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hayakawalove · 8 months ago

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Wisteria and Ciabatta

Part Two

Summary: Traveling merchant Suguru has led a relatively tame life thus far. Growing his flowers, baking his bread. One day, when he ventures out further than normal he comes across something more beautiful than all the flowers in the world. You.

A/N: I'm not really sure where this came from. I don't expect it to get a huge reaction, just because it's like way niche. But I couldn't get this out of my head. I am like pretty certain there will be a part two with smut, but this first chapter is just very sweet. This chapter can be read alone, you won't need to read the next one if you don't want to. Suguru is a loserboy in this but I like him that way. Enjoy!

CW: SFW, food, fluff

W/C: 5,608

The forest was quieter than usual today, he couldn’t help but notice. Suguru had become well acquainted with the sounds of the forest over the years. He traversed them for work often, always traveling from town to town to sell his flowers and bread. Flowers from his own backyard, and bread made to perfection from his own two hands. He enjoyed the way people's faces lit up when they saw the beautiful flora or when the food passed their lips. Suguru had to go out of his way today, venturing out further than normal. He didn’t sell as much as he wanted to in the towns near his home, so he figured he may as well see if anyone else would be interested.

Lavender, Hydrangea, Yarrow.

Suguru ran the list through his mind repeatedly. The basket he carried beside him held heaps of flowers, all trimmed to perfection. Along with the flowers he had several loaves of bread.

Dutch, Rye, French.

His footsteps slow when he notices a cluster of homes come into view. It was a small town, one he had never been to before. There couldn’t have been more than 50 buildings, but they were all full evident by the smoke rising from each chimney. His feet fall onto the stone path as he makes his way to the first house. When he knocks, he plasters a smile on his face. He had danced this routine many times before, always donning a careful mask when interacting with potential customers.

“Hello?” An old man opens the door carefully. He must have been twice as short as Suguru.

“Hello, I’m selling flowers and bread. Would you be interested in buying any?”

The man opens his mouth to decline when a woman’s voice sounds out behind him.

“Who is that?”

She hobbles into view, situating herself beside what Suguru can only assume is her husband.

“This fellow is selling flowers and bread, I was just going to-“

“You never buy me flowers anymore!”

Suguru averts his gaze, training them on the floor below. He doesn’t mind being there while they argue, but he’s learned that an unwanted ear can make people uncomfortable.

The old man grumbles before walking away further into the house to grab his money. Suguru can feel her eyes wandering over him. He digs his hand into his basket and produces a Hydrangea.

“On the house.” He speaks quietly, winking at her.

Her face flushes as she takes the flower, admiring the color. Her husband comes back and counts his cash before handing it to Suguru who doesn’t bother counting it. He grabs a heap of flowers, all three types tossed in, before handing them to the man.

“Thank you, sir.” Suguru smiles before stepping back, watching him give the flowers to his wife.

An adorable moment by nature. It almost feels too vulnerable to see the look of love on the old woman’s face as she receives the gift.

Suguru continues on to the next house, selling flowers and bread as he goes. He went to every house in town until there was only one remaining.

He walks up to the dwelling, knocking on the door and waits patiently for whoever’s living there.

The door opens, your body standing there.

If you asked Suguru a day ago what he thought the most beautiful thing was he would say a dicentra or maybe even tulips. That was before he saw you. Your cheeks like petals, soft and plump. You also had eyes that shined brighter than the early morning dew that clung to his garden. You were magnificent. You were the most beautiful flower he had ever seen.

“Hello?”

Suguru never found himself speechless. Throughout his life he had found himself in a multitude of situations that would warrant it, but he wasn’t, not even once. He had trained himself on how to smile and talk to people, he prided himself on it. No one was too hard to talk to.

Until he met you.

His lips refused to cooperate with him, throat muddled up. You look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something.

“I’m selling homemade bread and flowers.”

Idiot.

That’s what he decided to say? Not even a proper hello first?

“Oh, lovely. I was hoping to make something for dinner but didn’t have anything around the house. How much for the bread?” You ask, digging in your pocket for money.

Suguru tears his eyes from you, a painful task, and opens his basket. Most of his inventory was gone. He did have a loaf of Dutch bread at the bottom of the basket, the sight of it mocking him. He couldn’t give you that. It was no longer fresh, and it was cold to the touch. He couldn’t give you it.

You pull out your hand, palm cupped with money.

“I’m out of bread.” He finds himself saying.

Your brow raises. A beat passes before you speak.

“Okay, what about flowers?”

He wordlessly thanks your graciousness. In his basket he finds two Yarrows. All of his flowers were beautiful, but he found himself cursing God for not making anything more beautiful.

Suguru holds them up to you, fighting back a whimper when your hand grazes him as you pluck the stems from his grasp.

“How much?”

“You don’t have to pay.”

He would never force you to pay for anything, especially not something that could never rival your beauty.

He watches your lips slowly morph into a smile.

“You’re an interesting merchant.”

He’s sure you’re making fun of him, but he doesn’t care. His cheeks feel hot as he looks into your eyes.

“I was planning on visiting this village again tomorrow, I will bring more bread then.”

He wasn’t planning on visiting this village again until now. It had been a random stop he never was going to make again.

Your eyes flit down to the Yarrow, admiring them.

“You know where to find me.”

~~~

Suguru’s feet hurt when he finally arrives back home. He wants to go to bed but he can’t. Not when he needs to make bread for you. Usually he had extra dough laying around, but he didn’t. Even if he did, he would’ve preferred to make it fresh. He works tirelessly as he prepares the dough, pouring all his love into it. Flour cakes under his fingernails, his palms hurting from kneading the dough for so long.

He wouldn’t dream of complaining. Not when he knew who this was for. He didn’t even catch your name. Once he knew it, he would spell it in the stars so everyone did too.

Suguru barely gets any sleep. It was a concoction of baking and nerves. His house smells like bread while he walks around, preparing for his long journey ahead. He searched in his kitchen before finding a small jar of homemade strawberry jam. One of his neighbors, a kind elderly widow, had made it for him. They often traded breads and jams, occasionally sharing them outside when the weather was right.

Once everything was ready, he placed it all in his basket before setting off into the forest again.

The walk was way faster than he remembered it being. His mind was too clouded with thoughts of you. He enters the town, making his way directly to your house first thing. He wasn’t even really sure if he was going to go to the other houses after.

The door rattles with his fist, and he wills the butterflies going off in his body to settle down.

If he had at all been worried your beauty was a fluke, which he wasn’t, his worries certainly died down the moment he looked at you for a second time.

You’re just as beautiful the second time around as you were the first.

Your chest was heaving with sweat lining your forehead. You must’ve been hard at work. Doing what, he wondered?

“It’s you.”

“It’s me.” He responds with a smile. “Much more prepared this time, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t want to tell you he stayed up until the sun rose to prepare your bread.

A sly grin breaks across your face. You lean against the door frame, your eyes sliding down his figure. Suguru can feel his skin tingling with each inch your eyes covered.

“What have you brought for me today?”

Suguru holds up his basket and reveals the fresh bread. It was a simple loaf of wheat bread, and although it was basic, it was renowned as his best selling one. He feels his heart flutter the second the scent reaches your nose, your face lightening up.

“That smells wonderful.”

“Tastes wonderful too, or so I’ve been told.”

You open the door a bit more, revealing the rest of the house behind you. It was humble, an aboad that was probably common in these parts of town.

“Why don’t you come in and share it with me?”

The offer stops Suguru in his tracks. Out of all the things you could have said to him, he wasn’t expecting that.

The first thought that crosses his mind is flattery. You want to eat with him?

The second feeling that follows after is worry. You want to eat with him, and he’s a stranger.

“You hardly know me.” He speaks.

The idea that you would open your door to just anyone frightened him a bit. What if it was someone with bad intentions?

“What’s your name?”

You don’t look afraid, even though Suguru feels you should be.

“Suguru.”

You toss his name across your brain several times. You say your name back and step away, letting him come in.

“Now you know my name and I know yours. Share it with me?”

He's touched by your kindness, but still mildly unnerved at the idea you might do this for someone with unsavory motives.

It’s hard to refuse your offer, so he finds himself stepping in after you. The close proximity whisks his breath away but you hardly notice. You don’t even spare him a glance as you head over to your table.

You sit down and look up at him, waiting for him to join you. He places the basket on the table before rummaging around, pulling the loaf out.

“I also brought more flowers, in case you were interested.”

“Will you let me pay this time?”

“Maybe.” No, he wouldn’t.

Suguru didn’t need any form of payment. As long as he got to see the joy on your face again, that was all he needed.

You grab a knife and begin to slide through the loaf, slicing several pieces for the two of you. He wondered if you were able to tell he made the bread fresh for you. Did the warmth of it tingle your fingers? Could you feel the love that seeped from it?

Suguru pulls out the jam and sets it aside.

“What’s that?” You ask.

“My neighbor made it. It’s strawberry.”

You pick up the jar, eyes gliding across the glass in amazement.

“Where do you live? The people in this town don’t bake bread or make jam. Maybe I should move to your town.” You joke.

Don’t say that, he thinks. If you say that, he might beg you to.

He hardly knows you, yet he’s finding himself completely entranced by you. He aches to learn more.

“A town further South. A couple hours at most.” He keeps his eyes trained down on your hands, watching as you spread the jam on the bread.

Only when the silence stretches on for too long does he rip his eyes from your fingers, looking up.

He doesn’t know whether he should be startled or not at the face you’re making. Your eyes are open wide, like you’re looking through him.

“Hours?” You repeat.

Suguru nods, his brows raising.

“I didn’t see a horse.”

“I walked.”

You stutter a bit before placing the knife down, pushing the plate in the middle of the table. Suguru’s eyes drift down, the intimacy of sharing a dish not lost on him.

“I could never walk that long.” You murmur, picking up a piece of bread, raising it to your lips.

Suguru tries not to stare at the way your lips part, but it’s difficult.

“It’s not that bad.” He pulls his piece up to him, taking a bite.

“Not everyone has such long legs.” You say around the food.

Suguru’s mouth perks up, a smile gracing his features. He was used to people commenting on his height, but he felt an extra ounce of pride when you were the one saying it.

You mumble around the food, hand flying up to cover your mouth.

“Suguru, this is wonderful!” Excitement seeps from your words and Suguru’s heart jumps.

“Thank you.” He dips his head down, suddenly bashful.

The two of you share the meal, words flowing flawlessly between you.

“It’s a shame that my father isn’t here, I’m sure he would love this as much as I do.” You comment.

Suguru leans back, not sure if this is a touchy subject.

“He’s just out of town today, I’ll share some with him when he comes back. Maybe.” You smirk.

“What does he do for work?”

“He helps people get their farms up and running. I think he traveled to help a young couple get theirs set up.”

Suguru begins to daydream about owning a farm with you. Would you adore his flowers as much as he did? Would you let him do all the work? He wouldn’t mind it, he preferred it.

He knew he was getting ahead of himself, but he couldn’t help the infatuation that grew in his heart.

Besides, Suguru never was one to love normally or calmly.

“I was trying to clean the house before he returns, but I must admit I’m having a hard time reaching things.”

“Would you allow me to help? I’ve got long legs, you know.”

A song floats over to his ears, a song built on your laughter. He could get used to that.

“I couldn’t make you do that. I already dragged you inside to eat with me. I’m sure you have much more important things to be doing.”

Never, he thinks. Nothing would be more important than this.

“It’s okay.” He says plainly.

He watches as you seem to be debating inside your head. You give up, standing up to carry the dishes to the sink.

“I would love help changing out the candles.” You say sheepishly.

Suguru waits as you leave to go find the extra candles, his head racing with thoughts. After you finished, there would be no reason for him to stay. He would have to go back home. He wanted to stay and talk with you more. Your words facisnated him. He felt like a child, the way he longed to hear you tell him stories. He didn’t want to go home. Not when being with you felt more like home than his own ever did.

“I found them.” You speak, snapping him out of it.

You guide him around the house, showing him every spot that needed a new candle.

It should be a simple task for him. He finds it increasingly difficult, however. He feels your eyes bore into him each time he reaches up, making his heart pound. Even though it’s easy to do, he’s just replacing old candles, he almost feels like he’s never done anything so hard before. He can feel the way your eyes track his movement, almost making it impossible to focus. His linen shirt suddenly feels too hot, as he tries to keep his eyes on his hands.

“There, how does that look?”

You stare at the metal candle holder for a minute before nodding, a soft hum coming from your lips.

“It looks wonderful, Suguru.”

He decides no one has ever said his name as beautifully as you do.

He steps back, following you towards the kitchen. He can tell that he needs to leave, but a small part of him is upset at that fact.

“Will you be in town anytime soon? I’d love to purchase more bread, if that’s alright.” You stare at him as he gathers his things.

He nods, and looks down at you.

“I can come back in several days.”

“Fantastic, I’ll be looking forward to it.” You say happily.

So will I, Suguru thinks.

~~~

Suguru leans back, watching you chew a new recipe he tried for bread. So far, so good, he thinks. Your lips are played in a smile as you taste it, swallowing it with a sigh.

“I don't think you can make something bad.”

“Is that a challenge?” Suguru jokes.

“One you’d fail, I’m sure.”

Your flattery causes his heart to race, a throb settling deep in his chest.

“I wish I could bake like you.” You say.

“I could teach you, if you’d like. It isn’t that hard.”

Your eyes flash with excitement and Suguru has to swallow the knot that forms in his throat.

“You can?”

Yes, anything for you.

“Sure. I can bring the ingredients tomorrow.”

You jump up and down in your seat, chattering away to him about all that you want to do with the bread. Are you aware of how you make his stomach twist? He thinks there’s no way you are.

~~~

When Suguru comes the next morning he has a burlap sack filled to the brim with ingredients, all for your bread. You open the door the second he knocks it, taking him by surprise.

“I apologize, I didn’t sleep much last night.” You say all giddy, opening up the door more.

Suguru steps inside and follows you to your table. You already have it set up according to how he told you. There’s bowls and spoons, all perfectly set. His hair is already tied back, so all he needs to do is roll up his sleeves.

He stands next to you, reading out what ingredients to add next. He watches over your shoulder as you eagerly mix, chuckling to himself when some of it spills out the sides.

“Slowly, sweetheart.” He murmurs.

You apologize quietly, following his order of slowing your hand down.

It was looking good, but now was the time to start getting your hands dirty.

“The next step is to knead it. You do this by placing it on the table, and pressing your hands into it.” Suguru explains, watching you scrap the bowl and plop the dough in front of you.

“Mmm like this?” You ask, folding it over itself.

“Just like that, a little more pressure.” He adds.

Without even thinking, he reaches his arms on either side of you, correcting your form to knead it harder. His hands hover over yours, pressing your palms down more against the plush dough.

“You have big hands.” You chuckle, and suddenly Suguru’s aware of what he’s doing.

“Oh, my bad. I shouldn’t have-“

“No, it’s okay. You should keep your hands there, so I don't mess up.” You correct him.

You turn your head over your shoulder, looking at him. His face is unbearingly close to yours, heat from your cheeks radiating off and scorching his face. He looks deep into your eyes before you’re quickly looking back down, watching the bread below your hands.

Suguru berates his heart as he helps you, hoping it slows down. That moment with you kept repeating in his mind, over and over again.

He snaps out of it when you squeal, pulling the bread from the oven. The top of it is perfectly golden, the smell of it filling your tiny kitchen.

“Look, Suguru!” You say, placing it down.

He looks over the top of your head and smiles.

“It looks good, let’s wait for it to cool before we try it.”

He would have liked to wait a little longer, afraid it would burn your tongue, but he couldn’t say no with the way you were tilting back and forth, begging to cut into it. Suguru takes the liberty, pouring the bread from the pan before sliding a knife down the side of it. It cuts smoother than butter, steam wafting up from it.

“Okay, let’s try it.” Suguru raises a small piece, holding it in his hand as he lifts it to your mouth.

The heat soaks into the pads of his finger tips, but he’d much rather get burned than you. You look down and blow on the bread, Suguru has to force himself not to gasp at the air caressing his skin. You look up at him and take a bite, smiling as crumbs dust your lips.

“It’s so good!” You murmur around the mouth full of food.

Suguru uses his other hand to lift up a separate piece, taking a slight nibble. It was fantastic. Sweeter than the bread he made, he wondered if that was just because you were the one who created it.

“You may put me out of business.” He jokes.

You pull your piece from his hand, holding it tightly next to your face. A shame, he thinks. He would’ve preferred for you to keep eating from his palm. Did that say something about him?

“I might, you better watch over your back.” You say, eating the rest of your bread with a grin.

“I will.” Suguru says back, treasuring the way the food melts on his tongue.

~~~

“Hey Suguru?”

The two of you have settled into a comfortable routine, as he had visited a couple of more times, always sitting in your kitchen to share a plate of bread with you.

He flicks his eyes up to you before looking back down.

“Is the forest dangerous?” You finish.

Suguru takes a moment to think. He’s never thought about it before. His feet have carried him through the trees for countless years.

“Not really. The only thing you have to look out for is bandits.”

He takes a moment to appreciate the way you’re gaping at him.

“I’ve never seen any though. Just know they’re out there.”

“They’d be a fool to try to rob you.” You mutter under your breath.

Suguru lets out a quiet chuckle. Any reason to point out his height, you’d take it.

“As children we’re warned not to go in too deep.” You mumble.

“I can bring you if you like? They have some Gardenia’s there, not too deep in. We can go and get them if you want?”

“You’d keep me safe from bandits?”

Yes, you don’t even have to ask. He’d go toe to toe for you.

“Of course.”

The more he got to know you, the more Suguru grew to like you, really like you. It was no longer infatuation, it grew into something more beautiful and large.

He notices you dip your head down at the tone of his soft voice. You have a few habits he’s picked up on. One of them is every reaction you have to his words. You like to poke and prod him, but the second he pushes back or uses a specific tone you look away, teeth nibbling on your lip. It’s adorable, he thinks.

~~~

You both decide to go to the forest tomorrow. He decides to stay in your town overnight because there would be no point in making the long trek back to his only to come back tomorrow morning. You offered a bed in your house, knowing your father would not have it, but Suguru declined. It would be improper, he told you. He had never felt his body fight so hard against him before. Even though it’s hard for him to say no, he doesn’t relent. He ends up staying at the only Inn in town. It was a normal house, with five extra rooms spread out. His host was a sweet older woman who insisted on helping carry his bags to his room. The act pained him, but he knew better than to tell a woman no.

As he lay in bed that night he stared up at the ceiling, thoughts of you curling around his mind.

You were here, in this town.

Suguru wakes up earlier than you do. His eyes crack open the second the sun shines through, his body restless. There was so much to show you, he didn’t know where to begin. Along with that, he felt the early onsets of fear begin to take hold. He had never thought about bandits before, but now that you mention it he couldn’t shake the idea. What if there were some when you went out? He wasn’t afraid of taking care of you. He knew he could do that. He just didn’t want you to see something ugly. He feared he would never forgive himself.

Suguru walks to your house, stopping a short ways away outside to linger near a bunch of trees. He didn’t want to intrude, and he had no idea what you’ve told your father about your relationship with him.

What was your relationship with him?

Friendly, he thought. You had always welcomed him with a smile. However there were lingering touches and stolen glances over fresh bread, conversations floating across your tongues easily. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. There was a chance you thought nothing of him, treating him as you would anyone else.

“Suguru!”

His head shoots up the second his name falls from your lips.

“I apologize for making you wait.” You say, stopping short in front of him.

You look like you got together hastily, sleep marks imbedded in your flesh with several of your hairs out of place.

Did you know how perfect you were?

“I wasn’t waiting long, are you ready to go?”

Suguru smiles at the excitement spreading across your face. He knew the flowers were in bloom, but he wasn’t sure they could rival you.

As the two of you walk, you take careful calculated steps as you notice the weather. It was sunny without being too temperamental. You could hear laughter of the village children carrying over the wind to you. Suguru listened to you as you rattled on, occasionally dropping his input, but he much preferred to listen.

When the trees started to get thicker Suguru noticed you start to walk closer to him. It was cute, the way you looked towards him for shelter and protection.

“I think this is where I saw them last time.” Suguru says aloud, stopping to the side and looking around.

“They’re bright red, so they're easy to spot.”

He sees excitement curl in your eyes at the prospect of finding some hidden treasure, even if that treasure was just flowers.

Suguru locates them after several minutes, grabbing your hand and leading you towards it. There were several bushes laid together, all of them overflowing with the red petals.

He smiles to himself at the gasp you let out, your fingers tentatively reaching forward to kiss the leaves.

“Pretty, right? I always think about taking some home with me so I can plant them but I can never bring myself to do it. They look much better out here anyhow.”

Suguru sits next to you as you stare at the bush. He finds it cute that you’re interested in his interests. If you asked, he would tell you anything you wanted to know about plants or baking. Suguru wasn’t an expert in everything, but he was an expert in those.

“Suguru, thank you for showing me these.” Your voice trails off, still focused on what was in front of you.

He smiles and picks a red Gardenia, careful placing it behind your ear.

“Anytime.”

Your hand trembles as you reach up to touch the flower on your ear. The forest was silent, save for the sounds of birds and bugs, complete serenity falling over you.

The only way Suguru’s able to tell that time is passing is by the view of the sun, now completely overhead, shining through the canopy of trees around you. Neither of you wanted to leave, so instead you lay on your backs, looking at the trees above you. The leaves and sun paint beautiful pictures, yellow shapes being shined upon your skin.

“Hey Suguru?”

Suguru hums, turning his head to the side to look at you.

Your arm is outstretched, holding the flower he gave you in front of you. Your fingers are twirling it around, spinning the flower over and over. Suguru’s dizzy at the sight, but he can’t tell if it’s because of your beauty or the the spinning.

“They say flowers have a language of their own, don't they?”

Suguru’s lashes flit as he memorizes the lines on your face, wanting to capture this moment.

“They do.”

“Do you know the meanings of flowers?”

“Some of them.”

Suguru sits up and pulls the tie from his hair, letting the black silk cacoon him. He looks over his shoulder back at you, but you’re too preoccupied with the sight of the twirling.

“What does this one mean?”

Suguru ponders for a moment, unsure whether or not he should tell you. Would it come off too strong? He couldn’t bare the thought of lying to you though. He’s a strong man so he fights the urge to look away from you when he says,

“Secret love.”

He swears the forest ceases all sound at that moment, that or the beating of his heart is far louder than anything else.

“Is that so?” You ask, peeking around the bright flower to look at him.

He hums, waiting to see if you would have a negative reaction. Would you get up and leave him here, never to allow him back into your home? He wouldn’t blame you.

A demure smile spreads across your face, sitting up until you’re laying on your elbow. You bring the flower to your face, taking in a deep breath before you sit up completely. Suguru tracks your movements carefully.

“In that case,” you say, sliding the flower behind Suguru’s ear, the bright pop of red constrasting with his dark hair.

Suguru swears his heart stops beating in that moment, his body completely rigid with surprise. You knew the meaning of the flower, and you were giving it to him?

A silent understanding flows between you two, Suguru no longer on edge as the seconds pass. You both are aware now, your feelings as out in the open as they could be without physically saying it. It was funny, the flower meant secret love but his admiration for you was no longer a secret.

“It’s a shame we can’t stay out here forever.” You say.

You lay back down, closing your eyes.

Suguru silently agrees, leaning back until he’s laying next to you, much closer this time. He wonders what’s going to happen next. Would he be able to court you properly, would your father accept him?

He hears you shuffle around before your face pops into view, blocking out the sun above him. His brows raise in surprise as he looks at you. You looked nothing short of an Angel, golden light haloing around your head as you smile down at him.

“I know you’re busy where you live, but why don't we meet in this forest once a week?” You say.

“Or I can walk down and meet you closer to your village, that might be easier.”

No, he couldn’t handle the idea of you walking these forests alone, or walking that long at all.

“Let’s meet here.” Suguru agrees, reaching a hand up to cup your cheek.

Neither of you want to be the one to look away first. So instead, you just continue to gaze into the others eyes.

Suguru hears an older man call your name just outside the sanctity of the forest. It must be your father, and by the sounds of it he was angry. Probably upset that dinner hadn’t been made yet, if Suguru had to come up with a reason. He didn’t want to dislike your father, after all he had a hand in creating you, but he didn’t appreciate the way he treated you.

“I suppose I’ll have to leave now…” you trail off, your voice caked in sadness.

Suguru’s grip on your cheek tightens, and he resolves to do something he’s never done before, yet dreamed of countless times.

He sits up and leans in, his lips ghosting yours.

“Suguru…” You whisper, looking into his eyes, the movement of your lips tickling his.

“May I?” Just this once, he wants to beg. Let me taste you just this once.

He waits for an answer that doesn’t come. Instead, you’re meeting him halfway, kissing him softly. It was everything he had dreamed of. Your lips were soft, the lingering taste of the sweet strawberry jam he always brought to you mingling with his own.

If only he could stop time.

If only nothing existed but the two of you.

As soon as it starts, it’s over. You’re pulling away, your eyes flickering open to look at him. He can hardly breathe under your gaze. His fingers itch with the need to grab you, press you against him, show the love he’s been feeling all this time but has been too afraid to say aloud.

Suguru’s lips tingle as he watches you slowly rise to your feet. You dip your head in acknowledgment, tossing over your shoulder.

“Coming, father!”

Stay, he thinks. Stay.

“Goodbye Suguru.” You murmur, giving him a smile.

He watches you scamper out of the forest, feeling like you took his heart with you.

He isn’t sure he’s ever going to want it back.

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#my writing #suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #suguru x you #suguru geto x you #geto x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #suguru imagine #suguru geto imagine #geto imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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nightmaskart · 11 months ago

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Hello! Happy to explain:

On the left is Lady Aribeth, a half elf, she used to be a paladin of Tyr until she broke her oath to remain with Yarrow and Yarrow's group.

On the right is Yarrow, an eldritch knight of Kalashtar descent.

Yarrow and Aribeth started off on a bad foot, Yarrow didn't trust Aribeth who was instructing her adventuring party on how to find a cure for the wailing death in Neverwinter. Aribeth was indirectly responsible for Yarrow's mother being thrown in prison.

Yarrow fell hard for Aribeth when they first fought together and later started adventuring together.

Aribeth broke her oath to Tyr to stay with Yarrow and her group after a conversation where Yarrow gave Aribeth an earring she made for her as a token of her devotion.

They haven't even kissed in canon yet!

Let me know if you have more questions, I'm happy to answer them!

#yarrowbeth #yarrow #oc #lady aribeth

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star-centric · 7 days ago

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Yarrow (Everlasting Love) || Dazai

MEANING: “Yarrow is a beautiful flower that shares twin meanings of healing and love. In modern times, the flower has become associated with love, since it has been used in weddings and even hung over matrimonial beds, in hopes of fostering true love for seven years after marriage.”

A/N: It’s been a while since I written anything let alone Dazai (please forgive me, I’ve been really sad lately lol). Reader is gender neutral!

❀ FLOWER SPECIAL MASTERLIST ❀

“Dance with me.”

Dazai reached his hand out to you, his smile being too gentle for the mischievous one that you’re used to. The music shifted from the jovial tone to something more soft and romantic, as some of the couples started to make their way to the floor.

“Right now?” It was lame, but you were caught off guard at how eager he was.

“I don’t see a better time than now.” He laughed, already pulling you from your seat. He felt warm as he cupped your hand, falling into the mix of the crowd. He pulled you into a slow sway, matching the rhythm of the tune. You were nervous, but it was the good kind of nervous that left you feeling giddy as the butterflies piled in your stomach.

You laid your hands around neck while his were locked around your waist, slender fingers tapping at your sides to get your attention. “You’re zoning out again.”

“Sorry- I’m trying to make sure I don’t step on your feet.” You chuckled. You weren’t as smooth as him, like he was with his words and actions.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Dazai took his opportunity to spin you, his palm landing on the small of your back. He brought you in close, chestnut eyes flickering from your own to your lips. “You look absolutely divine.”

You saw the growing look in his eyes and tapped his shoulder, “Be on your best behavior- your coworkers are watching.”

Dazai hummed, “Seeing someone as beautiful as you, they’ll understand.”

He didn’t give you time to respond as he dipped you, smirking at your shocked look. You shouldn’t have been surprised- you’ve known him for years. Back when he was lost in the Port Mafia, back when he believed he never had a chance in becoming a human. When he believed he never had a chance at being loved- but you proved him wrong.

Your journey together wasn’t easy by any means, but it became worth it when he began to slowly let down his guard, you finally chipping away at his layers. He never fully opened up to you with everything, but you weren’t expecting him to. There were still some things shrouded in his past that you don’t know, but you’re ready to ready to listen if he ever decided to tell you.

You remember when Dazai confessed to you, when he first shared his love. He told you that showed him the gentle side of humanity that he thought didn’t existed. He knew that you were genuine but also foolish- yet he couldn’t get enough of you just as you couldn’t get enough of him.

“Maybe it’s time we get some fresh air…”

“Osamu, we can’t just leave our guests.” You gently scolded.

“Why not? Everybody had you to themselves all day,” he leaned in closer, blowing on your ear. “Don’t I have a right to be selfish?”

Delicious shivers went down your spine as you tried to fight your smile. “You’ll have tonight and the rest of our lives to do that.”

The rings decorating your fingers were simple proof of that.

#writings.txts #flowerspecial.txts 🌸#bsd.txts #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bsd x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd dazai x reader #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu x y/n #dazai osamu x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd dazai osamu x reader

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clangenrising · 7 months ago

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Month 15 - Newleaf

Battle With Razor Pt 7

Scorchplume couldn’t believe what she was doing. The further into the woods they went, the louder the sounds of yowling, fighting cats grew. It was overwhelming. It made her want to crawl into a hole and close her eyes until everything was over. But Goldenstar needed her. She found it hard to believe that Oddstripe had been given a mystical vision of doom but, if there was anything she could believe, it was that Goldenstar was in danger.

A grey shape moved in her peripheral vision and Scorch sucked in a sharp, fearful breath. Oddstripe twisted to follow her gaze and his shoulders loosened in relief.

“Stormwhisper!” he cried around the yarrow in his mouth.

“Oddstripe?” The shape that wasn’t Razor turned to face them with a surprised expression.

“Oddstripe?” Sagetooth’s voice echoed his question cantankerously. The healer stomped out from behind a tree to glare at them. When she spotted Scorch, her expression flattened to something close to resignation. “And Scorchplume. What in the Dark Forest are you doing here?” The other healers craned their necks to see what the fuss was about.

“I had a vision!” Oddstripe explained, moving closer. “Have any of you seen Goldenstar? Scorchplume needs to get to her right away.”

“No,” Sagetooth shook her head, “She’s probably in the thickest of the fighting.” Scorch swallowed thickly and tried to keep her eyes from darting around at every noise.

“Then that’s where we have to go,” Oddstripe said reluctantly.

“You’ll get yourself killed,” Sagetooth snapped.

“She’s right,” said Stormwhisper, “it’s too dangerous.”

“This was stupid,” Scorch huffed, tail twitching. “I shouldn’t even be here.”

“No, no!” Oddstripe’s ears pressed back against his skull. “My vision was very clear! If Scorchplume doesn’t get to Goldenstar, she’ll die!”

“She has nine lives,” Sagetooth said. “She’s prepared to lose one of them to kill Razor.” Scorch grit her teeth and held her tongue. That was part of the problem!

Oddstripe shook his head in distress. “No, I mean she’ll die die! Like completely dead!”

“That’s ridiculous,” huffed Sagetooth. “That only happens if a cat gets sick or drowns, things that can’t be healed immediately.”

“You all sound insane,” Scorch hissed. “She’s probably already dead.” She almost wished that were true. In that case, she would have something final to hold onto instead of floating unmoored in this unbearable uncertainty.

Sagetooth growled to herself, tail lashing. “Hush, kit. Don’t speak on things you know nothing about.”

“Stormwhisper!” a voice called from the other side of the small clearing. “It’s Darkmoon!” Dawnbird came dashing in as Coyotechaser and Sparrowpaw trailed behind with a bloody Darkmoon limping between them.

“Bring him over here!” Stormwhisper said, attention completely diverted. “Blazingbrush, grab the poppy seeds!”

“On it!”

“He’s having trouble breathing,” Sparrowpaw said, sparing only a brief glance their way.

Sagetooth chewed her lip for a second and then said, “Oddstripe, if you’re completely sure, you should go looking. StarClan will guide you.”

“Alright,” nodded Oddstripe. He stepped up beside Scorchplume and looked towards the battlefield, tail arched behind him.

“This is crazy,” Scorchplume said. “You know this is crazy, right?”

“I know,” Oddstripe fretted, looking at his son who was already darting back towards the battle. “I can’t do nothing though.” He stepped forward, then stopped all of a sudden, eyes wide. “Do you see that?”

Scorch leaned in to follow his gaze. “What? I don’t see anything.”

“Look!” he said breathily, pointing with his muzzle. “See how the sun is shining through those trees?” Scorch looked again. The trees seemed completely normal, the dawn light filtering in between the leaves. There was a small trail of stronger light where the branches let in more of the sun’s rays. It didn’t seem particularly special to her mind.

“So?” she asked.

“It’s leading perfectly through the trees,” Oddstripe said, already bounding towards it. “We have to follow it!”

“What?!” Scorch bristled. “But it’s nowhere near the battle!”

“Come on!” was all he said, shouting over his shoulder.

Scorch let out a frustrated whine, claws kneading the damp earth in frustration. This was insane! She was following a crazy person into the woods for no reason! Still, she glanced around and decided she didn’t want to stay here and she knew she wouldn’t have the stomach to just go back, so she dashed to catch up with him. She hoped that Goldenstar actually needed her help or else she was going to feel so stupid after this.

She followed Oddstripe through the trees for a while as he raced along the thin line of sunlight that cut a path between the trees. Scorch had to admit, it was strange how continuous the line was, how it was never blocked by shrubbery and it never led them up the side of a tree. She shrugged it off as a freaky coincidence. The sound of fighting faded behind them, allowing her nerves to settle just a bit.

Then, suddenly, the playful sound of a bell rattling with effort.

“Wait, shh!” she hissed softly. “Stop!”

Oddstripe did so, ears perked attentively. “What is that?”

“A collar bell,” she whispered, “It’s one of the Exalted. What are they doing all the way out here?”

“Let’s go look,” Oddstripe said, creeping closer.

“W- Don’t-!” Scorch bristled indignantly. Her protests didn’t slow him and with another frustrated kneading, she slank after him.

Ahead of them was a small clearing in which a large tabby tom stood hunched over something, shaking it in his jaws. Scorch’s heart leapt into her throat at the sight of Razor. What was he doing out here?! She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart was beating so fast she thought her body might explode.

“Oh, Stars,” Oddstripe whispered beside her, his voice full of horror.

At the sound, Razor turned to face them, eyes searching the underbrush, and Scorch gasped. The thing in his jaws was Goldenstar, her body limp and bloody, eyes gazing vacantly as her head lolled in their direction. Razor dropped the body and it hit the ground with a wet thump.

“Who’s out there?” he asked, teeth bared. Scorch took a step back. Oddstripe started to move forward.

“What are you doing?!” Scorch said in a whisper so high it was almost a squeak.

“I have to help her,” Oddstripe said, shifting his posture lower as if about to sprint.

“She’s dead!” Scorch hissed. “There’s no helping her now!”

“There you are,” Razor’s voice sent a chill down her spine. The way his eyes swept over the shrub told her he couldn’t see them yet but he stepped over Goldenstar’s body and prowled in their direction.

Scorchplume had no idea what possessed her to step forward in that moment. She should have run. She should have left Oddstripe to his foolishness and started heading for the hills. Instead, she inexplicably walked straight into the fire and she had no idea why.

When Razor saw her, his furious snarl softened in surprise. “Gingersnap.” He said.

Scorchplume swallowed dryly. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say. Oddstripe was right behind her somewhere, sure to be discovered. Carefully, she sidestepped Razor to get a better look at the corpse, hoping to lead his attention away from the hidden healer.

“Razor, what have you done?” she asked hoarsely. She stared past the body and let her vision fog, unable to actually look at the grisly details marring the pelt of the cat she had been sharing a nest with for the last few weeks.

“Don’t be like that,” Razor frowned, closing distance with her. He licked the blood from his muzzle and buried his nose in the fur at the back of her neck. She stiffened under his touch, stomach turning queasily. It felt like he had her insides in a vice and was squeezing them as hard as he could.

“Forget about the savage, Gingersnap. She’s gone now.”

Scorch inhaled shakily. “Razor, please…”

“What?” he asked, a hint of annoyance replacing the sickly sweet tone he had been using. “Please what, little bird?”

“Please, just…” She didn’t know where she was going with this. “Just let me go.”

Razor’s posture shifted dangerously. “Let you go?” he breathed. “Careful, Gingersnap. You almost sound like you don’t want to go back with me.”

“I don’t,” she sobbed, backing away. “I never did!”

“That’s a lie,” he shouted, “words planted in your head by that filthy wild cat!” Scorch, hunched down against the ground, spared one glance past him at Goldenstar’s body. Oddstripe was crouched over her, rubbing chewed up yarrow over her gaping wounds in a futile display of optimism. Razor’s paw shot out and pushed her chin upwards.

“Don’t look at her!” he snapped. “She’s gone now. Look at me.”

“Stop it!” she cried, pushing him away.

“No,” he boomed, shoving her roughly back, “you need to learn! I am the only one who has ever cared about you! I gave you everything you wanted, practically crawled over glass to suit your whims, and all the while you snuck around behind my back! Why?!”

“Don’t touch me!” Scorch screamed, unable to think another thought. She reared up on her toes in an attempt to feel less like a cowering child.

“You will never be satisfied!” Razor laughed bitterly. “You’re a leech, Gingersnap, all you do is feed off other people but it will never be enough for you! You will always be empty and miserable and incomplete!” Scorch pressed her ears back against her head to block out the words. He was just trying to get into her head, she couldn’t listen to him.

Razor leaned down and lowered his voice to something pleading and gentle. “Why can’t you just let me love you?” Scorch struck out with her claws and they gouged into the soft flesh of his eye. Razor snarled in pain and recoiled, blinking away the blood now pouring down the right side of his face.

“You little bitch!” he hissed and swiped out with his own claws. Her body moved instinctively, ducking backwards on muscle memory, and the strike grazed her whiskers. Her heart was pounding. Mouth dry, she lunged and swiped at him like Goldenstar had taught her only to be slammed onto her back by Razor’s massive paws.

“You’ll pay for that,” he growled, blood dripping from his face onto hers. She squirmed helplessly. Why had she done this? For months she had avoided this exact course of action knowing it would end in her death but something about these Clan cats had sabotaged the defenses she had been building all her life and introduced a fatal flaw. She wondered if an apology would do anything at this point.

“There!” she heard Russetfrond shout from a distance. Razor turned his head and bared his teeth in a snarl. With a screech, Orangestar leapt onto Razor’s back in a blur of ginger fur, and he stumbled away to try and throw her off. Scorchplume gasped for breath and scrambled to her feet, cheeks drenched in tears.

“Are you alright?” Russetfrond asked, appearing at her side.

“I don’t know,” she swallowed. The deputy looked her up and down and seemed to conclude that she was fine. He turned his attention back to the battle and sprang off to join Orangestar.

Scorchplume crouched down against the earth and fell apart.

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yourdeepestfathoms · 3 months ago

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Whumptober Snippet 3

She ends up stumbling into a clearing that is dappled in white daisies and bisected by a trickling river. And what she sees within this clearing is like a branch being swung directly at her teeth.

A person donned in clothing of golden straw, sits atop a moss-matted rock, strumming at a guitalele as they sing a ditty. A humanoid goat, their fur dusted in pollen and spotted with leaves, dances around them, the bells they’re adorned with jingling with every movement, yet their hooves barely rustle the flowers beneath them.

Perrine blinks.

And then she blinks again.

And then she rubs her eyes—and accidentally smears blood on her face in the process because, right, they were dirty.

Is she hallucinating? Is blood loss making her see things? There’s no way…

It’s the Storyteller and Yarrow the Bellringer.

She’s definitely hallucinating. You don’t just see the Harkers. Not like this, at least.

Of course, Perrine has met the Croon before, but she’s never been privy to the appearance of the other three. She knows it’s the same for her friends. They’ve all interacted with the Harker they share the likeness of but nothing beyond that.

Is this sacrilegious? Is she going to be struck down for glimpsing them? The Harkers aren’t gods, but they aren’t regular people either. They’re greater, more powerful than the average Joe. Seeing them in such a casual setting seems wrong in a way she can’t explain.

She should probably leave. She can hobble a bit further, and she doesn’t want to concern these two with her little problem anyway.

However, as she’s attempting to slowly back away, a sharp bolt of pain shoots up her injured leg, and she can’t stop the hiss that escapes her lips. She quickly bites her tongue, but it’s too late.

Yarrow is the first to notice her. Their head whips around at an almost frightening speed, and their eyes fall upon her. They go stiff immediately, their ears perking straight up; goats are prey animals, after all.

Then, the Storyteller notices. They stop singing and strumming, lifting their head, and even though she can’t see their eyes beneath their broad-brimmed straw hat, they’re most certainly looking at her.

A beat passes. They all just stare at each other like startled deer.

Oh dear god. This is terrifying.

Why are you just standing there?!

Say something! Anything!

“Wonderful weather we’ve been having…?”

OH MY GOD.

#i was gonna put which day each snippets are from #but it’s more fun to leave y’all in the dark #y’all will just have to wait and see which snippet belongs where ;)#yaelokre #meadowlark #hayfields #perrine yaelokre #the storyteller #yarrow the bellringer

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nimblermortal · 2 years ago

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Yarrow: I am wild! I am bastard! I wish to go out and wreak my claws upon the world! Nimbler: Sure. I just want you to know that your father is in bed, under the covers. Yarrow: Get into this bed with us. Biparent cuddles. I am baby.

#he particularly wants my cuddles #and being who he is #this means that every so often I poke his cheek to see how deep my finger will go #repeatedly #and he purrs about it and goes back to sleep #clearly he hasn't been getting enough cuddles from me recently #because he's gone back to doing the twitchy ear thing #instead of trying to make himself immune because he knows if he reacts I'll do it more #Yarrow

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shoshiwrites · 2 months ago

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Can I request Jo and Bucky + 39. a lit candle and a snowstorm, please? 💕

Please forgive me for really only using this prompt as a jumping-off point for fall vibes instead of winter. I was also going to keep this short and OOPS. Biggest hugs to @floydmtalbert for helping me brainstorm this and for answering all my questions, Harvest Festival-related and otherwise ♡ Bucky Egan x War correspondent OC.

sky full of song

She wished Kay were here, to take photographs of everything.

Kay had left Jo with a Kodak Brownie that she insisted she could spare — Jo hadn’t summoned the nerve yet to test it out, fearing she’d break it. The same skittishness she reserved for plants and watering cans and, she hoped, not a lot else. Kay had narrowed her eyes with only a little judgement. “I’d hand over the Rolleiflex too if I had another one to spare,” she said, while Jo made a noise of dismissal. “You’re very much to be trusted, Jo, I hope you know that by now.”

The Kodak, a couple of rolls of film to get her started. That didn’t count the fresh bars of soap packed at the top of Jo’s suitcase, the gin and fernet under the sink, or the tiny bottle of perfume she’d slipped into the pocket of Jo’s coat in the front closet. Jo didn’t remember the label — French, of course, and floral, like the beautiful dresses and suits packed away in Kay’s trunk from home.

She’d dabbed a tiny bit on tonight, her wrists and behind her ears. She didn’t often wear a scent, or if she did it was something someone might call cheap. Orange blossom, usually, which she loved. But today she’d been out in the fields, observing the Land Army girls and the farmers around the village and the base. Talking about the harvest and about the relatives fighting, as carefully as they could. It loomed above them, behind them, below, the Norwich Blitz of the year before, the war still ahead, the news out of Italy they’d all been following on the radio.

She was still dressed for the day outside, amongst the dry grass and the cow patties, having been too caught up in edits and wiring to change out of her trousers and light peasant blouse. She’d adjusted the blouse in the mirror in her room, tucked it in more carefully, and tried to do something with her hair — it still wisped out around her ears, the back of her neck. And, of course, she’d changed her shoes.

It had even been sunny, and what you might call warm — it accounted for the tiniest hint of copper in her brown hair, and something almost like a tan, or as much as you could get in late September. She feels warm here, inside the village hall, the day’s sun and the stuffiness of the building, despite the beautiful decorations, the food and drink, the music.

Kay would appreciate the decorations, too — flowers Jo carefully notes for no other reason than to let her friend know — heleniums and coneflowers, deep chocolate-brown dahlias and frilly white yarrow and coppertips, delicate cosmos and chrysanthemums besides. Kay could write a book, she thinks, of flower samples and photos and vignettes. Jo’s article doesn’t need such specificity — it’s about the American fliers joining the harvest festival, the cases of Coca-Cola brought over from the base to join the ale and cider and lemonade, the folk dances, the corn dollies pinned to olive drab by the children of Thorpe Abbotts. They’ve been shepherded home, the children, and now left are the grownups, the fliers, some of the village teenagers not far in age if not the same.

She’s not sure if she craves a ginger beer or something stronger. She knows she needs a cigarette. Cold air, too, maybe even more than the smoke.

There’s still plenty of people — part of why it’s so warm inside, too, she notes – and she slips out to the front steps with hand already in her pocket for her lighter. The stars look even brighter tonight, in the crisp fall air. She lights up carefully, shielding her hand. Her arms are covered in goosebumps, but she doesn’t care. It’s hardly the first time, here or back home. This time, at least, nobody’s locking her out. She sits, takes a drag. Tries not to think about how crowded it felt in there, how for a moment she felt as though she were suffocating.

“Oh good-” she hears behind her. “You’re still here.” She turns to see him behind her, above her, pressed uniform and the stray curl on his forehead. “Thought we spotted you leaving.” In the moonlight, his cheeks still look pink. “You heading out?”

She hadn’t decided until this moment. “I think so,” she says.

“Hot enough for you in there?”

“A bit.”

He takes a second, adjusts to the outside. The chill in the air. Watches her, sitting on the step in her blouse and her bare arms and the hair she’s unpinned now that she’s alone. “Can I walk you home?”

She’d refuse the offer, except the house she’s staying in is at least a ten minute walk, on the edge of the village. A little more, even, ambling along in the dark. She’d refuse the offer, except she doesn’t want to. He holds out a hand to take her cigarette, the other to help her to her feet.

“You can have it,” she says, before she can stop herself, but he’s handed it back to her already as he starts to unbutton his jacket. She watches the cherry glow, imprinted on the darkness, before she remembers to cup it with her hand.

“Oh no- I’m alright-”

“Wasn’t a question,” he says, and drapes it over her shoulders before she can protest further. “What would Kay say if I let you catch something?”

She almost snorts. It smells like him, of course, settles the unease in her body before she can worry that someone else will leave the party and see the two of them standing there. It’s also entirely too big. Comical, even. It’s practically a coat on her.

“Pneumonia’s no joke, Josephine.”

“Oh, I know.”

Before she knows it, they’re on their way back to the house, gravel crunching quietly under their feet. It’s enough to walk beside him, here, take the moment to breathe.

The house is quiet too, blackout curtains drawn. Muriel’s gone upstairs for the evening, and it’s with a gentle yank of his hand that Jo leads them around to the back gate, the one that’s never locked. It creaks open, the sound magnified in the dark.

They don’t bother with chairs, or more accurately she doesn’t want to make the noise, open the shed door and drag them out onto the flagstone. They sit, on the ground, in the garden. It smells like earth and cold and she can partly make him out in the starlight, the slope of his noise and his ears and his mouth, eyelashes, the insignias on his shirt collar. He doesn’t let her take off his jacket, even like this.

“Yankees won the pennant,” he says. “On Saturday.”

“I saw. Heard,” she corrects. Her knuckles brush against his on the stone. “I’m glad.” She almost laughs — Lena would be shocked to hear her say so. “Don’t tell my friends I said that.”

She hears him huff a little laugh. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

She looks over at the dark outline of the house, her eyes drawn to what looks like the tiniest glimmer of light upstairs. A candle, she realizes, in Muriel’s window. Jo hopes she hasn’t left it burning while she’s asleep.

“Can I get you a drink?” she asks. “Kay left a couple of things in the kitchen, some of the hard-to-find stuff. I’m sure we could rustle up some glasses-” She stops, stills, when she notices he’s reached into his pocket for his flask. His pocket, of the jacket she’s wearing, the one that’s trailing on the ground. “Sorry,” she says.

“What’re you apologizing for?”

For rambling, she wants to say. For not knowing. For taking your jacket. For sending you up there day after day with nothing but a lousy stack of clippings to show for it. She doesn’t believe that, not really, except for when she does.

“Nothing, I guess,” she says.

“Good.”

She goes and gets herself a drink as quietly as she can, carefully making her way back to the spot in the middle of the garden.

“Are you cold?”

He shakes his head, tips back the flask. “Used to it.”

She sips at the gin, the sharp, piney flavor of juniper floods her mouth, makes her pull her lips over her teeth. Not enough tonic water, but she’s not about to head back in again in the dark.

“It’ll be snowing already in Wisconsin,” he says. She squints at him in the dark, at the warmth she feels beside her. “Or almost,” he corrects.

“It’s only September.”

“We got snow in late September last year,” he says. “Up north.”

“Not in Manitowoc.” She tries not to stumble over the name, but it halts in her mouth.

He makes a noise that’s almost like a laugh, almost like surprise. “Not in Manitowoc,” he repeats. He hands her his flask; she can feel his arm bump her own. “C’mon, have some of the strong stuff.”

“Gin isn’t the strong stuff?” She takes the flask anyway, tips it back against her lips. She hasn’t had any in a while, certainly not like this. It’s hot in her throat, smoky and burning. The barest hint of honey. Despite herself, she coughs.

She doesn’t hand it back to him yet, only proffers her own drink. “Only fair,” she says. She can’t see his face too well in the dark, but hears him take a sip.

“Kay could make a killing here in England,” he says. “The booze.”

“She could.”

Upstairs, Jo notices the candle’s gone out. The warmth of the whiskey and the gin blooms in her chest.

“When you do think they get snow in England?” he asks.

There’d been a dusting on the ground in London when she and William had arrived in February. But not much. “I don’t know,” she says plainly. “Why?”

“Figured you’d know these things,” he says, and she can hear a smile shade his voice. “Being a reporter and all.”

She does laugh at that.

“There was a little, when I got here. A dusting. Like icing sugar.” It sounds silly as she says it. Like it hadn’t been pissing rain and cold and she’d had to bundle up in bed like she’d had to when she was a girl, curled up and waiting for William to come up from the hotel bar and whatever story he’d claimed to be chasing. She could think these things now, call it for what it was. That the “stories” usually had blonde hair and long legs, or red hair and short legs, or were anyone but Jo.

“Sounds picturesque.” He sounds like he’s sounding out the word.

“Almost.”

“Merry old England not living up to expectations?”

She takes a deep breath. “No- I just-”

“Just what?”

She can call it for what it was now, but she can’t think about what couldn’t have been. John instead of William, there beside her. During the air raids, the ones she’d almost always had to soldier on through without him. “I don’t know,” she says again. Maybe she should thank god it’s dark outside, so that he can’t see her face.

He takes another drink from the flask, but this time it’s slower. She can’t help it, the way she places her glass down and pulls her knees up, not quite to her chest. She can’t tell if she’s cold or not, between the jacket and the whiskey and the fact that he’s here, quiet and not, breathing, sitting on the ground here beside her. That there had been no questions about it. That she’d sat, and he’d sat. That he’s closer to her now than he was when they started.

His hand, next to hers, and pressing against it now, and hooking his fingers around hers in silence. She thinks of the names she knows that he doesn’t, she ones she carries in her pockets, the names he stores away in his jacket lining, the barracks, buried out in the field. The runway. The air.

Maybe it’s alright, in this moment, to let them all leave her mind. To hold his hand.

Out beyond the garden wall, something rustles in the trees. A small animal, probably. A pair of birds. They both sit up just a little at the interruption.

“I don’t know what time it is,” he says. “Must be late.” She motions for his wrist, and he holds steady as she shields her lighter with her hand, reads the face illuminated against his skin.

“11:17.”

“A good year,” he says. She huffs a laugh. “I don’t know.”

“Me neither.”

It’s getting colder out, as the hour darkens. All that wind coming down off the North Sea. The thought of him walking back all by himself kicks at her heart.

She wishes they could just go inside together. Go up to bed. She can’t say it out loud, she knows. A secret she can’t let him keep. Not now. Maybe he already knows.

“I can’t keep you out so late,” she says.

“Protecting my honor, Josephine?” She can hear the laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes.

She stands with his help, her hands clasped around his. They walk to the gate, like holding a breath before they fumble a kiss goodnight in the dark. Slow, and unseeing, only feeling him, his lips on hers. His hand finds the small of her back, slides down to her hip. She leans into him, tasting the whiskey, the smell of him, his jacket still around her. His breath on her cheek. One hand on his chest, and then the other. She reaches, touches his jaw with the backs of her fingers. He hums against her, low and wanting.

“I’ll go,” he says, like he’s convincing himself too.

“I’ll be back at the base in the morning,” she says, shrugging out of his jacket. Immediately, she’s cold. “You’re not flying tomorrow.”

He takes it, but he doesn’t put it back on. If he’s surprised that she knows that, she can’t see it. “Right.”

The moon is higher now, the stars scattered above. He kisses her again, the gentlest tug at her bottom lip, the brush of his mustache against her. He’s everything, here, where she can barely see him. She can’t help herself from the exhale, the kind that sounds like she’s trying to hold it all in.

“You smell nice,” he says. His voice is the quietest she’s heard. Like a little boy. He touches his forehead against hers, just for a moment. Her hand cups his cheek, thumb tracing. And then he’s gone.

She turns back to the house, looming in the dark. The wind whistles in the trees, the only light the moon reflected in the closed windows. She wraps her arms around herself, and heads inside.

#aloveforjaneausten #masters of the air oc #mota oc #john egan x oc #bucky egan x oc #a thanks to juno too for this song for them🥺#shoshi writes #jo's tag #i will....put this on ao3 sometime this week #motaverse

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