Between power and freedom

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

The next hours felt like a whirlwind as we acted like madly in love teenagers, lost in each other’s energy. We teased, kissed, and explored every inch of one another until we eventually felt exhaustion taking over and fell asleep in a tangle of limbs.

Morning came, and I slipped out of bed, feeling the lingering warmth of our night together. I headed into the shower, the hot water cascading down my body, washing away the remnants of sleep. Just as I started to relax, I felt a familiar presence behind me.

Dean’s body pressed against me, his warmth enveloping me as his fingers slipped between my thighs, teasingly entering me. I gasped, my nails scratching the slick tiles of the shower as the sensation of him overwhelmed me.

“Morning, beautiful,” he murmured against my ear, his voice low and gravelly, sending a thrill down my spine. His fingers moved expertly, finding that sweet spot inside me that made my legs weak.

The sounds coming out of my mouth filled the room, echoing off the tiles as he worked me with a fervor that sent shockwaves of pleasure racing through me. I leaned back against him, relishing the way his body pressed against mine, our skin slick with water and desire.

“Dean,” I breathed, barely able to form coherent thoughts as his fingers continued their delicious exploration. “You’re so good at this.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against my skin. “I aim to please,” he said, his fingers moving faster, deeper, pushing me closer to the edge.

The tension in my body built quickly, the heat pooling in my belly as I moved against him, seeking that sweet release. I could feel his lips trailing along my shoulder, his breath hot against my skin, urging me on as he pushed me further.

“Let go for me, Y/N,” he whispered, and with those words, I surrendered completely. The pleasure washed over me like a tidal wave, crashing down as I cried out his name, my body trembling with each pulse of ecstasy.

He continued to work me through my climax, his fingers relentless as I rode the waves of pleasure. When I finally came back down, breathless and spent, I turned to face him, my heart racing with a mix of exhilaration and satisfaction.

“God, you’re amazing,” I said, looking up into his eyes, which sparkled with mischief and lust.

“Just getting started,” he replied, a wicked grin spreading across his face. And with that, I knew the morning was only going to get better.

He teased his hard length against me, a wicked grin on his face. “Think you can take it?” he asked, his voice low and inviting.

“Not in the shower,” I said, half-laughing, half-breathless from the heat of the moment.

In an instant, he scooped me up, throwing me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing. “Then let’s change the venue,” he declared, carrying me to the bedroom with a playful swagger.

“Protection?” he asked, a hint of concern crossing his features as he set me down on the bed. “Fuck,” I said while looking in my nightstand, my heart racing. “I don’t have any.”

Dean let out a heavy sigh, the air leaving his body like a balloon deflating. “Then we’ll have to wait until tonight,” he said, falling back onto the bed, his frustration mingling with desire.

“Maybe it’s a good thing,” he added with a teasing smirk, trying not to show his disappointment. “Or we’ll be late for work.”

I couldn’t help but to feel sad at the thought, the tension from moments ago shifting into something heavier. “Right, because you never showed up late with a girl on your arm,” I replied, rolling my eyes . But I noticed how he was a little sad.

Dean turned to face me, his expression softening. “I just want to make sure it’s right, this time” he said, his voice sincere. “You’re worth the wait.”

His words sent a warm rush through me, and I smiled back at him, feeling the connection between us deepen. “I guess we’ll just have to hold off, for now,” I said, trying to keep my tone light despite the simmering desire still lingering in the air.

“Trust me, tonight will be worth it,” he replied, winking at me before sitting up. “But for now, let’s try to get through the day without me losing my mind, thinking about what’s coming later.”

“Agreed,” I said, taking a deep breath to center myself as I swung my legs off the bed. “But you better believe I’m going to be thinking about it all day.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “You’re trouble, Y/N. I can’t wait.”

--

And as we got ready for work, I couldn’t shake the excitement building in my chest for what tonight might bring.

It wasn’t even lunchtime when I got a text from Dean that sent a thrill through me: **Rock hard, can’t stop thinking about those lips.**

I grinned at my phone, my heart racing. **I know a remedy, Lunch in my office? ** I replied quickly.

A few moments later, I heard a soft knock on the door. I quickly locked it and pushed him against it as soon as I opened the door, my body colliding with his in a rush of heat and urgency. Stealing a few rushed rough kisses.

Kneeling in front of him, I wasted no time, my hands working his pants down before wrapping my fingers around his thick length as I took him into my mouth. I moved quickly, expertly, my tongue swirling around him as I focused on driving him wild.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head fell back against the door, his hands gripping my face, urging me deeper. I went faster, my throat constricting as I gagged around him, the sound echoing in the small office space.

“Can I?” he asked breathlessly, his eyes dark with desire. I nodded, eager to give him everything he wanted.

With a firm grip on my face and hair, he began to thrust his hips harder, each thrust sending tears streaming down my cheeks. The pressure built as I surrendered to him, the overwhelming pleasure and intensity making me dizzy.

“God, you’re incredible,” he muttered, his voice a mix of admiration and lust.

I could feel him getting closer, and I reveled in the way he lost control, the way he used me as he chased his release. The tears mixed with the warmth of my excitement, but I loved every second of it, the rawness of our connection fueling my desire.

“Y/N,” he groaned, his voice strained. “I’m so close…”

I tightened my lips around him, sucking hard, humming in encouragement, wanting to feel him let go. With a few more thrusts, he finally found his release, filling my mouth as I swallowed every drop, my heart racing with exhilaration.

When he finished, he pulled back, panting heavily as he looked down at me, his expression a mix of awe and satisfaction. “Damn,” he said, his voice still shaky. “You... I.... fuck... I had no idea you'd meant it."

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and shot him a cheeky grin. Dean lifted me on top of my desk, standing in between my thighs. "For tonight, your place or mine?” Dean asked, his eyes glinting with mischief.

I thought for a moment, a flutter of excitement coursing through me. I had never been to his place before, and the idea of exploring that side of him sent a thrill down my spine. “Yours,” I replied, my heart racing at the prospect.

“Good choice, I'll order in, add some candles." he said, a playful grin spreading across his face. "And show you every. single. corner."

--

Taglist: @jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @panickedbitch

Between power and freedom

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

The kiss was soft at first, a tentative exploration, but it quickly deepened as our feelings poured out. I melted into him, my hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer as his arms wrapped tightly around me. In that moment, everything felt right, and all the complications of our lives faded into the background.

I couldn’t help it; my hips instinctively grind against him, feeling the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing against me through the denim. Dean groaned into my mouth, the sound sending a thrill through me. His hands found my hips, pulling me closer, urging me to move against him again, and I gladly obliged.

“God, Y/N,” he breathed, his voice thick with need, and I felt a rush of excitement at his reaction. The intensity between us was palpable, and I could feel the heat rising as Dean's kisses became more demanding. He nibbled and bit softly at my bottom lip, making me gasp and pull him closer, the world around us fading further into the background.

His hands roamed over my waist, fingers pinching the fabric of my shirt, teasingly tugging at it. The sensation sent shivers down my spine, igniting a fire within me that I hadn’t known was there. Every brush of his fingers felt electric, heightening my senses and making me crave more

“Dean,” I gasped, my breath hitching as he began to explore the curves of my body more boldly. The way he touched me sent waves of pleasure coursing through me, igniting every nerve ending. I felt bold and reckless, lost in this moment of intimacy.

“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” he murmured against my skin, his voice low and rough. I couldn’t think of anything else besides him, this moment, and the hunger in his eyes.

He captured my mouth again, rougher this time, as if trying to consume me. His hands tightened on my hips, guiding me to grind against him, and I felt him harden even more beneath me. The heat between us was unbearable, and my heart raced as our movements became more desperate.

Dean’s lips trailed down my neck, his teeth grazing my skin, leaving a path of fire wherever he touched. The sensation was intoxicating, and I could feel myself arching into him, urging him to continue. “More,” I whispered, lost in the haze of our connection.

“Anything for you,” he breathed, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down my spine. His hands slipped under my shirt, warm and possessive as he caressed my skin. The feel of his touch made my head spin, and I felt the last remnants of hesitation fade away.

His lips trailed down my neck, exploring every inch of my skin with a gentle yet urgent hunger. I felt the warmth of his breath against my collarbone as he kissed lower, his tongue darting out to play along the curve of my shoulder. The sensation sent shivers through me, a wave of desire crashing over my body as I realized just how much I craved him.

I had never felt this kind of need before, and it was heightened by the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra. The freedom of my skin against his lips, the way he kissed and teased, made every nerve ending sing. He paused for a moment, his mouth hovering just above my skin as if he could sense the vulnerability and anticipation in me.

“Damn, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes darkening with desire. His fingers traced the edge of my shirt, and I felt a thrill at the idea of him seeing me fully, exposed and open to him. The desire to feel his hands everywhere on me was overwhelming.

“Dean…” I breathed, urging him on.

He obliged, pulling my shirt up and over my head, leaving me bare to him. The cool air sent goosebumps racing across my skin, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of his hands. His fingers skimmed down my sides, caressing the curves of my waist, before moving to cup my breasts.

I gasped at the sensation, the way he squeezed gently, sending jolts of pleasure through me. His thumbs brushed over my sensitive nipples, and I arched my back, pressing closer into him. His mouth found its way back to mine as I lost myself in the moment, my body responding to him instinctively.

“You are amazing,” he said between kisses, his voice a low growl that made my heart race. I could feel his excitement radiating from him, fueling my own desires. It was intoxicating, and I wanted more—more of him, more of this connection that felt so right.

His kisses traveled down my body again, trailing lower until his mouth found its way to my chest. His tongue flicked out, teasing my nipple, and I gasped at the electric sensation. I could feel the tension building within me, the heat pooling low in my stomach as he lavished attention on me, his mouth exploring with a mix of tenderness and hunger.

“Dean,” I murmured, lost in the bliss of his touch. “This feels incredible.”

He looked up at me, his eyes dark with desire, and it sent a thrill through me to see the effect I had on him. “You deserve this,” he replied, before returning to his exploration, his mouth worshipping me like I was something sacred.

The world outside faded completely as I surrendered to the pleasure, each kiss and caress drawing me deeper into a haze of ecstasy. I had never felt so alive, so wanted, and I knew in that moment that there was no turning back.

He took his time, every kiss and caress deliberate as he explored what made me gasp and moan. There was a sense of urgency in the air, but he was patient, learning what I loved and how to send pleasure coursing through my body.

As his lips traveled lower, trailing kisses down my stomach, his hand moved to my thighs, teasingly gliding closer to the heat pooling between my legs. I could feel the anticipation building inside me, and my breath quickened as he finally reached the apex of my thighs.

“Hmm,” he murmured, a smirk playing on his lips as he felt the warmth and wetness that awaited him. “Someone’s been waiting for me.” His voice was low, sultry, filled with an unrestrained desire that sent a thrill through me.

His fingers danced lightly over the fabric of my panties, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. I felt a rush of heat at his touch, my body responding instinctively as I pushed against his hand, craving more. “Dean, please,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath, pleading for him to take the next step.

With a wicked grin, he pulled my panties aside, exposing me to his gaze. His fingers found their way to my core, brushing against my wetness with a feather-light touch that made me shudder. The sensation was electrifying, and I couldn’t help but arch my back, pushing closer into his hand.

“God, so wet and ready,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine as he began to explore me more fully, fingers sliding through my folds and circling my most sensitive spots. The pressure of his touch was exquisite, and I felt my body respond to his every movement, heat pooling deep within me.

I let out a soft moan, lost in the waves of pleasure he was creating. His fingers worked in a rhythm that matched the quickening pace of my heart, and I could feel the tension building, coiling tighter with every stroke.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, his voice a low murmur, filled with both curiosity and desire.

“Yes,” I gasped, my breath hitching as he pressed his fingers deeper, curling them in a way that sent me spiraling. “Oh, Dean, yes.”

With that encouragement, he became bolder, his fingers working with confidence as he found the rhythm that pushed me closer to the edge. I could feel my body responding, every nerve ending alive and tingling with sensation.

“Let go for me,” he urged, his thumb finding my clit and rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. The combination of his fingers inside me and the pressure on my clit sent me over the edge, and I surrendered completely to the pleasure.

With a gasp, I felt my release wash over me, waves of ecstasy crashing through my body as I clung to him, my fingers tangling in his hair. Dean watched me with a look of pure admiration and lust, and I knew that in this moment, we had crossed a line that would change everything between us.

As the last tremors of pleasure faded, I opened my eyes to find him still watching me, a satisfied smile on his lips. “You’re incredible,” he said, his voice low and raspy. “But we’re not done yet.”

Before I could respond, he shifted his position, capturing my lips with his again as he moved to take control of the moment, and I knew that this was just the beginning of something exhilarating.

He sunk down, sitting on the floor, his hands gripping my thighs as I knelt on the couch, holding onto the back for support. The thrill of anticipation coursed through me as I felt his breath against my most sensitive area, and I couldn't help but shudder with desire.

“Dean…” I whispered, my voice a mixture of longing and need, but the sound was barely out of my mouth before he buried his face between my thighs. The sensation was electric, and I gasped, my body instinctively responding to his every move.

He was like a man starved, devouring me with a fervor that made my head spin. His tongue explored me in the most delicious ways, teasing and tasting, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through my body. I clenched the back of the couch tighter, trying to steady myself as I felt waves of ecstasy building again.

“Oh my God,” I breathed, lost in the intensity of the moment. His hands roamed over my hips, holding me steady as he lavished attention on my core, swirling and flicking his tongue with a precision that made me writhe. Each stroke sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through me, and I could feel myself teetering on the edge once more.

“You taste so good, so sweet." he murmured against me, the vibration of his voice sending another thrill through my body. He paused for a moment, looking up at me, his eyes dark with desire and lust. I could see the hunger etched on his face, and it only fueled my own need.

“Don’t stop,” I gasped, my voice barely a whisper, urging him to continue.

He wasted no time obeying, diving back in with a renewed vigor. His tongue moved expertly, and I felt my body responding, rolling my hips against him as I chased the pleasure he was giving me. I was completely lost in the sensations, the world outside disappearing as all that mattered was the way he was making me feel.

With each flick of his tongue, I could feel the tension building, the sweet pressure coiling tighter and tighter within me. I was so close, and the urge to let go overwhelmed me. “Dean, I’m—” I gasped, the words tumbling out as my body began to tighten.

“Let it go, Y/N,” he encouraged, his voice low and deep. “I want to feel you.”

With that permission, I surrendered completely, the waves of pleasure crashing over me as I let go. My body shook with the force of my release, and I cried out, the sound echoing through the room as I came undone beneath him.

He continued to taste me through my climax, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until I was left breathless and trembling, the aftershocks radiating through my body. Finally, he pulled back, his face glistening with me, and a triumphant grin spread across his lips.

He kissed my thigh, the heat of his breath sending shivers through my body. “Fuck, your taste… I’m so addicted,” he murmured, his eyes filled with a primal hunger. “I could do this all night.”

I whined softly at his words, the sound escaping my lips before I could stop it. The intensity of what he was doing to me, the way he was savoring every moment, made me ache for more. “You want that?” he asked, his voice low and teasing as he pulled me closer, his tongue teasing me, triggering another wave of pleasure.

“YES” I gasped, my body responding instinctively to his every movement. “More... Dean… please.”

He smiled against me, his hands gripping my hips tightly as he began to pull me against him, guiding my movements as he worked his magic. “Ride,” he commanded, his voice a deep growl that sent a thrill through me.

Without hesitation, I obeyed, my hips rolling and grinding against his mouth, seeking out that delicious friction that made my head spin. The sensation of his tongue sliding inside me, combined with the way he was urging me on, made me feel powerful and consumed all at once.

“Yes, just like that,” he encouraged, his voice muffled but filled with need. I could feel the heat pooling low in my belly, and with each movement, I chased that high, letting my body take over as I rode him harder.

The pleasure was building once again, my body responding to him like a flame to a spark. I could feel myself getting closer, the familiar coil tightening in my core, and I knew I wouldn’t last much longer.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he groaned, his hands moving to my ass, gripping and squeezing as he guided me, forcing me to go harder."

His words drove me wild, pushing me closer to the edge. “Dean, I—” I gasped, but before I could finish, he pulled me down to him, his mouth devouring me once again, tongue dancing inside me with a fervor that made my entire body shake.

“Come for me, Y/N,” he urged, his voice a low rumble that echoed in my ears. “I want to feel you fall apart on my tongue.”

With those words, I teetered on the brink, and with one final thrust of my hips, I let go completely, surrendering to the pleasure as my body exploded in waves of ecstasy. I cried out his name, the sound ringing in my ears as I came undone, every nerve ending igniting in bliss.

He held me tightly as I rode out the waves of pleasure, his mouth still working against me, drawing out every last ounce of ecstasy. When I finally came back down, panting and breathless, I looked down at him, seeing the satisfaction in his eyes.

I moved off his face, my breath still shaky as I glanced down and noticed the wet spot on his pants. Did he just come with me? The realization sent a thrill through me, and I couldn't help but smile at the effect I had on him.

--

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*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

I knew I had to come up with something soon before my dad lost his shit. It was only a matter of time before he started demanding answers about my progress with Dean and Winchester industries.

During our last phone call, I had explained how unstable Dean's life was with Jo—how their fights seemed to escalate and how much tension hung over him whenever she was around. I also casually mentioned how Dean had taken me to dinner with the investors and Chuck seemed pleased with the arrangement.

“Good work on that,” my dad had said, his voice cold and calculating. “Get more into Dean’s life. Manipulate him. Let him fall in love with you.”

“Yeah, right, like that’s something I’m capable of,” I shot back, rolling my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. “I have a master’s degree; I’m not Cupid.”

“Doesn’t matter. Figure it out, break it down from the inside ” he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I sighed, feeling the weight of his expectations pressing down on me. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had to agree, if only to keep the peace. So I decided to focus on my work like I used to, putting my energy into my job rather than dwelling on the complexities of my feelings for Dean.

Weeks passed, and it became painfully clear that Dean was intentionally putting distance between us. Whenever Jo was around, he acted as if I were air, completely ignoring me while plastering on a smile for her.

I tried to joke or get his attention, hoping to draw out the true Dean I had come to know, but nothing worked. It was like I was shouting into a void, and the more he shut me out, the more frustrated I became.

At work, I kept my head down, throwing myself into projects and trying to prove my worth to Bobby and the rest of the team. I hoped that maybe, just maybe, if I became indispensable enough, Dean would realize he needed me in his life—not just for work, but for something more personal.

But as the days turned into weeks, my attempts felt futile. Whenever Dean and Jo entered the office together, the atmosphere shifted. Jo had a way of commanding attention, her loud laughter and brash comments cutting through the air like a knife. Dean would respond to her every whim, and I was left on the sidelines, watching as the connection I thought we had faded into nothing.

One afternoon, I found myself alone in the break room, pouring a cup of coffee, when Sam walked in. He looked at me with concern, and I knew he could sense the tension in the air.

“Hey, Y/N, everything okay?” he asked, leaning against the counter. “Yeah, just peachy,” I replied, forcing a smile. Sam raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You sure? You’ve been quieter than usual. Is it about Dean?”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “It’s never mind." Sam frowned, looking thoughtful. “You know, Dean has a lot going on with Jo. He’s dealing with... his own issues. Sometimes he just needs space.”

Space? I thought, the frustration bubbling over. What kind of space? I’m not trying to invade his life; I just want to be friendly. But it feels like I’m competing with her every single day.

But all I said was "sure".

Sam his voice calm. “He’ll come around when he’s ready. He's a good boss, but his personal life just mingles with work I guess.” I nodded, appreciating his advice but still feeling the sting of rejection. “Thanks, Sam."

As I stood there, staring into my coffee cup, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my situation was only going to get messier. I had a job to do, but my heart was tangled in a web of emotions that seemed impossible to untangle.

That evening, as I sat at my desk, I noticed Jo laughing in the hallway. It was a familiar scene, but tonight it hit harder. I clenched my jaw, feeling a mix of anger and sadness. I didn’t want to be this pawn in my father’s game, nor did I want to be the other woman, vying for Dean’s attention while Jo played the part of the doting girlfriend.

With a deep breath, I decided to focus on my work and push the feelings aside. I had to remind myself that I was capable, that I was more than just a pawn in someone else’s game. But as I glanced at Dean, I couldn’t help but wonder how long I could keep this up without losing myself in the process.

--

Another dinner at Bobby's made it painfully clear why Dean had changed.

Jo announced to everyone, with a beaming smile, that she was pregnant. I almost choked on my food, a mix of shock and disbelief flooding through me. I forced a congratulatory smile, clapping along with everyone else, but my heart sank.

Dean, on the other hand, seemed anything but pleased. He sat quietly, his expression unreadable, and I could feel the tension radiating off him like heat waves.

--

The next night, I found myself working late. I had thrown myself into my projects, trying to escape the reality of Dean’s new situation, but my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts.

Bobby asked Sam the come back but part time, he wanted me by his side. To share the same title. Sam thought it was a great idea, this way Bobby could train me until his retirement and I would get promoted earlier.

When I decided to leave my office, I noticed a light still on in Dean's office.

I hesitated for a moment before knocking softly on the door. “Hi,” I said, stepping inside. Dean looked up from his paperwork, his brows furrowing as he saw me.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice lacking its usual warmth. He looked downcast, his tie a little lose, his hair messy. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was spiraling. “What are you still doing here?” he asked.

“I could ask you the same thing. Did you have dinner yet?” I inquired, trying to keep my tone light. He sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “No, I tried to work through it, but I can’t seem to focus.”

“Is it Jo?” I ventured, surprised by my own boldness. Dean looked at me, surprise flickering across his face. “You noticed, huh?” I nodded slowly. “It’s just... I’ve seen... You don’t seem really thrilled about everything.”

He leaned back in his chair, the weight of his thoughts evident. “Just between you and me?” he asked, lowering his voice as if the walls themselves could hear.

“Of course,” I replied, stepping closer and closing the door behind me for privacy, even though we were probably the only two people in the building at this hour.

Dean took a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I don’t think I’m ready for kids,” he finally admitted, his voice strained. “I never pictured myself being a father, start a family, let alone with Jo. I just... I feel trapped.”

My heart ached at his words. I wanted to reach out and comfort him, to let him know he wasn’t alone in this turmoil. “Does she know?” I asked softly, afraid of his answer but needing to know.

He shook his head, frustration mingling with confusion. “No. I mean, how could I tell her? She’s so excited about it. I can’t just crush her like that.”

I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “Dean, it’s not just about her. You have to think about what you want too. This is your life, and it’s a huge decision.”

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “I know, I just… I don’t want to let anyone down."

I could see the conflict etched on his face, the struggle between duty and desire. I stepped closer to him, my heart pounding.

He locked eyes with me, and for a brief moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.

I felt a surge of hope as his gaze softened. “Still maybe you need to talk to Jo. She deserves to know how you feel, and you deserve to be honest with yourself.”

Dean sighed, his shoulders slumping. “You’re right. I just don’t know how to start that conversation. It’s going to break her heart.”

“I know it’s tough,” I said, my voice steady. He nodded slowly, the weight of my words settling over him. “Thanks, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I felt a warmth spread through me at his words, but I pushed it aside, reminding myself of the boundaries I needed to maintain. “You can always talk to me. I’m here for you,” I assured him.

We stood in silence for a moment, the air thick with unspoken words. I could feel the tension between us, a mix of comfort and longing, but I knew this wasn’t the right time to explore those feelings.

“How about I order some pizza, and I’ll help you with this?” I suggested, hoping to lighten the mood. Dean’s face brightened, and he nodded gratefully.

“Yeah, that would be great,” he said, pulling out his phone. I quickly ordered a couple of pizzas and settled back into the rhythm of work.

We tackled spreadsheets, analyzed figures, and brainstormed ideas for the upcoming projects. The hours flew by, and soon enough, we were both feeling the effects of long hours and stress.

After we wrapped up, I leaned back in the seat in the corner of his office, taking a deep breath to unwind. I kicked off my shoes, letting my bare feet rest on the table in front of me. Dean looked over with an amused smirk as he walked back with two glasses of bourbon in hand.

“Nice footrest you’ve got there,” he teased, handing me a glass. “Try to wear heels all damn day, you'd do the same,” I replied, laughing softly.

Dean took a seat on the table in front of me, his posture relaxed as he placed my feet gently on his lap. "You know, you don't need to wear heels in this company, right?"

Just as I wanted to answer he started to massage them, his fingers digging into the arches of my feet. Ah soft "hm" left my lips. “Is this okay?” he asked, looking up at me with an expression that was both playful and sincere.

“It’s more than okay,” I replied whispering, feeling the tension melt away with each movement of his hands. “I might need to keep you around for personal massage therapy session.”

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the moment. “I charge by the hour,” he quipped, and we both laughed, the sound filling the otherwise quiet office.

The atmosphere felt easy and cozy, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift. But just as we settled into our little bubble, the door swung open, and Bobby walked in.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the sight of Dean and me in such an intimate position.

“No, not at all!” I exclaimed, pulling my feet back into a more appropriate position.

Bobby chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, I hope I’m not stepping on any toes here. I’ve got the latest numbers on the project you two were working on.”

Dean straightened up and regaining his composure. “We were just wrapping things up, anyway. What do you have for us?”

Bobby pulled out a folder and laid it on the table, glancing between us with a knowing smile. “Just wanted to make sure you two had everything you needed before the meeting next week. I’ll leave you to it.”

I couldn’t help but feel a mix of warmth and embarrassment. Dean had dropped the playful facade, returning to his professional demeanor, but I could still sense the underlying tension from earlier.

“Thanks for that,” Dean said to me, leaning back against the table, his expression softening. “I really needed it. You know, you’re pretty amazing at keeping my head straight.”

I smiled, feeling a blush creep onto my cheeks. “Just doing what I can. Besides, you’d do the same for me, right?”

He nodded, a hint of seriousness creeping back into his eyes. “Yeah, I would.”

The air was charged with an unspoken understanding. I knew we were both still navigating our complicated feelings, but in this moment, sitting together in the glow of the office light with the smell of pizza in the air, it felt like we were on the verge of something new.

--

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I walked into Dean’s office, a mix of anticipation and nerves swirling in my stomach. “Dean? You wanted to see me?” I called out, but the room was eerily silent.

As I stepped further inside, I felt a sudden rush of warmth as hands unexpectedly pulled me back against a strong frame. My breath hitched as I recognized Dean’s scent, a mix of vanilla and bourbon, something distinctly him.

His lips brushed over my neck, sending shivers down my spine, and before I knew it, he was unbuttoning my blouse just enough to slip his large hand inside, igniting a fire within me.

“I’ve been craving you,” he whispered, his voice deep and husky. The way he said it made my heart race, and I could feel the heat radiating between us.

In an instant, he turned me around, pushing me onto his desk as he crawled on top of me. I offered my body completely, surrendering to the heat of the moment, feeling alive in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.

But just as our lips meet, I jolted awake, the harsh sound of my alarm cutting through the intoxicating haze of the dream. I sat up in bed, my heart pounding, the remnants of the fantasy still swirling in my mind.

“What’s wrong with me?!” I exclaimed, burying my face in my hands. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, and I couldn’t believe I had just dreamt about having sex with my boss on his desk. I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung to me like a second skin.

I got out of bed, desperately trying to distract myself. I splashed cold water on my face and stared at my reflection in the mirror. “It was just a dream,” I told myself, but I could still feel the echoes of Dean’s lips on my skin and the heat of his body against mine.

--

As I got ready for work, I couldn't shake the lingering feelings from the dream. I knew I had to face Dean today, and the thought both excited and terrified me. Would he notice how flustered I was? Would I be able to act normally around him after that dream?

With every passing minute, the tension built. I arrived at the office, my heart racing, trying to focus on my tasks. But every time I heard Dean's voice or caught a glimpse of him, my mind flashed back to the dream.

Finally, I found myself outside his office again, taking a deep breath before I knocked on the door. “Come in,” his voice called, and I opened the door, stepping inside.

Dean was sitting behind his desk, reviewing some papers. He looked up, and his gaze met mine, that familiar warmth in his eyes making my stomach flutter. “Hey, Y/N. Thanks for coming in. I wanted to go over some things for the upcoming project,” he said, gesturing for me to take a seat.

I nodded, trying to maintain my composure. “Of course, what do you need me to do?”

As we started discussing the project, I did my best to focus on the conversation, but my mind kept drifting back to that dream. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks every time I looked at him, and it was maddening.

Halfway through the meeting, Dean leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “You okay? You seem a little distracted today.”

I swallowed hard, my heart racing. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind, I guess.” His brow furrowed slightly, as if he could see through my facade. “If you need to talk about anything, I’m here.”

I bit my lip, caught between wanting to confide in him and the embarrassment of what was still fresh in my mind. Instead, I managed a small smile. “Thanks, Dean. I appreciate it.”

As we continued our discussion, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had any idea of the thoughts racing through my mind or the dream I’d had about him... here... on this desk. And as the tension hung in the air, it became increasingly clear that whatever this was between us was far from over.

After Dean explained all the details of the project, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze focused on me. “I need you to run the numbers and see what budget we can come up with,” he said, handing me a few documents.

I accepted the task, standing up to leave, but just as I turned to walk away, I felt his voice stop me in my tracks. “Eh, Y/N… about last night,” he began, his tone serious. “Are you… ok? Is everything ok between us?”

My heart raced at the mention of the kiss, the heat creeping back into my cheeks. I shrugged it off, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Why?”

He stood up, crossing over to the other end of his desk, and leaned against it, studying me closely. “You’re acting different,” he noted, his brow furrowed with concern.

I took a deep breath, the weight of my personal life pressing down on me. “It’s just… my dad, and I haven’t been sleeping well for a long time,” I admitted, hoping my vague explanation would suffice.

Dean nodded, his expression softening, and I felt a flicker of relief. I turned again, ready to leave, but he called out once more. “Hey, one more thing. I’m meeting with investors for lunch tomorrow. Normally Bobby joins, but… would you mind coming instead?”

I was caught off guard by the request, my heart skipping a beat. “Uh, yeah, sure,” I stammered, surprised at how quickly I agreed. “Just send me an email with the details, and I’ll be there.”

He smiled, a hint of relief washing over his features. “Thanks, Y/N. I really appreciate it. I think it’ll be good for you to meet them.”

“Of course,” I replied, my mind racing at the implications of the lunch. Would this be another opportunity to get to know him better? Or would it be another reminder of the tension lingering between us?

As I walked back to my desk, I felt a mix of excitement and anxiety. Meeting investors was a big deal, and the thought of being by Dean’s side in that environment sent my heart racing. I had to remind myself to keep it professional, despite how my mind kept wandering back to that kiss.

The rest of the morning dragged on as I prepared for the meeting, running the numbers for the project and trying to clear my head. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the lunch would change everything.

When Dean finally sent me the email with the details, I glanced over it quickly. The meeting was set for noon at a fancy restaurant downtown.

--

I dressed carefully, wanting to look professional yet approachable, knowing that first impressions mattered, especially in front of investors.

As I arrived at the restaurant, I spotted Dean waiting by the entrance, looking sharp in his fitted suit. He caught my eye and smiled, his expression warm yet slightly nervous.

“Hey, you made it,” he said, a hint of relief in his voice. “Wouldn’t miss it,” I replied, trying to mirror his enthusiasm.

As we walked inside, he whispered in my ear "You look amazing." I felt a mix of nerves and excitement. This was a chance not just to impress the investors but to show Dean that I was capable and confident, despite the unspoken tension between us.

The lunch was filled with discussions about the company’s future, projections, and strategies. Dean handled the conversations with ease, his charisma shining through as he spoke. I chimed in when necessary, feeling more at ease with every passing moment.

But even in the midst of business talk, I couldn’t help but catch the way Dean glanced at me occasionally, as if he was gauging my reactions, or maybe searching for something more beneath the surface.

As dessert arrived, the conversation shifted slightly. One of the investors leaned back in his chair, eyeing me curiously. “So, Y/N, how do you feel working for Dean? Must be interesting to be under such a charismatic leader,” he said, smirking slightly.

I felt my cheeks flush, and I shot a quick glance at Dean, who was watching me intently. “It’s been great,” I said, keeping my tone light. “I’m learning a lot and enjoying the challenges.”

Dean chimed in, a grin on his face. “She’s been a tremendous asset to the team. Couldn’t do it without her.”

I could feel my heart flutter at his words, a warmth spreading through me. The way he spoke about me, with genuine respect, made it hard to focus on anything else.

After the meeting wrapped up and the investors began to leave, I turned to Dean, a sense of accomplishment washing over me. “I think it went really well,” I said, my excitement bubbling over.

Dean nodded, a proud smile on his face. “You handled yourself like a pro. I knew I could count on you.”

As we exited the restaurant, the tension from before still lingered, but it felt different now—charged with potential. I glanced up at him, my heart racing, and for a moment, the world around us faded away. Would today be the day we finally addressed what had happened between us? Or would we keep pretending like it hadn’t?

As we reached the sidewalk, Dean turned to me, his expression serious yet inviting. “Y/N, about the other night…” I took a breath, my heart pounding in my chest. “Yeah?”

“I just want to say… I don’t want things to be weird between us. We can talk about it, you know,” Dean said, his expression serious but soft. I raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on my lips. “You know you’re making it awkward by bringing it up, right?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, fair point. How about we celebrate instead? Drinks on me?”

“Sure, why not.” I replied, eager to shift the atmosphere.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere more fun,” he said, his voice a little slurred but his intentions clear. He took my hand, leading me out of the bar and down a dimly lit street until we arrived at a high-end underground pub.

“This is my go-to place when I need time alone,” he admitted, glancing at me with a hint of vulnerability. “I feel honored to have you here with me.”

I smiled, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. The pub was intimate, with plush seating and a cozy atmosphere, and as we settled into a corner booth, I felt like we were in our own little world.

One drink turned into two, then three, and before long, we were at our sixth, both of us laughing and sharing stories like old friends.

With every drink, Dean seemed to grow more animated, his usual charm becoming increasingly flirtatious. I found myself giggling at his jokes, the alcohol loosening any tension I had felt earlier.

Dean became more flirtatious with each passing moment, leaning closer, his knee brushing against mine. I leaned in, enjoying the way the lightness of the alcohol made everything feel easier, more carefree.

“So, what’s the real reason you keep me around?” he teased, a playful glint in his eyes. “You must have some ulterior motive.”

“Maybe I’m just keeping you here for the free drinks,” I shot back, grinning.

“Oh, so you admit it?” he laughed, his voice low, making my heart race. The chemistry between us crackled like electricity, and I leaned in even closer, lost in the moment.

Just then, Dean’s lips were so close to my ear that I could feel his warm breath against my skin. “You know, I really enjoy spending time with you, Y/N,” he whispered, his tone sending shivers down my spine.

But just as the air became thick with anticipation, the front door swung open, and in walked Jo. My stomach dropped as I watched her scan the room, her gaze landing on us.

“Dean!” she called out, making a beeline for our table. "Why are you here and not at home!?"

Dean’s expression shifted from playful to awkward as he straightened in his seat, suddenly all business. “Uh, just having a celebration drink with Y/N,” he said, attempting to sound casual, but the tension was palpable.

Jo looked between us, her eyes narrowing. “Right. Because that’s all you’re doing,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment as she continued to stand there, making a scene. “Is this how you spend your time while I’m at home?” she shot at Dean, her tone accusatory.

“Jo, chill. We’re just having a good time,” Dean replied, annoyance creeping into his voice.

“Oh, so now it’s ‘just a good time’? That’s rich,” she snapped, crossing her arms. The atmosphere at our table shifted dramatically, and I could feel my heart sinking.

“Jo, it’s not like that,” Dean said, his tone firm, but I could see the tension in his shoulders.

I glanced between them, feeling like an intruder in a battle I didn’t want to be part of. “Maybe I should go,” I suggested quietly, trying to diffuse the situation.

“No, you’re not going anywhere,” Jo insisted, glaring at me. “You’re the one trying to take him away from me.”

“Take him away from you? Jo, that’s not what’s happening,” I replied, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. I didn’t want to fight with her.

Dean sighed, running a hand over his face in exasperation. “Can we not do this here? This is supposed to be a fun place,” he said, his voice strained.

“Fun for who?” Jo retorted, her eyes flashing with anger. “You’re just making a fool of yourself, Dean.”

I looked at Dean, my heart aching for him. He didn’t deserve this, and I could see how uncomfortable he was becoming. “Maybe we should just talk later,” I suggested gently, wanting to give him a chance to breathe.

“Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea,” he said, his voice low and resigned. Jo huffed, clearly not satisfied with that response, but Dean’s eyes met mine, a silent plea for understanding passing between us.

I nodded slowly, my heart heavy as I stood up from the table. “I’ll see you at work?” I said to Dean, trying to keep my voice steady. “Yeah, definitely,” he replied, though the spark that had ignited between us felt extinguished in the wake of Jo’s arrival.

As I walked away, I could feel Jo’s eyes on my back, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over. The night that had begun so promisingly had turned into a tangled web of emotions, leaving me feeling lost and uncertain.

Outside, I took a deep breath, hoping that when I spoke to him later, we could figure things out.

But deep down, I knew that the complications were only just beginning.

--

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Last Christmas

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

It had been a long, grueling hunt. Y/N was exhausted, the adrenaline still wearing off as she leaned against the motel wall. Sam and Dean were nearby, packing away their gear with quiet efficiency. Even after years of hunting together, there was a comfort in their silence, a rhythm they’d all fallen into. But tonight, something felt different—heavier, like the weight of the world was pressing harder than usual.

Y/N stole a glance at Dean. His jaw was clenched, eyes focused on the weapons in front of him, but she knew his mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t stop thinking about the demon deal he made—the deal that was hanging over all of their heads like a dark, looming cloud. He’d given up his life to save Sam’s, and now his days were numbered. The thought alone twisted her heart, and she found herself staring longer than she should have.

“Y/N, you okay?” Sam’s voice snapped her back to reality. She quickly looked away from Dean, her cheeks warming.

“Yeah, just… tired,” she mumbled, forcing a smile. But Sam didn’t buy it, his brows furrowing as he studied her. He was always good at seeing right through her, but thankfully, he let it go this time.

Dean, however, didn’t seem to notice. He was already halfway out the door, saying something about grabbing food for the night.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She turned to Sam, trying to shift the mood.

“So… Christmas is in a couple of days,” she started, her voice soft, testing the waters.

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, not really in the mood this year.”

Y/N had expected that. Dean’s deal hung over everything, making it hard to think about anything happy or festive. Still, she couldn’t help but want to give him something—one last Christmas, maybe, if things didn’t turn around. She had to try.

“Come on, Sam. I know things are… hard right now. But maybe we can do something small. For Dean’s sake, at least. It might be good for him—good for all of us.”

Sam hesitated, his jaw tightening. He stared at the floor, his conflict evident. “Y/N…”

“Please, Sam,” she interrupted, her voice almost pleading. “I just want this Christmas to be special. It might be our last with him.”

The room was quiet for a moment. Y/N saw Sam’s resolve crack, and finally, he nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Fine. I’ll take care of the eggnog,” he muttered,

--

Christmas eve arrived, Dean was out to get food thinking it would be a normal evening.

While Sam worked on the eggnog, Y/N busied herself with decorating the room. She strung up some old lights she’d found in a thrift store, their colorful glow bringing a little warmth to the cold, drab motel room. She even found a small, plastic Christmas tree earlier in the week, setting it up on the nightstand. It wasn’t much, but it felt a little like home.

As she adjusted the lights, she couldn’t help but think about Dean again. The feelings she’d been hiding for him for so long were bubbling closer to the surface. There was a chance this might be his last Christmas, and that thought sent a sharp pang through her chest. What if she never told him? What if he never knew how much he meant to her?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Dean walked in, his arms full of takeout bags and a couple of poorly wrapped presents.

“Well, look at this,” he said, his voice bright with surprise. “You two went all out. Kinda makes this crap motel room look… festive.”

Y/N grinned, feeling a small wave of relief wash over her. At least Dean seemed to appreciate the effort.

“Got you some food,” he said, setting the bags on the table. “And a couple of things to open, you know, for the hell of it.”

Y/N and Sam exchanged a look, their silent agreement to make this night something good for Dean. Y/N grabbed her own gifts from her bag—a couple of books for Sam (ones she knew he’d devour in no time) and a shirt for Dean with a classic Chevy logo on it.

“Here,” she said, handing them over with a smile.

Sam gave her a grateful nod, flipping through the pages of one of the books before setting it aside. Dean, on the other hand, held up the shirt, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“Chevy, huh? You know me too well, sweetheart.”

Her heart skipped at the nickname, but she covered it with a laugh. “Figured you could use a shirt to work on baby, so you don't get all your good shirt dirty with oil.”

Sam handed her a small, neatly wrapped gift, and she opened it to find a bottle of shampoo—her favorite kind, the one she was always complaining about never finding on the road.

“I… I know it’s not much,” Sam said, scratching the back of his neck. “But I saw it and thought of you.”

Y/N smiled warmly. “It’s perfect, Sam. Thank you.”

Then Dean handed her his gift—a bottle of cheap perfume, the kind you’d find at a gas station. But when she opened it and took a whiff, it wasn’t bad at all. In fact, it smelled pretty nice.

“I know it’s nothing fancy,” Dean said, a little sheepish. “But it smelled good, and I thought…”

Y/N couldn’t help but keep sniffing the bottle, a grin on her face. “Dean, I love it. Really, it’s… nice.”

Sam noticed the atmosphere in the room chance when Y/N kept looking at his brother while smelling her perfume covered wrist.

The second Sam closed the bathroom door Dean shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I really love it Dean, thank you." Y/N said. “Yeah, well… I had another gift in mind. This one was just easier to wrap.”

Y/N looked up, confused. “What do you mean?”

Dean hesitated for just a moment, then took a step closer. His green eyes met hers, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of something in them—something vulnerable, something he usually hid behind jokes and bravado.

Before she could process what was happening, Dean leaned in, his lips brushing softly against hers. Her breath hitched, and for a second, everything else—the looming deal, the darkness of their lives—faded away.

All that mattered was this moment.

Him.

When he finally pulled back, Dean looked a little unsure of himself, but there was a small, crooked smile on his lips.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he whispered.

--

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The next week, I officially signed my contract with Winchester industries. It felt surreal—walking into that building, knowing I was a spy for my dad. Sam was there to greet me, and we went over the business, everything I needed to know as I settled into my new role. It wasn’t long before I met Bobby, the finance manager Sam had mentioned.

Bobby was an older man, gruff and not one for small talk, but it didn’t take long for me to realize he was more than just an employee. He was like a father to the Winchester boys, more so than their own had ever been, from what little they’d mentioned about him. Despite his rough exterior, I respected him immediately, and over the next month, we worked side by side as he started to trust me more and more.

It was about a month in when Bobby pulled me aside. He’d been grumbling about his health for a while, but that day, he told me he needed to take a long overdue vacation—doctor’s orders.

"I’ll be gone for a month, at least," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of stepping away from the business. "I want you to take over while I’m gone, make sure everything runs smooth, can you do that kid?"

I was surprised by the offer, but honored that Bobby trusted me enough to handle things in his absence. "Of course, Bobby. I won’t let you down," I promised, and he gave me a short nod, the closest thing to a smile I’d seen from him.

The work was challenging but rewarding. Every night, though, my father would call, demanding a status update. “What have you found? Any cracks in the books? Anything I can use?” he’d press. But I had nothing to give him. Winchester industries was clean, their financials solid, and no matter how much I combed through the accounts, there was nothing shady to report back to my father. He grew more impatient by the day.

“Slow process,” he sneered during one of our calls, his voice dripping with disappointment. “I expected better from you, Y/N.”

But I no longer cared about meeting his expectations. I loved my work at Winchester. Bobby treated me with respect, Sam made sure I felt supported, and Dean—well, Dean was a different story altogether.

He was charming in a rough-edged way, always surrounded by women like Jo. But I was focused on my work, and I wasn’t going to get distracted by Dean Winchester, no matter how my heart might skip a beat whenever he walked into the room.

On Bobby’s last night before his vacation, he invited me over to his place for dinner.

It was a family affair, with both Sam and Dean there, along with Sam’s wife, Eileen, and Dean’s girlfriend, Jo. As soon as I arrived, I felt the tension between Dean and Jo. She had this loud, flashy persona that clashed with the grounded, hardworking energy in the room.

Jo wasn’t like Eileen, or even me. She seemed more interested in flaunting her relationship with Dean than actually being a part of his life. She gave off that sugar-baby vibe—more interested in what Dean could offer her than in Dean himself. It wasn’t hard to see why the two of them clashed.

Dinner was lively, with everyone sharing stories and laughing. I learned that Sam and Eileen had married last summer, and they were the picture of a perfect couple—gentle, caring, completely in sync. Jo, on the other hand, seemed to dominate the conversation, throwing little digs at Dean, complaining about how long it was taking for him to propose.

"Dean, when are you going to stop playing around and put a ring on it?" Jo teased loudly, and I saw the way Dean's jaw tightened. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

It was obvious she was pushing him, and I could see the discomfort it caused. As the evening wore on, tensions between them escalated, and soon enough, they were outside, having what seemed like their daily argument.

“Well, that didn’t take long,” Sam said with a sigh, shaking his head as he glanced out the window at his brother and Jo, now arguing on the porch.

I looked confused, turning to Eileen. "Do they fight often?" I asked, wondering how a relationship like that could survive.

Eileen gave me a sympathetic smile. "Every day," she explained, as if it was common knowledge. "Jo wants more—marriage, status—and Dean… well, Dean isn’t ready. He likes his freedom. And Jo doesn’t really understand that."

I nodded slowly, trying to make sense of it all. Jo wasn’t Dean’s type, at least not from what I could see. She seemed more like an accessory to his life than a partner, and it was clear that the tension between them was only going to grow.

I couldn’t help but wonder why he stayed with her, why he didn’t just let go. But then again, maybe I was projecting my own feelings. Maybe I was starting to care about Dean more than I should.

As the night wound down and the fight outside continued, I realized something. This family, despite its complications, was accepting me as their own. And no matter what my father said, they didn't use me in a way like he does.

I had found my place. And I wasn’t going to give it up.

Dean walked back into the room, his expression tense but composed. “Jo went home,” he said, almost nonchalantly, though I could sense the frustration behind his words. He apologized to Bobby, who just waved it off, clearly not bothered by the drama that had unfolded.

I was in the kitchen, finishing up the dishes. The last thing I wanted was to leave a mess after Bobby had been so kind to invite me into his home. Dean wandered over and stood beside me, his presence heavy but not unpleasant.

“So, how you feeling about the company?” he asked, his tone casual but curious.

I glanced over at him, surprised he was even asking. “It’s different,” I admitted. “In a good way. Everyone’s more… open. It’s not just about numbers or control. I actually like it here.”

He nodded, but the silence that followed felt a little strained. I hesitated for a moment, my mind flashing back to the argument he’d just had with Jo. Against my better judgment, I spoke up.

“Are you okay?” I asked quietly. “It’s not really my place, but… if you want to talk about the fight with Jo—”

His response was immediate, cutting. “It is indeed not your place.” His voice was cold, his words sharp, and I felt the sting of them as if he’d slapped me.

I lowered my head, instantly regretting the question. I should’ve known better than to pry. Dean Winchester wasn’t the type to open up easily, especially not to someone like me, who was still relatively new in his world. The silence between us was thick, and I just focused on the dishes, trying to push away the awkwardness.

A few minutes later, I was ready to leave. I hugged Bobby goodbye, thanking him for dinner and telling him that if he needed any help during his recovery, he could always call me. Bobby grunted in his usual way, but I could tell he appreciated it.

Just as I reached the door, I heard Dean’s voice behind me. “Let me drive you home,” he offered. “You don’t need to walk in the dark.”

I was surprised—especially after how cold he’d been earlier—but I didn’t decline. “Alright, thanks,” I said softly.

The drive started out awkward, with only the sound of the car’s engine filling the silence. Dean kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. I kept my hands folded in my lap, feeling small and unsure.

But then, after a few minutes, he spoke. “Hey,” he said, his voice softer than before. “I’m sorry for biting your head off earlier.”

I glanced at him, taken aback by the apology. Dean wasn’t the kind of guy who usually admitted when he was wrong, at least not from what I’d seen.

“It’s fine,” I said quickly, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. “I shouldn’t have asked.” He shook his head. “No, it’s not that. You were just trying to be nice. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

I offered him a small smile, feeling a bit of the tension ease. “Thanks. I just… I could tell something was bothering you. But I get it, it’s personal.”

Dean sighed, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Jo and I… it’s complicated. She wants more than I can give right now. And I’m not sure I’m the guy who’s ever gonna be able to give her what she wants.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just nodded, letting his words settle in the air. It was strange, hearing Dean Winchester—a man who seemed so sure of himself in every other aspect of life—admit to doubt and uncertainty.

After a few more minutes of silence, he pulled up in front of my apartment. He put the car in park and turned to me, his green eyes soft and maybe a little weary.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, giving him a genuine smile as I unbuckled my seatbelt.

As I stepped out of the car, something clicked in my mind. Maybe Dean was looking for someone to be there for him. I hesitated for a moment, then turned back around and leaned against the open window, my heart pounding a little faster.

“Dean…” I began, trying to sound casual, “would you like to come in for a talk?”

I could see the conflict on his face, his eyes searching mine, unsure if he should accept the invitation. For a brief second, I thought he might decline, but then, almost as if the weight of his thoughts became too heavy to carry alone, he nodded.

We walked up to my apartment in silence. Once inside, I offered him a glass of bourbon, which he accepted with a quiet “thanks.” The dim lighting made everything feel a little more intimate, a little less tense. I could see the guarded expression on Dean’s face starting to soften.

He took a deep breath, staring at the glass in his hand. “I met Jo when I was in a bad place,” he began, his voice low. “My sister, Charlie, died in an accident. I was... I was wrecked. My dad, he was always tough—never the soft kind of guy—but after we lost Charlie, he became... unbearable.”

His eyes darkened at the memory. “Jo was my escape. She was wild, unpredictable, and I thought I needed that at the time. A way to forget, you know?”

I nodded, staying quiet so he could continue. I could hear the pain in his voice, and it was hard to imagine the confident, carefree Dean Winchester I’d come to know carrying all that weight. It was as if, beneath the exterior, he was still that little boy, yearning for his father’s approval, for something solid to hold onto.

“I thought Jo could fill that void Charlie left, because Char was wild and free, she loved to travel.” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But now... I don’t know. I think maybe I’m just hanging on because it’s familiar.”

"There are days I don't even know what I do with the company. I kept it because it was my dads, but I'm sure if he was alive he'd smack my head for what I did to it."

I reached out instinctively, my hand finding its way to his shoulder. I gave it a gentle squeeze, feeling the tension in his muscles. “Dean,” I said softly, “you’re doing great. You’ve built something incredible with your company, and you’re an amazing boss."

He turned his head, locking eyes with me, and in that moment, the air between us shifted. There was something intense in his gaze, something raw and vulnerable, and before I even had time to process what was happening, his lips were on mine.

The kiss was sudden and fierce, his hand reaching up to tangle in my hair as his other arm wrapped firmly around my waist. His lips were rough, yet desperate, and when his tongue sought entrance, I froze for a second, startled by the sudden rush of it all. My mind was racing, caught between shock and the undeniable pull I felt toward him.

I quickly broke the kiss, my heart pounding in my chest. Dean pulled back immediately, his face full of regret, his hands dropping to his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I—I’m sorry,” he stammered, his face flushing with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to… God, I’m an idiot.”

He stood up, clearly flustered, running a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, his voice thick with guilt. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

I stayed silent for a moment, my own emotions swirling in confusion. The truth was, I didn’t know how to feel either. The kiss had caught me off guard, but it hadn’t felt wrong. It was just... unexpected.

“Dean,” I said, my voice soft, trying to calm him down. “It’s okay. Really.” He looked at me, his expression still conflicted, but I could see the apology in his eyes.

“I just… I don’t know how to handle all this,” he admitted quietly, almost as if confessing it to himself. “I’m a mess, and you don’t deserve to get caught up in that.”

I shook my head, taking a step closer to him. “We’re all a little messed up, Dean,” I said gently. “But you don’t have to deal with it alone.”

Dean looked at me for a long moment, as if trying to figure out if he could let himself believe that. Then he nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thanks,” he said, his voice more grounded now. “I mean it.”

I offered him a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Let’s just... chalk that up to the bourbon and a long night, yeah?” Dean chuckled softly, the tension finally easing a little from his face. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

He stayed for a little longer, and we talked—about work, life, anything that wasn’t too heavy. When he finally left, there was no awkwardness, just an understanding that something had shifted between us.

I wasn’t sure where it would lead, but one thing was clear: Dean Winchester wasn’t as untouchable as he seemed.

--

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Hi!

Oh no, I totally get you. This episode was my inspiration for the series: Between power and freedom. you might like it!

BUT! I also had a little draft of a kind of similar story, named picture perfect. I changed the original story I wrote.

-> Continue reading 'Picture perfect' <-

I hope you like it!

Picture perfect

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

The scent of rosemary and garlic filled the apartment as Y/N stirred the pot on the stove, humming softly to herself. She felt Dean’s arms slide around her waist, his warmth pressing against her back, and she smiled, leaning into him. His hold was comforting, grounding—a reminder of the life they’d built together. A simple, good life.

“Hey,” she greeted him, a soft smile spreading across her face as she stirred the pan.

“Hey yourself.” He nuzzled into her neck, inhaling the scent of her shampoo mixed with the warm aroma of dinner. But there was something… off in the way his fingers drummed lightly against her hips, and when she turned, the usual spark in his green eyes was shadowed by something darker.

"Dean? What’s going on?" She tilted her head, reaching up to trace his jawline with her thumb.

Dean hesitated, looking away briefly, then sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I, uh… I ran into someone today. At work.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow, not quite following.

“Your brother.”

The wooden spoon nearly slipped from her fingers. She stared at him, wide-eyed. "You… you met Sam? I thought he worked on a whole different level of the building?" Her voice faltered, an unexpected spike of nerves twisting in her chest.

Dean gave her a gentle squeeze, as though to reassure her, but there was still something there, a question in his eyes that he hadn’t voiced yet. “Yeah, I met him in the elevator. Really freakishly tall guy, long hair?"

“That sounds like Sam,” she muttered, half to herself.

"Y/N…" Dean said, voice lower, more serious. “He didn’t seem to know about us. About me, have you told your family yet?”

She felt her cheeks warm, a mixture of guilt and embarrassment flooding through her. She'd been so careful about when to introduce Dean to her family, and especially to Sam. Her relationship with her brother had always been complicated, and with Sam’s intense, almost otherworldly nature… she didn’t want to scare Dean away before he really got to know her. “Look, Sam can be… weird,” she began, twisting her fingers together. “He’s, uh, had strange dreams since we were kids. Sometimes they… get a little intense.”

Dean nodded slowly, trying to absorb her words, but there was still that questioning look in his eyes. “Yeah, tell me about it. He mentioned seeing me in a dream of his. That's kinds of… freaky.”

Y/N grimaced, wrinkling her nose. “That’s exactly what I mean, Dean. He can be… different.”

Dean watched her, eyes softening, then gave a small chuckle, the tension in his shoulders easing as he pulled her back into his arms. “Well, freaky brother or not, you’re worth it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. He held her there for a moment, close and steady, the kind of embrace that reminded her of everything she loved about him.

But then he pulled back, studying her face. “Wouldn’t it be time I meet the rest of your family? I mean, I'm waiting for a year, you met my family. Maybe next week for your birthday?”

She bit her lip, looking down. Dean had been so understanding, so patient with her hesitation. But there was no more hiding him, not anymore. Meeting her family, even Sam, was the next step—an intimidating one, but one that she wanted to take with him. “Alright,” she whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Let’s set it up.”

Dean’s face lit up, a spark of warmth that melted away the last of her nerves. “Now that’s the spirit,” he said, leaning down to kiss her, soft and slow, and this time, all the doubt and shadows disappeared.

--

A week passed

Y/N smoothed down her dress, nerves prickling under her skin as she paced in Dean’s immaculate penthouse. The place gleamed with polished surfaces and minimalistic, modern decor—everything so distinctly Dean. It was his sanctuary, where he found comfort in clean lines and structured spaces, a far cry from the cluttered, noisy house she grew up in. She couldn’t help but fidget with the hem of her dress, glancing at the door every few seconds.

Dean walked over, a soft smile on his face, and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Hey. It’s going to be fine. Really.”

She looked up at him, grateful for his steady presence but unable to shake the flutter of anxiety in her chest. “You don’t know my dad,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Dean chuckled, adjusting the cuff of his tailored shirt. “Come on, how bad can he be?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, there was a sharp knock on the door. She jumped slightly, shooting Dean an apologetic look as she stepped toward the door. “Ready?” he whispered.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she whispered back.

As she opened the door, her mother stepped in first, all warmth and enthusiasm. Mary wrapped Y/N in a tight hug, murmuring how good it was to see her. Y/N relaxed, if only slightly, under her mother’s affectionate smile.

When she turned to introduce Dean, she found her father eyeing the penthouse’s high ceilings and spotless decor with a skeptical frown, his lips twitching as he glanced at Dean’s suit. He hadn’t even made it inside before he’d looked at the hybrid in the driveway, scoffing loudly. “A real man drives a car with power, not… one of those electric gizmos,” he’d muttered, not quietly enough for anyone to miss.

Mary shot her husband a quick look before smiling at Dean, stepping forward to pull him into a warm hug. “Dean, it’s lovely to meet you. Welcome to the family.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wesson,” he said, smiling as he hugged her back. “It’s really great to finally meet you both.”

John stepped forward, his eyes sweeping up and down Dean’s suit before offering a firm handshake. “So, you’re the guy my daughter’s been dating.”

Dean met his gaze with that calm, even look Y/N had always admired, shaking his hand without a flicker of hesitation. “That’s right. I’d like to think we’ve built something pretty special together.” He glanced at her, and she couldn’t help but blush.

Mary stepped in with a soft smile, "I think what John means is that we had hoped to meet you before Y/N decided to move in with you."

John huffed, his expression unreadable as he glanced around the sleek living room. “Well, good to know you’re treating her right, I suppose. But I gotta ask… what’s it like working in an office all day, dressed up like that?” He gestured to Dean’s crisp light blue shirt and red matching tie, giving a small smirk as he added, “Not sure I’d have it in me to do… sales or whatever all day. Must be real tough work.”

Y/N swallowed, looking to Dean, hoping he wouldn’t take it the wrong way. But Dean just smiled, his voice cool and unruffled. “It’s definitely different, I’ll give you that. But I’d like to think I work just as hard as anyone else. Besides, your daughter here—she’s the real backbone of my team.” He shot her a warm look, and she relaxed, grateful that he took her dad’s roughness in stride.

“Right,” John said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied them both. “Dating your assistant, huh? I thought they called that ‘dipping the pen in company ink’ or something like that.”

Y/N felt her face flush, heat prickling her cheeks. “Dad…” she said softly, her voice carrying an edge of warning. Dean tried to ignore it and shook Sam's hand who looked already apologetic.

Mary stepped in, trying to defuse the tension. “Oh, don’t mind John. You know how he is, rough around the edges.” She cast a fond but exasperated glance at her husband before reaching out to touch Y/N’s arm. “I can see you’re happy here, sweetheart. And that’s all that matters to your father and me.”

Dean squeezed Y/N’s shoulder gently, and her heart lifted at the calm strength in his gaze. “Well,” he said, guiding them all toward the dining area, “I’ve got some drinks ready. Why don’t we settle in?”

As they gathered around the sleek dining table, John gave one last gruff comment about the expense of Dean’s crystal glassware, muttering about “people with more money than sense.” But even he couldn’t hold back a small chuckle when Dean smiled and raised his own glass, not taking any of the jabs to heart.

--

In the kitchen, Y/N took a steadying breath as she placed the dessert plates on a tray, trying to push down the last of her nerves. Meeting her parents had gone better than she expected, but her father’s comments still lingered, tugging at insecurities she thought she’d left behind. Sam stepped quietly into the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a small, understanding smile.

"You okay, sis?" he asked, his voice soft.

Y/N sighed, brushing her hair back. “I forgot how… protective Dad can be,” she admitted, a weary smile touching her lips. “I swear, every time I bring someone home, it’s like he’s ready to chase them out with a wrench.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, you know how he is. No one’s ever good enough for his little princess.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N scooped a spoon into the chocolate mousse, carefully decorating each dessert with a little whipped cream. She stole a glance at Sam. “What about you? What do you think of Dean?”

Sam’s face softened, his gaze warm and steady as he stepped closer, pulling her into a comforting hug. “I think he’s perfect for you, Y/N. I mean it,” he said, a quiet conviction in his voice. “He’s a good guy, and… I know he’ll make you happy. Anyone can see that.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, a playful grin tugging at her lips. “Oh, did you see that in a dream?” she teased, nudging him lightly.

Sam smirked but didn’t say anything, glancing over his shoulder with a knowing look. His silence, that cryptic expression, made her pause, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if maybe… just maybe, he had.

“Alright,” she laughed, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease. “Just don’t go scaring him off with any ‘visions,’ okay?”

He chuckled, shrugging. “I think Dean can handle it. He handled Dad pretty well, didn’t he?”

She let out a soft sigh of relief, smiling to herself. “Yeah… he really did.”

As she turned to carry the dessert out, Sam squeezed her shoulder, his eyes gentle but filled with a quiet reassurance. “You made the right choice, Y/N. Don’t doubt that.”

With one last grateful smile, she headed back to the dining room, feeling lighter and more certain than ever. Dean was waiting, his eyes lighting up as she placed the tray on the table, and when she settled back beside him, he reached over, his fingers lacing with hers in that familiar, comforting way. And in that simple touch, she knew—this was exactly where she was meant to be.

Caught up in the warmth and relief of the moment, Y/N leaned over and pressed her lips to Dean’s, a spontaneous gesture that said everything words couldn’t. She felt him smile into the kiss, his hand sliding to her back, steady and sure. When she pulled away, her cheeks flushed as she caught her father’s expression—a mix of surprise and mild horror, like he’d just seen a dead rat. Mary, on the other hand, beamed, her eyes crinkling with quiet approval.

“Oh, that’s right, babe,” Y/N said with a sly grin, squeezing Dean’s hand. “Why don’t you show Dad the garage?”

Dean raised an eyebrow, his hand trailing down to give her a quick pinch that made her squeak. He smirked, then turned to the group with a polite smile. “If you’ll follow me, I’ve got something I think you’ll want to see.”

They all followed Dean through the hall toward the garage, John looking dubious until Dean flicked on the lights, illuminating a sleek, polished 1967 Chevy Impala. The black paint shone under the fluorescent lights, every detail restored to perfection.

John’s eyes went wide as he walked around the car, taking in the flawless curves, the gleaming chrome, and the clear care put into every inch.

Dean, looking more relaxed than he had all evening, ran a hand along the hood, almost reverent. “The hybrid—that’s the company car. But this beauty? She’s mine. Been working on her for years.”

John’s skeptical gaze softened, replaced with an approving gleam. He reached out, brushing his hand over the hood before turning to Dean. He studied him for a moment, a grin beginning to crack through his otherwise stoic expression. “Now this is a real car,” he said, voice gruff but warm. He extended his hand, and Dean accepted it, their grips firm. John nodded, his face more serious but filled with respect.

“Welcome to the family, son.”

Dean nodded, holding the handshake a moment longer, and Y/N’s heart swelled as she saw the respect reflected in her dad’s eyes. Mary smiling at Y/N, who looked back with happy disbelief.

Later, as they saw her parents off and the door finally clicked shut, Dean wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her close with a satisfied smile. “Guess that went better than we thought,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble against her hair.

She laughed, leaning into him, her heart still racing. “Better than I could’ve dreamed.” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and love. “Thank you, Dean.”

He chuckled, brushing a thumb along her cheek. “Well, I’d go through a hundred more awkward dinners just to keep you, baby.”

--

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*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

Dean stormed out of the venue, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. The cool night air hit him as he strode towards the old Chevy Impala parked in the lot, his first car. It didn’t matter that he was the CEO of Winchester Industries now or that he could afford the most luxurious cars on the market; the Impala was a part of him, just like the memories of his sister, Charlie. He could never part with either.

Sam followed closely behind, watching his brother’s tense shoulders and the way Dean’s jaw was locked, clearly trying to keep his anger in check. He knew how much it took for Dean not to turn around and hit Chuck Novak right in the face.

“Don’t let him get to you like that,” Sam said softly, hoping to calm his brother down.

Dean spun around, his eyes burning with fury. “I can’t help it, Sammy. He needs to keep our sister’s name out of his greasy mouth!” He kicked the tire of the Impala, the frustration boiling over. “He’s a snake, you know that. He poked me right where it hurts, and he knows it.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “I know, Dean. Trust me, I do. But you know as well as I do that punching Chuck would only lead to more trouble—legal issues, court dates, all the crap we don’t need. We’d be playing right into his hands.”

Dean’s shoulders slumped slightly, and he leaned against the Impala, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re right. God, you’re right,” he muttered. “But that doesn’t make me want to hit him any less.”

Sam leaned against the car beside him, thinking. There had to be a better way to deal with Chuck. As much as they both hated it, they had to think strategically.

Dean was silent for a few moments, staring off into the distance. Then suddenly, he straightened up, a sly grin creeping across his face. “Why don’t we hit him where it really hurts?” he said, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Sam raised an eyebrow, unsure of where Dean was going with this. “What do you mean?”

Dean’s grin widened. “His daughter, Y/N. You saw her tonight, didn’t you? She looked miserable. Unhappy with her job, stuck under his thumb.” He paused, looking at Sam. “Chuck’s grooming her for something, probably to marry that slimy bastard Gabriel, and you know how he is. But if we steal her away from him? Offer her a job, something where she can get out from under Chuck’s control… that’ll drive him insane.”

Sam frowned, trying to follow Dean’s line of thought. “Dean, Y/N’s… well, overqualified for any position we have right now. The only opening we’ve got is in accounting, and with her degree, she could easily be in a management role. I doubt she’d be interested.”

Dean waved it off. “Doesn’t matter. Offer it to her anyway. Give her an out, let her make the decision. It’s not just about the job, Sam—it’s about giving her a way to break free. She’s stuck in Chuck’s world, just like we were stuck in Dad’s, but if she sees there’s another option… she might take it. And when she does? That’ll hurt Chuck more than any punch ever could.”

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment, weighing the idea. “You really think she’ll go for it?”

Dean nodded, his face serious now. “She’s smart, Sam. She’s not like her old man. She’s looking for something more, something that isn’t tied to Chuck’s empire. And even if it’s just a small accounting job to start, it’s a step toward something bigger.”

Sam sighed, seeing the determination in his brother’s eyes. Dean was set on this, and in a way, he had a point. If Y/N was as trapped as she seemed, offering her a lifeline could be the one thing that pulled her away from her father’s grip.

“Alright,” Sam finally agreed. “I’ll reach out to her. Schedule a meeting, see if she’s interested.”

Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder, his grin returning. “That’s my boy. Set it up ASAP. The sooner we get her away from Chuck, the better.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “You always have a plan, don’t you?”

Dean smirked, pushing himself off the Impala. “I don’t just have a plan, Sammy. I have a mission.” He looked back at the event hall, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Chuck has been on top for too long, playing people like pieces on a chessboard. But not this time. This time, we’re flipping the game on him.”

With that, Dean opened the door to the Impala, sliding into the driver’s seat, the engine roaring to life as he revved it. Sam climbed in beside him, already pulling out his phone to make a note to contact Y/N.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Dean’s focus was sharp. The night had been rough, but now, he had a plan. And this time, Chuck wasn’t going to see it coming.

--

The next morning, I was buried in my desk work at Shurley Enterprises when my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen, a number I didn’t recognize. Figuring it was some client or a follow-up from the event last night, I answered, my tone neutral.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, it’s Sam Winchester,” the voice on the other end said, calm and familiar. My brow furrowed in confusion. Why would Sam be calling me?

“Uh, hi Sam,” I replied, not quite sure where this was going.

“I wanted to follow up on something,” he began, his tone kind but serious. “Dean and I were talking last night, and we wanted to offer you a position at Winchester Industries. I thought this might be an opportunity for you.”

At first, I bristled, my defenses kicking in. “What? You want me to leave my dad’s company? I’m not some pawn you can use to get back at him.”

“No, Y/N,” Sam said quickly, and I could hear the sincerity in his voice. “This isn’t about that. I… I know what it’s like to work under a father who has plans for you that don’t exactly match what you want. To feel like your life isn’t your own.”

There was a soft pause. “Dean and I had to take over the family business after our dad passed, but before that, it felt like we were on his path, not ours. I get it if you feel trapped.”

I was silent for a moment. He was right, that was exactly how I felt—like my life wasn’t my own, like I was just living out my father’s plans. Sam’s words hit closer to home than I’d like to admit, and for a second, I considered the idea of escaping Shurley Enterprises. So, I agreed to meet him for coffee during lunch to discuss the opportunity.

We met at an old café not too far from my office, a quaint little place with mismatched chairs and the smell of freshly ground coffee beans. When I arrived, I spotted Sam immediately. He was sitting by the window, looking much more casual than the sharp suit he wore at last night’s event.

He wore a jeans—expensive ones, I could tell—and a simple polo shirt. Yet, even in casual clothes, there was an air of professionalism about him.

As soon as he saw me, Sam stood up and smiled warmly, greeting me with a kiss on the cheek. It caught me off guard, but in a surprisingly pleasant way.

“Hey,” he said, pulling out the chair for me.

“Hey,” I replied, sitting down. I could feel the tension ease as we started talking, like we were already old friends. Sam had a way of making conversation feel natural, even though just yesterday we had been strangers. We talked about the event, about small things, about the café itself, but I knew why we were really here.

After a while, Sam steered the conversation back to business. “So, about that job offer… We could really use someone like you at Winchester Industries. The position I have right now is in accounting. I know it’s not much, but Bobby, our current accounting manager, is close to retiring. When that happens, the position is yours if you’re interested.”

I took a deep breath, mulling over his words. Sam wasn’t lying. He wasn’t offering me a glamorous, high-powered role. But he was offering me an escape, a chance to build something for myself, away from my father’s control. Still, the thought of leaving Chuck, despite everything, wasn’t something I could just do on a whim.

“I… I appreciate the offer, Sam. I really do,” I said slowly, my voice soft but firm. “But I can’t just leave my dad’s company like that. He might be difficult, but he’s still my father. And Shurley Enterprises—it’s my family’s legacy.”

Sam nodded, his expression understanding. “I get it, Y/N. Family’s complicated. I won’t pressure you. But, if you ever decide you want something different, something that’s yours, the door’s open.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, sliding it across the table toward me. “Here’s my number. If you change your mind, or if you ever just need to talk, give me a call.”

I picked up the card, turning it over in my fingers. It was a simple gesture, but somehow, it felt like more. It was a reminder that I had options, that I wasn’t as trapped as I thought.

“Thank you, Sam,” I said, smiling at him.

“Of course,” he replied, smiling back, his eyes warm and genuine. For a moment, I thought about what it would be like to work for someone like Sam. Someone who listened, who understood. But I wasn’t ready to make that leap just yet.

We finished our coffee, the conversation drifting back to lighter topics. And when we finally parted ways, I walked back to Novak Enterprises with Sam’s card tucked securely in my purse, knowing that no matter what happened, I had a choice.

And maybe, one day soon, I’d make it.

--

When I got home that night, I could feel something was off the moment I stepped through the door. The lights were on, and there was the faint smell of whiskey lingering in the air. My heart skipped a beat as I realized my dad had let himself into my apartment.

“Dad?” I called, already knowing the answer. He was standing in the living room, his arms crossed, his face flushed with anger. I hadn’t even had time to put my bag down before he was glaring at me, his posture radiating fury.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, though my stomach churned. I had never seen him this mad before—not at me, at least.

“I heard,” he began, his voice sharp and accusatory, “that you had a date with a Winchester today.”

My heart sank. He knew. How did he know?

“No, Dad, it wasn’t a date. Sam invited me for lunch, but it’s not what you think,” I said quickly, stepping forward, trying to explain before things escalated. But it was no use. I could see the storm in his eyes, and I knew there was no reasoning with him.

“What I think” he spat, taking a step closer to me, “is that you should be spending more time thinking about our business. And about Gabriel. Not having lunch with the competition.”

I sighed, my eyes dropping to the floor. It was always the same with him—business, control, and Gabriel. The suffocating expectations that were becoming unbearable. But before I could say anything, he roughly grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up at him.

“Why did you meet with Sam Winchester?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “What did he want?”

“T-to offer me a job,” I stammered, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks from his grip. My heart raced, and I could see the moment the words hit him. His eyes widened in shock, but what came next caught me completely off guard.

“And what did you say?” he asked, his voice almost too calm, but I knew better. It was the calm before the storm.

“I declined,” I whispered, my voice trembling. I barely had time to process what was happening before his hand lashed out and struck my cheek, hard enough to sting and send me stumbling back a step.

“Are you stupid?!” he yelled, his face contorting with rage. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? You could’ve accepted! Worked for them! Do you have any idea what an opportunity that was? We could’ve torn them apart from the inside out, you stupid child!”

My vision blurred, both from the hit and the words. He didn’t care about me—he never did. He only saw me as a tool, a way to further his ambitions. And for the first time, the weight of it crashed down on me. He would never see me as his daughter. He would never love me for me.

Without thinking, I reached for my phone, my hands trembling. I could feel my dad watching me, his breath heavy, his eyes still full of anger.

I dialed Sam’s number.

“Y/N?” he answered after a couple of rings, his voice filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll take the job,” I said, my voice shaking but determined. I swallowed hard, glancing at my father, whose expression turned from shock to cold fury. “I’ll take the job, Sam.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, then Sam’s voice softened. “Alright. We’ll make the arrangements.”

I hung up the phone and put it back in my pocket. My dad’s face twisted, "Good girl."

--

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Between power and freedom - Storylist

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

* = implied smut or sexual tension

**= 18+/smut/spice

Taglist -> Click here to add

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

I could feel my heels clicking too loudly against the marble floor as I walked into the banquet hall, trying to steady my nerves. Another event. Another endless parade of corporate games and social politics. I’ve attended these my whole life, yet I never quite fit into them. Maybe because I knew exactly why I was here, to play the part of my father’s obedient daughter. His shadow. His assistant.

I glanced toward my father, Chuck, standing near the bar, laughing too loudly with his PR manager, Gabriel. My jaw clenched involuntarily. Chuck, CEO of Shurley Enterprises, always had a plan. And his latest one? Marry me off to Gabriel so his precious company would be safe in the hands of someone he trusted.

I was nothing more than a chess piece in his game, even though I had graduated top of my class in business. He refused to see me as anything but an assistant.

“Smile, Y/N,” I muttered to myself as I forced my lips upward, brushing a few strands of hair behind my ear. This evening was already a disaster in my mind, but it wasn’t like I had a choice. I had to show up, play the role, and endure Gabriel’s slimy attempts at wooing me while pretending not to notice.

As I made my way toward the bar, scanning the room for any chance of escape, my eyes caught sight of two men across the hall. One of them was Sam Winchester, if I remembered correctly. HR and PR for their family company, Winchester Industries. I’d heard about him before, calm, intellectual, and known for being fair. He seemed like the type of person who would actually listen when you spoke.

The guy next to him was unmistakably his brother Dean Winchester, CEO, and the last person I wanted to get involved with. He was practically Gabriel’s mirror image—flirty, arrogant, and always surrounded by a swarm of women. But at least Dean looked like old money.

I tried to avoid looking at them, but for some reason, Dean’s gaze caught mine. There was something intense in his green eyes, something that made my heart skip a beat despite myself. It wasn’t like the way Gabriel’s gaze crawled over me—this was different.

There was curiosity there, maybe even recognition. I quickly turned away, shaking my head at how ridiculous I was being. The last thing I needed was to get caught up in another man’s game.

“Hey there,” a warm voice said from behind me. I turned and found myself face-to-face with Sam. I wasn’t sure how long he’d been watching me, but he gave a friendly smile.

“Hi,” I replied, straightening up. “Sam Winchester, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, offering his hand. “And you’re...?”

“Y/N,” I said, leaving out my last name deliberately. I was tired of being “Chuck’s daughter.” Tonight, I just wanted to be me.

Sam’s eyes softened in recognition, but he didn’t comment on my identity, which I appreciated. He seemed like the type who wouldn’t. We chatted for a few minutes, and it felt strangely easy. Maybe it was because he didn’t look at me like I was just an accessory to my father’s empire.

“So, what do you do, do you work for Chuck?” he asked, tilting his head.

My chest tightened. How did I explain that my father had me locked in a role way below my potential? “I… well, I just finished my business degree. I’m looking for something in management, but my father…” I hesitated. “Let’s just say, he has other plans for me.”

Sam frowned, clearly sensing the frustration in my voice. “I get that,” he said, his voice gentle. “Family expectations can be… stifling.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, a figure appeared at Sam’s side. Dean Winchester. Up close, he was even more intimidating than I’d expected—confident smirk, dark blue suit, and eyes that seemed to see right through you.

“Who’s your new friend, Sammy?” Dean asked, his voice low but teasing. He looked at me then, that same intensity in his gaze, and I felt the butterflies in my stomach all over again. Damn it.

“This is Y/N,” Sam introduced me, not missing a beat. "Chucks daughter."

“Y/N,” Dean repeated, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Beautiful name.”

I could feel my cheeks heating up, and I cursed myself for blushing like a schoolgirl. I didn’t want to fall into Dean Winchester’s orbit, not when I knew the type of guy he was. But there was something magnetic about him, something that made it impossible to look away.

“What brings you here, Y/N?” Dean asked, his eyes locking onto mine. “I’m... just here for the event,” I replied carefully, not wanting to reveal too much.

Dean raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my non-answer. “Well, you certainly brighten up the place.” I rolled my eyes internally. It was such a line, and yet, coming from him, it didn’t feel quite as cheap as it should’ve.

He was testing me, seeing how I’d react. But something in his expression told me he wasn’t completely joking.

I stared at him, my heart pounding. Was this really happening? “I—” I stammered, trying to gather my thoughts. This was insane. I’d just met them, and yet, they left me speechless.

Dean smirked at my hesitation. I glanced between the two brothers, my mind racing. But as I met Dean's gaze again, that familiar flicker of something deeper passed between us.

Maybe I didn’t need to trust Dean. Maybe I just needed to trust myself.

Dean’s smirk widened, but there was a flicker of something more in his eyes—respect, maybe. Sam, meanwhile, felt clearly annoyed with his brothers flirtations.

“Y/N!” my dad’s voice rang out sharply through the crowd, sending a chill down my spine. I closed my eyes for a brief second, praying he wouldn’t ruin what little progress I had made with the Winchesters. When I turned around, Chuck was already striding over, that infuriatingly smug expression plastered across his face.

Dean’s jaw tensed the second he saw him, and I could feel the shift in the air—heavy, hostile. “Chuck,” Dean greeted curtly, his voice dropping to a low, almost threatening register. Sam looked equally uneasy, but tried to keep his calm, offering a small nod in my father’s direction.

“I see you’ve met my daughter,” Chuck said, his tone oozing with false charm.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Chuck continued, turning toward Dean, his words cold and calculated. I knew my father too well—this wasn’t a compliment, not really. It was a reminder. A reminder that I was nothing more than a pawn in his grand scheme. A means to an end. My stomach twisted, and I wanted to disappear.

Dean’s eyes flickered with something dark, though he kept his face impassive. “Yeah,” he said after a beat, his voice tight. “She is.”

There was a flicker of something in Chuck’s eyes—satisfaction, maybe—but it didn’t last long. His smirk deepened, and he turned the conversation in a direction I knew was meant to hurt.

“Speaking of beauty…” Chuck said, his voice suddenly softer, more venomous. “I’m so sorry about what happened to your sister. Charlie, right?”

I froze, my heart plummeting. The sneer in my father’s voice was unmistakable, and I could see the ripple of tension that went through Dean’s body, the way his grip on his glass tightened as if he was seconds away from shattering it in his hand.

A flash of pain crossed Dean’s eyes, but he held it together, though just barely. I could see how much he wanted to hit my dad, how much rage was boiling just beneath the surface. The mention of Charlie—Dean’s sister, who had died in a tragic accident years ago—was nothing but a low blow. A calculated jab to make Dean lose his cool in front of everyone.

“Dad—” I started, stepping forward, wanting to stop him before this got any worse.

But Sam was already moving, stepping in front of Dean, his hand resting on his brother’s shoulder. “Thank you for your condolences, Mr. Shurley,” Sam said smoothly, his voice filled with forced politeness. “We appreciate it.”

Chuck’s eyes gleamed with something like triumph, as if he’d won whatever sick game he was playing, but Sam’s calm deflection seemed to stop him from pressing further.

“Let’s go, Dean,” Sam said quietly, guiding his brother away before anything could escalate. Dean’s eyes lingered on me for a moment longer, and in that brief second, I saw the raw anger he was trying to keep at bay. He gave me a tight nod, then turned on his heel, following Sam across the room.

I stood there, frozen, my hands shaking with a mix of anger and shame. My father had just humiliated one of the most powerful men in the room, all because he couldn’t resist the opportunity to remind him of his loss. And worse, I was caught in the middle, powerless to stop it.

Chuck turned to me, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t bother with them, Y/N. The Winchesters are bad news,” he said dismissively, as if that justified everything.

I stared at him, my chest tightening with fury. “That was low, even for you,” I snapped, unable to hold back any longer.

Chuck’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t seem fazed. “It’s just business,” he said with a shrug, as if my feelings—and Dean’s—meant nothing in the grand scheme of his plans.

But as I watched the Winchesters disappear into the crowd, I knew one thing for certain: I couldn’t keep playing my father’s game. Not anymore. I had to find my own way—away from his control, and away from his cruel manipulations.

--

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Tattoo

In honor of this wonderful artwork of @spikesgeliebte a small one shot story of tattooed Dean.

The bar is dimly lit, just the way I like it. Shadows cling to the corners, the low hum of conversation filling the space like a steady buzz, broken only by the occasional clink of glasses. I wipe down the counter, my eyes casually scanning the room until they land on him.

He’s hard to miss, even sitting in the far corner of the bar, bathed in the soft glow of the overhead light. His black leather jacket hugs his broad shoulders, the collar turned up slightly. And then there are the tattoos. They snake up his neck, intricate designs peeking out from under the hem of his shirt, curling down his forearms, visible every time he lifts his glass. His hands are covered too, rings of ink marking him in ways I can’t stop staring at.

Dangerous. He looks dangerous, and I know the type. Guys like him walk into bars like this, always keeping to themselves but exuding that energy that draws people in whether they want to or not. Normally, I’d keep my distance—caution is in my nature—but there’s something about him that pulls me in, like gravity, like I’m not even in control of it.

I bite the inside of my cheek as I continue wiping the counter, pretending like I’m not staring at him, but then his eyes meet mine. Green, sharp, and intense. He catches me—of course, he does.

A slow smirk creeps up on his lips, and before I can look away, he winks at me.

My heart stumbles over itself. What am I, sixteen?

I feel the heat creeping up my neck, but I force myself to stay calm, to keep it professional. He’s just another customer, after all. Nothing more.

The man started to walk up to the bar, I instinctively grab the whiskey bottle from the shelf and head over to where he’s leaning on the bar next to an empty chair, my footsteps echoing in the quiet spaces between the conversations. His eyes track my every movement, and I can feel the weight of his gaze as I approach.

“Need a refill?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.

He nods, sliding his glass toward me, his fingers brushing mine for just a second. His touch is warm, and I’m annoyed at how much it sends a shiver down my spine. Up close, he’s even more distracting. The lines of his tattoos are detailed, almost mesmerizing. I pour the whiskey, focusing on not spilling a drop.

“You got a name?” he asks, voice low and rough, like gravel under tires.

“Y/N,” I answer, pushing the glass back to him.

“Dean.” He introduces himself, leaning back in his chair, watching me with that same half-smirk that makes it hard to breathe. “You work here often, Y/N?”

I shrug. “Most nights.”

“Good to know.” His voice wraps around the words like he’s savoring them, his gaze drifting lazily over me, taking in every detail. “You know, I’m not usually into small talk, but you’ve got me curious.”

“Curious, huh?” I don’t know what comes over me, but I tilt my head, meeting his gaze head-on, even though my stomach twists with nervous energy. “What’s there to be curious about?”

He chuckles, and it’s a deep sound that rumbles through the air between us. “Well, for starters, I’m wondering how someone like you ends up in a place like this.” He leans forward, resting his tattooed arms on the counter, and I catch a glimpse of a symbol on his wrist, something ancient-looking. “Seems like you’d have better places to be.”

I glance away, feeling the warmth rise to my cheeks again. “It’s just a job.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, his eyes not leaving my face. "You'd look better on the cover of a magazine or something."

I swallow hard, my fingers tightening around the bottle in my hand. “You sure know how to lay it on thick, don’t you?”

Dean grins, and it’s almost disarming. Almost. “Just calling it like I see it.”

I shake my head, unable to keep from smiling a little. “You’re trouble.”

“And you’re blushing,” he teases, his voice dropping to a low murmur that makes my pulse race.

“I am not,” I protest, but the lie is weak, even to my own ears.

Dean leans even closer, his breath warm as he says, “It’s okay. I like shy girls.”

God, why does that make me blush harder? I bite my lip, my hands suddenly restless as I wipe the counter again, trying to focus on something—anything—other than him and his stupidly attractive grin.

“You always flirt this much with bartenders?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light, though it comes out more breathless than I’d like.

Dean laughs softly, leaning back in his chair, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Only the ones I like.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “So, what? You just walk into bars, wink at the first girl you see, and expect her to fall for your charms?”

He tilts his head, pretending to think about it for a second. “Hmm, does it work?"

I snort, rolling my eyes despite the flutter in my chest. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still talking to me,” he points out, his smirk turning a little more playful, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

I don’t have a response to that. Because, damn it, he’s right. Despite every red flag, every instinct telling me this guy is nothing but trouble wrapped in leather and tattoos, I’m still here, still standing in front of him, still wanting more.

Dean takes another slow sip, eyes never leaving mine. “You know, Y/N,” he says after a moment, his voice low, “I think I’m gonna stick around for a while.”

I meet his gaze, my heart beating just a little faster, I don’t mind the idea of trouble.

Not.

One.

Bit.

--

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Fairground

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

This amazing idea came from @jackles010378 ❤️

The vibrant lights of the fairground glittered in the twilight, their colors reflecting in Y/N’s eyes as she glanced at Dean, walking beside her. It had been forever since they’d had a night to themselves. Hunting had a way of eating up their time, and finding a moment for a proper date was like trying to catch lightning in a bottle.

But tonight was different—tonight was just for them.

There was a playful glint in his green eyes, and Y/N felt a warmth in her chest, knowing how much he’d gone out of his way to make this night special. The distant music of a carousel drifted through the cool night air, mixing with the laughter of children and the hum of the fairground’s attractions.

Y/N strolled beside Dean, their fingers loosely intertwined. The air was filled with the smell of fried food and the distant hum of carnival rides. After what felt like ages of hunting, running, and surviving, this night was a much-needed break—a real date night.

Dean glanced down at her, a playful smirk on his lips. “So, where to first?”

Y/N scanned the fair, her eyes landing on the haunted house at the far end, its cheesy facade promising thrills and chills. Her face lit up with excitement, and she gave Dean a little tug. “The haunted house! Come on!”

But instead of the eager grin she expected, Dean hesitated. “Eh, I’m not really feeling the haunted house tonight.”

Y/N blinked in surprise. Dean, of all people, loved scary stuff—movies, haunted attractions, real-life monsters, the whole deal. This was his kind of thing. “You’re kidding, right? Since when do you pass up a haunted house?”

He shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I dunno. Just looks… lame. We’ve seen scarier stuff on a Tuesday.”

Before she could push him further, a familiar voice rang out. "Y/N! Dean!" Turning, she saw Charlie waving enthusiastically, a group of her friends in tow.

Charlie jogged over with a grin. “You guys going into the haunted house? You gotta come with us!”

Y/N turned to Dean, giving him her best puppy-dog eyes. “See? Even Charlie’s in.”

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, alright, you go. I’ll catch up in a bit. Just, uh… got something I need to take care of first.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, suspicious but intrigued. “What are you up to?”

Dean flashed her a mischievous grin. “You’ll see. Trust me.”

With a roll of her eyes, Y/N followed Charlie and the others into the haunted house, though she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder one last time at Dean. He was up to something, she just knew it.

As soon as she disappeared into the dim entrance, Dean’s focus shifted to the shooting gallery just a few booths away. He’d spotted the giant teddy bear earlier—so big, it looked like it could swallow a person whole. He knew Y/N would love it. She never admitted it, but she had a soft spot for stuff like that, and Dean was determined to win it for her.

Dean sauntered up to the booth, where a gruff-looking carnie was leaning against the counter. “Three bucks for five shots,” the man said, tossing Dean an air rifle.

Dean grabbed it and sized up the targets—a row of small, spinning bulls-eyes. Easy enough. He aimed and fired.

Miss.

Frowning, he adjusted his stance and fired again.

Miss.

“Come on…” Dean muttered under his breath. This wasn’t right. His aim was solid, always had been. But every shot was veering just wide of the mark. He fired three more times, missing every shot.

"Son of a..."

“Another round?” the carnie asked, smirking.

Dean grumbled and pulled out another three dollars. “Yeah, yeah, let’s do it again.”

The second round went no better. Dean paid up for a third, and then a fourth. By the time he’d sunk eighteen bucks into the game, he was visibly frustrated.

“This is crap,” he muttered, handing over another crumpled bill. He picked up the rifle again, narrowing his eyes at the targets. He took aim, held his breath, and fired.

Miss.

"Seriously?" Dean growled, his patience wearing thin. "These guns are awful."

The carnie chuckled, crossing his arms. "Nothing wrong with the guns, pal. Maybe it’s the shooter."

Dean’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Oh, is that so?”

Without another word, he reached under his jacket and pulled out his own gun. The carnie’s cocky grin faltered as Dean leveled the weapon at the targets.

"Whoa, man, easy!" the carnie stammered, holding up his hands. "It’s just a game!"

Dean didn’t flinch. With a calm, practiced aim, he fired, knocking down the targets one by one with perfect precision. The sound of the shots echoed around the booth, drawing a few stares from passersby.

Dean lowered his gun, turning back to the now visibly nervous carnie with a smug grin. "Told you it wasn’t me."

The carnie swallowed, his bravado completely gone. “Alright, alright, you win. Just… take the bear and no more funny business, alright?”

Dean pointed to the largest one—the giant teddy bear that was practically his size. The man hauled it down from the shelf and handed it over, grumbling under his breath.

Dean grabbed the bear, its massive fluffy arms flopping over his shoulders as he carried it through the crowd. He had to shift his weight to keep from stumbling, but the grin on his face was worth it. Y/N was going to lose it when she saw this.

Meanwhile, Y/N stepped out of the haunted house, laughing with Charlie. The haunted house had been cheesy fun, full of jump scares and fake ghosts, but it was nothing compared to the real horrors she and Dean faced every day.

As she looked around for Dean, she didn’t see him anywhere. Her brow furrowed. “Where did he go?”

Charlie shrugged, glancing around. “Maybe he ditched us to get snacks?”

Before Y/N could answer, she saw movement—something big, something furry. Her eyes widened as Dean emerged from behind a booth, struggling with the gigantic teddy bear.

“Dean!” Y/N gasped, her face breaking into a smile as she jogged toward him. “What... is this?”

Dean dropped the bear in front of her, standing tall with a proud grin on his face. “Surprise, sweetheart. Thought you could use a new hunting partner.”

Y/N couldn’t stop laughing as she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "I love it! You're ridiculous, you know that?"

Dean wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “Yeah, but you love me for it.”

She leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "That, I do."

As they strolled through the crowed, the colorful fairground lights flickered around them, casting a warm glow over the moment. Dean squeezed her hand, the weight of the world forgotten, if only for a little while.

--

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Bless me father

*This story is my own original story, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

The archive was unusually quiet today, the only sound the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional sigh from Charlie, sitting across from me in the bunkers archive. I tried to focus on the old book in front of me, some ancient text about pagan rituals or whatever.

Research was never my strong suit. Charlie, on the other hand, was in her element. I could practically see her eyes glowing with excitement as she flipped through pages like they held the answers to life itself.

I slouched further into my seat, fiddling with the corner of the page. It was hard to concentrate when your mind was somewhere else—or, more specifically, on someone else.

That someone burst through the library doors, accompanied by the familiar echo of heavy footsteps. Sam and Dean.

And they were dressed like priests.

I swallowed hard and quickly looked back down at my book, pretending to be completely uninterested. Sam was saying something about the case they were working on, but I wasn’t listening. Not with Dean standing there in all his dark-suited, clerical-collared glory. It didn’t help that he was smirking as usual, that damn smile he wore like a weapon, unaware of the effect it had on people.

Especially me.

“Y/N, Charlie,” Sam greeted as they both approached the table.

I glanced up, arching a brow like this was all no big deal. “Father Winchester, Father Winchester,” I said dryly, nodding toward them like I was in on the joke. “You two here to take our confessions? Or just smite a couple of sinners?”

Dean’s lips quirked into a lopsided grin as he pulled out a chair, sitting next to me with an exaggerated sigh. “Careful, sweetheart. I hear sarcasm’s the devil’s tongue.”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the flutter in my chest. “If sarcasm's the devil’s tongue, then I’m running Hell.”

Dean chuckled, his voice low and warm, but it didn’t help that I could feel the weight of his presence beside me. He had no idea I was stealing glances, trying to keep my cool while my heart did embarrassing backflips. I bit the inside of my cheek and pretended to be fascinated by a diagram of a ritual in the book, all while avoiding looking directly at him.

But, of course, Charlie noticed.

She kicked me under the table, hard enough to make me jump. My knee banged against the wood, and I cursed under my breath, shooting her a glare. Her face was all innocence, but her raised brow and smug grin gave her away. She knew. She always knew.

“Something wrong, Y/N?” Dean’s voice was low, teasing, and I realized my reaction had caught his attention. Great.

“Yeah, you good?” Charlie added, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

I felt my face flush slightly, and I quickly plastered on my best sarcastic smile, leaning back in my chair as if the entire moment was nothing. “Oh, you know, just Charlie’s way of keeping me awake. Research can be so boring.” I shot her a mock glare. “Thanks for the jolt, by the way.”

“Anytime,” Charlie said sweetly, giving me a wink.

Dean’s eyes stayed on me for a second longer than usual, his smirk faltering as if he was trying to figure something out. I could feel his gaze like a weight, and for a second, I thought maybe he saw through my sarcasm. But before I could overthink it, he leaned back in his chair and stretched, looking completely at ease.

“Boring, huh? Well, maybe a priest showing up will spice things up a bit,” he said, shooting me that cocky grin of his.

I snorted, folding my arms across my chest. “Yeah, sure, because the only thing more exciting than research is two fake priests trying to pull off a case.”

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but Sam cut in, ever the voice of reason. “Alright, enough. We’ve got a case to crack, and we need to get through this research before we head out.”

I nodded, grateful for the distraction. “Fine, let’s get to it then. Before Charlie kicks me again.”

Charlie grinned, and Dean shot me one last look before turning his attention to the books in front of him.

I exhaled quietly, glad to avoid his gaze for now. But deep down, I knew that hiding how I felt around Dean was becoming harder with every sarcastic joke and witty retort. And if Charlie kept kicking me, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer.

--

I insisted to rent a motel. Claiming I needed a window with a view to sleep. But honestly staying 24/7 around Dean made me mad with need and I didn't want to ruin our friendship.

Later that night, I was in my room, half-heartedly flipping through channels on the tiny motel TV. The case had been exhausting, and honestly, I was ready to just pass out. My brain was still buzzing from all the sarcastic banter I’d thrown at Dean earlier, trying to cover up how flustered I’d felt with him sitting so close, still in that stupid priest outfit.

A knock on the door snapped me out of my thoughts. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so when I got up to open the door, I assumed it was Charlie or maybe Sam needing something from the store.

But no. It was Dean... and he was still dressed like a priest.

My mouth went dry instantly as I blinked up at him. He gave me a slow grin, leaning casually against the doorframe, his hands tucked in his pockets. “You ready for that confession now?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

I couldn’t help it—I laughed, but it was nervous, my heart racing in my chest. “Oh, is that what this is?” I teased back, trying to keep my cool. “Here to save my soul, Father Winchester?”

Dean chuckled and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. The soft click of the lock felt louder than it should’ve, and I swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the room felt with him in it.

“I don’t know about saving your soul,” he said, taking a step closer, his eyes fixed on me in that intense way that always made my pulse spike. “But I did notice you staring earlier. Almost drooling, actually.” His lips quirked up into a smirk. “I was just wondering what this sinner was thinking about.”

I could feel the heat rising to my face, but I wasn’t going to let him get the upper hand. Not now, not after years of back-and-forth banter. “Oh, you know,” I said, crossing my arms and leaning against the table, trying to look nonchalant. “The usual. Wondering what my best friend’s lips might taste like.”

Dean’s smirk faltered, just for a second, replaced by something darker, something more serious. He stepped closer, the space between us disappearing fast. His eyes flicked to my lips, and for a moment, neither of us moved.

Then, before I could second-guess myself, Dean leaned in and kissed me.

It wasn’t tentative or shy—it was all heat and want, his hand cupping the back of my neck as he pulled me toward him. My mind went blank, my body reacting instantly, melting into him as if this had been a long time coming.

And maybe it had.

When he pulled back, just slightly, his breath was warm against my lips. “That answer your question?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine.

I swallowed, my hands gripping the front of his shirt as if I could ground myself. But my mind was racing, my pulse thundering in my ears, and I wasn’t ready to stop yet. Not even close.

“I’m not done with my confession,” I whispered, looking up at him through my lashes, my voice barely steady. “I’ve also been wondering what his hands would feel like… on my body.”

Dean’s eyes darkened, and his hand slid from my neck down to my waist, pulling me flush against him. His thumb brushed over the hem of my shirt, sending goosebumps skittering across my skin.

“Keep going,” he said softly, his voice like a challenge, his lips ghosting over mine again.

I bit my lip, my breath hitching as his hand slid beneath my shirt, his touch warm and firm against my skin. “And,” I continued, my voice catching slightly, “how good it’d feel to have him pressed against me, like this.”

Dean growled low in his throat and kissed me again, deeper this time, his hands exploring, as if testing the boundaries of what I wanted. My back hit the edge of the table, and I gasped against his mouth, feeling the heat between us building with every passing second.

“You want me to stop?” he whispered against my lips, his hand tracing slow, teasing patterns on my skin.

I shook my head, breathless. “No. Don’t stop.”

Dean smirked, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth before he trailed kisses down my jawline, sending sparks of electricity through me with each touch. “Then tell me what else you’ve been thinking about,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

I couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped me, the sound mingling with a sigh as his mouth found the sensitive spot just beneath my ear. “I’m not sure I should say,” I teased, though my voice was shaky now, my pulse racing as his hands continued their slow, torturous exploration of my body.

“Confession’s good for the soul, Y/N,” Dean whispered, his breath hot against my skin.

I closed my eyes, biting my lip as his hand slid up my thigh, pushing the last bit of coherent thought from my mind. “Fine,” I managed to say, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “I’ve wondered how good it would feel… to have him... inside me.”

Dean’s hand stilled for just a moment, and I could feel his breath hitch against my neck. His lips found mine again, and this time, the kiss was hungry, urgent, and I could feel the weight of every unspoken word between us.

“Let’s see if we can make that confession come true,” he growled.

And before I could say another word, we were lost in each other, every touch, every kiss sending us spiraling deeper into the inevitable. He murmured between out kisses.

"Start praying sweetheart, you're going to need it."

--

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Sleeping beauty

*This story is my own original story, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

Dean pushed open the heavy metal door of the bunker with a quiet grunt, his entire body aching from the hunt. The long drive back had done nothing to ease the tension in his muscles, and the only thing on his mind was crashing in his bed.

Dean pushed open the heavy metal door of the bunker with a quiet grunt, his entire body aching from the hunt. The long drive back had done nothing to ease the tension in his muscles, and the only thing on his mind was crashing in his bed.

It was late—really late. The dim lights of the bunker cast a soft, familiar glow over the stone walls, offering a kind of comfort he rarely admitted to feeling.

The hunt had been brutal, but it was over. For now, at least. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, feeling the grit of the day clinging to him like a second skin.

All he wanted was to crawl under his sheets and sleep for as long as his mind would allow, which wasn’t ever as long as he hoped.

Kicking off his boots near the war room, planning on taking a quick shower, just to clean up before going to bed. Or that was what he thought he'd do. He padded silently down the hall toward his room.

As he got closer, a sense of something different hit him—something warm, something familiar. The door to his room was slightly open, a thin warm light spilling into the hallway from the bedside lamp.

Dean's brow furrowed in confusion, but the weariness in his body kept him from thinking too much about it.Pushing the door open, he froze in the doorway.

There, nestled in the middle of his bed, lay Y/N.

She was on her side, facing away from him, curled up in the middle of his bed like she belonged there.

The soft fabric of his worn, oversized flannel shirt draped loosely over her body, the sleeves bunched around her hands.

The sheets were tangled between her legs, one knee tucked up and the other stretched out, the thin blanket doing little to hide her body. Her hair spilled across the pillow, framing her peaceful face.

Her hip and ass showing over the sheets since she wore little to nothing except a pair of panties, Oh god... what is she doing to me!

Dean couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. His eyes glued on her body. A part of him was surprised, but another part—one he rarely allowed to surface—felt like this was right. Like seeing her here was what he needed after a hunt like that.

After a life like this. Come home, find her naked or nearly naked in bed, fuck her till he find sleep himself.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. Before he silently took his fresh shirt and boxers to go shower. While he closed the door behind him softly he kept looking not to wake her.

His mind spiralled in the shower. Why was she there? Did she miss him or maybe her own hunt was shitty and she needed him?

But all he could think of was her curves, how her ass lifted in the air, calling his name. Dean's cock was throbbing, his hand moved instinctively to it, making the release quick and hard.

But the second he turned the shower off, thanks to his own vivid imagination, he was hard again.

He walked back to his room, half expecting Y/N to be gone. But no... she was still there, in the same position.

The soft rise and fall of her breath was the only sound in the room, the quiet rhythm calming something deep inside of him. She looked peaceful, completely at ease. It was such a stark contrast to the usual chaos of their lives. And she was in his bed, wearing his shirt.

She turned a little more, showing herself a little better. Dean’s lips quirked up into the faintest hint of a smile. She is asking for it.

He stepped forward quietly, not wanting to disturb her, and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly beneath his weight, but Y/N only stirred for a second before settling back into her dreams.

She looked so small wrapped in his clothes, the shirt swallowing her frame, and the sight did something to his heart (and cock) he couldn’t quite explain.

For a while, Dean just watched her sleep. His eyes traced the soft lines of her face, the way her lashes brushed her cheeks, how her lips parted slightly with each breath. Hands hovering over her curves wanting to touch her skin.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, just soaking in the moment, but for once, there was no urgency. No looming threat, no ticking clock. Just her, and the quiet sound of their breathing. Unless he counted his erection as a ticking time bomb...

They often enough had a quick fuck during or after a hunt. Just to release stress, this wasn’t different, all though he tried to ignore the sensation his cock was giving him. Just releasing stress.

He leaned back slightly, his hand coming so close to touch her. The warmth of her skin was a stark contrast to the coolness of the room, and he found himself wondering again how she’d ended up here.

Did she miss him while he was gone? Had she come looking for comfort in his absence? Or was she desperately looking for sex. That wouldn't be a first.

They shared a bed... couch... car... They settled boundaries before. And this was something he knew she'd be into.

His hand now warm on her hip made her lean closer to him, showing him a little more.

His flannel hung loosely off her shoulder, exposing the smooth skin of her collarbone, seeing how she was naked under his shirt.

Fuck! Dean had to fight the urge to reach out, to touch her, to pull her close, to knead and feel her breasts, feel how her soft nipple hardened with his touch.

Instead, he let out a soft sigh and ran a hand down her leg.

Carefully, not to wake her, Dean turned beside her on the bed, The mattress shifted slightly, and Y/N stirred again, her brow furrowing for a moment before she relaxed once more. Dean turned on his side, facing her, his head resting on the pillow just inches from hers.

But he couldn't stop himself. His hand moved slowly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. The touch was so light, so careful, as if he was afraid of shattering the calm of the moment.

His fingers moved over her collarbone to her breast softly kneading her flesh.

As if sensing his presence even in her sleep, Y/N shifted closer to him. Her body instinctively pressed into his, her ass moving against his hips.

Dean’s breath hitched at the contact, the feel of her so close sending a warmth through him. Fuck he needed her!

She mumbled something incoherent in her sleep, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his sheets. Dean chuckled softly under his breath, a rare sound in the stillness of the room.

“You always steal my shirts.” he whispered, even though he knew she wouldn’t hear him. His voice was rough with exhaustion and need but soft, the kind of tone he only used when it was just the two of them.

"This time you'll need to pay for it princess." He whispered while his hand dipped between her legs. Unknowingly she let him, moving her leg a little higher. "Fuck you're so wet already... did you...?" his voice broke off.

Would she? The idea of her playing with herself in his bed, in his flanel drove him insane. Her breath became deeper while his fingers played with her. Drawing slow easy circles on her clit.

He tugged her panties aside, before he freed his throbbing dick from his boxers. No longer able to wait, he rubbed himself against her wet core. The feeling almost enough to come then and there.

Seeing how her panties get wet with their movement.

A soft moan escaped her mouth, "D-Dean?" her voice sounded sleepy. Her hand moved back, trying to find him, and she did, pretty easily she found the back of his head, pulling him closer.

His other arm slid under her, pulling her just a little closer, and she instinctively settled into him, her head now resting against his chest.

"Shh..." He whispered. He turned her on to her belly, granting himself more access. Her hand kneading the pillow while he adjusted himself. Pulling her panties further down. Kneading her ass, kissing her flesh.

He guided himself inside, feeling her thighten just a little by the surprise of him. Her body reacted, a soft "Mhm." escaped her mouth, not knowing weither she was fully awake or he'd just given her a great dream.

"D-Dean?" she moaned sleepy. "What are you...Oh!" He leaned in closer, thrusting all the way in "Just enjoy baby." He said before he kissed her neck. She was clearly awake now, pushing her ass up so he could thrust deeper.

His hand fisted her hair, "Do you have any fucking idea what you’re doing to me? Sleeping in my bed, halve naked."

"Mhm..."

"What did you think of when you tickled that pretty little cunt of yours." Her head lifted. He knew... but he bit playfully in her neck. to hold her down.

"I felt it... while you where sleeping, I felt how wet you where without me even touching you." A breathy "Oh." escaped her mouth.

"You wanted me to fuck your sleeping pussy didn't you."

All she could was moan in response.

"Yes..."

--

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@deans-baby-momma @soab1967 @livingdeadblondequeen @ladysparkles78 @kr804573 @nancymcl@suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @globetrotter28 @jackles010378 @hobby27 @call-me-mrs-winchester @winchesterwild78 @deans-baby-momma @soab1967 @livingdeadblondequeen @ladysparkles78

Dean: Babe have you seen my... what is that.

Y/N: It's a mask.

Dean: Yeah, I can see that... what's it for?

Y/N: Halloween, I'm zorro.

Dean: ...

Dean: You talked to Crowley, didn’t you?

Y/N walks past Dean with a mischievous grin, pausing at his shoulder. *Pats his cheek twice*

Y/N: Maybe...

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