a day late but it’s Modern AU and Family Drama (sorta) for @zukkaweek !!!

sokka brings zuko home to meet the family, forgetting they’re the most embarrassing people ever

[image ID: bato, hakoda, sokka, zuko, and katara stand behind a countertop or table with food on it, as though they were prepping food. they are all in modern attire. bato says, “remember when sokka interrupted our meeting with the elders to ask if he “wiped good?” hakoda says, “and when he hid all the dirty laundry under katara’s bed and said he’d done it?” sokka, grimacing and blushing with his face in his hand, says to zuko “PLEASE don’t listen to them.” his hand is on zuko’s shoulder. katara is standing with her arms crossed and a smirk, with a little “heh.” zuko, lastly, asks sokka “but DID you wipe good?” / end ID]

owl always love you

Wordcount: 2000

Notes & Warnings:  It has been far too long since I shared any of my fiction with you, hasn’t it?  Well, how about five unhappy memories of Valentines past, and one that went perfectly to plan (... or did it?)

As for warnings, there is no sex at all, but there is an unfortunate accident, and a hint of murder. Hmm, I must be going soft in my old age ... 

Five unhappy memories ...

1.

Charlie is four.

Today feels like a very special day.  There were flowers and a card on the kitchen table this morning, and no arguments over breakfast.  It was almost like last night’s fight didn’t happen.

At preschool, the classroom has been decorated with red and pink hearts because it’s Valentine’s Day. The teacher reads the class a picture book about an owl who was looking for love, and then they all do a craft based on the story.  The teacher has drawn the owl’s face and body on card for everyone, but they have to color it in and try to write a message on the owl’s tummy.  Charlie writes “Owl always love you Mommy” in purple crayon – his mother’s favorite color.

The next part of the craft is very hard.  They have to trace the outline of their hands onto card, color it in, and then cut it out. They stick the hands onto the owl with glue, and fold them over, and it looks kind of like wings.  Charlie is very proud of himself, because he did it without any help, and unlike the boy who sits next to him, he didn’t try to eat any of the glue.

At going home time, he presents the card to his mother.  She glances at it, and puts it in her handbag.

“Do you like it, Mommy?” Charlie asks, but she doesn’t say anything.  Maybe she didn’t hear him.

The next morning, he finds it in the trash.  

Oh.

Well, it wasn’t very good, he realizes.  His coloring wasn’t neat enough, and one of the thumbs was missing because of a mishap he had when he was cutting it out.  Maybe if he’d tried harder, she would have liked it.

Maybe if he tries harder, she’ll like him ...

2.

Charlie is eight.  

Valentine’s Day has been the main topic of conversation on the playground ever since the beginning of February. It’s not like anybody ever talks to Charlie, but there are some advantages to being invisible.  He hears everything.  He knows exactly who is getting a Valentine, and – most crucially – who isn’t.

On the night of February thirteenth, he stays up very late.  It isn’t like anyone is checking what time he goes to bed anyway, so he pulls together the materials he’s “borrowed” from his teacher over the past few days, and works until the early hours of the morning.

The next day, everyone in the class has at least one little handmade card on their desk by the end of the day.  

… except Charlie.

And that’s one of the disadvantages of being invisible.

Nobody knows he exists ...

3.

Charlie is thirteen.

According to his research, it is puberty that has turned the majority of his classmates into mindless, giggling idiots.  Thankfully, he seems to be immune to this plague, and the hours he spends staring at the long, golden hair of the girl who sits in front of him in class is perfectly normal, thank you very much.

Melissa is the prettiest girl in the class by far.  Charlie thinks she looks just like an elven queen ... if Galadriel had a Midwestern accent and a mother who was the head of the PTA.  She is also constantly accompanied by a group of four uglier girls, who all stare at Charlie as he makes his approach, the poem he wrote for her clutched in a hand that seems to be permanently sweaty these days.

She accepts the token of his affection with the carelessness of one who is accustomed to such things, and doesn’t even say thank you.  At lunchtime, Charlie overhears her reading excerpts of it to her gaggle of friends.  She tosses her lovely, blonde hair back, and laughs scornfully, before tearing it up into tiny pieces and leaving it on her lunch tray for the cafeteria staff to clear away.  

And suddenly, Charlie realizes how ugly she is.

At the end of February, poor Melissa has a terrible accident.  One of the teachers finds her unconscious at the bottom of the stairwell hours after school has finished for the day.  She must have tripped and fallen down the stairs somehow.

She makes a full recovery, but she never remembers what happened that day ...

4.

Charlie is seventeen.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to the dance?” asks cousin Pat from where he’s leaning in the doorway of Charlie’s bedroom.  He’s dressed to impress, and Charlie can smell the terrible cologne he’s wearing from all the way on the other side of the room.  “I can wait for you to get changed, I don’t mind.”

“I’m too busy,” says Charlie, staring up at the ceiling.  Soon, it will be time for him to turn over and stare at the wall.  “And I don’t like parties.”

“I don’t like parties either,” Pat reminds him, fidgeting with the cuffs of his blue button-down.  “But you’ll never meet someone special if you don’t leave your room.”

Charlie responds by making a noise like someone being sick, and turns over to show Pat his back.  “Bye.  Have fun at the shitty Valentine’s dance.”  He can feel his cousin’s gaze on the back of his head – can picture the annoying look of concern on his face – but he doesn’t move or say anything, and finally he hears the door close, and then Pat’s footsteps lumbering down the stairs.

Fuck Valentine’s Day, Charlie thinks.  Fuck parties, and fuck ever finding someone special.

5.

Charlie is 27.

This might be his first ever Valentine’s Day in a relationship, but he’s done his research into What Women Want, and blown a small fortune on trying to make the day special.  A hundred red roses, delivered to Nicole on set.  Reservations at the hottest restaurant in town.  A pair of Chanel earrings, so expensive he actually choked on his own saliva when they told him the price, and had to be brought a glass of water to help him recover.

At the restaurant, Nicole opens the earrings, and stares at them for a long time.  Her expression is completely unreadable, which is usually the case with her.  They have been dating for two and a half months, and with every day that passes, Charlie feels like he knows less about her, which should surely be impossible.

“Don’t you like them?” Charlie asks, after the silence has gone on for so long that even the people at the next table have glanced over to see what’s going on. 

Nicole closes the lid of the box with a snap, and looks up at him.  “So you aren’t going to propose to me, then?”

Charlie blinks.  “I – Wait, what?”

And then it all goes south very quickly from there.

The next day, there’s a blind item online about it:

Which C-list celebrity currently filming a procedural drama in New York was seen arguing with an unknown male at a local celeb hotspot last night?  With a string of broken engagements already behind her, it looks like this feisty young starlet is single once more after dousing her hapless companion in Veuve Clicquot!

Unknown? Hapless?  How rude!

He complains at length about the injustice of it all to the cocktail waitress he brought home last night, after he had sloped off to a bar to drown his sorrows and soothe the burn of his humiliation.  Naturally, she has nothing to add to the conversation – having passed away six hours or so ago – but he appreciates her presence nevertheless.  So much so that before he prepares her for disposal, he takes out her fake diamond earrings, and replaces them with the Chanel ones.

“I know I’m a day late,” he tells her.  “But … happy Valentine’s Day.”

It’s the thought that counts, anyway ...

And then ...

Charlie is 37.

He is awakened at 5:30 a.m. on Valentine’s Day morning by his son barging in to the master bedroom.  Without saying anything, Henry climbs onto the bed next to him, and falls asleep almost instantly.  Charlie throws an arm over him, in the hopes of stopping him from tossing and turning like he often does.

Behind him, there’s a rustle of sheets  “What’s happening?” Kitten asks, her voice thick with sleep.

“We have our usual Sunday morning visitor,” Charlie mumbles. “It’s still early, go back to sleep.”

A leg hooks over his, an arm curls around his middle, and Kitten lets out a happy sigh before falling asleep again.

Charlie closes his eyes, but it barely seems like a moment has passed before he’s being shaken awake by a very excited Henry.  “Dad.  DAD! Can we give Britt the card now?”

The digital display on the clock says eight, still an ungodly hour to be awake on a Sunday, but when Charlie rolls over, Kitten is already sitting up against the headboard, with her phone out.  “A card?” she says, feigning surprise, as though she wasn’t banned from the kitchen for four hours the previous day, and hadn’t noticed the layer of glitter Henry was covered in when he emerged, which necessitated a dreaded bath.

“If we must,” grumbles Charlie, astonished at the speed with which Henry scrambles out of bed and sprints out of the room.  He thunders downstairs, in search of the spot where they left their work of art to dry out after its completion.

Charlie rolls over onto his back, and stares up at Kitten.  “Remember last year, when we stayed in bed all day?” he asks, mournfully.  “That was the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.”

“Mm, same.”  Kitten leans down to kiss him, probably intending it to be just a peck on the lips.  But Charlie wraps his hand around the back of her head to keep her there, deepening the kiss until a gagging sound from the doorway interrupts them and they break apart to find Henry watching them from the doorway, looking slightly green.

“You guys are gross!” he scolds them, in a tone not dissimilar to Sandra when she is upset about something.  

Charlie sits up, and scowls. “That’s not in keeping with the spirit of the day.”

“The spirit of the day is chocolate,” says Henry, approaching Kitten’s side of the bed, with one hand behind his back.  “Ta-daaaaa!” he shouts, and pulls out the card, waving it in her face.  A hefty sprinkle of glitter falls on the sheets, and Charlie winces.

“This looks very impressive,” says Kitten, glancing sideways at Charlie to check his reaction to the glitter, and stifling a smile.  “Can I take a closer look?”

On closer inspection, the card is very large, and is a rather well-drawn and extremely glittery looking owl which looks to be a combination of about three different species.  Its wings – which look suspiciously like the outline of Charlie’s hands – are wrapped around itself.

“Open it, open it,” says Henry, climbing onto the bed, and bouncing slightly, causing more glitter to be dislodged.

When Kitten carefully opens the wings, she finds another, smaller pair of hand-shaped wings underneath.  “Yours?” she asks Henry, who nods vigorously.  When she opens those, there is a ridiculously tiny pair of hands underneath. One has been colored blue, and the other pink.  

“Little B,” says Henry.  “We looked up online how small their hands would be.  I drew them, and Dad cut them out.  He said we should do one hand in each color since we don’t know whether Little b is a boy or a girl yet.  And wait, there’s a message.  Read the message!”

“Owl always love you,” Kitten reads, her voice trembling slightly.  “From Charlie, Henry and Little B. Oh Henry, thank you!  The owl, the hands, the sweet message.  It’s perfect!”

She pulls Henry into a hug, which he tolerates for a moment or two before asking, “Can I go watch cartoons now?” with all the tact typical of an eight year-old boy.

“It was all Henry’s idea, of course,” says Charlie, once the young man in question has bounced out of the room.  He tries to brush some of the glitter off the bed, and succeeds only in getting it stuck all over his hand.  “I was but an unwitting accomplice to this madness.”

“Is that so?” asks Kitten, with a smile.  She sets the card on the nightstand so she can see it, and curls against Charlie, who wraps an arm around her shoulder, and rests his other hand on her stomach.  “You know, it reminds me of this book I read when I was little. About an owl who was searching for love.  It was a really cute story.”

“Never heard of it,” says Charlie, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  “But it sounds like a real hoot.”

“Oh god, not the owl puns.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” says Charlie, but somehow he finds himself lapsing into silence instead of releasing the string of dreadful jokes that are on the tip of his tongue.  “Do you -” he begins, and then sighs, and runs his hand through his hair, inadvertently spreading multi-colored glitter quite liberally through it.  He chews on the inside of his cheek before continuing.  “Do you really like it?”

Is it good enough?

Am I trying hard enough?

Do you like me?

A gentle hand against his cheek brings him back to the present.  “I don’t just like it, I love it,” Kitten reassures him.  “And I love you very much, too.  I know it’s a little rough at the moment with me working from home, but I’m still feeling very lucky.  Who would have thought six months ago that we would be here?  We’ve come so far, Charlie.  I’m so proud of us.  I’m so proud of you.  Especially now you’re back in therapy again.”

Charlie holds her a little more tightly, and she tucks her head under his chin and settles her hand on his chest, over his heart, which is beating too quickly for his liking.  “I’m trying, my love,” he says softly, taking slow, deep breaths to try to control the speed of his heart.  “I never want to let you down again ...”

He closes his eyes, breathes in Kitten’s familiar, comforting scent, and tells himself that he’s just holding her, not clinging to her.  I’m okay, he tells himself, over and over again.  We’re okay.

I just have to try harder, and it will all be okay ...

☁ Drifting Away (Giotto) #05

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Previous

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☁ Lost ✗ Byakudera ✗ Worry ☁

“Ahh, there you are!” Asari smiled as he approached you. “I’ve been looking for you, Y/N.”

An hour or so had passed since you left the garden and you had wandered back into the house. Currently, you were standing against the railing of the staircase, looking up at the paintings that hung on the walls. “What’s up?” you questioned as he came to a stop in front of you.

“Alaude is heading out for a little bit and Giotto thought it would be a good idea for you to join him,” he responded, chuckling when you raised an eyebrow. “He is waiting out front for you.”

You nodded, sending him a soft thank you before heading outside. Alaude stood next to the black metal gate, arms crossed and blue orbs closed. When he heard you approach, his eyes slid open and he took off through the gate. You followed a few feet behind him so he wouldn’t feel crowded – you knew that, like Hibari, he wasn’t fond of being too close to other people and he was probably in a bad mood since he had you tagging along against his will.

Despite the silence that followed you like a cloud, it was pretty peaceful and relaxing. The air was getting chilly as late afternoon approached, the sun hidden behind a bed of fluffy, light gray clouds. The trees rustled, their leaves, shades of browns and oranges, dancing in the wind. Autumn was just around the corner, less than a week away.

When you had re-entered the house after leaving the garden, you happened to take notice of the calendar on the wall. The date was the same as it was in your own era, the only difference being the year. You didn’t know if that could be considered a clue or not, but you had kept it in the back of your mind, just in case.

“I don’t know what you’re planning,” Alaude said suddenly, his voice low. “But you should watch what you do,” he glanced over his shoulder, face blank. “I don’t care what you plan to do, but the others won’t feel the same.”

You stopped walking, eyes wide in surprise before narrowing at his back. “It was you. You were the one in the library.”

Alaude stopped walking, turning around to face you. His expression was blank and he had an unreadable look in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, but his actions told you that you were right.

You stared at one another for a few moments before you managed to relax, your glare softening. “I know you have the whole ‘not wanting to be apart of this’ thing goin’ on, but… I’m still surprised you haven’t said anything to anyone.”

“As I said, I don’t care what you do,” he paused, turning back around. “You should be careful around Daemon Spade. Don’t get me wrong,” he glanced over his shoulder, his cold blue orbs stopping you from speaking. “I don’t care what happens to you but we would never hear the end of it from Giotto if something were to happen to you. Don’t trust Daemon Spade.”

You watched in surprise as he walked away, eyes slightly wide. Just like Hibari, he acts as if he couldn’t care less when, really, he does care. The lone cloud of Vongola… the drifting cloud that is never trapped by anyone and walks its own path, watching over others from a distance.

The corners of your lips tugged up into a smile, eyes shifting to the sky.

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After being left behind by Alaude, you had somehow managed to find yourself in the park. You didn’t know where exactly you were, how you got there, or how to get back, but you weren’t really worried about it. You had heard rumors that Italy’s streets were tough at night, but whether that was true or not was up to debate. This was the first time you had ever stepped foot in Italy so you really didn’t know what to think. And besides having Italian friends, you didn’t know anything about Italy aside from the fact that they have wonderful food.

A sigh passed your pale lips as you fell onto the cold metal bench, eyes cast towards the darkening sky. You couldn’t quite understand why, but at the moment, you felt content. It might have been because you knew who was in the library now and you also knew that he wouldn’t say anything about what he had heard. He had no benefit from it and, clearly, he didn’t see you as a threat.

You breathed in the cool air, a smile coming to your lips as you closed your eyes. Hell, it might have been the cold air that was making you feel so relaxed and calm. It always put a magic spell on you, just as it had since you were a child.

“Oi.“

The sound was so faint, you barely heard it. Summing it up to the wind or your own imagination, you kept your eyes closed and ignored it but you had an odd sensation in the back of your mind that you couldn’t quite understand.

“Dammit, woman! Don’t ignore me!“

Your eyes snapped open, scanning the area.

There was no one there. Not a single person. You shook your head and closed your eyes again, resting your hand on your forehead. “I’m losing it.”

“If only that was the case. Do you know how hard it is to get ahold of you?“

Your eyes opened once more, staring blankly at the empty bench across from you. Now, a normal person would be freaking out after hearing a voice like that when no one was around. Well, you’re not exactly normal, to begin with, but you had also been transported to the past. Nothing should surprise you at this point. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who are you, and why are you trying to get ahold of me?”

“Look to your right, behind the trees.“

Doing as the voice commanded, you glanced to the right, into the large patch of trees; it looked kind of like a mini forest. Inside, you saw a light whitish glow and you stood up, cautiously walking toward it. When you reached the source of the strange glow, you found a tall man, almost six feet tall. His hair was as white as Byakuran’s, but his hairstyle was in a similar fashion to Gokudera’s.

His voice resembled future Gokudera, the very same you had heard in your dream, and he was dressed in a black suit with an orange tie and white shirt. Fingerless gloves covered his hands, making the bright orange ring on his finger noticeable. Was that… it couldn’t be… a sky ring?

His reddish-purple eyes shifted to his ring before moving back to your face. His face stayed stoic, but his voice portrayed the annoyance he obviously felt. “Come with me. It’s too risky for us to talk in public.“

You watched as he turned around and began walking away. You hesitated for just a moment before shrugging and following after him – it was better than sitting on a park bench and doing nothing. The two of you walked for a good thirty minutes before coming to an abandoned house at the edge of town. You were surprised that it was still standing.

The wood had turned black like it had been scorched. All of the windows had been smashed and about three layers of dust covered everything. The wood of the porch squeaked under the weight like it hadn’t been walked on in years. There was no doorknob on the door, so it was easily pushed open, creaking under the strain of the hinges.

You glanced at the strange male as you entered the home. Normal thoughts would be along the lines of, “Oh my god, he’s going to kill me!”, but for some damned reason, you felt like it was safe to be around him. Reborn always told you that your intuition was pretty good, that you were a good judge of character. ‘Let’s hope he is right,’ you thought.

The man led you into the kitchen and opened a drawer underneath the sink. He pulled out a rather large knife, just a bit smaller than a butcher knife, and placed it over his ring. The knife began to glow before being engulfed in sky flames. A click made your attention turn towards the fridge. A hole, about the size of the tip of the knife, appeared by the handle. The man, who you decided to call Byakudera-chan until you got his actual name, walked over and inserted the knife into the hole. The whole fridge began to glow with the eight colors of the dying will flames before dying away. Another click and the door slowly opened.

A whistle passed your lips as you peered inside. It was a hallway, dimly lit by candles.

“Come with me,” he walked into the hallway and you followed behind. Several twists, turns, and forks later, you stopped in front of a large wooden door with the words Gardiano Famiglia sprawled across it in elegant yellow lettering, the same color as the sun flame. He pushed the door open and motioned for you to step inside.

Another whistle passed your lips when you entered. It was a cozy and welcoming living room. Two couches were in the center, facing each other; they were a light beige. In between the two was an oblong wooden table holding a black laptop. It was open, but the screen was black. The fireplace on the back wall looked like it hadn’t been lit in a while and various paintings covered the walls.

“Have a seat,” he told you, sitting on the couch that was facing the front of the laptop.

You sat across from him, left ankle resting on your right knee. The room wasn’t hot, nor was it cold, and it had a really welcoming feel to it.

Byakudera-chan looked over at the door opposite the one you came in through as footsteps made themselves known. Minutes later, the door was pushed open and in walked a male with bright red hair that reached his shoulders. Black rimmed glasses were on his face, in front of his bright green eyes – he slightly resembled Shouichi, like a distance cousin or something. He was out of breath as he walked over, taking his seat beside the male, right in front of the laptop.

“Sorry I’m late,” he breathed, glancing at Byakudera-chan before looking at you. “Is this the one?”

“That’s right.“

“The one what?” you raised an eyebrow in question.

Both men exchanged looks before looking back at you. You remained cautious and curious as they began to explain who they were, what they did, and why they needed you. To say it was a lot to process would be an understatement.

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Giotto stood in front of the window in his office, his eyes locked on the black gate that surrounded the property. Alaude, G, and Asari were standing in front of his desk, each with a different emotion on their face. Alaude’s face was blank, G’s was annoyed, and Asari looked worried.

Alaude had returned about two hours previously but he had returned alone. He had nothing to say when he was asked where you were. Obviously, he had no clue. When he had begun walking, he had expected you to follow, but you hadn’t. And there was no way he was going to waste his time scouring the city for you.

He knew you’d be back eventually. Like a lost cat, you’d find your way back at some point.

“It’s getting dark,” Giotto said softly. His guardians, his friends, knew what he meant by that sentence: it’s dangerous for a young one to be out alone at night in the heart of Italy.

“Should we go look for them?” Asari asked softly.

“Alaude should go,” G stated, glaring at the stoic male to his right. “He’s the one that lost them.”

“I did not lose them,” his voice was blank as he glanced at the storm guardian. “Y/N lost themself.”

“Che. You knew they were a foreigner and didn’t know their way around. You should have made sure they stuck with you. Now you have the Primo worried!”

“Arguing will get us nowhere,” Asari told them, his calming nature taking effect.

“I’ll go and find them,” Daemon Spade strolled into the room, past the three guardians and up to Giotto, who had turned around to look at him upon entrance. His usual smirk was plastered on his lips, his eyes shining with amusement. It would simply be a game of cat and mouse to him.

Giotto felt something wrong about the situation, but he refused to doubt his guardian. He nodded his head, turning fully to face the male. “I am trusting you to bring Y/N back safely, Daemon.”

Spade’s smirk widened. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring them back safe and sound. Kufufu~“

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It’s not so bad,  once you get USED to it.

The WAR hadn’t been a particularly long  one,  but at that time,  they hadn’t any idea how long a war could  go on (  perhaps GOD did,  since She knew everything,  didn’t She  )—–no,  they wouldn’t discover that  until HUMANITY,  God’s cherished  creations,  began a war on their own that had lasted for THREE HUNDRED  &  THIRTY-FIVE YEARS.  In Heaven,  time had blended together,   days  &  nights becoming a meaningless way to measure it.

As an Seraphim,  Crowley’s original,  God-given name had been Cazaiel—–but it was a name he could BARELY remember,  afterward.  He hadn’t wanted  to fight in any WAR  &  while he had certainly  liked  Samael as he’d been (  despite  the grim duties with which he’d ALWAYS been tasked with  ),  he hadn’t EXPECTED to be drawn into the fight.  

As Cazaiel  would come to learn,  most wars ALWAYS seemed to begin with talking. 

Better working conditions,  Samael had said,  job advancement,  it had all sounded REASONABLE.  &  yet,  as the talking  escalated,  Samael began speaking of FREE WILL (  the free will to question,  to say no  to things they did not want to do,  for example  ),  &  then came the tiresome discussion  (  tiresome simply for the fact that it was a reoccurring argument ) of his refusal  to bow to Mankind once God had created them—–

How could She expect Samael’s love to excel beyond Her,  ABOVE Her,  to bestow upon Mankind,  who seemed to inflict suffering upon themselves,  upon others  (  although,  Cazaiel thought,  it was greatly influenced by God’s Plan,  wasn’t it  ?  ) ??  How could She EXPECT Her first creations, THE ANGELS,  to accept that She deemed Mankind above  them ??  

Cazaiel,  personally,  had wondered why God TESTED Mankind so harshly,  how She could allow all of the suffering,  all of the PAIN.  At this rate,  he thought,  She would test them to destroy themselves  &  She would let them.  WHY gift Mankind with a little bit  of free will only to PUNISH them for exercising it ?  Why did the angels,  Gods first  creations that were meant to do Good,  to LOVE,  to feel joyous,  &  without the inclination toward their own destruction ... why did they  have to submit themselves to Man ?  &  if the smidge of free will given to Man was so important,  why could the angels not have it ??

But ... his own questions hadn’t mattered,  in the end.  Nor did Samael’s,  nor anyone else who questioned Her. 

WHEN THEY LOST,  they were not simply cast out  of Heaven without any further thought,  no.  It had never  been THAT easy.  They were all nearly put on display,  upon their knees.  Almost like a TRIAL,  but with no arguments on whether you were guilty or not.  

You were.

The BURNING began within Cazaiel’s shoulder blades,  the pain of it searing,  almost unbearable  &  leaving him gasping  &  DIZZY.  It had only JUST started.  Terror gripped  him,  leaving him shaking as the fear,  the ANXIETY,  began to devour him from the inside out—–for,  he was abruptly terrified  that She had decided to sear his wings clean OFF.  She hadn’t  though,  &  he realized this once the pain slowly began to move forward,  &  then slowly UPWARD.  

Cazaiel watched  his reflection in the MASSIVE clear windows,  watched  as his feathers burned,  red hot at the edges,  encompassing CRISP WHITE  with a coal-like blackness.  He clenched his jaw,  his teeth,  against the PAIN of it,  gasped  for breath despite the fact that he didn’t need any—–it took every ounce  of FOCUS  &  self control not  to cry out,  but he couldn’t  stop the guttural sounds,  forcibly being choked down against his teeth.  Stop,  he wanted to say—–no,  he wanted to SCREAM,   please,  make it stop.  All he had done was entertain Samael’s questions,  which had in turn nurtured his own.  He had barely  even FOUGHT at all,  simply because he hadn’t wanted to.  

Did he REALLY deserve this ?

The PAIN felt like it had lasted for an eternity,  his entire form shaking with it,  &  once it had finally  reached the last of his secondary layer of feathers,  it was OVER.  Or,  that part was.  God’s voice BOOMED above them all,  startling  Cazaiel out of his dizzy,  exhausted  haze  &  it brought his focus back  to his wings.  They still burned,  but now it was in a DIFFERENT way,  a much more manageable way,  he supposed.  It felt like the remaining embers of a mostly distinguished fire,  whispers of it still burning beneath the surface.  He also realized the HARD WAY,  within that moment,  that he could barely  move them without igniting the embers once more.  

She spoke to them all collectively,  but at the same time,  individually.  He could hear  the difference between the words that were said to everyone  (  they echoed strangely above him )  &  which words were for only him  (  solid,  uncomfortably intimate,  almost like someone speaking with their lips far too close ones ear ).  

❛ FROM HEAVEN YOU ARE CAST OUT,   NEVER TO RETURN.  YOU SHALL DWELL WITHIN THE DEPTHS OF THE EARTH,  IN HELL,  WHERE THE DAMNED RESIDE.  YOU ARE STRIPPED OF YOUR ANGELIC STATUS,  OF YOUR NAME  &  ARE GIVEN ONE ANEW.  C R A W L E Y,  YOU ARE FALLEN,  A DEMON,  &  NOW HELL CALLS TO YOU.  TO THE EDGES OF THIS PLANE YOU WILL GO UNTIL NOTHING IS LEFT BENEATH YOU. ❜

But,  I cannot fly,  CRAWLEY  thought,  distantly,  but God’s presence had vanished  &  he received nothing in reply.  He would very soon  become USED to this silence,  this absence,  but within that moment he felt a great deal of EMPTINESS.  

He felt numb,  his emotions far too raw to feel ANYTHING right now,  he realized.

Crawley felt  the PULL of Hell  &  he did as he was bid,  not because he CHOSE to,  no .... because the pull was impossible to combat  &  he was TOO WEAK, too shaken,  to resist.  All of time BLENDED together,  as he had no idea  how long it had taken him to reach the edge.  He hadn’t MEANT to fall,  he hadn’t wanted  to,  but he was powerless  to stop himself from simply .... walking off of the edge.

He has NIGHTMARES,  sometimes,  about walking off of the edge,  the sheer feeling of falling  without the ability to fly.  One shift  of muscle against the swell of gravity sent a shock-wave of burning PAIN throughout his newly charred wings  &  since he no longer cared  whether he was heard or not,  he CRIED OUT against it,  the sound swallowed by the wind as he hurtled  toward the Earth. 

It was the SULFUR that completed  his transformation.  It crafted things into his corporeal form,  things that had not been there beforehand ;  his eyes,  which had simply been GOLDEN,  shifted into the golden eyes of a snake,  his pupils shifting into thin slits.  It felt as though the tip of his tongue had been TORN in two  &  with it came the shifting of teeth into something sharper.  He EMERGED as no longer an angel,  nor a FALLEN ANGEL,  but a demon.   A SNAKE.

-

Wet DROPLETS had begun to fall  from the sky above  &  instinctively,  Crawley flinched  away from it—–the muscles within his wings shifted slightly in an attempt to cover himself,  but the pain that followed (  as it always  had,  would he ever be WITHOUT it ?  )  forced them down again.  The angel that stood beside him,  encompassed in a creamy  white color from his hair to his robes,  moved without having to be asked.,  He LIFTED his left wing easily,  smoothly,  to shelter a DEMON from ... whatever  it was that fell around them.  

It was as if Aziraphale knew,  somehow.  Oh,  your wings probably hurt,  don’t they ?  Not to worry,   I’ll protect you,  These words were NEVER spoken aloud,  but Crawley heard them all the same  &  it left him with a curious feeling,  something that constricted  within his chest  &  left his throat tight.  It was tender feeling that he was not  supposed to feel,  NOT ANYMORE,  but it lingered still.  This angel,  the demon had decided,  was a good one,  a KIND one.  It was this kindness that would draw  the demon to him time  &  time again,  over  &  over.

Thank God It’s Christmas

yes!! soft 80′s deaky tho ::”””)))))

John Deacon x F!Reader, NSFW 

A/N: based on some requests!!!! 7.7k words, took me longer than i thought it would yet its still rushed?? kinda wanted to sit on it but i also wanted it out on as close to Christmas as possible so here she is!!! not as fluffy as i originally wanted or intended but i might do a soft sequel idk im not much for sequels but we will seeeeeeee,,,,, also rip my generic ass holiday title,,,,,, so anyway happy boxing day!!!!!!!

Warnings: NSFW, no intercourse just blowjobs at Fred’s house, s w a l l o w i  n g, kinda kinky?? language and commitment, big sub!john here guys sorry,,, theres fluff at the very beginning and BONUS at the end is fluff if u wanna skip to it!!

playlist!!! vvv

 https://open.spotify.com/user/criceloni/playlist/7CoaeajkS0DyoCcJvimPQH?si=CG5La36PQzmLpyLInPlr-Q

Deaky’s foot tapped against the cold tile floor at a rapid pace, twice that of the holiday music echoing through the spacious building. Anxious energy circulated through his veins for no reason he could figure yet. The masses of people around him, strangers mostly, in uncomfortably revealing ensembles pushed against him as he did his best to stand his ground in the entryway of the lavish house. Gilded accents adorned the perimeter of the ceiling, reflected the sparkle of the excessive fairy lights wrapped around every inanimate object within five feet of an electrical outlet. The colors varied from string to string and right then the bassist was standing beside a particularly bright bundle of rainbow bulbs that were strung halfway up the staircase banister. Perhaps it was the blinking and flashing of the decor and the poppers or the loud noises of the party horns and fireworks- He knew that wasn’t what was causing this dry feeling like his blood had turned to sand and he was weighed down where he stood. A tingly sort of feeling encased him in the form of holiday anxiety. It was the emotional tinsel of holiday maladies, properly named as such because of the irritating and hazardous tendencies of it.

John tried to distract himself from his attempted denial of having such an issue by focusing on what he was even there for. The party? Well, that part was for Fred and the rest of the boys. They all came together, having brought their subsequent other halves to enjoy the celebration with them. His other half, however, was late and that sent him into a natural flurry of worry. Why hadn’t she arrived yet? Where was she? Was she ok? Had something happened and he didn’t know? Deaky wasn’t a weak-willed man by any means, nor did he lack confidence, but he did have an excess of love which unfortunately came with a side order of fear. How early in the relationship was too early to say ‘I love you’, he wondered, or perhaps say something more. The first bridge had been overcome probably quicker than it should have. From the moment he saw her, he knew he loved her, he would say, but now it was time to show that. He wanted to solidify this feeling and ask her, after all that she’d done for him, if she’d be willing to spend the rest of their lives together. That’s what he’d been wanting to say to [Y/N] all month but had been putting it off for a special evening together. He’d had one planned, actually, but the party had taken precedence over his private arrangements. No one had meant to throw off his plans, no one had known he’d even had plans. Of course, he couldn’t say no to those shining round eyes as Roger had really insisted the two of them attend. [Y/N]  was all for it, loving the idea of spending the holidays with the boys without considering what kind of parties it was that Freddie threw.

It had started out nice enough, to be quite honest, but of course, every plus one had a plus one and the door was eternally open at the singer’s shiny new home so the “little get together”, as Freddie had so fondly called it, quickly passed capacity. A drag queen emerged from the hall beside John carrying a man in a leotard with a pink glitter beard. He subsequently held an entire bottle of red wine which he graciously poured down the queen’s front. It dripped and stained both of them as the one in the dress stumbled against the doorway with a booming laugh, caught themselves, then continued through the foyer. John had jumped out of the way, aware that they weren’t aware and if he didn’t move himself he would be move. He watched the two continue to trip and stumble through the tight, growing crowds of colorful fabrics and feathers, always somehow managing to stay upright. Quite a feat to be partying, or doing anything really, in studded 12-inch heels, Deaky thought, though he’d seen far stranger things in this house.

A tap on his shoulder caught him off guard and he turned quickly, only to come nose to nose with the exact person he’d been longing for. [Y/N] stumbled back at the man’s sudden spin and surprised look. She laughed loudly at him as she watched his entire face light up at the sight of her. His smile was soft and buttery and the crinkling at the corners of his eyes was like rays of sunlight breaking through the leaves of a snow-covered tree. It took a millisecond for her to take in all his features, soft nose and chin and cheeks framed cushiony lips and a gap-toothed smile that seemed to melt all the cold of the outside off your shivering bones. John disregarded her reverent moment of appreciation, as he was ignorant of it occurring at all, and engulfed the woman in a tight embrace.

She was glowing when he saw her, nose and lips pink and chapped and skin tight from the winter freeze she’d walked through. She sniffled to keep the snot from dripping drown her upper lip and her dry eyes watered from the environment. He thought she looked absolutely beautiful. “I hadn’t even noticed you’d come in,” he said, lips pressed against the side of her stiff face. His fluffy mop of hair filled in the space between their heads as his hands dug into the padded layers of the heavy overcoat she wore. His warm breath was hot and startling on the frigid hairs on the back of [Y/N]’s neck. Her nose was pink and numb from the temperatures beyond the threshold of the mansion, but she could still smell the contrasting remnants of booze and aftershave in her lover’s hair as well as soaked into his holiday sweater. Her arms were stiff by her sides, gloves in one hand and a large canvas bag in the other. Though the heat of his body against hers was a warm relief, the freeze had yet to wash from her. Upon noticing the lack of movement coming from his companion, the excited brunette let go, slipping his palms over her cold fingers instead.

“I’m sorry, John, I didn’t mean to surprise you!” She laughed and pecked a quick kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Hold on and help me with this, would you?” Straight to business, she handed him the oversized bag in her hand. It was painful for her to let go of him, but she did so nevertheless and proceeded to rid herself of the layers of warmth she wore. Beneath the furs and sweaters, her form was revealed and the poor musician beside her nearly dropped the bag he held. Every part of her was stunning and every time she showed himself to her he was just as awestruck as the first time. Every time since then he’s prayed the fit of his jeans would act as a functional restraint for the way she made him feel.

She’d hung her knits and overcoats in the closet beneath the stairs. When she’d opened the closet door, she was welcomed by a face full of sequence and an explosion of dangerous looking leather straps. Carefully, she placed her items near the back where they were least likely to be contaminated y feathers, glitter, or other transferable fabrics. “Feel a bit out of place dressed so smartly,” she started smoothing out the front of her garment, “didn’t know the dress code was Carnivale showgirl otherwise I would have dressed accordingly.” With a small laugh, she turned to John who stood open mouthed and unresponsive. “John?”

A solid pat on the arm should have shaken him from his trance. His eyes had caught hers, twinkling in the festive lights she stood by, all the colors becoming a kaleidoscope over her irises and he lost himself in it. [Y/N] was used to this by now, this dazed look he would have sometimes. She recognized it as one of utter love and didn’t mind the price for such a moment was repeating her side of the conversation. Chuckling, she softly hit him again. The man made a confused noise, like the whine of a puppy, and his lips trembled for a moment before forming a sheepish grin. He cocked his head to the side apologetically. “Sorry, I- I did it again, didn’t I?” His laugh was warm and familiar. “What were saying, love?” His raised brows urged her to continue.

The closet door closed with a quiet clack and [Y/N] went to take her bag from him. “Nothing,- Nothing, just- I look a bit out of place, don’t I?” She leaned close to him as she said this, scrunching up her nose and smiling as she observed the loitering guests who passed through the halls around them, every item they wore caught the light in blinding ways.

John looked back at his partner and bit his bottom lip with an amused smile, “I think you look lovely.”

[Y/N] tore her attention from the gentleman strolling past them, clad completely, completely, in leather with only a hole where his mouth should be. The sweet face beside her was a stark contrast to her surroundings and she melted a little upon meeting his eyes which never strayed from her, regardless of what may have been hovering around them. “You always say that.”

She breathed a thankful sigh and Deaky eagerly responded, “Well, that’s because it’s always true. You do always look lovely.” She shot him a sly grin, eyes squinted playfully as she shook her head at him.

[Y/N] shyly turned her gaze to the floor, “John-” A burst of noise shook them both, which was saying something for how loud and busy the party already was. A gaggle of girls, quite obviously drunk and giggling, all clad in jockey uniforms, moved through the halls in a huddle. They carried an array of mismatched sporting equipment above their heads and at the end of each one was tied a bough of holly and mistletoe.

“It’s the holly brigade!” One of the guests announced and all the girls cheered and laughed at their name being called.

“No, no! I thought we were the mistletoe militia!” A member of the group shouted.

“The December draft!” Another called out. The rest of the assembled group groaned at the name, little spouts of ‘That’s the worst one yet!’ and ‘Not this again!’ were heard. “Oh, kiss my smooth fuckin’ ass, Bernice!”

“Fuck you, Priscilla! Maybe I will! Maybe that’s what I’m here to do, Goddamnit!”

The quiet couple turned to each and blinked, not surprised but still amused. Apparently, one of the gaggle had sniffed out the two of them and made it their mission to change their position. “Looks like we have some victims!” A redhead exclaimed, moving her hockey stick above John’s head, the festive garnishes hanging from it dangling in front of his nose and swaying often to hit him in the face. He swatted at them defeatedly with a weak smile. The crowds around them cheered at the earlier announcement and began to chant, ‘Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!’ John was red in the face, no, deeper than just red. He was the same color as the beetroots Freddie would send them from his garden. The man quickly scanned the crowds, a shaky breath leaving his lips. His fingers walked up his neck to fiddle with his ear, something he subconsciously did when he was flustered. [Y/N] smiled at the gesture, seeing it out of the corner of her eye.

The entire population of the small room focused on the pair of them. The weight of expectation and anticipation mixed to form a bittersweet scent rolling over them. Noses nearly touching now, sharing breaths, [Y/N] leaned in close to her lover, staring into his soft eyes with half hooded ones of her own. “What do you say, John? Give the people what they want?” After a hesitant nod and a shy, but mischievous smile from him, [Y/N] pushed against him eagerly. The audience roared and laughed, whoops and hollers not enough to break the two of you apart. A female voice above the loud whistles and commanded the team of matchmakers to move on.

Lost in each other, John held his girl by her arms, squeezing her tightly. Her still purple fingernails dug into his shoulders as their lips moved in sync. Not that the collision had started at all chaste, but by now it was most certainly the opposite. He tasted like fruity champagne and something salty, she thought, hands snaking up the back of his neck. She could picture him before she’d arrived, securing a place by the snack table, claiming the cheese and crackers she tasted now. Their tongues intertwined sloppily and they rocked back and forth with the pull and push of their want for one another. His large hands cradled her head and kept them together, her hair falling over his long fingers like waves of light.

The heavy sack she carried on her shoulder slipped to her elbow and ripped them apart. “Oh-!” Catching her sides, John laughed. “Sorry-! Sorry,” She chuckled, pulling her ominously full bag up back up her arm. Dragging the back of her hand across her mouth, she cleaned the shared saliva off her face then reached forward to wipe the corners of her partner’s mouth. God, he was cute when he was flustered. His chest rose and fell quickly, blush not fading. His gaze fell down her body. She followed suit and took in his whole form, aware of the subtle bulge below his waistline.

His swollen lips parted and he began to speak quietly, “You’re-”

“You’re too much for me, John Richard Deacon.” She interrupted with a wink. The man mentioned laughed cautiously and pulled away as his cheek was pinched by his pucker lipped lover. “Why don’t you take us to the boys then, hm?” She re-adjusted her bulging bag on her shoulder, looking petite in comparison to it. It reminded John of a child on their first day of school, packs full of far more supplies than they need.

He glanced through the doorway leading to the moonlit foyer, overwhelmed with characters. Somewhere through there, he knew, was the rest of the band. Did he really want to risk the trip? Venture into the great party beyond? “They’re, well,” he nodded towards the most crowded room, “last I knew, they were somewhere in there.”

“Oh,” [Y/N] paused a moment, then straightened up and took a deep breath, inhaling her courage. She looked to her companion and nodded firmly. “If we don’t make it out,” her hand drifted to stroke John’s lost face dramatically, “tell the kids I love them.” A stoic expression stared back at the man before he broke and laughed, rolling his eyes.

“You think I’d let anything happen you?” He cooed, faux offense filtered through the phrase. He pressed a barely tangible kiss to her cheek before taking her hand from his face and lacing his fingers between his instead. “Come on then, Miss Desmond,” with a laugh, he pulled her behind him and they entered the Coliseum.

Though she’d been giggling just seconds before, the mood was irrevocably shifted to something much more chaotic and disruptive as soon as they crossed the threshold from the entryway to the rest of the house. Not to say the mood was darker, because the bright colors and happy faces around them would deny any sadness ever existed there, but the air was heavier. Maybe it was the influx of bodies, making it noticeably warmer around them, or perhaps it was the “party favors” that the guests had brought themselves.

Streamers, though nicely strung at one point, now looked haphazardly flung about the chandelier and rafters. Against the white of the ceiling and walls, the streamers looked almost like the northern lights, all pastel and waving in the wind of the tall open windows. Freddie always did have good tastes, though lavish, [Y/N] thought as the couple squeezed between the grand piano, suffocated in fairy lights and hard to look at, and a large man in a wrestler’s costume. It smelled awfully of alcohol and sweat. By the end of the night, she was sure she would reek of salt and sickly sweet candies. Clinging tightly to the full bag at her side, the girl was jostled around unceremoniously as the crowd bounced to the beat of whatever pop song blared through the speakers.

John looked back over his shoulder at his tail when his hand got a violent squeeze. He was greeted by an accompanying look of terror, cradling her luggage in front of her. Her wide eyes bore into his and, though her discomfort was nothing to laugh at, her wide, thin-lipped, teeth-baring grimace was. The curly haired man couldn't help but smile, full of sympathy for her state. He turned again to face forward as he foraged through the forest of party goers and hopped a few times to gain some sense of direction. When they’d entered, he’d spotted the cluster of chairs and pillows he’d been lounging on earlier and headed that way. There was no counting on the boys to still be there, but he had no other guesses. Glancing back again, he decided his friend needed a break from the journey and pulled off from the mass of bodies, heading up the stairs to the significantly emptier second floor.

Nearly tripping over the first step, [Y/N] rushed up the carpeted stairs behind her boyfriend to the secondary location. There was a couple midway through a hot make-out session in one corner and another very obviously feeling each other up leaning against the banister. The two took refuge in the small hall leading to the bathroom. The party thumped beneath them, physically able to feel the celebration shaking up through the floor. [Y/N] took one last look back at the chaos they’d just left, grateful to have done so. In the pause, she finally let the tension roll off her and she dropped her tote bag at her feet. “Thanks for getting me out,” she started, a bit out of breath. “So, are they up here, do you think?” Turning back to John, she raised her eyebrows in doubt. “John!”

The bassist snapped his head to face the voice calling him, a deep blush spreading from his nose to his ears. Knowing he’d turned from where the 2 men pressed firmly against each, so much so they nearly toppled over the second story railing, [Y/N] didn’t say anything. Judging from his face and a speedy glance at his pants, she could reasonably assume he was a little bit, how to say, frustrated. “Sorry, what-”

“Nothing,” she said softly, assuring without outright saying that it was ok and he didn’t need to be embarrassed. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Their days together were often interrupted by an impatient or emotional Deaky, crimson-faced and needy. He never said anything, his lover was always the on to initiate it when she could tell it was necessary. Poor boy would suffer through it if she wasn’t with such an observant partner. She stepped to the side and looked around the corners. After scanning their surroundings, concluding there were approximately 5 couples engaging in varying activities upstairs (2 in the halls, 2 in the bedrooms, and 1 in the bathroom), she came to the conclusion that then might be an opportune time to help out little Deaky. “Hey, babe,” she started carefully, “Would you maybe wanna duck into this room here?” She nodded at the door they’d been parked in front of in the small hall. “We got lucky, there are no lewd noises coming from this one.”

While his lover wiggled her eyebrows at him, John adjusted his pants and grimaced. Few words had been spoken since they’d changed locations. “Are you sure?” He knew exactly what she was doing. She always did this, she took care of him. He regretted how guilty he felt whenever these situations occurred and she was the one with the initiative to resolve it. God, he couldn’t help that every time he looked at her he was just overcome with want. She had that effect on men or, well, maybe just him, he hoped. It was just the way she stood and carried herself, the way she moved with such grace and promise. He’d seen her far too many times in far too many intimate ways to not have fallen completely in love with every breath she took. Her voice alone drove him mad and she took full advantage of that when she wanted to.

Too often though she didn’t have to do anything for him to get excited. This occasionally caused problems for them, particularly in instances much like the one they were in just then. The two of them would be making small talk, at a party or, or just hanging out with the boys but it would be a social time and an inconvenient one for them to slip away. [Y/N] always noticed, though, as, though the boy was ignorant of it, she never took her eyes off him just as he never did her. His discomfort was like a searchlight for her, obvious and urgent. Too polite to say anything in public and too afraid of messing it up, John never excused himself. [Y/N] always seemed to know how to handle it, though the rest of the band would usually figure out why they’d run off anyway.

There were no friends or guests up here to trick and an empty room right in front of them. It was easy and convenient, “And the boys aren’t looking for us, are they?” [Y/N] cocked her head in question, convincing her other half to take this time to let off some steam. “I want a moment with you,” she spoke in a lower voice now, pulling him towards her by hooking her fingers in the waist of his skin-tight jeans. Their chests collided and John caught himself on her shoulder. Gripping her upper arms tightly, he suppressed a groan, the strain against his erection becoming too much. Her voice, her movement, her command- He was weak, but only for her.

Inches separating them, the brunette leaned forward and was blessed with her scent, that of a garden after a heavy rain, cinnamon sticks, and the familiar backseat of a London cab. “I suppose there’s no harm,” he replied with a sly smile, breathing a soft laugh on her cheek. For a few seconds, he had the opportunity to revel in her presence and in his fragile state it almost pushed him over the edge. Distracted, he stumbled forwards after the woman when she pushed back at the door behind her, slipping in when it swung open. They disconnected as she shut the door after the musician. This gave them a chance to examine the room of their chosen connection.

It looked like Fred’s room to them. The walls were littered with framed photos of the singer himself and old Hollywood actresses. A heart-shaped vanity made [Y/N] laugh but the real giveaway was the king-sized canopy bed in the center of the room. Fur throws covered the upper half of the mattress and the colors of the entire room were coordinated reds and pinks. Romantic, she thought, and very Freddie. “Deaky, take note, I want my life to look like this room.” Heading straight for the lavish looking bed, [Y/N] swept away the sheer curtains surrounding it and dramatically fell onto the plush covers. They engulfed her and she was lost in this sea of rose-colored satins, curling like a cat and twisting through the sheets with purrs and mewls to accompany her graceful stretching.

As the only other person in the room, Deaky was there to witness it all. His attention strayed from the florally patterned trinket he examined on the dresser. She was glowing, shining through the sheer folds hanging from the canopy obstructing his view. True to theme, the way she curled and twisted on the bed reminded John of the same stars hung on the walls. She’d look perfectly fit in a black and white melodrama. He imagined her sprawled across the bed in shadows, donning a silk slip, lace trim slowly sliding up her thigh as she turned, straps falling from her shoulders as she moved- Deaky was suddenly very uncomfortable. His focus locked on the woman on the mattress and his feet took him quickly to stand over her, intention weighing down his every footstep.

Laughing to herself quietly as she buried her face in the velvet throw pillow beside her, [Y/N] didn’t notice the arrival of her lover now planted between her dangling knees. “I’m not sure how entirely appropriate it is to be, uh,” he paused to laugh a bit but as she turned to face him, now aware of his presence and position standing between her legs- His breath hitched. He regretted using the word ‘glowing’ to describe what she was, it simply wasn’t enough. It was like watching a miracle happening before him every time that sultry filter shone across her face. Darkened irises peaking through long, low lashes as she licked her plump lips waiting for him to continue, it all drove him crazy. “How appropriate,” he tried again to get his thought out in broken words, “to be, uh, fucking- fucking on the host’s bed.”

[Y/N] sat up slowly arching her back and pulling her shoulders back in a stretch, her hands making electric contact with the thighs in front of her. She swore she could almost hear the buzzing of the sudden energy surging between the two of them. Her fingertips squeezed his leg, nails digging in lightly to the denim holding him together. A shuddering breath fell from his lips upon the shoulders of the woman below him and it washed over her. She was baptized by his sound crowning her, filling her with the final drops of motivation she needed, knowing this feeling of accomplishment from making him lose control of his basic instincts like this would be rewarded to her tenfold after their rendezvous. The pads of her slim fingers traipsed up the front of his legs and caught the hem of his tight Christmas coverall, tugging on it for his attention, then letting the same clingy digits hook into the belt loops around his waist to yank him closer.

John was hypnotized by the beauty that belonged to the powerhouse before him, lost in the maze of a hazy halo that seemed to always be floating around her. He was pulled from the dreamy vision by a tug on his shirt and his hips being pulled forward. The heat of his lover’s gaze when he lowered his eyes to meet hers bore through him and he could feel his face burning, even more, somehow he was sure he was turning even redder. Her face was level to his crotch and slowly she leaned to press her cheek to it. The obvious bulge was warm and sensitive through the garment as she put her face to it.

Images of her raced through John’s mind when she did this and they were enough to make a whore blush. Some were memories from past coitus, some fantasies he’d been too ashamed to share, but all were absolutely irreverent. One of her with her lips locked around the base of his cock, she was kneeling on a bed much like she was at the present. Her eyes were low and full of lust, dilated pupils making them shades darker than usual. Her makeup was smeared, lipstick was strewn halfway across her cheek and her mascara leaking down her face as black tinted tears rolled down the sides of her face. Her brows were upturned tiredly, past her first orgasm and nearing her second. Her nose was pink and soft, hitting against his pubic hair every time he was hilted in her mouth. He was practically there, feeling the tightness of being deep in her throat, hot and wet and so pleasurable. In the back of his memory, he could hear her muffled gags, feel them vibrating around his cock, sending ripples of ecstasy through him until he came. Her eyes would roll back and the gurgling guttural noise that came from the depth of her stomach as thick ropes of cum flooded her passage. Neck thick with his length, she was overwhelmed, eyes rolling back white, breathing quickening. She had been face fucked within an inch of her life and he had loved every second of it. Her reactions could put him over without effort- her looks, her sounds, every way she felt when she was convulsing around him, milking him for all he was worth.

A cutting snap echoed through the room as [Y/N] had pulled back the elastic hem of his underwear and let it hit the skin across his hip bones. It broke John from the fantasy he’d fallen into. The sting of the snap hung on the red line it left behind. When he finally got over the shock of it, his eyes met [Y/N]’s. She wore a  bemused smile cocked her head with a laugh. “Where’d you go there, rocketman?” At this point, she’d undone his pants and began slipping them down his legs. Slowly, her hands caressed the exposed skin, starting at the slivers shown at the tops of his thighs.

As soon as the jean had inched past the end of his length, his arousal was set loose and sprung upward. The stretchy fabric of his of his undergarment of choice wasn’t nearly enough to hold him in position. His erection strained against the cotton he wore, only stopping it from hitting his stomach and instead having it curve outward. The girl was eye level with the outlet of his want. It was throbbing and stuck straight out, aimed at her, darker at the tip, wet because of his leaking pre-cum. She licked her lips at the appetizing sight and all her lips were wet, dripping in excitement for the feast she faced.

“I, um,” he was going to explain, though reluctantly, where his mind had wandered but was interrupted by his grateful release. A wavering moan played like music to his lover’s ears. Relief engulfed him, he thought, but then realized it was simply the absence of pain and now he was left with undefined arousal and need. A pinch on the bottom of his buttcheek reminded him to continue his story, but when he tried to speak, it wasn’t words that came out.

‘Squeak’ is the best word to describe the sound he made. [Y/N] responded with a pleased squeak of her own and, now that his lover torso was sufficiently accessible, went on to slip her fingers between the fabric and the soft skin at his hips. She didn’t mind the tighty-whiteys to be quite honest. It fit his personality.

“What were you saying, love?” Sparkling eyes searched for his as eager fingers hooked through the legs of his last cover, pulling them slowly down. The waistband slid down his shaft and pushed it down until it was catapulted by the final slip of grey elastic. The slap was quiet and muffled as his slick head collided with the rough knit of his seasonal wear. [Y/N] bit her lip at the reveal and looked up at the even more relieved Deaky. Anticipation spread across his features as he waited to be touched, forgetting what she’d just asked him. She’d completely forgotten as well, dismissing it for the option of palming at the sensitive skin of the cock grandly standing before her, feeling the pulse of his love on the patterns of her hands.

“Oh,” John did his best to taper his breathing from the heavy gasps moments before, “please, please, [Y/N]-” The hand slid up his dick and when it came down, his erection was wrapped in hot digits. Playing down his erect length like scaled on a piano, she rubbed, bringing down the clear stick from his head to lubricate him. She squeezed an unseemly grunt from him and he had to lean against the bedpost to stay upright. His knuckles turned white from the desperate grip he held on the dark wooden pole, the pole of his own finally touched. [Y/N] shifted as her man’s knees fell against the tall mattress, picking up the pace with her hand, then adding another.

“Do you want me to use my mouth?” She nodded and spoke delicately. She held one hand at the base of his cock, threading her fingers through the forest above his manhood and using her thumb to stroke the start of his balls. Deaky’s eyes drifted to her falsely innocent face, struggling with forming a comprehensive answer. His mouth hung open with unspoken want and he swallowed his words before he could throw them back up in the form of a weak gurgle that translated to ‘yes’. “Ok, sweetie, because you asked.” Bittersweet tones flew to his ears while a sudden wet warmth dripped down from the tip of his shaft.

Soft lips enveloped his head and it continued down. Her tongue swirled around the end of his length, rough texture tasting all the sweet excitement Deaky couldn’t hold back. Two hot intakes of breath was all the girl could hear as she took more and more of his erection in her mouth. She was suctioned to his fifth appendage and felt every ripple that made up the skin around his muscle. He could feel her tongue tracing every pulsing vein and he hit the back of her throat, sporadically thrusting into the hot, slick cavern of her mouth. By now his hand had reached to the back of her head and pushed into her, a fistful of her hair knotted in his hand. The bunch he held acted as a rein when he face fucked his lover with increasing need.

[Y/N] ground down into the mattress she sunk into, pushing for her soaking pussy to get some minimum contact. Her hips rolled and pressed down as best she could, sure she was wetting the bed with how aroused she was. One had was gripping Deaky’s bare ass and the other followed her spit covered lips at a quickened bouncing pace. Every time she felt the back of her throat hit the tip of his cock, lips sucking at his base, nose tickled by pubes and teeth barely brushing his blood vessels. She got nostrils full of his scent, musky and hot, like the first hot day after a rain in the city. He hilted himself in her and gasped so grossly and desperately, she was sure it could be heard outside the room.

When John looked down, it was too much like his fantasy. “God, fuck- please,” he begged, “swallow.” Her pleading, glistening eyes narrowed and the wave of pressure that rolled down his shaft from her tightening tongue brought him to the edge. Curses and dirty, profane things spilled out from his normally clean lips, seeping through the cage of his teeth in an eye-rolling ecstasy. The flood of sounds that drove through [Y/N]’s ears brought her an accomplished feeling until the stream of hot white love filled her cavity. She grunted through her filling mouth, pushing down the thick liquid from her lover. She gulped it down gutturally, hot wave running down her chest as it traveled. Her hands were tightly holding to his sides, hiking up the thick sweater still handing off his thin form.

Like an hourglass filling with sand, Deaky felt pin like tingles roll through him from his toes to his head as he came. A shiver ran down his spine and every muscle from his softening erection out tensed. He twitched in the wet velvet sleeve of his girlfriend’s throat. Knowing that every spurt shot down the tunnels and to her stomach got him off even more. It was disgusting from a blatant perspective, but fuck, it was so hot. She took it all from him so willingly after his ask. The stills of his best memories sped across his mind and it nearly perfectly matched his view with her hair pulled back in his balled hand and longs long, shining from smeared excitement left across her face. Nothing could make the situation less arousing but there came a point when he had nothing left to give.

Lips ‘o’ shaped and eyes shut, to [Y/N] he was a vision of pure beauty. His hair floated above him in a soft halo and he was angelic. No light shone off him, no reflection of holy images resembled his position, but he was still an angel. His release had come quick but it was no surprise to his partner. Downing the last of his salty high, [Y/N] continued to move and milk his dick for the last of his cum, final drop on her tongue mixing with her swishing spit and following suit as she swallowed one last time. Her mouth popped off his end and she wiped away the mess around the orifice with her sleeve, immediately regretting doing so afterward. Deaky hovered above her, breathing heavily, unevenly. She could almost see the hot puffs leaving his mouth like a little dragon, the cold of the season not entirely being kept out of the home but the both of them too hot and bothered to notice. Her own breathing was strangled and could be heard through the room.

A rush of feeling finally returned to the man standing and he lowered his gaze to meet that of his partner’s. She smirked at first, but it quickly turned to a tired laugh as she moved to attempt to fix her unseemly hair. “Thank you,” he said quietly. He gingerly tucked his limp extension back into his stretched underwear and sat down limply beside her, not bothering to pull up his tight pants at all. [Y/N] placed a cold, damp hand on his hot thigh. They turned to each other and smiled softly. Her free hand went to cradle the side of his face and press her lips against his, pulling him to her. They remained connected while she lifted herself from her kneel and scooted closer to him. One hand slid up his thigh while they beat their lips against one another in sync. It took all her self control not to encourage the growing ache echoing from her core as she pushed hard against the man beside her. She tasted like hot skin, like sweat and salt and underneath were subtle hints of holiday chocolates and candied apples, but overall, she tasted like him. He could feel himself on her lips and he pulled away. She looked dazed and a bit disappointed at the sudden lack of contact. “I don’t think it’s the best idea to get this started again,” he said, though his eyes hung on her parted, swollen lips, “not here or really right now-” He saw the way her thighs clenched when her squeezed his slender fingers around her forearm. His neglect drove guilt through his bones and he tilted his head slightly with a softened look. “I’m so sorry, love-” It was more than a whisper, but only barely rising above the low level when she kissed him again.

This time it was softer still. Her lips on his, curled in a forgiving smile and warm but only for a moment. “It’s Christmas, Johnny, a time for giving,” she spoke quietly against his lips.

“No, it’s not, I wanted to ask you something tonight- It was supposed to be about you- I had plans-” He stuttered.

“Save them.” In her eyes, he could see some knowing shine, some reflection of himself to calm him down from his rising worry. She broke the eye contact with a sideways glance and continued with a sweet smile. “Anyway, I’m flattered it takes so little to get you up for me,” her hand ghosted over crotch before retracting and smoothing over the tops of her legs, “but sometimes, to be honest, I think it’s more the tightness of your jeans than it is me that gets you so-” Pausing to stand, she continued, “eager.” With a wink, she extended a hand to help the bassist up off the deeply plush bed. He smiled back sheepishly and accepted her assistance, struggling to pull himself up. Once he did, though, he waddled a step forward then pulled the very fitted pants back up, making himself decent again.

[Y/N] started a leisurely walk back to the door, signaling John to follow. He did so and they shared the same thought, embracing one another in open arms. [Y/N] hummed against the heavily festive knit shoulder of her lover. “So, do you think we should go find the boys now? I brought gifts and I’d like ‘em to see them before they pass out or are drunk beyond belief.” She breathed a laugh and her hot breath his John’s ear. He shivered then pulled back with a laugh.

“Is that what’s in that great, hulking bag of yours?”

“Well, what else? I’ll get it and we can-” She reached for the door and swung it open, only to find an empty space where her sack had once been. Deaky thought he could feel the air chill upon the woman’s realization. “MY FUCKING GIFTS-”

Somewhere in that mansion at that very moment, there was a group very drunk, very loud girls with very persuasive sports gear wandering around and delivering presents to every physically engaging couple they could find, starting by handing a signed Cheap Trick album to an incoherent drag queen nursing an oversized martini. There was now a who man wore a new sweater covered in cats and a woman had a coordinated set of sunglasses all on at the same time, meaning 6 pairs lined up on top of one another, wandering around as well. With a distant crash, a very nice custom pair of clogs was thrown through a high window and oblivious to this all was a couple, upstairs, in the host’s bedroom.

BONUS:

The light shining through the open window woke the woman up first, but the sleep was shaken from her when she reached out for another warm body to comfort her shivering one. The thin sheets were not enough to block out the cold over her nakedness. Rolling over with a grumble, she looked at the clock. 10 A.M. on December 26th. Christmas was over and everyone was better off for it. So what if no one had gotten any gifts intended for them? They’d had each other last night and that was more than enough for her, though the sting of losing her work still hung on her ego. She tried not to think about it. Instead, she sat up and scanned the room for her boyfriend, upset by his absence. Then from around the corner, he came, clad only in fresh boxers and contrastingly the same soiled sweater from the night before. He was blurry n her sleep crowded vision and she questioned him as she rubbed her eyes. “Deaky, baby, what have you got there?” Her words trailed off into a yawn and she stretched, eyes closed, though she could feel the mattress shift under her lover’s applied weight.

“What I wanted to ask you- Well, what I mean to say- What I wanted to ask you about last night- Oh, well,” he laughed softly, sounding like he’d only just woken up as well. The woman in bed blinked slowly at him and leaned her body towards his heat, hands finding his arm. The man watched her lovingly, starry-eyed, fingers fiddling with his ear. He took one smaller hand in his large ones and placed a cold circle to her palm. “This isn’t really how I wanted to do it, but then I thought it didn’t matter how I did it- I realized I just needed to get it done.” Slowly, the same realization washed over her face and she stared at the shining round object in her hand, suddenly very awake. “I had planned to do it last night, but, well,” he chuckled and his gaze fell shyly for a moment before he was back to intently observing his lover’s reactions, “it was a bit crazy and things got in the way and I just wanted to say-”

Tears welled in the girl’s eyes, pulling them away from the modest diamond ring that sat cold in her cradled hands. When he looked at her, tears came flooding to his eyes, too. He laughed through the rolling drops, wiping them away quickly and smiling wide with crinkling eyes. “I love you, [Y/N] hopefully Deacon,” he enunciated the future name, “and I would be-” Chocking on a sob, he continued, “Would you please do me the grand pleasure of becoming my wife?”

Large dollops of tears fell freely from both sets of eyes now and wet sobs filled the room. She laughed lightly and nodded, hesitantly at first then eagerly. “Yes, yes!” A guffaw escaped her and her future husband snorted in response. They were both laughing now, crying and laughing sitting on their bed in the late morning, Boxing Day. From the outside, it may have seemed like an odd or even uncomfortable scene, but then they threw their arms around each other, no need to communicate with any verbal expression. They knew one another inside and out, maybe more than they knew themselves. She melted into him and held his curly hair close to her. She breathed hotly and sniffled. “This is a wonderful Christmas-”

“It’s Boxing Day, darling,” he whispered with a gentle laugh.

“I love you so much, John Deacon.”

VKC/VME SECRET SANTA FIC 2018 [REPOST]

Couldn’t find it in the tags, so reposting! Let me know if you see it orz

Gift recipient: @foliefolio

This is for the wonderful Folie!! (Whose writing sustained me almost single-handedly since the end of the anime 😭) I can’t put into words how nerve-wracking writing this was, especially since I’ve had a ton of fic planned out that have gone unpublished for like...3-4 years?? Anyway, I guess this is finally my foray into ‘posting’ for VKC....and what better way to do it than to write for my idol ✨ !! I love you so much Folie, and I hope this suits your tastes. (And feel free to say if it doesn’t!!! I had a bunch of other ideas, and have another idea draft written out 😂) You’ve been such a big inspiration to me for the past ~16 months ❤️ I hope I can keep reading your writing for a long time to come!!! (Especially Vatican fics ehehe) And above all, I hope your holidays went wonderfully!!✨

(and if you didn’t see this yesterday, I’m sorry it’s late!!!!!!!)

The prompt was pretty open, and suggested some seasonal touches such as  Christmas in Rome, night, gold, bells, cold, etc. I think I used most of them to be honest! There is quite a bit of ahem, non-2019-tumbr-appropriate content, so be warned (I was rather careful with the vocabulary though *shrugs*). Actually, 3/4 of it is priests doing the do, with lots of gratuitous Hiraga family mentions (JIN IS CANNON AND I LOVE HIM). [I guess I’ve never really posted publicly above my love for VKC, but I am a die-hard HiraRobe (esp. bottom Roberto) lover. Roberto will eventually cry (before/during/after or all 3) when they consummate their relationship 100%. I don’t think I did my thoughts of them justice here, and if I ever manage to publish again, there will definitely be more angst ; __ ; (There also needs to be more weirdness/religion too.) My current biggest thing is Vatican politics, and the logistics of priests in relationships despite their vows, how they make moral justifications and types of penance etc.etc. which I did not go into almost at ALL, so yeah...] Tumblr formatting is not ideal, so this will probably go up on AO3 once I get a chance to edit. I have a ton of miscellaneous commentary too, so that’ll probably be there as well. Sorry for the long preface, onto the actual gift! [Couldn’t find the read more button, I’m sorry :’) ] *** The winter wind is cold and brisk, blowing across the balcony and permeating the thin blanket draped around Roberto’s shoulders, useless against the frigid air. He cannot hold back a shiver, then another, and he desperately wishes for some form of heat. The door slides open and shut behind him with a click, bringing no respite from the chill. Hiraga, then? Both his brother and his father are asleep in the room behind him. Roberto had been nodding off on the sofa himself, but despite the late hour, it’s time for him to go and give the family some privacy.

Hiraga would be against that; luckily, Roberto can try to convince him out here, in the relative privacy of the balcony. Only God will be their witness – and perhaps, the smoker in the hotel across the way if he stays out much longer. “Roberto,” Hiraga murmurs at his back, arms wrapping around his middle and firmly anchoring themselves around his torso.

Oh.

Perhaps it is not time for this particular discussion then. Maybe, Roberto can allow himself to indulge for a few minutes. But alas, nothing with Hiraga ever seems to go according to plan. For Hiraga’s hands are already beginning to wander, and with them Roberto’s composure is already starting to break. “Hiraga,” Roberto begins, train of thought nearly derailing when a fingertip purposefully flicks against a hardened nub. He supresses a sigh. “Isn’t this a little…” Tasteless? Improper? Ryouta is on the other side of the balcony door, in their room; so is Hiraga Jin –

(kind, wonderful Hiraga Jin who had spoken with him about opera for hours at length, only pausing for a second when Roberto shuddered, expression falling, at the mention of Puccini who had followed Rossini, Verdi and before that,Weber, Wagner and Wetz and Jin had been delighted to find Roberto knew even obscure German composers “Ah, I suppose no Tosca for you then, Roberto-kun,”and when Roberto smiled back weakly, almost in apology,

 “That’s alright,” he murmured consolingly. “I can’t say I’m very fond of Madama Butterfly myself.”)

– Jin who has shown nothing but tremendous kindness to Roberto from the moment they met in the train terminal. Jin, who Roberto has only known personally for less than twenty hours and is desperately trying impress, and keep face in front of him at the very minimum. (Jin, who had smiled at Roberto with as much kindness as either of his sons after a single conversation; who had welcomed him into the family – immediately, as Roberto would find out from the paperwork he would receive a few weeks later – Jin, who had insisted Roberto call him by his given name, insisting that any other title would be too stuffy and that one “Hiraga” was more than enough.) (And Hiraga, his lovely partner Hiraga, had made an undecipherable expression upon realizing he was now the only one being referred to by surname.) Ryouta and Jin are only separated from them by a glass door; Hiraga’s delicate hands are currently worming their way through the layers of blanket and underclothes to Roberto’s skin and he can’t— “Hiraga…!” 

We can’t, Roberto needs to tell him, not here. No matter how much his body desires, blood thrumming through his veins at the proximity he has barely had enough days to get used to, if at all– since Hiraga kissed him on the stroke of midnight as the crowds on the television in front of them began screaming in celebration, soft mouth pressing against Roberto’s frozen smile, still with surprise and fear, buried underneath the building euphoria – since Hiraga took his bare hand a day later, telling him “My family is coming to Italy to celebrate with us; won’t you join me?” And Roberto hadn’t known what to do with the burst of adrenaline that sent his heart pounding loud enough to drown out Hiraga’s soft explanations of travel plans and cheap hotel rooms post-holiday season – since Hiraga had shown up at his door at 5:50 in the morning, dressed casually but smartly as he usually did on their days off together, taken one look at the circles under Roberto’s eyes and dragged him back to bed (where they had laid together and Roberto hadn’t managed much rest at all when they were forced to rise or be late to Rome) – since touching Hiraga to his heart’s desire became allowed, and now Roberto feels the precarious grip on his self-control he has clung to all this time begin to slip. “Roberto…” comes Hiraga’s voice, cutting quietly through the night air. Rome is much more crowded than the Vatican. Booking a room on an upper floor has its advantages, Roberto muses in an attempt to distract himself from the warmth and pressure at his back. The night view is rather enchanting, what with the colorful array of lights spreading out in the distance. “Roberto..!” Hiraga calls more insistently this time, startling Roberto out of his reverie. He is not accustomed to being ignored, and Roberto must apologize. A kiss to his spine signals that he is forgiven. Roberto lets out a sigh in response. “Bend down please,” Hiraga murmurs at his back, and Roberto reflexively complies. As he slowly hunches over the railing, Hiraga’s lips find the back of his neck. Roberto shivers, not out of cold alone. Each kiss leaves a trail of ice in its wake, as Hiraga makes his way down the slope of one shoulder, then the other. His fingers are occupied with Roberto’s buttons, and as they slowly come undone, more and more skin is revealed to the biting wind, immediately covered by Hiraga’s eager mouth. After some time, Hiraga begins to tire of this, and slips both arms under Roberto’s shirt. He cannot supress a whimper. Thus spurred on, Hiraga’s hands come to rest on his bare chest, caressing him lightly. Still, there is intent behind each stroke, and as one hand flits over his hardened nipple, the other slips lower, stroking the curves of Roberto’s torso and muscles as it descends down his stomach. “…ah… Hiraga, w-wait…” Roberto stifles a gasp as a fingertip brushes the skin along his waistband. Don’t stop, he contradicts himself internally. Please don’t let go of me. He wonders if Hiraga can hear him anyway, intuiting his desires, but reluctantly, Hiraga’s hands do come to a halt before pulling away entirely. “Nnn…!” Roberto lets out unintentionally. The movement of Hiraga’s arms has caused the blanket to shift, leaving his upper body uncovered, bare from the shoulders where Hiraga had worried at the skin with his lips. They are only apart for a few moments, though it is enough for a sudden draft to send him shivering. Hiraga struggles with something behind him. “It’s alright,” Hiraga soothes, “It’s alright. Roberto.” He returns with the blanket, fumbling to wrap it snuggly around the two of them together. Roberto begins to find this struggle endearing as his bare skin is covered once more, although Hiraga’s comfort takes priority. He twists around slightly intending to take over, but Hiraga’s palms come to rest on his shoulder blades, stopping him halfway. “Let me please,” he chastens. Who is Roberto to say no? “Alright,” he allows. He strains to keep still, as his instincts urge him to turn around, to take Hiraga into his arms and keep him there indefinitely. If only, if only… Hiraga’s fussing continues on, and Roberto’s left hand is captured by both of Hiraga’s during the struggle, right hand bracing them both against the railing. Their entwined limbs are somehow even colder – an uncomfortable cold Roberto cannot shake off when Hiraga’s fingers glide away to continue tucking the sheet elsewhere. He struggles to shake his hand free – an attempt to bring it up to his lips and warm it with his breath – but when his hand emerges from the tangle, Roberto’s eyes immediately zero in on the metal band settled snugly around his finger. Behind him, Hiraga has stilled; finished fiddling with the blanket then, or waiting for Roberto’s reaction? A quick glance tells him that the sheet is stretched taut around his chest, already beginning to slide down and bringing his unbuttoned shirt with it. Hiraga is a priest; he has, then, undoubtedly attended the same classes Roberto has, and Roberto aches, aches, to believe that not even Hiraga would mistake the significance of putting a ring. on someone’s. left.

(ring finger) He desperately wants to see what expression Hiraga is wearing at the moment, but his partner’s face is currently buried between Roberto’s shoulder blades, showing no signs of emerging. His own face must look something scary, for Roberto can feel himself start to tear up, wind attacking him mercilessly and deepening the ache. Roberto struggles to rotate his upper body, disturbing Hiraga’s careful wrapping and unsettling his hiding spot. With this new angle, his hip is digging into the metal bars of the railing. Roberto pays it no mind, cupping Hiraga’s cheeks and bringing their gazes level. Hiraga is flushed, eyes darting left and right before slowly looking up at Roberto through his long lashes. His chin is lowered, and he is biting his lip. Goodness, how many times must he be told not to, Roberto thinks with a level of fondness. He reaches out to free Hiraga’s poor lip with his left arm, and both of their eyes are drawn to the shining ring. Hiraga lets out a deep breath. “I,” Hiraga falters, looks away. “Is it… alright now? That is, to…” His voice is soft from embarrassment, but hope shines through in his gaze, drilling holes into Roberto’s breastbone. Roberto cannot tear his eyes away. He gently calls for Hiraga’s attention, and Hiraga jerks his head up, making eye contact. Roberto can spot the moment Hiraga begins to panic, eyes dilating in alarm – after all, Hiraga has always been weak to crying, and Roberto has felt the urge to bawl building since that precious celebratory kiss. “Yes,” Roberto breathes, somewhat tearfully. “I could never say no to you.” Hiraga makes to wipe Roberto’s eyes, but pauses halfway. Roberto can only hold still, anticipation rising with each passing second…… until Hiraga raises himself on his toes to kiss the corner of his mouth, fisting the fabric pooled at Roberto’s waist. *** Hiraga’s lips flutter around the shell of Roberto’s ear, and he whines, softly. He can feel Hiraga, pressing into his hip unashamedly. He craves it, has been craving it maybe since they began their partnership, when Roberto began to feel like the hole in his chest could possibly be filled by the presence of this wonderful man. But right now, they’re outside and clearly visible to anyone who might happen to be watching. The alternative is a room containing the two people he wishes to impress the most, Hiraga’s family. There is no escape. And what about preparation? He hasn’t, oh heavens, hasn’t cleaned, has nothing to ease the slide of Hiraga inside of him, and what if it chafes? Hiraga would hurt, and they’d never attempt it again out of fear, and maybe regret – And what of their respective positions? Caught up by the mood, Roberto has forgotten – or purposefully put aside, as he can never truly forget – what of their vows? Hiraga has told him, the moment reality and dread set in after the midnight kiss, that the Church and God are separate; that God will forgive them this, will grant them this much, that love is beautiful in all forms. He’d quoted scripture and philosophies en masse and while Roberto had been struggling to wrap his aching head and heart around them, daring to hope, he’d forgotten to consider why Hiraga had done so much research. Now, it was all coming back to bite him. Not yet, his heart whimpers. We can’t, not until – until what? Will discussing his deepest fears quell the clamour in his heart, the noise that has refused to subside through time and effort? Hiraga bites down, drawing Roberto out of his spiralling thoughts. His ear stings pleasantly, Hiraga soothing the bite with tiny licks. Not wanting his dismay to be noticed, Roberto turns fully away, grasping the rail with a quiet click from the ring. If Hiraga has noticed anything, he stays quiet, only pressing even closer, throbbing length nudging the backs of Roberto’s legs. Ah. What if he took me like this?

And Roberto imagines Hiraga, slick between his thighs, hidden from any prying eyes by the folds of the sheet carefully draped around their waists. He visualizes the slide, smooth and warm, and aches in empathy. He’d have to cover his face, hide his expression, his tears borne from enjoyment and desire. He keens softly, and Hiraga’s arms tighten around his torso. “Roberto,” Hiraga pants, breathing rather heavily. “Let me see your face please.” And Roberto’s plans go out the figurative window .“…Alright,” he swallows, grasping the blanket and desperately trying to compose his expression while Hiraga manoeuvres him eagerly until they are face-to-face. He ducks his head, and Hiraga takes the opportunity, pushing forward until their lips meet tenderly in their first proper kiss of the night. It does not last nearly long enough. Roberto is left to savour the taste of Hiraga on his lips as Hiraga’s mouth wanders, destination clearly in mind. Roberto’s body takes this moment to remind him that a certain areahas been lacking attention; with a cry, his lower body jerks forward when Hiraga’s teeth brush the spot where jaw meets neck. His front, bulging prominently, hits something – Hiraga’s leg? – and he rushes to apologize. “Ah..Hiraga! I’m sorry—ahh!” Unbothered, Hiraga continues to move lower, shifting his stance until they are touching, chest to groin to thigh. Roberto can’t help but moan at the pressure, their hardness aligned as much as possible with their differences in height. Hiraga rolls his hips forward, lips buried in the crook of Roberto’s neck. Roberto presses his face to Hiraga’s hair. He cannot stifle the outpouring of groans and embarrassing noises he is producing in the face of such intense pleasure. “Ngh, aah… Hiraga, Hiraga, Hiraga…” Hiraga’s name is a litany of pleas on Roberto’s lips. Hiraga shudders in euphoria, rubbing their hips together. Calling his name in return. “Roberto...!” Hiraga pulls away, and the feeling of loss on Roberto’s neck is palpable, but then Hiraga presses their foreheads together and the pang is instantly soothed. Hiraga’s hand scrabbles with the too-tight front of Roberto’s pants. “May I? Please, I, oh, please allow me this…” he pleads, and Roberto has hardly breathed his assent before Hiraga is reaching into his undergarments and pulling him out rather hastily. But it’s enough, more than, even. “….Ah!” Roberto exclaims, head falling back. It’s been a very, very long time since he has touched himself this way; as little faith as he held in his own lifestyle, something about living up to Hiraga’s ideals (or so he imagined) had prevented him from indulging in this particular pleasure, at least in his conscious moments. In his sleep, he might be graced with Hiraga’s warmth only to regret his weakness in the morning, then spend days repenting. Or, he would find himself absently wondering about the stretch of his jaw when contemplating food, imagining the sensation of something inside him when cleaning the bidet (or using it). He’d promptly banish these thoughts, face flushed and guilt building, but. It was impossible to repress his sinful desires for long before they would surface, often at the most inconvenient of times. However, now he is keenly feeling the aftermath of abstaining. The pleasure is all-consuming. His body is ready to give in, limbs wound up tense, focus narrowed in on the tightness and particular sensation of Hiraga’s fist. But he cannot give in, not without giving something in return, not without seeing the rapture he is experiencing reflected in Hiraga’s own self. “Let me,” he rasps, fumbling towards Hiraga’s own straining erection. Hiraga sighs in response, pushing up into Roberto’s palm the moment he is freed. His free arm searches out Roberto’s, and Roberto starts as Hiraga winds their fingers together, jostling the cool metal around his ring finger already warming up in response to Hiraga’s touch. Hands clasped, they tug on each other frantically, racing to completion yet not awaiting the finish. “Roberto…” Hiraga exhales, smiling up at him. The city lights aren’t bright enough for Roberto to make out his eyes with their usual clarity, but they shine nonetheless. Hiraga is beautiful no matter where he is, Roberto reflects, and he leans in to capture that beauty for a fleeting moment. Hiraga kisses enthusiastically, all lips and tongue, and Roberto is content to let himself be kissed, thoroughly. Were this the private fantasy of his dreams, or the corner of his mind he dares not allow his mind to wander, he would take Hiraga’s jaw in hand and show him delicacy. Gentle, slow, yet warm… except, crouching on this freezing balcony, Hiraga is his only source of warmth, and Roberto desires his heat from his toes to his mouth to the depths of his core. 

It is, he considers with what little sanity that remains, all too much. Hiraga has barely had his hands and lips on him, and Roberto is already at his limit, approaching climax at an alarming rate; he cannot spare anymore thoughts for the eyes that might be on them, whether it be the smoker from the hotel across the way, or even innocent Ryouta, who would surely come to resent him should he catch the two of them in such a compromising position. Roberto defiling his precious older brother – The sudden glare that blinds him even through his half-closed lids is regrettably not due to their climaxes. Roberto pulls away, however reluctantly, from Hiraga’s demanding kisses, letting go of Hiraga (to their mutual dismay) in order to lift the blanket even higher. He squeezes their entwined hands in apology; thankfully Hiraga does not respond by tightening his hand where it rests around Roberto.

The least he can do is shield Hiraga’s body from sight, as he scrambles for a way to do damage control, although the situation is not promising. Against him, Hiraga is pliant but confused as he tries to figure out where Roberto’s attention has gone. It takes a few, loaded moments before his attention is directed to the room behind him. By fault of pleasure or exhaustion, Roberto is not sure, his eyes take what feels like minutes to adjust. What had seemed blinding a few moments before is only a small lamp, mounted next to an empty armchair where Ryouta had curled up for the evening despite the inviting bed beside him. Jin takes up half of said bed now, spread out on top of the sheets and still in his day clothes. He doesn’t seem to have moved from where Roberto had last seen him before heading outside, unsure if pulling the blankets up around him would be too much, or. Well. All the more he should leave them be, before he intruded too much, Roberto had reasoned, then promptly fled to the balcony. Roberto stiffens as he spots Ryouta exit the bathroom, rubbing his eyes blearily and looking very much half-asleep. More or less relaxed, Hiraga leans against his chest, exuding more calm than Roberto feels as Ryouta climbs onto the bed and settles in next to his father. They observe silently for a little longer, perhaps bound by some mutual understanding built after years of partnership, watching him slip deeper into sleep. The lamp is left forgotten. Hiraga is the first to break the silence, laughing softly. He turns back to Roberto, looking pleased. “Roberto,” he begins. “Shall we head inside? So you don’t fall ill.” 

How he is so unruffled when they were nearly caught in the act, Roberto cannot fathom. Still, he would hate to ruin the moment, to burst the bubble with whys and what ifs. Steeling himself, he leans in to rest their heads together. Moving their coupling into the room where Hiraga’s family is sleeping is unthinkable, and the inevitable end to their encounter if they do go inside hurts just as much. Hiraga’s hand is hot and fidgeting around him, and a distant part of Roberto is ashamed that his erection has not flagged in the slightest. Not yet. I don’t want this to end yet. “Hiraga,” Roberto tells him. “Please…don’t stop.” And with that, Roberto gently grabs Hiraga’s length, bringing them together; the heat of them combined is electric. He can hardly keep his eyes open wide enough to take in the details of Hiraga’s beautiful face: eyelids fluttering, mouth gasping, bangs sticking to his face with what must be a cold sweat. “Roberto…hnngh…” Hiraga groans, letting go and allowing Roberto to take care of bringing them over the edge. Roberto is infinitely grateful that Hiraga, intentionally or not, takes the blanket in hand briefly before allowing his free hand to roam around Roberto’s bare chest once more. It’s much warmer without the slick from their pre-cum freezing in the breeze. Hiraga’s hand wanders up to Roberto’s right cheek, pulling him back in for another kiss. He licks into Roberto’s mouth, tongue wandering up and down teeth, along the roof of his mouth, and twining their tongues together. The intensity of it all brings Roberto right back to the precipice he had been teetering on the edge of not long before. It’s all he can do to keep stroking them, although admittedly Hiraga thrusting against him is doing much more than the periodic buckling of his own hips. “Hiraga, Hiraga…” he whispers into the kiss, and Hiraga sucks Roberto’s tongue into his mouth. “Nnn…” When Hiraga pulls away, Roberto follows. The next words he speaks are against Roberto’s lips. “Roberto,” Hiraga forces out. “Please.” His voice takes on a deeper timbre, lower than Roberto has ever hear from him. It’s incredibly attractive, just as much as the near-growl that comes out next. “Please,” “call my name.” Roberto’s heart lurches. (And oh, if this hasn’t been building all day, since he’d caught Hiraga staring at them wistfully) (“Here, Roberto-nii-san!” “Thank you Ryouta-kun.”) ( “Has Kou been giving you much trouble, Roberto-kun?” “Not too much, Jin-san. It’s nothing I can’t handle. Right, Hiraga?”) ( “Onii-san, your expression is scary…”) A swell of affection rises in him, and Roberto presses his lips to Hiraga’s ear before he whispers, “Kou.” The effect is instantaneous; Hiraga cries out, jerks his hips into Roberto’s hand, and squeezes Roberto’s other palm. The ring digs into his skin, and the reminder that Hiraga had gotten him a ring paired with the sudden, aggressive crash of lips on his is enough to knock enough awareness into him. Oh, Roberto thinks, feeling somewhat removed. This isn’t a dream.

He’s embracing (making love to?) Hiraga for the first time; the thought consumes him, sends his eyes watering, and his body chooses that moment to give in. *** Roberto is vaguely conscious of Hiraga calling his name during his release. When Hiraga captures his lips once more, softly this time, he feels himself returning to the present. Hiraga pulls away gradually. “Have you come back to me yet?” he murmurs, and the words are endearing enough that Roberto kisses him again, and again, until his cooling body interrupts, and he must pull away to stifle a sneeze. “Oh, Roberto,” Hiraga says dreamily. Roberto stares at him. “You were so beautiful when you came.” Roberto cannot help the flush that rises to his cheeks, his ears, and quite possibly his neck too. The tears he has been holding in all night decide to overflow, much to his embarrassment. “Aah, uuuu…” Roberto turns his head to the side, extricating his left hand from Hiraga’s grasp to cover his face. Surprisingly, Hiraga lets him, and does not startle at the sight of his tears. Instead, he wraps both arms around Roberto’s waist and holds him close.

It’s warm. What is also warm – and somehow still not deflating – is Hiraga’s member, still grasped in Roberto’s grip with his own, softening and growing oversensitive, length. Hiraga has not come yet. Staring at the crown of Hiraga’s head, Roberto’s muddled mind reaches this conclusion much too slowly. Mustn’t it be painful? Why hadn’t he said – this is Hiraga, selfless to a fault. Of course he hadn’t said anything. Roberto must take care of him. It’s partially a selfish desire: what face would Hiraga make, trembling in the arms of ecstasy? How would his limbs tense, back arch, expression contort? Would he come with Roberto’s name on his lips, begging for a kiss, or for release? Roberto needs to find out. “Hiraga,” he says, letting go of them at last. Hiraga whimpers, face still hidden in Roberto’s chest. “Hiraga,” he tries again, this time moving to release Hiraga’s tight grip around his back. Hiraga does not give. “Yes yes,” he wants to laugh, but settles for pressing a kiss to Hiraga’s hair part, then suddenly drops to his knees. Hiraga’s hands, now left grasping at empty air, immediately find purchase in Roberto’s curls. Roberto takes a second to look up at him, framed by several lights from surrounding buildings and the clear night sky. Hiraga has always looked lovely, but this view of him, hair and clothing disheveled, zip opened and framing his aching hardness, staring down at Roberto with eyes filled with something he desperately wishes is love, this view of him is nothing short of angelic. He commits the view to memory as he leans forward to nuzzle Hiraga’s shaft. “Roberto…” Hiraga sounds dazed. Roberto’s tongue darts out to lick along a protruding vein, and Hiraga’s hips buck forward. “Roberto!” But Roberto gives him no time to apologize. He takes the head – that had only nudged his cheek – into his mouth, and sucks. Hiraga hisses, fingers tightening in his hair. “R-Roberto…it’s aaah… so w-warm…” Hiraga stutters, hips moving erratically. Roberto’s hands reach up from where they grip Hiraga’s thighs to trace his protruding hipbones. Remembering himself, Roberto’s dominant hand dips down to cup, then gently tug on Hiraga’s balls. Hiraga sighs. They are already wound close to his body; is he close? More than likely, Roberto assumes. While Hiraga has been surprising him left and right recently, the idea of Hiraga getting himself off frequently enough to build up a decent amount of stamina is still improbable, at best. Roberto mulls this over while taking Hiraga further into his mouth, redirecting his line of sight low enough to ensure his lips stayed folded over his teeth. Hiraga is part of the science division, and Roberto would not be surprised at this point if their personal doctrine concerning abstinence is less strict than what is expected by the Church. For ah, health reasons, perhaps. After all, the human body is designed for periodic release and tension does build up. But Hiraga is not good at taking care of his own needs, Roberto muses as he bobs his head. Hiraga cries out his name above him. Occasionally perchance, but Hiraga touching himself with any degree of frequency is about as unbelievable as Hiraga having a wedding night… and Roberto’s pace falters as the band on his finger grows unbelievably heavy. Hiraga strokes through Roberto’s hair, and it serves as a reminder to concentrate on his task. Thoughts of how Hiraga gets himself off, and what Hiraga’s intentions are should be saved for later, in the privacy of his home. Or, ah, bed. Roberto makes a questioning sound, almost as if to say does it feel good? and Hiraga groans before telling him yes, of course--oh!.. yes, very much so--ahhh... If only he could take him all the way down, Roberto despairs, but his jaw is already nearing its limits. He swallows in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure – but this must feel incredibly good, as Hiraga’s hands clench in a vice grip. His hips pick up the pace and Roberto keeps himself still as to let Hiraga take his pleasure. Roberto, Roberto, Roberto….. Hiraga calls out his name over and over, and Roberto wishes for this to last just a little longer. Hiraga’s hips stutter, and Roberto takes over as best he can, until he can taste Hiraga’s release pouring down his throat. He comes rather silently, Roberto notices, staring up at the long line of Hiraga’s throat. His expression is hidden by his chin and his hair, Roberto observes regretfully. Either way, he is still the most beautiful sight Roberto has ever laid eyes upon. He keeps his lips fastened around Hiraga until he has emptied himself. Roberto gently licks him clean before pulling off and swallowing the load. He stays on his knees, staring up at Hiraga and gently stroking his legs until Hiraga comes back to himself, looks down at Roberto in awe and tugs on him lightly until Roberto gets to his feet. Hiraga leans against him as Roberto wipes first his hand, then Hiraga’s softening shaft with the dirtied blanket. Hiraga’s warmth is akin to a fire, and Roberto basks in it (being outside shirtless in January means it is most likely his sense of temperature that is off). He won’t regret anything if he gets sick, although maybe if either of them had had more presence of mind, they would have made better use of the now-sticky blanket. Hiraga takes hold of a corner to wipe up the small smear he made under Roberto’s eye. Roberto tries to tidy them up as best he can, tucking them carefully inside their underwear, closing buttons and zippers and hiding skin once more. And combing through hair (or at least Hiraga’s; with the way Hiraga had been tugging on his own, he’s not sure he can face the damage without a mirror or two). He leaves his shirt half-buttoned, only for the way Hiraga’s gaze lingers (dare he say, appreciatively). Thus groomed, Hiraga leans in to kiss him. Roberto quickly reaches up to place three fingers on Hiraga’s lips. “Nn?” Hiraga looks up at him in surprise, thrown off. “I, I just…” Roberto does not know how to put this into words without embarrassing himself even further. He settles for pointing at his throat. “Swallowed..” Expression determined, Hiraga reaches up with unexpected strength, pulling Roberto’s fingers away and sticking his tongue inside Roberto’s mouth. He licks him more thoroughly than before, and Roberto is helpless to stop him, mind blank. “It’s alright,” Hiraga tells him as he pulls away, wiping a suspicious wetness off his bottom lip with his thumb. (Roberto doesn’t want to know.) “Of course I don’t mind that. I love you.” In the silence, neither of them expect the second deluge of tears of the night. Ashamed, Roberto prays for the earth to swallow him up. Maybe then, he can spend eternity contemplating Hiraga’s revelation, or giving thanks for this encounter. And then plead for a second. Hiraga leads Roberto, sobbing silently, inside. If the constantly-changing temperatures don’t make him sick, maybe dehydration will. He decides to turn a blind-eye to the blanket dumped on the floor between the empty bed and the wall – he does not have the energy to deal with it now. It is only when Hiraga pulls Roberto into his lap on the unoccupied bed that Roberto remembers his resolve to leave the family their privacy. It quickly crumbles faced with the stream of uninterrupted tears. Roberto is quick to hide his face in Hiraga’s arms. Hiraga strokes his head for as long as it takes Roberto to reign himself in. When his shoulders cease their trembling, at last Hiraga speaks: “Roberto? Did I do something wrong?... Have you, come to hate me?” Roberto’s head snaps up immediately. “No!” He takes a deep breath, and reminds himself to speak quietly as to not wake up the rest of the room. Hiraga’s face is already showing signs of relief.

“Of course not,” he continues in a whisper. “How could you think that? I,” and here Roberto pauses. This is not the ideal place to confess. Hiraga deserves much, much more than a sobbing mess and a soiled sheet on a cold balcony in an unfamiliar room, but. But. 

Hiraga has given him so much today. (A confession, a ring, an experience of family. A hand, a mouth, and pleasure Roberto could never put into words.) It’s not fair to keep him waiting still.

“I love you more than anything,” Roberto confesses to him quietly. “I will never, ever come to hate you. I promise.” Hiraga smiles up at him, eyes glittering. “I know!” That throws Roberto off. “Eh?” Hiraga’s grin is infectious. “You told me earlier, when you, ah…” Hiraga’s eyes dart over to where his brother and father lie sleeping. He meets Roberto’s eyes, blushing slightly but with a playful smile. Roberto cannot believe his ears.

“I did?” Hiraga nods happily. “Ah. I see. How unfortunate,” Roberto continues. “I had hoped to remember at least that much.”

Hiraga nestles up to him, seemingly unphased. “It’s alright. I’d be happy to hear it again.”

And with that, every unsettled feeling in Roberto’s heart is swept away.

(I love you, he whispers, and will continue to all night, face hidden in Hiraga’s hair.)

Hiraga wipes away the wet streaks that adorn his face. They take a blanket from their own bed to cover Jin and Ryouta, lost in slumber. The lamp is switched off. The used blanket is adequately hidden, and Roberto washes his face while Hiraga dries his hands. Roberto runs his fingers through his hair, though it is likely a lost cause.

Once they’re done, Roberto allows Hiraga to tug him into their own bed with no complaints. He embraces him tightly.

“Hey,” Roberto whispers to him. “Let’s go buy your ring soon, alright?”

“Make,” Hiraga corrects sleepily, and Roberto is once again sent reeling. He holds Hiraga as he falls asleep, whispering promises of love, and tries to pray, to offer what thanks he can to God for this blessing. (The next day is truly just as exciting: Jin and Ryouta wake up disoriented but happy when they see the couple embracing in their sleep, Roberto discovers that his ring is gold – he won’t find the inscription within until they get home – and Hiraga gets flustered when Roberto calls him “Kou” in front of everyone. Hiraga gets teased about his new, form-fitting wardrobe much to Roberto’s delight, Jin tries to teach them all about adoption processes and family registries in Japan – to everyone but Hiraga’s confusion – and Roberto nearly damages something when he finds several red marks covering his nape, in plain view despite his shirt collar.)

Veeeeeery sorry about being a bazillion days late! 

Todorokoko, I was your SS! I really hope you you like this! 

Once again, thank you @bkdksecretsanta for the wonderful event! 

It’s been winter for a while, but it had still yet to snow. People wander through the streets in hope of the snow, wearing layers of clothing and a coat to top it off. Different mixtures of colors from the hats and scarves wandered through the busy streets of Hosu, when a large explosion interrupted the tranquil streets.

Izuku stopped in his tracks, whipping his head towards the direction of the explosion, almost dropping his boxes and bags of Christmas shopping in the process.

Even though it was a good two weeks away, there’s nothing like planning ahead and making sure everything goes smoothly. Or so Izuku thought before hearing the explosion. Izuku sighed.

Why now of all times?

Without a second of hesitation, Izuku activated his Quirk and jumped onto the nearest roof, almost dropping half of his things when he landed on top of an arcade building. His footing wasn’t off, but the amount of weight he had placed sure was.

Setting his gifts down, he took off his coat and draped it over his gifts. If it dared to snow, he wouldn’t want any to get inside the opened bags.

He did a few squats to warm up his limbs, leaning side to side to prepare himself for the fight. Once he finished that, he clapped his cheeks and smiled. Time to do some work!

Activating his Quirk once more, he jumped into the air, cool air hitting his face as he descended from the sky and landed a few buildings away from the scene of the crime. He quickly surveyed the area, looking around to see where the explosion came from, his eyes landing onto the gaping hole coming from the side of a bank. Izuku grinned as he placed a silver mouthpiece over his mouth.

He jumped off the building, landing with a swirl of cold air around him. He heard cheers of a few people in the distance while the culprit at hand stared at him with wide eyes. How did he get here so quickly?

“Everything will be okay!” Izuku said with a smile before promptly making a dash for the villain. “I’m right here!”

-

The fight didn’t last long. After a good 10 minutes of wrestling with the villain, who’s Quirk was something else, Izuku managed to capture him, pinning the villain to the ground with his hands pressed against his back. Izuku used some special anti-Quirk handcuffs and binding cloth that Mei had made for him the other day. With the criminal snuggly wrapped with no way out, Izuku called for some backup, even though they should already be there. Izuku sat there with the villain, huffing a bit.

Minutes turned to an hour, Izuku tapping his foot quietly against the floor. He finally turned to the criminal and said, “Why would you use your body-arrangement Quirk for robbery? You could’ve used it for undercover Hero work instead.”

The man looked at him with a look of confusion and wide eyes. Where was he all his life?

-

Bakugou stood under a dimmed street light, taking out his phone to look at the time.

It was late.

He huffed, a tiny stream of breath made visible. He pocketed his phone and looked up to the sky, gray clouds drifting in the wind.

“That damned nerd.” Bakugou said, a ping ringing in the silent air. Bakugo fished his phone out, turning on his phone screen to see a Reddit notification. He tapped it and frowned when he saw ‘Deku’ and ‘Capture’ in the same sentence. “Damn nerd.”

Izuku got bored quickly after he talked to the criminal about his Quirk, finding out that the man never thought about undercover Hero work until Izuku had mentioned it.

How did it not cross his mind before?

Izuku continued to sit there, waiting for backup when a shadow towered on him. He looked up, straightening himself when he saw who it was.

“What are you doing here?” Katsuki asked him, Izuku giving him a small smile, knowing what will happen if he told him.

“W-Well, there was an incident and-”

“Whatever happened to Recovery Girl’s instructions! You’re not suppose be involved into any type of fighting until your wrists recover!” Katsuki yelled, grabbing his arm and showing him his wrapped-up wrists. Izuku frowned, placing his hand over Katsuki’s.

“I didn’t do anything serious.” Izuku said, rolling his eyes. Katsuki huffed, tiny clouds forming under his nose. Izuku snorted.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Izuku said, suppressing a laugh, his grasp on the capture cloth on the villain still tight. He gained focus when a slight series of blue and red lights made themselves known to the two young heroes.

“Yeah right nothing’s funny.” Katsuki said, seeing Detective Tsukauchi from the corner of his eye. “Seems the old man’s friend is here.”

“For the last time Kacchan, All Might isn’t that old.” Izuku said with a slight pout. Katsuki looked at him with a straight face, cocking one of his eyebrows. Izuku sighed. “Fine. He might be...old.” It was at times like these that Izuku wished that Katsuki wasn’t so blunt about All Might.

Ever since Izuku let him in on the OFA secret, Katsuki had been more blunt and bold about anything with All Might. The respect was there along with the shade. “Just don’t say it in front of him. He’s still hurt about the whole-”

“-but it was true.” Katsuki said. “He has a bad sense of fashion. You would think that he would change that damn yellow mustard suit once his secret was out, but no.” Katsuki simply scowled. “He still wore it!”

“Listen, not everyone lives with a very fashionable person, okay?” Izuku pointed out. “And besides, all the girls like it.” Izuku said, hoping that Katsuki didn’t know why exactly.

“Because it’s dorky.” Izuku let out a weak laugh. So he knew. “But not as dorky as yours.”

“Hey!” Izuku said, elbowing Katsuki’s side, earning a chuckle from him.

“I’m not saying it doesn’t look good.”

“True.” Izuku said, averting his gaze from Katsuki. Katsuki simply looked to the side, seeing Agent Tsukauchi approaching the two. A odd, yet comforting silence sat between the two. Without permission, Katsuki grabbed hold of the cloth bind in Izuku’s hand, his fingertips ghost over Izuku’s hand. Izuku quivered.

“I’ll hand him over. You rest up. It looked like one hell of a fight. Also,” Katsuki took off his coat with a single hand, not losing his grip on the villain and handed Izuku his coat. “Put this on. You’ll catch a cold.”

Izuku looked at Katsuki and then at his coat, a smile gracing his lips.

“Thank you.”

“Shut up and put it on idiot. I seriously don’t want you getting a cold. You know how well that turned out last time.” Katsuki said, walking over to Detective Tsukauchi. Meanwhile, Izuku wrapped the coat over his body.

“So warm.” Izuku whispered, sinking into the warmness of Katsuki’s coat.

-

“So where exactly did you place these damn things?” Katsuki asked, blowing into his hands.

This is why he hated winter. While he was used to the stupid coldness, not being able to use his Quirk to warm up was a downside. He glanced over to Izuku who was shivering as he walked. Idiot. He was even wearing his coat. He should be warm by now. Unless the cold was entering through the gap at the bottom of the coat. He was smaller than him after all. Both in height and frame.

“I...I don’t actually remember.” Izuku confessed, scratching his cheek. Katsuki’s hair puffed up more than usual, causing Izuku to flinch. Ochako was right. He did look like a pomeranian when he was angry.

“What do you mean you don’t remember?” Katsuki yelled, his palms crackling. The smell made Izuku’s stomach growl. How long has it been since he’s eaten roasted marshmallows? “How long have you been outside?” Katsuki asked upon hearing the rumbling. Izuku’s face turned red.

“M-Maybe a good...6 hours?”

“Idiot.”

“I had a lot of things to buy!” Izuku defended himself with. “And with the curfew being earlier than last time, I had to forget about eating if I wanted to get the things I wanted in time!”

“That’s not a reason for neglecting food. You should know that you damn nerd.” Katsuki said, slightly regretting helping Izuku look for the gifts he had misplaced. “Are you sure you came from this direction?” Izuku nodded his head.

“Pretty sure, although I’m not sure where exactly I launched myself from.” Izuku said with a sigh, glancing at Katsuki. He was wearing a turtleneck. Just like his winter hero suit.

“Well, where exactly was the last place you remember being or shopping at?”

“Remember that place that I was talking about that sells Red Riot merch?”

“Yea?”

“Well, that's the closest place I remember to being at, so-”

“Let's go.” Katsuki said, grabbing Izuku's hand and tugging him along as he picked up the pace.

“Eh? Why there?”

“If it's the closest place, then we don't have to waste time looking around. We'll just scan the rooftops until we see them.” Katsuki said. Izuku smiled.

“That's a great idea Kacchan!”

“Of course it is.” Katsuki said, making sure to not let Izuku see his face.

“Then let's go!” Izuku said, scooping Katsuki into a bridal carry and activating his Quirk.

“Idiot! What are doing?!” Katsuki said, trying to get down despite the tight grip Izuku had on him. Izuku laughed.

“It'll be faster this way!” Izuku said, jumping into the cold air, Katsuki’s shouts ringing throughout the dark night.

-

Luckily, the duo was able to find the presents, somehow able to bringing them all up to Izuku's room.

Katsuki placed the bags down on the ground while placing the boxes he carried on Izuku's empty desk. Izuku placed the boxes he was carrying on his bed, going back to close the door. He removed Katsuki's coat and places it to the side, besides his own.

“So that's everything. Sure went on a spending spree.” Katsuki said, looking at the red and green lying around Izuku's room.

“Well, there are a lot of people I wanted to give gifts to.” Izuku said, picking up a few bags, placing them on the center of the room.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm going to start wrapping them.”

“Now?”

“Yea.” Izuku said, walking to his closet and taking out some tubes of wrapping paper.

“What about dinner?” Katsuki said.

“I'll eat later. I want to wrap them now. Since break is around the-”

“Later? You said you accent eaten since you left this morning!”

“Yea, just let me start wrapping and then I'll head downstairs. A few more minutes won't hurt.”

“Yes it will.” Katsuki said with a growl.

“It won't if I go within an hour. That's all I'll take. I promise.” Izuku said, about to sit down when Bakugou grabbed his arm.

“I promise?” Bakugou looked at Midoriya straight in the eyes. “I always hear you say that to All Might and Recovery Girl and yet what to do you go and do?” Bakugou jabbed his finger at Midoriya. “You go and do the opposite of what they tell you to do.”

“We can't keep all promises!” Midoriya said, tugging his arm from Bakugou's grasp.

“Then why do you make them?”

“It makes the other person feel reassured.”

“Reassured? So apparently making broken promises is what you like to do?”

“It's part of the job whether we like it or not!”

“That's not what makes a Hero and you know that!” Bakugou yelled. Midoriya grabbed him by shirt collar.

“I know that, but you act like you don't do it yourself.”

“Your right, but at least I'm always consider about other people and their worries. I'm not the one who disregards warnings.” Bakugou said, Midoriya loosening his grip on him.

“You're wrong.”

“Remind me who went and fought despite being told to recover?” A silence. Bakugou pushed Midoriya's hand away, walking towards the door, picking his coat along the way. Before leaving, “Not everyone can have the luck you have you know. Not everyone has access to what you have.”

Izuku was left with those words hanging around him as he heard the door shut. He let himself plop onto the floor, picking up where he left off as the built up tears threatened to fall.

An hour and a half had passed while Izuku wrapped the gifts he had bought. The rumbling of his stomach interrupted his wrapping and the only reason why he bothered to look at the clock.

Katsuki was right.

He shouldn't be saying what he can't up hold.

Since he had stopped, might was well take a break.

Izuku got up, almost toppling over the small clutter of wrapped gifts around his feet. He quickly caught himself, balancing himself and stepping over his mess. He thankfully made his way towards his bedroom door without stepping on any of the precious gifts. He opened the door to his bedroom, only to be met with ruby eyes.

“Kacchan.”

“No, its Santa.” Katsuki said, causing Izuku to blink before averting his gaze to the side. A small scowl made itself known across Katsuki’s face. “Hurry up and make a way for me to get in. I brought drinks and a few other things.” Katsuki said, motioning to the small tray with 2 mugs and a plate of cookies.

“You brought these for me?”

“If you want them, hurry up and make a path before everything becomes mine.”

“R-right!” Izuku stammered, looking behind himself, commencing to pick up the gifts and placing them on top of his desk or any place besides the floor. Some went to his bed while others barely made it to the bed, toppling over towards the abandoned chair in the corner. Quickly, Izuku caught the gifts, placing them down more gently than the first time. “Everything’s good.” Izuku said, even though there was still a mess on the floor.

Katsuki carefully made his way into his bedroom, careful to not slip on any loose gift wrapping or anything that can cause him to go flying. Izuku closed the door behind him, watching him make his way towards the back the room with familiarity.

Thankfully he made it to where he wanted, the middle of the room. He carefully placed the tray down and sat on the floor, his back pressed against the bed frame. Katsuki then signaled him to come over.

Izuku walked over and stood next to him, only to be pulled down into Katsuki's embrace, sitting over Katsuki's crossed legs. Izuku felt Katsuki lean slightly over, his chin resting on Izuku's shoulder.

“Sorry about earlier.”

“No, you were right. I shouldn't be saying things I can't uphold.”

“And you shouldn't be skipping meals.” Katsuki said, handing a mug over to Izuku, a waft of cocoa crossing under their noses.

“Cocoa?” Izuku said, his stomach growled with pain.

“The old hag sent some the other day. Thought I should share some with you. Since you're starving and whatnot.” Katsuki said, grabbing a cookie from the tray he brought.

“That makes sense. That's why it smelled so familiar.”

“What?”

“She used to make this for us when we were kids.” Izuku said, smiling as he looked at the chocolatey drink in his hands, the warmth of it like that of a mother's.

“Guess you're right. Never realized it though. I've always drank it whenever she made it.”

“Think we can visit her over the break?” Izuku said, taking a sip from the mug. He looked over at the tray of cookies, noticing that there weren't many left.

“Why should we?”

“Don't you miss her?”

“The old hag?” A scoff. “Not really. I have you.” Katsuki said, gaining a series of giggled from Izuku. “W-what?”

“That's the corniest thing you've said to me.”

“Whatever. I meant it.” Katsuki said, taking his mug and chugged half of it down. Izuku placed his down, his stomach singing in satisfaction.

“I know you do.” Izuku said, letting out a yawn. He leaned back into Katsuki.

“Hey! You're going to make me spill my cocoa! And there isn't much after these two!”

“Sorry, just got a bit drowsy. The cocoa really hit the spot.”

“Maybe I should ask the had to teach me how to make it. I don't always want to rely on her like a kid.” Katsuki said, feeling Izuku lean more into him. “Hey.” No response.

Tiny snores filled the quiet room.

Katsuki sighed. He drank the rest of his cocoa and placed the mug down. Wrapping his arms around Izuku, Katsuki placed his head on top of Izuku's and drifted to sleep.

He'll thank his mother over the break when they go visit her.

Finally Nico was not alone.

Percy's pov:

Today I will do it. Today I will ask my crush out on a date, or I will try to...what you think the son of Poseidon would be a little more brave? haha you are talking to the wrong person here. It's just when ever he looks at me or talks, my heart just goes *does jazz hands*. Yes so I am ready to tell everyone that the prince of underworld has stolen my aching heart and I am going to ask him out, you can do this percy.

HOW HARD CAN IT BE?!?!

Narrator's POV:

As things turned out, it is safe to say...it could be pretty hard.

But then again, what ends well is well, right? let's just jump on it. The romantic thought that had occurred to our boy in the morning, had taken...approximately...six hours to come up with the plan but then again self doubt creeps in, and as the sky whispers the glow of twinkling stars, it is about to be night time. Percy has to buckle up those nerves to ask out the raven head.

But today is not only special to Percy but to nico as well, today was the day he came out to his mother. And it didn't go well. He always had his sister to talk about this. But she is not there...no one is. The prince is siting under the rock cliff on the beach with light unshed tears cornering his eyes. Nico surrounds his knees with his hands, hugging and seeking for affection. but he has always been a bit unlucky in that department.

His heart had a slow pace, mind playing the memory of that hideous night once again. Even his fingers where shaking, the brave son of Hades fond himself alone...once again. His eyes which had often brew the shine reflecting off a sword of celestial bronze where right now holding the sorrow of a forgotten stone, why did she react like this, why is hard to believe that a boy can love a boy. Was he so wrong that the people who should support him by birth stood against him with just one statement. Was that all the motherhood was only about, why is this universe so unkind that he who already found himself to be distant that everyone else had to be...different. When will life stop playing such a cruel joke?

On the other hand the prince of the sea was getting more and more anxious with every passing minute. He took in a deep breath..now or never.

Inside he went in the training are, the woods but he was no where to be found, the boy he wanted to see the most...where was he? Then..as Percy liked to say it..a little fishy told him that the boy of underworld was sitting under the rock cliff.

The waves splashed on the drowning sand in a mocking tone making percy go faster. He was nervous to say the least. through out the whole time his eyes where on the ground, so obviously the pretty clumsy ass gets hit on his head when he made it to the rock. "ououuch" the slow but loud grunt made nico look up from the dark corner he currently occupied like a ball. With an instinct his palm lingered on his sword but he knew the voice, he knew it dam well. "Percy?..That you?" the small boy whispered.

"yep now for the love of sea don't take your sword out." The tan boy said with both his hands in front of him in defensive position. Nico re-positioned himself and sat upright his weight on both his hands, waiting percy to talk. And our boy..more like a stuttering idiot.

"Ni-I..um..we--yo-...me..Can I sit?"

"Free country water boy." Nico said rolling his eyes.

Percy slowly laughed at the nick name and sat beside him in the same position. His eyes looked the boy beside him.  "You-you um like-" The said boy was trying hard to focus on the so formed words but was finding it hard to. Percy then noticed the hesitation, he observed that the usual crescent surface laced with softness was tonight layered with drop tracks of rubbed tears, with the slight tint of crimson on the cheeks. It erode a resentful feel in percy's heart.

Nico crying was something worse than no fish talking to him, but nico crying......alone.

That's worst.

He wanted to, he really did, to comfort the boy. But Percy was familiar with the feeling of 'not close enough', over the years and after the death of bianca, he always had a slight hesitation with the small boy. He had done nothing to win nico's trust. They were close when Bianca was there, but did they still share the feeling of togetherness? Percy didn't thought so, Maybe he was foolish to even think he shared a place in Nico's heart, why would he?

For percy, the son of hades was the definition of courage, bravery and mystery. he saw the boy with love and admiration, he still remembers the day he found the boy. It felt like a lifetime ago but since he met those wedge coca eyes he knew he is going to protect the joy in those orbs with his life, but yet he failed.

So why? why would nico feel close to percy?...ever.

But maybe...just maybe nico didn't saw him with disappointment. maybe he was still his friend...maybe more?

With that last strand of hope, he slowly tugged the raven locks behind the pale yet red ears, making the prince of his heart look up to him. "You have soft hair." He whispered, nico just..blinked.

"Is...that what you wanted to say?"

"No..but they are. Like you."

"I am not soft jackson."

Percy smiled softly "There is nothing wrong with it."

Nico scoffed looking ahead. "With being sof-"

"No," Percy cut him off "With showing emotions."

The tender boy knew at that moment that the percy knew he cried, so he looked at the ground.

The sea waves were slow and calm, as if trying not to whisper in the glow of affection that floated between the two demigods. Percy gracefully slipped his arm around the other, not touching just yet.

Nico emotions were too tiled up to focus on what the other was up to, also he trusted percy so he wasn't worried what the he was up to. He just looked up the sky focusing on the breeze left off the waves. Somehow the son of Poseidon made them seem more..soothing. Some how without doing anything percy made it better, just being present there, Nico who didn't really like being around people right now in the moment felt.....

better.

Percy didn't say anything for a while, he just sat there debating on how to strike up a conversation. "So nico why are you here?" Nico would tell him easily but how can he explain that his cabin made him feel too like himself, something he hated, he wanted to run away from who he is but the only thing he could run away was his room. so he did he ran away to a place that made his calm, the sea.

"I just feel good here."

Then suddenly percy reached and brushed the small boys cheeks but awkwardly put his hand back. Nico just looked at him confused. "You are really pretty." The tan boy slowly whispered.

The crimson color on the smaller boys cheeks now replaced for a rose pink glow, eyes wide and dilated pupils. "W-What" he squeaked. Percy was not backing away he needed to do this.

"You are beautiful." he leaned in and whispered, "and whatever you were thinking that made you sad is not worth at all" Nico licked his lips and focus his eyes on the green ones who he admired with all his soul.

He scoffed and said, "Why does the hero of Olympus care?" he thought percy was joking or maybe wanted to prank him because him pretty?

Percy sighed he expected this, ofcourse he doesn't believe him.

"I just..." he took a deep breath. Now...nico needs this...now.

He turned to coco eyed prince and held his arms, tight. Making their eyes lock.

"You..you have no idea how much I search for you everyday, with my eye because I don't know nico, looking or just knowing that you are close by gets me going, I like seeing when you smile and look down to hide it, or cough so no one will know that you were happy. I wish I had half the strength you have on your weakest day, your determination with your sword renders me speechless , but when you use your weapon my heart starts beating faster, scared that something might harm you. I hate it when you don't come to eat in the dinning, don't think that I don't know you only eat pomegranate,-" Percy's eyes were like the slow hitting waves of water on a rock, the tears threatened to fall, thinking about those times when he might have not been there for him made his heart crack in billion small shredded pieces.

Then a thin smile appeared on his lips as he closed his eyes "and nico you have no idea, my heart just does a dance when it sees you, and when you look at me you make me nervous, like good nervous. And when you speak to me, you make feel special, when our hands accidently touch, I think about that for the whole night. I-" The pools of love were falling off of those green eyes.

Nico's eyes forgot to blink, his thruot went dry and his fingers numb, never had he ever thought that someone will think about him this way....in a lovely way. His soft fingers made way to the wet cheeks and wiped off the tears, and his face got closer. He leaned in and slowly brushed his foreheard with the other. Percy joined them together.

"I--I like, like you a lot." Percy finally whispered after blissful silence.

"Me..too" there he said it, the prince of underworld couldn't deny it,

Percy opened his eyes and leaned back, taking a deep breath he whispered "Would you go out on a date with me."

"Yes." nico said without hesitation,

their arms locked around and only one thought circled Nico's now calm mind.

The day he hated, the day he louted.

might just have became the most blissful day for him, because of the green eyed prince of his....heart.

Blue Zircon continues to be extremely confused, Gravescratch attempts to remedy this. Also, nature happens rather loudly. Part 2 of https://bettsplendens.tumblr.com/post/161343231179/an-experimental-weapon-noodle-obtains-a-very. 

3281 words, warning for a “I am property” mindset. 

Zircon woke slowly, confused, but couldn’t bring herself to be frightened of whatever this was. She had been… unconscious? Which should be concerning, but she was fine. Just… waking up. No pain, none of that lingering unpleasantness that came with re-forming, body still where she’d put it.

Uncurling a bit, Zircon rubbed her eyes in an effort to reboot her brain, then shook her head and looked up at-

Oh, right, this thing with way too many eyes. Which… hadn’t eaten her yet, apparently didn’t intend to, and was currently reading a… thing. A small object, made of extremely thin pieces of something moderately flexible, that had what looked like some sort of writing on each piece.

“That looks inefficient.” Was her first thought, and not one she quite managed to contain. It did look inefficient!

 “Yes, well, I do not keep data storage devices over my face. Besides- the locals here are only just beginning to migrate all reading data to digital form, it is a rather recent invention. This is what they use instead, it is called a ‘book’. Perfectly serviceable, albeit inefficient compared to the tech you are used to.”

Having calmly explained himself, Gravescratch set the book aside and looked down at his lap full of public defender, taking in the utterly confused expression. “And you were just asleep. Sleep is a state of mind and body, mandatory for the physical and mental health of many organic creatures, which Gems also benefit from despite not being organic. It is not necessary, but it is helpful for mental health, particularly among those under high stress. Homeworld discourages it and hides the knowledge due to it being seen as unproductive. It is something like meditation- the mind relaxes, all conscious thought ceasing, and the body largely relaxes. Consider it a reboot. You were terribly confused and upset, but now- better, yes?”

 Zircon elected not to answer. Mostly because she did not want to admit that, yes, she was feeling better now. Or… comment on her emotions and what had just happened.

Except, actually-

What exactly, had-

Zircon had several questions, but they were all derailed by something… chiming? Chirping?

The chirping turned out to be coming from a small, blue, fluttering creature, something that was perched on the back of her former hiding place. It would have fit in her palm, its coloration was startlingly close to hers, and it kept making rather pleasant sounds as it bounced around on two tiny limbs.

New question.

“…what is that?”  

 “Ah, there it is. That, little one, is a ‘bluebird’. Birds are small, avian, organic creatures found across this planet. There are several thousand different species, ranging from the size of your finger to about the size of your torso, in many different colors. That is a small local species. It is supposed to be outside, but it found its way inside earlier and I did not wish to pursue it for fear of harming it. They are very fragile. I would like to put it outside, as that is where it belongs, so, if you will pardon me…”

Gravescratch gently tipped Zircon out of his lap and stood up, circling around the wall of the room until he was near a section of a soft wall hanging. Pulling it aside, he revealed a transparent section of the wall, which he opened- letting in a good deal of humidity, a gust of moving wind, and more sounds similar to the first creature’s sound. “Yes, yes, here you are- you can leave now, bird.” Gravescratch declared, turning to look at the bird- and blinked all seven eyes in mild surprise as another bluebird flew in.

Both Gems stared at the new invader for a moment, then Gravescratch shook his head, sighed, and turned back towards the window. “That was exactly the opposite effect I had intended this to have, so- little one, please stay in here, I am going to encourage them to leave.”

 Zircon wasn’t watching the “birds” any more. Her attention was now on the opening in the wall through which her kidnapper had just left. Slowly standing up, she carefully approached the opening, staying to the side so the strange thing might not see her looking out.

That was… a lot of green. A lot of bright, bright green. The sky was a bizarre soft blue with moving patches of white, and the ground was a fuzzy green that her eyes couldn’t properly focus on. This was far too large to be another room, so- apparently that was what the planet looked like. Now- which one was this? Had she seen any images of a planet like this?

She had not.

That was a bad sign. So was the lack of anything even resembling Homeworld tech. Or anything coherent, everything was fuzziness and rounded edges and-

Apparently the ground came apart. Her captor was scraping away the green, revealing a layer of dark brown, and he did it with no visible effort.

 Gravescratch cleared away a patch of the green, then sat back and stared up at the sky, waiting until-

After a short time, another few bluebirds came fluttering down, landing on the exposed patch of brown. Making sounds very loud compared to their tiny frames, they bounced around in the brown and plucked at it as if searching for something, completely ignoring the lanky thing standing near them.

A few moments later, the birds inside seemingly heard the sounds, chirped in response, and flew outside, joining the others in the exposed patch.

Gravescratch gave a satisfied hum, but didn’t come back inside, just sat down and watched the birds- especially as more, of differing colors and sizes, appeared.

 Her captor was distracted. Distracted, and facing away from her. With an opening to the outside still available.

But her captor looked very fast, wasn’t far away, and was familiar with the local area. She was not made to be fast, and she didn’t even know what planet she was on.

Running was a bad idea. It was a very bad idea.

So… was staying here a better idea?

She didn’t trust the strange thing that had captured her, and she still had no doubt that it was going to hurt her. It seemed calm now, though, whereas running would risk making it angry with her.

But… if it was angry, it might just get whatever it was planning over with. Which, given that she had no hope of rescue, would probably be better than it toying with her for however long it intended.

And this might actually work.

Staying here, she had no hope of escape.

Trying to run would give her the tiniest scrap of hope.

Which was something that she needed.

So, shakily, Zircon crept over to the opening in the wall. One last check to be sure the creature wasn’t watching, then she clambered outside, dropping to the ground.

She didn’t stop to look around. Partly because she couldn’t, her eyes couldn’t focus properly on all the incoherent shapes around her. She just set off in one direction, as quietly as possible, heading towards what looked like cover. A series of objects much larger than her, blobs of nonsensical green patterns supported by relatively straight grey-brown columns. Hopefully she could hide among some of those. She just had to get there.

Zircon tried to be quiet, at least until she was away from the building, but the ground kept making sounds. Unpleasant squishing noises from everything she stepped on, urgh. Worse than that, she ended up yelping as a small, bullet-shaped creature leapt out of the ground and hit her in the face, and there was no way her captor hadn’t heard-!

Time to run. Zircon abandoned all attempts at secrecy and just bolted, panic fueling her as she ran for cover. Maybe if she just got a head start, got ahead of it far enough, she could escape-!

 Unbelievably, it seemed to be working. When she finally risked a glance over her shoulder from between the columns, nothing was following her. It wasn’t there. Maybe it- could she have escaped its notice?

Maybe it hadn’t been watching because it hadn’t expected her to run.

Well, she’d showed it!

Zircon had time for a moment of satisfaction before a crashing sound registered. Slow, powerful, and repetitive- coming from somewhere in front of her.

Was that good? It might provide an opportunity to escape a potential tracker’s hearing, but it might also present another threat. Except that it almost sounded like… water.

She was a Gem of Blue Diamond’s court. Water was a good thing for her.

And she was too tired to run.

So she kept walking in a straight line, slowly, cautiously, as the blue of the sky started to show up again and the crashing grew louder, and she kept walking until she ran out of ground to walk on.

The ground fell away. Not even in a sensible fashion, with hovercraft docks or any sort of transport, it just stopped being ground and turned into open air. “Of course. Because nothing here makes any sense.” Zircon muttered, staring out at the sky in front of her that seemed to somehow stretch below the horizon, and-

Wait. There was a line. But the ground was almost the same color as the sky out near the horizon, except that it was moving, white lines rippling across it towards her.

Oh, her eyes were not made for this. She was made to operate in well-constructed buildings that made sense, to process data at high speeds, not to stare out at messily shaped things that someone had put far away.

But, squinting, she managed to make out what was in front of her.

Water.

More water than she’d seen in her entire life, stretching from horizon to horizon around the outcropping she was standing on. There were waves rippling across the surface of the water towards her, crashing against the base of the outcropping far below her. As she watched, a massive grey creature broke the surface of the water, sent a white spout from its back, and sank again, and more birds –these larger and grey- drifted across her view.  

“What in Blue Diamond’s name…”

 “Oh, she had nothing to do with this.”

 Zircon gave a very undignified yelp and jolted in place, very nearly jumping right off of the outcropping. Whirling around with her arms up as a futile shield, she backed up until she was right at the edge, trying to escape the punishment she was certain was coming for her escape attempt-

But nothing happened. Her captor twitched towards her, as if about to grab, but didn’t touch her. Just- waited. Staring. And did nothing.

It unnerveed her enough that she ended up blurting out “well?!” up at the thing, then immediately regretted it and covers her gem with both arms, which unfortunately left her with no good way to hide her face.

 “I am not going to grab you.” Gravescratch rumbled, taking one long step back, and sat down- out of reach of her. “Unless I feel that you are in danger otherwise, I am going to respect your bodily autonomy as much as I can. And I am not going to harm you for running, understand? You are not in trouble. I do not blame you for running, either, although I do need you to return. And, preferably step away from the cliff before you fall off.”

 Bodily autonomy?

She knew what those words meant, separately, but- together, and in this context?

And why didn’t her captor intend to punish her for this? She ran, which is precisely what she was told not to do- it would make sense for her to be punished, why wouldn’t- not that she’s complaining, of course, but-

The only logical part of that was the suggestion that she should move away from the cliff. She did so, forcing herself to walk closer to the thing that so effortlessly found her, and tried to draw herself up as she spoke to it.

“You make no sense. Explain yourself at- at once! You have kidnapped me, why- why wouldn’t you- and- ‘bodily autonomy’, what do-“

She didn’t want to get closer, but she did, moving slowly towards the thing as if drawn by a magnet. “And what did- did you do to me? How are you making me feel like- nnh-“

 “I did not do anything to you. As I said before, little one- you are a member of a social species, in a society that forbids affection. You are terribly touch-starved. That contact earlier helped, and now, whether or not you intend to, you are searching for more. Easy… I am not going to hurt you.” Gravescratch rumbled, leaning in slightly, and pressed his muzzle to her forehead when she was close enough. “I am sorry- I do not mean to upset you, but, as I am not causing this, I have no way to stop it.”

 Eyes shutting, Zircon took the final step closer, hands curling into fists as she tried to fight the urge to get closer. She did not succeed. The best she could manage was not hugging the thing that had brought her to this planet against her will, the thing that could shatter and eat her if it so chose, the thing that-

That was explaining again. She should listen. Explanations were good.

 “You are not in trouble because your reaction is understandable. You are frightened of me, and for good reason. I would have been shocked if you did not make some escape attempt. Now… bodily autonomy. A concept that is going to seem very strange to you, because it goes against everything that the Diamonds encourage. It is, to put it simply, the idea that you have the right to decide what happens to your body. You have the right to decide who is allowed to touch you, what they are allowed to do, and when they stop. You have the right to decide what you are comfortable doing and what you are not, and no one, even the Diamonds, can change that.”

Gravescratch lowered his head just enough to meet Zircon’s eyes, or, at least, enough to meet her eyes if she would open them. “No one has the right to manipulate or control you in any way, save only what is necessary to prevent serious harm to you or someone else. Why I refrained from grabbing you away from the cliff just now, for example- you were not in serious enough danger to warrant me capturing you in such an alarming fashion. I am trying to respect your autonomy as much as I can. Which is why I am not holding you- I am concerned that it would distress you further.”

 Explanations were still good.  Except when they only made things more confusing.

The Diamonds were entitled to whatever they wanted of her. Anything and everything- theirs.

Or… maybe not so much the Diamonds any more.

She’d been taken, removed to another planet, and there was no one en route to rescue her. Which meant, legally, she belonged to… this.

So, instead of faceplanting into its front, she probably ought to show the proper respect.

Drawing herself up as much as possible, Zircon took a step back and squared her shoulders, looking up at the being who towered over her. “Ma’am. With all due respect- in accordance with Right of Conquest laws, you literally own me. What you are saying makes absolutely no sense. You have every right to do- literally whatever you want. I- there are- there are some things I would not recommend, and things I would not prefer, but- I have no rights here.”

 “That again.” Gravescratch rumbled, eyes narrowing, and leaned down to properly meet her gaze. “Listen to me. I do not have any right to control you. I did not earn the right to manipulate you by having the skills to capture you, and the Diamonds did not earn the right to manipulate anyone simply by being born as a certain variety of Gem. No matter what they claim, that does not give them any right to anything they are doing. But that is unimportant for now. What I need you to understand is that you have rights. You have the right to tell me to stop anything that you do not like. And I am not inclined to take orders, but you may make requests. Go on- try it out.”

 …what?

Zircon didn’t manage to restrain her expression of bewilderment, mostly because all of her brainpower was going into trying to puzzle this out. First of all- the Diamonds had every right to do whatever they wanted, with everything that they owned, and they owned an extremely large number of things. Second, her captor –owner- had every right to- again, anything. This made no sense, but-

There was an order near the end of that confusing paragraph. Probably another part of this twisted game, but… an order. “Try it out”, referring to, presumably, her hypothetical ability to make requests of her owner.

So… she tried it out.

Stared up at whatever this was, tried to stay steady, and spoke as clearly as she could. Which… wasn’t very, given her request. “Hold me. Ma’am. I- I still think something happened to cause this, but- I want- hold me.”

 “There we are. Good. Assert yourself- I promise I will not be angry with you.” Gravescratch rumbled, all seven eyes shutting momentarily in a gesture of approval, and wrapped his arms gently around Zircon’s frame. Pulling her just a bit closer, he rumbled gently and hugged her with all four arms, giving quiet approving sounds every time she moved to increase the area of contact.

 Zircon slumped limp in her owner’s hold, shutting her eyes for just a few seconds so that she could properly bask in the sensation of touch, and… stayed like that for far longer than she meant to. Oh. Intimidating or not, this thing was warm, and it was supporting her oh-so-well, and she wanted-

She wanted to curl in close and get comfortable and never move away, wanted to stay like this and hold this creature and never let go, and it scared her that she wanted anything so strongly-

She wanted more, but she wanted to stop, and the twisting desires escaped as a soft whimper before she started to claw at her owner’s front- trying to get away, trying to hide somewhere so she could figure this out on her own without being touched in a way that made her mind want to short out. “Stop, stop-“

To her shock, the creature did. It let go, it stepped back slightly, and it crouched, making no effort to get closer to her again.

 “Yes, like that- good!” Gravescratch crooned, looking genuinely pleased, and took a step away. “Come on- away from the cliff, please. And, preferably, back to the building- come inside and sit, enjoy the electric blanket, sit somewhere away from all the nature so you can think.”

 Her owner obeyed when she tried to make a situation stop. Now that… that had to be part of a game, some kind of trick, some kind of trap, but-

But the ground kept making noises, and little things flung themselves out of it at her, and she wanted to be somewhere that did not have anywhere near this many living creatures. So… she’d obey. She’d go back inside.

And she was going to use every step of the way back to try and puzzle this out.

FOREVER BElonging WITH YOU

PART I - THE RECEPTION

<< COVER || PART II >> Story Rating: M Chapter Warnings: Mild suggestive themes, alcohol. [This chapter is sfw]

“Oi, I’ll see ya guys off. It’s the 6th’s senkaimon, after all.”

The four people he was addressing-Ichigo, Inoue, Sado, and Ishida-stopped walking and looked at him, surprised. Ichigo tilted his head. “Oh. Uh, thanks, Renji.” The others nodded their agreement and continued onward.

With a pointed glance back as if to say “I’ve got this,” Renji followed behind and left Rukia to silently observe their retreating backs.

His actions did not surprise her in the least. They had been quietly discussing a certain matter with each other all evening and she had a feeling she knew exactly what he was planning on doing about it. Rukia considered her hunch confirmed when he returned to the table several minutes later unaccompanied and looking slightly more confident than before.

She asked him anyways. “You said something to him, didn’t you?”

“Hey, I just did what had to be done. The kid needs a push every once ‘n a while.” Renji put on an air of aloofness and pretended to fix his finely tailored haori with a casual shrug, the same action he’d repeated frequently throughout the day.

“Don’t I know it,” Rukia snorted as he plunked himself down onto the plush seat beside her. “So how did she respond when he told her?”

This time, he was forced to adjust his coat for real. “Eh, he didn’t tell her he loved her right there, but lookin’ at her face I think she might’ve figured it out. He asked her to ‘make time for him’ to ‘discuss something important.’ Subtle, right?” Renji finished straightening the hem and it fanned out over the back of his cushion.

Then as if to spite it all, he crossed his arms behind his head and reclined into a sloppy posture that visually contradicted the elegance and sophistication of his formalwear. “So…how long’re we talkin’? A year? Two? Five?” He thought for a second and snickered, “3 months?”

Rukia scoffed and swatted Renjij’s side. “Three months? Do you really have that little confidence in them?”

He batted away her second swipe and caught the third and fourth in each hand. “Ow! Hey! Not how long they’ll last! How long before they get to this point!” Even in the midst of their struggle he managed to gesture between the two of them. The action flung the sleeve of her magnificently embroidered kimono up before her eyes and suddenly their surroundings came clearly into focus.

Under them, a thin carpet of petals and leaves dislodged from the meticulously manicured branches that spread over the courtyard in a weaving canopy of color. Around them, smells of delicious food still lingered and the fumes from the lanterns gradually blazing to life as the sun sank below the rooftops grew thick. Above them, curtains of hanging gossamer streamers and strings of tiny folded paper cranes rustled softly with every small disturbance in the breeze. In front of them, a lacquered oak table adorned with sprigs of tiny flowers and empty plates.

This point…

The scuffling stopped. They blinked at each other.

Slowly, Rukia’s arms slackened as Renji’s grip on her fists went soft. His thick fingers gently jimmied under and around hers until their hands knitted together, palm-to-palm.

“Hey,” Renji whispered warmly. Tender, even. “How ya feelin’, Mrs. Abarai?”

Rukia flushed from his intimate affections and the use of her new name. “Renji! Not in front of everyone!” she protested, though there was no denying they made her heart soar in a very pleasant way.

He released her hands and leaned over until his forehead nearly touched hers. “No one’s payin’ attention to us, they’re too busy gettin’ boozed up while they can. See?” One long finger placed itself on her chin and turned her head slightly to the side.

Rukia glanced around. This was true. Filled with vibrant music and laughter in the hours before, the venue was nearly silent and empty now, save for the stragglers taking advantage of the last morsels of food and drink in the 15 minutes before the banquet officially ended. Not that she minded, though. It was not every day that most of them got to dine on such high-class fare, after all.

Several pieces of black hair in her line of vision were suddenly lifted and swept away. She raised her eyebrow at the culprit. “What are you doing?”

Renji carefully tucked the strands behind her ear. Putting on a devilish grin, he curved his hands around the sides of her head and ran his thumbs over her still very red cheeks. “Tryin’ to give my wife a proper kiss,” he replied, demeanor ripe with mischievous intent.

Rukia’s stomach gave an abrupt lurch. Her hands immediately flew to his chest to prevent him from leaning forward any further. “RENJI!” she sputtered, mortified, “W-we can’t do that! I mean…we can…it’s just…it’s not that I don’t want to…but not here! It’s too embarrassing!”

His hands dropped to her shoulders. Renji’s features scrunched in confusion and it looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh at her. “Rukia, we already kissed here. Before the banquet. In front of everyone. You were fine then.”

“Th-that’s different. It was a required part of the ceremony to make everything official,” she grumbled and attempted to concentrate on anything but the nearness of his handsome face to her own, which currently felt like it would burst into flames any second.

He stared. Then his chest lurched under her hands and he finally released a stifled bark of laughter. Even as she scowled crossly at him, Renji slid his arms around her until she relented and rested her heated face on the cool fabric of his silk kimono. “You can be so silly sometimes, Rukia.” he whispered to the top of her head, though not without fondness.

Normally Rukia wouldn’t be up for such an open physical display of their romantic feelings for each other in public, but as it was their wedding day she supposed she could let this instance go. Besides, she was already wrapped in his warm embrace and moving now would only expose her to the rapidly chilling air.

“I mean it, Renji,” she muttered thickly into his chest, “you know I like kissing you. “

“I know. ‘An I like kissin’ you.” Renji brushed his fingers through her hair, lightly.

Her grip on the front of his clothes tightened. “I want to kiss you.”

A chuckle. “Again, same.”

“And, um…” A quick peek around his arm confirmed no one was within earshot. Her heart thudded and she began nervously fiddling with the edges of his haori. “There are…other things…” she admitted, hesitantly, as flashes of a recent dream replayed in her mind.

The hand caressing her hair paused mid-stroke. “…Ohhh?”

Renji sounded calm and collected, but Rukia knew underneath that cool exterior his heartbeat was also picking up in tempo. She could feel it even through the heavy layers of cloth separating them.

Before she could gather up the courage to say any more, a rowdy chorus of wolf whistles erupted close by. One of the perpetrators hollered out, “Oiiii ‘fore ya get too busy over there, we’re splittin’!”

Rukia yelped and leapt up, nearly knocking Renji over. “We were not doing anything!” she declared fiercely to the pack of 11th Division elites in front of them as their heckling turned to snickering.

Renji, who had stayed behind to nurse the spot on his face where one of Rukia’s massive sleeves had whacked him, glared up at them. “’An even if we were…screw you all. You coulda left without interruptin’ us.”

“Oh, but a good guest always says goodbye to their host. We were just trying to be good guests.” Yumichika flippantly tossed his hair and flashed the couple a cheeky grin. Another round of snickering ran through the group.

Renji finally got up from his seat, still rubbing his chin. “Yeah, I bet you were,” he muttered under his breath.

“Ahhh, sorry we disturbed ya at a bad time, Renji.” Ikkaku stepped forward to clap him heavily on the shoulder. The strong smell of alcohol followed. “We’ll let you ‘an Rukia-chan get back t’yer…uh…tête-à-tête.” He nodded solemnly and shuffled back with a flop of his hand that could have been an attempt at a salute. More titters arose as the group departed en masse.

Rukia huffed and crossed her arms. “We weren’t doing anything,” she insisted again even though they had already moved out of earshot.

“Yeah. Bastards.” Renji scowled at the stumbling squad. He folded his hands together behind his neck and shook his head. “Shoulda banned ‘em from the liquor.”

As if to validate his remorse, a voice behind them slurred loudly.

“Kuchiiikiiii! Reeeenjiiiii!”

“And they’re not the only ones,” Rukia stated dryly before she suddenly found herself being pulled along, half her face squished against something large and soft covered in lavender fabric.

“H-hey, Rangiku-san.” Renji’s reply came out in a strangled croak, no doubt from the slender arm flung tightly around his neck that he was trying to (unsuccessfully) pry off. “Enjoyin’ yourself?”

Rangiku grinned widely and tossed her head, smacking the exposed side of Rukia’s face with several locks of long blond hair. “Yeeeah! How could you tell?” The sake bottle next to Rukia’s ear sloshed noisily.

Renji finally broke free from her hold and straightened up to adjust his clothing. “Just a hunch.” He kept stride next to Rangiku and eyed her carefully, likely waiting for an opening to liberate Rukia as well.

“I hate to leave such a nice party…your brother throws nice parties.” This was directed at Rukia, still pinned to her side. “Buuuut Captain said he’s had enough and needs to go to sleep now. I think it’s past his bedtime.” Rangiku leaned towards Renji and loudly whispered the last part.

“Matsumoto! That is not what I said!”

A very irate Captain Hitsugaya stomped up beside Rangiku and grasped her wrist. In one fluid motion, he somehow freed Rukia and started pulling his lieutenant down the pathway to the large ornate gates leading outside. “We’re leaving because you’ve had enough and you need to go to sleep.”

“But I’m fiiiine,” Rangiku protested. Yet pout as she did, she obediently trudged along behind her captain.

Hitsugaya nodded back to Renji, who had immediately flown to Rukia’s side once she was released. “Abarai.” He looked at Rukia and gave her a nod also. “Kuchiki. I wish you both well.”

Renji and Rukia bowed simultaneously. “Thank you, Captain Hitsugaya.”

The sake bottle came dangerously close to flying out of Rangiku’s hand as she waved cheerfully. “Bye-bye! Have lots of fun tonight, you hear?” She then thrust it at them with a deliberate jab and scowled in a comically threatening manner, “Renji, you make sure she’s thoroughly satisfied or I’m going to-”

“Ah, here, Rangiku-san, I’ll carry that for you!”

A figure seemingly materialized out of nowhere and swiped the bottle from her floundering hand before it could cause any destruction.

“Ohhh, thank you Hinamori!” Rangiku chirped to the girl grasping her elbow.

As Hinamori helped Captain Hitsugaya lead his sloshed subordinate away, she called over her shoulder, “Thank you for inviting us, Abarai-kun, Kuchiki-san! We had a lovely time. Congratulations to you both!”

Hinamori’s own captain strolled past the couple after his lieutenant and gave a nonchalant flick of his wrist. “Eh. What Momo said.” He paused before adding slyly, “And I guess what Matsumoto said, too.”

It took a moment for Renji and Rukia to recall just what that was. This time, it actually sank in. Color rapidly filled their cheeks as they somehow managed to fumble through what barely passed for respectful bows.

“U-understood! Th-thank you for coming, Captain Hirako!” both of them sputtered simultaneously. The captain’s toothy grin flashed brightly and vanished from their sights.

The rest of their loitering guests started slowly filtering past them, signaling the party had formally come to a close. All offered kind (and in the case of their closer acquaintances, occasionally suggestive) words of farewell and congratulations to the couple as they left the scene.

Soon, only one remained.

“Captain.” Renji greeted his approaching superior respectfully with a deep bow at his waist.

“We are not in uniform, Renji. There is no need to be so formal.” Byakuya stopped just short of them on the path and directed his sight to the sinking sun on the horizon. “Especially with family.”

Renji straightened up and blinked in surprise. “Er…right, um, Bya-I mean, Kuchiki…san…ma?” he stammered awkwardly and cringed before making his final hasty correction, “Yes...Captain.”

The corners of her brother’s mouth moved up slightly before he addressed her. “Rukia.”

Rukia stepped to his side. “Yes, Nii-sama?”

He stood silently for a moment, continuing to gaze at the sunset as if unsure what to say next. Then his eyes closed and a subtle sigh left him. “I arranged to have the rest of the new furnishings delivered during the ceremony. You should find everything in order when you arrive home.”

She knew this already but still bowed her head in a show of gratitude. “Thank you, Nii-sama.”

Byakuya continued, “If there is anything else you need, I will be more than happy to provide it. My only condition is…” he hesitated then.

Rukia lifted her head after several tense seconds ticked by and watched the features of his profile clench and unclench multiple times. She could feel something significant was about to happen.

The instant he finally looked down at her, the stoic hardness ever present in his face suddenly lifted and a transformation occurred right in front of her eyes. Before her stood a man she had never seen, softer and much younger in appearance, but Rukia knew who he was right away. This was the Kuchiki Byakuya from 60 years ago; The Byakuya who had loved, and been loved by, her sister. When he spoke his voice did not waver or break yet it overflowed with the same crushing sadness that swam in the depths of his gaze.

“Do not take this for granted, Rukia.”

Anyone outside the situation would have read this as the head of the Kuchiki clan warning his relative not to take advantage of his generosity, and yes, he still could have been saying that. What his words truly meant, however, was not lost on her, and Rukia’s heart swelled with emotion. The tears she had been holding back all day finally loosened and she drew in a trembling breath. “I won’t, Nii-sama,” she promised him, and meant it with every fiber of her being.

Then as quickly as the apparition from the past appeared, he vanished. The Byakuya of the present now turned on his heel and adjusted his sleeve. “I will take my leave now. I bid you goodnight.”

Rukia quickly wiped the back of her palm across her eyes and dipped down as he strolled away. “Goodnight, Nii-sama.”

Byakuya stopped when he was shoulder to shoulder with Renji, who stood transfixed by what he just witnessed. Neither man looked at the other or said a word as the last rays of sunlight disappeared over the horizon. Darkness began to settle over the Seireitei.

After a beat of careful consideration, Byakuya lifted his chin and spoke with a pinch more inflection than usual in his standard monotone.

“Try not to disappoint her, Renji.”

He resumed his departure. Renji’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Author’s Notes: You know a creator has done a good job making varied and dynamic characters when they’re this much fun to write interactions for. *thumbs up in Kubo’s direction* Hopefully how I chose to set up the wedding venue doesn’t clash too much with novel canon. @_@

The first few chapters are Rukia’s POV but worry not! Renji gets his fair share of POV time as well. This deviates in the final chapter when the narration shifts to Ichigo and focuses more on his relationship with Orihime.

Continued in [Part II - The Threshold]

season 7, episode 2

The episode begins with Tania continuing to panic in the taxi, with her entourage. “THERE’S TRAFFIC!,” she says about New York City. We are not from NYC and yet, even we know you should probably leave 5 minutes earlier than you think. Because city traffic.  The three friends finally arrive at the airport, where they proceed to drop rose petals all over the floor. Of the airport. A janitor comes behind them to sweep up the obvious slip hazard they have created, and they proceed to yell at him. Tania continues to describe her mild stress in wildly dramatic ways. “I’m having a panic attack,” she says. (She isn’t.) Finally, the man of the hour arrives. The three women erupt into…maniacal laughter? Really, though – Tania cannot stop laughing. “Yo yo yo,” Syngin decides is a good greeting. They embrace, and it’s briefly cute until she opens her mouth to hyena-laugh again. Syngin admits to the camera he thought they’d be a one-night stand. One point given for honesty. We have 90 days to figure out if our future is a lie, he continues. He is maybe ¼ joking. Finally, he addresses her friends. “It’s nice to meet everybody,” he says, laughing nervously. Tania sort of introduces them. They do not shake hands but awkwardly wave at each other instead.

They all (yes, all) head back to the hotel, and he is touched by Tania’s effort with the rose petals and sex toys. She instructs her friends to come back in exactly two hours so that they can have some alone time. He is confused, as are we all, about the friends being there, as he just wants a shower and some sex. He mentions to Tania that her friends being there is weird, and he asks if this is something he should expect going forward. Conveniently, the two hours elapse right at that moment, marked by the return of her friends. “LET’S TAKE SOME SHOTS!” Tania says, rather than answering his question. They proceed to take shots of gin with a Red Bull chaser, because evidently they are drinking for the very first time. At least it is decent gin. Syngin is up for it, which seems to be his nature, and then out they go into the “concrete jungle.” He is mesmerized by it all. Golly gee I’m just a guy from the bush, he says about the very large, modern city of Cape Town. They put a blindfold on him – again, he is shockingly compliant – and drag him out into some public square to reveal a banner (this couldn’t have occurred at the airport?) that says “thanks for moving around the world for me, love, your suger.” No one notices or cares that a 29-year-old spelled sugar wrong, and I briefly wonder about the butchered contents of her democracy protest signs. Tania has since said she knows it was spelled wrong and that is how Syngin spells it. This may be a viewpoint on their relationship. We end their segment with more of the same concern from Syngin that perhaps 90 days is not enough time. “There’s some nitty gritty niggles to sort out,” he says, and shame on TLC for not using this as the name of the episode.

Alyssa predicts: I still don't think they end up married. I actually kind of like Syngin because he wants to make Tania happy right now, even if he is a bit uncomfortable. Tania is presently insufferable.

Laura predicts: Agreed - I still think they won’t get married. They’ve got way more than nitty-gritty niggles to sort out (recall the “kids freak him out” issue), and I don’t see her as the master of compromise or conflict resolution.

Michael and Juliana

These two get the most airtime this week, because the BIG VISA INTERVIEW is upon us. Michael is preparing to go to Brazil. But not without first taking a trip to the jewelry store to buy a $4,000 custom necklace that is red, white, blue, green, and gold, to represent America and Brazil, because all of those colors definitely go together. We hear him continue to defend his relationship to no one in particular, including a discussion how modest Juliana is, layered over a gratuitous shot of Juliana in a string bikini. (I see you, TLC.) Juliana calls him while he is at the jewelry store. There’s an issue with a credit card. “You probably maxed out the card,” we hear him say. “Oh, shit,” says the jewelry store clerk, all judgment. Ah yes, the money. We begin to learn the extent of it. He won’t say how much he’s spent on her, or whether it’s more than $150,000. She bought a car with the credit card, despite her apparent plans to move to the US in a few weeks. “I want her to respect the value of things,” he says about his teenage daughter adult girlfriend.

He arrives in Rio, visibly stressed. He arrives at a hotel, where Juliana is waiting. They both seem genuinely happy to see the other, which is a surprise on her end. She is beautiful, but I would believe she was 16. You look skinny, he tells her, and he chalks it up to their lack of recent extravagant vacations. Somehow the next words out of his mouth are “You’re a poor Brazilian when I’m not here and a rich American when I am.” This appalling statement has no effect on her, but I imagine she’s heard worse. She’s nervous about the interview but is determined to go to America to work…oh yeah, and live with Michael. Work consistently comes first in her stated “why America” priorities. She’s using him, clearly, but he is a negging paternalistic asshole, so I support her choice.

They’re on their way to the interview. She’s in a sexy outfit; he’s in an ill-fitting suit. For someone who is "rich," you think he could find a decent tailor. “Ready to rock and roll?” he asks, as every dad asks his daughter before taking her to school, err, to her visa interview. We meet them on the other side of said interview. It was “very bad,” she says. They wanted to know whether she’d been working as a prostitute, as we already know from the promo that has aired 900 times. Plenty of girls in my position do it, she says, but not me. She says this very matter-of-factly, almost rehearsed. Maybe it’s just her nature, but she doesn’t seem particularly bothered. Michael is more visibly affronted: “WHAT DOES THAT MAKE ME? A PIMP? A JOHN?” He’s quick to let us know he’s never had to pay for sex, as though this were somehow about him. It’s increasingly clear that he is obsessed with his own status and others’ perception of him. They need to produce a police report on Juliana for the consulate’s consideration, so something – maybe not capital P prostitution, but something – definitely happened. Now he has doubts. I’ve been naïve with women my whole life, he says, and I wonder who that’s about…probably not Sarah, the stable mother of his children. He is afraid of what they’ll find on that police report, and he decides there’s about a 50% chance that Juliana will get the visa. She suggests they move to London instead, but oh that’s right, you have kids. She admits to the camera that she’s worried he will give up on her and doesn’t know if she’s important enough to him. She starts to cry about this. This, but not the prostitute accusation. Again, let is remind everyone that Michael claims he and his ex-wife married too young, but his relationship with a 23 year old is different. Anyway, they’re still a better couple than Big Ang and Mai-kuhl. It bears mentioning we’re so glad they haven’t shown up yet.

Alyssa predicts: they end up married, but Michael continues to be patronizing and Juilana uses the show as a stepping stone to a model career. They do not stay married.

Laura predicts: they end up married. She’s in it for money, he’s in it for arm candy, and they’re both getting what they want. Seems like he has enough money to throw at the visa problem.

Emily and Sasha

The happy couple heads off to dinner with Masha, Sasha’s first ex-wife. (The rhyming names would be cute if she didn’t so clearly resent him and his life choices.) She looks quite a bit like Emily – blonde, fair, and waifish. The purpose of the dinner is to convince Masha to let Daniel visit them in the US. In all honesty, it may also be a way for Emily to convince herself that Sasha is the "good guy" and the other wives were "mistakes."  But first, we recount Sasha’s history: he married Masha at 22 and left her for his second wife a few years later. The second wife and second kid remain anonymous, and good on them for staying away from this dumpster fire. Sasha says that he became more muscular and his second wife didn’t like it, because that’s definitely how marriages end. Emily loudly mentions how much she, in contrast, appreciates his physique, and much more quietly mentions that she and Sasha were “talking as friends” while he was married to his second wife. Sure you were. Anyway, the dinner. No one’s particularly thrilled to be there. Emily says beforehand that she’s going to fake being nice to Masha, but she doesn’t fake it well. They don’t even communicate directly or even look at each other. They rely on Sasha to translate, and he takes some liberties. I’m tired, says Emily eventually. “She’s tired of this situation,” Sasha (correctly) translates. Masha, it turns out, doesn’t have a strong opinion on the Daniel question. Daniel can choose whether he’d like to visit or not. File this dinner under “could have been accomplished in a text message.” Emily insists once again that she isn’t feeling well and promptly leaves. Masha then gets a bit more friendly with Sasha, reaching over and touching his arm and telling him she doesn’t want to leave. Her post-dinner thoughts are more critical, however. “Where the wind blows, there a man flies,” she says of Sasha, and I am definitely saving that phrase for a rainy day. Masha puts herself and the second wife in the same category – “good, kind, calm” – and sees Emily as nothing more than an excuse for Sasha to get to America. At this point, doesn’t seem like an unfair assessment. I would prefer more of Masha and less of Emily at this point.

Alyssa predicts: they get married, and Sasha finds wife number 4 at a crossfit class. He seems like he'd get into crossfit here.

Laura predicts: they won’t get married and agrees with Masha that Emily is Sasha’s easy ticket to the US. We know that kids aren’t a compelling enough reason for him to stay with her.

Robert and Anny

Robert goes for a beer with his friend Juan, who is Dominican. I know Dominican girls, says Juan, and they’re all just out for your money. Robert makes a valid point that this is an awfully sweeping generalization about an entire country, but he does not really have the high ground considering the circumstances of his own relationship. They end up having a very adult conversation about it; Robert says he respects Juan’s opinion, and Juan says he’ll feel stupid if he ends up being wrong about Anny.

Later, it’s airport time. Bryson is very excited. It’s clear that Robert really wants a mother figure in this kid’s life, which is a veritable crapload of pressure for an eight-hour relationship. Bryson is similarly invested. “I love Anny,” he says. They wait at the airport long enough for Bryson to get cranky, and then here she comes, somehow pulling off a denim jumpsuit. Bryson sprints towards her, and she’s genuinely happy to see him. She’s very put-together (which is always impressive post-airplane) and family-oriented. “Bryson is my new kid,” she says. She wants a big family with Robert. She loves how funny and hardworking he is, and how much he loves his son. I didn’t expect this affection from Miss Angry Emojis. She admits she has a temper, but we don’t see it this week. There is a moment in the car where Anny looks at Robert and seems to be a genuine look of love.

They head back home. Their rapport is shockingly natural for only having spent 8 hours together. Things sour a bit when we learn the house contains only one bed that they’ll all be sharing. Where exactly was that lingerie meant to be used? Robert admits he didn’t get around to getting a bed for Bryson, and Anny is understandably displeased. Robert tries to put Bryson to bed, to no avail. Bryson really wants to show off for Anny in the form of climbing all over her. She is increasingly less thrilled. She’s sexually frustrated, which she tells us in so many words. There’s some metaphor about a lion. Do lions have a lot of sex?

Alyssa predicts: I have more hope for them this episode. I think they'll get married. I also hope Juan shows up more, because he seems sensible.

Laura predicts: they will get married. This is not a well-thought-out relationship, but they’re both clearly motivated to build some kind of family unit.

Mursel and Anna

Mursel and Anna head off to Anna’s house from the hotel. They had sex, which I find hard to imagine. Mursel, like anyone who has ever driven through Nebraska, is unpleasantly surprised at the lack of mountains and the surplus of corn. He decides, rather quickly, that he is no longer excited and misses Turkey. He starts playing some Turkish music and his mood turns back around just as quickly – he begins dancing as passionately as one can dance in a car. There's something...endearing about this. Anna is uncomfortable with the dancing and says she’ll just have to learn to live with it. (Again, back to the disbelief at the sex.) They’re both nervous about meeting her sons. Mursel decides he wants to be a brother to the older two and a father to the youngest one, which is some interesting line-drawing. The meeting of the kids is a bundle of awkward. They try to ask about his trip and ask if he likes pizza (the answers are “good” and “yes,” respectively). The pizza that arrives is inferior to Turkish pizza, Mursel decides, and won’t eat it. I’m not sure if he’s jet-lagged, culture-shocked, or just naïve, or maybe all of it, but in any case his behavior is strange and borderline rude. Her kids are offended that he doesn’t like the pizza or their house. “It was really awkward,” Anna summarizes. Yeah, no shit.

Mursel, Anna, and Gino (the middle kid) head out to dinner with Anna’s mom. It’s suggested that the mom might have some negative views of Turkish people. In reality, she is an absolute racist nightmare. She asks her actual grandchild to type “Don’t stone Anna” into the translator app. Seriously, if there isn’t a GoFundMe for these kids’ extensive therapy, now is the time. Mursel is confused and offended, which is appropriate. He says to the camera that he wants to protect Anna, not hurt her. The dinner goes on, though, and Mursel doesn’t want Anna to have a beer, but she needs one. We all need one from watching this go down.  Anna should have been far more nervous about this encounter than the meeting with her kids. Mursel reveals to everyone that his family doesn’t know about Anna’s kids, he doesn’t plan to tell them, and if they find out, he might go back to Turkey. It’s a blow to everyone. Anna starts crying. Gino now has even more doubts. It is not a pleasant outing.

Alyssa predicts: they do not get married. Mursel returns to Turkey and Anna is devastated.

Laura predicts: they will get married and said marriage will swiftly end in divorce. This divorce will almost certainly include some Mursel family drama. Seriously, what is the long-term strategy there?

An experimental weapon noodle obtains a very anxious lawyer, AKA Gravescratch somehow manages to kidnap Blue Zircon in an attempt to help. She is not informed that this is supposed to be helpful. 

4415 words, no warnings aside from quite a bit of panicking.

The last thing Zircon remembered was teeth. At least two rows of fangs, fangs that she knew could shatter a gem almost effortlessly, closing around her and slicing off her light-form. Then an instant of awareness of a long tongue wrapping around her gem, drenching her in something, before everything went black and she lost her grip on the world.

She wasn’t sure how long she spent trying to decide if she wanted to re-form, but, however long it was, her first attempt was unsuccessful. Something thick, dark, and clinging pressed her back in before she could even begin to properly form. Which, considering the circumstances,  was probably the monster’s innards.

And wasn’t that the perfect start to a panic attack? She couldn’t re-form because she was inside something, something she knew for a fact could digest gems, but if she didn’t re-form she was never going to get out, but if she never got out she couldn’t re-form and get away-

Zircon spent longer than she wanted to admit on alternating between trying to reason her situation out and just straight-up panicking. Mostly panicking, because what else was she supposed to do? Trying again to re-form was useless, it did nothing but spend energy that she couldn’t afford to lose.

But she tried again, illogical as it was, because there was nothing else to do.

The second time she tried to reform, the same thing happened. She was trapped.

The third time, she decided, would be the last attempt. If it failed, the only thing she could do would be to sit and wait for something to change.

But this time, when she turned her awareness outwards, something was different. The clingy something was fading away, being cleared off- rescue!

Zircon re-formed with praise on her lips, about to thank the Diamond of whoever had rescued her-

But relief turned to despair as she found herself staring down the muzzle of the thing that had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

This was a job for a soldier.

She was not a soldier.

Somehow she ended up yelling that out loud.

She was not expecting the creature to mutter “clearly” in the deepest voice she’d ever heard, but she wasn’t sticking around to figure that out.

Her info-disks were not weapons, but that didn’t stop her from throwing several of them at the thing’s face before she turned and ran, hoping the surprise would slow it down just slightly-

But it cost her, because she had to be looking at the creature to throw the disks, and she took off running before she’d fully turned around, and she didn’t see what was in front of her until it was too late-

This time, the last thing she saw was about twenty knife-like blades, all black as midnight, aimed directly at her.

 She didn’t try to re-form for a long time after. Didn’t have any energy to try, and, if she was being honest with herself, she was too scared. The stickiness was gone, but there were two things that she could only describe as monsters in her immediate vicinity, and that was-

Well, it was terrifying. There was nothing to do here, was there? Just- just wait, try to get her strength back, and hope they forgot her eventually.

 It was a soft warmth that finally coaxed her to re-form again.

This time, she re-formed unimpeded, and she wasn’t immediately met by- anything. Nor did anything jump out, or look immediately threatening. Everything looked strange, but it didn’t try to attack her.

Relieved beyond anything she could communicate, Zircon just about collapsed into a sitting position, leaning back slightly with her eyes shut as she tried to calm herself enough to think.

Okay.

She was fully formed, didn’t seem to be restrained, and wasn’t being confronted.

She might not be safe, but nothing was after her at the moment, and she could therefore plan.

First, she needed to figure out exactly where she was and what was around her.

The warmth under her turned out to be… some sort of a pad. A soft, flexible, rectangular object with a wire and a set of controls leading from it. It didn’t seem to do anything other than emit heat, but, just in case, Zircon set it aside where it couldn’t get at her. As much as she would have liked to keep the warmth nearby.

Next up- the soft stuff she was sitting on. Something made of what she guessed was an organic material, a sheet of a soft material that stretched and folded easily. Then another layer, this one larger and thicker, patterned with odd, dull greens and browns. Also soft. Not a threat, most likely. Odd that she was on something soft, though- why? For her… comfort? Didn’t exactly seem like something most captors would do.

Nor did her surroundings look like a prison. For one thing, it wasn’t anywhere near small enough- this was a moderately large room, with doors that didn’t look like they were locked. Actual doors, with knobs- how archaic!

So was the rest of the room, actually. The floor was made of something in a strange brown color, with far too many seams, and the furniture was of a similar material with no sign that it could fold up into the wall. None of it was sharp or intimidating, in fact the largest piece of furniture was some sort of long seating that looked soft and squishy.

Standing up (with some effort), Zircon confirmed that the item was, indeed, soft and squishy. And it had a space under it that would just about fit her, which was-

She did not yelp in an undignified manner when someone knocked on the door. Not at all.

Nor did she panic and scramble under the furniture.

She was not at all hiding under the furniture when the door opened. No, she was not, because that would be ridiculous and not at all dignified.

(okay, yes, she was hiding under the furniture and it was not dignified but she really did not care right now because she was quite certain that the owner of the claws clicking across the floor was the thing that had tried to eat her and nope, that was it, she was staying under here-!)

Despite her terror, Zircon was still observing, trying to file away everything she possibly could that might help her. There wasn’t much to see, just her captor’s feet, but- that was a little bit interesting? Two large, thick claws per limb, then- where were its ankles? Who kept their ankles a third of the way up their legs? What did this thing need so much leg for? Zircon couldn’t think of anything, aside from-

Well, aside from completely dashing her hopes of making a run for it.

Not that she’d had any real hope, anyway, the creature was between her and the door. Looking for her, obviously- it had paused near the discarded heat pad, picked it up. Looking around the room, probably- and there was a limit to where she could be, after all. Clearly, it knew where she was-

Huddled into the smallest ball she could manage without outright shapeshifting, Zircon retreated until her back was up against the wall, shutting  her eyes in an effort to block out this nightmare-

And jolted hard enough that she hit the underside of the furniture when the creature spoke. Oh, right, it could do that.

“I am not going to hurt you, but I know where you are. Here you are- take this back? It is just a heat pad- nothing harmful. The warmth is nice.” The creature murmured, stepping close to the furniture, and crouched slightly to slide the heat pad under- near her, but not quite touching. It paused for a moment after, seemingly waiting, then backed up slightly and heaved a sigh. “I do hope you are under there and have not somehow ended up- hm, no, you are not on the ceiling, the doors were still shut when I came in, and the window is- also closed. So… I assume you are under there, but, in the interest of making certain that you are not in a drawer, I am going to check.”

As it explained itself, the creature crouched, placing both- no, all four hands on the floor, lowering its head until it could stare at her with- oh, no, she hadn’t miscounted before, it had three eyes on one side of its head and a much larger one on the center, presumably three others on the other side- a fusion? A very, very strange fusion? She’d heard rumors that mixed-gem fusions had extra limbs and eyes, but this-

It was illogical, but Zircon flung another of her info-disks at the thing’s face, trying desperately to get it away-

And didn’t manage not to whimper in terror when those dripping, fang-lined jaws opened again to catch the disk.

The creature blinked, sighed again, and stood up, then, a moment later, slid the disk under the furniture with her- right next to the heat pack. “I really do not blame you for acting like this. You have every reason to be terrified of me. Truthfully, I am happy you do not have a weapon- otherwise I would probably have to stay out of the room. But… you do not. Save your energy- you are not going to harm me with these, and I am not going to hurt you.

“I am going to ignore you- all right? Hopefully that will calm you down enough that we can talk to you. I need to leave for a little while, the local weather is changing and I need to fix the roof before we all get wet. Please stay in this room- I will not punish you for leaving, but I would prefer that you do not leave, as it would mean I would have to find you again. And, from you attempting to retaliate, I am assuming that you would much rather I ignore you.  I can only do that if I know where you are.”

With that, the creature turned away and opened the door, pausing to speak to- ohh, no, that was the sharp-edged thing from before- and apparently it talked, too? In a rather strange accent.

“Ah, she awake?”

“Yes. Under the couch- just out of sight. I gave her the heat pack, and I fully intend to leave her alone.”

“Prob’ly gonna go out th’ window or somethin’, you know.”

“I do not believe so. She does not have a weapon, for one. At worst, she will end up somewhere else in the building- not ideal, but workable enough. Besides- leaving her alone will, I hope, give her some time to calm down.”

“Or work ‘erself up even more, bu’ yeah- guess haulin’ ‘er out ain’t gonna help any. C’mon- I got th’ roof stuff. Jus’ need you an’ yer legs ta get up there wi’out clawin’ everythin’ all ta heck.”

Both creatures exited the room, the door shut, and Zircon was left alone with her thoughts.

Her thoughts were not things that she wanted to be alone with.

Most of them were terrifying.

 Zircon stayed under the furniture until she was certain they were gone, then, very cautiously, edged forwards until she could clearly see the entire room.

Well. She was in a room that did not look like anywhere on Homeworld, and there were rumbling sounds coming from outside, not anything she’d ever heard- anywhere.

Logical conclusion: she was not on Homeworld.

On a foreign planet with two unknown creatures, one possibly a fusion, the other of unknown origin but covered in knives, having just been politely asked to stay in this room by something that could eat her, Zircon curled up into the smallest ball she could manage, hid her face, and tried not to cry.

It failed.

 Some time later, a strange, soft noise started up- a quick pattering sound from above, on the roof and on one of the walls.

Shortly after, the first creature walked through the door and shut it, then shivered- causing a quick spattering sound like some kind of liquid. “I assume you would like to know what that sound is? That is rain. This planet has an atmosphere, and a good deal of water. When the water is warmed, it turns to vapor and evaporates. When enough water vapor gathers in the atmosphere, it re-forms into liquid and falls in small drops. It is not corrosive- it will not hurt you. Annoying, if it gets through a roof and onto things, but harmless.” The creature thrummed, stepping into the middle of the room to stand on the soft objects, and settled down- crouching, then kneeling, then… lying? It had very long limbs, definitely four arms, and a long torso, so it ended up in a strange propped-up arrangement somewhere between lying down and sitting.

The creature paused for a moment, then lowered its head again, just enough to get a look at her. It stayed silent for a moment or two, then shook its head slightly, curled away, and sat up, turning so that it was no longer facing her. “I am not going to hurt you. I know you have no reason to believe me, but… I am not going to hurt you. I would like to comfort you, but, as I have no way to do that… I am going to continue ignoring you.”

And ignore her it did. It settled around until it was comfortable, then- what? It was doing something, clearly, but Zircon couldn’t see what, and-

She had to know.

Zircon scrubbed a hand across her eyes, then edged forwards a bit, just enough to see- which happened to put her on top of the heat pad. And she didn’t bother to move off of it- too focused on the strange creature.

Like this, she could see most of its frame, especially as it was curled up. The creature licked two of its hands, then scrubbed them over its own face- down the long, narrow snout, then back up, then fingers slipping between too many eyes as it licked the other set of hands and ran them up and back, around the –antennae? Ears?- at the back of its head. Something like… grooming?

Zircon was familiar with that concept- some gems would physically manipulate their form to better conform if they tended to form slightly off-standard, and it required upkeep. But this being wasn’t changing anything about its appearance, wasn’t re-shaping anything, was just… licking its hands, and then-

Oh. Its hands got damp every time, damp with the same strange substance that its teeth dripped, and it seemed to be rubbing the liquid into its outer layer. Strange. Very strange.

Well… she didn’t have much else to do. Maybe she could learn something from watching this thing? Or… maybe it would just let her think about something other than her imminent death.

At least the thing was interesting to watch.

Once it had rubbed over every bit of its head at least twice, it continued the process down its neck and along its shoulders, then forewent the hand-rubbing and just started to lick at its arm. All along the length of one arm, slowly, meticulously, then another arm, then the start of its own chest.

As it continued, Zircon noticed something. Everywhere it first licked or rubbed over became shiny for a short time, then gradually dulled, until it was less reflective than the rest of the creature’s frame.

Once it had licked or rubbed every bit of its upper body, somehow including its back, it set two hands on the ground for support and raised a leg, pointing its claws at the ceiling and leaning down to start licking at the base of its leg. Which was- how was it comfortably balancing like that? And- it had a tail, how had she not noticed?

Zircon found herself uncurling a bit more just to get a better look at the thing, but twitched back as soon as she noticed it glancing at her. It didn’t advance, though- it just continued licking, long strokes up its leg, until it got to its claws and started on the other leg. It glanced over at her every time she moved enough to make a sound, but, other than that, it ignored her- as it had said.

Once it had finished cleaning its legs, the creature shifted, tucked them under itself, and twisted around to lick its way down its own back, a position that looked awkward but caused it no difficulty whatsoever- even without it shapeshifting at all. But that put it in a position where it couldn’t easily get up or muster much of anything, not with its hands all braced on the ground in various spots, which gave Zircon the courage to finally ask the thing. “What- what are you doing?”

The creature paused mid-lick, seemingly a bit surprised, and its eyes flickered towards her before it resumed licking. “I am grooming myself.” It rumbled, then took the base of its own tail loosely in its jaws and pulled, slowly mouthing along the whip-thin length. “My saliva hardens into a substance fairly similar to silicone when exposed to the air. It wears off eventually. Regular grooming maintains a ‘skin��� of sorts over my form, helping me to stay in exactly the shape I prefer, and it decreases my touch sensitivity somewhat. I need to re-apply after being out in the rain. Besides… it is a relaxing ritual that I find quite enjoyable.”

Having licked over its entire body, the creature shifted to sit comfortably, lowering its head enough to maintain eye contact with her. Or- some sort of eye contact, it couldn’t point all its eyes at her at one time. “Would you like me to demonstrate with you? It feels pleasant.”

No. She did not want to come out from under the furniture. It was absurd, of course, she was not protected at all, but- but it felt safe, somehow.

Certainly safer than being in the grasp of that thing.

No, Zircon did not want the Gem-eating monster to start licking her. Clearly, this was a trap- it was playing with her. There was no reason it wasn’t just dragging her out of hiding right now, except to toy with her, presumably for its own amusement.

She didn’t want to be toyed with any more than she wanted to come out and let the thing lick her.

So… which was worse? Did she want to stay under here and let the creature continue its game, or come out where she would probably be eaten? Zircon retreated a bit further and hid her face with both hands, blocking out the sight of the thing and trying to pretend she was somewhere safe and normal so that she could think properly.

If she let it continue to play with her, it would most likely grow more sadistic. Data on various predators and murderers told her that. However, staying alive would give her more opportunities to escape, to-

To try to run away from a thing with much longer legs than hers and a thing covered in spines, on a planet she knew nothing about, with no aid from anyone else. She was in the sort of situation that she’d read about in case studies. Specifically, data on victims of murderers.

She was going to die.

She was definitely going to die.

She was going to die, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Zircon’s hands clenched, then slowly relaxed, and she stared down at the floor for a moment before pulling herself out of her hiding spot. It was the most logical thing to do here, after all.

She was going to die. There was no sense in prolonging it.

Maybe the creature would find her tasty enough that it decided to just go ahead and eat her.

Zircon didn’t bother trying to stand up. She didn’t think she could, she was shaking too badly. She just… edged closer to the terrifying creature, slowly, trying not to start crying again.

It failed.

The creature made no move towards her, just sat there, waiting, and patted the softness under itself. And she couldn’t be certain, it had too many eyes and ears with no other indicators of emotion, but it looked- sorrowful?

Confusing.

Not at all comforting.

She wanted to run. Illogical as it was, she wanted to run. She would get nowhere, and would probably show the creature that she was an entertaining target, but she wanted to run.

But she didn’t. She didn’t run, she kept moving, and she sat down right in front of the slender being without screaming like she wanted to.

She didn’t manage to stop herself from flinching when touched, though.

Even though the creature was impossibly gentle as it wrapped its arms around her. Even though it made no effort to stop her from shielding her gem with both hands.

The creature gave a soft rumbling sound, then lowered its head and nuzzled her cheek, tongue flicking out to lick just below her eye- a movement she couldn’t block, as she was covering her gem. “Shh, little one… you are safe. No need to cry. I will not hurt you.” It murmured, pulling her close, and leaned down over her shoulder to lap gently at her back. “Easy, easy… I am not hurting you. Focus on how this feels… I am not hurting you, and I will not hurt you. You do not need to shield yourself, but you may if you wish… I will not harm you, either way. I am not going to hurt you.”

She didn’t believe that, of course, she had no reason to and many reasons not to. But… what the creature was doing didn’t hurt, that was true. It just felt…

Strange. Long, slow, gentle strokes down her back, punctuated occasionally by a cross-wise lick, the creature lifting one arm at a time away from her frame to give itself more space. Away from her gem, no attempts at biting, not even any real restraint-

It almost could have been soothing.

If not for the sensation of her own tears dripping down her face.

Gradually, Zircon’s hands lowered from around her gem, clenching nervously on nothing in particular- trapped between them. That- that was the strange thing. She was held in the creature’s lap, her front pressed to its belly, her gem between them. It had no easy way to reach her gem. Stranger still, it… wasn’t trying to change that. It seemed content to just lick at her back, going over the same spots again. That was… that was it.

And it felt good.

The creature was holding her close against its front with all four arms, licking gently at various parts of her back, and somehow the heat pad had gotten into her lap and she was warm-

Zircon whimpered in confusion, fingertips scraping against the creature’s front, and squirmed until she could get her hands free for-

She didn’t know what she meant to do at first, but her arms ended up wrapped around the creature’s lanky frame, and she was about to pull away when it crooned and licked just a bit harder down her spine, seemingly in response.

Illogical as it was, Zircon felt her arms tightening around the creature’s frame as it licked, felt herself tucking in closer to the thing, felt-

Felt her emotions shift from fear to- to something, something she couldn’t identify, and-

She was still crying, but it was something different, something that- that she couldn’t identify, but- but it was-

She liked this, liked being held, liked the gentle strokes down her back and the way its hands were starting to knead against her back.

How could she possibly be enjoying this? Was- was there- ah, clearly there was a substance in the creature’s saliva, it- it was-

Zircon pushed away from the creature, just slightly, then shuddered all over and shut her eyes as the creature twisted to lick almost at the back of her neck. “What- what are you doing to m-me?” she whispered, and, despite herself, tightened her grip to press close again.

“Easy… you have nothing to be afraid of. You are, despite what your society would prefer, a member of a social species. Social species enjoy physical contact, and touch is a need. You are terribly touch-starved, my dear, that is all. Let me guess… this is the closest thing to affection that you have ever had?”

…yes? She’s never had something lick her, but- affection? ‘Touch-starved’? What- what was-

Oh-

The creature leaned back slightly to look down at Zircon’s face, then lowered its head and gently licked her cheek again- wiping away her tears. “Easy, my dear. You are safe. Cry all you like, but you are safe, and I am going to hold you for as long as you would like. If you want me to stop, or to shift my grip or move at all, tell me. I do not own you, and your body is your own. You dictate what happens to it, so you dictate everything that I am allowed to do with you. If, at any time, you want me to let go… I will.”

She didn’t believe that. Clearly, it was some sort of-

Of-

She didn’t know.

She didn’t understand this situation any more. Hadn’t in the first place, but this-

This was beyond anything she knew how to deal with.

She didn’t know… anything.

Except that she was warm, and this felt good, and she was still crying but it was for something different, and-

And she had permission to move away, much as she didn’t trust it, but she didn’t want to.

 Gravescratch was somewhat aware of Zircon’s conflict, she practically smelled like confusion, but it wasn’t as if anything he could say would make her less confused. Instead of probably worsening the situation, he stuck to just gently licking at her back, gradually moving out to her sides as she went limp against him. May as well try to lick her evenly while he was at it.

This was not the first person he’d had cry themselves to sleep in his lap. He could work with this.