#burp guy

Young, sweet and innocent-looking guy BUT with the most thunderous, monstrous and overwhelming belches ever!

A good example below!

1- Guys who are genuinely proud of their friends' gas. If their best friend releases a huge wet burp or a deadly fart with a foul odor that fills their room, they feel enormous satisfaction and pleasure in knowing that their buddy can produce and release something so grotesque, congratulating them with a "high five" and compliments about the smell.

2- Guys who really like to release gas around you and want you to pay as much attention to detail as possible, saying: ''Hey, listen, listen… ''BRRRRRPPPPPPPTTT'' ''Wait, there's another one coming, watch closely… ''PPPPPRRRRTTT''.

3- Guys who know when you're sad and start letting out little farts around you to cheer you up. They know you so well that they were the only ones who noticed you were depressed, and their stench makes you smile and cheer up a little. They continue to walk around and let out little toots as they do so, their farts becoming a form of affection and concern for you.

4- Guys so gassy that their gas has become part of your routine. You wake up, go to the kitchen, and see them in their underwear making coffee while releasing a huge fart. You're brushing your teeth, they come in and release a guttural burp in your face that seems like it will never end. You both go back to bed, and sleep spooning while watching a series on Netflix, and obviously they continue to release gas in your crotch even in the position you're in.

5- Guys who let out a lazy burp like a roaring dragon that reverberates throughout the kitchen. The disgusting belch starts to last so long that it surprises even them — so they start positioning their mouths in different ways, playing with the sound they're making, making it deeper and wet or higher and shrill.

6- Guys who love to trap you under thick blankets, into which they have just released a hot and stinging wind. You are literally inside a greenhouse of fetid gas, your eyes are burning, your forehead is sweating from the high temperature of the gases, while they release more and more farts without stopping. ''BRRRPPPT'' ''PPRRRRTT'' ''BRRRRPPPPRRTT'' You hear them laughing loudly from outside the blankets, and you feel fulfilled to see them happy and having fun, inhaling their horrible aroma as a form of affection.

7- Guys who fart so much that the tight pants they're wearing are literally filled with gas, creating a visible methane bulge in their clothing that deflates like a balloon as they sit next to you. You can literally see the gas coming out of their pants' swelling, no longer inflated with rank gas — which is now in your nostrils, as they laugh at you.

8- Guys who kiss you, and in the middle of it they feel an urgent need to burp. But of course they won't stop their passionate kiss just to do that, so they bring the guttural belch from the back of their throat to your mouth, and you can taste what they ate on your tongue, while they continue to burp and kiss you at the same time.

9- Guys who start farting and burping while arguing with you just to piss you off. You argue about them not doing something you asked, and they respond by lifting their leg slightly and letting out a gross fart. You complain about them leaving dishes in the sink, and you get a demonic burp in return. You discuss about which movie to watch, and every time you argue, they remain silent and counter with a loud fart — eventually, you start laughing and fanning the air, and they win the argument.

10- Guys who know you so well that they genuinely don't think you care anymore when they fart/burp around you, in your room, or on your stuff. They might be sitting mindlessly on your bed, with their ass on your clothes or pillow, and let out a deep, stinky fart with a stench that permeates your stuff and not even look up from their phone — they know you so well that they know you don't care.

Candles guttered against the sultry heat of the Red Keep as servants moved like shadows, setting platters and withdrawing with a silence born of practice. King's Landing smelled of salt and smoke, mixed with the sweet aroma of wine spilled the night before. The great hall where the smaller, private table had been set off from the main dining room felt too bright and too intimate for two princes, the only ones in the family who had arrived for dinner so far.

Only Aemond Targaryen and Jacaerys Velaryon sat at the table, a single servant standing by the sideboard with the composure of someone who'd learned not to look people in the eye at the wrong time. For the moment, it was just them — the Targaryen prince with the silver hair like well-polished steel and the Velaryon whose dark eyes were as impenetrable as the the skin of a dragon.

On the table were elegant dishes featuring generous portions of succulent meat, delicious potatoes and assorted vegetables, as well as wine glasses surrounded by striking candles with flickering flames. Jacaerys picked up a fork and speared a large piece of meat with the strength of a true warrior, filling his mouth.

“So...”, Aemond said, voice even as a blade edge “... you traveled in from Driftmark today. Tell me — did the sea treat you with its usual grace, or did it throw up something interesting? I suppose a ''Strong'' man like you must have been capable of commanding a ship. At least, that's what is expected of an heir to the Iron Throne.”

Jace looked up, grin slow as a sunrise. He shifted his weight, planted his elbow on the table, and deliberately swallowed a mouthful of wine with theatrical care. He let out a long, reverberating “BUUUUUUuUUUURRRPPPP!” that filled the small space like a roar. The sound hung there, then softened into a smug chuckle. The servant’s jaw flexed. Aemond’s eyes narrowed only slightly. He folded his hands, very deliberately, as if folding an insult away.

“Charming”, Aemond said. “One learns a great deal of etiquette sitting near you.”

“Etiquette”, Jace repeated, bright amusement burning at the corners of his mouth. He loved to tease Aemond with his gaseous abilities. "You're the one who likes formalities, cousin. Me? I prefer to wake the room up.”

A servant approached with a decanter and froze on reflex, somewhere between pouring and running. The smell that followed, subtle at first and then more telling, was part tang of garlic and part something more organic. Jace's grin widened, satisfied with his own handiwork. He patted his belly like a man who'd just set a small claim on the air. Aemond pinched the bridge of his nose, though his expression stayed courtly. “If you are attempting to make a point about being less measured than I am, you need not resort to... demonstrations.”

Jacaerys shrugged, delighted. He slid forward and, with a conspiratorial tilt of his head, murmured: “There are many ways to be remembered, Aemond. It's a shame you don't possess the same talents as me. Whether it's commanding a troop, fighting with swords, devising battle strategies, or simply... belching. It seems I've been blessed with royal blood. It runs through my veins.''

He punctuated that with a discreet, well-aimed “PRRRRFFFFTTTTTT!” that sounded like a brief trumpet gone wrong. It was the kind of sound that demanded attention; even the servant's posture shifted. The decanter man coughed politely, eyes wide. Aemond’s mouth tightened at the corner. For an instant the room was a battlefield of indirect taunts.

“You’ll be the death of my patience”, Aemond said softly, but there was a curve of something — irritation, amusement, a challenge — in the way he spoke that made the servant look away. “If you plan to turn the next hours into a performance, do me the courtesy of giving me advance notice.”

Another long and disgusting belch escaped Jacaerys's mouth, echoing off the walls like a true dragon would, with the strong stench of meat and cabbage accompanying the booming sound and filling the room with a foul odor.

''BUUUUUUUUUUUUUuuUUUUuUUUUUUUUUuUURRPPPPP!''

“Cynical as ever”, Jace returned. “But then again, I suppose it takes a true master of restraint to sit through my... ''performances'', as you say. Not everyone can handle the pressure of greatness in action. Tell me, cousin, do you ever feel threatened by such natural stench? Or does your pride simply not allow room for something as... vile as this?''

Aemond did not respond. Instead, he studied him. The silver of his hair caught the candlelight; the lines at his mouth tightened. Outside, the city murmured and the sea sighed somewhere far beyond the walls. Inside, the men at the table traded a different kind of signal — one written in irritation, petty insults and small privileges.

Jace reached again for bread, humming to himself, and this time — with the casual bravado of a man who assumes dominion over the smallest things — he lifted his hip, gave a little theatrical shift, and a long, rolling “PPPPPPPPRPPRPRPBRPRPBPRBPRT!” slithered out, slow and thick and with the confident duration of someone testing the acoustics of his power.

Aemond's hand stilled on his cup. For a heartbeat there was nothing but the sound, and the air that followed it. Then Aemond set the cup down and, with a voice like an edged thing wrapped in silk, said: “You are insufferable.”

“Thank you”, Jace said, mock-earnest. “I try.”

Aemond was about to say something, but Jacaerys raised his index finger at the same moment, interrupting him, while slightly lifting his buttocks. A huge amount of gas escaped from his rear end — fast, powerful, devastating and extremely foul-smelling. Probably the result of all the potatoes, lentils and beans he had been eating, which had combined inside him to form a powerful weapon in the form of a fart.

''PRPRPBPRPBPRBPRPBPRBPRPBPTTTTTTTTTTTT!''

"By the Seven Gods, what the hell did you eat?", asked Aemond angrily.

"Just dinner."

"You call that dinner?"

"I prefer to think of it as a culinary masterpiece with added depth."

"You must have eaten an entire cow, all on your own."

"Well, not all of that. I saved some room."

"For what?"

"For this."

''BBBBBBBBRPBRPBPRPRPPRPBPRPBPTPBPTPBTPBPTBP!''

''PPPPPPPPRBPRBPRPBRPTT!''

'''PRBPRPBPRBPRPBRPPRBPTPBPTB!"

The air in the room thickened with an almost palpable heaviness, a mixture of expensive wine, roasted meats, and the unmistakable and pungent aroma that lingered in the wake of Jacaerys’s latest offensive. The servant who had been hovering nervously near the sideboard now seemed as though he might collapse under the weight of the smell, his face contorted in an attempt to maintain composure.

Aemond, visibly holding his breath, tightened his grip on his goblet. His sharp gaze focused on Jacaerys with a barely contained sense of disbelief. Jace, for his part, seemed completely at ease, savoring the atmosphere like a cat basking in the sun, his grin wide and unapologetic. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, enjoying the moment (and the stench) like it was his own personal victory.

Aemond’s nostrils flared. “I should have known”, he muttered, eyes narrowing “You’ve always been one for excess.”

Jacaerys gave a mock bow from his seat, lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, Aemond, you wound me. It’s only the finest... seasoning. It’s what you might call personality.”

“Personality”, Aemond repeated, raising an eyebrow. “It’s a miracle you don’t suffocate yourself with it. Your "personality" stinks terribly.”

''PRBPRPBRPBTPPBPRPPRPTPRTP!''

Another long, deliberate fart slipped out of Jace, this one more dramatic, like a trombone blast that echoed through the hall. His eyes gleamed with mischief, watching Aemond’s every reaction. The servant beside the sideboard shifted uncomfortably, trying to pretend it wasn’t happening.

“What the hell is that stench?!”, Aemond hissed, exasperated. He tried to take a sip of his wine, but the stench was too much, forcing him to set the cup down sharply. “What manner of creature are you, Jacaerys? This stinks of rotten eggs and... beans!”

“Me?”, Jace replied casually, still grinning. “I’m the very air you breathe, Aemond... (he said this while smelling the atmosphere a little)... and by the Seven Gods, what a foul air! Even I am surprised!”

He lifted his hip once more, as if preparing to unleash another blow to Aemond's senses. But this time, Jace made a show of it, making full eye contact with Aemond and tilting his head slightly in a playful challenge. Aemond’s jaw tightened as he braced himself. Then, the noise came. A slow, drawn-out “BBBBBBBBRPBRPBPRPRPPRPBPRPBPTPBPTPBTPBPTBP!”

It was a sonic boom of flatulence that seemed to shake the very foundation of King's Landing. Jacaerys relaxed into his chair, clearly enjoying the spectacle. The room fell silent for a split second. Even the servant looked like he might pass out. Aemond’s face turned a shade of pale green as he slowly looked at Jace and smelt what had come out from his ass.

“You’re repulsive!” Aemond seethed.

Jace just winked and let out a small fart.

“I know.” ''PPPRFTTT!''

Aemond pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. “I should have expected this... You never change.” Jacaerys, with all the bravery of a man who had nothing to lose, leaned forward on the table. “You know, Aemond... There’s something oddly comforting about watching you squirm. I think it suits you.”

“Squirm?” Aemond’s voice was cold, but there was a flicker of something in his eye — anger, dignity or maybe a hint of the same pleasure that Jace had. “You’re damn right I’m squirming.” Aemond shot back. “But I’ll have you know, I can endure anything... and I’ll prove it.”

Jacaerys raised an eyebrow, smirking as if he were about to make his move in a game. “You think you can handle my gas? We’ll see, won’t we? Because —” He took another swig of wine, tilting his head dramatically just to get more fuel to burp. “— I highly doubt it.”

''BUUUUUUUURRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!''

Aemond’s gaze flickered toward him. “You dare challenge me? You think you can push me past my limits, Velaryon?” The moment stretched out, tension curling in the air between them like a physical thing. It was almost like the calm before a storm, both men sizing each other up. They had always been competitive — ever since they were children. But now, here, it was a battle of wills, dominance and pride.

Jace smirked, pushing his plate full of beans and cabbages away. “I do. But let’s make it interesting.” He leaned in, speaking softly but with purpose. “Let’s make a bet. You think you can survive my... ‘'performances’' all dinner? Then I’ll make it simple for you.” Aemond's eyes narrowed, and his hand instinctively moved towards his eyepatch. “And what are the stakes?”

“If you manage to sit through the rest of this meal without running out, I’ll concede you’re made of tougher stuff than I thought and I will do whatever you tell me to do for the rest of the week. But if I make you vomit before dinner’s through, you’ll be my personal servant.'' Aemond stared at him for a long moment, calculating the words and analyzing the man sitting across from him. He leaned forward slightly, the fire in his gaze sharpening. “Deal”, he said, voice low. “I can handle anything.”

Jacaerys raised an eyebrow, his voice teasing. “Even my farts? I've been holding back until now. My ass has a lot more to say.”

Aemond didn’t flinch. “Especially your farts.” With that, the bet was set. The stakes were clear. Neither prince backed down, both too confident to give the other an inch.