here, just in case," Andrew said, handing Zayn a plastic bag. Zayn took it wordlessly, squeezing his eyes shut against the nausea and vertigo... and tears.

"Baby?" Andrew asked gently, seeing a tear slide down his husband's cheek. "What happened?"

"I puked in front of my whole class!" Zayn managed to get out before he burst into tears, pitching forward with a sob.

"Oh sweetie," Andrew sighed, rubbing a hand up and down Zayn's back. Zayn turned to bury his face in Andrew's shoulder, tears soaking into his flannel. Andrew wrapped his arm around Zayn, leaning down to press a kiss onto his forehead, which was burning with fever.

Zayn hiccuped, a sob morphing into a, thankfully, unproductive gag.

"Try to calm down Z, you're gonna make yourself sick again," Andrew said softly, rubbing Zayn's arm.

"I-i'm just so embarrassed," Zayn cried, sniffling as he tried to calm himself down.

"I know baby, I'm so sorry this happened. I'm sure it has happened to plenty of other teachers though," Andrew tried to reassure him.

"That's what Sara Davis said," Zayn sighed, reaching up to wipe the tears off his face. "She took over my class," he added, taking a slow shaky breath as the tears subsided.

"There you go, see? It happens. No big deal alright?" Andrew said, giving Zayn's shoulder a squeeze before retracting his arm to put the car in drive.

"I guess," Zayn shrugged, not really convinced but settled enough for now.

"Let's just get you home okay?" Andrew nodded, pulling out of the parking lot and heading for home.

#zayn and andrew #sick zayn #caretaker andrew #vomiting #tw vomit #vomit tw #stomach flu #upset stomach #comfort #hurt comfort #oc story

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danafeelingsick · 8 months

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UH OH, SHOULD'VE STAYED HOME

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

Stay tuned for the art I made for this fic!

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

WORD COUNT: 7,7k~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“EuUrRgh!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you should stay home today—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“BlEeuUrRrghH!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay… come in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, how are you feeling?”

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

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

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

“You might be right…”, he panted.

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

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

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

“Better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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