AU: Witchcraft | Cottagecore | Mutual pining with a dash of magic
Pairing: Yuma (reclusive potion-maker) × Jo (cursed traveler with a quiet heart)
Vibe: Gentle, slow-burn magic with lingering touches and warm hands in overgrown gardens

The Setup

Jo stumbles into Yuma's cottage on the third night of a persistent storm.

He doesn't speak much—just gestures to the vines creeping along his arm and the petals blooming between his fingers.

"Cursed?" Yuma asks gently.

Jo nods. Rainwater pools at his feet.

Yuma lets him in.

The Cottage

Yuma's cottage smells like rosemary, soft firewood, and the faint sweetness of lavender jam.

He brews Jo tea with crushed moonflower and sets a honey jar beside it.

"Drink," he says. "Let the petals settle."

Jo watches the steam curl.
Then, softly:

"You live alone?"

Yuma shrugs.

"Plants talk back. It's enough."

Jo glances at him, barely smiling.

"You're better at conversation than you think."

The Magic

Yuma begins untangling the curse gently.

Daily rituals. Garden walks. Potions stirred clockwise under sunlit windows.

Jo lingers. Helps water the herbs. Reads aloud from spellbooks he pretends not to understand.

"What's this one for?"
"Peace of mind."
"Have you ever taken it?"
"No," Yuma says quietly. "I haven't had a reason to."

The Shift

One evening, Jo falls asleep on the bench in the garden.

Yuma watches the ivy curl around him protectively—then whispers the vines back with a spell laced in care.

Later, Jo opens one eye.

"You talk to them like you talk to me," he murmurs.
"Soft. Like you're afraid we'll leave."

Yuma looks down.

"You're not part of the curse anymore, Jo."

"I know."

Pause.

"But maybe I'd like to be part of the cure."

The petals stop growing.
The curse fades.

But Jo stays.

And Yuma brews two cups of tea every morning after—
one with honey, one with hope.

The Kiss: Magic Misfires and Unspoken Things

It happens during a spell for healing soil.

Jo's holding the mortar. Yuma's adding dried rosemary. The charm requires intention—spoken out loud.

"For calm," Yuma murmurs.
"For growth," Jo adds.

"For—" Yuma stops. His hand brushes Jo's.

A spark pops. Not from the spell.
From them.

The bowl glows faint gold.

Jo swallows.

"You... didn't finish your line."

"I didn't know how to say it."

They're close now. Fingers still touching.
The spell forgotten. The magic very much not.

Jo laughs—soft, breathless.

"Try this."

He kisses Yuma.

And the spark doesn't explode—it blooms.
A hum of warmth around them, vines curling gently around the windowsill in quiet approval.

When they part, Yuma's eyes are wide. Bright.

"What was that?"

Jo shrugs. Smiles.

"Might've been an emotional ingredient."

Market Day: Blushes, Tea, and "Not Dating (Lying)"

The booth is overflowing—jars of dried herbs, handwritten labels, tiny enchanted spoons that stir on their own.

A wooden sign reads:
"Witch Yuma's Remedies."
Below that:
"Assistant: Jo (he's shy, but he's helpful)"

Jo adjusts it every ten minutes like it's too much.

Someone asks him if he's the witch's apprentice.

"Assistant," he mumbles. "Just... helping."

Yuma walks up behind him with a tea sample tray and presses a gentle kiss to his temple before handing him a cup.

Jo turns bright pink.

The customer stares.

Jo stammers:

"I—uh. Okay. Maybe slightly more than an assistant."

Yuma just smiles.

"He brews the morning pot now. That makes him essential."

As the sun sets, Jo tucks a note under the tea display:

"Every blend's got something sweet in it. Mine's the guy stirring."

Yuma finds it hours later.
And keeps it in his pocket forever.

Magic Fair Mayhem: "Entry— Without Permission"

The annual Enchanted Makers' Fair is legendary.

Yuma insists he's not ready.

"I'm not a competitor," he mumbles, labeling herb jars in his neatest handwriting.
"I just make tea."

Jo? Jo has other plans.

He secretly bottles Yuma's lavender-thyme blend, writes the description "For rest and for love, even when you won't admit you need either", and enters it under:

"Witch of the Hearth (Name Withheld by Modesty)"

The tea wins.

Gold ribbon. First place. Judges swooning. One of them crying softly into their cup.

Yuma stares at the prize like it hexed him.

"You entered me?"

"I labeled it anonymous!"

"You wrote that it tastes like my laugh."

"...Well, they're not wrong."

The prize is a magical kettle that never boils over.

Jo wears the ribbon around his wrist for a week.

Yuma doesn't stop smiling for two.

Rainy Night Chaos
Jo wants to impress Yuma.

He finds a charm called: "For Comfort, When the Storm's Too Loud."

"Just add warmth, intent, and one whispered wish."

Jo lights the hearth. Whispers, "I want Yuma to feel loved tonight."

It works.

Sort of.

Ten cats appear.

All of them wet. All of them affectionate. All of them climbing everything.

Yuma walks in holding two mugs of tea.

Freezes.

"Jo. Why is my broom wearing a tabby."

Jo looks overwhelmed and slightly proud.

"It said warmth and comfort."

A kitten purrs against Yuma's ankle.

Yuma sighs. Sets the tea down. Sits beside Jo on the floor as two cats curl into his lap.

"This isn't how most people say I love you."

Jo leans his head on Yuma's shoulder.

"Yeah. But did it work?"

Yuma kisses his cheek.

"Too well."

The cats eventually vanish at dawn.

But the warmth?
That stays.
In the hearth. In the tea.
In Jo's very magical, very human way of loving out loud.