Belly Love, Hurt Comfort, Sick Fics, And Smut 🖤

Finally decided to try and test the waters with a paid video.

Yup. I decided to make an extra long 26+ minute video of me exercising and then eating a bunch of McDonalds which I will be selling for 10 bucks.

A/N: Okay, so this fic has been bubbling at the back of my head for an absolute age…I’ve been wanting to try something with a more stuffing tone (even if accidental), so I’ve given it a go. This fic is linked to the wonderful drawings I got of Xander and Zubin, and has a big reveal in it! 😏 I’d love to know what you think of it! 💙

The first time was an accident.

Friday nights were either the big night out of the week, or the cosy snuggling night in for Zubin and Xander. If Zubin was performing, Xander would go to cheer him on, looking on with a heart bursting with pride and barely able to contain his attraction to this guy - he still couldn’t quite believe his luck. And although Zubin loved performing, he utterly enjoyed the times when him and Xander could just spend the evening with one another, tucking into a takeaway and watching whatever they wanted on one of their laptops. Xander especially loved when he got to pick what they were watching, cause he could choose a horror film, which nearly always meant Zubin would be cuddling into him for comfort rather than watching the screen.

Zubin had somehow gotten his wires crossed this Friday - he was convinced that it was his turn to get food for their night in. He’d gone all out at Tescos, wandering up and down the aisles and picking out lots of little snack foods that they could create a kind of late night picnic with. He had carrot sticks and hummus, falafel, samosas, tortilla chips, twisted cheese breadsticks, cocktail sausages, mini portions of cheese and pineapple, marshmallows and chocolate. He was pretty chuffed with himself, normally they just ended up phoning for a pizza or a kebab, but this would be something a little different and special. He liked making things special for Xander.

Zubin still got that swooping, fluttery feeling when he thought of Xander, and how lucky he’d been that they’d crossed paths so early on during university. This was the first relationship he’d had where he hadn’t needed to skulk around, hiding in bushes and other secluded areas so he could even hold hands with another boy. Now he was far enough away that he felt safe walking down the street with Xander, though the first few times he’d been wide eyed and wary of those around them - but there was no one here who’d report back to his parents. And Xander had been patient - understanding that the ingrained fears couldn’t be ironed out like a crease from a shirt. It took time, and that’s what they both had.

Zubin’s face fell as Xander opened his door and the tantalising scent of pizza curled around him. Xander stepped back to let him in, and he took a few steps in and stopped abruptly. There were two pizza boxes stacked on his desk.

“But…” Zubin began, turning to frown at Xander, who was smiling. “I thought it was my turn to get food this week?” He indicated to the bag in his hand.

“No, you’re next week - cause we went out last week,” Xander told him as he flipped open the lids of the pizza boxes. Zubin remembered; he’d spent all of last Friday trying to convince Xander to go out to a fancy dress karaoke night, and Xander had relented, despite it being his turn to choose what they watched on their night in. It came back to him now that it had been part of their bargain to swap nights.

“Oh…” Zubin pouted slightly, feeling a little disgruntled with himself.

“What’s that face for?” Xander asked, chuckling as he took Zubin’s free hand.

“I thought it was my turn…” Zubin mumbled, though he gripped onto Xander’s hand all the same. “So I bought stuff for us to have a picnic.” He felt stupid as he said it, but Xander’s eyebrows went so high on his forehead they almost disappeared.

“Oh Zu!” A pink flush appeared across Xander’s cheeks and he looked genuinely touched. “You’re so sweet!” He wrapped his arms around Zubin and hugged tight; somehow Zubin always felt small in Xander’s arms, even though he was the taller of the pair.

“I’d totally forgot,” Zubin muttered, breathing in Xander’s fresh, crisp scent.

“That doesn’t matter!” Xander insisted, reaching down to see inside the bag that Zubin had brought. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

“It’s just lots of silly stuff…” Zubin protested, biting his lip as Xander laid the bag on the bed and rummaged around inside it.

“Oh Zu! You bought hummus!” Xander exclaimed, pulling out the tub; he leant in to peck Zubin’s cheek. “You know what?”

“What?” Zubin asked, watching as Xander emptied the bag.

“How about we do half pizza, half picnic?” Xander suggested, his eyes were sparkling.

“No, I mean-” Zubin stumbled. “Wouldn’t that be a waste of pizza?” Xander simply shrugged.

“We can always reheat the pizza for breakfast tomorrow!” He suggested.

“Really?” Zubin said, watching Xander’s face for any hint of dishonesty.

“Course we can!” He nodded. “Let’s just pick and choose at what we want, we can have a veritable feast!” He wrapped his arm around Zubin’s shoulder again and gave a gentle squeeze.

The spread stretched right across Xander’s desk, with the most bizarre range of food on offer. They filled their paper plates - because Xander deemed that easier than having to wash up - and settled down onto Xander’s bed ro watch another episode of Project Runway. This was exactly what Zubin had intended; this chilled, relaxed evening, free to just pick at food and cuddle his boyfriend.

“Can you pass me a piece of pizza?” Xander asked, pointing at his box; Zubin wrinkled his nose slightly.

“I honestly don’t get how you can like pineapple on pizza…” He said, giving his head a little shake.

“It’s great!” Xander protested cheerfully. “You should try it! You’d like it!”

“Absolutely not!” Zubin made a face again. “It actually turns my stomach that does…” But he picked up a slice of pizza all the same and carried it across to Xander, settling back beside him.

“You can’t say I don’t make sacrifices for you,” Zubin teased as Xander took a bite.

“You bought cheese and pineapple pieces!” Xander pointed out.

“Yeah, but that’s different!” Zubin said firmly.

“I’m afraid you’re never going to get a full embargo of pineapple on pizza,” Xander replied, shaking his head.

“Fine…” Zubin sighed. “I’ll allow it, just cause it’s you.”

“Thank you,” Xander smiled contentedly, holding up a cocktail sausage to Zubin’s lips.

“Mmm!” Zubin nodded, covering his mouth while chewing.

“I quite like this!” Xander said, scooping up some hummus on a crisp and popping it in his mouth. “Maybe we should do a picnic more often!”

Zubin felt his cheeks darken; he was so glad that Xander liked his idea, and he rested his head onto Xander’s broad chest. This whole situation made him happier than he could’ve ever imagined; he was pleasantly full and content.

“Oh!” Xander exclaimed, jumping and causing Zubin to start with fright.

“What?” Zubin asked quickly.

“I’d totally forgotten!” Xander was detaching himself from Zubin, scampering round the bed and out of the room. Zubin was left slightly bewildered as he waited for Xander to return. When he did, he was carrying a tub of ice cream and two spoons. “I got this with the pizza! I’d put it in the freezer and forgot until now!”

“Jeez Xand…” Zubin exhaled, his eyes wide and his hand went to his stomach. “I don’t know if I can eat anymore, I’m so full!”

“Oh…” Xander drooped visibly. “I got cookie dough especially for you.” Zubin looked at Xander, his stomach pressing against the waistband of his jeans. But it was just ice cream - what harm could it do?

“Okay then,” he smiled, patting the bed to show he wanted Xander to rejoin him. Xander was ripping off the plastic from the lid, and carving a spoon into it.

“Open wide,” he said, holding the spoon up to Zubin’s lips; Zubin obliged and the sweet, creamy taste filled his mouth.

“Mm, that’s nice,” Zubin nodded, swallowing and taking a spoon from Xander.

Zubin knew from that first mouthful that this was a mistake; he was already so full and adding the sweet to it only made that feeling creep up his throat more, but he kept eating because Xander was too. The tub was almost three quarters empty when Xander laid it to the side and cuddled in close to Zubin.

Zubin couldn’t get comfortable no matter what position he was in - he was unbearably full, the sweetness still lingering in his mouth. His stomach was pushing out, and it hurt to hold it in. Moving the hand which wasn’t around Xander to his belly, he could feel the tautness of his skin and the bloat of his insides. He wriggled, trying to find a position that didn’t make him feel like a beached whale.

Out of the corner of his eye, Xander could see Zubin cupping his stomach, a tiny thrill chased through his chest as he saw a strip of Zubin’s bare belly from under his t-shirt. He tried to keep his eyes on the screen, his heart beating faster, but he could feel Zubin fidgeting and his hand resting on his stomach.

“Are you alright?” Xander asked eventually, he was pleased to hear his voice sounded entirely normal.

“No…!” Zubin whined dramatically, leaning back on the bed. “My belly really hurts - oh…” He grimaced, rubbing his hand across his stomach; Xander felt his ears burning and hoped they weren’t going red to match.

“Oh no!” Xander answered, biting his lip as Zubin let out a little moan while repositioning. “Have you eaten too much, d’you think?”

“Yeah, I think so…” Zubin leant his head on Xander’s shoulder, still cradling his stomach.

“Oh sweetpea,” Xander said sympathetically. “Can I do anything to help? Do you want me to rub your belly for you?”

“Oh, would you?” Zubin replied, his eyes big as he looked up at Xander.

“Course,” Xander said, a little too quickly, then added: “If it’ll help you.”

“Mm, yeah,” Zubin nodded, moving closer with his legs flat out, relinquishing his hand from it’s place on his stomach. Xander reached out his hand, and had to stop himself from gasping aloud as he touched Zubin’s belly - it was definitely firmer and rounder than usual. Pausing slightly, Xander looked at Zubin’s face before he started rubbing small circles; Zubin’s eyes closed, but there was still an element of discomfort on his face. Xander’s heart was beating as though he was running now, and he shifted his leg across as he felt a stirring in his groin. The t-shirt Zubin was wearing wrinkled and creased under his touch.

“How does that feel?” Xander asked softly.

“Mmm, nice,” Zubin mumbled, looking like he was relaxing slightly.

“Do you mind if I lift up your top?” Xander questioned cautiously, he couldn’t help it - he really wanted to see Zubin’s belly.

“Go for it,” Zubin replied. “Just keep going.” Xander felt another thrill, Zubin was clearly enjoying this. Very gently he moved Zubin’s t-shirt further up his abdomen, and revelled in the sight for a few seconds.

Zubin’s normally flat midriff was almost perfectly round, it looked like he’d swallowed a football whole. Xander’s eyes ranged up and down his boyfriend, whose thin frame was only altered by this swelling, and Xander had to squeeze his legs together as he put his hand back on Zubin’s stomach. His skin was warm, and as Xander ran his hand across it, he felt it burbling slightly underneath the skin. This was almost torture, it was so perfect.

“Ooh, you’re so good at this Xand,” Zubin muttered slowly, he was leaning close to Xander’s shoulder, taking long deep breaths. If Xander stopped moving, he could feel the breath and the working of Zubin’s stomach.

“As long as it makes you feel better,” Xander said, his voice a little hoarse.

“It does,” Zubin nodded slowly.

So Xander continued, rubbing circles, then back and forth across the mound of flesh. He kept going, until he could feel Zubin’s weight on him, and a soft snuffle told him Zubin had fallen asleep. He pressed a kiss to Zubin’s temple, and kept his hand on his stomach. Xander was hard now - the pressure of his erection pushing into his leg, but he couldn’t do anything. Not now - he just had to store all these moments up in his mind so he could replay them later.

The peace didn’t last very long, however, as Xander sat still with his hand on Zubin’s stomach he could feel it gurgling under his touch. Very suddenly, Zubin’s eyes snapped open and he doubled forward, clutching both hands at his stomach. Xander withdrew his own hand sharply, afraid he’d done something to hurt him.

“Ooh Xand,” Zubin moaned weakly, his fingers pressing into his uncovered belly. “Oh, it really hurts…”

“Can I do anything?” Xander offered, leaning forward.

“Mmmm…” Zubin shook his head, biting his lip and looking pained.

“Oh Zubin,” Xander reached out and stroked his hand up and down Zubin’s back; Zubin leant in to him, his eyes were still squeezed shut. “What does it feel like?”

“Like - like..” Zubin struggled, holding onto his stomach protectively. “Like there’s a boxing match in my belly…”

“Oh dear…” Xander said. “Do you feel sick or anything?” Zubin was wriggling around again, trying to assuage some of the discomfort in his stomach.

“Mmm, a little…” His face was screwed up, and Xander was slightly glad of this because it meant he didn’t see the reaction on his face. “”It’s… It’s more like I need to burp or something, but can’t?” He explained, rubbing his hand firmly across his belly.

“Shall I try to help? Xander offered, a little unsure on what he should do; Zubin looked up at him.

“What can you do?” Zubin asked, but he sounded a little desperate.

“Try and sit up really straight,” Xander suggested; Zubin did so, and Xander moved in closer to him and placed his hand at the base of Zubin’s back. Gently he began to pat and rub up Zubin’s spine, trying to dislodge any air that might be making him feel uncomfortable. Zubin grimaced and groaned slightly, struggling to sit upright with the weight of his belly.

“No… It’s not working…” He moaned, sounding like he might be about to cry.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Xander soothed gently, stroking his hand across Zubin’s forehead.

“It’s not!” He whimpered slightly, doubling forward again over his stomach. “It’s really not!”

“Okay - let’s try something else,” Xander said, getting off the bed and dragging across the stool from the corner of his room. “Come here.”

“What?” Zubin asked, watching as Xander settled himself on the stool, nudging his bedroom bucket next to it in case.

“Trust me,” Xander replied firmly, nodding slightly, and patting his thighs gently. “Come here.” Zubin slowly worked his way off the bed, his t-shirt dropping back down over the swelling of his belly, and he wrapped his arms across it. “You need to straddle your legs around mine, so sit on top of me.”

“But I’ll crush you!” Zubin protested instantly.

“Come off it Zu, you’re a waif!” He told him, frowning slightly.

“I feel more like a whale right now,” he murmured.

“You’re hardly that,” Xander shook his head, reaching out his hand towards Zubin. “Come on, trust me.” He slipped his hand into Zubin’s and pulled him in. “If it doesn’t make you feel any better, then I promise I’ll tuck you up with a hot water bottle and stroke your hair, okay?”

“Okay…” Zubin gave in, straddling him.

“Put your chin over my shoulder,” Xander advised, putting his arms around Zubin.

“What are you going to do?” Zubin sounded a little wary.

“I’m going to burp you like a baby,” Xander told him; Zubin looked a little unsure, but then he leant forwards, hooking his chin over Xander’s shoulder. “Okay, just relax.” He encouraged, running his hands up and down Zubin’s back, then across in lines. Slowly Xander felt Zubin sag into him; every so often Xander could hear a little hiss of air, but he couldn’t tell if that was just Zubin breathing deeply.

“Xand…” Zubin’s voice came rather shakily.

“Yes Zu?” Xander asked quietly.

“ ‘m not feeling too hot right now…” He mumbled, and Xander felt Zubin readjusting his arms over his belly. Xander’s heart was pounding again, but he tried to ignore it.

“There’s a bucket beside you if you need it, okay?” Xander told him, patting in between Zubin’s shoulder blades.

“Mmhm… buaARRP!” The sudden expulsion of air sounded very wet, and Xander could feel Zubin’s chest and stomach tensing against his front.

“Feel like you’re gonna be sick Zu?” Xander asked breathlessly.

“HUAAARK!” Zubin jerked sharply, then Xander felt something warm and wet dripping down his back and side.

“Zu?” Xander started, feeling his heart stand still.

“Nghh…” Zubin groaned weakly, his chin resting more heavily on Xander’s shoulder.

“Did you just puke on me?” Xander could barely believe it; his heart racing and a warmth spreading through his whole body.

“I - I don’t feel like I’m empty yet…” Zubin panted, Xander resumed rubbing his back.

“It’s fine,” he said, his throat tight.

“Sor - hmmmmbbbllluururrrkk!” Zubin heaved again, and Xander felt the gush of more puke falling down his side and landing with a splatter on the floor.

“Don’t worry about it,” Xander said placidly. “Just get it up, you’ll feel better - then you can have a nap while I clean up.”

‘And have a wank.’ Xander thought - and that knowledge made him feel really good.

“Ugh… Oh… Bllluuuuhhuuurrr!” Another stream of sick cascaded from Zubin, as apparently everything that he’d eaten decided to make a repeat appearance.

“That’s it,” Xander encouraged, patting more firmly.

“Oh… My belly feels like it’s been wrung out,” Zubin mumbled, taking slow breaths.

“I’m sorry Zu,” Xander said, “just take your time - you’re okay.”

“Thank you,” Zubin muttered, his head still resting on Xander’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Xander repeated. “I’ve got you.”

“Yeah,” Zubin breathed, slowly peeling himself away from Xander and looking at him. He was still a little wan looking, but his face looked more comfortable. “Just one thing?”

“Yes?” Xander asked, then saw Zubin’s eyes flicker downwards for a fraction of a second.

Hi i’m going off to college across the country in a few days and I’d like to request a fic centered around Akaashi getting sick :) Thank you

Heya! So sorry for the delay… I combined these asks, I hope that’s okay! I hope college is going well for you, anon!

Akaashi Keiji didn’t like long bus rides.

The cramped atmosphere and the loudness of his teammates were bad enough, but for once, there was something that bothered him even more. He didn’t think it would be possible, with Bokuto screaming in his ear maniacally.

However, his upper stomach begged to differ. Something seemed to swirl inside him, stirring up his insides. He brushed it off as post-match tension with a shrug, returning to his Bokuto duty and keeping him under control before he could break Konoha’s neck.

“Gah! Bokuto, get off!” Konoha pushed Bokuto back, who was trying to clamber over him. “Akaashi, help! I’m going to get crushed by this big baby of a captain!” He screeched, while Bokuto laughed obnoxiously. Oh god, what if he started to adopt Kuroo’s laugh?

Those thoughts did little to distract Akaashi from the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was starting to feel dizzy and weak all of a sudden, and all he could do was lay back into his bus seat and ride it out until he was home.

He obstinately ignored the cramps that shot up his abdomen, and the burn in his throat. He wasn’t going to be sick. He didn’t get sick in buses. Maybe when he was little, yes, but he was seventeen. He could count on his own stomach to settle.

“Akaashi?”

Bokuto suddenly poked Akaashi’s shoulder, causing him to jolt unexpectedly. “You okay? You’re kinda pale. Are you feeling fine?” Akaashi nodded, swallowing the wetness that gathered in his mouth.

There were still twenty minutes left on the bus, and Akaashi had been riding it for about thirty-five. He would be all right. He was more than halfway through. His stomach gurgled ominously, and he held it gently in his arms to calm the cramps.

“I’ll be all right, Bokuto-san. I’ll be fine.” Akaashi wiped the corner of his mouth obstinately. He didn’t need Bokuto to fuss over him. Besides, he couldn’t have known he was feeling slightly carsick.

Bokuto made a noise, sounding like he wasn’t fully convinced. “Guys, guys~!” he began bothering the other third years again, much to Akaashi’s relief. He didn’t want anyone to talk to him when he was busy trying to settle his stomach.

Five minutes passed, and Akaashi realised that his nausea and cramps were getting worse at an exponential rate. Maybe it was the tiredness getting to him. Maybe it was the smell of the interior of the bus. Maybe he was just really unlucky. His stomach began to make angry, gurgling noises, and he bit his lip hoping nobody would hear.

His throat felt queasy as the bus drove down the motorway, back to their school. There was no way the vehicle could stop anytime soon, much to Akaashi’s anguish. He needed to get out of the bus if he didn’t want to throw up right there and then.

Unfortunately, the universe seemed to hate Akaashi very much. He had to tough it out, no matter how bad his stomach cramped. He needed to take his mind off being sick. If he obsessed over it so much, he was bound to feel even worse.

He leaned back a little in his seat, staring at the ceiling and counting the peculiar designs. The meticulous counting worsened his nausea, so he switched to looking out the window and staring at the cars go by. When the quickness of the other vehicles made him dizzy, he closed his eyes with a sigh.

It was no use. Whatever he did, his stomach churned so much that it was impossible to ignore. He considered telling the coach to stop the bus, but that would stir up pandemonium among the students. He was also pretty sure that Bokuto would freak out badly.

Akaashi decided he needed to get the coach’s attention. Even if throwing up was inevitable, it was better if he could do it without causing a mess. He opened his mouth to say something, but a wet hiccup came out instead.

He clamped his mouth shut immediately. He felt warm saliva pooling in his mouth, and he couldn’t spit it out. He swallowed thickly. Bad choice. The nausea worsened, and he felt a pressure in his stomach rising up into his throat.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Akaashi fought the urge to vomit. A drop of spit trailed down the corner of his lip, which he wiped off before anyone could see. There was still a good few minutes left before he could get off. Even then, he felt like his stomach was being flipped upside down.

“Akaashi, hey, listen!” Bokuto suddenly called his name and reached over to him, and Akaashi instinctively reeled back. “What’s the matter?” Akaashi shook his head and stared down at the ground. He pressed his palm over his mouth, attempting to hold it all in.

But Akaashi was at his limits. Something gurgled at the back of his throat, causing his cheeks to swell as he tried to stop himself from throwing up. A gag choked him as he vomited, onto his palms and all down himself. The bitter, chunky texture filled his mouth again a few seconds later, forcing him to bring up another stream of sick onto himself.

“Oh god, Akaashi, you okay?” Bokuto hesitated before extending an arm to rub Akaashi’s back. “Did you get carsick?” Akaashi couldn’t answer. As Bokuto made big circles on his back, he heaved again and coughed out more sick, adding to the mess on his lap and the floor.

“I’m sorry.” Akaashi sniffled, spitting out the disgusting taste in his mouth. The bus had stopped before he realised it, and his teammates were all working together to clean him up and make him feel better. The front of his t-shirt and shorts were sopping wet with vomit, although efforts were made to get it off before he got changed into a spare uniform.

Bokuto handed him his water bottle from his enameled bag. “It’s all right, Akaashi! It happens, trust me.” He urged Akaashi to drink some water to rehydrate himself and get the taste out of his mouth.

Akaashi took a sip from the bottle, drinking about a third of its contents. “Take it easy, Akaashi. It’s not your fault you felt unwell.” Konoha reassured him, and the other third years all nodded in agreement, but Akaashi felt like his face was being boiled with humiliation. He’d thrown up all over himself and made his upperclassmen take care of the mess.

“Hey, it’s okay, Akaashi. Don’t be upset.” Bokuto talked to Akaashi softly, brushing away the tears that started to roll down his cheeks. Akaashi let out a quiet sob, and Bokuto wrapped his large arm around his shoulder. “You know, I’ve thrown up on a bus too. On my captain’s head.”

Akaashi couldn’t help but to snort. “How on earth did it get on your captain’s head?” The other third years covered their mouths to muffle their laughs. “No, really, how did that happen?”

“A series of coincidences, and the absence of luck.” Konoha shrugged. “It went everywhere. Bokuto was bawling, the captain was screaming, everyone was running around in different directions. It was mayhem.”

“So, don’t worry about anything, Akaashi!” Bokuto gave Akaashi’s shoulder a caring pat. He seemingly didn’t mind being the butt of everyone’s joke, if that was what it took to make Akaashi laugh again.

HiIt was his own fault, really.  Ejirou Kirishima always had an appetite to spare and always made a point to stuff his face with as much food as he could possibly muster.  Granted, Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t exactly much better in that department, but nine times out of ten, he knew when to stop.  Or at the very least, was able to power through if he intended to gorge himself.

Unfortunately, Kirishima didn’t have that foresight.  And that’s how he ended up reeling on Bakugou’s couch, whining in discomfort, clutching his engorged, gurgling stomach in pain.  He was dressed in his usual casual wears whenever he and Bakugou were just lounging around, spending a lazy day together, a white T-shirt and sweat pants.  Bakugou was wearing his black T-Shirt with black jeans, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, arms folded and looking almost annoyed while his red haired boyfriend groaned wearily and tenderly massaged his aching belly.

“Hmph, dunno why you’re whining so much,” Bakugou grumbled dismissively, “you could’ve just hardened your stomach like you always do when you make a pig’uh yourself.  Why’d you forget this time?  Don’t tell me that stupid spiky hair is puncturing your brain finally.”

“Urgh…y-your hair’s spiky too, Bakugou,” Kirishima said in a groggy and strained voice.

“Yeah, but my hair isn’t stupid about it.”

“*HIC!*  Guh, I was…g-gonna use my quirk, but I was too caught up in lunch.  I can’t help that I’m such a manly cook…”

It was true, much as Bakugou hated to admit it, Kirishima knew how to whip up a truly delicious meal.  And between the two of them, he tended to whip up quite a lot of food to go around.  But today, Bakugou just wasn’t quite as hungry, so Kirishima picked up the slack.  Perhaps, a little TOO much…

Bakugou rolled his eyes, but when he looked down and saw how strained his dopey, fang-toothed boyfriend was in, he couldn’t help but feel something resembling sympathy.  Whether it was his own fault or not, Bakugou didn’t outright enjoy seeing his friend in pain.  So, however begrudgingly, Bakugou sighed to himself and nudged Kirishima’s leg.

“Sit up for a sec,” Bakugou said, kind of a suggestion, kind of an order.  Kirishima didn’t question it though.  He just nodded weakly and pushed himself up, one hand grasping his bloated stomach firmly the whole while. 

When Kirishima sat up, Bakugou could get a better glimpse of how bloated Kirishima actually was.  His stomach looked like he had somehow found a way to swallow a watermelon whole.  And now, that melon was protruding quite considerably from Kirishima’s belly.  Bakugou removed Kirishima’s hands aside and hiked his t-shirt up and pulling the waist of Kirishima’s sweat pants down just a little, exposing the full extent of that bloated mass in Kirishima’s middle.

The red haired boys’ normally rock hard (no-pun-intended) stomach was now bloated and protruding outwards by a good seven or eight inches.  His belly button looked oddly thinned out, likely from just how jam-packed Kirishima’s gut actually was.  And when Bakugou actually rested his hand atop Kirishima’s belly, his brows raised slightly when he felt just how utterly taut to the touch it was. 

“Shit, you really did eat a lot, didn’t you,” Bakugou remarked.

All Kirishima could do was whimper like a wounded puppy and nod back.  His stomach churned aggressively to drive the point home.  Bakugou sighed an annoyed, mildly frustrated sigh, but nonetheless started to slowly caress Kirishima’s belly, rubbing his hand in slow, circular motions up and down, and all around that expansive, engorged stomach of his.

Immediately, Kirishima went almost cross-eyed, with his eyelids at half-mass, sighing contently and letting his tongue hang out of his toothy maw like a puppy.  “Ohhhh, duuuuude, that feels so nice…”

“‘Course it fucking does,” Bakugou grumbled as he continued rubbing Kirishima’s aching belly.

Bakugou’s rough fingers steadily dug into that tight flesh, making Kirishima groan contently while they kneaded away the tighter portions of that bloated mass.  Kirishima’s stomach groaned and gurgled intense beneath Bakugou’s palm.  He looked down at Kirishima’s belly and scowled at it, going as far as telling Kirishima’s belly to, “Fuck off.”

Why…?

Because he was Katsuki Bakugou, and there was literally nothing he wouldn’t find a way to get angry at.  That’s why.

Kirishima’s tense body seemed to ease up greatly in response to Bakugou’s soothing, shockingly gentle treatment.  He eased back a little more into the couch, relaxing and making his bloated belly stick out just a little more while Kirishima’s arms dropped to either side.

He was so relaxed that his stomach un-tightened just enough for Bakugou to knead a little more firmly into Kirishima’s gut. 

And the instant he did, Bakugou had inadvertently pushed up a sizeable pressure pocket which rose up Kirishima’s gullet, making Kirishima’s widen before he threw his head back and burped loud enough to wake the dead.

“Whoa!  Haha, dude, now tell me THAT wasn’t manly!”  Kirishima exclaimed, before grimacing, thumping his chest and burping deeply again.  He sighed with relief immediately after.

“Warn me next time ya do that, dipshit!”  Bakugou growled in annoyance, ringing out his ear in frustration.

Kirishima pouted back at his boyfriend then said, “Oh c’mon, man.  You burp like that all the time!”

“I at least know it’s comin’ that way.  Don’t just fucking burp when I’m distracted.  It pisses me off!”

“…What DOESN’T piss you off, Bakugou…?”  Kirishima asked, tilting his head genuinely curiously, again, not unlike a spike-y haired puppy.

Bakugou opened his mouth to retort angrily…then stopped, cocked a brow, and looked skyward.  A few moments genuinely passed while Bakugou thought on the question…

“…I’ll get back to you there…” Bakugou conceded, growling to himself.  Not knowing what didn’t piss him off kinda pissed Bakugou off.  And the fact that getting pissed off at that sorta nonsense kinda proved Kirishima’s point REALLY pissed him off.

So instead, Bakugou just resumed rubbing Kirishima’s steadily less aching belly.  Every so often, Bakugou would knead a little more firmly, and Kirishima, in turn, would let out a string of belches, each one deep and hefty sounding.  It still annoyed Bakugou to no end, but it seemed like it was at least relieving the pressure in Kirishima’s belly, which dulled his ache.  So, he just learned to tolerate it while he rubbed.

Eventually, Kirishima grew so relaxed that he eventually rested his eyes shut.  And before Bakugou could do anything about it, the crimson-haired boy was nestled up against Bakugou, resting his head on Bakugou’s shoulders and sleeping peacefully as a result of the food coma kicking in and Bakugou’s soothing touch relaxing Kirishima to no end.  Bakugou looked down at his boyfriend, resting up against him with that dumb, idiotic, happy smile on his face.

And in spite of himself, Bakugou couldn’t help but smirk softly somewhat at the sight while he continued rubbing Kirishima’s belly even in his sleep.

“…Well, I guess this is ONE thing that doesn’t piss me off,” Bakugou said softly, giving Kirishima’s belly a gentle pat…

“BUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!!!!”

Unfortunately, that gentle pat circulated enough pressure in Kirishima’s turbulent belly to work up a MASSIVE belch, which, because Kirishima was resting against Bakugou, was infinitely louder than normal.  Bakugou went wide-eyed with shock.  And when it ended, Kirishima let out an adorable little hiccup and went right back to snoozing against a once again irked Bakugou.

I kept my promise for a happy fic! This is for @toomuchtoread33 who sent me a prompt in which Peter accidently takes Steve’s emergency pills that are designed to make him sick in case he gets poisoned.

Cue Tony and Steve spending a night on the bathroom floor with a very pukey Peter Parker. This is fluff/humour with a lot of Irondad.

As always, a million thanks to my beta @whumphoarder.

“It won’t stop bleeding.” Tony crashes into the sofa, pressing a wad of tissues against his nose.

“That’s what happens when you retract your helmet in the middle of a battle to mock a Hydra agent,” Steve comments, setting down his plate after finishing the last piece of pizza.

“She had it coming. Did you see that suit? I made better designs when I was seven!” Tony protests nasally. “And what’s the fun of a battle if you can’t have a little chit-chat with your enemy?”

“Maybe it wasn’t the best move to call her Hello Kitty.”

“You did what?” Peter laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his slice of mushroom.

“Yeah, yeah, go on, make fun of me…” Tony removes the tissue from his bloody nose and sniffles experimentally. “At least I didn’t get knocked into a wall. Speaking of which, you’ve been quiet, kid. You sure you’re okay?” He eyes the boy critically.

“I’m good,” Peter assures, even as he visibly squints against the lights. “Just got a headache, no big deal.”

“Do you want another ice pack?” Steve asks, removing the one he’s been pressing against his sprained wrist and offering it to Peter.

“No, I’m okay.” Peter prods at the bump on his head and grimaces in pain. “It should be fine in a few hours. Before the bite, I would’ve just taken some painkillers, but now they don’t work on me anymore…”

“Maybe…” Steve exchanges a quick glance with Tony. “You know, Bruce and Tony developed those special painkillers to keep up with my metabolism? They don’t work a hundred percent, but they should definitely take the edge off.”

“Are you sure?” Peter looks at Tony. “It’s just a headache.”

As the current world champion in understating pain, Tony knows exactly what “just a headache” means when coming from a member of his superhero family. Peter already looks dead tired from the battle and there is no reason for him to be in unnecessary pain.

“That’s exactly what we made the pills for. Go ahead, kid. But only one, I don’t want to get in trouble with your aunt for drugging you up.”

“They’re in the medicine cabinet in the first floor bathroom,” Steve adds.

Peter disappears in search of the pills while Tony and Steve have their usual argument about which movie to watch. They settle on Aliens, partly because science fiction is the common denominator between the whole team, and partly because both of them know that it’s one of Peter’s favourites.

Tony waits until the kid has returned and curled up on the couch before he starts the movie. Since the mission has clearly taken its toll, he halfway expects all of them to fall asleep within half an hour. But the Nostromo crew has just landed on the alien planet when Peter suddenly sits up straight, his face screwed up in discomfort.

“Uh, Mr Stark?” he says, voice strained. “I’m not feeling so great.”

“Yeah, it takes some time for the painkillers to kick in.”

“No, I mean, I feel kinda queasy.” Peter swallows convulsively. “Like I’m gonna puke.”

Okay guys, so I may have just spent the last five days writing this for y’all, so I hope everyone likes it!

Summary: Peter becomes incredibly ill while he and Tony are driving back from a tech convention. When Tony finds out that it may be appendicitis, he goes into full Irondad Mode.

                                                     o0o0o0o

Tony drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the Led Zeppelin song playing on the radio. He stole a glance at Peter, who hadn’t moved from his curled up position in the passenger seat for at least an hour, clearly enthralled in whatever he was reading on his phone. Though his eyes looked like they were trying to drift closed against the kid’s will.

They were in the middle of nowhere and the road seemed to stretch into the horizon without end, so Tony decided to have a little fun. He paused for a moment. What if he gave him a heart attack?

Nah, the kid was too young.

Without warning, he slipped his foot off the brake and floored it. Peter jumped so hard that his phone went flying. Tony was pretty sure the kid would have leapt out the open window if it weren’t for his seatbelt.

“Mister Stark! What the- ow! Why did you do that?” Peter yelped, one hand flew to his side, while the other fumbled around on the floorboard.

“C'mon kid, you were getting too bookwormish on me. Had to liven things up a little,” Tony laughed as he eased up off the gas. They had hit well over a hundred miles per hour, and considering this was the newest Audi available, they’d gotten there in no time at all. He let the car settle back to a comfortable sixty-five.

“Hey, Pete, what’s wrong? My little daredevil stunt didn’t make you pull a muscle, did it?” Peter’s mouth was set in a tight line, almost in a grimace.

“Mr. Stark…?”

Tony looks up from the holoscreens he’s going over, finding one Peter Parker standing in the doorway to his lab, looking exceedingly pale and more than a little sweaty. And Tony can tell that from where he’s sitting, which is a pretty good distance away.

He’s on his feet at once, crossing the room to Peter’s side. “Hey, kid. You alright?”

Peter shakes his head, and Tony notices how glassy his eyes are. “I, um. I’m - “

“He’s running a fever of 103.4 degrees, boss.”

“Jesus - thanks, FRI. Kid, hey - c’mon, let’s get you to a med bay and get you sat down, huh? What the hell are you doing here - ?”

“I was just finishing up my patrol, and I - oh,” Peter groans suddenly, leaning over a bit.

“Pete?” Tony asks.

He doesn’t get an answer. Instead, he gets Spider-Man puking all over the floor, including all over Tony’s bare feet. The kid immediately looks up at him, tears in his eyes and spit dripping down his chin.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, then leans over and vomits again.

“Hey, don’t be sorry,” Tony says, trying not to lose his own lunch over the smell and feeling of upchuck between his toes. “C’mon, let’s walk, okay?”

It takes a while - Peter’s a little slow going and very much so still queasy - but they finally manage to get downstairs, and Tony lays Peter back on an exam table, wincing at the pallid sheen to the boy’s skin. He does a quick scan with FRIDAY’s help, and is relieved when he finds nothing serious going on.

“Just a little flu,” he says quietly, smoothing Peter’s hair back from his forehead. “You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter repeats, his cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry I came here.”

“Stop apologizing,” Tony says, his voice soft. God, he was garbage at this kind of thing. “Here, let’s - get you out of your suit, and into bed.”

He takes Peter back upstairs and to a guest bedroom, leaving him in privacy to change into some old clothes of Tony’s he could sleep in. He panics once he’s alone - what’s he supposed to do for the rest of the night? Stay awake and make sure the kid didn’t die?

Before he knows it, his phone is in his hand, and he’s texting the only other person that he thinks could help with this.

Hey, Stranger Things. You still make house calls? TS

I’m not an MD, Stark. SS

And that’s a poor euphemism, even for you. SS

It’s not for me, Steph. The kid’s here, and he’s sick as a dog. I need help. TS

He got here and threw up twice, and he’s got a pretty high fever. TS

I’ll be right there. SS

Tony sighs in relief yet again, slipping his phone into his back pocket as he goes up to check on Peter.

“No puke this time, I hope?” He asks as he opens the door.

Peter is in the bed, tucked under the covers, and looking absolutely miserable. He shakes his head no, still looking a little green around the gills.

“Good,” Tony says, coming to check his forehead. Yeah, definitely still warm.

“We’d best get some fluids in him,” Stephen says as soon as he arrives, giving Peter a once over. Peter groans and covers his face with his hands.

“You called Doctor Strange?” he asks Tony, embarrassed.

“Yeah, you hear the first part of his name?”

Stephen rolls his eyes. “Tony…” He crosses the room to where Peter is, smoothing his shaking hand over his forehead and tutting softly. “A little warm. How’re you feeling, Peter?“

“Like I got hit by a bus,” Peter answers weakly.

Stephen nods, looking in his eyes. “Mm, okay. Looks like you’ve got the flu. We’re going to give you plenty to drink and just let you rest up, okay?”

Peter nods. “‘Kay.”

Tony smiles a bit. “Atta boy,” he says softly, coming over to fix his hair again. “What do you want? You want that - blue Gatorade? I’ve got a whole fridge of the stuff for when you come over.”

Peter nods again, smiling just slightly. “Yeah. Thanks, Dad.”

All three people in the room freeze.

Peter looks like he might puke again.

“I’ll get that Gatorade, huh?” Stephen offers, heading out of the room.

Peter speaks first. “Mr. Stark, I - “

Tony holds up a hand, shaking his head. “S’alright, kid. No worries.”

Peter sinks back under the covers, closing his eyes.

Tony clears his throat. “Hey, on the bright side, with your metabolism, you’ll be over this in no time. Nice and easy. Just gotta feel gross for a bit.”

Peter nods again. “Yeah.”

The silence is thick and heavy until Stephen gets back, helping Peter sit up and coaxing a bit of Gatorade into him. “We’ll try some dry toast later,” he suggests, one hand moving to rub Peter’s back out of sheer habit. “Just fluids for now.”

Peter closes his eyes again, and Stephen eases him back down to the mattress. He turns to Tony, keeping his voice low. “I’ll be out in the living room,” he assures, brushing his lips against Tony’s cheek in passing.

Tony stays until he knows Peter’s asleep. He comes to the head of the bed, leans over, and kisses his forehead ever so gently.

“Love you, Pete. Feel better.”

When the door closes quietly behind him, Peter opens his eyes, smiling tiredly.

19. “I don’t want to be friends.”

***

               “Alex, get off me!”

               Alex huffed, the thermometer in his hand. “If you’re so okay, then why don’t you just let me check your damn temperature?”

               “I’m not sick,” Michael said. “I can’t get sick, okay?”

               “You were working in the rain all day yesterday, and fell asleep in your clothes,” Alex said. “You might not get hypothermia, but you can still get fevers, Guerin.”

               “You’re worrying too much,” Michael sat up, and as soon as the blanket Alex had placed around his shoulders fell, he shivered.

               “I’m worrying the perfectly normal amount,” Alex said and with his good leg, kneeled on Michael’s bed, one hand on his jaw to gently hold him still. “Just stick it under your tongue and wait for the beeping. I’m not asking you to diffuse a missile here!”

               Michael looked up at Alex and something in him seemed to shift as he slumped against his pillow with a sigh. Alex put the thermometer in its place, holding on as the two waited for the result.

               Michael was staring at Alex, and he said, “You saying if it looks bad, you’ll take care of me, Private?”

               Alex raised a brow, and lifted Michael’s jaw. “Keep your mouth shut, Guerin, or this is going to take a lot longer.”

               Michael hummed as he took Alex’s hand and placed it against his jaw, and Alex instantly thought of two things. The first was that he hoped Michael couldn’t hear his racing heart, echoing loudly in his own ears. The second was that Michael definitely, without a doubt, had a fever.

               “You’re burning up,” Alex said, and Michael smirked at him suggestively. Alex blushed and brought his hand down. “Not a word.”

               The thermometer beeped, and Alex pulled it out. He sighed at the high temperature.

               “I take it by the joy on your face that the result is exactly what you were hoping for,” Michael smiled, though Alex couldn’t miss the crack in his voice as if his lungs ached, the way he subtly sneaked his arms under the blanket, the way he blinked rapidly because his eyes were watering.

               Alex cleaned the thermometer, set it on the table, and placed his hands on Michael’s shoulders, gently guiding him down. “Alright, you cover yourself up, I’m going to make you some soup.”

               “Alex,” Michael said, his hands on Alex’s wrists, “I really don’t need you to do that.”

               “Yeah, yeah, I know,” Alex said. “Mr. Macho, you don’t need anybody, you can handle anything. Humor me, will you?”

               “Can I at least get a kiss?”

               The corner of Alex’s lips rose. “I’m not kissing you while you’re sick, Guerin. Get better and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

               Michael bit his lower lip and groaned, his eyes raking Alex’s body. “That’s a dangerous promise to make.”

               Alex huffed a chuckle despite himself, shaking his head, and he leaned in close enough to press his forehead against Michael’s. “Get your head out of the gutter. Friends don’t sleep with friends, remember?”

               Michael’s eyes were half-lidded, and he had been tilting his head up, trying to catch Alex’s lips, but at Alex’s words, his gaze came into focus, and his smile turned small.

               “Right,” he said quietly, and pulled back.

Alex faltered at the look on Michael’s face, and let Michael get under the covers by himself. “I’ll start on the food.”

Michael said nothing as he pulled his pillows up and settled comfortably against the headboard, the blanket around his shoulders.

Alex worked in silence, glancing over at Michael every so often as the water boiled. His fingers tapped against the stove, and he wondered if he’d made a mistake using that word. Since he and Michael had agreed to start off as friends, they’d been better than he could’ve hoped. They smiled around each other, even laughed, spoke casually, and sometimes – though more on Michael’s part – flirtingly. Alex had just assumed Michael talked like that around everyone, and while it did nothing to calm the skip of his heart whenever Michael looked at him like he was desperate to have them in bed together, he tried with everything he had not to let it get to his head.

He still remembered what it felt like that day, over a decade ago, when he thought Michael had been interested in him and had leaned in to kiss him, only to have Michael turn away at the last second. Granted, Michael had come to see him the next day, but Alex hadn’t known he would at the time. He remembered the feeling of rejection, of panic when Michael asked to talk in private because he honestly thought Michael would try to distance himself from him.

This time, however, the stakes were even higher, because they’d been through too much, and Alex had loved him for too long. If he lost Michael this time, he didn’t think he could survive it.

The soup was almost ready, and Alex thought the cowboy had fallen asleep. He was deliberating on whether or not he should wake him right away or let him sleep for another half an hour when Michael suddenly said, “We’re friends.”

Alex blinked, and saw that Michael had turned in his bed and was staring at him. “What?”

Michael shook his head, then seemed to decide against it and repeated, “We’re friends, right?” Alex pressed his lips together and nodded. “You sure? Because I think you may have been right. Friends don’t sleep with their friends.”

His brows furrowed. “What’re you –”

“I don’t want to be friends, Alex. Friends don’t typically want to sleep with their friends. Friends don’t want to kiss their friends, friends don’t get jealous when other people watch their friends, friends don’t think about their friends all day, friends don’t –”

“Okay –”

“— you know, typically think about pounding into their friends, unless it’s a really weird kind of friendship, and I don’t really want that either.”

“I get it.”

“Do you?” Michael pushed himself off the bed, and swayed a little before he held on to his counter. Alex urged him to sit back down, but he ignored him, stepping into his space. “I’m in love with you, Alex. Either you haven’t been able to tell, or you just don’t feel the same way anymore, and can’t bring yourself to tell me.”

Alex’s brows furrowed. “Don’t feel the same way anymore?”

“I’ve tried to get closer, to kiss you, touch you, but… it’s like you don’t want me to.”

“I love you, Guerin, more than you could imagine,” Alex shook his head, “but I’m scared, okay? And it’s weird, I’ve never been frightened like this, and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Michael frowned. “Why are you scared?”

Alex scoffed. “Are you kidding? After everything that’s happened?” Realization dawned on Michael’s face, but Alex couldn’t stop, his words pleading to get out. “The last time I let myself love you, I lost you. I can’t take that again.”

“Hey,” Michael held his face in his hands, and Alex felt the heat of his skin surge through him. “I’ve done nothing but think about you since the day I met you. You think I’d give you up again? Or let anyone else break us apart? I’d rather die, Private.”

Alex swallowed, his hands coming up to Michael’s waist as his heart hammered in his chest. “You… you want to be with me?”

Michael’s lips came close to his as he whispered, “More than anything.”

His and Michael’s lips were inches apart when the sound of boiling soup hit Alex’s ears, and his eyes widened. He gasped, and pulled himself away. “Stop, stop, stop.”

“What is it?” Michael asked, alarm tinting his otherwise hazed tone. “What’s wrong?”

Alex shook his head. “You’re still sick.”

Michael’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, come on.”

He tried to lean in again, but Alex slipped under his arm and moved behind him. “No, seriously, I’m not getting a fever just because you can’t wait another few days.”

“Days?!” Michael said incredulously, then went into a fit of coughs, clutching the sink for support.

Alex was immediately at his side, patting his back, his other hand on his arm to keep him steady. The next thing he knew, Michael had grabbed his waist, and they both fell to the ground, Michael hovering over him.

“Guerin, stop,” Alex said, pushing at his chest, though he couldn’t help the laughter bubbling in his throat. “I’m not kissing you when you’re sick!”

“Just once!”

“No!”

“Then just a peck!”

“I may have one good leg, but I will use it to kick you into outer space where you belong if you don’t get the hell off me!”

***

The prompt is courtesy of @hellsdemonictrinity.

There’s something about Michael chasing Alex’s lips that has me feeling things, and I am here for it. Alex is phenomenal after all.

Okay, I don’t know if I’ll be able to write a prompt tomorrow since I have a very busy schedule, but that just means two more prompts on Tuesday… :)))))

“come on tony, c-can’t i just have a little?”

tony shook his head and pushed peter away, looking unamused as he reverted his gaze back to the television. peter had been begging him nonstop for the past week for a feeding, and, quite frankly, he was sick of telling him no. peter would always whine and roll around a little, thinking it would convince tony in some sort of way. it never worked.

“tony…” the vampire whimpered, planting himself on the other’s lap. “i need it so badly. please?”

tony was stubborn as hell, though. he smirked at the boy on his lap, watching as he looked away bashfully. peter was never one to draw attention to himself. he’d rather starve then try to get blood from anyone but tony.

“i don’t think so. you can wait.”

waiting. peter waited for another two weeks. he hadn’t asked tony much between then, but he always gave these longing glances to his neck before scurrying out of the room to stop thinking about how nice tony tasted. it definitely wasn’t what he needed to preoccupy himself with.

tony came home from a night out to find peter whining to himself on the couch, curled up beneath a couple of fuzzy blankets. the vampire’s eyes immediately opened once he sensed a presence in the room. his senses weren’t as heightened as the normally were since he was beginning to grow malnourished.

“what’s the matter, my sweet boy?”

peter sat up, wrapping one of the blankets around his shoulders. tony sat on the floor before him, gently cupping one of his cheeks so he couldn’t look away. peter blinked once, then twice, before bursting into tears. he practically threw himself at the human. he needed reassurance and physical contact desperately. apparently his addiction to tony’s blood was worse than he thought.

“shhh, shhh… it’s okay, baby. tell me what’s wrong.”

peter wiped his eyes and pouted to himself. he knew he was pathetic, getting so worked up about something as simple as a feeding, but it meant a lot to him. tony would always praise him and touch his hair, telling him to take as much as he needed. he didn’t understand why that privilege was suddenly taken away. did he say something bad? did he take too much last time? oh god, did he hurt tony?

it was too much for the vampire. he began to cry again, something he seemed to be doing a lot of recently, and hid his face in tony’s chest.

“i need to feed, please let me, pleasepleaseplease-“

tony pulled peter’s head away from his chest and looked down at him. “do you really need to? i think you can wait a little longer.”

“no no no! please, pl-please tony! i need it, need it!”

peter was thrashing around in his lap, teetering on the edge of a breakdown. tony kissed his forehead, then his cheeks, and then the tip of his nose because he remembered how giddy that made his boy last time. he sat him back on the couch, covered him back up in the blankets, then stood to leave the room. peter blinked in shock. he thought he had convinced him, but that evidently was not the case.

“where are you going?!”

“i need to take a shower, pete, and you’re going to take a nap like the good little boy you are.”

peter hated when tony used that stern voice when he meant business. naturally, he wanted to submit and go along with whatever he had to say or command, but he also really, really needed a taste of his blood. he was quick to scramble over to him before he could walk down the hallway, tripping over his feet in the process.

peter grabbed one of tony’s legs and nuzzled his face into his thigh. he was babbling incoherently, most likely going on about how he’d be good and wouldn’t take that much. tony smiled sweetly down at the vampire before he picked him up and continued his walk to the shower.

“please, please let me feed, tony,” he sighed, exhausted. his voice was quiet and a bit horse from all the crying he had been doing recently.

“don’t worry, sweetheart. i’ll let you feed in a second,” tony murmured, sitting peter down on the countertop by the sink. he began to peel away peter’s clothes before tossing his own in the dirty clothes pile in the corner. he’d have to get started on laundry soon. maybe when he puts peter to bed later.

tony started the shower up, keeping it at a neutral warm since it was more comfortable for the both of them. he picked the vampire up and held him bridal style, walking into the already-steaming shower. peter giggled as he water tickled at his feet. he seemed to be happier already. tony was here and they weren’t fighting and he was getting his feeding? he felt like the luckiest vampire alive.

“alright, you wanna feed now?” tony asked despite already knowing the answer. peter was practically vibrating in excitement.

“yes, please!” such a polite boy.

tony pushed peter’s back against the cool tiles with a lopsided grin. the brunet wrapped his legs around the human’s waist, hands going to grasp at his broad shoulders. tony sent him a wink, silently letting him know that he had permission. without hesitation, peter sunk his fangs into tony’s neck and suckled slowly. his eyes fluttered shut and he went pliant in the man’s arms, lax with pleasure and adoration.

“mmm, such a good boy.”

and there it was. the praise. it was probably peter’s favorite part.

“look how precious you are.”

peter moaned against his neck. his nails gently dug into his tan shoulders before his fingers flexed.

“my pretty boy.”

oo sounds like a fun date

wish i could experience smth like that 😩

I’ve been craving SickFic, so have some prompts and feel free to tag me here at @wordmage because I would love to see your takes on the prompts below. Feel free to add more, or use it for RP/art, whatever. I plan to try and fill them all out, myself.

99.9% Immunity - (character) never gets sick, right? Wrong.

Elephant in the Room - (character) is sick, but for some reason - rank, personality, etc - no one is talking about it

Heroes Don’t Take Sick Days - there’s no time to rest when you have to save the world, so (character) has to push themselves even when miserable

Insult to Injury - as if being injured wasn’t enough, (character) is getting sick too

Ill Timed - it’s the worst possible time for (character) to be sick, but their body didn’t get the memo

Irreplaceable - (character) is the leader/boss and isn’t able to take personal time off, even when they’re under the weather

It’s Nothing - (character) insists they’re fine, right up until they collapse

Medic Down - every group seems to have a primary caretaker. How do they handle it when (character) is the one sick?

Milking It - if (character) has to be sick, they’re at least going to get as much pampering out of others as they can

Not a Word - (character) said they don’t get sick, and isn’t in the mood for anyone to remind them while they recover

No Rest for the Wicked - the big bad (character) has more to worry about than the good guys

Open Secret - everyone knows (character) is sick, but they’re trying so hard no one has said anything

Persuasive Partners - (character) is sick, and refusing to stay put; their partner(s) give them a good reason to stay in bed

Stepping Up - boss/leader (character) is clearly miserable, so the others go out of their way to take as much of their workload as possible

Suffer in Silence - for whatever reason, (character) doesn’t want anyone to know they’re sick, and does everything they can to hide it

Take One Down… - (character) gets sick, and spreads it to the rest of the group

Team Mom/Dad - (character) is the one to always take care of others on the team

The Wolf Cries True - (character) has been known to exaggerate or even pretend they’re sick, only this time they’re telling the truth

This is Your Fault - (character A) was clingy while they were sick, and now (character B) has it

Behind Closed Doors - (character) has a solid public face, but in private they let themselves be taken care of when they’re not well

Bless You - (character) has a particularly sneezy cold, and may or may not be able to retreat from life to deal with it.

Don’t Speak - (character) has a horribly sore throat and is reduced to barely talking while they load up on hot drinks and soup to recover.

I’m Dying - (character) has a headcold and despite that not being anywhere near the worst they’ve ever been, they’re flailing about it to anyone who will listen

Judgement Call - (character) really isn’t feeling well, but has pressing obligations. Others could step up, but no one is as qualified. They choose to…

Painfully Polite - (character) has very strong feelings about how one should behave, and they are even more mindful when they’re not at their best, talking through a sore throat, trying not to cough, attempting to stifle sneezes, etc.

Misery Loves Company - (character) is under the weather and not up for much, but really appreciates having someone there. Even if that someone is sick too.

Stay With Me - (character A) rarely asks for help, but they’re feeling miserable enough to ask (character B) to keep them company a while.

With Kid Gloves On - it’s a known fact that (character) has trouble accepting help, even when they’re sick; the others have learned specific “acceptable” methods over time