One Year To Die (Flip Zimmerman x Reader Fic)

Chapter 11 - The Promise Broken

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Authors Note: I'm baaack!! Maybe?? We'll see.

And my God since I've been away, reads have doubled! You have no idea what this means, I am so grateful and hope you're enjoying. Sorry to leave you on a bit of a cliff hanger for a while but here we are with Chapter 11! Lets see how we react to Flip being our mysterious Detective colleague and not just a hunky guy from your bar.

Now, I've been working on a little something behind the scenes (an upcoming Reader x Kylo Ren fic, as well as an original idea) which has taken up the majority of my writing time this summer. But 'One Year To Die' is my baby and I fully plan on seeing this through to our bloody end.

As always, please let me know what you think and enjoy!!

Much love always,

- mads x.

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Song Recommendation: I'm A Fool To Want You, by Frank Sinatra.

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Flip was sure that only a moment ago, the buzzing nausea in his stomach was from his nervousness for his date.

But now he was sure it was bile, sickness rising from his gut, thick and acidic and burning as his heart race. Because now, he was standing entirely unarmed and facing down a murderer...

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15 MINUTES EARLIER

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"Jesus fuckin Christ..." Flip hissed under his breath, a deep scowl chiselled deep into his pale as he looked his reflection up and down.

Loosing a deep sigh through his nose, he raked his fingers through the waves of his dark hair: the final touch to his look for the evening. Frowning again at his strangely formal appearance in the mirror of the dingy bathroom of the Colorado Springs police station, Flip made the decision that he was just about suitable enough for tonight. And for you.

At the thought of you, finally a smirk flickered across his lips for the first time today. Flip remembered the first time he took you out. It was only to a shitty drive-in theatre, sure, but you looked so impossibly beautiful in your ridiculously sexy, short skirt. He felt completely inadequate next to you, wearing the work clothes he'd spend all day, worrying what you though of him as you nestled into his chest. What he didn't know, was that you found him incredibly attractive - with his red flannel jacket and scuffed weathered jeans. You thought it made him look rugged in the sexiest possible way.

But tonight, Flip wasn't taking you to some dark drive-in to stuff your faces with popcorn and watch a movie. No, tonight you were going to an actual restaurant. And a posh one at that.

Eventually, after playful debate back and forth, you'd both managed to agree on going a well-to-do Italian place. Well, 'agreed' could be a loose term used for Flip utterly buckling at the sound of you speaking excitedly on the other end of the telephone about the best parts of the menu there.

As far as Flip was concerned, food was food; you ate it so you didn't die; sometimes it tasted good, sometimes it didn't.

But he simply couldn't refuse you, absolutely and hopelessly lost in the way you recited your favourite foods there from through the phone. He caught himself smiling as he imagined your smile - radiant, eyes wild and hands gesturing into nothingness as you tried your best to convince him on the idea of the dinner.

But it was a fancy place, too fancy for Flip to get away with earing his work clothes. So, he'd opted for something he hadn't worn since... God, Flip couldn't even remember the last time he'd worn his only white dress shirt. A fact which was made very clear when he pulled it from the depths of his closet, all wrinkled and gathering dust. And even more so when he pulled it over his broad shoulders and struggled to button up the miniature fastenings over his muscular chest. He decided that was about as formal as he'd manage, opting for a clean pair of his least worn pair of jeans and the sheepskin coat you had so kindly laundered (ridding it from the stains of your blood, instead imprinting the thick material with the smell of you - it was like lavender, or something floral Flip couldn't quite place as he held it to his nose).