#emeto drabbles

[angstyaches]

Hi Flick! How about “my belly is really upset” for Rin with Charlie as caretaker?

I know it’s been a minute since you’ve written for Rin, but I love that girl 😊💜 Congrats again on over 1000 followers!

Hi, dear! The way I squealed when you requested Rin, thank you so much!!

100x10

CW: food mention, nausea, public setting.

___

Charlie heard the metal bottle in Rin’s bag clink against the armrest. He looked over as Rin shifted in her seat, the lights from the theatre screen glinting across her glasses. 

“Charlie Bear?” She leaned in close to whisper at him. The paper bucket had been emptied, banished to the floor, but the sickly-sweetness of the caramel popcorn lingered on her breath. “Sorry. My belly is really upset –” 

A loud hiccup jerked her frame and she glanced sheepishly towards the strangers seated nearby. She raised a hand to her mouth, shoulders lurching forward. 

Charlie gently took her arm. “Let’s go.” 

[uremetomommy]

After stuffing myself with a little too much heavy, greasy foods, my belly felt like I could explode. But, I remembered you guys in that moment and decided I should chug some soda along with my already gurgly tummy. My tummy has been recovering from a 24 hour bug, so messing with it probably wasn’t a smart choice but I digress.

I barely got any soda in me before a burp brought a big torrent of almost projectile vomit all over my hand that was rubbing my sick tummy. I didn’t record this unfortunately. I ran to the sink, burping along the way, and washed my hand thinking it might be over. I was wrong. I should’ve known I was wrong because I could feel the remaining food sloshing about in my tummy. I burped a couple times over the sink (its a steel sink and sounds weird when liquid hits it, so it echoed back at me). My tummy pressed against the edge of the sink and I gagged, burped, and coughed up the remainders of my mistakes.

Afterward I was left with a rumbly, queasy belly that didn’t stop causing burps even hours after I had puked. :)

[whumpshaped]

tw addiction whump, alcohol, past trauma, pet whump, rocky recovery, flashbacks, emeto, paranoia, self-blame, self-deprecation, dehumanisation

Once Whumpee had gotten out and was allowed to make their own decisions again, they decided it would be prudent to make as many bad ones in as short a time frame as humanly possible. Their first trip out of the hospital had brought them straight to the liquor store, and they bought as much alcohol as their court settlement could pay for. They wanted nothing but to forget. Forget the trial, forget their captivity, forget…

Sit pretty for me. There you go, good boy. Aren’t you a good little pet?

They swallowed and threw the money on the counter, then grabbed their beverages and left without a word. They didn’t give the cashier enough time to recognise them from the news. 

The bottles kept clinking together quite obnoxiously as Whumpee struggled to bring all of them up the stairs to their apartment. They clinked even more as they tried to put them down one by one without breaking any so they could fish their key out of their pocket. They groaned when they realised they would have to repeat the whole thing again; pick up the bottles one by one, bring them inside, push the door closed with their hip, put them down one by one, lock the door.

They stared at the collection of all the different beverages they had laid out in front of them. Vodka, gin, whiskey, whatever they could find on the shelves, they’d bought. They had no idea what they liked. They doubted they liked any of it.

Whumpee glanced towards the window, shame immediately rising in their chest. What if someone saw them? Would the people judge them? Would the knowledge of their trauma make it worse in their mind or better? Would they accept them as just another failure of society, someone who had been too weak to handle the hand life had dealt them? Or would they scream and shout about the unfairness, the fact that someone as useless as them had been given such a large sum of money, only so they could blow it on substances?

They stepped up to the window and hastily closed the blinds. Nobody would see them like this. Not now, not ever.

-

Whumpee’s resolution to avoid others whenever they were wasted had crumbled in the first few days, because they’d thought it appropriate to go out and try to make friends. They had been so desperately lonely.

They’d woken up one day on a public bench, being watched over by a stranger. They had excused themself and rushed home, drowning out the memory with more alcohol right after having thrown up the last of the previous day’s shots.

But it seemed like their drunk mind wanted nothing but the tentative familiarity of that chance meeting to be repeated over and over again, because they found themself back on the bench every other day. Caretaker — as the stranger had introduced themself — was always kind to them, and always made sure no one else bothered them on their leisurely strolls. They were… different, odd, but a safe kind of odd, the kind of odd Whumpee felt comfortable inviting into their depressing little apartment after just a week of knowing them.

One week? Two weeks? Whumpee couldn’t remember. It hadn’t been a long time, probably, because their first supply of alcohol was still going strong.

“I don’t think I should,” Caretaker said awkwardly. “I mean… Are you sure you want me there?”

“Yeah… yeah, I… I don’t have anyone else, really…” they slurred, blissfully unaware of how much of a target they were putting on their back. It was nothing but luck that Caretaker didn’t jump on the opportunity to burgle the victim of one of the most famous legal cases, who, as everyone seemed to be aware of, was sitting on a pile of cash.

“Don’t say that,” they said quietly, and Whumpee instinctively assumed it was out of pity.

“Why? It’s true. Everyone knows, ‘cuz I walk around here every single fucking day, and I’m always fucking alone.” They gave Caretaker a lazy grin. “Not right now, I guess, but it’s not like you’re constantly with me, huh? And eeeeveryone hates me for it, they want me fucking gone, they want me off the public property, and away from their children, and they look at me like I’m no different than the pile of fucking trash they leave out every Tuesday!” 

“Alright, alright, but don’t fucking tell everyone that you’re constantly alone. At least lie about it.”

That made Whumpee stop in their tracks, their dumb smile faltering a little. “Huh?”

“There are bad people in this world, Whumpee. You should know that better than anyone. Just lie and say you’re going to a friend’s place, or going back home to your family. No need to make it known that you’re easy pickings.”

Whumpee stared at them blankly, trying to process the words. “Huh…?” Was Caretaker… not saying it as a means to comfort them? 

“I’ll explain one more time once we get to your place, if you still wanna bring me back.”

Of course they did. They wanted it more now than ever. 

-

“Pet me?” Whumpee asked abruptly.

“What? Like a dog?”

Whumpee tensed. Even in their drunken haze, the comparison sent them back to the place they’d so painstakingly escaped. “I… guess so.”

Caretaker seemed to notice the change in atmosphere too, and they put two and two together. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I was just surprised—”

“It doesn’t matter.” They pushed their head against Caretaker’s thigh. Admittedly, the alcohol made it easier to forget, even if not to forgive. “Pet me?”

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“I’m asking you.”

Caretaker hesitantly lifted a hand and placed it on top of Whumpee’s head. They carefully carded their fingers through the soft hair, gently scratching their scalp as they went. Whumpee had the feeling Caretaker was being overly cautious, so they nuzzled against their hand as a way of encouragement. 

“It’s okay if you think of me as a dog,” Whumpee said before they could stop themself. It wasn’t okay, but they didn’t want Caretaker to hold back on the headpats just because they thought it might trigger something in them. Even if it might.

“It’s not,” they said anyway. “I’d never think of you as a dog.” 

Whumpee huffed. “Maybe it’d make everything easier, honestly. You wouldn’t fault a dog for being useless. You’d just coo at it endlessly, everyone would. ‘Aww, look at that adorable, useless dog. Who cares what it can do for me? All it has to do is lie there and be adorable.’” 

“Do you think of yourself as a dog?” Caretaker asked softly.

“I sank lower than a dog ages ago, I think. I’d have to work really hard to get back up there. I’m more like… a roly poly.”

Caretaker petted them mutely for a while, repeating the pleasant motions and slowly lulling Whumpee to sleep. “I like roly polies,” they murmured before Whumpee could’ve fully drifted off. “And I like dogs too. But…” Their petting stopped, and they let out a heavy sigh. “I like you so much more and so differently than any animal.”

-

“You’re gonna die of alcohol poisoning one day, you know.”

“I’m gonna die of withdrawal…” Whumpee made a half-hearted attempt to get the bottle from Caretaker, but they held it up and out of their reach. “You know you can’t keep it from me if you want me alive…”

“Oh, I can. We’re gonna work on it, bit by bit. And right now, you’re not getting any.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“Nope.”

“You’re gonna kill me.”

Caretaker rolled their eyes. “I know what I’m doing.”

Whumpee rolled over onto their back, trying to ignore the nausea. The ceiling was swirling and morphing, and they had no desire to ever see it come to a stop again. “I’d rather get alcohol poisoning than die of withdrawal, I think. I don’t know how either of them are, but I know I don’t want to be sober.”

“Hopefully, you won’t ever know how either of them are.”

Whumpee scoffed. “I didn’t want to know what being a human pet was like, and here we are. Not only do I know, but thanks to the fucking trials, everyone else knows too.”

“That doesn’t mean everything you don’t want happening to you will suddenly happen. You don’t have to run head first into a wall just because you feel like it’s coming at you and you want to strike first. Walls don’t usually move. Not when you’re sober.”

“Huh?”

Caretaker sat down on the sofa next to them, gently rubbing their arm. “I think you deserve a better life, Whumpee. Even if you don’t want any.”

“I don’t—” The nausea suddenly became unbearable, and they pushed themself off the couch to stumble into the bathroom. They didn’t reach the toilet.

They had no idea what they’d meant to say before the accident. No one would ever know.

[knoxmares]

how filling - che'nya x dom(ish) top amab reader

MINORS DNI

tags: che'nya exhibiting some yandere behavior, stuffing, emeto, mentions of sickness, implied fwb relationship, slightly under-negotiated kink a/n: unofficial sequel to this fic. you don't have to read it to enjoy this one, but there's some details that are carried over

You’re smirking before Che’nya even opens the door, his genuine look of shock being just what you predicted.

“Surprise…”

“Wha-“ his wide yellow eyes blink slowly as if he thought you were a hallucination. You suppose this is your first time visiting him at the Royal Sword Academy, and it gives you satisfaction knowing you’ve caught him off guard for once.

“Gonna invite me in, kitty? You know I’m really not supposed to be here, so there’s no telling what goody two shoes might report me.” You glance down the dorm hallway, which is thankfully still vacant. Unfortunately, you don’t have Che’nya’s disappearing ability, which allows him to be effortlessly sneaky.

“You never need an invitation” he eyes you curiously as he steps back to let you in, wrapping himself tighter in the blanket that’s draped over his shoulders. You swiftly step inside allowing yourself to scan the dimly lit room, which you’ve only seen in pictures and video calls. Considering you are childhood friends, one would think you would have visited him at some point during the three years you’ve been enrolled at separate schools, but he dropped in on you so frequently there was never a need to.

“How are you feeling?” You set down the bag you brought on his desk. You had brought him some food since he had told you he was slowly getting his appetite back.

“A bit better I suppose” he pouts slightly shuffling back over to his bed. “I’m going to start going back to classes tomorrow.”

“Oh really?” You join him on his bed, and you notice his soft look of surprise when you leave no distance between you two. “I hope you’re not pushing yourself to go back too soon. Someone has been bringing you your work, no?” You can’t help but reach out a hand to try to assess his condition yourself. You press the back of your hand to his forehead, and it feels normal, but you press it to his cheek for good measure. He purrs at your actions, holding your hand against his cheek as he nuzzles into it further.

“You’re not worried about getting sick?” Che’nya looks more like himself than ever glancing up at you seductively with a smirk on his face. “Or maybe you just missed me too much.”

“Says the one who’s texted me nonstop telling me how miserable he is and complained that he had no one to take care of him.”

“No one as fun as you at least” he teasingly kisses the back of your hand that he’s still holding against his face.

“You really must be feeling better” you surmise. If he hadn’t sent you pictures of him looking peakish or voice messages of his terribly hoarse voice, you might believe he exaggerated his sickness to get you to come over. Though you were still suspicious of his intentions when he sent you a picture of him in his bed yesterday, dressed in lingerie and claiming to be “sooo bored.” You couldn’t deny part of you hoped that same lingerie was hidden under his blanket now.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come over when you were sicker”

“It’s okay. I didn’t expect you to come at all, but I’m glad you did” he gives you a toothy grin. “And you brought me something” his eyes glance over to the bag you brought, ears twitching with anticipation.

“Don’t get too excited. I just thought you might like a home cooked meal now that you’re eating more. You are keeping your food down now, right?”

“You made me food?” The second part of your sentence gets ignored as the thought of you preparing something for him evidently fills his head. His starry-eyed gaze keeps shifting from you to the bag, so you figure you might as well offer it to him now, which he readily accepts.

“It’s not anything special. You know I’m not much of a cook, so I just made you your favorite stew and also a strawberry tart, but you don’t have to eat it today of course” Your humble words do nothing to dull his excitement, his eager eyes never leaving you as you take out the stew and use your magic to heat it for him.

“Here you go” You try to hand him the bowl, but he gives you a sly look exposing his bare chest as he pulls his arms out of his blanket.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t seem to have any spare hands at the moment” he shrugs his shoulders as he displays his arms that seemingly have no hands attached.

“How curious…” you steal his common phrase giving him a knowing look. “I guess I’ll have to feed it to you then.”

“I guess so…” Che’nya looks at you innocently, but you can imagine the playful flick of his tail being concealed by his blanket.

He happily accepts spoonfuls of stew, letting out occasional hums of pleasure between bites. Before you know it, he’s cleaned out the bowl and is asking for the strawberry tart. You attempt to get him to hold off to ensure the stew settles well in his stomach, but he insists he’s fine, so you get out the tart.

“And you made this?” The hunger in his eyes appears deeper than a desire for food.

“Yeah. Trey had a busy week, so I didn’t want to bother him with it. I followed his recipe though, so I think it turned out well”

“I’m sure it’s delicious” he assures you. “Especially since you were thinking of me while baking it” he doesn’t even try to veil his delight over the thought. He opens his mouth expectantly and you feed him a bite, choosing not to comment on the reappearance of his hands.

“Mmmm,” he licks his lips as if to savor every crumb. You offer him bite after bite which he chomps on happily.

“Okay maybe we should stop here, and that way you’ll have some more for later.”

“No” he whines. “It’s so good. I don’t want to stop.” He looks at you through his lashes pleading with you. “Please, feed me more.” Against your better judgment, you give in to him.

“Ok… but if you push yourself too far, that’s on you” you warn giving him another bite. He lets out an approving nod, humming happily. You can’t deny it does stir something in you seeing him eat your food so earnestly. You believe your own eyes must be filled with hunger when the blanket slips off his body, revealing him to only be wearing boxers. The band sits below his stomach which has a noticeable bulge.

He rubs it lazily as he takes longer breaks between bites. You assume he’s getting full based on his deeper breathing, but he has yet to refuse a bite, his soft smile never leaving his face. While he seems as content as ever you find yourself shifting in your spot, trying to ignore the feeling of your cock straining against your pants.

You came here as a friend you try to remind yourself, but the praise that falls from Che’nya’s lips doesn’t help your situation.

“Mmmm, I missed being able to eat properly, but now you’ve ruined other food for me. How am I supposed to enjoy anything when I know I could have your cooking instead? It feels so good being full of your food, so you have to cook for me more, okay?” He rubs his belly with both hands as if admiring the bulge himself.

“My belly would definitely get bigger if I got to eat your cooking all the time” he giggles to himself. “Wouldn’t you like to see that” He looks at you suggestively, and you can hardly hold yourself back any longer, moving your body so that you’re straddling his lap. He looks at you with amused curiosity, gently bucking up against you when you rub your hands across his stomach just like he was doing moments prior.

“I would actually” you smirk “But for now, how about you eat these last two bites for me”

“If that’s what you want” he whines a bit when you move your hands, but he looks at you with heavy lust as he wraps his lips around the fork you offer him. He pants slightly as he licks his lips, and you can’t help but offer him the last bite straight from your hands.

He doesn’t immediately take your fingers in his mouth, which is how you know he is reaching his limit. He takes a moment, seemingly steeling himself for the last bite, but eventually opens his mouth allowing you to place the last piece of tart inside. He closes his lips around your fingers, making sure to lick the tip of your fingers before he chews the bite in his mouth.

“Look at you, kitty. You actually ate it all” You go back to rubbing his stomach, letting your fingers drift a little higher to tease his nipples.

“Ah,” he lightly gasps. “I know I could fit more” he slightly lifts his hips so he can slowly grind against you.

“I should have known you’d be insatiable, even when you’re still recovering.” You lean back, letting your fingers lightly trace the stain of precum that marks his boxers. He’s all too eager to help you take off his only piece of clothing. He hisses in pleasure when you finally take him in your hand, but he’s quick to insist you rid yourself of your clothes too.

Just as eager to feel his touch, you don’t argue, swiftly getting off him so you can fulfill his request. You lay beside him now, his hands immediately going to stroke you. Your intermingled moans fill the space between you as you get each other off. You take your other hand and rub it against his tip, causing his hips to jerk. His head falls against your shoulder as he lets out a strangled moan, and you continue your movements.

“Please… I’m ready for you…” he manages to pant out. “…wanna be full.”

“I don’t know if you should take me.” You can’t help but still be concerned about his limits.

“But I wan-“ He interrupts his own sentence with a cough, barely managing to cover his mouth. He pauses for a moment, but another harsh cough racks his body, most likely remnants of the sickness he had. He slowly sits up, facing away from you as he sits at the edge of the bed. Even though he stopped coughing, he still sits frozen, hand covering his mouth.

“Che’nya?” you have a feeling you know what’s wrong and those thoughts are soon confirmed when he starts his next coughing fit. Instead of covering his mouth, he instantly reaches for the wastebin by his bed that’s half filled with tissues. He clutches it tightly his cough suddenly turning into retching.

At the sound of him emptying his stomach into the wastebin, you quickly move so that you’re by his side. You soothingly rub his back as he continues to vomit, waiting patiently for him to get it all out.

“Fuck” he rasps out, a trail of saliva still hanging from his bottom lip and tears dotting the corner of his eyes. He wipes his mouth then takes a deep breath as he looks up, closing his eyes. Your hand that’s on his back drifts up to the nape of his neck where you twirl a piece of his hair around your finger.

“This is where you say I told you so” he looks at you from the corner of his eye, managing a small smirk. He doesn’t even wait for you to answer, softly chuckling to himself. “But I would do it again”

“My food was that good, huh?” There’s doubt laced in your words.

“Hmmmhmmm” he hums, his eyes are closed again, and you wonder if he’s feeling another wave of nausea, but he puts the wastebin back on the floor instead. “What can I say? I’ll always want all of you”

“I know” are the words you choose to say after a beat of silence. Instead of further acknowledging his feelings you bring a hand to his stomach, rubbing small and gentle circles across his abdomen.

He lets out a sound that is both a sigh and a moan. You haven’t even touched his nipples and yet he seems to be turned on, his dick twitching. “I think I want you to fill me up even more now” he admits.

“If that’s what you want” you graze your finger over his nipple while planting a kiss on his shoulder. His breathing becomes ragged as you tease his skin between your teeth. You play with his chest for a bit longer before asking him where he keeps his lube.

Che'nya lays on his side, massaging his stomach as he waits for you. Despite his flushed face, his tail still moves with eager anticipation as you settle in your place behind him. He's quieter than usual, only making a soft pleased sound as you push your fingers into him.

“More” he begs, and you oblige, finally lining your cock up with his entrance.

“Let me know if you need me to stop” you remind him before pushing your tip in. You slowly bottom out waiting until he gasps for you to move to continue with your thrusts.

“Fuck…you feel so hot and tight around me, kitty” You snap your hips into him a bit harder. “It feels so good”

“Ah- “ Che’nya grips his bedsheets tighter, and you hear a gurgling sound come from his stomach.

“Don’t stop” he whimpers feeling you hesitate. You place your hand on his stomach and feeling it rumble beneath your touch, you fuck into him with new fervor.

“Aghh” he gasps and leans over off the bed just in time for a thin stream of vomit to make it mostly into the wastebin. With Che’nya’s walls squeezing tightly around you, you reach your climax with a couple more thrusts. He holds your hand that rests on his stomach and whines as he feels you fill him up.

Keeping yourself buried in him, you move your other hand to his cock to help him finish, which only takes a few strokes. You take in his dazed expression and faint smile, feeling an urge to kiss his sweat slicked skin. He whimpers at the feeling of your lips on his neck, his classic Cheshire grin appearing as you trail slow kisses up his jawline.

“Yup,” he sighs blissfully. “I would definitely do it again”

[secretobsessionstuff]

A Fantasy Drabble?

An EMETO fantasy drabble!

------

"Jonathan, come in. Have a seat."

"What can I do for you, your Highness?"

"Keene has informed me that you are feeling unwell this evening. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you, sir. It is only a small matter, though I wanted to inform you, considering our later plans."

"What troubles you?"

A blush rose to Jonathan's cheeks as he placed his palm above his navel. "Supper is not sitting well with me, your Highness. It is quite bothersome to be honest."

King Rowyn frowned. "I apologize on behalf of the kitchen staff. I shall have the chef look over his ingredients for the future, seeing as you will be supping with me for quite some time I hope."

"I hold the same hopes, your Highness." A loud gurgle emanated from Jonathan's middle. He winced from the pain and embarrassment. "However, I understand if you wish to postpone our nightly plans. I fear I would not perform to my usual standard."

Rowan chuckled deeply in his throat. The hand he had placed on Jonathan's leg rose higher towards the man's crotch. "It seems to me that you are performing just fine."

"Not even a blade to the abdomen could douse the fire I feel for you, let alone a mere stomach ache. I always look forward to our nights together, your Highness. I'm sorry we cannot have our time today."

"Says who? Did I say your condition has changed my mind about our plans?"

"Oh sir." Jonathan swallowed thickly. "I would gladly suffer through this nausea if it means we can go through with our nightly ritual. I should warn you though, I do not know how long this meal will stay down. Is that acceptable, my king?"

"Jonathan," King Rowan began as he rose from his chair. He traced his hand up the consort's stomach and chest. "I would just as soon have you bent over this desk and fuck you while you whimper and moan about your poor constitution."

"Sir--"

"You think so little of me, Jon. How could I keep my hands off your body when you come into my study, so apologetic and weak? The sweat on your brow makes me want to tear your clothes away right now."

"Then do so, your Highness. I am yours to do with as you will."

Rowan hummed lowly, his hand creeping up towards the soft skin of Jonathan's neck. "In that case, I'd have you retching over my desk with each thrust until you came with the same force."

Jonathan's eyes fluttered with anticipation. "As you wish, my king."

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Augusnippets Day 27: Migraine

cw: migraine, self depreciation, emeto, gory descriptions

previous

for the @augusnippets challenge // word count: 787

=~=~=

Shades of violet and blinding green swirled around him like storm clouds, spewing lightning and egging on the pain in his head. Hunter hugged his pillow tighter, willing the color to go away. Didn't do shit. The more he thought about wanting it gone, the stronger it got, like it was trying to spite him.

A new wave hit—white fire behind his eyes, his own brain screaming—and he bit down on the cushion until his jaw started to burn.

It hadn't been this bad since… since… the beginning. Since the test that activated his implant in the first place, since he'd crawled out of the burning lab, blinded by agony, the smell of smoke the only thing that kept him moving forward.

Had he overused it finding Manak? Every time he leaned into the patterns, used them, the headaches seemed to get worse.

If he did break his brain finding that arrogant asshole, he wouldn't fucking regret it. He'd made his choice, and Manak wouldn't be here right now if he hadn't.

He needed me. All the brains in the world, and in the end, he needed me, Hunter told himself through the next bout of searing pain, screaming into the pillow as it reached a new sharpness.

He wished he would just pass out. He wished—

“Harbor.”

Speak of the fuckin devil.

It was hard to keep from whimpering at the sudden sound, words somehow both blurred by the colors and sharpened by them, driving into his temple like a spike.

“What?” he managed to spit out, trying to blink past the cloying rainbow to get a look at Manak’s color. He was expecting the usual. Irritation, red and swirling. Can you shut up? Some of us want to sleep.

Instead, he was a neutral forest green, darkness clouding his throat and shoulders, misty red pain hovering around his knee.

The mist had been a lot thicker when he'd found him; flecks of red mingling with real blood, his green darkened to almost black. Brightening at the center when Hunter made himself known, when he carried him away. Manak never brightened around him before, never.

You did save his life. Even Manak would appreciate that, dumbass.

“Are you alright? I thought I heard…” He frowned, steps clicking as he moved closer to Hunter's bed. Crutches. He hadn't even noticed them until now. Manak shouldn’t be up. He should be sleeping, getting better, but somehow Hunter'd managed to fuck up what should've been the easy part.

“Fine,” Hunter choked out. “Just. Implant bullshit.” Power came at a cost. Anyone who picked up a comicbook knew that. So whatever, it was fine. He'd ride it out. He just wished it didn't feel like his head was going to explode.

“Do you want some pain medication?”

“Doesn't work.” The orange ones just made him nauseous, and everything else didn't reach his head. The only way he'd ever shut it up was through booze, and he doubted there was any of that on this tiny compound.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Help. Why would Manak want to help? Did he feel like he owed him? That had to be it. There was no other reason he'd still be in the room, no other reason he'd bother to check on Hunter in the first place.

“You can go away,” he said, and the words came out choked. A fresh pain was building, brighter than the sun, aching, stinging, burning, growing. Like a new star was trying to form in his fucking skull. Agony too loud to hear his own voice, Hunter only realized he was screaming when his lungs started to burn from the lack of air, throat aching from overuse.

He couldn't get away, no escape, the pain was him, he'd have to cut open his skull and let his brains spill out, had to relieve pressure, had to—

Everything went away.

Not for long enough. The pain came back as a dull ache, pounding like a drum in his head. It was hard to breathe at first, hard to see. His mouth tasted like battery acid, bile on his tongue, and for a moment he couldn't feel anything but the implant. Cold metal and brain tissue.

“Are you with me?”

He was sitting up. Hunched forwards a little, arms wrapped around him.

“Breathe.”

Hunter more choked than inhaled. His body felt shaky and bloodless, head floating in a sea of hurt.

Manak was holding him, a cool hand rubbing his back, Hunter’s puke down the front of his perfect sweater.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, the word barely more than a gurgle.

“Just breathe.”

He tried.

[pukeiscute]

Been thinking about a partner puking in bed, unable to help themself

A sick partner who knows their partner has emetophilia, so they warn their partner, “‘m ‘bout to puke.”

“Okay, Hon’ hold it in for me, ‘kay?” Then the get in their position-kinky laying on the wooden floor (minimal cleanup), and sickie on all fours hovering above them panting.

A sickie groaning through their nausea, and caretaker rubs and prods at their exposed stomach, releasing low belches that sometimes end with a gag. Eventually they get to the tense knots in sickie’s tummy, causing thick slurries of stomach contents to eject from their sloppy mouth. Sickie continues to groan in relief, pain, and elation between retches at getting on with it to feel better. They make a mess of themself, their partner, and the couch, but neither seem to care much. Caretaker assures them that all that matters is getting sickie feeling better.

Let me know if you have any requests for sickfics-as explicit (even smutty) or as fluffy as your heart desires. I tend to write for MHA (absolute slut for Aizawa), Marvel (primarily Tony Stark, Bucky, and possible Steve), Original works, and Twilight. I have an AO3 account, pukeiscuter, where I will be posting all sorts of emeto content. Tips are always appreciated 💙

[sickficideas]

🍎 for ryūnosuke?

Sick or Treat!

of course i skip to him right away cause he's my favorite hehe...

(Warnings: emeto/vomiting, a little angsty, vague references to his terminal illness)

🍎 (Food Poisoning) - Akutagawa + Gin and Higuchi

“I’m the worst person ever,” Ichiyo laments, totally meaning for that thought to stay inside her head.

“You are not the worst person ever,” Gin assures her, sounding almost like a kindergarten teacher consoling a child. She’s busy clipping Akutagawa’s hair back with barrettes in wake of Ichiyo’s failed attempt to use a hairband. She's already had to wash some vomit out of his hair.

“You couldn’t…couldn’t possibly have known,” Akutagawa barely manages, leaning against the side of the shower door, beside the toilet, where he’s spent the last forty-five minutes, at least. He looks a little more comfortable now with the comforter Ichiyo brought to him, but he’s still downright miserable. He has enough stomach issues as it is, he really didn’t need food poisoning on top of all of that. Ichiyo will certainly cross off the restaurant they went to for lunch as a possibility for the future ever again.

She feels awful, seeing Akutagawa so sick, completely able to do anything to truly help him feel better. It was only an hour or two ago when he first told her over the phone that he was feeling sick to his stomach, simply asking Ichiyo if she could pick something up for him. She should have known it was this bad. He wouldn't ask for help otherwise. He had even managed to avoid involving Gin, but Ichiyo has undone that attempt.

“I'll be right back,” Gin says.

Akutagawa seems to doze off for a few moments, and Ichiyo is glad that he has a second to, but it doesn't last for long. A quiet, half-asleep cough turns into a gag, and without much warning at all, he's haphazardly brought his hand up to his mouth, too late to catch any of the vomit that falls down the front of the comforter.

Ichiyo squeaks and scurries to get next to him to lead him back to the toilet. For a second, she thinks he might be done, but it sounds like his body is still so nauseous from it all that it's still forcing gags, and bringing up more of his evidently undercooked lunch splashing into the toilet water. He can't even get a few seconds of sleep with how awfully nauseous he is. His poor tummy.

He's almost distraught, this time, he didn't have any chance of making it to the toilet in time but Ichiyo does what she can to comfort him, keeping a hand on his back that's starting to feel much too warm to be normal. He groans from the pain. His breathing starts to get irregular again.

“I'll take it to get washed right away,” Ichiyo promises, since he's clearly more concerned with the vomit on the comforter than how he's feeling. She can't help but pout when he lays his cheek on the lid of the toilet seat, his eyes feverish and face red, still visibly nauseous. She carefully reaches for the comforter, still halfway over his lap, and folds it up, tucking it away in the corner. “I'm so sorry, Akutagawa…”

“You didn't…you didn't do anything wrong, Higuchi,” he says with a few unsteady, nauseous sounding breaths in between. He coughs, too, because of course his lungs won't give him a break. “You…shouldn't have gone out of your way to…to help me…”

Ichiyo’s always thrown off when he talks like that, it's not like him to say things like that at all - to anyone, but especially not her. He's always so docile when he's sick like this.

“I'll always try to help you. However I can,” she says quietly.

Gin is back in the doorway with a glass of water that she sets on the sink counter just in time for Akutagawa to weakly lift up his head and choke up a mouthful of vomit. She kneels down beside him and rubs his back, gently and methodically like she's done it a million times. He's sick so often, Ichiyo doesn't even want to think about how many times they've been in this situation. And it's only been getting worse, in the last few months.

She sneaks out with the folded blanket and wanders into their laundry room to dump it into the washer right away. There's a sweater down at the bottom too that's got vomit stains on it too. That's what he was wearing when she found him, curled up on the kitchen floor, his stomach causing him so much pain that he couldn't move. Her eyes flood with tears. It is her fault. She took him to that restaurant. He wouldn't be so sick if she had picked somewhere else for them to eat after their shift ended, even though she was just trying to get him to eat at all. She was glad he even agreed to it.

She rubs at her eyes, knowing Gin will pick up on any sign of her crying if she starts now, but she's too late. She jumps. There's a hand on her shoulder.

Gin doesn't ever turn the stealth off.

“Higuchi,” she says with a frown full of pity. “It's okay. He'll be okay, he always is.”

The tears stream down her face when she says that and Gin doesn't waste any time wrapping her arms around her, tight, and Ichiyo does it right back. Gin is so used to seeing her brother vulnerable that it doesn't hurt her nearly as much as it does for Ichiyo, but she feels her grip shake. She's worried too.

“Thank you for coming to take care of him. And calling me,” Gin says gently. “I'm really grateful that you're so kind.”

“Gin…” Ichiyo murmurs, her tears clouding her vision now, as she buries her face in Gin's shoulder.

[angstyaches]

Flick! Congrats to 1.k followers, that's awesome! So glad to see you around. I go and reread your fics regularly when I want to get inspired by incredibly quality and emotion💙

I would have a tiny request with Charlie and Shane with "7: Suddenly going very quiet and still when they've been lively until that moment"?

@writing-whump

Thank you, Sol, you're fantastic!!

Prompt Meme | 100x10

CW: vomit

___

“Belle did the craziest thing today!”

 “Oh, yeah?” Shayne prepared himself for the least crazy thing he’d ever heard.

“She did this!” Charlie raised a hand to chin level. “A little thinking pose!”

Fondness warmed Shayne’s ribcage. “That’s so cute.”

“So cute, right?!” Charlie sighed as he sat down with his glass of water. Shayne knowingly watched the smile slide from Charlie’s face; he adored his niece, but babysitting drained him more than he’d ever admit.

And then Charlie whimpered and bolted from his chair. He threw himself against the kitchen sink, body folding in half as he vigorously retched.

[uremetomommy]

I need more fat men who have round, nauseous tummies after a stuffing. I have a few videos on youtube that I’m rewatching through, and I genuinely need this genre to exist more.

Here’s a link to a youtube playlist I made of all of my favourite overstuffed nausea/vomit videos. Let me know if you have any recommendations.

[whumpshaped]

Hello, would you write a conditionated whumpee in recovery that was trained to fear certain words? Simple phrases that Caretaker might say mano times before realise that it scares Whumpee?

I would love to see a Caretaker comforting a Whumpee because Whumpee thought they were in trouble qhen Caretaker said something like: "good night" or "would you like to take a bath?"

tw conditioning, past trauma, flashbacks, fear of noncon drugging, past noncon drugging, emeto (self-induced), paranoia

“Good night, Whumpee.”

Whumpee tensed up immediately, eyes going wide. Caretaker didn’t have a chance to notice, given they were already switching the lights off and leaving, which meant that Whumpee was left to deal with the sudden wave of terror on their own in the dark.

“Good night, Whumpee,” Whumper said with a smile after having forced the pill down their throat. “Sweet dreams.”

There had been no pill. Had there? Had Caretaker put something in their dinner? The water?

They scrambled out of bed and ran to the bathroom, checking their pupils and their tongue. They didn’t feel dizzy. They didn’t feel faint.

“Good night, Whumpee.”

They knelt down by the toilet and jammed their fingers straight down their throat, trying to get as much of the food up as possible. In the back of their mind, they hoped they weren’t retching too loudly, but the overwhelming desire was to get rid of whatever they had unknowingly ingested.

They didn’t want to pass out. They didn’t want to be drugged into oblivion again. They’d had enough.

They only stopped when there was seemingly nothing else to throw up, the bile burning their mouth like the acid Whumper had so often used. They flushed and cleaned themself up, then dragged their abused body back to bed.

“Good night, Whumpee.”

They didn’t sleep a wink all night, only comforted by the fact that it meant they’d gotten rid of the drug successfully.

[sickly-qt]

Hello!! How about 37. “You’re kidding me, right?”

I still have SUCH a soft spot for your Max, but feel free to use whoever you'd like 🖤

Thank you so much for the prompt!

This is really rough but it's been awhile since I've just sat down and written something based on a prompt... so I hope you're not too disappointed!

~~~

Max pries his eyes open and cringes at the light coming in through his window. His head hurt and there was a churning in his stomach that he had been ignoring for the last 20 minutes that he tried to go back to sleep. His phone rings and he sighs, grabbing it and seeing that it’s Julian. 

“Hey babe, I was thinking I could come and pick you up around 2?”

“For what?” he asks groggily. 

“You’re kidding me, right?” 

“I’m sorry Jules… I just woke up and my head hurts.”

“You’re sick? We were supposed to see Dune 2 today.” He whines. 

“Oh fuck, I totally forgot about that. I’m sorry babe, I don’t think I could sit through a movie…” Max sighs and rubs his face, laying on his back in bed. “I think I have a fever and I threw up last night. I still feel sick.”

“Okay, don’t worry about it… Do you need anything? I could stop over and bring some ginger ale or soup and crackers and something.” Max could hear the disappointment in Julian’s voice but was relieved when he didn’t give that much of an argument. 

“No, I don’t need anything. My mom said that she was going ro run to the store to get stuff when she came to check on me.”

“Do you want me to come over? We can see Dune next weekend but I would still like to see you?” Julian asks quietly.

“Yeah you can come over. My stomach is still upset but I think I’m done puking.” 

“Cool, I’ll come over in like an hour or so?”

“Yeah that sounds good. That gives me enough time to get a shower and stuff.” Max sits up and closes his eyes to make the room stop spinning.

“I’ll see you soon, Maxi. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[crystalsnow95z]

I hardly feel Car sick, but I felt it today on my way home from being out with my friends and started to write while the feeling is still fresh in my mind. Choosing Taehyung because his personality is the closest to mine.

Written without editing

Tw: Vom*t and meantion of blood.

"Taehyung-Ah? Are you okay? You're shaking.." Jimin's voice startled me, and I try to turn to face him, but as soon as I look away from the horizon my stomach tightens, making my mouth fill with saliva that I quickly swallow down before I answer him.

"I don't fe.feel well.." My voice comes out soft, with a small stutter. I feel like I'm sweating, but when I try to wipe my forehead I feel nothing. Even with the AC blowing on my cheeks I feel too hot. I roll up my jacket sleeves as far as they'll go, a small burp escaping.

"Oh no, Taetae, do you need something to get sick in?" Jimin starts looking for something, but I shake my head. I didn’t want to throw up. Not in the car with Hobi-hyungie.. I just wanted to lay down, but when I looked at the GPS it said we still had another twenty minutes. My stomach cramped up even more.

Jimin reaches over to roll down the window, the air whipping my hair against my cheeks. The fresh air did nothing to help my stomach. I try to find the button to close it, but the nausea made me feel dizzy, unable to focus."Please Jimin-ah..close it.." My voice comes out more whiny than I intended, worrying Jimin more than I wanted."

"I'm sorry Tae.." Jimin quickly rolls it back up.

"Do you want me to pull over?" Hobi-hyung asks softly.

"No.. no I don't.." My voice trailed off, laying my head against Jimins shoulder as my vision turned hazy, the contents of my stomach pushing up, but not quite reaching up my throat.

Jimin rubs his hand across my belly, trying to help ease the pain. "You might feel better if you let it out, Baby. There's a gas station up ahead.. we can stop."

When Hobi-hyung turns, it sends my stomach over the edge, the acid tang filling my mouth but i quickly swallow it down, the shakiness only getting more intense. "J-jimin.." My voice comes out as a trembling whisper. "I..I'm gon.." I get cut off by my own gagging.

"Hobi-hyungie is pulling over. Just wait another minute, okay?" Jimin strokes my hair gently. He tries to speak calmly, but I can hear the panicked undertone.

As soon as the car stops, I scramble out the door, falling onto the gravel when my knees refuse to hold my weight. I couldn't wait any longer.

"Taehyungie!" Jimin grabs underneath my armpits the slow down my fall, but I can still feel the sting of the rocks digging into my skin. It was nothing compared to the pain I felt when my stomach violently pushed up the cheeseburgers we only ate an hour earlier, my stomach only feeling more queasy when I heard the splash on the rocks.

If it wasn't for Jimin holding me up, I would fall forward onto the pile of gross that was coloring the gray pebbles. I felt weak, unable to even breathe as my body tenses up, pushing up another mouthful spraying across the ground.

"It's okay, you're okay.. just let it up, and you'll feel better, Tae.." Jimin coos softly by my ear, rubbing by back as my stomach pushes up more. I feel too hot, even with the cool breeze hitting my skin and the ground looks like it's moving, everything having a green haze. I feel like I'm gonna faint..I'm so dizzy..

"Jim..Jiminah..." I have no idea why I was calling his name.. he was already doing all he could. Jimin just runs his hand across my back in bigger circles, continuing to tell me it's okay.

It felt like it would never end, my side forming a painful stitch from my muscles working overtime to push up everything left in me. Another burp comes, more half digested food coming up.

"Taehyungie you have to breathe..can you do that for me baby?" It was Hobi-hyung, his voice coming from somewhere behind me. I try to take in deep breaths, but when I dry more heaves come, but this time nothing comes up but foamy saliva.

"I..i...i..." I try to speak but my voice comes out too shaky and another heave stops it, this time only a small string of spit coming up. My muscles screamed in pain and I silently prayed for it to end, closing my eyes to try to fight off the vertigo that blurred my vision.

Jimin drags me backwards, moving me to lay against his chest, wrapping his arms around me. "Breathe...Breathe Tae, you're done..You're done baby..just take a few breaths.."

This time, when I try, I manage it getting a few deep breaths in before another gag comes, but still nothing coming up.

"That's it Tae, just breathe.." I feel Hobi-hyung caressing my hair. I open my eyes to look at him, noticing he looks pallor. "I-im sorry Hyung..i..i..tried not to.."

"Don't worry about that. It's not your fault you got sick.. just try to relax." Hyung speaks softly. "Do you think you can stand up so you can lay down in the car?"

I slowly sit up, feeling weak and shaky. "I..I don't know."

I feel Jimin slowly stand, keeping one hand on my waist, the other across my back. "Come on, nice as easy..I got you.."

I wince when I feel the sting in my knees sucking in my breath.

"Oh, Taehyungie, you're bleeding.." Jimin gently brushes the rocks off my cut-up knees. "Let's get you to the car.. I think we have a first aid kit in the glove box.."

Both Jimin and Hyungie help me into a laying position in the back seat, my legs hanging out of the car. Laying down was helping with the feverish dizzy feeling, but the muscles around my tummy still hurt with every breath.

Jimin goes around to the other side, sliding in and pulling my head into his lap. "My poor baby.. you're still sweating.." he wipes my forehead with a tissue, then wipes the corners of my mouth. "It's okay, no one's mad at you. We're just worried.. that's all. Do you want some water?"

I shake my head. I didn't want to sit up to drink. I still felt dizzy, and I could still feel myself trembling.

"Taehyungie I'm going to clean up your wounds okay? It might sting.." Hobi-hyung's voice comes from by my legs.

"Okay.." I reach for Jimins hand, gritting my teeth when I feel the sting of the disinfectant touch my knees. "Mmm.." I let out a low hum as he cleans up my knees, trying to do it as gently as he could.

Jimin rubs his thumb across my knuckle as I gently squeeze his hand. "It'll stop in a minute, Tae." He tells me in a soft, soothing tone.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm finished.. just let me put on some band aids and it's over.." hyung sticks three bandaids per knee to try to cover up every wound. By the time he's finished, the nausea dies down to just an uncomfortable ache.

"There.. all done Tae. How are you feeling?" Hobi-Hyung asks, gently rubbing my thigh.

"I'm okay now..I'm just tired.." I slowly sit up, pulling my feet in the car. "I'm ready to meet up with the others..They're probably wondering what's taking us so long."

"Are you sure Tae? We can wait a few more minutes if you need it. I can call Namjoon-ah."

I shake my head. "I'm okay..Jiminie could you get the gum from my bag?"

Jimin gets it from the front pocket of my backpack without question. "Here Taehyungie." He takes out a piece, popping it into my mouth. The minty flavor helps get the awful taste from my mouth and gets rid of the last bit of the icky feeling from my tummy.

"Thanks, Jiminie.." I lay my head against his shoulder. "I think I'm going to try to sleep a bit.."

"Here Taehyungie you have to spit out the gum first baby.." Jimin puts a napkin by my face, and I spit the gum into it.

Hoba-hyung gets in the front seat again, and thankfully, when the car starts to move,my stomach behaves, allowing me to sleep dozing off the rhythmic strokes of Jimin rubbing my sore stomach...

(Sorry it's on the shorter side. I ran out of time. Next story will be longer)

[pokemonispain]

(Since I am bedridden for a little bit probably about a week or so due to regular disability shenanigans have this small Neuvi/Wrio brain worm thing I told my friend ❤️)

For Wrio I was thinking of him possibly getting sick when he was younger but maybe when he just replaced the last duke of the fortress. And he has his like first very important meeting with Neuvilette to give him his work reports and make sure everything is in order and make sure trade between the fortress and Fontaine will continue to move forward since he became the new duke. Wrio like showing up sick and while Neuvilette thinks he looks pale he doesn’t think anything is particularly wrong until like Wrio’s voice starts trembles while he’s reading off one of the reports/talking and his face goes even paler nearly gray with like a green tinge, Neuvilette asking him if he’s alright only for Wrio to suddenly retch, spray vomit like all over the floor and collapse to his knees shaking and eyes wide.

Neuvilette stunned for a second before like wrio retching again and rushing to his side. And managing to grab wrio when he passes out in the middle of puking with it like still running out of his mouth so like, Neuvilette holds him up to make sure he doesn’t choke.

Wrio like burning up with a fever and Neuvilette calls sigewinne for help. Her giving Neuvilette medicine for Wrio and instructions because taking care of humans when ill is kinda out of his wheel house.

I also like the image of Wrio having horrible fever delirium induced ptsd nightmares of the orphanage and his siblings fate. Neuvilette worried trying to get his fever down, and holding his hand or even stroking his hair to calm him down. I also headcanon that like Neuvilette probably gently strokes one of the scars on the side of Wrio’s throat to calm him down when he is sick and has nightmares they’re way closer👁️w👁️

[sxnguinesxnctum]

Laurence steps carefully inside the burning building, the smell of ashes and blood being almost welcome, compared to the one of rot and gunpowder coming from outside the Cathedral, in the Nightmare he learned to know, that twisted Yharnam that keeps showing itself to him more and more frequently whenever he closes his eyes.

Once again, his eyes fall on the giant Beast at the apse, slouched against a broken statue. Every night, he wonders if that will be the one time the Beast moves, speaks, tries anything; every night, so far, he woke up unsure if he was relieved or disappointed it didn't.

"What are you?"

Once again, the Vicar sits. He should be tense. He used to be tense. Maybe it's the fact that he fully realized that things didn't truly change, in that Nightmare, that makes him calm despit ethe terrifying scene in front of him: the Hunters outside kill Beasts, the Cathedral is eternally on fire, the creature in front of him doesn't move no matter how hard he tries, and he'll leave that place to return to the waking world only when his body awakens, be it because of the sunlight entering the windows of his room, or for much less peaceful reasons. Even that thing, that once seemed so terrifying, now became routine.

Just a particularly big Beast, yet one that still holds his full attention.

"Answer me."

A plead for a change.

"Answer me!"

An order for an answer.

"Answe--"

A gasp, when the Beast looks back.

A scream, as the Beast screams back, the heat increases, it stands, IT STANDS. Laurence attempts to do the same, just to stumble on his own mantle, ending on his back with a loud thud and finding the creature's snout over his before he could fully understand what was happening, finding himself under it as it crouches over him. Holding his breath, the Vicar stares at it, suddenly frozen in place despite the unbearable heat, and the stench from the decomposing corpse in front of him.

why did he never notice it?

The Beast moves closer, and the Vicar tenses up. It presses its nose against his chest, at stomach height. He barely has the time to notice that it's not violent, it's not hungry - that something, in the back of his head, suggests it's sad, devastated...

and it opens its maw.

"No-!"

It's a slow procedure. It doesn't bite him whole, nor rips him apart in one swing. Fangs tear through his skin and muscles with the precision of a surgeon, dig inside him not like an hungry animal, but like a thirsty person careful to not drink too fast, yet undeniably satisfied with each lick, each new, small bite, completely uncaring of the screams of agony coming from the source of that blood, that meat, fresh, delicious, a delicacy in that rotten town. The Vicar arches his back, and yells, yells, louder and louder, his hands gripping onto anything, trying to push away the creature who instead gently moves deeper inside, as if it was looking for his heart, and he cries, he cries, desperate, painful, wishing for it to find it, to fucking find it already, and put an end to that agony, to the stench, to the burning, TO THAT NIGHTMARE.

MAKE IT STOP.

MAKE IT STOP!

OEDON, PLEASE, MAKE IT STOP ALREADY--

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Laurence awakens with a scream, coated in sweat. He lifts himself from the pillows, wide eyes staring at the ceiling of his room, the stench of blood and rot and burnt meat still deep inside his nose, the same taste in his dry mouth. A hand clasps his lips a second too late to keep down the bile, and as he throws up he finds himself coughing, crying in agony - not the same as before, but as terrified and tense as he is it might as well be.

His Hunters come soon after, their own hands already drawing their blades, and then rushing to their Vicar's side, helping him stand and then sit far away from his own vomit, searching through his and their own belongings to find something to cover his scorching body and clean him as much as they could, and open the windows to let the dawn breeze inside. One more step back, offering to look for help or at least leave him space, just to stop once his own fingers, surprisingly strong considering his current state, grasp at his wrists.

"Don't leave...!"

That same wrist is moved closer, rested against his own forehead, as his free hand finds the Hunter's palm, holding it as if his life depended on it.

"I beg of you-- all of you. F-- forgive this weakness--

Don't leave...!"

Not until he's certain he's truly awake.

[painsandconfusion]

Whumpee is eating the food Whumper gave them.

Almost.

They're doing their best.

They don't know if it's rotting or spoiled or laced with something, but it tastes wrong.

They wish they could just put it down, but they're so fucking hungry - they have no idea when they'll get food again.

So they shove it down. Bite after bite. Forcing each swallow even as their body wants to send it back the way it came.

Just praying it doesn't kill them.