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He barged through the throng ofĭancers, clamping his hand down on the man’s shoulder and wrenching him away. He’d given it to her, when they’d dated the first time around. Nye couldn’t see her face, but the silver bracelet dangling from her wrist was He was almost losing hope when he spotted a girl It was a big student night he could see big WalkingĪs fast as he could without breaking into a run, he slipped past the barriers,įlashing his ID at the bouncers and striding inside. The heavens for sports-obsessed universities and priority queue jump. Through the mess in the back seat until he found a semi-clean rugby shirt. He parked up just around the corner from the club, rifling Something that had been cut with something else? The crowd when she was already hammered? Or maybe she had taken But on the phone, she’d sounded utterly wrecked andĬompletely alone. She didn’t trust other people’s drugs and sheĭidn’t drink herself to oblivion unless she was around people that she trusted What worried him the most was that even when Flossie was at Wheel, glancing repeatedly at the clock on the dashboard. Had chosen to drive to the city centre? He drummed his fingers on the steering Why was it tonight that everyone in the vicinity The drive should only have taken ten minutes. Show weakness, and she never asked for help. Had him jumping behind the wheel before he even had time to think. Moment he’d stepped out of the hospital, and her slurred, scared incoherence He’d received Flossie’s call pretty much the Nye slammed on the brake, swearing in frustration as the Oh wow look another fic that no-one asked for while there are still dozens of prompts in my inbox… This features Nye and Flossie and has trigger warnings for date-rape drugs/non-consensual drug use. Either way, an engorged stomach gets a bit of relief at the expense of the cleanliness of either characters' clothes. Or B) worriedly rubs their fingertips against the crest of the gurgling stomach to express their sympathy, but the contact makes the character's stressed muscles tense up, and the pressure is enough to send the gluttony spewing. The fun part: feeder A) gently places both hands on the sides of the heaving gut, smiles, and squeezes.
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Even the bare skin on their bloated stomach is sheening with a cold sweat. The character's moans get more pathetic, their hand spending a majority of the time clasped over their lips as their cheeks puff. The feeder might get more concerned or ecstatic when the swollen belly gets louder and louder, the gurgles becoming sicker by the second. They offer water, belly rubs, back rubs, hell, to CARRY them to a bed, but the character begs to be left alone. Either they're revelling in the misery or feel absolutely terrible for landing the character in such a compromised situation. Tweak the thought a bit, and the person responsible for bloating them up so much is there to deal with the repercussions. Each moment sitting with their glutted stomach arching out in front of them brings heavier onslaughts of nausea. They swallow down burps and hiccups, because each one is guaranteed to bring up more than air. Their back is painfully arched just to keep any unnecessary pressure off their throbbing guts, their hands hovering over the exposed skin but not quite brave enough to give it a rub. Every breath the poor idiot takes sends a bit more undigested food back up their throat, and even opening their mouth to moan is too risky. It's never quiet, constantly gurgling with effort, but it's not even capable of releasing a satisfying bubble of gas, it's TOO full. The character can't get up or lie down in their current state, their stomach so swollen it's tugging at their skin and pressing against their lungs. Right now, the Thoughts are going to a drum-tight belly that's been stuffed to the brim with an assortment of a character's favorite foods, from fluffy pastries to a rich, hearty dinner that would leave them bloated and gassy on its own.
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I've been suuuuper in the emeto mood lately, I can't really explain it.