Hey, how are you doing? Hope you're good ^^
About the spring ficlets, can I request picnick in the forest with RookVil?
I think this would be really cute >_<
(I hope I did this right, fell free to ignore it if I didn't)
Hello dear, how are you?🤍first of all, forgive me for taking this long. The last weeks had been a nightmare, but I'm so happy I've finally managed to publish this one. Thank you so much for your request, the prompts you give me are always so lovely~ I really really hope you like it 🤍
Ao3 link-> HERE
. rookvil + 🧺 a picnic in the woods
There was something in that quiet place in the woods that Vil couldn’t really grasp. Trees full of shining apples and birds singing between branches, the young man was sure he was unable to be so at peace even inside the high walls of his dorm.
Students were busy chitchatting not so far from them. Yet, their voices sounded like echoes from a different era; between him and Rook there was only the humming of the birds that his hunter was now drawing, catching their little, round bodies on paper.
Rook drew with precise movements, hitting the white sheet with that short pencil he always kept around.
And Vil was now busy admiring him. Rook had probably sewed an inner pocket in his dorm robes, only to bring a little notebook with him everywhere he went.
Rook was fast at drawing, his mind capable of capturing almost the true essence of what was the subject of his interest in a particular moment.
His hunter had offered him that little escape from Vil’s housewarden duties; and so, Vil himself, his eyes focused on the last meeting’s documents, gazed at Rook. He was waiting for an answer with a picnic basket full of delicacies, his left hand opened towards Vil, a silent invite to run away with him.
There were occasions when Vil would’ve declined such a proposition. Yet, he had felt really tired at that moment, and his back was hurting for sitting too many hours now. A little escape in the woods couldn’t compromise all his efforts. Also, Vil only noticed it when Rook stormed into his room: he was hungry, and Vil was too exhausted to be able to resist.
Vil took a sip from his berries milkshake, then he leaned towards Rook. His hunter was still focused on drawing, and Vil couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed.
All of his senses were captured by Rook’s fast movements, yet there was more, because all of Rook was, for Vil, a distraction from the quietness of the woods.
Vil felt inebriated by Rook’s perfume, by his hands, so dedicated in capturing the birds, the leaves, all of the little details that met Rook’s eyes.
“Is there something troubling you, my beautiful Roi?” Rook’s emerald gaze was now set on Vil’s face. Only when his hunter’s words left his mouth, had Vil realized he had been looking at him for long.
Rook’s amused smile caught him off-guard. Vil felt his cheeks warm, and tried so hard to look dignified in his answer.
“I was simply looking at your drawings,” Vil leaned closer to Rook. His hunter’s hair smelt like lavender, such a soft touch Vil felt all of his sorrows disappear without understanding exactly why.
Rook smiled again, his white teeth shining under the gentle rays of sun that were able to pass through all the leaves and branches, giving them a warmth caress.
Rook had always been so sincere, when it came to his emotions. There was no trick behind them, no holding back; Rook was only moved by his desire to simply reach the others’ hearts, and to preserve every single word Vil had spoken to him. And Vil, captured by Rook’s honesty, was now caught caressing his hunter’s hair, lost in the small gesture.
“They lack a bit of accuracy,” Vil took the notebook from Rook, and put it on his legs with the same gentleness one would use while taking care of a broken animal. Rook’s notebook was a precious thing, after all. Busy tracing all the drawings with his fingers, Vil was sure he felt all Rook’s warmth from his sketches.
“Oh, mon Vil! You sure are right!” he was now Rook, the one leaning closer, then falling directly on his lap. Vil was quick enough to move the notebook, and now the weight of Rook’s head was on him. Yet, it didn’t bother him.
When it came to Rook, Vil couldn’t help but let him do everything as he pleased his hunter.
Rook started talking heatedly and Vil listened in silence, lost in the trail of those thoughts that had become words.
“I’m not quite sure I was able to properly sketch these little birds’ beaks. And the way the light caresses their plumage…non, non!” Rook’s right hand was on his chest. He looked like a warrior that was now dying from a piercing arrow.
“Your judgement is fair, I should be more careful!”
“Sure,” Vil tried to stop Rook’s monologue, with a voice so soft it would feel so odd everywhere else, but not there with his hunter.
“Yet, I really like how you portray the world.”
Vil took the notebook in his hands, and started flipping through the pages. He saw tons of sketches, of trees and flowers and leaves, and all the small animals that were seen on campus from time to time.
“Your style is neat, and the smudges are probably there because of the passion you put in the draws. It’s not necessarily a flaw.”
Vil flipped another page, and he found himself looking at his own face. He fell silent.
“You possess the ability to create a soul for all of the objects of your attention,” Vil murmured, incapable of recognizing himself in his own portraits. Did Rook see him like this? So lovely and kind?
“It’s easier when the object is already breathtaking,” Rook pronounced those words, and they felt like a caress on Vil’s face.
Rook took his hand, gently pressing his own lips against Vil’s skin.
