Cheesy Prophets are Hard to Come by
Written by: Grace
Warnings: None
Pairing: ChuckxReader
Word Count: 1,293
Requested
Summary: The reader has a hard day and finds that Chuck is as good a poet as he is prophet
The day had stretched on, making your job feel like it actually took 16 hours instead of the normal 8. After dealing with a screaming boss and a long day of sorting through various papers, you were more than ready to fall asleep at home. Your husband Chuck, however, wasn’t quite aware of your aching back and growing headache. So when you walked in the door and found a stack of papers scattered across the floor, leading to a sink of unwashed dishes, you snapped.
“You’re home!” He started, setting his pen down, only to stop moving half way up at the sight of your clenched jaw. “Honey? What’s-“
His lack of any sort of remorse over the mess pushed you completely over the edge. “You couldn’t even bother to do the dishes?”
“Wha-“
“And what’s with all of these papers on the ground? I just swept this morning. We lived for months in a mess and I cleaned it all up yesterday and not even a day later it’s all knocked down. I put so much work into this household and us and you don’t even care.”
Chuck stood, stunned at your accusation. He stumbled over his words after realizing you were finished talking. “I do care. I just- I was-“ he lifted the sheet of paper under his pen, “working on-“
“I don’t care about what’s going to happen to Sam and Dean, Chuck.” You spit out their names. “I just want a clean house and a nice job and a husband who worries about me.”
“I do worry. That’s why I was writing this. See,” he picked the sheet up and held it out to you. “It’s not finished but I guess this will be best-“
“I think I’m going to get some meds for this headache and lie down. My back is killing me.”
“I could give you a backrub.” He stuttered out.
“No,” you sighed, “I just want to go to sleep.”
Chuck’s face fell. He sat back down, dropping his gaze with the sheet of paper. You tried to stop on the bits of wood peeking out between sheets of papers. Neither you nor Chuck said anything more as you took two pills and headed off to your shared room.
The mattress molded itself around your form. Already, the tension was draining from your muscles and being replaced with regret. You struggled to hold the anger in to justify your outburst. Some nights, he woke up in the middle of the night to sit at the stupid, messy oak desk and scribble away some story about some random guys in the world. You knew about their hunting and the monsters they killed, but Chuck never let you meet them. He constantly told you that anyone that knew them quickly came to know death. So not only did he shirk his household responsibilities to write, but he didn’t even introduce you to the main characters. Every one of his days seemed to be devoted to those damn Winchester boys lately. You mentally cursed them for constantly getting into trouble. If they could avoid it for one day, you could have some of your husband’s time back.
The scrape of wood on wood sounded from the main room. Still angry, you closed your eyes and relaxed your muscles. Papers shuffled under Chuck’s feet. He stopped in the doorway, watching you fake sleep. A pause filled the room. Then his footsteps continued to your bed. A paper swished onto the sheets next to you. Chuck walked away.
You waited until his chair scratched up the floor again to open your eyes. Rage coursed through your veins. How dare he expect you to edit his work. Your disapproval of his schedule for the day should have been clear enough.
Against your judgement, you grabbed the single sheet, trying to decipher the words on it, eager to tear it apart. Chuck’s sloppy handwriting, though, was never easy to read and the dark didn’t help. You squinted, trying to figure out what Sam and Dean would soon go through. Embarrassment and regret filled you up as you made out the scribbled words.
Roses are red, Violets are blue, Never is this heart, So mushy as it is with you.
Love, you are brighter than the sun itself and more stunning than a midnight sky
Filled with falling stars. Keep me in your arms and I will hand you my heart in a jar.
Luckier a creature there has never been; To your heart eternally I will tend.
Love of my life many thanks for filling me with as much happiness as money is in a thousand banks.
Tears wiggled into your eyes, balancing on your eyelashes. So Dean and Sam hadn’t taken up Chuck’s whole day: you had. You dropped your feet over the side of the bed, padding over to the doorway.
Chuck spun in chair at the sound of your sniffle. “You’re awake.”
“Chuck,” you swallowed the lump in your throat that was causing your voice to squeak, “I didn’t know.” You held the poem up in your shaking hand. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
Chuck stood and strode over to you, quickly pulling you into his arms. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
“It’s okay. I understand. I know I should help out more around the house. You’re so amazing with all the cleaning and cooking that you do on top of working. It’s just that sometimes I have to write what I see. I can’t postpone it.”
“I know. I get that. I just- I don’t know. I miss having time with you.” You pressed at a tear in the corner of your eye.
“I never meant to make you feel unappreciated or like I don’t care because of my… profession. I’ll do my best to help out more, I promise.”
You wiped away the insistent tears. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. My bad day had nothing to do with you. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
His grip tightened on your waist. “Do you want to talk about your day? I can put my stuff away.” He shuffled back to put away his manuscripts.
You pulled him close to you again, holding him in a tight hug for a moment before loosening your grip and waving the poem in the air, hoping to lighten the air. “No. I just want to talk about how cheesy this poem is. I mean, you’ll give me your heart in a jar?”
Chuck played along. “Hey, it’s my duty as a prophet to write you cheesy poems. I know you like them.”
The tears slowly disappeared from your eyes. “I might a little… but this is borderline plagiarism.”
“Who am I plagiarizing?” He kept his hands on your waist but raised an eyebrow, honestly worried.
You smiled. “A letter my second grade crush wrote me.”
Chuck let out the breath he had been holding and rolled his eyes. “Like a second grader knows the word eternally.”
“Maybe he didn’t use the same words, but I’m pretty sure the meaning was very similar.”
“Oh, so you’re saying a second grader loved you as much as I do?”
Your stomach fluttered at the words. Even after being married for three years, hearing him admit that he loved you drove you deliriously happy. “Okay well… maybe not.”
“Exactly. I love you more than the trees love the sky and more than the ocean loves the shore.” He moved his hands from your hips to either side of your face. “I am yours now and forever.” He pressed your noses together. “I love you.”
You murmured the words back against his lips before returning the gentle press.