#emeto scenario

[danafeelingsick]

having soft thoughts of a sickie feeling guilty about puking up all the food caretaker made for them with so much love and care:

sickie having to maintain appearances, even as their poor stomach revolts agaisnt the heavy meal sitting inside it

sickie who can't help but grimace at the sight/smell/texture of the food, which makes caretaker think they might've messed it up

sickie clutching/hugging their middle as they try their hardest not to puke, thinking of the smile caretaker had on as they watched them eat, thinking they finally were starting to recover

sickie who has a hand clasped over their mouth, holding it tight to keep the food in no matter what, even to the protests of caretaker who's trying to tell them to just let it out, don't try to hold it

sickie who ends up losing the barely digested food over the blankets, sobbing apologies to a caretaker who's more worried about their well-being than anything else

[sickficideas]

sigma has a very sensitive tummy...sometimes the stress is all too much!

[vomcom]

The most soft spoken or sophisticated characters (whether that be canon character or oc ) being the most loudest pukers <<<<<<

Is the most peak fanfiction trope that needs to be used more

[sickklilsub]

i definitely ate something bad. nothing is staying in my body and you can hear my belly across the room.

it huuuurts to explode in so many ways at once. i need tummy rubs and for the acid belches to stop turning into something worse. :(

[gusherguy]

i Love (emeto edition)

😶i love quiet pukers, who have a hand in front of their mouth as they vomit, letting out quiet exhales with every gush. they shut their eyes and their body rocks forward with the heaves. they are helpless, just having to let their stomach have its way, silently barfing it all up until they're empty.

😠i love pukers who are in denial about having to puke. even when they start to let out dangerously wet burps, swallowing hard to keep their stomach contents where they should be. maybe even after they vomit back up into their cup, they insist they're fine -- before loud retching takes hold of them and sick comes bubbling up.

😔i love sickly little pukers who take a long time to vomit. they whine and lay about with no energy, every now and again dry-heaving in your arms. despite their constant queasiness, they take hours to get anything more than sickly sweet saliva out of them. but when they do start to spew, its violent and copious.

🤮i love dramatic pukers who get sick immediately out of nowhere. they have a weak stomach perhaps, or overate, or took one last daring shot of vodka before their guts revolt. after sweetly burping and hiccuping all night, it takes everybody - even them - by surprise when a little burp suddenly ends in a gush of sick alllll over the place. they inhale and try to speak, but their gut clenches and they keep on vomiting helplessly.

[pukeishot]

I threw up in the bathtub yesterday morning. There are a lot of nights I drink too much and end up hungover until like noon the next day until after I have eaten and taken vitamins. I woke up feeling a little groggy but did my usual routine of getting high before I started to get ready. After, I was feeling a little woozy but went into the kitchen and made myself some toast and poured a protein drink over ice. I ate most the bread and butter and drank a few big gulps of the ice cold dairy drink and went to get in the bathtub. I let it fill a quarter full with steamy hot water before I got in and let it fill the rest of the way. I was only washing my face and body since my hair was clean from the shower the night before. As I let the hot water grow higher up my belly I started to feel nauseous and dizzy. The cold drink inside my stomach up against the hot bath water wasn’t making things better. I rubbed my distended stomach and leaned back to lay down. When I did this the dizziness got worse and the room started to spin. I sat up slowly and steadied myself on the sides of the tub. I felt my mouth fill with saliva and my stomach clenched. I felt cold strawberry drink rush up the back of my throat and with a retch I was leaning forward as it spilled over my lips into the hot bath tub. “Uuuurrrpppp” I caught my breath and heaved again bringing up another mouthful of pink and stomach acid “blaaarrghhhh”. It was frothy and most of it floated on top of the water and sank slowly in strings of partially digested foods. I didn’t get out immediately even though I had left the toilet open next to me just in case, it was already too late. When my puke floated towards me I would swish it back forward just for it to come back at me just like it had come back up my throat. I gagged once more at the sight of my own sick and brought up mostly stomach acid. It seemed I had kept down my toast so I was satisfied with that. I pulled the plug, made sure all the throw up went down the drain and got ready for work.

[emetoniche]

Justin x Roan: Late Night Sickness

This one just kind of happened, no real plan when I started, so it's not nearly as long as the last one. Ooh boy, this one had me feeling so fucking horny when I was done writing it though. Good Lord, I need myself a Justin rn, just vomiting all over himself.

______________________________________________________________

Justin awakes to find his stomach squeezing itself into oblivion. Almost immediately, his body curls into the fetal position, arms wrapping around his middle, eyes tightly shut. He hadn't gone to bed feeling like this. In fact, he had fallen asleep with Roan in his arms, her head nestled into his chest, after they had had a particularly productive love session. But now...

Now it feels like something is trying to writhe free from his abdomen, kind of like in that one movie with Sigourney Weaver. What was it called? Oh yeah, Alien. That thought makes his stomach clench tighter, and he tries to push it away with little luck. In the bed beside him, Roan rolls over in her sleep, shaking the bed. The rocking motion catches Justin off guard, and he groans softly.

He turns over as carefully as he can, touching Roan's shoulder. "Roan..." he moans. "Roan, I don't feel good..."

As his fingers press to her shoulder, he can tell that she's in a very deep sleep. She sleeps like a rock, one of her rare but few flaws. Her shoulders are tense, like there is a rubber band just under the surface. But Justin is feeling worse, much worse. He squeezes his eyes shut against the pain, his fingers sinking into Roan's shoulder. His stomach is writhing. "Roan... I, don't... oh..."

He shakes her as hard as his stomach would allow, and she snorted in her sleep, swimming sleepily up from the depths of her dreams. Her eyes flit open finally, and she turns her head to look at Justin, still barely seeming to hold on to consciousness. "What's wrong baby," she mutters, voice raspy with sleep.

He can only whimper out a few words between gritting his teeth. "My belly, it... feels sick." His head feels like its being split into two. His stomach feels torn apart and he can't even speak without his face twisting. "My head, it hurts—but my stomach is... oh... I'm sick. Like really sick..."

Roan sits up, propping herself up on one elbow and using her other arm to feel Justin's forehead. Her face falls into a frown. "You're burning up," she said, forcing herself to sit up fully. "That's weird, you weren't this hot when we went to bed..." She reaches over, running a hand through Justin's shoulder-length hair, trying to comfort the sick boy.

As Roan's fingers work through his hair, it sends a shiver down Justin's spine. She is kind and nurturing and, well... she makes him feel loved. The sensation is soothing on the whole, but nothing is strong enough to drown out the feverish ache in his belly. He reaches for Roan's hand. "I need to, I've gotta go to the bathroom." The need to puke is overwhelming.

Shoving the covers off and standing up, Roan quickly moves around to his side of the bed, pulling the covers off of him as well. "Come on baby, let's go," she murmurs soothingly. She slips an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a sitting position. Placing a hand on his stomach, she can feel how bloated and angry it is. It is gurgling so loudly and so hard she can literally feel the contents of it sploshing around. In the back of her mind, she wondered if he would make it to the bathroom in time.

As he slowly stands, a shiver runs all over his body. His stomach is a twisting, churning mess. Whatever is inside him is trying desperately to make an exit. At the moment, he can only groan with the writhing. Even as Roan helps him to his feet, his body is so heavy and the pain is so terrible. "Ooh, oh no... don't, I'm gonna..."

Roan tries to guide him to the bathroom, but less than a foot from the bed she feels his body heave. He sits down on the bed with a soft plop, fist pressed to his lips in an effort to keep the vomit down. Roan doesn't think he's very successful, and her thoughts are confirmed when a thick gush of puke flows from between his fingers onto his lap.

He's almost proud. Almost. There's a certain sense of relief in the violent expulsion that rocks his entire body. He doesn't care where its going, or how much of it there is. His nose wrinkles as he watches the puke drip down to the floor. It smells vile, even to himself. And there is so much more coming up.

"Oh, gods... no..." Another gush pours out in front of him. "Ahh, Roan, it hurts so bad..."

Rubbing his back and holding one of his hands, Roan watches the chunky liquid pour from his mouth in a flow of greenish-yellow sick. It pools in his lap, spilling over onto the blankets and the floor. "That's it baby, get it all out, it's okay," she soothes, still holding onto him as his body convulses.

As he throws up in a torrent, he barely hears her. His head hurts so bad. The nausea doesn't seem to let up, and he knows the worst is yet to come. He looks at Roan once in a while, his eyes darting around as his consciousness begins to drift. It is a painful drift, and he begins to shake even as his stomach empties. "Oh, Roan, it hurts! It hurts so bad, just... help..."

It pains Roan beyond belief to see her boyfriend in such a state, but there isn't much she can do about it. Ignoring the growing puddle of vomit, she scoots closer to him, hugging him and holding him steady. The vomiting has slowed to dry heaving, and after a bit its just a couple of empty gags until Justin falls back into her arms, utterly exhausted.

As he falls back, his head begins to loll and his lips part. He's so, so tired. Even sitting up is a great strain. He can barely find the energy to open his eyes. He must be running a high fever and his entire body hurts. His head throbs as if his brain is trying to drill its own escape; his stomach continues to be a sloshing nightmare, but at least its not as violent anymore. With a slow, deep, exhausted exhale, he mumbles a "thank you..."

The next morning, having cleaned up the mess and slept for the rest of the night, Roan makes herself breakfast, placing a couple pieces of bread in the toaster. From the other room, she hears a loud groan; Justin waking up most likely. She walks quickly through the kitchen into the bedroom to find Justin no longer in bed. The bathroom light is on, and she can just barely see his toes peeking out from around the doorframe. She goes over to the door, peering in, to find Justin sitting with his arms around the toilet bowl, head resting on them.

Justin groans against the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl. Whatever he ingested seems to still be wreaking absolute havoc in his guts, but it was no help that his body had lost so much sleep and fluids. "R-Roan..." he moans. He's cold, and his stomach is still squeezing and sloshing and twisting. He looks awful, his face pale and his body soaked with sweat.

"Oh, baby," Roan coos, coming up behind him and gently wrapping her arms around him. "Are you throwing up again?"

"Mm..." He whimpers as she holds him. His belly is still writhing, but it appears he hasn't thrown up again yet. He's just so... so weak. The fever has made him almost delirious; a little like the time he'd suffered food poisoning at his parents' house—but this feels worse. Much worse. His shoulders shake. "Y-yeah. I think—I think just give... uhh... me a minute."

"Ok, I'll be right here, I promise," Roan replies, squeezing his shoulder gently.

"C-can you help?" Justin moans, giving her a plaintive look.

"Of course, sweetheart." Roan wraps her arms around him from behind, placing her hands on his stomach. She can feel it rumbling under her touch, and she presses lightly on it. Justin gags at the pressure, an empty gag, but not by much. A bit more pressure on his stomach, and he heaves a guttural burp, bile spewing from his mouth. Another enormous burp, and more bile, spotted with bits of last night's dinner that hadn't come up the first time.

Justin's entire back stiffens as he burps and spews. The pressure has clearly been too much for a body already experiencing so much pain; it sets off a new round of gags. His mouth and eyes fill with the taste of sour, fetid puke. He groans as the pain sets in. "Oh, f—!"

Roan feels a bit sorry for applying the pressure, given it gave him so much pain, but she knew that in the long run it would be better to get rid of his stomach contents as quickly as possible.

The pressure had been awful, almost like an immediate burst of severe pain, but the subsequent wave is so much worse. Justin gasps for air as he finishes his heaving into the toilet bowl. It sounds so painful... but he feels so, so much better for it. "Oh... man... oh gods. Thank you. Thank you..."

Roan rests her head on his back, cuddling him. She can't help but to feel a small burst of pleasure with the feeling of taking care of him. Never a burden for her. Once she gets him back in bed, she stays beside him for a while, forgetting about her breakfast entirely. Just Justin for now, that's all that matters to her. After the pain had eased a bit, Justin's body seems to finally give in to the fatigue he'd felt from the initial fever. He's so warm and so tired, but Roan seems to be a calming force over his body. He reaches up and places a hand on her cheek, before slowly, almost reluctantly, drifting off to sleep. She can just barely hear his last words as he drifts off. "I love you, Roan..."

[sickmeds]

— into the woods , a short random piece

tw: emeto

He swallows thickly, eyes fluttering, and the water slips down the bones of his cheeks. It’s warm, tingling, a soft hum that pickles along his skin, palms resting against the cold tiles. His head bows down, soft locks falling across his face, muscles shifting stiffly, bending, shoulders hunching, lips parting.

Nothing happens, besides the soft groan that falls, drowned by the spray of the shower. It echoes in his ears, filling the space, and his throat burns.

A heavy breath of air, his muscles relax, eyebrows furrowed and creasing along his skin as he slowly pushes up, leaning back, running fingers through his hair and letting the water spill into his mouth. He spits, hair falling back, matting on to his forehead as his thumb and forefinger massage the bridge of his nose.

Leaning back into the spray, he swallows, warm water trickling down his throat.

A soft burp pushes its way up from his chest, lungs crackling, expanding and sinking, and his eyes close. Off , not right , strange – all of which had evolved into this moment, as his palms press back against the wall, unbalanced between clammy and wet, a low, shuddering breath.

Apprehension clings to the shake in his legs, the almost unnoticeable tremor except , except as his adam’s apple bobs in his throat, his ankles strain, muscles twinging, and something shifts dangerously in the tilt of his stomach.

A thick swallow, and the tang of something hot, bitter, lingering in the back of his throat as he exhales through his nose, scratchy, breathy, inhaling deep and slow. He’s not scared, not quite, in the silence and space of his empty house.

A gurgle, that turns more like a growl, and a hand drops to rest lightly on the muscles of his stomach, gingerly pressing to the frothing magnitude of the flipping, inside his body. A groan follows quickly, shifting, stretching, leaning further over, nails digging into the plaster between the tiles until a sharp pain shoots up his knuckles.

“Uhhrk,’ His face crumples, its soft tan warmed by the light of the bathroom, yet stricken pale in a sickly manner that resonates in the gloss of water lingering in his eyes. His breath catches in a low pant, a gurgle beneath his hand, and a dry retch crawls shakily up his throat.

Only half aware of the water still spilling down his back, running between the creases of his skin, trailing along the tensing of his muscles, there’s a groan from the piping and a soft click, as the water begins to grow colder, from the hot steamy warmth to a lukewarm, that sends a shiver down his spin.

He licks his lips, dry, swallowing, braced on the wall and his head presses momentarily on his arm, leaning on himself as if the urge to crumple was not there ( but it was , arms aching , straining with the effort ).

It wasn’t the physical act that brought a shallow breath and a pang of fear slipping through his heart, although even on a good day he cringed at the thought. It was the fact he didn’t know why. He couldn’t remember eating anything that had tasted funny, he had been careful to order oatmilk in his morning coffee, and the strange clinging nausea had not arrived until mid afternoon, sitting at the old oak table in the kitchen sipping on tea.

It was sudden - the glimmer of sweat accumulated on his collar, rubbing his palms against his jeans, blinking wearily at the laptop screen as it lagged for the fifth time that day, the small circle in the corner going round and round and round. And the frustrated huff of air that escaped his lips, palms pressed into the cavern of his eyes, had come with a swooping sense of dread.

Then it only grew, from a strange wooziness that he thought was simply tiredness, to the last drop of tea in the cup that he struggled to swallow, and found himself wrapping a protective arm around his stomach as it attempted to digest his lunch. A chicken sandwich that tasted good.

So confusion crawled restlessly across his skin until everything was a little too uncomfortable, and he pushed aside any thoughts of completing the last few tasks, including the dishes in the sink that had been glaring at him all morning, and wandered slowly through the cabin to his bedroom.

And now , now –

He burps, bile splashing at the back of his throat and his palm slips on the wall. He swallows automatically, a shuddering breath, jaw clenching, breathing heavily.

“Nnng..” A groan slips past his lips, a tear soaked breath , arm wrapping fully around his stomach. It’s sloshing, tumbling, a tremor through his spine.

He’s alone . It’s okay .

A twinge in his stomach that turns to a wet retch, and his shoulders lurch up to his chin, squeezing his eyes shut against the trickle of sour liquid that stings in his throat and joins the spray of the shower head.

Panting, hands gripping his thighs, nails digging into his skin. A shallow, unrestrained burp, and his stomach lurches with a dangerous flop . Shivering, his eyes flutter open for a second, as a deep growl emits from the caves of his belly, and it seems to swallow him whole.

He feels like jelly — stumbling, gasping, and it cuts off into a heave that sends him entirely over the plug , and a thick wave of digested food erupts from his mouth.

His eyes slam shut , but not before the dark dregs of his stomach were ingrained into his head. It sends a throbbing ache into his stomach, as if only now it was catching up, as if it was all in the wrong order, and burps a mouthful of puke into the shallow water.

The shower is cold , freezing , but now he can’t move , now he’s stuck , thighs cramping in time with his stomach as he crouches down , gripping the edge of the bath.

A groan emits from his stomach, mimicked by his voice, and his hand splashes into the shower water as his balance shifts, narrowly avoiding falling forwards as a harsh retch turns productive.

He’s dragging in a breath before a burst of warm vomit joins the water, and he has a moment to be grateful it’s slipping away down the drain before he’s gagging, stomach churning, spilling liquid from his belly,

“What the fuck,” he mumbles, coughing, and retches. “ .. fuck.”

It burns, aching his throat, darkening the cold water still streaming overhead ( and it’s almost nice , he knows it shouldn’t be , goosebumps on his skin ).

The nausea clings like sweat on his skin, as he gags into the empty air, pushing hair from his eyes with trembling hands. A dry heave, and another, and his stomach protests the motion. He can feel it, still simmering, sloshing away, refusing to come up.

An actual shiver now, buried in his bones and a moan follows, curling his arms protectively around his stomach. He waits, moments ticking by and nothing happens, just that same queasy feeling from before licking at his heels like flames.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his fingers clamber on the edge of the bath, dragging himself up. A shaking hand bumps at the handle, turning it off, and he’s standing, watching the last of the water drain out, cold and shivering.

Cautiously wrapping a towel around his waist, his throat feels thick and heavy, like his stomach, and he hesitates, hovering between the bed in the other room and staying there.

Awkward, unsteady, he fills a glass left on the side with water and washes the taste from his mouth - like gauze on a wound he knew would be reopened ( it was only a matter of time ) .

Finally, salty tears spill over , rubbing the soft towel against his cheeks, they trickle, falling in soft raindrops of misery like gentle strokes down his skin. His fingers bury in the towel, tugging it closer and closer, wrapping himself up like a cocoon and edging towards the door.

He was alone. Alone, but not longer sure he wanted to be.

His tongue runs along lips, as his fingers shift, a slow maneuver, tugging soft linen from the dark oak draws along his damp skin. Tartan pattern and cotton, cool and fresh and he shivers, climbing into the white sheets, dragging the towel with him.

[danafeelingsick]

tropes i love: sickie accidentally puking all over caretaker while they are being carried or cuddled.

[sickficideas]

moriarty brothers illness headcanons :)

William

- very easily motion sick. it's not as bad on trains or carriages but anything on water is guaranteed to make him feel nauseous

- prone to fevers...they're not always very high, but sometimes he'll be working all day with a low grade fever and no one will have a clue. once it gets high enough, though, everyone starts to notice, but William will usually keep working until someone makes him stop (and at that point he's a pushover)

- everyone is aware of his tendency to suddenly fall asleep (undiagnosed narcolepsy lol) but it's worse when he's sick, and he's much more difficult to wake when he's sick

- post-The Final Problem, he's gotten more sickly, and he's much more aware and accepting of when he needs to rest. he's often super faint and dizzy and has issues walking for long periods of time, so he always takes Sherlock's arm when it's too much

- Sherlock laying with him when he's not feeling well, giving him tummy rubs when he feels nauseous and making sure he's comfortable enough to sleep uninterrupted...William often makes himself feel worse when he worries about his family and even though Sherlock understands his pain he's gotten good at derailing his thoughts

Louis

- he has to take daily medication for his heart...if he ever misses a dose or the formulation is off, it's obvious - he's pale, dizzy, and faint all day. he will absolutely get irritable too. William will notice it coming on when he gets a little snappy

- he's generally pretty sickly, despite denying it, and he's not good at hiding anything or taking care of himself. anyone other than William has to tread carefully with accusing him of being sick because he'll get defensive. most of them have learned to just tell William if something is wrong with Louis instead of confronting him themselves. but Louis hates that even more, William worries too much about him 💔

- he has a very sensitive stomach...not only with food, but his stomach reacts to unpleasant sights and smells too to a certain extent. if he sees something that makes his stomach churn he'll turn around, cover his mouth and breathe hard through his nose and that usually works okay. he's used to his stomach hurting but tries to avoid throwing up at all cost, especially in front of others

Albert

- he is ridiculously good at hiding when he doesn't feel well. like William, he can continue working despite his condition, but he's much more stubborn about stopping. usually it works out in his favor but there has been a few times where he's truly needed help

- Mycroft has personally witnessed him very politely excuse himself to throw up and come back and seem perfectly fine, like nothing ever happened :) Mycroft thinks it's kind of attractive

- Albert is a pro at throwing up 🙏 it doesn't bother him much at all, and because of this he's very good at taking care of his brothers when their stomachs are sick

- he's not sick very often and generally has a good immune system, but stress will usually be the reason he falls ill. he's also fallen victim to a hangover every now and then too lol

[vomcom]

Characters that cough so hard during a coughing fit ,that they just gag and their mouth puffs up as it fills with puke is just top teir emeto material 👌🏾

[sickklilsub]

tonight has been really uncomfortable. :/

it started as this weird pressure near my belly button and turned into bubbling cramps. i can feel these deep, painful waves of whatever is in there slooooowly moving up & down my sides into my lower belly and it’s making me nauseous.

i tried curling up, laying down, gentle rubs, etc. sipping ginger ale just added burps i don’t have room to even bring back up because my insides feel so tight. everything below my belly button is ripping through me but won’t come out, so now i’m laying with my knees up hoping some of this pressure releases soon.

:3 if i weren’t too shy & gassy to be little spoon, i’d be so about it right now.

[gusherguy]

thinking about

tired, hungover puking.

somebody who's been vomiting on and off for a while the past few hours. every time they retch, empty bile just comes up. little spurts of bitter, salty yellow.

they gulp down some water and try to keep their stomach in its place. but their stomach just keeps on flipping, squeezing and trying to empty. they manage to go half an hour without puking. but at what cost? they have to keep swallowing, over and over, all those nasty little flecks of food and the bitter bile.

so finally, they give up. its so easy now since they've been holding back for a long time. they open their mouth and gurgle "ureegghhhllllghhh!" and yellow splashes all over. ohh, they feel so sick, but resisting just made them feel sicker. as they let go and vomit weakly, it almost feels....good.

[nervousqueasiness]

Okay hear me out...... a emeto prompt of characters that are really close twins and/or siblings that are sympathy pukers and/or gaggers , like imagine one of them hearing the other gagging or puking and immediately they start to gag and/or puke

[soupwithanaxe]

umm... can I interact with someone in the format of a role-playing game like a sickficl?

[kinks: emetophilia, vomiting, a lot of regurgitation and belching, upset stomach, rumbling and tummy churning, tummy stroking, also want one character to help another cause vomiting, and be present during the process when another character vomits. a game in the ab/dl format, daddy/baby (mlm only, u play for anyone) is also welcome, in this case it is force-feeding, vomiting, diapers, giving the baby special drugs (vomiting and laxatives), fattening with products that cause indigestion.] I can write role-playing posts in english and russian, dynamic game, short posts, original characters.

[sickstarlight]

We don’t really write illnesses that aren’t directly GI related here but for all y’all fans, consider: sick characters throwing up bc they’re coughing so hard and/or bc their stomach is all full of mucus from their cold <3333333