──୨geraniumৎ──
❀ chapter one: blooming things ㅤ❀
ㅤ❀ pairing: mechanic!rafe x florist!reader
ㅤ❀ warnings: fluff!, language, alcohol, a little insecurity/shyness
ㅤ❀ word count: around 4k
the second you step inside, you know you shouldn’t have come. the music’s too loud, the air’s thick with sweat and cheap perfume, and everything about the house party buzzes with that restless, chaotic energy that already makes your skin feel too tight. you should’ve stayed home, like you said you would.
“come on, we need drinks,” tara giggles, already tugging your hand like a lifeline toward the kitchen. she’s in a tiny black dress with thin straps and a hem that barely skims the tops of her thighs. it sparkles slightly under the cheap halloween lights strung along the ceiling, little orange bulbs shaped like pumpkins, and it clings to her like it was stitched on. you can feel the weight of a dozen eyes following her every step.
“i’m good for now,” you say, offering her a soft smile. “just gonna run to the bathroom real quick.” she pouts, sticking her lower lip out in exaggerated disappointment. you roll your eyes with a small laugh, gently slipping your hand from hers and stepping away.
your eyes drift along the walls as you move, fake cobwebs stretched thin across doorframes, plastic skeletons taped to corners, a haunted house sign hung crookedly above the hallway. it all smells faintly of pumpkin candles and spilled beer. you’re halfway to the bathroom when you crash into something. someone. solid.
“ow,” you mumble, rubbing your arm where the impact hit.
you look up, and for a second, it’s like everything blurs around the edges.
he’s tall. like, makes-you-tilt-your-head-back tall. and broad, his shoulders stretch the fabric of his tank in a way that’s unfairly distracting. he’s got messy, sandy-blond hair and dark eyes that flicker down to meet yours with something unreadable. confident. calm.
“oh god, i’m so sorry,” you say quickly, flustered, your voice a little breathy. thank god your hands are empty. no spilled drink. no disaster. small miracles.
“it’s alright,” he says, voice warm and smooth, the kind that settles low in your stomach. “pretty sure that was my fault.” there’s a lazy curve to his mouth, like he’s trying not to smile all the way but failing just a little.
you notice how close you’re standing. too close. close enough to catch his cologne, woodsy, clean, a little smoky like cedarwood and something subtly sweet underneath. it sinks into your lungs, makes your heart do something it shouldn’t.
“i’m y/n,” you manage, holding out your hand.
his is bigger than yours, fingers a little rough, like someone who actually works with them. but it wraps around yours gently, like he knows how to be soft when it counts.
“rafe,” he says, the smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “nice to meet you, y/n.”
his gaze flicks down, not in a sleazy way, just curious, like he’s trying to piece you together.
“so what are you supposed to be? ballerina?”
your cheeks go warm. you glance down at your outfit, some kind of silky pastel dress that hugs in the right places and flares in the rest. nothing dramatic, just something soft and thrown together at the last minute. you smooth it down with a nervous laugh. “no, it was last minute. i wasn’t even gonna come tonight. just kinda… threw something on.”
his eyes linger a beat longer, and then that smirk deepens. it’s lazy. a little cocky. but in a way that makes your stomach twist.
“wait right here,” he says, already turning before you can reply. he disappears down the hall.
you stand there, blinking, heart fluttering against your ribs. your fingers fidget with the edge of your dress, twisting the fabric between them. the hallway’s quieter than the rest of the house, walls faintly pulsing with bass, but distant enough to feel like another world.
when he comes back, there’s something hidden behind his back. he’s grinning, this boyish, proud kind of smile, and then he’s gently setting something on your head, fingers brushing through your hair as he adjusts it.
“there,” he says softly. “now you’re a bunny. and a damn cute one.”
you laugh, flustered, your fingers automatically reaching up to touch the fuzzy ears now perched on your head. they’re soft and slightly lopsided, and you kinda love them. “oh… thank you,” you say, tucking your hair behind your ear, glancing up at him with a small smile. “and you’re dressed as… a mechanic?”
you finally really take him in, the dirty white tank, stained in all the right places, clinging to his chest. loose, oil-smudged pants slung low on his hips, and a rag hanging lazily from his back pocket. grease stains on his hands. jaw a little stubbled. he looks like trouble.
“nah… well, kinda,” he says with a shrug. “i actually am a mechanic. wasn’t gonna come either. topper dragged me out. just showed up like this.”
he rubs the back of his neck and your eyes follow the movement, trailing the stretch of muscle along his arm, the slight flex in his bicep. your breath stumbles.
you just smile, fingers tugging gently at one of the bunny ears.
“well,” you murmur, eyes lifting through your lashes, “you wear grease really well.”
“thank you, bun,” he says, voice dipping lower, a little rougher. “you wear that dress really well, but that’s not exactly surprising.”
you feel that compliment all the way down.
“let’s get you somethin’ to drink,” he adds, his hand brushing your lower back. light. casual. but your body feels it like a firework.
he keeps you close as he leads you through the crowd, weaving past sweaty costumes and swaying bodies. the scent of pumpkin spice, beer, and too many body sprays thickens the air. you catch sight of tara again, tangled in a dance with some guy you don’t recognize. her hair’s wild, and her smile’s even wilder. when her eyes find you, they light up. she mouths oh my god and throws you a dramatic thumbs up that makes you laugh softly under your breath.
“that your friend?” rafe asks, glancing in her direction with a crooked grin.
“yeah, that’s tara. we’ve been best friends since forever. she’s… kind of a lot,” you smile, brushing hair from your face. “she always drags me to stuff like this. i only said yes because it’s halloween.”
he nods as you both step into the kitchen. it’s quieter here, the music muffled, the air cooler. there’s a soft hum from the fridge and a half-dead candle flickering on the counter.
“well i’m glad you came to this one, pretty,” he murmurs, crouching down to open the fridge. “what are you feelin’?”
your cheeks warm again at how easily the word pretty rolls off his tongue, like it belongs there.
you peek inside, eyes scanning rows of cheap beer, a few ciders, something suspiciously green in a mason jar. your eyes land on a pink bottle with a shiny silver cap. “that one, please.”
he pauses for just a beat, eyes flicking back up to you like he’s thinking something. then he grabs it, pops it open, and hands it over.
“here ya go,” he says softly. his fingers brush yours, warm, calloused, lingering just a second longer than they need to.
“thank you,” you hum, bringing it to your lips. you take a sip and your eyes go wide. “oh, this is really good,” you giggle, genuinely surprised.
he watches you like he wants to record the sound.
“oh no,” he grins, cracking open his beer. “you’re gonna be trouble, aren’t you?”
“no,” you laugh, shaking your head. “i’m not much of a drinker. but i can appreciate one.”
he leans back against the counter, eyes still on you like the rest of the room doesn’t matter. “so what do you do?”
you look down for a second, shy. “i work at a flower shop. downtown. i kind of run it unofficially.”
his smile grows just a little. “that’s cute.”
and the way he says it, it doesn’t sound small or patronizing. it sounds warm. like he means it.
“i’ll have to stop by sometime,” he adds, voice soft, like it’s a promise.
you imagine him there for a second, standing between tall buckets of wildflowers and potted herbs, probably still smelling like motor oil. the image makes your heart skip.
“yeah… i’d really like that,” you say, brushing hair behind your ear as your eyes meet his again. there’s something quiet between you. charged, but soft.
and then-
“y/n!! hi, bug!” tara barrels into the kitchen like a storm in heels, flinging her arms around you in a hug that nearly knocks the drink from your hand.
you laugh, holding her steady. “you’re drunk.”
“yes, extremely,” she says with pride, then spots rafe. her eyes narrow like she’s assessing a threat. “but not drunk enough to miss that. please tell me you got his number.”
your face flushes immediately. rafe lets out a low laugh behind his beer, clearly entertained.
“tara,” you hiss, giggling, “he’s literally right here. his name’s rafe.”
her eyes go wide. “oh.” she lifts a finger to her lips, very exaggeratedly, then turns to him and holds out her hand with the kind of grace usually reserved for queens or people trying very hard to appear sober.
“hello, rafe. i’m tara. y/n’s best friend. and the girl who will absolutely cut your balls off if you hurt her.”
rafe raises a brow, amused, and shakes her hand. “i would never. nice to meet you, though. y/n’s told me a little about you.”
he glances at you again, still halfway talking to tara, but his gaze is anchored. like it never left. like it doesn’t ever plan to.
you can still feel his eyes on you.
even as tara keeps talking, something about the playlist being trash and how she should’ve worn a different pair of heels, you feel that low, magnetic hum from him. it buzzes somewhere just beneath your skin, warm and steady. it’s not overwhelming. just… there.
like gravity.
you glance over your shoulder, and yep. still looking. same little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he knows something you don’t.
“i’m gonna go find the bathroom,” tara announces suddenly, spinning a little too fast on her heel and nearly tripping over absolutely nothing. you catch her elbow with one hand, steadying her.
“do you want me to-”
“nope,” she grins. “you stay here with your tall drink of grease and flirt. i’ve got it.”
you laugh under your breath as she disappears, and when you turn back, rafe’s already holding out his beer in a casual little toast.
“your best friend’s kinda great.”
“she’s a menace,” you say, but your smile gives you away.
he lifts his beer to his lips and takes a slow sip, eyes still on you. “so… y/n. flower shop by day, bunny ears by night. tell me something else about you.”
you raise a brow, sipping your drink to hide the way his voice makes your stomach twist. “like what?”
“anything,” he says, shrugging. “favorite flower. biggest irrational fear. first concert. most illegal thing you’ve ever done. whatever comes to mind.”
you pretend to think for a moment, tapping your fingers against the neck of your bottle.
“okay,” you say slowly, “i have this really stupid habit of naming the flowers in the shop. like… all of them. i talk to them when i water them. sometimes i apologize when i have to trim them.”
he laughs, really laughs, like something about that genuinely delights him. “you talk to your flowers.”
“i do.”
“you’re even cuter than i thought,” he says, and it’s so casual that it knocks the breath right out of you.
you try to play it cool, even though your cheeks are definitely pink now. “okay, your turn.”
“alright,” he says, setting his beer down on the counter behind him, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. “i hate clowns. like genuinely hate. not in the fun halloween way. in the if-i-see-one-i-will-run kind of way.”
you blink. “clowns?”
“yep. can’t do it. childhood trauma or maybe just bad vibes, i dunno. but no thank you.”
you giggle, leaning slightly against the counter beside him. “so if a clown walked in here right now, you’d bolt?”
“i’d be gone. you’d just see smoke.”
you’re both laughing now, light and easy, and the space between you shrinks just a little.
his eyes drop again, not in a way that makes you nervous, but like he’s noticing things. the way your lashes catch the kitchen light. the way your necklace rests just above the neckline of your dress. the way you haven’t stopped smiling since he handed you that drink.
“you got a boyfriend?” he asks, voice quieter now. not pushy. just curious.
you shake your head. “no.”
“good,” he says, just as quiet.
you tilt your head, trying to fight the grin that’s already spreading. “yeah?”
he nods slowly. “yeah.”
the silence that follows doesn’t feel awkward. it stretches like warm honey between you, a little sweet, a little slow. he steps in just slightly, close enough that your arms almost touch.
“you always this charming at parties?” you ask, eyes flicking up to meet his.
he leans in just a fraction more, voice low. “only when i run into cute girls dressed like accidental ballerina-bunnies.”
your laugh bubbles up without warning, caught off guard by how stupidly specific and charming that was.
you take another sip, trying to slow your pulse. “you know, i really wasn’t planning on staying long.”
“so don’t stay,” he murmurs, gaze heavy on yours. “but don’t leave yet, either.”
you glance up at him. and for a second, you wonder if he’s going to kiss you. you’re not sure you’d stop him.
and then-
someone yells from the other room, and the moment breaks. the kitchen door slams open, and a couple stumbles through in full vampire getup, making out like they’re the only two people on the planet.
rafe laughs under his breath. “okay, wow.”
you step back slightly, letting out a soft breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “wanna get some air?”
he looks down at you, that smirk still tugging at his lips. “yeah. lead the way, bunny.”
you wind your way through the crowd again, his hand lightly grazing your back to keep close. outside, the air’s cooler, quiet, finally. the porch light casts a soft glow, and the sky’s smeared with stars barely visible through tree branches. it smells like leaves and wood smoke and just the faintest trace of him behind you.
you sit on the porch step, pulling your legs up and sipping the rest of your drink. rafe sits beside you, elbows resting on his knees, knee brushing yours.
it’s the kind of quiet where you don’t want to interrupt, but so badly want to keep talking and see where the night takes you.
he watches you for a second, then lets his gaze drift out across the yard, the silence between you soft and easy. there’s a distant crackle of laughter from somewhere inside, a burst of music, then it all fades again behind the closed door. out here, it’s just crickets, the rustle of dry leaves, and the steady thud of your heart against your ribs.
he shifts slightly, turning so his thigh presses more firmly against yours, just enough to make you feel it. not enough to move away.
“you always sit like that?” he asks, voice low, playful. “legs tucked up like you’re hiding something.”
you glance down at your posture, then shrug with a half-smile. “it’s just comfortable.”
“cute,” he says, like it’s a simple observation. like it’s a truth.
you take a slow sip of your drink, the fizz dancing on your tongue. the bottle’s nearly empty now. the porch light casts a warm glow over the steps, over the curve of his shoulder, the way his hair curls slightly at the ends. he looks so good like this, lit from the side, shadows slipping down his jaw and catching in the hollows of his throat. your eyes linger a little too long. he notices. of course he does.
“you keep lookin’ at me like that,” he says, barely more than a whisper, “and i’m gonna start thinkin’ you like what you see.”
you feel your cheeks warm, but the way he says it, it’s not smug. not really. it’s teasing, sure, but there’s something careful under it too, like he’s testing the waters, watching the way you react.
you smile around the rim of your bottle. “maybe i do.”
his eyebrows lift just slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to say it. then his grin spreads slowly, deliciously, until it’s all teeth and dimples and something that makes your breath catch.
“yeah?” he leans in a little closer. “you like mechanics covered in grease who hate clowns?”
“apparently,” you murmur, your voice barely audible now. “at least one.”
his eyes dip to your mouth, then back up. the space between you feels thinner than air, humming with something unspoken. your knees are still tucked up, but you feel the way his fingers drift down, brushing the outside of your thigh. light, like a question. his thumb lingers, gentle, warm against your bare skin.
“you cold?” he asks, voice just above a whisper now.
you shake your head slowly. “not even a little.”
he leans in, just enough that you can count the flecks of gold in his eyes. they’re darker out here, under the porch light, but still soft somehow. still looking at you like he’s trying to memorize the moment.
you should look away. you don’t.
“can i kiss you?” he asks, and it’s so quiet you almost miss it. his fingers still resting against your thigh, his eyes not moving from yours.
your breath catches. you nod.
he moves slow, giving you every second to change your mind, but you don’t. his hand comes up, thumb brushing the line of your jaw, and then his lips are on yours, warm, gentle, tasting faintly of beer and something sweeter. the kiss is soft, careful at first, like he’s still not sure you’re real. then your hand finds the front of his shirt, fingers curling in the fabric, and the kiss deepens, just a little. just enough to leave you dizzy.
when he pulls back, he rests his forehead lightly against yours, breath mingling in the space between.
“you’re trouble,” he murmurs, smiling like he already knows he’s in over his head.
you smile back, your voice barely a whisper. “so are you.”
his hand slips down to yours, fingers brushing along your knuckles before lacing them together. you sit like that, still tucked close on the porch step, as the night sways around you, slow and golden and full of maybes. and for the first time all evening, you’re glad you came.
you stay like that for a while, hand in his, the quiet stretching out like something sacred. there’s something about the way his thumb traces lazy circles against your skin that makes your chest feel warm and a little too full. like you’ve been waiting for this without knowing it.
his head tilts just slightly, nose brushing yours again, and you can’t help the soft smile that blooms on your lips. he’s close enough that you can see the tiny scar on the edge of his brow, the way his lashes are longer than they have any right to be. he’s stupidly pretty like this—still in that oil-stained tank top, still wearing that half-smirk like a second skin, but softer now, quieter.
“you always kiss guys on porches?” he asks, voice a little rough, like gravel smoothed down by something gentler.
you laugh under your breath, your fingers squeezing his. “not usually. you always kiss girls on porches?”
he grins. “only the really cute ones.”
you roll your eyes, but you don’t pull away. if anything, you shift a little closer, your shoulder brushing his as you settle in. he smells like smoke and skin and faint motor oil, and it shouldn’t work, but god, it does.
“so what’s next?” you ask, tilting your head toward him. “you gonna offer to fix my car and win my heart?”
his mouth curves slow, lazy. “depends. does your car need fixing?”
“maybe,” you tease. “maybe i’ll break it just so you have to come by.”
he chuckles, low and warm. “dangerous move, bunny. you sure you want me showing up at your place with a wrench and no warning?”
you hum like you’re thinking, tapping your finger lightly against his. “i think i’d survive.”
he glances down at your hand in his, then back at your face, eyes softer now. “i think i’d show up either way.”
the silence that follows isn’t heavy. it’s full, filled with everything that doesn’t need to be said yet. the music inside drifts in and out like waves, laughter rising and falling behind the closed door, but none of it reaches you out here.
rafe leans back slightly, tugging you gently with him until your head rests against his shoulder. his arm curls behind you, warm and steady, and you settle into it without thinking. it’s comfortable. too comfortable for two people who only just met, but it doesn’t feel wrong.
he exhales slowly, his breath stirring your hair. “you ever do this?” he asks after a beat. “just sit with someone you barely know and feel like you’ve known them for longer than you’ve been alive?”
your heart skips. you glance up at him, your voice soft. “yeah… i do now.”
he looks down at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. “good. thought maybe i was crazy.”
“you are,” you murmur, smiling. “but maybe just the right kind.”
you’re not sure how long you sit like that, the two of you curled into each other like some kind of quiet secret. eventually, your drink is empty, and the night grows cooler, the air brushing your bare skin in soft little chills. but you don’t move.
neither does he.
finally, he says, “can i walk you home?”
you glance up at him, surprised. “you’re leaving the party?”
“already got the best part of it,” he says simply, his hand still laced with yours.
your heart does that ridiculous fluttery thing again, and you try not to let it show on your face.
“yeah,” you say softly. “i’d like that.”
he stands, offering you his hand, and when you take it, he helps you to your feet like it’s something sacred. you’re still wearing his flannel, still a little buzzed, still wearing those stupid bunny ears. and yet, as he walks beside you down the front steps, his fingers twined in yours and his shoulder brushing yours every few seconds, you feel entirely grounded. warm. seen.
you glance over at him as the two of you start down the sidewalk, the night settling soft and quiet around you.
and for the first time all evening, you don’t want the night to end.
ㅤ❀ chapter two
