#Read in Full on AO3

[chamom1le-t3a]

just pretend i spelt chick-fil-a right pretty pleasee 🙏

[unconsciousnonhuman]

@paranormal-peri - The Prologue

Part 1

(More pages coming soon)

Edit: You can read the full non-comic prologue here

[curiouslymyown]

James would stick his finger in Regulus’ mouth whenever he yawns in his animagus form and Regulus would take full advantage of this; he bites down. Hard.

[dollopole]

I was just thinking about the fact that in so many Merlin fics, Merlin keeps being an healer/doctor/medic, which makes sense, since that’s how he started his life, by helping people however he could, but now consider this:

Merlin, who has lived so long and more than probably witnessed the deaths of thousands, even of those he loved, cherished and respected. So what if a millennia of life completely flipped his view on what it means to heal and study medicine. What if after all Merlin saw, everything that happened had the opposite effect on him, which means that he stopped trying and left the job to someone else.

Merlin still helps, surely, in the end, it’s in his nature as human, but we can already see how he changed, even only after ten years of being in Camelot and witnessing death after death.

What if he despaired because disease spread and not even his magic could help it, what if his magic decided that humans had to live with their own course of actions and so his magic simply refused to help them, which got Merlin just angry at the prospect of doing this for so many years.

But now take into consideration when Arthur returns:

I believe Arthur would be the healer/doctor/medic this time around.

He would be eager to help everyone he can, because that’s also in his nature, but since he can’t do it anymore in the way he once did, he has to find another path for him, a path that would make him heal too, heal from all the times he killed, instead of helping someone in danger.

Arthur lived a life of death even before Merlin could start to think about killing someone.

Arthur had his hands smeared with blood since he was a child. Being Uther’s son was automatically, in both magical people and peasants’ perspective, who lived under Uther’s tyranny, a sin and a guilt, even before Arthur could pick up a sword.

He did not just kill sorcerers, but he was raised with a mind of a killer of justice. To defend his kingdom, his father, his counsellors, his court and his people no matter what he felt regarding it, was and had always been his main duty.

He was trapped in a murderous cycle, literally, where he couldn’t do anything but raise himself to believe that the only way to help people was to kill them.

On one side, we have a man who spent his life helping people and who got tired of death, and on the other side, we got another man who spent it killing people and still got tired of death.

But to Arthur and Merlin it happened in different ways.

Where Merlin left the responsibility to someone else, Arthur decided to take that responsibility himself, in the hope that maybe, one day, he could bring back to life all those he had condemned for the simple act of living as themselves.

[oleafia-art]

some golden guards + caleb

i wanted to take a break and do some character design of a few golden guards based off of some of the ones seen briefly in canon. i also drew hunter and caleb as references for faces and stuff. i tried to make them as similar as possible, but also looking very individual to one another. since belos claimed that hunter looks the most like caleb, i tried to stay true to that while keeping the other three looking similar but not quite as identical. anyways i love them <3 they’re like the most mentally ill family ever to me

these weren’t supposed to be real ocs or anything but then i ended up giving them names and backstories and so i wrote a little about them aaaand now im obsessed. i will try to make a full body ref for them, especially alistair and/or constance, if i have time

i apologize for my godawful handwriting 💔

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

[siriuslycool69]

If you ever think you're a horrible writer and you will never get an offer to publish ur book, do what I do and remember that an actually published author like Colleen Hover exists. If she can do it, you can do it better.

[myokk]

troll attack😳

[columboposting]

Obviously and rightfully everyone is going insane about the Nandermo stuff in the new WWDITS episode, but something I would like to briefly talk about is the Laszlo & Colin Robinson & The Monster plotline and the way it mirrors Season 4. Because like, the way Laszlo was treating the Monster -- viewing him as a science experiement first and foremost, forcing him to rotely memorize and recite facts instead of doing things that actually interest him, making him dance for the entertainment of others -- is the way that he treated Baby Colin! Baby Colin was a scientific experiment! He made him dance on the nightclub stage! He took away his fairytales and replaced them with dusty historical tomes!And while we can all see that this is terrible parenting, that was never something the show was seriously interested in reckoning with. I mean, Guillermo was there to say "hey this is fucked up," but that's his job on a good day, and in the end the plotline more positions Laszlo as a loving but misguided parent than an outright shitty one. Which, for the record, I do think is fine -- it's a comedy show about weirdo vampires with a weirdo vampire moral code, the show wouldn't be better if it cancelled Laszlo and I can sort of pretend that Laszlo and Baby Colin's relationship was healthy because it makes for better drama, y'know? (I mean, I literally just posted fic about their relationship that Kind of Ignores the fact that from a normal person's perspective Laszlo wasn't a very good father, lol)

But suddenly in this episode, Colin Robinson is there mediating that relationship and pointing out all the ways it is harmful to Laszlo's dependent. He looks at the way Laszlo treats the Monster and says, "Hey, this guy is not a dancing monkey. This guy is not a regurgitator of fun facts. This guy is not a scientific experiment. He is a person, and he loves you, and you're hurting him." And, of course, though neither the show nor Colin Robinson are capable of pointing it out, Colin Robinson would be the one to know these things better than anyone else, because he has quite literally been in the Monster's position before. Colin Robinson, as Laszlo's (former) son, is uniquely positioned by the narrative to call out the way Laszlo is treating his current son. And the fact that, in the end, Laszlo came to see things Colin Robinson's way feels quite meaningful to me -- he has been saved from continuing to make the same mistakes he made with the Boy as with the Monster, and can now more forward as a better, more caring parent. If "Laszlo's Father" was sort of relitigating Season 4 from Laszlo's perspective, "The Promotion" is doing the same from Baby Colin's, though much more implicitly. Good shit!!!!!

[lyzelky]

This tunic is soft blue and silver (you totally did not buy it to match Astarion) (you totally did and he snarked about it but then spent the whole day attached to you at the hip, practically parading the two of you around).

Quoted from Something Full-Bodied and Red by the ever-talented @atsadi-shenanigans

I meant to have this finished for the completion of Feeding Alligators but uhhhh life and art block got in the way 😅.

Anyway! Here is some fanart for Eleanor and Astarion in their respective blue and silver tunics. Clothing is not exactly a strong suit of mine but I wanted to give it go anyway. Also featuring Astarion being a little gremlin to Gale and embarrassing Eleanor in the process. Hope you all enjoy!

[ksbbb]

Paint The Town Red 🩸

“You’re alone?” Liam’s tongue slides out, licking the blood over Theo’s face, where his claws have sunken into the chimera’s skin. It’s oddly satisfying and he’ll feel anything. Even if it’s a sick joke that Liam’s pulling on him to think he’s safe and secure.

Rated E

Read on Ao3

Moodboard by @thiamsxbitch

[theroundbartable]

Honestly, I'm neither surprised nor mad at this point. Remember that at her height of power, she's the oppressor. Who she decides to hate is being oppressed by default.

Anyways, Happy belated ace awareness day for everyone, especially Charlie Weasley because dragons.

Disclaimer: ace Charlie is a headcanon, you're not oblidged to share it.

[delphi333]

hantsom fellas

[justiceiscalling]

i pride myself on being pretty open to multiple ships in various fandoms (save for incest, jaytim they could never make me like you), but for some unknown reason i cannot stand to read jegulus. don’t get me wrong, i LOVE james potter (he’s my fav) and i think regulus is such a incredible and unique character but the moment i click on a jegulus fic i start to hate both of them.

i think it has to do with how they’re characterized when ppl write ships abt them? how they make james incredibly desperate (which honestly, does fit him, to a certain extent) and then how they sort of infantilize regulus. the best portrayal of regulus that i have read is through a glass, blackly by wheremejumper (which i just recently bookmarked on my ao3 lol) and i just feel like when ppl put him in fics with james they change his character entirely and just make him a baby, if that makes sense? its kind of how the DC fandom treated tim drake a few years back and how the PJO fandom treats nico diangelo.

i rlly hope that makes sense.

but anyway, regulus and james are so incredibly perfect and i really SHOULD love this ship but i can’t fall for this propaganda, no matter how many times i try. if you guys have any fic recs where regulus is portrayed ‘properly’, at least how i see him (as mentioned above), id love to read them! preferably if they’re not jegulus. it can be any ship besides that though. barty and regulus? sure i can get behind that. evan and regulus? yeah, why not! pandora and regulus? uhm, heck yeah. remus and regulus? a top-secret pleasure of mine. regulus and peter? i can indulge in this. regulus and lily? i’m willing to give it a shot.

point is, i’m open. and also if you have any jegulus ‘hear me out’ fics, i will hear you out. eventually. i tried a pathological people pleaser and choices and i couldn’t get into those but recs are welcome!

[sickficideas]

shake me good || SKK Dazai/Chuuya NSFW Emetophilia

ao3! 2.9k - NSFW fanfic, Minors DNI! Please read the tags in the AO3 link for warnings!

“Hold on,” Chuuya says through a pleasured moan that turns into a huff of discomfort.

Dazai doesn’t stop completely, he just slows down, his hand deep in Chuuya’s tight, but unbuttoned pants, fondling his slowly hardening cock through his briefs.

“Mmm?” Dazai hums into his ear, of course ready to listen, but also half-stuck in the bliss of finally getting to fool around with Chuuya after not being touched for months, rubbing up against his ass through his pants like a horny dog.

“I don’t feel good,” Chuuya groans, a hand lifting up off the desk and over his belly with another pained groan, one that sounds erotic more than anything else - at least right now, to Dazai.

Dazai’s hand starts to drift up and out of Chuuya’s nearly-wet briefs to land over his belly, gently moving Chuuya’s hand out of the way. He has him pushed up against his desk right now, nearly leaning over it with the full intention of fucking him into it, but it looks like things are taking a turn. That’s fine, he’s a man of many, many kinks.

He was thinking earlier, when he first pushed him up against the desk and started sneaking his hand into his pants, that his belly felt a little tense, a little pudgy over the waistband of his briefs. He has a habit of eating too much and giving himself a bellyache, especially when he’s hd a drink or two - and of course, now with having his belly abused and pushed up against the hard edge of the desk, he must be feeling a little sick.

Dazai presses against Chuuya’s soft tummy, a little harder than he should, just to see where he’s at with his nausea. Is he going to get the runs? Does he need to puke, or just get some of the gas up? Does he want to add this to their little session?

“Mmmgh…” he groans, his whole body tensing up now, one hand bracing himself up against the desk and the other hovering over Dazai’s hand, leading him back to his tummy. He lets out a deep, thick burp and punctuates it with a pleasured moan, clearly, feeling good.

“Too much to eat?” Dazai murmurs into his ear, enjoying the way Chuuya shivers at the feeling of his hot breath.

“Way too much,” Chuuya groans, “sorry, I thought…uhhURP - ughh…”

“You thought what, babe?” Dazai urges on, putting his hand back into motion, rubbing Chuuya’s turbulent belly, not pressing as hard this time.

“I thought I wouldn’t - feel all…ghhmm - nauseous…” he murmurs, his whole body rolling through another moan. Dazai’s intrigued. Clearly, his belly is full and sore and sick, but it sounds like he’s really feeling good, having his belly rubbed - he sounds even better now than he did when Dazai’s hand was over his cock.

“You should know better than to eat so much,” Dazai tells him. Chuuya is no stranger to making himself sick by over-eating, but it’s never landing him in trouble in the middle of something like this - at least, not with Dazai.

“Shut…shut up,” Chuuya groans, his other hand joining his first to brace himself against the desk. Dazai keeps his hand over his belly, rubbing gentle circles, one a little bit harder than the others, just to see if he could get something out of him - and Chuuya brings a hand up to his mouth to stifle a wet burp. “Fuck, I think I - I think I might actually throw up.”

“What do you want from me?” Dazai asks, low and quiet in his ear. He’s certainly not opposed to making this interesting, he just wants to make sure Chuuya’s on the same page. They’ve joked about this before, but being in the situation without any planning could be different.

“Just…ghhmm - stay there,” Chuuya groans, breathing a little heavy through his mouth now, clear, stringy saliva dripping down from his wet lips onto the loose sheets of paper that have long since been shuffled around. He burps again, this time with the intention of trying to force something up, and a little unproductive gag forces its way up instead, bringing nothing but more saliva up and splattering over the papers, soaking and spreading the ink. “Mmmhhf - fuck, I can feel it…”

“Right here?” Dazai asks, his free hand, previously on Chuuya waist, traveling up to the spot right between his collarbones, gently rubbing over it with two of his long fingers.

“Yeah…Dazai, I - you - breathing into my ear like that…” Chuuya mumbles through a low moan, shuddering again and Dazai laughs through his nose, amused by how utterly turned on Chuuya is right now. It’s usually a little difficult to get him this sensitive. He lets up a bit of a violent-sounding burp, guttural and wet, not one he meant to bring up on purpose. Dazai almost thought he threw up.

“Did no one ever teach you to say excuse me?” Dazai growls into his ear, and that alone is enough to make Chuuya moan, a little higher pitched than normal, out of his control. Dazai normally enjoys Chuuya doing all the work, but it’s really fun to tease him and get him so worked up like this - especially in a sexual situation.

Dazai moves his hand back down, this time, both of them over Chuuya’s sick and churning belly, deciding he’s going to press on it a bit more to see if he can help him along. He pushes him a bit too far up and Chuuya and up with a hand flat on the desk and one over Dazai’s hands as some sort of reflex when Dazai presses deep into his belly. He moans, nearly retches, but only spits up.

“Oh…fuck, it’s getting on…” he starts, a nauseous groan stopping him halfway through and forcing up a suspiciously wet burp, “my papers, I should -”

And there it finally goes, Dazai gets a first-class seat to the first mouthful of puke that makes its way out of Chuuya’s belly, right into his hand in some sort of attempt to save his already spit-soaked papers on his desk. Dazai can’t help but rub himself on Chuuya again, seeing that, his cheeks red and hot and breathing heavy into the hot vomit in his hand, still tethered to his mouth with chunky strings of spit and vomit.

Being so close to his throat, he hears something even better - his belly brings up another mouthful that has him closing his mouth, this time, and swallowing it back in some vain attempt to stop the flood. Dazai moans in his ear, amused by this, really, because it’s plainly obvious that Chuuya is nowhere near done.

“Don’t want to get your papers dirty, sugar?” Dazai breathes into his ear, feeling his own briefs start to soak up, “you better swallow back what’s in your hand, too.”

Chuuya moans, more like a squeak, but he feels his smaller body start to rub himself against the hard edge of the table, clear enough that this is more than okay with him. He can’t quite get himself to do it, though, so Dazai wraps his long, thin fingers around Chuuya’s wrist and brings the chunky, thick vomit right up to his lips.

“Go on now, eat it like a good dog,” Dazai hums, “while it’s still warm, yeah?”

“Fuck,” Chuuya moans, parting his lips but not entirely sure he’s brave enough to lick up his own puke, Dazai feels like he’s about to come, so he slows down on pleasuring himself against Chuuya, because he wants to keep this going for longer. This is just the beginning, after all.

“Eat up, Chuuya. Be a good boy,” he says, his voice lower than before.

Chuuya burps, sounding like he’s just swallowed back a little splash of stomach acid from the back of his throat, but he finally manages to part his lips and take a tiny mouthful of his puke back into his mouth, like he’s licking up porridge from a little bowl, but all of it is too much for him. Dazai’s watching the color drain from his face and the saliva drip past his lips like water because it’s disgusting, he’s eating his own digested food, his own vomit, and then finally, comes more.

A thick, violent stream of hot vomit shoots past his lips, splashing away whatever was left in his hand to join down on the table, coating any papers that had any hope of being saved and slashing outwards toward other stacks off to the side, reaching the other end and dripping over onto his too-expensive leather chair. Chuuya gasps in between breaths, evidently surprised with how much he had in him to puke up like this. It’s almost dripping from his nose, now completely covering his hand.

“Tell me everything you ate,” Dazai asks him, rubbing gentler circles into his poor belly as Chuuya reluctantly lays his hand down into his puke, needing to support himself as he’s no doubt dizzied from the exertion it took to shoot all of that out of him.

“Um…I, uh…” he mumbles, a little out of it before he burps, once and then again with a little coming up, spitting it into the rest of his puke. “Curry…curry rice with, uh, pork, and…a lot of…Tiramisu…”

“I see the rice in there,” Dazai says, now picking up his pace as he rubs his damp cock on Chuuya’s pants, imagining how much he must have stuffed himself to puke this much from only those things, how full and packed tight his belly must have been. “You’re such a little pig.”

“I think ‘m not done,” he groans, mouth hanging open over the table as he lets the spit drip into his mess. “UhhHHURP - ahh … mmghh…”

He tries to breathe a little easy, but one inhale is a little too much and ends up turning into a sickly burp, that only has him bringing up a mouthful of awfully chunky puke, thicker than his earlier wave, harder for him to get up - he gags through it, and lets up a little string of burps as relief on his tummy.

It’s not long until a hard, forceful gag catches Chuuya completely off guard, and ends with another forceful stream ejecting from his throat and all over the table, lasting a few seconds, pushing it up and exerting himself, pushing even more vomit off the other side and onto his seat, but his hand shoots underneath and over his cock. His legs shake.

“Did you come?” Dazai asks, his own hand sneaking down and checking to confirm his suspicion, gently pushing Chuuya’s hand out of the way to rub against Chuuya’s cock, dripping a wet, warm liquid that’s far to water-like to be come. “Oh, you wet yourself, hm?”

“Fuck…fuck, I…” he’s interrupted by another violent, thick burp that has his legs shake with the exterition it takes to keep the rest of his piss in his bladder, but Dazai keeps massaging, rubbing over his balls and palming his cock through his pants, letting him relax enough that his bladder decdies what it wants, and soaks the rest of his pants. He whines quietly. “Dazai, I…”

“More embarrassed about wetting yourself than puking all over your desk?” Dazai asks, chuckling with amusement, finding it adorable, really.

“Help me,” he whines, taking Dazai’s wrist and pulling his hand up to his mouth, asking him to help him puke. Chuuya gags before Dazai even has his hand in his mouth, but Dazai has a better idea, if Chuuya will let him get away with it.

“Can I use something else?” Dazai asks, two fingers over Chuuya’s wet, vomit-coated tongue to tease him, and Chuuya burps into his hand.

“You want a fuckin’ - blowjob?” Chuuya groans, breathing heavy over his hand with another wet, nasty burp. He’s still horribly nauseous, Dazai can see it in his face.

“No, no. I just want to gag you, I think it’d be hot,” Dazai tells him, and Chuuya is apparently interested, because he’s already turned around and getting on his knees. His arms are raised and working on undoing Dazai’s belt buckle, but his nausea seems too intense, he lets up a closed-mouth burp and covers his mouth with both hands. “I’ve got it, babe.”

Dazai makes quick work of undoing his pants before he frees his already near-stiff cock, and Chuuya stares it down like it’s another thing he’s being forced to eat when he doesn’t have even a handful of room left in his belly. His lips close around the very tip, and Dazai can see how bad his nausea is just in his face, but he’s determined.

“You don’t have to do anything fancy. Just gag on it, that’s all,” Dazai tells him, because he knows that will be more than enough to get him to puke, and probably just enough to get him to his own orgasm.

Chuuya lowers his head just for a second, letting up a deep belch from the put of his stomach and holding his hand under his mouth in case anything comes up, but it seems he’s off the hook. Dazai’s hips tense up the moment Chuuya’s lips are back around his tip, so excited for the outcome.

Dazai keeps Chuuya burp around the very tip, looking tempted to turn his head away, but Dazai reaches forward to grab onto his hair and keep him where he is. “I want you to puke on me, okay? Don’t let the floor have it when I’m asking so nicely.”

Chuuya nods, parting his lips even further to allow to Dazai’s cock to finally enter the hot warmth of his mouth, and Chuuya gags - hard - so hard that he sees tears form in the corners of his eyes, and Dazai already feels it coming, his cock sliding further in as chunks of Chuuya’s hot, slimy vomit push up and out of his throat in the other direction. Chuuya tries to pull away, still gagging on his cock, but Dazai keeps him where he is.

Dazai moans lout and unapologetic, a hand in Chuuya’s hair as he bobs back and forth on Dazai’s dick, another wave of vomit coming up this time, squirting out of his mouth past Dazai. Chuuya has to slide his mouth off, letting the vomit fall into his hands, coughing and gagging up what’s left, but respecting Dazai’s wish as another promising burp comes up.

“Brrppmmmf - uuLLGHHh -” he moans, lips wrapped back around Dazai and with a muffled sound, more hot vomit rushes up from this throat, and the tiny little moan that Chuuya lets out is enough to do him in, and he starts to come.

Dazai keeps his hand on Chuuya’s head as his hips sputter from the force of it, shooting his seed deep down into Chuuya’s throat, hoping he’ll just as soon bring that up with even more.

“Swallow it. Swallow it and bring it back up, okay? However you want,” Dazai says through out-of-breath moans, and Chuuya nods, sliding his mouth off of his cock and swallowing as much as he can, too nausous to get it all - a good bit slips past his lips and onto the floor.

Chuuya braces himself on the floor, palms flat against the ground as he groans. Dazai’s sure a hot laid of cum on top of everything is only making him feel more sick and disgusting. He kneels down in front of him, a hand under his chin, reveling in the look on his face. Fully spent, lips shining with spit, hairline wet with sweat.

Chuuya, in turn, burps up Dazai’s load back up onto his chest. It splashes up from his throat and hits the exposed parts of Dazai’s chest, sliding down his dress shirt but underneath, too, hot, wet and slimy.

“You’re disgusting, look at how filthy you are,” Dazai says, leaning forward to lick up the drool dripping from Chuuya’s chin.

“You’re…urrhHp…you’re gonna clean all this,” Chuuya groans, hips rocking back and forth where he’s knelt on all fours like a dog in heat, rubbing up against the seam of his tight pants like he always does.

Dazai puts a gentle hand on Chuuya’s chest to get him to sit back on his knees, and he scoots a little closer, cupping a hand underneath Chuuya’s still-clothed erection.

“How can I be of service?” he asks, breathing hot into his ear, but apparently, that was all he needed. He feels Chuuya’s hips shake and his pants soak full of come, moaning through a burp, another wave of sick spilling past his lips and sliding all down Dazai’s back.

“You - you have to be the one to puke…next t-ummgh…time…” Chuuya moans. “My…my stomach hurts so bad…”

“I’ll nurse you back to health, my sick little dog,” Dazai says, his hand still fondling Chuuya’s clothed balls.

Chuuya pulls his head back in front of Dazai’s face, staring him down for a second before he locks lips with him, much to Dazai’s surprise, but Dazai realizes Chuuya’s plan soon enough, when he burps up the last of what he has left into Dazai’s mouth, and Dazai moans at the taste. It’s sour, hot, still a few little chunks left, and he swallows it like it’s the last bit of water available in a vast desert, apparently that being more than enough for to him to come one last time. His stomach churns and turns at the idea that he’s just swallowed another man’s vomit, but he wants to keep it in. He swallows back the splash that shoots back up.

“Fuckin’...nasty,” Chuuya burps out, leaning his tired head onto Dazai’s shoulder.

[grezzirossi]

Silly Spuriken doodles because my OW otp returned full force as I started playing again.