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It was no secret that Dean had always felt appreciative of Valentine’s day. What wasn’t there to love? Chocolate covered everything and anything, deals on meals for two (that Dean always devoured on his own), and his absolute favorite, heartbroken babes searching for Mr. Right Now. Although this year, with much convincing from Sam, Dean won’t be spending the holiday at the nearest dive bar or in a seedy motel. See, this year he had plans to be Mr. Right, and the first step was decorating your favorite spot in the bunker.
Armed with advice from the article he read the other day, he set up a charcuterie board. Dean had tried and failed multiple times to make roses out of pepperonis, so he settled for arranging the cured meats and other food items in whatever way felt romantic to him. (Which wasn’t easy, how does one arrange olives and cheeses romantically?) After the wooden board was filled and Dean was satisfied with how it looked (and quite frankly tired of fussing with it) he moved on into the kitchen.
When you entered the library to peruse the stacks you noticed that one of the tables was decorated in a way that seemed out of place. With a quirked eyebrow you stepped closer to the table and inspected the festive display. Red, pink, and white heart confetti was scattered across the wooden surface. Atop the layer of confetti sat a wooden board covered in cured meats, various cheeses, olives, fruits, and crackers. And off to the side sat a metal bucket of ice, the one that usually held beer, instead held a bottle of rosé.
An amused smile was brought to your face upon seeing the display, you even chuckled a bit. You wondered who put it together. It was obvious to you that it was either Sam or Dean, but you were unable to conjure an explanation as to why.
When Dean entered the room, he jumped slightly at the sight of you. He didn’t expect to see you in the library for another 15 minutes at least. It was just his luck that you’d be early for your afternoon reading while he was attempting (and now failing) to set up a surprise for you. He held two whiskey glasses in his hands, one of them still wrapped in a dish cloth. Your attention shifted from the festive display and onto Dean, much like it always was when he was near you. You were able to witness the quick change of his expression from surprise to one of a more suave nature.
“Hey,” he said feigning nonchalance as he walked over to the table. He set down one of the glasses next to the wine.
“What is all this?” You asked with a slight dismissive tone. It was hardly noticeable but it was enough to make Dean falter, to question if he was over doing it. You noticed his calm exterior waver as doubt cracked the surface. Guilt began to make itself known in your chest.
“I saw it somewhere online, one of those clickbait articles,” Dean confessed. His confident tone was returning to him, though you could tell the effects of your undercut still lingered.
You couldn't stifle the laughter that bubbled out of you. The thought of hardened Dean Winchester reading clickbait articles about Valentine’s day was so adorable. You found his love and care for those close to him endearing. This time he didn't hide his displeasure at being mocked, he grumbled something you didn’t catch as he set down the second glass with a thud. The air had stilled as guilt returned to you at the sight of his pretty pink lips set in a frown.
He cared so much and he put so much effort into this. You hadn’t meant to insult him, in fact you were enamored with him, but you lacked the words to explain this to him. You found the amount of effort he put into this precious and endearing, even though you didn’t particularly care for the holiday. Still, it was important to you that Dean cares. You wished for a way to start anew, but no matter how hard you did so, it was impossible. You stepped closer to Dean and reached for the dish cloth that was still in his hands. In doing so your fingers brushed against his and you used this as an excuse to take his hand into yours. The two of you froze for only a second before you took the towel from him and left the library.
(✿◠‿◠)
When you returned the lilt of the piano and wails of the saxophone was unmistakable. The music was soft and romantic, perfect to fill the silence and easy enough to speak over. The intention of this set-up was clear, as to whom it was for, that still remained a mystery. Out of habit you scanned the room for Dean, you found him at the table where you left him. Except now he was cradling the bottle of rosé. His fingers were grasped around the neck as his other hand supported the bottom while he filled the two glasses of wine. Once full he raised both glasses in his hands and held one out to you.
As if enchanted, your legs were commanded not of your mind but by their own will over to him. You reached out and retrieved the glass from him, your fingers brushing against each other once more. It felt silly how the simple, accidental touch warmed your cheeks. It was growing harder for you to ignore how you and Dean were always touching. You no longer believed it could be an accident every time.
“Thank you,” you said. The guilt returned, rooted in your stomach and crawling up your chest to wind itself through your rib cage.
Dean watched you as you stood before him, turning the glass around in your hand considering the pink bubbly liquid. His eyes searched your face for any indication of what you were feeling. Were you picking up what he was putting down? He took a drink of his wine, the bubbly liquid tingling against his tongue and throat as he swallowed it down. He hummed an acknowledgment to your thanks, as he was preoccupied. Dean wouldn’t dare to call himself familiar with the various types of wine nor would he call himself knowledgeable about anything surrounding the beverage. All Dean knew is he had gone out on a limb with the rosé and now was pleasantly surprised by the light and sweet flavor profile.
“What made you do all of this?” You asked, unable to bite back the question anymore. “It’s nice, but what inspired you?” When you spoke his eyes were instantly on you as if hearing you wasn’t enough, he had to see you, had to feel you.
“You, that damn article, and Sam asked me if I was being dumb on purpose,” Dean answered.
His statement drew your eyes to his, it was a smooth movement but that was to be expected. You always know where Dean is in relation to you, it’s difficult to ignore when you constantly felt his eyes on you, or the weight of his hand rested on you so casually. Both of you found the magnetic attraction glaringly obvious, so did Sam every time he was trailing behind you two on the sidewalk or cast away to the backseat no one caring about his scrunched up legs. Though it was clear for anyone to see the depth of Dean’s affections, it was unclear to you.
“Are you saying I was your inspiration?” You questioned. Unable to resist entering each other’s orbit, you shifted closer together. Your bodies hovered breaths away from each other, the hairs on his arm brushed against yours causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.
“Sweetheart, you’re my inspiration for everything. I consider you in every decision I make,” he answered.
“Dean, I–” You started to say something, you wanted to respond, to assure him you felt the same way he did. The half-formed thought died on your tongue, the appendage unable to work in tandem with your brain. You were far too distracted by the fruity scent of the rosé mingling with the warmth of leather and amber.
“No, listen, let me say this,” He interrupted you. It was a good thing too, he always knew when to save you from rambling. “I would turn Heaven or Hell upside down if I needed to, all for you.”
“You have my heart.” The words parted your lips, rushed and quiet like one’s last breath.
As soon as the meaning fell on Dean’s ears, he was unable to resist touching you any longer. His fingers slid against the smooth skin of your cheek. The palm of his hand settled firmly against your jaw. His touch broke your typical reserved nature. You were overcome by longing for what was once unattainable was now in your reach. Within a second, you were grasping at his shoulders and the feel of worn cotton wrinkled in your fingers.
Dean’s breath caught in his chest at the intensity of your hold on him, physically and spiritually. Finally, he drew you in, guiding you out of your thoughts and back to him. Everything surrounding you fell away and all that existed was the two of you. Dean’s lips were gentle yet persistent against your own. As you kissed him you hoped you were able to convey all that you've been wanting to say but failed to do so.
When you two separated from each other, Dean pressed his forehead against yours. The two of you shared in each other’s breath, opening your spirits up to connect further with one another. Dean’s eyes shimmered with affection as he considered your flushed cheeks. The sight before him cemented a ravenous craving in the crevices of his soul. Before you could think he was drawing you in once more, his lips covering yours in a hurried fashion. Without hesitation you melted into him, your muscles relaxing against the strength of his arms as they encircled your waist. Your need for him had been a long nagging feeling and now that you had him, it was pleasantly dizzying. The feel of Dean’s flesh underneath your own provided a sense of stability. Despite his strength, he remained soft and it was evident in his plush lips on yours, the worn fabric of his clothing, and the way he handled you with gentle care. Your grip on him was tight, almost bruising. Now that you had him, now that you were certain of his affections, you were afraid to lose any part of him. Your thoughts on Valentine’s day existing as a B-tier holiday began to shift. Especially if it meant you were able to celebrate with Dean.