Felicia was curled up on the couch when you finally got back home, and she had a stomach ache.
She didn't tell you this, but you sorta knew just by looking at her- her pale face tight with discomfort, her lips pursed into a grimace, her large belly pressing against her dress, her hands resting over the swell-
And the fact that the dinner party she was supposed to be at didn't end until an hour later from now. She was still in her fancy blue dress.
"Hey," you called, kicking off your shoes. You made your way to the living room and Felicia gave you a tight, almost fake smile.
"Hi," she said, struggling to suppress a grimace. You spotted the large empty soup bowl and an empty Nestea can- and some napkins and crumbs - on the coffee table, and you thought, Oh.
" 'S everything alright?" you asked, sitting next to her. Felicia fidgeted, half-surprised.
"Hmm? Oh- oh, no, I'm perfectly- oooooh."
She was cut off by a sudden, thick gurgle. Her whole face twisted briefly, and she clutched at her stomach, taut and large and swollen.
You placed a hand on the small of her back, prompting her. There was a short silence, and then-
"...I really am okay," Felicia said unconvincingly. "It's just- mmh - my- my tummy just hurts a little bit, that's all."
"The dinner party didn't go well?"
Another fierce, sloshing gurgle. Felicia winced.
"No, no- it- it went well, just- I might've overdone it on the snacks," Felicia tried to smile, but another sharp ache must've run through her because she immediately grimaced. "I- oooh, that's not good..."
You'd seen Felicia at dinner parties before, and the picture was clear in your mind- Felicia downing plates of appetizers in secret, wolfing down her bowl of soup- feeling full and trying to wash it all down with dessert- feeling so abruptly full she couldn't move-
You gently pressed a hand against Felicia's stomach. She groaned a little, and you frowned at the intense bubbling pressure.
"Wow. You're really full, huh? You got a tummy ache?"
"Y-Yeah, I- mmh. Honey, can- can you get me something to drink?" Felicia asked, voice strained. "I-I don't think the Nestea helped much."
"You want water, Coke or Sprite?"
"Mmh- Sprite, please."
You didn't have any Sprite cans, but you did have a quarter of a two-liter. You poured that into a tall glass, snagging an antacid pill along the way (just in case).
Felicia took the glass and smiled gratefully when you returned- though it was a little strained. With one hand resting over her stomach, she chugged the contents in a few gulps.
You watched, transfixed, as she drank. The soda traveling into her pursed lips, throat bobbing with every gulp, chest rising and falling, stomach trembling, pushing at the seams of her fancy dress.
She pulled away shakily, sighing with slight relief, and you took the glass from her hand to set it on the table.
"Thank you," Felicia mumbled. "That helped, I should feel so much better after-"
A sudden, loud gurgle. Felicia's belly protested violently, and Felicia froze.
"After- oooooh," she doubled over slightly, curling in on herself, discomfort on every feature. You immediately put your hand on the small of her back again, rubbing up and down to soothe her.
"Felicia?"
"Ooooh- I- oh, no," Felicia groaned. "That's really not good..."
"Here," you said, bringing your other hand to rest over Felicia's belly. "Let me help?"
Felicia looked slightly confused, but nodded shakily, trying to suppress her pained grimace.
"How- mmh-"
You began to rub firm circles over the plush expanse of Felicia's belly, occasionally switching to stroking up and down. Your hand remained firm against the small of her back, applying extra pressure.
Felicia sighed, slightly contented- and then her tummy gurgled again.
"Ohhh, no," Felicia whispered tightly. You pressed more firmly into her tummy, and she briefly squeezed her eyes shut. "I- I- oooh, my stomach-"
You rubbed a little too firmly. there was a slight gurgling sound, and suddenly Felicia surged forward and belched loudly.
"BHHHHUUUUUUUUURRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHPPPP!"
It took the both of you by surprise- loud and nasty and probably painful. Felicia's stomach must've really hurt, if she had that much trapped gas- and probably more left.
But before you could even say anything, Felicia clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide. She looked mortified, face going red.
"...'Scuse me," Felicia managed after a few moments of silence, hands hovering near her mouth.
She looked really, really embarrassed, and she was clearly still in pain, and you knew better than to tease her.
"...You feel any better?"
"What? Oh, mmh- yeah," Felicia said quickly, turning to look away. "I must've cleared up my stomach after... that. Uh, I-I should go and rest, I- mmph!"
Her tummy gurgled, and Felicia clamped her mouth shut, swallowing back a surge of air. There was a slight sloshing sound, and Felicia's face tightened.
"Hey, hey- don't hold back," you urged, rubbing her back. "You'll hurt your stomach. Come on, I'll help."
"H-help?" Felicia hiccupped.
"You need to burp, don't you? Come on, I know that face. Here, I've got you. Go on."
Felicia fidgeted, lips pursed. "You- you aren't grossed out?"
"Of course not," you said. " 'S just a bit of gas, and it'll make you feel better. Go on, it's just me."
Subconsciously, you began to massage her taut, aching stomach- rubbing in wide, soothing circles.
Felicia shakily opened her mouth to respond. "I-"
She made a funny face, placing a hand over her chest. "I- mmh- BHUUUUUUUUURRRGGGGHHHHHPPP! Mmh! 'Scuse me..."
"Feel better?" you said, grinning slightly. Felicia blushed, but nodded.
"A- A little," she admitted sheepishly. She still looked mortified, but a little less uncomfortable. "I- I, uhm-"
"Still need to burp?" you said knowingly. "Man, that soda really-"
"Can you rub my back?" Felicia blurted out. Her belly gurgled, and you absently rubbed at it a little. "I- I just- I'm sorry, but I... I feel something stuck and- and I really don't feel good."
She looked even more mortified than before.
"Don't be sorry," you said immediately. " 'Course I will."
You rubbed her tummy a little more, just to soothe her nerves. With your other hand, you began to stroke generously up and down her back. After a few moments, Felicia seemed to relax a little, her shoulders loosing some of their stiffness.
Her tummy gurgled, though not as loudly as before. Felicia grimaced, then belched.
"BBUUURRRRRGGHHP! Oh, 'scuse me," She daintily pressed her fingers to her mouth, just as you began to pat her back with just a little too much force. Her belly gurgled.
"Mmph- BHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRGGGHHHP!"
Felicia slapped a hand over her mouth by instinct.
"You're excused," you teased, rhythmically patting her back, and Felicia giggled sheepishly, somewhat less nervous. "But you better say it, just in case."
"Excuse me," Felicia said, a hand on her chest. Then her eyes went wide and she burped loudly, and then, to your delight, she giggled even louder.
"E-Excuse me!" She laughed. "That just- that just slipped out!"
You snickered, patting her back, pressing gently against her stomach. "Damn. What else have you been keeping in there?"
"Probably a bit too much soda," Felicia said jokingly. Her nose twitched and you patted her back again. Felicia belched, but much more quietly.
"BHUURRGGGHP! Mmmh. 'Scuse me. Oh, that last one felt weird, it sort of tickled my throat."
She slumps against you, exhausted. You resume patting her back.
"How's your stomach?"
"My tummy feels a lot better," Felicia admits. The red blush on her face from her previous mortification is still prettily dusted across her cheeks. "Thanks, honey."
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[Second Person POV; OC x GN!Reader. Eructo, Belly Kink, very slight Feeder/Feedee dynamics. Content Warning for Alcohol and depictions of drunkenness.]
So here's the thing- you don't really drink. You don't really go out to clubs, you don't really throw back shots like your old college roommates, you don't really pop a six pack of beer when you're alone. You don't avoid it, per se, and you can drink. You just don't usually. It's not typically your thing.
Here's the other thing: Felicia does not drink. She grew up and lived in a strict, silver spoon household until recently and is still new to the things most of her peers have explored years ago. And now that you're both living comfortably together, now that it's the weekend and neither of you have to clock in tomorrow, Felicia wants to give it a try.
That, more than anything, explains your current predicament. Standing by the bar, nursing a glass of water, looking out over the sea of people grinding and dancing in search of a head of red hair, maybe a glimpse of the nice green dress Felicia put on before you left. You've been here for about an hour now. Maybe a little more. The club is humid, loud, and you kind of don't like it. But Felicia does, so you're just going to have to endure it.
And then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot her slump into a barstool, a hand on her stomach, and you think huh.
Maybe she doesn't like it as much as you thought.
"Hey," you say, sitting next to her. "You alright?"
Felicia looks up at you suddenly (and winces a bit, like the movement almost hurts). Her blue eyes are sort of glassy and her pink lips are flushed; the tight green dress she's wearing is somehow tighter than when she left the house, stretching across her chest and the large swell of her stomach. Even her low ponytail, usually immaculately tied, has a few loose strands. It's a far cry from how composed she usually is, only heightened by the discomfort on her face.
"I- I'm fine, honey, just-" Felicia says after a moment, swallowing somewhat discreetly. "Just- must've had a little too much to drink, is all."
That's the weirdest thing- she doesn't look plastered, or anything. A little drunk, sure- but mostly just uncomfortable. And you have a feeling that's mostly due to the giant meal she had before she arrived. The music is loud and the people are louder, but even still you can hear the way her stomach gurgles unhappily.
"Here," you hand her the glass of water. "Drink. It’ll make you feel better."
She takes it gratefully, and there's something mesmerizing about the way she primly places the rim to her lips and takes a dainty swig. The way she sort of tilts her head back, the water traveling down and making her chest rise and fall with every gulp. The way her posture is straight and perfect, even as she sets down the cup with a pleased, proper smile.
And there’s something especially mesmerizing about the way Felicia burps immediately afterwards.
“BUUUURRRRRGGGHHHHPPP!”
It practically surges out of her, deep and long and loud, making her chest cave in and her whole body thrust forward. A few people glance at her weirdly- most don’t notice.
When she gets it out she slaps her hands over her mouth, her body tense and her eyes wide. For a moment you both just stare at each other- she’s utterly mortified and you’re. Well.
“E-Excuse me,” she giggles sheepishly through her hands. Then she starts giggling a little louder, and this is how you know Felicia is, to some extent, super drunk, because she’d normally be mortified to near tears about burping in public. That’s not to say she isn’t embarrassed now, because she clearly is- she just. Normally wouldn’t laugh about it.
Her belly gurgles and her giggling dies down.
“Mmh- excuse me,” Felicia repeats. Then she makes a face and burps again.
This one is even nastier and louder than the first. It draws more weirded out stares and sounds airier, and tighter than the first- it sounds like it hurts to get out. Felicia winces again and presses her hand to her lips, daintily.
“You okay?” you manage, once the surprise wears off. Hesitantly, you place a hand between her shoulder blades to comfort her.
“Sorry, I- I just,” her face contorts in discomfort again. She clutches her stomach, slightly shrinking in on herself. “I just… oooh. Oh, that's- not good…"
"What's not good?" you ask.
“My stomach,” she mumbles inaudibly.
“What?”
“My stomach hurts,” Felicia says, eyes squeezing shut. “My stomach hurts, and- and I really need to burp, but I can’t-”
She trails off., pursing her lips. You think about teasing her for burping earlier, but decide against it.
“Want me to help?” you ask, and even though she probably has no idea how you’re going to help, she nods her head.
(Now. If you’re being honest- what you do next isn’t entirely for Felicia. Well, it is. But there’s a part of you that’s imagining Felicia gulp down beer cans, filling herself with warm, fizzy liquid and air, looking at you with those big eyes, asking you to help-)
“Okay,” you say to her. The music blares, and people dance- nobody’s looking at the two of you. “All I need you to do is keep your hands on your stomach, okay? You don’t have to press down or anything- yeah, just like that.”
And maybe she really is uncomfortable, because she doesn’t even protest. You look at her- her pudgy limbs and fat stomach and soft double chin, her loosely tied red hair and round face and glassy, pained blue eyes and her pink lips, the flashing lights casting across her face-
You place a hand flat on her back, between her shoulder blades, and the other over her tummy, right on top of her hands. You rub the spot a few times, just to ease her into it.
“You ready?” you murmur, and Felicia nods.
At her signal, you start to firmly pat her back. Her tummy gurgles in protest immediately, and Felicia belches up a cloud of trapped air.
“‘Scuse me,” Felicia murmurs, hand on her chest.
You pat her back again, coaxing more gas out of her bloated, upset stomach. Your hand keeps a steady rhythm against her back, and Felicia burps again. “Mmm, ‘scuse me.”
It’s a pattern, really. As simple and as normal as waking up and making breakfast every morning. You pat her back, Felicia burps, and then excuses herself with varying degrees of embarrassment.
Eventually, Felicia seems to sober up a little. A final, nasty burp tears out of her mouth, bubbly and loud to the point that a guy just openly stares at her, and Felicia blushes and claps her hands over her mouth with the reminder of her being in a very, very public space.
She looks utterly humiliated, eyes darting around the room like everyone’s staring at her. They aren’t (only a few are), but you feel bad nonetheless and open your arms. She turns and slumps into them, burying her face into your shoulder.
You pat her back, this time more to comfort her than to relieve her of trapped gas. “You get it all out?”
Against your shoulder, Felicia gives a slight nod.
“Feel better?”
Another nod.
“Is she okay?” asks the bartender, pointing at Felicia; undoubtedly a witness to Felicia’s tummy troubles, and Felicia stiffens slightly. You can feel the embarrassment radiating off her in waves, and you send the bartender a reassuring smile.
So here’s how the night ends: there are some strangers, nameless and faceless and unimportant, who either remember that they saw a girl let out the biggest burps known to man, or they forgot all about it. There’s Felicia, who thankfully manages to find a few moments of humor in the whole thing despite her utter humiliation the next morning.
And then, there’s you. You don’t usually drink and you don’t usually go out. But if it means a repeat of tonight, Felicia pliant and bloated in your arms, mannerless and sheepish-
(More of Felicia! I sort of rushed this, but I hope you still enjoy! Thank you to @moraygrotto, whose prompts inspired this.
Second Person POV; OC x Reader. Ercuto, stuffing, feeder/feedee dynamics.)
Here's how it starts: you're cuddled up together on the couch, watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, and right as Charlie and his grandfather begin to ascend to their inevitable, bloody deaths, Felicia says, "I've always wanted to try that."
"Always wanted to try what," you ask, absentmindedly rubbing her shoulder.
"That," Felicia repeats. "You know. Soda."
You sit up abruptly, pausing the TV. A moment of silence.
"Have you," you begin, trying to find the words. "Have you never had soda before?"
Felicia looks, suddenly, a bit self-conscious. "I- well. Not really. My parents never let me."
There's a lot of things you could say to that. Tease her about her silver-spoon upbringing. Rant about how weird her parents are. You could say ‘huh’ and unpause the movie and let this pass you by.
Obviously, because you’re not an idiot, you say none of that. “You really wanna try?”
“Mm-hmm,” she says primly, and you nearly laugh at the dichotomy of prim, proper Felicia- and how prim and proper she’s going to be after you’re done with this plan.
“Wait here one sec,” you tell her, making your way to the kitchen. The nice thing about being solely responsible for cooking is this- you can have as many secrets as you want.
You open the cupboard next to the oven and pull out a cardboard box from the back- the top is slightly taped and it has the words ‘OLD CUPS’ scrawled onto it with permanent marker. With a triumphant smile, you set it down on the dining table, and call for Felicia.
“Sit down,” you say when she comes in. “Trust me- you’re gonna wanna sit down.”
“What’s in the box?” Felicia asks, sitting down. You can see the way her stomach folds in on itself with the action.
“Soda,” you declare, pulling out a can of Sprite. “It’s my secret stash. I’ve got, like, one of each brand in here. Figured this would be a good place to start.”
“What?”
“Well, you wanna try, right?” You grin, shaking the can playfully. “So here. Let’s try everything.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly…” she trails off, watching as you place all the soda cans in a line in front of her- Coke, Nestea, Sprite, Root Beer, three different Crush flavors-
But you can also see the curiosity on her face- the excitement. At the very least- you know she wants to try.
And you very much want to see her try.
“Sure you can,” you say, biting back a smile. “I’m willing. We go on your count, okay?”
Felicia nods, looking ever so slightly nervous. She straightens herself, hands shaking slightly as she reaches for the Sprite can. She cracks it open and flinches at the sudden hiss.
“Ready?” you ask. It’s an easy out- Are you sure you want to do this? We can stop.
Felicia takes a deep breath, squeezes her eyes shut and downs the contents in a long, dainty swig.
You can see the liquid travel down her throat- it makes her throat bob, and her chest rise up and down with every gulp. The funny thing is that she never pulls away- it’s just gulp after gulp after gulp of fizzy soda, and you can tell the fizz surprises her the way she straightens abruptly at the taste. You place a hand on her back to steady her.
Felicia’s head tilts all the way back, the last of the Sprite emptying into her mouth. She pulls away, lips pursed and mouth full of the liquid, a hand on her chest.
You watch, transfixed, as Felicia sets the can down, swallows, and burps.
It takes the both of you by surprise. Felicia’s chest swells and rises with the force of hit, hands over her pudgy midsection.
“BUUUURRRRGGGGHHHHHPPPP!”
When it’s out, she claps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with mortification.
“‘Scuse me,” she says sheepishly, blushing bright red.
You place your hand between her shoulder blades and give it a few firm pats, snickering. “Easy, champ.”
“Sorry, that just- slipped out,” Felicia says, hands hovering over her mouth. “I didn’t mean to- I didn’t think it’d be so-”
“Yeah, soda tends to do that,” you say wryly, continuing to pat her back. Then you pause. “You okay?”
She nods.
“You up for another?”
Felicia pauses, then to your surprise- nods again.
This time she takes the coke. You hear her gulp it down, slower this time, supported by you steadily patting her back. When she finishes, she gets this funny look on her face. Her cheeks are slightly puffed- but the pressure takes over, and Felicia burps again.
“BHUUUURRRRGGGHHHPPPP! Mmh, ‘scuse me…”
“Just let it out,” you tell her, voice slightly softer, massaging circles on her back. “Otherwise you’ll hurt your stomach.”
“If you wanna stop, we can,” you say. “But it’s just me. You can relax, all right? I’ll look after you.”
Felicia pauses, then says, “I wanna try the orange one.”
She tries the orange one- then the purple one, then the pink one, all immediately after each other. They move down the line of cans, Felicia slowly but surely growing more and more comfortable with it all- the sudden gas, the taste, the fizz.
Then she sets down an empty root beer can, and a loud gurgle rings out in the room.
Felicia glances down at her stomach, which is even more swollen and bloated than usual. It’s gurgling constantly now, and she grimaces with discomfort.
“Felicia?” You look at her, concerned. “You okay?”
“I-” a loud gurgle cuts her off, and she winces with discomfort. “Mmh. Oooh… oh, no-”
“Does your tummy hurt?” you ask, stroking over the swell of her stomach. Her dress is especially tight around her midsection, which probably contributes to her discomfort.
“I- I’m fine, I just- I really need to burp,” Felicia blurts out. She seems humiliated just saying the words.
“Go ahead,” you say encouragingly, continuing to rub her stomach. “It’s okay, just-”
“No, I- I want to,” another agonizing gurgle. “I just- I can’t.”
“You- oh,” you say. “Oh.”
“Can you help?” Felicia asks nervously. “My tummy really hurts and I can feel something stuck in my chest.”
You don’t say anything- you don’t need to. Her stomach gurgles and sloshes with gas and carbonated soda, and you can feel it vibrate against the palm of your hand. You place a hand on the small of her back and press the heel of your palm into the peak of her swollen stomach.
Felicia burps spectacularly.
“BHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRGGGHHHHPPP!”
It sounds strained, almost painful, and Felicia winces when it’s over, a dainty hand to her mouth.
“Does that feel better?” you ask, rubbing her back.
Felicia nods- then burps again.
And again.
And again.
They’re shorter, bubblier burps- like hiccups, almost, except they tear out of Felicia from the pits of her tummy, and after a few moments of this Felicia gets embarrassed again, and you start to snicker.
“Excuse you,” you chuckle, helping her off the chair. “That soda really did a number on you, huh?”
