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𝐀 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞
Dean Winchester x fem!Reader
Summary: Dean meets a girl that makes him question what love means to him.
Warnings: Fluff, a little swearing, and the smallest drop of angst known to mankind. Not proofread!
A/N: I’m back! Did you miss me or what?
Supernatural Masterlist Masterlist
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Dean’s not in love.
Dean doesn’t fall in love
He just appreciates the warm bodies that follow him home from dingy roadhouses in the middle of nowhere.
Especially the ones with seemingly perfect hair, and a laugh that sounded like his favorite Metallica song. And especially the ones that didn’t judge him for the four empty whiskey glasses that sat in front of him.
But Dean’s not in love.
He doesn’t know how many times he has to say it, or convince himself— but he doesn’t do love. Never has. Never will.
But he likes it when that melodic laugh wraps around his heart, making it ache and long for that perfect hair to splay across his pillow. For the light to hit the locks just right, and make it look a little lighter than it usually is.
He likes it when those hands, that perfectly fit into his, brush over his arm while a soft voice tells him how funny he is. How it can’t believe that no one has swept him up.
Dean doesn’t have the heart to tell them he doesn’t love people like that—At least not the first time he meets with the soft voice.
The second time he meets with those perfect features, it’s at a diner not too far from the bunker. The hands are connected to arms, which pair with a perfect body.
That perfect body clings onto the prettiest sun dress that brings out a shimmer in the body’s eyes, a shimmer that makes his eyes crinkle at the corner, and a slight flush appear in his cheeks.
But he’s not in love, because that’s for people who aren’t on the run.
For people who don’t throw themselves into death every week just so the world can function with one less monster.
But— after the third time he meets with the shimmery eyes, something in his chest tells him he should throw himself into danger for them. Because, if the world has one extra monster, or angel, or demon, that is one more chance those pretty eyes can be taken away from him.
He never wants that to happen.
He wants them to know that. He wants to tell that perfect hair, and beautiful hands, that he would do anything for them. Anything for them to be safe and sound.
Dean isn’t in love, but when they met for the fourth time, Dean let them sit in the driver seat of Baby. The classic car didn’t move, or turn over its engine. It sat still while those pretty legs sat plush over the leather, and those perfect hands roamed over the steering wheel.
Dean watched them in awe, his eyes watching every part and every movement. Something about seeing them in that seat made him want to let them drive.
Woah. Too far.
Nobody gets to drive his car, his own brother can barely sneak past the wheel, let alone some pretty body. That totally meant nothing anything to him.
Nothing at all.
But a pretty body was there. That pretty body beamed up at him, and really showed off its features. That toothy grin that only came out when he said something funny, or those dusty rose cheeks that seemed to hunch up at their temples.
The body stepped out of the car, giddy about how amazing his Baby was. That melodic voice begged Dean to let it drive. To let it take over.
That earned a shake of his head, and a drawl of its name.
Her name.
Her name, which he refused to let take over his thoughts on the daily. Of course, his brain ignored him and every daydream he was caught in was about her.
About how perfect she was, and how Dean felt warmer when she was around.
The world wasn’t so dark, and every time she smiled, he forgot about the monsters, angels, and demons. It was only her.
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Dean’s not in love, because he’s been staying over at her apartment more often.
He’s not in love, because he has a toothbrush that sits right next her hers in her bathroom. He even has his own mug that sits in her cabinets next to hers.
He’s not in love, because they had now been dating for two months, and Deans life couldn’t have been better.
He’s not in love, because when he told her he hunted the things that went bump in the night, she barely had any reaction:
“So, like monsters?” She raised an eyebrow, folding her legs to cross as she looked up at him.
Dean was stood at the edge of the bed while she sat in front of him. In his hand he had an angel blade, and his dad’s journal. Two things he knew would convince her he was telling the truth. Not that he needed all that, since she seemed to cling onto every word he said like it was a prophecy.
“Yeah, like monsters, sweetheart,” He nods after a moment of hesitation.
He expected her to kick him out right then and there— say he was crazy. But she didn’t.
“And that’s why you have to leave every couple weeks? To hunt the monsters?”
Her face twisted with more confusion, and Dean was scared she’d lose her right then and there.
“Pretty much,” He said shortly. There was no sugar coating this. Not at all.
There was a long long silence. He hated it, but he got to watch that pretty face, and practically watch as the gears turned in her mind as she took in this information.
He didn’t know what he would do if she let him go, or said he was crazy. Being with her was everything to him. It made him happier, and made everything around him so much better. He was more cautious during hunts, he watched how much he drank. Hell— he wanted her so bad he drove the speed limit down back roads on dark nights.
Finally she sat up, her eyes snapping onto his.
“Badass,” A grin blossoms on her face as she props herself up on her knees, waddling towards the edge of the bed.
His eyes follow, a little baffled by what she had just said. “Badass?”
“Yeah!” She exclaims, throwing her arms around his neck.
He laughs, tossing his head back a bit and shaking his head.
“You don’t think I’m crazy—or— dangerous?” He teases.
“If you mean crazy looks and a dangerously handsome smile— then yes I think so,” she jokes.
And Dean really fell in love right then and there.
She was perfect, she was everything he wanted in a woman. She got his jokes, his references, and she loved his music taste. She loved his car, and his cooking, and every story he told. She had amazing taste in fashion, and she looked even more beautiful as the days passed.
Dean’s not in love, because every time he wakes up next to her, or hears her laugh, he can picture a white picket fence in his head. He can see an end to hunting and a good life with her—and maybe even a ring on her right hand that really says— she’s his, and he is hers.
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I hope you guys liked this! I’m trying to get back in the fic game, and I’ll try and finish up those requests I promised I’d fulfill.