Whitey Winn One Shots

Askin'

Whitey had been on night shifts the last week, spending all night in the sheriffs office from dusk to dawn dealing with the occasional bar drunks and not much more. So, of course, he was exhausted, and nothing had been done. No real meals, no laundry... and he wasn't convinced the last time he bathed. So when he woke to the alluring scent of bacon, he was... confused. Even more so when opening his eyes to a clean and tidy house. His laundry disappeared from the floor, empty bottles disposed of, his table cleared and set for breakfast, his bed made around him, the dishes in the sink all done and put back on their shelves.

He wondered if he'd been sleep cleaning? Or perhaps he had been favoured by a fairy?

But his little cleaning fairy soon presented herself, Y/n, stood in her long blue skirt and white blouse, humming her song she always sings in the bar, as she cooked bacon in the kitchen.

Whitey couldn't help but smile at the sight of Y/n. With a groan, he forced himself up to stretch, the small sound enough to catch Y/n's attention. "Mornin', Darlin'."

"Good morning." Y/n cooed as she flipped the bacon in the pan. "Crispy? Or chewy?"

Whitey came up behind Y/n, wrapping his arms around her waist to hug her tight, putting his chest to her back. He took in the scent of her, that rose and vanilla perfume that always seemed to follow her. "I prefer mine crispy, ya know that."

"I like to ask." She chuckled, resting one of her hands on his. "Didn't know you were too tired or too lazy to chew crispy bacon." She joked.

"I would never," Whitey murmured as he buried his face into her neck, placing some light kisses along the skin he found. "...Been a long week."

"I know, that's why I came over." She smiled, serving up the bacon onto a clean plate. "Go on, take your bacon, eggs and toast, are on the table, and I'll be over with hash browns in a minute." She said.

Whitey reluctantly let go of Y/n, taking his plate of food. He took a seat, setting the plate down. "Ya didn't 'ave to come over and make breakfast."

"Mhm..." She mumbled, "When was the last time you had a meal? A real meal? Not just toast or beer."

"Uhhh..." Whitey went quiet. Because well... he actually didn't know. "I don't remember."

"That's why I make breakfast." She smiled, coming to the table to pour some fresh orange juice.

Whitey gave a sheepish smile, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Just promise this ain't gonna become some regular occurrence."

"Oh? So, finally abandoned your plans, have you?" Y/n chuckled as she cooked. "You've been asking me to marry you since we were fourteen."

Whitey couldn't help the little sheepish smile that made it's way back onto his face. "I still plan on marrying you." He retorted, "Just don't want to... put ya in the position where ya gotta take care of me,"

"... Isn't that what being a wife is whitey?" She laughed.

"Ya know what I mean." He argued. He wanted to be able to take care of her, support her, keep a roof over her head... just like a man should. He was an grown ass man... who still loved her like a love sick puppy.

"I'd still worry and fuss over you whitey, and the house, and whatever blonde babies you make me pop out." She laughed bringing over the fresh hash browns tussling whitey's dirty blonde hair as she did.

Whitey couldn't help the light blush that dusted over his cheeks at the mention of children. "ya don't know that they'll 'ave blonde hair." He countered.

"No, but I just assume your genetics will be strong and prominent. Just my luck that every baby I birth would come out as a clone of its father." She said, sitting down across from him and making herself a cup of tea,