#businessman!Dean

[dorkylilguy]

loving white collar businessman and his spoiled freelance husband 💚💙

[welcometoqueer]

so y’all remember in season 14 when Dean planned to trap himself inside a Ma’lak box and sink to the bottom of the ocean forever—to be sunk alive with Michael because being buried alive wasn’t safe enough-and had a vivid nightmare about his horrific fate if he went that route???

anyways, haha OceanGate, am I right?

[philhoffman]

PUNCH-DRUNK LOVE: 12 SCOPITONES (2003)

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Don't Fight It

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: angst, gun violence, murder, fluff

Request by @jessicalynnann: Dean standing by a window and he is a multi millionaire mob boss… any ways. Standing by the window with a glass of whiskey waiting for the reader who he keeps denying his feelings for…. Any ways her best friend calls says that someone is bothering the reader and won’t leave them alone. Well he rushes down and saves the reader after he finds her in the alley almost being attacked and then he confesses everything 😂☺️

Summary: You work for not only a successful businessman but also a man who does less than legal things in his spare time. He hopes to never have to bring you into that side of his life but when your ex makes an appearance, he has no choice but to use his deadly skills to get you out of trouble alive.

Square Filled: “it’s not an addiction. it’s a coping mechanism.” (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Never in your professional career have you ever been late except for today. Your car didn’t want to start this morning so you had to jumpstart it using a portable charger you had lying around from the last time your brother was staying with you. He claims he forgot it but you know he left it there intentionally. He’s always looking out for you whether you want him to or not.

You walk into work clutching your purse and water cup to your chest as you make your way to your desk. Due to the darkness coming from underneath your boss’ door, you assume he’s not in right now. Thank God. You don’t have to confront him after being late. You quickly get settled in and immediately pull up your emails to see what kind of day you’re going to have today.

As the personal assistant to the CEO of Winchester Industries, you always have a lot on your plate. There is seldom any time for yourself at work which is a good thing because that means the day goes by faster. You admire Dean for what he does and the impact he has made not only on the town you live in but in towns across America. He is involved with environmental technologies, medical devices, and the telecommunications sector. He cares so much about the environment that he develops equipment that helps farmers, medical devices mostly for animals, and strengthens the telecommunication sector across America.

He had an idea one day and decided to do something about it instead of waiting for someone else to do it. Now, he’s one of the richest men in the country because of it.

Speaking of the devil, when Dean walks out of the elevator, you’re already halfway through your emails.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he drawls.

“Good morning, Dean.”

“Hey, did you happen to get the contracts for--”

“Already on your desk.”

“What about the proposal for--”

“Already done, waiting for your seal of approval. I also have reached out to Phoenix Zoo and set up a Zoom meeting at ten since their medical equipment broke for their gorilla.”

Dean leans against your desk with a sexy smirk on his face. What you wouldn’t give to see that smirk behind closed doors. If you put aside the fact that you’re his personal assistant, there is one reason why you shouldn’t fall for a man like Dean Winchester. He’s a successful CEO but you know he’s involved with shady shit on the side. You’re not sure what his deal is but you know it isn’t legal. You turn a blind eye to the many times he’s come into work with bloodstains on his stark white shirt.

Maybe you should run. Any sane, logical person would but you’ve never been the one to listen to that side of you.

“What would I do without you?”

“Cry, maybe. This business would crumble without me.”

“Don’t I know it,” he chuckles.

“So, I have two interviews coming in today, both for the marketing department, Dalton Martinez wants to schedule a meeting with you, and--”

“How about this,” he cuts you off, “you take care of the interviews today and I’ll take care of everything else.”

“Okay.”

He walks into his office and you can’t help but watch him leave. He’s such a good-looking man that it’s hard not to fall for his charm. You tried asking what he does in his free time when you saw his bloody shirt for the first time but he refused to talk about it. You haven’t asked him about it since even though you want to.

The two interviews come and go and now you’re stuck at your desk replying to emails, drafting up contracts for Dean, and planning his next work trip. Right when the clock strikes twelve, Dean comes out of his office without his jacket on. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and you vermouth waters at the sight of his white shirt stretching across his broad chest.

“Hey, are you busy for lunch?”

“No.”

“Want to have lunch with me? I’ll be stuck in this office all day.”

“Sure,” you smile. You log out of your computer and grab your lunch bag from the fridge you have underneath your desk. You pass by one of the other ladies on the floor and she tsks when you approach her desk. “What?”

“Be careful not to get involved with him.”

“I’m not. It’s just lunch.”

You walk into Dean’s office who is standing by this floor-length windows with a glass of whiskey in hand.

“Don’t tell me that glass is your lunch.”

“No.” He walks over to his desk, reaches into the mini-fridge, and pulls out a meatball sandwich he made before coming to work. “So, tell me about your day.”

You eye the glass of whiskey on his desk. “Maybe we should talk about your day. Addiction can ruin someone’s life.”

“It’s not an addiction. It’s a coping mechanism.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I’d rather talk about you. Any plans this weekend?”

“I might need something stronger than water if I’m going to talk about that,” you chuckle.

“Don’t let me stop you.”

You get up and pour yourself a strong drink before downing it in one go. That will be a mistake later but you don’t care. You pour yourself another glass before sitting back down across from him.

“Let me know if this is unprofessional but I haven’t had a date in two years. In the last relationship I was in, he tried to have me killed. I come from very old money but I like to work hard for what I have instead of using what my family gives me every week.”

“I understand,” Dean nods, leaning back in his chair as he listens intently.

“When my ex-boyfriend found out about my money, he wanted it. He wanted to be rich and powerful, but I realized that all he ever wanted from me was money. I was done giving it to him so I broke things off which is when he tried to kill me. I tried to move on but he’s always there to ruin things for me. I kind of gave up on romance and having friends. So, the answer to your question is no, I don’t have any plans this weekend. He won’t let me.”

“What’s his name?”

“Like I’m going to tell you that,” you scoff. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re into some shady shit. I might not know what you do in your free time but I know it’s not legal.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle him, but it’d be really nice if I could just wake up one day and feel free.”

Dean leans forward and rubs his hands together. All he can think about is your life in danger and the mere thought sends him into a rage.

“Listen to me. I want you to call me any time of the day and I will help you if you need it.” You nod. “I need you to promise me.”

“Okay, I promise.”

“Cherry is my safe word.”

You immediately choke on your water and almost spit it out on the ground. You cough as you try to regain your composure while Dean watches with an amused look.

“Excuse me?” you cough.

“When someone I know is in danger, they tell me cherry and I know to drop everything for them. That includes you, too.”

“I don’t think I’ll need it,” you clear your throat, “but I promise to use it if I do.”

The rest of the day goes by smoothly and without issue. Dean has been working hard to get everything done before his work trip to Europe, and you’re working hard to make sure he has everything he needs. He asked you to come but you haven’t given him an answer yet. A whole trip with Dean by yourself? That’s a mistake waiting to happen but it would be nice to go to Europe for a week.

Every day for the remainder of the week, you and Dean have lunch in his office and talk about anything and everything. If you didn’t know him as your boss, you two would have made such great friends… maybe something more. He’s leaving for Europe on Monday so you have at least three days to give him an answer on if you’re going or not. Everything will be paid for so all you have to do is show up at the airport at four in the morning if you want to go.

Maybe…

Friday comes around and you’re staying a bit later than normal to finalize everything he needs for his trip. It’s past eight when you finally get done and you shut your computer down for the weekend. Dean is still in his office when you leave, and you head to the carport where your car is. You’re looking at your phone and not paying attention when someone steps in your way. You stop feeling a set of eyes on you and you look up to see your ex-boyfriend at the entrance of the carport.

“Hey, Y/N, long time no see,” he grins.

You immediately turn and head back to work when you see two of his friends blocking that way. The only way you’re going to get out of this is to use the alleyway next to the building. If you can cut through it, you’ll be on the other side of the carport where your car is. You might be able to make it if you’re quick. Elijah must know what you’re going to do because he starts walking over to you. You jump into action and sprint into the alley with your phone clutched in your hand.

Cherry! Cherry! CHERRY!

You almost run into Elijah because you’re texting Dean, and you nearly fall on your ass while stumbling away from him.

“Why are you running from me? I just want to talk.”

You look behind you and see his two friends right blocking the only other way out of the alley. You turn back to Elijah and notice something black glinting in his hands. He has a gun. Your heart starts to race but you force yourself to keep a clear head.

“What do you want, Elijah? I made myself clear the last time I saw you. I don’t want anything to do with you. Please leave.”

“I will when you give what you owe me.”

“What I owe you?”

“You know the trouble you caused the day you left me? You know me pretty well so you know I don’t tolerate bratty behavior. I think two million dollars will make me forget how you left me. Right, boys?”

One of his friends steps to your back and you freeze in fear when you feel his hot breath on your neck.

“Look at her, Eli, she looks like she’s about to cry,” he grins.

“She’s always been a crybaby.”

“I don’t have what you’re asking. Just leave me alone.” His friend grabs your hand and yanks your head back. “You son of a bitch!”

“Give me what I want and I’ll get out of your hair,” Elijah says and steps closer to you.

“Until you need your next fix, huh? Bite me,” you growl.

His friend lets your hair go and steps back to allow Elijah to deal with you.

“Leave her alone.”

All four of you look at the entrance of the alley to see Dean standing there with a deadly look on his face. He came. He got your message and he’s here. You’re scared that Elijah is going to hurt him even though Dean doesn’t seem the type to be scared of a gun.

“Beat it, old man,” Elijah growls.

“I don’t think you heard me,” Dean chuckles. “Get. Away. From. Her.”

“Yeah? What are you going to do about it?” Elijah waves his gun around and you stiffen in fear. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with so just leave before you get put into a body bag.”

“It’s you who will leave in a body bag. Not me.”

Dean takes out a gun from his suit jacket and points it at Elijah. Your ex panics and jumps behind you to use you as a shield, and he presses the barrel of the gun into the side of your head.

“Yeah? What about now?”

“Dean,” you whimper in fear.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m very good at what I do.”

“Get back! I’ll shoot her!” Elijah yells. “She’ll be dead and it’ll be because of you!”

Dean aims his gun at Elijah and pulls the trigger. The shot causes both of his friends to scatter knowing you’re not worth the trouble. Blood sprays on your neck just as you scream in terror. Elijah’s grip on you loosens and he falls back onto the ground. You’re about to fall yourself but Dean is quick to catch you. You’re shaking like a leaf in his arms, and he uses the sleeves of his white shirt to wipe the blood off your neck.

“You’re safe, sweetheart.” You look around frantically, having not heard him. “You’re in shock right now but you’re safe. I didn’t shoot you.”

“What?” you ask and finally look at him.

“I didn't shoot you. You’re safe. He will never bother you again.” You try to look at your ex on the ground behind you but Dean grabs the sides of your face to stop you from doing so. “I told you, I’m very good at my job.” You put your head on his chest and cry, and he smooths down your hair. “Do you live alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Not tonight, you won’t. You’ll stay with me.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Thank you,” you say as Dean is bringing you back to his office.

“You don’t ever have to thank me. I will always be here if you need me.”

Yeah, falling for him is inevitable. It’s going to happen whether you want it to or not so may as well run with it instead of fight it.

x

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[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 19

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

AN: Deep breaths, my friends. We’re almost to the end. ❤️

Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: Violence, peril, blood and guns, character death…

Part 19: “Sacrifice”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted…but you didn’t answer.

“You there?” he asked. There was a pit forming in his stomach when he glanced up at John. His father met his gaze with furrowed brows that betrayed concern.

The line was silent for one more painful moment. Dean opened his mouth to call out to you again, but a smooth voice interrupted.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” a man replied. “Forgetting something?”

Dean’s heart began to pound. His mouth parted, but for a moment, the words wouldn’t escape.

“Who is this?” he said. His voice was a hint unsteady.

“I think you know, son,” the man replied.

Dean’s wide eyes flicked up to John’s, and the other man sprang into action. He shot a look and a whispered order at Cas, who went running for some IP tracking equipment back in the police car.

Meanwhile, John guided Dean to sit down on the couch. Sam followed them on his brother’s right, while John sat on Dean’s left.

Dean put the phone on speaker between the three of them.

“You’re Daniel Savage, huh?” Dean said. He tried to inject some more control into his tone, like he wasn’t freaking the fuck out. “Man, do I feel special.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Dean-o. I’m doing the same thing your dad’s doing. Hooking the bigger fish.”

Dean’s lips pursed. He glanced at his father, but his attention on the phone turned steely.

“What the hell do you want?” he asked. “Your lackey’s on lockdown. So’s your bastard son. If you want to help him, I’d suggest you turn your ass over to the cops.”

“Yes, Nick’s an idiot. But family, right?” said Daniel. He breathed out a sigh.

But then his voice was firm and calculating. It made Dean’s skin crawl.

“Cards on the table, son. Your daddy’s got something of mine. I’ve got something of yours.”

Dean’s face hardened, but John raised a placating hand; a warning to keep calm. Dean tried to take a breath.

His heart clenched at the mere thought of you being in the same room with that man. Having been taken and hauled to God knows where. He couldn’t imagine how scared you were. And if you were hurt…

Fuck. There was a roiling pit forming in his stomach, his head starting to pound in time with his heartbeat.

Already Cas was back with a laptop and program designed to track the caller’s phone. He connected a USB-like cord to Dean's phone and began fiddling with the settings, trying to get a read. Dean knew he had to keep this fucker talking.

“You have her with you?” he asked.

“Sure do. She’s a pretty little thing.”

Dean’s jaw clenched in a furious glare. “Don’t you fucking touch her, you son of a bitch.”

“Quid pro quo, Dean. What can you do for me?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, as desperation began to escape him. “There’s no way they’re letting Nick go before the trial. It’s out of my dad’s hands.”

“Your dad has no real evidence that my son is anything more than a successful businessman,” said Daniel. “If you really need someone to pin these unfortunate murders on, you had your man in custody…but, oh wait. You gave him immunity.”

Dean’s eyes were desperate when they met Sam’s worried ones, then their father’s. It didn’t matter that John and Cas did have evidence besides Alastair’s testimony. All Dean cared about was you.

He swallowed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. It’s what I want John to do.”

Dean took a moment to close his eyes, pull himself together. His hands squeezed his knees to brace himself. When he next opened his eyes, he let out a sharp breath.

“What do you want then? Aside from Nick somehow breaking loose,” he asked.

“I want your dad to back the fuck off, once and for all,” Daniel said. His voice was more edged, with both warning and a hint of frustration. “Or I’ll make his son live the same pathetic existence he does.”

Dean’s next breath came out harsher, as both John and Sam sharpened at the threat.

“That’s right, Dean. These are my terms of engagement, else I’m gonna have a bonfire with your girl here.” 

It all gripped Dean at once.

Panic, anger, and desperation.

He grabbed the phone and spoke harshly into the speaker.

“Put her on the damn line," he said. "I wanna hear her and know this isn’t a trick.”

Daniel sighed, like he was getting bored. “Oh, all right.”

There was some shuffling, the sound of Daniel’s steps echoing in what sounded like a large room. Dean’s brows furrowed as he heard sounds of your struggle, then your labored breaths, as if a gag had been removed from your mouth.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Go ahead and talk to him,” said Daniel.

Soon enough, your tremulous voice reached him.

“Dean?” you said. You sounded like you were fighting tears; maybe even losing. Dean’s heart broke all the more for it.

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah…yeah, I’m okay,” you said, though your voice shook. He hoped you weren’t lying for his sake.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He raised a fist to his mouth, ignoring how it shook. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m going to find you—”

All too soon, the phone was taken away from you.

“Rule number one of negotiations, kid. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Dean’s eyes widened. The next thing he heard was a hard slap. It echoed into the speaker, along with your shout of both surprise and pain, a chair toppling over.

“You fucking bastard!” Dean seethed. “When I find you—”

John interrupted this time, taking the cell phone from Dean. He shot his son a look that was meant to be reassuring, but Dean was too incensed. Sam gripped his shoulder and earned his brother’s gaze. Dean’s chest heaved with the effort of calming his breathing.

“What do you want?” John said into the phone. His voice was clipped and direct.

While he continued to speak, Cas was frowning in frustration over his laptop.

“Anything?” Sam asked.

“I can’t get a lock on his signal. He must have something throwing off the scanner,” Cas replied.

Dean growled in frustration and pushed off the couch. He began to pace the living room, all while he tried to keep an ear on what John was saying lowly into the phone.

By the time he hung up, Dean was raging.

“Fuck this, I’m gonna find her,” he said. John tried to stop him from going anywhere with a hand on his shoulder. Dean knocked him off angrily. Sam also stood, for once on the same page as his father, no matter how much he sympathized.

“Dean, you need to calm down,” John tried.

It was the wrong thing to say.

“I didn’t ask for this!” Dean shouted. The force of it echoed on the apartment walls. “Matter of fact, I’ve never asked you for a damn thing until now. Only that you’d keep me in the loop on Azazel, and keep her out of this. But you couldn’t even do that, could you?”

Sam was at a loss, looking between his father and brother. Cas was also caught in between, watching the scene with concern, and bated breath.

John’s broad shoulders sunk a bit, along with the deep breath he expelled.

“You’re right,” John said. "You're right, son. And I'm sorry."

His eyes held the weight of his words. Of sincerity. And by degrees, Dean’s anger lessened.

Again, not by much.

“Let’s fix it,” said John. “Once and for all.”

Dean wasn’t fully recovered from his TBI. He’d been cleared for driving, but not yet for full physical exercise, let alone going back to work. The stress of all this was giving him a powerful headache, but there was no way he was going to be sidelined now, on any part of it.

Sam was forced to withdraw the case against Nick Savage, citing lack of evidence to support a trial at this time. The judge gave Sam permission to refile when he was able to build a better case.

John was then tasked with escorting Nick out of prison. Cas, meanwhile, was sitting in his personal car outside the county jail with Dean in the passenger seat. Cas didn’t trust what his friend would do behind the wheel once he saw Nick.

“What happens after Nick gets out?” Dean asked. “Dad’s been cagey about the whole deal.”

“We’re escorting him to the airport,” Cas said. “There we’ll wait for Daniel and make the exchange.”

Nick, for you. That was the deal.

“And then?” Dean asked, his teeth already clenching.

Cas blew out a sigh. “We’ll have a unit waiting on standby. We’re going to try and get ahold of whoever has her, though I doubt Daniel will come himself.”

“What if you can’t catch him?” Dean pressed.

Cas didn’t want to have to tell his friend something he didn’t want to hear, but he didn’t make a habit of lying to Dean. He wasn’t about to start now.

“Then it’s over, for now,” he replied. “We each go back to our corners and regroup.”

“Dad’ll never stop hunting this guy,” Dean said.

“That may be,” Cas nodded. “But he does have a line.”  

“My father’s an obsessed bastard,” Dean groused. “He doesn’t have a damn line.”

Cas looked over at him then. He was calm and sympathetic, and yet, still disagreeing in his silence. Dean knew he was probably wrong, but in the moment, he didn’t care. He was still angry.

He perked up, however, when the prison doors slid open. Out came John escorting Nick and his lawyer, Amelia. Nick looked as smug as ever now that his cuffs were off. He was given the clothes he was arrested in—a blue silk shirt, pants, Italian leather shoes, and a silver Rolex watch.

Screw this, Dean thought. He unlocked the car from his side and climbed out. He didn’t care that he could hear Cas mutter a curse behind him and follow suit.

Nick saw Dean coming and couldn’t help but smirk, even as John grasped his arm and led him to his police car.

“Hey, fireman,” Nick taunted with his waggling brows. “Where’s our girl?”

Dean’s lips edged at a dangerous smile. Cas came up just behind him, ready to restrain him if need be.

“You can finesse your way out of this, but remember our little chat,” Dean said. His eyes burned with a thinly veiled threat. “Not a dime in this world can protect you from me.”

Nick pretended to shiver.

“Ooh, I’m so fucking scared,” he snarked. He resisted John’s manhandling and ripped his arm out of the other man’s grasp to step further into the open, leaving just a few yards between him and Dean.

“You can’t touch me,” Nick taunted. “You won’t dare. Not unless you want—”

Three shots rang out in the open clearing.

All heads ducked, but Dean’s eyes widened. He watched Nick crumple to the ground as scarlet red plumed in the man’s silk shirt. The shock etched on his face drained along with his life, leaving blue eyes staring up at a clear sky.

Forensics at the scene found traces of a sniper on the rooftop of a building directly across from the county jail.

John and Cas already were mounting an entire unit search in locating Alastair Rolston, but he had apparently moved out of his apartment as soon as he was released from prison with his immunity deal. (The police officers escorting him into witness protection had been found dead at the scene of his designated safe house.)

The detectives were later called into the medical examiner’s office on the case of Nick Savage—not to examine the body, but the bullets that had carved into his heart, right lung, and throat.

One of the bullets had a special casing. Inside was a rolled-up note, not unlike a carrier pigeon. It had a simple message:

JOHN — STULL STORAGE. COME ALONE.

Once again, Dean refused to sit idly. He’d pushed back hard enough that John had eventually relented. This time, however, Sam stepped in to make sure his brother was reigned in. Dean’s knee was already bouncing with anticipation and nervousness.

It was nearly midnight on a Tuesday. The brothers sat in the surveillance van with Jody Mills, all wearing protective Kevlar vests as precaution. The van was removed from the immediate site of Stull Storage, which was made up of a main warehouse and several rows of storage units on the other side. 

Cas was leading another police unit on standby, but John was going into the warehouse. He wore his usual leather jacket over his rumpled shirt, pants, and boots, but also a protective vest and hidden wire under his collar.

Sam, Dean, and Jody were able to listen in as John entered alone.

He had a flashlight positioned over his raised gun as he walked into the building. He found some light switches along the wall and was able to turn on half the room’s fluorescent ceiling lights.

He heard a whimper.

Moving towards the sound cautiously, John soon found you tied to a chair. You looked a bit worse for wear; though you were dressed for an interview in black slacks and a blouse, your hair was in disarray, your cheek still sported a fading red mark, and you likely had other bumps and bruises.

Your eyes widened with hope when you saw John. You made sounds of surprise around the gag tied in your mouth, but he shushed you with a finger held to his lips.

He went over to you after lowering his gun, cocking back the safety, and re-holstering. He went to untie the gag first. You breathed deeply when it was gone.

“You okay?” he asked, touching your arm in comfort.

“Yeah,” you nodded, but your widening eyes still darted behind him.

Another safety clicked back. John immediately drew his gun again and turned. He was met with the man of the hour.

Standing mere feet away with his own gun was Daniel Savage. AKA: Azazel.

“Ooh, you’re getting old, John,” he said with a smirk. “Wasn’t expecting to get the drop on you so easily.”

John subtly moved so he was standing in front of you. He hadn't had time to untie you from the chair. Your breathing came out shallow as you tried to spy around John to your captor.

“Daniel,” John greeted. “It’s about time, wouldn’t you say?”

“You cheated though,” said Daniel, despite his cocky smirk. Like father like son. “I know you’ve got a team waiting in the wings.”

“If you wanna get technical, you cheated first,” John pointed out.

Daniel shrugged. Behind him came around ten of his own hired men, armed with their own guns. “Hate the player, hate the game, my friend.”

John’s lips pursed, but he didn’t lower his gun. He had a straight shot at Daniel’s chest.

“Even if you do get off a shot, you’ll be Swiss cheese where you stand,” Daniel said. 

“Small price to pay for ending your miserable fucking life,” John remarked.

Daniel’s brows rose. “Are you gonna make her pay for it too?”

He gestured behind John, where he glanced back at your face. Your red-rimmed eyes were shining with tears. And John knew that once his gun fired, his body would hit the ground. Yours wouldn’t be far behind.

His brows furrowed, and the hands holding his weapon wavered.

“So how you do think this is gonna play out?” John asked.

“Well, for starters, you’re going to drop that damn gun,” said Daniel. He cocked his own weapon. “Then, you’re going to get down on your knees and take this bullet, like putting down a rabid dog. Then maybe, I’ll let her go before the cops rush in.”

John’s hesitation was mere seconds. He clicked the safety back on. He set down his gun, and lowered to his knees in slow movements.

Your eyes widened further as incredulous tears slipped down your cheeks. You shook your head.

“Don’t!” you said shakily. 

John didn’t look back at you this time, but he did answer you.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he said.

Daniel’s grim smile made you shiver.

“What a caring father-in-law,” he said, and he slowly stalked forward. “You know, I prided myself on delegating my operations well. Oh, it was a well-oiled machine back in the day. But some things…well, some things are just better handled yourself. Know what I mean?”

He tilted his head down at John.

“For example: I really regret the way I had your wife killed,” he said. “For all the trouble you’ve given me, I wish I’d actually burned the bitch myself.”

John glared up at the man with pure fury and hatred.

Though his eyes widened when the first shot split the air, and buried a bullet in Daniel’s left arm. Daniel shouted in pain as he unconsciously dropped his gun. John dove for it, and everything started to happen at once.

Daniel kicked at John’s chest while holding his wounded arm, tossing the other man back. John rolled onto his feet, and their full out brawl began. Meanwhile, a unit of police officers swarmed into the warehouse and sparked a shootout with Daniel’s men.

And in all of this, Cas came out from behind your line of vision to untie you. He wore a protective vest over his usual white dress shirt, now rolled up to the elbows.

“Cas!” you gasped. He gave you a smile, then used a pocketknife to cut through the zip ties holding your wrists behind you and your ankles to the chair.

“Come on, let’s go.” He helped you up and guided you out the back of the warehouse.

The last coherent sound Sam and Dean heard was a bullet fired and hitting its target. They couldn’t tell if it was John or Daniel that had been hit, or even you.

Above all things, Dean was a man of action.

He just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck this,” he growled. He got to his feet and went for the door of the surveillance van, but while Jody voiced her protest, it was Sam who reached him first.

“Dean, stop! You can’t go out there!” Sam said.

“The hell I can’t,” Dean said. The punch he reared back and threw was precise when it cracked Sam in the cheek. He went down hard. It was all Jody could do to keep him from knocking his head on the metal floor, but Sam was out cold, with his hair flopped over his face.

"Dean!" Jody yelled after him. She stared after the open door of the van with wide, worried eyes.

There were rows upon rows of storage units behind the warehouse. It felt like a maze in itself, one that you and Cas were forced to navigate alone in the crisp January night. Both of you saw your breath on the air as you tried to move quickly, but quietly.

Until a long arm reached out on the other side of a unit, and a hand closed on Cas’s gun, pushing it down and ripping it out of his hands. An elbow cracked into his face, making him grunt and stumble.

Your scream of surprise echoed in the night. You stared up into the familiar face of Alastair, whose mouth formed a sly grin.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he said.

Cas distracted him with a blow that Alastair blocked, but it gave Cas room to break the taller man’s stance and knock his head against the unit wall—once, twice, until the man stumbled and fell. He wasn’t knocked out, but Cas didn’t wait for Alastair to recover. He grabbed you and forced you to run.

“I thought he was in protective custody for the trial,” you said, through huffing breaths.

“Evidently he escaped,” Cas replied.

“God, Cas. You really need to hand out some pink slips,” you said, with a tremor in your voice. The police were supposed to have been watching you as well, before you were kidnapped. Cas conceded your point.

“We really shouldn’t have given him immunity,” he grumbled.

Dean knew he was being some kind of idiot.

Knew it as he carefully approached a side door of the warehouse. His vest wouldn’t protect his whole body if he entered the no man’s land shootout he could hear happening on the other side of the door.

Already he could see policemen escorting some of Azazel’s captured team around the front exit. Dean kept to the shadows, and he cracked the side door open.

There was still plenty going on inside. A few bodies were already strewn across the dusty warehouse floor. Large crates stacked up to the ceiling offered meager protection for both sides of the siege, including Dean as he kept to the wall and slid his way inside and behind a formation of wooden crates. He scanned the room until he found his dad.

John was fighting hand-to-hand with who had to be Daniel Savage. Even though the latter had blood dripping from his arm, John had his share of bruises and scrapes, including a long cut across his cheek from the knife clenched in Daniel’s non-injured right hand.

What the hell do I do? Dean assessed the situation, his eyes darting quickly between the men. He came in here without a weapon (another smart move). He went through most of the training a million years ago, but Dean wasn’t a police officer. He was a firefighter.

However, when he spotted a forgotten Glock on the floor, just a few yards away where the men were still tousling, Dean inched his way closer. He’d have to leave the relative safety of the crates and throw himself out into the open to reach the gun. At this point, Daniel was closer.

And he’d noticed the gun too, at the same time that John glanced up and saw his son. His eyes widened, and just for a moment he lost his grip on Daniel. The other man went for the gun at the same time Dean dove.

John yanked Daniel back by his collar and kneed him in the stomach. But Daniel had the longer reach. He cracked an elbow into John’s face and followed by a swift punch to the gut. John grunted and doubled over at the impact to his already battered ribs and stomach.

Daniel threw him head-first into a pile of nearby crates. He was breathing hard, but his lips twitched in satisfaction at the way John fell into a heap of broken wood. The detective was clearly waning.

Daniel stalked forward. Ignoring his still bleeding shoulder, he grabbed John by the jacket and collar of his shirt and hefted him up to his feet, prepared to deliver another blow. The cocking of a nearby gun made him pause. But in a moment, he twisted John in front him with an arm wrapped around his neck to face his next attacker.

While Daniel had been distracted, Dean had managed to dive and roll across the concrete, scooping up the gun on his way back onto his feet. Now he’d had the time to take aim and wait for his moment, which was right fucking now.

Slowly, Daniel tilted his head to look past John’s shoulder. He was met with Dean’s smirk and a gun pointed directly at his head.

“I think I’ve got something of yours,” Dean remarked. His fingers slid over the trigger.

Daniel tilted his head. A dry smile edged at the corner of his lips. “All right, Dean. Well played. But…”

He tightened his arm around John’s throat and held the knife poised at his neck.

“We’re at what you’d call an impasse, don’t you think?” Daniel asked.

“Dean,” John said. He met his eldest’s gaze as uncertainly crept into Dean’s stance. His hand was still held aloft, but there was an almost imperceptible shake.

“Just shoot him,” said John, with full conviction. “Don’t worry about me.”

Dean’s mouth pressed into a line, his brows furrowing. He wasn’t doing that.

“See, I don’t think he’s got it in ‘im,” Daniel said, speaking lowly in John’s ear. His knife tightened against John’s neck. “You’re out of your fucking depth, Dean.”

Dean flinched as a bullet zoomed past his head from across the room. He was reminded that there was still a fight going on, and the three of them were very much out in the open. John’s face turned more urgent, with thinly veiled worry.

“Dean, either shoot him or get the hell out of here,” he said tersely.

“I’m not leaving,” Dean said, with a small, stubborn shake of his head. But he was nervous. Despite how close he’d come with Nick Savage, Dean had never shot at someone, let alone taken a life. The gun was heavy in his hand.

“Running out of time, son,” Daniel taunted.

“I’m not your fucking son,” Dean gritted out. “Speaking of, did you have Alastair do your dirty work, taking out Nick, or did you pull that trigger yourself?”

Daniel’s smirk faded, his gaze tightening with resignation.

“Sacrifices, Dean,” he said. “We make ‘em to survive. To make sure our legacies survive.”

Dean’s eyes widened as he looked at this man, and he finally understood what his dad had been trying to tell him.

He ain’t a man. He’s a monster.

The gun was heavy in his hand…

“Come on, Dean!” Daniel shouted. “Make a decision—”

Dean still remembered most things he’d learned at the Police Academy. He’d lived, ate, sweat, and breathed those drills and tests for months. And yet, there was only one score he’d truly been proud of. It was the one record of his dad’s that he’d managed to beat.

You could guess which one.

Dean let his fingers squeeze the trigger on some instinct he couldn’t name. Daniel was forced to choke on his words.

Cas pulled you around the corner of a storage unit that blocked the light of the moon. It was just in time for a bullet to rip past where his head used to be.

You leaned heavily against the wall and heaved for breath, but Cas held a finger to his lips while he tried to calm his own breathing.

You held a hand over your mouth to try and stifle the sounds from getting out. Your eyes were wide and panicked, but Cas could only reassure you with a brief hand on your shoulder. He nodded and signaled with his free hand. Wait.

You gave a jerky nod in return. So he reached for his belt and brandished the only weapon he had left—the knife he’d used to cut through your bonds. The air was quiet, except for the distant shouts of police officers; it sounded like Azazel’s men were finally being rounded up.

Cas had called for backup earlier, but he didn’t think they could wait for it. Nor would he know if they were coming. He’d long since turned off the radio on his belt so that it couldn’t tip off his position with you.

He chanced looking around the wall of the storage unit. The coast looked clear, though he knew it wasn’t. Still, the best Cas could hope for was to cover you on the way back to the police barricade. He leaned back and reached for you. He guided you, both with his eyes and a hand on your back.

On the count of three, run, he mouthed. You wordlessly agreed. He saw the fear shining in your eyes.

One…two…

An arm shot out to grab Castiel’s collar the moment he stepped out from his cover, making you scream. The first punch came swift; Alastair was taller, perhaps stronger, but Cas recovered quickly.

He ducked the other man’s arm and delivered an uppercut that had his adversary careening back. With a well-placed jab to the wrist, Alastair’s gun clattered away across the ground.

Cas managed to shoot you a quick look. “Run. Now!”

You paused for a mere moment while Cas continued to grapple with Alastair. Then, in your frozen fear, you finally managed flight. And you took off running, even though Alastair tried to grab at your hair. Cas held him back and continued the fight.

You’d only managed a few yards of distance though, before you couldn’t help but look back. Something in you just couldn’t leave Cas behind.

You took cover behind another storage unit and watched Alastair slowly get the upper hand. He managed to pin Cas against the ribbed metal wall of a unit. He winced as it dug into his spine, but he had bigger problems.

He spat blood after the third blow to his jaw and tried to blink dark spots of his vision. Alastair looked down on him with the lean look of a predator. His smile betrayed the enjoyment he took in his work.

“Contrary to what you might think, I’ve never killed a cop before,” he said. “Just a cop’s wife.”

Cas’s eyes widened a fraction. Alastair’s smile deepened. He raised a bloody fist to finish his work, but he winced and weakened with a shout as a knife embedded deep in his thigh.

It was Cas’s knife that you’d found on the ground.

Alastair’s angry eyes looked down and met your scared ones. You let go of the knife and scrambled back. He backhanded you roughly. You cried out and fell hard on the pavement.

Alastair reached for the knife, but Cas grabbed it first. He twisted as he yanked it out, then jabbed it into the taller man’s neck. It choked his scream as he stumbled back. And yet, even that didn’t manage to kill him.

Cas dove for the fallen gun. It was mere feet away from where he’d forced it out of Alastair’s grip. Cas felt a hand grab his shoulder. He reacted fast—he turned and shot two rounds of hot led into Alastair’s gut.

His gray eyes went wide. Blood gurgled in his mouth.

And slowly, Alastair slid to the ground.

Cas was bloody, his shirt stained and torn, but he was still standing with ragged breath. You had managed to sit up, though your shocked eyes were trained on the body you’d just seen fall into a heap. The horrific spell of it broke when Cas gently touched your shoulder.

You gasped and raised your head.

“It’s okay,” he said, reaching a hand to you. “It’s over.”

Cas escorted you back to the police barricade. There you found Sam, and the mere sight of him relieved you so much you didn’t realize you were crying when you stepped into his embrace. He hugged you tight and asked if you were all right.

You couldn’t give him an honest answer, but at least you were alive.

“I’m okay,” you said tremulously, but you pulled back at grasped his arms. “Where’s Dean?”

Sam looked anxious as his gaze flit between you and Cas.

“That goddamn idiot, he went in there! They won’t let me through—”

“What?” Cas said incredulously. “Into the warehouse?”

Your tears fell anew as a new frantic worry took hold, churning in your stomach and making you feel sick. You turned, and both Cas and Sam had to stop you from heading towards the warehouse.

“Get him out of there!” you cried. “Dean!”

You tried to push past Cas and his attempts to calm you, but you stopped the moment you saw him…

Dean was helping John limp out of the warehouse. Jody was on John’s other side, supporting him as well. John looked beat to hell, and exhausted, but there was no mistaking the calm look on his face. Like he’d finally sleep tonight.

Dean, on the other hand, looked pale, haggard, and worried. However, his head perked up as soon as he heard your voice. His eyes widened. He turned to Jody to make sure she could support John on her own, and she nodded at him.

It let Dean make his way straight for you.

Sam and Cas finally released you, like a horse waiting to bolt out of the stables. Your tears blurred your vision as you went to him.

When Dean swept you up into his arms, you were able to throw yours around his neck and cling to him for all you were worth. You buried your face into his neck and sobbed your relief.

You wouldn’t know that Dean’s eyes were shining and red, his mouth trembling slightly as he sucked in a breath and held you as tight as he dared. His hand came up to cup the back of your head, over your wild hair. His lips pressed to the side of your head as he closed his eyes for a moment.

“You okay?” he asked, when he was able to speak.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, though his question prompted you to pull back and find his face. Your heels came back to the ground, and you reached up to stroke his cheek and search his gaze.

“What about you?” you asked tremulously. “Your head?”

“’M fine,” he said. Though the truth was, he was reeling. His ears still rung from the bullet that hit Daniel between the eyes.

The weight of that decision was almost too fresh to be real, but it was heavy on Dean all the same. He could even get in legal trouble for this. He wasn’t supposed to have entered that building. Hell, he’d picked up a gun and shot a man.

Though he already knew what Sam would say.

Justification. Imminent danger. Self-defense.

Dean just didn’t know if that would fly here, especially with the Fire Department.

Right now, however, you were his lifeline. You grounded him in reality when you held his face in your hands. Just beyond you, he could see the relief on both Sam and Cas’s faces.

Dean gave them a smile, but he focused back on you. He held your hand to his cheek.

“Promise me you’re gonna stay put for a while,” he quipped. “Preferably where I can see you.”

You scoffed at him through the tears glittering in your eyes.

“Dean Winchester, if that isn’t the most hypocritical thing that’s ever come out of your mouth!” you said, punctuating your words with a slap on his chest.

“Hey!” he protested, but you ignored him. You gripped his shirt and felt the Kevlar underneath. It might’ve protected his chest, but he hadn’t had anything to protect his damn head.

“You run into fires, not bullets, you idiot,” you said, now wiping frustrated tears from your cheek.

Dean’s tension began to ease with a smile. He held you more securely, pulling you flush against him.

“You sound like Bobby,” he teased.

“Good!” you snapped. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that. Do you hear m—?”

He didn’t think he’d ever miss you giving him shit, but this time, it just made him smile until the corners of his eyes crinkled. Shortly before he cut you off with a searing kiss.

You made a sound of surprise, even as you gripped at his shirt, then his face to keep him there. You both knew this night was long from being over. An even longer way from recovering.

But for now, this was a good start.

AN: And so, we're drawing near to the end. 🥹 What did you think of the respective ends of Nick and Daniel Savage, and even Alastair? And of course, her and Dean's reunion. 💗

Soon (this weekend), we have the epilogue...

Next Time:

“So…I’ve gotta tell you something,” said Dean, after he parted from your lips for a moment, and allowed you to breathe. His tone made you tilt your head in suspicion.

“It’s nothing bad,” he said, though he looked a bit nervous.

Your brows furrowed. You led him to the couch, where he took your hands in his. It took him a moment to get started. He seemed stuck on what he wanted to say, or maybe just how he wanted to say it.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I can handle it,” you teased.

Dean gave you a smile. His shoulders relaxed a little...

Keep Reading: THE EPILOGUE

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420 @illicithallways

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

My Favorite Pet

Tease Me (2)

BDSM Preformer!Fem!Reader! X subby! Wanda

Summary: You find yourself alone in bed, but that's okay because you can smell breakfast

Warnings: None! Here you all go have some fluffy morning after loving.

Word Count: 1,570

A/N: I promise pt 3 is going to be full of smut once more, but I wanted to explore their morning after.

You woke up to the smell of bacon stretching out on your king sized bed. Your back is popping after a week of staying on Kate and Yelena’s couch. You fell asleep on the couch, right? Did Wanda move both of you in here?

You got up feeling cold from only wearing a tank top and shorts to bed, grabbing one of your throw blankets and making your way out to the kitchen to find Wanda there, swaying her hips to music as she made breakfast. You smirked and watched her for a moment before speaking up,

“Damn I could get used to this.” you startle her a bit with your voice, but she sees you smiling. You saw the blush on her face as you walked over, wrapping your arms around her waist and looking up.

“I tried waking you up earlier, but you refused so I figured I'd start making breakfast for you Mommy.” Her voice was so soft right now. You were an absolute menace to try and wake in the morning.

“You don't have to call me that outside of the club or the bedroom. Please just call me by my name.” you lean up on your tiptoes to kiss her.

“Are you sure? All my previous-” You cut her off before she can finish that sentence.

“Wanda. I'm sure.” you tell her putting emphasis on her name. “Outside those spaces you're Wanda and I'm Y/N. We are two people and not just our roles.” She simply nods and you kiss her again.

“Okay well Y/N I've made breakfast I hope you like bacon, eggs, and pancakes.” Wanda smiled and so did you.

“I love those things. I'll grab the juices and milk.” You untangled yourself from her grabbing out the pitchers for the two of you.

As the two of you sat and ate you talked about a lot of things and got to know each other better. Conversation with her seemed to flow easily between the two of you. You had never felt this way before. You were typically a guarded person especially after her though opening up didn’t even feel like you were. Instead it felt more like getting reacquainted with an old friend.

“So you have this place because of working at the club right?” Wanda asked looking around my spacious penthouse.

“Yeah Tasha helped me get it originally since it was close to the club and honestly I came from nothing. My parents were poor when I was a kid, but it was by choice. Neither of my parents wanted to work and didn't care that my brother and I were starving. I took care of my brother and raised him. He lived with me for a bit and still comes by, but he went off and became a businessman. He's climbed the ladder to almost being the CEO of the company he works for.” You’re reminded of just how different you and your brother turned out.

“You must be proud of him.” you smile, pushing around the little food left on your plate.

“I am. Sometimes I wonder if he feels the same about me.” You admit solemnly.

“I'm sure he understands that without you doing this he wouldn't have been able to be where he is. You paid for his college right?”

“Yeah through the fucking teeth…” you definitely didn't want to mention fucking the dean to get him in or lowering his tuition rates.

“Then I'm sure he understands. My brother on the other hand is just as bad as me. He creates, designs, and builds BDSM gear like beds and crosses and shit. He's really good at it and runs his own business with a couple of his buddies.” Wanda told you.

“Hmmm I'd love to meet him. I have a spare room I've always wanted to turn into a playroom.” Wanda blushed a scarlet red. You wanted to keep teasing her, but your phone was going off,

“Ughhhhhhhhh!” you picked it up quickly changing your tone, “Hi Tasha. You’re interrupting my breakfast so please make it quick.”

“Wow rude and here I thought you had a good night.” she responded, but you could tell she was smiling.

“Oh I did so good in fact it has continued into breakfast so again if you could make it quick.” I snip at her really not wanting to do this until later.

“Of course it has. Finally back on the horse I see. Well that’s good, anyways since you’re both there I expect to see you tonight.” you rolled your eyes.

“Of course you do. Were people asking for us?” you put the call on speaker.

“Of course they were. You two gave the best performance last night. You’re lucky I’m nice and let you keep all those tips. Most places would take some from you especially with how much you made last night.” you chuckled at her words. As tough as Tasha could be on you she was also soft; she knew you too good at this point.

“Well thank you Tasha for taking such good care of us. When will we be preforming tonight?”

“Opener and then a solo from each of you later in the night once aftercare is done let me know and we’ll work you in.” You could hear the sound of her typing in the background probably trying to figure out the schedule of performers for tonight.

“Okay Tasha. We’ll be there for 5.”

“Okay once your solos are done you’re free to go tonight because Friday I want you two to do multiple shows.” You groan a bit doing multiple shows was always hard for you. It takes a lot out of you to go from Dom to not to Dom again.

“Fine...” You replied reluctantly to your best friend. You knew she heard your tone, but chose not to call you out on it.

“Okay I’ll see you two tonight and I’m glad you found someone again Y/N/N.” You rolled your eyes. Trying to take the phone off speaker before Wanda could hear it.

“Yup kay bye.” You hung up, throwing your phone over onto the couch.

“What’s wrong Y/N?” Wanda asked concerned.

“Nothing amor. I just get frustrated sometimes. It’s not that I don’t like this job because I do. It’s the only thing I’ve ever known it’s just difficult for me sometimes. I have to get into the right headspace. Also I’m not going to lie doing more than one show in a night can be exhausting and I want to make sure you have a good time. I’ve just never been good with multi show nights.” Wanda reached across the table, holding your hand,

“Everything is going to work out fine because this time you’ll have me.” She was smiling, biting her lip as her nose scrunched up.

“You are absolutely beautiful amor. I am so lucky...” You let your words trail off. All Wanda is, is my stage partner, nothing more, and you feel yourself curl into yourself ever so slightly as you retract your hand.

You see her searching your face as to why you pulled away, “Sorry did I do or say something wrong?” Wanda asked and you felt a pit in your stomach.

“No, no meu amor. I just get stuck in my own head. I’m sorry. I have a lot going on with myself and sometimes I’m my own worst enemy. If I ever start pulling away just pull me back harder please?” Wanda is speechless for a moment. “I-if you want to that is you don’t-“ Wanda pushes aside her plate and then your own, climbing on the dining room table and making her way into your lap.

“I’ll pull you so deep you’ll be drowning in me and forget all your problems.” Wanda husked against your lips, making you lean up, chasing her lips for a kiss as she keeps pulling back until you’re whining,

“Wands...” You were pouting and looking up at her, “Please?” She smirked and finally let you kiss her, melting against her as you sighed into it. You needed this, you needed her. You need her? How are you so deep already? How did she do this to you?

“Y/N/N?”

“Hmmm?” You let your eyes flit open and look up at her.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, never had a partner like you. Before last night I thought everything I’d experienced with a Dom was normal...I don’t think...no I know I don’t ever want to go back to that. I know it’s a little forward of me, but would you please continue to be my dom as well as a partner I can rely on?” You reached up and cupped her cheeks.

“If we’re being forward then I’d like to answer your question with a question. I would like to be those things and more so would you be my girlfriend?” You ask, feeling so nervous until she crashes her lips into yours, her hips rolling against you, moaning out at the feeling as you grab her hips.

“Yes. Yes I’d love that.” She husks out against your lips and this is a moment you want to remember forever, every part of it. The sound of her voice, the faint smell of breakfast, her vanilla perfume, the way her lips taste and feel against you, the pressure of her hips and your nails digging into them.

[vintagelasvegas]

Frank Sinatra's debut at the Sands, October 1953. The partnership between Sinatra and the Sands would last 14 years. Attorney Harry Claiborne pushed Sinatra's request to buy a two percent interest in the casino to the Tax Commission.

“Federal authorities long assumed that Sinatra was merely holding his ownership shares in the Sands — which eventually grew to nine percent, making him the largest single owner after Freedman, Entratter, and casino manager Carl Cohen — for a mob investor, possibly Doc Stacher, Frank Costello, Gerardo Catena of Newark, New Jersey, or Meyer Lansky—perhaps even some combination of them all. Still, Sinatra was proud to be an owner of the Sands, and grew to consider the hotel’s success a sign of his own prowess as a businessman, even though he had little to do with casino operations. Dean Martin, who bought ten shares in '61, was the only other entertainer afforded this privilege.”

David G. Schwartz. At the Sands: The Casino That Shaped Classic Las Vegas, Brought the Rat Pack Together, and Went Out With a Bang.

Photo: Kodachrome, auctioned by Choctkeys in 2017.

[rincewinds-hat]

picture this: destiel mama mia au. Dean (who, for this plot will be trans masc and also why not) and his brother Sam move to an island in Greece to get away from their toxic father. Dean meets amd falls for several men in the first few months - Benny, a sailor from Luisiana who's writing a book about his journeys; Crowley, a businessman who he didn't get along with at first but ended up having a fling with (Crowley development feelings, but Dean didn't); and Castiel, an architect who's been following a plan his whole life, and coming here and being with Dean has showed him free will and actual love (but he has to go back, because despite everything he still wants to be accepted and loved by his family). Suddenly, they all reunite when Jack (Dean's child) is having his 18 birthday party

Edit: it took 6 reblogs (2 of them with tags/ text, love yall for that) and 27 likes. I will start writing it tonight, updates soon

Update: it's on ao3 since the 27th, link below (it's been here for 2 days, and it already has 9 kudos without this lil promo, i consider this a huge win)

[jadeazora]

I would say D.C. Douglas (Masters) is my favorite of the English VAs for Lysandre and feels the most consistently-good in his deliveries, with the Generations one (Dean Wein) being my least favorite.

(I feel like the XYZ one voiced by H.D. Quinn does have a few flat deliveries not shown here, but I like how warm he sounds while chatting with Mairin and Alain when he's pretending to be a totally normal businessman--it makes him so much more unsettling because we know how dangerous he actually is--and when he goes hard, he really goes hard. Dean didn't get the opportunity to really pop off as much 😅 Like, fuck, listen to that snarl in his tone from the last XYZ clip I use.)

[dorkylilguy]

I gave you malewife Cas, I raise you with white collar and blue collar Dean 💚💙

I couldn’t choose I had to do both

[deancaspinefest]

Something Happening Somewhen

Author: allthismusic | Artist: eggchef

Posting on Wednesday March 27

Dean is 24 years old, and a quiet night at a California dive bar turns into a near death experience turns into a trip through time thanks to the stranger he meets in the bar. When he lands in the bunker twenty years into his future, he finds out who the stranger is — and what his relationship is to Dean’s own older self. Dean’s not sure what he thinks about this at first, but when Cas takes him back to his own time (accompanied by the older Dean, who is determined to make sure that nothing they do in the past screws up their lives in the future), he gets to know the angel, and he gets a glimpse at a future he never would’ve dreamed that he might be able to have.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

In the cool evening air, Dean looks around. He’d left the Impala back parked at the dingy motel where he’d rented a room, but he’s not quite ready to call it a night. He opens his remaining beer and looks down the street to see if there’s another bar nearby that might be worth checking out, but before he can make a decision he hears the door to the bar he has just left open behind him. And he knows, he just /knows/, that it isn’t some other random patron headed home.

“What the hell is this, huh?” Dean asks, “Something about ‘not interested’ you’re not getting?”

And then the guy says his name.

“Dean,” the man begins, and Dean gets it.

“Oh, lemme guess, my dad tell you to check up on me?” Dean asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just begins to walk, knowing the man will follow. He’s a hunter, obviously. Explains the build, and the suit that is only meant to pass muster at a brief glance, like the fake police badge or FBI creds the guy probably carries. Dean should’ve clocked him from the start.

And for some reason John had thought that Dean needed checking up on. That he couldn’t be trusted to go it alone, nevermind the fact that he had finished the hunt his dad had sent him on two whole days ago and had yet to receive any new case coordinates from John.

To Dean’s surprise, he hears a laugh behind him. He stops, and now he does turn to face the guy again.

“No,” the man says. “I’ve lost count of how often I’ve been told I’m bad at following orders, but even if that wasn’t the case, I wouldn’t follow your father’s.”

“Oh yeah? Then how do you know my name?” Dean demands.

“You left your wallet on the bar,” the man replies, holding it up. It’s definitely Dean’s: worn black leather, secondhand from his dad, containing a meager number of bills and at least three fake IDs tucked behind a real one— well, real first name, although it gives his surname as Campbell, just in case.

“Oh,” Dean says, wondering for the second time that night if he has misjudged this guy’s intentions. Maybe he’s just a normal businessman trying to do a good deed for the day and return a lost wallet, despite the wallet’s owner being an absolute weird freak toward him. “Thanks.”

The man offers the wallet out to him, almost gently, like he’s proffering a bit of food to a scared, stray dog, and Dean steps forward to take it. “It’s your birthday,” he says, and before Dean can ask, the man explains, “I saw it on your ID. On one of them, anyway.” Dean nods. “Happy birthday,” the guy says. “I should’ve bought you a beer.”

(continue reading on Ao3 on Wednesday March 27)

[explainslowly]

Day 13 of @spnficrecfest - Poly ships and rare-pairs

Drowley

How to Succeed in Business Dean Smith hooks up with a mysterious pushy businessman

No Expenses Spared Blood magic gone wrong

Find Me Faithless Demon Dean is Crowley's prized bitch <3 (I have debated with myself whether to include this one but I believe we can all be reasonable - that said there is implied but not depicted bestiality at the end, ok? You have been warned. Anyway.)

Crowstiel

To Lie with the Devil Don't bite off more than you can chew, Crowley says, stuffing the entire Castiel into his mouth.

When The Bill Comes Due Something something Castiel as a being of limitless hunger.

Megstiel

not him/not her/not me - graphic depiction of violence, creator chose not to use warnings Strange and fragmented <3 Meg and Cas meet in the empty.

Fractured link - Meanstiel sweet!

Other

one on, two out - Dean/Deacon You ever think about Dean/Deacon? I do.

meet my girlfriend - Lisa Braeden/Daphne Allen hey.... what if Lisa and Daphne got together? Would that be crazy or what? Read on for some gender too.

to survive on this shore - Rhonda Hurley/Dean Winchester transfem Dean character portrait that will gut you in under 1k words

Any Port - Dean Winchester/Aaron Bass THE best Dean/Aaron canonverse fic I have found so far (bless au writers but I simply do not think Aaron is analogous to a dweeby training wheels boyfriend Dean doesn't like that much)

The Song In Your Blood - Dean Winchester/Siren (Nick Monroe), Rape I think we can all agree that Dean was looking for a little more than *just* a brother

Yes - Castiel/Jimmy Novak, Rape Canonverse. Jimmy's and Castiel's relationship sours, post Rapture.

[tomorrowusa]

MAGA is really just a variant of fascism. The racist anti-Latino orgy of ethno-nationalism at MSG on Sunday has removed all doubt.

Dean Obeidallah at SubStack walks us through it.

Here is a sample of the hate buffet served up to the cheering MAGA crowd. 1.        Anti-women: Donald Trump again called VP Harris a "very low IQ individual." Tucker Carlson said to cheers if Harris wins she will be “the first Samoan, Malaysian, low IQ former California prosecutor ever to be elected president.”  Grant Cardone, a businessman said VP Harris and “her pimp handlers will destroy our country,” obviously suggesting Harris is a  prostitute. -David Rem a person the campaign identified as a childhood friend of Trump, brandished a crucifix and called Vice President Kamala Harris “the antichrist” and “the devil” to huge applause. 2.        Anti-Black: -The rally played Confederate favorite “Dixie” before Black GOP Rep. Byron Donalds came out at Madison Square Garden. -“This cool Black guy with the thing on his head, what is that a lampshade? Believe this guy? Just kidding, that’s one of my buddies. He had a Halloween party last night. We had fun, we carved watermelons together,” said podcaster and alleged comedian Tony Hinchcliffe. 3.        Anti-Latino and anti-Migrant hate: -Referring to Latino migrants, radio host Sid Rosenberg declared to cheers that they are causing crime and that: “The fucking illegals, they get whatever they want, don’t they?!” -“I don’t know if you guys know this, but there’s literally a floating island of garbage in the middle of the ocean right now. I think it’s called Puerto Rico,” said Tony Hinchcliffe. -“These Latinos, they love making babies. Let’s know that they do. They do. There’s no pulling out. They cum inside. Just like they did to our country!’ again Hinchcliffe. 4.        Anti-Arab/Palestinian hate: -Rudy Giuliani declared: "The Palestinians are taught to kill us at two-years old. There may have good people. I'm sorry I don't take a risk with people who are taught to kill Americans at two." He then declared to big cheers, “I’m on the side of Israel…Donald Trump is on the side of Israel.” 5. Anti-Semitism: -“You also know the Jews having a hard time throwing out that paper, you know what I’m saying?’ Hinchcliffe stated while mimicking holding money, playing on anti-Semitic trope that Jews are cheap. Before this MAGA event, some invoked the hate-filled February 20, 1939 Nazi rally at MSG billed as a "Pro American Rally" which featured a huge image of George Washington in between swastikas. After Sunday’s Trump rally, that comparison was no longer speculative, it was 100% accurate.

Yes, they even played "Dixie" – the Confederate anthem.

This event was held at a large venue in America's media capital with the intent of exposing as many Americans as possible to their message. They are not trying to hide anything. They want to make sure every last nutcake hears their words.

As David Frum via Charlie Sykes on SubStack observed:

This rally seems aimed at the crucial bloc of swing voters who like Donald Trump but worry that maybe he's not quite stupid and obnoxious enough. They need him and his team to squeeze out of the tube that one last plop of stupidity and obnoxiousness.

The stupidest thing for us to do is to freak out. Michael Tomasky wrote an excellent piece in The New Republic.

If You’re Being Fatalistic or Panicking, You Are Helping Donald Trump

It's way easier to prevent dictators than it is to get rid of them once they're here. So quit doomscrolling and do stuff in real life to save a whole lot of work in the future.

Volunteer | Kamala Harris for President

[princessallura052]

Phoebe and Coop - an analysis

Ok, so I am doing a rewatch of Charmed. From the beginning, Phoebe is this adventurous free-spirit who wants things to be exciting. We see her desire for the perfect man to basically be Cole or rather a bad boy because that's exciting. In season 2, we also hear Cupid say that Phoebe dated around because she had closed off her heart and it was easier than committing.

That was something not anyone would guess about Phoebe, in fact the instinct would be to guess that she loved and trusted too easily. But she never let herself get properly attached until S2 Cupid helped her do so. It's only after that she met Cole - initially a lawyer that she met and he tried to attract her to him but even after she knew he was a demon, she still loved him and tried everything she could to make that relationship work. She lost her baby because of him - the one thing that could have made her heartbreak a little bit easier to deal with.

Now, coming to my point, I hear people saying Coop was too boring for Phoebe and I will say I agree. Compared to Cole, he was boring, maybe even a little bland. He would be routine and normal compared to Cole who was one trial after the other but after everything that happened, Phoebe did not desire exciting anymore. The longest relationship she had outside of Cole was Jason Dean and compared to Cole, he was boring. He was a successful businessman, yes who would support her in her work career but he was boring.

If he could accept that she was a witch, they may have been endgame and she was happy with him. People say she became a little self-centred when she moved to Hong Kong with him but she was genuinely happy with a guy who wasn't so unpredictable. Cole was always uncertain - she was always left guessing and even when he was human, she struggled with him because she could see his struggle on just being human.

So, I think while young Phoebe's type was Cole, she got heartbroken and grew from that. She no longer yearned for the excitement that she wanted once - she just wanted someone to love her, she just wanted someone to be there but like before s2 Cupid came, she closed off her heart. She focused so much on just wanting a baby of her own that she didn't care who it was with - and one thing I feel people forget is she did lose her child, her baby. The reason she was so obsessed with Wyatt at first to the point of wanting aunty leave was because she had lost her baby.

To sum it up, yes, Coop is boring in comparison to Cole. But that is what Phoebe needs. Someone who can give her commitment and certainty. Where Prue was at the beginning, we see Phoebe reach by the end. She had everything, a stable career, a family she loves but the one thing she lacked was love and her own family. Coop is a cupid - he would never let her miss on that.

[negans-lucille-tblr]

Negan Masterlist

Below you’ll find all of my Negan fictions.

Please note any trigger warnings and if a fic is 18+ before reading! 

(back to Main Masterlist)

JDM and Characters Master-Masterpost

CROSSOVERS

Prized Possession

Summary: Negan’s back at Alexandria to collect and this time he wants Rick’s prized possession; you.

Rating: 18+ - NSFW (Smut, Fluff and Angst)

Status: Complete

Chapters: 29

TW: scenes of dub-con and sexual assault

* * *

A - Z with Negan (Smut Edition)

Summary: A short story for each letter of the alphabet exploring many different kinks and fantasies with Negan.

Rating: 18+ - every single part will be smut, some mild, some strong.

Status: Complete

Chapters: 26

TW: Knife play, Rape play

* * *

Loyalties Lie

Summary: Dean, Y/N and Sam are doing all they can to survive in the apocalypse when they stubble across the Saviors. Negan’s striking resemblance to their father, John, has Sam weary and Dean eager to please. But Negan is leading Dean down a dark path despite Y/N and Sam’s attempts to keep him away. As things take a turn for the worst, everyone is left to question where their loyalties lie.

A TWD/SPN crossover set in The Walking Dead Universe (Around season 8)

Rating: 18+ (Smut, Major Angst, Fluff, Dark themes)

Status: Posting on Patreon - coming soon to Tumblr

Chapters: 20

Patience is a Virtue

Summary: Returning to your old high school for college placement, you find yourself being mentored by Coach Negan, the teacher you would relentlessly flirt with as a student, only this time, he’s not letting you get away with it so easily.

Rating: 18+ NSFW (Smut and some Angst)

Parts: 2

Part One    Part Two

* * * 

The Backseat

Summary: Y/N is the spoiled, ‘pampered princess’ daughter of rich businessman, Simon Y/L/N. As soon as she hits 18 she starts to prove she’s quite the handful. Meanwhile, Simon’s recently divorced best friend, Negan, is looking for a job. Simon hires Negan to chauffeur and keep control of Y/N, but it’s not long before she’s making him lose control too.

Rating: 18+ (Smut, Angst, Fluff)

Parts: 5

* * * 

Escape

Summary: Y/N is desperate to escape her hometown and her controlling half-brothers, Sam and Dean, and now she’s 18 college seems like the only way out. But her gym coach, Negan is failing her and his proposition to help her pass takes a bad turn.

A SPN/TWD Crossover mini fic set in an AU

Rating: 18+ (Dark Fic - Smut/Angst/Sistercest)

Bad Blood (AU)

Summary: You thought you’d put the past behind you, until it moves it moves in next door and opens old wounds and reignites old flames.

Rating: 18+ NSFW (Smut)

* * *

A Night with Negan (JDM/Negan)

Summary: When Jeff discovers you are attracted to his character, Negan, he knows what this year’s anniversary gift will be.

Rating: 18+ NSFW (Smut and a pinch of Fluff)

* * *

Chocolate and Wine

Summary: After nursing some of the Saviors back to health, Negan owes you a favour.

Rating: 13+? (This would literally be like a NR if it wasn’t for Negan and his foul mouth) Fluff

* * *

Numb

Summary: When Negan discovers one of his people is hurting themselves, he does everything in his power to make them feel something better.

Rating: 18+ NSFW (swearing, sex and self harm)

WARNING: SELF HARM. The reader doesn’t physically harm themselves in the fic but it is talked about and there is imagery of the self inflicted wounds, and talk about why they self harm. Please don’t read this if it’s triggering for you.

* * *

It’s Good to be Back

(with FP Jones (Riverdale) )

Summary: Former Serpent King, Negan, is back at his old stomping ground. And as you find out, him and current King, FP, make quite the team

Rating: 18+ NSFW (swearing and sex - shameless threesome)

* * *

Initiation

(with John Winchester (SPN) )

Summary:  Negan doesn’t like your attitude and before you can join the Saviors, John needs to prove he can keep you in your place.

Rating: 18+ NSFW (swearing and sex - shameless threesome)

* * * 

Look What You Made Me Do

Summary: Negan’s there to welcome home his step-daughter after her first date, but he doesn’t like what she chose to wear, and decides to show her what the consequences of dressing like a slut might be.

Rating: 18+ (Dark Fic - non con)

Distraction

Summary: Negan’s watching baseball, but you have a distraction.

Rating: 18+ NSFW (Smut & Swearing)

* * *

Better Grades

Summary: To stay on the dance squad, you need better grades. Which is where Coach Negan comes in. (Smut prompt request)

Rating: 18+ NSFW (Smut)

* * *

Leave a Mark

Summary: No plot, just smut. Kinky sex (spanking), affair. (Smut prompt request)

Rating: 18+ NSFW (smut)

* * *

Coffee

Summary: A blind date with Negan goes well, so you invite him back for coffee. But you don’t get that far. (DRABBLES ARE HARD TO SUMMARISE OKAY!?) (Smut prompt request)

Rating: 18+ NSFW (smut)

* * * 

A Bad Dream

Summary: A bad dream sees you in bed with your step dad, Negan - but it’s far from innocent.

Rating: 18+ (Smut)

A/N: 1000 Followers Prompt request

* * *

Daddy Day Care

Summary: It was Negan’s first day of Daddy day care.

Rating: 13+ (Fluff but some swearing)

A/N: 1000 Followers prompt request

* * *

Better Than You

Summary: Negan knew it was wrong, but no one does it Better than you.

Rating: 18+ (Smut)

A/N: 1000 Followers prompt request

* * *

Room 406

Summary: The sins room 406 has seen…

Rating: 18+ (Smut)

A/N: 1000 Followers prompt request

* * *

The New Recruit

Summary: Negan has a new recruit

Rating: 18+ (Smut)

A/N: 1000 Followers prompt request

* * *

Win You Over

Summary: Negan wants you, but you’re not playing game

Rating: 13+ (Swearing because Negan)

* * *

Daddy’s Little Girl

Summary: Daddy takes what he wants when he’s drunk.

Rating: 18+ (Smut)

A/N: Drunk drabble - dub con, incest could be implied.

* * *

The Best I’ll Ever Have

Summary: Negan’s a proud guy who doesn’t like the idea of being outdone and you can’t wait for him to prove you wrong.  

Rating: 18+ (Smut)

* * *

* Negan Bingo Masterlist *

[bettsfic]

18 and 19

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

passage below the cut! this is from Skinless when Layla and Henry meet. by this point we've mostly been in Henry's POV, where his coworker Layla seems like a nice young woman with whom he is foaming-at-the-mouth obsessed. we get to her POV (second person because that's just how she thinks, and also this is a flashback because her pacing and story structure is entirely separate from Henry's because i hate myself i guess) and find out she's been totally deranged for Henry from the beginning. this is the first time we see Henry from outside his POV.

backstory:

the career fair scene went through many iterations but has become an unfortunate foundational turning point of the story, despite the fact that a commercial underwriting department of a bank would never be at a college career fair

i did once research every question of every exam for a class where i thought the professor was being cruel. i also went to the dean about it, and there was an investigation, and every single student in the class went from a C to a B. (that's how bad it was: we all had the same grade, based on basically nothing, which was deeply ironic considering it was a statistics class)

like Layla, i've also had the Kids in the Hall theme song stuck in my head for most of my life

ultimately Skinless is a light-hearted rom com about two walking red flags who are trying to make their relationship work even though one of them is not who he says he is and the other is plotting a murder

the ethics test at the bank was really only 10 questions

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

the first thing i ever wrote was a series of stories in my diary when i was 8 or 9, and they all had the same premise in different settings: a child lives in a community but everyone hates him (they were always boy povs) and eventually the child runs away or is killed by the townspeople and everyone is much happier with him gone. the end.

a wrote a bit more here and there until i was 14 or so, at which point i seemed to forget writing fiction was even a thing. i kept a journal from 14 onward and that was the only creative writing i did besides the occasional poem until i was 24 and started writing fanfic.

i'm now 34 and i have an MFA in creative writing and half a PhD, and i've had some short publications and won some awards and i do artist residencies sometimes and have an agent. i'm hoping to put two manuscripts out on submission later this year or early next.

one of which will be Skinless, an excerpt of which is below the cut.

from Chapter 5:

In your final semester of college, you attend a career fair. As you wander the booths, you begin to consider that there might be industries more suited to people like you. You spot a bank. The man standing at the booth is talking to someone. You notice immediately that his congeniality is feigned, proven when the applicant walks away and his face returns to apathy. 

He is wearing a sharp black suit. Black dress shirt. Black tie. He is in his late twenties, perhaps. He has light brown skin and his hair is buzzed close to his scalp in a way that makes you eager to touch his head, feel it against your palm. He is tall and broad-shouldered, but he holds himself like he isn’t, slightly slouched, the way people stand in public transit to give others more room.

Something about him piques your curiosity, and as you walk toward him the small spark of your initial question mark grows into something that consumes you. You can’t even tell what exactly is drawing you to him. It’s not his beauty—although, aesthetically speaking, he is quite pleasing. It’s not his attire, though it’s strange to see a businessman in all black. It’s not the bored blankness of his face that reflects how you have felt these past four years pretending to be a peppy sorority girl. But it’s something, and suddenly you’re standing in front of him and handing him your resume.

He takes it and scans it. This is a bizarre interaction, this not speaking and not acknowledging each other thing, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Without even looking at you, he says, “Tell me about a time someone blamed you for something that wasn’t your fault, and what you did about it.” 

His voice doesn’t match him at all, this enormous man with this soft yet vaguely robotic voice. When you say nothing, he glances at you expectantly. You feel small and young. He doesn’t even see you. You are just one student among the many he will speak with today. 

“Last semester I had a professor who didn’t like me so he tried to give me a B,” you tell him. “I guess because I kept finding errors in our exams and proving it by cross-referencing the textbook. And it was outdated, so even if the exam matched the book, I’d be able to find newer research that conflicted with it. In a fifty-question exam, he would have to throw out almost half the questions and everyone got a way better grade.”

“You researched every question of every exam?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“He called a girl stupid and made her cry. And anyway, it’s not really ethical to be teaching outdated research.”

“So you—”

“Got him fired.”

“Fired? Really?”

Not exactly. He just didn’t get assigned any sections the following semester. You shrug. “Adjuncts are expendable.”

“And you don’t consider any of that underhanded?”

“I’d rather be underhanded than complaisant.”

Briefly he looks you dead in the eye. It ignites something in you like a match being struck. All the stupid princess movies you hated growing up and which Candy still makes you watch are right: love at first sight is real, and it happened to you, the person least qualified to do anything about it.

When Angie from the bank’s HR department calls you to schedule a formal interview, you begin your preparations. You buy an interview outfit. You ask Candy to teach you how to do your makeup and hair. Then you study. Common interview questions. How to answer them. What the fuck underwriting is. 

You arrive at the bank certain that the beautiful career fair man won’t be there, but he’s the one who greets you in the lobby. He’s once more wearing all black.

“Hi, Layla, good to see you again.” He holds out his hand to you. “Henry King.”

“Henry King,” you say back, awed as you shake his big, beautiful hand and look into his big, beautiful eyes. You’re going to be Layla King one day. You promise yourself you won’t go home and practice your future signature, because that would be ridiculous. 

Now you are in an elevator with Henry King, going all the way up to the thirtieth floor. He opens his mouth to pop his ears at floor sixteen. 

“Mr. King?” You wait for him to say, Call me Henry, but he doesn’t. “Do you have any tips for me?”

“Wouldn’t that give you an unfair advantage?”

“Don’t you want me to have an unfair advantage?”

He looks down and away, scratches his head, and even though he’s not smiling you get the impression he’s pleased. “As long as you don’t admit to being a psychopath, you have nothing to worry about.”

“I would never admit that.”

The elevator doors open and he holds them for you to step out first. “Just be honest,” he says, “and be yourself.”

When you arrive on your first day, Henry King is waiting for you in the lobby again, and he’s still not smiling but there is something in his eyes that tells you he’s glad to see you. He holds out his hand and says, “Congratulations.”

You won’t be shaking Henry King’s hand. You hug him and he goes oof. Tentatively he pats your back. When you pull away, you say, “Thank you for getting me the job. It really means a lot to me.”

He seems to be short-circuiting, like you have suddenly initiated improv in a well-rehearsed play. It’s fine. You have the job now, and after all, he did tell you to be yourself.

During your training, you’re required to read the corporate ethics guide and take a ten-question test. The questions are so obvious that you don’t really have to read the guide. In fact, you only need an eight out of ten to pass—which has frightening implications for the state of ethics here—but you read it like you’re studying for the MCAT. 

The section on dating in the workplace is a single paragraph. Should two employees engage in a romantic relationship, it says, it must be reported to HR. It also says that a manager dating a direct subordinate is grounds for termination.

You hail Henry over to your computer and show him the company policy on dating. Any other person would see how obvious you’re being. Not Henry. Henry says, “The ethics guide is a CYA document.” 

He uses that acronym a lot. It means Cover Your Ass. More specifically, it means to analyze all documentation from the perspective of the documenting party, whose goal is, above all things, to avoid a lawsuit. And in the event of a lawsuit, to avoid losing it.

“Look,” he says, pointing at your monitor, bent over your shoulder as you sit in your desk chair, so close you can smell him. He smells so good it makes you angry. “It says you have to report it. It doesn’t say what happens after you report it. That means the decision moves to the manager of the employees in a relationship. Then HR can wipe their hands clean of it, and the manager can fire both employees, citing that a potential breakup would create a hostile team environment.” He points to the next sentence about managers and subordinates. “It says ‘eligible for termination,’ but it doesn’t say who gets terminated. Again, probably both.”

You look up at him. “So we really can’t date?” 

Given his lack of a reaction, he seems to take your “we” to mean all employees of the company.

“It’s unprofessional.”

 

Every day the stakes grow higher. You study Henry, in part, thinking that if you dig deep enough you will find nothing, you will discover he is like all the rest, boring, bearing the sad burden of existence and merely passing the time until death. Watching television. Picking up a hobby. Sports. Disgusting.

You decide that you must first befriend Henry King. You have learned that people like talking about themselves, and for the most part they love being asked questions, because it is the status quo in the world to be self-interested. For all your faults, at least you are not self-interested. You’re very interested in others, and you’re so glad to be able to see this, in some ways, as a strength. You are at once perfect at everything but also somehow have no admirable qualities. You ask Henry King many questions and he tells you, simply, “I’m not answering that.”

You take a different tactic: you tell him about yourself. You try to be interesting. The cool stuff you learned in the classes you took, the drama of Candy’s vocational school love life. He listens and goes “uh huh.”

Next, you try to make him laugh. You are a funny person simply because, like all things, you’ve trained yourself to be. You have watched many hours of standup comedy and sketch shows. You’ve had the Kids in the Hall theme song stuck in your head for most of your life. 

One day, you’re busy looking at a client file while returning to your desk and run into the cubicle wall. Henry King laughs at you. That’s a start. 

After many months being his personal court jester, you conclude that Henry King exists in the infinitesimal Venn diagram overlap between having a dry sense of humor and being totally unable to understand sarcasm.

You’ve been looking forward to your first annual review, seeing evidence of your excellence. You’ve spent this past year learning quickly, working hard. You work through lunch sometimes. You arrive early and stay late. You take on as many deals as you can, some weeks more than Henry. You make sure everyone on the team gets a card and a cake for their birthday. Finally, you enter Jerry’s office with a notebook and a smile.

Fifteen minutes later, you return to your cubicle with a single sheet of paper marking you adequate. In every category, you “meet expectations.” No raise. No bonus. No promotion. 

Henry has a bad habit of offering hard truths in a way that is not at all gentle. “Look,” he says when you slump down into your desk chair. When he begins a sentence with “look,” you know you’re about to hear something horrible. “You’ll never get an A at work.”

He goes on to tell you the worst of all truths—that banks thrive on inefficiency and hard work is rewarded with only more work. And if you do too much work, employees will start to get fired, because it’s clear the workload isn’t high enough to justify paying so many people. You’ll also set a new standard for yourself, and if you set that standard too high, if you burn out and stop meeting it, you’re the one who’s going to get fired. The only reward you’ll ever receive is the privilege of returning to work the next day. 

To prove it, he pulls a manila folder out of his desk cabinet and hands it to you. You open it. Inside you find eleven identical sheets, each one declaring Henry has met expectations for the year, each signed off by the revolving door of bookrunners.

He’s the hardest worker you’ve ever known. You have a crush on him, sure, but even if you didn’t, you would still admire him. He’s diligent and patient, level-headed. He’s at least as smart as you, if not more. In every way, Henry King has exceeded your expectations. 

After work that day, you cry in your car. You haven’t cried since the time you watched Lacey torture a squirrel, and you witness it with interest and confusion. You’re not crying; crying is happening to you. Henry passes your car on the way to his. He pretends not to notice.

The next day, he asks you to lunch. You tell him no thanks. He does what you do: leans on your desk and stares at you for so long that you can’t ignore him, which is actually super annoying. You can’t believe he tolerates you. And since you’ve never taken no for an answer, neither does he. 

“I’ll pick you up and carry you out of here,” he says, nudging your shoulder. You’re always touching him but this is the first time he has touched you. Your face feels very hot.

You enjoy the thought of him picking you up and carrying you. You like how big and strong he is, even though he doesn’t seem to know that about himself, like a giant dog that thinks it can sleep in your lap without crushing you. 

He might be flirting with you. You’ve never actually been flirted with. You go to the copier to get your printouts. They’re still printing. Suddenly you’re swept up into his arms. You yelp.

“Put me down,” you say.

“Not until you agree to go to lunch with me.”

He holds you like you’re no heavier than a big client file. You know you’ll get in trouble if anyone sees you, but everyone’s at lunch. He takes you to the elevators. 

“Okay, okay,” you say. “We’ll get pizza.”

At lunch, in a roundabout, somewhat evasive way, he tells you what a good job you’ve been doing and that he appreciates your hard work. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, choking up but refusing to cry in front of him. “I really look up to you, so that means a lot.”

A silence follows that would be awkward to anyone else, but you understand that Henry needs these occasional pauses. For him, silence is not something that stretches across time but must be carved into it. He makes spaces for feeling, for thinking, for simply being in the company of someone else. 

These traits make your crush grow to unwieldy proportions, but after a year of trying to get his attention, you’re still just a plucky young apprentice to him. You don’t know anything about him. You’re close to giving up and you’re shocked by how badly that hurts. A boy you like doesn't like you. Your broken-heartedness is so clichéd, so conventional, so boring, and yet it’s the worst thing you’ve ever felt. 

One day, you tell Henry a story about a high school friend, nameless, and he says, “Wait, is this Michelle or someone else?” 

You stop dead in the middle of the sidewalk. He listens. He’s been listening.

“Yes,” you say, “it’s Michelle.”

Another time, waiting for a table at lunch, you accidentally stand in the path of someone making their way to the host station. Henry puts a hand on your lower back and guides you closer to him, out of the way. 

Every once in a while, he plucks stray hairs that cling to your wool coat.

A new thing begins to grow, so nebulous and strange you don’t at first allow yourself to acknowledge it. Over time, it becomes too big to ignore, and finally you look right at it: 

You love Henry King. 

You no longer just want his attention, you want him to touch you, curl up on the couch with you and watch TV each night, have children with you, grow old and die with you. It’s disorienting to know something in your head immediately but not actually feel it until a year later. You wonder what other things you have only thought but not felt. You wonder how long you have confused thinking for feeling.