Stomach Growling Fanfiction Novels & Stories

There's an unspoken rule in my household—everyone has to engage in a drinking competition during the holidays. Whoever gets wasted first will have to pay off one year's worth of house and car mortgages for the other two siblings. In the first year, I collapsed after my first glass of alcohol. I had to pay the house mortgage for my oldest sister, Dahlia Zeller. In the second year, as soon as I picked up my glass, I fainted right away. Since then, I had to pay off Jasmine Zeller, my second sister's car loan. For the next 20 years, I've always been the loser. In the end, my wife, Jean McCarthy, is forced to jump off a building because of the huge debt I've racked up. The debtors keep dumping paint onto my residence, forcing me to deter away from it. Ransacked by guilt, I end up damaging my stomach from overdrinking when I attempt to train my alcohol tolerance. As a result, half of my liver has gotten removed. When I'm on the verge of death, I hear my parents snickering outside my ward. "Don't you think we've laced too many sleeping pills in his drink? He almost didn't wake up back then!" "It's fine. He's an idiot who merely thinks he has a low alcohol tolerance. Our family still relies on him for financial survival, you see. We can keep drugging him so that he'll keep getting wasted." When I open my eyes again, I've already gotten reborn in the timeframe when I'm sitting at the dining table in the 20th year.

Adeline was a journalist. She was a career-driven woman, who would do anything for her passion. she was independent, smart and a strong female lead, who was willing to take risks. What if she had no choice but to pretend to be a guy as part of her job to expose a mafia boss? He was not only a mafia boss but also the god of the underworld. He was all alone throughout his entire life without much knowledge about the female species. What if he caught feelings for Adeline who was disguised as a petite guy with a clumsy attitude? Would he find her true identity? ******************** As I neared him, I stumbled upon the carpet and I landed on his lap with my stomach on his thighs with a yelp. Unintentionally, my left palm made direct contact with his crotch. He jerked at my sudden intrusion, wrapping his arms around my waist. Both of us were too shocked to move, suddenly I could feel him grow harder under my palm, my eyes widened. I couldn't see his reaction, I stood up from his lap as if my ass caught on fire. He was frozen to his spot as if he couldn't believe what happened now. My face flushed with embarrassment. He didn't even take a glance at my face. "I'm sorry, sir, It…” "Let's get back to the office.”I was cut off by his voice. For some reason, my eyes strayed to his crotch and I could see his bulge very much visible on his front. "Mr. Sandros!" he yelled my name. I snapped my eyes to his face to see him already looking at me, my eyes widened. Join the journey of Adeline Sandros

When I was seven, my constant vomiting got so bad that my mother took me to court and accused me of being born dangerous. If the charge stuck, I would be stripped of my family ties and sent straight to prison. Everyone said my mother was overreacting. "He's just a kid. Kids get sick. As his mother, you should be more understanding." But the moment the evidence was shown, the room went dead quiet. My mother had drunk herself into a stomach bleed just to land a contract, and the second she got home, I threw up all over it. The deal was voided, and she lost her job on the spot. On my sister, Ophelia Sowle's, birthday, I threw up all over her cake right in front of all her classmates. After that, she was shunned by everyone at school. She spiraled into depression and even slashed her wrists. It didn't matter where I was, at the dinner table or under the covers. I could start vomiting at any moment. My mother and Ophelia had to clean me up more than 30 times a day. It wore them down to the breaking point. What infuriated them the most was that every time I finished throwing up, I would look at them and laugh, as if I was mocking them. The judge brought the gavel down and declared me guilty of being born bad. Ophelia's eyes turned red as she cried, saying she couldn't bear to lose me. I didn't cry or fight it. I accepted the verdict. But I requested that the judge watch my memories first. The judge looked stunned. "Memory extraction means drilling into your brain. The pain is unbearable. Are you sure?" I nodded without hesitation. But Ophelia suddenly panicked. "I don't agree!"

He smirked down at me, clearly enjoying my tears. “Look at you. Where's that cocky, arrogant little brat that runs his mouth without pausing to think for a moment? You look better this way… humbled and willing. Are you sure you want to sign the agreement?” I nodded quickly, too eager and too desperate. “Yes! Yes, please! I'll sign it!” “Keep in mind, if you sign it, there's no going back.” He said, “Everything about you will belong to me… your hole, you cock, your mouth… everything! I get to own it all. And I'll treat you however I deem fit. Mean. Dirty. Rough. You take it all. And you dare not utter a single word of complain. Understood?” My stomach churned in utter disgust by the inhumane words that came out of his cock sucking mouth. But I didn't really have a choice here. He saw to it. I'm trapped. I pressed my eyes shut, voice weak, “Yes.” “Yes, what?” “Yes, I understand.” “Good.” He said, “Now, get up.” … How the hell was Tate Parker supposed to know that a moment of uncontrolled anger and pride would cost him his perfect life and whole freedom? He should have listened to the warnings… but he was too headstrong to. He should have seen the deadly signs… but he was too pompous to. And as consequence of his actions, he's entrapped and got nowhere else to go. Julian Belmont. That's his name. Tate believes he's a vile, twisted, cruel and psychotic devil hiding in a human facade. And that's exactly what he is. He's got Tate right where he wants him. And Tate can't escape him. He knows better than to try.

"But why me?" I asked the question that was bothering me. "If you hate me so much, why did you decide to marry me? Why didn't you just pick anyone else? Maybe Chiara, or some random lady in Trinigad, why does it have to be me?" I wasn't staring, but I knew he probably looked at me like I was naive or stupid. He clapped his hand, quite loudly, staggering me, "I never said I hated you," he declared, taking me off guard. I looked at him. His hazel eyes pierced at me with an intensity unmatched, making my stomach clench. "You are merely a pawn in my grand plan, a stepping stone. I do not hate you, but I do not need to love you either, I just need to make the most of you." Annalisa, the princess of Trinigad, was born in a world where Omega's were highly revered, and her father — Alpha king of the kingdom of Trinigad, showered her with immense love and gifts as a result. She was spoiled, ruthless. No one had ever refused her anything until she crossed paths with Alpha Alexander. Love at first sight. Alpha Alexander, a man of mystery whose being was an orchestrated falsehood, was the Alpha of the white pack. A pack concentrated in the kingdom of Trinigad. After receiving a marriage proposal from Annalisa, he accepted without hesitation. Albeit, making it clear to her that he only needed her for her womb and he didn't plan on loving her since his heart already belonged to another. As Annalisa and Alexander begin a relationship based on hate, hormones come into play, mate bonds are discovered, secrets are unraveled, one that could potentially orchestrate the downfall of the werewolf species, hanging in the balance of an ultimatum.

At 3:00 p.m., Rose Jenkins, the new hire who had barely been here a few days, suddenly tagged me in the company group chat with a few hundred people in it. [Hi, can you stop hammering your keyboard? The noise is making my stomach hurt! The baby I'm carrying is sleeping. If you shake it into a concussion, I swear I'll make your whole family pay for it!] I rushed to explain. I was racing to finish a proposal that was due soon, and I was using a silent keyboard. But she wouldn't believe me, no matter what I said. I kept my patience and explained it over and over. To avoid any more trouble, I even asked if I could move out to the hallway to work. What I didn't expect was that a week later, she would storm into the break room with a kettle of freshly boiled water and dump it straight over my head. I collapsed in a pool of scalding water, my skin blistering and tearing open. She kept screaming as if she had lost her mind and smashed my head with her high heels, over and over. "It's all your fault! I lost the baby! Your keyboard noise shook my son to death!!" My vision blurred. By the time everything went black, I still couldn't understand how a silent keyboard could possibly kill someone. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day she first went off on me in the group chat. This time, faced with the same insults, I didn't back down. I went straight into the chat and fired back. [Stop pretending you're pregnant. You've got more going on down there than your dad does!]

As I walked through the dimly lit hallway, my heart was still racing, my breath uneven from the whirlwind of emotions that had consumed me in the last few hours. Then, my eyes flickered up, catching sight of the metal plaque bolted to the doorpost "Wing 1." A cold chill ran down my spine. My body went rigid as Otto’s letter flashed vividly in my mind, the words echoing as if he said it directly to my face "Room 316. Wing 2." No. No. No. No. Oh, God. A sickening wave of realization crashed over me, leaving me breathless. The man in the grey suit… He had smiled, nodded, and gestured me down this hallway. So confident. So sure. And like a fool, I had followed. I had made a mistake. A colossal, irreversible mistake. My stomach twisted violently as the truth settled in, thick and suffocating. I had entered the wrong wing. The wrong room. The wrong bed. I had given myself to a stranger. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, drowning out everything else. The world tilted, my vision blurred. What had I done? How far is too far? In this encapsulating masterpiesce, Sucre is down for whatever gets him closer to taking revenge on Otto - his twin brother's killer. But, would he really do all that is necessary? Would he chose his ambition over that of Luca the cartel’s underboss and his lover? Can he stop the knife and gun violence on campus and win the five million dollars prize money? Dive into a story of love, betrayal, romance and suspense. The Cartel’s Forbidden Love is a gripping and intriguing read that will keep you on the edge of your seat until the very last page.

I could hear everything, even with my poor vision. I could hear their horrified gasps and the curses they rained on me. ‘She’s a murderer!’ ‘A pack slut and now a murderer! She needs to leave! We can’t live in fear in our own pack!’ Their curses overshadowed my pleas. This isn’t me—I don’t kill. I would never kill one of my own. I staggered toward where Killain stood—he was shocked. He agreed with them. “Please help me, Killain,” I begged, but he only stared. “You have brought shame to this pack, Samantha,” Killain began. “Tonight was an amazing day—a celebration for the Blood Rose Pack. You give me no choice…” “No, no, please don’t do this to me again. I’m hurt, I’m hurt…please help—” “I, Killain Black, Alpha of the Blood Rose Pack, banish you, Samantha Forbes, from the Blood Rose Pack. You have done nothing but bring shame and disgrace to this pack, and from now on, you will not be associated with Blood Rose.” The pain wasn’t torture—my mate rejecting and banishing me on the same night was torture. I fell to the ground and clutched his robe. “Please, don’t chase me away.” The guards dragged me out of the crowd and deeper into the woods. “This is where you belong! Disgrace!” They dropped me roughly and left. I staggered and tried to get up with the little strength I had left. My eyes landed on the red stain flooding the front of my dress. No, please. My stomach twisted, and I screamed in pain. My babies—not my babies, please. I can’t lose them—they’re the only thing I have left. I need to live. I can’t die—after everything.

Within the circle, everyone knew I had been Leo’s most devoted, submissive admirer. For thirteen years, I chased him relentlessly, transforming myself from an uneducated, middle-school-dropout, illegitimate child of a wealthy family into an Ivy League economics master’s graduate. Only then did his mother finally acknowledge me, and I became Mrs. Smith. However, after the wedding, I no longer meddled in Leo’s company, cooked, or served him. While he stayed up late planning strategies for his first love, I traveled the world with friends. He would accompany her to Paris fashion shows, and I celebrated my cat’s birthday at home. I understood that a commercial marriage could never produce love. Everything I had poured my heart into was just my own foolish obsession. In my past life, I handled his company’s internal conflicts for him. Yet, he frowned, scolding, “You’re reaching too far.” I cooked soups for his stomach ailments, only to see him hand them off to his overworked first love, brushing it off, “She works harder than I do.” Even on the day I had a car accident, he lit fireworks across the city just to see her smile. I begged him, but he looked down at me from above. “Nicole, what we have is only a transaction.” Then, I opened my eyes and found myself back at our engagement banquet, watching him leave midway to comfort his heartbroken first love. This time, I did not chase after him. Instead, I picked up the microphone and said before all the guests. “Sorry, everyone. My engagement with Leo is canceled.”

“The monster you’re talking about,” I muttered, my heart pounding furiously against my chest. “Let it out. I want to feel it,” He smirked, the type that sent shivers down your spine. The type that warned you ‘never make a deal with the devil’ kind. “Watch your tongue, darling,” His cold deep voice had its way of doing something to my stomach, especially when he laid threats. “I don't fuck like a gentleman. I also don't fuck like a monster,” he strides towards me, pinning his gaze on my body. “I fuck like the devil in your nightmares, and you’ll scream like I am your God.” A contract relationship. Signed by ink in words. It was supposed to be a contract, but it was a trap: “Both parties expressly agree that this arrangement is strictly contractual in nature and devoid of any emotional or romantic involvement. Any demonstration of affection, emotional attachment, or behavior suggestive of romantic intent shall constitute a material breach of contract. Violation of this clause will result in immediate termination of the agreement, and the offending party shall forfeit all benefits, assets, or compensations received under this contract. This clause is non-negotiable and emphasized as a binding condition of the agreement.” However, there was another; “Party A must be in a perfect health condition.” *** Olivia Hayes is terminally ill and suffers from cancer. She has lived all her life prioritizing her mother’s health condition until one sentence shattered her dynamism; “I’m sorry, Miss Hayes. The results confirm it is cancer.” With her mother in a critical condition, she struggles to raise the funds for immediate treatment not until her encounter with Ezekiel Grayson, a cold heartless CEO offering a contract that could directly change her life… and destroy it forever.