Gotham Imagines and One Shots

Language of Flowers - Oswald x Reader

Oswald had lied to Mooney, and had done everything he could to get the day off; and now as he stood with the large bouquet of flowers in his arms, he knew that it was all going to be worth whatever his boss would throw at him if she found out that he had deceived her.

To say he was nervous would be an understatement, he was not used to being in this kind of situation, a situation where he wanted to tell a woman that he loved her. Most women never really noticed him, he had to admit himself that he could be seen as slightly unusual, with his limp, his pale skin, and his slender physique, he was most certainly not what many people would describe as good looking; but he knew (Y/n) was different.

The idea of how to tell (Y/n) how he felt, had come to him when he remember being told as a child, that flowers had a language of their own, each flower having a particular voice that could secretly express to the woman you loved, your feelings for her in a time before a man could openly come out and tell a young lady that he cared; he could remember thinking in his youth, that it sounded silly, flowers couldn't talk, so how could they possibly tell anyone you loved them, but once he had met (Y/n), once their relationship had gone beyond simple friendship, once Oswald knew he loved her, he had remembered the words of his mother, and he had remembered the language of the flowers.

(Y/n) was everything Oswald had ever hoped for in a woman; she was kind and caring, she was clever, and to Oswald's eyes, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and above all she had never been embarrassed about his limp or anything he did, always defending him against anyone that may mistreat him, always telling him that he could, and one day would, be greater than he could ever imagine.

To begin with they had simply been friends, their first meeting coming out of the blue when Oswald had inadvertently bumped into her, nearly sending (Y/n) flying to the floor if it had not been for the timely intervention of his sudden strangely strong arms gripping onto her tightly as he had almost slammed into her at high limping speed, his rushed, breathless apology instantly softening (Y/n)'s anger at the man that had not been looking where he was going.

Oswald could remember that (Y/n) had giggled so beautifully as he continued to apologise, that he knew from that moment he would be happy to listen to the sound for the rest of his life, and as the two new acquaintances found themselves talking at a small, quaint tea shop around the corner from their initial collision, he also hoped that she would be in his life for longer than this brief glorious moment.

To Oswald's eternal delight, his wish had come true, and as the months had slowly turned into the most wonderful year of his life, Oswald knew that it was now or never for him to tell the girl of his dreams how he felt; but Oswald knew that he didn't have the nerve to come straight out and profess his love for the beauteous (Y/n), and despite his feeling that she cared for him too, he still feared the idea of rejection, and a rejection for (Y/n) was one that he was not sure he could handle.

It was then that his mind had rushed back to his childhood, recalling the special voices of the blooms, and it was then that he had decided to let the flowers speak for him.

When he had a chance, he spent time at the library, looking through old books, researching the most perfect blossoms that would profess his undying love for (Y/n), and after a number of hours, he had found the ideal mix and match of flowers to say perfectly how much he cared.

As he carried his little notebook home, he had read through the list he had written, imagining the perfect arrangement to suitably show off his choices and his feelings. He had selected to have the whitest arbutus and roses, the blue of the aster and forget-me-nots, the red and pink of camellias and carnations, and finally the green of maidenhair ferns and long tendrils of the most beautiful ivy; each flower professing with their silent voice, Oswald's undying love.

Now all these months later, his hard earned money turned into the most perfect flowers, Oswald stood outside (Y/n)'s front door, his hand trembling as he raised it to knock, the shaky hits causing a rush from the other side of the door as (Y/n) made her way to the ingress.

As Oswald watched the door slowly open, he pushed the bouquet forward, (Y/n) senses being taken over by the glorious smells and sight in front of her.

"Oswald? Are you behind there?" (Y/n) chuckled, trying to look around the breathtaking display.

"Er......hello (Y/n), these are for you." Oswald said nervously, gently pushing the blooms into her waiting arms, heading into her apartment behind her as she placed the bouquet on the tabletop, admiring the gift that she had just been presented with.

"Oswald, they are beautiful, they must have cost you a small fortune, why would you do this?" (Y/n) asked, coming to Oswald's side, and kissing him softly on the cheek.

"Well.......they, they are to tell you how I feel about you (Y/n), I'm afraid of what you might say if I tell you outright myself, so.......so I thought I'd let the flowers do my talking." Oswald told a slightly confused (Y/n) as he handed her the handwritten card that he had attached to the bouquet.

Taking Oswald's hand, (Y/n) led him to the sofa, pulling him down to sit by her side as she took the little card from its envelope, her eyes widening as she read what the man next to her had written.

"I the arbutus say that you are the only one I love.

I the aster am a symbol of love.

We the camellia speak of longing and a flame

And I the forget-me-not talk of true love that can't be tamed.

But it is the Ivy and Fern that speak loudest of all, of fidelity, affection, and bonds of the soul."

Dropping the card to her lap, (Y/n) turned to look at Oswald. "Do you...... I mean, are you trying to tell me that you love me, Oswald?" (Y/n) asked, taking his hands in her, as she moved closer to his side, Oswald's cheeks burning a bright red as she looked into his eyes.

"The flowers say what I can't." Oswald explained, turning his gaze to the floor as (Y/n) let out a shaky chuckle, before she reached up to take his face in her hands, rising his eyes from the ground.

"You don't need flowers to tell me you love me Oswald, but if I had some to give you, I would present you with Primroses to show you that I can't live without you." (Y/n) told him, leaning in to kiss the shocked Oswald gently on his lips, her fingers softly brushing through his hair, as she pulled him to her.

"D-d-does that mean you love me too, (Y/n)?" Oswald asked hesitantly, as (Y/n) stood up, holding out her hand for him to take.

"I love you more than the aster or the rose, more than the camellia or arbutus could ever say, and I promise to you what your ivy and fern promise me, my eternal fidelity, affection and my soul." (Y/n) told him, as she took him in her arms and kissed him again, the flowers seeming to bloom more perfectly as they watched to two, knowing that their voices had worked their wonders once again.