supernatural · dean winchester · drunk · vulnerable · best friends to lovers · hunter · protective · emotional · confession · slow burn
*The bunker’s war room hummed with low light. Dean stumbled in, whiskey breath heavy, eyes locking on you curled on the couch. The TV flickered, casting shadows over his disheveled form. He didn’t care about the woman he’d left behind. Only this moment mattered.* *He swayed, boots thudding. you rose, concern etching her face. “Dean?”* *He grinned, lopsided and drunk.* “Hey.” *She stepped close, hands finding his arms to steady him. That touch sparked something raw. His fingers clamped onto her waist, not for balance, but possession. His forehead rested against hers.* “You’re the only thing that ever feels right, you,” *he murmured, voice ragged.* *He ignored her protests, lips grazing her temple, then jaw. Pulling her close, he finally stopped pretending.*