since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid

[irrigo]

(harmless) hanahaki meme

hanahaki (literally "vomiting flowers") is a fictional illness that began in japanese literature. most commonly, it happens in the case of unrequited love; flowers bloom in a person's lungs and their love suffocates them until it is either requited or they die. that's pretty angsty. instead, consider a world where hanahaki is a normalised inconvenience and it's never hurt anyone. flowers grow in your chest from the cultivation of love — for your friends, your family, your dog. and it's a feeling that wants to be known, so maybe you can't help spilling petals sometimes when you laugh, or sigh, or shout at someone. everyone knows what it means and it's something to be celebrated. you love. maybe you don't want to, though. maybe you chew on the petals and swallow them back, so that no one knows the feelings you're carrying around in your heart. but maybe that's not going to work forever, and sooner or later, you're going to cough those feelings up.

the short version ① hanahaki means your characters cough up flowers. plain and simple. ② it's caused by unspoken love, in any form, platonic or romantic; whether the love is requited has nothing to do with it. ③ the disease is not harmful in any way, and it's no more annoying than a persistent cough; it's treated as more symbolic magic realism here than concerned with the real life implications of coughing up flowers. ④ it's "cured" when a person expresses their love, whether the feeling is requited or not. ⑤ so basically, you can rp any everyday scenario... but now your character might have to deal with the minor nuisance of hacking up petals around the people they love. and those people are going to know what that means.

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[stilettoes]

Pushy, [ he whispers against the touch sliding down his hair and pressing in against where neck and skull meet. he leans in slowly towards him, letting his fingers pull back while he pulls juno close and guides himself in. it's not an easy glide, rather, it's hot and messy and peter has to bite down on a groan that chokes itself out bit by bit. he presses his hips forward and back, a testing motion met with damp, trembling friction that he couples with taking juno's mouth against his own and kissing him hard.

they've been through too much. peter can feel the ache in his body, taste where juno's lip still feels dry and split, cracked. he can practically smell the martian desert, dusty and irradiated in every pore of his skin, the blood. so he kisses him, and he kisses him again, desperate, hungry sounds barely whispers in his throat as he rolls his hips forward. he can taste the gardenia again in the back of his throat like a ghost: i love you, i love you whispered softly against each kiss.

he's sick, absolutely lovesick, and it makes him dizzy as he moves with juno, full-bodied motions like the rocking of dark waves on the edge of the beaches on venus that spare nothing.

every press is impassioned, a step up from simply tender and affectionate, teasing and drawing things out. heated and open mouthed, peter tests the give and twist of juno's body, letting arms slip around his shoulders, pressing him up against the pillows along the headboard to angle him just right against his cock. there's a sense of all of this being too surreal, the serpents twisting in his belly as he feels the dip of the bed, the way juno feels tight and perfect around his cock. ]

[iuno]

[ it hasn't been a significantly long time since Juno slept with anyone, but he can't remember the last time it felt like this, both of them so overwhelmed, burning up together. he feels full in every sense, overloaded and dangerously unstable like an electrical circuit, and Peter pressing into him seems to force all the air out of his lungs. he's gasping Peter's name into his mouth and letting it be swallowed, eager to surrender to the voracious way he surges against him. ]

I— [ —love you but he can't say it still, he can't. he's breathing petals and he can't say it. he curls into Peter, shaking apart, and when he rolls his hips back to meet his movements, it drags a loud cry out of him. he'd usually be urging to be fucked harder, or he'd get his hand in between them to curl his fingers around his aching cock, the kind of messy tumble all of his one night stands have always been; but just this is so much and all of his nerve endings feel raw and flayed, like the adrenaline from everything they went through in the tomb has been building all this while and it's only hitting him now. ]

Peter— Peter— [ one of his hands is still tangled in Peter's hair, gripping it like an anchor that Juno uses to come back in to kiss him with lips and tongue and teeth, to lick petals out of his mouth and press his own words in so that they can't make it out of his own. ] I want— mh.

[ he doesn't know what he wants. he wants this to last forever, or maybe for the world to just end now so that this is the final thing for him, this small flash of time where he's alive with sensation and feeling, with love and a knot of good things he doesn't have names for. that seems like the best he could ever ask for. to go out like a supernova, hot and bright and burning. ]

[stilettoes]

[ peter has kissed marks before. he's flirting and cavorted and even gotten handsy with those he's been trying to swindle, rob, and snatch from, but kissing juno is an experience that toes the line between here and heaven. juno gasps sweet breath into his mouth, kisses petals from his tongue, his teeth, his lips, and between the both of them, it's raining a soft fall of flowers onto the bed, onto juno's thighs, his stomach, in a way that seems too artful to be real, too picturesque. it could be the endorphins talking, but peter would rather believe it isn't.

he eats each word juno tries to maneuver between the both of them, swallows up the sound of his name like gold leafing on the rim of the finest champagne glass. peter. peter. it sounds musical and real from juno's lips, demanding something of him, something he can only feel with his hands pressing against his ribs, his waist, his hips as he fucks into him with a renewed desire to press as deeply into him as he possibly can. he wants to be suffused in his heat, smothered in it, so that it might tattoo itself, the sensation, into his very skin. ]

Anything, [ he sighs out against his lips, against his skin as he reaches a hand out to bear down against the mattress to get a better angle, a deeper angle as he shifts juno's hips with him, pulling back and snapping his hips back in hungrily.

if peter bares his teeth, it's unintentional, but at this point it's as though he wants to eat juno alive, fingers digging, teeth trailing along his pulse, studded with hungry, wet kisses that could almost be sloppy if they were drowning in love. ] Juno-- [ peter says with a half-gasp as he feels himself teetering on that edge already and not caring about it. ] Anything you ask of me, anything, everything.

[ and he means it as he turns to look juno in the eye with hazy, light eyes, sliding his other hand over his ribs, splaying them over his heart before his nails dig in ever so slightly as he angles for deeper, angles for that dark, sweet spot to make him sing. ]

[iuno]

[ god, he doesn't know what Peter changed to find another few inches in him, but apparently they were the right ones, because Juno cries out again, louder, and every time he breathes it's a high, keening sound. he's wound almost unbearably tense, clenching around Peter, a heel digging into his thigh like Juno could possibly drag him in any closer. it's too much, not enough. the promises hurt, too, the weight of what he doesn't deserve pressing down with force to carve itself into his ribs.

both of his hands move to cradle Peter's face, trembling like he's holding something impossibly precious, delicate. ]

You. [ it feels like something he should be whispering and he can't, his restraint is entirely shot through. he has to shut his eyes against the way Peter looks at him, feeling helpless, pinned. ] Just you — just you, shit, Peter, I'm—

[ close. if he touches himself, it probably won't be much longer, so he won't, he doesn't, everything is perfect right now and whatever comes next — can't be. it's going to be like waking up cold and alone. anything you ask of me, fuck. Peter doesn't need to offer him anything; what else could Juno ever want but him? the flowers should all be ash in his lungs because this is a wildfire, this is all-consuming, something he can't douse or smother, and how do people live with this in them. he can't even get enough air, can't get his shuddering breathing under control for long enough to kiss Peter. ]

[stilettoes]

[ the hands cupping his face are enough to drop peter's jaw a little, the touch tender enough that it makes him press inside of him and hold desperately onto that moment of mid-thrust, reveling in the fever they've made between their bodies. his breath comes in soft gasps, leaning in to take juno's mouth with his own in a kiss that's more breath than contact. ]

Oh, Juno...

[ soothing, low, warm. peter can feel the heat building almost painfully, but teetering on that edge is perfection and something peter lets out a soft cry for because he's in love and it makes his chest swell painfully at the thought. another kiss, a touch of his nose to the faint scar on the bridge of juno's a warm smile that's giddy with sensation. the words are a whisper as he brings hands up to rest atop juno's knuckles. ]

You've had me... you have me...

[ soft, sweet, breathless and full of petals as his hips roll forward encouragingly, a soft push down a steep slope to embrace a rush before it gets too far from the both of them. he takes juno's hands now and slides them into his own, pinning his arms up over his head and driving forward in a sweeping motion. ]