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allthatisleftinthedark · 1 month

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A letter is presented to Estranha, and once it's open, it has a familiar handwriting, that of one Nelia Zarin.

Hey, Es. It's been a while, I know, usually we have time to talk or we meet up a lot more often, but ever since the start of this journey, things have been going so fast it makes my head spin. From the moment I set out, I've been drugged, knocked out, got the boat i was traveling on smashed by a dragon...Caught in explosions, it's been a mess. Feels like I can't take a minute to catch my breath.

That's just the external stuff. I had a dream about an old friend and his little brother. I couldn't save the kid, he had a knife that cut holes into the elemental planes...At the end of the day, he was a scared kid with a shitty father. I should've been able to do more, should've saved him. Now he's scattered across the planes. Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop, I'll bring him back, no matter what it takes. You know me, I got a hard head that I'll keep banging against the wall until it breaks.

There's another dream I had. You were in it, and it was just us talking and hanging out while I worked out. And I...Gods, I'm so sorry I've been pulling you around for so long. I'm so afraid of losing you that I don't even know how to begin talking about how I feel about you. I've always been so damn uncertain, but now? After all of this? Nearly dying a few times, visions where you wind up dead...Or hell, even experiencing the feeling of seeing into other worlds and feeling my arm getting flayed to the point of uselessness...I know now.

Oh, and don't even get me started on meeting an ice dragon, or getting eaten by a Gibbering Maw, it's so fucking horrible on the inside of those things and I punched my way out with the help of my master, Ramona Hammerfist. I've seen things that people would only see in nightmares, and the cult...Let me tell you, I don't think I can take enough baths or showers to ever get the smell of rotting meat outta my clothes. I swear I can even smell the shit in my dreams.

I want to be with you. Every second of every day for the rest of my life. I'm supposed to be a wanderer, but I don't want to travel around for the rest of my life, and not have a home. Or at the very least, if I gotta travel for the rest of my life, I want it to be with you.

I want you to meet my friends, to meet Cassius when we get him back, he's such a good kid, and he just needs someone to encourage him. I want you to meet Junie, she's been the closest thing I've had to a mom, and Aika, she's a little serious sometimes, but she's got a curiosity about things that's pretty adorable. I don't know if you'd get to meet them, but the Crownswatch has been nice to know too, Dejin's kind of the serious type, but he knows good food and drink, Khiye, a little spooky, but she's good in a fight, I mean, she bashed a mound of flesh so hard the damn thing was knocked stupid. Garur, I think you'd look at them and then you'd understand why we get along so well. Nowhere...well, I might have to work to be her friend, I kinda can't translate her way of speech yet. I don't know when we'll meet again, but when we do...I'm gonna be a woman worthy of being your girlfriend. With love, Nelly

unprompted asks! | always accepting | @offrozenmemoirs

A/N's note: Any mentions of "Juniper" are replaced with "Ghost Whisker." Only Creed knows her private name and refers to her by that name one-on-one; everyone else knows her as Ghost Whisker and addresses her as such (Creed included when in public/group conversation).

Sheltered by the canopy of a weather-worn canvas tent, Estranha peruses speculative fiction of the to-be future during the 4000s from a tome published circa 3200 PC. Their roosting spot is on a sturdy wooden crate adorned with crimson-painted words. As alien as the language on the box is, its definition is meaningless.

With weighty volume, they perch upon a sturdy wooden crate with painted crimson words on one side. Alien is the language to them, but its definition is meaningless. In this instance, this serves as a "seat" and nothing more.

As their gaze skims across the printed character, a slender finger idly twirls a plum-purple stray lock. A sudden snort, reminiscent of crackling flames, disrupts the silence. Aimless exploration constitutes a significant portion of Estranha's scholarly pursuits. Uncovering peculiarities and pockets of amusements are commonplace amidst their research. Of course, these are abrupt conclusions in their currently fruitless endeavors. But not every dead end heralds a soured conclusion. Rather, they often encounter unexpected delights along the winding search of inquiry, each revelation saccharine in an otherwise dried pool.

Upon the page from Grand Magister Salazar Silverwinds's The Revolution of Magicracy, Estranha's soft green irises race over the words, over and over, "Under the harmonious collection of the magically inclined and gifted, the natural world and humanity unite. The future order may see that those bestowed with gifts of casting would be better attuned to granting and guiding individuals into an enlightened society that bolsters and salvages the new world." They place their thumb on the tome's pages and ponder the publication details. Interestingly, it was not produced by any Graneyean territory or ally of the era.

Besides the thinly veiled hierarchal oppression in the text, exciting sections recount the prestige of the fabled ancient era. Without a doubt, there are continuous odes to the times before from this book published over a thousand years ago. Still, the modern-day sees toward the future and ignores the possible reaches of civilization before the "Dark Days." Advancing past the point of where society was once at? That query died on the tongues of philosophers hundreds of years ago.

As Estranha reads further into Grand Magister Salazar Silverwinds's work, an unforeseen event suddenly interrupts their scholarly pursuit.

A russet-haired man with lengthy curls tied into a neat ponytail peers into the tent. His hazel eyes twinkle in quite an ensemble of clothes—a uniform fitting any Four Seasons United Postal Service worker. The heat on the Nihiranian deserts must have had his sleeves rolling and hat slightly disheveled as if he were fanning himself with it before.

"Telegram for a Miss Extraña?" He calls out, looking around the barren tent before his eyes finally land on Estranha.

The recipient closed the book and cast it aside when the man poked his head in. They approached, giving a dull nod before plucking the missive from his hands. They turned the envelope over. "I never realized you reached this far."

"Well," he speaks as his chest swells with pride, "it is a recognized global service." He removes his hat, placing it over his heart. "From the head of Rivera to the feet of Nihiran, we can be found anywhere across the world, through sleet, storm, sand--"

Estranha turns on their heel, squinting at the crimson seal. Two bare arms cross over the other; it is definitely Nelia's seal. "Mhm," they nod as their hand reaches out, grabs one fold of the tent's canvas, and closes it back up.

Unfolding the letter, a several-month estrangement between "friends," as colloquially as Estranha can define, meets its end. All they recall was the tiefling mentioning a journey overseas on a boat to another continent like Tahrea. Creed never considered setting a hoof outside of Nihiran; her thirty and more years were spent in the red dunes. Though, anyone can change. Il'Surrish is the Wanderer; paths treaded, and new is how her worshippers go.

Estranha's thumb guides their reading and marking of the paragraph. Returning to their perch on the crate top, they criss-crossed their legs. The twinkling mischief in their eyes fades further down as they read the letter. Hesitation draws the corners of their ever-smiling expression lower and lower. Two years after that conversation, Estranha still could not ascertain its intention.

A letter was drafted and sent within a few days of the initial telegram's receipt. It would only take some weeks before Nelia received a letter back.

Hi Nel,

It is wonderful to know you are in one piece despite the destroyed ship, the hungry, hungry Gibbering Maw, and a suspicious number of assumedly extinct dragons on your latest travels. For someone who always enjoyed a surprise and a show, that was a lot, even for you.

Tahrea brought on much more than I anticipated in a letter; I expected much more debauchery and other rendezvous with other women at the encampments along the dirt roads. As I reread each line before getting to the climax of my thoughts, everything is happening or has happened in a compressed and narrow time frame. Now, you are at the apex of it. From what I hope, you just survived another scrap on the long road and plan on continuing.

On my side of this expansive pond, what remains true of the sands is that it brings me excitement and new ideas, but nothing that progresses my ongoing research. The tracks behind me will soon meet their end. The civilizations beneath the dunes and what came before the city that was a black speckle in the sun serve nothing to me. But are they fascinating tales? Of course. But the sea salt gales shall take me elsewhere after three years. Where they may take me, I have mapped out some alternatives and continents, but I cannot return to the university without any proper advancement in my thesis.

Foregoing the timeline of when this chapter will come to a close is something I cannot bring myself to do. For as long as I have been at this, there is nothing else I can do until I accomplish this entirely. One may compliment my tenacity for conclusions rather than jeering it as aimless stubbornness or pride.

It is at least a concrete resolve, no matter which direction I may go.

Sifting between what I share and what you've shared, you now have a new conclusion, a revelation, about us coming together and going somewhere. But a question continuously spurs me as much as it has you. Your answer leaves only further queries on my end and our relationship. What else springs from this drive to be together besides the glaring external variables that are beyond stressing you out?

Nelia, you remain seeking yet are convinced in this letter that you have something in mind. I entrust your goals to be well-meaning, and I ask what is there in the long run beyond doing things on account of other relationships?

How much will you risk for the boy you dream of saving? Is guilt rooting you down to attempt to reverse a mistake you feel can be undone? As far as I understand from this letter, that is your current goal. That has been the clearest I have understood of what you have wanted to do. This is past starting a career in labor law and your past training in the Mduara Kuona.

Become the woman you want to be, which will steady your future's compass. The arrow keeps turning and turning, unnecessarily working like a poor-functioning clock and needs calibration. You will soon find the direction you need to take.

There, you can see who you want to become. There, you can figure out what you want and why.

Time will only make us lose opportunities, but it will not lose us. I will still be here, as you will, accomplishing what we want to do. As you discover what you wish to do, I still have my fair share of goals. That remains something I still have to accomplish, but I at least know my calling.

The duress you are under, with these new obligations and the people you are around, complicates many things. Do not abandon it, but remember that under such stress, one cannot ascertain what one wants. The mind focuses on the present and current fixes to a problem; the life of another, or your own, is not considered when solving things.

When we meet again, it may not be at the right time and place, but we will be in another person's company again. When we meet after that, some things may even be wrong, but there are still us. So on and so forth, our paths will cross repeatedly because we desire it.

Maybe then, we will both have the answers we want.

Give yourself a break, Nel, and don't get in over your head.

Until we meet again, Estranha Extrana

#( estra ic tag )#( estra ask tag )#offrozenmemoirs

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ash-and-starlight · 3 years

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i woke up SO fast upon seeing your beautiful zukkas GOOD MORNING! has anyone asked abt swt??

AJDHSH THANK YOUU GOOD MORNING sorry for cutting short your nap

Swt is dad Sokka & lil Izumi shenanigans. Don’t be fooled by the cuteness the rest of it is extremely stupid

#sorry for the shitty fast handwriting #tag meme #ask

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1987vampire · 3 years

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A Good Something? | Judd Birch

Fandom: Big Mouth Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: a hurt racoon, the f slur, just a lot of cussing. Request: None! A/N: This isn’t established Judd x reader, this is meeting him for the first time so if I write more fics for him, I have something I can refer y’all back to :) If y’all want to see more Judd, an ACTUAL judd x reader, I can give y’all that ALSO the reader has dyed hair in this - not blue - it’s not super important but there’s a line in here that references it. Extra:

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” your words were stressed as you slammed on the breaks. The rain made it hard to see; it wasn’t your fault that the animal had run into the middle of the road. You weren’t even going that fast, they should have been able to hear you.

You flung your door open harsher than you meant to, but you had to move quickly in case someone came speeding down the road, and you ended up bleeding out right next to whatever you had hit. The road was slick underneath your feet. You almost slipped and fell as you skidded to a stop in front of them. It was a racoon, a fat one at that, and it was staring up at you with big doe eyes. His leg was twisted, and he was letting out small grunts of pain.

“Oh, I’m sorry, little buddy,” You cried. “Can I pick you up? I’ll find somewhere to take care of you, I promise.” You hadn’t really expected an answer- it was an animal after all – but he nodded up at you, reaching his little paws out in hopes that you would help. You paused for a moment, taking in the situation and trying to figure out how to pick him up without hurting him.

You reached an arm under his butt and the other under his neck so you wouldn’t jostle his leg too much. He made little chirping sounds as you steadily walked over to your car, using your head as a shield so he wouldn’t get rain in his eyes. You let out a quiet stream of ‘I’m sorry’s as you did so. You made it into your car just in time to close the door as someone sped down, narrowly missing you as they went.

The little racoon shivered in the passenger seat, but you covered him in blankets and spare clothes you kept in the back, turning the heat in your car on high, trying to dry him and heat him up at the same time. He stared up at you thankfully as you put the car in gear, driving home even slower than before, never going over twenty-five-miles-an-hour.

Once you had reached your apartment, you had to sneak him in in hopes that your shitty landlord wouldn’t notice. He had a strict no animals policy, but this was a bit more important. Fortunately, you could sneak past his office by telling the raccoon to be quiet, since he seemed to be good at listening to directions somehow, and hiding him underneath the pile of clothes, passing him off as laundry.

Finally, inside the comforts of your apartment, you laid him down on the couch and set to researching what to do. After a few calls to a few vet offices and a lot of google searches, you were able to give him a makeshift cast and lay him in a way that would be best for his recovery. He was still talking in his little racoon language as you went. It really looked like he was trying to tell you something, but unfortunately, you were human and could not understand him.

That was until he held your hand in his little paws and pulled them to his neck. How had you not noticed the skinny collar he was wearing? His thick fur had almost completely covered it. Really, it wasn’t even a collar but a thick piece of cord with a circle nameplate in the middle.

You fiddled with it, reading the information attached. ‘Contact Judd. 555-4200’ was engraved onto it in someone’s personal handwriting instead of with a machine. “You know it’s illegal for someone to own a racoon around here, right,” you told him. The racoon made a noise of disapproval and fiddled with the collar again. “Do you want me to take it off?” He hissed in displeasure, making you stop abruptly. “Call him?” He nodded enthusiastically. “You’re a strange little guy, you know that, right?”

You pulled out your phone and dialed the number, tapping your foot against the floor anxiously. It took a few rings, and you were sure he wouldn’t pick up, when a deep voice answered the phone.

“Do you know what fucking time it is, right now?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned towards the first clock you could find—three o’clock in the morning. “I- I’m sorry. I can call back in the morning if you want. I just have this racoon with me, and his ankle is twisted because I accidentally hit him, and he had your number on his neck, and I- I-“

“Racoon?” His voice cut you off, and you could tell that he was waking up at the information. “You hit one of my fucking racoons?”

“He ran out into the middle of the road when I was driving. It was raining, so I could barely see, and I couldn’t swerve to miss him because there was a car on one side of the road and trees on the other. I wrapped his leg, and he’s resting, but he wanted me to call you, so here we are.”

He let out a few grumbles, and my fingers instinctively rose to my face so I could bite at my nails. “Fucking hell. Why was he in the middle of the road?” It was a rhetorical question, but you had almost wanted to respond even though you didn’t have an answer. “Does he have any distinctive marks on him? A missing toe, clipped ear, maybe he has uneven stripes.” Your eyes fell on the racoon again. He looked pretty normal besides the leg.

Almost like he knew what you were talking about, the racoon pulled one of his hands up to his forehead. After you pushed some of his fur to the side, you knew what he was pointing at. “He’s showing me that he has a scar on his forehead - like he split his forehead or something.”

“Of course it’s fucking Gerard – the fat fuck.”

You frowned at the statement. “He’s not that fat.”

“I mean the sentence in the most loving hatred filled way I can mean it. He knows I don’t mean it. Can you give the phone to him?”

This was the weirdest fucking situation you had ever been in. “Oh yeah, I guess.” you placed the phone in the racoon’s hand, and he made a chirp as a hello. You could hear Judd’s voice lowly in the speaker as he talked to him, the racoon making noises of acknowledgement as he went. You could make out very little besides him asking if you were taking care of him and then berating him for being stupid. The racoon – well, Gerard – kept trying to talk to him, but Judd refused to let up, barely giving him a moment to speak even if he did understand him.

After a few minutes, Gerard pushed the phone towards me, and I took it back. “So, what do you want me to do with him. Like, I can take him to yours, since I guess he belongs to you, or-“

“Fuck off. What are you – the feds? Give me your address, I’m not letting you see my shit.”

“Well, usually people ask me on a date before seeing my place, but-“ the words had slipped from my mouth before I thought about what I was saying, and my eyes immediately widened with embarrassment. “Oh my god- I’m sorry-“

He laughed loudly and pulled the phone away from his ear. “Well, we can think about that after I get the fat fucking faggot in your house.”

Your arms crossed. “You better part of that community if you’re using their slurs, fuckface.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mused. “Give me your address. I’m getting in my car.”

After giving him the information, you hung up, itching at your arm as you stared at Gerard. “He isn’t very nice, huh,” you told him. He chirped and shook his head as if defending him. “Is he really mean or is it a front?” He chirped at the second part, and I smiled. “Well, he’ll be here soon.”

And soon it was. It only took him about ten minutes before you heard a loud knocking on your door, banging more like. You jumped from sitting beside Gerard to the door, peeking out into the dark hallway, the latch still connected. “Judd?”

On the other side of the door was a decently tall man with black and blue hair, his sides shaved til it was only stubble. He was clad in a gray hoodie and black jeans, gray converse on his feet. His face was set in a glare as he stared at you. “Who the fuck else would it be?”

You shut the door and unlatched it, opening it wider so he could come in. “You knock like my landlord.”

“Landlord?” He pushed into your apartment, his sights set on the racoon lounging on your cheap couch. “You don’t look old enough to have a landlord.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m nineteen. This is my apartment.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder. “And you let some strange man in? Pretty stupid if you ask me.”

You frowned and pursed your lips. “I can kick you out- keep your racoon if you don’t start acting nice.”

“You could definitely try.” He picked up Gerard’s leg, inspecting it. “You did a good job with this. Almost as good as my work.”

“He was a good patient.”

Judd scoffed, sticking his hands underneath Gerard to pick him up just as you had earlier that night. “He was probably just basking in a pretty girl’s attention.”

Pretty? A smile was climbing onto your face. He was pretty, too, if he didn’t have such a sour attitude.

His eyes fell onto yours as he turned. “I like your hair by the way. The color suits you.” You ran your hand through your dyed hair, suddenly very conscious of how you looked. “You should try blue next time.” Gerard made a loud noise in his arms and reached out to you. Judd frowned down at him. “You had your fun, dumbass, but you’ve got to go home now. I’m sure the others are worried about you.”

“Others?”

Judd looked back at you. “Yeah, I was – uh – training a battalion of racoons to kill my younger brother.” He groaned quietly. “Now they’re good for catering and attacking intruders, but they refused to hurt him. Got a few scars because of it.”

You chuckled quietly and shook your head. “You sure are something, alright.”

His lips upturned the slightest bit into a tiny smile. “Is that a good something?”

“Sure, we can say that.”

You opened the door for him as he started taking strides towards it. He paused right past the entryway, something sitting on his tongue. “Try not to hit any more racoons, alright?”

Your fingers drummed along the door, and you laughed. “I’ll be sure to call you if I do. Just in case.”

He was already walking away when he responded. “You have my number.”

You hesitated on shutting the door right away, choosing to listen to him begin to berate the racoon as he walked down the hall, something along the lines of, ‘you make me come out in the middle of the night, scared shitless. You could have died, you fucking cunt.” He continued as he disappeared out of sight, but you didn’t even have the heart to ask him to cover the racoon as he left, preferring to just deal with your landlords berating the next day.

#judd birch #judd birch x reader #judd big mouth #judd big mouth x reader #big mouth #big mouth x reader

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cupidsintern · 3 years

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shot thru the heart, pt 2

pt 1 here!

Steve shoves Billy's perfect handwriting homework in his binder with his own shitty notes and thinks immediately that it doesn't belong there. Too good. Too Perfect. Too pretty. Like the tails on Billy’s lowercase Gs and Ys- pretty. He thinks of that the whole time he’s copying free responses and trying to change the wording just enough so it sounds different- he just dumbs it down, has to guess at what a couple words mean, Billy writes all intellectual-

But actually Steve sort of feels like he learns something. Sort of feels like he gets it a little better in just the way Billy describes it back to himself. And Billy only did this to be helpful- the extended “I’m really actually sorry” of making sure someone passes at least one of their fucking classes. Steve wonders briefly if Billy would ever like, tutor him or something. Then he shoves that thought right the fuck back where it came from because the pit of what he’s sure is jealousy in his stomach fucking writhes or some shit when he thinks about being around Billy that much. Even just looking at his handwriting…

Steve takes an extra long, extra think-y shower after he finishes his homework.

Steve hands Billy’s work back in the hallway just outside their shared second period. He even waits by the door, a solid two minutes before the bell, leaning against a row of lockers trying not to look at the stupid depression-inducing decor. He’s not-thinking about it so hard that he doesn't notice Billy until he’s right there, close-

“Aw, you waited for me?” Billy says, mock-sweet, taking his work back out of Steve's hands.

Steve recovers from his surprise faster. “You wish.”

“Don’t I ever.” Billy’s already walking into class, sorta mumbles that last part. Steve follows him in.

And they don’t talk for the rest of class- there’s no homework. But Steve can feel like he can sense Billy's presence more again, now. Like before, but somehow worse...

Jealousy is a bitch.

Steve does get the last last homework he turned in back, though. This one also copied from Billy, and-

B-. improving! Is written at the top of the page. Great, Steve’s improving. Just in time for fucking spring semester of his senior year. And the improvement isn't even his it’s-

The bell rings. Billy’s up and out of his desk so fast his backpack clips the edge of the adjacent desk as he slings it ever so casually over his left shoulder. Everytime, he's so fast. Like he can’t be in any one place too long- like a shark.

That's a thing right? Steve thinks. Sharks. They have to keep swimming or they like, die or something.

Steve realizes he’s just been staring at the door Billy walked out of several moments ago and he blinks. Shakes his head a little, he’s spacing out too much.

Then he looks down.

A sheet of note paper lays face up on the floor next to him. W Hargrove in its top right corner- more notes.

Steve grabs the sheet of paper off the floor and shoves it into his backpack, before he even really has time to think about what he’s doing, why he’s doing it- burning hot something in the deepest pit of his stomach it’s jealousy it has to be- before getting up and walking out of class.

So why did Steve take Billy’s notes? Why, to give them back of course.

Billy probably needs it back, this half finished sheet of chemistry bullshit from- jesus from October?

Okay, well if Billy doesn't need it back, maybe Steve can just. Keep it. Keep it and stare at it and hate every single one of those perfectly lined up conversion equations that he remembers not understanding at all. Billy must be in honors classes, too, because some of it Steve doesn't remember. He spends way too much time looking at it when he gets home, sits down at his desk, ignores every fucking thing else in his backpack and pulls just the sheet out.

W Hargrove

10/20/84

The W is so even. It makes Steve’s blood boil. And all the slashes are perfectly parallel- Steve traces his finger under the numbers. He sets his hand on the paper, as if he were holding a phantom pencil, thinks how a past version of Billy traced his hand over this paper just the same way when he took these notes. Steve wasn't sure if he could remember Billy being a lefty or a righty, but he was so smart…

Steve took his hand off the paper suddenly, like it had burned him. Something… didn't sit right.

He folded the paper in half once and slid it back into his binder- more carefully than before- and switching to attempting to finish his homework.

Billy was a lefty. But technically he was a. Am. Ambiv- nope. The thing! Where you can switch hands. It’s- Ambidextrous? Yes. That.

Steve congratulated himself a little for remembering the word, then went back to completely spacing out thinking he could hear the sound of Billy's pencil scratching across his notebook behind Steve in class.

He did not pay attention at all, the whole day, the warm red feeling making his skin tingle and his feet itch like he had to walk somewhere. He got up to use the bathroom twice in the same class period, which the teacher wasn't too happy about, but whatever. Fuck her. She didn't have to sit in front of Billy and look at his perfect notes every time he found himself looking over his shoulder to check the time.

“What’s got you tweaking?” Billy’s voice snaps Steve out of his trance.

“What?” Steve looks over his shoulder again, this time directly at Billy, who's looking directly back at him, which makes him feel like his brain got left out in the sun.

“Tah-week-ing.” Billy says again, slower like he’s letting Steve catch up, stupid Californian drawl.

“Oh just. Uh. Just nervous.”

“Test isn’t for another two weeks, pretty boy.”

The warm feeling is back in full force, Steve thinks it must be because of how calm and collected Billy sounds, like he couldn't care less about the test. “Not all of us can be geniuses, okay?”

Billy laughs a little- it’s pretty, softer. Steve hates it. “Bold words from someone copying my homework.”

Steve frowns a little, he can’t help it, makes to turn back around but Billy catches his shoulder-

“Hey,” Billy starts, hesitates like he’s thinking about something

Warm turns to hot, Steve’s sweating and he’s only in a windbreaker.

“If you need like. Serious help with classwork, you could always borrow my notes.”

Steve blinks. It’s a lot nicer of an offer than just letting someone copy off you. A lot nicer than Billy usually is to him. Less of an apology, more of, like, an invitation.

Is Billy trying to be his friend?

“I,” Steve starts “Might take you up on that-”

The teacher shushes both of them. Steve turns back to sitting, facing the front.

God, is he jealous of Billy being able to be nice?

-> pt 3

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove fanfic #steve x billy #billy x steve #my fic

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babbushka · 3 years

Text

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

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

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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wooyunhwa · 4 years

Text

kingdom of welcome addiction | five

view pinned post for masterlist / links to the rest of the parts!

Genre: smut (with plot), angst

Pairing: demon!san x fem!reader / ???yunho x fem!reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: overstimulation, finger sucking, multiple orgasms, use of toys

Synopsis: Torn between two opposing forces competing for your attention, who will you choose? Will San’s secrets finally come to light?

A/N: Finally some backstory! Strap in! Thank you for reading and comments are super appreciated as always! <3 love you all

“I’ve been assigned to protect her.”

“From what?” San asked, relaxing his hostile stance back a bit.

Yunho glanced at you, then back at San, uneasiness coming through in his gaze.

“From you.”

“From me?” San laughed mockingly.

“They’re not happy with you, San. Up there.” Yunho gestured vaguely upwards. Was heaven actually up?

“Tell me something I didn’t know,” San muttered with a roll of his eyes.

“I’m not talking about that,” Yunho said seriously. “I’m talking about you saving her. They take fate pretty seriously.”

“So what, you’re like the protector of fate now? Give me a break,” he sneered, voice tinged with mockery. With the way they bickered, you’d think they were some old divorced couple.

“You guys are talking like I’m not in the room. Can someone explain to me what’s going on?”

Yunho’s hand rubbed against your leg. You weren’t sure exactly how to feel about his touch now, knowing he was a celestial being and not just a cute human boy, but it did feel nice. Comforting somehow, even in this situation. “When San saved you, he altered your fate.”

“You’re saying I’m supposed to be dead?”

“Well, yes. While you should be dead, we angels don’t exactly endorse killing humans, even if it was their fate. But that’s why I was reassigned. Your original guardian… well, he couldn’t watch over you any more.”

You felt as cynical as San for a minute, rolling your eyes at Yunho’s implication. “Sounds like the original guardian wasn’t doing a very good job then, if he was gonna let me die.”

San laughed from his position, poised against the counter top casually. His fangs glistened as his mouth formed a familiar smirk. “That’s my girl.”

Yunho was entirely unamused, but turned to face you fully, face lingering entirely too close. “Either way, I’m here to watch over you now. Make sure he—” He shot a poisonous glare at San. “—doesn’t alter fate again. You’re in big trouble, by the way.”

San smiled sarcastically, eyes like daggers as they met with Yunho. “What are they gonna do, hmm? Banish me?” He wiggled his fingers mockingly. “Oh no, I’m soooo scared.”

“Anyway,” he pulled his gaze back to you now, eyes sparkling like the stars as they met with yours. The way he looked at you, you’d think you were the only two in the universe. “If this impulsive idiot hadn’t ruined it—” He shot another deathly glare at San. “—I was going to watch over you from here. As your classmate. Angels aren’t typically permitted to get this close to their assignments, but you’re a special case. I was given a lot of flexibility.”

“Oh, give me a fucking break,” San sneered through his teeth. “Classmate, my ass. I saw how your hands were all over her.”

“Don’t you have some souls to eat somewhere? Virgins to sacrifice?” Yunho taunted in his direction.

“Fuck. Actually, I do. I’m getting a call.” San turned on his heels. “Don’t think I’m letting this one go,” he said, but he was gone before you could even get a parting word out to him.

Your mind felt like it had been reduced to a steaming pile of mush after your conversation with the two of them—well, more like you listening to them bicker. Either way, there was too much information to take in at once. In a matter of minutes, your cute human crush became your cute angel guardian. Well, you supposed he always was, but the fact that you knew it made it feel so much more strange.

But a few things hadn’t changed.

He still sparkled like the stars to you. You had already fallen for him hopelessly, the minute you saw him walking into your classroom, you knew that to be fact. Nothing about your attraction to him had changed. Whether or not his ethereal glow was because he was incredibly handsome or because he was very literally an angel changed any of that fact for you. His touch still gave you goosebumps. His soft smile in your direction still made your heart race. He was still the embodiment of light, glowing like a beautiful aurora. He radiated the positivity you needed so desperately.

And you were alone with him.

“I’m sorry you had to find out like this,” he said, his hand still rested on your thigh. “About me being your guardian. I was hoping I could get to know you better first. Just as Yunho. I didn’t anticipate San showing up unannounced.”

You skipped right past his apology, needing answers. “So—Why? Why’d you kiss me? If I’m just your assignment?” you questioned angrily. But a part of you didn’t even want to ask him why. You just wanted to do it again.

“It was genuine,” he promised. “It wasn’t planned. But it was genuine. We angels may not be human, but we have a bit more humanity than that demon. We have souls. They’re just not… bound by the human realm.”

You had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but he looked beautiful saying it. You felt like you couldn’t possibly take in any more information than you already had without completely losing it. You winced suddenly, noticing your head beginning to ache.

“Y/N, are you okay? W—Would you like me to leave?” Yunho asked softly, sensing the look on your face. It was odd to have him asking. San usually just left whenever he wanted to, disappearing into the ether without a trace.

“Leave? Do you just... disappear out of thin air like San does?” you asked seriously.

Yunho chuckled, his laugh like music to your soul. “No, no. I’d have to walk out the door. And take the bus.”

“What kind of angel takes the bus?” you jested, assuming he was joking.

“It’s part of my assignment. I’m not exactly human, but I don’t have all my angel powers either. I was supposed to blend in as much as possible. So I play by the laws of the universe now,” he chuckled. “Speaking of, just because I’m an angel, doesn’t mean I’m not actually worried about passing that class.”

You burst into laughter at the ridiculousness. He was an angel who had to take the bus and do homework? What a shitty deal. You were enjoying his company, and you didn’t want him gone just yet. “To answer your earlier question, you can stay. You’re supposed to be protecting me, right? I’d feel safe if you were around.”

He smiled warmly. You realized his hand was still on your thigh, and his face a lot closer than you remembered. He looked so soft and inviting, and you remembered the way he kissed you earlier. It was soul-warming, like a comfort food you ate as a child, something your mom would make for you.

“I’d love to stay and protect you. And not just because it’s my job,” he said charmingly, eyes forming into two cute crescents on his face. He was absolutely glowing.

No matter how you looked at it, he and San were magnets with opposing forces, and yet they both drew you in equally.

You leaned into a kiss without thinking, your eyes trained only on his soft, inviting lips. You melted into them as you collided, immediately overwhelmed with the gentle way his lips met yours. He reciprocated against you, hands moving from your thighs to cupping softly on the small of your waist, pulling you against him. Everything he did was passionate, yet tender. He handled you like the most delicate glass, like you could break at any moment and he would be there to put the pieces back together. You pushed your body against him, sinking into the soft, thick fabric of his sweater. He felt like a cloud.

He was San’s very literal antithesis. And something in you needed that right now more than anything.

You pushed your tongue in his mouth, indicating you wanted to escalate things. You fisted your hands into his pillowy sweater, grasping at him to pull him in closer against you. He moaned against your mouth, and the sound sent tingles all the way down your spine.

But he pulled away, leaving you grasping desperately at the fabric of his sweater.

“I can’t do this in good conscience,” he said, brows furrowed with concern. Wow, he really was San’s antithesis.

“Is it breaking angel code to make out with your assignment?”

“Well, no. Technically, I’m free to do whatever I want as a human bound here for now. I just want to make sure you’re not doing something you regret. It’s all very fast.”

You sighed, breaking away from him, though you craved his lips even more now that the taste lingered on your tongue. The silence felt deafening—you wanted to hear more of Yunho’s angelic moans against your ear. Moments like this made you miss San’s impulsivity. You knew if he was here he’d be all over you.

“Can we cuddle, at least?” you asked, gaze drifting up and down from his soft lips to his even softer sweater. He was like a marshmallow you wanted to sink down into. He was everything you needed right now. Pure comfort.

He nodded softly, repositioning himself against the arm of the loveseat. He motioned between his legs, creating a nice wedge for you to cuddle up in. You curled up against him, your head sinking down softly in the pillowy sweater. He wrapped his arms around you protectively. You weren’t sure, but you thought you heard him singing to you as you drifted to sleep.

You woke up to a note on the fridge, scribbled neatly and punctuated with hearts and smiley faces. He was so effortlessly pure. Even his handwriting was cute.

Morning class, can’t miss! Sorry. See you in Advanced Religion?

You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself. What a dork. He’d just revealed himself as an angel, and yet he was worried about missing class? To be honest, you really couldn’t afford to miss any classes either, but there were so many unanswered questions still swirling around in your head. You needed San.

After cleaning yourself up thoroughly, you decided to summon him in your room, something you hadn’t done for a while.

“Early for you to be calling me.” You swiveled on your heels, your face immediately met with San’s chest. You stumbled back a few steps, but he caught your waist in his arms, pulling you in to him. “Nice to hear you calling, darling. I’d say you smell sweet, but you reek of angel.” He glanced around suspiciously. “Is he still here?”

“No, he left before I even woke up.”

San sighed, then trained his gaze on you, crimson eyes lighting up like a fire. “Good. You know, I’ve missed you, lamb.” He drew his finger across your chin, tipping you up to his eyes like he always did before he wanted something. “Care to play with me this morning?”

You didn’t feel like entertaining his games right now. “No, not really. I have a lot of questions I need to be answered.”

“You’re no fun,” he pouted sarcastically, before leaning back against the desk in your room. “Alright, let’s get this over with before I get called elsewhere.”

“Earlier, you came in without being called. I thought I had to call you for you to appear. In the alley, too. How?”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead with two fingers, reluctant to answer your questions. “I can do it, but it’s a risk. Like working without a contract. Goes against the demon rulebook, or whatever. But I was willing to break some rules when I saw that angelic asshole with his hands all over you,” he said, putting extra spiteful emphasis into referring to Yunho.

“You guys… have history, I take it?”

“It’s a long story. I’d rather not get into it right now,” he responded dismissively. “Anything else?”

“Were you watching me?”

“I—only a little. Just enough to see you mouth-fucking with that angel bitch,” he sneered through his teeth.

Damn. Touchy subject.

“Are you trying to say we’re exclusive or something? Because that most certainly wasn’t the impression I got from this relationship.”

San’s eyes narrowed, pushing himself off the desk to close the distance between you. He ran a fingernail down your neck, making sure to drag over every bite mark. “No. We’re not. But I feel... protective of you.”

“Well then don’t worry about Yunho. It’s his job to protect me.”

San rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t say he’s exactly trustworthy,” he grumbled under his breath, then quickly focused back on your neck. “Ugh, darling, won’t you let me have a little fun? I’ve had a rough week.”

You pulled away, dropping your gaze. “I—I need to go. To school. I’m late.”

San clicked his tongue, looking at you with a look of displeasure. “You’re really no fun. You’re the one who called me here, lamb. No tears? No blood? Not even a taste of your lips?”

“Bye, San. Don’t come back unless you’re called, understand? Or I’m done making contracts.” You met his eyes seriously. “Forever.”

Seeing Yunho at school was… strange, to say the least, after his big reveal to you. You had made a routine of getting there early just to watch him come through the door, and your new information about his job didn't change any of that.

It seemed like the other girls in class caught on to getting there early too, seated expectantly for him to walk through the door, tall and model-esque. You'd even heard girls whispering about him in the halls—the new blue haired boy who every girl on campus wanted a piece of. They drew their heads up as he ascended the lecture hall stairs to make his usual seat next to you, like they were watching a celebrity.

Inspiration struck. As he sat down next to you, you gave him a flirtatious wink, then pulled him in for a casual, but slightly drawn out kiss. You let your lips linger against his for a few seconds afterwards, eating up the jealous stares of your classmates. You wanted to mark him yours. After all, he was your guardian.

He looked at you with wide eyes, and you took his hand, lacing his fingers in yours. “Go with it,” you whispered discreetly in his direction.

He gave your hand a light squeeze, leaning back in to give you a soft peck on the cheek to seal the deal.

And just like that, he played the role of your college boyfriend. But it was just a role. Acting. In a sick way, you loved the jealous, spiteful stares you got as you walked down the hall with him. And he was able to keep a closer eye on you without being hunted down by every girl on campus trying to flirt with him. It was a mutual agreement.

You were still entirely enamored by him, you crush in full bloom. Playing the role of his girlfriend was satisfying, but not in the way you needed it to be. He was sweet, but distant—you assumed he was trying his best to stay objective, to not get too wrapped up in his assignment. But you wanted so much more.

He sometimes came over to your place to study, and you rarely even mentioned his angelic presence. He requested that you treat him normally, like any other human, although that was pretty much asking the impossible. He certainly wasn’t, and would never be, like any other human.

He still glowed like an aurora and sparkled like the stars. You wanted to cuddle up into him and never let go. You wanted to spend your days nestled in his arms. A few times, you did, falling asleep curled up on his chest on the couch like you had the first day he came over.

But you couldn't help but want more.

Your lonely nights had made you needy.

Yunho wasn't quite ready to go there with you yet, as he very clearly defined when you came onto him the first night he came over, and you'd been avoiding San like the plague. Not that it was hard—all you needed to do was not summon him. And you hadn't, for a while actually.

But your hand wasn't doing it for you today. You needed more. You needed San.

You were partly joking about him being your demon prostitute, but he kind of was now that you were calling him exclusively to get you off. Not that you were complaining about that. You were trying to distance yourself from him emotionally, but that didn't mean you couldn't have him help you with your physical needs.

You put on your best set of lingerie, a black lacy set you weren’t really even sure why you had, and displayed yourself sexily on the bed. Not that you needed lingerie to entice San, but you figured it couldn’t hurt.

He appeared with a low growl, eyes immediately glazing over with lust. “What’s this darling? Finally want to have a little fun?”

“I want a contract, San. I don’t care what you do for me—clean my kitchen, make me dinner, I don’t care—but your reward is my body. Take it or leave it.”

“Very forward of you today,” he said with an amused smirk. “I like it.”

“Your answer?”

“Fine, I accept. But I have a condition.”

He wasn’t in much of a position to give conditions, but you nodded, urging him to continue.

“You’ve left me waiting for so long. I want to have a little fun with my prey first, hmm? That vibrator in there.” He gestured his head to your nightstand, the top drawer where you kept your pink silicone vibrator. It was small, compact, and admittedly expensive. It also came with a fully customizable bluetooth remote. “It’s remote, right?”.

“It’s remote capable, yeah.”

His lips pulled into a sinister smile, eyes darkening, and you realized what was happening.

“I want to watch you squirm. I love watching you. My helpless little lamb," he cooed, stepping over to your nightstand to pull it out.

“Wait, but how did you know that was—”

“I may or may not have done some snooping in your room while you were asleep the other night.” He flashed you his fangs, eyes glimmering playfully. “You should know not to trust a demon, darling.” He twirled the vibrator between his fingers, glancing from it to you, still laying in wait on the bed. “Did you put on that pretty number just for me? You look… delicious in it.” He drew his tongue over his teeth, then took a seat on the edge of the bed.

His hand traced over your skin, from your neck down to your breasts, stomach, hips, then between your legs, circling your clit through your panties. You had missed his touch desperately, although if you were being honest, it wasn’t his you necessarily missed. You missed intimate touch at all.

He leaned forward to plant a kiss, surprisingly gentle, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip. “Tonight’s about you, my lamb. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to have my fun.”

You were already wet before he got here, hopelessly horny and waiting for his arrival. You were now even more so. The lace of your panties was completely soaked as he danced his fingers across it. He pulled the seam of the lingerie to the side, just enough to slip the vibrator inside of you. His other hand held the remote. His eyes were fixed on you, power erupting beneath his crimson irises.

He had you literally in the palm of his hand. The smallest touch on the remote, and he was completely in control. He did not take that power lightly. He turned it on, the light buzz immediately sending vibrations through you like waves. Your mind soared in pleasure, whimpers escaping from your lips.

“That’s cute. That’s just the low setting, darling,” he cooed, pressing the lace of your panties back between your legs. He pressed a hand on your stomach, feeling the way your core trembled under his touch. “To your feet,” he commanded suddenly. “C’mon.”

You wobbled up off the bed, and he cranked up the intensity to the highest setting the second your feet met the floor. Your legs buckled underneath you, and a smirk passed over his lips as he watched you, weak like putty in his hands.

He pushed you to your knees beneath him, standing tall as his hooded gaze fell on you from above, dark and lust. He praised you sweetly as his hand gripped in your hair, tightening his grip as he toyed with the buttons on the vibrator. You trembled as the vibrations rocked through you. Every so often he would stop the sensations completely, stopping to pet your head softly and sing you praises, only to push up the intensity to full and grip his fingers tighter in your hair. Your head spun with neediness, practically dripping around the vibrator sunk deep inside you.

He lifted your chin with his fingertip, tilting your head up almost 90 degrees. You whined as the vibrations teased you torturously, it had felt like hours he was watching you, a satisfied smile curled on his lips as he watched you writhe and shake at the mercy of his fingertips. Your whining grew louder, orgasm firing through you so intensity you could barely keep yourself upright. Only the tugging of his hands in your hair kept you up on your knees.

"That's a good, good girl. So pretty when you’re shaking," he praised sweetly.

He brought his hand to your mouth, parting your lips slightly by tugging down on your teeth, then shoved two fingers in. You sucked them enthusiastically, eating up the noises that escaped him at watching you gag on his fingers. He shoved them in farther, and you gagged a bit. Right on cue, he pushed up the intensity of the vibrations. You shook and moaned against his fingers as the vibrations rocked through you again, and this time you were much more sensitive. He watched the look on your face twist as he switched the pace from fast to slow, thrusting his fingers in every so often to hear your gagged breaths.

“Such a dirty girl, getting off choking on my fingers. Embarrassing, really. But cute,” he cooed, shoving his fingers in your mouth one last time as he cranked up the intensity on the remote, then pulling them out with a trail of saliva.

He sent you over the edge again. And again. Your knees started to burn lightly against the carpet as he toyed with you over, and over, and over. You weren’t sure how many times you’d come. You lost count at some point. Drool pooled at the corner of your mouth, body sore from writhing and shaking, every muscle contracting again and again. “Good, good girl,” he praised again, stroking your hair softly. “Tired, lamb? I may have gone a little overboard. I couldn’t help it. You’re just so cute when you’re helpless under me.”

You breathed heavily, unable to make words. Your brain was pleasured mush, entirely blissed from the at least five orgasms you had. “Tired…” you muttered, glancing up at him through heavy eyes.

“I know. You did good.” He raised you up, supporting you by the waist as you stumbled weakly to your feet. Your legs were jello, and you weren’t sure if you could even make it to bed. San seemed to know that too, as he lifted you effortlessly, placing you on your bed gingerly. He helped you remove the vibrator, your body trembling as it slipped out. He even offered a change of clothes and helped you slip into them. Why was he being so nice?

Your eyes were heavy, body completely wrecked from the orgasms. You didn’t remember much after that. The whole world went black at some point.

When you woke up, there was a note on your nightstand:

I cleaned the apartment for you. Consider the contract complete. xoxo demon maid

Studying with Yunho became a nightly habit, replacing your bedroom rendezvous with San. That wasn’t to say you didn’t summon him sometimes to fulfill... certain needs, but that was beside the point.

You were caught between the two of them them, both pulling you in opposite directions, both fulfilling different needs for you. You felt guilty, flirting with Yunho in the daytime and summoning San at night to sate your desires. But there was something in you that still wasn’t ready to let San go.

He’d been on your mind recently, San. Despite all the cards being out on the table, he was still particularly vague about one thing: his history with Yunho.

"Yunho I—I need to ask you something."

He turned his eyes to you, and his smile was warm and inviting. "Anything."

"It's about San."

Yunho broke his gaze, his sunshine smile fading. "I told you, I didn't want to—"

"How do you know him?"

"What do you mean?"

"He said you were a former colleague. Did you work with him before? Can angels even work with demons?"

Yunho sighed, rubbing his neck apprehensively. "I shouldn't be tell—"

"I already know too much. What's one more thing?"

He chuckled lightly, the heavenly sound ringing in your ears like a lullaby. "I suppose you have a point. But… you can't tell San I told you this."

Your hand came up, zipping your mouth closed with a wink. "Consider it locked away."

“Alright, well… San wasn’t always a demon. He used to be an angel. We worked together. We were… friends. A long time ago, at least.”

They were friends? You couldn’t ever imagine them getting along.

“What happened?”

“He fell for a human. His assignment. I wouldn’t say that’s typical, but it happens. I don’t blame him for that.” Yunho dropped his gaze, gritting his teeth. “An angel who has fallen for a human… they usually experience the grief of loss, and move on. There’s nothing in angel code that says you can’t experience love. But San has always been... more impulsive than most. And he made a mistake.”

Your heart dropped in your chest. “What—what kind of mistake?”

“He wanted to make a deal, with a crossroads demon. The deal would prolong her life, but he would be forever indentured to the demon. He didn’t care… as you probably already know, he’s impulsive.” He paused for a moment, rubbing his neck in thought. His expression was pained, regretful. “I—I was the only angel he told about making the deal. He trusted me, but I ratted him out. He was making a huge mistake… I couldn’t let him sell his soul away like that.”

“So he made the deal?”

“No. They got to him in time. But he broke a lot of angel codes when he made that plan, and I was witness to his confession. They tried his case, but he was never very well liked by the committee. And so they banished him.”

You fell silent, unable to form the right words. Yunho’s eyes were big, glistening with what looked like the beginning of tears.

“He would never say it, but I know he blames me for his human’s death. If I hadn’t have told them about his plans, she wouldn’t have died then. But… I couldn’t let him sell his soul to the crossroads demon. At the time, I never imagined he’d be banished. I thought they would just stop him from making the deal, maybe suspend him for a few weeks. But not banished.”

“So, angels who are banished become demons then?”

“They don’t have to. They just can’t carry out their angel duties anymore. And they’re stripped of their wings. He was hurt. Scared, I’m sure. He had nowhere left to turn. He sold his angel soul to become a demon, for the promise of a life of fulfillment. However twisted it was.”

You dropped your gaze, falling completely silent for a while. None of Yunho’s story connected with the dark, bloodthirsty San you knew. You couldn’t imagine what he was like as an angel. Did he sparkle like the stars? Did he smell like heaven itself? Was his smile like the sunshine too?

Yunho’s voice broke through the silence. “I answered your question. Now you answer one for me.”

His serious expression suddenly made you uneasy. "Is it this last homework question?" you joked, but Yunho's face was unamused.

"San…” His eyes met with yours, soft and earnest. “...do you love him?"

Your eyes went wide. “Do I love San? No… no.” You shook your head a few too many times, as if you were trying to convince yourself, not Yunho. “Our relationship is purely business. We exchange... services. That's all.” Your hand came up to your neck involuntary, feeling the faint remaining scars of his bite marks.

“Then why do you keep him around? You're beautiful.” Your heart fluttered for a minute at his fleeting compliment. How could such an otherworldly handsome being think you were beautiful?

“You don't need his… services. He's nothing but trouble. I know you know that.”

“Maybe I'm attracted to trouble.”

"Well, you're attracted to me, too, right?" Your breath caught in your chest. Heat rose in your face, staining your cheeks an incriminating bright red. You opened your mouth hesitantly, but he didn't give you the chance to answer. "So maybe you don't need a bad boy after all?"

"You said it yourself, Yunho. You need to focus on protecting me. No complications."

He leaned in closer, setting his hand gently on your cheek. A chill rolled through your spine. "What if I changed my mind?"

You pulled your lips against his, melting against him softly. You wanted him. Yunho. The ethereal boy that stole your heart the moment you saw him. But now, your mind saw only San. Why? Why could you only see his face?

You didn’t see the San you knew, though. You didn’t see demon San, you saw angel San. The one you could only imagine. You saw the San with a soft, peaceful smile, highlighted by the cute dimples on his cheeks. You saw the San who would risk his life for the one he loved, no matter the cost. You saw the San who made a mistake, and paid his soul for it.

Your heart ached. You pulled away from Yunho suddenly, a single tear rolling from your eyes at first, followed by a river.

He didn’t ask you why, he only pulled you into him tightly, wrapping his long arms around you in the most comforting hug. You nuzzled into his neck, taking in his scent—he smelled like fresh rain on a spring morning.

It would have been so simple just to choose Yunho. He was the obvious choice. Beautiful, warm, kind—he was everything you could ever need.

So why could you only think of San?

#choi san smut #san smut #yunho smut #ateez smut #jeong yunho smut #hongjoong smut #mingi smut #yeosang smut #ateez demon au

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harrypotterhogwartshitpost · 3 years

Text

ever since i've gotten diagnosed with bipolar disorder, adhd, and level one autism, i feel like i'm just the stereotypical tv "socially awkward 'genius'."

here are some examples of why:

-hates meeting new people

-dresses like it's still the 80s

-raised by crazy parents in a dysfunctional home

-hates loud public places

-says things like "sorry i can't hang out tonight, i'm annotating the state constitution."

-lowkey autistic

-can never sleep

-has at least one super specific 'geeky' special interest no one else cares about

-queer coded for some reason

-never knows when to stop talking

-has childhood trauma that’s never fully explained

-loves card/board games

-unable to comprehend that they're actually attractive and is convinced they're 'unlovable'

-yet also has a superiority complex

-looks like they have their life together but is mentally unstable

-talks way too fast

-shocks everyone around them when it's revealed they listen to rock music and not mozart

-owns at least one cardigan and sweater vest

-and pairs them with converse

-gets annoyed when someone else doesn't understand a complex concept they hyper-fixated on, but gets way too excited when they get to explain it

-completely shuts down upon seeing someone attractive

-always interrupting conversations with facts/statistics no one asked for

-can't drive

-uses words no one around them understands

-does the awkward white person smile™

-has questionable at best knowledge of pop culture

-has subjectively shitty handwriting

-loves star wars/startrek

-face is always unexplainably red

-throws temper tantrums

-always reading some kind of document or study

-lots of bottled up angst™

-has at least one addiction no one talks about

-can't flirt

-will have a complete mental breakdown that "no one saw coming"

#not hogwarts mystery #tell me i'm wrong #i'm not wrong #i am the stereotypical 'socially awkward genius'#harrypotterhogwartsshitpost

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turkisherlockian · 3 years

Text

Books And Sins | Chapter Three [Benedict Cumberbatch AU]

Word count: 1115

A/N: Hi guys! I hope you like it hehehe! Let me know what you think and if you'd like more! Feedbacks are appreciated and so motivating! Enjoy! ❤️ -Cer

~~~

Katherine took a sip of her coffee as Benedict couldn't take his eyes off her. If it was someone else she would freak out, but it was him. The man who drove her crazy.

"How was your day, darling?" He leaned back in his seat, smiling at her gently.

The young woman took a deep breath before speaking, she did have a rough day. However, she didn't want to bore him with talking about her shitty day so she just said "It was fine... Same as usual. How about yours?" Katherine smiled and tilted her head sweetly.

Another lie, Benedict thought. We'll need to fix that sweet, filthy mouth of yours.

"My day was... A bit boring, actually." He lied, "I don't know if you like writing but I do know you like reading, but I assume you can imagine how hard it is to write when you just... Can't think of anything to write when you turn on your laptop... But I must tell you it was mainly because of you."

"Me?.." Katherine looked upset, "Because I texted you?... I'm so sorry!"

Oh, but you're so sweet, darling. So innocent.

Benedict chuckled, "No! Because I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"Aww," Katherine looked down with a big smile, biting her lip a bit.

God, no, don't do that if you don't want me to take you right here.

The young man smirked and leaned over the table, holding her small hand in his that engulfed it. Katherine was amazed by how big his hand was compared to hers, then she looked up at him but saw a red stain on his jumper. Katherine frowned a little, "Is that blood?..."

Shit, Benedict thought, he looked down at his jumper, "Oh... My nose bled before I came here, sorry..."

"No, it's fine." She smiled, "You didn't hit your nose anywhere, did you?"

Benedict blinked a few times before answering her question, she was so observant and with that beautiful smile, he wanted nothing but to kiss her. "No, thankfully. It happens from time to time. The doctor said it's nothing important, so..." He shrugged with a smile.

Katherine nodded and sipped her coffee, thinking about what to say next because of the awkward silence' presence. Then she decided to ask about his book.

"I'm not going to deny that I googled your name, but I found nothing..."

"Oh, about that... I write under a pen name."

"Oh!" Katherine raised her eyebrows in interest, "That's cool! What's your pen name?"

Benedict chuckled, "I'll tell you if..." He pretended to think, "If you let me take you out for dinner."

"Dinner?" Katherine giggled, "Deal. When?"

"I'm always free, so it's up to you."

The young woman hummed, "I'm usually free after work, and on weekends... How about tomorrow?"

You're always free because you barely see your friends. You'd rather spend time with your books or chat with your online friends, would you not, sweet girl?

"Sounds great. Is 7 PM okay?"Katherine nodded.

"Could you give me your address? I'll pick you up... I mean, if you'd like to. Or I can pick you up from somewhere else..."

She didn't even hesitate to give him her address when Benedict took a pen and notebook out of his bag to write it down. His hands, his eyes, even his handwriting... He was beautiful and Katherine knew that she fell under his spell.

I already knew your address, but... "Thank you darling." Benedict smiled and put them back in his bag, aware of the pair of eyes watching him intensely.

"Where are we going to go?" Katherine asked quietly with a smile, "That's gonna be a surprise."

"Tell me what to wear, then..."

He hummed, "Anything would look good on you, sweetie..."

Katherine blushed and chuckled, "Be more specific!"

"Hmm..." He smirked, "You might want to wear a dress."

"It's gonna be fancy, then."

"Just like you."

"I'm not fancy..." Katherine giggled shyly.

"Yes, you are..." And I know you're not used to being called nice things... Another thing we need to fix, my love.

"I won't argue with you..." You should never, my sweet girl.

Benedict chuckled and then they started talking about the past. "I haven't seen them since we graduated... I don't follow them on Instagram either. I'm barely active there, actually."

I know. "I didn't really have a good relationship with the others and I moved to another city for college, so... I probably wouldn't even recognize them if I saw them now."

Katherine nodded, "Where did you go?"

"Manchester. I studied English Literature and Creative Writing."

"Can't wait to see how creative you write..." She smirked.

Oh... Flirtatious, are we darling?

"You might find out tomorrow." Benedict winked at her. You can't imagine how creative I am in bed, as well.

They kept talking for more than an hour, both of them being flirtatious and Katherine falling for him as Benedict expected. He had a hard time with fixing his boxers secretly since he was incredibly turned on, and hoped that she wouldn't feel his erection against her stomach when they hugged. You're too innocent to even notice, he thought.

"I'll see you tomorrow then..." Benedict leaned down to kiss her cheek and Katherine felt herself get wet.

Her cheeks were red and that didn't go unnoticed by Benedict, however he didn't make a comment about it to not make her uncomfortable. Katherine smiled, "See you..." She said quietly and started walking down the street. He stalked her to make sure she went home safely, sighing when it was time to go home.

He got into his car and drove home that was pretty close to hers, then got comfortable on his bed before unzipping his trousers.

Katherine texted Samantha immediately and took off her clothes, throwing herself on her bed as she waited for a reply but her friend wasn't even online. She was only wearing her panties when she started touching herself, closing her eyes as his kiss lingered on her cheek.

Benedict's eyes widened when he saw her masturbating, yes, he was watching her. He's been watching her since a few months ago, actually, when Katherine called the landlord to deal with her broken tap.

He could barely look at the screen as he was about to come and Katherine arched her back when she cried out, "Benedict!"

Benedict came all over his hand, his heart beating fast and vision blurry. Oh, love... He panted as he watched her calm down, still lying on her bed.

Maybe you're not as innocent as I thought... That was a surprise, but a good one, indeed. My naughty girl...

I can't wait to have you.

---

Chapter Four

Let me know what you think! ❤️

#benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cucumber #fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch smut #smut #sherlock #marvel #dr strange #dark!benedict cumberbatch #i'm sorry ben #i love you

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shimmershae · 3 years

Text

My thoughts on Episode 6--On the Inside

Very appropriate title by the way. Works in a multitude of ways.

As always, my randomness is going beneath a cut again to spare the eyeballs of those of you that don’t want to see it at all and also? Help those of you that have somehow stayed spoiler-free in this brand-new age of early release episodes. It is still so wild to me that I’m a full episode ahead of half the fandom. I don’t know what I’m going to do when we get to the final episode and they decide to make us all suffer together--because somehow I do feel they will do exactly that after spoiling us for the first 23 episodes. It is going to be agonizing.

Anyway. Without further ado, Shae’s stream of consciousness review (of sorts).

Not fair, Angela. Opening the episode with that shot of that big ass spider. I hate those suckers. So naturally, they’re an easy sell for setting the horror scene to me, lol.

Okay. Who the hell’s chasing Virgil and Connie? Walker No-See-Ums?

Barely a minute in and the atmosphere for this episode is moody AF.

What is this? Tara Jr. The Walking Dead? LOL. Where’s the Scarlett for this mini plantation house? Anyway. First three minutes of this episode? Just as attention grabbing as the first five episode openings this season. I don’t think people out there are giving our writers enough love for that. Every episode so far has opened like a mini movie.

With the way the Walking Dead logo keeps crumbling away with each successive episode, somehow it wouldn’t surprise me at all if the Carol and Daryl spinoff was eventually titled The Living and had flowers growing out of each letter, lol. I mean, there would be a certain sort of life-affirming symmetry in a show that’s been promised to be much lighter in tone doing just that.

More Carol and Aaron? Yes, please. I don’t necessarily like Carol staying at home and sitting the sidelines like a figurative happy little homemaker in the B story while the rest of the mains are trying like hell to sell the A story, but if she’s going to be totally prohibited from the main storyline until it’s time to blow shit up? I’m going to continue enjoy getting to see her do what she should have been doing for seasons--interacting with others in the community, especially Aaron and the ladies.

Truly. I really am loving my girl getting some quality Aaron and Rosita time. It’s so long overdue.

Bless sweet Kelly. Riding off to her sister’s rescue.

Why isn’t Lydia shown as part of these plans? For someone that could barely read last season, I doubt that big ass map was a piece of cake for her and it’s all just guesswork anyway without her guidance. I mean, why does it feel like they are cutting some of this stuff that might not seem like much plot-wise but would go a long way toward establishing different character beats? Personally, I would have loved to see her involved in the search and sharing scenes again with Carol and bonding with Kelly.

Virgil be having that “I always feel like somebody’s watching me” feeling. Don’t you hate that, lol?

“You haven’t slept in days.” But how many days, Virgil? I’m going to need a number because I’m confused AF about this timeline at this point. What we’re seeing and what different pieces of dialogue is telling us is not exactly lining up. I’m going to find it awful hilarious if it hasn’t even been two weeks since the cave in. For reasons.

Connie’s spidey senses are clearly tingling.

Alrighty, then. She’s clearly got PTSD. Understandable. They’ve all had it. Some have been treated more sympathetically than others, though.

I mean, it never seems to cross anybody’s mind how Carol probably sees Henry’s head on that pike, Mika’s pale and bloody body, Lizzie crumpled face down in a bed of yellow flowers, Sophia with a smoking bullet hole through her undead head whenever she closes her eyes but whatever.

Okay though. But what if Connie had really shitty, impossible to read handwriting? AKA doctor’s handwriting. What then?

Leah’s face honestly twists my insides whenever I see it, lol. It’s quiet a visceral thing. No, that does not make me a horrible person. Not everybody wants or has to drink the awesome, great, redeemable villainess Kool-Aid. IMHO, she’s got a face meant for a Walker. Perfect makeover idea. Eh. Mostly it’s her expression and the deadness of her eyes.

Anyway. Why is it always the fingers? Eff that.

Listen. If ya’ll can’t tell Daryl’s conflicted AF with the situation he’s landed in, you don’t know how to read NR’s face and eyes. He’s not a masterclass like MMB but he’s pretty darn good when he wants to be.

I honestly feel sorry for Redshirt Frost.

“You do what you gotta do.” Frost knows what’s what and he’s willing to walk the walk for Maggie. Impressive loyalty. I’m left wondering how the current, colder incarnation of Maggie inspired it because I’m still struggling to see it. Anywho. My point is the dude knows the score and just gave Daryl the okay.

Daryl taking off his angel vest before stepping into the role of torturer/interrogator=him shedding the persona/the man Judith and RJ and Lydia and Carol know him to be. Pushing away his man of honor status so he can just survive somehow.

Pope never quits chewing whatever the hell he’s got in his mouth. It’s kind of distracting.

Ohhh. We’re back to the Haunted Mansion. I mean house. Where are the Hitchhiking Ghosts?

All the eyes scratched out of those creepy pictures=spooky.

The good old fogged up bathroom mirror shot. Somebody’s been watching and studying their horror movies, lol. Not gonna lie though. I’m legit bracing myself for the jump scares I know have to be coming.

I’m loving the music/score in these scenes.

Truthfully, I could care less about these Reapers. But they are hella attractive, lol. Listen. Angela knows what she’s doing.

Kelly’s horse is so pretty. Prayer chain for that baby.

More dead horses? Why?

Connie’s slingshot? Sorry. I maintain, no matter how much I like these two, that they have the lamest weapons ever. Endless supply of Virginia rocks or not.

So. Did Virgil and Connie enjoy a little equine for dinner? Did they kill it before the Walkers fed? What monsters! Yeah, no. Not if they were starving even if I personally could not have. The more probable story is they fled the camp in a panic and left the horse behind and then it went down. Sorry. I didn’t exactly study the wounds on the poor animal because it is so traumatizing to me to continue to see them meet such dastardly ends on this show. I don’t know who the hell has such a score to settle with horses but stop it.

Days. It’s only been days. Not weeks. So many times with all that Daryl and Company have had to contend with since the cave in? Those do not exist, lol. They’re just a convenient, appeasing piece of dialogue thrown at a fanbase primed and ready to read everything into not much of anything. There’s just not been enough time for it to happen unless Daryl has literally been up 24/7 for all of them. You know, strategizing how to attack the remainders of Alpha’s horde, figuring out how to defend Hilltop before it fell, healing from the wound he sustained at Alpha’s hand, sitting on that log all damn night with Negan waiting on Carol to come home, having a lover’s quarrel with his best damn everything, taking care of the Grimes babies and Lydia, being the reluctant leader. Kang, why you playing them like that? Daryl’s a super guy but he’s not a superhuman with clones. So many times my ass.

Seriously. Who been watching Connie and Virgil? The MIA Oceansiders? Beta’s Fee Fi Fo Fum Ghost?

Nice. A Michonne mention. Maybe the truth will start to trickle out.

LMAO at Connie’s “I’m not staying here.” Me neither, girl. I would be outta that house so fast.

They really “Quiet Placing” this episode. Honestly? I’m kinda loving it.

WTF was that? I know she can’t hear but you telling me all the little hairs on her arms, legs, and neck didn’t stand the fuck up and say fuck this shit, I’m gone? Pardon my language, lovelies, but that moment had my heart kicking up several beats.

Okay, okay. To be fair to Connie, every hair on her body been doing that since the front door closed. Maybe they’re desensitized.

Gollum’s chasing Connie!!! He/She wants their Precious!!!

The knee jerk reactions about this episode sight unseen are OTT, honestly. And I mean no disrespect by saying that. I can understand completely where they’re coming from because we’ve been burned so long in this fandom. But it’s obvious the spoiler source has their particular biases and reads into things in such a way that don’t line up with what’s actually being shown onscreen. Daryl’s loyalty in this episode and all along quite clearly lies with his family and his community. He’s been playing Leah since the start and is truly just trying to survive somehow.

Awful thought. The Reaper that’s so suspish of Daryl--haven’t quite caught his name or really cared to. I feel like he might try to get to Daryl somehow. When he realizes that Daryl cares no more for Leah than any human would care for somebody (they thought) they used to know? He’s going after Dog. Or Carol should she finally join this story.

I refuse to believe Carol isn’t going to be a part of this story. Because they messing with her mans, lol.

“You’re ever with us or you’re not.” Now where have I heard those words before? I wish I could find that Daryl gif because that had to be one of the funniest things ever, lol.

Unrealistic suggestion to Daryl, Leah? Breathing oxygen seems to piss off Carver. Oh look. He finally has a name for me, lol.

I love how all three of the ladies--Carol, Magna, and Rosita--look at Kelly with such indulgent, adoring “little sis, you alright?” eyes.

They are seriously the most beautiful quartet of characters. I mean all of them are lovely but Carol and Rosita this season? Ugh. The unfairness of the pretty.

Human bones. Terminus callback, lovelies. How it all would have eventually gone down if Gareth and Co. hadn’t met the business end of Rick’s red machete.

So many horror movie homages in this one.

Virgil’s like “let’s leave this Texas Chainsaw Massacre behind.”

Connie and Virgil have obviously bonded, ya’ll. I’m surprised by how much I’m enjoying their scenes together when the character mostly got on my nerves with Michonne. He’s a good actor and the core of his character is sympathetic, but I’m not going to lie. I wasn’t super enthused when he was the one that rescued Connie because I didn’t know how their scenes would play out. But there’s a nice synergy there.

Okay. Does Carver want Leah for himself? Because I’m sure Daryl at this point would love to scream “take her, I know where I fucking belong!”

Daryl’s digging in deep because Carver has shown him Leah’s potential weak spot. Nuance is truly lost on some people, LMAO. He cares about Leah as a human being probably. He’s Daryl, after all. The sweet one. But he sees her as his way outta this and he’s going to exploit it.

It’s nice to have a silent Negan for once, lol. I can pretend he didn’t take my baby Glenn away from me and enjoy JDM’s pretty.

So. These cannibal people were the watchers? Hmm.

I’m really digging Virgil 2.0. Yeah. Nobody’s surprised more than me.

Sweet, sweet scene between Virgil and Connie. His determination to reunite her with her family brings back the sympathy I felt for him when he told Michonne “I promised her flowers. Every day.”

Damn. How many of those creepy crawly cannibals are there?

How brave of Connie to confront her fears to save someone she’s obviously grown to care about.

The Kelly/Connie reunion gave me chills and made me cry. Thank fuck Angela didn’t cheapen that moment by having it focus on literally anybody else. Kelly is the most important person in the whole world to Connie and vice versa. Just like Carol is the most important person in the whole world to Daryl and vice versa. Angela fucking knows. Everybody does. Except the people busy building castles out of sand while the waves of Carol’s and Daryl’s converging stories keep crashing closer and closer to shore.

Such a beautiful moment given to us by Angel Theory and Lauren Ridloff. So authentic and sweet. Kelly and Connie are home to each other.

Poor Frost. That’s all I gotta say about that.

WTF, though. Was Mel just not available or what? I want to see more of the ASZ characters that I care about, not the Reapers. Like I’d be fine with the story if all the characters not named Maggie, Negan, or Daryl weren’t surviving on crumbs during it. Especially the 2nd billed actress on the entire show. Angela. Please. Fix this.

One last WTF. Seriously. WTF has Maggie done to inspire Pope’s obsession? It better be juicy after all this shit.

Overall impression of the episode--

One of my favorites of the season so far. The horror aspects were fantastic, IMHO. I truly didn’t expect to like Connie and Virgil’s scenes as much together so that was a nice surprise. She got the reunion that felt most true and earned for the character and her story and I thank Angela from the bottom of my heart for that.

I would have loved more Carol but I always want more Carol. I’m okay with her taking a backseat because ultimately? This was Kelly’s moment with her sister. Carol and Connie will eventually have their time to sit down and talk. And pick back up their blossoming friendship because I truly do not feel Connie blames Carol at all.

I do wish Lydia had been included with the girl group. Last episode felt like it was leading up to that.

The Reaper storyline continues to be the weakest link because every time we see them the dialogue and interactions feel totally recycled from the time previous. I feel like it would have totally been helped by a tighter focus and less stretching out because 8 episodes of this is really diluting what I feel like Angela and Co. are going for. I’m not here for Leah being redeemed or being a bigger focus in any of the episodes because she does nothing of interest for me. I’m just peeking in on that story for the Daryl of it all.

Speaking of the Daryl? You lovelies out there gotta stop taking that spoiler source’s recaps at face value because it’s obvious to me at least that there’ some bias at work. Every action and word coming from Daryl is coming from a place of loyalty to his family and wanting to protect them, no matter how he has to dirty his hands. Leah is just a means to his ultimate end. She’s not his future. She never was. His future’s already spoken for and 2023 can’t get here soon enough. But like Daryl, we have to just survive somehow.

Oh goodie. More Maggie and Negan next episode and looks like no real follow up on Connie and the ASZ reunions. Hopefully, this is yet another instance of the previews being deceiving but I’m not holding my breath.

Until later, lovelies.

Hope my word vomit didn’t bore you too much.

#The Walking Dead #Season 11 #TWD spoilers #things that make me smile and cry #for reasons #ignore all the typos #with something this longwinded?#LOL #there's bound to be plenty

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bffsoobin · 4 years

Text

Iced Chai

↳ you had a small obsession with drinking iced chai lattes between class, and it just so happened that the coffee store on campus had the best ones. when a new barista replaces the one who used to make your drink, you put him to the test. he makes the most wonderful iced chai you’d ever had. he’s also one of the most handsome boys you ever seen on campus.

➤ fluff, college!au, shy barista!hueningkai

Word Count:3,830

A/N: yes, this fic is very much influenced by my massive love for iced chai lattes and the way I consumed them up until March when we had to leave campus. Sadly I didn’t have any cute boys serving me :(. Anywho, I hope you enjoy it! Please keep in mind that I haven’t proofread, so there may be some small mistakes!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

Calculus was a pain in the ass. Obviously, you knew this well before you scheduled for your freshmen year of college, but there was no way to avoid the reality handed to you by your major. So every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning at 8 am you endured the rambling lectures of your less than spry professor who could barely work his desktop computer. You tried your best to pay attention, you really did, but there was only so much you could do when the conversation shifted from tangent lines to the best way to reheat fast food french fries.

As you doodled in the margins of your lined notebook, your mind wandered to the only good thing sitting through this class does for you. Other than the credits. As soon as the clock struck 9am, you had a date with the on campus café. The roughly hour break between the end of calculus and the beginning of chemistry gave you the perfect window to enjoy some alone time. Homey, student run and always playing some version of a coffee shop playlist; the place was your haven on campus. Not only did you love the atmosphere and the fact that it was the best place on campus to study, but they also serve the best iced chai latte you’d ever encountered. The thought of the drink alone made your mouth salivate. From your first hesitant order, you had become hooked. Within your first week on campus, you had easily drank 10 cups of the chilled goodness before your roommate expressed concern for the sheer amount of sugar and dairy you’d been consuming.

Due to the timing of your tri-weekly trips, you had always been served by the same lovely barista, Rachael. She was stylish, down to earth and always told you a good joke when you showed up looking especially out of it. Most importantly, something about the way she mixed the drink convinced you that she surely was sent from the heavens.

When your graying professor finally let your class go for the day, you walked on clouds to your favorite spot on campus. It had rained during class so the air was chilled and the ground was still damp. The telltale scent of rain invaded your senses and a chill ran through you. Most people would be craving a hot coffee or steaming cup of tea- but all you desired was the smooth flavor of your favorite drink. The walk to your beloved café wasn’t long, but you always found yourself in a bit of a rush to get there as soon as you possibly could. In a moment of carelessness, you stepped right into a rather large puddle and soaked one of your feet right through your shoes and your sock. Disgusting you thought as you finally arrived at the door. The handle was slick with moisture thanks to the weather, but you wiped your hand onto your sweatshirt as you stepped inside and let the familiar scent of coffee grounds occupy your mind. Your shoulders relaxed simply at the relaxed atmosphere.

A few students who also frequented around this time were sitting at their usual tables, and you waved at them politely before taking yourself- and your squelching shoe- over to the small booth you’d come to know and love. You ditched your bookbag on the table with a thud, feeling secure with the knowledge of your agreement with the girl who sat at the table next to you to keep an eye on your things.

As you headed toward the counter, you belatedly noticed that the line seemed a bit more backed up than usual. It wasn’t too big of a concern, as your college was relatively small and waiting an extra five minutes would by no means ruin your timing. It was just curious. Usually Rachael ran the counter with the ease of an experienced sailor, but that ease seemed to be missing today. Nevertheless, the line inched forward steadily. Engrossed in your phone, you hadn’t noticed the glaring difference in your routine until you got to the cash register. While placing your plastic ID card over the scanner, you chirped “just my usual, Rachael!”

Despite what your mind told you would happen next- she would laugh, say okay, maybe ask about class while handing over a receipt- you were met with an awkward stutter that your trusty barista certainly didn’t make.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know your usual,” upon finally looking up, your brain processed the sight of a new boy. A new gorgeous boy. Did they only hire beautiful people here? His black hair was falling into his eyes, charmingly shaggy and exposing just enough of his forehead to make you oddly wish you could see more. His cheeks were dusted in a light pink blush that both charmed you and made you feel bad at the same time. He seemed so fresh. Upon further inspection, you caught his handmade name tag written in slightly shaky handwriting that was so cutely boyish. Hueningkai. He had decorated one corner with a smiley face and the other with a drawing of a coffee bean that looked suspiciously like nothing more than a dark brown blob with a small accent line down the middle.

“I’m sorry, Hueningkai,” you didn’t miss the way his eyes widened slightly at the use of his name, “usually Rachael is here to take my order. But I’ll take a large iced chai latte, please.” He nodded quickly, reverting his eyes to the LED screen which his eyes bounced around for a few seconds before he finally found the correct button. This must have been why the line seemed abnormally long. As the sound of your receipt printing filled the silence, you asked; “first day?”

A melodious laugh fell from his lips, causing a scrunch of his perfectly pointed nose that you felt honored to have seen as he stepped away from the register to start making your drink. “That obvious, huh?” Another worker came to take his spot and serve the next student but you followed Hueningkai to his new destination. For as shy as he was at the cash register, he moved with much more confidence when it came to actually making drinks. His earlier hesitation was totally gone as he got to work mixing up your drink. In his new position, you could get a better look at his hands, adorned in simple silver jewelry that embarrassingly made your breath catch in your throat. His actions were over almost as quickly as they began, and his earlier hesitation seemed to return as he slid the drink to you over the granite counter top. You grasped at it eagerly in the same moment he reached to balance a straw on top of the lid.

For a brief moment your fingers lingered and your mind went wild at the absurdity that you honestly felt sparks pass between the two of you.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” he mumbled, dipping his head down awkwardly as he finally tore his hand away. You smiled back earnestly, hoping to make him understand that you weren’t bothered at all by the contact.

Back at the safety of your table, you took a second to collect yourself. Surely you were overreacting to the small interaction. After all, you were already having a pretty weird day. Looking down at your clear cup, you remembered the beginning of your dilemma- the absence of amazing barista Rachael. Hueningkai was adorable, but could his skills hold up to the woman who made drinks you literally dreamed about? Tentatively, you took a sip of the drink and immediately cocked your head to the side. On the off chance your taste buds had totally deceived you, you took another long swig from the cup.

Hueningkai’s drink was even better than Rachael’s.

——

The next morning, you awoke before your alarm even started to beep. Thursdays meant no class until 1 o’clock, so you had almost all the time in the world to catch up on assignments and homework and do your errands. Instead of doing anything constructive, you found yourself craving yet another iced chai latte. As you voiced this desire to your roommate, she looked at you as if you’d just admitted to the murder of 4 people.

“Are you insane? Do you not remember how miserable you felt after drinking two a day? I can’t let you do that again. You can go to the café but at least drink something different!” You knew that she was right, but something inside of you- that shitty little perpetual teenage boy who hides in a corner of your mind- told you to do the exact opposite of what she said.

“I’m sorry,” you shuffled through the shirts hanging in your closet, the sound of the plastic hangers clicking together resonating in the otherwise quiet room. “But you have to go to class so there’s no way you can police me. Plus,” you pulled a shirt out of your closet and slid over to your cheap full length mirror to inspect yourself. “You didn’t see Hueningkai. He is...” your cheeks flushed as your roommate began to let out a high pitched squeal. “Shhh! The walls are thin!”

“Oh don’t act so scandalized. I guess it makes sense that you’d have a crush on the boy who feeds your addiction.” You rolled your eyes at her, lobbing a pair of rolled up socks in her direction in retaliation. They hit her side softly before bouncing to the floor dejectedly. “You,” she pointed a finger your way as you rooted through your drawer for a pair of jeans, “are ridiculous. Have fun with your dreamy boy while I’m at class.”

Despite the familiarity of the path to the café, you still felt a bit out of place making the trip on a Thursday. Even the other students passing you by felt wrong in a way you couldn’t quite place. There was also the lingering worry that Hueningkai wasn’t even working today, and you’d show up to the small building just for a dose of disappointment. In you worried haze, you had barely noticed you arrived until the door was pushed open from the inside and a small pack of students held the door aside for you.

Inside of the building, a blanket of warm air surrounded your form and the faint smell of cinnamon drifted easily through the air. You were instantly calmed by the scent until someone bumped into your shoulder. With wide eyes, you looked around to see about double the amount of people your usual visits yielded. You were in no way prepared for the absolute mass of bodies that filtered between the tables and comfortable sitting areas.

Feeling a bit lost, you put yourself into the line of waiting students and tried your best to peer over heads and around bodies to see if you could catch a glimpse of the barista that had captivated you so easily. It didn’t look like he was making drinks, but you held out hope that he was manning the register that was blocked from your sight. After what felt like forever, you reached the register and came face to face with...not Hueningkai. Despite your disappointment, there was no way you would turn down a drink, even made by a non-Hueningkai.

Once you had the chilled cup cradled in your hands, you took a hopeless look around at the full dining room. Almost every table looked to be occupied, and some students had even resorted to leaning against the walls to chat and sip their drinks. The back of your neck began to heat up as you wandered around hoping for anyone to decide they were done and get up to leave. You had almost given up and decided to just go back to your dorm and lick your metaphorical wounds when a voice called your name. It only took a second of looking around to lock eyes with the one who was calling for you.

Hueningkai. He had a light blush filling his cheeks as he waved a hand noncommittally your way. He looked ethereal sitting at the table, hot cup of something steaming next to his sticker covered laptop. His eyes were wide and adorably eager; akin to the look of a puppy who had just seen their owner after a long day. Your feet were working before your brain, so when you arrived to the table you had to scramble for an opener.

“Hey! I was looking for you!” you winced. Way to go, Y/N. Out yourself on the second meeting. “I mean, uh,” you felt the cup in your hand start to slip with the sweat your palms produced, “I was hoping you’d make my drink again.”

A smile spread like wildfire on Hueningkai’s face and his eyes crinkled adorably in the corners.

“You liked it that much?” His voice was meek, oddly shy for the way he beamed up at you with so much ease.

“Yeah! It was really good. Even better than Rachael’s, to be honest.”

“Really? She was the best barista here!” He brought a hand up to his mouth in shock.

“Yeah, really! Anyway, I can get going if you...you look busy,” you gestured toward his open laptop and drink that you were sure was rapidly cooling the longer you distracted him.

“No!” he blurted the word before visibly flinching at his actions. At least it wasn’t just you feeling like a fumbling idiot. “I called you over cause it looked like you needed a seat? And if you want to sit with me, you can. I’m just working on a presentation and you won’t distract me, I promise.” There was no way you could deny the eagerness lacing his voice, so you pulled the chair opposite him across the floor and settled in.

----

“That sounds like a date. A hangout at the very least,” your roommate asserted as she typed some code into her computer.

“It was not a date!” You whined, glaring up at your ceiling from your spot on your twin XL. “He just saw me looking for a place to sit and offered.” She scoffed.

“Yeah, and then he proceeded to ignore his homework to talk to you. And then he asked if you were coming back to the cafe tomorrow. And then he-”

“Okay, I get it! But what am I supposed to do? Ask him out?” A bubble of nerves was resting heavily in your stomach at the thought. As much as you liked him, who were you to think that he wasn’t just being kind? When you voiced this concern to your roommate, she tossed her computer to the side and strode over to your bed to not-so-gently pull you out of it. Without an idea of what she was doing, you stood dumbly until she put on her slippers and drug you out of your room.

“What are you doing? I didn’t even put my slippers on!” Your sock covered feet slid across the tile of the hallway as your roommate finally hauled you into the common room of your floor, where a few small groups had gathered to do various activities.

“Hi everyone! My lovely roommate Y/N and I have a question for you. Do any of you know Hueningkai? He works at the cafe, really tall, music major?” A few people nodded in confusion, surely wondering why the hell one of the polite tenants of room 112 was conducting some kind of survey in the lounge.

“Great. Has he ever shown interest in any of you? Asked you to sit with him in the cafe? Spent about an hour inquiring about your life instead of quietly working? Gave you his number?” Everyone who had previously nodded stood still, not moving an inch as they whispered between each other. “Okay, that’s all!” Your roommate left with no further elaboration as you called out a weak apology to everyone. Back in the safety of your room, you stared at her, scandalized.

“What was that?”

“That, my dear Y/N, was proof. He likes you!”

----

A nervousness you hadn’t felt since move in day was crawling through your body the closer the clock ticked to 9 am. Theoretically, you could just skip going to get a drink today, and therefore avoid the source of your nerves; but you knew that Hueningkai was expecting you to show. He had even sent you an eager text this morning with a series of heart wrenchingly adorable emojis. There was no way you could avoid him after that.

Late fall weather had surely settled in today and you felt the chill settle into your bones as soon as you stepped out of the math building. For a few seconds, you stopped to watch a rough breeze rustle browning leaves across the concrete paths of campus before simply digging your hands further into your pockets. You had to power your way through this. Worse case scenario, he says no and you can never show your face on campus again. Simple.

The door felt especially heavy under your hands as you hauled it open. The much more familiar, sparsely populated shop greeted you but only ratcheted up your nerves. With less people milling around, there was no way to delay your conversation with Hueningkai. As soon as you began to approach the counter, you could see him stumble over to the register before the other working student could even attempt to. He tried to casually lean his elbow onto the half wall to his left, but he miscalculated and ended up shyly tucking his hands into the front pocket of his apron.

“Hi,” you swallowed the lump in your throat and hoped that he hadn’t notice the shake in your voice. The familiar beep of the card reader interrupted your worries momentarily as you heard the boy in front of you exhale a greeting.

“Your usual?” He inquired as if he hadn’t already seen you with the drink two days in a row. Not trusting your voice, you simply nodded and waited for him to punch the order into the screen. His hand hesitated as he glanced up at you again. “You’re the only person I know still ordering cold drinks in this weather,” a teasing smile had blossomed on his pink lips and your heart jumped at the sight.

“Well, I guess I’m just a bit stuck in my ways,” you followed him, as always, to the other side of the counter where orders were placed when finished.

“I like that,” he commented as he grabbed a cup, “it makes my job a whole lot easier,” your eyes locked onto his hands out of instinct. Yesterday you had noticed the addition of a thin silver chain around his wrist, and you would be lying if you hadn’t spent a few minutes admiring the delicate chain contrasted against the strength of his hands. A pour of ice pulled you out of your thoughts, and you caught the back half of a question from him.

“What’d you say?” You felt as if lava was bubbling right under the surface of your skin as you reeled in embarrassment. You couldn’t believe that you’d let yourself miss a chunk of conversation for something so stupid.

“Oh,” he seemed equally embarrassed that you hadn’t heard him, and it hurt your heart a little to see the way his eyes shook. “I just wanted to know if you had a good night yesterday. I mean because you-you told me when we hung out that you had a lot of reading to do, and I wasn’t sure if you got it all done. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed with readings that I don’t do any of them, and Taehyun yells at me for that but I just can’t seem to stop doing it.” He was rambling, and you both knew it, but you let him continue as he shyly looked away in order to pour your drink over the ice.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I had an okay night. My roommate was a bit much, but I love her, so it was okay.” His eyebrow quirked softly at the mention of your roommate, but he seemed afraid to broach the subject just yet. He gave your drink a good swirl after sealing on the lid and slid it over the smooth counter to your waiting hand. Unlike the first time you had met, you had already grabbed a straw from the small display and plunged it into the drink.

Although you should have walked away, something kept you rooted to the spot, Hueningkai seemed to be under the same kind of spell as he looked over his shoulder to see that no one else had lined up to be served quite yet.

“Hey, I was wonderi-”

“This might be weird-”

Your sentences clashed in the air as you spoke at the exact same time. Your mouth hung open like a fish out of water and Hueningkai waved his hands around wildly in your direction. “Go ahead!” He enthused, looking as if he was going to melt into the floor as a side effect of interrupting you.

“No, I mean, you can say your thing first, if you- if you want,” you offered weakly.

“No, it’s okay, you definitely spoke first. G-go ahead,” he nodded rapidly in order to convince you further. You raised your eyebrows in a silent question of ‘are you sure?’, to which he nodded again.

“Okay, I was wondering if you’d like to, uhm, go out sometime? On a date?” The words felt like weights rolling off of your tongue. Hueningkai blinked once, twice, a third time before he broke into a peal of laughter. A sudden wash of panic, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over your head, filled your senses. This was it. You would have to transfer schools and change your hair color to get rid of this incident. Goodbye, life you had come to know and love.

Hueningkai must have recognized your panic as he took a harsh breath and surged forward to reach for your arm.

“Wait! I wasn’t laughing at you! It’s just that I was, um, also going to ask you out.” This time, a laugh bubbled up in your throat at the confession.

“You’re right. That is pretty hilarious.” You admitted, feeling the tension around you totally dissipate.

“Well, I think this bodes well for us. We’ve only known each other for a few days and we already have telepathy. My roommate will be so jealous. He’s been trying to meld our minds for weeks.” His personality was beginning to peak through when he spoke about his friends, you noticed. It was charming. He was charming. Not to mention, he still made the best damn iced chai latte you’d ever had.

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aj-writes-here · 4 years

Text

Couldn’t help it and I ended up writing this in the middle of a class

Birthday Gift

It was December 23th, and you've been thinking since November about what the hell give Levi. It was not only Christmas, but it was also his birthday and you still haven't come up with something to give to him. You tried to look for clues, glimpses of things that he might like, but every time you tried to ask a subtle question his answer was the same, I don't want anything, so don't stress yourself.

But you were stubborn, and he was your boyfriend. And it was a very important date and you wanted to make it special. Snowflakes were falling as you walked through the market, looking for different alternatives, or trying to get ideas. Some shop owners knew you, either because you were a popular Squad Leader or because you always visited them, but not even in that way you could think about something to give to him. You saw a small tea shop, and you stood in front of it thinking, maybe a new blend of tea? No, I bought him one last week. A set of cups? These are all ugly. What about a pot? There are plenty of those. Damn it.

You knew he loved tea, and even once in a late night conversation where every honest word came out, he had confessed to you that he would like to have his own tea shop. Maybe one day, but it was just a thought he had.

And then it hit you.

You walked away the tea shop, knowing the things that you were going to buy.

The rest of the day was spent away from Levi, he couldn't find out what you were doing or planning on giving him, so you had asked Erwin to use his office for a couple of minutes, promising to left it cleaner than already was, and he agreed with a calm smile.

And in this way, the night before the 25th arrived. The dining hall was full, smiley cadets were sitting in front of different things to eat, and some of them were exchanging gifts that very same night.

You smiled looking at how Eren and Jean were arguing again on who was going to give their gift first to Mikasa, too excited to way for morning next, and she was just looking at them with a vague smile, Armin was trying to calm them down as Connie was trying to control Sasha, the girl had already eaten three potatoes in less than five minutes. Hanji sat next to you, and both of you agreed that the place was looking happy, with the ornaments, laughs, food, and colors. No one was planning on sleeping earlier, in the end, it was winter and the day next was free for everyone, so a snowball fight was coming quicker than anticipated. Levi arrived next to Erwin, and they joined you and the rest of the vets on the table, certainly it was a good atmosphere, but Levi was looking bored as usual.

It was impossible for Hanji not to throw a comment about his birthday approaching, and he just answered back with a shitty comment, making the rest laugh. They knew him, and they didn't put pressure on him.

The night kept that way, shiny and happy among the darkness that it was usually faced. A few hours later, Levi and you decided that it was time to leave, and saying goodbye you made your way to the bedroom you both shared.

After a few minutes, the clock stroke midnight and at the dining hall Hanji stood up rapidly, but Erwin's voice stopped her.

''Where are you going, Hanji?'' The blonde man asked taking a sip of his beverage.

''It's shorty's birthday already! I'm not letting him escape my congratulations this time''

''I'm sure you can wait until tomorrow, let the love birds have a bit of space, they hardly ever have time for themselves.'' He said calmly and the rest of the vets agreed with his comment.

She sat down and grabbed a cookie, Erwin was right, she was going to wait until tomorrow morning, and maybe she could greet him with a snowball, that was a better plan, definitely.

Meanwhile, at the bedroom, Levi had change into his nightwear and as he was washing his teeth you took out the small bag you had hidden very good, because with his cleaning skills he would have found it and ruined the surprise.

To you, the gift was a wonderful idea and you were sure he was going to like it. But that was when you were all hyped in the making process, now every single insecurity was taking over. Maybe it was a shitty thing, and he was not going to like it, but you had to give it a try, and it was no time to think about it again because you heard the water stop running. Placing the bag over the bed, you went back to the office and smiled when Levi was finally out of the bathroom, looking at him with sparkling eyes.

''Oi, what's wrong, why do you have that idiotic fac-'' He couldn't continue because you hug him tight against your body, he hesitated at the first second but then his hands were on your back.

''Happy birthday'' You answer against his chest, lifting your eyes to him. ''It is 00:07, so it is 25th already.'' his expression softened just a bit.

''Thank you, brat'' Levi's voice was low, and he answered to your kiss, he couldn't resist to them.

''Now come here, I have something for you.'' You grabbed his hand and dragged him to the bedroom.

''Tch, I told you not to buy anything.'' He said furrowing his expression, but then looking with curiosity at the bag with a blue ornament.

''And you know I was not going to listen to you. It is Christmas, and your birthday, so shut up and open it,'' You laughed and he huffed, lifting the bag, and it was heavier than it looked ''Careful.'' You said, nervousness in your voice.

He looked at you quickly and then his attention was on the bag again, and when he put his hand to take out the object, he had no idea of what it could be. At first, he thought it was a watch, or maybe even a new cravat but it was to heavy for that, and it felt... Like wood. Wood? He thought to himself, pulling out the object. His eyes opening and his jaw dropping a bit when he saw what it was. No shitty comments, no questions, just silence.

''I... I didn't know what to get you, but once you mentioned that... That you wanted to get your own tea shop. I don't have the money enough to buy and actual building, but... This one can help you not to forget this sort of dream you have,'' You smiled shyly ''I'm sorry if it's ugly, I'm terrible at doing crafts, you can tell me if you hate it tho, I won't die''

You smiled at your own words, but he didn't seem to listen. His eyes were still placed on the object, you saw his adam apple when he swallowed, he was getting many emotions that he was controlling. No one ever had given him something that meaningful, something you had made with your own hands, even splintering and cutting your fingers in the process. It was a tiny tea shop, made it out of wood and painting, it was on a wooden based and it even had a very small chair and a table, it was not a professional work, that's true, but the idea was beyond clear and beautiful. It had details such as windows, doors, a hanging sign painted with your handwriting, even a very detailed roof.

Levi's eyes didn't leave the figure for a second, but then all you could feel was his strong hand on your nape, abruptly pulling you towards his body. You opened your eyes wide in surprise because of his reaction.

''Don't be an idiot. It's perfect.'' He mumbled against your hair. ''I don't even have words.'' You allowed yourself to stay in his embrace for a while longer, feeling at home when you were trapped in his arms.

''So did you like it?'' you asked looking back at him.

''I did,'' He caressed your cheek and then looked at the mini tea shop in his other hand ''No one ever had done something like this for me, thank you brat.'' His hand stopped and cupped your cheek, kissing you slowly.

''I'm glad you did,'' no one could erase the smile from your face at that point ''Happy birthday and Merry Christmas'' you finished kissing him again.

''Speaking of which, I have something for you too. But you'll need to wait until tomorrow'' He stated.

''Why is that?''

''Because I say so.'' You laughed and slapped him playfully on his shoulder.

He left a caress on your cheek, and moved back to the office. Following him, you saw that the put the tiny tea shop on the desk, carefully and away from the edges to keep it free from falling. 'I won't let you have not even a speck of dust.' He said to himself, looking at it for another while.

''It's perfect.'' Levi said ''Now I'm ashamed of my shitty gift.'' You laughed and hugged him by his torso.

''Maybe If I see it I could judge''

''Sure thing. But you'll judge tomorrow.''

''I hate you so much'' You mumbled against his lips

''I doubt it'' He replied, his lips moving softly against yours, and you noticed he was thanking you again for your gift. That's how he showed his feelings, through actions.

''Now, I have something else for you'' You said with a teasing voice, lifting an eyebrow.

''I thought you hated me'' He replied, looking at you with daring eyes.

''Just at times'' Finishing with a laugh, you kissed him again. But then, you heard some rapid steps, someone was running? You didn't care and kept kissing him, but then the steps got louder.

''Oi, are you lis-'' He asked pulling away, but got interrupted ''You've got to be kidding me.'' Levi walked to the door, maybe if he was fast enough he could lock it.

But it was too late.

''SHOOOOOOOOOORTYYYYYYY'' And then you knew it. The door was open loudly and Hanji entered running and screaming with joy. ''HAPPY BIRTHDAY!'' She hugged and he whined, you laughed when you saw the bottle she had in her hands.

''I'm sorry, I tried to stop her but then she just disappeared from my sight.'' Erwin said, looking at the scene from outside the door.

''Let me go now, shitty four eyes. Or else you'll meet the interiors of a titan''

''Come in, Erwin.'' You invited him and he entered with a funny smile on his face. When Levi was free from Hanji, you grabbed some glasses and set them on the table. ''Guess you will have to wait until tomorrow for your gift, Levi'' you laughed, and sat down, inviting Hanji next to you.

''You're all so damn rowdy.''

Giving up, he sat down in front of Erwin and grabbed a drink, he looked as if he wanted to kill them, but the truth was that he was happy he could spend part of that date with the people he cared about the most.

However, Levi couldn't stop thinking about the small tea shop you had given him, because for him that was by far the best gift he'd ever received, and most importantly it was done by the woman he loved the most.

#attack on titan #attack on titan imagine #levi ackerman #levi ackerman imagines #levi ackerman headcanons #levi x reader

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fearixfox · 3 years

Text

Dancing to Bruno Major

Levi’s birthday is today and honestly he fights Diavolo for the number one spot for me. I tried a little more of an aggressive Leviathan because I like to think he’s competitive. Ya know being a gamer and all. Listen to Nothing or Easily by Bruno Major for the best vibes!

Word count: 1.2K

“I didn’t think you would be into this kinda thing.” You say, looking at all the vinyls on his shelves. “Well of course, Lucifer got me hooked onto them way back when but now he only listens to cursed music. It’s disappointing.” Leviathan says in an irritated tone.

You swipe through the vinyls looking at an oddly familiar one in the back of the shelf. “Bruno Major?” You ask, holding it up. Levi’s eyes lower as he tries to swipe it away from your hands. You giggle keeping it out of his reach. “No, no tell me why you have this one.” You joke.

“I didn’t get that one,” Levi sighs, “Asmo got it for me when he went with Solomon to the human world.” He continues to try to take it out of your hands and you end up pulling him into an embrace.

“It’s a wonderfully romantic album you know. As expected of Asmo to buy it for you.” You say, letting Leviathan escape your embrace. Leviathan steps back with his fists over his face, glaring at you from afar.

“You always do this to me. Wanna fight?” He says in a small voice. You laugh and give him a loving smile to which he looks away.

“No, I don’t. You’re just fun to tease.” You smile at him and he starts mumbling at your reasoning. “Anyway, wanna listen to the album?” You ask, already taking it out of its packaging. “No, I don’t,” he responds quickly, “I...I only use that to sleep.”

You read some of the scribbles on the inside of the packaging. MC’s daydream playlist was neatly written in Levi’s handwriting. In that moment you knew, but you were gonna savor this. You had told Leviathan that you liked him many times but he never seemed to reciprocate clearly.

“So?” You deadpan. “Slow songs are fun to dance to. Although, I could always ask Asmo to dance with m-”

“I’ll do it. He cuts you off. “I mean. I’m already here and I don’t want that normie dancing in my room with you anyway.” You grin at his words and put the record on.

You turn around to Leviathan bowing and putting his hand out towards you. “M-may I have this dance?” You couldn’t help but feel your heart squeeze. You take his hand and he leads you around slowly dancing to the first song.

“Well, this is unexpected.” You whisper in his ear. He pulls you in closer to hide his blushing face.

“I j-just want you to know that I’m always here if you wanna dance. You don’t have to ask anyone else.” Levi grumbles into your shoulder.

You can’t help but smile. “Don’t be jealous, Leviathan. I promise you’ll be the one I go to first when it comes to dancing...although I hear Mammon has some moves.” You tease.

“MC, please. As if he could even keep a beat, let alone lead someone else.” Levi continues to grumble into your shoulder and you push him away a little and wrap your hands around his neck.

“You know, I think you’re my favorite demon.” You say, giving into the mood of the music. Leviathan gives you a surprised look then brushes it off. “You blow in here from stupid town. You don’t like a yucky otaku like me. No one does.” He insults with a dismissive tone.

“You’re a weeb. Your opinion doesn’t matter.” You bite back, “my opinion matters more than you by the social laws of the internet.”

“No it doesn’t, you’re a weeb too!” Leviathan pouts. “Well, I guess neither of our opinions matter but still I’m better than you so my opinion matters more.” You say triumphantly. “What kind of logic is that?” Leviathan asks somewhat angrily.

“The point is you’re my favorite demon. My favorite being in the worlds I know and I am overjoyed that I get to spend an evening in the arms of the demon I love most.” You say in a gentle voice.

Leviathan stops dancing and steps back. You stare at him and his blush deepens until he can’t bear to look at you anymore. “You can’t just come out and say that MC!” Leviathan complains, “it’s unfair to me.” You tilt your head in confusion. “Eh? Why? It’s how I feel. It’s how I’ve always felt since I’ve met you. I thought I told you.”

Leviathan looks at you like you had three heads, “I didn’t. You never told me! I thought we were just friends. Best friends, but friends nonetheless.” Leviathan sits in a fetal position on the floor. “I’m sorry Levi. I honestly didn’t know.” You say recounting all the times you’ve been intimate with him.

“Oh fuck. I really never did tell you clearly.” You mutter somewhat embarrassed yourself. “I’m sorry. I guess I said it so many times in my head it never transferred..” you trail off suddenly feeling hot.

The demon stands up filled with determination and locks his eyes with yours. “Do you mean it, MC?” “I-I do bu-” Levi kisses you before you could finish. You feel the heat of his lips on yours and you almost fall backwards. “Levi,” you whisper, pulling him closer to you.

He plants soft kisses all over your face and neck, pulling you even closer than before. “I love you too. I was supposed to be the cool one but you came in and wrecked my plan.” Levi sulks, hugging you tightly.

Your face heats up slightly at your newfound closeness. “I didn't know you felt that way until recently.” You say dizzy from the kisses. “What do you mean recently?” He asks. “My daydream playlist.” Leviathan’s color flushes from his face. “You saw that.”

You giggle at his mortified expression. “I did...but it’s not like I haven’t thought about it either. What do you think of when listening to this?” Leviathan heats up and looks away. “Nothing a normie like you would understand.”

“Leeviii, I’m a weeb too so shush and tell me.” You stick out your tongue.

“Contradictory today are we?” Leviathan sighs and faces you again. “I see us having a life together sometimes and playing games and cosplaying...and stuff like that. You w-would show me the fanfiction you're writing and I would show you my shitty drawing and we...we would be happily m-married or something like that.”

“Wait one of those is different from the others.” You joke. “Jeeeez, don’t sweat the details.” Leviathan tries to hide his face with his hands. The redness on his face astounded you. Any more and he would pass out.

You pull them away and plant a kiss on his forehead. “I feel the same way, don't worry.” You say with a smile. The demon gives you a distrusting look.

“Well… either way, I’ll beat you next level.” Leviathan tsks, starting to dance to the music again. “Leviachan, this isn’t a game. You don’t need to beat me.” You tease, as he twirls you around.

“No. I didn’t until you pulled a fast one on me and now I have to win.” He huffs. You pull him into a dip and kiss him deeply. His face was completely red as he braced for more kisses. “I’d love to see you try.”

#obey me #obey me leviathan #leviathan #leviathan avatar of envy #leviathan fluff #leviathan obey me #happy birthday leviathan #fear's bits

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honsoolie · 4 years

Text

don’t rush | 02

pairing: Yoongi/reader

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, eventual smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings (for this chapter only): mentions of stage fright/performance anxiety, swearing, sexual references, slight angst, dad jokes :|

words: 6k

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: didn’t plan to take this long for an update, life gets in the way, you know the drill. read 01 here and as always, this is crossposted to ao3 :)

When you get inside, the warmth welcomes you in. You’re not quite sure if it’s from the heating in the hallway or how Yoongi’s eyes had shone in the moonlight. You lean against the inner door frame, a happy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, legs a little weak in the knee. You feel light-headed, maybe from being up late, maybe from your exhausting day, maybe from the lingering remnants of Yoongi’s cologne.

Did that really just happen? Did he really just ask for your number? Was this all a dream?

The euphoria is short-lasting, however. You still have some assignments waiting for you, and only a couple hours left until your morning classes. The tiredness never lets up, and your limbs heavy again as you make your way inside the lobby of your dorm.

Unknown number (2:47am): hi this is yoongi

Unknown number (2:47am): did you get inside ok?

You (2:48am): yeah

You (2:48am): did u?

Yoongi (2:50am): im walking back now

Yoongi (2:50am): you should sleep soon ://

You (2:51am): I still have hw :(

You (2:51am): text me when ur back inside too

Yoongi (2:53am): lmaoo is it counterpoint hw

Yoongi (2:54am): it’s so sweet that you care for my safety ;(

You (2:54am): yes sadly

You (2:55am): ofc I care, we can’t have our amazing star pianist get hurt

Yoongi (2:55am): im home now

Yoongi (2:58am): you have a thing for praise, don’t you

Even though you can’t see him, you splutter alone in your room, roommate fast asleep. There is no way that means what you think it means.

You (3:00am): idk where u got that from

You (3:03am): maybe i do, you’ll have to find out

Yoongi (3:04am): I would, but you have to finish your analysis worksheet :/

You (3:15am): ugh, fuck it

You (3:15am): im going to sleep

You (3:15am): ill just wake up early tomorrow to finish it before class

Yoongi (3:16am): what? No goodnight? >:(

Yoongi (3:17am): some manners you have

Yoongi (3:17am): what a rude girl

You (3:18am): aw have i been bad?

You (3:18am): I’m sooooo sorry

You (3:19am): gn

The minutes tick by, and you grow more indignant than you should. Is he serious?

Who doesn’t say goodnight back? Maybe you scared him off. Maybe all this “flirtatious” banter was just how Yoongi talked to his friends. How would you know? You don’t know anything about him.

The same insidious doubt creeps back in. Maybe this is all a game to him. Maybe he just wanted to introduce himself to another music student in the department, you all were supposed to know each other anyway. Maybe, worst of all, he had really only meant to wake you up in the music building as a simple courtesy, no intent behind it. You groan as you sink into your bed, cradling your head in your hands.

You (3:27am): some hypocrite you are

Yoongi (3:30am): I was in the showerrr relax

Yoongi (3:31am): hm you have been bad

Yoongi (3:33am): maybe I should punish you

You (3:29am): u wish

You (3:30am): but goodnight for real, we have class in five hours :”(

Yoongi (3:31am): goodnight

Yoongi (3:31am): save me a spot next to you

You were in the world’s smallest big crisis.

Was Yoongi actually serious when he asked you to save a seat? Or were you just indulging in wishful thinking? Was he flirting with you last night? And if he was, what are you supposed to do now?

Whatever he meant, you would have to face him now.

The endless litany of maybes and what-ifs grows louder in your head, even louder than last night during your text correspondence with him.You elect to use your backpack to save the seat next to you as class time draws nearer, chiding yourself for overthinking something so casual, but it does nothing to soothe your existential anxiety.

“Thanks for saving me a spot, I’m so glad you remembered.” A voice brings you out of your reverie. It takes a moment to register who it is at first. Your eyes meet the traditional college garb first, sweatpants and an overwashed fundraising t-shirt, then the half-tamed cowlick, that ever-present cup of coffee. Your breath catches in your throat, breathtaking despite the casual circumstances. It’s just another class lecture, you chastise yourself, but your gut twists nonetheless.

Seeing Yoongi in such close quarters is still an adjustment for you, his presence (or even the thought of being close to him) a shock to your body. You had spent so much time languishing after him that even now, it still feels like waking up into a dream.

You clear your throat, stalling, “Yeah, putting my backpack in the seat next to mine was sooo hard. You should compensate me for my labor.”

You try to put on the flirty smile that you were wearing last night, but it feels like a grimace. God, you are way too nervous for this.

You realize you’ll never get tired of the way he laughs at your shitty jokes, the way his shoulders shake and eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Yeah, I will, don’t you worry about that.” He sinks into the seat next to you and doesn’t spare you a second glance.

Dr. Won walks in, the picture of put-togetherness, killing whatever flirty response you had formulated.

You thought you had enjoyed having a crush before, but admiring someone and imagining a life together from afar was worlds away from talking and sitting next to said object of affection. This shouldn’t be that big of a deal. You shouldn’t be tripping all over yourself when Yoongi sits next to you in lecture.

Whatever Dr. Won is saying is drowned out by Yoongi sitting next to you. It feels deeply unfair how he affects you, when he gets to sit next to you like nothing important is happening. It’s just another day in lecture, preparing for the midterms coming up.

He’s not even doing anything, minding his own business. You shouldn’t be swooning when he is just sitting there, again bouncing his leg, taking diligent notes. From the furtive glances you steal, even his handwriting is attractive. Endearing, even if it was a little messy and looping over the printed lines.

True fact: the only reason why Yoongi fidgets so much is because of the effect you had on him. It drives him up the wall, the way you keep tucking your hair behind your ear. He envies your unfaltering concentration, the look in your eye when you see something on the Powerpoint slides that you have to jot down.

Yoongi can’t stand to silently sit next to you without doing anything anymore. Taking his pen, he scrawls on the corner of your neat notes. He knows it’ll piss you off, but that’s the reaction that he wants.

do you have any idea what is going on

He watches carefully for your reaction. Satisfaction creeps into his neutral expression when you notice, confusion turning into what could only be a lovestruck smile, and then into an irritated grimace. Fuck, even the curve of your wrist was enough to drive him crazy. You pick up your pen, writing back.

No, stop writing on my stuff

Okay, new plan, Yoongi concedes. He settles for writing on the corner of his own notes, tearing off the corner. He slips the paper into your lap, fingertips skimming the top of your thigh. He doesn’t notice, but he leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

don’t you think dr. won dresses like an old hag

You write back on the scrap of paper:

actually you could learn a thing or two from her

Yoongi smirks, in classic Yoongi fashion.

You know I would rock a long skirt like her

Yoongi watches you read his message, smile, and then tuck the note into your notebook.

After class, Dr. Won reminds everyone of the midterm coming up two weeks from now, and that’s when Yoongi senses an opportunity. The two of you walk out of class together, forced to walk side by side because of the student foot traffic.

“Do you like, want to study together sometime?” Yoongi blurts out, louder than he needs to be, even among the hum of the other students.

He clears his throat. “I mean, we’ve shared a lot of classes, so.”

You can’t help but laugh in surprise, or maybe incredulousness. You resist the urge to let the satisfaction show on your face. “I didn’t know you ever noticed.”

“Of course I did. You’re like, the biggest nerd on the planet.” Even when Yoongi is teasing you, he can’t help but sound bashful.

You gasp in mock offense. “There’s nothing wrong with being a nerd.” You both stop, standing at the mouth of the lecture hall.

“Of course not.” He’s awfully close to you, close enough that you can see the mole on the tip of his nose. “That’s why I’m asking you to be my study buddy.”

It’s not necessary to be standing this close. Sure, the hallway is busy, but not that busy.

“Study buddy? That sounds lame.” You scoff, playing hard to get. Both you and Yoongi know you’re going to say yes anyway.

“What else do you want me to call you? My homework homie?”

“Uh, yeah . That sounds way better than study buddy. ” You’re more proud of your humor than anything else, even if it earns a deserved eye-roll from Yoongi.

“And midterms are coming up. So you know, mutually beneficial.” Yoongi takes a sip from his coffee, peering at you from behind the rim.

“Like… friends with benefits?” You can’t help yourself. It’s just too easy to flirt with him.

Yoongi tongues his cheek, he grins. “Only if you want it to be.” He’s having way too much fun with this.

You try to hide your reaction, but Yoongi notices anyway. (He notices a lot of things you don’t realize.) Your wide-eyed shock, the blush that’s flushing down your neck, the way you open your mouth as if to say something equally as flirtatious back, your laugh, like this is actually way more casual than it is.

“So I’ll take that as a yes,” He says. You could get used to the playful lilt in his voice.

“Only if you promise you won’t just copy my work.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, suddenly very aware of how tall he is.

“I live and die by the honor code, y/n. Of course I won’t,” Yoongi says, leaning ever closer to you in the cramped hallway.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Does a man of honor text me like you did last night?”

“Oh come on. If you’re going to be friends with me you’re going to have to learn to laugh at dirty humor.” Friends? It’s a start, at least.

“Who said that I didn’t like dirty humor?”

“Hmm, I did.” There’s a glint in his eyes that wasn't there before. “You’d have to be a woman of your word and show me.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” You flash an innocent smile, like you don’t see the implication of what he’s saying.

Tuesdays have always been the most bittersweet day of the week for you. It’s lesson day, but oh, it’s lesson day. It feels like the day of judgement, every single week. It’s a culmination of all the blood and tears that you’ve poured into your music in the past week, another chance at evaluation. You’ve known your violin teacher longer than you’ve been in college, and it still shouldn’t scare you this much.

The nervousness spins and dips in your chest as you make your way up the winding stairs that lead to the music building. You usually soothe the apprehension by reminding yourself of all the things you’ve done to prepare, just like you usually do before you go out on stage. This week you were supposed to get the rest of the Bach partita memorized and cleaned up, but it still resides in your memory as disjointed bits and pieces of what it’s actually supposed to sound like. You try to run through the parts that you were stuck on last night, but you draw a blank. You usually don’t take this long to commit pieces to memory, but when you open up your score, all you can think about is the unmoving stare of the audience. Seeing your life flash before your eyes every time you stare at your pencil markings isn’t exactly conducive to productive practice sessions.

As you retrieve your violin from your locker and make your way to the practice room, you feel like you’re preparing yourself for your own undoing—every scale, every tick of the metronome—another step towards your demise.

It shouldn’t be this serious, but the pitter-pattering of your heart says otherwise. You glance at the clock. It’s time. You pack up now, so you have a couple extra minutes to wait solemnly outside of her office, staring at the posters that advertise the professionals who come to perform concerts at your college. Next week, a pianist and violinist duo is coming. In the picture, they’re smiling proudly next to a Steinway piano. They look proud of themselves. They probably don’t feel like they’re allergic to the stage, probably live for the audience’s applause. That’s probably how they ended up there on the poster, after all.

Your violin teacher isn’t scary. She’s a homey, lovely old woman whose wrinkles come from a lifetime of smiling. She’s the type to bring you sweet, homemade pastries that are almost as warm as her hugs during the toughest parts of the semester. Which makes the moments when she’s unhappy all the more painful. It’s not her fear that plagues you, but disappointment.

The door clicks open, and you have no more time to ponder your failures as a musician. You gather your things and head inside. Nothing inside her office has changed since the previous week. The same teetering stack of well-loved method books sits on her chair, the same humidifier whirring steadily in the corner, the same Dr. Kim Hyung-Seo sitting on the piano bench.

“Good afternoon, y/n! How’s the Bach coming along?” She asks, like you haven’t spent the past week treating this piece like your mortal enemy. She takes a sip of her warm chamomile tea, from the same snowman-shaped mug that she’s used every week, because she is that endearing. In another life, she would probably be your grandmother.

“Good morning. Ah, you know…” You trail off and gesture into the air, trying to hide your grimace. How could you possibly describe the unease and unsureness around performing without crossing some kind of professional boundary?

“Let’s hear it, it’s okay. Are you all warmed up?” You nod as you unpack your things again. As you move to put the Bach score on the music stand, she tuts.

“Didn’t we agree that this would be memorized last week?” Dr. Kim flips through her lesson notes, inky blue scrawling over the pages. “Yeah, it should be memorized. Close the score, darling.” Usually, when Dr. Kim calls you darling, warmth unfurls in your chest and you beam. You’re not feeling particularly warm right now.

“Ah, okay…” With slow reluctance, you close the score, the plain paper cover mocking you. You lift your bow to your violin, and shut your eyes. You don’t want to watch this.

Yoongi (4:38pm): Hey

Yoongi (4:38pm): wanna study tonight :]

If there’s anything Yoongi is good at, it’s having perfect timing. You half-walk, half-run out of the music building, sucking frigid air into your lungs. The cold weather seems to force the tears back into your eyes. If there was ever a worst-case scenario for how a lesson could go, then that was what just played out in the music room.

Shutting your eyes won’t stop the barrage of images, playing the world’s cruelest slideshow behind your eyelids. Your teacher’s pursed lips, the still fingers clasped over her mug, the pinched brow.

“y/n, we don’t have much more time to clean it up…” Her words echo in your head. “We’ll try again next week…” The disappointment was the worst thing, the downward tone in her voice. “I expected better…”

You (5:15pm): maybe

You (5:15pm): what time?

Yoongi (5:20pm): like now

Yoongi (5:23pm): are you busy?

You (5:25pm): no I just finished up a lesson

You (5:26pm): i’m about to study in the library if you want to join me

Yoongi (5:30pm): I don’t want to go to the library :(

You (5:31pm): why not

Yoongi (5:32pm): if I feed you dinner will you come to my apartment

Yoongi (5:33pm): I really don’t want to walk to the library it’s too damn cold

After all, the best way to a woman's heart is through her stomach.

You (5:35pm): fine

You (5:35pm): it better be a hell of a dinner

Yoongi (5:36pm): of course it will

Yoongi sends you his location, and you’re walking as fast as you can through the campus to make it to his apartment before you can freeze your fingers off.

Yoongi’s expression is nothing short of scandalized when you show up at his door. It’s a typical mouse hole apartment, his front door identical to all the other ones that you’d passed to get here.

“You’re not wearing gloves? In this weather?”

“I don’t have any…” You rasp out. You’re tired. Your throat hurts from trying to hold tears back during your entire lesson, and you have no spirit left to give Yoongi an innuendo-laced comeback.

I expected better.

“Oh my god, you’ve been playing violin for how many years and nobody ever told you to wear gloves when it’s cold?” He leads you inside, the warmth abating the cold that’s wormed its way underneath your clothes and into your bones.

“For God’s sake, y/n, hasn’t anyone ever told you about the importance of blood circulation?” Yoongi clasps your hands between his, rubbing and blowing air on them to warm them up. He doesn’t notice your surprise amid his chastising, muttering something about common sense. You don’t try to keep your guard up this time, just trying to bite tears back at the mention of musicianship. The firm press of his hands grounds you.

“There.” He smiles, proud of himself. “Warm now?”

Oh yeah, you’re definitely warm. In every dimension of the word. But you don’t tell him that, so you settle for a weak nod.

“You can put your stuff there. I’m hungry now, let’s eat first?” You hum in affirmation as you settle your heavy backpack on his cramped couch.

It turns out that Min Yoongi’s idea of gourmet cooking is heating up two freezer-burnt Hot Pockets while you watch him putter around the tiny kitchenette. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him without his glasses, and this is when you finally internalize that Yoongi will always look good no matter what he does or wears or says.

“You made it seem like you were cooking,” You say, just to fill the silence.

“Uhhhh, I don’t know who told you I was capable of cooking, but they were wrong. I can show you a good time in other ways, no?”

You snort.

In hopes of saving time, he microwaves both of Hot Pockets at the same time. You silently bristle at the fact that even your dinner is getting more action than you are these days.

You and Yoongi eat together in his tiny living room, sitting on mismatched stools.

“How did your lesson go?” Yoongi says, more focused on eating than on you.

“Oh…” You set your Hot Pocket down, sighing in defeat. The image of Dr. Kim sitting behind the piano bench, her dissatisfaction like a noxious cloud. “I… I… got ripped apart. I’m a little behind with preparing for the Bach festival, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing I do or prepare will make me less stressed about it.” You slump onto the counter, recounting all the things you did wrong in your lesson today. I expected better.

“What’s the stress about? We still have over a month, right?” You’re suddenly jealous of Yoongi. His nonchalance, his seemingly constant reassurance that everything is going to be okay.

“I’m not worried about that… just, no matter how much I practice, I’m gonna fuck it up on stage.” Your forehead pinches in frustration.

“Are you that nervous?”

“I’ve always been this nervous. For any performance. I haven’t performed alone in a while… and you know. It’s Bach, and everyone expects me to do some amazing job, and it’s like, I don’t know if I can deliver that and-” Yoongi eases his hand on your shoulder, calm, reassuring. He looks concerned. Like he cares. Like a friend.

“When was the last time you played something just for the fun of it?”

“I don’t know, maybe my freshman year? I used to arrange themes from movies.”

“We should work on something together, just for fun. We’re such a perfect instrument combo, there’s so much repertoire for violin and piano.”

“What did you have in mind? Do you even have enough time for that?” (You know you don’t have enough time for that.)

“It doesn’t even have to be a difficult piece. It could be something easy or hard, I don’t care.” Yoongi ponders his next words over a bite of his food. “I… I... just want to see you less stressed out. And music should always be fun, not just for a grade. What kind of music would you be making if you weren’t happy?”

“I don’t know…”

“I know this one Brahms piece that I think you’d like. Totally fits your vibe. We can just work on it slowly, you know? Or we could arrange the Anpanman theme song, I don’t care.”

“I think I’m mostly good for the midterm, except for the composer dates,” Yoongi spins around in his office chair, dragging his feet on the ground.

“Me too,” You say, as you drink in the sight of his room. For someone who claims to abhor studying and all things academic, Yoongi appears to be quite the organized student. Despite the constant claim that his education is merely a necessary evil, he keeps his notes organized in uniform binders on a well-cared for bookshelf. The bookshelf is adjacent to the extremely detailed wall calendar, marked full with due dates and deadlines in pens of various colors.

He runs his fingers over the binders to locate the binder allocated to the species counterpoint class you’re taking together.

“I already have flashcards for everything before the Romantic Era, but I’m so fucked for everything else.”

“Why not just use Quizlet like everyone else?” You say. You eye his neatly made bed and the Kumamon stuffed animal shoved hastily underneath it.

“Back in my day, we used flashcards like cavemen,” Yoongi reasons, despite the fact that your birthdays are months within each other. “And besides, they feel better in your hand.” Of course, they’re indexed by color and musical era.

“Ugh, I hate sitting at my desk. My back is starting to hurt,” Yoongi says, despite having worked for about ten minutes. “Do you want to lay down?” He pats the fluffy comforter adjacent to him. Yoongi doesn’t wait for your response however, plopping down on the bed with an audible thump.

“Okay, old man,” You jibe, but you’ve also been sitting for a majority of the day. Your back is aching too, but you’ll never admit it to him.

Sometimes, at times like these, you wish you could just muster up the courage and stop playing this game of cat and mouse with him. When you lay on his sheets that smell like him, quizzing each other, you wonder what would happen if you confessed your feelings for him, right then and there.

Or outlined exactly how exactly you would take his cock in your mouth, given the chance. Other times, you consider the fact that he might like to play with his food before diving in. Whatever it was, it scared you, the unease climbing up your spine and staying put.

You wonder if he understands the implication of you so casually lounging on his bed, but then you realize that you likely don’t exist in the realm of romantic possibilities for him. He likely sees you as the nerdy, sexless violinist that spends all her time slaving away in the practice room or the library. That’s why you’re here, after all. To help study for the midterms coming up. “Being friends with him is better than nothing,” you tell yourself, but you can’t really bring yourself to believe it.

You don’t remember, or at least don’t care to, when Yoongi started touching every aspect of your life. It’s really only been a couple of weeks since the two of you started studying together. You don’t dare to imagine how much of your thoughts he would occupy if you continue your friendship into the coming months. If your crush of massive proportions was bad before, it’s truly out of hand now. It certainly didn’t help that he actually knew you existed now. He spammed you gifs of baby animals while he was on the way to class, texted you links to performances of pieces that he was working on. He even began to send you teasing texts on the mornings that he made it to the practice rooms before you.

Every experience you have is colored by thoughts of him. The coffee that you drink like ambrosia conjures up images of him sitting across from you in some far-off sunlit cafe, laughing at all your jokes. On the nights when sleep escapes you, you lay awake rehashing over and over what you had said to him on the previous day. You even fall into reveries when he’s sitting there right next to you.

It’s inescapable, especially with the Bach Festival looming over your head. The more time you spend in the practice room, the more you go back to that one fateful night. You can still see the image of him now, sitting before the piano, playing Chopsticks.

You both make your way through the fat deck of flashcards, Yoongi quizzing you first.

“J.S. Bach?” You note to yourself even the upswing in his voice was cute. How did you ever let yourself get so whipped?

“1685 to…” You falter, still stuck on his voice. Even his voice drives you crazy.

“Come on, you should know this.” He drives his point home by poking you in the side, and he likes the gasp that you make.

“1750.” Of course you know Bach’s birth and death dates by heart. You see it every time you open up your score. Even the scant prod he gave you in the side, over your clothes, is enough to make your skin heat up.

“And if you ever tickle me again, you won’t live long enough for midterms,” You threaten, but your harsh tone of voice doesn’t reach the light in your eyes.

“Brahms?”

“Ugh, fuck, I don’t know. 1832 to?”

“Wrong.” He sets the cards down next to him, looking at you in mock disappointment. In an instant, he attacks you with tickles, and your efforts to bat him away are fruitless.

“This-this is what you get for not knowing when Brahms was born! Learn through punishment! 1833 to 1897, remember that next time!!” He collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck, unrelenting. Yoongi sounds almost gleeful in your torture.

You writhe under his touch, and for all the wrong reasons.

For the first time in your life, you’re almost glad you’re ticklish. Your eyes roll back into your head, not of your own accord. It’s too much, the soft skin of his cheek pressed up against your neck, the warm weight of his body against yours, the way his legs cage you in. A moan slips in between your helpless giggles, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it.

“Uhhh, what was that?” He doesn’t stop, merciless in his advance. “I didn’t know you liked tickling… like that.” He’s teasing you, now. He can’t hide his pleased grin.

Between gasps, you manage to pant, “I… don’t…”

“Then what? Tell me.” That’s when Yoongi relents, leaning back. He continues to straddle you, because he’s cruel like that. (And because he likes it too.)

“You’re just… ugh, I don’t know… so close.” In Yoongi’s eyes, you’re a study in debauchery. From your struggle, your hair is mussed, the hem of your shirt awry. Your cheeks are flushed, from embarrassment or from the tickling, you don’t know. Your chest frantically rises and falls, trying to regain your breath.

You, on the other hand, feel fucking ridiculous. Contrary to popular belief, being on the recieving end of tickling is fucking physically exhausting.

Yoongi is stuck on the hot and bothered look on your face, except for the hard look in your eye. You despise being tickled, even if it is Min Yoongi doing the tickling. He wonders what you’d look like if you were underneath him in… different circumstances.

Would it compare?

“I… I… I just…” You avert your gaze now, hiding your face behind your hands. You can’t stand to look at him right now.

“Spill it, or I’ll go back to tickling you until you break.” He grabs your hands away from your face, pinning them next to your head.

He really isn’t going to make this easy for you, is he.

This is overwhelming. The eye contact is too much. The weight of his hands on your wrists, holding you down, is too much. The way his panting breath tickles the skin beneath your collar is too much. You’ve had a bad day, the voice in the back of your head whispers. He makes you forget how awful this semester has been. He makes you feel better. Make this day easier on yourself. Just give in.

There’s no hiding it now, you concede.

You shut your eyes, unable to face him. “It’s just… been a while.”

“Uh-huh. Continue?” He places his hands back on your stomach, as if in warning.

“Since uhhhh… I’ve done… anything… with anyone…” Your words hang heavy in the air. Your secret is out.

He laughs. He really has the audacity to laugh.

“Shut up! I’m just like, touch starved, okay?” You’re definitely just blushing out of embarrassment, at this point.

Yoongi starts to ponder if he crossed too far of a line, but you continue anyway. You huff, indignant and desperate to cover your ass. This is not how you ever imagined telling Yoongi you were ever interested in him, sexual or not.

“Not everyone is like, the campus pussy magnet and gets to fuck whenever they want,” You say.

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’m not the campus pussy magnet. We’re... not so different. I haven’t been with anyone, um, in a while.” Now Yoongi takes his turn to blush and stutter. He does that thing he always does when he’s nervous, runs a hand through his hair and lets it rest on the nape of his neck.

“I find that hard to believe. No need to lie out of pity. Like, come on. Look at you. You’re all…” You gesture down his body, “And you have that whole vibe going on, and you’re tall, and you have good taste in cologne, and-and-and you play the piano , and ugh. You should know that by now.” You babble on. You’re not that good at keeping secrets, anyway. Might as well let the cat out of the bag while you’re at it.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but you’re not fazed. By now, you’re used to the long silences that elapse when you’re with him. You wait for him to talk first, just so you can discreetly enjoy the feeling of him straddling you for a little longer. You try to pass off the silence as you quietly fuming at him for calling out your lackluster sex life, but you’re really just trying get yourself together.

Then he starts laughing. Again.

“What are you laughing for now?” Your brow furrows in frustration.

“Nothing, nothing, don’t be mad. I just didn’t think that tickling would be a turn on for you.”

“It’s not!”

“To be completely honest with you, you look like one of those really innocent soft girls on the outside but you’re actually like, into choking and have a secret sex dungeon.” He doesn’t seem to care that you’ve all but revealed your massive, terminal crush on him.

You sigh, but you’re just glad he gave you something to fire back with.

“You and I both know that the university dorms are too small for a sex dungeon, Yoongi. I can’t even have candles in my room. What sex dungeon is complete without candles?”

“Oh, a devil in the details. The ambiance is important, I see…” That devious smile of his makes a comeback.

“Oh, shut up. Give me the flashcards, four-eyes.” He relinquishes the flashcards, but he still continues to straddle you.

“Woah, there’s no need to insult my glasses.”

You ignore him, desperate to move on from your momentary lapse in judgement. “Haydn?”

“1732 to 1809. What about music? Music must be important if you care about the ambiance. Answer my question.”

You laugh to cover up how worked up you are. “Maybe you can find out after we finish reviewing. Scarlatti?”

“1660 to 1725. What kind of music do you listen to? R&B, something sexy?” He sits up now, spurred on by your refusal to answer his questions.

“Or do you listen to classical music then, too? Does Chopin get your blood flowing?” He’s being insufferable now.

You groan into the pillow. “Yoongiii, let’s focus.”

“If it’s something like Liszt, I’m sure I have a couple recommendations.”

Yoongi sits up straighter, waggles his eyebrows in a way you definitely shouldn’t find endearing. “Or, I could record something for you…”

You snap. “Just, I don’t know, sometimes I listen to music?” Your attempts to stop the blushing are in vain, heat blooming across your cheeks and down your neck. It’s even harder to stop when it’s your embarrassingly short sexual history on the line.

“I prefer dirty talk anyways…” You murmur under your breath, wishing he could just get the fuck off your case. The more he keeps talking about things like this, in that tone of voice, the harder it’s going to get to keep your ever-growing crush a secret.

Still, some small part (let’s be honest, the monkey brain part of you) of you, the part of you that aches for him, wants to spur him on.

“What was that?”

“Nothing! Nothing.”

“Hmm… something about dirty talk?” Fuck, does Yoongi have a good ear. He smiles. He knows he’s gotten you now.

Okay, you should probably admit to yourself that he’s flirting with you now. The touches, the holding you down, the insistence on pushing this tiny matter, it all adds up. And the math says that Min Yoongi is flirting with you.

“Mmm, nothing.” You snuggle a little deeper into his bedsheets, playing coy.

“You know, like during sex? Don’t make me tickle you again, because I will stoop that low.”

“I don’t remember saying that…” You mock-pretend to ponder his question, catch your bottom lip between your teeth. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his gaze fall downward. You know you’ve gotten him now.

“Can you refresh my memory?”

“Like… you know.” He shrugs.

“I’m an auditory learner. Do you have an example?”

“Hmm, let me think… I’ll tease you until you’re begging for me to touch you properly? Does that ring a bell for you?”

“No…” You bring your hands to your face to cover up your blush, and because you can’t stand to look at him. Not when he’s talking to you like that, with that look in his eye, his hands on your body. “It doesn’t…” You laugh, even beneath his weight.

He laughs. “I’m just teasing. You’re so cute when I get a rise out of you.”

Oh.

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