The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

The Morning After


Mikoto stood in the doorway to the bar, and Kusanagi just looked at him for a long moment before Mikoto shrugged and dropped onto his usual seat at the front.

It wasn’t his way to apologize. Kusanagi had been the one to tell him that ages ago.

“You’ve had that in your system for years,” Kusanagi commented. His voice was just slightly sharper than usual, more disappointed.

Mikoto leaned his head back. Kusanagi was too close to this, too close to Mikoto’s inability to protect Totsuka, and he’d be the first hit when Mikoto left him holding all the pieces. There wouldn’t have been comfort in Kusanagi’s bed.

Munakata should know this was the only warning he was going to get.

“Did you find the gun?” Mikoto asked.

Kusanagi studied him for a long moment, seeming to pack up his pain, his disappointment, his face and tone smoothing out to something both casual and dangerous. “Yes.”



“Sometimes you’re a real piece of work,” Kusanagi commented dryly, (more…)

Courting Red


There was exactly one way Nagare could see ever joining someone like Suoh Mikoto to his cause, and no comfortable way to kill him or his directly and bring his own power to bear.

It took quite a bit of work to get a message to Homura before they did anything rash—like completely destroy Totsuka’s body.

“You can resurrect him without consequences?” Kusanagi’s voice was appropriately skeptical under the diplomatic tone.

“There are always consequences,” Nagare corrected. “But yes, I can bring him back. He’ll have my aura.”

He wouldn’t be the first with two.

“Do it,” Mikoto said.

The Smoke


There was a raw empty space, gaping like a wound between them. (more…)

Take My Hand


Saruhiko caught his breath staring. No bone. No blood. No ash.

Mikoto gave a sort of bone deep weary sigh and leaned back with that tired look about him that sometimes made Saruhiko wonder if he ever felt regret.

“That’s too bad,” Kusanagi said.

Saruhiko blinked at him in surprise for the understated reaction, then looked down at his own hand. It was shaking. They’d said as much, but it was only hitting Saruhiko now that by taking Suoh Mikoto’s hand, he could have died.

A moment ago, there was a person. Now, there was nothing: no bone, blood, ash.



Ostensibly, Mikoto knows what a pillow is. His personal definition, Kusanagi thinks with some chagrin as he tries to reach around a grumpy redhead’s hair and face to fill in the next problem on his math, seems to be the person I like’s lap.

Mikoto grunts a complaint and Kusanagi almost swats him on the side of the head. He refrains, but he can feel the corner of his mouth quirking up in a small smile.

“Your choice to sleep there,” he comments easily, laying blame for all the awkwardness squarely where it belongs.

Mikoto just huffs. “Yeah.”

He stays.

Soft Spot


Mikoto was like the kind of big cat that let kids crawl all over him. Particular kids. Just two really.

Anna could snuggle up right next to him and even tuck her hand into his without even a grunt of protest. Totsuka could make Mikoto his own personal blanket if he wanted and Mikoto wouldn’t do more than sigh.

He never failed to complain whenever Kusanagi encroached on nap space in an attempt to sit down, but then again, Mikoto may have been audibly put upon but he let Kusanagi sit down anyway.

“Softie,” Kusanagi teased.

Mikoto’s grumpy glare notwithstanding.

Pain and the Promise


Mikoto could take a lot of punishment, harsh hands, hard surfaces under his body as Munakata slammed him into wall, street, even ground if he could manage it. Pain and the promise of it, rough and the bite of bright aura that wasn’t Mikoto’s.

He laughed, eyes alight with power and pleasure.

Munakata’s smug face was just right as he wrought actual pain and bruises on a nearly untouchable king. It didn’t feel like the rush of power or the nightmares and regrets that plagued him. It felt like something he didn’t have to think or worry about. Something real.

Can You Feel the Heat?


A/N: Thank you to the wonderful people who cheered me on and brainstormed and helped make this story a reality, geckoholic and mornelithefalconsbane. Massive amounts of support, kink consultation, and straight up bribery made this happen. Thank you both!

People in heat were picky, even pickier than when they weren’t, which always seemed ridiculous to Kusanagi because that’s when you generally needed to be significantly less picky if you were going to get any relief.

And that was the trouble right now. First heats weren’t quite like later ones, when you’d gotten used to the whole thing and could probably ride one out without a partner or take suppressants without destroying any kind of regular cycle you happened to have. First heats were when you were pickiest because nothing felt quite right and you hadn’t learned yet that it wasn’t always your partner, and when a heat could turn lethal if you didn’t get relief and weren’t in the kind of familiar surroundings and scents and people that meant you didn’t panic in blind instinct.

In short, the last thing Kusanagi knew how to actually deal with was Yata Misaki curled up in a feverish ball at the bottom of the stairs. (more…)

Better than a King


There were a lot of people that said only kings could truly understand each other. Mikoto wondered if those people had ever met Totsuka Tatara.

He’d find himself staring at his own hands, feeling the weight of violence and power burning inside him, and then Tatara would appear with his soft, gentle smiles and his eyes that saw right through everything Mikoto never found it in him to say, finding the words Mikoto couldn’t, that made everything make sense.

Mikoto stared at Tatara in wonder sometimes, an almost incomprehensible person who understood Mikoto better than anyone else, even another king.

Last Kiss


It wasn’t supposed to be his last kiss, the first time he reached out and took Tatara’s face in his hand, studying the way it made his eyes widen slightly and his mouth fall open, and the first time he’d ever kissed the only person that ever made him feel like everything was somehow worth it.

It wasn’t supposed to be Mikoto’s last kiss.

He opened his eyes from memory and breathed out smoke from his cigarette, something hard and angry burning in his gut.

This power is to protect.

Whoever killed Tatara was still out there. Not for long.



Mikoto had never had alignment testing. It was usually obvious from appearances whether someone needed comfort when hurt or needed to give it when someone else was.

But his family hadn’t cared and neither had he, and somewhere along the way he realized he didn’t feel either.

But he let them comfort him, Tatara and Izumo, when they noticed him brooding, let Tatara try and amazingly succeed at drawing him out of his worst aftermaths. And he let them draw comfort, Anna sitting next to him, claiming his attention with a small hand.

He didn’t feel broken for the lack.



She woke him from a world ending in fire.

Mikoto opened his eyes wide in the dark, heart still hammering, aura still thrumming under his skin and in his blood with the ever-present urge to Burn them. Anna’s serious face, her grim mouth, and intent gaze were mere inches away.

He sat up. “Anna.”

“Nightmare,” she said quietly, simply. It disarmed his desire to brush her off gruffly.

Instead, he allowed her to clamber into the bed beside him and tuck herself under his arm, fingers clutching his shirt over his ribs.

They fell asleep like that, his nightmares quieted.

Blood, Bone, Ash


A/N: I took a little poetic license with the way Nagare’s power works, and I definitely didn’t get these two quite as far along the curve as I hoped, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Every person is strong or weak themselves. We can give them each their own opportunity to save themselves.

Green power leaks out of the hole where Nagare’s heart ought to be. It doesn’t even bother Mikoto anymore, not that he ever paid it much mind. He slams into Nagare, so he gasps, panting as his dark hair curls with sweat and his limbs tremble under Mikoto’s hands. He has the Green King in front of him, bent over, face down, and there’s nothing gentle about it.