hi! welcome to my emeto blog || Minors DNI || Comms: OPEN | Reqs: OPEN | Askbox: always OPEN | NSFW / Emeto KINK || call me dana | 20s | they/them | writer artist emetophile || danafeelingdown on ao3
ABOUT ME: call me dana | 24 | they/them | writer and artist | nsf/w | big fan of emeto and suffering | english is not my first language
• our timezones might be different, please be patient (and nice) | • don't ask for unnecessary personal information | • don't repost my stuff, reblogs are appreciated though | i don't RP (too awkward ;/)
in no particular order, my interests are: emetophilia (vomiting) | graphic depictions of illness | whump (most genres) | sickfic / emeto fic | hurt and comfort / all hurt no comfort | fluff | writing prompts | femme / masc / non-binary sickies | caretaking (romantic / platonic / familial) | stuffing / overeating / light feedism / bloating | belly kink | sneezing | crying | eructophilia (burping) | coughing | omorashi (p!ss kink / wetting) | nsft / nsf.w | original characters | x you / x reader /x y/n | self-inserts / muses | smut | teratophilia / monster fucker | guro/eroguro | angst
Tysm to @danafeelingsick for the comm to go with it <3
After a long night out partying at the Garrison, I had too practically drag John home. He always drinks a lot when he's with his brothers or when he's partying. However, last night I knew he must have overdone it when he started laying his head on my shoulder in the booth tiredly. No longer wanting to go out to dance and mingle, mumbling slurred complaints in the crook of my neck. Tugging on his tie and collar whilst trying to swallow whiskey fuled belches rolling out of his gut. I tired at first to help him up, but I couldn't even lift him in his drunken state. I eventually had to get Tommy and Arthur to help him into my car, and now i'm just trying to get him home in one piece.
"I feel fucking sick..."
I hear John mutter to himself sitting aside me while trying to shakily light a cigarette, the movements of the car causing him to cringe under every bump. He pulls off his tie and unbuttons his collar and pants, still just groaning holding his stomach gently, face hot with intoxication and humiliation. I lean over and put my hand on his thigh, reassuring him that he just drank too much and it's nothing to be embarrassed about. he had at least five drinks from what I saw anyways, I really just hope he doesn't get sick in the car. seeing from how bloated he looks at the moment it certainly isn't an irrational worry. He savored the cigarette before tossing the butt out the window. luckily, we manage to get home with only a few stray gags out the window. I do my best to help him up the steps but suddenly his head hangs down and his hand reached for his mouth.
"No no- John, honey, please not on the stairs."
I plead with him still trying to help him up, I put my hand on his back and rub in gentle circles. Taking off his coat and hat I lead him at last inside the doorframe.
"Just breathe ok, we are almost to the bathroom. You poor thing, why on earth would you drink so much."
I coo at him while I hang up his hat, he only weakly nods in response. once we make it to the bathroom I sit him down and he doubles over again, retching into his hand and I try to back up but only a small string on spit falls of his tongue. I sigh with relief, gently comforting him as much as I can. most of his responses are incoherent, I just kindly agree and pretend to understand. I guide him to the toilet and he grips it the second his hands touch it, gripping it like it's the only thing holding him steady. The instant I rest my hand back on his back he lets out a forceful retch, his abs clenching tightly. While he’s gasping and coughing I realize that once again, nothing came up. I watch him try and weakly gag into the toilet.
"I'm try- *hic* -ing, I-"
John stutters out, barely intelligible. I just reassure him once again, hating to see him struggle I start thumping on his back with the heel of my palm and he finally lets out another real heave, followed by a thick wet burp.
"*hhuuuuurrp* ugh-"
he spits into the bowl and groans, shifting around uncomfortably. I thump a bit harder on his back this time, not enough to hurt but enough to be firm. another low groan falls from his lips and this time I hear a huge gush of all of that whisky finally hit the water. he coughs and sputters hardly able to even catch his breath between waves.
"There we go, that must feel better."
"mhmm-"
He hums weakly, sinking back into my lap as he pulls the flush. I reach for a towel and wipe his mouth gently, hiccups now starting to rack his chest. Wrapping my arms around him and petting his soft hair I think to myself.. this is gonna be a long night. After he catches his breath he mutters out,
“ ‘m done, le *hic* mme go to bed.”
Before I can respond John hoisted himself up and while walking out, kicking off his shoes and pants hardly staying upright. I go into the kitchen and get a metal bucket from under the sink. I set it by his bed and curl up with him, choosing not to protest his want to sleep, knowing he must be tired. I try to stay awake so I can keep my eye on him, I realize I’ve fallen asleep when I get woken up by harsh retch.
“Huuurrrkk- hic- guhhhh-“
John groans out sounding in pain and straining, clutching over his tense stomach. I roll over and watch him spit in the bucket a few times, mumbling swears and complaints under his breath.
“Shhhhh it’s ok you’ll feel better after.”
I add lovingly, and my words or encouragement seem to help as again after who knows how long this time, another big wave comes up. I mentally pat myself on the back for getting that bucket, knowing there was no way he was done even though I was almost sure I heard him miss at least a tad. He starts to sweat and shake with the heaves as they get weaker and weaker, there is hardly anything left in his stomach at this point, I was almost sure of it. Now all that was coming out were these small but still wet belches but he was still hanging himself over the side of the bed and gripping the sheets until his knuckles were white. Maybe all the air trapped was making it so hard I think to myself, trying to be quiet as to not disturb him or embarrass him more than he surely already was. I sat up a bit and put my hands on his shoulders and started to message them tenderly, hoping to bring him so kind of comfort. After a few more minutes of weak burps and a few more gags, his stomach clenched again with such force I thought for sure he was going to get sick again. A big airy belch erupted from his gut, catching his breath in his throat and causing him to cough a bit more but at last he let out such a genuine sigh of relief I couldn’t help but smile. Knowing it must’ve felt really good in the end. He slumped back down and settled in to bed once again. Taking the blanket I wipe his sweat of his forehead and plant a kiss on his head. He went to sleep fairly quick after that even though I could still hear the occasional gurgling coming from his stomach and chest. I curl up to him, holding him and rubbing his stomach when it gets loud or he stirs. I hoped he would feel better in the morning, I would take care of him in the morning. I loved getting a chance to take care of him, he never rested. Tommy never let him. I would make sure he had a very lazy day in the morning.
been missing here too ^^ it's been hectic lately, but i've been doing pretty good!
i don't know if i said it here, but i moved to new city and started college! ya boy is being social after years of hiding in a cave. so i haven't had much time to draw.
aaa i want it tho! c//aine has become my newest hyperfix after episode 8 (still love w.aterboy have a couple fics of him to finish) and it's so sad i can't draw him well. don't like how he looks in my style, but i might post a doodle sometime!
just turning the street saw a guy drunk vomiting on all fours. some of his friends were around him, one was rubbing his back,. it was a big puddle of liquid, but god, he looked so sick so sexy
Summary: Set between the events of RE 9 and RE8 village where Leon and Chris finally get some time to themselves to hang out
Leon’s body wasn’t in the best shape, truthfully, hadn’t been for years, but he’d like to think that after at least a few years or so sober, his body had started healing to some degree.
Hangovers were never pretty, but this time while he stumbles into awareness and wakefulness he realizes that he doesn’t feel hung over.
Being hung over carried a distinctive feeling Leon knew like the back of his hand, especially with how much it felt like it mocked him.
The pounding headaches the taste of regret that would soak his body so thoroughly when it was cloaked with sweat that smelled of whisky.
Yeah he was used to it. Which is why he knows that this feeling, the one that greets him upon opening his eyes this time is different.
He lays there for a moment the world a tad hazy around him as his hand wanders upward to rest on his belly.
It was bare…no shirt…
Ah right it took him a second to remember but he realized that he was home in bed. And from the darkness in his bedroom it was still nighttime.
Leon sighed leaning his head back although he scowled when he noticed that he felt a bit strange.
Not exactly bad, kinda queasy which wasn’t surprising considering he’d gone to a bar with Chris to hang out and just play darts and pool.
Leon had abstained from drinking that night but with excitement and happiness in the air he hadn’t realized how much food he wound up gorging himself on.
Pretzels, pizzas, chips, hot wings, the works really. Then again, with how busy he was, such a luxury that was peaceful free time available for him to hang out with friends was worth feeling like a beached whale for a bit.
By the end of the night he’d been sluggish and exhausted but also packed full in a strangely nice way. All the food becoming a comfortable mass in his gut before he passed out in bed once he got home.
That had been a few hours ago however when he’d woken up now it had been to that same mass of food sitting heavily in his belly as it actively gurgled and growled noisily around it.
Beneath his hand he noticed how tight his stomach was, having domed out beneath his fingers as it gurgled like a bubbling pot. Not to mention the heaviness as well as if someone had placed rocks in his gut.
He flinched, giving a soft hiss when a loud hiccup slipped from between his slightly parted lip.
The sickening heaviness in his gut seemed as if it wouldn’t leave him alone and he grimaced when his fingers pressed on a section of his bloated gut that had a harsh ache rolling through his body.
It stabbed at his core with cold precision before blooming outwards in a way that stole his breath.
“Shit…” Leon whispered to himself clutching a bit tighter at his stomach.
For a moment he closed his eyes, swallowing when that cold slimy queasiness that had been hiding in the background since he woke up seemed to swiftly rise swelling like an ocean wave.
Nausea rolled through his belly like a storm clouds over the ocean, Leon gave another thick swallow when his stomach made an almost unhappy burbling noise.
That wasn’t good…not at all.
A gurgling belch rolled out of his mouth from the near deepest pits of his stomach, the noise leaving his throat stinging and the sour taste of something spoiled in the back of his throat.
The realization has Leon cursing softly, of course the one time in a few months he had the chance for time off and took it he got food poisoning. It was just his luck.
Another shuddering breath leaves his lips as his gut roils, the mass of food that refused to break down and digest feeling as though a boulder were being pushed up a hill.
Leon shivers slightly when the cold air gently brushes across his clammy sweat covered skin.
He opens one eye gaze going to the bathroom door and then a nearby trash can across the room.
He finds his hand on his stomach once more attempting to slow down what would inevitably have to happen.
He closed his eyes against another swell of nausea that rolled through him tugging a soft whimper from his lips.
His adams apple bobs in his throat at another particular wet swallow as he seemed to be fighting the inevitable with tooth and nail especially when his stomach lurched slightly beneath his hand.
A tinge of stinging stomach acid splashed at the back of his throat, hot, sour and slimy.
Leon’s other hand comes up to cover his own mouth when the retaste of the tainted food in his gut makes him gag. His body lurches forward with a retch immediately afterwards as he grips the edge of the bed with one hand trying to swallow back the coppery tasty pools of salvia rapidly filling his mouth.
He managed to sit up on the edge of the bed, and the sudden change of gravity leaves him reeling eyes fluttering for a moment as a dizzying nausea grips him so tightly it leaves him disoriented.
A low nauseated groan slips from his mouth as he sways in place, his breathing ragged. He hears his belly give a sickly growling noise like a pop of water giving one last time before it overflows.
The first retch has him lurching forward to the point he nearly slides off the bed, as thick paste like vomit coats the hand he still had pressed over his mouth spraying through the cracks between his fingers before splattering on the hardwood floor.
He shuddered in disgust cringing as he quickly lowered his hand trying to ignore the slimy, oatmeal like sensation of his own stomach contents slipping between his fingers.
It was almost searing hot and absolutely vile.
For a second Leon sits there panting and swallowing rapidly, eyes glassy with unshed tears.
But he can’t move even though he’s attempting to will his body to at least try stumbling to the trash can, it’s almost like it was locked up.
As another wave of violent nausea rolls over him, cold and slimy as it curls around his gut within the very pits of it leaving goosebumps on his arms.
He groans resigning himself to his fate as he shakily manages to lean forward just a bit more when hiccups began jolting his stomach, each one growing increasingly wet before a long, heavy burp rolled out of him reeking of nothing but sickness and nausea that left more of that thick lumpy beige vomiting spewing from his lips.
It splattered heavily on the floor, almost in a congealed pile, what pieces of food that had been off when he’d gorged himself on them at the bar seemed as if they hadn’t even tried to digest.
Shaking, groaning loudly and shivering Leon manages to slide from the edge of the bed, to his hands and knees on the floor over the mess. Tendrils of drool drip lazily from his mouth adding a glossy sheen to the congealed vomit on the floor.
Leon wrapped an arm around his stomach, his blue eyes squeezed closed and tears clinging to his lashes as he does his best to ride with the nausea, not fight it.
He knows that giving in is the best way to make it stop, he knows that getting it out of him is probably the best course of action considering the food was tainted and a lost cause but fuck if he doesn’t hate it.
It’s not even the lost of control that was the issue, but more so that it felt like life was ready to kick him down the stairs at every corner. A punishment for his own survival.
Leon began coughing curling into a ball when it felt like a vice grip was squeezing his stomach, his face draining of color even more.
He hears a voice at least he thinks he does forcing his eyes open to see Chris approaching from the living room where he’s passed out on the sofa asleep earlier at first the other looked half asleep until he saw the mess on the floor and the state Leon was in.
“Woah! Shit okay,” The other man approached rather quickly crouching down beside Leon. His hands reached out hesitantly pausing only for a moment before resting his hand on the other’s back.
Despite his current state of misery Leon squinted up at Chris before managing to speak. “How…the hell are you fine?” He moaned his throat working as he swallowed convulsively. As if that would stop his stomach from aching like a balloon long overfilled and churning like a mixing bowl at full blasted.
Chris gave a soft chuckle. “Can handle anything after eating the stuff Claire made when we were kids.”
Leon gave a sickly groan leaning forward when he gagged threads of bile dripping from his lips, still trying to keep the mess in one place.
Chris cringed, his eyes roving over Leon for a moment assessing him, the heavily glazed look in the other’s eyes, the way his breathing was coming out in ragged panting accompanied by wet swallows as the drool trickling from his lips seemed to speed up.
Leon’s back arched beneath Chris’s hand as the other went to the man’s bangs holding them back for him, somewhere in very distant back of his mind Chris thinks something about all this, the way Leon looks feels kinda right although he ignores that thought more focused on helping the other.
Leon whimpered a high pitched broken noise much like a kicked dog, a he shivered limbs shaking as he found himself leaning into Chris’s touch. Grounding. It felt nice really nice.
“Think your done,” Chris asked after a moment even though Leon’s condition seemed about the same.
The other, as if to answer him, gives a rumbling thick belch that seems to come up from the bit of his stomach.
The sound reeking of sheer nausea and stomach acid before throwing up one final wave that splattered onto the floor.
It’s thick, much like paste or batter that hadn’t been mixed properly, a clear sign of the tainted food that’d refused to digest and settle in his gut.
Leon groaned loudly and Chris catches him when the other’s shaking limbs just about collapse under him.
He lets Leon lean back against him panting, glassy blue eyes filled with unshed tears as his body trembled from exertion.
“Stomach hates me…” Leon mumbled as he simply laid there trying to get his bearings.
Chris gives an amused snort as he holds him his thumb carefully rubbing
gentle soothing circles into the side of Leon’s neck, fingers passing over his pulse occasionally.
It was too fast which made sense considering things didn’t make the worry Chris felt for the other any less prominent though.
“You need some electrolytes, think you can move? Or y'know want me to go get them?” Chris asked after a few moments of Leon simply laying in his arms, eyes closed.
Leon cracked his eyes open a bit his hand pausing in the middle of rubbing his own stomach as the color drained from his face at the thought of sticking anything in it right now. He’s quick to cover his mouth with his other hand shaking his head after a soft choked gag managed to leave his lips.
“Not yet,” he mumbled, eventually closing his eyes again but opened them glancing up questioningly when he felt Chris’s hand on his forehead.
“You feel warm,” Chris sighed to which Leon rolled his eyes at his body’s attempts to kill him.
“Just…stay here for a bit. Don’t wanna move yet,” Leon murmured softly, feeling the adrenaline rush seeping away from his body leaving only the cold and exhaustion.
A feeling Leon was admittedly used to considering his work but it was no less harsh on him especially as he aged.
“And to think when I asked if you wanted me to stay the night you spoke like a husky,” Chris couldn’t help but tease Leon a bit for being dramatic earlier that night when he’d come over to continue their outing when they left the bar.
Leon opened one eye a bit as he looked at Chris, “Keeping the carpet clean is a nightmare.”
To which Chris laughed a bit before falling silent knowing Leon needed a bit of rest before wanting to be moved right now.
fulfilled my dream of eating an entire pizza by myself (and a slice extra).
it sat so nicely on my belly, didn't weigh at all until i drank water. not all the coke i drank with it, just two glasses of water and boom, expanded, belly tight, hurting. nauseous even. i walked home giving these long loud burps, thinking i was gonna puke when i got home, but nope, burping made it all better.
i saw your post about jax so i figured i'd ask, how are you feeling about the upcoming episode of tadc?
um, neutral i think? i'm not too invested, i just think it's a neat little show. though, i'm expecting it to be good! i've been surprised positively in the past.
also, c.aine, i like him, hoping good things for him (whether or not that's bad for everyone around idc)
(when i say neutral doesn't mean i don't like it, it just didn't grip like my fixations do so i'm not all that, you know? i guess rabid is the word.)
edit: i'll be a whole lot busier for now on (might explain later), so won't have much time for tumblr. i'll be back when i get a breather! i still crave drawing so hopefully that won't take long. thank you for all the kind messages 💕 you guys are the best!
I ship Waterboy/Herman with both Robert or Chad, but just as much as a ship I love him just being a little brother in the group who gets looked after by any or all of them, that's so so cute.
i've a lot of fan art for them as trouple (is that the word) and it's so cute. i'm not the biggest fan of bully-type characters tho (unless i'm like on a self hating funk), but f.lambar is interesting!
i love that interpretation of w.aterboy. i think he'd just be happy to have friends and people to talk to, that aren't grossed out by his powers. i can't imagine him not having at least a bit of crush on any of the other characters tho 😳
hi i just wanted to say your waterboy arts are wonderful, hes so cute and precious, you really do him justice oh goodness. the way he feels the need to apologize for being sick in that one breaks my heart augh, i hope he is loved qnd cared for so much. hes so cute in all of them thank you for cooking so hard
thank you 💕 he's so fun to draw i truly love his design (his big fucking nose is the highlight)
and yeah i can imagine he spends a lot of time having to apologize for things that are outside of his control, being wet, being anxious, so it becomes routine for him. i think that's a habit that would be hard to break too.
Do you think you’ll write anything about Thoma from Genshin being sick? Especially with the hot pot game and Ayato making him eat stuff (maybe he’d care for him too/enjoy watching him get sick)
um, not in my future plans, no. i had some ideas i never got to write, but i find it hard to get back into genshin now, both interest and game-wise. there's just too much i missed.
if you haven't read these fics already, i can recommend anything by the lovely @pokemonispain, butterballporkbun on ao3. there is Komore Teahouse teasing, which is exactly what you described here, and A request, pairing with ayaka. this fic is a personal favorite of mine.
i can also recommend both Hotpot Disaster and Favor by the lovely @imill, Jyoshamatsu on ao3, he's paired with ayaka on both.
(if you're up for imagining him with Prism, pls do, thats what I did. but otherwise if ur like really opposed to them as a ship just forget it. I dont mind.)
I'm thinking of Waterboy getting easily bloated, like in your one post. To the point where even his usually-flat tummy is noticeably bloated and pressing against his clothes. Imagine if his partner notices this, they notice him swaying and cramping, and they overhear the rumbly closed-mouth burps he keeps letting slip out. When/if they break the barrier of physical contact, maybe they realize just how full and stiff his poor belly is, maybe his clothes accentuate that difference.
And he's all embarrassed and self conscious, trying to convince them that he's fine while constantly bringing up involuntarily, wet, strained burps between his words....
aah i love this 😖 i imagine his burps are wet, and nausea shows super easily on him. like he gets a face of someone who's dying. i love prism and her ship with him. Robert's still first place in my heart tho. (i think they're ship name is s.parklingw.ater? i read such a cute fic where he gets carsick/sick from anxiety attacks while on a road trip. loved it).
I can imagine she would be super touchy with him, playing with his limp noodle hair or the zipper of his wet suit, then just petting his belly out of nowhere, commenting on the loudness of his burps (he would be secretly super into it, just so shy and terrified). i can also imagine being around her would make him so much nervous he would instantly get a tummy ache.
ngl i might use this as inspiration for fic request (with robert) i'm trying to write but i definitely should do something with prism 😳
In which Robert finds Waterboy sick with a fever, and has to learn very quickly how to take care of a sick hero with water powers.
CONTENT WARNING: can be read as platonic or romantic (personally i ship), takes place around chapter 2, sick waterboy, caretaker robert, beef is there too, fever, social anxiety, waterboy stutters, food poisoning, vomiting, graphic descriptions of vomiting, waterboy vomits mostly water, sickie has super powers, hero sickie, waterboy gets called boy and kid a lot in this, robert is soft with waterboy.
WORD COUNT: 5,2k~
A/N: long time no fic for you guys. it took a hyperfixation this strong to make me actually finish something and post, so enjoy. waterboy is so cute, i had to make him suffer a little more. this turned out long, but writing dialogue for them was too much fun. i plan on a second chapter i'm already writing, but have no idea when i'll be able to post it.
“Fuck.”
Robert pinned the bridge of his nose as he swore, loud and clear to the empty office, and to the spilled coffee on the floor. Just what he needed. Now he would have to make another— His anger fizzled out the moment he heard the scratching of tiny paws quickly making way to the forbidden treat.
“No, you don't”, he reprimanded, snatching the small round dog with seconds to spare, it's tongue desperately reaching for the spill. “Don't be nasty, bud. You've got food and all the treats you could want.”
Beef, flipped on his belly let out an undignified huff, struggling against his restraints for a fierce second until he gave up. His ears perked up at the mention of treats, but when that proved to be a false alarm, he accepted defeat. His prize of consolation was a belly rub.
Robert heard and felt his knees creak as he bent over again to pick the thankfully whole SD mug off the floor, the added chub earning another swear out of him, muttered under his breath this time. Beef eyed him with judgment, but let it slide, tongue sticking out from the side of it's mouth.
It had been a full day for SDN's newest dispatcher. Between his shift and staying past hours to help Royd with the repairs, he couldn't go to the gym, couldn't be bothered to do his stretches before he sat at a desk for eight hours, and now his back was paying the price. To make matters worse, his warm coffee, what was supposed to be his salvation on the drive home was now soaking on the carpet flooring.
“Ugh…”, Robert groaned, heading for the janitor's closet before the stain got out of hand. As tired as he was, it would pain him to make more work for poor Waterboy.
Thinking now, he hadn't seen much of Waterboy.
The two had crossed paths once or twice that day, the young man had muttered a good morning Robert could barely make out, pausing his meticulous wiping of a table to greet him. He had answered him with that same lazy smile that came when he saw him, even stopped to chat for a couple minutes.
He figured out the kid should've gone home already, which would be a relief. Mandy had shown some concern about how much of a hard worker he seemed to be, staying hours past the end of his shift to tidy up. He couldn't imagine having that much dedication to work.
Then again, he could.
Tomorrow he would talk to him properly, ask if everything was alright at home. He deserved that, at least.
Still tucked in his owner's arm, Beef let out a heavy sigh only a full-time employee could, resting his chin down in his hand. Robert gave him pets behind the ear, feeling his paw kick his arm, a cute small growl with it.
“Won't take up much of your time, bud”, he told the dog with a chuckle.
Eyes fixed to the hallway, he stopped in front of the closet. Beef's ears stood on end and he sniffed the air, his tail wagging. It was eerie, he had to admit, being just the two of them in the building, like something out of a cheap horror movie.
He pushed the door open.
“I'll just clean that up and we're good to—” Robert took one step inside the dark closet and froze, feeling his foot sink into something wet. “Go?”
Horror movie, the comparison wasn't for nothing. For all he knew he could be walking to his death, but one quick look and he discovered it was just water. Lukewarm water, strangely enough, pouring from an overflown bucket by the door.
Who left it here? He thought, trailing the puddle and finally spotting the long pair of legs sticking out of it. As his eyes adjusted to the dark he saw more clearly, the familiar yellow and blue wet suit.
”Waterboy?”, the dispatcher exclaimed, loud enough to rouse his coworker from his after hours nap, but he didn't move.
Beef found the floor under his paws and sat, head cocked to one side in confusion. Robert, just as confused, squatted down to his level, doing a one-over the sleeping form of Waterboy tucked inside the bucket. Sitting flush against the wall, his arms were wrapped tight around his stomach, head lolled to the side as wet hair dripped steadily onto his face.
“Hey, buddy…? Wake up”, the older man tells him, gently nudging his shoulder. Beef tried and failed to climb the bucket, settling on just sitting by, tail still wagging.
A familiar sense of anxiety coiled in the pit of his stomach, imagining the worst. Up close he could see Waterboy seemed off, as if refusing to wake up wasn't enough of a tell, but the kid was warm to the touch, even through his clothes.
That was unusual for him. Always being wet meant he had trouble maintaining any body heat, Robert knew as much for the brief taps on the shoulder they exchanged. How the boy would always speak like he was trembling, though his anxiety had a bigger part in it. Now, the rubber of his suit was drenched, lukewarm as if the material itself was sweating.
That can't be comfortable, he thought, noticing his face, his eyebrows pinned in a frown, his mouth tight. Robert caught a string of wet gurgles coming from his stomach, quite upset by the sounds of it, be quickly understood. With a faint groan, the janitor stirred in his sleep, hugging his middle tighter.
“Poor baby…”, he murmured, his thoughts making it to his mouth before he had the chance to wrangle them. Good thing he was still asleep.
Breathing out, Robert wagered feeling his forehead, thinking if that woke him up he at least would have one less worry. Waterboy's face was flushed red, from the tip of his hook-shaped nose to his ears. He had seen the boy blush before, it happened every two words he stuttered, but this was nothing close. His hand slipped under the mop of wet hair, eyes going wide only to confirm what he already knew.
“Shit, kid. You're boiling…”, he muttered, pressing his palm to the hot skin.
Whimpering, Waterboy shifted, head whipping to the side as if he was having a bad dream. Water splashed out of the bucket with the sudden movement, making Beef jump out of the way with a yelp.
“—huh!? W-W-W— W-”, he came to with a sharp inhale, trying to speak amidst his panic, but it was as if the words were stuck to his throat.
“Easy… It's just me”, Robert said, the hand resting in his forehead moved to his scalp, petting it slowly. He seemed to relax at it, the tension slowly unfurling from his shoulders. “You're okay.”
Realizing what he was doing a bit too late, petting one of his coworkers like a dog, he pulled his hand away, the water running down it in rivulets. One look at Beef, sitting on a dry spot of the closet with his head cocked to the side, and he knew the little guy was jealous.
The wet janitor whimpered softly and Robert found odd the way he seemed to almost lean into the touch as it left him, eyebrows joining in frustration when it was gone. His eyes fluttered open, half-lidded and glazed over as if only now he managed to recognize him. His goggles sat skewed on his nose, the lenses fogged up beyond use.
“S-Sir…? R-R– Rob… Rober…t?”, he mumbled, the name coming to him slowly.
“Hey… Whatcha doing here so late?”, Mr. Robertson asked, in the same tone he would use to ask a lost kid where their parents were.
“L-L-Late…? N-No, wait– It-It can't be that— C-Can it?”, he forced out through his stutter, his words sounding slurred in his tongue, as if there was something in his mouth. “W-What time– What time is it?”
Robert dug his phone out of his pocket, drying the screen on his shirt before he looked.
“About… three hours past the end of your shift, bud.”
“O-Oh, wow… right, I… I must've—”, Waterboy trailed off, his eyes still hazy going to his own shoes, avoiding his gaze entirely. “I-I…'m sorry, s-sir, um, b-boss.”
The dispatcher risked putting a hand on his shoulder, only lightly resting it on him, as if he was afraid he could scurry away like a scalded cat. He couldn't recall another moment where Waterboy had so much trouble looking him in the eye, he knew this kind of a response didn't come easy to him, but he seemed too tired to even try. He didn't blame him.
“Hey. You're okay, kid. I'm sure Blazer won't mind”, he said, reassuring him, and earning a glance that quickly returned to his shoes. Given how Mandy was, he was surprised if she even batted an eye. “You should be heading home though.”
Hearing that, Waterboy's lips parted, then closed, being pressed into a thin line. His throat moved behind the high collar of his wet suit, making an awful gulping sound, as if he was swallowing in reverse. He didn't respond, and didn't try to for as long as he felt the dispatcher's eyes on his face.
“I know it's late. I can give you a ride if there aren't any buses left”, he offered, hoping that was the root of the problem. The janitor didn't move, but Robert could see him trying to, shaking, fingers twitching over his belly, mouth moving with mumbled half words. “Not feeling alright, huh?”
Waterboy's eyes went wide behind his goggles, a rivulet of water streaming down his forehead.
“Y-Yeah. Uh, N-No! Alright, I'm alr–urp!”, his voice caught in his throat and he swallowed, making that awful noise again. “G-Good, I'm– I'm fine.”
“You don't sound fine to me”, Robert pointed out, and saw his lips quiver slightly.
“I-I'm– I'm…”, he tried to speak, quickly running an equally drenched hand over his forehead. “I'm f-f-fine…! I'm sure it's n-nothing. I-I think I s-sat down for a nap… W-Wasn't– Wasn't feeling so– t-too– um… tired. I was feeling t-tired.”
Robert heaved a tired sigh, disappointed the boy wasn't being entirely honest.
“You're very warm, do you know that? I felt your temperature”, the dispatcher told him in a placid tone, cocking his head to the side. “You're definitely running a fever, kid. There's no arguing that.”
“Um, y-yeah. T-That happens, s-sometimes. I'm cold– always, always cold. Usually! Cold… because of– of– wet, water, so-so, when I get–”, even still, he tried to argue, patting his gloved hand to his forehead. “When I get warm, I get– I get– h-h-hot? Warm, warm, I get, a f-fever.”
For the first time he had uncrossed his arms, and Robert quickly understood why he had kept them so tight. It looked like he might've had trouble zipping up his suit. His belly looked bloated, a good three sizes bigger than his usual pouch after lunch. Robert could only wonder what he had eaten to make it this loud.
“That's an everyday thing, then?”, the older man challenged, raising an eyebrow.
“Y-Ye– I m-mean, n —h… urm”, he paused, as if catching his breath only to close his mouth again, his cheeks puffing out. “Urk…!
His throat bobbed, trying to hold back a noise that made Robert think of a cat hacking up a hair ball. The janitor sank further into the bucket, as if wanting to disappear with the water falling out of it. His arms were on his stomach again, pinching the fabric of his suit, as if trying to make room for his tight stomach.
”Waterboy…”, Robert began, standing up to his full height.
“Isss fine, —gulp. Mmm fine… m-my p-p-powers”, he quickly replied, giving an attempt at a lie.
Robert shook his head, digging his phone out of his pocket.
“Look, you're clearly not well. We're way past hours so everyone's has already gone home”, he said. The shaking boy shrunk with each word, like he was being yelled at, except Robert's voice couldn't be more mellow. “Is there anyone I can call to come get you? I can take you to a hospital if—”
Sucking in a breath, Waterboy made a horrible choking sound.
“N-N– No…! Please! I'll– I'll go, I'll go! H-H-Home. Just d-don't– don't b-bother my… my g-g-grandma”, he sputtered, grabbing the sides of the bucket he had been sitting in. Robert had a bad feeling, but couldn't stop him in time. “Please, s-sir, it's– it's late.”
Waterboy holstered himself up in one fell swoop and Robert grabbed him by the waist before he could smack his face on the tile floor, grabbing the next best thing since he didn't quite reach his shoulders. The boy landed on his feet, but knocked the bucket to the side, all the water inside of it splashing out. He heard Beef scurry out of the way with a surprised bark, his nails scratching the floor.
“S-S-Sorry…! Sorry! I'll– I'll c-clean it! It's mine– w-water.”, the sickly young man told him, standing awkwardly before the mess, almost swaying in place. His hands were raised and limp in front of his body, locked in place.
“Hey, don't worry about it. I'm not reprimanding you”, Robert told him, looking over him. Now his shoes were finally wet.
“I-I know, I'm– I'm s-sorry. My p-powers get– out of hand when I'm– When I don't– don't feel…”, he paused before he could admit it, and Robert felt him tense up again. “I'm– I'm so sorry, s-sir. P-Please…!”
“Okay, it's okay. I won't call her”, Robert repeated, waving his hands in front of him. It was like trying to calm down a rampaging horse. “There's no one else?”
Even though he was finally at his eye level, the feverish boy didn't look at him, though he tried, his gaze lost somewhere around the buttons of his shirt. Robert could see his chest rising and falling rapidly, his breathing becoming ragged, noisy. He tried to ignore how much it sounded like he was drowning, the same wet gasping breathes he would hear from someone he had just pulled out of the water.
“You're okay, Waterboy. Try to stay calm. I'm not calling anyone”, he said, his voice measured, his hand wandering to his shoulder again. “Breathe, okay?”
Heeding his warning, rather, taking it as an order, he breathed in deep, pulling in a long shaky breath.
“Just tell me what's wrong.”
“I-I d-d-don't… know…”, he murmured, eyes filled to the brim with tears. “I don't know h-how to– what's h-happening… how to e-explain it… how to, gulp, s-say it. I-I-I…”
The boy trailed off, giving a frustrated huff when his mouth just didn't work as intended.
“Hey, you're okay”, the dispatcher reminded him. “Take your time.”
“P-P-Please… don't be– don't be– m-mad…”, he begged quietly, biting his bottom lip.
“Of course I won't”, Robert responded, taken aback by the thought. There wasn't a thing Waterboy could do that would make him mad. “None of this is your fault, bud.”
“Oh, okay– hold on. Do you wanna another bucket, or something?”, Robert asked, and immediately felt stupid for it.
“Um, I-I– I–, m-maybe, h—Urgh!”, his voice cutting off by a dry heave over his own feet, his head dipping below his shoulders. Then sheepishly, eyes brimming with tears, added: “Y-Y-Yeah, I n-nee... need it. Urk— P-Pleaseeee...”
“Alright, sit– sit back down”, Robert ordered, flipping the bucket upside down and guiding him to it. Waterboy obeyed, slumping down with a shaky heave and putting his head between his knees.
“O-Okay… okay… this is happening… okay”, he kept murmuring to himself, wet hiccups under his breath.
Robert scanned the closet for anything he could shove under the Waterboy's mouth before he power washed the closet's floor. Grabbing the first thing he reached, a bright yellow mop bucket, he ran back.
“Uh, use this. There you go”, he said, sliding it between the gap in his legs.
The janitor grabbed onto it for dear life, stuttering out garbled apologies before he shoved his head in. There was a harsh chemical smell to it, but it didn't seem to phase him.
Robert knelt on the floor beside him, putting his palm to his back, and feeling the young man shrink at his touch, as if he didn't know what to do with it. He could feel his heart hammering through his ribcage, going faster as he scooched closer.
“Look, if it's just water, you might be better off just letting it out on the floor”, he told him with a chuckle, trying to ease the mood. “The worst you could make it is wet.”
Waterboy peeked over the rim of the bucket, shooting him a pleading look behind his skewed goggles, his eyes brimming with tears. His mouth parted, his lips glistening with saliva, a near river of it dripping down his chin as he struggled with words.
“S-S– S…! I-It— N… N–No…t—”, he only managed to make what quickly turned into garbled noises, his voice growing deeper with nausea until: “BuuR— BLuUueEeRrghH!”
Waterboy retched, a violent and loud sound that had Robert wincing slightly, feeling for his poor throat. It was productive, cloudy water gushing out of his mouth in a torrent. He could only liken it to an open faucet at full blast as it hit the bottom of the bucket, grateful he had found a big enough container. Given how his powers tended to work, it could overflow in a second.
“Kh, kh…!”
Reeling from the first wave, Waterboy sat back, coughing a few times, then sniffling. His eyes were red when Robert caught a glance of them, a few tears he had been holding onto finally breaking free and pooling at the base of his goggles.
“Feeling better, bud?”, Robert asked, way too early.
The young man gave a weak nod before his jaw went slack, his eyes rolled and his lips puckered. He was back retching into the yellow bucket before he could answer.
“EuRrGHH!”
Robert could only pat his back through it, murmuring “there, there” in the quick moment of reprieve he had in between bouts. Watching him be sick was like waiting on a geyser, anticipation coiling in his stomach then releasing in a lengthy jet of cloudy water that lasted long seconds.
His bony shoulders rolled as he heaved, his back arching and stomach squeezing as it forced out another huge wave of whatever he had eaten earlier that day. The dispatcher tried not to look at the contents of the bucket, affording his coworker a smidge of privacy.
The smell was acrid and sharp, filling the entire closet with the pungent stench, it was strong even in the watered down slurry that was pouring out of his mouth. He could smell something like rotten eggs in it. He hadn't braced himself, it didn't even cross his mind this could be vomit vomit as he was so used to seeing the janitor spew clear water. He had seen him knock over some guy with his hydro breath, the better alternative to water puke.
“You're good, kid. Just get it all out”, the older man told him as he rubbed his back diligently, breathing through his mouth. “Let it out.”
“—hurm… BleEeUuUUuRrRrghHH!”, Waterboy moaned quietly, a sound akin to a drowned cat, before another huge wave was forced out of him. It looked it hurt, he shrunk into himself, arms curling around the bucket as he vomited yet again, without a second to breathe. “EeUuUrRgHh—! Kh, kh!”
Robert shushed him gently as he burst into a fit of coughing, his hand rubbing smooth circles onto his back. It only took a pathetic sound to make him forget this whole thing usually was seen as disgusting.
“Gah… hah… S-S…S-So— I”, Waterboy gasped, his mouth wide open, threads of watery bile hanging down his chin. He tried to speak, only producing cut up syllables.
“Make sure you're done, kid. Don't try to speak while you hurl”, Robert told him, his tone coming off harsher than he intended.
Waterboy's head dropped in frustration, hands balling for a second, before they grabbed the rim. His hair was dripping steadily, glued to his face in thin coils, another puddle had already formed beneath his feet. Cleaning up was the least of Robert's worries now, the more pressing matter was where he was going to take him. How he could possibly care for a sick man with water powers on his own.
He breathed in deep, bony fingers clinging to the sides of his puke bucket anxiously. Robert could see he was trembling, could see the muscles of his throat tight against his skin, his failed attempts at holding back his gagging, the way his chest was rapidly moving. He wanted to tell him to relax, but from his own experience, anxiety seemed to have a mind of it's own sometimes, growing out of spite, refusing to settle.
“I'm here”, the older man murmured gently, trying to reassure him through his touches. “I'm right here. You're okay. Just focus on getting it up.”
Waterboy made a small noise low in his throat, as if he was about to cry, a held back sob that morphed into a wet cough. His mouth parted open nearly missing the bucket as he vomited again, what looked like clearer, mostly liquid now. Robert returned to breathing normally, shooting a quick glance to the mop bucket and realizing it was nearly full. Chunks of something pink and doughy floating to the surface.
“Uh… buddy?”, he muttered, though he didn't have another plan in mind. The boy replied with a gurgling noise in his mouth, his lips pursing. “Nothing, you're good, just– let it out.”
He saw him try to swallow, give a weak gag before a lengthy wave of clear vomit erupted into the bucket, filling it past the line. The cloudy watery slurry at the bottom came splashing out, adding to the wet mess already on the floor. Robert wasn't spared, feeling the warm splatters on his ankles.
Waterboy kept gagging onto the overflown container, seemingly unable to stop himself. His stomach kept squeezed under his wet suit, now visibly deflated, seemingly the worst of it already over. After a harsh dry retch he managed to produce a string on yellowish bile, dripping tamely into the bucket, before he stopped and sniffled. Robert was somewhat surprised, he didn't know he could run out.
When nothing more seemed to be coming up, Waterboy spat into the bucket, his face crumpling with disgust. His nose scrunched, either at the stench in the air or the taste still in his mouth, Robert's guess was as good as any. Groaning, he sat back, his head still hanging low, breathing through his mouth.
“Feeling any better?”, Robert asked carefully, in the same gentle tone he would ask Beef. “That was... a lot.”
He nodded unconvincingly. “S-Sor… N-Nee...d... a minute– a... moment... P-Please.”
“Take all the time you need.”
The two spent the next moment in silence, safe from the faint gurgles coming from his still upset tummy. Waterboy was trying to catch his breath, swallowing in between drags, a hand balled against his chest.
Quietly, he propped his head on Robert's shoulder, exhaling shakily. The man felt small goosebumps when his wet hair clung to his neck, he expected it to be cold, but Waterboy still felt feverish, even warmer now from the strain of vomiting a bucketful. Wether it had been the fever clouding his judgment, or he was starting to feel more comfortable around him, he took the small victory, staying perfectly still to make most of the moment.
“I h-h-hate, kh– hate when this– h-happens. Ugh… ”, he whimpered, resting a hand over his bruised tummy. “T-Tastes… so bad, g-gross. B-Bitter.”
“Yeah, I get what you mean”, Robert replied, giving an awkward chuckle. “It isn't supposed to taste like that? That's what it's usually like for the rest of us.”
He closed his mouth, gagging weakly.
“N-Not usually– n-normally— No”, he replied, his nose wrinkled. “M-My stomach… is u-upset at me. I-I think I a-ate something bad. My l-lunch might've gone, urp– spoiled. N-Not good.”
“That… might explain your symptoms, yeah”, Robert winced with sympathy. “How bad is it?”
“It-It doesn't h…urt, it's just– it's-it's bad– my tum— stomach's r-rolling, feels— doesn't feel good”, he paused, swallowing with some difficulty. “I feel s-sick… still.”
Robert hummed thoughtfully.
“Food poisoning is no joke, so let's keep a close eye on that, okay?”
Saying that, Robert reached a hand out to ruffle his hair, feeling it damp and still worryingly warm under his palm.
Waterboy was too feverish to resist, the part of his brain that would worry over every singlw thing was numb, for once allowing him to go for something he actually wanted. He leaned into it, closing his eyes as he allowed his coworker to slowly massaged his scalp, enjoying the feeling of his cold fingers on his too hot skin.
“That fever of yours isn't going down, huh?”, he heard him comment, deflating at the worried tone he had on. “We should buy some medicine on the way.”
Waterboy groaned, a noise that came from deep in his throat, hurting more than he meant to.
“I don't– I don't like… being sick”, he admitted admitted, and Robert could feel his sense of relief as he said it, almost like a confession.
“I know, it sucks”, he replied sympathetically, and ruffled his hair for emphasis. “I think the number of people who actually enjoy that is relatively low.”
Waterboy made another uncomfortable sound, shifting.
”M-Me, it's w-worst… withhh my p-powers, it's– it's just b-bad— inconv– inconvenient. M-Mess…y”, he murmured, sounding frustrated. “I-I-I— it's… a lot.”
“It's not that bad, kid. Just a little water. Well, a lot of water”, Robert tried to tranquilize him, but the situation didn't seem to be getting any better.
“N-N…”, he shook his head, but didn't try to say anything else, giving a tired sigh instead.
The older man sat there for another moment, water dripping steadily down his shoulder from where his coworker was resting, his fingers still weaved in his hair, gently rubbing his scalp. He knew if he wasn't careful, the two of them were going to fall asleep there on that flooded closet.
The idea didn't sound too terrible, but Robert knew he had to go home. Beef came to mind, and thankfully, he found the dog had curled up on top of a box, avoiding the wet spots. Half of him wondered how his stubby legs managed to get him so high, but the other half was grateful he wouldn't have to bathe the round thing, or suffer from wet dog stink on the ride back.
He yawned into his hand, beginning to miss the coffee he spilled. Oh, fuck… the stain, Robert winced as the thought came, instinctually bringing a hand to his nose bridge.
“S-Sor- Sorry…”, Waterboy murmured, to the dispatcher's confusion. Swallowing, he continued. “T-The smell… It doesn't u-usually- it's, my stomach… my d-digestion it gets… Um, it makes more, more acid, I think, when I get s-sick, so… food, it…”
“You're okay, kid. Trust me, I think I'd prefer your water vomit over regular vomit any day.”
“Um… t-thanks, I-I guess…? I-I really didn't mean to make a mess, though”, he replied.
“You're good, kid. But, um”, he repeated, to which the boy shifted slightly. The dispatcher thought carefully over his next words. “Do you think you can get up?”
“Hm!? R-Right, sor…! Sorry! I-I got you all— w-water all over you”, Waterboy raised his head and scooched back, leaving his shoulder damp and now cold from his absence.
“I meant if you can stand, buddy. If you're feeling dizzy. Do you think you can walk?”, Robert explained, the young man looked as if he could start crying again, his arms were locked in place, hands hanging over his chest.
“Oh… T-Think so…”, he nodded slowly.
“Alright”, Robert took the opportunity to stand up, straightening out his back. Turning to him, he continued. “Gonna take you to the break room, sound good?”
Waterboy nodded again. Without much energy to argue or suggest a better alternative, he simply allowed himself to be guided up to his feet. He didn't like the idea, making puddles on another room of the building, specially the sofa he knew was just going to soak up his water and smell for days, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to lie down. His whole body felt like a boiling pot of water, like steam was pouring out of every seam of his wet suit, and no matter how much of his energy it wasted, it wasn't going to stop any time soon. He could control it even less when he was sick.
He watched as his boss, or was it his supervisor?– scooped Beef up in his arms, and helped him out, a hand firm on the small of his back for balance. The guilt burned in the back of his throat, he wanted to, he needed to say.
“U-Um…”, the young man started as they stepped out of the closet and into the empty hallway.
“If you're going to say sorry for being sick, I'd rather not hear it, bud”, Robert told him, matter of fact as they walked. “You've apologized enough already.”
Waterboy's head dropped with a pathetic noise. “S-Still…! I should be the one cleaning.”
Robert pushed open the door to the break room, turning on the lights before he guided Waterboy in. The vending machine pulled him in like a siren's song, but he resisted, bee lining for the resting area.
“How about this?”, the dispatcher proposed. “You and Beef rest up, take a nap on the sofa even, while I clean up. And we're even?”
As he said it, Robert guided him to sit, placing down Beef on his lap, who immediately made himself at home, tail wagging happily. Waterboy hesitated for a moment, then melted, petting his coat.
“T-That's not even—”, he began, looking up from the dog to the owner, putting on a face quite similar to him.
The dispatcher ignored his protests for a moment, pulling a trash bin to the foot of the sofa. It was just tall enough to reach if he laid down, the best thing he could find second to anything bigger. Thankfully the bags had been changed that day, so none of the funky smells would speed up the process.
“One-time deal, buddy”, Robert warned him, crossing his arms. “I'm not letting you do anything except rest right now.”
Waterboy shrank. “O-Okay… F-Fine.”
“Use this if you need to throw up, okay? If it overflows, there's a sink right over there. And try to rest, Beef will tell me if you don't”, Robert told him, putting on a stern tone for the last part. Then turning to his accomplice, added: “And you take care of him.”
Waterboy nodded quietly, pulling Beef closer to his chest. He could see the boy wasn't trembling anymore, though his color had hardly improved, specially under the harsh fluorescent lights of the building. Robert turned to leave, a foot out of the door when the young man spoke up:
“U-Uh…! S-Sir?”, he paused. “T-Than– T-Thank you… um, for taking care of me.”
“All good, bud”, the dispatcher replied simply, and closed the door behind him.
art i made to go with this fic! his feverish confused face looked so cute in my head i had to make it into a drawing. it was a sketch, but i got carried away...
my art commissions are open~
read here for more info or fill in this form to request one!
You choose right with escargot and poor Waterboy. TMI incoming but the two most violent and powerful projectile vom esperiences of my life happened eating escargot and a separate time from oysters. I was bougie but sweet WB was just trying to do right. XD
i chose it because it sounded so gross (more of a texture thing for me) but if it would give me food poisoning i'd probably risk it lol that sounds like the perfect sickfic scenario.
i saw send help (dir. sam raimi) in theatres tonight and there's a scene where the main protagonist woman pukes on a guy's face like 3 or 4 times and not only did it make me a little hard but i also thought of you
