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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 itâs 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.Â
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 â 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.Â
Until he showed up.Â
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 â the flowers couldnât 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.Â
But to your credit, you didnât let it get to you.Â
WellâŚexternally, at least.Â
âHave a great rest of your day,â 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. âI hope your brother gets well soonââ The glass door shuts with a clatter of the small silver bell attached to the frame.Â
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.Â
âFucking hell.â The air flies from you in a weak groan.Â
Your fingers tap against the countertop, and a small, humorless, chuckle later youâre 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 âperfect bouquet.â
âLike thereâs even such a thing,â your lips twist into an annoyed frown as you speak to yourself in a grumble. â...Should have just denied her service⌠Didnât even leave a tip.âÂ
You really wouldnât 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 donât even notice the man speeding down the sidewalk until his desperate face is staring right into yours â only separated by a thin piece of glass.Â
Yelping, your shoulders tense at the sudden visage.Â
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.Â
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 didnât stray from the fact that he was attractive.
Youâre not happy about it, but your mind blanks as you stare with wide eyes; heart steady in your breast.Â
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.Â
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 â 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.Â
Sighing, you rip your eyes away and take a breath. Opening the door with more questions than answers, you were praying that it didnât get dark before you could help this man with whatever it is that he needed.Â
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 strangerâs blue button-down.Â
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, âCan I help you, SirâŚ?âÂ
He sets his stubbled jaw, vision snapping to the side for a split second that was so fast you almost missed it.Â
âErmâŚmy apologies, Maâam, for rushing up like that.â He lets off a chuckle, and the flag on his hat is quickly explained away by the prominent accent. âHope I didnât worry you.âÂ
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.Â
Respectful, you think.
âNot 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.â 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.Â
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.Â
âWell, Iâd imagine thatâs a good thing, then?â He teases showing off pearly white teeth.
âIncredibly.â Opening the door wider, you beam. âYouâre lucky I was still here. Iâd normally be all locked up by now.â
You should be closing â telling this stranger to leave and come back tomorrow â but something inside of you told you to just open the door. It was illogical, unprofessional, and downright strenuous on your already foul moodâŚbut this individual had such an air to him that you wondered who exactly he was. He made your skin pule with goosebumps.
âThanks,â the man utters as he slips inside, nodding his head to you and fixing the position of his hat with one hand. âYeahâŚIâm incredibly sorry about this but Iâm runninâ on a bit of a time crunch, to be honest with you. Iâve been checking every shop in town â youâre the only one with the lights still onâŚâ He looks to you, âI really hope Iâm not causing any trouble for you, Maâam.â
Slipping your fingers into your work apronâs pockets, you let the door shut and tilt your head to the side, gaze softening at the pure candor of his words.Â
âEmergency flower orders are always my favorites to work on. Itâs no problem, really.â 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.Â
âKyle Garrick.â He sticks out his hand and you shake it instantly. Kyleâs 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. âActually, I was wondering if you might be able to help me on that front. What flowers would be the best for an apology?âŚjust not something too flashy, if thatâs possible.âÂ
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.
âApology?â You wonder, tilting your head. Quickly falling into work mode, you continue, âI can work with that. Do you have any preferences? Colors?â
âWell, she likes orange, yeah?â He speaks and your heart sputters for a moment. Smile freezing. âI donât suppose thatâll help very much, but itâs really all I have to go off of. Iâm a bit of a hopeless bastard when it comes to flowers.â Kyle lets off a huff of laughter.
She. Of course, heâs already in a relationship.Â
Nodding, you swiftly walk past the man, catching the scent of fresh-tilled earth and rainy grass as your shoulders nearly brush. You canât help but feel a little disappointed. It wasnât every day you found yourself attracted to someone. But, oh well, life continues on.
âWell,â heading towards the wall baskets, your body feels heavy, but you quickly force it to the side. You really shouldnât be surprised. âYou said orange? I have about seven you can pick from.â
âAffirmitiâerm, yes, Maâam.â Â
âHm.â 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.Â
A slight furrow was in his dark brow. His dedication was adorable.Â
âWhatâs this one called?â Kyle asks, moving around you to a bushel of orange poppies and accidentally bumping into your side.Â
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.Â
âShit, Iâm sorry. Thatâs my bad.âÂ
âN-no, youâre fine.â 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.Â
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 couldnât explicitly see it, you knew he was blushing â just the same as the heat in your capillaries mirrored. Swallowing to get rid of the dryness of your throat, you realize youâve been gawking before sliding your hands into your pockets and quickly looking away.Â
Why wonât my heart stop beating so fast?
âThose are Orange Poppies. Papaver orientale.â 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. âCommon in âget well soonâ bouquets, if you were curious.âÂ
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.Â
âItâs prettyâŚâ Kyle pauses, and you read it well enough.
â...But not what you were looking for.â Settling on the answer, you giggle when he passes off a sheepish smile and a nod. âI kind of guessed. Here â how about this.âÂ
He ends up buying a handful of orange Tulips, Myrtle leaf for greenery, and a small gathering of Babyâs-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.Â
âSo,â 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. âBusy day today, then? Other places around here are mostly dark by five.â
Standing straighter, you politely smile before going back to the arrangement, hand reaching for the small white tufts of Babyâs-Breath.
âMostly, yeah.â You cock your head to the side, âI was supposed to be home two hours ago, but one lady was very adamant about getting the most âperfectâ flowers, as she told it.âÂ
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 manâs lips.Â
âTwo hours? Well, thatâs a bit excessive.â Kyle remarks, eyelids creasing, âIâd hope she at least left a tip for you?âÂ
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 customerâs mouth. Those brown eyes suck you back in to a point where you wonder if youâd ever be able to look away.
âNow thatâs funny, Mr. Garrick.â
He lets the subject drop, but you notice a slight crease in-between in brows â 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 arenât treated respectfully. The thought warms your heart.Â
Or maybe Iâm just reading too much into this.Â
âIs there anything youâd like me to rearrange, SirâŚ? Do you want a note to go with it?â Seemingly lost in thought, Kyle comes back to you with a diligent shake of his head.
âIt looks perfect, Love. And, please, just Kyleâs alright. Youâre makinâ me sound like an old man when you talk like that.â He chuckles, and itâs a rich, velvety sort of thing â twisted with blue satin and wrapped in a gentle breeze. Your stomach twists.Â
âThen I suppose thatâs it, then. Iâll get you the bill and you can be on your way.â 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. âI hope your girlfriend and you make up.âÂ
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 Kyleâs face and the confusion ingrained in his body language. His head had pulled back slightly, hat tilted.
âWhatâs that?â He asks.Â
âYourâŚgirlfriend?â You say slowly, walking closer and passing him the sticky note, âyou said you were getting her apology flowers?âÂ
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.
âOh, Bloody hell, no.â He takes a deep breath and you feel your lips pressed together in confusion, innocent intrigue taking place in your skull. âIâm sorry, Sweetheart, I should have told you right off. This is for my mum.âÂ
Blinking in surprise you pause, looking up with wide eyes.Â
Sweetheart?...Mum?! Your face heats to an intense level. Oh.Â
âO-oh I didnâtâŚâ Heâs 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, âsorry, I guess I just assumed.â
But you canât help the sudden relief that sprouted out of nowhere that leaves your lips pulling back in a mirrored grin. Youâd been doing that a lot, as of the last fifteen minutes.Â
âItâs no problem,â Kyle admits, âThing is, Iâve 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.â The man pulls out a large stack of bills, âThought sheâd like that, yeah? Canât go wrong with flowers, can you?âÂ
âYouâre in the military?â 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.Â
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.Â
Being able to be a part of it made your legs weak.
âSomething like that, Maâam.â Kyleâs lips flick into a smirk as he hands you the bills. âFeels like Iâm surrounded by children most days, but thereâs no place Iâd rather beâŚWhen Iâm not nearly getting my head bloody blown off, that is.â
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. Â
âWell, it seems like youâve got it all figured out.â 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.
âNearly,â 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.Â
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.Â
âI really need to be closing up.â 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. âIs this all youâll be needing?âÂ
âPretty sure.â Garrick answers easily, âI won't keep you any longer, eh? Iâd hate it if I made you go home by yourself after dark.âÂ
âThatâs very thoughtful, Kyle, thank you.â Pushing the vase over the counter, he takes it up and pauses as if he wants to say something. His mouth opens before closing â looking at his feet for a moment and itching at his neck with his free hand.Â
âIâŚdonât want to make you uncomfortable, Maâam,â your breath hollows, watching carefully as you listen. âBut, uh, I,â Kyle shifts his eyes to your face, standing a bit straighter as the corner of his lip flicks up, âYouâre just about the most beautiful woman Iâve ever met â if thatâs not overstepping, of course.âÂ
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 â 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? HeâŚhe called me beautiful.Â
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.Â
But that was so blatantly opposite of how you were reacting.Â
âI-â You stutter, eyes snapping away and hands coming to hold themselves in front of your abdomen, âwell, I think youâre very handsome, yourself, Kyle.â A meek expression spreads your visage as you see the breath in his chest hitch, âand I wouldnât call that overstepping at all. Not by a long shot.âÂ
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.Â
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.
âOh, Shit, this is her. Iâve got to run.â He walks backward a few steps before turning and lightly jogging to the front door. Following with your eyes, youâre somewhat entranced by the man.Â
Before he can walk through the door, he stops in his tracks.
âSorry, again,â Kyle turns back around, and his dark eyebrows crease, âbut, uh, what days are you open?âÂ
The giddy smile that forms on your cheeks leaves your skin hurting.
âAll of âem except the weekends,â you say, confidence suddenly sprouting in your veins, âbut Iâm sure if you told me ahead of time that you were stopping by, Iâd make an exception.â
âIâd imagine for emergency flowers only?â Kyle teases, a smirk on his face. His eyes promise you, though, that this will not be the last time you see him.Â
âOf course.â You reply, raising a brow. âIâm a florist, after all, Garrick. Emergency flowers are my specialty. If youâre ever in need of more, Iâll be here, waiting.â
He laughs, stares for a few seconds longer with a distant sheen, and disappears through the door. You donât follow when his form fades from the windows entirely. You donât ask for his number, even if you knew you should have. You donât 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.Â
Youâd 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 â slowly infecting you like a parasite in your mind as the days went on.Â
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.
âWell, look, itâs PersephoneâŚâ
âThat boy of yours here, Persephone? Hiding in the back room perhaps?â
âPersephone â you have any Peonies this week?â
You didnât mind itâŚreally, you didnât. 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.
â
The office room was cold, he thought. Nearly a meat locker.Â
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.Â
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 Priceâs office ASAP, he had expected the man to already be here, but five minutes later he was still sitting in silence.Â
That wasnât to say he was bored, though. He was thinking of you. He could never be bored when he did that.Â
It brings a small smile to Garrickâs face as he relives your last interaction, lips unconsciously twitching as his eyes grow distant.Â
Youâd made him a flower crown, mostly as a joke, but had been left in raging fits of laughter when youâd placed it on his head.Â
âHold still,â you grunt, sitting on the front counter and keeping the weaved headpiece in your grip as it hovers above the manâs scalp, âI want to get it centered on the first go.â
âYâknow,â Kyle chuffs, âI could always do it myself â I do have working hands, Love.âÂ
âShush!â 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 didnât 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.Â
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.Â
âWell, then,â 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. âHowâs it lookin'? Is just as you imagined, eh?â
Your face scrunches, head tilting. Kyle couldnât remember a time heâd 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.Â
But he found he cared little. If you kept smiling at him like that, heâd let you do anything to him in a heartbeat.Â
âPerfect.â You chuckle. âYou should have let me do this earlier.â
The shop was closed â 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. Â
âYou sure that you donât need these?â Kyle asks, a hand reaching up to his head to touch the flora. âIâd hate to not pay you for them, Love. Can only imagine how expensive they are to order.âÂ
âEh,â rolling your eyes, your legs brush the Sergeantâs hips from where they sit around them, and the man has to remember how to breathe properly, âtheyâre the old product, anyway. Iâd 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. Itâs the least I could do, hm?â
Youâre teasing him, a smirk taking up the frame of Kyleâs 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.
âAre you teasinâ me, Persephone?â He asks sneakily, as you begin to giggle. âInsinuating I need a flower crown to be recognized at work? Itâll certainly get me attention, thatâs for sure, yeah? Just not the kind I want. Soapâll have a field day.âÂ
âHeâd just make a few comments, Iâm sure.âÂ
âYouâve never met him. The bloke would never let it go until the day I kicked the bucket.â Youâre laughing, one hand coming up to cover your mouth.Â
Kyle hates himself at that moment because youâve never looked so beautiful, and he canât 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.Â
But he just smiles and watches a moment longer before taking a step back.Â
âSir,â Garrick asks, settling back down and watching the older man slink behind his desk, âWhatâs all this about?âÂ
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.
âAt ease, Sergeant. Take a seat.â Â
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.Â
â...Captain?â Kyle was starting to get nervous now. Why was he looking at him like that? Blue eyes seem to dig deep into Gazâs soul, trying to find something that was hidden behind layers and layers of flesh and bone.Â
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, Kyleâs heart skips a beat.Â
What in the hell is going on?Â
Thatâs when the bearded man speaks.Â
âWell, who are they, then?â Price asks, tilting his head forward as his bucket hat sits where it usually does atop his brown hair. The Captainâs 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.Â
âPardon, Sir?â Gaz has to ask, confusion prominent in his expression. âThey?â
John raises a thick brow as if the answer was obvious.
âYouâre distracted. Been checking your phone like itâs going to explode the last few days. So,â 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, âwho is it, Sergeant? No use hiding it.â
âIâŚâ Gaz trails before blinking dumbly, lips parting, âoh, hell, was it that obvious?â
âPainfully.â The answer makes the younger man cringe and his skin pulls tight. A pause leaves the room silent, the Sergeant avoiding his Captainâs gaze as he tilts his head away for a moment. He clears his throat.Â
âSheâs justâŚâ Kyle clears his throat, âsomeone I met in the city. A florist. Down on Main Ave.â
âA florist, eh?â Grunting, John nods his head to himself. âAsked the bird out, then?âÂ
âWhat?â Snapping his head up, Gaz says loudly with stuttering lips, âN-no, Sir. Not yet.âÂ
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.Â
âIâd get on that, Son.âÂ
â
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 didnât 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.Â
The morning had started off normal, as had everything else that followed, but there was an air of expectation wafting in front of you.Â
Whatâs 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 Iâm expecting something to happen?Â
It was Tuesday â nothing astounding ever happens on Tuesdays.Â
The front door opens with the ringing of a silver bell, and you say absentmindedly, still caught in your thoughts, âbe with you in a moment!âÂ
A cough startles you, your hand squeezing the rag a bit tighter as your neck twists upwards.Â
âHope Iâm not interrupting.âÂ
âKyle,â you laugh and take a breath, âI didnât expect you todayâŚâÂ
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.Â
It wasnât 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 youâd been seeing more and more of the last few visits.Â
âWhatâs this?â You ask carefully, body going hot all over and lungs swelling.Â
Youâd 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 couldnât be farther from the truth. Flowers were like declarations of emotions â 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.Â
Kyle speaks softly, raising the flower in his grip.
âI remembered you saying you liked these more than roses â you called them âtackyâ if IâmâŚremembering correctly. The roses, that is.â
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 hadnât mattered while you were cutting stems and looping twine.Â
But he remembered it.Â
A giggle falls from you until your hand snaps up, trapping it behind parted fingers and an awe-filled face.Â
âI wanted to give it to you,â he continued, walking forward with measured steps, âand ask you a question, if youâd let me.â
âOf course, I would.â Itâs breathless, the way you say it, and suddenly you know exactly why you've been so on edge today.Â
Youâd 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 werenât looking at just the right moment. Gossamer Silk.Â
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 â 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.Â
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.Â
But a finger hooks under your chin, moving it back as delicately as bird wings, gentle feathers tickling your flesh and nerves.Â
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.Â
But you didnât seem to mind in the slightest.
âPersephone, would you do me the great honor,â the two of you laugh at the wispy and teasing tone, and suddenly you wish the counter between you would disappear into thin air, âof going on a date with me tonight?âÂ
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.Â
Ironic, how that works. He ended up distracting you more than you could ever imagine.
â
âDonât you have to be back on base soon, Garrick?â You mutter into a warm chest, street lights shining into the windows of the apartment.Â
âBloody hell, yesâŚBut Iâd crawl back to you, if you asked it of me.â
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I like to think that Ghost realizes that he is in love with Soap after he has a really bad day. He comes back from a mission absolutely devastated and exhausted but he tries to act like always.
It's not hard since he always looks kind of upset and sulking so no one really notices. Except the loud Scot who has his eyes on him the moment he stepped in the mess hall. And when Ghost goes to sit at a table by himself, Soap follows him immediately and sits in front of him. Soap looks at him like there is no mask in between them.
CW: a little bit of angst in beginning, mentions of Simonâs past (nothing descriptive), fluff, no pronouns mention for reader, establish relationship, not proofread.
Simon doesnât remember what a good night's sleep is. Sometimes it feels like he hasnât slept in years. Nights are spent staring up at the ceiling of wherever he's been told to lay his head. The quiet is what kills him- would rather prefer the sounds of bullets whipping past him than the stillness of a room at night.
The quiet allows him to be alone with his thoughts. Thoughts about his past. His mom. Brother. Nephew. Sister-in-law. His dad. They pop into his mind daily, but heâs usually able to distract himself with his work. Now- when he has nothing to keep his mind busy- does he think about them and all the what-ifs.Â
Usually, his nights are spent at his desk, going over mission information and combining through the details once, twice, three times if needed. Heâll stay into the bitter hours of the morning, grabbing another cup of tea and then starting his day early.Â
It wasnât until he met you did everything change for him.Â
He no longer hated the end of the day. He actually looks forward to it. Because he knows when he gets back to his room, youâd be there. Telling him what a long day youâve had- how this one rookie keeps getting on your last nerve with his smart mouth. Heâd laugh- telling you to instill some fear in these newbies and show them whoâs boss. Youâd laugh, sarcastically, and tell him that youâve been doing that for the last week.Â
Sometimes youâd already be in his bed when he comes in, sleeping soundly. Heâd be extra quiet when winding himself down, but most of the time you wake up when he comes to lie down. Heâd apologize for waking you and tell you to go back to sleep.Â
âI will, but I need to tell you aboutâŚâ And youâd talk. Filling his mind with rambles of your day- important or not- as you throw an arm around him and lay your head on his chest. He laughs at how much stuff you remember. At how you have to tell him everything. But, you just shush him and tell him to go to sleep now- that youâre exhausted.Â
For being known as one of the best, Ghost was a bit slow. It took him a long time before he even realized you were flirting with him- that you even liked him. And then even longer for his feelings to be realized and reciprocated. So, of course, heâd be a little slow to catch on to what youâve been doing. Talking to him before he goes to bed. Getting his mind off of whatever he might be thinking of and filling it with gossip that youâve overheard or whatever had ticked you off that day.Â
He had given you very little background about his life, but with the pieces heâs given you, you could connect the dots here and there. Heâs told you about his resentment for sleeping. Seen him working late into the night and early into the morning on multiple occasions. You could understand how much a past could haunt someone.Â
He would tell you about his day, too. About the dumb shit Soap had done. About the piles of paperwork he insists on looking through (but then complains about later). About the disgusting lunch that was served in the cafeteria- he was never a fan of meatloaf and now heâs not sure heâll ever eat it again. And youâd laugh; agree with him on the disgusting block of meat that was served today.Â
Youâd try to look into his eyes, to see if theyâre starting to droop before officially trying to go to sleep yourself. Heâd always kiss you when your eyes would meet, gently and full of love. Love. Something he was sure heâd never feel again. And heâd see it in your eyes when youâd tell him to sleep tight. You cared for him- you really did. He doesnât know why, but heâs not about to ask questions heâs not sure he wants the answers to.Â