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."

--

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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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A few more weeks went by, and I noticed a shift in Dean. He started coming into my office more often, lingering to chat about work or to bounce ideas off me. It was a welcomed change, but it also felt complicated. I tried to be genuinely happy for him as he talked about adjusting to the idea of becoming a father, though it tugged at my heartstrings.

Bobby had asked me to be Dean’s right hand while he took on some of the responsibilities that Sam and Dean used to handle. “He needs support, and I trust you,” Bobby had said with a serious tone. I appreciated the confidence he had in me, but I also felt the weight of the responsibility.

One afternoon, Bobby knocked on my door, his expression serious. “Can we have a heart-to-heart?” he asked.

“Of course, what’s up?” I replied, motioning for him to sit.

“I just want to talk about Dean,” he began, his brow furrowing. “I know you two have gotten closer, and I don’t want you to break his heart or make his head spin if you care for him.”

“I get it, Bobby,” I said, nodding. “I know he needs to be there for Jo. It’s just… it’s complicated.”

Bobby sighed, rubbing his temples. “I’m concerned about him and Sam. They’ve both been through so much, and with the baby situation… I just want to make sure we’re not adding to their stress.”

“I understand,” I replied, feeling a sense of unease settle in my stomach. “I care about Dean, but I know my place, really”

After our talk, I left the office feeling heavy-hearted. I wanted to be there for Dean, but I also wanted to respect the boundaries he had with Jo. As I got home that evening, I noticed a figure leaning against my door. It was Dean, and he looked utterly defeated.

“Dean?” I asked, my heart racing as I rushed to him. “What’s wrong?”

He looked up at me, his eyes glassy and red from tears. “She… she was never pregnant,” he said, his voice trembling. “She lied to me.”

I felt my stomach drop as the weight of his words sunk in. “What? Dean, I’m so sorry.”

He pushed past me into the apartment, visibly drunk, the emotions pouring out of him. “I ended things with Jo, but she’s still at my place. I didn’t know what to do. I thought I was about to become a father, and now… it’s all gone.”

“Dean,” I said gently, trying to catch his eye. “You shouldn’t have to go through this alone. You can stay here tonight.”

He looked around, his expression filled with confusion and pain. “I don’t want to burden you.”

“Stop it. You’re not a burden. You’re my friend, and you need a place to crash. The couch is all yours.”

Dean hesitated for a moment before finally nodding, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. “Thanks, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I led him to the living room and pointed to the couch. “Make yourself at home. I’ll grab some blankets and maybe some ice cream if you’re up for it.”

He offered a faint smile, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “Ice cream sounds great.”

I went to the kitchen and returned with a couple of bowls, handing one to him as I sat on the chair across from him. “So, what happened? Why did Jo lie?”

“I don’t know,” he said, staring down at the ice cream. “I think she thought it would keep us together. We were having so many issues, and I guess she just panicked.”

“Did she know you were serious about wanting to end things?” I asked cautiously.

“Yeah, I made it clear, but it felt like she was desperate to hold on,” he replied, shaking his head. “I didn’t think she’d go that far.”

I watched him as he took a bite of ice cream, the pain in his eyes unmistakable. “You deserve better than that, Dean.”

He looked up at me, vulnerability etched on his face. “I don’t know if I can trust anyone anymore. This whole situation just feels like a mess, and I hate how lost I feel. To think I didn't even wanted the kid, now I'm upset over it."

“Hey... Shh don't say that. Besides you can trust me,” I assured him softly. “I’m here for you, whatever you need. Just take it one day at a time.”

He nodded, his expression softening. “Thanks, Y/N. I appreciate it, really.”

I turned on the TV, letting the soft glow of the screen fill the room. Dean rummaged through my cabinets, finally settling on a bottle of bourbon, while I poured myself a glass of wine. The atmosphere was a strange mix of tension and comfort as we tried to distract ourselves from the emotional turmoil of the day.

After a few drinks, Dean’s emotional walls began to crumble, and he started to relax. He eventually shifted to rest his head on my thighs, his body warm against me as we watched the show.

I absentmindedly ran my fingers through his hair, feeling the tension in his muscles gradually ease as he sank deeper into my touch.

As the minutes ticked by, I could feel his breathing slow and his eyelids droop until, eventually, he fell asleep, his weight heavy against my legs. Carefully, I shifted to remove myself from under him, making sure not to wake him.

I placed a pillow under his head and tucked a blanket around him, making him comfortable before heading to the bathroom.

Once I was cleaned up and had changed into my underwear and a tank top to go to bed, I realized I had forgotten my phone in the kitchen. I made my way back, walking softly, not to disturb Dean.

As I stepped into the living room, I heard his deep, sleepy voice tease me. “Sexy,” he joked, a smirk playing on his lips as he blinked awake.

I rolled my eyes, trying to laugh it off. “Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, remember who's couch you're on,” I shot back, walking past him to grab my phone.

But as I turned to head back to the bedroom, he reached out, grabbing my wrist and pulling me into his lap. I was taken aback, surprised by the sudden shift. His grip was firm yet gentle, his gaze intense as he looked up at me.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice low and serious, the playful tone fading. His eyes were locked on mine, then drifted downward, resting at the level of my breasts. I felt a rush of heat wash over me, and my heart raced as I found myself frozen in place, caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to stay.

Dean look back into my eyes, waited, his expression searching, as if he was gauging my reaction. The air between us thickened, charged with an unspoken tension that had been simmering for weeks. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, the way his thighs felt beneath me, and it made it hard to think straight.

I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening. The darkness in his gaze pulled me in, and for a moment, all the complications of our lives faded away. I didn’t want to overthink it. I didn’t want to pull away. So I stayed there, on his lap, our proximity igniting a mixture of fear and excitement.

“Dean…” I whispered, unsure of what to say next.

“Y/N,” he replied, his voice deepening further. “I don’t want to pretend like there isn’t something between us anymore. I know things are messy, but I can’t ignore what I feel when I’m with you.”

My breath hitched in my throat. “What do you feel?” I asked, challenging him, needing to hear the words.

He leaned closer, his forehead almost touching mine, the warmth of his breath brushing against my skin. “I feel alive when I’m with you. You make me forget about everything else, even just for a little while.”

The sincerity in his voice made my heart flutter. I knew I should be cautious, that we were walking a tightrope, but in that moment, all I could focus on was him—how he made me feel, how safe I felt in his presence.

“I feel that too,” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper.

With those words hanging between us, I realized we were both teetering on the edge, and the decision to step forward or back was ours to make.

Dean’s grip on my wrist softened as he gently pulled me closer, his hands resting on my waist. “Then let’s not overthink it,” he murmured, and before I could respond,

his lips were on mine.

--

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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

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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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@deadlydivergentgirl @livya99 @deansimpalababy

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

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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@deadlydivergentgirl @livya99 @deansimpalababy

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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The Impala's engine rumbled softly as it idled in front of the small church. Dean cut the engine and glanced at Y/N in the rearview mirror. She was sitting quietly in the backseat, her gaze fixed on the church entrance. Sam shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat, clearly not looking forward to this virginity-restoring "purity" meeting. Dean wasn’t either—but for different reasons.

The last few hunts had been intense, and Y/N had proven herself invaluable. Quick, smart, and fearless in the face of monsters. But last night, Dean had seen something that messed with his head. He’d caught her chatting up a bartender, leaning in close, giving him that same smile she gave Dean when they were alone. He swore he saw her slip the guy a napkin, probably with her number on it.

His gut twisted with jealousy and anger. He and Y/N had been hooking up in secret for weeks, and while Dean wasn’t one for serious relationships, seeing her with someone else stung more than he wanted to admit. All morning, he'd been giving her the cold shoulder, keeping his distance. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything.

Sam’s voice broke the silence. “You guys ready for this?”

Dean snorted. “Ready as I’ll ever be, Sammy.

Y/N gave a quiet sigh from the backseat, her arms crossed. She followed the brothers into the church, where they were greeted by a circle of people—mostly women—waiting for the session to begin. Pamphlets were spread across a long table in the center, with a large cross mounted on the wall behind it. Dean found a seat, Sam beside him, and Y/N a few chairs away.

The leader clapped her hands, smiling brightly at the group. “Welcome, everyone! Today, we’re going to open up about why we’ve decided to give up sex. Whether it’s for spiritual reasons, emotional healing, or just a fresh start, we’re here to support one another.”

Dean rolled his eyes, keeping his thoughts to himself. He wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who enjoyed sharing his feelings with a group of strangers.

One by one, the participants shared their stories. Some mentioned past heartbreak, others trauma, and a few spoke about wanting to strengthen their spiritual connection. When it came to Y/N’s turn, she sat up straighter, her voice cool and steady.

“All men are the same,” she said, eyes locking onto Dean’s with a sharpness that made him wince. “They take what they want, then toss you aside when they’re done.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. That one hit a little too close to home. She was talking about him. She had to be. But what the hell? It wasn’t like he’d thrown her aside… not yet, anyway. He wasn’t even sure what was going on between them. Either way, hearing her say that stung.

Then, it was Dean’s turn. He leaned back in his chair, a cocky grin creeping across his face. If she was going to throw shots at him, he might as well play it up.

“Well,” he started, his voice dropping into that familiar, low tone, "Sex has always felt, I don't know... good. You know, really... really good."

He couldn't look at her as he continued. "But eh, sometimes it just makes you feel bad. You know, you're drunk, take a girl home, you shack up."

"Then it's the whole morning thing you know. Hey that was fun." He looked at Y/N now, giving her a low blow. "And then it's hard to let her down, to tell her... adios."

He looked back at his hands. "Always the adios"

“when you get down to it, what's the big deal? Sure, there's the touching, the feeling all of each other... my hands everywhere, tracing every inch of her body." He shifted in his seat, watching the women in the room lean in just a little closer. "The two of us moving together, pressing, pulling, grinding… and then you hit that sweet spot and everything just builds, builds and builds until it all just… "

*explosion noise*

He made a little hand gesture to go along with the sound, and a few of the women giggled, cheeks flushing pink. Dean wasn’t done yet, though.

“But, you know," he added with a casual shrug, "the whole thing’s just a little too… sticky.”

The room fell silent, the mood shifted from amused to confused. The way Dean casually tossed that last line out there, like he was commenting on something trivial, left everyone a bit off guard. Even Sam shot him a bewildered look.

Y/N’s lips pressed into a tight line, her eyes narrowing. She was pissed, no doubt about it. Dean could practically feel the heat of her glare burning into him, but he couldn’t resist the smug satisfaction that came with knowing he was getting under her skin.

The leader, clearly trying to regain control of the conversation, gave a polite chuckle and moved on to the next person, but the tension between Dean and Y/N was palpable. Dean didn’t look at her directly, but he could feel her anger simmering just beneath the surface.

As the meeting wrapped up and everyone filed out, Dean lingered near the door, waiting for Sam and Y/N. When she passed him, she didn’t say a word, but her shoulder brushed against his in a way that was far from accidental.

Sam, oblivious as always, gave Dean a nod. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, watching Y/N’s retreating figure. “I’m coming.”

But as they left the church and headed back to the Impala, Dean knew he had a problem on his hands. Y/N was angry, and he wasn’t sure if it was just the jealousy talking or something deeper. Either way, they were going to have to deal with it—and when they did, there was no telling how things were going to play out.

Dean just hoped they didn't just crossed a line too far.

--

Y/N barely had time to settle into her motel room when she heard a knock on the door. She sighed, knowing exactly who it was. She debated ignoring it, but the knocking came again, more insistent this time. Reluctantly, she got up and opened the door, revealing Dean standing there, jaw tight and eyes full of irritation.

Before she could say anything, he brushed past her into the room, the door swinging shut behind him.

“Was that really necessary?” he snapped, turning to face her. “To hit me like that?”

Y/N blinked, completely caught off guard. “Hit you!?” she shot back, hands on her hips. “I didn’t hit you, Dean!”

“Yeah, well, that look you gave me might as well have been a right hook,” Dean growled, frustration seeping into his voice. “You could’ve jeopardized the whole damn hunt with that glare. Everyone in the room was ready to eat me alive!”

Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh, I could’ve jeopardized the hunt? Really, Dean? How about mister let me give all 20 women in the room an orgasm at once? Maybe that's why they where eating you alive! You overdid it, Dean! You didn’t sound the least bit sorry about premarital sex—you made it sound like a damn celebration”

Dean’s face hardened, his jaw tightening even more. “At least I didn’t stand up there and act like I’d been thrown aside like yesterday’s garbage while I’m handing out my number to every bartender I meet!”

Y/N’s expression shifted from angry to confused in an instant. “What?” She stared at him, searching his face for some clue as to what the hell he was talking about. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw you last night,” Dean shot back, his voice dripping with accusation. “At the bar. With that bartender. You were all over him, and you slipped him a napkin with your number. Don’t play dumb, Y/N.”

Y/N blinked again, her confusion growing. “Wait, that’s what this is about, why you act so weird around me?” She shook her head, almost laughing in disbelief. “Dean, I didn’t give him my number.”

Dean folded his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed. “Right. I saw it. You handed him a napkin.”

Y/N let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing her temples. “Yeah, Dean, I handed him the napkin back. He wrote his number on it, but I told him I was seeing someone.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but then paused. The jealousy and anger that had been fueling him began to fizzle out as the realization hit. His arms dropped to his sides, and he looked away, feeling like an idiot. He’d jumped to the wrong conclusion, and now it was clear.

“Shit,” Dean muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re serious?”

Y/N crossed her arms, still glaring at him. “Yeah, Dean. I’m serious. I wasn’t giving out my number. I was turning him down.”

Dean stood there, awkwardly shifting on his feet. The jealousy that had driven him all day now felt completely misplaced, and the frustration that had clouded his thoughts suddenly seemed ridiculous.

“You said you were… seeing someone?” Dean asked cautiously, his voice softer now, laced with hesitation.

Y/N stared at him for a long moment before she nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

Dean swallowed hard, trying to figure out how to backpedal after everything he’d accused her of. He felt a sudden swell of guilt for doubting her, but he wasn’t used to this—this vulnerability, this caring.

“I guess I…” He trailed off, his voice quieter. “I don’t know what I thought.”

Y/N’s glare softened, and she took a step closer. “You really thought I’d just… move on like that? After everything?”

Dean shook his head, his usual cockiness gone. “No. I just—when I saw you with him, I freaked. I’m not good at this, Y/N. I’m used to keeping things casual, but this… whatever this is with us, it’s different. And I guess I was scared I was the only one feeling it.”

Y/N looked up at him, her expression softening as the tension between them slowly ebbed away. “You’re an idiot, but I get it.”

Dean let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, finally letting his guard down. “Yeah, well… wouldn’t be the first time.”

They stood there for a moment, the anger and confusion dissipating. Y/N took another step closer, her arms dropping to her sides as she looked up at him, waiting.

“I’m sorry,” Dean finally said, his voice low and genuine. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

Y/N nodded, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “No, you shouldn’t have. But you’re an idiot, and I kinda expected it.”

Dean smirked, stepping closer until they were inches apart. “I guess I owe you for that one, huh?”

“Big time.”

Dean raised his hands in surrender. Y/N smiled, "Next time, just tell me what’s going on before you go full jealous caveman, okay?” Y/N whispered.

Dean laughed softly, shaking her head. “Deal.”

They stood there, the air between them lighter now, though still charged with that familiar tension. Dean looked down at her, his eyes softening, and without thinking, he reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

Y/N smiled, leaning into his touch, and for the first time all day, Dean felt the knot in his chest unwind.

Dean stood there, that familiar lopsided grin creeping across his face, the tension between them melting away, replaced by something warmer, more intimate.

“Well,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “I guess I have an idea how I can make it up to you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, playing along as her lips curled into a smirk. “Oh, you do?”

Dean stepped closer, his hands gently resting on her hips, pulling her toward him. “If I’m remembering right,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, “you told me once that you had a… less-than-stellar first time, right?”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She knew exactly where this was going, and she couldn’t help but smile as she nodded, her voice soft. “Uh-huh. Why?”

Dean’s lips captured hers in a soft, lingering kiss. He pulled back just enough to whisper, “Well, technically… we’re both virgins again, aren’t we?”

He kissed her again, more insistent this time, and Y/N could feel the heat between them intensify. The playful teasing had dissolved into something real, something they both wanted.

“Maybe I can right some wrongs,” Dean murmured against her lips, his hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer. "What do you think, can I be your first Y/N?"

Y/N hummed softly, her hands threading through his hair as she kissed him back, letting the warmth spread through her. She could feel her heart racing, her body responding to every touch. As they broke apart for air, she giggled softly, pushing him toward the bed with a playful shove.

Dean let out a surprised laugh as he landed on the mattress, looking up at her with a mix of amusement and desire. “Finally,” she teased, crawling on top of him, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “mister Winchester has a master plan.”

Dean grinned up at her, his hands sliding up her thighs, his voice rough with desire. “Yeah, and it’s one I don’t plan on messing up.”

Y/N leaned down, her lips hovering just above his as she whispered,

“You’d better not.”

--

Taglist:

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She's like the wind part 2

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

Sorry it took a while but here is part 2 and final part.

A few days had passed since that quiet, intimate car ride, but Y/N couldn't shake the feeling. The way Dean had sung along to the radio, the rawness in his voice—it was all still fresh in her mind. She’d been too chicken to say anything back then, but the thought kept gnawing at her. So when she came across a flyer for a pop-up drive-in movie a few towns over, an idea formed.

Casually, she approached Dean, leaning against the Impala as he worked on the engine. "Hey, Dean," she began, trying to keep her voice light. "Feel like a movie night? There's this pop-up car cinema a few towns over. Could be fun."

Dean paused, wiping his hands on a rag before turning to look at her, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "What’s this? You asking me on a date, sweetheart?"

Y/N’s face flushed immediately, her heart doing an uncomfortable flip in her chest. She sputtered, quickly turning away from his teasing grin. "What? No! Pfft... just thought it’d be something to do." Her eyes darted toward Sam, who was sitting at the table. "Sam, you’re coming too, right?"

Sam, who had been watching the exchange with an amused smile, shook his head. "Actually, I’ve got plans with Eileen tonight," he said, a knowing glint in his eye. "You two enjoy yourselves."

Y/N felt the heat in her cheeks intensify, cursing inwardly at how transparent she must have looked. Dean’s smirk only grew, his green eyes twinkling with amusement. "Guess it’s just you and me then," he said, tossing the rag aside. "I’ll go grab my jacket."

As he headed inside, Y/N exhaled sharply, her heart still racing. She was so going to kill Sam later for ditching her like that.

They had barely settled into their spot at the drive-in when Y/N suggested they grab some popcorn. The evening air was cool, but the excitement of being out together made it easy to ignore. As they approached the concession stand, Y/N tried to push away the lingering nerves that had stuck with her since Dean’s teasing earlier.

The woman at the counter gave them a warm smile as she handed over the popcorn. "You two make such a cute couple," she said, voice light and friendly.

Y/N’s breath caught, her heart jumping at the unexpected comment, but before she could even process it, Dean cut in with a quick, "Oh, we’re not a couple." His tone was casual, nonchalant, like he didn’t give the comment a second thought.

Y/N forced a smile, but the words stung more than she’d expected. She knew Dean wasn’t trying to be mean; he probably didn’t even notice the way her shoulders stiffened at his quick correction. But still, the dismissal felt sharp, a cold reminder of the line they never crossed.

They walked back to the Impala in silence, popcorn in hand. Dean threw a quick glance at her, sensing something was off, but said nothing. Once they were settled back in the car, Dean turned to her with his trademark grin. "So, what are we watching?"

Y/N hesitated, biting her lip before mumbling, "Uh… *Dirty Dancing*."

Dean’s face remained neutral, no teasing comeback this time. He simply leaned back in his seat, eyes on the screen as the movie started. Y/N felt a small wave of relief wash over her. He didn’t seem to mind, though the tension still lingered in the air.

As the night crept on, the temperature began to drop, and Y/N couldn’t ignore the chill creeping into the car. She pulled her jacket tighter around herself, subtly inching closer to Dean, hoping the warmth radiating from his body would help. Her heart raced a little as her shoulder brushed his arm, but before she could get comfortable, Dean suddenly shot up.

"Uh, you need more popcorn?" he asked, almost too quickly, avoiding eye contact as he climbed out of the car.

Y/N blinked in surprise, staring at the now-empty space beside her. "Dean, I—" But he was already heading back toward the concession stand, leaving her sitting there, cold and alone.

She watched his retreating figure, the pang in her chest growing stronger. It wasn’t like Dean to act skittish, especially around her. They were best friends, always comfortable, always in sync. But tonight, something felt off—like an invisible wall had sprung up between them, one she didn’t know how to break through.

She sighed, leaning back in her seat as the movie played on, trying to focus on the screen but finding it hard to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut.

Y/N slipped out of the Impala as soon as Dean was out of sight, heading to the trunk where they kept an emergency blanket. She tugged it out, her hands shaking just a little, but she blamed it on the cold. Wrapping it around herself tightly, she climbed back into the car, settling as far from Dean's side as the cramped space would allow. Her eyes fixed on the screen, but her mind was far from the movie.

The cold felt more bearable now, but the ache in her chest was harder to shake. She had never felt this distance from him before, this strange wall that seemed to be growing between them. She didn’t know if it was her fault or his, or maybe it was just all in her head.

Dean returned a few moments later, the car door squeaking softly as he slid back into his seat. He had a small bag in his hand, and without looking at her, he held it out. "Got you your favorite," he said quietly, his voice softer than usual.

Y/N glanced at the bag—a small pack of her favorite candy. Normally, she would have smiled and thanked him, maybe even teased him about how thoughtful he could be when he wanted. But tonight, it was different. She took the candy without a word, her gaze drifting back to the screen, her body rigid under the blanket.

Dean frowned, the silence between them thick and uncomfortable. He glanced over at her, noticing the way she was sitting so far from him now, how her body was curled in on itself, closed off, if someone opened the car door now she would fall out.

His stomach twisted, sensing this was his fault for leaving her like that, but unsure of what to say or how to fix it.

"Y/N?" he tried, his voice gentle, but she didn’t respond. She kept her eyes glued to the movie, blinking rapidly as tears filled her eyes, the weight of everything suddenly too much to hold in.

Dean’s chest tightened when he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes, his heart pounding with a mixture of panic and guilt. He hadn’t meant to upset her—hell, he didn’t even know what he’d done. But seeing her like this, pulling away from him, was almost unbearable.

"Hey," he tried again, his voice softer now, uncertain. "Y/N… "

But she didn’t answer, and the silence stretched on between them, heavier than it had ever been before. Dean swallowed, at a complete loss. He’d faced down monsters, demons, the worst kind of evil, but this? It terrified him more than anything.

The movie played on, but neither of them were really watching anymore.

The soft, familiar notes of She's Like the Wind began to play, the sound filling the cat. Y/N shifted in her seat, feeling the tension rise in the air between her and Dean, her heart pounding harder with each second. The movie may have been unfolding on the screen in front of them, but the real intensity was happening inside the Impala.

Dean's hand tightened slightly around the steering wheel as he glanced over at her, catching the way her face softened, even with her eyes focused intently on the screen. But then, as if drawn by something deeper, their eyes met—tentative, searching. Dean’s stomach twisted, nervousness creeping in. Did she know? Could she have heard him that night, quietly singing She's Like the Wind while she slept?

His chest tightened as he struggled to act normal, but the tension was undeniable now, thick in the air between them, as awkward as the goodbye happening on screen. Dean tried to play it off, tried to push the feelings down as he often did.

But he couldn’t stop himself.

His voice was low, almost shy, with a nervous chuckle he mouthed Johnny's lines in the goodbye scene. "Maybe they saw you into seven pieces now…" He glanced at her, his green eyes hesitant but filled with something more than friendship.

"I'll never be sorry."

Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart nearly stopping at the way he looked at her. His words hung between them, not lost in the chaos of the moment.

She didn’t blink, didn’t pull away, instead locking eyes with him. And then, almost as if she was channeling the movie’s energy, she whispered Baby’s lines, her voice soft but certain.

"Neither will I."

The words were a confession of their own, layered with all the things unsaid between them. The air in the car grew heavier, the tension almost unbearable as the song continued playing, the crescendo of emotions on screen mirroring their own.

Just as Johnny kissed Baby in the movie, Dean made his move, pulling Y/N closer to him, almost instinctively. His arm wrapped around her, bringing her into the warmth of his chest. The scent of his leather jacket surrounded her, grounding her even as her heart raced faster.

Dean’s eyes flicked down to her lips, lingering there for a split second, his breath coming out shaky. For a moment, it felt like the entire world had slowed down, the weight of the moment pressing in on both of them.

But instead of kissing her, Dean swallowed hard and simply held her, his arm tightening around her shoulders as he turned his eyes back to the screen, his heart hammering in his chest.

The soft strains of the song continued to play, the lyrics filling the quiet space of the Impala. Y/N had settled into the warmth of Dean’s side, the tension still palpable but unspoken. Her mind was racing, trying to process everything—the closeness, the lingering looks, the words exchanged earlier.

But when Dean started to hum again, her heart skipped a beat. His voice was low, almost vulnerable. "Somebody close to me... can't look in her eyes... she's out of my league..."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She glanced up at him, her eyes searching his face, wondering if he knew exactly what he was doing to her. And then, as if pulled by some invisible force, their eyes locked. The way he looked at her, like she was the only person in the world, made her heart pound so hard she thought he could probably hear it.

Dean didn't stop, even though his voice grew softer. "Just a fool to believe... I'm anything she needs..." His gaze never left hers, the words heavy with meaning, his vulnerability laid bare in the dim light of the car.

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the song, his focus entirely on Y/N now. The world outside the Impala faded away, and all that existed was the space between them, shrinking with each passing second. Her lips parted slightly, her chest rising and falling faster as her emotions swirled in a wild storm inside her.

Dean’s hand moved, tentatively reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair away from her face. His thumb lingered at her cheek, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down her spine. The song carried on in the background, but neither of them was listening anymore. It was just them, the charged air between them thick with everything unsaid.

When the last line of the song played, Dean couldn't hold back anymore.

Without a word, he closed the remaining distance between them, his lips crashing into hers in a deep, desperate kiss. It was everything she had been waiting for, soft yet intense, filled with all the emotion they had kept bottled up for so long.

His hand cupped her cheek, pulling her closer, his other arm wrapping around her waist to hold her tightly against him. Y/N melted into him, her hands clutching his jacket as if to anchor herself in the moment, her heart beating wildly in sync with his.

Time seemed to stop as they lost themselves in each other, the movie, the song, everything else fading into the background. It was just Dean and Y/N, wrapped up in a kiss that felt like it had been building forever.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Dean rested his forehead against hers, his eyes still closed as if he was afraid to open them, afraid to break whatever magic had just sparked between them.

He exhaled slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve wanted to do that for a long time."

Y/N smiled softly, her hand resting against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. "Me too."

--

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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.

--

Taglist: @lmg14 @kr804573 @nancymcl @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @globetrotter28 @jackles010378 @hobby27 @winchesterwild78 @deans-baby-momma @soab1967 @livingdeadblondequeen @ladysparkles78 @whimsyfinny @kamisobsessed @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @ferrersbiggestfan @spxideyver @kamisobsessed @deans-queen @yvonneeeee @libby99hb

Whiskey, Cards, and Secrets

Please do not copy my work. Share/Like/Comments are welcome.

The motel room was dimly lit, the flickering of the old TV casting faint shadows across the walls. The unmistakable clink of whiskey glasses filled the quiet space as Y/N and Dean sat at the table, a deck of cards between them. It was one of those rare quiet nights where the world wasn’t ending and there were no demons to hunt — just the two of them.

Y/N shuffled the cards while Dean poured another shot, his green eyes glinting mischievously in the low light. They’d been best friends for years, and in that time, she’d always kept her secret crush hidden behind friendly banter and teasing. It wasn’t easy, especially when she saw Dean with those women—skinny, confident, the kind of girls he always seemed to go for. And then there was her, plus-size and self-conscious about it.

“You gonna deal those or just sit there looking pretty, sweetheart?” Dean smirked, taking a slow sip from his glass.

She rolled her eyes, masking the warmth that his compliment stirred. “Yeah, yeah, I’m dealing, hold your horses, Winchester.”

They played a few rounds of poker, the stakes rising with each one. It was just fun, though—until Dean raised the stakes even higher.

"How ‘bout we make this more interesting?" he asked, his voice dropping just a little, that teasing grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

Y/N glanced at him over her cards, eyebrow raised. "Oh yeah? What’re you thinking?"

Dean leaned forward, elbows on the table, his gaze steady on hers. "Strip poker."

Her stomach flipped at the suggestion, heat rushing to her face. She tried to laugh it off, but the insecurity bubbled up quickly. "Dean, c’mon. You know I’m not—" She trailed off, her throat tightening. She could barely get the words out, the thought of undressing in front of him making her want to curl up and hide.

Dean’s smile faltered for a second, and he tilted his head, studying her. "What? Scared you’re gonna lose?"

She looked down at her cards, biting her lip. The truth was, it wasn’t the losing that scared her. It was Dean seeing her body, seeing all the parts of herself she’d spent years being insecure about. He’d never been into girls like her, and she’d seen him with more women than she cared to count. They were always so… small. Slim. Everything she wasn’t.

She let out a shaky breath, dropping her cards. "Dean, you know why. I don’t— I can’t… I’m not like those girls you date, or usually see without clothes." Her voice was barely a whisper.

Dean frowned, leaning back in his chair. He reached for the whiskey bottle, pouring another shot but not drinking it. "Y/N," he said slowly, the teasing tone gone from his voice, "what’re you talking about?"

"You know what I’m talking about, Dean," she said, her voice a little stronger now, though her heart was pounding in her chest. "You’ve never been into girls like me. I mean, look at me." She gestured down at herself, the insecurities she’d buried for so long spilling out in a rush. "I’m not skinny, I’m not—"

"Hey, stop," Dean interrupted, his voice firm. He put his glass down with a hard thud, and when he looked at her, his gaze was serious, intense. "You think I don’t notice you?"

She blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone.

"Y/N, you have no idea," he muttered, shaking his head, almost like he was mad at himself. "I’ve been trying to keep my damn head on straight around you for years. You think I date skinny girls because that’s what I want? Nah. That’s just me being an idiot, trying to make you jealous."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"Yeah," he huffed, running a hand through his hair, eyes locking with hers. "You drive me crazy, Y/N. Every time you walk around in those damn shorts…" His gaze dropped to her thighs, lingering there for a moment before flicking back to her face swallowing hard. "The way they hug your legs, the way your hips move when you dance. Hell, I don’t think you realize how many times I’ve had to stop myself from staring.

Y/N felt her face heat up, a deep blush spreading across her cheeks. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. She’d spent so long thinking she wasn’t his type, and now here he was, saying things that made her head spin.

"And your skin," he added, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. "I always wondered how soft it’d feel. Every time you brushed against me, it was like… I don’t know. I’m not good with this crap, but you’re more than just some friend, okay?"

"Fuck I... I try to find girls as far off from your looks because there is no way they are remotely close to your beauty... You have no idea how many times I wanted to run my hards over your curves, knead that perfect flesh."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart racing as she stared at him. "Dean… I—"

"I know you don’t like me that same way," he admitted, his voice rougher now, as if the words were being dragged out of him. "So yeah, I went for girls that didn’t mean anything, just to try and get you out of my head. But it never worked."

She swallowed hard, her emotions swirling between disbelief and the overwhelming warmth that came from hearing him finally say what she’d been wanting to hear for so long. "Dean, I’ve had a crush on you for years."

He let out a low, smirk "Yeah? Guess we’ve both been blind idiots then."He took another sip.

The tension in the room shifted, something electric crackling between them. Dean stood up slowly, walking around the table until he was standing right in front of her. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle but full of intent.

"I don’t care about those girls, Y/N. I want you. All of you. Every damn curve, every inch." His hand rested on her shoulder, then slid down her arm, his fingers trailing lightly over her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

She didn’t know what to say, her insecurities still there, but his words made them feel small, insignificant.

"I… I don’t know if I’m ready for—"

He stopped her, leaning down so their foreheads almost touched. "Hey, we don’t have to do anything tonight, alright? I just wanted you to know how I feel."

Y/N nodded, her heart still pounding, but the weight that had been sitting on her chest for so long was finally lifting. Dean wasn’t just teasing. He meant it.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself believe that maybe she was exactly what he wanted.

--

Taglist: @kr804573 @nancymcl @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @globetrotter28 @jackles010378 @hobby27 @winchesterwild78 @deans-baby-momma @soab1967 @livingdeadblondequeen @ladysparkles78 @whimsyfinny @kamisobsessed @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @ferrersbiggestfan @spxideyver @kamisobsessed @deans-queen @yvonneeeee @libby99hb