Summary: Y/N gets tired of waiting around for Dean when he shows up unexpectedly
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Word Count: 1029
A/N: This is definitely a day late but hopefully not a dollar short! This is written for @impalaimagining 1k celebration! The fic is based off of the song I Know You Won’t by Carrie Underwood. Thanks @megansescape for the beta!
It was late at night and your house was quiet, any noise made would echo through the empty halls. You had taken everything and packed it away. You only had one box left to take to your car, but you would do that in the morning. You had one foot on the stairs, ready for bed, when you heard that familiar knock at your door. It was hard, but not angry, you knew the person on the other side of the door just couldn’t wait to get in. There was only one person who would knock like that, Dean Winchester. You froze in place, unsure if you were going to open the door or not. You hadn’t seen him in four months and you hadn’t talked to him in two. The last time he contacted you was when he sent a picture of Sam’s arm asking if it needed stitches. Since you worked as a vet, you were always able to stitch whatever wound Dean appeared at your door with or give him substantial medical advice.
You made your way to the door expecting to see Dean, beaten and cut up, but to your surprise, he was fully intact. “Dean? What are you-”
Before you could finish, he engulfed you in a hug. “I’ve missed you so much, baby.”
If Sam could recount all the things that you were to him, he would, but that was nearly impossible as you were so many, many things to him. As he laid on his side, your warm body softly nestled into the curve of his and his finger trailing lightly on your arm, he saw all the things you were, the sum of which was love, and that love came in many forms over the years.
A day late (well, two) and a dollar short, but finally managed something for omgcp 14 days of love :)
Dex was trying to ignore the buzzing of his phone. Obviously something was going on in the group chat, but he had a huge project due in two days and couldn’t afford any distractions. His phone kept vibrating - Holster had probably found a new meme he had to share or something - and he threw it on to his bed where at least the buzzing would be muffled. It worked for about 2 minutes, until his phone rang. Grumbling, he rolled his chair over to the bed and picked it up. He frowned when he saw Bitty’s name.
“Bitty? Listen, if it’s Betsy, I’m really busy right now, can I come -”
“Dex. You need to come to the haus right now. It’s Nursey.” Bitty’s voice was firm.
“Is he okay?” Dex bolted out of his chair and shoved his shoes on, halfway out the door before Bitty could answer.
“He’s -” Yelling in the background cut him off.
“Bitty! Bits! Eric! Where did you goooooooooo?”
“I’ll explain when you get here, okay Dex? He’s not injured, but I need help.”
“Already halfway there Bitty, don’t worry.” Dex hung up and started to run in the direction of the Haus.
When he arrived at the Haus, he could hear Bitty in the kitchen and what sounded like Nursey and Chow somewhere in the area of the living room. “Bitty?”
“Dex, thank goodness.” Bitty popped his head out of the kitchen. “Come here.”
“What’s going on?” Dex asked warily.
“Just look.” Bitty walked him through to the living where, sure enough, he had heard Nursey and Chowder. Nursey was sprawled on the floor, Chowder on top of Nursey, trying to hold him in place. His arms and legs were flailing all over the place, and Chowder looked like he was having trouble keeping the limbs away from him.
“What.” Dex said flatly.
“Oh hey Dex,” Nursey said, his voice completely normal until he caught sight of Bitty. “Bitty! Eric! Why do you keep leeeeeaving meeeeee? Tell Chow to get off! Bittyyyyyyyyyy! Save me, you beautiful man! I’ll do all your dishes for the rest of my life, I’ll buy you all the good butter, pleeeeeeaaaaaseeeeee.”
“What.” Dex repeated. Chow had been silent through most of this, but finally managed to clap a hand over Nursey’s mouth and silence some of the noise.
“Bitty! Kitchen! Now! Explain there!” Chowder hissed, rearranging himself to pin down Nursey’s flailing left arm.
Bitty hustled Dex back into the kitchen, where Dex stared at him while Bitty stirred something on the stove.
“What did I just see?”
“Did you give Nursey a box of chocolates today?” Bitty asked, ignoring the question.
“Uh no, Nurse hates chocolate for his birthday.” Dex scoffed. “Wait, why? What’s going on?”
“Someone left him this box of chocolates,” Bitty pushed the box towards him - Dex hadn’t even noticed it on the counter - and continued, “He brought them here and ate a few and then…” he shrugged.
“Bitty, that sounds like a love potion.” Dex said. Bitty nodded. “Bitty, Derek’s an elf. He’s immune.”
“That’s what I thought too,” Bitty said, his nose wrinkling. “But they used unicorn blood.”
Dex sniffed at the chocolates, recoiling when he smelled the same thing Bitty had. “And you asked me if I gave them to him!?”
“I asked Chowder too,” Bitty said. “Because when a love potion is made with unicorn blood, it doesn’t have any effect any on people the user already has feelings for, and he said he had one before he saw you this morning and that didn’t have any effect. And there wasn’t any effect when he saw Chowder.” He glanced at Dex, whose ears were slowly turning red. “Anyways, I thought it might have been a prank, and you just didn’t realize they were made with unicorn blood - I don’t think you would have been able to smell it through the packaging, it’s pretty faint.”
“So how do we fix it? Just wait for it to wear off or…?”
“Please, no.” Bitty scoffed. “We all have things to do today and I can’t expect Chowder to keep sitting on him. The antidote is almost done.” He gestured towards the stove. “I just need you two to keep Nursey occupied. And he might want a friendly face around afterwards, love potions can be kind of embarrassing.”
“Most people don’t find my face friendly,” Dex told Bitty, smiling so his fangs showed.
“You know what I mean,” Bitty said, rolling his eyes. “Now go help Chowder with Nursey while I finish this. It should only be a few more minutes.”
Dex nods at Bitty, watching him flick the wooden spoon into a slow stir before he turns back to his potion book, the pages flipping in front of him while he looks between that and his phone, probably texting Jack about the whole silly situation. Reassured that Bitty had everything under control, he headed back to the living room.
Nursey has calmed down, though he’s not sure if it’s because Bitty is out of sight or because Chow is sprawled out on top of him, licking his paw.
“Really Chow? A lion? What if one of the frogs walks in here, you’re going to give them a heart attack.”
Chowder blinks slowly at him, then goes back to licking his paw as if to say “whatever”.
Dex plops down next to Nursey, who smiles up at him.
“Hey Nursey, you got yourself into some trouble huh?” Dex poked the other boy’s cheek.
“It wasn’t on purpose,” Nursey pouted. “I thought the chocolates were from you.”
“You hate chocolates on your birthday,” Dex pointed out.
“Yes but I like chocolate in general, so…” Nursey tried to shrug, but had a hard time considering he was pinned to the living room floor by a Chow-lion.
“You’re an idiot,” Dex told him. “Come on, let’s get you on the couch while we wait.”
“What are we waiting for, is Bitty coming back?”
“Oh my god,” Dex didn’t know whether he wanted to slap Nursey or feel bad for him.
Dex and Chowder managed to get Nursey to the couch, where Dex sits on his legs and Chow, now a lynx, curls up on his chest while they wait. Dex flicked idly through the channels before settling on ESPN. They made it halfway through a Top 10 Countdown before Dex’s phone vibrated.
“Be cool Sodapop, lover boy is coming,” Dex told Nursey. Chowder shifted back and grabbed Nursey’s arms before he could flail himself off the couch.
“Dex, why would you tell him that? He’s yours for the rest of the night, I swear.”
Bitty poked his head into the living room. “Safe to come in?”
“Yeah, we got him,” Chow said, talking over Nursey’s whining, “Come on in.”
Bitty brought a glass of green liquid with him and held it out to Nursey. “Hey Derek, this is for you.”
“Aw Bitty, you made me a drink! Thank you!!” Nursey took it without hesitation and gulped it down, nearly choking on the last sip as he realized how terrible it tasted. “Are you trying to poison me!?”
“That’s an antidote, actually,” Chowder told him as Nursey’s face turned slightly green. “You ate chocolates dosed with a love potion that actually works on elves.”
“And then you fell in love with Bitty,” Dex told him gleefully.
“At least he would cook for me,” Nursey stuck his tongue out. “Wait, why Bitty and not you?”
“That potion only works on people you don’t already have feelings for,” Bitty told him, glancing quickly at Chowder and then Dex.
“Uh, speaking of that,” Chowder said quietly, “I think we have something we should tell you.”
(or: kylo ren is the little spoon, and here’s why. a day late and a dollar short for this pairing’s first anniversary.)
“argh. kriff, ren.”
it’s the third time tonight hux has been woken up by the back of a hand to the the side of his head, and he rolls over irritably, his eye nearly being taken out by ren’s nose in the process. the knight has taken to sleeping in his quarters - he can’t afford to let himself think of why he allows this, except for that ren sleeps better this way, and when ren is functioning on more sleep, the entire ship is thankful for it. ren is less of an imposition than hux thought he might be - usually, he quiets down quickly enough, sandwiched between hux and the wall in the standard issue first order cot that was only ever meant to fit one man, but tonight is different.
hux had been dead on his feet at the end of his shift and by the time ren had appeared in hux’s quarters, freshly showered and spectacularly bruised from training, hair pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of his neck, hux had already been curled into the space next to the wall that was unofficially ren’s.
Not the same time of day:
The light is early morning or late afternoon in Sam’s pic and midday in MM’s. the slant in MM’s pic is due to the fat northern latitude in winter.
Not the same day either:
Noice the different amount of snow underfoot in each picture. The snow is thin in Sam’s pic with places of ground and rock peeking through in places. The snow is much deeper the day of MM’s visit, even with deep footprints and plenty of evidence of much foot traffic to the area there is no ground visible.
Maybe not even the same year:
The snow was much deeper last year on the upper slopes during her visit, and her hat and coat match the outfit she wore on her visit last year too.
Sorry, that’s a least a day late and a dollar short for convincing me of a romantic visit to this mountain top with Sam…
As usual, I’m a day late and a dollar short!. Here’s a little Steggy drabble about Halloween. All you need to know is that Peggy’s been brought from the past to be with Steve. They’re married, and Halloween is approaching. Hope you enjoy it!
A Happy Halloween
On a fine Saturday morning in early fall, Peggy and Steve had just managed to cook themselves a very respectable, and even partially decadent hot breakfast. They had used a truly astonishing number of pans, bowls, and utensils, which were now scattered about the sunny kitchen as they sat down to enjoy the results. Peggy started to open a pile of yesterday’s mail methodically with a letter opener. “Peg, you should eat your breakfast while it’s hot. We have all day to go through the mail,” Steve chided.
“I will, darling,” she answered, taking a bite of her eggs. Steve had started to read the front page of the newspaper. His hair was still mussed from sleep, and when she looked across the table at him, she brushed her bare foot across his under the table. He looked up at her, a smile spreading across his face. Peggy sighed softly; she wondered if his smile would ever fail to make her melt.
As she sorted through the mail, a thick black envelope caught her eye, addressed to “Captain and Mrs. Rogers,” in a florid gold calligraphic script.
“It looks like we’ve been invited to a Halloween party,” Peggy said, as she looked at the contents of the envelope.
“Whose party is it?” Steve said, barely looking up from the newspaper.
“Tony’s. It sounds like fun.”
“You’re not seriously thinking of going.”
“Now that I’ve gotten my footing a bit in the 21st century, don’t you think a party would be fun? I haven’t been to a real party in ages, at least not one that I really enjoyed, since before WWII, in fact.”
“I don’t think you want to start with one of Tony’s parties. They’re a little bit–or a lot–over the top. Hasn’t Natasha ever told you about the one where he showed her how to shoot his palm gauntlets and basically destroyed his own house?”
“I don’t know, that sounds like a memorable party.”
Their conversation wandered to other topics as they enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. Steve had cleared the table, and Peggy was filling the sink with water when his attention returned to the invitation again. He picked it up and glanced at it. “You didn’t say that this was a costume party.”
“Oh, did I forget to mention that?”
“Yes. And I’m not dressing up.”
“But it says there’s no admittance without a costume. They won’t let you in.”
“I’d like to see anyone try to keep me out of somewhere I want to go. You’re not really going to dress up, are you?”
“Unlike you, I respect traditions, even when they’re not my own. If it says fancy dress, then fancy dress it is.”
“Actually I don’t see the words ‘fancy dress’ anywhere on here,” he quipped, setting the invitation back down on the pile of mail and wrapping his arms around her waist.
“Very funny. You know what I mean.”
“So what would you dress up as?”
“Didn’t you read the fine print? It said to come as your favorite hero. I was thinking of asking Natasha to lend me one of her outfits, but it would probably be too tight on me. What do you think?” she asked innocently.
“I think that if you put on a skintight leather jumpsuit,” he said, kissing her neck, “we’ll never make it out to any party.”
“Oh Captain Rogers, what are you implying?” she teased, easing slightly away from him long enough to untie her robe, then touching her body to his, her hips pressed hard against him.
He didn’t answer her question as his mouth was otherwise occupied. She hooked a leg around his waist, and he immediately read her intention, and slid his hands along her thighs and under her to support her weight. She gave a little shriek of delight as he lifted her easily off the ground. She wrapped her other leg around him and he carried her back to the bedroom that they had left scarcely an hour before.
Peggy RSVP'ed yes to the invitation, much to Steve’s dismay and Tony’s delight. Over the course of the next several weeks, every time the topic of the party came up, he asked her what she was going to dress up as, and every time she gave him a different answer. She said she was going to borrow some of Barton’s arrows, or Sam’s wings, or that Tony had an extra suit he didn’t need. At one point she asked him some very specific details about his “star-spangled man with a plan” USO uniform, although he was pretty sure she was just trying to scare him. She wouldn’t do something like that, would she? Just to be on the safe side, he had refused to answer.
Steve continued to insist that he wasn’t going to dress up at all.
In addition to their home in Brooklyn, Peggy and Steve had quarters at the Avengers tower for those times when work, a crisis, or just Tony Stark kept them at work late, which was often. The night of the party, Peggy had insisted on meeting Steve there after work, saying that she had a few things to take care of for her costume. “I’ll see you there at eight, darling, and don’t be late,” she said with a wink.
He opened the door of the apartment a few minutes before eight, feeling a little sick to his stomach. Although he had said repeatedly that he was not coming in costume, he had not entirely been telling the truth. It wasn’t a costume, exactly. But once the idea had occurred to him, he couldn’t let it go. He wasn’t sure how she would react.
He didn’t see her in the apartment, although the lights were on. He heard a noise coming from the bedroom. “Peggy?” He called.
“I’ll be out in a minute. Just wait in the living room.”
He turned out the light and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows to enjoy the view without the glare. Then he closed his eyes, silently thankful to be here with her. They had been together in the present day for six months now, and he hadn’t taken a moment for granted.
A tap on his shoulder startled him out of his reverie. It was mostly dark, and for a moment he thought his eyes were playing a trick on him. She was wearing a neatly pressed khaki shirt and pants with a matching tie. It was a private’s uniform, exactly like the one he had worn on the day he had gotten Erskine’s serum. “Peggy…you…”
“Do you like my costume, darling? It’s historically accurate, Private Steve Rogers, Camp Lehigh, circa 1943. He’s always been my hero.”
He couldn’t say anything, so he just crushed her to him. After a few minutes, he slowly let go of her, wiping his eyes.
“I see I’m not the only one in uniform,” she said, stepping away a little to look at him, and wiping tears from her eyes, too. He was in his classic olive drab Ike jacket and trousers, a light khaki shirt and dark tie. “But where are your Captain’s bars–” she started to ask. He watched her eyes go from his shoulders, where his silver Captain’s bars should be, to his chest, where there were no medals in evidence, to his upper lapels, which were missing the U.S. pins. The only insignia on the entire uniform were the SSR pins on the lower lapels. Her eyes then took in his sidearm, a Walter PPK. He wasn’t wearing his uniform, she realized: he was wearing her uniform.
“I came as my hero, Peggy Carter, minus the red lipstick. I had to draw the line somewhere.”
“Oh, Steve,” she said as she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly to her.
After they had both composed themselves and scolded each other for keeping secrets, Peggy slid her hands slowly over his chest. “You know, if you want red lipstick on you, darling, anywhere on you, all you have to do is ask,” she said, kissing him. “In fact, you don’t even have to ask.”
Steve shuddered slightly.
They didn’t make it to the party on time, but it was a very happy Halloween.
Washing dishes, Castiel thought, was oddly soothing.
There was something calming about taking the piles of dishes and making them clean again. Plates, pots, utensils… all went into the water dirty and came back out sparkling clean.
He hummed quietly to himself, completely missing the sound of feet on the hardwood floor.
Arms wrapped suddenly around his waist from behind. A familiar, warm body pressed itself all along his back, a chin sneaking over his shoulder to peer into the soapy depths of the sink. Cas smiled.
“Hello, Dean,” he said, turning his head. He felt Dean’s grin against his lips as Dean turned into the kiss. It was brief and chaste, but sweeter than the apple pie Cas could still taste on Dean’s lips from dessert.
“Dishes can wait,” Dean said. He kissed Cas’s temple and murmured against his skin. “Sam’s got some kind of Thanksgiving special on TV. There’s popcorn and the couch is empty if you want to… you know.”
“Cuddle?” Cas asked innocently, enjoying Dean’s spluttering protest that he did not cuddle.
It was only a token protest and Cas imagined he could hear it grow weaker by the day. He smiled, soft and warm, and relaxed back against Dean. Dean quieted, one hand rubbing absently up and down Cas’s side.
“I think I’d like that,” Cas said finally. He lifted his hands out of the soapy water and grabbed the dish towel folded neatly beside the sink. As he gave his hands a quick dry, he turned. “Wash dishes with me later?”
Dean smiled and gave Cas a quick kiss. Cas tilted his head for a better angle; the kiss lingered, drew long, yet nonetheless remained chaste.
Dean pulled back. He gently tugged the dish towel out of Cas’s now-dry hands and placed it carelessly on the countertop behind Cas.
A dollar late and a day short but HERE IT IS. Introducing The Hot Dad™, some corporate shills, and the boardroom badass Viktor Nikiforov.
I apologize but this was SO HARD to write because all that legal stuff and business stuff was SO BORING and also made me angry a few times BUT HEY, IT’S UP, ENJOY! Next chapter is going to be mostly flashbacks, YAY.
She’s five years older today, yet her body has not aged. The people around her have not changed. Seasons change, the budget meetings vary from day to day, but everything’s all the same. People let her win every argument. She always wins.
She has Graham, but he doesn’t notice that time passes. He doesn’t remember the secrets she tells him, and in some ways that’s comforting. She can open up to him and cry, cry about her vindictive mother, her cowardly, stupid, loving, too-trusting father. She can avoid the details that are damning and just open her soul up to him, and he’ll hold her and cradle her head and tell her that she’s not alone, that he’s with her.
And she can sometimes believe it, but within days the memory of what they shared fades. That’s part of the curse. It erases his mind. Resets him.
And the distance grows.
She’s calculated it. It’s five days before the clock in Graham’s head resets, five days until his memories slip away, lost to the curse forever.
There is no relationship that can be formed in this curse. Nothing can grow when the lifespan is only five days. Oh, it’s a dark curse, and she paid a dark price, all for the dark sense of loneliness she is doomed to live for…all eternity? Is this her own special version of hell?
Her only consolation is that as miserable as she is, Snow White is even more miserable. Miserable and alone, and pathetic.
But it’s been five years. Five years of seeing Snow sad and alone.
And it really isn’t that satisfying after all.
Today she takes the afternoon off, leaves her elegant office in favor of her favorite place in the woods, where a fallen log makes the perfect bench. It’s beautiful here, just the beginning of autumn; crisp, radiant leaves surround her, frame the beautiful view of the sunset in front of her. She has her travel coffee mug - a coffee mug she’s filled with hot chocolate and laced with a generous pour of whiskey. Oh hell, who is she kidding. It’s whiskey with a generous pour of hot chocolate. Still, it’s warm, and delicious, and it dulls the pain a bit. The pain of knowing this is an anniversary not only of the curse’s birth, but of her father’s death.
God, she misses him. But if there’s one thing she knows, she knows a man as kindly as him is in a place far better than this hell. Better than the life of a man who was married to an evil woman and fathered an even more evil, ungrateful daughter.
Five years he’s been free.
“To five years,” she says, toasting to the setting sun before taking a long sip and swallowing hard, fighting the tears in her eyes and willing them to settle, not to fall.
“Five years of what?” says a voice behind her, and she jumps, her mug dropping to the ground, spilling the contents.
She curses and scowls at the stealthy intruder. Locksley. God, he is insufferable. It seems every time she wanted to be alone he’d show up.
“Apologies, m’lady. I didn’t expect to find anyone here.”
“Yes, well, this log is occupied,” she says tightly. “Be on your way.”
“Well, I can’t do that,” he says, sitting down next to her. “You see, I am the park ranger.”
“I’m aware,” she says, before adding, “I hired you.”
That’s not… exactly true. She did cast The Dark Curse and she had a say over the lives of many over whom it was cast but… the curse itself filled in where she had not set up a specific plan. She did not know this man from the Land of Magic. Didn’t know his past, who he was before…this. But the curse had made him a park ranger, so he must have had some connection to the woods.
So technically, The Dark Curse hired him. But he doesn’t need to know that.
“Indeed you did,” Locksley agrees, taking out a flask and helping himself to a generous sip. “And I believe I am to enforce rules. And one very important one” —he points to her coffee mug, a devilish smile on his face— “is no alcoholic beverages on park grounds.”
Why that little—!
She could just—
But it’s a joke, he’s made that clear, especially with the flask he’s holding now. He’s playing with her. Trying to engage her. And for what purpose?
He’s so… He makes her so mad, has this way of pressing her buttons and bothering her. That’s not supposed to happen in the curse, she’s always supposed to win, and yet…
She should just get up from this log and leave, make a comment about drinking on the job being a fireable offense, and let that be that.
But the sunset is beautiful, and it’s unseasonably warm, and he’s holding out a flask to her, and he’s sitting right next to her, their legs are touching, and the physical contact is just… oddly soothing.