vkc shipping month

Please read our Rules and FAQ. Welcome and have fun!

[chevaroi]

hum I published this with one exact month of delay and am now posting this even later but ANYWAYS I got to write something for the vkcshippingmonth, so figured I’s post in here too. The name’s satura lanx and it’s a drabble dump for vkc month, because time is a lie so this fic is still ongoing

AO3 LINK

[hinaiyano]

Day 30

Free day

Robehira

Milkshake date! I’ve had lots of fun during this whole shipping month even if I couldn’t do all days ^^) it made me experiment a little bit more in a couple of stuff~ I also loved everyone works for this month!!

@vkcshippingmonth

[foliefolio]

29th Day: Hope

Hiraga’s vision is beginning to swim, darkness and white-hot creeping in at the edges. But Roberto’s breath is warm upon his ear. He cannot give up just yet. Not while both their hearts beat still.

The weight of Roberto on his shoulders and his back is considerable. Hiraga’s muscles burn with the effort of remaining upright; each step, his legs are heavy as lead. The blood trickling from Roberto’s hair has grown tacky, and it seals his temple to Hiraga’s.

It can’t be much further now. The main stairwell of the manor is impassable, the stairs having collapsed during the initial explosion. If there were time, he could find a way to lower Roberto and follow him after. Hiraga does not think there is time. Or rather, it is not a risk he is free to take.

There ought to be an emergency exit. Yes, in a manor so large, there’s bound to be another egress– Hiraga eases Roberto’s limp form more securely onto his shoulders– and pushes on.

[foliefolio]

28th Day: Altar

So Roberto kisses him. Hiraga may be bound in place, but his surprise courses through his entire body. Roberto can feel the way he stiffens, for half an instant– before he sighs, yielding to the attentions of Roberto’s lips.

The streak of blood along his breastbone from Julia’s initial incision is still tacky, Roberto can feel it through the thin fabric of his undershirt. Can feel the softness of Hiraga’s costume, how sheer it is. Can feel the heat of his skin, his flesh and bone.

“Roberto,” Hiraga breathes. He strains to push up against Roberto. His arms jerk as if seeking to gather him close; they meet with the resistance of the rope.

Ah, yes, the rope–

“Hold on.” Roberto relinquishes his claim, though it aches his heart to do so. That Hiraga is alive and well in spite of everything is a miracle in itself. But Hiraga is better served than by his selfish impulses. “Let me find something to cut you free.”

He finds Julia’s forgotten dagger and works it through the ropes holding Hiraga’s ankles spread. And then his wrists. No sooner has he completed his task than do Hiraga’s hands seize hold of his shirt and pull him down.

Roberto will concede that it has, after all, been a very long night.

[foliefolio]

26th Day: Sword/Shield

Roberto is the quickest to action: he has an arm over Hiraga’s shoulders and ducks him out of the way of the knife. And the assailant hasn’t half a moment to recover before Josef has his sleeve secured in one hand and a stun gun humming between his ribs.

The assailant spasms once. Twice. It’s just as well that Josef gives him another little tap. To be on the safe side. He lets the now-senseless figure stagger to the ground and to stillness.

“Heavens,” Hiraga breathes. His hands are clasped on Roberto’s arm as if he could vault over it and into the fray. He must have made a good go of it, for Roberto is seeming haggard for all his efforts.

Josef tucks the stun gun away so he can kneel down for a better look at their friend. Hooded. Masked. Absolutely ridiculous, it’d be more of a wonder if they hadn’t noticed the fellow tailing them.

“The police–” Roberto begins. “We should–” Josef quiets him with a raised hand. How to proceed, indeed? If it’s already come to the dagger bit of all this cloak business…it does change the game plan.

“Saul.” He decides. “He’ll want to know first.”

[foliefolio]

25th Day: Frost

They fuck again in the morning, long before the sun rises. Ice crystals have gathered on the window’s long sill overnight, and Achille’s breath clouds the glass. Achille’s skin clouds the glass, too, where it makes contact, and he feels the cold all the more keenly with the heat of his lovely stranger’s body.

His companion pushes him flush to the glass, one hand twisting in his hair.

“That’s right,” his stranger sighs against his ear. “Let the world see.” He’s two fingers inside of Achille already and twisting at him within, unraveling him with a crook of his hand. Achille feels his edges fraying, peeling loose. His skin is tacky where it meets the cold. And on the other side of the window, smooth rivulets begin to form– and run.

[foliefolio]

24th Day: Smoke

Josef pauses with his hand poised at Hiraga’s jaw. His thumb is fitted beneath the soft hollow of Hiraga’s chin; his fingers curl against Hiraga’s throat. Hiraga’s eyes dart towards Roberto’s– and go wide as Josef exhales a lungful of smoke against Hiraga’s lips.

He doesn’t remember to breathe it in the first time, only trembles and lets his eyes fall shut. Josef glances towards Roberto, and with a sly wrinkle at the corner of his eye, steals a kiss. Hiraga moans. Roberto shivers. Where on earth has all this come from? Is it the wine? Has it gone to their heads?

Roberto pushes forward on his hands and his hip, the carpet rough against his bare palms. By then the moment has passed, and Josef is tapping off his ashes in a little glass dish. And Hiraga is lying with his head back against the sofa’s seat cushions, breath coming unsteady.

“One more time,” Josef says. “I know you’re a quicker study than that.” He too shifts closer to Hiraga. “Now, once again, Father Hiraga. If you’ll look at me–”

[foliefolio]

23rd Day: Pen

Oh!

Before Elena can grab it, a fragile hand closes around the pen. The skinny woman kneeling beside the signing table is looking straight at her.

It’s a little unnerving, actually: the young lady has such piercing eyes. Wide. Grey. Against her dark hair and dark lipstick, her skin seems unnaturally pale.

“Your pen,” she says, holding it out. Elena is– oh, she’s staring, isn’t she. How embarrassing, the woman must think her rude already.

“Thank you,” she says, accepting the pen. She offers the woman a smile and a hand for her book. “I’m sorry for staring, you’ve got such pretty eyes. To whom should I make the signature?”

“Fiona.” If this Fiona was offended at all, it’s hard to tell. Her focus is on the open cover, intent as before. It’s as if she doesn’t know how to shut the expression off, how fascinating. “I loved your first book. With the poisoner. It’s good you’ve gone back to writing mysteries, you get the mentality right. Nobody really seems to get the mentality right.”

Elena’s gotten pretty handy at the listening while signing thing, it’s something of a necessity. She nods along, it’s important to show you hear your readers–

“Oh? Are you law enforcement?”

The peculiar, pretty woman rocks back on her heels and forth. Back, and forth.

“Mm. Something like that, something like that.”

[foliefolio]

22nd Day: Youth

They’re not being as quiet as they’d like to think they are. Mario gets a penlight out so he actually can see the screws of the duct before he starts working on his egress. And outside the compound, far away on their side of the connection, Carlos and Sebastian keep whispering.

“Be that as it may, you can’t put bacon into a waffle with nearly half the efficacy.” Ah, yes, the arguments of potential. One of Carlos’ favorite to employ. Confident and dogmatic, and utterly wasted on Sebastian’s quiet resignation. “Sounds short-sighted to me.”

They are going to be caught, and they are going to be killed. And then Father McGee will have been right about every time he called them too reckless for the good missions. Honestly, there’s nothing worse than Father McGee being right.

Mario may not be there with them to confirm, but he can see in his mind the furrowing of Sebastian’s brow.

“I just like waffles more. If I want bacon, I’ll just make bacon or something, breakfast doesn’t have to be optimized.”

“Hey, Mario.” Carlos’ voice is very suddenly very clear in his ear. “Bacon in pancakes, what say ye?”

“Kind of busy here,” Mario replies. The vent screws are extremely stubborn. “But I don’t…” Stubborn, and small. “…don’t think I’ve tried either. If you must know.”

“Oh.” Sebastian has learned to accept these things quietly. No band posters, few movies, little television. Some things must be: Sebastian’s home, Carlos’ independence. Some truths are just too fragile to touch. Mario grips a bit of the grating on the vent and gives the cover a tentative wiggle.

“Shit.” Carlos, folding strategically, since all men may grow. “Victory dinner’s on me, I guess. Hope you guys brought a change of clothes, I know I saw a Pancake Shack off the highway.”

[foliefolio]

21st Day: 5 seconds longer

The ringing of the bell rips down the length of his heart like a seam, and Roberto turns to see the clock on the tower strike one.

“Well, go on, then.” Josef closes the book. Roberto turns, and finds Josef’s hands resting on the cover. Josef smiles, but there’s something about the way his brows crease that renders the expression unfamiliar. “Don’t want you to be late.”

Roberto opens his mouth to argue this. It doesn’t matter. None of this matters. It’s so stupid and pointless, and Josef just wants him to…to keep pretending it isn’t. It’s impossible.

Roberto can’t find his voice. Once again, he’s afraid and it hurts and the words are gone.

“Tomorrow,” Josef promises him. “I’ll be here.”

[foliefolio]

20th Day: 5 cm closer

“Any nearer, and you would have bled out in minutes.” It isn’t his best when he lets the bloody fragment of obsidian clatter hard into the petri dish. There is a minute movement through all of Roberto’s muscles, an instinctual recoil from the sound. He’s lucky Julia nicked the bone; Roberto has been saved by his own ribs. Though he’ll be sporting a dashing dent.

Hiraga turns his back to him as he prepares a syringe. He’s read about this. He thinks it should be alright.

Roberto hasn’t even the presence of mind to look when Hiraga begins to irrigate the wound. He lies with his hand splayed about the lip of the incision, breath faint but even. It shouldn’t take much, just enough to rinse out any remaining foreign matter.

That dagger had been meant for him. It ought to be him on the cold table, delirious with pain.

“I’m angry with you,” Hiraga concedes, patting down the runoff on Roberto’s belly. Roberto winces, even the gentlest pressure is too much. By the time Hiraga has begun to suture the wound, senselessness has claimed him.

Hiraga sets down his needle and forceps in the tray beside the dish. Scarlet blood flecks the surface of the tray, pools in the valleys of the stone. Obsidian is a beautiful thing, it would have almost been quite pretty. Roberto will tell him to dispose of it.

He will do no such thing.

[hinaiyano]

Day 21

5 seconds longer

Robehira

@vkcshippingmonth

[rukkilill]

Fandom: バチカン奇跡調査官 | Vatican Kiseki Chousakan | Vatican Miracle Examiner (Anime) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hiraga Josef Kou/Lauren Di Luca/Roberto Nicholas Additional Tags: vkc shipping month, Sexual Fantasy, Straitjacket Sex Summary: This is not what Lauren had in mind as far as fantasies go, but his brain has other ideas.

Decided to clean up this one and post it for @vkcshippingmonth :D! Loosely fits prompt for Day 21: “Five seconds longer”

[foliefolio]

17th Day: Disney

“You know. Like. Snow White.” Sebastian gestures, not that it’s really all that helpful. About as helpful as Carlos choking on his sandwich, spraying little bits of turkey and pesto all over the picnic blanket.

Mario tilts his head in complete non-comprehension. How.

“No,” he says. “I’m really lost.” The fawn keeps on nuzzling his shoulder, eyelashes fluttering calmly. Sparrows cheep entreatingly on his knee. It could be his charms. It could be the chips.

“I can’t,” Carlos wheezes. “Holy shit. You’re killing me. Oh my god. I’ve got to get this on camera.”

“Okay, right. Whatever.” Sebastian shakes his head. Jesus. Guess they’re just going to have a movie night. “We’ll explain it when we get back. Anyway, you said you wanted to sing some more?”

[foliefolio]

16th Day: Hurt

Julia has already fled by the time Roberto finds the room in which Hiraga has been imprisoned. And he must have known this would happen, for he’s left behind a little vellum card with the ink inscription:

I call it: The Martyrdom of Kou Josef Hiraga All my love, Julia

Oh, God. The prayers stream from his lips as he fumbles the lock open.

The chamber is dim, and it is a moment before Roberto’s eyes adjust. There are candles, certainly. There are many, many candles. Lining a path to the door. Blooming at the root of the darkened window on the far side of the room. Layered along the altar and throne.

The throne where Hiraga sits.

No, not sits. For Hiraga’s head lolls lifelessly; when Roberto hastens to his side, he finds that Hiraga is breathing, but only with some effort. It comes ragged, as if he is in pain. Gone are the robes of his office, replaced by a diaphanous cloth as delicate as spider-silk, and blue as the Holy Mother. Golden embroidery glitters in the flickering light. Hiraga’s right hand has been secured into the sign of the Hand of Benediction, his wrist and fingers held in place by coarse twine.

Rosaries drip from his throat and elbows, gold, and rubies, and pearls. A pectoral in the shape of the sacred heart rests upon Hiraga’s stark breastbone; golden spears pierce through it at every angle. The sharp backing has ruptured the skin. Perhaps it is to match his crown, a halo of slim gold spires affixed to the back of his head. Hiraga’s left hand is secured to a scepter by a garland of thorns. Rosettes of dried blood line his forearm.

Oh, God. Roberto rummages behind Hiraga to find the supports. There must be more twine holding him upright. If he can just– find the threads and undo them–

Hiraga mumbles something faint, his tongue heavy with sedatives. The firelight flickers. And Roberto prays.

[foliefolio]

15th Day: Free ride

Bill finds the guy collapsed on the side of the highway, bloodied and dehydrated and packing a small armory’s worth of weapons. But he’s breathing. Anywhere Bill puts his hands to get a good grip, he hits a sheath or a clip or something. He ends up having to do a little disarming just to comfortably heave him into the backseat. Easier said than done, guy’s solid muscle, too.

It’s a few exits before the man in the backseat starts showing any other signs of life. He’s cursing up a storm, and Bill tends to think anyone who’s got that kind of spark in them’s gonna make it.

“We’re still miles from the nearest hospital,” Bill tells him. He sneaks a look in the rearview mirror. If the highway man has tried to sit up at all, he’s definitely given up now. He’s staying put instead, one arm collapsed uselessly on his chest, the other dangling over the edge of the seat. His miniature armory’s just out of reach.

“No hospitals.”

“You’re messed up pretty bad,” Bill says, stealing one more look before he has to concentrate on the road. “Seriously, you should–”

“I’ve got a motel room off the interstate. You. Want to do me a real favor…” The man in the back winces as a bump in the road rattles his frame. “Favor. Exit 14. And no hospitals.”

[chvvva]

Promenade - Day 18th: Galdoune

Read on AO3 

Julia/President (under a read more due to possibly triggering content, underage, galdoune fuckery and general ickiness) 

At exactly fifteen years old, Number Six only had eyes for himself and one other man, most often reflected in the mirror of his thoughts.

He also had a terrifying, paralyzing sensation.

Keep reading