Happy Pie Festival! ˚⊱🥧⊰˚
Summary: A hunt in a small town has gone nowhere for weeks. But after too much pie at the local festival and an angry love confession neither of you can take back, everything finally comes to a head in the back of Dean’s car.
Dean Winchester x Fem!reader
Cozy small town, yearning, soft smut, fluff
2.3k
When you were a hunter, there was little to nothing you could truly control. You could control research. You could control your weapons. You could control your aim. Your instincts.
That was all destiny and luck, two things hunters were famously short on.
What you didn’t expect to fall outside your radar was your hunting partner.
You met when you were barely old enough to speak properly. Your dad was a hunter too. A very good one, at that. Eventually he crossed paths with John, and you could even say they were friends.
After your dad died on a hunt when you were barely fifteen, you stayed with the Winchesters and grew up with them. You and Dean learned how to complement each other perfectly. How to work together, not only on hunts but also in daily life. You knew each other’s routines inside and out.
When Sam left, and John followed soon after, leaving the two of you behind, things slowly evolved into something more.
It all started with a night when you both had too much to drink and ended up waking up tangled together, sweaty skin and wobbly legs.
It snowballed from there.
You hooked up after every hunt. Comforted each other after every nightmare. Patched each other up after every rough day. Yet when it all started to feel like more than lust, he bailed.
Whenever his hand lingered on your cheek a little too long. Whenever his lips brushed yours more tenderly than usual. Whenever his eyes locked on yours with something dangerously close to love.
At first you brushed it off. It was Dean. That was just the way he was. Regardless of your feelings for him, which kept growing every day, you ignored them until you couldn’t sweep them under the rug anymore.
So when you kept hitting the same wall again and again in this small town you’d been stuck in for the last two weeks, you decided it was the perfect chance to break through those walls.
Helen, one of the girls you’d been questioning for the case, mentioned that the town held a festival every second week of October.
It was almost hilarious how perfect the opportunity was. Like the universe was finally on your side.
With that in mind, on the morning of the festival’s first day you woke up earlier than usual, leaving Dean behind in the bed you shared to grab some coffee. You had his order memorized by now.
You came back to the motel just as the sun painted the sky in soft shades of pink. Sneaking in quietly, you tiptoed toward the bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, you called softly.
“Hey, Dean. Rise and shine. Time to wake up.”
Despite your gentle tone, Dean snapped awake, jumping into a sitting position with a pocketknife pressed to your neck. You leaned back immediately to dodge it.
“Damn it, sweetheart,” he cursed, eyes opening enough to realize it was you. “You know how to give a man a heart attack.”
He let the pocketknife drop beside him on the bed and leaned back against the headboard. His hedgehog hair pointed in every direction, eyes squinting at you.
“You really need to tone it down,” you said, still recovering from the adrenaline rush.
“You can’t blame a man for being prepared,” he replied.
The sun streamed through the window, painting his skin in warm tones and making him look like a damn model.
“You’ll appreciate my reflexes when an actual monster tries to eat you in your sleep.”
Shaking your head with a small amused smile, you handed him the coffee cup.
“Brought you some coffee. Just how you like it. I’ve got good news.”
He took the cup, one curious eyebrow rising.
“Nope,” you said, your smile widening. “Something better.”
He narrowed his eyes at you, giving you that I know you’re up to something look.
“Spill,” he said, taking the first sip of his coffee.
“Well, today is the first day of the Happy Pie Festival,” you said, watching his face carefully. You already had everything planned in your head. “We should go.”
He barked out a laugh, setting the paper cup on the nightstand.
His laughter faded when he noticed you were completely serious.
“Happy Pie Festival,” he repeated, the words dripping with sarcasm. “Seriously, sweetheart? Sounds like one of those cheap chick flicks you like to watch.”
You frowned at the jab. A hundred arguments bubbled up on your tongue about how “chick flicks,” as he called them, weren’t nearly as stupid as he claimed. But you were a woman on a mission.
“Aw, come on. Don’t be a pussy. It’ll be fun.”
“Yeah. I’m sure the grannies in town think the same,” he grumbled. His eyes were still half asleep. “Besides, we’re on a hunt. We don’t have time for that happy festival crap.”
This man loved making everything harder than it needed to be.
“We’ve been hitting the same wall for days. Maybe this is exactly what we need. The whole town will be there. It’ll be easier to spot anything out of place.”
He shook his head, still unconvinced.
Before he could dismantle your arguments one by one, you pulled out your last resort.
“They’re also giving out free pie.”
You shrugged, standing up and walking toward the desk. Stay casual. Stay casual.
“But if you don’t want to go… it’s fine.”
His eyes lit up instantly.
You smirked to yourself, your back still facing him.
You grabbed one of the books from your last research session.
“I guess we could go,” he said, already heading toward the bathroom. “To look for leads. Obviously.”
He was an easy man when pie was involved.
“What? I thought it was a stupid chick flick thing,” you said, turning to look at him.
He glanced at you over his shoulder, a frown creasing his forehead, though you could practically feel the excitement radiating off him.
“This is strictly professional, sweetheart. I’m offended you’d doubt it.”
So you both got ready for the Happy Pie Festival.
You chose your usual jeans and combat boots, pairing them with a sweater under your warm leather jacket.
Dean went with his standard uniform. T-shirt, flannel, jeans, and his beloved leather jacket.
After a five-minute drive through town, you finally arrived at the festival.
The sight was breathtaking.
Lights hung from the trees, glowing softly against the gloomy autumn sky. Cute market tents dotted the square, colorful and lively. The decorations were clearly chosen with care.
And the scent of chocolate mixed with pumpkin spice was the perfect finishing touch.
It was so perfect you couldn’t stop smiling.
“These people really put effort into this thing,” Dean said, sounding just as impressed as you, even if he tried to hide it.
You grabbed his hand, your fingers lacing together as you pulled him toward the pie contest.
A large fabric sign reading Happy Pie Contest hung above a long row of tables, each covered with different kinds of pie.
His face softened into a wide grin, eyes shining with excitement. The pure contentment in his expression made him look younger. Like a kid told he could eat all the sweets he wanted.
“Come on, darlin’,” he said, tugging your arm. “I want a slice of every pie these people have. Maybe two.”
You laughed softly and followed him.
Soon your hands were full with a plate holding six slices of pie, all different flavors, plus a massive paper cup of pumpkin spice hot chocolate. Your mouths were stuffed with cream and syrup.
The morning passed in a full blown sugar rush.
When the first round of the contest ended, the real party started.
Country music blasted through the speakers, and a large group of people began dancing together in surprisingly coordinated steps.
You turned to Dean and wiggled your eyebrows with a smirk.
He shook his head immediately.
Walking backward toward the makeshift dance floor, you raised your hands and pretended to twirl an invisible lasso before throwing it his way. Once it “caught” him, you pulled on it dramatically, dancing in place to the rhythm of the music.
Dean scoffed, looking away like he was embarrassed. The faint pink on his cheeks told you that he was.
“You’re ridiculous,” he called.
“You love it,” you shot back, tugging the invisible rope again. “Come on. Are you really that bad of a dancer?”
His eyes snapped back to yours.
“You’re a pain in the ass,” he muttered, playing along with the lasso trick and hopping forward until he stood right in front of you.
Soon you were both dancing, trying to follow everyone else’s steps. Laughing whenever one of you stumbled or bumped into someone.
After a few songs, the rhythm slowed down.
The group split into couples.
And suddenly the two of you stood there, facing each other awkwardly.
This was the moment you’d been waiting for.
But now you could barely move.
You expected him to bail. To run like he always did.
Instead, his hand settled on your waist, pulling you closer than you thought possible.
You looked up at him, surprised.
He smirked down at you, swaying your bodies gently with the music.
“What? Afraid of a little slow dancing now?”
You let out a small confident laugh.
“There’s nothing I’m afraid of,” you said, placing your hands on his shoulders as you followed his lead. “Not when I’m with you.”
The music was soft and sweet. Soon everything else faded away. It was just the two of you.
His hands slid along your waist beneath your jacket, brushing the hem of your sweater. Your fingers moved from his shoulders to the back of his neck, tangling in his dirty blond spikes.
A shiver ran through him.
Your noses were barely an inch apart. His breath brushed your lips, warm and inviting.
Neither of you was strong enough to hold back.
The kiss tasted like coconut cream pie. Sweet and soft. His lips moved against yours with surprising gentleness, like he was afraid of hurting you.
After a few seconds you pulled back just enough to breathe, lips still brushing.
And then the three forbidden words slipped out.
His muscles tensed under your hands. His eyes widened like you’d just said you hated Baby.
The silence stretched. Then he pushed you away like you were poison.
It hurt. Your eyes burned with unshed tears.
But you weren’t going to let him run this time.
You grabbed his arm and spun him around with a strength that surprised even you.
“That’s it? You’re just going to leave?”
“No.” Your voice snapped. “Don’t sweetheart me, Dean. We need to talk about this. About us.”
The words hung heavy between you.
“I’m sick of this back and forth. Of walking on eggshells around you.” Your voice cracked. “I know we agreed this was just hooking up. No feelings. But I can’t do that anymore.”
You let out a bitter laugh.
“I realized too late how much I love you. And I’m tired of feeling like you’re just messing around with my heart.”
“I’m not asking you to love me. Just stop the mixed signals. Stop the bullshit... I’m not going to stay and pick up the crumbs you give me.”
You turned and walked away.
This time, you would be the one leaving first. But after only a few steps, a strong hand grabbed your arm.
He dragged you away from the festival without a word.
“Dean, where are you taking me?”
Soon Baby appeared through the thin morning mist.
Before you could protest again, he pushed you against the side of the car, caging you between his arms and the cold metal.
His eyes burned into yours.
“You told me to cut the bullshit.”
He opened the back door without stepping away.
Your body obeyed before your brain caught up.
You slid into the backseat. He followed, shutting the door behind him.
The air was thick with tension.
“You think I don’t care,” he said quietly, moving closer until he filled your entire field of vision.
Suddenly he grabbed your hips and pulled you down onto the leather seat.
“Let me show you how much I care.”
Clothes quickly ended up scattered across the front seats as the windows fogged with heat.
His hands moved everywhere, like he wanted to memorize every inch of you.
Your chest. Your stomach. Your legs.
Your hands explored him just as desperately.
Soon breathless sounds filled the car.
Bodies moved together in frantic rhythm until everything blurred into heat and pressure and need.
When the wave finally crashed over you, your body trembled violently.
A few seconds later he followed.
Dean collapsed over you, breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours. His fingers brushed your damp hair away from your face, gentle now.
Then he kissed you again. Slow. Soft.
“I love you too,” he whispered.
The words knocked the air out of your lungs.
“I love you,” he repeated, cupping your face. “More than I know what to do with. It scares the hell out of me.”
A humorless chuckle escaped him.
“I tried to ignore it. Tried to fight it. But damn, you’re stubborn.”
“That I am,” he murmured before kissing you again.
“I can’t lose you, sweetheart.”
“You won’t,” you whispered. “There’s nothing in this world that’s going to take me away from you.”
He pulled you closer, holding you like you might disappear.
And in that quiet moment, the world finally felt steady.
Until the end of the world.
