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Food Poisoning

Seems as soon as yall asked, I was blessed with my first bout of food poisoning. I went golfing with some buddies and had a hot dog from the course snack shop. It tasted a little weird, but I didn’t think anything of it until 30 minutes later when my stomach felt like it was a washing machine. I kept drinking water to try to dampen the nausea….but that just resulted in me having a sloshy, queasy belly and sitting in front of my toilet as my stomach gurgled unhappily with me after I got home. I’ve never had food poisoning before this was interesting 😂

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#parts1and2

Alright here's the full Guz comic. If the small subsection of people who are into the human pokemon characters as well as belly kink have found me I might as well allow it to be rebloggable XD

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Bad careraker

Needed a break from the drama, so have some Dylan with indigestion and Rip having no idea what to do about it.

When Dylan came home from his emergency hospital call from his sister, it was already late afternoon.

Rip spent the day polishing the kitchen, trying to manage the chaos Dylan left in his wake. Dylan was messy even on a good day, but when he got into something—like digging out his boxing gear or work-out equipment Rip couldn’t identify—their living room turned into a disaster zone.

Forced to live in less-than-clean environments in the last years, Rip cherished the chance to take care of this place—sweeping, dusting, mopping the floors—and he was practically in love with the dishwasher! It was the coolest thing, aside from actual clean plates without splitters that weren't plastic or from the garbage.

Plus, he felt like he was contributing something. Moving around the place was safe, and he could feel himself managing more and more on his feet every day. Which was good cause keeping up with Dylan's fast pace of ruining his work was a worthy challenge.

How Dylan functioned in that mess when he didn't have to was beyond Rip's reality.

When Dylan arrived, his shoes went, of course, flying in two different directions. He discarded his sweaty shirt on the floor as he went, then collapsed in the middle of the sofa in the living room. "Ugh, that was horrible."

Rip had to work hard to contain his annoyance to twitching eyebrows. "Hi to you, too."

Dylan buried his face into the tiny pillow on the sofa with a long-suffering sigh.

"How did it go?"

"Didn't find out much. Just Sel crying her eyes out and everyone being super secretive. God forbit someone finds out Isaiah was sick."

Rip raised his eyebrows, bracing his hands on the kitchen island that offered good view into the living room. Must have been something serious if it got the Executioner into a hospital. Especially one that had such extensive medical knowledge. Something even he couldn't handle?

"I have never seen her like that." Dylan turned his head to the side, facing the turned-off TV. "Or I did, but like an eternity ago. Not since when she came to my room to cry about some bullying classmate or some shit. She was 12."

Rip rubbed the back of his head, not sure if that was information Dylan should be sharing with a stranger. "Will they...ehh, be okay?"

"Should be coming home soon. Honestly, I don't get the drama, he's got a shadow and is healing up. What could be so bad? Touchy wolves and their invulnerability crap."

Rip wondered if he should remind him that Dylan was a wolf too. It was funny to watch how he sometimes counted himself among humans without thinking.

Dylan's cheeks suddenly puffed out and he burped loudly. "Ughhh. My stomach's killing me."

Rip cringed. "What did you eat?'

Dylan turned to the side, so he could rub at his middle with a grimace. "Took Sel to McDonalnds. I completely forgot about how greasy that food is. Didn't eat stuff like that for months."

Rip's gaze went to the collection of protein shakes and vitamins that covered the cupboards next to the sink. Dylan was surprisingly aware of his health, on a diet to grow his muscles and aid his gym efforts. It was hard to meet someone that obsessed with himself. "Why would you do that, then?"

"Cause I forgot, that's why! Had like two burgers, chicken nuggets and fries....and the one more, cause we were waiting on empty and it was getting weird." He opened his mouth with another loud burp, his stomach churning aggressively. "Damn, it's really brewing in there."

Once again, Rip was at a loss for words in the face of Dylan's unashamed openness.

"s gonna ruin my streak too," Dylan said mournfully as he lifted himself up into a sitting position, swallowing heavily.

"Why is that so strickt?"

Dylan gave him a glare. "You are not gonna get sixpack from McDonalds and chocolates, man. And I need to look good on videos if I want sport and vitamin companies to sponsor me." He looked terribly pleased with himself. "I'm gonna make thousands of euroes from being an infleuncer on TikTok with his physique, you just watch."

Rip would be glad to watch if he knew what TikTok was. Dylan forced his old Samsung on him but Rip got easily overwhelmed by the number of apps installed there. Didn't help Dylan's teaching skills encompassed zero patience. Just as short his attention span. This online genration.

Dylan groaned, kneading into his stomach with both hands. That worked up a string of loud belches.

Rip scrunched his nose. "Really, man?"

"What? It's helping."

"Is it?" Rip said dryly. Dylan was getting paler by the second, swallowing frantically. Rip stepped closer to the sofa, and sure enough, he could hear loud, upset gurgles through the whole living room. "Maybe you should lie down or something."

"You don't lie down with indigestion, stupid. Sitting up is supposed to help." His stomach gave another growl again, like a cornered wolf.

"...are you gonna hurl?"

Dylan winced, glaring indignant daggers at Rip. "No. Just feel sick is all."

"That's what that usually entails."

Dylan gulped again, breathing through his teeth. "Do we have something for it?"

"Huh? We?"

"Yeah," Dylan said sullenly. "Sel always has drops or tea or some digestion enzyms at hand."

Rip shrugged, never having any of that ever, not to mention at hand.

"What about coke or tea?"

"Man, I don't do the shopping." He hadn't been outside since the stabbing. Saving that up for later, after Isaiah promised to see over his shadow and figure out what he should do to interact with people normally. His only contact outside was Dylan. "I can get you water?"

"Water? Geez-buurp-thanks, no thanks." Dylan cradled his belly gently, a shiever rocking his spine as his jaw snapped up with another wet burp. "I really don't...feel good."

"What about you go to the bathroom so you don't make a mess?" Rip suggested in irritation.

"I'm not...not gonna throw up," Dylan protested but dragged himself clumsily to his feet, arm wrapped tightly around his stomach. Now that he was standing Rip could see how bloated it was, skin stretched around a giant ball instead of the usual toned muscles.

The black haired wolf followed after Dylan. He didn't really want to be around, he wasn't sure what to do, but it also didn't feel right to just leave him to it. Not when Dylan had been so crazy about helping him at every turn.

Dylan didn't get far, bracing against the kitchen sink as his throat bobbed, working out another burp. He shook his head and grimaced queasily. "Not sitting right. Really wants to fight its way out of there."

"Less talk and more moving," Rip said, cause this was looking too close for comfort. He tugged at Dylan's hand just when the brown-haired retched emptily over the sink.

"See? Hurry up. Sink is gonna be a hassle to clean."

"Y-you are so mean, anyone told you that?" Dylan whined, but let Rip pull him away and towards the bathroom.

Rip felt a stab of guilt and defensive anger. Why was Dylan making such a big deal about a little nausea? Was his own fault for eating crap he knew he shouldn't.

Dylan stumbled in front of the toilet and moaned pathetically towards the water, hands shaking as he grabbed the rim for support.

Rip made a move to leave, then bit his lip at the pitiful whine. Dylan was so dramatic. "What now? Anything else you want?"

"Jerk," Dylan said, spitting into the toilet. His belly gave a loud gurgly moan that ended in a deep rumbling belch towards the water. "Oh, that hurts."

"Where is your fighting spirit," Rip said bitingly, but turned back to stand over Dylan. What was his role supposed to be in this? Dylan obviously wanted something, making such a scene out of it, but Rip couldn't figure out what.

"T-hink the f-fries are winning this round," Dylan wheezed. His shoulders hitched as he retched, but only another burp came up.

"Let it happen already. Geez, you make a big deal out of this," Rip said, rolling his eyes. He was close enough to get the stench from Dylan's unmuffled burps.

Dylan lurched forward suddenly, a wet burp bringing up a small gush of puke. The next heave came right after, a much thicker wave of yellowy mush.

Rip grimaced and looked away, but Dylan's loud retches and throaty burps didn't leave much to imagination.

Dylan was holding onto the rim of the toilet with both hands, a long string of saliva hanging from his mouth. There were little tears of strain sliding down his cheeks and he was sniffling.

"That it?" Rip asked, reaching over to hand him a bunch of toilet paper. "Nothing to be so shaky over, come on."

Dylan lowered his head, lips quivering as he wiped his face. Rip flushed the toilet, still standing over him.

"C-could you get me some water?"

Rip scoffed. "Now he wants water. Honestly, you don't look like you can keep it down yet. Let's not waste it."

That had Dylan's head snapping up, cheeks all red. "You are such an asshole, it's not a waste-"

Rip sighed and drummed his fingers gently over Dylan's back. Dylan's eyes glazed over and he turned back over the bowl sharply as it worked up another burp.

The next one brought a new splatter of sick though.

Rip chuckled at how well that worked. "There you go. Just get it out."

[emeticize]

in the dark of the night

here for my wildly unscheduled fic of the season. enjoy!

——

Luka blinks slowly as he comes out of the half-awake doze he’s been fighting to stay in for the past few hours when his stomach growls. It’s still dark, and the sheets are tangled around him, unpleasantly damp. His pajamas are also damp with sweat, he realizes, but there’s a chill prickling beneath his skin.

He turns over and pulls the blanket up, burrowing into it and trying to go back to sleep. He’s almost managed it when his stomach growls and gurgles again, this time sending a slow wave of nausea over him. A noise of discomfort slips out of him and he turns over once more, but that only serves to ramp of the churning of his stomach. Luka swallows nervously as heat rolls over him, making him throw off the blanket again.

His stomach clenches a bit, and he curls around it, hoping it’ll settle, but it swirls and gurgles once more, making him feel faint, and saliva is beginning to accumulate beneath his tongue.

With a sigh, Luka sits up and swings his legs over the bed, sitting on the edge with his head in his hands. He’s still half hoping the nausea will ease, but just in case, he gathers his damp hair back into a bun at the base of his neck.

As he does so, his stomach cramps hard, and Luka is suddenly aware that he’s moved past slight queasiness and straight into full-blown nausea, the kind that is dangerously close to sending up his stomach contents. He coughs slightly at the feeling and stands up, feeling the blood drain from his head as he does so.

Keep reading

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V Day is for Vomit

A very self-indulgent gift for my equally thirsty buddy @sickandvomiting. I meant to do something for Jace’s birthday anyway, I’m only three and a half weeks late. Hope y'all enjoy.

It was nearly midnight when Jace and Elizabeth left the theater on Valentine’s day. Jace’s birthday was the day after, and while he hadn’t wanted a gift, he’d begged Elizabeth to take a long weekend off for “V-day and B-day V-play” as he’d called it in the original text. Elizabeth had never been less turned on, but she’d laughed and accepted his invitation nonetheless.

“I still can’t believe you’re turning twenty.” Elizabeth scoffed, “We met at a bar!”

Jace shrugged, shoving a fistful of leftover popcorn in his mouth. “I mean… I’m legal age to fuck. It’s not like you did anything criminal.” He opened the passenger door of his car, handing Elizabeth the popcorn bucket.

“Careful with this,” Jace warned, and she nodded, eyeing the expensive leather seats. “I’m eating the rest when we get home.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Jesus tits. What is that, your fourth refill?”

“Maybe. I wasn’t counting.” Jace hopped into the driver’s seat, barely giving Elizabeth time to buckle before tearing out of the parking lot.

Normally, the mountain roads were a luxurious ride; Jace’s car floated across the pavement, and his hair flew back from his face, top down in the cool night air. Today, though, Elizabeth barely noticed the luminous LA skyline. Her stomach seemed to shift with every curve in the road, and she hugged the popcorn bucket, slouching down in her seat. Jace was too absorbed in the drive to notice, but when he came around to help her out in the garage, he frowned at her pale, uneasy face.

“You okay, Lizard? Need a nap? A coffee?” Jace was still thinking about what was going to happen upstairs, though his mind was currently bouncing between popcorn and tits. He took the bucket back from Elizabeth as they walked inside.

Elizabeth shook her head. “I’d rather have a Sprite, or ginger ale if you have it. My stomach feels gross.”

Jace finally seemed to pay proper attention now, and he looked much more concerned. “Oh, shit. You coulda said something if you wanted to stop…” He hurried off to the kitchen, returning with a ginger ale in hand.

Elizabeth took the soda, sinking down on the couch with her free hand on her stomach. “It wasn’t that bad until a few minutes ago.” She explained. Jace sat down as well, one arm around Elizabeth, and one reaching back into the popcorn bucket. He could be worried and hungry at the same time.

Cracking open her ginger ale, Elizabeth took a sip. The flavor was crisp and refreshing after a night of popcorn, hot dogs, slushes, and candy, but the carbonation made her burp. Jace rubbed her back gently. “You doing okay?”

“Not really.” Elizabeth ventured another mouthful, and this one sat a little better, but the third sip coaxed up another belch. “I feel like shit.”

Jace sat his popcorn aside, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He scooted back on the couch and moved his legs apart. “C’mere.”

Elizabeth climbed over Jace’s tree trunk thigh, settling between his legs and leaning back against him. Rock hard abs didn’t make for a cushy chair, but he was warm, and his arms felt sturdy and reassuring wrapped around her. Though they were still in the living room, he unzipped her dress, pulling the top part down until she was bare from the hips up. She opened her mouth to protest, but Jace was ahead of her.

“Relax. Nobody’s home.”

He pulled her back against him, rubbing slow, steady circles on her aching stomach. Elizabeth softened at once, letting out a moan of contentment.

Jace chuckled. “Wasn’t expecting to hear that just yet.”

Elizabeth laughed weakly. “Guess you’re just that charrrrrurrp-ming…” The pressure brought up an involuntary belch, and her stomach rumbled in its wake. With her dress off, she was visibly bloated, her normally-flat belly heavy and round.

“That sounded rough.” Jace winced. “Should I stop?”

“No, keep going.” Elizabeth begged. “Feels good.”

“Whatever helps.” Jace shrugged. He continued to massage her aching stomach, feeling it gurgle and roil under his touch.

Elizabeth belched again, deep and wet, sighing with relief as it eased a bit of the pressure building in her gut. Jace hummed sympathetically, rubbing firm circles on Elizabeth’s swollen, sloshing belly. Another sick burp rumbled out of her, and she groaned.

“You good?” Jace’s hand went still as he hesitated.

“Keep going.” Elizabeth mumbled, “Burping helps. Gotta get the trapped air out.”

Jace nodded, his free arm wrapping gently around her chest. It wasn’t a sexual advance - her skin was cool to the touch, chilled from being nearly naked in the open air. Jace’s hands, on the other hand, were soft and warm. He knew his house was a bit cold for Elizabeth, but he wanted to keep her comfortable. She snuggled up against him, seemingly content, and Jace was relieved - maybe a bit of trapped gas had been the problem all along.

The quiet comfort lasted only a few moment. Jace had continued to rub Elizabeth’s stomach, and without warning, it churned angrily under his touch. She let out a deep, gurgling belch and hastily sat up, one hand on her belly and one hovering over her mouth.

“Jace? I think I’m gonna puke.”

“Oh, shit.” Jace looked around in a panic, eventually grabbing the popcorn bucket off the coffee table. He held it under her chin, and the overpowering smell of fake butter made Elizabeth’s stomach lurch again. She burped, spewing a wave of chunky brown sludge into the bucket.

Jace cringed, brushing her hair out of the way and rubbing her back. “Easy… you’re okay.”

Elizabeth burped again, wet but unproductive, and she groaned softly. “Can you… rub my stomach some more?”

“You sure?” Jace looked skeptical - he’d assumed the pressure had been what made her sick.

“Please? It feels good, and I… I wanna get everything out. I think it’ll help.”

She burped, this one turning into a retch, and Jace obligingly moved his hand back to her bare stomach. It was sloshing and bubbling, and he’d barely completed one circle when her belly contracted, forcing up another gush of half-digested food. The savory popcorn and hot dog mixed with sweet candy and bitter bile, creating a wretched taste and an even worse smell.

Elizabeth gagged, retching again to no avail. She put one hand over Jace’s, pressing down until he squeezed her belly. Her stomach reacted at once, belching up a torrent of thick beige sick. She groaned, starting to feel a bit better as her stomach emptied out.

“Again,” she mumbled, and Jace pressed on her belly obligingly. She vomited copiously in response, and he gave her stomach another gentle press. Elizabeth belched up a smaller mouthful of sick, and it took several retches for her to throw up again, even with Jace squeezing her. This time, hardly anything came up. Jace loosened his grip.

“Think you’re done?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Not yet. Press.”

He pressed firmly into her belly, forcing out a burpy gag, but no vomit.

“Again.”

Jace squeezed her stomach again, to the same result.

“One more, I feel it. Press hard.”

Jace hesitated, but Elizabeth pressed firmly on his hand. He pressed in as far as he could, the bloat of her stomach yielding at once to his strong hand. She let out a huge, gurgling belch, and with it came one last splatter of sick.

Finally feeling empty, Elizabeth pulled away from the bucket, leaning back against Jace with a groan. He set the tub on the floor to throw away later, holding her close and rubbing her back.

“Feel any better?”

“A little, yeah.” Elizabeth’s eyelids felt heavy, while her stomach was hollow and aching. Jace scooped her into his arms, climbing to his feet.

“Let’s get you to bed. Try not to puke on my sheets, okay?”

“Mmhm.” Elizabeth nodded against his shoulder, but as Jace carried her up the stairs, the motion rocked a burp out of her. Jace just sighed.

“I’ll bring a trash can.”

[emeticize]

thinking thinking..

going to a state fair with my partner, it’s a hot and almost miserable day with how high the heat index is but we’re both bursting with excitement from what’s about to come- being quite skinny and petite, i don’t have much stomach capacity and they know this too..using this to their advantage as they make go from stall to stall to fill up on all type of sugary and extravagant fair foods. funnel cakes, cotton candy, corn dogs and fries- fried oreos and milkshakes and lemonade…a recipe for disaster really, i’m already full from not even half the funnel cake but they make me finish anyways because “good puppies don’t waste their food.”

by now if it wasn’t for the sweltering heat, the sheer amount of food in my tummy that wasn’t even digesting properly was certainly making me feel dizzy and sick. every step and new bite of food making my stomach churn and roll- wet burps thick with sugary sludge and chunks of greasy fair foods forcing their way up my throat that i have to choke back because “you wouldn’t want to make a mess in front of everyone here now would you puppy?”

they decide we’ve done enough walking around- let’s get on a ride instead…that rickety rollercoaster with questionable safety measures looks like a great choice. while we wait in line they make me guzzle down a souvenir cup worth of milk tea because “it’s really hot out puppy, you need to stay hydrated..”

i’m leaning on their shoulder now, clutching my bloated and churning tummy as i try to fight the nausea and hot waves of food trying to force their way up- everything curdling in my stomach in the worst way possible. they rub a hand on my tummy, giving it a gentle strokes before pressing down- getting off on the way it lurches been their hand and the gag i have to conceal since people are watching…a hand clasping over my mouth quickly as my cheeks puff up full of vomit that tastes like a cursed concoction of all the treats they had been stuffing me with.

as we’re getting buckled into the ride the safety belt gets pressed down into my sick tummy- making me gag again, a small amount of sick dribbling out the corner of my mouth- my puffed out cheeks making the worker give us concerned look but my partner assures them i’m fine.

the rickety ride begins. honestly im relieved that we’re on it because i know their is no way im making it off without getting sick, it’ll force its way up out of me and i can’t protest- im hoping that maybe it’ll make my nauseous and bloated tummy feel a bit better.

not even halfway through i’m puking all over my lap and the rollercoaster cart- the speed combined with the heat and all the disgusting fair food i had been stuffed with forcing my stomach to retch up all of its contents, making me projectile vomit thick streams of undigested food and drinks all over my clothes. i can’t even bring myself to care that im making a mess and that people are watching- only thinking about the relief i feel from the pressure on my swollen tummy finally easing as wave after wave of treats force their way up my throat.

my partner apologizes for the mess to the fair worker- the staff has seen it time and time again and they really don’t care honestly..i hang my head in shame, trying to conceal my arousal from getting sick all over myself as my partner guides me back to the car- praising me for how well i did as they get me into a fresh change of clothes and clean up the chunks of vomit that were staining my lips and chin..pressing soft kisses to my still sick tummy before starting the car to take us back home. of course i get sick several more times throughout the evening, into a bag as we drive home and a few times more in the shower- chunks of sugary fair food going down the drain as they fuck me against the shower wall, too eager to keep their hands off of me as their thrusts and their perverted hands gripping my tummy force up the last of the food they made me eat- the movements too much for my sick stomach.

just a thought tho hehe :33 (need this to happen to me asap)

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Something wasn't agreeing with me and I needed to get it out

I had just eaten a meal but after a while I felt that I needed to vomit so I went and got ready by the toilet. I vomited a good bit here, needed to help myself out a few times throughout so I could keep going. Right after I cleaned up I felt more coming and got to the toilet quick to let a little more out.

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#can’t remember if I’ve reblogged this or not already

This idea was graciously provided by my partner, with consent to post. I just happened to sit on it… for. Months

Oops

Anyway so bloating and showers

Imagine your fave, after a day of particularly intense snacking. Chips and dip, mozzarella sticks, popcorn, chocolate, maybe a donut or two, pizza… and what’s a day of snacking without soda? Regardless, everything was rather spaced out and they feel fine so what’s it matter anyway? Their stomach feels a little taut, and it’s a little noisy, but only a little!

Until they get into the shower. The heat sets everything into motion and suddenly they realize just how unwell they feel. It’s hard to wash when they have to lean against the wall and desperately rub their gurgling tummy. It feels heavy and oh so incredibly full.

They stifle a little burp into their hand and try to continue on with their shower. They reach up for the soap, but pause when they feel a particularly dangerous bubbling sensation in their belly. All those snacks are starting to disagree with them and they aren’t feeling so good. They resume leaning on the wall, and let out a much longer burp than the first.

And suddenly they can’t stop. With the added pressure of the water hitting their upset tummy, they have no choice but to stand there and belch until they feel better.

Eventually they burp everything out and they feel a little better. Their tummy is still upset and still making all sort of noises but now they have more control over themselves. The finish up washing, get comfy, and go lay down. Only then do the cramps start.

It’s gonna be a long night.

[emeticize]

ok but a character on halloween who thinks individually wrapped candies are wasteful

they buy a fuckton of candy without wrappers to share with their friends. they eat candy out of bowls, watch some movies together, stay up late and have a good time

but at the end of the night there's all this candy sitting out in the open... and they'd hate to throw it all away

so they spend the rest of the night mindlessly watching halloween movies and munching on this candy, and at a certain point it stops being enjoyable but they keep eating, being too distracted to remember that they've already had too much

even when the sugar sits in their esophagus they still nauseously swallow down more sweet candy, because just one more couldn't hurt... and one more after that... and one more...

eventually they realize they're starting to feel genuinely sick and really need to stop. the middle of their belly is beginning to cramp badly, unused to so much sugar. when they touch their aching stomach, they're painfully aware of the sour-sweet taste shooting up their throat... that was way too much candy. they push the bowl as far away from themself as possible and go back to watching tv, though too distracted by the cramps in their midsection to enjoy it

but after a few minutes they forget that their stomach had ever been unsettled, and shove a handful of candy corn in their mouth

this does not go over well, and they have to cover their mouth to keep from vomiting as they painstakingly chew, swallow, chew, swallow all that sugar

realizing that if the candy stays out they'll only eat until they're violently sick, the character finally realizes they could put the candy in a sealable container

but their stomach is feeling so unwell.... they close their computer, and when there's nothing to distract them, all they notice is how upset all that candy has made their stomach. they gently lay a hand on their belly. it's so sensitive that their touch almost stings. they repeatedly swallow back the acidic sensation in the back of their throat in vain. there are no gurgles of digestion, just the burning sensation of a stomach full of nothing but sugar. they realize with a sickening lurch that they must have eaten a whole jumbo bag of candy...

they feel so, so nauseous, and the sight of candy only makes it worse. they turn away, their stomach turning inside them

they clutch their upset tummy, rubbing and massaging it, trying to coax it into some digestion. groaning inadvertently, they feel like an idiot for having eaten so much candy they can barely digest. when their stomach lets out a few sickly gurgles, they massage it a bit more, hoping they might (albeit slowly and painfully) be able to digest all this sugar.

they feel the need to burp, but aren't sure whether to trust it. there's no bucket nearby in case things go wrong... but they're so tired, and after another groan-inducing cramp from their upset tummy, they're ready to go through with anything that could bring their belly some relief. feeling a rising sensation in their throat, they open their mouth...

and, with a loud burp, spew vomit all over their floor.

they clutch their stomach, unable to stop another stream of vomit that lasts until they can barely breathe. they take a deep breath, then heave up another mouthful of thick, undigested sugar. burping nauseously, they debate whether they can cross the distance to the bathroom... then accidentally burp up another drizzle of liquid all over the front of their shirt. they can't help but groan, too tired and sick to move, hunched over, slowly regurgitating mouthful after mouthful of their poor stomach's contents.

the cleanup is going to be a nightmare... and they still feel too sick to move...

[emeticize]

I had too much to eat tonight ... I split it to three parts so you can play them all at the same time ♡

I attended a party and I always stuff myself too full when there's free food ♡ I stuffed my belly full of little snacks that I wasn't counting, especially lots of sweets, brownies, cookies and cupcakes ... the icing on the cupcakes was so good, but it all started sitting bad in my tummy after I got a drink down ... I tried to make some room on the toilet but I couldn't get anything out ... I wanted so badly to sit in the bathroom and burp for some relief but the walls were too thin for me to do it in private..

I tried for the rest of the night to rub my tight, full and bloated belly in secret, and somehow tempted myself into eating more sweets and drinking flavored lemonade, and that's really, really not sitting good ... a friend even asked if I was okay, I'm not good at hiding my bellyaches..

I started burping and moaning on my drive home, I felt so sick ... there were a few times there where some of it splashed up but I didn't get to puke up anything yet ... hoping soon, but usually when I eat too much like this, I just have to suffer with a sour, full belly until some of it digests and I can get it out ... I rubbed myself a little while I was burping up...

[emeticize]

This has been a favourite of mine for years! :3

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aNON OH MY GODDDD!!!!! I love love love this!!! Send more!! Just imagine the sickie starting to heave as they let up more and more air, and doubling over involuntary as the burps become more productive ❤️ and then frantically trying to cover their mouth as the soda starts to come up❤️❤️

[emeticize]

Progression prompts

Starting to feel sick

I'm a little too full right now

I actually don't have much of an appetite

I need to let my stomach settle a bit

My belly's kind of upset

My stomach feels off

The motion is getting to me a little

I think I just need to burp

I've got that weird feeling in my throat

Something's I ate isn't sitting well.

I'm feeling sloshy and uncomfortable

Feeling more sick

Yeah, definitely ate too much

I can't face food right now, I'm sorry

I'm getting sick to my stomach

My belly is really unsettled now

I'm actually not feeling great

I wish we could stop moving, I'm pretty nauseous

All the burping is making me feel sick

Can you put the food away? I'm trying not to gag right now

I'm starting to feel a little pukey

It's getting harder to keep my dinner down.

I kind of want to burp something up and see if that helps my stomach

Really, really sick

I'm feeling really nauseous now

I don't know how much longer I can fight the nausea

If I burp again I'm going to throw up

I'm trying not to . . . vomit

I need to get sick

I'm definitely feeling pukey

I hate feeling so sick to my stomach

The next burp is going to bring something up

Can you get me a basin?

I've started retching; I'm going to throw up in a second

I'm really, really not feeling well

I've got to get it out of my stomach

My belly feels terrible

It's not going to . . . stay down

The queasiness is unbearable

[emeticize]

spoiler it got worse I kept gagging . You can hear how wet my burps of gags get turned in or should I go God I wish I had someone could rub my tummy. 

[emeticize]

Ey there. You still into puking ?

Sorry, I’m emetophobic when it comes to puking myself but I enjoy watching others puke

[emeticize]

okay but whumpee burping loudly and violently, caretaker brushing it off as whumpee eating too much, drinking too much, etc. but then whumpee lets out a slurry of half digested, hot, thick vom all over themselves

[emeticize]

Coke

Last Jeremiah and Drew story for a little while, thank you for your patience as I got into it with them. The second part of this fic was inspired by an anon request for someone who has to continually go into the bathroom because they aren't feeling great, but it takes a while for them to throw up. And, the soda bloat and sickness was inspired by a great Micah/Alexi story by @secretobsessionstuff. I originally thought about making this a little kinky at the end, but it didn't quite fit the vibe I was going for. But I have another Jeremiah/Drew story in the works that does explore their emetophila.

I will probably be going back and writing a few more prompts next, but there's going to be some Noa and Rory drama coming soon too.

As soon as the Uber pulled away, Drew staggered over to the flower beds flanking his parents’ front door and vomited.  He’d been completely silent the entire ride from the club, and Jeremiah suspected it was not solely because of nausea. Now he opened the front door and marched inside, barely waiting for Jeremiah to follow him.

Any hope that he’d changed his mind about sleeping separately evaporated up in the guest room, where he grabbed his toiletry kit from the bathroom and pajamas from his suitcase and left again without even a word of goodnight.  Jeremiah stayed frozen, but when he heard the bedroom door close down the hall, let himself fall onto the bed. 

It was after ten - not too late for a Saturday night, and he grabbed his phone, not bothering to text first before making the call.

“Jer?  I thought you were in Atlanta this weekend; what’s up?”  Rory sounded awake and alert, and there was the low hum of the television in the background. But he couldn’t feel guilty about interrupting his friend’s quiet night in. 

“I . . . I umm,” he began, feeling his eyes prick.  He took a shaky breath.  “I . . it’s bad.”  The words came out in a rush and he began to cry for real.  

“Jeremiah?” Rory’s tone changed immediately.  “What’s wrong?”  The sound of the television disappeared. “Are you still in Georgia? Did something happen?” There was a shuffling sound, and then a whisper away from the phone.  I don’t know - go to bed without me.  

“Wait,” Jeremiah said hoarsely. “Let Noa stay.”  He pushed himself back into a sitting position against the pillows on the bed.  There was a beat of silence, during which Rory and Noa were likely conversing silently, trying to figure out what was going on.  Jeremiah took the time to start taking off his now-rather wrinkled suit.  God, he hated the sight of it.  

“Jer?  Can we put you on speaker?”  The echo in the room sounded different and he suspected they’d moved to their bedroom.  He felt a thrum of pain at the thought of the two of them, together and unbothered.  His breath hitched.

“Yeah,” he stuttered.  “Yeah, you both . . . I need to tell you both.”  Now just in pajama pants he fell back onto the bed.  “I really fucked up.” 

Slowly, the story came out.  Jeremiah tried to be as honest as possible, leaving out nothing, describing every time Drew had warned him about his parents or asked him to be sensitive, and how - every time - he’d brushed him off.  

“He asked me why I couldn’t trust him,” he said bitterly, after he’d been talking for nearly twenty minutes.  “And of course he was right.  He’d grown up here, he knows all these people, and . . . and he’s told me before how bad it was.  But for some reason I didn’t quite believe him.”  He swiped impatiently as his eyes, feeling the weight of his betrayal pressing down on his chest.  He sucked in a breath  “Oh god, I love him so much and I do trust him.  With everything I have.”  

“We know you do,” said Noa softly.  “And I know Drew does too, deep down.  But that doesn’t help right now.”

Jeremiah appreciated her candor, even if it hurt.  He hiccupped.  “I . . . I ruined it.  My stupid pride and insecurities got in the way like they always do, and the second someone wealthy and powerful paid me some attention, that’s all that mattered.” He groaned, pulling at his hair.  “I absolutely despise myself.”

There was a soft chuckle on the phone.  “And I thought I was the one to overreact.”  Rory’s voice was calm, and it quieted Jeremiah’s nerves a tiny bit.  

“So you think I didn’t screw up?” he asked hopefully.  

“Well, yes, you did,” Noa answered this time, with a hint of apology.  “But not permanently.  You’re going to have to work to fix it though.”

“Anything,” he breathed out.  “You know I’ll do anything.”  Another sob rose in his chest, and Jeremiah was not normally a crier.  “He’s . . . he’s sleeping in another room.”

“I guarantee you he’s not sleeping,” said Noa dryly. “And when we’re done with you you’re going to talk to him.”

“What if he refuses to see me?”  He hated how shaky his voice sounded.    

Rory chuckled.  “My lovely girlfriend won’t let him take no for an answer.  Even if she has to stay on the phone to yell at you both herself”  He sighed.  “But I’m going to be honest.  I understand why he’s so upset.  You can be rather bull-headed and presumptive about things having to do with money.  It can be . . . frustrating for those close to you, seeing you put wealth and connections above the things that really matter.” 

Jeremiah grimaced.  He knew he needed his best friend’s honesty, but the words stung.  

“I . . . I know,” he said, feeling defeated.  “And tonight I did that in the extreme.”

“And now you have to fix it.”  Noa spoke briskly.  Then her voice softened.  “Go to him, Jeremiah.  It’s not going to do either of you any good to lie awake in separate rooms letting this fester.  Go, be honest, and do more than apologize.  You need to do better.”

It was with that advice in mind, not to mention the fact that he couldn’t stand to sit alone in the guest room for another second, that propelled Jeremiah out the door and into the hallway.  Thank god Drew’s parents’ room was on the other side of the house, accessed by a separate staircase. 

He’d almost reached the door to Drew’s childhood bedroom, heart pounding with nerves, when it jerked open and the man stumbled out.  For a minute Jeremiah harbored the hope that he’d been coming to the guest room, but instead he belched and pushed past him with a desperate gonna puke, before crossing the hallway to his bathroom.  

There was no question that he was going to follow.  This was his boyfriend, dammit, at least for now, and he was obviously still feeling ill.  Jeremiah followed him into the bathroom just as Drew crashed to his knees over the toilet in time to heave up what sounded like pure liquid.  He groaned.  

“Thought . . . thought I was better.”  He spit, and stayed hovering over the bowl, panting.  Silently, Jeremiah wet a washcloth, and when Drew finally sat back on his heels, held it out.

Drew took it. “Thanks,” he muttered, wiping his face. When he didn’t say anything else or look like he was going to get up, Jeremiah cleared his throat.  

“I’ll just, uhh, go back to bed then.  If you’re okay.”  He turned slowly towards the door.

“Wait.”  Drew’s voice was wrecked.  “Why . . . why were you in the hallway anyway?”  

“I was coming to talk to you.”  Again, Jeremiah could hear how shaky his voice sounded.  “I couldn’t wait until morning.”

Drew sighed.  “I was coming to see you too.”  He leaned forward and burped softly over the water.  “And then I stood up and my stomach turned over and suddenly throwing up became a lot more important.”  

“Are you still feeling sick?”  He wasn’t going to force a talk if Drew wasn’t feeling well, but Jeremiah was determined to at least have the man in his bed with him tonight.  

He reached forward and flushed the toilet.  “I think I’m okay,” he said, slowly standing up.  It took all of Jeremiah’s willpower not to put out his hand to steady him.  He slowly rinsed his mouth and brushed his teeth before turning around and finally looking Jeremiah in the eye.  “We can go to your room now.”  

He took the win, silently lecturing himself not to fuck this up, and followed Drew to the guest room.  

“Do you want some water?” He rocked back and forth on his feet.  

Drew sat down on the bed.  “I’m okay, thanks.”  He watched Jeremiah for a long minute and then gave a heavy sigh. “Can you sit down, please?”  He pushed himself back against the pillows and patted the spot next to him.  “All the rocking is making me dizzy.” 

Quickly, Jeremiah complied, climbing onto the bed and sitting sideways next to Drew’s knees. The man was silent and he knew this was his problem to fix.  He took a deep breath.

“I don’t think I realized until this weekend - until tonight, really - how bad I’d gotten.”  He gazed openly at Drew.  “My behavior the past two days has been inexcusable.”   

Drew shifted in his seat.  “Well that may be a little harsh . . .” he began, closing his mouth when Jeremiah held up his hand.

“Don’t,” he said roughly.  “Don’t let me off easily now that I’m not actively being an ass and the adrenaline's run out.  I know how bad I was.”  

“You were,” Drew agreed.  “And I hated watching you, acting like that.”  He leaned forward and burped softly into his fist. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said quickly.  “Just aftershocks.  But I don’t think I realized just how much it was going to affect me, bringing you here.”  He gave a small, sad shrug.  “I think I assumed it would be better, somehow.”

Jeremiah’s stomach dropped.  “And instead I made it worse.”  

“I think we both made it worse.”  Drew sat up and carefully took his hand, and just the feel of their fingers brushing together made Jeremiah’s eyes prick.  “I wanted to show off my boyfriend,” he said softly.  “I wanted it to be different, with you here.”  He gave him a fierce look.  “That’s not your fault.  It was never going to be different for me, no matter what.”  His mouth quirked.  “Unless I brought home a girl and a, ‘surprise, guess what?  I’m straight after all!’” He shook his head.  “And that’s never going to happen.

Jeremiah gave a watery chuckle.  “Well that’s a relief.”  He squeezed Drew’s hand.  “To be honest, sweetheart, you’d make a terrible heterosexual.”  

Drew gave a real laugh.  “Well thank god for that.” He touched Jeremiah’s cheek.  “I missed hearing you call me sweetheart.  I’m sorry I told you not to.” 

The knot in Jeremiah’s stomach was easing, but he knew there was more to say. He waved off Drew’s apology for one of his own.  “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for not believing you, though. And not just not believing you; I actually went out of my way to try to prove you were wrong. About your family, and the club, and everything.” He ran his hand across his face.  “I thought if I played the game exactly right, and did all the right things, I could make it different for you this time.”  He blew out a harsh breath.  “I was such an idiot.”  

“Well, let’s be fair; it’s my parents and all the other assholes at the club who’re the idiots.”  Drew rolled his eyes.  “Can you believe they thought that was a Pride party?  

Jeremiah finally felt like it was safe to scoot close enough to kiss his boyfriend on the side of the head.  “We should have worn our assless chaps.” 

They stayed up another two hours talking, and although they didn’t make love - mindful of Drew’s uneasy stomach - they did sleep naked, Drew’s head on Jeremiah’s chest.  When they woke it was after 10 and the house was quiet, both Dean and Jillian out doing who knew - or cared - what. 

Jeremiah knew better than to mention the lack of goodbyes, and it was with no fanfare at all that they got back into the Chevy and drove off to the Coca Cola museum.  

The entire experience was fascinating, but the best part was the tasting room at the end of the tour, where visitors could sample more than 60 different flavors and varieties of Coke products from around the world - as much of each as they wanted.  

Jeremiah secretly loved soda - something he’d almost never gotten as a child - and It felt like a challenge to try every flavor.  While Drew ran around haphazardly, grabbing cups and taking sips of whatever struck his fancy, Jeremiah moved methodically through the room, finishing at least one paper cup of each flavor - even the strange ones like cucumber Coke from Romania and a spicy bubblegum flavor from Costa Rica.   At the end he drank two extra cups of his favorites -  Cherry Coke and Cherry Sprite - before joining Drew in the gift shop.  

“I’m going to be burping up weird flavors for the rest of the day,” he laughed, looking at an old fashioned coca-cola bank shaped like a streetcar.  “Did you try the melon one?”  

“I think I’m glad I missed it.”  Drew held up a poster with the original medicinal recipe for Coke on it - complete with the cocaine that gave the beverage its name.  “This would be cool in our office.”

Jeremiah belched into his fist.  “Get it,” he said expansively.  He grimaced.  “I need to pee” 

Drew laughed. “Go now;  I’m not stopping again until the airport.”

Jeremiah’s bladder was still fine by the time they got to the airport and dropped off the rental car, but he had to admit that his stomach was feeling a little unsettled.  He didn’t want to belch in the crowded security line or the tram that took them to their terminal, so he swallowed down the pressure over and over, feeling bloated and uncomfortable by the time they got to their gate. 

“I think all the international Cokes are fighting in my stomach,” he said with a weak chuckle.  “There’s a single family restroom a little ways down; I’m going to go burp in there for a bit.”  

Drew looked him over carefully with his nurse’s eye.  “You’re bloated,” he agreed, giving him a little push. “Go get the air up before we have to get on the plane.”

“Yes, Nurse Thorton,” said Jeremiah cheekily.  Even the discomfort in his stomach couldn’t mask his relief at not being in a fight with his boyfriend anymore. 

The family restroom was at the very end of the terminal, and it was thankfully clean and empty.  Jeremiah leaned against the wall, rubbing his stomach and forcing up some of the air he’d been swallowing down ever since they’d gotten to the airport.  His stomach gurgled unhappily, not liking so much liquid and carbonation inside.  He belched again.  Maybe he just had to pee some more and the full feeling would start to go away.  

Back at their seats, Drew was scrolling through his phone, checking the weather forecast. “Looks a little bumpy,” he said.  “I’ll take my meds right before we board.” He glanced at Jeremiah.  “Better?”  

Jeremiah nodded.  “Yeah.  Still kind of sloshy but don’t need to burp anymore.  And I peed again.”

Drew laughed.  “Thank you for the comprehensive medical report, Dr. Gable.”  

Jeremiah opened his phone too.  He sent a text to Rory, checked his emails from work, and started the Wordle, but eventually he couldn’t ignore the rising pressure in his throat again.

“Gonna go burp some more,” he muttered under his breath.  “Be right back.”  

“Do you want me to come?  I could rub your back and help you work up some air,” Drew offered.  “Jeremiah shook his head. 

“Stay here with the bags.  Besides -” he swallowed hard - “I don’t think I’m going to need help getting the air up.” 

Truth was, he was feeling a little bit queasy now, but he didn’t tell his boyfriend that.  Back in the restroom he burped easily a couple of times, but they didn’t totally eliminate the uncomfortable feeling in his belly.  After forcing down several more swallows of air, he walked back and forth across the small room and pounded on his chest until he worked it back up with a harsh belch, this one tasting bitter and salty, like one of the less enjoyable Coke flavors he’d tried.  It made him gag, and after breathing heavily for a second, he had to walk over to the toilet to spit.  Staring at the water made him gag again, and then the nausea receded.  One more burp, and Jeremiah walked slowly back to their gate. 

Drew squeezed his knee when he sat down but didn’t say anything.  There wasn’t anything to do anyway; hopefully that last round of burping had done the trick.  

It didn’t; Jeremiah had drunk too much bubbly soda for his belly to handle, and now it was determined to protest.  He tried to hold down the need to burp as long as possible, but the next time the carbonation rose to an uncomfortable level, he couldn’t hold back a small groan.  

“I need to go burp again,” he said miserably.  “My stomach’s so sloshy.”  

“Are you going to throw up?”  Drew’s eyes were concerned now. Jeremiah shrugged.  

“I don’t think so; I just really need to get more air up.”  Turning down Drew’s offer to come help again, he trudged back to the bathroom.  

This time, the sight of the toilet made him feel like gagging right away, and he made sure he was standing over it before he let himself belch.  The first couple were dry and tasted like too sweet soda, but the third brought up a mouthful of liquid that he had to spit into the bowl.  He hovered there another minute, willing his stomach to make up his mind and either empty or calm down, before he finally belched again and felt things settle.  

Calm down it was, then.  Okay, he was fine.  

Drew’s eyes were questioning when he returned, and he shook his head.  “Just burped,” he said, rubbing at his middle.  Even after peeing three times since the museum he was still just as bloated as before.  “I’m beginning to think that trying all 60 flavors was not such a great idea.” 

His boyfriend patted his leg reassuringly.  “Next time you need to go belch I’m coming with you.”  

That time came only ten minutes before their plane was going to board.  When Jeremiah stood up, Drew silently followed, carrying their bags into the restroom and carefully locking the door.  

Jeremiah swallowed hard. “I kind of want to vomit,” he admitted.  “With so much liquid in my stomach it just keeps creating more and more air no matter how much I burp.  I’ve got to get the soda out but I’m just not quite nauseated enough.” 

Drew nodded.  “I figured as much.  He rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a bottle. “I got this the last time you left,” he said, holding up the bottle of Cherry Coke.  “About half should be enough to tip you over the edge.” 

Just looking at the liquid made Jeremiah’s stomach swirl with renewed nausea.  “I don’t know . . .ulp . . . if I can,” said, through a soft gag.  He walked over to the toilet and belched up a small mouthful of spicy saliva, and then stood there panting, hands braced on his knees.  Drew rubbed his back firmly until he burped again.

“Normally I’d tell you to just wait it out, but we have a plane to catch,” he said apologetically, holding out the bottle again.  “Here, chug.” 

So Jeremiah did, gulping down as more than a third of the soda before he had to stop to catch his breath.  His stomach gave a sick-sounding gurgle and the belch that followed was thick and wet.  He gagged, took a deep breath, and forced down two more swallows of the soda before his belly absolutely rebelled.  

“Oh god,” he moaned, handing Drew the bottle and staggering to the bowl again.  His jaw twisted with nausea and he couldn’t hold back a dry retch. “I feel so sick,” he said heavily.   

“Not for long. Bend way over, love.”  Drew came up behind him and pushed on the top of his back until his head hovered just above the water.  He gave a firm thump and Jeremiah burped, and then again, all the liquid in his stomach rolling angrily.  A mouthful fell into the water.  

“That’s right, more like that.”  Drew gave his back another firm pat and Jeremiah’s next belch turned wet halfway though.  A fountain of foamy liquid poured out of his mouth and into the bowl.  He hiccupped and tried to catch his breath, but instead threw up again, the soda gushing out of him with almost no effort.  

He spit, and then burped again, but this one was dry, before standing up again.  “I think that’s enough of it,” he gasped. He felt less bloated and gross at least, and felt like he could face the plane trip back home.  Drew rested his hand against his stomach for a moment and then gave a nod.

“Bloating’s reduced,” he agreed.  “How’s the nausea?”  

Jeremiah took a deep breath. “Better.  Still a little queasy, but nothing urgent.”  

Drew huffed.  “Lucky for you I’ve got a garbage bag in my backpack, just in case.  By my estimate you just vomited about 30 different flavors of Coke, but that leaves another 30 in your stomach.  No way a regular airsickness bag can hold that.” 

Jeremiah sighed, and then belched again.  “What would I do without you to look out for me?” he said fondly, ruffling his boyfriend’s hair.

Drew grinned.  “Puke all over the floor of the plane, for one.”  He tugged on his arm.  “Come on, love. Let’s go home.”