Request: Nothing Less Than Genius
Request: Can you write a deanXreader where the reader is their kickass researcher and she’s into classic literature and physiological stuff and she’s dating Dean but lately she’s noticed that they haven’t been as close so she tries to talk to him about it and after pestering he reluctantly admits he doesn’t feel he’s smart enough for her so she comforts him and it’s a bit fluffy with some angst I guess? I love your writing ❤️ have a great day
Word Count: 1,197
Thank you so so much<33 I hope you like it<3
(In other news I have a drama exam tomorrow and I’m officially freaking out so if any of you amazing people have any words of wisdom when it comes to oral presentations I’m all ears lmao)
It all started when he was searching for your birthday gift – you’d told him time and time again not to do anything, but as usual, he ignored you and ended up in a chain bookstore in town, browsing through the shelves.
“Looking for yourself?” The assistant approaches him, disturbing the silence of the store. Dean shakes his head, trailing a finger over the spines.
“My girlfriend. She’s… into all of this,” He replies, glancing up at the sign above his head which christens the section as Classic Literature, “I’m not exactly… experienced at it.”
“Most of us aren’t,” The assistant offers a pleasant smile, “What’s her favourite book?”
“To Kill a Mockingbird,” He says without hesitation, “She must have read it a thousand times, she’s got like three copies. One of them’s a first edition, signed by the author.” He smiles slightly, remembering how excited you were when you discovered it deep in the Men of Letters’ archives.
“Wow,” The guy is obviously a bit taken aback, “I don’t think we can beat that. Anything else?”
“Uh… I don’t know. She likes the Bronte sisters and Jane Austen and stuff like that but I’m pretty sure she’s read it all. I was just hoping for a miracle.”
The man laughs, “I don’t think we’ll be much help there. What does she do for a living?”
“We work together in our family business, but she has a physiology degree.” Dean remembers, glancing across the bookstore, “We couldn’t be much different.”
“Punching above your weight a little?” The guy laughs, “You’re lucky she hangs around, man.”
“Hey, Dean, feel like a trip to the store?” You ask – you already have your jacket on and your car keys in hand, “I need a few groceries and stuff, and I was thinking about going into town and picking up-“
He interrupts you with a shake of his head, “I’m good. Kinda busy with this – next time, though. You stay safe.”
You pause, obviously somewhat deflated, “Yeah, sure. You too.” You smile slightly, even though he’s obviously just playing some game on his phone. You zip up your jacket and smile brightly as you slip through the garage door.
You don’t return for a few hours – by then, it’s dark and Sam and Dean have headed to bed. The traffic was hell but you texted Dean ahead so he didn’t worry – and he responded simply with an ok. You’re not one to hyper-analyse but nine times out of ten he at least throws a kiss on the end. Combined with him being weird earlier on, you’re coloured a little worried by him.
Nonetheless, you unpack the groceries and head to bed: only to find Dean as far to his edge as humanly possible, his back to both you and the door. You sigh, changing silently and slipping beneath the sheets.
This goes on for longer than usual: sure, sometimes the two of you have dry patches, it’s only natural in any kind of relationship but never like this. He barely speaks to you and the closest thing you get to intimacy is him brushing his teeth while you’re in the shower – even then, you ignore one another steadfastly.
On the fifth day, you approach him about it. Although you didn’t want to nag or moan or upset him further – because there’s seriously something wrong with him and you’re ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent sure that you haven’t done or said anything – you couldn’t let it go on like this. You corner him in the kitchen after lunch, when he’s absently washing a few dishes.
“Hey, Dean?” You ask, hopping up on the counter. He spares you only the quickest of glances.
“Is everything… okay?” You offer, mentally berating yourself for how useless it sounds. Any preparation goes out the window as he shrugs.
“I’m fine.” He says monotonously, “Why?”
“Well… you’ve barely talked to me in almost a week.” You shrug nonchalantly, “And you’re just… different. I don’t know.”
“I’m fine.” He says again, “Seriously, Y/N, it’s not worth-“
“But it is worth it.” You insist, watching as he dries his hands, “If it’s bothering you then I want to know about it – that’s what this is about, remember?”
“It’s just stupid.” He scowls. You shrug.
“The only stupid thing is not talking to each other over something little. C’mon, spill.” You urge, reaching out and touching his shoulder.
He pauses, obviously debating whether to tell you what he’s thinking or not, but after a sideways glance at the door to make sure no-one else is lurking in the shadows, he sighs.
“Am I smart enough for you?”
“What?” You frown, “Of course you are. Where did that come from?”
He glances at you, and then at the floor, “I was in a bookstore last week and… I don’t know. Everything you’re into is so sophisticated and intelligent, but I’m more… I don’t know. My interests are stupid.”
“They’re not stupid.” You say quickly, “And sophisticated and intelligent have nothing to do with it. Did the guy say something? Do I need to go kick his-?”
“No, no. It’s my fault.” He sighs, “I told you it was stupid. Can we just forget-“
“No, Dean, we can’t.” You say firmly, reaching forward and taking his face in both of your hands, “You’re being stupid if you think that anything you do is stupid. Maybe my stuff may be more stereotypically sophisticated, but yours is far more practical.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can take apart a car and put it back together in record time. You’ve built that thing up from the ground more times than I care to think about. You’re amazingly technologically adept, you have an extensive knowledge of weapons and lore and hunting in general. You’re a genius, Dean – just because I spent years earning a sheet of paper that says I can do one thing doesn’t make you any less amazing.” You promise him, “Don’t ever think you’re anything less than genius, Dean Winchester. Ever.”
You take a breath and wait for him to say something - but he doesn’t. There’s a moment when you think he’s going to turn away and ignore you again, but instead he bends down and presses his lips to yours firmly, kissing you with everything he has. He’s missed you more than any word he could muster can ever describe and hates the idea that he ever could have hurt you, but… he just can’t seem to help it anymore.
“Thank you.” He murmurs against your lips, his arms closing around your waist as he pulls you closer to him. You only giggle in response, pulling away with a smile.
“You don’t ever have to thank me.” You assure him. He only shrugs in response.
“It’s not your fault I’m a colossal dick.” He shakes his head, “You shouldn’t have to deal with it.”
“But I like to,” You reply, “It’s what you do when you love someone, Dean. You of all people know that.”
All he can do is nod as a smile spreads over his features, “Talking about love… I don’t suppose you’re not busy for the next few hours?”