#the trees that are now fully green between the flowering ones had delicate white blossoms less than two weeks ago

[vetteldixon]

spring 🌸! from above 🏙️…

and below 🥺

[honeymoonjin]

part of the 2020 sapphest fic fest, cross-posted to ao3

pairing: jungkook x hoseok x namjoon

word count: 8.1k  ||  rating: sfw  ||  genre: magical realism

summary: jungkook doesn’t know what she wants in life. but maybe the cottage-dwelling botanist and warlock she moves in with could help. or, perhaps, they might even be the answer.

notes: i apologise if this isn’t up to scratch, i haven’t written an actual oneshot i think since jan/feb (?) so i know i’m rusty. also, this fic contains a trans female jungkook, cis female namjoon and non binary hoseok so i really do hope i’ve done them justice, it’s my first time writing characters with differing gender expressions. please do let me know what you think with a reblog or an ask, it really makes my day and would help a lot as i’m trying to get back into writing. thank you and i love you xxx

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Jungkook feels the gripping pressure around her heart ease with every step she takes down the street, fading into phantom pangs once the tall apartment building falls out of view.

She had never quite gotten used to it; the relief in a lack of something, the bliss of less. Her family’s worries seeped into her bones, soured her tongue when she was home. At high school, and especially at university, the stress of other students buffeted her like gales of wind. The brief moments of respite when she’d walk to the bus stop always felt so fleeting, like a gasp of air that didn’t quite fill her lungs enough.

Now, though, she didn’t stop there. She walked further, sucking in deeper breaths.

The train station lay close to the centre of town, but it was never that busy in the late morning, something she’d known fully well before going.

Her phone buzzes in her front pocket, no doubt her mother wishing her safe travels again. She doesn’t answer it, though. Happiness is a sweet tang behind her teeth, and her respite from obligation is a welcome one.

Her train is already pulling into the station when she steps up to the platform, and she wastes no time in scanning her card and finding a seat, tucked in the least occupied corner.

It doesn’t take long for the cramped blocks of Seoul to open up into countryside, and with it comes an openness in Jungkook’s chest that she only remembers feeling once before, a family vacation to an island that felt so blurry in her childhood memory.

Her gift wasn’t so strong then, but still Jungkook finds herself, over a decade later, seeking out nature as a balm for the mood pollution of city life.

When she’s as far south as the train allows, she disembarks. Not a single other soul steps foot off into the station, and it seems nobody is around.

It’s more a bus stop with rails than a train station, really. A roughly squareish pad of thick concrete sits beside the old tracks, a steel park bench and signpost the only things adorning it.

Around the lonely station is an open plain with few trees. On the opposite side, vast untended fields sprout daisies and dandelions, rising gracefully to low hills in the distance. On Jungkook’s side, a single narrow path of sun bleached dirt cuts through the wild grass, leading her to civilisation.

It’s a quiet walk. Not that she minds, of course; on the contrary, the remoteness of this place settles her and allows her to appreciate the finer sounds that normally get drowned out. The grass and scattered trees rustle gently in the wind. A few birds that roost in the shade of the branches chirp to each other, and the melodic noise brings a smile to Jungkook’s face.

When the small path she wanders along finally leads her to a series of small, traditionally-built houses, she’s unsurprised to find them seemingly abandoned. There’s no signs of life outside, and no evidence of human mood anywhere in her body. Even more than the rundown appearance of the outpost, Jungkook trusts her natural gift.

So when a tug in her chest leads her past the small crop of houses, she doesn’t hesitate. There is something for her here, something she may not yet have the words to explain, but for the first time she’s letting herself follow the currents that run through her veins, instead of trying to live around them.

The path lifts.

Like the train station was the base of a funnel, the land rises into hills on this side too, the extra exertion heating her calves with each step. Eventually, the narrow spine of dirt becomes overgrown with grass, and she’s forced to trample over it, ducking around low-hanging branches and stumbling over roots as the trees cluster around her, welcoming her into the cool shade of the hillside.

The crest of the hill has a jagged notch missing like a chipped tooth, providing a shortcut to the other side. The sun peeks through worn walls of ancient stone. It glares in Jungkook’s eyes, but even that brightness is overwhelmed by something stronger that radiates from the very ground itself. Euphoria.

Though her gift was still sometimes a mystery to her, Jungkook had learnt to distinguish most moods. In her cramped suburbia, she’d generally just been exposed to human feelings and the occasional animal, but she could still recognise the specific energy that plants give off.

Stronger with every step she takes, her soles practically vibrate with the flow of plant life singing out in joy - the joy of thriving, of being taken care of. Her own excitement wells up inside her, and her feet pick up their pace until the thud of grass changes into the slap of heavy soles on rock. She slips through the narrow crevasse of stone at the peak of the hill, breath catching at what greets her on the other side.

Like some kind of paradise, lush colours and fragrances mingle in the fresh air. The slope is much gentler here, and instead of uneven undergrowth and stubborn shrubbery, graceful rows of trees fill the open plains in front of her.

An orchard of plum trees with their pink blossoms rests to her left, rich purple fruits beginning to grow from them. Beside, a thicket of orange trees brighten the landscape with the bold citrus, only a few white flowers remaining on the branches. The green apple trees in front of her are laden with fruit, the branches hanging low. To her right, she even spots the brilliant pink spheres of pomegranate, though surely her eyes deceive her.

There’s no clear path through the foliage, though each row kindly provides enough space for a person or two to wander through, so Jungkook takes one such gap at random. There looks to be a fairly old though well-tended cottage beyond the trees, and even as the ecstasy of the healthy orchards envelops her in warmth, she feels the tug in her chest still guiding her forward.

Her body adjusts to the strong flow of positivity. It clears her mind, opens her lungs; like breathing pure mountain air. She has no idea what she’s really doing - trespassing and approaching a stranger’s house like this - but already the thought of having to leave here and find a place to stay makes her stomach curl.

Between the line of trees she can make out the front-facing wall of the cottage. Made up of wide planks of wood, slightly uneven with all the knots and flecks left on the surface, green creeping ivy runs lines across the edges of the plants like earthy seams. That’s all she can see, though, and the first sign of human life doesn’t come from what she sees but rather what she hears.

Reaching her ears even around the happy murmur of greenery, a bright voice hums a meandering but cheery tune, interspersed with chirped phrases that Jungkook can’t quite make out yet.

She approaches slowly, but impatiently peeks around the trunks of trees for a glimpse at the individual. The movement, the colour, the tint of energy that she feels off of them is unlike anything she’s felt before. Pure light, just as brilliant as it is tender.

She steps forward again, foot snapping a fallen twig. Suddenly, that stranger’s energy wobbles, the freezes in the air altogether. Jungkook pauses, knows she’s caught.

“A visitor?” the new voice exclaims incredulously, almost as if talking to themselves. “Are you human, visitor?”

Jungkook swallows. Whoever it was must not have been able to see her. “Mostly,” she replies hesitantly.

As if that’s the right answer, a joyous hoot rings out through the orchard, and light thumps skip closer. A smile stretches across Jungkook’s face entirely unconsciously, her eyes widening when the person finally darts into sight, hand hooked on an orange tree at the very end of the row.

“A friend, then!” the apparent owner of the house declares. They’re dressed for gardening, though dressed is perhaps overly generous. With bare feet and cropped, slightly curly hair, the only thing the person is even wearing is a pair of overalls, dirt on the knees, the leg cuffs rolled up to their calves and the front only just covering their otherwise naked chest. Every inch of skin revealed down to the elfish slope of their nose is a warm, rich bronze, like the sun itself has sunk below the surface and is instead shining outwards. It matches the high energy that Jungkook feels off of them, making her heart race.

Used to modest - even prudish - city fashion, Jungkook swallows at the delicate shoulders and collarbones that contrast enticingly with the swell of their biceps. Averting her eyes, she clears her throat and introduces herself. “And sorry for, uh, intruding,” she offers up with a grimace.

But the stranger waves it off, the movement exposing a flash of something gold on their palm. “Don’t be,” they respond easily, “we haven’t had a guest in years. Name’s Hoseok, by the way.”

“Jungkook,” Jungkook replies without thinking, making the other’s eyes light up even more. “I don’t even… I don’t really know why I’m here.”

Hoseok seems to be expecting this answer. “You should come inside, Jungkook. I built up wards against humans about three years ago when we moved in - it’s not even on any maps now! - so if you’re here, you’re here for a reason. Just because you don’t know it yet doesn’t mean it isn’t important.” They state this all like it’s a matter of fact, and Jungkook herself feels instinctively swayed by the logic. Or, perhaps, swayed by the way Hoseok’s back flexes behind the straps of the overalls as they turn towards the house, leading her there.

Jungkook swallows, trying to distract herself from the beautiful being in front of her. “Are you a, um-” but even her first question isn’t so clear. Unsure what to choose, she goes with the statistically more common option. “-are you a witch like me?”

Hoseok cranes their head back with an easy grin, boyish waves framing their face like a dark halo. “That’s up for debate. Technically, sure, but I don’t really like using the term witch or wizard. Lots of non-binary folk just use warlock, mostly. But yes, I have magic. Come see.”

They hold out their palm, then, and Jungkook jogs forward a few steps to catch up, just breaking out of the shade of the orchard as Hoseok tilts their hand towards her.

Like the rest of Hoseok’s skin, their palm is a warm golden shade, though it positively glows, an ethereal brightness resting below the skin, centred in their palm but reaching as far as their fingertips like five tiny lamps. “Sunhands,” Hoseok explains simply, their hands radiating a delicate warmth. “Had them since I was born. Helps me grow things year-round,” they finish, gesturing loosely in front of them.

Finally breaking her gaze from Hoseok’s beautiful gift, Jungkook looks ahead, unable to stop herself from gasping in a breath. “It’s gorgeous,” she offers up, but the compliment feels lame in comparison to the haven she’s met with.

Hoseok hums proudly nonetheless, and gives Jungkook time to take it in.

The house is every bit the rustic, homely cottage Jungkook had envisaged from the glimpse she got, but her heart is taken by the details. The wooden face she’s met with is clearly the side of it, hosting a small woodshed complete with an axe half-embedded in a tree stump and a tiny freestanding barbecue grill. The house itself is two-storied, although the second floor looks much smaller than the first. A round glass window peeks out from the top. Jungkook thinks she sees something move behind it, but her attention is quickly pulled by the glint of glass in the sun off to her right.

Behind the house, taking up almost the same ground space as the other building itself, a glasshouse blooms with vibrant green. Lush ivy trails up the frame on either side of the rounded top like a set of ribs bracketing the plant life inside. Unlike the neat rows of fruit trees, it looked like a dense forest within those crystal clear walls; the only signs of human intervention were the rows of metal shelves housing smaller plants, and irrigation pipes fitted inside.

“Our little sanctuary,” Hoseok sighs happily, seeing where Jungkook’s gaze has wandered. “My wife’s a botanist by trade, her specialty is in endangered species. Most of these only bloom very rarely, or don’t survive well in regular soils. We’ve spent a long time cultivating them. I use my gift to grow them; she uses her gift to study them.”

Jungkook tries to tamp down the ebb of disappointment that arises. “Your wife?”

“In all ways but legal,” Hoseok confirms with a dreamy grin. “She’ll just love you, I know it already. Come on; let’s get out of the heat.”

There’s a swing bench on the porch outside the front door with a lone novel resting atop it, open page-down as if the reader had to leave it there without a bookmark to keep their spot. Hoseok skirts past it, wiggling their feet briefly on a worn mat before stepping inside.

Feeling so out of her depth, Jungkook doesn’t protest, but instead pauses just inside the door, unsure if she should take off her boots.

Hoseok notices and winces. “We don’t, uh, we don’t have any spare house slippers. If you wanna keep them on, you can.”

Jungkook bends down to toggle the zips down anyway, letting her socked feet enjoy the respite of the cool hardwood floor. “You have a really nice place,” she offers up, though it’s quite the understatement.

To the right is a narrow set of stairs leading up to a mezzanine. There’s only one closed door up there that Jungkook can see, no doubt leading to the second-floor window she’d seen earlier.

The other side is a short hallway lined with what looks like homemade artworks and photographs. Down at the far end, the sun shines into a kitchen, but Jungkook doesn’t get a good look before she’s ferried up the stairs, the third step creaking under her socked foot.

“Knock knock,” Hoseok sings out instead of actually rapping on the closed door, squishing their cheek against the frame. A murmur comes from inside, and they open the door immediately, flocking inside. “A new friend, Joon-ah!”

When Jungkook slips inside shyly, her breath is immediately taken away by the beauty of the person inside. Not just their looks, though she’s never seen hair as glossy and graceful as theirs, and eyes as bright. But being near them feels like standing on the bank of a still, clear lake. Deep with wisdom but still teeming with life and curiosity. With a set of tortoiseshell reading glasses almost tipping off their nose, the person seated at the chair feels like the heart of the house, the heart of the whole region.

“Does this new friend of ours have a name? Preferred pronouns?”

Jungkook can’t do much more than blink. She’s dreamt about this, obsessed over this for years, but it may just be the first time anyone’s ever actually asked her in real life. “Sh- uh- Jungkook, she/her. Th-thank you for asking.”

The beauty in front of her smiles, and Jungkook’s knees threaten to give out at the serene warmth and endearing dimple. “It’s a pleasure. I’m Joon, by the way. I use she/her too. I’m sure Hoseok forgot entirely, but they use they/them. Always best to check, don’t you agree?”

Jungkook’s nodding immediately in response before she even processes it. “Yeah, I- that’s helpful, thank you.” Her mind feels hazy. People in the city never felt this vibrant, mixed with the blissful hum on the soles of her feet from the plantlife outside. She fights to wrangle her mind back into something coherent “Um… Hoseok said you had a gift too?”

Joon’s brows furrow delicately, swiveling her chair back to face them fully. She’d been seated at a busy-looking desk when they entered, writing notes into the margin of a yellowed textbook. Now, Jungkook can appreciate her simple choice of outfit: just a loose t-shirt and some thin fabric sweats, she nevertheless exudes pure grace, even as she quirks a brow towards Hoseok.

The latter coughs lightly, scratching their bare shoulder under one of the overall straps. “I mean… I would call you gifted, love,” they state in an imploring tone.

Joon just lets out a breathy chuckle and turns back to their newcomer. “I’m fully human, actually. My history is academic rather than magical.”

“I am curious, though,” Hoseok chirps, hooking one of their legs on the arm of Joon’s chair and draping themself half onto her, “what’s your gift, Jungkook? You’ve seen mine. Elemental,” Hoseok states, patting their bronzed palms on Joon’s thighs.

If Jungkook pauses to process the public display of queer affection in front of her - as well as the unfurling of mutual fondness emanating off the couple - she might just pass out, so she clears her throat and directs her gaze a few inches above their heads. “Sensory,” she explains. “I feel moods from other beings. I think the trees and stuff outside brought me here, actually.”

Hoseok blinks, eyes wide. One of their overall straps has slipped down, exposing one side of their chest, making Joon tut and tuck it back up again, but the gifted one takes no note. “The trees? You can feel the trees?”

Jungkook shrugs, but her insides glow at the impressed tone to their voice. “Yeah, I, uh, I can’t really do much with it, so I studied house magic at university. I rented out house witch services for some extra money, so that helps.”

Joon’s smile warms even further at the mention of study, her eyes crinkled with some bemusing inside joke. “We might just have to keep you, then,” she quirks, “as amazing as Hoseok is, their skills don’t really extend to the indoors. Mind you, I’m even worse myself.”

Hoseok hums, unflapped by the comment. “I never had a knack for fiddly stuff. I much prefer getting my clothes dirty than cleaning them.” Seeing how worn and discoloured the knees of Hoseok’s overalls are, Jungkook doesn’t doubt that for a second.

But her mind can’t really focus on that. Her own nerves rattle through her body, metallic on the insides of her cheeks. “I, um… I could help? If you wanted?”

The tentative flicker of interest reaches Jungkook from both parties, allowing her to get her hopes up. Nevertheless, she bites her tongue and braces herself for rejection. Did she even have enough money on her card for the train ride home? Stupid, she was-

Joon beams warmly, though with a touch of hesitation. “We’d love that, really we would. We just… We don’t have much human currency, Jungkook.”

Jungkook blinks, chest flipping as she rushes to shake her head. “I don’t need it, honest! Do you- If you had a place for me to crash, or…”

Hoseok sucks in a breath through their teeth and jostles Joon playfully on the shoulder. “Come on, love, we could move some of those old boxes up here and she could have the spare room. Don’t you want to keep her?”

Even faced with Hoseok’s all-but-bare back, Jungkook can sense their pleading eyes with the way that Joon melts in her chair. She pats Hoseok on the shoulder. “Up you get, then, sunshine. It’ll need some dusting too.” The curled brunette heaves themself up, peppering a kiss on Joon’s cheek before slinking out the room.

Jungkook isn’t quite sure if the rising ecstasy in her chest is all her or a shared blend of the people around her, but she knows she’s never felt so bright. “Thank you so much, Joon! What jobs do you need help with?” She turns when she feels the tingling, menthol-esque blossom of hope directed at her back. Near the top of the stairs, Hoseok still remains, their cheek squashed against the banister and eyes glistening. “I could always clear out the room for you?”

Hoseok begins to perk up but Joon just tuts. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart, you just put your feet up. We aren’t going to put you to work straight away.”

“We aren’t?” Hoseok murmurs in unbidden disappointment.

Joon tries to hide her smile, but her lips quirk up fondly at her partner nonetheless. “The cleaning spray and broom are in the hallway cupboard downstairs,” she divulges, receiving a dramatic whine in return. “Suffering builds character, dear.”

A sulky, “yeah, yeah… love you,” is heard from the foot of the stairs.

Joon lets out a breathy chuckle and returns the affection, before standing up from her desk and nodding warmly at Jungkook. “Perfect weather for a lunch picnic, don’t you think? I might go down and see what I can prepare. Why don’t you explore a bit, or go rest? The couch in the living room is divine for taking naps.” With that, she departs, leaving Jungkook alone in the attic to process the absurdity of the past hour.

Feeling less like an intruder than before, Jungkook welcomes the opportunity to fully roam the outside of the property, admiring the lush wildlife and vegetation. The open plains go far beyond the opposite side of the house, leading to a sharper cliff face going up. Jungkook even thinks she can spot the thin vein of a waterfall if she squints, but there’s plenty of beauty at her feet for her to discover first.

While the grove of trees flanks the house on one side, the far side boasts rows and rows of garden beds, the dirt a richer brown than the rest. Fat strawberries weigh down their stalks in some plots, leafy greens spill over the sides in others. The vast range of produce is almost unbelievable, with the side of the house itself displaying a maze of herb pots. Most of them were cooking-based, but Jungkook doesn’t miss the orange spots of brewer’s mint, the sharp, wicked-looking leaves of murkroot and even a small terracotta pot of Jupiter sage. She was well-versed in magical ingredients, but had never seen them fresh outside of her university’s greenhouse. She could only imagine there were many more in the tall glass structure behind Joon and Hoseok’s house. Her fingers itch to test them, to wow her new landlords with a pain-reliever salve or the perfect dream-infused tea. It can wait, she tells herself. If they were growing them, perhaps they used them for something else.

A wet huff interrupts her musing, and she jumps when she feels something moving against her leg. Glancing down, she’s relieved to find the new presence is a tubby, short-haired dog with sleepy eyes, back arched as it stretches first its front legs, then its back, before collapsing onto its back, wriggling against Jungkook’s boot.

She lets out a disbelieving laugh, reaching down to gingerly rub the creature’s belly. The dog all but purrs, legs kicking in the air and tail thumping rhythmically against the sun-bleached wooden veranda.

“Where did you come from, huh?” Jungkook crouches, feeling her calf muscles ache but grinning at the way the dog seeks out her attention shamelessly, not hesitant at all about the presence of a stranger.

“Ah, I see you met Cho,” a warm voice comes from above her. Jungkook cranes her neck up, admiring Joon’s tall form. “She’s a rescue.”

A rescue? Paired with the close view of the gorgeous botanist, Jungkook has to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek to push her feelings down. She’d fall in love if she wasn’t careful. “Is that so?” she asks, willing her voice to be steady.

Joon nods, kneeling down to gently run her knuckles behind the dog’s ears, tan fur paling to white on the very tips. “I had to go to a nearby town for supplies, and found this wee girl in an alleyway digging in some bins. My heart broke for her, I just couldn’t leave her there.” She lets out a light laugh. “She was so skinny that Hob-ah called her chopstick. Now, though, she’s built like a barrel, so we just call her Cho.”

Cho wiggles her butt against the veranda, paw hooking on Jungkook’s wrist the moment the petting pauses. Continuing to pat the canine, Jungkook sighs. “That’s really sweet of you. She looks really healthy.”

A spontaneous laugh erupts from Joon’s nose. “She just about eats more than us, she better be. Anyways; I better get back to work. I just came out here to grab some mint for the lemonade.”

Jungkook stays hunched on the floor with Cho - whose nose is burrowed wetly into her furled palm - while Joon approaches the trellis of herb pots, gently plucking some soft green leaves off a plant that’s low enough to make her bend at the waist. Biting her lip harshly, Jungkook averts her gaze from the way her pale sweatpants pull taut around her hips with the movement.

Before long, the botanist returns inside, causing Cho to let out an indignant sneeze and scramble up to join her.

Jungkook exhales until her lungs feel concave. Back in a moment of quiet, she runs her fingertips over the texture of the wooden veranda. The energy from Joon’s unhurried focus feels like the echo of strong hands on Jungkook’s shoulders, but past it is the playful jab of Hoseok’s mock frustration. She grins, picturing the warlock fiddling with an old broom or trying to line up the corners of a fitted sheet. The tang of surprise has long since faded from Jungkook’s mouth, and it’s nice to sit in the warmth of both the sun and their welcome.

She breathes deeply, inhaling the fresh smell of clean air and fresh earth, and smiles.

For such a small house, there really is no shortage of work for Jungkook. Some things are easy fixes, like a permanent polish salve for the heavy mahogany bookcase in the main room or the several anti-dust spells she casts around the house. Others take days at a time to chip away at - she’d forgotten just how long it takes to fully steep a digestion aid tea to cure Hoseok’s raging lactose intolerance - but her two new housemates never nag or criticise. In fact, she’s found a warm foundation of purpose inside her that she hadn’t had since she graduated.

Each evening, when her hands begin to ache or the recipes on her phone look fuzzy, she packs up and joins the two lovebirds for dinner. It’s become a domestic ritual to help them cook, chat for a few hours on the porch as the sun slips below the hills, and then turn in for a restful night of sleep. It’s meant to be a full moon tonight - the fourth one since Jungkook arrived - and their routine is no different, gathered on the edge of the porch facing the open fields behind the house. It’s peaceful, Jungkook thinks. She’s more content now than she’s been in a long time.

There’s something...worrying bubbling within her with every shared moment, though. It’s in the way her pulse leaps when Hoseok beams at her, or the stuttered heartbeat in her chest with Joon’s casual touch. She knows they’re together, can feel the resonance of their affections inside her, yet she can’t help pretending those vibrations are directed at her. Lets herself accept the fond shoulder squeezes, blush at Hoseok’s playful winks.

It’s a dangerous fantasy to indulge in, but…

“Jung-ah, did you change your hair? It’s gorgeous.”

She flushes at the compliment, the genuine tone of Joon’s voice. Joon’s own hair is still a sunkissed brown, so long now that she often ties it off with a ribbon into a lazy ponytail. For a while, Jungkook burned with gender envy, knowing it would take years and years for her hair to grow that long. But a quick text to a friend from uni and an obscure millennial cosmetics spell site helped speed that process up. It wasn’t nearly as long as Joon’s, but the feeling of it tickling her bare shoulders each night made something deep inside of her positively glow. “Thank you,” she murmurs shyly. Hearing Joon notice it and respond well to it ignites that euphoric spark again. “Wanted something different.”

Hoseok reaches a hand up to ruffle their own hair; loose coils springing back around their brow. “Don’t you get hot, ladies? I’m tempted to take a razor to mine and it’s not even past my ears!”

Jungkook can’t manage to suppress a snicker in time. “I’d pay to see that.”

Hoseok grins, but sends a wink Joon’s way. “Hmm... wifey doesn’t seem so convinced, huh? Don’t you think I’d suit the skinhead look?”

Joon tilts her head back to catch the last few rays of orange sun, shadows cast below her jaw. “It wouldn’t be my first choice. But confidence looks better on you than any hairstyle, sunshine.”

Hoseok beams at that, letting the conversation drop as if they never were that interested in shaving anyway. “I think I’m making progress with the vanilla, love.”

That gets a strong reaction from Joon, her dark brows arching gracefully. Jungkook’s interest is peaked, leaning forward so that she’s sitting right on the edge of the porch. “The vanilla?”

Like a proud mother, Joon puffs her chest. “It’s mostly grown in Madagascar these days, and it’s a notoriously fickle plant. The flower only blooms one day a year, and is fertile for only 12 hours. And often, they require human intervention to actually pollinate. Seok-ah here thinks they can get it blooming more often. Have you gotten it, sunshine?”

Hoseok shrugs away the attention humbly, though their eyes glitter with barely-restrained excitement, turning to them both. “For a while I thought my sunhands were my only gift, but I think I must have some type of connection with plants too. I’m really not sure, but I’ve gotten my vanilla crop to bloom three times this month alone! Only two of them produced decent pods, but it’s definitely progress.” Their eyes drop, mouth twisting in thought. “I wonder if I could speed up the fermentation process as well. It usually takes months, but I’ve grown whole trees faster than that. Who knows?”

Joon’s reply is interrupted by a low vibration rattling against the porch. Her smile slips in confusion, and drops entirely when she flips the phone and reads the screen. “It’s Tae.”

Hoseok sobers up too, worry and anxiety emanating off them like a cold tide. “Is something wrong?”

Joon doesn’t reply, brows furrowed as she types something back. Barely a moment later - though it feels much longer as Jungkook awkwardly sits, completely out of the loop - a text buzzes through again, and a surprised laugh comes from the back of Joon’s throat, her lips stretched in a smile. “He’s… he got the job in Osaka.”

Hoseok gasps and claps their hands together once, wiggling in their spot. “That’s incredible!” they begin, but before Joon has even replied to the text, a third is coming through. Hoseok basically jumps in the air, demanding for their wife to read the message aloud.

“Oh my goodness, Tae has a boyfriend, Seok-ah! Says he’s a chef at a Korean restaurant in the city centre.” Joon smiles fondly. “He’s doing well, sunshine.”

Hoseok mulls this over with a slightly put-out look. “Dammit, I didn’t even think of dating a chef.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I made that dipping sauce from scratch yesterday.”

Jungkook feels the banter whip back and forth on either side of her, impenetrable without the important context. “Who’s, um, who’s Tae?” she asks hesitantly, bracing for them to scold her prying.

Joon just smiles placidly, reaching back to lazily re-tye the peach ribbon that’s threatening to slip off. “He’s our ex.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Hoseok chides, “you know he doesn’t like to be called that.”

A sigh. “Tae’s our husband once-removed. Happy?”

“You… had a husband? Both of you, or?”

“What’s mine is hers, Jung-ah,” Hoseok coos happily, “we like to share. Tae was my… boyfriend, back in the day. We actually got hitched before I even met Joon. Young marriage, we were pretty dumb kids.” They shrug, the soothing cotton-soft acceptance filling the air around them, not a spike of negativity to be held. “He actually introduced us shortly after our honeymoon, and I fell for Joon straight away. I admitted my feelings to him, but he just started laughing. The two of them had briefly dated in high school. Small world, huh? We sort of fell into a trio after that.”

“It was unspoken, really,” Joon mumbles, her eyes in the far distance as blue twilight dims the sky. “It felt as natural as flowing water to us.”

“And then-” Hoseok breaks off roughly, and the air tightens. “Tae went through some personal changes. Identity changes. We all tried making it work, we loved being three, being together, but it wasn’t right for him anymore. He ended up winning a scholarship to a very prestigious photography school in Tokyo, and we all knew that was what was best for him.” They fall silent for such a long time that Jungkook would almost think they were finished talking. But then, only just audible, they whisper. “I’m glad he’s doing well.”

Joon leans over to Jungkook, her sweet scent filling the narrow space between them. “Some of the art in the hallway is his if you want to look.”

Before Jungkook can reply - though her head is swimming with joonjoonjoon that she probably has no coherent comments anyway - Hoseok makes a strange strangled noise and gets up. “I’m so sorry,” they announce stiffly, “I think I left a light on in the glasshouse.”

Jungkook watches in confused silence as the warlock, still barefoot even in the cooling night air, marches swiftly across the field to the pitch-black glasshouse. Joon lets out a gentle sigh.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jungkook asks, voice almost cracking on the final word. “I shouldn’t have asked-”

“It’s okay,” Joon interrupts kindly, a warm hand placed on Jungkook’s knee. “It’s just… This is the first time we’ve had a third person in the house since Tae. I think Hoseok missed it.”

Jungkook bites on the inside of her cheek, feeling a chill run through her. “I can’t replace him, though. He sounds like a good guy.”

A considering hum resonates from Joon’s throat. “He is a good guy. But neither of us,” she gestures first at herself and then the shadowed silhouette of a head poking above some plants in the greenhouse, “are looking to replace him. In fact,” she admits with a rueful laugh, voice dropping to a low murmur, “I think the two of us are quite enamoured with you, Jung-ah.”

Joon’s hand on her knee burns through the thin cotton of her sundress, the tips just grazing bare skin. Jungkook swallows, feeling every beat of her heart thud at her ribs. “I like-” her voice rasps like sandpaper, throat dry. She clears it, swallowing thickly again. “I like when you say my name like that.”

She isn’t looking directly at Joon, but she still feels the broad smile. “It sounds pretty, don’t you think? It suits you.” Jungkook’s lips twitch; she ducks her head even as Joon leans closer. “You know, my parents wanted a son,” Joon explains softly. “They called me Namjoon. I always hated it. Felt like such a tomboy, the Nam was too mascule to me. So I dropped it. Still me, just… better. I know plenty of people change their names entirely, but you don’t have to. I think Hoseok would love to chat with you about stuff like that. I know I wouldn’t understand those feelings as much as they would.” Joon furrows her brows, looking embarrassed at her monologue. “I just want you to feel comfortable here.”

“I appreciate it,” Jungko- Jung-ah says immediately, glancing up to see Joon’s face light up. “I- I’m, um, enamoured with- with you too. With you two, too.” Coughing lightly to clear the awkward phrase hanging in the air, she drops her gaze again, but a single finger pauses her, hooked gently under her chin.

Slowly, Joon lifts Jung-ah’s jaw until their eyes meet. They’re somehow closer now, their breaths mingling hotly together between them. Jung-ah’s lips part, but no words come out.

This close, she can see the way a sheen of chapstick glints in the moonlight when Joon smiles. “Sweetheart, can I kiss you?”

Her stomach flips. She nods, not trusting her voice, and barely has a chance to flutter her eyes shut before a pressure lays across her lips. Joon kisses her slowly, so softly, like she might shatter in her hold.

The air has a chill to it now, but every point of contact feels hot like a furnace, and the keening, pleased energy that blooms from Joon keeps her warm. She lets it sink into her, wrap around her just as Joon’s soft palm encases her cheek, fingers playing with her hairline.

Joon’s lips taste like strawberry, but the real sweetness is her delicate movements, chaste but sensual, passionate but patient. Her thumb rubs slowly over Jung-ah’s cheekbone, giving her the strange feeling of swaying in the sea, entirely unmoored. She leans into it, diving deeper, feeling their noses bump.

Joon pulls away too soon, leaving Jung-ah with tingling lips and a dizzy mind. Her chapstick has all but rubbed off, but her lips are plumper and pinker than ever, pupils blown wide.

It takes a moment for the cloud to dissipate, but when it does, Jung-ah gasps weakly. “Oh my god, you’re married, what am I-”

“Ah, yes,” Joon remarks with a wry smile, “you’ll have to go and even the score now or I’m afraid Hoseok will be terribly disappointed.”

Jung-ah pauses, caught off-guard. “They won’t be...angry?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joon coos, “Seok-ah quizzed me for hours last night on the meanings of flowers so that they could grow you some. We’re poly, Jung-ah, you don’t have to stress. Besides,” she quips, inclining her head out towards the field, “it looks like they want to speak with you.”

Glancing in that direction, Jung-ah blinks when she sees the glasshouse, still in darkness, but with a warm yellow glow cast inside, the main door cracked open intentionally.

A fond energy smooths the air between them as Joon stands up off the porch and ruffles Jung-ah’s hair, mumbling a soft goodnight.

After listening to the door squeak open and closed again (she’d have to fix that tomorrow) Jung-ah has nothing left to do but make her way across the grassy plain toward the glasshouse.

The warm glow from inside had dimmed as the moonlight cast her surroundings in silver. Still, Jung-ah could see Hoseok’s silhouette clear as day as they paced back and forth amongst the various shadows of the plant life inside.

It doesn’t take long before her hands are brushing on the metal doorway, glancing inside. “Hoseok? Did you- are you-?”

“Come on in,” the warlock replies easily. There’s a pleased glint in their eyes even as their curls hang heavy over their brow. Overdue for a haircut, though Jung-ah couldn’t deny it made them look even more endearing. “Come here often?” they quip.

With a strange pang, Jung-ah realises this is the first time she’s stepping into the enclosed jungle. Hoseok spent time outside, Joon spent her days glued to her computer or a book upstairs, and Jung-ah wandered around the house with an ever-changing list of ‘Ideas’: to-do jobs that the homeowners were too polite to frame as compulsory. She never really ventured beyond the garden beds for the occasional herb to use. “First time,” she admits with an uneven tone.

Hoseok’s eyes wander, widening. “It is too,” they agree easily, unruffled. “Well, I’m very glad you came. I don’t blame you for sticking indoors. Joon’s far more interesting than me and my leaves.” They reach out and flick at a plant lazily, though Jung-ah doesn’t miss the gentle care in the touch.

“I think you’re fascinating,” she rebuts instead, “I just never wanted to bother you. But it’s… These plants, Hoseok, they’re beautiful.”

A proud beam highlights a smear of dirt on Hoseok’s chin, and Jung-ah resists the urge to reach up and dust it off. Instead, she follows riveted as Hoseok leads her around the deceptively large greenhouse.

“This is where I keep the rarer things. Or, I suppose, the more fickle ones,” they begin, trailing a path along a metal-framed shelf to their left with a single fingertip. “The tahina spectabilis here normally only lives until 50 in Madagascar,” Hoseok explains, and Jung-ah cranes her neck to glance up a trunk, looking much like a simple palm tree. Hoseok’s voice is soft, like they’re in a library, or a place to pay respects. “The tree will flower at fifty years old, and the process is so taxing that it actually dies. This one was passed down through my family’s ancestors, all elementals. It’s over two hundred.”

“Oh, wow,” Jung-ah murmurs without thinking, though she can’t help but view the sturdy trunk and flax-like leaves with a new admiration. “Your ancestors were all interested in nature like you?”

“Absolutely,” Hoseok remarks with a mysterious humour clouding their tone. “I bet yours were, too. Magical folk descend from gatherers and healers right back in the prehistoric age. I bet you would’ve been the healer to my gatherer, Jungkook.”

She swallows, watching the lines of Hoseok’s back move gracefully with every careful step through the lush, almost overgrown glasshouse. “Jung-ah,” she corrects lightly. “It’s, um, it’s Jung-ah now.”

When Hoseok turns, it’s like their fantastical surroundings are cast to grey. All Jung-ah can see is their bright eyes, bold heart-shaped smile and puffed cheeks. She wills her heart to stop thudding in her chest so hard, letting the pleased hum of the plants around them settle her internal rhythms.

“Jung-ah,” Hoseok repeats, and the name sounds even lighter on their tongue. “I like that.”

“I like you,” Jung-ah states and immediately curses her loose lips, wincing harshly at the rich dirt beneath her feet.

A surprised chuckle tinkles the air. “How scandalous, when my wife is just next door!” Before Jung-ah can dissolve into a blabbering, apologetic panic, Hoseok’s hand is reaching into her line of vision, a playful tug on the collar of her shirt. “Good thing she feels the same way as I do,” they continue softly, not lowering their hand.

Jung-ah sucks in a breath, feeling their knuckles bump against her collarbone as her chest lifts. “What way?” she asks carefully, daring herself to look up only for Hoseok to be far closer than she remembered, hand warm and glowing slightly between the two of them.

Behind the earnest smile is a slight hesitation that Jung-ah feels more than sees. Hoseok’s voice is barely a whisper, but no other sound penetrates their green paradise. “I want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up,” they confess, “and the last thing I see before I go to sleep. I want you to stay with us. I want to be yours, and you mine. That way.”

“Do you want to…” Jung-ah pauses, tongue wetting her lips unconsciously. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Hoseok’s smile grows, and the prodding hesitation disappears. “I’ve been waiting a long time to hear you ask that, hon.”

Their lips connect with no time for a reply. Jung-ah doesn’t mind though, letting herself melt into the kiss like there’s nothing else in the world. She feels Hoseok’s hands like twin suns, warmth running over her upper arms, her shoulders, catching gently on her jaw. And further, on a level so deep only she can feel it, those bright rays envelop her, Hoseok’s energy like pure joy. Jung-ah feels them smile into the kiss, lips slanting against hers and teeth bumping as they fail to suppress a grin.

When she finally has to pull away to suck in a breath, chest heaving, Hoseok is still beaming, their eyes dazed and hair rumpled. A strange light illuminates their chin and tip of their nose from below, and Jung-ah blinks in surprise as she sees Hoseok’s hands, completely alight up to their wrists with sunlight.

Catching Jung-ah’s gaze, Hoseok flushes, burying them in their overall pockets even as the light penetrates the heavy jean. “I know it’s bright, it’ll… it’ll settle down soon,” they promise, a sheepish smile puffing their cheeks. “I’m just really happy, Jung-ah.”

Jung-ah can’t help but return the smile. “Me too.”

~

Hoseok exhales dreamily as the sweet smell of strawberries fill the air. Not one for alcohol, they’d gotten Jung-ah to help make them some pink lemonade just the night before. Their wife hovers over the coffee table with the glass carafe, gripping it tight like it might wriggle out of her fingers at any moment.

One arm cradling several packets of snacks and the other holding a plate of slightly misshapen gimbap, Jung-ah makes her way between the two, settling the goods on the coffee table before slipping under Hoseok’s outstretched arm. The two curl up on the couch, Joon’s attempt at pouring the bubbly drink keeping them both amused.

“So nobody is going to help me?” she questions incredulously, grimacing as some of the lemonade doesn’t make it into the mugs she’s attempting to pour it into.

Hoseok’s fingers slip unconsciously under the hem of Jung-ah’s shirt sleeve, rubbing lightly at the skin there. “You’re doing splendid, love,” they assure earnestly. “The table was looking a little dehydrated.”

Joon lifts her jaw with a hard stare, but her lip quirks before she can help it. “I can’t believe this is my celebration party and I’m still the one doing this. I’ll remember this for your birthdays; just you wait.”

“Don’t worry,” Hoseok murmurs into Jung-ah’s ear with a lilting tone, “she always says that but I get breakfast in bed on my birthday every year. I love you, Joonie,” they call out in a singsong voice, reaching out to grab an outstretched mug with the hand not wrapped around Jung-ah’s shoulders.

Taking the other mug and watching the bubbles pop on the surface of the rosy liquid, Jung-ah sends Joon a warm smile. “I’m really proud of you, Joon,” she praises softly. “You worked hard, and the book is amazing.”

Joon raises a brow, taking a swig from the final mug and squeezing up on Jung-ah’s free side, neglecting the second empty couch in exchange for some closeness. “Have you read it?”

Jung-ah pauses, avoiding her gaze. “Seokie and I looked at all the pictures.”

Joon nods somberly, even as her eyes glint in bemusement. “The one thing I didn’t do.”

Hoseok’s hand reaches far enough past Jung-ah to just slightly brush at Joon’s cheek, the human pressing into the contact. “You’re far smarter than us, love. There were lots of very big words that we couldn’t quite understand but we’re proud of you nonetheless.”

Joon lets herself smile then, a warm one that crinkles her eyes and deepens her dimple. “I love you both too.”

Jung-ah flushes, feeling her toes curl at the sentiment, professing her own love for the two on either side of her before dipping her chin to sip at the lemonade. The sparkling water tickles the roof of her mouth, the lemon giving a bright tang, even as the strawberry infusion leaves a sweetness on her tongue long after she’s swallowed. It’s familiar to her, somehow.

As Joon leans onto Jung-ah’s side, beginning to explain to them the elaborate process of getting her third book published, Jung-ah takes another sip, swilling it in her mouth a little longer this time. It’s not until Hoseok’s getting up to pour them all a second glass, making the other two cackle as their hand is even shakier than Joon’s, that Jung-ah finally realises where she remembers that taste from.

It’s not a taste at all, but a feeling, an energy. Most of the senses her gift gave her were from other people, from plants, from wildlife. Very rarely were her own emotions strong enough to come back to her like mic feedback. But she recognised this one. Jung-ah was content.

[jojosbizarrefanfics]

omg that all might request where he asks reader out on a picnic was so cute!!! can we get a smutty part 2? how did their date go? 👀

aw thank you!!! ofc! i’m always here for sweet smut with toshi 

Toshinori could have stayed in the park with you all day. It was really crowded as everyone had the same idea that weekend to enjoy the blossoms, with a few street food vendors selling seasonal treats. Toshinori found a smaller tree in a less busy corner of the park, but its blooms were just as beautiful as the rest, and it provided a great view of the whole area. As he grabbed the bentos he bought for the two of you, you pulled out some iced green tea bottles from your bag.

“It’s so pretty, isn’t it?” You asked as the breeze blew through, making the flowers gently sway. It looked like a movie scene, you thought, and you couldn’t believe you were sharing this moment with Toshinori. 

Toshinori smiled as he looked at you and the way you admired the flowers. “Yeah, it is.”

So this is what normal felt like, he thought, or at least mostly normal. He could get used to this. 

Toshinori was pleasantly surprised at how long you two were able to just sit underneath the sakura tree, chatting and enjoying each other’s company, without anyone even noticing you were there. It was like the sakura provided a cloak around you two because everyone was so caught up in hanami that it allowed for him to be caught up in it, too. Normally, PDA would have terrified Toshinori - he didn’t want to put a target on your back, after all, whether it be from villains or tabloid journalists - but he felt confident enough in your little corner of the park to hold your hand once you were done with your lunch, now just swapping stories and sakura mochi.

But that veil of privacy the sakura provided didn’t last forever, especially as people began to wrap up their own picnics. 

“Oh, is that All Might?”

“Look, All Might’s over there!”

“Is that All Might and Mind-eye?” 

You both knew that meant it was time to call it a day, and you begrudgingly packed your things so you could head back to your apartment. 

“I had a really fun day,” you said when you reached your apartment.

“Sorry it got cut short,” Toshinori said. “But I did too!”

“We can continue it inside, if you’d like?” 

Toshinori’s eyes widened in mild surprise, and then he smiled and nodded. 

The second the door was closed and locked behind you, you dropped your purse and kissed Toshinori. His mild surprise from a moment ago turned into shock, but he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer to him. When you both pulled away for a breath, Toshinori coughed, barely making it into his handkerchief.

“Sorry! Sorry. What a buzzkill.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you said.

“I do, though,” he said nervously. “I’ve wanted to kiss you again all day, and then I finally get to, and then this damn cough--” 

You smiled - no, smirked - as you brushed some of Toshinori’s hair out of his face. He liked the feeling. “Toshi, it’s fine. There’s no rush. We’ve got all day.” 

Toshinori kissed you again, deep and slow, to really take his time with you. His first time kissing you earlier was chaste and sweet, but this time it was pure passion marked by tastes of sakura mochi, green tea, and blood. Your hands slowly moved from his neck to his chest, and it sent shivers down Toshinori’s spine. 

His own hands ran down your sides, exploring the shape of your curves, and when he landed at your hips, he pulled away from the kiss. You weren’t sure why until Toshinori asked, “Is this okay with you?”

You nodded, giving him all the permission he needed to kiss you again and continue. His hands gripped your hips tightly as your hands made their way to his biceps, all the while the kiss picked up where it left off. Toshinori’s hands slid down to your ass, rested there for a brief moment, and then he lifted you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist - just because he wasn’t a Pro Hero anymore didn’t mean he still wasn’t strong - and let Toshinori carry you to your bedroom. You let your shoes fall to the ground along the way, not paying much attention to where they clunked on the floor. Toshinori was doing his best to not stumble as he kissed and carried you, and one of your hands reached out and smacked the doorframe to your bedroom so he knew which room to go in. 

When Toshinori felt your bed against his knees, he kicked his shoes off while he laid you down on your bed, and was soon on top of you to continue your kiss. He discarded his jacket while kissing you, and once that was gone, you undid the the top two buttons on his shirt. 

You pulled away from the kiss and found yourself making eye contact with him - that bright blue was so beautiful, especially as the late afternoon sunlight streamed into your bedroom - and you asked Toshinori, “Is this okay with you?” in regards to his shirt.

“It is very much okay with me, (YN),” Toshinori said rather seriously, not breaking eye contact. You leaned up to reunite your lips, wanting to feel the warmth of his against you again, and worked on the rest of his shirt’s buttons. 

Toshinori gently ran a large hand up your leg, starting at your knee. You felt his long fingers splayed across your thigh as he reached up, and when he reached the waistband of your white stockings, you raised your hips to help him remove them. He only stopped kissing you to bring your stockings down, going at what felt like a tantalizingly slow pace. Once your stockings were off, he tossed them to the floor and let his now unbuttoned shirt join the pile. When he glanced back up at you, with the way your skirt had slid up your thighs a bit, he caught a glimpse at your panties beneath.

Despite his lankiness, he still maintained quite a bit of toned muscle. You knew he had a large scar by his ribcage, but this was your first time seeing it. If Toshinori was self-conscious about what you’d think of it (he was), he didn’t show it, but based on some of his comments earlier, you thought he might be.

“Does it hurt?” You asked Toshinori.

“No,” he said. “I think it’ll always be a bit tender. But it’s fine.”

“Just making sure,” you said. “I’ll be gentle just in case.”

Toshinori’s heart swelled in his chest; you always knew what he was really thinking, even when he was trying to put on a brave face. His thumbs hooked into the waistband of your skirt, which soon followed your stockings and his shirt in the pile on the floor. As he was removing your skirt, you ditched your sweater, letting it form a second pile that you’d worry about later.

Toshinori took a moment to admire your figure in nothing but your bra and panties, running his hands up and then down. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

“I think we’re a little unfairly dressed, Toshi,” you said as you sat up and reached for his belt and pants, unbuckling and unzipping. He stood to fully take them off, but was right back on top of you soon after.

He couldn’t keep his hands off of you once they were on, and one of those large hands slipped beneath your bra to cup your breast. Calloused fingers ran over your nipple, taking it between them, and your back arched a bit reflexively at the feeling of Toshinori’s touch. With his other hand, he gripped at your hip again, still unsure if this truly were happening to him, but he realized this was very much a reality when he felt your palm slowly run up his shaft.

Toshinori was already hard, but grew even harder at your touch. He moaned into your mouth and the hand fondling your breast gave it a squeeze, and the hand on your hip trailed down to your panties. He slipped his hand under it, and he moaned again when he felt that you were already wet. Toshinori moved his lips down your whole body until he reached your underwear, which he slid off delicately and then buried his face between your legs.

You kicked your underwear off as Toshinori began to eat you out. Your hands immediately went for his hair as his tongue worked wonders, truly exploring you as Toshinori’s hands gripped at your thighs. He relished in hearing your moan his name, feeling rather accomplished, and he didn’t stop until you came in his mouth twice. He had to pause to cough into his handkerchief after that, apologizing the whole way, but his apology got cut short when you had your mouth around his cock. When Toshinori looked down and saw you in nothing but your bra sucking him off, he thought he was dreaming again. But before he could get close from the feeling of your mouth wrapped around him, he said lowly, “Get back on the bed.”

The smirk returned to your face and you did as instructed. Toshinori climbed on top of you, barely letting you settle all the way on to your bed, hungry for more of you. When Toshinori’s cock slid into you, you both moaned at the feeling. You gripped at his shoulders as both of your hips found a rhythm, working in sync with one another. Toshinori’s lips trailed down your neck at the same slow pace he was thrusting into you, and he smiled into your skin at the feeling of your third climax, but this time around him. 

Truth be told, you had been wishing for this with your dear friend for a long time. You had known him for years and no one captivated you like he did, and even without your Quirk, you understood the layers deep down that he didn’t really share with anyone. The last few months especially had been a time of bonding for you two, and you always wondered if a bonding beyond friendship would be possible with Toshinori. 

You decided to surprise him by flipping him onto his back, keeping him inside of you, and transitioning to you riding him. Toshinori smiled as you began to rock your hips up and down on his cock, and his hands ran to your hips to guide you at the same pace as before. Your hands ran down his chest to his stomach - you were careful to do so extra gingerly when passing his scar, but you didn’t avoid it entirely so he wouldn’t think you were deterred by it - and then back up to rest on his pecs. 

After a few minutes of this and a fourth orgasm from you, Toshinori muttered, “(YN), I’m so close.”

“Can I taste you?”

Toshinori did not expect those words to come out of your mouth, especially with such a sweet tone, but he’d be damned if he denied you that. He nodded, letting you slowly slide off of him and return your mouth to his cock. You could taste yourself a bit on him, but that was soon washed out by the flavor of his cum - mild, slightly sweet, but still with a signature tang that was uniquely his. He ran his fingers through your hair while thinking that the sight of you looking up at him innocently as he came in your mouth was the hottest thing he’d ever see in his life.

When you returned to eye-level with him, he took you in his arms and kissed the top of your head. You were quiet for a few moments, the two of you processing everything that happened that day. Toshinori looked beyond content to be holding you, but there was a hint of worry there that he was hiding. You focused for a moment to use your Quirk, tapping into his mind, and then said, “I know you’re not just here for this, Toshi, don’t worry.” 

There it was - your Quirk in action. He almost forgot that you could read minds, which was why your Pro Hero name used to be Mind-eye. “How long have you been using your Quirk for?” Toshinori asked, startled.

“I haven’t until right now,” you reassured him. “Something looked like it was bothering you. I didn’t want to hurt you or anything.”

“Well, I’m glad you know, anyway,” he said with a nervous laugh that turned into another one of his coughs. “I didn’t want you getting the wrong idea. This was not what I had planned for today, but I’m not complaining.” 

You laughed. “That makes two of us.”

“You know,” Toshinori said, “I’ve had feelings for you since you told me I was in good company and not to worry. I don’t know why, but... but that really helped me. You’ve really helped me.”

His sappy side was starting to come out, not that you minded. You pressed a kiss to Toshinori’s nose and snuggled closer to him. “I’m glad I could.” 

[rouiyan]

𝘖𝘍 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘛 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ the first volume of rouiyan’s debut series, till death do us part ⧐

synopsis: prince jeno is willing to trade his heart and soul for the throne. but lee jeno is also willing to trade his heart and soul for you.

✧ prince!lee jeno x crown princess!reader ✧ royalty au

✧ genres : fluff, angst ✧ word count : 7.0k ✧ disclaimers : brief descriptions of nudity (nothing sexual), allusions to sex (nothing explicit), malintent

✧ author’s note — i have a bad case of 'lee jeno will forever sit atop my bias list, unmoved,' but i guess this is just my way of coping. happy reading, loves.

back to series masterpost: till death do us part.

prince jeno will never be king. he will never sit atop the throne and his plates will always be silver, not gold. he shall be addressed with 'prince' prior to his name, always and perpetually, and until he's wrinkly, gray and even through the eons after he passes, he will only ever be 'prince jeno.' and this is only because of his stoic-faced brother, crown prince doyoung, who is always a step out of reach. born a little more studious, a little more driven, a little more empathetic, and born a little earlier. jeno knows this, his parents know this, even the kingdom is fully aware, that jeno is an example of what a future king should look like, but also that doyoung is the epitome. 

but if there's one thing that jeno excels at, in greater lengths than his brother, it'd be his sense of independence. at the ripe age of one, jeno was already on his own two feet, quick and adept. at three, he could eat solid foods and put on his clothes without aid. at six, he'd gone out of his parent's willingness to learn professional swordsmanship. and at ten, he'd sworn, one sudden night in a fit of angry tears, that he would never marry. he was ten, just touching on double digits, yet he'd never felt such fervent ardor for any one thing. lee jeno was convinced, by none but himself, that he was better off alone, in marriage, in friendships, in brotherhood, in family. he needn't no one but himself for he knew more than anyone, his own capabilities. but he also knew that no matter how ardent he was in his endeavors, he would never be king, at least, not of the southern kingdom.

as he draws himself straight, emerging from the black marbled carriage drawn by horses of black mane, he sets his sights on the scene that unfolds before him. the northern castle is fortified in pristine white; white footbridges, posterns, battlements, towers and pinnacles, and all that meets the eye upon first glance. in the moment, the sunlight is cascading down between passing clouds, reflecting across the rounds of the turrets like thick coils of luminescence. the castle itself, though, serves as a halo of radiance that rests above a breathing orchard which is then, set behind a pathed meadow of gently mowed lawns. there's a noticeable wind that courses through the splaying fields, gurgling the water of the moat he'd just passed and ruffling the wildflowers. jeno's spirits lift as clusters of petals lift from their stems, undulating with the chorus of the wind and wafting a delicate scent.

the prince is accompanied, on either side, by his guards dressed in black and gold accents, he himself, wearing an ensemble of a similar but more explored palette. he's guided by a man of the recipient kingdom, dressed contrastingly in white, that strides a few paces ahead of the arriving group through the orchard of dew-laden trees, their boughs offering bundles of green apples low enough to be grasped by the hand.

it's easy for jeno to momentarily forget the reason he is here in the first place.

he stands, that night, under a flurry of blinding crystal chandeliers and in line with others, kindred to his age and stature, first as a guest and foremost as a suitor. a man enters from the archway on the left, stout but tall in posture, and he announces, "arrival of crown princess y/n of the northern kingdom, followed by the king and the queen of the northern kingdom."

jeno fails to notice how his own breath hitches, but notices the man next to him stir at the sight of you. for good reason, he thinks. your dress is nothing short of seraphic, a layered piece of cream silk upon silk, built up into a fitted bodice and sweetheart neckline. a pearled bodkin swirls back the upper half of your hair, allowing the supple skin of your face to spangle in the light. it's from this he understands that the rumors of your beauty are not half moonshine. he disregards the soft features of your face and focuses on the way you curtsy, gentle but profound, for each member of the line, a bow sent in return for each adjacent man. jeno is careful in his observations but he cannot seem to find a fault in your movements, each tailored to the exact second. your eyes, your attention, your pleasant countenance, spends no more time on himself than the others. this is one of the two things he notes during the feast, the second being your father, the king, taking a blatant liking to whom he knows to be the crown prince of the western kingdom, na jaemin.

an alliance as solid as marriage between the western and northern kingdoms would perhaps be the turnover of the century, a threat to be reckoned with. the aqueducts of the western kingdom, the pure water it provides for the region and its people, paired with the flourishing arts and wealthy merchants of the northern kingdom would yield tremendous power over the agriculture of the eastern and the coal mines of the southern. jeno is sharp in calculations, his resolve shifting and with this, the arranged trip becomes a lot clearer in purpose. he stares ahead, knowing that he has little charm to offer to the miss, but imagining himself on the throne of the northern kingdom for a change. albeit, next to you, but he'll find it in him to deal with that in the long run and for the time being, divert his attention to the young highness.

dinner clears out and the party moves into the nearest drawing room in the west wing of the palace. the princess and her parents are escorted earliest and jeno utilizes the opportunity to make his objective clear with whom he sees as his primary source of competition, the prince of the western kingdom. prince jaemin has a smile gracing his face at all times, a habit that jeno has come to despise the more time he spends looking at. "how do you fair with the princess' impression, mind i ask?" jeno is taken off guard when the boy speaks first, now standing beside him, both gazes held up front instead of at each other. he rights his expression before replying curtly, "a sight to behold, no doubt, but i find her to provide amusing company withal."

"and is that all you see her for? an eyeful and merriment?" jaemin's tone gives way to how he's condescendingly sneering at the prince, in distaste by means of long forgotten familiarity.

jeno doesn't bother to answer for it is now within his knowledge, and the other's, that his intentions are unearthed. jaemin continues, his voice light but carrying heavy weight, "i'd hope that she chooses wisely. the princess deserves her throne." 

they are ushered from the vicinities of the dining parlor into the drawing room. the space is lit with candles that glint and flit across the pale green plaster, lined with golden leaf molding and wainscotting. the walls encasing the room are at least a bountiful twenty feet high, the echoes of thirty or so people colliding off the ceilings and upon the polished floor. nothing remarkable can be said besides the fact that the churnings in the pits jeno's stomach become painfully acute with each step you take towards him, and that he, in turn, can't help but take further steps back.

jeno returns to his assigned quarters without a word spoken to or from you. he does not feel belittled by the others, in fact, he knows his royal blood gives him a hefty advantage over the sons of advisors, distant cousins, older merchants, and others of far off importance. he retires into the crisp white sheets after he blows out the already billowing candle by the bedside. prince jeno only dreams of the throne, the only visions he has ever come to see behind the veil of his eyelids, but it's tonight that he's met with you. smile wide in response to something he's said, an act of jest maybe. he smiles along and towel dries your hair lovingly, brushes through it with tender fingers, lays you upon the bed in fluid motions. it's the morning after that he wakes up with no recollection. 

the following day is open to any and every pastime the palace has to offer, the only program being the ball in the evening, a gathering of formal introductions by footwork and intense stares. jeno doubts the princess will have enough stamina to follow through with thirty or so consecutive dances, each with different men, but he's adamant to be one of the few. he's ambling directionless in the castle, unaware of which halls leads to what and in the forefront of his mind, he's looking for you, as he is sure many others are as well. he stumbles upon a dusty balcony, evidently unused, by the landing of the fourth level that opens up to an expanse of flowers, rows and rows of varying genera, each blooming in full vigor. it's here that he finds you, frolicking among the reposeful blossoms, mirrors of your countenance that rise to your waist. from what he can see, you're walking alongside the small dirt paths with a brown haired boy of sun kissed skin. hand in hand you walk, and he can almost see the pleasant smile the boy adorns and the vibrancy you radiate. 

jeno learns from a maid with a adoring smile, that the boy is prince donghyuck of the eastern kingdom, the youngest son of four and therefore the most unfit match for a crown princess, a spiteful thought that jeno can't help but think. he also learns that he is the one boy, the one person, you've been the closest with since birth and that, out of anger and disapproval, your mother had invited the suitors for the purpose of serving you a more worthy husband and future king. the maid now sports a frightful expression, knowing that she had crossed her bounds by oversharing. jeno is glad though, and reassures her that the secret is safe with him.

he dresses accordingly for the ball, and while many of the fellow suitors donned garments of white to match your family's signature, jeno cannot find a single piece of his that holds the same hue. the color black oozes from the lapels of his pressed suit jacket, from the tie and shirt underneath. the color is second nature to him, one of his own family, and he gives it no thought.

perhaps it's the color, though, that catches your eye that night because you prance over to him not a half hour after the ball commences. kind eyes that feel so welcome on his skin, and though the churns and froths have resurfaced in his gut, he offers his hand in the first and last dance of the night. you say yes to both but the last is when he starts to chip off the guise of royalty to reveal the ramblings of a young girl.

"i'm not in love with him, most certainly not, but i feel strongly that if i were ever granted a say in marriage, it would not be of anyone in this room, no, i would marry my dearest companion." jeno fails to admit that the smooth vibrations of your voice are enough to set fire to his resolve, the purpose behind your hand on his shoulder and his around your waist. 

he draws you in, "and why not marry for love?" though he's sure he doesn't mean to.

"and why not should my love for a close confidante count? is it not love all the same?" you pull from him and jeno follows in step of the music to twirl you back into his embrace, just the way a prince should.

"i believe the love you speak is of the head," jeno counters. the ball is in his court, but he pays it no attention, sincere in obtaining an answer, "i am asking why you should not marry for love of the heart?"

"of the heart," you repeat to yourself, an utterance that jeno finds so endearing but cannot bring himself to immerse in. "i've yet to encounter such an emotion. may i ask, has the prince himself ever held such affection towards another?"

he chuckles, "i only know of once where another held my gaze captive. i know little of her, yet i can speak quite arduously on her behalf."

"what a sight she must be," you muse, partially uninterested now that your partner has declared the purpose of his attendance entirely political by speaking of his one true love whilst in your presence.

prince jeno stops, the hand of his on your back slots for more support and he lowers your figure down by the waist, hie eyes never leaving yours and your noses touch, "yes, you are quite the sight." 

prince jeno's passed the golfing greens, the rose gardens, the hiking trails, and the fencing grounds, but he has yet to find something that catches his eye, something he has never seen. as a southern kingdom native and royal, the northern kingdom is easily foreign territory. the air is clear here, there's no soot to brush off when you head inside, and a step outside the walls of the palace, he knows he'll find artisan markets that run for miles instead of coal sites. the artisan markets, he thinks, is where he wants to go. 

he's just tipping into the edge of the thick forest that lines the southeastern bounds of the estate when his ears pick up on the babble of a creek. jeno's quick to brush through the creepers and ramblers until the trees give into an expanse of open air. the creek he'd thought he heard is in actuality a wide bathing pool, the water a clear green. he spots a level bronzed rock on which you lay, bare-skinned, the direct sunlight engulfing your figure in glorification. quickly, he diverts his eyes and clears his throat to announce his presence. you're also quick to your feet at the sound, scrambling to grasp at your robes strewn about. 

to your surprise, the man, whom you've now identified as the second prince of the coal mines, has not left and is simply standing still, his back turned to you. it's now you that clears your throat and he understands well enough by turning back around to face a clothed you, the flames of his cheeks withstanding. 

"it's quite alright, you know, nothing to be embarrassed about." he hums in response and you proceed with your thoughts, "but i'd like to affirm it was by chance, was it not?"

jeno clasps his hands behind his back, willing his eyes to yours, "surely by chance, i would no- never- not dare, such intentions are not-" he's cut off by your chuckles, light and airy, like bouts melancholy chords to his ears. the prince, a boy who had been schooled by only the finest etiquette scholars of the region, finds himself blundering for words. jeno is undeniably embarrassed by now, but his eyes soften as you take steps towards him, fingers fumbling to tie your robes shut. 

the heat in his cheeks is still very noticeable but his shortness of breath is not. the prince even goes so far as to close the distance between the two of you himself, hands coming to your aid in lacing the strands of ribboned satin together, gently tugging it into a looped butterfly. you think his favored form of communication is the clearing of his throat for he does it once again, "will you allow me hold account for my mishaps?"

"you hardly did much wrong, your highness." his nose scrunches at the formality.

"then may i repay you for your forgiveness?"

your expression isn't shy to conceal your incredulity at his persistence, "my, now i cannot help but be a tad bit intrigued. what can you offer than i cannot already find on my own land?"

"allow me," he pauses, a smile forming before he can even let you in on his gracious idea, "to give you a tour of the artisan marts, what do you suppose?" the smile is contagious, infectious even, spreading onto your face as well, "a mineral boy to guide me through fine arts? i think i ought to say yes."

your peals of laughter are imminent in the air of sundown. he thinks the painted coasters are plates, he sees the tapestries as scarves, the delicate ribbons as horse whips. but when the two of you come across an array of jeweled accessories, he has the gall to sneak a sapphired hair pin from the display and slot it between your locks, the hood shielding your identity from passerbyers  falling back. you're eyes are blown wide at this but jeno simply smiles, fingers coursing through two entangled tresses, courtesy of the abrasion on the rough commoner's fabric. 

"a pretty face like yours should never have to hide," he chides. jeno's eyes form soft crescents and he's subtle when he takes your hand in his, "wouldn't want to lose you, princess." you see him slip a gold coin for the dear madam selling the goods before he's off, jogging lightly and pulling you close to his back. the destination is unknown to you but the man seems to lead with an air of awareness. he slows a few blocks down, allowing you to catch your breath as you note that his hood has also been brushed back. returning the favor, you go on your toes to ruffle the strands into place, not missing the surprised flinch his composure gives way to. people left and right are starting to notice, it just so happens that the two of you are stood right in the middle of all the commotion that comes with the afternoon wave of customers. "over here."

jeno's hand is in yours again and you wonder if it's the cause of the heavy hammering in your heart. you wonder, because though it is certainly not an unwelcome feeling, you doubt you've ever felt it beat so hard. his hand gives your own a squeeze and it's as if your heartstrings have been strummed like a guitar, his ragged breaths music to your ears, a remedy for your aches. the narrow alleyway he's entered hosts a light at the end and it opens up into a view of the town, the terracotta-tiled roofings, bronzed candle streetlamps, public works funded by your mother, and all the townspeople going about their days, now in miniscule movements. the sun is just about setting but from the looks of it, it might as well be seen as rising. afterall, who is to say that only sunrises bring new days? new times, new beginnings, new understandings, new loves are all brought about just as much from sunsets as sunrises. and if there's one thing to prove that, it's the way jeno's hand never leaves yours, not for the rest of the night. 

"and they'd asked if i should want to extend the stay for anyone."

prince jeno crosses his room and leans upon the footboard of his bed. a week certainly isn't enough to develop a bond of marriage but he is glad to acknowledge that it doesn't get any better than this. "and did you?" he knows where you're going with this, you know that he knows, the whole palace knows that you know that he knows. why else would crown princess y/n head down to the guest quarters, to ask for the room number of a specific boy, if not to tell said boy, whom she had spent almost every second of the week with, that she would like it if he stayed? 

"yes, i did, i requested your stay. late yesterday, in fact, but i didn't have it in me to inform you until now." you're blushing and he's thrust into the awareness that the feelings you subject him to aren't customary. "will you be staying?" his eyes are unwavering on yours as if to tell you exactly what he means to say before he eventually does, "it'd be my pleasure."

a knock on the door breaks the moment, but jeno is quick to call the maid in. a letter is tucked between her fingers and upon delivery, the prince recognizes his name printed in the neat scrawl of his mother. an absentminded, "thanks" is followed up by the zealous unsheathing of the letter, a ill-minded idea of the content already forming in the forefront of his mind.

our dearest jeno,

it has come to our attention that you plan on extending your stay until a month's time. officials of the northern kingdom are already working in conjunction with our advisors to plan a date. of most excitement did it certainly incite within your family. had i known you'd be married off to a lass of such prestigious blood, i would have sent you much earlier. your father would love to hear of your methods of courting, perhaps your brother could do well with it no doubt. i've no time to spare, the schematics of your succession are coming fast in the drawing room. expect no less than the best and send my warmest regards to the young highness.

all the best, your dearest mother.

"she'd like to welcome you to the family, that's what's said." jeno's thankful that you decided to teeter over to him now, after he finished skimming through the damned article. he has time to fold it closed before you're by his side, fingers reaching for his. he's rubbing smooth lines into the ridges of your palms. "i suppose they are all thinking the same thing, marriage."

you speak, "do you suggest that it's wrong of them?" but jeno wishes you'd get to the point so he can tell you just what he means.

"not wrong, but natural. if i was my father i doubt i'd think any different."

"then, if not your father, how would you think?"

"i think," he's drawn to the way your teeth bite down on your lips. "i think i'd like it." his thoughts block out everything except the image of your lips and he ponders following through with the ideas plaguing his mind. jeno goes in when you draw back, turning to hide your flushed state. you're retreating even further now, taking an exit all together but not before clearing the air. "breakfast tomorrow at seven, east wing. ask a maid if you are unsure."

next time, he thinks.

breakfast is silent sans the clattering of cutlery on plates but jeno finds baseline joy in the shy glances that you sneak at him across the table. he does not, however, particularly like the prolonged stares your father blatantly spends on him. jeno thinks he's about to look away, for the sixth time at that, when the elder decides upon the moment to speak, "a striking young man, i'll let that. y/n, dear, pray tell me your decision was not built on his good looks." your father is rather speaking to you.

your face burns up in tinged mortification, "father, that is hardly an appropriate question to bring up over the course of a family meal-"

much to your chagrin, the king pays no heed to your interjections and resumes, "preposterous as it may seem, i would despise if our ranks were to be infiltrated by those of the miner's kingdom. our liberal arts are not so often mixed with a line of lowly traitors, an observation may i add-"

"father! oh, how lowly it is of you to be restricting a kind young sir of royal blood to the bounds of his heritage!" your mother has halted in her tracks, setting a golden spoon aside and retreating her hands to her lap.

"must you forget that the blood in him courses silver not gold?" your father's voice never raises, never lowers. you fail at maintaining the same composure, distress budding between outbursts. 

"color does not render the propriety of one for better or worse. i believe that was what you'd taught me to rule by but for laughs or for naught, a king you so-call yourself!" 

breakfast is silent once again, but this time, not even the aid of cutlery against plates is around to sheath the tension in the air. jeno's enlightened to learn of this side of you. your eyes are hardened, your jaw left slightly unhinged, and deep breaths are taken to retain any sort of semblance. he sees determination in your eyes, lined with a raw and unearthed air of conviction, and there's no other way to describe the look on your face except to say that you are solely driven by a vehement passion for righteousness. but drawing back from the you who has captivated him, he's left with the realization that he hasn't given a second thought to his original resolve since setting foot in the palace. and while the four of you sit in silence, glares and glowers being thrown about, prince jeno is daunted by the fact that more than ever, he feels the fervent ardor that in order to be a king, deserving of accolade and reverence, he needs you by his side to be his queen.

"what my father thinks is beyond me, really. i'd only hope what he said doesn't deter you all that much." you pop a cherry into your mouth, fingers clasping the stem and tugging it off with a pop. jeno looks down at you in adoration, the events of this morning a figment of the past. "not much at all for me, if it doesn't bother you." the soft smile that fills his countenance is given as if to say, 'as you wish, my love.'

you sit up abruptly, the thin cotton cloth scrunching under your thighs. the grass is still dewy from the morning showers but you slip off your sandals in favor of the bare grit of soil beneath your feet. the sun is beginning to stutter from its position overhead but not so fast, you think, the day has just begun. with one last look spared for the bewildered boy, you mouth a 'catch me if you can,' before bundling up the folds of your linen dress into your hands and taking off into the open fields. native flowers of poppies and calendula, orange and white, are trampled in your wake but you don't mind because prince jeno is hot on your heels. he is hot on your heels with a grin of mirth gracing his expression and strides that are long and fast. so fast that you are caught within a matter of seconds, encased in his arms before you even know it, feet lifting off the ground and squeals of protest in response. the adrenaline in your system is slow to subside as you land on your feet once again, eyes lit up like a child's in front of santa claus. the verdant grass looks a murky brown behind your rose-tinted glasses but prince jeno continues to look ethereal. grasping his dark locks in a fistful, you tug him down so that your lips meet and in no time, his lips are working fast against your own. the sensations are nothing short of paradisiacal, as opposite ends of the planet meet, the sun and the moon, the sky and the earth, summer and winter, water and fire, and silver and gold.

wet and slippery, you laugh at the strand of saliva that spreads thinner as you part from his lips. jeno repositions so that you are situated on his back and he allows you to catch your breath before strolling aimlessly across the grounds, as if what happened seconds beforehand didn't just mark the beginning of time. he takes you back inside once the sun has set and your eyelids are half closed. he waits outside in your chamber as you bathe and he stands behind you as your sit in front of your vanity, hair dripping wet and a towel in hand. jeno is gathering your hair in his hands, smoothing over your wet locks with the cloth when he remembers. he remembers the dream he had just over a fortnight ago. the one where he stood in this exact spot. he remembers it just as he sees you give a small chortle in the reflection of the mirror in response to him playfully pulling your hair a little too hard, an act of jest. the trickling feeling of déjà vu hits him so terribly hard but he can only live out the dream in real time, his fingers gently raking your now dried hair. he spins you in his seat and decides that whatever vision he was granted hadn't been revealed to him until now for the very reason being that he simply wasn't ready. the jeno of two weeks ago wasn't ready to love another, to accept another, to cherish another as he does now. now, for you. 

prince jeno's eyes are glazed over in awe and revelation as he feels the way your hands draw him closer to you by his waist, entwining your bodies. he's overcome with the need to be the one to make you feel the same way you do unto him. gingerly he lifts you from your spot, hands hooking under the crevice beneath your knees with your arms riding up to his shoulders while effectively removing his shirt in one fluid motion. he's glad that you share the same idea. 

that night is the first of many where he shows you the sheer magnitude of which he loves you. he lives for the look of your star-studded eyes, rolling back into your head and the way your toes curl as you call out his name and his name only. he breathes for the way your fingers are in a world of their own as they scour every inch of his hair, pushing and pulling the same way the moon teases its waters. his mere existence is reliant on the shine of his arousal on the bare skin of your stomach. with each time, jeno is reborn.

it's the crack of dawn when he hears your voice, barely scathing the absolute threshold, "i am still very much awake."

"as am i," jeno lifts his head to look across the room, past the dirtied sheets, the swathes of clothes on the ground, to the doors of the balcony that are swung wide open. the sky is of a distilled blue, not yet bright, but still illuminated by the crown of the sun.

"would it be deemed a waste to simply lay here for the duration of the night?" you question, but move to sit up in decisiveness. jeno answers offhandedly once again, even now revelling in the feeling of your skin on his, "i would feel so, yes."

"shall we take a trip to the study? i recall you mentioning a desire to visit." the prince smiles at this. curt again, "if you'd like."

"yes, a warm cup of tea and agreeable literature is an ancient remedy for sleeplessness. my, morning it is already. i don't suppose a morning nap has ever been heard of, though i'd think i'd like just that at this moment." you mumble out the last half, partially rambling to yourself. 

"light a candle, my dear, my eyes aren't half as sharp in the dim light." you chuckle at that and reach for the brass pricket set on your bedside table. upon lighting it, you are met with the boy's face irradiated in such a way that accentuates everything from his sharp jawline to the apples of his cheeks. he smiles as takes the instrument from you to allow you to don some clothes. the same is done for him and the two of you make quick time in rushing across the stale floors of the palace to the opposite wing. 

the main library, situated on the third floor but occupying large parts of both the third and fourth, is certainly the pride and treasure of the palace, the crown jewel of the northern kingdom even. the separate floors are each sixteen feet in height, filled wall-to-wall with encased book upon book. the collection dates back to the romans and as far forward as your most recent journal entry. jeno pads upon the floors that boast a parqueted mahogany, the same that runs along the integrated shelving and the carvings that crown the skylight above. the windows are made of giant panels of stained glass, mosaics that depict the landscapes just beyond, and as a result, the little light the sun has to offer is cast in shades of blue, green, and red. an assemblage of the masterpieces of ettore forti, genuine, he suspects, are hung in individual alcoves and molded with golden embellishments. jeno thinks the northern kingdom simply cannot have anything better to offer than this. except for you, he thinks.

a maid delivers your tea promptly, a gentle brew of loose leaf herbs, ginger and rooibos by the taste of it and you settle into the plush velvet of the segmented lounge. the work you're reading aloud is enough to keep you awake for the better half of an hour before you begin dozing off. your soft and even breaths are enough for jeno to be shaken from his attention on a few select poems, and he's careful when he moves to replace the leather-bound diary in your hands, with a hand of his own. jeno uses his other hand to cradle the side of your face, as any besotted boy would do, caressing by the means of docile strokes. he feels a mellow calm when you're persistent by his side, even in your sleep. tucking a strand of hair behind your ears, he's leaning in for a quick kiss to the temple when the door of the study is propped ajar, a boy of briefer height emerging from the unlit halls. 

jeno recognizes the boy almost instantly, the image of you walking hand in hand with him still as unrelenting in his mind as it was on day one. lee donghyuck, of similar surname but a long-diverging lineage, the fourth prince of the eastern kingdom of agriculture. jeno isn't hit with jealousy, per se, but rather annoyance. 

donghyuck's steps halt the moment he sees the still figure on the juniper-stained chaise. his brows draw in suspicion but he's prudent of the expression he lets on. a dialogue of whispers ensues.

"prince jeno, is it?" donghyuck's face darkens when the other nods. "ah, i've heard of the tidings, may i pass on sincere felicitations to you and your betrothed."

"much obliged, prince donghyuck, i presume." obverse, the aforementioned boy nods.

despite all his efforts, donghyuck can't help but let loose a sliver of his composure, "i have little credit i can give to your word, but i'd like to hear what you have to say in regards to the arrangement."

prince jeno is ticked off now, to say the least, he hides his vexation by keeping his reply as formally insincere as he can muster, "elated, the arrangement could not have been better dealt with." 

"and you are a man that deals in the prospects of union?" donghyuck does not mean to nitpick but there's no way around it when the prince in front of him is so obviously indignated by his presence. you could say that he's been provoked.

voice held level, jeno proceeds, "i am a man of virtue and i come in good faith, i assure you."

"i must inquire, a man of virtue and good faith? i'd like to know of you and your families' conspiracies, falsities, machinations." a snide and low-shot remark, no doubt, but it riles up the taller of the two fair enough.

jeno sussurates, raspy voice and all, "and who are you, brave enough to speak in such a fashion to a second prince."

"gold by marriage is synonymous to silver by birth. why count the numbers when we are one and the same?" donghyuck's voice is still a bare undertone, but harsh and course in resonance. 

"a pity you weren't raised to tell the difference." neither of the princes bother to conceal their malignity for the other. if you were awake, neither would know, too caught up in the heat of their frustration. 

donghyuck is fed up with years of spite and built-up distaste. in between all the blundering he has found a point, a target to aim for. he may not see jeno as a harm to you but he knows there's an unspoken wedge that revolves around his family. donghyuck glows in his opportune moment, then he strikes, "and you were raised upon your father's supremacy. do tell, do you believe your father to be an honest man?"

he is met with jeno's silence, compliance, submission.

the leisure sport of swordsmanship is what prince jeno sets out for first thing after ensuring you had woken and eaten something fulfilling. he is in the need to exert his energy on something, or someone, that isn't an acquaintance of yours, for fear that he has done more damage than good by manifesting himself as an enemy in the eyes of your closest companion. he requests your court's highest ranking knight and is surprised and slightly jarred that the man before him is of a smaller stature, a few inches shorter with narrow shoulders and lean muscles. renjun is the name he goes by and he dominates without the need of force. jeno tells the boy to display his best effort, that a scuff here and there is fine, but he severely misconstrues his opponent's abilities. 

renjun, as it turns out, finds amusement in jeno's stances, flaws evident in ways that only he can see. undermining the prince's pride is what he aims for and he does exactly that, successful with three strokes, two that flit like sparks in the air and the last that scathes the skin of the prince's left wrist. it's small in area and deep in puncture, the raw film underneath unfurling within itself, but it's enough for him to call the session off. jeno's hand withdraws from the new wound and he's met with the sight of red.

the prince is drawn, in many ways more than one, to the red as it seeps between the clasp of his fingers. as it begins its descent towards the fast-approaching floor, the floor of white limestone. he's drawn by the depth he sees within the color, the solidarity he feels towards the hue. in the silver ichor that pools by his feet, he's drawn to his blood red reflection.

jeno finds you retired in your room that night, in exhaustion of formal meetings and other circumstances that required a princess' supervision. despite this, your visage still lights with joy upon seeing the prince. "would you prefer if i let you rest?"

"depends, what will you propose if i refuse?" the lilt to your voice has him almost coddling, his thumbs running circles on the skin behind your ears down to your neck to release the tensions. "i'd propose a midnight adventure, stargazing maybe." 

you give a modest snigger, "a bit of a romanticist, aren't you?"

"only for you i must admit." his tone is humorless. "are you up for it, dear?"

your face returns taut, "yes, needless to say, only for you." 

prince jeno takes you by the hand, he leads and you follow. he makes rounds about the same halls, you think he's unsure of where he is heading, but he comes to a stop at the precipice of the fourth landing. the balcony that leans off to the side is one that you have never stood atop of before though you're unsure why. the outlook it bestows upon you is breathtaking, even in the dead of night. just barely are the outlines of the flowers oscillating in the drafts shown, even fainter are the hills that overlap in the distance, but oh-so-clear is the moon. 

it's quartered today, the slope of the curve is round and prominent. all of a sudden, jeno is quoting ray bradbury, a classic text he knows you'll know a little too much about. "and if you look," he nods to the sky, "there's a man in the moon." as he conjectured, you're quick to catch on the act before the moment dissipates, "he hadn't looked for a long time."

"do you believe in the man in the moon?"

"i believe in the man and the moon, but the man in the moon is very much apparent as well." your eyes are set in the stars. "he is astray and far from the ground, from earth. he does not seek what we all should seek, but rather he dives headfirst into the superficial."

"and what is it that we all should seek?"

"the one thing in the world that carries any significance at all: happiness."

it is now that prince jeno sees himself as the man in the moon, chasing after mirages of aspirations when in truth, he does not find solace in power, he does not revel in the destruction of others, he does not take lightly when the lonely are forsaken and he shall never partake in the atrocities his father subjects him to. but the man in the moon is a conscious past of his, a living memory of growth, for jeno finds happiness in you; you who grounds him to the earth.

lee jeno thinks the world of you and, as the greatest russian poet ever wrote, "she is a beauty. yes, a marble nymph; angelic eyes, unearthly lips…" (Alexander Pushkin, The Collected Works; "A Suite of Lighted Rooms")

read volume two here: overcast skies and those who die.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

[writingonpaperpetals]

Does It Ever Get Better?

Summary: Zhongli consoles his daughter after her first partner passes of old age

Notes + cws: Angst, character death (discussed) cw, minor spoilers for Zhongli’s character lore, cat/pet death (mentioned) cw

Pairings: Zhongli x unnamed gender neutral spouse, Zhongli’s daughter x unnamed woman, platonic Guizhong + Zhongli

“I can only hope her passing was peaceful.” Zhongli says. A gloved hand around his teacup, a white pot sitting next to them. He would speak of the porcelain set on the table. The gold leaf mined from the easternmost edge of Mingyun Village closer to Dragonspine as telling from the striking darker color wrought by the impossible to extract impurities, the lovely composition consisting of Sandbearer trees admist a golden field and a misty lake, the delicate sweet flowers blossoming at the roots. Anything to get his visitor’s mind off of the events of this morning.

But she’d already known everything he could say about the set, and could repeat it back to him since she could speak.

“It was. She died in her sleep.” His daughter responds. It has been decades since she looked this young—his daughter having aged her appearance alongside her mortal wife. So she wouldn’t feel awkward about growing old when her half-adepti wife remained youthful.

His daughter has not glanced at him once except to greet him. He does not expect her to.

Zhongli isn’t sure what to say. He finds it inappropriate to seek to impart wisdom on a day like this to his daughter without prompting. He can only hope a warm cup of tea and a small lunch on the side is enough.

He thinks of asking about funeral arrangements, but remembers that this day has been expected for years and the funeral arranged prior with Fai Hu, the 78th Wangsheng Funeral Parlor Director. The death of a human does not typically fall under his job—but if the human was married to an adepti, it does influence the ceremony. He consulted on his spouses’s—her loving parent’s funeral. He will consult on his daughter-in-law’s funeral, too.

Silence hangs between them. His daughter’s slitted eyes watching the steam drift from her teacup.

“Forgive me for not procuring char siu bao on short notice. I am aware it is your favorite.” Zhongli says, hoping a light, temporary subject change cuts through the awkwardness. “The only other quick filling I had on me was the pickled vegetables Ganyu had given me—but as you do not care much for the taste of pickles, I used bamboo shoots and ham instead.”

“It’s alright.” She says, her fingers clasped into themselves and her eyes gazing at the bao’s fluffy exterior. But the bao remains untouched, much like her tea.

Zhongli remembered fondly the day she tried pickles for the first time. His daughter, as most children did, despised vegetables, so his partner, his darling, dearest, departed partner, suggested they pickle the vegetables, hoping she’d like the taste. His daughter made a face, ran to the bathroom, and let out a dramatic puking noise as she spat in the toilet. They never served pickles to her again.

“We could go grocery shopping today.” His daughter says. “I’ll pay. It’s what I can do for suddenly dropping in.”

“There is no need. It would be unreasonable for me to accept that from you on the same day your wife drew her last breath. I have gotten better at mora management anyway.” He hopes he has.

His daughter runs her thumb on the cup’s rim as she clasps it in both hands. Steam has ceased drifting from the tea. Zhongli takes another sip from his cup, and pours himself more. It almost feels rude of him to be the only one drinking tea. He reaches out to touch his daughter’s hand.

She grasps his hand.

“Maybe I should stick to dating other adepti instead. It shouldn’t be hard to find others in Jueyun Karst. I just...I don’t want to deal with everyone I love dying eventually.”

—There, Zhongli felt, it was appropriate to say something.

“An acceptable choice, if the grief is too much to bear.” He replied. “However—Do you remember what I said when you knocked over a vase and broke it when you were playing with Jinfen?” Jinfen, their cat. With the black coat and the dull yellow streaks in her fur reminding Morax of gold dust in the damp, fresh earth seeing the sun for the first time. Her eyes as green as sunkissed grass. She’s gone too.

“I don’t recall. I think I was super young when that happened.”

“You were crying and begging for my forgiveness. And I replied, all things are impermanent. It was a mere vase that met its end. I don’t believe you quite understood what I said, reminiscing on it now. Perhaps you were too young to fully grasp the meaning. With time, we ourselves will come to an end. Even if we last longer than most. It is the same with adepti.”

His daughter looks at him for the first time since he put the tea kettle down.

“Despite the long lives adepti lead, my job at the Funeral Parlor has always remained steady.” He finishes.

His daughter doesn’t immediately respond. Zhongli gives her time to think.

“...I see.” She says. “Does it ever get better?”

A part of Zhongli feels a strong temptation to lie to her. It never gets better. You can manage the grief better than before, but it always hurts as fresh as the first time. He’s never forgotten the pain he felt every time his mortal partners or friends have died. Guizhong’s death is not the only one in his long memory, even if she is the most important to the history of Liyue. It never truly leaves him. It accumulates within him. Yet he chooses to take mortal friends and lovers anyway. His good memory isn’t good or bad for that reason. It’s just a good memory.

“I am afraid it will always hurt.” He replies. “I merely wish to remind you that forsaking your attachment to future mortals won’t protect you entirely from grief.”

His daughter’s slitted eyes furrow in thinking. Zhongli gives her time to think it over as he leaves to brew a fresh pot. He sets down the kettle on the table and pours her a fresh teacup. He is relieved to see her eyes no longer furrowed.

His daughter takes a sip from the cup. Her eyes shut, her hand tipped in a way that mirrors his own way of drinking tea.

Zhongli smiles.

Notes: Jinfen means gold dust in chinese. Fai Hu is Hu Tao’s son.

[eyes-of-simha]

my love is like a dream

Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV)

Pairing: Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian/Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji

Word Count: 1500

Summary: Lan Wangji comes home, not even aware that it's his birthday. Wei Ying on the other hand is fully aware of it.

Beta Reader: @spots-of-gold

Read On AO3

The cloudy sky was a good reflection of how Lan Wangji felt. He was exhausted. His day at work had been longer than usual and now he couldn’t seem to get rid of the pounding in his head. Even though it wasn’t that long the quiet ride home in his car was a bliss. He knew that he shouldn’t work that much overtime but if it meant that other people would get to go home earlier to their families, it was worth it.

But there was also someone waiting for him at home.

The thought of Wei Ying made Wangji smile and the pounding in his head seemed to slow down. Wei Ying always had this effect on him. He calmed him down and grounded him. When Wei Ying was present, Wangji instantly felt relaxed and comfortable. Time and time again, he was surprised how well Wei Ying could ease his anxiety and make him feel safe.

Lost in thought about his boyfriend Wangji didn’t even realise he had already arrived home. As he made his way through the cold evening from the car to the door of their apartment building he thought he could maybe drink a cup of tea with Wei Ying before going to sleep. Of course that would only be possible if Wei Ying wasn’t sleeping already.

Wangji shook his head. When has Wei Ying ever gone to bed this early?

That suspicion was confirmed as soon as Wangji reached the door of their apartment. He could still hear noises from the other side of the door. He was excited to see Wei Ying. Although he saw him everyday, there was still a slight flutter in his stomach as he unlocked the door.

But what he saw then was indeed unexpected.

The room was mostly dark. The only light came from the coffee table in the living room. On it were a bunch of lit candles that glowed like stars through the black of the room. In between the candles lay a plate of muffins as well as a couple of packages wrapped in colorful paper. Gifts, Wangji realised.

It was his birthday.

How did he forget that? He usually had his calendar very well memorised. But mostly concerning his appointments and meetings, not really birthdays. Although he was certain he would never forget Wei Ying’s birthday.

Speaking of Wei Ying, he sat on the couch looking up at Wangji and even though the light was dim, Wangji could see the bright smile on his face. It glowed even brighter than the candles.

Once he got through the stage of surprise and shock, Wangji realised what was happening and a warm feeling like he had already drunk his tea began to spread through his body.

Wei Ying bounced off the couch and a took a few steps towards Wangji, still smiling.

“Happy birthday, Lan Zhan!“, he said and and threw his arms around Wangji.

He buried his face in the crook of Wangji’s neck and his warm breath caused Wangji to get goose bumps. Ignoring the feeling of his ears blushing vigorously, Wangji closed his arms around Wei Ying. He was wearing an oversized hoodie and had his hair in a messy bun so it felt like hugging a big stuffed animal.

They broke apart but Wei Ying still had his arms on Wangji’s shoulders.

“Well?“ Wei Ying said in an expectant voice. Wangji wasn’t really sure what to say to that so he remained silent.

“Are you surprised?“ Wei Ying added.

“Yes.“ Wangji tried to keep his tone as neutral as possible. Wei Ying raised a brow.

“Did you forget?“

Wangji didn’t say anything but it seemed to be enough.

“Oh my god, Lan Zhan! You forgot your own birthday! How could you just forget? I always spend weeks looking forward to mine. Now I’m even more glad I planned this. It really is a big surprise now, isn’t it? Oh god, next year I promise you I will plan the biggest birthday party just so you never forget again. Stop smiling! Do you know how long I’ve been looking forward to this-“

Wangji cut Wei Ying off by pressing their lips together. He could not express how much he loved this man in any human language. Wei Ying giggled and deepened the kiss.

After a few minutes of blissfull kissing Wei Ying suddenly pulled back. “We have to stop. You have to unpack your gifts!“ Wangji didn’t want to stop so he leaned in again but was stopped by Wei Ying putting a finger on his lips half way. “Nope. I will not let myself get distracted by you. You have to open your gifts.“ Wangji gently kissed the tip of Wei Ying’s finger and Wei Ying groaned. “To be continued,“ he said with a suggestive look on his face before turning towards the couch and pulling Wangji with him.

They sat down and Wei Ying turned the lights on so they could actually see the gifts.

“Look what I made!“ Wei Ying exclaimed and pushed the plate of muffins in Wangji’s direction.

“You baked?“ Wangji raised an eyebrow.

“I did,“ Wei Ying stated proudly. “Well, Jiejie helped. But it was my idea! And they’re vegan.“

Wangji smiled at Wei Ying’s demeanor. He looked like a proud toddler presenting something they made to their parent. “They look very delicious,“ Wangji said as he picked up one of the gifts to start unwrapping.

The first gift was a book of poetry by one of Wangji’s favorite authors. Wei Ying complained about the poet having written “just way too many“ books and him not knowing which one to get.

He ended up choosing this one because he liked the cover art. It was a watercoloring of a cherry blossom tree on a mountain. Wangji smiled to himself as he had actually been planning to read this one next.

The second gift was a bunny plushie. It was pearl white and stared at Wangji with big eyes. Wangji stared back.

Wei Ying started petting the stuffed bunny. “I know we were talking about getting bunnies because you had them when you were a kid and you really like them and I know that we can’t right now because of our jobs but I thought this little guy could stand in for them until we get real bunnies. Do you like him?“

Wangji answered Wei Ying by kissing him on the cheek. Wei Ying turned pink and quickly handed him the next present.

It was a box with different kinds of teas. Green, black, fruity, herbal, sweet, and some that Wangji had never heard of before. “We can try some tomorrow if you want,“ Wei Ying suggested. “Mmh,“ Wangji nodded.

He was quite proud of turning Wei Ying into more of a tea drinker. He still drank a lot of coffee. More than Wangji thought was good for him but at least he wasn’t at the three-cups-just-to-wake-up-stage anymore.

Wei Ying handed him the last gift. Wangji hesitated but before he could even say something, Wei Ying already protested, “Don’t even say that it’s too much. It’s your birthday. It’s your day and I want to do something nice. And I didn’t have to pay for this one, so…“ and he put the gift in Wangji’s lap. Wangji sighed and unwrapped it.

It was a framed drawing. Wangji immediately recognised that it was Wei Ying’s work.

The drawing itself was of Lan Wangji. He was sitting with his legs stretched out but slighty bent. He leaned back on his arms for support. He was naked except for a thin silk cloth which was elegantly laid over his crotch. His head was thrown back, his eyes were closed and his mouth slightly open as if in deep satisfaction. Strands of black hair fell into his face and a flower was tucked behind his ear. It looked a bit like a lotus.

At the bottom of the drawing were a few finely written chinese characters. They spelled out two lines out of one of Wangji’s favorite poems. They translated to:

‘my love is like a flower my love is like a dream‘

Underneath, Wei Ying’s signature was scribbled.

Wangji looked at the drawing for a couple of seconds. It almost felt like he was holding his breath. Then he touched the glass of the frame and started to gently follow the lines of the drawing with his hands. He hovered over the arms, the legs, the chest and the face of his drawn self. Lastly, he caressed the delicate lines of the words at the bottom.

„My love is like a flower,“ he breathed, barely more than a whisper. „My love is like a dream.“

He looked up and found Wei Ying’s eyes softly looking at him. Wangji moved his hand to meet Wei Ying’s and intertwined their fingers. Wei Ying scooted closer to him until there was barely any space between them anymore.

„Happy birthday,“ Wei Ying whispered.

„Thank you.“

[writingchalamet]

In The Hills part II

A/N: hello I’m so sorry this has taken so long to write I’ve had a lot on my plate the last few weeks, I’ve sadly had a death in the family and have been over run at work so have only been writing in my spare time (which isn’t a lot) I’d just like to say thank you to everyone who has taken time to read my work, and followed me it’s the one thing putting a smile on my face at the moment. Thank you I hope you enjoy, let me know if you want part 3. 💖

Part I

Weeks had past and Timothée had made it his mission to see you as often as possible. He’d meet you outside the dress makers shop and take you for strolls in the meadows, or coming and reading to your sisters. He’d planted himself firmly in your families life in the few weeks you’d known him. Today was no different, the sun hung high over the village, blades of grass from the hills almost glittering in the light. Timothée had asked if he could take you into town, there was a book store he had mentioned, and he wanted to introduce you to his sister.

You were nervous to say the least. You had heard plenty of his family and their views on the lower class but he assured you his sister would be more than accepting. This eased your nerves slightly but you couldn’t help the unease of the day ahead. 

Adorned in a black corseted button down dress, you tied the top half of your hair away from your face with a matching black ribbon, small curls framing your face. You step into the kitchenette area, your heals clicking against the concrete floor. A short gasp fell from your mothers lips. She rushed over to you puffing out your sleeves a tad more, brushing down the front of your dress. You let out a laugh at her motherly tenderness stepping away from her grabby hands. “You look lovely dear, I would wear a different colour however, black makes you look ever so pale” you rolled your eyes. 

“I believe it suits her well” You hear from the doorway, there he stood in all his glory, a sister either side of him clutching at his legs. They look up at him wide eyed then back to you. “Thank you Timothée” you wrap your arms around your mother pecking a kiss on her cheek before trotting towards Tim. 

His arm extends towards you, pulling you into a hug, his lips meet your cheek for a brief moment before remembering the children bellow staring up in awe. “well goodbye!” You wave your hand practically pulling Timothée out the door. A manned horse and carriage stood at the end of the front garden. Timothée took your hand and helped you inside the carriage, stepping in afterwards the coachman closing the door behind.

 The dirt from the road flicked up from the wheels of the carriage, passing through each of the villages. Soon stopping in a more built up area, you look out of the window seeing the socialites wandering round the streets, their gowns swaying with each step they took.  There was a warm buzz in the air, the confirmation that spring had arrived, ladies carrying parasols to protect them from the suns cool and pleasant rays. The carriage came to a halt, Timothée gaining your attention again as he looked your way. You stare into his swirling green orbs for just a moment, before the carriage door is ripped open revealing a stream of sun light into the carriage. 

You shuffle over towards the door, allowing the coachman to aid you down, Timothée following, your head spinning round at the frenzied movement of the town. You could practically smell the opulence of the men in top hats and their overly perfumed ladies walked along beside them. Your eyes widened in child like manner, you had never experienced anything like this before. 

“Well shall we go and have a look around before my dear sister comes to join us?” His smile never fading for a second while he spoke. His hand slipped into yours, fingers running over your knuckles. You nodded your head eagerly, allowing him to lead the way. You wandered through the busy streets, fascinated by the colours and the atmosphere, the town hosted many stores and tea rooms, along with the beautiful scenery of the flowers and blossoming trees, the sun beating down on you, you feel your skin start to glisten. 

“Y/n this is the bookstore I was telling you about” Your eyes set themselves on a small dark wooded store, a with a gold hand painted sign hung above the door, Timothée gives your arm a slight nudge a soft giggle falling from his lips. “let’s go inside” proceeding into the building you take in a sharp breath at the sight of the array of books collected. Cabinets standing ceiling high stacked to the brim with books. The architecture of the building its self was beautiful, gorgeous oak wood filled the shop, a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and the broad windows allowed the sunlight to flow right in. 

“I’d like for you to pick out some books to take home Y/n” your head spun to him, a gracious and humble look lay on his face. “How do you expect me to pick anything when there are so many beautiful books here Mr Chalamet?” You teased him squeezing his hand slightly before letting go beginning your search. Timothée made idle conversation with the bookstore keeper. You ran your finger along the top of the books stopping at one, you slide the book out of the cabinet and inspect it further. You distantly hear the door opening and closing but remain too engrossed in the detailing of the book cover to care to much. 

“Vanity Fair, now that is an interesting book”You jumped almost dropping your book before clutching it to your chest looking towards the stranger. “Pardon Sir you startled me” nodding your head He wore darker features, hair neatly brushed away from his face, deep brown eyes, you could tell his clothes were expensive, it was the odd combination of colour that intrigued you, he wore a white shirt with a maroon coloured waistcoat embroidered in black and gold flowers. His neck scarf was gold and he finished the look with black tapered trousers and an overcoat. You had never seen a man dress quite so flamboyantly, it was more the women that wore the brightly coloured heavily laced garments but you thought he was an interesting character.

“No the fault lies with me miss, have you ever read that before?” nodding his head towards the book in your hand which you had almost forgotten about. “No I haven’t sir, is it any good?” drawing your eyes away from it to meet his eyeline again. “It’s fantastic, quite enjoyable” You jump slightly when you felt the contact of Timothée’s arm snaring its way around your waist. A tingle erupted in your stomach at the feeling of his hands holding you somewhere other than your arm, a blush crept up your face making you feel hot.

“Harold Alderidge, how are you?” the words seething as they passed his tongue. His grip became a little tighter on you as ‘Harold’ took a step closer to the both of you. “Timothée my boy, I’m well, didn’t you hear the news, I’m set to inherit the Clifton manor come my uncles death, shouldn’t be long now the poor bastard, I’ll be one of the wealthiest men in the country.” The arrogance rung in his voice “What’s your name little dove” He turned to you, raising a finger under your chin, you snap your head away, recoiling more into Timothée’s side.

“This is Miss Y/n L/n” Harold let out a hum eyes looking to ceiling a brief moment. “L/n, hmm, don’t tell me you’re running around with commoners now Chalamet?” He let out a scoff “Although I can see why the fascination, she is a beauty” eyeballing you up and down. Thankfully not for too long, Timothée let out a huff, pulling you towards the door with him, you didn’t give him a second glance hearing a sarcastic “It was a pleasure-” before the door slammed cutting him off.

Stepping outside into the sun again Timothée let out a sigh of relief, facing towards you, his hands raised to your cheeks, making sure your attention was fully on him, you couldn’t help the blush from once again rushing to your cheeks “Are you okay, my love” his worried eyes searched yours for any concern. You lifted your hands to meet his, laughing “I’m more than alright, Timothée, you need not worry about me so much” Your words soothing him, you took his hands from your face linking your fingers with his. Fingers tightening their grip on yours. You felt is breath on your face, your own hitching in your throat. His eyes staggering between yours and your lips. he drops his head his lips meeting yours for the first time. They were soft and plump, you hadn’t felt anything like it before. Your hands raised to his face stroking his cheeks, to deepen the kiss. His arms entangled themselves around your waist, pulling you towards him.

He placed several kisses on you before pulling away. A nervous smile on his face, “I apologise I couldn’t help my feelings” you leaned forwards placing another delicate kiss on his lips. “I couldn’t help mine either”

The tea room was filled with nothing short of luxury furnishings, flowers sitting in vases on every table and every window bay possible, chandeliers filling the room. You observed the people and their mannerisms attempting to take notes in your slightly scrambled brain before his sisters arrival. Just their subtle nuances of how they pick up a tea cup or eat a piece of cake, there seemed to be so much mechanical movement involved almost.

You sat at a table by a big open bay window, lace table cloths and doilies filled the table along with floral printed china. Timothée sat waiting patiently looking around the room, while you adapted a new nervous tick of some sort, your leg hadn’t stopped shaking since you had sat down. Timothée takes your hand in his giving it a gentle squeeze before rising from his chair, causing a scraping sound across the floorboards. “There she is” standing now with his arms open and a large grin across his face to greet his sister.

You stood as well, nodding your head to her with a shy smile on your cheeks. “Pauline it’s so good to see you!” She embraces him in warm hug. You noticed the family resemblance immediately, they shared the same facial bone structure, eyes, mouth shape and smile even. She was beautiful just like her brother. “It is so lovely to finally make your acquaintance, I am Pauline” she offers her hand to you, you can sense her kind nature and graciously take her hand dropping into a somewhat curtsy. “Lovely to meet you, I’m Y/n” she took your hand a little tighter, pulling you up from your bowed position.

“Now let’s sit” perching on one of the floral cushioned seats, Timothée took a seat beside you taking your hand in his. His feelings for you were undeniable to his sister, a soft smile planted on her face. “Being in love agrees with you Timothée, I don’t think i have ever seen you this happy, not in a long time at least”

You felt a warm rush come across your face at the mention of Timothée being in love with you. His hand tightened around yours for a moment. “What can I say, she is rather spectacular” A single curl fell from its brushed back position down onto his face, you lifted your fingers gently moving the strand behind his ear. Your heart swelled as your eyes met his, Timothée giving you a look of endearment.

“Do mother and father know?” A question you had been dying to know the answer to for weeks. You noticed Pauline’s head drop slightly, an obvious awkwardness lingered in the air. “Yes, they’ve heard whispers as such, it’s fair to say they aren’t too contented with the news but when have they ever been happy with the decisions we’ve made?” She giggled.

“They are trying to marry me off to Andrew Vanderson” A defeated sigh falls from her parted lips, you notince her sinking into herself. “The Lord!” You couldn’t help the high pitched tone in your voice, this new high society life was something you’d have to get accustomed to. The room fell silent for a second and people turned they’re heads slightly to gaze upon your table.

“As if they didn’t have enough money on their own they need Andrew Vanderson and his fortune to keep the family going” her eyes roll almost to the back of her head displaying her annoyance at the situation. “Defy them, come and stay with me at the cottage, let us cause a little chaos!” Timothée slams his hands on the table causing the cutlery to shake and a loud bang to erupt in the air. Pauline laughs shaking her head at her brothers boisterous behaviour.

“It is easy enough for a man to run away from his problems, you can go out into this world and pave your own path, it’s not so easy for woman, we must rely on others for financial support. Father has promised that if I don’t marry Andrew Vanderson I will lose my dowery, who will want to marry me then, I’ll be penniless.” She stropped her eyes were expressionless for a moment before realising what she had said.

“Y/n I didn’t mean t-“ you interrupted “if you’ll excuse me for one moment” clearing your throat you stood up from your chair, walking through the tea room for the door, your heals scraped along the floorboards barely picking your feet up as you walked. You reached the outside of the tea room and took a deep breath.

You knew she meant no harm but her words were a real kick in the teeth. You yourself held no dowery and had little money to your name, we’re you really, as she put it, unworthy of love or marriage. You’d hoped that Timithée didn’t share the same shallow views, your feelings for him were intense with no signs of slowing down but if he had no intentions to progress any further with you was there any point. It wasn’t long before you felt Timothée’s breath on the back of your neck. Letting out a sigh you turn around to face him.

“She didn’t know what she was saying” He explains his hands raising slightly in the air. “Please don’t make excuses for people Timothée it’s just something I’m going to have to get used to. If I’m going to be apart of your world I need to be accustomed to adversity, I just wasn’t expecting it that’s all” Timothée takes your hand and raises to his lips gently pressing a kiss to your knuckles, putting the faintest bit of a smile on your face.

“Would you care to come back to the cottage with me?” You sucked in a large breath nodding your head. You had never been out with Timothée for this long, your outtings usually only lasted an hour or so before he insisted on bringing you home to your father, he was a very punctual man. You heard Timothée whistle for his carriage, you took one last look at the picturesque scene before you, at the pinks in the blossom trees, and tall building and all the ladies in their feathered hats and satin gloves. Your parents had always spoken poorly of the rich and their fruitful lifestyle, but you felt it was something you could get accustomed with.

You were waiting in Timothée’s living room for him while he made yet another cup of tea. You could tell something was on his mind, as soon as you got home there was a letter written in cursive addressed to him. He read the letter going over every detail about 3 times before he started angrily murmuring to himself and pacing around the house.

He walks through the door placing the tea cups down, Marian following behind him with a tea tray and all the utensils. “Thank you Marian, that will be all” he dismisses her, she nods her head turning to give you a pleasant smile befor she stalks out of the room. It was silent apart from the sound of tea being poured and the distant clutter of whatever Marian was up to in the kitchen.

“Timothée what is wrong my dear?” You ask careful not to press too hard, hoping he’ll open up on his own. “Nothing just a letter, that’s all nothing to worry about” he rambles, his hands fumbling with themselves his breathing was rigid, you could tell he was still bothered by whatever it was he saw on that piece of paper. “Please Timothée you know you can tell me and not face judgement?” You tilt your head to the side your expression softened as if to coax it out of him.

With shaky hands he hands you the letter, his eyebrows furrowed his fingers wrap around your wrist before you can read the letter, your eyes meet his and you notice his mood change “please don’t take anything they say to heart, just know that they are ignorant people who don’t care for other people’s happiness” Your heart dropped as he spoke those words wondering who the the mysterious letter was from. Your eyes scanned over the paper a few times, tears slowly filling your eyes.

The details were too much to bare after the afternoon you’d had. The words ‘disgusted by your behaviour’ and ‘the thought of our good, hard working son settling with street scum fills us with abhorrence” the letter was filled with more abuse following those lines, speaking ill of your family and you yourself. The letter was signed by Timothée’s father, the stabbing pain in your chest only worsened after reading the name. You didn’t know what you had done to deserve such hatred towards you, your eyes welled up, dropping the letter you practically leaped out of the house.

Timothée sprinted behind you not talking him long to catch up. “Y/n please...please listen to me if I could just have one more moment of your time” he took your delicate wrists into his strong hands, scared to grip them any tighter. “Am I really so repulsive, do you my family not work as hard as yours if not harder? While your father sits in his mansion drinking whiskey and playing poker my father is out working trying to feed his family. Yet we’re the scum. How dare he!” Your voice screaches almost the hot tears roll down your face.

“I think I should invite them over and have them meet you” you interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. “Are you insane? Or do you think I’m insane that I would allow myself to be subjected to their abuse for an entire afternoon.” You shook your head taking your hands out of Timothée’s, you begin to walk away before he pulls you back to his chest, before you have time to protest his hand raises up to bring your face close to his. He closes the gap before you have time to react.

His lips smash into yours taking you by suprise, you pucker your lips meeting his rhythm, his jaw relaxes slightly after realising you were reciprocating his invite, you lifted your hands up to caress the sides of his face, one of them reaching round to the back of his neck playing with his curls. His own hands dropping from your face to take a grip on your waist .

Your lips part feeling his making their loving assault on yours. He pulled away slightly placing a few more pecks on your lips then finally pulling away. “I want to introduce my parents to the woman I wish to marry one day, I do not care for their blessing, I simply want them to see how beautiful and intelligent you are, if after meeting you they still share the same bigoted views, I’ll tell them I never want to hear from them again. Not if they can’t accept the woman I love” the words rang heavy in your ears. Especially the last sentence, he loved you. Timothée had admitted his feelings for you so blatantly and all you could do was stare back at him in awe, the words caught in the back of your throat.

I love you.

[arcane-literary-dreams]

Midnight Blooms

My #fieldsofvesuvia2k19 piece~!!! Sorry for the late posting, I finally got access to a computer so I could put a read more >:33 This is for @this-apprentice-is-done​ I hope that you enjoy! @fieldsofvesuvia​

_____

It wasn’t too often the shop cleared out so soon, though, Zarna didn’t mind. The wind slipped through the open windows with a hushed murmur,  and from outside, the soft tinkling of wind chimes could be heard, now that the shop had emptied. 

Their eyebrows furrowed deeply, focusing on wiping at the counter, albeit slowly, at the little hardened droplets of wax that dripped from melting candles and little speckles of various herbs and spices. 

It had been a long day. Longer than they would admit.

But it was relieving all the same now that night had begun to approach, and they had closed as soon as they felt was right, now that there were no customers around.

And around the shop they went, tending to the plants that hung by the windowsill, to the lovely, vibrant succulents that burst with a flurry of orange, reds, and glimmering golds with just a hint of cool green. 

She sighed slowly, a wordless, yet somewhat vocal sound of exhaustion slipping out of her as she made her way to the fire salamander, crouching. “Why, hello.” she simply murmured softly, holding out an elegant hand for the salamander to nuzzle. 

It pulled away, flicking on a warm, steady fire to the prepared wood. “Thank you, dear.”

Straightening and stretching, Zarna took a moment to peer at the flames a little longer, before startling, “Oh!” 

Peeking over their shoulder, Asra smiled teasingly, “Long day?”

Letting their guard down, they hummed thoughtfully, “I suppose so. A bit more tiring than most.”

His smile turned gentle at that, and he nodded slightly, chin resting upon their shoulder. “You should sit down, I’ll get you a cup of tea.” He offered, though, with the look in his eyes, the obvious concern, the suggestion was one they couldn’t quite just turn down.

Well, even if they did want to protest a bit. They weren’t quite so tired to need to rest, but certainly a cup of tea might help? In fact, Asra had just returned from his own business as well! They both had their fair share of work and exhaustion.

A fond sigh slipped from Zarna nonetheless, and they simply eased the tension from their posture, before stepping away from Asra. “Yes, yes, alright.” They paused on their path to the sitting room, smiling, “I didn’t hear you enter through the front door! Did you enter from the back, then?”

There was a faint pause, before Asra reentered the room equipped with a startlingly quickly made cup of tea in hand. 

“Maybe.” He answered, and deftly, once Zarna had taken their cup from him, pulled out a little blossom from his bag. “I had to get something, after all.” Sitting down beside her, he searched her face for reaction.

Taking it into her palm, Zarna gasped lightly, before peering up at him. “A dahlia? From where?” They asked, a little breathless. “The ones we have, haven’t even bloomed yet.”

Asra brightened up, watching as they took delicately held it, stem twirling barely in their grip. It was a lovely little thing, with a thin, faintly fuzzy stem, and the bloom a deep, vibrant blue with tips that had the faintest kiss of purple.

“Asra, this is beautiful.” They murmured, and for a moment, they fell into a little stunned, comfortable silence. He relaxed fully, heart full at the sight of such gentle awe that graced their usually composed, quiet features. 

The dahlia he provided may have been beautiful, but they were more rightly so. They were downright gorgeous.

“If you’re feeling up for it, maybe I could show you where I got it from~?” he broke the silence with a light and airy question, shoulder bumping her own.

“Of course,” Zarna let out a small laugh, “I am never too exhausted for you.”

And for a moment, Asra flustered, eyes wide and smirk faltering, before grinning once more. “Good. I’m sure you’ll be delighted.” He promised, grasping his hand in her own.

Her cup of tea was long forgotten in their hands as Asra pulled them back up. Though, they had half a mind to finish the rest, despite the cool liquid resting heavy on her tongue.

Rather hastily, the cup was placed onto the table nearby, before they were whisked off and out of the shop, the door clicking shut and locked as they left.

The path they tread was a familiar one. One in which they had to take many times, throughout this endeavour of a journey. Past the Marketplace, pick up some warm pumpkin bread. Through the Town Square- there was a little performance going on, of sorts, a public speaker and performer. Up to the Red Street, and oh, she definitely knew where they were headed. 

Headed, yes, at the very least, but she was still undecided if that’s where these flowers had come from! 

‘The palace?’ was what would’ve been their first guess, but with Asra’s own affinity for nature, as well as his overtly need to be mysterious, it was a bit too much of an easy guess, she thought with a small smile.

But oh, they were avoiding the main entrance! Instead, slipping into the Palace Gardens, they went about. 

(And while this may have been quite the long trip, Asra had perhaps used a little magic, took them for a ride along the canals for a quicker, more efficient journey)

And so what was evening soon slipped into a sleepy dusk, to a cool night. With dancing, twirling wind that entwined in their hair, their clothing and tugged lightly at them, as though urging them to stop, and dance a little, they continued onward.

They were in the more secluded area behind the castle, where the vines grew thicker, and the gardeners tended to pay lesser attention to.

The pumpkin bread had long been finished, and Zarna, even if they wouldn’t admit, was now the slightest bit sleepy now that they had eaten, and that night had fallen.

And from the distance she could see the sheer glass of the greenhouse as they passed by it, glinting beneath the mellow light of the moon, and inside, silhouettes of various trees, acclimated to survive even within Vesuvia, far from their original homes. Oh, they definitely looked forward to visiting one day. Perhaps Asra would like to come with them as well!

Gaze slipping forward once more, Zarna startled when Asra ducked below an onslaught of heavy, thick woven vines. 

“Oh?” They uttered, before pulling themselves closer. 

“This way.” Asra hummed teasingly, holding up some of the vines to clear the way. Hand clasping at their own, Zarna flexed her fingers lightly, to feel his own squeeze carefully.

From underneath the vines, they broke to open area, the short meadow that lead straight into the deep trees of the forest.

It was a mossy old thing, the pathway that they walked upon. Overhead, the tangled and outstretched branches of trees caught the moonshine, dappled shadows casting upon the old stone.

And when he stopped, Zarna raised their eyebrow, before scanning their surroundings once more. They were lingering between the borders of the forest, and the fields, though, deeper within she could see a cave, with stony, rock formations. 

And that was when she saw it.

With an outcropping of stone, and wild grasses, Zarna could see the wide circle of a garden that rested within it. And even with the darkness of the night, the moonlight still brought forward enough lumosity that the clouds could be seen in the sky, and the delicate petals could be seen individual, as the dahlia danced and swayed.

“Asra, why, it’s… gorgeous.”

They stepped forward almost unsteadily, before making their way down to the little garden, where delicate, smooth stones were makeshift landmarks to redirect the growth of the flowers, and kept wildgrasses out of the borders. 

Still, there was an unkempt, natural feel to this garden, and she had a feeling he wanted it to be so.

For moments uncounted, Zarna knelt carefully within the flowers, feeling when the wind caused them to brush lightly against her skin. And their hands, while urged to create something, perhaps a lovely flower crown, or to gather some dahlias to press and dry, were kept on their knees as they exhaled lightly.

Asra was close by, and they could feel his warmth emanate from him on this cool night, and Zarna could only smile softly, the mingling scents gentle on their nerves, what with Asra’s familiar, soft, and herbal scent wafting to entwine with the faintly floral, one of the dahlias. There was an undertone of fresh, healthy earth, and it was wonderful.

It was as though they could think with such clarity.

“I stumbled upon this place not long after one of my journeys. I… immediately thought of you.” He murmured.

“It took a while, but I kept visiting, helping them grow so I could see your reaction.”

Zarna smiled faintly at that, and with a sigh, fell back onto Asra’s shoulder, and with ease, he shifted them down, them scooting to match his movements, until they rested their head upon his lap.

“Well, I love it.” Zarna mumbled warmly, “Thank you, Asra.”

They had such a kind, and wonderfully sleepy infliction to their voice, their tone, that Asra could only smile in return. Vaguely, he felt, that this trip might’ve been too taxing, too tiring and perhaps not worth it, now that they were both so tired, but.

He knew it was worth it in the end. That every second they spent together would be worth it. 

And all smiles and sunshine, with the moonshine dappling itself upon his hair, he leaned in for a kiss. 

It was rather short, but still achingly sweet nonetheless, and Zarna couldn’t help the small smile that spread across their lips as they parted. “You’re going to hurt your neck like that.”

Asra was still lingering in place, and even bent over awkwardly, he was still stunningly luminous, wisps of silvery white hair grazing his cheeks, all featherlike and light.

“Will I~? I’m sure you wouldn’t let that happen.” He grinned, gaze soft, and lingering as he brushed a light hand against their cheek, tracing the curves of their face.

Her eyebrows furrowed at that, and she looked at him, “You’re right. I won’t let that happen,” and pushed him back up, so he sat more straight once more, having to arch her back lightly to do so. 

His neck was still craned down to gaze at them, and from his shoulder, their hand reached farther up, before lightly cupping his cheek.

They lingered they like, when Zarna could feel the ache of holding her arm up like that, and the slow hints of sleep weighing down her eyes. 

Their breathing slowed, and Asra, with the faintest of smiles, cupped his hand over their own, before nuzzling his nose into her palm.

And for the briefest of moments, they could feel a whisper of a kiss press against their palm, before their hand was lowered back to their side. 

“Goodnight, my love. Sleep tight, and sweet dreams.”

[bkdk-writings-dump]

Bakudeku Positivity Week Day 2: Flowers

Izuku looked down at the text one last time, just to be sure he was right that this was the place. Evidently, the address Katsuki had cryptically sent him thirty-two minutes after he got home from work – exactly how much time it took for him to shower and get dressed – matched the botanic gardens Izuku was currently standing on the steps outside of.

Shrugging, he opened the door and walked in, expecting to be greeted, if not by Katsuki, then by some kind of receptionist for gardener or anyone who might be able to tell him what the heck he was doing there, but, no. He walked into the eerily quiet gardens, hands in his shorts pockets, suddenly grateful that he had decided to go with a short-sleeved button down because it was considerably warmer inside the green house, but more in a pleasant way that anything. Tropical warm, not sweaty warm.

Izuku smiled, taking in the flowering trees that grew under the tall glass ceiling and marveling at the variety of pinks and purples and blue and greens and reds that filled the room. It was stunning; no wonder Katsuki wanted him to see it.

Though, Izuku paused in thought, nothing about this really screamed Katsuki. In fact, it was quite the other way around. This was the kind of boring, over-the-top romantic thing Izuku would have to beg him to come along for.

Just then, he heard a faint scratch, like a needle catching on a record, before the whole room was filled with the sound of a slow waltz.

“Uh…” Izuku looked around, startled, until his eyes settled on a form worming its way between two flowering trees.

Katsuki, dressed in a slim-fitted white suit and pink tie, blushing and no doubt sweating up a storm in the warm room, cleared his throat before extending his hand.

“May I… have this dance?”

“I…” Izuku paused, still processing it all, before he broke off into a bout of angelic giggles, caught between disbelief and delight. “Oh, Kacchan,” he wiped the corner of his eyes, forcing himself to stop laughing, “of course! What – what is all of this?”

He took Katsuki’s hand, allowing himself to be led to the center of the garden where they were ringed by eight blossoming cherry trees, but got no response until they had settled into the soft hold of a formal dancing position.

“Just thought I’d do something nice for you, is all,” Katsuki mumbled, taking the lead in an elegant waltz. Izuku stumbled to follow, having nearly forgotten how to do any formal dances since their homecoming and prom days, but soon settled into the motion with Katsuki guiding him along.

“Well… well thank you. This is lovely, all of it, really,” Izuku showed him a smile in return, though a bubble of suspicion was welling up in his mind. “There’s not… I mean… that’s it, then? Nothing else… you want to say?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Hm? What could possibly need to be said? Do my actions not speak loud enough?” Katsuki turned them around, a heavy hand on Izuku’s back allowing him to dip into the motion and be fully moved by Katsuki alone.

“Loud, yes.” Izuku relented, shifting much closer once they had slowed down again, cheek nearly touching Katsuki’s with their heads side by side. “But not very clear.”

Katsuki huffed, no doubt smirking, and stopped their dance.

“Just like you to figure it out so soon,” Katsuki whispered, pulling away so he could kneel down in front of him and reach into his back pocket, procuring a small, white box.

“Oh. Oh my. For real?” Izuku’s eyes widened nonetheless; for all his banter, it was still hard to process now that it was happening.

“Uh, no, actually. This is a prank, Deku,” Katsuki said, voice flat and sarcastic.

“Oh, shut up.” Izuku gave his knee a light kick.

“Sorry, sorry,” Katsuki chuckled. “It was just too easy.”

Izuku rolled his eyes, then sighed and settled back into the moment. When he looked down at Katsuki, he knew he was ready and opened the box to reveal a thin, silver ring with a single square of diamond at the top. It was small, but delicate and oh-so beautiful. Izuku sucked in a breath, already on the verge of tears.

“Oh, Kacchan,” he breathed.

Katsuki cleared his throat, and Izuku gulped down his sobs and mumbles to give him the stage.

“You are… the most incredible person I know. And… and I love you with every fiber of my being. I want to spend the rest of my life you, please, if you’d… if you’d have me.” His eye contact fumbled, a tad embarrassed at his own tears starting to form, but soon forced himself to look back up and finish the speech. “Will you, Izuku Midoriya, do me the honor… of becoming my husband?”

“Yes!” Izuku blurted out immediately. “Oh, yes, yes, yes! Kacchan, yes!”

The green house filled with tearful laughter, Izuku leaping down to strangle Katsuki in hug before smothering his face with kisses that nearly all missed the mouth.

“Okay, okay,” Katsuki said eventually, standing up and bringing Izuku with him thanks to a hand around his waist. “Let me put the ring on you already.”

“Mm!” Izuku nodded, eagerly extending his hand. Katsuki held it in place, thumb and forefinger grasping his palm, and slid the cold, silver ring up his finger until it settled into place: a perfect fit.

Choking back tears, Izuku looked up at Katsuki and gave him a gushing, melting grin.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too,” Katsuki grabbed him by the cheek and pulled him into a kiss. Izuku laughed into his mouth at first, but pressed back soon enough, arms wrapping around Katsuki’s shoulders.

“You know,” Izuku said when they finally parted enough to speak, “you actually beat me to it.”

“Hm?” Katsuki grunted.

“Well, see, I had ring shopping written down in my planner for tomorrow afternoon,” he admitted. “But, um, I guess I’ll cancel it.”

“Tch.” Katsuki shook his head, pressing one more quick kiss onto Izuku’s lips. “Why am I not surprised?”

[lifeisafunnyplace]

Hands swinging lightly between them, barefoot walking on a light green path winding its way under large trees. Chanyeol let the fingertips on his free hand gently tap on tiny shiny lanterns hanging around. They were everywhere, draping their surroundings in yellow. Whereas the sky had been pink and the ground blue, drizzled with stars, outside Baekhyun’s home, everything had a golden tinge in this part of the forest.

The heated atmosphere from earlier had dissolved as soon as their bare feet hit the soft grass, a warm, fuzzy feeling replacing it, making his blood bubble happily every time his eyes fell on the golden boy next to him.

“You look like you belong in this part of the forest” Chanyeol spoke quietly. He could hear birds singing, the silence much more present than where they started and he almost felt like whispering. “Your skin is golden like the lanterns, you are glowing”

“No, I don’t belong here” the hulder hummed just as softly. “I like the pink and blue part better. It’s lively and fun and it gives my hair a blushing shade, I like it.” Chanyeol nodded soundlessly and let his gaze travel further, take in all the calm beauty surrounding them. White and yellow flowers painted the ground, light green leaves shading for the bright sun, creating patterns on their skin.

“At home, the forest is nothing but green, do you remember?” Chanyeol tugged the other closer to show how he was talking to him and not just thinking aloud. “It was never just green” Baekhyun tightened his hold around the human’s leg.

“This forest might have all the colours at once, so that everyone can find their perfect home, like Jongin living in the calm green part and Astrid hanging around with the red and purple fairies when she’s around. Our forest at home have all the colours too, just changing with the seasons and from the sun and moon traveling the sky.” Baekhyun talked more enthusiastic at this point, the sacred quietness from the golden lanterns not as overwhelming anymore.

Chanyeol totally zoomed out after the word /our/. Overly happy and giddy he bent down to pluck a handful of flowers. With shaky fingers, he tread the stem of a particular pretty white flower into Baekhyun’s hair before he dipped down to kiss him.

When they parted, the smaller looked up on him with his shiny blue eyes. “What was that for?” A smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, laughter bubbling just under the surface from the romantic gesture.

“Because you are right” A familiar heat spread from his ears as he realised how Baekhyun might find it stupid. “Remember how we used to make flower crowns when we were young? How we waved dandelions together and made Sehun wear them...”

Baekhyun continued when Chanyeol paused with a dreamy look in his eyes “and then we had to scrub our fingers for hours because mom wouldn’t let us sit down by the dinner table with brown fingertips.”

Chanyeol secured the flower in the golden hulder hair while Baekhyun faked a cough, a weird feeling of longing shaken off. The taller gripped the tail playfully and shook it slightly “Come on, it can’t be far. Lay said I’ll find it easily.”

“I’m still faster” Baekhyun freed himself from his man and started running, only to be followed like a pray by the other. Bright laughter filled the air as they ran until the trees were fewer and the forest made room for a beautiful pond framed by feather light waterfalls and white apple blossoms.

Both of them needed a moment to catch their breath. Baekhyun was still the faster among them, but not by much. Chanyeol didn’t rest for long. He took one of the delicate hands in his and pulled the hulder along, eyes searching for a familiar item. And there they were.

In the northern corner, on the opposite side of the waterfalls, partly hidden among reed standing tall, floated a handful of shiny white water lilies, yellow pistils glowing in the warm sun. Chanyeol swallowed. A pair of soft arms circling his waist and a chin coming to rest on his shoulder pushed any bad memories away. They were here together. “This place is beautiful”

Chanyeol lifted a hand to rest on Baekhyun’s cheek as he spoke, felt the warmth from his breath on his skin. It was. It was more perfect than Chanyeol could ever imagined.

“You didn’t know about this place?” He felt he had the right to feel a bit surprised. The hulder had been living in this forest for 10 years and never seen this part of the forest? It was a bit hard to believe.

“No. I avoided the water, and I knew there be lilies. They reminded me too much of you.”

Chanyeol sat down in the grass quietly, let the words take their times to settle down. Baekhyun had missed him too, had pushed away memories just as much. “Why did you leave me behind? Do you know how scared I was?” There, the question was finally out. He could hear Baekhyun sigh behind his back, but then he lay down next to Chanyeol, rested his head on his arms, eyes on the water nearby.

“I was afraid, wait, terrified. It’s not an excuse and it was never your fault. I... “Baekhyun paused and turned his body around. With his head resting in the taller’s lap, he looked up to meet Chanyeol’s gaze. “I wanted to tell you so many times. You have to believe me. I didn’t want to go, mom wanted me to stay. She didn’t know I had given away my heart. Maybe she had a feeling, she’s a mother after all. They know everything.”

Chanyeol listened the best he could. To be honest, nothing of it really mattered anymore. What filled his mind was /now what?/

“You know I couldn’t live away from you, the rules of the forest and the underworld and bla-bla-bla.”

Chanyeol looked down on a pair of eyes hastily blinking away tears. “I wish I could see my family again. I wish I never left”

Oh.

The sound of his heart falling to the bottom of his stomach had to be audible to the other, Baekhyun closing up on himself, rolling around to face the water again. “Do you regret giving your heart away too?” Chanyeol felt a lump growing in his throat. If he did, then all of this was wasted. Wasted mourning, wasted feelings, wasted love. The hulder's reaction was instant.

“No!” It was Baekhyun’s third /no/ today, and the one spoken out the loudest. He crawled up from the ground and straddled Chanyeol’s thighs instead, looped his arms around his neck. “I did many things the wrong way, but giving my heart to you was not a mistake. Please let me prove it to you”

A pair of lips on his was all it took for his sunken heart to grow wings, happily flapping around in his chest. Baekhyun stood up on his knees, made himself taller, dominating a kiss that Chanyeol felt tingling in his fingertips. They took it slow, barely any tongue involved. Soft lips moulding together, finding their favourite angles, nibbling, tasting. Baekhyun’s hand were clutching Chanyeol’s dark hair, holding him in place and pushing their bodies closer.

From time to time, the kiss was more their noses brushing together than lips touching and in one of those moments, Chanyeol remembered a promise. “We are going skinny-dipping” he talked into the others breath, hands trailing up under Baekhyun’s shirt. The feeling of a smile spreading on the lips close to his was making him stupidly happy.

“Last one in is a turtle” Baekhyun was up on his legs, tugging on his clothes in a hurry. “Turtle?” Chanyeol almost tripped over half way out of his pants. “They’re slow” Baekhyun was down to his shorts, while Chanyeol still struggled with his pants. “Get that tail off of me” He shook his leg as if he was trying to shake off a horny puppy and maybe that was Baekhyun true self after all.

The strong tail hugged his leg until Baekhyun was wearing nothing but his own golden skin and then he ran off in direction of the water. As Chanyeol finally shrugged off the last piece of clothing, the eager puppy was already splashing around in the clear blue water.

Fine, he could be a turtle, a happy one. Chanyeol laughed at the sight in the water, delight filling his cells. All this time he had believed his friend didn’t know how to swim, was afraid of water. The scene in front of him told a very different story. Chanyeol threw his long body into the water, almost landed on top of a Baekhyun floating on his back.

In their own weird way they made up for all the baths they never shared, starting out as shouting and fighting kids, slowly changing into teasing teenagers dipping the other under, hands randomly brushing over the others skin until they were just them, the adult version, skin itching for the others touches.

Standing in front of the other, Chanyeol suddenly felt shy. He remembered another time when Baekhyun’s gaze had burned like this. It was the day when they had shared their first kiss.

“You look absolutely stunning with my paintings on” A dripping tail slid up his arm to his chest. Chanyeol barely remembered it was there, even if the crystals were hard to miss. Drops from the fury limb created tiny swirls in the now stilled water when it tightened around Chanyeols shoulders to pull him close. Chanyeol shuddered when he felt a hard limb pressed into his hip, blood rushing south fast enough to make him light headed.

“Don’t think I have forgotten about this morning” Baekhyun’s hand slid over the sparkly patterns on his chest, nails scratching his already excited nipples. “I think my nipples still have marks from your teeth” A hand dropped under the surface and gripped his almost fully erect dick. “Any suggestion on what to do to make it up to them?” Baekhyun’s teeth grazed his earlobe.

It was hard to think straight standing close like this, Baekhyun’s breath on his skin, slender fingers curled around him under the water. Somewhere in his mind he realised being out in the water was a bad plan for what he had in mind. He dipped down just enough to get a good grip under Baekhyun’s ass and on two, he lifted a startled pup out of the water and carried him on land.

“You might have certain powers and a tail. I’m still the stronger one” Carefully he put the hulder down in the grass, pushed him over until he lay on his back “And I might have the powers to make you lose your mind”

Chanyeol pinned him against the grass, wrists trapped in a strong grip on each side of his head. Blood boiling was speeding things up compared to earlier and their teeth knocked together clumsily until tongues found their way into the others mouth. Both felt desperate. The move Chanyeol had pulled this morning had been anything but easy. Fuck, leaving his lover like that had hurt a lot, to both of them.

“I want you to trust me. Show me you do and I’ll stay with you forever” It was a bold statement, one he hadn’t thought through. There and then it felt like the only right thing. He wanted Baekhyun to be patient and vulnerable for once, no more secrets or jokes, just trust. If he could show him that, then Chanyeol would make sure he lost his mind for a while.

Baekhyun looked up at him, thinking for a moment, searching for what Chanyeol were talking about. Maybe a bit worried he would be left with blue balls once more. “I will” He breathed in and out one more time and let his body go limp in Chanyeol’s grip.

Mole by mole, Chanyeol kissed his way down the body he was straddling. Sucked on the thin skin just above the collarbones, flicked his tongue over pink nipples. No teeth this time. The way Baekhyun’s body tensed beautifully at the light licks was reaction enough.

With one hand on each hip, he kissed the perfectly cute belly button, licked into it and then blew cold air over the wet skin. Chanyeol enjoyed how it created goose bumps all over Baekhyun’s stomach. Slowly kissing his way the way Baekhyun wanted him the most, made it clear how the hulder had a hard time laying still. Hips rocked automatically, a fully hard dick longing for any attention. Chanyeol nuzzled his nose into the curly and still wet pubic. It smelled fresh from swimming and hot from sweat at the same time and it was intoxicating.

His own neglected dick was hanging heavy between his legs and he pushed his knees together. Having Baekhyun under him like this was turning him on like nothing ever had. He wanted anything and everything at once. As he let his lips slide up and down the silky soft skin on Baekhyun’s shaft he wished for nothing else than to be able to crawl under his skin, to stay as close as possible forever.

A pair of hands found his hair, clutching tightly and trying to maneuver his head the way their owner craved it the most. Chanyeol lifted his gaze, looked up into his lover’s eyes as he stuck out his tongue and lapped carefully at the clear drops on Baekhyun’s glossy tip. The pair of blue disappeared under heavy eyelids and a breathy moan escaped between parted lips. A pink tongue licked those lips repeatedly as Chanyeol gave the tip a light kiss.

Baekhyun was breathing heavily and Chanyeol took his time, letting his hands travel up and down the plump thighs, never being able to hold on to as much flesh as he wanted.

A soft tickle on the back of his thighs made him spread his legs though, making the throbbing cock smack up against his stomach. He had asked for patience, but at this time, he couldn’t care less. Soft fur tickled the inside of his thighs, curled around his dick and the smooth slide felt too good to continue slow. For a moment he let himself indulge in the feeling. In the next moment he took Baekhyun’s length in as much as he could, pushed his head down until the dick hit the back of his throat and the tail tensed between his legs.

Both were close before they even got started, Chanyeol bobbing his head the best he could, rhythm something for when a bundle of silk wasn’t stroking his dick. Both men thrusted their hips, chased the moment of bliss they knew was out there waiting. He took in as much he could, felt the tip of Baekhyun’s dick hitting the back of his throat again and again, salvia dripping from the corner of his mouth, making it messy and sloppy and the hulder was praising and cursing in a unconsciously mix.

In a couple of sharp trusts, that almost had Chanyeol choking, the smaller came with a string of ah’s and fuck’s and choked sounds. Chanyeol closed his mouth around his tip and swallowed, at least he tried to. Chasing his own orgasm had him spilling a lot of it over Baekhyun, as his mouth fell open and he shot his own load all over the blonde fur.

A bit shy about how fast it all went, but mostly blissed out, he fell down in the grass next to his hulder. With his eyes still closed, he pulled the smaller close, wrapped his long arms around him until Baekhyun was resting on his chest. A warm breeze ruffled leaves above them and it was pretty much the only sound except from their breathing evening out and fizzing waterfalls on the other side of the lake.

Drops of water abruptly pulled him out of his slumber. Baekhyun was out in the water, splashing in his direction. “Come on, you need to clean up”. Chanyeol felt how sticky stuff had dried on his skin and he didn’t have to be told twice to jump in, the water crystal clear and refreshing, toes curling in soft sand.

After they starfished in the grass, waiting for the sun to dry their bodies. When Chanyeol rolled over on his stomach, Baekhyun crawled close enough to draw patterns on the wide back of his human. “You used to love this” he spoke softly, a slender finger drawing hearts and stars trough drops of water. “I still do”

“You used to be all muddy though” Baekhyun hummed at the memory. Chanyeol purred under his soft touches, fingers trailing up and down, scratching his nape. This day could go on forever and he loved the yellow glow on everything in the forest. “Is our tree still there?” The hulder asked all of a sudden.

“Yes, it is.” Chanyeol had walked past it many times over the summer, felt the rough bark under his palms, pictured both of them hanging upside down from the branches until their head felt heavy from too much blood. “And there are even more blueberries under it than it used to be”

Baekhyun leaned down and placed a kiss between his shoulder blades, soft, moist lips pushed into warm skin long enough for Chanyeol’s inside to turn to mush. Somewhere in his brain he knew he had important memories in his pocket. Right now he didn’t need any of those, because Baekhyun remembered them for him.

“I still love blueberries”