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24 December 2008 @ 09:16 pm
[Fic] KHR: Branding is for Ownership, Mukuro/Hibari (6918)  

I bring yet ~another~ insanely long fic. But not as long as the other one. This one's roughly half.

Title: Branding is for Ownership (sequel to The Five Stages of Coping with Loss)
Writer: iluxia
Pair: Mukuro/Hibari (6918)
Words: ~8000 words written in one sitting, half of which is smut.
Rating: NC-17 for potty mouths and mature content.
Warning(s): Explicit smut (/shootsfoot). I won't be warning you where it begins, so if you're uneasy about this, step away, please.

Notes: This fic does refer quite a lot to the prequel, but I think you'll still be able to grasp the gist of it without having read the previous. But I still suggest reading the prequel anyway. XD

Translation Notes
Proprietà esclusiva
— exclusive property
Bello mio — my beautiful
Buona notte — good night
Caro / mio caro — dear / my dear


Before he knew what was happening, the dinner date had become a standard for the both of them. Every free night they would meet and set out to scout the city for places to eat. They’d gone through the high-end class restaurants (within which they never needed to pay—it wouldn’t be an exaggeration, after all, to say that virtually all businesses in Palermo were mafia-owned or related), they’d ventured into the lower class common pizzerias, and even dared to try the most bizarre and exotic food places.

This was actually very unusual of him. He was not raised to be a picky eater, and though he fully appreciated the pleasures of good food, there never really was much fuss about it in his usual routine. (All he cared for, really, was good meat.) This radical change in his diet, then, could not be faulted as his own doing. As was any recent radical change in his life, it was all The Thing’s fault. All of it.

His dark eyes sharpened into a glare as the slovenly waste of human flesh that was The Thing sauntered towards his bed, removing clothes along the way. It was a testament to his self-control when he managed to refrain from bodily hauling The Thing off the little nest it made on his bed. His eyes narrowed into a chafing glare.

“Come to bed, Kyouya. It’s late, I’m tired; let’s sleep,” The Thing said, yawning and stretching languidly upon luxurious Egyptian silk.

Choosing to ignore the intruder (for he knew well by now that there was no hope of ever convincing said intruder to leave him alone), he strode towards the adjoining bath, intent on a relaxing hot shower. His muscles were aching from the tension of having to control homicidal intents for an entire day.

This, too, was by now routine. Every night after “unwinding” during their dinner date, they would enjoy some (illegal) wine, and then retire to his bedroom for a good night’s sleep—and for the life of him he could not fathom why the hell the abomination otherwise known as Rokudo Mukuro insisted upon imposing on his provisions when the exact same accommodations were made for the illusionist as well. Hibari snorted. For all he knew, the illusionist only did so for the sake of annoying him beyond conceivable reason. Yes, that was most probably it.

He leaned against the stall’s tiled walls, letting the hot water wash over naked skin.

He’d lost against Rokudo Mukuro, and he’d come to accept it. He knew now that no matter what he did there would be no pushing the illusionist away. He would simply have to find some way to cope with the insanity—with the intruding body in his bed at night, with the hands prone to wander at the most inopportune moments, with the velvet voice fond of whispering into his ear, with the quiet but reassuring presence at the very back of his mind…

Shaking himself awake, he removed himself from under the hot spray of refreshing water, turned the knob, and let himself out. Favoring a silk yukata and taking a moment to dry his hair, he turned off the lights and made his way to the already occupied bed.

Upon sight, the figure on the bed shifted and made space, a hand reaching out to him in beckoning. He did not take the offered hand, and he chose to ignore the smirk faintly painted upon the deceptively angelic face cushioned against a heavenly pillow.

He slipped under the covers, keeping strictly to his side of the bed. The other resident, however, was not as respectful—never respectful—of limits and personal space. The warmth of gentle palms slid upon his back and down his arm, encircling him in a secure embrace.

“Buona notte, bello mio.”

The whisper was lost within the blissful darkness of slumber.


And everyday he woke to the gentle rays of morning sunlight slithering in between the curtains, crawling upon the floor, and settling upon the bed. The bed’s other inhabitant would still be asleep, arms curled around him, territorial and possessive. His groggy senses would awake and he would note that sometime during the night he’d turned and moved towards the illusionist. Limbs would be in a hopeless tangle, and as if gravitating towards each other, they would be perfectly aligned in the middle of the bed, chest to chest, feet to feet.

He would merely give a sigh, his lids fluttering as the few remaining threads of sleep stubbornly clung and kept their hold. Drawing out of the warm embrace and cursing his traitorous body for being so reluctant about it, he would rise, pad towards the bath, wash up, and get ready for the day.

Leaving for an early breakfast was preferable, while the herbivore whelps were yet to wake. He’d leave the still slumbering illusionist on the bed—they were not lovers, and though they slept in the same bed, there was no need to wait for the other to wake, or to stay and warm the bed while the other slept. This arrangement was at most arbitrary, and he was sure Mukuro was merely playing on whims. He would push the other out, but he knew that it would only be a valiant waste of energy, so he would bide his time and wait until the other grew tired and moved on to the next unfortunate object of obsession. (This, of course, was another one of his vain hopes.)

Finishing breakfast, he would set out for an idle walk. The baby usually had a method to contact him whenever he was needed, which was rare these days. There really were no important missions to be bothered with—the other whelps were taking care of all of it. Vongola Ninth had decided to postpone the weakling Tenth’s introduction as the future capofamiglia for a few more years until they were “ready”.

They were to stay in Italy for only a few more days, and then it was back to Namimori.


Really, there was no other reason they were still in Italy, apart from the ecstatic herbivores’ vacationing escapades. Thus, most of the time, he was left to his own devices, searching for something to occupy his time with. On a certain respect this was worse than the future world they were transported to—sure, the festering silence was nonexistent, but the free-roaming target practices were nonexistent as well. There was no one to fight, no one to vent his frustration on—apart from Mukuro, of course, but he would only gain more frustration by fighting the fucking bastard anyway, so it would be useless.

He sighed.

Deciding that today he was not in the mood for a walk, he turned to head for the manor’s expansive library. Hibari knew he would probably regret this later into the day when the Mukuro visited for his daily read, but Hibari would deal with that when it came. Damn if he was going to let the illusionist dictate every single one of his actions and decisions.

He spent a good thirty minutes browsing for a good read, before settling into one of the window seats. The rest of the morning was spent submerged within the author’s world, page after page devoured by his vivid and hungry imagination.

So enthralled was he by the book that he didn’t even register the presence beside him until a voice in his head suddenly quipped: Quite an interesting story, Kyouya. Lend me when you’re done.

His eyes, tightening into a glare, whipped towards Mukuro. The illusionist was seated beside him, but facing the opposite way, so they could see each other face to face. There was a glib smile on that face Hibari loved to hate.

That wasn’t very nice, leaving me alone, the voice in his head continued, feinting hurt. The bed was cold when I woke.

We’re not lovers; we never will be. I see no reason in staying with you and waiting for you to emerge from whatever twisted dreamland you go to at night.

Ah, now, that’s not very nice either, kufufufu~. And I assure you, Kyouya dearest, my dreamland is very very enjoyable.

I don’t want to know.


Deciding that the cold shoulder would be most appropriate just about now, Hibari returned to his book, flipping to the next page. Beside him, there was the light ruffle of paper, and Mukuro began reading as well. They stayed that way, sitting side by side, until early afternoon, when the call for lunch (a telltale explosion from the kitchen either from the girls botching up a dish or by Herbivore #2 Gokudera Hayato exercising his very effective way of silencing the children long enough to manage a meal) resounded through the manor.

They both rose, making for the kitchens to get their meals and eat somewhere non-herbivore-infested, preferably the rooftop or the verandas. Upon arrival to said destination, however, they were assaulted with noise and darkness. The children were seated in front of a gigantic television screen, transfixed upon the fantastical images blown up to life-size proportions.

They were watching Harry Potter in plain midday, with the blinds closed, pretending as if it was nighttime.

Hibari merely scoffed, turning on his heel and barking instructions to Kusakabe to have his meal prepared at the veranda. Mukuro, however, paused in his step and gazed at the screen. The sequence was actually quite captivating—the children were shrieking in fear—as the snake-faced antagonist none too gently stabbed a servant’s arm with the magic wand. A (horridly tacky) skull mark on the servant’s arm moved somewhat grotesquely, and in agony the servant screamed.

Only when a maidservant asked Mukuro what he wanted for lunch and if he wanted it served alongside Hibari’s did Mukuro snap out of his daze.

For the rest of the day, Hibari noted that the illusionist was (very disturbingly and very alarmingly) distracted.


“Caro, what kind of tattoo would you like?”

Hibari did not know which part of that statement should horrify him the most. He gave the illusionist a deathly glare, but Mukuro merely reflected it with a (hatefully) lovely smile.

“Whoever gave you permission to call me that, heathen?” Hibari snarled, tone low and growling. Though he was not a native, he had a fair understanding of the Italian language. The mere thought of being called ‘caro’ made his skin crawl—he was most certainly not Mukuro’s—or anyone’s, for that matter—wife! And to think that the illusionist had the gall to call him that out loud! It would have been marginally—marginally, mind you—better if the conversation had been one within their now almost perpetually connected minds.

“Kufufufufu~. You’re not answering my question, Kyouya, love.” Mukuro made to sweep a stray strand of hair from Hibari’s eyes, but Hibari slapped his hand away. “Stingy.”

“Whatever makes you think I even want a tattoo, plant-eater?”

Said plant-eater threw his head back in a gaily laugh that echoed into the garden’s dark-cloaked recesses. “Why not? You don’t like your pretty skin marred by ink?”

Hibari decided not to grace that question with an answer.

“Hypothetically speaking, then,” Mukuro pushed, leaning his back against the balustrade so that he was once more facing the opposite way. He turned to the Cloud guardian with an eager smile. “Come on.”


Hibari’s brow twitched in annoyance when the smile on the illusionist’s face quirked slightly. Damn illusionist was thinking wayward and almost certainly perverted things again, and if the bloody fucking bastard didn’t stop, a spiked tonfa would be lodging itself up somewhere highly unpleasant.

“Personally, I think an eagle would fit you,” Mukuro mused out loud. Hibari noted how the presence in his head was quiet tonight—for some possibly inane and entirely inconsequential reason, Mukuro was intent on having this conversation out loud. “A wild and free spirit, unbound. A hunter, a predator.”

Tensing as a hand gently landed upon his back, Hibari frowned when the illusionist began tracing a wing pattern upon his shoulder blades.

“Right here, maybe,” the illusionist continued. The fingers danced downwards, vivid against Hibari’s tuned senses, sheer through the fabric of his shirt.

Steeling his self-control and forcing himself not to squirm away and beat that bloody arm off, Hibari took a deep staggering breath and growled at the illusionist. “I am not getting a tattoo.”

Mukuro ignored him. “Or maybe a dragon. A blue one, coiling down the spine…” As if to emphasize his point, he dragged flittering fingers down Hibari’s spine in a manner so sensual, even Hibari’s fortified self-control could not repress an involuntary shiver.

At that moment Hibari could not help but hate his own faithless body—and he also could not help but remark how often these bouts of self-hate came these days. The more and more he let himself gravitate towards the illusionist, he mused, the more and more he seemed to lean closer to self-destruction.

It was not a pretty thought.

“Are you paying attention to me, bello mio? Who are you thinking of so intently?” Leaning forward, Mukuro took Hibari’s chin in hand and lifted the Cloud’s face. “I don’t want you thinking of anyone else when we’re together.”

Rebelliously, Hibari jerked his chin away from the offending hand and turned back towards the darkness that the seaside the Vongola manor overlooked. The dangerously possessive and territorial glint in the illusionist’s eyes was not something he was pleased to see; it was as if the bastard had already claimed him property and was intent on protecting him from the rest of the pilfering impolite world.

No, he did not like it at all.

But then again, whenever did he like anything that concerned the infernal abomination?

He took another sip of his wine. He was already steadily building tolerance against the alcohol, having been drinking small amounts of it every night during their dinner “dates”. Mukuro seemed completely immune to the alcohol, though it might have been just because there would be no difference between the illusionist’s normal and drunken behavior.

“I am not getting a tattoo,” Hibari firmly restated.

“Kufufufu~,” Mukuro chuckled. “Always so stubborn, aren’t we, Kyouya?”

The illusionist stepped closer, taking in hand Hibari’s cheek and leaning forward for a kiss, only to dodge backward once more as a spiked tonfa swiped menacingly at him.

“Not even a kiss for me?” Mukuro said, a slight disappointment coloring his tone.

Hibari turned his back on the bastard and walked out of the room, tonfas still gleaming in his hands.

Go fuck yourself, mind-whore.


For the next few days, Hibari had to suffer through endless pestering questions about his preference for a tattoo. Spoken aloud or otherwise, it drove Hibari up the wall just as efficiently. The presence in his mind was insistent and probing, never letting go, never giving him a moment to breathe a minute of calm and peace. It came very, very close to being by far the worst couple of days he’s ever had in his short but very eventful life, losing only by a thread’s worth of aggravation to those couple of days when he’d had to put up with the mind-whore for the first time.

And as if Hibari hadn’t already suffered enough under the hands of fickle fate, it so happened that their stay in Italy had to be prolonged for about half a week more, so the next generation Vongole herbivores could stay for the Ninth’s birthday celebration. Prolonging the stay would mean less of a chance to escape the illusionist, since they lived in one house – which would in turn increase his stress. If he was not a Hibari, he was quite sure that by now, he would have already crumbled.

But as fickle, wicked fate will have it, he is a Hibari, and it would be a shame to his name and his family’s honor should he crumble underneath such an unworthy and filthy little herbivore heathen.

So he wouldn’t crumble, no, he wouldn’t.

He would endure.

Ne, Kyouya, would you prefer a wolf or a tiger?



Hibari waited.

As patiently as he could manage without offing some unfortunate being that happened to pass by his general vicinity, he waited. He watched and waited as the Vongole herbivores went through the usual cacophony of happy greetings and a wasteful and noisy impromptu party. He watched and waited as the guest of the house renewed acquaintances with the herbivores, laughed and ate with them, shared stories and clowned around. He watched, waited, with bated breath, for the right moment to spring at his prey.

And none could blame him, really. He has been left wanting for release for more and longer than he deserved, and this opportunity was long due. The Vongole herbivores were far too weak and spineless for his taste, unable to give him the thrill and the blood, all that he ever really longed for in a good fight. Mukuro was never conducive to his – or anyone’s – general sanity, so sparring with the bastard was completely out of the question; it would simply worsen his aggravation. And the Varia, while they were also ideal sparring partners, tended to avoid the manor, except for that blabbering Shark who seemed to have developed quite a crush on the Vongola’s Rain. Besides, he had yet to forgive that enormous asshole of a bastard Xanxus for stealing his kill, never mind that it was ten years into the future. Should they ever spar, he would most probably slip and kill the bastard – which would most likely get him into a truckload of trouble from the baby, and he did not feel like dealing with that on top of the nettling resident pest he had buzzing around in his head.

So this was his only chance, his one chance to let loose the anger and frustration and tension coiled tight and deep in his chest.

He eyed the Cavallone, who was still busy having his merry time with the rest of the household. The leather grip of his tonfa felt comforting against his anxious hands. Bands of muscle flexed in anticipation as he rolled his neck to relieve the gathering tension.

“What’s this, Kyouya, love?” Arms, gentle and warm, draped around him, one around his shoulders and another around his waist. A chin came to rest upon his shoulder, and a gentle, velvet voice whispered into his ear, “You’re looking at the Cavallone with such heat in your eyes.”

What’s it to you, mind-whore?

A split-second of silence, before Mukuro gave what was exposed of his neck a gentle lick. I don’t like it.

The cacophony was beginning to wind down, and Hibari found himself impossibly more eager for the battle. He did not care for excuses; if the Cavallone was tired, then he would simply have to bear with a loss. Nothing would be keeping Hibari from his spar tonight, not even the bastard draped all over him, invading his mind with saccharine words and poison-laced whispers of love.

He shrugged the arms off, retrieving his other tonfa and spinning them both in anticipation.

“Cavallone,” he called over the din. Eyes looked up at him.

Dino gave an apprehensive grin upon sight of the (quite intimidating) spiked tonfas. “…I don’t suppose we can postpone this, Kyouya?”

Had Hibari been facing Mukuro, he would have sighted the deathly fury barely concealed underneath Mukuro’s usual mask. Of all other people outside his family, it was only Mukuro and Dino who dared to call Hibari by name, and by now it was common knowledge that Mukuro did not like competition for whatever he deemed his property. The mocking smile the illusionist was so fond of now had edges of frost, and the deep blue eyes were unforgiving in their coldness. But alas, Hibari was focused upon what he wanted, always focused upon what he wanted, ignoring the non-essentials and leaving behind extraneous baggage in his restless pursuit.

“The back,” Hibari barked, promptly turning on his heels and heading for the nearest open space.


If Hibari felt at all the barely tempered fury emanating from Mukuro, he gave no indication of it. If Hibari felt at all the scorching gaze settled upon his form throughout the spar, he made no motion to shake it off. He simply and single-mindedly continued his barrage of attacks upon a worn and poorly prepared Dino, even going as far as using his Ring and his box, never stopping until his breath was spent and his muscles were the very definition of pain. His release, his release was all he cared for now, and this was taking off the tension from his already burdened shoulders. He was not to say no and stop something so incredibly fucking satisfying simply for the mind-whore. That would beat the entire purpose of lessening his stress, and lessening his stress was top priority over anything else right now. He’d already listened to the mind-whore’s whims enough times for today; this one moment was his, and he would keep it.

In the midst of trying to solidly lodge the alarmed Cavallone into one of his hedgehog’s spikes, he grinned savagely.

Besides, if the mind-whore was jealous, well, that wasn’t really his problem now, was it?


Yes, apparently, it was.

There was something fundamentally wrong about their relationship, and Hibari is reminded of this every minute of every hour of everyday they spend together (which, by the way, has been constantly increasing against his very will). Every time he yielded to some passing whim, every moment of his time he gave to acknowledging the infernal presence, every word he uttered in return for those poisonous whispers at night – everything between them was a testament to the very wrongness of the relationship. By all laws of nature and science such a thing, such a relationship, surely could not – should not – exist.

But exist it does, and if it isn’t real, then he was quite sure the rest of the world would not be real either.

Of all the other things that proved this fundamental wrongness, though, nothing else proved it as much and as perfectly as this.

He strode into the sitting room, where Mukuro sat surrounded by his pet herbivores, engaged in a light-hearted game of chess with the bespectacled Chikusa.

“Ah, Kyouya!” Mukuro beamed upon sight. “Feel up to a game of chess?”

Without preamble, Hibari grabbed the mind-whore’s shirt, dragged him upright, and began to bodily haul him away from the herbivore-infested room, towards someplace they could discuss private things in private, preferably his quarters which were guarded by a tight-lipped and loyal Kusakabe.

Mukuro only very faintly struggled in his grasp, and Hibari knew this was because the illusionist took extreme pleasure in savoring any and every kind of interaction between the two of them, as if he was an addict and Hibari was his fix. He probably was an addict, and Hibari probably was his fix. Hibari did not waste energy focusing upon this fleeting fact, however; his mind was far too busy trying (in vain) to reconstruct his hazy drugged memories of last night.

The moment they were squarely within safe walls, Hibari released the exceedingly amused illusionist, only to shove him up against the wall with a spiked tonfa at his neck.

“What fucking game is this, you fucking asshole?” he said, lips pulled into a snarl.

Mukuro chuckled, lifting his hands in surrender. “Whatever are you talking about, Kyouya?”

“Don’t act like you don’t fucking know, damnit!” Hibari roared, control wavering as he pushed harder. The tonfa’s spike sank into skin and minutely bled Mukuro’s neck. With a hand Hibari quite literally tore his own white shirt off from his form, baring his torso. He jarringly took one of Mukuro’s hands and splayed it upon his own back. “This, you bastard. This fucking tattoo, this thing that is not fucking supposed to be there and was not fucking there last night!”

A leisurely smile spread upon Mukuro’s lips, and the hand that rested upon Hibari’s warm skin began kneading, tracing upon the tattoo’s still very dark and prominent outline. He pulled Hibari closer, gently, evidently savoring the warmth of their proximity. The familiarity with which those fingers blindly danced and traced upon the pattern on his back was further (unnecessary) proof that it was indeed Mukuro who had placed said tattoo.

“If it’s the tattoo, then there’s no need to worry,” the illusionist said, unbuttoning his own shirt with one hand. “I have a matching one too.”

And indeed, there it was, a perfect replica of the pattern Hibari had on his lower back, only on Mukuro, it was on the lower abdomen. A butterfly with its wings both raised, viewed sideways, appearing as if it was only one half of a whole. It would only appear as a whole if they —

Insolent little fucking plant-eater of a bastard!

Flipping another tonfa from thin air, Hibari made to drive its head against the incredibly insolent little bastard of an illusionist — but no, it did not make, for Mukuro slipped out of his grasp and slid away, and the tonfa only caught the illusionist’s now tattered shirt.

Hibari turned to face Mukuro and growled, low and menacing, “Take it off.”

Mukuro smiled. “No.”

“Take. It. Fucking. OFF.”

Dancing out of Hibari’s reach (but still quite within range), Mukuro coyly challenged, “Why should I?”

“Because if you fucking don’t, then I’ll rip your filthy innards out and hack you into pieces, asshole!”

“Come now, Kyouya, it’s only a tattoo,” Mukuro cajoled, completely unruffled by the (truly very intimidating) threat of dismemberment and disembowelment. “Don’t you think it’s beautiful? A butterfly symbolizes continuous change, evolution, growth. It fits you so very much – you, the Vongola’s proud Cloud, free and always so elegantly powerful, always evolving, always above everyone else…”

Hibari made a swipe at the illusionist, but Mukuro dodged underneath – Hibari redirected the tonfa into a downwards arc, almost catching Mukuro, but managing to snip only a lock of silky blue hair – Mukuro quickly disarmed one of Hibari’s arms and in a flash of parries managed to pin the other tonfa-armed hand of the Cloud’s against the wall. Hibari felt the familiar curves of the illusionist’s body press against his back as they leaned heavily against the cool wall, and he began to struggle, but it was in vain, for despite Mukuro’s slightness, the illusionist was actually quite formidable with raw force.

Remaining painfully still as fluttering breaths stirred the hairs on the nape of his neck, he growled, “Let go of me.”

“I don’t want to,” the illusionist murmured against warm and flushed skin. Hibari could feel the spreading smile upon those sinful, sinful lips. Mukuro dropped a flurry of butterfly kisses upon the sensitive back and sides of Kyouya’s neck, smile widening as he felt the form beneath him jerk and stiffen. “…the only way you’ll get me to remove the tattoo is if you dominate me, bello mio.”

Hibari gave a violent jerk, almost dislodging Mukuro from his position. But brute force was not enough.

“But rest assured, love, that won’t be happening anytime soon,” the Mist continued, licking a path up and underneath Hibair’s ear, keeping him squarely pinned and motionless. Warm, soft, and slightly chapped lips then settled against the curve of Hibari’s ear. “Because no matter how high you climb, no matter how far you are above everyone else, Kyouya, I will always – always – be on top of you.”


Hibari did not notice when Mukuro spun him around, taking his tonfas and disposing of them, never letting go of his stiff and unresponsive arms. All he noticed was that in the blink of an eye, lips were upon his, and this time, they were not gentle. No, this time, it was all furious passion and stormy desire, and before he knew it, a tongue was coaxing his own into a dance, and teeth were biting upon his flush lips.

His own traitorous body began responding even before his whirling mind could catch up, and soon the two of them were both left gasping for breath, never giving an inch, lips insistent upon tongue, teeth worrying lips. He flattened his tongue against Mukuro’s lower lip, dragging sensually, receiving a chuckle of amusement in return.

“So lovingly compliant,” Mukuro murmured, lips and tongue migrating further south, trailing flush tracks upon skin and nipping against a perfectly sculpted jaw. A tongue swiped at the hollow of Hibari’s throat, and then lips descended, sucking, pressing, burning. “This does make it a little bit easier, but I don’t like easy. Where did all that feistiness disappear to, hmm? Come and show me the fight in you.”

Snarling in fury, Hibari shoved, hard. He managed to push back Mukuro, sending the two of them toppling to the floor, thankfully a little bit of way from the fallen spiked tonfas. He didn’t know if he was more angry at himself for being so easily manipulated by the fucking mind-whore or at the fucking mind-whore himself for manipulating him and making such a show of it.

His confused and anger-addled mind was of no use to him at the moment, and so he did what any sane and very much so frustrated teenager would have done: he followed his instincts. Straddling the startled illusionist, he ground his hips down hard, his now freed hands holding Mukuro’s head in between them as he dove for a savage, lip-bleeding kiss.

He arched into the hands that came up his sides and kneaded his back, helping him grind down harder, harder, harder – this was not the way things were supposed to go, he was supposed to be completely in control, they were not lovers, fuck it – but it felt good, ten different definitions of good, and he really was hungering for release right now and Dino was far too incapacitated to properly fight—

This was a different kind of battle, though, and Hibari knew that once they set down this road, there would be no going back. But did he even want to go back? He’d already (very grudgingly) resigned himself to the illusionist’s near-perpetual company, and he knew that even if he wanted to, there would no longer be any escape from this hopeless and very, very wrong entanglement. And besides, Mukuro had already set down the rules. He was quite sure he could play by those rules. If he dominated, then the tattoo would come off. It was simple, easy, straight-forward.

Exactly how he liked it.

His hands wandered south to the illusionist’s slacks, but before he could even touch them, his vision spun and suddenly, his back was to the cold wooden floor and his neck was being assaulted by aggressive nips and bites. “Let’s put a little bit more spice on this, shall we?” Mukuro murmured against his collar. “I was thinking of using my illusions to help me with this, but I won’t.” A tongue laved a nipple, and Hibari hissed, his back arching and fingers scratching against the illusionist’s arms. “I’m pretty sure I can have you under me without extra help.”

This elicited a growl of indignation from Hibari, and he pushed, but Mukuro immediately pushed back the moment he managed to top – they rolled all the way across the room, arms grappling and mouths seeking, until their legs hit the edge of the bed and their heads came upon a fallen pillow. In the end, it still was Mukuro on top, all sly smiles and smoldering eyes.

“Don’t worry, bello mio. I promise I’ll make you feel good.”

Without warning, Mukuro snaked a hand into Hibari’s pants, fingers closing upon an already hard and throbbing member. Somewhere along the tumbling, the sneaky bastard had managed to undo his pants, and now those fingers were rubbing and teasing and – “Ah!” Hibari grunted, eyes screwing shut in pleasure as a thumb swiped upon the head. His arms, they grew limp, hands settled and spread upon the illusionist’s back in an idle caress.

The tongue on his neck burned like wildfire, spreading, tainting, turning his skin flush and reducing his resolve into mere ashes. Faster, faster, faster – the firm and certain hand on his member did not believe in slowly working up from the first step, instead opting to leap over bounds and heighten the tension and pressure from the beginning. The rhythm was relentless – it had his hips bucking up against the hand – and Mukuro’s mouth was as persistent, laving and sucking and nipping and biting wherever he could find. The illusionist seemed intent on memorizing every curve and dip of his chest, mapping his nipples and below them with attentive and sinfully skillful lips. Hibari’s hands were reduced to clawing pathetically at the illusionist’s back, his mind completely overcome with the sudden surge of arousal and passion and, oh, burning, burning heat

“Almost there, love, almost there,” Mukuro muttered against his flesh, and though the voice was faint, he could feel it reverberate through his very being. Hibari gritted his teeth as the hand gave a particularly strong tug, his hips clenching and thrusting in a mixture of agony and pleasure.


Hibari groaned as Mukuro coaxed an explosive release out of him, pumping for all he was worth, milking until the very last drop was spent. The overstimulation was far too much for his frayed and surprised nerves, but all he could do was screw his eyes shut and bear the tingling pain. He hated this, hated it with a passion, hated this fucking weakness that the illusionist always seemed to waken in him, but there was nothing, nothing, he could do about it —

Mukuro removed his hand from Hibari’s member, and with smoldering eyes, he locked gazes with the panting Cloud. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it, caro?” A tongue flicked out to taste Hibari’s essence on the illusionist’s hand, and Hibari could feel the rekindling heat start pooling once more in his groin.

Heady from the afterglow, Hibari lay prone and exposed to Mukuro’s hungry eyes, but not for long. The Cloud gracefully rose and seized the back of the Mist’s head, pushing their lips into a deep and delving kiss. Had it not been for their obvious grappling for the top, the kiss could have easily been a soul-searching kiss between two devoted lovers, lips sealed against each other, tongues exploratory, coaxing, dancing, teasing —

Mukuro was suddenly hauling them both off the floor and onto the bed, hands working to completely tug off Hibari’s already unfastened pants. Not to be beaten, Hibari made quick work of Mukuro’s slacks, not caring for ruined buttons and torn cloth as he barbarically tore it off the illusionist’s form. Soon as new and flushed skin was exposed to wandering hands, wander they did, smoothing themselves upon sweat-slick skin. Hibari firmly grasped both globes of Mukuro’s toned and very much inviting ass, pulling the illusionist closer as they joined once more.

Hands worshipped the Cloud’s body, a body that could make any Greek god fall to their knees in utter and absolute shame. Mukuro was both careful and haphazard at the same time, and Hibari could not figure out exactly how the illusionist was playing this out, but he opted to not think right at that moment and instead sank into the second mounting of pleasure.

Mukuro, however, apparently had other plans. Hibari could soon feel those sly, knowing hands returning their course southward, and before he knew it, fingers were dancing upon the cleft of his ass, a hand lifting his hips up for access. He hissed and made to push the illusionist off – this was not happening again, damnit – but before he could two fingers were in —

Fuck, you whore!” HIbari grunted, grimacing at the burning, knifing pain. “That bloody hurts—“

The illusionist merely slid down his body, lips fluttering on the edge of his hips. The fingers began stretching just as those lips ghosted upon Hibari’s half-erect member. Hibari was sufficiently distracted then, breath hitching at the confusion of multiple conflicting sensory input. Faint thoughts danced at the very edge of his consciousness, barely out of reach, and yet still visible through the haze of his pleasure. He did not want this, he did not want to surrender to this abomination, but damn, did he even want this to stop anymore?

A tongue swiped and dipped into the slit of his now fully erect member just as another finger was pushed in, and he groaned.

No, no, he didn’t want this to stop, not ever

A disappointed and desperate groan was wrung out of him as Mukuro’s lips and hands suddenly halted their ministrations. His eyes fluttered open – and he didn’t even know when they fell shut – in search of the illusionist, and there he found the bastard, leaning towards the bedside dresser, grabbing a bottle of massage oil and uncapping it.

“As much as I love seeing your beautiful face when you’re in pain, Kyouya, I don’t want our first time to hurt for you.” Mukuro smiled, looming over Hibari and placing a soft and – dare he say it? – affectionate kiss upon swollen lips. “I really do love you, you know.”

“Fucked up way of showing it.” Then again, their entire relationship was fucked up and twisted to the very last strand, so he gathered it wasn’t much of an issue. Hibari grumbled under his breath, tugging the illusionist closer. Mukuro merely smiled at his impatience, peppering fleeting kisses on the Cloud’s crumpled brow.

Applying a liberal amount of the oil on his fingers and slicking himself and Hibari, Mukuro positioned, all the while distracting the Cloud with deep and fervent kisses. He gently spread Hibari’s milky white flawless thighs, caressing lovingly and worshipfully.

“Would you fucking hurry it—ah, fuck!”

“Indeed,” Mukuro chuckled, pushing in continuously until he was seated hilt-deep. Hibari’s body gripped him like a vise, tight and hot and burning and so fucking right – those sinuous, graceful hips arched and curved to cradle his length, accepting it, adjusting to the best position possible to avoid injury.

Fluttering pants and ragged breaths were all that could be heard inside the partially darkened room, and for a fleeting moment, Hibari allowed himself an open glance at Mukuro. The illusionist’s jaw was jumping in the effort to steel himself and prevent from simply letting the passion sweep them away. If anything, Hibari could admire the bastard’s self-control – his own was all but gone the moment the tip of Mukuro’s (very well-endowed) erection rubbed against that little spot inside of him. He groaned in agony, not liking this lack of action, and rolled his hips, groaning as Mukuro’s own hips bucked instinctively against his.

“Goddamn it, I’m not some weakling herbivore, you asshole,” Hibari snarled, hooking his legs around Mukuro’s hips and pulling the illusionist close. If he was going to surrender, then damn it all to hell – he would surrender aggressively, as aggressively as he can manage – he wouldn’t be the only one injured tonight, not if he could do anything about it. He was not some bitch waiting for his master – Mukuro was not his master. “Fuck me. I want you to fuck me hard, bastard.” A vicious smile tugged on his lips. “Unless this is all you’ve got – then you’re a fucking lousy lay. Maybe I should go to the Cava—ah—“

Mukuro’s hips surged, savage, plundering the body underneath him in rapid, probing, deep strokes, a growl resounding deep from within his chest. The illusionist’s eyes were dyed with territorial possessiveness – he was not handing Hibari to anyone else, that was for sure. Hibari was henceforth robbed of the ability to speak or even coherently think as those godly hips, that godly length, drove deep, hard, deep inside of him, reducing him to mere pants and moans and groans.

Wave after wave of undulating pleasure singed Hibari’s nerves, the pooling heat tightening in his groin, painful and constricting, but it wasn’t enough, not enough – Hibari tugged Mukuro’s head down for another lip-bleeding kiss, fingers clenching against sweaty, slippery skin, clawing at some invisible barrier and ripping it apart. Mukuro’s back was now riddled with a litany of angry red scratch marks, flushed and prominent against his ivory white complexion. The pain, though, was negligible, not when they were both drowning in this black sea of sinful pleasure. There was no stopping this now.

Suddenly, Mukuro pulled back, grimacing at some invisible anomaly.

“What?” Hibari grunted in between pants.

Without breaking their rhythm, Mukuro pulled out completely, turned Hibari over, lifted his hips up, and drove back in from behind, this time with twice as much force, intent on bringing nothing but burning, smoldering, rending pleasure to his lover. Had Hibari been facing towards Mukuro, he would have seen the very pleased expression on the illusionist’s face the moment those mismatched red and blue eyes landed upon the pair of matching tattoos.

Each time their hips met, the tattoo on Mukuro’s abdomen and the other half of the pair on Hibari’s lower back met and formed one whole image, a butterfly in flight. This gave Mukuro such pleasure that the illusionist made to pick up the pace, hands slithering to Hibari’s front and closing around his lover’s straining erection.

Hibari groaned, arms shaking – they gave way from the pure overstimulation, and his head collapsed upon a pillow, his hips remaining high up in the air only by Mukuro’s supporting hand. The position gave a deeper angle, however, and Hibari grunted, surging back against each of Mukuro’s thrusts as he wanted, wanted, wanted more of that white-hot scorching pleasure —

Mukuro’s hands splayed upon Hibari’s lower back, tracing the tattoo. The illusionist molded himself against Hibari’s back, licking a slow, scorching trail upon the Cloud’s exposed spine, gradually moving up, leaving angry territorial marks on what he now officially deems his most precious possession. He settled his lips finally on Hibari’s nape, his hips never halting their pumping movements, his breath faltering each time rings of convulsing muscles constricted around him.

He whispered, “Just a little bit more, bello mio. I want to hear you scream my name. Let it all out.”

Fuck you.” Hibari pushed hard against Mukuro, as if trying to dislodge him, but only managing it halfway. His body was already a slave to the illusionist’s ministrations, betraying the railing indignation of his mind.

“No, darling. Fuck you.” Mukuro smiled flush against Hibari’s skin. “Kufufufu~.”

The Mist began pumping and thrusting in time, the pressure making Hibari cry out. Mukuro rose from his position, reigning his strength and pouring it all into plumbing Hibari’s depths, giving hard, fast, unforgiving thrusts.

“My name, caro. Scream my name.”

Go—burn—bas—tard!” Hibari roared in fury, straining away and towards Mukuro at the same time, his very being torn between wanting to stay within the pleasure and wanting to kill the mind-whore.

But who was he fooling, really? He couldn’t even speak straight sentences in between Mukuro’s thrusts, which were bordering on barbaric. His mind was a haze of pleasure and pain and absolute raging fury – he could no longer think straight.

And then the tidal wave of release crashed upon them, and they were falling – Hibari pushed back, more, more, more, more – he wanted more, and Mukuro gave it to him, one, two, three – his nerves, they short-circuited, his vision twinkling with black stars, his breath seizing in his chest, his throat constricting painfully –


He woke to pleasant warmth against his back, comforting hands kneading his tired, sated muscles. The sheets were wet and slick with his seed, and between his thighs he could feel a wetness that was Mukuro’s. He ignored this. He turned his head, only managing a very unintelligent hum.

Behind him, a chuckle. “You actually blacked out for a minute there, caro.” Mukuro was still inside him, still wrapped around him, limbs entangled with his own, hands wandering upon warm, flush flesh. “Was I that good, hmm?”

Hibari merely gave him a grunt. The tattoo on his back throbbed, reminding him of the very root of this entire dilemma in the first place. In the end, he hadn’t managed to win the game. He sighed. It was no matter; there would be other opportunities. He would have the fucking mind-whore take it off.

The nagging realization that he’d fallen once more to the mind-whore’s machinations was pushed back deep into a corner of his mind, where it would wither and die. He no longer needed to hear that realization; it was, by now, a well-established aspect of his reality. He would always lose to this fucking bastard, and there were no two ways about it. But that did not mean that he wouldn’t still fight it, or take advantage of it.

“You will take this tattoo off,” Hibari murmured into his pillow, eyes still shut, but face already contorted into the shadow of a menacing glare. “I will not let you brand me like a slave, whore.”

At that, Mukuro laughed, a sweet and deep and velvet sound that sent literal shivers down Hibari’s spine. “Kyouya, love – even if I take this tattoo off, it doesn’t matter! I’ve already marked you as mine,” the illusionist said, teeth gently sinking into the junction of Hibari’s neck and shoulder. “And the mark I’ve left in the very core of your mind will never fade. This tattoo is nothing but a physical manifestation of that mark.”

Hibari gritted his teeth, forcing his temper down. Bargaining and active persuasion always seemed to work (marginally) better than violence when it came to Mukuro.

“What the hell did you do to me last night?” he asked. “I don’t remember a thing.” In exchange for this bit of information, Hibari allowed Mukuro to continue ministrations upon his neck.

“Oh, nothing particularly fancy,” Mukuro shrugged. “A little dose of something in your wine that had you in deep sleep, and then I had the tattoo placed on you by someone I know, through a special method that uses the living flame. It can be taken off, but not very easily. And it’s quite painful. Don’t worry, though – I’m certain the needles are safe. He’s very reliable and well-trained.”

That wasn’t exactly what Hibari was concerned about, but he let it pass. A couple of seconds more silence hovered between them, Mukuro still unwilling to draw out. The stickiness was getting to Hibari’s nerves, though.

“Bath,” he grunted, pushing against Mukuro after little deliberation.

Mukuro gave his silent agreement by dislodging himself and disentangling both of them from the soiled sheets. The room, now that they stopped to look at it, was in a depressing state. They both hadn’t realized that they upended vases, shattered wine bottles and expensive crystal glasses, and toppled sideways a small table by the door. It was as if two wild animals had mauled each other, because even the sheets were ripped from Hibari’s clawing and tugging.

Their little session was, in all senses, nothing short of animalistic fornication.

Paying it no heed, Hibari reached for the phone and called for Kusakabe, then made a beeline for the bath, Mukuro hot on his heels. The Cloud made a point to avoid sharing with the Mist, but Mukuro was insistent and not to be deterred. The illusionist followed Hibari into the spacious shower stall, letting the hot water sluice down their bodies as he held Hibari against his form.

“You know, I was thinking how the butterfly looks lonely on your skin,” Mukuro muttered as he once more melded himself against Hibari’s back. He leaned them against the side of the shower stall. “Maybe we should give it company. Maybe an eagle. Or a phoenix?”

Outside, the startled exclamations of maidservants echoed loud against their sharp ears. The idle noise of clean-up began immediately, punctuated by intermittent male coughing, most probably a very awkward Kusakabe.

“You are not getting me another tattoo,” Hibari frowned. “One is enough, whore.”

“Oh, but—“

“I said one is enough!” the Cloud barked, beginning to push away from Mukuro.

“Alright, alright, one is enough,” Mukuro acquiesced, pulling Hibari back into his arms, reassuring the younger Guardian that there wouldn’t be any more tattoo sessions in the near future. His lips planted calming kisses on Hibari’s neck, and his fingers danced upon Hibari’s left arm, tracing some incomprehensible pattern. “One is enough, if you say so.”

They soon stepped out of the shower and began drying themselves. Hibari stood by the mirror, naked as the day he was born, toweling down his body as Mukuro watched. Hungry eyes roved up and down the Cloud’s form, settling finally upon Hibari’s bare left upper arm.

A satisfied smile spread upon Mukuro’s face.

“What?” Hibari snapped.

Mukuro met his eyes. “Nothing, love.” Finishing up, the illusionist said, “Come, let’s go to bed.”

Bewildered and slightly apprehensive, Hibari stood contemplatively for a moment. He inspected his left arm, and finding nothing wrong with it, shook his head and followed after Mukuro, muttering profanities under his breath.

There, though, hidden by the Mist’s illusion, was a tattoo, in plain sight for everyone else but Hibari.

It said in simple clipped letters:

Proprietà esclusiva di Rokudo Mukuro

I surprise myself with the speed I churn out fics these days. /endspammage
mood: cheerfulchristmastime is love~
music: Astor Piazzola - Yo-Yo Ma - Le Grand Tango
aventria: Lickaventria on December 25th, 2008 04:33 am (UTC)
You finished! V.Nice~!

Now, POT ficcie pl0x. We're missing Ryoma's birthday. Ask for incentive and I shall offer within reason.

No rest for the wicked.

夢路 : dreamscape: + Skroo Yooiluxia on December 25th, 2008 04:38 am (UTC)


It's Christmastime, you know!
sugarquarantine on December 25th, 2008 04:48 am (UTC)
That was awesome. ;__;
夢路 : dreamscape: Katekyo: Yamamoto *grin*iluxia on December 25th, 2008 04:52 am (UTC)
So long as you don't start molesting me, I think we're good? XDD Thanks for reading.
shad_fg: tieregshad_fg on December 25th, 2008 06:06 am (UTC)
WHOA. That was some v.v. aggressive smut ♥~
Loved the last part! XD
夢路 : dreamscape: Katekyo: Yamamoto *grin*iluxia on December 25th, 2008 06:29 am (UTC)
I tried to, I really did, but I just couldn't seem to write a submissive Hibari properly. And no matter what I did, I couldn't erase the aggression within their relationship. There has to be conflict between them, and a contesting for the top. Otherwise, it's just not them.
(Deleted comment)
夢路 : dreamscape: FMA: Ed *evilsnicker*iluxia on December 25th, 2008 07:42 am (UTC)
Thanks for reading~. XD

Oh, and Hibari nosebleed avatar? WIN.
Red & Kimi: Mukuroredkimiredkimi on December 25th, 2008 10:53 am (UTC)
kjlkfjdafh this is quite amazing. C:

I hope you write more of these stories that coincide with "The Five Stages of Coping With Loss". C:
夢路 : dreamscape: Katekyo: 18iluxia on December 25th, 2008 10:55 am (UTC)
More coming in the future, that's for sure. One helluva long one coming up next.
nightmolenightmole on December 25th, 2008 12:41 pm (UTC)
That was INTENSE. You made me miss my schedule XD.
夢路 : dreamscape: OKHC: Tamaki *gloat*iluxia on December 25th, 2008 12:54 pm (UTC)
Err, sorry? ^ ^;;
~ - nightmole on December 25th, 2008 05:13 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Mignonne: 18 Hibari lustmignonne422 on December 25th, 2008 12:57 pm (UTC)
That was AMAZING!!! Mukuro isn't necessarily my favorite person to ship Hibari with, but omg, the way you write them together makes me want to ship them! MMM!!!


(lol, I can't wait what happens when Hibari discovers his second tatt. *snickers*)
夢路 : dreamscape: + Cognitive Hazardiluxia on December 25th, 2008 01:02 pm (UTC)
Indeed, sexy is at the forefront for 6918. Their relationship always inevitably comes with the dark sensuality they began with -- any writer who attempts them has to eventually delve into it. XD

It will take quite a maneuver for Hibari to discover that tattoo, considering how strong Mukuro's illusions are and how afraid other people are of him. Ah, but all in it's time.
lyra_starlyra_star on December 25th, 2008 08:53 pm (UTC)
OH MY GOD!!! I adore both of your fics. I read your previous one a couple of days ago! I forgot to comment i think, BUT I LOVED THAT ONE AS WELL!!!

And if you continue on churning out fics it will make me one happy chipmunk! So please continue.... and i hope this never stops! Brilliant fic. (Possessive)Mukuro is a kink of mine and couple that with Hibari is like mmm..... one of my *coughcough* ♥♥♥

夢路 : dreamscape: Katekyo: Hibari Cloudboxiluxia on December 26th, 2008 12:29 am (UTC)
Yes, well, since I'm stuck in drab and uneventful Texas for the winter break, I think the fics will keep coming. And trust me, you're not the only one who *coughcough* likes a possessive!Mukuro.

Glad you liked, thanks for stopping by~. =DD
ケイトリン: teasing // ItaSasukeitorin on December 26th, 2008 04:29 am (UTC)
Oh gods, that last line did me in! Hahaha! I was so very happy to see this fic, as I adored "The Five Stages of Coping with Loss".

*still grinning like a loon*
夢路 : dreamscape: Katekyo: Yamamoto *grin*iluxia on December 26th, 2008 04:31 am (UTC)
XDD Innit just love? *squish* Possessive!Mukuro is a thousand different definitions of awesome.
Thanks for stopping by, I appreciate it. =D
~ - iluxia on December 26th, 2008 04:35 am (UTC) (Expand)
alohdark: jaemin pornalohdark on December 26th, 2008 09:34 am (UTC)
I am in near tears in my love and awe of you. I read this and The Five Stages of Coping with Loss in the last few hours and omg! OMG!! OH MY GOD!!!!!!!

I love you. For serious. I love you and I love your fics and I can't think of anything or any real words just that... That I love you. And I Love this and ;-; <333333333
夢路 : dreamscape: Katekyo: Yamamoto *grin*iluxia on December 26th, 2008 02:50 pm (UTC)
ROFL Glad you liked. And like I said to a previous person, so long as you don't start molesting me due to your overflowing love, I think we're okay? =DD
~ - alohdark on December 26th, 2008 11:35 pm (UTC) (Expand)
toy rockets in candy skiespwoth on December 27th, 2008 05:43 pm (UTC)
great job! ^^
夢路 : dreamscape: Katekyo: 69 Bloodiluxia on December 28th, 2008 05:45 am (UTC)
Thanks for reading~!
xtainted_blackxxtainted_blackx on December 27th, 2008 06:44 pm (UTC)

You are amazing. This is quite possibly one of the best Mukuro/Hibari fics I've read you make me tempted to go scanlate more doujinshi on them XD

夢路 : dreamscape: TRC: KuroFai SQUISHY~iluxia on December 28th, 2008 05:46 am (UTC)

*goads* Yes, go, scanlate moar. Scanlate moar!!
~ - xtainted_blackx on December 28th, 2008 04:20 pm (UTC) (Expand)
~ - iluxia on December 28th, 2008 04:22 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Revy: D18: Laterallodole on December 28th, 2008 03:51 am (UTC)
Mukuro, you terrible bitch! .. I love you anyway, you, the Devil himself, you!

Loved every single word of this, I absolutely adore the way you write both of them, especially since keeping Hibari in character, which is not exactly the easiest task in hand.

Much much love to you.
夢路 : dreamscape: Katekyo: 69 Bloodiluxia on December 28th, 2008 05:47 am (UTC)
XDD Now, now, be kind to animals. Mukuro's a nice kitty tigey, he won't hurt you. Much.

Haha, thanks for reading, I appreciate it. I'm glad you liked it; I'm quite apprehensive about writing smut and all that, because whenever I read it afterward, it doesn't seem to have the same heat the other smut fics I read do. But that's probably because I was the one who wrote it. I'm very analytical when I write my smut, so.
~ - allodole on December 28th, 2008 11:45 am (UTC) (Expand)
yuuumi_sama: Yaoiyuuumi_sama on December 28th, 2008 07:15 pm (UTC)
That was... quite amazing. ^^ I love your characterization - but I do feel a little bad for Hibari at the end. It was a nice mix of smut, humor, and... whatever else. <3 Your writing is very good~
夢路 : dreamscape: Katekyo: 18 Cloudboxiluxia on December 29th, 2008 02:22 am (UTC)
Thank you for reading. I'm glad you liked it. See you again in a next fic? :D
~ - yuuumi_sama on December 31st, 2008 01:38 am (UTC) (Expand)
Mina Yuurei: To the Indefinite Skyminayuurei on December 29th, 2008 09:48 am (UTC)
This is the very first time I have read a 6918 fan fiction so amazingly and exquisitely written. I hope to read more from you. ♥
夢路 : dreamscape: Katekyo: 6918 Mukuro Huggleiluxia on December 29th, 2008 10:45 pm (UTC)
Then you can go and read the rest of the 6918 possession arc if you haven't already. That be over here. And I have a long oneshot that's not in the possession arc, it's unrelated, but it's 6918 nonetheless. Here.