Dean imagine requested by anon. Third installment of the “Best Kind Of Liar” series. If you haven’t read “Best Kind Of Liar” or “Little Blue Lines” you should probably go do that first. Links for mobile minions can be found on the titles, links and descriptions can be found on the "The Story Continues…" page. This imagine has been edited for reposting to bulk-up the description. Though this will be tagged as smut, the bulk of the writing is fluffy. Hope you like it!
WARNING: Implied smut
Your trembling hands hovered over your barely-there baby bump, satiny ivory dress clinging tightly to every curve on your body, fabric stretching over the new addition to those same curves. You stared at your reflection in awe, your face warped by the hazy mirror, the image staring you in the eye hardly recognizable for reasons other than the sepia staining of the looking glass. For one, you weren’t wearing bloodstained skinny jeans crusted over with dirt, for another, you were wearing makeup, your skin smoothed over and polished like a dime. Your hair was piled into a bun at the nape of your neck, a few heat-achieved ringlets framing your face, strands shining merrily in the unflattering florescent. Tears stung your eyes, pricking along your waterlines, your hands waving the water back into your eye sockets, breath escaping pursed lips in a steady huff. You knew this moment was coming, you’d planned the entire event, but the fact that you’d be married in mere moments still managed to creep up on you, shattering bolts of electricity through your veins, sparks running alongside your lifesblood. Everything from the dress to the preparation to seeing a tuxedo laying in the backseat of Dean’s car before Sam could cover the garment, delivering you to the venue (a motel, how romantic) before his brother, was unreal, the moment about as easy to swallow as a watermelon. A knock on the bathroom door alerted drew you back to your reality. You told whoever was knocking to come in, voice cracking like the last logs in a dying fire, the door squealing on it’s hinges as your visitor squeezed their way into the closet of a bathroom. Castiel laid his palm on your shoulder, his face beside yours in the dingy mirror.
“It’s time.” He reminded you, cheerful eyes giving away the emotion behind a stern face, lips tugged upwards in the corners. He removed a veil from his trench coat, placing it in your hair, comb digging into your scalp, the thin material cascading to cover the front of your face, a transparent fabric waterfall. He took your hand in his, his other hand resting lightly on your growing stomach, warmth spreading at his touch. His face nearly broke your heart. He was smiling, his joy unrestrained, his ocean eyes lifting to yours.
“I am so glad, Y/n.” He said, his voice sincere. “Nothing makes me happier than seeing you have a family again.” You pulled him into a hug, both participants wary of the bulge between you, tears brimming to fall across your cheeks, both your hormones and your excitement overpowering your desire to keep from smudging your makeup. He rubbed your back, hands warming your muscles through your dress, relaxing you. “Come, your husband is waiting for you.” Castiel draped your hand over his arm as he lead you out of the motel and to the parking lot, where Sam and Dean were standing beside the Impala with familiar tuxedos on, their muscles straining against the fabric charmingly. You’d made sure they saw a proper tailor. You wanted as much normalcy as was possible on this day. You wouldn’t be married if they wore their federal agent costumes. On the hood of Dean’s other Baby, there was a cluster of yellow dandelions held in a bouquet with duct tape, the colourful weeds bringing life to your makeshift alter. Castiel reached into one of the motel’s rotting wooden window boxes, retrieving an identical bouquet of dandelions for you, extending the grouping of flowers for you to take.
“I picked them myself.” He whispered, clearly proud of himself. You giggled, taking the bunch in your hands, stems still chilled from their rooting in the morning’s dew, your eyes rising to lock with Dean’s. He looked so, unbearably handsome, his eyes alight with passion, staring nowhere but your face, his brother nudging him, the motion unnoticed. He was beaming, as was Sam behind him, looking equally dapper, but you were biased in the favor of the eldest. Castiel’s unoccupied hand rested against your palm where it rested around his arm, squeezing lightly to signal the beginning of your march, the angel walking in step with you down the aisle… or the painted parking line. Like a ceremonial sobriety test. After an eternity of inching nearer and nearer to your lover, you reached Dean. He exhaled slowly, staring you up and down before taking your hand in his, his thumb spreading circles across the backside of your hand. You were home.
“You look stunning.” He said, voice thick with emotion. You noticed that he, Sam and Castiel all had dandelions safety-pinned to their breast pockets. You giggled at their clever craftiness.
“Thank you all for coming.” Cas spoke, addressing the empty parking lot. Sam snorted from behind his brother while Dean shook his head, amiling down at the asphalt before shooting you an apologetic grin. You bit your lip to keep from giggling along. Cas continued. “We are gathered here to unite this man, woman, and unborn child together in holy matrimony. There are no objections, correct?” He paused here, looking at Sam. Sam glanced behind him, quickly shaking his head. “I also do not object to this pairing. Moving on. By the power vested in me, I hereby marry Dean Winchester and Y/f/n Y/l/n. Dean, you may kiss your bride.” Dean paused, confusion painted on his face.
“That’s it? No ‘I dos?’” Dean inquired, turning to Cas, dropping your hands to hold his upward at his sides in confusion. The angel rolled his eyes, glaring at your husband, frustrated at the interruption.
“Well, do you?” Cas asked, clearly annoyed. Dean nodded, equally irritated, grasping your hands once more, shaking his head at the angel’s tone.
“Yeah, I do. Obviously.” He said. Castiel turned to address you.
“Do you?” He repeated, his voice softer, as you were not the soul to interrupt his ceremony.
“Yup, I do.” You laughed. Cas gave Dean an ‘any questions?’ look, his lips ppursed. Dean threw his hands up, eyebrows pinching in despair.
“Is this even legal, Cas?” He asked, the volume of his voice escalating.
“Most likely not, but since I am an angel of the Lord, your marriage is as valid and as holy a it gets, which is the only thing that should matter.” Castiel replied, looking to the ground as he explained his position. Dean nodded, lifting his eyebrows before pulling you in for a kiss, his hands cradling your cheeks, your head growing dizzy in a matter of seconds. Sam cursed under his breath, passing up two simple, silver rings, mumbling his apologies for forgetting to present the jewelry sooner, which you slid on each others’ fingers. In a matter of five minutes, you were married. Sam slapped his brother on the back in congratulations, pulling you into a bear hug, your arm extended as you held on to Dean.
“Welcome to the family, sis!” He yelled. You laughed, your free hand pressing against your stomach as you were jostled about, feeling Dean start to drag you to the honeymoon suite, Castiel’s hand drifting to your shoulder once more before you were whisked away by your groom, heels clicking against the asphalt as the Impala’s engine roared. Sam whistled, your head turning to see his hands held open. Laughing, you tossed him your boquet.
“Don’t forget to consummate your marriage.” Cas called after you, leading Dean to laugh, promising that he would do no such thing, winking at you as he yanked the door open, Castiel and Sam driving away from your venue. Dean’s arms ducked into the bend of your legs, knocking your feet from the ground as your body was tucked into his chest, his lips pressing to yours as he carried you over the threshold, kicking the door closed, marching straight to the bed, kissing you everywhere your skin was exposed. You pushed him away gently before things got too heated.
“Dean, slow your roll. I’m already pregnant, remember? There’s not much we can do here.” You protested unwillingly, the passion in your core warming your body, your hand smoothing over the silken fabric covering the beginnings of a bump. Dean smirked, his face full of love. eyes glimmering with mischief. His fingers worked the veil from your hair, lips brushing against the crown of your head, hands smoothing over your cheeks.
“Y/n Winchester,” he paused, smiling to himself at the taste of your new name, “I honestly thought you were smarter than this.” He whispered, crouching to his knee as he removed your heels. Your heart stuttered at the mentioning of your new last name. He eased his hands along your dress, his palms running over your thighs. “You’re looking at this the wrong way. Sure, there’s a limited amount of things we can do, but our predicament only inspires creativity.” He chuckled, voice dripping seduction. His lips met yours, hot with passion and burning with the intensity of your love, rings cooling your feverish skin.