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fictionismyreality3 · 2 months ago

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Flowers and First Dates

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it, home invasions, allusions to violence

Notes: this is the longest fic I’ve written in so long and now my fingers hurt 😞

Whoever was crashing around in your store downstairs really wasn’t going to find much. It was 4am, and you had long since put away any profits for the day. Which is why it took your sleep drunk brain, eyelids heavy with a forgotten dream, to realize this was actually happening.

The sharp cracking of what you’d long since memorized to be the sound of a flower pot breaking stirred you out of your frozen terror.

Springing up from your bed, your flung the covers off in a panic, a jolt of sheer dread going down your spine when you heard a set of heavy, lumbering footsteps climbing the stairs that connected your flower shop to your flat. To you. Stumbling blindly in the dark, you pushed away the urge to turn your beside light on.

Somehow in your panic you had enough foresight to try and deceive your would-be thief into thinking you weren’t home. With shaky hands, you unlocked your phone, hitting the call button for one of your newest contacts without thought.

Price was happy for Kate. Really, he was. But the warmth and open love he saw in the eyes of her and her wife did nothing to stop the growing sour spot in his chest. And when they’d announced their plans to have a baby, even if it was just told to the small inner circle of the team, it dug the knife in John’s gut deeper.

Pushing open the door of the nearest place he could find to buy flowers, he brushed his shoes on the mat, fixing the collar of his coat in an attempt to pacify his gruff appearance.

The sound of the bell jingling brought your vision from the invoice book you were filling out.

"Hi, what can I help you with?"

Jesus fucking christ.

All the air got knocked out of Price's lungs, his mouth opening and closing as he stood there like a gaping fish. You were like a ray of sunshine. All bright smiles and dainty hands, elegant movements that he couldn't help but follow with his eyes.

And fuck, that sundress you were wearing, a pretty yellow that he was sure would be permanently burned into his eyelids. Yellow was his favourite colour now.

Running a hand over his beard, John let out a huff of air, a tortured feeling screwing itself deeper into his chest. There were posies or some shit dotted along the fabric of your dress, the dress that had his hands twitching at his side as he itched to rip it off of you. He almost forgot he was supposed to be looking at flowers for Kate, not at the flowers covering your pretty little-

"Is there something in particular you're looking for, sir?"

Sir, sir, sir, sir, sir, sir, sir-

Trying not to look like a creep, John cleared his throat, a sheepish smile on his face. "Just lookin' for some flowers for a collegue of mine, luv."

Luv, luv, luv, luv, luv, luv-

Plastering on a polite smile in an attempt to hide how your cheeks were heating up in a blush, you stepped out from around the counter, brushing the dirt off your hands. Helping him search for the right combination, you plucked out some myrtle, yellow roses, and daffodils. As you placed each one in the vase, you went over the meanings, unaware of John's intent gaze on your face.

He had no clue what a begonia was but god did he like hearing you talk.

By the time you were done putting together the bouquet, John seemed unable to wipe the smile off his face, his eyes on you the entire time. It was only when you started ringing up his total that he realized this interaction would remained entirely transactional unless he did something about it.

"Say, luv, y'got a lad waiting for you at home?" It was blunt, but he figured it better to rip the bandaid off, spare him the torture.

Your hand stilled over the buttons of the register. "Uh, no. I don't." A nervous chuckled burbled out of your mouth, cutting through the air.

"Y'want one?"

Shit.

The words seemed to catch in the air, lingering tauntingly between the two of you as Price kicked himself for not keeping a better hold on his tongue. Sparks of uncertantity fluttered in your chest. The piercing blue eyes staring back at you gave no relief, especially when they held just as much embarrassment as yours.

"Are you-"

"Do you want-"

Both of you spoke at the same time, John lowering his head and huffing out a chuckle. He cleared his throat, looking at the way your pretty face was heating up in a blush. He could ask a girl on a date. He'd done harder things. But with the way his tongue felt like lead in his mouth, it seemed a miracle he got any words out at all.

"Look, sweetheart." He sucked his teeth, eyes darting to where you were white-knuckling the counter.

"Y'seem like a lovely girl. And I'd love to.." Why was he sweating like a teenaged boy?

"Do you want my number?"

Sucking in a breath, John met your eyes with a sheepish smile. For such a soft looking thing, you had more guts than most of his rookies.

He left your shop with a bouquet and a smile.

They were fiddling with the doorknob to your apartment now. The jangling of the metal stabbed another bolt of fear in your chest. You couldn't get to the bathroom to hide. It was across the hall and you weren't really in the mood to dart out and get spotted.

The dial tone kept rumbling through the speaker of your phone. You checked the lock on your bedroom door again.

John's head was pounding, the scent of cigarettes, rum and cheap beer punching him in his throat. With a groan, he sat up and ran a hand over his beard, the sound of his phone ringing cutting through his grogginess.

"Hmm? Wha' is it?"

A sigh of relief whooshed out of your lungs, but when you went to take a breath again, all that came out was this tortured choking noise.

Eyes darting to the time, Price glanced around the rec room at his team's sleeping forms. Nobody had his phone number aside from the people he trusted, and they were all passed out in various states of drunkenness.

"Who is this?"

His voice was raspy, weathered by his constant cigar smoking. You latched on to the sound. "J-John?"

Jolting upright, Price snapped wide-awake at your panicked tone, getting up and kicking Ghost's leg to wake him up. He was already grabbing his beat-up flannel, mind running through possibilities and reasons for your distressed voice.

"What's goin' on, luv? Talk to me."

Your lip wobbled, eyes catching on the doorknob of the closet you'd locked yourself in. You could hear them in your apartment now, drawers opening and closing as they rustled around in your kitchen.

"There's someone in my h-house."

Price grabbed the keys to his truck, molten anger beginning to bubble in the center of his chest as he let out a curse. Ghost was the first to rouse, eyes snapping open in an automatic response of hypervigilance. Spotting his captain already walking out of the door, he shook Soap and Gaz awake.

"Wha'? Was try-"

"Get the fuck up, Johnny. Something's wrong."

John didn't have to look back to know his men were follwing him as he stormed through the halls of base and out to the parking lot. He didn't have to bat an eye as he tossed Gaz the keys and barked an adress at him, not bothering to explain to you how he knew where you lived.

"John? I can hear them g-getting closer." You squeaked out, picking a a hangnail to focus on anything else.

"Luv, I need y'to listen to me, alright?"

"Alright."

Gaz started the truck, pulling onto the empty 4am roads. "Take a breath for me, sweethear'.' Your lungs sucked in air regardless of your panic. "Y'somewhere with a locked door?"

"I... I locked myself in my closet."

The sniffle in your voice tore through his heart, his fists already clenching as he thought about getting his hands on whoever was stupid enough to cause you distress. "Good girl."

Gaz shot him a look.

"Jus' keep talkin' to me, yeah?"

"Please don't hang up."

Something fell with a loud crash, a whimper caught in your throat as you pressed a hand to your mouth to muffle your sobs. You could hear them getting closer and closer and soon they would-

"Darlin'?" A whiney noise came out of you. "Breathe f'me, luvie."

"John-"

Barking at Gaz to drive faster, Price countined to mutter praises into his phone, trying to keep you talking and out of the spiral of panic he could hear you slipping into.

"Ken y'tell us what's goin' on, Cap?" Soap was the only one still a little too sloshed to have put the pieces together. That, and he was a little dense sometimes.

"Someone's in my girl's house."

Johnny didn't crack a joke like he wanted to, closing his jaw that wanted to hang open as he caught the tightly contained venom in his captain's voice when he pushed Gaz to drive faster, faster. None of them had to ask for instruction. This was their captain's girl, even if they hadn't known she existed. This was personal.

Gaz shortened the 20 minute drive into 5. He could deal with the ticket later.

You were crying now, hot tears running down your cheeks as you tried to keep yourself as quiet as possible. Heavy boots stomped closer to your room. Someone was trying the doorknob. John was still talking, his husky voice running into your ear, but you couldn't hear him anymore. Not really.

You were too focused on the sound of glass shattering, a small part of you wondering if your favourite mug would survive all this. There had to be at least two people, that much you were sure of with the way the footsteps seemed to split, each pair going off to cause their own path of destruction.

"Someone's banging on my door!" You gasped, tucking your knees up to your chest. "Oh, god. John they're gonna-"

A low groan of agony morphed into a cry of anger, splitting the air. Your fear muddled mind desperately tried to catch up. They were fighting each other. Why would the theives be fighting each other?

A soft knock on your bedroom door tore you from your spiral, gentle, but loud enough for you to hear it even where you were hiding in the closet.

Blinking, the sound of John's voice brought your attention back to your phone.

"What?"

"I'm here, luvie."

What?

"Open the door, sweetheart."

"But.. but I.. you don't.." Your mouth felt dry, the words stuck like sandpaper on your tongue.

"Open the door, sweetie. Let m'see you're safe." With wooden joints, you pushed yourself off the floor of your closet, walking robotically towards the door of your bedroom. The doorknob sat mockingly.

"What if they're still there? What if they-" He cut you off with a soft shushing noise. "You trust me, yeah?" You couldn't hear the crashing or banging anymore.

"..yes." You whispered.

"Open the door."

Shaking, your fingers met the cool metal of the doorknob. You hit the lock, and before you could swing the door the rest of the way open, John was pushing his way into your room. Walking by you, he starting scanning around all while you stood there dumbfounded. Tears still drying on your face, you watched in rapt confusion as he checked the closet you were just hiding in, moving to the window and pulling back the curtain to look outside.

"John?"

Oh, you poor, sweet girl.

He pushed urge to rip the heads off the men who Ghost and Soap were now tying up in your living to the back-burner, crossing the room in two long strides. He didn't wait to take you in his arms, pulling you flush to his chest and tucking your head under his chin.

John smelt of cigars, woody and strong, the tinge of gunpowder that seemed to linger on him caused you to wrinkle your nose. His arms were around you and he kept a hand on the back of your head, preventing you from looking anywhere but his broad chest and just like that you were crying again.

"Shh.." He cooed. "I know, I know, sweetheart."

God, he hated this. Just a week. All it took was just a week and getting your phone number for you to get caught up in the messy world of his work. There was no doubt in his mind that the men who'd attempted to ransack your apartment were part of the group Laswell had the 141 hunting for the last few months. The tattoos on their hands confirming his suspiscions.

But, he didn't give a fuck about work or unraveling how they'd got close enough to find you through a phone number he got on a stroke of luck. Letting out a heavy breath, he stroked the softness of your hair, almost to reassure himself that you were safe.

"M'gonna take you with me, yeah?" With bleary eyes you looked up at him, all sniffles and sugar and he was just about ready to go stop Ghost and have a chat with the men who'd-

"I'm still... I'm still in my pajamas." Your voice was airy, trembling, something that John had seen all too well in shocked civilans. "My clothes... my.. my.." You couldn't seem to think about anything aside from how you were wearing your pajamas, your mind forcefully ignoring the state of your apartment and everything that just happened.

"S'okay, sweet girl." Glancing down at the state of you, John felt a pang in his chest. You were wearing an old t-shirt and some sleep pants with little bunnies printed on them. "Let's get you out of here, yeah?"

Opening your mouth, you tried to respond, but all you could muster was a noise of agreement.

"Jus' look at me, yeah?" Steering you out of your bedroom, John kept your shaking frame tucked carefully into his size, holding your gaze with a hand on your cheek.

"Eyes on me."

He wouldn't let you see the state of your apartment, the glass and broken furniture littering the floor.

Wrapping his flannel around you, Price drew your attention with a poorly executed joke, keeping you from seeing the bloody and battered bodies Soap and Ghost were cleaning up.

As you got to the bottom of the stairs and outside, you passed by a man with a friendly looking smile and worn baseball cap.

"M'takin her. Call Kate and let 'er know 'bout the situation. She'll send you a car."

"Right, sir."

You didn't argue when he guided you into the passenger seat of a red truck, buckling you in and going over to the driver's seat himself. You didn't argue as he started the engine, pulling onto the road and taking you somewhere else. He kept a hand on your thigh, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing soothing circles onto your skin.

Through the thick haze of your tears, you found your voice.

"Hell of a first date, huh?"

#john price x female reader #john price x f!reader #captain john price x you #captain price x female reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price #captain price x f!reader #john price x y/n #captain price x y/n #captain price x you #john price x you #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x female reader #price x reader #price x y/n #price x you

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wynnyfryd · 1 year ago

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Trailer park Steve AU part 9

part 1 | part 8 | ao3

cw: medical emergency

He ditches his car at the top of the street, runs the rest of the way because there are too many people standing around — a small crowd of onlookers clustered at the bottom of the lane, gawking in their sleep shirts and flannels like the world isn’t trying to end for a fourth time. Fifth? He can’t keep track. He can’t even think, numb to everything but the pounding of his shoes against the pavement, the sirens wailing in his ears, the steady prayer in his pulse not her not now not both—

“Mom?” he shouts, voice cracking and raw. “Mom!!”

“It’s not for her.”

There’s a hand against his chest then, heel of a palm pressed to his sternum, and he slams into it like a brick wall. The air burns in his lungs; he can’t focus his eyes. “Wh-what?” he gets out, voice shaking, throat thick. Cold terror drools down his sweaty neck like the breath of a hungry monster. He’s a little kid again, swept up in the mayhem of a crowded mall. Where’s his mom; where’s his mom?

“Your mom’s in my house.” The voice is deep and slow, the hand flexing against his shirt. Fingers splayed. Heavy rings.

“…E-Eddie?” Steve’s vision swims, going yellow and purple then tunneling down to black, deep water filling his ears. Nothing makes any sense. “Munson, what—?”

“Your mom’s in my house,” he repeats like a mantra. Like a lighthouse in the fog, voice rumbling and sure. “She’s safe. She’s fine. You’re hyperventilating; take a breath.”

His breath is still catching quick and high in his throat, little puffs of cold mist. Can you drown in cold air? Can it condense inside your chest?

Eddie grips his shoulder, snaps his fingers in Steve’s face. “Hey. Hey, Steve? Come on, man, look at me. Steve. Look at me.”

Steve meets his gaze like the tide drawn to the moon.

“Deep breath,” he demonstrates, sucking air through an invisible straw, letting his chest and belly swell. Steve copies him until his vision starts to clear, until his heartbeat starts to calm. "That's it," Eddie tells him. "Good. Yeah, there we go."

Some hysterical part in the back of his brain wants to laugh. To start and never stop, just laugh and laugh and laugh until his fucking head explodes.

When he can breathe again, he pants weakly, “What is going on?”

Eddie guides him to a picnic table on the outskirts of the crowd, and they perch on top of it with their feet planted on the bench. The air feels calmer here.

Steve takes another breath.

Eddie points to the single-wide right next to Steve’s. “The wagon’s for your neighbor,” he grimaces in sympathy, one eye squinting shut as he cocks his head at Steve. “Ernie. You know him?”

“Mm.” Ernie Gerwitz. Late 60s, a widower with liver spots and arthritis in both hands. Bad heart, worse drinking habit. Fucking hates Steve’s mom because she backed over his begonias. “Not well.”

They didn’t interact much beyond an occasional neighborly nod, although Steve did once earn the guy’s good graces by yelling at Misty while shooing her off with a rake. (‘Little bitch left me a whole damn weasel last year,’ he’d grumbled as he stooped to pick up the newspaper. ‘Can't shoot her, though, 'cause she scares away the possums.’) And now…

Steve can’t make out much from here, just the shape of a four-man stretcher being carried out the door, strobe light streaks in his vision as the EMTs load up the van.

“Is he…” Steve gulps, clasping his hands between his knees. He doesn’t want to ask this question. The words taste moldy in his mouth. “Is he dead?”

Eddie’s hand shakes a little when he drags it down his cheek. His answer comes on a wobbly sigh, an almost melodic quality to the tension in his voice. “No-o idea, man. Your, uh, your mom, ya know, she— She found him. In, um. In the yard." "Jesus." "Said he was just, like... lying there. In the grass.” Eddie stares off into the distance like he’s seeing it right now; makes a wet clucking sound as his bottom lip quivers. “Thinks it was, a- a heart thing, or something? Shit, I don’t know. She was pretty freaked out when she knocked on my door.”

Steve can't picture it. He hasn’t seen her express a single true emotion since July.

A hesitant hitch of breath, and Eddie chews on his next words, tapping a hand against his thigh. “She’s, uh... she’s… calmer now. Or. At least-”

Steve rolls his eyes, knows exactly where this is going. Eddie tries again: “I mean, she seemed like-”

“Like a fucking zombie?” Steve supplies.

“Yeah,” Eddie huffs, a nervous laugh of relief. You said it, man, not me. There’s something serious in his gaze, something curious and searching.

Something almost kind. Steve shrinks away from it like a vampire in the sun. Go on, he wants to say, ask about the fucking pills. Wants to goad him into a fight, some mean, sharp thing inside him itching to see someone else bleed.

Steve bites his tongue until he tastes metallic tang. Copper covering mildew; fresh bloom coating decay. He swallows hard, lets them both slide down his throat — blood and ghosts, life and death. The River Styx must taste like pennies.

The siren starts again, and Eddie groans and hangs his head. “Christ," he murmurs to the dirt, “Wayne’s gonna be so bummed.”

They both watch in silence as the ambulance goes by.

—

part 10

okay same deal tagging whoever commented yesterday (if your settings will let me) you’re all delightful tysm 😘 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @thefreakandthehair @slutforcoffein @manda-panda-monium @munsonfamilybandalso @aliea82 @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @lololol-1234 @hotluncheddie @pennyplainknits @disrespectedgoatman @carolinachickadee @insideiscold @acedorerryn @anne-bennett-cosplayer @violetsteve my actual wife blessings upon your house @lighthousebeams @steves-strapcollection @sirsnacksalot @stevesbipanic @slowandsteddie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @so-get-this-sammy @annabanannabeth @runninriot @cuips-not-cute @a-little-unsteddie @envyadams-vs-me @ppunkpuppyy if i forgot anyone i’m sorry i am very sleep deprived

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #st fic #my writing #my fic

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pedrospatch · 2 years ago

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loved her first

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: It's been two and a half years since you and Joel left your baby daughter in Bill and Frank's care; when a surprise thunderstorm strands the two of you in Lincoln for the night, you unexpectedly witness Joel bond with her.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. hints at Frank's deteriorating health condition, he is not bound to a wheelchair quite yet; glimpses of girldad!Joel, babygirl name reveal, angst, mention of Sarah. time jump to 2023, takes place a few months prior to Ellie coming into their lives.

word count 5.5k

A/N: um...this turned out to be more angsty than planned.

April, 2023

You watched her as she twirled around in front of the flower bushes, a small smile tugging lightly at the corners of your mouth.

Frank had mentioned before that she absolutely adored flowers; he’d also told you about how she loved being outdoors and how she would gladly, happily, abandon all of her dolls and other toys in exchange for frolicking outside. You’d had a difficult time believing him on that, but there you were, sitting just a few feet away, witnessing first hand with your very own eyes that it was actually true. She seemed to be having the time of her life spinning around and around in front of the array of colorful roses, petunias, and begonias that Bill and Frank had planted around the house right after the winter season had come and gone. It was so incredibly innocent, so endearingly pure, a beautiful sight that you already knew you would be constantly replaying on a loop in your memory for the rest of your life��memories of her were all you had. It wasn’t enough for you, though, not even fucking close; the memories of your daughter you took home were what kept you from losing your sanity, but they were nothing compared to what you actually wanted, which was to be her mother.

Because you were her mother.

You held back a small sigh, your gaze still locked on every part of her.

She wore the sweetest, springtime dress that surely must have come from the boutique—light sky blue with an intricate eyelet embroidery, a sash made from the same exact fabric tied around her waist into an adorably perfect bow at the back of it. A pair of darling, strappy white ballet flats adorned her tiny feet, and although Frank had put her into a soft, knitted white cardigan to help keep her warm against a sudden and unexpected chilly afternoon breeze that swept through the town, the child had sneakily shrugged herself out of it when she noticed he wasn’t paying attention. Noticing the dark, gloomy clouds that began to slowly but surely make their way over the neighborhood, you stood up from the table and walked over to the spot on the front lawn, right beside the porch, where she had discarded her cardigan.

Picking it up, you lightly dusted it off and made sure it was clean. You then called out to her, gently. “Hey.” You smiled as she stopped in her tracks mid-spin, looking over at you with curiosity. You beckoned her over with your hand. “Come here, sweet girl.”

She skipped over to you, and you instinctively lowered yourself to her eye level as you spoke to her.

“The sun is gone.” You pointed up towards the skies. “That means it’s time for you to put this on so you don’t get cold. Okay?”

She wrinkled her little nose, but agreed, “Okay.” She held her arms up and out to you, as if to tell you to put it on for her.

You helped her back into it, though you left it unbuttoned so as not to cover up her pretty dress. “There we go. Don’t take it off again, okay? At least not while we’re outside.” You noticed a slight look of mischief cross her features and playfully pointed your index finger at her. “I am being so serious, young lady. Promise me that you won’t take it off?”

“I won’t,” she swore. Though she spoke fairly clearly now, she still had hints of toddler pronunciation; she could enunciate several words but she was still learning to properly talk. “Promise I won’t take it off.”

You reached out, briefly touching her soft cheek. “That’s a good girl,” You murmured, letting your thumb sweet across her satin skin. Every single part of you longed for even more contact with her, you yearned with every fucking fiber in your entire being to take her into your arms and hold her close; however, there was a very fine line that was not to be crossed, much less when Bill and Frank were sitting just a few feet away. You gave her cheek a light, teasing pinch and finally found it in you to withdraw your hand away from her face.

She grinned at you and a deep, prominent dimple appeared in her left cheek. You’d first noticed it during your visit on her first birthday.

There had always been something new for you to notice during each visit; a new tooth, an additional inch to her height, the way her face was no longer as round and pudgy as it had been when she was an infant. This time around, it was her hair that had caught your attention. It fell in long, dark brown waves to just about the middle of her back.

Her voice broke into your train of thought. “Can I go play now?”

You nodded and rose to your feet. “Of course, sweet girl. Just be very careful, alright?”

“I will.” She bobbed her head up and down at you and then went right back to her twirling, letting out an adorable giggle at the way the skirt of her dress swayed along with her movement.

You made your way back over to the table and took your seat. Picking up your glass of red wine, you took a quick sip before glancing over at Frank and remarking, “Her hair’s gotten really long.” You took another sip and then set your glass down, abandoning it in favor of the white pearl that hung from the silver chain around your neck. Holding it gingerly in your hand, you thought back to the day Joel had given it to you a little over two years ago. Presenting you with your daughter’s birthstone to carry with you had to have been one of the most loving, incredible things that he’d ever done for you. It was your most prized and cherished possession and although he didn’t like you wearing it outside of the apartment, it’d been a year since the last time you had taken it off. Anyone who tried to jump you for it would get a blade lodged into their skull. “Has she had her first haircut yet?”

“Nope. She refuses to let me anywhere near her with a pair of shears. As soon as she sees them in my hand, she runs,” Frank explained. He offered you a small, fatigued smile. He’d briefly mentioned to you the night before he hadn’t been feeling all too well over the last few days, but he still insisted that you and Joel still make the trip to Lincoln for lunch. “She calls it her princess hair—she said she wants to grow it as long as Rapunzel’s.”

You hummed. “Long hair suits her,” You told him after a minute. “Doesn’t it, Joel?”

You were met with no response and turned to glance at Joel.

He sat beside you at the table, sipping silently on his glass of wine; he hadn’t seemed to have heard you, and for once, it wasn’t because the hearing in his right ear was failing him. Joel hadn’t heard you because he was too distracted. His eyes were fixed intently on the toddler, and even when you reached out and touched his arm in an attempt to get his attention, his gaze remained latched onto her. He looked on with a mixture of different, conflicting emotions—of them all, it was sadness that took center stage. Joel often tried to keep his own feelings under wraps, for your sake, more than anything. He was your partner and he was your protector, he was your shoulder to lean on and the glue that, despite the circumstances, held everything together somehow.

He kept it all from crumbling down. For you, always for you.

You appreciated Joel trying to hold strong for you, but you wished he wouldn’t, not when you knew he was hurting too—hurting over Sarah and hurting over the daughter that was right there in front of him, but whose life he was missing out on. She was growing quickly, changing so fucking much each and every time he saw her, and he could hardly stand that he wasn’t around to witness it. Glimpses of her and her life were all that you and Joel were given, and you know that killed him as much as it killed you.

“Gracie!” Bill said her name in a scolding tone. He’d been sitting in his chair with his back to her, but he knew exactly what she was up to; he had developed something of a sixth sense when it came to her. “You just had lunch, you’re going to make yourself sick if you don’t cut that out! You’d better come and sit your little butt down right now or it’s a timeout for you, missy!”

She stopped for a second, smirked at his back, and then continued to twirl around.

Joel snorted into his wine, amused by her rebelliousness.

“Honey, come on. Be good and listen to daddy.” Frank glanced tiredly over his shoulder. “You don’t want to make yourself dizzy, do you?”

Gracie stopped and let out a teeny, frustrated huff; just seconds later, a white butterfly garnered her attention and she took off across the front lawn, chasing after it.

“Jesus,” Joel muttered, shaking his head. He set his wine glass down on the table and leaned back into his chair. “Does she ever get tired? I’m exhausted just from watchin’ her run around.”

“She’s been so energetic lately,” Frank said. He picked up his fork and pushed his vegetables around on his plate; you’d noticed that he had hardly eaten any of his meal. “Sometimes we can hardly keep up with her. But the bright side of letting her run around is that when bedtime comes around, she’s just about all tuckered out. Isn’t she, Bill?”

Bill scoffed. “If we’re lucky. The kid’s like the damn Energizer Bunny.”

You giggled. Looking over at Gracie, you noticed that she was in one of the bushes and your smile faded slightly. “Oh, um, she’s—” You stopped and simply nodded your head over in her direction, worried that she would get into the roses and accidentally prick herself with a thorn.

Bill looked over his shoulder. He sighed, “She’s digging in the flowers again, Frank.”

“Oh Gracie, honey please don’t pick the flowers—”

But it was too late.

She stepped back from the bush, clutching a tiny handful of Frank’s beloved white begonias. She then ran over to her parents; she first handed a flower to Frank and then one to Bill, who, despite trying his best to keep a stern face, cracked the tiniest of smiles as he accepted it from her.

“It’s so hard to put her in time out when she does things like this,” Frank chuckled, shaking his head. He smoothed her hair back from her face, lovingly tucking it behind her ear. “You’re just the most innocent little troublemaker, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Gracie gave him a tiny nod, and he let his hand drop from her hair as she turned around and walked around the table towards you. Falling into step beside your chair, she held up a flower for you.

Your entire body radiated with a pleasant warmth as you took it from her. Taking the side of her face into the palm of your hand, you leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, sweet girl. I’m going to keep this forever and ever.” And you would. You planned on pressing it into a book the moment you arrived back in the QZ.

She smiled at you and then she let her gaze flicker curiously over to Joel. You could see her debating it over in her mind—besides the polite little hello that Frank would push her to say whenever you two came over, Gracie rarely ever interacted with him. She wasn’t afraid of him, but even at the tender age of two, she could sense the man’s quiet and serious nature and she knew to keep her distance. It was something of an unspoken, mutual agreement between the two of them; Joel always kept his distance from her too.

After a minute, she finally plucked up some courage and squeezed past you. She went up to the side of Joel’s chair and placed her tiny hand on his bare forearm, giving it a gentle pat as if to call for his attention.

You could almost feel the way he momentarily froze, stiffening beneath her touch.

“Gracie, don’t—” Bill started to say, however Frank held a hand up to stop him.

“Wait, Bill,” he said, quietly. “Let her.”

“Here,” Gracie uttered softly, holding out the last begonia to him.

Joel’s heart had all but leapt up into his throat. His fingers trembled ever so slightly as he lifted a hand and accepted it. When he spoke, he sounded almost breathless. “Thank you.”

“It’s pretty,” she told him, shyly nodding at the flower now in his hand.

“Very pretty,” he agreed. He paused briefly, then touched it to the tip of it to her nose. “Just like you.”

Gracie beamed at him.

Just like you and your momma, he wanted to tell her. Of course, he knew better than to say such a thing out loud in front of Bill and Frank.

“Gracie, honey, what do you say when someone says something nice to you?” Frank prompted her from across the table.

She looked at him, then bashfully turned back to Joel. “Thank you.”

Before anyone could say anything else, a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, and seconds later came the crashing sound of thunder.

Startled by the loud noise, Gracie let out a small yelp and found herself in between Joel’s legs, tugging desperately at his denim shirt. Before his mind and body could even make the connection, he picked her up and hoisted her into his lap and she buried her face into the crook of his neck, a small whimper escaping her.

Bill and Frank exchanged a look of complete shock with one another.

Even you watched on with your lips parted in absolute bewilderment.

You’d only ever seen her in his arms once—when she’d been a newborn.

“It’s alright darlin’,” Joel soothed her, lightly patting her back. “It’s nothin’ but a little bit of thunder. It’s tellin’ us that the rain is comin’ soon, and you know what that means?”

Reluctantly, Gracie pulled her face out of his neck and looked up at him with her dark brown eyes—the very same dark brown eyes she’d inherited from him. “What?”

“More flowers,” he whispered to her, giving her a small grin.

“Really?” she squeaked excitedly.

“Oh, speaking of the rain, here come those April showers.” Frank held out his hand, having felt the first drop. Before he could even utter the warning for everyone to move inside, it suddenly began to pour; the rain came down hard and fast, as if someone up in the clouds had turned on a garden hose. “Everyone in the house!”

Bill helped him out of his chair, slipping an arm around his back. You noticed him struggle alone to help Frank and quickly hurried around the table, taking his other arm, and the both of you helped him up the lawn towards the house.

Joel stood up with Gracie still in his arms; he hurried towards the house behind the rest of you, using his hand to shield her from the rain as best as he could manage, though she ended up getting soaked, just like everyone else.

Once inside, he set her down on her feet. Another round of thunder struck, rattling the walls of the house.

Gasping, Gracie threw her arms around Joel’s leg.

Bill raised an eyebrow, pushing his drenched hair away from his face. “I’ve never seen her get this close to you before.”

“She’s just spooked, that’s all.” Joel cleared his throat awkwardly and reached down, carefully peeling her off of him. He placed his hand on her back and gently nudged her towards him. “Go to daddy.”

“Well, that’s a nice lunch ruined,” Frank sighed heavily. “Gracie, let’s get you upstairs and changed into dry clothes.” He reached down to pick her up, but struggled lifting her into his arms, a problem that you had never seen him have before; a bizarre expression crossed his face and he turned to Bill. “Help me carry her upstairs to her room?”

Bill nodded, picking her up. “Come on, kiddo.”

Crestfallen, Frank watched him as he carried her up the staircase.

“Frank? Are you okay?” You couldn’t help but ask, placing a hand on his arm.

He nodded, forcing a small smile. “I’m fine. I think I just need some rest.” He noticed the skeptical expression on your face and before you could ask him again, he changed the subject. “You two are more than welcome to stay and wait for the storm to pass before heading out.”

Several hours later, and the torrential downpour continued on with no signs of stopping any time soon.

“We’ll be fine,” You assured Frank as you began looking in your pack for your windbreaker. You found it in the top zipper, and pulled it out; although it would hardly do anything to shield you from the cold and heavy rainfall, it would have to do. “Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been out and about in a storm like this.”

“Nonsense,” he said, taking the jacket out of your hands. After taking a long nap earlier that evening, he appeared to be in better spirits. He still appeared tired, but he seemed to be moving around with more ease, an indication that he had gained a bit of his strength back. “You two can spend the night down here in the guest bedroom.”

“That’s very kind, Frank. But Bill wouldn’t like that.”

“I already talked him into it. He’s not too happy, but as usual, he’ll get over it.” Frank saw you about to protest and he held up a hand. “Can you just make this easy and graciously accept the offer please?”

You chuckled. You had known him for a few years now and you knew the man was as stubborn as stubborn could be. “Alright, alright. We’ll stay the night.”

“Good.” Frank smiled and handed you your jacket back. “The guest bedroom is down the hall, second door on the left. Make yourselves right at home. If you need anything, just let me know, alright?”

Joel nodded, taking your hand in his. “We appreciate this a whole lot, Frank. Thank you.”

“Of course. You two get some sleep, alright?” He bid the two of you a final goodnight before disappearing upstairs.

With your hand still in his, Joel led the way down the hallway towards the bedroom. He opened the door and flipped on the lights; the room was on the smaller side, but it was still decently spacious, at least for you it was, especially when compared it to the tiny bedroom you and Joel shared with Tess in the QZ. Frank had furnished it with gorgeous antique furniture that you were almost certain he’d refurbished on his own. What really caught your eye, however, was the bed in the middle of the room; it was a large, queen sized bed decorated with a soft, red and gold duvet and matching pillows.

“I’m so used to that old, ripped mattress we have back at home,” You remarked with a small laugh.

Joel squeezed your hand. He was thrilled to have the chance to sleep in such a comfortable looking bed, but more importantly, he found a sense of relief that for the first time in a long time, you would be able to lay in clean sheets and rest your head on a soft pillow. “Looks like we’ll both be gettin’ a good night’s sleep for once.”

Grinning, you tilted your head up towards his, your lips meeting his in a kiss. “Guess being stormed in has its perks,” You murmured against his mouth. You dropped his hand and stepped away from him, pulling your pack off your shoulders and placing it onto the bed. Unzipping it at the top, you opened it up and started rummaging around inside of it, hoping that you had a spare t-shirt that you could sleep in. As Joel started doing the same, you couldn’t help but remark, “Gracie seems to have taken a sudden liking to you.”

He quickly shook his head. “I don’t think so—”

“Joel, she gave you a flower.”

“She gave everyone a flower,” he reminded you. “Not just me.”

“What about the way she just jumped into your arms?”

He scoffed. “The thunder startled her and I was sitting closest to her. She would have jumped into the fuckin’ Boogeyman’s arms if he had been closest to her.”

You rolled your eyes at his ridiculousness. “Okay, what about the fact that she wanted to sit next to you at the dinner table tonight? Or how she decided to introduce you to all of her dolls one by one?”

Joel paused from digging into his pack, his jaw clenching slightly as he mulled over his thoughts in hid mind. “Do you think Gracie senses somethin’ about me?” he asked you quietly after a minute or two of silence.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Why are you asking me that? Do you think she senses something about you?”

“I’d sure as hell hope not. Wouldn’t make Bill and Frank too happy. In fact, it would move me even higher up Bill’s shit list. I can tell that he wasn’t all too happy with the way she was clingin’ to me earlier.” Joel sighed and finally looked up, turning to you. “She looks so much like us, you know. The older she gets, the more I can actually see it. She’s equal parts you, equal parts me. Makes me worry about her noticin’ it someday.”

“Joel, she’s a toddler for Christ’s sake. It’ll be years before that could even happen. And sure she looks a lot like us now, but as children get older their features start to change and—” You stopped, realizing Joel had stopped listening to you.

His eyes were fixed on something over your shoulder, his lips parted slightly.

“Joel, what are you—?” You turned around.

Gracie stood there at the door of the bedroom, which the two of you had left open. She was barefoot, wearing a light pink nightdress; she held her hands behind her back as she simply looked at you and Joel.

“Gracie? Sweetheart, what are you doing out of bed? How on earth did you get down here all by yourself?” Your heart squeezed in your chest when you realized that she could have easily fallen down the stairs and gotten hurt.

“Think she’s got somethin’ there, baby,” Joel noticed. He walked over to her and lowered himself down to one knee in front of her. Although he was sure Bill wouldn’t be dumb enough to leave one of his guns or other weapons lying around unsecured, part of him couldn’t help but worry about what she had in her hands. He held out his hand. “Can I see what you’ve got there, little darlin’?”

She nodded, almost eagerly, and showed him the object she’d been holding behind her back—a children’s book.

You let out a small breath of relief. “Oh thank god.”

Joel took it from her. “Goodnight, Moon,” he read the cover out loud, feeling his heart sink deep into the pits of his stomach. Looking over his shoulder at you, he let out a sharp exhale, as if some unseen force had just knocked all the wind out of his lungs.

Concerned, you placed a hand on his shoulder. “Joel? Are you okay?”

Though clearly he wasn’t, he nodded and turned back to Gracie.

“Read me the story?” she asked him shyly, shuffling from foot to foot.

“Frank already read her a bedtime story,” You explained to him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “He said he only allows her one a night.”

“Well, that’s a stupid fuckin’ rule,” Joel muttered, though he had been loud enough for you to hear.

“Joel!” You snapped, swatting at him with your other hand. “Don’t say that word in front of her!”

Joel almost laughed. “She’s two and a half years old.”

“Yeah, and probably parrot at this age,” You pointed out. “Please, just mind your mouth around her? We don’t need her picking up your rich vocabulary.”

“Bedtime story? Please?” Gracie chirped hopefully, interrupting the two of you.

Joel let out a small scoff. “You expect me to say no to that sweet little face? Not a chance.” He turned back to her. “Alright, I’ll read it to you. But you have to promise me you’ll go to sleep right after. Promise?”

She nodded excitedly. “Promise!”

Your stomach churned. “Joel, are you sure this is a good idea? I don’t want Bill and Frank getting upset with us—”

“It’s just a bedtime story,” he said. Holding the book in one hand, he rose to his feet and then scooped her up into his arms. He walked out of the bedroom and started up the staircase with you following close behind. As soon as he reached the top of the stairs, he asked, “Which one’s hers?”

You hesitated before answering, “Second door on the right. Joel, I’m not sure about this.”

“You act like we’re committin’ a fuckin’ crime.”

“First of all stop cursing around her and secondly, we may as well be committing a crime!” You hissed, lowering your voice. “I don’t want to break any boundaries. If Bill gets pissed enough, he could potentially never let us see her again!”

Joel shook his head. “Baby, for the last time, it’s just a fuck—it’s just bedtime story,” he quickly caught himself before another curse word could escape him. “Can you just relax? We ain’t doin’ anythin’ wrong.”

You’d never seen this side of Joel before. Usually, it was him trying to be the voice of reason, it had always been Joel telling you to use your common sense and make the right decisions, and here he was, being so stupidly stubborn.

He opened the door to Gracie’s bedroom and flipped on the lights. It looked like any ordinary little girl’s bedroom—a canopy bed, matching white furniture, a corner strewn with all kinds of toys and a bookshelf packed to the brim with fairytales in another. What surprised you was how the plain white walls had been brought to life with hand painted, large scale wildflowers that surely had to have been done by Frank.

“Daddy’s flowers,” she said, pointing her finger.

“He paints the prettiest flowers, doesn’t he?” You prompted her.

She nodded her head. “Mhm.”

“C’mon.” Joel walked over towards her bed, perching her on his hip as he reached out with his free hand to pull her covers back; he then gingerly laid her down and pulled them up to her chest, tucking her in. “You warm enough, babygirl?”

Gracie nodded. “Yes.” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Teddy!”

“Teddy?” Confused, he furrowed an eyebrow and then glanced down at the stuffed brown teddy bear beside his boot. “Oh, Teddy. How did he get down here, darlin’? He’s supposed to be up here with you.” He picked the bear up, placing it right beside her. “That’s better.”

Anxiously, you dropped down into the white wicker chair beside her bed as Joel kneeled on the opposite side. His dark eyes glazed over the book in his hand, and even from where you sat, you could see the sadness flash across his face, subtle, but detectable. Before you could ask him what was wrong, he opened it and thumbed to the first page. Clearing his throat, he began reading to her. “In the great green room, there was a telephone. And a red balloon. And a picture of a cow jumpin’ over the moon…”

Gracie lingered on every word, her big doe eyes wide with fascination in the most endearing way.

You finally managed to relax and leaned back into the chair, watching the scene before you with a delicate smile on your face. Your hand instinctively went to your necklace, and you rolled the pearl between your thumb and your index finger as you drank in the sight of Joel reading to your daughter.

His daughter.

“Goodnight moon, goodnight cow jumpin’ over the moon…”

Gracie yawned and began blinking furiously.

You could tell she was trying her hardest to stay awake to the very end, but Joel’s deep voice was effortlessly lulling her to sleep.

“Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere.” By the time Joel read the last sentence, her eyes had fluttered closed.

“And she’s out.” You lowered your voice so you wouldn’t wake her.

Joel closed the book and placed it on her nightstand. He stared at her and reached out, lightly touching his index finger to her cheek. “If you would’ve asked me two and a half years ago if I thought I’d be tuckin’ her into bed and readin’ her a bedtime story someday, I’d say you’d lost your damn fuckin’ mind.”

You laughed softly and nodded. “Oh, I know.”

“You think she’s happy here?”

Your smile faded slightly. “Of course she’s happy here. Wearing pretty dresses, picking flowers, chasing butterflies across the front yard...”

“Yeah, I guess that was a stupid question,” Joel muttered, rising to his feet.

You stood up from the chair and walked over to him. “Bill and Frank are doing a great job at raising her under the circumstances. She’s happy, she’s healthy—and they love her so much, Joel.”

“Too bad she’ll never know that we loved her first,” he murmured.

“We did love her first.” You reached for one of his hands and took it in your own, lacing your fingers together with his. “But this is the way things have to be and we both know that.”

Joel let out a hesitant sigh. “That book she brought me to read to her,” he started to say, his voice breaking slightly, “That book was the first book that I ever read to Sarah when she was a little girl.”

You squeezed his hand tightly, your heart aching for him. “Joel...” You stopped and swallowed the thick, emotional lump that had risen in your throat. You said nothing else and reached up with your opposite hand, cradling his cheek in your palm.

“She was two years old, just like Gracie is now.” His voice wavered again and it was taking every ounce of strength he had inside of him not to crumble in front of you. He placed his hand over yours on his face. “You know that dimple in her left cheek?”

You simply nodded.

“Sarah had that exact same dimple,” Joel whispered. “Same side, same place too. And the way Gracie acts, she reminds me so much of her when she was that age. The way she smiles, the way she giggles, it all reminds me of Sarah.”

It almost shocked you, the way Joel was mentioning Sarah—the last time he had talked about her was that night in the apartment almost three years ago, when you had brought her up during an argument and it had only added fuel to the fire. You remembered being heavily pregnant with Gracie then, and Joel had confessed that he would probably never be ready to talk to you about the daughter that he’d lost. To hear him even utter her name to you again came completely out of left field.

“Maybe your sweet little butterfly sent you something to remember her by,” You told him, nodding over at the sleeping child.

Joel closed his eyes for a moment, tilting his head further into the palm of your hand. After a while, he finally opened them again and broke the silence. “Do you remember the day we left her here?”

“How can I not? It was hardest day of my entire fucking life.”

“You said that comin’ to see her, it wouldn’t be enough. That it would never be enough.” He paused, remembering, “I said it would never be enough for me either.”

“And?”

“We were right. This ain’t enough,” he admitted. “And every time that we leave here without her, it hurts just as much as it did on day one.”

“I know. Trust me, I know.” You blinked back the warm tears that had sprung to your eyes.

After spending a while watching Gracie as she slept, you and Joel decided it was time to head downstairs back to the guest bedroom to try and get some rest. Each of you took a turn to kiss her goodnight before shutting off the lights and quietly slipping out of her bedroom, closing the door behind you.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #fic: tdtrt

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geraskierfanficprompts · 2 months ago

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Prompt 134

Jaskier sits in the clouds, and sings colors and vibrancy into the world he passes by. His clouds take him across the continent from a bird's eye view. He'll lounge on his stomach, and strum his lute, and sing down below him, and watch the life of the villages he passes become more lush. The villages marvel at the skies, and the plants, and the birds, and the butterflies, and even their own clothing, as it seems more colorful than usual, and it's all because of Jaskier, the rainbow, having passed by. He loves making people happy, with his songs and colors. When he sees a village taken by tragedy, he sends them good tidings in the forms of his rainbows. Beautiful beacons of hope, as well as a stairway for the lost souls. A way to climb to their new home instead of turning into some horrid ghastly creature witchers hunt. ... Witchers. Now that's something that intrigues Jaskier. He's never been able to catch one. They seem to run from his colors. His songs. Sulking all alone in the gray. But when he catches one, he promises himself he'll make sure the witcher sees every beauty possible. Jaskier climbs down the staircase of a rainbow and decides to nap in his favorite meadow. Jaskier wakes up to a sword against his neck. Hm. He looks up and spots- "A witcher!" He grins. "What... are you?" "I am a rainbow!" "...What?" "I'm a rainbow! Would you like to see? I could make some things more colorful, or paint in the sky, or make a rainbow to show you-" "You needn't go through the trouble." "Pleaaasse? Please can I show you!? You witchers are always in the grayest parts of the world! Let me give you color, please? Please, mister witcher?" "I was sent here to kill you. The nearest village believes you to be a troublesome fae intent on tricking them." "All because I made their begonias pinker?" "It appears so." "Well, I'd rather like to ignore the 'kill me' part going forward with our new companionship." "Our what?" "I'm going to show you beauty, Witcher. Just you wait!"

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #geralt x dandelion #geralt loves his bard!#witcher fanfiction #fanfiction prompts #writing prompts #requited unrequited love #friends to lovers #Geralt meeting Jaskier is so confused btw #“He looks humanish but hes dressed REAL funky and his hair is sparkly and he just RADIATES chaos”#“also why is the grass all dead except it's SUPER green where he lays?????”#Jaskier makes sure Roach only gets the REDDEST of apples #Geralt has to babysit his bard because his bard is literally a walking rainbow who doesn't know how to person yet

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thebiotope · 2 months ago

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#plants #green plants #plantblr #plant #plantkeeping #pothos #spotted begonia #begonia #cebu blue #cacti #cactus #syngonium #monstera minima #monstera #Raphidophora pertusa

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jeonginslefthand · 5 months ago

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Morning Flowers 💐

Pairing: FlowerShopOwner!ChoiSan x Reader Genre: Little shop of horrors AU/Fluff Word Count: 2.2k+ Plot Summary: You’ve recently heard rumors about a mysterious flower shop that just opened up. You decide to go check out the shop wanting to get some new plants for your home. Little do you know the owner catches your attention more than the store (and possibly your heart) Warnings: Depictions of self-harm towards the end (reader discretion is advised!!), slight mentions of murder A/N: Part one of my first series is here! I was thinking about the time San said that if he wasn’t an idol he would be a flower shop owner. Not only is that very fitting, it also makes a great fic idea. Also spicing up the idea making it Little Shop of Horrors related cause I love the musical a lot. I’m not sure how many parts I plan to make with this but enjoy the first chapter! Little Shop on 8th Street Masterlist Ateez Masterlist

~~~

“This looks like the place…” you softly say to yourself as you drive past a flower shop. You find a parking spot near the shop and prepare to go inside.

You didn’t even know there was a flower shop this way until your friend brought it up on last night’s FaceTime conversation. She told you about the rumors coming from the shop. Certain customers would disappear after a few visits with the shop being the last place they were seen at. In the moment you laughed and brushed it off as a silly conspiracy theory, but you got a little curious after the call. You looked into the shop further and found no actual evidence. There was only word of mouth and conspiracy Reddit threads on the topic. Still, you needed some new plants for your apartment so you decided to check out the shop the next day.

And here you were now. Standing in front of the flower shop with a sign in bright red letters “Little Shop on 8th Street.” An interesting name for a flower shop. You walk inside the flower shop taking in the scenery inside. It looks like a typical flower shop with different types of flowers in glass displays, other plants scattered around the shop as decoration, and flower food and tools neatly lined up on the shelf displays. It does live up to its name not being a big shop, but the setup makes the inside feel like a plant nursery. You also noticed that not all the products were flowers looking at the green plant displays. You look around some more, feeling overwhelmed by the options around you.

You find yourself drawn to a bouquet of yellow flowers. The flowers look like they had just bloomed and have a faint smell of apricot.

“Beautiful aren’t they?” You hear a voice behind you say. You jump at the sound of his voice and turn to face the man as your eyes meet

You start to examine the man that came up behind you. He’s tall and muscular with his hair colored black. The hair is slicked back with some strands sticking out framing his face, which you move to next. His face has many sharp features but his smile softens those features. He has a warm gentle smile, a smile that comforts you, makes you feel secure. You move down to notice his nametag that says “San” decorated with flowers and Sanrio stickers.

“Sorry to startle you,” San says breaking you from your trance. “I noticed you were staring at these flowers for a while.”

“Yeah, they’re beautiful. Can you tell me more about them?” you say, stumbling on your words a little in the process.

“Of course! These lovely flowers are begonias. They make great houseplants and are great to put by windows. They love the sun and tropical climates the most. You may have noticed they smell a little like apricot. They tend to emit that scent during the summer season. If you’re wondering how long they last, typically 2-3 years. It all depends on where you grow them and how you care for them!”

You notice how San’s face lights up as he explains the simple flowers in front of you. You can tell he’s passionate about his work and knows a lot about the subject.

You walk over to another batch of flowers that caught your eye. “What about these?” you ask pointing to the purple flowers.

“Those are African Violets! They are one of my favorites here. They also make great houseplants and respond well to room-temperature environments. If you are considering getting these, just keep in mind the soil must be evenly moist. And avoid getting water on these cute fuzzy leaves. They won’t be fuzzy anymore and will turn an ugly brown color. I also have some in a ruffled pattern and a white color pattern. Highly recommend these especially if you’re looking for an easy plant to grow.”

“Oh, nice!!” You take note of those flowers for later and move on to the plant next to them. “These also look interesting.”

“That is a pothos plant! I love the multi-colored leaves on this plant. It can help add some variety if you have a lot of solid green plants. These are also low maintenance. They only need to be watered once or twice a week. They also grow great in low-light environments. If you’re looking to use them as a house decoration, I would recommend hanging them up for the best results!”

You continue talking with San about the different plants in the shop and he eagerly explains every plant you ask about. You aren’t completely clueless about plants, but you love hearing him explain each type of plant and how to take care of them. The way he explains everything with passionate energy makes you smile and intrigues you enough that you want to hear more. Eventually, the conversation moves away from plants and you begin to learn about San.

He tells you that he’s moved around for years now. He owns the shop (no wonder he knows so much) and has mainly lived in big cities.

“I don’t like the cities that much. I get a lot of customers, but it’s overwhelming living in large cities. That’s why I wanted to move to a smaller town. It’s so peaceful and I have more time to care for my plants properly,” San explains.

“I understand. It’s the only reason I haven’t moved out of here yet. This town is a bit boring at times, but the peacefulness makes up for it,” you respond.

San starts to ask about you as well. You tell him about how you’ve lived in this town your whole life and are jealous that he got to explore many different places. You start talking about your job a little and about your hobbies. The conversation flows so naturally you forget what you came in for in the first place. You find out you and San have very similar interests, especially when it comes to Sanrio products.

“Between us, I have a huge collection of Sanrio plushies. They are nice to sleep with and I love the cute character designs.” San tells you.

“Oh same with me! I collect a whole lot of plushies and fuzzy toys. Don’t tell anyone this, but I used to be a big Furby collector back in the day.”

“No way! Seriously? You used to collect those creepy little birds?”

“They aren’t creepy, they were adorable to me at least! And I sold most of the ones I owned a long time ago. I still have a few left I keep for sentimental reasons.”

“Never knew why people liked those things so much. Isn’t it weird that they stare right into your soul? Who knows what evil things they could be plotting behind those eyes.”

You laugh hearing San’s response. “Well, it’s not like they were going to take over the world or overthrow the government. Although, it would be funny wouldn’t you think? A Furby revolution?”

“Alright, no more Furby talk. Have you decided which plants you want for your house?”

Right, you came in here to buy plants, not to chat it up with the store owner. Although, you weren’t sure if you wanted to buy anything anymore. You wanted an excuse to come see San again. But you would feel bad if you didn’t get something, especially after he talked a lot about these plants. You end up getting seeds for the African violets and a succulent plant you saw. You also get the soil and pots you need for the plants and head to the register to check everything out.

“Anything else I can get you? Maybe some plant fertilizer from our selection here?” San says as he gestures towards the glass display at the register.

“Oh, that’s alright!” You respond. But you’re thinking to yourself “Maybe I can get your number and a date—” being very careful to not say it out loud.

“Great! Then here is your total for everything. Just follow the instructions on the keypad.”

You tap your card to pay for your new plant materials. As San is processing the payment you notice out the corner of your eye a door with a glass window. Through the window, you vaguely see a plant that you don’t think you saw anywhere in the store. You don’t think you’ve seen that plant in your life. You’re curious and turn to San. “What’s the plant in the room over there? Why isn’t it out here with the rest of the plants?”

San freezes. It seems he wasn’t prepared to answer that question. Or maybe he forgot about the plant in the room across from the register. Whatever it was, he took a breath before answering.

“Oh, that is… a special plant of mine. It’s one of a kind but it grows like a weed so I try to keep it away from the rest of the plants. Trust me that’s… not a plant you want in your home. Or anywhere…” San hesitantly answers. His answer about the plant was different from his other answers. The answer didn’t have the same passion he had before. It seemed that he didn’t want to talk about the plant. You decided not to question him further and take your stuff off the register.

“Please come back again! I enjoyed talking with you today!” San says before you leave.

“Same here! I will definitely be back. I’d love to hear you talk about these plants more!” You respond smiling.

You walk out of the shop realizing you were in there longer than you thought. Thankfully you went in the morning so it was late afternoon when you finally left the shop. You get back in the car with your new houseplant projects. You recount the day you had with San and didn’t find anything suspicious about the shop other than the weird room with the seemingly large plant. Although it was weird San was reluctant to answer the question about the plant, it wasn’t anything that rang any alarm bells. Maybe it was just an annoying plant. You drive off to your home, excited to add these new plants to your collection, and your mind on the pretty flower shop owner San.

~~~

San has a couple more customers come in after you leave. After the last customer leaves it’s evening time and San officially closes the shop and locks the door. He then goes to the back room, the room with the plant you had asked about.

“Finally you’re back! You got any fresh meat for me?” The plant says as San walks into the room.

“No, I don't have any real food for you today. You’re going to have to suck it up and take my blood today.” San responds, seeming very annoyed.

“Aww come on! All those customers and not one you’re willing to sacrifice?”

“I hope you realize that some people are starting to get suspicious. I can’t pick any random person to feed to you.”

“Tough titty.”

San rolls his eyes as he picks up a knife nearby and cuts into his left arm. He holds the arm above the plant as the plant sucks up all the blood dripping from San.

“I can’t survive on your blood forever. I need real human meat soon!” The plant says.

“You’ll get your ‘real food’ soon I promise. I have to lay low for a little while. I think someone filed a missing persons report on the last person I gave you. Probably what’s started all the rumors online.” San says as he gets bandages to wrap over his arm.

“What about that girl that came in here earlier asking about me? The Furby girl?”

“You heard that??”

“I hear everything. This shop ain’t that big sweet cakes.”

“Fair. And no, under no circumstance are you allowed to even touch her.” San starts to get more annoyed with the plant at the mention of you.

“But, she would taste delicious. Could last me at least a week and a half!”

San’s annoyance starts to turn into anger. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling this way about you. He just met you today, yet he can’t get you out of his mind. And he was just starting to get to know you, he doesn’t want that to disappear. He finishes wrapping the bandage around his arm and walks to the plant.

“If you do as much as lay a vine on that girl, I will not hesitate to rip out your roots and chop up every part of you until there is nothing left. Am I clear?” San says in a more sinister tone.

“Hmph, fine. Better fetch me a finger-licking good meal flower boy.” The plant responds in a condescending tone.

“Goodnight Audrey.”

San walks out of the room and heads to his apartment above the flower shop. He lands on his couch exhausted, wondering why he’s still taking care of that plant. But all of that doesn’t matter. All San is hoping as he drifts to sleep is that you don’t become his next victim, no matter the cost.

~~~ Want to read more? Maybe you'll enjoy part 2 If you enjoyed consider leaving a like, reblog, and/or comment! It means a lot and I appreciate it! If you would like to be on the taglist for this series let me know in a comment 🩷

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dreamwritesimagines · 2 years ago

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Garden of Secrets [8] - Begonias

A.N: Thank you so much for your amazing feedback and support my loves!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: Impatience can be dangerous.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms.

Word Count: 4200

Series Masterlist

The following week after that conversation at the rooftop was actual torment for you.

You had tried everything to divert your attention elsewhere, but for the first time in your life, nothing seemed to work. Even while tending to your garden, that night refused to leave your mind, as if your mind had sworn to make you remember it over and over again.

If your sister were here she would’ve said you were heartbroken, but even the thought was absurd.

You weren’t the type of person who got heartbroken.

Even if you were -which you weren’t- one simple glance at Lady Whistledown’s lines throughout the week would be enough to snap you out of it. You had managed to avoid balls, pretending you were still in a delicate condition after the heat exhaustion incident, but Benedict on the other hand had been quite busy as far as you could tell. Day after day, Lady Whistledown wrote how he only stayed at the balls he attended for less than an hour and spent the rest of the nights somewhere else, returning home only around dawn, looking quite disheveled. It had to have been bad because the latest Whistledown issue had mentioned his brother Anthony pulling him aside just when he was about to leave the last ball for a short argument which he had walked away from.

Anyway. It wasn’t like you were interested in his whereabouts.

“My lady, are you sure…?” the cook trailed off while Teddy giggled happily, sitting on the counter and covered in flour from head to toe, and you winked at him before turning to the cook.

“You have no reason to worry Mrs. Booth,” you said. “We will not burn the house down.”

Mrs. Booth did not look relieved at all, but she chose not to comment on it and instead walked over to the other side of the kitchen to check on the soup for tonight’s dinner. You turned to Teddy and put your hands on your hips, sticking your nose up in the air.

“Now,” you said. “Are you ready for this incredibly important task?”

“I am!” Teddy said, dangling his legs off the counter, excitement almost radiating off of him. You tilted your head.

“Are you sure? It’s quite the responsibility, you know.”

“Yes!” he said, jumping in his spot and you pointed at the other side of the counter.

“Over there,” you said. “We have our cookie dough. And of course we must have a theme for our cookies, it goes without saying.”

“Of course!”

“You are to decide what our theme will be and help me shape them.”

Teddy had such a concentrated look on his face that one simple observer would think he was to decide the fate of the country and you repressed a laugh, waiting for him to decide. He held his breath as the idea hit him, his whole face lighting up.

“A garden!” he said. “With people in it!”

You gasped. “That’s such a perfect idea Teddy!”

“And—and—” he said, flailing his arms. “We will have trees and flowers and people—you can shape the flowers and I can shape the trees and people!”

“That sounds like a good deal,” you said as you grabbed the cookie dough and gave him the half of it before you took a small amount of it out of your half, and started making a small flower. Teddy was humming a song to himself, his tongue sticking out, his whole concentration on the stick figure he was making from the cookie dough and you leaned over to press a kiss into his hair, making him let out a whine.

“Y/N I love you too but I’m working!” he said in a serious manner and you let out a laugh, then held up your hands, gesturing surrender.

“Alright, alright. Sorry.”

“You can kiss me afterwards, not now though. This is very important.”

“Got it,” you said, still smiling as you got back to making flowers from the cookie dough and he stole a look at you, then shifted in his spot.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“What does propose mean?”

Your head shot up from the dough. “Hm?”

“I heard auntie and uncle talking about a lord wanting to propose to you.”

You cleared your throat and put aside the flower to start on another one.

“Propose means someone asks someone to marry them.”

Teddy held his breath, shaking his head fervently. “But you’re not going to marry someone are you?” he asked. “You can’t!”

You pulled your brows together. “Why not?”

“Because then you’d leave!” Teddy said, tears already rushing to his eyes and you heaved a sigh, then wrapped your arms around him to pull him into a hug.

“I’d never leave you,” you said, placing a kiss on top of his head. “I promise. Even if I married someone, which I will not anytime soon.”

“But people leave when they marry.”

You frowned, pulling back to look at him better. “Who told you that?”

“No one,” he mumbled with a shrug of his shoulders. “But Josie isn’t here and she’s married. You always say she is our sister but I don’t even remember her.”

You could swear your chest was hurting but you managed to smile at him.

“Teddy, Josie isn’t here because she had to leave,” you said with a sigh. “One day I will tell you why, alright? But for now, the only thing you need to know is that she loves you and misses you so much. I read you her letters, she always asks about you, remember?”

Teddy nodded, still pouting.

“But you won’t marry anyone?”

“Not anytime soon,” you said. “And regardless of whether I get married or not, I will never leave you. I swear to you.”

He lifted his head and gave you a big smile, then hugged you tight and pulled back.

“Do you think this cookie man looks nice?” he asked, holding up the cookie and you smiled, then nodded your head.

“Yeah,” you said. “It looks perfect.”

One of the many bad things about being a debutante was that there were only so many balls you could avoid. Seeing that you would have to attend one eventually, you figured you could do it tonight and get it over with.

Besides, according to Lady Whistledown Benedict barely spent any time at the balls nowadays so you were going to be just fine.

“So how did Lord Shaw take it?” you asked your aunt as you stepped out of the carriage when it stopped by the garden, the music of the ballroom reaching there already. Your aunt linked her arm with yours and you both started walking through the garden.

“Well, apparently he was quite sad about it,” she said. “Your uncle was very clear though, he said you two would not make a suitable couple in matrimony.”

You squeezed her hand in yours while you two climbed the marble stairs. “Thank you.”

“Of course!” she said. “I know you cannot stand him.”

“It’s not that,” you muttered. “It’s just… He does not fit my criteria.”

Your aunt hummed. “Are you sure it’s not also because you have affections for someone else?”

“I don’t have any affections for anyone,” you said way too fast and your aunt stopped when you two reached the entrance of the ballroom.

“Whatever you say Clover,” she said. “Just promise me something?”

“Of course.”

“Try to have fun,” she said and you heaved a dramatic sigh.

“I’ll try.”

“Good,” she said. “Now, I can see Lady Bridgerton and Lady Danbury, if you’ll excuse me.”

She made her way to them and you nodded at them with a small smile, then turned your head when you heard your name being called.

Oh God damn it.

Benedict looked as frozen as you were unlike Charlotte who seemed incredibly cheerful as usual, waving at you. You swallowed thickly and looked around, considering leaving the ballroom for a second but you knew you couldn’t do that to Charlotte, so you made your way to them.

“Good evening,” you said curtly, making sure to keep your gaze only on Charlotte who squealed, rocking on the balls of her feet.

“Oh finally you’re here!” she said. “I was beginning to think you were going to avoid balls forever.”

“I’m not that lucky, it seems.”

“Benedict was just asking about y—” she stopped talking as Benedict elbowed her and she rolled her eyes while Benedict cleared his throat.

“Miss Y/N.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” you greeted him back and Charlotte looked between you two, then put her hands on her hips.

“Well,” she said. “Anthony looks annoyed yet again, so I’d better go and ask what that is about.”

“What?” Benedict asked as your eyes widened and Charlotte shrugged her shoulders.

“I’m curious about the reason so I must go.”

“Lottie—”

“Charlie—”

“No to both of you, I will see you later!” Charlotte said and walked away from you in a haste, making you shake your head.

“Not very subtle, that one.”

“She has many strong suits, subtlety has never been one,” Benedict commented and took a deep breath, then shot you a crooked grin. “Hello again.”

You raised your brows. “You know we don’t have to do that, right?”

“Do what?”

“Have a conversation,” you said and he took a deep breath.

“I was actually hoping for it.”

“You were hoping for—Jesus Christ, no,” you were distracted mid-sentence as soon as you saw Lord Shaw’s eyes stopping on you, and he fixed his waistcoat before he started to approach you.

“No to having a conversation?”

“No to the universe having a grudge against me for some reason,” you said through your teeth and Benedict followed your line of sight, then turned to you and offered you his hand.

“A dance, my lady?”

You pulled your brows together. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s a ballroom,” he said as the music started. “People tend to dance at balls, in case it has escaped your notice.”

You stole a look at Lord Shaw coming closer and let out a breath, then placed your hand in his.

It was like a lightning. As soon as your skin touched his, you could swear sparks ran through you, that familiar warmth engulfing your hand and judging by how his hand twitched over yours, you could tell he felt the same. He hesitated for a moment, letting out a breath, then led you to the dancefloor with the other couples. For a moment you feared everyone else in the ballroom could hear your heartbeat because of how deafening it was in your ears as soon as he had put his hand on the small of your back, but you tried to repress the excitement and took a step towards him as the dance required.

“I appreciate your help,” you said after a moment and he smiled softly.

“I was going to ask you for a dance anyway,” he said, his smile widening at the apparent confusion on your face. “So, did Lord Shaw bore you that much?”

You rolled your eyes. “Worse.”

“Worse?”

“He proposed.”

Benedict’s whole body froze mid-dance and you shot him a warning glare, raising his hand above your head to twirl yourself as if he was the one still leading.

“Did they not teach you how to dance? Or can you only put up a decent performance in bed—”

“What did you answer?” he cut you off and you scoffed.

“I said no, obviously,” you said. “I told you. He does not fit my criteria.”

His eyes flickered over your face. “Y/N…”

“That was not an invitation to talk of that now,” you said. “It has been a nice evening so far, I don’t wish to ruin it.”

“But we must talk of it.”

“Not really,” you said, those sparks hitting you with their full force when his fingertips brushed over your wrist. “What did you want to have a conversation about earlier?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “The rooftop.”

Your breath got caught in your throat and you stole a look at him before averting your gaze to the other dancing couples.

“I don’t think that we should.”

“Y/N.”

“We can just pretend it did not take place,” you managed to say and he let out a dry chuckle.

“I cannot.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

Your throat tightened as you let him lead the dance, barely aware of your own movements as if you were in a haze. You knew there were couples all around you but somehow it felt like you two were the only people in that ballroom, like he was the one person whose presence mattered.

Especially when he was looking at you like that.

“Talking of it will not change a thing,” you forced yourself to say. “I told you; you mustn’t even think of it. I will break your heart terribly—”

“Alright.”

You blinked a couple of times, gawking at him.

“What?” you asked, “What do you mean, alright?”

He pulled you closer the moment the note of the music changed, signaling the slow end of the tune and he grabbed you by the waist to lift you up as the dance required, taking your breath away. You grasped at his broad shoulders, your heart leaping to your throat and he gently put you down, your hands still on his shoulders. His pleasant scent filled your lungs and you swallowed thickly, your eyes still locked in his.

“You said you would torment me,” he said, his voice low as the music came to a stop. “So be it. Torment me if you wish to.”

He bowed his head and walked away from you, leaving you there completely dumbfounded. It felt as if the whole room was spinning as you watched him walk out of the ballroom -probably to the garden- and you looked around to see whether your aunt would notice your absence, but she was nowhere to be found, neither were any of her friends. You licked your lips, then walked out of the ballroom as well, the cool air hitting your burning face as soon as you stepped outside. You pressed the back of your hands on your cheeks and checked whether anyone was around, but it seemed safe enough.

It was considerably a small garden, at least not as big as the last ball’s so it took you only five minutes to find him. He was at the far end of the garden, leaning back to the wall of the gazebo, exhaling the smoke of the cigarette in his hand into air. Your heart skipped a beat but you refused to let it intimidate you, so instead you passed by the begonias and stomped over to him, your brows pulled into a frown.

“Are you insane?” you asked, making him turn his head and he pushed himself off the wall.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why would you say such a thing?” you insisted. “You long for heartbreak, is that it? You could not find a lady within the ton to break your heart for some sort of inspiration for your art, that’s why you keep saying these things to me—”

“Is that what you think?” he cut you off and let out a breath. “Come on now.”

“Then what is it?”

“Do you really want to hear it?” he asked you. “Because I think if I say it out loud, you’re going to run away as fast as you can.”

You scoffed a bitter chuckle. “As always, you put too much importance in your words’ impact on me.”

“Is that right?” he said, looking you in the eye. “Why are you here then?”

You blinked a couple of times. “I…I don’t have to explain my actions to you.”

“Why are you here, Y/N?” he asked again, his voice on edge and you gritted your teeth, then stuck your nose in the air.

“I cannot have you hope for something impossible,” you managed to say. “You must cast that thought out of your mind—”

“You don’t think I tried?” he cut you off, and shook his head. “What on earth do you think I’ve been trying to do since I met you? It’s not working like it’s supposed to.”

You let out a dry laugh, the familiar bitterness that tasted terribly like jealousy reaching your throat.

“Right,” you said. “Spare me those lies, will you? I’m not as clueless as others in that ballroom. Whatever you were doing was done for your own pleasure, it had nothing to do with me.”

“You—”

“Nothing could ever happen between us no matter how much you may hope for it.” you cut him off and he stared at you, a flash of pain crossing his handsome face.

“It’s just me then?” he managed to ask and you pulled back slightly.

“Pardon?”

“It’s just me who feels this fire,” he said, taking a step towards you, his gaze pining you to your spot. “It’s just me who cannot cast you out of my mind, it’s just me who is in lo—”

“Don’t,” you said, the warning word like poisoned honey on your tongue, half sweet and half painful. "Don't say it."

“Why not?”

Because I don’t believe it.

You gritted your teeth, your jaw set firm in determination. “I do not wish to hear it.”

A soft smile curled his lips.

“Alright,” he said after a beat. “Then tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me you feel nothing for me,” he said. “Tell me it’s just me who feels this, and I swear on my honor I will never bother you again.”

It was supposed to be easy.

The whole ton could say lots of things about you, but no one could say you weren’t an expert on keeping your emotions under control. That required you to come up with lies whenever you needed to, but somehow you couldn’t will the words out of your mouth, they all got stuck in that lump that was growing bigger and bigger in your throat.

Your uncle was right, unfortunately.

Silence was enough of an answer sometimes.

“You—I—” you stammered, averting your eyes for a moment. “That has nothing to do with the discussion right now.”

He stared at you for a moment, that light in his gaze growing soft before he took a deep breath, looking down at the cigarette between his fingers.

“Y/N,” he said. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You either go back to the ballroom or—”

“What exactly makes you think you can tell me what to do?” you interrupted him, narrowing your eyes into a glare and he repressed a smile, then shook his head.

“I’m not telling you what to do, I’m telling you what I am going to do,” he said. “You either go back to the ballroom, or I will kiss you. You have time until this cigarette is finished, so think carefully.”

That…

No.

No that was a bluff. It just had to be, of course he was not going to kiss you. Being under the delusion of infatuation and fooling himself into believing he was in love in order to experience heartbreak was one thing, but him actually kissing you was another.

Deep down he didn’t want or love you. He simply could not, even if he tried.

By some miracle, you managed to find your voice even though you felt as if excitement had already taken over you. “Am I supposed to be intimidated?”

He shook his head and took a drag of the cigarette.

“Not at all,” he said. “I’m just telling you what is going to happen.”

“You do remember I have a knife for times like these, do you not?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m willing to take my chances.”

You needed to leave. Any rational woman would leave immediately so as to protect their reputation, but somehow all your logic that would normally scream at you was drowned by the sound of your heart beating in your ears.

You were never the one to back away from a challenge after all, and the fire that was roaring through your veins was too powerful for you to even consider fighting against it. It was as if you were in a dream, and you were nearly trembling with anticipation, your whole body refusing to just take the step to go back to the ballroom.

It was just going to be one time.

You would only kiss him once, you would only taste that desire that had been haunting your dreams, tantalizing you every single night to wake you up gasping only once, and then—

Then you were going to go back to your original strategy. You were going to forget about him and this night, and find yourself a very old husband as you had planned and move on with your life.

Just once.

Just once couldn’t hurt.

You felt yourself take a step towards him before you pulled the cigarette from his lips to flick it to the ground, as if daring him to make his move. The fire in his eyes was so intense that for a moment you felt as if your whole face was burning, but you raised your brows, looking up at him before you scoffed a laugh.

“Just as I thought,” you said and turned around to leave, but felt him grab your upper arm to spin you around, drawing a gasp from you as your gaze snapped up to his.

“You, my poisonous flower,” his voice was a low murmur, making your heart skip a beat and he ran his knuckles over your burning cheekbone. “You will be the end of me.”

With that, his lips claimed yours.

Oh.

This was the infamous euphoria that every artist chased through centuries.

You could swear you felt yourself melt in his arms as he pressed you back to the wall of the gazebo, his hand cradling the back of your head, messing up your perfectly coiffed updo your maid had spent almost half an hour on but you couldn’t find it in you to care about it.

You couldn’t find it in you to care about anything else but him and his touch as long as he kept kissing you like this.

Desire spread through you like wildfire as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, blindly chasing that feeling which made you feel like you were falling off a cliff, your heart pacing in your chest, your whole body taken by this newfound high—

And then someone gasped.

It was as if you had been splashed with ice cold water. Benedict pulled back immediately and you turned your head but as soon as you saw who it was –who they were— you felt your stomach drop.

Lady Featherington’s mouth was open in shock, her eyes wide while your aunt looked almost frozen in her spot. Lady Bridgerton was covering her mouth, obviously as shocked as the rest of them and Lady Danbury let out a breath, shaking her head.

You could feel the fear smothering every single trace of happiness that was rushing through your system just a moment ago and you swallowed thickly, digging your fingernails into your palm while Benedict took a step sideways in your direction, almost shielding you from their gaze.

Through the fog of absolute fear, your mind managed to notice that tiny detail. You could claim he had no understanding of responsibility, that he was one of the most privileged men in the ton who never thought or cared about consequences, but it didn’t change one single fact:

Benedict Bridgerton; the unbridled philanderer, the spoiled second-son and free-spirited artist, had quite literally placed himself between you and the ton’s scrutiny.

Lady Featherington was the first to break the silence.

“A scandal!”

“Benedict…” Lady Bridgerton whispered and you shook your head, looking at your aunt while you blinked back the tears.

“I knew Lady Whistledown was right!” Lady Featherington said. “I knew it!”

“I’m sure there is an explanation,” Lady Danbury said through her teeth, glaring at Benedict, “Is there not?”

“What explanation?” Lady Featherington said with a small laugh. “Did you not see what I saw?”

“Y/N, what on earth do you think you are doing?” your aunt managed to ask in a whisper as if she was as shocked as you were, and you tried to gulp down the lump in your throat, keeping silent.

“This is unacceptable,” Lady Featherington said and motioned at you two. “Unchaperoned and—and— doing that!”

Air.

You needed air but somehow, you couldn’t seem to get enough of it into your lungs.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves,” Lady Featherington continued as Benedict stole a look at you, his hand curtly brushing over yours as if he wanted to remind you he was there before he turned to them. “This is no position to be found! Y/N, your reputation will be ruined when—”

“That is not going to happen, Lady Featherington,” Benedict cut her off, his voice completely calm and collected, the opposite of the mind-numbing fear that was nearly smothering you at the moment.

Lady Danbury raised her brows. “Is it not?”

Benedict shook his head.

“Not at all,” he said, his words piercing through the chaos in your mind. “We’re going to get married.”

Chapter 9

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regency fic

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