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29 November 2008 @ 06:02 pm
[Fic] KHR: The Five Stages of Coping with Loss, Mukuro/Hibari (6918)  
I bring fic. Insanely long fic. Rejoice, shomin-domo. Haha bloody ha. *nurses v.v. sore fingers*

Title: The Five Stages of Coping with Loss
Author: iluxia
Credits: Root idea from sinnatious. Blame her, not me.
Pair: Mukuro/Hibari (6918)
Words: A whopping 17,000 even words in three days of non-stop twelve-hour writing sessions. Had to separate into parts. But it's still a oneshot.
Rating: NC-17 for potty mouths and explicit content.
Warning(s): MAJOR SPOILERS for TYL!arc. For those who don't read the manga and don't want to be spoiled, don't read this. Just bookmark it for later when you catch up.

Notes: In this fic I mention Hibari's parents, notably his mother and grandfather. Twinness aventria and I cooked up a family background for Hibari (one that makes sense), and it'll be explained further in a separate upcoming fic focusing on them (of course, it'll still be 6918). But I think those of you who are sharp enough will catch the gist from this one.

Cosa Nostra -- Another term for the Italian mafia.
capofamiglia -- Lit: "family head"; the ruling head of the family.
kumichou -- The ruling head of the yakuza.


Of Pokes and Stabs at Reality

The first time it came was in the middle of a fight. Tentative, curious, exploratory. A nudge, barely even noticeable, in the very back of his mind.

If he were a normal person he would probably have attributed it to the current situation, ignored it in exchange for full focus on self-preservation, or altogether missed it in between dodging missile attacks and hidden land mines. It wasn’t everyday, after all, that any normal unsuspecting person experienced being chased around by an automated berserker.

But he was no normal person, most certainly not (and hell forbid he ever become one).

He was Hibari Kyouya. Born fighter, destined killer. Namimori’s elite disciplinary prefect. The Vongola famiglia’s strongest. Guardian of the Cloud.

As such, he felt it, that tiny little poke, seeking, inside his head.

And he did not like it. Not one little bit.

He paid it no attention during the fight, instead favoring evasion of deadly projectiles and sudden explosions. The Thing in the back of his head seemingly understood the necessity for focus, and relented, hiding away, undoubtedly to return once there was relatively no threat to his safety. He’d hoped to finish his skirmish with the Mosca, but Sawada Tsunayoshi, the blasted herbivore, simply had to step in. From then on it was a confusion of panicked yells, battle cries, jumbled conversations, and the generic cacophony of a battlefield.

He only faintly remembered the end of the battle, the confusion etched upon the supposed famiglia’s boss, the old man inside the Mosca. The baby, for once, was grim. The herbivores converged in a huddle around their boss, a mixture of worry and fear and relief and anger all painted upon their very open faces. Weaklings, the lot was.

He could remember stumbling onto his feet and retreating from the scene, quietly. He remembered nursing his wounds at the school’s infirmary. He barely remembered reaching home and stumbling into sleep.


Perhaps it was all well and good that he did not remember where and how he fell asleep that night, for if he did, he would have wondered however he made it from his bedroom in the second floor to the basement study. He woke sprawled upon the divan, clothed in a yukata, his usual sleeping attire. The morning was drab and grey, smog obscuring a clear view of the partially cloudy skies. The disadvantages of living in Tokyo, he mused absently.

His muscles and bones ached in protest, but he rose nevertheless, stretching and yawning as he made his way to the kitchen. As expected, the house was already empty, and on the counter a small breakfast was prepared. He slipped soundlessly into the kitchen, noting the familiar twittering descending the stairs. He made to pour himself a glass of milk, when suddenly, the same nudge as the night before came again.

A displeased frown settled upon his face.

He waited for yet another nudge, but none came. His grip on the carton of milk tightened, threatening to crush it with mighty force.

Something – someone – was toying with him, and he was helpless to it all.

No, he did not like it, not at all.


And again.

The nudge, now a blunt but overt stab of something incredibly irritating, repetitively jabbed at his consciousness. It was now at the forefront, no longer content with the darker and murkier corners of his mind. It aggravated him, the fact that there existed within this world something that dared to do such stunts, and also the fact that there was absolutely nothing in the world he could do about it.

More so since he hadn’t a single clue what this was.

His eyebrow ticked, almost imperceptibly, but still present. That dark and ominous cloud normally accompanying him had thrice the intensity today, effectively clearing an entire floor’s hallways of useless weak little herbivores three times faster than before and letting him pass with no incident. The school, much to the absolute delight of the teachers, was abnormally subdued. Not a single soul could deny that their resident disciplinarian was thrice as much intimidating today, for some unknown and unseen reason. Not a single soul dared to step a hair out of line, for not a single soul wanted to know how a spiked tonfa felt up somewhere not very desirable, not when the prefect was thrice incensed with some sort of invisible force.

There were several slightly daring yet still worthlessly pathetic herbivore souls circulating bets on who would be the very unfortunate outlet herbivore for the stress (in)visibly building up upon Hibari Kyouya’s shoulders, but sadly, they would all have to lose their money today, for this Hibari Kyouya planned on bottling everything up until the following battle, where he could unleash all and sate the blood thirst.

As such, he valiantly endured the mocking stabs against his consciousness for a few more hours, focusing instead on the comforting twittering of his only trustworthy companion.


Liquid fire coursed through his veins, licking, caressing, sliding against his flesh, burning, burning, burning – his breath, short and ragged, puffed up dust – the dust further obscured his already blurred sight, forcing him to painfully squint. His muscles, they hurt, hurt, a fucking million worlds of hurt -- and though he was face into the dirt, without any sort of exertion apart from excruciatingly painful breathing, they still bloody hurt!

Those traitorous Cervello had the nerve to plant poisoned needles into the watches they were made to wear – and they didn’t simply use any poison, he hissed. They had to use the debilitating kind of poison. He vowed to himself that the moment he rose from this pit of endless pain, he would bite them all to their very graves and leave only enough of their bones to be buried. In truth, there was not even any need for any burial – what would be left of their accursed flesh and bones could simply be left behind to lay and rot. He would bite them and bite them and bite them until their very ancestors bled and drowned in pure unadulterated pain.

He failed to notice, at first, the treacherous, slithering Thing once again invading his otherwise preoccupied consciousness. It hid beneath the unending waves of pain – scorching, torturous, fucking twelve hells of fucking pain – mapping its relatively new surroundings. It was not until the Thing touched upon his actual conscious thought did he realize it was within him.

This time, when the customary greeting stab came, it was no longer a blunt, alien stab, but a startling, knifing, ripping slash at his consciousness. A foreignness enveloped his mind, and his senses began to tingle. Warning bells rang deep and loud within his mind, urging him, pushing him, into a struggle to regain control over his own self.

Snarling in fury, he poured force into his muscles, fighting to right his position. Eventually, after much blinding pain, he managed to get himself upright and leaning against one of the posts of the tower that held the ring.

The Thing, however, did not retreat. It merely lurked, waiting for an opening, mocking him, as if he were defenseless.

He was not defenseless.

Determinedly, he pushed his mind against that Thing, as if to try and shove it away. It only clung to him though, and he felt amusement coursing through whatever – whoever – it was.

He shifted minutely to his side, and an explosion of white hot blinding furious pain made him almost – almost! – cry out in surprise. His muscles were too tightly bunched, too wrung and tense, that they were painfully constricting his nerves. The Thing took this as an opportunity to sneak and strike once more, and Hibari felt the immense pleasure it took at the responding thrash of defiance he gave.

Who are you, you fucking worthless excuse for a herbivore?!

For an endless while, there was pitch black silence, blurred into grey by the edges of his vision.

And then a mocking but deceptively gentle laugh:



Of all people, Hibari Kyouya mourned to the heavens.

Of all people, why him?! Why did it always have to be this infuriating man who always saw him at his very worst?! His very being recoiled at the thought of ever showing weakness to any living breathing creature on the face of the green earth. And if there ever was a necessity to show weakness – hell forbid – he would never ever even dream of choosing this man.


Oh? Interesting. Kufufufu. Would you have preferred someone else to see you like this, Kyouya?

Filthy herbivore. I do not remember giving you permission to call me by name. Hibari lifted his foot, trying his muscles. For some blessed reason, the pain was starting to dull, and his muscles were starting to regain control. Perhaps his system had grown accustomed to the pain. Soon, he would be able to reach across and press the switch on that blasted watch that would release the antidote.

I don’t think I need your permission. Hibari could very well see that amused and terribly mocking smile on that disingenuously angelic face. He grimaced, banishing any such thought. If anything, this person was a devil, not an angel. Why thank you. I’ll have you know that I think of you as a devil incarnate too.

What are you doing in my head, Hibari asked, tone acid. His fingers twitched as he clenched and unclenched them.

I’m terribly bored, and this is providing me some measure of entertainment.

That is not enough of a reason, herbivore.

Why would it be not? The bastard had the nerve to sound offended, Hibari inwardly seethed, when it was his privacy the fucking bastard was shamelessly invading! The nerve! And unless you have something horribly confidential to keep – which I doubt you do – there’s really not much of a problem with this situation. Hibari made sure to tuck in the back of his mind that he would be pummeling this bastard the next time they met face to face. That’ll be a long while from now, Kyouya. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m getting rather bored with the view here, so let’s move somewhere else.

Hibari was about to retort that moving would be nice, except he couldn’t, but then he was suddenly moving, his left arm rising from its prone position, and before he knew it he was watching in horrified fascination as it reached for his right wrist, pressed the antidote release button, and --

It’d be much easier to control if you’d stop resisting, you know.

If I were possessing you, I doubt you’d be saying that.

Oh, I wouldn’t be resisting! Kufufufu. I’m not like you, Kyouya. I have other means to persuade people into my bidding. I don’t need brute force.

Forehead crumpling in irritation, Hibari reclined against the post and rested his head. The soothing cold of the antidote brought much needed relief to his abused and aching muscles, chasing away the constricting burn. Soon, he was rising to his feet. Glad to be back in control, he retrieved his fallen tonfa and demolished the posts holding the miniature tower upright. The abominable Thing in his mind seemed content to leave him in control for now, for which Hibari was glad. He was not in the mood to argue with his own consciousness at the moment.

The ring, the source of all conflict, fell into right into his hand.

Ah, the Vongola ring. Rather curious little thing, is it not?

Hibari could care less, really.

If so, then why do you keep the ring? If all you are after is the conflict, then there really is no need to follow the rules, is there? You could simply attack anyone upon sight.

Hibari decided not to grace that remark with a reply. He instead turned towards the nearest building, one where a Guardian was trapped. Maybe, if he occupied himself with some sort of distraction, then the presence in the back of his mind would dull.

Thus was his (vain) hope.

Of Blessed, Blessed Release

Then there were those instances when the growing presence within his mind felt so familiar he forgot it was even there, until the blasted herbivore once more spoke and made itself known. Those instances were hateful, oh so fucking damn hateful to Hibari, for they came whenever he was wanting just a tiny little slice of heavenly silence.

If it were any other being on the green, plentiful, and herbivore-inundated earth, it would never dare give a single squeak, not a single scuffle, never a single glance. But it was him.


His fist hit the wall.


Irritated beyond belief, he rose from his perch upon the rooftop, his jacket flaring behind him as he whirled about towards the staircases. Behind him, pieces of the cracked and dented wall clattered upon the floor.

I’m surprised they don’t make you pay for all this damage you cause the school property.

He descended the stairs with the predatory sway of a prowling jaguar, parting the sea of students in the first floor main lobby the moment he stepped in. Strode past them without a single glance, not even when Sasagawa Ryohei, that coarse herbivore, called out to him fearlessly. He had no business with them as of the moment; the Ring Conflicts were over.

Mm, what’s this? You’re ignoring me? Kufufufu. Adorable.

And Hibari has been. Or more accurately, has been trying to, for the past few days. Having a very unwelcome Thing in one’s head and ignoring it completely is not exactly the easiest thing to do. But Hibari is determined. And whenever Hibari determinedly wants something, he gets it, no questions asked. That was, is, always will be how the world works. (If not, well then, the world would simply have to get reacquainted with his (most certainly very painful) tonfas.)

Egocentric much? Never did grow out of childhood, I see.

Hibari does not understand why this abominable herbivore insists on bothering him and not that doe-eyed weakling girl illusionist. There is a small part of him that almost, almost, wants to regret ever confronting this – this THING – a while back. For if he’d never confronted, then he would never have been trapped, and if he’d never been trapped, then he would never have been injured by that blasted bloody trident, and if he’d never been injured by the trident, then he’d never have this blasted bloody fucking damnable incessantly irritating THING inside his head!

It would be nice if you stopped calling me a ‘thing’. That’s not exactly a very nice way of treating a gracious guest.

What a fucking hypocrite his ‘gracious guest’ was, Hibari remarked, to even dare call himself anything within a five-meter radius of grace. Where was gracious within imposing oneself upon another human being’s mind?

At least I don’t completely take you over, the glib voice pointed out.

Right. As if that’s any measure of comfort for me. But it was a measure of marginal comfort, really, for him to find that he still had control over his own body. (He was yet unaware of his nightly escapades.) For a person like him, who lived life in a constant wanting for the thrill of a good fight and the secure ground of absolute order, losing control would be nothing short of disastrous.

Kufufufufu~. Careful, little Kyouya. I’m one who takes advantage of weaknesses. Never forget that.

Hibari’s eyes darkened, his tonfa snapping out in fury and narrowly missing a student scared shitless. The gate post bent with a horrid screech of straining metal.


Thus was spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening, wandering about Namimori and viciously trying to stamp out the irritating voice inside his head, the one that was not supposed to be there. Prowling the nighttime downtown streets, his eyes flickered into hidden corners barely illuminated by the street lamps. Oftentimes he could find a herbivore or two to beat up in one of those dark and dinky alleyways. The tougher ones, the ones he wanted right now, were the rarer ones.

Several times he came across minor squabbles between herbivores from other schools, and he quickly dispersed them. No being on earth was allowed to wreak havoc upon his Namimori, unless with due permission. He took a dark pleasure in bruising and bloodying the dirt that sullied his streets, the seeping anger transforming into a rush of pure adrenalin with each connecting hit of his tonfa. And right along with him, in the recesses of his conscious, the chuckling voice joined. Exalted, even, at the rush of destruction and pain. The faint thought of ‘perhaps we are of the same making’ crossed Hibari’s mind, and he could not help but momentarily entertain the thought, before pushing it away, lest the infernal lurker catch it and proceed to pester him for the next twelve hours.

The voice suddenly quipped, If you just want a tough opponent, go to the Arcobaleno.

The baby does not want a fight.

You’re actually honoring the wishes of your opponent? He could hear a drawn out mock gasp. The world’s end must be nearing!

I’ve no desire to fight him while he’s preoccupied with the herbivore Sawada Tsunayoshi.

Kufufufu, excuses, excuses! You simply do not want to lose. Tsk, Kyouya. I’d expected better of you.

A particularly menacing glare was sent towards a couple making out by one of the stores. The couple, a little bit older than him, hastily separated and shuffled away.

Hibari walked a block more before turning a sharp left and entering a darkened causeway and into a patch of low-class neighborhood where the crime rates were highest. This was a prime place to hunt. There was always a rat or two to be found beneath and between the dirtied folds.

Not even five minutes and Hibari heard a muffled shriek. His feet halted, intently waiting for another sound. Noisy scuffling from one of the deeper alleys to his left a few meters away. A dog barking at one of the farther houses down the road.

The voice in his head was silent.

He stalked forth, baring his tonfas, cold hard metal glinting under forbidding moonlight. The moment he rounded the corner, however, a familiar face jumped out from the darkness.

Chrome Dokuro, lip bloodied and jacket dirtied, struggled valiantly – albeit vainly – within the arms of a masked man. No matter what stunt she pulled, though, it was nigh impossible for her to escape a much bigger man on her own, her frail body prone against brute force. And the trident was lying abandoned a meter or two away on the ground.

From the looks, it was either a mugging or a rape. Or both, Hibari mused.

Either way, he was not interested. Intentions were meaningless weighed against actions.

With naught a single word, he charged forward with blinding speed. Tonfas made contact – crunch-snap! – and the masked man, despite his build and weight, was thrown backwards. Chrome stumbled out of his grasp and out the alley, standing where the light flooded her shiver-wracked form. She immediately snatched the trident from the ground, hugging it close to her person.

Ribs broken, the man wheezed. Hibari moved. Relentless, he hit, and hit, and hit. A cut at the jaw, a stab in the plexus, a slice at the shoulder. Every swish and slide of the tonfa mesmerized him, every slip and slice of it through the air. Metal impacted upon flesh and broke skin. Blood sprayed against Hibari’s jacket and shirt, staining the immaculate white and dulling the sheer black. Droplets clung to his skin, dying, sticky. It iched. He gave no heed.

Bubbling, expanding, burning fury frothed and bubbled at the edges as he unloaded everything. The man was hoarsely crying for mercy, but his attacks didn’t cease. He hit, and hit, and cuffedswipedsmashedhit – hit until his arms hurt, hit until the man was limp and lifeless on the ground, hit until it was only his heavy breathing in the ever-present silence.

The tingling in his senses told him.

The man was dead.

He had killed.


And the rush of release was exquisite.

A blood-thirsty smile etched upon his face, he turned his back upon the corpse. With a haphazard arm he wiped off sprayed blood from his cheek. He replaced his tonfas and strode into blinding fluorescent lamplight, blinking at the girl standing stock still, her hair in mussed tufts from the scuffle.


“What?” Hibari gruffly asks.

“…Mukuro-sama tells me to thank you,” the girl says.

His eye twitches.

But he turns his back on her and heads the other way. Far, far away.

“And he tells me,” the girl calls out as he walks away, “that – that you have to walk me home.”

Hibari stops.

“…and what, in all of the seven hells, possesses your damned herbivore of a master to think that I would do such a thing?”

The girl opens her mouth to relay the words, but then pauses.


Turning to look, Hibari raises an eyebrow to find a very flustered Chrome. She opened and closed her mouth several times, as if trying to form the words, or trying to decide how to form the words. Hibari had to wonder what thought was so hard to convey for the normally straightforward girl.

“B-Because –“ Chrome swallowed thickly, “Because y-you’re a very obedient – obedient puppy, and if you don’t walk me home, you’ll – you’ll forever never know what you’ve been doing at night when you’re asleep?”

The girl ended with a confused tone, her head tilted to the side in contemplation. Her forehead was crumpled in thought as she tried to focus on whatever the voice in her head was saying.

To Hibari, however, truth dawned with a dash of horror and an entire truckload of scorching fury.

Fucking bastard asshole herbivore – I’ll bite him, maim and torture, kill and mangleflattenMAUL –

Hibari stiffly strode towards the girl, grabbed her wrist, and proceeded to tug her down the empty road.

I will CRUSH you.

I love you too, Kyouya. Kufufufufu~.

Of Pretention and Every Variation of Deception

Whatever are you talking about?

Seething, Hibari furiously stabbed the table with the fork he held in hand. The wood gave way to metal, but the metal bent midway, creating a strange angle for the fork to rest upon the wood. Around the prefect, students scattered to give wide berth.

You very well know what I’m talking about, filth. Now tell me. What have you been doing while in my body?!


The previous night, after dropping the illusionist girl at the apartment she stayed in with the two other Kokuyou herbivores, Hibari was left to his own thoughts, which he found surprisingly refreshing. The quiet was most certainly a welcome change. The turmoil, however, was not. His rage turned his insides into knots as he mustered it all in, wanting nothing more than to unleash it all on that blasted herbivore.

He hadn’t slept at all, torn between wanting the voice back if ONLY to strangle out of it answers he needed, and wanting the voice forever, forever GONE. Which, of course, only quadrupled his already tripled tension. (The entire lobby practically emptied of the customary swarm the moment his toe crossed the threshold.)

You hate me that much, Kyouya? I’m hurt.

Hibari did not believe a single word. He’d learned not to, after nearing a week of putting up with the annoying presence. Besides, it was quite literally physically impossible for the bastard to hurt, not when the body was in a medically induced coma and locked within a dark chamber underneath some prison in Italy. (Hibari personally thought the bloody herbivore deserved it, if said bastard had to be this vexing.)

Trust me, Kyouya, I have not done anything to deserve any of this, even by your standards.

The voice was uncharacteristically subdued, perhaps even somber and lacking their usual mock. The underlying disdain for the world, however, still lay firm and present.

It is just a cycle, and they were the ones who took the first turn. I am a mere product of their wickedness, thus I, too, am wicked. Chi la fa l’aspetti. The world has decided it shuns my existence, so I shun it twice as much. The world tries to bring me down, I bring it down with me. It is simple logic. Surely you, of all people, would understand.

He did not grace that with an answer, didn’t get the change to, when a clumsy body bumped against his table and upset his glass of water. He threw an acid glare.


Hibari’s ears prickled at the herbivore’s stinging screech. Unbelievable how such a weak fledgling could be declared the heart and soul of the famiglia.

“Tenth, don’t worry, if he tries to hurt you, I’ll blow him up!”

“Ah, Hibari, hahaha, what’s up?”


The beginnings of a menacing headache creeping at the edges of his sensation, Hibari rose abruptly, sweeping past the clump of weak little fledgling herbivores and out the cafeteria. (He chose to ignore the universal sigh of relief from every occupant of said cafeteria the moment he stepped out of the threshold.)

You did not even bid the Vongola Tenth a good day?

Hibari soon stepped out of school grounds and made his way to the nearest place that offered palatable food.

But of course! You’re Hibari Kyouya. You don’t bid people good day. You have a reputation to keep.

They are not worthy of my attention, filth as they are, exactly like you. That’s all there is to it.


The earlier conversation was never more broached.


The evening was once more spent prowling the streets for any wayward civilian behavior. Hibari, for once, was left severely wanting reprise from his usual duties. He was not eager for a repeat performance of last night. Not that killing the man had bothered him; nothing beat practice ahead of time (no matter how lousy the target). It was more along the lines of not wanting another run in with another one of the Guardians, or, hell forbid, the illusionist girl. She was far too easily manipulated by Mukuro, far too easily controlled by her emotion for her purported savior. Far too easily used as a weapon.

He rather disliked that breed of herbivore. (The Rain swordsman, Yamamoto Takeshi, or the Storm bomber, Gokudera Hayato, were more preferable, if he absolutely, absolutely had to choose. Note restatement, italic, and bold.)

Oh? How come I’m not even considered? You skipped the Vongola as well.

The fledgling is weak. He needs to grow a backbone.

And what about me?

You can burn and rot in the lowest pits of hell. After I maim you beyond recognition.

Kufufufufu~! Sounds delightful, Kyouya. I’ll be holding you to that the next time we meet.

A predatory grin spread upon Hibari’s lips. Oh, he would most definitely be holding on to it as well. There was no way in the entire fucking herbivore-teeming world he would miss a chance to bite and maul that fucking illusionist to death.

Speaking of which, I am rather hungry.

Are you even capable of feeling hunger, filth that you are?

My body is currently in a state of sleep, but my psyche is very much awake. Thus, I can feel hunger like any living creature, being everything we know occurs in the mind. As you eat, I will be sated as well, since I am half-possessing you. So. Shall we eat?

Hibari stopped in front of an Italian restaurant downtown, not even knowing how in the world he’d gotten so far. Not even noticing it. Gritting his teeth, he strode inside, bottling the anger for later. He was already here, and there was nothing to be done. He was pretty sure it would merely escalate into a full-blown mental argument – ultimately, a full-blown migraine by late night – and he was not up for such abuse of his mental capacities right now.

Without much questions asked, the waiter sat him at one of the isolated tables, and gave him a menu.

One glance, and he’d decided: Ossobuco – Penne – alla Milanese – all’arrabbiata.


I want spicy.

I want meat.

Too much meat is not good for you~.

I don’t see why you should be concerned; I am the one eating, after all.

Such sting in your words, Kyouya; it hurts my heart. Tsk. I’m merely being a good friend.

Hibari barely managed to restrain his own fist from hitting the glass he was currently seated beside and shattering it into a million tiny shards.

Whoever said we were—

“Excuse me,” the waiter came. “Are you ready to place your order, sir?”

Hibari gritted his teeth.

Penne all’arrabbiata, but you are telling me what you have been doing to my body in my sleep.


“Penne all’arrabbiata,” Hibari muttered to the waiter, who nodded and promised his meal in a few minutes and refreshment right away.

Sad you aren’t allowed wine. Maybe I should have thought to have you change clothes first, that way you aren’t so obvious.

What have you been doing to me in my sleep?!

Kufufufufu~! Don’t you worry, Kyouya. I didn’t do anything incredibly… ah, incriminating. Kufufufu~.

Slovenly excuse for a herbivore, you will tell me or –

Or what, little Kyouya? Kufufufu. I reside in your own body. You cannot hurt me. Not unless you have masochistic tendencies – then it’s an entirely different matter, and we’re having this conversation in the wrong place. Kufufufufu.

In an attempt to calm himself, Hibari took a sip of his freshly squeezed lemon juice.

But alright, I’ll tell, if that appeases you. The voice had this untrustworthy sheen to it, playful and coy, that Hibari was disinclined to believe any single word to come. I… moved your body.


That’s it.

Yes, that’s it. I moved, that’s all.. Nothing incriminating.

Hibari was not stupid; he saw what the Italian was doing. And so he decided he would play along. If bargaining worked, then he would bargain. He saw no wrong in that, and it would give him immense satisfaction to up one on the vermin he was forced to accommodate within his conscious.

Of course, this all depends on what ‘incriminating’ exactly entails.

The waiter approached with the penne, placed it on the table, and bowed. Hibari was minutely impressed. Never were these high-class restaurants ever so fast, unless there weren’t many patrons present. Perhaps he was the only one tonight.

The conveniences of being able to talk with your mind, the voice in the back of his head muttered as he began to dig in. You can talk while eating without having to appear an uneducated street slob.

The inconveniences of being able to talk with your mind, Hibari drolly rebounded. There is never reprise from nonsensical herbivore babbling, and nor is there any finite definition of ‘personal space’.

Ah, come now, Kyouya. You know you appreciate my presence.

Fat chance, that.

It’s a little bit too bland. Add a little more parsley.

A little more parsley, and you’ll tell me exactly what you did to me – my body – while I was asleep, how you “moved”, why you moved, where you went, if you talked to any people, if you ate, if you touched any of my belongings, if you wandered out of the house, down to the very last detail.

There was momentary silence, for which Hibari was smug. He was one up, just by silencing the slovenly herbivore.

That’s awfully demanding of you, Kyouya, to ask so much in exchange for just a little pinch of parsley!

I could simply quit eating altogether.

Do that and the next time I have control, I will randomly grab a random person and fuck them using your body.

…you mean you haven’t already done that.

I’m not that bad! the voice said, obviously miffed. I didn’t even step out of the house. I just walked around a bit. That is considered moving. I’ve been locked up for quite a while now, if you don’t realize. Now, my pinch of parsley, please.

That would explain the mornings, Hibari mused. The first time he woke on the divan in the study. The following morning when he woke in the bathroom. And the day after that when he woke in the living room.

And then his eyes narrowed in realization.

Even before the fight against the Mosca, he’d already been having lapses during his sleep, not remembering where he slept, when he slept, or how he got to where he was upon waking. It was odd, but only happened once in a while, and as such, Hibari did not think much of it.

Hibari bristled in indignation and anger.

You – vermin – filthy herbivore – fucking pretentious mind-whore –

My parsley?

Shut the fuck up.

Hibari took much joy in savoring his entirely parsley-free penne that night.


The next day was another day of vainly trying to ignore the loud, invasive, and oft vulgar commentary in his head. The blasted Thing talked of literally anything and everything under the sun, if only to annoy him and elicit some sort of response, never mind if response consists of hellion fury and much profanity. Even the most mundane of things – I wouldn’t have imagined that you, of all people, could cook this well! You’d make a good housewife, kufufufufufu~! – managed to become topics of heated argument.

Thus passed one entire hell of a week. It did not take much to get Hibari riled, and as such, none dared to approach him, for which he was minimally thankful. He honestly did not want any more nuisances in his life; the big one currently taking up residence in his head was more than enough, thank you very much.

Time and time again, Hibari questioned why, of all conceivable things under the sun, he was chosen for such severe mental torture (not that he was caving, mind you). Time and time again, Mukuro’s simple reply was a happy chirp of “Chi la fa l’aspetti”. What goes around comes around. It was apparently, according to his ‘gracious guest’, his payment for terrorizing so many innocent people – worthless filthy herbivores, he corrected – day after day after day.

Hibari thought it was unfair, really. He hardly stalked someone and made them suffer twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. If the Thing in his head was going to hedge on a concept of equivalent exchange, it wasn’t going to work. Though he believed that two wrongs made things right, it wouldn’t apply if the two wrongs didn’t equal each other out.

But no matter how hard he pressed, Mukuro would not budge. The mind-whore was enjoying every moment of his imposition upon Hibari, and was not above flaunting it. And each time Hibari reacted with anger, it only served to fuel the nettling, chafing, godforsaken fucking glee.

As such, he strove to calm his anger. La calma è la virtù dei forti. He recalled reading it in passing on one of the books in the library.

Speaking of books, the voice in his head blithely pointed out, we haven’t finished reading that interesting blue book yet.

He repressed a sigh. If he’d known that the mind-whore had an insatiable appetite for books, he would’ve never stepped into the house’s sizable library. However, the mistake had already been made. He was now spending more than five hours a day doing nothing but reading book after book, those he’s already read, those that didn’t even marginally interest him (but interested the little parasite he had in his head), the oldest and untouched, the most recent.

He’d rifled through ancient Japanese scriptures, even the some of the oldest existing texts in Japan. His grandfather did not say a word; in fact, the old man approved of his sudden bout of interest in the texts, saying it was only proper. His parents, if they noticed his altered behavior, did not comment. The mind-whore had questioned their apparent nonchalant lenience, and when he refused to tell, Mukuro pried the answer from within Hibari’s knowledgebase while said host was asleep. Suffice to say, it was one very interesting family.

We are not reading today.

Why? You don’t have anything scheduled for today. It’s the weekend. You stay home on weekends.

Point. It’s the weekend. I stay home and meditate. Maybe if I meditate hard enough I’ll manage to push you out.

You’re welcome to try. Kufufufu~.

With a roll of his eyes, Hibari made his way through the house, relishing the refreshing silence. It was known within the household’s occupants that the boss disliked noise, and as such, things were kept as quiet as possible. Even more so since the traditional Japanese style offered little soundproofing between rooms, the paper-thin shoji almost see-through given proper lighting.

He divested himself of his yukata, the only thing he ever wore at home, and stepped into his very own private bath, already prepared and steaming for him. He went through the motions of washing himself with soap and water before stepping into the bath quietly. The parasite in his head was disconcertingly quiet as well, but damned if he wasn’t going to take advantage of the momentary peace.

Soon, he was slipping into the bath, releasing a sigh as the hot water immediately loosened knotted muscles in his back. Idle thoughts flitted back and forth in his mind as Hibird twittered around. After a couple of minutes of chirping the school song, the bird settled for nesting atop Hibari’s head.

Why do you keep the bird?

Why do you keep your Kokuyou minions and the Dokuro girl?

Kufufufu. You seem to have a hidden affinity for adorably cute animals.

And you seem to have an affinity for fledgling little herbivores who are more of burdens than benefits.

If you really believe so, then you’d be calling yourself a fledgling little herbivore as well, Kyouya
, the voice happily pointed out. Hibari’s eyebrow involuntarily twitched in annoyance, but he mastered his temper and opted to listen, a decision he was sure to regret. The voice then practically purred, You’re not half-bad, you know.

An unbidden shudder shimmied down Hibari’s spine despite the water’s heat. Abruptly, he rose. Hibird fell off his head, twittering indignantly at being so suddenly disturbed, but Hibari paid his pet no attention. Instead, he headed for the door, and through it towards the wardrobe, where a new yukata was waiting for him.

His feet, however, halted right as he crossed in front of the wall mirror.


He urged his feet to walk.

They didn’t respond.

Instead, his head turned sideways to gaze at his reflection upon the mirror.

It was rightly a shock to see one of his eyes a mesmerizing blood red color. His reflection, his image but not him, gave a darkly sensual smirk. The expression was somewhat ill-fitting on his normally stoic visage, and yet at the same time, the expression was not so foreign that it was totally displaced from his face. In fact, the only reason that he was unsettled was that it was unfamiliar—it gave him a darker, more malicious aura.

I like what I see, Kyouya, Mukuro practically purred.

A seething, low voice: Let me go.

Oh, but where would the fun be if I did? Kufufufufu~.
The person in the mirror gently reached up and ran a finger down the smooth skin of his neck.

Stop it.

Mukuro ignored him. I wonder, Kyouya. Do you ever get any?

None of your business, slovenly herbivore. Let me go. Now.

Or do you only pleasure yourself when you’re alone?

The hand wandered farther south, and Hibari gave a hiss at a wayward touch. With all his might, he pushed against the overbearing presence in his mind, but it did not give. All the while, his reflection continued the touches, leaning against the opposite wall, languidly pleasuring, teasing, pleasing. He felt his body, his own traitorous body, heat up at the illusionist’s ministrations. The mind controlling the hands seemed suspiciously very familiar with the movements, expertly sliding fingers underneath warm, rising flesh.

This would be much easier if you relented, but that wouldn’t be fun at all. So feel free to try and break my control, my beautiful, beautiful Kyouya~. Kufufufu~.

Fingers grazed a nipple, and the reflection gritted its teeth—then repeated the action, this time firmer and more deliberate. Hibari stood valiantly against the yet gentle waves of pleasure, but his determination wavered with each lingering touch. The waves weren’t even swelling and peaking yet, he seethed, and here he was, already being carried away.

He gave one strong rebellious shove.

Momentarily, he felt the parasite give, and then he found himself suddenly in partial control of some of his muscles. He gritted his teeth, this time completely of his own volition, when a seeking hand slid in between his thighs and spread against flushed skin.

Let go, fucking perverted mind-whore.

I did. You can talk now. Let me hear your voice, Kyouya.

With varying pressure, the hand around his member started stroking, up and down, slowly. Each time, the thumb slid and caressed the tip, and each time, Hibari struggles to hold back a groan. There was something incredibly compelling about watching his own wayward hands pleasure his own body—the knowledge and the sensation of not having control made it feel foreign and totally new.

A part of him, a tiny reluctant part of him, liked it.

And it frightened him.

Come now, Kyouya. No one will hear you. Let it out.

The voice was velvet, coaxing, in his head. Hibari’s judgment was clouded and heady with mounting, building pleasure. The hands, they continued to stroke and caress, gentle, and at the same time certain and unwavering. The feel of a smooth palm sliding up his abdomen, rubbing harshly against painfully hard nubs, made Hibari’s control waver, and the very slightest of a groan was let out.

Hmm… a little bit louder.

With crushing force, Hibari gritted his teeth, bowing his head and panting in exertion. The hand was agonizingly, torturously slow, teasing, differing the pressure, the speed, the depth of each stroke. The mind-whore, fucking pervert that he was, intended fully to draw out the ordeal.

And then the hands were gone.

He looked up at his reflection, and found the red eyed stranger staring back at him. The hands lay limply at his sides.

Tell me what you want, Kyouya.

In shock, Hibari took a few moments to reply. Did the slovenly herbivore, the perverted accursed mind-whore, just tell him to ask for it? Well, hell if he was gonna do that.

Go burn in hell, fucking mind-whore.

Well, I’ve been there. Nothing new. Wouldn’t be much of a torture, so you’ve got to choose something better than that,
Mukuro blithely quipped. Or you could just tell me what you want, kufufufu~.

Filthy perverted parasite, is this what you do to all of your minions? That girl included? Pathetic pervert.

Of course not
, Mukuro indignantly sniffed. Then he purred, Only you, Kyouya, only you.

The hands returned with furious passion, stroking, tugging, squeezing, pinching. A spiral of sensations shot up and down his spine. His breath condensed into tiny puffing pants. His skin was slick with sweat, glistening under the glow lamp. The hand on his erection moved furiously, bringing him close, close, close--

He started out of the cloud of hazy pleasure only when a hand began to wander beyond his erection and past his sacs, probing for the opening it sought.

Stop it!

No, I won’t.


All thought processes were halted when two fingers dove sharply into his body. A tidal wave of pain displaced the oncoming release, and Hibari’s muscles grew tense in reaction, squeezing down and out. The muscles in his jaw jumped, tense, holding down the grunt of pain, locking it in deep in his throat.

“—damnit, bastard—“

Relax, Kyouya. Breathe. The pain will be over, and then it’s all pleasure.

The fingers moved, curling, spreading, scissoring. The other hand was working twice as much now, to keep his mind off the slowly dulling pain.

Filth, if you don’t stop this, I’ll—

Trust me, you won’t want me stopping in a bit.

Perverted mind-whore, let me g—ah!

White hot burning pleasure singed through Hibari’s nerves, shooting straight up to his brain, utterly annihilating any remaining trace of coherent thought. He no longer registered the parasite’s quietly amused chuckles, the velvet voice, the gentle egging. There was only pleasure, pleasure, pure unadulterated pleasure

The pace quickened, hands working furiously in tandem to bring the body to its final release. Hibari’s head lolled backwards, hitting the wall with a muffled thud. Heavy lidded eyes watched through the mirror, a myriad of expressions crossing the reflected handsome face. This was pleasure to its fullest, his hands in a frenzy, stroking, caressing, flesh against sweaty slick flesh, and Hibari didn’t think he could hold on any longer—

A groan escaped his lips, and suddenly, blinding white stars were bearing down on him on all sides. There were spasms, and then blessed, blessed release—he was coming, coming, coming—the pressure lifted, and his hips bucked into his hands, torn between two different actions, muscles straining for the peak—


His muscles ached from the intense exercise, his thighs still slightly twitching from the sensory overload. His breath started evening out. Hibird peacefully watched him from its perch by the washbasin. The lamp light, a faint glow overhead, illuminated patches of white on the floor and across on the mirror.

He found he had control over his body again.

Collapsed on the floor against the wall, he gazed upon his flushed reflection, red lips parted, eyes dilated. There was a faint flicker of red in his right eye.

Positively sinful, Kyouya. Kufufufufu~.

Rage overflowing, Hibari rose, tightened a fist, and shattered the mirror.


Aren’t you getting tired of this, Kyouya dearest?

For the rest of the following days, the painfully throbbing injured hand remained a glaring reminder of what had transpired. It steeled Hibari’s resolve as he mightily refused to acknowledge the parasite residing in his head. Instead, he faced the mind-whore with an icy silence, entertaining not a single comment, thought, or question. It was a trying challenge, but hell if he wasn’t going to succeed.

The wind sifted through his hair as he lay and watched the clouds join and part fluidly in serpentine shapes above him. The sky was endless and blue, and the school was unusually peaceful. There was a lack of familiar herbivore scents in the air—for some reason, the Vongola and his fledgling herbivore minions were nowhere to be seen.

A momentary silence, for which Hibari was once more thankful. These moments were growing rarer and rare by the minute as he continued to ignore the parasite in his head. The blasted thing was hell bent on pushing him out of his icy stoicism, but he wasn’t going to give. Not now.

It was just masturbation, Kyouya. Surely you can’t be mad because of that?

Hibari wasn’t really. It was more of the fact that the bastard took control of his body, while he was trapped inside, helpless. He abhorred helpless.

Your reactions were particularly delightful, though, the voice added. Gives me something to look forward to upon my release from this godforsaken prison.

Do me a favor and never get out.

Ah, so you’re talking to me again. Lovely~! Maybe we can go for round two. No one’s looking~.

Filth, you expect me to surrender to you that easily?

But you liked it
, Mukuro reasoned. Ah, the inconveniences of being parted by land and seas. If only I were there, it would be much bett—

Shut up!


I said shut up!

A tonfa snapped out in fury, hitting the same spot in the wall his fist had a number of days ago. The wall was almost broken through this time around, the impact spreading cracks upon the otherwise smooth concrete. It only marginally relieved the pent up tension within him.

If you want someone to talk to, go and talk to your pets, filth!

Oh, but they’re not nearly as fun as you are, Kyouya. Kufufufufufu~.

Growling in frustration, Hibari rose and paced back and forth in front of the demolished wall, agitation rolling off him in waves. Never had he felt such nettling, suffocating frustration ever before! There was no one else—no one else on the face of this green earth—that could get under his skin as easily as the filthy, slovenly, fucking mind-whore of a herbivore did—and that fact did NOT please him, no, not at all!

If only, he wished, if ONLY he was rid of this herbivore, this vexing parasite in his head, the invading presence, the mocking voice that had no right at all to mock him, he would, oh, he would—

Hibari threw his head back in a hiss and collapsed on the floor once more, running a hand through his hair.

Footsteps ascended the staircases nearby, and Hibari turned to see Kusakabe watching him. He merely lay back down and stared up at the blue, cloudy sky, contemplating all the plausible ways to ensure the parasite’s demise.

His eyes slowly drooped as he was swayed by the lull of a quiet and peacefully herbivore-free afternoon. His rage, still bubbling underneath the surface, was worth to ignore if for an restful afternoon nap. The parasite was humming some sort of tune in the back of his head. An Italian song, he noted. He would die before admitting it, but the mind-whore had quite a nice voice.

Let’s go to that Italian place again tonight. It would be a nice change. I am getting quite tired of the repetitive Japanese foo—

“Hibari-san, watch out!” “Make way, Lambo-sama is here, hahahaha!”

Hibari’s vision whirled.

( Part Two )
mood: accomplishedoww, my fingers T_T
music: Kate Nash - Birds
Awesome Pantsmissselarne on November 30th, 2008 12:42 am (UTC)
KHR has eaten everybody. *is insanely slow at chap 25*
夢路 : dreamscape: Katekyo: Bearpaw Uriiluxia on November 30th, 2008 01:04 am (UTC)
There's a reason for it. Hurry it up! XD You're missing out on a whole lot!
aventria: WHACK!aventria on November 30th, 2008 01:21 am (UTC)
You have the worst timing you know
Jill★: [KHR] 69's evil smilechocobo_ed on November 30th, 2008 03:27 am (UTC)
KHR. You will never fail to surprise me like a ninja. Seriously, nobody does it like 6918♥

Anyway, I really love this fic. It made me giggle and love this particular insane pairing even more. :D
夢路 : dreamscape: *lick*iluxia on December 1st, 2008 11:15 am (UTC)
Thanks for reading~!
proboscus on December 3rd, 2008 11:11 am (UTC)

He would die before admitting it, but the mind-whore had quite a nice voice.

mind-whore, ROFL. I love this. I love how this was written. I love how, at the end, the rhythm matched precisely how Hibari felt. It was as if I were being lulled to sleep, myself. (:

And 6918 - chocobo_ed is right. Nobody does it like they do it. The sex, was for one, mindblowing. Prz to MINDFUCK HIBARI MUKURO \o/

夢路 : dreamscape: Nabari: Miharu *devious dengel*iluxia on December 4th, 2008 12:49 am (UTC)
Yes, there's moar. There's always moar. And even when you finish this fic, there'll be moar soon to come. (Just you wait till I finish le finals.)
(Deleted comment)
夢路 : dreamscape: Katekyo: 18iluxia on December 28th, 2008 05:48 am (UTC)
Did I manage to rope you into the fandom? XD
I'm glad you liked it; thanks for reading.
rat_candy on December 28th, 2008 01:58 am (UTC)
I'm in love with you, I really am. D:
Thank you...SO MUCH...for creating such a great fic.
And what makes it better is that it continues, KYAAAAAAH!!!
^0^ Haha, anyways, you did an amazing job on this.
I'm off to read part two, whoot!
夢路 : dreamscape: Katekyo: Hibari Biteiluxia on December 28th, 2008 05:57 am (UTC)
As I've said with the other people proclaiming their undying love for me and my awesomeness, so long as you don't start molesting me, I think we're fine. XDD

Thank you for reading my fic. I'm glad you liked it.

And Mukuro-Hibari icon? WIN.
Cherryknottingcherryknotting on July 31st, 2009 05:27 am (UTC)
Here. a present, you can say. Because of you, I'm officially a mukuro-hibari fangirl. *scoffs* D< *hunt for more fics from you* you make the pairing... ADDICTIVE
夢路 : dreamscape: KHR: 80 *grin*iluxia on July 31st, 2009 06:40 am (UTC)
I actually have only written this 6918 and its comparatively shorter sequel. I have, however, written other pairings for KHR; most notably D18, my newest pet pair, and 8059, my OTP.
gayboytanogayboytano on September 22nd, 2009 01:51 am (UTC)
OMJ OMJ OMJ OMJ OMJ OMJ i've read this over on fanfiction.net but i'm rereading it now that i'm further in the series and just because i loved this fic just THAT MUCH!!!!!!


PhoenixJustice: Keep staring and he'll bite you deadphoenixjustice on September 26th, 2009 04:30 pm (UTC)
!!!!!!!! guhhhhhhh *incoherent ramblings and keyboard smashes abound* Mukuro you devious boy you, kufufufu. XDDDD And the totally mindfucker-y of it all makes it all the more awesome (and there's part two! eeee)

I just finished your D18 that you wrote, and wrote a review on ff.net. I fucking LOVE this fandom. I got into Reborn! about three or so weeks ago, read up on all the manga (on mangafox.com) in about a week (and have since bought volumes 8,9,10,11, and 12) and have since been looking for fics.

This fandom has so many pairings, and they ALL work; it's amazing!

And great, great job on this fic.

(You captured everyone PERFECTLY, especially Kyouya and Mukuro)