preview of four of hoards, a haikyuu au - kiyoomi x kenma (sakuken?) / ossaka - omegaverse / royalty / fantasy + shifters / dragon king omi / panther shifter kenma
As a dragon, Kiyoomi has always been warned about flying too close to the sun. With life comes bright, golden lies he’ll want to chase, but he must reign his focus on the gold in his hoard - for that is what makes the sun rise and fall in a world of dragons. But Kenma’s eyes are gold like sunstone and no dragon can fly higher than Kiyoomi. Or: A Hades and Persephone AU - what if Hades left the underworld to join Persephone in her springland home?
Preview below the cut!
Kiyoomi loathes regions of eternal summer with a special kind of repugnance, yet he’s the guest of honor at a mid-year wedding in the desert.
The desert sand at the stronghold of the Black Jackal seems to magnetize to him. This event also happens to be a Miya affair: a nine-day celebration, which is tradition in these parts. Nine days of nauseating comradery and glutinous posturing.
It’s all for the nine-tailed marriage goddess the twins and their people worship. Kiyoomi’s own physician will be one of those people soon. It’s hard to swallow.
Kiyoomi soldiers on for Akaashi’s sake. He has enough to worry about with final preparations and trying to persuade Osamu to save some things for their wedding. Osamu has already spoiled Akaashi as any king should when it comes to their intended, but Osamu is still an alpha.
Resisting the urge to bite is nearly impossible once an omega has given permission. Osamu is devoted to his regional traditions but the rule about waiting until the ceremony to bite might just do the fox king in. Oikawa has assured Kiyoomi it will be a delicious scandal.
Kiyoomi takes it upon himself to gather the flowers Akaashi wants at the ceremony. The gardens are indoors, and Kiyoomi feared he was going to step into a claustrophobic nightmare, but he shouldn’t have let the term “indoor” deter him from finding the gardens quicker.
Kiyoomi expected some flowerbeds, perhaps a fountain – not a landscape that rivals the size of a gladiatorial arena. There’s enough space for hills to stretch out pillowed by wildflowers. The air is candied, pure.
Clean waterways and spotless paths make Kiyoomi almost salivate; this trip has been nothing but sandy grime. To make matters more enriching, an oversized sundial floats midair. The dial ticks as sunlight moves through the glass ceiling.
Kiyoomi can admit he’s dazzled. Rainbow phoenixes soar overhead, teleporting across the gardens in a fiery burst, and his brain quickly stops feeling like a pulled muscle.
He tucks his basket at his elbow and follows one of the irrigation rivers with his list in hand. Koi fish trail after him, hoping for a snack. Akaashi was thoughtful enough to add rough sketches of the flowers he needs, but Kiyoomi has no clue where to find individual blooms.
He isn’t too concerned. This isn’t the worst place to get lost and better odds have tried to keep him from certain treasures in his hoard. He’s never failed in that category.
Hours pass in which Kiyoomi’s natural curiosity implores him to rest on the ground and study certain plants. He can’t name many of them. Some petals are so vibrant, it’s hard to settle on which color best describes them. These ponderings don’t weaken the happiness in him.
Gradually, he finds what Akaashi needs. Kiyoomi is quite disappointed as he reaches the end of his list. The light around him deepens with the sunset’s crimson flares. The glass ceiling opens with a mechanical groan and the phoenixes fly through for their nightly hunt.
Kiyoomi’s pointed ear twitches when music starts up somewhere outside. Dinner is about to start. He sighs profusely. His hold tightens on his flower basket, and he heads in the general direction of where he came from.
Kiyoomi tries so hard to commit all his senses to memory: the moonlight is soft and pearly, the breeze sharpening as it rips through the flowers to push Kiyoomi’s curls back. He stumbles to a stop and looks around, horns illuminating the night. Kiyoomi breathes in deeply.
His wings arc to attention. Kiyoomi studies the flow of wind through the flowers to track its path. He follows the push to the north section of the garden. Suddenly, all the perfumes around him are annoying. He can’t name the smell the wind brought to him.
He can’t even describe it or fully remember it from that initial whiff just a few moments ago. It was just… new, odd. Maybe even good. Something about it makes Kiyoomi hungry. He’s never eaten as indulgently as he needs to right now.
He wants to slash his arm across a table and push over the frilly centerpieces, wants to eat with the candlesticks overturned and the curtains burning. He wants to rip his teeth through fruit flesh and salted meat, wants to be so fucking greedy -
What is he even searching for? A particularly smelly flower? It wouldn’t be right to take one when it wasn’t on Akaashi’s list, and it wouldn’t live long. The air shifts in another direction and Kiyoomi breathes, tongue light on his bottom lip. His fangs ache in his jaw.
It's not a flower but by the gods, Kiyoomi wants it. He alters his path and walks up a steep hill. He can’t explain why he’s creeping along and being mindful of his steps while his heart urges him to hurry.
That scent clings to his open mouth. His wings move on their own, spreading to catch attention and impress. He drops the flower basket. Kiyoomi is passed deciphering these responses; he must train his eyes on the source of it all.
White flowers glow over the hilltop – moonflowers yawning awake and twisting in their search for nocturnal light. Kiyoomi finds it before the flowers do.
Cloud-cover allows only a blade of moonlight over the hill, yet an omega found it perfectly and decided to nap there. Curled up on his side with his arms folded under his cheek, he is incredibly small to have such powerful pheromones.
The skirt twisted up around the omega’s knees is patterned in golds and reds Kiyoomi should recognize as the colors of a certain noble house, but right now, he is missing the faintest memory that could remind him what the world was like before this moment.
He can’t describe the omega’s scent, but Kiyoomi eats it up with gluttonous vigor. This is what red would smell like, he thinks: warm, deep, disarming. That scent is melting into Kiyoomi’s very pores and his skin tingles as his own pheromones flare in kind.
The omega’s nose twitches as he sniffs. His eyelids flicker before bolting open. The omega loops to his feet quicker than Kiyoomi’s eyes can follow. They watch each other with abundant confirmation that the omega thinks he’s about to become some sort of prey.
Kiyoomi tips his head to the side, showing his neck as if he’s ever done it before. The omega’s breath rasps to a complete halt. His tension eases a bit, as does the warning in his smell. His sunstone gaze is calculated enough to leave Kiyoomi feeling dissected.
Kiyoomi is willing, keeping his neck arched with his head bowed in submission to ensure the omega no harm will come to him. Kiyoomi peeks up from keeping his eyes low to the ground. A flush pulses down the omega’s throat.
His small hands lower from their crooked defensive position to wring together. He combs through the long hair at his hip before tucking some behind his ear. The omega hesitates, lips parting as if he’ll grace Kiyoomi with an apology, a word, anything -
He darts away, fleeing so gracefully the flowers aren’t even disturbed. Kiyoomi’s wings fall as he pants, lightheaded. One hand finds the earth where he sinks and the other touches his chest. He feels the wardrum of his heartbeat through his shirt, his glove.
Kiyoomi rises to his feet and wavers. He walks closer to the omega’s napping spot and toes the plate of crackers and cheese. A sticky knife and spoon are nearby. Bloody fruit juice splatters the grass and Kiyoomi crouches, following the trail to an opened pomegranate.
Kiyoomi takes off his glove and scoops into it with two fingers. He touches them to his tongue, but the sweetness does not ease his frustrations - it just enhances the fact he could have handled that interaction better in a hundred different ways.
Motoya’s forcing their familial bond open like he’s trying to kick in a fucking door. Kiyoomi hurries to find his basket at the bottom of the hill. He struggles to gather himself. This isn’t the first time he’s needed to be alone to process something and can’t.
This won’t be the last time he doesn’t get what he needs. Kiyoomi’s snarl flashes in the moonlight as his wings beat and rip flowers from the earth. He launches toward the open ceiling.
