For 10okatthestars on Tumblr, who had a bad day, and wanted some new Dizzie fluff to read. And because Darcy would totally have the meanings of flowers memorized.
I am not a scholar of the language of flowers. I used the Internet. Forgive any glaring errors (but feel free to point them out to me, and I'll fix them).
This may be the shortest thing I've ever written. It's certainly one of the fluffiest. Enjoy!
Lizzie Bennet grew up in a household where flowers meant an argument. It was the only time her father went out and bought flowers; when he'd done something wrong and needed to apologize. So it took her a while to adjust to Will's constant and spontaneous gifts of flowers.
The first time he had a bouquet of red and orange and pink and white roses sent to her office, she worried herself sick because as far as she knew, they weren't having an argument, and her mind went to the worst places, and by the time she got home and confronted him about it, she was halfway toward a full-on panic.
"Lizzie," Will had said, taking her hands in his, his voice marked by confusion and concern. "I bought you flowers because I love you."
And then she felt like an idiot, and she explained about her father, and Will understood immediately.
"If I ever need to apologize," Will told her then, "I wouldn't give roses. I would give you peonies and white tulips, the flowers that express shame and ask for forgiveness."
She was not surprised in the slightest to learn that her boyfriend knew the meanings of all the flowers. "So what do these roses means?" she asked coyly, enjoying the way his eyes darkened as he came up behind her and took her in his arms.
"The red mean 'I love you ardently,'" he said in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper, punctuating each sentence with a kiss to her neck. "The pink and white mean 'I will always love you,' and the orange stand for desire."
She turned in his arms to kiss him fully. They didn't talk about flowers again that night.
It became a game. He would send her flowers and she would have to track down their meaning. Yellow poppies were waiting for her the day she first opened LBD, Inc (wealth and success). Forget-me-nots on their first anniversary (self-explanatory, but she second-guessed herself because he'd tricked her before with passionflower). Daisies, red chrysanthemums, heliotrope, and arbutus randomly and unexpectedly delivered (the last two it was the flower as well as its meaning she had to look up; she was constantly astounded at how many ways there were to say 'I love you' with flowers).
He proposed with peach blossoms, for bridal hope, and their wedding flowers were plumeria and phlox, for new beginnings and hearts united. "We're probably the only couple in existence who have to cater their wedding colors to the flowers the groom wants in my bouquet," Lizzie joked when he brought it up. Will just smiled and wondered how easily he'd be able to get hold of lime blossoms for the bridal suite.
Seven months after their wedding, Lizzie surprised Will with a bouquet. "My turn," she said one day, holding out a handful of dandelions to him. He frowned, puzzled.
"Faithfulness?" he asked.
"Promise of a gift that will provide total happiness," she told him. He lifted one eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"Also, you should be prepared for this to be the first of many such offerings," she said, stepping closer to him.
"And why's that?" he asked, his arms encircling her waist.
"Because these are the only flowers kids can really afford," she said with a smile. "Unless you want them going out and cutting up that magnificent garden of yours." She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, and he smiled into it —- then her words hit him.
He broke the kiss abruptly, staring down at her. "Lizzie?" he asked, breathless, "Are you —?" And the grin she'd been so good about holding back for a day now couldn't be contained any longer. She nodded, and the unbridled joy that broke out over his face was everything she'd hoped for.
He picked her up and spun her around, happier than she had ever seen him, and she laughed gleefully because she was, too.
"I thought baby's breath would be too easy," she told him when they'd stopped spinning.
"Baby's breath stands for innocence," he corrected automatically.
"Are you arguing with your pregnant wife?" she asked, eyebrows raised, and her words brought back that grin she saw so rarely.
"I'll send the peonies and white tulips just as soon as I finish kissing my pregnant wife," he said. And he made good on his word in both counts.
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