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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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allegra-writes · 4 years ago

Text

“Heartfelt”

Bar musician! Harry styles x Bartender!Reader

General audiences

Warnings: None

Just some Valentine's day fluff with our favorite green eyed boy. Dedicated to @gaycinnamonrollgirl for giving me the idea, and @tomsrebeleyebrow for patiently listening to me endlessly gush about Harry Styles and still being my friend. Happy belated Valentine's day 💖

"You don't have to say you love me

I just wanna tell you somethin'

Lately you've been on my mind..."

Adore you - Harry Styles

...Oh, she looks so good, oh, she looks so fine

And I got this crazy feeling that I'm gonna ah-ah…

"Bartender, my good friend! I'll have my usual and a plate of your finest chips, if you would be so kind"

It was closing time when Harry, the local musician, sat in front of you, elbows on the bar you were wiping down while humming to Patti Smith's "Gloria".

You raised an eyebrow at him, but the willowy man could see the slight tremble at the corner of your lips, a tell that you were suppressing a smile.

"I'm afraid the kitchen is closed, mister Styles. Sam left an hour ago."

"Yes yes, but I have it from a very good source he left you a big pile of leftover chips before he did," He accused, "you know, as he does every night..."

You frowned in confusion,

"I thought you hated cold fries. That you found them to be, and I quote, soggy and disgusting"

"I guess you can say I acquired a taste for them" He shrugged, mischievous green eyes sparkling, "Just like you did for this lowlife songwriter in front of you and the heartfelt conversations you share with him"

"Did you now?" There was an edge of scepticism in your voice, but you were already disappearing inside the kitchen.

Harry's heart did a little jump as you didn't immediately deny liking him.

"Hey, Joe" he called out, "why don't you go home? I'll help Y/N close when we're done…"

There was a deaf noise as a young waiter, the only person left in the bar beside the two of you, set the last chair on top of a table.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I got this" he reassured him, "did it dozens of times. Go home to your girl"

"Thanks, mate!" The second brit practically skipped on his way to the backroom, but turned around just before reaching the door. "Listen, you know I like you, but if you hurt y/n in any way…"

Harry smiled, genuinely. He could never get mad at anyone that protective of you.

"You know where I live. Pick my sister on the way, though. I think she would like to join you."

Joe rolled his baby blues,

"I know you're not a creep. I meant her heart"

"Yeah, me too…"

Whatever your friend saw inside Harry's eyes was enough to convince him. He nodded and left, as the musician got up to lock the front door and turn the "open" sign off.

If you noticed Joe's absence at your return, you didn't comment on it, simply setting the giant pile of chips and two cans of cherry cola you were carrying, down in front of Harry, who had returned to his seat.

"Ah, you always have the good stuff!" the sigh that left his lips as he took the first sip of the soda was not unlike the one any of your regulars made after the first taste of something strong after a hard day.

"Rough night?"

"Kind of. Good show though, so at least I have that going on for me…"

"It really was, I'm actually impressed" You had to confess, "And surprised too, it was a bold choice going acoustic on a night like this, with such a big audience," So many people had gathered to see the show that the bouncer had to start rejecting people so you wouldn't have trouble with the fire department "but it definitely worked"

There was a slight blush on the singer's cheeks when he replied, far more humble than you were used to,

"Well, you know, Valentine's day and all that. The band, all have boyfriends and girls they wanted to spend the evening with…"

You tilted your head,

"And you didn't?" It was hard to believe, when almost every night he played there you would see him leave with a different, always sculptural, painfully perfect girl. Or man.

Harry didn't reply, choosing instead to stuff his face with stale fries.

"Alright then" You raised your shoulder in surrender, "keep your secrets…"

He squinted in disbelief,

"Did you just quoted The Lord of the Rings at me?"

"Did you just recognize my Lord of the rings quote?" You countered.

"You are such a nerd!"

"Look who's talking, chicken little!" You gestured at his powder blue sweater with a yellow baby chick at the front and herringbone pants.

"Oi!" His manchester accent popped out, like it always did whenever he lost his cool "I'll have you know, this is Gucci"

You scoffed,

"That doesn't make it any better, it just means that you spent a shit load of money to look like my third grade teacher, mister Harrington!"

"Ok, first of all," he countered, "your teacher sounds awesome and second-"

An inelegant snort escaped your mouth. Harry's emerald eyes pinned you down.

"Second of all, you're no one to talk either, kitten hoodie"

You could feel the heat creeping up your cheeks. Praying he couldn't see your blush in the dim light, you took a mouthful of soda to cool you down.

For a moment, none of you said anything, the sweet notes of Fleetwood Mac's "Dreams" the only thing filling the silence.

… Players only love you when they're playing

Women, they will come and they will go...

"Listen, y/n-"

"If I'm being honest-"

He chuckled,

"I'm sorry, ladies first"

"Now I'm not sure if I wanna tell you…"

"Come on" A grown ass man pouting should not be that cute, "I want to know"

You feigned a long suffering sigh,

"Fine, if you must know- If you must know, I actually like your new style. It's way better than that... rock and roll cliche... thing you had going on when we first met" You gestured vaguely in the direction of his body, "You know, the long hair, black clothes, doc boots…"

He flinched,

"Ugh, Don't remind me. I was trying too hard back then. And not only with my clothes, with my music too"

"Oh, yeah, I remember. All you used to sing about was" You chose your words carefully, "frisky girls and being horny…"

"Well, to be fair, I still sing about being horny"

"Yeah, but now you're…"

You trailed off, unsure of how you could explain the difference, the change in your feelings towards his music, without explaining the change in your feelings towards the man that made it.

However, Harry would not let it go that easy. He was used to you being sharp, opinionated, guarded. Now there was a crack on that armour, and he wanted to see what was underneath it.

You hadn't even realized how close you had leaned into each other until his hot breath fanned over your face.

"Now I'm what, y/n?"

More real. More mature. More emotional, as if he had finally found the link, made the connection between sex and love.

"More open"

Harry smiled,

"Open. Yeah, I like that…"

So close. He was so close now, his malaquite eyes were out of focus. So close you could feel his magnetic field, the gravity of his atoms pulling in yours.

"Harry…"

Never in his twenty seven years of life and over ten as a musician, had he heard a more beautiful sound than his name, breathlessly falling from your lips.

"Yes?" He murmured, lips ghosting over your soft, perfect ones.

"No"

"No?"

"No" You repeated, more firmly, taking a step back, putting as much space between the two of you as possible, "I know what this is"

"And what is this, y/n" To your surprise, he didn't sound mad, or demanding. He sounded confused and sad. Dissapointed but unsurprised, as if he had expected it to go south or… never had dared expect it would actually happen at all.

"A bad idea" You explained, "with guys like you, is always the same: You have beautiful women throwing themselves at you every night. And you take them home with you cause why wouldn't you? You are young, and free and hot. There is nothing wrong with taking what's being offered"

"Y/n-"

"I'm not saying it's your fault" You went on, ignoring him, "And I'm not saying you don't fall in love, sometimes. But that's the exception, not the rule, and I… I'm the kind of girl that's the rule. Not the exception"

Harry had always thought the worst that could happen to him was losing your friendship. Finally making a move, a real move, and getting rejected by you. He thought that was the definitive pain, the one that would obliterate him, if things were not to work out. And he was almost certain they would not work out.

But sitting there, in front of you, separated by a wooden bar that might as well have been the great wall of china as you stood there, arms around yourself, small and defenseless as you explained to him all the reasons why you wouldn't allow yourself to love him… that was way worse.

"What if you already were my exception?" He blurted out, before he could stop himself, "What if I was in love with you?"

You laughed, bitterly.

"Harry, I'm not even your type. I've seen you leave night after night with models and socialites and actors, each one more surreally stunning than the last one…" You didn't have a bad self esteem, you didn't. You considered yourself attractive, but the people Harry usually went for were on a whole different level.

"Yes, but that's only because the most absolutely perfect woman in the world for me, keeps me at arm's length!" He rubbed his face in frustration, "And it's so maddening, so fucked up, the way I can't even get away from her long enough to get over her, because even the pain of seeing her every night knowing I can't touch what I see, that I will never have her, is better than the pain of being away from her.

So I keep on taking home the hottest people I can find hoping they will keep me distracted long enough to fill the hours until I can see her again… until I can-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Never, in all the time you had known each other, had Harry given you a single signal indicating he had any kind of feelings for you. Your relationship had always consisted of friendly banter and quip battles. Sure, you could get flirty sometimes, but you were a bartender, flirting was pretty much your customer service voice, and he was a musician, he would flirt with his own shadow if he could.

Harry opened his mouth to explain, but a familiar melody started coming from the still working speakers.

Walk in your rainbow paradise

Strawberry lipstick state of mind…

"Hey, this is my song!" You didn't quite understand why he seemed so marveled, "You never added any of my songs to your playlist before!"

Oh. Oh.

"Yeah, well" Harry could now clearly see your darkened cheeks as you stumbled over your words, "I guessed I never liked one of your songs so much before"

This time, he was the one blushing and avoiding your eyes.

"What would you say if I told you-... If I told you I wrote this one for you?"

"I'd say you're full of shit" You scoffed, "Didn't you tell me you only ever wrote about girls you had dated?"

"No," he corrected, "I said I only ever wrote about women that had broken my heart…"

"How did I break your heart?"

Harry sighed. Your walls were back up, higher than ever, and he didn't know how to break through them. It wasn't your fault -and had it been your fault, truth was he could never blame you either, there was something about you that made it physically impossible for him to get mad at you- you spoke from experience, he didn't need to unlock the secrets of your past, didn't need the details. It was obvious you had been burned before, and though he hated it, hated them for whatever they had done to you, he couldn't fault you for trying to protect yourself.

Not when he wanted to protect you too.

"You didn't like me, back when we first met"

"Harry-"

"No, it's ok. You didn't like me, and you were right not to like me. I know you probably didn't realize it but, that first time you rejected me, when I flirted with you that very first night and you rolled your eyes at me… you changed my life"

"What? How??"

"You weren't wrong, I was a cliche. And I was trying way too hard, to be cool, act like a rockstar… but you took a look at that guy, at that though, playboy, sex, drugs and rock 'n roll guy… and you hated him" Harry snickered. You didn't understand what about all that was so funny, "I had created that guy so that everyone would like him, and you hated him. And the funny thing is-" He finally met your eye. No, he caught your eye and imprisoned them, "The funny thing is, you hating me for what I wasn't, somehow allowed me to start being myself a little bit more, because if you already disliked me… then I had nothing to lose"

You didn't quite know what to say to that.

His bright green eyes were unable to face yours, choosing instead to focus on the palms he was picking at,

"Is that why you… uhm…" You pointed at his sweater.

"Yup" He admitted, "I showed up here one day, on laundry day, in one of my old nerdy sweater vests and you smiled, when you saw it"

"I remember that!" You chuckled, "It was the brown striped one, it almost looked like a crop top, cause it obviously didn't fit anymore"

Harry nodded,

"I may have had a couple grow spurts since I got that in high school"

"Ok, but, you made it work somehow…"

"Thank you. The point is…" he turned serious again, his deep, rich voice even more hypnotic than usual. Or maybe it was just you, for the first time allowing yourself to enjoy it without reservations. "The point is, you didn't like cool Harry, but you liked the real me. Even if just a little bit, and that meant the world to me. I… I adored you because of it. So I wrote a song for you, cause even if I couldn't say it to your face, I had to get it out. Just like I had to get this out tonight"

He opened his arms wide, in his typical ta-da gesture, sad, resigned smile on his face, before getting up from his stool, grabbing his jacket and guitar case.

"You don't have to say anything, I don't expect you to love me back" He declared, "I just- I thought I'd let you know. Valentine's day and all that."

He turned to leave, his own voice still signing in the background,

I'd walk through fire for you, just let me adore you

Oh, honey…

"Harry, wait!" You almost fell on your face, trying to jump over the bar, but managing to stop him right before he reached the door. His poorly concealed smirk told you he might have seen your little show, but you didn't care.

"Did you mean it? That you'd do anything for me?"

"I did" He confirmed, earnestly, "I still do. Anything you want, just say the word"

"Well then," you took a step towards him, that he mirrored without even noticing, "what about a date? A daytime date. At a public place." You clarified. Harry did smirk at that.

"What's the matter, afraid you won't be able to keep your hands off me?" He teased, leaning closer.

"Don't ruin this, Styles" You warned, raising to your tiptoes to meet him eye to eye.

His smile faltered, replaced by the most sincere intensity you had ever seen on his handsome face,

"Wouldn't dream of it, bartender" He whispered, before capturing your lips with his.

#harry styles #adore you #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #valentines day special

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mysticalmusicwhispers · 3 years ago

Text

glimpses into a calmer universe

a gift for @luyous, because you once made some posts asking for indchu fics, and I started writing indchuran for the hell of it, but never finished until now. I think this could fit in the indchuran: bros for life AU but only after they get together, since there’s less pining than usual. Anyways, this is very overdue, but I hope you enjoy!

A little bit of domestic fluff. 3 glimpses into the indchuran universe through three different perspectives. Iran/Persia is Roshan, and they’re genderfluid.

Also on AO3!

———

The smell of food is wafting upstairs from the kitchen. It tempts Aditya sorely, and he tries to resist—he has a rather crushing workload to get through today—but five minutes later his feet are padding softly on the first floor landing, the tiles cool under his bare soles. He stops in the doorway, idly tracing the spots of afternoon sunshine dancing on the walls, and watches the figures of his two loves, side by side in the kitchen. Yao is standing in front of the stove, spatula in hand, and Roshan is at his side in front of the sink, busy washing something Aditya cannot see. They are talking quietly above the sizzle of the wok and the sound of water gushing out of the faucet, a perfect picture of domesticity, all easy smiles, gentle touches, quiet jokes and careless laughter. An intimate synchronization of movement, like their hearts are beating in time. It strikes Aditya that his heart suddenly feels like it is overflowing, and he supposes he’s done enough watching from afar—for today, at least.

Yao hears him coming first, and turns around as he enters the kitchen, but doesn’t say anything, just acknowledges him with a smile and a softening of the eyes, and begins to heap the stir-fried ants-on-a-branch—the vegetarian variation, with diced shiitake mushrooms instead of minced meat—onto a plate. When Roshan sees him, Aditya is treated to a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek that smells like roses before they turn back to washing the spinach, cilantro, and parsley—Aditya thinks they’re for the reshteh that recently appeared in the kitchen cupboard—in the sink.

He offers to help with the washing, or the onions (even though they make him cry, which always makes Roshan and Yao laugh), but Roshan pushes him lightly out of the kitchen and Yao makes sure he doesn’t go back in. So Aditya is forced to sit at their small dining table, debating whether to finish his work or enjoy the afternoon sunshine streaming in from the glass back door. The work, he decides, isn’t worth it, and instead he goes back to watching Roshan and Yao work. He refuses to think he is admiring them.

Nevertheless, it isn’t long before he’s too caught up in staring that he doesn’t notice Yao nudging Roshan and whispering “Aditya’s pining again”. But when Roshan catches him staring, they just smile cheekily, wink, and blow him a theatrical kiss that still makes Aditya’s throat catch and his heart stutter, even after a year of dating them. When they turn back to chopping herbs, the sunlight catches on their hair, coating it gold. Aditya is reminded of Roshan’s name, and Yao’s—and their meanings: light, shining.

He does not think himself sentimental, but sometimes—many times—he wonders if they were fated to be. And he supposes it is not too cliche to admit to himself, privately, that his partners are the lights of his life.

———

Yao pauses at the entrance of the Ferry Building Farmer’s Market, still wondering whether it was wise to bring Aditya and Roshan along, and whether they will drag him to every place that sells anything vaguely shiny before leaving. But just as he thinks this, he makes the mistake—and it is definitely a mistake—of turning, and catches Aditya grinning at him, flashing an easygoing smile—a smile he’d do anything to keep, and he relents. But his regrets, or doubts, or whatever the vaguely self-preserving feeling in his chest is, must have shown on a slight frown or in an imperceptible sigh, because Roshan kisses his cheek and says,

“Come on Yao, we’ll handle ourselves. We won’t get distracted and we’ll be back at home in no time, exactly as you planned.” They wink at Aditya, which is never a good sign, but it’s still enough to wheedle him into agreeing, however fondly exasperated he is, and however certain he is that they will waste half the day away, as usual. He sighs again—the old man sigh, according to Roshan—but grumbles a “fine, but you need to pay me back in white rabbit”, and watches them veer off towards the artisan stalls, holding hands. Aditya’s hair glints brightly in the sun, and Roshan’s is dyed a rich, dark brown. Like two suns, hand in hand; one bright, the other warm.

Someone bumps into him, and Yao shakes himself out of his reverie. The grocery list is a mile long, and he doesn’t need to waste more time than is absolutely necessary, after all.

But finding all the things he needs to buy takes more time than he likes, and the walk to the Chinatown butcher’s to see whether they have halal live chicken— they don’t—takes even longer, so that it is almost noon (two whole hours, which he realizes with a pang) when he wanders back to the Ferry Building to find Aditya and Roshan in a small jewelry shop, excitedly inspecting a stand of earrings. He watches them for a second through the windows as Aditya holds a pair of dangling yellow lotus blossoms up to his ears and Roshan looks on admiringly. Yao is pretty sure he too is admiring Aditya—he looks truly beautiful, with the earrings and a modest smile and a bright twinkle in his polished obsidian eyes—but some part of him pulls him back into real time and reminds him that although it is a Saturday, he has no time to waste (stupid law firm), and he regretfully walks into the store to retrieve his partners. He thinks—no, he knows—it will be half an hour before he can pull them away from the (admittedly alluring) jewelry displays, but he supposes Aditya’s cheek kiss and Roshan’s cheerful gratitude will be worth it. Anyways, he can always bullshit case briefings and squeeze out extra time somewhere. He’d rather not rush this moment.

———

When Roshan finally trudges home after getting the week’s groceries, neither Yao nor Aditya are there to hold the door open for them, and there is no response when they call out an “I’m back” from the kitchen. They know Yao and Aditya are in the house—Yao’s Hello Kitty slippers are missing from the shoemat—so the only possibility is that they are ignoring Roshan. Sad. They sigh—rather theatrically—but heave everything into the refrigerator without calling a second time, and hope this will be a fair trade for them failing to find white rabbit in Chinatown for the third time in a row.

Yao and Aditya, they find, are in the living room couch, engaged in another petty struggle over the remote. The newest Game of Thrones episode is playing on the TV Yao shipped from China, and Aditya is furiously muttering about “what a trashy white-produced rapefest show it is” and trying to swipe at the remote Yao grips with white-knuckled hands. Yao, for his part, has not retaliated much at all, besides scooting over to the other side of the couch and obstinately holding onto the precious remote. Roshan looks on for a time, amused, and watches Tywin Lannister’s face loom nastily over them all, until Aditya turns around and catches sight of them in the doorway.

“Roshan, help me! You can’t possibly agree with Yao’s taste, can you?” Aditya looks thoroughly exasperated, and Roshan almost can’t believe how much his voice begs them to take a side.

“No thanks. Aditya, you’ll have to fight the good fight by yourself; I’ll be in the kitchen making dinner.” They smirk, and decide that the way Aditya swells up with absolute fury is definitely worth whatever payback is coming. And as they walk back to the kitchen to start washing vegetables for dinner, there is a brief moment of silence as the TV switches off before everything descends into chaos. Yao's yelling now, and, by the sound of it, has started a pillow fight that Aditya joins in with enthusiasm. Roshan glances back, just in time to watch Yao whack Aditya with a flower patterned pillow and scream,

"LET ME LOOK AT TYWIN LANNISTER AGAIN, ADITYA!"

They are idiots, Roshan thinks with a smile, but they are their idiots.

———

Feedback is welcome and appreciated! thank you for reading :)

Notes

In the second scene, I just chose a notable farmer’s market in San Francisco at random hhhhh (apologies for any inaccuracies if anyone from CA is reading lol) the Ferry Building Farmers Market is pretty close to Chinatown, and although idk where they live in San Fran, Yao’s gotta get his white rabbit from somewhere right (the live chicken would be for chicken soup, but not the American kind)

Last scene inspired/taken from this ask! thank you bones, this was the fic I was talking about lol

the title was made up on the spot but I was thinking along the lines of “well this is a universe where the three of them are less of a group of bastards and also don’t have to contend as much with complex relations and just be lovers together”

In the first scene, there are two dishes I was referencing:

Ants-on-a-branch: 蚂蚁上树, whose proper name is ants climbing a tree, but I tweaked the translation a little. It’s a Sichuan dish that usually consists of vermicelli noodles cooked with minced meat (pork I believe) and a bunch of green onions and chopped peppers for spice (my parents also add stuff like wood ear, a fungus, and carrots and don’t add pepper but idk how “authentic” that is because we ain’t from Sichuan lol). For a lot of Chinese dishes you can usually substitute meat with shiitake mushrooms to make it vegetarian/vegan.

I tried to imply that the dish Roshan was planning to make is ash reshteh, a Persian dish of thick noodle soup with various herbs, onions, and peas. Kashk or yogurt whey is also a component of the soup and gives it its signature rich sour flavor. Because reshteh noodles are believed to bring good luck, ash reshteh is typically served around the Persian New Year, Nowruz, and at important events, but it can be theoretically be eaten at any time.

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wordynerdygurl · 4 years ago

Text

The Guy

Author’s Note: Hello my lovelies! I have to say, I love writing requests and taking part in Challenges. It helps me sharpen my skills! But, with the insane way the world is right now, I offered to participate in one... then lost the details. So, with my sincere appreciation for @lancsnerd ,who kindly sent me a reminder about my missing “assignment”, I present the following! Summary/ Prompt: A quote of “He’s the guy” and my boy, Loki Pairing: Female Reader x Loki Warnings: Swearing, Implied Smut, Fluff, Soft Loki

“Are you gonna tell me what I want to know? Or… do we have to do this the hard way?” Gravel filled and low, the Winter Soldier had you pinned against the rough brick wall, his metal arm holding your wrists together.

“Ooph! Bucky! Get off!” “Make me, princess!”

Kicking your legs free, you swung around Bucky, locking him in a bear hug from behind. Squeezing him with your thighs, your forearms wrapped around his strong neck, “Tap out, Buck!” Wheezing, staggering back, Bucky tried spinning you around but even his metal arm was unable to grab you, “Never!” Applying more pressure to his windpipe, you grunted, “Give me the win!” “No way”, you felt his hard hand grip your thigh, breaking your hold. Suddenly you were untethered, above your feet was the ceiling of the gym, and then there was no breath in your lungs. Bucky had managed to flip you over and slam you down onto the waiting mat with reverberating force. Gasping loudly, you curved up to meet Bucky’s waiting hand, “You alright, doll?”

Shaking your head, sitting up, “That was a dirty trick, Barnes. I had you and you know it.” “Yea… but you still haven’t answered my question, so I couldn’t let you win.” Pulling you to your feet easily, Bucky threw his arms around you, his warm hug an easy way to make sure there would be no lasting damage from your sparring session. “Why do you want to know so bad?” Lowering yourself to the workout bench, forearms resting on your knees, you kept a close watch on your sparring partner. Tossing you a towel, Bucky grabbed both of your water bottles, sitting down on the mat in front of you. Wiping the sweat away from your forehead, slugging down the cool water, you kicked at the super soldier sitting criss cross applesauce. Leaning back, resting his weight on his arms stretched behind him, “Because... I worry about you. I want to make sure you’re safe… and I want to believe this guy is good enough for you.” Considering his words, you snapped your bottle shut, nodding, “I get it, Bucky. I really do. I’m just… not ready to talk about it.” Sensing your hesitation, Bucky patted your knee, “Just know that I’m here when you are ready. And if he fucks up, I’ll kill him.” Laughing, you stood up with a groan, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind!” At dinner that night, Steve knocked into your shoulder, “Hey kiddo.”

“Hey Stevie! How are you?” “It’s spaghetti night, what more does a guy need?” It was an easy exchange, making you chuckle as he loaded a plate high with pasta and sauce before settling himself into the chair next to you. Unfolding a napkin to lay over his trousers, “Bucky told me you’ve met someone?” Flicking your eyes to the Winter Soldier, who all of the sudden was very interested in something Tony was saying, you munched on your garlic bread. Swallowing thickly and patting your mouth clean, you turned to Steve, “Oh, he did huh?” “Yes… but he says you won’t give up this guy’s name?” Concern was present on your friend’s face. While you appreciated Steve's sentiment, it wasn't necessary, not entirely. You knew what you were doing and you didn't want to be talked out of it, even by your well intentioned friends.

"I don't know why everyone cares so much. He's a guy… I'm a girl… it's traditional and boring."

Swirling a fork through his saucy plate, lifting those dutiful blue eyes to yours, "So why the secrecy?"

Chewing, thoughtful, you considered Steve's question. It was valid. You were quick to acknowledge that, answering, "Um… because we're still in that love bubble. Ya know?"

Chiming in, Bucky curious now, "Love bubble? I don't know what that is… what does that mean? Love bubble?"

"It's that time in a new relationship when… um… it's like…" words failing, you desperately tried to give structure to your argument.

Interrupted by Loki, sulking at the end of the long table, "She doesn't want to share her paramore. Greedily, she wants to keep the pair in a love bubble. Separate and safe from any interference. Unpopped, if you will."

"Is that true? You don't want us to bug you?" Bucky's eyes widened at the thought.

Shrugging, you dug around for another meatball, "Kinda… Look, it's not that I don't love you, Buck. Or that I don't trust you, Steve. It's just… all of you can be a lot to deal with. And-" looking at the faces of each of your Avenger friends, "-my… guy… I really, really like him. I don't want to scare him away."

Admitting it out loud, that was taking a lot of your courage but you were being completely honest. This guy, he was just about perfect and you didn't want to blow that by bringing him around your overprotective people so soon. Natasha, the group's mama bear, smiled. "Seems reasonable to me. Give her some time, fellas… if he's half as great as she says, we'll like him well enough."

Steve, smiling a little in your direction, "I don't know who he is… but it seems like he makes you happy!"

Bucky, over protective, kept hounding you, "When will I get to meet him?"

"Soon, Buck. I promise."

"I wonder who it is… this man you care about so much that you're protecting him from us, your dearest friends!" It was Loki, musing from afar that made the observation, his sharp eyes on you.

"I told you-" It was Tony’s turn to interrupt, loudly calling, “FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark?” “Start a pool. Five dollar buy in, guesses on who this guy is… whoever has the winning answer gets the kitty!” “Tony! Not cool! And, not necessary! You guys don’t really need to do this!” But your protests went unheard as chatter erupted and a round of bills were flung on the table. Steve, murmuring to Bucky across the table, “What was that guy at the coffee shop? Cameron? Carson?” Snapping his fingers, Bucky answered, “Carlton!”

“He’s my guess, Tony.” “Shit, Steve. That’s not fair… but, ok. Ok, my guess is Matt. That guy from the pizza place who kept bringing extra chicken fingers for you! You’d never admit to a date with him!” Bucky, smug and pleased, sat back content with his detective work.

“Natasha? Thoughts?” Tony was typing away, his interface with FRIDAY recording all the back and forth, compiling the list of possible boyfriend candidates. Tapping her lip, Nat watched you, “Hmm… Is it Warren? The kid from China Star who rode the Kawasaki and always wanted to take you for a ride?”

Clint leaned over you, grabbing a breadstick as he threw down a ten, “I want to put Charles, from the IT department on the list… and Juan, the recycling rep. Both of those guys follow you around like puppies and I could see you taking pity on at least one of them!” “Nope. No way! She went out with Charles once already. He was the guy who ate her french fries at dinner. Big No-No!” “Rhodes, how do you remember that shit? Fine, not Charles then. What about Frankie? The dude from the diner?” Clint asked the assembled team, looking for someone to back him up.

Mortified, hiding behind your hands, you grimaced. The list, it kept growing, and you could feel icy eyes of judgement lighting you up from across the room. You knew you’d have to answer questions later.

Jane, having joined Thor at the table, was getting caught up on your situation. Conspiring with her Norse God of a boyfriend, she chuckled, slapping a bill on the table with the announcement, “Our money is on Loki.”

Silence overtook the room. Everybody stared at the small, brunette scientist, evaluating if her suggestion was real or a joke. A guffaw broke out of you and quickly gathered steam, propelling you directly into a hiccup filled giggle fit. In a flash everyone joined in, the idea of you and Loki being together was at once so hilarious and unbelievable. It was also diverting enough that the talk of your love life died completely. Grateful and satisfied, you finished dinner without any other questions, even offering to do the dishes. While you were scraping remnants into the compost bucket, you felt the room’s temperature drop, noticing that Loki had slid into the room, "Love bubble is it?"

Dropping the plates into the sink, plunging your hands into the soapy water, his strong ones glide over your shoulders, "Yes. I'm really enjoying our little bubble of love."

“Me too.” Pressing a small kiss to the curve of your neck, Loki pulled your body close, hugging you tightly from behind. As Loki was nearly a foot taller than you, it was nothing to tip your head up, his welcome mouth finding yours for a soft kiss. Curving your back, your bottom rubbed against his pelvis, his desire already rising. “Although, they had a lot of suggestions, my innocent little kitten. Should I be worried?” Shaking your head, “No. None of those… meatballs compare with you, Loki.” “Good. That makes me glad… and I’m pleased to know how coveted you are, my pet.” Roving hands took the liberty of sliding under the hem of your shirt, fingertips just grazing over your bra covered breasts.

Sighing into Loki’s loving touch, “Not that you were much help!"

"What can I say? I like seeing you squirm" his lethal voice purred, warm against your ear.

Pirouetting in his arms, your damp hand brushing back a strand of dark curls, "Jane almost gave us away.” A small smile, almost sad, pulled down Loki’s lips, “Is the idea of you loving me so hilarious?”

“Not to me.”

His head dipped, lowering those pink lips to your own, almost colliding… when laughter, drawing near, broke your moment of connection. Effectively ending your private chat, Thor stomped confidently into the room unaware of the way Loki jumped back as if scalded, or the way your hands trembled at the possibility of discovery. “Brother! I need to speak with you!” Flicking his desire filled eyes to yours, Loki smirked, “Of course… to what do I owe the honor?” “I have asked Jane to be my bride!” “Brother! It’s about time Jane made an honest man out of you!” Loki, more than a little surprised but genuinely pleased for his sibling, hugged Thor close. “YAY! That’s so exciting! Have you guys picked a date yet?” Wiping your hands dry, leaning against the sink, you were happy to hear all of Thor's big news. Shaking his blonde head excitedly, “We shall be wed in three months time… and I was hoping that Loki would play for our special day?”

Loki, blushing a deep rosy pink, “Thor… It’s been years.”

“So? What of that, God of Mischief? You always find a way”, wagging a finger at his dark hued brother, Thor’s teasing grin was sweet. Piling on excuses, trying to gently defer his brother’s marital request, Loki added, “I don’t think I have a suitable instrument.”

That was enough for your mouth to hang open, “Wait… you want Loki to perform? Like play music? At your wedding?” “Of course! He’s the best chamber musician in Asgard. Possibly the entire Nine Realms.” Pride filled Thor’s words at Loki’s accomplishments, something you found impossibly charming, even if you couldn’t quite believe what he said was true.

“Thor, really… I don't think-" Clapping a broad hand onto his younger brother's shoulder, Thor’s tone changed, “Music from home, Loki. It would mean so much, especially since… Mother and Father-”

Loki held up a hand, stopping Thor from going further into emotional sincerity, unable to bear the rawness in his brother’s words. Closing his eyes, agreeing, “Fine. Ok, I’ll… I’ll do it!’ Loki could sense your watchful eyes on him, curious and questioning, as he gave into his older brother.

With his easy smile spreading, Thor’s joy pushed the cloud of sadness away, “Our special day will be filled with music! And flowers! Jane has a whole… Pinterest board? I don’t know what that is but she’s filled it with ideas-” spinning around to grab you off your feet, Thor continued, “And you’ll be invited too! All of the team must come, not just my wayward brother!” Getting swept up in Thor’s passionate excitement, you laughed, offering up more congratulations and promises of attending. As your toes touched the floor, Thor pulled Loki away, “Jane says you will take Darcy as a date for the ceremony.” Tilting his head, Loki shrugged shyly, speaking loud enough for you to hear, “Uh… actually, I already have a date.” Gripping Loki in a rib smashing hug, Thor squeezed his little brother tightly, “That is marvelous news! Jane will be so pleased! So, who’s the lucky girl?” Smiling, you watched them go, happy to see the pair so connected. You didn’t need to hear Loki’s answer. You knew who he’d be taking to Thor’s wedding.

That night, as you were toweling dry your cropped hair, a pop of green light signaled the arrival of your secret boyfriend. He was positively electric, grabbing you by the terry robe covered hips, and kissing you swiftly. Loki's hands rubbed over the soft fabric on your back until they cradled your smiling face, "Hmm… you smell so clean that it makes me think dirty thoughts."

Giggling, you rose up on your toes, curling your hands into his tangle of dark hair. You bent his waiting mouth to your own, savoring the sensation of shared breath, as your tongue flicked over Loki's lips, “Dirtier than that?” Nodding, his heated look hungry, “Oh yes.” "How dirty are we talking?", you teased, resting your cheek against Loki's chest. His rich laugh, rumbling through his core, joined your own. Pressing his forehead to yours, Loki sighed sweetly, "I missed you…"

"I just saw you at dinner!"

"But it's been too long. I… I need more."

Turning to hang up your towel, over your shoulder, "More what, my prince?"

"More of you." Having gained on you while your back was turned, Loki was behind you now, wrapping his long arms around your waist.

Squealing, delighted, "LOKI! Someone will hear!"

Dropping you quickly on the mattress, Loki shimmied up beside you, toying with the open collar on your robe, "So?"

"So… they'll find you here."

Thoughtfully, Loki’s proud look captured your own, "Maybe I don't care. Not anymore… Maybe I don't want to keep you and me… us, a secret."

Swallowing hard, your gaze trapped by Loki's earnest expression, "Really? You're ready to pop the love bubble?"

His fingertips brushed over the thin skin between your breasts, "Yes? I… I think so. Are you?"

Biting on your bottom lip, scrutinizing his handsome face, "Loki, I…"

Freezing, his hand stalled, and Loki sat back on his heels. Looking out your window, shoulders slumping in resignation, "You don't want to tell anyone. You are ashamed to be with me."

Swiftly sitting up, cupping his face with your hands, crooning, "No, no, no, no, no, no!"

Shrugging away from your touch, "You don't care for me, not like you claim to, if you won't declare your feelings for all to hear."

"Loki! That's not it at all."

Letting you tug him closer, Loki's tear filled eyes still refused to meet your own, "Loki… I… I love you. And… I just don't want to share you. Not yet, anyway. That is-" putting your arms around his neck until you were nose to nose with the red-rimmed eyes of an emotional Odinson, "-my only reason for keeping our romance quiet."

Whispering, Loki was too shocked to shake you off, "You… love me?" His voice wavered, as if the idea of being loved by you had never been a real possibility, as if something impossible was occurring right here and now.

On your knees, sighing, you started pressing tiny kisses along those sharp as knives cheekbones, "Yes. I am crazy in love with you, Loki Odinson."

Loki had held you tightly before; in the night when terrific dreams haunted his sleep, in the night when he claimed your body for his own. But this embrace, after telling the dark Prince the truth in your heart, had no equal.

Still taller than you, even though you were both kneeling, Loki's right arm wove around your waist forcing your hips flush with his own. His left supported your back, his hand cradling the nape of your neck, helping him kiss you soundly. It was conquering.

You were his. Body and soul. What's more? He was yours.

Coming up for air, panting from the work of loving you, "My dove, my dearest one… I love you too."

Shucking your robe was easy and Loki savored the lavender soap scented skin he exposed. If a spot of you wasn’t kissed, it was licked. If not licked, nipped. If not nipped, it was caressed. And Loki was very thorough. When you mewled, weak from forced pleasure, “Loki… please. Make love to me.” he was eager to comply. “Look at me, darling girl.” Puffing out your pleasure filled breath, skin dewy with perspiration, you met Loki’s eyes with your own. Resting his hand over your heart, he lifted your own, letting you feel the pattern of his pulse. “It beats for you and for you alone.” In the afterglow, laying in Loki’s arms, you stifled another giggle. Groggy from exertion, Loki opened one eye, “What’s so funny?” “You never told me you play a musical instrument.” “You never asked.”

“Are you any good?”

“You’ll find out when you accompany me to Thor’s wedding.” --- With his heavy cello, Loki took a seat on the edge of the dance floor, taking just a moment to get settled. A beautifully strange combination of concentration and relaxation mingled over the features you loved so dearly. Fiddling with strings, taking a moment to tune the instrument, you admired his long, talented fingers as they took their place on the frets. The din of conversation was silenced when the first low note of Loki’s song echoed through the ballroom. Everyone paused, entranced at the melody weaving its way through the throng of well wishers. Many were surprised, but not you, not entirely. You knew how long Loki had been preparing for this moment. It wasn’t all about making Thor’s day special, although, that was surely part of it. No, he planned to seduce every single person with sound. Giving all of the attendees a taste of what being loved by Loki was like, he hoped The Avengers would see that he was worthy of you in all ways. Mesmerized, the bow danced over the strings, each note perfectly played. It wasn’t hard to picture those shapely digits dancing over your skin in the dark of night. Sending a shiver up your back, you sipped at your champagne, unwilling to take your eyes off of Loki. “I didn’t know he was so talented.” Bucky, stiff in his tuxedo, sidled up to you with Steve in tow. “Me either. Look at those fingers fly!” “Guys… hush.” Shooting a silencing glare their way, you let the music transport you, swaying just a bit at the soothing sound. Too soon, in your opinion, the last lingering note of Loki’s song filled the hall. Rising swiftly, Loki bowed at the applause, then turned to the happy couple. Thor hugged his brother close, while Loki kissed Jane’s hand with a gentlemanly air. Conversations started again, quiet at first, then gaining strength as Loki strode across the room. Snagging a glass of champagne from a passing tray, his eyes trained on you, Loki accepted accolades as he moved ever closer. Another server took his empty glass as Loki finally made his way to you.

Scooping you up, Loki spun you slowly in a circle, your gown snapping behind you in an emerald wave of chiffon and lace. “Loki! Come on, put me down!” “As my lady commands”, when your mouth passed close enough to his own, Loki kissed you as if you had never kissed before. You pushed your hands through his dark locks, a hand on each side of his face, “You were amazing, babe. Just amazing!”

“You really think so?” “Absolutely!” His arm settled on your waist, keeping you tight to his side, as you were handed another glass of bubbly.

Bucky, leaning against Steve, wore a look of wide eyed shock, “Um. Loki… what the fuck are you doing?"

"Agent Barnes, do I really need to explain?"

Mouth dropping open, Bucky gaped, "He’s the guy? Really? You’re telling me Loki is the guy?” “She’s not telling us, Buck… she’s showing us.”

“But Stevie…? Loki? You? You’re the guy who makes her happy? The one who she’s been covering for?” Pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, just a touch guilty, “I am. And, I’m madly in love with her.” “I’m happy Bucky. Stevie… really. Loki is… he’s my everything. I love him, too.”

As your secret was outed, the group formed a circle around you and Loki. Questions were shouted, congratulations extolled, Loki was clapped on the back more than once. Natasha gave you a wink and the "ok", which was really all the approval you needed.

“So, who won the pool then?”, Clint couldn’t help asking. “Me… and Thor”, the bride stepped right up to Tony with her hand out ready to take the prize money. “No fair! He’s your brother in law now. He probably told you!” Rhodey chimed in, unsatisfied with the final results. Defending her methods, Jane spun in her wedding dress, “No way! I used my powers of scientific deduction. I knew she was head over heels for Loki the night we announced our engagement.” Wondering, you looked at Jane, “You did? How? I mean, I didn't tell anyone. We didn't tell anyone ” “You didn't have to! You two wouldn’t look at each other. Dead give away.” Counting her cash, Jane smiled at you. “That may be true, but I promise you this, Odinson… break her heart and I’ll kill you.” Bucky shook Loki’s hand good naturedly, if a little too long, stopping only when Steve pulled him away. Gazing down at you, adoration evident in his face, Loki husked, “Not to worry, Agent Barnes. She has my heart you see... and I plan to be her guy as long as she’ll have me.”

Tagging my Minxes: @lancsnerd @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @sammy-jo1977 @queenofmischief @iamverity @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @wolfsmom1 @procrastinatinglikeabitch @mizfit2 @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @jessiejunebug @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @thenatalie @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @is-it-madness @jenjen8675309 @alexakeyloveloki @poetic-fiasco

#loki x reader #loki x you #hot loki #Loki Love #MCU fanfiction #mcu writing challenge #loki writing challenge #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #1000 followers #loki smut

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waitmyturtles · 2 years ago

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I am BLUBBERING, I have no words -- this was AMAZING! @nieves-de-sugui, THANK YOU for thinking of me and the project and tagging me in this!

I HONESTLY think that I get the very best impressions of the progress of this genre through personal recollections like this. And I love, love your breakdowns of the big booms and the little booms -- and ESPECIALLY of how these moves may have cross-culturally impacted each other, and how Thailand/Japan/Korea/Taiwan (and maybe even China) are watching each other by way of influence and inspiration.

For me, hearing in particular the huge build-up to Bad Buddy, and how excited the industry was for it, and how Aof managed the hype and brought the guys together -- that history WARMS my heart (and holy shit, Blacklist has everyone, including the gals I love, Love and View -- I think I’m gonna have to watch this). It just marked (right?) -- it marked how far the genre had come, and how GMMTV was going to *market* and *leverage* the talent that this genre had attracted for something huge. Knowing that context about one of my dearest shows ever... so cool.

And going backwards a bit from there: having the context as to how popular 2gether was in Japan... and then Japan dropping Cherry Magic, which is one of my biggest faves ever, and how TV Tokyo put two huge stars behind that franchise (stars in Machida and Akaso that I still love so much). How the genre continues to get amazing actors/actresses in the space and gets the very best out of them through incredible scripts.

And moving back, back from there, to understand that the genre came from questionable storylines, because there may have been thinking that that was what yaoi and a supposed-majority-female-audience demanded. And, understanding WHERE WE ARE NOW, with gorgeous shows about real love, real hardship, real-world impacts (Moonlight Chicken being that very best example for me now) -- whew. It makes me SUPER glad to be re-living history, so that I can only appreciate all this context more.

My very favorite shows are the extraordinary QLs, hands down, and I love reading these histories to hear how these shows moved others. To be honest, this is, by far, the best part of the Old GMMTV Challenge -- to hear everyone’s feedback. I always feel so inspired and energized to watch more and think about how great (or not) the shows are, and to hear everyone’s thoughts on these shows.

[If there’s anyone who wants to chime in on your own personal viewing history or your reflections on the overall development of the genre...it would only educate me and us: @absolutebl, @shortpplfedup, @bengiyo, @lurkingshan (although I know the spoilers ha ha), @respectthepetty, @miscellar, @clairificusrex, @solitaryandwandering, @so-much-yet-to-learn, @manogirl, @wen-kexing-apologist and anyone else who wants to join in!]

My personal experience with BL history for @waitmyturtles

After reading through the posts of your Old GMMTv Challenge, I decided to add my own perspective, as a watcher, of how BL has evolved as a genre as time went by. I hope this “history from the perspective of the viewer” might shed some light in some of the questions you might have or bring up interesting things for your viewing and understanding of the shows. I will try to not repeat what has already been said through your posts by all the wonderful people in this fandom and keep it as concise as possible (turns out it’s still super long).

Keep reading

#THANK YOU nieves-de-sugui!!!!#such great reading!#turtles catches up with old gmmtv #the old gmmtv challenge #thai bl history #bl history #bl viewing history #bl journeys

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adultswim2021 · 3 years ago

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Robot Chicken #27: “Cracked China” | May 14, 2006, 11:30PM | S02E07

Okay dude let's go: First sketch of note is “Numb-Chucking” where some rowdy teens cause trouble by injecting their friend with Novocaine and throwing him off/into various things, which he laughs off because he can't feel anything. Not a bad premise, I guess! Didn't make me laugh, but I guess I appreciated that it wasn't about Smurfs or some shit.

Next sketch of length: Apocalypse Ponies. It's like My Little Pony but they are the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Robot Chicken righting the ship to their regular formula of kid's toy from the 80s that is cute and harmless but now it's violent.

The next sketch of length is Eagle Eye Smith, which is a sketch about a blind pool hustler, but a guy befriends him to make him think he's actually good at pool even though he isn’t, really. Not only does his friend help him believe that he’s good at pool, he does it for everything. He supplies sound effects to trick his brain into thinking he bowled a perfect game despite him throwing the ball in the wrong direction. He also cheers him on and stuff. I have mixed feelings when Robot Chicken goes outside it's own formula. Part of me specifically doesn't have much of a taste for their usual brand of 80s action figures doing irreverent jokes about whatever IP they belong to, but when they go outside of that I usually just wish it were a live-action sketch instead. Anyway, this is also sorta a lame sketch anyway.

There's a Pokemon sketch I don't care about, but then there's also a thing where it's Golden Girls and the City. It's Golden Girls meets Sex in the City. This one sucks and is lame. They talk about having sex or stuff at a deli and there's a guy in the booth next to them who is trying to pay his check because he is grossed out hearing about old women have sex. There's a lame stupid bit where Estelle Getty talks about being a cheerleader for a high school basketball team. Her story hints at being gangbanged by the team but we’re seeing that really happened was just lending itself to double entendre. I don't know man. Bad sketch!

MAIL BAG

Ive been watching along with Robot Chicken and I gotta say I've been enjoying it. Seth has a real knack and finding the funny in a lot of these old media properties that I was not alive to enjoy. I feel...he's a very bright kid. I guess he's a full on adult now, but back then, cool.

Nasty opinion to have, but I respect it and I respect you. Thanks for reading my (does a backflip) blog!

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #robot chicken

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entropic-introspection · 4 years ago

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Final Fantasy XIV: A Quick(ish) Summary As Told By Someone Too Lazy To Recheck Exact Times/Things

1.0- We don't talk about it

A Realm Reborn (ARR)- for some strange reason the world got like, completely blown up 5 years ago, crazy! You are some dumb kid from nowhere in particular, with nothing but the clothes on your back and a weapon that is little more than a chunk of wood, or a book. Possibly just your fists. You have got 50 levels and a shitload of lore to get through until you reach the first expansion.

Essentially: you don't have enough money for chicken nuggets, your fashion game is nonexistent, and every high level player calls you a sprout and exhibits Concern about your every action (they mean well).

Garlemald bad, Ascians bad, Eorzea uhhh trying to be good but kinda racist/capitalist/pirates with a history of colonialism, Coerthas is French Catholic and in the Crusades with the dragons. Hydaelin... good? Confusing, for sure, often referred to as Mother in text. Primals bad and scary, but fortunately you are immune to their mind-fuckery techniques thanks to Crystal Mom and surprisingly good at kicking their asses. Garleans mad that you ""savages"" keep killing Primals, despite having a whole mandate against Primals and Primal summoning. Ascians mad that you keep killing Primals because Ascians are dicks. People die, there is an amnesia plot, some annoying twerp is annoyingly right about a lot of things and also you can't get rid of him, Moogles, possession, fucking Ancient Aliens Allagans (if it's a problem in ARR, it's Ascians or Allagans aight), and hey ho you go and kick Garlean asses until they throw a giant machine at you that they stuffed full of Primal juice. Such devastation-!

Then there is the slightly post ARR stuff, where we're still level 50-ish but not really into the next expansion. So basically, we meet Dragon Dad who slaps Crystal Mom's blessing off of you to build character, Ascians are once again dicks, Who The Hell Names These Things, wow Lysanderoth you're definitely not suspicious at all, and our annoying twerp is dabbling in politics and for some reason you're getting fond of him?? Just in time for...

Heavensward (Lvl 50-60)- Congratulations, you are now an enemy of the state! We return/flee to French Catholic Coerthas/Ishgard, where we get to room with our Dear Friend, Haurchefant.

Don't mind how all the high leveled players have started crying. This expansion is emotionally devastating, has a great storyline, and also features canonical consensual dragon vore as a plot point. You know that tweet that's all "Church bad because they won't let you fuck dragons"? Yes, that's Heavensward. You will still cry. We embark on an epic road trip with the annoying twerp (ft his existential teenage crisis), a famous dragon killer and sadboi, and a famous lady who advocates peace/fucking dragons. Somehow, none of you kill each other. Instead, you murder a weirdly attractive bug-man with good music and a desire for violence, a giant flying whale, and some old dudes. You also beat up the same Ascian from the first bit, again. And again, in his final(?) form. Dragon Dad has come along to watch your progress, and also check on his kids cause he's actually, y'know, the entire progenitor of the dragon race. Wow! His family is very sad, mostly. But he does like you, so hey, he can adopt you and have one kid that turned out ok and happy! Hahahahha there's no therapists in Eorzea :')

Then we get to deal with "Hey we ended your like 500 year+ Crusade and kind of upended your social structures, y'all good?" (no), something something Warriors of Darkness, something something Urianger sus, then ALISAIE JOINS THE PARTY. I love her ok, let me have this. She's the annoying twerp's twin, and she's more inclined to hitting things that politics and philosophy. She's also kind of crushing on you. Also Minfillia kinda fucks off to nowhere, which is weird, b/c she has been Important but also Not Involved with the plot for like. 8 years.

Stormblood (Lvl 60-70)- Return of Lysanderoth! Briefly. Before he fucks you over, again. And a bunch of other people, honestly. But hey, this puts Eorzea in open contention with Garlemald for the first time in years, instead of them hovering in an uneasy cold war. For the first goddamn time in the game, you canonically get your ass kicked. Hard. So hard you decide fuck it! And go overseas to Fantasy Japan/China to visit some nice people you helped out earlier. You get catfished. You meet a weeb. There's some pirates, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. There's Ravana take 2, this time in a slightly more 'Forever 21' phase. Wild, young, free, REJOICE.

You attempt to inspire rebellion (since your character doesn't talk much, this is quite difficult). Garleans crack down, and hey look, the dude who kicked your ass is back! Prince Zenos Yae Galvus, as by this point you've hopefully learned, even if you're bad with names like me. He kicks your ass again, but this time we break his helmet, and wait shit is he... kind of hot? Maybe? Fuck?? He pins you to a wall and tells you to find him later, it's all confusing and prompts strange butterflies in stomachs. (Side note: as a lesbian, I am making some assumptions here. Mostly based off of how I reacted to the idea of Tsukuyomi doing the same. Mm.)

Then he promptly fucks off, and to work off that sexual tension you square up and work with local friends on Rebellion! You get help from some neighboring nomads after proving you're cool enough to tame a bird, and this proves enough to free the area from Garlean control (for now). We go back to Eorzea, and prepare to kick Zenos' head in. He's playing hard to get though, so we gotta get through some other folks, learn hard lessons about war/colonization, and feel bad. AND THEN WE KICK HIS- oh no wait. Is he... coming on to us again? Oh jesus man, get a therapist, oh my god, this is awkward for us both. Turns out he's kinda depressed and just wants you. To fight him. To the death. There is some bullshittery and he becomes dragon. Fails to kill you, so he kills himself. (Spoiler: it doesn't stick)

The Garlean Empire is now pissed off at you, and Eorzea in general. Everyone is kung-fu fighting, but oops, Garlemald is preparing to commit ~war crimes~! Someone is doing something weird, which is making your Scion friends fall into comas, which is both very convenient and highly inconvenient, cause all of you are kinda needed right now! Zenos, or something in his body, is causing trouble as well. Look, even when we thought he was dead he was causing trouble.

Shadowbringers (Lvl 70-80): We find out what's been making our friends pass out- someone from another dimension has been trying to yoink you over to them, and like all attempts at using the Rescue spell, it just sometimes leads to hilarious accidents. In this case, some epic lag, so although your friends have only been out of it for a week or two at most, they've been in this other world for 5 whole years in some cases. Turns out, Garlean war crimes are all an Ascian plot (what isn't, by this point), and mysterious Crystal Exarch is hoping you can save this world and your own.

At this point, Yoshi P, the lead developer, pulls out a gun and asks if you've been doing all those side-quests and optional 48 man raids. He worked very hard on those, you know. He put in lots of lore. Then he asks if you remember all those dangling plot hooks from previous expansions. We're addressing a lot of those. And adding more. You are sweating and nodding frantically while scrolling a wiki on your phone.

You get to feel like you're in an Otome game, because there's two dudes being weirdly polite and interested in you, but also real snappish to each other in terms of "fuck off she's mine". Alisaie and Alphinaud off-screen character development. Urianger still sus. Thancred now a dad? Y'shtola still so good. A lot of things happen, and you get progressively sadder as the expansion goes on. You get a nice, great big burst of hope and love, and then SOMEONE is a DICK with a GUN. (It is not Yoshi P.)

Now you just feel bad. Your character feels bad. This is all build up for the A) some motherfucking revelations and B) the utter catharsis of "If you could take one more step... would you?" "What, all by myself?" "THROW WIDE THE GATE"

I have shed legitimate tears over Shadowbringers ok, between the music, story, and pacing it is an Experience. Oh my god tho, all the music from Shadowbringers is so good. La-HEE

#ffxiv #theres some spoilers in there but its all p nondescript #again: i aint checking exact facts here folks this is all in good fun

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jeongyunhoed · 4 years ago

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8 Stories, 8 Movies from the Golden Age (1930s to 1960s).

It’s the golden age and 8 men are the most sought-after actors in Hollywood. Ateez, but make them Old Hollywood, basically. Lights, camera, action!

Member: Jongho

Genre: Murder mystery, a little bit of comedy, a little bit of romance

Warnings: Murder (as it is a murder mystery), mentions of it including suicide, death, blackmail

Things to note: Divorce then getting back together, infidelity (don’t cheat, it’s bad), horse racing, set in the 1930s.

Will have OCs

As with the rest of the stories in the AU, there will be other idols mentioned.

Masterlist

Prominent surgeon Choi Jongho is forced to team up with his murder mystery author ex-wife to investigate a murder at a racetrack.

The Ex-Mrs. Choi

tag list: @minervaaaaaaaa , @closer-stars

Part 2

Jongho was pacing back and forth in his office the next day. The rumbling and rummaging he could hear from Miyoung’s bedroom kept him awake half the night. She kept him and Yeosang awake the whole night trying to make herself comfortable in his apartment, which used to be theirs before she moved out after their divorce. On top of trying to get comfortable with the idea of living with his ex-wife again, he also had a mystery in his hands, one of which was the test tube with the sample of the substance he took from the jockey’s body at the morgue and where it was. He was supposed to analyze the substance when he saw it was gone.

“There was a scalpel in a test tube,” He explained to Yeosang, who was busy looking through the chairs and under the tables. “It had a gummy substance on it and I left it on my desk here last night and now it’s gone.”

“Yes sir, so far I’ve seen none,” The butler replied. “It must have disappeared.”

“Alright, never mind, Yeosang I’ll need you to do something else,” Jongho said, and Yeosang stood back up. “Did Hongjoong call yet?”

“No sir.”

“Have you tried reaching Hongjoong?”

“Yes sir, but no one’s been answering.”

“Try again, maybe he’ll pick up today.”

“Did you try all the numbers I gave you?” Jongho asked, remembering that Hongjoong had a few phone numbers where he answered.

“Yes sir. No one’s seen Mr. Kim since early last evening, when he came here,” Yeosang replied, walking up to the phone to dial the list of numbers again. He paused when he heard one pick up. “Mr. Kim Hongjoong? One moment please,” He gestured for Jongho to pick up the receiver.

“Hello, is this Kim Hongjoong?”

“Yes, this is Kim Hongjoong,” said a low voice from the other line until it changed. “Who’s this?”

Jongho exhaled sharply and closed his eyes. If his blood pressure didn’t shoot up before, it probably felt like it was now. “Oh, Kim Miyoung. What are you doing over there? Where’s Hongjoong?”

“It’s Choi Miyoung to you, Jongho, I took your last name, get used to it,” Miyoung replied. “But I don’t know where he is. I do have clues though that might lead to him, it might take me the whole day but I’ll find him.”

“Alright fine, when I see him I’ll tell him you’re looking for him too.”

Evening had set in and Jongho returned from the hospital, still thinking of the day’s events and of the progress he, or well, Miyoung, somehow made in figuring out who killed the jockey. As he entered the front hall of his apartment, taking his hat and coat off to hang it on the side, Miyoung appeared. “Honey, you’re home,” She said. “Any luck today?”

“Consider yourself bust,” Jongho followed her into the living room and sat down on the couch. Miyoung stood behind him, gently massaging his shoulders.

“You look tired.”

“I am, I had six operations in one day,” He closed his eyes, trying to relax as Miyoung’s hands were on his temples. Jongho opened his eyes when he felt her pull away.

“You need to relax, put this on,” She handed him a familiar looking scarlet jacket.

“Hey, that’s my smoking jacket, I was looking everywhere for that!” Jongho looked astounded as he took the piece of clothing from her, smoothing over the fabric.

Miyoung leaned on the armrest of the couch next to him, helping him put the jacket on. “You’re going to dig into my girlish heart,” She chuckled. “That’s been to Honolulu, Bali, China, Japan, it went with me,” She admitted. “I missed you.”

Jongho sighed. “Well, full disclosure between us, I missed you too,” He said. “Hey, we’re on the verge of getting sentimental here.”

She chuckled, gently feeling the material of the jacket on his arm. “I thought so too,” She stood back up. “Well, how about some dinner?”

“Dinner? It’s Yeosang’s day off,” Jongho replied. “If you were the right kind of ex-wife, you’d probably get dinner ready at home, as it is-”

“As it is I am the right kind of ex-wife and I have dinner ready at home,” Miyoung grinned.

“Really?” A smile formed on his lips.

“Anytime I fix dinner at home, you know it’s serious,” She pointed out. “Don’t start acting like you don’t know me, silly.”

A sigh of relief escaped him. “Miyoung, you’re terrific. It’s things like these that make a guy appreciate having a woman around the house. Coming home tired but to a warm meal at the end of the day?” He stood up.

Miyoung took his hand and led him to the dining room, the table already laden with several platters of food, with champagne cooling in the ice bucket. As she brought Jongho closer to the table, he stepped back. “What?” She noticed his confused expression.

“Everything looks like jelly,” He said.

“No, it’s gelatin!” Miyoung pointed out. “Jellied consomme, aspic salad, chicken and jelly-”

“Okay, okay, I get the idea,” Jongho sat down at one end of the table, and she sat at the other end. “It’s all gelatin.”

“Stop complaining and try some of the jellied consomme,” Miyoung pointed to the bowl by Jongho’s plate.

“Did you find Hongjoong?” He stuck his spoon into the soup, watching it wobble before eating it.

“No, but let’s not talk about that for now, let’s have a nice quiet evening for once, the ex-Chois at home,” She said, watching him try more of the soup and cutting into her own. “How do you feel?”

Jongho raised a brow. “I feel fine?”

“That’s funny, I feel fine too,” She said. “Try the chicken in aspic and tell me what you think.”

He obliged, cutting into the savory jelly that had pieces of chicken suspended inside. “It’s not bad, it’s...gelatinous.”

“Feeling sleepy, darling?” She asked.

“No, not particularly.”

“Me neither, I’m not even dizzy.”

“Well that’s something,” Jongho was about to take another bite of the aspic when he noticed Miyoung stand up and take a handful of the jellied consomme to place on her arm. “Kim Miyoung! What on earth are you doing?”

“I always rub gelatin on my arm,” She said, pushing the sleeve of her blouse back some more to rub the rest of the jelly on her skin. “Put some on your face, it feels good,” She broke off one part of the aspic and he ducked away before she could smother some on his cheek. “Do I look okay?”

“You look silly, Miyoungie.”

“Hold out your hand.”

“What for?”

“Just hold it out,” She insisted and he put his spoon down. Miyoung placed the aspic in his hand. “There, some gelatin on the hand does wonders for you.”

Jongho watched her smother more jelly on her arm. “Thanks, thanks a lot.”

“Hang on to it,” She glanced at him.

“I can’t, it slips through my fingers, Miyoungie,” He exhaled sharply, staring at the bits of jelly falling on the table. Jongho knew Yeosang would have his hands full trying to get all of these washed.

“How do you feel now?” Miyoung paused to look at him.

“Kim Miyoung I feel fine, except I’m beginning to get pissed off. What’s the big idea?” Frustration was evident in his tone.

Miyoung frowned and sat back down. “Well, we should be dead by now.”

Now Jongho really couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What? What’s in this stuff?” He said, shaking the jelly out of his hand and onto the plate in front of him.

“Just jelly, but it should’ve killed us!”

“Miyoung, are you crazy? Babies eat this,” Jongho’s brows furrowed at her explanation as he wiped his hands with the table napkin.

“It might have been okay for babies, but it killed Lee Taeyong. That’s what was on the scalpel,” Miyoung explained.

“The scalpel-” Jongho paused at the realization of why the test tube with the scalpel he took from the morgue was missing. “...What do you know about the scalpel?”

“I took it, didn’t you know?” Miyoung said.

“Heaven give me strength,” Jongho closed his eyes. If his hand wasn’t so sticky, it would’ve been at the back of his neck. “Oh, you took the scalpel? I was looking everywhere for that scalpel-” He muttered, trying to stay calm.

“I took the scalpel to the laboratory last night and I had it analyzed already, it was just gelatin,” Miyoung explained, her voice turning into a whisper as she sensed how he was feeling.

“Oh Miyoung, you’re sensational, just sensational,” Jongho was resisting the urge to curl his hands into fists. “For a moment I was already interested in this detecting business, if someone else had stolen the scalpel and oh-” He slowly got up from his chair. “You took the scalpel- Then it proves that there was no poison and it also ruins any help I could give Kim Hongjoong, except finding him,” He padded towards the telephone. “The police will do a better job with that.”

Miyoung quickly followed him. “You’re being a party pooper trying to call the cops,” She pouted, watching him dial the number.

“There’s something strange about Hongjoong though, I want to know what happened to him, he said he’d meet us last night and he never showed,” Jongho waited for the other line to pick up until they heard the doorbell ring. “Who could that be? Wait here,” He said, putting the phone down to approach the door.

“No, no, I want to see-”

“Get out of the way, Miyoung,” Jongho insisted, as the doorbell kept ringing.

“Wait, Jongho, you notice the bell?” She said, following him.

“Yes I did. Just a minute!” He called out the more he walked towards the door, only for Miyoung to hold him back.

“Jongho, don’t open the door, just look in the peephole,” She said, her hold on his arm tightening. “You don’t know who’s behind the door, just look out the peephole.”

“Alright I will. Move out of the way,” Jongho broke free from her grip. “Who is it?” He called out, looking through the peephole.

“What do you see?” She whispered.

Jongho leaned back. The bell kept ringing. “There’s someone against the door. Move, move away, Miyoung,” He said, gently pushing her back.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to open the door,” Jongho said, turning the knob.

Miyoung squealed in surprise as a suited man fell inside and at their feet, motionless. Jongho glanced down the hall before looking back at the body that fell inside. “Who is it? Why is he lying there like that?” She said, almost hiding her face.

Jongho bent down and turned the body over. His eyes widened as he realized who it was. “It’s Hongjoong.”

“Kim Hongjoong?” Miyoung gaped, watching him gently frisk the body, trying to feel for a pulse.

“Yeah, he’s been shot,” Jongho lifted the jacket open to reveal a bullet wound in Hongjoong’s chest.

“Jongho, there’s a note on his sleeve,” Miyoung pointed to the piece of paper pinned to the cuff. “What does it say?”

Jongho gently removed the paper to look at what was scribbled onto it. “This guy wouldn’t turn over the money either,” He read out.

The police had arrived a little while later at Jongho’s call, sealing off the front hall as a crime scene as some officers took photos of the body. Other officers were dusting the outside of his door for fingerprints, some of them even analyzing the note that was found on Hongjoong’s sleeve. Jongho sat on the couch, trying to wrap his head around what he had just seen while Miyoung was in the kitchen, pouring herself a martini. He glanced over at the door upon hearing the chatter amongst the officers grow louder, realizing that the detective in charge had arrived, Lieutenant Jeong Yunho.

“Alright, Dr. Choi, why did you kill him?” Yunho suddenly spoke.

Jongho stopped to stare at him. “Why-” He paused. “That’s ridiculous. What would I kill him for?” He asked.

“Well, if you didn’t, how did his body get here? Outside your door?” Yunho asked this time.

“I don’t know. I just saw someone leaning against the door, I opened the door and his body fell in.”

“Really? That’s pretty good for a man to walk up to the door and ring the doorbell after he’s dead?” Yunho narrowed his gaze at the surgeon.

“Lieutenant, why would I kill Kim Hongjoong?”

“I don’t know, but you’ve become a suspicious character in the last 24 hours, incredibly suspicious,” Yunho explained. “We got a report that you visited the morgue last night, and you found something on Lee Taeyong’s body and took it home with you. What was it?”

“Well, it turned out to be gelatin.”

“Gelatin-” Yunho paused and frowned. “Yeah, that makes as much sense as the coroner’s report. He did an autopsy on the body and said the left ventricle was completely collapsed.”

“Left ventricle collapsed?” Jongho was even more confused. “That’s a symptom of drowning, or strangulation.”

“Drowning, strangulation, gelatin,” Yunho recounted. “That’s a little absurd, don’t you think? Why did you go down there, Dr. Choi?”

“Because of Kim Hongjoong, he came to me-”

“Yeah, and that brings me to another point that, well, points to you being suspicious,” Yunho said. “We sent someone to Mr. Kim’s hotel and we found this,” He held up a bedazzled blue purse. “Do you recognize this?”

Jongho shook his head. “No.”

“That’s interesting, because it’s your wife’s,” Yunho showed him the detail on the bag. “Dr. Choi, there’s no sense for me to beat around the bush, but you’re in quite a spot.”

Jongho was still staring at the bag. “I’m starting to think you’re right.”

“Yeah, I’d have to agree that you’re in a tough spot, Jongho, you’re now public suspect number one,” Miyoung was sitting next to him on the couch later that night after everyone had gone, patting his hand. “You have to find the murderer to clear your name, darling.”

“Which is exactly what I’m going to do,” Jongho nodded, suddenly realizing that he was holding her hand.

“You won’t find him sitting here and staring at the fire, though.”

Jongho let go of her hand. “Miyoung, I don’t want to tell you your business, but in most murders, the motive is money,” He pointed out. “Who stood to make the most out of yesterday’s race?”

“The owner of the winning horse.”

“Exactly,” He picked up the day’s newspaper and turned over to the sports section. Jongho pointed out the results of the horse races. “See here? Sixth race, winner Wave, the owner is Mr. Song Mingi, odds four to one,” He read.

“Song Mingi? That’s the guy who called Hongjoong last night,” Miyoung sat up, taking a closer look at the paper.

“What?” Jongho stared at her.

“Yeah, I found slips of calls made to Hongjoong at his room last night. Song Mingi, Park Seonghwa, and Choi San,” Miyoung said.

It was moments like these where Jongho felt like he could kiss her. “In case of fire, run, do not walk to the nearest exit,” He got up from the couch and rushed to the nearest closet to put his hat and coat on.

“Where are you going?” Miyoung got up as well.

“I am going to find who killed Lee Taeyong,” He said with a renewed enthusiasm.

“Jongho, you’re working on the wrong murder, it’s Kim Hongjoong they think you killed,” She called out, watching him.

He stopped. “Miyoung, it should be obvious even to you that if Hongjoong was killed, it was because he confirmed his suspicions about yesterday’s race and was close to figuring out who killed the jockey,” He pointed out. “If I can follow Hongjoong’s trail last night-”

“No, no, Jongho, wait a minute,” Miyoung went up to him. “If you find out what he did, you might get killed too!”

“Maybe,” Jongho put on his hat and opened the door. “Tell Lt. Jeong I’ll be back soon!” He said and stepped out of his apartment.

“Jongho!” Miyoung called out, hurriedly putting on her coat as well. “Jongho, come back! If you’re going to get killed, I want to be there!”

With Miyoung’s insistence, Jongho waited for her to catch up as they arrived at Song Mingi’s home, also a penthouse unit in one of the buildings in the city. “You want to marry me now?” She glanced at him, looking playful.

“You’re still on that?”

Before she could answer the door opened, standing by was Song Mingi himself, wearing a maroon velvet suit and a robe. “Hello, who are you?”

“I’m Dr. Choi Jongho, and this is-”

“I’m Mrs. Choi,” Miyoung smiled.

“Oh, Dr. Choi, yes, I’ve heard about you. You got involved in that inquest a few years ago regarding the death of a socialite, right? Come in, come in,” Mingi stepped aside to let them in.

Jongho and Miyoung stepped inside, Mingi’s butler immediately approaching them to take their coats off. “Mr. Song, I’m investigating yesterday’s race,” He figured he had better be direct at this time.

“Investigating for the track officials?”

“Sorry, I can’t really say,” He shook his head. “Tell me, Mr. Song, what kind of a trainer was Kim Hongjoong?”

“Well, one of the reasons why I wanted to buy Park Seonghwa’s stables was because I knew Hongjoong was included,” Mingi replied.

“Oh, then the deal didn’t go through?” He asked this time.

Mingi shook his head. “No. Park Seonghwa wanted an extra twenty million for Illusion and I couldn’t pay. Oh, and this is my wife, Jihye,” He gestured to the woman entering the room with a tray of what looked like cookies. “Jihye, this Dr. Choi Jongho, and Mrs. Choi.”

“Have some cake, they’re very good,” Jihye set down the platter on the table.

Jongho and Miyoung helped themselves to the small slices already cut out for them. “Thank you,” He ate a forkful and turned back to Mingi. “So, uh, is that what you called Hongjoong about last night?”

“Oh, no, Dr. Choi. I saw him at Seonghwa’s house,” Mingi replied.

The two of them nodded. “I see. These cakes are really good, Mrs. Song, what are they?” Jongho asked.

“Just a little idea of my husband’s,” Jihye smiled. “A gelatin filling.”

Jongho and Miyoung coughed in their seats in surprise.

The journey to Park Seonghwa’s mansion took a little longer than Jongho expected, having fully convinced Miyoung to go back home after visiting Song Mingi took even longer. Agreeing to marry her again was the last thing on his mind, not that he had already said yes to her offer. As he arrived, he noticed the stables nearby, with the horses being tended to by the owner himself, his wife next to him.

“That’s a very handsome horse there, Mr. Park,” Jongho said, after greetings and introductions were exchanged. “I can buy him from you right now.”

“Sorry, I’ve never sold any horses, sick or well,” He waved a hand dismissively.

“Oh, I thought you were considering selling your stables.”

“I? Of course not,” Seonghwa stared at him. “I told my trainer Kim Hongjoong not to bother with any offers.”

“Really?”

“Won’t you come in, Dr. Choi?” Seonghwa’s wife suddenly suggested.

“No thank you, I’m perfectly fine out here,” Jongho replied. “You see Mr. Park, I’m investigating yesterday’s race.”

“You mean, Taeyong’s death?” Mrs. Park asked, her expression falling. Jongho nodded. “Oh, I’m sorry. Seonghwa, you explain, excuse me,” She looked crestfallen as she returned to the house.

“We were both very fond of Taeyong, Dr. Choi,” Seonghwa said. “His death came as a great shock to us. To her most especially.”

“I understand. I imagine Hongjoong was upset too.”

“Very.”

“Is that why he came here last night?” Jongho asked.

“Last night? Oh yes, and to pay me some money he owed me.”

“So, he made a lot of money at the track yesterday?”

“Hongjoong couldn’t have done that if Illusion lost,” Seonghwa shook his head.

“He might have placed a bet on Wave,” Jongho pointed out.

Seonghwa’s expression stiffened. “Dr. Choi, I resent that implication. My trainer is an honest man.”

“Sorry, but thank you for your help, Mr. Park.”

“About time you came back,” Miyoung stood up when she saw Jongho appear in the hall looking defeated. “What did you find out from Mr. Park?”

Jongho sighed, allowing her to put his hat and coat away for him. “That I’m not a detective. There are a lot of promising suspects from whom I’ve gathered a lot of misinformation. Which is true, which isn’t, I don’t know.”

“Then, let’s turn that frown upside down because I have an idea,” Miyoung held his hands.

“Which only means that I get into more trouble.”

“Don’t start, but we’ve overlooked our most important clue so far, the note,” She said.

He stared at her. “Miyoungie, you’re right, the note. The threatening note that was sent to Lee Taeyong.”

“All we need to do is figure out who wrote it and we’ve got the murderer,” She said. They heard the doorbell ring again, making them stop and listen. “Who do you think that is?” She murmured.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Jongho said just as softly.

“How?”

“I’ll open the door,” Jongho gave her a look before carefully opening the door. Standing behind was Seonghwa’s wife.

“Oh, Dr. Choi, I’m so sorry to come here at a time like this-” She said, looking worried.

“Hello! Hello again Mrs. Park, come in, come in,” Jongho stepped aside to let her enter, Miyoung standing by.

“I hate to bother you at this hour but-” She stopped when she saw Miyoung. “Oh, excuse me.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Park, this is Mrs. Choi,” Jongho introduced them and they exchanged nods in response.

“Dr. Choi could you- I mean if I could speak to you alone for a moment?” Mrs. Park asked.

“Of course,” Jongho nodded. “In my office?”

“No! No, don’t bother, I’ll leave you two alone,” Miyoung offered, glancing at him as she walked off to the nearest room.

Jongho led her to the living room. “Thank you Miyoungie. So Mrs. Park-”

“Dr. Choi, where is Kim Hongjoong?” She suddenly asked.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

“I’ve got to find him, Dr. Choi.”

“Mrs. Park, you clearly want me to help you, but how about you help me first?”

“How?”

“Did you talk to Kim Hongjoong last night?”

“Yes,” She nodded. “At my home.”

“What did you talk to him about?”

“A threatening note Taeyong received before the races began,” Mrs. Park replied. “Hongjoong told me he gave it to you and if you think that if Taeyong was killed you probably think that the person who wrote that note-”

“Is the murderer?” Jongho asked.

Mrs. Park nodded. “Yes. You see, Dr. Choi, I wrote that note.”

He stared at her. “Mrs. Park, is this a confession of murder?”

“No, no,” She shook her head. “I promise you that note had nothing to do with the murder.”

“What did the note mean anyway, Mrs. Park?”

Mrs. Park looked down, unable to look him in the eye. “This isn’t very easy for me to say Dr. Choi, but I’ve been a very stupid woman. Seonghwa was suspicious. Taeyong knew that there was someone else,” She sighed. “Taeyong thought of Seonghwa as a brother and out of loyalty to him threatened to tell him. I wrote Taeyong that note and then he died,” She looked up at him again. “So you see the note has to be destroyed, please give it to me, I promise you-”

“Don’t be a sap, Jongho,” Miyoung appeared before he could answer, having overheard them.

“Miyoungie, will you please-”

“Give me the note,” She said. Jongho took out the piece of paper from the coat pocket and handed it over.

“What do you want it for?”

“Shush, darling,” She turned back to the other woman. “Mrs. Park, will you please write on this notepad, ‘you do as I tell you, keep your mouth shut’” Miyoung handed her a pen. Mrs. Park did as she was told and gave the notepad back. She held up both notes. “Mhmm, yes the handwriting’s the same. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t covering for someone else.”

“Good girl,” He said, looking impressed.

“Here’s your note,” She said, handing Mrs. Park the slip of paper.

“Bless you both,” Mrs. Park looked relieved. “Thank you very much.”

“Don’t mention it, Jongho was glad to do it” Miyoung glanced at him with a small smile.

“Good night Dr. Choi, Mrs. Choi,” Mrs. Park said before closing the door behind her.

Jongho and Miyoung turned to each other. “That got us a long way,” An exasperated sigh escaped him. “I can feel the noose around my neck already.”

Miyoung shook her head. “Jongho, what’s the name of that bookkeeper you used to know? His name was San, right?”

“Choi San?”

“That’s it, Choi San,” She said.

“What does he have to do with this?”

“Oh, nothing, it’s just that Mrs. Park mentioned something about her husband being suspicious,” Miyoung recalled. “Because this afternoon, I saw her and Choi San together at the Inception bar.”

Jongho stared at her. “...You did?” He said. “Mrs. Park and Choi San?”

“Mhmm,” Miyoung nodded. “They sat next to me, and San was yelling about losing a lot of money when Wave won.”

“Which means someone placed a bet with him,” Jongho felt the wheels in his head turning. He turned to take his hat and coat off the rack to put it back on. “Bye, Miyoungie,” He said.

“What? Wait, where are you going now?” Miyoung gaped at him.

“I’m going to pay Mr. Choi San a visit and I hope he’s not around when I do,” He slipped on his coat. “I’d like to take a look at his records in his safe.”

Just as he had hoped, Choi San wasn’t in his office. Jongho crept inside, keeping his steps as quiet as possible as he tried to look into his cabinets. Mrs. Park was cheating on Seonghwa with Choi San, he realized, making him just as suspicious.

“Get away from that safe.”

Jongho froze and slowly turned around, his hands immediately up. San was standing by the door, holding a gun. “Oh, hello, San. I didn’t expect to see you at this time.”

“Yeah, I hardly thought you would,” San kept the gun pointed at him. “I didn’t think you were one for opening safes, Dr. Choi.”

“Well, we surgeons open anything.”

“Very funny,” San stared at him. “Keep your hands up. You really thought you’d find Kim Hongjoong in there, did you?”

“I found him, San,” Jongho replied. “Not here. Hongjoong’s dead.”

“Well, that figures. You start double crossing and you know what you’re going to get-” San threatened. “Did they find out who did it?”

“The police think I killed him, San.”

A chuckle escaped his lips, followed by a satisfied grin. “No kidding, you’ve found yourself between a rock and a hard place.”

“Look, San, you know full well what happens to people charged with murder, and I have no intention of suffering that if I can avoid it,” Jongho said. “The only way out for me is if I can prove that someone else killed Hongjoong and I plan on doing just that.”

“You can’t be faulted for trying.”

“I can do better than try, San. I have an appointment with Lt. Jeong Yunho in the morning, and I can tell him a lot of interesting things.”

“Funny, what makes you sure you’re going to see Lt. Jeong in the morning? Or anyone else?”

“Well yes, there’s that to consider,” Jongho replied. The phone on the desk suddenly rang, making the two men look. “Well, San? Should I answer the phone?”

“Go over there,” San gestured to the other side of the room, keeping him at gunpoint while he picked up the receiver. “Hello? Oh yeah,” He glanced at Jongho. “Yeah, wait a minute,” San looked over at him, handing over the receiver. “It’s Lt. Jeong, for you.”

“Lt. Jeong?” Jongho tried not to look surprised.

“Yeah, and you tell him everything is fine, Dr. Choi,” San warned, stepping back to let him talk.

“Is it?”

“Yeah, tell Lt. Jeong that everything is alright.”

Jongho calmly put the receiver to his ear. “Hello lieutenant?”

“Hello Dr. Choi, I’ve got everything under control here,” He heard a cough on the other line until he realized who was really speaking. “How are you doing, darling?”

“Damn-” Jongho cleared his throat. “Thanks, Lt. Jeong, everything is fine. Yes, I’ll be there,” and he hung up.

“Alright Dr. Choi, you win, for the time being,” San put his gun down. “You can thank your friend Lt. Jeong over there, and now that you’ve seen my books you understand how I felt about Kim Hongjoong, rest in peace.”

“Sure, sure, but I’m still a little puzzled about that.”

“Can’t you read?” San flipped over one of the record books towards him. “Look, Kim Hongjoong, he bet twenty five million on Wave to win and paid off four to one. And I’m stuck for one hundred million, every single cent.”

“That’s what I’m confused about, San,” Jongho looked over the record again. “You knew Hongjooong was betting on Wave, you must have known that Illusion would lose.”

“Hongjoong didn’t make the bet himself, he was too smart for that. He had someone else place the bet instead.”

“Who was he?”

“Beats me, some guy with a mole under his eye,” San replied. “He was going to call me after the race to tell me where to send the winnings.”

“And did he?”

“Yeah, he said to send it to Kim Hongjoong. Apartment A, 1024 Powell street,” San recalled.

Jongho raised a brow. “Hongjoong lived at the Treasure Hotel.”

“Of course I knew that, he was using the other address as a decoy, and I wanted to give Hongjoong a piece of my mind, tell him what I thought of him, so I called him at his hotel and he came over here,” San explained.

“What did Hongjoong say?”

“What do you think? He said he never made the bet,” San frowned.

“Why would he do that?”

“Beats me, but when I told him about the guy with the mole under his eye, he came through. Took the money and left.”

Jongho nodded. He picked up the phone again to dial a number. “Hello? Yes, I’d like to send a telegram,” He covered the receiver, turning back to San again. “Where were you supposed to send the money again?”

“Apartment A, 1024 Powell street,” San answered.

“Hello? Yes, to Dr. Choi Jongho, 1117 Arthur street,” Jongho said to the operator. “The message is, meet me at my apartment,” and he repeated the address San gave him. “Signed, Kim Hongjoong. Yes, charge it to Dr. Choi, thank you,” and he hung up.

San looked confused. “What’s the deal?”

“Oh, just in case I won’t be around in the morning. I want Lt. Jeong to know where I am.”

#kdiner #ateez #jongho #choi jongho #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez jongho

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