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nympheaecaea · 1 year ago

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୨ৎ where him and i meet ୨ৎ

SUMMARY ୨ৎ park wonbin stumbles upon a magical hotel and meets the girl of his dreams (literally). OR witches, elves, shapeshifters and gods run a hotel.

PAIRING ୨ৎ god!park wonbin x witch!yn

GENRE ୨ৎ fantasy, fluff, slow burn, eventual smut

FANDOM ୨ৎ riize, nct, red velvet

when yn woke up, she tasted it in the air. something was amiss with that day.

on the weekends, she ought to wake up early. from mondays to fridays she’d sleep until the sun was in the north and the birds were no longer singing, and when she’d get up, the table would’ve been laid and lunch prepared. but on the weekends, yn was asked to eat breakfast before. thus, she woke up early on the first day of the rest of her life.

the sun was already up, chalky and chilly, yet bright in the wintry morning. yn's home was still, where there should’ve been the pandemonium of timed errands, there was only the void of those who had left. she enjoyed that stillness. rising from bed, she pulled the silky covers and tidied the embroidered pillows–her covers weren’t stretching enough and her pillows weren’t fluffing up enough. if it weren’t for that stillness, sohee, her younger brother, would’ve barged in, plopping himself on the mattress and rolling around on top of her plushies, sungchan would’ve followed, picking the fluffiest ones to punch, withal, she found haechan to be the worst of them, he’d talk and talk and talk. for that, she enjoyed that stillness. yn smoothed her dress and braided her hair–her dress wasn’t fitting as well and her hair wasn’t curling as much.

downstairs, the morning was awakening with the ushered lull of chirping and whispering, the footsteps that scattered and the glassware that clattered. yn joined her housemates at the table–it was a glossy mahogany, so vast it could’ve fitted a village, with a surface strategically covered in breakfast foods: bowls of rice and soup, platters of meat and pancakes, and the herbal tea irene would brew for their spirit.

“good morning, dearest.” irene, who had been engrossed in her newspaper, greeted the girl. “did you sleep well?” she asked softly, her voice always a solemn whisper. she took a drag of her pipe, the flowery smoke surrounding them. irene was a witch of primeval blood: she dried flowers to put in her pipe and brew in her tea, believing that it would connect her to the land and make her spirit stronger, she had a willowy black cat, who ran errands for her in the human world and read the morning paper, and she liked to hunt. but never animals.

“like a baby,” yn assured her. before she could return the question, however, seulgi pushed through the swinging doors with her hip, her steps careful and eyebrows furrowed with all the concentration she had to not spill the plate and cup she carried. “there,” she sighed, as she settled both in front of yn. “a full english breakfast with freshly processed apple juice.” she smiled charmingly, her cheeks rising with a tangerine glow. “and!” she started adding, “i made it from scratch, no sorcery, at all!” seulgi finished, bouncing slightly on her feet with excitement.

haechan, who had been silent–a blessing that yn had come to find only happened when he ate–, scoffed at that. seulgi could glide so lightly on her feet, she wouldn’t leave footsteps on snow, and she was a powerful fighter, but, oh, so graceful, it was as if she was dancing with her opponents. yet, she channeled her spirit as a newborn deer walking on its wobbly legs; sparks, blasts, and domestic fires. irene was the one to care for her, calmly dabbing a hand enchanted by runes over the flames and giving her a drag of her pipe. she was also the one to glare at the boys when they snarked, shutting haechan before he could even interject.

yn gathered the different ingredients of her breakfast plate in a bite, and even as she chewed the rushes of flavour, she could not stop tasting the wrongfulness of the day. she decided to ask, even if she feared the answer: “say, auntie, where is uncle taeil?” she had noticed the moment she went down the stairs, taeil had not been there with his gigantic crochet sweaters and his freckled cheeks rising with his blinding smiles to greet her.

irene took a sharp breath and put down her pipe. “left this morning,” she only said, knowing that yn would understand. “didn’t even say goodbye, that sappy bastard…” she rolled the dampness off her eyes and raised her pipe back to her cherry red lips.

taeil’s departure would be the beginning.

yn knew his day would eventually come, as it would irene’s, as it would hers and as it had her mother’s. just the same, she wasn’t prepared for it.

all magical beings were called into the draft. eventually, a pigeon would deliver a letter, an apparition would come in dreams, a knight would ride to the door knocker, and eventually, they’d be sent away. yn hadn’t always feared the draft, dreaded it, perhaps, but not feared. the day a cat had squished through her window, a small package in its mouth that demanded her mother, as if she were nothing more than a weapon, had fulminated the fear. her mother never came back then, even when she sat at the table eating dinner, she was still gone.

on monday a tiny little imp had waddled through the temple, irene swinging an elven axe in her hand at the sight of it, and taeil understood his turn had come. it had lingered in the air then, the loathing that taeil had tried to hide, but they could see. the way his smile was tightlipped, that of longing, the way his eyes were watery, those of regret. it was in the air, how he’d dance with sungchan and sing with haechan till late, so late, irene would tell the youngsters to go to bed, only to join taeil after, the way he’d ruffle sohee’s chocolate hairs and bake him cookies, or the way he’d stay in the silence with yn, just them in their own warm summery bubble, napping like cats stretched in the sun. they’d miss him, they’d miss him a lot. because, even if he came back, he’d never be the same.

“they’re back,” irene said, the darkness of her locks swinging as she turned to the door that led to their backyard. those opened in no second, and through them johnny and sungchan walked in, both covered in a thin coat of sweat and a blush from the gelid air. “good morning boys, how was the run?” she asked them.

“wondrous!” sungchan replied excitedly, “the weather is lovely, and the streets were so empty, i could shift into anything!” he declared, taking a seat next to yn and nudging a piece of her fried egg to himself.

johnny nodded through the younger’s words, busying himself with filling a tall cup of dark coffee. “hey,” he started, and oh no… “why did the morning coffee never talk to the herbal drinks?” he asked into the silence that had reached the room, “because they weren’t his cup of tea!” he finished with a cackle.

like irene, her aunt, yn was a witch of primeval blood. she had lived the beginning of her life by a river. there, she spent her noons learning and reading, entertained by the wandering spirits; the naiads, who would braid her hair and sing about the wonders of corporeal warmth, the kirin who would come to her window to watch her play the violin until her jaw was bruised, the pixies who would bring her flower crowns that would tangle against her mahogany curls, and when the moon would rise in the sky painted by veils of green and purple lights, her mother would come with baskets of the “outside”. she had always known there was another world out there, one with a roaring of engines and clocks, but she had preferred the world of her own creation, her, her mother, her aunts and, sometimes, a nice man that would bring her dolls.

and then, the cat came.

not a month later, she had left her small, sweet world behind. yn had followed baechu, irene’s familiar, carrying a violin case in her back and a luggage from the outside with her essentials: books so chunky she had to sit on the case to close it, gowns and bows sewed from the softest of the silks, and gifts from her unearthly friends. they had rushed through the train station, the small girl garnering looks from the passersby, old ladies who asked her questions and young boys who wanted to hold her braid. she had, of course, cried through it all. the engines and the clocks and the people and the tick tock tick tock and the click clack click clack.

so, like irene, she came from a long line of primeval witches, and she still didn’t understand things like morning runs or johnny’s jokes.

“it’s almost time to open up,” seulgi said looking at the watch on her wrist. “what is the schedule for today?” her eyes settled on sohee, who instantly opened a heavy book and pointed.

the younger boy, opposed to the boyishness his features still carried, was in charge. “we’re starting to get busier with the spring equinox coming, but there is not much to do today. i think we can have the day off.” he announced, finishing with a docile smile.

“and, hopefully, we’ll have somebody new come in before the spring equinox begins.” irene said, standing from her seat and smoothing her inky skirt that covered her to her feet. irene liked long, dark clothes, the sort of clothes that made kids point at her and say ‘mommy, look, witch!’. seulgi joined her, a contrast of darkness and colourfulness, whereas irene was elegant and dainty, seulgi was fresh and boyish, with youthful freckles and mandarin hair that sat at the top of her head showing her pointed ears with gold assets.

“it’s time.” sohee told them, eyes on the watch.

when the clock striked 10a.m, the temple opened.

coming soon...

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