Disgust Synonym Novels & Stories

“Seriously, who would call that ugly Homosapien as hubby. I would rather eat disgusting foods than call him in a sickly sweet endearment.” Angelo said to himself while trembling in repugnance at what Anton suggested. “Can’t I stick to calling him ugly Homosapien? Seriously, it gives me shudders imagining myself calling him with cheesy endearments. Imagining myself calling him with some disgustingly sweet name makes me want to faint in disgust.” Angelo suddenly has goosebumps all over his body while imagining himself- who’s the most handsome guy in the face of the earth calling that bastard Mark- a hubby, or much worst, calling him sugar plum. “So obnoxious.”

her words sounded so sincere and consuming. It made John feel disturbed, he didn't want to listen to her anymore. "Morgan." "Yes." She smiled amidst her tears, she was hopeful. John proceeded to ask a nasty question. "Does a dog return to its vomit?" A gasp left her lips, she never expected him to ask such or be so mean to her. It felt like he hated her. She stayed quiet, unable to respond to him. "You disgust me, each time I see you, I just imagine you shamelessly opening your pussy for him to fuck and that's how I feel about you. You're just unimportant and despicable." The repetition of the word 'disgust' hurt her a lot.

Words of disdain formed on her lips, ready to be unleashed upon the unsuspecting ambiance. In stark contrast to the warmth and conviviality that filled the room, Chloe's voice cut through the air once more like a chilling gust of wind. "This food is hardly worth the effort," she declared with a disdainful tone, her words laced with bitterness. "I can't fathom why you two find it enjoyable. It's simply mediocre at best."

"Well, I have more in the kitchen." There's something with the way he neatly presented the meal with beautiful white ceramic bowl plate and the bread engulfed food with a black ceramic flat plate, the food smelled so good, the more the steam rose, the more the aroma got to her nostrils, she was almost drooling and couldn't wait to dive in already. "How do you know I love french food, Liam? I feel stalked." She asked not looking at Liam but at the food before her. "Uh... Okay. I had a brief conversation with the dispatch rider from orderit.com the other day, so yeah, go on and have a bite."

It wasn't just the physical discomfort that was making me feel sick; it was the emotional turmoil that had been building up inside me for weeks. I had been trying to ignore the feeling of disgust that had been growing in my gut since I found out about Romeo's infidelity. But now, as I retched and heaved, it all came pouring out of me in a torrent of emotions. I couldn't help but wonder if the reason for my sudden illness was that I felt so disgusted by Romeo that I physically couldn't keep anything down. My stomach churned as I thought about him, about his lies and betrayal. Finally, I managed to get up, my feet unsteady beneath me. I stumbled over to the sink, turned on the tap, and rinsed

I pushed back my chair and stood. “I didn’t buy this wasted-up enterprise so I could entertain such disgusting—” I stop, scoffing before shaking my head, my lips curling into something between amusement and rage. “No, wait. Calling it disgusting is an insult to disgusting. I don’t even have the right fucking word for this abomination you dare to call a design.” My fingers tighten. The silence in the room is suffocating. No one dares to move. No one dares to fucking breathe.

He was my stinky, disgusting, rotting fish who also happened to be sinfully handsome and had a huge, delightful cock. Now my mind was imagining actual fish with actual dicks, and my gorge rose. Penises and fish just did not mix. Liam’s face creased. “You okay?” I was going to—I didn’t know. Puke, cry, laugh. Could you do all three at once? Was there a word for that? Under the dictionary, there should be a word for what I’d done last night. Synonyms would include: idiot, moron, and imbecile. Antonyms would include: Mari Wright up until she got drunk last night and married a stranger.

When I look at his sculpted face, it is rage but something deeper. “You disgust me.” “Your scent disgusts me. Your face disgusts me! You damn whore!” He yells, his word is laced with venom and this disgust that he speaks of reaches his eyes. “Whore?” I repeat. My lips are quivering, trying to understand what the extent of my crime is that would perpetuate such an insult.

I flinched in self-disgust. "No."

My heart is hammering, not with arousal, but with a sudden, overwhelming wave of disgust. I feel like a genuine creep, a voyeuristic monster. The warmth of the whiskey is gone, replaced by a cold shame that sinks to my very bones. I practically stumble to my own room, the sounds still echoing in my head. The feeling of being utterly vile clings to me until sleep finally, mercifully, pulls me under.