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lumosinlove · 2 months

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Write Me In

Part Three

The next day, Leo had packed his suitcase up and double-checked that he’d entered the tiny phone numbers into his phone correctly six times. Then, with a cup of coffee made from the room’s shitty machine, he spent twenty minutes trying to draft his text to a group chat.

What did he say? What covered how he felt? Hi? This week was incredible? I don’t want to leave. I don’t want you to leave. I feel like we didn’t even say goodbye, I feel like I didn’t get to finish, when you’re back can we schedule—

And then one of the numbers was flashing up on his screen. He didn’t know which. Finn hadn’t given him names to match them to.

Leo stared at it for a good long moment, then hit answer.

“Hi—Hello?”

“Hey! Or, good morning, if you’re Logan,” Finn’s voice said. “We’re outside in the front area.”

Leo looked at himself in the mirror above his hotel room’s desk. “I—what?”

He’d assumed the car Finn had promised was going to be for him, not contain Logan and Finn.

There was a pause, and then, “Sorry I was drinking coffee. I got you one, just milk. I said we’re outside and ready. No rush. Do you need help with your things? Though it’s probably best actually that we don’t get out of the car, I see a bunch of cameras.”

“Oh,” Leo said. “I mean, no, that’s okay. I travel light, um. Okay, cool, I’ll be right down.”

“Sweet,” Finn said. “See you soon.”

Leo stared at his phone as Finn hung up. It was odd, but it wasn’t so odd. They were all going to the airport, why not go together?

Horrible, humid air hit him in the face when the hotel’s automatic doors let Leo outside. Not the nice, heavy kind that felt good on his skin. The thick, unbreathable kind. He could already tell that his hair was going to be a disaster. He let out a sigh at sweat began to prickle across the back of his neck.

“Need a taxi, sir?” asked a doorman.

“No,” Leo said. “Thanks, um, my ride is…”

Two friendly honks sounded out and Leo looked left. Through a slightly tinted window he could see Finn leaning forward between the front seats with a grin on his face and his hand on the horn.

“There,” Leo finished. He smiled at the sight. “Thanks, though.”

“Salut,” Logan said once their driver shut Leo’s door.

Leo looked between them. The car was large and spacious. Finn was next to Leo and Logan sat across from him. They both looked soft and plane-ready. Sweatpants, t-shirts. Finn had a baseball cap on that said evermore, and Logan had sunglasses pushed into his dark hair.

“Hi,” Leo said.

“Hi.” Finn held up a bag and coffee. “Muffin? They’re the best in this city.”

Leo laughed. “Wow. Yeah, thanks. Five star treatment.” He peaked inside. It smelled amazing. The coffee had just the right amount of milk.“And thanks for the ride, too. You guys didn’t have to do this, I could have found my own way.”

Logan got this beautiful sort of smile on his face. Half sweet, half disbelieving. “To Nice?”

Leo didn’t react to that right away. He was distracted by the bite he’d taken. Yeah, they’d definitely browned the butter.

Then it sunk in.

He looked at Logan. “What?”

“You were going to find your own way to my family’s house in Nice?”

Leo knew his mouth paused half way through chewing. He knew he probably looked stupid but— “What?”

“Easier if you’re with us,” Finn said. “Much easier.”

Leo looked between the two of them. “You…Wait. What?”

Finn’s eyebrows pinched together. “What?”

“I’m…” Leo swallowed, the food suddenly dry in his throat. “I’m going to Nice with you?”

“Ouais, of course,” Logan said.

Finn leaned forward. “I said we were going to Nice.”

“No, you said you were going,” Leo said.

“I said we.”

“I thought that meant you and Logan.”

“Non, we,” Logan said. “Our week isn’t done.”

“I…” Leo hesitated. “You want me to come on your vacation? That doesn’t sound very relaxing.”

Logan tilted his head at him. “How would you know? You haven’t tried it yet.”

“You…don’t want to come?” Finn glanced at Logan like he was worried.

“No, no. I mean—yeah, yes.” Leo laughed lightly. “Yes, I’d love to come, wow, thanks. I just…”

“Just what?”

“Don’t you…” Leo didn’t know how else to put it. “Don’t you want to be alone?”

Logan reached forward and put his hand in the bag on Leo’s lap, stealing a piece of his breakfast.

“Non, this one annoys me,” Logan said, and popped the piece into his mouth with a smile when Finn scoffed.

The house was gorgeous. It was more than gorgeous. The plane had been gorgeous. The boys had been gorgeous on the plane. Pleased with their music and their shows. Excited for the time off. Logan and his massive headphones, Finn with his nose in a book. Leo took the time to type up some more of his piece. A vacation setting change. He didn’t think he’d ever added that to a piece before.

Before he knew it, they were sitting on a cliffside terrace. There was a fire pit, unlit just then, and the sound of the waves crashing beneath them. The house was stone, the tiles terracotta and painted. It was open, one level, and seemingly perfectly suited to Logan. He looked…so good in its walls. Finn, too. Like in Finn’s apartment, Leo wanted to live in this kitchen. The fridge was stocked with cheeses and fruit. Beautiful cuts of pork and steak. The spiciest were vast, the herbs fresh or drying overhead, clipped to a delicate strand of wire above the sink. Potatoes and onions and garlic had dark, cool shelves beneath the counters. A wine fridge held ruby chilled reds and crystal whites. Looking over the sea, as they did now, the wind was heaven, warm and salty. Leo brought his Daiquiri—thank you, Finn O’Hara—to his mouth and tried to believe that he was sitting here in current company.

“You’re going to need some clothes,” Logan said suddenly. “Aren’t you?”

“I have t-shirts and shorts, if that’s what you mean.” Leo smiled. “It’s maybe the most beautiful form of summer here, but it is summer other places.”

“Swim suit?” Finn asked. He was messing around on his guitar and Leo was trying to keep how in heaven he was off his face. Finn kept playing all his favorite songs and the lyrics surged right into Leo’s head and made him wish he was a good singer.

“You got me there,” Leo said. “But if there’s a town I could go to—”

“Ouais,” Logan said—in the most enthusiastic voice Leo had heard from him yet. “I have to show you. Listen, I’m going to ruin you for other restaurants, because nothing beats Adeline’s.” Logan made a sort of adoring, scoffing sound. “C’est—It’s perfect. And we’ll buy you everything.”

“Everything? All I need is a bathing suit,” Leo laughed.

Logan looked at him for a moment, green eyes still bright, then shrugged and sipped his drink. “Well. Everything you want, then.”

As the sun began to set, Leo figured he owed Cassie a call so she could…well. Take care of everything else while Finn O’Hara made him drinks and played guitar and Logan Tremblay tried to buy him everything he wants, apparently—whatever in hell that meant—and showed him the gorgeous, sea-view bedroom he was now pacing back and forth in. He caught Finn’s loud laugh through his door and bit down on his lower lip through a smile. They probably looked amazing in the sunset. Leo wanted to write about that.

“Why are you in Logan Tremblay’s family home?” Cassie answered her phone with.

“What? How the hell did you—”

“I track you, I track your every move, Knut. Now don’t what me, you what!”

“I…” Leo pushed a hand through his hair and squinted out at the sea. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m in Nice. I thought they were flying me home, but apparently I’m…here. Coming with them.”

“Are you allowed to keep reporting? Like, is this still the job, or…”

“What else would it be?”

Cassie let out a breath that ruffled through Leo’s speaker. “I don’t know, you tell me. You all seem very…enamored, I guess.”

“Enamored.”

“Yeah, frankly.”

“You mean me,” Leo said. “Meanie.”

“I mean all three of you,” Cassie said seriously. “I’ve read the draft sections you sent me. O’Hara and Tremblay are handsy and sweet and…yeah enamored.”

We chose you.

“Cas…” Leo glanced behind him at the door. He’d told them about Cassie, that she read his work and would therefore read about them, but he still wanted to be as careful as ever until they told him otherwise. “They’re together.”

“Yeah, and someone totally wants both of them.”

“I do not—“ Leo glanced at the door again. She was in his headphones alone but he still felt the flush of nervousness through his entire body. “I don’t.”

“Okay, well, good. Because I don’t know how that ends for you, and I only want happy endings for you from now on.” Cassie was silent for a moment. “Just…I know who they are to you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, be careful. I’ve seen you heartbroken before.”

We chose you.

“I’m not going to be heartbroken. Cassie, they’re—they’re such a…thing. A unit. There’s no room for—I’m not like that for them.”

“They’re taking you on vacation. I mean…They could be alone right now and yet here you are. They obviously want something.”

“They’re…” Leo pressed a palm over his eyes, sighing. Of course he’d considered this. Thought it through, wondered why. He’d met stars like this before. He knew he was handsome. He knew his job was to make people feel intimate and connected with him. He knew sometimes it worked a little too well. “Yeah. Well, I’d never let any of my clients do something they’ll regret later. Whatever it is, a bit of a fun, a bit of…” Leo pressed his back teeth together and tried to imagine saying no if Finn and Logan offered…If they wanted to…If he was here because they liked him enough to want…what exactly?

“I won’t,” Leo said again firmly. “I won’t let anything…happen. Sometimes they just think they want me, you know it’s happened before.”

“Leo.”

“I’m professional. As a person.”

“What are you guys doing right now?”

“Having dinner on the pretty ocean.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

Leo bit his cheek. Dinner, swimming, shopping.

“Tell everyone I’m still working, upon request from my clients,” Leo said, and hung up.

He left his phone in his room and took a breath as he shut his door. Cassie. Cassie, Cassie. She wasn’t wrong. She loved him, he knew this, and she wasn’t wrong.

“It’s fine,” Leo said to himself. “It’s fine.”

He turned the way he had come, already drawn by the smell of the salty air from the windows.

He didn’t hear any talking as he rounded the corner, and the fire pit was empty outside. He was confused, and felt a little too alone in this grand house.

First, he noticed that the vast kitchen counter contained more than Finn’s cocktail hour fixings. Chicken breasts in butcher paper. Salt, pepper. Then he found them, tucked into a corner together.

It was a form of the kiss Leo had first seen, opening that dressing room door. A needy sort of thing. Logan had Finn by the hips, pinned against the fridge door. Finn was holding a lemon in one hand and his mostly gone drink in the other—dangerously close to spilling. Logan didn’t seem to care in the slightest. Leo caught a flash of his tongue and Finn made a sound that Leo would very much have liked him to record. The drink spilled.

Leo knew he should clear his throat. Make his presence known. Apologize, or just try to knock—or even go back to his room? But they didn’t look like they were worried about being caught.

What would happen tonight? They’d say goodnight and Leo would go to his room and they would go to theirs, and Leo wouldn’t not think about them sleeping side by side.

The bottom line was that he didn’t have anything to worry about. One look at the two of them, the way Finn’s entire body curved towards Logan, the way Logan pushed up Finn’s t-shirt hem to feel his skin, and Leo was sure they couldn’t have eyes for anyone else.

“Mm,” Finn murmured appreciatively as Logan’s teeth appeared and he—well, it certainly wasn’t a gentle bite. Everything about Logan wasn’t gentle, only, it was, really. “Logan—Leo.”

Leo took quick paces backwards and put a hand to his mouth in case he—what? What on earth sort of sound was he holding in right now?

“Okay,” he heard Finn laugh. “Okay, okay, okay, stop, I’m getting all—Lo.”

“I want you that way,” Logan’s voice said.

Okayokayokay, Leo thought. But there was no more sounds of kissing. Instead, Leo heard the sound of that lemon being cut in half.

“Do you think he likes it here?” Logan said quietly.

“Of course he does,” came Finn’s reply. “I mean, look at you. How could anyone keep their eyes off you…You’re so beautiful here, baby.”

A Logan laugh, the free one from the balcony at the bar after the show. Finn drew that sound out of him, Finn who was everything to Logan. How was it Leo had drawn it out, too?

“Do you think everything’s okay? He’s been gone for a while,” Logan said. “You’re sure he likes it here?”

Leo took one breath. Then another. He opened his bedroom door, shut it loudly, and emerged. Finn and Logan were still shoulder to shoulder, but not kissing.

Finn grinned when he saw him. “Hey.”

Logan’s eyes, already concerned from asking Finn, turned on Leo. “Is everything okay?”

Leo nodded.

You know we chose you, right?

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. He looked at the chicken breast Finn had on a fork and was moving from its wrappings to a glass bowl. He looked for other signs of a meal. Anything. Spices. Flavor. “No, good, just keeping them updated that I’m, like, you know.”

Finn laughed. “Here.”

“Yeah.” My assistant is worried about my heart and thinks you want to—We chose you.

“Is it okay?” Finn asked. “Did we get you in trouble? Because we,” he looked at Logan. “We can call someone. I’ll say, like, I’m being a difficult little rock star and made you come.”

That loosened something in Leo’s chest and he laughed, too—even with half his mind all but screaming at him to ask them what exactly he’d just witnessed. Instead, he walked further into the kitchen and offered Logan, who still looked worried, a reassuring smile.

“No,” Leo said, coming to a stop at Finn’s shoulder. “But you can tell me what the hell you’re trying to do with that.”

Finn stilled as he let the chicken drop into the bowl. “What—Oh. Um. Cook it?”

“Quoi,” Logan said, coming to Leo’s other side. “What does it look like he’s trying to do with it?”

Leo pressed his lips against a smile. “Hm.”

Finn hesitated, then offered him the bowl. “Why? Do you…”

Leo wasn’t going to get his heartbroken. He wasn’t going to break any of his rules, he wasn’t going to mistake starstruck for lovestruck. He wasn’t going to think about Logan and Finn talking about him while making out against a refrigerator. He wasn’t going to do any of those things. He would just…enjoy. Take what he thought was being given until the time came to stop. Restraint. He’d always been good at restraint.

He was going to show these boys a good dinner—and make use of a beautiful kitchen.

He gently nudged Finn out of the way and took the bowl of chicken breasts. A bit of soy sauce. He squeezed an orange over it. Salt, pepper, cumin, paprika, dill. He let it all sit and moved onto a salad and dressing. Watercress, romaine—a delicious looking purple leaf that he didn’t quite have a name for but it tasted divine.

Logan and Finn sat on the other side of the counter and watched.

“Finn,” Leo said.

“Hm,” Finn said, then looked up from Leo’s hands. “Hm, what?”

Leo smiled. “I’ll have another Daiquiri, please.”

Finn all but scrambled to comply. Leo heard the shaker going as he lay the chicken out on a sheet pan with some hot peppers and leeks. By the time it was in the oven, the salad ready to be dressed, and his counters wiped clean, Leo had a drink in his hand and a view of Logan’s bronzed skin in the sunset right beside him.

Right beside him. Logan’s bare knee against his.

“That was like magic,” Finn said as he settled down onto the couch opposite them, the sea at his back. “I’ve never seen someone do that so fast.”

Leo laughed. “I like to cook.”

“It wasn’t even in the oven yet and it smelled good,” Logan said. He leaned forward to pick from the plate of crackers, sweet apricot jam, and cheese. He was sticking mostly to the jam.

“Please tell me you don’t eat your chicken with salt and pepper only.”

Finn winced. “Guilty.”

“Sometimes we forget the pepper, I think,” Logan said.

“Oh my God.”

“We usually get something catered or we’re not even home,” Finn laughed. “I mean, greatest restaurants in the world or cooking at home?” He waved his hands like two sides of a scale.

“After this meal,” Logan said softly. “I think cooking at home.” He raised his glass to his mouth. “If Leo is there, anyway.” He mumbled something in French that Leo was pretty sure translated to something like, I’d never go out again.

“Maybe try it before you say something like that,” Leo replied in French.

Logan’s head jerked to the side to look at him. He looked like Leo had slapped him. Finn looked like Leo had presented them with some prize. A puppy or something.

“What,” Finn began to say.

“What was that?” Logan said in English.

“New Orleans, born and raised,” Leo said, grinning and taking a sip of his drink. “Might not be your French, but it’s something.”

Finn was leaning forward, nearly on the edge of his seat. He laughed and picked up his guitar. “Oh, Lo, baby, you’re loving this.”

Lo baby.

Leo had written in the piece that he sometimes thought he could feel their bond, crackling through the air. Singer, drummer. Oldest of friends. He could feel it here, too. Strongly. It settled over him like a blanket.

“Mais,” Logan was still staring at Leo, as if in a daze. “Ouais. I like being able to speak my own language.”

Leo reached for a cracker. “I thought for sure you’d hate it.”

Logan tilted his head at him. “Non. Why would I?”

“The accent, maybe?”

“Non…Non, the accent is good. Strange. But good. Really, so weird.”

“Well, shucks, thank you, Logan.”

Logan just smiled, eyes down, then stood and walked away.

Leo frowned. “What…”

“Oh, he’s fine,” Finn said from across the way. His red hair was haloed by the orange, burning sky. He looked…God, was there a word for how Finn O’Hara looked?

“Really,” Finn said. “He wants to build you a fire.”

During dinner, which they brought outside to watch the sun make its final appearance, Leo basked in Finn and Logan making a big show of enjoying the food—Finn was ridiculous, but Leo blushed anyway. Logan was quiet, but it was because he was carving bites for himself so quickly that Leo was a little worried.

“Can I ask a question?” Leo said when Logan came out with a bottle of sparkling looking wine.

Logan laughed at him and handed Finn the bottle.

“You baby,” Finn said, but Logan ignored him. “How are you afraid of champagne corks and not fire?”

“Shh, Leo has a question,” Logan said, and sat down beside him again.

“Right,” Leo said. “Yes. My job. I know. But that’s sort of what the question is about.”

“Shoot,” Finn said, his fingers expertly removing the wire from the cork. The liquid was a dark, orange-ish type that looked ice cold and refreshing—a nice contrast against the low, crackling fire Logan had stirred up. Logan and fire were made for each other. Even behind his drum kit, something was always burning, simmering beneath the surface. That was going in Leo’s story.

Finn popped the cork and rose to pour them small, slender glasses full of bubbles.

“Am I still…Is it okay for me to write the story?”

“What? Of course.” Finn handed Leo his glass, Logan his, but he didn’t return to his spot on the opposite couch.

He sat on Logan’s other side so Leo had to turn his body to face them. He tucked his long legs beneath him in the cooler night.

“Okay, I just wanted to check. Our setting changed, you’re not performing.”

“No, right,” Finn said. “But we wanted you to see this side of us.”

Leo nodded. “Yeah.” He kept nodding. “Yeah…”

All the lines he hadn’t wanted to cross, all of the worries about pushing them too far, they seemed far, far behind them. This wasn’t like any of his other stories. This felt so much closer to—to friendship. To trust. And Leo needed to know. He needed to know.

“Are you hoping, in this story, to write about your love?” Leo asked carefully. “Or, I mean, to share?”

They looked at each other. Finn’s hand found Logan’s hip, and Logan covered it with his own. Leo held his breath. He hadn’t realized how badly he wanted to write about this until now, not truly.

“Ouais,” Logan said. “Yeah.” He looked at Leo. “I told you. We chose you.”

Leo sighed out a small laugh. “Logan, I don’t know what that means.”

“We…” Finn spoke up. “He means for this story. Your writing. We chose your voice.”

Oh. Finn O’Hara, choosing his—

“Oh,” Leo whispered.

“Our music, our love, it’s the same,” Finn said. “It feeds into each other. It’s always been like that even when we didn’t…”

Logan closed his eye briefly, then looked back at Leo. And he was crying. I can’t watch what was my fault.

“We’d like to showcase that feeling, not just, like, some random picture of us holding hands or something. Your writing…Leo, reading it is as natural as breathing.” Finn’s brown eyes were syrup in this fire-dark. “Telling you about us was as natural as breathing—”

“Having you here is…” Logan cut in then stopped and looked at Finn like he hadn’t meant to, but Finn nodded. Logan put his drink down. He turned to face Leo more without dislodging Finn’s touch. “Listen. I’m not a loud person, I just play a loud instrument. But talking to you…Believe me, there is one other person I can talk to in that way, and everything I told you, he already knows.” He leaned back into Finn, who bent to press a kiss to his neck. Oh. “But…I wanted you to know and…” Logan blinked, the corners of his mouth turning down. “And I want…We want…Wondered…”

Slowly, almost as if he thought Leo could have missed it the first time, Finn, from his place tucked up against Logan’s body, placed a second kiss to Logan’s neck with his eyes on Leo.

Leo’s entire body seemed to change chemistry. Heat flooded through him so fast that he felt dizzy, his hearing cottony. His heart double-beat, sparks behind his eyes, cheeks burning. The fire was nothing.

He swallowed around a dry throat. “You…Yes. Yes, of course I’ll write it. I’m so, so happy to write it, it would, I mean.” He was stumbling over his words as hard as their first meeting. “Of course it would mean a lot to you, but it would even mean a lot to me.”

Finn smiled at him, all soft. That smile wasn’t too far from Logan’s skin. “Thank you.”

Leo just shook his head and put a hand over his pounding heart. He was happy. Thrilled. And he was also—

“Leo,” Logan said.

The way Logan Tremblay said his name. Lay-oh. Oh, he’d never get tired of it. What had he wondered? Leo felt just a little afraid.

Afraid that Cassie had been right. About it all.

“Yeah?” Leo’s voice came out a whisper. The fire snapped to their right. The ocean crashed far down below. Somewhere in the corner of Leo’s vision, a bird darted past as a shadow.

“This was a good week.”Logan’s voice was as gentle as the wind and firelight on his face. His neck was still bared, but with the hopeful, worried expression in his eyes, it looked just as sweet as anything. “The best.”

Leo could only nod. His mind was a mess of right now, last week, Cassie’s words, and Jack’s. Get the lights, would you?

Because what was happening? This was an invitation, Leo wasn’t stupid. He just didn’t know what kind of invitation it was. Because what was going to happen? Tonight would be tonight, shared and overwhelming and probably so insanely glorious Leo could hardly think about it. And then? He’d write about their love—and it would be a legendary love. Everyone would think so.

And what was he? What would he be?

He had rules, professional ones, yes. But personal ones, too. Get the lights, would you?

“Yes,” Leo said. He set his glass down and his feet back on the ground. He pushed his hair back from his hot face. It didn’t feel the same now. He could feel his throat closing. Get the lights, get the lights. “No, it has been. Truly.”

Silence from beside him. He could just see out of the corner of his eye that they were glancing at each other.

“This is a beautiful place,” Leo said quietly. He meant it. The house. The weather. But their voices were a beautiful place. Their presence was sun to bask in. Their trust for something this personal was something Leo could have walked around in all day. The sight of Finn’s lips on Logan’s neck was a quick shot of sea breeze, a warm hand on a perfect, cool marble counter.

And it was not Leo’s. None of it. And Leo didn’t know if he could make the mistake of thinking something was his when it never would be twice.

He tried not to think of Jack. As ex’s went, there was nothing loud about his horribleness. He’d just been…distant. Unwilling. He’d kiss only in darkness and walk only inches apart. And Leo couldn’t do it again.

Finn spoke first, and his voice sounded like it did when he spoke about Rooftop. “What do you…What do you feel like doing now?”

Leo drew in a shaky breath. “I, um. I think I should probably turn in.” He glanced over with a smile, not lingering long enough to really catch their faces. “But I’m looking forward to tomorrow. And…Yes. Tomorrow.”

Sometimes it felt like his words left him when he needed them most.

“Okay,” Finn said. “Yeah, me too. We’ll show you.”

“Leo?”

Leo wanted to close his eyes. Lay-oh. It was so soft.

“Yeah?” Leo looked over finally. They were still curled together, almost holding onto each other now. For a moment, he almost forgot who they were. They were just two boys. Two unbearably perfect boys.

“Thank you for dinner,” Logan said.

“Oh.” Leo laughed a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “No. Thank you for this.” He looked out at the night sea and forced himself to stand. He took in a last lungful of sea breeze.

“Let us know if you need anything,” Logan said. “There’s towels and there’s a drawer of anything you need in the bathroom, but if something’s…missing, or if you want something, please tell me.” Logan’s green eyes looked vivid in the firelight. “Please tell us.”

“I will,” Leo said. “I…” He shivered as he stepped away from the fire. The stones were cold on his bare feet. “Good night.”

He stepped through the sliding door into the dim house. It smelled good. Piney. Like Logan.

When Leo spared a look back to the fire, their heads were bent together, two doves. A perfect fit.

#write me in lumosinlove #o'knutzy #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #Leo knut #lelo #finnlo #sunfish #band au #popstar au

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years

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hello love! can i make a request for gaz x f!reader she a civilian and a florist and he keeps visiting her and they slowly fall for each other and he calls her his sunflower or something cute like that? you can make up the rest, sorry if it’s not super detailed!

Gossamer Silk Smiles

Pairing: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Florist!Reader

Synopsis: You loved your job more than anything, and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. You were focused; self-assured... Until he showed up.

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Insane amount of fluff, this is the definition of a soft fic, beginning of a relationship

A/N: I know this man would treat me right. Also changed the nickname around a bit, but sunflowers are still prominent. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you opened your flower shop, you told yourself there was no going back – no distractions or second options. This was what you loved more than anything and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well.

Until he showed up.

It had been a shitty day, one for the record books, in your opinion. Shipments for Larkspur, Zinnias, and Sunflowers had come to the shop damaged. The boxes had been so beaten up you half-believed the mail carrier had gotten into a personal disagreement with them. All initial humor aside, you were now out of this week's product as well as a good chunk of money – the flowers couldn’t even be considered that anymore, seeing as they were really just broken stems and stray crumpled pedals. Then came the unusual amount of rude customers and the building of minor inconveniences.

But to your credit, you didn’t let it get to you.

Well…externally, at least.

“Have a great rest of your day,” you force out with a strained smile to an older woman who only huffs. She stalks out of the shop with a vase full of Daylilies, Purple Cornflowers, Yarrow, and Taro leaves. “I hope your brother gets well soon–” The glass door shuts with a clatter of the small silver bell attached to the frame.

Leaning back on your heels, your eyes close; taking down a deep breath, you hope your lungs won't explode in your chest as you hold it there.

“Fucking hell.” The air flies from you in a weak groan.

Your fingers tap against the countertop, and a small, humorless, chuckle later you’re walking out to change the window sign to closed instead of open. It was well past your usual shift anyways, but the previous customer had been relentless about the ‘perfect bouquet.’

“Like there’s even such a thing,” your lips twist into an annoyed frown as you speak to yourself in a grumble. “...Should have just denied her service… Didn’t even leave a tip.”

You really wouldn’t have minded helping her that much if she had just been kinder towards you.

Grabbing the small paper sign held up by a suction-cup hook, you flip it around with little thought, already trying to plan out a way to make up for the weeks worth of ruined product. You don’t even notice the man speeding down the sidewalk until his desperate face is staring right into yours – only separated by a thin piece of glass.

Yelping, your shoulders tense at the sudden visage.

The man was around your age, tall, and had a handsome face inlaid with eyes reminiscent of deep amber. Light reflected off the iris in ways you can only describe as the glinting sun does off waves of water; gentle. Nearly soft, really. He was wearing a ball cap with an embroidered British flag on the front and had a panicked look set on his lips.

Close to the door handle, his long fingers freeze mid-air and you find the prominent muscular build and set of his shoulders staining the back of your eyelids like a movie screen. Whoever this guy was, it didn’t stray from the fact that he was attractive.

You’re not happy about it, but your mind blanks as you stare with wide eyes; heart steady in your breast.

He blinks at you, square jaw loose, also double-taking from beyond the see-through barrier. His flickering eyes flew quickly over your form just as you had ogled him moments prior.

Silly, perhaps, and childish at best, but you felt your throat tighten with stilled breath. There was a small chunk of time that you both just gawked at each other – as if Cupid had suddenly stabbed you both with one of his blots; gazes inexplicably locked as blood dripped to the floor from copper arrowheads.

If you were more gullible, you would have called it love at first sight. But you were anything but that.

Sighing, you rip your eyes away and take a breath. Opening the door with more questions than answers, you were praying that it didn’t get dark before you could help this man with whatever it is that he needed.

I can see the fucking veins on his forearms. You think as the chilled air hits your face, recalling the peek you sent to the rolled-up sleeves of this stranger’s blue button-down.

The bell above you dings as you set the door in the crook of your shoulder, leaning out halfway. Clearing your throat, you ask steadily, “Can I help you, Sir…?”

He sets his stubbled jaw, vision snapping to the side for a split second that was so fast you almost missed it.

“Erm…my apologies, Ma’am, for rushing up like that.” He lets off a chuckle, and the flag on his hat is quickly explained away by the prominent accent. “Hope I didn’t worry you.”

Fighting the uptick of your lips you feel your chest let go of a sliver of tension. He was smiling slightly at you, the khaki pants he wears creasing as his feet set themselves; his brown eyes never leave your face.

Respectful, you think.

“Not every day you have people trying to barge into a flower shop. Trust me, Sir, I sleep well knowing no one wants to rob me.” Attempting a light joke, the stranger's chest jerks in a silky laugh. The tips of your ears heat, the blood under your skin rushing.

His laugh was like a blanket during a storm; a cup of hot chocolate during a blizzard. Could you be attracted to a laugh? You seemed to ask yourself. Already your mind was coming up blank at this, all of a sudden, welcome intrusion.

“Well, I’d imagine that’s a good thing, then?” He teases showing off pearly white teeth.

“Incredibly.” Opening the door wider, you beam. “You’re lucky I was still here. I’d normally be all locked up by now.”

You should be closing – telling this stranger to leave and come back tomorrow – but something inside of you told you to just open the door. It was illogical, unprofessional, and downright strenuous on your already foul mood…but this individual had such an air to him that you wondered who exactly he was. He made your skin pule with goosebumps.

“Thanks,” the man utters as he slips inside, nodding his head to you and fixing the position of his hat with one hand. “Yeah…I’m incredibly sorry about this but I’m runnin’ on a bit of a time crunch, to be honest with you. I’ve been checking every shop in town – you’re the only one with the lights still on…” He looks to you, “I really hope I’m not causing any trouble for you, Ma’am.”

Slipping your fingers into your work apron’s pockets, you let the door shut and tilt your head to the side, gaze softening at the pure candor of his words.

“Emergency flower orders are always my favorites to work on. It’s no problem, really.” You say your name as an introduction and ask what he would like to purchase as he scratches at the back of his neck with a boyish twist to his lips.

“Kyle Garrick.” He sticks out his hand and you shake it instantly. Kyle’s hands are warm despite the cold weather outside, and you have to stop yourself from melting into him as you pull back. But already your skin tingles. “Actually, I was wondering if you might be able to help me on that front. What flowers would be the best for an apology?…just not something too flashy, if that’s possible.”

He trails with an awkward chuff, obviously not used to being in a flower shop before. You wondered if he even had a favorite flower. You hoped he did.

You could really tell a lot about someone based on the types of flora they surrounded themselves with.

“Apology?” You wonder, tilting your head. Quickly falling into work mode, you continue, “I can work with that. Do you have any preferences? Colors?”

“Well, she likes orange, yeah?” He speaks and your heart sputters for a moment. Smile freezing. “I don’t suppose that’ll help very much, but it’s really all I have to go off of. I’m a bit of a hopeless bastard when it comes to flowers.” Kyle lets off a huff of laughter.

She. Of course, he’s already in a relationship.

Nodding, you swiftly walk past the man, catching the scent of fresh-tilled earth and rainy grass as your shoulders nearly brush. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It wasn’t every day you found yourself attracted to someone. But, oh well, life continues on.

“Well,” heading towards the wall baskets, your body feels heavy, but you quickly force it to the side. You really shouldn’t be surprised. “You said orange? I have about seven you can pick from.”

“Affirmiti–erm, yes, Ma’am.”

“Hm.” You hear him come up behind you, following at a respectful distance. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you watch as his eyes slide over the various types of flowers, all separated by color, with deep thought.

A slight furrow was in his dark brow. His dedication was adorable.

“What’s this one called?” Kyle asks, moving around you to a bushel of orange poppies and accidentally bumping into your side.

Grunting, you lightly jerk forward until a hand swiftly grabs your shoulder. Eyelashes fluttering, you look up with shock at the embarrassed face slightly leaning over you.

“Shit, I’m sorry. That’s my bad.”

“N-no, you’re fine.” God, this was so awkward. Smiling shakily, you feel the press of his hand over your skin, separated only by the thin barrier of your shirt. Kyle squeezes your flesh before letting go.

He was staring at you, though. Brown eyes set into dark skin with a soft expression like Pygmalion staring at his marble-wrought Galatea. But as quickly as it was there, the look was gone and the man was clearing his throat, snapping his neck back to the basket and shifting his feet.

Even if you couldn’t explicitly see it, you knew he was blushing – just the same as the heat in your capillaries mirrored. Swallowing to get rid of the dryness of your throat, you realize you’ve been gawking before sliding your hands into your pockets and quickly looking away.

Why won’t my heart stop beating so fast?

“Those are Orange Poppies. Papaver orientale.” Speaking, you reach forward and grab the stem of a single bloom holding it to him as he gazes down at you from your side. “Common in ‘get well soon’ bouquets, if you were curious.”

Holding it up to him, you watch his fingers delicately pluck it from you like the flower was made of glass. It nearly made you laugh, but you settled on a small smile instead.

“It’s pretty…” Kyle pauses, and you read it well enough.

“...But not what you were looking for.” Settling on the answer, you giggle when he passes off a sheepish smile and a nod. “I kind of guessed. Here – how about this.”

He ends up buying a handful of orange Tulips, Myrtle leaf for greenery, and a small gathering of Baby’s-Breath. Behind the counter, you try to stay focused on setting the flora perfectly in the clear vase as your clippers lay beside it. Frowning, you take the long stem of a Tulip and snip the end at an angle, placing it to the far left of the rest with a concentrated set of your eyebrows.

“So,” Kyle says, breaking the silence, and your fingers twitch as your spell is shattered. Soul stilling, you look up at him as he waits on the other side of the counter with his arms comfortably crossed. He leans back on his heels, feet shoulder-length apart. “Busy day today, then? Other places around here are mostly dark by five.”

Standing straighter, you politely smile before going back to the arrangement, hand reaching for the small white tufts of Baby’s-Breath.

“Mostly, yeah.” You cock your head to the side, “I was supposed to be home two hours ago, but one lady was very adamant about getting the most ‘perfect’ flowers, as she told it.”

Chuckling humorlessly, you step back and stare at the vase, not aware of the eyes stuck on the tired slump of your shoulders or the slight frown staining the man’s lips.

“Two hours? Well, that’s a bit excessive.” Kyle remarks, eyelids creasing, “I’d hope she at least left a tip for you?”

That gets a laugh out of you, lungs jerking for a moment; focus once more brought back to the present at the preposterous words that just left your customer’s mouth. Those brown eyes suck you back in to a point where you wonder if you’d ever be able to look away.

“Now that’s funny, Mr. Garrick.”

He lets the subject drop, but you notice a slight crease in-between in brows – a narrowness to his eyes that wasn't there before. You try not to think too much into it, but Kyle certainly did seem like the man to get upset when people aren’t treated respectfully. The thought warms your heart.

Or maybe I’m just reading too much into this.

“Is there anything you’d like me to rearrange, Sir…? Do you want a note to go with it?” Seemingly lost in thought, Kyle comes back to you with a diligent shake of his head.

“It looks perfect, Love. And, please, just Kyle’s alright. You’re makin’ me sound like an old man when you talk like that.” He chuckles, and it’s a rich, velvety sort of thing – twisted with blue satin and wrapped in a gentle breeze. Your stomach twists.

“Then I suppose that’s it, then. I’ll get you the bill and you can be on your way.” Turning around to calculate the total price, you make a quick comment in passing, not really thinking about it as you tap on your calculator. “I hope your girlfriend and you make up.”

A stunned silence falls, but you only focus on the numbers, jotting down the total on a sticky note and turning around after re-running the costs a last time. When your eyes lock with him, your feet stall at the dumbfounded look on Kyle’s face and the confusion ingrained in his body language. His head had pulled back slightly, hat tilted.

“What’s that?” He asks.

“Your…girlfriend?” You say slowly, walking closer and passing him the sticky note, “you said you were getting her apology flowers?”

The handsome man blinks at you before realization lights in his eyes like fire. Kyle laughs deeply, putting a hand on top of his head and pressing down on his cap.

“Oh, Bloody hell, no.” He takes a deep breath and you feel your lips pressed together in confusion, innocent intrigue taking place in your skull. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart, I should have told you right off. This is for my mum.”

Blinking in surprise you pause, looking up with wide eyes.

Sweetheart?...Mum?! Your face heats to an intense level. Oh.

“O-oh I didn’t…” He’s reaching for his wallet with a large lop-sided smile on his face and understanding eyes, watching you as he flips it open. You settle with a single laugh and say, “sorry, I guess I just assumed.”

But you can’t help the sudden relief that sprouted out of nowhere that leaves your lips pulling back in a mirrored grin. You’d been doing that a lot, as of the last fifteen minutes.

“It’s no problem,” Kyle admits, “Thing is, I’ve been off on deployment for a while, and I missed my return date party, unfortunately. Just got back about noon today and I decided I was going to surprise her tonight.” The man pulls out a large stack of bills, “Thought she’d like that, yeah? Can’t go wrong with flowers, can you?”

“You’re in the military?” You ask smoothly but internally swoon at the thought of a son giving his mother flowers out of the kindness of his heart. Whoever she was, you know the woman who raised this man would be overjoyed with the prospect of simply having him home safe and sound before anything else.

Did not Penelope, wife of Odysseus, care for her son Telemachus more than anything? Above danger and possible death? They protected each other. You supposed it was the same in this situation.

Being able to be a part of it made your legs weak.

“Something like that, Ma’am.” Kyle’s lips flick into a smirk as he hands you the bills. “Feels like I’m surrounded by children most days, but there’s no place I’d rather be…When I’m not nearly getting my head bloody blown off, that is.”

You huff in amusement, and slight concern, taking the payment and settling it on the counter without checking the numbers; never doubting whether he gave you the right amount or not.

“Well, it seems like you’ve got it all figured out.” Garrick looks to his feet for a moment, pocketing his wallet, and clears his throat near mutely. He tilts his head back up to you.

“Nearly,” he whispers under his breath, a delicate wrinkle on his forehead as his lips pull in a minute, closed, grin. Sheepishly, you look away from his intense brown gaze before you can make a fool of yourself as giddiness sparks in your racing heart. What was happening to you? You have to ask yourself. Where was all of this blatant scatterbrained activity stemming from? No one had ever made you act like this before.

As you look away, your eyes unintentionally land on the wall clock across the room, and your thoughts still like water in a puddle. Eyes widening comedically, you feel your lips part.

“I really need to be closing up.” You say apologetically, looking back to the man who touches one of the Myrtle leaves carefully, running it between his thumb and forefinger. Under you, your feet shift over the floor. “Is this all you’ll be needing?”

“Pretty sure.” Garrick answers easily, “I won't keep you any longer, eh? I’d hate it if I made you go home by yourself after dark.”

“That’s very thoughtful, Kyle, thank you.” Pushing the vase over the counter, he takes it up and pauses as if he wants to say something. His mouth opens before closing – looking at his feet for a moment and itching at his neck with his free hand.

“I…don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Ma’am,” your breath hollows, watching carefully as you listen. “But, uh, I,” Kyle shifts his eyes to your face, standing a bit straighter as the corner of his lip flicks up, “You’re just about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met – if that’s not overstepping, of course.”

He laughs stiffly to dispel tension, and the air suddenly gets ten times hotter at the brutally honest, if not mildly stuttered, confession. You can nearly hear the blood rushing to your head like a flood of ocean water – more violent and immediate than a tsunami. In your ribcage, your bones ache at the beating organ and the swell of your lungs. Having to take a deep breath to not forget yourself entirely, your mind rages.

Did he really just say that? He…he called me beautiful.

When was the last time you had been called that? By such a lovely and kind man nonetheless. Kyle seemed like a confident person, his profession telling you that already, but the way he was acting now he seemed hesitant; like he was appalled by the fact you would take what he was saying the wrong way and come off creepy.

But that was so blatantly opposite of how you were reacting.

“I-” You stutter, eyes snapping away and hands coming to hold themselves in front of your abdomen, “well, I think you’re very handsome, yourself, Kyle.” A meek expression spreads your visage as you see the breath in his chest hitch, “and I wouldn’t call that overstepping at all. Not by a long shot.”

His eyes widen, and a second of intense eye contact later, he smiles and glances away. Garrick sneaks looks as you bite your lip, and finally, he nods firmly before his phone starts to ring in his pocket.

As if a switch had turned, his hand snaps down and grasps the device, peeling it out of his khakis and checking the contact. Immediately he utters.

“Oh, Shit, this is her. I’ve got to run.” He walks backward a few steps before turning and lightly jogging to the front door. Following with your eyes, you’re somewhat entranced by the man.

Before he can walk through the door, he stops in his tracks.

“Sorry, again,” Kyle turns back around, and his dark eyebrows crease, “but, uh, what days are you open?”

The giddy smile that forms on your cheeks leaves your skin hurting.

“All of ‘em except the weekends,” you say, confidence suddenly sprouting in your veins, “but I’m sure if you told me ahead of time that you were stopping by, I’d make an exception.”

“I’d imagine for emergency flowers only?” Kyle teases, a smirk on his face. His eyes promise you, though, that this will not be the last time you see him.

“Of course.” You reply, raising a brow. “I’m a florist, after all, Garrick. Emergency flowers are my specialty. If you’re ever in need of more, I’ll be here, waiting.”

He laughs, stares for a few seconds longer with a distant sheen, and disappears through the door. You don’t follow when his form fades from the windows entirely. You don’t ask for his number, even if you knew you should have. You don’t look at the amount he gave you as you put it in the register, knowing, even by your intuition, that it is double the amount he was due.

You’d just tell him all about it when you saw him again.

Until Kyle Garrick showed up you had been focused; as immovable as a mountain, but then as the days drew on, you faltered. Your eyes would linger on the glass as people pass by, heart in your throat and feet tapping as you bound stems. Flowers had taken up so much of your life, but now another was trying to push its way in – slowly infecting you like a parasite in your mind as the days went on.

And as he kept showing up, month after month, he had taken to calling you Persephone. A goddess of spring and nature; beautiful flowers of all colors and shapes growing on hills and in vibrant meadows. It was perhaps the greatest compliment someone like you could have been given. At first, it had been a nickname until it had become as common as your actual title, and Kyle used it so much even regular customers teased you with it with smirks and side-eyes. You only rolled your optics with a burning under your skin and a small smile.

“Well, look, it’s Persephone…”

“That boy of yours here, Persephone? Hiding in the back room perhaps?”

“Persephone – you have any Peonies this week?”

You didn’t mind it…really, you didn’t. If anything, you thought it was precious. A man comparing you to a goddess that danced in green fields as flowers sprouted at her feet? Yes, that was quite alright.

Quite alright, indeed.

—

The office room was cold, he thought. Nearly a meat locker.

How in the hell can he stand to work in here, Kyle asked himself. Bloody place is like a damn winter storm just minus the snow.

He was seated in one of the two chairs in front of the mahogany desk, hands on the armrests and feet tapping the floor. When the Sergeant had gotten the order on his radio to come to Captain Price’s office ASAP, he had expected the man to already be here, but five minutes later he was still sitting in silence.

That wasn’t to say he was bored, though. He was thinking of you. He could never be bored when he did that.

It brings a small smile to Garrick’s face as he relives your last interaction, lips unconsciously twitching as his eyes grow distant.

You’d made him a flower crown, mostly as a joke, but had been left in raging fits of laughter when you’d placed it on his head.

“Hold still,” you grunt, sitting on the front counter and keeping the weaved headpiece in your grip as it hovers above the man’s scalp, “I want to get it centered on the first go.”

“Y’know,” Kyle chuffs, “I could always do it myself – I do have working hands, Love.”

“Shush!” Exclaiming, your breath fans his face, leaving him more still than a statue, if only to smell your scent and be content with your body so close to his. Kyle was still working out the best way to ask you out officially, but that didn’t seem to extend to his instinctual actions when it came to you. It was increasingly hard to stop his head from leaning just that tiniest bit forward and connecting his lips to yours.

The pressure on his head brings him back, and his eyes blink as if they could force all the rogue thoughts from his mind. Kyle clears his throat when you lean back, acutely aware of the longing set of his dark brows as he had stared off at you.

“Well, then,” The Sergeant clears his throat and smiles at your concentrated face, though he notices the hitch in your chest with a strange sense of pride. “How’s it lookin'? Is just as you imagined, eh?”

Your face scrunches, head tilting. Kyle couldn’t remember a time he’d let someone put a wreath of flowers on his head, woven with Forget-Me-Nots, Silver Dollar Eucalyptus, and Tiger Lillies. The others would make fun of him for this.

But he found he cared little. If you kept smiling at him like that, he’d let you do anything to him in a heartbeat.

“Perfect.” You chuckle. “You should have let me do this earlier.”

The shop was closed – it was a weekend, after all, and that was the time for restocking and number crunching. Not really the time for making crowns for a man who was totally smitten with you.

“You sure that you don’t need these?” Kyle asks, a hand reaching up to his head to touch the flora. “I’d hate to not pay you for them, Love. Can only imagine how expensive they are to order.”

“Eh,” rolling your eyes, your legs brush the Sergeant’s hips from where they sit around them, and the man has to remember how to breathe properly, “they’re the old product, anyway. I’d have to get rid of them by Monday. Better for such a handsome individual to have a crown of his own, with all the gallantry he practices in his job. It’s the least I could do, hm?”

You’re teasing him, a smirk taking up the frame of Kyle’s vision. He returns the action, hands coming to rest on either side of your hips; leaning forward until his nose with mere inches away. He hears your chest rattle with a slow breath.

“Are you teasin’ me, Persephone?” He asks sneakily, as you begin to giggle. “Insinuating I need a flower crown to be recognized at work? It’ll certainly get me attention, that’s for sure, yeah? Just not the kind I want. Soap’ll have a field day.”

“He’d just make a few comments, I’m sure.”

“You’ve never met him. The bloke would never let it go until the day I kicked the bucket.” You’re laughing, one hand coming up to cover your mouth.

Kyle hates himself at that moment because you’ve never looked so beautiful, and he can’t quite pick up the courage to just lean in. So he watches with a matching look of happiness and an embarrassing, yet adored, flower crown on top of his close-shaven head. He watches with an ache in his chest and a violent beat to his heart as your body heat melts into him; urging him, prompting him.

But he just smiles and watches a moment longer before taking a step back.

“Sir,” Garrick asks, settling back down and watching the older man slink behind his desk, “What’s all this about?”

The door opens with a firm hand. Kyle startles to his feet, tuning and about to go into an instinctual formal greeting before the Captain speaks, beating him to it.

“At ease, Sergeant. Take a seat.”

Price sighs as he takes a seat, slapping a large file that was previously in his hand to the wood before opening his drawer with a grunt. Gaz watches with narrowed eyes as his superior ignores his question, pulling out a large cigar from a lockbox and slotting it between his lips. A lighter follows soon after, and soon the smell of burning tobacco enters the air.

“...Captain?” Kyle was starting to get nervous now. Why was he looking at him like that? Blue eyes seem to dig deep into Gaz’s soul, trying to find something that was hidden behind layers and layers of flesh and bone.

John pulls the stick from his lips and holds it between his fingers, smoke now entering the air and rising to perforate like mist. Feet shifting over the floor, Kyle’s heart skips a beat.

What in the hell is going on?

That’s when the bearded man speaks.

“Well, who are they, then?” Price asks, tilting his head forward as his bucket hat sits where it usually does atop his brown hair. The Captain’s eyes are squinted; curious but still laced with that authority that never seemed to leave no matter how many years the two had known each other.

“Pardon, Sir?” Gaz has to ask, confusion prominent in his expression. “They?”

John raises a thick brow as if the answer was obvious.

“You’re distracted. Been checking your phone like it’s going to explode the last few days. So,” the Captain stares at him heavily, taking another drag before placing the cigar in his ashtray and breathing out a cloud of smoke. He leans forward and places his hands on the table, as Kyle watches, perplexed, “who is it, Sergeant? No use hiding it.”

“I…” Gaz trails before blinking dumbly, lips parting, “oh, hell, was it that obvious?”

“Painfully.” The answer makes the younger man cringe and his skin pulls tight. A pause leaves the room silent, the Sergeant avoiding his Captain’s gaze as he tilts his head away for a moment. He clears his throat.

“She’s just…” Kyle clears his throat, “someone I met in the city. A florist. Down on Main Ave.”

“A florist, eh?” Grunting, John nods his head to himself. “Asked the bird out, then?”

“What?” Snapping his head up, Gaz says loudly with stuttering lips, “N-no, Sir. Not yet.”

The man ahead of him hums, leaning back and flipping his file open, taking a moment to pick up the first page and skim the contents with small eyes. He looks over the top with a blank expression.

“I’d get on that, Son.”

—

Today was different, you knew. Something was going to happen. An unexplainable feeling was in the back of your mind, making you somewhat anxious even if you didn’t know exactly why. It was like a sheet had been thrown over your head and someone had just told you to run in circles without hitting a wall; feet tied with a rope.

The morning had started off normal, as had everything else that followed, but there was an air of expectation wafting in front of you.

What’s going on? You ask as you wipe down the counter with a wet rag, swiping stray leaves and petals into the garbage bin at your feet. Why am I feeling like I’m expecting something to happen?

It was Tuesday – nothing astounding ever happens on Tuesdays.

The front door opens with the ringing of a silver bell, and you say absentmindedly, still caught in your thoughts, “be with you in a moment!”

A cough startles you, your hand squeezing the rag a bit tighter as your neck twists upwards.

“Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Kyle,” you laugh and take a breath, “I didn’t expect you today…”

Freezing, your lips part in a silent gasp when you see it. The man you had come to have quite the crush on was standing a few paces from the door, dressed in a nice shirt and dress pants, jacket in the crook of his arm. He holds a single Sunflower in his grasp.

It wasn’t anything overly impressive, a bit small and dead at the tips, but nonetheless, your heart stuttered at the gift. Staring at it silently, you turn your gaze to Kyle as his feet shift over the floor nervously. A strange look had overtaken his face, but he had a confident air to him that you’d been seeing more and more of the last few visits.

“What’s this?” You ask carefully, body going hot all over and lungs swelling.

You’d loved flowers for most of your life; worshiped them like the people of Delphi worshiped their god-chosen Oracle. But never could you recall a moment when you had been given any out of free will. Everyone always assumed you disliked getting them because of your job, but, oh, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Flowers were like declarations of emotions – they could mean so many things to so many different people. They were the truth laid bare in nature as plainly as it could be, wrought with promises.

Your breath stills, eyelids pulling back delicately; lips parting.

Kyle speaks softly, raising the flower in his grip.

“I remembered you saying you liked these more than roses – you called them ‘tacky’ if I’m…remembering correctly. The roses, that is.”

He was remembering correctly. But that had been just a passing comment to another customer you had been helping before him. Unimportant. A quick piece of yourself that hadn’t mattered while you were cutting stems and looping twine.

But he remembered it.

A giggle falls from you until your hand snaps up, trapping it behind parted fingers and an awe-filled face.

“I wanted to give it to you,” he continued, walking forward with measured steps, “and ask you a question, if you’d let me.”

“Of course, I would.” It’s breathless, the way you say it, and suddenly you know exactly why you've been so on edge today.

You’d been waiting for him.

And when he smiles at you, your mind runs to gossamer silk. Such a delicate thing; that smile, comparable to the millions of strands a spider spins in a lifetime. Gorgeous and so very easily missed if you weren’t looking at just the right moment. Gossamer Silk.

Since when has his grin become so important to you? To where you craved it just as violently as water or food? That look in his amber gaze – the one that left you breathless even when you simply thought about it, that was what you wanted to witness when you woke up in the mornings. You wanted his arms around you. You wanted his lips pressed to yours. You wanted him to be in your kitchen making you dinner as the rain fell outside and the flowers in your back garden grew strong and beautiful.

You wanted him to be yours.

Kyle stops behind the counter and hands you the flower. You reach for it without complaint instantaneously, wondering momentarily if he had just happened upon one and taken it in a moment of passion. Both of your fingers brush, and the imaginary sparks that fly make you turn slightly shy, head tilting to the side for a moment.

But a finger hooks under your chin, moving it back as delicately as bird wings, gentle feathers tickling your flesh and nerves.

A hum resonates in your chest, eyes crinkling as you stare into amber brown with flecks of gold. You could get lost in them if you looked too much.

But you didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“Persephone, would you do me the great honor,” the two of you laugh at the wispy and teasing tone, and suddenly you wish the counter between you would disappear into thin air, “of going on a date with me tonight?”

Tuesdays, perhaps, might have just become the best day of the week, and a small Sunflower with dead tips and fading yellow, your new favorite flower.

Ironic, how that works. He ended up distracting you more than you could ever imagine.

—

“Don’t you have to be back on base soon, Garrick?” You mutter into a warm chest, street lights shining into the windows of the apartment.

“Bloody hell, yes…But I’d crawl back to you, if you asked it of me.”

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thatlovinfeelin · 1 year

Text

He Don't Like The Lights | Bradley Bradshaw Actor AU|

Waiting tables wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t your favorite job either. Not that you hated it, because you didn’t. For the most part you liked your coworkers, your roommate Celeste being one of them. Your bosses weren’t horrible, and the pay was alright. You were able to pay your bills and stash some extra cash away for savings. Soon, or at least you hoped it would be soon, you would be able to move out of the somewhat shitty place with Celeste and get a better apartment. Maybe even leave Virginia altogether.

“Hey, I need you to take table five.”

“But it’s not in my section tonight,” You argue with your manager.

“Just take it, okay? It's a single and you’re better with singles than Celeste,” He replied, shooing you away with his hands.

You let out a dramatic sigh, rolling your eyes as you grabbed your waitress book and headed towards the single guy sitting at the table. You never sized up tables before you started serving them, never tried to write people off before they had a chance to show their colors.

But you could tell that this guy was hot just by the way he was sitting with a baseball cap tugged low. He at least knew how to wear a damned hat unlike some of the guys who came in with it halfway on their heads.

“Hi, welcome in, can I get you started with anything to drink?” You asked cheerfully as you stopped in front of him.

The bar was relatively empty, which came as a surprise since it was a weekend and the weather was fairly nice. Maybe everyone was still out at the beach and would be in before dinner ended. Maybe you would get lucky and end up having a good tip night to make up for the shitfest that was last night.

“Uh, just a Bud on draft if you have it.”

“Bud lite?” You question.

“No, Buswieser, the real shit,” There’s a hint of a laugh in his voice.

“I’ve got it in a bottle, is that okay?”

“Yeah that works,” He replies, tipping his head back to look up at you.

It takes you a second to register who’s actually looking at you. You’ve seen those dark hazel eyes on screen plenty of times, because Cele is obsessed with his movies. However, what really takes you back is how normal he looks in an old beat up t-shirt and shorts. He doesn’t look like the glamourous actor that you’ve seen.

“I’m sorry- are you,” You stop and lick your lips.

You aren’t nervous, because you aren’t obsessed with him. His movies are okay, and you have to admit he is more attractive in person than he is on screen. But you’ve never been one to fall face first over someone who’s in the industry, not that you’ve ever had the chance to before.

“Are you Bradley Bradshaw?” The question comes out as a whisper as you lean down, trying to be as quiet as you can.

He pales for a moment, waiting to see if you’re going to fully freak out on him before smiling sheepishly, “Caught that easily, huh?”

“You’re lucky it’s just me and not the other girl over there,” You inform him, “She’d be on the floor, and I know that because I live with her and share a TV with her. But since it’s just me,” you smile at him before backing away a step, “A bottle of Bud coming right up.”

He smiles and relaxes into his seat before looking back down at his phone on the table. You can’t help but smile as you make your way towards the bar and the POS system to start his ticket.

Bradley Bradshaw is eating in the bar and no one but you knows. He just happened to be lucky enough that Celeste had the one big table and was therefore too busy to take him, even though it was her section.

“Thanks for taking that table,” She sounds out of breath as she sets a drink tray down next to you, “I’m swamped with those fuckers over there. Tourists on vacation who want everything at that very moment. Including three Virgin Strawberry Daiquiris for the kids. I want to shoot myself.”

You smile to yourself as you make your way around to the beer cooler to grab a nice cold bottle of Bud, “Oh don’t worry about it. He shouldn’t cause any trouble anyway.”

If only she knew.

“Here you go,” You say, sitting the open bottle down on his table, “Do you need a minute to look over the menu? Or do you have any questions?”

“What do you recommend?” He asked you, looking back up.

“Pulled Pork Mac’n’cheese, easy,” You replied almost instantly, “Hands down my favorite dish here, after our Crab Dip appetizer, but I also eat that for a full meal.”

He smiles up at you and closes the menu before handing it back to you, “I’ll try that Pork Mac then.”

“Sounds good, I’ll get that right in!” You smile triumphantly before backing away once again, “Holler if you need anything, okay? I’ll be back to check on you before the food comes out.”

Back at the bar, Celeste is finally able to stop for a minute and catch her breath. She looks miserable and it makes you want to laugh a little. Her night would be very different if she just took Table Five instead.

She’s hunched over her phone reading an article, which normally you would call her out on being on her phone but tonight you can’t be bothered. It’s slow enough and her phone is hidden anyway.

“Hey, Bradshaw is up for a bunch of awards,” She grins, “He so deserves them. You remember how great he was in that war movie, right! That’s what’s being nominated.”

“Hmm?” You question before your brain seems to catch up with you, “Oh, yeah. No, he was great in that movie. Whole cast was, honestly.”

“Exactly! I hope they sweep at the Oscars, they all deserve it so much.”

You have to hide your smile as you type away on the POS to put in the order. In the back, you can hear your kitchen jamming out to some sort of heavy metal meets classic rock mix which isn’t all that unusual for them. There are some days you’ve come to work and they’ve been listening to Disney music. At this point you can’t even try to say that you understand what their playlists consist of.

It takes ten minutes before you’re walking back over to the table with another beer in hand. You noticed he was starting to run low and you know better than to let a drink ever go empty. That was one of the first things you learned when you became a waitress.

“Brought you another one,” You announce, setting it down.

“Thanks, appreciate it,” He replies, “And uh, thanks for not freaking out on me. Would’ve been a bitch if I got swarmed in here.”

“No worries, I’m not a rabid fan or anything,” You laugh, “But I am curious as to why you’re here of all places. I thought you lived in LA?”

“I do,” He nods, “But this was home long before LA was. I was born here in Virginia, I like to come back and visit family from time to time.”

“Oh,” You’re taken back by his honesty. He could’ve easily told you that it was none of your business, which is what you expected, “That’s really nice actually.”

Celeste calls you, saying the kitchen wants you. Reluctantly you force yourself away from the table and towards the set of double swinging doors in the middle of the bar. Something about Bradley Bradshaw is drawing you in and you aren’t sure if you want to resist it or not. Surely he wouldn’t remember your name in a few hours. He’d forget about the server from Virginia the second he got on a flight back to LA and the way of the world would take back over.

“Here’s that pork mac,” Chef told you, nudging the dish in the window, “Get it out of my sight.”

“Sir yes sir,” You reply, grabbing the hot dish, “Thank you!”

“Yeah yeah, fuck off,” He grumbled, which only made you smile.

You made your way back towards Bradley’s table with a smile. You could see why Celeste was so enamored with him. There was just something about him that made you want to sit down and hang on his every word. Plus, he was hot as hell. He still had the mustache from his previous role, and was trying to hide behind his ball cap. He looked normal, almost.

You wondered how other people here saw him? Were they even paying attention to the bonafide star that was hiding out in the corner? Celeste would piss herself if she knew he was here, hell, you might even piss yourself if he smiled at you again. The thought made you a little weak in the knees.

“Your pork mac,” You said, sitting it down on the table in front of him, “Be careful, it’s actually pretty hot.”

“Mmm, looks fantastic,” He nearly groaned, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, you don’t even know if you’ll like it!” You laughed, “But I hope you enjoy, and let me know if I can get you anything else.”

You hop away from him again, taking a deep breath as you go. Maybe the night wouldn’t be as bad as you thought.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster top gun #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun #top gun maverick #rooster bradshaw fanfiction #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradsaw x reader

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this-is-krikkit · 5 months

Note

Hii! If you're taking prompts then can you plz do some levihan on this:

'I've been born in the wrong timeline and the wrong gender!'

'And you realized that after sixteen years?'

hello! you're the first anon i don't feel i have to apologize to for taking too long to reply to a prompt lmao, hope you'll enjoy this!

of swords and crushes (1.4k words)

tags: levihan, modern AU (coffee shop AU if you squint), game of thrones references but you don't need to be a big fan to get em, GOT-typical violence mentioned

divider source

“I’m telling you, I was born in the wrong timeline and the wrong sex!” Hange exclaims, trading their branded apron for their civilian coat and giving a last minute check to the coffee shop for any obvious task they might have forgotten.

Levi clicks his tongue at them, not for the first time that day, and gestures for them to leave out the front door with him.

“And you only realized that after sixteen years, while watching a blockbuster series about sword fights and magic?”

“Yes! No? I don’t know, I just know I want to be a knight!” they whine, using the tone they know their coworker can hardly stand.

“You want to be a knight, or you want to do one of them?”

“Levi! How dare you put your dirty thoughts into my pure and innocent mind!”

“I may not watch that shit show myself, shitty glasses, but I’ve seen enough screen caps and memes to know no one innocent watches it. Not with those casting choices anyway.”

Hange’s glasses reflect the setting sun and hide their eyes even as they grin devilishly at him, and he groans at his own slip up.

“Oh, you’ve seen enough screen caps to have an opinion then? Tell me, which one strikes your fancy, Neat Freak? The sadist bastard who tortures people into becoming his slaves, or the annoyingly rich golden boy who had three kids with his own sister?”

He just stares at them for a minute, then shakes his head as he locks the front door.

“I swear this show gets worse every time I hear about it,” he mumbles under his breath. “Either way, the one I like best has green eyes, and I think his father was in Lord of The Rings or something?”

“Oh… You mean, Robb Stark?”

Levi glares their way, because how the fuck would he know, again? But Hange, as always immune to his stink eye, just pulls their phone out and hands it over after a quick search.

“Here, is that him? Oh my God, you’re blushing, it’s totally him!” they squeal before Levi can even confirm it with words.

“Shut up and help me pull this down,” he requests, gesturing to the iron shutter they have to secure before leaving. “He is cute,” he still feels the need to argue defensively as Hange complies.

They chuckle and bump their shoulder to his when they squat down to help him with the heavy padlock that secures the system in place.

“He is,” they agree with a reassuring smile, before letting a sigh out. “Shame that he dies in season three though.”

“What? I thought he was, like, the main character!”

“Well, he is, until, you know... he gets his throat slit at his cousin’s wedding, right after he sees his pregnant wife getting stabbed straight into her belly.”

Levi picks up his jaw from the floor and turns to face his coworker, waiting to see if there’s any chance they could be trying to pull one on him —they don’t usually have a strong enough poker face to actually trick him, but they’ve surprised him before in the year they’ve been sharing shifts on this shitty part time job.

“She dies too, of course! Along with everyone who was with them then,” Hange adds right away, like that’s somehow reassuring.

“Why the fuck do you watch this shit, Four Eyes?” he asks, genuinely confused about it all.

“Ah, sorry, I know you’re weird about this stuff. We can talk about something else if you want,” they offer with a sheepish smile, scratching the back of their neck in discomfort.

“I’m not weird about it,” Levi corrects, dismissing their concern with a wave of his hand, “and it’s fine to discuss. I just don’t like violence for the sake of violence, or for shock value. Feels lazy to me.”

“That’s not all there is to it!”

He gives them a pointed glance, and Hange has the decency to blush a little.

“Okay, it’s probably a big part of it… But the plot does justify it most of the time so far, and some characters are really interesting and fun to try to figure out, I think you’d enjoy it! Besides, the fighting scenes are so badass, Levi!”

They launch into a mock choreography of what he can only assume is one of those scenes, and Levi doesn’t bother holding back a chuckle as he walks alongside them. He ignores the puzzled looks from people who pass them by, throwing a glare or two whenever someone dares to stare for too long with judging eyes.

“How do you have so much energy after the shift you just pulled on top of a day in class, for fuck's sake? I really feel like I’m the older one here sometimes.”

And alright, Levi does have another, early and demanding job to go to while other kids his age are in school, which might explain his own state of tiredness. But Hange truly is something else, stamina-wise.

“That’s because you’re an old soul, Levi, whereas I’m brand new and enthusiastic about what the world has to offer! And about swords!”

“Yeah, right. Why don’t you sign up to fencing lessons and get it out of your system for good?”

“Sure, let me give up this side job I only took for the fun of it, ask my imaginary butler to fetch my thousand dollars allowance from my billionaire parents and I’ll do just that!”

He bites the inside of his cheek to prevent his smile from stretching too wide, even though he knows Hange will be able to tell they got him with that one anyway.

“Point taken,” he gives in.

The walk back to their subway station is silent, a little less comfortable than usual when they’re both painfully aware that Hange’s now thinking about their own financial issues —the unfortunate reason they even took this job and met Levi in the first place.

He looks around the industrial neighborhood they’re walking, and spots two long rusty metal pipes hanging out from a bin nearby. In a fit of renewed energy he didn’t suspect he could have, he rushes over there, grabs them —heavier than they look, but he knows they can both handle it— and throws one at Hange’s feet.

“Here you go, Sir Hange Zoë,” he declares, feeling absolutely ridiculous as he stands in what he hopes looks like a sword fighting position —he sure hopes Hange will give him a break, it’s not like he has a wide frame of reference for this. “Fight me.”

They chortle, the sound immediately brightening the mood —and Levi’s day.

“You don’t have to do this, Levi. You were right, it’s kind of childish.”

He frowns and charges, hitting their shin lightly with his shabby weapon. Hange’s eyebrows shoot up on their forehead, and he can tell they’re slowly giving in.

“Levi! You can’t attack a defenseless maiden, that’s not gentleman-y at all!”

“You’re not a maiden, dumbass. And who said I’m a gentleman?”

Next time he lunges, they block the blow thanks to their own pipe and send him stumbling back —with a force that would surprise anyone else considering how lanky they look in their baggy clothes, and a fire in their eyes that would no doubt freak them out too. Levi, however, has known for months now that the tall nerdy weirdo look is only a mask hiding a fierce, passionate kid who might just be the strongest person he’s ever met —in more ways than one.

Sadly, they’re also much more —how did they put it again? Oh, right— enthusiastic about the whole fighting thing than he’d foreseen, and he soon finds himself having an actual hard time holding them off. One of their well placed hits shatters the pipe he was holding in his hold, and he thanks his lucky star that the combat has to end as he puts both hands up.

“Alright, I yield! You’re right, Four Eyes, you would have made a great knight.”

“Thank you!” they reply with a wink and a graceless curtsy.

Hange throws their pipe back into the trash can, before holding out their hand to ask for the some of the hand gel Levi’s already rubbing on his palms. He throws them a disapproving look, more for show than anything else, and gives them some —really, he’s kind of excited that they’re finally getting some of his neat freak habits, as they always call them.

“So, I won, right?” they ask him when they start walking again.

“Tch, I guess you did,” he grants them, not up to point out how questionable that statement is when really, breaking your opponent’s weapon has to be against the rules, right?

“Then my prize is... that you have to watch the next season with me!”

He spends the rest of the walk and the three subway stations they share trying to get out of that commitment.

(He fails.)

#levihan fanfiction #levihan #snk fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #snk #aot #aot fanfiction #attack on titan #anon asks #asks #my stuff #do i need to tag this as got spoilers??#it's been a solid decade so let's not mmkay #not on ao3

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absolutelybifurious · 27 days

Text

fuck it friday

tagged by @sibylsleaves

obviously i'm still doing this 4 million word au and i will hopefully have a chapter up today but anyways

“You’ve told me a thousand times, Cap, numbers don’t lie.” “They don’t,” Athena said. “But you haven’t entered the Drift with anyone, Buckley, not since… well. There’s more to it than the mat and a simulation.” Funny – it always felt like that was the end of the story for everyone else. “What do you mean? You have criteria, and we met it – we passed so...” He jerks his head back to Eddie, hoping for some semblance of backup, but his words die in his throat. Eddie is pale, staring at the number on the screen like he’s going to throw up. Is he that horrified of being partnered with Buck? Sure, it’s been up and down, but they had a connection – their sparring was… fuck, it was transcendent. There’s no way Eddie’s that staunchly opposed to… No, Buck stops himself. Maddie’s lectured him enough times about making things about him that aren’t, and he remembers the prickle of fear, of horror, of agony that went through him, through Eddie, during that simulation. No, Eddie isn’t resisting Buck. Eddie isn’t scared or Buck. He’s scared of the Drift. It’s not uncommon for cadets to be uneasy about it. Buck’s only properly entered it once, and well, that was a fucking nightmare. Eddie’s got trauma, obviously. Trauma that even Buck’s shitty childhood can’t match. He eases forward, catching the spot above his elbow, on his right side – because he’s not about to repeat the same mistake. “Hey…” His voice is soft, even softer than he meant for it to be. “Hey, you good?” “I…” It comes out of Eddie like a croak, like he’s dying. “Buck.” There’s so much in the way he says it. His name on this man’s lips has kaleidoscoped through him a dozen times since he first heard it, but this is different. It’s a million things unfurling into a million more. It’s a plea, a whimper, a prayer – an apology. He’s sorry. He’s hurting. He’s… “Eddie,” Buck says gently, and this drags Eddie’s eyes to him too quick. “Hey.” The sergeant and Bobby are watching them, and Buck gets the sense he ought to be embarrassed, should at least let go of Eddie’s arm, but he can’t bring himself to do anything but stroke his thumb down Eddie’s arm. “It’s a start,” Sergeant Grant finally declares. “But this jaeger is nothing to fool around with – I want you two playing Peter Pan and his shadow with each other for the next week. I want you to find out everything you possibly can about the other, then we’ll talk about a proper trial.”

that was longer than i thought it was but anywayyyy

tagging @inell @coldbam @cafecitoeddie @sunflower-eddiediaz and i'm not gonna go crazy this time bc last time took years off my life, sooo yeah. but pleeease use my name if you wanna do it and feel like you need one.

#bri fic #fuck it friday #this au is gonna be so long you guys #i need to do a proper outline before i end up wandering into the abyss #i'm having fun tho

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fullofgutsndopamine · 5 months

Text

the night belongs to you (i must be someone new)

tw: dick joke, charlie uses drinking as a coping mechanism™️, fluff, classic hallmark movie tropes, use of woman/she/her pronouns briefly, cursing, delayed christmas fic, cursing, mention of the pandemic, charlie is a ball of anxiety/mention of anxiety, insta-love

the groan escapes him before he can finish, locking his phone and rubbing his forehead where a headache forms behind his eyes, a second from an aspirin hunt, washing it down with the cheap wine he keeps in the back of the refrigerator for this exact reason-

"Whatever you're thinking of doing-" Sam, charlies long time roommate and permanent thorn in his side speaks, his face downcast, "don't."

charlie groans, chucks his phone at the couch where it bounces twice and lands in a loud fall at Sam's feet.

"Nice." Sam says without fanfare, moving in time before charlie can chuck a pillow at his head.

"Look," Sam recovers quickly, "you're overthinking it-"

"Our town has ten people at most and eight of them legally can't vote."

"Dramatic," Sam says mildly, moving over it quickly, "that means you might actually stand a chance at wooing-"

knowing what’s coming, Sam quickly darts to the right and charlie, with practiced moves, quickly derails it for it to hit Sam right in his face, making his glasses clatter to his feet

"That's an illegal move, you dick!"

He clatters to the ground and pats on the floor for his glasses before he huffs, sits on the couch.

charlie opens his mouth to tell him how dramatic he is, but as if you read his mind your name flashes across his phone.

“Ah!” He yells the second it flashes across his screen, his hand shakes like it electrocuted him.

“Ah!” Sam yells back in response before his hand is on his chest, “Sorry, I got scared. What’s wrong now?”

“They messaged me.” charlie frowns, turning his phone over in his hand, “this is horrible.”

“You’ve spent the entire day pacing by the front door waiting for them to message you-“

“here-“

charlie chucks the phone at Sam and it ricocheted off his knee cap and falls, screen up at his feet.

“charlie,” sam clicks his tongue at him, “we aren’t 14 any longer, i’m not going to text them for you because you’re too chicken shit to do it yourself.”

“and you claim to love me.”

charlie sulks, drags his feet to the couch and flops onto it, covers his eyes with his forearm.

“They said they’d love to meet up this weekend.”

charlie groans, his flickers slide against his screen. him and sam both don’t speak on how his fingers shake, how he backspaces all the mistakes his clumsy fingers make-

“i’m doing it,” charlie warns, his face still on his phone, “it’s happening.”

“I just-“ Sam sighs, clicks his tongue.

He looks exhausted for a second, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders:

“I was thinking about it,” he continues, “and i just don’t know if our shitty hometown screams romantic first date to me, is all.”

charlie rolls his eyes, fingers sliding against his phone:

“too fucking late.” he says to the screen, locking it and pocketing his phone before he can regret it.

two towns over in a studio apartment, your roommate looks up from the laptop perched on her lap.

“so the town is a population of 1,127 people-“

“Yikes-“

“And it looks like 80% of them are over the age of 60-“

“except this chuckle fuck.”

“except your chuckle fuck”, she agrees, “Listen, i’m sure it’s fine-“

“or he could be a literal serial killer, Jillian!”

“Don’t full name me,” she rolls her eyes, “Look, I saw the pictures. it looks cute. Romantic, even. Their local middle school sings!”

“Perfect.” You slam your head back on the couch, “I can see the headlines now: local cat woman slained. came out the same way she came in: alone and-“

“Enough!” Jill chucks a pillow at your head: “You’ve been talking about him non stop for a week. you practically begged for this.”

“you make me sound desperate-“

“i don’t make you sound like shit-“ Jill interrupts you, “You wouldn’t shut up about him. at this point, I think i know his entire life story.”

the sigh comes out of you quickly, lowly and dreamily, your head falls back to hit the couch:

“He’s just so-“

“There it is,” Jill rolls her eyes, “Just go. let yourself have fun for once. And if it’s a bad date-you get a story out of it.”

“not if he kills me-“

You don’t dart away quick enough to miss the pillow.

the days leading up to the christmas festival drag and come quickly at the same time. you’re half expecting charlie to cancel-waiting for your phone to ring and a made up excuse to come up-a family emergency, a broken arm, something anything to get you out of this.

it doesn’t come.

your hands half shake as you’re getting ready-this isn’t necessarily new, but still something you’re thrilled about.

your phone dings in the background as you’re gently putting earrings in, and you can’t help the smile, even if the sting of rejection is there. excited to be able to say a “i told you so,” to Jillian-already planning to put pajamas on and find the shittiest reality television show you can-

instead, the text message makes your heart drop:

Hey! can’t wait for tonight. Meet you at the library? here’s the address again :-)

biting your lip, resting the urge to once again tell him he texts like your aged parents-instead, there’s an address attached to an obviously hand drawn map of his town, a big X over where the library is, along with a stick figure you assume is him, next to it, complete with a thumbs up.

surprisingly, the conversation up until now has flowed easily-you were half expecting to eventually find silence back, or a “that’s crazy” again and again but it never came-even this morning, was an elaborate text of his nightmare he had along with a “what could that possibly mean?”

ignoring the i told you so from Jillian instead, you brave the bitter cold and head to the library, still fighting the gnawing anxiety that tells you it’s too good to be true

charlie arrives thirty minutes early to no one’s fault but his own.

he tried to take his time for once in his life, but his belly ached and twisted whenever he thought of you, thought of the possibility of this being too good to be true- instead, he brushes snow off a half broken bench in front of the library and check his phone for any message of you canceling last second. when your name pops up on his phone his heart jumps, waiting for this to be the time, instead it’s some quip about his shitty handmade map that makes him laugh as he texts back.

charlie’s hands are pink.

he paces in front of the library now, balling his fists up and blowing on them gently before trying to shove them gently into his coat pocket, without trying to crush the small handful of flowers from a garden he definitely did not steal-

he’s too busy in his own head he doesn’t hear the car pull up behind him, the footprints in the snow, the hesitation-

“c-“ voice gently asks, hesitant, like it’s never spoken this name before, “charlie?”

he jumps when he turns around; acts like he doesn’t see you biting your lip to hide the smile that comes from it-

“H-hi,” he says gently, “hi. uh-“

he shakes his head, begs himself to not say something dumb-

“you look-“ he shakes his head, and for the first time in his life, words escape him for a second, “amazing.”

pink rises on your cheeks, not just from the cold. “you don’t look to bad yourself.”

he shrugs, suddenly unsure of himself but doesn’t let silence fall for too long-

“oh uh-here. this is for you.”

he struggles for a second before he produces a half wilted tiny bouquet of flowers-it’s obvious the cold hasn’t treated them well (and neither has the inside of charlie’s coat-) ignoring the side eye you give the small garden in front of the library that has the same flowers.

“they’re beautiful,” you say gently, hard to hear over the noise from passing townspeople.

he shrugs and you speak again, as you gently tuck the flowers into your own coat-

“you promised hot chocolate, i believe.”

“ah, yes.” he nods, “i believe i did-“

“lead the way.”

“We wish you a merry christmas! we wish you a merry christmas. we wish you a merry christmas and a happy new year-“ it’s off key at best but the band director smiles widely as half the kids lose interest, the other half craning their necks to find their parent in a surprisingly large crowd

“well,” charlie settles on, “the band hasn’t gotten much better.”

he grumbles it, like he expects these kids to be amazing already.

the tip of charlie’s nose is pink as he watches you rub your hands together, trying to keep any warmth.

“hot coco?” he offers instead. “the grand event should start soon”

“sure,” you finally say, “you talked it up enough.”

he leads into the attached town hall, where a mother in a you can’t scare me, i have kids shirt uses a ladle to scoop lukewarm hot chocolate out of a warming crockpot. her santa hat is crooked and she wears bright red glasses that take up half her face, but she’s smiling widely.

charlie hands over a crumbled dollar and receives two styrofoam cups back.

“no pressure,” you say as he leads back outside to the bitting cold, “but this is suppose to be the best hot chocolate ever, so-“

he snorts into the rim of a cup- “i promised mediocre hot chocolate.”

he takes a sip first, makes a face:

“i think this is just warm chocolate milk,” he says, “so, i guess i owe you a better cup.”

“this is definitely lukewarm chocolate milk,” you wrap your hand around the cup for warmth, “wow. i didn’t think it was possible to fuck up hot chocolate.”

he sighs, “i’ve lived here my entire life and the only constant is the shitty hot chocolate.”

“you’ve been here forever?”

a makeshift stage is full of important looking people moving around a podium, shuffling papers and craning their necks into the crowd, waiting for the right moment

he shrugs:

“for a long time it was just my ma and me. she’s big on community and traditions so this was right up her alley.”

you hum in response: “and i assume you were also one of the signing kids?”

he fakes mock hurt with his hand on his chest: “excuse you i was the best singing kid. i had a hat and everything.”

“does a hat instantly make you a good singer?”

he shrugs: “i don’t make the rules,”

you turn to the stage where the kids still stand, spinning in place and pulling at their coats. you notice they’re all wearing santa hats and bite back the smile as you imagine charlie on the bleachers, face pink and taking the singing very seriously.

“when i was little,” charlie continues, “the lights were bright enough that i spent all of december bitching to my mum about how bright it was and genuine concern that their electric bill would be too high.”

you can’t hide the smile now: “no fucking way.”

he laughs, shrugs: “are you too cold? do you want to leave?”

“i’ve never been cold in my life.” you insist, ignoring him rolling his eyes as he takes his own hat off his head and gently pulls it over yours. he moves your hair behind your ear as he pulls it down further, cups his hand around your pink nose.

“your poor nose is pink.”

“so is yours, you fool.”

“and yet i’m never better.” he insists, knowing his pink ears give it away every time. “jesus fuck. hold this for a second?”

he doesn’t give you much of an opportunity as he passes the almost gone cup of chocolate milk, using his teeth to pull his mittens off his hand, take his cup back and set it on the ground, pulls them gently onto your hand and rubs his hands over yours.

“this makes me seem dramatic.”

“you said it, not me.”

“excuse me?” you’re laughing, despite yourself, the anxiety of this date falling off your shoulders the more he talks, “how dare you. i was born in the midwest-“

there’s loud feedback from the microphone as someone approaches it, taps it twice and smiles as the crowd groans-

“welcome, everyone. to Elmwood’s 22nd annual tree lighting-“

charlie leans over, “this is the mayor, unfortunately.”

he doesn’t elaborate the one sided beef with the mayor, but you’re too busy thinking about his hands, how they keep periodically come to you, wrap around your hands even in his warmed gloves as he rubs your hands as to keep them warm.

“Let’s hear it!”

you weren’t listening, looking to charlie who nudges you gently: “cmon then, we have to hear it or no lights, right?”

the crowd gives a half assed ho ho ho! that the mayor shakes his head at: “cmon, elmwood. i know we can do better than that-“

charlie cups his hands around his mouth, an overpowering “ho ho ho!” that’s laced in sarcasm but bites through the crowd.

he turns to you with a content smile: “i told you,” he says, “i take the tree lighting very seriously.”

you open your mouth to speak but with a big flourish the mayor flips the switch and the entire square around the library goes from dark, where it’s almost impossible to see charlie besides his form-to so obnoxiously bright that you squint, have to wait for your eyes to adjust

all the pine trees are wrapped in multicolored lights, strands upon strands of them choke and dip around the tree, the brightened white stars on top of them-on the floor around them are brightened deer, heads dip and grove in a practiced routine, bows around the trunk of every tree

“wow.” you finally breathe out

finally, charlie smiles: “finally.”

the middle school choir kicks off a redemption of jingle bells that takes you a full second to try and recognize what it is-charlie’s lips are near your ear, he sings gently to the song as his finger points to all the things you missed; the icicle lighting around the roof of the building, the christmas tree and cut out sleigh that sits on top of the building. suddenly, charlie is the excited 8 year old again, taking in the lights and the wonder of the holiday, and you’re suddenly the same, completely understanding why it’s so special to him, why he chose this of all places.

“i believe santa is inside, too.”

“oh?” you say gently, “the man of the hour?”

“i don’t like to brag, but him and i are on a first name basis.”

“oh?” you’re laughing, “well, i can’t miss this.”

his hand reaches into the space, an offer: “shall we?”

with no hesitation, you grab his hand, your fingers wrapping around his like it’s where they’ve always belonged:

“lead the way.”

“you trust me?” his voice is practically a whisper, “even after the shitty hot chocolate?”

“the shitty chocolate milk,” you correct, teeth chattering from excitement, “and sure. but you owe me a hot chocolate.”

“next time?”

it’s risky, making a plan for another date before this one is even over, but his feet take off before he can second guess it, and your voice is gentle behind him:

“next time,” it says gently, “yeah. definitely”

#caroline writes #charlie slimecicile #charlie slimecicle x you #charlie slimesicle x reader #charlie slimesicle fanart #slimecicle x y/n #slimecicle x you #charlie slimecicle x reader #slimecicle fic #slimecicle imagine #slimecicle x reader #charlie slimecicle #slimecicle

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joemothersfavoritechild · 4 months

Text

“don’t leave” mike schmidt x reader

-mike schmidt x childhood best friend reader

-a couple words probably

an: um.. hey guys. first off, i’m sorry that i completely abandoned my mike fic. i’m still very much obsessed with him, but the obligation of doing it and hoping that people would like it freaked me out. sorry :)))

on another note, here’s a little something that i wanted to share. i got my inspiration from a tiktok comment lmao. also this is a one shot, i have no motivation for another one (maybe MAYBE an epilogue).

also where tf did you guys go? ik i stopped posting but that doesn’t mean that you’re allowed to :(

summary: you’re about to leave for college when your childhood friend texts you.

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i’m here

The text was a little jarring. The blinding light of your phone reminds you of the fluorescent lights of the high school you just graduated from. It’s been two months since you wore the cap and gown and it was time to start becoming an adult. You looked back towards the box, marked with your name, as you tossed a pair of socks into it.

You were packing to leave. You had lucked out, with a scholarship to a college that was widely out of your price range and states away. You worked your ass off and it meant something, it was a dream. You’d have free housing on campus and finally get to see what it was like to be on your own. As you looked back at your phone, you wondered if maybe it was a nightmare.

Mike had texted you, your best friend of years. You’d met when you were seven when you’d moved into his neighborhood. You were young and scared but Mike pulled you down the street and you never looked back. You’ve gone through literally everything together, puberty, fights, and that one time in middle school when you dated (but don’t talk about).

You were sixteen when you realized that you were in love with him. The two of you were at his house, watching tv on the couch while his parents were gone, which was most of the time. You can’t remember what you were watching, it was probably some shitty action movie that he had been bugging you about. You were laid down across the couch, legs in his lap, not paying attention to the screen. You felt his hands on you, rubbing into the skin of your calves. Taking in a sharp breath from your nose, you realize that this isn’t something that “normal” friends feel. The realization laid heavy in your chest for years, far too scared to lose him if you said something.

Now you were going to lose him anyway. You’d be gone for four years, a lot could happen in that time. People say that they’ll still talk, text every day, but you know it’s a crock of shit. People change and fall out of touch in a few months, who knows what could happen in years. Maybe he’d realize he was better off without his friend who was constantly staring at him. Maybe he’d get an actual girlfriend, or maybe you’d be able to move on.

You narrowed your eyes at the words on your screen, what was he doing here? It was like 3 am and you were leaving in the morning. You’d already said your goodbyes. Mike was staying in town, saying that he’d rather start working than go to college. He’d never admit it, but you knew it was because he couldn’t afford it.

You left your phone as you stood up from the ground and creeped out of your room. Your parents were sleeping, like you should’ve been, but you were a procrastinator at heart and put off your packing till the last minute. You slowly closed your door behind you, tiptoeing to the front door.

Holding your breath, you inched the front door open. Mike was standing there, staring at the ground, his bike thrown carelessly behind him. He looked up as he heard the door. Your eyes widened as you took in his appearance, was he crying? It was dark, all the lights were off, but you could see a familiar glisten in his eyes. You slipped out onto the front porch, shutting the door with a quiet click.

“Mike?” You asked, not sure what was happening.

He gave you a small smile, “Hey.”

You gave him an uncertain smile of your own, crossing your arms around yourself to try to warm up. The air was bitter and whipped at your skin.

“What’s going on?” You asked quietly.

He looked away from you, letting out a deep sigh. You watched his every move, noticing the fast pace of his breath.

“I- I just. I’m going to miss you.” He whispered, his voice wobbling.

You couldn’t respond as he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, knocking the air from your lungs. You quickly reciprocated the embrace, wrapping your arms around his middle. He nuzzled his face into your neck, wetting the t-shirt you wore. Now you knew he was crying. He was practically shaking in your arms, and you couldn’t help but feel tears of your own fill your eyes.

Mike was all you’ve known for a decade, your dearest friend. You’d be moving in with strangers and having to start from scratch. In all the excitement, you didn’t realize that you would be leaving him alone. You sniffled as you cried harder.

“I’m not leaving forever, you can visit. And you’ll always be my best friend.”

He scoffed into your shoulder, momentarily stunning you. Had you said something? Was he not wanting to visit? Your mind raced as he was silent.

“Jesus, I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.” He said, almost knocking the wind out of you.

What the hell was he talking about? Your world shattered as he held you closer, crying a little more into your shirt. You weren’t sure what to say. He was saying everything you’d wanted to hear at the worst moment. You’d be states away from him for years.

You pulled him closer with a hand on the back of his neck, feeling hot tears run down your cheeks. You laughed a little at the irony, a back-door confession at its finest. You responded quickly, the words leaving your mouth before your brain could catch up.

“I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing because I have to leave in a few hours and I’ve loved you ever since I’ve known you.”

He shook in your hands as he cried harder.

“Great timing, huh?” He joked softly.

You let out a silent laugh that turned into a sigh. Looking at the dreary view of your neighborhood after dark, you imagined a world where you weren’t the scared sixteen-year-old girl who couldn’t make eye contact with him for a week after realizing she liked him. Would you have been able to have a few good years? You imagined him asking you to prom, kissing him goodbye in the school parking lot, cuddling on couches when it would mean something.

“This sucks.” You muttered.

“Absolutely.” He responded, pulling himself off of your neck so he could see you. He gave you a sad smile, holding your face in his hand, as he swiped your tears away with his thumb.

You looked at each other for a moment, not sure what to say. Then his mouth was on yours, your eyes closing out of instinct. It was complete desperation; wet and salty from the crying that the two of you had been doing. You pulled him closer, feeling something warm pool in your stomach. He held you closer in his hands.

You might not have had any idea of what you were supposed to do after this, or what it meant for the two of you, but all that mattered was this moment. His scent, his taste, and the way he felt on your lips. Thoughts of road trips and unpacking were forgotten, the only thing that surrounded you was Mike.

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** i still don’t give you permission to use my work as your own. this belongs to @joemothersfavoritechild **