Dean x Reader One Shots

The Zoo (Fluff) (Imagine falling in love with Dean)

Summary: Imagine falling in love with Dean

Word Count: 2,211

"Can I tell you something?"

You turned over to Dean, looked into his dead, tired eyes, and smiled when you saw the small part of his eyebrow that was twitching; he was dehydrated, typical. You should get him a banana.

"Depends," you looked back up at the sky and shrugged, feeling your shoulders rub against the blanket beneath you, trying not to be uncomfortable from the hard cement of the roof. It was your idea to come up here, you hadn't seen the stars in ages and Dean was the only one awake; you supposed you could have gone alone, could have thrown this blanket out onto the ground and laid there yourself, but where's the fun in looking at the stars if you can't revel in them with some other soul? "If it's a spoiler of any kind, you'd best keep your mouth shut."

Dean chuckled at that and your lips pulled upward and into a smile. That was a nice sound.

You never thought there was a defining point that really shows exactly when a person starts falling in love; it's not like a leap off of a building that was calculated and planned and can be pinpointed to an exact time, falling is more like a weakening of the muscles, something you can push off and ignore day in and day out until you realize you're laying on the floor with an inability to move and no real reason for it. It's a slow process that is so soft, so subtle, that you don't even notice the temperature going up until all at once you notice that your clothes are soaked through from your own sweat and you wonder how you didn't notice it before.

Falling. It's a process and you usually don't even notice it until you smash head-first into the ground below you.

You don't know exactly when it started with Dean and you didn't know when you started looking at him differently, but you did know that now, after a few years of having hunted with him, you looked at the man totally differently than you did upon first meeting him. You learned a lot about him, about his personality and interests and what he loved and what loved him and you knew his reactions and his faces and the way he got a little too chattery after having a few drinks but you didn't mind that. No, you didn't mind sitting up with a slightly-tipsy Dean while he told you stories about his childhood and his dad and some of the crazy shit he did in high school because you liked to see that side of him. The softer side, the more vulnerable side that he always had but he never showed.

But you knew he was the kindest man you'd ever met and you knew he had a heart of pure gold that he would melt down and give away in a moment's notice if someone needed it. You knew he hated the idea of traveling alone and you knew that when he asked you to sit in the front on the way to the bar and back, it was because he needed the reassurance that he wasn't a one man show. That there were still people who loved him.

He was so strong on the outside, physically, emotionally, but you knew he was sensitive and that's likely what drew you to him in the first place. Between bets and poker games and arm wrestling matches and between small arguments and sharing diner food and hustling people at pool, you knew there was something inside Dean Winchester that wasn't quite filled. There was something there, an emptiness, and you knew it was there because he was giving out more love than he was willing to receive. He was in the red as far as love stocks go and he didn't show it that often. But he knew it.

After a while you noticed that every single time he touched you, whether it be a bump on the shoulder or a tap on your forearm when he wanted to bring your attention back to the reruns you'd managed to get him to sit down and watch, you felt electricity. Your stomach flopped. His hand was a cattle prod to you and you became hyperaware of everything he did, every single thing he said and even the way he carried himself, the way he swayed back and forth a bit when he walked and the way his smile tweeked up a bit more on one side than the other. The way he smelled became etched into your memory and you couldn't shake it, couldn't shake the desire to just pull him close to you and bury your nose in his chest to get one more smell, one more whiff of the man you'd come to admire more than anything in the world.