Dean x Reader One Shots

Stand By Me (Fluff) (Imagine watching a movie with Dean)

Summary: Imagine watching a movie alone with Dean.

Word Count: 1,978

There was a significant chance you were concussed and shouldn't have been watching any screens for health reasons, but that wasn't about to stop you; Dean protested for a few minutes, told you he wasn't about to have you bumping into tables because you'd managed to detach the two sides of your brain, but he was always the drama llama of the group. It would be scandalous to tell him that, you knew, but luckily you always knew how to get him to let you do what you wanted. Get him to stop whining when you weaseled your way into doing whatever heinous crime your heart was calling for at any point in time.

In this case, the immoral and atrocious crime in question was watching Stand By Me with Dean immediately following a hunt.

'Immediately' was a bit of a strong word, though; each of you had showered, had patched each other up, had bid Sam goodnight and it had been easily a few hours since your return. The only reason you hadn't passed out the second you stepped into the bunker door was Dean's incessant nagging, his constant reminding you that you weren't allowed to sleep because there was a chance you might be concussed. Every 15 minutes you need to be woken, that's what he told you and you could almost see the stethoscope around his neck while he pointed a finger at you.

Doctor Dean Winchester. What a prude.

The only reason Dean was refusing to put his arm around you while you sat wit him on the ground at the foot of his bed was that he knew you would fall asleep if you leaned against him. From Dean—who was sitting beside you with his legs outstretched, his arms linked across his abdomen, his eyes fixed on the movie playing out in front of you—to you, with your legs extended and crossed at the ankles, your head leaning lazily back and slightly to the side, your hands in the pockets of the hoodie you wore, it seemed like two friends having a movie night. That's what it was, you supposed—he was your best friend, after all—but no.

You would loved to have felt the warmth of Dean's arm, smelled him while you pressed your cheek to his chest, your nose right near his body in order to get a direct whiff of him. You would loved to have felt his hand pressed against your side while his other one grabbed your own, spaghetti fingers, his thumb rubbing aimlessly on your hand while your eyes followed the moving figures on the screen before you. You would loved to have been able to look up at him, to only need to move your chin upward in order for him to know you wanted a kiss.

Simple things. You wanted simple things.

"Fun fact," Dean pointed up at the screen and you looked at him, not bothering to move your head, only your eyes while you watched a small grin come across his face. "This scene was actually frustrating to film and the director had to yell at the kids to make them cry because they weren't doing it the way he wanted."

"Reiner, right?"

Dean nodded and looked over at you, the smile still evident on his face while he locked his eyes on yours and nodded toward the TV. "I thought you said you never saw this movie?"

You shrugged and returned your focus to the screen, your tone clearly offhanded and mumbled while you told him, "I didn't lie, I've never seen it, but I know the director. This film is like a classic and Rob Reiner is a kickass director."

"He did Princess Bride, right?"

"When Harry Met Sally, Thursday's Game, More Than Friends."

Dean turned back to the TV with raised eyebrows. "I always forget you went to college."

"Film, even."