Posting this here in the hopes that someone else will write the Tim gets railed over the Wingcycle fic I'm too busy to write but want desperately
"I'm upgrading your targeting systems," Tim says distractedly. "I have a new chip to replace the old one--"
He goes to swing his leg back over the Wingcycle only for Dick's voice to cut through the low hum of his music.
"Don't."
Tim freezes, only because that's not Dick's normal voice. It's borderline Nightwing.
He looks up to find him putting the snacks down on one of the work tables. Dick's eyes are dark pits that threaten to suck Tim in. He stalks forwards and Tim's own eyes widen.
It feels like Dick teleports with how little time Tim is given to get himself under control. One moment he is across the room and the next he's bracing himself against the handlebars and purring low in his chest, "Good boy."
Tim has to stare at him for that; has to stop, restart and reasses.
Dick watches him patiently through it all.
"Dick?" The word comes out soft and hesitant. Tim wets his lips and tries again. "What are you doing?"
"You look good like this," comes the answer, easy as breathing. Like it doesn't make Tim's pulse start to race; like it's not taking actual effort not to show any sign of just how affected he is.
Dick slides a hand down to catch Tim's wrist, fingertips pressing down against the frantic beat of his heart before he can pull away. A wicked grin dimples his cheeks and suddenly all of Tim's effort is made moot.
"You see me on Redbird all the time."
"Not like this," he rasps. His eyes rake up Tim's bare legs and the shirt that gapes at the collar to slide down one shoulder. "Not in my shirt, on my bike, wearing my marks."
Tim's free hand twitches towards his neck before he aborts but they both know what he was going for; there are deep bruises bitten into the muscle of his jugular from the night before.
"That's right, baby," Dick murmurs. "You know exactly what I mean. You look like mine."
The Agency office bustled with its usual morning hustle and bustle: the soft clicking of keyboards, the occasional rustle of paperwork, and Kunikida's voice, already sternly reprimanding Atsushi for a minor clerical error. Dazai Osamu, in contrast, was reclining on the back of the sofa with the elegance of a cat in the sun, flipping through a file with one hand and absentmindedly sipping lukewarm coffee with the other.
Nestled safely inside the scarf tied loosely around Dazai's neck was something, someone, small, warm and at that moment vibrating with frustration.
“Would you stop moving?” Chuuya hissed, his voice weak but filled with annoyance. He stood on Dazai’s shoulder like an emperor on his throne, his arms crossed and his tousled orange hair blowing slightly in the breeze from the air conditioner. “I’m trying to keep my balance, jerk.”
“But Chuuya…” Dazai drawled with a lazy smile, shifting his shoulders just enough to make Chuuya stumble a little. “If you’re going to act like a parrot, you better learn to hold on tighter.”
“I’m not a damn parrot!” Chuuya snapped, his small fingers grabbing the edge of Dazai’s collar.
In fact, he was a borrower: a ten-centimeter person with strength that defied his size, a cunning born of necessity, and a withering gaze. He lived in an apartment carefully concealed among Dazai's drawers, tucked away among notebooks and silk scarves, and had been a part of the detective's life for just over three years.
Their relationship was complicated. Or it would be if it weren't so absurdly simple.
Dazai adored him.
Making fun of him? That was the icing on the cake.
"I should have stayed home," Chuuya muttered, adjusting the strap of his bag. "You said I could accompany you to the ADA for a 'quiet day.' This isn't quiet. You're swaying like a drunken tree."
“I’m offering you the full experience,” Dazai said innocently. “A front-row seat to my majesty.”
Chuuya's response was a kick to the jaw. Soft, but effective. Dazai made a theatrical face.
“Ow~! My delicate face!”
“Delicate my ass,” Chuuya muttered, and for a moment, Dazai simply smiled.
Then a thought struck him, one of those thoughts that come when you are bored, naughty and completely unconcerned about the consequences.
He looked around. Kunikida was distracted, shouting at Tanizaki. The coast was clear.
"Hey, Chuuya," said the man.
Chuuya, still standing near Dazai's neck, narrowed his eyes. "What?"
Dazai's smile widened. "Ever wonder what it would be like to be inside my mouth?"
Chuuya froze. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
“I mean,” Dazai continued, his voice suddenly melodious and mock-melodious, scooping the borrower up in one hand. “you’re pretty small. Portable. Convenient. I could just…”
And before Chuuya could jump, run, or curse him, Dazai opened his mouth.
It wasn't a serious threat, obviously. Just enough to stick out his tongue, maybe scare the little one...
But Chuuya stumbled.
And landed right in that tongue that was waiting.
There was a moment of stillness. A heartbeat. Two.
Dazai blinked.
Chuuya spluttered, thrashing about on the wet surface, his small fists pounding into the warm muscle beneath him.
”DAZAI! LET ME OUT!”
Dazai closed his mouth.
It wasn't his intention. But, oh, now this has gone from provocative to irresistible. The taste of his boyfriend—slightly powdery, like the inside of his tiny coat and the cinnamon soap he used—tickled his tongue.
“Mmm,” Dazai hummed around her, his voice vibrating softly.
Chuuya yelled and braced himself as Dazai threw his head back slightly. "Don't even think about it!" he yelled, muffled up.
But Dazai, his eyes narrowed, swallowed slowly and mischievously.
And Chuuya started to slide.
The movement was careful: a gentle tug of tongue and throat, a small, writhing figure pushed back by the movement of muscle and air. Dazai's fingers ran over his neck as he felt Chuuya's small body form a slight bulge in his throat, slowly sliding under his skin like a wriggling pill. It was light. Warm. A strange pressure that made Dazai's shoulders tremble.
Then it disappeared. The lump disappeared under his collarbone.
Dazai sat there, stunned.
A small and a very slight shudder was felt just below his chest. He could feel it, just behind his ribs. Chuuya.
He was inside.
Alive, perfectly safe, although extremely angry.
“Oh my god,” Dazai whispered, gently placing a hand over his stomach. “I really did.”
A dull thud was heard from inside, as if Chuuya had just kicked the stomach lining.
“YOU...! I SWEAR TO GOD, DAZAI!”
He grimaced, then chuckled. "Hey, calm down. I just wanted to try."
“¡LET ME OUT! ”
“You’re warm,” Dazai murmured aloud, tapping his chest as if knocking on a door. “And you’re squirming… Like a spicy jelly bean.”
Chuuya shouted something unprintable from inside his head.
Dazai laughed so hard he almost doubled over.
—
Ten minutes later, after some careful maneuvering and gentle coaxing, Dazai leaned over a cup and opened his mouth, letting Chuuya crawl out, soaked and furious.
He stood on the table, soaked, his fists shaking at his sides.
"I hate you."
Dazai handed him a napkin, trying not to laugh. "Come on, Chuuya. You have to admit, it was amazing."
“¡You swallowed me!”
“I brought you back,” Dazai said happily. “Save and sound!”
Chuuya snorted. "You're the worst boyfriend in the world."
Dazai leaned in and rested his chin on the table beside him. "And yet... you're still dating me."
Chuuya blushed and turned sharply, pointing a soaked finger. "I'm only staying because if I leave, you'll probably die trying to tie your shoelaces!"
“Ah~ So you do care .”
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH."
Still smiling, Dazai reached out and carefully took the little borrower in his palm. Chuuya squirmed, but didn't jump away. That was a victory in itself.
Dazai pulled him closer and kissed the top of his head, ignoring the small comment of indignation.
"I love you, you know that," he said softly.
Chuuya stood still.
“Yeah,” he murmured, reluctantly snuggling into the safety of Dazai’s hand. “I know. Just warn me next time before you make me into food.”
"I don't promise anything," Dazai whispered with a smile.
"Uncle Buck-" Jee says and Buck looks down at her lap, but she wasn't looking up at him, instead her finger was pointed to the page of her storybook where a beautiful woman was laying amongst a field of flowers.
"I don't know bunny," Buck says amused. "I don't think I can fit in that dress."
"No that's you," Jee insists and she looks up at Buck then. "You but diff- differ-"
"Different?" Buck prompts and Jee nods her head smiling.
"You think I'm Beauty? And not the Beast?" Buck asks, curious now and Jee nods her head and she turns the page.
The beast in this storybook is massive. A tall creature that stands on it's hind legs. His paws are large, ending in wicked looking claws and his teeth are just as sharp. He's terrifying at first glance, but Buck has read this book with Jee before and he knows that the terrifying expression on the Beast's face softens as he finds love with Beauty.
His blue eyes, the same color as twilight, seem to shine when he looks at Beauty.
He should have wings. Buck thinks as his finger traces the illustration. It's wrong somehow, but Buck has never thought that before. The features are different, the color of his fur should be darker-
Buck shakes away the suddenly strange thoughts and Jee turns the page again.
"I've never been Beauty before?" Buck asks. In the dozens of times they've read this fairytale, Buck has been many things in their world of pretend. Dragons and Princes and Knights. He's even been Alice and everytime Jee-Yun has laughed and gone with their make believe.
She sounds so serious now.
Buck wants to ask know, he wants to know who the Beast could be - when Chimney comes in, a grim look on his face.
"Sorry Buck," Chim says as he comes into the room, wiping the grease from his forehead with a frown. "You need more than just my knowledge for the jeep. You need a proffesional."
Buck sighs, letting his head fall ontop of Jee's which makes her giggle and tell Buck that he had a heavy head. It was a little bit of a balm to the dissapointment he had in Chim not being able to get her to start.
"Is there even a mechanic in Storybrooke?" Buck asks. He's had his Jeep for years, and he's never needed help with it before, Buck can't even think of the last time he needed an oil change.
"There's one on the outskirts of town, right next to the lake. It's called Harbor," Chimney says. "Guy who runs it, he doesn't really come into town that much."
"You know him?" Buck asks and Chimney's brows furrow his gaze going distant for a moment-
"I've seen him in town," Chimney says finally, his voice more monotone then before, almost rehearsed.
Buck has a moment of thinking it strange-
"I think your jeep has enough life in her to make it out that way," Chimney explains as he goes to the kitchen to clean up. Buck kisses Jee's head before setting her down on the couch by herself and goes to follow his brother in law.
"Do you want us to come with?" Chimney asks and Buck shakes his head.
"Nah," He smiles. "Jee missed her Dad, you to should snuggle up with her," Buck suggests with a grin. "Maybe watch a movie with her."
"Yeah," Chimney says and his eyes glance over to where Jee was arranging her stuffed animals carefully by her tea set. She was quietly singing to herself in one of the many songs she would make up on the spot.
Chimney's smile turns sad and Buck follows his eyes to the picture of Maddie that hung on the wall.
Buck feels something tighten in his chest, and he reaches out and puts an arm around Chimney, hugging him close.
They don't talk about Maddie outside of telling Jee about her memory.
"Get out of here before Jee asks you to stay," Chimney jokes, pushing playfully at Buck. "I don't want to lose my snuggle bunny for the night."
Buck goes to say his goodbyes, giving Jee an extra big hug and promising to see her soon.
The drive there is miserable. The jeep sputters and groans on the way there and Buck repeatedly pets the dashboard and begs it to make it just a little bit further.
It's not a long drive, Storybrooke is a small town, but it's the furthest he had to drive in -
He can't remember how long.
The shop itself is unassuming, more of a large garage connected to a small house than anything else. Next to it is a small junkyard, filled with rusting cars, broken appliances and a small biplane that surprises Buck to see. He doesn't remember ever seeing a plane fly over Storybrooke.
Shaking his head away from the strange thought, Buck moves to go into the shop.
There's a thick metal door up front, and Buck would think it looked unwelcoming if it werent for the crooked open sign. He pushes at it, and the hinges move smoothly despite the weight. It's well taken care of.
Despite how the outside looks, the inside feels more welcoming. There's a small couch next to a desk that sits at the corner of the garage. The couch is well loved but clean, and Buck can imagine sitting comfortably in it, maybe even reading from one of the many books that are crammed into the book case next to the couch.
A sign says to ring the bell for service and Buck does so, tapping it three times.
He rocks on his heels, turning to look at the shelf with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, pulling the fabric in front of him.
Buck reaches out again and taps the bell.
"I heard you," A gruff voice says and Buck turns to look at the owner of the voice.
He's a tall man, as tall as Buck is himself and broad.
The man steps from the shadows, and Buck's eyes widen.
There are scars on the man's face that span further down, hidden by the collar of the man's jumper. One of them pulls at his mouth, making it look like he was frowning.
Hello fellow Kayla 🫶🏻 for Thedas Weekend: would love to see your take on Kione de Riva/Lucanis with "Cereal is soup." from the three words prompt list!
Hi fellow Kayla!! Thank you for letting me continue the thread of Kione being an absolute goblin in the kitchen, much to Lucanis' chagrin. For @caughtnyact and @thedasweekend.
Kione had a blanket thrown about her shoulders as she rummaged through different parts of the kitchen for food. She'd been sick for two days, and was finally feeling well enough to scrounge for her own food. After grabbing a container of cereal and milk, she was working on pouring herself a bowl when Lucanis appeared.
"Rook. I thought you were told to stick to soup for a bit longer. Build your strength up." He chided, crossing over and kissing the top of her head.
"I was." She continued to pour out cereal, trying to determine how much she wanted.
"That is cereal."
"...Cereal is soup."
"...No."
"Oh? And why not? It's a bunch of things in liquid that causes a change in said things. Isn't that what a soup is?"
"No, Rook!" His voice pitched up in a way she knows only happens when he's surprised and incredulous. "That is not what soup is! Soup is hot, you boil things in a broth to make soup!"
"We had gazpacho two weeks ago in Treviso! A cold soup with raw vegetables in it! At no point is anything boiled or cooked in a broth." Kione reached for the bottle of milk and started to pour. "If that's soup, then certainly cereal and milk are."
"I am certain the reason you were told to eat only soup was so that it would be easier on your throat."
"And I am grateful for the delicious things you, Bels, and shockingly Harding have been cooking. But if I don't have something somewhat sweet soon, I am going to loose my mind."
"I could have made you something sweet, like hot chocolate."
"I just...wanted to be out of bed for a little bit." She finishes with the milk and goes to start putting things away, but Lucanis quickly whisks both containers out of her hands. "Hey!"
"Sit. You'll exhaust yourself." Lucanis walked away to return things to the pantry, and with a grumble she obeyed.
"Really, Lucanis. I'm feeling a lot better." Despite her protests, Kione grabbed her bowl and crossed to one of the couches in the kitchen. "I'll take a little break while I eat and then head back to my room to rest some more. Promise."
Lucanis shook his head as he crossed to sit next to her. He opened out one of his arms, encouraging her to curl against him, which she happily did. "I know you tired of confinement. But the sooner you are back on your feet, the sooner you are back to your typical activities."
"Like bothering you in the kitchen?"
"Clearly you manage to do that regardless of your health."
Kione chuckled, taking a few bites. "I'll be honest, I'm also so happy to be eating something cold."
He ran his fingers through her hair, secretly trying to check for a temperature. "I am sure. Harding is quite the taskmaster when one is sick, we have learned."
"Whatever recipe she got from her mother for soup when sick was incredible, but only when hot. Once it started to cool...yikes."
She continued to nibble on her bowl of cereal, conversation passing easily between them. At one point, she stopped responding to his questions and Lucanis looked down to see her asleep, mostly-eaten bowl of cereal balacing on her lap. He smiled warmly down at her, pressing a kiss to her temple before manuvering her so he could carry her while holding the bowl in the hand under her knees. Once it was with a few other dirty dishes that needed to be done he left the kitchen for her rooms.
"Hey Lucanis--what was Rook doing out of bed?" Harding's careful to keep her voice low as she spots him.
"Looking for a snack."
"I thought we told her to stick to soup until tomorrow?"
"Her argument was that cereal is soup." Lucanis shuddered at recalling the notion; his unease only grew when Harding looked to be seriously considering the statement.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 5/14
Fandom: Agatha All Along (TV)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Relationships: Agatha Harkness/Rio Vidal, Agatha Harkness & Rio Vidal
Characters: Agatha Harkness, Rio Vidal, Nicholas Scratch (Marvel)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Summary:
Agatha is a well-respected detective in the town of Westview, Rio was a stay at home mom before the loss of their son. The two women navigate their grief and try to continue on with their lives that have been changed forever.
I apologize for taking such a long hiatus. I didn't feel right to update this due to the subject matter it deals with. I should be posting consistently from now on! 🥰
title: For Forgiveness, Preheat Oven to 200 Celsius
fandom: Bridgerton
pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Penelope Featherington
rating: mature
teaser:
A year after an unfortunate incident at a Christmas party tore them apart, Colin and Penelope are faced with two questions.
1. Can you heal two broken hearts in one day?
2. Failing that, how many desserts can you make while avoiding talking about your feelings?
[read more on ao3]
Hi y'all! This fic was written for @rottentiger-art for the Polinsanity Secret Santa gift exchange. I was thrilled to write this blend of angst and emotion and second chances, and I hope everyone else enjoys it too.
