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chimielie · 8 months ago

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sun seeker

summary: you are a princess, a future queen. somehow, this is still not enough.

word count: 1.5k

cw: fighting, oikawa’s an asshole (sorry), arranged marriage/royalty au, fake history stuff, angst to fluff (i guess), i’m not telling you who the love interest is but like. Guess, misogyny, ambiguous ending

a/n: if i tell you that i imagined a whole other side for oikawa will you forgive me? also this was supposed to be a short drabble related to between lightning strikes but it very much was not. my bad

Your betrothed is unexpectedly quiet.

It had only been a few days since you met the crown prince, having been sequestered in your father’s court in the country for most of your life, learning to fill the seat of someday-Empress. The capital is huge, bustling with people, always noisy—or so you surmised from within your veiled carriage. You had thought, as you bowed before the Emperor and Imperial Heir, that your life was finally beginning, finally growing beyond the narrow confines of etiquette training and religious rituals.

Instead, you felt your dreams shrivel and die as your daily routine proceeded exactly as it had for close to two decades. The only difference was time mandatorily spent with Tooru, who seemed… less than enthused by your match.

You had dreamed of someone who chafed against authority as you had, who felt as bound by propriety despite the privilege of your positions. Alas, you found him to be both sullen and arrogant, eager to rule but in denial of his own dissatisfaction with a noblewoman such as yourself. It made you want to scream. You had not chosen the circumstances of your birth, the path which you had been led to walk. It was not your fault that fate had pushed you two so forcefully together without regard for your desires, ambitions, or personalities.

“I was told you visited the temple this morning,” you say, watching your fiancé pause a long sip of tea, his brown eyes temporarily widening. Your face slips momentarily into a frown; you cannot conceal your frustration with his clear disdain for such small talk but unwillingness to bring anything more engaging to your table.

“Yes,” he says finally, setting down his cup. Light brown liquid sloshes over the rim and onto his fingers; he wipes them on his robes without care for the expensive fabric. “There are many rituals that must be done to ensure the most auspicious wedding possible.” His voice catches noticeably on the word wedding. You take a sip of your own tea to hide your grimace.

It is lukewarm. How long have you been sitting here, trying to force civility?

“Did it go well?” You ask in turn, your pitch straining. Behind you, one of the imperial guards snorts. When you try to discern which of them broke character, they have all returned to a stoic, uniform position. You straighten your posture.

“It was satisfactory,” Tooru says. You hear the snort again, and the crown prince’s lips twitch, just barely.

You shut your eyes tightly for a moment, trying to take in a deep breath. Your chest feels tight, though, bound by heavy fabrics and scarlet ribbon. There doesn’t seem to be anywhere for the air to go.

“What did you do this morning?” He asks, and you throw the cup at him.

His Imperial Highness is athletic beneath his aristocracy, and he dodges it easily. It bounces off one of the silk screens behind him and lies, cracked in two, in a puddle of lukewarm tea on the floor. You bury your face in your hands and scream through your teeth, a short, guttural noise that carves a little more space in your chest to breathe.

When you look up again, he stands over you, his perfect brows pulled into an expression of concern. You know without looking that two of the Imperial Guard are standing behind you, hands on their weapons.

“You have asked me that,” you say slowly, fighting to push the words out through the red haze of rage, “twice now. And you asked what my plans were yesterday. And the answer is always the same: wait in my rooms for you to call, because I am a painting of a woman waiting for you to walk in and criticize my form and decide that I am satisfactory.”

“I didn’t—” he says, and for a moment you become a fairytale heroine instead of a scorned princess, sitting on the floor looking up at him with despondent eyes that betray your desire to be loved. “This is what we are,” he decides finally, expression no longer concerned. “I think perhaps you need some rest.”

“You cannot be serious,” you seethe, pushing yourself to your feet. One of the guards puts a hand on you, ready to restrain you.

Tooru turns, his back facing you. He glances back as he exits, tone bored, eyes cold.

“Do not worry yourself,” he tells you, “I still find you satisfactory.”

You lunge after him, but two strong hands clamp down on your arms, hauling you back. You writhe and kick, but when you look up at your guard, his face is impassive, his eyes distant.

“I hate you,” you snarl, and watch as his eyes flicker down to your face. Seeing you. “I hate you,” you say again, but it sounds much more like a sob.

You can’t sleep that night.

The moon is full, high and bright, and every time you close your eyes, you see visions of your future. A glorified concubine, living in an expensive sanitarium, surely to be driven to insanity before your husband can ascend the throne.

You sit up, wild-eyed, and throw your door open with more force than you realize.

“Princess,” says your guard, startled.

“I can’t sleep,” you say, your heart thrumming in your chest. “Hajime, please, I can’t sleep.”

“I can’t let you out of your quarters,” Iwaizumi Hajime, head of your security detail, says.

“I don’t want—” you start, and he gives you a knowing look. “I know. Please just come and—talk with me. A little.”

He sighs, deeply, a rush of wind through cypress trees, and follows you into your room.

“Sit,” you order him, and the moonlight affords you the ability to see his green eyes flash with panic. “I am your future queen. Sit.”

He sits, trying to maintain his stern, professional face, even as you peel his helmet off and run your hands through his flattened hair.

“You lied to me,” you hum, and he jerks under your touch, façade breaking. “You told me Tooru never shut up.”

“I knew him a long time ago,” says Hajime. One of the few who had come with you to Kyoto, he had been raised here and come to your father’s court as a youth to learn to fight. “He’s not—he’s stubborn. He’ll soften eventually.”

“I don’t care,” you say bitterly. “Why did you hold me back?”

“He’s the prince,” Hajime says, his voice rasping with exasperation.

“I am the princess,” you say, and his lips press together into a straight line.

“My princess,” he murmurs. Hajime has always run warm, much more suited for Kyoto’s climate than your hometown’s. When he wraps an arm around you and pulls you against his side, you can feel his body heat through his armor.

“You let him say horrible things to me,” you say. His hold on you tightens.

“He is my oldest friend.”

“I am your—” you sigh heavily, pushing away from him, looking out at the moon. “I am nothing to you. I will live, though I am ungrateful. Many would say I am the luckiest woman in all the land.” The air is very cold without his touch.

“You are not nothing to me,” Hajime says, and you smile wistfully at his selective hearing.

“At least I am satisfactory.” You don’t see what happens, but Hajime’s helmet clatters loudly on the floor a moment later. “What—”

“He is my oldest friend,” he repeats himself, but his voice is low, so deep in his chest you can barely hear him. It does not matter; you can feel his words. “I wanted to kill him.”

Your lips part on a silent gasp, and he leans in close, so close that you can nearly taste him. You’ve always loved the way he smells, something base that relaxes you instantly. You haven’t been this close to him since you left home.

“He’s the Emperor,” he continues, “I can’t hurt him. I held us back.”

“Us?” You ask, his fingers suddenly tightly intertwined with yours.

“Ask me to help you leave,” he says, and you shut your eyes against his gaze, frightening and familiar all at once. “Ask me to take you away from here. I had—I have plans, and you will not be happy with him, Princess. You will be more than satisfactory, satisfied—you will be loved.”

Something knotted tightly unspools in you, red threads laying themselves out in perfect lines. You duck your head and nod against his shoulder, face rubbing against the metal of his armor.

You aren’t likely to succeed, you know, no matter how thoroughly Hajime has planned. Your fiancé will look for you: a stubborn man, like he had said. You do not know if his disdain for you or his love for Hajime will protect you. You could both die.

“Take me away,” you say, voice ringing out like a queen’s.

The moon, at its fullest cycle, chases its estranged wife into the day. The crown prince wakes without his betrothed. The world only spins forward.

#haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu!! x reader angst #hq x reader angst #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x reader angst

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vivalabunbun · 2 years ago

Text

The Aftermath of Summer

Summary: Who stays to watch the credits roll at the end of a film?

Word Count: 3.4k

Tags: Alhaitham X Fem!Reader, Modern AU, Vampire AU, Contract Marriage, Fluff, Angst, Grief, TW: Talks about death, themes about death, sfw, slight! reincarnation themes, broke student life.

Authors Note: The aftermath of looking over the garden wall to see the flowers. I hope this piece brings to rest the questions that may or may not remain unanswered. Enjoy!

The garden was empty tonight, the sun had long been chased away by the dark entourage of the night and her stars.

The gates should’ve been sealed, locked by chains and heavy locks to separate the hearts that still beat and those that have decayed.

However, as a creature that’s born forever outside the delicate balance, how can these gates stop him?

Or simply the watcher who wanders about these grounds looks the other way, to give this pitifully foolish vampire a semblance of privacy.

Even the moon covered herself with clouds, trying not to peek as Alhaitham knelt down next to a polished rock.

There were double as many flowers in his arms tonight, the fragrance carried by the late breeze was twice as overbearing.

It doesn’t bother him, after all, his senses have been steeled against this.

A variable walked through the sliding doors at the office tonight, disrupting Alhaitham’s treasured routine with a bitterly sweet bouquet.

–

“Secretary Alhaitham.” A voice called as a hand knocked against the wooden frame of his office.

Said vampire responds with a grunt of acknowledgment, pen only pausing when a familiar fragrance fills the air.

“You have a visitor.” Faruzan steps to the side, nose scrunched up at the unaccustomed scent.

Familiar scarlet locks shuffled into view of teal eyes, hands fiddling with the ends of a silk ribbon that contained the bundle together.

It’s hard to not put a name to that shade of hair, Nilou, it’s been a while.

When was the last time he saw the faces of your dearest friends? Perhaps a few months back, while a coffin was lowered into the cold ground alone.

That day was mockingly clear, the sky showing off her most vibrant hues of orange, violet, and pink, brilliant colors competing with those of the blooms thrown into the lonely pit.

No words were exchanged between him and the guests. The same faces of those who once danced and smiled with you within the decorated walls of a wedding venue are now deep in mourning.

So much so that they collectively overlooked the immortal creature who stood amongst them, or perhaps they were too self-absorbed in their own sorrows to extend any grace to him.

After all, in their eyes, how could a creature like him ever understand the grief experienced by those with finite time?

It was for the best, Alhaitham is never in the mood to engage in meaningless small talk, there’s no need for them to give him their hollow condolences.

Instead, he shall stand guard just off to the side, eyes observing every toss of cold dirt until the lacquered box was no longer visible.

Sealing the gates to an unexplored sanctuary that held answers untold.

Alhaitham places his pen down, turning his full attention to the young lady who brought a physical memory into his office.

“Hello, Mr. Alhaitham… um, I’m sorry if I’m bothering you.”

Giving a curt nod to Faruzan, he dismisses her from his office, giving him and the guest some privacy.

The polite silence encouraged her to finish stating her purpose this late evening, the ashen-haired vampire awaits patiently with his hands folded atop the desk.

“I… I know there isn’t a reason for you to keep in contact with us, but… I felt it’s only right to show gratitude towards you for everything you’ve done.”

The scarlet-haired lady closes her eyes, chest expanding with a deep inhale, mind stringing together her unrehearsed lines.

“Originally, I wanted to bring Dehya and Candace along, but… their jobs kept them busy.”

It’d be quite the sight, two hunters thanking the very creatures they’ve spent their whole careers ripping the hearts out of. Even if it might seem like a thinly veiled excuse, Alhaitham knew Nilou’s words were sincere.

The firm hand on the shoulder Dehya gave him at the end of committal service, once the mourns finished shedding their tears over freshly dug dirt, was enough for him to understand.

As expected of a hunter, the strength in her grip on his shoulder stung, but she didn’t let go and he didn’t make any moves to brush her off.

A moment of silence for two grieving beings to communicate their shared pain, both caused a by void that can never be filled.

After a few breaths, the flame-mane hunter releases her hold, wordlessly parting from him. As his teal gaze moves back up they connect with heterochromatic eyes.

Candace simply steadies her stare, then closes her lids as she nods in silent understanding. He mirrors her actions, and she then joins her mortal companions.

The only gestures he accepted that horrid day, olive branches handed over by two sides.

“She used to always close her eyes when she smiled, but after she married you, she smiled with her eyes open.”

A clever habit you had, concealing the apathetic vacuums of your irises when your lips curled, otherwise it’d distract from the radiant grin.

A brilliant technique utilized by an actress as skilled as you.

“Thank you, thank you so much for making her happy, she really was happy.”

The air remains silent, but his hands were gripping each other just a tab bit tighter.

Alhaitham’s pride would never allow him to confess the truth, it’s embarrassing to admit that a creature who’s lived through multiple lifetimes couldn’t decrypt the actions of a mere mortal.

Your performance was just that captivating, blurring the distinction between a daydream and reality. Bravo.

Nilou carefully places the bouquet upon a vacant spot on his desk, they gave each other a nob in acknowledgment before parting ways yet again.

Perhaps the final applause after the credits have rolled.

–

Brushing away the wilted bouquet before setting down the bright blooms still fresh with the vigor of life. Gathering the debris to ensure the soft glow of the night could reflect off the glossy surface, you always liked watching the stars.

In the empty silence of the garden offered Alhaitham the serenity of a deep reflection.

Away from the rowdy city streets and obnoxious office phones. He reviews the past seven years, emending his past assessment of your character.

You weren’t a capricious breeze nor were you a delicate flower. You were a human, a strange human, but a human nonetheless. The purest embodiment of mortality.

That’s how Alhaitham will remember you, that’s how you wanted to be remembered. It’s his final duty as your husband, he’ll carry it out with the same dedication.

Technically speaking, not all clauses were truly fulfilled.

The ashen-haired creature stands by the grave for a few beats more, before his feet finally broke free from their trance.

Redirecting his body towards the gates, his back facing your headstone. But it’s fine, he has to wipe down the polished stone tomorrow night.

For now, let the stars keep your company.

Readjusting to the tediousness of a solitary life was unexpectedly troublesome. Alhaitham never realized just how quickly dust loves to accumulate upon untouched surfaces.

How can objects still get dirty even when there’s no interference with their existence? A question not even the universe can answer.

For his idle eyes to be bothered by the subtle hints of dust and misaligned book spines, you truly did an outstanding job in your household duties, honoring the agreements printed on the contract.

The dryer sings its tone, Alhaitham places the dust cloth down to attend to the laundry before wrinkles can settle in. It's strange really, how certain scents can never be replicated by teams of scientists.

No detergent could ever truly hold the fragrance of a morning star.

However, it would be far too tiresome for a creature of the night to voluntarily embrace the stinging light just for a familiar whiff of solace.

He’ll just have to get used to the artificial aroma of fresh linen, after all these years, Alhaitham has gotten comfortable with the notion of change, an experienced expert in adapting to the times.

Nothing is immune to change, nothing can remain the same when the hands of a clock tick forward.

Thus, the clothes you once owned no longer hold the scent you once dawned. Yet, if he were to remove them… the closet would be too empty, best to leave them there.

With the laundry now checked off the list, Alhaitham returns back to the living room where he left one responsibility unfinished. Picking up the cloth square once more, he wipes the layer of dust from the neglected remote.

Some of the print among the rubber buttons were faded, signs of wear from indecisive fingers as they debate which show they should settle on for the night.

Something passionate? Comedy? Dramatic? Which genre did you prefer the most?

His firm motions with the cloth absentmindedly pass over a certain button, allowing the large screen a long-awaited chance to flicker back on. Accompanying the bright flash of colors came the crisp audio of a rehearsed conversion between the two characters on screen.

Alhaitham stills as his head turns toward the TV.

It must be a newly released drama, one with fresh faces and a carefully selected cast. It’s such a shame that all their efforts are wasted in vain, for there’s no audience upon a worn coach to appreciate their work.

With that thought, Alhaitham sets the remote down as his ageless body settles into the sofa just adjacent to the centered coach.

The night is still young, dust will accumulate nevertheless, it wouldn’t make a difference in taking another break.

There’s a line of distinction between a mind that’s been cultivated by the pages of a book and a mind that’s been entertained by artistically framed scenes.

When one crosses the other, the gap in understanding reveals itself, manifesting in the confusion of how to appreciate such things.

It’s how you felt when trying to interpret the texts written long before you were born, face scrunched up in focus as your eyes move across the aged paper.

It’s how he feels as he observes the two lead actors as disembodied laughter rang out.

The pacing was slow, dialogue uninteresting to an immortal that’s long-lived past the experience of university. But, it’d be a waste to not finish something he intended to do from the start.

The cushions were soft, supporting his settling frame as the tension leaves his muscles, beckoning his eyelids to lower, luring him into the darkness that lay behind them.

“Haitham~ are you alive?” A voice brushes against his face.

The presence of someone intruding upon his personal space made his body alert again, the wisps of sleep vanish.

Slowly he lifts up his leaden lids, blinking the haze of sleep away, vision gradually clearing to reveal your grinning face.

“Are you finally done with the assignments you’ve procrastinated?”

“I didn’t procrastinate, I knew I could finish them in time for the deadline and I did.” His voice still gruff with sleep.

“Your breath stinks of coffee.”

“What an observation, coffee is a common beverage consumed by all walks of life.”

“Haitham, it’s 10 pm.”

“It isn’t exclusive to one time.”

An exaggerated huff leaves your lips as you folded, plotting your body right on top of his, the aged couch creaking in protest.

Instinctively, his arms opened to catch your frame, embracing you gently against his chest. Feeling the rhythm of your heart beating in time with his.

“Stubborn.” You muttered.

“Summarizing yourself?” Alhaitham bites back a chuckle as a balled-up fist gently knocks against his torso.

It’s been a while since you’ve had a tender moment like this. Deadlines and exams brought on by the warming air of a concluding semester keep you both on a tight schedule. Only able to exchange brief greets during quick breaks of packaged meals.

You sink deeper into his arms as he rests his face against your neck. Enjoying the warmth generated between your two bodies, coaxing the exhaustion away from each other’s limbs.

‘I miss you.’ A silent sentiment wordlessly conveyed by the extended entanglement.

“You didn’t eat dinner yet.”

Alhaitham lets a soft chuckle escape in the form of a quick huff, how perceptive you are when it comes to his well-being.

“Skipping meals isn’t healthy,” You scolded as a finger jabbed against his shoulder.

“I’m aware.”

“Good, the noodles should be ready by now, c’mon.”

Reluctantly, Alhaitham allows you out of his arms, letting his heavy body follow your tugging hands toward the old and stained kitchen table.

Teal eyes notice the freshly placed cups of noodles, steam leaking out from the sides of their paper lids held down by two forks.

“It’s the fourth night we’ve had cup noodles this week.” He states the obvious.

“So?” You quirk a brow at his announcement.

“We’ll get sodium poisoning.”

“It’s fine, Haitham, our bodies are young, we'll live.”

“And these choices will come back to bite us in the future.”

“Shush and eat your food.” You plotted down at your spot at the chipped table, cheek puffed out.

An absolutely endearing sight. So much so that Alhaitham will rein in his sardonic quips for now, joining you in his spot just across the stained surface.

Ripping the flimsy top off the styrofoam cup, the artificial chicken flavoring sedates his ravenous appetite as he takes a bite.

A sacred respite for any student on a tight budget, empty calories that suppress the growling of stomachs.

From across the table, his teal gaze watches as you savor your last bite.

“You can have the rest of mine.”

“No, you’re a growing boy, you need to eat.”

“The male body fully develops by age eighteen-”

“Shush and eat your food.”

Your soft lips formed a frown once again, how could he not cave into your demands? Alhaitham takes another bite of the noodles.

In just a few more semesters he’ll get his hands on a flimsy piece of paper, proving his qualifications to some white-collar job.

He'll earn a paycheck big enough to treat you to a nice steak basted with red wine.

Away from this cluttered box with creaky floors and rumbling pipes.

Then after a few years, the two of you could follow a realtor through a spacious house atop a hill, yard fenced in nicely, and located a reasonable distance away from the bustling city.

Just endure the endless assignments and demanding exams for a little while longer.

Styrofoam cups carelessly thrown into the trash, forks washed and set out in the drying wrack. The minimal effort of house cleaning was achieved.

As a reward, two figures found themselves pulled back to the worn cushions of a couch. Melting into each other's touches, fingertips trying to memorize every curve and edge.

From outside a window left ajar, its hinges rusted with age and neglect, came the first symphony of the crickets. Singing to celebrate the new season which breathes back life into the trees and their leaves.

Your hands tenderly cupped his face pulling him closer, cheeks touching as your noses perfectly rested against each other.

The leaden weight pulling on his eyelids returned, head dozing into your gentle warmth.

“I love you.” Your whisper so soft it was almost lost in the wind.

Fighting against the droopy pull, his sight centered on your content expression, tranquil gaze reflecting the teal of his irises as you await his response.

Alhaitham’s firm arms pulled your frame flushed against his, burying his face back into the crook of your neck. Deep breath intaking the light fragrance which held hints of a sunny day.

“I love you… to the extent it’s unfathomable.” His full truth.

A truth that couldn’t be left untold.

“Pfft! You and your fancy words again,” you giggled.

The tickling sensation of your bell-like giggles vibrating against his frame cause the corners of his lips to curl.

Your fingers found their way to his ashen hair, tracing faint patterns along his scalp as you tussled his messy locks.

Mesmerizing motions making him lose the battle with the sweet call of sleep. The stone-faced man allowing your trailing fingers to beckon him deeper into the temperate waves of dreams.

Alhaitham’s eyes opened again, lids dawdlingly fluttering open and shut again as the rolling credits of tonight’s spontaneous episode played against the glass screen.

His arms rested unfurled by his sides, nothing in the space against his cold hands.

Closing his eyes shut once more, efforts now conflicted between prying open the doors of sleep to plunge back into the cloudy waters of dreams or blinking the lingering traces away.

Lungs not daring to take another breath in case they distract from the task at hand.

1… 2… 3

A low sigh leaves his lips, ashen lashes opening up to observe the teal eyes staring back from the dark credit screen.

It seems the keeper of dreams felt this vile creature has overstayed his welcome for tonight.

Locking up the iron gates as they stood mockingly on the other side dangling the key between their fingers.

It doesn’t matter. The dream has already served its purpose. Allowing Alhaitham to say the lines in a script that he wasn’t able to complete in time.

It made the void ache just a bit less.

It seems that Alhaitham has unraveled the truth behind your daydreaming habits.

The itch in his palm has long faded away, the ailment cured by clarity only attainable after one processes the cold truth. Analytical mind returning to rationality untainted by the desperation of false hope.

To be condemned to forever wheeze at each gasp of air, to be bound to a bed by agony searing your every cell. Who is willing to pay the price of eternity?

Stopping the hands of a clock wouldn’t be much different than a punishment delivered from the deepest depths of hell.

How could mortal medicine ever turn back the hands of a clock? Simple, it can’t.

Nothing can.

To forever freeze a sinking ship between the thundering skies of life and the endless pits of death, doomed to never drown but never be resuced for eternity.

A fate worse than anything on the two polar opposite sides.

It’d be plain cruel. Childishly cruel.

Alhaitham wouldn’t do that to you, he couldn’t do that to you.

Instead, he simply held your hand tight. Taking away any fear, any anxieties, any regrets as your body sank deeper beneath the waves, until the furrow between your brows disappeared.

Watching the peace gracing your features as your head descends into the murky depths.

Letting your fingers slip through the gaps in his as he stays atop his floating raft of immortality.

Letting your gold bands catch on each other one last time. Letting the laws of nature and unnamed gods pull you away from his side, forever concealing you behind a wall he’ll never be able to peer over.

As it was fated to be, he knows.

If you had a healthy body, one that could live up to 80 years… maybe a little more, you wouldn’t have chosen him.

You never would’ve signed a contract.

You never would’ve cast a passing glance at him on the street.

You would’ve embraced another, one who could walk hand and hand with you through the garden gates.

You didn’t ask to be born with that body, and he didn’t ask to be born with his.

Paths predestined at birth to never fully merge, a wall forever dividing them.

Yet, during the brief time they touched, the scenery was breathtaking.

If he had finite time, a body exhausted by late nights of piled-up assignments, with nothing but twenty mora to his name.

He’d choose that over sitting in an empty house with luxurious furniture, excessive assets sitting to rot in bank vaults, and a silk-covered bed too big for a singular body.

He’d choose to be the one who could walk through the gates of the Pardis Dhyai, hand and hand with you.

Only in a mirage could that exist.

Sitting across a small kitchen table, him with his instant coffee, you with your dining hall stolen tea.

Notepad given out by some random campus event being scribbled on. Ballpoint pen jotting down the items carefully calculated: Milk, eggs, and more cup noodles.

Only in a dream could he sit in the bright rays of a star, enjoying its warmth side by side with you.

Alhaitham shuts off the TV, the greeting songs of birds from outside closed curtains now creeping through.

Slowly his frame emerges from its sedentary position, the dust cloth long forgotten to the side.

A sofa is no proper place to rest. Maybe clean sheets can replicate the purpose of cold dirt.

Such futile thoughts, unbefitting of such a noble creature.

But, he's been craving sleep lately, longing for the warmth of a fantastical sun.

Fin~

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham fanfic #alhaitham x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #al-haitham x you #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham headcanons #genshin impact x you #vivalabunbunfics #alhaitham x you #alhaitham angst #alhaitham #alhaitham x yn #genshin angst #genshin vampire au #genshin modern au #genshin alhaitham

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paceprompting · 1 month ago

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sticky sweet and silk

written for ‘candy cane’ wc: 1000 # | steddie | rated: e | cw: no warnings apply | tags: established relationship, bondage, d/s elements, it's not that serious--they're just having fun

@steddieholidaydrabbles

“Feel okay, sweetheart?”

Eddie tucked two fingers underneath the length of red silk that ran diagonal across Steve’s ribs, testing the tension. Steve’s body heat had warmed the fabric, and he shivered as one of as one of Eddie’s rings grazed his bare skin.

Steve turned his head toward Eddie with a charmed smirk, despite the fact that he was one tied up.

“Perfect, Eds,” he murmured.

Eddie hooked his fingers into the silk and yanked Steve close, playfully knocking their noses together. Steve looked taller, but it was really just those long, sinful legs, so all that impeded Steve was the fact that Eddie had tied his arms behind back.

He angled his head as though he was going to give Steve a kiss deserving of those deep brown bedroom eyes he was giving, lowered eyelashes and everything.

“Then I should keep going, huh?” he whispered and stepped back.

Eddie knew he was an absolute menace.

He lived for standing on tables, climbing on tall speakers with his sweetheart guitar—garnering attention on every type of stage. He was first to jump on board—if it wasn’t his idea in the first place—to go traipsing around town following whims, playing whatever music they waned at the Hideout, and even making a horribly shaped but boozy chocolate cake that nearly knocked Robin on her ass.

And it didn’t help that Steve indulged him.

So, when Steve got back to the apartment after work to find Eddie thoughtfully staring at a length of red ribbon, clearly distracted from wrapping presents, and twisting it around his wrist and forearm…there was really only one way their night was going to go once Eddie bought a suitable length of red silk to wrap Steve up under their tree.

Steve laughed softly to himself as Eddie moved away, gaze following while Eddie inspected his work so far. The curves of silk along Steve’s ribs, wrapping around his biceps and holding his forearms together. The red was darker in the low light, runs of scarlet contrasting against him.

The only light was from the tree lights, warm multi-colored spots reflected on Steve’s body, completely bare except for the red silk around his chest and arms. Steve had stripped, but Eddie decided on borrowing a soft, cream sweater to wear over black boxers.

Steve was wrapped up in Eddie’s design, but Eddie himself wasn’t without a piece of Steve on him.

Running his fingers down Steve’s chest, silk and skin, Eddie hummed. He’d pictured his own personal present when he imagined tying up his boyfriend, and it was coming together under his heads better then he’d wanted.

“Onto your knees, babe.”

Steve let out a gentle moan, eyes fluttering shut. They’d reached his favorite part, and there was still more to come.

Eddie hadn’t purposefully touched Steve in a way to turn him on, but they’d both been in ropes before. The touches were tender where sometimes the ties and the ropes were rough, and sometimes Steve just had to look at Eddie with that confident smirk.

Then neither of them were to blame for their actions.

As Steve slowly dropped onto the thick rug with one knee, and then the other, Eddie carded his fingers into Steve’s thick chestnut hair. Steve settled into his position, knees hip wide and his pert butt between his heels.

Between Steve’s legs hung his hard cock, pink and wet. Eddie wouldn’t touch him, not yet.

The lights on the tree backlit Steve’s hair, a warm aura of light around his hair as Eddie gently tipped it back, revealing the length of Steve’s throat and the shape of his collarbones. Steve opened his eyes and stared up at Eddie, pupils blown out and dark. He let his head fall against Eddie’s palm, pliant and wanting.

He was ready.

And as far as he knew, so was Eddie.

“Oh, and one more thing.”

Eddie slid his hand from Steve’s hair, hiding his smile at Steve’s restrained whine while he took three steps to the coffee table. He picked an item from their overfilled candy bowl and waved it teasingly at his tied-up boyfriend.

A candy cane.

Steve’s brow furrowed, until Eddie started pulling off the plastic.

Eddie padded across the rug and pressed the long rod of the candy against Steve’s pink lips. He didn’t open, nicely waiting for permission. His sweet Steve.

“Open,” Eddie instructed softly.

His lips parted and Eddie positioned the candy cane between Steve’s teeth, leaving his mouth stuck slightly open as long it remained there. It wasn’t the most comfortable way to hold a candy cane in his mouth, but that wasn’t the point.

Eddie reached for the camera on their bookcase, stepping back as he peered through to center Steve in the frame. Steve stared right at the camera, managing a quirk to the corner of his mouth. Cocky, despite the circumstances. Because of the circumstances.

He let out another moan as the flash lit the room and Eddie took his time shaking the printed Polaroid and waiting for it to develop. Steve closed his eyes and focused on his slow breathing, spit beginning to spill past the candy cane in his mouth and down his chin.

When his legs had started to waver, the picture was ready.

Eddie eyed it carefully with a grin.

Steve Harrington, captured forever on film while tied up in red silk with a candy cane in his mouth.

Perfect for the collection in a locked box under their bed.

Steve made soft grunting sounds to get Eddie’s attention.

Setting the picture aide, he plucked the candy from Steve’s mouth and sucked the end into his own. The mint was sharp and fresh on his tongue and slick already with Steve’s spit.

“What, baby?” he asked, blinking innocently.

Wrapped up and breathless, Steve licked the sticky sweetness off his lips.

He gave one request.

“Kiss me.”

And, well, Eddie figured he had done more than enough to get away with not saying please.

#december 6 fic was sad #so this one is sexy #eddie has the best ideas #no one has proved him wrong #definitely not steve #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic #steddie smut #steddie fanfic #steddie holiday drabbles #steddie drabble #steddie microfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things

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salparadiselost · 1 year ago

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🍂🍁🎃 Autumn-Themed Batfam Fic Reccs 🎃🍁🍂

The season is getting a little colder and the season is turning towards winter. The nights longer and the need for hot drinks stronger. This is my favourite time of year and one that just invites curling up with some reading material. In celebration of my favourite season, I thought I'd recc my favourite autumn vibes Batfam fics.

These fics are all completed and available for free on AO3. They all lean horror (Halloween is fastly approaching! 🦇), with some of them being darker than others. I love horror so that's where I tend to stray. Hope you enjoy! Welcome to Beggars' Bones - Bridgesburn - Length: 143k - Genre: Thriller, "True" Crime, Kidnapping in a Creepy Small Town

"Welcome to Beggars' Bones" is the epitome of what I think of when I think of a perfect story for a bitter autumn night. It reads like an expertly crafted thriller and perfect for those who love a realistic horror story. The basic premise is that Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian are on a road trip when Dick's car breaks down. He sends Tim and Damian to go get help and it goes absolutely horribly from there.

Mind the tags because the story hits on real themes and is intense. It draws to mind movies like "Silence of the Lambs" and "Misery" and makes you think twice about stopping in a small town.

Vrykolakas - @chemical-processes - Length: 34k - Genre: Horror, Monsters, Having Your Son for Dinner

My first recc was horror based in reality and this recc is horror based in all the things that go bump in the night. Timothy Drake is not okay. Timothy Drake is not safe. Timothy Drake doesn't have anyone to tell this to, especially not his parents. Read this one if you love a story about a terrifying monster and are not afraid of some gore. It's a bloody good time.

To Hear, To See, To Smile - @jube514 & @salparadiselost - Length: 8.6k - Genre: Light Horror, Monster Kids, Bruce's Horrifically Fierce Adoption Instinct

Is it too pretentious to recommend my own fic? Perhaps, but I'm not known for my humility. I wrote this fic with Jube and it's perfect for the Halloween season. The loose premise is that Bruce has acquired children in the form of eldritch horrors and he is well on his way of getting one more. Although his children are all monsters, it's on the lighter side.

when doves cry - @silk-scarlet-ribbons - Length: 13k - Genre: Grief, Death, When a Memory is as Fresh and Festering as a Wound

This is one of the ones that's making it in through autumn vibes. It's about grief and ghosts that form immediately after death. It's very psychological and a deep scrape into Tim's grieving head before he even realises he's grieving. The horror in this is slow and it sets in like the decay of a human body. It's so deliciously creeping and will have you shivering even if there's no ghosts except for the one's in Tim's mind. The Little Neighbor - @oberonbronze - Length: 27k - Genre: Horror, Vampires, a Little Grave in the Dark and Mysterious Woods

This one is the newest on this list because, well, it posted as I was making this list and I stopped to swallow it all in one go. This one features one Dick trying to bond with his new little brother, Jason, by exploring the woods behind Wayne Manor. Nothing could possibly go wrong! I would encourage you to read without getting too deep in the tags, because it sets you up for maximum twists. It's a true horror feature that reminds me of Hereditary and Rosemary's Baby, so if you like something along those lines just go in blind! it's life after death (roll the credits) & when the bodies hit the floor - nashequilibrium - Length: 6k & 7k - Genre: Supernatural Horror, Siblinghood, Spooky Stories Told Around a Campfire Two for the price of one! I recommend both of these stories for those who love lighter horror more in the vein of Scooby Doo. Both of these fics feature sibling pairs - Dick & Jason in one and Steph & Damian in the other - investigating some mysterious happenings. These are both fun little romps and the dialogue is excellent.

Finally...

Not quite a recc, but I know a lot of people like to know what I've been up to, me and @spookyprime have been working on a Batman fancomic together and we are about ready to start posting it. It's a medical mystery and a horror story set in 1910s Europe. We will be posting it here: @vivisection-of-a-surgeon-comic . I've written out a more in-depth synopsis in that blog and you can give it a follow if you're curious.

So happy reading and happy halloween! I hope your nights are bitter and spooky.

~ Kay

#kay speaks #batfam fic recs #get recced #autumn themed fic reccs #horror fic reccs #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #bruce wayne #stephanie brown #batman #batfam #slid in a little self promo #but hey a girls gotta get some comments to eat

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arcanemirage · 1 month ago

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𝗧𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗧𝗵𝗿𝘂𝗺

Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1K

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: On a quiet night in the compound, Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff find themselves tangled in a dance of power and tension. What begins as unspoken challenges escalates into a collision of desire, as Wanda's raw magic and Natasha's unwavering dominance blur the lines of control. Their connection ignites like fire, a charged game where neither fully yields, and both surrender to something greater.

𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: Suggestive content involving romantic and sexual tension. Power play dynamics. Light domination/submission themes. Emotional and sensual tension throughout the story.

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: Taking into account that I can't be less than organized with the content and I demand more from myself than I should, I created this account to post stories and poems that I think are not good enough.Well, that's basically it, enjoy! The other profile is @dummiebrat.

ㅤㅤㅤ❛ㅤThere were nights in the compound when the world outside went still. Even heroes hung their capes, bruised and breathless from saving strangers, yearning for a different kind of salvation. On such nights, Wanda found herself drawn to the way shadows draped across red-tinted hair, to the curve of a smirk that always knew too much. Natasha Romanoff—the Black Widow—carried gravity, a woman stitched from danger and silk.

It began as a dance, unspoken but choreographed. Wanda moved through the common room barefoot, wearing a loose sweater that grazed her thighs, while Natasha leaned against the wall—half in shadow, arms crossed and assessing. The air was charged, the kind of stillness before a storm, except Wanda knew storms. She was storms.

— You’ve been watching me, — Natasha murmured, her voice velvet and edged with a bite. The corners of her lips curled when Wanda stilled mid-step. Scarlet mist flickered faintly at the tips of Wanda’s fingers.

— And you’ve been waiting for me to notice, — Wanda countered softly, tilting her chin up. The words were careful, but the hunger was unmistakable.

Natasha pushed off the wall, her boots muffled against the floor. Every step forward was calculated, predatory in its weight. Wanda’s heart hammered to the rhythm of footsteps—thud, pause, thud.

— You’re dangerous when you think you’re in control, — Natasha said, circling her now like a quiet fire. Wanda shivered at the proximity. A gloved hand trailed a path over the back of a chair, over nothing, and yet Wanda felt the caress against her skin as though she’d been touched.

— And you? — Wanda breathed, her voice betraying the ache between words. — You’re dangerous when you know you are.

For a moment, Natasha said nothing. Her expression remained still, but her eyes… oh, her eyes smoldered like coals, daring Wanda to look deeper.

— Is that how you want me? — Natasha finally whispered, lips just brushing against Wanda’s ear. —In control?

Wanda’s breath hitched. Scarlet cracked faintly at her fingertips, betraying her composure. Natasha didn’t flinch when red ribbons curled through the air like serpents, slithering, weaving, surrounding them both.

— You’ll have to earn it, — Wanda challenged, voice darkening, low and simmering.

— Oh, I plan to.

With a snap of her gloved fingers, Natasha grabbed Wanda’s wrist—slow, deliberate, testing the boundary. A hum passed between them, not of fear, but tension—raw and electric. The scarlet magic that flared against Natasha’s skin should have burned. Instead, it twined around her hand, shimmering like shackles. It was a beautiful illusion of power, and Wanda knew it.

— Are you cuffing me or freeing me? — Natasha asked, watching as the crimson chains wound tighter, curling like smoke. Her voice was still steady, though Wanda could hear the crackling edge beneath.

— Both. — Wanda replied, breathless, as Natasha pulled her closer.

The moment fractured and ignited. Natasha’s hand gripped Wanda’s hip, drawing her flush against her body, forcing her to feel the heat, the solid weight of her control. Wanda’s magic flickered wildly now, responding to every press of fingers, every sly murmur.

— You think you can pin me down? — Natasha teased, her mouth a whisper away from Wanda’s.

Wanda answered in scarlet—wrapping Natasha’s wrist in light and pulling her forward, crashing their lips together. It was less a kiss than a collision, all fire and wild teeth, a war fought between breaths. Natasha laughed against Wanda’s mouth, a sound rough with delight, and shoved her backward onto the plush couch.

— Careful. — Wanda warned, though her voice trembled deliciously.

— Make me. — Natasha shot back, straddling her with perfect poise, an assassin’s grace.

Wanda’s hands flared at her sides, red tendrils snaking upward to coil around Natasha’s waist like a possessive lover. And still, Natasha smiled down at her, steady as a heartbeat. Wanda could level cities, but Natasha Romanoff was not so easily undone.

And wasn’t that what Wanda wanted? Someone to stand in the fire, to tempt the inferno and command it.

— Tell me, — Natasha whispered, dragging her thumb along Wanda’s jaw. — Does it thrill you? Not knowing who’s really in control?

Wanda didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Natasha had already stolen the words from her lips, leaving only the delicious thrum of want in their place.

Outside, the compound remained silent, oblivious to the storm erupting within. Wanda felt herself unravel under Natasha’s touch, under the weight of those knowing eyes that dared her to lose herself. Scarlet ribbons curled and fractured as fingers ghosted beneath fabric, every tug and press a claim—one Wanda surrendered to willingly.

In the shadows of the night, they tangled and teased, a dance of power where neither yielded and neither won. Wanda was the storm, and Natasha was the woman who didn’t flinch when it broke around her.

And somewhere between kisses that bruised and touches that branded, Wanda realized:

She wasn’t cuffing Natasha.

She was falling into her.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x natasha #wandanat #natasha romanoff #elizabeth olsen #scarlet witch #scarlett johansson #black widow #Spotify

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ao3sbatfamily · 4 months ago

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Do you know any fics about tim having a struggle and joining the batfam (late or early) like...yeah...Idk how to say what I want 😭

This one gets very dark. Make sure you read the tags.

'the capillaries in my eyes are bursting' by Scarlet_Ribbons

Author: @silk-scarlet-ribbons

It sucks to know your next-door neighbors might have been psychopaths.

It especially sucks to know your next-door neighbors might have been psychopaths when you are, respectively, Batman and Robin.

The second the sun dips down into the horizon, Jason’s out the door without even asking where Bruce is going. He makes sure to knock on Tim’s window this time, and feels oddly like Peter Pan perched outside when Tim cracks the window open.

There’s color in his face today, and he looks more— well, alive.

“Robin,” Tim greets him quietly. “Have you made any progress?”

“Yeah. We got the bomber,” Jason says, resting one green boot on the floor of Tim’s room. Tim’s expression doesn’t change. “And—”

The words catch, but he pushes on. Point blank.

“Your parents,” Jason says, not unkindly. “What did they do to you, Tim?”

#batfamily #batfam #jason todd #jason todd robin #dc robin #robin #batbrothers #batbros #bat boys #batkids #batsiblings #tim drake

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inkykeiji · 8 months ago

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omg i’m still thinking about vampire niichannnn ughh

him keeping reader captive on his lap while he sucks blood from different parts of his body. and he keeps getting more and more drunk off of her meanwhile her body becomes so limp she can barely maintain a position without him holding her still and once he notices how languid her body is, he then decides to fuck her……ahhh i feel like i’m in high school watching vampire diaries again ;) (god the acting in that was horrendous lmao)

i am hOLLERING FROM THE ROOFTOPS ANONNNN this is such a fucking concept!!!

tw: stepcest, blood, vampire big bro, noncon words: 830

when he feels you go lax, soft and droopy in his lap as your bones turn pliable beneath his lips, he knows he should stop.

when he feels your pulse turn faint in your veins, barely a fluttering against his tongue, he really knows he should stop.

so he does, reluctantly pulls his crimson slicked mouth from your flesh, sealing his newest wound with a thick salve of saliva, tinged a watery pink. you slump forward the moment his teeth aren’t holding you in place, and his head quirks curiously.

looks like he’s got himself a little dolly.

something devious smears across his face, something sinister unfurling dark and sticky in his stomach.

oh, let’s play, dolly.

he knows he should probably bandage your wounds before he does anything else—you’re still bleeding profusely, ribbons of scarlet cascading down supple skin, oozing slow but steady from the deep little indents scattered across your form.

but he just can’t help it, rearranging your slack body on your pale pink sheets—thighs spread, arms above your head, crossed loosely at the wrists—and swiping two fingers through a stream of thick blood, collecting it on the pads before smearing it along his cock, a crude form of lube.

time’s pretty tight, all things considered—you could technically die on him in any minute with how much blood-loss you’ve sustained, but that’s a risk his lust-dazed brain is willing to take—and he doesn’t have a moment to prep you properly.

not that he would, either way.

another messy slather of scarlet along his shaft and then he’s ramming his cock into you in one sharp, quick, hard thrust, the vicious motion jostling your limp body up the mattress.

it isn’t as fun when you’re not crying and squirming beneath him, nails sinking into his shoulders and tearing (a futile effort, but it’s cute that you try), limbs writhing in opposition as you try to shove at his shoulders or kick at his hips (so precious that you think you’d ever be strong enough to achieve such a feat).

it isn’t as fun when your sobs of protest don’t turn into squeals of pleasure, when your struggling doesn’t turn into clinging, suddenly desperate as your legs knot around his waist and your pelvis rolls up to meet his own, begging him with sugary sweet gasps of nii-chan, nii-chan, nii-chan!—but he’ll take what he can get.

because even in the absence of all of his favourite things, he still cums quite quick, the scent of your blood and the feeling of it on his skin—silk and slime—an intoxicating mixture, strokes of carmine smeared across toned muscle and pale linen.

it’s almost artful in a way, how he paints your body in your combined fluids, red and white, pearl and crimson, swirling together to create an iridescent pink.

your favourite colour, isn’t it? he thinks it might be on the verge of becoming his favourite colour, too.

a wheeze scrapes at your throat, a thick pool of saliva gurgling on the back of your tongue and he’s drawn back to the present moment, your wounds still gently weeping.

christ, he nearly whines to himself, fingers twitching, itching to touch. you look so goddamn pretty covered in your own blood, engraved with molds of your big brother’s mouth—replicas of all thirty-two teeth stamped thoughtfully into shoulders and wrists and thighs, stained a deep, grotesque purple—and glazed with your big brother’s cream, splattered in masterful streaks across soft skin.

pretty and perfect and all for him, made by him, just for him.

when you finally wake, half-delirious and head stuffed with fog, you wake to your big brother studiously tending to your wounds, deft fingers conscientious as they work—yet there is a certain carelessness to it, too; an ease, an expertise, the type that develops with extensive experience.

he’s done this before.

patches of white litter your skin, taped tightly over the sketches of his mouth. a hiss slips from between clenched teeth as you push yourself onto your elbows, blood blooming through cotton.

“be careful,” your older brother chides, not looking up from his task, nostrils twitching slightly. “you’ll tear open your wounds again; they were just beginning to clot.”

whining a little, your brow crumples in sleep-tinged confusion, lifting your heavy limbs experimentally, coating of dried cum cracking with the motion. some bites are deeper than others, some so painful it hurts to move the muscle they’ve been carved into at all, soft fingers prodding delicately around the puffy gauze, procuring a sharp gasp from your mouth, face puckering with pain.

“it’s good you’re awake,” he says, nonchalant as he presses another bandage over a wound on your ankle—fresh, still exuding dribbles of crimson. glancing up through a curtain of hair, his stare finds yours, crystal and bright. “i thought you might never wake up.”

the words are chuckled, dyed with lighthearted amusement, but the gleam in his eyes holds a shard of truth to it.

#tw stepcest #tw blood #tw noncon #aaaaAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH #he's v sexy #thought of touya the entire time i was writing this one too >:)#anywayyyy this was way longer than it was supposed to be HAHAHA #hope ur having a fab friday anon!!#enjoy ur weekend n stay safe!!#inky.vamp #inky.bb #clari gets mail

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