#Everything Else In a Nice Tidy Basket

[bardicious]

Dearly Departed

My first stab at less straightforward representational art? (Does that even mean anything? Does it mean what I think it means? God knows.)

A little Aziraphale and Crowley divorce poster. 💔 I promise something kinder another day.

Print can be bought here.

| Portfolio | Commissions | Merch | Prints | Digital Goods

[specialagentlokitty]

Arthur(Merlin) x reader - in the snow

Hi! If you still write for BBC Merlin would you be able to write an Arthur x Merlin sister Reader? With the dialogue “Can you use magic?” “I feel unsafe answering that.” (from your 2024 prompt list). Thank you if you do write it! <3 - Anon💜

A/N: I realised I had spelled Gaius wrong after finishing this, but I’m really lazy and don’t wanna correct it 😂😭

You had no real interest in following your brothers footsteps to work for the royal family, you didn’t want to work for anybody else.

You were happy living on your own, away from the world with your house and your dog, your horse, your flowers.

You loved the way you lived.

And yes, every so often the knights would come to pick up your money you had to pay for your land, but since you grew your own food and sold your crafts in towns and villages it didn’t matter all that much to you.

Today was the day that they came to collect your payment, so you made sure to stay home.

Kneeling down in your garden, you were working on your flowers, carefully tidying them up and trimming them down.

You heard a bark, and you looked up.

“Rufus?”

Standing up, you brushed your hands on the cloth and looked to the dirt path where a few horses were coming down.

You grinned brightly when you saw a familiar face.

“Merlin!”

You quickly set everything down and made your way over, the moment your brother got down from his horse your crushed him into a hug.

“Hi!” You beamed.

Merlin laughed quietly, hugging you back.

“Hey, this place looks amazing.”

You pulled away, grinning proudly at him.

“I take pride in my work.”

You turned around to the knights and the prince that was with him, offering him a bow.

It was swift, elegant, you held a hand behind your back and one over your stomach as you leant down, lowering your head.

“Sire, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m (Y/N), I do hope my brother doesn’t give you too much trouble.”

“Nothing I can’t handle, thank you. It’s nice to meet you.”

You stood up, gesturing to the home.

“Rufus is no harm, I’m sure Sir Lancelot knows that.”

The knight smiled softly at you.

“It’s good to see you again.”

“You as well, I’ve got that tea you asked me for, would you like me to make you some?”

“Yes please, honestly you could open a tea shop because you make the best tea.”

You laughed a little bit, leading them all inside.

Only those three came inside, the other knights waited outside for them.

You sat them at a table, bringing over some bread you had made, and you made them all some tea, setting their cups down in front of them.

“Make yourselves at home, I’ll be right back.”

You went into your room, bringing up a floorboard to gather the money you owed before returning and handing it over.

Then you turned to Arthur.

“May I ask what brings you by sire? Normally this is not a matter for a Prince.”

“Merlin had been begging me for weeks to come, i guess it was curiosity to finally meet his sister. You’ve done wonderful things with this land. It was rundown the last I saw.”

“Thank you, the home itself was in good shape, it was a simple matter of getting some men from the village nearby to help clear it then set everything else up.”

Arthur nodded his head.

“How is it going? Have you been selling those crafts?” Merlin asked.

“Oh yes! People love them! They’re very helpful as well, especially for the farmers and the bakers, plant based baskets are easier to replace rather wood, and harder to break.”

Merlin nodded his head.

“You make things out of plants?”

“Yes sire, it is easier to get ahold of around here, they’re easier to work with as well. Especially Ivy. It is easy to manipulate the way it grows, and you can cut some away with the rest coming back.”

That was what caught his attention first, how compared to Merlin you were calmer, you were respectful to everybody even though you didn’t know them, and your craft.

Then there was your house, minimum decorations, just basic things you would need.

But outside was covered in flowers of all colours, the great wolfhound you rescued wondering in and out, and the horse outside just happily grazing in her paddock.

Arthur found himself coming back when he could, pretending to buy things that they needed in Camelot.

It was an excuse to see you, and he could try get there at least once a week since it was only a few hours there and back.

Arthur had to admit he was concerned when it drew to winter, because winter was harsh, and he couldn’t see how you would be able to survive there during the brutal winter.

“She’ll be fine, she always is. She knows how to get survive.” Merlin said.

“Merlin we are looking at the worst winter we’ve seen in years. It’s not even winter and we’re already getting snow. Your sister will be isolated out there for months if this carried on.”

Merlin paused what he was doing for a moment before he carried on.

“She won’t come here.”

“Excuse me?”

“(Y/N), if you ask her to come she won’t come.”

“Why?”

“Because she likes her own space, she doesn’t like crowded places like this and wouldn’t be able to live here for that long, a week or so would be fine.”

Arthur didn’t say anything, he carried on reading the book that was sat on the table in front of him.

“She’s also coming next week, to visit Guis.”

Arthur snapped his head up.

“Really?”

Merlin smirked a little, lowering his head as he carried on working.

“Yes sire.”

Arthur threw the book at Merlin who just barely dodged it and he left the room.

You arrived a few days later, staying mostly with Guis or Merlin if you could.

Arthur finally managed to find you while he was heading back inside the castle, you were stood outside with Rufus catching snowballs you threw.

He made his way outside, standing next to you.

“It’s far too cold to be outside.”

You turned around, offering him a smile.

“It’s nothing I’m not sure to this time of year, I was actually thinking about taking a walk. Do you know any good trails?”

“There is one, it’s possibly the safest. I’ll accompany you if you don’t mind? If anything happens to you I won’t hear the end of it from Merlin.”

You laughed softly at him.

“Yes fine by me sire.”

“Right, come wait inside.”

You followed him, and waited in the hallway.

It took a short while for him to come back, and he held out a thicker more elegant cloak out for you.

“Wear this.”

“Sire I can’t, that’s much to rich for somebody like me.”

“(Y/N) put the cloak on, and call me Arthur.”

You didn’t want to disobey him, so you put it on and he led you outside.

You could see that a few people walked the trail, but not many, and you two held light conversation as you walked.

It was nice for him to not have to act so important, and you were talking to him just like a normal person, as if you two were from the same town or village.

You enjoyed stopping to look at simple things, animals in the snow, the way the sunlight gleamed on the snow making it sparkle.

Arthur was just entranced by you, and how you just seemed so happy.

“You’re always so happy when I see you, why?”

“What is there to not be happy about? I have a home, a brother, a mother, I have friends, food. There is always something to be happy about.”

Arthur hummed a little, nodding his head.

“You wouldn’t want more in life?”

“Not when I already have everything. You don’t need to be rich to be happy, as long as you find something or someone that makes you happy it’s alright.”

Arthur glanced at you, and he smiled a little.

“That’s a very different take in the world.”

You beamed brightly at him, kneeling down to make another snowball for Rufus.

“Hey, look out!”

Arthur went to grab you but it was too late, you slipped down the hill, and he was rushing as fast as he could behind you.

When he reached the bottom he knelt down.

“Hey, hey (Y/N)?”

You grumbled a little, lifting your head to look at him.

“Hey, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“My leg.”

Arthur nodded, looking down at your leg, gently touching it and you winced in pain.

“Here, come on, let’s move you up.”

Arthur helped you up, and you guys slowly walked along the bottom of the hill to try and find a way back up.

After a while you had to stop, so he took his cloak off and laid it on the snow and sat you down.

Rufus laid next to you letting out a whine.

“I’ll try find a way, I’ll be right back.”

You nodded your head, watching him leave.

You knew there wasn’t going to be one, a hill like that there wasn’t going to be a way back up that wasn’t covered in snow.

Making sure it was safe, you held out your hand, whispering something under your breath, and a small trail in the snow fell away, creating a path up.

You ran a hand over your dogs head, scratching behind his ears.

Arthur wasn’t gone long, and he came back, shaking his head.

“I couldn’t find one, I’m sorry.”

He knelt next to you, looking at your leg again.

“I did find some sticks though, do you have anything in that bag to help me make a splint?”

“Oh, of course.”

Opening it, you pulled out your scarf, handing it over to him.

“It’s not the best, but it should help. We’ll sit here and rest, then keep going. I think there’s a storm coming in.”

“I think I saw a path just over there, could you look?”

Arthur looked at where you were pointing.

“Yeah, of course.”

He got up, checking.

He made sure it was stable before grabbing you, helping you up it, then he crouched down.

“Get on.”

“I can’t do that, a Prince can’t be seen carrying someone like me.”

“I don’t care, you’re hurt, get on.”

You sighed, climbing on his back and he stood up, making his way back where you guys had come from.

“I’ll take you to Guis, hopefully you leg isn’t that bad.”

You nodded, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“How did you see the path, I didn’t see it.”

“Maybe in the panic you missed it? Or it blended in the with snow?”

“No, no it definitely wasn’t there.”

Arthur went quiet for a few moment.

“There’s only one thing I can think off.”

“What’s that Arthur?”

He paused walking, crouching down to set you on the ground before turning around to look at you.

“Can you use magic?”

You tried not to react.

“I feel unsafe answering that.”

“(Y/N), can you use magic?

“If I say yes you’ll have me killed, if I say no you’re not going to believe me, and have me killed. I’m sorry but I can’t answer.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes a little bit, and he spun around to a noise behind him but there was nothing.

Turning back around his cloak and yours were on the ground, and you and Rufus were both gone, leaving not even a footprint in the snow

[buckybuckyboo]

A NICE DAY OUT

Summary: The tree of you go on a day out together.

Word count: 498

warnings: None really. The reader is tired. fluff

You, Bucky, and Steve decided to have a day out together. Packing a picnic basket so that you could sit in the park to eat and enjoy the sun. It started out with walking through the park, looking at the pretty flowers, holding Bucky and Steves's hands while walking. What more could you ask for? This isn't what you were expecting today when you woke up but you wouldn't change it for anything else. Bucky found a nice spot with a little picnic table so you all didn't have to sit on the ground. You decided to sit with Bucky while you all ate, curled up into his arms as you fed him some strawberries. "You have a good day baby?" Steve asks and you smile over at him. "It is the best day because I am with both of you". Bucky and Steve smile and start to tidy up the food.

The walk back to the car seemed longer than you remember, Bucky almost had to carry you. Steve got you into the car and put your seat belt on, then got into the passenger seat and Bucky drove home. "Ugh, I can't get comfy! I'm so tired!" "We are almost home honey, then you can take a nap" Bucky looks back at you through the rearview mirror. "How much longer? I'm just uncomfortable I'm sorry" "It's okay baby, Buck why don't you slow down a little" Steve takes off his seat belt and climbed into the back with you. He took your belt off and pulled you into his lap, resting your head in the crook of his neck. "How's that? Better?" "Much better! Thank you, Stevie" Leaning up and kissing his cheek. Feeling more comfortable, you easily fall asleep in no time.

Bucky pulls into the driveway and shuts off the car. He gets out and opens the back door where you and Steve were. Steve lifts you into Bucky's arms and he carries you inside and into the bedroom. He places you into the bed and get's in beside you, holding you close while Steve takes everything out of the car and starts on dinner. When you start to wake up, you smell something delicious. When you open your eyes you see you are in the bedroom. "Sleep okay sweetheart?" Turning in his arms and smiling looking into his eyes. "Better than okay baby" Leaning in and kissing his lips. Steve knocks gently on the door and enters. "Dinner is almost ready" "Okay, be right there punk!". Steve smiles and leaves the room.

"Can we watch a movie after dinner?" "Of course doll, why don't you go and pick a movie now so it's ready after" "Okay" You smile kissing him and leave the bed. You pick out the movie and make your way to the kitchen. "Smells so good Stevie! I'm so hungry" "Good baby 'cause there is plenty to go around!" All 3 of you sit at the table together and eat.

[sleeplittleearth]

@domaystic day 7: stained clothes

Laundry Day | Hob/Dream | 1.6k | G

Dream does laundry and struggles with making mistakes (i'm not projecting, you're projecting)

---

Dream was starting to really settle into humanity.

He'd risen with Hob this morning; he'd boiled water for tea without starting an electrical fire (a mistake he'd only made once before), and toasted bread without burning it (a mistake he'd most recently made yesterday, but it was hardly his fault when he'd been distracted by the sleepy way Hob smiled at him first thing in the morning). There was still a lot to learn, but he was getting the hang of things.

And now, he was going to do laundry.

Hob was away at work for the day, and Dream wanted to something nice to surprise him. He'd watched Hob load and unload the washer enough times that he felt confident he could replicate the process. And the machine did most of the work, anyways. None of the backbreaking work of a washboard or the limb threatening work of a mangle—he'd been party to some of the nightmares that emerged from invention of that infernal device.

The modern washing machine was a breeze in comparison. All he needed to do was load it, add detergent, and push a button. He didn't even have to worry about shrinking anything in the dryer, since it was a perfect day to put the wash out to dry on the line. Hob would come home to perfectly clean, crisp smelling clothes that were precisely the size they started.

Dream began by gathering up the clothes for the wash. Neither he nor Hob was overly skilled at actually putting things in the hamper, so he went around their bedroom and bathroom piling things into a basket—jeans draped over the chair in the corner, shirts forming creases on the floor, socks that had actually made it to the hamper, and the scarlet jumper Dream had helped Hob pick out on the weekend. The colour reminded him of opium poppies, and it made the warmth in Hob's eyes and skin sing. The sooner it was washed, the sooner he could convince Hob to wear it.

When his basket was full and the flat noticeably tidier, Dream gently piled the clothes into the washer, sprinkled in a scoop of powder detergent, and shut the door firmly. He was careful to check that the machine's settings had not been disturbed from the last time Hob did the washing, before finally hitting start and then wandering back to the bedroom to straighten up some of the remaining mess.

He could hear the machine churning along as he worked, the sloshing of water and mechanical whirring providing background noise in the otherwise quiet flat. After a few minutes of tidying, the room was in good enough shape that Dream felt he had earned a break, and he settled against the headboard of the freshly made bed to read (Hob was in the habit of bringing home stacks of romance paperbacks for him from the library).

It felt like almost no time had passed when he was stirred from his focus on the description of some physiologically dubious but emotionally impactful lovemaking by the musical alarm of the end-of-cycle signal. He set aside his book and made his way into the kitchen to gather the clean laundry to bring out to the balcony.

When he first opened the washer, he was greeted with the soft scent of lavender and clean clothes, and he smiled to himself at the pleasant aroma.

And then he saw the clothes.

The darker clothes—the jeans, the black trousers, the soft charcoal hoodie that Dream liked to borrow—they looked just fine. Hob's new jumper looked just as vibrant as it had when they picked it out in the shop. But everything else, everything that had gone in the washer a shade of white or cream or pastel blue, was now pink. Some baby pink, some bordering on a soft coral, some with a definite violet cast, but all undeniably pink.

Dream snatched the red jumper out of the basin as if that would somehow reverse the damage. The bright colour was looking decidedly less lovely now, but he still went and laid it out to dry flat on a towel, switching out the white one he'd prepared with a dark navy one with perhaps sharper movements than the task required.

All the time, he was thinking about what was to be done with the other clothes. The smartest thing to do would probably be to text Hob for advice—a man didn't live more than six centuries without learning a thing or two about stain removal, especially with his history. But he'd wanted to surprise Hob with something nice, not another job. He didn't want him feeling like he was always babysitting Dream; he should be able to do something as simple as wash a load of laundry on his own.

He would just wash them all again.

Not the jumper, of course. But he had plenty of time before Hob came home to run the machine again. Probably a couple times. He briefly considered using the bottle of bleach under the sink—but even Hob had expressed difficulties with bleach stains, and he didn't need to add another problem on top of this one.

So, he went back to the machine, dumped in another scoop of soap, and set the machine to work again. This time, instead of wandering to another room, he sat on the floor directly in front of the washer, staring in at the sudsy water with his knees up and his arms wrapped around his shins.

The cycle passed much slower this way, but eventually, the signal sounded. The electronic melody felt mocking where before it was cheerful—he would be lucky if the sound didn't become a permanent headache trigger after today.

And the clothes were still pink, so back in they went. Third time's the charm, he thought, but Dream didn't hold out much hope for this round either. This time, he slumped back against the kitchen cabinets to wait, staring at the ceiling or his feet more than the washer.

When the alarm sounded again, he felt pain throb in his temples. That confirms that, then. He pulled the clothes from the washer—he was definitely letting his desperation delude him, but he thought they almost looked a half-shade lighter. At this rate, he'd only have to re-wash them a few dozen more times to get them clean.

Neither his head nor Hob's water bill would enjoy that, so he finally conceded defeat for the moment and went to hang everything to dry. Maybe a freak storm would blow through and carry everything off before he had to explain himself to Hob—who would be home soon, one way or another.

With the laundry hung up, he fussed about making a pot of tea for Hob's return, thinking to bribe his way out of some disappointment, and tried to settle back into his novel to distract himself while he waited. No such luck, of course. Every mention of the heroine's blushing cheeks and petal-pink lips reminded him of the Oxford shirts and tennis socks on the clothesline. He chewed at his lips, glancing from the page to the front door and back again, reading the line several times over.

When he finally heard Hob's keys clatter in the lock, his heart rate spiked. It was silly to be getting so worked up—while he was hardly a saint, Hob had been nothing but patient and kind with him over all of his missteps as he adjusted to being human. Even the electrical fire. There wasn't even risk of serious bodily harm this time. But still his heart pounded as the door clicked shut behind Hob.

"Hiya, love," Hob said, dropping his bag and keys by the door before coming over to press a kiss to the crown of Dream's head. "How's your day been— Oh! You washed my new jumper! How sweet."

Hob's face was sickeningly fond, and it was that that broke him.

"I ruined your clothes."

"You— what?"

"I ruined them. I tried to do something kind for you, and instead I wrecked your things like some kind of bumbling child."

Dream was scowling, his eyes burning dangerously.

"Hey, hey, no. I'm sure you didn't wreck anything. I don't even smell smoke." Hob's smile was kind, far kinder than he deserved.

"Come. I'll show you."

Dream marched out to the balcony, with Hob on his heel. Once there, he gestured at the rosy line of clothes.

"See? I wrecked them. I can buy you new ones—or, I will, once I find work, but I—"

"Dream, love, you didn't wreck anything. C'mere."

Hob held his arms open for a hug, and reluctant though he was, Dream went to him, sliding his arms around his waist and tucking his face into his shoulder.

"They're just clothes, Dream. And even if they were wrecked—which they're not, since I happen to look excellent in pink—I wouldn't be mad at you for making a mistake that nearly every human that's ever learned to do laundry has made." He stroked a hand over Dream's hair, squeezing him tighter for a moment before pulling back to make eye contact. "Okay?"

"…Okay."

That gooey, fond look again.

"Okay. Let's go see about some dinner, then."

---

The next morning, Dream rose with Hob. He boiled water for tea (no fires), he toasted bread (only a little burnt on the edges), and he kissed Hob goodbye as he headed to work in his new red jumper, with a perfectly coordinating pink shirt underneath.

He was starting to really settle into humanity.

[dykeomania]

fluffy Ellie where her love language is acts of service 😭

i think that ellie, naturally, is a bad communicator. she doesn't really know how to express the things she's feeling, and unfortunately, the only time she doesn't fear doing so is when she's angry and vindictive. candidly, when it comes to verbally expressing her love for you, she's fucking clueless. so instead of verbally confronting her own sappiness, ellie most likely shows her appreciation for you and attention to you in other ways. so having one of her love languages be acts of service is something that makes a lot of sense to me, sometimes in a really literal context, and yeah, sure, i would like to talk about it.

ellie has never claimed to be an organized person. she picks and chooses when she embraces her cleanliness, and that decision is almost entirely dependent on how much of a rush she's in or how tired she is. her case is not helped at all by the fact that she's a fucking hoarder, even though she will never say that out loud, or agree to it. in comes reader whose definition of a homely and communal space is almost entirely dependent on organization and tidiness. because who cares if it's the apocalypse? what is that, if not more of an excuse to give yourself something nice and clean to come back to, given the chaos of everything else around you? you may not have as much stuff as she does but you've assigned a role to where everything should go -- and that's not to say that ellie hasn't done that either, it's just, hers is more "boxes, upon boxes, upon boxes, of comics atop of a flat-screen tv stand and unmade beds and picking laundry up off of the floor and sniffing before putting it on your body--" and yours is.. slightly more picturesque.

and ellie knows that she's messy. but she knows that her girlfriend isn't. and also knows how her girlfriend, is. when she sees that you're sad, and can't afford to get out of bed to even run your patrols let alone put your laundry or anything where it is supposed to be or tuck the left corner of your fitted sheet back underneath your mattress, ellie initially wouldn't know what to do other than what felt right. on the day that you'd finally left your bed, you'd come home to a not perfect, but neater space, of which has some semblance to how you usually would attempt to organize things. the pile of clothes collecting on the floor is stuffed away in a basket. your nightstands, aka clutter personified, are somewhat organized and you can actually see the wood on them now. better yet, you can see your floor now. ellie's caught smoothing out the corner to your comforter and stands kind of straight in light of your presence, not really knowing what to say other than "hey," and you don't know what else to do other than.. hug her.

ellie didn't really know what to get you for your birthday, and also was trying to figure out what was gay enough, but not too gay to alert the masses (joel, and company) that she had a big, bright, glaring, red crush on someone. she knew the things that you'd liked, it's just, she didn't know what to get you. so she'd scavenge around whatever stores she passed through during patrols that weren't too busy, damn near lose an arm and a leg trying to do so, and if she was lucky enough, she'd find something that reminded her of you. eventually, that's what your birthday gift came down to. a compilation of things -- most of them presumably useless -- that reminded her of you, or an inside joke that she shared with you.

but between you and ellie, she'd been planning your birthday present for months. it was just so, atrociously gay, that she couldn't fathom the idea of ever giving it to you without knowing how you felt about her first. it was a compilation of every poem that she's ever written about you, of every drawing that she's ever made of you, of every song that she's wanted to play you but has never mustered up the courage to. she backed out, and gave you the box, and completely forgot about this present in the moment because you were already smiling over the one that she'd gotten you. but that collection of sentiments that she never gave you would do nothing but grow behind your back, regardless of whether or not you guys were dating, and even though you knew ellie drew and wrote poetry. so while she'd never give it to you on your birthday that year, she'd give you that collection on the day that marked your one year anniversary instead. and the smile that it would probably bring to your face would make her wish that she'd just given it to you sooner, but at the same time, given all of the work and grossness that went into collection, she wouldn't trade the moment for anything.

whenever you stay over and you fall asleep before her, ellie always makes sure that your water bottle is filled because she knows that when you wake up in the middle of the night like a fish out of water. modern!au ellie also always takes her phone off the charger to plug yours in instead.

she knows how much of a hassle it can be to stay over, because it means that you have to bring all of your shit over that assures that you can have a "normal" night for yourself (in a modern!au context, skincare is a good example). so she's tried to make it easier. she has a designated drawer, or shoebox, filled with those things, so then when you come over, all of you have to do is just.. pack a bag of clothes, if that, and come over.

ellie isn't a bad cook but she is ... very far from good. so she likes to compromise. you handle the cooking, and don't worry about the dishes. they won't even stay in the sink overnight. she'll wipe down the stove, she'll handle the crud on the counters. you've clearly done enough, just go sit down. she's also compromised by making your drinks the way you like them. she doesn't even like tea/coffee, but she knows exactly how you like yours, even though it is ridiculously difficult to come across and kind of a fucking safety hazard, apocalyptically speaking, for fungally related and/or tumultuous reasons.

you may walk around the farmhouse and just find things that were bothering you, fixed. that faucet has been leaking for a while now, but one day, it's quiet as a mouse. the fucking coyotes keep killing the sheep, and it's upsetting, and realistically, ellie would've done what she had to do with said coyotes regardless, because they're killing the fucking sheep. but she's got more incentive to, now that you said something. there's some cracks in the roof and the ceiling that need dealing with that've started to bother you, and for better or for worse, what you wake up to one day is ellie -- beat by the sun and a film of sweat glistening on her forehead -- in a plaster covered shirt, and the roof/ceiling almost taken care of. and one day you'd point it out to her. "everytime i point something out, you always go fix it." to which ellie, as though begrudged with a lopsided fucking smile on her face, would go, "well, i don't know. maybe what's important to you is important to me, too."

making you a mixtape, or a playlist (if modern!au). sending it your way with the simple phrase of "these songs made me think of you," and it's the gayest shit you've literally ever heard in your life.

you hate manning the stables, because horse shit smells atrocious, and sometimes maria gets stressed out and takes it out on everyone around her. ellie offers to take your shift for you.

getting you food when you don't have time to, and writing down a pun on a piece of paper in the bag. every, single time.

taking care of you when you're sick. this literally goes without saying. chicken noodle soup and banter, all day, everyday.

"i don't feel like getting my horse." "don't worry about it." vs the modern!au equiv. of "i'll pick you up / i'll fill your tank."

and you see where i'm going with this. clearly, you can tell i like it here.

i wanted to make this longer but, you get the gist.

[narcolini]

when the crows come home, 5

parts: one / two / three / four & ao3 link

angel reyes x gn!reader, part 5 of ?, 6038 words, 18+ (alcohol use, mature language, etc etc)

a/n: accidental unavoidable break between chapters OVER and now they’re flirting heavy heavy (and throwing the “friends” boundary into the wind) so. enjoy!!!! (ps. next chap will start off where this is left so 👀)

taglist: @drabbles-mc​ @cositapreciosa​ @yourlocalspacewitxch​ @ashlingiswriting​ @marissa53115​ (i think you wanted to be added to the angel taglist, but if i’m wrong let me know!!) 

A few days a week, that’s what you’d agreed on. A few days, maybe a couple weekends, just when Chucky needed the help. Just enough to keep you going until you can find something else. Money in your pocket, yeah?

‘I know you like doing shit with your hands,’ Angel had said, when he was trying to sell you on it. ‘Plus, maybe you could learn something about bikes while you’re there?’

‘Yeah,’ you’d replied, ‘I know what that’s code for, and I’m not cleaning your bike, tontín.’

‘I’m doing you a favour, asshole. It’s a good gig.’

And it is, and it was nice of him. Kind, even. He didn’t have to help you out like that. You never expected it from him, you didn’t think he’d have thought about it at all after all your complaining that night. But he’s not who he used to be, he’s considerate now. Learned how to think outside of himself.

He was right, too, you do like the practicality of it; tidying, sorting parts, fuck, even the math is fun. Helping Chucky with the books makes you feel useful in a real, tangible way. The whole setup is more rewarding than your last job, and way less fucking stifling. You spend more time outside than inside now—even the scrapyard office has an ever-open door—and that suits you just fine. It’s perfect, and something you’d never have considered without Angel’s suggestion. 

You like it so much, that you’ve been here two and a half weeks already. You’ve even come in on the off days Chucky made you take, just for something to do, and, well, because it’s easier to find the Reyes when you’re on the clubhouse’s doorstep. 

‘And this one,’ Chucky continues, bringing your attention back to the scratched phone-screen in his palm, ‘that’s at the strawberry farm. See, her hair matches the ones in the basket, look.’

‘That’s sweet, Chuck.’ You smile. ‘You should go there when you visit. Recreate the photos with her.’

Cherry’s the woman he’s met online. The love of his life, as he’s decided to call her. From the length of time this show and tell has been going on, you must be the first person to say yes when he asked, Wanna see her?

‘I will, I will.’ He’s nodding, with his eyes still down at the screen. He clicks to the next photo, then the next, then stops. It’s the oldest looking phone you’ve seen in a while, but you figure touch screens don’t mix well with wooden fingertips. ‘Oh, this one’s real special,’ he says. ‘This was the first time I saw her with her hair curled.’

‘Very pretty,’ you reply, glancing just long enough to seem genuine about it. ‘I think it suits her straight, though.’

He hums, but it’s more like a chuckle, something passed in a nervous way that makes his head bounce between his shoulders. ‘Everything suits her.’ He’s going rosy-cheeked thinking about it. ‘Sometimes,’ he adds, ‘I call her my goddess.’

‘Wow.’ You laugh, nudging his elbow. ‘I think you’re the guy girls dream about, Chucky.’

You’re fond of Chucky already. He was easy to befriend, easier to keep it seems. Once you’re in, you’re in, with him, and you appreciate that a lot. He barely knows a thing about you, besides the basics, and it feels like he’d do anything for you already, not that you’d take advantage of it. Well, you’ll try not to anyway. But it’s nice to have someone else to rely on, even tentatively. The longer you’re home, the more ties you knot into place, the less likely you are to float off again. 

‘I think I hear bikes, Chuck,’ you tell him, as soon as you notice the rumble of engines yourself.

‘Right, yes.’ His phone locks, Cherry tucked back into his pocket at last. ‘I’ll get the gate.’

You nod and watch him leave. Through the dust-stained window of the office, you follow him, half-walking, half-jogging across the yard towards the gate. When he pulls it open, it’s Gilly first, then Angel, both decked in the usual shades-helmet-kutte combo. They’ve already been by once today, but they were in the clubhouse while you were knee deep in scrap iron, so this is the first chance you’ve had to say hello.

Creeper is waiting for them too, apparently, because he’s already standing under the bike shelter as they pull up. 

‘The fuck did Bish call us back for?’ Angel asks him, loud enough for you to hear it from your spot in the office.

You screw up the burrito wrapper you’d been picking from and toss it, brushing your hands down your jeans until they’re clean. The denim’s stained already, oil and grit and more dust, always fucking dust. You go home with it under your nails, in your hair. Stamped across your cheekbones. 

‘Gotta table again,’ Creeper replies, as you step into the yard. 

Neither Gilly or Creeper have noticed you exiting the office, but Angel does almost immediately; his eyes catch onto you on the recoil of his head shake, his obvious disappointment at Creeper’s news melting into nothing once they do. Then, it’s just amusement, and relief, maybe. Comfort. You smile before he’s even said anything.

He nods in your direction. ‘You ever do any actual work around here, biche?’

‘You ever heard of union-protected lunch breaks?’ you quip back, arriving in the shade of the shelter. Angel’s bike sits in front of you, and you feel familiar enough with it now to chance a touch, toying with the grip of the nearest handle. ‘It’s not my fault you only show up when I’m on them.’

Creeper snorts beside you. ‘Union,’ he repeats, knowing as well as you do that it’s ridiculous. The scrapyard doesn’t even file its taxes correctly. 

‘Yeah, keep lying,’ Angel jokes, while standing and removing his helmet at the same time. He clocks you fiddling with the end of his handlebars, but says nothing, before slinging his helmet over the opposite side. 

‘I was showing off my Cherry,’ Chuck explains. He’s finally arrived behind them, having taken far too long to re-close the gates. ‘We got a bit carried away,’ he says, blushing again.

Gilly laughs, and not in his usual goofy way, but in a way that makes you feel hot suddenly. Protective. 

‘She’s very pretty,’ you say, directly to him, before turning back to Chucky. ‘You make a nice couple.’

‘Right,’ Angel snorts, ‘the one from the forum. Señorita Catfish.’

‘She’s real, you dick, not a catfish.’ You want to add, I’ve just seen about four hundred photos of real, but instead you settle for a prolonged look that says: shut up, shut up, shut up.

He shrugs back at you, head shaking in a silent, What? I didn’t do anything? 

Chucky waves it off, already heading back to his work. ‘It’s nothing,’ you hear him say as he goes, ‘they’re always on my tail about this.’

Yeah, you’d noticed.

‘C’mon, cabrón.’ Gilly slaps a hand to Angel’s chest, before pulling him forward by his shoulder. ‘We’re gonna piss Obispo off.’

At that, the three of them start for the clubhouse in long, boyish strides, each nodding a goodbye to you as they pass.

You follow anyway, two steps behind, and stop once you’re at the bottom of the short staircase they’ve climbed. It always feels like a point you can’t pass without invite, so you lean against the railing to catch Angel before he reaches the door. ‘You still good to help me move tomorrow?’ you ask.

He pauses, looking down at you from the added height of the porch. He looks tired, even from this distance, which you hadn’t noticed before. It’s in the soft creases of his eyes. ‘You got the keys already?’ 

You pull the keyring from your pocket and jingle them by your head. ‘Picked ‘em up on the way in.’

He smiles, nods. ‘Yeah, course. I got you.’ Then he’s through the door, after Gilly, with a half-wave back in your direction. 

Meetings meetings meetings. It must kill him, really, coming whenever Bishop calls. 

Who knew that drug-running requires so much fucking bureaucracy? From where you are, they’re more talk than action at this point. Always sitting around and taking votes on things. No-where near as exciting as it is in the movies, no matter what tales Angel spins. Before anything else, all that shit seems careless, hopeless. Straight up stupidity, sometimes. 

It had come up eventually, of course, what the club really does. Angel hadn’t wanted it to, but there was only so much time you could spend around him and the guys before someone fucked up, and wow, they just came right out with it. It was Coco first, you think, who mentioned dope. Gilly who let slip about dropping bodies by the border. Creeper with his guns, Taza and the stories he told after a single beer. In fact, Obispo was the only one careful with what he said around you, and that’s largely because he doesn’t speak to you much at all. Just spares a glance. Nods. 

You got a polite hello and a handshake when you first met him, and that feels like a victory now, something to cherish. 

But you weren’t clueless anyway. You’d guessed they were more than charity runs and social events long before anything had been said aloud. 

‘You knew?’ Angel had asked. ‘And you’re chill with it?’ 

‘I’ve not run for the hills have I? It pays my bills now, Angel. I have to be chill with it.’

It’s more than just drugs, he’d explained. More than heroin and guns, and all the other underground shit they do. ‘We stay afloat anyway we can. Keep the club going, keep the heat of our backs. Get shit from other clubs too, now.’ 

You’d stopped him once he'd mentioned the cartel. That, you didn’t need to know. Any detail that could get you killed, he can keep. 

Christ.

‘Can you check this?’ Chucky’s by your elbow suddenly, pencil tucked behind his ear. ‘Think I fudged the numbers again.’

‘Sure.’ You take the open book from him. ‘Make me a coffee and I’ll finish the rest for you.’

Turns out, you have a knack for money laundering, too. 

Chill with it? Shit, you’re helping them get away with it. 

*

There’s one good thing that came from the disaster that was your old job: Marie. Specifically, the friendship with Marie that led you to meet Nela, her sister, who had an apartment with a room to let, and a very generous, within your budget, price. You’d said yes as soon as it’d been offered. Any fool would have. It’d get you away from home, back to your independence, and it won’t break the bank. What more could you want? 

‘We’re done now, tontín.’

Angel’s pulling the last of your boxes from the bed of his truck, grunting like you’ve filled them with bricks, when you get back to him. 

‘The fuck you got in here?’ he asks, leaning the weight of one against his chest.

‘Oh, that’s my collection of dumbbells.’ You take the other from beside him, knowing he’s rolling his eyes at you, feeling the gesture through the back of his head as you follow him up. ‘I should’ve asked Zee,’ you joke, ‘he’d have complained less.’

He snorts. ‘EZ’s too busy not having sex with his almost girlfriend to help you.’

You watch his shoulders as he climbs the staircase, up the one flight to your new apartment. He’s been making jokes about EZ’s new relationship since her name was first mentioned. As far as you know, they haven’t put a label on it yet, but all Angel does his roast him for their lack of fucking.

‘There’s nothing wrong with going slow, Angel.’

‘Nah, nah,’ he looks back at you briefly, ‘there’s slow, and then there’s pining for the same girl your whole damn life. He does that a second time and he’ll be fucking, eighty, or some shit, before he gets his dick wet again.’

‘God,’ you cringe, ‘you’re fucking gross, man.’

He laughs at your disgust which just makes you laugh in return. He gets away with everything like that. No matter what dumbass, high school comment he makes, as soon as he’s laughing, you are too. 

‘Listen,’ he argues, and you can hear the smile in his tone without seeing it yourself, ‘I’m just looking out for him. I want my brother to be getting the best puss—’

He comes to an abrupt silence, stopping as soon as he crosses through the open front door. Luckily, you were a stride away, so you don’t crash into the back of him, but rather scoot around the side of him, into the hall-slash-living room. 

It’s Nela that’s surprised him. She was in her bedroom before, getting changed after work, and now she’s in the kitchenette to the left, stirring a steaming microwave meal.

You know what he’s seeing, because you had the same reaction when you first met her. Camo everywhere, on every piece of clothing—even her pyjamas—blue hair, five face piercings at least. Half-lidded eyes like she’s drowsy, or bored to death. Or both, maybe. Something about her just says: look away, keep looking, forget you ever saw me at all. 

Honestly, you quite like it, and her in general, but Angel is much less accepting of people you can’t read on a first-glance. 

‘Hey,’ he says, clutching the box over his chest like a shield. ‘I’m Angel.’

Without looking from her food, Nela offers a simple, ‘Sup.’

‘That’s the last of it,’ you tell her, gesturing with your head for Angel to continue toward your room. You watch him trudge down the hall, disappearing into your doorway, before adding, ‘We won’t be in and out anymore.’

‘Cool.’ She shoves a spoonful into her mouth. ‘I sleep like the dead, anyway.’

You smile at the side of her face. ‘Well,’ you nod, ‘that’s good.’ You aren’t overly fond of tip-toeing around. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

She offers a thumbs up, before crossing in front of you, steaming food held up to her chin as she goes. It’s a curry of sorts. Not something you’d choose for this time of morning, but to her it’s dinner, you suppose. And, well, to be honest, the scent of it is making your stomach rumble still. She makes it to the couch, eating readily, just as you slip into the part-open door of your new bedroom. 

‘They’re bout’a make a Netflix special about you.’

‘What?’ 

Angel’s by the bed, having dumped your box of books onto its mattress. He turns at your question, brows knitted in an exaggerated way. ‘Cause that chick is absolutely,’ he stresses the word, ‘gonna kill you in your sleep.’

You laugh, more from shock than humour, and reach to push the door shut behind you. ‘Don’t be fucking rude!’ you chide, but you’re half-laughing as you say it, making it lose all force. ‘She’s nice!’

‘Yeah,’ he nods quickly, ‘oh, I’m sure.’

‘She works nights at the hospital,’ you argue, matching his hushed tone, ‘I don’t think she’s slept yet.’ 

‘Doing what?’

‘I think she’s a porter.’ 

His eyes widen. ‘So, like, moving dead bodies and shit?’

‘Shut up, oh my god.’ You slap his arm, then push him aside with your hip to get at the bed. ‘You’re ridiculous, Angel.’ And you’ll never get anything unpacked if you stand here arguing about it. 

‘You never heard of Craigslist horror stories?’ he asks, by your side still. ‘I’m worried, carnale.’

Worried in the dumbest of ways. ‘She’s Marie’s sister,’ you explain, ‘no craigslist involved.’

His arm brushes yours as he shrugs. ‘Who’s that?’

‘From my old job.’

He laughs once, a sort of surprised huff of air. ‘That’s Marie’s sister?’

‘Yes?’ You look from the box you’ve opened to stare at him, a book in each hand. ‘God, not everyone is a clone of their sibling like you and EZ. Nela’s cool. End of.’

You take the books to the shelf left by the previous tenant and stack them there. You thought maybe if you started right away, it’d be less daunting, but a few books in and you already want to stop. When you return to the bed, the box looks fuller than it did before you touched it. 

‘Sorry,’ Angel continues, having abandoned all thoughts of helping, ‘did you not see the stuffed bird? She’s got a fucking eagle on the coffee table.’

It’s an owl, stuffed and positioned onto a curving branch. Apparently, Nela has an interest in taxidermy. Marie says her room’s full of it. 

‘Angel,’ you start, turning to face him, ‘you traffic heroin into—’

His hand goes over your mouth, which you hadn’t expected, forcing the end of your sentence into the warmth of his palm. He looks over his shoulder like you’d shouted it, like Nela might come running in with DEA on speed dial. 

Eyes rolling, you pull at his wrist to get free. ‘Sorry, you do CHARITY work,’ you say, in the general direction of the room down the hall, before looking back to him pointedly. ‘Better?’ 

His head’s shaking because, of course, you’re the ridiculous one here. 

‘Relax, idiot.’ You shake his wrist, which you’d forgotten to let go of. He’s been on edge lately, meaner and snappier, and more judgey than usual, but comment on that and you’ll only put yourself into the line of fire. ‘It’s a nice, cheap room, and it’s out of my parents’ place,’ you tell him. ‘If I die and get made into a wall-mount, I’ll have gone happily, okay?’ 

He chews it over, and the pause makes you realise he was serious, under the absurd reaction to your new roomie, he really was worried about this, about you starting fresh. He still is, even. Any slight possibility of it being a change in the wrong way, is enough to have set him off.

Hm. You swallow against the feeling the realisation stirs up, pushing it back down into your chest.

‘Alright,’ he says eventually, and your hand on his wrist falls, because he’s moved to hold you by the waist instead, both hands to either side of you. ‘But if you do,’ he says, very seriously, with his gaze on yours, 'I ain’t buying you at auction.’

‘Well, duh,’ you reply, ‘I’m way above your price range.’

His smile meets the edges of his eyes, his hold tightens just enough to bunch your shirt, and then he looks past you, over your shoulder into the bathroom attached to your room. ‘I gotta take a leak,’ he says.

‘Go ahead.’ You step from his hold, waving him away. ‘Christen the place.’ 

He disappears on your blessing and you exhale, like you’d been saving the breath, once you hear the door latch behind him.

Moments like that were becoming more and more frequent. Lingering touches, joking that isn’t quite joking, flirting, really, if you had to put a name to it—not that you’d ever give him the ammunition of knowing it felt like that to you. He’s daring enough as it is, curious as you are.

You pull the short lamp from under the tangle of coats atop your bed, and step around the frame to set it into place. A new bedside for it to light up, a new window for it to stand guard over. You flick from looking at the lampshade, to the gravel driveway beneath your room. Second story, now. No lawn, no tree, no bending-grave marker of an old tire swing. Just rocks and concrete. 

The toilet flushes, door opening afterwards. You hear him step out, belt clinking as he buckles it, boots dull against the carpet as he crosses the room. 

Your cheeks warm, your gaze through the window still. You imagine him climbing into this room. Imagine him staying the night, with no parents sleeping behind the wall opposite. 

‘You want help unpacking?’ he asks, close enough to make your neck go hot, too.

‘No, I’m good.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah,’ you answer quickly, facing him again. ‘Wanna settle myself in, y’know?’

Honestly, he’d be more of a distraction than a help, even if you weren’t being tormented by the thought of him in this bed. He’s all legs, and arms, and stupid comments, that would do nothing for you and the sea of boxes you’re swamped in. You need him, and that cologne that follows him around, very, very far away, if you have any hope of getting unpacked today. 

‘Plus, I need to move fast if I’m gonna have this place sorted before tonight,’ you add.

He nods, once, then frowns. ‘We can do it a different day, if you want.’

‘No, no,’ you brush the idea off. ‘This is the day everyone can do, and I’m not having my housewarming pushed back and back until it doesn’t happen at all. Tonight’s good. Trust me.’

‘Alright.’ He pats a heavy hand onto your shoulder, then catches your chin with his thumb. The pad of it drags down your skin as he turns away. ‘See you later, biche.’

‘I hope you washed that,’ you comment, once he’s already by the door. 

He laughs. Loud and shameless. ‘Nope.’

You groan and immediately scrub your chin with the edge of your sleeve. ‘Pig,’ you call, but he doesn’t hear, and you’re smiling anyway. 

God. He really does get away with anything; recently, you let him get away with anything. 

At least you have a real starting point now. The face wash is in one of the boxes you’d stacked in the shower cubicle, so you’ll tackle those ones first. 

*

‘Okay, okay. Listen.’ EZ is quickly losing the crowd, his defence failing before it’s even begun—and partly because he’s laughing as he argues, his cheeks alcohol-warmed and round under his eyes. ‘In all honesty,’ he pleads, ‘I thought, I mean, come on, fucking Mississippi mud pie! It’s in the name.’

‘You were a fucking teenager, bro,’ Angel stresses, eyes as wide as they were when he’d first told the story. ‘Taking AP science and shit. You really thought that had real fucking, God’s earth, mud in it?’

EZ folds, collapsing back into the couch, a hand over his eyes. Defeated and amused all at once, chest bouncing with a laugh he can’t hide. ‘Why’d you think I always said no to it, man?’ 

You’re laughing with him, with all of them, from your spot on the floor. The place isn’t big by any means, and with the accidentally extended guest list you’ve ended up with, someone had to forfeit when it came to seating. You don’t mind though, you’re more in the middle of it here. 

EZ’s sitting on the couch, his feet by your knees, and Gaby’s sitting beside him, flashing the smile that had become a defining feature of hers from the second you were introduced. She’s got one hand on his lap, and the other in the ends of her hair. It isn’t hard to see what EZ finds compelling about her. She’s sweet without even trying. Worth taking it slow for. 

Creeper’s in the last space beside them with his girl, Lucia, half on his lap and half on the arm of the couch. You hadn’t invited them specifically, but you also aren’t bothered now that they’re here. They’re nice, chilled, and they brought a crate of beer with them. So. 

‘Come on.’ Gilly’s turned the focus back onto you, from where he’s leaning against the back of the one armchair that completes the living room. ‘You really don’t have anything like that?’

‘No.’ You shake your head. ‘Honestly, nothing that even comes close.’ 

That’s how this had all started; a drinking game that had collapsed into a senseless, back and forth, exchange of embarrassing stories, which had led to Angel sharing EZ’s when you failed to come up with something of your own.

You pick up your empty beer from the rug and set it onto the coffee table in front, so that you can stretch your legs under it. You’re getting too old now to sit cross-legged for long. 

‘I’ve never done anything embarrassing in my life, actually,’ you say, not even managing half the sentence before the words start bubbling over a laugh. ‘I think Angel should tell one of his own.’

Angel’s sitting in the armchair, of course, his elbows balanced on his knees, his head dropped enough that it’s almost level with your own. He’s drank enough of Creeper’s beer, and your whiskey, to have made his eyes glassy, shiny. Darker than usual, but gleaming somehow. 

‘Oh really?’ he says.

And you say, ‘Yes, really. Damelo, tontín.’

He blinks. ‘Don’t say that.’

You cross one ankle over the other, then frown at him. ‘Say what?’

Creeper speaks to the room, over the music, over the conversation you’re having, ‘Yo, didn’t Coco say he was coming?’

You don’t answer him, and neither does Angel, but EZ says, ‘Dude wasn’t picking up his phone,’ so that’s the pair of you off the hook. 

‘Don’t say shit like that,’ Angel repeats, ghosting the edge of his glass by his lips. Shining eyes on yours like there’s no-one else in the room. ‘Damelo,’ he mimics, tip of his tongue curling behind his teeth to copy the pronunciation. 

‘Guess he’s bailed again,’ Gilly comments, and he may as well be in the apartment below, because you aren’t engaged in the slightest.

‘What?’ you ask Angel. ‘I’m not allowed to speak spanish?’

He shakes his head, takes a sip, then sucks in a breath like he’s short of them. ‘Not when you say it like that, biche.’

But you hadn’t said it anyway at all. 

‘I’ve got a story,’ Gaby announces, before adding, ‘unless you were gonna go, Angel?’

‘Nah,’ he says, looking at you, but answering her still, ‘nah, you’re good.’

You turn your cheek, smiling at Gaby like that makes up for Angel’s lack of eye contact. ‘Go ahead,’ you tell her. ‘But I need another drink first.’

————————

Hours pass, bottles empty. You’d never thought you were bad at throwing parties, but you didn’t know you were this good, either. You didn’t know they could be so warm, so fun. So continuous without hitch. Mick never threw parties like this. You always assumed it’d be a no, I’ve got work to catch up on, no, the couch just got upholstered, so you never asked.

You’re taking yourself toward the kitchen now, well, the space where the appliances and countertops have been pushed into the corner of the room. It feels like a lie to call it a real kitchen, but realtors love doing that. Nela called it a glorified break-room. All it needs is the water cooler. 

God, water. That’s what you’re here for.

You redirect toward the sink and then Angel’s voice is curling into the space behind you, your name singing from his lips like he wants something. 

‘What you doing, biche?’ he asks, scuffing up the tiles.

You hold the glass above your head, an answer in itself, then turn the tap to fill it. 

‘Water?’ Angel groans. ‘Fucking boring-ass drink.’

‘Future me will be grateful,’ you say, swallowing a hiccup. 

You don’t want a hangover, you’ll have one, but you don’t want one, and any water you drink now could save you one less headache tomorrow. 

‘You should have some too,’ you tell him, before taking a clumsy swig that spills half of it down your chin. ‘Here.’ You offer him the glass afterwards, wiping your face and neck dry with the palm of your other hand. 

He approaches you lazily, feet heavy, height swaying. You’re both drunker than you realised. The thought makes you laugh, though it’s not funny on it’s own. Just fact, really.

‘Hurry up,’ you say, bouncing the words to him, ‘you’re in slow-motion, fool.’

‘Maybe you’re just really,’ he pauses, head nodding in front of you, ‘really, really fast.’ 

He takes the glass and swallows the rest of it, not as messy as you were, but still dripping water through his beard. 

Your hands are up to his face, fingertips to the wet parts, before you even think about doing it. You wipe his beard dry, comb through and down the thick of it, then brush the hair above his lip for good measure. 

‘You want shampoo, too? Conditioner or something?’ he says, arguing against your fussing, but making no move to stop it. He stands still, as still as the stupor will let him, while you run another pass over the greys of his chin.

‘I like the beard,’ you say, letting your elbows rest against his chest briefly. ‘Suits your head shape.’

‘My head shape?’ He laughs, you mirror it. ‘That’s a new one.’

‘What?’ You pull your arms back, and set your palms against the counter behind you. ‘I’m right, though?’

‘I believe you,’ he says. ‘It’s just a weird as fuck compliment, biche.’

Well, maybe you’re weird as fuck, you think, but it doesn’t make it out of your mouth. Instead, you smile, then roll your eyes and let the kitchen area feel like a different world entirely. It sinks as you do, pulling you down with it. You can hear the music still, but it’s humming low enough in your ears to be ignored. You can hear the others talking too, laughing and swearing like fucking sailors, but it could just as easily be coming from outside. It could be a part of the music, even. 

You’re standing with Angel and that’s all there is now. That and the warmth across your skin, under your clothes, the spin of the walls and your head with it. 

He’s watching you closely, glassy-eyed and hiding a smile, his left hip against the side next to you. Close enough for your thumb to catch his jeans if you wanted to. 

‘What’s that face for, Ange?’ you ask, though you’ve seen it before on other people, you know what it means; your breathing quickens with the anticipation of it.

His head drops a fraction as he leans into you, not touching yet, but so close you feel the heat of his own skin radiating off him. 

You tilt your face toward his, lifting your gaze to find him through your lashes. You wait, and he waits, both saying nothing, doing nothing, but looking at each other with an unspoken dare behind your eyes.

‘I wanna kiss you so bad,’ he says eventually, quietly, with a slight exhale like he can’t believe he’s admitting it. 

Finally. There it is. A smirk tweaks onto your features at the confession.

‘Then you should take your own advice,’ you reply. Eyes, lips, eyes again. ‘Fuck it,’ you breathe, ‘and do what you want, right?’ 

‘Yeah?’ He barely forms the word, but it’s a question still.

You nod, you want him to. The fire beneath your ribs will only blaze for so long. 

His hand goes to your face, in slow motion still, lazing and greedy with it, so you close the gap impatiently, your lips hitting his first. And, oh, that’s what it’s like, then. 

His moustache is rougher once it’s against your skin, his beard flattens entirely now you’re pressing into it. His lips are soft, active, responding to yours and asking for more. You taste the alcohol behind them, tease the parting of them with the end of your tongue.

You’re acutely aware of eyes on you, somewhere, of EZ’s voice in your direction, but you don’t care; you don’t listen. You pull at Angel’s shirt until he’s standing in front of you, top button popping un-done, with his hips to your hips and the hard edge of the countertop behind you. 

He leans back briefly, just long enough to look at you, at your mouth, your eyes, your face in its entirety, then he kisses you again, his hands moving to your waist. Your hips. Hungry at the edge of your thighs. His fingers hook into the flesh of them, just above your knees. He braces himself to lift.

You make a noise against him, a sort of, no, not that, sound. Kissing is one thing, but putting you onto the countertop, with half the club on the other side of the room, is too much. Too showy, too soon.

‘Sorry,’ he mutters, in the short gap he’s taken for air.

‘Don’t.’ You can feel yourself smiling, it aches in your cheeks. You go to say more, but it just comes out as a pant, another kiss, a tug of the hair at the back of his neck. 

He slips his tongue into your mouth this time, pinches the soft of your thighs without meaning to. You let him. You ask for it. You push yourself closer in response.

‘Okay, alright.’ EZ’s voice is louder now, right behind Angel, and then he’s torn away from you, forcibly, by a firm, brotherly grip to his shoulders. ‘If you’re trying to make us all feel fucking awkward,’ EZ says, ‘you’re killing it, bro.’

Angel shoves him, breaking from his hold and trying to look annoyed about it, but smiling anyway. You know it’s you, and not the alcohol this time, making him giddy. Hot in the cheeks.

‘Fuck off, man,’ he huffs, straightening his button-down. ‘Consider it a lesson, yeah, how to get some 101.’

He looks back at you then, standing where you’ve been left, and you thank fucking God that you’re too drunk to feel embarrassed by all this. So what, right? You’re all adults here.

EZ groans, rolling his neck out. ‘You need some new material, bro. Can’t keep saying the same shit and expecting it to be funny.’

‘Oh, it’s very fucking funny,’ Angel quips, nodding. ‘Right, biche?’

You recover quickly, crossing the kitchen in two steps to reach the fridge. The conversation needs redirecting, fast, the attention needs shifting from you and Angel—and definitely from Gaby, who hovers by the armchair, pretending she can’t hear Angel’s jibes.

‘It’s my party,’ you say, bending to pull a beer from the shelf inside, ‘my rules.’ You stand and put the drink into EZ’s chest. ‘So drink it.’

‘What?’ His brows go up, but he takes it from you anyway.

‘Down in one, go on.’ You nod. ‘Consider it payment for ruining Angel’s housewarming gift.’

Angel laughs in a boisterous, victorious way, then passes EZ the bottle opener. ‘Get to it, hermano. You heard ‘em.’

‘Assholes,’ EZ mutters, head shaking, ‘both of you. If this is a thing now, you guys are gonna be fucking insufferable.’

‘Drink the beer, pussy,’ Gilly booms, weighing in from the couch. ‘It’s not even hard, bro.’

You roll your eyes, then flick the bottom of the bottle with a clink. ‘Drink, Zee.’

There’s no thing, no unspoken change. Only a kiss that had been waiting for years to be had. Patiently, too, hidden in plain sight. You just want to give EZ heartburn to take the focus off of it.

As he drinks, you find Angel over his shoulder and watch him take to the hallway in backwards, careful steps. He points a thumb behind him, toward your room, arches a brow to ask, Shall we?

Shall we?  

You can taste him still, can feel the weight of his hands against your thighs. 

So, shall we?

‘I gotta pee,’ you lie, excusing yourself from EZ and the rest of your guests. No one had seen Angel leave, so no-one says anything as you follow after him. No-one comments as the bedroom door shuts behind you. 

He kisses you before you can speak, smiling into it now you’re alone together. 

You pull at his buttons on purpose this time, wanting to feel the skin beneath, needing to see the tattoos you’ve only had glimpses of. 

Fuck it, you think, and do what you want. 

>>>>> part six

[irish-belle]

Hello and welcome to “Cleaning a Room When Your Brain Says: Too Messy, Can’t Possibly Be Done”

If you’re like me and a task seems Too Big to complete and you’ve been told to break it down into smaller tasks but that means nothing to you, allow me to introduce you to my cleaning method: Basket Cleaning

First, you’re going to start with your mess

Bleh. Now this is what I’d call a “small mess”, I can get away with one basket for this. But for bigger messes I’d recommend two: one for fabric (clothes, towels, blankets) and one for everything else (shoes, spoons, toys, books, in this case, but you know your own mess)

Okay now we’re going to put everything on the floor (except garbage!) into the basket so that we have

A clear floor and a basket of mess.

Now pause here and congratulate yourself. You’ve tidied the room! Well done you!

Now we’re going to clean the room. This means throw the trash away, sweep/vacuum, and dust if you’re feeling particularly motivated.

Oh that feels so much better, now doesn’t it?

Pause again to check clean room off the check list! You’re amazing.

Now to the the basket(s) of mess. You’re in a nice clean space so you have space to organize into piles if you need. Separate dirty and clean clothes, put toys away, put books in their homes, cups and spoons back to the kitchen.

When your basket(s) are empty you can check off “organize mess” on the to do list!

This works equally well with bedrooms, I’ve just used my living room as the example. Good luck and enjoy your clean space!

[heartbeatan]

Crimson Park (Chapter 13)

Return to Chapter 12.

Return to Table of Contents.

Return to Desperado Series.

Return to Jungkook Fanfictions.

Return to Masterlist.

Chapter 13

You held your forehead in your hands as you rode the porcelain bus. After the auction, which the Chairman won for a whooping two million, you excused yourself quickly and rushed to the women's bathroom to empty your stomach. After an eternity, you were sure there was nothing left, but you needed your body to stop trembling before you stood up. That's when you heard retching coming from a stall a few doors down.

"Fuck," you said under your breath. You peeled yourself from the floor, flushing the toilet and making your way to the vanity to clean up. Your eyes were bloodshot, your mascara trickled down your eyes in tear streaks, and your lipstick was all but gone. You reached for the complimentary products displayed in wicker baskets across the counter, finding makeup removing wipes, eyedrops, and individually wrapped toothbrushes.

You heard the toilet flush from the stall where someone else had been vomiting, and were somewhat surprised when Zoya stepped out, instead of an inebriated patron.

Your eyes locked for a moment in a wordless conversation and exchange of empathy. She pulled up silently beside you, following your lead of tidying herself up.

"I don't know if I can do this for much longer," she said remorsefully. "And I'm nowhere in the position you're in. How do you do it?"

"Years of practice and selling off my soul one piece at a time."

“That was so messed up.”

You both moved onto brushing your teeth, and it was actually nice to have another person's misery as company.

"Listen," you spoke just as you began to apply your lipstick. "If you're having doubts, then you should consider leaving before it's too late for you. You're the best in your field, and he's going to notice that soon."

She nodded softly, deep in thought. "What's going to happen to you?"

"Well, first I need to pay my debt to that Chairman. And after that - I don't know."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault. I can handle it. I'll be fine, as always."

⁂

"Guys, if we don't do this, then I won't get paid, and that would be a total disaster," Sheyanne - better known as your barely 20 year old auction prize, was now seated in the backseat of the SUV, pleading with you and Jungkook who rode in the front back to the city.

"You will get paid. I'm the one who manages the money and the rules said that the winner gets you for a night, and they specified that I got to do whatever I wanted. And what I want to happen is for you to tell me where I can take you that is safe, so that I can go to bed."

"Seriously, if you're worried because I'm a virgin, that's a total lie. My uncle said that it would raise the price."

"What do you need the money for anyway?"

"To pay for college."

You groaned. Dongnam was more than capable of paying for her college.

"Well, you have a lot more money now than you need for just College. You don't need to be doing this anymore.

"And seriously, I am so grateful. I will absolutely do this if you want to. You two are a hot couple - I'd be totally into it."

"No," Jungkook shook his head immediately, a soured curve to his lips. You almost laughed at how repulsed he was by the idea. You placed your hand on his arm to console him.

"Why? Am I not pretty enough for you?" she spat, offended by his reaction.

"It's just not our thing," you told her, excluding the one-hundred other reasons why it was in fact a "hell, no."

"All right well - I get that. People born in the 1900s aren't as sexually free as my generation is."

You physically recoiled at the remark. After everything you experienced, heard, and witnessed in your life, a barely new adult had been the first person to truly shock and offend you. You could see Jungkook’s lips twitching as he held in a laugh. He placed his hand on your knee - now to console you.

"I love your dress by the way," she looked up from her phone to pay you the compliment. "It's very like that woman on that awards show that was really popular - but, like, with more glitter."

"Jennifer Lopez," you said, irritation lining your answer.

"Yeah, that's the one. She had good style.

"Well, at least the 1900s were good for something."

Jungkook snorted.

"So, where can we take you?"

"Well..." she sighed. "There's this guy I've been seeing who’s throwing a party. This other bitch he likes is going to be there, so... it would be nice to surprise him and get him before she does. At least someone in this car will be wheeling tonight.

"Just wear a condom, lord, please," you groaned again.

"Can we stop at a store?"

"There's some in the pocket in front of you," Jungkook chimed in.

"Do you stash those things everywhere?" you lowered your voice and hoped she wouldn't hear.

He shrugged, "I like to be prepared."

"That's so hot!" Sheyanne piped up, gawking at the two of you. You rolled shut the partition.

⁂

"Why did I do this again?" you grumbled after you dropped Sheyanne off at some house located in a one-horse suburban town.

"I was hoping you would enlighten me to that answer - because I suspect it came at a big cost."

You pursed your lips - you hadn’t had the time to prepare yourself for how you would explain this to him. "That was so fucked up. Adult or not, she’s his niece."

"She's not technically his niece. She's the old bookkeeper's daughter."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really," your voice became solemn, and the atmosphere in the car shifted as you slipped into a reclusive state of existence."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Will you tell me about it anyways?"

You exhaled, "Maybe sometime."

Your thoughts began to flip through all the worst case scenarios. This was obviously some sick and twisted vendetta of Dongnam's, against a man who was in his grave. What was going to happen if he found out you ruined it? Could you keep the Chairman quiet? But then the Chairman would hold it over you. Fuck... you sold yourself to the Chairman - but you couldn’t deal with that right now. Perhaps you should tell Dongnam yourself about Sheyanne, if he hadn't figured it out already. Would he make you suffer for it? Would he demand your head on a silver platter? Did he already commission your hit?

You stayed plastered to your seat staring out the window at the dark trees, lost in thought as they reminded you of the stupid poster in the casino office, and cringing at every scenario wherein Dongnam would torture and murder you. You didn't notice at first that the pavement had turned to gravel, and the SUV was now bumping left and right, up and down as the forest line closed in around you.

"Where are we going?" you asked, but he didn’t answer.

"Jungkook," you sat up, alarmed, "Where are we going?"

"Don't worry about it."

This is it, you thought to yourself. Dongnam did put a hit on you, and he sent Jungkook to execute it. He was probably spying on you for him all along.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted you," you hit him three times hard with your purse.

"Whoa, whoa," he chuckled in surprise.

You pulled at the door handle, but it didn't budge. "Who the fuck are you working for?" you shouted as you clicked the lock.

"No, God, no, Y/N - I'm not abducting you. We're just going to the beach."

"What?" you looked back at him.

"There's a secluded beach at the end of this road," he pointed into the blackness ahead.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. It’s a nice night out and you won't go camping with me."

"Jesus Fucking Christ, Jungkook," you exhaled in relief. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking of being spontaneous, but lesson learned. Don't take mobsters down side roads without their consent."

"Yeah, no shit. Turn around."

"I can't, the road is too narrow. We'll have to turn at the beach."

You placed your palm over your beating heart, trying to calm it. "I really fucking hate you right now."

"Well, at least you can hate me while we drink," he reached between your legs and under the passenger's seat, retrieving a brown bag with a bottle of liquor.

You inspected the expensive vodka, "Where did you get this?"

"I stole it from the party."

"Good, now I can report you for misconduct."

"We'll stay an hour tops. It'll be fun."

"I don't do beaches. And who goes to the beach when the sun isn't out?"

"I wasn't exactly thinking we'd work on our tans."

"I'm really not in the mood for sex right now, Jungkook."

"That's cool. It wasn't on my mind either."

"Mm hm," you hummed in a timber that let him know you didn't believe him.

⁂

"I stole some food too," Jungkook returned from the SUV with a floor mat to drape over a damp log for you to sit on. Calling this place "a beach" was a bit of an overstatement. There were a few square metres of what could be considered sand, but was brimming with un-retreated foliage and rock, and was near completely guarded by thick trees. But of what you could see of the sky and lake was stunning. The moon was almost full, and it illuminated the soft ripples of the water, and the stars were endless and bright, streaking the night sky in brush strokes of white clusters.

You sat down, smoothing your dress to avoid dirt stains, and tugged his jacket snug over your shoulders. Jungkook handed you a pathetic finger sandwich, before taking a seat on the sand next to you. He opened the vodka, then cracked open a soda, and poured them into empty travel mugs he had commandeered from the SUV.

You both sat quietly, drinking in the view and letting yourselves be serenaded by the cicadas and bullfrogs. You felt yourself relax in a way that made you realise how tensed you had been for days.

"I traded myself for Sheyanne," you said quietly, somewhat hoping he wouldn't hear you. "To the Chairman." Jungkook didn't say anything. Instead, he just sipped his drink and looked out over the water. "I have to go to Hvar with him. For four days." He sighed long and soft, leaning back against the log, then reached to you, placing his hand over your knee and giving it a small squeeze. "Aren't you going to say something?"

"Something." You scoffed. "I don't know what to say," he sounded defeated.

"Anything."

"I know you felt you had too. I just wish I knew why. I wish you would let me help."

"I needed to... because she was up there because of me. I'm the reason why her father isn't around to have prevented this."

"What happened to him?"

"I set him up," you paused to take a sip of your drink. "His men beat him to a pulp. He was in a coma for a few weeks, then they pulled his life support. It’s how I first got my nickname."

"Did you order them to do that?"

"No. I didn't have that kind of power. But I knew it was a possibility. And I didn't care."

"You wanted his job?"

"What I wanted was to just do my job. But he didn't exactly hire me because of my brain. One day I got tired."

"Does Dongnam know?"

"Yeah. He didn't find out until after though."

"Was he mad?"

"Times were different back then. The two of them were basically equals, and Dongnam wanted him gone but needed a reason that wasn't linked to him - or else he would be overthrown as well. So, he was quite pleased, and I knew he would be."

You could hear the gears turning in his head, and you were both curious and terrified at what he was possibly thinking."

"I deserve whatever happens in Hvar."

"No. You don't. No one deserves that. You were protecting yourself. You didn't decide what would happen to him - the people who beat him did. And the auction - that was all Dongnam - not you."

"This is who I am, Jungkook. You're just trying to justify sleeping with a monster."

"You're not a monster, Y/N. I've seen monsters - you are not one of them."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I've seen you."

For a moment you felt tears prick behind your eyes, and it made you want to run - but it also pulled you closer to him.

You slipped yourself off the log, then crawled to him, laying your head on his lap to curl up and look out over the lake. He stroked your hair with long, soothing brushes of his fingers.

"What are you thinking about?" he whispered.

"Scary things."

"Like what?"

"Like... I'm glad you're here." He drew his hand down your arm, then laced his fingers between yours. "What are you thinking about?"

He thought for a long while - you could tell he was wrestling with a lot of things he wanted to say but was trying to narrow it down to just one. "That I wish I knew the right thing to say."

You wished for that too. "Let's stay here for a while."

Go to Chapter 14.

[bardicious]

Obsessed with Angel Crowley being banished from Heaven because he asked God why the universe had to be destroyed. Being sent to a place that makes the peoples', of said universe, lives worse. It's no wonder he does everything but that.

[sanfordartedventures]

10 Five-Minute Home Fix-Ups

Nothing motivates us to clean our house like the impending arrival of guests. And by “motivates,” I mean of course I procrastinated and now I only have half a day to get this home ready for non-animals to see it.

Whether you’re expecting family for the holidays, inviting colleagues to an office party or hosting friends for a movie night, getting your house ready for visitors can feel daunting. Luckily, these 10 simple hacks can help transform your entire home in half the time with none of the stress:

Make the beds. Martha Stewart herself recommends this simple first step.  Even if your sheets are in the laundry, you can cover the mattresses with comforters and throw pillows to give your rooms a put-together appearance.

Fluff your pillows and cushions. Your living room is often the first space that guests will see, so give it visual appeal with soft, fluffy pillows and furniture cushions.  If you have time, set cushions out in the sun for about an hour. The fresh air and light will eliminate bacteria and any lingering moisture, automatically reviving your pillows with an extra bit of bounce.

Shine all the faucets. After giving your kitchen and bathroom surfaces a quick wipe-down, make sure you complete the finishing touch by shining your faucets and hardware with a glass cleaner. The spot-free sparkle will automatically brighten your room and make it feel clean and welcoming.

Pick up your clutter. Grab a laundry basket, trash bag, or another handy container, and use it to collect any discarded articles that have been abandoned from other rooms.  Take the container with you as you tidy each space and drop the items off where they belong as you go.

Invest in baskets, boxes, and bins. Nothing promotes order and organization like an aesthetically appealing container.  Whether it’s a basket for your paperwork, a bin for your children’s toys, or a junk drawer for, well, everything else, containers provide cover for your clutter and cut down on your clean-up time.

Find guilt-free closure. Sometimes a junk drawer isn’t enough.  When you run out of time to get it all done, don’t be afraid to reserve one area – whether it’s the laundry room, garage, or any spare space – where you can toss everything that you don’t have time to clean or organize. When time’s up, and your company has arrived, simply close that room off.

Fix squeaky hinges. If your doors or appliances resemble haunted house sound effects, simply mist the offending hinges thoroughly with any household lubricant. Be sure to work the hinge repeatedly to allow complete coverage and make sure the noises have stopped.

Free windows that are stuck. If humidity has gotten the best of your windows, try running a hairdryer around the edges of the sash until it loosens and opens up. Once it’s free, lubricate the guiding strips with candle wax or silicone spray.

Get rid of scuffed linoleum. For unsightly marks on your flooring, massage some white toothpaste into the area with a dry cloth or an eraser. Remember to de-grease the floor with a cleanser and warm water before anyone tries to walk on it.

Fill your home with diffusers, candles, or good, old-fashioned baking. When you fill your home with a warm, welcoming scent, you’ll automatically give your visitors a sense of comfort and relaxation. Their immediate first impression will be positive, setting the tone for a pleasant and successful stay.

The next time you have a company slated to arrive in the next hour, pick the most pressing tasks and get to work. These simple fixups should help you save time and give your home a bit of extra sparkle in no time! That way, you can take a nice and relaxing bath while your in-laws are on their way for Christmas “fun.”

Article Source: https://www.sanford-artedventures.com/10-fiveminute-home-fixups-n27.html

[trainbottle96]

6 Benefits Of Routine Gear Maintenance

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As a construction Laborer, you want to attempt to restrict the amount of supplies and chemical substances onsite to the portions that you actually need. The orderly arrangement of operations, tools, tools and provides is a crucial a half of an excellent housekeeping program. So employing professional business cleaners can have much more impact than just preserving surfaces clear. Expecting employees to do the cleansing themselves also can result in rigidity between staff if an individual feels that someone else isn’t pulling their weight. This includes group members who're "social distancing ambassadors" serving to with temperature checks. Cluttered desks and soiled keyboards can demotivate your employees and distract them from work. A pristine work surroundings, however, will permit them to work effectively and with ease. OLS students take part in job shadows and internships throughout their third and 4th years. 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[myckicade]

Prompt: Ok so we all know Coco is touch starved, and would be clingy af in a relationship. What about Coco x wife!reader, while she’s trying to do basic errands/chores and Coco is her shadow?

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one. I really have. Hee hee. I just adore Coco. <3 . This piece sort of follows the story of the last two Coco x Reader pieces I have written, but it will stand-alone, just fine. And, I swear, these things just have a mind of their own. I can continue to apologize for length, and content, but, in the end... I let the story tell itself. ;) . <3 .

As a warning, I come from Vermont, where we have a plastic bag ban. Last I knew, California was the first state to have one. I don’t know how that would translate to Santo Padre, but… When I mention fabric bags, I mean reusables, and the ban is why. ^^;;;;.

Title: Worthwhile

Teaser: He’s a little rough, your Coco, foul-mouthed, and quick to anger. Untrusting, and bitchier than a woman, on his best day. But, once you have his love, you have it. All of it.

“Okay…” you murmur, slowly, eyes scanning over the paper in front of you. Fifteen items, nothing crazy. Shouldn’t take you more than an hour, tops, and that includes travel to and from the store. “I think I’ve got everything we need… And, specials included your beer, and those little frozen cream puffs.”

Beside you, Coco groans, deep and guttural. “Fuck, I love those things.”

You giggle, but keep reading. Your man is too damn cute. “Feminine products.”

“Do those count as special?” Coco genuinely sounds thoughtful, as he steps up behind you, where you are leaning over the counter top. He wraps his arms around your waist, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “Kinda’ a necessity, ain’t they?”

Tipping your head, you glance to your husband. Seriously. This man is a treasure. “Why don’t you run for political office?” you tease, pleased when Coco chuckles.

“Yeah, my record’ll look great, on the campaign trail.”

You shrug. “You can tackle pink tax, and tax evasion, at the same time.”

Coco grins, and steals a peck off your lips. “What else you got on there, muñeca?”

“Hmmm, let’s see…” You turn back to your list, tapping the pen against your lips, thoughtfully. Spying the next item on it, you try not to let out another giggle. He’s not going to like this one. “Letty asked if we could have that cauliflower pizza thing for dinner, tonight.”

As expected, this groan is decidedly not from food lust. “Fuckin’ vegetarians. When the hell is she gonna’ get over this shit?”

“It’s just a phase, Coco,” you remind him, for the… Well, honestly, you’ve lost track. It started shortly after the wedding, Letty’s change in diet, and you’re still not convinced the two aren’t related. You’re just not entirely sure how. But, two months in, and she’s still looking healthy, so you won’t send up any alarms. “It’s very popular at her high school, right now.”

Coco scoffs, disgusted. “When the hell’d she start copyin’ other people, anyway? My girl ain’t no follower.”

The words send a shot straight to your heart. He’s a little rough, your Coco, foul-mouthed, and quick to anger. Untrusting, and bitchier than a woman, on his best day. But, once you have his love, you have it. All of it. The love he has for Leticia is the greatest proof. They may carry on like cats and dogs, but when push comes to shove, there is nothing they won’t do for one another. My girl. It brings a warmth to your soul, and a smile to your lips.

You shake it off, enough to formulate a response. “She’s figuring out how to be her own woman. Trying new things.” You shrug, not wanting to make a big deal of it. You were Letty’s age, once, of course. And, a girl, to boot. Some things, Coco just won’t be able to understand. “It’s a process.” He hums, still disgruntled, but doesn’t push out another word. “You want anything else?” you ask, holding up your list. “I’ve gotta’ get going, before I run into the football widows.”

Before you can even take a step away, Coco tightens his arms around you. “You sure you gotta’ go, though?” he asks, leaning in to brush his lips against your neck. “With the house all to ourselves, like this?”

“If I don’t go,” you start, as Coco’s touches gain intent, becoming teasing kisses. Damn him. It feels nice, you won’t lie, but there are other things on your mind, right now. Priorities.

You’re just… having trouble remembering what they are.

Oh. Yeah. Shopping.

“If I don’t go, we won’t have anything for dinner.”

Another kiss, accompanied by a barely-there swipe of tongue. You shiver, and Coco moves his lips to your ear. “We can order in,” he whispers, breath so invitingly warm against your skin.

Oh, this asshole.

“And, what are we supposed to have for breakfast, tomorrow?” you try, again. “Half an Eggo, and a pack of Skittles?”

Coco cuddles you closer, again. “Ain’t you never heard about livin’ on love, baby?” Some of his smoothest work, that is. And, it’s almost convincing. Almost. You can imagine the afternoon ahead, if you give in. Your clothes will come off, and won’t be back on until the last second, before Letty walks back through the front door. By that time, you’ll be too tired to roll your ass off the bed, let alone go grocery shopping. And, you promised Letty you’d talk Coco into that cauliflower pizza.

“Great as that sounds,” you agree, preparing to capitalize on the truth. You ease yourself away from Coco’s stubborn hold, and give him one more smooch, just to soften the blow to come. “I don’t think Letty will appreciate the sentiment.”

A third groan. You must be going for a record. “C’mon, (y/n).” Oh, he’s whining. It’s so cute, it’s unreal. “We’ll find some place that delivers that rabbit food shit.”

Unfortunately for Coco, you’re already grabbing your bag. Lucky for you. You’re still two seconds from giving him what he wants. (He just doesn’t need to know so). “I’ll be back in a while.” God willing. “If you think of anything else, call my cell.” You rush out the front door, and don’t look back. If you see the look on your husband’s face, you know you’re as good as done.

*

Well, what the shit? Coco stares at the front door as it closes, you on the wrong fucking side of it. His arms are at his sides, palms turned toward the ceiling. That went so well. He kind of can’t believe you just walked away, like that. Left him alone, and wanting. In your big, empty house.

He probably should have volunteered to tag along, instead of just chasing you off.

Fuck.

Glancing around, Coco tries to find something to do. Something to clean, at the very least. But, that’s the trouble with having moved in with you, after the wedding, he supposes. Ain’t nothing to tidy up. Not that the three of you don’t have possessions. They’re all just in their proper places. Probably Leticia’s doing, in the end. He’d had a long talk with her, before the move, that she absolutely has to keep her shit where it belongs. Your house isn’t like their house. There aren’t burn marks in the carpet, or gouges in the coffee table. Dishes go in the damned dishwasher, not left to pile up on the counter, or in the sink. Beds get made. Laundry gets folded, and put away. No more wrinkled heaps in the clothes basket. So far, the kid’s been doing good. Real good.

Coco, though? He’s never felt so unnerved in his life.

It was different when he just visited. Spent a night or two, here or there. He’d almost felt at home, then, stupid as it sounds. At home, with the knowledge he wasn’t staying. But, now? Now, the reality has settled in, and he feels so-so… out of place. There’s so much he’s struggling to adjust to.

You have a purified water system installed under the sink, where Coco is used to buying bottled water.

You have a dining room, where Coco and Letty are used to eating on the couch.

You have an extended cable package, whatever the fuck that is.

You kind of have it all, here, certainly by comparison to what Coco is used to. The best of everything. Which really makes him wonder – not for the first time – what the hell you’re doing with a dirt-poor biker for a husband? You’ve had this conversation, on multiple occasions, and you’ve explained yourself, every time. But, this time… This time, you’re not around to give that speech. You’re not around to hold him, and kiss his face, and reassure him in a way that only you can. No, you’re at the grocery store, shopping for Coco, and his kid, which was apparently a better offer than staying home with him.

Oh, nope. Nope, he’s doing it, again. He can feel it. You love him, he reminds himself. You’ve got his ring on your finger, his last name, and – God-willing – his baby in your belly. By choice. All by choice.

Coco takes a deep breath, in. Lets it back out, slowly. Tries not to get sick, for all the nerves coming up to greet him. He wraps one arm around his own torso, free hand moving up to cover his mouth.

Fuck, he hopes you get back, soon.

*

You let out a deep sigh, as you park your car in the garage. Oh, it is so good to be home, at long-last. Talk about Old Home Week. You’d run into everyone, and his brother, at the grocery store. Shopping had taken nearly twice as long as you’d meant for it to, and you just know Coco must be losing his mind, by now. You hate to think about it, in such terms, but, sometimes… Well, sometimes, Coco reminds you of a new puppy. You can’t really leave him alone, without some kind of separation anxiety creeping up on him.

Ah, well. At least he isn’t ripping down the drapes, and shredding the couch cushions.

You blink. Well. That you know of.

Shaking your head, you climb out of the car, mentally preparing to unload armloads of bags. Maybe, if you really, really try, today will be the day you can finally get all twenty bags in, in one trip.

Right. And, shortly thereafter, you can have both forearms set, and casted. Be a real turn-on, in the bedroom.

You’ve managed to grab half a dozen bags, when the door to the mud room opens. “Hey, don’t grab too many!” Letty warns, as she comes hopping down the steps. “Let us help!”

Glancing up, you smile. For having had such a rough start, Letty can be a sweet girl. You know she gets that from her father. “Well, thank you,” you reply, resting a few, fabric handles onto her outstretched hands.

Letty grins, lowering her hands to her sides, before leaning in. “Did you talk him into it?” she whispers, conspiratorially.

You snicker, and whisper back, “He isn’t getting a choice. He’s outnumbered.”

“Yes!” Her hiss of victory is hardly subtle, catching Coco’s attention as he pokes his head out the door.

“You two plottin’ against me, again?”

“Yes,” you and Letty reply, in unison, leading you to erupt into a fit of giggles.

Coco is all grins. “’Course, you are.” He strides closer, he and Letty dancing around one another as she moves into the house. You lean into the car, and retrieve a few more bags. If Coco’s out here, he might as well assist. He’s peering into the car, once you stand back up, and lets out a low whistle. “Damn, (y/n)! You buy out the whole store, or what?”

“Hardly,” you reply, dryly. You hold up your hands, offering Coco the bags. “Here you go.”

“Oh, don’t mind if I do.” Thankfully, your hold on the bags is solid. Instead of grabbing the groceries, Coco’s hands are suddenly groping all over you. One hand is settled firmly at your ass, the other sliding into your hair, at the back of your head. He wastes no time diving in for a slow, deep kiss, and, damn, does his timing suck. He could have at least let you put the bags down, first. The contact makes you tingle, and has you regretting your decision not to stay home. Coco pulls back, after a few seconds, and hums. “Mm. Best delivery ever.”

You can’t help the small snort of amused laughter that leaves your throat. “Good try, Coco,” you praise, easing back far enough to offer him the bags, again. The look of disappointment on his face is just pitiful. “I’m not banging you in the garage.”

He has the grace to mock gasp. “I’d never!” It’s a crock, and you both know it. He looks too amused to be repentant, and you look too aware to be angry. You just raise your hands, slightly, in a third offer. Coco sighs. “All right. All right.” He takes the bags from your hands.

“Thank you.” You grab another load for yourself, rounding the open car door to follow Coco’s lead, into the house. One more trip for each of you, and you should have it covered. So much for only buying fifteen items.

Coco might be right about buying out the store.

*

Watching from the dining room, Coco has a good view of you and Letty unpacking the last of the groceries. Damn kid, she’d thrown him out, about ten minutes prior.

“Less groping, more helping, Coco,” Letty had warned him, after he’d tried to pin you against the sink.

It had been his last warning. Now, he’s been banished. Not the worst thing in the world, not really. Over the last few weeks, he’s really learned that there are some tasks he’s not so fond of. Pruning roses… Yeah, he’s pretty sure you’ll never let him do that, again. And, hey, nobody told him what to fill the bird feeder with. Unpacking groceries goes on that list, somewhere between line-drying laundry, and a streak-free mirror. He’s not sure why. Goodness knows, it makes him feel like a kid at Christmas, most times. Since being with you, though…

Since being with you, he feels like he’s taking advantage of something.

Yes, groceries are a strange place to let that feeling land, but he can’t help it. Coco’s been responsible for feeding himself since before he cares to remember. The only time anyone provided his meals was during deployment, and half that shit barely passed for edible. You, though… You keep the house stocked with more food than he’s seen anywhere, outside of a corner market. Letty always has options to take to school, and there’s a nutritious dinner on the table, almost every night. (Some nights, he actually does win the battle for delivery). If Coco goes on a run, you send him along with snacks for the road. And, yeah, he kinda’ likes that. He also likes the energy bars you picked out for him, last week. Something with cherries, and dark chocolate. He wonders, for a second, if you picked up any more. Come in handy during his mid-week trip outta’ town.

Coco blinks. Then, he does it again, just for good measure. That’s it. That’s what’s so fucking weird about this whole thing.

It’s you.

Okay, no, it’s not you, you. But, it’s you. It’s you, taking care of him. It’s you, seeing to his needs. Letty’s needs. It’s you, being his wife, his partner. It’s you, slotting into the place of role-model for his teenaged daughter. Welcoming them into your home. Not treating it like it’s your home. It’s you, being so fucking perfect for him, it’s taken his mind all this time to catch up with reality.

Coco doesn’t get perfect. Perfect doesn’t want him.

Except, now, it does.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Coco strides into the kitchen. He doesn’t wait for you to put the box of pasta in the cupboard. He just takes it from your hand, ignoring your confused look, as he tosses it onto the counter.

“Coco!” Letty admonishes, but it’s no use. He’s already lifting you off the floor, arms around your perfect backside. The kid gives a long-suffering sigh, he hears it, but pays it no mind.

Nothing – nothing – is going to keep him from holding you in his arms.

Your own arms go around Coco’s neck, and you smile down at him, surprise still lingering in your eyes. “Uhm… Hi, there.”

Coco grins. “Hey, muñeca.” Leaning up, he pecks you on the lips.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask, to which Coco shakes his head. Closes his eyes, as your fingers play in his hair.

“Nah. Got all I need.”

*

Pulling a package of mixed vegetables from the half-unpacked shopping bag, Letty rolls her eyes. You two… God, you’re gross. Coco always has his hands on you, no matter what you’re trying to do. It’s a wonder you don’t carry a damned fly swatter around. Actually, it’s a wonder you ever accomplish anything. He’s always smooching, and smiling, and snuggling at you. It’s disgusting. It’s pathetic.

It’s so damned cute, it’s sickening.

Really, Letty’s enjoying seeing Coco so happy. Like, genuinely happy. Not the false pride he carries around with his kutte. He’s more relaxed, nowadays. He drinks less, and he spends more time at home, both of which mean he’s not hanging around with those skanks at the clubhouse. He eats more, he’s healthier… Nothing to complain about, there.

And, hey, she has no complaints about you, either. You’re pretty cool, all-around. A woman who takes care of herself, and her family, and doesn’t bitch about either one. You’re not using Coco for money, or status, none of the shit she’s always been worried her father would fall into. There aren’t arguments, every night, not even between herself and Coco, as of late. No hostilities, nothing to avoid the house over. Just good dinners, and movies, and a new fish tank in her room. (Okay, so, you’d earned some major points with that birthday gift. She hadn’t actually expected to get one, when she’d mentioned it). For the first time, she understands what a peaceful, happy family feels like. It feels nice. It feels like home.

Glancing back to where Coco now has you perched on the counter top, stealing the most syrupy-sweet smooches… Letty can’t help but smile. Home is A-okay by her.

*

The sound of the air conditioner humming in the bedroom usually lulls you right to sleep. Tonight, it’s just providing you with white noise, a low background track to your thoughts. You don’t mind, not really. It gives you a few minutes to reflect on the day that’s just ended. To plan your day, tomorrow. To weave your fingers through Coco’s hair, and listen to him breathe. That, alone, makes it worthwhile.

Coco has been asleep against your shoulder for nearly an hour, now. Your arms are wrapped around him, comfortably, his own around your waist. You’d urged him up to bed, after he’d fallen asleep on the couch, his head in your lap. He’d snoozed from the middle of the movie, to the end of the nightly news report. Letty had tsked, and complained that no one had any business, whatsoever, in falling asleep during Zombieland. (How he’d stayed asleep was still a wonder to you, both, for how hard you’d been laughing at Tallahassee). With your fingers in his hair, Coco had been blissfully unaware for a couple of hours.

Glancing down, you take in the sight of your husband’s sleeping face. He looks so damn peaceful, the kind you’d outright murder to preserve for him. Coco’s still struggling with sleep, and relaxation, even though you’d hoped it would ease up, once your nuptials had passed. Most of it, you know will never go away. Anxiety doesn’t have a magic wand, or some perfect little on/off switch. And, all things considered, today wasn’t a terrible day. You’d been able to leave the house, with minimal panic on Coco’s part. Granted, it had taken extra time to get the groceries put away, and dinner made, but… You understand, as much as you are able to, that Coco needs the reassurances. It doesn’t cost you anything to carve a few moments from the day, every here and there, to give him what he needs.

Okay, so it did cost you that first batch of pancakes, this morning. They’d burned on the stove, and set off the smoke alarms, when he’d insisted on a dance through the living room. But, Coco loved the song you’d been playing on your Spotify, so there was really no denying him.

Oh, and… Yeah, you’d missed that phone call from the bank, the week before. Your husband had slipped up next to you, on the porch swing, and snuggled you to within an inch of your life. An easy fix, and you still got the business loan, but…

And, sure, you’ve been late to work, on numerous occasions. Coco has a habit of sneaking into your morning shower. And, after that… Well, hell, you own the company. It’s not like you have to explain to the boss that you’re late to your shift, on account of baby-dancing. (Fucking forums).

Point is, you’re more than happy to take care of Coco’s emotional needs. It may take you an extra hour to pay your bills. Daily tidying may have become every-other-day-if-you’re-lucky tidying. And, your ass may have gone numb, tonight, while he slept on your thigh. During which time, you could have loaded the dishwasher. Taken out the trash. Any number of tasks that have been neglected, in the name of Coco. They can wait.

Leaning in, you press a tender kiss to your husband’s forehead, before settling back in, and closing your eyes. Yes, chores can wait. Work can wait. The whole world can hold it, with both hands. So long as you’re around, Coco’s well-being will never have to take the back seat.

*

P.S. If Coco denies it, he’s full of it. He fucking loved that cauliflower pizza. Fucking vegetarians, indeed.

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[bookishofalder]

Pretty Girl

Pairing - Flip Zimmerman X Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, swearing, smoking, crime, (eventual) smut, racism (no slurs), sexism, general views/language of the time. 

A/N: Well, here’s the prologue to the multi-chapter fic I’m working on! I hope you enjoy, feedback welcome and appreciated, especially if you notice any over-description of the reader! This is a female reader based fic.

Flip Zimmerman sauntered into the Colorado Springs police department early Monday morning, his black hair in need of a trim, a bit of a shadow darkening his unshaven face. He’d had the previous week off, after wrapping up the Klan investigation with Jimmy and Ron. The chief had insisted they each take some time, and Flip ended up taking the whole week, though he knew his partner opted to simply take a day, and Ron only a few more than that. 

But Flip had needed the break-the case had exhausted him. It had drained him mentally to pretend to be one of the Klan, to agree with their views and utter slurs as if they rolled naturally off of his tongue. No, he had felt each moment with them chip away a little at his soul. So he took the time off; went fishing, watched television, did some work on his home, and spent some time with his family, who rarely got to see him. He didn’t live far from his parents, but with the hours he took on, it had been hard to visit often. They understood, but Flip knew his mother wished he would settle down, start a family of his own. She hated that he came home to an empty house, with no warm meal ready and waiting. Flip didn’t mind it so much, he was too busy at work to notice the void.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Flip wasn’t at his desk for more than twenty minutes before Jimmy came in, all smiles for Flip’s reappearance.

“Flip, welcome back kid.” Clapping his shoulder, Jimmy sank into his chair and fixed Flip with a knowing stare from across their desks. Flip frowned, wondering what had his friend in a chipper mood early on a Monday morning.

“Jimmy, the fuck are you staring at?” Flip grumbled though the threat in his voice was laced with affection for the man he’d called 'partner' for years now. 

More detectives and office workers began to filter in, coffees in hand, all greeting Flip with casual ease before they settled in and began their workdays. 

Jimmy shook his head, “Nothing, just glad to see your miserable face back, it’s been an interesting week.” The mischievous glint in his eyes said otherwise. 

Flip didn’t look up at Jimmy’s words, merely smirking in response. He noticed then a neat stack of files on the left-hand side of his desk. When he grabbed the first, curious, he saw it was a case file of his, only it had been organized, and some of the sections of the report had been filled out for him. He stared a moment, shocked, before glancing up at Jimmy-whole was, annoyingly, still watching Flip.

He held up the file, “You do this, Jimmy?” 

But he was shaking his head before Flip finished speaking, “Nah don’t like you enough.” He didn’t elaborate and Flip was too stubborn to press the issue. Whatever. 

Flip glanced at the other files and saw they were the same. Someone had taken his paperwork, organized it and fill in the sections that were mostly clerical information, before returning them to his desk for him to finalize and submit. He had come in early specifically to finish off these files, and now his two-hour backlog was reduced to maybe thirty minutes of work. Impressed, and grateful, he began to work through the stack with his notes. He wasn’t going to say it out loud, but the gesture-wherever it came from-was more than welcome. Paperwork was the least appealing part of this job.

At nine, the station was buzzing with activity normal for weekdays. Ron had greeted Flip warmly when he came in, advising him that Sergeant Trapp wanted to see them in his office in an hour, before moving to his desk and checking his messages. And while it felt like any other day in Colorado Springs, Flip, ever the detective, noticed the moment the atmosphere in the bullpen shifted. Every man in the room seemed far too damn chipper. 

He glanced up from proofreading his work to find many of his colleagues glancing toward the glass wall and doorway that led to the hallway, beyond which and out of sight, was the front lobby and administration desk. 

After a few moments, Flip turned his chair to face Ron, whose desk was behind his own, only to see his friend doing the same thing. He frowned, “The hell is everyone in a tizzy for, Rookie?”

Ron grinned, “Chief hired a new secretary for the front desk-“

“What, Donna finally got herself a helper?” Flip cut in, referring to the homely but overworked secretary that had been asking for a second in command for years, during which team the operation of the division had nearly doubled.

“Yep,” Ron nodded, “And Donna already looks like it’s made a world of difference for her, but wait until you meet, she’s incredible. Nicest lady I’ve ever met.” 

Flip rolled his eyes at this proclamation and spun back around, stacking his files together. He was glad to hear Donna had the help she needed now, it was a long time coming and would certainly make a difference for the entire station. Donna was like the mother hen, taking care of everything from coffee to endless paperwork, dealing with the public that came in, and everything else they could throw at her. She never complained, but always made the point of saying things would happen quicker if she were two people. He wondered what it would be like to have another Donna type woman in the office, but intended on giving it no further thought.

That is until he heard the distinct click of heels coming down the hallway, and glanced up, half interested, at the sound. 

He did a double-take when he saw her and felt himself freeze. Stunned into stillness, Flip immediately felt that Ron using the term ‘incredible’ to describe the new secretary was entirely understating this woman. Everyone’s heads in the room turned her way, and it wasn’t just anyone who could unknowingly conjure up that kind of reaction.

Dressed in a fashionably smart secretary dress, which was a shade of dark blue that perfectly accentuated her skin, the woman was breathtaking. Curvy, with long (Y/H/C) spilling down her back in soft waves, she wore kitten heels that gave her a small amount of extra height, yet she was still short. She walked with an air of peaceful grace, carrying a large basket in her arms. But it was her smile, dazzling and genuine, that captured his attention.

Flip had to shake his head slightly, dragging his eyes away from the beautiful creature dancing into the bullpen. He refocused on his files, hoping to look busy, all the while straining his ears to hear her speak.

“Happy Monday, boys.” She sang, and a chorus of good mornings and hello’s filled the air, “I hope you like banana bread because I’ve got two fresh loaves here, one plain and one with chocolate chips-Jimmy, I made that for you.” And Flip looked up in surprise in time to see her wink at Jimmy, who gave an appreciative laugh, then thanked her. 

She had set the basket down next to the water station, where there was a small foldout table set up. Sure enough, she pulled out two loaves of bread, already cut and laid out in smaller basket trays for them. She made quick work of setting out the loaves, plates and napkins before reaching into the basket, pulling something out she had wrapped in sandwich paper, and spinning around toward Flip.

He dropped his gaze before she noticed him, now making work of organizing his desk-why the hell was he suddenly so nervous? From behind him, Flip heard Ron give a small groan, “Tell me you didn’t.” But he sounded delighted.

“Ron, of course I did, don’t be so silly, it’s nothing.” This captured Flip’s attention entirely, and he gave up the pretence of tidying his desk to turn around and see what she had passed him. Inside the wrap was a slice of pineapple upside-down cake. Ron pinched a piece off with his fingers and tried it, giving an appreciative nod.

“That’s just like I remember, thank you.” He noticed Flip watching with a frown and grinned, “Oh, now, you two haven’t met yet, Flip’s just come back from vacation.” He clapped his hands together. 

Flip looked away from Ron and met the (y/e/c) eyes of the young woman standing a few feet away, who wasn’t much taller standing than Flip was seated. She reacted first, though Flip did notice her eyes widen slightly before she stepped forward, all smiles.

“Detective Zimmerman, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m (Y/F/N).” She stuck her hand out. Flip automatically grasped it, noticing how entirely tiny her hand was in his own. 

He tried to smile, “It’s nice to meet you, miss. Please, call me Flip.” She smiled at his words and Flip suddenly felt like his brain might be needing a jump start, as it was the prettiest smile he’d ever had directed at him. He felt warm and craved a cigarette. Or a cold shower. 

“Well, Flip, only if you call me (y/n).” 

Ron had watched the entire exchange with a shit-eating grin on his face, “(Y/N) here is an amazing baker, in addition to her many other skills that Donna can’t stop raving about, so before you know it, Zimmerman, you’ll be sporting a few extra pounds.” 

(Y/N) giggled. Truly giggled, and Flip found himself surveying her, trying to decide how old she was. She carried herself with a confidence and ease that seemed mature, yet she did appear youthful in many ways. “It’s what I’m known for, leaving heavyset men behind me everywhere I go.” She held up her hands, as if in defence of herself. 

Flip snorted, “And you take special requests?” He asked, nodding at the cake on Rons' desk.

“Oh, well that was actually what I baked for Sunday supper for my sister and me,” She leaned against Ron’s desk, her hands neatly folded in front of her, “And when I told Ron here what I was planning, he asked for a slice because I make it like his aunt used to.” She shrugged, giving Ron a friendly smile.

“It tastes exactly like hers, (Y/N), you’re the best.” 

“You two seem awfully, uh, close.” Flip remarked, and while Ron seemed unfazed and unbothered by the comment, he noticed that (Y/N) seemed to flinch slightly at the words, her smile disappearing. 

Flip knew he was a gruff, grumpy son of a bitch, but he was also always like that, and no one ever seemed to care. Now though, the tone and accusation that she might have assumed from his observation seemed to hit a nerve, and her demeanour shifted, embarrassed.

“Oh, yes, well Ron’s been a gem, being pretty new here himself. He’s helped show me the ropes,” She murmured, “I should get back to it-nice to meet you, Detective.” And she hurried away, still taking time to greet those she passed, before disappearing down the hall.

“Man, Zimmerman, you have a way with the ladies.” Ron deadpanned, shaking his head at Flip, who was staring toward the hallway feeling both annoyed and guilty. He glared at Ron, who was shaking his head, a hand clapped dramatically to his face, “A real Romeo.”

“Fuck off, Rookie,” He growled. A thought jumped at him then, “Wait, is she the one who did all this-‘ He gestured at his files ‘While I was off?”

Ron rolled his eyes now, “Of course she did-she helps everyone stay on top of paperwork. When I told her you were off last week, she made a point of getting you all caught up.” Again, Flip stared down the hall, his mind working. 

He just wasn’t very good at socializing, or making friends. He was gruff and sarcastic and his sheer size usually kept others at a distance. He had a hard time knowing the right thing to say, especially to someone as pretty and kind as (Y/N). He hadn’t thought his words would come out the way they did, sounding accusatory, and he wished he could take them back. 

- 

Over an hour later, Flip was still replaying the interaction in his mind, over and over. When he, Ron and Jimmy re-emerged from Sarge’s office, new assignments in hand, he had come to a decision. He had never been one to simply leave something unaddressed, not if it bothered him. And while he was certainly terrible at socializing, he would never stand for himself to be ungentlemanly. First impressions were important, and he intended to correct this one.

While Ron and Jimmy continued toward the bullpen, Flip turned right and stomped down the hallway, entirely missing his friends exchange a knowing look behind his back. As he approached the front desk, his eyes peeled looking for her (y/h/c) hair, he was surprised to notice how tidy and welcoming it now looked. 

(Y/N) had made quick work of reorganizing and decorating, which was probably why Donna was nowhere to be found, no doubt in the files room making work of the backlog she’d been complaining about for years. Flip figured she must be in the best mood of her life. 

The reception was empty, however, and Flip wondered where (Y/N) must be. He continued to march forward, considering if he should look around for her, or wait at the desk, when a door on his left, which led to the bathrooms, opened. Before Flip could stop, she was suddenly hurrying out of the doorway and slammed directly into his side, gasping in surprise.

Flip had just managed to turn his body slightly toward her before they collided, allowing his arms to shoot out and large hands to grab her shoulders as she bounced off of him and fell backwards. Steadying her, he peered, “Damn it, darling, I’m sorry-are you alright?” 

She was wide-eyed, her head tilted back to meet his eyes. He released her, taking a polite half step back. “I’m fine, goodness, I should apologize, I ran out of there like a bat out of hell.” Her hands moved to her waist, where her dress tie sat, and began to redo the knot absentmindedly. 

Flip raised a brow, “Something scare ya?” When her face flushed at his words, his eyes drank in the sight, heart rate speeding somewhat. He watching her curiously.

“I, um,” She sighed, her eyes closing briefly as if attempting to find the strength to speak, “It’s silly, I was washing my hands and noticed a big spider and I really, really hate spiders-I live alone and I can never kill them easily, I always get the broom so I can stay far back, so I thought I’d run out here and find a broom-“ Abruptly, she stopped speaking when Flip began to laugh, and after a moment of uncertainty, a smile spread across her face-dazzling white teeth on display.

“I can kill it for ya’, no need to resort to desperate measures,” He joked, happy to see his words cause her to giggle slightly, “But do me a favour?” He added, his expression becoming serious. 

(Y/N) glanced up at him curiously, “What’s that, detective?”

Flip took a breath, “Accept my apology, for earlier,” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, “I’m a grumpy S-O-B and my words came out harsher than I intended, I only meant to tease. I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair nervously as he spoke.

She seemed to consider his words for a moment, crossing her arms across her chest, a small smile on her pretty lips. Flip kept his eyes on her face, not wanting to be disrespectful by ogling her, but it was impossible not to notice the way her bust pressed out when her arms wrapped under them. He needed a cigarette. And probably a proper smack around the head. 

“Of course I accept, detective,” (Y/N) was smiling properly now, “Jimmy warned me you were a mean lumberjack-his word, not mine. I just-“ She paused, “Worried I’d given the wrong impression, is all. I’ve got a good work ethic and don’t want anyone thinking I’m silly or chatty over hardworking.” 

Flip was surprised at how serious her tone turned, her words heavy with concern. “You organized all my files for me, while I was off?” 

“Yes-why?” 

Flip laughed, “Darling, that knocked two hours of painful catch-up off my plate and we hadn’t even met before, I can already tell you’re impressive, so if anyone here ever tries to question that, you send them to me.” He huffed, glancing at the bathroom door, “I’ll go kill that monster in there for you.” 

She had flushed again at his words, something that sent a jolt of electricity through his core. Flip realized he was well and truly fucked for this woman, and he’d only known her an hour.

“Wait,” He paused at the door to the bathrooms, glancing back. She was giving him her best little grin now, “Thank you, Flip.” 

He merely nodded, before stepping through the doorway to kill the damned spider.

Although, he thought, maybe he should thank it instead.

Chapter 1

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

[lamelinam]

So I finally watched the last episode of Fruits Basket, because it's time to put to use the story's life lessons and accept that everything must come to an end...

I don't have a lot to say. Not much happens, it's mainly tidying all the storylines up. It was nice, I guess, not quite as transcendent as the end of episode 12, but this is par the manga materials.

So, thoughts about the changes from canon:

Akito's new look was even worse than I expected. (Pastel purple, really?)

I liked what they did with Kureno and Arisa. Since the timeline is messed up and the climax was so much earlier, it seems logical that Kureno settled up somewhere else and waited for Arisa. Long distance relationship suits them. It gives them a realistic edge until they can find each other again under the cherry trees. "Tororo soba ?" So cute.

So they tweaked Haru and Momiji's dialogue to bring up Shigure and Akito instead of Kyoru so that Rin could bounce up on this to have her moment. I'm so relieved they included her scene. Plus that Rin/Haru moment somewhat makes up for the other cut Rin/Haru scenes. Also, apparently Akigure is apparently the Sohma town talk. 🤣

I loved how Kyo took Tohru in his arms and told her that everyone loved her so much more than she thought... Her surprised look... She truly is precious.

I felt vindictively happy to see Hana and Kazuma's scene, because it was just so out of nowhere that 1) the anime could not have made it clearer that they had cut a lot. 2) I like that it could be anything. She is his cook, or it's a torrid love affair or instead she serves as his spy on Kyo at school.... We're free to imagine whatever we want. And whether platonic or romantic, the weirdness of this situation suits this weird pairing. I love seeing Kazuma and Hana interact. Their vibes are such opposite, and yet they bring the other's out so well. Kazuma is touched with Hana's strangeness while his smiling zen attitude is rubbing off on best goth girl Hana. In an ending so notoriously cleanly done, it was nice to see a question mark instead of a full final stop. FB characters' lives are bigger than what we'll know, and FB universe is richer and more interesting for it.

[theoreticslut]

First Christmases & Baking Cookies

pairing: george weasley x reader

requested: yes! ( @rip-us ) // prompt 4 & 41 from holiday prompt list

word count:1.5k

warnings: fluff

A/N: Hi! I really hope you like this <3 Ik its kinda short and i’m sorry. I still think its cute though so hopefully you guys do too?! if you’d like me to take another shot at it I’d be more than happy to. on other topics, thank you so much for requesting stuff! I am still taking requests for anyone that wants to ask for something! I am also doing a 300 follower sleepover so check that out!! I hope you all are still liking my writing; i haven’t posted much original work this week & honestly its solely due to college. I hate this semester so so so much, but i’m just trying to get to the end. anyways, i do have some works that i’m going to try to proof tonight and then queue them for the next week or two. Just bear with me please? i love you guys and hope you keep reading my stuff Xx 

Taglist: @justmesadgirl @xuckduck @yikesyikesyikes95 @filipi-yes @aestheticwh0r3 @siredkai @matsuno-nadeshiko @msmarklee1213 @immajustreadwritereblog @msmimimerton @lauren2408 @mischievous-queen @bunnyboo7 @grandeoptimist @kaitlynw011 @daddystevee @slytherinxhunter

^ let me know if you’d like to be added / removed

George sighs, a smile falling on his lips as he walks into your shared apartment. You must have been baking all day while he was at the shop, but he can’t place what exactly. It’s honestly a mix of so many different scents, but to him it smells like home. It smells comfortable.

“Such a happy girl, huh sweetheart?” He hears your voice ring out from the living room, followed by your daughter’s giggles and happy coos.

He can’t help, but let his smile grow. You and your guys’ daughter are the light of his life. It doesn’t matter how terrible his day, the second he can see you two, or even just hear you, he knows that everything will be okay.

Taking off his hat and coat, he hangs them up on the hook beside the door before making his way to the living room where he finds you laying on your side as you tickle your daughter’s stomach while she’s laying on her back on the floor.

“How are my girls doing today?” George asks, smiling down at the two of you.

“Hey, Georgie.” You smile.

“Look who’s home, sweetheart. It’s daddy.”

You smile at your daughters happy giggling as you push yourself up to a sitting position. Carefully you stand up, picking up your daughter once you do.

“How was your day, love?” You ask George as you lean up to kiss him as you hold your daughter against your hip.

“Busy; We had a lot of people come to the store today. It wasn’t bad though.” He smiles, holding you in his one arm while he uses his other to get the attention of your daughter.

“It’s always better coming home to you and mummy though, innit, princess? Daddy loves coming home and seeing his girls.”

You smile as your daughter screeches happily at her father, holding her hands out to him trying to climb into his arms.

He chuckles and grabs her from your arms just as a timer goes off in the kitchen. George looks at you confused as you smile.

You absolutely loved baking during the holidays, mainly because you remember your mum baking a lot every Christmas. You swore she’d make nearly every kind of cookie under the sun. Your favourite, however, were simple frosted sugar cookies. You absolutely loved getting to decorate them....and then eating them.

While you were at hogwarts you didn’t get to bake much, if at all, and it was more than a little upsetting. Baking reminded you of home, so eventually - after getting homesick enough times - you snuck down to the kitchens and asked the house elves if it would be okay for you to bake some cookies. They didn’t mind at all. In fact, you’re pretty sure they loved having someone else there with them.

You and George had actually started dating awhile after he found you baking one weekend in third year. Sure you guys had sort of been friends beforehand, but you got really close after he had joined you that day and you gave him half of the batch of cookies.

After you had started dating, George would join you when you’d go down to the kitchens and you two always had a lot of fun. The first few times you really had to show him what to do, but he eventually figured it out. You two would spend hours making batch after batch of three or four different kinds of cookies.

It’s safe to say his mum was more than surprised when she caught you and him making cookies when you were invited to the burrow the first time over Christmas break in your fourth year. She honestly didn’t know that her son liked to bake, let alone knew how to.

“Are you baking, darling? It smelled delightful in here when I came through the door.” George asks, smiling.

“I am. Made a bunch of sweets for us and the family.” You smile, walking to the kitchen as your husband follows you, your daughter grabbing at his mouth as he playfully tries to eat her hands, drawing more and more giggles from her little body.

“I hope you made a basket just for Ron.” He jokes, tickling gemma’s sides.

You smile as you set a tin in front of him complete with Ron’s name. You had already thought about it and decided it was the best option.

“You didn’t.” George chuckles, breaking out into a grin at your thoughtfulness.

“I did, hun.” You smile, turning away to pull the cookies that were in the oven out.

“I figured since hermione said she only got one or two cookies from the box last year that I’d make them each a separate one this year.” You giggle.

You daughter screeches as her father stopped giving her attention and you chuckle.

“I know, Gemma. Mummy took daddy’s attention, didn’t I?” You giggle, tickling her belly as she smiles, giggling at you.

George chuckles, kissing his daughters head before grabbing your other hand and squeezing it.

You smile at him, squeezing his hand back as you place a quick kiss to his lips.

“Is there anything Gemma and I can help you with, darling?” he asks when you pull away, a small smile on each of your faces as you rest your forehead against his.

One of George’s favourite things to do with you was bake. He loved watching you so focused on your task yet at the same time being able to joke around and look so carefree. He honestly loved having you show him what he needed to do to make good cookies or a cake, and he loved even more when you would praise him when he did something right. It truly warmed his heart when you smiled at him after he had helped you mix the batter or add in ingredients.

Gemma coos when she heard her name and you chuckle, smiling at her as George talks to her.

“That’s right, Gemma. Daddy said your name. Do you wanna help mummy and daddy bake?”

She coos again, giggling and clapping lightly.

“Well, darling?” George asks, looking at you with a smile in his eyes.

“I do want to make a few more cookies.” You admit, giving him a small smile.

“Why don’t you grab the flour for me while I get Gemma in her seat.”

He nods smiling at you as Gemma happily goes to you, reaching for the few strands of hair that hang near your face from your bun.

“Be nice, gemma.” You warn as she tugs on your hair, George chuckling to himself at the pureness of the moment.

He knew you were more than excited to be able to teach Gemma how to bake when she got older. In all honesty, he was excited too. He loved the image of you and him with three little girls baking every Christmas; the girls making a mess, but neither you or him getting upset. Instead you two would help them make even more of a mess and then you’d spend the night cleaning together before sitting down to watch a movie as the kids fall asleep laying across the two of you.

You get Gemma in her high chair, kissing her head as you set some of her toys in the tray. As much as you’d love to get her in with baking, you knew she wouldn’t quite understand it yet. You thought it best if you just gave her a small bowl of flour and water later on for her to mix. 

“Here you are, darling. One bag of flour.” George smiles, setting the bag down just hard enough to create a cloud of flour that covers his face and top of his shirt.

“Oh, George.” You frown, trying to hold back your chuckles and smile as you dust off his shirt.

He pouts, wiping at his face as you can’t help but let out a few giggles. he looks so offended even though he’s the one that caused this.

“I guess I should check to make sure the bag is closed tight, huh?” He chuckles, pulling you into a hug as he wipes his face on your shoulder.

“Georgie!” You giggle, not believing he just did that.

“Sharing is caring, darling.” He smirks as you look at the white powder covering your one shoulder.

“You’re lucky I love you.” You tease, working on getting the rest of the ingredients together.

~.~

“Careful, princess. Those cookies are warm.” George says as your daughter reaches for the plate of freshly baked and frosted sugar cookies.

You smile, watching as your husband helps your daughter get a nice warm, covered-in-frosting cookie. Already she’s making a mess out of it, crumbs and frosting sticking to her cheeks and getting all over the counter where she’s sitting.

“They turned out amazing, darling. Seriously, come try one.” George urges, waving you over from your spot in the living room. In the process of cleaning the kitchen after baking, you had tidied up the living room where you took a seat when you were done.

“Open your mouth, darling.”

You chuckle but do as George asks, smiling a bit as he feeds you some cookie.

“Ooh, they did turn out good this time, didn’t they?” You mumble through the cookie, savoring the taste.

George chuckles, kissing your forehead as you grab another cookie from the plate.

“They’re always good, darling. I think you make cookies better than Mum, but don’t tell her I said that.” He giggles, smiling at you as he wipes at his daughter’s face as she shoves more cookie into her mouth.

“Don’t worry, Georgie. I’d never tell.” You smile, placing a kiss on his lips.

This Christmas couldn’t have been anymore perfect, not when it’s your daughter’s first Christmas and you get to share it with George yet again. You could never tire from spending the holidays with your family.

[soapoperabub]

Regrets

( Draco Malfoy x Reader )

Warnings: angst, heartbreak, cheating, swearing

"Sometimes it's not the butterflies that tell you you're in love, but the pain."

It's been a full year now since I graduated Hogwarts. I didn't really think my experience there was going to be full of drama. Yeah, I expected chaos, but not that kind. You can tell Hogwarts really made an impact in my life, considering how I'm still thinking about my time there a year later.

But let's think about something else. That's why I'm here. In a place filled with...humans. I'm still getting used to it. If I could, I would've obliviated some idiot drivers near here.

I looked outside from the small café porch and sighed. It's been so quiet these days that I almost miss the chaos. Almost. It still caused me trauma.

Wanting to clear my thoughts a little, I exited the café and went on a little stroll around the neighborhood. There were people carrying newspapers and baskets of bread. Stealing them was tempting, but I didn’t have my wand.

"To hell with you!"

I turned to my right and spotted two grown men bickering in an alley and newspapers on the floor. I shook my head and was about to leave when the other guy spoke.

"Look, I'll buy you some new ones, alright?"

My legs froze. It almost seemed too familiar for me. I turned back to my right, hoping I just heard wrong. But I didn't. Why is he here?

"Draco..?"

Our eyes met. Shit. Hoping he didn't have time to recognise me, I turned my head away and started walking in a fast pace towards my apartment.

"Y/N,"

Shit. Shit. Shit. Almost jogging now, I quickened my pace but why would I bother, when I know just how stubborn he can be.

"Y/N, is that you?" he tugged on my sleeve with a little force, causing me to stop in my tracks. I wouldn't turn around, so he stepped in front of me instead. His grey eyes played the moments we shared back in Hogwarts like a record. I drifted my gaze away, if I get reminded of them, it'll just be harder to leave.

----

*flashback*

I sat on my bed with my legs crossed, waiting for Draco to open the door to the dorm as he promised to meet me here. He's already 15 minutes late. Giving up, I threw my phone on the nightstand and was about to get myself tucked in bed when the door opened.

"Sorry, Stupid Potter got in my way back there."

Shooting myself back up to sit down, I glared at him. "I waited 15 minutes, Draco. Fifteen."

He just smiled in reply and sat down beside me with an arm over my shoulder. "I know, and I'm sorry." Looking at him, I couldn't possibly stay mad at his adorable smile. Knowing he probably never says sorry to anyone else at campus except me, I decided to forgive him.

"Alright, so where are we going tonight? Star-gazing? A walk around the town? Oh, can we please sneak into that new shop that sells exploding bon bons?" His eyes started to soften, almost sad-looking. "I can't stay for long. My father is expecting me. He arranged a.. meeting with someone."

"Oh," I knew how strict his father was. I also knew how much he feared him, so I didn't have the right to blame him. "It's okay, we can always go next time." I plastered on a forced smile, hoping he wouldn't notice.

Almost every night, we sneak out of campus and walked around town. Last year on this very day was when we officially started dating, but he didn't even mention it today. 'He's going through something with his dad.' I thought to myself.

"I'm sorry, I really am." Without even hesitating, he stood up and walked out the door.

The next few days, I barely even got to see him. He's been.. distant. I would see him in the hallways every so often, but when I call out to him, he leaves. Did something bad happen with his father? Why isn't he telling me about it? He normally does. We don't keep secrets because we feel like it'll drift us further apart. Today, I want to confront to him about it. I need to. I can't keep living every day like nothing ever happened.

I took a deep breath before heading towards his dorm. Crabbe told me he's not attending Dark Art's lessons today, and that he'll be in their dorm. Gathering all my courage, I lifted my hand to knock when I heard a girl's voice coming from inside.

"You have no idea how honored I was when I found out I had been given Lucius's blessing."

"He just knows how much I love you. That's probably why." Draco? No. Surely I heard wrong.

"Oh, Draco." The courage I mustered up before, acted on it's own, and now I'm watching another woman in the arms of the only person I have ever given my heart to. I couldn't move a single inch, my brain was still processing what I've just seen and the tears were piling up in my eyes. I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out. "Y/N," I looked back up at him. He pulled away from her, but just stood there.

"Oh, is that one of your friends? Hi, I'm Astoria. Astoria Greengrass." She smiled at me. I didn't know who to despise. Her or the foolishness of my actions.

"Y/N, I can explain." I couldn't even look his way because I knew if I did, the tears I've been holding back would escape. I didn't want to look weak. Not in front of her. Not in front of him. I didn't want him to know he hurt me. I didn't want him to look at me like I was a poor child who lost something so precious. "Y/N, look at me." He started walking towards me and I took a few steps backwards.

"Explain? Explain what, Draco? What is there to explain? How her presence is better than mine? Oh, I know. How consoling her hugs are, perhaps?"

"Y/N, if you would just listen to me-"

"Draco, what's going on--" Astoria spoke up. "Please, Astoria this is my problem to fix. Get out." This was the first time I've heard him raise his voice like that. Even I winced at the harshness of his words. She left, hitting her shoulder with mine.

"Y/N.. I know it looks bad. But you've got to believe me, my dad. He-"

"Blaming the father again, are we? Please, Draco. I've seen the way you were holding her. I've heard the words you tell her. You can't tell me it was all an act. Acting doesn't look that real." You could hear the cracks in my voice.

Silence. There was no reply. He didn't say anything. Does that mean what I said was true? Did he truly love her?

"Come on, then. Tell me it's not true. Tell me everything you told her was a lie. Even if it was your father's doing, can you really leave her and come to me?" Unable to hold back, my lower eyelashes were drenched and so were my cheeks.

"I'm so sorry.. I'm sorry, Y/N."

That was all I needed. Ripping my gaze away from his sorrowful eyes, I turned around and walked away.

*end of flashback*

---

I found myself in the same café I was in earlier this morning, but with the person I wished I had forgotten sitting before me.

He never took his eyes off me since we entered the café, and I started to feel uncomfortable. "I've missed you."

"Save it. I really don't wanna hear it right now. Get to the point. What do you want?" His eyes now left mine and wandered the cafe's interior. "How long have you been here? Is the food nice? Can't be better than those exploding bon bons though, right?" I stared at him in disbelief. "Exploding bon bons? You mean the ones we were gonna get but didn't, because you ditched me for.. what was her name, Astoria?"

"Y/N-"

"Is that why you wanted to talk to me? To remind me we had a fucked-up past?" The audacity of this man caused me to cross my arms and furrow my eyebrows. "Y/N, I told you it was my fath-"

"Shut up." I was sick and tired of his talks about his father. It's always his father. His source of excuses was his father and I knew that better than anyone.

Another pause of silence. Fed up, I picked up my jacket from the chair and walked out to leave-

"I left her."

My body involuntarily froze.

"I left her because of you. Because whenever I'm with her, I get reminded of the moments we shared. And I miss them. I miss you." I turned over to look at him.

"What do you want me to do? Thank you? Apolagise? Draco, do you have any idea what you even did?" I started getting more and more annoyed as he kept going.

"Yes. Yes, I know. And I'm not asking for you to thank me or apolagise. Just.. just give me another chance." His words almost made me scoff.

"You-"

"I won't ask for anything more.  All I'm asking for is for you to at least forgive me. I was a child. I didn't know anything. I fucked up, I know that now and I promise I changed. Just please.. If I'm gonna lose someone, I can't let it be you."

There was truth in his words and I wanted to believe him. His words lured me in. I was helpless at this point.

"Whatever." I tried hiding the smile that grew on my face but I'm sure he noticed.

He gave me a big smile like a little kid who has just seen a basket of chocolate. "Thank you."

A few months passed and we would meet everyday. I've always known I still had lingering feelings for him, however I didn't want to believe I loved someone who thought so little of me.

We weren't dating, I couldn't let him get away with it so easily. But I started to think that he changed, and I meant more to him than anyone else in the world, so I decided to ask him today. I trusted him, and he probably does too.

We were supposed to meet at mine today, but I had to go out and get some groceries so I gave him the keys and told him to wait for me there. On my way back, I picked out some bon bons to surprise him with. I didn't like how something only ever reminded me of bad times. I wanted to replace the negativity with positivity.

Taking my heels off and tidying myself before the big moment, I twisted the doorknob but my actions came into a halt when I heard.. Lucius?

"She is not worth your time. I told you once, and I'll tell you for the last time. You are to be with Astoria." His words were sharp and stern.

"Father, I told you,  I'm in love with-"

"Silence."

The room was quiet.

"I have already set the time and place of your proposal. Make it run smoothly."

My heart sank. Proposal?

With that, the door opened and I stood there, hopelessly, like a lost child. Lucius ignored my presence and walked out while Draco just looked at me, his eyebrows furrowed and his breathing was unsteady.

"Draco.." Neither of us knew what to say because we knew we were powerless. There wasn't a single thing either of us could do to make this situation any better.

"I'm sorry, Y/N." Why is it that all I ever hear him say is sorry? Why is our relationship full of reasons to be sorry for?

He was about to walk out but I held onto his wrist, stopping him from leaving. I didn't want it to end there. I didn't want 'us' to end there. I've been hurt this way before and I didn't want it to happen again.

"You told me you changed," Deep inside, I wished he would answer the way I wanted him to, but of course that won't happen.

"I guess I haven't." Why does he always make me feel powerless? Why does he always make me feel weak?

Slowly releasing my hand away from his wrist, he gave me one last smile before leaving.

I was left with so many questions. What would have happened if I wasn't so harsh on him? Were we bound to be separated from the very beginning? Did I meet him again just to feel the same pain I did back then? Was this all just to remind me that I'm not worthy of him? That I'm not worthy of love?

What about us? Was there even an 'us' to begin with?

A/N: I wasn’t so confident about this story but I mustered up the courage to post it. If there’s something you see that needs improvement, please tell me :) I need honest feedback.