Relationships: Dean x Reader
Warnings: None, it’s (sort) fluff. (partly) Domestic (sort of) fluff.
Summary: A list of things Dean likes to look at. (Including you.)
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There are a handful of things Dean could watch you do forever.
From his bed, or yours, whichever the two of you spent the night in, he’d watch you try to tame your hair. Mostly because it amuses him to no end how you huff and puff and get more aggravated than he’s ever seen you get, even on hunts. You rarely ever get it to sit right, not the way he’s seen other girls wear their hair anyway, though Dean would never tell you that. The wild frizz always seems to outdo even your best efforts and outlast your patience. Still, Dean doesn’t think it takes anything away from your looks. You’re always attractive to him. This, he does tell you.
Dean likes to watch you in the kitchen too. Mostly because what it reveals about how your mind works fascinates him. You flit around the room in an odd sort of organised mayhem. Ticking the kettle on. Emptying two plates from the dishwasher. Taking a mug out of the cupboard. Moving the pan someone had used to make breakfast from the stove top to the sink. Emptying a few more things from the dishwasher. Putting a tea bag in the mug.
From one task to another you flutter in what seems like distinct lack of logic. Still, within minutes you usually get done what you want done. You almost always finish off by placing a steaming mug in front of Dean, wherever he’s perched himself, rattling off which blend you chose from the fancy box of tea you splurged on once, with a credit card that wasn’t your own.
There are downfalls to this delicate system of yours, however. They usually arise when you’ve appointed yourself in charge of making breakfast, or lunch, or dinner. You buzz of energy and you lack clear focus and it usually leads to a burnt, overcooked or, on occasion, undercooked meal. Dean always comments on it and you’re always quick to point out that he eats what you serve anyway. Then, Dean smiles and you smile back and Dean thinks you think his own smile is sweet or, at the very least, conceding. But, if his smile is anything, it’s concealing because, in those moments, Dean always thinks up a very good oral sex joke that he tries very hard to keep to himself.
Dean likes to watch you hunt because when you’re hunting you reach a level of focus you never have in the bunker. The first times he and Sam worked with you, a few cases scattered throughout one hot summer, it had freaked him out a little. You seemed almost in a trance. Now, he finds grace in it. In how you move, in how you kill. Sometimes, when there’s just the one vamp left, or the last of a group of demons, or whatever the case may be, he likes to hang back and watch you take the thing down. He always feels guilty about it, afterward. Sends out a quick thank-you-prayer that nothing went terribly wrong. He doesn’t like to think about you dying, but the idea that it’d happen right before his eyes while he watched casually for no reason other than he wanted to, while he should have been helping you finish the straggler off… Each time he promises himself he won’t do it again. He hasn’t managed to stop quite yet.
Dean could watch you orgasm forever. Sometimes, when you’re especially loud, when you look especially wrecked, when you chant his name for an especially long time, Dean’s ego bloats so much he thinks, for a moment, that he really could keep you coming forever. Could make the moment last and last and just be in it with you forever. You come down eventually, though. Then, so does he. He’s never too disappointed, in any case, because he thinks he could stare at the way you look right after an orgasm forever too. An almost coy smile on your lips, despite your recent foray. Your hair mussed but somehow more in place than usual. A flush on your cheeks that he loves to kiss firmly, then watch as the blood rushes back to tint your skin just so he can do it all over again.
Dean could watch you laugh on and on too. Your laugh doesn’t sound exceptionally nice. It isn’t especially cute, not even in a dorky way. It isn’t particularly unique or music to his ears. But it’s not about how you sound. Dean could watch you laugh on and on. Because you put your whole body into it. Like the laugh starts in your toes, races up your legs and up your spine so fast that it bursts out of you, like it’s taken even you off guard. You shake with it, your teeth flash, your chest heaves, your cheeks blush and it reminds him of what you look like after sex.
There are a couple other things Dean could watch forever that have nothing to do with you.
Like the stars. He and Sam still take the impala out with a couple cold beers just to watch the night sky. They do it more often now, actually, because there’s a field only a few miles from the bunker that’s perfect for it.
Like Cas, and more importantly, Cas’ face when he tries to keeps up with conversations speckled with one too many cultural references.
Like the view outside of Baby’s windshield.
Dean does his best to always be watching when these moments and things occur because he knows he doesn’t get forever. Dean knows he doesn’t even get a lifetime. He gets a little while and he’s going to enjoy it while it lasts. When his time comes, he’ll have regrets, he knows, but not having taken the time to enjoy the little things, or the little things about you, won’t be one of them. This, he knows too.
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