Dean x Reader One Shots

Dinner (Fluff... kind of) (Imagine Dean standing you up)

Summary: Imagine having had plans to have dinner with Dean–in which you would confess your feelings–but he stands you up and completely forgets about dinner until the next morning...

Word Count: 2,964

The food was in the oven in order to keep it warm while you waited for him; you were sitting on the island across from the oven, the warmth was enough that you could feel it against your bare shins, but that wasn't what you were focused on. You weren't focused on your heels that were banging against the cupboards below you, you weren't worried about your fast heartbeat or the butterflies jumping around in your stomach. Hell, it wasn't even the food.

He was going to come home any minute now and he was going to walk down the stairs and you were going to meet him in the entryway. You were going to bring him to the kitchen, have dinner with him, wine and everything, and you were going to tell him what you'd been dying to tell him for months.

You ran through every possible ending: the "I'm sorry, I don't feel the same way," the "But I don't want to jeopardize our friendship," the "it's about time." You were prepared for sympathy, for rejection, for his admission that he felt the same way; every possible thing that could happen you had thought of, had covered, had come up with a response to. You were prepared, were ready for the worst.

What you weren't ready for, however, was the sound of two sets of feet instead of one. You weren't ready to hear a woman's giggle followed by some incomprehensible mumble from Dean that prompted another giggle from the woman. You weren't ready to hear those two footsteps to shuffle down the hall, you weren't ready to hear Dean's bedroom door slam.

Your mom used to tell you that you could never anticipate a conversation with a man because they were never going to react the way you expected. She used to tell you that as soon as you gave them the freedom to respond, you've already lost; they had the control and they didn't think like women did. They didn't have the same mindset, they didn't react the same way. Regardless of how predictable you might think a man is, he will never do what you've anticipated.

You thought you knew him. Hell, you could walk into a movie store and pick out the exact movie he would want to watch, you could find him in a huge store without having to look much, you knew where he would choose to sit if the two of you went to a movie theater. Dean Winchester was as familiar to you as the back of your hand, so how hadn't you thought of this possibility?

How could you have expected him to come home alone, to sit down, to listen to you while you told him what you'd wanted him to know? How could you have thought the small things he did, the cuddling, the kisses on the forehead, the carrying you to bed when he thought you were asleep... how could you have been so stupid to think that he had feelings for you?

Your stomach fell. The butterflies died and all at once you felt numb. No pain, no heartbreak, no anticipation. Nothing.

So you hopped off the counter and turned off the oven, taking the food out and setting it on the stove; you didn't have the motivation to eat the food or pack it away and put it in the fridge, so it sat there while you turned away, walked down the hall, went into your room.

That was it.

That was your dinner.

That was your surprise and that was what you'd spent all afternoon cooking for, being nervous for, stressing over because you were scared he was going to reject you.

But he didn't even acknowledge you. He was too busy with the woman he picked up at some bar to even know you exist, how could you have thought that he would come home alone? That he would be willing to sit down and have a dinner with you and listen to you because how could you have been so stupid to think he wasn't what he always appeared to be?