Workaholic (Dean x Reader) Station 19 Non-Platonic
A/N: As promised, here is the Dean x Reader Station 19 fic!! Really it’s just self indulgent domestic fluff, I hope y’all enjoy.
Warnings: Fluff, and kissing.
To classify you as a workaholic would be an understatement, to say the least, so it didn’t surprise Dean to find your bed covered in text books and articles, with your laptop open and your body peacefully sleeping amidst the mess. Dean moved everything onto your desk, careful to not disturb the order, before crawling into bed with you. He pressed his body into yours, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you closer into his strong arms. You stirred slightly, turning towards him. Dean pressed his lips into your soft cheek.
“How was work?” You mumbled, already dozing off again.
“Put out some fires, saved some lives, nothing unusual,” Dean nuzzled into your shoulder, “how late did you stay up working?”
“It was 4:00 am when I last checked the time but the last thing I remember was seeing the sun start to come up.”
You felt the breath from Dean’s laugh against your ear.
“‘M glad you’re back,” you sighed, closing your eyes as Dean started tracing shapes in your back and scratching the one area you always had an itch you couldn’t reach.
“I’m glad I’m back too. What were you working on?”
“Trying to figure out something new for enrichment. We’ve been doing the same kinds of things for years now and I just feel like something revolutionary has to happen, you know?” you were more awake now, turning to lay on your back and stare at the ceiling as Dean kept his arms around you, his eyes never leaving your face.
“If anyone is going to do something revolutionary, it’s going to be you.”
You breathed a laugh, glancing over at him just long enough for him to press a kiss onto your nose.
“I hope so, I just want to be the best I can be. This field deserves someone who can make a difference, you know?”
Dean’s thumb was rubbing circles into your side as you talked, letting the sun come in through the windows and warm the blankets cast across your bodies.
“What are the plans for the day?” Dean’s voice wove it’s way through the air that had settled around your entwined bodies in the few hours he had been home.
“I need to keep working, and we also need groceries,” you sighed.
“Why don’t we spend the rest of the morning in bed, and then this afternoon you can work while I do the shopping?” Dean proposed.
“Are you sure? I know how much you love grocery shopping with me,” the teasing was evident in your tone, alluding to the trouble you caused Dean when you shopped together.
“Maybe I’ll make it out of the store without spending thirty minutes deciding on an ice cream flavor,” he quipped, moving his fingers to tickle your side while pecking small kisses all over your face to keep you from moving away.
“Ok, ok,” you laughed your surrender, “you can go grocery shopping without me. My work will be more fun anyways.”
“More fun than shopping cart races in the parking lot?”
Dean’s comment caused one of his favorite things to happen. A grin stretched across your whole face as your eyes met his.
“Not as fun as beating you at shopping cart races in the parking lot, no,” you agreed. Dean laughed, pulling you in closer to him.
“So you’re just scared you’ll lose?” he questioned.
“I just don’t want to break your poor little heart when I win,” your eyes twinkled in the sunlight.
“Sure,” Dean’s voice softened, kissing the top of your head and running his fingers through your hair, taking in every detail of the moment as to not forget it.
Much to his pleasure, you didn’t notice when Dean came home from grocery shopping later that afternoon. Placing the bags down by the door, he admired your focus on your work. Your hair was pulled out of your face in a messy bun, and the sunset on the water behind you illuminated your whole being. You were in the same place he had left you a few hours before, hunched over the kitchen table, drawing figures left and right, occasionally searching something on your laptop or sifting through pages in one of the many textbooks open around you.
Dean felt as though he was in a movie, watching the orange light surround your beauty. Finally you glanced over at him with a wide smile.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to know I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have such a beautiful lady in my houseboat,” Dean met your grin with one of his own. You pushed a stray hair behind your ear before turning back to your work.
“I had this idea while you were gone, I really think I’m on to something,” you sounded excited, alert, and not at all like you had only gotten a few hours of sleep. As beautiful as you were, Dean was just as attracted to the enthusiasm and passion you had for your work, amongst a list of other things.
Careful not to interrupt, Dean leaned over your shoulder to plant a kiss on your cheek. You immediately broke your focus to pull his chin back over to you so that your lips could meet his briefly, though you quickly turned your attention back to your sketches and notes.
Dean went back to the grocery bags and started putting the items away, stealing glances at you every now and then.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you called to him after twenty minutes of silence.
“Like I’m made of diamonds.”
“Maybe you are made of diamonds, and that’s why I’m looking at you,” Dean suggested. You laughed like wind chimes, bright and magical.
“I’m not made of diamonds,” you deadpanned.
“But you are beautiful,” Dean clarified. You shot Dean a look, about to reply when you were cut off by his stomach growling loudly. Your eyes met Dean’s and you both broke out in laughter.
“What did you get for dinner?” you asked when you regained your composure.
“Well, when I was at the store I was craving that chicken salad you make, but I know you want to keep working so I thought I could have a go at making it,” he said proudly.
“Do you know how to make it?” your brow furrowed.
“I figured you could teach me, how hard can it be?” Dean shrugged.
Your work ended up abandoned on the table as you and Dean laughed your way through cooking together. You would have thought Dean would be good at listening to verbal directions considering he was a firefighter, but he was useless in the kitchen. Dinner eventually got made, and you found yourself on the deck with your sandwiches and a glass of wine watching the lights reflect off of the water and the promise that your work could wait until Dean’s next shift at the station and the time spent with him was more important.
areudirty
jacobvanloon
snowghoul
origamiaround
amandla
tangentwithtanner
