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cramped-and-bloated · 2 years

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Prompts to welcome you back!!!!

👀 eating something wrong and puking only once because the digestive system has done its job and is pushing it all out the other end

👀 getting sick from motion sickness before realising they’ve actually caught a stomach bug and they need the toilet now

👀 someone who usually eats fast food eating vegetables for once and having it wreck their ability to digest

okay i'm actually using one of your prompts and a couple of others in my inbox!! other prompts used include:

anonymous: Ahhh I’m so glad you’re back! Can you please do a story with molly and Georgia where Georgia either gets really bad food poisoning or norovirus and her tummy is super upset and rumbly and she ends up being really sick from both ends? Like her tummy won’t stop cramping and is super bloated and gassy and noisy?

anonymous: Here's a classic prompt: a character eats a large meal. Goes to bed. Wakes up to realize he has food poisoning. Spends the rest of the night rubbing his poor, swollen belly and throwing up while said poor, swollen belly keeps churning and swirling and making awful noises.

anonymous: I’ve got a prompt for you if you want! Maybe something with Molly and Georgia where one of them wakes up sick in the middle of the night and the other one takes care of them and holds their hair back and is just super caring🥺

here's these combined into one!

— — — — — — — — — —

Georgia wakes up in the middle of the night, completely disoriented.

For a minute, she has no idea what’s going on. She tries to remember her dream, but nothing comes to her. Instead, she just lays there, confused.

Then, she understands.

She’s laying on her belly, and it feels incredibly upset. Her palms, the back of her neck — everywhere is sweaty, her skin flushed and overheated. She hesitantly shifts, but her belly snarls, making a loud noise that pushes a quiet groan out of her mouth, unbidden.

Georgia stops and takes stock of the situation.

Molly is fast asleep next to her, completely knocked out. Georgia had come over to her place last night, dinner in hand. She’d gotten takeout for the both of them for dinner, since it was already so late at night when she got to Molly’s place after her shift. Georgia had gotten food from multiple different takeout places downtown, including some soup, some fast food, some pasta — just a whole bunch of different options. They had both had a lot of most things, though they hadn’t shared everything.

Georgia isn’t entirely sure what it is that’s turning her stomach now. She tries to think back over what she ate, but even considering the food makes her aching stomach cramp up. When she reaches down, slipping her hand between her belly and the mattress, she can feel how bloated and swollen her stomach has become. It’s much bigger than it usually is, rounded with uncomfortable gas, distended with sickness. When she tries to rub it, very slowly, the air pushes around inside her belly and makes a loud growling noise, rippling from one side of her tummy to the other.

Her hands are clammy, so sweaty that they’re nearly slick. She’s so nervous about getting sick that her hands are starting to feel numb, cold, and she takes a long breath, exhaling slowly through her mouth.

While Georgia is laying there, trying to decide what to do, her stomach churns again. It feels like it’s tossing back and forth inside of her, roiling with nausea on top of the painful cramps that are tightening all around the swollen bulge of it where she’s pressed into the mattress. She takes a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling for a long while, in and out.

She’s hoping that she’ll be able to calm herself down enough to get through this without getting sick. Unfortunately for her, it feels like her stomach has already tried to digest whatever is turning it, making her feel so sick, and her bowels snarl, too. They feel thick, uncomfortable, something making them unwell, too. It’s all swollen and cramping.

Starting to get genuinely nervous, Georgia shifts again, kneading her hand into her belly. She shifts gingerly onto her side, an inch at a time, easing the weight off of her poor stomach.

Every little bit of her body weight she lifts up off of her belly is a mercy, at first. However, her tummy quickly shifts again to fill the space she’s made available. She cradles the swell of her bloated belly in her hand, supporting the weight of it as she rolls onto her back.

There, Georgia takes a moment to breathe evenly. Even the movement of slowly rolling onto her back is dizzying to her, and a small gas bubble comes up her throat. She muffles the burp behind her hand, clamped over her mouth, and swallows back the noise and the air to keep from waking up Molly. The sensation of the burp coming back down into her belly stirs it up, though, and it feels like her belly is frothing up.

Georgia takes another long breath. She didn’t even realize she had eaten that much. She’s still not even sure she did overeat. Though thinking about food makes her nauseous belly heave, swirling inside of her, she forces herself to go back over the meal in her head. She had had fast food, a bacon cheeseburger and fries, a chocolate shake, a soda; she’d had soup, a chicken soup, and a rich stew, a bunch of different meats and cheeses and beans; she’d had pasta, ravioli, bread, cheese dip. She had had a little of everything, and even when—

Georgia has to stop herself from groaning out loud when she realizes. Even when she was eating, she thought that something tasted off about the chicken in her soup. The texture and taste were off, but she didn’t think anything of it at the time, just continued eating. She figured it was just that the texture was different than the texture in the other foods, but now she realizes it’s because it was wrong, that she actually ate something bad.

It’s with sick realization that she realizes she’s probably given herself food poisoning.

It’s a small mercy that, at least, if she’s right, it’s only going to be her that gets sick. Molly didn’t have any of that soup, none of the chicken that is currently turning Georgia’s full stomach. She had more than her fair share at dinner, and she’s starting to regret it, now that she’s facing the very real possibility of everything in her stomach coming back out of it.

Georgia shifts herself upwards a little bit. She manages to push up the pillows behind her up against the headboard, propping herself up there. She’s still nervous, her belly churning as she tries to find a comfortable position to sit in. It rumbles again, snarling under her hand when she settles one palm over the swell of it.

Beside her, Molly shifts. A little frown comes onto her face in sleep before her eyes slowly blink open. It takes her a moment to orient herself before she actually focuses in the darkness, looking up at Georgia.

“Hey,” Molly says quietly, voice gravelly with sleep. She clears her throat. “Hey, you okay? What’s up?”

Georgia shakes her head, tilting her head back. “Just don’t feel too good. Go back to sleep.”

“What?” Molly sits up, pushing her hair back from her face. The minor movements of the bed as Molly sits against the headboard are overwhelming to Georgia, right now, and she closes her eyes, breathing slowly through her mouth.

Before Georgia can actually get herself together enough to answer, her stomach answers for her. An angry snarl rips through her belly, loudly audible as a gurgle that Molly must hear.

Georgia knows for a fact that Molly heard it when Molly demands, “Jesus Christ, was that your stomach?”

“Yeah,” Georgia answers weakly. Another burp starts to come up; now that Molly is awake, she doesn’t muffle it, letting it roll up her throat and out of her mouth. It’s shallow, burning like acid reflux, and she reaches down, rubbing at her swollen stomach.

“Want me to heat up your heating pad?” Molly asks. Georgia can’t manage to answer, so she just nods, and Molly rushes to action, scrambling out of bed for her. All of a sudden, Georgia’s hand is lifting, and Molly is pressing a bottle into her palm. “There’s your Pepto, babe.”

“Thanks,” Georgia says. Molly kisses her forehead. Georgia opens her eyes so she can open up the bottle of Pepto Bismol. She’s worried it might be too late for it, but she’s willing to try anything that would make her feel better, at this point. She swallows a couple mouthfuls of the liquid Pepto. The mint taste is good, even if the thick texture of the pink medicine makes her throat feel weird, and her stomach turns when it reaches it. Another belch comes up, and she lets it happen again. It’s still acidic, burning her throat, even though the texture is thick with the Pepto.

Molly comes sliding back into the room with a glass of water and her heating pad from the microwave. She passes the heating pad over to Georgia to place herself.

Georgia takes the heating pad and places it gently over the crest of her swollen stomach, where the bloated mess of it hurts the worst. Her muscles start to react, loosening up a bit. The cramps are tight, constant and present all over her belly, but the heating pad helps a little.

The bloated gas in her belly starts to move, now that the muscles are relaxing, and another belch comes up. She lets it, then stifles the next one, swallowing back the feeling. She’s worried letting too many of them come up will give her body permission to get sick, and that’s the last thing she wants. Her queasy belly tosses, lurching up her throat, and she swallows, closing her eyes again.

“Hey, babe,” Molly says. “What can I do? What’s wrong?”

“I feel really sick,” Georgia says, voice small. Her face feels tight and hot and clammy, all the blood draining from her face. Molly’s hand touches her face, the back of her hand pressed to her forehead.

“You feel feverish,” Molly tells her. “Did you eat too much last night, sweetheart? What is it?”

“I think I had something bad,” Georgia admits. “I ate too much and I think the chicken was wr—” A belch rolls up, and Georgia stifles it, swallowing it back down. She finishes, “I think the chicken was wrong. I think it was bad. In the soup.”

“Oh, honey,” Molly says. Her cool-feeling hand strokes Georgia’s hair back from her face. “Is the heating pad helping?”

“Little bit,” Georgia says, even though it isn’t really.

Georgia feels like she’s about to burp again, but the feeling is a little different, this time. She realizes she has gas and she needs to try and fart. She doesn’t want to, she’s embarrassed in front of Molly, but she already feels so sick. She doesn’t let the first one come out, stifling it and letting it return back to her insides. It goes back to her intestines, thick and uncomfortable, and expands back into her belly, making it gurgle loudly. She reaches up, rubbing at her eyes, biting her lip hard.

“It’s gonna be okay, babe,” Molly reassures her. There’s no way that’s true, because Georgia knows she’s not going to get out of this unscathed, at this point.

The next bubble of gas that makes its way through her intestines hurts even worse, and she shifts so she can let it out, this time. Her stomach churns, and she lets out the fart, feeling like some of the gas in her stomach actually leaves, her belly deflating a bit. It makes what’s still in her stomach churn tightly, pressing tightly, for only a moment before the bloat seems to fill back up, as if it comes out of nowhere. Georgia groans weakly, an exhausted sound, nausea rising thickly in the back of her throat.

Georgia moves the heating pad down the crest of her belly, over the swollen, round bulge of it until she can press it to the new cramp, painfully tight at the base of it. She pushes the heating pad there, hoping it’ll help loosen the muscles of her cramping intestines, her stomach swirling inside of her. The muscles relax a little more, and a sick gurgle roils up, loudly bubbling through her belly for them both to hear. It goes on for a long time, and Georgia pushes out another long fart with it. There’s another moment of relief that comes and goes. Her belly is starting to grow taut, muscles painfully tight as she tries to work the gas out, but the cramps don’t fully go away.

“Why don’t we go to the bathroom, sweetheart?” Molly asks. “I can help.”

“I don’t want to be sick,” Georgia confesses quietly. “I don’t want to—”

“I know, babe,” Molly tells her. “I know. But I think you’re going to be, and I know you’re not going to want to do it here.”

Georgia doesn’t want to hear it, but she nods meekly, shifting to put her legs over the edge of the bed. It takes a long, long while, but she eventually manages to put her feet on the floor. When Georgia fully sits up, her stomach rumbles, feeling like she’s full of thick, bloated gas and the rumbling contents of her sick stomach, from the back of her throat all the way down to her ass. Her upper stomach hurts, her lower belly hurts, her intestines hurt, everything hurts.

Her tummy has shifted, the beginnings of her meal already partially digested now that her digestive system has started actually trying to do its job and start pushing things out the other end. It feels like her body got halfway through processing whatever has made her sick before realizing it, like its halfway through her belly, her upper belly rumbling and sick, her lower belly full and bloated, her intestines swollen and distended, all of it tight with pain and rippling with nausea. She rubs up and down, trying to cover as much ground as she can, but there’s only so much she can do.

“Here, I gotcha,” Molly says. She pulls Georgia’s arm up around her shoulders and carefully hauls her to her feet. The room seems like it’s spinning, and she has to close her eyes, taking long, even breaths.

Georgia abandons her heating pad in the bed, letting Molly take her to the bathroom off the bedroom. It takes a long time, her steps going slowly, but Molly manages to get her there. The act of standing up and moving has things shifting inside of her more than she expected, and Georgia can feel the sick contents of her lower belly forcing themselves through her intestines. She clutches the swollen bloat of her belly in her free hand.

“I need to sit,” Georgia says quickly, mortified and upset and so nauseous she feels dizzy. Molly pushes the seat up on the toilet and sits her down there. Georgia shifts, pushing Molly away, pulling her underwear down and off. After a moment of hesitation, she tugs off all of her pajamas, leaving herself naked on the toilet, her sweaty clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor. She averts her eyes from Molly as she hunches over her swollen belly, tearfully saying, “I’m so sorry. This is so gross.”

“Hey, don’t be sorry,” Molly tells her. “I’m the one who’s sorry, I’m sorry you’re feeling so sick. I’m here for you, anything you need, babe. Don’t apologize for being sick.”

Georgia sniffles, trying not to cry as she wraps her arms around her middle. She tries to rub the sides of her distended, cramping belly as it churns, swirling, making awful noises, gurgling loud enough that Georgia groans. Now that she’s actually on the toilet, she can do something, and she tries to bear down.

Her belly is cramping, still too tight to actually let anything out yet. She farts again, but she can’t manage to get anything out. She’s hoping that she’ll be able to get enough out this way that she won’t actually be sick, that she can just pass everything through her body this way.

Another belch comes up, rolling up her throat. It tastes thickly of bad chicken and ravioli and cheese and chocolate shake and Pepto, and Georgia clamps her hand over her mouth, hunching around her belly on the toilet.

“Oh, God, I feel so sick,” Georgia groans, rubbing desperately at her stomach. Molly strokes her hair back, pulling it all back from her face and tying it up into a bun at the back of her head. Georgia burps sickly, a thick belch that feels like she’s getting close to vomiting. She shifts, tilting her head back, trying to take a deep breath.

While Georgia is moving back, leaning to shift backwards, her belly lurches, growling inside of her. She rubs her hand over it, trying to work out more gas. Her upper belly is swollen and gurgling, sick and churning, and she tries to massage there to work the food through her into her stomach. Her lower tummy is distended and crammed tight, her lower belly just as packed full as her upper belly, at this point. There’s nowhere for anything to go; it’s not moving anymore. It feels like everything in her belly is starting to stop working through her, settling like a bag of cement in the pit of her stomach. Her intestines gurgle, making her lower belly visibly ripple with a sick swirl that tears through her.

Georgia rubs at her lower belly furiously, trying to help massage the muscles. She shifts again, and something about the position loosens her bowels, and she manages a wet fart, this time. Some of the mess inside her intestines starts to come out, burning as it comes through her, mostly liquid. She groans, curling around her belly.

“It’s okay, let it out,” Molly says, rubbing her back. “I gotcha.”

Georgia belches. Like the fart, this one is wetter than all the rest. It burns her throat, and she swallows, trying to keep the feeling back. Molly’s hand leaves her back for a moment before it returns with the trash can.

“It’s okay,” Molly tells her again. “You can be sick. I got you.”

Georgia nods weakly, wrapping her arms tightly around the trash can. She leans her head on the rim of the trash can, letting it hang into the trash, taking long, slow, deep breaths. Her belly churns, her upper belly and lower belly starting to churn together into one squirming mess. She drops one hand, starts trying to massage the cramping sickness away again, but it doesn’t make her feel any better. It does help her shit some more, pushing some of what’s in her intestines out of her, but it’s just what her body has already processed. The rest of the gurgling mess in her belly isn’t moving downwards, just rumbling in place inside her super upset tummy as it continues cramping, bloated and gassy and noisy.

A sickly belch rolls up again, and Georgia moans. A wave of nausea accompanies it, making the pain in her stomach spike. An audible gurgle burbles through her belly, and she inhales sharply. Another wet belch rolls up before she hiccups.

“Are you okay?” Molly asks, and Georgia shakes her head weakly, lifting her head up over the trash can. She hiccups again, leveling her head over the lip of the can, letting her mouth hang open. She belches again, long and low, then another one. She’s unable to stop her bowels opening again, letting another wave of loose, wet stomach contents pour out of her, like she’s already vomiting out of her ass.

The next belch is thick in the back of her throat, and it makes her gag, tightening her grip on the trash can. It feels like everything in her stomach lurches upwards, but she swallows on instinct. Her stomach churns, tossing inside of her, and she belches up a small mouthful of stomach acid. She spits it into the bottom of the trash can, sniffling.

“It’s okay,” Molly tells her. Georgia can’t respond; her stomach has already gotten the message that it can start evacuating itself, and started actually doing it.

The next belch brings up a mouthful of stomach contents, and Georgia tilts her head forward so she can spit up into the trash can. She can’t control what comes next, her stomach just pushing up a wave of vomit without her even coughing. She retches, gagging as another wave of vomit tears up and out of her.

Her belly gurgles, and she vomits again, puking into the trash can as a wave of diarrhea comes out the other end. Tears pour down her face as she gags again. It feels like she’s throwing up everything she’s ever eaten, tearing up out of her and down from her, both ends evacuating quickly. She lets her head hang into the trash can, reaching down to wrap her arms around herself, rubbing her bloated belly. The action makes another gurgle ripple through her belly, her sick tummy rumbling loudly.

“I feel horrible,” Georgia mumbles between waves of puking. She rubs at her upper stomach, but all it does is force up another wave of vomit into the trash can. There’s only so much she can get out in either direction; her digestive system tried to do its job, but now it’s just betraying her, forcing her to be violently sick out of both ends.

Even when she feels like she should have thrown up everything that is inside of her, it still doesn’t seem like it’s over. Molly helps her stand up weakly, flushing the contents of the toilet and the trash can.

Georgia shakily cleans herself up before evaluating what she’s going to do next. She thinks most of what’s coming out has come out, but her tummy is still cramping, still bloated, still rumbling and churning. Even as she stands there, it makes another horrible sound, a burbling sound that makes Georgia gag. She falls to her knees, Molly getting out of the way just in time for Georgia to retch weakly into the toilet, bringing up another weak mouthful of half-digested stomach contents.

“I think you’re just gonna feel sick for a while, babe,” Molly tells her. “Do you want to try going back to bed?”

Georgia’s stomach gurgles again. It feels like her belly is still churning inside of her, swirling just as painfully as it had before. Another wave of nausea hits, and she shakes her head vigorously, bringing herself up over the toilet again as she gags hard and vomits again. Everything has become a gurgling mess inside of her, unending, rumbling loudly as she curls around the toilet. Another loud bubbling noise comes just as she retches again, bringing up a mouthful of bile.

After a while, it becomes clear that all her body is bringing up or letting out is bile and stomach acid. She has to force herself to give up, flushing the toilet and pushing back from it, slumping back against the wall.

“Wanna try bed now?” Molly asks. Georgia doesn’t really want to move, but she would prefer being in bed to being on the floor, so she nods weakly.

“What if I get sick again?” Georgia asks, as Molly helps her shakily get to her feet.

“Then we’ll clean you up and get you back in here,” Molly tells her. “No big deal. It’s all gonna be okay.”

Molly pulls a loose nightgown onto Georgia in the bedroom, a comfortable and large piece of clothing that doesn’t cling too tightly to her skin anywhere. Georgia lets herself be brought to the mattress, gently lowered down into bed. She scoots back against the pillows pushed against the headboard, reclining backwards, settling her hands over her rumbling belly.

The heating pad comes back, Molly placing it gently on Georgia’s tummy. Georgia shifts the heating pad, putting it at the still-bloated crest of her gurgling stomach. The muscles relax a little, and Georgia exhales slowly, letting a belch come up.

“I feel horrible,” Georgia mumbles, out of it.

“I think you’re gonna feel horrible all night tonight,” Molly says. “I’m right here, though. Right here with you.”

Georgia’s stomach audibly gurgles again, the sick remnants of what’s inside her frothing up inside her belly. She gags, then throws up into the back of her mouth before swallowing it back down. Nothing is actually really left to come up, even though it feels like her stomach is still full, she’s so nauseous and sick.

“I got you,” Molly tells her. Georgia nods, letting Molly shift her around until she’s settled against her chest and her side. She lets her head fall into Molly’s, her temple resting against her shoulder when she ducks her head down to get comfortable. Molly reaches down and slowly starts rubbing Georgia’s belly, her fingers trying to help relax the tight, painful muscles distended around her bloated belly, pushing into the rumbling swell of it. Georgia’s belly gurgles under her hand, churning sickly, her tummy swirling, feeling like it’s full still. She belches, her stomach tossing inside her. She thinks she still might be sick again, but she hopes she can sleep a little before that happens.

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