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supernotnatural2005 · 7 hours ago

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Thank you so much Maddie! 💜💜 You’re too sweet 🤗. I’m so happy you enjoyed it 🥰

Blinding Lights

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: The annual trip to vegas, the city of all things sin and matrimony 👀

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings/tags: Swearing, drinking, implied spicy times, friends to lovers, FLUFF.

Prompt: Accidental Marriage

AN: Yup, we're going there again 😅 the good ol' "friends to lovers". But hey sue me, it's an enjoyable trope 😜. This is another submission for my @jacklesversebingo card.

Main Masterlist

Bingo Masterlist

"Aha! Vegas, baby!"

"Hell yeah!"

Sam shook his head, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he watched the two of you practically vibrate with excitement as you stepped out of the car. It was the same every year—like clockwork. The second you and Dean set foot in Sin City; it was as if nothing else in the world existed.

Your eyes sparkled under the neon glow of the Vegas strip, reflecting the flashing lights of massive billboards advertising everything from world-class shows to all-you-can-eat buffets. The scent of warm asphalt mixed with the smoky, slightly stale air of the casinos. It was loud, chaotic, alive—and judging by the way you and Dean grinned at each other like kids on Christmas morning, it was exactly what you had been waiting for.

It had started years ago; a tradition Dean had set in stone after one particularly gruelling hunt. What was meant to be a one-time trip to blow off steam had somehow turned into an annual pilgrimage. A few days of indulgence, no monsters, no case files—just booze, gambling, and in Dean’s case, the occasional fling.

Sam wasn’t as wild about the whole scene as his brother, but he could appreciate the break. Maybe play a few hands of poker, enjoy the high-roller perks that occasionally came with hustling a few unsuspecting tourists. But what always caught him off guard was you.

If anything, you were just as bad as Dean—if not worse.

At first, it had been surprising. You’d always been a hell of a hunter, sharp as a knife, level-headed when it counted. But Vegas flipped a switch in you, and suddenly, you were throwing back shots like a seasoned pro, calling Dean’s bluff at the poker table, and somehow managing to charm casino staff into handing out free drinks like they were candy. The influence between the two of you was dangerous—borderline reckless—but damn if it wasn’t entertaining to watch.

Sam had seen you two fuel each other’s competitive streak before, but here? It was a whole new level. Whether it was betting on who could win the most at blackjack, seeing who could sweet-talk their way into VIP sections, or even just a ridiculous contest over who could score the best hotel suite upgrade—neither of you knew the meaning of ‘taking it easy.’

"Alright," Sam sighed, adjusting the strap of his duffel as he trailed behind you both. "Just… try not to get arrested this time, okay?"

Dean smirked, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "No promises, Sammy."

You shot Sam a wink. "Yeah, where’s the fun in that?"

Sam exhaled through his nose, already resigning himself to whatever chaos was about to unfold.

Vegas, man.

As soon as you stepped into your upgraded suite, you stretched your arms overhead, sighing in pure satisfaction. The room was gorgeous—high ceilings, sleek modern furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the Vegas Strip, glowing like a sea of neon under the night sky. The plush king-sized bed looked like something out of a five-star fantasy, and the sheer space alone made it feel like pure luxury compared to the standard motel rooms you were used to.

Dean, meanwhile, was still grumbling as he dropped his duffel onto the couch.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, looking around the room in awe and then shooting you a narrowed look. He was just pissy because you won the little competitive game of — ‘who could get the free upgrade’.

“Hey, I won this fair and square" you shrugged with a smug smile before plopping onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.

Dean scoffed, crossing his arms shooting Sam a look who just held up his hands like he wanted no part in it. “Fair my ass.”

You grinned, sitting up and tilting your head in mock innocence. “What? It’s not my fault the guy couldn’t stop staring at my tits."

"Yeah, because pulling down your top and leaning over the counter totally wasn’t planned." Dean shot back, rolling his eyes. You had to bite your lip from bursting out in laughter. Petty Dean was something else.

"Meanwhile, I actually had to use skill to negotiate. But nooo, all you had to do was flash some cleavage, bat your lashes, and boom—you’re living like royalty while Sammy and I are stuck in a standard-ass room.”

“Hey, don’t hate the player, hate the game,” you teased, then arched a brow. “Besides, you do realise you just confirmed the corruption and irony of the male hierarchy, right?”

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it. Blinked. Looked at Sam, who was failing miserably at hiding his laughter.

“Whatever,” Dean grumbled in defeat, muttering to himself, “still bullshit,” as he continued to nose around the room, clearly still sulking.

Once the boys left to go check out their ‘standard’ room, Dean lingered in the doorway, casting one last longing glance at the spacious background before you smirked and slowly closed the door in his face.

With the place officially all to yourself, you decided to finish exploring, and that’s when you saw it.

Oh, sweet heaven on earth.

The bathtub.

Not just any bathtub—a deep, oversized whirlpool tub, complete with jets and a selection of fancy bath salts sitting neatly on the edge. Your eyes widened in absolute delight as you all but floated toward it, running a hand along the cool marble.

It felt like it had been a lifetime since you’d had the chance to soak in a bath. Even when you had the option, motel tubs were…Questionable at best. You weren’t about to risk whatever horrors lurked in those drains, so showers had become your norm—mildly warm, rushed, and never truly satisfying.

But this?

This was your chance.

No hunts, no monsters, no worrying about saving lives. No last-minute research, no stitches to sew, no near-death experiences.

Just you, a massive tub, and all the time in the world to finally pamper yourself.

Hell. Yes.

After soaking in the tub until your fingers pruned and the tension in your muscles melted away, you finally dragged yourself out, wrapping up in a plush robe as you wandered over to your suitcase.

For once, you had the chance to ditch the usual hunter’s uniform—no jeans, no flannel, no scuffed-up boots. Just something that made you feel good. Normal.

Your fingers skimmed over the fabric as you pulled it out—a little black dress, classic and timeless, but with just the right touch of allure. The delicate lace trim along the hem and neckline added a hint of elegance, while the way the fabric hugged your curves made you feel undeniably confident. It was the kind of dress that demanded attention without even trying.

You stepped into it, letting the silky material glide over your skin, adjusting the thin straps before smoothing your hands down your sides. It was a far cry from the rugged, practical outfits you usually wore on the road, and damn, it felt nice.

Next, you slid on a pair of black heels—just high enough to give you that extra sway in your hips but still comfortable enough for a night out.

Turning to the mirror, you took a moment to focus on your makeup—something bolder than your usual go-to. A sultry smoky eye, dark lashes framing your gaze, paired with a soft nude lip. Just enough to make a statement without being overdone.

Your hair followed suit—soft waves cascading over your shoulders, effortless but polished, framing your face just right.

With one final glance in the mirror, you smirked. Yeah. You looked good. And you were damn well going to enjoy tonight.

And judging by the way both Dean and Sam reacted when you stepped into the hotel bar, you’d made the right choice.

Dean was nursing a whiskey while Sam sipped a beer, both dressed shaper than usual—Sam in a crisp, white button-up with the sleeves rolled up, Dean in a black dress shirt with the top few buttons undone, exposing just enough skin to make you roll your eyes at his predictable charm.

At first, they were talking, relaxed, until they both caught sight of you approaching. Sam's brows lifted slightly in pleasant surprise, but Dean?

Dean leaned back in his chair, giving a slow, appreciative once-over, his lips curling into that signature smirk of his.

“Well, damn,” he said, his voice smooth as honey. “Didn’t know we were gettin’ all fancy tonight.”

You smirked, stepping up to their table. “Figured it’d be nice to dress up for once.”

Sam nodded, offering you a genuine smile. “You look great.”

Dean, however, had a different kind of gleam in his eye. He leaned in, his smirk deepening, an eyebrow arching suggestively.

“In your dreams, baby,” you cooed, patting his cheek mockingly.

Sam snickered as Dean huffed out a humourless chuckle, leaning back in his chair. But the thing was… he didn’t have to dream.

You and Dean had been down that road before. More than once.

Late nights after hunts, when the adrenaline was still pumping and neither of you felt like wasting time picking up strangers, you’d found comfort in each other. It was an unspoken deal—blowing off steam, nothing more. No feelings, no complications. Because at the end of the day, hunters didn’t get happy endings.

You weren’t naïve. You knew better than to hope for something more. And so did Dean.

Still, as you slid into the seat across from him, you caught the way his gaze lingered just a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind those green eyes before he knocked back another sip of whiskey.

Clearing your throat, you reached for the bottle on the table, pouring yourself a drink. “Alright, boys,” you said, lifting your glass. “Here’s to a great night.”

Dean clinked his glass against yours, that smirk never faltering.

“To a damn good night,” he echoed.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head as he joined in. “As long as neither of you end up in a cell, I’ll count it as a win.”

You and Dean exchanged a grin, mischief dancing in your eyes. Yeah, tonight was going to be interesting.

The pounding in your skull was the first thing you registered. The second was the taste of regret on your tongue, bitter and stale like the whiskey you clearly had too much of. A low groan slipped from your lips as you forced your eyes open, squinting against the intrusive morning light.

The room was a disaster. Pillows scattered across the floor, empty bottles knocked over on the nightstand, and—oh, fantastic—your bra was hanging off the damn wall light fixture like some sort of drunken trophy. Your dress, meanwhile, lay crumpled in a heap by the bathroom door, and not far from it, Dean’s shirt.

Shit.

A slow, sinking realisation settled in, and with a heavy sigh, you finally turned your head.

Dean was right there, sprawled out on his back. His chest rose and fell in deep, steady breaths, his mouth slightly open, a soft snore escaping as he slept like he had no damn cares in the world.

You squeezed your eyes shut and groaned.

You had promised yourself you’d stop indulging in the oldest Winchester. The last time, things had started feeling… complicated. Unwanted feelings creeping in, making you second-guess the whole thing.

Guess drunk you had a serious inability to deny him.

With another groan, you forced yourself to sit up—immediately regretting it as your head swam and your stomach lurched. Ugh. You needed something greasy and coffee stat. And some damn privacy so you could at least wash last nights shame off you.

So you grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked it into Dean’s face.

"Get up, Winchester."

He let out a grunt, his brow furrowing as he shifted slightly but not quite waking.

You grabbed another one.

WHUMP.

Dean groaned, lazily swiping at his face before cracking one eye open. His brow furrowed as he blinked at you, bleary and clearly just as hungover as you. "What the hell…?" His voice was rough with sleep, and he grimaced, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Then, realisation dawned as he shifted under the sheets and noticed he wasn’t wearing a damn thing.

A slow, cocky smirk spread across his lips.

"Knew you couldn’t resist me, sweetheart," he drawled, voice still hoarse but undeniably smug.

You scoffed, reaching for the closest thing you could throw at him—an empty bottle this time. Dean yelped, flinching as you took aim, but lowered it back down, satisfied with your threat instead.

You slid out of bed with a grumbled “ass” and immediately regret the movement as your hangover protested.

"Damn, sweetheart. If that’s how you treat ‘em the morning after, no wonder you’re still single.” Dean chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair as he stretched.

You flipped him off over your shoulder as you headed toward the bathroom. “Bite me, Dean.”

His smirk widened as his gaze drifted over your retreating form—lingering on the deep, reddish-purple bruise in the perfect shape of his mouth on your bare ass.

Leaning back against the pillows, he let out a low, satisfied hum.

“Pretty sure I already did.”

The scent of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon did little to soothe the pounding in your skull as you and Dean trudged into the diner like two barely functioning zombies. You were practically clinging to your massive sunglasses, shielding your eyes from the fluorescent lights that felt like tiny daggers stabbing into your brain.

Meanwhile, there was Sam—already seated in a booth, nursing a coffee, not a hangover in sight. The fucker had even been on a run.

He looked up as you both slumped into the seats across from him, his dimples appearing as he let out a low chuckle. “Well, look who finally decided to join the land of the living.”

Dean groaned, dropping his head against the table. “Why are you so loud?”

Sam just shook his head, amused, as the waitress approached with her notepad.

You wasted no time reeling off your order. “Bacon, eggs, sausage, toast, hash browns—extra crispy. And coffee. Black. In the biggest cup you’ve got.”

When the waitress turned to Dean, he simply muttered, “Yeah, I’ll have what she’s having.”

You smirked, nudging him under the table. When Harry Met Sally references weren’t lost on you, and Dean’s slow realisation of it only made it funnier.

Sam just shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee before setting it down and giving you both a once-over. “You two look like shit.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” you grumbled, shoving your sunglasses up into your hair. “We don’t even remember what happened last night.”

Sam’s brows lifted, something flickering in his gaze—something knowing. He hummed, lips twitching in amusement, but before you could question it, the waitress returned with your plates, effectively derailing the conversation.

For a few minutes, all that mattered was shovelling greasy food into your mouths, trying to absorb the alcohol still wreaking havoc in your systems.

And then—

“Oh my God, there you are!”

A stranger—a man probably in his early thirties—grinned down at you, looking entirely too chipper for you.

Dean blinked up at him. “Uh… do we know you?”

The guy laughed. “Dude last night was insane. Seriously, that wedding? One for the books. You two are hilarious.”

Your chewing slowed. You glanced at Dean, then back at the guy. “...What wedding?”

The man’s smile faltered, confusion knitting his brows. “Uh… yours?”

Your stomach dropped.

Dean coughed on his coffee. “Sorry, what now?”

“Oh, man, you guys really don’t remember, do you?” The guy pulled out his phone, tapping away before turning the screen to face you.

And there it was.

A video—clear as day—of you in the middle of a crowded club, a veil perched crookedly on your head, clearly wasted as you stood on a table, arms thrown wide, screaming at the top of your lungs:

"I’M MARRIED, BITCHES!!!"

The video cut to Dean—also wasted—grinning like an idiot before grabbing you and dipping you back dramatically, kissing you deep like something straight out of a goddamn romance movie. The entire club cheered.

The next clip? The two of you wreaking absolute havoc, leading a conga line, starting a round of body shots, and hyping up the entire place like the unhinged duo you apparently had become.

The video ended, and you and Dean sat in stunned silence, staring at the phone in abject horror.

Fuck.

Back at the hotel, you paced the room like a caged animal, running your hands through your hair, trying to make sense of the absolute shitstorm your life had apparently become. Sam sat in one of the chairs, sipping a bottle of water like this wasn’t the worst day of your existence, while Dean was still in shock, slumped on the bed, staring blankly at the wall.

“Like, how did this even happen?” you fumed, throwing your hands up. “How is this even legal?!”

“Well, when two people—”

You shot Sam a look of death before he could finish his snarky remark, and for once, he had the sense to shut up.

Then, as the realisation hit you like a truck, you turned on him, narrowing your eyes. “Wait a damn minute. Where the hell were you?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “…I was the witness.”

Silence.

You and Dean slowly turned your heads toward him in unfiltered shock and disbelief.

“You what?!” you screeched.

Dean shot up from the bed, throwing his hands in the air. “How could you let this happen?!”

Sam held up his hands, clearly not appreciating the hostility being thrown at him. “Look, I tried to stop you both, okay? But then you," he pointed at Dean, "went on this whole rant about how in love with Y/N you are, something about how she was the girl you’d always wanted to marry.”

Your breath caught, and Dean’s head snapped toward Sam, eyes widening in horror. “Dude, what the hell?!”

Sam ignored him, continuing with a shrug. “And then you threatened to break my iPod if I got in the way.”

You weren’t listening anymore, though. You were still stuck on that part. The part where Dean apparently called you the girl he’d always wanted to marry.

Dean was panicking. His ears turned pink, his mouth opening and closing as he scrambled for damage control. “No—it was nothing, is nothing.” He shook his head, flailing his arms.

“I was drunk! Blackout drunk, apparently! No one listens to drunk me—that’s just crazy!” He let out a forced laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, but he wasn’t looking at you. Because the truth was, if he ever did allow himself to dream of a normal, white-picket-fence kind of life, you were the face that had filled the once faceless woman in that dream. Always had been.

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice even, like your heart wasn’t racing out of control. “Right. Obviously.”

An awkward silence settled over the room before you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “What are we gonna do?”

“We could get a lawyer?” Dean gestured to Sam, who frowned.

“I didn’t even finish law school,” Sam huffed humourlessly, and Dean sighed like that was ever going to be an option, “but I might know some old contacts…”

You narrowed your eyes at the two of them. “And then what, huh? What lawyer in their right mind is gonna help a supposed deceased serial killer and a fraudulent criminal?”

Sam winced. “Okay, fair point.”

You took a deep breath, then grabbed your jacket.

“Hey, where are you going?” Dean asked, his voice laced with worry.

You ran a frustrated hand through your hair. “I’m going to every damn chapel in town to figure out how the hell we get out of this mess.”

Before either of them could stop you, you stormed out, slamming the door behind you.

The room was left in tense silence.

Dean deflated, rubbing a hand down his face before turning to glare at Sam. “Man, why did you have to go and say that?”

Sam frowned. “Because it’s the truth?”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, well, she didn’t need to know that.” He let out a heavy breath, running both hands through his hair. “You probably just freaked her the fuck out. Y/N doesn’t do love, and neither do I. That’s why it works.”

Sam gave him a look—one of pity. “Dean… you shouldn’t have to go through life alone.”

Dean clenched his jaw. “I’m not alone. I have you. I have Bobby.” His voice softened, almost bitter. “I had her.”

The weight of that realisation hit him like a truck.

Sam sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, voice hollow. “And it’s a stupid fairytale.” His jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the floor. “People like us? We don’t get the husband and wife, the kids, the house. It all ends the same for us.”

A quiet beat stretched between them.

Sam wanted to argue, wanted to tell him he deserved more, but looking at his brother—shoulders hunched, hands curled into fists, bracing himself for heartbreak—Sam wasn’t sure Dean would ever believe it.

The sun was beginning to slip behind the horizon, the sky a swirl of deep blues and purples as you sat on the stone wall outside the Bellagio, watching the fountain show dance in the glow of the Las Vegas lights, your thoughts swirling as fast as the water before you.

The cool breeze did little to calm the fire of frustration in your chest. You’d been to every chapel in town, and every single one confirmed what you already knew—it was a legal marriage. The papers were real. The priest had done his job. You were bound to Dean in a way you never expected.

The thing was, deep down, you didn’t even know what you were running from anymore. Though one thing run true.

Hunters didn’t get married. They didn’t have families. They didn’t get to live out some idyllic, picture-perfect life because—well, they weren’t supposed to. They fought, they survived, and most of the time, that meant watching those they loved die.

So, the ones who did have families… the ones who thought they could have that normal, happy ending? You couldn’t think of a single one who didn’t lose it all in the end. Their families were gone. Their homes destroyed. There were no happy endings for people like you.

Still, in the quiet moments—when the rush of a hunt faded away, when the liquor finally took the edge off, when you could almost imagine what it would be like to just let yourself breathe—you had thought about it. Maybe Dean was the guy in your Vision. Maybe he was the one waiting for you at the altar. But that was just a pipe dream. A fantasy you couldn’t allow yourself to get lost in.

As you sat there, your fingers gripping the rough edge of the stone, the sound of footsteps broke through your thoughts. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Sam. You’d known he’d come looking for you.

Without a word, Sam settled down next to you, his legs dangling off the side of the wall as he gazed out at the fountain too. He didn’t push for you to talk, but you could feel the concern radiating from him.

“Why’s being married to Dean such a bad thing?” Sam asked bluntly, getting straight to the point. Although his tone was light, teasing, but there was an edge of seriousness there, too.

You couldn’t help the slight twitch of your lips, and shook your head. “It’s not bad, Sam,” you muttered, voice low. “It’s... complicated.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Complicated, huh? You two practically are a married couple already.”

You let out a small laugh at that, more out of disbelief than amusement. Yeah, you and Dean did have that vibe, didn’t you? Always arguing, always looking out for each other, always circling each other in that maddening dance of will-they-won’t-they. Everyone could see it but you two.

You could feel Sam’s knowing smile before he even spoke again. “You know you love him, right?” he asked softly, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

You let out a long breath, staring out at the water again. “I don’t know how to do love, Sam,” you admitted, the words coming out heavier than you intended. “Everyone I’ve ever loved is gone. All that I’ve known is loss. There’s no happy ending for people like me. There’s no happily-ever-after for us.”

Sam’s gaze softened, and for a moment, you almost felt bad for saying it. It wasn’t his fault, after all. But it was the truth, in your opinion.

Sam was quiet for a moment before he spoke again, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “I get it. Believe me, I do.” He shifted, his eyes downcast as he relived something only he truly understood.

“Loving Jessica,” he began and your gaze snapped over to him, surprised he was bringing her up, “having her love me back... that was one of the best feelings in the world. And then... I was lying to her. I was lying about who I was, about what I was involved in. And look how that ended.”

Your heart squeezed at the way Sam spoke about her—how much she meant to him. You knew her story. You knew what that loss did to him. You’d seen it all too many times: love, then bloodshed. It always ended the same way.

“But” Sam continued, his voice steadying, “you and Dean, you both know the risks. You already know what comes with this life. The danger. The blood. The loss. But you’re still here. Still fighting. Still breathing.” He turned to look at you, his gaze more direct now. “So why not just take the chance? Why not go for it?”

You turned your head to meet his eyes, studying his expression. He was sincere. And for a second, you almost wanted to believe him. Maybe it was worth taking the chance. Maybe you didn’t have to keep running. After all, life was short, right?

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head as you watched the water dance in the glow of the neon lights. “You make it sound so easy.”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe it is.”

You glanced at him, arching a brow. “You really believe that?”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze still fixed on the fountain. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “But I do know that letting fear make the choice for you? That’s not living.”

Your fingers gripped the rough edge of the stone wall beneath you. Fear. That’s what this was, wasn’t it? Not just the absurdity of being legally bound to Dean Winchester, but the weight of what it could mean. The possibility of something real. And the possibility of losing it.

“You sound like a damn fortune cookie.”

Sam laughed, nudging your shoulder. “Yeah, well, if I start talking about how life is a journey, feel free to punch me.”

You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head before letting out a reserved sigh, like you still couldn’t quite let go of the fear and Sam turned to you more determined.

“Look, from where I’m sitting, you two have been doing this dance for years. You rile each other up like no one i’ve ever met,” You chuckle at that because it’s the truth, “you look out for each other more than anyone else, and Dean—” Sam let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Man, you should see him when you’re not around. He’s miserable.”

Your heart clenched, and you hated that it did. Hated that it mattered.

Sam leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “You love him and he loves you.” It wasn’t a question, he was stating a fact.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard. “It doesn’t matter.”

Sam scoffed, and it irked you, because you stubborn, in denial brain just wanted him to get it.

You tore your gaze from the fountain, looking him dead in the eye. “Look, I don’t get to keep the people I love, Sam. Us hunters… we are just cursed with that burden.” Your voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of everything you’d already lost.

Sam’s expression softened, was no less determined as he look at you; his teasing gone. “That’s crap,” he said. “You’re not cursed, Y/N. And neither is Dean, or any of us for that matter. You’re not alone. Not unless you choose to be.”

You exhaled shakily, pressing your fingers against your temple. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah, it is.” Sam turned to you fully, sincerity in every word. “Dean loves you. You love him. The world is already a goddamn mess—why not hold on to something good?”

The way he said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, made your chest ache.

You sat in silence for a long moment, watching the water rise and fall in a choreographed dance. The truth was, you’d thought about it before. Let yourself imagine it in the quiet moments, in the spaces between hunts, between drinks at some rundown bar, between stolen moments of passion in the sheets, where it always felt more than just a need to blow off some steam.

Maybe Sam was right. Maybe you’d been running from something that was already yours.

“He’s not the best at this whole ‘feelings’ thing, but trust me, he’s all in. He’s just... scared, I think. Scared you’ll walk away.”

You looked away, eyes stinging for reasons you didn’t fully understand. You loved him, too. You always had.

“Why can things never be simple?” you asked softly, more to the universe than to Sam.

“Because what is life without a little challenge,” Sam teases and you shoot him a look. “Dean’s worth it. And so are you.”

For a second, everything felt still. The fountain’s music was just background noise to the buzzing in your head, the pounding in your chest. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe you didn’t have to be afraid of something good.

You took a deep breath. “Maybe it’s time I stopped running.”

Sam clapped you on the back with a grin. “I think you’re starting to get it.”

“Hey.”

You watched Dean’s head snap up from where he was leaning over the bar, his focus pulling from the slow drag of his finger tracing the rim of his glass. His eyes, tired and unreadable, softened the moment they met yours.

"Hey." He returned, voice just as soft, just as uncertain. He sat up straighter as you approached, slipping onto the stool beside him.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, thick with all the words left unsaid, tension crackling between you like a live wire.

Dean broke first. “You want a drink?”

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "God, no." You grimaced. "I don’t even know how you're drinking that." You gestured toward his whiskey, still untouched except for the way he’d been absentmindedly spinning it in his grasp.

Dean smirked, lifting the glass slightly. "Never heard of hair of the dog?"

You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head. And for just a moment, it felt normal again. Easy.

Until it wasn’t.

Until the weight of everything you’d been avoiding pressed back down.

You exhaled, staring at the gleaming oak surface of the bar. "I’m sorry I walked out earlier." Your voice was quieter now, careful. "I wasn’t mad at you."

"I know," Dean murmured. "I get it. I do."

But you shook your head, fingers tightening slightly against the wood. "I don’t think you do."

Dean frowned, his head tilting in that way he always did when he was trying to figure you out. You turned toward him, finally facing him, and the vulnerability in your eyes made his breath catch.

"Dean…" You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. "I don’t get to keep the people I love."

Dean’s brows knit together, his grip tightening around his glass. "Y/N—"

"I don’t." You let out a shaky laugh, but there was no real humour in it. "Every time I let myself believe in something, it gets ripped away. And I thought… if I could undo this, if we could erase it like it never happened, then maybe I wouldn’t have to face what it really means.”

Dean’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his jaw locking. "And what does it really mean?"

You met his gaze then, your walls crumbling, your heart in your throat. "That I'm scared. That this—" You motioned between the two of you, voice almost breaking. "—this is everything I ever wanted. And if I lose it? If I lose you?"

Dean’s face softened, something breaking open in his eyes. "Sweetheart…"

"I’m tired of running, Dean." The words came out on an exhale, years of hesitation slipping away. "I don’t want to waste another second pretending I don’t want this. That I don’t want you."

Dean’s lips parted slightly, his expression unreadable, but you could see it—the way his whole body reacted to your words, the way he leaned in just the slightest bit, like he was being pulled toward you.

And then, his hand found yours, fingers threading together like they belonged there.

"You got no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that" he admitted, voice rough, edged with something that made your heart pound.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and before you could say anything else, before you could second-guess, Dean closed the distance.

The kiss was slow, unhurried, as if he was savouring it—savouring you. His lips were warm, whiskey-smooth, his touch gentle but grounding. He kissed you like you were something precious, something his.

And when you finally pulled away, breathless, your forehead resting against his, a slow smile tugged at your lips.

"Okay," you murmured, your heart still racing. "But if we're gonna do this, really do this…I want a ring on this finger." You wiggled your left hand for emphasis.

Dean let out a startled laugh, his head tilting back slightly before he grinned at you, his eyes twinkling.

“And not something subtle,” you added, your tone teasing with a raised brow as you leaned in closer.

“Oh yeah?” Dean leaned in too, his grin never faltering as he played along.

"I want something big and flashy, like I’m some damn Kardashian or whatever." You tried to hold back your laughter, but his amused expression only made it harder.

Before you could speak again, Dean captured your lips once more, silencing your laughter. You melted into him, the warmth of his kiss overwhelming.

"Anything for you, Mrs. Winchester." His voice was a soft murmur against your lips, the words feeling more natural than either of you expected.

You laughed, shaking your head, but the ache in your chest was the best kind of pain. Because, for the first time in a long while, you weren't running.

AN: I don't know about you guys, but I'd love to see that video 👀😂, I hope you all enjoyed this one. Let me know what you think 💕

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @waynes-multiverse @jaredpadonlyyyy @impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes @rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28

#jacklesversebingo24 #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #jensen ackles #dean winchester x you #spnfamily #spn #spn fanfic #sam winchester #friends to lovers #lovely mutuals

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supernotnatural2005 · 10 hours ago

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Omg no way!!? 🤣🤣 I love that!! Must have been a fun wedding if it’s sounding anything like this pair’s. 🤣 And me too, it’s a timeless classic isn’t? So simple, even predictive but effective. And thank you! i’m so glad you enjoyed it Avery 🥰😘