[30_secrets] Third set
Title: Third set
Author: Taywen
Rating: T
Fandom: KHR!
Pairing/Character: Lambo/Bianchi, Tsuna/Enma, Mukuro/Byakuran, Hibari/Adelheid, Yamamoto/Hibari, Lambo/Reborn, Gokudera/Belphegor, Mukuro/Fran, Ryohei/Aoba, Yamamoto/Byakuran
Disclaimer: KHR! does not in any way belong to me, it's the property of Amano, etc.
Prompt: raw, mirror, always, difference, rejection, hope, escape, illusion, win, colourless
raw
Lambo isn’t a picky eater - he’ll eat whatever Maman puts in front of him with great gusto and an equally great lack of manners. Japanese, Italian, American, he’ll eat anything.
Lambo likes to watch people cook too - especially Bianchi. Her cooking is much more interesting than Maman’s, although it doesn’t taste nearly as good.
The lightning guardian is sitting at the kitchen table, kicking his feet as he watches Bianchi slice up some raw meat. He reaches out a hand and quickly stuffs a piece in his mouth.
“Lambo, it’s not ready yet,” Bianchi scolds, lightly smacking his hand with the flat side of the knife. “Food tastes much better when it’s been made with love.”
“Love?” Lambo repeats, tilting his head to the side. Bianchi nods, so Lambo asks, “So you love food?”
“No, I love Reborn,” the woman answers, briskly dumping the meat into a pot.
“Oh. So this is for Reborn?” Lambo asks, feeling disappointed for some reason.
“Mm. But you can have some too, since you two are such good friends.”
Lambo doesn’t know if he would go straight to friends to describe his relationship with Reborn. “Oh. So if you love someone, you make food for them?”
“That’s right,” Bianchi agrees, smiling.
“Can you teach me?” Lambo asks, clambering up onto the counter to watch Bianchi stir in spices and other ingredients.
“Of course. You have a girlfriend?”
“Not exactly,” Lambo confides. “But it’s a secret!”
Bianchi smiles. “So you add this when you’re making...”
Lambo listens attentively; he’s only going to give Bianchi a lovingly home cooked meal when he’s a great chef. Until then, he’ll be her apprentice.
mirror
There’s a mirror hanging in Longchamp’s meeting room, at the head of the table. It sits a foot or so above the Tomasso boss’ head, providing a clear view of the rest of the table - and the back of Longchamp’s head.
As his fellow boss continues giving his long-winded speech, Tsuna feels his eyelids slipping lower and lower. Negotiations with an unallied family ran late last night; between that and certain activities he carried out with another allied boss... He didn’t get much sleep.
A foot nudges his ankle, startling him. His gaze darts around for a moment, before landing on the man sitting across from them: the tenth Shimon boss, Enma.
Tsuna gives him a sheepish smile, but the redhead is smirking and gestures subtly towards Longchamp with a slight jerk of his head. Following Enma’s gaze, Tsuna’s eyes widen. In the mirror he can see... Longchamp’s shirt is... it’s-
Enma snorts, his eyes clearly amused by Tsuna’s comical reaction. Don’t say a word, he mouths, grinning. Then he brazenly caresses his bare foot up Tsuna’s calf, and any thoughts of alerting Longchamp to the fact that his shirt is tucked into his underwear fly right out the window.
always
There is an arrogance about the man, in his casual stance, the smirk playing across his lips. His eyes are intense, watching Mukuro steadily - but he isn’t surprised. It’s almost as if he expects this meeting.
“Since I already know your name, I might as well introduce myself~ I’m Byakuran, the boss of the Millefiore family.”
Mukuro arches an eyebrow. “You should have saved your breath, mafioso. I know who you are.”
Byakuran grins, like the bluenet is a pet that unexpectedly performed a particularly amusing trick. “Of course. Anyone from the Vongola family must know my name.”
The illusionist stiffens at the insinuation. He doesn’t tell Byakuran that in every single one of his past lives, he meets the white-haired man in various incarnations. Always, without exception.
“You know, in all of my lives - the alternate timelines, that is - I meet you in a situation similar to this one,” Byakuran drawls. “I know everything about you~”
Mukuro snickers in spite of himself. “Do you~ How amusing. Do you know what I’m going to do next?” he purrs, leaning in.
Byakuran grins, matching him inch for inch. “I have a few ideas~” he purrs, and closes the distance between their lips.
He tastes sweet, a surprising contrast to his aggressive kiss. It’s always like this, though - no exceptions.
difference
Some people say that Kyoya Hibari and Adelheid Suzuki are the same; merciless, brutal and efficient.
Hibari supposes that’s true - neither of them is particularly gentle, nor do they have a tolerance for incompetence or weakness.
Two carnivores cannot coexist in such a limited territory as Namimori, though: Adelheid is something different than Hibari. Not a carnivore; yet not a herbivore, either.
She isn’t particularly gentle, but amongst her ‘family’ she has almost endless patience. If they exhibit inability, she calmly teaches them how to do things properly. When they fail, she coaches them to greater strength.
Hibari is never gentle; if someone is incompetent, he eliminates them - the same goes for the weak.
Privately, he thinks they wouldn’t get along quite so well if they were truly the same. It is their differences that allow them to be together.
rejection
Yamamoto’s face smarts, but after years of playing sports, and being the tenth Rain guardian of the Vongola, he’s more than used to pain by now.
It’s the blow to his pride that really hurts, if he’s honest. Thankfully, the swelling of his jaw prevents him from having to force a smile when he stumbles into Gokudera in the Vongola mansion.
“Baseball idiot,” the storm guardian greets him in the typical rude fashion. “What happened to your face? Did you forget to catch?”
In a sense. Hibari wasn’t amused when Yamamoto (in a severe lapse of judgement) decided to try and kiss him, as the swelling bruise from the former prefect’s tonfa will attest.
“No crowding, herbivore,” Hibari had practically snarled. A rejection if Yamamoto had ever heard one.
Yamamoto forces a chuckle, his smile feeling more like a grimace. “You don’t really want to know, Gokudera,” he says.
hope
You’ve been following Reborn for most of your life - since you were five, and now you’re twenty. If someone asked you why, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell them. Over the years, the thing that’s driven you has been the (probably futile) hope that, one day, Reborn will throw you a bone. One day, he’ll acknowledge you as an equal.
You help him break the curse of the arcobaleno - and he doesn’t so much as thank you. That hurts. You haven’t cried in almost five years, but familiar tears prickle at the back of your eyes. You ignore them. Damn Reborn. You want to punch his smirking, handsome adult face until it’s unrecognizable. You want to shake him until he cries.
You want to kiss him until you’re both trembling and breathless and needing.
As Reborn walks past you without so much as a nod of acknowledgement, you can’t even make yourself feel anger. It’s hopeless. All that you’ve done, everything you’ve suffered and worked for - hopeless.
“Instead of hoping like some blushing schoolgirl,” Reborn’s smooth, deadly voice is music to your attention-starved ears. “You should you just take what you want, stupid cow.”
It’s only after that you realize Reborn shamelessly manipulated you, again. You’re a bit too sated and weightless to really care, at that point.
escape
It was probably a mistake, Gokudera decides, to visit the Varia headquarters on his own. Yamamoto does it all the time - but then again, the rain guardian gets along with everybody.
Not only did Gokudera enrage Xanxus (not so a hard feat), Squalo (see previous) and Levi (a product of the first) but he accidentally blew up one of Mammon’s stashes of money, and also Lussuria’s massive collection of sunglasses.
So that’s how he ends up darting into the nearest room of a long hall, then shutting and locking it behind him.
“What do you think you’re doing, peasant?”
Gokudera freezes. “I-”
“VOOIII! WHERE’D THAT BOMB BRAT GO!?”
Bel’s smile turns razor sharp, white teeth glinting. “Shishishi, escaping the wrath of my stupid comrades?”
“...Maybe,” Gokudera mutters grudgingly, biting back his impulse to insult and fight the prince. He’s made enough enemies for the time being. And something about that deadly smile...
“Shishishi~ So why shouldn’t the prince tell them your secret hiding spot?” Bel questions, stalking closer. “What will you do for me, hm?” His grin is cheshire-wide and predatory as he crowds Gokudera up against the door.
“I don’t want your help,” the explosive expert hisses, though he doesn’t make any effort to escape.
Bel smirks, palming Gokudera’s hardening cock. “The prince thinks you want something else~”
(And by the time Gokudera re-emerges, lips bitten red and bruises sucked onto neck - and other places - the rest of the Varia have calmed down enough for him to sneak out of their base with no one the wiser.)
illusion
Fran is one of the only (if not the only) illusionist powerful enough to see through your own illusions. You weren’t aware of this until just recently, though. Certainly, you knew he was strong - he’d gotten into the Varia, after all, and broken you out of Vendicare prison - but you had never considered the possibility that he was as strong (stronger?) as you.
Fran was just visiting the main Vongola headquarters - he still got shafted with most of the boring tasks that the other members couldn’t be bothered with. You’d been feeling the lingering weakness in your body, the steady ache in your bones from years of atrophied stillness. Your skin is sallow from years underground, your hair slightly greasy even after numerous washes.
No one else notices, though, because your illusions are as strong as ever. You hide your weakness behind a glamour of health and strength, and no one knows.
Fran passes you in the hall, his apathetic gaze skirting over you without a second glance. This is the first time you’ve seen him since Byakuran’s defeat.
“Master,” he says flatly.
“Stupid pupil,” you respond, tauntingly, with a smirk. Though the illusion you were projecting around yourself was full of confidence, you surreptitiously straighten your hunched back, square your slouching shoulders - it burns, but you ignore it.
The green-haired boy is staring at you piercingly, and suddenly you know: he can see right through you.
“... Don’t push yourself too hard. You’re just with the Vongola so you can possess Sawada-san, remember.”
You blink, surprised. Is that supposed to be concern? “Kufufu, don’t be so presumptuous. I know what my goals are, stupid frog.” You raise your trident menacingly.
Fran nods slowly. “I won’t tell anyone else, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
That makes you grit your teeth. “Don’t you have a job to do,” you say pointedly, glad when he leaves you to your carefully-hidden pain.
win
The rivalry between yourself and Aoba has not abated over the course of ten years. It’s just as antagonistic and violent as it ever was, but some indefinite aspect has changed. You’re not out to defeat each other, precisely. You’d be satisfied with besting him in a spar, and you think he would say the same.
Too bad every single one of your matches have ended in a draw. It’s ridiculous, almost; but each of you is pushing the other to grow ever stronger, and you’ve matched each other’s pace. You sometimes wonder what would happen if one of you did win.
It’s a thought that’s been occupying you more and more, lately. To the point that you’re seriously considering letting Aoba win, actually. Losing isn’t that hard - taking a punch to the jaw that has your ears ringing as you stagger back, your vision blurring. He lands another blow (ever the gentleman) and you fall to your knees in a daze.
“Ha! I win, in the end!” Aoba cheers for a moment, basking in his victory. Then he grabs the collar of your suit and hauls you to your feet.
Then you’re kissing and, oh, that’s good. You decide not to mention the tiny fact that you let him win. It wouldn’t be sportsmanlike, and there’s not really an opportunity to say anything at all, right now.
colourless
The world is blank, colourless. Kaoru’s attack has left your body in shambles, your mind in a coma. You’re vaguely aware of people coming and going, snatches of whispered conversation, brushes of phantom touch - but it doesn’t exactly interest you.
And then he arrives. He grasps your hand in a burning grip, jolting you back to awareness even as he heals your badly damaged body in a matter of moments.
Your eyes open, blindly seeing only colourless white for a moment before you realize it’s just his hair, his wings, the too-bright shine of the hospital’s walls.
“Byakuran,” you croak. After floating in that in-between state, seeing the face of someone you know, even if it’s a former nemesis, is refreshing.
“Takeshi-kun,” he purrs, smirking. “Feeling better?”
You rub a hand through your hair, disoriented. A shaky chuckle escapes you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d say so. Thanks, Byakuran.”
He tilts his head to the side, then pulls you to your feet. He’s about your age, and you’re close in height. Still a bit groggy, you don’t immediately register the sweetness invading your mouth, but you respond readily enough. Byakuran is surprisingly gentle, nothing like his attitude in the future.
And then he’s gone, you’re staggering in the void he left behind as nurses and the doctor rush in, bombarding you with questions about your ‘miraculous recovery’. The world feels a little duller, a little more mundane, in his absence. Not colourless, exactly, but muted.
Your family needs you, though.
Author: Taywen
Rating: T
Fandom: KHR!
Pairing/Character: Lambo/Bianchi, Tsuna/Enma, Mukuro/Byakuran, Hibari/Adelheid, Yamamoto/Hibari, Lambo/Reborn, Gokudera/Belphegor, Mukuro/Fran, Ryohei/Aoba, Yamamoto/Byakuran
Disclaimer: KHR! does not in any way belong to me, it's the property of Amano, etc.
Prompt: raw, mirror, always, difference, rejection, hope, escape, illusion, win, colourless
raw
Lambo isn’t a picky eater - he’ll eat whatever Maman puts in front of him with great gusto and an equally great lack of manners. Japanese, Italian, American, he’ll eat anything.
Lambo likes to watch people cook too - especially Bianchi. Her cooking is much more interesting than Maman’s, although it doesn’t taste nearly as good.
The lightning guardian is sitting at the kitchen table, kicking his feet as he watches Bianchi slice up some raw meat. He reaches out a hand and quickly stuffs a piece in his mouth.
“Lambo, it’s not ready yet,” Bianchi scolds, lightly smacking his hand with the flat side of the knife. “Food tastes much better when it’s been made with love.”
“Love?” Lambo repeats, tilting his head to the side. Bianchi nods, so Lambo asks, “So you love food?”
“No, I love Reborn,” the woman answers, briskly dumping the meat into a pot.
“Oh. So this is for Reborn?” Lambo asks, feeling disappointed for some reason.
“Mm. But you can have some too, since you two are such good friends.”
Lambo doesn’t know if he would go straight to friends to describe his relationship with Reborn. “Oh. So if you love someone, you make food for them?”
“That’s right,” Bianchi agrees, smiling.
“Can you teach me?” Lambo asks, clambering up onto the counter to watch Bianchi stir in spices and other ingredients.
“Of course. You have a girlfriend?”
“Not exactly,” Lambo confides. “But it’s a secret!”
Bianchi smiles. “So you add this when you’re making...”
Lambo listens attentively; he’s only going to give Bianchi a lovingly home cooked meal when he’s a great chef. Until then, he’ll be her apprentice.
mirror
There’s a mirror hanging in Longchamp’s meeting room, at the head of the table. It sits a foot or so above the Tomasso boss’ head, providing a clear view of the rest of the table - and the back of Longchamp’s head.
As his fellow boss continues giving his long-winded speech, Tsuna feels his eyelids slipping lower and lower. Negotiations with an unallied family ran late last night; between that and certain activities he carried out with another allied boss... He didn’t get much sleep.
A foot nudges his ankle, startling him. His gaze darts around for a moment, before landing on the man sitting across from them: the tenth Shimon boss, Enma.
Tsuna gives him a sheepish smile, but the redhead is smirking and gestures subtly towards Longchamp with a slight jerk of his head. Following Enma’s gaze, Tsuna’s eyes widen. In the mirror he can see... Longchamp’s shirt is... it’s-
Enma snorts, his eyes clearly amused by Tsuna’s comical reaction. Don’t say a word, he mouths, grinning. Then he brazenly caresses his bare foot up Tsuna’s calf, and any thoughts of alerting Longchamp to the fact that his shirt is tucked into his underwear fly right out the window.
always
There is an arrogance about the man, in his casual stance, the smirk playing across his lips. His eyes are intense, watching Mukuro steadily - but he isn’t surprised. It’s almost as if he expects this meeting.
“Since I already know your name, I might as well introduce myself~ I’m Byakuran, the boss of the Millefiore family.”
Mukuro arches an eyebrow. “You should have saved your breath, mafioso. I know who you are.”
Byakuran grins, like the bluenet is a pet that unexpectedly performed a particularly amusing trick. “Of course. Anyone from the Vongola family must know my name.”
The illusionist stiffens at the insinuation. He doesn’t tell Byakuran that in every single one of his past lives, he meets the white-haired man in various incarnations. Always, without exception.
“You know, in all of my lives - the alternate timelines, that is - I meet you in a situation similar to this one,” Byakuran drawls. “I know everything about you~”
Mukuro snickers in spite of himself. “Do you~ How amusing. Do you know what I’m going to do next?” he purrs, leaning in.
Byakuran grins, matching him inch for inch. “I have a few ideas~” he purrs, and closes the distance between their lips.
He tastes sweet, a surprising contrast to his aggressive kiss. It’s always like this, though - no exceptions.
difference
Some people say that Kyoya Hibari and Adelheid Suzuki are the same; merciless, brutal and efficient.
Hibari supposes that’s true - neither of them is particularly gentle, nor do they have a tolerance for incompetence or weakness.
Two carnivores cannot coexist in such a limited territory as Namimori, though: Adelheid is something different than Hibari. Not a carnivore; yet not a herbivore, either.
She isn’t particularly gentle, but amongst her ‘family’ she has almost endless patience. If they exhibit inability, she calmly teaches them how to do things properly. When they fail, she coaches them to greater strength.
Hibari is never gentle; if someone is incompetent, he eliminates them - the same goes for the weak.
Privately, he thinks they wouldn’t get along quite so well if they were truly the same. It is their differences that allow them to be together.
rejection
Yamamoto’s face smarts, but after years of playing sports, and being the tenth Rain guardian of the Vongola, he’s more than used to pain by now.
It’s the blow to his pride that really hurts, if he’s honest. Thankfully, the swelling of his jaw prevents him from having to force a smile when he stumbles into Gokudera in the Vongola mansion.
“Baseball idiot,” the storm guardian greets him in the typical rude fashion. “What happened to your face? Did you forget to catch?”
In a sense. Hibari wasn’t amused when Yamamoto (in a severe lapse of judgement) decided to try and kiss him, as the swelling bruise from the former prefect’s tonfa will attest.
“No crowding, herbivore,” Hibari had practically snarled. A rejection if Yamamoto had ever heard one.
Yamamoto forces a chuckle, his smile feeling more like a grimace. “You don’t really want to know, Gokudera,” he says.
hope
You’ve been following Reborn for most of your life - since you were five, and now you’re twenty. If someone asked you why, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell them. Over the years, the thing that’s driven you has been the (probably futile) hope that, one day, Reborn will throw you a bone. One day, he’ll acknowledge you as an equal.
You help him break the curse of the arcobaleno - and he doesn’t so much as thank you. That hurts. You haven’t cried in almost five years, but familiar tears prickle at the back of your eyes. You ignore them. Damn Reborn. You want to punch his smirking, handsome adult face until it’s unrecognizable. You want to shake him until he cries.
You want to kiss him until you’re both trembling and breathless and needing.
As Reborn walks past you without so much as a nod of acknowledgement, you can’t even make yourself feel anger. It’s hopeless. All that you’ve done, everything you’ve suffered and worked for - hopeless.
“Instead of hoping like some blushing schoolgirl,” Reborn’s smooth, deadly voice is music to your attention-starved ears. “You should you just take what you want, stupid cow.”
It’s only after that you realize Reborn shamelessly manipulated you, again. You’re a bit too sated and weightless to really care, at that point.
escape
It was probably a mistake, Gokudera decides, to visit the Varia headquarters on his own. Yamamoto does it all the time - but then again, the rain guardian gets along with everybody.
Not only did Gokudera enrage Xanxus (not so a hard feat), Squalo (see previous) and Levi (a product of the first) but he accidentally blew up one of Mammon’s stashes of money, and also Lussuria’s massive collection of sunglasses.
So that’s how he ends up darting into the nearest room of a long hall, then shutting and locking it behind him.
“What do you think you’re doing, peasant?”
Gokudera freezes. “I-”
“VOOIII! WHERE’D THAT BOMB BRAT GO!?”
Bel’s smile turns razor sharp, white teeth glinting. “Shishishi, escaping the wrath of my stupid comrades?”
“...Maybe,” Gokudera mutters grudgingly, biting back his impulse to insult and fight the prince. He’s made enough enemies for the time being. And something about that deadly smile...
“Shishishi~ So why shouldn’t the prince tell them your secret hiding spot?” Bel questions, stalking closer. “What will you do for me, hm?” His grin is cheshire-wide and predatory as he crowds Gokudera up against the door.
“I don’t want your help,” the explosive expert hisses, though he doesn’t make any effort to escape.
Bel smirks, palming Gokudera’s hardening cock. “The prince thinks you want something else~”
(And by the time Gokudera re-emerges, lips bitten red and bruises sucked onto neck - and other places - the rest of the Varia have calmed down enough for him to sneak out of their base with no one the wiser.)
illusion
Fran is one of the only (if not the only) illusionist powerful enough to see through your own illusions. You weren’t aware of this until just recently, though. Certainly, you knew he was strong - he’d gotten into the Varia, after all, and broken you out of Vendicare prison - but you had never considered the possibility that he was as strong (stronger?) as you.
Fran was just visiting the main Vongola headquarters - he still got shafted with most of the boring tasks that the other members couldn’t be bothered with. You’d been feeling the lingering weakness in your body, the steady ache in your bones from years of atrophied stillness. Your skin is sallow from years underground, your hair slightly greasy even after numerous washes.
No one else notices, though, because your illusions are as strong as ever. You hide your weakness behind a glamour of health and strength, and no one knows.
Fran passes you in the hall, his apathetic gaze skirting over you without a second glance. This is the first time you’ve seen him since Byakuran’s defeat.
“Master,” he says flatly.
“Stupid pupil,” you respond, tauntingly, with a smirk. Though the illusion you were projecting around yourself was full of confidence, you surreptitiously straighten your hunched back, square your slouching shoulders - it burns, but you ignore it.
The green-haired boy is staring at you piercingly, and suddenly you know: he can see right through you.
“... Don’t push yourself too hard. You’re just with the Vongola so you can possess Sawada-san, remember.”
You blink, surprised. Is that supposed to be concern? “Kufufu, don’t be so presumptuous. I know what my goals are, stupid frog.” You raise your trident menacingly.
Fran nods slowly. “I won’t tell anyone else, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
That makes you grit your teeth. “Don’t you have a job to do,” you say pointedly, glad when he leaves you to your carefully-hidden pain.
win
The rivalry between yourself and Aoba has not abated over the course of ten years. It’s just as antagonistic and violent as it ever was, but some indefinite aspect has changed. You’re not out to defeat each other, precisely. You’d be satisfied with besting him in a spar, and you think he would say the same.
Too bad every single one of your matches have ended in a draw. It’s ridiculous, almost; but each of you is pushing the other to grow ever stronger, and you’ve matched each other’s pace. You sometimes wonder what would happen if one of you did win.
It’s a thought that’s been occupying you more and more, lately. To the point that you’re seriously considering letting Aoba win, actually. Losing isn’t that hard - taking a punch to the jaw that has your ears ringing as you stagger back, your vision blurring. He lands another blow (ever the gentleman) and you fall to your knees in a daze.
“Ha! I win, in the end!” Aoba cheers for a moment, basking in his victory. Then he grabs the collar of your suit and hauls you to your feet.
Then you’re kissing and, oh, that’s good. You decide not to mention the tiny fact that you let him win. It wouldn’t be sportsmanlike, and there’s not really an opportunity to say anything at all, right now.
colourless
The world is blank, colourless. Kaoru’s attack has left your body in shambles, your mind in a coma. You’re vaguely aware of people coming and going, snatches of whispered conversation, brushes of phantom touch - but it doesn’t exactly interest you.
And then he arrives. He grasps your hand in a burning grip, jolting you back to awareness even as he heals your badly damaged body in a matter of moments.
Your eyes open, blindly seeing only colourless white for a moment before you realize it’s just his hair, his wings, the too-bright shine of the hospital’s walls.
“Byakuran,” you croak. After floating in that in-between state, seeing the face of someone you know, even if it’s a former nemesis, is refreshing.
“Takeshi-kun,” he purrs, smirking. “Feeling better?”
You rub a hand through your hair, disoriented. A shaky chuckle escapes you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d say so. Thanks, Byakuran.”
He tilts his head to the side, then pulls you to your feet. He’s about your age, and you’re close in height. Still a bit groggy, you don’t immediately register the sweetness invading your mouth, but you respond readily enough. Byakuran is surprisingly gentle, nothing like his attitude in the future.
And then he’s gone, you’re staggering in the void he left behind as nurses and the doctor rush in, bombarding you with questions about your ‘miraculous recovery’. The world feels a little duller, a little more mundane, in his absence. Not colourless, exactly, but muted.
Your family needs you, though.