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fictionismyreality3 · 8 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 · 2 years 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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whimsymoonpages · 2 days ago

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chapter 35. falling asleep on a stranger

cw: fluff, fluff, fluff, housewife remmy

remus had been quiet all morning.

not in a bad way, not like something was wrong. more like his brain was full, like the words he was still trying to finish for pandora’s magazine were fighting for space with grocery lists and cookie recipes and candle placement. because today, finally, the article was done. and now that it was, he wanted something soft.

he wanted comfort. sugar. his people.

so, he orders takeaway from that place sirius always begs for, bakes two batches of chocolate chip cookies (one with sea salt flakes, one without, because apparently sirius thinks salt is “too philosophical for dessert”), and makes a whole pitcher of sangria with spring fruit and a little too much brandy. he enchants the room while it chills: charm-warmed blankets, soft jazz on the record player, pillows that fluff themselves every few minutes. a slow, glittering swirl of stars across the ceiling. the fireplace purring, even though it’s july. it’s extra. it’s very remus.

the rescue center is quiet during your evening rounds. barty’s off delivering a young chimera to its forever home, so it’s just you and the creatures, the click of your boots echoing through the stone halls. you check on the baby griffin (sleepy), the skittish puffskeins (overstimulated), and the manticore with a fondness for jazz (remus is right...it’s growing on you). you write gentle notes for tomorrow’s rotation, restock the first-aid kit, and leave behind a charm to refresh the hay in the kelpie paddock.

it feels good to be useful, and to know that when you get home, you’ll be met with warmth.

sirius is up to no good at the little secondhand shop on spinner’s row. he’s leaning on the counter, eyebrows high and lips pursed, trying to sell a frilly old muggle cookbook to a grumpy-looking witch with a hat like a deflated pumpkin.

“i’m telling you,” he says, voice low and persuasive, “this recipe for bubble and squeak will rock your entire social circle. your neighbors will weep. your bridge club will beg for seconds.”

the witch eyes him warily. “i’m allergic to cabbage.”

sirius blinks and shakes his head. “and yet,” he says solemnly, “this book still has the power to change your life.”

she buys it, of course, because he is ever the charming one, but not without grumbling. he grins like a wolf and mutters “sucker!” as she walks out. “bubble and squeak,” he says under his breath, cackling. “disgusting.”

james is alone at the auror office, finishing up a stack of reports before the weekend. most of them are uneventful; one grumpy neighbor cursing another’s begonias, a niffler spotted in knockturn alley--shocker--, an underage broomstick joyride—but one file stops him cold.

missing owl, northwest london. if found, please return to: elowen fawley.

he stares at the name: at the neat signature. and his stomach twists. he doesn’t think. just looks around, quiet and quick, to make sure no one is looking, and he whispers, “incendio.”

the parchment catches fast, curling into ash in his hands. he watches the fire crackle down to nothing. then he leans back in his chair and exhales.

he needs to go home.

when you all arrive—first sirius, grinning and telling a completely false story about getting mugged by a cookbook—then you, arms full of fresh-cut lavender from the rescue center’s garden—then james, still a little dazed—remus is waiting.

and the flat smells heavenly.

“oh my god,” you say, stepping inside. “remus!”

“you did all this?” sirius asks, already reaching for a cookie.

“this is beautiful,” james says softly, setting down his bag. “you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to,” remus says, cheeks pink. "i needed something warm and sweet."

and just like that, the night begins.

you eat way too much takeaway. remus pours the sangria into mismatched mugs. sirius insists on a game of exploding snap but forgets halfway through and starts doodling a fire-breathing pigeon. you all end up sprawled across the enchanted pillows, limbs tangled, heads in laps, your cheeks flushed and full and happy.

james is the one who says it, of course. he always is. “when we get married,” he murmurs around the rim of his mug, “we can do this all the time.”

you blink, and the room stills just slightly.

remus looks over at you. sirius is already halfway dozing on your shoulder. your heart does something very stupid.

“yeah,” you say softly. “we could.”

james opens his mouth like he might backpedal, but then—

“we should get matching rings,” sirius mumbles, eyes closed. “like…really shiny. one for each finger. maybe with runes.”

you snort and pat his curly hair. “you want ten wedding rings?”

“don’t limit me,” he mutters, slipping further into sleep. “i want options.”

remus smiles into his mug. “you’re ridiculous.”

but when he speaks again, it’s quieter.

“i didn’t think anyone would love me forever,” he says, like he’s saying it to the fireplace. “not one person, let alone three.”

your throat tightens. james doesn’t say anything—just reaches for remus’s hand and links their fingers.

“i’m really bloody happy,” remus adds, his honey eyes blinking slowly. “i just wanted you to know that.”

“we’re happy too,” you whisper before leaning up to kiss him.

you don’t decide anything that night. you don’t talk about dates or rings or what kind of flowers you’d want at the ceremony. there’s no plan.

just this: a night in. you want it forever. and now you know for sure that they do too.

previous next

taglist: @daydreamandforget, @lovelyteenagebeard

(our story is coming to an end soon!!!)

#james potter x reader #poly!marauders #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #the marauders x reader #harry potter marauders #x reader #fluff

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thebiotope · 7 months ago

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Something tells me I need a bigger sink...

#plants #plantblr #plant photography #plant #spotted begonia #begonia #pothos #cebu blue #global green #monstera minima #monstera #succulents #cacti #chirstmas #christmas cactus #thanksgiving cactus #thanksgiving #dracaena

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jeonginslefthand · 11 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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