pairings/characters: (pining) dean winchester x gn!you
summary: subconsciously showing your affection for dean through baking leads to him admitting his feelings for you he didn't even know he had
warnings: fluffy and angsty, tension, pretty tame just super yearning
A/N: this was a request!! hope you enjoy (especially since this is my first dean fic lol) let me know how i did, i v much wanna start writing more for dean so PLEASE send requests!!!! ^.^
The first time you made good use of the bunker's industrial kitchen was only a few weeks after you took residence with the brothers. Baking was an activity dear to your heart, and ever since you were a little kid you had made all sorts of sweet creations for you and others to enjoy. Unfortunately, due to life on the road hunting, an oven was hard to come by for such a casual hobby. But now that you’re presented with such a spacious kitchen already loaded with just about any appliance you could ever need, you had decided it was about damn time you whipped up your favorite apple coffee cake muffins.
You had never forgotten the recipe, nor the idle skill of measuring with your heart, so they came out perfect. The mouthwatering aroma of brown sugar and apple quickly filled the kitchen and spilled out into the hallways of the bunker.
When you had placed the sweets out to cool, it wasn’t long before Dean found his way to the rack with tunneled vision. You expected the boys to sample your creations, even hoped for it, but what you didn’t expect was the swell in your chest at the way Dean melted with delight as he took a too-big bite.
“God,” he had groaned, following with your name that he practically moaned. And holy fuck, did that awaken something you didn’t think you’d ever allow yourself to feel for the older Winchester. “Where have you been all my life?” He said, and looking back you could tell that he was just momentarily drunk on the baked good, but fuck, the way his face almost adored you with appreciation continued to stir the illogical thoughts in your chest.
Those same illogical thoughts caused you to, only a few days after the muffins, throw together some kitchen sink cookies. Now okay, hear out the process before judging. Dean Winchester is a closed off man, you’ve known him for a while now and his tough exterior is rarely ever cracked. Sure, he can be sarcastic and have a childish sense of humor at times, but it is still obviously a deflection to you. Never, and you really mean never, had you seen his guard fall like it did when he tasted that muffin.
You can also tell he didn’t even realize that he had let it happen. Maybe it was the domestic nature of the situation, or the lazy day that let his veil fall. Certainly, the reasoning didn’t matter, what did matter was the way you were able to unknowingly chip away at his tough exterior with something as simple as sugar.
It’s a late night and you stayed behind while Sam and Dean ran an errand regarding matters with Crowley that you weren’t really involved with- not that you were complaining. It was rare you got to enjoy moments like this to yourself.
You played your music loud as your body swam across the kitchen, stirring, rolling, and pressing the cookie dough and placing it neatly in the oven. Once a timer was set, you started on the dishes and hummed along to the music. You swayed your body and cleaned with a pep in your step.
Let’s go over again how loud your music was set, loud enough that you didn’t hear the front door open and latch back shut. You also didn’t hear the voices of the brothers and their footsteps as they ducked into the kitchen with amused smiles. And it was embarrassingly long before you noticed their presence, when you did, your heart nearly stopped.
“Jesus!” You exclaim, clutching your chest and scoffing an embarrassed chuckle. “Feel free to announce yourselves next time,” you shake your head and reach to pause the music. Looking between them, they looked exhausted and clearly the deal hadn’t gone how they wanted.
But beyond the exhausted look in his eyes, you saw a glint of vulnerability that made your breath catch. Something about the way Dean’s eyes watched you with such warmth holds a domestic feel beneath them. His eyes rake your body, presumably finding humor in your powdery apron wrapped taut around your waist due to the curled smirk on his lips.
“Enjoyin’ yourself, sunshine?” He asks with a raised brow that crowns his softened features as he shrugs off his coat and lays it on the back of a chair. His tone rushes a wave of heat to your cheeks in embarrassment. You turn back to the counter and try to look busy.
“Thought you were supposed to call on your way back,” you snarked lightly, trying to act nonchalant. Dean rounds the island and cracks open the oven and you’re quick to smack his hand with the closest item to aid you- a dish towel. “Hey! You’ll let all of the heat out,” you shove him away and replace your body in front of the appliance to latch the oven closed and keep guard. You spin around and Dean is standing with his hands raised in compliance.
“Don’t blame me,” he shrugs, his eyes still oddly melted with the glint that you’ve never seen before, or maybe just never registered.
“If you want cookies, you need to be patient,” you insist, setting the towel back down and untying your apron.
“I think I can manage that,” he smirks, scrunching his face up like he’s settling but the way his eyes crack back open, the warmth remains. Almost intensifies. “Now,” he leans against the counter on his elbow and latches his hands together. “How long am I expected to wait?” He asks, looking right at you.
You scoff and turn to grab the timer, “you’re unbelievable,” you mumble. “Five minutes, now is that gonna kill you?” You look back at him with a tilted head and feigned concern. The attitude is smacked right off your face as his tongue darts out to wet his lips.
“I think you can manage, Dean,” Sam speaks up, startling you with his reminded presence. You whip your head over to spot him, leaned along the door frame with his arms crossed and a slight roll to his eyes. “Smells great in here,” he compliments, pushing off of the frame, “save me a cookie or two, but I’m beat. Gonna call it a night.”
“Y-yeah, night, Sam!” You call after he’s started to leave, collecting your thoughts and feeling a little shameful that you forgot he was even in the room.
“Can I get you anything?” Dean asks, on his way to the drink cart to pull out a crystal bottle of whiskey. You’re still trying to play catch up with your flustered state but force the words out.
“Double, thanks,” you murmur, taking a subtle deep breath. He pours the drinks and hands you yours as he claims a bar stool. The two of you discuss your days mindlessly and you try to ignore the dimming glint and focus on the guard he’s let down. He’s honest with you and not cagey like he usually is with his words.
It isn’t long before the cookies are done and you pull them out to cool. And after insisting that he needs to be patient, he still can’t help himself as he burns his mouth with a gooey cookie and a satisfied moan.
“Damn, you’re good,” he says like he almost doesn’t believe it. He eats two more cookies before they’ve fully cooled and you two continue to discuss whatever.
The muffins, the cookies, a few sweet breads and some specialty pastries later- you now decide it’s time to make Dean’s favorite. You’ve been wanting to try at an apple pie for a while now and tonight was the perfect night. You had just gotten back from the store, bag of apples and a few other needed items in hand, and you excitedly set them up in the kitchen where Sam was making dinner.
“Smells delicious,” you compliment, placing your items out of the way until Sam is done with his meal. He glances over his shoulder at you with a warm smile. You can bake like nobody's business but you were a complete lost cause when it came to a savory meal.
“Stuffed peppers with rice,” he lists his meal. As you near his spot hovered over the stove, you see six hollowed peppers in a baking dish and a skillet filled with grilled chicken, onions, tomatoes and jalapeños.
“Hell yeah,” you approve, going to the fridge to fetch yourself a beer. You hold up the one in your hand as a silent offer to Sam and he declines.
The kitchen was calm and homey and the silence was comfortable as you sat at the bar and watched Sam work. However, after filling the peppers with the cooked combination, you could tell something was on his mind. He retrieves a block of cheese from the fridge and a grater from the cabinet to crumble a layer of queso fresco over the peppers. Once the pan is in the oven and a timer is set, he turns to you, curiosity in his eyes.
“Is that stuff for an apple pie?” He raises a brow, gesturing towards the items you recently purchased.
“Yep!” You say with a nod and a swig of your beer. “Pie’s are a first for me, believe it or not,” you chuckle.
“Well good luck,” Sam nods simply, still not saying something that you can tell he wants to but you don’t pry. He pushes off the counter and heads out the kitchen, “Oh hey, can you get those out in about 10 minutes? I gotta take care of something real quick but I’ll be back to do my share of dishes.”
“You got it,” you stand to start your apples. You pull out a cutting board, knife, and peeler, and start on the apples. Humming softly to yourself and prepping the fruit. The 10 minutes pass quickly and you pull out the peppers, placing them on the stove next to the pot of finished rice. You’re about to call for the brothers when Dean rounds the corner.
“Hey,” you greet with a warm smile, scooping some cut apples in a bowl. He just ticks his head up with a dull smile, he looks nervous. Your own smile falls and you try to examine him. “Dean?”
He heads straight to the fridge and grabs a beer.
“Yeah?” He asks, popping the cap with his ring and taking a generous swig.
“You okay?” You ask, setting down your knife. Dean avoids your gaze.
…“I’m telling you, man. Whether they know it or not, they’ve got heart eyes for you like crazy,” Sam says in a shushed voice and a knowing smile.
“No,” Dean rolls his eyes and stands from his relaxed position at a table in the library.
“Dean, you’re not that brain-dead. They’re making you an apple pie as we speak. And it’s not like you haven’t been returning the glances,” Sam keeps his voice hushed but a bit sharper for emphasis. Dean considers his words, thinking back to the more intimate moments shared between you, him, and a freshly baked dessert…
“Yeah, sorry, just a busy day,” he shakes his head to knock out his thoughts but it doesn’t work.
…Pistachio croissants. Sam’s favorite of yours that you’ve made so far and it took Dean some convincing to try but for you, of course he did. This was the first time Sam really put it together. Years of Dean complaining about Sam’s ‘rabbit food’ and mocking him for it but here he is, trying a ‘weird green food’ just because you asked it of him. And he loved it. You laughed when Dean tried to suppress an eye roll at how annoyingly good the pastry turned out to be…
“I understand,” you say, biting a small portion on the inside of your lip and looking down to the apples. “I’ve got a new dessert in the works if you’re interested.” You offer, your smile returning out of pure excitement.
Whether it’s the idea of pie or the happy expression on your face, Dean's lips perk and the nervous pit dies down in his stomach.
“Apple pie,” you say, popping a cut piece of apple in your mouth.
…The first time Dean felt it unknowingly, was when you had made strawberry cupcakes- your favorite. After frosting all dozen of them with Dean's help, there was just enough icing to scoop up on your finger and suck off. Call him a romantic if you want, but good lord that act made him lose all train of thought and ended up causing him to seek out the next time you used your mouth in such a way…
Dean has to tear his eyes away from your face and he goes to look at Sam’s cooking.
“Don’t they look great?” You ask, eager to dig in but waiting for Sam to come back to take his pick first. Dean doesn’t respond.
He turns back to face you as you take the bowl of cut apples to wash off in the sink. The contentment in your figure swells something in his chest. You look at peace. He’s seen you- the killer you. When you’re neck deep in vamps, you become a machine. Your face hardens with a snarl as you abandon your mercy for the sake of the fight. He always admired how committed you could be in a hunt, it reminded him of himself, but now as he sees you wrapped in an apron and your hair neater than usual, he can’t help but adore. Your clothes are comfortable and not tactile, there are no bruises or cuts on your exposed skin, and there is no edge to your being. You’re comfortable.
You set the bowl of rinsed apples back on the counter and catch Dean's eyes. He looks pained. Like a deep ache is pulling him down but something keeps his eyes determined.
“What’s going on?” You ask, taking a few steps closer to him. This mood isn’t like him. He doesn’t get stuck like a deer in headlights over anything, but something has him frozen. He opens his mouth to speak, darting his eyes away, but nothing comes out. He places his beer off to the side and rubs the back of his neck.
You wait patiently, wiping your hands dry on a clean portion of your apron and just watching him. You make sure to look more over his shoulders or his stubble, hoping to seem less intimidating by not staring directly into his eyes. But when you feel his gaze land back on you, you meet him again.
Before you can form an encouraging smile, he progresses to you, his hands cupping your jaw and pulling you up to him. A quick gasp parts your lips and locks into him. His brows are scrunched in pain but he transmits nothing but pure need in his kiss. He knows this is stupid. He knows this is useless. He just can’t seem to care.
His dominant hand stays on your jaw as the opposite slides around to you back of your neck and down your back, pressing you into him.
You finally catch up with him and your hands find their way under his flannel and to his waist, digging your nails into his sides and anchoring yourself to him as you tug at his shirt.
His breath warms your lips when he remembers to breathe, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes are still screwed shut and he looks regrettable. You move your dominant hand to rest on his cheek and he leans into it instantly as if it’s a magnet.
You don’t say anything, you just let him take the time he obviously needs. And when he finally opens his eyes, they’re red with threatened emotion.
“Am I really that good a baker?” You ask with raised brows and a soft chuckle. A small smirk lifts his lips and he closes his eyes with a loaded sigh.
“We’ll have to see how that pie comes out first,” he jokes back with a more confident smile. Your thumb caresses the apple of his cheek and his eyes remained closed as if to place all of his focus on the physical affection.
“What made you do that?” you ask, not stopping the soft motion on his skin.
“Stupid ignorance,” he says it like a joke but you know he believes it to be true.
“Thank god for that then,” you combat, not wanting to think a kiss that damn good as a mistake.
“I just couldn’t help myself. You-,” his words catch in his throat and he keeps his eyes closed. Your thumb still runs along his skin.
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” you shake your head and his hand slacks to rest on your collarbone. You rise up to press a soft and delicate peck to his lips, and he desperately leans in for more as you pull away. He finally opens his eyes again and he looks like a teased puppy.
“Help me get this pie made and in the oven and I’ll touch you all you want,” your eyes dip down to his lips as you run your hand down his neck in a teasing manner. You look back up at him through feigned innocent lashes with a tilted head, awaiting his response.
He swallows and wets his lips. You can see a playful womanizer glint in his eyes but he’s drunk on your touch so all he can do is nod with a smile of relief at how well his impromptu decision to kiss you went.
He follows every instruction you give him but he can barely keep his hands off your body as he watches you work. He really is helping- one handed tasks are helping, you rationalize. And you also note how swift he is with just one hand. How enticing.
thank you so much for reading!! <3
>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest)
>>check out my other works here
>tags: @blossomingorchids
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