Flower Foraging
Fuchi x gn! reader
c/w: No gore, pure fluff I swear, mild profanity.
a/n: wieeeee, finaly made something for the cutiest patootie of the asaemonss
summary: In which Fuchi drags you out in the middle of the night to pick some herbs
word count: 2.8k
You feel a faint brush on your shoulder.
A hint of fear passes through you at the sensation. You expect a cockroach or another bug crawling on your arm from the feather-light touch, as it continuously creeps over your dulled senses. It wouldn’t be the first time that it happened.
You jolt awake, eyes wide open, your vision still cloudy as it settles on your surroundings.
You feel that same feeling on your side again. Only this time it's less imaginary, and more real. More warm.
You turn to your side, coming face to face with Fuchi, who looks at you with the same neutral expression he always sports.
“(Nickname), wake up, wake up… you need to wake up…” he whispers, voice low and quiet as he shakes you awake.
“W-what? Fuchi?—the hell…?” You rub the corners of your eyes, confused.
It’s late, it’s so late, why is he here?
“What time is it?… what happened?” you ask, still dazed, hand hovering over his to stop him from shaking you again.
A small smile forms on his lips, looking genuinely pleased that he was able to rouse you awake.
“We have to go to the clearing again…” he whispers.
You wait for him to finish, to elaborate on his words as you stare expectantly at his face, eyes still half-lidded from sleep.
But nothing comes.
You let out a deep sigh, laying your head back, clenching your eyes shut.
“…To do what?” You ask, exasperated.
“To get some herbs.” Is his pointed reply.
“Fuchi,” you say, voice firm. “It’s the middle of the night. Go back to sleep.”
He frowns at your reply, tapping your arm again once more, insistently this time.
“I can’t sleep unless I go back to that clearing (nickname).” This time he pinches your skin, alternating between light taps and small slaps— not strong enough to hurt, but enough to keep you awake.
And annoyed.
You groan.
“Well I can, good night.”
You turn to your side, pulling your arm underneath the blanket.
Fuchi lets out a small huff, stopping his ministrations. Tone turning soft as he nudges your arm, gently this time.
“(Nickname)… please, it won’t take long. I’ll make it worth your while.” He pleads.
You open your eyes, frown still present. You refuse to face him, still.
“You want me to chaperone you to a clearing, at midnight?” You reiterate.
“Yes.” Is his immediate reply.
“Why?”
“You gotta.”
“You’re a grown adult, do it yourself!” You pull your shoulder inwards again. Smothering your face into the blanket.
Fuchi occupies more of the space you left behind, inching closer as you cocoon yourself to the furthest corner by the wall. You can feel the heaviness of his stare, you force yourself to ignore it.
“If I were to be kidnapped by the townspeople who hold varying degrees of hatred towards us, you will change your mind.”
“…”
A brief pause.
You furrow your brows at his admission, and he remains still behind you.
You let out a deep sigh, lifting yourself up on your elbows, staring at him through the dark.
“I am, unfortunately, quite kidnappable.” He adds, once he meets your gaze.
“You know how to weild a sword.” You say, deadpan.
“I can’t use it against a civilian.”
“It’s for self-defence!”
“It would still tarnish the Yamada clan’s name. I refuse to do that.”
“You have an answer for everything don’t you?”
“Not when you’re giving me terrible rhetorics.” He responds, tone neutral.
You let out a deep breath, flopping open your blanket. “Fuckin’—fine, get your stuff. Let's go.” You pull yourself up to sit. You doubt you’d get in any sleep now, you wouldn’t if you tried.
Fuchi blinks at you, surprised.
“Wait, really?”
You shoot him a glare, eyebrow raised.
“Yes. Now do it fast or I will collapse back to my sheets.”
He moves away from your futon without another word, skipping away to get god knows what.
You press a hand to your eyes, rubbing as you let out a small yawn.
As you stand up to get your haori, Fuchi’s already made it back to your room. Basket on his back, a satchel tied to his obi, and a lamp in his hands.
You furrow a brow at his items, as if sensing your silent question— Fuchi answers, “For cutting the herbs,” he says plainly, pointing to his satchel.
You point towards the small box inside his basket.
He stares at you for a minute, blinking owlishly.
“It’s nothing.” Is all he says before walking off.
You gawk at his response. Grabbing your own lamp and wakizashi from the table before running after the smaller blond. Shouting for him to wait for you.
——
You reach the clearing soon after. It’s not too far from town, just a little ways off into the forest. The clearing Fuchi is referring to is the one a little bit more deep into the forest. Just north of the waterfall.
You would wander through these woods on your lonesome everyday for your walks. You find there’s fewer people here regardless of the time of day— it’s quieter, a lot more peaceful than the dojo, or the hustle and bustle of town.
Although your routine hasn’t changed much, you now sometimes find yourself returning with Fuchi, tracing paths you’ve long since memorised like the palm of your hand. Helping him find new herbs and flora for his medicines.
Even if your reasons for coming here are different, you don’t seem to mind his company all that much.
You just hope it’s not in the middle of the night whilst you were catching up on sleep.
You watch as Fuchi makes quick work of the herbs, cutting and pulling at the stems with practiced ease.
“This—“ he pulls up the plant in his hand, showing it to you, “Is a Yomogi,” he presents the green plant to you. You stare at it with mild amusement. Rubbing the leaves with your fingers. Nothing special about it, it feels like grass.
“What does it do?” You ask, Fuchi smiles pointing at one side of the herb “The flowering parts of this plant can be used as a medicinal aid for constipation, it’s also good for the blood.” He states, placing it in the basket.
You look to the side, pointing towards the corner, “Is that a Yomogi?” You ask.
“Yes, I’ll get to that later. Check this out—“ the exchange goes on for a long while— with Fuchi showing you plants with varying degrees of likeness, and you nodding along as you touch and pick similar looking herbs to put in his basket—and before you know it, you can hear birds chirping from the distance.
You stare up at the sky. The stars have long faded, the moon goes along with it. The sky’s now tinted a lighter blue, painting the surroundings in a much clearer view.
You stretch your arms out as you stand. Letting out a loud yawn.
You can faintly hear Fuchi call out your name nearby.
Turning your head to the sound of his voice, you find his head peeking from the bushes, blonde hair contrasting perfectly with the deep greens of his surroundings, making him stand out.
You see him crouching near a patch filled with violet flowers.
Sumire, you think to yourself. Crouching down to get a better look, you place your lamp down beside you, hand dusting over the delicate flower before rubbing against it’s soft petals.
Expecting to hear an explanation, you turn your head to look over at Fuchi, only to come face to face with a batch of the same flowers shoved straight to your face.
The sudden movement throws you off balance, a yelp escaping you as you hit the grass.
Fuchi snorts at your stumble. You shoot him a glare— but it fades quickly when he offers you a hand.
You take it without much fanfare, huffing softly as he pulls you up with ease.
“…Thanks,” you mutter.
Brushing off the bits and pieces of grass that’s stuck itself to your clothes, you look back at Fuchi, and this time when he offers the flowers again, you take it— fingers brushing lightly against his.
Fuchi stills— just for a fraction of a second.
His grip tightens slightly, before he releases the flower into your hand— pulling back quickly as if nothing had happened.
“It’s Sumire right?”
Inspecting the flower in hand, a small smile tugs at your lips— herbs and flora are one of the few things you and Fuchi agree upon.
You think they’re pretty, and it just so happens that Fuchi always has an abundance of them in stock.
Although you don’t share the same type of medicinal knowledge or expertise as he does— appreciating them for what they are is what counts right?
They look larger than the others— you could probably display this in your room. You roll the stems of the flower between your fingers— you see them quite frequently during spring, you wonder briefly if they're edible.
“They’re not edible, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Fuchi says, reading your expression.
“Sumires can be used for sore or dry throats, although I’ve yet to actually try and make them into medicine.” He picks up another slightly larger flower from the patch, offering them to you, and you accept without question. Already thinking of how you can use them when you get home.
“Although, it’s medicinal properties are less potent than the others, plus they taste really bitter.” he murmurs, voice dry from how much he’s been talking.
You pass a few of the flower back to him, he raises a brow at your actions.
“It’s yours. I gave them to you,” he states plainly.
You flick the flower gently to his cheek, a grin making its way to your face “Right now, I think you need it more than me,” you say, teasingly.
Fuchi pushes your hand away, giving you a humourless laugh.
His gaze drops to the patch of flora, picking up another cluster of them. He stares at it intently, turning it around his fingers, lips pursed.
“Do you know much about flower language?” He asks suddenly, eyes still trained on the violet petals.
“A little,” you admit, twirling the flower in your hold “Roses mean something romantic right? That’s why people give it to their lovers—kind of like communicating you care for them without telling them that you do.” You look back at him for confirmation.
“Thats what flower language is, right? An indirect message?”
Fuchi hums, nodding his head as he does so, “Yes, something to that effect… Do you know the meaning behind Sumires?” He asks, gaze flickering briefly to yours before returning to the flower in your hands.
You give a non-commital shrug. “No, is it romantic?”
Fuchi bites his lip. “Not exactly…its meaning is conditional on the intentions of the giver. But this flower specifically has three different meanings.”
Your eyes meet for a moment, before he averts his own. Hands busying themselves with grabbing more of the flowers to put in his basket, despite it already overflowing with flora.
“Hanakotoba is the language of the flowers— and Sumire means sincerity, bliss and—“ Fuchi stops.
There’s an abrupt pause.
He turns back to look at you, brows furrowed.
“The third interpretation is less consistent, it has different meanings, all of which have no consistent source.” You watch as Fuchi places the lid on top of the basket. Wearing it on his back, he doesn’t bother to spare you a glance as he starts walking off.
“It’s almost sunrise, we need to get back before everyone wakes up.” He says, voice flat.
He curses silently to himself, all that wasted effort for nothing. Such a poor excuse, even you seem to be unconvinced by it—
“Hey!” You catch up to Fuchi easily, stopping him from moving forward as you grab a hold of his basket.
“Since when did you ever give incomplete information?” You ask.
Even as he faces away from you, the irritation in your voice is hard to miss.
He’s not escaping this is easily, is he?
“You… you were going to say something else weren’t you?” You mutter, letting go of your hold on him. The sun’s light reaches his feet.
It feels impractical that he’s dragged you all the way here just to run away with his tail behind his legs when you start noticing his weird behaviour.
—Well, to be fair, he really did need the herbs. It just so happens that your face keeps re-appearing in his head every time he does his work.
Love, like—It’s such a weird emotion. Similar to fevers in the way it seems to elicit unpleasant bodily reactions unprompted whenever their source of attraction is near.
It reminds Fuchi of how animal like humans are, it reminds him of how human-like you make him feel.
Your words stops him from his motions, but Fuchi doesn’t face you just yet. He swallows, preparing himself to, as he turns around rigidly, it looks weird for him— like he was just caught doing something bad and doesn’t know what to do.
“Yes… you’re right. It’s not complete because…” he looks away from you.
You cross your arms.
“Because I omitted it…”
You blink at him, confused.
“Huh?” Your eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean? Why would you omit that?” You tilt your head.
Fuchi points towards the clearing’s exit.
“Can I leave now? I have a body to collect at the execution grounds this morning.”
You scoff, grabbing at his sleeve as he tries to turn away.
“No, no—you’re not doing that.” You give a small tug, pulling him back into place.
“You wake me up in the middle of the night— drag me all the way here— you act weird and pissy— and now you want to leave?”
The corner of your lips tugs—not quite a smile nor a frown— but something a bit more menacing.
You shake your head, “I don’t think so.”
Fuchi sweats, of course you wouldn’t just let this go easily.
He lets out a long exhale. “Fine. There’s a third meaning.”
He pauses. Again.
Silence overtakes the two of you, as you wait for him to continue.
He doesn't, instead, his gaze drifts off to the side. You can spot a bead of sweat rolling down his neck.
You give him a quizzical look, “and?”
Fuchi shrugs, not looking at you “The third meaning is irrelevant to its value.” He parrots, repeating it like a fact rather than an actual answer.
You feel your vein throb at his admission “You’re being a pain in the ass, just tell me what it means!”
He finally looks at you, brows still drawn taught. Like he’s being asked to apologise for something he didn’t do.
“It means small love,” he says. Grip on the basket’s handle tightening.
You hum, shoulders slackening, loosening their earlier edge.
“…And, you just happened to leave that part out?”
“That’s what omitted means, yes.” He states, gaze drifting everywhere else but you.
You pause for a second, Fuchi can practically see the cogs turning in your head. Each passing second stretches longer than it should, it feels as if he’s being punished.
He’d rather face the scrutiny of the old geezers at the execution grounds than to see your eyes dilate at the realisation—
of the implications of his earlier actions.
A wide grin appears on your face.
“Ha. Funny… you don’t usually omit information unless it’s important.” You press a hand to your chin, feigning thoughtfulness. Staring at him like you’re going to eat him alive.
Some small part of him thinks you might.
He pushes the thoughts of fear away, pushing himself to move forward.
“It’s because it’s less important…” he says, voice small, you almost didn’t catch it.
“It’s a cheap flower. Found practically everywhere around Edo.”
Your expression falters, losing its teasing edge, splitting into a slight frown.
Fuchi straightens, like he’s trying to stand by it now that he’s said it.
“It’s efficient, accessible—with no significance in it’s rarity.”
You stare at him unimpressed, “And yet you went out of your way to explain its meaning extensively.”
“That was for clarity,”
You take a step closer.
“What’s the third meaning for Sumire again?”
Fuchi stills.
“Small… love?”
You smile, small but knowing, “Being common doesn’t make it any less meaningful,”
Fuchi doesn’t say anything to that, instead his gaze remains lowered.
Your expression softens.
“Then why give it to me?” You ask, lifting the flower up as you look between fuchi and the sumire he gave you earlier.
Fuchi doesn’t give you an answer. Instead he looks away, you have a feeling you aren’t going to get anywhere in trying to extract that information from him.
So instead, you outstretch the flower to him.
Fuchi’s eyes widen— just slightly.
“The meaning of the flower depends on the giver right? If I give this to you now, will you understand what I mean?”
Fuchi doesn’t take it.
For a moment he just stares, a brief pause hangs between the two of you— the chirping of birds and the overhanging light of the sun slowly creeping up on the both of you.
You worry you might have overstepped your boundaries.
But the words seem to settle soon after.
It takes a bit of time to register in his head.
The implications of your actions— the reciprocation of his failed attempt.
His chest feels warm. His heartbeat rises— For a moment, Fuchi considers the possibility of an infection.
An abnormal physiological reaction—elevated heart and respiratory rate, increased body temperature.
He wonders if you were the cause of such afflictions.
“It would be an impractical application. The meaning is determined by the—“ he stops again, for once— as uncharacteristic as it was, logic fails him.
And you don’t pull your hand back.
“If I give it to you,” you repeat, softer this time, “will you understand?”
Fuchi’s gaze shifts from the flower to you.
“…Yes,” he admits quietly. You’ve gotten him cornered.
You tilt your head to the side, smile tender, “Yeah?”
You inch closer, just close enough to hold his hands in your own, easing the tension of his fingers as you unravel them slowly— and he lets you.
You place the flower into his hands.
“Good,” you say, pleased. “Then, you should know what this means.”
Fuchi’s hold on the flower’s stem tightens, careful— being cautious as to not let it slip from his hands.
“You shouldn’t rely on ambiguity, it will only confuse you,” he says, but there’s no real argument behind it now, as his eyes soften on the delicate flower in his hands. One you’ve entrusted to him.
“I don’t have to worry,” you reply, “I know my partner is smart enough to understand…”
Fuchi snorts, a tender smile tugging at his lips.
“That’s a risky assumption,” he quips, but he doesn’t sound like he disagrees all that much.
“It seems as if, in this instance… your confidence wasn’t misplaced,”
His eyes finally meet yours, quite certainty swimming in his brown eyes.
“I believe you’ve made me understand now…”
