#I just know jimmy is mentally kicking and screaming at this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

babbushka · 4 years ago

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5 Times Flip Ruined Valentine’s Day (And 1 Time He Didn’t)

Flip Zimmerman x Reader (Darling Jewish Wife AU)

11k ; cw: mild angst, mostly fluff & humor, mentions of baby zimmerman, mentions of war, mentions of undercover with the klansmen, brief hospitalization (sex injury), NSFW (PIV, fingering, praise kink, begging, finger sucking, multiple-orgasms, mild lactation kink, implied marathon sex)

Available on AO3

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L is for the way you look at me

February 14th, 1962. Flip Zimmerman is twenty-three years old and has finally worked up the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend. After months of pining, months of agonizing, months of Jimmy makin’ fun of him for being such a chicken, he finally asked and you stunned him by saying yes straight away. It’s his first Valentine’s Day with you, but more than that, it’s his first Valentine’s Day ever. Flip has it all planned out, he’s going to make sure that this memory is a perfect one, wanting to prove to you that he can be not only your best friend, but the best boyfriend.

Oh, if only life were that easy.

It had started out innocently enough, at least he likes to tell himself that. Not wanting to go too big too fast and run out of room on the very first holiday, Flip decided to keep things simple. He was going to cook you dinner. A real dinner too, with all five courses and a dessert. You didn’t know this, but Flip had been taking cooking lessons secretly after his shift at the lumber mill twice a week. He felt bad, knowing that you always do the cooking whenever you’re together, and dammit he plans on marrying you one day, so he figures he better get his act together now. His Ma had even given him the go-ahead to use the good china.

He doesn’t know when exactly, it went wrong.

“Hey Jim, are you busy?” Flip’s just finishing up his shift at the mill, when he calls his best friend to try and get some extra muscle, “I’m about to head to the market, help me with these groceries?”

He had told Jimmy about the plan of course, mostly because he told him everything. He loved telling you everything too, but this was one of those things that he had made Jimmy swear to secrecy, so as to not fuck up the surprise.

“Sure thing, pick me up?” Jimmy’s cheerful voice crackled over the phone line, and with an affirmative reply, Flip is practically bounding out of the little office where he works, and is grabbing his keys.

Ten minutes later, Jimmy is in the passenger seat, reaching into Flip’s jacket pocket for the grocery list, wondering what the hell Flip needs his help for.

“So what’s on the list anyway – holy shit this is a lot of stuff, Flip.” Jimmy’s eyes widen comically when the grocery list seemingly never ends, and he tries to make heads or tails of Flip’s shitty handwriting.

“I know! I’m doing a soup and a salad and then making these bread rolls that I know she’ll love and then for the appetizer course I’m doing – ” Flip doesn’t catch the concern in Jimmy’s voice, so focused on driving down to the market, focused on his mission.

“Uhh, are you sure about all this? Don’t you remember what happened that time you tried to boil water?” Jimmy very gently cuts Flip off, only keeping his best friend’s interests at heart.

Flip, for his part, sours and shoots him a glare, snatching the list back from his friend’s hand.

“Shut the fuck up, I’ve been taking lessons. I got this, now would you help me find everything? I figure it’ll be faster with the two of us, and I really need to get started before she comes over.” There’s a distinct edge to his voice that’s the closest thing to panic that Jimmy’s ever heard – at least since the day that Flip broke his clavicle on that snowboarding accident a decade ago.

Once in the grocery store, Flip can’t help but feel cocky. Between the two of them, everything on the list is found with time to spare, which is good because now that he’s really doing this, Flip won’t deny he’s got butterflies. It has to be perfect, he thinks, it just has to.

“Alright that’ll be everything I think – oh!” At the checkout register, Flip quickly grabs a big chocolate bar of your favorite kind, and adds it to the already enormous pile of shit, “And this too, please.”

Jimmy helps Flip load all the paper bags into the car, and then is a good friend and helps bring everything inside the house. Flip doesn’t let him stick around to help, instead shooing Jimmy out with a big plate of his Ma’s homemade cookies as a payment for all the help, and finally letting out a deep breath that he didn’t even know he had been holding.

“Okay Phil, you can do this.” He whispers to himself, “It’s just like class.”

And surprisingly, it was just like class. Flip prepared all the vegetables and got all the dishes starting in the correct order so they’d be finished in time for your arrival – which was in exactly half an hour. He doesn’t know how the fuck he managed to pull this off, but he’s not about to go tempting fate or anything, so he decides that now would be a good time to freshen up so he doesn’t smell like raw onions when you get there.

Flip agonizes over what to wear, eventually settling on a nice dress shirt and some slacks, willing his hair to part neatly. He hopes you don’t think he looks stupid, he – the doorbell rings, and he sucks in a sharp breath to himself.

Without another second’s hesitation, Flip moves to the front door and opens it, momentarily stunned by your beauty. He should have lit up a cigarette, he thinks, because all of a sudden his hands are shaking, just from the sight of you.

“Hi.” He blurts out inelegantly, but you only give him a big smile.

“Hi, you look really handsome.” You bat your lashes and bite the inside of your cheek, and some of the tension in Flip’s shoulders slip away, because he realizes that you’re nervous too.

Taking in the sight of you, it’s very clear that you tried hard to look nice for him, something that blows Flip’s fuckin’ mind. How’d he ever get so lucky to have a girl like you want to be his? Your nails are freshly done, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen you in this dress before, you even put on some perfume. The scent of it curls up in his nostrils, and he tries to think of something to say so that he isn’t just staring at you.

“You too.” Is the genius move he comes up with, immediately tripping over his tongue, “I mean, you’re beautiful, not that you’re not also handsome, if you want to be, I – ”

“Can I come in?” You give him a break, and he’s grateful for it.

Opening the door wider for you, he steps to the side and mentally kicks himself for being such an idiot.

“Yes. Yes please do, please come in.” Flip tries his best to remember the manners that he was raised on, although it’s difficult when you’re so beautiful and you’re here and you’re his girlfriend. “Let me take your coat?”

“Sure, thanks.” You grin, before your smile falters and a deep concerning frown dimples your forehead, “Say, something smells…um…Flip is something burning?”

Flip frowns too then, filling his lungs, trying to figure out what you’re talking about when it hits him --

“My roast!” Flip shouts, bolting into the kitchen.

What had just been a perfectly cooked dinner not thirty minutes prior, was now a large grease fire, with flames licking up high high high into the air, threatening to touch the ceiling and spread across the kitchen.

“Fuck – fuck shit! God dammit!” Flip frantically begins searching for something, mind going into overdrive to put the fire out. He grabs a bag of something, he doesn’t even know what it is, flour maybe? All he remembers from the class is to never ever throw water on a grease fire, otherwise he’d really be in trouble.

“Oh my god the stove!” The soup on the stove has boiled over and hit the gas burners, there’s smoke coming out of the oven in thick dark plumes, and you scream, “Where’s your fire extinguisher?!”

“Under the sink!” Flip remembers all of a sudden, and lunges to the cabinet under the sink, yanking on the pin and letting the white frothy foam explode out of the nozzle.

Flip pushes you to stand behind him as he puts the fire out, like some hero in an action movie, but instead of praising his heroism, you run out of the room to the phone in the hallway and dial the emergency number.

“I’m going to call the fire department, the flames could be inside the wall.” You shout to him, opening up the windows to air the place out as you go.

Ten minutes later, the fire department is crawling all through his house, and every single one of the neighbors is standing outside on their front lawns like the nosy people they are. Flip is sitting with you on the front porch, his head hung low between his knees, as you rub his back.

“God my Ma’s gonna fuckin’ murder me.” He groans, praying that the fire didn’t get big enough to ruin the whole kitchen.

“We’ll explain to her that it was just an accident.” You lean your head against his shoulder and keep him calm, a soothing balm that cools all his frayed edges. “We’re okay, and that’s what matters most, right?”

He looks at you then, cups a hand to your cheek and gives you a sheepish sigh.

“Yeah.” He grumbles, really desperate for a cigarette now, “I’m real fuckin’ sorry sweetheart, I had it all figured out and then…”

One of the firefighters walks past him, and Flip just gestures to him with a sigh.

But you, somehow, somehow you’re an angel and all you do is laugh, nudging his side with your elbow, making him look at you with an eyebrow raised. Of all the reactions that he had expected you to have, laughter wasn’t one of them.

“Hey, at least we’ll have a story to tell the grandkids one day.” You offer, and in that one little sentence, Flip’s heart beats double time.

“You’re not dumping me?” His eyes widen in surprise, because he was sure, so sure that that’s where this fucking day was going, he wouldn’t blame you if you had, he almost burned the house down after all.

“Dumping you! After how hard you worked and tried? No way.” You shake your head, almost sounding offended by the thought. “In fact, I think it makes me want to date you even more now. Just promise me next year, we stick to flowers or chocolates, okay?”

“Oh, speaking of which – ” Flip remembers, reaches around for something in his pocket, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It’s pitiful really, the way that the chocolate bar from the grocery store has slightly melted and broken while being in his back pocket this entire time, but he figures, no better time than right now to give it to you.

And even though you’re laughing, your arms corralling him into a tight hug to kiss the side of his face and reassure him that you think the gesture was very sweet, Flip still can’t help but feel…well…burned.

O is for the only one I see

February 14th, 1967. Flip Zimmerman is thirty years old and officially (!!) your fiancée. It only took him five years to propose, but you knew Flip, and you knew how hard and long he thought about things like this, wanting everything to be perfect. And it had been, the trip to Egypt was a dream come true! The wedding was set for next month, March 18th to be exact, but Flip didn’t want to rest on that excitement to not give you the incredible Valentine’s Day he’s always dreamed of giving you.

True to his word, the previous few holidays have been spent very lowkey, a quiet night at a nice restaurant, dinner prepared by someone that wasn’t him, chocolates and champagne and big bouquets of roses.

But things were different now, he wasn’t just some lowly boyfriend who worked at the family lumber mill – no, now he was a Detective with the CSPD and more importantly, your fiancée and that had to mean something. He wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t going to start slacking now that you’ve agreed to tie the knot with him.

“Ketsl? It’s me.” Flip’s just finished changing out of his work clothes in the rec room, into something more put together for the surprise date he’s about to take you on.

“Hi honey! I’m almost ready, I’ll be all done by the time you come home.” Your voice is bright and fills him with warmth from the other end of the line.

“Remember to wear something comfortable.” Flip flicks the ash of his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk, looking at the picture of you he keeps framed right next to the phone, that way it’s like you’re really there, even when you’re not.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” You have that pleading tone in your voice that usually Flip can never deny, but today is a different day, a special day.

“No way, then it won’t be a surprise, would it?” He chuckles into the receiver, and you groan playfully, eventually conceding.

“Okay, I love you, see you soon.” You blow kisses into the phone, and Flip shoots glares to any and everyone who dares to make fun of him for that.

So what if he’s in love? Who could fault him for that?

He had it all figured out. After the disaster that was the grease fire, Flip decided that this year there would be no adventurous cooking. Since that Valentine’s Day, he had moved into a small house right off 21st Street with you, and the last fucking thing he wanted was to burn down that kitchen too.

Instead, Flip had gotten tickets to a play you had been dying to see at the Denver Center for the Preforming Arts. It was a bit of a drive, but the trip would be worth it, especially considering the seats he was able to get thanks to a friend over at Denver PD. He was going to take you out to a nice dinner beforehand, which meant if you were going to make it in time, he needed to hit the road now.

His car makes it halfway to his house, when there’s a strange rattle that comes from somewhere inside the dash.

“Excuse me?” Flip says out loud to himself, praying that what he thinks is happening, isn’t happening right now.

A light goes off on the dash, and then another, and then somehow another light, all lighting up on the dash, as his car rattles and makes all sorts of noises that he knows he can’t fix with his tire-jack.

“Oh no,” He groans, as the car comes to a rolling stop, the engine failing for whatever fucking reason, “No no no.”

Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he’s already doing the mental math and knowing that he’s going to be late – if he gets home to you at all. To avoid risking an accident, Flip manages to urge the car to the side of the road, and he chucks the flashers on.

“This cannot fucking be happening, not now.” Flip gets out of the car, goes around to the front and opens up the hood. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to fix things, he was handy and took mechanics in high school, but shit high school was some fuckin’ time ago and he doesn’t even know where to look first, anger and frustration bubbling up inside his chest. “How the fuck am I – Flip, remain calm. De-escalate the situation.”

Two seconds later, he still can’t figure it out, and he slams the hood shut with a loud, “God fucking dammit!”

There’s only one choice, Flip knows. He has to walk to the nearest gas station and use their phone for help. Luckily, he knows of one not too far away, you always give them a gift basket of homemade treats for the winter holidays.

As he walks down the sidewalk, leaving his car there on the street without much other choice, he feels…something.

A light plip of water on his shoulder.

Dread creeps up into his throat, because that plip turns to a downpour in five seconds flat, and Flip really had to just stand there, take a moment, and try not to scream out his frustration as the rain pours and pours and pours out of fucking nowhere.

By the time he makes it to the gas station, he is soaked to the bone, and livid.

The door to the gas station swings open and Flip steps inside, taking deep breaths to try and preserve some dignity that he has left. Of course, he had an umbrella, but it was in the car, and he wasn’t about to double back when he was already wet. The look on his face must have been murderous, because the cashier at the counter approaches him tentatively.

“Hey man, are you okay?” The guy asks. Really he’s a kid, probably not more than sixteen, and Flip composes himself as he lights up a cigarette now that he’s sure the drenching downpour won’t put it out immediately.

“My car broke down a couple miles up the road, can I use your payphone?” He sucks down a couple drags, pulling out his wallet and fishing for a few coins.

“The payphone is out of order.” The kid replies, and Flip freezes, letting that information settle into his bones.

“Of course it is.” He mutters, teeth nearly pinching through the cigarette that he’s now smoking like it’s the last one he’ll ever have.

The kid notices Flip’s darkening mood, and thinks for a minute or two, before noticing one of the other people in the gas station.

“But hey! My buddy here is a mechanic and drives a tow truck. He can give you a lift, can’t you Tony?” The kid offers on his friend Tony’s behalf, and Flip tries not to get his hopes up.

Tony, another teenager who looks like he just got his license, maybe a little older, pops up from around one of the aisles with his arms full of chips.

“Sure thing sir, where you headed?” Tony smiles brightly, and Flip just smokes smokes smokes.

“21st street.” He offers, praying that this kid knows where that is.

By the way his eyes light up, Flip thinks that maybe, just maybe, his luck is turning.

As it would turn out, Flip’s house isn’t too far from the mechanic shop that Tony works at. On the way to his house, they strike up a deal to get the car looked at and fixed up before the day was over.

It’s still pouring rain, Tony pulls the tow truck up to the curb and Flip opens the door, reaching over to shake his hand.

“Thanks, I appreciate this a lot.” Flip says, feeling much less angry and now sort of…defeated.

“No problem, I’ll give you a call when we’ve fixed her up.” Tony gives Flip’s hand a hearty shake, “And thanks again for paying for my snacks, that was pretty cool.”

They part ways, and he only gets two steps closer to the front door when it flies open and you’re rushing out into the rain to hug him, holding him close.

“Phil!” You bury your face in his chest, and automatically Flip’s arms wrap around you tight. “Oh thank god I was so fucking worried about you! It’s been hours! What happened?”

You pull away enough to cup his cheeks in your hand and search his gaze, eyes wide and worried, and Flip’s chest sinks. It’s like the first Valentine’s Day all over again, he sighs to himself, feeling just as shitty now as he had when it was a disaster then.

“The car’s in the shop, I’m sorry ketsl, I tried.” Flip shrugs, not knowing what else to do, or say.

“I know handsome, I know.” You stretch up onto your tiptoes to press a deep kiss to his lips, before grasping his hand in your own and tugging the both of you out of the rain, announcing, “But I planned for this.”

“How the hell could you have planned for this?” Flip mumbles, but you just throw a smile over your shoulder to him, trying to get him into a better mood.

“I had a feeling you’d do something extravagant, and we both know how that tends to turn out – ”

“Hey.”

“So I made us a special dinner and figured we could watch those old black and white movies together like we used to do all the time. Maybe have some champagne in the bubble bath as a pregame.” You waggle a brow, as the both of you find shelter in your front room, door locked safely behind you.

Water drips from your hems onto the floor, and you reach for a very conveniently placed towel that happens to be right by the door, offering it to him.

He has never wanted to marry someone more, in his entire life, than he wants to marry you.

“Next year will be better.” He promises, kissing you sweetly, before taking you up on that promise of a bubble bath.

V is very, very extraordinary

February 14th, 1968. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-one years old and celebrating the holiday, the first Valentine’s Day together since you’ve been married, overseas.

This year was not, in any way shape or form, better.

He listens to the tape you’ve sent him, plays it over and over again just to hear your voice, hoping to drown out the harrowing experience of war just beyond his headphones. He listens to your voice, and wonders if you’re relistening to the voicemails he’s left you once upon a time, wonders if you’re having dinner with your friends, if Jimmy brought you those flowers like he had asked.

He rewinds the tape, but he knows it’s not the same.

E is even more than anyone that you adore can

February 14th, 1972. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-five and finally back home from Vietnam. He surprises you one sunny day last summer, and the two of you are practically in each other’s back pockets every day thereafter.

There is no place Flip would rather be, than with you. To anyone who didn’t know you, it might look suspiciously lovey-dovey, but no, that’s really just how you are now. You nearly lost him over there, in the war. You went three years without him by your side – you didn’t want to be more than a foot away from him if you could manage it.

This Valentine’s Day, Flip has arranged everything so that you could do just that. He had a fantastic fucking date planned for you – nothing too fancy, but special nonetheless. It was going to be a complete throw-back, he’ll take you to the diner where they now serve the Zimmerman Special -- a combo of the sub sandwiches you always order, and a chocolate milkshake to share; you can’t get the sandwiches on their own, they have to be ordered together, something that always makes your heart flutter – and then afterwards, he got passes for the mini-golf place, one of the very first dates he had taken you on all those years ago when you were first stepping into more-than-friends territory.

You’re about ready to walk out the door, and Flip is right behind you when the phone rings.

Exchanging glances, Flip seriously is tempted to ignore the phone altogether, but you raise a brow at him and he lets out a disgruntled groan, dragging his feet over to the hallway and picking the phone up.

“Zimmerman, it’s Harry.” His boss’ voice has a tone to it that already has Flip developing a localized headache right in his temple.

“Why do you sound like you’re about to give me bad news.” Flip grumbles, and Harry just sighs.

“Because I have bad news.” Harry replies, and you already seem to know what’s coming, because you close the door with a sad sigh and step out of your shoes, “Look, I’m really sorry, but Ron just gave us some new intel, looks like the boys are having some sort of get together at the Bloomin’ Tulip, and we need you there.”

He was on this case with a rookie named Ron, something about infiltrating the local klan chapter. He wasn’t happy about it, not in the fucking least, for a lot of reasons. The men were vile, and he hated spending any more time with them than he needed to, and he had really fucking hoped that he wouldn’t need to today.

“Isn’t that a strip club?” You pipe up having overheard the name of the establishment, and Flip blinks, gearing up to start shouting at his boss.

“Flip I know it’s not how you want to spend the night but – ”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? It’s Valentine’s Day! I’m not going to a strip club with a bunch of neo-nazis on Valentine’s Day! Besides, they know I’m married.” Flip seethes, the hand that’s not holding the phone gesturing wildly even though Harry can’t see it.

You light up a cigarette and hand it to him with a kiss to his cheek, knowing he’s going to need it.

“Felix and a couple of the other guys are married too, and they’re going. I’m sorry Flip but we need to know if they’re planning anything serious.” Harry really does sound apologetic, and at the end of the day, he is Flip’s boss.

Flip looks at you, and you look back at him and give him a sad smile, encouraging him to go with a little nod of your head. You knew what you were signing up for when Flip asked your thoughts on him becoming a detective, and you had agreed all those years ago. It was part of the territory, and you weren’t about to make him feel bad for protecting the town you loved so dearly – for keeping you safe.

“When?” Flip sighs into the receiver, and he can practically feel the relief in Harry’s sigh.

“You have to be there in an hour.” Harry replies quickly, already spouting off directions and whatever other bullshit that Flip’s not listening to.

“Tell Bridges I’m pissed about this.” Flip eventually cuts him off, and hangs up the fucking phone without even so much as a goodbye.

With the phone slammed back onto the wall, Flip smokes his cigarette for a second and lets his shoulders sag. He really couldn’t catch a fucking break, could he? Turning to face you, wondering where you went, he finds you settling on the couch, your pretty coat hung up on the hook, reaching for a book to start leafing through.

“Ketsl I – ” Flip’s heart sinks, and he has half a mind to call Harry back and tell him that he isn’t going to go, but you shake your head.

“Go, it’s okay. Work is more important.” You reach a hand out for him, and he takes a few long strides over to the couch, kneels in front of you and holds it reverently between his palms.

Flip rests his head on your thigh, pressing small kisses to your knuckles, hating this.

“No, it’s really fucking not.” He grumbles, anxious about the thought of leaving you. “How about this: I’ll go for just a couple hours, make some excuse, and then come right back to you and we’ll go on that date?”

He’s really going to give Ron a hard time about this, Flip thinks, when you just pat his cheek lightly and pull out your wallet from the purse you’ve left on the coffee table.

“Do you need some singles?” You rifle through the thick stack of cash and count out roughly fifty dollars.

“Why do you have a ton of singles?” Flip frowns, confused, and the playful suspicion in his tone gets you giggling, a sound that rushes through Flip like the breaking of a dam.

“Don’t worry about it.” You reply, mock-defensively, before you roll your eyes and explain, “It’s from the bake sale, trade me for bigger bills?”

Flip kisses you, a loud smacking smooch right on your cheek, and fishes out his own wallet, not wanting to steal money from the bake sale. Whatever he spends on the case he’ll get back from the station, but still, that money was to go to the children’s hospital.

“I love you more than anything in the entire fucking world and I will be back as soon as I possibly can, I promise.” Flip rushes to say, as the clock chimes, letting him know he’s got to leave now if he wants to make it in time.

“Just go.” You smile, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice. You kiss Flip once more, and then shoo him away with a parting, “And be respectful to the girls there!”

“Of course! I love you.” Flip calls back as he leaves the house, running back to give you one last kiss, before leaving for real.

Flip has nothing against strip clubs, not at all. He knows and likes pretty much all the dancers, from his days as a rookie himself when he would be the only one around the station to calls on his late night shifts. They know and trust him, and he’s thankful for that; especially when they see he’s clearly undercover, and know to keep an eye on him without making it too obvious.

The klansmen are exactly how Flip had expected them to be – obnoxious, loud, rude. They don’t tip well, spend most of the time jeering at the women and the rest of the time talking shit about their wives or girlfriends. Felix at one point asks Flip to join in, almost a dare to prove how masculine he is, how much of one of them he is, and the words burn in the back of Flip’s throat as he lies through his teeth.

He hates this, he hates them, everything is too loud and the beer is warm, and Flip’s having a terrible fucking time.

He also has no idea how much time has actually passed, because it’s too dark to see his watch, and there aren’t any clocks on the wall. At one point, Ivanhoe decides to get a little too handsy with one of the dancers, violating rule number one of the club, and gets the entire group of them thrown out. Flip had never been happier to get thrown out of an establishment in his life, and used that as an excuse to leave, claiming an early day at work in the morning.

When he gets back in his car and sees that it’s somehow after midnight, he curses the entire fucking way back home.

He opens the front door carefully, not wanting to come home making all sorts of noise in case you’re asleep. There’s an anchor in his stomach, he feels sick, he’s so fucking annoyed with how this day has gone, and all he wants is to be back with you

“(Y/N)?” Flip whispers, making his way through the house. “Are you awake? It’s me.”

He finds you on the couch right where you had been when he left, and despite the valiant effort you must have given to try and stay up for him, it’s undeniable that you’re dozing. Head resting on the arm of the couch, you’ve got your arms wrapped around one of the throw pillows, and Flip’s chest squeezes because he knows that should be him instead.

“Hmm?” You make a little noise as Flip’s arms scoop you up and hold you against his chest, turning off the lights on his way up the stairs.

“Shh, I gotcha honey-bunny.” Flip presses a kiss to the top of your head, feeling like the worst husband in the fucking world, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You snuggle into his chest some more, voice thick with sleep. “I ordered a pizza, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t, I can’t have my girl starving, can I?” Flip smiles weakly, bringing you into the bedroom and laying you gently down on the bed.

He tugs the stockings off your feet, works on unbuttoning your blouse to unhook your bra, knowing that must not have been comfortable. You, the spoiled princess that you are, don’t bother helping him, liking when he does all the work. Flip can’t even tease you for it tonight, the weight of how the holiday has been ruined heavy in his chest.

“The pizza place was cute, they made it in the shape of a heart.” You say, watching him with soft eyes.

“I’m going to make this up to you.” Flip promises, mind a little too exhausted to figure out exactly how he’s going to do that just yet.

“You’re here now, that’s what matters.” You shake your head, before groaning dramatically as you get off the bed much to Flip’s confusion, “Come on, let’s go shower.”

Flip checks the clock on the wall, it’s nearing up on one o’clock, and he’s sure a shower will just wake you up even further.

“You’re coming with me?” Flip asks, which is a stupid question because in the back of his tired mind, he knows that you always shower together.

“Well someone’s going to have to get the glitter out of your hair.” You give him a smile, and that stops Flip in his tracks.

“…Glitter?” Flip groans, yanking the bathroom door open and turning on the light switch, seeing how he’s completely and totally covered in the shimmery circles that he loathes probably more than anything for the way they never ever come off, “Aw fuck.”

You just laugh, and get the water running, and Flip feels like the luckiest sonofabitch that exists, even if he is covered in glitter.

Love is all that I can give to you

Love is more than just a game for two

Two in love can make it, take my heart and please don't break it

Love was made for me and you

February 14th, 1974. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-seven and is the proud father of two precious little angels, that he absolutely cannot fucking believe are his. Last Valentine’s Day was hectic with the kids being so little, but now that they weren’t so teenie tiny, he has arranged for them to be watched by his Ma for the evening.

She had of course agreed, because any opportunity she could spend with her grandchildren was a good one in her book, which let you and Flip have the evening alone together for the first time in a long time.

It was silly almost, how excited the two of you were to go out to a fancy steakhouse and have an expensive dinner, how hard you both laughed at the comedian that Flip had managed to get great seats for, even so far as being able to meet him after the show and get a photo with him.

You are still laughing about some of the jokes all the way back home, and Flip is trying his best not to feel cocky. Finally, after so many years of trying to have a good and special evening, he’s finally gotten to give it to you.

There’s some gifts waiting for you at the house that he can’t wait for you to open, but when he gets you through the door, you are on him like a bee on honey. Your hands don’t know where to settle, skimming across his shoulders, his chest, cupping his cheeks and tangling in his hair, desperate and excited in a way that makes Flip’s heart pound.

“You are so fucking sexy.” He breathes, crashing your lips to his, throwing the keys and your purse to the ground as he backs you against the door, as he holds you tight to him, licking into your mouth and working on getting you naked.

“Take me upstairs?” You moan as his teeth clamp down onto your shoulder and he sucks hickies all over your throat, head tipping back for him to get better access.

Flip groans, his cock rock hard in his slacks, and he smacks your ass to get you runnin’ up to the bedroom, chasing after you with a hearty laugh. He pinches at you and you squeak out laughter and yelps of your own, as he tackles you down to the mattress, mouth seeking yours at once.

“How’d I ever get so goddamn lucky, huh?” Flip shoves his hand into the waistband of your panties, two thick fingers pressing right up into your pussy, working eagerly to get you stretched and relaxed and ready for a good hard fucking, he grunts and groans as your pussy sucks his fingers deeper, “I’m going to make you come so fucking hard ketsl.”

“We have all night, I want you to make me come all over this house.” Your eyes glitter and sparkle in the lamp light of the bedroom, and he grins, feeling overheated in his clothes.

Pulling away much to your dissatisfaction, he works on getting himself naked, while you deal with your own clothes. He eyes you as you reveal yourself to him, and his dick twitches, wanting to thrust as far as it can go into your body, your perfect fucking body.

“Oh I will, you better fucking believe I will,” He growls, yanking your ankle and pulling you across the bed with bright laughter. Flip climbs on top of you and resumes fingering you, “This pretty pussy’s in for a long night I hope you’re ready for my big hard cock.”

Your hands squeeze at his shoulders, traveling across his back, gripping him tight as your legs part and wrap around his hips. Flip lines himself up and begins to thrust inside your wet cunt, the pulsing heat throbbing around him and making him groan, the friction so good.

Moaning and sighing together, you gasp out loud as he builds up a speed that has you bouncing bouncing bouncing on the bed. He’s managed to find your gspot right away, and he wants to make good on his promise to get you fucked until you’re thoroughly and utterly wrecked – so he figures the more orgasms he can get out of you, the better.

Kissing you deeply, groaning into your mouth, he doesn’t realize how the way he’s pistoning his hips has you moving across the mattress, until you’re grasping at his shoulders with a surprised gasp, “Wait, Flip hold on we’re a little too close to the edge.”

He shakes his head and smiles down at you, wanting you to know that you’re always safe with him.

“I’ve got you baby, you don’t worry about a fucking thing – ” He starts saying, not realizing just how close you both really were, and with one particularly eager thrust, the two of you go toppling over the side entirely, landing with a loud thud on the floor.

Shit, he thinks, as he rolls off of you, scrambling to pull out and make sure you’re okay.

When he looks at you, expecting you to be laughing and scolding him and telling him all about how you were right, and instead sees a small trickle of blood across your forehead from where you’ve hit your head on the corner of the nightstand, his body runs cold.

“(Y/N)?” At once, he begs smacking lightly at your cheeks, a heaving feeling starting to rise up in his stomach as he shouts, “Oh my god, I killed my wife!”

Flip’s military training kicks in, and all he can think about is getting you to the hospital. He grabs a pair of pants off the floor and doesn’t even realize he’s put them on backwards, as he wraps you up in the sheet and runs with you down the stairs. His heart thuds and tears blur his eyes, but he swallows them down because you’re okay you have to be okay he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if you’re not fucking okay.

“Oh my god,” Flip manages to get the bleeding to stop by bunching up the sheet and pressing it against your forehead, and he keeps one hand on you as he speeds through every single red fucking light in Colorado Springs on his way to the emergency room, “Oh my god oh my fucking god.”

The hospital isn’t too far, and thankfully him being a police officer gives him some special perks – like leaving his truck parked right on the curb as he practically kicks the doors open. He’s got you wrapped up in a sheet, carrying you bridal style with thick streams of tears pouring down his cheeks, shouting and shoving his way through the waiting room.

“Everyone out of my fucking way – can someone help my wife?” He’s frantic, must look like a fucking lunatic, but, “She won’t wake up I don’t know what to do.”

“Bring her this way, hurry!” One of the nurses who happens to recognize him buzzes him in, and he doesn’t let you out of his arms until you’re surrounded by nurses and a doctor is on the way.

He watches as they wheel you back somewhere he’s not allowed to go, not even as a police officer, and Flip punches the wall, hating that he can’t do anything else.

Twenty minutes later, one of the nurses has found him and given him a shirt, because he had forgotten to put one on in all the panic, and asked him what the hell was even going on. So he hangs his head between his knees and tries not to be sick, tears and snot hiccupping out of him.

“…And that’s when she fell over the side of the bed and smacked her head and started bleeding all over the fucking place which I know she’s going to hate because I just washed the carpeting this morning for her and fuck is she okay? Will she live?” He rambles on and on, twisting the fabric of this shirt that is too small in some places but too big in others, nervously, wondering what the fuck he’s going to tell everyone – what he’s going to tell his kids.

“Live? Trust me, she’s alive and kicking right about now.” The doc comes over then, sees the state that Flip’s in, and scoffs.

The words barely register in Flip’s mind before he’s running. He doesn’t even know where he’s running to, somewhere they’re keeping you, sticking his head into every room on the way in case it’s yours.

He finds you eventually, and relief makes his knees go weak. Rushing to your side, he carefully carefully carefully kisses you, the words spilling out of him all at once.

“(Y/N)! Oh honey-bunny I am so fucking sorry I didn’t mean for you to fall the way you did you were right I should have listened are you okay the doc told me you had to get stitches?” His eyes are wide with worry, but you have something of an amused if dazed smile on your lips as you comb your fingers through his hair.

“Hi Philly.” Your voice sounds rough, and Flip could cry, maybe he is crying, he doesn’t know, he’s just so happy to hear your voice. You nod, giving him a little sigh, “Yeah, just a couple right where I hit my head. Was I out for very long?”

“No, but then you were in so much pain they put you under while we worked.” The doc says, because how the hell would Flip know, he was having a nervous breakdown outside. Checking on the machines that you’re all hooked up to, he asks, “How do you feel now?”

“Like I was hit by a truck.” You sigh again, before turning to Flip and giving him a dreamy smile, “But you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Flip kisses you again, once twice three times right on the lips, before cupping your cheek and not looking away from you when he asks the doctor, “Does she have to stay overnight?”

The nurses come in then and begin to unhook the IV and pull all the cables away, bandaging you up nice and securely.

“No you’re free to go, there’s no blunt trauma or damage to the brain. All you have to do Mrs. Zimmerman, is rest up.” The doc pats your blanket-covered foot at the end of the bed, winking, “And take it easy in the bedroom next time.”

This has the both of you immediately embarrassed, feeling like scolded schoolchildren who got caught ditching class, instead of the grown adults you actually were. You give him a glance as if to say I can’t believe you told them how this happened, and he gives you back one as if to say I had to! I thought you died!

“Yes doctor, thank you doctor.” You cough awkwardly, covering your face and muttering to Flip once you’re sure everyone else is gone, “You think we’d get a free ice cream cone with how often we’re here, hm?”

“I’ll get you ice cream, do you want ice cream? We can stop by on the way home.” Flip kisses your hand, presses the tips of your fingers to his lips and smooches all over them, making you chuckle despite it all.

“Actually, that does sound pretty good.” You mull the thought over in your head, “Okay, just hand me my clothes and after I change we’ll go sign some paperwork and head home.”

It is then, that Flip realizes he forgot much more than his own shirt, when he had carried you up and away to the hospital. He looks around, wondering, hoping that the nurses had brought something for you instead of the little paper gown that you’re currently dressed in, but it seems that that hope was in vain.

“Oh…yeah…” He stalls, “Ketsl, about that…”

“You did not bring me to this hospital naked, did you??” For the first time in a long time, you give him an incredulous look, anger clouding over your face as you demand to know.

“Of course not!” Flip stammers, looking around for the proof that he, “I uh, wrapped you in a sheet.”

He holds the sheet up, still covered in the blood from your forehead,

“Philip Daniel Zimmerman!” You shout, covering your face and sinking back down into the bed, pulling the covers over your head as you realize in horror that he had somehow gotten you into the car naked, and carried through the lobby and the waiting room in nothing but a stained sheet, “God that’s so fucking embarrassing!”

“I love you so much, I love you more than anything in the entire world you are my one true love – ” Flip immediately drops to his knees, really lays it on thick as he winces, knowing that he really fucked this one up worse than all the other Valentine’s Days before it.

“Oh give me the fucking sheet.” You bemoan, snatching it from him and getting out of the hospital bed, taking stock of his own appearance.

He’s wearing his pants on backwards, and a shirt that you’ve literally never seen in your life. He’s got one sock on, and one is missing, no shoes in sight, and his face and hair are a travesty. The poor man looks awful, looks like he had spent the past hour bawling his eyes out, and with the redness in his eyes and around his nose, you’re sure that he has.

Despite it all, you can’t be mad at him. So, instead, you swallow your pride and wrap the sheet around your body like some long avant-garde evening gown, and sigh, “You’re so lucky I’m obsessed with you.”

And if anyone has anything to say about your combined appearances as you leave the hospital and head on your way to pick up ice cream from the drive-thru, neither of you notice, too glad to be alive and together to care.

L is for the way you look at me

O is for the only one I see

V is very, very extraordinary

E is even more than anyone that you adore can

February 14th, 1975. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-eight and he is sick and fucking tired of things getting in the way of this damn holiday. He is determined, absolutely fucking determined, to make sure you have the best day imaginable. He’s done everything right – and he means everything – to ensure victory in this long-sought-after, elusive battle.

Every Valentine’s Day disaster has been leading up to this, he thinks as he drives home from dropping the kids off with Uncle Jimmy. He will not be cooking, he will not be working, he has his truck tuned up and running smoothly, and he is on his way to you right now.

Fresh bagels, breakfast sandwiches, warm pastries and hot brewed coffee from that bakery down the street that you like are sitting in the passenger seat of the truck, and he’s going to surprise you with a perfect fucking day so help him.

When he comes back home, he arranges everything neatly on a tray and brings it up to you, smiling to himself that you haven’t woken up yet. He places the tray – decorated with a little rose in a vase and everything – on the dresser, and settles next to you, petting back your hair from your face.

“(Y/N),” He whispers, trying to bring you out of sleep, “Honey-bunny, wake up.”

“Mmmmorning.” You beam up at him, reaching your arms up for a hug, that he is more than happy to give.

“Hungry? I brought you breakfast.” He kisses you with a smile.

With that, you push yourself to sit up against the headboard and regard him lovingly as he leaves your side and brings the tray over. He settles it over your lap and gestures to the assortment of fresh and delicious looking breakfast choices for you to pick from, but you first lift the little rose up to your nose and give it a deep sniff, happily sighing.

“I thought something smelled good, have you been gone long?” You kiss his cheek and pat the spot next to you so he can lay in bed too, so he does, picking up a muffin and doing his best to not get crumbs all over the sheets.

“About an hour, I didn’t want to bother you on your special day.” Flip sidles up next to you and lights a cigarette, and you rest your head on his shoulder as you smile at him through the reflection of the mirror on your dresser.

“My special day huh?” You tease, knowing the track record for when Flip tries to plan something extravagant.

“Yeah, for real this time.” He’s so determined, so fucking determined, everything is going to go right if it’s the last fucking thing he does, but he doesn’t say all that.

You still hear it anyway.

“Do I get to know what we’re doing?” You prompt sweetly, almost convinced of the fact that it’s because he tries to keep things a surprise, that it all goes badly.

Flip must think so too, because he’s sighing and rolling his eyes, unhappy about spoiling the day but knowing it’s probably for the best.

“Yes, I got us a couple’s spa package. I know things have been difficult with the littles toddling around, and you do so much for them and for me, so today is all about pampering you.” He announces, and you let out a loving little squeak from the back of your throat as you aww at him, making him blush.

“That’s very very sweet, thank you honey.” You beam, excited about the prospect of a professional massage, especially because he was right; you loved your children with your entire heart but having two under two was a bit hectic at times.

“Don’t thank me yet – I don’t want to jinx anything.” Flip is quick to say, and you laugh because you know how he must be feeling right about now.

After breakfast and some lazy lovemaking in bed, the afternoon light shines brightly as you and Flip arrive at the spa.

It’s a real fancy place, the kind with a big water feature right on the wall that makes the entire lobby feel serene and luxurious. Flip is halfway expecting something to go wrong – he keeps bracing for it. But as the nice women at the front desk bring you into the couple’s massage room, everything seems to be going off without a hitch.

Hot stones are all the rage, and so for the next sixty minutes, you and Flip enjoy the peaceful quiet and mood music as the knots in your muscles vanish. Afterwards, they put some kind of mud mask on both of your faces, and add little slices of cucumber over your eyes. You both sit like that for a good while, as you’re each given a manicure and pedicure.

You get your favorite color of polish done, and Flip just asks for a clear coat, wanting his nails to look nice but not necessarily colorful. It’s fun, Flip decides, being pampered with you. Maybe this could become more of a regular thing, he sure as shit could use those hot stones now and again after a long fuckin’ week of stakeouts or pouring over paperwork.

By the time you emerge from the spa, it’s practically evening. You suggest going back home, but Flip has other plans – namely, to keep you out of the house for a little while longer. He brings you to a pizza spot that you remember fondly from your days of dating Flip back when he was working at the family mill he now owns, going out for a slice and a cola and kissing in one of the red booths in the back.

Everything is exactly the same, except everyone’s a little older, but the pizza and the company are still great. Flip can’t help but kiss you, even though you’re not in the red booth in the back, but no one seems to mind anymore. It’s been years and years of this, of Flip loving you, they’re all used to it.

Flip chucks a couple quarters into the jukebox and the two of you dance on the black and white checkerboard like you’re the only two people in the entire pizza joint, because when you’re together, it feels like you are. It feels like you’re the only two people in the entire world.

The clock strikes seven, and he knows the coast should be clear at the house by now, so he brings you home and tries not to act too suspicious. You call him out on it, but he refuses to say, manages to keep his big mouth shut the whole way home, until you’re opening the front lock and pushing the door open to reveal a romantic wonderland.

Ron and Jimmy had been working tirelessly the past two hours, blowing up heart shaped balloons, arranging big bouquets of your favorite flowers and roses of all different colors, and a thick trail of rose petals that led up the stairs to your bedroom.

Speechless, you clasp a hand over your mouth and give him a look, impressed and surprised, and Flip can only grin.

“Go up, there’s more.” He whispers, kissing you on the cheek and patting your ass playfully.

Following the trail of rose petals, you push open the bedroom door and your heart fills with so much love and appreciation for your husband, because on the bed are some carefully wrapped boxes with white satin ribbon bows just for you, along with a giant teddy bear, a bucket of ice and a bottle of expensive champagne, and your favorite kinds of chocolate.

“You are so good, you know that?” You whirl around and practically jump into Flip’s arms, hugging him and attacking his face with kisses, making him smug as shit, but rightfully so.

“Want to open them?” He offers, but you’re so overwhelmed by it all in the best way possible, you just keep hugging him.

“Oh Flip – I will, but first, please, please fuck me?” You bat your lashes up at him, suddenly desperate to feel his body against yours, desperate to feel him in and around you.

Flip hadn’t expected that right away, but that doesn’t deter him. He quickly scrambles to get everything off the bed and onto the floor or up on the dresser, and is back to you within a few moments, kissing you deeply, working to get your clothes off with a deep chuckle in the back of his throat.

“Yes, shit you’re so pretty, my pretty girl.” He scoops you up and drops you onto the bed, wrestles with you a little until you’re laughing and grinning at him, his mouth smacking smooches to your lips as he demands, “C’mere.”

“Please don’t let me fall off the side of the bed this time.” You grip his biceps and he flushes a deep embarrassed red, but brings your attention to the floor where the accident had happened all that time ago.

“One step ahead of you, ketsl.” He gestures to a series of plush pillows that he had lined up on either side of the floor by the nightstands so that if you were to fall – which he’s going to make sure you never ever do again – you’d land on something soft, “A perfectly padded landing platform.”

That is the final thing holding you back from pulling him down by his shoulders on top of you, and Flip happily goes, happily settles you underneath him, eagerly slides the head of his cock through your folds. Your pussy grows wet under his touch, and it’s not long before you’re whining for him to really give it to you, so he does – oh fuck, he does.

Lifting your hips with one of his strong hands, Flip lets your legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts shallowly in small motions, wanting to get you stretched and relaxed as he sinks his cock deeper into you, making you moan, your eyes rolling back into your head when he bottoms out in your hot cunt.

“Oh! Oh yes, right there, right – yes!” You gasp as he begins to fuck you in earnest, holding your legs up and bending your body in just the right way to give him deeper action, stronger penetration that has you gasping.

Your back arches and your toes curl just from the feeling of being so full, your head tossed to the side as your hands twist in the pillowcase underneath your head, reaching up to grip the headboard that begins to shake and smack against the wall as Flip moves his hips faster and faster.

“Look at me?” He doesn’t like that he can’t see your face though, with the way you’re tucked against your arm, so he reaches for it and grips your jaw, pulls you to look at him. Your eyes are already unfocused and glassy but you’ve got the brightest smile on your face, that drops into a beautiful perfect O as he pounds into your pussy, “Fuck, you’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen, you know that? I feel like I don’t tell you enough.”

“Tell me again.” You tease, biting your lip and shaking under him, opening your hips and letting him fuck over your gspot with wild abandon, voice wobbling from the effort, “I didn’t hear you.”

“You’re – so – yes! – fucking – beautiful – oh god,” Flip groans long and low as you clench around his cock, your pussy fluttering and pulsing, the tight we velvet heat sucking him in and never letting him go, making Flip’s ears ring with pleasure, “Do that thing again ketsl, do it.”

You do as he says, and your cunt clamps down hard on him, making fucking you even sweeter, the friction driving him insane, making him grind his cock as deep into you as it can go. You can feel it knocking against your cervix and you whine out in pleasure, tears from overstimulation pricking up at the corners of your eyes, clinging to your pretty lashes.

“Flip! Ohhhhh Flip, that’s so good,” You praise him, only spurring him on, making him sweat sweat sweat all over you, dripping sweat down onto your perfect fucking tits that he just cannot not kiss and lave his tongue over and suck on, “Your cock is so good honey, fuck me harder, please!”

“No, I’m gonna take my time with you, make you fall apart, make this pussy soaking wet by the time I’m done with you.” Shaking his head, Flip pulls one of your nipples into his mouth and makes you moan high and loud, and Flip doesn’t even stop when your body confuses him for the baby, and sweet milk floods his mouth.

“H-honey! Right there, right there just a little faster? Please just a little f-faster -- ah!” You’re crying now, your thighs shaking, feet kicking out your pleasure, one of your hands gripped tight in his hair and yanking hard, making him come a little into your cunt, making him never want to stop.

“I should tie you up, keep you right here under me where you belong,” Flip pulls off your nipple and grips your jaw, “Tell you how fucking pretty you look taking my big Jew dick – suck.”

Slipping a few fingers into your mouth to wet them and let them rub against your tongue, gagging you, making the sweetest choking noises spill from your throat as you try to moan and suck at the same time, Flip’s mind blanks out entirely with pleasure, a static sort of hum singing through his body as your pussy pins him and holds him.

“I-I-I’m --!” You wail, and that’s his cue to pull the fingers out of your mouth, drool stringing from your lip to his knuckles, and finds your clit, rubbing steady circles that have your body jackknifing up, tensing up and cry cry crying his name.

“That’s it ketsl, let it out, shh I know it’s good.” He massages your clit slowly, milking it as he fucks you through your orgasm, licks up the tears and sweat on your face, kisses you deeply, passionately.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop honey!” You beg, trembling against his lips, and Flip wouldn’t dare go against those wishes, not for anything.

You don’t know how many hours pass, before Flip comes in you for the final time. He crashes down onto the bed next to you, chests heaving, bodies sticky with sweat and come and tears of pleasure, of overstimulation, of love.

The night is still young, you still have to open your presents and drink your champagne and all, but for now, all he wants to do is gather your beautiful naked body into his arms and kiss you, so that’s exactly what he does.

“Fuck.” He grunts as his muscles which had been so loose from the spa day, are now burning with all the exertion. He kisses you and pinches your nose, asking with too much hope, “Good?”

“Really good.” You promise him, cupping his cheek with a pleasure-weak hand and kissing him again and again and again, until he’s smiling. You laugh and stretch a little, your entire body made of jell-o, and joke, “At this rate, we’ll be three for fuckin’ three years in a row.”

“Would that be so bad?” Flip thinks of the kids that should be fast asleep by now, and his chest grows warm.

You duck your head bashfully, feeling so loved and cared for and wanted by your husband. You always do, truly, but you can’t deny that it feels a little more special today.

“I gotta say, Flip,” You turn to face him and prop your head up on your bent elbow, “You really knocked it out of the park this time.”

If there were a Heaven, this would be it, Flip thinks as joy and elation course through his veins. He grins and punches the air with happiness, feeling like he suddenly has the energy for a victory lap around the property. You laugh at how display of theatrics, and he surges up then, wrestles with you playfully and nips at your jaw with his teeth, finally finally finally having succeeded in something he had tried for over a decade to do.

“Would you mind saying that again?” Flip echoes your earlier sentiment with cheeky sarcasm, “I didn’t hear you.”

And you can only laugh and tell him again and again, wanting him to know that you have had a wonderful, a perfect, a beautiful Valentine’s Day, not just this year, but every year that you’ve been together.

Love is all that I can give to you

Love is more than just a game for two

Two in love can make it, take my heart and please don't break it

Love was made for me and you

-------------------------

Tagging some pals! Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed :) @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief @materialisthicc @drake-bells-waxed-penis @dutchiepie @slut-for-harri @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman/reader #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman/you #blackkklansman #adam driver fanfic #adcu #my writing #flip zimmerman fluff #flip zimmerman smut

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gorgeousgalatea · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Let Me Count the Ways (also on AO3)

Characters: Ozpin, Qrow Branwen (cameos by James Ironwood and Winter Schnee)

Pairing: Ozpin/Qrow Branwen

Tags: fluff, light angst, sometimes you just gotta come up with an elaborate excuse for a list fic

Word Count: ~4.9k

Summary: After a meeting gone wrong brings some of Qrow's self-esteem issues to light, Ozpin tries to reassure him by answering that all-important, life-affirming question:

Why does he put up with him?

“Why do you put up with him?”

Winter Schnee bursts out with the question on this particular occasion, impulsive and angry and flustered.

It’s a question Ozpin is used to dealing with where Qrow is concerned; although this is the first time the asker has been brazen enough to raise it in front of her own superior and the man in question during an admittedly impromptu teleconference. Even General Ironwood looks stunned at her forwardness, seated next to her over the video feed. Qrow’s eyebrows shoot up in a mockingly exaggerated “who, me?” expression as he slouches with something almost approaching formality next to Ozpin.

What were the odds that James would happen to relegate an official call to his new specialist not only while Qrow happened to be around to answer it and leave a dazzling first impression, but during one of the few occasions Glynda was off on a mission and therefore unable to act as a desperately needed buffer?

Actually. Given that Qrow has been in town for about a week now, perhaps the odds weren’t so long after all.

Ozpin sighs and mentally reviews the list of responses he has on standby for that very question, but James beats him to it.

“Winter,” James snaps, and she stands to attention. “Enough.” He nods curtly to Ozpin and Qrow, blue eyes lingering on a resolutely blasé Qrow as though he doesn’t fully disagree with his subordinate’s outburst. (He doesn’t, given that he’s asked Ozpin the very same thing on more than one occasion, albeit with a great deal more discretion and exasperated fondness.) “The matter I wanted to discuss can wait. Sorry for bothering you, Professor Ozpin, but it seems my correspondence was--ill timed. Have a good day.”

“And the same to you, General,” Ozpin replies.

Qrow flashes Winter a jaunty wink that nearly breaks her professionalism a second time just as the call cuts out.

“She seems nice,” he says, leaning back against Ozpin’s desk.

Whatever fragile courtesy Ozpin managed to maintain during the call dissolves as he shoots Qrow an unamused look. “Really?”

Qrow shrugs and takes a drink from his flask. “You know Jimmy just wanted to formally introduce his pet project as a potential Winter Maiden successor after the scare we had last week,” he says, slipping the flask back into his pocket. “Used to think he was set on her because of the name, but now I bet it’s the matching tempers that make him like her so much.”

“That neither excuses your behavior nor invalidates her candidacy,” Ozpin says, dismissing the video screen and accessing his messages. “Fria is ill, there’s no denying that. James is as concerned as any of us.”

Qrow huffs a humorless laugh. “Yeah, he’s been showing a lot of concern about the Maidens lately, hasn’t he? Between the way he’s grooming Ice Queen and that Aura siphon project we’re not supposed to know about—”

“Regardless,” Ozpin says sharply, choosing to keep his eyes glued to his screen rather than humor Qrow’s antics, “there was no reason for you to antagonize Miss Schnee under the guise of screening her capacity to inherit.”

There’s a whisper of fabric as Qrow seats himself properly on the desk, likely to better enable his emphatic gestures. Not that Ozpin would know, as he’s still very interested in his messages. Even if Qrow is leaning in close enough to obscure half the text.

“No? With her family? Say she becomes Maiden just as that asshole Jacques decides the disownment shame isn’t working out the way he’d hoped and uses his money and influence to finally drag her kicking and screaming back into the fold; we’ll have handed the Schnee Dust Company one of the most powerful weapons not even known to man.”

He laughs derisively. “But I gotta say, with her history and how easy it was to piss her off? Odds are the first thing she’d do after she inherits is go back to the old family mansion and burn it to the ground. Maybe get the sister out first. And the butler. But yeah, then the whole thing up in flames, all of it.”

The scenario with Jacques is unlikely—he’s formidable and ruthless enough in the business world, yes, but his maneuvers often involve the sort of oily underhandedness that someone as forceful and secure in his own political power as James Ironwood would be able to crush with relative ease. Not to mention Winter herself has a will strong enough to escape the household in the first place without the aid of legendary mystical abilities.

Ozpin admittedly does not presume to be familiar enough with Winter Schnee’s mental state to gauge the credibility of Qrow’s house burning theory.

Not that any of that is really the point here.

“And the only way you could call attention to any of this was to be as incendiary towards Miss Schnee as possible, on my private line, knowing that both myself and General Ironwood would be joining in momentarily,” Ozpin says, and then he does look at Qrow, mouth thinned and disapproving. “Because why shouldn’t every correspondence end with the slow deterioration of Beacon’s relationship with Atlas?”

That’s—mortifyingly snide, all things considered. Qrow’s behavior won’t lead to the end of the world, and goodness knows James is familiar enough with it that he’d made the wise decision to cut the conversation short and reprimand Winter for taking the bait. It’s more Qrow’s insistence on justifying his actions by tearing down Atlas that bothers him—which may, he thinks, be Qrow’s intention.

Qrow excels at pushing buttons. One would think that loving the man would grant some sort of immunity, but mostly it just makes Qrow more adept at figuring out which ones to push.

The real question is why Qrow is pushing them at all.

Qrow has the grace to look remorseful, eyes darting to the ground as he slips off the desk and distances himself from Ozpin. “Right. That’s on me. And you can say as much to the Tin Man if he asks.” He flicks a dismissive wave as he edges his way around the desk in retreat. “Just let me get out of your hair before I cause any more collateral damage.”

Ozpin narrows his eyes. “Qrow, if something’s wrong, then I’d rather you tell me than fabricate increasingly more ridiculous excuses to leave.”

There’s always the obvious reason. But Ozpin has repeatedly made it clear that the awkward happenstances caused by Qrow’s Semblance are not enough of a detriment to ever lead to his rejection, even if they lead to politically awkward teleconferences every now and again.

To his credit, Qrow pauses at that, but ultimately keeps walking. As this seems increasingly more like an emotional problem rather than a job-related one, Ozpin abstains from pulling rank in order to make him stay.

Which does work; Qrow stops just before he reaches the elevator and adds with forced derision, “Good thing Jimmy bailed you out earlier, huh? Might’ve taken a while to come up with reasons you put up with me that’re, heh, safe for work.”

Ah. Of course.

Because unless the person in question is named Yang or Ruby or Taiyang, the only possible reason to tolerate Qrow Branwen for long stretches of time is for sex.

According to Qrow, anyway.

That can’t be the crux of it—Qrow was agitated long before Winter asked the question and indeed said agitation was what prompted her to ask. But it couldn’t have helped.

Ozpin dismisses any remaining screens that could be perceived as barriers and stands, giving Qrow his full attention. “Yes, I am glad that James interfered before I had to answer it, because that means it’s as evident to him as it is to me why you’re a valued subordinate. Because obviously even General James Ironwood—who has brought up introducing court marshalling to the inner circle thanks to you during more than one meeting—recognizes that you are a valued, cunning, and perceptive resource who excels at his job.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you honestly think that’s the first time I’ve been asked that question? Would you like me to recite the list of reasons I have prepared for just such an occasion?”

That last part was a misstep. A short-tempered, snide misstep that he doubts anyone else could have pushed him to make.

But Qrow is a man of many talents.

“Nope.” Qrow’s smile is mocking and frail. “Don’t bother. Must be getting pretty old for you, right?”

Ozpin opens his mouth. Shuts it before he says something else regrettable. Tries to gather some patience even as he wracks his brain for an idea of what led to this.

Was it something he’d done? Was it because of something Qrow’s Semblance had caused recently? He thought they’d been having a good week, all things considered—the Winter Maiden’s condition aside, things have been quiet. The most excitement they’ve had is what brought Qrow back to Vale to begin with—getting Fria proper medical care and monitoring her condition. She’s stable, at least for the moment, which means that for once Qrow’s had plenty of free time to check up on his nieces.

And plenty of time to spend with Ozpin.

Time he’d thought they’d been passing enjoyably (with as many activities that were safe for work as ones that weren’t, even), but apparently not.

“What do you want from me?” he asks finally.

Qrow swallows hard and glances towards the door. He sucks in a shaky breath. “Look, we’ve had a good run this week but it’s about time for you to tell me to get lost, all right?”

Ah.

So that’s it, then. Qrow’s problem doesn’t lie with Ozpin or Ironwood or Winter Schnee or any incident his Semblance has recently caused, his problem is simply—time. And what extended durations of it spent in his presence can lead to.

They have talked about Qrow’s Semblance in the past, of course. But coming to an understanding doesn’t make the problem go away.

“I very much hope you haven’t been making a fool of yourself just so I’ll send you away,” Ozpin says, stepping away from his desk. “There’s nowhere I have reason to send you, in any case. Not with the calm we’ve been having.”

Qrow smirks. “Pick a place for me to go, and I guarantee they’ll have a problem.” He waves a hand towards the window. “I just don’t want it to be here.”

For the love of—misfortune is not the same thing as catastrophe, even if it could lead to one under the right circumstances. Which these are not.

Ozpin supposes he should count his blessings that Qrow’s bouts of wanderlust are at least more justified and less permanent than his sister’s.

“Qrow, I’m happy to be the exception to your distrust of authority figures, but may I remind you that I still am one. If I thought your presence here was becoming dangerous, I’d say something—”

“No, you wouldn’t!” Qrow shouts with surprising vehemence. “You haven’t yet, right? Because you always think if you humor and study and analyze something long enough, all your—mystical soul grafting mumbo jumbo will help you come up with a solution.” He gives a short, helpless laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “Time’s not gonna solve me, Oz. Time just makes what I do worse.”

Ozpin crosses the room with a speed he suspects is unconsciously aided by his Semblance. Everything in Qrow’s posture is defensive as he backs away. But he doesn’t move for the elevator. Not yet.

“I’m not going to tell you to leave,” Ozpin says quietly.

Qrow’s eyes flick back to the floor. “Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”

Part of him wants to reach out and comfort him, or at least discourage him from walking away, but it feels more important to give Qrow his space for the time being. If only there were something he could think to say—

“Would you permit me one last question first?” he blurts out.

Qrow’s eyes narrow suspiciously, but he shrugs. “Sure. Shoot.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

Qrow rolls his eyes with an exasperated groan. “Oz…”

“I shouldn’t have been so short before, you deserve an answer. And as I said, I’ve been asked it often enough to compile quite the list.” Ozpin offers him a smile, lighthearted and warm.

Qrow leans against the closest wall and takes out his flask, looking distinctly unimpressed.

Well, at least he hasn’t left yet.

“You’re not wrong, it takes time to sort out the reasons I would be able to share with colleagues—not because many of them are expressly inappropriate, but because they would be irrelevant to your importance within our organization. Generally, I find it’s best to begin with the work you’ve done: the information you’ve gathered, the secrets you’re able to keep, the situations you’ve analyzed and reported about before they became threats. You are, without question, one of the best scouts in the field, and one able to understand and react accordingly to things as unpredictable and dangerous as the Maidens and Salem.”

Qrow’s eyes remain bitter and flinty as he peers over his flask. “Sounds like I do more good away than here, then.”

Ozpin doesn’t take the bait. “Yes, well, most of your work is done abroad, so that would be the easiest association to make with an outside party. Should that response prove insufficient with the person in question, I usually move on to your value in the matter of counsel. You are both incredibly loyal and relentlessly blunt, and so when you question my judgment I can be certain you have done so out of genuine concern rather than some sort of political agenda. You are aggressively undiplomatic—which many, certainly James, wouldn’t consider a plus, but I doubt there’s a one among us who isn’t secretly a little grateful when you choose to voice concerns or flaws that the rest of us are too tactful to point out. There are plenty of situations where that wouldn’t go over well, obviously, but in a group as small and secretive as ours, it’s best to bring problems to light as quickly as possible, and you have proven very willing to, ah, expedite that process.”

There’s a flicker of a smile at that, but a brittle one. “So I’m important because I’m the designated team asshole. Got it.”

“I’m sorry, was that news to you?” Ozpin asks with mock surprise, and Qrow’s smile stays small but grows a little more genuine.

He considers that a win.

“As I was saying,” Ozpin continues, rushing on while Qrow’s mood is visibly lightened, “other reasons I can provide are that you are dedicated to your job, a perceptive observer, and a formidable Huntsman. There are few in our profession that are completely devoid of their own...quirks, and while yours can sometimes become trying, you are uniquely qualified for the position you’re in. As evidenced by the intel you so frequently provide.”

He ends the sentence on an anticipatory note and meets Qrow’s eyes. Qrow rolls them again and makes a little ‘get on with it’ gesture, but the flask has been put away.

It’s not until this moment that Ozpin realizes he left both his mug and his cane at his desk, leaving him nothing to fidget with while he pretends he isn’t fidgeting from the topic of conversation. He clasps his hands behind his back instead and takes a breath.

“Those are, on average, the main reasons I provide when asked why I put up with you. Since you were wondering. But, as you noticed, despite having a list of answers on hand, it often takes me time to respond.” He thinks for a moment about taking Qrow’s hand but decides against it. “Because although those are all perfectly acceptable reasons, they are not the ones that come immediately to mind nor the ones my first instinct is to use. Those I keep to myself.”

Qrow gives a wider grin at that, pushing himself off the wall. The distance between them shortens just a little, but Qrow doesn’t move any closer. “You, repressed and keeping secrets? I’m shocked, Oz.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He adjusts his glasses, even though they don’t need adjusting. “What a relief it is to know that I have at least one person I feel safe sharing them with.”

“Yeah, something like a cool two dozen out of an almost infinite pile, thanks,” Qrow says, but the bite in his jibes has waned into amused heckling.

Ozpin can’t help but smile at the shift in mood. “Honestly, my first reaction to that question is ‘how could you ask me that?’” he says, and something off guard flickers in Qrow’s eyes at that. “Sometimes how I put up with you is a mystery to me, but never the why.”

He takes a bracing breath. “I put up with you,” he begins slowly, heart beating faster than he cares to admit, “because...” he swallows, buying himself more time, and smiles ruefully. “Well, because of moments like these, for one. Because for all that you’d like people to believe the worst of you, you do it for their own safety.”

Qrow opens his mouth in troubled objection and Ozpin hurries on before he can voice it.

“I put up with you because I know exactly how far you’ve come since you started. You came to Beacon with a mission your sister barely hesitated to fulfill after taking all she could of power and information from the inner circle, and instead you used it as an opportunity to put some good into the world. It would’ve been so easy to yield to your upbringing over the compassion you learned here, especially with Raven at your side, and yet here we are. You chose to trust your teammates and my guidance, chose to defy the stigma your Semblance has put upon you, and you have flourished beyond any capacity even I could have predicted.”

Qrow has been more than he ever could have hoped for, really. His dearest scout’s habit of burying his truly staggering amount of growth beneath self-deprecation and shame is frankly more criminal than the past that spawned it. “For all your talk of my optimism, you must know trust doesn’t come easily for me. And you cannot imagine my gratitude in knowing my faith in you was not misplaced.”

Qrow’s arms remain crossed but his shoulders have relaxed, his slight frown more reflexive and thoughtful than a reflection of his mood. Ozpin catches his eye again before continuing, and this time Qrow holds his gaze.

“I put up with you because in defiance of all expectations you are kind. Abrasive, yes, cynical--well, I imagine we all fall under that banner given the secrets we keep hidden, but your need for distance is born of the stigma that haunts you, and you feel the need to reach out in spite of it.” He raises an eyebrow, injecting more playful warmth into his smile. “I doubt your curriculum is particularly conventional, but I think you’d be surprised how many of your former students remember you fondly when they make their way to Beacon.”

That, miraculously, gets something close to a laugh. “Yeah, who d’ya think I learned that approach from?”

Fair point.

“And that is itself its own reason, I suppose,” he admits, and his heart gives a stuttering jolt as he realizes he’s inadvertently led himself to the intimate section of the conversation. He can’t help another glance back at his desk, hands wrung nearly raw behind his back, and is treated to a second jolt as Qrow has stepped into his space by the time he meets his gaze again, eyes soft and own hand proffered.

In a perfect world, he would take it. In this one his nerves get the better of him.

He can only hope the words he’s forcing out make up for it.

“I put up with you because you put up with me, with my deflections and secrets.

Because you’ve never questioned my need for them. Because you understand the way a checkered past pressures you into choking silence. Because you use your intuition to keep track of my well being rather than my vulnerabilities. You...keep me grounded. I appreciate that you make some effort at deference and respect in public—for you, anyway—and yet in casual conversation I can for the moment step down off the pedestal without fear. Your respect does not come at the price of expected perfection. I can falter, waver, have my moments of weakness—”

And in this moment Qrow is exemplifying all of this, as his hand is still outstretched to take now that Ozpin’s found his own emotional footing.

“Sometimes you purposely instigate them, even,” he admits, and Qrow shoots him a sardonic look with absolutely no edges whatsoever. “But never fully at my expense.”

This is proving surprisingly cathartic for him as well, which he privately worries is a little too selfish for his intended goals. He’s spent a long time sitting on this list, and despite his trepidation the words flow more easily with each sentence.

It’s really gotten quite long.

“I put up with you because you first kissed me not out of gratitude or grand gesture but because it was Tuesday and raining and you couldn’t think of a reason not to. And when you put it that way, neither could I.

“I put up with you because of the small talks and private dinners, the soft smiles and unspoken understanding. I put up with you because trusting someone enough to wake up with them in the morning is a rarity we both share and cherish.”

They have both hands entwined now, and if any of Qrow’s prophesied disaster has occurred he’s fairly certain they’re both too wrapped up to have noticed.

“But first and foremost I put up with you because it isn’t putting up with you at all; you have never been a burden. And I treasure every moment we spend together.”

The kiss isn’t entirely unexpected. And if there’s a concept Qrow has never fully come around to after abandoning banditry, it’s restraint.

But truth be told Ozpin wouldn’t have it any other way.

“But the sex is good too, right?” Qrow murmurs against his lips, and Ozpin can’t quite stifle a decidedly non-sexual groan.

“Qrow—” he begins, and an arm snakes around his waist before he can pull away.

“No, it’s—listen, I’m in the mood for some very not safe for work stuff and I need to know if that’ll be y’know, a rewarding experience—”

“Always.” As Qrow’s hands and mouth drift to more interesting places it occurs to him that this is not strictly an affirmation of Ozpin’s words of encouragement. “As long as you acknowledge it’s not all you’re good for—”

“Yeah, great, self esteem, whatever, you better let me know if it’s not on the table pretty damn soon.”

Enthusiastic, but intentionally derailing.

Despite himself he can’t help a bit of his own disappointment as he interrupts their...momentum, gently seizing Qrow’s hands and meeting his gaze again meaningfully. He presses a soft kiss to Qrow’s palm as Qrow sighs, eyes softening.

“I know. I do.”

“Well in that case, it very much is.”

#ozqrow #cloqwork #qrow branwen #ozpin #rwby #rwby fanfic #my fic #don't mind me just nattering on about stuff #not the best version of the story but it is finished after a thousand years so

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hartigays · 5 years ago

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Could you also maybe do a sick fic where Steve gets sick? I love a good angsty sick fic but I feel like it's always Billy getting sick. Thank you so much! Love you and your superbly gorgeous writing!!! 💛💛💛

steve feels like shit.

it’s the first thing he recognizes upon waking up. his head feels like there’s a construction crew drilling away at it, and his throat is on fire. like it’s been rubbed raw with some steel wool. he can’t breathe through his nose, the pressure of his congestion making his face throb.

groaning, steve burrows deeper into his covers, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to ignore the persistent ringing in his ears.

his parents are out of the country for the next two weeks. in germany, maybe? steve can’t really remember what they told him. he can’t remember much of anything right now. other than that he’s basically on his fucking own with this shit.

except - oh, god. his history midterm. that’s fucking - fuck. that’s today. steve presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, hard enough that he sees stars. rolls out of bed, lands on the floor with a soft thump.

today is clearly just not going to be his day.

steve can’t muster the energy to get up. instead, he drags himself across the floor. little by little. reaches the bathroom, throws an assortment of bottles from under the cabinet at the light switch until the room floods with light.

it’s too bright. his head gives a hearty throb. steve grips the edge of the bathroom counter and heaves himself off the ground. or tries to, anyway. it takes him a few tries before he’s upright, both of his feet under him.

getting ready is hard. he can realistically only brush his teeth and scrub on some deodorant. his hair is just going to have to look like a rat’s nest today. he doesn’t even bother looking in the mirror before stumbling out of the house.

steve doesn’t remember getting to school. he knows he drove, given that he’s sitting in the parking lot. the beemer is practically diagonal in the parking space.

he’s still in his sweats and a t-shirt, the look complete with three layers of sweaters and the biggest coat he could find. somehow, steve is both boiling and freezing. he’s definitely running a fever.

mr. osborne doesn’t comment on steve’s appearance when he stumbles into the classroom. he does, however, set steve’s exam on the corner of his desk instead of handing it to him directly. steve clumsily grabs it off the desk, trudging slowly to his seat.

the font on the paper is too small. or maybe steve’s eyes are just super out of focus. either way, it makes his brain pulse. his head feels like it’s full of wet cement, and steve is pretty sure his skin is on fire.

the room feels like it’s spinning. maybe he’s dying? steve thinks he’d be okay with that. no, he’d definitely be okay with that. if it saves him from being conscious right now, he’ll take it.

it doesn’t take steve long to just start circling random answers. he’s finding it harder and harder to stay upright and he just needs to be done. no one says a word when he drops his exam on the teacher’s desk and practically flings himself out the door.

he’s cold now. too cold. steve is forgetting rather quickly what warmth feels like. he needs to get to his car but he’s starting to forget where that is, too. he just keeps walking. ends up in the boy’s locker room.

steve slumps against a row of lockers. slides down to the ground with a groan and puts his head between his knees. if he dies here, so be it. he only wishes he’d made it the few extra feet to the showers, so he could die happily under the warm spray of water.

he must fall asleep, or black out, or something. because the next thing steve knows, he’s coming to with the sound of his name ringing in his ears.

“harrington. harrington. jesus christ.”

steve makes a noise of protest at the feeling of someone’s hands on his face. it makes the pressure in his head double. there’s a warm hand covering his forehead, and another tucked under his chin, holding his head up.

“fuck off, dad.”

distantly, he hears someone snort.

“‘m not your fuckin’ dad, harrington,” the person says.

the voice is familiar? kind of. steve’s ears feel like they’re stuffed with cotton - everything sounds distorted and distant. steve finally blinks at the person hovering in his line of sight. and - jesus. of course. of course it had to be him.

“billy? what’re you doing in my bathroom?”

the look billy gives him is both amused and exasperated. it’s an unfamiliar look for him.

“i hate to be the bearer of bad news, but…” billy starts, then pauses, brushing the sweat-matted hair from steve’s forehead. “last time i checked, this wasn’t your bathroom.”

steve blinks, glancing around. they’re surrounded by lockers and the stench of dirty gym socks. right. he’s still at school, dying a slow death on the grimy locker room floors.

“leave me here to die,” steve whines, his head falling back against the cool metal behind him. “my time has come.”

an honest-to-god laugh escapes billy’s lips. steve has to be dead. because he’s pretty sure billy hargrove is physically incapable of laughter.

“c’mon, pretty boy. can’t stay here forever,” billy coaxes once he sobers. “up and at ‘em.”

steve doesn’t move. billy doesn’t seem to care. he wedges both hands under steve’s armpits before hauling him off the ground, almost effortlessly.

and okay, steve knows billy is strong. he’s seen billy without a shirt on more times than he’s seen him dressed - he knows the guy is built like a truck. but steve hadn’t been expecting billy to be able to scoop him up with ease, like he’s nothing more than a rag doll.

it makes steve feel warm in a way that has nothing to do with his fever. it’s good that he’s sick - he likes having something to blame that feeling on. something other than the truth.

billy has one arm wrapped around steve’s waist. he slings one of steve’s arms around his neck, grabbing his hand to keep it in place. billy guides them out of the locker room with more patience than steve would’ve ever thought possible.

“where’s your car?” billy asks once they hit the parking lot, still supporting the majority of steve’s weight.

steve doesn’t think before burying his face into billy’s shoulder, shielding his eyes from the offending sunlight.

“what’s a car?”

“mother of god, harrington. fuckin’ useless,” billy groans. his voice is almost inaudible when he says, “you’re lucky you’re pretty.”

steve still hears it.

the camaro smells like cigarettes and billy’s cologne. steve lets billy tuck him into the passenger’s seat. doesn’t protest when billy leans in close to buckle him in.

the drive is a black spot in steve’s memory once again. one minute, billy is backing out of his parking space, and the next, they’re sitting in steve’s driveway.

billy pulls his keys from the ignition, then disappears out into the sunlight. a moment later, he’s guiding steve out of the car and into the house. steve is covered in a layer of sweat, so he must’ve been hot on the drive over. but he’s back to freezing again, his teeth chattering.

“you need to knock that fever down,” billy orders, kicking the door shut with his heel. “think you can handle that? i gotta get back for practice.”

steve nods slowly. billy releases him from his grip, and steve immediately folds in on himself, collapsing on the ground with a disgruntled moan.

“guess that answers that question,” billy mutters, squatting down next to steve. “you got anyone you can call, pretty boy? someone who can come stay with you?”

mentally thumbing through every person he knows, steve makes a face. shakes his head. because no, he doesn’t.

his parents probably wouldn’t fly home even if steve keeled over and died. his only friends at this point are middle schoolers. nancy is most certainly not an option. he could try jonathan, but he’s obviously still back at school and more than likely has work right after. god knows he can’t miss a fucking shift.

“‘m good. all good. super duper,” steve rambles, just on this side of delirious. “go to bed, jimmy.”

billy sighs, staring up at the ceiling with a look that screams this guy really is fucking hopeless.

“alright, alright. let’s get you in bed,” billy says, shaking his head in defeat.

he hauls steve up off the ground. somehow manages to drag steve’s nearly lifeless body up the stairs and into his room. billy tries to let steve down onto the bed gently, but steve slips from his grip and face-plants onto his mattress.

“mmm,” steve sighs appreciatively, swinging his legs onto the bed and curling up into a ball. “‘s like a cloud. soft cloud. fluffy…”

billy just gives him a look, one brow raised. “yeah? well, do me a favor and don’t leave the cloud, alright? i’ll be back soon.”

steve doesn’t remember where billy said he’s going. he doesn’t have the chance to ask, because billy disappears from his bedroom a moment later. he probably wouldn’t have had the strength to form a sentence anyway.

he lets his eyelids flutter shut. drifts for a while, in and out of consciousness. his body feels hot and cold all the while, and fever dreams do nothing to settle the tension building at the base of his neck.

the dreams are the same ones he always has, but also - not. they’re darker, more intense. more vivid. steve is pretty sure he can actually feel the bite of the demo-dog’s teeth shredding his calf. the impact of his nail bat colliding with the side of his head. the terrifying chill that settles in his bones when the mind flayer looms over him.

the life draining from the bodies of his friends.

steve comes to with a scream dying on his tongue. he sits up wildly, drenched in sweat. swings himself over the side of his bed and grabs his bat in one smooth motion. doesn’t think before swinging.

“jesus - fuck! the fuck, harrington? what the fuck - what are you doing? why do you even fuckin’ have that?”

the bat clatters to the floor, falling from steve’s hands. he looks at billy in horror, an apology stuck in his throat. “fuck, i’m - god, i’m so sorry. shit.”

“shit is right,” billy mutters. but he doesn’t leave.

he stays perched on the side of steve’s bed. leans in and rests his palm over steve’s forehead. swears under his breath when he does.

“if you’re done trying to kill me,” billy starts, still eyeing the discarded bat warily, “you need to take these. you gotta get that fever down.”

“sorry, i just. dreams. bad dreams,” steve says. a shudder runs through him, one that has nothing to do with his fever. his dreams still have his spine in their icy grip.

“that why you keep that under your bed? for some stupid fuckin’ dreams?”

steve makes a face, his cheeks burning. “they’re not - forget it. point is, i’m sorry.”

billy gives him a calculating look, his expression unreadable. then, he stretches out a hand. steve takes the concoction of pills gratefully, choking them down dry. billy rolls his eyes, grabbing the tea that steve had yet to spot from the side table and handing it to him.

“‘s good,” steve acknowledges, sipping the drink almost greedily. it warms his icicle fingers better than any blanket.

“mom’s recipe,” billy tells him, seemingly without thinking. he steels his expression immediately after, clearing his throat. “drink it all, it’ll help.”

“thanks.” steve continues to sip at his tea. “you don’t have to stay, you know. ‘m feeling better. i can take it from here.”

billy snorts. shakes his head. “yeah, good one. last thing i need is to see your dumbass on the news for trying to jump into the quarry after having one of your fuckin’ dreams again.”

that has nothing to do with steve being sick. he looks up sharply, giving billy a strange look. billy is staying with him because of his dreams now? if that’s the case, well. billy should be prepared for an extended fucking stay. steve says as much.

“beats going home,” is all billy says in response.

he gets up wordlessly, exiting steve’s room. steve hears his footsteps stomp down the stairs. continues to sip at his tea, rolling billy’s words around in his head.

it’s weird, knowing billy cares. it’s weird having billy be gentle with him, period. sick or not. but it seems like something practiced, something that billy has done a thousand times before.

he makes a mental note to ask him about that later.

for now, steve polishes off his tea. flops back onto his pillows, and falls into another restless slumber. this time, he dreams of blue eyes and heated, secret touches in dark corners.

he has to change his boxers when he wakes up.

his fever is down, though. at least a few degrees. steve gets changed, tossing his soiled boxers in his laundry basket, his cheeks flushed bright red. makes his way downstairs, noting that the sun has completely set.

steve hears the tv before he sees billy. pads into the living room, feeling his stomach flip flop at the sight of billy lounging on his couch. he just so happens to be in steve’s favorite spot, curled up under steve’s favorite throw blanket.

“fever’s down,” steve says, alerting billy of his presence. “not sure if that’s because of the meds, or the tea. either way, thanks for both.”

billy glances up at him, his brows coming together in mild concern. “you should be in bed.”

“and you should be home, not laying on my couch worrying about my sorry ass,” steve tells him with a shrug. moves to sit next to billy on the couch, eyes fixed on the tv without really taking in what’s playing.

“well. clearly, someone’s gotta.”

steve flinches, but doesn’t deny the truth to billy’s words. because honestly, he’s right. if billy doesn’t, no one will. and steve has clearly demonstrated that being on his own is not an option at the moment.

he’s about to speak, but billy beats him to it. “i, uh. made you some soup. chicken noodle, or what the fuck ever. ‘s in the fridge. just gotta warm it up.”

steve nods appreciatively. his stomach turns at the thought of food, but it also grumbles desperately. of all the things he has to eat in this house, soup seems to be his safest bet. he thanks billy before heading into the kitchen.

he’s just setting the time on the microwave when billy bursts in, waving steve away with an exaggerated sigh.

“who fuckin’ raised you, harrington? stovetop. always stovetop for soup,” billy lectures, shooing him away from the microwave.

steve watches him pull out a decent-sized pot, pouring the soup from his bowl into it before beginning to heat it on the stove.

“who raised you that made you so damn good at this shit?” steve asks incredulously, rolling his eyes.

billy clears his throat and turns fully towards the stove. doesn’t speak for a long moment, until, “mom did. ‘fore she died.”

steve swallows around the lump that has suddenly formed in his throat. “oh. i’m - shit. i’m sorry.”

all he gets in response is a half-hearted shrug, with billy’s back still to him. the silence stretches on, though it’s more melancholic than uncomfortable. soon, billy is dumping the soup back into the bowl, placing it and a spoon in front of steve.

“long time ago, harrington,” billy finally says. places the same mixture of meds on the counter beside him. “keep taking these. should knock that fever down completely by morning.”

“how’d she die?” steve blurts, then gives billy a horrified look. “jesus christ, i’m sorry. that wasn’t - i didn’t mean to pry. forget i asked.”

billy looks like he’s torn between wanting to turn and walk away, and wanting to genuinely answer the question.

steve is a little more than surprised when billy chooses the latter.

“brain cancer. she got sick a lot, during treatment. took care of her after her surgeries and shit, too. fuck knows dad never did.”

“do you miss her?” steve asks, quietly. doesn’t bother poking more at that bit of information about his father. knows that there’s a limit to this conversation.

“‘course,” billy says, his voice hot. irritated. then, that heat drains out of him, and he just looks tired. “wouldn’t you?”

steve looks down at his now half-empty bowl. feels that lonely echo bounce around in his chest. “uh, i don’t - i don’t really know. can’t say i know her very well.”

billy has this look of dawning realization on his face, before the shutters close over his expression once again. he gestures to the bowl in front of steve. says, “finish up. i’ll clean up when you’re done.”

steve does as he’s asked. if he’s good at one thing, it’s doing what’s expected of him. he’s got that going for him, at least.

true to his word, billy cleans up when steve is finished. then, heads back into the living room wordlessly. steve doesn’t ask if he’s allowed to follow - he just does it anyway. like, fuck it. it’s his house.

they take the same spots as before, but it feels different. it’s been like, twenty minutes max, but with the information that has just been shared between them, the silence between them is more amicable than anything.

“thanks,” steve says suddenly, peeling his eyes from the tv. “y’know, for helping me out today.”

billy shrugs. “‘s no big. you needed it.”

“yeah, well. you don’t see anyone else around offering a hand, do you?”

“point taken,” billy snorts. “you’ve got some shitty friends, you know that?”

“they have their reasons,” is all steve says. defensive.

because they do. steve knows that better than anyone. they all can hardly take care of themselves, much less each other. it comes with the monster-fighting territory. he’s long since gotten used to that - to them leaning on each other when the world is in danger of ending, and being lost in their own lives when things are calm.

what’s truly unfamiliar is having someone around that actually seems to want to take care of him. to offer help and support. steve knew people like that existed, objectively. he just never fucking expected billy hargrove to be one of them.

“sure they do,” billy tells him, his voice carefully neutral. “‘but ‘til they get their shit together, all you get is me.”

“‘s not so bad,” steve says, voice quiet.

steve doesn’t know if his subconscious intended it, but their knees knock together when steve says it. billy looks at him sharply, suddenly watching him like a hawk.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

another long stretch of silence follows. it seems to be a common occurrence between them. steve doesn’t mind as much as he would’ve thought.

soon, though, that tension begins to build again at the base of his neck. it happens every time he gets a fever, feeling like someone poured a gallon of wet concrete right where his spine meets his neck. steve rubs at it with a grimace, and billy notices.

“you should go lay down, get some more rest,” billy advises, eyeing him warily.

“i don’t want to be - um,” steve starts, then breaks off in the middle of his sentence. flushes cherry red. “i mean - i want to see the end. of the movie.”

billy gives him a long look, his brows raised in disbelief. steve thinks he’s going to push that, ask more questions, but he doesn’t. he just sits up, starting to move out of his spot.

“then lay down here, if you’re gonna be such a baby about it.”

steve glares at him without any real heat. “‘m not taking your spot.”

billy huffs out a disbelieving sigh, his eyes cast up at the ceiling. “fuckin’ hell, harrington. you’ve got like, ten couches. i think i’ll be alright.”

“but you were comfortable.”

they stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, but in reality was probably only about fifteen seconds.

then, billy lays back down, slowly but surely. keeps his eyes on steve the entire time. gestures to steve, then his chest. “fuckin’ come on, then.”

steve’s mouth pops open in surprise. “wait, you want me to - you’re just gonna - me? on you?”

billy cracks a small half-smile, steve is sure of it. it’s fleeting, but it’s there. “would you quit being such a fuckin’ whiny baby about everything and lay the fuck down?”

steve moves quickly, before billy can change his mind. shifts to lay down on billy, squirming and adjusting until he gets comfortable. he’s laying pretty much face-down on billy, his face pressed into his chest. he turns his head so that his cheek is resting there instead, so he can breathe, and also so he can see the tv. billy slings an arm around him casually, eyes turned back to the movie.

seemingly completely relaxed and nonchalant.

steve, on the other hand, feels tense and stiff as a board. too scared to move, for fear that billy will shove him away and tell him to get lost.

that is, until billy’s hand comes to rest at the small of steve’s back, his thumb making these little soothing circles into one of the dimples at the base of his spine. it’s through the shirt, but steve goes pliant anyway, bonelessly relaxed. drifts off again, this time with the grounding weight of billy beneath him.

steve doesn’t dream this time. in fact, he thinks it’s the most restful sleep he’s gotten in a while. he pries his eyes open when his brain starts to come back online, an hour or so later, emitting a soft groan of appreciation at the feeling of billy’s fingers running through his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

“you okay? ‘m not hurting you, am i?” billy asks, looking down at him with mild concern.

“feels good,” steve sighs into billy’s chest, curling deeper into his warmth. “keep doin’ it.”

billy answers with a soft snort, his fingers continuing their journey through his hair.

“you’re pretty cute when you’re not tryna punch me in the face,” steve mumbles, without thinking. his eyes pop open in horror, and he sits up a little, about to begin his ten part apology.

billy beats him to the punch. “yeah, well. you’re pretty cute when you’re fuckin’ helpless as shit. and when you sleep. you snore like a puppy, you know that?”

steve is pretty sure his cheeks flush tomato red. billy thinks he’s cute. since when the fuck did that happen?

he’s about to ask, but the hand billy isn’t using to comb through his hair comes up, cupping steve’s jaw. his thumb catches on steve’s bottom lip, and he gives him a soft smile. and like, since when the fuck did that happen?

billy hargrove and soft are not two things that naturally coexist. and yet, here they are, billy holding him like he’s a porcelain doll and telling him he’s cute.

steve really fucking wants to kiss him. even shifts forward to do so, but billy stops him.

“nuh-uh. no sir. not kissin’ you while you’ve got a fever,” billy tells him, shaking his head.

steve pouts a little, but can’t help the goofy grin that spreads across his face. “but you do want to kiss me?”

“would i be touchin’ you like this if i didn’t?”

“i dunno, would you?” steve asks, voice quiet. it’s meant to come out as teasing, but he can’t help the insecurity that bleeds into it.

billy gives him a soft look. tugs steve up close, before pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. then, tucks steve into his neck, wrapping his arms around him and holding on tight. safe and sound.

“no, i wouldn’t.”

steve lets out an audible sigh of relief. it was obvious to begin with, sure. but he’s been burned before. just had to double check, for the sake of his own sanity.

“fine. but for the record, as soon as this fever breaks, you’re in for a hell of a makeout session,” steve vows, pressing a series of lingering kisses to billy’s neck.

billy just laughs, his arms winding around him just a bit tighter.

“yeah, yeah. i’m holding you to that, princess.”

and steve? well, he’s beyond okay with that. he’s never been one to break a promise, anyway.

#i know this is a lot later than promised but here u go honey 💕#hope this satisfies your craving for sick!steve #sure as hell satisfied mine!!#harringrove #my fics #ask #j2badwolfclevergirl

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flutteringphalanges · 4 years ago

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Caught in a Riptide

Summary: After the infamous Count Dracula is discovered and taken into custody by the Jonathan Harker Foundation, former nun and now guardian to her young niece, Zoe, Agatha Van Helsing is tasked with keeping tabs on the vampire after a mishap leads to his release into modern day society. Can Agatha remain levelheaded, or will fate turn her onto a new path?

Pairing: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Rated: M

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: I’m back!! Finally, after dealing with some health issues I managed to get a chapter out! I hope you enjoy! Feedback/Reblogs/Likes are greatly loved and appreciated! -Jen

Chapter Seven

It's funny how just a few seconds can seem like an entire lifetime. At least, in Agatha's case, that's how she felt. Her eyes flickered between the two men, mind reeling as she tried to come to some set conclusion as to why both were present. Or if she should go into the defensive or offensive mode-not that she had much of a weapon on her besides her silly, cheap cross. It took Dracula calmly clearing his throat to snap her back into her senses.

"You look rather alarmed, Agatha." Dracula stated with a smile. "Like you've seen a ghost-or," his smile widened to a grin. "Are witnessing someone committing the act of murder."

She watched with bated breath as he moved to the table. From where she stood, Agatha could just make out a small, square object that rested on the surface. The vampire picked it up and examined it carefully before pulling out a few crisp dollar bills. A wallet. He looked from the still stunned woman to his other guest.

"Jimmy was just here dropping off my meal. Weren't you, Jimmy?" The vampire held out the money towards the young man. "I invited him in seeing as I didn't have the cash on me. I didn't want to be rude." Dracula let out a long exhale. "Keep the change. I know your profession doesn't pay you fairly. It is the least I can do," he paused. "All things considered." And once again that familiar flicker of mischievousness glimmered in his eyes. "If you'd leave now, I'd much appreciate it. I've kept Ms. Van Helsing waiting long enough."

The man-or "Jimmy" as he was so called, managed to stutter out a thank you. He gave Agatha a nod before pushing past her to escape out the door. Whether he knew of Dracula's true origin was unclear, but it was evident enough the vampire gave him some form of uneasy. Though it held no weight, the cross felt oddly heavy in her back pocket as the man motioned for her to step forward.

"I assure you I am very well aware of the terms and conditions involving my freedom." He commented, pulling out a chair for her to sit in. "And while I do have my urges, the idea of not being locked in a cage and used for experimental purposes quells those...desires."

Reluctantly, Agatha took a seat ignoring the Count's smile. She knew he was watching her, observing her every move externally and perhaps even internally. The woman knew she needed to keep her heartbeat steady, pulse regular. Any sign that could be regarded as fear would only play to his amusement. Keeping her guard down, especially now, was the utmost of importance.

"If you don't mind, I'm going to pour myself a drink." Dracula said, grabbing the paper bag and pulling out its contents. A wine bottle shaped flask filled with a dark liquid. Agatha knew what it was, but she didn't like to think about it. After filling his cup, he set it down.

"So," he continued. "Can I get you anything?"

"I'm fine." Agatha said currently, trying to keep her voice level. "I'm not thirsty."

"I thought you'd say that." The vampire exhaled, shaking his head. "But I thought I'd ask to be polite." He took a small sip, the contents lightly sloshing as he did. "I want to apologize about the night before. I acted like…"

"A monster?" The former nun said curtly with a frown. "A mad man?"

Dracule smirked, chuckling at her remarks. "I was going to say rash, but I suppose those would fall under the same category." He left her side once again to retrieve what appeared to be a file folder resting neatly on the table. "Anyway, I'd like to move past it. Put it behind us. Even beasts make mistakes."

"You could've killed me," Agatha replied, eyes following his every move. "Why didn't you?"

"You're right," the Count nodded. "I very well could've. Even with that ridiculously cheap excuse of a cross you have in your pocket." Her eyebrows raised in surprise as he continued. "But having you dead would've served no use to me. I'm a calculated man, Agatha. While your blood is very, very tempting, getting it from a slip up like that would be...undesirable." The Count smiled as he finally took a seat across from her. "And again, we have that contract to think about."

Before she could comment, the vampire slid the collection of papers over to her. Meeting his stare, Agatha hesitantly took the folder and opened it. Though she didn't exactly want to break eye contact, the woman glanced down at the sheets below. Photos. A birth certificate. License. An entire history made up of a made up person-sort of. His new background. A perfect gateway into modern society that was virtually untraceable to who he really was. Renfield had done well.

"Vlad Balaur," she mumbled.

"Dracula seemed to be a stretch unfortunately, so this was the second choice." The Count replied simply. "Do you like it?"

"26 May 1967." Agatha continued, ignoring his question. After a moment, she looked up. "You're lucky you can pull off looking 53 and not 530." Exhaling, Agatha pushed the pile back over to the man. "Your lawyer did well. I certainly hope you are paying him for all of this work."

Dracula merely chuckled as he took the thick folder. "I'm not an unreasonable man. I pay Frank accordingly. Based, of course, on the service he provides." He lifted his glass of blood, the rim stained with dark crimson from where he sipped. "I can have copies for you made, if you so desire. I know how important it is for your precious Foundation to know about my whereabouts." For a brief moment, his dark eyes flickered playfully. "For you to know."

The woman's stomach churned as the vampire took a large swig of his drink. Why did he have to feed in front of her? Probably because he knew it made her squirm. When he set the cup down, he smiled widely, teeth seeming sharper than a moment before. She prayed it was merely a trick of her imagination.

"What are your plans now that you are free to roam around England on your own accord?" Agatha inquired, straightening in her chair. "Surely you must have something in mind?"

"Believe it or not, after being asleep for over a hundred years, there is quite a lot to take in." Dracula nudged his now empty glass aside. "So many advances in technology. Science. History. I've done quite a lot of reading myself, but the modern world is very enriched. However," he held up his index finger. "It's quite hard when you're only limited to the night hours. My body doesn't exactly fair well in the sun. Call it an extreme allergy if you will."

"As I am very well aware," Agatha huffed. "But that doesn't exactly answer my question. What are your plans, Count Dracula?"

"I think you mean our plans," the vampire smirked. The look on the woman's face said it all and his smile only widened. "You honestly didn't think our interactions would just be the two of us discussing our adventures over tea did you?" His fingers laced together, tips ending in sharp, talon line nails. "You, Agatha Van Helsing, are going to be my escort. And what an honor, I might add, that is."

Agatha's jaw dropped. "Your...your what?!"

"Escort, tour guide, chaperone...whatever you wish to call it." He dismissively waved his hand. "In other words, you and I will be spending a lot of nights together under the starry skies of England. Or cloudy? I have reason to believe it rains a lot, or am I mistaken?"

"The only thing you're mistaken of is the preposterous idea of me ever agreeing to this!" The woman snapped. "My understanding was that we would meet face to face occasionally at your flat! Not that I'd spend quality time with you out and about!"

"Well if that's the case, it would seem that our two overseers have decided our fates without consulting us." Dracula smirked as he met Agatha's cold stare. "Both Mr. Renfield and Dr. Bloxham have come to the conclusion that this seems like a fair and fit decision and who am I to argue?"

She'd committed. Told Bloxham she'd do whatever the scientist wanted. But this...this wasn't what she had in mind. Agatha silently cursed at herself, mentally berated her brain for being so stupid. Of course these interactions wouldn't be just mere meetings. No...no the Harker Foundation wanted more than that. Immersing herself was one thing. This was the equivalent of being tied to a stone and thrown into a river like a woman during a witch trial. Count Dracula was to be a part of her life no matter how hard she kicked and screamed to swim back to the surface.

""I will completely and utterly immerse myself into Count Dracula's life…"

Agatha's own words replayed in her mind like a broken record as she sat there grinding her teeth. She could feel the vampire watching her expectantly, waiting to hear what she had to say. He seemed cool. Collected. Of all people, shouldn't he be against the idea of being watched like a hawk? But there he sat seemingly without a care in the world. Secretly, she was sure, reveling in her misfortune.

"I'd say you're rather exhausted, Agatha." Dracula exclaimed, breaking the silence. "Perhaps you should go home and rest. I'd offer up my flat, but I think that little Zoe would worry."

"Don't say her name," the woman muttered. "You don't get to say her name."

The vampire gave a half smile. "Get some rest, Ms. Van Helsing. I have quite the itinerary planned for tomorrow." His movements almost gave off the impression of gliding as he corked the bottle of blood he'd been consuming and strode over to the refrigerator. "Shall I walk you to your car or-"

But Agatha had already snatched up her keys and stormed towards the door before he could finish. Dracula snorted softly, shaking his head. She was certainly turning out to be much more interesting than he had initially suspected. Perhaps whatever the Foundation had planned for him would be more in his favor than they'd ever begin to realize. Games were always more enticing when both sides were competitive. And Agatha Van Helsing was the perfect prize.

XXX

Agatha didn't even acknowledge the box of biscuits that fell onto the floor as Jack jumped in surprise as she swung the front door wide open. Flinging her semi closed purse onto the counter, she stormed over to the couch and collapsed. She was tired, but not exhausted enough to feel furious.

"How did it go?" There was hesitation in Jack's voice as he asked. A sense of fear that one gets when staring at a poisonous viper head on. "Did he have anything important to say?"

"Did Zoe behave for you?" Agatha replied in a monotone, eyes fixed on the television screen. Some adult cartoon was on that she vaguely recognized but didn't care enough to remember the name. "I hope she didn't give you a hard time."

"She caused absolutely no issues," the doctor assured her. "It was like she wasn't even there. Well," he paused. "I did read her two bedtime stories-her request, but other than that, she went to bed without a fuss. She did want to hang out though so maybe the three of us could go out to do something together sometime to distract your mind from…"

"They have me babysitting him!" The woman declared sharply, finally turning to face her friend. "He's talking like we're going on some date tomorrow. Bloxham has me taking him around wherever he wants to go as it is a part of this bloody contract I didn't read the fine print of!" Agatha groaned, massaging her temples. "When I started...I didn't think…Honestly, I don't know what I thought."

She chewed absentmindedly on her bottom lip as Jack sat beside her. He stared at her with those big blue eyes of his. It was a familiar look. Innocent. Sheltered. The young man had witnessed much in his short life and yet there was an aura of goodness to him. Loyalty. Something Agatha personality believed she didn't deserve. A friend whose companionship she'd never be able to match.

"I don't think any of us knew what to expect when we found him." Jack commented, resting a hand on her knee. "Especially you given your family's...history." He paused only to reach the clicker to turn off the show. "If I'm to be honest, Agatha, at first, I didn't actually think he existed. Maybe some part of me did-I worked at the bloody Harker Foundation. But when he actually showed up...I guess what I'm trying to say is Bloxham has no right to do what she's doing."

"Right or not, I don't exactly have a choice in the matter," Agatha frowned. "When I wanted to study him, learn about who he was and what he was, I didn't exactly think that meant I was going to be forced to spend every waking minute with him-well, every his waking minute. But I have to do this for my sake and Zoe's."

Jack cocked a brow in confusion. "What does this have to do with Zoe?"

"I made a commitment." She admitted, running a hand through her hair. "...Moreso Bloxham has me backed into a corner. If I don't go through with this, then she can make my life a living Hell." Agatha held up her hand as the man tried to interject. "If I could get out of this, I already would've, but I don't have a choice, Jack. It'll be like that movie Interview with a Vampire, but instead of an eager biographer wanting to learn Louis de Pointe du Lac's story, I'm forced to take my vampire on a railway trip."

Jack started to chuckle into his hand earning him a curious look from Agatha. A small smile graced his features as he straightened up, clearing his throat before speaking.

"Sorry," he grinned. "Didn't take you for a movie buff."

"I suppose I can sometimes be unpredictable." Agatha admitted with a small smile. "Anyway, the fact of the matter is, I wanted to learn about Dracula on my terms, not someone else's. Especially since he's a bigger prick than I imagined."

"He murdered people," the man stated. "How big of an ass were you expecting?!"

"Someone whose ego wasn't so large it'd overtake all of Europe and then some." She said folding her arms over her chest. "He's unbearable, Jack, and he knows it. Relishes in it. And I'm stuck with him like gum on the bottom of a shoe." Agatha let out a long exhale. "Curiosity killed the cat, and I already feel like I'm on my eighth life. Why of all things did I have to be a Van Helsing? Smith is a nice last name. Or Wilson. I'd go as far as Bigglesworth."

"You are not a Bigglesworth," Jack laughed. "Besides, Van Helsing is pretty bad ass. It has its perks."

Agatha let out a soft chuckled before her mouth curved into a genuine smile. Gently she rested her head on Jack's shoulder, her eyes fixed on the blank screen of the television.

"What am I going to do, Jack?" She mumbled.

"What you always do," he replied softly. "Take what's thrown at you into your own hands and make it work. At least, that's what the Agatha I know would do."

"I'm taking the window seat," Agatha yawned, closing her eyes.

"The window seat?" The doctor inquired, his brows knitting in confusion. "What window seat?"

"The window seat," she repeated. "If I'm taking that beast on a train, I'm taking the window seat."

Jack grinned over at the former nun as she began to nod off. "Agatha Van Helsing, you never cease to amaze me."

"Good," she answered. "I plan to keep it that way."

And without another word, she drifted off into the dark world of unconsciousness. Far, far away from her worries and troubles that would live to see another day.

#Dracula #Dracula 2020 #Dragatha #Agatha Van Helsing #Dracula x Agatha #Caught in a Riptide

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originlist · 5 years ago

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CHARACTER INTERVIEW. ( repost, don’t reblog )

tagged by: @zhrets tagging: @sereinya @caemthe (emer) @ryogai @glorytoclorin (whichever muse ur vibin)

name: antonio salieri. alias: avenger. the man in grey. amadeus alter. age: unknown (late 30s) family: parents he barely remembers. one brother he recalls in any detail, a few he can’t. two successive adoptive fathers he recalls slightly better but not great. his wife therese, and a son who died young. tfw you outlive literally uh ur whole family significant other: the answer to this being liri’s mozart depends mostly on how irritating mozarts been in the last thirty minutes. hes on thin ice.

PERSONAL.

religious belief: banging on the doors of heaven screaming at the top of his lungs at god about the world being unfair and demanding answers sins: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath virtues: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice primary goals in life: he says it’s to kill mozart but really - that’d erase him as well, and he’s not sure about that. he wants fairness, justice. he wants to be able to compose again. he wants to know that there’s a world for humanity with a piano in it and with people who sing. for there to be a certainty in the world that god loves all his creations. known languages: all, thanks to the grail. originally italian french and german. secrets: he’d love to have some but unfortunately he blathers constantly and is far too easy to read for anyone’s comfort. he does try to keep it somewhat on the down-low that mozart continuing to live matters to him just as much as killing mozart does but like [gestures vaguely]. he also does try to minimise the fact that he is A Sap. savvies: he picks up musical instruments really quick. he’s a good singer. he’s shockingly good at playing music on improv considering the fact that he can’t hear what he’s improvising. also he’s good at things that involve a weird amount of meticulousness. like this is going to sound bonkers but, for example, in my family its a tradition with christmas cookies to try and write as long a phrase as possible in chocolate jimmies and see how much u can fit on a cookie. in sprinkles. that kind of thing where its just ‘do u want to be really meticulous about something totally irrelevant’, salieri would be weirdly good at.

PHYSICAL.

build: scrawny / bony / slender / fit / athletic / curvy / herculean / pudgy / average height: 5′11″ i..think... scars / marks: he’s got burn scars over the front of his throat and more on his forearms. his hands are, fortunately, free of scarring. some miscellaneous scars on his midsection, also burns. he literally has no recollection whatsoever of what actual event could have possibly caused these- the ones on his neck he knows are from the rumor (wildfire) that he slit his own throat, even though it’s not ‘reality’ he’s still marked by it, but the others are a mystery to him. abilities / powers: the ability to recall multiple timelines as well as know the ‘truth’ of correct history. creation of sound that will cause extreme emotional duress in any listeners. straight up fucking made of fire sometimes. making swords, summoning familiars, other servant abilities. plays the most badass version of dies irae known to man. restrictions: the depression. a wavering sense of identity. the fact that he is the manifestation of innocent monster, which requires a level of self awareness that the way he suffers is unfair, which does exactly what you’d expect to his mentality. regularly forgets the fact that, when hes in his human form, he still has servant abilities (aka he’ll use his servant strength/speed when he’s the man in grey on the battlefield and then once he swaps back to his human body he literally straight up forgets he still has enhanced physical parameters).

FAVOURITES.

food: anything sweet. he will literally eat straight sugar cubes sometimes. no limits drink: tea or coffee but with like, ungodly cream/sugar. once i went to a really high end coffeeshop and added so much sugar to my drink that the waiter gave me a look of unabashed horror, and that’s what salieri’s doing. god wouldn’t approve of his actions. pizza topping: he will put pineapple on pizza just to make someone upset. honestly tho he doesn’t really care bc he doesn’t eat pizza much. colour: reds are nice. music genre: opera and the various sorts of church music. mostly opera though. he likes things with a lot of emotion to them! he’d be into musicals, too, in terms of modern music. book genre: he doesn’t read much, oops! he prefers to listen to his media. movie genre: he’s not picky..... he thinks dramedies are fun though. season: spring. curse word: he tries not to curse... scent(s): sawdust, petrichor, spring flowers

RANDOM.

bottom or top: i say he has switch rights but i am clinging to this by my fingertips as i am kicked into a pit called ‘hes bottoming’ sings in the shower: no he sings outside of the shower likes bad puns: depends on the pun. and the delivery of said pun

#headcanon : salieri #dash games

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fancifulwritings · 5 years ago

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The Song Remains The Same

Chapter Twelve

They stood in that silence for a moment. Minutes felt like they turned to hours, and then days. This sort of silence was all encompassing. Jimmy, the evil genius he was, had finally managed to do the impossible. What did you do with this? What were the repercussions down the road?

As far as Calypso, no one had ever come back to life, except for maybe Jesus, and certainly no one had ever de-aged. Did this count as desecration of corpse? Would they think that Bonzo had faked his death all those years ago? The other boys would be an even bigger problem. There was no way to explain this to people without telling them the whole truth. Therein laid the problem.

Perhaps now was not the best time to worry about this. Other issues had to be dealt with. Calypso was jumping ahead. Those were problems they could figure out in the months to come. That is, if she got to stay. It was still unclear. Robert might not want her to stay and she didn’t want to just assume she would be welcomed in.

“Well, shall you wake him or shall I?” Calypso asked in an attempt to break the silence. She held no intentions of waking John Bonham after a two-decade long nap.

Given his reputation, she was sure the idea of the situation wouldn’t be weird. An unknown woman waking him, granted this time in a graveyard. Calypso was sure the initial part must has happened time and time again in the past. But, again given his reputation, Calypso didn’t want to be that woman, didn’t want to risk it. A friendly face would be better.

John Paul would have to be that friendly face. No one else could be it. Calypso so wished that Robert would have come. He was the one that Bonzo was more likely to get in trouble with. This was a weird scenario. No, weird didn’t cover it. This was a downright bizarre place to be. Robert would make Bonzo question it a little less, at least for a bit. But, she understood why he had to stay back with Jimmy.

“I can,” John Paul chuckled. He must have heard the nerves in her voice. “As pretty of a face as you are, I think it’s best if I handle it. Someone he knows might be best,” he said with a smile. She was just glad she wouldn’t be causing the scene.

Jonesy’s eyes never seemed to leave Bonzo’s form. He walked over slowly, deliberately. He motioned for her to stay put and she just chuckled. Her last intention was to move. They would need a bit of space. She was sure of that. No need to crowd them around and rush into meeting Bonzo. It would be quite a moment.

It was a moment to remember forever. Seeing someone after a long time was always exciting. Seeing someone after an impossibly long time? These sort of reunions only happened in heaven. Calypso couldn’t imagine the joy in Jonesy’s heart. She could only touch it with daydreams of reuniting with her mother. Simply being involved overwhelmed her.

There was caution in the air, though. One wrong move and everything came crashing down around them. It was a sort of nightmare. Perhaps it was one that Jonesy had before. So close to waking his friend, saving him from the other side, only for him to disappear in the end.

Jonesy crouched down next to Bonzo, who’s back was to him, and he simply sat there for a moment. Did he ruin it yet?

His touch to Bonham’s shoulder was light. The mood shifted at once. This was all real. It was all real and none of it was going to melt away. “Hey Bonz,” Jonesy whispered. There was a familiar in John’s tone that touched Calypso’s heart. How long had he waited to say those words?

“Hey, John, you gotta get up. I need you to get up now,” he said. He nudged a bit more at the drummer’s shoulder. Clearly he was trying to rouse Bonham, but a second fear seemed to be gripping Jonesy.

John was physically in front of them, there was no arguing that. Jimmy’s magic had worked. It had repaired John’s body and restored it to how he looked in 1973. But what if that was it? Just a physical restoration and nothing past. The magic had been strong enough for this, but had it been strong enough to return his soul?

Bonzo’s eyes fluttered a little bit. That didn’t help Jonesy any, and the fear gripped him. Calypso thought for a second he might just slouch to the ground in defeat and despair. Bonzo shifted and turned toward Jonesy as his eyes opened.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry ‘bout that mate. Morning and shit,” he mumbled. He propped himself up with his right hand and wiped the sleep out of his eyes with the other.

The relief and joy on Jonesy’s face was clear and obvious. He had a grin painted ear to ear. For a second, it looked as if Jonesy might just grab Bonzo by the face and kiss him. Calypso prayed he didn’t.

“Didn’t mean to worry ya, just out like a…” He cut himself short and looked around, before flinging himself backwards. It was clear he was confused and trying to make space between himself and Jonesy.

Bonzo’s violent backward scoot stopped when he pressed himself against his grace. “Why the fuck do you look like nineteen seventy fucking two?” He demanded. He was frantically searching the area and clearly took in all the graves around him. He turned and looked at his own. From where Calypso stood, she assumed he could only make out his name and the day he died. That would be more than enough.

“A grave? A fucking grave? This shit isn’t funny Jones,” he screamed. It was a primal sort of rage she had never seen before. He attempted to stand up. To both Jonesy and Calypso, it was obvious his body was stiff. And for good reason, after all. Bonzo had no idea why, though.

“What a sick fucking joke. I don’t know how Robert got you in on this, but don’t deny it. I know that smile,” he said as he pointed a finger. “Where’s Percy? Where’s the wee lad? I’m gonna kick his fucking ass this time.”

“Hey John,” Jonesy said softly. Calypso was glad that John was the one handing this. It would have been too much for her to handle. Even as it was now, this was still too much. All she could hope was that she wouldn’t be noticed by Bonzo.

She didn’t look like Robert’s ex-wife, she knew that. She was a little tanner than the average white person, but nothing past that. She certainly wouldn’t be mistaken for a middle aged Indian woman. Thankfully, she seemed forgotten for the time.

“Hey, John,” Jonesy said softly. His hands were outstretched to help his friend up and to steady him. It was also not a bad point of control. Though, it wasn’t likely that the twig-like John stood a chance against the beasty John. “I need you to slow down, just listen to me, alright?” He kept his voice level and calm.

“Just tell me where the fuck Perce is and then we can deal with anything else later,” Bonzo demanded.

“There’s a lot we’ve got; I’ve got to tell you. There’s a lot,” he trailed off as he looked around.

Was there more fitting of a place than a graveyard to be having a mental breakdown? Calypso couldn’t think of one. The one Bonzo might be leading himself into though? That was something that needed to be dealt with privately. She knew this wasn’t the place, and Jonesy seemed to be thinking the same. Bonzo was having none of it, his friend’s words going in one ear and out the other.

“Just. Tell. Me. Where. Percy. Is.” Bonzo demanded. Calypso now understood why reporters hadn’t been allowed to look at him. “It can’t be that fucking hard, Jones.”

“John,” he said with a warning tone, “I’ll explain everything in the car. Hell, I plan on bringing you straight to Robert. It’s his bloody car we’re in. Just trust me,” he said.

There was a glimmer of fight in John. A waving that suggested he could go one of two ways. That fight was drowned out. By what, there was no way to know specifically. Something about Jonesy probably hit him, and Calypso understood now why Jonesy was the better choice than Robert. Would they both have just started fighting in the middle of the graveyard?

“Yeah, fine, as long as you know I’m kicking Robert’s ass the second I see him,” he said with a glare.

“Of course, whatever you want,” Jonesy said dismissively. He knew better than that. By the time they got back to Robert’s, Bonzo likely wouldn’t have any fight in him.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re not sneaking me off early to the tour, though, are ya? Pat was pissed the last time you did that,” Bonzo said.

“No, no tour this time Bonzo.”

“Well, then what the fuck was the point of rehearsals? Ain’t we got one in a month?” He asked. He turned to look at the grave. His eyes widened as he took in the details.

“Oh, well of course John. We’re just not sneaking you out early. No point in that.” Jonesy laughed nervously. “No games or anything or the like.”

Bonzo looked around again, locking eyes momentarily with Calypso. She held her breath, afraid he might say something about her. Would she refuel the fire? She was too afraid to blink for those few seconds, until he turned back to Jonesy, and then his gravestone.

Jonesy, naturally, noticed this. The last thing he wanted to do was give him the talk here. At least a car was a partially controlled situation. “C’mon John, we gotta get going. We’re bound to catch a cold out here,” he said. He gently tugged on Bonzo’s forearm. Bonzo moved with him. Fight, for now, seemed to have left his body.

Staring at one’s own grave easily silence a man, even if Bonzo believed it was a prank. Calypso felt like her brain had turned to soup. John was working on absolutely no knowledge of what was really going on. Waking up somewhere strange probably wasn’t weird. It came with the crowd. But this was a level of weird she doubted even Zeppelin could have touched back in the day.

Bonzo’s eyes scanned wildly as he and John walked. He needed to take everything in. He needed to find some sort of clue as to what was going on. As they walked by Calypso, Jonesy motioned for her to fall behind them.

“Who’s the lass following us?” Bonzo asked with a tilt of his head.

“A friend of Robert’s,” Jonesy answered softly.

“He’s keeping one in England now? He’s gotten daring, or he’s just fucking stupid. Especially finding one so quickly. She wasn’t with us last night, right?” Bonham continued. John Paul flinched.

“No, no she wasn’t with us last night. I’m not sure where he picked her up,” John Paul replied. She couldn’t imagine having to play it off like this. It was the best for now. Telling him that last night was over two decades ago might not be the best in the middle of a graveyard.

“And she’s with you? You never let them near you.”

“Yes, well, I suppose I’ve given up. Percy’s gonna do what he’s gonna do, I suppose,” John Paul said with a shrug. “Calypso, would you mind driving?” He asked her.

“I don’t mind at all,” she said with a smile. The idea of having to drive here unnerved her just a bit. She’d not been planning to. None of this was really anything she had been planning to do. Being stuck in the back of a car with John Bonham, freshly reanimated, wasn’t her idea of a fun day.

“I’ll tell you where to go its, just… best,” he said. He glanced at Bonham for a minute and she nodded. Thankfully, Bonham didn’t seem to notice. He was too focused on the car in front of them. He tossed her the car keys before she slipped into the driver’s seat.

“An American in London,” Bonzo chuckled. “He exporting them in too? You sure I’ve only been out in the graveyard a few hours?” He asked as he got in the car. Calypso was buckling herself as he spoke. Her stomach dropped. Without even knowing it, Bonzo had trapped Jonesy in the corner. His guts had to be spilled now, or somehow never.

They both slipped into the car, wordlessly. The uncomfort was obvious on Jonesy’s face. “John, actually, I think we need to talk,” he said softly. He never once glimpsed at Bonham.

“I’m only kidding, I know how long I’ve been out mate. I don’t have a drinking problem,” he said. There was a firmness in his voice. This was a conversation they had before, in the past. No doubt John Paul would try to get his friend to stop. John Paul, out of all of them, might have been the most levelheaded. He would have seen the writing on the wall.

“Actually, John, you did have a bit of a drinking problem.” Jonesy didn’t look at Bonzo when he talked. His eyes were starting to fill with tears. How do you tell someone about their own death? “Out of here, Calypso,” he said, his voice a bit more even. “You’re going to take the immediate right, and then go straight for quite some time,” he said.

Driving gave her something else to focus on, she realized. As much as she wanted to hear the conversation in the back, she knew that she couldn’t ease drop that much. The Johns would need a touch of privacy. She needed to make sure to stay on the left side of the road.

“We’ve gone through this Jones,” he said in a warning tone.

“No, John, there’s a few things you need to know before we get back to Robert’s.”

“What about Robert’s? We were at Jim’s last night, ain’t that where we’re supposed to be?” His tone was one still filled a bit with anger. More anger than Calypso felt totally comfortable with. Jonesy only seemed able to sigh.

“What’s today’s date, Bonz?”

“26th of September, unless I slept through more than a day.” Calypso couldn’t help the small chuckle that left her mouth.

“Oh, is it this right John?” She said, trying to play off her laugh. It was likely to only make Bonzo angrier.

“Yes, it is. This right and then there’s gonna be a left not long after, take that,” he answered before turning back to face his friend. “What year is it John?” There was a strain in his voice. He likely thought that this would be easier to do. Perhaps, in some odd way, John had hoped Bonzo would remember being dead, or at least not here.

“1980, like it has been all year, you twat,” Bonzo said with a roll of his eyes.

“Calypso, dear, would you mind telling me the year?” John asked without looking up to her.

“2007,” she mumbled gently. She didn’t want to be involved in this. It was the last thing she wanted to be dragged into. “December 12th, exactly if you want that too,” she said. She hoped this would absolve her from doing anything else.

“Very fucking funny,” John answer angrily. “She’s Robert’s girl, you can’t expect me to believe her, can you?” John talked with his hands. The movements seemed to get a bit jerkier and jerkier with every movement. Was this fear? Or was this him trying to restrain anger?

“Calypso, do you mind sharing your birthday? I know it’s not proper to ask a lady…”

“April 20th, 1986,” she said. Apparently there was no getting her out of this trap. Jonesy was going to drag her down the deep end with him. “This left, yes?”

“No, no, the next one. My apologies,” he said. “After that, you’ll just want to follow the road.”

“This isn’t a funny sort of joke, Jonesy. I don’t know what Robert set you up to do, but cut it out. Think you’re clever to get the girl in on it?” He rolled his eyes, glancing out the window. There was a pause for a moment.

“John Henry Bonham,” he said with a sigh, “you need to listen to me. You died, you died that night in 80. You choked to death on your own damn vomit.” Anger rose for the first time in John Paul.

Calypso couldn’t blame Jonesy. He had years and years of pent up emotions about Bonzo. They likely ranged anywhere from just pure sorrow to homicidal rage. With the man in front of him, how could Jonesy keep it together? How couldn’t he get mad at his friend who destroyed himself?

“If you don’t want to believe me, we can pull over and ask any damn person you want to. I don’t suggest that, but if you want it, by all means,” Jonesy said while shrugging. Calypso felt her stomach knot. The last thing she wanted to do was pull over in a car with two rock stars straight out the seventies.

“Because you don’t want to get caught in a lie.”

“No, because me and the other guys just had a gig last night, and those pictures are probably already everywhere, with pictures of us from back in the day. They might just recognize us now, and you’re not alive legally,” he said with a sigh.

“They won’t be in the press anytime soon. For that to happen, they’d have to go through Peter, and then the press still wouldn’t get them until tonight,” he said. It was clear that he didn’t want to believe this. Could she blame him? It was a line of thought that just didn’t seem possible.

“Grant can’t stop anything, Bonz. Peter Grant died in-��

“-1995,” John Paul and Calypso said together. She was already in the situation, and perhaps if they both knew that fact, he might just believe them. This back and forth would kill her. They just needed to get it over with.

There was a pause. An uncomfortable silence filled the car. Calypso would have fiddled with the radio to break the silence, but she didn’t know how to. Didn’t dare play around with things in Robert’s car. As it was, she had enough to focus on.

“Lass, what year did you say you were born in again?” Bonzo asked after a moment.

“86,” she said softly, “It’s this turn, right John?” She asked.

“Yes, this one. And then just keep going, I’ll tell you when the next turn gets close,” he said with a smile. From there, a silence once again filled the car. This one wasn’t uncomfortable, this one was heavy.

Peering into the review mirror, Calypso got a glimpse of Bonzo’s face. It looked concerned, angry, but mostly just extremely sad. It had to be a lot to take in at once for him. It seemed that perhaps now Bonzo was soaking in what was being told to him. Calypso let out a sigh of relief. John Paul looked just as relieved.

“So, this wasn’t some sort of elaborate joke put on by Perce? You swear?”

“I swear, Bonzo. You know I never side with him anyways,” he said. There was a sideways sort of smile on his face. “But, no Bonz, you’ve really been dead,” he said.

“That doesn’t explain all this, though. Doesn’t explain like we’re about to go record the third bloody album again,” he said. John hadn’t managed to see himself yet. Having seen John, he was a bit too scared to see what he looked like.

“John, I’m afraid straight isn’t an option anymore. Left or right?” Calypso asked gently. She hated to burst in. There was no other option, though. They needed to get home as fast as possible.

“My apologies, it’s the right,” he said. “After this, it really is going to be a straight away,” he said with a smile. “And Jimmy’s your explanation for all this, John. When isn’t he?” John Paul said with a smirk.

“He worked some sort of magic back in 73, after the filming to keep us there forever or something. Ask him when we get back,” he said with a shrug. He glanced at Calypso for a second. She prayed she didn’t mention anything about her right now. She couldn’t read John.

If John was angry about this, upset about it, then surely he would end up taking it out on her. She still blamed herself. At the end of the day, she was the magic switch that had set everything off. Jimmy set it up, but she was the first falling domino.

Bonham looked at her for a moment. She could feel his eyes on her. His mind was whirling, no doubt. Calypso just feared what he might be thinking. “Why now? What’s changed? Is it the lass?” He asked, cocking his head toward her for a second.

“Yeah, she and Robert are in love or something like that, something stupid,” he chuckled.

“And how’s his Mo feel about this?”

“They’ve been divorced forever, God probably since the 80s?” He said with a shrug. “It’s what they feel, I guess. And what Jimmy felt like doing,” he said.

“That little fucking,” Bonham mumbled. “I’m gonna throttle Jimmy when I see him.” There was no way of saying how genuine that was. Sure, it seemed like a mild inconvenience to everyone else. But Bonzo? Did he really have a leg to stand on when it came to being mad with Jimmy? Didn’t he have the most to gain from this?

“Hey, John, this looks familiar. Is it this right?” She asked softly.

“Yes, it is. This should be Robert’s house now, if I’ve remembered the right way.” He sighed before turning to face Bonzo yet again. “And if you could just calm down. It’s a long story, I’m sure he’ll be happy to give it you once we get back in,” Jonesy said.

“And your Mo, how’s she feel about this?”

“She’s just as young as us, I thought I woke up in a dream,” he said with a smile. He paused for a minute, clearly relieving it. To wake up not only young again, but to wake up to your loved one young as well? It seemed to be a fairytale come true.

Calypso drove slowly up the driveway, not remembering it being this long. As she glanced in the back, she couldn’t help but smile. It was written all over John Paul’s face how much he loved his face. To be so in love after forty something years of marriage? Calypso could only hope the same for herself.

“So my Pat?” Bonham’s voice was filled with hope. Perhaps for the first time since they had picked him up, he sounded something positive. Her heart broke when she knew what had to be said next.

“We haven’t heard from her,” John Paul paused. The hope and sheer love in Bonham’s eyes disappeared, fear and sadness replacing them. If Peter Grant could be dead, what of his Pat? “So we can’t know for sure. Jimmy has her contact information, though. So he might have a better answer for you,” he tacked on quickly.

“Do you mind if run on in head first, just to let them know we’re here and all?” She was sure that Robert had noticed the car. If she was them, she’d be sitting right by the window. Half the reason she had been happy to go was that she wouldn’t have to wait for the answer.

#the song remains the same #robert plant fanfiction #robert plant fanfic #led zeppelin fanfic #led zeppelin fanfiction

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numba99 · 6 years ago

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Hate to Love You Part 8

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Summary: You and Jimmy have never gotten along. To say you hated each other would be an understatement. But when a night at a party takes an unexpected turn, things between the two of you change forever. Word Count:2,225

Warnings: Smut, some aggression

“Jimmy,” a faint voice pulled you from your sleep. At first you thought you were dreaming, shutting your eyes again to rest some more. But then you heard it again.

“Jimmy?” It was Brady, and his voice was louder. Closer. You and Jimmy must have made the realization at the same time shooting up from the bed together. Your eyes went wide looking at each other. Fuck this is not good, it sounds like he was right down the hall.

“Get under the bed,” Jimmy whispered, walking over to his door. You quietly dropped to the floor, rolling under his bed. You stuck out your hand, snatching your pants from the floor and hiding them under the bed with you.The second you were completely out of sight Jimmy flung open his door.

“Dude you woke me up, what do you want?” Jimmy asked casually, you could only see from the ankles down, your heart pounding as another pair of feet joined his.

“Well good morning to you too sunshine,” Brady teased.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jimmy huffed before repeating, “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to say sorry about last night,” Brady replied, “What did you and y/n end up doing?”

“We just got dinner,” Jimmy said plainly.

“Ooh you two had a little date?” Brady chirped.

“God, no,” Jimmy scoffed, “We were just hungry after having to wait for so long.”

“Oh please,” Brady replied, “You must think I’m some idiot. I see the way you look at y/n.”

“With annoyance? Disgust? Hatred? Those are about all the looks I have for her,” he shot back, but it sounded forced. You barely believed what he was selling, you doubted Brady would.

“You can keep lying to yourself Jimmy,” Brady continued, “But I know the two of you don’t hate each other like you say you do. Anyone with eyes could see you’re into each other.”

“I think you’re just on a romantic high your night with Gracia,” Jimmy deadpanned.

“Nothing romantic about holding someone’s hair while they throw up,” Brady chuckled.

“Gross, you need to shower.” You could tell by the way their feet moved that Jimmy pushed him back a little. You knew he was trying to get him in so you could go.

“That you are right about,” Brady replied, “But we aren’t done with this conversation.”

“Of course not,” you practically hear Jimmy roll his eyes as he closed the door in Brady’s face. Neither of you moved until you heard the water start. You rolled out from under the bed, quickly jumping into your pants. You and Jimmy didn’t say anything to each other. A few weeks ago you would have teased the hell out of him for the comments Brady just made but now... You couldn’t. You felt the same way, but you didn’t want to go there. Not now.

You both quickly crept to the front door, only turning back to look at him when you safely stepped out into apartment building hallway. There it was again. The tension of your eyes connecting. The will they won’t they. Everything in your head was screaming at you to kiss him. But instead, you turned and hurried down the hall to the elevator, listening to the door shut quietly behind you.

What the fuck just happened. It was finally hitting you that what just occurred between you and Jimmy was... different. Obviously it wasn’t the first time you had sex, but that wasn’t just some hook up. As much as you had tried extract your feelings from the situation you just couldn’t. You didn’t even bother trying to convince yourself you didn’t have feelings for Jimmy.

“Fuck,” you said out loud to no one in particular. That drew a few strange looks from the people near you on the sidewalk, but you didn’t care. They were the last thing on your mind. You were so stubborn it pained you to admit you liked Jimmy, even if it was only to yourself. It went against everything you forced yourself to believe these last few years. It was a weird, freeing, and annoying feeling all at the same time.

Then there was what Brady said. He all but said Jimmy liked you too, but Jimmy denied it of course. You didn’t expect him to not, especially with you right there. You would be lying if you said you didn’t pick up on what Brady was saying. You sensed a shift between you and Jimmy. Sure, you still shit on each other a little but it was different. There wasn’t any real venom behind your words anymore, it was just like you were keeping up appearances so your friends wouldn’t realize what was going on.

Still, you were never going to tell Jimmy how you felt. What if you were wrong? And Brady was wrong? The thought alone of telling him how you felt and him not reciprocating made you cringe. You’d never be able to show your face around him again. Brady would definitely find out and everything would become a mess. You weren’t ready for your life to possibly change like that.

Maybe your new motto needed to be ignore your feelings, just have sex, you thought to yourself bitterly. You didn’t even know if you were capable of that. In fact, the more you thought about it, the more you thought this was a bad idea. You couldn’t see this ending any other way than in disaster.

I’m gonna end it, you thought with finality. That was the only option. You were going to say that almost getting caught by Brady again freaked you out, and you weren’t interested in risking that anymore. It’s the perfect. It has to be done.

Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Every time you grabbed your phone to tell him over the next few days you should ended up staring at the screen and tossing the phone back down with a groan. It would be weird to text him that out of the blue like that anyway. At least that’s what you told yourself. You’d wait until the next time he texted you to come over and then tell him.

And then it happened. Seeing Jimmy’s name pop up on your screen made your heart pound for a couple different reasons You opened his message, mentally preparing yourself for what you were about to do.

I need you

It stopped you in your tracks. That was different. Normally it was ‘brady’s out come over’ or ‘i need a quickie i’m coming over’ or some vulgar message about what he was thinking about. Never I need you. You had a sinking suspicion it was about the game they just played. Jimmy had a tough game and you imagined his father had a lot to say about that.

Maybe it was just three little words, but they felt vulnerable. He needed you. It was amazing how easily three little words from Jimmy was able to chip away at your resolve.

I’m coming over

Your heart was pounding the whole way over. Not even from nerves, you weren’t nervous about being with Jimmy anymore because it felt so right. More so, it was excitement. You’d been losing sleep the last few days wondering how Jimmy felt about you and dreading having to break things off to protect yourself. But as you entered his building, you felt hopeful. Maybe there could be a future with Jimmy.

Jimmy answered the door nearly a second after you knocked.

“H-” You could even get your greeting out before he was pulling you inside, his lips on yours. You melted into his touch, feeling his hands pull you closer to him as he kicked the door closed. You’d kissed him countless times before but this was different... it felt freer.

Jimmy’s hand slid down your back, giving your ass a firm squeeze signaling for you to jump up. You hopped up, locking your legs around his waist as he held you steady. He effortlessly carried you back to his room.

“Wait where’s Brady?” you asked suddenly, having totally forgotten about him. As much as you were enjoying being with Jimmy, you weren’t sure if you were ready for that conversation yet.

“Out with Kevin,” Jimmy replied, kissing down your neck, “Don’t worry he’ll be gone for awhile.” That was all you needed to hear, pulling at Jimmy’s clothes, desperate to feel him close. You both stripped yourself fairly quickly, taking little breaks to kiss again, until you were both free of clothes.

“I want you to sit on my face,” Jimmy instructed, pulling you body up towards his face.

Your face flushed, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

You nodded, scooting up to face. A mix of gasps from you and groans from him filled the room as you lowered yourself on to his mouth. His tongue was somehow everywhere, making your head spin. You had to grip the headboard for stability, quickly feeling your thighs shake as lapped at your pussy.

“Fuck just like that Jimmy,” you said breathlessly as his tongue fucked into you. He wiggled his face slightly, his nose nudging at your sensitive clit. You rolled your hips over him slightly gasping at the added friction.

“Shit,” you moaned, your body shaking as your orgasm hit you fast and strong. You swore you were going to rip a chunk out of his headboard because of how tight you were gripping it. You gasped breathlessly as he flattened out his tongue, collecting every bit of wetness.

You slid off of him when you couldn’t take it any longer, your thighs still shaking slightly. Jimmy smiled, wiping the wetness on his chin off on the back of his arm. The way he looked at you made you ready to go again. You climbed on top of him, stroking at his cock as he dug in the drawer of the bed side table.

“Fuck I’m outta condoms,” Jimmy grumbled.

“I’m on the pill,” you replied quickly, “I mean, I don’t mind if you don’t.”

“Are you sure?” Jimmy asked, surprise evident in his voice.

“Yeah, I wanna feel you,” you insisted. Jimmy smiled softly, but his eyes clouded over with lust. You to wrapped your had around the base of his cock, slowly lowering your on to him. You both let out soft hisses, still not fully adjusted to each other after all this time.

Your hands landed on his chest and you bounced up and down on his length. Jimmy’s hands trailed up and down your outer thighs and hips. He bit his lip, loving the way you looked riding him.

“Yes, god yes, you feel so good y/n,” Jimmy groaned. His hands were on your hips now, helping you keep your rhythm. His eyes were on you, but this time you didn’t want to look away. It made your heart flutter and some how amplified the pleasure you felt.

“Jimm- shit- I’m close,” you hiccuped. You rolled your hips harder desperate for the high you knew was looming.

“Come on baby, cum for me,” Jimmy replied, pressing his hips up against yours. He hit deeper inside you, making your eyes roll back. Jimmy’s name spilled from your lips as you came, your pussy tighten around his cock. He let out low curses, cumming along with you. He kept his hands tight around your hips, keeping you rolling over him.

You stayed on top of him even after you both finished, pressing kisses to his chest and neck. You both stayed like that for awhile, lazily kissing. As much as you wanted to stay, it was getting late and Brady would be home soon.

“So are we going to talk about the reason why you needed me over here?” You asked, eyeing Jimmy as you pulled your shirt back on.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he replied flatly. His tone suggested otherwise.

“Is it about your da-”

“I said I didn’t wanna fucking talk about it.” You were taken aback by the sharpness of his response.

“I’m sorry, but you don’t have to be such a jerk about it,” you grumbled, “I just wanted to help.”

“Why the fuck do you care anyway?” Jimmy fired back, his tone bordering on accusatory.

“Because you were upset and I wanted to help,” you replied defensively, “You were the one that said you needed me remember?”

“Yeah for sex, nothing else,” he replied. His words stung, but also enraged you.

“You’re a fucking dick. I don’t need this shit from you of all people,” you snapped, trying to only sound angry and not upset.

"Right as if you actually give a shit about me? I don’t need fucking pity especially not from someone like you,” Jimmy fired back, his words cutting you deeper than you cared to admit.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you questioned.

“It means you’re just the girl I call when I need to get off. So save your fucking bull shit sympathy for someone who cares because I certainly don’t,” he shot back.

You stared at him for a moment, in disbelief of what he had just said. “Fuck you Jimmy,” you said finally, your voice cracking against your will. You snatched up the rest of your things, getting ready to leave.

“Wait I-” he went to reach for you but you swatted him away.

“No! Do not fucking touch me,” you cut him off venomously, “Next time you need someone don’t bother with me. I’m fucking done with you.” With that you left him, tears streaming down your face as you stormed out.

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