The Unrequited (Dean x Male Reader)

Thoughts That Make The Heart A Tomb

"Come on, now," You woke up to Dean's voice and his hand on your bare waist, shaking you a little as you stirred and came to your senses slowly. You groaned as the first thing that you felt was a piercing headache and as you gained consciousness, that pain seemed to spread down to your entire body as if someone had just set you on fire. You sat up and took a deep breath. "Easy there, tiger. You okay?" Dean asked and you hated his voice even before you could fathom why. 

It was his voice. You sighed and rested your head on the cushioned bedrest. He sounded so normal and that was what annoyed you. He wasn't the one that had had to drink his anxiety away and you could tell his body definitely wasn't the one hurting like a bitch. He didn't have to fucking stand there and look around like an idiot searching the crowd to see if his dad had come. You'd done that, trying to look for him even though you should've fucking known he wouldn't come. You'd even turned to Dean or John, maybe ask them if they knew but a part of you just didn't want to know. Dean was pathetically privileged in ways he didn't even know and it physically frustrated you but the pain that was near to strike you out of your senses held your reigns. "My head hurts," You replied anyway and debated how much of it you'd wanted to tell him. Fuck it, you thought, he should know. "And my body," You said and finally opened your eyes to look at him. He was lying down on his side with his head propped up on his hand, facing you with a smile on his face. "Everything hurts. You were kind of rough last night," You said and Dean looked at you with a raised brow before laughing.

"Yeah?" And you knew, you just knew from that stupid look on his face that he was fucking proud of it. "You seemed to like it though." You wanted to close your eyes again but you just turned to the window. The curtains were drawn and you could see that it had almost gotten dark outside. You were glad that Dean hadn't turned on the lights. "Hey," He said, pulling you down by your arm and kissing you. 

Some of your frustration died down as he moved his hands down your body, massaging as they went. His kiss was gentle and you could tell his touch was considerate but you also knew it couldn't ever make up for what he did. You sighed and was just about to lay back down next to him when he pulled back, "There are dinner reservations by the way," He said. "Around eight."

"Oh," You said, genuinely wondering how much they'd truly spent on all of this. The hotel seemed nice enough but dinner reservations?

"Think you can make some coffee?" He asked after having waited for a response, "There was a kettle and some sachets on the table over there." 

"Dean, I kind of-"

"Oh, and there should be some of the pie from the wedding next to it. I packed it in a bag." He said and patted your thigh. You took a deep breath and sighed. Coffee did sound good but just the thought of standing up felt like a fucking torture at the minute.

"Alright," You said anyway and got up, wincing as you lightly stretched your body and the aching grew stronger. You helped yourself to the couch with your hand on the wall and put Dean's shirt on, not bothering to close the button as you got to the table with the kettle. It didn't take much time and you ate a bit from the pie before you brought back the two cups and the rest of the pie back to the bed. Dean took the cups from you as you settled back down on the bed and he handed you back yours. There wasn't much said or done after that, except a couple of random comments from Dean you didn't really pay attention to. It was like being stuck with a stranger all over again except this time you knew being rude and distancing yourself wasn't exactly an option anymore.

As the time sped by, you realized more and more that you just didn't matter at all here. Not even to Dean who could write fucking essays on why he was with you and still not make an inch of sense. He just wanted a dummy after all. Nothing you wanted to wear went well with him so you put on one of his shirts he gave to you. Nothing you wanted to try at the restaurant was good enough for him, often saying how he didn't want you to get sick after eating something new. Of course, his stomach could clearly digest a fucking tire for the amount of food he had ordered for himself while you sat with a salad and champagne in front of you. You were close to lashing out, to just getting up and leaving when you realized what he was doing. He was purposely starving you. He didn't care if you ate something and got sick, all he cared about was your fucking ass.